#edge computing challenges

[techtoio]

The Edge of Innovation: Why Edge Computing Is a Big Deal

Introduction

Staying updated with the ever-evolving world of technology is vital. At TechtoIO, we pride ourselves on being at the edge of innovation. Edge computing is one of the most revolutionary developments transforming the technology landscape today. But what exactly is edge computing, and why is it such a big deal? Let’s dive into this fascinating topic to understand its significance and potential impact on our digital future. Read to continue

[starcrossedmusings]

Pretty Hands

Pairing: best friend!Yunho x f!reader WC: 3.2k Warnings: eventual smut, reader has a thing for Yunho's hands (who doesn't??), swearing, fingering, choking, a little bit of degradation (he compares her to a whore literally once), PRAISE so much praise, Yunho talks reader through it (you're welcome), pov is kinda all over the place just let it be, Yunho is absolutely WHIPPED for reader teehee, probably some other things that I missed (let me know)

Summary: You and Yunho have been friends for years, and you tell each other everything. He suddenly takes a much more vested interest in your love life when you can't stop mentioning your newest interest.

A/N: This is entirely self indulgent and also I just wanted to get something full posted. The Phantom fic is turning out to be much longer than I originally anticipated (and so did this one once I started writing it). Let me know what you think♡

Stepping into Yunho's apartment had always felt like coming home, and today was no exception. You take your shoes off in the tiled entryway and pad your way through the main living area, calling out to him as you walk.

"Yun? I'm here!"

His muffled response flows down from the end of the hall, "Bedroom!"

You make your way through the back hallway and enter his room, finding him exactly where you thought he would be, focused in on his computer. There's a selection of empty drink cans and snack wrappers scattered around his desk, which tells you that whatever he's currently building on Minecraft has probably occupied the majority of his day so far. He pauses the game and turns his chair to face you.

"Whats up?"

"Got bored at home and my roommate isn't even trying to muffle her pornstar moans for her new boy toy."

Yunho barks out a laugh, "Does she seriously sound--"

"Just like it Yun I can't make this shit up. I'm starting to think maybe they're recording themselves in there."

Yunho wiggles his eyebrows as he stretches his arms up and over his head, leaning back in his chair. "Well, if I ever see your living room on Pornhub I'll be sure to let you know"

You crinkle your nose. "Ew. I do NOT need to know that."

"Whatever, don't act like you haven't been talking to me for weeks about how horny you are. If I have to hear about your vibrator dying one more time I'm gonna buy you a new one myself."

"You try getting unintentionally edged three nights in a row with a full charge, it's some bullshit Yun. Besides, I'm allowed to complain about my dry spell."

Yunho scoffs, tone playful and lighthearted. "Dry spell? It's been what? Two months?"

"It's been three thank you very much." You move to sit on his bed.

"Well some of us haven't had sex in much longer."

"Oh, please, that girl that San was messing around with was all over you at his birthday party last month, don't tell me you didn't take that opportunity."

Yunho raises his eyebrows in shock, leaning forward in his chair. "Wait, really?"

"Oh my GOD Yun you are so oblivious. Yes really. She was all giggly and twirling her hair and shit. That's like...girl flirting basics."

"I am not oblivious, I am actually quite observant. I could tell you things about yourself you don't even know. I just have my sights set on someone and that someone is not her."

You shoot him an incredulous look and snort out a laugh, leaning back to lay down completely on his bed, legs dangling off the edge. "Sure Yun, whatever makes you feel better."

You hear Yunho stand from his chair and feel his weight shift onto the mattress. He appears in your vision, a challenging playful sparkle in his eyes as he peers down at you. "Okay, fine. I can tell that you're trying out a new perfume, you just went shopping because your leggings are a different brand than you usually wear, and I know that you washed your hair last night because you're wearing it all the way down today."

You do your best to ignore the way your stomach summersaults at his attention to detail about you and your routines. You roll onto your side and prop your head up on your elbow, matching his challenging gaze. "Okay Sherlock Holmes. What kind of underwear am I wearing then?"

Yunho pauses to consider before responding "a thong, probably black." You grin triumphantly and lean in just a bit closer.

"Wrong. I'm not wearing any. You lose!" You stick your tongue out playfully at him and he swats your shoulder, falling back onto his mattress.

"You set me up!"

"Face it Yun, I'm just better than you."

"Yeah yeah, whatever" Yunho pouts, voice hightening slightly from surprise. He can feel a slight redness creeping up his ears and prays his hair has grown long enough to cover it. 'I'm not wearing any.' He clears his throat. "So why go commando? You finally planning to seduce your new conquest?"

"He is not a new conquest, he doesn't even know I like him."

"He will once he knows you aren't wearing any underwear for him" Yunho jokes, smiling cheekily. You smack at his chest.

"I didn't want to do laundry last night, asshole. Get your mind out of the gutter!"

"You're one to talk" he mutters under his breath.

You sit up fully and reach for one of the pillows at the top of his bed, slamming it down on his face. "Jeong Yunho I swear to god!" On your second swing, he manages to catch the pillow with one hand and pry it from your grasp, but not before giving you an entirely unhelpful image of his long fingers gripping the plush material.

"What?? All I ever hear you talk about lately is how tall and handsome this dude is and how much his hands make you drool."

"You sound jealous."

"I'm not jealous, I'm pissed that I have to hear all about him and don't even get to know what the dude's name is."

"I told you, I'm gatekeeping this time. You run your mouth too much."

"I do not!"

"Do too."

"Ugh FINE whatever," Yunho chucks the pillow back towards you and you dodge it, leaving both pillows on one side of the headboard, "You're so agitating."

"You know you love me Yun. But just for the attitude," You adjust both pillows and shuffle your way back until you're leaned against both of them, "no pillow for you for tonights doomscrolling session."

He huffs a laugh and scoots up to meet you, pulling out his phone and settling in against the headboard.

An hour later you get up to go to the bathroom, and when you get back Yunho has stolen both of his pillows. You frown and cross your arms. "Hey, asshole, those were mine!"

"Yeah?" He taunts playfully, "Well they were mine to begin with, and my back is killing me. So deal." You roll your eyes and cross back over to the bed, crawling over the side you've been sitting on and curling yourself into Yunho's side to rest your head against his chest. You feel him tense slightly underneath you before he moves one of his arms around your shoulders to let you lay more comfortably.

"There's no way in hell I'm sitting up against that cold ass metal frame you call a headboard." You mutter as you begin scrolling. Yunho's chuckle rumbles through his chest and tickles your cheek. You both sit in silence for a while, content to scroll on your phones. Eventually, you turn to look up at him from his chest.

"I meant to ask how your new project has been going. Whatever you were building when I came in looked pretty intense." You can see the faint tinge of red trail up his ears and neck--a telltale sign that whatever you caught him building makes him embarrassed. You sit up, propping your weight on your elbow and placing a hand on his chest to shove him slightly. "Ooooo now you have to tell me what it is!"

"It's embarrassing..."

"Tell me tell me tell me tell me--"

"Okay fine, fuck. I'll tell you if you promise not to laugh--"

"I won't I swear!"

"Pinky promise?" He holds his pinky out to you, and you raise a hand from his chest. Before you can lace your pinky in his, he pulls his hand up above his head. "I'm serious, Y/N, if you laugh I'll have no choice but to tickle you to death."

He's definitely not stalling because he has to come up with a reply, because he certainly hasn't been building a treehouse for you in what he hopes will one day be a shared server. Yunho thinks to himself that he would rather die than let you find out.

You scoff, "I won't laugh...and even if I did I'm not ticklish so your threat is a moot point."

Yunho drops his hand down onto the mattress. "Bullshit."

"It's not. I don't have a ticklish bone in my body."

"Liar."

You shake your head, and Yunho takes the opportunity to gently press the pads of his fingers into the sides of your ribs. The sensation hits you almost immediately, and you feel the tight feeling in your chest as he begins tickling you. You squeal and thrash around in his grasp, trying desperately to get away from his assault.

"Yun stop it--"

"Not until you admit you're a liar!" You begin to giggle and manage to roll away from him, but Yunho is quick to follow. He swings a long leg over your hips and pins you beneath him, a single large hand trapping both of your wrists above your head while the other dances across your ribs. "Admit it," He sings out.

"Okay! Okay fine I'm a liar!" You gasp out between laughter. Yunho beams down at you and immediately stops tickling your sides, leaving you panting underneath him--

Oh fuck...you're panting underneath him.

He can almost feel the shift in the air as he stares down at you. He knows he should move, just roll off of you and make up some bullshit lie about what he was building. You like someone else, and he clearly wasn't getting out of the friend zone any time soon. He's just making a fool of himself...and yet he just can't bring himself to stop memorizing the way you look splayed out beneath his hips. Eventually he forces himself to stop staring at the way your chest rises and falls or the sliver of your tummy that's poking out from underneath your shirt that's riding up. He locks eyes with you.

Your voice comes out softer than he's ever heard you speak before. "Hey Yun?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that mystery guy I've been telling you about? The one with the pretty hands?"

A twinge of annoyance flairs in his stomach and he can't help but grumble out his reply. "Yeah?"

"I'll give you a hint. He's got me pinned to the mattress right now."

Yunho feels his heart drop deep into the pit of his stomach.

"Like...like right now he does?"

You laugh lightly. "Yeah, right now, Yun."

Yunho swallows thickly as his head starts spinning. He leans down much slower than he would have liked to, giving you plenty of time to take it back--to laugh at him and tell him you got him good. He feels like his whole body lights ablaze when you close the final gap between your lips, and suddenly he is kissing you.

In almost any circumstance that you had seen Yunho kissing someone, he was always fast-paced--hot and heavy petting in the corner of a darkened bar, dares in drunken party circles--which is why you were floored at the reverence he was kissing you with now. His mouth was steady and intense against yours, his hands roaming slowly across the expanse of your torso like he was memorizing the feel of something priceless. You gently pull your hands from his grasp and tangle them in his hair, pulling him closer and matching his intensity with your fervor. You feel his hands make their way to the lower hem of your shirt, and your skin erupts in goosebumps as you feel his fingers ghost along the sliver of skin there. He breaks the kiss and you feel his breath fan across your face as he pants. His hands gently make their way to rest just under your shirt, not quite pushing the fabric up. He locks eyes with you.

"Is this okay?"

You chuckle gently. "Yes, Yun, you can touch me. I want you to touch me." You watch his eyes darken and his hands start running up your torso, pulling your shirt up with them.

"Where do you want me to touch you, baby?"

You exhale heavily and arch your back into his touch. "Anywhere...everywhere...I don't care."

Yunho smirks and feels his ego inflate. "You don't care? Hmm..." He starts planting kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck. Slow. Teasing. "If I remember correctly, you seemed pretty keen about having my hands in some specific places baby. Can you refresh my memory?"

The low whine that escapes your throat nearly sends him spiraling. "You know where...don't make me say it."

He does know, but there's nothing he wants to hear more right now than to hear you say it. He brings one hand up to your chest, cupping one of your boobs and squeezing gently as he continues peppering your neck with kisses. "Was it here? Or..." His hand trails back down and grips your hip possessively, "Here, maybe?" He hears you huff and feels your hand wrap around his wrist. You try to tug it up, and he chuckles softly but allows you to move his hand. He nips your earlobe and asks lowly, "Where do you need my hands baby?" He feels his cock twitch in his sweats when you wrap his fingers around your throat, guiding him to squeeze the sides gently. Your hands run down his chest and drop to your sides as he squeezes a little harder. "Fuck, look at you. So pretty with my hand around your neck."

You whine and buck your hips up, desperately looking for friction. Yunho coos as he looks down at you, wanting to have the image burned into his memory. He adjusts his position so he's sat on one side of you and brings his free hand to your thighs, squeezing the flesh there and watching the way you spread your legs for him. "Pretty girl, I need you to use your words. Spreading your legs like a whore isn't gonna get you what you want." He revels in the way you throw your head back onto the mattress and close your eyes, frustration evident already on your face.

"Need your fingers, Yun. Please."

Holy shit, he could combust right then and there. He smiles and traces his hands along the inside of your clothed thighs. "Good girl. So polite for me." He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your leggings and pulls them down and off, leaving you bare from the waist down. "Sit up for me baby. I want you between my legs."

Yunho sits on the edge of the mattress and allows you time to sit up, moving to sit in between his thighs. He hooks your legs over his, leaving you spread and completely at his mercy. A shiver runs down your spine as the pads of his fingers run across your thighs and you gasp as they brush against your core. He presses kisses into your neck and chuckles, "You're already soaking wet, what's got you all bothered hmm? I've barely touched you..." Yunho hums and teases your entrance with this middle finger. He can feel you clenching. "Do you like my hands that much baby? All it takes is a little choking and you're putty for me." He pushes two fingers inside, pumping slowly and curling back to find your sweet spot. He feels pride flare through his chest at the noise you make, a mix between a whine and a moan that eggs him on.

Your toes curl as Yunho almost immediately finds your g-spot. The pace he sets is almost perfect, and when he begins rubbing tight circles on your clit your eyes roll back into your head. The pleasure is a building wave, and it's all you can do to keep yourself remotely still as he continues pumping his thick fingers in and out. "Oh my god, Yun, please don't stop!" You clench helplessly around his fingers and let your head roll back to rest on his shoulder.

"Awe baby I'm not gonna stop. Not until I see how pretty you look cumming all over me. Will you do that for me, sweetheart?" he coos, bringing his other hand back up to your throat and squeezing lightly. "Will you cum all over my fingers? I bet you want to right? Wanna come on my fingers while I squeeze this pretty neck of yours?"

You whine and preen at his words and arch your back. Your legs begin to shake as Yunho's circling on your clit quickens pace just slightly, the thrusts of his fingers audible from the squelching between your thighs. Your breath quickens.

"My pretty girl, you're such a mess for me, aren't you? Can you hear how wet you are? All soaked for me? I bet your hands don't feel as good as mine hmm?"

You shake your head no violently, whining as he continues to talk lowly into your ear. Your orgasm builds quickly, and at this point you have no faith in your ability to speak coherently.

"No, they don't do they? I want you to show me how good my hands feel baby. Let go for me, sweetheart."

Your breath catches in your throat as you tip over the edge, and the feeling of your release washes over you. Your whole body jolts in his grasp as he continues pumping his fingers. You feel him squeeze your throat gently, just enough pressure to remind you that he's got you.

"Atta girl, look at you! Doing so good for me." You whine and buck your hips, orgasm still riding through your body. Yunho nips at your neck lightly and slows his pumping to a stop as you continue to shake. "That's it baby, just grind on them for me." The final aftershock of your orgasm finishes, and you go limp in his arms, leaning all of your weight back into his chest and breathing heavily.

Yunho pulls his fingers out and admires the mess you made on them before popping them into his mouth. He's still rock hard, and the taste of you on his fingers makes him twitch again. He'll definitely need your help with that later. He uses the hand around your neck to brush a stray hair from out of your face. "How are you feeling?"

You huff out a breathless laugh and turn your face to nuzzle into his neck. "How do you think I feel? That was...wow."

He can't help the goofy smile that crosses his face. "Oh really? Tell me more, I'd like a full report." He jokes, pulling the two of you down to snuggle on his bed. He grabs a throw blanket from your side and pulls it over the two of you and nearly melts when you curl closer to him, burying your face into his chest.

"Give me a few minutes to recover and I'll show you exactly how I'm feeling right now." Yunho rubs a hand up and down your back.

"I look forward to that."

"And then afterwards you're going to show me what you've been building."

Yunho chuckles and kisses the top of your head. No way in hell.

[faultfalha]

Industries have long leveraged high performance computing to help solve complex challenges, but the technological landscape is constantly changing. In order to stay ahead of the competition, businesses must adopt the latest tools and technologies to solve their most pressing problems. One such tool is high performance computing, which can help companies achieve their goals quickly and efficiently. By using high performance computing in conjunction with other cutting-edge technologies, businesses can solve complex challenges and stay ahead of the curve.

[focusonkayjay]

stuck with you | masterlist

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: computer sci major/ shy/ nerdy! jungkook, econ major/ popular/ influencer! reader, college au, roommates au, roommates to lovers, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, angst, smut, fluff

Summary: Jungkook’s a hopeless romantic—emphasis on hopeless more than romantic. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he swore he heard bells chiming, like the angels from above were giving him a cosmic nudge. But he’s always been the awkward, nerdy guy—the one who blends into the background—while you? You felt like a dream way out of his league. Fate, however, had other plans and now, you’re his roommate and living with you—in all your effortless glory—is equal parts chaos and heaven. The only challenge? Keeping his ever-growing feelings in check. That is—until a cocky fuckboy with not-so-pure intentions sets his sights on you, and suddenly, just loving you from the sidelines might not be enough.

Series Word Count: (??)

Status: ongoing.

★ PLAYLIST ★ MOODBOARDS

Parts:

✿ one: close, but not too close ✿ two: it doesn't take much ✿ three: standing at the edge of a cliff ✿ four: just because why?

my masterlist <3

TAGLISTS CLOSED <333

series taglist: @jeontids @satisfied18 @ppeachyttae @star-candyian @jjkluver7 @lovingkoalaface @somisarchive @petalsofink @shellyyy177 @mirinaeii @iamstilljk @ahgasegotarmy116 @jungkooksmytype @luvvminwon @parkinglot-nights @isjwshaidsk @neurospicynugget @vicki1031 @imcamboaf @tatzzz-25 @fsdcande @loverletterfromme2u @wintaemoonjen @heyjiminnie @nbjch05 @primadonnasdream @toosweetforyall @smoljjks @jksusawife @whoa-jo @hyeinwluv85s @diptylkrtk @134340-kr @abbie1847 @sftlrmin @honeeybunneey @xx-untitled @kissyfacekoo @sky-23s-world @meigalaxy @xtrataerrestrial @jenniebyrubies @jaytheatiny @jkxlvrr (if you're not tagged, pls check ur settings)

permanent taglist: @rpwprpwprpwprw @kimyishin @somehowukook @allie-in-the-moon @nightappple @jksoftii @mimi1097 @yooforeaa @jkaxl @jinglthembalslikethat @puppybunnyjkay @jiijeon97 @ninisica @rerefundslocals @kgamboa11 @lizzikoo @madussthoughts @kelsyx33 @mafersame @yoonstaar @autumnbear @yuniesluv @kookxin @priyanshe @turn02 @kgamboa11 @minniejim @yamerulzky @winterarchives (if you’re not getting tagged, it’s probably because of the limit i’m so sorry !!)

[gf2bellamy]

Saw that you're still taking requests so I wanted to ask if you could write something with bau!reader and s4!spencer reid so she has a crush on him but he's kinda oblivious to it so he tries to help set her up with Morgan kinda like he did in that one delete scene from season 2 about him and emily but then he realizes he likes her after she goes on a date with Morgan so he has to sabotage all the wingmanning he’s done and they end up together 😭

date — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: mention of rats? a/n: thank you so much for your request !! <3 i actually had to look that scene up and omg ?? i wish they didn't delete it. its so funny and cute 😭 i hope you like this !! <33

You leaned casually against Derek’s desk, barely perched on the edge, the hard surface pressing into the back of your thighs. He sat comfortably in his chair, his usual charming grin firmly in place as he listened to you argue with him.

"Paris isn't that nice," you said with an exaggerated eye roll, your voice playful. "It's not as romantic as everyone says."

Derek raised an eyebrow, the teasing glint in his eyes unmistakable. "Are you serious? It's literally called the 'City of Love,' sweetheart. Who wouldn't want to go there?"

You leaned in slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at your lips. "Have you even heard about the rats?" Your eyebrow lifted in challenge, daring him to argue.

Derek chuckled, completely unfazed. "Rats? It’s a big city, babe. There are always rats. Doesn't change the fact that it's beautiful."

You snorted, crossing your arms as you pushed off his desk. "Yeah? You won’t be saying that when you're on a date and one runs up your leg." With a satisfied smile, you turned on your heel and walked back to your desk.

Spencer, seated nearby, glanced up just in time to catch the smile Derek threw your way. His fingers stilled on the page of the book he was flipping through,his eyes lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

Meanwhile, you stood beside your desk, staring at your empty coffee mug as a yawn escaped your lips. Rubbing your eyes, you stretched, feeling the slight ache in your muscles.

"Anyone want coffee?" you called out, glancing around at the three remaining people in the room.

Emily, still focused on her computer, glanced up briefly. “I’ll take one,” she said, offering you a small but warm smile.

The two men, however, were preoccupied with their own work. Derek didn’t even look up as he shook his head. “No thanks, sweetheart.”

Spencer, his eyes scanning over a case file, simply replied, “I’m good, thanks.”

You nodded, mentally noting their responses before turning on your heel and making your way toward the break room. The soft click of your shoes faded as you disappeared down the hall.

As soon as you were out of earshot, Spencer hesitated for a moment before shifting slightly in his chair, his gaze flicking toward Derek.

Derek, still absorbed in his files, felt the stare before he even looked up. With a smirk, he raised an eyebrow. “You got something to say, Reid, or are you just gonna keep staring?”

Spencer twirled his pen between his fingers, his expression unreadable as he carefully chose his words. "You smile a lot when you’re talking to her."

Derek’s grin faltered—just for a fraction of a second—before he leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest.

Emily, who had been absorbed in her work just moments ago, was now fully tuned into the conversation, grinning as she watched Derek’s eyebrows furrow at Spencer.

“So…?” Derek challenged, tilting his head slightly. "Are you saying I’m interested in her?" His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it—like he was daring Spencer to say it outright.

Spencer merely shrugged, his expression unreadable. "She was sitting at your desk. Which she does a lot," he pointed out, his tone matter-of-fact. "She also teases you more than anyone else. And when you talk to her, you lean in. You laugh more. Your body language is open, relaxed." He paused, adjusting his grip on the pen. "Statistically speaking, those are common indicators of attraction."

Derek let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head as he ran a hand over his jaw. "Damn, Dr.Reid. You been profiling me?"

Spencer blinked. "You profile me all the time," he countered without missing a beat.

Emily snickered under her breath, clearly enjoying the exchange. "He’s got a point," she teased, smirking at Derek.

Derek exhaled dramatically, throwing his hands up. "She’s funny, she’s smart, and yeah, she’s easy on the eyes. ," he admitted. "But that doesn’t mean anything." he added slowly.

Spencer tapped his pen against his desk before speaking. "You should ask her out on a date."

Derek raised his eyebrows, caught completely off guard. He let out a short laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "Wait, hold up—you are not seriously giving me dating advice right now." He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

Spencer merely shrugged, unfazed. "Why not?"

Derek scoffed. "Because you don’t date. You read about dating. That’s not the same thing." He gestured toward him. "I mean, I respect you, kid, but unless you’ve been secretly taking girls out and I just didn’t notice, I don’t know if you’re the best wingman for this conversation."

Spencer’s lips twitched like he might argue, but instead, he just tilted his head slightly, studying Derek. "That doesn’t mean I don’t understand attraction," he countered.

Derek shook his head, muttering under his breath, "Unbelievable."

Spencer, ignoring him, continued, "So why haven’t you asked her out?"

Derek exhaled, drumming his fingers against his desk. "I don’t know, man. She’s not just some girl you take out for drinks and flirt with at the bar. She’s…" He trailed off, searching for the right words. "She’s got depth. She’s got layers. And I don’t think she sees me as anything more than just… a friend."

Spencer considered that, his grip on his pen tightening slightly. "I think you underestimate yourself."

Before Derek could respond, Emily, who had been watching the exchange, let out an exaggerated sigh. "Wow, would you just go ask her out already?" She rolled her eyes. "I mean, it’s worth a try, don’t you think?"

Derek glanced at Spencer, who for once, didn’t have anything to add.

For the first time in a long time, Derek Morgan was actually thinking about it.

Before either of them could say anything else, the bullpen doors swung open, and you walked back in, two coffee cups in hand. Almost instantly, the air in the room shifted. Papers rustled, chairs creaked, and suddenly, both men were very focused on their work. Emily hid her smirk behind her coffee as you approached, handing her the second cup. 

You glanced between them, your brow furrowing slightly. It was too quiet. You settled into your chair and got back to work, unaware of the two pairs of eyes that flickered toward you in quiet contemplation. 

Derek tapped his pen against his desk, stealing glances at you every so often, as if weighing something in his mind. 

Spencer, on the other hand, didn’t look away as quickly. His fingers hovered over the pages of his case file, but he wasn’t reading anymore. Instead, he was studying the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the way your brows knitted together in concentration, the way you absentmindedly chewed on your lip while reviewing something on your screen. 

Emily, watching all of this unfold, took another sip of her coffee and shook her head. "Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath. 

Neither of them heard her.  

Two hours later, the team began packing up, the bullpen emptying as everyone prepared to head home. You stepped into the elevator, the long day weighing on you, and let out a sigh as you walked toward your car in the dimly lit parking lot. 

Just as you reached for your keys, a voice called out behind you. 

"Hey, I need to ask you something." 

You turned to see Derek approaching. Leaning against your car, you suppressed a yawn, giving him a small, tired smile. "Hurry up, or I’ll fall asleep right here," you teased, rubbing your eyes. 

Derek chuckled, but there was something different about his expression—something more serious beneath the usual charm. He hesitated for only a second before finally saying, "How about dinner? Just you and me." 

For a moment, you just stared at him, surprised. You hadn’t expected this—not from Derek. Sure, he flirted with you, but he flirted with everyone. This was unexpected. 

Your instinct was to hesitate, to sort through the sudden rush of emotions that flooded your mind. But before you could respond, movement near the entrance of the building caught your attention. 

Spencer. 

He stepped outside, his bag slung over his shoulder. His gaze landed on you, and for a brief second, the two of you locked eyes. His expression was unreadable at first, but then—softly, almost hesitantly—he smiled. 

And then he kept walking. 

You felt your stomach twist. 

Spencer. He was the one who had been lingering in your thoughts, the one whose voice you found yourself seeking out, the one who made your heart race in ways you didn’t fully understand. But despite everything, nothing had ever happened. 

Maybe nothing ever would. 

Maybe Derek was right there, right now, offering you something tangible. 

So before you could overthink it, you looked back at Derek, forcing a small smile. "Sure," you said. 

Derek’s grin widened, as if he hadn’t considered the possibility that you might actually say yes. "Alright, then. Tomorrow?" 

"Tomorrow," you confirmed, even as your eyes flickered, just for a second, toward Spencer’s retreating figure. 

Two days later, you rushed through the doors of the BAU, the cool morning air still clinging to your skin as you made your way toward the elevators. A warm coffee sat snug in your hands. 

As you stood waiting, you heard footsteps—familiar ones. Ones you could recognize anywhere. 

"Good morning," Spencer’s voice came softly beside you. 

You turned to see him standing there, clutching the strap of his bag, his own coffee in hand. 

"Morning, Spencer," you said, offering him a small smile. 

The two of you stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the only sound the faint hum of the building waking up around you. Then, Spencer shifted slightly, glancing at you. 

"How was your day yesterday?" he asked, taking a sip of his coffee. 

You were a profiler. You knew exactly what he was really asking. 

"Derek told you about the date," you said simply, watching him carefully. 

Spencer’s lips quirked up in a small, slightly embarrassed smile, his gaze flickering to the elevator doors just as they slid open.

He didn’t deny it. 

You stepped inside together. You exhaled softly, pressing the button for your floor before finally answering. 

"It was nice," you said, keeping your tone light. 

It wasn’t a lie. Derek had been charming, attentive, and easy to talk to. The evening had been pleasant. But that was all it was. Nice. 

You and Derek had come to the same conclusion: you were better off as friends. 

The entire date had felt more like two friends hanging out than anything remotely romantic. Somewhere around the halfway mark, you'd both silently agreed on it. And after that, the night had been easy—filled with laughter and inside jokes, but nothing more. 

You were relieved, honestly. Because deep down, you knew your heart had never really been in it. 

Not when it still raced just from standing next to Spencer. 

"That's good," Spencer said, nodding slightly. His smile was soft, polite—maybe even a little forced—but you didn't let yourself dwell on it. 

The elevator doors slid open, and as you stepped forward, you felt his eyes linger on you for just a second longer than necessary before he followed behind. 

The bullpen was already alive with the usual morning energy—phones ringing and papers shuffling. Derek glanced up from his desk, catching your eye. He gave you a knowing grin, one that said, We’re good, right? 

You returned it with an easy smile. Yeah, we’re good. 

Emily flicked her gaze between you and Spencer as you both walked in. She arched an eyebrow but said nothing, instead sipping her coffee with an amused smirk. 

You were having a normal, uneventful day at work. But the man sitting across from you? He was having anything but. 

Spencer’s mind hadn’t been able to settle since that brief moment in the elevator. The words you had said—simple, casual—had been looping in his head on an endless repeat. 

"It was nice." 

That was all. No excitement, no details, no hint of anything deeper. 

But what did that mean? Were you and Derek together now? Had he taken you to some dimly lit restaurant with expensive food and soft music? Had he-

Spencer clenched his jaw and forced himself to stop spiraling. He knew where this was leading.

He didn’t want to think about it anymore. But it was impossible not to. The truth was starting to settle like a heavy weight in his chest, and as much as he tried to shove it down, it refused to stay buried.

He wanted to be the one in Derek’s position. 

And as he sat there, gripping his pen a little too tightly, he realized just how badly he wanted that. 

His eyes flickered up, drawn to the sound of your laugh—light, effortless, the kind of sound he could pick out in a crowded room. You were standing next to Derek’s desk, handing him a file as you chuckled at something he’d said. Derek grinned, throwing a comment back at you, easy as always. 

Spencer swallowed hard, his throat dry. His stomach twisted with an emotion he couldn’t quite put a name to—not until now. He had read about this before, studied it in textbooks and papers, knowing the psychology behind it, the theories that tried to explain why emotions sometimes crept up on you when you least expected them. Why your heart could flip at the smallest touch, or your mind could spiral at the thought of someone you cared about turning their attention to someone else.

He could list a dozen different theories—explain this away with biology, with brain chemistry. He could tell himself that this was just a byproduct of human connection.

But none of that mattered. Because no amount of rationalizing, no number of facts, no cold, clinical analysis of his brain could change the truth.

This wasn’t just some passing feeling.

He was jealous.

And the realization hit him like a freight train. Because the truth was, he wasn’t just jealous.

Spencer Reid was in love with you.

And now? 

Now it seemed like it was too late to do anything. 

Because as much as he wanted to be the one taking you on dates and laughing with you the next day, he wasn’t. 

Derek was. 

And Spencer had no one to blame for that but himself. 

You, meanwhile, were oblivious to his internal struggle. Your caffeine addiction had long since become a well-known part of your routine. Without even thinking, you moved toward the break room, your body acting on autopilot as you reached for another cup of coffee—was it your third or fourth today? You couldn’t even keep track anymore.

Spencer, still seated at his desk, saw his moment.

He grabbed his own mug and, without thinking too much about it, followed you. 

As he stepped inside the break room, he saw you standing at the coffee machine, waiting for the dark liquid to fill your cup. 

"Work is killing me," you muttered, not even turning around as you sensed his presence. 

Spencer let out a small breath of amusement. "I can help you if you want," he offered, setting his mug down on the counter beside you. 

You finally glanced up at him, your lips curling into a soft smile. "No, that’s fine, Spencer. But thank you." 

You turned back to your coffee, but you weren’t as focused on it as you pretended to be. Your heart was doing that stupid thing again — pounding a little too fast, your pulse betraying you. 

You didn’t know that his was doing the same. 

Spencer watched as you took a small step back, your hands wrapped around your coffee mug, while he moved forward to place his own under the machine. The steady drip of coffee filled the silence between you. 

Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled from his lips. 

“Did Derek take you to that restaurant on Osborn Street ?” 

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Yeah, he did,” you said slowly, tilting your head as you studied him. “Why?” 

The moment the question left your mouth, Spencer felt warmth creeping up his neck. Embarrassment? Frustration? He wasn’t sure. 

He clenched his jaw slightly, his fingers tightening around the edge of the counter as another sentence—one he barely had time to think through—slipped past his lips. 

“He usually takes his dates there.” As soon as he said it, he bit his tongue, regretting it instantly. 

Why would he say that? 

It sounded… wrong. Like he was implying you were just another name on a list for Derek. And if you were dating, wouldn’t that make you upset? Shouldn’t he be worried that you’d storm off and confront Derek about it? 

But then another thought crept in—one that he wasn’t sure he wanted to acknowledge. 

Would it really be such a bad thing if you did get mad at Derek? 

While Spencer spiraled through a hundred different scenarios in his head, you were left staring at him, your coffee now sitting untouched on the counter. 

Mouth slightly agape, you processed what he had just said. 

You weren’t mad. Not at all. 

You just hadn’t expected Spencer Reid—the careful, logical, always-thinks-before-he-speaks Spencer—to say something so… passive-aggressive. 

The grin that was forming on your face was hard to suppress, but you were failing miserably. The little twitch at the corners of your lips was telling on you. 

Spencer wasn’t looking at you to notice it. Instead, he was focused on his mug, holding it in his hands like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. 

"Spencer," you said, your voice a little lighter as you tilted your head at him. 

Spencer glanced at you from the side, his expression a mix of embarrassment and nervousness. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound like that, I—" 

But you cut him off, giving him a soft smile. "Me and Derek are just friends," you said. 

Spencer froze, his head whipping toward you so fast that you actually flinched, worried he might give himself whiplash. "What? But you went on a date—" His voice trailed off, his confusion evident. 

"Yeah," you said with a casual shrug, "and we decided we were better off as friends." 

As the words left your mouth, a surge of hope filled your chest. Hope that maybe, just maybe, Spencer's earlier remark had been born from jealousy.

Because it sure seemed like it. 

Spencer’s lips quirked upward, a soft but genuine smile spreading across his face. "Oh, I’m sorry," he said, but there was no real apology in his tone. It was teasing, lighthearted—almost as if he had been waiting for you to say those words. 

You couldn’t help it. A grin spread across your face, matching his. 

"Yeah, sure you are," you replied, picking up your own coffee mug and taking a sip, feeling the warmth of the drink seep through your hands. 

Spencer mirrored you, lifting his mug to his lips, though his eyes stayed on you a little longer than necessary.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Spencer’s gaze lingered on you as you set your coffee down, his eyes searching yours for a hint of what you were thinking. 

And then, without even thinking, his words tumbled out. “You know,” he began, his voice quieter this time, "I wasn’t asking about Derek because I was just curious." 

You glanced at him, feeling the beat of your heart quicken. Was he about to say what you thought he was? 

Spencer ran a hand through his hair, looking slightly flustered, his eyes not meeting yours now. “I mean, I—uh—just wanted to know because…” He trailed off, swallowing, his words uncertain but his intentions clear. 

You raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly, your voice teasing but gentle. "Because…?" You waited, your breath caught in your throat as you watched him, waiting for him to finish his thought. 

Spencer took a deep breath. “I don’t know what it is about you, but every time I’m around you, I just—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. “You make everything feel different. I’ve never really felt this way before, not like this." He laughed nervously. "And I know this probably sounds insane, but I think I might like you. A lot." 

Your heart fluttered in your chest, and for a moment, you were speechless.You took a step closer, your hand gently resting on the counter between you two. “Spencer,” you said softly, your voice warm. "I think I like you too. A lot." 

His face broke into a relieved smile.“So, uh, does this mean…?” He hesitated, but there was a glimmer of hope in his expression. 

You smiled at him, your eyes glinting with something playful and genuine. “I think it means you owe me a real date,” you teased, your heart pounding in your chest. 

Spencer blinked, his eyes widening slightly before a soft, almost bashful grin spread across his face. “A… date?” he echoed, as though he were processing the word for the first time, his voice a little quieter than usual. “Uh, I mean… yeah. I can, um, I can do that.” He shifted his weight nervously, stepping closer with a gentle hesitation. “Maybe...maybe dinner this weekend? If that’s okay?”

You nodded, your excitement rising with each word he said. “That sounds perfect.”

[melodyreads]

Hamzah x Manager(Reader)

Summary: Y/n is the manager for Slushy Noobz. She loves being apart of such an entertaining team. Being the manager came with a lot of responsibility. However, she was finding it hard to stay professional when Hamzah was around.

a/n: i hope this concept reaches the corporate baddies, enjoy <3

—-

The room buzzed with focused energy as everyone prepped for Hamzah and Martin’s big boxing match. Y/n stood at the edge of the practice room, clipboard in hand, eyes fixed on the monitor as she tracked every play with precision. Managing Slushy Noobz with their growing and dedicated fanbase was both a privilege and a challenge—one of those challenges being the guy currently making a beeline straight for her.

Hamzah.

She exhaled sharply, looking away and pretending to be engrossed in her notes. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go bother someone else.

No such luck.

“You look stressed,” Hamzah said as he stopped next to her, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. “That’s probably because you know the viewers are gonna be bored after I sweep this match.”

Y/n sighed, giving him a side glance. “Or because I know you and Martin are going to be running around bald soon," you said shaking your head, "there goes your TikTok edits.

Hamzah smirked. “That too.”

She had to bite back a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leaned slightly against the desk, glancing at her clipboard. “You actually writing useful stuff, or just pretending to look busy so no one bothers you?”

She huffed. “I don’t pretend to work—I actually do my job.”

He knew this, he just liked to push your buttons.

“Good for you.” He nodded approvingly. “That’s one of us.”

Y/n finally looking up at him. “You’re impossible.”

Hamzah grinned, then tilted his head slightly. “By the way, you've been acting real serious whenever I’m around recently. What’s up with that?”

He was onto her. This wasn't entirely untrue, Y/n had slowly started avoiding Hamzah as her feelings became harder to ignore. This made her feel slightly guilty, but it was the measures she had to take to keep her job.

“Because I have responsibilities?” she shot back while keeping her eyes fixated on the computer in front of her.

He made a face. “Yeah, yeah. Or maybe you just don’t know how to act around me.”

Your eyes finally met his as your mouth opened—then closed. He said it so casually like he was commenting on the weather.

"He's just joking", you told yourself

His dark humourous eyes bore into yours as he patiently waited for a response. Before she could formulate a response, Martin called out, “Yo, Y/n! Can you come over here for a sec!”

Y/n took the escape without hesitation. “Duty calls,” she muttered, turning on her heel.

Hamzah watched her get up before he called after her. “Miss you already!”

As she ignored him, she couldn't help but replay that last comment over and over again in her head.

"Or maybe you just don’t know how to act around me."

She didn’t need to dignify that with a response. Mostly because he wasn’t wrong.

---

That evening, you were finishing up an email to a potential sponsor. (There were hundreds of them.) Y/n had just clicked send when Hamzah dropped into the seat next to her.

“So,” he said, resting his elbow on the table. “You avoid me all day just to end up being the last one here. Interesting.”

She groaned. “I did not avoid you.”

“You literally left mid-conversation.”

“Because I had work to do!”

He took a slow sip of his protein shake, eyeing her over the rim. “Uh-huh.”

She scowled. “Not everything is about you, Hamzah.”

“Big talk, considering I’m basically the headliner of this team.”

Y/n let out an exasperated laugh. “You’re insufferable.”

He grinned. “And yet, your working for me.”

She rolled her eyes, focusing on her computer, but Hamzah’s voice cut through again—quieter this time.

“For real, though,” he said, “I mess with you a lot, but you know I actually mean it when I say you’re good at what you do, right?”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “…Thanks?”

“Don’t get weird about it.” He went back to scrolling on his phone like he hadn’t just said something out of character.

She shook her head, smiling despite herself.

Hamzah might be blunt. He might be insufferable.

But damn it, he was also kind of impossible to ignore.

---

a/n: part two?

[bat-mom-writer]

Flirting with Fortune

Reader(wife) X Bruce Wayne(Husband)

Summery: You're not only the wife to billionaire Bruce Wayne, but you are also his secretary. And as you are not public with your married or your position in his company, sometimes you will get flirted with. Like when a suspicious business man comes in, flirting with you and trying to get Bruce to invest with some questionable business.

Rating: flirty man, you showing him up, Bruce being a loving husband

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Well, hello there, beautiful," purred a voice with the confidence of a man who was used to getting his way.

You glanced up from the paperwork sprawled across the sleek mahogany desk, a silent guardian to the secrets of Gotham's shadowy protector. The man before you had a smile as charming as a snake and eyes that swept over the room with the same ease as a hawk surveying its prey. He was tall, dressed in a tailored suit that screamed wealth and power, with a crisp white shirt and a tie that shimmered with the subtle hues of a peacock's feathers. His hair was a shade of brown that whispered of nightfall and styled with a precision that suggested he had more time on his hands than most.

"Can I help you with something, sir?" you asked, keeping your voice cool and professional, despite the irritation bubbling beneath the surface.

The man's smile widened, revealing a set of gleaming teeth. "Ah, you must be Mrs. Wayne's assistant," he said, his gaze lingering a fraction too long. "I have an appointment with Mr. Wayne. Name's Castellanos. Sebastian Castellanos."

You tapped a few keys on the computer, watching the screen flicker to life with the day's schedule. "Let me see," you murmured, scanning the appointments.

"It's at 2:00, sweetheart," Castellanos said, his tone dripping with condescension.

You bit back a sharp retort, locating the appointment on the screen. Sure enough, there it was: Sebastian Castellanos, 2:00 PM. You took the moment to compose yourself, feeling a peculiar mix of annoyance and amusement at the man's blatant flirtation. It wasn't uncommon for people to overlook the significance of your role in the company, but rarely did they do it so overtly.

"You're right on time, Mr. Castellanos," you said with a polite smile, standing up and gesturing towards the door that led to Bruce's inner office. "If you'd follow me, please."

As you led him down the hallway, you couldn't help but feel his eyes on you, a sensation as unwelcome as a cold breeze on a summer's day. The tension grew as you approached the heavy oak door, the silent sentinel that guarded Bruce's sanctum. You paused for a moment, your hand hovering over the brass knob, and took a deep breath. This was your territory, and you had every right to be here. With a firm grip, you pushed the door open, revealing the dimly lit room beyond.

Bruce looked up from his paperwork, the shadows playing across his chiseled features. He was dressed in a simple, yet impeccable, suit, a stark contrast to Castellanos' flashy attire. His eyes met yours for a brief moment, before looking to the newcomer with a measured gaze.

"Welcome, Mr. Castellanos," Bruce said, his voice a calm rumble that seemed to fill the room. "Please, take a seat."

As Castellanos settled into the chair opposite Bruce's desk, you couldn't resist the urge to assert yourself. With a grace that belied the steely resolve within, you moved to the desk, placing one hand on its polished surface. It was a silent claim to your place beside the man you loved, a reminder that you were not just a pretty face or an object to be ogled. You hopped up, crossing your legs as you perched on the edge of the desk, your posture casual yet commanding.

The room grew a few degrees cooler as Bruce's eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking briefly to Castellanos before returning to you. He knew you well enough to recognize the subtle shift in your demeanor, the unspoken challenge you offered to the man before him.

"Well, Mr. Castellanos," you began, your voice as smooth as silk, "What brings you to Wayne Enterprises today?"

Surprise flashed across Castellanos' face, his eyes widening slightly at your sudden proximity and assertive tone. It was clear he hadn't expected you to be more than a pretty accessory to the office decor. He cleared his throat, adjusting his posture to match your own.

"Ah, yes, I'm here to discuss a potential investment opportunity with Mr. Wayne," he said, his voice a shade less confident than before.

Bruce leaned back on his chair, his hand coming to rest lightly on your thigh. "Pray tell, what kind of opportunity are we speaking of?" he inquired, his tone polite but firm.

Castellanos took a moment to collect himself, his eyes darting between you and Bruce. "It's a… a new technology," he stumbled, recovering quickly. "A revolutionary energy source, something that could change the world for the better."

You felt a smirk tug at the corner of your mouth. "How intriguing," you said, leaning in slightly. "But surely you know that Wayne Enterprises is quite selective with its investments. We have a responsibility to our shareholders, and the planet, to choose projects that are both profitable and sustainable."

Castellanos' smile faltered, his eyes flickering to the hand on your thigh before he regained his composure. "Of course," he replied, his voice a touch too eager. "Our company, Castellanos Industries, has been working on this project for years. It's a clean, unlimited energy source that could replace fossil fuels entirely."

Bruce's interest piqued, he leaned forward. "Go on," he urged, his hand still a steady presence on your leg.

Castellanos took the cue, launching into a well-rehearsed pitch about his company's innovative technology. As he spoke, you studied his face, looking for any sign of deceit or hidden motives. There was something about the way his eyes glinted when they met yours that set your instincts on edge.

"It's called the 'Castellanos Engine,'" Castellanos said, his voice taking on a salesman's lilt. "It's a quantum-based energy converter that can produce power without waste or pollution."

You watched Bruce's face as he listened, his expression inscrutable. You knew he was processing the information, weighing the potential against the risks. Meanwhile, Castellanos' eyes kept straying to you, as if you were the real prize in the room. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, focusing instead on the subtle tension in Bruce's fingers against your skin.

As Castellanos spoke of the engine's capabilities, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of doubt. The technology sounded too good to be true, and Bruce's skepticism was palpable. "Fascinating," he said, his voice a low murmur. "But surely there are competitors with similar ideas?"

Castellanos' smile grew predatory. "That's where the chaos comes in, Mr. Wayne," he said, his gaze lingering on you for a beat too long. "We need to eliminate the competition. It's just good business, after all."

Bruce's grip on your leg tightened, his eyes narrowing slightly. "And what, exactly, does that entail?" he asked, his tone now as sharp as a scalpel.

Castellanos leaned back in his chair, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Well, it would involve… let's just say, a strategic realignment of the market," he replied, his words slipping out like a serpent's hiss. "Ensuring that our product is the only one that reaches the masses."

Bruce's grip on your leg tightened further, a silent signal that he had caught the underlying threat in Castellanos' words. "And what happens to the companies that don't align with your 'strategy'?"

Castellanos chuckled, a sound devoid of humor. "They're free to pursue their own ventures, of course," he said, his eyes gleaming with something darker than simple business ambition. "But I'd wager that without the resources or backing, their innovations won't get very far."

You felt your own anger simmering beneath the surface, but you kept your face neutral. "I see," you said, your voice cool and measured. "And what makes you think that Wayne Enterprises would be interested in… facilitating such a 'realignment'?"

"Well, Ms…" he trails off, his smug smile slipping as he searches for your name.

"Wayne," you correct him, your voice firm yet pleasant. "Mrs. Wayne."

The color drained from Castellanos' cheeks as the reality of his faux pas dawned on him. "Ah, Mrs. Wayne." he repeated, his eyes widening slightly. "Forgive me, I had no idea."

You stood, Bruce's hand slipping from your thigh as you come to stand beside Bruce, your hand resting on the back of his chair in a show of unity. "No need to apologize," you said with a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "But let's get back to the matter at hand. You're asking for a significant investment from Wayne Enterprises. Can you assure us that your methods are ethical and legal?"

Castellanos nervously chuckled, his eyes darting between you and Bruce. "Well, Mrs. Wayne, in the world of high-stakes business, one must occasionally bend the rules," he replied, his smile never wavering. "But rest assured, everything will be above board. We just need a… nudge in the right direction."

Bruce's eyes hardened, and he pushed his chair back, the sound echoing through the tense silence. "We'll, I think we have everything we need, Mr. Castellanos," he said, his voice a polite dismissal. He rose from his seat, his hand outstretched.

Castellanos looked at the hand offered to him, his expression a mix of confusion and surprise. He took it, shaking it firmly, unsure of what had just transpired. "But, Mr. Wayne, the presentation, the details…" he stuttered, his words trailing off as he realized the meeting was coming to an abrupt end.

Bruce's smile was polite, but there was an edge to it that was as sharp as a sharpened knife. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Castellanos. We'll be in touch if we're interested in pursuing your… proposal," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Castellanos nodded, his bravado visibly deflated. "Of course," he managed, his hand lingering in Bruce's for a beat too long before withdrawing it. "I look forward to hearing from you."

"This way, Mr. Castellanos," you said, your smile as sharp as a blade as you turned on your heel and headed back towards the door. Your movements were graceful, almost predatory, as you guided him out of the office, your hand lightly touching the small of his back to steer him in the right direction.

While Mr. Castellanos was still trying to get a hold of himself, you couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the way he stumbled over his own words. He had underestimated you, and now he knew better. You felt Bruce's eyes on you, watching with a mix of pride and amusement. The air was thick with the scent of power and the promise of a challenge.

"I trust you know your way out," you said, starting to close the door to Bruce's office. Your voice was as cool and smooth as the marble floors beneath your heels. Castellanos' eyes widened even further, realizing his mistake in assuming you were just an assistant. He nodded, his cheeks reddening as he turned to leave.

Once the door was shut, you leaned against it, letting out a sigh. "Cocky little weasel," you murmured under your breath.

Bruce chuckled, his deep laugh resonating through the room. "I'd say you handled that quite well," he said, walking over to where you stood. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his chest, your heart beating a tattoo against his.

"Thank you," you murmured, a smile playing at the corners of your lips as you leaned into his embrace. "It's not every day someone tries to flirt with me while asking for millions of dollars."

Bruce chuckled, his breath warm against your neck. "He won't be making that mistake again," he said, his voice a low rumble of amusement. "But I'll have to keep an eye on him and any… illegitimate dealings he might have."

You nodded, feeling the tension in his arms. "Do you think he's dangerous?"

Bruce's grip tightened briefly. "More dangerous than he lets on," he murmured, his gaze drifting to the now-closed door. "But we've seen worse. But I think right now," he turned you to face him, his eyes searching yours, "we just forget about Mr. Castellanos and his 'engine'. Let's talk about something more… pleasant."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his touch, the tension of the encounter with Castellanos already fading away. You stepped into his embrace, your arms looping around his neck. "What did you have in mind?"

Bruce's smile grew, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "How about a surprise?"

Your heart skipped a beat at the prospect. "Surprise?"

Bruce leaned closer, his breath a warm whisper against your ear. "I thought we could take a little trip tonight," he said, his voice a tantalizing rumble. "Just you, me, and a private jet to an undisclosed location. Somewhere we can… unwind."

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. "Unwind?" you repeated, a smile playing on your lips. "My husband, Bruce Wayne, wants to unwind? Who are you and what have you done to the Dark Knight?"

Bruce chuckled, the sound resonating in his chest as he held you closer. "Even a knight needs to put down his sword sometimes," he whispered, his thumb tracing circles on the bare skin of your wrist. "And I can think of no one better to do it with than my queen."

You chuckle as his words tickle your ear, feeling the warmth of his breath and the steady beat of his heart. "Well, as much as I would love to jet off to some secret location with you, Bruce," you say, turning in his arms to look up at him with a playful smile, "I think staying home, relaxing for the night with a movie and a pizza is all I need."

His eyes light up with a hint of amusement. "A pizza?" he repeats, raising an eyebrow. "Is that all it takes to keep you happy?"

You grin up at him, feeling a flutter in your stomach. "Well, when you say it like that, it does sound a bit… pedestrian. But yes, a pizza. One that's not made by Alfred. I miss the simplicity of takeout, you know?"

Bruce's smile softens, his eyes warming at your words. "Then it's settled," he says, releasing you from his embrace but keeping a firm grip on your hand. "The best pizza money can buy."

You laugh, feeling a sense of relief at the idea of a quiet evening together. "The best pizza money can buy, huh?" you tease, tugging gently at his hand. "I'd settle for the greasy kind we used to get when we were first dating."

Bruce leans down, his eyes searching yours. His gaze is intense, a silent promise of a night without masks or battles. He brushes his lips against your forehead in a soft, lingering kiss that feels as warm as the sun on a spring afternoon. "I'll make it happen," he whispers, a gentle smile on his lips.

[goofygubegubler]

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 [𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟏]

➤ [Good Graces] ➤ [Ending 2 – Fluff]

wc: 4.3k |F!Reader (Intern) x Spencer Reid (BAU) | cw: rough sex, semi-public setting, dominance/submission dynamics, overstimulation, consensual power play, possessiveness, hair-pulling, praise kink, degradation kink (use of “slut”), multiple orgasms, post-argument sexual tension, emotionally charged encounter, breath play (light), unprotected sex, workplace intimacy, reader is bratty/submissive.

Spencer pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, "Shut up, for once."

You would’ve argued. You really would have. But then he kissed you again, and suddenly, there was nothing left to say.

When he finally released you, his breath was ragged, his eyes darker than you’d ever seen them. The way he looked at you wasn’t calculating or hesitant. It was raw, irritated, charged with something so deeply frustrated you almost felt it buzzing against your skin.

His fingers still gripped your arms, grounding you. Or maybe grounding himself. “Do you have any idea,” he exhaled sharply through his nose, “how incredibly frustrating it is to like someone who is so—” he broke off, shaking his head. “You challenge me at every turn. You never listen. You push every single one of my buttons just to see how I’ll react. And worst of all, you enjoy it.”

Your lips parted, words balancing on the edge of your tongue, but Spencer’s fingers flexed against your arms. His control was hanging by a thread, and for the first time, you weren’t sure you wanted to cut it.

“You think it’s cute,” he muttered, almost to himself, “the way you mouth off, the way you get under my skin.” His head tilted slightly, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. “But you don’t get it, do you?”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, fingers twitching at your sides, but you held your ground. “Get what?”

Spencer exhaled sharply, then, with a slow deliberation that sent heat curling low in your stomach, he released your arms. He smoothed his hands down the front of his cardigan, as if reminding himself of who he was, of who you expected him to be. Then, just as quickly, he shattered that expectation with one command:

“Get on your knees.”

You blinked. For a second, your brain didn’t even register the words correctly, and you didn’t fully compute that they had come from Spencer Reid of all people. The Spencer who buttoned his cardigans to the top. Who corrected people’s grammar mid-sentence? Who didn’t swear unless he was in the middle of a breakdown?

Your breath hitched. “Spencer,” you hissed, glancing toward the corners of the ancient file room, “we’re in a federal building. There could be cameras—”

“There aren’t.” His voice was steady, sure. “This room hasn’t been updated in decades. The Bureau’s too preoccupied with budget allocations to install surveillance in a storage closet no one uses.”

Your stomach flipped, heat crawling up your spine. "Still," you tried, but the protest was weaker now. "Anyone could walk in."

Spencer took a single step forward, closing the space you had barely noticed existed between you. His fingers traced up your arm, barely a touch, but it made your breath stutter. His lips curled, amused but still threaded with that same irritation that had been burning in his gaze since he first kissed you.

The lock had clicked minutes ago. There was no getting out until someone let you. The reality of it hovered, unspoken, thickening the air between you.

"I don’t think you understand," Spencer said, voice dangerously smooth, "how many times I’ve thought about shutting you up like this."

Your mouth went dry. Your pulse pounded.

Before you could even think of another excuse, another reason why this shouldn’t—couldn’t—be happening, your knees buckled. And then you were sinking, breathless, onto the cold tile floor.

Spencer watched you the whole way down, his control hanging by a thread, and for the first time, you wanted to pull it loose.

Spencer watched you the whole way down, his control hanging by a thread, and for the first time, you wanted to pull it loose.

You inhaled sharply, staring up at him, the weight of his command pressing down on you like a tangible force. He was still breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in erratic bursts, but his hands? Steady. Measured. One of them reached out, fingers tilting your chin up so your wide, disbelieving eyes met his.

“Spencer,” you whispered, already knowing exactly what he wanted from you. But why give in so easily when pushing his buttons got you here in the first place? You blinked up at him, feigning innocence. “I mean… what do you even want me to do down here?”

His grip on your chin tightened. Just a fraction. Just enough to make your breath catch. His jaw clenched like he was wrestling with himself, with whatever was unraveling inside him. “Don’t e—” he cut himself off with a sharp inhale, eyes flickering with something wicked. And then he smiled. That smug, cheeky, infuriating smile you hated so much.

“Just unbuckle my pants, slut.”

Your breath hitched. Spencer Walter Reid just called you a slut.

Your stomach flipped, your core tightening at the sheer filthiness of it coming from him. It was shocking in the best way, the most exhilarating way, and the way his voice dipped into something almost guttural made you shudder.

Your hands moved, slow and testing, trailing up his legs before settling at his belt. The touch made him shiver—actually shiver—and you filed that knowledge away before pulling at the buckle. The clink of metal breaking apart in the silence sent heat rushing through you, and you took note of the happy little trail of curls leading below his waistband. You grinned, dragging your hands from his hips down to hook into his slacks, deliberately slow as you slid them lower.

“Don’t tease me,” Spencer exhaled sharply, his patience thinning as he kicked his pants off completely, his shoes following soon after.

You smirked up at him. “Come on, it’s not fair if you have all the fun.”

He ignored your taunt, already yanking off his jacket, then his tie, the buttons of his shirt slipping free in quick succession. It was so unlike him—so rushed, so desperate—that you could only stare as layer after layer was discarded until he stood bare before you.

Your brain short-circuited.

Spencer Reid was hiding that? That monstrous cock attached to his lanky, cardigan-wearing, statistical-fact-spewing body?

“Spencer,” you breathed, voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes darted up to his in pure shock.

His brows furrowed. “What?” Then, as if realizing, he let out a low chuckle.“Oh. Right. Did you know only 3.9% of men are actually above seven inches? That puts me in a statistically rare category. Now open that mouth back up.”

Before you could so much as process another thought, Spencer’s hands tangled in your hair, tugging your head back as he thrust forward, the blunt tip of his cock pressing against your parted lips. The sound that left you was borderline obscene, but it was drowned out by the deep groan Spencer let loose as he finally—finally—felt your mouth around him.

You barely had time to adjust before he pushed deeper, his fingers tightening in your hair, keeping you exactly where he wanted. He was relentless, hips snapping forward in controlled, measured thrusts, just enough to make you gag without giving you the chance to pull away. Spencer was watching you, his hazel eyes blown dark with something dangerously possessive, and the sight alone had heat pooling low in your stomach.

“You dirty whore,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice rougher than you’d ever heard it. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to see you like this?” He let out a strangled groan, his rhythm faltering for half a second before he forced himself back into control. “Teary-eyed, those pretty lips stretched around my cock, looking up at me like you were made for this.”

Your nails dug into his skin as his thrusts stuttered. He was close. You could feel the way his cock twitched against your tongue, the way his breath hitched, but still, he didn’t let up. Not until he had exactly what he wanted.

“Fuck—just like that, don’t stop.” His voice was hoarse, wrecked, his fingers flexing in your hair as his hips snapped forward one last time. He groaned low and deep, his release spilling hot down your throat in thick, pulsing waves. The muscles in his abdomen trembled, his body shuddering as he rode it out, drawing in ragged breaths between each aftershock.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to watch, his eyes dark and fixed on your mouth as you swallowed, waiting—no, demanding—until you had taken every last drop. Then, with a slow exhale, he bent down, his fingers tightening around your chin, forcing your gaze to his.

“Swallow like a good girl.” His thumb swiped over your lower lip, his own lips curling into something smug and satisfied as he caught the last trace of himself there, pushing it past your lips. "Atta girl."

Your cheeks flushed under his intense gaze, heat prickling over your skin as he finally released you, waving you up with a flick of his fingers. “Come on,” he murmured, watching as you stood. His eyes flicked over your clothes, the short skirt, the button-up blouse that was already rumpled. “Take everything off.”

The demand sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, but still, hesitation flickered for just a second. You weren’t insecure, but standing fully clothed in front of a very naked Spencer Reid had you second-guessing everything. It wasn’t that you felt insecure—you liked your body well enough, but compared to him, standing there, all angles and sharp lines and unfairly proportioned perfection, you felt almost…plain. Not that Spencer seemed to agree, if the way his gaze darkened was anything to go by.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you unbuttoned your blouse, letting it slip down your arms, then moved to your skirt, pushing it past your hips. The simple bra you wore made you cringe—if you’d known this would happen, you would’ve worn something prettier, something delicate, lace-trimmed with little bows. And then there was your thong, which was almost comically opposite, tiny and black, a thin scrap of fabric that left little to the imagination.

Spencer tilted his head, eyes dragging over you. “Why’d you stop?”

You swallowed hard as he stepped forward, fingers hooking under your bra strap and tugging it teasingly. “I said all of it.”

Your breath hitched when he yanked the fabric down, just enough to let your breasts spill free. A choked noise left you, but he caught it with a kiss to your shoulder, his hands skimming your body before expertly unclasping your bra with a single flick of his fingers. The fucker was showing off. You rolled your eyes, but the effect was lost when a shiver ran down your spine the moment his fingers skimmed over your bare skin.

His lips trailed down your sternum, warm and wet, pausing to suck a bruise onto the soft flesh of your breast before his tongue flicked over your nipple. Your back arched involuntarily, a broken whimper spilling from your lips as he palmed the other, rolling the hardened bud between his fingers.

He didn’t stop. His mouth traveled lower, kissing down the slope of your stomach until he was crouched before you, lips hovering just over your clothed heat. His fingers traced the waistband of your thong, toying with the lace. “You’re a lot of fun, you know that?”

Then he pushed the fabric aside and pressed his lips against your clit.

The gasp you let out wasn’t delicate—it was guttural, ragged, a sound that ripped from your throat like it was torn from the deepest part of you. His mouth was sinful, devastating, all suction and swirling tongue, relentless in the way only Spencer Reid could be when he was singularly focused. He licked like you were a complex equation he’d waited years to solve, every stroke of his tongue calibrated with terrifying precision, every flick a calculated blow to your dwindling composure.

Your hands fisted in his hair, nails scraping his scalp as your thighs began to tremble uncontrollably. You couldn’t even summon the strength to form words—just half-sobs and desperate moans that echoed between metal and paper. One of your heels skidded against the floor, ankle buckling, and he growled low as he readjusted, both hands gripping your hips like he was afraid you'd slip through his fingers.

"Spencer—fuck—I can’t—" Your voice cracked, high and breathless, as you tried to twist away from the pleasure blurring your thoughts. You weren’t running from him—you were running from the edge.

He groaned against you, the deep vibration traveling straight through your core like an aftershock. And you shattered. The orgasm came like a freight train—no build, no warning, just pure, blinding heat crashing through every nerve ending. Your knees buckled, body convulsing, fingers clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

Still, he didn’t stop.

His grip tightened as he kept licking, working you through it with obscene, practiced precision. Your hips jerked against his face, body betraying you, wrung out and trembling—but still, he didn’t let up. He licked like he wanted to drown in you, to commit the shape and taste of your orgasm to memory. It was too much. Almost unbearable. But you didn’t beg him to stop. You couldn’t. You were unraveling, each nerve ending raw, frayed, and alive.

You were wrecked—and somehow, he still wasn’t done.

Your breath hitched sharply when the unmistakable sound of ripping fabric sliced through the haze. Cold air kissed your soaked skin, the absence of pressure where your thong used to be sending a new kind of thrill spiraling through you.

Your head dropped forward, blinking down in disbelief. Spencer sat back on his heels, holding the tattered remnants of lace between two fingers, his mouth and chin glistening. That same maddening half-smile curved his lips, cocky and amused, dark eyes glittering with mischief and heat.

“Spencer,” you breathed, incredulous, thighs still trembling.

He raised an eyebrow like he couldn’t possibly imagine what you were upset about. "What? It was in my way."

He shrugged. “What? It was obstructing my work.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress the delirious laugh bubbling in your throat. "You’re insane."

“I’ll buy you another one,” he said simply, rising to his feet.

The shift was sudden—too sudden. One second, he was standing there, his mouth still slick with the aftermath of what he'd done to you, eyes half-lidded and wild, and the next, he’d spun you around like it took no effort at all. Your front hit the filing cabinet with a jarring clang, the cold steel biting into your overheated skin. The shock stole the breath right out of your lungs, the air whooshing from you in a grunt that was more startled than pained.

You blinked, disoriented, your palms splayed flat against the cool metal in a desperate attempt to stay upright. The drawers rattled from the force of it, the entire structure groaning beneath your weight. The cold surface did nothing to calm the fever scorching beneath your skin. Before you could fully catch your breath, he was there, pressing into you, all heat and muscle and intensity. His chest molded against your back, a furnace that made you shiver, and his cock—thick, rock-hard—slid against the swell of your ass in a way that made your knees knock together.

Your eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. All you could do was brace yourself and try not to collapse under the weight of it all.

"Wait—Spence—"

“Shh,” he breathed, the sound hot against the shell of your ear, one hand sliding between your thighs to line himself up. “I’ve got you.”

He didn’t wait for permission. Just pushed forward, slow and deliberate, until the thick head of his cock breached you. Your breath hitched like you’d been sucker punched. The stretch was unreal—every inch a battle between pain and devastating pleasure. You weren't ready. You'd never be ready. But your body opened for him anyway, greedily, desperately.

Your forehead dropped to the cabinet with a dull thunk. “Jesus Christ,” you gasped, voice trembling. “You’re… huge.”

The groan he gave in response was guttural, low, and reverent, like you’d just handed him a Nobel Prize. “Statistically significant,” he murmured smugly. “Rare sample set. Very lucky subject.”

You let out a breathless, incredulous laugh—half delirium, half exasperation. “Spencer, I swear to God—”

“Yeah?” he said, his voice dark and playful. “Swear to me then. Say my name.”

Then he drove forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal, perfect thrust.

You cried out, legs nearly giving out, your hands scrambling uselessly for purchase on the smooth, unforgiving metal. It was too much—he was too much. Your body felt split open, every nerve set alight. He pulled back and slammed into you again, harder, deeper, with the force of a man who knew exactly what he was doing and wanted you to feel every inch of it.

“Spencer—fuck—oh my god—”

He grunted, his hand weaving into your hair and yanking your head back just enough to arch your spine. “You can take it. Look at you,” he panted. “Already so fucking full.”

You whimpered, shaking your head in disbelief. “I can’t—It’s too good, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, punctuating each word with a thrust that had your eyes rolling back. “You’re doing so well.”

Your body was already trembling again, too close to the edge, that second orgasm clawing its way up your spine far too soon. Your muscles fluttered around him, overwhelmed and overstimulated. “You’re gonna break me,” you whispered, more plea than warning.

“That’s the idea,” he murmured darkly, voice like smoke.

Then he really started to fuck you.

No mercy. No hesitation. Just raw, focused hunger. The filing cabinet groaned under your weight, metal rattling in protest with every unforgiving thrust. Your fingers clawed at the surface, nails scraping against steel, desperate for something to hold onto as he drove into you like a man possessed.

Each sound that tore from your throat was louder, more desperate than the last—whimpers, curses, half-sobs laced with his name, all of it spilling out in a string of broken pleas and praises. Through it all, Spencer was relentless. Steady. Consuming. His hands bruised your hips, holding you in place, making sure you took every last inch like you were made for it.

You could feel everything—every inch of him dragging along your walls, every brutal snap of his hips, every filthy whisper ghosted hot against your ear. "You're taking me so well," he murmured. "So fucking tight for me."

You were unraveling, nerve by nerve, and he was watching it—fascinated, delighted. "That's it," he breathed, adjusting the angle just slightly, sending you crashing into a fresh wave of sensation. You gasped, back arching, vision swimming.

"Spencer—" you choked, teetering. “I’m gonna come again—”

“Good,” he growled. “Come with me. Let me feel you.”

And when you did, he followed—his rhythm faltering only slightly as he pushed as deep as he could go, his body pressed hard against yours, breath stuttering with every pulse of release. You cried out, twitching around him, body wracked with aftershocks. He groaned into your shoulder, still moving, just enough to keep you locked in that space where pleasure danced right on the knife’s edge of pain.

You whimpered, hips jerking away, but his arm around your waist kept you there. “Sp-Spence—too much—”

“Just a second,” he muttered, voice a wrecked mess of want and affection. “Let me have it. Let me feel you like this.”

When he finally stilled, breathless and heavy, you sagged forward, spent. Your forehead dropped to the cabinet with a soft thunk. For a beat, the only sound in the room was the echo of your panting.

“So,” you panted, voice raspy but smug, “it’s not morning yet, which technically means there’s still time for seconds.”

He chuckled against your back. “Is that so?”

You grinned, rolling your hips back with renewed mischief. “I mean… unless you’re too tired.”

That was all it took.

In a flash, he’d spun you again, lifting you effortlessly onto the cabinet this time, his eyes dark and dangerous. “You think you get to make the rules now?”

You tried to play innocent, blinking up at him with wide eyes. “Maybe?”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Not a chance.”

You leaned back slightly, a smirk tugging at your lips, fingers daring to trail down your own body, teasing the slick between your thighs with lazy defiance. "Then maybe you should remind me who’s in charge."

Before your fingers could dip too low, his hand was there—gripping your wrist tight and pinning it above your head, expression shifting from amused to ravenous in a heartbeat.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dark silk, “don’t start what you can’t finish.”

And just like that, he was inside you again, no preamble, no warning—just a brutal, possessive thrust that knocked the breath clean out of your lungs. The overstimulation hit instantly, your body already raw and sensitive, and you cried out, squirming in his grasp.

“Spencer—” you whimpered, caught somewhere between a sob and a moan, “I just— we just—”

“I know,” he growled, burying himself deeper. “I’m not done yet.”

This time, there was no buildup. No slow seduction. Just the sharp, overwhelming slide of him inside you, fucking you through your aftershocks with relentless, punishing intent. You were already too far gone, pleasure clashing with the sweet sting of too much, too soon.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but your body betrayed you, walls clenching around him with every thrust, the soreness only adding to the intensity. He was everywhere—inside you, over you, surrounding you.

“I can feel you fluttering,” he rasped, watching your face twist with pleasure. “You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?”

You shook your head, breath ragged. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he whispered. “Come with me. Again.”

You shattered with him, again. Bodies locked, muscles clenched, everything crashing down around you in a haze of heat and noise and breathless, desperate movement. His name tore from your lips one final time as your world fragmented.

And then, at last, he stilled.

Both of you were trembling, gasping, entirely spent. Your body sagged against his, boneless and overwhelmed.

He brushed a kiss against your temple, breath tickling your skin. “Still think you’re in charge?”

You groaned, half-laughing, half-whimpering. “Spencer… it’s still not morning.”

He pulled back just far enough to smirk down at you. “Then I guess we’ve still got time for thirds, but only if you ask nicely this time.”. Through it all, Spencer was relentless. Steady. Consuming. His hands bruised your hips, holding you in place, making sure you took every last inch like you were made for it.

You could feel everything—every inch of him dragging along your walls, every brutal snap of his hips, every filthy whisper ghosted hot against your ear. "You're taking me so well," he murmured. "So fucking tight for me."

You were unraveling, nerve by nerve, and he was watching it—fascinated, delighted. "That's it," he breathed, adjusting the angle just slightly, sending you crashing into a fresh wave of sensation. You gasped, back arching, vision swimming.

"Spencer—" you choked, teetering. “I’m gonna come again—”

“Good,” he growled. “Come with me. Let me feel you.”

And when you did, he followed—his rhythm faltering only slightly as he pushed as deep as he could go, his body pressed hard against yours, breath stuttering with every pulse of release. You cried out, twitching around him, body wracked with aftershocks. He groaned into your shoulder, still moving, just enough to keep you locked in that space where pleasure danced right on the knife’s edge of pain.

You whimpered, hips jerking away, but his arm around your waist kept you there. “Sp-Spence—too much—”

“Just a second,” he muttered, voice a wrecked mess of want and affection. “Let me have it. Let me feel you like this.”

When he finally stilled—breathless, heavy, trembling just enough for you to feel it—you sagged forward, boneless. Your forehead met the cabinet with a muted thunk, the cool surface grounding you in the aftermath.

For a moment, nothing. Just the shallow, echoing rhythm of two bodies relearning how to breathe.

Then, your voice—raspy, smug, entirely too pleased. "So… it’s not morning yet. Which means, technically, there’s still time for seconds."

He huffed a laugh against your spine. Low. Dangerous. “Is that so?”

You grinned, slow and wicked, and rolled your hips back with taunting grace. "Unless you’re tired."

That did it.

In one swift movement, he turned you, lifted you like you weighed nothing, and settled you on the counter with a thud that echoed like a warning. His gaze found yours—dark, unreadable, but hungry in a way that made your mouth go dry.

“You think you’re calling the shots now?” he murmured, close enough that his breath ghosted across your lips.

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed. Innocent. Lying through your teeth. "Maybe?"

He leaned in, voice a growl wrapped in silk. “Not even close."

But then—just for a beat—his expression faltered. The air between you shifted, charged in a different way.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he muttered, voice low but no longer teasing. "About you being reckless. About you getting under my skin. But I was out of line."

You blinked, startled by the sudden gravity in his tone.

He swallowed hard. “And for calling you a slut. For being too rough. You didn’t deserve that. Any of it. I—”

You silenced him with your fingers at his lips, the shift in you sudden, sharp. Not angry. Not hurt. Just... electric.

“Don’t ruin it,” you whispered, but this time, there was heat laced in every syllable. “Unless you’re trying to beg now.”

His eyes darkened instantly, the apology burning away into something hungrier.

“Is that what this is?” you added, voice dipping low as you leaned in, teeth grazing his jaw. “You saying sorry… or asking permission?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because in the next breath, his mouth was on yours—hot, commanding, desperate—and his hands were already dragging you to the edge of the counter like he was starved for you all over again.

“Round two?” you gasped between kisses, dizzy from the force of him.

He growled against your skin. “Try round forever.”

[p0orbaby]

Not Nineteen Forever

summary: co-parenting with two kids? light work

warnings: are exes a warning ?

a/n: i smell reconciliation in the air…

word count: 1.1k

-

“He’s forgotten his boots? What time is his lesson? No sorry don’t answer that, I’ve got meetings for the rest of the day, I can’t leave the office. Can he play in his school shoes? Can I just ask, have you tried getting in contact with Alexia? No, you just called me, got it. Well it looks like he will have to miss football then doesn’t it. Yes, it’s such a shame! Okay, thank you, bye”

You hang up and smash the phone back into its receiver, frustration boiling over. This is the third time this month something has come up with the kids while you are at work. Balancing a full-time job and single parenthood was taking its toll. You sigh, running a hand through your hair, and try to refocus on the mountain of tasks waiting for you.

It has been a year since you and Alexia divorced. The decision was mutual, borne out of necessity rather than any particular wrongdoing. Her career had always been demanding, but as she rose to greater heights, the time she could spend at home dwindled to almost nothing. The distance, both physical and emotional, had grown insurmountable. You had drifted apart, slowly and painfully.

The kids have taken the separation surprisingly well. They are resilient, adapting quickly to the new arrangement of split weeks and alternating weekends. But despite their brave faces, you can see the strain it puts on them. You miss the days when the four of you were a team, tackling life’s challenges together.

As you stare at your computer screen, trying to immerse yourself back into work, the phone rings again. It was the school. Again.

“You should have Alexia’s number on file but if you need me to confirm-“

“I’m sorry?”

“Luis’ boots. If it’s that much of a problem I’m sure my wife- ex wife, can drop them off”

“Apologies Ms Putellas, but I'm ringing about your daughter. This is the school nurse…”

-

You arrive at the school to find Alexia already there, uncharacteristically nervous as she waits. Despite everything, she always manages to be present when it truly matters. It’s one of the things you admire most about her, and also one of the most frustrating – her ability to show up at the critical moments, even if she couldn’t be there for the day-to-day.

Silently you’re both ushered into the head's office, where your daughter sits with a bandaged arm and teary eyes.

“How did this happen?” you ask suddenly, directing your question to the principal as you crouch down to inspect Liliana.

“She was climbing on the monkey bars and lost her grip,” the older woman explains. “It was an accident. She’ll be fine, but we thought it best to have you both here, given the circumstances”

“An accident?” Alexia echoes sharply, her voice edged with anger she normally only reserves for the pitch. “She’s only four! Why wasn’t she being supervised properly?”

The principal shifts uncomfortably. “We do our best to keep an eye on all the children, but sometimes with kids these things happen. We deeply apologise for any distress this has caused”

Alexia’s face tightens with frustration. “My daughter could have been seriously hurt!”

You place a calming hand on Alexia’s arm, feeling the tension radiating from her as she fizzes on the spot. “Ale,” you say softly. “We can talk about this later”

Alexia finally takes a deep breath, her eyes softening as she looks at Liliana, who is now clinging to her like a lifeline. “Are you okay, Cariño?” she asks, her voice gentler for your daughter's sake.

Liliana nods, though her eyes are still wet with leftover tears. “It hurts, Mami.”

The principal nods. “She’ll need some ice and rest, but otherwise, she should be okay. We just wanted to make sure you both were informed and could decide if she should go home for the rest of the day”

You glance at Alexia, your mind racing. It’s been a long time since you’ve had to make a decision like this together. “Do you think she should come home?” you ask.

Alexia looks down at Liliana who hugs at her leg, thinking as she strokes the top of her head. “I have the afternoon off. I can take her and keep an eye on her”

You’re surprised. “You have time off? I thought you had training”

“I managed to get the rest of the day cleared,” she says, her eyes meeting yours. “I wanted to be here”

For a moment, the tension between you eases, replaced by a shared concern for your child. You nod, before turning to the woman sitting behind her desk. “We’ll take Luis with us too”

The principal smiles, relieved. “Thank you both for coming in. We’ll make sure her things are ready to go”

-

“I finish at five, I’ll come straight here after” you say as the kids run past you into Alexia’s house. Liliana magically healed at the thought of being able to miss the rest of the school day.

Alexia watches them go, then turns back to you with a look that’s hard to read. “I know it’s been… different”

“Yeah, different is one way to put it,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light, inoffensive. “But we’re making it work”

She nods, her gaze drifting to the door where the kids disappeared. “They seem happy. That’s what matters”

You follow her eyes, watching the kids through the window to where they’ve migrated to the garden. “They’re stronger than we give them credit for. It’s us adults who complicate things”

Alexia laughs softly. “Isn’t that the truth?”

There’s a moment of silence, filled with all the words neither of you have dared to say. Eventually, Alexia breaks it. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot lately, about everything”

You feel a twinge of something you can’t quite identify, hope maybe, but you push it aside. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, her eyes meeting yours in a way that makes your cheeks flush. “I miss them. And I miss… us”

You swallow hard, trying to bat away the emotions rising hopelessly within you. “Alexia, we’ve talked about this. Your career, my job, it just didn’t work”

“I know,” she replies, frustration creeping into her tone. “But just because it didn’t work then doesn’t mean it can’t work now. People change. Situations change”

You sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. “I don’t know, Alexia. It’s not that simple”

She steps closer, a dangerous move. You can smell the lingering scent of her soap, the gum she chews. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be complicated either”

You look at her, feeling the familiar pull you’ve tried to ignore for the past year. “I need to get back,” you say finally, peeling yourself away from her.

[clarkeysbedchem]

whatever happens, i’m letting it | part 3

previous part | next part

will lenney x fem reader

summary: will falls for chris’ new assisstant

masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad

Monday came faster than you’d like, and the slow day felt like a living hell. You did your best to focus on your tasks, keeping your head down and avoiding any unnecessary interactions with Will. It wasn’t hard; he wasn’t exactly making a grand effort to engage with you either.

Still, you could feel the weight of his presence whenever he passed by the office, the quiet, simmering tension in the air whenever your eyes met, however briefly.

It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that Will finally made his move. You were in the middle of a call in the main meeting room, typing away at your computer, when you felt him approach from behind. You didn’t need to look up to know it was him - there was something about his presence that was impossible to ignore.

You cleared your throat as you finished up the call, then spun in your chair to face him. Will was standing there, arms casually crossed, that familiar, irritatingly smug expression on his face mirroring the one from the Friday just gone.

"Hey," he said, his voice almost too casual. “So, how’s it going with George?”

The question hit you like a wave of cold water. Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried not to show it. Will’s gaze was sharp, probing, like he was waiting for something - waiting for a slip up, for a reaction, for you to reveal something you weren’t supposed to.

You couldn’t quite hide the flicker of confusion. “What do you mean?” you asked, though you already knew exactly what he meant.

He shrugged, an innocent smile curling up at the corners of his lips. "I don't know... You and him seemed pretty cozy on Friday. You two close or something?" His voice was light, but there was something sharp beneath it, something challenging.

You could feel the heat creeping up your neck. Will’s insinuation, the way he made it sound like there was something more between you and George, made your skin burn. It was like he was trying to poke and prod, to make you uncomfortable, to force you to explain something that didn’t need explaining.

You met his gaze, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. “We’re just friends,” you said, the words coming out more firmly than you intended. You could feel the edge of annoyance creeping into your voice, but you did your best to keep it in check. "Nothing more."

Will raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Friends?" he echoed, the word almost dripping with disbelief. "That's it? The way you two were acting didn’t exactly scream 'just friends.'"

You swallowed the frustration that rose up in your chest. Will seemed to know how to get under your skin, how to make something simple seem more complicated. But this? This was ridiculous. Why did he care so much?

“Yeah, Will,” you said, the words coming out a little sharper now, “just friends. Why does it matter to you?”

He leaned in slightly, studying you like he was trying to figure something out. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment, his expression unreadable. “Guess I’m just curious.”

His voice dropped a little, like he was trying to make it sound casual, but the underlying tension was still there. “You seemed a little too comfortable with him, that’s all. You’ve always been a little guarded. But with George, you’re laughing, leaning into him…” He trailed off, almost like he was teasing, but the way he looked at you made it feel like an accusation.

You felt your pulse quicken, and you fought to keep your composure. “We’re friends, Will,” you repeated, this time with more conviction. “Nothing more.”

Will watched you for a beat longer, then gave a soft chuckle, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands as if conceding the point, but you could tell he wasn’t finished with this yet. “Just making sure. Wouldn’t want to see anything complicated happen, right?”

You couldn’t help the flash of irritation that crossed your face. You weren’t sure why Will was pushing this so much, but it was starting to feel like he was trying to make something out of nothing. He was clearly fishing for a reaction, and part of you wondered why. What did he really want?

“Nothing’s complicated,” you said, standing up from the table and taking a deliberate step back, hoping to end the conversation. “You’re reading way too much into it.”

Will didn’t move, though. He stood there for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before he finally let out a quiet sigh. “Guess we’ll see, huh?”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you just turned away, focusing on the stack of papers on your desk, trying to push the awkwardness aside. Will lingered for a moment longer, but when you didn’t engage any further, he eventually walked away, his footsteps echoing softly out of the meeting room.

You were walking through the corridor of the office building, heading toward Chris’ office space with your head down. You walked past Will’s office on the way, your eyes flicking up briefly, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of the Geordie man. But instead of seeing him, you only spotted Orla and Aby.

A weird feeling bubbled in your chest as you dropped your head again. You weren’t sure why you wanted to see Will, especially after the encounter in the conference room.

He probably wouldn’t care whether you were alive or dead. So why did you keep seeking him out, like some part of you was waiting for something?

The sound of muffled chatter started to grow louder as you neared the office. A familiar Geordie accent cut through the noise, making your head perk up slightly.

As you approached, you saw Will, fiddling with some sort of Velcro strap attached to a football and a long rope. You quirked an eyebrow, half-amused and half-confused by the sight.

The click of your heeled boots echoed in the hallway, making Will glance up at you. His smile hit you like a punch in the chest, so genuine that it made your breath catch in your throat. “Hello,” he said, his voice low and warm - a complete contrast to the cocky tone he had the day before.

You walked closer, giving him a small smile as you noticed Ieuan with a camera. “Hi,” you greeted them both. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, y’know,” Will laughed, pointing to Ieuan holding the camera, then gesturing to the football. “Just filming a video.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed, watching them.

Will’s eyes skimmed over your figure for a moment, lingering just a bit longer than necessary. It was the kind of look that stirred something in your chest - a soft, electric feeling that made it harder to breathe. But then he seemed to snap out of it, his face flickering with realization that he probably looked a complete fool as he fiddled with the football. He coughed, his focus shifting back to the task at hand, trying to act casual.

“This goes in front like that,” he said, twisting the strap around his head. He kicked the ball a few times with an exaggerated motion. “Now that’s actually good.”

James Marriott entered the hallway just then, wearing a cooling mask on his face, and you couldn’t help but giggle. “Hey, guys.”

“Look at this,” Will mused, flashing that pleased, almost boyish smile. He rambled on about how cool the gadget was, but you could see that underlying hint of pride in his eyes as he talked about it.

James nodded, his expression amused. “Unreal. Now let me have a go.”

James positioned himself, a confident grin spreading across his face. Will nudged the ball toward him, and James kicked it with far more power than expected, sending the ball hurtling into the corner of the ceiling and jerking the strap off Will’s head.

Will instinctively grabbed your hand, pulling you away from the wall as the ball bounced toward you. The sudden contact caught you off guard, and you gasped in surprise. The laughter that followed from all three men only made the moment feel more absurd.

“I think that’s quite good,” Will said, his voice still light, but there was a flicker of something more in his eyes as he let your hand slip from his grasp, despite every instinct telling him not to. He bent down to grab the football from the floor, his fingers brushing the smooth leather of the ball.

As he straightened up, James bounced on his heels, throwing his hands in the air in celebration. “Goal!”

You let out a small chuckle, your attention drifting back to Will. His eyes were locked on you, his gaze steady, and for a brief moment, it felt like the whole room was holding its breath.

You gave him a soft smile before turning away, the sudden rush of heat in your chest making your heart pound against your ribs. “Have fun, guys,” you muttered, tightening the grip on your bag as you moved past the three men, making your way toward Chris’ office.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling—the unspoken tension, the way Will’s gaze had lingered on you just a little too long, like something unspoken had passed between the two of you. Your thoughts were a tangled mess as you stepped into Chris' office, your pulse still racing.

a bit more willne has just uploaded

We spent $1000 on Temu *again*

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userone who’s that girl at 13:35

┃ usertwo she works for chrismd im pretty sure

┃ userone ohhh i thought i recognised her !!

userthree shut up will and y/n !!! this is everything

userfour i just know james and y/n would be an iconic duo

ChrisMD so this is why y/n was late

┃ a bit more willne yeah sorry about that

[luvs4haechan]

Hiiii

Could you write a fluff fic about Mark and the reader where they're engaged and it's some romantic scene where they slowdance in their apartment or somthn? Thank you, no worries if u don't want to!

slow dancing

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: fluff!!

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: mark x fem!reader

𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵/𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: established relationship, literally so much fluff, no use of y/n i think

𝘸𝘤: 1200

masterlist

the computer screen had become blinding, the coffee mugs on your desk had piled up, and it was fair to say you'd had enough. exam season and every day cramming had definitely gotten the better of you. picking an academically challenging degree seemed like a good idea at the time, but now - staring at the equations on the screen - you realise it might not have been the best choice.

in the midst of you debating whether an engineering degree is worth all this, your phone made the familiar noise of a new message. sluggishly moving your eyes from the computer you read the message. "i know you’ve been studying for too long. you need a break. come over?" it said. seeing the words from your boyfriend caused a smile to spread over your face, no matter how much the oppisite you were feeling right now. you realised a long time ago, that mark seemed to know you better than you knew yourself. keeping that in mind, you closed your laptop and got ready to head to his place.

after a short walk, you were face to face with the front door of mark's apartment. you knocked a few times and the door immediately opened.

"have you been waiting by the door? what was that?" you said, a confused expression on your face.

"no?" he looked at you, just as confused. however, your expression stayed the same. "dude, come on," he took your hand and pulled you inside. this caused a smile to break out on your face, something he never failed to achieve. before you could react, mark's arms were around you and you were pulled into his warm embrace. you hadn't realised how much you needed this until you felt a soft kiss being pressed into your shoulder. "you okay?" he whispered.

blinking away the sudden tears, you sighed. "i am," you said, pulling back slightly to look him in the eyes. because now you really were okay. mark took a moment to look over your features, analysing whether you were telling the truth. when he was satisfied with your answer, he pressed a quick kiss on your forehead.

"i made you dinner. figured you hadn't eaten," your boyfriend said, taking your hand and leading you to the kitchen.

"i haven't," you said, slightly embarrassed. "mark be so glad you never wanted to be an engineer, because why am i doing triple integrals," you sighed, leaning against the counter in his kitchen.

"i'll pretend to understand what you're talking about right now," he threw a playful look your way before focusing on the meal waiting to be reheated. "but i do know how hard you've been working, and trust me it will pay off. i'm so proud of you for never giving up on your dream," mark was speaking sincerely, meaning every single word. when you didn't think you could spare more of your heart, he always proved you wrong, taking all the space in there for himself.

"thank you, baby. it means a lot, really," you said, looking at him with a look that, you hoped, conveyed all the love you held for him.

mark sent a smile your way, giving you a very similar look to yours. "can you set up the table, please? i'm almost done here," he asked, getting some plates out the cupboard. you nodded, making your way towards the table, swiping a bottle of wine on your way. you placed everything very neatly, all edges squared off. finally, you put some music on - mark's record player is probably your favourite part of his apartment, and his vinyl collection is always enticing. as the slow buzz of some slow indie song filled the apartment, mark placed two plates on the table. the both of you sat down, digging straight into the dinner mark had prepared.

"mark," you started, mouth full of pasta. "this is so good," he didn't miss the surprise in your tone, nethertheless he smiled at the compliment. "thank you," you said, more serious now. "for knowing me better than i know myself," the look you shared said more than words ever could. you never thought there could be so much love between two people, but what you and mark shared always proved how wrong you were.

the boy across from you took your hand in his own, a small smile on his face. "you know caring for you is my favourite thing to do," he looked you, he really looked at you - seeing all that you've been silently fighting. you nodded hearing his words, not sure words would do what you're feeling justisce so you settled for a squeeze of his hand and a loving gaze.

after a lovely meal, which mark swore he made fully by himself, you were both in the kitchen cleaning up. the slow melody of a song you hadn't heard before hung in the air, as mark washed the dishes and you dried them before placing them in their destined spots in the cupboards. "this is a good song, i've not heard it before," you commented, swaying slightly. mark looked at you, a smile spreading on his face.

"the vinyl's new, i bought it last weekend when i went to that music shop with hyuck," he spoke softly, washing some cutlery.

"of course you're going on dates with donghyuck," you rolled your eyes, instigating. mark laughed at your words, shrugging yet not denying what you said.

after he finished washing the last of the dishes, he dried his hands and took your own in his. your boyfriend pulled you to the space between his kitchen and living room, pulling you close. his hands rested on your waist, as he started swaying the both of you to the soft notes of the song playing on his record player. despite your initial surprise, your hands crossed behind his neck pulling him even closer. you could smell his cologne that fainted over the day, his laundry detergent that smelled like a field full of flowers in the spring, and the wine you shared over dinner. mark's embrace felt comforing, as the song faded into another equally slow and moving record.

"i love you," he whispered over the words of the song, sealing his words with a kiss beneath your ear. "i can't wait to make you mine forever," he punctuated his words with his fingers caressing your ring finger. you closed your eyes, feeling his heartbeat mingling with your own. knowing your hearts were pressed against each other, and beating in the same rhythym comforted you beyond belief.

"i love you too," you whispered back, your hand making its way into the hair at the nape of his neck. you pulled back slightly, looking him in the eyes - your gaze darting to his lips for a moment. mark followed your movements, leaning in closer. he pressed a kiss to your lips, conveying all his love for you in one gesture. he was sure you could feel it, as he felt all the emotions you tried your best to communicate. the both of you pulled away after a short while, embracing each other again as the song once again changed.

slow dancing with mark was the best distraction you could ask for.

𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘺𝘢𝘱𝘴!

first request omggg thank u sm anon hope this is what u meant!! listened to 'too much ain't enough' by arthur hill while writing this can u tell?? send more requests bc i really enjoyed writing this 😛😛😛

[focusonkayjay]

stuck with you | (3/5)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: computer sci major/ shy/ nerdy! jungkook, econ major/ popular/ influencer! reader, college au, roommates au, roommates to lovers, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, angst, smut, fluff

Summary: Jungkook’s a hopeless romantic—emphasis on hopeless more than romantic. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he swore he heard bells chiming, like the angels from above were giving him a cosmic nudge. But he’s always been the awkward, nerdy guy—the one who blends into the background—while you? You felt like a dream way out of his league. Fate, however, had other plans and now, you’re his roommate and living with you—in all your effortless glory—is equal parts chaos and heaven. The only challenge? Keeping his ever-growing feelings in check. That is—until a cocky fuckboy with not-so-pure intentions sets his sights on you, and suddenly, just loving you from the sidelines might not be enough.

Word Count: 21.5k+

Chapter Warnings:  this part contains a lot of mature and triggering content, jaehyun, oc almost gets harassed, inappropriate touching, foul language, smol scene inspired by the euphoria series, violence, graphic fight scene, mentions of injuries, bruises and blood, jaehyun, unhealthy coping mechanisms, oc's going thru it, jungkook's going thru it, jaehyun, mentions of vapes, alcohol, cigarettes, graphic representation of throwing up, mentions of bile, vomit, puke, jaehyun (pls pls lmk if missed anything out)

cher's notes: had the most chaotic week at work bc there was just so much to do ahhh also sweet dreams has been on repeat nonstop and i cannot wait for mona lisa !!! so so excited omg i love that hobi’s experimenting with this new style of music 🥹🫶 anywayssss sorry for the delay on this part, life’s been kinda wild tbh but we move. as always, let me know all your thoughts !! <3

★ PLAYLIST ★ MOODBOARDS

three: standing at the edge of a cliff

You never pictured yourself to be the kind of person who'd end up sobbing in the backseat of a cab with mascara running down your cheeks in uneven streaks, while the driver keeps casting uncomfortable glances at you through the rearview mirror when the largest suitcase you own sits in the trunk, stuffed haphazardly with whatever your trembling hands could grab.

But here you are, in the dead of night, hands trembling against your damp face, furiously wiping at the tears that just refuse to stop falling but no matter how much you cry, the ache in your chest remains like a splinter too deep to pull out.

After that confrontation with Jungkook, a moment so blindsiding it left you completely unmoored, you couldn't think straight and all you knew was that you couldn't stay there, not under the same roof as him, not with the thought of facing him tomorrow sitting heavy in your chest, like a knot that kept tightening no matter how hard you tried to breathe.

You've never heard him speak to you like that before, voice honed to a cruel edge, words laced with a bitterness you didn't even know he carried inside him.

But what cuts the deepest isn't the sharpness of his tone. It's the realization that after all these months of sharing a home, sharing meals, and fleeting moments you thought were just yours and his, this is what he truly thought of you.

You never imagined he could get you so wrong. Never once considered that the warmth you offered, the effortless way you let him into your world, could ever be twisted into something so ugly. That your kindness could be seen as manipulation, your gestures reduced to mere strategy, your attention interpreted as nothing more than calculated content farming.

Shallow. Self-serving. Insincere.

You never pulled Jungkook into your world because you thought he was convenient or easy. Filming videos, content creation — that was your thing, something you've loved for as long as you can remember. 

Whether it was vlogging your quiet mornings, recording random snippets of life, or showcasing the people who mattered to you, content creation wasn't just a hobby, it was a part of who you are.

Including Jungkook in that process wasn't some calculated move or ploy for attention. It was your way of offering him a piece of yourself, an invitation into something that made you feel alive. Because he was one of the rare few who never rolled his eyes at your passion, never called it cringey, or brushed it off as a childish phase. 

And somehow, that unfiltered version of him... the raw, everyday Jungkook that only you got to see because you lived under the same roof, became something your followers adored. 

His awkward quirks, the way his ears turn red when you tease him, the way he stutters when he's put on the spot, the little chuckle he gives when he doesn't know what to say — all of it, you captured with nothing but affection. And you were proud. Proud that so many people got to see and love the very same Jungkook you held so dearly.

But now, knowing that all this time he thought you were exploiting him, that he saw your affection as too much, your attention as suffocating, your presence as something to endure — it doesn't just break your heart. It shatters the version of him you carried in your mind because you had truly believed that maybe to Jungkook you weren't too much. 

You don't know what had gotten to him tonight. Whether it was the alcohol, the beer he downed without explanation or if something else had already been festering beneath the surface. Maybe it was a bad day, and you were just the easiest target. But even then, it feels so painfully out of character. 

No matter how hard you try to make sense of it, you can't believe the things he said. And you can't believe that after everything, this is where you and Jungkook ended up.

You sniffle, fumbling for your wallet as you pay the cab driver, barely managing to tumble out before dragging your overstuffed suitcase from the trunk and within minutes, your trembling finger is pressing the doorbell.

When the door swings open, you're met with Yoongi's startled face, his brow creased in concern, clearly not expecting a visitor — and certainly not you, looking the way you do.

"Baby, who's—" Jimin's voice floats out from inside, but it cuts off the second he steps up behind his boyfriend. His eyes widen slightly as they take in the sight of your bloodshot eyes, messy hair and your suitcase standing beside you.

"Y/n?" he says, voice soft with concern, and for some reason, hearing your name spoken so gently, so kindly, for the first time tonight just does it for you and the tears start all over again, spilling down your cheeks faster than you can catch them.

Yoongi doesn't even hesitate before reaching for your suitcase, silently taking the weight off your hands, while Jimin steps closer, wrapping a warm arm around your trembling shoulders.

Without any questions, they guide you inside their house together, as if they already know you don't have the strength to explain.

You didn't know where else to go, so showing up at your best friends' place unannounced was the only option that made sense. You knew, without a doubt, that both Jimin and Yoongi would welcome you in without a second thought, offering you the safety of their home, the comfort of their presence, and the quiet understanding only they could provide. 

And maybe, just maybe, they could help you feel a little less like your world was caving in.

Sleep comes easier than you expect — not because you're rested, but because you're drained. Because sadness has this cruel way of wearing you out, hollowing you from the inside until there's nothing left but exhaustion. And right now, that's all you feel — empty, tired, and so painfully hopeless.

As the weekend progresses, you spend the entire time confined within the four walls of Yoongi and Jimin's guest room and the couple doesn't bother you — not because they don't care, but because Jimin knows you too well. He knows you prefer space when you're upset, and he's probably the reason Yoongi didn't knock on your door with food in hand, urging you to eat.

Your phone sits untouched on the nightstand, buzzing every now and then — maybe calls, maybe notifications — but you don't bother checking. You can't bring yourself to. You just want to disappear under the weight of the blankets, to sleep through the ache that's settled deep in your chest like a cold, heavy stone.

Your eyes burn, your stomach twists and growls, but you can't muster the energy to get up. The thought of stepping out, of facing Yoongi and Jimin — of seeing their pitying eyes and hearing their gentle voices asking if you're okay — feels unbearable. 

So you stay where you are, curled beneath the covers, face buried in the warm pillow, hoping that if you lie still enough, the world will forget you exist.

When Monday comes, you finally manage to pull yourself upright in bed. Every part of you protests... your body feels sluggish, your limbs weighed down like they've been replaced with stone. 

Your skin feels dry, your head dull and achy, and the gnawing emptiness in your stomach makes you feel lightheaded. You know exactly why — you've barely eaten, barely moved, barely done anything but wallow.

Still, you force yourself to swing your legs over the side of the bed. The floor feels cold under your feet, and even that feels like too much. But you push yourself to stand, dragging your heavy body to the bathroom.

The warm water hits your skin, and for a second, it stings — like your body's punishing you for neglecting it. But eventually, the steam clears your mind a little, washing away the weight of the weekend, and when you step out, you feel just a little less like a ghost of yourself.

You towel your hair dry, slip into some fresh clothes, and mentally brace yourself for the day ahead. Skipping your classes isn't an option — not unless you want to deal with a mountain of catching up later especially with finals right around the corner — so no matter how much your body protests, you know you have to push through.

As you step outside of the guest room, you hear voices from the kitchen.

"Baby, but she hasn't eaten anything all weekend—"

"Yoon, I know..." Jimin's voice interrupts Yoongi. "But she'll come around when she's ready, okay? If she doesn't come out today as well, maybe we can go talk to her." he tries. 

There's a pause before Yoongi loudly exhales. "Still... I'm making her some tea or something. She can't just... sit in there all day."

The corners of your lips twitch — barely there, but it's something. Because even now, even after spending the weekend buried in your own sadness, even after showing up unannounced at their place, they're still here. Worrying, caring, loving you in quiet ways that ask for nothing in return.

When you step into the hallway, their voices fall silent. Both their heads snap towards you, their expressions shifting from concern to relief at the sight of you... damp hair, face no longer blotchy, dressed in clean clothes. 

You still feel fragile, like you're barely piecing yourself back together — but you're up, you're trying.

"Hi." you say softly, your voice a little scratchy. "Finally." Yoongi murmurs, but there's no irritation in his voice, just relief as both of them break into soft smiles.

"I'm sorry." you say quietly as you step closer, settling into one of the chairs at their dining table but Jimin shakes his head almost instantly, following you and sinking into the seat beside you. "Don't apologize." he says gently. "Let's get to class for now, and then maybe you can tell me everything over lunch, alright?"

You press your lips together and nod as Jimin curls his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close, and you don't hesitate to lean into his warmth. 

Across the room, Yoongi's already moving, making his way to the stove. Moments later, he's setting a plate of pancakes, drizzled with syrup and a warm cup of tea in front of you. "Eat." he says, his voice gruff yet soft in that very Yoongi way and you can't help but giggle. 

Jungkook chews on his lower lip anxiously, his gaze fixed on his phone screen. His call log is a mess — countless missed calls to your number, each one unanswered. His texts, too, sit there, marked delivered but never read. 

There's been no sign of you all weekend — no updates on your Instagram, no new tiktoks (he even made a tiktok account just to check), nothing. It's like you've vanished, leaving him stranded in the aftermath of his own words. He doesn't know if you're avoiding him or just off the grid entirely, but either way, the weight of it gnaws at him.

He exhales heavily, stuffing his phone into his pocket as he trudges across campus towards the cafeteria. His late morning class ended a while ago, but he barely remembers what was discussed because his mind's been stuck in a loop of whatever happened between the two of you that night. 

The usual noise of the cafeteria barely registers as all of it dulls beneath the relentless static in his head. He figures he'll just grab something quick, something to fill the hollow pit in his stomach, and head to his next class.

But just as he steps towards one of the counters, he freezes when he spots you by the vending machine at the far end of the cafeteria. Your back is to him, your fingers hovering over the keypad. 

He doesn't know if this is the right time to approach you — doesn't know if you'd even want to see him — but after finally catching a glimpse of you, he's desperate. Desperate to see you up close, to hear your voice, to make sure you're okay — though deep down, he knows you're probably far from it.

His heart pounds violently against his ribs, each beat thudding in his ears as he draws a shaky breath. He forces himself to push past the hesitation, to drown out the voice in his head telling him to wait, to back off.

So he moves, each step feeling heavier than the last until he's right behind you. His fingers twitch nervously at his sides before he finally calls out for you.

"Y/n...?" It's barely more than a whisper, like he's afraid saying your name too loudly will shatter whatever fragile thread of courage he's holding onto.

You turn around almost instantly, your wide eyes locking with his for a fleeting second — and for that brief moment, there's something vulnerable in your gaze. But just as quickly, your expression hardens, your walls snapping back into place the second you realize it's him.

Your posture stiffens, your breath hitches and suddenly whatever craving brought you to the vending machine no longer matters. All you want now is to get away from him — away from the memories of that night, away from the things he said, away from the hurt that's still clinging stubbornly to your chest.

You exhale sharply and turn on your heel, determined to walk away before he can say anything else but somehow, Jungkook moves faster. 

His hand shoots out before he can even think, fingers curling tightly... almost desperately, around your wrist. "Wait." he blurts out and his voice cracks slightly, like he's scrambling to catch you before you slip away completely.

And for a second... you almost turn back. Almost. But then you remember his words and the memory stings so fiercely that your feet stay rooted to the floor. You remain still like a statue, hoping that if you pretend hard enough, he'll just give up and walk away.

"Hey..." His voice comes softer this time, his fingers loosening around your wrist before he finally lets go. He hesitantly steps closer, like he's afraid you'll bolt the second he moves.

"I just..." He pauses, swallowing hard, his eyes flicking down to the floor before darting back up to you — or rather, to the side of your face since you won't look at him. "Listen, Y/n..." His voice wavers, and he exhales shakily like he's trying to steady himself.

"I..." He stops again, fingers curling and uncurling by his sides. His words keep tangling on his tongue, thoughts colliding faster than he can catch them. "I know I... I shouldn't have... I mean, I didn't mean to —" His hand lifts like he's reaching for you again, but he stops himself mid-air, curling his fingers into a fist before they can get too close. "I just... I'm really..." he tries again, but the right words just won’t come out.

You close your eyes tightly, teeth digging into your lower lip, trying to hold down the surge of emotions rising in your chest. "What?" you snap, spinning around to face him at last.

Jungkook flinches slightly, shoulders tensing like he wasn't expecting you to actually turn around... or for your voice to sound so sharp. And when his eyes finally meet yours, something inside him sinks.

Because your eyes... they aren't the same.

Is it possible to feel it... the exact moment someone's eyes stop shining for you? Because that's what this feels like... like something warm and familiar has been extinguished, leaving behind nothing but cold air and silence.

The way you used to look at him with those dreamy, glimmering eyes, so full of quiet adoration — it's vanished. That warmth, that tender glow that once danced in your eyes whenever they found his, has dimmed into nothingness. 

That spark — the one that made him feel seen, made him feel wanted — is gone, snuffed out by something colder, something harsher. And what's left in its place cuts deeper than anything he was prepared for.

Your eyes are empty now, like you're staring at someone you barely know. Like you're staring at a stranger.

And somehow, that feels so much worse than if you'd yelled at him, worse than if you'd cursed him out or thrown every cruel word he deserved right back in his face. Because this? This feels like you've already given up on him, like whatever space he once occupied in your life, in your heart, is just... gone.

"Look..." you exhale sharply, your voice steady despite the tremor of emotions threatening to break through. "I've already heard enough from you. I don't know what got into you that night, and honestly? I don't care to know. But I... I really don't think I want to talk to you right now. So please, just—"

"I know." Jungkook cuts in desperately as he steps closer. "I know, and I'm sorry, but please, Y/n... just come back home. We can talk, we can figure this out, I—"

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head as you take a step back, putting some distance between you and him. "That's not up to you, Jungkook." you say, your voice steadier than you feel. "I'll come home when I want to."

Jungkook blinks, parting his lips like he's about to say something... to explain, to apologize, to justify, but the look on your face stops him. Whatever words he was holding onto seem to wither before they can even leave his mouth. Because you're not just angry, you're hurt. Worn down. And most of all, you look done.

"So stop calling me." you say, your voice thick with frustration, but there's something else bleeding through, something dangerously close to heartbreak. "Stop texting me." you continue. "And stop acting like you care… like any of this matters, when we both know what you really think of me."

Your arms wrap around yourself, as if holding yourself together is the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart. "I get it now..." Your voice cracks on the word, but you push through. 

"I'm just... impossible to deal with, right? Someone who never bothers to look past what's right in front of her. Someone who doesn't listen — who just... " Your breath hitches, and for a second, your face twists like you're trying to swallow the ache that's clawing its way up your throat.

"... brushes people off like their words mean nothing because she always knows best." Your laugh is hollow, bitter. "That's what you said, isn't it??? So just... save yourself the trouble, Jungkook. Don't waste your time pretending you give a damn when you've already made it perfectly clear what you really think of me."

You shake your head, blinking hard like you're trying to will the tears away. "I don't know what's worse... the fact that you said it, or the fact that you've probably always felt that way." you mumble, looking away. 

And with that, you spare him one last look — a fleeting glance that somehow says everything you're too hurt to put into words. There's no fire in your eyes, no anger or spite... just this quiet, defeated emptiness, like you've run out of tears, out of fight, out of the will to care anymore.

It guts him — the way you look at him like he's not even worth your frustration, like you're done trying.

Then you turn away, shoulders curling inward like you're holding yourself together, like if you let go, you might just break apart right there. And all he can do is stand there — watching you walk away.

When you finally make it back to the table where Jimin has just taken a seat, you're barely holding yourself together. The pressure behind your eyes is unbearable, but you blink rapidly, willing the tears away as you plop down beside him. 

Without a word, Jimin pushes the extra tray of food he's gotten for you towards your side of the table. He takes one look at your face and wonders if now is the right time to ask what's been bothering you. To ask for the explanation you've been avoiding ever since you showed up at his doorstep.

"Y/n..." he starts, his voice cautious but your gaze stays fixed on the tray in front of you, your fingers twitching like you're trying to busy yourself with something to avoid what's coming next. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, and for a second, you genuinely consider it. 

But then you remember... you remember how much it hurt, how raw everything still feels. You remember the sharpness in Jungkook's voice and the memory replays in your mind like a loop you can't escape, each word echoing louder than the last. 

You can still picture the way his face twisted with frustration, the bitterness laced in his tone — like he had been holding it in for so long and finally let it all spill out, no matter how much damage it left behind.

And you wonder... do you really have it in you to go through that again? To recount every detail — every word, every look, every moment that made your chest tighten like a fist was squeezing your ribs. Would saying it out loud make it worse? Would it solidify the thought you've been trying so hard to shake — the one that whispers maybe you deserved it?

Because more than anything, you're scared.

Scared that if you tell Jimin what Jungkook said— Jimin will agree.

Because what if... what if Jungkook was right? What if you really are too much... too stubborn, too blinded by your own perspective to ever notice anyone else's? What if you really are selfish... the kind of person who takes and takes without ever stopping to ask what anyone else needs?

And worst of all... what if you really are shallow? What if the connections you thought you'd built were nothing more than you clinging to people, suffocating them with your presence until they had no choice but to pull away?

What if this isn't just how Jungkook sees you — what if this is how everyone sees you?

So all you can do is press your lips tightly together, biting down hard to keep it all from spilling out and you shake your head. "I just... need some time." you say honestly, your voice small and fragile.

Jimin doesn't hesitate as his hand finds yours. "Of course." he says softly. "Don't worry."

"I'm just... I'm sorry for showing up unannounced at your place. I know I'm inconveniencing you and Yoongi and—"

"Hey." He squeezes your hand firmly, cutting you off. "You're not inconveniencing anyone. You can stay with us for as long as you need." He assures. "And I'm here... whenever you want to talk, whenever you're ready. Okay?"

Your throat tightens, and this time, you can't stop the tears from building. "Thanks, Chim." you whisper. "Thanks a lot."

It's the middle of the week, and while you're not exactly thriving, you're... functioning. You've been attending classes, chipping away at your remaining assignments, and burying yourself in your textbooks in preparation for the upcoming finals. 

At this point, you just can't wait to be done with the whole ordeal and just go back home to your dad for the break.

Living with Yoongi and Jimin has been nice, a temporary refuge from the mess you left behind and though they keep insisting you're not a burden, that you're welcome to stay as long as you need, you can't shake the gnawing guilt that settles in your chest every time you take up space in their home.

You know you can't overstay your welcome because intruding is one thing, but you're still paying rent for that shared apartment with Jungkook, and unfortunately, money doesn't just fall from the sky... so you know you'll have to go back eventually. 

You don't know when though, but moving out entirely feels drastic, almost ridiculous, like you're giving up on something you're not ready to let go of. But at the same time... the idea of staying under the same roof as him, knowing what he truly thinks of you, feels impossible.

And yet... despite everything... despite the sharp sting of what he said, despite the ache still clinging to your chest — you still miss Jungkook.

He might have grown sick of you, but for you, that couldn't be further from the truth. Not even close because living with him had become so ingrained in your routine that now... everything just feels off. Empty. Quiet in all the wrong ways.

It's complicated — too complicated — and as much as you want to push the whole situation away, you can't. Because moving out is a far-fetched idea since apartment hunting is an absolute nightmare, and finding something affordable near campus feels almost impossible. And deep down, despite all the confusion and hurt, some part of you knows that leaving... really leaving... would feel like closing a door you're not ready to shut yet.

Maybe you should wait until this semester ends? Maybe you should move out after the break?

You let out a quiet groan, shaking your head as if that alone could dislodge the weight pressing down on you. Everything feels overwhelming, suffocating in a way you can't quite escape, and more than anything, you wish you had some kind of distraction—something to pull you away from the thoughts gnawing at the edges of your mind.

But you push it all aside, telling yourself that you'll deal with it later. Right now, you just need to get through the day.

With that thought, you make your way across campus towards the stationery store, hoping to grab a few notebooks and supplies. But just as you approach the shop, a familiar voice calls out your name. 

"Y/N!"

You stop in your tracks as you turn around and instantly spot Jaehyun, jogging up to you. "Hey!" he greets, coming to a stop beside you as he catches his breath. "Oh... Jae..." you say, forcing out a small smile. "Hey."

You haven't really seen him much since that night you grabbed dinner together along with Jimin and Namjoon—or maybe, you just haven't been paying attention to your surroundings at all lately. There's been too much on your mind... Jungkook stuff... apartment stuff... university stuff... Everything.

"Feels like I haven't seen you in ages." Jaehyun grins, slinging his backpack higher onto his shoulder. "Have you been avoiding me? I thought we agreed to be friends and not just assignment partners who forget each other." He teases, stepping a little closer, though there's no bite to his words since the grin on his face makes that clear.

"Besides, I saw you in Mr. Jang's class on Monday, but you were completely zoned out." he remarks. "And… well, I've been texting you too..." he adds, his voice softening slightly.

At that, your own eyes widen in realization. "Oh—oh my god, really? I'm so sorry. I've just been so out of it lately, I haven't been checking my messages... or my phone in general." You admit sheepishly.

It's the truth. You've been actively avoiding checking your phone—mostly because you don't want to crumble at the sight of Jungkook's missed calls and messages, knowing that if you so much as glance at them, it's over for you.

And honestly? The brand deals, the sponsorship posts, the endless cycle of curated content—they can all wait. Right now, you don't have the energy to plaster on a smile, to craft the perfect caption, to engage with random people on the internet like everything is fine.

Jaehyun, oblivious to your internal turmoil, lets out a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to his heart. "Ahh, forgot you were this famous influencer and all... Didn't know I was that easy to forget." He pouts playfully, tilting his head with exaggerated disappointment.

Something about the way he says it pulls a small giggle out of you, the first in what feels like forever. "I'm sorry, Jae." you say sincerely, shaking your head. "I swear, it's not like that... I just... haven't been feeling the best lately."

At that, his teasing expression shifts as he furrows his brows slightly. "Oh?" He studies you for a second. "Is everything okay?"

You hesitate, your gaze flickering away. "I'm just... I don't know. I'm... stressed, I guess. Finals are coming up and everything." You settle on the safest answer, offering a small shrug. "Okay, yeah... that makes sense." He nods knowingly before letting out a dramatic sigh. "Honestly, I should probably start studying too."

"Probably?" you chuckle, tilting your head.  "Fine. Definitely. But let's not talk about that nightmare right now." He waves a hand dismissively before glancing at you again. "Anyways, where are you headed?"

"Oh, um... the stationery store." you reply, gesturing towards the shop ahead. Jaehyun hums in acknowledgment before suddenly picking up his pace. "Alright then, come on."

You blink at him. "Wait, you're coming too?" you ask, a little confused.  He turns to you with an arched brow. "Yes? What makes you think I don't need a few extra pens?"

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips as you step forward, falling into step beside him and following him into the store.

You weave through the aisles, picking up a few notebooks, flipping through their pages absentmindedly before tucking them under your arm. Your gaze drifts around the store until it lands on Jaehyun, who's currently occupied in the pens section.

"The only reason Jaehyun's even nice to you is because he wants to fuck you."

Jungkook's voice suddenly echoes in your head and your fingers tighten slightly around the notebooks as you keep your gaze fixed on Jaehyun.

There's no way that's true.

Ever since you've known Jaehyun, he's been nothing but genuinely nice. He's easygoing, never oversteps, never makes you feel uncomfortable. So, you can't help but think about just how baseless Jungkook's accusations are.

But no matter how hard you try to brush it off, you can't help but wonder what made Jungkook say something like that.

You've been turning it over in your head for days now, trying to rationalize it. Maybe Jungkook was just lashing out, drunk and speaking without thinking. Maybe he was being overly protective, reading too much into things. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment, a careless remark fueled by whatever emotions he had been battling that night.

But still... you'd be lying if you said the thought hadn't been nagging at you because what if there's more to it?

You wonder if you should bring it up... if you should ask Jaehyun outright whether he's ever said or done anything to make Jungkook uncomfortable. Would that even be fair? Would it make things worse?

You sigh, pressing your lips together before shaking your head.

Maybe you should just let it go.

Once you've picked out everything you need and paid at the counter, you and Jaehyun step out of the store together. 

"Hey..." he suddenly starts, turning towards you as he shoves his hands into his pockets. "So, my friend's throwing a party this weekend. It's at this club downtown... good music, good vibes... you should come." He tilts his head slightly. 

"I mean... um... finals are coming up and you also mentioned how you've been a little out of it and how you haven't been feeling the best lately... so maybe you just need a night to unwind, you know? Take a break before the real stress kicks in." he explains. 

You pause, nibbling on your bottom lip as you mull over his words.

Truthfully, you can't even remember the last time you went to a party just to let go—to dance without overthinking, to let the music consume you, to exist in a moment that isn't clouded by everything weighing you down. 

Maybe this is exactly what you need—a night of reckless abandon, something to shake you out of your own head, even if just for a little while.

And at this point, you're convinced that a few strong drinks, a bass-heavy track, and the simple act of moving without restraint might be the perfect distraction. Even if it's temporary, even if it doesn't fix anything—you'll take whatever relief you can get.

You tilt your head at him. "Will there be free alcohol?" Because, honestly, you could really use a drink. "Of course. Top shelf, if I can pull a few strings." he grins. 

A small, almost reluctant smile tugs at your lips. "Well... I guess I could drop by." you say, genuinely considering the idea. "I probably won't stay too long, though." you add, pursing your lips making Jaehyun raise his brows. "Yeah, yeah. That's what they all say." he smirks. 

You roll your eyes but laugh anyway, as you both continue walking. "Text me the details, yeah?" you say. "I'll let you know."

"Done." he nods. "I promise it'll be fun."

When the weekend finally rolls around, you find yourself seated in front of the mirror, carefully applying your makeup. Yoongi and Jimin have been out all day, caught up in their own world, probably still on that cute little date at the cat café. 

You had thought about asking them to come with you tonight, but in the end, you didn't have the heart to intrude on their plans. That's fine, though because you tell yourself, you don't mind going alone.

With the address Jaehyun sent you earlier, you manage to hail a cab, slipping into the backseat and exhaling softly as the driver pulls away. 

Tonight, you don't want to think. You don't want to dissect your emotions or dwell on things that will only weigh you down. You just want a break—some mindless fun, a night where nothing matters except the music, the drinks, and the warmth of a fleeting distraction.

But despite your best efforts, your thoughts still drift.

Jungkook.

You wonder what he's doing right now, even though you don't want to. You know he's alone at the apartment, and while you can picture a dozen things he might be up to, there's one thing you're certain of... he's thinking about you, just like you're thinking about him.

For the past week, he's been persistent. Texts. Missed calls. Small, quiet attempts to close the distance you've put between you. And yet, you've shut him out completely.

You know it's immature. You know you'll have to face him eventually. But for now... you're just not ready.

About fifteen minutes later, the cab pulls up to the club, and the thumping bass is already vibrating through the walls — loud enough that you can feel it in your chest even before stepping out of the cab.

"Wow..." you murmur under your breath, blinking as you take in the scene outside. The entrance is swarmed with people... a restless crowd dressed in flashy outfits, some with vapes and cigarettes between their fingers, others leaning lazily against the ropes as they chat and laugh, all waiting for their turn to enter the club. 

You step out of the cab, clutching your purse a little tighter as your gaze flickers towards the building. The club itself is a sight to behold—sleek black exterior gleaming under neon lights, velvet ropes sectioning off the entrance, and sharply dressed bouncers standing like sentinels at the door. 

Everything about it screams exclusivity and all you can think is—how the hell are you supposed to get in?

You've gone clubbing before, sure, but never somewhere this upscale and when Jaehyun suggested hitting the club, you thought it would be a random club — the kind with sticky floors, a small bar, and a DJ who's just slightly offbeat. Not this.

You bite your lower lip, debating whether you should even attempt to stand in that impossibly long line, when—

"Oh, hey! You made it!" Jaehyun's voice cuts through the noise, and you turn just in time to see him waving at you from the side. "Oh... hey." you greet him with a smile as he approaches you.

Once he's close enough, his gaze flickers over you for a brief moment, his lips curling into a grin. "Wow... you look..." He trails off, giving you a once-over. "You look good."

You let out a soft laugh, waving him off. "Thanks Jae." you grin. "Now, do you wanna tell me how exactly we're supposed to get in? Because that line is insane." you point out, nodding towards the crowd. Jaehyun only shrugs, completely unbothered. "You don't have to worry about that." He tilts his head towards the entrance. "Just follow me."

You blink, momentarily dumbfounded but once Jaehyun begins walking, you quietly follow behind him and your lips part in shock as he simply strides right past the line, flashing a casual grin at the bouncers like they're old friends.

And somehow... they are because one of them gives him a familiar nod, already stepping aside to let him through.

You hesitate, half-expecting to be stopped — maybe asked for your ID or told to get back in line, but Jaehyun glances over his shoulder, flashing you a grin as he gestures for you to follow. "Come on." he calls out, like it's nothing.

You quickly scurry after him, still not entirely sure how you just bypassed a crowd of people without so much as a second glance.

Once you're inside, the atmosphere swallows you whole. The air is thick with the scent of alcohol, cologne, and something faintly sweet that you can't quite place. The music pounds mercilessly from the speakers, the bass so heavy it thrums through your chest.

Clusters of people are scattered across the expansive room under flashing lights that flicker in hues of crimson and violet, while others crowd around the sleek black bar where liquor bottles line the shelves like jewels on display.

In the far corner, there's a staircase and nearby, a pyramid of champagne glasses stands precariously tall, glittering under the lights as though one wrong step could send it crashing down. The DJ, stationed on an elevated platform, bobs his head in sync with the beats, one hand raised in the air while the other works the mixer effortlessly.

You follow behind Jaehyun, your gaze flitting over the crowd as you weave through the bodies pressed together under flashing neon lights. You even manage to spot a few familiar faces—people you've crossed paths with at other parties, some from university. 

And you can't deny it... the atmosphere here is different, electric in a way that feels almost liberating. 

Jaehyun leans in, cupping his hand around his mouth as he yells into your ear. "Let's get some drinks!" His voice somehow cuts through the music, and you briefly wonder just how loud he had to shout for you to hear him. You nod, following him towards the bar counter.

As you get closer, you notice a few guys lounging by the bar, their conversations pausing the minute they spot Jaehyun. Their faces light up with recognition, flashing easy grins that he returns just as effortlessly. 

They greet him, dapping him up and exchanging quick pats on the back before their attention shifts to you. Jaehyun leans in again to yell into your ear. "This is Dohyun." He gestures toward one of the guys seated by the bar, who flashes you an easygoing smile. "His dad owns this place."

Ah. That explains everything—the seamless entry, the way Jaehyun strolled past the bouncers like he belonged here.

You return Dohyun's smile before shifting your gaze to the rest of the group, introducing yourself (or more like yelling, given the thumping bass shaking the room). Some of the guys have girls draped around them, but to your surprise, they don't give off the usual cold, unapproachable vibe you half-expected. 

Instead, they welcome you warmly, their smiles genuine, their energy easygoing. A few of them even recognize you from instagram and immediately gush over your dress, your hair, your makeup—small compliments woven between casual conversation and somehow that puts you at ease. 

The bartender slides a fresh round of drinks across the counter, the glasses clinking together as they're eagerly claimed. One of the guys passes one to you, and you glance over at Jaehyun just in time to catch him downing his own in one smooth tilt of his head. 

You proceed to down your own shot in one go and the burn is immediate as it sears down your throat, making you wince slightly. 

But oddly enough, it feels good—like a reset, like the weight pressing down on you is loosening, even if just for a moment.

And as the bass thrums beneath your feet and the lights flicker in hypnotic patterns across the room, you start to think that maybe—just maybe—this night might actually be the escape you've been craving.

Jungkook sighs, eyes fixed on the stove like it holds all the answers he's too afraid to ask. The food he just prepared sits there, untouched, still steaming — yet somehow, the sight of it only makes his stomach twist tighter.

It's the weekend again and it's almost been a whole week since you left and somehow, he still can't break the habit of preparing two portions. His hands move on instinct, muscle memory guiding him every single time as he prepares an extra serving, like some stubborn part of him refuses to accept that you're not coming home.

What is he supposed to do with all this food, anyway? It's not like he has the appetite to finish it. Most days, he just shoves it into a container and tosses it in the fridge, only to throw it out the next morning when he can't bring himself to touch it. 

It's a pathetic cycle, yet one he can't seem to break.

He groans quietly, rubbing a hand down his face, frustrated with himself and the tangled mess of regret that's been sitting in his chest like a stone since the morning you left.

He knows you're staying with Jimin and Yoongi — figured as much when Jimin stopped by a few days ago to grab a few textbooks you'd left behind.

Jungkook had pieced together scraps of information through subtle questions disguised as casual conversation — questions that felt anything but casual.

"Has she been eating well?""Is she feeling better?""Did she... say anything about coming home?"

Jimin's answers had been vague and mostly uncertain... but when Jimin, with his usual innocence, had asked, "Do you have any idea what's been going on with her?" — like Jungkook wasn't the very reason you were hurting — it hit him like a punch to the gut.

Just how badly had he hurt you? How heavy must his words have been to make you feel like you couldn't even confide in your best friend? How much of a jerk had he been to you that left you feeling so raw, so isolated, that you couldn't even talk to the people who love you most?

The idea of you bottling it all up, carrying the weight of it alone, drowning in hurt because of him... because of the things he said makes his chest feel hollow, like something vital has been scraped out and replaced with this gnawing, endless ache. It leaves him feeling powerless, useless, like no matter what he does now, he's already failed you in the worst way possible.

He sighs again, softer this time... a breath that barely escapes his chest as he finally serves himself some food. His movements are sluggish, mechanical, like he's just going through the motions and by the time he sinks onto the kitchen island stool, it feels like every ounce of energy has bled out of him.

Each bite feels tasteless — just bland, empty fuel to get him through the day. He chews without thinking, without feeling — because he's not eating out of hunger. Not really. He's eating because it's something to do... something to fill the silence, to keep him occupied, to make the minutes pass just a little faster.

Because staying still? Staying still is worse. It leaves too much room for his thoughts to spiral — too much space for regret to crawl in and gnaw at him from the inside out. 

It makes him picture you curled up, tired and hurting, shutting out the world because of him. Because of what he said.

So he eats... not because he wants to, but because it's one more thing to check off the list. One more step to keep moving forward, to stay afloat... just in case.

Just in case you show up.

Just in case you finally come home.

When he finally finishes doing the dishes and returns to the living room, the silence feels deafening and almost loud in a way that presses against his ears. He wonders if the lights around the apartment have dimmed somehow, or if it's just that everything feels dull now that you're not here. 

He wonders if the paint on the walls has faded, or if it's just that your presence had always made everything seem brighter... warmer, softer, more alive.

He doesn't know if he's crazy for thinking like this, but he can't help it. Because when you were here, even the quiet felt comforting. But now it's just... empty.

His feet carry him down the hall before his mind even catches up, and soon he's standing right in front of your bedroom door, fingers hovering uncertainly over the knob. He hesitates, guilt gnawing at him, but he still twists it open — because he can't help it. 

Because he needs to look inside. He needs the reminder, the cold, painful confirmation — that you're not here.

Your room is exactly as you left it... still messy and he wonders if he should clean it up for you because maybe tidying the space might make things feel a little less... frozen in time. But then he wonders if you'd even be okay with that — if you'd want him touching your things at all.

He steps inside anyway, and the first thing he notices is how that scent... that soft trace of jasmine, is gone. It used to linger faintly, a warm reminder of you even when you weren't in the room, but now... now it's just air. Stale and cold.

His gaze lands on the candle on your nightstand and somehow, it looks... sad. Unlit, cold, forgotten — just like this room. Just like him.

Before he can stop himself, he reaches for the lighter sitting beside it and flicks the flame to life. The wick crackles softly, the tiny flicker casting a warm glow that stretches across your walls. It's small, barely enough to change the room but somehow, it feels like a piece of you is back. 

Like something has shifted, even just a little.

He knows he has no right to be here, no right to invade your space like this... but the ache in his chest pulls him deeper in. Without thinking, he sits on the edge of your bed, and before he knows it, he's lying down — staring blankly at the ceiling.

The faint warmth of the candle flickers beside him, and for just a moment... just a fleeting, fragile second, he closes his eyes and lets himself pretend that you're still here. 

That you might walk through the door at any moment, tired from class or a long day out, and ask him to help you film something, take a few pictures of your new outfit, or test out some makeup on his arm. 

But when nothing moves, when he hears no footsteps, no voice calling out his name... he knows there's no point in pretending. The stillness is real and it only drives the truth in deeper. 

You're not here.

Your initial plan had been simple—knock back a few shots, let the alcohol take the edge off, and then slip out before the night got too messy. But somehow, you're still here, lost in the music, dancing with the girls you met earlier while Jaehyun and the guys are right beside you, dancing in their own world. 

The warmth of the alcohol has settled deep into your bones, coursing through you in a way that makes everything feel lighter, easier. It would be a lie to say you aren't enjoying yourself.

But then, at some point, a wave of dizziness washes over you, making the room tilt ever so slightly. You stop dancing, pressing your fingertips to your temples in an attempt to steady yourself and somehow, the moment doesn't go unnoticed by Jaehyun. 

"You good?" he yells over the music, brows furrowed as he watches you closely. You let out a breathless laugh, throwing him a lazy thumbs-up, but he still steps in closer, unconvinced. "Wanna get out of here?" he calls out again.

For a second, you hesitate, not entirely sure what he means. But before you can ask, he's already reaching for your wrist, his fingers curling around it lightly as he offers you a small smile and you don't protest.

The next thing you know, he's weaving through the crowd and guiding you towards the base of the sleek staircase tucked into the corner. As you follow him up, you glance back over your shoulder, watching the sea of bodies lost in the music, the flashing lights painting streaks of color across the haze of the room.

Once you step into the hallway upstairs, it's a stark contrast— much quieter, dimly lit, lined with sleek black doors. The heavy bass from downstairs hums faintly beneath your feet, muffled enough that you can finally hear yourself think.

Jaehyun finally stops at one of the doors, pulling a keycard from his pocket before unlocking it. The door swings open, revealing a private lounge that looks straight out of a luxury magazine.

The room is spacious yet cozy, with a low leather sectional sprawled across one side, deep brown with cushions that look impossibly soft. A glass table sits at the center, its surface dotted with half-melted candles in elegant holders. 

The walls are a warm shade of charcoal, and golden strip lights trace the edges of the ceiling, bathing the room in a soft, ambient glow.

"What... what is this place?" you ask, stepping further inside, turning slowly to take it all in. The air here is different—quieter, more refined. 

Jaehyun leans casually against the doorframe with a grin, like he's amused by your reaction. "Well... Dohyun lets me use this lounge sometimes." he explains with an easy shrug. Your brows knit together. "But... why?" You glance at him. "Why are we up here?"

"You seemed dizzy down there," he answers casually. "Thought we could relax here for a while."

Okay. Fair. Maybe that makes sense.

Still, something about this—about all of it—feels a little off. Maybe it's the sudden shift in the atmosphere, or maybe it's just the lingering haze of alcohol in your system making everything feel slightly weird.

Before you can gather your thoughts, Jaehyun speaks again. "Why don't you get comfortable?" he suggests, pushing off the doorframe. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

You watch him, debating whether to question it, but in the end, you just sigh softly and nod. "Alright." you mutter, already making your way towards the couch as he slips out, the door clicking shut behind him.

You set your clutch aside and sink into the cushions, rubbing your knees absently as you take a moment to really absorb your surroundings.

It's the kind of lounge you've only ever seen in movies—the kind where rich kids with too much time and daddy's black card do things that would make their parents' lawyers sweat. The kind of place where champagne flows like water, where someone's probably rolled a bill to snort something off the glass table, and where rules exist solely to be broken.

You can't help but think some of these things might actually be happening right this instant, in some of the neighboring rooms on this very floor. 

And suddenly you're wondering if you should even be here. 

You shake your head, pushing the thought away. Maybe it's just the contrast—the overwhelming energy of the party downstairs compared to the strange, almost eerie stillness of this place. 

A few minutes pass and the door creaks open, as Jaehyun strolls back inside. Behind him, a waiter follows, balancing a sleek silver tray adorned with an array of drinks — tall glasses glistening with condensation, their rims garnished with slices of lime and tiny cocktail umbrellas. 

The amber hues of whiskey, the icy clarity of vodka mixers, and a few colorful concoctions you can't quite name glint beneath the low lighting. "Hi." Jaehyun greets with a soft chuckle, sinking into the seat across from you. The waiter carefully sets the tray down on the table between you both, the glasses clinking faintly against each other before he turns and quietly exits the room.

Jaehyun gestures towards the drinks with an easy smile. "Figured we could use a little variety." he says.

You eye the tray warily, fully aware that you're already pretty drunk and that more drinks probably isn’t the best idea. But despite that, your mouth waters at the sight. Maybe one more wouldn't hurt, right?

Jaehyun reaches for a glass, swirling the liquid inside before bringing it to his lips. He takes a slow sip, then gestures for you to do the same. You hesitate for a moment, scanning the array of options before finally settling on what looks like the safest choice and wrap your fingers around the cool glass.

"How'd you like the party?" Jaehyun asks, taking another sip of his drink. "It's nothing like I expected." you admit, swirling the liquid in your glass before taking a slow sip. "Do you come to places like these often?" you ask. At that, he smirks, taking a lazy swig from his drink. "Mhm." he hums. "Sometimes."

You nod slowly, letting his answer settle between you. The initial unease you felt when you first stepped into this room is beginning to fade, replaced by the soothing lull of alcohol in your system and the plush comfort of the couch beneath you. 

"Honestly, I feel like I needed tonight." you sigh, finally relaxing into the cushions. "Really?" Jaehyun's voice holds a hint of curiosity. You hum in response, tilting your head back to gaze at the intricately designed ceiling.  "It's just been a tragic week." you exhale, the words slipping out before you can think twice.

A brief silence lingers before Jaehyun speaks again. "What happened? Is everything okay?" he asks. 

At that, you lift your head, and somehow, you can physically feel your expression shift—your face falling as the weight of everything crashes back onto your shoulders and you can tell Jaehyun instantly notices when he proceeds to move around the glass table and settles right beside you on the couch, without any hesitation.

You don't think of it much and simply stare down at your drink. "Hey." Jaehyun inches closer. "You wanna talk?" he asks, keeping his voice soft. "It's just..." You hesitate, exhaling sharply. "I had an argument with Jungkook."

You don't catch the subtle smirk that tugs at the corner of Jaehyun's lips before he quickly masks it with feigned concern. He tilts his head slightly, watching you carefully. "Oh? Your roommate?" he asks, his voice smooth. "What happened?"

You hesitate, exhaling softly as you swirl your drink in your hand, watching the ice clink against the glass. You still don't really feel like diving into the details... so instead, you just lick your lips, giving a nonchalant shrug. "It's nothing serious." you lie.

"Well..." Jaehyun drawls, inching a little closer. "If it wasn't anything serious, you wouldn't be feeling like this." he says and somehow, you hate that he's right.

"I know." you admit with a sigh. "But I just don't wanna talk about it."

He hums, watching you for a moment before reaching out, his hand settling lightly on your knee. You don't think of it much as you look at him with a soft smile. "Well, that's fine." he says, nodding as if to reassure you. "But is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

You let out a small huff, tilting your head. "Like what?" you raise your brows. "Well maybe we could start by trying to decode whatever the hell that guy downstairs was doing. Y'know, the one who looked like he was being electrocuted mid-dance?"

That makes you snort. "Oh my god, you mean the neon shirt guy? I swear he looked like he was dodging invisible punches." you remark. Jaehyun lets out a laugh, shaking his head. "Dodging? To me it looked like he was throwing hands at the air like it owed him money."

You burst into giggles, shaking your head as you recall the absurdity of the scene. Some guy had taken over the dance floor earlier, flailing so aggressively that the people around him had instinctively stepped back, giving him space like he was performing some sacred ritual.

"At one point, I swear he was just... stomping in circles?" you say between wheezes. "Like—full speed. Just stomping."

"Dude was either summoning something or trying to exorcise himself in real-time." Jaehyun cackles, his eyes crinkling. "Maybe both." you add, still breathless.

Jaehyun keeps the jokes coming, still exaggerating about the guy's moves and expressions making you double over. But then, as a few moments pass, somewhere in the middle of his sentence, you become acutely aware of his fingers that are now somehow on your thigh. 

Your breath catches, a strange flicker of discomfort washing over you.

You don't say anything—don't want to ruin the atmosphere, don't want to make it into something bigger than it is—so instead, you shift slightly, angling your body just enough to make the contact disappear. 

The movement is subtle, barely noticeable, but thankfully, it does the trick. Jaehyun's hand falls away, and you exhale quietly, relief washing over you.

But then, a few minutes pass.

This time you're talking when you feel it again... when you feel his palm land on your thigh again, fingers spreading across the plush of your skin. The pressure is heavier now, intentional in a way that makes your skin prickle, makes your stomach curl into itself.

And then—a small squeeze. 

Your breath hitches as you force yourself to glance at him. His expression is unreadable at first... casual, almost too casual. His lips curl into an easy smile while his eyes remain hooded as he watches you. 

"Have I..." he starts, his fingers still resting firm against your thigh. "Have I ever told you how pretty you are?"

His voice has changed... lower, slower, silkier in a way that makes the air in the room feel thick and stagnant, like it's pressing down on you. He leans in just slightly, close enough that you can catch the sharp bite of his cologne mixed with the faint burn of whiskey clinging to his breath.

The space between you, the one that had felt safe just moments ago, now feels suffocating.

Your fingers tighten around the glass in your hand, your pulse kicking up in your throat. You will yourself to keep your face neutral, to not let the discomfort crack through, but suddenly, everything about the room feels wrong.

The dim golden glow of the lights, the muffled bass of the party downstairs, the way the leather couch sinks beneath you... it all feels like a trap.

"Hey..." You start, placing your glass on the table nearby and reaching for his hand with forced ease—like if you play this off as something light, something harmless, it'll make it easier. "I think you're drunk, Jae."

You try to laugh, to make it sound teasing, to turn this into nothing—but your fingers barely brush against his before his grip tightens like iron.

He doesn't let go of you... instead, he shifts—his palm creeping further up your thigh, as if testing boundaries he already knows he'll cross. His tongue flicks over his lower lip, his smirk widening. "Come on..." he murmurs, voice low, smooth, coaxing. He leans in, closing the space between you in a way that feels suffocating.

"You want this, don't you?" His voice is deceptively soft, but it slithers under your skin like something vile. His eyes roam over your face, and your stomach twists so violently that, for a second, you think you might actually throw up.

You reach for his hand again, fingers trembling as you try to pry it off���to make it clear without saying the words. But this time, he's faster as his fingers lock firmly around your wrist. 

"Come on, Y/N..." He drawls, like this is some kind of game, like your discomfort is amusing. His hold tightens, sending a sharp ache up your arm. "When are you going to stop pretending?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" You try to keep your voice even, to mask the fear steadily creeping in, but it betrays you—it wavers.

You don't even know how Jaehyun's demeanor shifted so suddenly, how his expression contorts, twisting his features into something almost inhuman, something predatory. The soft boyish charm he's always worn so effortlessly is gone, replaced by something that makes your blood run cold.

His lips curl into a scoff, as if your resistance is a mere inconvenience, as if he's growing tired of this little charade. "I know you want this, Y/n." he muses, too self-assured, too convinced of his own delusion.

"What are you—"

"Oh, please." He sneers, rolling his eyes. His grip tightens like a vice, and you flinch. "Don't fucking act hard to get now." he growls as his smirk vanishes in an instant. "Let's just get this over with, yeah?" He murmurs.

For a moment, you don't quite understand what he's implying but a sickening realization crashes into you like ice water, freezing your veins, when he leans closer, closer—so close that you can feel his breath against your skin.

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up and with all the strength you can muster, you yank your wrist back, desperation fueling the force behind it. "Jae, what the hell are you doing?!" The words burst from you.

You scramble for your purse, heart hammering so violently you think it might burst. But before you can even rise from the couch, his grip is on you again as he wrenches you backward, knocking the breath from your lungs as you crash into the cushions again. 

Your vision tilts, the world tipping sideways as panic claws up your throat and suddenly he's standing right in front of you now, towering over your trembling frame.

You look up at him with glistening eyes, while he stares down at you. "God, you're so—" He grits his teeth as his hand jerks upward so fast that your instinct kicks in before thought does and you flinch, your body snapping shut as you squeeze your eyes closed.

Silence.

Then—an exhale.

You dare to open your eyes, just enough to see him with his own shut tight, his chest rising and falling, his fingers twitching. He's forcing himself to rein it in, to not let whatever this is to spiral out of control.

"God, you're so fucking annoying," he breathes out, voice seething. The words sting, but what's worse is the way he's looking at you... like you've done something to him, like you've pushed him to this.

"For two months, I've stuck around, trying to be a good friend to you..." he continues, voice laced with resentment. "And this... this is what I get in return?"

You swallow, shaking. "We were assignment partners—"

The scoff that rips from his throat is sharp, bitter, cruel. His jaw clenches so tight you can see the muscle twitch beneath his skin and it's so clear that he's holding back.

Holding back from hurting you.

"God, just shut the fuck up, okay?" His voice snaps like a whip. "You really think I was being that nice to you just for some stupid assignment?" he spits. "All those times I sat there listening to you yap about the most irrelevant shit, all those times I actually tried to be nice to you..." he scoffs, shaking his head.

And then, he leans down, just slightly... just enough that the shadows deepen around his face, just enough that the last remnants of sanity are stripped from his expression.

"You owe me, Y/N."

Your stomach churns, but you force yourself to meet his gaze. "I don't owe you anything."

Jaehyun lets out a dry, humorless chuckle, tilting his head as he rolls his eyes like you’ve just said the dumbest thing imaginable. "God, you are so fucking boring." He drawls the words out slowly, as if they physically exhaust him. "You really live in your own little world, don't you? Just prancing around like some oblivious little princess, thinking everything revolves around you."

His eyes glint with something cruel, something designed to hurt.

"You just love the sound of your own voice, don't you?" Jaehyun sneers, his tone dripping with venom. "Completely oblivious to the fact that no one actually gives a shit about you. You walk around acting like you're deep, like you're interesting, when in reality, you're just another self-absorbed airhead who thinks posting a few half-decent selfies and videos online makes you relevant."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "That whole 'influencer' crap you do? It's laughable. Snapping pictures of yourself, rambling about whatever superficial nonsense is trending—you really think that makes you special?"

His lips curl into a slow, condescending smirk. "Newsflash, sweetheart… you're as shallow as they come. A pretty face with nothing going on underneath. Just another desperate nobody screaming for attention, hoping someone—anyone—will pretend to care."

Your breath hitches, but Jaehyun doesn't stop. He doesn't even hesitate.

"And when you're not yapping about yourself, you're running your mouth about that pathetic little roommate of yours…" he sneers, his voice curling into something mocking. "God, it's always 'Jungkook this, Jungkook that.'"

He rolls his eyes, mimicking your voice in a high-pitched, saccharine tone. "'Jungkook and his stupid animes, Jungkook and his fucking rubik's cubes, Jungkook is so sweet, Jungkook is so smart.' Jesus Christ." He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. 

"It's pathetic. Watching you talk about him like he's some kind of genius when he's just another clueless little loser who has all these weird little obsessions.”  His lip curls in disgust as he takes a slow step forward, almost like a predator cornering its prey. 

"You really think anyone gives a fuck about what you have to say? That any guy actually likes listening to you?" He scoffs. "Let me break it to you, Y/n, because no one else will."

His voice drops lower.

"If any guy ever pretends he's interested in you for anything more than a quick fuck, he's lying. Straight up. Because that's all you are. Just a warm body with a halfway decent face."

You don't even realize the hot tears spilling down your cheeks, as you sit there frozen, trapped in the venom of his words. Each syllable slices through you like a blade, carving wounds deep into the marrow of your being. I

You should move, speak, fight back—but you can't. You're paralyzed beneath the weight of his gaze, beneath the cruel smirk twisting his features, beneath the realization that he never saw you as anything more than a joke.

"You're just another one of those bitches with a decent face who thinks the whole world is at her feet." He grins. "Like you're special. Like you matter." His eyes drag over your body before he opens his mouth again. "But here's the truth, sweetheart—" he leans in just slightly. "You're nothing."

You're biting down so hard on the inside of your lower lip that you swear you can taste the sharp tang of blood. The sickening feeling roiling in your stomach is unbearable now, a toxic mix of humiliation and fury that threatens to consume you whole. 

You can't sit here any longer... not with him, not in this suffocating space that reeks of sweat, liquor, and the poison dripping from his lips. With a sharp inhale, you push yourself off the couch, wiping the wetness from your cheeks in a futile attempt to erase the evidence of your breaking. 

You turn on your heel, ready to walk out of this room, this night, this nightmare but his hand clamps around your wrist again.

"Where do you think you're—"

The words barely leave his mouth before your hand swings through the air so quick that the slap lands with a sickening crack, the sound reverberating through the lounge. Jaehyun's face jerks to the side, his cheek blooming red in the aftermath. 

He stays there, frozen, like he's still trying to process what just happened—like he never thought, even for a second, that you would fight back. But you don't give him the luxury of recovery as you wrench yourself free, spinning on your heel and bolting out of the room without sparing him another glance.

You run down the hallway until you reach the staircase again and suddenly the pulsing bass of the club slams into you. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and alcohol, the flashing neon lights doing nothing to steady your spiraling mind. But you don't stop. You can't.

You fly down the staircase, vision blurred, the world around you reduced to nothing but static. You barely register the people you shove past, their startled protests fading into the background as you move purely on instinct, driven by the desperate need to escape.

When you finally reach the base of the staircase, ready to bolt towards the exit, you don't even notice the sleek table in your path until it's too late. Your hip collides with the edge, sending the delicate pyramid of meticulously arranged champagne glasses trembling—before toppling in a spectacular crash.

The glass shatters and the liquid spills across the floor. The sound is deafening, probably even louder than the music. The entire club seems to inhale at once, all eyes snapping towards the catastrophe you've left in your wake.

Your own eyes widen in horror and the weight of a hundred stares presses against your skin like fire. But the embarrassment barely registers because the only thing louder than the chaos around you is the voice in your head screaming at you to run.

So you do.

You don't think twice before tearing through the crowd, weaving between bodies with reckless desperation. You don't care where you're going. You just need to get out—to get as far away from this shithole as possible.

When you finally burst through the exit, the club's neon glow flickers behind you, casting long, distorted shadows against the pavement. 

The night air hits you like a slap, searing your overheated skin as you stumble forward. It burns your lungs as you inhale, the cold so biting it almost feels like punishment. But you don't stop.

You run.

Your heels slam against the concrete, each step sending a sharp, jolting pain up your calves, but it barely registers. The world around you is a blur—streaks of headlights cutting through the dark, the distorted echoes of drunken laughter, the far-off wail of a siren. 

The city keeps moving, oblivious to the storm inside you. 

At some point, without even realizing how far you've gone, the chaos fades behind you. The towering buildings give way to something quieter... wide, tree-lined streets, dimly lit by old streetlamps. 

The air is cooler here, and the houses stand still in their slumber, their windows dark, their lives untouched by yours. The world here is asleep, blissfully unaware of the storm clawing at your insides.

And then—

Your legs give out.

You barely register the moment your knees hit the damp grass by the sidewalk, the impact jolting through you. One of your hands claw at the soil below, fingers sinking into the dewy blades while the other rests on the tree nearby for support, but the spinning in your head is relentless. 

The nausea twists in your stomach like a cruel, merciless force, and before you can even brace yourself—

You retch.

The force wracks through you, seizing your entire body as everything inside you spills out in heaving, gut-wrenching waves. Hot, acidic bile burns your throat, the taste bitter and vile, leaving your body trembling in its wake. 

Your nails continue to dig into the cold ground as you gasp for air, only for another shudder to rip through you, forcing out more until there's nothing left... just empty, aching convulsions.

And then, silence.

The quiet is deafening.

And as you sit there, hunched over in the damp grass, breath shuddering, body trembling from the weight of everything, you stare down at the mess you've just made. 

The sour taste in your mouth lingers, bile stings at the back of your throat, but it's nothing... absolutely nothing compared to the way Jaehyun's words replay in your head, carving wounds that you know won't heal.

Your limbs feel weightless, detached, like you're floating in some cruel limbo between reality and a nightmare, like you've become something hollow, something breakable. 

And for the first time since your feet carried you away from that club, you let yourself shatter.

You feel like the biggest fucking fool to walk this earth, because, honestly, how did you not see this coming? How could you have been so blind, so laughably naive, so utterly oblivious to the things that were right in front of you, screaming at you, clawing at you for attention?

And just like that, Jungkook's voice comes rushing back—not just from that night, when his anger wrapped around his words like fire, but from all the times before. All those moments when he tried so hard to be discreet about his discomfort with Jaehyun, the way his questions about your dynamic always carried an underlying concern. All those times he was desperately trying to spell it out for you, practically begging you to listen.

Begging you to see Jaehyun for who he truly was.

But you didn't.

You brushed him off like it was nothing, dismissed him like he didn't know what he was talking about. Because, apparently, you really are the kind of person who doesn't notice the flames until you're standing in the middle of the burning wreckage.

And now, here you are, choking on the smoke.

The tears spill over faster, hotter, but they don't bring relief. They only fuel the fire inside you... the one that burns with realization, with regret, with the sickening truth pressing its sharp claws into your chest.

Because they were right. Both of them. Jungkook and Jaehyun. Every single fucking word.

You are oblivious. You are shallow. You are blind.

The self-loathing seeps into your bones, wrapping itself around your ribs like iron shackles, squeezing tighter and tighter until you can't breathe, until all you can feel is the weight of it pressing down, dragging you under.

You cry and cry, but the ache doesn't subside. It only intensifies, spreads like venom, because now you see it all so clearly. 

Jungkook wasn't trying to be cruel. He wasn't trying to hurt you. He was trying to protect you. He was trying to save you from this exact moment, from this exact pain, and you... you threw his concern back in his face like it meant nothing.

And now, what do you have left?

Nothing.

Everything has crumbled around you, exploded in your face, and you have no one to blame but yourself. Because you trusted too blindly, because you let yourself be deceived, because you didn't notice the monster grinning at you from right under your nose until he finally sank his teeth in.

And at the end of it all, you can't blame Jaehyun for wanting to take advantage of you and you can't hate Jungkook for being right.

Because this?

This is all on you.

The shrill ringing of Jungkook's phone startles him awake, dragging him out of the depths of sleep. But before anything else registers, it's the scent that fills his nose that fully wakes him up.

The familiar fragrance of your shampoo lingers on the pillow beneath him and it's only then that he furrows his brows, the persistent ringing of his phone cutting through the haze of sleep. It takes him a moment to fully register where he is.

In your bed. In your room.

Did he really fall asleep here last night?

A sharp exhale leaves his lips as he rolls onto his back, rubbing his face with one hand. God, he couldn't be more pathetic.

Shaking off the grogginess, he sits up, reaching blindly for his glasses before grabbing his still-ringing phone from the nightstand. His brows knit together when he sees the caller ID, confusion flickering across his face, but he quickly picks up.

"Hey... Jimin?" Jungkook murmurs, his voice scratchy. "Hey, JK. Sorry for calling so early on a Sunday." Jimin says, a trace of hesitation in his tone. "I just... wanted to check. Did Y/n come back to your place last night?"

Jungkook's drowsiness vanishes in an instant. 

He doesn't respond right away. Instead, he pushes himself off the bed, moving on instinct, his bare feet hitting the cold floor as he strides out of your room, gripping onto his phone. 

Were you back? Had you come home?

The thought spurs him forward. He moves through the apartment in a blur, eyes darting frantically across the living room. Empty. His footsteps quicken as he reaches the kitchen. Nothing. He knocks on the bathroom door, waits for a response—some sign that you're there. Silence.

"JK? You still there?" Jimin's voice cuts through the thick fog of Jungkook's thoughts. He swallows hard, forcing himself to respond. "Uh... no. She's not here." he breathes out. "Why? Did she... did she not come back last night?"

Jimin exhales, the sound heavy. "No... she didn't." he says quietly. "That's why I thought she went back to your place. But... all of her stuff is still here, so..." His voice trails off, uncertainty settling between them.

"Do you have any idea where she might've gone? Did she not say anything before she left?" Jungkook's words come out faster than he intends, his concern barely restrained.

"I'm not sure..." Jimin admits. "She mentioned some party, but Yoongi and I weren't home when she left, so I don't know the details." There's a brief pause before he continues. "I've tried calling her, but she hasn't picked up. Maybe she's just staying over at a friend's place... I should probably call around and check."

Jungkook doesn't respond immediately, his grip tightening around his phone. "Yeah... yeah, you should probably do that." he finally says, voice strained. "Please... just keep me updated."

The moment the call with Jimin ends, Jungkook is already searching for your contact, fingers moving on instinct. A part of him knows you won't answer—especially not him, of all people—but he still tries. Because hope, no matter how foolish, is a stubborn thing.

He presses the call button, holding his breath as the line rings. His leg bounces anxiously, his grip tightening around the phone until—

Voicemail.

A shaky exhale leaves his lips as he drops onto the couch, running a hand through his hair in frustration. His heart pounds against his ribs because all he can do now is pray you're safe.

But as the day drags on with no updates from Jimin, Jungkook feels like he's losing his mind. He's called you more times than he can count, each attempt met with the same annoying voicemail. 

His anxiety coils tighter with every hour that passes as he paces the apartment mindlessly, fingers twitching against his phone, refreshing his messages every few seconds—waiting, hoping, searching for any sign of you.

When evening rolls around, his phone buzzes, and he barely gives it time to ring before answering. "Hey, JK..." Jimin's voice comes through the speaker, slightly hesitant. "Did you find her?" Jungkook instantly asks, not bothering to greet him back. 

"Not exactly." Jimin exhales. "She finally texted me, though... but... it was nothing much. Just a simple 'I'm fine.'" He pauses, and even though Jungkook can't see him, he can hear the doubt laced in his tone.

"I texted her back, asked where she was, but she hasn't replied..." Jimin continues, his sigh heavy through the receiver. "But yeah... I just called to let you know. Don't stress too much, alright? Hopefully, we'll see her in uni tomorrow."

Jungkook barely registers the reassurance, but he still forces himself to hum in acknowledgment, though the sound feels hollow even to his own ears.

When the call ends, the gnawing unease only worsens. Jungkook sits there, phone in hand, mind tangled in questions with no answers. Where had you gone last night? And why are you suddenly unreachable now? It's so unlike you—so far out of character—that a sinking feeling settles deep in his chest.

And the worst part? He can't shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, he's the reason behind all of this.

He clenches his jaw and shakes his head, forcing the thought away. No. That can't be it. You probably just went to a party, had a few too many drinks, and crashed somewhere for the night. 

Maybe at a friend's place that Jimin doesn't know about. Yeah, that's the most logical explanation. But even as he tells himself this, it feels more like a desperate attempt to convince himself than anything else. A flimsy excuse to ignore the unease clawing at his chest, the part of him that whispers that something isn't right.

That familiar weight of self-loathing crashes over him like a tidal wave, and with a sharp exhale, he does what he's done too many times today—he checks your socials.

It's become a habit at this point, tapping on Instagram, searching for your name, hoping to see something—anything. A story, a photo, a check-in, a clue. Anything to tell him where you are.

But this time, when he types your username into the search bar, his brows knit together.

Nothing.

He blinks, confusion prickling at the back of his mind. That's weird. Maybe he misspelled it? He tries again, slower this time, carefully entering each letter.

Still nothing.

His heartbeat stutters as he immediately switches to tiktok, fingers moving faster now, dread creeping in like a slow, suffocating vice around his throat. But it's the same there too. No account. No trace of you.

He stares blankly at his phone, his mind scrambling to make sense of it and when realization dawns on him like a punch to the gut.

You've deactivated all your socials. 

When the next day arrives, Jungkook is already on his way to university, despite not having any morning classes because he's hoping to catch a glimpse of you, probably in the econ building or at least somewhere on campus. 

His steps are quick yet restless, hands buried deep in his hoodie pockets as his eyes scan every passing figure, trailing over familiar faces and unfamiliar ones alike, searching and searching but it's futile. There are too many people, too much movement, and the nagging uncertainty of whether you're even here gnaws at him like a splinter beneath his skin.

Still, he keeps looking.

The morning drags on, and as students slowly filter into their classrooms, Jungkook finds himself standing there, stuck between frustration and impatience. Maybe he should just wait for Jimin, ask him if you came to class today... if you're safe, if you're okay. If you've finally decided to resurface.

With a sigh, Jungkook finally decides to head towards the cafeteria, hoping to pass the time until his next class.

By the time afternoon rolls in, he’s drained. He barely absorbs anything from his lectures because as usual, his mind is constantly drifting back to you.

As he steps out of the lecture hall with the other students, his phone vibrates in his pocket. His heart jumps, fingers moving quickly to pull it out, half-expecting Jimin’s name on the screen. But instead, it’s Taehyung.

"Hey." Jungkook answers. "Hey, Kook. Are you on campus?" Taehyung asks from the other end. "Yeah… I umm… just got done with class." he replies, maneuvering through the crowded hallway.

"Oh, perfect. Could you do me a favor?" Taehyung continues. "Yeah, of course. What’s up?" Jungkook says, shifting his bag over his shoulder. "I left my locker key back at my apartment, and I can’t run back to get it since I have class now. But I need it for practice later, and I won’t have time to grab it in between. If you’re free, do you think you could swing by and pick it up for me?"

It’s a bit of a hassle but Taehyung’s apartment isn’t too far from campus, but it’s still out of the way, and Jungkook isn’t sure he has the energy for it. 

But then again, since he’s got no classes anytime soon, he can’t really come up with a reason to deny Taehyung and besides, turning him down over something so small would make him feel like a complete jerk. "Yeah, I got it. Just send me your door code." he sighs.

"Thanks a lot, Kook. I owe you one. I’ll meet you in the locker room later, yeah?" Taehyung responds and Jungkook hums, ending the call. 

After about thirty minutes, Jungkook is already making his way back from Taehyung’s apartment. By now, Taehyung’s class should be wrapping up, which means Jungkook might as well head to the locker room and wait for him there.

Navigating through the sports complex, he moves past the familiar maze of hallways and when he finally reaches the locker room, he notices the door is slightly ajar. 

He hesitates for a moment, unsure if he’s even allowed in, but quickly decides he doesn’t care. As long as he doesn’t have to talk to anyone, it’ll be fine—he just needs a place to sit and wait for Taehyung.

Pushing the door open, he steps inside, his gaze instinctively sweeping across the space. The faint scent of sweat lingers in the air, and the sound of muffled voices from nearby echoes against the tiled walls. 

Most of the lockers stand closed, their metal doors lined up neatly, a few left slightly ajar with gym bags lazily hanging out.

Jungkook exhales, rolling his shoulders as he leans against the nearest bench in the middle of an aisle, pulling out his phone to check the time. Taehyung should be here soon.

Just then, the muffled voices from earlier become much clearer and Jungkook figures a few students must be on the other side of the aisle, talking amongst themselves.

At first, he doesn’t think much of it—until he hears a very, very familiar voice. 

“She was such a bitch.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow at the sheer venom in the words, his head tilting slightly. He doesn’t intend to eavesdrop, but he does it anyway.

"I told you, bro, Y/n would be a hard target." Another voice chimes in, and at the mention of your name, Jungkook’s entire body goes rigid.

That’s when it clicks. Jaehyun is on the soccer team too, which means that familiar voice belongs to him—and right now, he’s talking about you.

Before he can think better of it, Jungkook rises to his feet, stepping around the lockers as quietly as possible. He peeks into the next aisle and spots Jaehyun, standing in the middle of a group of guys.

Some of them are busy adjusting their jerseys, a few lacing up their cleats, while others lean against the lockers, clearly entertained by whatever bullshit Jaehyun is spewing.

“She was so fucking insufferable, man.” Jaehyun scoffs, yanking his shirt over his head before reaching for his practice jersey. “I swear, she thinks she’s some kind of godsend just because people hype her up online.” He shakes his head, and the guys around him chuckle.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens. He knows exactly where this is going, and he doesn’t like it one fucking bit.

“Took her to one of the most expensive clubs in the city. Danced with her. Bought her drinks. All that for what?” Jaehyun spreads his arms dramatically, turning to his teammates. “She kept trying to push my hand away like I gave a fuck. Like, stop acting so hard to get, geez.” He sneers.

Jungkook feels something sharp coil in his stomach, a heat rising to his chest that makes his fingers twitch. The words alone are disgusting, but it’s Jaehyun’s expression that makes his blood boil—like whatever he’s saying is just a joke, something to laugh about.

“Like, you’re telling me I tolerated her ass for two months over some dumbass assignment because I actually wanted to be nice to her?” Jaehyun scoffs, shaking his head as the other guys smirk and nod in agreement.

"I swear, she thinks she’s all that. But I guarantee you, if she didn’t have her precious little Instagram followers hyping her up, she’d be nothing. Plain as fuck. Body’s decent, I guess, but nothing special. Face? Mid, at best. And don’t even get me started on her annoying ass attitude—fucking unbearable."

The group laughs, one of them muttering something Jungkook doesn’t catch.

“And bro, she never shuts up. Kept talking about the most irrelevant shit, and don’t even get me started on that loser roommate of hers—like I give a single fuck." Jaehyun lets out an exaggerated groan. 

"I should’ve known she was gonna be a waste of time. Could’ve spent those two months with someone actually worth it, but no, I had to pick the shallow, self-obsessed one.”

Jungkook’s grip on his phone is so tight he’s surprised it hasn’t shattered. The roaring in his ears nearly drowns out the rest of the conversation, his vision tunneling in on Jaehyun’s smug, laughing face.

“She should be grateful I even wanted to fuck her… like??? But man, remind me not to go for the self-obsessed ones next time cause they’re so fucking uptight—”

Jungkook moves before the thought even fully forms in his head. One powerful stride into the aisle, and before Jaehyun can blink, Jungkook’s fist is already crashing into his jaw with a force that sends him reeling. 

The impact is brutal—flesh meeting bone with a sickening crack as Jaehyun’s body crumples to the cold tile. The room plunges into a stunned silence, but it lasts for only a second.

Because Jungkook doesn’t stop.

Jaehyun barely has time to lift his arms in defense before Jungkook is on top of him, pinning him down on the floor with his weight as he grabs Jaehyun by the collar just to slam another fist into his face. And then another. And another.

Junkook’s knuckles split open from the sheer force, but he doesn’t care. The pain barely registers because all he sees is fucking red.

“How… dare… you… fucking… talk… about… her… like… that.” He grits out between each devastating punch, his voice seething with rage. 

Jaehyun's face is a mess of blood and bruises now, his lip torn, his cheek already swelling. He gasps, his body writhing in an attempt to escape, but Jungkook doesn’t let up. The rage burning through him is insatiable and he’s making sure Jaehyun feels every ounce of it.

Blood drips onto Jaehyun’s jersey, staining the white fabric, pooling onto the floor in slow, viscous drops. His head jerks violently with each hit, his groans turning weaker, more pained.

But still, no one steps in.

The other guys stand frozen, wide-eyed, paralyzed by shock or fear—maybe both. They were laughing just minutes ago, feeding into Jaehyun’s vile words, and now? Now, they’re nothing but silent spectators. Not a single one of them dares to intervene.

“Kook?? What the fuck—KOOK, STOP!”

Taehyung’s voice finally cuts through the haze, but it barely registers in Jungkook’s mind.His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving, his fists trembling. The blood roaring in his ears drowns out everything else.

Because how fucking dare Jaehyun? How dare he stand here, spitting out filth about you like you were nothing? Like he had any right to speak about you that way? Like he didn’t deserve every single hit Jungkook was landing on him?

Jungkook has never been the kind to lose control like this, never been the one to get into fights—but right now? Right now, he doesn’t give a shit about consequences.

Because Jaehyun fucking deserves it.

Taehyung is utterly baffled, his mind struggling to process the chaos unfolding before him. But he doesn’t hesitate.

Without thinking, he rushes forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Jungkook’s torso and hauling him away from Jaehyun. It takes every ounce of strength he has with Jungkook thrashing in his grip like a wild animal, but Taehyung refuses to let go.

"Jungkook, stop!" he yells, his own breath coming out ragged and his muscles straining as he keeps his best friend from lunging forward again.

Jungkook finally stands up with his chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides and his entire body coiled with barely contained fury. Blood drips from his split knuckles, staining his fingers, but he doesn’t even glance at the damage as his glare remains locked onto Jaehyun’s stupid bloodied face.

"You always act like you’re better than me." Jungkook seethes, his voice low, lethal. He watches as Jaehyun groans, barely able to open his eyes or lift his head. "But talk about Y/n like that again, and I’ll fucking kill you."

Taehyung tightens his grip, feeling the tension still rippling through Jungkook’s body, the barely restrained urge to break free and finish what he started. And for a second, he genuinely thinks Jungkook might do it. Might snap. Might throw him off and go right back in for more.

But Jungkook doesn’t move.

He just stands there, breathing heavily, eyes still burning with unspent rage as he watches Jaehyun writhe on the floor.

"Kook, come on… let’s go." Taehyung urges, loosening his grip around Jungkook’s torso while his fingers quickly latch onto Jungkook’s arm before he can even think about turning back.

Without another word, Taehyung drags him out of the aisle, away from Jaehyun’s wrecked form, and straight towards the locker room exit. 

Practice is the last thing on Taehyung’s mind right now—he’ll deal with the coach later, though he doubts much explanation will even be necessary.

The coach is well aware of Jaehyun’s reputation, his arrogance, his sleazy, insufferable nature. If anything, Taehyung wouldn’t be surprised if the man felt a sense of quiet satisfaction that someone had finally put Jaehyun in his place, delivering the kind of reckoning he’d long had coming.

Taehyung doesn’t stop until they reach the nearest washroom. He shoves the door open, yanks Jungkook inside, and slams it shut behind them.

“Okay, what the hell just happened in there?” he exhales sharply, crossing his arms as he stares at Jungkook, waiting for an answer.

Jungkook closes his eyes, inhaling deeply before letting out a slow breath. The sharp sting in his knuckles finally registers, the dull ache pulsing through his skin, but he doesn’t care. 

It’s nothing compared to the fury still burning in his chest, nothing compared to the sickening weight in his gut as Jaehyun’s words replay over and over in his head like a fucking broken record.

Everything clicks into place now. Jaehyun must have invited you to a club over the weekend, thinking he could finally make a move on you and take advantage of you like he had always wanted. And when you—of course—refused, he probably lost his shit.

Jungkook doesn’t even want to imagine what Jaehyun might have done to you or said to you afterward, how he might have made you feel, because he knows firsthand how fucking cruel Jaehyun can be. 

The more he thinks about it, the worse it gets.

He can almost picture you, feeling cornered, feeling small. Feeling stupid for ever thinking Jaehyun was just being nice. Feeling like maybe it was your fault, like maybe you led him on somehow.

And that—God, that makes Jungkook sick to his stomach.

Because if there’s one thing he knows about Jaehyun, it’s that he never stops at just one insult. He drags people through the mud, twists words like a knife to make them bleed, tears them down until there’s nothing left. 

So what had he said to you? What had you been forced to hear? How much had it hurt?

Jungkook grits his teeth, fingers twitching at his sides. Knocking Jaehyun out should’ve felt good. It should’ve felt satisfying. But it doesn’t. If anything, it only makes him feel worse because hearing Jaehyun say those things, hearing him reduce you to nothing but a game, a joke—

It only reminds him of the things he said to you too.

No, it wasn’t as vile, as disgusting as the shit Jaehyun spewed, but it was still harsh. Still cruel. Still enough to make you look at him differently. Jungkook swallows, hands curling into fists once again. Maybe he deserves to get punched in the face too.

“Kook?” Taehyung calls out again, louder this time, finally snapping Jungkook out of his thoughts.

Jungkook leans back against the sink, his head tilting up as if he’s searching for answers on the ceiling. “Tae… I fucking messed up..” His voice is strained. Taehyung furrows his brows, arms still crossed as he watches his friend carefully. 

There’s no way Jungkook regrets punching a guy like Jaehyun—not when he was so damn furious just moments ago. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“With Y/n.” Jungkook mutters, shaking his head. “I messed up big time with Y/n.”

Jungkook proceeds to narrate everything to Taehyung. 

How he chickened out of telling you the entire truth about Jaehyun, not because he was afraid of Jaehyun, but because he was more terrified of you misunderstanding him or finding out about the way he feels for you.

How he let his own insecurities cloud his judgment, how he twisted his emotions into something ugly, something cruel, and lashed out at you over a misunderstanding. How the alcohol had only fueled his worst instincts, stripping away whatever restraint he might have had left, until all that remained was the ugliest version of himself—the one who said things he could never take back.

His voice wavers slightly as he speaks, but he doesn’t stop. He lays it all out, piece by piece, not sparing himself from the weight of his own mistakes. 

“And that’s why she’s been staying with her friend, Jimin for the past week.” Jungkook finally finishes, his voice quieter now, almost defeated. “You really did mess up, huh…” Taehyung murmurs, exhaling deeply as he processes everything. 

He’s now leaning against the other sink right beside Jungkook, with his arms still crossed. There’s no judgment in his voice, only the quiet acknowledgment of the wreckage Jungkook has laid out in front of him.

Jungkook swallows, running a hand through his hair. “And now, I don’t even know where she is… or how she is.” he mutters, frustration bleeding into his tone. The uncertainty gnaws at him, the not knowing, the possibility that you’re still hurting because of him and now, even Jaehyun. 

“Yeah, that sucks.” Taehyung sighs softly. “But there’s not much we can do.”  he continues, shifting his weight against the sink. “You just have to wait until she’s ready… until she decides to show up.”

Jungkook knows Taehyung is right but that doesn’t make it any easier. 

He wishes—so badly—that he could see you right now. That he could take back every cruel word, every moment he let his own insecurities cloud his judgment. That he could apologize, not just with words but with every ounce of sincerity in his being.

More than anything, he just wants to make you feel better. To undo the damage, to erase the pain he’s caused. But all he can do is wait.

It’s 4 a.m. on a Thursday morning when you sneak out of Jimin and Yoongi’s apartment with your suitcase rolling behind you. As you stand by the elevator, waiting for the numbers to descend, you pull out your phone and type out a quick message to Jimin.

"Going back home today. Don’t worry too much about me. Gonna focus on studying for finals, so I’ll see you next week. Thanks for letting me stay over, Chim.”

You know it’s far from considerate to disappear for days after spending a week at his place, only to slip out at the ass crack of dawn with nothing but a brief text message as an explanation. It’s thoughtless, maybe even a little selfish.

But right now, you’re a mess and you can’t bring yourself to face the concern in Jimin’s eyes or endure the weight of Yoongi’s silent understanding. You don’t want reassurances, don’t want to be told that things will get better when everything inside you feels like it’s caving in.

So, you take the easy way out. You leave quietly, hoping they’ll understand. 

After the nightmare that was Saturday night at the club, the mere thought of being around another human had felt unbearable. So after puking your guts out by the tree, you did the only thing that made sense at the time—you found refuge in a dingy motel.

Over the past few days, you’ve rediscovered an old habit of yours: sleeping through your problems. It’s not the healthiest coping mechanism, but right now, it’s the only thing keeping you afloat because staying up and thinking about everything that has gone down recently feels… unbearable. 

And you’ve been dissociating the best way you know how—by ignoring every single phone call and text that comes your way. Every notification feels like a tether to a world you’d rather not engage with, so you cut the cord entirely.

Deactivating all your social media was the final step, a quiet retreat into solitude.

You have no plans of telling anyone what happened between you and Jaehyun, just like you didn’t tell anyone about what happened between you and Jungkook. 

And with so much to hide, it’s making it harder and harder to exist under the same roof as Jimin and Yoongi because you’re terrified that, at any moment, you’ll crack—that one wrong look, one gentle nudge of concern, will be enough to make you fall apart right in front of them.

And then there are finals. You’ve already wasted too much time doing… nothing. Jimin and Yoongi have their own exams to worry about, and the last thing you want is to be another problem they have to deal with.

So, there’s only one option left: sucking it up and going back to your shared apartment with Jungkook.

It’s just a few more days. You’ll just stay locked up in your room, studying. Finals barely last two weeks, and after that, you can finally go home for the break and be with your dad. 

You try to be as quiet as possible as you enter the door code of your shared apartment.The second you step inside, the familiar scent of laundry detergent wraps around you like a ghost from another life and for a fleeting second, your throat tightens, and you think you might actually cry. 

So, you swallow it all and simply drag your suitcase across the floor as you make your way to your room. The moment you step inside, a quiet sigh slips past your lips. Your room is still a mess—just the way you left it. 

You push the door shut behind you, before releasing your suitcase and waddle towards your bed, collapsing onto the mattress. A quiet whine escapes your lips as you bury your face into the pillows.

You’ve decided that from today you’ll spend a little less time wallowing and more time studying because you really, really need to catch up on all your studying because finals are literally next week.

The past few days have been a lot and you’ve spent so much time blaming yourself for everything but also trying to push it all down, hoping that if you ignore it long enough, it will eventually fade into the background.

You inhale shakily, your fingers gripping the sheets as if grounding yourself to something real.

You’ll get over it.

Eventually.

Hopefully.

Jungkook groans, blindly reaching for his glasses on the nightstand as the soft morning light seeps through his curtains. The warmth of the sun does little to shake off the exhaustion clinging to his bones after another night of restless sleep, another morning where he wakes up feeling worse than before.

It’s been like this for days now and he knows exactly why.

Jimin told him you still weren’t back and Jungkook couldn’t help but think that you were out there somewhere, alone, likely drowning in silence after whatever awful things Jaehyun had done to you. 

He so badly wishes he could catch even the slightest glimpse of you, just to see how you’re doing.

With a tired sigh, he swings his legs over the bed and pushes himself up, dragging his feet towards the bathroom, hoping a splash of cold water will shake him out of this fog. 

But the second he steps into the hallway, he stops in his tracks when he hears the clear sound of running water coming from the bathroom. 

His breath hitches and all his drowsiness vanishes in an instant. He proceeds to take a hesitant step forward, pressing his ear to the bathroom door, and his eyes widen. 

The shower is on. Someone’s inside.

This can mean only one thing if he isn’t dreaming. 

He doesn’t waste another second and instantly runs to the doorway, his heart stumbling in his chest when he spots a pair of heels by the entrance. He doesn’t stay there for long though, because before he knows it, he’s sprinting towards your room. And the moment he steps inside, his eyes immediately land on your suitcase, standing by the wall.

You’re back.

You’re finally back home.

He stays in the living room and settles on the couch, anxiously bouncing his leg as he chews on his lower lip. A thousand words swirl in his head… apologies, explanations, desperate pleas, but he has no idea where to even begin. All he knows is that when you step out of that bathroom, he needs to talk to you.

Lost in the endless cycle of rehearsing what to say, his thoughts come to an abrupt halt when he hears the bathroom door creak open. Instantly, he shoots up from the couch, his pulse hammering against his ribs.

And then you appear.

Your damp hair clings to your skin, and the oversized bathrobe draped around you makes you look even smaller than usual. You freeze in place the moment your eyes meet his, visibly startled. 

You were really hoping to shower and slip back into your room unnoticed before he woke up. But now, standing face-to-face with him, you can’t ignore what’s right in front of you.

Your heart clenches.

He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t been sleeping well. And when your gaze unconsciously trails down his figure, you catch sight of his hand, wrapped in a bandage around his knuckles. He hurt his knuckles?

You’re instantly concerned and a question forms at the tip of your tongue, but then, just as quickly, you remember why you didn’t want to face him in the first place. So you look away and without another word, you walk past him, heading straight for your room. 

But just when your fingers graze the doorknob, his voice stops you. “Y-Y/n.” it comes out shakier than he intends and he internally curses at himself. 

You stop, but only for a fleeting moment. You already know what he’s going to say—probably questions about where you’ve been or an apology for everything—but you don’t want to hear it. You can’t.

Because the truth is, you’re ashamed. Ashamed to face him, ashamed to look him in the eye, because no matter how much you try to push it to the back of your mind, you know this whole situation with Jaehyun could have been avoided if you had just listened to Jungkook. 

And the weight of that realization is suffocating.

So before he can say another word, you step into your room and quietly shut the door behind you.

Jungkook lets out a defeated sigh, his gaze lingering on your closed door as his fingers anxiously toy with the hem of his shirt. What did he even expect? That you’d just stand there and talk to him as if nothing had happened? Of course not. Of course, you wouldn’t.

How could you, after everything?

Maybe you just need time. Maybe pushing you right now will only make things worse. He can only imagine how much this has been weighing on you, how exhausting it must be to carry it all alone.

He just hopes and prays that you don’t bottle it all up. That you’ll talk to someone. Even if that someone isn’t him.

“You really just left early in the morning? Do you have any idea how unsafe that is?” Jimin scolds, his brows furrowing as you sink into your seat.

It’s Mr. Jang’s last lecture of the semester, and considering how many classes you’ve already missed this week, you’re relieved you made it today.

“I’m sorry, Chim, but I got home just fine.” you murmur, offering him a small, placating smile. Jimin exhales sharply, clearly unimpressed, before settling into the seat beside you. 

“Seriously, I was so worried about you these past few days. What’s going on with you, Y/N? Are you ever going to tell me?” His voice is gentler now, his concern evident in the way he tilts his head slightly, eyes searching yours for answers.

You feel super guilty because Jimin clearly just wants to help, but you can’t bring yourself to fully let him in because it’s just so hard for you.

“I got into an argument with Jungkook…” you admit quietly, keeping your gaze fixed on the desk in front of you. “And let’s just say… things didn’t end well. I needed some space.”

Jimin blinks, his expression shifting from concern to mild shock. “An argument? With Jungkook?” His disbelief is almost tangible. “With our roommate JK???”

You huff a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah. I know, right?”

Jimin shakes his head, still struggling to process the idea. “I just… I mean, I didn’t think he was the type to argue…” he says, voice laced with hesitation. “Besides, he was so worried. When I went over to grab your textbooks, he looked… really out of it.”

Your chest tightens, but you keep your face neutral because frankly you don’t know what to do with that information. 

“Okay, fin.,” Jimin relents a few seconds later, though you can tell he’s still not convinced. “But what about these past few days? Where were you?”

You inhale sharply, scrambling for a convincing answer—because there’s no way in hell you’re telling him you spent four nights in a cheap motel, crying over how Jaehyun nearly harassed you. 

And speaking of Jaehyun… you’re paranoid because you know you share this class with him, and the last thing you want is to run into him.

“Umm… I was staying over at Seri’s.” you lie smoothly. “You know, that girl from my Econometrics class?”

Jimin squints slightly, like he’s trying to recall the name. “Oh…” he lets out, a little confused. Still, he nods, though the flicker of doubt in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed. “Well… alright.” he mutters, but it’s clear he’s not entirely convinced.

“But anyways, how are things between you and Jungkook now? Did you guys talk it out?” Jimin asks curiously. You open your mouth to respond, but your words falter the moment your gaze flickers towards the entrance. 

More students filter in, and your breath nearly catches in your throat when your eyes land on him.

Jaehyun.

Your initial reaction is a jolt of unease, but confusion quickly follows when you take in the state of him—bruises blooming his cheekbones, a split lip… and is that a broken nose?

Jimin follows your gaze before leaning back slightly. “Oh, right…” he says casually, nudging his chin towards Jaehyun, who is now making his way to his seat with his head down, as if hoping no one will notice the mess he’s in.

“Forgot to mention… apparently, he got into a fight with someone in the locker room or something.”

You blink, taking in Jaehyun’s disheveled form, but the sight stirs nothing in you. No concern, no sympathy. Just indifference. You couldn’t care less about whatever happened to that bastard.

So, without another thought, you turn away, refocusing on the front of the room—just in time for Mr. Jang’s arrival. The shuffle of chairs and the low murmur of conversation come to a halt as everyone rises to greet him.

Finals week arrives faster than you expect, and before you know it, you're drowning in a sea of textbooks, notebooks, and endless practice papers, your calculator practically an extension of your hand.

You barely step out of your room, and on the rare occasions that you do, you make sure to have your bulky headphones clamped over your ears—an unspoken barrier to keep Jungkook from striking up any conversation.

But despite your efforts to shut him out, you still notice the small ways he tries to reach out. The hesitant knocks on your door, the quiet calls for dinner, the gentle questions about whether you need anything. 

Each attempt is subtle yet persistent, like a hand reaching for you through the thick fog of avoidance you've wrapped yourself in. And though every word, every gesture tugs painfully at your heart, you force yourself to ignore him.

Still, he doesn’t stop.

He’s started leaving small offerings outside your door… fruits carefully placed like unspoken apologies. Some days, it’s oranges. Other days, apples. Occasionally, pomegranates.

And it infuriates you.

Not because of the gestures themselves, but because they make you feel wretched. Because every small act of care, every quiet attempt to reach you, is a reminder of the one thing you can’t bring yourself to do —face him.

It all comes crashing back in the worst possible way, looping over and over in your mind. The guilt. The shame. The way he still cares, despite everything. And God, you wish he didn’t. You wish he would stop trying, stop worrying, stop being so damn kind. It would make it easier. It would make all of this easier.

The day your last exam ends, you return to the apartment right when the sun sets, only to find Jungkook already there, pulling his suitcase out of his room. You overheard him on the phone with his parents yesterday and you know he’s leaving for Busan tonight.

Your train to Ilsan isn’t until tomorrow afternoon, which means you have a few hours to pack so like always, you pretend he isn’t there. You don’t look at him, don’t acknowledge him. Just head straight to your room, shutting the door behind you like clockwork.

Jungkook sighs softly, running a hand through his hair when he hears your door click shut—again. He should be used to this by now, the way you shut him out so effortlessly, like he doesn’t exist. 

But no matter how much you ignore him, he still finds himself standing here, trying. Because how could he not?

He’s leaving tonight. And he won’t see you for an entire month. He can’t leave things like this, can’t just walk away without at least making sure you’ve eaten.

His train is in two hours and he should be making preparations to leave, but instead, he finds himself hesitating outside your door, lifting a fist, and knocking gently.

You hear it. You always do. But you pretend you don’t, as you move towards your closest to sort out your clothes and begin packing. 

"Hey, Y/n…" His voice is quiet, hesitant. "I, um… I made some jajangmyeon earlier. It’s still there. Please eat something if you haven’t had dinner yet."

Something in you suddenly snaps.

Not just frustration—everything. The guilt, the shame, the unbearable weight of his kindness when you don’t even deserve it. It all comes crashing down on you, tearing through your already fragile self-control.

You move away from your closet, crossing the room in a few short strides before yanking the door open so violently that Jungkook actually flinches. His eyes go wide as he takes a startled step back.

"Can you just stop?" you spit and Jungkook stiffens immediately, his breath catching at the sheer force behind your words.

"Y/n, What—"

"Stop." Your voice wavers, but the anger in it is raw, overpowering the cracks threatening to split you open. "Stop caring about me. Stop doing all these things when you know I don’t deserve them."

Jungkook blinks, completely taken aback, his brows drawing together as he takes a hesitant step forward. "Y/N, what are you—"

"You were right, okay?" The words spill out in a bitter, humorless laugh, one that shakes as it leaves your lips. You shake your head, almost as if you can't believe you're saying it all out loud. "Everything you said about Jaehyun. You were fucking right."

The admission tastes like poison, burning its way down, and the look on Jungkook’s face only makes it worse. That quiet concern in his eyes, the unbearable softness in the way he watches you fall apart right in front of him, it makes you feel even more pathetic.

"Are you happy now?" you whisper, voice trembling. "Are you happy that the stupid, clueless, naive girl finally got what she deserved?"

Jungkook’s lips part, but no words come out.

"Because that’s what I am, right?" Your voice rises, the dam finally breaking. "Some desperate idiot who couldn't see the truth even when it was right in front of her face? Some pathetic girl who’s always so caught up in her own stupid influencer world to notice anything real around her?"

"Y/n, stop it—"

"No!" You step back when he moves towards you, shaking your head furiously, eyes blazing with something raw and self-destructive. 

"You were right about him! You were right about everything! But guess what, Jungkook? I don’t want you to act like you care about me when you know that all I’ve done is use you… when all I’ve done is make you sick."

Jungkook's breath stutters, but you don’t stop.

"I don’t need you doing things for me." You spit the words out, your chest heaving. "I don’t need you leaving food at my door like I’m some helpless child! I don’t need you to take care of me when all I’ve done is take you for granted and ignore you when you tried to warn me!"

Jungkook’s heart sinks as he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks—tears you probably don’t even realize are falling. He can clearly see the meltdown you’re having, a breaking point after holding everything in for far too long. 

And he wants—no, needs—to calm you down before you spiral any further.

"Y/N, I do those things because I care—"

"Well, don’t!" Your voice cracks, and suddenly, you feel like you’re suffocating. Like every word is clawing its way up your throat, demanding to be set free. "Stop caring! Stop acting like I’m worth the effort when you and I both know I’m fucking not!"

Jungkook’s breath hitches, but you don’t stop.

"I’m selfish. I’m shallow. I’m so fucking self-absorbed that I didn’t see what was right in front of me until it blew up in my face." A sob escapes you, your shoulders trembling violently now. "And you were right. Jaehyun was nice to me only because he wanted to fuck me."

Jungkook flinches at the sheer venom in your voice, at the way you spit the words out like they disgust you.

"So there you have it !!" Your voice is shaking, dangerously close to breaking completely. "Go ahead, Jungkook! Say 'I told you so.' Rub it in my face! Make me feel even smaller than I already do!"

"Y/N—"

"Just fucking do it!"

Silence.

And somehow, that’s worse than anything he could’ve said.

Because Jungkook doesn’t say “I told you so”. He doesn’t look smug or victorious or even remotely satisfied.

He just looks at you, at the tears streaming down your face, at the way you’re barely holding yourself together. And the quiet devastation in his eyes is enough to send a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you.

You can’t do this.

You can’t breathe.

So before he can say another word—before you can completely fall apart in front of him—you turn on your heel and slam the door shut.

You slide down against your door as you drop down on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as sobs wrack your body, each one pulled from a place so deep it leaves you hollow in its wake.

On the other side, Jungkook stands frozen. He stares at the door, at the barrier between you, but it does nothing to drown out the sound of your cries. 

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he inches closer. His palm finds the door, fingers splayed wide, as if by some miracle he might be able to reach through the wood and touch you. He closes his eyes, his forehead pressing against the surface, and with every muffled sob that escapes you, his own agony deepens.

"Y/N…" He begins and he knows this isn’t the most ideal way to have a conversation… with a door between two people who should have never ended up on opposite sides. But if he waits any longer, he’ll lose the courage to say what he needs to.

"Y/N, I know…" He swallows hard, trying to steady himself. "I know you don’t want to talk to me. I know you don’t want to see me. And I… I get it, okay? I do. But please, just… just hear me out. Just this once."

He waits. He listens. And when he still hears the faint sound of your sniffles, he exhales shakily, turns, and slides down until he’s sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the door on the other side. It’s not much, but it’s something—an attempt to be closer to you, to lessen the chasm he’s created between you.

"I don’t even know where to begin, but I’m sorry." His voice wavers and his fingers curl into his palms, his nails pressing into his skin as if self-inflicted pain could absolve him. 

"I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. For everything. For the way I lashed out, for the way I let the worst parts of me take over—for the way I threw words at you knowing damn well I was hurting you." He lets out a weak humourless laugh filled with nothing but regret.

"If I could go back in time, I would. I’d go back and stop myself before I ever made you feel horrible about yourself." He lets out a heavy breath, his head tilting back against the door.

"I was a coward." The confession slips out quietly, but there’s a weight to it. "I let my own insecurities get the best of me. I let jealousy twist into something ugly, something cruel…"

He pauses, straining to hear anything —any indication that you’re still with him.  And then, when he hears the sound of your shaky breath as you try to hold back your sobs, his chest tightens, his throat burns, but he forces himself to go on.

"I should’ve been honest with you when I found out the truth about Jaehyun. I should’ve told you straight up, should’ve warned you. But I didn’t. And do you know why?? Because I was more afraid of being misunderstood by you. I was afraid of you seeing me as some weird, overstepping roommate who had no right to care so much." His voice trembles, and he gulps, trying to ignore the sting behind his eyes.

"And I was also afraid of something else. Something so much bigger. So much worse." He inhales sharply, screwing his eyes shut, his lips parting before the words finally slip past them.

"I’ve always been in love with you, Y/n."

Silence.

The kind that shifts the air between two people who are on the precipice of something irreversible because there’s no going back from this. 

"Second day of orientation." He lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head at the memory. "That’s when I first saw you. You were this… this dream that just felt so out of reach and I was so… so convinced I’d never get to talk to you." A single tear slips down his cheek, and he lets it fall.

"And then, somehow, fate made you my roommate." His voice softens, turns almost reverent. "And just like that, my entire world shifted. Suddenly, I was existing in the same space as you. Breathing the same air. Living under the same roof." He lets out a bitter smile, the ghost of every memory he’s ever made with you, in this very apartment, flickering behind his eyes.

"You… who always included me, always made me feel like I belonged, always looked at me with this impossible warmth in your eyes… yeah, it felt like heaven." He chuckles, but it breaks halfway through, his hand swiping roughly at his tears.

"I wanted you so bad, Y/n. But at the same time, I felt so undeserving of you because… have you seen yourself?"

Still, you don’t speak. And Jungkook wonders if you’re even listening anymore, if you’ve already tuned him out, if his words mean nothing now. But even if they don’t, he needs to say them. So he continues.

"I know I said some truly awful things to you. Things that made you question yourself, made you doubt your worth, and I hate myself for it. Because none of them were true." His voice catches, thick with guilt, thick with sorrow. 

"You are extraordinary in every sense of the word, and I… I just couldn’t handle it. I let my own insecurities, my own issues, my own fears ruin everything." He sniffles, rubbing at his face as more tears spill.

"But I was so scared, Y/N. Because you felt like a dream, but you had still become my friend. We shared the same roof… and you… you were like my safe place. I mean… I’ve made the most memories with you out of anyone from uni. So our existing friendship… it was too much of a price to pay for my feelings, because there was just so much on the line." He pauses to take a deep inhale.

"I didn’t want to lose you." He whispers, but he hopes it’s loud enough for you to hear. "Because I just… I just knew… you’d never see me the same way." His breath shudders.

"I was terrified." he admits. "Because loving you felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall." he smiles to himself bitterly. "And I did, Y/N." His voice cracks, splintering like glass. "I… I fell so fucking hard."

A soft, broken hiccup slips from your lips, your trembling hand pressed against your chest as if trying to hold your heart together. You sit there, motionless, a statue carved by the weight of his words, struggling to breathe under the sheer force of everything Jungkook has just confessed.

You don’t know how to act. Don’t know what to say.

Your heart is a mess, hammering so violently against your ribs that you wonder if it might just stop altogether and maybe it already has.

The silence stretches between you like a chasm, as you try your best to process everything and you don’t even realize how much time has passed until your fingers move on their own, wiping the dampness from your cheeks.

And then, as if pulled by a force beyond yourself, you push yourself to your feet and turn around.

Your fingers tremble as they curl around the doorknob, hesitation seizing you for a fleeting second. You don’t know what you’re going to say when you see him on the other side. You don’t even know what you want to say.

But you need to see him.

Just to make this moment feel real. Just to convince yourself that you’re not hallucinating, that you didn’t just dream up everything you heard him say. So you twist the knob and slowly swing the door open.

But it’s too late because Jungkook’s already gone.

<-part 2 // part 4 -> (coming soon)

series masterlist

my masterlist <3

TAGLISTS CLOSED <333

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[dansroo]

Are we not supposed to be already married?

based on this request.

content; Jayce Talis x male!reader. modern!au. husband!Jayce. fluff. silly and cloying romance. established relationship. married couple. suggestive!, teasing. just lots of love and kisses. 🙂‍↕️

word count; 1.3K (I promise that this time I wrote the correct number)

a/n; I had to republish it because, for some strange reason, it didn't appear in the tags. 👀 english is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any grammatical error !

thank you for requesting! 🤍

You looked at your notes with great satisfaction. You had been working for the last few days on the development and design of a better processor; your beta design had been a complete success, so you decided to exploit your skills and improve yourself even more. Likewise, you knew you had the potential to achieve something much better, and you weren't going to waste an opportunity like that.

The little blue stone moved between your fingers as you observed it carefully. It had been a significant challenge to get Hextech and programming to complement each other without causing an explosive disaster, but it was something you strangely enjoyed, especially the reactions that magic had when coming in contact with computational systems.

Although it was very different for Jayce, who had to take care that you didn't end up losing an important limb.

The sudden touch of hands on your shoulders pulled you out of your bubble. “Can we go home now?” you chuckled, feeling his hands slide down your arms and then get tangled around your waist. “Please?” he whispered in your ear, causing a couple of tickles.

“Just finishing this, then we'll go home and see about dinner.”

You took a worn chalk, started to correct and write new equations on the blackboard in front of you, while you kept fidgeting with the small stone in your other hand.

You glanced sideways at Jayce's hand as it rose to gently take you by the wrist.

“Where is your ring?!” He asked with indignation, observing the absence of it on your finger.

You rolled your eyes, smiling with amusement “It's on my desk, I couldn't risk something happening to it while I work, right?”

“Or maybe you don't love me anymore and you want the divorce” you heard him say in an exaggeratedly sad tone, hiding his face in the gap between your shoulder and neck. “Geez, don't be so dramatic.” you said, laughing, listening to his laughter being muffled by the fabric of your shirt.

His arms didn't move from their place, still hugging you from behind. Eyes following the path that your hand was tracing on the blackboard and a smile on his face every time he heard you whisper unconsciously. He loved watching you work.

There was so much calm and silence that, for a moment, you had forgotten he was still there until you felt him place a soft kiss on your cheek. You smiled, feeling his hands letting go of your waist.

“So, did you manage to convince Viktor to go home early?”

You heard his footsteps, and judging by the sound of a chair's legs being dragged on the floor, you deduced that he had sat at your desk. He took the time to explore your workplace, admiring a beautiful framed photograph resting on it. Jayce never missed an opportunity to look at that frame whenever he could.

It was of you and him, at the beginning of all this dream of his—both were so stupid to notice the love you had for each other. It was as if his heart beat again the same way it did the day he dared to kiss you—a clumsy but sweet kiss.

Your engagement ring was placed right in front.

“Oh, yeah… we should invite him to dinner with us one day, what do you think?”

You placed the chalk at the bottom of the blackboard, giving it one last look before you turned in his direction. “I think it's a great idea.” you smiled as you walked towards him, sliding your hands into your pockets. Once you were there you sat on the edge of the wooden desk—not without first storing the little blue stone in the metal box—, with Jayce next to you sitting in your chair. You yawned, listening to the sound of the light drizzle outside; turned your head to look at the window, where you began to see the small drops accumulate on the glass—tarnishing it almost completely.

You feel his fingers wrap around your arm, forcing you to take you hand out of you pocket. A giggle escapes from your lips as you watch him holding your ring.

“Would you marry me?”

“Are we not supposed to be already married?”

“It doesn't matter, let's get married twice.”

“I told you that we should have brought the umbrellas, Talis”

You sighed as you took off your soaked shoes, leaving them at the entrance. At first, it was a harmless drizzle; then it turned into a complete furious storm that ended up soaking both of you—as you had predicted this morning.

You removed the hair from your face, which was starting to stick in your skin thanks to how wet it was. “I know, I'm sorry, I didn't think it would rain this way” you heard him say between nervous giggles. “Didn't it bring you memories?” he asked you, with a silly and contagious smile. You sighed again, approaching to him.

“Let me think, like the time you fell on your face and—”

“Oh please, no, we've already talked about that.”

You laughed heartily; you knew which other memory he was referring to. But for God's sake, falling while you trying to calm your angry partner in the rain it's not something that you can forget so easily.

But not everything had gone so wrong that day, he had achieved his task after all.

“What am I going to do with you?” you asked, gently removing a small leaf that had gotten tangled in his hair. “I think the real question is, what haven't you already done to me?”

You shook your head slightly, laughing as you ran a hand over your face “My god, shut up.” you murmured embarrassedly as you hit his arm, making him laugh.

“I think I should consider the divorce.”

“Hey!, don't joke about that!”

Your laughter echoed down the hall, as you headed to your shared room. Jayce didn't stay behind, following you some time later.

The rules were simple, the one who lost made the dinner.

Both were curled up on the bed, with a large blanket covering your shoulders, wearing dry and warm clothes. After taking a hot shower, you both had started arguing about who would cook today's dinner; you decided that the only way to know was to leave it to the loser.

Your score was the highest, just for a couple of points. You mocked in silence, listening to his complaints.

“You're making fun of me?”

“Of course not—” you were about to make the final move to win when you felt him kiss your cheek, cradling your face with his hands to turn you completely toward him. “What the hell are you doing?” you said, laughing, as he kissed your whole face.

“I can't kiss my husband's pretty face anymore?” he replied, kissing the corner of your lips and then kissing you properly. Your body fell onto the bed—the control slipping from your hands in the process. The path of his kisses returned once more across your cheeks, gliding down to your jaw and finally reaching your neck. Initially, just were clumsy kisses, tickling you; then they became hungrier, wetter.

You clung to his arm, letting out a soft gasp as your eyes closed— just what he wanted. You were so focused that maybe you wouldn't notice that none of his hands were touching you, as usual.

“GAME OVER.”

You opened your eyes abruptly, feeling him smile against your skin. “What the-” you pushed him away, taking him off you—listened to his chuckle.

“Jayce Talis, you're a damn cheater.” you pointed your finger at him, laughing, after you stopped looking at the screen in front of the bed to turn and see him.

“Don't say you didn't like it.” he whispered, hugging you from behind to lie you down again on the bed, where you two were curled up all day.

Well, until you had to get up to cook.

© dansroo.2024.

[leesolbeesol]

OH, WISE MEN SAY

leehan x gn!reader

SUMMARY: you readily accept your boyfriend's distraction—in the form of slow dancing—after a long day. WARNINGS: Leehan referred to as Donghyun, reader gets picked up but it's nothing too crazy, mostly just palpably soft fluff. NOTES: this is HIGHLY inspired by Leehan's outro in life is cool because that part is just sooo swaying music. WC: 774

The room is barely lit, the only illumination coming from a few lit fish tanks with quietly gurgling water and the light of the computer you were so graciously taken away from, but soon that goes out too. The open window lets in a draft of brisk winter air, but the space heater is on and you don’t mind. It gives you an excuse for why your cheeks are so red. It would be a lie to say your absence from your work was involuntary or unceremonious. Rather, you more than welcomed the chance to fall victim to Donghyun's taking charms. He had put his phone down on a nondescript side table with a tentative smile that spread across his face and bent his plush lips. As he set down the phone, he pressed start on the beginning of an unnamed song that can only be described as ‘slow swaying music.’ 

Now, you find yourself slowly spun and swaying like those elderly slow dancers that always made you a little annoyed and a lot envious at the end of long weddings. You drape both arms around his neck and touch your forehead to his, your fingers linger at the hair you love so much that falls by the nape of his neck. This slow, tender version of your boyfriend is a far cry from his faculty for breakdancing and usual silliness. Not that you prefer either, but you savor these moments where all of your walls are down. No teasing, no flirting, no stakes. You’re instantly met with his gaze when your eyes flutter open, and you see the way the edges of his eyes wrinkle when your eyes find his.

“Spin?” You ask softly.

“Spin.” His smile confirms his words and you find yourself smiling back before you even think to do so. Releasing one hand from where it was rested on the small of your back, he trails it up your arm, cueing you to hold his. Lacing your fingers with his, he lifts your twined hands up as the music reaches its apogee. Your grip instinctively tightens on his fingers as you spin, the whole world blurry around you except for, somehow, his face. As you complete your second rotation, the friction between your soft socks and the floor isn’t enough and your left foot slips. You’re out of control for barely a second, you don’t even have enough time to react before his hand is steady on your back again, arm wrapped around you.

An even bigger smile chases away your short-lived face of worry, “they do that in real slow dancing.” You laugh, though it comes out more as a huff because of your low tone.

“We’re naturals.” He says softly as the song comes to a close, the ghost of the melody still hanging in the air. He keeps you stable as you return to your feet. He holds your shoulders at arm’s length, gaze flitting across your face like he’s trying to memorize you. You do the same, taking notice of the way his bangs fall across his forehead and the way your favorite mole of his is just visible below the tortoiseshell glasses that sit on the edge of his nose. When he pulls you to him, it’s less about being done looking at your face and more about not being able to stand being away from you any longer. He captures you between his arms, placing his hand on the back of your head, toying with your hair softly. “Come to bed, you were working for so long.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck as you wrap your arms around his back, however weakly because of his hold on you. His request is soft and his tone is understanding, if not nervous to be met with your refusal. His earnest ask makes you smile and your heart swell.

With your arms behind him, you gingerly thumb the material of his shirt in reassurance. “Only if you come with me.” Your quiet challenge inspires a content exhale from him that’s warm as it hits your neck.

“How could I ever say no to you?” He mumbles as if joining you wasn’t already his intention. He briefly releases you from his arms, but before you can initiate some sort of progress towards your bed, you find his arms back around you again. This time, he wraps himself around your lower torso, lifting you off the ground slightly, and begins to carry you towards your shared soft bed. Maybe sensing your confusion, he quiets you, “just let me, you’ve done so much today already.”

[chasingstardustandmoonbeams]

Backwards Walk

Summary: Trevor tries to help Ghost!Reader find a little closure.

Pairing: Trevor Lefkowitz x Ghost!Reader (eventual)

Words: 890

Trevor x Photographer Ghost!Reader Masterlist

“You can’t be serious,” you said, your expression a cross between amused and agitated. 

“Oh, dead serious,” Trevor grinned at you, bumping his shoulder against yours. 

“You’ve been hanging around Pete too much,” you sighed, turning to walk away. Your hands clutched firmly to your bag. Trevor was trying, you couldn’t fault him for it. You’d been a bit off the whole week and oddly enough Trevor of all people had been the one to notice - to actually say something about it. 

Flower had tried, you thought - for about five minutes before she rambled on about her bank robbery. 

“Come on, aren’t you just the least bit curious?” He prodded, his brown eyes locked on yours. Trevor looked almost like an excited puppy, nearly bouncing in anticipation as he stood in front of you. 

“Maybe,” you replied, watching as his expression morphed into one of pure glee, “But,” you added, “I don’t know if I have the patience to wait five hours while you try and look everything up.”

“I don’t take that long!” He argued, “let’s see you try and do it faster,” he grumbled under his breath. 

“What was that?” You said, challenging him. There was a faint smile on your face as you watched him. Trevor was…Trevor, but he was trying. You could count the number of people on one hand who had bothered to try so hard for you - at least while you were alive. 

“Are you in or not?” Trevor raised his eyebrows at you, a mock serious expression on his face. He began rubbing his hands together, his eagerness on full display. 

“Fine, fine,” you acquiesced. 

Trevor, gave a triumphant fist pump and set to work opening the web browser. You stood next to him as he painstakingly looked you up on Facebook. Trevor had had the bright idea to look you and your friends up to see what everyone was up to now. You, of course, had been hesitant about it. You were dead. You’d been dead for over ten years and the thought of seeing everyone move on without you, well, it felt pretty shitty. But, he wasn’t wrong, at least not completely. Maybe seeing everyone would help you move on. At the very least, stop making your after life feel like an eternal hell of reminiscing. 

It was almost an hour later when he finally got to your old Facebook page. The layout was completely different - you didn’t like it. You should have just stuck it out with MySpace, you thought, was that even still a thing?

“Wow,” Trevor said softly. His eyes focused on the computer screen before looking at you. 

“What?” You asked a bit more nervously than you would have liked. He was giving you that look again. The glimpse of something soft around the edges before the smirk came back. 

“Nothing, it’s just sometimes I forget you’re actually just capable of a real smile.” He was giving you a toothy grin as he pointed to your profile picture. 

“Oh, shut up,” you playfully shoved his shoulder. “I smile and laugh. Pete just told me a dad joke earlier.” 

Trevor gave you a look of disbelief. 

“What? Okay, it was a lame dad joke, but he’s funnier than you.” 

Trevor gasped, “You take that back.” 

You let out a warm laugh, you closed your eyes and shook your head. “Sorry you can’t handle the truth.” 

“Careful there Pinocchio,” he pointed his finger at you before getting back to work on the computer. 

It was painstaking, but Trevor took the time to try and go through as many of your friends' profiles as he could. 

Most of your friends were in relationships. Some were married, others had kids, everyone had moved on. Everyone but you. 

Trevor circled back to your profile, he was going through some of your photos now. He was silent now, something that got your attention more than anything else. 

“I didn’t think you were capable of being quiet,” you said, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. 

Trevor ignored your comment and pointed at a picture on the screen. “Did you take these?” 

You glanced at the screen, your smile growing smaller. “Yeah, I had a thing for old historical buildings,” you shrugged, “look where that got me.” You let out a humorless laugh, “I should have stuck with my candids.” 

“You were good,” Trevor turned to really look at you now, “really good.” 

You felt your throat get tight, your hand gripping onto your bag strap once more. Your camera and earthly life were all in that bag. A stark reminder everyday of what you no longer had. 

“Yeah, I guess I was,” you said softly. Your eyes looked from Trevor to the computer screen. 

“Trevor?” 

“Yeah?” 

You turned to look at him fully now. You’d never seen Trevor so…defenseless before. 

“Thank you,” you smiled at him. 

“Anytime,” he grinned at you, “Another success story in the bag thanks to T-Money.” 

You rolled your eyes and turned to walk away. 

“Oh, come on! It was a T-Money win!” 

You kept walking up the stairs, but the smile never left your face. You’d never tell him, but Trevor really did have a way of making you feel a little less alone. There were worse ways to spend forever. At least T-Money was entertaining.

---------------------------------------

Taglist:

@the-and-sign-anon @kibblesnackz

[ophanum]

can you do a karma akabane x motherly reader who takes care of him and shows him affection?

WASTE - ! Karma Akabane

ft. Karma Akabane x motherly! reader

"There's a space in between, like a grey evergreen... where the hurt never mend--stars still linger..." - Waste by Oh Wonder

Karma has never admitted it, but he loves your cooking. When you surprise him with homemade meals, he initially pretends not to care, yet his eyes light up every time he sees something you’ve made, especially if it’s something you prepared with his favorite ingredients.

You’re naturally affectionate, and Karma secretly adores it. He might roll his eyes when you ruffle his hair or give him a quick hug, but he cherishes every affectionate gesture. Sometimes, he even starts leaning into them, letting his guard down as he realizes you won’t abandon him.

You’re quick to notice when he’s going through a rough time, even when he tries to hide it behind his smirk and cocky attitude. You have a way of calmly sitting by his side and giving him space, letting him know you’re there if he wants to talk.

You know Karma appreciates rewards and little challenges. So, whenever he makes progress—whether it’s controlling his temper, excelling academically, or making a good choice—you have a small reward ready. Be it a treat, a note of encouragement, or a quiet moment to relax together, you find ways to celebrate his growth.

Terasaka is honestly baffled at first. He’s so used to Karma’s rough exterior that seeing him have a “soft side” just doesn’t compute for him. But after a while, he realizes that Karma’s confidence and calmness are growing, and he can’t help but respect the change. He tries not to comment directly, but he definitely notices—and deep down, he’s glad Karma has someone who cares for him like you do.

When others misunderstand Karma, you stand by him and defend his character, reminding people that he’s more than his rough edges. It touches Karma deeply, and it motivates him to keep making better choices because he doesn’t want to let you down.

Nagisa is one of the first to pick up on the shift in Karma. He’s perceptive, so he notices the little things—like the way Karma seems a bit calmer or how his smirk is less sharp when he’s back from visiting you. Nagisa is happy for him, realizing that having someone as caring as you in his life might be the key to helping Karma grow.

You have an unwavering belief in Karma’s potential, constantly reassuring him that he’s capable of great things. Even if he dismisses it on the surface, it slowly gets through to him, making him want to live up to that trust.

There are nights when he opens up unexpectedly, talking about his frustrations, dreams, or just random thoughts. You listen patiently, offering comfort or advice when needed, and those are the moments he truly feels seen and understood.

--

The evening was quiet as Karma knocked on your door. He’d been here countless times before, yet every visit felt like entering a new world—a place where his usual cockiness and quick smirk melted away.

Tonight, he looked a bit more tired than usual, his eyes carrying the weight of a long day. You noticed right away and greeted him with a soft smile, waving him in without a word.

He slipped inside, kicking off his shoes with a heavy sigh, and you handed him a glass of water, watching as he leaned against the kitchen counter, lost in thought.“Rough day?” you asked gently, brushing a stray hair from his forehead as he took a sip. His expression softened as your fingers lingered for just a moment, your touch grounding him.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his usual bravado nowhere to be seen. “Just… people. You know how it is.”

You nodded, not pressing for more, knowing Karma would talk when he was ready. You’d learned early on that he needed time to let his guard down, even around you. Instead, you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in quiet support before moving to the stove. “Hungry? I made your favorite.”

He perked up, an appreciative glint appearing in his eyes. “You really know how to read minds, don’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” you teased, plating a warm dish of curry rice and setting it at the table.

“But you’re easier to read than you think.”

Karma sat down, quickly taking a bite, and a comfortable silence settled between you. He savored each bite, his usual sarcastic comments forgotten as he enjoyed the food. You watched him, glad to see him unwind, his usual tension loosening as he sat there with you. You noticed how his shoulders seemed a little less tense, his gaze softer than the sharp look he often wore.

“Thanks,” he said suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. “For all of this. For letting me… just be.”

You gave him a gentle smile, reaching over to cover his hand with yours. “Karma, you don’t need to thank me. I’m always here for you, no matter what.”

He went still, glancing down at your hand resting on his, almost as if he wasn’t sure how to respond. After a few seconds, he flipped his hand over, lacing his fingers with yours. His usual smirk softened into something more vulnerable, a look that only you got to see.

“Sometimes, I don’t know why you’re so patient with me,” he murmured. “I’m not exactly… easy to be around.”You chuckled, giving his hand a light squeeze. “Maybe it’s because I see how much you’re holding back. You’re more than what people think, Karma. I know that—and I’m here to remind you anytime you need it.”

He swallowed, and for a moment, he looked away, the faintest hint of red dusting his cheeks.

“You really are something else.”The two of you sat there for a while longer, your fingers intertwined, the warmth of your presence easing the weight he carried. After he finished eating, he didn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he gently pulled you over to the couch, and you settled beside him, resting your head on his shoulder.

In the quiet of the evening, you listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing, feeling the slight relaxation in his frame as he let himself lean into you.

“Thank you,” he whispered again, so softly you barely heard it. But you didn’t need to say anything in return; your hand remained in his, a silent promise that you’d always be there, holding him steady in your calm embrace.

For Karma, it was rare to find someone who let him just be without expectations. But with you, he didn’t need to pretend or put on a show. With you, he had found something he didn’t even know he was missing—a place where he could simply feel safe, loved, and understood.