#said subject is like... emotions and what they means and are for

[milgram-en]

Trial 3 - Melting Temperature Voice Drama (Side-by-Side English Translation)

Google Docs version of this translation. If using/reuploading/reposting this translation, do not remove the translator's notes and do not change the translations. Credit and link if using. Any additional Translator's Notes will be found in the replies and/or Google Docs. (Transcript may not be accurate and action descriptions were added with discretion. It will all be updated when the Trial 3 script books are released.) This is technically an interpretation (translation of an auditory source) translated into text. Check the original post before reblogging as TLs are occasionally revisited and edited.

エス　「ユノ」 ES: YUNO. ユノ　「看守さん？」 YUNO: Warden-san? エス　「第3審はお前が最初だな」 ES: You’re the first in the Third Trial. ユノ　「うん。そうだね。不思議な気分だな。ハルカがいない……ハルカ……。きっとあたしがハルカのこと面倒見てあげるって選択肢もあったと思うんだよな。でもなんか……あたしが触っていいものじゃないと思った綺麗だから…汚いからさ、あたし」 YUNO: Yep, that’s right. It feels kinda weird. HARUKA’s not here… HARUKA… I’m sure that there was probably a choice for me to take to take care of HARUKA. But, for some reason… it felt like he was someone I wasn’t allowed to touch, because he was beautiful… and I’m… dirty. エス　「僕のせいだわかってたのに……ムウの言う通り……こうなることはわかっていたのに」 ES: I knew it was my fault… Just like MUU said… I knew it was going to turn out like this. ユノ　「そうかもそうかもしれないね。そう言ってあげれば、少しは看守さんが楽になるへっ…」 YUNO: Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. If you say stuff like that, maybe it’ll ease your mind a bit, heh… エス　「そうだな…」 ES: Yeah… ユノ　「あっ、いじめるのやめなきゃね！これが最後なんだし……」 YUNO: Ah- I gotta stop bullying you! This is the last time we’re gonna have something like this after all… エス　「お前には……いつも痛いところを疲れっぱなしだよ」 ES: You… always manage to strike where it hurts the most, you know. ユノ　「えっ…自分で死を選ぶことがいいことなんてもちろん思わないけどさ……あの子が死んだって知った時……あたしは少し揺らえましかったんだ。自分の命を投げ撃つほど大事なものに出会ったことがないから……やっぱりハルカは綺麗だなって思った」 YUNO: Eh… I don’t think choosing to die is a good thing, of course, but… when I found out that kid died… I was kinda shaken. I’ve never found something so important that it’s worth throwing my life away for so… that’s why I thought HARUKA really was beautiful. エス　「綺麗？ハルカかか？」 ES: Beautiful? HARUKA?? ユノ　「ん、うん。シドウさんもマヒルさんもだけどね。人殺しなのかもしれないけどさ……あの人たちはとても綺麗だった」 YUNO: Mhm, yeah. That includes SHIDOU-san and MAHIRU-san too. They might be murderers but… they really were beautiful people. [T/N: 綺麗 (kirei) was deliberately interpreted-translated as "beautiful" instead of its alternative meanings of "pure/neat/clean". "Pure" and "clean" evokes imagery of total innocence which directly goes against what Yuno was asking Es/Wardens/You as its reductive, simplifying a person's complexities, ignoring their sins, emotions, and all. Whereas what is considered "beautiful" is subjective, unbound by external judgements within the truth of one's heart. YUNO saying "I'm... dirty" also seemed to be a better fit for as it can apply to staining whatever "beauty"/"beautiful" means- whether the qualifications for "beautiful" contain pureness or cleanness or being a person with a heart, being a person with emotions, convictions, etc. "Beautiful" in the context of sinners (囚人) retains the complexity of people that YUNO asks people to not reduce.] エス　「わからないな僕には……まだそう思えない」 ES: I… don’t get it. I can’t see it- not yet, at least. ユノ　「悲しいの？看守さん」 YUNO: Are you sad? Warden-san? エス　「あぁ、そうだよ。僕はあいつらが死んで、悲しいんだ。どうすればよかったのか」 ES: Yeah, I am. They died and I’m sad. I don’t know what I should’ve done. ユノ　「わかんないよね、それは。一度しか無いんだから、人生のんって楽しめばいいんじゃないかな、たくさん。ずっとあたしたちと一緒にいてくれた、看守さんには、悲しむ権にくらいあるでしょ」 YUNO: No one really does. You only get one shot at life after all, so I think you should enjoy it as much as you can. Besides, you’ve been with us all this time, Warden-san. You have the right to be sad at least.

ES breathes out shakily. エス　「ずいぶん優しいじゃないか」 ES: You’re being awfully kind. ユノ　「普通だよ」 YUNO: I’m just being normal. エス　「少し意外だな。お前はどんな状況になっても、標標としているものだと思っていた」 ES: It’s a bit surprising. I’d thought you were the type to stay cool and unaffected no matter what happened. ユノ　「フ���本当に、あたしもそう思ってたなぁ」 YUNO: Heh- Honestly, I thought so too. エス　「何がお前をそうした……僕に、赦され続けたことか」 ES: What made you that way…? Was it because I kept on forgiving you? ユノ　「え？いいよ。別にそれはどうでもいいの」 YUNO: Huh? Nah. That stuff never really mattered. エス　「へぇ……まったく。看守しがいのない奴だ」 ES: Heh… Of course you’d say that. You’re not even the kind of person worth being a Warden to. ユノ　「看守しがいのある女になんかなりたくないからね」 YUNO: It’s exactly because I have no intention of being the kind of girl you’d want to protect. エス　「違いない」 ES: No doubt about that. ユノ　「でしょ？」 YUNO: Right? エス　「マヒルが……お前を変えたのは、ずっとカンビをしてくれてたんだろう」 ES: MAHIRU was… She’s the one who changed you. She was always looking out for you, wasn’t she? ユノ　「そうかもしれないね。変わったのかを知らなぁ、はしゃぐきになれないだけかも……あたしさマヒルさんが死ぬ時そばにいたんだよね」 YUNO: Maybe. I don’t know if I’ve really changed. Maybe I just can’t bring myself to be cheery anymore… I was there with MAHIRU-san when she died, y’know? エス　「そうか。ありがとう」 ES: I see. Thank you for being there. ユノ　「いや、全然だよ。シドウさんが死んじゃったら何もできなくてさ、弱ってくのを見てるしかなかった……。でも、たくさん喋ったんだよね。マヒルさん最後までおしゃべり大好きでさ……マヒルさんってすっごいおとめでさ……恋愛に夢見ててさ、大好きな人のお嫁さんになって、一緒に赤ちゃん育てるのが夢なんだって」 YUNO: No, not at all. I couldn’t do anything when SHIDOU-san died, I could only watch him get weaker… But, I yapped a lot with MAHIRU-san. MAHIRU-san loved to talk until the very end… MAHIRU-san was such a hopeless romantic… dreaming of love, wanting to be the bride of someone she loves, dreaming of raising a baby together. エス　「そうか。マヒルらしいな」 ES: I see. That sounds like MAHIRU. ユノ　「今時いないよね、あんな人。……本当…笑っちゃうよね。あんないい人の夢だった赤ちゃん……あたしみたいな女のところに来たんだよ」 YUNO: You don’t really see people like that these days. …Seriously…it’s almost laughable- That baby a good person like her dreamed of… ended up inside someone like me instead. エス　「ユノ……」 ES: YUNO… ユノ　「面白いよね？あたしが殺したもの……マヒルさんが心から欲しがってたものなんだ……赦されたから何って感じでしょ。バカみたい」 YUNO: Isn’t it kinda funny? The thing I killed… was the very thing MAHIRU-san wanted most in the world. So what if I was forgiven? It’s just so stupid. エス　「……僕が言われたセリフをそのまま返すぞ」 ES: …Then I’ll just go ahead and return the words you once told me. ユノ　「えー？」 YUNO: Huh? エス　「悲しめばいいんじゃないか。笑わなくてもいいんじゃないか」 ES: It’s okay to be sad. You don’t have to smile or laugh around either. ユノ　「何言ってんの?」 YUNO: What are you saying? エス　「笑わなくてもいい。冷えた振りをしなくていい。お前にだって……悲しむ権利はあるだろ」 ES: You don’t have to laugh or smile. You don’t have to pretend to be cold. Even you… have the right to grieve. ユノ　「ない」 YUNO: I don’t. エス　「何故だ」 ES: Why not? ユノ　「いいんだよ」 YUNO: It’s nothing.

エス　「ずっと一緒にいたんだろ……ずっと話していたんだろう……人殺しどうしだろうと……友人だろ」 ES: You were always with them… always talking together… Even if you’re both murderers… you were friends. ユノ　「友人?」 YUNO: Friends? エス　「もう一度言うよ……悲しむ権利くらいあるだろう」 ES: I’ll say it again… You have the right to be sad. ユノ　「友人？なのかな？お互いどこの誰かも知らないのに」 YUNO: Friends? Really? We didn’t even know who each other really was. エス　「ああ……僕はそう思う」 ES: Ah… But it seemed that way to me. ユノ　「無理だよ……無理だ……」 YUNO: No way… There’s no way… エス　「抑える必要なんてない。悲しいもの、悲しいと言えばいい」 ES: There’s no need to hold it in. If something is sad, it’s okay to say it’s sad. ユノ　「悲しんでいい訳ないじゃん……悲しんでいい訳ないじゃん⁈　なんで？だって、あたしは赤ちゃんを殺したのに、殺したとき何も思わなかったのに、ハルカが死んだとか、シドウさんが死んだとか、マヒルさんが死んだとかで……悲しんでいい訳ないじゃん。」 YUNO: It’s not okay for me to be sad… I have no right to be sad!?!!! Why? I killed a baby. And I felt nothing when I did it. So how can I be sad now with HARUKA dying, SHIDOU-san dying, MAHIRU-san dying…? There’s no way I’m allowed to grieve. エス　「……ユノ」 ES: …YUNO. ユノ　「そんな資格なんてあれ訳ないじゃん……。あたしさ、全部わかんの。小さい時から相手が何したら喜ぶか大抵わかる……つまんないの、全部つまんないの！」 YUNO: There’s no way I have any right… I just- I get it, everything. Ever since I was little, I could usually tell what would make someone happy… It’s all so boring- Everything is boring! エス　「聞かせてくれ、お前のこと」 ES: Tell me… about yourself. ユノ　「適当なことやってさ、自分の中にもう一つ命があるって知って……ただただ気持ち悪いだけだったこの先、どういう人生をくるか分かっちゃった……めんどくさくなっちゃった」 YUNO: I was just messing around, then I found out there was a life inside of me… it just felt so gross. I could already see how my whole life would “have” to go from then on… I just got so tired of it all. エス　「だから…殺した」 ES: So that’s… why you killed it. ユノ　「そう…そうだよ。いや、わかんない。そうなのかな。考えてたらクラクラして、階段から落ちた」 YUNO: Yeah… I guess. Or maybe not. I don’t know. Thinking about it made my head all dizzy and I fell down the stairs. エス　「落ちた？」 ES: Fell? ユノ　「そう、落ちた。だからしばらくさんあたしここが死後の世界だと思ってたよ。赤ちゃんと一緒に死んだんだって」 YUNO: Yeah, fell. That’s why I really thought that this place was the afterlife for a while. And that I died with the baby. エス　「違うんだな」 ES: But that wasn’t it. ユノ　「ん。思い出した。ここに連れて来られるまでの記憶。階段から落ちて自分のお腹の中から命が失われて、入院してた。でもちょっと入院したら、学校に戻れたんだよね。最後の記憶は退院して初めての登校中……なんとも思わなかったんだよね……あたし。赤ちゃんが自分の中のからいなくなっても」 YUNO: Yep. I remembered my memories before I was brought here. I fell down the stairs, the life inside me was lost, and I was hospitalized. But after a short stay at the hospital, I was able to go back to school. My last memory is from my first day back at school after being discharged from the hospital… I felt nothing... Even though the baby inside me was gone. エス　「そういうものなのか」 ES: Is that how it is? ユノ　「ただ傷が治るように、何事もなかったように、日常に戻るんだなって……なんなんだろうね命って……そう思ったの覚えてる、何も感じない自分は変なんだって……」 YUNO: Just like a wound healing, life simply goes on like nothing happened… What even is life… I remember thinking that- and that something was wrong with me for not feeling anything… エス　「お前の気持ちを僕は簡単に理解できるとは言えない。でも、だからといってお前が人の死を悲しんじゃいけないわけじゃー」 ES: I won’t pretend that it’s easy to understand how you feel. But that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to grieve over someone’s death—

ユノ　「なんで他の人が死んで悲しむのさ。今更人の命の大事さに気づく。そんな勝手が赦される⁈　あたしがあの子にできることなんて…ずっとさめたままでいることだけだよ」 YUNO: Why do I get to be sad about someone else dying? Because I suddenly realized life is precious now? Because I’m permitted to be that selfish?! The only thing I can do for that kid… is to stay [aware/numb] forever. [T/N: Because さめた (sameta) can mean either “to wake up to reality/to be disillusioned” or “to be cold/numb”, the sentence あたしがあの子にできることなんて…ずっとさめたままでいることだけだよ (atashi ga ano ko ni dekiru koto nante… zutto sameta mama de iru koto dake dayo) can mean: 1. The only thing I can do for that kid… is to stay awake forever- to never dream and just stay in reality; 2. The only thing I can do for that kid… is to stay numb forever.] エス　「お前はきちんと傷ついていたよ…。ただ、見てこなかっただけだ……自分の傷を……痛みを麻痺させていただけだと思う」 ES: You were definitely hurting… You just didn’t see it… You…numbed yourself to your pain. ユノ　「あんたに何がわからないよ。ただの子供でしょ」 YUNO: What would you know? You’re just a kid. エス　「わからないよ。お前と一緒で……まだ子供だ。でもお前の心の中を見て��たよ。お前の歌を……ずっと聞いてきたんだ……。自分で言うほど、お前は冷たい人間じゃないよ」 ES: I don’t know. You and me… we’re just kids. But I’ve seen your heart. I’ve listened to its entirety… your songs... You’re not as cold as you pretend to be. ユノ　「……そうか」 YUNO: …is that so. エス　「ぁ、そうだ」 ES: Yeah. ユノ　「看守さんはどうすんの?」 YUNO: So, what’re you gonna do now, Warden-san? エス　「どうとは？」 ES: What do you mean? ユノ　「まだ続けるの、ミルグラム……もう破綻してるでしょ、ココ。看守さんが続けなきゃいけない理由はある?」 YUNO: You still gonna keep MILGRAM going…? This place is already falling apart. Does Warden-san even have a reason to keep going? エス　「そう…だな。まだわからない。他の囚人と会っていく中で考えようと思う。」 ES: Yeah…maybe. I don’t know yet. I’ll think about it as I meet with the other Prisoners. ユノ　「そっか…それもいいかもね」 YUNO: I. see… Maybe that’s fine too. エス　「なぁ、 最後だから聞いていいか」 ES: Hey- Since this is the end, can I ask you something? ユノ　「ん?」 YUNO: Hm? エス　「お前はどうすれば満足だったんだ」 ES: What would’ve satisfied you? ユノ　「どういうこと?」 YUNO: What do you mean? エス　「赦されても、赦されなくても、不満だっただろ、お前」 ES: Whether you were forgiven, whether you weren’t forgiven- You wouldn’t have felt satisfied either way. ユノ　「うん。あたしもそう思う。ミルグラム自体気に食わないもん、言ったでしょ?人が人を裁くなんて無理だって」 YUNO: Yeah. I think so too. I’ve told you before that I never liked MILGRAM itself, right? And that people judging people, people deciding people is impossible- it doesn’t work out. エス　「よく覚えているよ」 ES: I remember it well. ユノ　「看守さんがなんとなく他のみんな音を判断したかはわかってるけどさ。あたしからしたら、結局全部好気嫌いだよ。立場は違えば…思うことなんて違うんだもん」 YUNO: I, more-or-less, know how Warden-san has judged everyone else. But to me, it was all just picking favorites- what you like and dislike. Different perspectives… different beliefs. エス　「そうだな……どんな囚人だって100対0なんてことはなかった……よくわかるよ」 ES: Yeah… I understand. No sinner was ever just Black-or-White… I get that now. [T/N: 囚人 (shuujin) can mean either "prisoner" or "sinner". The themes in Melting Temperature that seemingly aim to melt away rigid labels that simplify characters and persons makes the word "sinner" fit its context and story better. "Prisoner" creates a binding and limiting label that reduces a person to a polarity of non-innocence whereas "sinner" allows examination of that sinner-person beyond just the sin.] ユノ　「あたしが何を求めていたか……こわ……大体看守さんの言いたいことはわかるよ。あたしは叱られたかったのかもしれない？あとなんだろ、寂しかったのかもしれない？あたしから言わせれば、全部そうで、全部違う」 YUNO: What I was really looking for…? It’s a scary thought… I guess I kinda get what Warden-san is trying to say. Maybe I just wanted someone to scold me- to tell me I was wrong? Or maybe, I was lonely? If there’s anything I can say, all of it’s true and none of it’s true. エス　「どういうことだ」 ES: What do you mean?

ユノ　「こうに違いないとか、こう思わないのはおかしいとかさ……あたしが何を感じたかなんて決めつけないで…理由なんて一つじゃないし理由なんてないかもしれない。お願いだからさ、あたしのこと、分かりやすくしないでよ」 YUNO: Stuff like “It’s like this for her” or “It’s weird not to think this for her”... Don’t assume how I felt. There isn’t just one reason- there might not even be a reason at all. Please… don’t try to make me into something so simple. エス　「……お前らしいよ」 ES: …That’s such a you thing to say. ユノ　「うんうん。人間ってそういうもんなんだと思うよ」 YUNO: Yep, yep. I think that’s just how people are. エス　「そうか。勉強になったよ」 ES: I see. I’ve learned something today. A bell tolls from within the clock in the room. The structure of the interrogation room begins to change. ユノ　「もう？」 YUNO: Already? エス　「時間か……」 ES: Time’s up… ユノ　「そっか。お別れだね」 YUNO: Huh. This is goodbye, then. エス　「あぁ……」 ES: Yeah… ユノ　「ちょっと……看守さん？」 YUNO: Wait a sec… Warden-san? エス　「なんだ？」 ES: What is it? ユノ　「ちょっとおいでよ」 YUNO: C’mere for a sec.

ES walks over slowly, as if the clock ticking down to the beginning of the end was of no issue. YUNO hugs ES. ユノ　「はい」 YUNO: There we go. エス　「……ユノ」 ES: …YUNO. ユノ　「ハグ。えへぇ……普段なら2.5撮ってるところだけど、無料にしておくよ」 YUNO: Hug! Ehe… Normally I’d charge 2500 for this, but I’ll let you have it for free. エス　「不欠だ」 ES: Scandalous. ユノ　「えへ。ウソウソ。マヒルさんならきっとこうしてお送り出したと思うからさ。看守さんのこと」 YUNO: Hehe. Just kidding. MAHIRU-san probably would’ve seen you off like this too. If it were you, Warden-san. ユノ　「ふぅ、いろいろ込めた。はい！」 YUNO: Whew- I put a lot into that- There! YUNO lets go of ES. ユノ　「終わり！なんて言うかさ、そうん……頑張ってよ！」 YUNO: The end! What else to say I guess… Do your best! エス　「はぁ……」 ES: Yeah… ユノ　「看守さんにはいろいろ言ったし、今もミルグラムなんてくだらないって新速思うけどさ」 YUNO: I’ve said a lot to Warden-san, and I still think MILGRAM is a load of shit. エス　「まだ言うか」 ES: Still going on about that? ユノ　「あたしはここに来なかったら、自分のしたことを改めて考えることなんてなかったかもしれない。きっとあたしのしたことを日常の中に消えていた……あたしの中にもう一人いたこと、忘れてしまっていた」 YUNO: But if I hadn’t come here, maybe I never would’ve thought twice about what I did. It would’ve just disappeared into the background of my life… that another person had been inside me. I would’ve completely forgotten about it.

エス　「ユノ……」 ES: YUNO… ユノ　「あたしのことを考えてくれたことは、ありがとう。あたしを、もう一人か死んじゃってたけど。私たちを知ってくれてありがとう」 YUNO: Thank you for thinking about me. One person inside of me is already dead, but… thank you for getting to know us. エス　「僕も…お前を知れてよかった……忘れないよ…お前と、もう一人」 ES: I’m… also glad I got to know you. I won’t forget… you and the other one. ユノ　「それだけは……よかったかな。ありがとう、看守さん。バイバイ！また会えたらいいね！」 YUNO: If nothing else… I’m glad for that. Thanks, Warden-san. Bye-bye! Hope we meet again! エス　「あ、こちらこそ……ありがとう」 ES: Yeah… Thank you as well. エス　「囚人番号2番……。いやー」 ES: Prisoner Number 2… No- ユノ　「？」 YUNO: Huh? エス　「これは、要らないな」 ES: That’s not needed anymore. ES takes their hat off and throws it to the ground. ユノ　「もし……捨てちゃうの?」 YUNO: You’re really… You’re throwing it away? エス　「あぁ、ここからは看守じゃない。最後くらいは、ただの僕であろうと思う」 ES: Yeah, from here on out I’m not a Warden. At least for now, I want to just be me. YUNO smiles, impressed. It was time to say goodbye. ユノ　「フヘ……いいじゃん、エス」 YUNO: Heh… Not bad, Es. Es looks back at Yuno, the corners of their mouth matching that of the gentle expression on Yuno’s. Their eyes soften. エス　「樫木優乃、お前の罪を歌え」 ES: Yuno Kashiki, sing your sins!

[manariee]

DIDNT MEAN TO

热爱 ★ said i would never fall, unless it you i fall into

니시무라 리키 & fem!reader wc: 2451 ◜ᯅ◝ high school AU slow burn-ish emotional tension miscommunication stubborn idiot riki (kind o a jerk) mention of academic stress some light angst

REBLOG4AKISS

MANA: pls unflop me guys i beg oh and thank you @ykitslu for requesting this ^^ AND THANK YOU YIN FOR PROOF READING MWAH

Riki was never the type to fall fast.

And that was no lie.

The whole school knew that, girls would try - putting small notes in his locker, confessions at the school gym. He'd just brush them off with a polite nod or a quiet ''sorry''. So they eventually started giving up with grand gestures and just admired from afar.

But it wasn’t because he was cold-hearted.

No - it was because Riki found no point in love.

''It's stupid,'' he once told Jungwon with a scoff during lunch. ''How do you even know someone’s being real? Like, you look at someone and just know they’re the one? That doesn’t even make sense.''

''You're just scared,'' Jungwon had joked, nudging him with an elbow.

But Riki had gone quiet. Not defensive. Just, firm. He wasn’t scared. He was just done believing in something so fragile - so easily faked.

After that, he never thought about the idea again. No crushes. No lingering stares. No butterflies. Nothing.

Well… That was until high school.

Because high school brought you.

And you didn’t even try.

At first it was nothing, you were just a new face, one of Sunoo's old friends.

But then you started showing up everywhere.

You were in most of his classes, his neighborhood, and his mind, at all times.

Weird, not like he liked you or anything.

Then it happened at lunch, when you smiled a bit too hard at one of the jokes someone made at your guys' table.

He stopped midway a bit of his sandwich, his stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with cafeteria food.

But who was he to listen to his heart?

He decided to stick to his moms food instead.

Just as if the universe knew, Riki got paired up with you on a stupid school project. Of all people. You. On a subject he hated, too.

History.

He'd rather stand on one leg the whole day than to write some ten page essay about a person that doesn't even exist anymore.

You tapped your pencil against your notebook. ''We could do it on the French Revolution. That one's at pretty dramatic.''

He stared at you a second longer than necessary. ''Sure the Eiffel towers pretty cool.''

You blinked, then shook your head. ''That happened after the revolution, in 1887.''

And he grinned. Actually grinned. Like a real one - not his usual smirk or polite curve of the lips. ''Okay nerd.''

But he quickly snapped out of it, what the heck?

As time passed on, he didn't know what was more disturbing: the fact you made him laugh, twice.. Or that he wanted to make you laugh again like you did at Sunoo's jokek the other day. Desperately. Like some dog trying to earn a treat from it's owner.

Every time you smiled at him, it felt like something heavy shifted in his chest. Every time you leaned over to show him your notes, he had to remind himself to breathe like a normal human being.

Why was he sitting up straighter? Why was he nodding like he was actually interested in The Reign of Terror? Why was he googling “how to write a bibliography” at 1AM when he literally never did homework on time?

Oh no. Oh no no no.

Riki Nishimura was trying. For a group project. For you. This was bad.

But the worst part? He didn’t even mind.

Riki knew he was in real trouble when your face would show up on his ceiling.

He was being so embarrasing it even made him cringe.

Like for instance when he tried to offer his umbrella on a rainy day to you, but when you said that he would get soaked, he quickly cut you off with a 'I don't care.''

But what was worse than public humiliation to Nishimura Riki?

His ego betraying him.

Because he was starting to look for you everytime you weren't with the group.

In the hallways. At your locker. On lunch breaks. Sometimes near your house or the convenience store.

And it pissed him off. Because since when did he care about someone liking him back?

He wasn’t supposed to. He’d sworn off that whole mess. Feelings? Affection? Vulnerability?

Absolutely not.

But now?

He reread you texts, pacing in his room, wondering if your ''lmao'' meant if you really were laughing based on what he said and your humor level. He was bringing extra pens in case you forgot yours again, which you always did. Riki never brought pens, ever. He was staying up late to work on the project so ''you wouldn't worry about your grade.''

He was.. Caring?

And you didn't even know.

You didn’t know that when you bumped shoulders with him and laughed like it was nothing, he had to physically stop himself from reacting like a middle schooler with a crush. You didn’t know that you were slowly, steadily, completely destroying him.

Bit by bit. Smile by smile.

It was stupid, so stupid.

You were laughing with some guy from the basketball team outside the cafeteria, and Riki told himself it didn’t matter.

He told himself you were just talking. That you were allowed to smile like that. That you smiled like that at everyone.

But then the guy touched your arm. Lightly. Casually. Familiar.

And that was it.

Something inside Riki just snapped.

It wasn't jealousy. No - jealousy was messy, childish. This was worse. This was panic. This was every wall he’d built crumbling under one tiny, innocent moment. This was every feeling he’d buried just to drag himself to this.

He didn't think, he just walked.

You turned when you spotted him from the corner of your eye. But you were completely caught off guard when he gently grabbed your arms. ''Riki?''

''Can we talk?'' he said, eyes narrowed and tone so sharp it almost made you fear of what he would say next.

The guy looked between you two awkwardly and just left as Riki pulled you to the side of the building, where it was a bit more quiet.

''Okay.. What's going on?..''

He didn't answer right away, his fingers were twitching at his sides, curled into fists as if it would ground him.

''I don't get it.'' he said after a beat.

You raised your brows, arms crossed. ''Get what?''

''You'' he blurted out, tone frustrated but not to you, more to himself. ''This. Whatever you've been doing to me.''

You blinked, confused of which turn this conversation was taking, you could feel your heartbeat increasing a bit too fast.

''I was fine before. Like, really fine. I didn't care about people, or love, or any of that corny stuff. But then you came along with your dumb flower doodles and your weird French Revolution facts and your - your laugh.''

You froze, almost choking on your own breath. ''M-my laugh? Riki what are you saying?!''

''Yes your laugh, it's fucking pissing me off so bad.''

Silence.

''I've been losing my sleep just because your face haunts my ceiling,'' he said, quite literally pouring everything out now. ''And it's not in a love-story kind of way it's more of a haunting-creepy way. I hate group projects and don't care of what others think of me, but suddenly i'm writing 5 extra pages just so you would be impressed. I keep showing up to class early just in case i bump into you. I carry extra pens so you won't have to ask anyone else and I gave you my umbrella when I hate the rain!''

You stood frozen, lips parted, and that was when he fully broke - his voice cracked just a little when he added:

''I don’t know what to do when you look at me.''

Your breath caught.

''I tried pretending it wasn't happening,'' he said. ''I tried staying cool, acting like I didn't feel anything. But I do. And I can’t not anymore.''

Silence again.

Then…

''I like you.''

He finally met your eyes.

''And it’s driving me crazy Y/N.''

You stood there, even a step feeling to heavy.

His chest was pounding so hard you swore even you could hear it.

You wanted to say something, heck - anything. But the words just wouldn't come.

Come on Y/N it can't be that hard can it?

Riki's hopeful eyes searched yours for any sign - any little spark - that you felt the same.

But the silence seemed to eat him up. It was heavier than any heartbeat between the two of you.

He sighed, turning.

''Forget it. Forget I said anything.''

But before he could walk away he turned his head over his shoulder, a small, forced smile on his face.

''Have a good evening Y/N.''

The next day, Riki wasn't at the quiet corner of the study café, the spot where you two could do anything without being interrupted.

But no, Riki was in the center of it. The place where it was way too crowded. A airpod in his ear, the missing one still in your purse, the one you were supposed to give back but he decided confess instead.

You quietly walked towards that spot, and even though he spotted you from the corner of his eye, he didn't look up, just continued typing away.

''Hey.'' you said softly, purse strap clutched in your hand.

He looked up, noticed how you semeed a bit dolled up considering the ocassion. ''You got a date or something after this?''

You blinked, looked around then shook your head. ''No?..''

He nodded, bringing his gaze back to the screen, tone cold and something else that made you feel regret? ''Due date's soon.''

You sighed, nodding as you pulled out the chair beside his. ''Right we should-''

You were cut off by the sight of his bag on the chair and sat on the one across instead.

The space between you felt enormous.

You remembered all the times he’d leaned over your shoulder, whispering jokes, nudging you playfully.

Now, his silence screamed louder than any words ever could.

You both got an A.

Top marks, praise from the teacher, Jealous stares from classmates who'd started with theirs last minute.

You thought it would feel good - something to celebrate.

But sitting there beside Riki, it just felt.. Empty.

He barely reacted. No smug grin. No playful ''We killed it'' shoulder nudge. Or that dinner he promised to take you out on if you two aced it.

''Guess we did alright,'' he said casually.

You nodded. ''Yeah.''

There was that awful silence again, it was so unbearable and full with tension. You just wished things were just like before, air filled with laughter and his dumb jokes.

He stood up, sliding his bag over his shoulder. ''Well.. Good job, Y/N.''

You panicked a little and quickly got up, before scrambling into your bag. ''Wait.''

He paused, hands casually in his pocket.

You held out his missing Airpod - the one he was supposed to smile at upon seeing.

He looked at it for a second, then gave a soft laugh.

That same laugh which made you stupidly smile.

''Guess this ends here?''

You froze, fingers still stretched toward him.

He took the AirPod gently, careful not to brush your hand. His voice was light, but his eyes didn’t match - too careful, too guarded. Like he'd already accepted your silence and was trying to make peace with it.

You wanted to yell.

You wanted to turn back time.

But right now? You could just watch him walk away.

The moment he stepped out of the classroom, something inside of you snapped, why was he acting like he was the only one hurt? You were hurt too. So that's why you were currently running across the street, rain pouring down in sheets, soaking your uniform, but you didn't care. You had to take out your anger on Nishimura Riki, once and for all.

When you turned a corner there you saw him. Umbrella in his hand, back towards you.

''Nishimura Riki.'' you called out, trying to catch your breath while trying not to look like a idiot at the same time.

He didn’t turn around.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, stepping closer. ''You didn’t even give me a chance. You just... walked away. Like I was some stranger huh?''

His silence was a punishment, heavier than any words he could say.

''I waited,'' you said, biting your lip to keep the tears from falling. ''You didn’t even give me a chance- You! You treated me like I ruined everything, like I was the one who messed it up. But maybe it’s you who’s scared!''

You took a shaky breath, fists clenched at your sides.

''And that’s not fair. You treated me like a jerk before even hearing me out. Like I wasn’t worth the time.''

The words spilled out, raw and desperate. ''You treated me like I ruined everything!''

The silence stretched between you, the rain soaking through your clothes, mixing with the tears you didn’t bother wiping away.

And then—

Without a word, Riki spun around, ran and pulled you into his arms, hand cradling your head.

You cried against his chest, your hands weakly punching his shirt. ''You're such a jerk,'' you said between those weak punches. ''A mean, jerk.''

His arms tightened around you, a quiet promise in the way he held you close.

''I'm sorry,'' he whispered against your hair, the heat of your bodies keeping each other warm despite the rain.

The rain has slowed down and you and Riki were drying up on the bench outside the convenience store. It had been a while someone had said something but the silence wasn't as bad as the ones before.

He glanced towards you, gulping before muttering. ''I'm sorry.''

You turned your head towards him, nodding since you didn't know what to say.

''I got scared. Thought I had ruined everything we had, but yes, it wasn't fair of me I know.''

You chuckled, nudging him. ''Nishimura Riki apologizing first?''

He smiled a bit, leaning closer. ''Forgive this jerk?''

You wanted to stay mad. Really. You should’ve. But the way he looked at you. God you couldn't.

You nodded, biting your lip.

''Don't make me regret it,'' you whispered.

His lips quirked in the smallest smile, and then - finally - he closed the distance.

The kiss was slow, his hand coming up to cradle your face, and lips moving against yours like he was earning the apology.

When you finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, he laughed quietly, breathless.

''You hit me pretty hard earlier,'' he teased.

You chuckled, cheeks flushed. ''You deserved it.''

''I probably still do.''

''I'd rather kiss you instead.''

lovliezᡣ𐭩: @chrrific @saemisic @heeaara @ltfirecracker @woniefication @lezleeferguson-120 @rikifever @chaeneu @jjennuine @callikari @yuuuraaa @wondoras @ykitslu @orimuraa

NETS: @k-films

[hux-and-gay]

Let’s break this down step by step shall we? 

“i don’t use tumblr like i used to or any reading site. not because i’m too grown but because the writing is weak now. where’s the plot? where’s the emotion? where’s the stuff that kept me up all night rereading scenes like they were mine?”

Firstly, If you don’t want to use tumblr or reading sites, that’s fine. But holding them to the same standards as a published book is crazy. Many fics, especially those in short tumblr posts are not meant to be digested like a novel. These are one shots and drabbles that people write for fun, they’re messy, un-fished, that doesn’t mean they have no right to exist. I can guarantee you every author out there has goofy little short stories they write at 2am cause they had a random idea that will never be a published book because they’re not meant to be. 

You don’t have to read those things but them being posted on the internet doesn’t hurt anyone. And if you haven’t grasped the concept of “don’t like don’t read” then frankly you’re right you shouldn’t be on tumblr. 

Secondly, saying every non published work has no plot and no emotion is just untrue. There are several published books that have originated as fan fiction. And there are many fanfics that are chapters long, and filled with riveting stories, compelling characters and scenes that have brought me to tears. Even 1 chapter one shots have managed this. If you don’t believe me I’ll send you some AO3 links. 

“y’all be writing the same smutty paragraph 10 different ways and calling it a story. it’s not. it’s just porn with pretty words. and half the time, not even that pretty.”

Not every fanfic is explicitly rated 

Not everything has to have a plot, smut isn’t inherently bad 

Many smut fics do have plot 

Again people write for fun and because other people enjoy it as well as themselves. Just because it doesn’t fit your elitist standards doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be posted or that it’s not good

“as someone who’s been writing since the first grade, i can tell when something’s got weight.”

Funny thing about school is most people have been writing since first grade, including the fic writers you’re attacking. That doesn’t make you qualified on this subject. 

“real writers take their own experience, twist it up with imagination, and give it life.”

Yup we do that. Also fun fact some smut writers do take from their own experience to write said smut. 

“that’s not the same as writing “he moaned” 37 times and slapping a fake name on it.”

If you believe that that is the majority of smut fics then you haven’t read any. You can’t criticize something accurately if you’re going to make broad generalizations and just completely false statements. And again so what if it is that? There is no crime in posting whatever the fuck you want. IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT DON’T READ IT

“i’m sorry, but writing about dick going in pussy isn’t groundbreaking it’s easy. and y’all eat it up like it’s fine dining.”

Have you tried writing smut? Like genuinely? THAT SHIT IS FUCKING HARD. No pun intended. There’s a lot of moving parts to keep track of, clothing or lack their of to remember, plus dialogue? And also just generally having to research scenarios you may not have experienced yourself because not everything character you write for is gonna have the same body as you or like the same things as you. 

It’s also just genuinely intimidating because we know there will be people like you who will judge us no matter how we write it. 

“porn with plot writers? most of y’all got no substance. trauma dump, snarky banter, sex scene. repeat. it’s tired. there’s a few anime smut blogs with 30k notes on every post who genuinely couldn’t move me if they tried. no tension. no emotion. no teeth.”

Funny how you said “take from your own experience” and then also admitted porn with plot writers do that (not that porn without plot writers don’t do that or are inferior to porn with plot writers in any way) also again that statement is just not accurate. If you asked me to recommend a good smutty story I would recommend an explicit AO3 fic before I ever recommend a published book.

“you’ll read something soaked in blood, sweat, and tears and your first comment is: “do they fuck tho?” “part 2! part 2!” not “why did you write this?” not “what inspired this moment?” not even a fuckin “good job.” yuck.

This is tumblr not an English class. People are here to have fun. If I wrote fan fic  or posted some art and someone said “why did you write this” or “what inspired this moment” I would answer but I honestly would think you might be a bot 😭

Now if someone said “do they fuck tho?” I would burst out laughing. And the only times I see comments like that is from close mutuals that know you’re comfortable with that. I have never seen those comments from random strangers unless the post is already spicy. 

And how is “part 2! Part 2!” Bad? That makes me feel great because they’re saying they want more. 

Also the majority of my comments are basically variations of “good job” so idk who’s comments you’re looking at 

“no curiosity, no connection, just consumption.”

Then tell me why I’m on a discord server with like 200 people that I literally met through a fan fic community? Multiple of which I am good friends with. We literally mail Christmas cards to each other.  

“you don’t deserve good stories if you treat them like fast food.”

You don’t deserve good stories if you treat the writers like shit. People like you are the reason why so many writers left tumblr. Also I like fast food, you ever had a cheap greasy burger? That shit hits the spot. You however treat these stories like a rude customer in a restaurant who tries to send the food back and get a refund after they already ate it because they didn’t like how it tasted. 

“you know you can write a masterpiece, but you’re chasing the smut trend like it’s the only way to eat. YES YOU and i’m bashing myself too, because i fell into that trap. i followed the trend and it crushed me creatively. don’t be like that. don’t water yourself down for attention.”

Just because it didn’t work for you doesn’t mean it doesn’t work for everyone. I started experimenting with explicit works not because I was following a trend but because it was a form of self expression, it was fun, and it was freeing. I don’t want to rehash a lot of what I’ve already said, but also a lot of smut fic writers are actually published authors you know? 

“and for the love of words proofread. i don’t care if you told your followers it’d be out tonight — PROOF. READ. you sound tacky and all over the place. take your time. finish the piece, close the tab, then read it again with fresh eyes.”

Again fics are not published works, they should not be held to the same standards. Publishing a book takes years and I don't wanna do that for every silly little story I write. Some aren’t even meant to be taken seriously they’re just Drabble, there’s nothing wrong with that existing publicly. And there are fics that are proofread and edited, beta readers are a thing dude and I’m not talking about omegaverse. 

“Rookie writers? get on Pinterest. read actual books. learn what your beat is. find filler phrases. expand your vocabulary. practice makes perfect, but you’re not practicing… you’re performing. stop.”

Writing fic is practice… like genuinely i don’t know how any form of writing isn’t practice? It’s not all gonna be great. That doesn’t mean they can’t post it. And a lot of rookie writers do everything you just listed when they write fic. 

“Fuck what your followers want. write what you want. write about that fairy. write about that soft boy. write that sad ass little story no one asked for but you needed to get out. you are not a word porn machine. you are a creator of words. people like me will appreciate it.”

Dude you’re the one telling us not to write what we want. Can you not fathom that some people like writing smut? And I can guarantee I can find a fic with literally everything you just listed. 

And Frankly I don’t want your appreciation. I didn’t ask for it, I don't need it. I, as well as most writers, post things online because I wanted to write it, even if I got no interaction at all I would still post it. But I do get interaction. There are people that like what I write and I don't need someone who’s going to analyze it and pick it apart for all its supposed flaws when I’m just writing for fun. You want me to get an editor? You want me to write to your standards? Then pay me.

- sincerely, Horny fucker with a keyboard

bring back real writing.

i don’t use tumblr like i used to or any reading site. not because i’m too grown but because the writing is weak now. where’s the plot? where’s the emotion? where’s the stuff that kept me up all night rereading scenes like they were mine?

y’all be writing the same smutty paragraph 10 different ways and calling it a story. it’s not. it’s just porn with pretty words. and half the time, not even that pretty.

as someone who’s been writing since the first grade, i can tell when something’s got weight. real writers take their own experience, twist it up with imagination, and give it life. that’s not the same as writing “he moaned” 37 times and slapping a fake name on it. i’m sorry, but writing about dick going in pussy isn’t groundbreaking it’s easy. and y’all eat it up like it’s fine dining.

porn with plot writers? most of y’all got no substance. trauma dump, snarky banter, sex scene. repeat. it’s tired. there’s a few anime smut blogs with 30k notes on every post who genuinely couldn’t move me if they tried. no tension. no emotion. no teeth.

and i would name names, but i know all their horny little freaks would bite me in the notes like trained dogs. so i’m chilling. for now.

and can we talk about how the aesthetic of your account matters more than the actual writing? y’all care more about headers and moodboards than building a sentence that breathes. some of my fellow readers are shallow as hell. you’re part of the problem too.

you’ll read something soaked in blood, sweat, and tears and your first comment is: “do they fuck tho?” “part 2! part 2!” not “why did you write this?” not “what inspired this moment?” not even a fuckin “good job.” yuck. no curiosity, no connection, just consumption. and y’all wonder why writers get burnt out. you don’t deserve good stories if you treat them like fast food.

and writers? yeah, i’m talking to you too.

you know you can write a masterpiece, but you’re chasing the smut trend like it’s the only way to eat. YES YOU and i’m bashing myself too, because i fell into that trap. i followed the trend and it crushed me creatively. don’t be like that. don’t water yourself down for attention.

and for the love of words proofread. i don’t care if you told your followers it’d be out tonight — PROOF. READ. you sound tacky and all over the place. take your time. finish the piece, close the tab, then read it again with fresh eyes.

rookie writers? get on Pinterest. read actual books. learn what your beat is. find filler phrases. expand your vocabulary. practice makes perfect, but you’re not practicing… you’re performing. stop.

fuck what your followers want. write what you want. write about that fairy. write about that soft boy. write that sad ass little story no one asked for but you needed to get out. you are not a word porn machine. you are a creator of words. people like me will appreciate it.

with AI rising and everything getting copy-pasted to hell, you are the last hope for stories with real soul. be the person who makes someone stay up all night. be the one who makes them feel. write something that makes you proud.

if this offends you, maybe it should. i’m tired of fake-deep smut being treated like it’s revolutionary. writing takes heart. skill. effort. if you’re not putting any in, you’re not a writer you’re just a horny fucker with a keyboard. I’m not hater, i’m begging. bring back storytelling with teeth. with heart. with voice. i want messy metaphors, too-long paragraphs, dialogue that breathes. i want to read something that makes me clutch my chest and reread a line five times just to feel it again.

we owe it to ourselves and to each other to write like it matters. because it does.

now go write something that keeps someone up at 3AM smiling at their screen. or crying. or both.

just bring back real writing. period.

[evans23]

Loving you is a losing game - Part IV

Pairing : Judge Turpin x Reader OC

Summary : You love Richard. And you want him to love you. Entirely. In your flesh.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Mention of domestic violence. Slight mention of woman killing her man. Smut !

A/N : Hello dear 😁 I didn't proofread, but I hope you will enjoy.

Part I - Part II - Part III

Also read on AO3 Also read on Wattpad

The next day, you woke up in Richard's arms with a contented sigh. It was still early, but you knew that Richard, still asleep, would soon wake up. Indeed, you could hear the first sounds of the city buzzing from outside, even though it was still dark.

You pressed yourself against him, enjoying the warmth emanating from his strong body when you felt his length pressing against the small of your back. You opened your eyes wide, knowing full well what it was. You knew the biological process of this... male condition that normally occurred every morning, but you also knew what it meant for a man. Even more so for a man like Richard, who, even if he had never told you about his depravity, you suspected was far from innocent on that matter. Indeed, he owned numerous highly explicit books from around the world, and it was common knowledge that he frequented high-class brothels. A thought that tugged at your heartstrings.

Richard's arm, which had been resting on your hip, wrapped around your stomach, pressed you closer to him, growling. Yet, his steady breathing told you he had done this completely unconsciously, he was still asleep.

His cock pressed harder against your buttocks now, and you found yourself having thoughts that were unsavoury for a young girl from a good family. Yet, you weren't a young girl from a good family, you were from a low-middle-class family, and even if you were still pure, your curiosity on the subject had gotten the better of you years ago.

And then, since Richard and you had grown closer, slowly, surely, and since last night when he held you in his arms as you confided in him your fear of thunderstorms, a new bond had been created between you. And you realized that new feelings, other than love, were also forming. You desired him. Sexually.

You blushed at the thought, but you didn't have time to elaborate further on what you felt, because Richard stirred behind you, grumbling. He wasn't asleep anymore, and you immediately closed your eyes, pretending to be.

Richard sighed contentedly, a slight smile tugging at his lips as he saw you there, in his arms, where you had slept soundly all night. He had dreamed of this moment so much, and now that his patience had been rewarded, he loved you even more.

He observed your beautiful face, your pink lips, and your pale cheeks hidden by strands of hair. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and brought his lips close to yours, making you shiver in spite of yourself.

"I know you're not asleep, my dear."

You immediately opened your eyes, a little embarrassed, still aware of his length against your buttocks, but if Richard had noticed, he had the decency to act as if nothing had happened.

"Hello, my dear wife."

"Hello," you whispered, gazing into his hazel eyes.

You could have drowned in his eyes, they made you feel a thousand emotions in just a few seconds. His eyes expressed so much more when you took the time to really observe them than his stoic face and his cold, stoic appearance.

In fact, you had realized over time, and with the help of the staff who seemed to hold Richard in high regard despite his stern, hard, and sometimes even mean nature, that there was much more to the man you married than you had initially thought.

"I'm afraid I have to get up," he said, kissing your temple.

"Do you really have to?" you asked playfully.

"Ah, my dear wife ! Justice doesn't wait."

And with that, he reluctantly let go of you to begin his ablutions. You watched him disappear into the bathroom adjoining your bedroom, a pang of disappointment coursing through your body at the loss of his body against yours, of his warmth, and also by his usual coldness that had returned to haunt him. You had naively hoped that with you, he would be warmer in your everyday life, in the privacy of the manor, especially after these last few days, which had only solidified what had started as a forced marriage and evolved into a strange friendship, finally becoming love. At least for you, because for Richard, it had always been love.

When Richard reappeared, he was wearing black trousers and a gold waistcoat that accentuated his height. His stature. He acted as if nothing was wrong, and in theory, it was, if you hadn't been indiscreet enough to listen at the door to eavesdrop him... pleasure himself with his hands.

"Love," he growled in his baritone voice, "I'll be back for supper," it sounded like a promise, and you knew it was.

He kissed your lips gently, caressing your cheek with his fingertips, his hand lingering longer than necessary, then left without looking back.

Alone, in the darkness of your large bedroom, you sighed, closing your eyes. You knew Richard wasn't going to try anything, or at least you suspected it. His desire to conquer you permanently was stronger than his desire to make you his, and he wouldn't try anything if you weren't the one initiating the act. Yet, just because you'd read strange things when you were younger didn't mean you were versed in the art of love.

Indeed, having grown up without a maternal figure, no woman had ever explained to you what the act itself truly entailed. Of course, you'd heard women speak of it as a duty, something they couldn't refuse their husbands as it was a marital duty, and most of them were more than dissatisfied. Some even said they suffered terribly every time. Yet, you'd read that pleasure wasn't just for men and that a woman could feel it too... provided she was with the right lover.

Was Richard that kind of man ? The one who would make your first time pleasurable enough for you to want to do it again, to experience what was described as pleasure, or was he like all the other noblemen who took what he wanted without a care for his wife ? You couldn't be certain, but a man who went to brothel probably didn't care much about women's pleasure, did he ?

"Is everything all right, my Lady ?" Mrs. Dormer asked, helping you with your hair.

You nodded yes, but you were still consumed by your recent desire to be claimed by your husband and, at the same time, by the fear of being nothing more than a trophy to him, who would revel in what you had given him, while for you, once you had given him everything, it would be too late.

You wanted to discuss all this with the maid, whom you considered more of a friend and confidant than anything else, but the subject was somewhat delicate and embarrassing.

"Are you sure, my Lady ? You are very calm this morning."

You closed your eyes, feeling tears welling up in your eyes. You'd already felt lonely since your marriage, especially when Richard decided things needed to change for you after you'd provoked him one too many times, but this was something else. A feeling of terrible loneliness, knowing you had no real friends to confide in, except for Maya, but since her marriage to an abusive and controlling man, you hadn't really had any contact with her. Your other friends were more acquaintances you acknowledged on the street or at the rare events you'd attended in the past.

You considered William, your editor, as your best friend, but he was a man. A man with particular tastes, something you'd discovered by accident when you unexpectedly walked into his office while he was busy with another man. You still remember with a nostalgic smile how he begged you not to say anything, that he'd do anything to keep you quiet, even if it meant bribing you, while you were just amused to have learned by complete chance that a man as virile and masculine as he preferred... well, had other preferences.

"That's a cliché, [Y/N], man with muscles can... well... it's none of your business." he had told you, blushing slightly.

However, and although surprised by your complete indifference, the fact that you weren't bothered by his disinterest in women, but rather intrigued and fascinated, had strengthened your friendship, making you the best friends you were today. Yet, you felt that talking to him about your own sex life was somewhat inappropriate.

"You were married once, Mrs. Dormer," you said suddenly.

It wasn't a question; you knew the maid had had a husband in the past.

"Indeed, my Lady," Mrs. Dormer replied cautiously.

You felt her stiffen behind you, as her hand gripped a lock of your hair more firmly than you'd intended, pulling it back.

"Was it a love match?" you wanted to know.

"Not really, my Lady, although it wasn't an arranged marriage either. I... I was already 21, and my parents saw me more as a burden than anything else. At the time, I was working as a housekeeper for an elderly lady who owned a much more modest house than this one, but she was ill and it was obvious I won't get another job as she didn't have any heir. I married my husband, whom I'd known since childhood, to relieve my parents."

You felt sad to hear that. Yet, being a woman yourself, you knew it could be a terrible source of worry for parents if they couldn't arrange a marriage before their death, as in most cases a woman couldn't inherit her father's fortune or his house. Unless she had a generous brother willing to take her into his home, a spinster often ended up in an asylum if she couldn't find a job, often a poorly paid one.

"Was it a happy marriage?"

You saw her face turn cold in the mirror and immediately regretted asking.

"Not really, my Lady."

"Did he allow you to work?"

You could see that Mrs. Dormer was growing increasingly uncomfortable, but you couldn't stop asking all these questions.

"No, my Lady, I went back to work after he died."

"How did he die?"

She froze, her face ashen. You realized you'd gone too far and immediately apologized.

"It's nothing, my Lady. It's just... Sometimes the past should stay in the past. But I owe your husband a lot, my Lady. He... I owe him a lot, and I'm very grateful to have worked for him all this time and that he deemed me worthy of being your personal maid."

You understood. Not quite, but you understood that the old woman's past hid something that connected her to Richard, and that she probably owed him much more than a roof over her head and a paying job.

"And I'm glad to have you as a friend," you said sincerely.

She didn't answer because she was well aware that your difference in status didn't allow you to be true friends, even though she was flattered to hear you say so.

"As a friend... I would like to ask you a question... a specific one," you continued hesitantly.

"My Lady ?"

"You know I grew up without a maternal presence, and even if I'm not totally ignorant, I... well... I..." you stammered, "well, I know no one here at the manor is fooled. You all know that Richard and I didn't... And I... and you see..."

"What do you want to know, My Lady ?" she interrupted you, suppressing an amused smile.

"I want him. Completely. And I want him to want me," you said straightforwardly.

"I'm certain he does, My Lady," not at all taken aback by your blunt frankness.

"But I'm scared. I've heard women talk about... that... and I also have my very good friend Maya who sometimes confided in me when she was still allowed to see me and... well... What I heard was nothing like what I've read," you said, feeling your cheeks flush.

Mrs. Dormer sighed as she placed the last crystal star in your hair.

"I'm afraid I don't have a better story to tell you, and apparently, I don't have much to teach you," she added mischievously.

You smiled shyly, looking down.

"My Lady, if you already know what there is to know, then you should speak with my Lord. He is... experienced enough to guide you if that's truly what you want."

"But what if he's like the other s? What if he just enjoys himself without a care for me ? After all, he hangs out with the whores in the upper-class neighbourhoods," you said bluntly.

"That's true, my Lady," the maid admitted, "but not since your marriage, that's for sure. You are the one and only he desires, and he would never have done anything to break your trust. A trust, if you'll allow me to be blunt, my Lady, that he had to earn with a patience no one has ever seen him display here at the manor. That says a lot about the love he feels for you."

With that, she gave you a slight bow and left the room, leaving you alone with yourself. Little did you suspect that Richard had the same kind of thought in mind. He knew you'd felt his cock pressing against your back that morning, but he hadn't wanted to make you uncomfortable. He didn't want to rush you into something you might not be ready for yet, and even though he knew you were far from the innocent little thing you appeared to be, he didn't want to tease you about sex, not when he'd waited so long for a tender gesture from you. Now that you seemed willing to give him your affection willingly, there was no way he was keeping you away from him because of his own carnal desire.

However, he had to admit he was growing frustrated. Just this morning, he relieved himself alone in the bathroom, imagining it was your mouth around his cock and not his hand. He pictured you sucking his cock, your tongue curling around the head of his penis as he gripped it tightly.He gently rubbed your hair, moaning your name.

"Patience, Richard," he said to himself, feeling himself harden in his pants. This wasn't the time; he had a case to preside over in less than five minutes.

In fact, he'd hoped the weekend in the country you knew nothing about would witness your first time. A first time he wanted to be passionate, fiery, and with you screaming his name thanks to the pleasure he fully intended to give you again and again. Richard may have been in his fifties, but he was still vigorous and had no shortage of energy. Especially not for this.

As promised, and thanks to The Beadle taking care of some more private matters for him, he returned home in time to share dinner with you. But your sudden newfound shyness around him left him perplexed. You had parted on good terms in the morning, what was wrong with you ?

"My love, is there anything you want to talk to me about ?"

You braced yourself, mustering up the courage you needed to just breathe an almost imperceptible yes.

"I'm listening," he said, setting down his wine glass.

"Not now," you murmured, "after supper, if you don't mind."

He nodded, even more intrigued than before. You went to the parlour together where you sat in front of the fire, and Richard waited and waited and waited for you to decide to open up to him, in vain. You remained calm, although he noticed your nervousness from the way you fiddled with the pages of your book, a book you were looking at without really reading. He didn't know whether to push you to talk to him or if it would be better to let you come to him. He chose the second option, certain that you wouldn't last until the end of the day with what was on your mind. You were far too nervous for that; you certainly wouldn't sleep... and neither would he.

"Should we go to bed ?" suggested Richard.

He wasn't feeling particularly tired, but he hoped the privacy of your bedroom would help you relax. You nodded and let him lead you to the bedroom, where you each went your separate ways to get ready for bed.

"Love, do you need help ? Do you want me to call Mrs. Dormer ?" you asked Richard when he reappeared in his dressing gown while you were still fully dressed.

"No," you breathed, "I..." you hesitated for a moment, biting your lower lip as you blushed, "I wish it were you who helped me," you finally managed to say, never daring to look at him.

If you had looked up at your husband, you would have seen him stricken with a whole host of conflicting emotions, but the predominant one was the love he felt for you.

He reached you in just two strides and stood behind you. One hand on the back of your neck, he caressed your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"My dear..."

You didn't let him continue; you turned around quickly and crushed your lips to his, a little too quickly, but not enough to really surprise him.

"My dear wife," he said, pulling away from you to catch his breath, "what got into you ?"

Your eyes darkened, matching his, which were already filled with desire.

"I... Richard..."

You struggled to find the right words, and Richard was determined not to help you. Whatever you wanted, he wanted to hear it. He wouldn't take anything without your consent, he wouldn't start anything without your consent.

"Make love to me, Richard," you finally managed to whisper.

That was all it took for him to melt into you, kissing you passionately, his burning desire sending shockwaves through your body. He gently turned you over, and his fingers deftly undid your dress, which fell to your feet. You took a step back, as Richard turned you back to face him.

You were beautiful. Your hair hung in cascades down your back, and there you were, in nothing but your underwear and your breasts, two perfect globes that you refused to confine in an uncomfortable corset that made it hard to breathe, only increasing Richard's arousal, as your eyes revealed a mixture of pleasure and fear. You were there before him in all your vulnerability, and he reveled in it.

"Are you sure, my love ?"

"Yes, Richard. I want you. Make me yours."

He easily lifted you as if you weighed nothing and placed you on the bed. His hands ran up your thighs, his fingers unhooking the elastic of your underwear, pulling it to the foot of the bed. He helped you remove his dressing gown, and you caressed his firm, despite his age, chest while his tongue licked one of your nipples.

"Richard," you said, placing your hand on his shoulder.

He looked up at you, arching an eyebrow, frustrated at beingHe was interrupted in the delicate task of making your nipples harden.

"I... It's the first time, you know..." you said shyly.

His features softened immediately, and he placed a light kiss on the tip of your nose.

"Fear not, my dear wife, I know. Of course, I know. I shall be gentle. I swear to you, even if I can't completely stop you from hurting, I swear that before the night is over, you'll be screaming my name in pleasure," he said in his thunderous voice, sending electric shocks through your entire being.

He went back to work, licking and sucking your nipples one after the other, cupping your firm breasts in his calloused hands while one of your legs wrapped around his hips. You could feel the tip of his cock brushing against your thigh, but Richard wasn't there yet. He knew that before claiming you, he had to prepare you.

His fingers found your entrance, and you were already wet. His thumb caressed your clitoris while one of his fingers entered you more easily than he expected. He rolled his finger inside your walls, which he felt were tight. Even though you were wet and wanted it as much as he did, he was going to have to be careful.

He continued to caress your clitoris while another finger joined the first in a heated dance that made you arch your back to feel him deeper inside you. Richard chuckled at your reaction, even though his mouth was still busy pleasuring your breasts.

"Richard... Richard... I'm going to..." you slurred, gripping his hair, pressing his head a little harder against your breasts.

You didn't have time to finish your sentence before you were swept away by your climax.

"Richard," you said breathlessly.

He kissed you passionately, promising you this was only the beginning. There was so much he wanted to do with you, things he was sure your curious mind would enjoy. Yet, he couldn't do that now, not when it was your first time. He had to settle for plain vanilla sex. But he could be gentle. For you, he could.

You felt the tip of his cock tease your entrance as he positioned himself between your spread legs, and you suddenly stiffened. As much as you wanted to, the fear of pain was stronger.

"Relax, my love. It's going to hurt, it's inevitable, but if you relax, the pain will quickly fade, I promise you. I shall be gentle, fear not."

Although still nervous and slightly stiff, you nodded to encourage him to continue. He began to enter you gently, slowly, kissing your breasts one after the other. He pushed in a little deeper, kissing your throat and the hollow of your neck. He felt a slight resistance, your intact hymen refusing to be breached. He pushed a little harder, kissing your left cheek, a little harder still, your right cheek, the tip of your nose, and finally, he thrust forward, capturing your mouth with his to stifle your cry of pain.

He froze, his tongue forcing the barrier of your lips to play with yours as your ragged breathing told him you were having more trouble than he'd anticipated fully accepting him inside you. Your walls were so tight around his cock, all he wanted to do was thrust into you deeply, wildly, but he stayed still, waiting for you to calm down.

"Are you okay, love ?" he asked after a moment.

In response, you kissed his hooked nose that gave him such presence, even though at that precise moment, nothing remained of the stern, cold, and stoic man you had married, and so his harsh demeanour intimidated all of London. No, he had transformed into a gentle, tender, and passionate lover. He was your husband, completely adoring you. Only you.

You clung to his shoulders as he began to move cautiously, pulling his cock almost completely out, then pushing it back in with a slowness that seemed almost unbearable to him. He heard you moan, but it wasn't a moan of pleasure. You were in pain, he knew it, but he also knew that the pain would soon fade, replaced by the pleasure he intended to give you tonight and every night.

After several thrusts, you finally felt something more powerful than the initial pain. A sort of itch that was building in your lower abdomen and growing with each of his thrusts.

Richard leaned on one of his forearms, while his free hand teased your folds, searching for your bundle of nerves. He found it easily and stroked it slowly with his thumb to help you surrender more quickly.

"Richard," you murmured, feeling something you'd never felt before invade you.

"Yes, my love ! Give it up, give it all," he whispered, nibbling your earlobe.

You moaned again, and this time it wasn't a moan of pain but of pleasure. With each moan, Richard pushed deeper into you, wanting to hear your little cries again and again.

"Richard... Haaa ! Richard !"

"Tell me what you want, love, tell me and you'll have it."

"More... faster, Richard," you managed to say in a whisper, your breath hitching as your pleasure mounted.

Richard didn't need to be asked twice and increased his pace, pushing harder with each thrust. Both his hands were now cupping your face, and overwhelmed by passion, you closed your eyes, both hands firmly gripping his shoulders to pull him as close as possible to you.

"Open your eyes. "I want to see your eyes when you scream my name," he commanded, and you obeyed.

With two final thrusts, he made you come undone. And as he had promised, you cried out his name at the heart of your shared carnal passion. Your walls contracted violently around his length, and it didn't take much longer for his own orgasm to ripple through you, filling your vagina with his juices, which he hoped would be fertile.

Richard withdrew cautiously, and even though you hissed with discomfort, you also felt a new sense of contentment you'd never known before. He lay down on his side of the bed, his head in the pillows, and opened his arms to invite you to come and take refuge, which you did immediately. He chuckled slightly, kissing the crown of your head.

"You did well, love. Very well,” he praised you.

“Did... did I live up to it ?” you asked timidly as he pulled the covers up over your two naked, entwined bodies.

“Oh, my little wife, you were more than up to it.”

You smiled with a mix of pride and happiness, knowing that you were enough for him. Basked in the solace of his arms and the afterglow of your encounter, you slowly fell asleep. Richard watched you affectionately, his heart swelling with love, joy, and an animal pride at finally getting what he wanted. He had made you his through marriage. He had made you fall in love with him, and now he had claimed you in the flesh and made you his, definitively, irrevocably, forever.

His thoughts then wandered to a future he hoped was near. A future where you would have white marks on your rounded belly, carrying his children, another way for you to belong to him forever. And he couldn't wait to get to work and condemn you to be his forever by becoming the mother of his heirs.

[interclover]

Remember when I said that my last post wasn't going to be the last time you see them? Welp. This is what I meant. SELF INSERT ATTACK BE UPON YE!!!

More info + gijinka ref sheet below the cut:

Name: Lobby (short for Lobster Sushi Roll)

Bestial species: maine lobster

Young adult (prolly around 18 - 20)

they/he enby aroace

Debuts on BFDIA 6

Bio: Determined and perfectionistic, Lobby is always giving it their all in challenges. They won't stop until a task has been successfully achieved, even if it sometimes means being at risk of burn out.  In spite of being easy to get along with, getting them to trust you is a whole different thing. Moreover, they're prone to bottling their emotions. Don't let that disencourage you, though: Lobby is highly empathetic, as he cares deeply for his friends' wellbeing. They're also good at giving out advice to others.  Originally hailing from unknown lands (the bottom of the sea), he resides in Yoyle City, where he moved in hopes of getting away from their once stressful life. They find the BFDIA contestants in BFDIA 6 -- more specifically, he encounters Team No-Name at the abandoned hotel. Since they haven't seen another being in so long, they decide to tag along with the rest of the cast, though he doesn't partake in the competiton. Later on, they compete in BFB as a part of Beep, then moves to TPOT, where he is in Just Not and then Bagged. Throughout the course of later seasons, Lobby is getting better at expressing himself and voicing their thoughts. He and Nickel are in a queerplatonic relationship! Their best friends are Book and Gelatin, he has a rivalry with Fries, and uh... his relationship with Tennis Ball... is complicated, to say the least (complicated as in. They used to be besties. We all know what TB does to Nickel. And Lobby definitely doesn't like that.)

Take most of the canon-related events (like the teams) as subject to change, since I'm still figuring out most of their stuff. Feel free to drop hcs, questions or ideas, I love yapping!!

[crownedwille]

I've come to the conclusion that loving young royals doesn't mean I can't be critical about it, maybe especially bc I love the show so much I have such strong feelings about it, good and bad and I can love parts of canon and agree with it and appreciate it but I don't have to love it all. I have accepted that it's okay if I don't accept the ending and I don't have to force myself to support it. It's okay to not agree with all of canon and it's okay to not side with all of the creators' intentions/views. Loving a show doesn't mean you have to take everything the writers say on face value and that's the only version that is allowed to exist. Canon isn't everything and fandom is about curating your own experience that makes you happy and not miserable. You don't have to dismiss canon in every aspect and ignore it entirely, that's certainly not what I want but there is a fine line between being canon respectful, allowing some parts to exist and sometimes, yes, you just have to say "fuck canon" and move on for your own sanity and wellbeing

[bakibakideemon]

Well if it was simple that XL saw MQ and FX less then him or even didn’t see them as friends then 1) why would he even change his mind about it later? The fact is XL is not that kind of a person. 2) it doest make sense that he would MQ they have always been friends or even the whole emotional turmoil being resolved in the last arc wouldn’t make sense. 3) XL was a prince, and he saw the life from the point of a prince. But he tried his best to be understanding, so see from MQs perspective. You can’t take that away from him. 4) why would he be ok with MQ going ?! Or accept it when MQ first brought it up. He was more taken aback by MQ siding with the gods. Something MQ himself regretted but said he had no choice. (Like things are more than just one particular situation) I still maintain MQ did what he had to he was right in doing so. And XL was right in feeling betrayed. But again it was a horrible situation they were in. And in the long run it didn’t matter. They both let go. No one held it over the other. You know like friends.

5)as for putting in his shoes (as I have said before) the whole separation arc and subsequent 800 is what made him see beyond his privilege. If I had to explain it in a different way I’d say when I was a child/ teenager, my opinions towards my mothers actions were (particularly in referenceing her misogynistic rules that were taught to her as a way of life that she tried to teach me + her actions of venting her frustration about my father onto me as a child in the form of what i think was lowkey verbal abuse etc).

As a child/teenager I could see it being unfair but not verbalize it. As I grew up I could actually explain myself and understand it was unfair and it was abusive. Hell I hated her at one point. It was more confusing because I also loved her.

But at the same time going out to the real world I also began seeing the way in which women (in my country especially during my mothers time) were oppressed, had no one to turn to (not family not husband, having zero financial independence), stuck in multiple lose-lose situation (it was arranged marriage) etc. I actually began understanding the reasons behind her actions.

Obv. I still had so much frustration because now I had reasons behind the actions that made her a victim as well. It greyed out my whole black and white world view. It would have been better if my mom really hated me instead of having some bad days. And then i remembered there were times as a daughter + as a child I had no else to turn to other than my mom. Basically, I had come to the conclusion that I as a woman I can see where my mom was coming from (it explained her actions) but it didn’t justify what I went through as a child (not just a daughter). Both were true (her being a victim and abusive). And through out the whole time. My mother remained my mother/l still loved my mother and continue to love my mother. But I also acknowledge her flaws as one.

The point being, just because they were his attendants, doesn’t mean XL didn’t see him as his friends. He did.

I know the book goes to great lengths to show how grey everyone is. How circumstances drive people to make so so many questionable choices. Including XL. Hell I still say XL and FX took MQ for granted. Or FX needed to tone down this commentary towards MQ. Same way I think MQ didn’t have to be an ass after XL ascended the 3rd time.

I don’t see human relationships in such black and white perspectives or to be put more accurately through a modern moral lens. Especially a tale set in a fantasy world with kings and queens (XL was also a prince) + gods who are no better than demons.

I will also say that I don’t think you’re wrong/ discount your opinion in anyway because honestly you’re also right. In the sense that XL, MQ, FX all made choices they thought were best after considering everything.

But like to each their own. We aren’t changing each other’s mind. And honestly it’s a subjective interpretation… hope you have a good day 😁😁

Ok so someone sent me this post. And like what?!

Like how do I explain that this is not what friendships are or how they work. While yes they had every right to leave (actually FX didn’t leave, XL literally told him to leave).

I’d agree to this if they said MQ and FX had every right to leave but XL has every right to feel betrayed.

Like the story is more than one situation… that’s what the book is about. The actions which are a culmination of thousands of others and its consequences. And how characters respond to these consequences.

The three were “friends” especially in XLs eyes. That’s the very reason he doesn’t blame either of them. This is so… Had every“right.” 🙄 If that’s what you think about friendships then I’ve got some news for you…

MQ was worried about his mother and saw the reality for what it was (their homelessness, their hunger etc). Ascending helped him help both his families (his mother and XL/FX). Also, at the end of the day what happened at the hill was betrayal (you can justify it all you like) MQ knew it too (I wonder if he actually discussed his thoughts with FQ or XL about ascending himself) and hence his immediate reaction. But XL was too far gone at that point (that’s one thing you wouldn’t expect your friend to do at that point).

But it was such a horrible time for all of them so afterwards (years later) even XL understood it was just awful circumstances so he never held it against MQ. AND THAT IS THE POINT.

Also, if I leave my friend during their worst time l (no matter what I’m going through) yes I’m not being a good friend. Like wise if I can’t understand my friends actions in that circumstance then I’m not being a good friend either. THAT IS THE POINT.

I wonder id MQ ever discussed with FX about his plan (may be he did because Id like to think so especially considering FX was accepting the food from MQ. On that note don’t forget after a while XL ended up eating the food MQ gave despite initially not wanting it. THIS IS THE BIGGEST HINT THAT THINGS ARE NOT SIMPLE BLACK AND WHITE). Hence yes, XL did feel betrayed after the hill. Whether MQs actions right/ wrong is irrelevant. Whether XLs reaction (right or wrong) to the betrayal (I think Jun Wu also made an appearance then and this was the beginning of XLs mental health crisis as well) is again Irrelevant. Especially 800 years later. SO GETTING HUNG UP ON THIS IS SOOO D*MB.

Which is why I get annoyed at MQs behavior in the first book (The weird smiles/ wanting to feel vindicated/ superior). Keyword “get annoyed” doesn’t mean I can’t understand why he’s reacting as such or rather it’s coming off as such (the latter part is what I like to believe). He’s still stuck in their early dynamics that he’s of a lower status than XL and FX. Honestly, he needed to realize that XL always considered him a friend. (Something he didn’t realize until the very end 800 years later). This comes from him still grappling with his own status while a human. He can’t even understand how XL would consider him a friend… Like he was shocked. All his actions in the first book point towards MQ believing XL thinks he (XL) is better than MQ bro is too stuck in his head (yes that come off as mean/ rude af. There is no denying at at all).

THESE THINGS DONT HAPPEN IN A VACCUM.

FX was more about blind loyalty. That he couldn’t see (for that part neither could XL) the reality of the situation that MQ did. Honestly FX needed to tone down his judgements towards MQ (guess who was cleaning and cooking and managing their finances even after their kingdom fell? MQ). No matter how right he was, he chose the worst way to say it. It was getting on my nerves as well. (MQ way better than me I’d have smacked FX. Having said that MQ was rude as well). This is something both XL and FX realize after MQ is gone.

I don’t think FX would have left unless XL forced him to. But he needed that to see a different perspective outside XL. Likewise (the in case of XL he too realized he’d been very selfish as well)

XL, for that matter, let MQ go. He understood where the other was coming from. Period. He was betrayed at the hill (+ he was scared being abandoned). Not to mention the whole trying to steal arc… they were all desperate. And poor guy. Someone was playing a chess game-cum-roulette against him life without his knowledge. These people (you cannot seriously believe Jun Wu did not set up FX/ MQ ascending) were specifically put in the worst circumstances possible, repeatedly. One after the other…

But guess what? Despite everything MQ and FX still helped XL once they found him 800 years ago (no matter in disguise). XL recognized them after all this time no matter that they were clones. The trio made up in the end because they were friends. THATS THE POINT. THINGS WERE UNFORTUNATE AND THEY HAD TO SEPARATE BUT THEY DIDNT STOP BEING FRIENDS DESPITE EVERYTHING…

So if someone says XL was right or FX was right or MQ was right… neither of them was. There is no wrong or right. There is no saying one was more justified than other…

[luna-azzurra]

Write Tension that isn't just Yelling or Guns

Listen, not all tension is someone holding a knife or screaming “I’ve had enough, Derek!” at a dinner party. Real, edge-of-your-seat tension can be quiet, slow, awkward, and still make your reader grip the page like it owes them money. So here are my favorite ways to sneak tension in like a gremlin under the bed...

╰  Unanswered Questions (That the Character is Actively Avoiding)

Tension isn’t always about what’s said—it’s about what’s not said. Let your character dodge questions, interrupt, change subjects. Let readers feel the silence humming between the lines. + Great for: secrets, internal conflict, emotional gut-punches.

╰ Time Pressure Without Action Pressure

A clock ticking doesn’t always mean bombs. Sometimes it means waiting for a test result. A letter. A phone call. A knock on the door. Tension = knowing something’s coming but not knowing when. + Great for: psychological suspense, horror, relationship drama.

╰  Small Talk That’s Not Really Small Talk

When two characters are talking about the weather, but both are secretly screaming inside? That’s tension. Give one character a goal (say the thing, don’t say the thing) and the other a defense mechanism. Now sit back and watch the discomfort bloom. + Great for: slow burns, rivalries, “we’re not talking about that night, are we?”

╰ Two Characters Who Want Opposite Things But Are Pretending They Don’t

Someone wants to leave. Someone wants them to stay. Someone wants to confess. Someone is acting like nothing’s wrong. Make your characters polite when they want to scream. + Great for: emotionally repressed chaos, family drama, enemies-to-lovers.

╰ One Character Realizes Something The Other Doesn’t

A power shift = instant tension. One person knows the truth. The other’s still talking like everything’s fine. Let that dread slow-cook. Readers love being in on the secret. + Great for: betrayal, secrets, foreshadowing plot twists.

╰ Body Language That Contradicts the Dialogue

They say “I’m fine,” but they’re picking their thumbnail raw. They laugh too hard. Their smile doesn’t reach their eyes. Show the cracks forming. Let the reader sense the dissonance. + Great for: all genres. Especially emotionally loaded scenes.

╰  Echoed Phrases or Reused Words That Hit Differently the Second Time

When a character repeats something someone else said—but now it’s laced with bitterness or grief? Chills. Callback dialogue is your best friend for building subtle dread or emotional weight. + Great for: heartbreak scenes, arcs coming full circle, psychological unraveling.

╰ Characters Performing a Role to Keep the Peace

Pretending to be “the good sibling.” Faking confidence in a boardroom. Playing therapist when they’re not okay themselves. Tension thrives when someone’s holding it together with duct tape and fake smiles. + Great for: internal conflict, layered characterization, slow unravelings.

[just-a-little-unionoid]

prev I hope you don't mind me if I use your tags

great exemple of morality as an understanding between instinct and reflexion, and between what you wish and what you want

as far as I'm concerned the craving for violence is normal, we're animals and we feel anger. anger is the emotion of injustice and want. when we feel it it means that we feel like something is unfair, wrong, that we need for it to change, and anger usually makes us violent because that's like, the easiest way to "fix" a problem quickly. except that as humans with an ability for abstract thinking, we can and need to understand that an "easy fix" is rarely the better option on the long term. and so we need, when we feel anger (especially towards someone) to recognise what exactly is the problem and how to really fix it, ideally without creating useless suffering and other issues

so I guess prev congrats for using you human ability to think (unironically, like that's something a lot of people seems reluctant to do which was op's point) and thanks for providing me an opportunity to expose my thoughts on a subject I'm passionate about

Tumblr really is full to bursting of the fascinating category of people who will shout ACAB at the top of their lungs and despise the American prison system with dramatic displays of vitriol but when confronted with someone who did something they actually think is a serious moral transgression cannot conceive of 'justice' meaning anything except the offender suffering, preferably in dramatic and humiliating ways.

You see how the median opinion on prison rape remains shrugging and considering it part of the sentence, really.

[cbeargyu]

virgin's debut

A friendship can’t be ruined by having sex… can it?

⊹₊⋆ pairing: best friend!haechan x fem!reader x love interest!jaehyun (slight)

⊹₊⋆ warnings: angst, fluff, smut, best friends to lovers trope, protected sex, unprotected sex (use protection pls), fingering, making out, nudes, slowburn, suggestive redaction, mild cursing, reader is a virgin lol, haechan isn't, English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance.

⊹₊⋆wc: 18,3K

READ THE PREVIEW [HERE]

Two weeks later

haechan sighed again, his chest heavy as he collapsed onto the couch. With both hands, he covered his face, fingers digging into his skin, trying to block out the past two weeks.

hyuck didn’t understand why there was this twisted mess of emotions swirling in his stomach, why his thoughts were so scattered, a jumble of "what ifs" and "should I's".

it had been two weeks since you made that insane proposition to him. haechan hadn’t talked much since then, just the occasional texts letting each other know when they’d left or entered the building they both lived in. the topic hadn’t come up, and you hadn’t pressured him either. but, god, it haunted him.

it was unthinkable. his values just wouldn’t allow it. sleeping with his best friend? never crossed his mind. but you—you weren’t just anyone. you’d been inseparable since high school. your sense of humor matched perfectly, and everyone knew the two of you were a damn force together. their friends noticed the bond, the way they both seemed to fit like puzzle pieces, always there for each other, even when they fought. like siblings, but with none of the blood ties.

that word, "siblings"—it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was strange that others saw them two like that. but they were okay with it. there were boundaries in their relationship, and crossing them was unforgivable.

of course, you were angelic. your bubbly personality and constant jokes made you irresistible. physically, you were gorgeous, though you were a bit shorter than him—way too short, maybe. you had black hair and an odd but cute bangs just above your eyebrows, something he liked to tease you about.

and yeah, you’d catch anyone’s eye. he wasn’t gonna lie—he’d had a crush on you when he first met you in high school. but over time, that romantic attraction faded as your friendship grew stronger.

maybe it was also the way you were so open with your thoughts—no filter, no shame—that when you asked him about sleeping together, it sounded completely natural to you. to him, though? It was a punch to the gut, a cold shower, a slap to the face. he was spinning, disoriented, trapped in what felt like a twisted fantasy—or maybe a nightmare.

for him, sex wasn’t a taboo subject. he’d lost his virginity at 17 to one of his many girlfriends, and talking about it was casual. hell, haechan didn’t even hold back when discussing the details of his past experiences with you. he’d even described how he’d "done it" in vivid detail—like it was nothing.

but you? you were different. you had dated three guys since high school, but none of those relationships lasted more than two months. so, you didn’t exactly know what it was like to be in a serious, long-term relationship. snd sex? It didn’t seem like a necessity in your life—at least not until now.

“I mean, when you’re dating someone romantically and nothing happens, i’d call that a win,” you said, casually munching on a slice of lemon tart.

haechan furrowed his brows, taking a sip of his coffee. “explain that.”

“it’s simple,” you shrugged. “because if they haven’t seen you naked, you can run into them on the street and not have to worry about that bastard seeing your ass.”

heck couldn’t help but laugh at your reasoning. “right, totally.”

you both chuckled, agreeing on that one. but he also knew, deep down, it wasn’t that simple for him. not anymore. he couldn’t ignore what was bubbling beneath the surface.

haechan felt a buzz in his pocket. his phone. the first class of the day was about to start, and he had to rush if he didn’t want to be late. he lived close to campus, just a five-minute walk, but the class was on the other side of the building.

but this situation? it was messing with his head so much that he couldn’t fall asleep until 3 AM these past two weeks. he grabbed his backpack and keys, about to head out when his phone buzzed again.

it was you. a message: “i’m heading to class, just leaving my apartment.”

haechan froze. he hadn’t expected you to text him now. his hand gripped the doorknob, but he didn’t open it. the thought of seeing you right now made his heart race. he wasn’t ready. not yet. he couldn’t just pretend like everything was fine.

"shit... y/n, what were you thinking?"

he sighed deeply. what was this? haechan could hear his own voice in his head, his thoughts like an endless storm. he couldn’t stop thinking about you—about what you had said, and about everything that had changed in such a short time. his stomach twisted. what would happen if he saw you now? could he face you? could he even be the same around you after what you had suggested?

he shook his head, hoping to clear his thoughts. He didn’t have the answers, but he knew one thing: this wasn’t going to be easy.

haechan let out a deep sigh, adjusting his scarf around his neck before stepping out of his apartment. he tried to calm himself, convincing himself that he could handle whatever came next. as if nothing had happened. as if he could just brush it off and pretend it hadn’t been weighing on him for the past two weeks.

but every time he thought about it, it made his chest tighten. that proposal of yours. the way you had looked at him, so casually, as if it were no big deal. he couldn’t get it out of his mind. he had always been the life of the party, the one to make jokes and laugh things off. but this—this was different. it gnawed at him like an insistent itch he couldn’t scratch, a question with no answer.

he made his way to campus, each step seeming faster than the last, but his thoughts were tangled in a mess of confusion and frustration. you hadn’t seemed bothered. if anything, you had acted like it was just another conversation. you hadn’t even tried to talk to him about it again, hadn’t pressured him. but that only made it worse. the silence between you both was deafening. you had sent that message, but it wasn’t the same. it was as if you had moved on without even thinking about it, while he was still stuck in the same place, drowning in his thoughts.

it was absurd. he was known for being the carefree one, the one who didn’t let anything get to him. but now? now he was a mess. the more he tried to convince himself that it was no big deal, the harder it was to believe it. you had said it so easily, like it was a joke, and yet it had shattered something inside him. the truth was, he didn’t know how to look at you anymore. he didn’t know how to face you after that. how could he? after everything?

haechan shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. his footsteps carried him toward the building, and the closer he got, the more his anxiety grew. he couldn’t avoid it forever. he’d have to see you eventually. the communication department wasn’t that big, and it seemed like the entire campus would lead him straight to you.

as he reached the entrance of the building, his alert system kicked in. you were probably inside already. and damn it, the thought of running into you—now, after everything—felt like a punch in the gut. you hadn’t even mentioned it again, hadn’t tried to force a conversation. yet he could feel it. the tension. the distance. how had it gotten to this? why did he feel so… disconnected?

he stopped for a second, hand resting against the doorframe, trying to breathe. but it was like everything had changed. nothing was simple anymore. he had been your best friend for so long, but now? now it felt like he was walking on eggshells, unsure of what would break first.

“hey.”

a light punch to his back snapped him out of his daze, and the blood immediately drained from his face. that voice—he couldn’t mistake it, not even if a million voices tried to mimic it. His breath hitched, and he turned around so fast it almost hurt.

there you were. small, as always. a knitted beanie sitting snug over your head, that— ridiculous—fringe barely brushing the tops of your brows, framing your delicate face in a way that made his throat dry. a long grey coat hung from your shoulders, swallowing you slightly, and your black boots clicked softly against the floor. everything about you looked… normal. the way you looked at him, the way you smiled, even the casual punch to his back.

physical contact.

that word echoed in his head like a siren. he quickly shook the thought away, locking his focus on the paper Starbucks bag dangling from your left hand. maybe you’d stopped by the café on the way. maybe you ordered delivery. maybe someone gave it to you. maybe—god, he needed to stop. the hamster in his brain was doing flips, and he wanted to knock some sense into himself.

you held the bag out toward him.

haechan just stared at it for a second, until you raised your eyebrows, shook it again, and snapped, “are you gonna take it or what?! geez, i brought it for you and you’re just standing there looking at it like an idiot.”

your expression twisted in mock annoyance, brows curved upward—but oddly, he felt the tightness in his chest ease a little.

reluctantly, haechan reached out and took the bag, brushing his fingers against yours for a second too long. he tried not to react, but his mind was a chaotic storm. He couldn’t help but look at you—really look.

had you always looked like this? that coat hugged your waist just enough. the shape of your figure was something he never let himself notice before. and your chest… jesus. it wasn’t like you’d suddenly changed, but it felt like someone had wiped the fog off his glasses. He was seeing you differently. entirely.

and that terrified him.

he lowered his eyes quickly, too aware of how warm his ears were getting.

“thanks,” he mumbled, voice a little hoarse.

“no problem,” you replied, glancing around casually. “i figured you might skip breakfast again, so…”

you trailed off with a small shrug, stuffing your hands into your coat pockets. haechan tried to smile, but his stomach was tangled in impossible knots.

haechan took another deep breath as he tried to collect himself, shifting the weight of the Starbucks bag from one hand to the other. he looked at you, trying to ignore the pull in his chest—the sudden awareness of every little detail about you. there was a tension he couldn’t shake off, something that sat heavy in his stomach.

you seemed to notice his distracted state and leaned against the wall, your usual easygoing posture, the same as always, except now, he couldn’t stop noticing how you looked in that oversized coat and those boots. he was spiraling again, caught in the thought of you.

“so…” you broke the silence, “i’ve been kind of swamped lately. working on this branding project for a client. it’s been a pain, though. my computer decided to die on me right when I needed it most.”

haechan raised an eyebrow, his mind snapping back to reality. “really? you didn’t tell me about it. why didn’t you ask for help? I mean, i know a thing or two about fixing computers. I could’ve helped you.”

you shrugged, a small, nonchalant smile playing at the corners of your lips. “nah, i called taeyong instead. he’s better with that stuff.”

there was a sharp tug in haechan’s chest. he hadn’t expected that. the knot in his stomach tightened, a wave of discomfort washing over him. taeyong? really?

he tried to laugh it off, but there was something bitter in his tone as he asked, “taeyong? why him? i thought you knew I was good with that kind of stuff.”

“yeah, well,” you quipped with a raised eyebrow, “taeyong just happened to be the first one I thought of. besides, he’s pretty quick with tech stuff.”

haechan’s smile was tight, and his stomach churned. he told himself it was nothing. he was being stupid. but why didn’t you ask him? he had always been there when your tech failed. it felt… weird. almost like you didn’t need him anymore. but, of course, he didn’t voice any of that. instead, he played it off, trying to act casual.

“sure, sure,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. he was so not handling this well. the thought of you asking someone else for help left him unsettled, and he hated how much it bothered him. It was irrational, but he couldn't shake it.

you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he pulled back just a little. your smile softened as you leaned forward slightly, breaking the silence again.

“hey,” you said gently, “i’m sorry if it upset you. it wasn’t meant to make you feel left out, really.”

haechan quickly looked up, trying to look unfazed. “nah, it’s fine. I mean, it's not like i’m the only one you can ask for help, right?” he joked, but there was an edge to his voice that didn’t quite match the tone of his words.

you raised your eyebrows, a knowing look in your eyes. “you’re acting like a total prude right now,” you said, a smirk forming. “didn’t you used to tell me all the crazy stuff you did with jang chanmi back in high school? and now the topic of helping a friend with a computer is freaking you out?”

haechan blinked, taken aback. the mention of chanmi, especially in the context of your teasing, was enough to snap him out of his spiraling thoughts. he groaned, running a hand through his hair, trying to laugh it off. “well, that was different, okay? that was high school stuff.”

you chuckled, leaning back against the wall, clearly amused by his discomfort. “oh, come on. don’t tell me you’re too shy to talk about tech problems now. you used to explain every position you tried with her—like it was a lesson in geometry or something.”

haechan let out an exasperated sigh, not sure whether to be embarrassed or grateful for the way you were managing to cut through the tension. he couldn’t stop the blush creeping up his neck, and he cursed under his breath. of all the people, you had to be the one to make him feel like a damn fool.

“well, that was different, okay? It’s... it’s not like i’m comfortable talking about that stuff with you anymore, alright?” he almost winced at his words. the last thing he wanted was to make it sound like he couldn’t be himself with you.

you tilted your head slightly, your tone playful but with a hint of mischief. “don’t worry, though. I just asked taeyong to help with the computer. i didn’t make the same proposal to him that i made to you.”

haechan’s eyes went wide. he froze, his face instantly flushing. did you really just say that? the sudden wave of heat rushing to his face felt like he was on fire. his brain scrambled for words, but all he could manage was a surprised, “wait, what?”

you laughed softly, clearly enjoying the effect you had on him.

“you’re scared i’m gonna bring it up, aren’t you?”

“what? i—no, i’m fine,” he said too quickly, almost defensively. “just tired. you know, early class. cold outside. normal stuff.”

you didn’t say anything right away. just looked at him with that calm gaze of yours, the one that could read people like open books.

that hit him harder than expected. he flinched. swallowed. you tilted your head slightly.

“it’s okay,” you said, voice even. “if it made you uncomfortable… we don’t have to talk about it. ever. i’m not gonna ambush you or corner you or expect anything.”

haechan blinked. your tone was so mature, so measured—like you’d thought about this. like you knew what it had done to him.

“it was dumb of me,” you continued with a small smile. “or maybe not dumb, just… bold. and i get it, you didn’t sign up for that. so, if you want to forget it ever happened, consider it forgotten. clean slate.”

he didn’t know what to say. a hundred emotions jostled in his chest, fighting for space. gratitude. relief. guilt. and something else entirely—something heavier and harder to name.

because despite everything, despite the panic and confusion and awkward silences, you were still here. talking to him. offering him coffee. smiling at him like you always did.

but something had changed. he saw it in the way he noticed your lips when they moved. in the way his eyes lingered a beat too long on the curve of your body. in the way his mind kept circling back to that question you’d asked two weeks ago.

and the worst part?

haechan didn’t know if he wanted to go back to before.

before everything had shifted. before he started noticing all these things about you—things he had never allowed himself to see. he wasn’t sure if it was fear of the unknown or something else entirely, but the thought of things returning to how they were felt… difficult.

“anyway,” you said, standing up from the railing and brushing your hands off as if to clear the air between you. "i’ll see you later. don’t overthink it, alright?"

the casual way you said it made his chest tighten. he could feel that something was still unspoken, that there was more you weren’t saying, but he didn’t press. you were good at hiding what you truly felt, always had been.

haechan tried to push the conversation out of his mind as he entered his class on media studies. he sat down, pulling his notes in front of him and attempting to focus, but his thoughts were all over the place. his brain kept circling back to your words—had you meant everything you said? Was it really that simple for you?

the ice-cold americano you’d brought him sat on the edge of his desk. Its perfect arrangement, just the way he always liked it, made his chest tighten for reasons he couldn’t explain. he watched as droplets of water gathered on the glass, slowly tracing their way down to pool at the bottom.

he was distracted. but even more than that, he was feeling something he couldn’t quite name. his gaze wandered over the cold surface, the way the water clung to the glass—his mind drifting to you. to your smile. to the way your voice had lingered in his thoughts.

he imagined, for a moment, what it would be like if those droplets were slipping along your skin instead. He didn’t want to think about it, but his mind had other plans. every thought that surfaced seemed to lead back to you—the curve of your lips, the way you had looked at him just before leaving.

his pulse quickened, a wave of heat rising to his face. he snapped back to reality, but the blush was already creeping up his neck. "what the hell am i doing?" he muttered under his breath, quickly looking down at his notes again, trying to focus. his mind refused to cooperate. why was he thinking about this now? why was his body reacting like this?

he could feel the tension rising, like a knot tightening in his stomach. he had never been this aware of you before—not like this. and the worst part was, he didn’t know how to stop it.

you buried your face in your hands, heart racing, panic rising in your chest. what had you done?

the proposal you made to haechan wasn’t random—not by a long shot. It came from somewhere raw, impulsive, and aching. you’d convinced yourself he would say yes. no hesitation. no second thoughts. that’s what your friends told you, right?

"guys are easy. especially when it comes to sex. they’re always down," yeri had said with a laugh, trying to encourage you. “come on, it’s haechan. he jokes about that stuff all the time.”

and maybe that was the worst part. because you believed her. you judged your best friend through a lens of assumption, reducing him to some stereotype, thinking he’d just say yes because he was a guy. because he was him.

but he didn’t.

and now you knew—you had judged him so, so wrong. haechan wasn’t like the guys in those stories your friends always told. he wasn’t thoughtless. he wasn’t careless. he was kind. and considerate. and the look on his face after your question… you could still see it. confused. hurt. maybe even disappointed. not because you asked, but because he didn’t know how to respond without breaking something between you.

the guilt clawed its way up your throat.

you hadn’t asked him just for the sake of it, either. it wasn’t some random experiment. it was desperation. because ever since last fall, ever since he came into the picture, something in you had changed.

jung jaehyun.

a senior in the visual arts department. tall, graceful, and unfairly good-looking—like he’d walked straight out of a perfume ad in a fashion magazine. chiseled jawline, smooth voice, perfect smile. the kind of man who turned heads in every hallway he walked through. girls whispered about him constantly—rumors, fantasies, stories that may or may not have been true. he was confident, magnetic, dangerous in that way only people who know they’re desired can be.

and of course, you weren’t immune.

you saw him at a few parties, caught glimpses of him sketching in the studio, his sleeves rolled up and headphones in, and felt a pull you didn’t fully understand. it wasn’t love. It wasn’t even a crush. it was curiosity. lust. a hunger you didn’t recognize as your own until it became too loud to ignore.

your friends told you to go for it. "just hook up with him," they said. "get it over with." but you couldn’t. you didn’t have the experience, the confidence, the… proof that you could be the kind of girl someone like jaehyun might want.

so you turned to the only person you trusted. the only one who made you feel safe, unjudged, seen.

haechan.

and now you’d hurt him.

you hadn’t just crossed a line—you’d shattered the trust he’d always given you so freely. all because you were afraid. because you wanted to prove something. because you thought he’d just say yes.

but he didn’t.

now you sat in the middle of your typography and composition class, surrounded by the soft clatter of keyboards and the low hum of your professor’s lecture, your laptop open in front of you and your adobe illustrator file untouched. letters floated on your screen in random positions, but your brain couldn’t form a single coherent thought. you weren’t even sure what the assignment was supposed to be.

your body was there—but your mind was somewhere else entirely. caught in the swirl of embarrassment, regret, and confusion. a storm of emotion you didn’t know how to calm. all you could think was: what have I done?

it had been a week since that conversation. on the surface, everything seemed fine—like a reset button had been pressed. you and haechan still exchanged jokes, shared snacks, and sat next to each other in class. but underneath the laughter and casual glances, there was a strange hollowness, like the two of you had become actors reciting old lines in a play that didn’t fit anymore. robotically pretending the elephant in the room didn’t exist, even though its shadow loomed over every interaction. after all, everything had already been said, hadn’t it?

still, something was off.

haechan hadn’t hooked up with anyone since then. it wasn’t for lack of trying—he’d gone out, flirted, danced—but each time, his mind wandered back to you. and it wasn’t just idle thoughts. no, it was worse.

every night that week, he'd woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, heart racing, and a painful hardness straining against his boxers. dreams of you—wearing almost nothing, bent in suggestive positions, whispering filthy things in his ear, inviting him to taste you, to touch you—played on a loop in his subconscious. but right when he was about to finally reach you, melt into you, he’d wake up frustrated and breathless. left with no choice but to slip his hand under the waistband and relieve the aching pressure. for serotonin. for oxytocin. for sanity.

now, it was saturday night and he was stuck at work.

the burger place was dead quiet. maybe it was the cold snap that had settled over the city, keeping everyone snuggled up in their homes instead of venturing out for greasy fast food. Haechan didn’t mind, really. he was sick of putting on his fake retail voice—“welcome! Fries with that?”—and dealing with people who didn’t say thank you. right now, he was working the closing shift, wearing the stiff black uniform cap and flipping patties that hissed on the flat top grill. the whole place smelled of grilled beef, fryer oil, and cheap pickles. his coworkers were goofing off while mopping the floor and stacking chairs, and haechan, while half-listening to their jokes, was just counting the minutes till he could clock out and go back to bed.

that was when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

unknown number.

haechan hesitated. he barely ever answered unknown numbers, but something in his gut told him to pick up.

“hello?”

“HAECHAN!”

a girl’s voice. loud, panicked. He blinked.

“…who is this?”

“it’s seojung—y/n’s friend. you probably don’t remember me. we met, like, once.”

oh. right. you had sent him the numbers of your friends months ago, just in case. he’d never saved them.

“yeah, uh—what’s up?”

“it’s y/n,” she said quickly.

the emergency button in his brain went off.

“what happened? is she okay?! did something happen to her?”

“well—kind of?”

apparently, you’d gone out for a girls’ night. a little bar in the city downtown. everything was fine, until you’d gotten verydrunk. so drunk, in fact, you couldn’t even hold your head up, slurring nonsense, sobbing into seojung’s shoulder.

haechan grabbed his jacket before she even finished explaining.

“she kept saying… uh, really weird stuff,” seojung added nervously. “like—please don’t be mad, okay?—but she was screaming in the middle of the street that she was gonna die a virgin because her own best friend refused to help her.”

haechan stopped dead in his tracks, blinking in disbelief. “she said what?”

“i know! i was like, girl, stop embarrassing yourself! but she kept going. she even tried to climb on a statue to do a dramatic monologue or something, it was chaos.”

the line went quiet for a second.

“anyway,” seojung continued, “we can’t take her to the dorms—they don’t let us bring people in after curfew, and she’s way too far gone to be alone. you’re the only person she might listen to. can you come get her?”

“i’m on my way,” haechan said without hesitation, already sprinting out the back door. he didn’t even clock out. his coworkers just watched in stunned silence as he bolted into the freezing night air, hoodie half-zipped, hair disheveled, heart pounding.

he didn’t know exactly what he’d find when he got there.

but part of him was already bracing for it.

despite the cold weather, you had decided to wear a short velvet dress, sheer black tights, and an oversized puffer jacket that looked hilariously disproportionate on you—but also kind of cute. haechan blinked twice when he realized the jacket was his. the one he’d been looking for since last week. seeing you in it made his chest do something strange, tight and warm, like a coil winding in his ribs.

you looked disoriented, your makeup slightly smudged, your eyes glassy but still sparkly. your long legs peeked out from under the hem of the dress, knees wobbling as you leaned heavily on seojung for support. Behind her were yeri and jimin—both trying to look casual but clearly avoiding haechan’s gaze.

“sorry for calling so suddenly,” seojung said with an awkward smile, shifting nervously on her feet. “we didn’t know who else to call…”

“she just kept saying your name,” yeri added, crossing her arms.

“she’s been… emotional,” jimin muttered, eyes darting to the side. “also—sorry for… earlier stuff.”

the three girls looked anywhere but at haechan. there was something stiff in the air, a subtle frost behind their polite words. they knew what had happened. they knew he’d rejected you.

“thanks for looking after her,” haechan said simply, ignoring the tension as he gently took your arm. you mumbled something about “fuck friendship” and “i’ll die a virgin anyway,” making all three girls wince in embarrassment.

after quick goodbyes, they left hurriedly. haechan helped you into a cab, the inside warm and dimly lit, smelling faintly of peppermint and old leather.

“address?” the driver asked.

haechan rattled it off. the driver glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled.

“cute couple,” he said.

“oh—we’re not—” haechan began, but the man cut him off.

“young love. must be nice,” he chuckled. “leaving work in the middle of your shift to take care of your drunk girlfriend. that’s real devotion, son.”

haechan opened his mouth to correct him again, but then—

“HE REJECTED ME!” you suddenly shouted, head lolling dramatically to the side. “I asked him to have sex with me and he SAID NO.”

yhe cab fell into a stunned silence.

“…ah,” the driver finally said. “one-sided love, then.”

haechan wanted to crawl out of the moving car and disappear into the road. yhe driver shook his head sympathetically.

“you’re making a mistake, boy,” he said gravely. “a pretty lady like this? she won’t wait forever. you two already look like a couple. all that’s missing is the kiss.”

haechan glanced down at you, now slumped against his side, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. your makeup was a mess, your breath reeked of gin and lime, and you were clutching the hem of his jacket like it was your last lifeline.

and somehow, even like this, you looked heartbreakingly beautiful.

haechan stepped out of the taxi and paid the driver, the man's words echoing in his head like a song stuck on repeat. “you’re letting a good girl slip away…” he shouldn’t care what some stranger thought, but there was something about the way the guy said it — confident, certain — that made the sentence stick like honey to the roof of his mouth.

he turned around just in time to see you stepping out of the cab in your short dress, sheer tights hugging your legs, and a massive oversized jacket drowning your frame. his oversized jacket.

his breath caught a little. you looked both sexy and soft — long, graceful legs out in the cold, but your face flushed from alcohol and framed by the collar of his jacket. somehow, even in that state, you looked... perfect.

“you know where we are, right?” he asked gently, offering you his hand.

you nodded lazily, squinting at the familiar entrance of your apartment complex. but instead of walking toward it, you turned to him, a sly, sleepy smile playing on your lips.

“i don’t wanna go to my apartment,” you said, voice low and vaguely suggestive.

haechan blinked. “you need to sleep. you’re drunk.”

“i don’t wanna go to my apartment,” you repeated, this time slower, like you were daring him to challenge you. “i lost my keys.”

“you what?” his voice cracked as he stared at you in disbelief. “where the hell are you gonna sleep then?”

you tilted your head, your eyes glinting under the streetlight. “with you.”

silence.

haechan’s mouth opened slightly, the color rushing to his face like fire. he stammered, trying to find the words — to remind you of your promise, of how you said you'd drop this whole thing and start over.

but before he could say a word, you leaned forward with a groan and threw up directly into a nearby bush.

“oh, shit—” he muttered, rushing to hold you. he gathered your hair, gently rubbed your back, whispering reassurances under his breath. “okay, okay, it’s fine… just let it out…”

eventually, you straightened up, eyes glassy, cheeks damp from the cold wind. he sighed and wrapped an arm around you, leading you toward his place — your weight half-slumped against him.

inside, the warmth of his small apartment wrapped around you both. he carefully sat you on the couch and disappeared into the kitchen, filling a glass of water and setting a tea kettle on the stove.

you watched him in silence for a moment before breaking it. “i know what i said,” you murmured. “About letting it go. About forgetting. but i can’t. i literally can’t.”

he froze, slowly turning toward you.

“i feel like a hormonal teenager,” you laughed bitterly, wiping your mouth. “I keep thinking about you. about what i asked you. about what it would be like.”

“y/n…” he warned gently, setting the water beside you.

“i have this thing,” you blurted. “with my sunbae. jung jaehyun. he’s… god, he’s stupidly hot. tall, broad shoulders, perfect hair, every girl wants him. he only sleeps with older women — the kind who know what they’re doing. and I just… i don’t want to disappoint him.”

haechan’s expression darkened, not with anger, but something deeper. “so you wanted to use me as practice?” he asked, voice low.

“i’m not trying to use you,” you said, firm but vulnerable. “you’re my best friend. i trust you more than anyone. and you’re… you’re good at it.”

haechan blinked. “what?”

“you’re good in bed.”

he narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. “and how the hell do you know that?”

you gave a half-smirk. “you talk about it all the time, remember? bragging about your conquests like a walking NSFW podcast. you made it sound like you practically invented foreplay.”

haechan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “god, I was joking half the time—”

“but that’s exactly why i asked you in the first place,” you cut in, locking eyes with him. “because there’s no one else i’d trust for something like this. and let’s be honest—” you tilted your head with a teasing smile. “it’s not like you’ve gotten laid recently either.”

his jaw tensed. “i’m not desperate for sex, y/n.”

“oh, really?” you raised an eyebrow. “so those midnight jerk-off sessions because of your dreams about me are just… what? a new coping mechanism?”

his face burned red. “how do you—?!”

“i may have heard a little something.” you sipped your water dramatically. “you’re not as quiet as you think.”

“i hate you,” he muttered under his breath, turning away to hide the growing smirk on his lips.

“no, you don’t.”

you stood up slowly, unsteady but serious, your eyes fixed on his. “if we did this… it would be safe. familiar. no weirdness. just… two people helping each other out.”

“that’s not what this is about for you though, is it?” he said, voice low.

you looked away for a moment before answering. “no. It’s not just that. i want to feel… wanted. i want to be good at this. and yeah… I want to impress jaehyun. but i also… want it to be with someone who won’t hurt me.”

and for a moment, everything was quiet. the only sound was the water boiling and both your hearts pounding.

he exhaled sharply, frustrated — but not just at you. At himself. At this whole ridiculous night.

then, haechan stepped closer.

he leaned over, hands gripping the back of the couch, caging you in — his face mere inches from yours. you froze. Your breath hitched. your fingers clenched around the glass.

then, without thinking, you kissed him.

it was messy. desperate. tasting of beer and heat and something reckless.

he kissed you back — just for a second — his hand cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. but then he pulled away suddenly, breath heavy, pupils blown wide.

“you’re drunk,” he said, voice hoarse. “i'm not kissing you like this.”

you blinked up at him, breathless.

“but if i weren’t?” you whispered.

he didn’t say anything.

but the fire in his eyes gave you all the answer you needed.

and that silence? it was louder than anything either of you had said all night.

that night, haechan slept on the couch, buried under a mess of blankets. you, on the other hand, took his bed — warm with freshly changed sheets and a white oversized t-shirt that smelled like him. he’d also lent you a hoodie for the cold, soft and worn from use.

when he asked if you'd prefer to sleep with the door shut for privacy, you shook your head and left it cracked open. Just slightly. maybe it was a silent invitation. maybe a part of you hoped he'd come in.

but he didn’t.

haechan's self-control was ironclad. he wouldn't touch you — not like that, not when you were drunk, no matter how much you asked. and you had asked. desperately.

by morning, your head throbbed with a brutal hangover. the light leaking through the blinds was cruel and unforgiving. still half-asleep, you blinked at the side table — a glass of water and a neatly placed pill waited for you. of course he remembered.

you padded out into the living room, barefoot, limbs aching. the smell of warm broth hit you first. then the quiet hum of a streamer's voice coming from his computer.

haechan sat hunched at the small dining table, glasses perched on his nose, hair slightly tousled from sleep. he was watching some gaming livestream, lazily slurping noodles from a bowl of ramen. a small pot sat between you, steam still curling up, and beside it — another bowl.

you noticed the sausage in the pot had been sliced perfectly small, just the way you liked. he always remembered little things like that.

your stomach twisted, not with hunger, but something softer. deeper.

without saying anything, haechan patted the seat beside him. you moved toward him slowly, like you were walking through a dream. he didn’t look at you — just kept his eyes on the screen as he grabbed the second bowl, carefully ladling ramen into it while glancing back and forth between the pot and your bowl to avoid making a mess.

you let out a quiet, involuntary giggle.

he glanced up at you then — his lips curved ever so slightly. and that's when you noticed it: his thick-rimmed glasses. the ones he only wore when he was deep into gaming or editing something late at night. they made him look effortlessly cool. casual. comfortable.

and stupidly handsome.

“thanks,” you murmured, your voice still hoarse from sleep and dehydration. “for… last night. picking me up.”

he didn’t respond at first — just nodded once, still watching the screen. no mention of the kiss. no mention of your drunken confession. nothing. just silence.

the elephant between you had never been bigger.

you glanced sideways again and noticed the dark circles under his eyes — deep and tired. he’d barely slept.

“you okay?” you asked gently.

“i’m fine,” he said, pushing up his glasses with a knuckle. “you had it worse.”

you looked down at the bowl in front of you, steam rising like it was trying to fill the silence. you slurped a noodle quietly, chewing.

that’s when you noticed something else.

the shape of his jaw as he ate — sharp, cut like stone under soft skin. you’d seen him eat ramen a hundred times, but this was the first time you really looked. the way his throat moved when he swallowed. the subtle flex of his neck. his collarbone peeking from under his hoodie. even the slope of his nose and the way his glasses rested perfectly above his cheekbones.

he wasn’t just your best friend. he was… really attractive.

painfully so.

and that realization made your stomach clench — not from the hangover, but from something dangerously close to want.

you sat there, fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic of the ramen bowl, the heat grounding you as your mind spun.

“hey…” your voice came out soft, hesitant. “about last night—”

the sound of his chopsticks hitting the table made you jump. it wasn’t loud, but it was enough. enough to cut through the quiet and slice the conversation before it could begin.

haechan didn’t look at you. his jaw tensed as he stared at the table, hands clenched loosely on either side of his bowl.

you froze. unsure.

he inhaled through his nose, controlled, calculated. then, finally, he spoke. “if you’re done eating… maybe you should call a locksmith. for your apartment.”

your stomach dropped.

just like that, the warmth left the room. or maybe it was still there, but it couldn’t reach you anymore.

“o-oh.” you blinked. “yeah… right. my keys.”

he stood up slowly, not rushed, just… distant. like something inside him had gone cold.

you watched him close the laptop screen with one hand, then gather his bowl and yours, moving with quiet efficiency. not meeting your gaze once.

you couldn’t move. couldn’t speak. the shift was too sharp, too sudden. it left you sitting there like a statue, hands still wrapped around the now lukewarm bowl.

“i’ll wash these,” he muttered, almost to himself.

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. your throat was tight, words caught somewhere between confusion and guilt. you hadn’t meant to ruin the morning. hadn’t meant to push.

but there it was again — the elephant. bigger than ever.

and this time, haechan had chosen to turn his back on it.

you stood up slowly, the chair scraping against the floor. he was already at the sink, rinsing the dishes like it was any other sunday. like nothing happened. like you hadn’t kissed him. like you hadn’t confessed the things that had been burning you from the inside out.

but your eyes were stuck on his back. the slope of his shoulders. the way his hoodie clung slightly at the waist. and still — that feeling. that gnawing ache deep in your chest.

he was right there. and still, he felt so far away.

“haechan…” your voice barely carried.

he didn’t turn around.

you bit your lip. hard. maybe you had crossed a line. maybe he was just being kind last night, and you mistook it for something else. maybe—

“i need to shower,” he said abruptly, setting the last plate down. “you can use my phone to call someone.”

and then he was gone, the bathroom door closing with a click that echoed too loudly in the silence he left behind.

you were alone again.

but this time, it hurt more than it should’ve.

your phone was still dead.

you hadn’t charged it since last night, and at this point, it didn’t matter. you weren’t exactly in the mood to speak to anyone else anyway.

you curled up on the couch, pulling your knees to your chest, arms wrapping tightly around them like they could somehow protect you from the weight pressing on your chest. you stared blankly ahead, trying to piece together what went wrong.

you hadn’t meant to make things weird. you hadn’t meant to cross a line. and yet… you did. and now, all of it felt like a mistake unraveling at your feet.

you chewed on your lip, eyes unfocused.

was it when you asked to stay with him? or when you told him the truth — that you couldn’t stop thinking about him, that you wanted to learn with him because you trusted him? maybe it was the kiss. that moment, hazy and laced with beer, when you leaned in and felt his lips move against yours. he kissed you back. you were sure of it.

but now… maybe it wasn’t enough. or maybe it was too much.

the sound of the bathroom door opening pulled you from your spiral. you looked up, heart stuttering in your chest.

haechan stepped out, steam drifting behind him in lazy clouds. his black t-shirt clung to his skin slightly, still damp from the shower. his sweatpants sat low on his hips, and around his neck hung a white towel, which he used intermittently to ruffle through his damp, dark hair.

he looked surprised to see you still there.

his expression flattened quickly, going unreadable. “you still haven’t called the locksmith?”

you didn’t answer.

he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, towel dragging with it. “y/n…”

but you were already crying.

your face was turned away, but he saw the tremble in your shoulders, the way your hands gripped tighter around your legs. the soft sound of you trying not to make a sound.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of your own words. “i ruined everything.”

he went quiet.

“i should’ve never suggested that,” you continued, barely audible. “i didn’t mean to treat you like you’re some— some kind of object. i was just thinking about myself. about what i wanted. and that was selfish. i wasn’t thinking about you.”

he still didn’t move.

“i just—” you swallowed thickly, lifting your head to look at him through blurry eyes. “i wasn’t trying to use you. i swear. i… i just trust you. you’re my best friend. and maybe i took that too far. i just… i feel like i’ve messed everything up.”

you laughed bitterly. “you didn’t even have to say anything. your face this morning said it all.”

for a second, haechan just looked at you. his gaze scanned your face — your tear-stained cheeks, your trembling mouth. the regret swimming in your eyes.

then he sighed and walked closer. dropped the towel onto the coffee table. crouched down in front of you.

“you’re not the only one who’s confused,” he said, voice softer now. “and yeah, maybe last night was messy. maybe we said shit we weren’t supposed to. but… you didn’t ruin anything.”

your breath hitched.

he leaned in, resting a hand gently on your knee.

“you’re not selfish for wanting something. and you’re not using me. i know you.” his voice dropped a bit, more intimate now. “maybe that’s why it’s so hard to pretend it didn’t affect me.”

you blinked. “…what?”

he looked up at you from where he knelt. “you said… kissing could help calm you down. remember?”

your eyes widened.

he tilted his head, a small, careful smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth.

“so… if it helps…” he leaned closer, letting his hand trail up your thigh. “i could kiss you again.”

you stopped breathing.

your lips parted, unsure of what to say. but your body moved before your brain could catch up. you leaned in.

he met you halfway.

this kiss was different. slower. more controlled. still tasting faintly of mint and something warm, like cinnamon from the tea he’d made earlier. his hand cradled your cheek this time, thumb brushing softly beneath your eye.

it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t hungry.

but it burned.

and then he pulled back, just barely.

“but only when you’re sober,” he whispered against your lips, breath warm. “only when you really mean it.”

you nodded slowly, heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

“okay,” you breathed. “okay.”

and for now — that was enough.

a few weeks passed.

you had finally gotten a replacement set of keys and returned to your apartment. that weekend was a blur of mundane things—scrubbing your bathroom floor until your arms ached, catching up on overdue sketches, finishing the last pages of an assignment you’d been dodging for weeks. you needed the quiet. the stillness. a chance to feel like yourself again.

but even in your own bed, the cold side of the sheets reminded you of that one night you hadn’t slept alone.

the kiss with haechan had, strangely, softened everything between you. the awkwardness melted away like snow on sunlit pavement. now, you were gentler with each other. your laughter came easier. your glances lingered longer. but the elephant—the weight of what that kiss meant—never left. it simply learned to sit quietly in the corner.

on tuesday afternoon, you were leaving the print room when you nearly ran into jaehyun.

"whoa, careful, pretty girl," he said, catching your elbow with a hand that felt way too steady, too confident.

“sorry,” you chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear. jaehyun always looked like he belonged in some magazine spread—jaw carved from stone, lashes too long for someone that smug, silver rings glinting against his fingers like he knew where the light would hit.

“what brings you over here?” he asked, eyeing your sketch tube slung across your shoulder.

“professor cho. needed some stuff for his class. he’s on his power trip again.”

“classic,” he smirked. “listen… we’re having something this friday. low-key. not one of those packed, flyer-in-the-bathroom kind of things. just a curated crowd. people who get it.”

your brow arched. “curated?”

he laughed. “yeah. you know. people with taste.”

you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“you should come,” he added, stepping a little closer. “might help with that tension you’ve been carrying around.”

“what tension?” you teased.

he leaned in, eyes flicking down your face. “the kind that makes you think too much. sometimes you gotta stop overanalyzing and just feel it.”

“feel what?”

his smile was maddening. “depends who you end up with.”

you laughed it off, but your cheeks were already warm. maybe he was flirting. maybe he wasn’t. either way, the idea sat in your chest like a dare.

you thought about it all the way back to your place. and later that night, lying on your bed staring at the ceiling, you let yourself wonder what it’d be like to… try. to stop guessing what sex felt like and actually find out. you didn’t want to rush it. but you didn’t want to keep floating in uncertainty either.

and somewhere else on campus, haechan couldn’t stop thinking about you either.

he was standing in the backroom of the burger place, mirror fogged with steam, face damp and flushed from another rush. and there you were. again. in his head. like you’d carved a space he couldn’t seal shut.

he felt pathetic.

like some teenage boy discovering self-pleasure for the first time. except it wasn’t discovery—it was addiction. every night, without fail, his body woke him up with a pulse he couldn’t ignore. his hand would slide beneath the waistband of his sweats, his breath shallow, mind full of you. always you.

and god, those lips.

maybe he should’ve never kissed you.

but the second your mouth touched his, something inside him had snapped. like it had been waiting for that moment all along. you’d kissed him with a kind of messy urgency—too fast, too eager, bumping teeth before finding a rhythm. but then came the softness. the unspoken need. the trust. you had tasted like beer and breath mints and something far too intimate for a one-time thing.

now, he couldn’t un-feel it.

behind the counter, he’d zone out mid-shift, hands wet from dishes, and suddenly he’d remember the way you had moaned into his mouth. the way you had gripped his hoodie like you were holding on for dear life. the way your body had melted into his.

he couldn’t stop picturing you in that black dress, jacket slipping off your shoulder, legs crossed like a sin. or the way your lips had parted when you looked at him like you needed more. like you wanted him.

and at night—his room dark, quiet, too warm—he would close his eyes and imagine your thighs on either side of his hips. your voice whispering his name. your nails on his skin.

he used to admire you from a safe place. used to think of you as a friend, maybe even a muse. now? now he couldn’t look at you without imagining what it would be like to bury his face between your legs. to ruin you a little. just enough.

he hated how much he needed it.

he hated how much he missed the feel of your mouth on his.

he hated that he wanted more.

you were stepping out of your digital illustration class, bag slung over your shoulder, neck stiff from hunching over your campaign poster project. when you exited the building, you spotted him right away—haechan, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hands tucked into his backpack straps like he’d been waiting a while.

you always found him there these days.

“hey,” you said, breathless from the stairs. “thanks for waiting. again.”

he gave a casual shrug. “you make it sound like i have a life.”

“do you?”

“…not really.”

you both smiled.

as you walked side by side, the sun cast long shadows behind you, painting the concrete in soft amber. you weren’t touching. but it felt like you were. something invisible had always linked you two. lately, though—it tugged harder.

“so,” you said, voice light, “i think i’m gonna go to that party. tomorrow”

he blinked. “jaehyun’s?”

you nodded. “he made it sound... exclusive.”

“and you’re going?”

you smirked at his tone. “might be an opportunity.”

he stiffened beside you. “opportunity for what?”

you gave him a look. “you know what.”

he stopped. “you’re really gonna sleep with him?”

your cheeks flared, heart skipping. “no. it’s not like that. i just… maybe it’s time to try. get some answers.”

you watched his face carefully. saw the way his jaw locked. the way his brows twitched.

“but,” you added softly, “if it happens… it happens.”

and then, bold as ever, you turned to him. “unless you still wanna help me.”

his breath caught.

“we already kissed,” you said, eyes steady on his. “feels like we’ve done half the homework. next part’s sex, right? that’s what comes after. and you—you’re the one who used to brag about how good you were at it.”

he looked like you’d cornered him. because you had.

“remember those nights you’d ramble about girls? ‘her tits are insane’, ‘i’d fold her in a second’—that was you, haechan. your words.”

he swallowed, hard. “i didn’t think you were listening.”

“i always listen to you,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “especially when you talk about what you like.”

and then, with a wicked grin: “and let’s be honest. guys lose their minds over tits and ass. that’s not complicated.”

his silence told you everything.

you took one step closer, slow and steady.

“so?” you asked again, quieter now. “are you still willing to help me?”

and he didn’t answer.

not with words.

but you saw it in his eyes—the panic, the desire, the war between instinct and restraint.

you had no idea how long he could keep resisting.

but you were getting closer to finding out.

the night felt quieter than usual when they arrived at your apartment. your didn’t speak. the walk there had been filled with those kinds of silences that don’t necessarily feel awkward, but make you too aware of your own thoughts. you walked a few steps ahead of haechan, and he found himself watching you — the way your fingers twisted nervously, the slight tension in your shoulders, the soft sway of your hair brushing your back. he could tell she was unsure. and if he was being honest, so was he.

he’d never seen you like this before. not really. not in this light. there’d always been this boundary between both of you, this invisible thread that kept everything just on the edge of becoming something else. but lately… it had changed. the way she looked at him lingered a little longer. the way he touched you — in small, passing moments — felt less like habit and more like gravity. and right now, standing in the dim glow of your apartment, he realized just how close you were to crossing that invisible line.

he stands close, but not touching, his gaze fixed on you with a kind of careful intensity that makes your skin warm.

you unlock the door without saying a word, your fingers fumbling slightly. you can feel his eyes on you, not judging, just watching. when you step inside, he follows, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

inside, it’s quiet. you cross the room and sit on the edge of your bed, heart racing.

he doesn’t follow you immediately. Instead, he leans against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his expression unreadable. you feel his eyes on your back as you drop your keys onto the counter, your breath shaky, heart pacing with something you don’t quite understand but desperately want to. when you finally turn around to face him, he’s already watching you — not with that usual teasing smile, but with something heavier, deeper. something that feels like want.

you turned to face him, eyes uncertain, but there was something else behind them. something softer. something raw. “i want to do it,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“still thinking about your plan?” he asks softly, voice calm, like he’s trying not to spook you.

you nod slowly. “i just… i want to be good for jaehyun.”

his jaw tightens just a little, barely noticeable. but his voice doesn’t change. “you’re trying to learn how to please someone else,” he says, stepping closer, “when you haven’t even taken the time to learn yourself.”

you blink, suddenly unsure. “i thought… that’s what you were going to help me with.”

he exhales gently, closing the space between you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his chest. “i will. but only if you let me take the lead. if you trust me completely. no pretending. no rushing. just… you. raw. honest.”

your breath catches in your throat. something about the way he says it, the quiet authority in his tone, the way he looks at you like he already knows your body better than you do — it makes you ache in places you’ve barely dared to explore on your own.

“okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “i’ll do whatever you say.”

his eyes soften. there’s something unspoken there — a tension that’s been building between you for longer than you realized. and now it’s finally unraveling.

“then take off your clothes,” he says, his voice low, steady. “lie back.”

your fingers feel clumsy, nerves fluttering in your chest as you undress. he doesn’t look away. his gaze follows every inch of skin you reveal like he’s memorizing you. but it never feels invasive. it feels… reverent. when you’re finally bare, you lie down, body exposed, unsure, vulnerable. he doesn’t move right away. he just watches, like he’s waiting for you to fully settle into the moment.

“you’re beautiful,” he says quietly. “but i’m not going to touch you until i see that you believe it, too.”

you want to believe it. you want to feel beautiful in your own skin, not just because someone else says it, but because something inside you says you deserve to be. but right now, all you feel is nervous. exposed. seen.

he kneels at the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. “you’re safe,” he murmurs. “you’re in control. i’m just guiding you.”

his hand touches your thigh, light as air, and your breath stutters. the warmth of his palm spreads through you like liquid, grounding and electric all at once. he doesn’t rush. his fingers explore slowly, tracing the curve of your hip, the softness of your stomach, the inside of your thigh. each touch is a question, and your breath is the answer.

when his fingers finally find you, you gasp — not because it’s too much, but because it’s perfect. just enough. just right. he doesn’t push, doesn’t demand. he simply explores, watching every reaction, every shift of your hips, every shaky breath you take like it’s the only thing that matters.

his fingers finally reach where you need them, but he doesn’t go straight for it — no, he teases, tracing along the outer edge of your heat, making you gasp at the sudden jolt of electricity. your hips shift instinctively, seeking friction, but his free hand presses gently against your stomach, grounding you.

“easy,” he murmurs. “we’re not rushing. i want to feel every part of you fall apart.”

your head tips back against the pillow, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers finally slip between your folds — gentle at first, just enough pressure to make your toes curl. he exhales softly, as if the heat of you surprises even him.

“relax,” he whispers. “feel. don’t think about what’s next. just stay with me. here.”

his fingers stroke you with a patience you didn’t know could exist, learning your body like it’s a language only he can understand. you’re wet, embarrassingly so, and he seems to revel in it, the way your body responds to his touch. he circles your clit with slow, practiced motions, his thumb brushing over you with maddening precision. you’re moaning now, soft and quiet, not even realizing the sounds are yours.

“fuck,” he whispers. “you’re soaked.”

your cheeks flush, but any embarrassment is quickly replaced by want as he finds your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that make your legs tremble.

you whimper his name, voice barely there, and his response is a low groan against your skin. “that’s it, baby. let me hear you.”

his mouth is everywhere now — at your neck, your chest, sucking marks into your skin like he wants to claim you, mark you, make you his. and god, part of you wants it too — wants to be wanted like this, worshipped like this.

his fingers move lower, one pressing gently at your entrance, testing. “you okay?” he asks, voice soft but thick with desire.

“yes,” you gasp, clutching at his wrist. “please.”

your hips begin to move on their own, chasing the rhythm of his fingers. the pressure is building, coiling deep inside your core, unfamiliar and terrifying and addictive. he slips a finger inside you, slow and gentle, curling just right, and you cry out, your body clenching around him without meaning to.

“h-hyuck...” you cried.

“you like that?” he asks, voice rough now, closer to a groan than a whisper. you nod frantically, unable to form words, your hands gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing.

he slides in slow, giving you time to adjust, watching your face the whole time. his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing in time with the slow push of his finger. your breath stutters, and he leans in to kiss you, stealing the sound from your lips.

you moan into his mouth, overwhelmed, undone, as he adds a second finger, the stretch just enough to make your back arch. he curls them just right, finding that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake.

“there it is,” he groans, his lips brushing yours. “fuck, you feel so good.”

you can’t answer. you can barely think. all you can do is feel — the heat building inside you, the pull of release so close you can taste it.

“don’t hold back,” he whispers against your neck. “i want to feel you fall apart for me.”

and when he starts moving faster — fingers pumping deep and sure, thumb pressing harder against your clit — it’s too much. the pressure breaks, crashing over you like a tidal wave. your body tenses, then shatters, crying out his name as you come harder than you ever have before.

he holds you through it, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips. his fingers slow but don’t leave you, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him, boneless and gasping.

“let go,” he murmurs again, lips brushing against your ear. “don’t hold back. i’ve got you.”

his thumb presses harder against your clit, his fingers moving faster, more deliberate, and the pressure explodes inside you, all at once — a wave crashing over your body with violent tenderness. you cry out, shaking, the world narrowing to nothing but heat and light and the sound of his voice grounding you as your orgasm rips through you.

he finally pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. his breath is ragged, his eyes full of something you don’t quite understand — but you feel it in your chest. raw. intense. real.

“you don’t know what you just did to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

your body arches, muscles tightening, breath gone, and everything — everything — goes quiet except for the echo of your release.

and when you open your eyes to meet his, you realize something terrifying and beautiful — you don’t think you’ll ever look at him the same again.

your back pressed against the sheets, your skin bare under the dim, golden light of your room, your breath already shaky as haechan settles beside you, fully clothed, fully in control. you should feel nervous, and maybe you do, but it’s buried under something stronger — something warmer. the way he’s looking at you now is enough to make you forget how to breathe.

haechan sits on the edge of your bed, staring at his hand—now clean—like he can’t believe what just happened. his breath is heavier than he wants to admit. his thoughts are scrambled, the feeling of touching you, of showing you something he never thought he’d share, overwhelms him. something inside him burns, something he doesn’t know if it’s frustration or desire, but he feels it with an intensity he can’t control.

when you step out of the shower, your skin still warm from the hot water, he stays there, still. you go through your skincare routine, but every movement seems to echo in him more than it should. the way your fingers brush against your face, the way you move... everything feels different now. he watches in silence, the space between you now thick with something unspoken.

“i didn’t think it would feel like that,” you say softly, breaking the silence. your voice has a tremor you can’t hide. “thank you... for helping me.”

the gesture feels sincere, but there’s something in your eyes that makes him feel exposed. he doesn’t quite understand it. he tells himself it’s fine, that he’s just helping you, that he’s just being there for you. but his body betrays him, his jaw tightens, and his fingers twitch at his side.

“you don’t need to thank me,” he says, his voice quiet, almost too quiet. “you just needed to know yourself. that’s all.”

you pause, pressing moisturizer into your skin, still feeling that soft hum in your body, a low buzz you can’t seem to shake off. it’s from what happened, but you try to tell yourself it’s just the adrenaline, just nerves. nothing more.

“i think i can handle things now,” you reply, keeping your eyes on your reflection in the mirror. “maybe tomorrow at the party... i’ll kiss jaehyun, just see how it goes. no pressure. i don’t want to rush.”

the moment the words leave your mouth, you feel it—the way the air shifts between you two. you don’t mean to look at haechan when you say jaehyun’s name, but you do. and his eyes flicker for just a second, something hard behind them that he quickly hides. he doesn’t react out loud, but his shoulders stiffen, his mouth pressing into a tight line.

“yeah,” he says, his voice controlled, but you can hear the tightness underneath. “sounds like a good idea. you deserve to figure out what you want.”

you smile, trying to lighten the mood, but something in you catches as you look at him. you feel like you’ve said the wrong thing, but you’re not sure why. haechan doesn’t look at you anymore. he stares at the floor, his jaw working like he’s holding something back.

he doesn’t let himself show it. he can’t. you’re his best friend, and he promised to help you, to guide you, not to get caught up in his own feelings. but with every word you speak, with every step you take toward jaehyun, something deep inside him twists.

he’s tasted something he shouldn’t want. and now, the thought of you with someone else—even someone you love—is unbearable.

still, he says nothing. he can’t. because he promised to help you discover yourself, not to confuse you more.

even if every part of him wants to be the only one who gets to touch you like that again.

friday came faster than expected, slipping through the cracks of your week like it had been waiting for you. unlike the other days, this one was bitterly cold—the kind of cold that crept into your sleeves and curled around your spine. haechan had texted you earlier, his usual playful tone dulled by exhaustion. "today i actually have to close, so i’ll be stuck at work late," he wrote, followed by a yawning emoji and a tired little heart. you stared at the message longer than you should’ve, feeling something heavy settle in your chest.

the cold winter air bites at your legs as you step out of the cab, your breath fogging in front of you in soft clouds. the house isn’t just any house—it’s one of the old fraternity houses on the edge of campus, the kind that looks more like a mansion than a place college boys live in. warm light glows from the tall windows, and the low hum of music leaks out from behind the heavy wooden door before it swings open.

jaehyun is already waiting, leaning casually against the doorframe. he looks unfairly good—his hair slightly tousled, a dark turtleneck hugging his figure under a sleek wool coat. he gives you that smile, the one that always makes your stomach twist in ways you’ve never really understood.

“you made it,” he says, stepping aside to let you in.

you settled on a black leather jacket, cropped just above the waist, its silver zippers catching the light every time you moved. underneath, you wore a satin navy blouse, soft and loose, with a deep neckline that hinted without revealing too much. your high-waisted dark jeans hugged your figure just right, paired with heeled ankle boots that clicked confidently against the pavement. a silk scarf, deep burgundy, wrapped around your neck—not just for warmth, but as a finishing touch. your hair was pulled back loosely, tendrils framing your face, and your makeup was soft but sharp—dark liner, flushed cheeks, and a deep berry gloss that caught the chill in the air.

you notice jaehyun’s gaze drop, lingering for a beat too long before he leads you inside.

the party isn’t crowded—maybe twenty people, maybe less. it’s quiet in that expensive kind of way: muted music, low lighting, golden liquor sloshing in crystal glasses. there’s laughter and whispers, but nothing too wild. you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow it feels more intimate than you’d prepared for.

after your second drink, the room gets a little warmer. the vodka-orange is stronger than you thought, but it burns in a good way. you’re not drunk, not like that night, but the edges of your thoughts are softer, looser.

the music is barely audible now, just a low pulse behind your ribs as jaehyun leans in. it happens the way you always imagined it would—with the warmth of alcohol in your veins, the subtle tension in the air, his breath fanning softly against your cheek as his lips finally meet yours.

at first, it’s cinematic.

his hand is at your waist, careful but firm. his lips, smooth and slow, move against yours like he’s done this a thousand times. his cologne is rich—something expensive and clean, like bergamot and wood.

“you look incredible tonight,” he murmurs, voice low. It’s not the first time he’s flirted with you, but tonight it feels more focused.

you laugh lightly, sipping again. “you say that to every girl you invite to one of these,” you tease.

he smirks. “i don’t. just the ones i hope will stay after everyone else leaves.”

that catches you off guard. there’s a pause, the kind that’s heavy with implication. you don’t answer right away. instead, you tilt your head, watching him through the haze of dim lights and liquor.

more intentional. you close your eyes, willing your heart to speed up, your stomach to twist, your knees to weaken.

but none of it happens.

instead, there’s a slow, creeping emptiness that settles over your skin. you taste the sharp tang of beer on his tongue—bitter and stale—and it dulls the moment like a film of dust on something once shiny. it’s not that he’s doing anything wrong. in fact, he’s doing everything right. and maybe that’s the problem. it’s all too perfect. too rehearsed. too... lifeless.

you keep your lips against his a second longer, maybe two, hoping that if you just try, the magic will follow.

but it doesn’t.

what started as something dreamlike begins to dissolve, unraveling into something flat. weightless. forgettable. like kissing a statue—beautiful, yes, but cold. you feel your body slowly disconnect, like your mind is pulling away, shrinking back into itself. you’re kissing jaehyun. jaehyun. tall, broad-shouldered, silver-tongued. the guy every girl fantasizes about.

and yet... nothing.

when you pull away, you do it gently, trying not to show the disappointment pressing against your chest like a bruise. he looks at you with those deep, unreadable eyes, but you can’t meet them for long. something in you already knows: this isn’t what you wanted. maybe it never was.

and then, like clockwork, your thoughts betray you.

because in the silence that follows, in that stretch of breathless stillness, a name rises uninvited in your mind.

haechan.

you blink, shaken by the immediacy of it. why him, of all people? but it doesn’t stop. your mind floods with him, with everything he is and isn’t. jaehyun is all sharp lines and polished edges. he’s winter: sleek and cold, dressed in cashmere and shadows. and haechan...

haechan is sun-warmed skin and mischievous smiles. he’s a burst of color in a black-and-white room. his skin is golden, kissed by sun even in december. you remember the first time he wore glasses in class—how suddenly he looked different. not in a new way, but like you were finally seeing something that had been there all along. it had startled you. he looked good. really good. and you’d stared a little longer than you meant to.

you think about how he always cradles that old gaming console on his lap during breaks, fingers dancing over buttons like it's second nature. how he talks about characters and plots with the same intensity people reserve for politics or love. how he orders black coffee like it's a religion, never anything sweet. how he complains about the cold like it's a personal offense—bundling up in layers and still shivering, nose pink, eyes watery, grumbling but cute.

and you remember something else.

the way his eyes light up when he talks about music. not just any music—he’s always been drawn to layered melodies, harmonies that build slowly, that sneak up on you. you’d caught him once, eyes closed, headphones in, mouthing the words to a song you didn’t recognize. something soft and slow. when you asked what it was, he smiled, kind of shy, and said, “it’s this track i found—it builds so gently, but when it hits, it hits. it makes you feel everything, you know?”

you didn’t then. but now, maybe you do.

because that’s what haechan is like. he builds slowly. gently. he makes you feel everything without trying. without asking. just by being.

you think back to his kiss—that moment in the quiet of his room, when the world felt too small and too loud all at once. his lips weren’t smooth or calculated. they were warm. real. tasting faintly of coffee and breath mints, of nervousness and care. his hands weren’t firm—they trembled just a little. like he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to be. and that kiss? it burned. it lingered. it left something behind in your chest, something heavy and aching.

jaehyun’s kiss, in comparison, feels like water evaporating before it ever touches your skin.

“i need some air,” you say, barely loud enough to hear over the music.

you step away from the kitchen, your hands shaking slightly—not from cold, but from clarity. it’s unsettling, how fast something can shift. how a fantasy can collapse in on itself the moment reality arrives.

you walk toward the front door, ignoring jaehyun’s curious glance. and as the winter air hits your cheeks again, sharp and sobering, you realize the only thing you want right now is warmth.

and the only person who’s ever made you feel it... is haechan.

you step outside, the cold air biting at your cheeks like reality trying to sober you up. it’s quiet out here, except for the faint music pulsing through the windows behind you and the distant sound of traffic. your lips still taste faintly of beer and disappointment, and you try not to let it show on your face—even if there’s no one around to see.

you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering slightly. not just from the cold, but from the feeling growing in your chest. a hollow ache that started the moment jaehyun pulled away and left you with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of something that should’ve felt magical. it was supposed to mean something. you’d wanted it to. for weeks—months even—you thought that maybe this was what you needed. something new. something exciting.

but standing there in the dark, with the wind tugging gently at your coat, all you can think about is how wrong it felt.

how empty.

you sigh and glance down at your phone. 11:45 p.m. haechan probably just got home not long ago—he said he’d be working late tonight, and you remember the slight frown he gave you when you mentioned the party. not because he disapproved. but because he wouldn’t be there.

you hesitate, thumb hovering over his contact. calling him now would make you look ridiculous, wouldn’t it? but god… you need someone. someone who knows you, who doesn’t expect you to be dazzling or mysterious or anything other than exactly who you are.

before you can overthink it again, your thumb presses “call.”

the line barely rings twice before his voice comes through, groggy but alert, like he hadn’t really been asleep yet.

"y/n?" his voice is a little breathless, alarmed. "are you okay?"

you don’t answer right away. the sound of his voice cracks something open inside you. your throat tightens, and your eyes sting, a rush of heat behind your lashes. the words won’t come, caught somewhere between your tongue and your heart.

"hey, talk to me. what happened?"

his concern hits you like a wave. not because of what he’s saying, but how he’s saying it. gently. urgently. like nothing else in the world matters except you right now. like your silence is enough to make his chest hurt.

you swallow thickly, finally managing to breathe, “i… i didn’t know who else to call.”

he exhales slowly, like he’s relieved to hear your voice, even if it’s shaky. “i’m glad you called me.”

and it’s so stupid—so fucking stupid—but that’s when the tears come. silently at first, then all at once. and still, haechan says nothing. just waits, gives you space to fall apart without asking for an explanation.

he always does that. always shows up, always makes you feel like you’re not too much, even when you’re too much for yourself.

and suddenly you realize something—not like a lightning bolt, but like a quiet click, something that was always there, waiting to be noticed. it was never about jaehyun. not really. it was the idea of him. and now, with that illusion shattered, you’re left with the one person who’s been real all along.

the one who always answers the phone. the one who remembers how you take your coffee. the one who listens when you talk about your art for hours and never pretends to be bored.

“can you…” your voice is small, choked, “can you come get me?”

“already on my way,” he says without hesitation.

and just like that, you feel less alone. maybe not okay, not yet—but safe.

safe in the way only he ever made you feel.

you step back into the warmth of the house, wiping your cheeks and pretending the cold air is the only reason your eyes are red. inside, the party hasn’t changed at all—music still pulsing, people still dancing, someone already passed out on a couch. it feels like you left the chaos and walked right back into it, except now it doesn't swallow you whole. now, you’re just… drifting.

you spot jaehyun near the kitchen, leaning against the counter, lazily scrolling through his phone. he doesn’t look up at first, but when he does, his eyes land on you immediately. he straightens, sliding the phone into his back pocket before making his way toward you.

your stomach knots—not because you're afraid, but because you’re not sure what you're supposed to say to the guy you just kissed and then immediately ran away from.

before he even opens his mouth, you raise a hand slightly, your words tumbling out faster than you can stop them.

“i—i’m sorry. i just… i think i was really into the idea of you. like, really into it. but tonight i realized maybe… i don’t know…”

you trail off, eyes dropping to the floor, suddenly very interested in the scuff marks on your boots.

jaehyun quirks a brow, and for a second, it’s awkwardly silent—but then he lets out a soft laugh. it’s not cruel, not mocking. just… amused.

“you know,” he says, arms crossing over his chest, “when we first started talking, i thought you and that guy donghyuck?—were together. like, definitely together.”

you blink, lifting your head. “what?”

“yeah,” he shrugs. “you’d always come to class with him. always laughing, always close. and the way he looked at you? i figured i didn’t stand a chance. but then i saw you alone for a few days, and thought maybe you broke up or something, so…” he gestures vaguely. “i shot my shot.”

you feel your cheeks heat up instantly. “we’re not… he’s not my boyfriend. we never dated.”

jaehyun smirks like he doesn’t believe you, but also like he knows better than to argue. “sure. maybe not technically. but come on.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “you really think there’s nothing going on there?”

you start to protest, but then stop. because he’s not wrong, and you’re too tired to lie—to him or to yourself.

“it’s complicated,” you mutter.

he smiles again, this time softer, more genuine. “well, if it helps… i’m not offended. not at all. i mean, you’re sweet, and you kiss okay—”

“okay?” you gasp, half-laughing, half-horrified.

“hey,” he chuckles, holding up his hands, “it was a mutual ‘meh,’ right?”

you both burst out laughing, the tension finally breaking like a balloon popped with a pin. for the first time that night, you feel lighter.

“i really thought i liked you,” you admit.

“you probably did,” he shrugs. “or… the idea of me.”

“yeah.”

jaehyun gives you a wink. “for what it’s worth, i think you and haechan are cute as hell. even if you don’t know it yet.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. a real, unforced smile.

“thanks,” you say quietly.

“anytime,” he replies, already turning toward the kitchen again. “just… don’t let that one go, alright?”

and as you watch him disappear into the crowd, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

on my way. almost there.

you press your lips together, the ghost of a smile still there.

maybe you didn’t come to this party to kiss jaehyun after all. maybe you came to realize who you should’ve been calling all along.

the cold bites harder now. you’re standing outside again, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves, your phone clutched tight in your hand. every passing second feels like it’s stretching eternity, but then—you spot him. haechan walks up the sidewalk.

haechan was wearing sweatpants, mismatched socks stuffed into crocs, and a hoodie that’s too big even for him. his hair is a mess, fluffed and wild like he just rolled out of bed—and he probably did. you freeze, heart caught in your throat, as he blinks at you sleepily, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his palm.

you stare at him—at the boy who still showed up, in the dead of night, after a long shift, just because you needed him. and something inside you swells so big, so full, it spills over before you can contain it.

you don’t think—you run.

you crash into him with a force that makes him stumble half a step back, arms instantly wrapping around you, warm and steady. he doesn’t say anything. he just holds you, one hand coming up to stroke your hair gently, his breath warm against your temple.

you press your face into his neck, breathing him in—coffee, fabric softener, something so haechan. your chest heaves, and your eyes sting again.

when he pulls you into his embrace, it feels like the weight of the world finally lifts from your chest. his touch is soft, his fingers brushing against your skin in the most familiar way, like he’s always been there, always meant to be there.

he sighs softly, tugging you closer like he’s scared you’ll slip away. “seriously… what’s wrong with you lately?” he murmurs, voice groggy, laced with concern. “why are you acting like such a crybaby, huh?”

you lift your head, blinking up at him through the tears that won’t stop pooling. your eyes meet his—those deep, sleepy eyes that always seem to see too much—and your lips part as if to answer, but no words come.

so instead, you kiss him.

you pull him down by the collar of his hoodie and press your mouth to his with all the confusion, all the ache, all the longing you’ve buried for far too long. his lips are warm, soft, and as soon as he realizes what’s happening, he kisses you back.

and then, when you press your lips to his, it’s like every other kiss you’ve had fades away into nothingness. the world around you dissolves, and all that remains is the sensation of him. it’s pure, it’s grounding—everything that jaehyun’s kiss wasn’t.

he doesn’t ask questions. he doesn’t stop you. he just holds you tighter, like he’s afraid this moment might shatter.

his hand cradles your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing under your eye, and the kiss deepens—not rushed, not clumsy, just real. like he’s trying to tell you all the things neither of you ever dared to say.

your fingers curl into his hoodie as you pour everything into the kiss—your gratitude, your fear, your guilt, your truth.

it feels like you're being purified, as if every trace of doubt, of confusion, of disappointment, is being washed away by the intensity of haechan’s presence. there’s no bitterness, no strange aftertaste—only him, only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as you lose yourself in him. with each second, you realize just how much you’ve longed for this, how much you’ve needed him, even when you didn’t know it. this, this is what real intimacy feels like, and it’s everything you never knew you were missing.

the walk to haechan’s apartment felt different. the night air was biting, and the cold seemed to press against your skin, but it wasn’t enough to cool the heat that was bubbling in your chest. you didn’t want to be here, not tonight, not after everything that had just happened. but here you were, once again, losing yourself in the warmth of his presence.

“lost your keys again?” haechan asked, his voice playful but with a hint of concern in his eyes as he stepped aside to let you into his apartment. you gave him a sheepish smile, pretending to fumble with your bag and looking down, avoiding his gaze.

“yeah, I’m such a mess,” you murmured, but your words felt hollow, like they were slipping through your fingers as quickly as the night’s events.

he didn’t say anything more, but the slight furrow of his brow told you he was paying attention. it was a game, a little lie that you used to keep yourself near him just a little longer, but tonight, it felt like more. it felt like you were hiding something from him.

inside his apartment, the quiet enveloped you like a blanket, and for a moment, it felt like everything was still. you sat on the couch next to him, the tension between you thickening by the second. it was always easy to talk to him, but tonight, the words felt like they were stuck in your throat. and you knew why—because the taste of jaehyun’s kiss was still fresh on your lips, and it made you sick to your stomach.

“what happened?” haechan’s voice cut through the silence, and you could see it in his eyes: that flicker of concern. he knew something was wrong, and you could feel his gaze on you, waiting for the truth.

you let out a breath, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “jaehyun... I kissed him.”

he stiffened beside you, his body tensing. you didn’t have to look at him to know the change in his expression. it was there in the way his muscles locked up, in the way he barely moved, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the words.

"what? you kissed him?" he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. "good for you, I guess..."

the final sentence hit you like a punch to the gut, but you couldn’t stop now. it was too late to take it back, and the confession felt like it was clawing its way out.

"it wasn’t what I expected," you whispered, avoiding his gaze as your stomach twisted. "it was... bad. it didn’t feel right. at all."

haechan’s hand clenched into a fist, his face hardening, but there was something more in his eyes now—something you hadn’t expected. jealousy. confusion. it was almost as if he wanted to say something but was holding it back. you felt the heat rise in your chest, your own guilt gnawing at you.

"wait—what?" haechan leaned forward, his voice suddenly sharp, though his face was tight with barely-contained emotion. "it was... bad? after all that?"

you nodded slowly, your throat tight as you continued, “yeah. it wasn’t what I thought it would be. there was no passion, no spark. the taste of beer... it was all I could focus on, and I hated it. I... I just couldn’t feel anything.”

the silence that followed felt thick, suffocating. you could see the storm brewing in his eyes. he wasn’t angry—at least, not completely—but he was something else. hurt, maybe? or disappointment? you couldn’t tell.

"so, that’s it then?" his voice was quieter now, the sharpness fading into something softer, more contemplative. “your feelings for him are... gone?”

"yeah," you admitted, finally meeting his gaze, feeling the truth weigh on your shoulders. "they’re gone. I don’t want him anymore. I don’t even want to kiss him again."

the words hung in the air, and you waited for him to respond, your heart racing, unsure of what he would say. when he finally spoke, it wasn’t what you expected.

“you know,” he started, his voice light, almost teasing, “i never liked the idea of you with him. not even for a second.”

you blinked, surprised at his admission. “you didn’t?”

“no,” he said, the edge of his smile almost teasing, though there was something else behind it. “I always thought you deserved someone who wasn’t... like him.”

you frowned, still processing what he was saying, but before you could respond, he continued.

“but now i get it. i see why you would be disappointed. he’s not... him,” haechan said, his voice lowering, the underlying sadness creeping in. "i guess i’m just glad you’re realizing it now. even if it took you kissing him to see it."

a chill ran down your spine as you looked at him, unsure of what he meant. your heart tightened with a strange mix of relief and something else—something more complicated that you couldn’t name yet.

“you’re not... mad?” you asked quietly.

“mad?” he repeated, laughing softly, though there was no real humor in it. “no. why would I be mad? I’m just... relieved. you deserve better.”

“so... what now?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

haechan didn’t answer immediately. his eyes lingered on you—soaked in the way your makeup had smudged slightly, how your lips were still a little swollen from that kiss with jaehyun, how your dress had ridden up your thighs from the car ride. he swallowed hard, jaw clenched like he was fighting the urge to say something reckless.

then he said it anyway.

“now i take care of you.”

your breath hitched.

he stepped closer. slowly. deliberately. the kind of approach that made your knees weak. the kind of approach that said he knew exactly what you needed before you did. his hand reached for your waist, pulling you gently toward him, until your bodies were flush against each other.

“unless you don’t want that,” he murmured against your ear, his lips grazing your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. “you tell me to stop, and i will. no questions, no pressure.”

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t. Instead, you tilted your head and captured his lips in a kiss—needy, messy, full of everything you hadn’t said for weeks.

he groaned into your mouth, hands gripping your hips, grounding you. but he didn’t rush. he kissed you like he had time. like he was savoring the moment he’d waited for far too long.

“haechan…” you breathed when you finally pulled back.

he looked at you, eyes burning.

“yeah, baby?”

your cheeks flushed. “i… want to go further. i trust you.”

he blinked, just once, and something softened in his expression.

“are you sure?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher, but laced with concern. “i need to hear you say it.”

you nodded, fingers brushing his jaw. “i’m sure.”

he kissed you again, slower this time, like a promise. then he scooped you up effortlessly in his arms, carrying you to his bed, the same way he always carried you emotionally—careful, steady, never letting you fall.

he laid you down like you were precious, and then crawled over you, caging you in with his body, forehead pressed to yours.

“tell me if anything feels too much,” he whispered.

you nodded. he reached over to the nightstand, rummaging for a condom, giving you a look that made your stomach flip.

“Prepared?” you teased softly.

he smirked. “baby, i’ve been in love with you since you spilled coffee on my camera. i’ve always been prepared.”

your laugh faded into a gasp as his hands slipped beneath your dress, touching you with reverence, praise pouring from his mouth like it was second nature.

“so fucking perfect,” he murmured, kissing down your neck. “every part of you. mine to take care of. mine to love.”

his fingers teased you through your panties until you were arching, needy and aching, the room filled with the soft, wet sounds of your arousal.

“you’re already this wet for me? fuck—baby, you're killing me.”

you squirmed, overwhelmed by the sensation, but craving more. then you heard the foil tear, and your heart pounded louder.

the moment he entered you was slow, intense, a stretch that bordered on pain and pleasure, but he was right there—kissing your forehead, telling you how beautiful you were, how good you felt, how proud he was of you.

“you’re doing so good,” he groaned. “so fucking tight. you were made for me, weren’t you?”

you nodded desperately, clinging to him.

he moved slow, deep, rolling his hips so you felt every inch of him. his name fell from your lips like a prayer.

one condom turned into two. then three. you couldn’t stop. neither could he.

sweat clung to your skin, tangled sheets beneath you. he had you on top of him at one point, his hands on your hips as you moved, his eyes never leaving your face.

“that’s it, baby. take what you need. fuck—ride me just like that.”

another position had him behind you, one hand gripping your waist, the other slipping between your legs to make you scream his name as your body fell apart.

by the time the fourth wrapper crumpled beside the bed, you were both panting, dazed and desperate.

you rolled onto your back, breathless. “we’re out.”

you reached for your phone, already sitting up. “I can run down to the 7-eleven—”

he stopped you instantly, pressing a hand to your stomach.

“no, baby,” he said, voice firm. “i’ll go. you stay here. let me take care of it.”

the way he said it—so naturally, so possessively—sent a wave of heat straight through you. you bit your lip, something wicked curling inside you.

“or…” you said, voice dripping with mischief. “we could just… try without one.”

he froze. eyes dark. jaw tight.

“don’t tempt me,” he growled.

you crawled into his lap, pressing your lips to his neck.

“what if i want to?” you whispered. “what if i want all of you?”

he exhaled sharply, head falling back. “fuck… you’re dangerous.”

still, he hesitated—until you ground down on him and whispered, “i trust you, haechan.”

that was all it took.

he didn’t say a word for a moment. just stared at you like you’d set him on fire.

then he kissed you—hard. not rushed, but full of hunger, like you’d just pulled the leash off something he’d been holding back for far too long.

you could feel him against you, throbbing and hot, even without anything between you now. your body tingled in anticipation, in fear, in want. you were bare in every way—and he saw you, accepted you, craved you.

he guided you down onto the bed again, positioning himself between your thighs, his hands cupping your face gently.

“if i do this…” he said, voice low and trembling with restraint, “you need to tell me if anything feels wrong. anything at all, baby.”

“it won’t,” you whispered. “i want you. just like this.”

he lined himself up, one hand steadying your hip, the other brushing hair from your face. when he pushed in—slow, careful, deep—your whole body tensed, wrapped around him like he was the first breath after drowning.

it hurt. just a little. enough to make your lips part with a gasp. but he stopped instantly, not moving, just whispering against your cheek.

“breathe for me, sweetheart. you’re doing so fucking good.”

you nodded, clinging to his shoulders, letting yourself relax little by little until your body opened for him.

he began to move—not fast, but deep and fluid, his voice rasping against your ear with every thrust.

“you feel unreal,” he groaned. “so tight. so fucking warm. shit—you're making me lose my mind.”

your nails dug into his back. you couldn’t think. could barely breathe. all you knew was him—his scent, his voice, his body fitting against yours like you were made for this moment.

“does it feel good, baby?” he asked, barely holding it together.

“yes,” you moaned. “it feels so good, haechan.”

he reached between you, his fingers finding that perfect spot again, circling gently as his hips rolled deeper.

“i want you to cum for me,” he whispered, eyes flicking up to the mirror across the room.

and that’s when you saw it too—the reflection.

the sight of yourself, spread out beneath him, his body covering yours, the way his hips rolled into you, slow but relentless, the way your mouth fell open in pleasure.

you locked eyes with him through the mirror.

“look at you,” he said. “so fucking pretty. you should see what i see. you should see what you do to me.”

you whimpered, already close. the feeling of him inside you, the way he praised you, the reflection showing you everything you felt but couldn’t describe—it pushed you right to the edge.

“you’re mine,” he growled, thrusting deeper. “say it.”

“i’m yours,” you gasped, back arching.

“again.”

“i’m yours, haechan—fuck—i’m—”

the orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave. your whole body trembled as you clung to him, moaning his name like a confession.

he followed with a deep, broken moan, hips grinding into you as he came, his entire body tensing above yours, the sound of your names and curses filling the air as he spilled inside you, raw and unfiltered.

afterward, he collapsed next to you, pulling you into his chest, kissing your forehead with trembling lips.

“i’ve never felt anything like that,” he whispered.

you couldn’t answer. your body was still shaking, your mind a mess of stars and heat.

he held you close, running his fingers up and down your spine.

and for a long time, neither of you spoke.

because nothing needed to be said.

haechan stood by the door, shirtless, hair messy, pulling on his sweatpants with a crooked grin on his face.

“be right back,” he said, grabbing his keys. “we are out of condoms.”

your heart jumped at how casually he said it. like he already knew you weren’t done. like he couldn’t wait to get his hands back on you.

“don’t be long,” you said, your voice a little hoarse, a little needy.

“i’ll run,” he smirked, and you believed him.

the moment the door closed behind him, your body buzzed with anticipation. you felt sore, satisfied… and yet completely empty without him there.

a little while later, you were curled up on his couch wearing nothing but his oversized hoodie, legs tucked under you, sipping water with your thighs still trembling from everything he just made you feel.

your mind ran wild imagining all the things he’d do when he got back.

and oh—he did.

he came back ten minutes later, breathless and grinning, holding a bag with the corner of a box peeking out.

“miss me?” he teased.

“shut up,” you mumbled, biting your lip as he approached you on the couch.

but he didn’t give you time to banter. his mouth was on yours again, hungry and hot, hands already sliding under the hoodie like he’d been starving the whole way back.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he growled into your ear, lips dragging down your neck. “every fucking step i ran, i was thinking about how wet you were. how tight. how you said my name when you came.”

you whimpered, legs parting automatically as he knelt between them on the couch.

but this time—he was different. rougher. more commanding. his eyes darker.

“get up,” he whispered, pulling you to your feet.

“where are we—?”

“shower,” he said. “now.”

you didn’t argue.

the water hit your skin like a shock, but his body was hotter. he pressed you up against the cool tile wall, mouth devouring yours as his hands slid down to your ass, lifting you up, making you wrap your legs around him.

“you’re mine tonight,” he growled against your lips. “no stopping now. you started this—now i’m gonna finish it. again and again.”

your back hit the wall as he slid into you, wet and desperate. the sounds of skin against skin, water splashing, your moans echoing in the steam—filthy and perfect.

you lost count of how many times he made you come.

after the shower, he didn’t even let you dry off.

he carried you—carried—naked and dripping, to the living room, laying you over the back of the couch. your knees barely held as he bent you forward, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding between your legs.

“still so wet?” he teased, running his fingers through your folds. “what did i do to you, baby?”

“you ruined me,” you gasped, pushing back against his hand.

“good,” he hissed. “you’re gonna take me again. right here.”

and you did.

he fucked you from behind on the couch, your moans muffled in the cushion, your fingers clawing at the leather. he didn’t let up—he used you, praised you, told you how fucking hot you looked taking him like that.

then the kitchen.

you barely made it there.

he bent you over the counter, spreading your legs with a low groan.

“you trust me?” he asked, voice low and rough.

“yes,” you breathed.

“good,” he said, sliding in again, slow and deep. “because i'm not holding back anymore.”

he fucked you while gripping your hips, your body slamming gently into the counter with each thrust, your breath fogging the cold surface.

“so fucking perfect,” he groaned. “you were made for me.”

then came the dining table.

you ended up on it—legs open, arms thrown over your head, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra. he kissed every inch of your body, left love bites on your thighs, praised every moan and whimper you gave him.

you didn’t even remember how many condoms you went through until—

“fuck,” he muttered, breathless, sweaty. “last one’s gone.”

the apartment was thick with heat and the smell of sex. your bodies glistened with sweat, tangled over the polished wood of the dining table. haechan’s chest was pressed to your back, his arms wrapped tightly around you as both of you struggled to catch your breath.

it wasn’t until the digital clock on the microwave blinked 4:02 AM that either of you realized how much time had passed.

“shit,” you whispered with a soft laugh, still breathless.

“yeah…” haechan’s voice was husky, worn out, but content. he pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “we’ve been at this for hours. you okay?”

you nodded, eyes half-lidded, still processing everything. your body felt sore, used in the best possible way, and your heart was floating somewhere between exhaustion and complete peace.

he helped you off the table, careful and gentle now, holding you by the waist as you stumbled a little, your legs wobbly. you both laughed quietly at that, and he gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.

“come on,” he murmured. “let’s clean up and go to bed before the sun comes up.”

the warmth of his bed was a balm against your tender skin. after a quick rinse in the bathroom and slipping into one of his worn shirts, you curled up against him under the covers. his fingers traced light circles on your back as you lay there, your leg thrown over his, his other arm wrapped around you like you were something fragile and precious.

“you okay?” he asked again, softer this time. there was a hint of vulnerability in his voice—like he was afraid this had been too much.

you nodded into his chest.

“i’m more than okay,” you whispered. “i feel… safe. and really, really good.”

he exhaled a little laugh of relief and kissed the top of your head. the silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was peaceful. comforting. like your bodies had said everything your mouths didn’t need to.

soon enough, your breaths synced. his hand stayed on your waist as you both drifted off to sleep.

the next morning came slowly.

soft rays of sunlight filtered in through the curtains, painting lazy golden streaks across the sheets. you blinked awake first, still pressed against his warm body. his hand was splayed over your stomach, holding you close, and his legs were tangled with yours beneath the covers.

you didn’t want to move.

there was a quiet hum in your chest, that afterglow still lingering like a dream. you turned slightly to look at him—his hair was messy, lips parted, eyelashes resting gently on his cheeks. peaceful. beautiful.

you shifted a little, and he stirred, eyes barely opening.

“mmm,” he murmured. “you’re still here.”

“where else would i be?” you whispered.

he smiled, still half-asleep, and pulled you closer.

“good,” he said, voice low and raspy. “i want you right here. just like this.”

you melted into him, your heart full, your body still tingling in places, and thought maybe—just maybe—waking up like this with haechan could become your favorite part of any day.

haechan made breakfast in nothing but his boxers, hair still messy from sleep, humming some old song as you sat on the counter, wearing only his oversized t-shirt and the glow he’d left on your skin.

there was laughter. soft jokes. syrup on your lips that he licked off with a grin.

and when you finally curled back into the couch, your head on his shoulder, legs tangled under a shared blanket, it didn’t feel strange.

it didn’t feel like you’d crossed a line.

it felt like you’d stepped into something deeper.

he looked at you then, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek, and whispered:

“you know… i think we’re still us.”

you smiled, heart fluttering.

because he was right.

maybe in the end, sex doesn’t ruin the friendship— it transforms it.

[kjhbsies]

Multo

navigation | main masterlist | rules

James Potter x reader

synopsis: After weeks of silence and emotional distance, Y/N is forced to confront the feelings she’s tried so hard to bury— feelings for her best friend, James Potter. But when James shows up drunk at her doorstep, broken and desperate for answers, the truth finally comes to light.

wordcount: 2, 876

note: Part II of Cool About It. Angst to fluff.

Y/n had been avoiding James for three weeks now. At first, it wasn't obvious. The kind of thing that barely scratches the surface and could be brushed off as coincidence. Too subtle to raise alarms.

Like how she'd swiftly turn the opposite way the moment she caught a glimpse of his messy dark curls in the distance, or how she suddenly always had something to do— like an essay to finish, a meeting to attend— whenever James was near her. Her once-predictable presence at group hangouts had become a rarity, and somehow, every time James showed up, she just happened to be unavailable.

And maybe James didn't notice it at first. Maybe he was too caught up with Lily— her sudden shift of attitude towards him was too hard to ignore. He was in bliss— floating in a dream he had been chasing for years, too up high to see the way Y/n had started falling from his orbit.

But everyone in his friend group did. Remus, Sirius, and even Peter, who never picked up on these things, had made an offhand comment. "Have you lot seen Y/n lately?"

Still, James didn't piece it together. Or maybe he didn't want to. Maybe he was scared of what it could mean if he did.

Because once you notice someone pulling away from you, it's impossible not to wonder why.

The library was quiet during the late hours. It was almost empty, dim, and, somehow, Y/n found this place comfortable. This area has given her a small amount of peace, offering her some sort of sanity as she can busy herself with the books stacked in there, not really reading it— but just... hiding.

It had become a routine lately. Ducking into corners, finding solitude, telling herself she wasn't avoiding James. She was just... protecting herself. But, of course, the universe won't let her have her peace.

"Y/n!" James called her from behind, panting slightly as if he had run— because he had. His tie was slightly askew, his hair more of a mess than usual, and his eyes were blown wide with something she couldn't really place. Worry? Relief?

She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out.

"I've been trying to catch you for weeks." James tried to laugh it off, stepping forward like he didn't know how to stop. "You— you've been ghosting me."

"I've just been busy," She answered, too quickly. Too quietly.

James gave a short, breathy laugh. "Right. Of course. Busiest girl in the whole world. Too busy for after-school meetups, for Hogsmeade strolls, for movie nights, for me."

Y/n's heart stung, but she didn't let it show.

"I was just about to head out," She insisted, gripping the strap of her bag tightly. "Long night."

"I'll drive you home," James said quickly. Already walking towards the exit like the decision has been made. "It's late."

"James, it's fine—"

"I insist." James smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You seriously think I'd let you go home alone, especially at this hour?"

And she knew, even though her heart was screaming for her to just keep the distance she had so carefully built, arguing would make things worse. So she just nodded and followed him to his car.

The car ride was quiet— at least on her end. James, true to his form, filled the space between them with his usual charm.

"So, what are you even working in there?" He asked, glancing at her. "Don't tell me you've been burying your face in Calculus. That's just sick."

Y/n just chuckled. "No, no. It's a different subject."

James smiled. "Of course. Classic."

And then he went on to tell the latest happenings that had happened when she wasn't around. Sirius had managed to get in trouble again for the third time this month. Remus has been tutoring a freshman who mistook him for a professor. And Lily— Lily made a cheesecake, and James had declared her a goddess.

Y/n nodded and hummed, casually commenting a few sentences from time to time. Her face was polite, yet it felt robotic. And James noticed it.

From time to time, he subtly glanced at her through the rearview mirror. He wasn't the most emotionally intuitive guy, but he could tell something was wrong. Her laughter didn't come as easily. Her eyes didn't linger on him like before.

She wasn't really there— not in a way she used to be.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning pale. His words kept coming, but his mind was somewhere else. Because no matter how hard he tried to act normal, no matter how casual he played it— this wasn't normal.

Y/n was slipping away. And he doesn't know why.

When they pulled up in front of Y/n's house, the car slowed to a soft halt. The engine hummed between them, the only real sound in the heavy silence. James tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, his nerves betraying him.

"Thanks for the ride," She murmured.

James bit the insides of his cheek, then turned to look at her with a forced smile. "Hey— are you free tomorrow? Thought we could grab a coffee or something. Just us."

Y/n hesitated. "I got a study date with Remus."

His smile faltered for a second. "Remus?"

She nodded, pulling her bag over her shoulder. "Yeah. He was supposed to help me with my essay."

James scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "Since when do you study with Remus and not me?"

Y/n blinked at him, slightly thrown. "I— I don't know. It just... happened."

A pause stretched between them. James looked away, his jaw clenching slightly. "Right. Cool. I guess he's your go-to now."

There was something laced in his voice, something uncharacteristically sharp. Possessiveness wasn't a shade James often wore— he didn't need to. He had it all. The money, the talent, the looks. People gravitated towards him. That's just how it always been.

He didn't do jealousy. Especially with Remus.

"James..." Y/n said softly, not wanting to stir this into a fight.

"Well, tell Moony not to melt your brain too much. He goes on full professor when he's serious."

Y/n's gaze lingered on him for a bit, weighing him. But she didn't say anything else. She just smiled politely and slipped from the car.

And James watched her walk up to the front door, a small ache in his chest growing heavier with each step he took away from him.

The next day, the diner was buzzing with warmth and chatter; the golden afternoon sun was streaming through the windows and casting a perfect light across the table Lily and James shared.

She looked beautiful— like she always did— effortless in the way she talked, sit, and laughed. Everything he had ever wanted.

But he wasn't really looking at her. He was looking past her— toward the back booth, where Y/n and Remus were seated. And she was laughing. Like, really laughing.

The kind of laugh he hadn't seen from her in the past month. The kind that lit up her face, tipped her head back, made her eyes crinkle at the corners. She slapped her thigh as Remus finished his story like he was the most hilarious person in the world.

James scowled. He didn't even register what Lily was saying. Didn't even pay attention to the food in front of him. His eyes were just trained on them.

The way she leaned in when Remus talked, the way she rested her chin on her hand and looked at him like he was the most interesting person. Like she used to look at him.

And now— now he was noticing everything. The way her eyes sparkled when she smiled. The softness in her voice. He saw it. All of it.

"You okay?" Lily asked, suddenly pulling him out of his thoughts.

James blinked at her. "What?"

"You've been zoning out."

He gave a weak laugh. "Yeah. Sorry, just tired."

Lily raised a brow but let it go.

James looked back at the booth, his heart thudding uncomfortably. Y/n was laughing again, and Remus was now awfully sitting close beside her.

James wasn't used to doing this. The second guessing. The silence. The way his jokes no longer earned a laugh, how his texts were left on read, or worse— replied to nothing, but a cold, distant, courtesy.

It was his fifth attempt this week.

"Hey, there's a new art exhibit in town," He said casually, acting as if his heart wasn't pounding against his chest. "Thought you'd like the surrealist stuff. You know, the one with melting clocks and faceless people? I figured we could check it out together."

"I wish I could, but I got this paper due... and my cat's appointment with the vet later. I'm sorry, James." She smiled apologetically.

She always said sorry. Always with that small, polite smile. The kind of smile you give to a stranger.

And James felt he was slowly becoming one.

The truth was, it was never the art exhibit, or the cafe he invited her over to the day before that, or the time he showed up at her house with her favorite bubble tea and that novel she mentioned in passing months ago. He just missed her.

He missed the way she used to greet him with a smile that warmed his heart. The way she'd bump shoulders with him as he walked her to her class, the little inside jokes they used to whisper under their breaths, the sound of her laugh— God, her laugh.

He missed being her person.

And with each failed attempt, with every gentle excuse, his confidence chipped away. The great James Potter— charmer, golden boy, team captain— was suddenly unsure. Awkward. Tongue tied.

Because he realized that he was losing something he didn't even realize he had been holding on so tightly. Maybe it had always been her.

So right now, he was slouched in one of the couches in a loud club. The lights were too bright, everyone was chaotic, and the air was thick with sweat, perfume, and alcohol. But he didn't care.

His third drink sat in front of him, and he was already slowly getting drunk. Sirius lounged beside him, watching him with a silent concern as he did not see his best friend spiral like this— not even from Lily.

"You alright, mate?" Peter asked.

James didn't answer at first. He kept staring ahead, eyes unfocused, mouth pressed into a thin line. Then, finally, answered a bitter, "Peachy."

Peter frowned, but Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder and subtly shook his head— don't push it.

Remus, however, didn't bite his tongue.

"Is this about Y/n?"

The second her name left his mouth, James immediately glared at him, eyes bloodshot and glassy.

"What, d'you know something I don't?" James snapped, voice rising above the music. "Since you're always with her now?"

"She's my friend, James."

"Oh, friend, right. You two study together, hang out alone, laugh like idiots— hell, you even know everything about her, don't you?" James slammed his glass down, the drink sloshing to his sleeve. "She doesn't look at me the way she used to. Doesn't see me. She makes excuses to avoid me. Says she's busy. Tired. Got plans. But then I see her with you."

"Prongs—" Sirius interjected, but James wasn't finished.

He laughed, but it was hollow. Broken. "What did I even do, huh? Why the hell won't she just talk to me?"

"Alright, Prongs. Let's take a breath, yeah?" Sirius place a firm hand on James's shoulder.

But James shrugged it off. Instead, he ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't get it. She was my best friend. Mine." His shoulders slumped as the tears came rolling in. "I just— I just want her back. I miss her."

He sank into the couch, wiping his face the back off his hand like a child. "Call her." He whispered. Then louder, more desperate. "Please. Just call her. Ask her to come. I don't care if she's mad at me or if she hates me. I need to talk to her. Please. Please, please, please." He begged.

Sirius exchanged a look with Remus.

"Alright, I'll call her."

"Hello?" Y/n answered from the other line. The background was filled with a mix of loud music, clinking glasses, and chaos— but none of it made her go still. James. He wasn't speaking coherently. Just broken words, cries, and soft pitiful pleas. "Is that—"

Remus sighed softly. "Yeah. He's... not doing well."

She could hear James's voice in the background— his voice was wrecked and cracking as he said her name over and over.

"What's going on?"

"He's begging for you, actually."

Y/n's heart clenched. "Tell him... I'm glad he's surrounded by people who care about him tonight. But I— I can't come."

Remus didn't respond immediately. "Y/n, he's not himself." He said softly, not to pressure her— never that— but to simply let her know the truth.

"I know," She whispered. "But I can't do it, Remus. For the sake of my sanity, I can't. It's not that I don't care about him. God, I do. But if I go there, I'm scared it'll hurt us even more."

Remus exhaled softly on the other end of the line. "Okay, I understand."

"Please just... make sure he gets home safe?"

"We will. You did the right thing."

Y/n ended the call, and she couldn't help but sit as her legs buckled. The night was dead silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner at the corner of Y/n's room.

She had been staring at nowhere. Thinking. Pondering. She wondered if she even made the right decision of ignoring James. Of falling in love with him.

She hadn't noticed the clock had already struck midnight. Hadn't noticed that it had been an hour since she declined James's request. The guilt was eating her alive, and she couldn't do anything about it.

But then, the doorbell rang.

She didn't move for a moment. Praying it was just the neighbor or maybe a delivery to the wrong address. But somehow, deep down, she knew. Her stomach twisted painfully as she stood up, making her way through the door.

And when she swung the door open, her breath caught in her throat. James stood there. His hair was a damp mess, with sweat clinging on his forehead, and his chest rising and falling as if he had run all the way to here. His cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, and his eyes— oh, his eyes— were bloodshot and glassy, rimmed with tears that hadn't yet fallen.

"James," She whispered softly.

"You didn't care about me at all, did you?" He asked, voice hoarse and quiet. "You just let me spiral."

"What? No! James, I—"

"You ignored me." He stepped inside the house without waiting for her permission. His eyes never left hers. "You stopped talking to me. Pretend I didn't exist. You— you just cut me off like I'm nothing."

"That's not true." She stepped forward, reaching at his hand, but he stepped back, shaking his head.

"I waited. Every day, I waited for you to call back. And you didn't. You just... let me go."

Y/n's throat burned, her hands trembling by her sides.

"I had to." She choked. "James, I had to—"

"Why?" He asked, stepping closer now. His anger melted into confusion and pain. "What did I do so wrong, Y/n?"

"Because I like you." She said, barely a whisper. "I liked you so much it hurts, James. And I couldn't take it anymore. Watching you love someone else while I stand in the corner, pretending it doesn't rip me apart."

James stared at her. Stunned and silent.

She laughed bitterly through the tears. "I was doing it for me. I had to distance myself."

James opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"I didn't mean to fall for you. It just happened. And by the time I realized it, it was too late." She wiped at her face and stepped back, motioning at the door. "You should go. Please. Just go."

She turned around, ready to walk away, when James grabbed her wrist gently. And before she could react, his lips were on hers in a deep, desperate, and passionate kiss that stole the breath from her lungs.

When they finally pulled away, breathless, James cupped her face with trembling hands.

"I was stubborn," He whispered, forehead pressing against hers. "I kept telling myself I didn't feel anything for you. That Lily was all I wanted. And God, I was so wrong."

"James..."

"I love you. And I'm sorry it took me so long to see it. For being blind. But please— let me start over. Let me fix things between us." He kissed her again, almost reverent. "Don't give up on me yet."

"Just don't break me again, James."

And in the silence that followed, he held her like a promise he never planned to let go of.

©kjhbsies

taglist: @lotsostrawberrybear @sweetstrawberrianne

[whenstarsundress]

hello! i wanted to ask if you could write a scenario where the boys find the reader's self harm scars that the reader has been hiding for years? i know it's a difficult subject and feel free to ignore this ask or change up the request however you wish if it's something you're not comfortable with. no pressure at all! my favorites are zayne and sylus but i'm not picky, you can write the prompt for someone else if you'd rather! your writing is amazing and i really appreciate you sharing your work! :)

an: thank you for trusting me with this request, wherever you are, I’m sending you love.

sylus – protective, soft but quietly wrecked

he didn’t mean to see. he was tracing your skin with those featherlight touches. his usual calm reverence written into every movement.

but then his fingers stilled. “…angel,” he murmured.

you froze. he didn’t ask what it was. he already knew. his jaw clenched and for a second his fingers tightened around you. but when you tried to move, tried to hide, he caught your hand and kissed the scar instead. then another, and each that he could find.

“this… this doesn’t scare me,” he said thickly. “but it hurts that you went through something like that alone.”

he held you all night and whispered that he was proud of you. that you were still here. that he’d protect you from every shadow, including the ones in your own heart.

zayne – devastated, gentle, desperately wants to understand

he spotted it when you were changing. your shirt had barely lifted before he saw the marks. his entire expression dropped, his entire body went rigid.

“…baby?” his voice cracked. “can i… ask you something?”

you turned away, but he rushed to you. not to demand answers or to see, but to wrap you in his hoodie, pressing his forehead to yours.

“i’m not mad,” he whispered. “i just… i wish i’d known. i could’ve held you when it was bad. i still can. please don’t hide from me.”

that night, he made you hot cocoa and wrapped you in his clothes, in his blanket, in his arms. and let you talk or cry or say nothing at all. he sat beside you on the floor, lacing your fingers together, as if to silently say, “you’re not alone anymore.”

caleb – quietly fierce, immediate emotional anchor

he noticed the scars when you reached to grab something. you didn’t even realize until you saw his eyes on your wrist. he didn’t speak right away, because what do you say when the love of your life was hurting and you didn’t know?

“tell me who hurt you,” he said. “and if it was you… tell me what made it feel like the only choice.”

his voice didn’t carry judgment. just fury that something in this world—something in your past, or even right now—could carve that pain into someone he loved. he kissed the skin gently and said, “scars don’t scare me. but not knowing what you’re carrying does. so talk to me. or let me hold it with you.”

and he did. whatever you need, caleb would give it to you. forever.

xavier – emotional, deeply shaken, poetic and present

you didn’t think he’d notice. not through the long sleeves, but xavier always noticed everything about you. one night, curled in bed, you shifted, and your sleeve rode up. he saw. his heart dropped before beating so fast, like it tried to claw out of his chest, and to yours. to surround you with love, warmth and protection.

his fingers ghosted over the mark. “was this pain?” he asked, his voice hollow. “or… silence?”

you didn’t answer right away. but your eyes brimmed with tears and that was enough. he took your wrist in both hands, kissed every inch with reverence, like he could rewrite what had happened with softness.

“these scars,” he whispered, “don’t define you. but they’re part of your story. and i’m not afraid of your shadows. i love all of you. even the aching parts.”

rafayel – surprisingly serious, stays with you through every emotion

he usually makes everything lighthearted until he saw the faint scars on your thighs. his voice dropped to a serious low. “you did this to yourself?”

you nodded, too scared to look at him. he didn’t joke or tease. he stepped forward and knelt in front of you, resting his cheek gently against your leg, as a quiet act of devotion.

“i’ve made mistakes, too,” he said softly. “you don’t have to hide the hurting from me. i want the real you, even the parts you think are unlovable.”

he pressed a soft kiss to the scar before he got up again, and wrapped you tightly into his arms. “i got you. no matter how heavy the pain is, we’ll carry it together. okay?”

final words - you are not your scars. you are not broken. you are worthy of gentle love, understanding hands and unwavering presence.

and my dear? you’re so strong for being here.

these boys—sylus, zayne, caleb, xavier & rafayel—they wouldn’t run from your past. they’d stay, heart first.

[gachagon]

Something I really liked about playing this game was that as I was playing I actually began to understand the abstract way that Ena speaks.

At first, what she says sounds like total word salad and like she's just combining random phrases together. But the more I played, the more coherent they became in a weird way? I think an example of what I mean is when she runs into Taski Maiden and Taski literally has that creepy ass jumpscare.

Ena says "Miss could you keep it down please? The pizza delivery guy is right here." At first that absolutely makes no sense at all, but after I thought about it Ena is clearly saying "Please stop scaring/startling me like that...I'm just a worker."

I think the way Enaspeak works (which is the weird way Ena's talk that I personally have just named bc idk what Joel G would call it T_T) is that it doesn't actually matter if what you say has nothing to do with the main subject at hand, as long as it belies the same emotions or feelings you hold then it's correct.

The first sentence "Miss, could you keep it down please?" is in the same bracket as asking someone to simply stop doing something, even though it might be obvious that Ena wants Taskii to either stop scaring her like that or to stop joking like that or to stop being so rude to her etc, the first sentence isn't a direct response to what Taskii said to her at all or relates to the situation.

The second sentence relates to Ena herself. "The Pizza Delivery Guy is right here." A delivery person is "just a worker" in the same vein that Ena is just a worker. The sentence carries the same kind of casualness as "I am just a worker" which is probably what Ena wants to convey. That there's no need for...jumpscares or rudeness towards her because she's just a worker, and isn't dangerous at all.

Another aspect of Enaspeak is how "random" it is. Basically, the more offtopic the Enaspeak is, the more emotion Ena is trying to convey with what she's saying. When Ena wants to be direct in Dream BBQ she does speak pretty plainly. However, when she's confused or scared her speech is "coherent" but the meaning and relation to whats happening is completely lost.

Or Joel G could just be writing whatever he thinks is funniest for Ena to say and I am a madwoman reading far too deep into it lol T_T Anyways these are my random thoughts about the funky way Ena talks.

[mariasont]

can you please write Spencer and shy!reader for valentine's day? 💕💝💖💖💞💝💖 I love them so much and I love you more

Lover Girl - S.R

summary: spencer has a hypothesis about love on vday & it’s not something you agree on pairing: post!prison!reid x shy!medialiaison!reader warnings: r going crazy over something spencer said hours ago (get a grip girl), r kinda goes out of character, spencer being the sassiest human alive wc: 1.9k a/n: thank u sm for requesting i love this and i love you even more ✨💖

The draft on your laptop was starting to look less like a press release and more and more like a psychological cry for help. Words sprawled like abandoned thoughts, entire sentences had been brutally sacrificed to the backspace key, and you'd rewritten the same transition phrase so many times it no longer felt like a real word. The whole thing read like the work of someone who had just sustained a minor head injury.

Objectively? It was bad.

Subjectively? It was an unmitigated disaster.

You blamed Spencer. Or maybe you blamed yourself for still thinking about it, for letting his words linger in your head like an incorrectly formatted footnote that you couldn't stop rereading.

You had never been a hopeless romantic, exactly, but you liked the idea of it, the structure of it. Believed it was more than a sum of its parts. More than just wires crossing in the brain and pattern recognition.

And yet, he had discarded the notion so easily, reducing love to a series of neurochemical reactions misinterpreted as emotional depth, something logical and completely stripped of any sort of real feeling.

He hadn't meant it cruelly, but his voice carried a kind of detachment that made you want to launch your coffee at his ridiculously well-structured face. It shouldn't bother you.

It really, genuinely, in no universe, should not bother you. It wasn't like you had a chance with him, so why did it matter what Spencer Reid, certified romance cynic, destroyer of sentimental ideals, and casual heartbreaker, thought about love?

If anything, his lack of belief should make it easier to kill this absurd crush before it spiraled into something unmanageable.

You squared your shoulders and looked back to the screen, back to the carefully worded Bureau-approved phrases meant to sound polished and agreeable.

Strengthening community trust. Bridging the gap between law enforcement and the public.

Meaningless, hollow, designed to be palatable without saying anything real. Blah. Blah.

I mean, did he really think that love was like an outdated scientific theory? It was Valentine's Day, for crying out loud — if nothing else, wasn't that proof of its existence?

You had considered the possibility that he had stopped believing because he had to. That prison had stripped the softness of him, turned love into just another abstract concept that didn't hold up under scrutiny, like time, like trust, like freedom.

Or maybe (and this was the more infuriating possibility) he had always been like this, too pragmatic to believe in something he couldn't technically hold in his hands.

You groaned under your breath, rubbing at your temple like you could physically press the words out of your skull, like they were just another headache waiting to pass. Why were you still thinking about this? It was stupid. He was stupid. You were stupid of caring.

Except he wasn't stupid. He was obnoxiously brilliant, the kind of smart that made other geniuses insecure, and that was the problem. Because if someone that intelligent didn't believe in love the way you did.... did that mean you were in the wrong? Had you been naive this whole time, blindly buying into a romanticized fantasy while Spencer had long dissected it and found it lacking?

The knock on your office doorframe startled you so badly that your entire skeletal structure attempted to evacuate your body, knee jerking up, colliding with the underside of the desk with an unforgiving whack.

You barely had time to wonder if you'd just concussed your kneecap before you looked up and — Spencer. Standing in the doorway like some cosmic punishment for thinking about him too hard.

Heat flooded your face like an admission of guilt, because why, why, did it suddenly feel like you'd been caught red-handed?

"Hey," he said, tilting his head. "You okay?"

No, you wanted to say. Not at all. Because what were you supposed to do when they very subject of your over analysis materialized in your doorway, looking at you like he could see every freaking unspoken thought folded between your ribs?

You swallowed, forced yourself to look anywhere but directly at him, because everything about this, about him, felt like some kind of cruel irony.

"Uh, yeah," you croaked, voice pitching embarrassingly high. Great. Perfect. Totally normal human behavior.

Spencer's brow furrowed, his head doing that thing he did when something wasn't quite right. But miraculously, he didn't say anything about it.

"I was just...," You gestured to your laptop.

Spencer nodded slowly, either accepting your excuse at face value or deciding it wasn't worth the effort to call you out.

"Right. I was just going to ask if you had finalized the press release for me to proof."

Your stomach lurched, a sharp drop like missing a step in the dark. Finalized. Bold of him to assume you'd done anything besides stare blankly at your screen for the past fifteen minutes.

"Oh! Yeah, of course," you said, throwing out the words with a half-hearted smile as if that would seal the lie. "Almost done. Just... you know, making sure it's perfect."

Spencer stepped inside, moving just past the threshold. His expression changed. Less neutral. More aware.

"You're acting strange."

Which was unacceptable, because if anyone in this scenario should be acting strange, it was him, standing there like a walking contradiction.

"I — what?" The laugh escaped before you could trap it behind your teeth, jagged and surely unnatural.

"You're tense. And you don't usually second-guess yourself this much. If it was almost done, you'd just say so." His eyes flicked to the laptop. "Did something happen?"

Your face went nuclear, looking away, hyper focused on the edge of the desk like it was the most fascinating thing you'd ever seen. "I don't know what you mean. I'm acting normal."

Spencer made a thoughtful noise. "Denial first. Then contradiction."

"I —"

"Oh, and there's the hesitation. That usually happens when you're trying to figure out how to backpedal without making it obvious."

"Do you always do this?"

"Only when people are lying about something." He squinted at you. "And you're a very bad liar."

He tapped a finger a finger against his arm in a way that made your nerves itch, before stepping forward and sinking into the chair across from your desk.

"Huh."

You frowned. "What?"

"You're doing the same thing you did earlier," he said matter-of-factly. "Avoiding direct responses, looking everywhere but me, shifting in your seat."

His gaze lingered, and then — Gods, help you — his lips curved, just slightly.

"Almost like the conversation was bothering you then, too."

Oh. Oh, this was bad. He was trying to talk about the one topic you'd spent the last twenty minutes trying to erase from your brain.

"I just, well, it's not that I had thoughts or feelings on it or anything, I just didn't, well, I mean, I just didn't want to be in that conversation, you know? Not that it was bad. Just — not my thing."

Spencer's eyebrows lifted. "So you disagreed with me?"

"I — I did not say that."

"No, but you just said everything but that." He leaned forward. "So tell me. What was it?"

You finally look at him, actually looked at him, and immediately regretted it.

You tried to gauge if there was any chance you could turn this conversation in your favor.

Nope.

"I mean, I wouldn't say disagreed, per se, I just... thought maybe your take was a little—," you sighed, "dismissive."

"Oh? And what exactly am I dismissing?"

You hesitated. Not because you didn't have an answer, but because you had too many. Love wasn't just science, romance wasn't just a byproduct of biology, that it meant something. It's real. It matters. It's— "You're dismissing everything beyond your own reasoning."

You waited. For the rebuttal, the deconstruction, the inevitable moment Spencer laid your words bare and left you scrambling to rebuild them. But this time there was nothing. He just sat there. Looking at you. Like he was waiting for something else.

You fidgeted. Crossed your arms. Uncrossed them. "What?"

"Nothing. Just... thinking." A pause. "You clearly have an opinion on this, just trying to figure out what it is."

Your lips pressed together, your brain begging you to let it go, to shut up before you started. But the words were already forming, bubbling up too fast to stop.

"Okay, look. I get it. I get the science. I get that love can be explained in chemical terms."

Spencer nodded, like you were finally seeing his point.

"But that doesn't mean that's all it is," you said, sitting up straighter. "Love isn't just an instinct. If it was then why do people stay in love when it doesn't make sense? Why do people wait years for someone who might never come back? Why do people hold on to feelings they know won't be returned?"

You inhaled sharply, only to realize what you had said felt a little too personal. Heat flared to your toes. "I just, uh, you're looking at it like it's an equation when it's more like, like art. You can break down why a painting is visually appealing, but that doesn't explain why it moves people."

"So love is art then?" A small smirk tugged at his lips. "That would mean it's subjective. That one person's version of it isn't the same as another's."

"Well, yeah, that's my point." You nodded. "Everyone experiences it differently. That's why it can't be reduced to formulas. You can recreate the exact conditions of a moment, use the same words, set the same scene but it won't feel the same to someone else. Because love isn't about external factors, it's about who you're with, how they make you feel."

"That sounds dangerously close to saying it's entirely irrational."

You exhaled. "If it is, then I guess that means you'll never understand it."

Spencer pushed himself to his feet, adjusting his cuff like this was just another conversation and not something that had you actively fighting for oxygen.

Then, with an infuriating self-satisfied smile, he murmured, "Well, maybe I just need the right person to teach me."

You nearly choked on air.

And with one last glance, he grinned and said, "Happy Valentine's Day, lover girl."

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[latteodyssey]

celebrity gossip | Tim Drake x Vigilante!Reader ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

summary: while lounging on the watchtower, you decide to comment with red robin about gotham's newest celebrity gossip. (part two of this story here!) masterlist

You’re lounging on the sofa in the Watchtower, the usual tension of crime-fighting missing in the quiet of the night. Red Robin is at the computer, eyes glued to the screen, but the city below remains disturbingly calm, the only sound filling the room was of quiet typing. It’s just the two of you for now.

“What are you doing?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Catching up on Wayne drama,” you reply, still scrolling through your phone without looking up. The glow from the screen lights up your face, casting an eerie, almost ghostly light. “Can you believe Bruce Wayne is already on his third girlfriend this year? It's like this guy is trying to break his own personal record or something.”

“Is that, like, interesting to you?” Red Robin's tone is flat, but you can hear the curiosity in it.

“I mean, you’re from Gotham, right?” You finally glance up, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t really escape it. They make sure it’s shoved down our throats every day.”

“I’m not really into it” He tries to keep his voice monotone, as if he doesn’t care about the situation.

He’s used to the media circus, it helps him and his family, in a way. The more obnoxious the Wayne’s are, the less likely it is for the public to think they’re Gotham City’s caped crusaders. I benefited him.

Yet behind his mask, hearing you talk about it made him a little tense.

Ever since you entered the team, he’s been interested in you, hell, he was into you before that. You’ve met before, but he never expected his high school friend to become a vigilante as well, although seeing you in your superhero uniform made his heart skip a beat. Ever since then, he’s been secretly happy every time you’re paired up in missions, he treasures the moments where you two talk alone.

“I mean, they’re obviously obnoxious with the whole out-of-touch rich guy stuff.” You pause for a second “Tim is nice, though. I went to high school with him, he was pretty down-to earth. I had a massive crush on him, too.”

Red Robin freezes for a second, his fingers stilling over the keyboard. You don’t notice the slight stiffening of his posture as he processes what you said. He returns to typing on the computer, trying to regain some semblance of control.

You shrug, leaning back into the sofa as you casually reply. “He was a charming nerd with all the gadgets and the brains. He was also really kind to me, so yeah”

"He sounds nice." He forces himself to sound casual, to play it off. He cringes a bit internally, it feels strange to talk about himself like this, besides that, is it weird that he wants you to keep talking?

“Yeah, we don’t talk anymore, though,” you reply, a trace of nostalgia in your voice. "I really miss him."

Tim’s mind stirs, his fingers pausing over the keyboard again, caught in the sudden surge of emotion—maybe it’s the way your voice seemed filled with affection when you mentioned him. He takes a slow breath, trying to push the knot in his chest aside, turning around in his chair to face you, abruptly changing the subject.

"What other gossip do you have there?"

"Oh, you have no idea!" Your face lights up as you prepare to tell him every useless information you've learned in the past few hours.

And as the night stretches on, with the calm of the streets below, Tim lets himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something more.

[txkby]

My experience with the Void State.

Before I discovered the Void State, I practiced meditation regularly in 2022 (literally the year of the Void State on Tumblr), the sensations I had when meditating were truly exquisite, that tranquility and peace are simply incomparable with people, material things, etc.

I swear that nothing has filled my soul like those sensations.

(This is very important, remember it)

I stopped meditating afterwards because I didn't have time and when I wanted to do it I fell asleep, like when you want to get to the Void, don't you think? LOL

I discovered the Void around the beginning of 2023, but I never gave it any importance, i've almost never liked the methods, because it get obsessed, and that's what I did, I got obsessed.

I became so obsessed with the Void that I was constantly looking for information everywhere, on Google, here on Tumblr, Twitter, YouTube, and in endless places.

And every day I spent time doing methods to get there, meditations, affirmations, etc. But I just couldn't get there, I couldn't.

I felt so bad guys, I felt tired, have you ever felt that tiredness that feels more like giving up? That's what I felt.

I felt dissatisfied with my life, and it's hard because you feel ungrateful to the universe, to people, to everything.

But I kept on trying every day to get to the Void, but again, I never got there, not that way.

So I went back to the beginning, I went back to the basics, what is the Void? How do you get there? And I realized that I forgot what the Void really was, I forgot everything because of my desperation and obsession to get there.

What I did to get to the Void was the following:

- I gave up, but not giving up by throwing in the towel, but by letting myself go.

- let it go, detach myself from it

- remember that the Void is a state, it is something attached to us that simply cannot be prevented

- I stopped trying to reach the Void with extreme methods, I stopped trying to get there with steps, with rules.

- I stopped forcing myself to reach the Void, because the Void is not effort, it is relaxation, it is letting go, it is surrendering

- I changed my focus, instead of wanting to reach the Void by manifesting my desires, I changed it to simply having a good time, to relax

- I started doing simple meditations, nothing like "meditation to reach the Void, meditation for this, meditation for that", no, just simple meditations.

- don't look for symptoms because that takes you away from relaxation, it takes you away from the key to reach the Void

- relax, that's the Void, never forget it

And I remembered that the sensations I had when meditating for 2022 were the same as the Void, which means that I had possibly reached the Void State at that time, but since I didn't know about the subject, I didn't make an effort to reach the Void, I just wanted to meditate for fun, and this is very important because when we concentrate and force ourselves to reach the Void, we don't get there, when we are desperate to reach the void we won't get there, when we are anxious to reach the Void we won't get there.

So, after doing all that, remembering all that, I reached the Void.

And it didn't take me more than 1 week after to understand everything I just said.

In the Void I felt what I felt when meditating, that exquisite tranquility, that peace, that happiness, and of course you have no emotions, thoughts and you don't feel your body at all.

I didn't manifest much, I only changed my name, time of birth, my personality, my mentality and voice, because that was why I wanted to get there, I felt bad about myself because during 2020 to 2022 I suffered from depression, my father passed away, the changes that occurred in those times affected me mentally, I had social anxiety, I suffered, it was horrible.

But by manifesting my change of mentality and personality my perspective on life changed, therefore now I am happy.

The thing about my time of birth was simply for fun LOL, and my name, my old name, mmm 🫤 , I never felt identified with it, I was not her.

Like all of you, I suffered for wanting to get to the Void, for looking for symptoms

And not letting myself in getting there, because of my focus, because of my low self-confidence, because of my obsession, because of my desperation.

Give up to enter the Void.

And well guys, that's my experience with the Void, this post is so long but necessary, byee.

(I hope the translation is correct LOL) 🫂😝