#you remember more scenes and snippets like these?

[anneangel]

Then Sherlock says: "The emotional qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning. I never make exceptions. An exception disproves the rule".

Also Sherlock:

"Watson, you have never yet recognised my merits as a housekeeper" (says after preparing the dinner with his own hands).

"Look here, Watson, you look regularly done. Lie down there on the sofa and see if I can put you to sleep" (says Sherlock after picking up the violin and knocking Watson into unconsciousness sleeping, by playing impromptu for him).

"Except yourself I have none friend. And I do not encourage visitors." (says Sherlock, after Watson inquired whether any of Holmes' friends were knocking on the door given that Mrs Hudson was away, and it was too blustery a day for unscheduled client visits. The only other person Sherlock called a friend before Watson, that I can remember, was Victor Trevor. And they weren't close after Holmes solved the mystery involving his friend's father. As seen in that sentence, Watson is Sherlock Holmes only current friend).

"Watson, It's an ugly dangerous business, and the more I see of it the less I like it. Yes my dear friend, you may laugh, but I give you my word that I shall be very glad to have you back safe and sound in Baker Street once more." (Say Sherlock, worried about sending Watson on a case alone).

"My dear friend, you have been invaluable to me in this as in many other cases, and I beg that you will forgive me if I have seemed to play a trick upon you. In truth, it was partly for your own sake that I did it, and it was my appreciation of the danger which you ran which led me to come and examine the matter for myself" (Says Sherlock kindly, after sensing Watson's displeasure, anger and sadness at the thought that Holmes did not trust him enough).

"You're not hurt, Watson? For God's sake, say that you are not hurt!" (says worried about an injury to Watson leg).

"By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive" (says in a threatening tone to the man who injured Watson).

"I feared as much. I really cannot congratulate you." (says Sherlock with a most dismal groan, when Watson tells will marry with Mary. Watson is so hurt by Holmes' tone that he asks why Holmes doesn't approve of the marriage! To which Holmes responds with: "love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment." But a good reader realizes that this is not an adequate answer to the Watson question! Holmes swerved! And remember, that's because Holmes tried to discourage Watson, claiming throughout the case that womens are not a reliable option) Lmao!!

"Watson had at that time deserted me for a wife, the only selfish action which I can recall in our association. I was alone" (says Sherlock needy lamenting Watson's absence by his side for one of his cases).

And, Sherlock Holmes only refers to Watson by his surnames, as was the decorum of the time, but he also uses the possessive pronoun "mine" a lot when addressing Watson. See: "my dear friend", "my dear doctor", "my boy", "my dear fellow", "my dear friend".

Sherlock also says in many cases that he has John Watson as a trusted man. He also drags Watson to concerts, outings and Turkish baths, enjoys Watson's praise, and even allows and encourages Watson to write about cases (although he says he doesn't like it, he never asked Watson to stop and even motivated him to do so), Holmes also seems to enjoy having Watson around him in Baker, cases or non-professional situations too.

John Watson can now, officially, change his name to "Holmes Exception". Lmao.

[kaurwreck]

curious to know why you like gin so much!

Gin is a teenage girl sage king. She personifies love without ego and is also an ambush predator. She is divine grace if divine grace were an assassin with peach scented lotion. She thinks the urban legend that cherry blossoms are so pretty because they feed on bodies buried beneath them is neat. She chose hell, and transcends it.

Metanarratively, she is the archetypal Mary conceptualized by Ryunosuke Akutagawa in Man of the West:

We sense a bit of Mary in all women. Perhaps in all men, too.... In fact, one could say that we feel a bit of Mary in the fires burning in the hearth or in the vegetables fresh from the field, or in an unglazed pot or solidly built chair. Mary is not the one who is eternally feminine. She is the one who eternally protects us. After all, as the mother of Christ, Mary spent her life traversing the "vale of tears." And yet, she lived with great fortitude. In her life, one finds worldly wisdom, folly, and virtue.

...

[People] have had to take lessons from Mary, more so than Christ, to find the way that leads to peace.

Gin is clever, decisive, perceptive, poised, and impish. She loves her older brother. She likes lace and florals and gourmand scents and play aggression. She reflects rippling, concurrent shades of black, gray, and white (e.g., when her eyes are black, she wears gray, when her eyes are gray, she wears her black hair down like a veil; depending on the context, she is either dressed or masked in white). She's quick to blush.

I like Gin so much because she's Gin.

[pomegranatesarchive]

A female f1 driver who was featured in the barbie movie as the f1 driver. You could write about her scene and working with the Margot and Ryan lol, and how the grid reacts to it. Lanpd could be her bf or not if you don't want.

You don't have to absolutely write if it doesn't strike any inspiration and you obviously can write whatever you want you xoxo

barbie girl | redbull!reader

pairing: f1 grid x reader

summary: redbull!reader does a cameo in the barbie movie

part of my ‘redbull!reader’ series

liked by alex_albon, landonorris, and 816,027 others!

yourusername: this barbie is a f1 driver! 🎀 barbie is out now in theaters near you <33 (or not near you? idk where you lot live)

view comments below!

user1: yn is just hitting all these side quests because what?

user1: happy for her tho!

user2: is this what it’s like to be so rich that you can literally do whatever you want?

user3: YN CAMEO!!!!

user4: WE CHEERED

user5: omw to see barbie now

landonorris: i know where you live

user6: can someone tell me her part in the movie? my parents won’t let me see it 😓

user7: she’s a f1 driver barbie, and she’s gets into a relationship with f1 driver ken (played by glen powell) throughout the movie you could see like snippets of them going from friends to bf and gf!! you could probably find some clips on youtube or something :)

user6: thank you <33

user7: GLEN POWELL????

user8: THE CAPYBARA GUY???

charles_leclerc: i can be your ken 😊

yourusername: no thank you i already have my glen ken!

charles_leclerc: but he can’t drive a REAL f1 car

yourusername: i can teach him

charles_leclerc: FINE

charles_leclerc: BE LIKE THAT THEN

charles_leclerc: I DONT CARE

charles_leclerc: GOSH

glenpowell: i would like to make it very clear that i have no interest in learning how to drive a f1 car!

charles_leclerc: NO ONE CARES GLEN

user9: i love when yn posts because i just know the comments are going to be filled with the drivers acting like they have no decorum

landonorris: i know where you live

alex_albon: movie night?

maxverstappen1: i already watched it

georgerussell63: we know…we all saw the picture of you decked out in pink at the movie theater

user10: LMAO

user11: it makes so much sense that the first time we see max in pink is when he’s supporting yn

lewishamilton: so excited to see it! 🩷

yourusername: love you 💚

charles_leclerc: I LOVE YOU TOO YN

maxverstappen1: i want love

alex_albon: can’t remember the last time you said that to me…sigh…

georgerussell63: love me next?

oscarpiastri: playing favorites i see 🤨

landonorris: i love you too 🥰

user12: bring back shame

user13: their desperation makes me sick

oscarpiastri: i guess ill watch barbie now

yourusername: why are you pretending like you weren’t the first to ask me for spoilers?

oscarpiastri: no clue what you’re talking about???

yourusername: mhm sure osc sure

user14: osc 🥹

landonorris: i know where you live

yourusername: what is wrong with you?

landonorris: i’m outside your door

user15: it’s official, lando is killing yn so he can win more races

. . .

notes: thank you for requesting!! hope you don’t mind i used this for my redbull!reader au :)

[mariasont]

Casualties Of Control - A.H

caught in a moment of panic, you freeze, but hotch guides your next moves, revealing just how comforting surrendering control can be

pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warnings: age gap, power imbalance, sexual tension, anxiety/self-doubt galore, gun violence, near-death experience, hurt/comfort, depictions of trauma responses, authority kink, themes of submission and control, brief mention of parental emotional neglect wc: 3k request: here

You were starting to think someone should stage an intervention, maybe Garcia or JJ, because this is getting borderline pathetic. More specifically, you, are getting borderline pathetic.

The second Hotch speaks, reality melts into background noise, and you’re zeroed in on the column of his throat, the subtle movement of muscle beneath perfectly pressed shirt collars.

You’re standing in the middle of a crime scene, dirt kicking up around your sensible shoes, yet all you can think about is the shift of tension in his jaw. Tighten, loosen, swallow — rinse and repeat. It’s mortifying, really, this fixation.

You wonder why it happens or if he even realizes he’s doing it. Maybe it’s an unconscious reflex, his overwhelming need for control compressed into a single, visible place. Authority, responsibility, and his entire leadership style condensed into that twitch. It’d be poetic if it wasn’t so distracting.

And really, truly, genuinely, you need to pull yourself together because Morgan is giving you a side-eye that suggests he’s not only noticed your gawking, but worse, has developed several theories about it.

Hotch’s instructions spill out rapid fire, and you’re halfway to zoning out, catching snippets — Morgan, perimeter. Reid, coordinate with local PD. 

You force yourself to tune in just in time to realize you’ve missed most of what he’s saying, something vaguely alarming about the missing witness slipping past your ears. When Hotch says your name, you flinch, probably visibly, and snap upright, trying (likely failing spectacularly) to look alert.

“You’re with me.”

And then he’s turning, moving, and naturally, instinctively, you fall into step beside him.

It’s fine, you reason, it’s not that you mind. You really don’t. Still, there’s a small part of you, buried beneath layers of admiration and self-doubt, that’s starting to twitch with impatience. You’ve been here for five cases now and you assumed by this point you’d graduate from perpetual trainee shadow to, well, anything else.

You remember Reid telling you he earned independence fairly quickly, and Morgan practically started the job fully formed. But you’re still following dutifully in Hotch’s shadow, like a duckling too nervous to swim on its own. Is it him? Is it you? Is there some glaring flaw he sees, something that screams liability, too-green-to-function-alone? You bite the inside of your cheek, silencing your insecurities before they start screaming louder.

You’re practically speed-walking at this point, struggling to match Hotch’s long strides as the sun cooks your brain into a scrambled mush.

Your fingertips shield your eyes, squinting hard against the glare, cursing your impulsiveness — rushing out this morning after the team like a lovesick intern, leaving behind basic necessities like water. Rookie mistake. You’ll be dehydrated and delirious by noon, hallucinating your own incompetence in vivid detail.

Hotch doesn't even spare you a sidelong glance your way when he thrusts a water bottle toward you, eyes still scanning the horizon, speaking into his radio.

You stare dumbly at it for a second, and he must sense your confusion, because he tacks on, “You always forget to grab one. Drink.”

It sounds more gentle chiding than reprimand, but your face warms all the same.

The moment the bottle touches your lips, your body moves on autopilot, obeying Hotch’s casual command like it’s ingrained in your DNA. You’re pretty sure that’s concerning, how effortlessly you bend to his wishes, but introspection on that front can wait, especially since you’re burning alive under more than just the summer heat.

Without conscious thought, you offer the bottle back to him. 

Hotch pauses mid-sentence, the radio chatter fading momentarily as he eyes the bottle in mild confusion. 

But he takes it, pressing his mouth exactly where yours had been just seconds ago.

The simple action triggers a cascade of horribly inappropriate thoughts — mostly involving other, much less professional ways you’d rather be sharing space with his lips. Your imagination provides a cinematic experience of saliva exchange methods that have absolutely nothing to do with staying hydrated.

Wonderful. 

Your brain officially needs adult supervision.

Hotch, unfortunately observant, asks immediately, “You okay?”

“Fine!” Your voice pitches too high. Words tumble recklessly from your lips, an avalanche of rational-sounding nonsense designed solely to bury the fact that you’ve gone and made this weird. “Actually, if the unsub abducted the witness from the parking lot instead of her home, doesn’t that significantly change the risk factor? Public place, daylight — it would require confidence. That implies either past experiences or familiarity with the location —,”

You’re practically tripping over your own tongue, but your reasoning sounds airtight, thankfully. Because while your mouth may be spewing perfectly acceptable analysis, your brain is still utterly fixated on Hotch’s lips and their newly established indirect intimacy. 

Please let him not notice that.

Hotch considers your point, oblivious to your internal meltdown — or mercifully pretending to be. “That’s a good point.”

You’re in said parking lot before you realize it, baking on the blacktop, the car ride here an absolute blank.

It’s so hot your shoes practically fuse with the pavement, sticking with every step. Hastily shoving sunglasses onto your nose provides some mercy, but it does little to shield you from the full-body assault of sunlight, droplets of sweat quickly making trails down your collarbones. 

Reid would undoubtedly be rattling off something about albedo, thermal something-or-other, or some complicated explanation he pulled from a random academic paper. You simply classify it as outrageously, freakishly hot.

Hotch stands near the SUV, jacket discarded in favor of rolled-up sleeves. 

You discreetly pop open two buttons at your collar, self-consciousness momentarily forgotten in your bid for self-preservation, fingers grazing sweaty skin. 

Hotch’s mild, pointed throat-clear pulls your attention sharply, and your hands fall innocently back to your sides. 

He returns his gaze to the lot, brow furrowed in thought as he begins, “So, our unsub takes a woman from a busy parking lot in broad daylight, and nobody notices. What’s your read on that?”

You swallow painfully.

“Either he’s invisible, or everyone else is oblivious. Maybe both. More realistically, he’s non-threatening — at least initially. Approachable, trustworthy enough to not raise any red flags.”

His eyes flicker to the security cameras. “The unsub knew enough to pick a blind spot and a busy hour. Probably wasn’t his first time.”

“Right,” you agree. “Plus, no personal items were left behind, her keys, phone, everything gone with her. She went willingly at first.”

“Or he was convincing enough to make it appear that way,” Hotch adds.

Sweat trickles annoyingly down your spine, pooling uncomfortably between your shoulder blades. You glance sideways at Hotch, baffled by how unfazed he seems, looking like he’s casually waiting in a nice, breezy room rather than cooking alive in this inferno masquerading as a parking lot.

“I want you to check the eastern side, see if local PD missed anything.”

There’s a flash of doubt, a brief impulse to argue that maybe your efforts would be better spent elsewhere. A tiny voice in the back of your mind suggests hesitantly that maybe you’d earn his respect if, just once, you challenged his orders instead of quietly complying. But that impulse quickly wilts under the addictive rush you feel in gaining his approval.

It’s uncomfortable to admit, even privately, that you like the certainty of following his lead. You trust his judgment implicitly, which is a dangerous revelation you haven’t been able to shake. But even as the realization unsettles you, you’re already heading toward the eastern side, willingly and undeniably eager to please.

You’ve built your whole identity around color-coded calendars, neatly ordered lists, and near-pathological insistence on control. Yet, somehow, here you are, feeling embarrassingly grateful, borderline euphoric, simply because Aaron Hotchner told you exactly where to stand. You’ve either hit rock bottom or stumbled onto a whole new level of pathetic, jury’s still out. Deep down, you suspect you should be significantly more concerned about your state of mind than you actually are.

After a fruitless couple of hours spent cooking yourself alive on the asphalt, Hotch finally takes mercy on you, shepherding you back into the blessed relief of the artificially cooled paradise of the station.

You have a complicated relationship with local police stations. Sure, they’re usually air-conditioned, blessedly cool havens compared to the heat simmering outside. But then again, they’re always saturated with that same smell of charred coffee and day-old donuts. This station, particularly, is no exception. 

You push aside your petty complaints, focusing instead on Hotch’s directive to pair up with Prentiss and sift through alibis the local PD has halfheartedly checked.

You had gotten straight to work, ostensibly because it was necessary but mostly to distract yourself from the soul-crushing awareness Emily’s presence always inspired. She’d always been calm, collected, entirely too put-together, a combination that paradoxically eased your mind while also amplifying every self-conscious insecurity you owned.

You vividly recall your first few interactions with her, particularly the time she’d gently pointed out you’d been reading the map upside-down for five solid minutes.

The memory makes you cringe even now, but Emily had laughed with you, not at you, instantly easing your embarrassment. From the start, she’d balanced teasing and patience, correcting your mistakes without ever making you feel incompetent. It only deepened your appreciation, and, if you were being honest, your mild hero-worship of her.

Your nostalgic reverie about Emily implodes instantly, ruthlessly obliterated by the sudden deafening crack of gunfire. 

The room seems to tumble sideways, your equilibrium evaporation, replaced by sickening vertigo. 

The bullet glimmers so close to your temple that it nudges your hair, a grotesque mockery of intimacy. 

Your mind barely has time to piece together what’s happened before the shouting starts, voices exploding around you. In a dizzy blur, uniforms flood the space, tackling the unsub to the ground.

You stare forward, dazed, your senses dialed down to a murmur as if you’ve sunken underwater without realizing it. Emily materializes in front of you, blurred at first, then rapidly sharpening into focus, her lips moving quickly, shaping syllables you can’t fully grasp. Her face reflects fierce urgency, her stance instinctively protective, something that vaguely registers, but your thoughts stay stubbornly cloudly, lost somewhere between numb disbelief and fragmented comprehension.

Reality rushes back in as Emily’s voice finally floods your ears, her gaze anxiously probing yours for confirmation that you’re alright.

“I’m fine,” you reassure quickly, the words steady enough that they almost convince even you. “What do you need me to do?”

How could you freeze like that?

Breathe in. Count to three. Exhale slowly. You push the panic bubbling up into a box neatly stored behind well-worn barriers of composure. Control slides gracefully back into position, a transparent illusion spun from willpower alone. 

Your mother had been your first and relentless instructor, composure valued above tenderness, flawlessness demanded before comfort was ever considered. Beneath perfectly pinned-up hair and practiced smiles, she’d etched these lessons deeply. You’ve always been made from shards, a careful mosaic of concealed fractures, sewn together by unsaid apologies and quiet disappointments.

You learned early on that the safest place was behind a perfected facade.

She places a hand on your arm. “Maybe you should sit down for a minute.”

“Really, Em, I’m okay,” you assure her quickly. It fits perfectly, even if it feels painfully dishonest now. “Just tell me what you need next.”

You feel your reassurance wobbling like a well-used record, repetitive and empty, but you don’t trust yourself to say anything else. If you speak too openly, you risk Emily seeing the brittleness beneath your words, the terrifying image branded behind your eyes — your body lying cold, lifeless on the station floor, if you had just been one inch to the left. Your father would’ve gotten that call, your desk would’ve been quietly emptied, and your entire life would’ve ended mid-sentence. 

Hotch moves purposefully into your line of sight.

Your attention snags on the empty space where Emily had just stood. You hadn’t noticed her leaving, but that’s typical — Hotch tends to clear the space around you, intentional or not, whenever he addresses you directly. You wonder briefly if it’s because he senses your tendency to falter under scrutiny, or perhaps because he expects you to embarrass yourself again.

How long has he been standing there, waiting patiently for your response?

“Sorry,” you say quickly, refocusing on his face. “Could you repeat that?”

His voice is steady as he repeats, more gently this time, “I asked if you’re hurt.”

“No.”

You glance down quickly immediately afterward. You’re not even sure that’s true — had you actually checked, or had the adrenaline blocked out any injuries? You scan yourself quickly, a little unsure, a lot overwhelmed. Nothing seems wrong, at least nothing visible, but then your attention flits anxiously around the room, eyes instinctively looking for the unsub.

They tackled him, right? So where did they take him afterward — was he cuffed, detained, secured? More importantly, did they figure out why he barged in and opened fire? 

Hotch’s gaze sweeps quickly over you before his hands are gently tipping your head, his fingertips lightly exploring the place where the bullet almost found its mark. Warm fingers carefully part your hair, brushing just above your ear, and suddenly, you’re painfully aware of how tender he’s being, despite everything.

“Just to be safe, the EMTs will check you out,” he says, confident you’re unharmed but cautious nonetheless.

You nod, but you know exactly what he’s thinking, exactly what he must have seen. You were careless, oblivious — frozen solid at the worst possible moment. You’d slipped, and it almost cost everything. Your incompetence nearly ended your life, it could’ve endangered Emily, Hotch, the team. 

How could he trust you after this? Shame blooms hotly, choking your breath, because you know better.

This job doesn’t allow second chances, and you nearly used yours up.

“I’ll just — let me find Emily, then we can —,”

“You’re not doing anything right now.” Hotch’s interruption is firm, an immovable wall you know you can’t scale. “You’re staying exactly here until I say otherwise.”

You feel the sting of his words, immediately interpreting them as proof he no longer trusts you. 

“I’m not restricting you because of anything you did or didn’t do,” he says firmly, understanding clear in his eyes. “You’ve just experienced severe trauma. The EMTs will check you out first, then I’ll bring you up to speed. You’re not being sidelined. I’m going to handle the scene, and once everything is secure, we will regroup and go from there. Do you understand?”

You nod, but your trust feels tissue-thin, easily shredded by self-doubt. Hotch studies you carefully, eyes narrowing just enough to communicate clearly that he knows exactly how hollow your assurance really is.

Still, he nods back gently, pulling out a chair. You sit.

Hotch effortlessly stepped into the space your panic had left open. You watched as he moved calmly through the room, issuing commands. He spoke briefly with the EMTs first, outlining precisely what they needed to check, sparing you the uncomfortable necessity of trying to articulate your confusion.

Moments later, another water bottle appeared in your grapes, placed decisively by Hotch, who barely broke stride in his quiet management of everything around you.

He anticipated your questions and worries before you could voice them, confirming that the unsub was secure and that no one else was injured. 

Each directive he gave on your behalf made you aware of just how badly you needed this — someone stronger, steadier, more certain than yourself, carefully taking control away.

Discovering that surrendering control could feel like finally breathing after holding your breath for far too long was unsettling yet profoundly comforting.

The EMT now moves cautiously around you, examining the side of your head, brushing your hair aside to search for injuries you know aren’t there. Still, you remain perfectly still.

You find Hotch standing nearby, arms loosely crossed, fixed on the EMT’s every movement. He occasionally interrupts with instructions, and the micromanagement that should feel excessive but instead makes you feel grateful.

“I’m sorry,” you finally blurt out. “I completely blanked today. I didn’t respond when I should’ve, and it put everyone in danger. I should’ve been more alert, and…” 

You swallow thickly, shame edging painfully into your words, gaze fixed stubbornly downward.

“You didn’t blank,” Hotch interrupts. “You experienced something called perceptual narrowing. It’s common under severe stress, especially when you’re caught completely off-guard. Your brain was trying to process too much at once, it’s an instinctive reaction, not a failure.” 

You nod hesitantly, biting your lip as you struggle to voice your lingering frustration. “I know that makes sense, but it’s more than just freezing. It’s afterward when I realized how little I actually contributed.”

“You weren’t supposed to contribute right then,” Hotch reminds you. “You were under strict instructions to stay exactly here and let me handle the rest. Trust me, I can manage just fine.” His eyes glimmer briefly with amusement. “Unless you’re saying you don’t trust me to take control?”

You quickly shake your head, cheeks burning hotter now that the EMT has moved away, leaving no buffer between you and Hotch.

“No — no, that’s not what I meant,” you stammer. “Of course I trust you. Probably more than —” You catch yourself abruptly, clearing your throat awkwardly. “I mean, I trust your judgment completely.”

Hotch regards you for a moment, a faint, knowing smile ghosting briefly across his lips before he masks it again.

“I know what you meant,” he says evenly, though the warmth in his voice suggests he heard far more than your careful correction. “I appreciate your trust.” He pauses briefly. “I’ll try not to abuse it.”

Abuse it. That is such a potent phrase. Could he? Would he? The rational answer is no, but another voice counters with maybe. The potential hangs there, tantalizing and terrifying in equal measure. You’ve handed him someone precious, breakable, and yet the risk of abuse feels softer, sweeter, when it’s him.

“You wouldn’t,” you whisper after a moment. “But I think even if you did, I might forgive you.”

💌 masterlist 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

[focusonkayjay]

stuck with you | (3/5)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

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

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

Word Count: 21.5k+

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

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

★ PLAYLIST ★ MOODBOARDS

three: standing at the edge of a cliff

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shallow. Self-serving. Insincere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because more than anything, you're scared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/N!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's no way that's true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe you should just let it go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But despite your best efforts, your thoughts still drift.

Jungkook.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just in case you show up.

Just in case you finally come home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like something has shifted, even just a little.

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

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

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

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

You're not here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay. Fair. Maybe that makes sense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And suddenly you're wondering if you should even be here. 

You shake your head, pushing the thought away. Maybe it's just the contrast—the overwhelming energy of the party downstairs compared to the strange, almost eerie stillness of this place. 

A few minutes pass and the door creaks open, as Jaehyun strolls back inside. Behind him, a waiter follows, balancing a sleek silver tray adorned with an array of drinks — tall glasses glistening with condensation, their rims garnished with slices of lime and tiny cocktail umbrellas. 

The amber hues of whiskey, the icy clarity of vodka mixers, and a few colorful concoctions you can't quite name glint beneath the low lighting. "Hi." Jaehyun greets with a soft chuckle, sinking into the seat across from you. The waiter carefully sets the tray down on the table between you both, the glasses clinking faintly against each other before he turns and quietly exits the room.

Jaehyun gestures towards the drinks with an easy smile. "Figured we could use a little variety." he says.

You eye the tray warily, fully aware that you're already pretty drunk and that more drinks probably isn’t the best idea. But despite that, your mouth waters at the sight. Maybe one more wouldn't hurt, right?

Jaehyun reaches for a glass, swirling the liquid inside before bringing it to his lips. He takes a slow sip, then gestures for you to do the same. You hesitate for a moment, scanning the array of options before finally settling on what looks like the safest choice and wrap your fingers around the cool glass.

"How'd you like the party?" Jaehyun asks, taking another sip of his drink. "It's nothing like I expected." you admit, swirling the liquid in your glass before taking a slow sip. "Do you come to places like these often?" you ask. At that, he smirks, taking a lazy swig from his drink. "Mhm." he hums. "Sometimes."

You nod slowly, letting his answer settle between you. The initial unease you felt when you first stepped into this room is beginning to fade, replaced by the soothing lull of alcohol in your system and the plush comfort of the couch beneath you. 

"Honestly, I feel like I needed tonight." you sigh, finally relaxing into the cushions. "Really?" Jaehyun's voice holds a hint of curiosity. You hum in response, tilting your head back to gaze at the intricately designed ceiling.  "It's just been a tragic week." you exhale, the words slipping out before you can think twice.

A brief silence lingers before Jaehyun speaks again. "What happened? Is everything okay?" he asks. 

At that, you lift your head, and somehow, you can physically feel your expression shift—your face falling as the weight of everything crashes back onto your shoulders and you can tell Jaehyun instantly notices when he proceeds to move around the glass table and settles right beside you on the couch, without any hesitation.

You don't think of it much and simply stare down at your drink. "Hey." Jaehyun inches closer. "You wanna talk?" he asks, keeping his voice soft. "It's just..." You hesitate, exhaling sharply. "I had an argument with Jungkook."

You don't catch the subtle smirk that tugs at the corner of Jaehyun's lips before he quickly masks it with feigned concern. He tilts his head slightly, watching you carefully. "Oh? Your roommate?" he asks, his voice smooth. "What happened?"

You hesitate, exhaling softly as you swirl your drink in your hand, watching the ice clink against the glass. You still don't really feel like diving into the details... so instead, you just lick your lips, giving a nonchalant shrug. "It's nothing serious." you lie.

"Well..." Jaehyun drawls, inching a little closer. "If it wasn't anything serious, you wouldn't be feeling like this." he says and somehow, you hate that he's right.

"I know." you admit with a sigh. "But I just don't wanna talk about it."

He hums, watching you for a moment before reaching out, his hand settling lightly on your knee. You don't think of it much as you look at him with a soft smile. "Well, that's fine." he says, nodding as if to reassure you. "But is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

You let out a small huff, tilting your head. "Like what?" you raise your brows. "Well maybe we could start by trying to decode whatever the hell that guy downstairs was doing. Y'know, the one who looked like he was being electrocuted mid-dance?"

That makes you snort. "Oh my god, you mean the neon shirt guy? I swear he looked like he was dodging invisible punches." you remark. Jaehyun lets out a laugh, shaking his head. "Dodging? To me it looked like he was throwing hands at the air like it owed him money."

You burst into giggles, shaking your head as you recall the absurdity of the scene. Some guy had taken over the dance floor earlier, flailing so aggressively that the people around him had instinctively stepped back, giving him space like he was performing some sacred ritual.

"At one point, I swear he was just... stomping in circles?" you say between wheezes. "Like—full speed. Just stomping."

"Dude was either summoning something or trying to exorcise himself in real-time." Jaehyun cackles, his eyes crinkling. "Maybe both." you add, still breathless.

Jaehyun keeps the jokes coming, still exaggerating about the guy's moves and expressions making you double over. But then, as a few moments pass, somewhere in the middle of his sentence, you become acutely aware of his fingers that are now somehow on your thigh. 

Your breath catches, a strange flicker of discomfort washing over you.

You don't say anything—don't want to ruin the atmosphere, don't want to make it into something bigger than it is—so instead, you shift slightly, angling your body just enough to make the contact disappear. 

The movement is subtle, barely noticeable, but thankfully, it does the trick. Jaehyun's hand falls away, and you exhale quietly, relief washing over you.

But then, a few minutes pass.

This time you're talking when you feel it again... when you feel his palm land on your thigh again, fingers spreading across the plush of your skin. The pressure is heavier now, intentional in a way that makes your skin prickle, makes your stomach curl into itself.

And then—a small squeeze. 

Your breath hitches as you force yourself to glance at him. His expression is unreadable at first... casual, almost too casual. His lips curl into an easy smile while his eyes remain hooded as he watches you. 

"Have I..." he starts, his fingers still resting firm against your thigh. "Have I ever told you how pretty you are?"

His voice has changed... lower, slower, silkier in a way that makes the air in the room feel thick and stagnant, like it's pressing down on you. He leans in just slightly, close enough that you can catch the sharp bite of his cologne mixed with the faint burn of whiskey clinging to his breath.

The space between you, the one that had felt safe just moments ago, now feels suffocating.

Your fingers tighten around the glass in your hand, your pulse kicking up in your throat. You will yourself to keep your face neutral, to not let the discomfort crack through, but suddenly, everything about the room feels wrong.

The dim golden glow of the lights, the muffled bass of the party downstairs, the way the leather couch sinks beneath you... it all feels like a trap.

"Hey..." You start, placing your glass on the table nearby and reaching for his hand with forced ease—like if you play this off as something light, something harmless, it'll make it easier. "I think you're drunk, Jae."

You try to laugh, to make it sound teasing, to turn this into nothing—but your fingers barely brush against his before his grip tightens like iron.

He doesn't let go of you... instead, he shifts—his palm creeping further up your thigh, as if testing boundaries he already knows he'll cross. His tongue flicks over his lower lip, his smirk widening. "Come on..." he murmurs, voice low, smooth, coaxing. He leans in, closing the space between you in a way that feels suffocating.

"You want this, don't you?" His voice is deceptively soft, but it slithers under your skin like something vile. His eyes roam over your face, and your stomach twists so violently that, for a second, you think you might actually throw up.

You reach for his hand again, fingers trembling as you try to pry it off—to make it clear without saying the words. But this time, he's faster as his fingers lock firmly around your wrist. 

"Come on, Y/N..." He drawls, like this is some kind of game, like your discomfort is amusing. His hold tightens, sending a sharp ache up your arm. "When are you going to stop pretending?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" You try to keep your voice even, to mask the fear steadily creeping in, but it betrays you—it wavers.

You don't even know how Jaehyun's demeanor shifted so suddenly, how his expression contorts, twisting his features into something almost inhuman, something predatory. The soft boyish charm he's always worn so effortlessly is gone, replaced by something that makes your blood run cold.

His lips curl into a scoff, as if your resistance is a mere inconvenience, as if he's growing tired of this little charade. "I know you want this, Y/n." he muses, too self-assured, too convinced of his own delusion.

"What are you—"

"Oh, please." He sneers, rolling his eyes. His grip tightens like a vice, and you flinch. "Don't fucking act hard to get now." he growls as his smirk vanishes in an instant. "Let's just get this over with, yeah?" He murmurs.

For a moment, you don't quite understand what he's implying but a sickening realization crashes into you like ice water, freezing your veins, when he leans closer, closer—so close that you can feel his breath against your skin.

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up and with all the strength you can muster, you yank your wrist back, desperation fueling the force behind it. "Jae, what the hell are you doing?!" The words burst from you.

You scramble for your purse, heart hammering so violently you think it might burst. But before you can even rise from the couch, his grip is on you again as he wrenches you backward, knocking the breath from your lungs as you crash into the cushions again. 

Your vision tilts, the world tipping sideways as panic claws up your throat and suddenly he's standing right in front of you now, towering over your trembling frame.

You look up at him with glistening eyes, while he stares down at you. "God, you're so—" He grits his teeth as his hand jerks upward so fast that your instinct kicks in before thought does and you flinch, your body snapping shut as you squeeze your eyes closed.

Silence.

Then—an exhale.

You dare to open your eyes, just enough to see him with his own shut tight, his chest rising and falling, his fingers twitching. He's forcing himself to rein it in, to not let whatever this is to spiral out of control.

"God, you're so fucking annoying," he breathes out, voice seething. The words sting, but what's worse is the way he's looking at you... like you've done something to him, like you've pushed him to this.

"For two months, I've stuck around, trying to be a good friend to you..." he continues, voice laced with resentment. "And this... this is what I get in return?"

You swallow, shaking. "We were assignment partners—"

The scoff that rips from his throat is sharp, bitter, cruel. His jaw clenches so tight you can see the muscle twitch beneath his skin and it's so clear that he's holding back.

Holding back from hurting you.

"God, just shut the fuck up, okay?" His voice snaps like a whip. "You really think I was being that nice to you just for some stupid assignment?" he spits. "All those times I sat there listening to you yap about the most irrelevant shit, all those times I actually tried to be nice to you..." he scoffs, shaking his head.

And then, he leans down, just slightly... just enough that the shadows deepen around his face, just enough that the last remnants of sanity are stripped from his expression.

"You owe me, Y/N."

Your stomach churns, but you force yourself to meet his gaze. "I don't owe you anything."

Jaehyun lets out a dry, humorless chuckle, tilting his head as he rolls his eyes like you’ve just said the dumbest thing imaginable. "God, you are so fucking boring." He drawls the words out slowly, as if they physically exhaust him. "You really live in your own little world, don't you? Just prancing around like some oblivious little princess, thinking everything revolves around you."

His eyes glint with something cruel, something designed to hurt.

"You just love the sound of your own voice, don't you?" Jaehyun sneers, his tone dripping with venom. "Completely oblivious to the fact that no one actually gives a shit about you. You walk around acting like you're deep, like you're interesting, when in reality, you're just another self-absorbed airhead who thinks posting a few half-decent selfies and videos online makes you relevant."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "That whole 'influencer' crap you do? It's laughable. Snapping pictures of yourself, rambling about whatever superficial nonsense is trending—you really think that makes you special?"

His lips curl into a slow, condescending smirk. "Newsflash, sweetheart… you're as shallow as they come. A pretty face with nothing going on underneath. Just another desperate nobody screaming for attention, hoping someone—anyone—will pretend to care."

Your breath hitches, but Jaehyun doesn't stop. He doesn't even hesitate.

"And when you're not yapping about yourself, you're running your mouth about that pathetic little roommate of yours…" he sneers, his voice curling into something mocking. "God, it's always 'Jungkook this, Jungkook that.'"

He rolls his eyes, mimicking your voice in a high-pitched, saccharine tone. "'Jungkook and his stupid animes, Jungkook and his fucking rubik's cubes, Jungkook is so sweet, Jungkook is so smart.' Jesus Christ." He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. 

"It's pathetic. Watching you talk about him like he's some kind of genius when he's just another clueless little loser who has all these weird little obsessions.”  His lip curls in disgust as he takes a slow step forward, almost like a predator cornering its prey. 

"You really think anyone gives a fuck about what you have to say? That any guy actually likes listening to you?" He scoffs. "Let me break it to you, Y/n, because no one else will."

His voice drops lower.

"If any guy ever pretends he's interested in you for anything more than a quick fuck, he's lying. Straight up. Because that's all you are. Just a warm body with a halfway decent face."

You don't even realize the hot tears spilling down your cheeks, as you sit there frozen, trapped in the venom of his words. Each syllable slices through you like a blade, carving wounds deep into the marrow of your being. I

You should move, speak, fight back—but you can't. You're paralyzed beneath the weight of his gaze, beneath the cruel smirk twisting his features, beneath the realization that he never saw you as anything more than a joke.

"You're just another one of those bitches with a decent face who thinks the whole world is at her feet." He grins. "Like you're special. Like you matter." His eyes drag over your body before he opens his mouth again. "But here's the truth, sweetheart—" he leans in just slightly. "You're nothing."

You're biting down so hard on the inside of your lower lip that you swear you can taste the sharp tang of blood. The sickening feeling roiling in your stomach is unbearable now, a toxic mix of humiliation and fury that threatens to consume you whole. 

You can't sit here any longer... not with him, not in this suffocating space that reeks of sweat, liquor, and the poison dripping from his lips. With a sharp inhale, you push yourself off the couch, wiping the wetness from your cheeks in a futile attempt to erase the evidence of your breaking. 

You turn on your heel, ready to walk out of this room, this night, this nightmare but his hand clamps around your wrist again.

"Where do you think you're—"

The words barely leave his mouth before your hand swings through the air so quick that the slap lands with a sickening crack, the sound reverberating through the lounge. Jaehyun's face jerks to the side, his cheek blooming red in the aftermath. 

He stays there, frozen, like he's still trying to process what just happened—like he never thought, even for a second, that you would fight back. But you don't give him the luxury of recovery as you wrench yourself free, spinning on your heel and bolting out of the room without sparing him another glance.

You run down the hallway until you reach the staircase again and suddenly the pulsing bass of the club slams into you. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and alcohol, the flashing neon lights doing nothing to steady your spiraling mind. But you don't stop. You can't.

You fly down the staircase, vision blurred, the world around you reduced to nothing but static. You barely register the people you shove past, their startled protests fading into the background as you move purely on instinct, driven by the desperate need to escape.

When you finally reach the base of the staircase, ready to bolt towards the exit, you don't even notice the sleek table in your path until it's too late. Your hip collides with the edge, sending the delicate pyramid of meticulously arranged champagne glasses trembling—before toppling in a spectacular crash.

The glass shatters and the liquid spills across the floor. The sound is deafening, probably even louder than the music. The entire club seems to inhale at once, all eyes snapping towards the catastrophe you've left in your wake.

Your own eyes widen in horror and the weight of a hundred stares presses against your skin like fire. But the embarrassment barely registers because the only thing louder than the chaos around you is the voice in your head screaming at you to run.

So you do.

You don't think twice before tearing through the crowd, weaving between bodies with reckless desperation. You don't care where you're going. You just need to get out—to get as far away from this shithole as possible.

When you finally burst through the exit, the club's neon glow flickers behind you, casting long, distorted shadows against the pavement. 

The night air hits you like a slap, searing your overheated skin as you stumble forward. It burns your lungs as you inhale, the cold so biting it almost feels like punishment. But you don't stop.

You run.

Your heels slam against the concrete, each step sending a sharp, jolting pain up your calves, but it barely registers. The world around you is a blur—streaks of headlights cutting through the dark, the distorted echoes of drunken laughter, the far-off wail of a siren. 

The city keeps moving, oblivious to the storm inside you. 

At some point, without even realizing how far you've gone, the chaos fades behind you. The towering buildings give way to something quieter... wide, tree-lined streets, dimly lit by old streetlamps. 

The air is cooler here, and the houses stand still in their slumber, their windows dark, their lives untouched by yours. The world here is asleep, blissfully unaware of the storm clawing at your insides.

And then—

Your legs give out.

You barely register the moment your knees hit the damp grass by the sidewalk, the impact jolting through you. One of your hands claw at the soil below, fingers sinking into the dewy blades while the other rests on the tree nearby for support, but the spinning in your head is relentless. 

The nausea twists in your stomach like a cruel, merciless force, and before you can even brace yourself—

You retch.

The force wracks through you, seizing your entire body as everything inside you spills out in heaving, gut-wrenching waves. Hot, acidic bile burns your throat, the taste bitter and vile, leaving your body trembling in its wake. 

Your nails continue to dig into the cold ground as you gasp for air, only for another shudder to rip through you, forcing out more until there's nothing left... just empty, aching convulsions.

And then, silence.

The quiet is deafening.

And as you sit there, hunched over in the damp grass, breath shuddering, body trembling from the weight of everything, you stare down at the mess you've just made. 

The sour taste in your mouth lingers, bile stings at the back of your throat, but it's nothing... absolutely nothing compared to the way Jaehyun's words replay in your head, carving wounds that you know won't heal.

Your limbs feel weightless, detached, like you're floating in some cruel limbo between reality and a nightmare, like you've become something hollow, something breakable. 

And for the first time since your feet carried you away from that club, you let yourself shatter.

You feel like the biggest fucking fool to walk this earth, because, honestly, how did you not see this coming? How could you have been so blind, so laughably naive, so utterly oblivious to the things that were right in front of you, screaming at you, clawing at you for attention?

And just like that, Jungkook's voice comes rushing back—not just from that night, when his anger wrapped around his words like fire, but from all the times before. All those moments when he tried so hard to be discreet about his discomfort with Jaehyun, the way his questions about your dynamic always carried an underlying concern. All those times he was desperately trying to spell it out for you, practically begging you to listen.

Begging you to see Jaehyun for who he truly was.

But you didn't.

You brushed him off like it was nothing, dismissed him like he didn't know what he was talking about. Because, apparently, you really are the kind of person who doesn't notice the flames until you're standing in the middle of the burning wreckage.

And now, here you are, choking on the smoke.

The tears spill over faster, hotter, but they don't bring relief. They only fuel the fire inside you... the one that burns with realization, with regret, with the sickening truth pressing its sharp claws into your chest.

Because they were right. Both of them. Jungkook and Jaehyun. Every single fucking word.

You are oblivious. You are shallow. You are blind.

The self-loathing seeps into your bones, wrapping itself around your ribs like iron shackles, squeezing tighter and tighter until you can't breathe, until all you can feel is the weight of it pressing down, dragging you under.

You cry and cry, but the ache doesn't subside. It only intensifies, spreads like venom, because now you see it all so clearly. 

Jungkook wasn't trying to be cruel. He wasn't trying to hurt you. He was trying to protect you. He was trying to save you from this exact moment, from this exact pain, and you... you threw his concern back in his face like it meant nothing.

And now, what do you have left?

Nothing.

Everything has crumbled around you, exploded in your face, and you have no one to blame but yourself. Because you trusted too blindly, because you let yourself be deceived, because you didn't notice the monster grinning at you from right under your nose until he finally sank his teeth in.

And at the end of it all, you can't blame Jaehyun for wanting to take advantage of you and you can't hate Jungkook for being right.

Because this?

This is all on you.

The shrill ringing of Jungkook's phone startles him awake, dragging him out of the depths of sleep. But before anything else registers, it's the scent that fills his nose that fully wakes him up.

The familiar fragrance of your shampoo lingers on the pillow beneath him and it's only then that he furrows his brows, the persistent ringing of his phone cutting through the haze of sleep. It takes him a moment to fully register where he is.

In your bed. In your room.

Did he really fall asleep here last night?

A sharp exhale leaves his lips as he rolls onto his back, rubbing his face with one hand. God, he couldn't be more pathetic.

Shaking off the grogginess, he sits up, reaching blindly for his glasses before grabbing his still-ringing phone from the nightstand. His brows knit together when he sees the caller ID, confusion flickering across his face, but he quickly picks up.

"Hey... Jimin?" Jungkook murmurs, his voice scratchy. "Hey, JK. Sorry for calling so early on a Sunday." Jimin says, a trace of hesitation in his tone. "I just... wanted to check. Did Y/n come back to your place last night?"

Jungkook's drowsiness vanishes in an instant. 

He doesn't respond right away. Instead, he pushes himself off the bed, moving on instinct, his bare feet hitting the cold floor as he strides out of your room, gripping onto his phone. 

Were you back? Had you come home?

The thought spurs him forward. He moves through the apartment in a blur, eyes darting frantically across the living room. Empty. His footsteps quicken as he reaches the kitchen. Nothing. He knocks on the bathroom door, waits for a response—some sign that you're there. Silence.

"JK? You still there?" Jimin's voice cuts through the thick fog of Jungkook's thoughts. He swallows hard, forcing himself to respond. "Uh... no. She's not here." he breathes out. "Why? Did she... did she not come back last night?"

Jimin exhales, the sound heavy. "No... she didn't." he says quietly. "That's why I thought she went back to your place. But... all of her stuff is still here, so..." His voice trails off, uncertainty settling between them.

"Do you have any idea where she might've gone? Did she not say anything before she left?" Jungkook's words come out faster than he intends, his concern barely restrained.

"I'm not sure..." Jimin admits. "She mentioned some party, but Yoongi and I weren't home when she left, so I don't know the details." There's a brief pause before he continues. "I've tried calling her, but she hasn't picked up. Maybe she's just staying over at a friend's place... I should probably call around and check."

Jungkook doesn't respond immediately, his grip tightening around his phone. "Yeah... yeah, you should probably do that." he finally says, voice strained. "Please... just keep me updated."

The moment the call with Jimin ends, Jungkook is already searching for your contact, fingers moving on instinct. A part of him knows you won't answer—especially not him, of all people—but he still tries. Because hope, no matter how foolish, is a stubborn thing.

He presses the call button, holding his breath as the line rings. His leg bounces anxiously, his grip tightening around the phone until—

Voicemail.

A shaky exhale leaves his lips as he drops onto the couch, running a hand through his hair in frustration. His heart pounds against his ribs because all he can do now is pray you're safe.

But as the day drags on with no updates from Jimin, Jungkook feels like he's losing his mind. He's called you more times than he can count, each attempt met with the same annoying voicemail. 

His anxiety coils tighter with every hour that passes as he paces the apartment mindlessly, fingers twitching against his phone, refreshing his messages every few seconds—waiting, hoping, searching for any sign of you.

When evening rolls around, his phone buzzes, and he barely gives it time to ring before answering. "Hey, JK..." Jimin's voice comes through the speaker, slightly hesitant. "Did you find her?" Jungkook instantly asks, not bothering to greet him back. 

"Not exactly." Jimin exhales. "She finally texted me, though... but... it was nothing much. Just a simple 'I'm fine.'" He pauses, and even though Jungkook can't see him, he can hear the doubt laced in his tone.

"I texted her back, asked where she was, but she hasn't replied..." Jimin continues, his sigh heavy through the receiver. "But yeah... I just called to let you know. Don't stress too much, alright? Hopefully, we'll see her in uni tomorrow."

Jungkook barely registers the reassurance, but he still forces himself to hum in acknowledgment, though the sound feels hollow even to his own ears.

When the call ends, the gnawing unease only worsens. Jungkook sits there, phone in hand, mind tangled in questions with no answers. Where had you gone last night? And why are you suddenly unreachable now? It's so unlike you—so far out of character—that a sinking feeling settles deep in his chest.

And the worst part? He can't shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, he's the reason behind all of this.

He clenches his jaw and shakes his head, forcing the thought away. No. That can't be it. You probably just went to a party, had a few too many drinks, and crashed somewhere for the night. 

Maybe at a friend's place that Jimin doesn't know about. Yeah, that's the most logical explanation. But even as he tells himself this, it feels more like a desperate attempt to convince himself than anything else. A flimsy excuse to ignore the unease clawing at his chest, the part of him that whispers that something isn't right.

That familiar weight of self-loathing crashes over him like a tidal wave, and with a sharp exhale, he does what he's done too many times today—he checks your socials.

It's become a habit at this point, tapping on Instagram, searching for your name, hoping to see something—anything. A story, a photo, a check-in, a clue. Anything to tell him where you are.

But this time, when he types your username into the search bar, his brows knit together.

Nothing.

He blinks, confusion prickling at the back of his mind. That's weird. Maybe he misspelled it? He tries again, slower this time, carefully entering each letter.

Still nothing.

His heartbeat stutters as he immediately switches to tiktok, fingers moving faster now, dread creeping in like a slow, suffocating vice around his throat. But it's the same there too. No account. No trace of you.

He stares blankly at his phone, his mind scrambling to make sense of it and when realization dawns on him like a punch to the gut.

You've deactivated all your socials. 

When the next day arrives, Jungkook is already on his way to university, despite not having any morning classes because he's hoping to catch a glimpse of you, probably in the econ building or at least somewhere on campus. 

His steps are quick yet restless, hands buried deep in his hoodie pockets as his eyes scan every passing figure, trailing over familiar faces and unfamiliar ones alike, searching and searching but it's futile. There are too many people, too much movement, and the nagging uncertainty of whether you're even here gnaws at him like a splinter beneath his skin.

Still, he keeps looking.

The morning drags on, and as students slowly filter into their classrooms, Jungkook finds himself standing there, stuck between frustration and impatience. Maybe he should just wait for Jimin, ask him if you came to class today... if you're safe, if you're okay. If you've finally decided to resurface.

With a sigh, Jungkook finally decides to head towards the cafeteria, hoping to pass the time until his next class.

By the time afternoon rolls in, he’s drained. He barely absorbs anything from his lectures because as usual, his mind is constantly drifting back to you.

As he steps out of the lecture hall with the other students, his phone vibrates in his pocket. His heart jumps, fingers moving quickly to pull it out, half-expecting Jimin’s name on the screen. But instead, it’s Taehyung.

"Hey." Jungkook answers. "Hey, Kook. Are you on campus?" Taehyung asks from the other end. "Yeah… I umm… just got done with class." he replies, maneuvering through the crowded hallway.

"Oh, perfect. Could you do me a favor?" Taehyung continues. "Yeah, of course. What’s up?" Jungkook says, shifting his bag over his shoulder. "I left my locker key back at my apartment, and I can’t run back to get it since I have class now. But I need it for practice later, and I won’t have time to grab it in between. If you’re free, do you think you could swing by and pick it up for me?"

It’s a bit of a hassle but Taehyung’s apartment isn’t too far from campus, but it’s still out of the way, and Jungkook isn’t sure he has the energy for it. 

But then again, since he’s got no classes anytime soon, he can’t really come up with a reason to deny Taehyung and besides, turning him down over something so small would make him feel like a complete jerk. "Yeah, I got it. Just send me your door code." he sighs.

"Thanks a lot, Kook. I owe you one. I’ll meet you in the locker room later, yeah?" Taehyung responds and Jungkook hums, ending the call. 

After about thirty minutes, Jungkook is already making his way back from Taehyung’s apartment. By now, Taehyung’s class should be wrapping up, which means Jungkook might as well head to the locker room and wait for him there.

Navigating through the sports complex, he moves past the familiar maze of hallways and when he finally reaches the locker room, he notices the door is slightly ajar. 

He hesitates for a moment, unsure if he’s even allowed in, but quickly decides he doesn’t care. As long as he doesn’t have to talk to anyone, it’ll be fine—he just needs a place to sit and wait for Taehyung.

Pushing the door open, he steps inside, his gaze instinctively sweeping across the space. The faint scent of sweat lingers in the air, and the sound of muffled voices from nearby echoes against the tiled walls. 

Most of the lockers stand closed, their metal doors lined up neatly, a few left slightly ajar with gym bags lazily hanging out.

Jungkook exhales, rolling his shoulders as he leans against the nearest bench in the middle of an aisle, pulling out his phone to check the time. Taehyung should be here soon.

Just then, the muffled voices from earlier become much clearer and Jungkook figures a few students must be on the other side of the aisle, talking amongst themselves.

At first, he doesn’t think much of it—until he hears a very, very familiar voice. 

“She was such a bitch.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow at the sheer venom in the words, his head tilting slightly. He doesn’t intend to eavesdrop, but he does it anyway.

"I told you, bro, Y/n would be a hard target." Another voice chimes in, and at the mention of your name, Jungkook’s entire body goes rigid.

That’s when it clicks. Jaehyun is on the soccer team too, which means that familiar voice belongs to him—and right now, he’s talking about you.

Before he can think better of it, Jungkook rises to his feet, stepping around the lockers as quietly as possible. He peeks into the next aisle and spots Jaehyun, standing in the middle of a group of guys.

Some of them are busy adjusting their jerseys, a few lacing up their cleats, while others lean against the lockers, clearly entertained by whatever bullshit Jaehyun is spewing.

“She was so fucking insufferable, man.” Jaehyun scoffs, yanking his shirt over his head before reaching for his practice jersey. “I swear, she thinks she’s some kind of godsend just because people hype her up online.” He shakes his head, and the guys around him chuckle.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens. He knows exactly where this is going, and he doesn’t like it one fucking bit.

“Took her to one of the most expensive clubs in the city. Danced with her. Bought her drinks. All that for what?” Jaehyun spreads his arms dramatically, turning to his teammates. “She kept trying to push my hand away like I gave a fuck. Like, stop acting so hard to get, geez.” He sneers.

Jungkook feels something sharp coil in his stomach, a heat rising to his chest that makes his fingers twitch. The words alone are disgusting, but it’s Jaehyun’s expression that makes his blood boil—like whatever he’s saying is just a joke, something to laugh about.

“Like, you’re telling me I tolerated her ass for two months over some dumbass assignment because I actually wanted to be nice to her?” Jaehyun scoffs, shaking his head as the other guys smirk and nod in agreement.

"I swear, she thinks she’s all that. But I guarantee you, if she didn’t have her precious little Instagram followers hyping her up, she’d be nothing. Plain as fuck. Body’s decent, I guess, but nothing special. Face? Mid, at best. And don’t even get me started on her annoying ass attitude—fucking unbearable."

The group laughs, one of them muttering something Jungkook doesn’t catch.

“And bro, she never shuts up. Kept talking about the most irrelevant shit, and don’t even get me started on that loser roommate of hers—like I give a single fuck." Jaehyun lets out an exaggerated groan. 

"I should’ve known she was gonna be a waste of time. Could’ve spent those two months with someone actually worth it, but no, I had to pick the shallow, self-obsessed one.”

Jungkook’s grip on his phone is so tight he’s surprised it hasn’t shattered. The roaring in his ears nearly drowns out the rest of the conversation, his vision tunneling in on Jaehyun’s smug, laughing face.

“She should be grateful I even wanted to fuck her… like??? But man, remind me not to go for the self-obsessed ones next time cause they’re so fucking uptight—”

Jungkook moves before the thought even fully forms in his head. One powerful stride into the aisle, and before Jaehyun can blink, Jungkook’s fist is already crashing into his jaw with a force that sends him reeling. 

The impact is brutal—flesh meeting bone with a sickening crack as Jaehyun’s body crumples to the cold tile. The room plunges into a stunned silence, but it lasts for only a second.

Because Jungkook doesn’t stop.

Jaehyun barely has time to lift his arms in defense before Jungkook is on top of him, pinning him down on the floor with his weight as he grabs Jaehyun by the collar just to slam another fist into his face. And then another. And another.

Junkook’s knuckles split open from the sheer force, but he doesn’t care. The pain barely registers because all he sees is fucking red.

“How… dare… you… fucking… talk… about… her… like… that.” He grits out between each devastating punch, his voice seething with rage. 

Jaehyun's face is a mess of blood and bruises now, his lip torn, his cheek already swelling. He gasps, his body writhing in an attempt to escape, but Jungkook doesn’t let up. The rage burning through him is insatiable and he’s making sure Jaehyun feels every ounce of it.

Blood drips onto Jaehyun’s jersey, staining the white fabric, pooling onto the floor in slow, viscous drops. His head jerks violently with each hit, his groans turning weaker, more pained.

But still, no one steps in.

The other guys stand frozen, wide-eyed, paralyzed by shock or fear—maybe both. They were laughing just minutes ago, feeding into Jaehyun’s vile words, and now? Now, they’re nothing but silent spectators. Not a single one of them dares to intervene.

“Kook?? What the fuck—KOOK, STOP!”

Taehyung’s voice finally cuts through the haze, but it barely registers in Jungkook’s mind.His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving, his fists trembling. The blood roaring in his ears drowns out everything else.

Because how fucking dare Jaehyun? How dare he stand here, spitting out filth about you like you were nothing? Like he had any right to speak about you that way? Like he didn’t deserve every single hit Jungkook was landing on him?

Jungkook has never been the kind to lose control like this, never been the one to get into fights—but right now? Right now, he doesn’t give a shit about consequences.

Because Jaehyun fucking deserves it.

Taehyung is utterly baffled, his mind struggling to process the chaos unfolding before him. But he doesn’t hesitate.

Without thinking, he rushes forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Jungkook’s torso and hauling him away from Jaehyun. It takes every ounce of strength he has with Jungkook thrashing in his grip like a wild animal, but Taehyung refuses to let go.

"Jungkook, stop!" he yells, his own breath coming out ragged and his muscles straining as he keeps his best friend from lunging forward again.

Jungkook finally stands up with his chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides and his entire body coiled with barely contained fury. Blood drips from his split knuckles, staining his fingers, but he doesn’t even glance at the damage as his glare remains locked onto Jaehyun’s stupid bloodied face.

"You always act like you’re better than me." Jungkook seethes, his voice low, lethal. He watches as Jaehyun groans, barely able to open his eyes or lift his head. "But talk about Y/n like that again, and I’ll fucking kill you."

Taehyung tightens his grip, feeling the tension still rippling through Jungkook’s body, the barely restrained urge to break free and finish what he started. And for a second, he genuinely thinks Jungkook might do it. Might snap. Might throw him off and go right back in for more.

But Jungkook doesn’t move.

He just stands there, breathing heavily, eyes still burning with unspent rage as he watches Jaehyun writhe on the floor.

"Kook, come on… let’s go." Taehyung urges, loosening his grip around Jungkook’s torso while his fingers quickly latch onto Jungkook’s arm before he can even think about turning back.

Without another word, Taehyung drags him out of the aisle, away from Jaehyun’s wrecked form, and straight towards the locker room exit. 

Practice is the last thing on Taehyung’s mind right now—he’ll deal with the coach later, though he doubts much explanation will even be necessary.

The coach is well aware of Jaehyun’s reputation, his arrogance, his sleazy, insufferable nature. If anything, Taehyung wouldn’t be surprised if the man felt a sense of quiet satisfaction that someone had finally put Jaehyun in his place, delivering the kind of reckoning he’d long had coming.

Taehyung doesn’t stop until they reach the nearest washroom. He shoves the door open, yanks Jungkook inside, and slams it shut behind them.

“Okay, what the hell just happened in there?” he exhales sharply, crossing his arms as he stares at Jungkook, waiting for an answer.

Jungkook closes his eyes, inhaling deeply before letting out a slow breath. The sharp sting in his knuckles finally registers, the dull ache pulsing through his skin, but he doesn’t care. 

It’s nothing compared to the fury still burning in his chest, nothing compared to the sickening weight in his gut as Jaehyun’s words replay over and over in his head like a fucking broken record.

Everything clicks into place now. Jaehyun must have invited you to a club over the weekend, thinking he could finally make a move on you and take advantage of you like he had always wanted. And when you—of course—refused, he probably lost his shit.

Jungkook doesn’t even want to imagine what Jaehyun might have done to you or said to you afterward, how he might have made you feel, because he knows firsthand how fucking cruel Jaehyun can be. 

The more he thinks about it, the worse it gets.

He can almost picture you, feeling cornered, feeling small. Feeling stupid for ever thinking Jaehyun was just being nice. Feeling like maybe it was your fault, like maybe you led him on somehow.

And that—God, that makes Jungkook sick to his stomach.

Because if there’s one thing he knows about Jaehyun, it’s that he never stops at just one insult. He drags people through the mud, twists words like a knife to make them bleed, tears them down until there’s nothing left. 

So what had he said to you? What had you been forced to hear? How much had it hurt?

Jungkook grits his teeth, fingers twitching at his sides. Knocking Jaehyun out should’ve felt good. It should’ve felt satisfying. But it doesn’t. If anything, it only makes him feel worse because hearing Jaehyun say those things, hearing him reduce you to nothing but a game, a joke—

It only reminds him of the things he said to you too.

No, it wasn’t as vile, as disgusting as the shit Jaehyun spewed, but it was still harsh. Still cruel. Still enough to make you look at him differently. Jungkook swallows, hands curling into fists once again. Maybe he deserves to get punched in the face too.

“Kook?” Taehyung calls out again, louder this time, finally snapping Jungkook out of his thoughts.

Jungkook leans back against the sink, his head tilting up as if he’s searching for answers on the ceiling. “Tae… I fucking messed up..” His voice is strained. Taehyung furrows his brows, arms still crossed as he watches his friend carefully. 

There’s no way Jungkook regrets punching a guy like Jaehyun—not when he was so damn furious just moments ago. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“With Y/n.” Jungkook mutters, shaking his head. “I messed up big time with Y/n.”

Jungkook proceeds to narrate everything to Taehyung. 

How he chickened out of telling you the entire truth about Jaehyun, not because he was afraid of Jaehyun, but because he was more terrified of you misunderstanding him or finding out about the way he feels for you.

How he let his own insecurities cloud his judgment, how he twisted his emotions into something ugly, something cruel, and lashed out at you over a misunderstanding. How the alcohol had only fueled his worst instincts, stripping away whatever restraint he might have had left, until all that remained was the ugliest version of himself—the one who said things he could never take back.

His voice wavers slightly as he speaks, but he doesn’t stop. He lays it all out, piece by piece, not sparing himself from the weight of his own mistakes. 

“And that’s why she’s been staying with her friend, Jimin for the past week.” Jungkook finally finishes, his voice quieter now, almost defeated. “You really did mess up, huh…” Taehyung murmurs, exhaling deeply as he processes everything. 

He’s now leaning against the other sink right beside Jungkook, with his arms still crossed. There’s no judgment in his voice, only the quiet acknowledgment of the wreckage Jungkook has laid out in front of him.

Jungkook swallows, running a hand through his hair. “And now, I don’t even know where she is… or how she is.” he mutters, frustration bleeding into his tone. The uncertainty gnaws at him, the not knowing, the possibility that you’re still hurting because of him and now, even Jaehyun. 

“Yeah, that sucks.” Taehyung sighs softly. “But there’s not much we can do.”  he continues, shifting his weight against the sink. “You just have to wait until she’s ready… until she decides to show up.”

Jungkook knows Taehyung is right but that doesn’t make it any easier. 

He wishes—so badly—that he could see you right now. That he could take back every cruel word, every moment he let his own insecurities cloud his judgment. That he could apologize, not just with words but with every ounce of sincerity in his being.

More than anything, he just wants to make you feel better. To undo the damage, to erase the pain he’s caused. But all he can do is wait.

It’s 4 a.m. on a Thursday morning when you sneak out of Jimin and Yoongi’s apartment with your suitcase rolling behind you. As you stand by the elevator, waiting for the numbers to descend, you pull out your phone and type out a quick message to Jimin.

"Going back home today. Don’t worry too much about me. Gonna focus on studying for finals, so I’ll see you next week. Thanks for letting me stay over, Chim.”

You know it’s far from considerate to disappear for days after spending a week at his place, only to slip out at the ass crack of dawn with nothing but a brief text message as an explanation. It’s thoughtless, maybe even a little selfish.

But right now, you’re a mess and you can’t bring yourself to face the concern in Jimin’s eyes or endure the weight of Yoongi’s silent understanding. You don’t want reassurances, don’t want to be told that things will get better when everything inside you feels like it’s caving in.

So, you take the easy way out. You leave quietly, hoping they’ll understand. 

After the nightmare that was Saturday night at the club, the mere thought of being around another human had felt unbearable. So after puking your guts out by the tree, you did the only thing that made sense at the time—you found refuge in a dingy motel.

Over the past few days, you’ve rediscovered an old habit of yours: sleeping through your problems. It’s not the healthiest coping mechanism, but right now, it’s the only thing keeping you afloat because staying up and thinking about everything that has gone down recently feels… unbearable. 

And you’ve been dissociating the best way you know how—by ignoring every single phone call and text that comes your way. Every notification feels like a tether to a world you’d rather not engage with, so you cut the cord entirely.

Deactivating all your social media was the final step, a quiet retreat into solitude.

You have no plans of telling anyone what happened between you and Jaehyun, just like you didn’t tell anyone about what happened between you and Jungkook. 

And with so much to hide, it’s making it harder and harder to exist under the same roof as Jimin and Yoongi because you’re terrified that, at any moment, you’ll crack—that one wrong look, one gentle nudge of concern, will be enough to make you fall apart right in front of them.

And then there are finals. You’ve already wasted too much time doing… nothing. Jimin and Yoongi have their own exams to worry about, and the last thing you want is to be another problem they have to deal with.

So, there’s only one option left: sucking it up and going back to your shared apartment with Jungkook.

It’s just a few more days. You’ll just stay locked up in your room, studying. Finals barely last two weeks, and after that, you can finally go home for the break and be with your dad. 

You try to be as quiet as possible as you enter the door code of your shared apartment.The second you step inside, the familiar scent of laundry detergent wraps around you like a ghost from another life and for a fleeting second, your throat tightens, and you think you might actually cry. 

So, you swallow it all and simply drag your suitcase across the floor as you make your way to your room. The moment you step inside, a quiet sigh slips past your lips. Your room is still a mess—just the way you left it. 

You push the door shut behind you, before releasing your suitcase and waddle towards your bed, collapsing onto the mattress. A quiet whine escapes your lips as you bury your face into the pillows.

You’ve decided that from today you’ll spend a little less time wallowing and more time studying because you really, really need to catch up on all your studying because finals are literally next week.

The past few days have been a lot and you’ve spent so much time blaming yourself for everything but also trying to push it all down, hoping that if you ignore it long enough, it will eventually fade into the background.

You inhale shakily, your fingers gripping the sheets as if grounding yourself to something real.

You’ll get over it.

Eventually.

Hopefully.

Jungkook groans, blindly reaching for his glasses on the nightstand as the soft morning light seeps through his curtains. The warmth of the sun does little to shake off the exhaustion clinging to his bones after another night of restless sleep, another morning where he wakes up feeling worse than before.

It’s been like this for days now and he knows exactly why.

Jimin told him you still weren’t back and Jungkook couldn’t help but think that you were out there somewhere, alone, likely drowning in silence after whatever awful things Jaehyun had done to you. 

He so badly wishes he could catch even the slightest glimpse of you, just to see how you’re doing.

With a tired sigh, he swings his legs over the bed and pushes himself up, dragging his feet towards the bathroom, hoping a splash of cold water will shake him out of this fog. 

But the second he steps into the hallway, he stops in his tracks when he hears the clear sound of running water coming from the bathroom. 

His breath hitches and all his drowsiness vanishes in an instant. He proceeds to take a hesitant step forward, pressing his ear to the bathroom door, and his eyes widen. 

The shower is on. Someone’s inside.

This can mean only one thing if he isn’t dreaming. 

He doesn’t waste another second and instantly runs to the doorway, his heart stumbling in his chest when he spots a pair of heels by the entrance. He doesn’t stay there for long though, because before he knows it, he’s sprinting towards your room. And the moment he steps inside, his eyes immediately land on your suitcase, standing by the wall.

You’re back.

You’re finally back home.

He stays in the living room and settles on the couch, anxiously bouncing his leg as he chews on his lower lip. A thousand words swirl in his head… apologies, explanations, desperate pleas, but he has no idea where to even begin. All he knows is that when you step out of that bathroom, he needs to talk to you.

Lost in the endless cycle of rehearsing what to say, his thoughts come to an abrupt halt when he hears the bathroom door creak open. Instantly, he shoots up from the couch, his pulse hammering against his ribs.

And then you appear.

Your damp hair clings to your skin, and the oversized bathrobe draped around you makes you look even smaller than usual. You freeze in place the moment your eyes meet his, visibly startled. 

You were really hoping to shower and slip back into your room unnoticed before he woke up. But now, standing face-to-face with him, you can’t ignore what’s right in front of you.

Your heart clenches.

He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t been sleeping well. And when your gaze unconsciously trails down his figure, you catch sight of his hand, wrapped in a bandage around his knuckles. He hurt his knuckles?

You’re instantly concerned and a question forms at the tip of your tongue, but then, just as quickly, you remember why you didn’t want to face him in the first place. So you look away and without another word, you walk past him, heading straight for your room. 

But just when your fingers graze the doorknob, his voice stops you. “Y-Y/n.” it comes out shakier than he intends and he internally curses at himself. 

You stop, but only for a fleeting moment. You already know what he’s going to say—probably questions about where you’ve been or an apology for everything—but you don’t want to hear it. You can’t.

Because the truth is, you’re ashamed. Ashamed to face him, ashamed to look him in the eye, because no matter how much you try to push it to the back of your mind, you know this whole situation with Jaehyun could have been avoided if you had just listened to Jungkook. 

And the weight of that realization is suffocating.

So before he can say another word, you step into your room and quietly shut the door behind you.

Jungkook lets out a defeated sigh, his gaze lingering on your closed door as his fingers anxiously toy with the hem of his shirt. What did he even expect? That you’d just stand there and talk to him as if nothing had happened? Of course not. Of course, you wouldn’t.

How could you, after everything?

Maybe you just need time. Maybe pushing you right now will only make things worse. He can only imagine how much this has been weighing on you, how exhausting it must be to carry it all alone.

He just hopes and prays that you don’t bottle it all up. That you’ll talk to someone. Even if that someone isn’t him.

“You really just left early in the morning? Do you have any idea how unsafe that is?” Jimin scolds, his brows furrowing as you sink into your seat.

It’s Mr. Jang’s last lecture of the semester, and considering how many classes you’ve already missed this week, you’re relieved you made it today.

“I’m sorry, Chim, but I got home just fine.” you murmur, offering him a small, placating smile. Jimin exhales sharply, clearly unimpressed, before settling into the seat beside you. 

“Seriously, I was so worried about you these past few days. What’s going on with you, Y/N? Are you ever going to tell me?” His voice is gentler now, his concern evident in the way he tilts his head slightly, eyes searching yours for answers.

You feel super guilty because Jimin clearly just wants to help, but you can’t bring yourself to fully let him in because it’s just so hard for you.

“I got into an argument with Jungkook…” you admit quietly, keeping your gaze fixed on the desk in front of you. “And let’s just say… things didn’t end well. I needed some space.”

Jimin blinks, his expression shifting from concern to mild shock. “An argument? With Jungkook?” His disbelief is almost tangible. “With our roommate JK???”

You huff a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah. I know, right?”

Jimin shakes his head, still struggling to process the idea. “I just… I mean, I didn’t think he was the type to argue…” he says, voice laced with hesitation. “Besides, he was so worried. When I went over to grab your textbooks, he looked… really out of it.”

Your chest tightens, but you keep your face neutral because frankly you don’t know what to do with that information. 

“Okay, fin.,” Jimin relents a few seconds later, though you can tell he’s still not convinced. “But what about these past few days? Where were you?”

You inhale sharply, scrambling for a convincing answer—because there’s no way in hell you’re telling him you spent four nights in a cheap motel, crying over how Jaehyun nearly harassed you. 

And speaking of Jaehyun… you’re paranoid because you know you share this class with him, and the last thing you want is to run into him.

“Umm… I was staying over at Seri’s.” you lie smoothly. “You know, that girl from my Econometrics class?”

Jimin squints slightly, like he’s trying to recall the name. “Oh…” he lets out, a little confused. Still, he nods, though the flicker of doubt in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed. “Well… alright.” he mutters, but it’s clear he’s not entirely convinced.

“But anyways, how are things between you and Jungkook now? Did you guys talk it out?” Jimin asks curiously. You open your mouth to respond, but your words falter the moment your gaze flickers towards the entrance. 

More students filter in, and your breath nearly catches in your throat when your eyes land on him.

Jaehyun.

Your initial reaction is a jolt of unease, but confusion quickly follows when you take in the state of him—bruises blooming his cheekbones, a split lip… and is that a broken nose?

Jimin follows your gaze before leaning back slightly. “Oh, right…” he says casually, nudging his chin towards Jaehyun, who is now making his way to his seat with his head down, as if hoping no one will notice the mess he’s in.

“Forgot to mention… apparently, he got into a fight with someone in the locker room or something.”

You blink, taking in Jaehyun’s disheveled form, but the sight stirs nothing in you. No concern, no sympathy. Just indifference. You couldn’t care less about whatever happened to that bastard.

So, without another thought, you turn away, refocusing on the front of the room—just in time for Mr. Jang’s arrival. The shuffle of chairs and the low murmur of conversation come to a halt as everyone rises to greet him.

Finals week arrives faster than you expect, and before you know it, you're drowning in a sea of textbooks, notebooks, and endless practice papers, your calculator practically an extension of your hand.

You barely step out of your room, and on the rare occasions that you do, you make sure to have your bulky headphones clamped over your ears—an unspoken barrier to keep Jungkook from striking up any conversation.

But despite your efforts to shut him out, you still notice the small ways he tries to reach out. The hesitant knocks on your door, the quiet calls for dinner, the gentle questions about whether you need anything. 

Each attempt is subtle yet persistent, like a hand reaching for you through the thick fog of avoidance you've wrapped yourself in. And though every word, every gesture tugs painfully at your heart, you force yourself to ignore him.

Still, he doesn’t stop.

He’s started leaving small offerings outside your door… fruits carefully placed like unspoken apologies. Some days, it’s oranges. Other days, apples. Occasionally, pomegranates.

And it infuriates you.

Not because of the gestures themselves, but because they make you feel wretched. Because every small act of care, every quiet attempt to reach you, is a reminder of the one thing you can’t bring yourself to do —face him.

It all comes crashing back in the worst possible way, looping over and over in your mind. The guilt. The shame. The way he still cares, despite everything. And God, you wish he didn’t. You wish he would stop trying, stop worrying, stop being so damn kind. It would make it easier. It would make all of this easier.

The day your last exam ends, you return to the apartment right when the sun sets, only to find Jungkook already there, pulling his suitcase out of his room. You overheard him on the phone with his parents yesterday and you know he’s leaving for Busan tonight.

Your train to Ilsan isn’t until tomorrow afternoon, which means you have a few hours to pack so like always, you pretend he isn’t there. You don’t look at him, don’t acknowledge him. Just head straight to your room, shutting the door behind you like clockwork.

Jungkook sighs softly, running a hand through his hair when he hears your door click shut—again. He should be used to this by now, the way you shut him out so effortlessly, like he doesn’t exist. 

But no matter how much you ignore him, he still finds himself standing here, trying. Because how could he not?

He’s leaving tonight. And he won’t see you for an entire month. He can’t leave things like this, can’t just walk away without at least making sure you’ve eaten.

His train is in two hours and he should be making preparations to leave, but instead, he finds himself hesitating outside your door, lifting a fist, and knocking gently.

You hear it. You always do. But you pretend you don’t, as you move towards your closest to sort out your clothes and begin packing. 

"Hey, Y/n…" His voice is quiet, hesitant. "I, um… I made some jajangmyeon earlier. It’s still there. Please eat something if you haven’t had dinner yet."

Something in you suddenly snaps.

Not just frustration—everything. The guilt, the shame, the unbearable weight of his kindness when you don’t even deserve it. It all comes crashing down on you, tearing through your already fragile self-control.

You move away from your closet, crossing the room in a few short strides before yanking the door open so violently that Jungkook actually flinches. His eyes go wide as he takes a startled step back.

"Can you just stop?" you spit and Jungkook stiffens immediately, his breath catching at the sheer force behind your words.

"Y/n, What—"

"Stop." Your voice wavers, but the anger in it is raw, overpowering the cracks threatening to split you open. "Stop caring about me. Stop doing all these things when you know I don’t deserve them."

Jungkook blinks, completely taken aback, his brows drawing together as he takes a hesitant step forward. "Y/N, what are you—"

"You were right, okay?" The words spill out in a bitter, humorless laugh, one that shakes as it leaves your lips. You shake your head, almost as if you can't believe you're saying it all out loud. "Everything you said about Jaehyun. You were fucking right."

The admission tastes like poison, burning its way down, and the look on Jungkook’s face only makes it worse. That quiet concern in his eyes, the unbearable softness in the way he watches you fall apart right in front of him, it makes you feel even more pathetic.

"Are you happy now?" you whisper, voice trembling. "Are you happy that the stupid, clueless, naive girl finally got what she deserved?"

Jungkook’s lips part, but no words come out.

"Because that’s what I am, right?" Your voice rises, the dam finally breaking. "Some desperate idiot who couldn't see the truth even when it was right in front of her face? Some pathetic girl who’s always so caught up in her own stupid influencer world to notice anything real around her?"

"Y/n, stop it—"

"No!" You step back when he moves towards you, shaking your head furiously, eyes blazing with something raw and self-destructive. 

"You were right about him! You were right about everything! But guess what, Jungkook? I don’t want you to act like you care about me when you know that all I’ve done is use you… when all I’ve done is make you sick."

Jungkook's breath stutters, but you don’t stop.

"I don’t need you doing things for me." You spit the words out, your chest heaving. "I don’t need you leaving food at my door like I’m some helpless child! I don’t need you to take care of me when all I’ve done is take you for granted and ignore you when you tried to warn me!"

Jungkook’s heart sinks as he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks—tears you probably don’t even realize are falling. He can clearly see the meltdown you’re having, a breaking point after holding everything in for far too long. 

And he wants—no, needs—to calm you down before you spiral any further.

"Y/N, I do those things because I care—"

"Well, don’t!" Your voice cracks, and suddenly, you feel like you’re suffocating. Like every word is clawing its way up your throat, demanding to be set free. "Stop caring! Stop acting like I’m worth the effort when you and I both know I’m fucking not!"

Jungkook’s breath hitches, but you don’t stop.

"I’m selfish. I’m shallow. I’m so fucking self-absorbed that I didn’t see what was right in front of me until it blew up in my face." A sob escapes you, your shoulders trembling violently now. "And you were right. Jaehyun was nice to me only because he wanted to fuck me."

Jungkook flinches at the sheer venom in your voice, at the way you spit the words out like they disgust you.

"So there you have it !!" Your voice is shaking, dangerously close to breaking completely. "Go ahead, Jungkook! Say 'I told you so.' Rub it in my face! Make me feel even smaller than I already do!"

"Y/N—"

"Just fucking do it!"

Silence.

And somehow, that’s worse than anything he could’ve said.

Because Jungkook doesn’t say “I told you so”. He doesn’t look smug or victorious or even remotely satisfied.

He just looks at you, at the tears streaming down your face, at the way you’re barely holding yourself together. And the quiet devastation in his eyes is enough to send a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you.

You can’t do this.

You can’t breathe.

So before he can say another word—before you can completely fall apart in front of him—you turn on your heel and slam the door shut.

You slide down against your door as you drop down on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as sobs wrack your body, each one pulled from a place so deep it leaves you hollow in its wake.

On the other side, Jungkook stands frozen. He stares at the door, at the barrier between you, but it does nothing to drown out the sound of your cries. 

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he inches closer. His palm finds the door, fingers splayed wide, as if by some miracle he might be able to reach through the wood and touch you. He closes his eyes, his forehead pressing against the surface, and with every muffled sob that escapes you, his own agony deepens.

"Y/N…" He begins and he knows this isn’t the most ideal way to have a conversation… with a door between two people who should have never ended up on opposite sides. But if he waits any longer, he’ll lose the courage to say what he needs to.

"Y/N, I know…" He swallows hard, trying to steady himself. "I know you don’t want to talk to me. I know you don’t want to see me. And I… I get it, okay? I do. But please, just… just hear me out. Just this once."

He waits. He listens. And when he still hears the faint sound of your sniffles, he exhales shakily, turns, and slides down until he’s sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the door on the other side. It’s not much, but it’s something—an attempt to be closer to you, to lessen the chasm he’s created between you.

"I don’t even know where to begin, but I’m sorry." His voice wavers and his fingers curl into his palms, his nails pressing into his skin as if self-inflicted pain could absolve him. 

"I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. For everything. For the way I lashed out, for the way I let the worst parts of me take over—for the way I threw words at you knowing damn well I was hurting you." He lets out a weak humourless laugh filled with nothing but regret.

"If I could go back in time, I would. I’d go back and stop myself before I ever made you feel horrible about yourself." He lets out a heavy breath, his head tilting back against the door.

"I was a coward." The confession slips out quietly, but there’s a weight to it. "I let my own insecurities get the best of me. I let jealousy twist into something ugly, something cruel…"

He pauses, straining to hear anything —any indication that you’re still with him.  And then, when he hears the sound of your shaky breath as you try to hold back your sobs, his chest tightens, his throat burns, but he forces himself to go on.

"I should’ve been honest with you when I found out the truth about Jaehyun. I should’ve told you straight up, should’ve warned you. But I didn’t. And do you know why?? Because I was more afraid of being misunderstood by you. I was afraid of you seeing me as some weird, overstepping roommate who had no right to care so much." His voice trembles, and he gulps, trying to ignore the sting behind his eyes.

"And I was also afraid of something else. Something so much bigger. So much worse." He inhales sharply, screwing his eyes shut, his lips parting before the words finally slip past them.

"I’ve always been in love with you, Y/n."

Silence.

The kind that shifts the air between two people who are on the precipice of something irreversible because there’s no going back from this. 

"Second day of orientation." He lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head at the memory. "That’s when I first saw you. You were this… this dream that just felt so out of reach and I was so… so convinced I’d never get to talk to you." A single tear slips down his cheek, and he lets it fall.

"And then, somehow, fate made you my roommate." His voice softens, turns almost reverent. "And just like that, my entire world shifted. Suddenly, I was existing in the same space as you. Breathing the same air. Living under the same roof." He lets out a bitter smile, the ghost of every memory he’s ever made with you, in this very apartment, flickering behind his eyes.

"You… who always included me, always made me feel like I belonged, always looked at me with this impossible warmth in your eyes… yeah, it felt like heaven." He chuckles, but it breaks halfway through, his hand swiping roughly at his tears.

"I wanted you so bad, Y/n. But at the same time, I felt so undeserving of you because… have you seen yourself?"

Still, you don’t speak. And Jungkook wonders if you’re even listening anymore, if you’ve already tuned him out, if his words mean nothing now. But even if they don’t, he needs to say them. So he continues.

"I know I said some truly awful things to you. Things that made you question yourself, made you doubt your worth, and I hate myself for it. Because none of them were true." His voice catches, thick with guilt, thick with sorrow. 

"You are extraordinary in every sense of the word, and I… I just couldn’t handle it. I let my own insecurities, my own issues, my own fears ruin everything." He sniffles, rubbing at his face as more tears spill.

"But I was so scared, Y/N. Because you felt like a dream, but you had still become my friend. We shared the same roof… and you… you were like my safe place. I mean… I’ve made the most memories with you out of anyone from uni. So our existing friendship… it was too much of a price to pay for my feelings, because there was just so much on the line." He pauses to take a deep inhale.

"I didn’t want to lose you." He whispers, but he hopes it’s loud enough for you to hear. "Because I just… I just knew… you’d never see me the same way." His breath shudders.

"I was terrified." he admits. "Because loving you felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall." he smiles to himself bitterly. "And I did, Y/N." His voice cracks, splintering like glass. "I… I fell so fucking hard."

A soft, broken hiccup slips from your lips, your trembling hand pressed against your chest as if trying to hold your heart together. You sit there, motionless, a statue carved by the weight of his words, struggling to breathe under the sheer force of everything Jungkook has just confessed.

You don’t know how to act. Don’t know what to say.

Your heart is a mess, hammering so violently against your ribs that you wonder if it might just stop altogether and maybe it already has.

The silence stretches between you like a chasm, as you try your best to process everything and you don’t even realize how much time has passed until your fingers move on their own, wiping the dampness from your cheeks.

And then, as if pulled by a force beyond yourself, you push yourself to your feet and turn around.

Your fingers tremble as they curl around the doorknob, hesitation seizing you for a fleeting second. You don’t know what you’re going to say when you see him on the other side. You don’t even know what you want to say.

But you need to see him.

Just to make this moment feel real. Just to convince yourself that you’re not hallucinating, that you didn’t just dream up everything you heard him say. So you twist the knob and slowly swing the door open.

But it’s too late because Jungkook’s already gone.

<-part 2 // part 4 -> (coming soon)

series masterlist

my masterlist <3

TAGLISTS CLOSED <333

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

permanent taglist: @rpwprpwprpwprw @kimyishin @somehowukook @allie-in-the-moon @nightappple @jksoftii @mimi1097 @yooforeaa @jkaxl @jinglthembalslikethat @puppybunnyjkay @jiijeon97 @ninisica @rerefundslocals @kgamboa11 @lizzikoo @madussthoughts @kelsyx33 @mafersame @yoonstaar @autumnbear @yuniesluv @kookxin @priyanshe @turn02 @kgamboa11 @minniejim @yamerulzky @winterarchives @goldenjeonkoo

[bweirdart]

EVENT OVER! THANKS EVERYONE WHO JOINED IN U ALL DID AN AMAZING JOB <3 SEE YOU AGAIN NEXT YEAR IN MARCH FOR #mARTch OR NEXT OCTOBER (2024) FOR A NEW SET OF PROMPTS!!!!!

OC-TOBER 2023 PROMPTS!!

general tag: #oc-tober / my prompts: #bweirdOCtober

F.A.Q:

Do I have to draw EVERY DAY?

NO! I highly encourage skipping as many days as you need to avoid burnout! There are 10 main days in the event (marked with a ⭐ star) that you can focus on if you don't feel up to doing every day, or you can choose your own adventure and just do the prompts you personally like!

Do I have to DRAW?

NO! You can also write fanfiction snippets, repost older art that fits the theme, tweet headcanons/backstory, roleplay in-character as your oc ... genuinely anything that fits the theme is OK!!

Can I start early?

YES! I understand some people work at a slower pace and might need a head start! So long as you wait until October to post it, you can start working as early as you need!

I missed the start of the event .. do I have to catch up?

NO! Please don't stress about days you missed, you're allowed to just skip to the current prompt!

RULES:

1. MAKE FRIENDS! The community is the best part of this event .. please try to follow new people, ask questions about ocs you like, compliment people's styles, ask friends to create with you, etc!

2. TAKE IT EASY! Skip a day if you're tired, busy or just not interested in the prompt. You don't have to catch up on it later. This is supposed to be fun, not work!

3. BE KIND! Please think about the people around you - don't give people unwarranted harsh criticism, content warn for themes/imagery in your work that could trigger someone, don't create anything hateful, etc

MORE:

text version / tips and ideas on bweird.art or below ↓

star = main prompts | no star = optional

INTRO WEEK

1: FAVE OC ⭐

-Which of your characters is your favourite right now?

2: NEW OC

-Who is your newest OC?

-Design a new OC right now

3: OLD OC ⭐

-Do you remember the first OC you ever made?

-Is there an OC you haven't drawn in a long time?

4: RE-DESIGN

-An OC who has changed a lot over the years

-Take an old OC and update their design right now

 

BACKSTORY WEEK

5: RELATIONSHIPS ⭐

-Who is important to your OC?

-Do they have a partner?

-Do they have a best friend?

-Are they close to their family?

6: SYMBOL

-What imagery do you associate with your oc?

-Are there any colours, flowers, animals or concepts that symbolize them?

7: PERSONALITY ⭐

-How does your OC behave?

-What are their positive traits?

-What are their negative traits?

-Are they extroverted or introverted?

8: PAST

-What was your OC like as a child?

-Where did they grow up?

-Are there any significant moments from their past that shaped who they are?

9: FUTURE ⭐

-Does your OC have a goal they're working towards?

-What will your OC look like when they get older

-Do you have a planned ending for their story?

PALETTE WEEK

10: pumpkin patch palette

#251604 #1E3807 #5B5E1A #A2A657 #EBA00F #F3ECCC

11: hot cocoa palette

#520B13 #BB382E #E27E6D #88392C #AF5D40 #E1AFA4

12: midnight zone palette

#000007 #000049 #183885 #004D4F #0E8788 #FFF1C0

13: peachy palette

#DE6450 #DB9171 #FFC1AE #FEE1AD #FFF2E0 #D9D8D8

14: haunted house palette

#552506 #6E25AA #ED690B #F925A0 #8F8BA7 #A6C1AA

FUN + GAMES WEEK

15: MEME ⭐

-Post memes that remind you of your OC

-Draw your OC as a meme

-Fill out a character meme (classic deviantart style)

16: FOOD

-What is your OC's favourite food?

-What is their least favourite?

-Can they cook?

17: EYES-CLOSED ⭐

-Draw your OC with your eyes closed! No cheating!

-Write a scene without looking at the keyboard! Keep the typos in!

18: SWAP

-Swap the style or aesthetic of two of your OCs

-Species or gender swap AU

-Invert an OC's colour scheme

19: INSPIRATION ⭐

-Is your OC inspired by any pre-existing characters?

-Are there any particular songs/lyrics that inspired something about one of your OCs

-Do you have a dedicated pinterest moodboard for your character?

20: INVENTORY

-What does your OC carry around with them on a daily basis?

-Are there any objects that have sentimental value for them?

-Loot drop for your DnD OC

 

FRIENDS WEEK

21-25:

There's no specific daily prompts for this week, but here are some ideas you can try ...

-Art trades with friends who are doing the event with you

-Your OC interacting with a friend's OC

-Gift art for someone whose OCs you like

-Work together and collaborate on something with a friend

-Roleplay an OC scene together with someone

 

HALLOWEEN WEEK

26: FEAR ⭐

-What is your OC scared of?

-Draw one of your OCs trying to scare the others

27: MONSTER

-Do you have any monster OCs? (eg: vampires, werewolves, creatures, ghosts...)

-Draw a human OC as a monster

-Design a new monster

28: TRICK

-Play a trick on an OC

-Do you have an OC who would play tricks on people?

29: TREAT

-What is your OC's favourite halloween candy?

-Give an OC a special treat to make up for yesterday's trick

30: MAGIC

-Do any of your characters have magical powers?

-Give an OC a magical or cursed artifact

-Create a magic-using OC like a witch or wizard

27: COSTUME ⭐

-What is your OC dressing as for halloween?

[starmocha]

I have no friends that play lads and after the trailer with Caleb my mind is in ruins and all i can think is arranged marriage between Colonel Caleb and his general's daughter. Ughh the tension and the dramaaaaa.

Thats it, thats all i had to say, thank you for coming to my ted talk (i really needed to yap about that to someone) 😂😂😂😂😂

🥹 Anon~ come back. Let's chat some more. I'll entertain all of your Caleb brainrots 🫶 You should also know that I saw this message this afternoon while I was out shopping.......the high-pitched gasp I had let out in public, because why is this right up my alley 😭😭😭 Ok I originally thought out like the whole situation in bullet points, but writing this one scene gotten out of control, because why did I get so into it, so I guess...consider this a snippet of sorts (it's kind of messy, but I was rushing)? 🫣 (or should I polish this up and repost it as an actual fic? I'm really digging this premise, if I'm honest 🤔)

You didn't have a say.

You didn't agree to this marriage. The General—your father, you remind yourself, often feeling emotionally estranged from the man who has never once raised you, viewing you as secondary to his military career—has arranged for you to wed his colonel.

Colonel Caleb. He is young, ambitious, and with a bright future ahead of him. He will rise through the ranks quickly, many believe. No one is surprised that the young man is betrothed to the general's daughter. It seems only right that such an esteemed union should happen, bringing two honorable families together.

You didn't have a say.

The General—your father, you correct yourself again, your nerves getting the best of you—is walking you down the aisle, his arm looped around yours—tightly. The organ is playing the Wedding March. Why does it sound like a dirge?

All eyes are on you, the blushing bride in her beautiful pristine white, lacy long-sleeved demure wedding gown. You didn’t choose this. You didn’t want to wear this dress. You didn’t want to wear this style. This isn’t you.

You didn't have a say.

The guests are all part of the military. You don't know these people. They're the General's—Father's—acquaintances. His peers, his colleagues. Subordinates and superiors. They are all acquaintances of his. Who are these strangers?

"Don't mess this up," he whispers under his breath as you approach your waiting groom, dressed in his most formal uniform for this nuptial. This is his only fatherly advice as he gives his one daughter's hand away—to a man she doesn't even know.

You don't have a say.

The ceremony proceeds without a hitch. You didn't look at your groom, or rather, you barely registered the man in front of you. You had moved through the motion, did everything you were supposed to, just like in the pre-rehersal ceremony, but you weren't there. It was like your mind had slipped away, and your body was just moving along on autopilot.

"You may kiss the bride," the priest declares.

Your mind returns, and you still when he kisses you. There is cheering and applause. You aren't happy. Is he happy?

You close your eyes, just letting this happen. It will be over soon. Just let it happen.

You don't have a say.

His arm loops through yours, leading you back down the aisle. There is more cheering and applause, and as you leave the church, the sun shines brightly on your marriage, and flower petals are tossed in the air, raining down over you and your groom.

There is so much joy and congratulations. Why then does it feel like the end of the world?

You don't respond, your face unwittingly tucking away into his arm as he leads you away for the wedding reception.

You don't even remember the reception. Did it even happen? Did you eat? Danced? Were there speeches or well-wishes? What did the wedding cake taste like?

You don't remember.

It was mid-afternoon when you had left the church, but now suddenly nightfall came without warning. How did that happen?

You exit a car, your hand in his.

This is a hotel. Right. A hotel.

It's your wedding night. A marriage is consummated on the wedding night. That is how it typically goes.

You have to consummate your marriage. You have to...sleep with your newly-wedded husband. Your husband. Caleb.

You didn't want to consummate this marriage. You didn't even want to get married. But you couldn't say no. You couldn't say no to any of this, and now, you know you also couldn't say no to him.

You don't have a say.

His hand is so much bigger than yours, you notice, as he holds yours, silently guiding you to your honeymoon suite.

Every step, every action, brings you closer to that moment. You barely register anything, not even hearing the beep when Caleb swipes the key card on the digital lock of the suite.

You're led into an extravagant suite. There is a vase of red roses and champagne chilling in an ice bucket, all courtesy of the hotel.

Still, you don't feel like you are in the moment, being completely lost in your head. You have to sleep with him. You didn’t want to marry him. You don't want to be married. You don't want to sleep with him. You don't want him.

You don't have a say.

He pours you a glass of champagne. You drink it, hoping it will calm your nerves. It doesn't. You feel like you are slipping, thoughts running haywire.

"You look very beautiful," he says, his hand brushing away the loose strands of hair that framed your face. His hand cups your face, his lips on yours before you even realize what is happening.

He sets the glasses to the side, taking you to bed. You sit on the edge next to him, his lips on yours again. You're not responding. He stills, but just for a moment. Did he notice? He continues, his lips along your neck, his hand reaching behind you for the zipper of your wedding dress.

You feel a chill.

He undresses you, lays you on the bed, completely exposed to him. You're not registering anything, breathing shuddering as he looms over you, slowly undressing himself now.

This is happening. You can't say no. Just go with it. It will all be over soon. Just do your duties. Just drift away, and it will all end soon.

He leans down and kisses you again, and you don't respond. His hands explores you, and you close your eyes, trying to think of anything but this moment. You don't even realize that you are tensing until he stops.

"You're...crying?"

You gasp, eyes opening in shock when he brushes your tears away. He looks hurt. Why?

He kisses your forehead. "We don't have to do this," he reassures you.

You don't understand. This is expected. You can't say no. You couldn't say no to any of this. You can't say no to him either.

"We...don't?" You find your voice, as small and scared as it was.

There is so much sadness in his eyes. Why?

He smiles. There is no joy. He smiles and shakes his head.

"But...I...have...to....we have to..."

He is confused. "Says who?"

Is he really expecting an actual response? You feel lost and confused.

"Every...everyone," you answer him.

He huffs and shakes his head again. "We don't have to," he says again. "I won't force myself on you if you're uncomfortable."

"But...we are married—"

"We are married," he says firmly, "You are my wife, and I am your husband. What happens—or doesn't happen—behind closed doors is our business. Not anyone else's."

But people will talk. Time will pass, and people will start wondering why you aren't pregnant yet. That is how it goes, right? First comes marriage and then comes the baby carriage, or however the fuck it's supposed to go. You have to go through with this, the whole nine yards, or people will talk.

The military is full of secrets, but rumors will still snake their way throughout until it reaches your father. If he knows, he will blame you for embarrassing him in front of his colleagues. For being a worthless daughter who couldn't do this one thing right.

You have no say in this. You can rebel all you want, but he will always make you cower in the end and bend to his will, just like how this marriage has happened.

"We have to," you tell Caleb, surprising him, "I'm...I'm okay with this."

You gasp when he pulls you up and into his arms, your face pressed to his chest. His hand is big, you think again, feeling it stroking the back of your head, but you also realize it is so gentle. He is so much bigger than you, can easily overpower and overwhelm you, but he doesn't.

He is so, so gentle with you. Why?

You don't even realize you had started crying, your body trembling against his, until he asks, "Are you scared of me?"

And you pause, breathing still shaky.

He continues to rub the back of your head. He sighs suddenly, and he whispers into your hair, "You don't have to be scared of me. I won't hurt you. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to."

"It’s...not you," you say eventually, still unsure if you were being completely truthful with him. "It’s..."

You falter, unsure of where your fears truly lie. Him? The Gener—Father? Or...everything?

He shushes you again. "Don't worry about anyone else. Just trust me."

You look up hesitantly, your tears blurring your vision. He brushes away those tears.

You're looking at him. Truly looking at him for the first time.

His eyes are violet, you realize suddenly. They are so pretty.

"I'll protect you," he promises, "I'll keep you safe, so please....please don't be scared of me."

[elleloquently]

i honestly don't even really like to talk about tlou2 but something that will absolutely baffle me until the end of time is how many people romanticize the farm sequence and view it as happy. every time someone says the game should've ended there or that ellie threw away her whole life and she could've been happy etc etc etc, it really makes me realize how many people do lack literacy and the ability to read between the lines. because how are you seeing the farm scenes and not realizing how devastating it is?? it feels so empty and lifeless.

yes ellie laughed and they listen to music and dance but those are such small snippets. anyone with severe ptsd / mental trauma can be okay for a moment. but ellie was quite literally killing herself on that farm and absolutely would've ended up dead by her own hand (which is not a crazy assumption to make it is quite literally context clues)

like she’s always been skinny and lean but she’s even more thin on the farm?? she literally says she doesn’t eat or sleep?? and the panic attacks that she has?

also when ellie says “i’m not like you dina” and dina instantly snaps back with “you think this is easy for me?” like no that’s not what is being insinuated at all, but the fact of the matter is that dina is still able to function and cope in healthy ways and ellie is not. and the fact that dina doesn’t understand that kinda kills me. also telling ellie to “prove it” when she tells dina that she loves her is so fucked considering everything.

she would’ve died! i will stand by this forever, ellie would not have lived much longer. (confirmed btw in directors commentary, ellie was severely suicidal at this point. so not sure how everyone views the farm as her happy point.)

i don’t think ellie had an obligation to suffer in silence for the sake of what dina wanted.

i don’t blame dina for leaving obviously, that was the best choice for her and i don’t blame ellie for going either!! i think their relationship is very doomed, it was quite literally built on years of miscommunication and it only continues as they’re together.

i don’t blame ellie for leaving the farm whatsoever, she did not “fumble dina,” she didn’t throw away her life, she was barely functioning in the first place. if the game ended with ellie on the farm and the last thing we saw of her was her trying to play house while knowing how much she was suffering, that would’ve been so damn depressing. her leaving may not be the “morally good” choice but it was necessary considering her own mental state.

i think it’s also so important to remember the way in which joel died. she’s not just grieving and dealing with survivors guilt, she’s also living with the brutality of what she experienced. watching the person she loved the most get brutally tortured/beaten to death while she was held down and begging for it to stop?? and you guys expect her to just move on and deal with it so she can keep living on this isolated farm and play happy family??

and it’s not like ellie was fine until tommy showed up. she was already on the edge. the evidence is in her behavior, her journal, the clues around her house (the whiskey glass at her bedside) and her literal mannerisms.

this is very messy and disorganized i just don’t understand how many people STILL oversimplify the farm stuff or act as though everything was happy and good. every time someone says that ellie owed it to dina to stay, i lose a year off of my life.

basically a ramble instead of a proper analysis/breakdown bc i’m trying to focus my energy elsewhere but hopefully it makes enough sense to be understood

[crunchystarz]

Twisted wonderland Self-aware au

Housewardens x GN!Reader

Cw- obsessive and possessive behavior, isolation all that good yandere stuff (remember none of this behavior is healthy nor do I condone it this is purely for entertainment )

A/n: I wrote this while dying of the flu I am not built for the cold weather release me from my chains

You downloaded the game for fun. As any normal person usually does. What you weren't prepared for was when your game started acting weird.

It started small, your characters dialogue wouldn't line up with the videos you've seen. No big deal perhaps they just got changed during an update.

It got a bit weirder whenever you'd start seeing new sprites you haven't seen anywhere else. You tried to shrug it off as you just managed to get a newer version of the game(somehow).

You swore the characters started to address you more directly but you again tried to ignore it. You just thought your brain was playing tricks on you.

It was only until you realized you left your phone at your apartment. You quickly rushed home to retrieve it just to find a very real house warden in your home.

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

REALIZATION:

When Riddle first suddenly became aware of the fact his existence was nothing but code he was unbelievably out of it. All the conversations he had, his harsh upbringing, everything was just part of his character. Were the feelings of anger, confusion and acceptance even real? He went on a bit of a rampage being harsher than usual but he didn't wish to shatter the reality for everyone else (he'd also sound more like a mad hatter If he tried to explain the fact they were just in a game) So no one knew why for the next month Riddle was more on edge than usual.

He came to accept the fact his life was nothing but a path set for him. He instead started to focus on you(or should I say yuu)

He soon realized that the ramshackle perfect was nothing but a hollow shell. No notable personality or backstory. But he soon managed to be aware of your experience. Glitches allowed him to hear snippets of your voice and how you truly felt. He was your favorite and he wanted it to stay that way.

He'd make sure he was always on your home screen. He'd even get risky and start talking to you directly. He'd listen to you ramble as you played the game. His face would flush red not out of anger but embarrassment when you'd change his outfits or get excited when you realized he'd gotten a new card.

He wished there wasn't a screen keeping you away from each other...

BREAKING CODE:

(I like to think this would be similar to an overblot In a way and enough emotion could cause them to lose themselves and eventually overwrite their code)

Riddle was over the moon. He was really in your room. Sevens he never thought a day would come where he'd be standing in your space. It was so you...

It felt weird, in a space that wasn't just there for scenes. It was actually lived in.

When he sees you he feels as if he succeeded in his life's purpose. You're confused and he can see that. He tries to explain to you how he didn't even know how he had gotten where he was.

You let him stay in your apartment because you couldn't really let him out in a world he knows nothing about. You're too kind he says.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Riddle takes care of most of the household chores. While you're gone, he keeps himself busy by tidying up, reading, or researching ways to improve the home environment. As well as constantly making rules for you to follow. He's so used to rules being set in place, it's what he was programmed to do so In the beginning you let it slide.

However he becomes controlling, trying to regulate every aspect of your life to “protect” you. He insists on setting the rules for "safety" and gets visibly distressed if you don't follow them.

Constantly checks if the you're eating properly or following a “schedule” he created for you both. If you don't he'll sometimes scold you harshly like he would in game. He'll apologize later in fear of upsetting you, he just wants you to be safe.

Becomes passive-aggressive if you end up spending too much time with others, interpreting it as rebellion. All he's trying to do is set you on the right path , can't you see that?

-"It’s for your own good [Name],Without guidance, this world will overwhelm you. Let me take care of you."

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

REALIZATION:

When Leona realizes he's in a video game he's surprisingly the calmest. He's upset and disorientated but he doesn't cause a big scene or let it be known he's losing his mind. He's used to concealing how he feels from others; it's in his codeHe's more laid back after this fact. No matter what he did he'd never be able to change his fate, because it was already set for him he had no control over it. So why did it matter what he did?

When you caught his attention the beast man was obsessed with proving himself to you. To him you were the only person who saw him for him. Who understood him. He was your favorite.

He'd never been anyone's number one anything before and the fact you choose him he wasn't going to let anything take that away from him.

The screen was just another obstacle he'll overcome to get what he wants.

BREAKING CODE:

Leona was really in your room...your room. He felt overcome with joy. Genuine joy, something he'd...never felt. Everything he felt up until then was just what the developers wanted him to feel.

Needs to say you were more than confused when you saw a lion hybrid snuggled up in your bed when you came home.

After getting an explanation you offered to let him stay in your apartment; if you didn't you were more than sure he'd be taken for government testing or something. Too bad you now needed a new phone.

DAY TO DAY LIFE :

Leona is still a lion at heart, he frequently loiters around you, draping himself over your furniture or bed like a lion staking a claim.He’s territorial and quick to anger if someone else tries to get too close to you. Despite his gruffness, he seeks constant reassurance that the you won’t leave him.

He's possessive and hates whenever you leave and doesn’t hide his irritation. He often tries to convince you to skip work/school, suggesting you should spend the day relaxing with him instead. (Sometimes he'll go out with you and will send looks to anyone who looks at you too long)

you're just happy everyone thinks that his animal features are crazy prosthetic since he refuses to hide them

When you come home, Leona monopolizes your time, insisting on napping together and getting all your attention.

He'd dislike the smell of other people on you when you come home and will drag you to bed for cuddles. None of these humans deserve your attention, he worked so hard for it not them .The thought angers him.

- "You're mine, I can protect you—provide for you —love you, you don't need anyone else but me those humans can't do what I can"

AZUL ASHHENGROTTO

REALIZATION:

Azul understandably does not take the life altering realization that he's not actually real well. His usually kept together appearance started to slip. He was all over the place. How could he not? This left Floyd and Jade completely confused why their boss was so out of it. It wasn't like him. He couldn't tell anyone else about this, not that they'd believe him anyway.

His interest in you starts as a mix of fascination and suspicion. He’s drawn to your influence but wary of your intentions. It became an obsession .

He saw you as the only real thing in his "life", Azul was your favorite out of all the characters, you picked him. He'd always make sure he looked right on your home screen (it wouldn't matter anyway since his sprite would always look the same)

You became the only thing he could think about, he'd have you no matter how much it took

BREAKING CODE:

Azul at first didn't think him being in your room was real. He thought it was a dream. When it finally set in that it wasn't just him losing his mind he was more than just happy.

He was in his darlings room. Everything felt so perfect. But not as perfect when he saw you for the first time. You were more than confused to see him(now in your living room) looking around.

After explaining the situation you let him stay with you in your apartment. You had no other choice where else would he go? It wouldn't be so bad to have extra help around anyway.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Much like Riddle , Azul takes care of most of the daily tasks. He offers to assist you with your tasks, whether it’s by organizing your work schedule or helping with assignments. However, he might feel a little hurt if you seem too busy for him. Pay attention to him please!

Don't forget that this is a sly sly man. Azul becomes emotionally manipulative, weaving situations that ensure you stays reliant on him. He uses your gratitude and trust to justify his control, often veiling his obsession with charm and just him being a "gentleman".

He'll shower you in gifts and constantly praise you on everything. He'll try and offer you deals just to make sure you have ties with him.

He'll text you at work with encouraging needy messages. He's always in your corner so just rely on him okay? You don't need anyone else.

- "You’d be lost without me. Everything I do is for you. Just let me take care of all your work."

Kalim Al-Asim

REALIZATION:

Kalim was in denial for the longest time about the realization that he was in a program. He couldn't wrap his head around it. He didn't want to bother Jamil more than he already did especially not with something this big. It was hard to not say anything while his mind was going crazy with thoughts as he tried to pretend nothing was wrong.

When he realized yuu wasn't just another side character and in fact the player he became obsessed with knowing more. He'd get so excited whenever the game would glitch and he could hear your voice and you talking as you played around on the home screen.

It made him so happy; Kalim was your favorite character. Others would wonder why he'd be more bubbly than usual whenever he'd hear you compliment him on his newest card. He wanted all your attention onto him.

He'd make your every wish come true. This screen wouldn't stop that.

BREAKING CODE :

Oh wow he was really in your room. It was way smaller than he expected but that didn't matter. It was your room so it made it much better. He doesn't know what he did to deserve this. He was basically bouncing off the walls; touching everything.

When you walked into your room you didn't have time to react before Kalim was pulling you a crushing hug causing you to yelp. He apologized a bit flustered.

After explaining (he could barely keep himself together) you allowed him to stay. He was so sweet how could you let him out into the world?

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Kalim insists on accompanying you everywhere. Wherever you go Kalim is clinging to you. Your neighbors have all taken a liking to him so him being with you isn't so bad.

He isn't good with chores but he tries his best to clean and tidy when you're gone. He tries to cook but has burnt it multiple times so you tell him not to. He buys you gifts you don't even need all the time. He just wants to spoil you.

Kalim’s obsession is rooted in his desire to make you happy at all costs. However, his constant need to please you and keep you close becomes overwhelming, and suffocating. If you tell him this he'll make you feel bad, that he just loves you so much and wants to take care of you; you often cave.

When you return from work or school, Kalim greets you with hugs and insists on spending the rest of the evening together, often talking about what he did while you were gone.

-" [Name]! I missed you sooo much, you should let me go with you to work, you don't even need work I could make all of your wishes come true"

VIL SCHONHEIT

REALIZATION:

Vil did not take it well... He was absolutely losing his mind. His beauty was nothing but pixels. Was everything he worked for was fake? Everything he knew was just controlled by someone else. It was so frustrating. He ended up locking himself away until he could accept the truth.

When he realized yuu was the player he was...angry. However that anger subsided after he started to know you for you. Vil was...your favorite. It boosted his ego more than anything.

He wanted to be in the spotlight at all times. He craved your attention. It was like he became addicted to your praise. He'd smile whenever you'd call him pretty whenever you looked at a card of his.

He wanted to be perfect for you. He'd show you how perfect he could be, you'd see. He just needed to get rid of the screen.

BREAKING CODE:

Vil stood in the middle of your room. Everything was too perfect to touch. He took it all in. everything felt just...right.

He didn't even calculate how he got in your room but he didn't care. He was in your world and sevens he'd never felt better.

When you walked into him looking at himself in your mirror (taking in how he was an actual real person) . You were so confused why this gorgeous man was in your room.

After explaining the situation you agreed to let him stay with you; if you didn't you swear he'd get kidnapped or something to become a big model. It wouldn't be bad to have a pretty face to look at when you got home.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Vil insists on controlling your wardrobe and grooming, often brushing aside whatever protests you have. He discourages you from associating with “lesser” individuals, claiming they tarnish the your image.

He knows what's best for you come on, those other people will only be dragging you down from your true potential. But of course you wouldn't know that he couldn't blame you.

Vil’s obsession honestly manifests in his relentless efforts to “perfect” for you. He'll critique your choices and actions, believing he alone knows what’s best for you. His fixation often leaves you feeling scrutinized and trapped.

He believes you just need him. He'll do everything just as long as he gets praise from you. Tell him he's being a great help won't you?

"You deserve only the best, and I won’t let anyone drag you down—!"

IDIA SHROUD:

REALIZATION:

This is not as exciting as they make it in manga. Idia was having a crisis. Realizing that he was in a video game made him want to hide away even more than he normally would. It didn't matter how hard Ortho tried he just wouldn't budge. He stayed cooped up in his room trying so hard to distract himself from the fact that he was nothing but code just like the ones he's learned to manipulate. Idia is not going to recover from this.

Idia was already wary around yuu but when he realized you were yuu he wanted to know more. He was still too scared to leave his dorm so you didn't see him much other than the homescreen.

He was so taken back when he realized that, he — Idia shroud was your favorite. He'd never been anyone's favorite before. He was just a loser that stayed cooped up in his room all day and you still liked him?

He grew obsessed with that feeling of being seen, he wanted to just use whatever knowledge he had to break past the screen.

BREAKING CODE:

When Idia realized he was actually in your room he damn near fainted. No scratch that he did. He was so overwhelmed. He didn't deserve to be in your room. Oh man how did he even get here? Nevermind that.

He was so incredibly.. happy. He was in the room of the one person who he felt knew him more than anyone. It made him feel bubbly and his hair flashed pink a bit.

He looked for something to do fearing he'd have a panic attack if he thought about this too long. So you ended up finding him tinkering with your computer when you came home. He basically died when he saw you.

After explaining to you what happened, you, now trying to get him to calm down agreed to let him stay. Not that he'd leave anyway he practically already made your bed his sanctuary.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Your room basically became his. He keeps it clean but doesn't really do a lot of the house work other than that.

Idia spends the day gaming, tinkering with gadgets, or monitoring your online activity (just to make sure you're okay, of course!). He reacts the worst to you being away and just does not like it one bit.

Idia struggles with separation anxiety (like a once stray cat)and might try to convince you to work or study from home. If you insist on going out he bombards you with messages . He'll subtly manipulate situations to keep you away from others, convincing you the world is too dangerous.

When you come home, Idia is overly clingy, insisting you spend the rest of the night together and refusing to let you focus on work. He just wants his cuddles and your attention you were out with those normies all day!

-" Can’t you just stay here and binge-watch something with me? It’s way safer—and more fun."

MALLEUS DRACONIA:

When the fae realizes he's nothing but binary code strug together he's more than perplexed. Malleus has dealt with a lot of things in his time but nothing could prepare him for the crushing reality. He's completely disoriented and Sebek nor Silver can figure out why because he won't tell them. He started lacking on work and just overall seemed more spaced out.

He was very quick to put two and two together. Yuu was the player. It was obvious; human without powers manages to get into NRC and some how is involved with almost everything. It wasn't quite hard to figure out.

Malleus idealizes you seeing you as a perfect being. In his eyes, you are kind, compassionate, and the only one who truly understands him. He was your favorite, this confirms you too think you too are meant for each other.

He'd do anything just for you to join him when he takes up the crown, it's just the screen that's not making it possible.

BREAKING CODE:

Once in your room Malleus doesn't look like he cares at all actually but inside he was losing his mind in the most positive way ever.

Nothing was how he imagined. This is how you like your space? Noted. He tidied up your place a bit and sat in the middle of the room as to not mess anything.

When you walked into him just sitting there you were so confused but he just gave you a smile showing off his fangs.

After explaining the situation you let him stay in your apartment; too scared what he'd manage to get into if you didn't.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Malleus makes sure everything is perfect for you at all times. Everything is organized and you never have to worry about anything being out of place.

Like Leona Malleus has animalistic tendencies, him being a fae dragon causes him to be well.. possessive, not wanting anyone else to monopolize your attention. He might grow jealous of your coworkers, friends, or even family, viewing them as a threat to your bond.

He. Is.clingy. worse than Kalim and Idia. He insists on escorting you everywhere, even if it’s unnecessary. People recognized him as "[Name's] horned bodyguard!" Gods you hated it. He tries to insert himself into every aspect of your life, wanting to be by your side constantly.

It took him so long to just be okay with letting you leave on your own. Once you're home he's bombarding you with questions about your day.(Secretly snuggling up to you so you can have his scent again)

-" I could just use magic you know, there's no need—I'm simply a better option for this stuff you can rely on me"

MASTERLIST

[dekariosclan]

Oh, wise oracle!

I remember reading somewhere that Early Access Gale says or suggests he'd only been with Mystra. Did I hallucinate that?

Ah, Anon! I so appreciate the ‘wise oracle’ greeting, but I do have to protest—I am definitely not the wise oracle of EA Gale! I showed up well after EA, not knowing who this ‘Baldur’ person was or why he felt it necessary to have a gate installed on his property. I then pulled a wizard out of a rock and well…here we are 😂

That being said: thank you for your ask anon! After I received it, I was curious myself as to what EA Gale might have said and if there was more dialogue about his relationship with Mystra. I was able to find this video on YouTube, and it’s a great watch for anyone who hasn’t seen it! It’s really interesting because you can see that originally, a huge chunk of Gale’s Act 1 scenes and his Act 2 romance were lumped together into the Tiefling party. There’s the flirty talk, the Art of the Night, lovemaking, his relationship with Mystra, him getting on his knees and showing Tav the orb, and even a snippet of the morning after conversation where Tav can ask if he still loves Mystra, etc.

This was the first time I ever saw footage of EA Gale’s romance, and I have to say I think almost all of the changes Larian made to it and to Gale’s character for the final game were the right call. Breaking up the scene into more fleshed-out portions and spreading them out over Act 1 and 2 flows much better, making the romance a slow-burn fits Gale’s situation much better, and making him less cocky (though I do enjoy the occasional dashes we see in the video 😂) and more vulnerable were, imho, all great choices that crafted the perfect pixel husband we have today.

But—the one thing I wish they hadn’t changed was EA Gale’s dialogue explaining what happened with Mystra, because it makes it very clear how Gale was manipulated and emotionally abused by her. And even though the essence of what he describes still remains in the final game, the fact that the dialogue was changed to be less direct and more subtle has led to some people incorrectly interpreting Gale’s actions as manipulating/gaslighting Mystra (???) even though one of the main themes of Bg3 is how each origin character is a victim of abuse from someone with power over them.

So I’m going to go over the Mystra portion, not only to answer your question, but also to discuss the dialogue a bit more in-depth.

First, your question: Does EA Gale suggest that he’s only been with Mystra?

When Gale tells Tav that his talents earned him the attention of Mystra, Tav asks what that felt like. Gale responds that it felt like “love,” and then says:

This, I think, is what your question was referring to. This definitely indicated that Mystra was Gale’s first love, and the fact that he was ‘a very young man’ at the time would also suggest that it was his first romantic relationship as well.

I have to say I’m glad that Larian changed this in the final game, with Gale clearly explaining that Tav is not the first mortal he’s been with. I personally think it makes the romance sweeter, because it proves that Gale loves Tav because they’re Tav, and not just because they’re his first mortal lover.

Also, the current game makes it clear that Gale is no longer in love with Mystra (though again, some people seem to misinterpret the fact that he still talks about their past relationship to mean he still loves her?) whereas the EA dialogue had him less certain about being over her. Again, I’m glad Larian changed that and made it clear he only has eyes for Tav.

Now, here’s where it gets very interesting and where I wish they had kept the dialogue the same:

Tav asks if Gale is saying he made love to a Goddess. Gale confirms, then continues:

Tav asks what happened next, and Gale says:

Tav says: “Let me guess: he proposed?” and Gale replies:

Gale then goes into the full backstory of the orb, which is essentially what we see in the current game.

But my god, the Mystra dialogue was so much better here! In the current game, the seduction/manipulation aspect is most clearly explained when Gale says, ‘I was an amusement to her, a mortal to be trifled with, amused, and eventually discarded.’ That line perfectly describes everything that happened, but to also have the EA lines about Mystra’s actions would have, I hope, left a lot less people confused in regards to who was in the wrong:

Mystra sought out Gale because of his talent and because he could be of great use to her

She seduced him, and did so easily because he was an innocent young man and powerless before a goddess’s charms

She toyed with him, let him fall in love with her, then spurned him and broke his heart

She cast him out to die alone after he tried to win her back by proposing to her an with impressive, but dangerous, gift—even though she knew he’d had no idea what he’d done, and he’d only made this mistake because he was a lovesick young man whom she had seduced

And all of that is not even taking into consideration the fact that she later tells him to kill himself in order to ‘earn her forgiveness.’..

Mystra, when I catch you—

So, yes, I do wish they would have kept all of that dialogue in, and for one other reason, too: it makes it even more poignant when Gale attempts to ‘propose’ with the offer of Godhood for Tav in the Act 3 boat scene. Because this dialogue would have made it very clear he’s repeating the same ‘folly’ he made with Mystra, by proposing with an offer of power, because he assumes that’s all he has of worth to offer his beloved. So to have Tav say I don’t want/need power—i just want you—it’s even sweeter after everything Gale has gone through.

And finally!

I loved seeing that Gale is still the cutest cutiepie in EA, just like he is in our final game version:

🥹💜

(Edited to add an important note: If you’d like to read some excellent meta from a true EA expert, please check out @galedekarios’s blog which has a ton of info! She also has a great post on this same subject with a more in-depth analysis of how/why the Mystra dialogue was changed.)

[revelboo]

Everything Is Alright Megatron is so long suffering sgdjdbdjd i swear at every turn hes kinda like "nevertheless we prevail!" and then some New Shit happens. First he finds out is SiC wants him dead which like isnt NEWS but also like. God when he found that out that must have sucked. Then he found out all the STUPID TODDLERS he apparently has for an army have been going around kidnapping themself some local fauna as pets and hes just like that poor teacher on the fieldtrip like "Class. Class please put the frogs back. PLEASE put the frogs back." and then hes like Fine. Whatever. Keep your pets. and then he finds out his BESTIE is keeping secrets bc hes SHARING a pet with Starscream AND theyre fucking it and hes just like "im going to lose it. im gonna snap. Is this what a stroke feels like??? oh my primus" and THEN he starts catching feelings and hes like "god damn these things are strong with their pheromones" only to be told thats NOT the case and hes just realizing Oh No Im Catching Feelings. And them the object of his affections almost dies, and while reviving it, they get him pregnant LIKE. HES THE ONLY ONE THAT HASNT BANGED THIS HUMAN AND YET HE GOT KNOCKED UP!! And they do it by PASSING their pregancy to him so now HES the Very Disappointed Sire Of Starscream's Sparkling and like. God. Bestie if you weren't preggers Id be giving you wine because oh my god. He's going to like. Handle whatever with Dumbscream and Soundwang and The Alien That Knocked Him Up and then kick em all out so he can have a stressed out "stare at the wall for two hours" moment. God he could have a nuclear level crashout and honestly I'd be like "He deserves this, let it rock, king". I have a meltdown if all the spoons in the house are dirty and I just made myself some ceral like. Babygirl you are so powerful but you do not need to be, indulge in a little meltdown. You're surrounded by clownery and you are but a single ringleader.

It may be the fever, but I saw this and can’t stop wheezing. Yeah, I really have to make up for all the BS I’ve subjected them all to at some point. It will get better. I mean Star and Megs are still going to hate each other, they’re just locked into a permanent stalemate now because they’re fully bonded to the same human.

18+ Mass displaced mechs 🌶️ Future spoilers, I suppose

Everything Is Alright Various Scene Snippets

Megatron

• Servos sliding lazily along your spine before sinking into your hair to cup the back of your head, you make a little noise where you’re sprawled on top of him sleeping. Venting against you to make you yawn and squint up at him. “Five more minutes,” you mumble, cheek against him as you clumsily swat at his hand. Swallowing a laugh, he hooks a servo under your chin to lift it until you give up and splay your little hands on him, pushing up with a little noise.

• Shivering when you realize he’s still inside you, his lips twist into that smug, little smile of his as his servos curl loosely around your throat. “After what you did to me, you think you get to make demands?” He asks and you sigh. Because he’s never letting you live down the fact that you’d sparked him. With Star’s sparkling. “You should be apologizing.” His other big hand grips your hip, those red optics lazily drifting over you when the hand around your neck shifts so his servo can brush your bottom lip.

• Little teeth nip him, before you capture the tip of his servo in that wet mouth, sucking on him as you roll your hips. Optics half shuttered, he vents as you sit up on him, moving against him. Making him remember the way you’d apologized the first time. Looking up at him from between his spread thighs, little, soft fingers stroking his spike before you’d bent over him, mouth moving on him. Servos on your hip flexing as you lift up and then ease down, little tongue sliding against his servo. Groaning as your wet heat grips his spike.

• Sucking on his servo as you roll your hips, feeling his spike stretching and filling you and those optics stare up at you. Content to let you have your way for now. Because this side of him? It’s only yours. Not even Soundwave gets to see those rare, genuine smiles of his. Those are only for you.

Soundwave

• “My sparkling will have a Seeker protoform!” Grimacing, you curl into your blanket hidden inside Soundwave’s cassette compartment. You can still hear Megatron and Starscream arguing, though. Megatron’s deep, rumbling voice too low for you to understand, but you have no doubt he’s goading Star on purpose. You’d already told the warlord the spark is Star’s. He’s just carrying it as messed up as it is. Hear Soundwave rumble around you and feel when he starts walking, apparently deciding this argument isn’t his problem. Even though you probably need to ask to be let out so you can talk Star down instead of allowing Megatron to pick at him.

• Servos pressed over the closed door to his cassette compartment as he leaves Starscream and Megatron to their squabble since it has nothing to do with him. And he knows you’ve already made it clear to Megatron the spark is Star’s and that the Seeker will get his way. He’d swear his old friend just enjoys provoking the SIC. Going about his duties, he’s reassured by the feel of you hidden away and safe within him. Knowing that sooner or later he’ll need to tell the other two that he’d figure out that you can be sparked again since Megatron had taken Star’s sparkling. That he’d sparked you again with his when he’d fully bonded you. It’s not like they haven’t noticed he’s been keeping you inside his cassette compartment where he can better protect you and his young lately, they just haven’t put it together since they’re too busy squabbling with each other. And that’s fine, it gives him more time with you.

Starscream

• “It’s going to be a Seeker,” you reassure him, cupping his face in your hands to press a kiss against his helm. And he shifts against you, cheek brushing yours. “Just like you.” Because it honestly doesn’t matter to you as long as the spark can be transferred safely to the protoform. Know that that spark is still smaller than it should be and that the protoform will be small to accommodate it. That it’ll grow and change with the sparkling, but its base form will be decided at creation. Even though Soundwave had hinted that just because it was a Seeker frame, didn’t mean they couldn’t be surprised down the road. Because you’re never going to hear the end of it if the kid starts favoring Megatron later on.

• Just like him? Why does that almost scare him? Because he’d hated his own carrier. And he’s scared of screwing this up. Of not being able to do this. Lips brushing yours, he tangles his servos in your hair. Because there’s so much he’s worried about, how small and helpless the sparkling will be at first. But he wants this, wants family and home and future, even if it’s all gone sideways and isn’t quite what he’d imagined. Grudgingly finding a new Trine he didn’t even want, bonded to you and through you to Megatron and Soundwave. Knowing that between the three of them, you and his sparkling will be the most fiercely protected beings on Earth. That no threat will come anywhere near his family. And he still hates Megatron, resents him and can never forgive him, but they’re trapped in an unwilling truce because of you.

[aceecee]

Insatiable - Chapter Five

TW for this chapter: murder, themes of obsession and possessiveness, brief mention of a panic attack, ooc sylus*, mean sylus, down bad sylus - has some naughty thoughts about you

* technically they are all out of character but I have no idea how the love interests act towards others who aren't MC, we have some snippets here and there but it's not enough. a lot is left up to interpretation so if you don't agree with mine, I can't do anything about it

WC: 5.3K

Masterlist

He can no longer live without you. You’re just like the air he needs to breathe. So, let him partake in you.

 For his survival. 

The city comes alive at night. During the day it feels like a ghost town at times but the night is when the sinners awaken and their appetite is never satiated. The hushed whispers in alleys, the not so odd gunshot you hear in the distance and the pleads of the victims all go ignored. The people here are smart. They know not to get involved.

But it is not the people she seeks. No. The one she’s hunting is yet another arrogant man with too much money and time in his hands. No matter how many of these animals she puts down, another simply takes his place.

The man thinks himself on top of the world, living on the top floor of the skyscraper. He feels like he’s untouchable. He thinks he’s safe.

He hasn’t even noticed her circling around him for days, watching her prey. Taking notice of every detail of his life. Of his betrayal. 

It’s what makes her such a great hunter. She’s patient, going days without nutrition just to complete her hunt. Not a single prey has escaped her.

And this man is no exception.

She watches him - lounging around on his sofa - all of it clear to her thanks to the large windows. She’s standing on the rooftop of the building next to him, watching him through binoculars and he still has no fucking idea. There’s guards stationed by the door of the room but they’re useless against her.

All she needs is the view of him to complete the job.

It’s all played out for her, like a scene out of a movie. She experiences it all with a wicked glint in her eyes, her favourite part is coming up, the anticipation might just kill her. He hunches over in pain but no sound escapes him as a vine covers his mouth, silencing him. His eyes are bloodshot as he feels multiple things inside him, swarming and looking for escape. 

One does.

It shoots out of his chest.

Then another.

This time through his left ear. 

It continues until he looks more of an abomination of nature rather than a man.

He’s left on the couch. Silenced forever. 

The last thing she’s ever thought of herself is an artist but she has created a masterpiece. 

Sylus stares at his hands. [Name] had left his office a little while ago and he’s been stuck in this haze since. He can still remember the feel of her skin against, the warmth of her body and how right it all had left.

He still feels the anger at your little sacrificial lamb act. How dare you even think about leaving him? 

This Eiden was a pathetic little coward. Still hiding behind his sister even when you’re considered dead. Sylus has been watching him the past year. Your brother has never done anything to find you, Sylus doesn’t care if he was hospitalized. The fool had gone and gotten married but couldn’t lift a finger for his family? 

There was no memory of you left in your brother’s house, Eiden was all too happy to forget about you and yet you’re still worried about him. 

And if that wasn’t enough, Eiden now has his Mara looking after him. How greedy. 

His mind is in a disarray. His being filled with turmoil. He’s not supposed to feel this way about you. His love is only for the woman who killed him. And that’s not you. 

No more of this. No more of feeling anything for you. 

She’s just a tool, he reminds himself.

And it’s time he treats you like one.

You find yourself back in your bedroom.

How you got here was not remembered. It all felt like a blur. 

Your gaze is on your wrist. The very one that Sylus had grabbed over a year ago. Your other hand curls around your wrist, trying to mimic the way he had. His touch had felt like acid on your skin back then so what changed?

Why had your mind and body deemed it okay? 

I don’t fucking know.

Insomnia has nothing on the current exhaustion you feel. The sleep is just what you need.

The rubbery texture of the mat has become a familiar sensation to you. You often find yourself face planting onto it.

He’s a monster. Relentless. 

Your entire body aches and not in a good way!

You had made the mistake of getting comfortable because now your body was subjected to a different type of torture daily.

Sparring with him. 

This was the deal you had accepted two months ago. You had served his finances well but his endgame for you was different. You’ve rested this last year and your body is much better.

Just like Sylus wanted.

So, now it’s time to train it. As you feel your muscles ache, you can’t help but think it was a bad idea to confide in him about your evol. Because now, he’s set on seeing how far your endurance can take you. How much you can handle.

And it’s made more infuriating due to the fact that it’s working. The torture forced upon you for years had left you capable of accomplishing more with your evol than you could during your childhood. But your body was malnourished so even that was stunted. It’s all changed now though. 

You’re also curious as to how far you can go. For the first time in all your lives you feel powerful. You can feel the potential brimming inside you, almost like it’s just out of your reach. It’s an addictive thing and unfortunately you’re hooked. 

Creating plants out of nothing isn’t the limit to what you can do. You remember how your body had moved on its own during your childhood, helping a certain someone calm down from his evol flaring up. Golden vines had wrapped around his body - glowing - and they had healed all his cuts and stopped him from losing control. Of course, you paid the price by sacrificing your body again. But something tells you that the vines are only the start. 

It’s why you don’t say anything as he knocks you off your feet once again. Two months of this and you haven’t made much progress. You can see the frustration inside Sylus and it worries you. Worried that he’ll throw you away.

A few months ago, these thoughts would have never crossed your mind. He kept you at a distance, sure, but he had always treated you with respect. In his own way, he kept reassuring you that such a thing would no longer happen…but something had changed.

Ever since he had comforted you in his office, he had been cold. Not just cold but sometimes scary. You have no idea where you stand with him. He no longer spoke to you in a teasing tone, no longer seeked you out and as rare it was for him to join your wacky adventures with the twins, now it never happens. He mostly communicates through Mephisto. The only time you see him is during your sparring sessions. He shows no hint of emotion in his eyes or face and it stings. 

You hate that it stings. 

His hold as he picks you up is gentle but it doesn’t feel like it. The dread at his touch is back too. But you’re too afraid to give it away. Afraid that if you don’t become what he wants you to then you’ll be disposed of. 

“This isn’t working,” his eyes glare at you. He’s brought you closer to his body, face to face. Your black long sleeved shirt is good at hiding how sweaty you are. But your hair is a mess and you’re breathing heavily. He’s wearing a red tank top with black shorts, looking as composed as ever. You don’t even have the mind to admire him like this as your heart sinks to your stomach. Yet another person has deemed you a failure. 

No. No. No.

I promise I’ll do better. I promise-

It’s hard to sign any of the words with the speed at which your pleas bombard your mind. None of it matters as he throws your wrist out of his hold and storms out. 

You can’t even hear the choked gasps that escape from you. You can’t hear your breath shortening as you forget how to do the action. Somehow you can’t even hear your thoughts as the four walls around you seem to sway and close in on you. You make no noise as you fall to your knees and it kills you inside.

You’re left laying down on the gym mat. 

The house is quiet now.

No longer do the occupants wake up to the sounds of clanging in the kitchen, no longer do they smell the food cooking and no longer do they see you. 

Sylus hadn’t met you in the gym the next day. Or the next. 

You take the hint and stop waiting for him.

You spend all your free time holed up in your room. You only leave for work. You haven’t signed in over a week as you refuse to cross paths with anyone. You left his card on his work desk, only to find it on your nightstand upon your return. You don’t push it by doing it again but you don’t use it.

Mary had sent you a text informing you that the kids wanted to see you but you responded by letting her know you were on a work trip. You didn’t want to put on a fake smile and pretend that everything was okay. That you were okay. 

Luke and Kieran try to knock on your bedroom door but you never answer. The door is locked but it would pose no challenge for them to pick it. They don’t. It doesn’t stop them from trying to get you to come out though. 

“[Name], come get food with us.” 

“[Name], come play this new board game with us.”

“[Name], come commit arson with us.” 

None of it works. 

Your window is kept locked and the curtains are always drawn. You can hear Mephisto pecking at it but again you don’t respond. 

On day five of your self-imposed isolation, you find yourself waking up with too much energy. You can only think of one thing to release it and that’s how you find yourself in the gym, tying up the boxing gloves as you stand before a punch bag.

Hand-to-hand combat was what Sylus had labelled you as a failure in so perhaps working the muscles would help.

The first punch you throw is half-assed.

How pathetic.

His voice speaks for you in your mind.

The second is too shaky.

How weak.

The third doesn’t even make the bag move.

Failure. 

It repeats in your mind.

Failure. Failure. Failure. 

It continues until you feel the white hot rage.

How was any of this your fault? Had you asked to be brought into this world? To be kidnapped? To be forced to watch your family be murdered in front of you and be the reason why? To be tortured and forced to experience unimaginable horrors? Did you beg for your mind to be broken over and over again?

Had you asked him to save you?

No, he had done so on his own. And now he wanted to throw a temper tantrum when things didn’t go his way.

Because you weren’t what he wanted? Who he wanted?

In your anger you don’t realise as your leg picks up and collides with the punching bag. However, you do notice as the force makes it fall off its hinges and smash against the wall. A good distance away from you.

You stand there gaping as the bag falls down, leaving a sizable dent in the wall.

“Always full of surprises aren’t you?” A voice purrs in your ear.

In your shock you hadn’t noticed the asshole entering and positioning himself right behind you. In a small act of rebellion, you push yourself away from him.

[Don’t touch me.] 

Red eyes widen a bit. It’s a surprise to see him open and close his mouth a few times, trying to think of what to say but falling short. He looks to be in contemplation before nodding and taking a step away from you. 

You’ve never seen him rattled. A part of you is smug. It’s a beautiful sight. 

What would he look like on his knees, your thoughts wander. 

“Meet me here again tomorrow?” it’s phrased like a demand but he speaks it like a question. His eyes look over your face but you give nothing away.

You nod.

This time it’s you who walks away.

Sylus is a fool.

He lasted not even four days after he walked out on you before finding himself at your bedroom door, hand raised to knock but staying in place. The only time he’s seen you these last few days is the small glimpses of you at work. You’ve isolated yourself and he knows it's serious when you’ve even shut Mephisto out. 

He wanted to use his position as your boss to force you to show yourself, especially when he found his credit card on his desk but after some contemplation, he concluded it’ll do more harm than good.

Pride does settle in him when he realised all the cameras were gone so he can’t even check up on you using them but it’s mostly overshadowed by frustration.

This is all his doing. He had been so focused on seeing results that he had overlooked the mental battle taking place in your mind. He should be happy that his plan worked, he treated you like a tool, successfully manipulated you into being desperate for his approval so why doesn’t it feel like a victory? 

Sylus has never heard you talk but he didn’t know one could be silent in other ways and it stings.

He hates that it stings.

He’s conflicted. Maybe it’s for the better that the two of you stay like this because the fact that he has gotten so attached to you in such a short amount of time is exactly why he did this. He can live with emotional pain, he’s been doing so for far too long.

But can he live without you?

He finds himself unable to answer his own mind.

He puts his hand down, into his pocket because he doesn’t trust his own body right now.

And he walks away.

He’s a fool.

He won’t apologise for it. 

He saw it all.

The quiet fury in your eyes that you could no longer express with your words. The raising of your leg as it collided with the bag. The sheer force it took for the bag to leave a dent in his fucking wall.

Desire pools in his gut at your show of strength.

It doesn’t help that you look so good in your workout attire. It clings to you in all the right ways. All those memories of pinning you to the mat and having you under him resurface. Sylus hadn’t shown it but he was utterly grateful at his restraint because it would’ve been so easy to have you in those moments.

His body moves on his own and before he knows it, he’s right behind you. He’s tried so hard to forget the feel of you against his body but his mind still yearns for it. He doesn’t touch you but he’s close enough.

You’re too shocked to even notice him.

How cute.

But then he ruins it by opening his mouth and something inside him breaks when you pull away.

[Don’t touch me.]

Your unspoken words ring in his head. Over and over again. 

You’ve rendered him speechless and for that he has to give credit where credit is due.

Sylus has walked away from you too many times to count and he can’t help but think when you do it to him.

Is that how he made you feel?

The room has changed the next time you enter.

The gym equipment has all been moved to the corners. Instead it looks more like something out of those spy movies you liked to watch. One area of the room is set up as a shooting range. There are four lanes, each with their own target. On the wall are various guns, none of which you have any knowledge of. You hated them in your first life so you never knew a thing about them. The guns in the game are a bit different, more technical.

There’s another area with training dummies. No weapons around them. Another area is set up as some type of simulator, you think. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the technology of this world.

You hear them before you see them.

“Boss sure moved fast to make this happen,” Luke says. “Seems like we’re no longer the favourite child Lukey,” Kieran pouts. They stand before you, leaning on the other.

[You were never the favourite, that goes to Meph], they let an offended gasp at your declaration. Their antics never fail to make you feel better.

[Why have I been graced with your presence?] you ask.

“Cause we’re your new mentors. Boss’s orders.” They clarify together when you give them a confused look. It’s sometimes astonishing how much they move in sync, almost like they are one person. Not even you and Ei were that close.

“Now,” Kieran claps his hands, “...it’s come to our attention, little lady, that you pack a mean kick. But first, we have something to show you,”

Luke grabs your hand. It’s the first time he’s touched you and he realises this himself and drops it quickly. Before he can say anything, you grab it again. 

[What is it?]

You have no idea what expression he has on his face, you can’t see the look in his eyes thanks to the mask they wear but you hope he’s shocked. 

No way am I admitting that I feel safe around them, they’ll never let me hear the end of it.

Neither of them say anything but instead drag you to the spot on the wall that had the dent you created. You wish so badly you could cackle when you see what they’ve done to it. 

“Ta-daaa!” They give you jazz hands as they show off their work.

The hole is framed and there is a small plaque to the side of it. When you look at it closer, something is written on it.

Baby’s first victim. 

“Well, what do you think? It was my idea if you like it. Kieran’s if you don’t.” You hear an offended “Hey!”, followed by a smack. The twins bickering is interrupted by your clapping. When they turn to look at you, you’re staring at them with a wide smile.

[I love it.]

You regret the show of appreciation when two sets of hands start pinching your cheeks, cooing at you. 

For the last month, the twins had trained you in every fighting style that specialised in using legs. You pick it all up fast. It’s exhilarating seeing the damage you can do. It’s reassuring to know that you’re strong with or without your evol. 

Also you’ve destroyed over a hundred dummies. Pat yourself on the back!

You haven’t seen Sylus in the last month but this time it doesn’t bother you. The only communication you’ve gotten with him is a message Mephisto relayed. “Focus on your training, don’t show up to work.” 

You don’t think you would have been able to concentrate when your entire body is constantly aching. Any free time you have is spent either at the orphanage or resting in your bed.

The twins and you have gotten even closer during this month. Close enough to divulge some secrets.

It’s yet another day.

Rather than taking your frustration out on the dummies, the twins want to spar. Which means you have to be wary of how much force you put in your kicks. Kieran decided to go against you first with Luke watching on the sidelines. 

But the kick you land on him is too hard, the force of it is known by the loud sound ricocheting throughout the room. Before you can drop everything and see if he’s okay, you notice it. You notice Luke holding his side in pain. The exact same spot you had just kicked his brother in. 

You’ll ask about it later but for now, you rush off to find the first aid kit. You examine the area on Kieran, he tried to play it off but the shake in his voice was too noticeable. The guilt must have been clear on your face because he relents when he notices the tears in your eyes.

You don’t want to hurt those you care about. Intentional or not. Physically or not.

Luckily there is no internal damage, just some bruising that should go away on its own. You give him an ice pack. Then you turn to Luke.

[Show me yours.] 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he crosses his arms and looks away.

You move yourself into his field of view and sign. [I’m not stupid, I noticed. Show me or I’ll tell the boss that it was you who drank his favourite wine.]

That sets him straight and he shows you. He’s given an ice pack as well.

It all makes sense how they seem to be so in sync, to the point where they feel everything the other does. It’s great, sure, but it’s a huge weakness. 

Take one down and the other does as well. 

Not on your watch.

[My evol kills me,] it’s only fair to let them know something of yours in exchange. You don’t have to see their faces to notice the confusion so you explain in more detail.

The three of you go out for some ice cream for comfort after.

This time it’s Sylus who is waiting for you in the room. He’s at the shooting range. You walk over. The boots you’re wearing make enough noise for him to hear. He turns to you and you freeze at the soft smile on his face. You narrow your eyes at him in distrust, making sure to keep a distance. What is he planning…

He only chuckles. “Relax, little bird. I only want to have an honest conversation with you.” Your body language relaxes a little but you’re still on edge. He continues his words when he notices, “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m putting you through all this.” When you nod, he closes the distance. His hand reaches out to caress your cheek but stops before it makes contact. He’s gauging your reaction and continues when you don’t give him a reason to stop.

Your breath hitches when his fingers cradle your cheek. “It’s all for your benefit…and mine of course.” His eyes are hooded as they stare into yours. “I want you to slice the necks of each individual that did this to you,” his fingers move to the large scar across your neck. You tilt your head up to give him access. “Each individual that works for them will die by your hand only, I’ll make sure of it,” he promises you. And despite your mind screaming at you to not believe him, you do.

[And what do you gain out of this?] He laughs softly at your question. You know him so well. “I get a super soldier.”

He tugs you towards the shooting range. “Now, let's see how you fare with this.”

Sylus stares at his bedroom ceiling. 

The both of you had come to some sort of understanding with each other since then. He had taught you how to use guns and hand weapons, it’s dangerous for you to rely on your legs. He’s working towards getting you to be comfortable using your evol, but that won’t be for a while. You can be very stubborn when you want.

The guns hadn’t appealed to you like the blades had. You had settled on a pair of twin blades, the sword’s blade could extract leaving just the handles, which made them easy to carry. You asked them to be modified further, so they could be hot enough to cut through anything. It was an interesting ask, one that he indulged in. It took a while to develop, to find the perfect protocore that would work with it but he prevailed in the end. The giddiness in your face had made it all worth it. 

He’s fucked.

He still doesn’t know the answer to what you mean to him. All he’s aware of is that you can never leave him. You have a power over him that no one else does.

Like right now, you locked him inside his own room. He can easily escape but he’s not going to. Why? Because the image of the puppy eyes you had flashed at him pops up again. He’s about to set up an important deal, so sleep has been sacrificed. However, you noticed this and put your foot down. 

“It’s hardly fair, little bird. You never sleep.” You had taken up all the space in his bedroom door, your arms outstretched so he couldn’t leave. [I’m fucked in the head. What’s your excuse?] He only sighed, rubbing the space between his head. 

I don’t have time for this.

But when he looked back up, any thoughts of disagreement went out the window at the pleading look you gave him. [Please?]

That’s why he’s currently trying to glare a hole into the ceiling. He can’t believe he let you win. With a huff, he accepts his fate and closes his eyes.

The clock reads 8:00AM when he awakens. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he becomes all too aware of the silence throughout the house.

The uncharacteristic silence.

You don’t live with the twins and have a moment of peace. They don’t make it possible.

He’s rushing out the door. What are they up to? He does not want a repeat of last time. No, he can’t even think about it. 

The twins aren’t in their room, or in any of the other miscellaneous rooms in the house. He knocks on your door and opens it when no one answers. It’s also empty. Maybe the three of you have gone out together again, he calms himself down. 

Coffee.

He walks to the kitchen, passing by the living room but stops in his tracks. 

Found them.

They’re currently sitting down in the armchairs, tight ropes all around them. Their necks are slumped forward but the snores coming out of their mouths stop any panic. His eyes move over the couch. You’re sitting down on it. Still in your pajamas with a robe around you and fluffy slippers on. There’s a tablet in your hand and a steaming cup of coffee on the table. One hand is typing on the tablet while the other is giving head rubs to Mephisto, who is sitting on the couch’s arm rest. The bird looks very comfy at the affection he’s getting.

You look up when he enters, a warm smile on your face. You set the tablet down and get up to greet him. [Morning. Did you sleep well?”]

“I did,” he hums before pointing at the nuisances. “What’s all this?” You look at the direction, a mischievous look in your eyes. [I needed their help with something which they did! But they were being too loud and I was afraid they would wake you up so I handled it.] 

“By drugging them?” 

You give him a beaming smile in response. [Aren’t I a genius?] If you had a tail, it would be wagging. He smiles while imagining the sight. 

His hand brushes the stray hair out of your face. “Yes. Yes you are.” It moves down towards your wrist, his fingers lace with yours and he’s pulling you towards the kitchen, making sure to grab your cup of coffee. Mephisto follows behind. “Come. Let’s have breakfast together.” 

You instantly move to the fridge but look up at him when his hand slams the door shut. Sylus moves you towards the bar stool. “I’m cooking today. Just sit there and look pretty.”  He turns around and opens the fridge door. Simple eggs with toast will do. With the ingredients in hand, he moves to the stove. In a few minutes, the sound of the eggs sizzling can be heard with the toaster also on. He can feel your stare on him. 

As it should be.

He keeps an eye on you when you get up, heading to the coffee machine. You’re making it for him. The two of you are silent as you work, only the sounds of the equipment you’re using can be heard. You move towards him, and he accepts the cup. It’s just how he likes it.

[I’ll be back.] By the time you come back into the kitchen, he’s putting down the two plates on the table. The tablet is in your hand.

You sit down with him, looking for something on him and slide it to him when you do. He picks it up and reads it.

“This is…How-”

[I’ve been watching him for two weeks. As soon as you wanted the deal.] 

He puts the tablet down on the tablet. “Why?” arms crossed as he stares at you.

[Because he was too clean. Nothing on his finances, not even the hidden ones. No one is that clean when they live here. Certainly not someone that rich. I figured he’d mess up and I was right.] 

He continues to stare at you. A sign to not stop. 

[He has a mistress. Which wouldn’t be a problem but his wife has an iron tight prenup. One that’ll leave him with nothing if his infidelity is proven. That’s why I got the twins to…persuade him to take the deal. With a 5% loss to profit for him.] You wait for some sort of reaction from Sylus, you normally wouldn’t intervene with his business like this but you noticed the exhaustion in his eyes. Sure, it would've been easy for him to get what he wanted by brute force but that’s not how the world of business works. A reputation like that would only cause issues.

“Don’t do such a thing again,” he warns you. “That’s not why you’re here,” he pauses, “but good job.”

Later during the day when you return to your room, there’s a big stack of folders waiting for you. On them is a sticky note, ‘A reward,’ printed on it. When you open the folder’s it’s all the information he had promised you, about Eiden. But any thankfulness goes away at the dates listed. Sylus had been watching your brother for a long time, before the whole drama in his office. He already had all this information when he promised he’ll look into your brother. But he kept it these last couple of months. When you had disappointed him.

You can’t believe you trusted the words he spoke to you. You had hammered yourself down and begun anew for him. You’re letting him turn you into a killing machine. Your gaze falls back onto the sticky note.

Reward.

The word is sitting there, mocking you. What else is he keeping from you? Hiding it away and only letting you when you’ve satisfied him. 

With a new found resolve, you crush the note in your hands. Two years. He had invested a lot in you these two years so that’s what you’ll give him. The next two years, you’ll do whatever he wants. You’ll be whoever he wants. But as soon as the time is up, you’re gone.

Not just from him, from them all.

AN: We have Zayne in the next chapter!! Finally!!!

[floraltypes]

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ through and through (🪽)

pairing - meret manon bannerman x fem!reader

synopsis - fellow fans reminisce about the moments when the love between Y/N and manon appeared to grow stronger and more vibrant. through a collection of tweet from passionate fans there is a glimpse into key on-camera relationship moments, along with a sneak peek at what was happening behind the scenes as their bond developed.

"You really want to get the flower?" Manon sat at your side as you were laid out on the covered seat, right arm extended while the tattoo artist began to place down the outline of a small, vibrant flower. "You don't have to."

"Is this a worried Meret?" You softly questioned, looking up at the girl with teasing eyes. "I want to," you reminded her, a soft glittering red gloss smeared and sparkling on the outer corner of your upper lip.

"It'll look really good on you," she grinned back, pinning some of her braids behind her head, allowing the girl to move her head whichever way with no fear of hair in her face. "You're such a flower girl after all."

"What does that mean?"

"They have such an undeniable beauty, easily entrapping those who care to look," she winked, her hand beginning to wind itself with your own.

"Those words sound a little familiar; are they from the song snippet you sent me the other day?" You questioned, tilting your head against the crinkle of plastic as a beam of sun came into view.

"Might have to call the song Flower Girl," she said with such smoothness of her tongue, eyes filled with confidence before concern as she caught you with your lip between your teeth, the buzzing beginning as the machine neared closer towards your skin.

The Ghanaian girl pouted out her own, red gloss catching it's on glimmer from the sunlight, and winded her thumb in tiny circles as it caressed the crease between your own and your pointer finger.

One camera stood prompted right at her face, another further off to the side, ready to catch a different angle of the possible reactions of the Ghanaian girl. She sat calm and collected, flipping through pages of her beloved journal as the cameras caught her eyes, lightening up and a downturning smile when they caught different portions.

"So, Manon," the voice behind the screen began to speak, deeper yet with a gentle tinge as they took in the girl hurriedly flipping further, brief scribbles of dark ink catching the camera's lens. "What is it like to look back at your journal now near the end of the competition? You've made it to the top ten."

"Uh," and an uncomfortable chuckle leaves the girl's glossed lips, eyes widening with clear shocked energy as she looks over towards the person. "Reading this back was shocking."

"What were your journal entries like back when you first arrived with the girls?"

"It's filled with a lot of nervous energy back then," she scrounges back tens of pages to get to the beginning moments, the first few pieces apart of the book. "I got this to help to personally document my experience through all this, so it definitely includes irrational and frantic thoughts." There is a brief pause, her eyes looking and reading throughout the pages as one braid falls to the front of her features. "But a lot of the girls were nice in the beginning; it did not start out with a lot of drama. I remember meeting Nayoung, who was fairly new and Daniela! She had made some joke that didn't go over really well but the fact that it didn't made it funnier. Soon enough, I was introduced to Y/N; she made it like a duty to make me comfortable."

"How so?"

"She helped me unpack and listened to me blab on about my life at home while she shared some stuff about her own and a bit about her fears of coming. Leaving everything behind is really frightening when you don't even know if it will be worth it in the end. I had thoughts like those sometimes, but I felt deep down that I would make it so it didn't come up much." Manon brushed her braid back, sticking a nail between the pages to bring about a random page. "There was a time with some drama; I remember being so nervous but she just held my hand and walked in as if nothing bothered her, keeping me along with her. I feel like since then, especially, we've just always been side by side."

"Would you say you're closest to Y/N here?"

"For sure, she is one of the ones I'm closest with; I can't even think about not debuting with her. It'd be so weird, like wrong."

"Come here!" Sophie whined, the liquid in her glass swishing about as she wobbled on the larger heels, rushing to pull Manon over to the chairs. "No more talking; it's time for drinking!"

"Sophie," Manon laughed, itching the side of her face as she looked her friend up and down. "Might want to start slowing down, Soph."

"Thanks, Mama Manzanita!" She laughed, one that was so short it turned into a whole laughing attack that she nearly dropped her glass; more than half of its contents completely spilled upon the floor at this point. "Get in the party mood, I am!" The music is blasting all about; Manon could barely hear her close conversation with you only minutes earlier. The place is filled with vibrant twentysomething year olds bumping to the pounding beats with different colors of streams of lights seeping through every which way.

"I can't leave Y/N," Manon tries to tell her friend, sitting her on the torn cushion to then take the glass and put it on the wobbly table in front. "I was not expecting it to be crazy tonight. I was thinking something more simple."

"But it's always Y/n this and Y/n that," Sophie grabs both of Manon's arms, almost pulling her on top of her. "What about me? I miss you; you're going to forget about me soon." She whines in her drunken stupor, clearly emotions heightened from the extra liquor.

"Never," Manon shakes her head, a smile now creeping up on her lips as she brushes away a few baby strands from the girl's face, makeup losing its vibrancy. "Y/n is a different kind of friend, like a different kind of feeling, Soph," she winks.

"Oh?" Sophie looks heavily perplexed before she lightly hits her cheek. "Oh! Trust me, I'm going to be the best wing woman ever," she whipped her head around, ponytail smacking Manon in the face. "Y/n! Y/n!" She repeatedly yells, "Get over here."

With uneasy hands, Sophie tries to halt herself up, stealing one of the drinks from the table with a quick gulp before basically falling into you.

"Go get by Manon on that bench right now!" Sophie demands, standing back away from you and pushing you off into the distance. "I need a good picture out of tonight, so Y/N, sit on the bench, good, and Manon, sit on the top behind her! Yes!" The photographer in her takes over the wasted part, guiding you two into the pose that could've taken over the internet, one where Manon slides her hands to lie on your shoulder with your face looking up and hers looking down.

The shot that the girl gets starts wobbled, but one out of the ten ends up clear, clear that either you two are true professionals or truly have a special extra feeling for one another.

"It's so crazy in here," you whisper, your eyes still keeping their steady gaze on the woman above you. "Sophie sure likes to party."

"I mean everyone does," Manon adds, her head moving ever so slightly down towards you, lips reaching closer and closer, and eyelashes filled with the darkened dye that is more noticeable now. It's like a rush of flames that wanders about your skin, leaving goosebumps in its trace. It's addicting the way you subtly try to lift your head ever so higher, a bit closer, just a bit more.

"Bro, everyone is asking about the other girls!" Dani turned towards Manon, shaking her head at the comments that she read off the screen, different ones asking about all the different members. Asking where they were, if they could join, if they were working on new music.

"Just appreciate us!" Manon pretended to fake crying, dragging her hands down her face in a ploy of being distressed. "We clearly serve more with the lives. People always want more."

"Some of the girls are out, and some are at home," Dani answered, dragging her finger down the phone to scroll through more comments. "We are going out soon to meet up with some of the others. That's why Manon has to hurry up with her hair already!"

"Chill, beauty takes time," Manon swished her ponytail in Dani's face, picking up the brush with a helping of gel to smooth back some hairs.

"Y/N is here, probably lounging around in her room," Dani replied, sitting back from where she once sat on her knees. "Who do you think pulls the most?" She read aloud.

"Easy," Manon scoffed.

"Me." They both spoke at the same time, heads quickly spinning towards one another with incredulous looks.

"Yeah, right, you can't even pull the g-" Manon clamped a hand over Dani's mouth, which Dani's own hand followed in tandem. "Anyways," she smiled once both were removed.

Manon let her eyes glide through the comments, now seeming to flood in quicker at their little stunt but she ignored the speculations and tried to keep to ones that would not get her yelled at by her manager or worse, Sophia. "I love watching the edits and seeing artwork; it's all so good. You guys are truly talented."

"Oh, that painting of Y/N and Manon goes crazy," Dani points out the comment mentioning a painting of the two; it had recently blown up all over their Twitter, watching different fan pages go crazy over the quality and seemingly the deeper feelings behind it.

"Don't get me started," Manon chirped up, leaning over excitedly as she panned the phone a little more towards her. It was seriously so gorgeous! They had me looking so valorent, and Y/n looked stunningly soft."

"And it was a huge ship post," Dani clarified, trying to keep her voice lower, yet instead, it seemed to come out at the same tone.

"Wait, really?" Manon whispered back, shock etched into her features, before imagining the piece again and the different details apart of it. "That's actually crazy how the eyekons can-"

"Be quiet!" Sophia swung the door open, shaking her head in the background as both girls fell silent. "You two should not be on live!"

"We're having fun, mom," Manon whined, placing her hands together in a pleading motion while looking back up to her. "Please!"

"Sophia is freaking out in our room," you popped your head into the bedroom. "She's going to pass out from fear."

"Baby y/n!" Daniela cheered, standing up to try and drag you into frame. "Everyone's asking how one of the youngest in the group is doing."

"I'm not even the youngest!" You quickly reminded everyone, crossing your arms at your waist in faux frustration. "This is silly."

"Ever since that clip of your pout went around, you're being called baby," Manon told you, allowing you to sit in the middle of them both, one leg practically over Manon's. "My baby y/n," the girl taunted, squeezing at your cheeks.

"Our baby!" Daniela corrected as she squeezed at your other one.

The phone was carefully angled to hit over your features instead of the girl who sat a few feet away tapping loudly at her own computer playing a new game on Roblox. The redhead completed such actions with a lot of spunk, music blasting from the headphones that wrapped around her ears, as this was her choice to spend her downtime. You just laughed occasionally as she muttered little things to herself, letting your eyes take a peek at her form before finding their way back to the screen.

"Yes, there will be new music before you know it!" You responded proudly, picking up the mascara that lay haphazardly at your desk. Other makeup products spilled about as you comfortably took your time getting ready. "I cannot say more; I am not Manon," you laughed, a fellow comment talking about how the said girl always seemed to be on the brim of revealing more than needed.

You screwed open the pink tube, lightly dragging the brush against your eyelashes, fingers clad with golden rings as the jewelry part of your outfit had already been assembled. Once you were finished, you used your unoccupied fingers to flick through the comments. "I do know Sophie; she is funny," you laughed in remembrance of hectic times with the sporadic woman. "Her and Meret make a good pair," you smiled lightly. The comments seemed to speed up slightly, questioning if that was a subtle move to ship the two women, an action you definitely were not trying to portray.

"No! No," you raised your hands up in a type of defense, frantically trying to clarify what you had previously meant. "It makes sense why they are good friends, that is all." Yet a comment from a certain 'Ynonlvr' caught your eye, writing, "See how she defended that one quick, possessive Y/n peaking through.". It was a comment you couldn't help but softly smile at, a memory of just how much this specific woman played a toll on your heart.

A specifically patterned knock was placed at the wood of your door, creeping you away from such thoughts but just enlarging the smile on your features. You scooted in closer to the camera, hands cupped around your lips as you leaned in. "You are all going to be excited to see who is here!" you turned towards the door, raising your voice "Come in! I am live."

"Hello gorgeous!" Manon swung the door open, dropping down to her knees so that she could lightly push you, fitting herself into the frame. "Oh no, I was not speaking to Y/N. I was obviously speaking to you, eyekons," the Ghanian girl spoke, winking towards the camera before throwing one arm around you to pull you close again. She turned her head to the side, leaning up to her ear so that you could feel the soft, hot breath that was let out before she spoke. "Let's go get going; I've got a surprise!"

"Oh?" You looked over at her, eyes glancing up and down in faux disbelief. "Really now?" Her eyes, though, were captivated by the comments, ones rolling in explaining that the scene was somewhat sensual and fulfilling their Ynon addiction.

"Well," she stood back up on her feet, outfit all glammed with a stunning pair of shoes to match. "I am glad you eyekons are feeling the outfit, as am I." She placed a hand on your head, looking down to make sure you got the unsaid message to hurry up. "I gotta go now, and soon will Y/N!" She placed her attention back fully onto you, removing the hand. "See you soon; love you through and through," she stepped out the door, peeking her head back in once again. "Hurry!"

You scrounged around with your makeup products, trying to put some back in their respective places while looking for the needed ones. As the brush bristles of your bigger brush danced against the pink pigments of your Fenty blush, you tried to answer some last remaining comments.

"A lot of people actually ask about that," you dragged the makeup brush against your skin. "The whole 'love you through and through' is like how people will say 'love you to the moon and back'; it is just a little more personal addition. Like throughout it all, we will be there; our love will be there."

katseye masterlist

[artist-issues]

I'm so tired of people saying that the Prince from Snow White is a creep for kissing Snow White when he thought she was dead.

People act as if he put his tongue down her throat while she looks like a regular corpse.

Maybe I'm just more comfortable with death because of my upbringing.

There's a European tradition that you would kiss dead people goodbye. You would also wait with a dying person because dying alone was one of the most horrible ways to die.

In Poland, you would spend three days with the dead body of your relative in the house so family and friends have time to say goodbyes. We even have pictures of family members in coffins, so we could remember them.

Yeah, it's a very post-modern, historically, culturally-small-minded way to look at it.

Specifically in this movie (which is a fairy tale's fairy tale) people just...totally ignore the scene where The Prince is introduced.

Seriously and truthfully, BECAUSE the Prince only takes action in three scenes of the movie, you HAVE to take all three of them very very seriously. Because thats all there is to know about him. That's how fairy tales work: lots of information hiding under very brief, simple snippets of information. It's called nuance.

Anyway.

The Prince kisses Snow White as a culmination of their promised love for each other.

First scene he's in, he falls in love with her because of her obvious purity and he overhears her longing for someone to love her. Then she runs away because she's not sure of him, and doesn't know him. But he sings his part of the song, which is all about how he has just one heart to give, one devotion to spend, and he's choosing to give it and spend it on her if she'll have him.

And she will have him. How do we know? She sends a kiss to him on the dove. That's how the exchange ends; that's how she responds, and that's why he leaves satisfied. It's their engagement scene. They're promising their hearts to each other.

Fast-forward, the Queen messes up what might have been the natural follow-through of that engagement which is marriage by trying to kill Snow White, she's living in the woods, but she won't forget the Prince and wholeheartedly believes he'll come find her.

And the very next thing we hear about him is that he keeps his promise. He's got one heart, one love, one devotion, and it's promised to Snow White, and he will not stop searching for her. When he finds her, he's returning her kiss from their engagement scene. He thinks she's dead, but he has to finish his quest anyway. This is him, trying to keep his promise even if she's dead; he's trying to fulfill the exchange they had when they saw each other last.

It's ridiculous to assume that she needed to be awake and alive to give permission for him to kiss her; it's ignorant of the whole relationship, symbolic and literal, between these two fairy tale characters. She already sent him her kiss and her heart; he already promised to claim it; he's fulfilling the promise in that scene.

Crazy postmodern people, don't know how to take in a story. Not everything gets to have your socio-cultural lens imposed upon it.

[drabblesandsnippets]

Main Masterlist (18+ Only)

Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (unnamed)

Fics:

Drabble #1 - Bucky's girlfriend tells him she belongs to him. Drabble #2 - Bucky listens to his girlfriend pleasure herself in the backseat of his car. Drabble #3 - Continuation of Drabble #2. After weeks apart, Bucky finally gets her home to have his way with her. Drabble #4 - Bucky likes to remind his girlfriend how beautiful she is, especially when she has a hard time remembering. Drabble #5 - Continuation of Drabble #3. After making his girlfriend ride his face, Bucky slows things down, despite her obvious need for more. The Bet - Bucky’s girlfriend thinks she can stay quiet during sex - Bucky’s more than happy to prove her wrong. Breathe - During a wedding reception, Bucky and his fiancée sneak off to have some fun. The Prize - Bucky and his girlfriend try out their new swing, purchased after The Bet. Safe - TW: (Past) SA. Bucky’s girlfriend craves intimacy while struggling with triggers and flashbacks. Whatever You Need - Bucky comforts you during a rough time. Happy Birthday - After your friends forget your birthday, a stranger interrupts your plans to celebrate by yourself. A Future Waiting to Bloom - TW: Early miscarriage. An unexpected pregnancy leads to you and Bucky dreaming of a future that never comes to be.

Series:

Sunshine - Slow burn. Grumpy/Sunshine trope. Roommate!Bucky is a photographer and the happy one in this series, she's the 'grump' (with a nickname of Sunshine). Confidence - Sex Worker!Bucky enjoys helping women become more confident in their sexuality. Imagine... - Imagines/drabbles for December Daze Challenge

Snippets:

Snippet #1 - Edited scene from an AU soulmate story. Part of Bucky and his girlfriend's first time together. Snippet #2 - Edited scene from an AU soulmate story. Bucky helps his girlfriend with her anxiety. Snippet #3 - Part of something written for a friend. All Bucky wants is to make his girlfriend’s day better. Snippet #4 - Edited scene from an AU story. Bookstore-owner Bucky and his girlfriend have sex after closing. Snippet #5 - Bucky's girlfriend is struggling with her mental health. (No sexual content. Rewritten as this fic.)

my tags

[guardianofnightmares]

Attack

“And remember: there is enough fuel in those rods for couple of maneuvers and a descent. That’s it.” Blitzwing said in a stern tone while adjusting some screws on minibot’s backplates. “I highly recommend you to not stray far away from your group for too long.”

He knew that his companion was not that reckless to go on adventures of his own on a battlefield, but it’s still difficult not to worry about mechs’ safety. Even if the targeting systems of an Autobots’ flagship "Endeavor" were supposed to be down by the beginning of an operation, its guns would still be working at full capacity.

Chances of being shot by a random plasma beam were still pretty high.

“I know, Blitzwing, I know,” said minibot sighed in defeat. His spirits were not that much higher than everyone else’s lately.

“But hey,” He continued, “Even if I wanted to, I doubt Megacon would allow me to go sightseeing without him… And if I indeed managed to do just that, my fear of withering away from his lecture about my recklessness definitely outweighs the fun of getting into troubles.”

----------

Phew, third entry for the @blitzbee-week event has arrived at last. Prompt of a third day was "Attack", which turned out to be quite an interesting one to create a piece for. Eventually, I've decided to picture a scene of preparations for one of first major battles in a story of mine. Considering a fact that a mentioned scene takes place at the beginning of a second part/volume of a fanfic, I found it to be a good opportunity to show an evolution of relationship between characters (at least in comparison to previous entries).

Fanfic the scene is taken from is called "TFA: Icarus". You can read it by following a [link] for the series "folder" which also includes an existing teaser (future prologue) for a story. The updates are slow, I know, I am sorry for a delay, I was very busy with a job of mine lately and I do not know when the situation will change for better. Despite all of it, I'm still deeply grateful for every subscription and "like" you leave under works for this project of mine. Know that I see and appreciate every kind gesture of yours).

As always, if anyone is interested to know what's going on "behind the scenes" of a picture, I will provide the full snippet of a depicted interaction under a cut line. Hope you'll enjoy it. Especially those of you, who read previous "chapters" of mine, for you might find a reference here to one of them ;)

Bumblebee finally glanced at a Decepticon sitting on his haunches behind his back. The Warframe’s been checking on a Cybertronian analogue of a humans’ “parachute” for the last half of megacycle, trying to secure the massive carcass on a frame it was not meant to be worn by. 

“How’s it looking?” The Bot asked. Not out of vanity, for once, but rather out of practicality - a bleak, outdated “jetpack” was the smallest one they could salvage, and it’s still way too big for a mech of Bumblebee’s proportions. Several kilograms of metal more and it’d have begun to tip a yellow colored Autobot over. 

“… It’ll have to do.” 

A brisk, honest and not so uplifting answer. But, come to think of it, Bumblebee would’ve been more surprised to hear a reassuring comment coming from a Triplechanger. 

A notion that Bumbler was capable of periodically predicting Con’s responses almost made him chortle. The possibility of his team forming a bond with Warframes over the course of a stellar cycle after an escape from Cybertron was improbable at best. And yet, there they were - trying to work as a single unit despite ever present old grudges. 

For a goal they were fighting for together against a common foe was more important than any of their just (and unjust) beliefs. 

“And remember: there is enough fuel in those rods for couple of maneuvers and a descent. That’s it.” Blitzwing said in a stern tone while adjusting some screws on minibot’s backplates. “I highly recommend you to not stray far away from your group for too long.”

He knew that his companion was not that reckless to go on adventures of his own on a battlefield, but it’s still difficult not to worry about mechs’ safety. Even if the targeting systems of an Autobots’ flagship "Endeavor" were supposed to be down by the beginning of an operation, its guns would still be working at full capacity.

Chances of being shot by a random plasma beam were still pretty high.

“I know, Blitzwing, I know,” said minibot sighed in defeat. His spirits were not that much higher than everyone else’s lately.

“But hey,” He continued, “Even if I wanted to, I doubt Megacon would allow me to go sightseeing without him... And if I indeed managed to do just that, my fear of withering away from his lecture about my recklessness definitely outweighs the fun of getting into troubles.”

The last comment earned him a snort from a companion.

“Yes, he tends to do exactly that. You’d be insanely lucky if that was the only punishment coming upon your helm,” Blitzwing agreed in a more lighthearted tone. “Especially since, it seems, Megatron’s already figured out where someone prefers to spend their shift at once in a while.”

“…what do you mean by that?” Bumblebee asked worriedly after a short lived pause - he could almost “see” a smirk plastered across Blitzwing’s faceplates with the back of his own helm. And if he’s learnt anything about a Con over the last orbital cycles, it’s that him being smug never promised anything good for a yellow and black Bot. 

“Let’s just say that if a certain hiding spot is indeed real, I’ll make sure to send you energon treats during a “home arrest” of yours.” Blitzwing mused out loud. A followed groan full of despair, which came from a small mech, made Blitzwing slip an amused laugh. 

And here a minibot hoped that Megatron would be any different than a so-called Bossbot of his. 

---

Soon after the Trpilechanger’s done everything he could in order to make Bumbler’s descent to a flagship safer, a huge figure appeared at an entrance to a bay. Bumbler noticed a newcomer only when a said mech contacted him via personal comlink, voice commanding yet devoid of usual rasp undertones. 

“Time to go, minibot,” Megatron announced, as if wanting to make sure that his arrival was interpreted as a sign to wrap preparations up. It made both Cybertronians to pause their conversation and to look up at an arrived Decepticon. 

The red and grey mech stood with his servos being clasped behind his back, polished shoulder pauldrons proudly shining under a warm artificial light. One of his chest plates bared signs of a recent scuffle at one of remote outposts - the right side was adorned with a fresh wielding patchwork, performed by Ratchet himself, which hid an ugly and deep scar. 

The sight of a quickly healing wound reminded Bumblebee of an amusing memory he’d witnessed in a medbay the other day - Ratchet and Megatron bickering with each other about who’s a true madmech between two of them, while a medic was performing mentioned repairs. The fact that a Warlord received an injury during a rescue of a red and white Autobot, who stayed behind in order to cover their team’s escape, seemed to slip out of both of their processors. Ratchet was nigh unstoppable in his fury, and it seemed that Megatron’s finally found someone who could rival his own stubbornness. Something, all members of a team were certain of, both older mechs secretly admired about each other. 

With raised up spirits, minibot quickly picked up a bag of tools, which laid near a working bench, and waved goodbye to a Triplechanger, who stayed behind to tidy a working place up. 

Blitzwing couldn’t hear what his two comrades were talking about while standing at an exit to a bay, but he could still observe the interaction between them. 

The height difference between mechs was ridiculous. It became especially obvious when Megatron lowered himself to a ground in order to access electronic panel of a “jetpack”, while Bumblebee was checking on contents of a bag of his. To Blitzwing, the scene almost resembled the way human parent would interact with their child after meeting them from an educational establishment back on Earth. Come to think of it, Bumbler looked like a sparkling in comparison to all of Warframes, which made the situation even more amusing in Blitzwing’s optics. 

After switching on needed components, the grey Decepticon activated a program in his own engine’s software. Both mechs synchronized recently updated broadcasting frequencies of their flying gear, and the “jetpack” came to life with a faint glow of its side lights.

A model of a “parachute” may have looked old, but the technology behind an outdated surface was something to be proud of. As if to prove a point, Megatron shifted his wings from side to side, up and down. Minibot whirled his head around just in time to see his own wings mirroring movements of his larger partner with a barely there delay. Created during an expansion of territories on foreign planets, devices similar to Bumbler’s one allowed Autobots to join Decepticons in off-ground battles and explorations, going so far as to copy difficult maneuvers of Warframes with an impressive accuracy. 

A true forgotten marvel of Cybertronian engineering. 

To say that Bumblebee could barely keep his excitement under control would be an understatement. The way he puffed up his chest plates and spread his temporary wings reminded local workers of a young Warframe after the first successful training session at a boot camp, fears and doubts the Bot had about an upcoming battle diminishing at a prospect of taking the first flight in his life. Even if it’ll mostly be coordinated by a partner. 

Bumblebee faced a rising by his side Decepticon with a contagious smile plastered across his grey faceplates, blue optics glowing with eagerness. He said something to him, most likely a spicy remark about his immaculate skills as a Prime soon-to-be Flyer on a battlefield taking place in an outer space. Those jovial antics made Megatron roll his optics, after which he turned an Autobot around with a smirk and (lightly) shoved him forward in direction of a main hangar, where they would join other members of a boarding party. 

---

It’s been a while since both mechs disappeared out of the view of Triplechanger, leaving him to his own devices. The grey and violet mech was in a middle of cleaning a working bench when he received a call. 

“Hey, Blitzwing!” A booming voice of Bulkhead sounded clearly over the comlink, only interrupted by periodic screeching of metal against metal in a background. “Are you and Bumblebee finished by any chance?”

“Fortune is on your side this time, my artistic friend, - Megatron’s already picked your yellow menace up.” Warframe answered while putting instruments into their designated slots. “What’s the matter?” 

“Lugnut and I would really appreciate it, if you joined us with loading ammo on a ship - these electromagnetic emitters are putting a strain even on him. Optimus is already helping us by operating a crane, but I don’t think it’s enough for everything to be finished on time.” A green Autobot admitted guiltily. When Blitzwing was about to say something, he added: “One more thing: Optimus said that he’d like to discuss a plan of an attack with you again afterwards - something about an established route through an asteroid field doesn’t click right with him.“

Of course it didn’t. But Blitzwing could hardly blame him for being extra cautious. Truth be told, he’d expected an ex-cadet to contact him sooner or later in order to go through a plan one more time. Meaning, there’s really no point for him to act getting annoyed at a prospect of doing an additional work during a current shift. 

“Alright. Seems that by helping you I’m going to kill two cats with one stone, so, count me in.”

“It’s “two birds”, Blitzwing,” Bulkhead corrected him with an audible smile. “Anyways, I’ll be waiting for you at an entrance 4-06. Thank you.”

With that being said, the bulky Autobot hung up the call, leaving a Warframe alone with his own thoughts, smiling to himself while cleaning the last of used tools from grease and oil. 

Many things have changed since the beginning of a new cycle of War, for better and for worse. With the amount of mechs switching sides and betraying their causes, sometimes it was easier to assume, that all around you were enemies rather than to hope you had at least someone to rely on. 

Yet, despite every obstacle Outcast Autobots and Earth-stranded Decepticons had to go through so far, the newly formed squad of theirs was a proof that some things stayed the same. That Camaraderie still had a value in an ever treacherous world. And Blitzwing had a feeling that no matter what lied ahead of them, the old healed bonds and recently blossomed ones would stand the test of time.

As if coming to an internal agreement with himself, the Triplechanger shook his helm and finally headed to an agreed upon place of meeting with his unlikely comrades, while silently humming a tune Bumblebee taught him once.

Perhaps, an Autobot known as Prowl was right after all?

Perhaps, it was indeed the right time to start having Faith and Trust in teammates once more?