#...but what will likely happen is the lives of the people you work with are being made harder...

[on-the-clear-blue]

Down in the streets of Gotham, in the side alley next to Express Urgent Care run by one Leslie Thompkins and that was funded by the Martha Wayne Foundation was a soup kitchen.

Well...a soup kitchen of sorts. Not in any way official but if you were hungry in Crime alley you knew that the food would be safe and warm...and it was a place where *you* could be safe and warm.

Danny had left a week after his parents found out that he was Phantom, a week after he had seen their grief, the regret and pain in their eyes. The week had been spent in suspense, he knew that they needed to talk about what had happened but neither of his parents were ever able to even start bringing it up before they were sobbing.

Danny knew his parents loved him, thst his father felt soul crushing guilt, that his mother spent hours staring at herself in the mirror, as if she didn't even know who was looking back at her.

And to spare them both, Danny left.

It wasn't hard to do, not when he could turn invisible and phase through walls, a final text to Sam and Tucker to say his good byes (he knew that they would break and tell his parents where he would be going) and a particularly hard hug to leave from Jazz, Danny flew off with only a back pack.

He had traveled across the US for a few months, occasionally snagging a post card from a super store to send off home, paying only when he had the excess funds (Sam's rants about mega rich corporate billionaires let him know just which stores wouldn't miss the few bucks the cards sold for)

He had met up with Dani a few times, when she was in the country, handing him Vlads credit card and telling him to keep it (though he never did) only ever using it to book a room for a few nights at a hotel to clean himself up and sleep in a real bed.

He settled in Gotham after a while, he had briefly stayed in Faucett but that place didn't have nearly enough ecto for him to live comfortably.

Gotham on the other hand? It had everything, cops that don't question why a teen is on the streets, natural ecto up the wazoo and well...a crime rate that would dissuade his parents ever looking for him there.

He had set up a more permanent shelter in an abandoned apartment building (after chasing out the low level drug dealers that were using it) and found that he kinda liked the vibes of the place under the blatant crimes being committed in broad day light.

Sure people could see you getting mugged and look the other way, but if you were still alive and there 5 minutes later, they would come back, hand you something to clean up your now bloody nose and point out the bodega that had the best sandwiches.

It was a sense of community that Danny didn't know he had missed for the many months he traveled.

His first "cook out" wasn't even supposed to be a cook out, his apartment building was mostly wood and he didn't trust himself to not burn it down, so he came outside, setting up a portable stove and setting up a pot filled with some, water to boil up a soup mix.

As he waited for it to come to temp, he saw the group of homeless rubbing their hands together, watching him with curiosity, though that quickly turned to hunger as the smell of the soup spilled out into the alley.

Instead of turning the others away Danny only shrugged, pulled out his spare paper bowls and handed them out, taking a few bites first to show that it was safe to eat.

What followed was a sort of tradition, Danny would come out a few times a day, take out his hot plate and pot and set up a soup, others started asking if they could pitch in, and well...Danny would have loved to keep providing it freely but his food was quickly dwindling.

So his soup got add in, some jerky that Crazy Tom had got tossed in, a few herbs (re:weeds) were added in by Miss O'Connor, and Danny didn't even know where Lady Dimond pulled out some spices from, but he wasn't about to question the her, he had learned never to question where the working girls hid their things.

And it sort of grew from there, who ever was around came by, some came out of their way to share a meal, but it became a meeting place of sorts "Come by the Kitchen at noon, Tom got his hands on some steak! And it ain't even smells bad!"

Sure gangs tried to pull up on the meeting place, tried to intimidate the people there or coerce them into doing something...well that was until the host, some punk teen with hair darker than black and blue eyes that were so light they were white came up, and dished out a heavy handed fist into their jaws and sent them packing.

And so the Kitchen became a safe space, if you were hungry, if you were in danger, come by the little alley way, right next to the Express Urgent Care, the Host will take care of you there, if your willing to share, to stay peaceful with the rest of the gathered people, then you were welcome to grab a bite and relax, because the Kitchen was always safe.

---

It would be a few years since the Kitchen started, since people had brought chairs and tables, since an old grill of questionable origin was left out side it, since tarps with only a few holes were hung up to keep the place dry when it rained, since rugs covered the ground and the the alley it was in was swept clean of any needles or cigarette butts.

But for one boy it had only been a few short days since his Mama died, since he had found her cold and dead in the bathroom, a belt tied around her arm and a needle still in her hand.

Jason was miserable, he had stayed with her for the a single day before he knew he would have to leave, the body of his mother would start to decompose soon, so he did what he had too, calling the police with his mother's phone that didn't have a lot of minutes left on it, telling them the address before hanging up and leaving it there so he couldn't be tracked.

He couldn't be there when the cops showed up, foster care would do shit for him, and at least his Mama would be buried, and not left to rot in their bath tub.

So a young Jason Todd, scared, alone and hungry came to the Kitchen, as his mother had told him to many times before, had told him to seek out it's Host if anything ever happened to her...and well...at the very least he would get something to eat...

[cosmos-kitty]

I'm a little late to the party, but here's my version of the artist starter pack trend! ✨

For anyone not up to speed, recently there's been a trend of people using AI to create personalised action figures of themselves - and artists have started fighting back by making their own hand-drawn versions, so I'm joining in with my own (featuring my artist mascot!)

I think most people are aware by now of the many current ethical issues with AI image generation, and how much of a threat to the creative industry it is that corporations are increasingly eager to cut creatives out of the equation at every opportunity to improve their bottom line.

But without getting too much into all of that, I just wanted to say that if you're a beginner to drawing, or maybe you've never even picked up a pencil before, and you're considering using AI - I promise that if you put your time and energy into learning something creative, it will be 100x more fulfilling and rewarding than mindlessly consuming whatever tech companies are throwing your way every waking moment. I really do think that finding something you're passionate about is what life is all about, so I can't think of anything worse than having that one quintessentially human part of myself relegated to typing out prompts over and over purely for the sake of profit.

The fantastic thing about art is that it's like a fingerprint of the person making it, no two prints are exactly alike. The countless different aspects of what makes someone an individual all culminates into their work. You could pick up a random book off a shelf, get into a certain type of music, or see some graffiti on a wall in a street you happened to walk down, and it could completely change the trajectory of your art. Add all of those creative minds together and you get all of the wonderful work that we've all watched, read, played, and listened to throughout our lives - without that ability to explore ideas and innovate, there wouldn't have even been anything for AI to copy from to begin with.

[capsensislagamoprh]

"You know," she said as I turned the corner, "you're dangerously close to something."

"Is it your liver?" I asked, pressing my knife in deeper.

"Not quite. Good thing too. The god of medicine is a buddy, and pal, he do get mad when I show up with random holes I didn't previously have."

I admit, I was taken aback. "Say what now?"

"Oh yeah. Lives over on 3rd and Pine."

"There's a god. Living on 3rd -"

"And Pine, yeah. So anyway," she smiled, dusting off her robes. "I work for the messenger god - fabulous health care, pension, I mean how could I not? He says to watch it. You're dangerously close."

"To what?"

"Becoming one."

"I'm going to need clarity." Perhaps demanding was a strong word, but it was heavily implied I should put away my knife as she pushed her rather pointed boot into my groin in the most unpleasant manner.

"That should help."

By the time I recovered enough for the letter she'd dumped on me to stop swimming through my vision, she and her burgundy trench coat were gone.

Three hours latter there was a knock at my door. The sun set and so did my senses. She was back with pizza and a twelve pack. By the time I'd decided I was to intrigued not to let her in, my small apartment was full of people literally crawling in through the fire escape. Except that one guy who walked in through the closet door like it was Tuesday. There were more than a dozen of them taking over my living space, raiding my fridge. One guy pulled out things I *knew* weren't in my fridge. All I could think was 'what is happening'?

"So, you're the new kid," a particularly buff old gentleman with the sort of beard one can only describe as a cloud said as he sipped from an IPA, bright eyes taking me in. "Interesting."

I was so off put all I could say was, "What?"

"Don't mind him. He's new," said the messenger's assistant, divesting her burgundy coat. "So new he doesn't know what he's done yet."

The room stopped. Glances were exchanged. "At all?" asked one particularly colorful being, his heart shaped shades some how clashing violently with his Hawaiian shirt and cacky shorts while completing the image at the same time. She set down the six pack and grinned.

By the next morning I knew what I did. I knew what I'd done. And I knew what I was in for.

Old gods exist, sure. Saw a few myself last night. (Don't ask the guy in the loud shirt to take off his glasses. Just an F.Y.I.) But so do new ones. They exist for a thousand little things. And they have a portfolio or radius. Mine? I'm the 'generous god'. The giver. Some praise me by words. 'What a lucky day!' Some sigh in relief or look confused and pleased. But what matters is that they have started talking. And I have become.

Right now I am an urban legend. If I keep doing what I am, I will become part of the fabric of this place. And from there I can gain power, followers, more. If that's something I desire.

It comes with perks. Immortality based on gathered belief and those who warship - even if warship isn't in a structured temple thing - and the ever present stuck-at-the-age-I-am-now-forever bit. The down side? Power comes and goes. You do tend to out live everyone else. It leads to a tight net community of small gods. And they will randomly show up on your couch to crash for a few days.

But the thing they thought was great was that I came with my own built in set of moral codes. Most people have a hard time not letting power like this go to their heads. That's why they seem immortal in life but die tragic or forgotten. I'm not Robbin Hood. I'm not a saint. I'm a new god. A small player on a cosmic stage.

I think I'll grab a couple of friends and film them handing out flowers to people to make their day. You have to start your following somewhere. Might as well do with with a smile. We'll get coffee on the way.

You’re a rogue with enough gold to last ten lifetimes. But old habits die hard—you sneak through crowds, slipping coins into people’s pockets. The kingdom is buzzing about the mysterious, generous "thief."

[timelessjk]

somehow, you. | jungkook au

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ summary: he was the quiet one in class. the type who never talked unless called on, who looked at the world from behind thick-rimmed glasses and stayed out of everyone’s way. you? you were the girl everyone knew. the one who never let anyone in. you weren’t looking for connection, and he wasn’t the kind to ask for it. but still… he did. and somehow, it worked.

ratings: 18+

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

genre: college AU, emotional intimacy, slightly slow burned.

warnings: explicit sexual content including unprotected sex (not advised), soft but possessive dirty talk, emotional vulnerability, praise, mild insecurity and reassurance, and a rough but tender dynamic in an established relationship. and ofc…big dicc jungkook cause UGH.

word count: 5.2k

a/n: hi! ok so. this is my very first fic i’m posting and i’m actually kind of losing my mind about it?? originally it was supposed to be two parts (pt.1 soft, pt.2 smut) but i got carried away and ended up writing it all in one go because i wouldn’t shut up abt this two!!

*banners/dividers credits to the owners ♡ ྀི

thank you for reading!! leave your comments on what u think of my first fic 🥺! 🤍 - Sher

requests are officially opened!

The classroom always smelled like old air and pen inks, a familiar background hum to every forgettable weekday morning.

You sat at the back, as always, where you could stretch your legs, twirl your pen, and zone out without anyone bothering you. People knew you, too well.

Not because you tried, but because the world couldn’t help but notice the girl who always seemed a little untouchable.

Then the teacher changed the seating plan.

“Jeon Jungkook. You’re moving to the back, beside her.”

A ripple of murmurs went through the class, subtle but present. You could feel the stares. You looked up just in time to see him glance nervously your way before lowering his eyes and walking toward the seat beside you.

Jungkook. Everyone knew who he was, even if he rarely spoke. Top of the class. Never late. Always dressed clean, minimal, quiet. You didn’t expect anything from him. Didn’t need another nerdy guy going stiff just because you shared a desk.

But that day, he surprised you.

He sat down carefully, barely making a sound, and opened his book. No fidgeting. No glances. Just… stillness. Until you heard the smallest breath of a murmur.

“Chapter’s interesting,” he said, eyes still on the page.

You blinked.

“What?”

He didn’t flinch. “The reading. It’s good. Surprising, kind of.”

You studied him, confused. He hadn’t even looked at you. It was like he wasn’t trying to talk to you—just thinking aloud, and you happened to hear.

You didn’t answer.

But your curiosity flickered.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

The next few days, he didn’t speak again. But he was always on time. Always with his notebook perfectly aligned. Always glancing at your desk when he thought you weren’t looking—quick, nervous flicks of his eyes.

Then came the Wednesday.

You’d forgotten your pens, bag full of it. Not on purpose—just one of those mornings where you left everything behind. You muttered something under your breath, frustrated, and slammed your bag down.

Before you could think to dig through your things again, a sleek black pen rolled across your desk.

You turned. Jungkook was still facing forward, penless himself now.

“You sure?” you asked, surprised.

He nodded once. “I have another.”

You waited for a smile. A joke. Some kind of flirtation.

Nothing.

Just a calm silence.

It threw you off more than someone asking for your number ever could.

Then came the Thursday rainstorm.

You stayed behind after class, waiting for it to ease, stuck at the school’s entrance while thunder rumbled in the distance. Everyone else had already left, except for him.

He walked up beside you without a word, holding an umbrella. For a second, you thought he was going to walk past.

He hesitated.

“You live near East Gate, right?” he asked, voice low, eyes on the rain.

You narrowed your eyes. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen you leave that way. Every day.”

You didn’t answer.

He tilted the umbrella slightly toward you. “Come on.”

You stared at him like he’d grown two heads. But you followed.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

That walk changed everything.

He didn’t try to impress you. Didn’t pry. Just walked beside you, holding the umbrella with quiet precision to make sure it covered you both.

When you reached your turn, you stopped.

“Why’re you doing this?” you asked, genuinely confused.

He paused. Looked at you for the first time, really looked—eyes soft behind his wet fringe.

“Because you look like no one ever asks how you’re doing,” he said. “And i kind of want to.”

You stood frozen as he walked away, raindrops hitting your shoulders after the umbrella disappeared with him down the path.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

From then on, he became your quiet shadow.

Always beside you in class. Always one step behind in the hallway. But not in a clingy way. He respected your space but showed up when it mattered.

One morning, you came in late, eyes puffy from a night you didn’t want to talk about. You slumped into your chair, hoodie up, bare faced (that rarely happens whenever you go to class) sleeves tugged over your hands.

He didn’t say anything.

But when you finally looked at your desk, there was a folded note, written in perfect; clean handwriting.

“It’s okay to have days like this. You’re allowed to fall apart sometimes. I’ve got notes if you need them.”

You folded the paper slowly. Pressed your lips together. And something inside you melted.

You weren’t used to being seen like that.

You weren’t used to someone not asking for anything in return.

That day, you turned to him and whispered, “Thanks.” giving him a small smile.

He looked up, startled, as if he wasn’t expecting you to respond.

And smiled, unsure, but real.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

You think to yourself, you might fell for him. Maybe. Which is a weird feeling to you.

Given that you both barely have a proper (real) conversation.

Well you did exchange numbers—that’s because you both somehow were assigned to work together, so Jungkook thought it would be better to interact outside of class.

For study purpose of course.

Eventually both of you did text one another—occasionally. Just short texts nothing conversation worthy.

Yeah, you felt this weird butterflies.

But, you didn’t fall all at once.

It happened slowly. Over study sessions you didn’t consider were study sessions, coffee walks that became routines, quiet texts late at night when he’d ask, “Did you eat today?” and not stop asking until you said yes.

Over the time, during study sessions, you found yourself laughing around him. Trusting him.

Letting your guard down without realizing it had dropped.

One night, you asked through text, in your bed, loneliness crept again, “You know i’m kind of… a mess, right?”

He replied few seconds too fast.

“I know,” he said. “But you’re the kind of mess that makes sense to me.”

And you fell.

Quietly. Completely.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

You weren’t sure when the lines blurred—when study sessions became excuses to sit a little closer, when shared coffee turned into shared glances, when “see you tomorrow” carried the weight of don’t forget me.

Jungkook didn’t rush anything. He never did.

But one Friday, something shifted.

He caught up with you after class, his hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up, headphones around his neck, looking nervous in a way that made your heart weirdly ache.

“Hey,” he said, walking beside you. “There’s this exhibition at the design building… the one with digital installations. I thought—maybe you’d like it.”

You turned to look at him. “You inviting me?”

He nodded, looking at the floor. “If you want. No pressure. It’s tomorrow.”

You almost teased him. Almost said something sarcastic just to keep things from feeling too serious. But something in the way he looked—open, nervous, sincere—made you soften.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d like that.”

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

The exhibition was small. Quiet. Dreamy.

Digital light shifted across the walls like watercolor in motion. Projected clouds drifted across the floor.

Every room had its own ambient sound—soft, electronic music and echoing whispers. It should’ve felt awkward, being alone together in that hush.

But with him, it didn’t.

You stood in one of the installations surrounded by cascading lines of digital rain, blue and silver glowing all around and he looked at you like he wanted to remember the moment.

“I like this,” you said quietly.

He glanced at the ceiling, then back at you. “Me too.”

A beat passed.

“Honestly… i didn’t know if you’d say yes,” he admitted. “To coming here.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

He looked at you. “Because i’m not like the other people you talk to.”

“You mean the loud ones? I don’t talk to just anyone, anymore. Besides, didn’t we spend a good amount of time together for the past month to be considered as…friends?”

He smiled, barely. “Yeah. The ones who know what to say. And yeah i knew that but still, i thought it was just a study session, coffee catch ups with you—that you’d rather spend your time with your other…friends.”

You shifted your weight. “Maybe i got tired of people who always know what to say and FYI—i’d rather spend my time with you.”

Silence.

Just the sound of soft electronic rainfall.

Then he said it—so low you almost missed it:

“I really like being around you.”

You turned to him, heart suddenly too loud in your chest.

He’s so dreamy, handsome.

“I really like being around you too.”

And he looked at you like you’d just said the one thing he’d been waiting to hear.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

Your first kiss wasn’t at the exhibition.

That night had already held enough. The way he kept sneaking glances at you while pretending to read the plaque beside a sculpture, the way his hand hovered close to yours but never quite touched.

You walked the whole gallery like that, quiet but full of something neither of you wanted to name yet.

Later, he offered to walk you home. You said yes.

The air was cold but not bitter, the city dim and quiet in that in-between hour.

Your footsteps echoed against the pavement, your breath blooming white in the air. He kept his hands in his coat pockets, close but not brushing yours.

“Did you like the exhibit?” he asked, his voice low and a little shy.

“I did,” you said. “But i think i liked walking around with you more.”

He turned his head slightly, surprised. “Yeah?”

You nodded, not looking at him. “It was… nice. I don’t usually do things like that. With people.”

Jungkook was quiet for a moment. Then “You mean dates?”

You blinked. “Was this a date?”

His voice went even softer. “I wanted it to be.”

You stopped walking. Your apartment was just ahead, but you didn’t want to go in yet. The moment felt full.

Suspended.

He looked at you, eyes searching. “Can I be honest?”

You tilted your head. “Aren’t you always?” you giggled.

He smiled faintly. “I think about you a lot more than i should.”

You swallowed. “What does that mean?”

“It means i’ve liked you for a while. Even before you started talking to me.”

“You’re not exactly… forward, you know.”

“I didn’t think i was your type.”

“You’re not,” you said simply. “At least, not what i thought my type was.”

His expression didn’t change much, but you saw the flicker of hope behind his eyes.

You glanced down at your keys, twisting them between your fingers. “You’ve been patient with me.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” he said. “But sometimes i think… i just want to know if i’m the only one feeling this.”

You looked at him then. Really looked.

His scarf was wrapped high, almost to his mouth. His cheeks were pink from the cold, eyes warm, uncertain, but wide open.

He wasn’t trying to be smooth. He wasn’t trying to win. He was just there, telling you the truth.

Then slowly and tentatively, he stepped closer, his breath shallow.

His voice barely carried “Can I kiss you?”

You felt everything in you pause.

And then “Yeah,” you said softly, heart pounding.

“Yeah, you can.”

He didn’t hesitate after that. He leaned in, hand rising to your cheek, thumb brushing gently across your skin. His lips met yours in a kiss that was soft, slow, careful.

He was learning something sacred; he didn’t want to rush what he’d waited so long to feel.

When he pulled back, your lips still tingled from the warmth of him, your chest full and fluttering.

You smiled, breath curling in the air. “You always this careful?”

His voice was low, but sure. “Only when it’s important.”

And you knew, right then, it was.

You didn’t talk much after that kiss.

Not because it was awkward. Because it wasn’t. It was the kind of silence that wrapped itself around you like a blanket. Soft, steady, enough.

He waited for you to open the door. Didn’t push. Just gave you that small smile, the one he only ever gave you and said, “Text me when you’re inside.”

You nodded, stepped in, and closed the door.

Then leaned your forehead against it.

You were in trouble.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

The next few days were different in all the ways that mattered.

You still sat beside each other in class. Still studied together in the library. But now there were new things. A small, subtle shifts.

His knee brushed against yours and didn’t move. He’d lean in when he spoke, voice softer. You’d catch him looking at you, and this time, you didn’t look away.

You weren’t used to this version of yourself; unguarded. And Jungkook, for all his quietness, seemed to understand that.

He never rushed you. Never asked “what are we?” or “where is this going?”

He just stayed.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

It wasn’t planned.

The day had been normal. Classes, campus noise, another group project that had you rolling your eyes while Jungkook just quietly took notes. He always took notes, even when no one else cared. You liked that about him. You’d never told him.

You were both walking back from campus, the sky soft with evening gray, when it started to drizzle.

Jungkook held his bag over your head.

You laughed. “You know i’m not gonna melt, right?”

He just looked down at you. “You’re still cold when it rains. You get quiet.”

You didn’t answer. Mostly because he was right. You did get quiet.

And he noticed.

By the time you reached your apartment, your hair was damp, and your mood had shifted. You weren’t sad—just heavy.

One of those days. You didn’t say much as you opened the door and let him in.

Jungkook toed off his shoes carefully, still holding that nervous energy he always carried when he was in your space. You dropped your keys in the bowl by the door and stood in the kitchen, hands on the counter.

“Want tea?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

The silence between you was soft. Not tense. Just full of all the things you weren’t ready to say out loud. You made tea. He sat at the table. You sat across from him, knees brushing under the wood.

Then, out of nowhere, you said it.

“I don’t let people in.”

He looked up, startled. You weren’t looking at him—just staring into your mug.

“I don’t know how to do that,” you continued. “It’s easier when no one expects anything.”

A long pause. Then:

“I never expected anything,” he said.

You finally looked at him. He looked… calm. A little sad. But calm.

“I just liked being around you.”

You nodded slowly. “You still do?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Even more now.”

The air between you shifted. Slowed. Deepened.

And you whispered, “Stay tonight?”

He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t assume.

He just said, “Okay.”

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

You sat on the floor of your bedroom while he changed into the extra clothes you gave him. A quiet hum played from the speaker, barely audible.

When he stepped back into the room; barefoot, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes soft, you suddenly felt that aching fear again.

What if you messed this up?

What if it didn’t last?

And then he crossed the room and knelt in front of you.

His hand rested gently on your knee. “You don’t have to be anything for me,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to perform. Or smile. Or fix anything.”

You looked down at your lap, fighting the warmth in your throat.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted.

“I’ll wait while you figure it out,” he said.

Just like that.

No grand declaration. No demand. Just steady, honest patience.

You reached for his hand.

Held it.

And when you finally crawled into bed beside him, there was no space left between you. You pressed your back to his chest, his arm wrapping loosely around your waist. His breath tickled your shoulder.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you whispered back.

And you meant it.

You woke to the quiet shift of fabric. The soft sound of him sitting up beside you.

Morning light filtered through the curtains in a pale blur. Your back was still warm from where his arm had rested. You blinked slowly, your mind caught between dreams and now.

Jungkook was already awake, hoodie wrinkled, hair messy from sleep.

He was sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

He looked like he was thinking too loud.

You propped yourself up on your elbow. “Hey,” you said, voice scratchy.

He turned to you immediately, like he’d been waiting. “Hey,” he echoed. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You sat up slowly, pulling the blanket around your shoulders. “You okay?”

He nodded. Then shook his head. Then let out a quiet breath, like he wasn’t sure how to start.

“Can I ask you something?” he said softly.

You stilled, heart already beginning to tap faster in your chest. “Yeah.”

He looked down at his hands, picking at a loose thread on the cuff of his sleeve.

“I don’t want to ruin anything. I’m not trying to pressure you,” he started, voice careful. “But… what are we?”

You didn’t answer right away.

His eyes lifted. “I just…last night meant something to me. You mean something to me. And i know you don’t let people in easily. So i don’t want to assume anything, but i also don’t want to keep pretending this is just… nothing.”

You watched him for a moment, your throat tight.

“I didn’t think you’d ask,” you murmured.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re usually the quiet one. The patient one.”

“I still am,” he said. “But being patient doesn’t mean I’m not feeling things too.”

You swallowed, fingers tugging at the edge of the blanket. “I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to explain what i feel when i’m with you. It’s new. And a little scary.”

He nodded slowly. “Same.”

You looked at him. “But I don’t want it to be nothing either.”

Jungkook’s expression softened. “Yeah?”

You nodded, quieter this time. “Yeah.”

He shifted closer, his knee bumping gently against yours. “Then maybe… we don’t have to label it yet. But I just needed to know i wasn’t alone in it.”

“You’re not,” you said.

You meant it.

Jungkook exhaled a breath he’d been holding. Then reached out, tentative at first and he curls his fingers around yours.

“Okay,” he said, voice warm now. “Then i’m yours. However long it takes.”

You smiled, eyes stinging just a little. “You’re really not what i expected.”

He grinned—finally, fully. “I get that a lot.”

And in the quiet that followed, your fingers remained laced with his. Simple. Certain.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you had to run.

It had been a month.

One month since Jungkook had leaned across your front step and kissed you like it mattered. Since he’d touched your face like he was afraid you’d vanish if he blinked too fast.

And somehow, things still felt new. Still soft. Still unreal in moments like now, with him sprawled across your bed in a hoodie, reading on his stomach, feet swaying behind him like a kid.

You were half-working on an assignment, half-watching him.

“You’re staring,” he said without looking up.

“I’m admiring,” you corrected.

He turned his head just enough to catch your smirk, then gave a small smile. “Baby,” he said under his breath, “you’re distracting.”

“You like it,” you replied, nudging his leg with your foot.

He hummed. “I do.”

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

Your relationship had grown into something… daily. Quiet rituals that made your chest ache. He’d walk you to class with your fingers looped in his sleeve. He’d wait for you outside the library, sipping iced coffee and reading the latest novel you lent him. You started wearing his hoodies without asking. He stopped looking surprised when you kissed his cheek mid-sentence.

But even with the sweetness, there was still something unspoken hanging between you.

Something warmer. Heavier.

Like tonight.

He was still lying on your bed when you finally gave up pretending to work and climbed over him, plopping yourself beside his back with a sigh.

He closed his book and peeked at you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “You’re just comfy.”

He let out a soft laugh. “You say that every time you use me as a pillow.”

“Because it’s true, baby.”

You shifted, laying your head against his back. Your palm flattened over his spine.

Jungkook went still for a second—then melted.

“Do you…” you hesitated, unsure why your throat suddenly felt tight, “do you ever want to do more than just lie here?”

He was silent for a moment.

Then, softly: “Yeah. I do.”

You sat up a little, just enough to look at him.

His cheeks were already flushed.

“I just never know if you’re comfortable,” intertwining your fingers together.

“Or if you want to. I’ve never really… gotten this far before.” he added.

You blinked. “You haven’t?”

He shook his head. “I’ve dated a few, but it never got serious. And no one ever really looked at me like you do.”

That last part made your chest squeeze.

“You mean like you hung the stars?” you teased gently.

He smiled, eyes shy. “Kind of, yeah.”

You reached out, brushing your fingers through his hair. “You’re not the only nervous one, baby.”

“I’m not?”

You shook your head. “I’ve been with my fair share of…flings? boyfriends?, whatever you wanna call it—but it never felt right nor did it worked out, obviously. It always felt like they expected something from me. You don’t.”

Jungkook shifted, sitting up properly now. You were both facing each other, legs crossed.

“Can I ask you something?” he said quietly.

You nodded.

His voice was careful. “If we… wanted to try something. Anything. Would you tell me if you weren’t ready?”

“Always,” you promised.

He reached forward, brushing a thumb against your cheek. “Okay.”

You leaned into his palm.

And after a beat, you whispered, “Would you kiss me now?”

His lips twitched. “I’d give you anything you want.”

When he kissed you—slow and warm, one hand still cupping your jaw—it felt like everything in the world slowed down. Like it was just you and him, tangled in hush and trust.

You shifted closer, your hand slipping beneath the hem of his hoodie, resting just above his waistband. You felt him freeze, just slightly.

“Too much?” you whispered.

“No,” he breathed. “Just new.”

You smiled into the kiss. “We’ll take it slow.”

“Promise?” he breathes into the kiss.

“Promise.”

And when he pulled you fully into his lap, burying his face in your neck with a soft laugh, it felt like something more than new.

It happened on a night that didn’t feel special; no candles, no dramatic music, just the two of you in your room after dinner, legs tangled on your bed, warm with laughter and full from pasta Jungkook had insisted on cooking himself.

He was wearing gray sweatpants and one of your oversized shirts, sleeves pushed up, his hair messily falling across his forehead.

You had just pulled him down for a kiss. Playful, slow.

But then it lingered. Deepened.

And something shifted.

His tongue slipped against yours, deliberate. His hand came up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer like he couldn’t help himself anymore.

When you whimpered against his lips, he pulled back slightly, gaze heavy-lidded.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and rough.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Just… wasn’t expecting you to kiss me like that.”

He brushed your cheek with his thumb. “Like what?”

“Like you’ve been waiting to.”

“I have been,” he murmured. “For so fucking long.”

Your chest tightened, breath caught in your throat.

“We’ve kissed many, many times before?,” you giggled.

And then his lips was on yours again, more desperate this time. No teasing. No question.

Jungkook leaned over you, pressing you into the mattress, his body slotting between your thighs like it was instinct.

You felt how hard he was through the thin fabric of your shorts. He wasn’t trying to hide it. He wanted you to feel it.

“Jungkook,” you breathed, tugging at his shirt. “Please.”

He sat back just enough to yank it over his head, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “You sure?”

“Baby,” you said, reaching for him again, “I’ve never been more sure.”

Something in his expression cracked open at that—relief, hunger, something fierce and protective all at once.

“Then let me have you,” he said, voice dark, breath ragged. “Let me fuck you like you deserve.”

The way he said it; need dripping into every syllable made your whole body shudder.

He tugged your shorts down fast, your panties going with them. When you gasped, he kissed the inside of your thigh, then hovered over you again, his cock straining visibly in his sweats.

“God,” he whispered, eyes raking over you. “You’re so fucking pretty like this. Laid out for me.”

Your hands reached for him, desperate. “I want you, Jungkook. I don’t wanna wait.”

“You won’t,” he said, voice curling around you like silk and smoke.

He shoved his pants down just enough to free himself, stroking himself slowly as he stared at you.

“You’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he murmured. “No idea how long i’ve wanted to be inside you.”

You reached between your legs, spreading yourself open for him.

His mouth dropped open slightly. “Fuck.”

He lined himself up, eyes locked on yours. “Tell me if i go too fast, okay?”

You nodded, heart hammering. “I trust you.”

That did something to him.

He pushed in slow, deep, all at once.

Your breath hitched, legs trembling.

“Holy fuck,” Jungkook groaned, head falling to your shoulder. “You feel like heaven. So wet for me already.”

You clung to him, nails dragging lightly down his back.

“Move,” you gasped. “I need you.”

He obeyed without hesitation—pulling back, then slamming into you again with a rhythm that made your head spin.

It was hard and deep. Not rushed, but intentional. Like he knew exactly how to tear you apart and put you back together.

“Baby,” he breathed, panting against your throat, “you’re taking me so well.”

You moaned, legs tightening around him.

“You always this tight, or is it just for me?”

“Only you,” you choked out, voice cracking. “Only ever been like this for you.”

That made him growl.

“You feel perfect. Like you’re made for me.”

Every thrust dragged a whimper from your lips. Every kiss to your neck made you melt further under him.

You could feel how careful he was, even in the roughness. Like he wanted you to feel claimed, but not hurt. Never that.

“You like when i talk like this?” he asked, voice low in your ear.

“Yes,” you moaned. “Fuck, Jungkook.”

“You make me lose my mind, princess. Got me thinking about you all day. Couldn’t wait to fuck you full of my come inside.”

Your back arched, nails digging into his shoulders.

He shifted his hips, angling deeper. “You gonna come for me like this? Gonna come on my cock hm?”

You nodded desperately, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. “Yes….don’t stop.”

“Look at me,” he whispered.

You did.

And in the silence that followed, he slowed down, but pressed in deep and stayed there.

His body trembled above yours, like he was holding something back—not just his release, but something heavier.

You cupped his cheek gently. “Jungkook?”

His voice broke.

“I love you,” he whispered—then again, faster, almost panicked. “I love you so much it’s scaring me.”

You stared up at him, eyes wide.

“I—” His throat worked as he swallowed, his brows drawn tight with emotion. “I never thought i’d have this. You. i never thought someone like you would ever even look at me.”

“Jungkook—”

“I used to watch you,” he continued, voice cracking. “In class. You were always so confident. So distant. But then you sat next to me—God, i still remember the way you looked that day. I thought it was a joke. Like there’s no way you would sit beside me.”

Your chest ached. He kept going.

“But you did. You stayed. You talked to me. You let me see pieces of you no one else gets to. And i still don’t know why. I still think maybe you’ll wake up and realize you could do better and just… leave.”

You shook your head, eyes stinging.

“But you don’t,” he whispered. “You stay. You’re patient with me when i get quiet. When i don’t know what to say. You still kiss me like i matter.”

His voice dropped lower, barely a breath.

“I don’t know what i did to deserve you. But fuck—i’m so glad you exist. I’m so glad you sat next to me.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

He saw the silence as hesitation, and something in his face crumpled.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, pulling back just slightly. “You don’t have to say it back. I just—i needed you to know. Even if i’m not what you expected. Even if I’m not enough.”

And that’s when it hit you.

This boy—this quiet, brilliant, soft-hearted boy had been holding it in for months.

You surged up and kissed him.

Not soft. Not gentle.

You kissed him like you were giving him an answer.

He gasped against your lips when you pulled away.

“I love you,” you whispered. “Are you kidding? You’re everything.”

He blinked, stunned.

“I didn’t say it sooner because i was scared i’d ruin this,” you said. “But Jungkook… you are everything i could ever ask for.”

He let out a shaky breath—half a laugh, half a sob—and kissed you again, deeper this time. Needy. Grateful.

You weren’t sure what hurt more. The way he was moving inside you, or the way he was looking at you.

Like you were a miracle.

Like you were something he’d never believed he could have.

Every thrust was deep, steady, but trembling with emotion. He was holding on for dear life. His forehead pressed to yours, sweat on his brow, his breath hot and uneven.

“God,” Jungkook groaned, voice raw, “you feel so good, too good.”

You cupped his face again, thumbs brushing over his flushed cheeks. “You can let go. i’ve got you.”

But he didn’t. Not yet.

“I don’t want this to end,” he whispered. “I don’t want us to end.”

“We won’t,” you said softly. “I’m right here.”

He choked on a breath, hips stuttering. “I’ve never… never loved anyone like this.”

You nodded, tears welling. “Me either.”

And still, he didn’t stop moving. He couldn’t; not when your body clung to his like a prayer, not when your nails curled against his back, not when your lips parted with little gasps that sounded like his name.

“Let go, baby,” you whispered. “I want you to come inside. Cmon baby.”

His pace faltered—sharper, desperate. “Can’t believe you’re mine,” he breathed. “Can’t believe it’s you.”

Then, with a deep groan against your neck, he finally gave in—shuddering in your arms, body tensing, spilling into you like it was all too much and not enough at once.

You held him through it.

Through the tremble in his limbs.

Through the whispered “I love you” that followed on the heels release. Ropes of come dripping out as he pulls out slowly then inside again. You moaned at the sensation.

He didn’t move for a while—just stayed there, inside you, wrapped around you, like he couldn’t stand to lose the warmth.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, stroking his hair. “You don’t have to hold on so tight.”

He nuzzled into your shoulder. “I want to, though.”

“I know,” you smiled. “Me too.”

Eventually, he shifted, settling beside you, your bodies still tangled beneath the blankets.

The silence was heavy but comforting. No more fear. No more holding back.

Just breathing. Together.

You turned to look at him, and he was already watching you.

“What?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He traced your jaw with his thumb, eyes soft.

“Out of everyone in this whole world… somehow, it was you.”

Your chest ached.

You kissed him, slow and deep and sure.

And thought, yeah.

Somehow, it was him too.

[hummingbird24220]

Greetings! May I request a luffy x reader with a devil fruit that causes anything they touch die, even fabrics doesn't conceal their death touch. But after wano and luffy getting gear 5, luffy accidentally touched reader, and then finding out their ability now doesn't work on him, which made them tear up and ask for a hug as all they have ever felt was the coldness of a corpse and not the warmth of the living

Oooo i like this^^ Thanks for the request <3

I dont know much about gear 5 luffy (aside from the look) so hope its okay. Its preeeetyy short, so sorry!

The Touch of Life

Luffy x Reader

The sun was high over the Thousand Sunny, casting long, warm shadows as it danced on the waves. The air was filled with the usual sounds of life on the sea — creaking wood, flapping sails, and the distant screech of seagulls circling overhead.

And laughter.

Always laughter when Luffy was around.

But just beyond the edge of that sound, sitting cross-legged near the mast with your hands folded tightly in your lap, was you. Watching. Listening. Smiling when they smiled. But never getting close. Not really.

You didn’t wear gloves — not because you wanted to be reckless, but because nothing helped. Fabric decayed under your fingers just like everything else. Cotton turned to dust, leather cracked and rotted, even metal could rust away in your grip if given time. And people? Skin turned to ash. Bones crumbled. Life shriveled.

You didn’t need the reminders. Gloves only made it feel worse.

The Devil Fruit you had eaten — the Shibotsu Shibu no Mi — was more of a curse than a blessing. Anything you touched with your bare hands decayed. People called it powerful. Useful in battle. Terrifying.

You called it lonely.

So you kept your hands clasped. Always. It was your quiet rule. The crew understood. They’d seen what happened the first time you lost control. Brook had only chuckled good-naturedly after you accidentally grazed his sleeve, saying, “Yohoho! Good thing I have no flesh, or that might’ve hurt!” But the tattered edge of his coat still made you nauseous with guilt for days.

They all understood. They respected your space. But you still saw the glances. Felt the hesitation when a high-five was missed or when your cup was taken with a napkin.

Except for Luffy.

Luffy never looked at you like that. He never feared you.

He just… listened.

Like the time you sat beside him on the deck in the dark, unable to sleep, and whispered about what it felt like — to only know the cold of lifeless things. He didn’t say much, just stared at the moon for a while before saying with a gentle grin, “That sucks. But you’re still you, and I like you.”

And that was that.

Now, after Wano, after everything — Kaido, Yamato, the fire festival — things should have calmed. But something had changed.

Luffy was stronger. Brighter. His presence crackled like lightning now. Gear 5 had transformed him into something otherworldly — laughter incarnate, joy made flesh. But he was still Luffy. Still the same boy who offered his seat to you at dinner and saved the last meat bun when he remembered you liked them.

You hadn’t noticed how close he’d gotten during today’s sparring match with Zoro, bouncing around in Gear 5. The deck was a blur of movement, and the others were cheering, and you were watching him — and then he stumbled.

Right into you.

He crashed forward with his usual lack of grace, arms flailing — and before you could back away or yell or stop it —

his hand caught yours.

Bare skin on bare skin.

Time stopped.

Your heart seized in your chest. You felt the familiar buzz of your Devil Fruit roar to life, ready to devour the thing you touched — and then…

Nothing happened.

No rot. No decay. No crumble of cells or dust or death.

Just… warmth.

Your fingers trembled in his grip. You stared at your joined hands like they were something alien.

Luffy blinked. “Oh, sorry!” he said, pulling back slightly, but not all the way. “Didn’t mean to—uh…” He paused, eyes flicking to your wide, shocked expression. “Wait… you’re not…?”

“I…” Your voice cracked. Your hands opened and then closed again. “I didn’t… kill you.”

Luffy looked down at your hands still touching. “Heh. Guess not.”

You stared at him, chest tight, your vision swimming. The warmth was still there. His skin was warm — not crumbling, not withering — alive.

Your throat tightened, and your hands suddenly clutched his.

“I can feel it,” you whispered. “You’re warm. You’re real. You’re not—” Your voice broke. “You’re not dying.”

Luffy tilted his head. “Well, yeah. I mean, I’m not planning on it today.” He laughed lightly. “That’d suck, right?”

You let out a shaking breath — half a sob, half a laugh. “Luffy…”

His smile faded a bit, and his voice softened. “...You okay?”

You nodded too quickly, but tears still spilled from your eyes. “I’ve never touched someone like this. Never held anyone. I’ve only ever felt the cold of death. And now…” You clenched his hand like a lifeline. “Please. Can I have a hug?”

Luffy blinked once — then twice — and then grinned so widely it hurt.

“Of course you can!”

And without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you.

You gasped — not from fear, not from dread — but from warmth. Pure, unfiltered warmth. It hit you like a wave, like fire, like life. His heartbeat thumped against your chest, his arms solid and kind and alive around you.

You sobbed into his shoulder.

From the upper deck, the rest of the crew had gone silent. No one interrupted. No one said a word. Not even Sanji lit his cigarette.

Because they all understood what this moment meant.

And for the first time in your cursed, decaying life — you weren’t killing someone.

You were holding on.

You didn’t know how long you stayed in his arms.

Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. The ocean breeze brushed across your skin, cool and clean, but all you felt was him — the warmth of his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart, the softness of his voice when he murmured, “It’s okay,” over and over.

It was more than okay.

It was the first time you weren’t afraid of your own hands.

Eventually, your tears slowed, and you pulled back, just enough to see his face. His eyes were bright, full of that same unfailing faith that had pulled him through warlords and emperors and hell itself.

“You’re really not scared of me,” you whispered.

He gave you that sunny grin — all teeth and sunshine. “Nah. I never was.”

“But now,” you said, glancing down at your joined hands again, “I can touch you. I can hold you. I thought… I thought I’d never get to do that in my whole life.”

Luffy tilted his head like he didn’t see the big deal. “You’re my nakama. Why wouldn’t I let you hold me?”

You laughed, watery and raw. “Because I used to kill everything I touched, Luffy.”

He scratched his chin, clearly thinking. “Hmm. Maybe Gear 5 makes me different now. My body’s all rubbery and weird — like, freedom-weird.” He grinned. “Maybe even your Devil Fruit can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

You blinked. “Wait… you think you’re immune because you’re… free?”

He nodded confidently. “Yep. I can do anything now. Even hug my cursed friend.”

You blinked once.

Then again.

And for some reason, that made sense.

Not scientifically, not logically, but Luffy-sense.

And you found yourself laughing — really laughing, full-belly, shoulders-shaking laughter that had you leaning into his chest again. He laughed with you, his arms still around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

From the upper deck, the rest of the crew finally exhaled.

Zoro sheathed his sword with a quiet grunt. “Took him long enough.”

Sanji wiped his eyes with a sleeve and muttered, “Damn onions.”

Nami just stood there, lips parted slightly. “She… she’s touching him. And he’s okay.”

Robin’s voice was soft, thoughtful. “It makes sense. Gear 5 allows Luffy to embody the impossible. Perhaps her power doesn’t apply to him anymore.”

“Then does that mean…” Usopp leaned forward over the railing, eyes wide. “She can hug people now?!”

“No,” Robin said gently. “She can hug Luffy.”

Franky adjusted his shades, unusually quiet. Even Chopper had tears in his eyes, tail swishing slowly.

Brook sniffled, though no tears came. “Yohoho… she deserves this. She really does.”

Later that night, the Sunny was quiet. The stars above shimmered over the gentle waves, and you stood at the rail, looking down at your hands.

You didn’t hold them tightly anymore. They were open now. Relaxed.

And warm.

“You’re thinking again,” Luffy’s voice said behind you.

You didn’t flinch when he stepped closer. You didn’t back away.

“Am I allowed to?” you teased softly.

“Only if you don’t cry again. I’m not good with sad stuff.”

You smiled and looked over your shoulder. “I was just wondering… if this only works on you, or if it’s the start of something bigger.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Dunno. Want me to get Chopper to poke you with a stick?”

You laughed again — gods, you were laughing so much now — and shook your head. “No. I don’t want to test this on anyone else. Not yet.”

“Then don’t.”

You blinked.

He stood beside you now, leaning on the railing. “You’ve got time. You’re here, and we’re not going anywhere. So you don’t have to rush.”

You stared at him.

That grin of his could power a whole island.

“Besides,” he added, turning to face you. “You’ve got me. And you can touch me anytime you want.”

Your heart stuttered.

“Luffy…”

His hand found yours again, and he laced your fingers together.

Warm. Alive. Safe.

“You’re not a curse,” he said. “You’re not poison. You’re you. And I’m really glad you’re with us.”

The wind carried your answer away, but it didn’t matter.

Because this time, for once, you weren’t thinking about how much you’d ruin. You were thinking about what you could finally hold onto.

[itneverendshere]

it's my right to be hellish - r.c +18

pairing: : kelce's!sister x hockey!rafe warnings: angst; smut.

Empty cans and half-finished drinks were littering the space around you, the night felt perfect. You were tucked comfortably between Rafe's legs, his jacket draped over your shoulders, your head resting against his chest, while the latest round of Never Have I Ever brought loud laughter.

The drinking game had started out of the living room and spilled onto the wide wooden porch. Someone had dragged out an old speaker, and now a half-decent playlist played.

It was fun, being back home. Loud, tipsy fun, buzzing in your chest and making your cheeks hurt from smiling too much.

Rafe kept tracing patterns on your thigh that made it hard to focus on anything except him, Every once in a while, he’d lean down and kiss your temple, absent-minded like he couldn’t help it. 

He’d say something under his breath, usually about JJ or Toppeer being the worst at these games, and you’d laugh while his nose brushed your cheek. His fingers would kept tapping on your knee in rhythm with whatever song was playing.

Your brother was sitting on the steps with Topper, both of them halfway into their fifth drink, arguing about who should’ve been MVP.

They weren’t paying much attention to the game, which was honestly a relief. You loved Kelce, but you didn’t need him locked in on the way Rafe kept touching you, for his own sake.

Cleo was leaned up against Pope’s side, Kie was teasing JJ, who’d already spilled half his drink and was slurring his way through a story about falling off his board.

Everything felt warm and dumb and happy.

Rafe had just whispered something in your ear—about stealing you away later, after everyone passed out—and you were blushing, smiling into your drink, when the next “Never Have I Ever” was called out.

"Never have I ever..." someone called out—Sam. You didn’t know the guy, he was a junior who tagged along after games and Topper dragged him to Kildare this weekend.

"...slept with two people here."

It was stupid, a throwaway, someone laughed. Your brother made a dumb “ooOOoooh” noise.

You didn’t drink.

You didn’t notice at first—your head still leaned against Rafe’s chest, your cup balanced against your leg.

And then—quietly.

“Wait.”

JJ’s voice.

His eyes were wide, cheeks flushed with cheap tequila. “Wait,” he slurred again, blinking hard. “Why didn’t you two drink?”

The way he said it—the emphasis. You two.

Your eyes snapped to him, and that’s when you saw it—his head moving between you and Pope. Turning back and forth, exaggerated like it was clicking for him.

The implication wasn’t subtle and Rafe’s hand stilled completely.

JJ kept going, oblivious.

“Didn’t you guys, like... back in the day? That summer? When we were sixteen?”

Each word felt like a bomb dropping into your stomach.

Kelce’s head jerked up. “Wait—what?”

Pope’s posture went rigid, not looking at anyone, staring at the ground, hoping it might disappear and take him with it.

“I thought everyone knew,” JJ was confused now, trying to figure out what made the mood turn.

Nobody knew. Only Kie, JJ, you and Pope. Not even Sarah.

You were sixteen, younger, unsure of everything but how safe you felt around Pope. It hadn’t been serious or a thing. You liked him a little, sure, but never the way you liked Rafe. He made you laugh, and you used to sit with him in the library, pretending to work on some dumb english project neither of you cared about. You both just wanted a reason to stay longer.

You remembered how close you sat at that table, your knees would brush and neither of you would move, you’d share earbuds and lowkey forget about the book you were supposed to be reading.

It was innocent, sweet. One night, he came over to finish your final paper—Kelce was at a party, your parents were out, it was late, you were both tired and laughing at nothing—and it just... happened.

You didn’t plan it. 

You just looked at him too long, and he looked back, and then you kissed him and he kissed you and—it wasn't anything more than what it was. You lost your virginity to him that night.

The next day, you both kind of... moved on, it hadn’t changed anything. You stayed friends. 

The memory shattered against the present moment, and you blinked back into reality with everybody’s eyes on you.

Your brother was staring, sitting up straighter, confusion creasing his brow. Topper looked like he was waiting for the drama to explode. Kie wouldn’t meet your eyes. Cleo was watching Pope. Sam left.

Rafe hadn’t moved.

You turned toward him, cautious and that’s when he stood up.

No drama or yelling, only tugging his arm as your fingers instinctively reached for him.

“Gonna get a drink.”

He was gone, walking back into the house without another word.

The porch was silent, all you could hear was the music playing low through the speaker, something stupidly out of place.

JJ, finally realizing what he’d dropped, sank lower into his seat, whispering, “Shit… I’m sorry…”

Kelce was still gawking at you—not angry, only trying to process the last five minutes. Topper, for once in his life, was smart enough not to say anything.

Pope hadn’t moved. His hands clasped together between his knees, eyes focused on the floorboards, bracing for Cleo to say something.

“Alrigh’,” Cleo said with a little laugh, voice extremely calm for how tense the porch was, “that was a messy one. Let’s call that a warm-up and move it along, yeah?”

You looked at her and there was no anger on her face. 

“Y’all actin’ like they confessed to murder,” she added, head tilted, eyes briefly flicking to Pope—long enough to tell him we good. 

“I mean,” she continued, sipping her drink and leaning back against the railing, “y’all were sixteen.”

Kie let out a breath she’d been holding. “Yeah. Seriously. Prehistoric.”

Cleo waved her cup. “Next question. Something less nuclear. Who’s got one?”

You could’ve cried right there.

She was giving everyone a way out. Even Pope seemed to uncoil, his shoulders relaxing as he risked a glance her way. She met his eyes and gave the smallest imperceptible nod.

You on the other hand couldn’t relax, Rafe was still inside. And no matter how cool Cleo was, how well she was patching the mood back together, you needed to find him.

You turned to Kie, “I should go check on him.”

She nodded immediately. “Yeah. Go.”

Behind you, the game limped forward again—someone throwing out a weak “Never have I ever gone skinny dipping,” and a few forced chuckles followed.

Cleo leaned back into the railing, her drink raised just enough to signal a toast to no one in particular. “See?”

You moved down the hall, past the kitchen, past the half-empty counters stacked with liquor bottles and someone’s abandoned vape, past where Kelce had tossed his hoodie earlier—and still, no Rafe.

Your heart was in your throat now, fists tight at your sides.

Eventually, you found him inside one of the rooms—door cracked, lights off. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in front of his mouth.

You stayed in the doorway. “Rafe?”

He didn’t look up, and that’s when the real panic started. The messy kind that starts in your stomach and climbs up your spine.

Because he didn’t look mad.

“Can you just—say something?” you asked, “Please.”

Nothing.

And your brain was spiraling now.

He hates me. He thinks I lied. He thinks I’m disgusting. He’s probably rethinking everything. I wouldn’t blame him. He’s gonna walk away. This is it. This is how I lose him and I didn’t even do anything wrong but I still should’ve known, I should’ve said it, I should’ve—

“Rafe,” you said again, louder now. “We weren’t serious. We weren’t—”

His jaw flexed and it shut you up.

What the fuck?

Okay, fine. It was a surprise, but it wasn’t like you cheated. It wasn’t even during, it was years ago. And more than that—Rafe wan’t a saint before you. 

God, the night you two became official, literally that night, you heard a cheerleader gossiping in the bathroom about how she fucked him for two hours in a jacuzzi sophomore year. She’d laughed about it like it was a badge of honor. Said she tried again this year, too—while you and Rafe were already hooking up—but he turned her down.

What was the difference? You weren’t virgins. None of you were pure and untouched, saving yourselves for the perfect person.

Why did it suddenly feel wrong—something you should’ve hidden, something shameful? You weren’t ashamed when it happened, you were sixteen. You didn’t even know who you were yet, but you knew Pope was kind, he made you laugh, feel safe and it wasn’t a life-changing romantic tragedy.

You wanted to ask him how the fuck it’s any different than the girl in the bathroom or the other stories you’ve had to hear secondhand over the years before you got together. But your heart was also twisting and telling you it was your job to fix this.

You shut the guest room door behind you harder than you meant to, not slammed, but loud enough that it made Rafe flinch.

“Are you seriously gonna sit there and say nothing?”

Your voice already sounded wrong.

He chose to keep staring straight ahead, hoping the moment would dissolve if he didn’t engage.

“Say something,” you snapped.

Silence.

That did it.

“Rafe—grow up.

His head jerked toward you then, “Grow up?"

"That's not what I m—"

"You’re the one who kept it a secret.”

“There was nothing to tell.

“You slept with Pope.”

You reeled back like he just spat in your face. “So fucking what?”

His hands were fisted, elbows braced on his knees. “You don’t think that’s something I deserved to know? T-that you fucked a mutual friend? Lost your virginity to him?”

“Excuse me?” He must’ve been out of his fucking mind. “No,” you laughed, disbelieving, “Absolutely not. You do not get to throw that at me like I fucking owe you that confessional.”

“I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying what, Rafe?” you barked, stepping forward. “That because I didn’t sit you down and cry about who I lost it to, that I’m what—dishonest? A fucking liar?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s exactly what you said!” You were yelling, it scraped your throat and left your lungs raw. “Who the fuck did you lose your virginity to? Huh?” You jabbed a finger at his chest. “Was it that girl from Figure Eight who used to sneak out of church to meet you behind the dunes? Was it the lifeguard? That barista you ‘don’t even remember the name of’?”

His mouth opened, but no answer came out.

“Exactly,” you scoffed. “You never told me. I never asked, it doesn’t fucking matter. I know—I trust—that what we have now is real.”

“It’s different,” Rafe growled, “You’re still close with him! You had a project together —last month, for fuck’s sake—”

You blinked at him, stunned. “So what?!”

“So it’s not ancient history!” he shouted. “You see him every other day, you talk to him—”

“And? And what?” you demanded. “I’m—secretly in love with him? I’m gonna leave you for Pope because we had sex one time when we were sixteen? Grow the fuck up!”

You knew this wasn’t about Pope. It was Rafe, how he’d never had to feel small in someone’s eyes before, never talked about his parents divorce, and now he didn’t know how to sit with it.

He didn’t answer, and it wrecked you.

You threw your hands out, helpless.

“What do you want me to say? That I wish it never happened? You want me to rewrite my whole fucking life to make you feel better?”

His eyes snapped up at that, wild, the blue in them flickering like flame.

“I want to not fucking picture it every time I see you standing next to him from now on,” he exploded, the first honest thing he said since you walked in.

Your jaw dropped open, breath punched out of you. “You are so—wrong. Jesus, Rafe. You are so fucking wrong.”

He looked like he might break in half from hearing you say it.

“I don’t know. I don’t know, okay? I’ve never done this before. I’ve never—fuck—I’ve never loved someone like this before. It’s making me lose my mind.”

“It wasn’t serious. You and me—this is the most serious thing I’ve ever had.” You pressed your hand flat against your chest, hoping it held your heart together. “I have never, not once, made you feel like you weren’t everything to me. And you’re sitting here, making me feel like some dirty little secret because of something that happened when I was a fucking kid.”

He ran a hand down his face, eyes closed. You saw the tremble in his shoulders that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with fear.

“Why did it have to be him?”

“What?”

His voice was strained. “Why did it have to be Pope?”

Not the fact that it happened, but who it happened with. What does that mean now?

“We were kids. It wasn’t planned.”

Rafe laughed bitterly. “Yeah. He’s still around, still in your life. Still—"

The way he spat that word out.

You stepped toward him, “Do you think I want him?”

“Was it good?” he asked suddenly, sharply, it leaped out of him before he could stop it. “With him?”

You stared at him, gut twisting. “Don’t do that.”

“I want to know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.” His voice cracked. “Because if it was... if it meant something—"

“You’re asking because you want to hurt.”

You folded your arms across your chest, as if it could somehow shield you from this version of him—this paranoid, desperate, spiraling version you didn’t recognize.

“It meant nothing. You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t know.” His laugh was hollow, “You didn’t tell me before.”

“It wasn’t a secret—”

“I never even asked you about your exes,” he spat, turning on you suddenly. “I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to think about you with anyone else. But now—fuck—it’s in my head and I can’t unsee it. I had to hear it from JJ, of all people, at a fuckin’ party. Like it was a joke.”

You flinched, because yeah—you hadn’t thought about it like that.

Rafe’s voice dipped, gutted: “He said you two. Like it’s still happening.”

“It’s not, baby. You know it’s not.”

“You hang out. You text. You sit in his passenger seat and you laugh at his jokes and—”

“And what? What do you think that means?”

His face was twisted, stuck somewhere between heartbreak and humiliation. You saw the insecurity chewing him up from the inside out. You understood what was happening. Rafe had always been the one who knew more, the one with stories you had to smile through, girls you never named but always noticed. But one old hidden memory of yours—one ancient, dusty, barely-relevant chapter—was enough to make him unravel. 

“I know what it sounded like, when JJ said it.” Your voice wavered, “It sounded wrong, like it was more than that, but it wasn’t and it isn’t. You know JJ—he doesn’t think before he speaks. He doesn’t get that it would land like that.”

Even if you understood why he was acting this way, it didn’t make it hurt less that he doubted you.

“I’m with you,” you reminded him through your teeth. "You don’t get to sit there and make me feel like I’m ruining this.”

“You’re not,” he added quietly.

“Then what the fuck is this, Rafe? What are we doing right now?”

He looked at you like you slapped him—but you were past coddling him through this, you were beeling for him and it sill didn’t look like it was enough.

“I didn’t come here to beg for your forgiveness for something that happened when I was sixteen. You want to be mad? Fine. Be mad.”

“You two make sense. Anyone but me."

“What?” It hit you like ice water. “You think I settled for you?”

“No,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes. “I think you picked me even though you shouldn’t have. And one day, you’re gonna realize that. And when you do—”

You're gonna leave him like his mom left Ward.

You didn’t let him finish. “Don’t.”

“You’re gonna leave. And I won’t be mad. I’ll understand, I always knew I didn’t deserve this.”

You went still, heart dropping so fast, you swore it made a sound

“You think that little of yourself?” you asked, “I don’t want anyone else. That chapter’s over, it’s been over.”

He looked at you then, chest heaving, eyes bloodshot and glassy.

“I love you in a way I never did anyone else—and I never will. Do you hear me?” you say, stepping closer. “I love you.”

He swallowed.

“And if you can’t trust that—then maybe we don’t work. But don’t you dare reduce me to a choice I made when I was sixteen because you’re scared.”

“I didn’t mean to—” he choked out. “I didn’t want to…”

“You love me?” you asked.

His eyes shot to you, almost panicked.

“I love you so much it makes me fucking sick,” he said, voice ragged. “And I hate that it makes me like this.”

You flinched because you felt that too. You took a breath that hurt on the way in, looking at the boy you loved—the boy who was spiraling through self-hate and fear.

“I’m so fucking scared of losing you,” he confessed.

You were torn between screaming at him or dropping to your knees and holding him until the shaking stopped. Rafe rubbed at his eyes, hoping to wipe the shame off, and when he glanced back at you, his eyes were desperate. 

You crossed the space between you in three steps.

He had no time to react before your hands were on his face, cupping his cheeks, your thumbs sweeping over the edge of his cheekbones, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Look at me.”

He didn’t at first, so you tried harder.

“Rafe. Look at me.”

When he finally did, there was that ache in your chest again.

“I’m not gonna pretend I know what it’s like in your head. But I do know you. You’d rip yourself to pieces before you ever hurt me on purpose.”

“But I did hurt you.”

You nodded. “Yeah. You did.”

His bottom lip quivered.

“I still love you,” you added, “Even when it hurts when you push and say shit you don’t mean.”

Rafe exhaled a sound that was almost a sob, pulling you into his chest, unable to stand the space between you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, again and again, mouth pressed to your temple, “I’m so sorry.”

You held him, fingers threading through the back of his hair, knowing it always soothed him.

“I didn’t mean to—I just—fuck, I got scared. It’s ugly. I know it’s ugly.”

You shook your head, brushing his hair back, lips trembling as you leaned in and kissed him. His mouth opened against yours, a muffled groan catching in the back of his throat as you deepened it, tasting every ounce of his devastation.

You pushed him back onto the bed and followed, knees straddling his thighs, never breaking the kiss. His fingers dug into your waist and then up your thighs as you pulled back, noses brushing, your breaths mingling in the dark.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reminded him, forehead resting against his.

Rafe exhaled shakily, trying not to cry.

“I’m not gonna leave when shit gets hard.”

His eyes squeezed shut. “I know. I know, I—I get this voice in my head and it says, this is where she leaves you. And I believe it. Every time.”

“Believe me harder.” You kissed him again, “You’re it for me. You’ve always been it.”

Rafe pulled you in, holding you against his chest, kissing you over and over—mouth, cheeks, jaw,—whispering apologies into your skin like prayers, voice shaking on every one.

“Don’t push me away again. I need you to try. You can’t shut down when something scares you.”

He nodded, absorbing each word one at a time. “Never,” he swore, “I’d rather die.”

“We’re okay?”

“We are,” Rafe promised instantly, “We are, baby. I’m sorry.”

You nodded, your arms curling around his neck as he sat up, kissed you hard, deeper than before—a vow. His hands were on your back, sliding down, pressing into the dip of your spine, then lower.

You felt his teeth graze your bottom lip, a quiet hum escaping him when you tugged his hair the way he liked, your name leaving his lips as a sigh, a prayer.

Your hips rolled against his without thinking and he moaned, hands tightening on your skin, grinding you against him as he turned his attention to your neck, teeth scraping, tongue soothing, sucking bruises because he needed to leave marks. 

Those pretty deep plum echoes he yearned to see, indigo and aubergine proof that you were his, that he could still have you after everything, that you wanted him still. 

Rafe rasped your name, forehead dropping to your shoulder, full body jerking up to meet yours. You pawed at the hem of his shirt, yanking it over his head within seconds, fingers immediately splaying across his bare chest. His skin was flushed as you dragged your long nails down his torso only to feel the way he shuddered.

He pulled at your shirt just as desperately, tongue only abandoning yours for a second, enough to strip it off and toss it somewhere behind you both. His hands cupped your breasts through your bra, brushing over your nipples until you gasped into his mouth, arching into him, begging without words.

“I need you,” he breathed, eyes locked on yours, pleading. “Please—need to feel you. That you still want me.”

You crushed your lips against his as an answer, letting him taste the promise in it.

“I am yours,” you muttered against his mouth. “Always been yours.”

Rafe wasted no time licking your chest as he unclasped your bra, every second of waiting pure agony. He mouthed at your skin, worshipful, leaving wet kisses along the tops of your breasts before taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make your hips jump against him.

God, the way he looked at you—you were squirming, moving shamelessly, your body begging for him. He grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing, lifting you to rock your soaked core harder against the perfect line of his cock. 

“You have no idea what you do to me…”

You did. You felt it every single day.

The lamplight washed over you both, casting shadows on your rich, warm skin—deep brown with undertones that reminded him of sunset light, the same shade he remembered from that first party last semester, when he saw you laughing under string lights, glowing, and thought, God, she's gonna be mine.

Rafe’s pupils were blown wide, lips swollen while his hands were under your thighs, lifting you enough to stand and shove your jeans and underwear down your legs in a desperate motion. His eyes dropped, breath hitching at the sight of you bare.

His rough hands ran up the backs of your legs, spreading over the curve of your ass. “You’re perfect. You’re—fuck, baby, I—”

You cut him off because if he kept talking you were going to lose it before he touched you properly. You climbed back into his lap, scorching skin meeting denim, the thick ridge of his cock caught the way you needed. The groan he let out went straight to your pussy.

“Off,” you begged against his mouth, tugging at his belt, the button of his jeans. “Now.”

He didn’t hesitate, pants and boxers gone in seconds, and then he was there, painfully hard against your thigh. Your body clenched at the sheer size of him as you looked down between you, pink flushed tip leaking.

You dragged your hand over him and his head fell back, jaw going slack, eyes fluttering shut. His hips bucked helplessly into your palm, breath stuttering as you teased the tip, spreading his precum with your thumb.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, “Only yours.”

He opened his eyes then, grabbing your wrist, pulling away, guiding you to straddle him again. Lining himself up with shaky hands and whispering, "Please... I need to feel you. Need you to take me, baby, please—"

You slid down onto him in one slow, wet glide.

The stretch made your whole body shudder—He was deep, every inch claimed by you, and the sounds he made—guttural, painful—made your eyes roll back.

Rafe’s forehead dropped to your chest while he gripped you hard enough to hurt. “I’m gonna—fuck, I can’t—”

You rocked your hips, teasing, and he cursed again, trying so hard not to lose it. His hands ran up your back, fingertips pressing into your spine.

“Get on your knees for me, baby.”

You obeyed without a word, legs embarrassingly shaky as you turned in his lap and leaned forward onto your hands, ass arched high, heart pounding. Before you settled fully, he yanked you back, keeping your spine curved but tugging your upper body to rest against his chest.

He knelt behind you, your back pressed tight to his torso, thick muscular thighs bracketing yours. One arm wrapped around your middle, the other spreading your legs wider.

He pushed back inside, and you whined—again—because no matter how many times he took you, it always felt like the first. The drag of his cock along your folds made your hips stutter back against him in plea.

Rafe’s mouth was at your ear in a flash.

“Gonna fuck you just like this. Keep you open for me.”

That hand around your stomach slid lower, holding you firm as he rocked his hips—sinking back inside you with a groan like it was killing him. Your hands scrambled for purchase, gripping the edge of the bed, the sheets—anything—as he filled you over and over, the angle so intense it stole your breath.

His chest was pressed to your back, skin on skin, drooling over your shoulder. Slow at first, torturously slow. His hips rocking into you, dragging his cock along every sensitive inch, hitting that spot deep deep inside that makes you clench like an animal in heat.

You shuddered, back arching harder as he twitched inside you again in the span of seconds. He pressed you harder to him, his nose buried in your curls, mouth dragging lazy kisses along your neck.

Rafe's hand roamed your body eagerly—over your belly, your ribs, up between your breasts where he cupped one roughly.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he hissed, rutting up into you, the slap of skin on skin getting louder, “Say it.”

“You—fuck—Rafe, I’m yours,” You gasped when he ground even deeper. “I’m yours, a-always yours.”

You were being used, held open, filled—but loved, too. Worshiped

His hand dropped teased lower, down your stomach but he didn’t rush it. His palm cupped your mound, simply resting there for a moment while he fucked up into you with punishing thrusts.

“Rafe, I need—”

“I know what you need,” he breathed. “…I’ve got you."

His fingers found your clit, slicking through the mess between your thighs before circling it enough to make your eyes roll back. The tease of it made your whole body clamp down around him, and he swore, pace faltering as your walls gripped him like a vice.

Your mouth fell open as he only circled your clit harder.

“Can’t stop touching you,” he murmured, licking your jaw between words. “You’re so fucking perfect. Look at you.”

You could hardly offer a whimper, your head falling against his shoulder again, trying to ride his hand too.

Rafe chuckled low, breath warm on your skin.

“Greedy girl,” he tsked. 

You shook your head desperately. “More."

He grunted into your neck, thrusting up harder, chasing the feeling of you milking him. Your thighs started to tremble like leafs again, muscles burning, as his touch worked you closer, closer, closer.

You came with a strangled cry, body bucking in his arms, your inner walls pulsing hard. Without a single warning, Rafe shifted positions, guiding you down onto your side, still behind you, still inside you.

His arm hooked under your leg, lifting it, opening you wider as he started to fuck into you again—a mean pounding that had your eyes rolling back in your head, into another galaxy.

The new angle hit even deeper, every movement drawing a wrecked moan from your lips. Your body was sensitive, but especially needy.

Rafe kissed your shoulder, “Gimme more, baby. I need it.”

His hand trailed to the inside of your thigh, gripping behind your knee as he pressed it up and back, opening you fully to him. Your cries came out sweeter, tinged with the overstimulation and the love that dug under your ribs.

“I don’t d-deserve you,” he said again, voice broken, forehead pressed to the back of your neck, hips rolling forward.

You turned your head, lips finding his cheek, tasting the salt of his tears.

“You’re not losing me” you kissed the corner of his mouth, and he turned, catching you in a desperate kiss.

“Gimme another one,” he murmured, dragging his cock deeper with slow, relentless thrusts. “You’ve got more for me. I know you do.”

You whimpered, leg still hooked over his arm, the angle hitting that spot that had you seeing stars. “T-too much."

“I know,” he rasped, “But you can take it. Lemme give it to you.”

“Rafe—fuck—” you gasped, squirming in his arms, nails digging into the sheets as you writhed.

“That’s it,” he praised, hips grinding forward against your swollen, aching walls. “Look at you, so fucking wet, so f-fucking tight—begging for it even when you say you can’t take more.”

Your body was already clenching down, your noises dissolving into sobs. Rafe could feel it, your body giving in, could hear the desperation in your gasps, how you kept pushing into him chasing that last drop of control.

You sobbed, thighs quivering uncontrollably. “Rafe—fuck—I’m coming—”

Your whole body snapped tight, stealing your words. You cried out, body locked tight as your seconds orgasm tore through you without any proper warning.

Rafe didn’t slow down. You didn't have time to recover before his hand was sliding down again, his mouth hot on your neck.

If he kept that shit up, he was gonna fuck you into your next life.

“One more,” he whispered, “Please—give me one more. Wanna feel you fall apart on my cock again.”

You gasped, overstimulated but burning for it anyway. Your pussy gushed around him, your body was already saying yes, even if your mind couldn’t form the words. He moved, pulling your hips back, laying you flat on your stomach now as he climbed over you, bracketing your body with his. His cock pushed back into you, still so hard.

“I’ll make it good,” he promised, “Lemme make it good for you.”

You sobbed into the mattress, tears slipping down your nose and onto the cotton as your body trembled beneath him, overwhelmed and woozy, but your hips rolled to meet him anyway—because fuck, you needed him.

He was shaking too — from the effort, from the need — but his focus was singular. Your pleasure.

Rafe slowed only to press a kiss to your shoulder.

“Just one more, pretty girl.”

You whimpered, body too sensitive to move but too addicted to stop, back bowed to take him deeper. 

“I can’t,” you drew in a sharp breath. “Baby, I can’t—”

“Yeahhh, you can.” His hand slid beneath your hips again, guiding your body where he wanted it — needed it. “Know you can. You’re fuckin’ made for this. F'me.”

He rolled his hips slow, hitting where you needed him to with surgical precision. He did it again, and again — each thrust dragging a pitful cries from you.

“S'fuckin' sweet, even when I don’t deserve it.”

Your walls fluttered around him, and Rafe whined like it killed him

“Right there,” he muttered like a man possessed. “Yeah, fuck, there she is.” He pressed yet another peck to your back, “Feel that, baby? T-that’s me. That’s allll me.”

You were moaning higher, it was so much —him inside you, the sound of his voice by your ear, coaxing you, commanding you—

He breathed a sinful: “C’mon, baby. Let go f’me.”

You shook your head, but your body betrayed you.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked,” he rasped, “So wet, even now—fuck. I feel it. I f-feel you.”

His rhythm never broke — grinding thrusts, pulsing inside you, fingers stroking your clit with maddening perfection. You sobbed, already floating away, face pressed into the mattress.

“Don’t fight it,” he said. “Lemme fuckin’ feel it.”

“Rafe—oh my god—babyyy—”

“That’s it,” he growled. 

Your body arched off the bed, hands clawing around the sheets, vision going white as your third orgasm ripped through you like lightning. You screamed his name, sobbing, pulsing, dripping, shaking from the force of it.

“Fuuuck—” Rafe gasped, gripping your hips like he’d fall apart without them. “That’s my girl. That’s my fucking girl. You’re gonna make me—fuck, not gonna last.”

He tried to pull out, give you a second to breathe, be a gentleman — but the moment his cock started to slide free, your body clenched one more time around him while you let out a desperate sound that made him bite his tongue.

“Shit—don’t do that,” He hissed, “You want it that bad?”

You nodded weakly, unable to spit out words, but your body said everything —still hungry for him even after everything he’d given you.

“Shittt,” he cursed, and then he lost it.

Rafe grabbed onto you like you weighed nothing, driving back with a brutal thrust, and another, frantic, his control unraveling completely. His chest was plastered to your back, his teeth pulling at your skin, and the filthy sounds filled the room— skin slapping, breath hitching, your name falling from his lips.

He choked out: “So fuckin’ tight, baby, I can’t—oh my god—fuck.”

You felt it before he said it — his whole body locked up, pushing so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

He cried out — long and wrecked — as he spilled inside you, thick ropes of cum flooding you, until it leaked down your thights, so much. His whole body shuddered with it, one arm squeezing the shit out of you, the other fisting the sheets.

“Mine,” he breathed into your skin, voice trembling, “You’re mine. Mine, mine, mine.”

Each word came with a desperate thrust, the final one hitting so deep it knocked the breath from your lungs, your body locking down around him, trying to keep him there forever.

Rafe stayed there, panting, breath coming in broken bursts as the aftershocks ran through him. His heart was hammering against your back, his grip softening but not letting go. You could feel his cum dripping out around where he was still plugged inside.

He mouthed at your shoulder, less feral than before, coming down from his high, but not ready to let you go.

“Baby,” he rasped, “I didn’t mean to—did I hurt you?”

Your lashes fluttered, you couldn’t speak yet, instead you held his hand where it wrapped under your stomach and slid your fingers between his.

“You okay?” he brushed your sweaty curls off your neck, voice worn from how he’d been growling your name into the air minutes ago. “Still with me?” 

You turned your head to catch his blue eyes —swollen lips parted. “It was perfect.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded weakly, but even that small movement sent a pulse of overstimulation through your core. Rafe shifted inside you, and a helpless sound slipped from your lips.

“Fuck—sorry. I know, baby, I know.”

You hummed, with no strength to move —and honestly, you didn’t want to.

“You’re still squeezin’ me,” He muttered in disbelief. “God, you feel so good—don’t wanna leave you yet.”

He rolled over slowly, pulling you with him so you were sprawled across his chest, the sticky heat still between your thighs as he slipped out of you, groaning at the overstimulation.

“Shh, I got you. I got you,” He was already pulling the blanket up to cover your bare body, brow furrowed in that serious way he only got when he was taking care of you.

One of his hands trailed up your back, the other rested low, thumb lazily brushing where his cum was starting to leak out. He looked down, eyes fixed on that mess he made, and something satisfied curled in his expression.

You, all of you— rich dark skin glowing with sweat and cum, curls wild against the pillow, beautiful lips swollen from his kiss — made him curse under his breath. You hid your face in his chest, groaning, but Rafe laughed, still breathless.

His hand came up to your face, tilting it so you’d look at him. That sweet, almost boyish look flickered over the lust now — the Rafe that wanted to be loved back.

“I don’t deserve you."

You shook your head, turning to kiss him, coaxing him back into calm. He swallowed hard, a shaky hum escaping him while he held your face in both hands like you were something he had to earn. 

Precious. “Still mine?”

You nodded, exhausted, ruined, filled. “Still yours.”

From outside the door, a very familiar voice cracked through the silence — unapologetic, and directed at the two of you.

“Shit,” you both hissed at the same time.

“I KNEW Y’ALL WERE GONNA DO THIS IN MY ROOM!” JJ’s voice rang through the house again. “You couldn’t wait—two seconds? Goddamn, y’all had a whole audience before you started ripping each other’s clothes off!”

You groaned into Rafe’s chest, laughing, half-mortified.

“I’m gonna die.”

Rafe didn’t pretend to be sorry.

He dragged the blanket higher, wrapped his arms tighter around you, and muttered into your hair, “Should’ve kept his mouth shut earlier.”

“Y’all traumatized everyone,” JJ hollered again.

You were shaking from trying not to laugh, face hidden against Rafe’s chest, while he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

“It's his fault. If he didn’t start shit, I wouldn’t’ve had to fuck you like that.”

“YOU’RE STILL IN THERE TALKING!” JJ screeched. “What the fuck are y’all doing, cuddling?!”

Rafe shouted back lazily, “Cuddling the fuck out of her, bro.”

“IN MY BED?!”

“Shouldn’t’ve run your mouth.”

“I’M BURNING THE SHEETS, MAN!” echoed down the hall.

[glowettee]

✧ if it doesn't align with the dream life, it's a distraction ✧

hey lovelies!! 🦢

omg, so, i was literally journaling last night & this phrase just hit me like… so hard. "if it doesn't align with the dream life, it's a distraction." i had to stop writing and just sit with that for a min.

because honestly? i've been feeling so scattered lately. like my energy is going in a million directions but none of them are taking me where i actually want to go. and i realized that's exactly what happens when we don't have clarity on our it-girl blueprint.

so what even is an it-girl blueprint? it's not just aesthetic or vibes (tho those matter too!!) but it's this deep knowing of who you're meant to become. it's that version of you who wakes up excited, who feels aligned, who's living in her dream apartment with her dream career and her dream people. she exists!! she's waiting for you to become her!!

this post is a bit different from my most recents, i wanted to take a little tinyyy break from my pop culture series', like the pll x glowettee and vampire diaries x glowettee series' and just focus more on self-improvement again. i also wanted to take a break from the overwhelming aesthetics i've been using in my posts, and justtttt write~~ (no small text, no crazy colors, just my thoughts) and i realized that distractions have been very prominent in my life lately... so i wanted to address it in this post, and some possible solutions <3

✧ what's actually distracting you? ✧

okay so grab your journal rn and let's get super real about what's pulling you away from your dream life, feel free to use these prompts:

that situationship that makes you feel anxious every time they text (you know the one)

the hours of scrolling that leave you feeling empty inside

saying yes to plans when your body is literally begging you to rest

the "friend" who always has drama and makes everything about them

that project you started because you thought you "should" but you actually hate

staying in that job/class/situation because you're scared to disappoint someone

comparing your chapter 1 to someone else's chapter 20 (guilty!!)

i've been doing this work myself and it's kinda scary how many things i was pouring energy into that weren't actually taking me anywhere i wanted to go??

✧ getting clear on your actual dream life ✧

before we can align with our dream life, we need to know what it actually looks like! not what instagram or your mom or society thinks it should look like, but what YOU want.

some journal prompts that helped me:

when do i feel most like myself?

what activities make me lose track of time?

who makes me feel seen, safe, and supported?

what would my perfect morning routine look like if i had zero obligations?

what kind of spaces make me feel calm and inspired?

what would i do with my time if money wasn't an issue?

what parts of my current life would i keep even if i could change everything?

i did this exercise last weekend and realized that so many things i was chasing weren't even in my dream life blueprint?? like i was stressing about getting into this super competitive program but when i really thought about it, it wasn't even aligned with what i actually want. wild.

✧ how to actually make decisions that align ✧

okay, so here's my little framework for making choices that actually build your dream life:

the body check: before saying yes to anything, check in with your body. does it feel expansive and light, or contracted and heavy? your body literally knows before your brain does!!

the future self question: what would the version of you who's already living your dream life do? she knows!! trust her!!

the energy audit: does this person/activity/commitment give you energy or drain it? only say yes to energy-givers (this one changed my life omg)

the alignment test: ask yourself "does this move me closer to or further from my dream life?" be brutally honest!!

the joy metric: if it doesn't bring you joy or lead to joy, why are you doing it?? (unless it's like… taxes or something lol)

✧ how to let go of the distractions ✧

this is the hardest part tbh. because we get attached to things even when they're not serving us! here's what's helping me:

remember that saying no to something is saying yes to your dream life

start with the easiest distractions first (for me it was unfollowing accounts that made me feel bad)

create little rituals around letting go (i write things down and then burn the paper)

remind yourself that outgrowing things is part of becoming

be gentle with yourself when you slip back into old patterns (we all do it!!)

i had to let go of a friendship a few months that was taking so much energy, and it was really hard but also?? i suddenly had all this space to focus on things that actually matter to me.

✧ your dream life alignment practice ✧

here's a little daily practice i've been doing:

morning: set an intention to notice what aligns and what distracts

throughout the day: when making choices, ask "dream life or distraction?"

evening: celebrate the aligned choices you made + gently note the distractions

it's not being perfect!! it's becoming more conscious of our choices. because every tiny decision is either building your dream life or… not.

i've been doing this for about three weeks now and i already feel so much clearer and more focused. like i'm finally moving in one direction instead of being pulled in a million different ones.

remember: you deserve your dream life. and it starts with choosing it, over and over, in all the tiny moments.

question from mindy:

what's one distraction you're ready to let go of? and one aligned action you're ready to take? (feel free to send me a message in my inbox, or just reblog answering this question.)

xoxo, mindy 🤍

[hydrophobicmenace]

The interesting thing about QSMP is that it is a perfect example of how people spontaneously mimic the structures of human societies when they are thrown into a situation together, and the best part is that the resulting dynamics were totally unforeseen by Quackity himself.

We knew that the point of creating pairs and assigning each of them a little creature to protect was to incentivize people to break the language barrier and bridge the cultural gap—that’s the whole reason this server existed. And it worked wonderfully. What I’m sure the admins didn’t account for, however, is that because these creatures were played by real people, they developed personalities of their own and before they knew it, what was supposed to be a temporary event turned into the very core of the server.

It's hard to explain to people the sheer impact that the eggs left on all of us without sounding like we’re completely insane. Our brains are really bad at making the difference between real and fictional relationships (if there even is such a thing), so when you spend weeks taking care of a little egg that follows you around and eats the food you make and calls you its parent, you don’t just go about your day pretending that it’s all a game.

(Except Roier. This guy has exceptional mental fortitude.)

We are social animals. We look out for each other. When someone lets an egg die, it feels like a failure on ourselves and the people who put their faith in us. Look at Slime, he literally exiled himself for it. So they start weaving a net to stop their fall, a web of connections between the islanders that can withstand outside pressure. It takes a village, they say. The islanders came together to protect something dear to their hearts, and from their efforts bloomed a tight-knit community that never would have seen the light of day in different circumstances.

Accidents still happen, of course. But at least you’re not alone to face them. I often think about how every single person on the server at the time was immediately willing to accompany Jaiden and Roier on an 8k blocks journey to the place of Bobby’s death, not because Cucurucho told them to, but because they didn’t want the pair to face this hardship on their own. They didn’t need to know them well to volunteer—hell, the francophones had literally crash-landed the day before and Kamel probably thought that Bobby was some kind of pet still. They just did, because that’s what people do for each other. They’ll stand outside of the room where two grieving parents are saying goodbye to their child and discuss plans for a funeral because they understand that it’s the last thing you want to think about when you’re mourning, and someone has to do the unpleasant work.

Grief is a really silly and complicated thing that is difficult to simulate. I don’t think anyone would willingly put themselves in the state of anguish that some of the players were in during that time. Like Bad said, it was a genuinely traumatizing experience, yet you just had to live through it to understand why he didn’t regret any of it. These eggs were their babies—imagine someone gives you a little creature and asks you to sing them lullabies and bring them on adventures until it becomes something you look forward to every day, only to take them away from you on a whim—how fucked up is that?

But even in those moments of tragedies, there is some light to be found. Even as the Brazilians are sat around Maximus in a sullen silence while he plays the harmonica, the francophones are busy collecting bricks a couple feet away and discussing their plans for Pomme—literally ensuring the future of the island in real time. And they did a fantastic job of it. I’ve never seen people fight so hard for the life of a Minecraft egg; French viewers were literally threatening to organize a revolution on the bird app in case things didn’t go their way. You don’t typically do that for a two-week old cubito.

When you think about it, prying this server from their cold dead hands was really the only way to end this.

[calebslittlecrow]

How To Assume

(stop being an overly anxious potato over manifesting)

Sometimes I see shifters asking “Oh, what should I do? Nothing is working :(“ and they get hit with the good ol “just assume” stamp and send on their way. And then, barely 10 steps later, they turn around and whisper “... the fuck do I even assume?”. Before I chew your ear off: assuming isn’t hard. Well, not really, but people tend to make it hard. We as humans just love acting like we need to turn ourselves into a pretzel every time we want something “big”. We actually assume every day - when we decide we suck, when we tell ourselves we’ll never shift anyway, when we confidently declare we are stuck in our 3D and shifting is just too good to be true and all those people in the reddit community saying it’s just astral projecting or deep lucid dreaming are right (what is even going on over there atm?). Guess what your 3D is doing with those assumptions? It grabs them, says “bet!” and starts running like it’s a race. Congrats ^-^ But hey, the good news: if you can assume all of that shit, you can also assume that you have shifted. Yeay! In the spirit of keeping it simple, I turned the way I see assuming into a neat little list. Enjoy, or not: 1. Just Decide That’s it. Thanks for coming to my TED talk, exit is to the right. Okay, it sounds suspiciously simple and I know some brains will twitch a bit right now with “That can’t be it”. But it is. You sit down, breathe and say “I have shifted”. No begging, no pleading, no howling at the moon. You just decide, and that is where a lot of people crumble already by pleading for it to happen instead of deciding it has happened. You don’t need an approval stamp, you are the CEO of your own reality, not the intern grabbing coffee. Act like it. Deciding isn’t hoping or praying, it’s simply knowing. No matter if shit catches up immediately, tomorrow or next week. Doesn’t matter, let go of the need for it to happen right now. 2. Stop checking You said you shifted and now you are still checking your reality every 2 seconds like a teenager waiting for a message from their crush. Stop it. You’re rereading your script, watching shifting TikTok like the answer to all your problems will jump at you, poking your subconscious like “are we there yet?”. That’s not assuming, that is panic dressed up as productivity (or something like that). You are basically saying “I don’t actually believe this is done and decided”. Cut it out. Just go live your life. Play some games, touch grass with two hands and one face (beware of bees), breathe some fresh air. Your desire won’t implode because you stopped choking it out and stopped micromanaging everything. Obsessing doesn’t equal manifesting. Just let it cook. 3. You commit or you quit Assuming means you have to kinda commit to it. You’re not almost there, or halfway shifted. You are there. You have shifted, no more ifs and whens and buts and any other kind of spiraling. Take five minutes out of your day, relax into that knowing (or deciding). Feel your DR bed, hear your DR friends be loud as fuck for no reason, smell the DR air. Let your imagination drown out this reality like unwanted background noise. Similar to the fake arguments you rehearsed in the shower. You never needed help with those, did ya? 4. Yell at your doubts Maybe do this one internally, unless you are really feeling bold today. Every time your doubts creep in and whisper “What if it is not real?”, you turn around, embrace your inner main character energy and yell back “Shut the fuck up Brenda (sorry to all the Brendas out there), get back into the backseat. You’re not driving, I am.” Your doubts don’t get a say in what you want. They are not invited. You think your DR self is out there wondering if they are real or not? No, they are living the life you are telling yourself is unreachable.

5. Feeling ready is overrated, just do it Stop waiting to feel ready and questioning if your script is perfect or not. Your brain will rarely send you the green light you think you need to go ahead. You will feel silly, you will feel delusional. And you might feel like a clown. Embrace it, be the clown. Insist on what you decided until your 3D gets nervous and bends over in existential fear. You don’t wait to feel certain, you decide you are certain. And then go and act like it’s done.

TL;DR (how dare you, but fine T-T) Assuming you have shifted is like assuming the sun will rise tomorrow. You don’t argue with your friend about it. You don’t beg the sun to rise again. You just know and walk with the confidence that it’s happened, and with shifting you do so because you said so. That’s it. Stop overthinking. Assume and now go, I need to do some drawing stuff.

[villainessbian]

This only holds if we forget corporations are not people. It's bad when OpenAI profits from exploiting the work of others who don't get paid for it, it's also bad when Disney does it, but generative AI also allows anyone to play at doing it, and it's still bad.

The degree to which it's "indirectly derivative" is the moving goalposts tbh - I don't really care that the machine doesn't replicate tracing the same way a human would, the point of it is to replicate works' selling points by attempting to extract what defines them for free. The too-perfect skins on characters that many have come to associate with "AI design" are literally, visually the same as those of a comics artist who used perfect doll-like skins as a personal unique touch. It's directly identical, but any AI defender will say it's "inspiration" or "just happens to look like it" or "indirect" because it's first processed as data then as trends then essentially black box and then... it's still the same thing but now it's automated and the person who you'd normally commission for a professional picture to have a finished look like that has not been paid.

And it's like that, no matter whether the person doing it is a grifter or represents a company.

The problem with copyright laws is not that copyright exists - its point is ensuring artists get paid - it's that it doesn't serve the interests of creators. Calling uncompensated AI training "theft" is not an accusation in the legal framework of copyright being the Disney CEO's favourite loophole maze to make more bucks. It's an accusation in the moral framework of "fuck, someone worked for that and you're just gonna appropriate that work without setting any limits to it or acknowledging them in any way, that kind of makes you an arsehole."

It's not like AI couldn't be trained with recompense to the creators. Or on public domain works. Or with express permission. Or on works already misappropriated e.g. through the efforts of Bob Chapek's legal team. There is more than enough to make "general" trained models on that. But no, the training has to be on current data exploited through automatic opt-in, living people's formerly breadwinning work, and specifically in order to recreate currently-alive drawers/painters/designers' styles or quirks. Why does it have to be? Because the point is to use them as a way to appropriate their work for free. Which, with any other tool, would be considered theft, but because it got technologically advanced, becomes a hot topic for debate.

the framing of generative ai as "theft" in popular discourse has really set us back so far like not only should we not consider copyright infringement theft we shouldn't even consider generative ai copyright infringement

[hyunjincanraptoo]

Crazy over you- H.HJ & B.CN

Hi, guys! If you are hyunchan girl just as I am, prepare your hearts cause this is going to be an emotional rollercoaster. That being said, tysm for your request @stephanieeeyang I'm really sorry it took so long, hope you like it 🫶🏻 click here for context

Word count: 8.1k

Warnings: smut, we have sub!hyunjin and soft dom!chan (separately), and also some angst

Alexa, play Moonstruck by Enhypen

No one really remembered who had suggested the trip, it just sort of happened. One moment, finals were ending, and the next, your group chat was overflowing with hotel links and tourism guides, everyone craving to escape campus for a few days before reality came crashing in.

It was the last summer before graduation. The last time you’d all be students before jobs, interviews, moving away, and trying to pretend you knew what you were doing with your life. Your group from the major— people you’d studied and cried with, ended up merging plans with Hyunjin’s soccer team.

At first, the crossover made no sense, a clumsy mix of different energies, but somehow it clicked. Loud, chaotic, unpredictable. Just perfect.

You didn’t know all of Hyunjin’s friends, but you did know Chan— captain of the soccer team. Known for his talent, discipline, and for always being way too kind for someone so intimidatingly attractive. You’d seen him around before. In the cafeteria, in the library, once leaning against a wall outside the gym with his shirt damp from practice and a water bottle pressed to his lips. And you’d been captivated ever since.

He’d looked at you before. And smiled— that dimpled smile that made your brain short circuit everytime. It didn’t happen too often, but enough. Enough to leave your heart racing and your brain spinning, replaying the soft curve of his smile like you’d do with your new favorite music.  

Still, you’d never talked. No even once. 

Maybe this trip was the perfect opportunity for it.

•°. *࿐

You were in a group of ten, all staying at a shared Airbnb by the sea in Malibu, and you were rooming with a girl from your class.

The second your suitcase hit the floor, Hyunjin stormed in like he lived there, “You’re gonna miss me when we’re not in the same classes anymore”, he said, throwing himself face down on your bed and stealing your bottle of water.

“You act like I don’t already miss you when class ends”.

He rolled over to face you, eyes glinting, “Awww. You love me”.

You grabbed a pillow and tossed it at him, “Shut up”.

This was normal. You and Hyunjin had grown close through group projects, shared classes, and a mutual love of coffee and complaining about teachers. He was your best friend in the way only someone who saw you at your worst could be. 

But lately... something was different. There were pauses between your jokes. Lingering looks that didn’t quite laugh off like they used to.

Still, you chose to not question it.

•°. *࿐

At night the group hit downtown, chattering and weaving down sidewalks. The ten of you, walked like one loud, lost parade, arguing over directions and restaurant choices.

Hyunjin was beside you again, nudging your shoulder playfully as you talked about Changbin’s terrible choice of outfit— a mesh tank top and leopard print pants. A little ahead, Chan was deep in a conversation with two of the other players, Felix and Han. His hoodie sleeves were rolled up, the curve of his neck visible under the streetlights.

You tried not to look. Of course, you failed. He was beautiful— plain and simple. Showing his confidence and effortless charisma, the kind of person who seemed grounded no matter the noise around him. He laughed at something one of the others said, and the sound floated back to you like a warm breeze.

You even almost stumbled over a crack in the pavement, “You’re being so obvious”, Hyunjin said, his voice low with amusement.

You looked at him, startled, “What?!”

“That thing where you look at someone and forget how walking works”

“I don’t… I wasn’t…!”.

Hyunjin grinned, “Relax. Chan’s cute. I get it”.

You elbowed him, flustered, “Shut up”.

At the next corner, while the others debated directions, Hyunjin tugged on your sleeve and tilted his head toward a hotel entrance.

“Shortcut”, he said, “Trust me”.

You followed without thinking.

Inside, the air was cool and quiet and the floors polished. The two of you moved through the lobby like shadows, the laughter from outside fading behind you. Passing the glass doors that separated the lobby from the parking garage, you could almost hear the faint hum of the underground garage. Then, out of nowhere, a hotel staff car shot out from the lot, reversing at full speed, too fast and too close.

“Shit!”, Hyunjin yanked you back by the waist, the motion throwing your body against his chest.

You stumbled, heart caught into your throat, as the car’s headlights cut across your feet and then vanished around a corner.

His arm was still around you, chest pressed to yours, his hand splayed just above the small of your back. You were close, too close, clinging to his jacket, the adrenaline fading into something… different.

You looked up. He was already staring at you. Eyes wide, lips parted slightly.

“We were this close to getting hit by that guy”, you said, half laughing, half shaking.

“We could've died”,  he said dramatically.

You laughed again, and it was like something snapped into place. The kind of moment you’d seen in movies but never lived. The kind where the laughter fades, the distance vanishes, and the air shifts into something electric.

His gaze shifted to your lips and yours did the same.

“Wait…”, you whispered, panic breaking the spell. “Hyunjin… aren’t you with… What’s her name again?”.

He scoffed, “Yeji?! Ew! No, she's like a sister to me!”.

Your stomach flipped. You wanted to say, ‘but what about Chan?’. But Hyunjin was still looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him anchored to the planet.

And his lips? God, his lips. They looked so… inviting.

Then, you leaned in. So did he.

The kiss was gentle. Careful at first, as if testing if it was real. Then it became deeper. His mouth was incredibly soft, lips moving with a lazy kind of rhythm that made you dizzy. He kissed you like he was learning you, like he was trying to memorize the way you simply breathed.

For a second, it felt like nothing outside of that kiss existed. Just the cool lobby, the hum of the elevator in the background and his hand curled around your waist.

When reality came crashing in again, urgent. You pulled back, breathless, “We can’t get caught. I don’t want our friends to see”.

He looked at you, confused, but he nodded. An unreadable smile curled in his lips as he stepped back.

You both said nothing as you exited the hotel, slipping back into the night just in time for the rest of the group to reappear down the block. They hadn’t even noticed your absence.

You stepped behind them like nothing happened. Like your heart wasn’t racing, like you weren’t still thinking, ‘What if Chan finds out? What if I just ruined everything?’

•°. *࿐

You excused yourself to the bathroom as soon as you reached the restaurant. With your head still spinning, you splashed cool water on your face, reapplied your lip balm, stared at your reflection and tried to act like everything was under control, when really, it wasn’t.

You told yourself, ‘Get it together. Nobody knows. Just sit somewhere neutral and act normal’.

When you walked back out, your group was sitting on a big round table tucked in the back. You paused in the doorway.

You looked at Hyunjin, an empty seat beside him. Chan also had an empty seat near him.

Your throat tightened, and you forced yourself to swallow the panic.

Too close to Hyunjin and it would be suspicious. Too far, and he might notice. Too close to Chan and…

A soft, warm voice broke your thoughts, “Hey”. Chan turned in his seat slightly and smiled up at you, “There’s an empty sit in here”.

He gestured to the seat beside him. His hand rested casually on the back of the chair, his smile the same gentle one you’d memorized in those rare moments across campus.

You hesitated before looking at the seat beside Hyunjin. He was leaning back on his chair, scrolling through his phone, the corner of his mouth twitching when he noticed you watching. He raised an eyebrow like he was daring you to sit beside him, like he expected you to.

You looked back at Chan.

He shifted slightly, reaching for his glass of water, biceps flexing under the sleeves of his shirt. His eyes found yours again and softened even more, “Only if you want to”, he added.

You nodded, quietly before sliding into the seat beside him. “Hi”, you said,almost like a whisper.

He turned his full attention to you then, his expression lighting up like he’d been waiting for this all night.

“I was hoping we’d get to talk,” he said easily, resting his chin in his hand. “You’re Hyunjin’s best friend, right? Same major?”

You blinked. “You… know that?”

He grinned. “Of course I do. You always pass by our field with your headphones on. I’ve seen you sprint across campus when it rains too. You don’t think anyone notices, but…” He tilted his head, “I do.”

You froze, “Oh god”

“No, it’s cute!”, he laughed, “Like, one of those things you remember because it makes you smile. You’re kind of famous among the guys. We have a whole theory you secretly teleport between buildings”

You hid your face in your hands, groaning, “Please stop”

He laughed again, “I’m just messing with you. But seriously, I’ve always wanted to say hi. You seem really cool”

You peeked out from behind your hands, “I’m not”

“You’re adorable”, he said before leaning a little closer, voice lowering, “But I get it. You’re nervous”

Your eyes widened.

“I mean, around me”, he smiled,  “Which is also cute. But don’t worry, I’m not as cool as you think. I just work out a lot and talk too much”

You laughed, finally relaxing a little.

“I’m really glad we’re doing this trip”, he said, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt, “Maybe we could do something tomorrow? Just us. I saw this boardwalk place with games and food trucks. Sounds fun”

You looked at him, eyes wide again,“You’re serious?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t”

He smiled, and your heart pounded against your ribs like that feeling of falling in love— helpless, a little terrifying— hit you all at once. 

You nodded, smiling too. “Okay”, you said, “Let’s do it”

Across the table, Hyunjin hadn’t taken his eyes off you once. He didn’t even notice his food getting cold. Or the way his friends talked around him. All he could see was you. Laughing.

With Chan.

Laughing the way you used to with him. The way you’d lean into his side during class, roll your eyes dramatically, rest your head on his shoulder while whispering gossip or half asleep complaints about morning lectures.

He knew you had a crush on Chan. You’d confessed it once after a few too many soju shots, blushing, giggling, hiding your face while Hyunjin made fun of you and promised not to tell.

It never bothered him. Not until now.

Now, watching you sit beside Chan, knees brushing, faces too close, whispering shared secrets like you were confidants, it made something twist in his chest.

He didn’t recognize the feeling at first. It felt like anger but not quite. Like heartbreak, maybe.

But damn, why now? Why him? Why seeing Chan make you smile in ways Hyunjin thought were just for him, hurt so much?

He dropped his silverware with a loud clatter and left the table, jealousy boiling in his blood.

•°. *࿐

The group split after dinner, some to the karaoke, others back to the Airbnb.

You stayed, waiting for your Uber, when Hyunjin caught up with you.

“Hey”, he said, voice low.

You turned, surprised, “Oh, hi… are you okay?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he took one step closer. Then another. Until your back met the cool wall beside the vending machine. He was close, way too close, crowding your space like he belonged there.

You blinked up at him, “Hyun…”

“What was so funny?”, he asked, quiet, trying to stay calm,  “You were laughing all dinner. Like he was the most hilarious guy on earth”

You stared at him, “Wait. Are you…?”

His jaw clenched, “I’m just asking”

You tilted your head, “It was just jokes. We were talking about classes, how Felix snores, nothing important”

Hyunjin scoffed, “Right”

“And anyway”, you said, stepping to the side, brushing past him, “I’m going somewhere with him tomorrow. So I should sleep early. Night, Jinnie”

He didn’t stop you, didn’t follow. But as you walked away, you felt his gaze burning into your back, like somehow trying to pull you back to him.

You lay in bed later that night, the room dark except for the blinking glow of your charging phone. Chan had sent a sweet goodnight text, something about looking forward to tomorrow. Your heart fluttered when you read it.

But your mind? It was still back at the vending machine. Back in the weight of Hyunjin’s stare. The heat of his body close to yours. The way his voice deepened when he said your name.

Why did he care so much about you and Chan? Why did you care that he cared?

And why did the only kiss you wanted to replay again and again tasted like Hyunjin?

•°. *࿐

The sun was high, and the ocean breeze tangled through your hair as you and Chan wandered along the boardwalk. Everything smelled like corn dogs, popcorn, and sunscreen. He was wearing a black baggy tank top and sunglasses, and his hand brushed yours a few times as you walked. It was casual, like he didn’t even notice but your heart did.

He was easy to be around. Funny, silly but thoughtful. He made you feel like he really saw you.

“You’re really bad at this”, he said with a wide grin, watching your dart bounce off the target and land pathetically on the ground.

“Okay, in my defense, the wind is definitely against me”

“There’s no wind!”, he said, laughing.

“Exactly. So suspicious”

“Come here”, he stepped behind you, close enough that you felt the warmth of him through your clothes, “Let me help”.

You paralysed.

His big, warm hands reached for yours and guided your fingers around the dart properly. “You’re holding it too loose”, he murmured, leaning down so his chest brushed your back, his breath brushing the shell of your ear, “You’ve gotta keep your elbow up, like this”

You tried to focus, but your brain was already fried.

His voice was deep and low and it made every part of you extra aware of how close he was. His clean, woody scent filled your lungs, and when he lightly adjusted your wrist with one strong hand, you shivered.

Chan paused.

“You okay?”, he asked softly, his breath ghosting against your cheek.

“Yeah”, you said, but your voice cracked.

He laughed under his breath, amused, “You’re cute when you’re nervous”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t pull away, “Am I ever not nervous around you?”

“Not yet” he said,  “But I’m hoping you’ll get there soon”

The day passed in a blur. You tried mini golf, he won a plushie in a claw machine and you spilled ice cream on your shirt but Chan helped clean it with a tissue. 

By the time you were walking back toward the house, the sky had faded into the soft purples and oranges of sunset. Chan reached out and touched your wrist lightly.

“Hey”, he said, “I had a really really good time with you today”

You looked up at him, heart thumping, “Me too”

He hesitated, then leaned in, not all the way. Just enough to tilt your chin gently with his index finger and press a kiss to the corner of your lips.

It was soft, careful, but still made you melt completely.

“I wanted to”, he said quietly, “But I didn’t want to rush it”

Your breath turned shallow.

“See you tomorrow, okay?”, he added, backing away slowly, still smiling at you like you were the only person in the whole world, “Sleep well tonight”

You nodded, “You too”

And when he turned to head to his room, you watched him go with a fluttering heart and a warmth that spread through your whole chest.

•°. *࿐

But when bedtime came, you couldn’t sleep. There were too many thoughts in your head, too many butterflies in your stomach. Fifty percent because of Chan, and the other half— because of Hyunjin.  So after rolling in bed for an hour, you walked down the hallway and knocked on Hyunjin’s room.

It was Han who opened it with a controller still in hand, “Oh hey!”

"Hi, Han”

“Are you looking for Jinnie?”.

You nodded, “Is he in?”.

Han narrowed his eyes, then glanced back at Changbin whose eyes were glued to the screen, “Nah, he went out like twenty minutes ago. Said he was meeting up with someone. Don’t think he mentioned who, though”.

Your stomach twisted a little.

“Oh”, you said, “Okay. Thanks”

“Wanna stay for FIFA?”, Changbin asked, not even looking at you.

You shook your head and backed away, “No, I’m… I’m good. Just wanted to talk to him”.

After saying goodbye, you turned around and walked slowly back to your room. But all the magic from earlier was replaced by something heavier, something tight and sour and frustrating. You didn’t even like Hyunjin that way.

Right?

You weren’t supposed to feel this. You went out with Chan. You laughed until your belly ached and felt fireworks when he kissed the corner of your lips. You were supposed to be floating. So why did the idea of Hyunjin being with someone else make you feel like you couldn’t breathe?

You closed the door behind you and sat on your bed, hugging the plushie Chan had won for you. It didn’t help. Your thoughts were already tangled in Hyunjin’s laugh, his touch, the heat of his breath on someone else’s skin… And, damn, you could feel your head spinning.

It felt almost like… you were jealous.

•°. *࿐

The day after:

It was early and the kitchen was quiet. You sat alone, slowly peeling your orange and sipping at a, now, cold cup of tea, lost in your thoughts. Lost in them— the boys stuck in your mind like thread you couldn't separate.

Your lip still tingled from Chan’s almost kiss the day before, and yet, Hyunjin was the one who wouldn’t leave your head.

Where had he gone? Who had he gone with?

You didn’t like the jealousy in your chest, but it lingered, bitter as the black tea in your mouth. And then, as the Universe was enjoying your misery, the door gently swung open.

You didn’t have to look up, you felt it in the air first. The warmth of him, the scent of morning sweat and sunscreen. His breath was still heavy from the run. A few strands of hair stuck to his forehead, and his shirt clung to his chest, damp with sweat.

“Morning”, Hyunjin said casually, walking over like he hadn’t cracked your brain open last night just by not being there, “You’re up early”

“Couldn’t sleep”, you muttered, stabbing your orange segment with a fork.

He leaned down, pressed a lazy kiss to your cheek, then stole the toast from your plate and took a bite like it wasn’t yours. “Hum. I always love your burnt toasts”.

You blinked at him, lips tightening.

He grinned, still chewing, “What?”

“I see you’re in a good mood”, you said,  “Guess she was that great, huh?”.

He paused mid bite, eyes narrowing in confusion, “She…?”.

You didn’t meet his gaze, still you did, "Whoever you went out with last night”.

He kept silent for a few seconds, trying to process whatever was happening, “You think I was on a date?!”.

You shrugged,  “Why not? It’d explain why you were in a mood and suddenly came back all sunshine and sweet”

Hyunjin scoffed, stepping closer, “I wasn’t on a date, I went out with Felix!”.

You blinked, “Felix?!”

“Yeah”, he said, voice louder now, “He found this pottery workshop near the beach, and I’ve been meaning to try it. Figured it’d help clear my head”. 

You paused. 

Then finally, you looked up at him, “Do you really think I’m going to bite that?”.

His jaw clenched, “Oh, okay. So you can sneak off with Chan all day, come back glowing and even kiss him… ”.

He glanced at your mouth then looked away, nostrils flaring with anger,  “And I’m the one who has to answer for shit I didn’t even do?!”

“How do you…”

“I saw you guys from the balcony”. He admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose, clearly stressed.

“Well, that’s different”

“How?!”, he demanded, “Why are you allowed to be jealous and I’m not, huh?”.

You stood up from your chair so fast it scraped against the floor.

“I’m not jealous!”, you lied

“You’re acting like it!”

“So are you!”

He stepped forward, closer 

“Maybe I am!”, he growled,  “Maybe I didn’t like watching him make you laugh like I used to. Or seeing you look at him like he’s the only one who exists. Like you forgot about me”.

His eyes flicked between yours, lips parted, chest still rising and falling fast from the run or… from your heat.

“Hyunjin…”.

But that’s all you got to say before he kissed you. It was messy. Desperate. Your back hit the wall next to the fridge with a soft thud, and his hands were already under the hem of your shirt, fingers brushing hot against your skin.

You gasped, and he took that sound like an invitation, slipping his tongue into your mouth, swallowing your breath.

You clutched at his shoulders, pulled him closer, groaned when his hips aligned with yours. Your shirt was halfway up your torso, and his lips already wandered down your neck, teeth grazing over your pulse, when…

“YOOO! BREAKFAST SQUADDDD!!”, someone yelled from the stairs. It was Han’s voice and Felix’s laugh trailing behind it. You both froze. They were seconds from walking in.

Hyunjin pulled back with a frustrated  growl and pressed his forehead against yours. “I hate them”, he whispered.

You let out a breathless laugh, but your heart was still racing. “You should go. You’re still all sweaty”

“Not the only one who’s hot and wet, though”,he muttered, smirking even as he fixed your shirt and stepped back.

Then he leaned in one last time and whispered, “We’re not done”, before disappearing down the hall toward the staircase.

You collapsed back in your chair, hair messy, lips swollen, heart practically in your throat.

Seconds later, Chan walked in along with Han and Felix. He spotted you, and smiled, “Hey, there you are! I tried to call you but you didn’t pick up”.

You offered a small smile, “I don’t have my phone cause I came down early. Couldn’t sleep”.

He grabbed a plate, sitting next to you, concerned printed on his face,  “You okay?”.

You nodded too quickly, “Yeah. Just… thinking”

“Want some distraction?”.

You glanced at his warm smiles, dimples showing up in each one of his cheeks, the kindness in his voice that somehow didn’t feel like enough this morning.

"Actually”, you said, standing , “I think I need to clear my mind”.

And before he could say more, you slipped out with your heart heavy, Hyunjin's kiss haunting your lips, and thoughts raging like the sea after a storm

•°. *࿐

You paced the hallway like a ghost with nowhere to haunt. Every step echoed louder in your chest than it did on the wooden floor. Your mind was a carousel of thoughts that couldn’t stop spinning around Hyunjin.

You needed clarity. Or maybe you just needed him. Before you could second guess it, you walked to his door, and knocked twice. A moment passed, then it swung open.

Hyunjin stood there, hair dripping in soft wet strands, a white towel wrapped low around his hips. His chest still glistened from the steam of the shower, water dripping over his defined collarbone, trailing down to the lines of his abs. His skin looked flushed and clean, the scent of soap immediately flooding your senses.

You blinked, swallowing thickly, “I’ll come back later”. 

“No, you won’t”, he said, stepping into the doorframe like he could stop time. “We need to talk”

“Not while you’re wet and naked, Hyunjin”, you muttered, attempting to turn.

“Why not? It’s more fun like this”, he smirked.

That stupid, teasing smirk. You hated how much you loved it.

With a sharp inhale, you shoved him back inside the room and kicked the door shut behind you. His towel loosened slightly with the force, and the shock in his eyes barely had time to register before your hands were tangled in his damp hair and your mouth was on his.

You kissed him like he was oxygen and you’d been drowning. Hyunjin groaned into your mouth, his hands fumbling at your waist, but you were already guiding him backward, until his back hit the wall.

“I can’t take your games anymore”, you whispered into his mouth

“Then don’t stop”, he panted, “Please, don’t”.

You tore the towel from his hips, letting it drop without a second thought. His cock was already aching for you. Hyunjin’s whole body flinched when you dragged your palms over his chest, down the defined lines of his abdomen, then lower, teasing his sensitive, flushed skin just above his throbbing length.

You shoved him back onto the bed without ceremony. His body dropped against the mattress, a deep grunt slipping from his lips. You climbed over him, straddling his hips, grinding down against his hot hard length. He groaned, broken, as his hands gripped down on your thighs, too tight, too desperate.

“Wait…", he gasped

 “No fucking waiting, Hyunjin", you hissed back, grabbing his cock in your fist and lining him up at your entrance.

You sank down onto him in one slow, brutal motion, and Hyunjin almost sobbed.

His hips jerked upward instinctively, thrusting deeper, chasing your heat with a feral hunger. You rode him, grinding down, dragging every inch of him inside you until you were both shaking.

He was loud beneath you, panting, moaning, begging in choked, shattered words. His nails dug into your skin hard enough to leave crescent moon shaped marks.

Hyunjin touched you helplessly, hands flying up to grab your ass, your waist, pulling you down harder onto him, making you feel how much he needed you.

“I don’t know how or when….shit…”, he gritted out between thrusts, “But I can't stop thinking about you… I fucking can't…."

You kissed him like you were trying to devour him— biting at his lips, dragging moans from his throat, swallowing every desperate sound he made. Your bodies moved together rough and fast, making the bedframe bang against the wall. The obscene sounds of you fucking him, echoed through the room. The scent of sweat and sex and need clinged to your skin, driving you both completely mad.

Hyunjin lost it first— with a hoarse, broken cry, he came deep inside you, hips jerking wildly as he filled you until you were dripping him. Even though he didn’t stop, he kept moving, thrusting faintly into you, still trembling, still chasing something unattainable. You came moments after, clenching hard around him, pulling a raw groan from deep in his chest.

When you finally collapsed on top of him, breathless and shaking, he didn’t let you go. He wrapped his arms around you like he was afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip even for a second. His forehead pressed to your shoulder, his breath hitching— choked, wet.

“Don’t pick him, Yn”, he whispered, voice cracked, "Pick me"

You could feel his shaky breath, the hot tears sliding down your warm skin— he really meant everything he was saying. Every word, every trembling syllable. And for the first time, you realized just how much it would destroy him if you didn’t.

You remained still with your fingers curled around his neck, “Are you… crying?”, you asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

“No”, he said, too fast.

But the way his chest rose and fell unevenly with every sob said otherwise.

“I just…”, he sniffled, “I just don’t want to lose you”

“Hyun… I– I can’t,” finally he looked at you, eyes red and face soaked and sticky with tears.

“Why not?”, his expression held genuine confusion.

“What about Chan?”, your voice slowly faded.

He buried his face in your shoulder again, and let out a bitter laugh.

“You say that, but with all due respect…”, he brushed his lips softly against your skin,

“I’m the one who’s balls deep inside you”

The silence was almost suffocating but you didn’t answer.

You couldn’t. Your mind was a blur, your heart racing, and your throat too tight to speak.

So you stayed there, pressed against him in silence, as everything inside you fractured quietly.

•°. *࿐

Later that day, the sun had just started to dip behind the horizon. The beach was quieter, most of the group having returned to the shared house. Hyunjin sat alone in the sand, knees drawn up, arms resting over them, eyes lost on the ocean.

He didn’t move when he heard footsteps approaching, didn’t even turn when Chan sat down beside him, brushing sand from his hands.

“You okay, bro?”, Chan asked lightly, nudging Hyunjin’s shoulder, “You’re usually the one laughing too loud or making us chase a volleyball you threw into the ocean”

Hyunjin let out a dry huff, still not looking at him, “Yeah… I’ve just been…”, he paused, biting back the truth, “With my mind stuck”

Chan raised a brow, “Is it a girl?”

Hyunjin chuckled under his breath, soft but bitter, “Yes… in fact, it is”

Chan wiggled his eyebrows playfully, “Well, now we’re talking. What’s wrong?”

Hyunjin exhaled, fingers dragging in the sand, “We’ve been friends for a long time now. Me and her. And suddenly, out of nowhere, I started to… feel more”

 “And her?”

Hyunjin gave a long pause before replying

"I think she likes someone else”, he looked at his best friend, "I know she likes someone else. But… I think she likes me too. It's like... it had always been here, this feeling, but I never noticed it until..."

He closed his eyes, remembering your kiss— your warm, soft lips against his. Your tongue dancing with his, wet, hot and sensual.

"Well… until I realized I might lose her to another guy"

Chan nodded, gaze turning toward the sea, “Just make sure to tell her how you feel before it’s too late”

Hyunjin tilted his head, eyes squinting as the breeze tousled his hair, “You think so?”

“Yeah. Your guy Chris knows a thing or two about girls”, Chan joked with a grin.

Hyunjin glanced at him, “What about you and Yn?”

Chan blinked, cheeks already blushing, “W-what?”

“You seem to get along well”

Chan scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy, “Yeah, she’s… she’s captivating”

Hyunjin’s smile was faint, “I know”

“Do you?”, Chan asked quietly.

Hyunjin nodded, “Yeah. I’ve known her for a long time now but… every new day I find something else about her that makes me feel like I’m still getting to know her. She’s always surprising. She makes you want to know her a bit more”

Chan’s smile lingered, but there was something off in it now, something fading.

“You’re lucky, you know, Chan”, Hyunjin said, “I think she likes you”

“Really?” he looked at the younger, genuinely caught off guard.

“Yeah”

Hyunjin gave him a small smile. But the moment their eyes met, something in Chan changed. The pieces were clicking. The girl Hyunjin liked for a long time, who maybe liked another guy. The girl who Hyunjin thought liked him too, whose name he didn’t say, but didn’t need to.

Chan’s smile faltered but not enough for his friend to notice.

Hyunjin stood, brushing sand from his shorts, “I think I’m gonna go inside. Maybe read or something”

“Yeah”, Chan said, nodding, “Sure”

Hyunjin started walking back, leaving Chan behind. He stood there in the sand, a little too quiet putting pieces together he didn’t want to.

•°. *࿐

You hadn’t meant to end up alone with Chan. It just happened. The others were out for a late night beach walk— and you’d stayed behind to think. Just one glass of wine turned into two. Then Chan had found you there, sitting barefoot on the balcony of your room with your knees tucked to your chest.

“You okay?”, he asked gently.

You nodded, “Just thinking too much. Again”

“That’s a dangerous thing”, he teased, sitting down beside you, “Want to talk about it?”

“I don’t even know how” you admitted, “I feel… stupid. I feel like I messed everything up”

Chan turned to you, his eyes were warm and kind as always, “You didn’t mess anything up. You’re allowed to be confused. Especially if you’ve a lot on your heart”

You swallowed. His voice was comforting, and when he spoke like that, it felt like the world got easier. 

“I…”, you hesitated, “I don’t want to hurt anyone”

“You won’t”, he said, brushing his knees with yours, “You’ve got people around you who care. Me included. You can always lean on me, okay?”

You looked up at him, “I know. That’s part of the problem”

He smiled, and raised his glass at the same time as your hand flinched and knocked into him, spilling wine down the front of his shirt.

“Shit! Oh my god, Chan! I’m so so sorry!”

But Chan just laughed, “It’s okay. Just give me a second to get rid of this thing”. He looked right at you when he said it, as his fingers found the first button.

You didn’t mean to stare.

You really didn’t.

But his skin was flushed with warmth, the curve of his collarbone, the defined contour of his exposed torso illuminated by moonlight. He wasn’t doing it just for comfort. He was doing it for you. Letting you see him. Letting you decide.

“Still thinking too much?”, he asked, voice lower now.

You blinked at him. Then pulled him for a kiss.

It started cautiously. Like maybe if you hesitated long enough, the ache in your chest would disappear. But Chan’s hands held your jaw with such care— his thumbs pressed softly into your cheeks, his mouth parted against yours like he’d been waiting years for this moment, and it melted into something undeniable.

He pressed you against the edge of the bed, leaning his body into yours. You didn’t want to do that. But you wanted it more than anything at the same time.

The fire spread quickly, hot and intense. Your hands tangled in Chan’s curls, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, and he groaned low in his throat. His hands gripped your waist firmly and when he kissed you again, it wasn’t gentle anymore. It was starved, tasting you like he needed it to live.

Soon, your shirt yanked over your head, his belt loosened with a shaky tug, jeans and underwear sliding down his legs effortlessly.

Chan’s hands roamed everywhere and when he finally touched between your legs, you shuddered. His fingers slipped through your folds, finding you already slick, and he groaned like he was in pain.

“You’re so wet”, he whispered, circling your clit with torturous pressure.

You whimpered, hips bucking into his touch, shamelessly and desperate. His lips locked around your nipple, sucking hard enough to leave you dizzy, while his fingers slipped lower, teasing your entrance but not pushing in yet. Making your body beg without words.

When he finally pushed two fingers inside you, you cried out, nails digging deep into his shoulders. He fucked you good with them, curling just right, thumb still rubbing circles on your clit until your thighs started to tremble.

“Please…”, you gasped, voice dying mid sentence.

He didn’t make you say it twice.

Chan lifted you into his arms and carried you to the bed, laying you down on the mattress. He knelt between your thighs, stroking his cock slowly, eyes dark with lust.

“Look at you all desperate”, he rasped, “All for me”

He dragged the flushed head of his cock through your folds, teasing you both before finally— agonizingly slow— he pressed in, splitting you open with a delicious stretch.

Chan’s breath came ragged against your skin as he bottomed out, pushed into the very end.

“You’re tight, babygirl”, he panted, hips trembling with restraint, “So deliciously tight”. 

Finally, he started to move. His thrusts were long and deep, dragging almost all the way out before pushing back in with calculated force. The sound of your bodies colliding, wet and messy, filled the room, along with your whimpers and his broken moans.

Chan’s fingers laced together with yours— reminding you he was there. His other hand slid under your thigh, wrapping your leg higher around his waist, letting him thrust even deeper, angling precisely right to grind against your clit with every roll of his hips.

Your stomach tightened with every thrust.

“You’re close, aren’t you?”, he murmured hoarsely, lips brushing your ear.

You nodded frantically, choking on sobs of pleasure, body trembling under his pace.

But then, without thinking, without meaning to, the name slipped from your lips in a wrecked gasp

“Hyunjin…”

Chan’s body stopped immediately. Still buried inside you with his breath caught painfully in his chest — he didn’t move.

The silence was louder than any moan or gasp from before.

You could feel the way his heart dropped, the way his whole body emotionally collapsed like the world had just ended inside him.

Slowly, he pulled out and you gasped again, this time from the emptiness.

He sat at the edge of the bed, head bowed, back tense, jaw clenched 

“Was it always him?”, he whispered, so soft you barely heard it

Your mouth opened  to deny it, to explain, but nothing came out— you couldn’t fix this, you couldn’t take it back.

Tears burned your eyes.You reached for him, a trembling hand brushing his shoulder.

But he flinched.

You swallowed a sob and pulled the blanket around yourself, trying to cover the shame. You didn’t blame him at all.

“I’m sorry, Chan”, you whispered, voice breaking apart.

Chan just nodded, “I know”

He stood after a long moment, grabbing his jeans from the floor and pulling them on without a word.

You watched him walk away— shirtless and heartbroken. 

•°. *࿐

The next morning was quiet. No footsteps from the hallway, just you tugged in the living room, hair messy and heart even messier.

Chan slid the door open quietly. No words at first, he just sat beside you. 

You spoke first, “Last night… I shouldn’t have let that happen”

His voice was calm, “You weren’t alone in it”

“I still feel like I used you”

Chan looked at you, and for a moment, you hated that he was still so kind. His smile was faint but real, “I knew you weren’t mine. I just thought maybe… I could be someone you leaned on. Even just for a while”

You bit your lip, guilt consuming you whole, “I’m sorry. I really am”

“I know”, he said, again, just like the night before.

Then, almost in a whisper, you let it slip, “I love him”

Chan blinked, looking at you carefully

“I don’t know when it started”, you said, voice trembling now, “I didn’t even want to feel it. And I tried to push it down. But he’s just... in me. All the time. And I don’t know how to live with it anymore”

Chan stayed quiet, letting you speak.

“I keep replaying every second I had with him. Every stupid little moment. I remember how he always saved me a seat in lectures. How he passed me stupid doodles in the middle of class. How he waited for me after every class, even when he pretended it was just a coincidence”

You wiped your eyes with your sleeve

“And then the other day, when I kissed him… I thought it was just tension, just the heat of the argument. I thought I could blame the stupid jealousy. But it wasn’t, I wanted him. Not just like that, you know? I wanted all of him. And I know he wanted me too because of the way he touched me…. the way he said, ‘Don’t pick him. Pick me’ ”

Chan looked down at his feet, nodding slowly.

“I’m so scared”, you whispered, “What if I ruined everything? What if I hurt him worse than I already have?”

“Then fight to make it right”, Chan said gently, “If you love him, you don’t run. You walk right into the mess and fix it”

You turned to him, eyes watery and swollen, “You’re not angry?”

His smile was small and sad. “Of course I’m hurting. But Hyunjin’s my brother. And you… you’re someone I really care about. I want you both to be happy. Even if it’s not with me”

You leaned into him, letting your head rest on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry I hurt you”

“I’m just glad I got to be close to you”,  he murmured, “Even for a moment. That’s enough”

The waves kept rolling in. Somewhere inside the hotel, Hyunjin hadn’t slept. Somewhere inside you, something shifted — because now you knew.

Now you had to go to him.

•°. *࿐

The following days you and Hyunjin barely crossed paths. When you did, it was all awkward glances and deafening silences. He'd retreat to the back of the group, laughing with the others, never quite meeting your gaze. And you engaged in small talk with your friends, stealing glances when you thought no one noticed. But they did.

Everyone noticed.

It was Felix who leaned into Chan first, during a group game, whispering something with a mischievous grin on his face. Chan looked between you and Hyunjin across the coffee table, Felix was right— that cold war had to end. Just like that, a plan started to form led by the captain himself.

That afternoon, under the excuse of exploring an old abandoned boathouse, the group headed there, leaving only you and Hyunjin behind.

Both of you hesitated to join your friends, but the way Chan looked at you, with affection even after everything that had happened, made you give in immediately.

“Alright, we’ll see you there then”, Chan had said with a wink.

Silence lingered throughout the way there. But when you arrived, the group had already left.

And then the door clicked shut behind you.

You blinked. “What the…?”

No one. Just you, Hyunjin, dust and silence.

You spun around to open the door but it was locked from the outside.

“They didn’t”, you murmured.

Hyunjin sighed, “They so did”

You looked at him, arms crossed, “Did you know about that?”

“No. But I’m not surprised”

You didn’t know what to do with your hands. Or your eyes. Or everything.

“We should try the back exit”

“Already tried. Locked”, he said, too calm 

“Perfect”

You paced once, twice, then stopped, “Why are you avoiding me?”

Hyunjin’s jaw clenched. He leaned back against the wall, eyes to the floor, "Why are you avoiding me?”

“I asked you first”

“I figured you’d rather I stay away. Give you space to… you know. Figure things out with Chan”

You blinked, completely annoyed, “Seriously?”

He scoffed, finally looking at you, “What, do you want me to fight him over you? Is that what you want?! For us to rip each other apart while you pretend like it didn’t mean anything?”

His words hit you like a knife, “Don’t talk like that”

“Then what do you want me to do?”, he snapped, stepping closer, “You kissed me like it meant something. You touched me like you felt something. And then, you said I wasn’t the one, that someone else had your heart! My best friend!”

You felt heat rise in your chest, “You think this is easy for me?”

“Isn’t it?”

“No!”, you snapped back,“Because I’ve been in love with my best friend for longer than I want to admit, and suddenly you were in my hands, in my mouth, in my head and I didn’t know what to do about it!”

Hyunjin stared at you like you’d cracked him open.

You kept going, voice trembling, “I like Chan. I thought I liked Chan. He’s kind, and warm, and he always made things easy. But you? You look at me and my whole world cracks. You touch me and I forget how to breathe. You say my name and I can't stop thinking about it for the rest of the day”

He exhaled shakily, “So why aren't you with him right now, huh?!”

Your eyes dropped to the floor, “Because I slept with him”

Hyunjin’s jaw clenched instantly

“I thought it would help me to forget you! Maybe make me realize that the person I really loved was him and not you”, you confessed, “But all it did was break me a little more. Because mid act…” you swallowed hard, “I said your name”

He held his breath.

You looked up, cheeks flushed, “I moaned your name while fucking him, Hyunjin. Happy now?”

His eyes burned, a mixture of emotions overflowed from them, “You said my name?”

“I couldn’t stop it. I was trying so hard to… want him. But you were the one in my head. Not Chan”.

"For a second, neither of you moved. The tension was too thick, not even all the oxygen in the world could relieve the sensation of suffocation between the two of you.

Then he stepped forward, cautiously.

Like he was afraid one wrong step would make everything come crashing down.

“You slept with him”, he murmured.

Your voice was a whisper, “Hyunjin…”

“And you said my freaking name”

But before you could answer, he kissed you like he’d been waiting for a lifetime. No hesitance, no confusion. Gentle, then desperate. 

When the door finally opened and the others peeked inside, Chan was the one who walked in first.

You broke the kiss, flushed and breathing hard. Hyunjin looked at him.

Chan’s eyes flicked between the two of you— swollen lips, flushed cheeks, the soft way Hyunjin still held your waist, your fingers still wrapped around his wrist.

And then Chan smiled. It wasn't the widest smile. But it was real.

“Took you long enough”

Hyunjin stepped forward, Chan, I…”

He raised a hand, “Don’t. Just… be good to each other, okay?”

Hyunjin nodded.

Chan smiled again, a bit more sad, “You’re my brother, Jinnie. I’d rather give her away than watch you fall apart”

Hyunjin’s voice cracked, “Thank you, hyung. Really”

And from the doorway, the group burst into cheers and laughter, finally letting the tension break.

That night, when the stars hung low over the beach and everyone danced barefoot in the sand, Hyunjin found Chan sitting alone.

The youngest sat down beside him, not saying anything at first. He just sighed, stretching his legs out long.

"You always this dramatic when you're in love?" Chan finally asked, grinning at the sky.

Hyunjin gave a small breath of a laugh, “Only when it feels like the most important thing I’ve ever done”

Chan hummed in response, nudging Hyunjin’s shoulder lightly with his own, “You know, I did like her too”

Hyunjin turned to his friend, brows  furrowing, “Yeah, I know”

“But seeing you look at her… Made me realize I never stood a chance. Not really. It’s like you were already hers before you even noticed it”

“I didn’t mean to take her from you”, Hyunjin admitted.

“You didn’t”, Chan shook his head,  “She was never mine to lose”

Hyunjin’s throat tightened, “Still. Thank you”

Chan let out a little chuckle, leaning back on his elbows now, “What are best friends for, if not handing over the one girl you might’ve actually liked in years?”

Hyunjin groaned, “Damn, you make it sound so casual”

Chan smirked, “Gotta keep it light, or I’ll start crying”

Hyunjin laughed for real this time. A relieved  laugh.

“Just… don’t fuck it up, okay?,” Chan added, “She deserves someone who won’t run scared the second things get hard”

“I won’t”, Hyunjin said, his voice sure, “I already did that once. I’m not doing it again”

Chan smiled, small and genuine, “Then we are good”

And they just sat there after that. No more words, no more confessions. Just two friends, side by side, staring at the sky— one heart finally at peace, and the other still healing, but healing nonetheless.

a/n: I literally cried while writing the scene reader say Hyunjin's name 😭 i felt so bad for Channie, I promise I'll make it up to him 🥺

Taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127, @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa, @my-neurodivergent-world , @hyunles , @lexlikesbts, @imagine-all-the-imagines , @mysterysold , @teenagepeterpan , @hangonhyunjin

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

[akanemnon]

It's been hovering in my head since the 3rd QNA. but people making questions about the anomaly being kind is fundamentally misunderstanding the horror of what's happening to Kris. good or bad, kind or malicious. The anomaly takes away Kris' agency. Makes decisions for them, creates friendships they may not want, and tosses them around like a doll for the sake of the story. Their life suddenly isn't their's. *Their* choices do NOT matter. and that fact is HORRIFYING

I have still yet to see anyone here make convincing argument for that. I've said it before, but it makes sense for people trying to defend themseves if they feel like they are being unjustifyably called out for something. But most of the answers I've seen were very emotional instead of actually taking Kris into account.

Yes, Kris is a fictional character. But for the impact to work, you have to view them as an actual person. You have to put yourself in their shoes. Would you like it, if this was happening to you? Of course you wouldn't! It's terrifying! To have some otherworldly THING that could very well be a demon taking control over you and essentially live inside of you and become you while NOBODY even notices. How would that make you feel?

To find a proper answer to Kris, you have to understand Kris. Cast yourself aside and show some empathy. Think about their well-being.

[soliloquent-stark]

i just watched thunderbolts and here are some rambly thoughts (don't read if you expect incredibly nuanced takes. also, obviously, spoilers coming up):

i am saddened that for the first time in a while, i left the cinema feeling pretty negative after watching a mcu movie. i was so hyped to see this; people made it seem like it'll be so amazing, the promo was so over the top, the trailers were great, some people even said it was their favourite mcu movie in a long time (or ever) and that it rivaled catws (spoiler: it doesn't). and it's wild to me that captain america brave new world had way worse ratings, less hype, less promo (doesn't surprise me...) when to me it was a way more enjoyable movie. i am kinda baffled and confused.

yes, thunderbolts has good moments. yelena was quite wonderful, as expected, and there was a few funny moments, some emotional beats, a pretty decent attempt at exploring loneliness and mental health issues (not perfectly so, but what can we expect). the visual effects were cool, and i really liked the eeriness of the void (both the black shadows, and the void itself, the way going from room to room was depicted and going back into their memories, and especially seeing more of the red room. that was nice). that's... about it, i think?

i am a big bucky fan, that's true. so maybe i am biased in feeling disappointed with how he was written, but i am. i am not saying he should've been the main character, but i expected way more. really hot take here: his role could've been played by another character and the results would've been pretty much the same. ava brought specific skills to the table, so did yelena (and she brought her dad along), even john with his stupid military knowledge and the shield etc saved their ass in a way maybe someone else wouldn't have. at the very least, scenes were written with that in mind, to highlight their skills. it felt like they really had to work together to get out of that bunker, and they were pretty well defined. but after that? unless i am mistaken and don't remember, bucky hasn't done anything that only his specific set of skills or knowledge could've done. i am not saying that to shade him, i am saying it because they had bucky, sebastian stan at their disposal, and he was kinda bland and completely overshadowed by everyone else. i mean yeah the motorcycle scene was cool... but?? i am glad they at least didn't include him in the whole speech about people who need to redeem themselves, they probably anticipated the backlash on that, but otherwise it felt like they really disrespected his character and journey once more. and goofy bits aside (for example, them all, one by one, saving people, then together holding a rock up... like okay, sweet idea i guess, and clearly showing why the marketing was effective afterwards, but like... c'mon now. the same way they kept having val say her plans to her assistant as a way for us to understand what's going on. such lazy writing omg) all that aside, the plot was kinda flat and predictable, one hour in and all the events had already been showed in the trailer, and at no point did we really feel any mystery or had to wonder what the bad guy is up to or where the movie is headed. it's just wild to me that this movie has better ratings than brave new world like whattt (and i will get to sam in a second). also another bit of lazy writing was how quickly mel turned on val (just to then, of course, unturn when it was convenient for the plot) and just called bucky up to spill everything like c'monnn ok yeah he's charming but?? yet another moment where there wasn't any cool old school spying or hacking happening, they were just... fed information and they just showed up. this movie could've been an email ngl, with the way they fucked the pacing and spent so long on some bits and then completely rushed the ending. but yeah you have ava and bucky there and you give us nothingggg about their lives, just one dimensional all around; we found out more about what's happening in walker's life and his emotional state than bucky's — but of course they were gonna glaze over the woman of colour but also somehow the fan favourite popular character who's been in the franchise for over a decade and somehow keeps getting disrespected every project. ugh. and sebastian was kinda acting like he didn't wanna be there, maybe that's what happens when you're not acting alongside anthony, but he seemed bored and flat and i know he's an amazing actor and a great bucky but i don't know, it truly felt off. maybe it's the divorce, maybe in the half a year or whatever how long it's been since cabnw there's been an actual breakup between them because what the hell was with that energy...

i am sure there's more i am forgetting but now regarding the ending: what the fuck. okay yeah i expected them to form a team under a different name because of the stupid asterisk, but more in the direction of like, dark avengers or something. 'new avengers' is just a slap in the face to sam and the avengers' legacy (especially after bucky made a whole deal about how that shield is steve's legacy and how sam threw it away and all that stuff i don't wanna rehash but sam was in the right and now look who's not worried about messing up the legacy?) and THEY WENT WITH IT? WHY DID THEY GO WITH IT? why would a team of badass people who hate taking orders just... go with it. to have leverage over her? ok cool you're professional assassins you could make her disappear in a second. you could put her in jail in no time. how was she legally able to stand there and tell everyone she brought a way to protect america and suddenly it's all okay? they could've easily told everyone the danger was due to bob which was hear creation and that she really needs to be locked up?? yes i understand they're protecting him but like what the fuck how is she not at the very least impeached. or maybe she was but then WHY are they still a team fourteen months later? AND GOING AGAINST SAM. that is the biggest disrespect i could've imagined and i was shocked by that last scene. i love bucky so much. i love sam so much. i love sambucky so much. so my brain melted at the idea that they're still doing it without sam, calling themselves the new avengers, and then actually saying his name out loud and disrespecting him so badly. the ONLY TIME they acknowledge that there is a captain america, a non enhanced captain america who just protected everyone from the red hulk, in a movie full of supersoldiers, is when they complain about him. and bucky lets it happen?? and moreover, they make it seem like they fought (which i understand, i would also fight with him over this if i were sam??) and it just makes no sense. why would you do that? after tfatws, after framed photo in the office, after i love you buddy, we get no mention of him in the movie, no respect showed to him, and then bucky not defending him?? this is HELL this is the bad timeline and i know i should expect this from marvel but with the other movie being only from a few months ago i thought we established they're on good terms so i am just confused and betrayed and SAM DESERVES BETTER. (and surely deserves better than having people now call him names and completely dragging him for taking legal action against this bs. not to mention his legal action was merely a trademark... get tf out of here) bucky deserves better too in the way that what the fuck is he doing why is not retired or fighting by sam's side WHY IS HE IN CONGRESS that was still not fully discussed like?? what, to bring val down because she was experimenting on humans and he is against that? well um now you work for her like what?? also who voted him in how did any of that make sense and also the way pretty much none of his plot had anything to do with him being in congress. he could've been watching the hearing on tv. he could've snuck into the gala and talked to the assistant as a civilian. what was the purpose of him being in congress? or you're telling me he will continue to be, after all this mess, and there will be a point later on?? why is he putting up with any of it. besides the fact his hair looked amazing in that last scene and he looked like prince charming i have zero good things to say about that and i wish it never happened. god the more i think about it the more angry i get. also where are all the other avengers guysssss stand UP. sam pick up the phone network around and you'll have them rounded up within the week how are y'all letting this happen !!! ok rant over

edit to add: civil war and all THAT didn't happen just for the 'avengers' to led by a member of the government. not even the UN, or an ethical body of sorts, no, just ONE corrupted and awful CIA director. how the FUCK would bucky stand for that and how is that not a slap in the face to steve, sam, nat, and everyone else affected by the accords (and this is coming from a tony stan)

[monstrousgourmandizingcats]

Gotta say, thank you very much for sharing your insights into the 2025 conclave. I love reading them; your takes and bringing into focus people largely overlooked by English speaking media.

I'd love to know where you look for information and (you've probably answered this before but I'll ask anyway) was there anything that you think may have happened prior to the 2013 conclave that influenced appointing Francis as Pope?

Once again thank you for sharing your takes, I'm looking forward to your posts!

Hello!

So to answer your second question first: yes, I know a fair amount about the dynamics leading up to the conclave that elected Francis twelve years ago, although a lot of it is stuff I've actually learned fairly recently. While official balloting counts of papal conclaves do not exist, unofficial counts do tend to emerge afterwards, and from the ones for 2013 we see the future Pope Francis (i.e. Jorge Mario Bergoglio) initially positioned as one of three softcore/mainstream conservative vote-getters, along with Canada's Marc Ouellet and Italy's Angelo Scola. Bergoglio then cannibalizes the votes of moderate cardinals Sean Patrick O'Malley (USA) and Odilo Scherer (Brazil), and finally picks up more and more of Ouellet's supporters until he defeats Scola after five ballots.

This is in part speculative, but the conventional wisdom/widespread educated guess is that Bergoglio started as a Latin American regional favorite who then gradually became the "anyone but Scola" candidate because of how the math shook out. It should be remembered that the 2013 conclave, unlike this year's, was, or at least seemed, fairly ideologically homogeneous; everyone in it had been appointed by John Paul II or Benedict XVI (themselves very similar to each other in most ways), and there was not a clear "progressive" option. What happened with Pope Francis as time went on was that it turned out that the Latin American cultural and theological environment that he came up in, when "scaled up" to the global Church, looked very different from Euro "conservative Catholicism". What we got from that was twelve years of a Pope who didn't actually make any major changes to Catholic doctrine and who had plenty of "hot mic" moments about women or gays of the sort one would expect from an elderly Peronist living and working in Italy, but who was enormously more concerned with what kind of place the Church was--how welcoming it was--for people who just "weren't like" the Central European and Northern Italian aristocrats and academics around John Paul and Benedict.

Also, people forget this today, but as Archbishop of Buenos Aires, Bergoglio came across as much more doctrinaire and conservative, especially on issues related to sex, than he did as Pope. You can still find lots of LGBT South Americans, including LGBT South American Catholics, who have a very different and much less positive opinion of Francis than do similar people from other parts of the world. Suddenly having to deal with a worldwide constituency genuinely changed his way of looking at some things. The same might happen with a successor who isn't as good on these issues (then again it might not). With Cardinal Ambongo (papabile, deeply homophobic but otherwise Francis-aligned Archbishop of Kinshasa in the Democratic Republic of Congo) in particular there are reasons to believe that if he became Pope it'd be politically and logistically very difficult for him to reverse Francis's more pro-LGBT decisions, even though he might want to.

The Latin American cardinals of twelve years ago, who weren't well-understood in the West and who ended up producing, arguably even imposing, a Pope who reigned the way Francis did, are today the African and Asian cardinals who don't like gay people very much and often aren't crazy about women either, but who over the past week have mostly been interested in talking about climate change, decentralizing Church governance structures, and fighting terrorism through interreligious dialogue.

As to where I look for information: I first found these sources by Googling the cardinals' names and reading anything that didn't look like generic Global North boilerplate, but some that I've found that way are ACI Africa, 9News Nigeria, the Australian Broadcasting Corporation, Kaniva Tonga News, Radio New Zealand, the Papua New Guinea Post-Courier, and the Straits Times out of Singapore.

I hope some of this helps/is of interest to you!

[obeymeshallwedateaddict]

Obey me brothers' ages if they were humans (in my opinion)

I saw some wild guesses on Reddit that made my toes curl so I decided to make my own.

(If you do not agree with this that's totally fine. This is just my point of view.)

You can find my work here: Masterlist

---

Lucifer - 33. He’s old enough to be respected, but young enough to still roll his eyes at his brothers’ nonsense. Someone on Reddit said he was 50 — like… no. Yes, he’s mature, but he does not give off “father of fully grown kids who just discovered Facebook” energy. If he were 50, that’d make Mammon 45-ish or something, and there is no way that chaotic gremlin energy is coming from a middle-aged man with a mortgage. On the other side, someone else said 26. Guys, 26?! That’s barely out of university — still Googling “how to do taxes” and eating cereal for dinner. That’s way too young for the man who helps run the Devildom as Diavolo's right hand man. Lucifer screams burnt out oldest sibling in his early 30s, and that’s exactly what he is.

The rest of the brothers under the cut

Mammon - 28 He’s got that “I swear I’m an adult” energy, but you just watched him spend his entire paycheck on sneakers and then ask Lucifer for a loan. 28 is perfect — he’s old enough to know better, but still makes the kind of decisions that have consequences he pretends not to see. Someone tried to put him at 40+ and I nearly fell out of my chair. (Yes he does give off uncle energy but he isn't an uncle!) That’s not the vibe. Mammon is chaos, but with experience — like he’s been the family screw-up for years and has no plans to change that anytime soon. 28 lets him still act like a disaster while technically being a full-grown adult. He’s your lovable mess of a big brother who drives a nice car but definitely has no idea how insurance works.

Levi - 26 Levi is deep in his introvert-gamer-anime-fanboy arc, and 26 fits him perfectly. He’s that adult who has a fully decked-out streaming setup, sleeps at 4am, and owns more figures than pieces of furniture. He’s old enough to pay for a Crunchyroll subscription and feel guilty about it. Anyone putting Levi under 20 is forgetting how cynical and self-aware he is. He’s not a clueless teen — he’s a grown man who just happens to panic every time someone talks to him IRL. 26 gives him enough life experience to be bitter, but still young enough to live in his own little otaku bubble. He calls himself a “shut-in” but somehow always has the latest merch drop.

Satan - 25 Satan’s got that “I read Dostoevsky at brunch and then got into a fistfight with my brother before dinner” energy. 25 is ideal — he’s young, sharp, and constantly teetering between sophisticated intellectual and rage-fueled gremlin. He’s the guy who corrects your grammar in an argument and then throws a chair two seconds later. Too young and he loses that smug, well-read edge. Too old and the petty fury starts to feel less "fiery youth" and more "grumpy professor." At 25, he’s got a bookshelf full of classic literature, a temper problem he swears he’s working on, and probably got kicked out of a book club once for being “too passionate.”

Asmo - 23 Asmo is thriving in his early twenties. He’s the kind of guy who has a perfectly curated skincare routine, a rotating lineup of dating apps, and at least three group chats named “Hot People Only.” 23 is peak Asmo — old enough to have confidence, young enough to still be an absolute menace at parties.Put him too young and he feels like an annoying teenager with a lip gloss obsession. Too old and he becomes that adult who peaked in college and won’t stop bringing it up. But at 23? He’s in his prime — stylish, flirty, probably has a social media following just for his OOTDs, and knows exactly how to weaponize a wink.

Beel - 22 Beel is your gentle gym bro with the appetite of a black hole and the heart of gold. At 22, he’s fully grown, emotionally mature, and the kind of guy who carries your groceries without being asked. He’s not just muscles and snacks — he’s soft-spoken, loyal, and somehow manages to be the only sane one in the house. Too young and he’d feel like the “dumb jock” stereotype (which he absolutely is not). Too old and he’d lose that quiet, youthful sweetness that makes him so lovable. 22 hits the balance — he’s the dependable twin who’d fight for you and share his last slice of pizza. Perhaps if you're lucky.

Belphie - 22 (He came second, and Beel makes sure he knows it with affectionate hair ruffles and smug big-brother energy.) Belphie is that “looks innocent, probably just sabotaged something” kind of guy. 22 fits him perfectly — he’s got that lazy, “don’t talk to me before noon” energy, mixed with just enough edge to keep you on your toes. He’s the sleepy menace who acts like he doesn’t care, but has five layers of complex emotion under that pillow. Make him younger and he feels too bratty. Older, and he starts giving jaded ex-gifted kid energy. But 22? He’s just the right age to be clever, cynical, and slightly dangerous in a “you really shouldn’t trust him, but you still do” kind of way.

[oldqueergrandma]

Everyone's experience has nuance, so here is mine;

While I was in high school, I was having a pretty good time. I had a circle of friends besides my one Worstie. I outsmarted a couple of scheduling problems so that I could take instrumental music, vocal music, and art electives each year. I'd started going to SF/Conventions so I'd found My People and my world was already a lot bigger than my high school.

It wasn't until later that I saw how seriously fucked up my life was then. Why I busted my ass to go to college four hours away, and then just collapsed. That drive I had in high school evaporated on me. I was free, and I didn't really understand what that meant.

Some years later, after he went through a lot of therapy, my (3 years younger) brother asked me if I could pinpoint "when things at home got really bad."

My reply was that they got steadily worse. I could really see it when I flunked out of college and had to move back home the following year.

For him, that year I went away marked the "Worst" year. And I just stared at him and very softly said, "And why do you think that? What was different about that year?"

I watched him connect the dots at last. "You weren't there... To protect me."

"And I'm sorry."

Now, we didn't have a horror story.

We weren't beaten, or starved. We weren't forced to work part-time jobs while in school to feed the family. My brothers were allowed to play sports and I was allowed to pursue art.

But we were being emotionally abused, financially abused, and watching our parents' descent into their own miserable madness.

High school is when you start to see the bigger picture. High school is when many of us start to see what kind of cage we have been living in.

And, for some people, they don't experience that awareness. They love it so much because it's the only time in their lives when the ratio of freedoms-to-Responsibilities is favorable. And they spend their life reliving those Glory Days.

But I gotta tell you, and tell you truly:

It gets better. It's going to get better in ways that you might not even know about. You are going to become the manager of your own affairs, and that means you're going to get to make choices about the shape of your life.

High school *can* be practice for figuring out your life. But once you're no longer being monitored, you have only yourself to answer to.

If your life right now is miserable, try to find a space in your mind to decide what you want it to be like.

One day, you will be able to curate your experiences fully.

Maybe you won't have a mansion to live in, but an apartment. If you need personal space that is really private, promise yourself now that you'll work toward that goal. (Ditto for a house full of fun roommates, a dorm room all tricked out with a loft, or house with a yard.)

One day, you will be able to curate your friend group, based on people you like, who are supportive and fun. You won't be thrown together with randos who happen to live nearby and were born the same year.

One day, you won't have to sneak around to date. One day, you can make your own choices (including not to date.)

Life is a great adventure. Consider me the wizard walking through the door to inform you that you're special. That there is great peril, but also great rewards ahead. It is dangerous to go alone.

But take my hand. Everything will turn out right in the end.

what a beautiful day to not be in high school