#Day 21: “Let's play a game” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mssishipi · 6 months ago

Text

kiss me — pjs

SYNOPSIS: You hate the Purge. You hate the monster they create, the cruelty, and the way it's broken you down year after year. You hate the rich most of all—the people who don't have to fight to survive. People like Park Jongseong. And now, somehow, he's sitting next to you. The boy who's always smiling, always comfortable, as if the world hasn't burned down around him. The boy who lives in safety, behind barricades his father's company builds, while you've spent years starving, hiding, and praying. Jongseong keeps smiling at you, oblivious to the weight of your hatred. He doesn't care about you, not really. To him, life is simple. And maybe that's why you can't stand him. Because while he laughs, you're trying to figure out how to make sure people like him never smile again.

warning: the purge au! contains dark sensitive topics, mentions of murder, sexual assault, violence, and ptsd behavior, different perspectives of the purge, one sided hatred, reader is kinda difficult to handle but it's a trauma response, messy ending, jay is a supportive boyfie (in a good and bad ways), reader is unhinged, explicit content (smut): multiple sex scenes, fingering, nipple play, pussy eating, unprotected sex, purge fucking, MDNI, reader discretion is advised. WC: 21.8K.

music to listen while purging: murder in my mind

You hate March 21. God, how you loathe it—the day that strips away any pretense of humanity.

It always starts the same way: the wailing sirens, cold and mechanical, ripping through the air.

Not even sixty seconds pass after the announcement before the streets erupt. Gunshots. Screams. The unmistakable, animalistic sounds of survival. The world falls apart faster than you can blink, faster than you can even take a breath. And every year, you sit in that darkness, trembling, hating.

You hate how they made this—how society carved out one single night to let its ugliest urges spill over.

You hate the twisted smiles on people's faces, the gleeful violence, the merciless slaughter. You hate everything about it.

You hate how weak you are. How poor you are. How your "barricade" is nothing but a creaky door and a pile of junk you've pushed in front of it. Heavy chairs, the couch, a dresser you could barely move—what is that supposed to do against the monsters outside?

They'll break through it in minutes, seconds even, if they choose you this year.

And there's nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

So you crawl inside the closet, knees tucked into your chest, hands pressing hard over your ears as the chaos outside creeps closer and closer. You rock back and forth, whispering to yourself, "Just twelve hours. You just have to survive twelve hours."

You hate how your morals hold you hostage.

You're too much of a coward, aren't you? Or maybe you're too human, too stupidly tied to the idea of right and wrong.

Either way, you've sentenced yourself to this endless nightmare.

You hate how they have no mercy. How people don't even hesitate.

The second those sirens stop, the masks go on, the knives come out, and the laughter—the laughter—starts echoing down the streets like some kind of hellish symphony.

You hate the way your mind races, picturing your own end over and over again. Would it be quick? A bullet to the head? Or would it be slow? Something worse?

You hate how poor you are. How people like you—people who can't afford high-tech barricades, bulletproof shelters, or private security.

You're the bottom rung of society, the lambs to the slaughter. And that's exactly how they see you. Nothing more than sport for the rich.

You've been their prey before—dragged into one of their "games." Their sick, twisted hunting expeditions where they wear masks and hunt you down like animals, laughing all the while.

Somehow, you survived that night. Somehow, you ran fast enough, hid well enough. But you didn't leave unscathed.

No, you left something behind that night: your sanity.

You can still feel their eyes on you, their jeers echoing in your ears, their mocking laughter as they cornered you over and over, just to let you escape so the game could continue.

You see their faces—those masks—every time you close your eyes.

And no matter where you go, it's always the same.

You transfer to a new town, a new neighborhood, hoping to disappear, but you always end up right back here.

They smile too wide, your neighbors. They're too friendly. Too eager to see you. And every time they stare at you, every time their grins linger a little too long, you feel the bile rise in your throat.

You hate everything about the Purge.

You hate the people who participate in it, the government that allows it, the sick, twisted minds that relish in it.

You hate the monsters you've seen outside, but you hate the monster you're becoming even more.

Because every year, it gets harder. Harder to keep your sanity intact. Harder to resist. Harder to keep your morals from shattering under the weight of it all. And every year, the hatred inside you grows like a poison, rotting you from the inside out.

You hate how you're always waiting. Waiting for another March 21.

Waiting for the next time you'll have to endure this torment. Waiting for the day you finally snap, when you stop running, when you stop hiding, and when you start fighting back.

You hate the waiting more than anything because you know that day is coming. You know it's only a matter of time before something inside you finally breaks.

And when it does, you'll hunt them down. Every last one of them. The rich who preyed on you. The neighbors who smiled too wide while undressing you. The government officials who allowed this nightmare to persist.

You hate March 21.

But more than that, you hate how much you're starting to look forward to it.

"I see you survived the Purge," you muttered, your eyes narrowing as they landed on the group of seven boys in the hallway.

They were laughing softly, their voices laced with relief as they exchanged hugs and pats on the back.

"Thank God," one of them said, gripping the others in a tight embrace, his shoulders sagging like he'd been holding his breath for the last twelve hours.

"I already told you guys," another voice chimed in—smooth, Park Jongseong. Of course.

"Next year, you should all come to our house. Our lockdown is solid. Our barricades are strong enough to keep anyone out. You'll be safe there, trust me."

You scoffed, the sound low and bitter, but loud enough to be heard if anyone was paying attention. Of course, they weren't. They never noticed you. Not people like them.

Park Jongseong— the golden boy. His father owned one of the biggest barricade companies in the country, making a fortune off other people's desperation and fear.

He didn't just survive the Purge; he thrived in it. His family's state-of-the-art lockdown system probably made their house into a fortress.

And now here he was, standing in the middle of the school hallway, flashing that perfect smile and talking about how his family had been "safe and sound" while people like you hid under a bed, praying not to die.

You bit the inside of your cheek, tasting blood, and turned away. Of course Jongseong had survived. People like him always did.

You were miserable. Miserable every single day for the past seven years since the Purge began.

Seven years since the night your parents were taken from you on that first Purge.

Seven years of surviving on your own, scrabbling through life like a rat in a never-ending maze.

An irregular college student balancing four jobs just to afford rent, tuition, and scraps of food that barely kept you standing.

And some nights, when you're too tired to even close your eyes, the same thought creeps in, like a whisper you can't shut out.

Why can't you just die already?

Was this what God wanted for you? Was your suffering some part of His great plan? If it was, you hated Him for it. You hated everything—for putting you here, for making you live like this, for keeping you alive while everyone else you cared about was gone.

Then came August. Seven months before the next Purge, You took your entire month's pay—every single cent you'd earned and bought a handgun from a retired Russian police man who didn't ask questions.

You didn't eat for weeks after that, barely managing to survive on water and scraps you could steal from work.

Hunger clawed at your stomach, but you didn't care. Every second of discomfort was worth it as you cradled the gun in your hands at night, running your fingers over the cold steel.

At college, exhaustion weighed on you like a heavy coat. Your mind was foggy, your body barely cooperating as you tried to focus in class. You were too tired to care about anything anymore. That's why, when you heard the voice, you didn't even look up at first.

"Hey, are you Y/N?"

You blinked, sluggishly dragging your tired eyes up to meet the man.

Park Jongseong. He was standing there, his usual easy smile on his face, holding a lab manual in one hand.

Your brows furrowed as he sat down next to you like it was the most natural thing in the world. You raised an eyebrow at him, watching in silent disbelief as he got comfortable.

"We're partners in laboratory," he announced with that same friendly grin, his tone light and conversational.

You stared at him, your eyebrow twitching slightly. Of course, we are. Just my fucking luck.

You hated him. You hated everything about him.

You hated how he could walk into a room and light it up, how he always smiled like life was some perfect little gift wrapped up in a bow.

You hated how easy everything seemed for him, how he floated through life without ever seeming to care about the world around him.

Jongseong keeps smiling at you, oblivious to the weight of your hatred. He doesn't care about you, not really. To him, life is simple. And maybe that's why you can't stand him.

Because while he laughs, you're trying to figure out how to make sure people like him never smile again.

"I'm Park Jongseong," he says brightly, "You can call me Jay, if you don't know me."

You stare at him with your tired eyes, barely masking your irritation. His enthusiasm is exhausting, like a candle burning too brightly, too close to your already frayed nerves.

But he doesn't seem to notice. Of course, he doesn't. He keeps talking.

"I'm planning to start our experimental research maybe in like three days? I don't really like cramming," Jay continues, flashing you another one of his easy smiles.

"Are you available on Saturday?" he asks, finally looking at you. "Do you want to do it at my place or yours?"

His smile falters for the first time when you just stare at him, bored and uninterested, like he's wasting your time—which he is.

He must be so used to people hanging on his every word, eating up his charm. You, on the other hand, are trying to figure out how long you have to tolerate him before he leaves.

"I have a morning shift at the ice cream shop. Probably the afternoon, but I'll leave at 7 PM," you reply flatly, spinning your pen lazily between your fingers. You're not trying to be rude.

You're just tired—tired of him, tired of everything. "Then I have another shift at the restaurant."

Jay nods, and for a moment, you think he's about to say something stupid, like you work too hard or you should take it easy. But he doesn't. Instead, he watches you for a second too long before his smile returns, a little dimmer than before.

"And your place," you add, cutting off whatever he was going to say. The idea of being in his house, surrounded by whatever rich-boy luxuries he has, makes your stomach churn.

Jay blinks, then nods again. "Alright, my place it is," he says, his tone softer, as if he's trying to figure you out.

You hate it—hate the way his gaze lingers on you.

You turn your attention back to your notebook, letting the silence hang between you until he finally shifts in his seat and looks away. At least he knows when to stop talking. For now.

You observe people every shift. At the ice cream shop, kids cry and tug at their parents, pointing at a flavor they desperately want. At the fast food chain, students laugh, stuffing fries into each other's mouths, their joy spilling out into the air.

You watch them. You clean up after them. And when no one's looking, you pick at their scraps—half-eaten burgers, fries left behind—anything to stave off the hunger that gnaws at you day and night.

When you sneak into the back to wash your hands, you catch your reflection in the grimy bathroom mirror. It almost shocks you, the hollow-cheeked girl staring back.

Your dark eye bags seem to sink into your face like bruises, your cheekbones sharp enough to look dangerous. Your lips are pale, chapped from thirst, and your hoodie swallows what little remains of you.

Even when you do sleep, it's never peaceful.

The nightmares always find you, pulling you back to that night—hands grabbing, voices laughing, the cold press of a mask against your skin.

Not even the sleeping pills you've wasted money on help anymore. You've tried. God knows you've tried. But the fear is something you can't escape.

And then Saturday comes.

Jay welcomes you at his house with his usual easy smile.

You stand awkwardly at the entrance, your eyes immediately drawn to the luxurious details surrounding you.

Expensive vases line the walls. A cabinet full of fine liquor gleams under the lights. Everything in the house feels deliberate, pristine, and just looking at it makes you feel like you don't belong.

"This way," Jay says cheerfully, leading you to his room.

The moment you step inside, you're greeted with more of the same—displays of wealth that feel almost obscene to you. A collection of guitars lined up like trophies. A cabinet stuffed with fancy perfumes. Everything here screams a life of comfort, of privilege, of a world you'll never touch.

"Are you always cold? Want me to lower the aircon?" Jay asks suddenly, his gaze flicking to your oversized hoodie.

You almost punch him for the question. The audacity of it.

Are rich people really this clueless?

The irritation bubbles up. You almost imagine your hands around his neck, squeezing some sense into him.

"No, thanks," you say curtly, not bothering to hide your annoyance. You drop to the floor, pulling out your notebook and pen, ignoring the uncomfortable tension forming between you.

"You can sit on my bed," Jay offers, reaching out to touch your arm like it's no big deal.

But the moment his hand brushes your sleeve, your mind snaps. You're not in his room anymore. You're back there—on that night—being grabbed, pulled, restrained. Masked faces loom in your vision, their laughter ringing in your ears like a sick melody.

Before you even realize it, you've slapped his hand away, standing so fast you almost knock your notebook over.

"I—I'm sorry," you stammer, your voice shaky as you rub your arm. Jay just stands there, his hand hovering in the air, confusion written all over his face.

"It's fine," he says quickly. His smile is gone now, replaced by something softer.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to sit down again—this time on the bed, even though you'd rather be anywhere else. You pull your notebook back into your lap, flipping it open as if nothing happened, your hands trembling slightly.

The two of you work in near silence, researching for your lab project. Jay tries to engage you now and then, asking for your thoughts, but you keep your answers brief. You don't want to talk. You don't want to share. You just want to get through this.

After a while, Jay breaks the silence again. "How many jobs do you have?" he asks, his voice almost hesitant. "How do you manage school and work?"

You huff, irritated by his questions. What does he know about working to survive? What does he know about balancing your life on a thread?

"I don't manage," you reply bluntly. "I'm already planning to stop after this semester."

Jay straightens in his seat, frowning slightly. "Why?"

"Because I can't afford it anymore," you snap, your patience wearing thin. Your voice is sharper than you intend, but you don't care. You glare at him, daring him to argue, to say something stupid like, You should keep trying.

But Jay just looks down, his gaze softening. "I'm sorry," he whispers, almost too quiet to hear.

Before you can respond, a knock interrupts the moment. A head peeks into the room—a woman with wavy hair and a face so similar to Jay's that it's clear she's his mother.

"Heard you had a classmate over," she says warmly. "Come down and eat."

Jay stands immediately, glancing at you as if waiting to see if you'll follow. You nod stiffly, clutching your notebook to your chest as you trail behind him, feeling awkward in a house like this.

When you reach the dining room, your stomach grumbles embarrassingly loud at the sight of the food. A table full of steaming dishes spreads out before you, prepared by maids who move around effortlessly. You've never seen this much food at once before, not even during the holidays.

"Come, sit, sweetheart," Jay's mom says, pulling a chair out for you. Her voice is so kind, so gentle, that it makes your chest ache.

You sit down slowly, staring at the food like it's a mirage. Jay's mom piles your plate high with food, her warm smile reminding you so much of your own mother that your throat tightens.

"Eat, don't be shy," she says, her voice light and encouraging.

Your hands shake as you pick up the spoon, the first bite warming your tongue.

The taste is overwhelming, rich and filling, and it's so good that tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

You quickly take another bite, and another, ignoring the lump in your throat.

Jay watches you quietly, his gaze flicking to your small, trembling hands. His eyes catch on the scars peeking out from your sleeves as your sweater rides up.

"So, where are you from? It's my first time seeing you here! Jay's always bringing friends over—so many faces!" His mother's voice was cheerful, her smile warm and inviting.

"I'm from Las Vegas," you replied, keeping your eyes on your empty plate. You didn't want to talk, but her energy made it hard to ignore her.

Your gaze shifted to Jay as he leaned over, silently placing more food onto your plate.

"Oh, Las Vegas!" His mom exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. "What made you settle here in Seattle? Life is so exciting over there! So bright and lively!"

"Not really," you said, inhaling sharply as you tried to keep your tone even. The last thing you wanted was to go deeper into that conversation.

She didn't seem to notice your discomfort. "Oh, I see. Well, what do your parents do for a living?"

You froze. The fork in your hand stilled as memories rushed back like a tidal wave.

The screams. The blood. The way your parents looked at you, their faces twisted in pain as you hid, trembling in the cabinet.

"They're dead," you said bluntly, gripping your fork so tightly your knuckles turned white.

The room seemed to grow quieter. His mother's cheerful expression faltered. "Pardon?"

"They're de—" you started, but the words caught in your throat. Your pulse quickened, your chest tightening, and before you could finish, Jay cut in.

"It's already almost 7:00," he said quickly, "Didn't you say you have a shift?"

You looked at him, startled. His gaze met yours, and for the first time, his ever-present smile was gone. Instead, his eyes were steady, watching you carefully, like he knew you were unraveling and didn't want to make it worse.

You took the excuse without hesitation. "Yeah," you muttered, shoving your chair back as you stood. "I should go."

His mom looked like she wanted to say something, but Jay rose from his seat, cutting her off with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'll walk her out," he said softly.

"Thank you for the food, Mrs. Park," you smiled, trying to look natural, bowing at her. You grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder, refusing to look back at the table, at the food, at his mother's concerned face. Your throat burned as you fought the tears threatening to spill over.

Jay followed you silently as you stepped into the hallway. Once you were out of earshot, he finally spoke.

"You didn't have to answer her," he said gently.

You stopped in your tracks, gripping the strap of your bag tightly. "I didn't want to," you said flatly, your voice trembling just a little. "But people always ask. Like they have the right to know."

Jay didn't respond immediately. When you glanced at him, he looked... softer, his usual brightness dimmed with something quieter. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and careful. "She didn't mean anything by it. My mom's just... the type to ask questions. She doesn't think it'll hurt anyone."

"Yeah, well, it does," you snapped, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself. Your voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet hallway. But Jay didn't flinch. He just nodded, that same calm expression on his face, like he understood.

And for some reason, that made you angrier.

Your bag strap digging into your shoulder as you stared at him. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward. Your chest burned with frustration, your hands curling into fists at your sides. You weren't sure what you were mad at—his mom's question, his calm demeanor, or the fact that he kept pretending to get you when he didn't.

The words tumbled out. "What are your thoughts about the Purge, Jay?"

Jay's eyes widened, caught off guard by the sudden question. He hesitated for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like he was carefully picking his words.

"I—I don't agree with it," he said finally, his voice quiet..

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "You don't agree with it?" you repeated, mocking his tone.

"That's rich. The Purge is the reason why you're making money, Jay. It's why your family's living in that giant house with your shiny vases and fancy barricades."

Jay blinked, visibly taken aback. "That's not fair," he said, his voice soft but firm.

"Isn't it?" you shot back, your voice rising.

"Your dad's company makes barricades, doesn't it? Every year, people like you get richer while people like me..." You trailed off, shaking your head as your throat tightened. "You don't get to sit there and say you don't agree with it. Not when your family profits from it."

Jay's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt. He just looked at you, his expression unreadable.

"And you know what's funny?" you continued, the bitterness spilling out of you now. "You probably spend Purge night in your fortress of a house, watching movies or playing board games with your family while the rest of us are out there dying. You don't even have to think about it, do you?"

"That's not true," Jay said quietly, his hands clenching at his sides. "I do think about it."

"Oh, do you?" you snapped, glaring at him. "What, do you spend a whole five minutes feeling bad for people like me before you go back to your perfect little life?"

"That's not what I—" Jay started, but you cut him off.

"You don't get it, Jay," you said, your voice trembling now, anger and exhaustion mixing into a volatile cocktail. "You'll never get it. You don't know what it's like to be hunted like an animal while people laugh. So don't stand there and tell me you 'don't agree with it,' because that doesn't mean anything coming from you."

Jay looked like he wanted to say something—his mouth opened, but no words came out. His shoulders slumped slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw guilt flash across his face.

"I'm sorry," Jay said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You froze, your anger faltering for a moment as his words sunk in. Your chest tightened, and your eyes softened just slightly, guilt prickling at the edges of your mind. What were you even doing?

But the shame and bitterness were too much to face. You turned away quickly, your voice small and strained. "I'm sorry... I should go," you murmured, gripping the strap of your bag as you hurried to leave.

Jay didn't stop you. He just watched your retreating figure, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. As the door clicked shut behind you, he sat down heavily, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to help, but he didn't know how. And the way you looked at him, like he was the problem, made it feel impossible.

The weeks passed in a blur of survival and self-destruction. Bullets were fucking expensive. Even knives cost more than you expected, and every penny you earned disappeared the moment it hit your hands. Life was getting harder.

The monster inside you—was growing louder, feeding off your exhaustion and anger.

At night, when you weren't working, you trained yourself obsessively. Watching documentaries on how to kill someone. Studying anatomy. Practicing with your weapons until your hands were blistered and shaking.

You didn't care if your body couldn't take it anymore. Pain didn't matter. Hunger didn't matter. Nothing mattered except being ready.

But as the weeks dragged on, it became harder to keep going.

Your hoodie, the one you wore every day like a second skin, was filthy and smelled of sweat and exhaustion. Your body was sore in every possible way.

Your reflection in the mirror was worse than before—hollow eyes, sallow skin, dark circles so deep. And every time you saw yourself, you thought the same thing.

You just want to die already.

One night, your phone buzzed. It was a message from Jay.

"Y/N, I'm sorry to bother you, but you haven't been coming to class. I can handle most of the project on my own, but for this reporting, I really need your presence."

You stared at the message for a long time, debating whether to ignore it. But something in you caved. Maybe it was guilt. You replied: "Okay. I'll come."

Jay welcomed you into his house again, you ended up on his bed, laptop in your lap as you both worked on the PowerPoint for your report. The room was quiet except for the sound of typing, but every movement felt like a struggle. Your body ached. Your head throbbed. You could barely focus, and every second felt like a fight to stay upright.

It wasn't long before your body gave up.

The laptop slipped from your lap, crashing to the floor as your vision blurred. The last thing you heard before everything went dark was Jay's panicked voice calling your name.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was a white ceiling.

The faint smell of alcohol and disinfectant filled the air, and the sharp tug of a needle in your arm made you realize you were hooked up to an IV. An oxygen tube rested under your nose, and your body felt impossibly heavy, as if all the exhaustion you'd been ignoring had finally caught up with you.

Your gaze drifted down to your body—and then you saw it.

You were wearing a hospital gown.

Panic gripped you instantly. Your chest tightened, your breathing quickening as your hands clawed at the fabric.

"No, no, no," you whispered, your voice trembling as your heart pounded in your ears.

Memories of hands grabbing at you, tearing at your clothes, flashed through your mind like lightning. You gasped for air, a faint scream slipping from your lips.

Jay jolted awake from the chair beside you, his eyes wide with alarm.

"W-what's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with panic. He moved closer, his hands hovering uncertainly like he wasn't sure if he should touch you.

"H-hoodie," you stammered, gripping his arm with weak, trembling hands. Your nails dug into his skin. "Need to cover. Ugly. Ugly."

Jay winced at the pain but didn't pull away. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he said gently, his voice calm and soothing. "You're okay. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you."

"No," you whimpered, shaking your head as tears streamed down your face. "I'm ugly. Don't look." Your hands fumbled to pull the gown tighter around you, but it didn't help. You could feel the scars beneath it—the raised lines.

Jay hesitated for a moment before slowly reaching out to cover your hands with his. His touch was warm, steady, and he squeezed your fingers just enough to ground you.

"You're not ugly," he said softly, his tone so sincere it made your chest ache.

You shook your head again, your voice breaking as panic surged through you. "You don't understand. You don't know what they did to me. What I look like—"

"Calm down," Jay interrupted, his voice steady but still gentle, as if he were trying to anchor you to the moment.

He closed his eyes and turned his head slightly to the side, a gesture meant to reassure you. "I'm not looking, okay? I'm not looking."

His words made you pause, your breathing still uneven but slowing just a little as you clung to his arm. The panic was still there, buzzing under your skin, but his calmness was starting to chip away at it, little by little.

"You're safe now," Jay said, his tone softer this time, "and you're not alone, okay? I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Just calm down, breathe in, breathe out. You can do this."

You tried to follow his instructions, inhaling shakily and letting the air out in uneven bursts. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to keep you grounded, enough to stop the tears blurring your vision completely.

Jay's hand was warm against yours, his fingers gentle but firm as he held on. "What do you want me to get?" he asked softly, his voice careful, his head still turned slightly away so you wouldn't feel watched.

"My hoodie," you whispered, your voice weak and pleading. "I need it. Please."

Jay glanced at the IV in your arm, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You have an IV in your skin," he said quietly. "It's still not okay for you to wear your hoodie yet. If you pull at it, you could hurt yourself."

You looked away, shame and frustration boiling under your skin, your fingers gripping the hospital blanket tightly. "I don't care," you mumbled, your voice trembling.

Jay sighed softly, squeezing your hand again to ground you. "I know you don't feel comfortable," he said, his tone gentle but firm, "but if it's too hot or heavy right now, I don't want you to hurt yourself trying to put it on."

You clenched your jaw, swallowing back another wave of tears. "I just—I need to cover up," you said, your voice breaking again.

Jay hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said carefully, "if you're not comfortable in the gown, I can get you a long-sleeve nightgown instead. Something softer. Something that'll cover your arms. Is that what you want?"

You glanced at him, your lip trembling, and nodded weakly. "Yeah," you whispered, barely audible.

Jay gave your hand one last gentle squeeze before slowly standing up. "I'll go ask the nurses," he said softly.

Days had passed, and Jay had stayed by your side, refusing to leave, despite how much of a burden you felt like.

He wasn't overbearing or hovering—just quietly there, helping you in any way he could.

He brought you meals, water, even helped you comb through your disheveled hair when your strength failed you. He didn't ask questions about what happened, didn't demand explanations.

His mother visited often, sweeping into the room with an energy that made your chest ache. She came with baskets of fruit, flowers, and small gifts, her arms overflowing like she was trying to smother you with kindness.

On one visit, she hugged you tightly, tears in her eyes, and said, "You need to take better care of yourself, sweetheart. Your life is precious."

Her words pierced through you, bringing a lump to your throat. You didn't have the heart to respond, just nodded, even though deep down you still didn't believe her.

Jay's friends, Sunoo and Ni-ki, had even come to visit. Despite the fact that they didn't know you at all, they acted like you were an old friend.

They brought a snake and ladder board game, and before you knew it, they were sitting cross-legged on your hospital bed, loudly cheering, groaning, and playfully arguing over the dice rolls. Their laughter filled the room, echoing against the sterile walls and spilling over the edges of your heart.

At first, you just watched them silently, your hands resting in your lap, unsure of how to react. But as the game went on, you found yourself drawn in—your dead eyes softening as you watched them bicker like kids, a faint half-smile tugging at your lips.

For the first time in what felt like years, you felt something other than pain. Just a flicker, but it was there. A tiny seed of happiness.

"What do you want to eat today?" Jay asked, smiling as he sat at the edge of your bed, peeling an apple with practiced ease.

"I want rice cakes!" Ni-ki chimed in, raising his hand like an excited child.

Sunoo rolled his eyes dramatically, crossing his arms. "Yuck! We had rice cakes yesterday!"

Their back-and-forth made you chuckle softly, a sound you hadn't heard from yourself in a long time.

But later, when the room grew quiet again, and it was just you and Jay, that flicker of happiness gave way to something heavier. Guilt.

You glanced at Jay as he sat by the window, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly. His face was relaxed, the sunlight catching the soft angles of his features. He had done so much for you—things he didn't have to do. And all this time, you had hated him. Misunderstood him.

You had assumed the worst of him, just because he was rich.

You had lumped him in with the monsters who had ruined your life, convinced yourself that he was just another spoiled, privileged kid who wouldn't understand what suffering felt like. But the truth was... he wasn't.

He wasn't the people who had hunted you, mocked you, stripped you of your humanity. He wasn't the people who laughed behind masks, thriving on fear and violence.

Jay had done nothing but help you, even when you were rude to him, even when you pushed him away.

And yet, the guilt didn't erase your pain. It didn't undo your trauma or silence the nightmares that still haunted you.

You still hated the world that allowed the Purge to exist. You still hated the memories that burned like fire in your veins. You still hated yourself for being weak, for surviving when your parents hadn't.

But you didn't hate Jay anymore.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly, breaking the silence.

Jay looked up, tilting his head in confusion. "For what?"

"For... for how I treated you," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. "For assuming things about you just because of where you come from. I thought you wouldn't care. That you couldn't understand. But... you're not like them."

Jay's expression softened, a small, almost sad smile tugging at his lips. "You don't have to apologize for that," he said gently. "You've been through hell. I get why you'd feel that way."

You shook your head, gripping the blanket tightly in your hands. "No, you don't get it. I was cruel to you. I blamed you for things that weren't your fault."

Jay was quiet for a moment, then reached out, resting a hand over yours.

His touch was warm, steady, grounding. "I'm not perfect," he said softly, his tone sincere. "I won't pretend to know what you've been through. But I want to help."

Your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill over again. You didn't know how to respond, so you just nodded, gripping his hand. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to trust someone. Even if it was just a little.

"The doctor said you have anemia and osteoporosis," Jay's mother said gently, setting her bag down on the small table beside your hospital bed.

"That's why your bones are weak! You'll need to eat more foods with calcium and iron to build your strength and get your blood count higher. We'll make sure you have everything you need."

You stared at her, unsure how to respond. Guilt curled in your stomach, gnawing at you. You weren't her child. You weren't even close to being part of her world. And yet, here she was, treating you so good.

"The hospital bill is covered," she continued, her voice casual, like it wasn't a big deal. But to you, it was.

It was a huge deal. The cost of staying in a place like this was something you couldn't even fathom. You'd spent years scraping by, eating leftovers just to save a few bucks, and here she was, brushing off what could've been months—maybe years—of your income.

"You don't need to worry about it," she added, her smile soft and reassuring. "Just focus on getting better. Jay's friend is also my priority."

Jay's friend.

The words hit you harder than you expected. You weren't his friend. You didn't deserve to be called that, not after the way you'd treated him.

"Thank you," you murmured finally, your voice barely audible. It was all you could manage without breaking down entirely.

Jay's mom smiled wider, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," she said, reaching out to gently pat your hand. "Now, tell me—what's your favorite food? I'll have the kitchen prepare something special for you."

You blinked, caught off guard by her kindness. "I... I don't really have one," you admitted quietly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

It wasn't a lie. You hadn't thought about things like "favorite food" in years. Food, for you, had been about survival, not enjoyment.

"Well, then we'll just have to find one for you," she said, her tone cheerful and determined. "I'll have the staff make a variety of dishes for you to try. And don't worry—if there's anything you don't like, we'll keep trying until we find something you love."

Her words left you speechless. All you could do was nod, the weight of her generosity pressing down on you. It felt so foreign, so undeserved, and yet, for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt... cared for.

Jay, who had been quietly peeling an orange in the corner, finally spoke up. "Mom, don't overwhelm her," he said softly, his eyes flicking to yours. "She's still recovering."

You glanced at him, your gaze lingering for a moment longer than you intended.

His mother waved him off with a laugh. "Oh, hush, Jay. I'm just trying to help." She turned back to you, her smile never faltering. "You're part of our family now, okay? At least while you're here. So don't be shy about asking for anything."

Her words made something in your chest tighten. You nodded again, unable to trust your voice.

Jay's mother spent hours at your bedside, chatting away. She told you stories about Jay's childhood—how he once tried to "fix" a birdhouse with peanut butter, or how he dressed up as a firefighter for three Halloweens in a row because he was so obsessed with the uniform.

Jay groaned beside her, his face flushed as he waved her off. "Mom, stop! She doesn't need to know all of that!" he whined, his voice high with embarrassment.

But his mother only laughed, brushing him off with a playful wave. "Oh, hush, Jay. She needs to know how adorable you used to be!"

You couldn't help but chuckle softly, your lips curving into a small, almost shy smile.

Eventually, Jay's mother had to leave, something about a business emergency pulling her away. She hugged you gently before she left, squeezing your hands and promising to visit again soon.

"Take care of yourself, sweetheart," she said with a warm smile. "And if Jay gives you any trouble, let me know."

"I'm right here," Jay muttered, rolling his eyes but grinning all the same.

As the door clicked shut behind her, the room fell quiet again. You and Jay were alone, the silence settling between you like a soft blanket.

"Have you showered?" Jay asked suddenly, breaking the stillness.

You shook your head, feeling a little self-conscious. It had been days since you'd had the energy to even think about something like that.

"Do you want to?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded hesitantly.

Jay smiled, standing up to grab a towel from his bag. He returned a moment later, his hand extended to you. "Come on," he said softly, his voice warm and encouraging.

You placed your hand in his, and he guided you carefully out of the bed. But as soon as your feet touched the ground, your knees buckled beneath you, the strength in your legs giving out entirely.

"Whoa!" Jay exclaimed, catching you before you could fall. Without hesitation, he slipped your arm around his neck, his other arm sliding under your legs.

"I've got you," he murmured as he lifted you effortlessly.

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn't protest as he carried you to the bathroom. His touch was steady, his arms warm and reassuring as he placed you gently into the tub.

"Do you want me to call a nurse to help you?" Jay asked, crouching in front of you. His voice was careful, like he was trying not to overstep.

You shook your head quickly. The idea of a stranger cleaning you—seeing you—made your stomach churn with discomfort. "I'm not comfortable," you said quietly, looking away.

Jay nodded, his brows furrowed slightly in thought. He didn't push or suggest anything else. He just waited, watching you carefully.

And then, before you could stop yourself, you looked up and met his gaze. "Can you?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jay's eyes widened in surprise, his ears turning red as your words sunk in. "Are you sure?" he asked, his tone soft but serious. "Are you comfortable with me?"

You nodded, swallowing hard. You didn't know why you asked him. Maybe it was because he was the only one who had seen your broken pieces and didn't turn away. Maybe it was because, despite everything, you trusted him.

Jay hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the redness creeping up his neck.

Your hands trembled slightly as you began to strip off the hospital gown, letting it fall away from your shoulders.

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, your chest tightening as the scars on your body were laid bare—scars from knives, from bullets, from cigarette burns that had long since healed but never truly faded.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

You finally glanced up at Jay, only to see his face frozen in a mixture of sadness and anger. His jaw clenched, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His eyes weren't looking at you with disgust or pity—just pain. Pain that you couldn't quite understand.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice cracking. You quickly crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover yourself, to hide the ugly truth of what had been done to you.

"Don't apologize," Jay said softly, his voice strained but firm. He crouched lower, his gaze meeting yours. "You don't have to apologize for this. None of this is your fault."

You bit your lip, tears welling in your eyes as you looked away. "It's ugly," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I'm ugly."

"No, you're not," Jay said immediately. "Don't ever say that. Don't ever think that."

Jay begins to open the faucet, filling the tub. You felt his hand gently rest on your shoulder, his touch so light it was almost like a question. "These scars," he continued, his voice softening, "they're not ugly. They're proof that you survived."

You turned back to him, tears spilling over as his words sank in. His gaze didn't waver, didn't falter. There was no judgment in his eyes, only sincerity.

His hands were gentle as he worked, brushing over your skin with careful precision, the towel soaking up water from your arms, your back, every part of you. Each movement was measured, respectful, almost as though he was afraid of breaking you.

The silence was heavy but not uncomfortable. Still, the question burned on your tongue, and before you could stop yourself, you asked, "Why are you helping me?"

Jay froze for the briefest of moments, his hands stilling as he rinsed the washcloth. Then he gently reached for your hair, lathering shampoo between his fingers before carefully massaging it into your scalp.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked softly, his tone calm, but you could hear the edge of emotion beneath it.

You tilted your head slightly, his fingers never missing a beat as they worked through your tangled hair.

"Because... people don't just help without a reason," you muttered, your voice barely audible. "Are you pitying me?"

Jay's hands stilled again, his fingers pausing in your hair. For a moment, you regretted asking, but then he sighed softly, his hands resuming their slow, soothing motions.

"No," he said firmly. "I'm not helping you because I pity you."

"Then why?" you pressed, your voice cracking as the question spilled out of you. "Why are you doing all this? Why do you care?"

Jay rinsed the shampoo from your hair, his hands tilting your head back slightly so the water wouldn't get in your eyes. He stayed silent for a moment, as if he was choosing his words carefully.

"Because you deserve to be cared for," he said finally, his voice almost a whisper.

His words hit you like a punch to the chest. You stared at the tiled wall, unable to respond as your throat tightened and your eyes began to sting.

"I'm not doing this out of pity," Jay continued, his voice soft but insistent. "I'm doing this because I want to."

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling. His words felt foreign, like they didn't belong to you. Like they were meant for someone else, someone who deserved kindness.

"But I'm broken," you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips. "You don't understand. I'm not... I'm not normal."

Jay's hands paused again, and for a moment, you thought he might agree with you. But instead, he leaned forward slightly, his voice so soft it almost didn't reach you.

"Who cares about 'normal'?" he asked gently, smiling at you.

His words made your chest ache, a strange, unfamiliar warmth blooming beneath the pain. You didn't know what to say, so you didn't say anything. Instead, you let him finish rinsing your hair, his touch as careful as ever.

Jay stayed quiet for a moment, his hand gripping the soap, before his soft voice broke the silence. "Let me brush your body, hmm? Are you okay with that?"

You looked up at him, your eyes still glossy from earlier tears. He was smiling, It was softer, almost hesitant, like he was giving you all the space in the world to say no.

For a second, your chest tightened again. But then you wiped at your tears, nodding, a small, watery laugh slipping from your lips. "Yeah, okay."

Jay let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he dipped the soap into the water, creating a soft lather. "You don't need to apologize," he said after a moment.

But you shook your head, tears spilling over again as the words tumbled out. "I'm sorry," you whispered. "For being a burden. For being weak."

But Jay stopped what he was doing, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "Showing vulnerability isn't weakness," he said softly, his voice steady but warm. "Don't say you're a burden when you're not."

You finally looked at him, your breath hitching at the sincerity in his gaze.

You spent almost a month in the hospital, longer than you ever thought you'd stay. There were stretches of time when you were alone, the quiet pressing against you like a heavy blanket.

Jay still had to attend his classes during the day, and you hated how much that relieved you. Being around him, around his patience and kindness, was almost too much to bear. It made the guilt twist deeper into your chest.

But every night, without fail, Jay came back. He'd shuffle in, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his shirt slightly wrinkled, and his face drawn with exhaustion.

No matter how tired he was, he'd sit beside you for a while, asking how your day had been, what you'd eaten, or if you needed anything.

Then, when he couldn't fight the fatigue anymore, he'd curl up on the couch, a thin blanket thrown over him, and fall asleep with his phone still clutched in his hand.

You'd watch him sometimes, your chest tightening at the sight of him.

Jay's mother visited often, breezing into the room with her warm smile and bags full of food. "You need to eat this," she'd say, setting down a steaming dish in front of you. "It'll help your bones."

The next day, it was something new: "This will boost your blood count!" she'd exclaim, watching eagerly as you took hesitant bites.

At first, you forced yourself to eat out of politeness, but slowly, you began to notice things.

You realized you liked gimbap—the way the rice was soft and slightly sweet, the seaweed wrapping it all together. You discovered new juices and found yourself craving strawberry milkshake more than anything else.

Jay's mom always noticed. "Strawberry milkshake, hmm?" she teased one afternoon, her smile playful. "I'll make sure to bring more tomorrow."

The warmth of her attention and care settled uncomfortably in your chest. You didn't know how to handle it, didn't know what to do with the kindness she gave so freely. It was foreign, and it made the guilt inside you grow.

After weeks of lying in bed, your body weak and fragile, the day finally came when you managed to stand on your own two feet. It wasn't easy. Your legs shook, your grip on the metal IV stand so tight your knuckles turned white, but you did it. For a brief moment, you felt a flicker of pride.

But then you looked down at yourself. Your pale, almost sickly skin stretched over your bony frame. Faint bruises marred your knees and legs.

You hated looking at yourself like this—so helpless, so exposed.

Your fingers trembled as you tightened your grip on the IV stand, leaning against it for support. Every movement felt slow and deliberate, like your body was relearning how to move after months of stillness. You shuffled to the calendar pinned on the wall, each step sending a dull ache through your legs, but you pushed through it.

December 13.

You stared at the date, your chest tightening as the weight of it settled on you. Three months. Three months until the Purge.

Your hand instinctively went to your stomach, as if trying to steady the rising wave of anxiety building inside you. You swallowed hard, your throat dry and tight. The memories began creeping in, uninvited, flashing behind your eyes like fragments of a nightmare you could never escape.

You shook your head, closing your eyes to block it out, but it didn't help. The thought was already there, rooting itself firmly in your mind.

You couldn't go back to the same cycle of fear, of waiting for someone to find you, to break you all over again.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to steady your breathing, gripping the IV stand as it was the only thing keeping you upright. You felt caught in between two versions of yourself—the girl who cowered in fear, and the one who had spent months preparing to become something worse.

"You're standing."

The voice startled you, and you turned your head sharply, your grip tightening on the IV stand.

Jay was standing at the doorway, his hand on the handle, staring at you with that familiar wide smile that somehow made the heaviness in the room feel a little lighter.

"My mother said you like strawberry milkshake, so I brought you one," he said, stepping inside and walking toward you, his eyes soft with pride as he glanced at your trembling legs. "Here, let me help."

Before you could say anything, Jay gently took your hand and guided you back to the bed,

"I think I should discharge," you said quietly, the words barely escaping your lips.

Jay blinked, his smile fading slightly. "Why? You're not well yet. Are you thinking about the bills? You shouldn't. I told you, that's already taken care of."

You shook your head, staring at the strawberry milkshake in his hand as he popped the straw into the cup. He handed it to you, the smell of sweet strawberries wafting up and tempting your senses, but you couldn't focus on it.

"The Purge," you said finally, your voice trembling as you gripped the cup tightly, your knuckles turning white. "It's coming again."

Jay froze for a moment, his expression softening as he crouched down in front of you, his eyes level with yours. You could feel his gaze searching your face, waiting for you to continue.

"They... they're coming," you mumbled, your voice breaking. Your chest started to rise and fall rapidly, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. "I don't know what they'll do this time."

Jay reached out instinctively, his hand resting gently on top of yours, steadying the trembling that had begun to spread through your fingers.

"They always find me. No matter where I go. They... they enjoy it. It's a game to them." Jay's jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he listened.

"They won't find you this time," he said firmly, his voice filled with a quiet determination. "I won't let them."

You stared at him, your chest tightening as you tried to find the words to respond. Instead, you looked down at the strawberry milkshake in your hand, the straw still untouched. Slowly, you brought it to your lips, taking a small sip. The sweet, familiar taste spread across your tongue, and for just a moment.

Jay stayed crouched in front of you, his hand still resting lightly on yours as he watched your expression soften just slightly after taking a sip of the strawberry milkshake.

"Y/N," Jay said after a pause, his voice careful.

You glanced at him, your grip tightening slightly around the cup in your hands. "What is it?"

Jay shifted, sitting back on his heels but keeping his gaze level with yours. "Have you ever thought about talking to someone? You know, a therapist? Someone who might be able to help with... everything you've been through."

Your breath hitched, and you stiffened slightly, your shoulders tensing as the words sank in. "I don't need that," you muttered quickly, looking away from him. "I'm fine."

Jay tilted his head slightly, his expression soft but unconvinced. "I don't think you're fine," he said gently, his tone lacking any hint of judgment. "And that's okay. You don't have to be fine. After what you've been through... no one would expect you to be."

Your chest tightened, your fingers digging into the cup as you tried to swallow the lump forming in your throat. "I don't want to talk about it," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "Talking won't change anything. It won't make the memories go away."

"I know," Jay said softly. "It won't erase what happened. But maybe it could help you carry it. You've been carrying all of this alone for so long, Y/N. Maybe it's time to let someone else help."

"I can't," you whispered, shaking your head. "I don't know how to... to say it out loud. I don't even know where I'd start."

Jay's hand tightened slightly on yours, grounding you as he leaned closer. "You don't have to start anywhere specific," he said quietly.

"You just have to take it one step at a time. They won't push you to talk about anything you're not ready for. It's not about fixing everything all at once—it's about helping you find a way to live with it."

You looked at him, your vision blurred by unshed tears, and for a moment, you hated how much his words made sense. You hated how right he was, how kind he was being, how much he cared when you weren't sure you deserved it.

"I don't know," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if I can do it."

Jay nodded, his eyes warm and understanding. "That's okay," he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring.

"You don't have to decide right now," he continued, his hand lightly squeezing yours. "I just want you to know it's an option. And if you ever want to try, I'll be there with you. I'll help you find someone. You don't have to do it alone."

You stared at him, his words settling in your heart like a soft weight. Slowly, you nodded, a small, shy smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you," you whispered,

January came, and you were finally discharged from the hospital. It felt strange being back in the world after so much time spent in bed, but Jay made it easier.

In the weeks after your release, you returned to your small apartment, but more often than not, you found yourself spending your nights at Jay's home.

His mother insisted, always greeting you with a warm smile and asking how you were feeling. "It's better to keep an eye on you," she'd say, ushering you to the dinner table, where she'd pile your plate with food.

You had stopped studying, deciding to focus on working full-time instead. Jay had suggested a restaurant he knew, and before long, you found yourself settling into a routine. The work was tiring, but it kept your mind busy, and slowly, the spark in your eyes began to return.

Your nightmares didn't disappear, but they became easier to bear with Jay by your side. Whenever you woke up crying, shaking from the images that haunted you, he was always there.

"Shhh, it's okay," he'd whisper, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. His chest was warm and steady against your cheek, and his hand would rub soothing circles on your back as he whispered, "I'm here, love. I've got you."

You didn't know where he got his patience. No matter how many times you woke him in the middle of the night, trembling and crying, he never got frustrated. He never made you feel like a burden.

And maybe that's why, before you even realized it, you fell in love with him.

It wasn't a dramatic realization—no grand moment or spark. It was slow and steady, like the warmth he gave you every day. It was in the way he smiled at you, in the way he stayed even when he didn't have to.

You wanted to be better for him. You wanted to be strong—not just for yourself, but for him, too. That's when you decided to take his advice. You were going to try and talk to a therapist.

One evening, you were lying on his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your ear. His hand played idly with your hair, his fingers brushing through the strands like it was second nature. The room was quiet, the only sound coming from the soft hum of the heater, and you felt so at ease it was almost strange.

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him. His eyes were closed, his lips relaxed in a small, peaceful smile. Something about the moment felt so natural, so intimate, that it made your heart swell.

Without really thinking, you leaned closer, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. You felt him shift slightly beneath you, but he didn't stop you. The warmth of his skin was comforting, and before you could second-guess yourself, you pressed a soft kiss to his neck.

You felt his body tense under you, his breath hitching ever so slightly. His fingers froze in your hair, and for a moment, you thought you'd made a mistake.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice low and shaky, like he wasn't sure what to say.

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his wide eyes, your cheeks burning. "I—" you started, but the words caught in your throat.

Jay's lips parted, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips.

You bit your lip, "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His expression softened immediately, his fingers brushing your cheek. "Don't be," he said gently. "Just... tell me. Is this what you want?"

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding again. "Yes," you breathed, your voice trembling.

Jay's hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your lips were just a breath apart. "Me too," he whispered, and then he kissed you.

It was soft, tentative at first, like he was afraid of breaking the moment, but when you kissed him back, his grip on you tightened slightly, his lips pressing more firmly against yours.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling the back of your head.

Your tongue traced a slow, deliberate line down to his neck, and when you sucked gently at the sensitive skin there, he groaned, low and deep, the sound sending a rush of heat through you.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice shaky as his hands found their way to your waist. You grabbed them, guiding them more firmly against your body as you shifted, straddling his lap.

Jay's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his gaze darkened, his lips parting slightly as you leaned down to kiss him again. This time, the kiss wasn't soft —it was full of need, your lips moving hungrily against his as your hips rolled against him.

You gasped into his mouth, the heat pooling low in your stomach as you felt the tension building between you. Your breath came in heavy pants as you pulled back just enough to whisper, "I love you."

Jay's hands slid under your clothes, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your waist. His touch was warm.

"I love you," he said back, his voice low and full of something raw, his head tilting back slightly as your movements sent a shiver through him.

You didn't stop. Your hips pressed into him again, a slow, deliberate grind that made him bite back a groan, his head falling back further as his grip on your waist tightened. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his breath coming out in a shaky exhale.

His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, pausing as his eyes met yours again. "Can I?" he asked softly, his voice laced with tenderness.

You nodded, your heart racing as he carefully lifted the shirt over your head. His eyes roamed over you, taking in every inch of exposed skin, and you felt a familiar pang of self-consciousness.

You instinctively moved to cover yourself, your arms wrapping around your torso, but Jay stopped you gently, his hands warm and steady as they held yours.

"Don't hide," he whispered, his voice so soft it made your chest ache. "Please don't hide from me."

Your breath hitched as his hands released yours, moving slowly to trace the lines of one of the scars on your shoulder. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the scar on your shoulder, the gesture so tender it sent a jolt through your entire body.

He kissed it again, slower this time, before moving to another scar on your arm, his lips lingering as if to erase the pain it carried.

You couldn't stop the tears that spilled over, your hands trembling as they clutched at his shoulders. "Jay..." you whispered, your voice cracking.

"I see you," he murmured against your skin, his hands steady as they held your waist. "I see all of you, and I love every part of you."

His lips brushed against the scar on your collarbone, then another on your ribs, each kiss more deliberate than the last.

Jay's eyes softened as he whispered, "You're so beautiful, I love you."

The sincerity in his words made your heart race, your breath catching in your throat. You didn't know how to respond, your chest tightening with emotions too overwhelming to name. Instead, you leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that spoke all the words you couldn't say.

His hands slid up your back, his touch firm yet tender as he pulled you closer, your bodies pressing together. The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, his lips moving against yours with a passion that sent heat coursing through your veins.

Then, with a flick of his fingers, you felt the clasp of your bra come undone. The cool air brushed against your skin.

A soft moan escaped your lips as his hand cupped your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, teasing and flicking it in a way that made your back arch involuntarily. Jay groaned against your mouth, the sound low and deep, sending a wave of desire pooling low in your stomach.

He gently guided you to lay down, his lips never leaving yours until he moved to your jawline, then your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses in his wake.

He stopped at your left breast, his warm breath ghosting over your skin before he wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking gently.

The sensation made you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arched into him. His tongue flicked over the sensitive peak, sending jolts of pleasure through your body, while his right hand gripped your other breast, kneading it with just the right amount of pressure.

You let your head fall back, lost in the feeling, soft moans spilling from your lips as your body responded to his every touch. His name escaped your lips like a prayer, and he hummed against your skin, the vibrations adding to the heat building within you.

Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, his right hand began to travel lower. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, and you felt his touch move in slow, deliberate circles.

A gasp tore from your throat as his fingers teased you, his touch light but enough to make your hips lift in desperation. "Jay," you breathed, your voice trembling with need, your body aching for more.

"You're so perfect," he murmured, his voice rough and heavy with desire. His lips returned to yours, as his fingers continued their slow, torturous motion, building a fire within you that you couldn't extinguish.

When his finger slowly slid inside you, your breath hitched, your chest pressing into his as you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck. The sensation was overwhelming, every nerve in your body alive with heat as he moved inside you, testing your limits.

Jay's forehead rested against yours, his breath heavy and warm against your lips. "I'm going to add another one, baby," he said, his voice low and filled with lust. "Can you take it?"

You nodded quickly, your hands clutching at him, your voice trembling as you whispered, "I can take it for you."

He groaned at your words, his jaw tightening as he stared at you with darkened eyes. "Fuck, don't say stuff like that," he muttered, his voice almost a growl.

Without wasting another second, he slid a second finger inside you, stretching you in a way that made your back arch. The pace of his movements quickened, the slick sound of his fingers filling the room as your walls clenched around him. The pleasure built fast, sharp and electric, making your breath come out in broken gasps.

Jay leaned down, his lips trailing along your collarbone, then down to your chest again. His mouth latched onto your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple, adding another layer of sensation that made your head spin.

"Jay," you whimpered, your hips moving on their own, grinding into his hand as his fingers curled inside you, hitting a spot that made stars explode behind your eyes.

"You're so good," he murmured against your skin, his free hand gripping your waist to keep you steady as his mouth moved between your breasts, leaving heated kisses in his wake.

"I'm gonna cum," you whined, your voice high and desperate as the pressure in your stomach coiled tighter and tighter.

Jay didn't let up. His tongue teased your nipple, licking it in slow, deliberate strokes that made you shudder, while his thumb suddenly found your clit, pressing and rubbing it in perfect rhythm with his fingers.

The combination was too much. Your body shaking uncontrollably as the pleasure crashed over you in waves. "Jay!" you sobbed, your hips lifting off the bed as your orgasm hit, leaving you trembling and breathless beneath him.

He didn't stop right away, his fingers and thumb slowing just enough to help you ride out the high, his lips never leaving your skin. "That's it," he whispered, his voice full of pride and adoration. "You're so beautiful like this."

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. When his fingers finally slipped out of you, you whimpered softly, feeling the loss of his touch.

Jay kissed your forehead gently, his hands soothing over your sides as he pulled you into his arms, holding you close against his chest. "I've got you," he murmured, his voice soft again, filled with affection. "I've got you."

"I was preparing for the Purge this year," you said quietly, staring at your hands instead of your therapist, Ms. Jisoo.

"A self-defense plan, or something more?" she asked gently. There was no judgment in her voice, just calm curiosity.

"Something more," you admitted, biting your lip as your fingers fidgeted in your lap.

Ms. Jisoo nodded softly, giving you space to speak. "Do you still think about it now, after falling in love?"

You paused, her question lingering in your mind. "I don't know," you said after a moment. "I've been so focused on him... on how he makes me feel. The only thing I know for sure is I want to be a better person for him. Not... this."

You hesitated, your voice trembling. "Not some mentally unstable girl who can't even sleep through the night without waking up screaming."

Your chest tightened as the words left you, the guilt clawing at your throat.

Ms. Jisoo leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle and steady. "Wanting to heal for someone you love is a wonderful thing, Y/N. But it's okay to want to heal for yourself too. That doesn't make you weak, and it doesn't mean there's something wrong with you."

Her words softened something in your chest, but the guilt was still there, heavy and sharp. You bit your lip harder, tears welling in your eyes.

"D-Do you think I'm a monster?" you asked suddenly, your voice breaking. "For thinking about purging this year? For even wanting it?" You finally looked up at her, tears spilling as you waited for the answer you feared most.

Ms. Jisoo's expression stayed calm, warm, and understanding. "You're not a monster," she said gently, her voice soft as she stares at you.

"You're someone who's been hurt. Someone who's been through things no one should ever have to experience. It's okay to feel angry. It's okay to feel hate. Those feelings don't make you a monster. They make you human."

"But they feel so wrong," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "Wanting it feels wrong."

"They're not wrong or right," she said softly. "They're just feelings."

You sniffled, wiping at your face with trembling hands, but her words didn't fully settle the storm inside you. After a moment, you looked back at her, hesitating before asking the question that had been on your mind for so long.

"Do you... agree with the Purge?"

Ms. Jisoo blinked, caught off guard by the question. She leaned back slightly, her hands folding in her lap as she thought about her answer.

"No," she said after a moment, "I don't. I don't think violence solves anything. And I don't think people should have the right to hurt others, no matter what the law says. The Purge... it brings out the worst in people. It allows fear and hate to fester. And I've seen how much it hurts people—people like you."

Her gaze softened, and she leaned forward slightly, her tone quiet. "But I also understand why you feel the way you do. The Purge forces people to live in fear, to carry anger and pain that they shouldn't have to carry. It's normal to feel conflicted. It's normal to feel angry."

You swallowed hard, her words sinking into you like drops of water on dry ground. "So... I'm not wrong for feeling like this?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"No," she said firmly. "You're not wrong. You're human, Y/N. And humans feel messy, complicated things. There's no shame in that."

You nodded slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what to do with myself. I keep thinking and thinking about what I should do to live freely... but nothing feels right."

Ms. Jisoo smiled gently, her expression steady and reassuring. "It's okay to feel lost, Y/N. Healing doesn't come with a map or a timeline. But you're taking steps forward, even if they're small. Just keep going. You'll find your way."

By the middle of February, your days had settled into a rhythm. You managed your job at the restaurant, worked through your therapy sessions every week, and spent most of your free time with Jay and his mother.

Their home felt warm, almost like a haven, and you found yourself doing small things to show your gratitude—buying Jay his favorite snacks, surprising his mom with flowers or something she'd mentioned in passing.

They never expected anything in return for their kindness, but doing those little things made you feel like you were giving back in some small way.

One evening, the restaurant was hosting a group of high-class businesspeople who had reserved the entire dining area. The room buzzed with laughter and chatter, the expensive suits and gleaming jewelry making you feel out of place as you carried trays of food to their table.

As you placed the dishes on the table, your eyes drifted to a middle-aged blonde woman sitting at the center. Her hair was perfectly styled, her tailored suit fitting her like it had been made just for her. She held a glass of wine delicately, twirling it in her hand as she laughed with the others.

Your breath hitched.

A memory slammed into you with the force of a freight train.

Gunshots. Screams. Blood splattered across the ground. You could see the flash of a machete. Hear the sound of a head rolling across the dirt. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your throat tightening as the room spun around you. The scar on your arm felt like it was burning.

"Excuse me?" a man's voice pulled you back to reality, his tone polite but firm. "Do you need anything else?"

You blinked, your breath still shaky as you tried to steady yourself. The blonde woman's laughter had faded, and now she was looking at you, her piercing eyes sharp and almost bored, like she was trying to place where she'd seen you before.

You struggled to keep your hands from trembling as you clutched the tray tighter. "I-I'm fine," you stammered, inhaling deeply to keep your composure.

But it didn't help when one of the other women at the table—a brunette with diamond earrings—reached for your arm, pushing up your sleeve to reveal the long scar that ran down the length of it.

"God," the woman said, her voice dripping with disgust. "What a nasty scar you have." Her fingers brushed the raised tissue, making you flinch involuntarily. "How'd you even get this?"

You froze, the room seeming to go quiet as her words echoed in your ears. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think. You wanted to rip your arm away, but your body felt paralyzed, like you were trapped in that night all over again.

And then, you heard yourself asking, "Are you Ms. Wilson?"

The words felt foreign on your tongue, your voice shaky as you stared at the blonde woman.

She raised an eyebrow at you, her expression amused. "Yes, why?" she asked, taking another sip of her wine. "Do I know you?"

You almost laughed. Of course, she didn't remember. People like her never did.

Your grip on the tray tightened, your knuckles white as your mind raced. You remembered her now—her face, her voice, the way she had smiled behind the mask as she watched you and the others run for your lives.

And she didn't even remember you.

"No," you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. "You don't."

Her head tilted slightly, her sharp eyes narrowing as if she were trying to place you, but after a moment, she simply shrugged and turned back to her companions, already dismissing you from her mind.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your nails digging into the tray as you tried to contain the rage bubbling up inside you.

You turned on your heel, your legs trembling with each step as you left the dining area. The walls of the restaurant seemed to close in, the air thick and suffocating.

Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps as you pushed through the kitchen doors, your tray clattering loudly onto the counter.

Gripping the edge of the counter, your knuckles turned white as you stared down at the cold, stainless steel surface. You willed yourself to calm down, to pull it together, but your heart was racing, your chest heaving as the memories refused to let you go.

You muttered something about not feeling well to your manager, barely hearing his reply as you left the restaurant.

You didn't go to Jay's home like you usually did. Instead, you walked to your own apartment, your feet moving automatically, your head swirling with thoughts you couldn't control.

When you finally closed the door behind you, something inside you broke. You let out a scream, raw and primal, nails digging into your throat as if you could claw the pain away. Tears streamed down your face, hot and endless, blurring your vision as sob after sob wracked your body.

You stumbled to the target board you had set up on the wall—the one you used for practice, for preparation—and grabbed a knife. With a sharp, angry cry, you hurled it at the board. It hit the target right in the head.

You screamed again, louder this time, grabbing anything within reach and throwing it across the room. A glass shattered against the wall. A stack of books tumbled to the floor. You didn't care.

When you finally collapsed onto your bed, your body was trembling, your chest heaving as you cried into the pillow. The tears wouldn't stop, your sobs loud and broken as you curled into yourself, trying to escape the weight pressing down on you.

At some point, exhaustion took over, and you fell asleep, your face damp with tears.

You jolted awake when the bed shifted beneath you. Your heart leapt into your throat, your body tensing instinctively, but then you saw him—Jay, sitting beside you, his worried eyes scanning your face.

"You didn't come home," he said softly, his voice full of concern.

"I was worried. Your manager said you took an early leave." He reached for your hand, holding it gently as his thumb brushed over your knuckles. "Did something happen?"

His voice was so calm, so steady, and it only made your tears resurface. You watched him lift your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your fingertips. The tenderness in his actions broke you all over again.

Your eyes watered, and before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as you cried. Your sobs were muffled against the fabric of his shirt, but he didn't say anything—he just held you, his arms wrapping around you tightly, protectively.

"It will never go away," you choked out between sobs, your voice muffled against his chest. "I don't know how to heal when this Purge still fucking exists."

Jay tightened his hold on you, his hand moving to the back of your head as he gently stroked your hair.

"I'm so sorry," you cried, your voice breaking. "For always being like this."

"Shh," he murmured softly, pulling you into his lap. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close. "You don't have to apologize, love. Don't ever apologize for how you feel."

You buried your face in his shoulder, shaking your head. The words of comfort should've helped, but all they did was amplify the storm inside you.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Jay asked, his voice low and patient.

You shook your head, gripping him tighter. You couldn't bring yourself to say it. Not now. Not yet.

He didn't push. He just held you, his hand running up and down your back as you cried into him.

And then, as the room grew quieter, your emotions spilled into something else. The ache in your chest shifted, giving way to a deeper, more desperate need—the need to feel alive, to feel connected, to escape the weight of your mind, even if only for a moment.

Your lips found his, and he kissed you back without hesitation, his hands tightening around your waist. The kiss was slow at first, gentle, but soon it grew hungry, fueled by the raw emotion lingering in the air.

It wasn't long before your knees dug into the mattress, your body arching beneath him as he moved inside you. The pain and weight of your emotions blurred into the pleasure of his touch, every thrust sending a wave of heat through your body.

"A-ah! Fuck, slow down!" you gasped as he hit a spot inside you that made your toes curl.

"Felt so good," Jay groaned, his breath hot against your ear as his body pressed flush against yours. His lips found the nape of your neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses as his fingers kneaded your breasts, sending sparks of sensation through you.

You threw your head back, your arms giving out beneath you as he pressed deeper. "Jay," you whimpered, his name tumbling from your lips as your body trembled with every movement.

"Love you," he groaned, his voice rough with desperation. "Fuck, a-ah, I'm gonna cum."

"Inside me, please," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper, but he heard you.

Jay's body fell against yours as he pushed deeper, his breath hitching as his release overtook him. The feeling of him filling you pushed you over the edge, your orgasm crashing into you so intensely that tears pricked your eyes.

Your cries of overstimulation mixed with his groans, his hips moving in small, desperate thrusts as he fill inside you. Finally, he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

His lips pressed soft kisses along your forehead and temple, his hand trailing to your stomach, where his fingers traced gentle patterns on your skin.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice so full of sincerity that it made your chest ache.

You turned your head, catching his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. He kissed you back, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

"Spend the Purge at our house," he said after a moment, his forehead resting against yours. "You'll be safe there. I'll protect you. I promise."

His words should have comforted you. They should have been enough. But as you stared into his eyes, full of love and hope, you felt your chest tighten.

Because no matter what Jay did to protect you, no matter how much healing you tried to find, there was one truth you couldn't ignore.

No matter how hard you fought it, no matter how much you loved him, you're still broken, and lost.

March 21, 3:00 PM

You wiped the tables methodically, trying to focus on the task, but the air in the restaurant was tense. All eyes were glued to the TV mounted on the wall, where the announcement of the Annual Purge was being broadcast. The monotone voice of the announcer echoed through the room, describing the rules and restrictions for the night.

Your manager came up to you, his voice urgent. "Hey, take an early leave. Go home and get ready. You shouldn't be out when the sirens start."

You nodded, offering him a faint smile. "Thanks, I'll head out soon."

After finishing up and helping close the restaurant, you walked back to your apartment. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the streets. As you set up a small barricade in your apartment—nothing fancy, just furniture pressed against the windows and doors—you heard a car honk outside.

Peeking out, you saw Jay leaning casually against his car, waiting for you with that familiar warm smile.

You felt a wave of comfort wash over you at the sight of him. Smiling back, you hurried outside, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"Let's go home?" he asked, his voice calm and full of care.

You hesitated, glancing back at your apartment. "I need to grab a few things first," you said.

Jay nodded easily. "Of course. Take your time."

After changing out of your work uniform, you slipped into a white off-shoulder dress that reached your knees—something simple yet elegant. You'd never worn it before, and even the soft fabric against your skin felt foreign. Paired with Mary Jane shoes and a pair of cute white socks.

When you stepped into Jay's car, he looked up at you, his eyes widening slightly. "Wow," he murmured, his gaze softening. "You look beautiful."

You felt your cheeks warm as he leaned in, holding your jaw gently and pecking your lips. "What's with the outfit today?" he teased, laughing lightly.

You smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I just thought... maybe I'd wear something different. Something nice."

Jay laughed again, his hand reaching out toward your thigh, but you subtly redirected it, placing it over yours instead. He didn't seem to mind, intertwining his fingers with yours as his other hand rested on the steering wheel.

March 21, 4:30 PM

The house was buzzing with noise by the time you arrived. From the top of the stairs, you peeked down and saw six boys piling in through the entrance, bags slung over their shoulders as they greeted Jay's mother.

"Oh, it's Jay's friends!" his mother exclaimed warmly, hugging them one by one.

You recognized Ni-ki and Sunoo, the only ones you'd met before. The rest were strangers to you, their confident voices filling the house as they exchanged jokes and pleasantries.

"Hi, Mrs. Park! I hope you don't mind if we spend the Purge here at your house!" said a tall man with an easy smile.

"No problem, Heesung," Jay's mother replied, her voice full of affection. "What about your parents and sisters?"

"They're at a party," another boy replied casually. "Some politician's mansion. They love that kind of thing."

Your breath hitched, the words hitting a nerve.

What a nice life to be rich, you thought bitterly.

"Hey," Jay's voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to see him standing beside you, his brow furrowed slightly. "Are you okay?"

You forced a smile, one you'd perfected over the years. "Yeah, I'm fine. Your friends are downstairs."

Jay studied you for a moment longer, but then he smiled, intertwining his hand with yours as he led you down the stairs.

The boys were loud and full of energy, laughing and teasing each other as they set their bags down and unpacked their things. Jay's mother fussed over them, offering snacks and asking about their families.

"This is Y/N, my girlfriend," Jay announced proudly, pulling you close by your waist.

The room fell quiet for a brief moment, and you could feel their gazes on you.

"Oh my God, you're a thing now?" Jay's mother gasped, her hands clasped over her mouth.

"Isn't it obvious?" Jay replied with a laugh.

One of the boys stepped forward, introducing himself. "Hi, Y/N! I'm Heesung. This is Jake, Sunghoon, and Jungwon. I guess you already know Ni-ki and Sunoo."

You offered a polite smile, nodding as they all greeted you.

As the evening went on, you stayed mostly quiet, helping Jay's mother prepare food while the boys joked around. Jay noticed your silence, slipping his arms around your waist from behind as you worked in the kitchen.

"Hey," he murmured against your ear. "You're safe, okay? You don't need to worry."

You turned to look at him, your heart heavy with emotions you couldn't express. "I love you," you said softly, staring into his eyes.

Jay smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips. "I love you more," he replied, glancing at his watch. "It's already 6:30. I need to barricade the house."

You nodded, watching as he started to walk away. Then, impulsively, you called out, "Jay."

He turned back, his eyes soft. "Hmm?"

Walking up to him, you wrapped your arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. His hands found your face, gently brushing his thumb across your cheek as he looked at you with worry. "Are you anxious, baby?" he asked softly.

"No," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "I just wanted to say I love you again."

Jay let out a soft laugh, leaning down to kiss you. "Love, I'm just barricading the house, not purging." He kissed your forehead tenderly, his lips lingering for a moment. "Now, let me lock everything down so we'll be safe, okay?"

You nodded, stepping back reluctantly as he disappeared toward the storage room.

Jay walked through the dim hallway leading to the storage room when he heard footsteps behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Sunghoon catching up to him, a casual smirk on his face as he slung an arm around Jay's shoulder.

"Yo, bro," Sunghoon said casually, falling into step beside him. "No offense but, you sure about that girl?"

Jay frowned, shrugging off Sunghoon's arm. "Why? What are you talking about?"

Sunghoon shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "She just... seems like a lot. I mean, no offense, but she looks like she's difficult to handle."

Jay's brows furrowed deeper, his steps slowing as he turned to face Sunghoon. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Look, we care about you," Sunghoon said, raising his hands as if to calm him. "Have you seen her scars? Her face? She's clearly been through some shit. Is she even healed from all that?"

Jay's jaw tightened, his teeth clenching as anger flared in his chest. He stepped closer to Sunghoon, his voice low and dangerous. "Watch your mouth."

"Chill, man, I'm just saying." Sunghoon grabbed Jay's arm in an attempt to reason with him. "That girl's got baggage, and I'm telling you, she's going to be a lot of problems for you. She's not stable, bro. You can't tell me you haven't noticed."

Jay didn't let him finish. His hand shot out, grabbing Sunghoon by the collar and shoving him back against the wall. "Say another word, and I swear I'll make you regret it," he growled, his voice dripping with rage.

Sunghoon's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't back down. "I'm trying to look out for you, Jay," he said, his tone firm. "You're my friend. I don't want you getting hurt."

Jay released him with a sharp shove, his chest heaving as he tried to control his temper. "Don't ever talk about her like that again," he said coldly, his eyes burning with anger. "You don't know a damn thing about her."

He turned on his heel, ignoring Sunghoon as he walked into the storage room. His hands trembled slightly as he pressed the button to activate the lockdown. The sound of metal walls sliding into place filled the air, sealing the house and cutting off the world outside.

"Jay, listen to me," Sunghoon said, his voice following him into the room. "I'm serious. There's something off about her. Just think about it, man."

Jay didn't respond. He slammed the door shut behind him, shutting Sunghoon out both literally and figuratively.

Returning to the living room, Jay found the rest of his friends lounging on the couches, laughing and exchanging stories. His mother was tidying up nearby, a small smile on her face as she listened to their chatter.

"Where's Y/N?" Jay asked, his eyes scanning the room.

"I think she went to your room," Ni-ki said, glancing up from his phone. "She said she wanted to sleep early."

Jay nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. But before he could take another step, Sunghoon appeared at his side again.

"Man, I'm trying to talk to you," Sunghoon said, his voice laced with frustration.

Jay's patience snapped. Without thinking, he turned and landed a punch squarely on Sunghoon's jaw, sending him stumbling backward.

The room fell silent as the others jumped to their feet.

"Jay! What the hell are you doing?!" Jake shouted, stepping between them.

"I'm just trying to give him advice about his girlfriend!" Sunghoon snapped, holding his jaw as he glared at Jay.

"Are you seriously saying that fucking nonsense while my girlfriend is in this house?!" he shouted. "How dare you even say that shit in front of me?!"

Sunghoon raised his hands in defense, but Jay wasn't done. He stepped closer, pointing a finger at him. "You've known her for, what, an hour? And you think you have the right to judge her? To judge us? Fuck you, Sunghoon!"

"Jay, calm down," Heesung said cautiously, stepping between the two of them with his hands outstretched, but Jay wasn't having it.

"You don't get to judge her just because of what you think you see!" Jay growled, his voice trembling with anger. He shoved Heesung and Jake off as they tried to hold him back.

"Get the fuck off me!" he barked, storming out of the living room. His footsteps pounded against the floor as he made his way up the stairs, leaving everyone behind in stunned silence.

Jay climbed the stairs two at a time, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. He pulled out his phone, swiping through his notifications until he found a message from Dr. Jisoo that he had missed earlier.

Dr. Jisoo: Good afternoon, Mr. Park. I just wanted to check in on Y/N since she's missed her last three sessions. Please keep an eye on her, especially today—it's a particularly triggering event for her. Thank you.

Jay felt a wave of dread wash over him, his heart sinking into his stomach. He quickened his pace, practically sprinting to his bedroom.

"Y/N?" he called, pushing the door open.

But the room was empty.

Panic set in as he checked the bathroom, the closet, all of the room, even under the bed, but you were nowhere to be found.

He bolted back down the stairs, his voice frantic as he called out for you. "Y/N?! Where are you?!"

His mother stepped into the hallway, her face pale with worry. "What's wrong, Jay?"

"She's gone," he said, his voice shaking. "Did anyone see her leave?!"

Everyone in the living room exchanged confused looks, shrugging helplessly.

"Y/N?!" Jay shouted again, his voice echoing through the house.

Jay froze as the broadcast echoed through the house, the robotic voice chilling him to the bone.

"This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by the U.S Government.

Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed.

Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning, until 7 a.m., when the Purge concludes.

Blessed by our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn. May God be with you all."

The final words echoed in his ears as the sirens blared, signaling the start of the Purge.

His heart pounded, his chest tight as he pieced everything together. The missed therapy sessions, how quiet you had been all day, the way you hugged him like it might be the last time.

You weren't in the house.

You were out there.

Jay turned on his heel and sprinted to the storage room, his mind racing as panic surged through him.

He yanked open his closet, grabbing the bag he had packed weeks ago—just in case. Inside were the essentials: a shotgun, a pistol, extra ammunition, and a knife. He tossed the bag over his shoulder, his hands trembling as he loaded the pistol, cocking it with precision.

"Jay, what are you doing?!" his mother cried, standing at the door with tears streaming down her face.

"Unlock the barricade and lock it again after I leave," he said coldly, his voice devoid of the warmth she was used to.

"Jay, you can't! It's dangerous out there!" she pleaded, stepping closer.

"Unlock it!" he snapped, his voice sharp, though his eyes betrayed his inner turmoil. "Please, Mom. I have to go."

"No," Sunghoon interrupted, stepping forward and grabbing Jay's arm. "You're not thinking straight. She left, Jay. She chose to go out there—"

Jay swatted his hand away, pointing the pistol directly at Sunghoon's head. The room went silent.

"Jay!" Heesung shouted, stepping forward.

"Come any closer, and I'll blow his fucking head off," Jay growled, his jaw tightening as his finger hovered near the trigger. "You don't get to stop me. None of you do."

Sunghoon raised his hands slowly, his expression shifting to one of caution. "Alright, man. Just... relax, okay? I'm just trying to—"

"Shut up," Jay hissed, the tension in his body radiating outward. His voice lowered, trembling slightly. "I told you to stay out of this. She's out there, and I'm going to find her."

He turned his gaze to Ni-ki, who was frozen near the security console. "Ni-ki," Jay said firmly. "Unlock the barricade. Now."

Ni-ki hesitated, looking at Jungwon and Jake for guidance, but neither said anything. With a shaky hand, Ni-ki pressed the button, and the sound of the metal walls lifting reverberated through the house.

"Jay, please," his mother sobbed, grabbing his arm as he stepped toward the door.

Jay paused, his resolve faltering for just a moment as he looked at her. "I'm sorry," he said softly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "But I can't stay here knowing she's out there."

Tears streamed down her face as she nodded, her voice trembling. "I understand, be safe. Please."

"I will," Jay said, stepping out the door. "Lock it the second I'm gone."

The metal walls began to descend behind him as he walked to his car, his mind racing with questions. Where could you have gone? Why didn't you tell him? Were you safe? Were you scared?

Sliding into the driver's seat, he tossed the bag into the passenger side and gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. His eyes scanned the darkened streets, the occasional scream or gunshot in the distance reminding him of the stakes.

Without hesitation, he pressed the gas pedal.

You walk slowly down an unfamiliar road, your steps unsteady. You just keep walking and walking, unsure of where you're going or why. You don't understand yourself anymore. You thought everything was finally okay. What more could you ask for?

You have a loving boyfriend who always tries to make you smile. His mother cares for you like her own. You eat three meals a day. You're seeing a therapist. And you even have a safe place to hide on Purge Night.

So why do you feel like this?

Why do you feel so broken when you should feel whole?

Why are you out here, in the middle of the street, on the most dangerous night of the year, with just a knife strapped under your dress?

You wonder if Jay has noticed you're gone. He probably has by now. Your chest tightens at the thought of him pacing back and forth, calling your name.

Your lifeless eyes stare ahead as you walk deeper into the quiet street. It's so still, unnaturally still. No trucks rumbling down the road. No gangs or masked figures in sight.

"Kill me already!" you scream into the emptiness. Your voice echoes down the road, but there's no answer. Not a single sniper or purger takes the bait.

Then, a distant cry catches your ear—a plea for help. You turn toward the sound and walk toward it, your grip tightening on the handle of the knife hidden beneath your dress.

As you approach, you see a young girl sprinting toward you, clutching her bleeding waist. Four people in masks are chasing her, laughing like it's some sick game.

"Man, we just want to purge!" one of them—a woman—cackles. That laugh—it burrows into your memory like a needle.

The girl stumbles, and when her eyes meet yours, there's desperation written all over them. She collapses at your feet, her blood soaking through your white dress as she clings to you.

"Please... help me," she gasps.

Her words are cut off by a gunshot. Blood splatters across your face as a hole appears in her forehead. Her body falls limp, her grip on your dress loosening.

"My fucking soul feels cleansed!" the woman says with a twisted laugh. The others laugh with her, like a pack of hyenas.

"Up next—" the woman starts, raising her pistol toward you.

But you're faster.

In one fluid motion, you pull out your knife and hurl it at her. It pierces through her mask and into her skull. She drops instantly, blood dripping from the blade.

The remaining three hesitate, stunned. That's all the time you need. You yank the knife from the dead woman's head and dash toward the others, slicing the nearest one's throat in a clean arc.

The man in the joker mask fumbles for his gun, but you grab the dead body beside you, using it as a shield. Then, you throw the knife again, this time hitting his chest.

He stumbles back, gasping for air, as you snatch his gun from his weakening grip. Before he can even hit the ground, you fire a shot straight into his skull.

Now, there's only one left.

The last purger, wearing a cat mask, drops to his knees and pulls the mask off, revealing a trembling man. He raises his hands in surrender, tears streaming down his face.

"P-please... spare me. I-I just wanted to purge this year," he stammers, his voice cracking.

You glare at him, the weight of your actions and emotions swirling inside you.

"How many innocent people have you killed in all the purges you've been a part of?" you ask, your tone icy.

His lip quivers. "P-probably 70—"

Before he can finish, you pull the trigger.

The gunshot echoes through the street as he collapses, lifeless.

Silence fills the street once more as you stand there, your white dress soaked in blood, surrounded by bodies. You don't know how long you've been standing there, staring at the carnage.

Then, it happens.

A soft laugh escapes your lips. It bubbles up from your throat, quiet at first, but it grows louder, sharper, until it echoes down the empty street. It's not a happy laugh. It's hollow, bitter, unhinged.

You bring a hand to your face, your fingers brushing against the blood splattered across your skin.

You really have lost yourself, haven't you? Or, did you found it now?

You hate the Purge. You hate the monsters it creates. You hate the people who thrive on it, the ones who laugh, who kill, who hurt.

So why are you here, in the middle of the night, doing the exact same thing?

Tears prick at your eyes, but they don't fall. You just stand there, your shoulders trembling as the weight of everything presses down on you. You feel nothing. And that terrifies you most of all.

You crouch down, wiping your knife on the dead woman's clothes, smearing blood across the fabric.

Your hands tremble slightly, it's not fear—it's something else. A quiet storm you can't name.

Once the blade gleams clean, you tuck it back into the thigh strap beneath your dress. Grabbing the fallen gun, you check the chamber and reload it. The satisfying click of the cocked weapon echoes as you straighten up and continue walking.

The street stretches ahead, eerily quiet except for the distant sounds of chaos—gunshots, screams, and the occasional rumble of an engine.

Three figures suddenly sprint toward you from the shadows. They glance at you, wide-eyed, as they pass by, their faces pale with fear.

Ahead of you, three figures suddenly appear from the shadows. Their faces are pale with fear as they sprint past you. One of them—a panicked old man—stumbles and grabs your arm, his grip shaky.

"Miss, don't go that way!" he says, his voice hoarse and desperate. "That group's rounding people up—they're psychos!"

His words barely register. Your gaze drifts past him, toward the direction he came from. A cold calm washes over you as he keeps tugging at your arm, pleading.

A large truck screeches to a halt in front of you, its headlights blinding. The old man panics, letting go of your arm and bolting down the road. He doesn't get far. A sharp crack rings out, and he collapses mid-stride, a bullet tearing through his back.

You don't flinch.

The truck door swings open, and several masked figures step out.

One of them grabs your arm, yanking it behind your back as another snatches the gun from your hand.

"Blessed be the New Founding Fathers of America," one of them says, leaning close to your face.

You smile. Not a kind smile—a bitter one. "Blessed be them," you whisper back.

Then, without warning, you jerk your head forward, slamming it into the man's nose. He stumbles back with a grunt of pain, clutching his face as blood pours through his fingers.

Before the others can react, you twist your arm free and yank your knife from its strap. The blade flashes in the dim light as you slice upward, catching one of them in the throat. They gargle and drop to their knees, clutching at the wound.

Another lunges at you, swinging a metal pipe. You duck under the blow, driving the knife into his ribs. He gasps, his body jolting as you twist the blade, blood spraying onto your dress.

You scream—whether it's from rage or something deeper, you're not sure.

The sound rips from your throat as you yank the knife free and stab again, and again, and again, until his body goes limp.

Behind you, the first man—the one whose nose you broke—recovers quickly. He raises his gun, aiming it directly at your back.

You're too focused, too lost in the heat of the moment to notice him.

The loud crack of gunfire fills the air, but it doesn't come from his weapon.

The man's body jerks violently as a burst of bullets tears through him, and he collapses to the ground, lifeless.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you spin around.

Your wide eyes locking onto the figure standing behind him.

"Jay," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He steps forward slowly, his shotgun still in hand. His expression is unreadable, his eyes flicking over the bodies surrounding you before settling on you.

You brace yourself for the anger you expect to see in his face. For him to yell at you, demand answers, maybe even tell you he's done with you.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he stops in front of you, his gaze softening as he raises a hand to your face. His thumb brushes gently across your cheek, wiping away the streaks of blood smeared there.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice full of worry. "Are you hurt?"

You can't speak. Your lips tremble as tears blur your vision. Slowly, your hand rises to hold his against your cheek.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, his voice heavy with guilt. "I'm sorry for not noticing sooner that you weren't okay. I should've known."

His words hit you like a punch to the chest, and you shake your head, your tears spilling over. "W-what are you doing here?" you manage to say, your voice shaking. "It's dangerous."

Jay smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I could say the same thing to you, love," he murmurs, pulling you into a warm, protective embrace.

His arms wrap around you tightly, holding you like he's afraid to let go. You bury your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt.

"I can't let my girl be out here alone on Purge Night," he whispers into your hair.

You pull back slightly, looking up at him, your smile shaky and uncertain. "Y-you're not angry?"

Jay shakes his head slowly, his warm hand cupping your face as if to anchor you. "No, baby. I'm not angry," he says softly.

Your lips tremble, the guilt clawing its way up your throat as you look into his eyes. "I... I'm a monster, Jay. Look at what I did," you whisper, your voice cracking.

His thumb gently strokes your cheek, his gaze never leaving yours. There's no judgment there, no fear—just a quiet understanding that makes your chest ache.

"I don't think I'm normal anymore, Jay," you say, your voice barely audible as tears spill freely down your face. "I don't even know what I'm feeling right now. I don't know who I am anymore."

You start to sob, the raw emotion pouring out of you like a dam breaking. Jay leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his other hand sliding to the back of your neck to hold you steady.

"I love you," he whispers into the space between you. "No matter what. No matter what you've done, no matter what you want to do... I love you."

His words hit you like a wave, and your sobs come harder, your body trembling in his arms.

"You always ask if you're normal," he continues, his tone soothing as he brushes a stray tear from your cheek. "But I already told you, love. Who cares about normal? Normal doesn't matter to me. You matter to me."

His arms wrap around you tighter, pulling you against his chest.

"If this is what you need to do to heal, then I'll be here," he whispers into your ear. "And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn't say this to me. I'll always understand, love. Always. Just... don't do this again without me knowing, okay?"

You nod against his chest, your sobs muffling into his shirt.

"I'm such a—" you try to speak, but the words get caught in your throat, your cries making it impossible to finish the sentence.

Jay shushes you softly, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "You're not. You're not anything bad, baby. You're just... hurting."

You pull back slightly, your hands clutching his shirt as you look up at him, your voice trembling. "I hate it, Jay. I hate what I've become. I'm not me anymore. It terrifies me."

His hand moves to cradle the back of your head, and he presses a soft kiss to your hair. "I know," he whispers. "But I'll be here. I'll be with you through every terrifying moment, love."

For a long moment, the two of you just stay like that—his arms holding you close, your head resting against his chest as your breathing slowly evens out. The tension in your body begins to ease, though the storm in your mind still churns.

Jay pulls back slightly, tilting his head to meet your gaze, his smile growing softer but never losing its warmth.

"Are you enjoying yourself right now?" he asks, his voice light and genuine, almost teasing.

You blink at him, surprised by the question, but the answer bubbles up inside you before you can stop it. A faint smile begins to form on your lips, something that feels both wrong and inexplicably right.

"Yes," you admit quietly, your voice steadier than before. "I think I am."

Jay's smile widens just a little, his thumb brushing against your cheek again as if to ground you.

"That's all that matters," he says softly, his voice filled with a calm acceptance that makes the tension in your chest ease.

Then, his eyes flicker toward the carnage surrounding you—the lifeless bodies, the blood that stains the street, and your hands, still trembling but steady enough to hold the knife.

"What do you want to do? Hmm?" he asks, his tone curious yet understanding, as if ready to follow wherever your answer leads.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the gun in your hands and the heat of the night pressing against your skin. Your lips curve into a determined smile, and your answer comes without hesitation.

"I want to kill purgers," you say, your voice clear and sharp, your eyes shining with a fire that you hadn't felt in years.

Jay doesn't flinch or waver at your words. Instead, he nods, stepping closer to you and holding out his shotgun. "Here," he says, his voice calm as he hands it over.

You take it, your hands steady now, and your eyes glint as you examine the weapon.

"Is this a SPAS-12?" you ask, running your fingers along the smooth barrel.

Jay chuckles softly, watching the way your gaze flickers with excitement.

"Yeah. My dad gave it to me," he replies as he takes your free hand in his.

"Come on," he says, tugging you gently toward his car. "Let's get out of here. It's dangerous to stay in one spot too long."

You follow him, practically bouncing on your heels as you intertwine your fingers with his. As the two of you approach the car, a question bubbles up, one you hadn't thought to ask before.

"Where's your dad, anyway? I've never met him," you say, glancing at him as he unlocks the driver's side door.

Jay shrugs lightly, opening the door for you.

"He's overseas," he explains as you climb in. "He's been busy. A lot of countries are starting to plan their own versions of the Purge, and he's consulting on security systems for them."

"Wow," you mutter, settling into the passenger seat as Jay slides in beside you.

He starts the car, the engine rumbling to life as he glances over at you. "You ready?"

"Is this car bulletproof?" you ask, running your hand along the interior with a raised eyebrow.

Jay smirks, shrugging. "I don't think so, but who needs bulletproof when we've got each other?"

You giggle, the sound light and unexpected, even to yourself.

As he presses the gas pedal hard, the car lurches forward, and the thrill of speed courses through you.

The windows are down, and the cool night air rushes past you as you cock the shotgun, the familiar click of the weapon sending a chill down your spine.

You lean halfway out the window, scanning the streets for purgers, your eyes narrowing when you spot a group down the road.

"Hey, fuckers!" you shout, your voice carrying across the night.

Jay glances over at you, his grin widening as he watches you. "Careful with my car, love," he teases, though there's nothing but pride in his tone.

You don't respond, too focused on your target. Raising the shotgun, you take aim and fire. The blast rings out, and one of the masked figures crumples to the ground.

Jay chuckles, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he drifts the car in a sharp circle, giving you a clear view of the rest of the group.

You take the opportunity, cocking the shotgun again and pulling the trigger, your laughter bubbling up as another purger falls.

Jay's eyes are on you the whole time.

There's a softness in his gaze, even amid the violence. A quiet love that seems to radiate from him as he smiles, the chaos of the night fading away for him.

There's just you, him, and the shared thrill of the hunt.

March 22, 4:00 AM

The two of you stand on the rooftop of an abandoned building, the city stretched out before you in ruins. Fires burn in the distance, their orange glow painting the night in an eerie light. Screams and gunshots echo faintly through the air, but up here, it almost feels quiet.

Jay's arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you against him as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

"When I first saw you, I thought you were the prettiest girl I'd ever seen," he says softly, his voice low in your ear.

You snort, your lips twitching into a faint smile. "I smelled like shit, Jay. I looked like skin and bones. Where's the 'pretty' in that?" you ask, a chuckle escaping you.

Jay presses his lips to your neck, his voice a murmur against your skin. "You were pretty then. You're pretty now. You've always been pretty."

"You should hate me," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant crackling of fires below. "For leaving. For running away."

Jay's grip tightened, his hands pulling you closer as his forehead pressed against the back of your head. "I could never hate you," he murmured. "Not when I know what you've been carrying."

You opened your mouth to argue, to push back

"I don't deserve you," you admitted, your voice cracking as the weight of the night caught up with you.

Jay let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and reassuring. "You don't get to decide that," he said, his tone teasing but full of affection. "That's my call, and I'm not going anywhere.

You tilt your head slightly, giving him more access, your breath hitching as he kisses the sensitive spot just below your ear. His lips linger, soft and warm, before his tongue flicks against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

A quiet moan escapes you as he nips at your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before he soothes the bite with a kiss. "Jay..."

His hands begin to roam, one sliding up to cup your breast, squeezing gently, while the other dips beneath your dress. His fingers brush over the fabric of your panties, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves there.

"You're really doing this?" you sigh, half-laughing even as your body arches into his touch. "In the middle of the purge?"

Jay chuckles softly, his lips still pressed against your neck. "We're standing on a rooftop, watching the world burn," he murmurs. "Seems like the perfect time to me."

His fingers move with more purpose now, slipping past the fabric of your panties and brushing against your wet folds. You gasp, your body trembling against him as he slides one finger inside you, curling it just enough to make you bite down on your lip.

"You know," Jay whispers, his voice low and rough as his free hand kneads your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. "I'm not normal either."

You barely manage to form a response, your mind clouded by the pleasure building inside you. "W-what do you mean?"

Jay bites gently at your neck again, his lips curling into a grin. "Watching you out there... gunning down those purgers... smearing blood all over that cute little dress..." He groans, his hips pressing into you so you can feel just how hard he is.

"Fuck, it turns me on so much. You looked so beautiful. So fucking dangerous."

His confession sends a jolt of heat straight through you, and your legs almost buckle as he slides another finger inside you, his pace increasing. His other hand slips beneath the neckline of your dress, tugging it down just enough to expose your chest as he palms your bare skin.

"Jay..." you gasp, your head falling back against his shoulder as his fingers work you over, pushing deeper and curling just right.

"You're so perfect like this," he whispers, his voice breathy and filled with adoration as he watches your face twist with pleasure.

"The way your body moves, the way you moan for me... I'll never get enough of you."

His thumb brushes over your clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. You grip his arms, your nails digging into his skin as your body starts to shake.

"F-fuck, Jay," you cry out, your voice muffled as he kisses your temple.

"That's it, baby," he encourages. "Let go for me. Let me see you lose yourself."

You're barely holding on, your body trembling as he picks up the pace, his fingers sliding in and out of you relentlessly.

The pressure inside you builds and builds until it snaps, a wave of heat and pleasure crashing over you as your orgasm takes hold.

You cry out, your hips bucking against his hand as you ride out the high, your walls clenching around his fingers. Jay doesn't stop, his movements gentle now as he works you through it, his lips pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulder.

When the aftershocks finally subside, you collapse back against him, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath. Jay wraps his arms around you tightly, holding you close as he presses a kiss to your temple.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice soft and sincere. "Now, let me eat."

Before you can respond, he gently turns you, guiding your back to the cool metal railing. His hands are steady on your waist

"Park Jongseong!"

He crouched, his teeth hooking the edge of your panties and dragging them down, baring you inch by inch. The fabric pooled at your knees before his face dove between your thighs, his tongue parting you

He worked his way up to your clit, licking slow, teasing circles that made your knees threaten to buckle.

His grip tightened on your waist, firm hands pulling you closer, urging your hips to rock against his face.

Your right leg lifted, hooking over his shoulder for balance, your fingers threading into his hair to anchor yourself. You tugged, hard, grinding yourself against him. His groan reverberated through you, the vibrations sending shockwaves straight to your core.

"Jongseong!" you sobbed, your voice breaking as the intensity overwhelmed you. Your grip on his hair tightened, your body trembling.

Abruptly, he pulled away, leaving you breathless and desperate.

Before you could protest, his hands were on your shoulders, pushing you down. You hit the rough ground with a muted thud, your palms scraping against the coarse surface.

You barely had time to process the sensation before his hands were on your hips, lifting you up.

"Need to be inside you, baby."

You heard him groan softly, the sound of him stroking himself before he pressed against your entrance.

The stretch as he slid inside you was slow, deliberate, every inch a sensation that left you gasping. You clenched around him instinctively, earning a hiss from him as he threw his head back, savoring the feeling.

"Faster," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. Your hands scrambled to reach his, gripping the one on your waist.

"My baby wants more?" he laughed, a dark, almost mocking edge to his tone.

Before you could answer, he gathered your wrists in one hand, pulling them behind your back and holding them there. His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with bruising force.

You screamed, your voice raw, your body pliant in his grasp.

He didn't stop, didn't relent, even as your cries turned to desperate whines. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, your body trembling violently. But just as you were about to fall over, his movements faltered.

"No!" you cried out, shaking in his hold, trying to move, to chase the release that hovered just out of reach. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pressing you down firmly.

"Don't move," Jay ordered, his voice low and commanding. "I'm still enjoying the view."

You sobbed, your body trembling, your desperation mounting. "Please! I'll be good, I swear, please!"

He growled low in his throat, his hips slamming forward again, harder, rougher, making you cry out.

Gunshots echoed faintly in the background, but they felt distant, irrelevant. All that mattered was the man above you, his hands pinning you down, his movements relentless.

Your mouth fell open as you felt him twitch inside you, his pace faltering before he suddenly flipped you onto your back. Your legs went limp, draped over his shoulders as he sank into you again, his face hovering inches from yours.

Your focus locked on him, the way his brows knit together, the way his jaw clenched, the way his sweat-dampened hair clung to his forehead. He was beautiful in his rawness, primal and consuming.

"I wanna cum," you whimpered, your hand reaching for your clit, desperate for release, but he slapped it away with a sharp look.

"Hold it, love," he commanded, his breath ragged. He leaned down, his mouth latching onto your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple before he bit down, hard.

You screamed, tears streaming down your face as your body writhed beneath him.

"Can't hold it anymore," you sobbed, shaking your head, your pleas growing more desperate.

"Just a little longer," he whispered, his voice a strained plea of his own. His thumb found your clit, pressing down in firm, maddening circles, even as his hips drove into you faster, harder.

The moment came like a tidal wave, crashing through you with a force that left you breathless, your body spasming around him.

"A-ah fuck!" you screamed, your voice breaking.

His rhythm faltered as you tightened around him, pulling him over the edge with you. He buried himself deep, his groan low and guttural as he came, filling you completely.

"Jay, can't!" you whimpered, your body oversensitive, trembling as he continued to move, chasing the last echoes of his high.

"Fuck, I love you," he muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion

Finally, he stilled, collapsing beside you. His arm looped around your waist, pulling you close.

"You're not falling asleep on me, are you?" he teased, his voice soft.

"Tired," you mumbled, pouting with your eyes half-closed.

"What happened to killing purgers all night?" he asked, his tone light, teasing.

You cracked one eye open to glare at him. "It's morning," you grumbled.

Jay chuckled, his fingers gently smoothing down your dress as best as he could. His eyes lingered on you, softening as you murmured sleepily against his ear.

"I wanna kill Ms. Wilson next year," you whispered, your voice faint.

His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. He kissed your forehead softly, his breath warm against your skin. "Anything for you, love."

You hummed in response, your body melting further into his hold. "I hate how the Purge is so right," you mumbled, your words fading into the quiet dawn. "It really did cleanse my soul."

March 22, 6:45 AM

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a pale golden glow over the city. The streets were eerily still, a grim quiet settling over the aftermath of the Purge.

Jay carried you carefully to his car, his movements slow and deliberate as he set you down in the passenger seat. For a moment, he lingered, crouching beside you. His hand brushed a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his fingers ghosting over your peaceful expression.

You had found yourself, hadn’t you? Maybe not in the way most people would expect, but in a way that felt undeniably true to you.

Your eyelashes fluttered, your eyes opening just enough to glance at him groggily. "What time is it?"

"6:45," Jay replied softly, his voice low. "The Purge is almost over."

You nodded weakly, your head tilting back against the seat as your eyes drifted closed again. But before sleep could take you, they snapped open once more, and you turned your head to him.

"Why? What’s wrong?" Jay asked, his voice laced with gentle concern.

You smiled sweetly, your lips curving in a way that made his heart skip.

"Kiss me."

His lips twitched into a chuckle, but he leaned down without hesitation, pressing his lips to yours.

"I love you," you whispered as your eyes closed again, this time surrendering completely to sleep.

"I love you too," Jay echoed, his voice just above a whisper. His hand lingered on your cheek for a moment longer before he straightened up, gripping the steering wheel as he started the car.

The streets stretched out before him, empty and silent now, save for the faint echoes of distant sirens. The Purge had ended.

Jay chuckled softly to himself, glancing over at your sleeping form in the passenger seat. You looked so peaceful now, your lips slightly parted, your head resting against the window. It was hard to believe that just hours ago, the two of you had been surrounded by blood.

"Next year, huh?" he murmured under his breath, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Jay definitely needed to watch his back next year.

But with you by his side, what could any purger do?

There was no telling what the two of you were capable of.

taglist: @fancypeacepersona, @tunafishyfishylike

#enhypen #the purge au #park jongseong #jay fanfic #ni-ki #heesung #jake #sunoo #enhypen fic #jay smut #jungwon #sunghoon #jay x reader #enhypen fanfic #enhypen au #enhypen jay fanfic

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vicsstufff · 4 months ago

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LOVE LANGUAGE —

۶ৎ - summary: talk to me in your love language, show me how to connect to you. headcanons about the love language of some of the uconn wbb girls!

۶ৎ - wc: 888

۶ৎ - content/players: p. bueckers, m. cheli, k. arnold, c. ducharme, a. fudd, a. griffin and s. strong + j. watkins !

authors note | HEADCANONS! idk what to say tbh. enjoy!

P.B 5 — PHYSICAL TOUCH

this girl is touchy asf, can’t get her hands off you, don’t get me started the times you guys have been caught in live because of her.

“private but not a secret.” goes down the drain after being together for 4 months. how? the time you, paige and caroline went shopping, a fan spotted both of you in the nike shop. when they were building up courage to go and ask for a picture (while filming both of you) paige boldly kissed you unexpectedly because you got angry at her for not choosing quickly.

she doesn’t regret getting exposed in X, she can now enjoy her girl freely.

don’t allow her to get too comfortable! in dinner nights with friends, her hand will linger to far up your thigh or will suddenly squeeze your boob thinking nobody is watching. she is definitely both ass and boob girl (she can’t choose!) i can see her pressing herself against your back while you cook, shopping, brushing your teeth and doing your make up. lovesss helping you do your skincare or preparing a bath for you after a long day.

you always have a arm around your waist or shoulders.

M.C 23 — QUALITY TIME

her schedule now that she has joined uconn’s basketball team, is full but she always make space for you, binge eating to a random 2000’s love movie, or just spending time watching tv, enjoying each others presence, she loves feeling that you are there with her.

drags you to the gym (even if you don’t do anything), having you sleep in top of her, just hearing your breathing and feeling your heartbeat makes her happy.

protect her. please. girl be tripping on the smoothest walkway possible, she will say she doesn’t need you protecting her, but! will feel giddy in love when you protect her. will also show you sign language! (don’t worry about her getting frustrated when you don’t remember a sign, she has tank full of patience just for you). going back to the part of protecting her, she is also a basketball magnet, you can’t do much for her when she is practicing or in a game.

K.A 2 — GIVING GIFTS

not only does she give you candy, clothes etc. she gives you parts of herself (the team knows she is WHIPPED when they see her sharing her trufru with you) don’t you dare reject her gifts! not only will she feel bad but she’ll also force you to accept them (there’s no way out) takes caroline and azzi with her to the mall, helping her choose gifts (and also bc they won’t leave her there)

C.D 33 — ACTS OF SERVICE

we know this girl carries the team on her shoulders, the perfect mom to a group full of children only being serious when playing with a ball.

you need help on a project? there she is, finishing it within hours, you got in trouble? she speaks calmly with your teacher (her voice is so soothing, i can she her whispering songs or praises while you lay your head on her chest, caressing your hair)

A.F 35 — PHYSICAL TOUCH

her schedule is also full, but 2X more, adds, sponsorships, games, practice, college, like it’s a lot, but there’s nothing this girl can do! so, she also makes quiet moments part of her schedule, like staring at the stars after her basketball practice, analyzing games, or yapping about random things late at night.

A.G 44 — WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

her words are genuine and tender, you could just be cooking and she would start praising randomly, i can also see her commenting wild things on your instagram.

you finished you homework quickly? she is praising you for it, she loves the dress you picked for your anniversary? she is washing you with praises. you are so perfect and beautiful, she needs to let you know!

S.S 21 — QUALITY TIME

she is so giggly and awkward, i love her.

she values any time spent together, even if it’s just hanging out, talking about the past, or watching her do shots. help her with media training, she sometimes forgets where she is and doesn’t listen to what the media questioned. she genuinely questions herself rather present you to the team, not because she is embarrassed of you but because she is afraid they will scare you away.

like, they’re freshman got a lady? they NEED to meet her, no excuses! if she reuses the idea, they make a whole plan to catch her on a date with you.

J.W 12 — PHYSICAL TOUCH

i am confident in my instincts and i know this girl is touchy (off camera!) a funny scenario i can see is that while dominique is filming, she focuses on you and juju, she has your arm wrapped around your shoulders while your head is resting on her shoulder and lingering your hand on her thigh, you see she focuses the camera on you two and you immediately separate, juju is hella confused and looks at you, her eyebrows knitted together, her head snaps towards dominique who still has the camera pointed towards you and she gives dominique the fattest side eye ever (obviously she edited that part out)

she is so cuddly after practice or a game, laying her entire body on you.

#paige bueckers #wcbb #paige bueckers x reader #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fluff #wcbb x reader #ncaa wbb #paige bueckers fic #wbb #azzi fudd #caroline ducharme #kk arnold #kk arnold x reader #kk arnold x fem!reader #aubrey griffin #juju watkins #juju watkins x reader #sarah strong

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wosospacegirl · 1 month ago

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Youngest Putellas - platonic! reader

Summary: There was a shadow growing in the Putellas family, unnoticed, while everyone kept their attention on Alexia. Somehow, your mom's house and your city felt too small for both you and your sister.

Warnings: mentions of grief, angst, and just emotional stuff overall.

Word count: 4.5k

Info: This story is set before UEFA 2022. The reader has been in La Masia since she was a kid, went to Barça's A team but moved on loan to Real Madrid. She is about 21 here.

Part 2 here

Your relationship with your sisters was always troubled. It was the type of relationship that was demanding, laborious even, that didn't stand on its own easily.

It had always been like that, though.

You were 7 years younger than Alexia, 5 years younger than Alba. They were always very close, always telling each other stuff, always getting each other's backs.

Alexia and Alba were the kind of sisters who exemplified what sisterhood was all about. Alba would sneak into Alexia’s bed in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep. She was the one Alexia turned to whenever she was struggling with friendships and didn’t know what to do

They weren't sisters. They were friends. Best friends.

You, on the other hand, always felt just like their relative.

Someone who grew up in the same house, someone who just happened to have the same parents.

But when you were younger, it was easier, somehow. You didn't notice how the two girls always seemed to read each other's minds while you were left alone, wondering what they were thinking.

You always thought it was because they were so close in age, they were going through basically the same stuff, the same growing pains.

With Alexia, it was even more difficult, and you honestly couldn't see why. You both enjoyed football, you were introverted and socially awkward in the same way, you had everything to get along, but you just didn't.

Maybe it was because you two looked so much alike.

It was hard looking at one's mirror every single day.

Your mum always tried to bring you sisters together, and it worked sometimes.

Your relationship wasn't completely bad after all, it was just challenging. It was like both parts had to work hard to create a connection that clearly wasn't there.

You, foolishly, thought that getting into the Barcelona team would make it all easier, that it would bring you and Alexia together.

But it didn't.

Actually, getting into Barcelona was one of the worst experiences you have ever had. You had worked hard through La Masia to get where you were, to be called up to team A, but you were too young.

You had talent, but you let your emotions get the best of you on the pitch. On a good day, you would shine. On a bad day, you would let the ball slip out of your feet straight to the other team's defence.

The managers always made sure to tell you how different your game style was from your sister, the captain.

"You should learn from her, Y/n," they would say as you were hydrating on a very sunny day. "She has technique, she's composed on the pitch."

"You let your emotions guide you in the worst way possible."

"Alexia always has her head and heart in the game, you just have the heart."

They weren't wrong. Your play style was very different from your sister's. Alexia was collected on the pitch, it was like nothing could shake her. You weren't like that.

"I'm not made of stones" was what you usually said.

In the end, it was easy and good criticism.

You needed to be more mature, on and outside of the pitch.

Growing up as the youngest, it was all you would hear all the time. Most families say the youngest ones are the most babied, but in the Putellas family, the youngest was the one who had to grow up fast, trying to catch up to the older ones.

On the 2020-2021 season, you had an okay year. You had good games, bad ones too, but it wasn't nearly good enough for Barcelona. You were too young, still too immature.

But your contract wasn't close to the end, and Barcelona had no intention of paying the lease of a broken contract, so they gave you an option.

Going on loan to Real Madrid or just accepting you were going to be benched for the remainder of the season.

You left the office without a proper answer.

If you went to Real Madrid, you knew it would be a pure disgrace to your culer family, especially to your sister, but if you went there, you knew you would be able to play.

Real Madrid needed a few defenders, and you were good enough for them. Your second option was staying in Barcelona and just... not playing.

The Champions League was approaching. You knew you would never get there with Real Madrid, but you knew that if you got a medal for winning the UEFA with Barcelona, it wouldn't be by your own doing. The club had made sure you knew you would get zero minutes.

When you got home, Alexia, Alba and your Mom were already at the table, waiting for you to start dinner.

Normally, Alexia would give you a ride, but you asked her to go without you. Instead, you took the metro, considering and rethinking everything that was said in the meeting room.

Everybody was talking.

Alexia didn't talk about football, she never did with Mom and Alba. Alexia always said she needed people she could talk to about things other than football. People that made her feet like she was more than just a player.

Maybe it was one of the reasons why the two of you didn't get along much. Besides football, you didn't have the same interests.

You liked music, playing instruments, mainly piano, which you learned from your Dad.

He also loved it. He tried to teach Alexia, but he would say she only had coordination with her feet, then he tried Alba, who had the talent, but didn't care to practice, and then he tried you.

Third time's the charm, he said. You had the talent and the passion. You practised with him every night after he came home from picking up Alexia from training. He would sit you on his lap and teach you Catalan songs while Alba would sit at the foot of the piano, her doll in hand, playing house while Alexia would kick the ball against the wall.

It was messy, but everybody was together, everybody with their own interests.

But then Dad died. It was 2012. Alexia was only 18, Alba 16, and you were 11.

Alba and Mom cried a lot.

Alexia and you not so much, but that didn't mean you didn't feel it in your bones. It wasn't sadness.

Sadness would be too little to express the emptiness and the numbness that took over your body from such a young age.

You didn't understand death, but when you asked your Mom or grandma about it, it seemed like they didn't understand it either.

When Alba would cry, you would be the first one to come hug her, say that Dad loved her, and that he was watching over from wherever he was.

Alexia would come second, not knowing very well how to comfort someone, but feeling the weight of being the oldest.

After Dad, Alexia became, at the same time, more distant, but still more present.

She was still at home; she didn't move out, even though she could. She was playing for the A team at Barcelona and had played for Spain as well. She chose to stay.

During one night, while you were supposed to be asleep, you heard her and Mom talk. Mom said she was overwhelmed. Alba was getting in trouble, sneaking out, talking with people she shouldn't, then she talked about you.

You were surprised at first. You had tried your hardest to be the one who didn't cause problems, knowing Mom was missing Dad a lot, but she said she missed hearing you on the piano.

You hadn't touched it since Dad passed away, months ago. It hurt to even look at it.

You didn't wait to hear Alexia, you went straight to bed.

The next day, you woke up with Alexia on your side of the bed.

She was sitting there, her Barcelona jersey on. She told you you were going to play, that she wanted to hear a few songs.

You said no. You didn't want to play for anyone who wasn't Dad.

She ignored you. She dragged you out of bed. The room you shared with Alba still pitch black. She forced you down on the piano bench.

"Play," she demanded, her voice cold, icy.

You shook your head. Why was she doing that? Didn't she know it hurt?

"Now, petita," [young sister] she said again, more harshly.

You tried to get away, but she held you back.

You started playing. Maybe if you finished it, maybe Alexia would let you go.

As you were hitting the piano keys, the same way Dad taught you, you felt the heaviness in your chest changing to something different.

It wasn't lighter, just... different.

You didn't notice you were crying until you felt the tips of your fingers wet.

Water wasn't good for the piano. Dad never let any of you near it with anything liquid.

You should stop. Take a towel and clean it, but you couldn't. The song wasn't done yet.

So you kept going. Maybe if you finished it, then Dad would make himself known to you again, maybe you would feel the love people swore he left.

People always told you Dad had gone, but that he was still here, that he left parts of himself in each of his daughters.

But you didn't see Dad when you looked in the mirror, you didn't see Dad when you looked at your sisters. He was nowhere to be seen because he wasn't here anymore.

He wasn't going to come back.

The stupid piano would be here, and he wouldn't.

When you realised you were hitting the keys with more force than intended, and Alexia was calling you, shaking you, screaming your name.

"Para ya!" [Stop it!] she shouted. Tears were streaming down her face, she was sobbing, and her face was completely red. "Para, para ya!"

You stopped at the same time Mom and Alba ran downstairs, probably having heard the screams and crying.

Mom didn't know what to do. Alexia was crying hysterically, hands on her face, while you were crying too, but it was like your fingers were glued to the piano.

You weren't playing anymore, but they were there, on the exact keys they should be on to continue the song.

On one side of the room was the youngest daughter of Eli, a kid who had just lost her father and one of her greatest passions along with it.

On the other, was the older kid, who had just turned into an adult, but was still very much her baby.

Your Mom went to Alexia, hugged her tight, telling her to breathe. Alba went in your direction, gently taking your hands off the piano while cleaning your cheeks from the tears.

Dad should be here. He would know how to make it better. He should be here. He was the missing piece. Your family wouldn't be the same without him.

You cried on Alba's shoulder, her hand patting your back as if you were a toddler who scraped her knee.

She was murmuring something about also missing Dad, that it was okay.

But it wasn't. She knew it wasn't okay, too.

The chaotic Moment only escalated when Alexia got up from the sofa, getting away from Mom's arms.

She pointed at the piano, eyes full of hatred.

"Get it away from here, throw it in the trash, I don't want it here!"

You barely had time to process.

You freed yourself from Alba’s arms before throwing the top half of your body on the piano, holding it tightly. It was cold against your naked arms, but you didn’t mind.

It was yours to keep. Your memory of Dad. The piano was Dad.

"No! You can't do that," you said in between tears, looking betrayed at both Mom and Alexia. "It's mine, it’s Dad's!"

Why were they doing that? They didn’t want Dad in the house again? How could they see the piano and not feel Dad’s comforting presence?

Didn’t Mom remember how Dad would always sing a romantic song for her on Valentine's Day? Didn’t Alba remember how Dad would play her favourite cartoon songs on the piano?

Had Alexia forgotten how Dad would always play Barcelona’s anthem for her? Had they all forgotten what the piano meant?

Maybe they did remember. Maybe it was just too much for them to look at every day.

But it wasn’t trash, they couldn’t throw it away, not without erasing Dad’s memory along with it.

"It can't be here," Alexia said between her teeth. "Dad's not here anymore, no reason to keep it."

"Girls, calm down, let's breathe," Mom said, trying to ease the situation, but it didn't work, because you and Alexia continued to argue.

You didn't remember what you said, you also couldn't remember what Alexia said.

What you did remember was how Alexia told Mom that she would move out if the piano wasn't gone.

Mom had just lost her husband, she couldn't lose her oldest kid, too. So she chose Alexia.

The piano was gone the next morning.

Now, sitting at the table, you looked to the corner of the living room, where the piano was some years ago.

You stared at it. It had nothing now, it was just a corner. Then you looked at the table, surrounded by what was left of your family.

"I'm moving to Madrid," you said, tapping at the table anxiously.

And that's when it all got so much worse.

Alexia didn't drive you to the airport; Alba did. She was smiling, but you could tell how she really felt about the whole situation; she didn't want you to go, didn't agree with it, but she understood why you were doing it.

Mom was still a mystery. The night before your flight, she helped you pack everything carefully, telling you that she was proud of you for following your own pace and for making a decision that she knew was best for your career. She filled your cheeks with kisses and tucked you in before she closed the door to your room.

The next morning, though, she prepared breakfast and cried over your eggs. You didn't say anything, just hugged her tight and told her you were going to be okay, that you were a few hours away. You were moving cities, not countries.

You had a final breakfast with your family, but you couldn't help but look up at the door, the back door everyone used instead of the front one, the door Alexia was supposed to walk through any minute because she was your sister and your captai,n and she needed to say goodbye, right?

You drank a cup of coffee and Alexia wasn't there.

You drank a second one, still no sound of Alexia's car.

When you were on your way to make the third, Mom held you hard. "She's not coming, petita."

"Oh," you said, putting your cup down. "Why? She's got training?"

Maybe she had something important. Ever since you agreed to go on a loan, Barcelona had blocked your access to the players' schedule, so you really didn't know.

Mom opened her mouth, then closed it.

You understood it right away.

Alexia wasn't coming because she didn't want to. Simple as that.

You nodded to Mom, trying to put on a brave face. She was already anxious that you were moving out to a city you'd never been in; she didn't need to know you were sad because your sister wasn't coming to say goodbye.

Your dumb, self-centred sister.

She did everything for her team, especially the youngest players, but couldn't seem to be there when you needed her the most.

You knew why, of course.

Alexia had treated it as some sort of betrayal when you told her you picked Real Madrid instead of Barcelona. You tried telling her, explaining that in Barça you were not getting any minutes as a defender, but she didn't listen.

She told you how selfish you were being, that you couldn't move away from them, that Mom and Alba would miss you—she never mentioned herself—then she talked about how idiotic you were for going to a "low-class club" that barely had won anything.

You told her to stop multiple times. Told her that you weren't asking her, you were just letting her know you were moving.

When she mentioned Dad, things escalated. She said how sad Dad would be to have one of his daughters play for a club he hated.

That was when you took your plate, still filled with food, and threw it on the floor, next to Alexia's feet. You aimed it so it wouldn't hurt her, of course. Your sister was getting on your nerves, but no need to draw blood.

You didn't remember what happened next. Alba took you to your room, Mom stayed in the kitchen, calming Alexia and cleaning everything up.

You felt bad for the plate. It was Mom's favourite.

Mom was crying as soon as you got to the gate, ready to fly. You had the plane ticket in one hand, your luggage in the other, and your backpack on your back.

Alba was holding Nala, the little family dog. If it wasn't for your mom, Nala would be the family member you would miss the most—sorry, Alba.

"I need to go," you said, smiling down at Nala and scratching her head. "I'll miss you, you behave for Mom, okay?"

Nala just looked at you, not understanding what goodbyes meant.

Alba held you tight when you went in for a hug. "Don't go all crazy in Madrid, please," she said. "I mean it, I've been twenty-one before, I know how exciting things can be."

You rolled your eyes. "I'm going there for work, not to party."

Alba giggled. "You sound just like Alexia."

She quickly realised what she had said and looked at you pitifully, whispering a small "sorry."

You waved it off before kissing Mom goodbye. "You take care of yourself," Mom said between tears. "Take a taxi and go straight to the apartment, don't talk to anyone at the airport and—"

"Mom!" you said, smiling a bit. "Calm down, it's okay, I know how to care for myself."

"You are too young," Mom murmured while fixing a string of hair that was out of place on your head. "Older kids are supposed to be the first ones moving, not the youngest... you're my baby."

"Mama, I'm not a baby."

"Don't talk to your mother like that," Mom huffed. "You always will be, you three."

Three.

Three Putellas Seguras were supposed to be here, not just two.

Then, your flight was called. You had to go now.

You gave them both another round of hugs. Parting was weird, it was like the goodbyes were never enough. In reality, they never were.

You turned around, waving at them before entering the gate and walking through the tunnel straight into the plane.

When you sat in your seat—window seat, yay—you checked your phone one last time before the flight took off.

There were some messages, some from friends and players at Barcelona, telling you to enjoy and make the best out of this moment.

Another one from Alba, a selfie with her, Mom and Nala saying "Mom's saying she misses you already."

But the one that got your attention was written under the name of Ale.

"Text me when you land. Don't trust those Madristas."

You smiled at the message because, of course, Alexia was paranoid.

But she was also telling you to be safe. It was the closest Alexia could get to "I love you."

Still, you didn’t answer.

Alexia was still going to be Alexia, no matter what place in the world you would move to. She was cold, but warm when she wanted to be. She cared a lot, so much that she couldn't push herself to show it. Felt so much about everything, but still, decided to keep everything to herself.

That was who Alexia was. And it was hurting you.

You hurt her, too, you knew that. Maybe because you reminded her of Dad, maybe because the similarities between you two were too noticeable.

You weren't sure. Maybe you would never know.

Still, you wished your sister were here to say goodbye.

You sighed as you put on your earphones as the flight took off.

When you got to Madrid a few hours later, you felt like you had just opened a new chapter in your life. This was the place to make a difference for yourself, away from your sister's shadow.

Barcelona was her city. Madrid was yours now, even though you had just set foot in it. You would make it your place. You'd always felt like Barcelona wasn't quite right for you.

The memory of your dad–and the version of your family you should’ve had–always haunted those streets

Madrid was still pure of any of your sins. You had never played football on these streets. Never sneaked out to a party here. Alba had never taken you to get a tattoo hidden from Mom. Alexia had never taken you drinking on your 18th birthday here.

You were the only Putellas in Madrid. Maybe you didn't quite know what that meant, but it mattered. Somehow it did.

You were good enough to text Mom that you had gotten off the flight safely, and that you were already sprawled on the floor of your new apartment.

Mom called right away, demanding to video call so you could show her the apartment, which you did.

On the screen, the only faces were those of your Mom and Alba. It seemed like Alexia had decided not to show up at Mom’s at all that day.

You decided to ignore it. While also keeping in mind that you had yet to text her that you had landed... well, maybe mom already told her.

You showed Mom and Alba your apartment. It was small, just one room, one bathroom, a kitchen and a living room. It was in an apartment complex for players, so you had already met a few of your teammates.

They seemed nice, not any of those weird stories Alexia had told you about them being snakes. Maybe Alexia had taken to heart all of those stories Dad told when they were younger. Dad was the most culer of them all, after all.

The next day, you got your training kit and were asked to see if everything fitted so they could take a few pictures of you for media day.

As soon as you put on the Real Madrid jersey, you cried.

You thought about calling Mom, or Alba, even Alexia, but you didn't.

You chose to move away, which meant dealing with things on your own.

That badge felt wrong on you, the colour white looked horrible on your skin, and the whole situation felt off.

What were you doing? Wearing these colours? Defending another team? Maybe Alexia was right, maybe Dad was very upset right now, maybe this wasn't the life he had envisioned for you.

But what was the life he expected of you? Being a benchwarmer in Barcelona? Being compared to your sister all the time? La Reina of Barcelona?

You didn't know what was expected of you. You also didn't know what you wanted. You thought you wanted to come to Madrid, but now the decision felt exactly as Alexia said it was—stupid.

Okay, everything was fine, actually, you thought to yourself as you were being guided into Real Madrid's training grounds. It looked nice and modern. You were scared of how it was going to look. You knew Real Madrid didn’t exactly prioritise investing in the women’s team.

You did some pictures and a lot of videos for their Instagram. In a matter of days, everybody knew that you went on loan. You had read the comments, people saying it was shocking to see a Putellas in white, others congratulating you for taking this difficult step.

You did some training on the pitch with the other girls. Their training was more focused on the individual players rather than on the team, which you thought was weird, but hey, who were you to say anything?

When you lay down to sleep that night, you texted Mom to let her know how everything was. It felt good to listen to her voice.

"How are you, petita?"

"I'm okay, Mom," you said. You weren't telling her that you cried your eyes out a few days ago because you couldn't make pasta the same way she did. "And you? How's Alba... Alexia?"

"I'm good, just missing my petita," your mom said, sadly. "But your sisters are being good to me. Alba has been taking me to pilates, Alexia always comes home after training to watch TV with me."

"I'm glad, Mama," you answered. "You should focus a bit on yourself now, you spent almost thirty years taking care of us."

"I like taking care of my girls," she said, "but enough of that, how's training? Have you made any good friends?"

The way mom said it, it looked like she was asking if you had anyone to share your lunch with during recess.

"Yes, Mama, I've been getting close to Teresa," you said. "She's nice, she lives in the complex too, she's showing me around Madrid."

"Oh, that makes me so happy!" Mom said. "You keep focusing on yourself, bebita, focus on your football, on your friends, I want you to feel good."

"I'm working on that, Mama," you said. "I need to go now, but I'll call you tomorrow!"

"One thing before we say goodbye, petita," Mom said. "Have you been calling your sister? I know you call Alba, but what about Ale?"

Not that conversation again. Since you moved to Madrid a few weeks ago, Mom had been prying about you and Alexia's relationship, asking if you had been talking. You knew she was asking that of you and not Alexia because you were way more open than Alexia could ever be.

"We talk, Mom," you lied. "Don't stress over us, okay? We love each other."

At least you hoped Alexia loved you.

Mom sighed. "Just... call her more often. She told me she misses giving you rides to training."

And with that, Mom ended the call, and you were left wondering.

Alexia absolutely hated to give you rides. She said it messed up with her morning routine, that you ate breakfast too slowly, that you always slammed her car's door, even though you didn't.

Maybe it was because Alexia didn't really express her feelings, maybe it was because you couldn't fathom someone missing you.

Still, it sat there, aching in a corner of your chest.

Part 2 here

a/n: "El Cant dels Ocells" (The Song of the Birds) is a famous Catalan song. It's very pretty, you guys should listen to it!! <3 -> I don't know where the idea of this fic came from. I'm reading some books where the author just writes whatever in their character's mind, so I tried to do this here. That's why the reader sounds so messy and confused, because she is haha. -> Also, I plan to write more about the reader's story. I know she'll end up in Arsenal at some point (I want to write something about Alexia and the reader against each other in the UEFA final hehe, but we'll see where we go.

#woso x reader #woso fanfic #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas x sister!reader #alexia puttelas x platonic reader #woso x platonic!reader

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dalishious · 30 days ago

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Dragon Age Fandom Survey: Veilguard Edition RESULTS

Before getting into the responses of this survey, I would like to remind/clarify everyone of a few things:

There is naturally bias from the reach this survey had; while I encouraged people to share it outside of Tumblr, we must remember that the vast majority of the responses are still from Tumblr users specifically. Meaning, this survey cannot account for the DA fandom as a whole across the entire internet.

There was a very drastic difference in the number of responses from people who played a different Dragon Age game before DATV, and those who played DATV first. This means there is a sample size bias. I anticipated this, and it’s why I did separate questions in hopes to compensate at least a little, but it’s something to still keep in mind.

If you would like to view the full spreadsheet of all unfiltered results, you can do so HERE.

Anyone who I caught misgendering Taash and/or misgendering Weekes the writer in the comments was immediately disqualified.

With that out of the way, let’s get into it!

PREVIOUS DRAGON AGE GAME EXPERIENCE

Only 2% of respondents have never played any other Dragon Age game besides Dragon Age: The Veilguard (DATV). 92% of respondents have played all three past games. 97% have at least played Dragon Age: Inquisition (DAI).

ROOK

LINEAGE/RACE SELECTION

While elf was the most popular answer for both set of respondents, brand new DA players were somewhat more likely to choose a human Rook, and not a single new player respondent chose a dwarf Rook.

Respondents with prior game experience selected the following lineages/races for their first DATV game:

Human: 19%

Elf: 59%

Dwarf: 11%

Qunari: 11%

Respondents without prior game experience selected the following lineages/races for their first DATV game:

Human: 30%

Elf: 57%

Dwarf: 0%

Qunari: 13%

FACTION SELECTION

The Shadow Dragons were the most popular for respondents with prior game experience, while the Veil Jumpers were the most popular for brand new DA players. Prior players were least interested in the Lords of Fortune, while new players were least interested in the Mourn Watch.

Respondents with prior game experience selected the following factions for their first DATV game:

Grey Wardens: 16%

Shadow Dragons: 24%

Veil Jumpers: 15%

Mourn Watch: 19%

Lords of Fortune: 10%

Antivan Crows: 17%

Respondents without prior game experience selected the following factions for their first DATV game:

Grey Wardens: 8%

Shadow Dragons: 14%

Veil Jumpers: 30%

Mourn Watch: 10%

Lords of Fortune: 12%

Antivan Crows: 26%

ROOK SATISFACTION

Respondents for whom DATV was their first Dragon Age game were far more likely to be satisfied with Rook as a protagonist than those with prior game experience.

Respondents with prior game experience felt the following satisfaction with Rook:

Very unsatisfied: 27%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 21%

Neutral: 7%

Somewhat satisfied: 21%

Very satisfied: 24%

Respondents without prior game experience felt the following satisfaction with Rook:

Very unsatisfied: 11%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 20%

Neutral: 6%

Somewhat satisfied: 19%

Very satisfied: 44%

I wanted to see if there was any correlation between Rook creation options and satisfaction. So, I filtered responses based on the previous questions and found the following:

There was not much difference in responses based on lineage/race

There was some interesting differences based on faction: Grey Warden players were the most to respond with “very unsatisfied” (36%), with Shadow Dragon players close behind (31%). For every other faction, the satisfaction results were parallel to the overall responses.

ROOK COMMENTS

Here is some of the commonplace praise for Rook as a protagonist:

Strong and charming voice acting performances.

Rook has lots of room for players to come up with their own ideas and interpretations.

Rook has great trans/enby representation options both in charater creation and roleplay dialogue.

Rook fits the setting and narrative well; Rook is “the heart of the team”.

Rook has a “great personality”.

Rook was commonly compared to Hawke in a positive manner.

Here is some of the commonplace critique for Rook as a protagonist:

Rook has “no personality” and not enough of a backstory.

Rook has a “set personality”.

Rook does not have enough space to play with strong opinions on critical issues, compared to previous games.

Rook is unable to be nasty/mean-spirited.

Rook was commonly compared to Hawke in a negative manner.

Rook should’ve had more reactivity based on their background.

Overall, Rook seems to be a very divisive figure. It is interesting to see how different people view positives and negatives of Rook’s character in complete contrast with each other. For example, many people said they like or dislike that Rook is a “blank slate to project on”, while many other people said that they like or dislike that Rook has a “set personality”. Yes, those things both came up as things people enjoyed and things people did not enjoy.

COMPANIONS

COMPANION SATISFACTION

Respondents for whom DATV was their first Dragon Age game were more likely to be satisfied with the companions than those with prior game experience.

Respondents with prior game experience felt the following satisfaction with the companions:

Very unsatisfied: 17%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 24%

Neutral: 7%

Somewhat satisfied: 31%

Very satisfied: 21%

Respondents without prior game experience felt the following satisfaction with the companions:

Very unsatisfied: 9%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 14%

Neutral: 12%

Somewhat satisfied: 40%

Very satisfied: 26%

COMPANION COMMENTS

Here is some of the commonplace praise for the companions and their personal quests:

Companions are integrated into the main story well.

Companions are fun to build relationships with doing simple things, like feeding birds with Taash or visiting graves with Emmrich.

Companions feel relatable.

Here is some of the commonplace critique for the companions and their personal quests:

Companion quests lack impact.

Companions lack romantic content.

Some companions feel like they received unequal/unfinished content compared to others.

Taash’s questline specifically received a lot of criticism for what many respondents consider a poor handling of multiculturalism.

FACTIONS

FACTION SATISFACTION

Respondents for whom DATV was their first Dragon Age game were more likely to be satisfied with the factions than those with prior game experience.

Respondents with prior game experience felt the following satisfaction with the factions:

Very unsatisfied: 24%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 22%

Neutral: 15%

Somewhat satisfied: 30%

Very satisfied: 9%

Respondents without prior game experience felt the following satisfaction with the factions:

Very unsatisfied: 9%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 14%

Neutral: 17%

Somewhat satisfied: 45%

Very satisfied: 16%

FACTION COMMENTS

Here is some of the commonplace praise for the factions and their related quests:

Factions are a good way of introducing different cultures in Thedas.

Factions offered good opportunities for role-playing.

Here is some of the commonplace critique for the factions and their related quests:

Factions lack any “grey morality” or “internal conflict”.

Some factions feel like they received unequal/unfinished content compared to others.

Factions feel more like a mechanic than a natural part of the world-building.

The Antivan Crows specifically received a lot of criticism for being written as much more heroic and good-natured than in previous games.

The Shadow Dragons specifically received a lot of criticism for being “too passive” against Tevinter inequalities.

MAIN STORY

MAIN STORY SATISFACTION

Respondents for whom DATV was their first Dragon Age game were far more likely to be satisfied with the main story than those with prior game experience.

Respondents with prior game experience felt the following satisfaction with the main story:

Very unsatisfied: 27%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 19%

Neutral: 11%

Somewhat satisfied: 24%

Very satisfied: 19%

Respondents without prior game experience felt the following satisfaction with the main story:

Very unsatisfied: 11%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 17%

Neutral: 7%

Somewhat satisfied: 30%

Very satisfied: 35%

MAIN STORY COMMENTS

Here is some of the commonplace praise for the main story:

The story has a satisfying ending.

The story feels “deeply impacting” and “emotional”.

The story has a good pace with lots of replay value.

The main story features the best quests in the game.

Here is some of the commonplace critique for the main story:

The story has an unsatisfying ending.

The story feels disconnected from the previous games / suffers from a lack of worldstate choices from previous games.

Many respondents are unhappy with the off-screen destruction of Southern Thedas mentioned.

Many respondents are unhappy with the racism, islamophobia, and orientalism found in the handling of the Antaam, specifically.

PREVIOUS OTHER DRAGON AGE MEDIA EXPERIENCE

Most respondents have engaged with at least some other form of Dragon Age media, with the most common being the animated show, Dragon Age: Absolution (57%). This is followed by the anthology book, Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights (49%). Only 13% of respondents said they have never had any experience with any extra Dragon Age media.

TEVINTER NIGHTS

Because Tevinter Nights (TN) established a lot leading up to DATV, I was very curious to see if that had any impact on DATV perceptions specifically. My one regret here is that I forgot to include Aelia in the list of characters who first appear in TN. Whoops.

In most cases, TN readers responded more positively to supporting characters who first appeared in the anthology, than non-readers.

NEVE SATISFACTION

Respondents who read TN felt the following satisfaction with Neve in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 6%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 9%

Neutral: 19%

Somewhat satisfied: 25%

Very satisfied: 41%

Respondents who did not read TN felt the following satisfaction with Neve in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 7%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 11%

Neutral: 13%

Somewhat satisfied: 30%

Very satisfied: 39%

LUCANIS SATISFACTION

Respondents who read TN felt the following satisfaction with Lucanis in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 21%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 13%

Neutral: 9%

Somewhat satisfied: 26%

Very satisfied: 31%

Respondents who did not read TN felt the following satisfaction with Lucanis in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 16%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 18%

Neutral: 15%

Somewhat satisfied: 28%

Very satisfied: 24%

EMMRICH SATISFACTION

Respondents who read TN felt the following satisfaction with Emmrich in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 6%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 6%

Neutral: 16%

Somewhat satisfied: 27%

Very satisfied: 44%

Respondents who did not read TN felt the following satisfaction with Emmrich in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 5%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 8%

Neutral: 14%

Somewhat satisfied: 28%

Very satisfied: 45%

ILLARIO SATISFACTION

Respondents who read TN felt the following satisfaction with Illario in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 20%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 21%

Neutral: 20%

Somewhat satisfied: 21%

Very satisfied: 18%

Respondents who did not read TN felt the following satisfaction with Illario in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 15%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 19%

Neutral: 37%

Somewhat satisfied: 20%

Very satisfied: 10%

MYRNA SATISFACTION

Respondents who read TN felt the following satisfaction with Myrna in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 6%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 10%

Neutral: 36%

Somewhat satisfied: 22%

Very satisfied: 26%

Respondents who did not read TN felt the following satisfaction with Myrna in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 6%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 6%

Neutral: 57%

Somewhat satisfied: 18%

Very satisfied: 12%

STRIFE SATISFACTION

Respondents who read TN felt the following satisfaction with Strife in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 13%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 16%

Neutral: 28%

Somewhat satisfied: 23%

Very satisfied: 20%

Respondents who did not read TN felt the following satisfaction with Strife in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 7%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 13%

Neutral: 48%

Somewhat satisfied: 22%

Very satisfied: 9%

IRELIN SATISFACTION

Respondents who read TN felt the following satisfaction with Irelin in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 14%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 16%

Neutral: 34%

Somewhat satisfied: 21%

Very satisfied: 16%

Respondents who did not read TN felt the following satisfaction with Irelin in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 6%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 14%

Neutral: 56%

Somewhat satisfied: 17%

Very satisfied: 7%

TEIA SATISFACTION

Respondents who read TN felt the following satisfaction with my beloved Teia in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 7%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 8%

Neutral: 14%

Somewhat satisfied: 28%

Very satisfied: 42%

Respondents who did not read TN felt the following satisfaction with my beloved Teia in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 6%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 8%

Neutral: 27%

Somewhat satisfied: 30%

Very satisfied: 29%

VIAGO SATISFACTION

Respondents who read TN felt the following satisfaction with my beloved Viago in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 7%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 9%

Neutral: 15%

Somewhat satisfied: 29%

Very satisfied: 40%

Respondents who did not read TN felt the following satisfaction with my beloved Viago in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 6%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 8%

Neutral: 30%

Somewhat satisfied: 30%

Very satisfied: 26%

EVKA SATISFACTION

Respondents who read TN felt the following satisfaction with Evka in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 4%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 3%

Neutral: 12%

Somewhat satisfied: 21%

Very satisfied: 60%

Respondents who did not read TN felt the following satisfaction with Evka in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 5%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 5%

Neutral: 17%

Somewhat satisfied: 23%

Very satisfied: 51%

ANTOINE SATISFACTION

Respondents who read TN felt the following satisfaction with Antoine in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 4%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 3%

Neutral: 12%

Somewhat satisfied: 21%

Very satisfied: 60%

Respondents who did not read TN felt the following satisfaction with Antoine in DATV:

Very unsatisfied: 5%

Somewhat unsatisfied: 5%

Neutral: 17%

Somewhat satisfied: 22%

Very satisfied: 50%

TEVINTER NIGHTS INTO VEILGUARD SAMPLE COMMENTS

“Tevinter Nights painted a picture of a bleak world, but filled with tons of interesting people. Many of them have the same feeling both in DATV and the book (I think only Irelin and Strife didn't, really). Tevinter Nights set up the atmosphere I missed in the game. It set expectations that didn't make it into the game. But it's a must read, especially when plunging into Veilguard.”

“I love Teia and Viago as characters best overall, but did not feel like they were introduced well in game in a way that would allow them to stand on their own the way Antoine and Evka were.”

“Strife should’ve had his Scottish accent.”

“I would have loved to get more of Mean Girl Irelin. She had way sharper teeth in the book.”

“I was really, really excited for Neve after Tevinter Nights, because I'm a disabled woman, and I still liked her in Veilguard but I do wish there'd been a bit more to her from a disability lens.”

“Tevinter Nights had so much more horror than Veilguard even tried to deliver. The Crows were delightfully messy and Viago was so unwell I’m in love with him. They hinted at Lucanis having complicated feelings about his grandmother that I was looking forward to exploring more, but which got dropped pretty much immediately. (The idea that even the prodigy grandson of the First Talon got tortured as part of his training is exactly the kind of fucked-up Crow lore that I expected and wanted to see more of.) I really loved all the hints at weird and scary threats we’ve literally never seen before (the head-stealing monster in the Minrathous gardens??), but none of that got followed up on.”

“As with previous books, there were several characters I found more compelling and interesting in the book than the game. Books have more freedom to do that, to be fair, but Strife in particular felt like a completely different character in the game.”

OTHER MEDIA INTO VEILGUARD SAMPLE COMMENTS

“I think that Veilguard’s depiction of the events of Last Flight and its principal character of Isseya was probably one of the most offensive parts of the story, as it felt like it didn't understand the book or even its themes at all.”

“I enjoyed Absolution and, again, I was expecting Veilguard to be closer to it in tone, themes, and treatment of the Tevinter-related world building.”

NARRATIVE CONSISTENCY

[The following works on a scale of 1 = worst, to 10 = best]

Most respondents felt BioWare does not do a very good job at maintaining a consistent narrative from the previous games, into DATV overall:

11%

12%

18%

13%

12%

11%

Most respondents felt BioWare does not do a very good job at maintaining a consistent narrative from the previous games, into DATV, regarding different lineages/races and cultures in Thedas:

16%

12%

17%

15%

Most respondents felt BioWare does not do a very good job at maintaining a consistent narrative from the previous games, into DATV, regarding different nations in Thedas:

13%

10%

12%

10%

11%

Most respondents felt BioWare does not do a very good job at maintaining a consistent narrative from the previous games, into DATV, regarding different factions in Thedas:

14%

12%

13%

11%

12%

11%

Most respondents felt BioWare does not do a very good job at maintaining a consistent narrative from the previous games, into DATV, regarding recurring characters:

16%

11%

13%

11%

12%

10%

NARRATIVE SAMPLE COMMENTS

“Overall I am quite satisfied with the direction Bioware took the story and the outcomes for most of the recurring characters Bioware had in Veilguard.”

“I think the entire Dragon Age series has struggled to some extent with narrative consistency, but this game felt so jarringly different from prior games that at times it doesn't feel like a Dragon Age game at all. I recognize that with a ten year time gap that there are going to be changes in-universe, but I feel like 0 effort was put into helping transition players from the old status quo to the new one (and in fact a lot of the writing erases the old status quo). The sociopolitical conflicts common to the series (like the oppression of elves and mages, the cultural hegemony of the Chantry, dwarven society and their diaspora, etc) felt largely if not totally absent from Veilguard. And also there are direct plot threads from Inquisition that are just never touched on (like the Well of Sorrows choice, to pick an example).”

“I think the choice to place Veilguard in the north was a good one, and also freed the writers from some narrative obligations (it doesn't really matter who the king of Ferelden is). I really liked seeing all the familiar conflicts and prejudices from the northern perspectives.”

“Thedas didn’t feel like Thedas. Nothing mattered anymore. Tevinter didn’t feel like Fenris and Dorian described it in the previous games neither like what we saw of it in the comics/book and others adaptations. Same issue with the Crows who appeared like a found family while they technically enslave children. There was none of the darker themes of Thedas (besides the Blight) so we never got to fight the actual corruption beside the one dimensional black and white villains the Evanuris were turned into. Elves oppression issue was totally ignored too. So much was also lacking due to the lack of worldstate.”

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES

Some of the frequently mentioned strengths for DATV include the following:

Good balance between open world and linear maps.

Beautiful art design, especially the environments.

An advanced character creation system.

Fun and engaging combat/gameplay system.

Beloved characters.

Thematic consistency (regret, grief, trauma, hope).

Good voice acting.

Some of the frequently mentioned weaknesses for DATV include the following:

Racism and other bigotries present in the writing.

Lore inconsistencies.

Lack of continuity with the previous game installments.

Lack of “political” or “deep” themes.

Feeling “oversimplified”.

Feels unfinished and/or rushed in places.

It’s also worth noting that many people said they consider some of these merits and flaws to be carried over from the existing IP, rather than exclusive to DATV. Like for example, pointing out that Dragon Age has always had issues with racism in the writing.

#dragon age #datv #survey #fandom survey #survey results #this is a very long post and it took me many hours to put together #so please reblog if you found it interesting <3

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neos127 · 10 months ago

Text

enhypen x gn!reader | vulnerable moments

enhypen showing vulnerability in your relationship genre. fluff, some angst, hcs + established relationship cw. none!

heeseung

your boyfriend nearly laughed in your face when you suggested to give him a bath. ‘i’m not 80’ he drawled, causing you to roll your eyes. heeseung had been complaining about his body being a bit sore so you wanted to help him feel a bit better.

“let me take care of you…you never do.” you pouted, pushing heeseung in the direction of the bathroom.

“is this just a plot to get me to take my clothes o-” you shut the door in his face, telling him to get undressed. you had already prepared the bath tub for him, knowing that even though he would probably protest at first, you would get him in there somehow.

once heeseung called you back in, you giggled at the sight of him surrounded by bubbles. he looked relaxed, despite fighting the idea before.

when you knelt down next to the tub, you began to run soap over his body. you stopped to massage his shoulders a bit and heeseung hummed with content.

“didn’t know i was at a spa today.” heeseung joked, causing you to pinch his side. he yelped and turned his body to face you, a shocked expression on his face.

“shush, hee.�� you giggled, turning him back around to continue washing him. after you were done, you handed heeseung a towel and walked out of the bathroom to give him privacy. for the rest of the night, you decided to pamper him. even doing his skincare which heeseung appreciated very much. he relaxed into your touch, smiling up at you as you applied lotion to his face.

“i love you alot, you know?” heeseung spoke up before placing a light kiss on your hand. you smiled back at him.

“i love you too.”

jay

“why do you always act that way around him?” you sighed, facing your boyfriend who looked just as upset as you were. the two of you had come back to jay’s apartment after meeting up with some friends, one of them being a guy that jay didn’t like. he claimed that your friend actually had a crush on you, he may have been right but at the moment you were too upset to care.

“it doesn’t matter if he likes me or not, im dating you!” you exclaimed, tired of the argument that wasn’t going anywhere. jay was fuming, pacing back and forth across the kitchen floor.

“it does matter! what if you see how great he is after hanging out with him so much? what if you see how much better he could be for you than i am.” he replied, his voice cracking a bit. all anger you once had suddenly vanished and instead you felt sad. jay was jealous, sure, but only because he hadn’t felt secure in your relationship.

you wordlessly walk over to jay before wrapping your arms around him into a hug. he immediately reciprocates, not being able to stay mad at you for very long.

“sometimes i feel like i’m not good enough for you.” he mumbles, his grip still firm around your waist. you pull away slightly to look at his handsome face, smiling at him reassuringly.

“you’re more than enough. you’re everything to me, jay, please don’t ever forget that.”

jake

jake was sure he was in heaven, his head resting on your stomach as your fingers ran through his hair. jake let out a few low hums, his eye closed as he basked in the feeling of having you with him. the boy was fully relaxed and completely at your mercy, but he was comfortable. jake always felt comfortable around you, enough to even let you baby him a bit.

“you’re so tired, huh? had a long day?” you asked softly, your voice nearly a whisper but your tone was as if you were speaking to a small animal. jake knew his friends would have a a laugh if they saw him like that, responding to your words as if he weren’t a fully grown 21 year old.

“mhm.” he hummed in response, snuggling his head impossibly deeper into your hoodie, the one that smelled like your sweet perfume that he adored so much.

sunghoon

you walked into your boyfriend’s room, expecting him to be sleeping or playing a game on his computer. you didn’t expect to see him simply staring out his window, playing with his hands idly.

“sunghoon?” you broke the silence, causing your boyfriend to look at you with a sad expression. you immediately rushed over to him, sitting next to the boy on his bed.

“what happened?” you ask, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his eye. sunghoon takes a deep breath before explaining everything to you— how drained he was, how at times he felt as if he wasn’t good at what he did. he poured out his heart to you, telling you exactly how he felt. he suddenly became choked up, his eyes watering with unshed tears. and then, sunghoon began to cry.

you froze, not knowing how to react considering that you had never seen your boyfriend cry before. he tried to cover his face, but the way his shoulders shook and the sounds of soft cries filling the room showed that he was truly upset. the sight broke your heart and you immediately pulled sunghoon into your chest. he wrapped his arms around your waist, crying into your shirt.

“it’s okay, it’ll be okay.” you mumbled softly as you ran your hands through sunghoon’s hair to comfort him.

sunoo

towards the beginning of your relationship, sunoo had been very hesitant with affection. you two would hold hands and exchange soft kisses, but he hadn’t been one for cuddling and long hugs.

one day, to your surprise, sunoo decided that he wanted to be extra close to you. the two of you were resting on the couch watching a movie and you had decided to lay down. sunoo laid down behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist burying his face into your neck. you tensed at the sudden action, not expecting your boyfriend to cuddle you. sunoo thought you were uncomfortable and went to pull away.

“no! you can stay like that- i was just shocked that’s all.” you spoke up, placing his arms back around your waist.

“im sorry that i haven’t been as affectionate.” sunoo sighed, tightening his hold around your waist. you smiled and pushed yourself further into him, feeling warm and comforted in his embrace.

“don’t apologize, sun. i love you regardless.”

jungwon

jungwon appearing at the doorframe of your dark room did scare you a bit. he had just stood there quietly, similar to horror movie characters before they attack their victim.

“you okay?” you asked your boyfriend before sitting up from your bed and turning on the small bedside lamp. a frown was evident on jungwon’s face, his eyes glossy.

“not really.” he tried to crack a smile, which looked like more of a grimace. you extended your arms, a silent invitation for jungwon to join you. the boy slowly trudged over to your bed, plopping himself down on the mattress, half of his body ontop of yours.

jungwon explained everything to you, how he felt and how his mental health had been affected recently due to his stress. you listened attentively, letting him rant to you, even if some of his words became a jumbled mess. as soon as he was finished speaking, he slumped into your body, the weight of his bottled up feelings had finally been released.

you ran your hand across his back and held him close, feeling happy that he decided to open up to you. during your relationship so far you had never had such talks with jungwon. but it seemed as if you were turning over a new leaf.

riki

he just couldn’t take his eyes off you. you were so gorgeous, adorable, pretty— any similar word riki could think of. you looked up at your boyfriend, dropping the lego piece that you were holding in your hand. usually riki looked away when he caught you staring, but this time he met your gaze.

“what?” you asked sharply, not meaning for it to come out that way but you suddenly felt self conscious due to his eye contact. riki didn’t take your tone to heart, simply shrugging his shoulders.

“i love you.” he mumbled, still looking at you from across the set of legos you were both building. you paused, your stomach exploding with butterflies.

“i love you a lot and you mean everything to me. i know i probably don’t say it often, but i just wanted you to know. i hope to be by your side for a long time.” riki added on, suddenly becoming shy and looking away. you smiled before crawling over to riki and pulling him into a hug. the boy had never been so open with you before but you appreciated it greatly.

“i love you too, ki. i promise to be by your side for a very long time.” you replied, pulling back slightly and holding your pinky out. riki looked down at your hand and chuckled before linking his pinky with yours.

taglist — @boyfhee @junityy @aenify @iilwji @catzisb1og @greentulip @starantulas @jakesangel @heeblurs @pshbites

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redflagshipwriter · 1 year ago

Text

Fast Car Masterpost and Prologue

dead on main fic, intro + four chapters.

Summary: The Red Hood starts off his righteous campaign with a lot of nerve but no legal identification that will let him behind the wheel of a car. Public transportation really doesn't have the panache he needs to start off as a fearsome crime lord, so he needs a driver. He finds Danny Fenton, a grungly college student trying not to be noticed by any government agencies or vigilantes.

to subscribe to this post, on mobile open the notes and click the bell on the upper right hand corner of the post. on desktop, open the notes at the bottom and press the bell on the right edge of the notes.

Links will be added to chapter list as the story posts. Chapter one will go up on July 14th. Updates are approximately every other day.

LINKS/ chapter count

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

prologue

“No, Habibi,” Talia said calmly into the phone. “I will not falsify you an American non-commercial driver's license for motor vehicles. If you cannot prove yourself to Gotham without American motor vehicle operating permissions, you will never prove yourself. Rise above this challenge.” Talia covered the phone for a second but he could hear her talking to someone else about tile options.

“It's an unnecessary challenge,” Jason argued, doing his level best not to let his tone go up. It was undignified to whine. He was a man now. “The important parts of the challenge are the tactical planning and the skills.”

Talia sounded like she was filing her nails. “Tactically plan to take the bus. Or walk. Walking is free and healthy.”

Jason made an indignant sound but she mercilessly hung up. The worst! She made the top three of his worst mother figures, easily.

“She's just doing this so I can't go drinking.” He scowled into the air. “I don't even want to!” His voice broke mid whine, which was an insult to add to all the injuries visited upon him by the cruel whims of women who weren't even his legal guardian. He was an adult in most countries!

The worst part was that Talia didn't care about underage drinking. She just didn't want to hear shit about enabling him from Bruce when he eventually figured out that Jason was alive, 19, and in Gotham. His passport claimed he was 21 because it had to for him to travel alone, but she knew damn well no one used their passport as ID in bars.

He couldn't just go get a license. Jason sulked viciously and threw himself into fixing his plans to accommodate for this.

He was legally dead and living under a fake name. If he tried to sign up for the driving exam, it'd be too much scrutiny on his paperwork. But he was not taking the bus around as a crime lord. It lacked panache. More importantly, it didn't go where he wanted it to go.

Fine. He didn't need her help. He didn't need anyone's help. He just needed to download Uber.

That was how Jason wound up wiping a mob lieutenant’s blood off of his hand onto his pants so that he could use the guy's touch screen phone. Victor Woodward's account put in a request for a ride to the Gotham police headquarters. He killed time kicking ass in all the Words with Friends games that Victor had ongoing, which was really gonna surprise anyone who normally played with that boob. Victor’s last ever play was ‘cat,’ for fuck’s sake.

A few minutes later, a skinny teenager pulled up in his clanker and opened the door. Jason put on a smile and hefted his duffle bag a little higher on his shoulder.

“Hi! Victor?” The guy, Danny, waved his phone at Jason.

“That's me!” Jason lied breezily. “Can I put this in the trunk?”

“Go for it.” Danny popped the trunk open from inside the car. He watched Jason with his big blue doe eyes.

For an instant, Jason thought that Danny might have seen something. Paranoia reared up. Was there blood visible? Was it easy to tell that the shapes in the bag were heads?”

The moment passed. Danny cleared his throat and whipped his face forwards again. “Normally I say to sit in the backseat, but I'm not sure that's enough room for your legs. Either is fine.”

Jason got in the car and let satisfaction wash over his body as the weirdly timid kid pulled them out into traffic at a snail’s pace. Whatever. They wouldn’t get stopped for a traffic violation when the driver was cautious.

He’d done it. His debut as the terrifying Red Hood, hunter of the wicked and bane of the Batman, was launched. And he didn’t need a license to do it.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dead on main

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shiftthemoon · 6 months ago

Text

50 WAYS YOUR LOVER SAYS, "je t'adore, mon amour"

✦ read this and let it be your reminder: love exists for you, too.

before you keep scrolling, let’s play a little game. close your eyes and place your phone down gently—it’ll still be here when you come back. take a deep breath and step into the life waiting for you. imagine them—your lover—holding your hand, leaving little kisses on your forehead, doing all the quiet, beautiful things that whisper “i love you” in ways words never could. picture it vividly, feel it in your chest.

you’re closer than you think. let these words carry you closer still. this is what love feels like when it’s made just for you.

✸ “whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

— emily brontë, wuthering heights

1. they trace constellations on your back with their fingertips until you fall asleep, whispering the names of stars like they were named just for you.

2. every morning, they memorize the exact shade of your eyes as sunlight touches them for the first time.

3. when they see a flower, they always pick the one that reminds them of you.

4. they hum songs they wrote in their head about you, forgetting the rest of the world even exists.

5. their hands hold yours like they’re anchoring themselves to the only thing that’s real.

6. they remember how you like your tea or coffee, down to the exact second it needs to steep.

7. they’ll start reading your favorite book, even if they can’t make sense of the metaphors, just to understand what makes your soul hum.

8. they run baths for you after hard days, scattering petals and lighting candles like it’s a ritual for a deity.

9. they defend your name in rooms you’ve never stepped foot in, making sure the world knows how sacred you are.

10. every time they kiss your forehead, they close their eyes, like they’re making a wish.

11. they memorize the cadence of your voice, the way it lilts when you’re excited or drifts when you’re tired.

12. they notice the tiny details no one else sees—the way your nose wrinkles when you think or how your foot taps to an invisible rhythm.

13. when you feel invisible, they find a way to make you shine.

14. they make plans for the future and always say “we” instead of “I.”

15. they look at you like they’ve just found a piece of eternity tucked away in the mundane.

16. they remember the things you’ve forgotten—like where you put your favorite sweater or what your dream was three weeks ago.

17. they’ve written your name in the margins of their notebooks, just to feel closer to you when you’re not around.

18. they tuck blankets around you when you fall asleep on the couch, careful not to wake you.

19. they call you by nicknames you didn’t even know you needed, sweet and soft like poetry only they can write.

20. they let you win arguments sometimes, just because giving you a kiss after is more satisfying than proving their point.

21. when they laugh, it sounds like music only you get to hear.

22. they’ve memorized the way you like your pillow fluffed and always fix it before you lay down.

23. when you’re sad, they remind you of all the reasons the universe is lucky to hold you.

24. they press their forehead against yours, quiet and gentle, like they’re saying “i’m here” without words.

25. they notice the little ways you show love—your touch, your words, your silences—and treasure each one.

26. they’ve started carrying your favorite snack in their bag, just in case you need it.

27. they touch the small of your back as if grounding you to this moment, this place, this love.

28. they dream of you when they’re awake, turning every thought into a love letter.

29. they’ve memorized the rhythm of your heartbeat and swear it’s their favorite song.

30. they walk on the outside of the sidewalk, shielding you from passing cars like you’re made of glass.

31. they press kisses to your wrist, your temple, your shoulder—anywhere their lips can reach.

32. when they see something beautiful, their first thought is to share it with you.

33. they hold space for your silence, knowing it’s just as important as your words.

34. they learn your love language, even if it feels foreign to them, and speak it fluently.

35. they let you wear their clothes, claiming you make them look better anyway. (you do!)

36. they find ways to bring your name into conversations, just to say it out loud.

37. they never forget the sound of your laugh, even when the world gets too loud.

38. they hold your face like it’s the answer to every question they’ve ever asked.

39. they light candles during thunderstorms because they know the flicker calms you.

40. they kiss your scars and call them the roadmap to your soul.

41. they tell you their secrets, the ones even they are scared of, because they trust you with their heart.

42. they leave notes in your bag, on your mirror, in your books—little pieces of love tucked away for you to find later.

43. they say your name like it’s their favorite word.

44. they teach themselves your favorite song on a musical instrument, even if they don’t know how to play.

45. they dance with you in the kitchen.

46. they stay up late just to talk to you about the things that matter to you.

47. they carve your initials into the soft bark of their heart, promising to carry you with them always.

48. they hold your hand in crowded spaces, making sure you feel safe in the chaos.

49. they memorize the way you breathe when you’re asleep, every inhale a symphony.

50. they love you not just in the grand gestures, but in the quiet, everyday moments—the ones where love doesn’t need to be spoken to be felt.

𖦹࣪˖ shift with the faith that someone, somewhere, is ‘waiting’ to love you this fiercely. you are worth every ounce of it. ׄ ִֶָ.

#shifting #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting community #loassumption #shifting tips #shifting antis dni #shifting script #law of assumption #shifting motivation #shifting blog #shifting realities #reality shift #shifting diary

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fairyniceyeah · 1 year ago

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💎😇Day 21: "Let's play a game"

Stairs/Pressure Points/Trap Door

@juneofdoom

Day 20: "I can handle it."

Summary: Let’s play a game, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Jeonghan was not having fun.

CW: injuries, emeto, swearing (but like the amount I wouldn’t tag in a The Rose fic)

Whumpee: Jeonghan

Caretaker: Minghao

Let’s play a game, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.

That was all that was running through Jeonghan’s mind as he himself ran through a villa they had rented for a Going Seventeen Episode.

In teams they were tasked to find pieces of papers with numbers which in turn held codewords which they would have to tell the staff who then had a list of other tasks they had to do before running off to find another number with another codeword in order to…

Yeah, Jeonghan wasn’t a fan. Especially since his team was the worst. Vernon, oblivious as fuck, had ran past the number they had been searching for three times until Jeonghan himself had noticed it. Jihoon wasn’t faring much better. Nobody had thought about the fact that the producer could at times not even see the numbers hanging in high areas or reach them to turn the paper around to find out the codeword. Jeonghan was the best of the three and … well, he was lazy, hated running and was more than a little annoyed that he had not yet found a way to cheat.

Well, he had tried and then Seungcheol, bastard that he was, had reported him removing numbers to the staff which had turned into a penalty for his group and the rest of the members laughing at them.

At least Jihoon also was not having the time of his life - he was currently pouting in a corner as Hoshi laughed at him and asked him if he needed a box to reach things. Hoshi, who was in a team with sore-loser Seungcheol and tall-as-fuck Mingyu - they were so far ahead of Jeonghan’s team that he could spare the time to make fun of Jihoon.

So, yeah, what if Jeonghan was annoyed?

It was only a game.

… a game that he wanted to win.

Jeonghan was torn out of his thoughts by Jihoon calling his name. The tiny producer had managed to shake Hoshi off and was now staring in disdain at a paper that hung unfairly high on the wall by some stairs. It had likely been placed there to be out of eyesight but even for Jeonghan who was half a head taller than Woozi it was very high.

“I hate this game”, Jeonghan groaned.

“You’re telling me that?”, Jihoon complained, crossing his arms.

Jeonghan cooed and patted his head, grinning even as Jihoon hit him - hard - in retaliation.

“Cute.”

“You’re just pissed that you were caught cheating”, Jihoon said.

“I am not”, Jeonghan replied. “Only that Seungcheol betrayed me like this.”

“Hey”, the leader called across the hall, having heard his full name. “Stop pouting. You deserved that!”

“Shut up”, Jihoon and Jeonghan called back.

Together, with similarly crossed arms, they both stared up at the paper taunting them. Carats would have a field day with that view of them.

“What are we gonna do about that?”, Jihoon finally dared ask.

“I suppose, I could try balancing?”, Jeonghan suggested.

“Are you crazy?” Jihoon whirled around to look at him. “You’ll fall.”

“I won’t.”

Maybe it was the frustration over the game or it was recklessness itself that caused the petulance in Jeonghan’s chest. He would get that piece of paper no matter what it took. Without waiting for Jihoon to argue back, Jeonghan stepped closer to the edge of the stairs and forced his weight forwards against the wall. Standing on his tip-toes he reached out to the paper but he soon had to realize that it was futile. He was too far away even on the top of the stairs. Going down a step would bring him closer horizontally but he wouldn’t be tall enough then.

“Hold me”, he ordered and grasped onto Jihoon’s hand before the younger had a chance to stop him again.

“Hyung, don’t”, Jihoon said, sounding a bit afraid, but Jeonghan trusted his dongsaeng to hold him. Slowly he inched closer to the paper with his fingers, centimeter by centimeter.

Then he managed to hold the edge but it wouldn’t come off easily.

“Hyung”, Jihoon called, his voice now more frantic. “Hyung.”

But Jeonghan would not fail on the last millimeters. He leaned forward and then he held the paper in his hand.

Yet, he had not considered that the force he used to lean forward would also force Jihoon forward and that only Jihoon would be able to pull his momentum back. Jihoon, while having started to work out a few weeks ago, was still not that strong and could definitely not compensate for Jeonghan’s weight - not on top of the stairs.

“Hyung”, Jihoon yelled desperately, but it was too late. Jeonghan’s hand slipped from his grip as Jihoon desperately tried to pull him up.

They both fell backwards. Jihoon? Onto the top of the stairwell. Jeonghan? Down the stairs.

Pain exploded all over his back, along with the back of his head.

Jeonghan screamed.

People were yelling, shouting over each other. Jeonghan furrowed his brow as he struggled to catch his breath. It was like his whole body was consumed by pain. A foggy haze was over everything.

He blinked a few times and then managed to keep his eyes open.

“Han-ah?”, Seungcheol’s voice asked and then his best friend’s face came into focus. He sounded very frightened. His voice was more shaky than Jeonghan had heard in a long time.

“Cheollie?”, Jeonghan rasped and tried to push himself up to get to him. Immediately hands pressed him down and he winced as pain engulfed his back. This was not nice. Turns out: Falling down the stairs hurt. What a surprise. He’d been too reckless and paid the price. He just hoped that Jihoon…

“Stay down, hyung!”

While the earlier pain had dazed him, now everything became much clearer. He blinked. Seungcheol was kneeling by his side, as were several of his dongsaengs and some managers. Jeonghan definitely saw Vernon, Joshua, Dino, Seokmin and Seungkwan but the one he subconsciously was searching for, was not there.

“Jihoon-ah?”, he questioned, eyes flickering all over the area. Where was Jihoon? Had he fallen too due to Jeonghan’s recklessness?

“He’s okay. Scared and in shock, but physically okay. Soonyoung and Wonwoo are with him”, Seungcheol soothed though his voice was still off. Jeonghan couldn’t blame him for it. He didn’t want to know how he himself would have reacted in a similar situation.

At least Jihoon was fine.

Good. As Jeonghan breathed out, he realized everybody held their breath in anticipation. Several pairs of eyes were watching him, piercing him.

Jeonghan supposed he must be quite a frightful sight. Collapsed on the floor after falling down the stairs due to his own stupidity. That had not been his plan at all. Now everybody was worried. He most certainly didn’t want that. So he tried to push himself up again. Pain flared up all over his spine and vertigo hit him so hard he nearly blacked out. There was sudden nausea in his throat and he gagged.

“Hyung, hyung”, Seungkwan called, pressing onto Jeonghan’s chest, “don’t move. The managers already called an ambulance and they said you shouldn’t move. You might have seriously hurt your spine or head.”

Several pairs of hands held Jeonghan down, even as he squirmed. It was too much. Everything hurt. He was so nauseous. People were crowding him. There was no space to breathe.

Jeonghan was going to throw up.

He gagged, trying to jerk his head to the side in desperation but someone - Dino? - stopped him.

Jeonghan was going to choke if they didn’t let him turn.

It was all too much. So many people and so many feelings and he was so small and helpless on the ground. He started to sob. More hands came to touch him, brushing his hair away and leaving his skin crawling.

Then the most beautiful sound came: “Stop! Stop touching him! Can’t you see he is overwhelmed? Move away, now!”

The hands retreated and Jeonghan cried in relief. Fat teardrops fell down his face and dripped into his ears, laying on his back as he was. He weakly tried to move his head, gagging again. He didn’t want to be sick but his stomach lurched so badly.

“Hyung?”, the same voice as before said, “can you open your eyes? I promise, nobody is going to touch you. I just want to see your pretty eyes.”

Jeonghan reluctantly opened his eyes, only now realizing he had squeezed them shut. Above him, Minghao was looking down at him - close but far away enough to not overwhelm. Everybody else was gone. It was just the two of them. Jeonghan hoped Minghao was not as terrified as he looked. It shouldn’t be his responsibility to take care of his stupid hyung. But he was helping - much better than anybody else. His gentle calmness calmed Jeonghan down.

“Eissa”, Jeonghan whispered, “I feel so sick. I’m going to throw up. I need to turn. Please. Please, I …”

Minghao had been the most understanding of them all. He hadn’t crowded Jeonghan. He surely would allow his hyung to move, to turn, so he wouldn’t choke on his own sick. Right?

“I’m sorry, hyung. You can’t move. You fell on your back, you might have seriously injured your spine”, Minghao said apologetically, worriedly.

Jeonghan started to panic again. His breath came faster, hurting his back and head. Everything was spinning. He retched, a tiny dribble of vomit coming up and with the force of his back muscles rippling, it spewed out of his mouth and dripped down his lips onto his chin. Jeonghan cried out in pain as the movement hurt his back, trying hard to stay still but also so scared. At least he wasn’t forced to inhale his own throw up. Instantly a hand wiped at his mouth, making sure nothing could run back into his mouth.

All Jeonghan could do was try to stop himself from vomiting again, all the while sobbing so badly it upset his stomach even more. He couldn’t remember feeling so scared for himself ever before. The nausea wouldn’t relent and he was sure he would die then and there, choking on his own vomit. Even as he tried to stay still to keep the pain at bay, his body was trembling with the sobs.

Then something pressed into his hand, the space between his thumb and index finger. It was so much of a surprise - why would anybody do that instead of holding his hand or something? - he stopped crying. Another hand was stroking his hair but this time it felt good. Comforting.

Through blurry sight he saw Minghao holding onto his hand with both his hands, pressing down.

“Is this better?”, the dancer asked worriedly. Dazed, Jeonghan hummed in agreement. Yeah, he did feel better. The nausea was dying down and his throat didn’t feel like it would contract any second anymore. He didn’t understand.

Minghao must have seen the confusion on his face as he explained: “I once read that there was a pressure point for nausea between the thumb and index finger. I thought I’d give it a try. It’s helping, yes?”

“Yeah”, Jeonghan agreed. He truly felt much better. The pain was persistent and he was still very scared of what he had done to himself but the overwhelming panic and dangerous nausea were gone.

“Please keep still, Jeonghan-hyung”, Minghao now said, “the ambulance should be here soon and they’ll take very good care of you. Are you in much pain?”

“My back, mostly”, Jeonghan replied truthfully. He owed Minghao that - he never liked being lied to. “My head, too, a bit. But I can endure it.”

Jeonghan knew he might have really injured himself. It could be a career-ending injury even. But he didn’t care at the moment. His heart was too full of worry for his members who were left to deal with him.

One of Minghao’s hands let go of his, though the young dancer made sure to hold onto the pressure point with the other. The free hand came up to wipe away the tears on Jeonghan’s face and then stroked back long strands of hair that were sticking to his cheeks.

“I’m glad. Please be more careful, hyung”, Minghao whispered, “it was terrifying. I was taking a break and was watching you and Woozi-hyung. Seeing you fall so suddenly … I … you really scared us today.”

“I’m sorry, Eissa. I didn’t think”, Jeonghan mumbled. He wished he could comfort Minghao with touch but he knew that moving was not the greatest idea in his state. “Are the others okay?”

“So much is clear”, a new voice said, trembling slightly. Then Jihoon came to sit by them, one arm coming up to wrap itself around Minghao. Jeonghan was glad there was somebody was taking care of their shy young member. “That you didn’t think, I mean. Do you know how terrifying it was to feel your hand slip out of my grip and see you fall?”

Jihoon and Jeonghan locked gazes. The producer’s eyes were red and a bit swollen. He had been crying, Jeonghan realized. He hadn’t wanted to make Jihoon cry - Jihoon who of all people barely cried and if he did never wanted to do it in front of the members. Jeonghan wasn’t sure if - outside of award shows and concerts - anybody beside himself, Seungcheol and Hoshi had seen him cry.

“I’m sorry, Jihoon-ah”, Jeonghan apologized quietly. “I never wanted to make you go through that.”

“I know, hyung. Please don’t be so reckless in the future”, Jihoon replied and started to say something else but was drowned out by the hectic of paramedics arriving out of a sudden. Finally.

They carefully transferred Jeonghan onto a stretcher and really, it was scary being encompassed by the neckbrace like he was. Moving was nauseating, too. Minghao, who had moved away from him to let the paramedics work, seemed to understand what Jeonghan was asking as he stretched out his arm towards him.

Seungcheol and Joshua came up to him, a bit reluctant after Jeonghan’s earlier panic, but he shooed them away. All he needed for the hospital trip was for Minghao to keep holding his hand.

“What was it?”, Jeonghan asked two days later, laying on his bed in the dorm. His back was bruised and there was a lovely bump on his head but he was as well as he could be. The members, still scared, tip-toed around him. If he wasn’t so bored, Jeonghan would have loved the pampering. Jihoon, especially, had been a permanent fixture in his room.

“What was what?”, Jihoon asked, looking up from his laptop screen.

“The codeword I nearly broke my back for?”

“Fuck off, hyung.”

Day 22: "What's the bad news?"

Story from Woozi's perspective: Eyes on you, eyes on me

Masterlist links: Fairy's Masterlist 2024 Fairy's Masterlist 2025 Fairy's June of Doom 2024

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demie90s · 1 month ago

Text

Written in Ink, Not If

꒰ 🍒 ꒱ PAIGE BUECKERS X READER ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

MASTERLIST MORE

⭑ pairing: Paige Bueckers x reader (calm, confident!fem!reader)

⭑ summary: Before every game, you write Paige’s stat predictions on your forearm in black Sharpie. Points. Rebounds. Assists. Quiet ritual—until she notices. What starts as a smirk-worthy superstition turns into something softer, heavier, and harder to ignore. Especially when you’re never wrong.

⭑ genre: Slow-burn, mutual pining, soft superstition, silent love

⭑ warnings: Flirty tension, quiet obsession, visible devotion

⭑ word count: ~ 0.7k

You don’t tell anyone what the numbers mean.

You never have.

You sit on the same bench in the same corner of the locker room every game day—back leaned against cold tile, headphones resting around your neck, warm-up hoodie unzipped halfway. Calm. Focused. A Sharpie in your hand, cap already off.

Everyone else is still loud—someone blasting music, someone else walking around with one sock on. You’re quiet. Legs stretched out. Eyes down.

And on your forearm, you write it:

24 pts

6 ast

3 reb

Paige Bueckers.

You always save her for last. You don’t write your own numbers. Never have. No superstition. No show. Just hers.

Sometimes it’s higher. Sometimes lower. But it’s never wrong.

She doesn’t know. Except… she probably does.

⸻

The first time she caught you was back in January. You’d finished writing just as she came around the corner, fixing her bun, mouth full of whatever gummy candy she lived on pre-game.

She stopped. Didn’t say anything. Just stared for a second too long at your arm.

You’d pulled your sleeve down without blinking. Not embarrassed. Just private. She didn’t bring it up. And you never stopped.

⸻

Now it’s March.

You’re deep into the season. The rhythm is muscle memory now.

You write her stats before every game. Left forearm, right under the crease. The team thinks you’re journaling plays. One of the trainers thought it was your own goals.

But you know what it is. It’s how you say “I believe in you” without saying anything. It’s how you love her from the seat beside hers. You’re halfway through today’s line when someone sits beside you. Too close to be casual.

You glance over. Paige.

Her warmup hoodie’s off. Braided hair tucked into a loose bun. She’s leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes on your arm.

“Are you writing about me again?” she asks, soft. You pause.

“You want me to stop?”

She shakes her head once. “No. I want to know what you wrote.”

You let the Sharpie hover in the air a second longer. Then you finish it:

22 pts

7 ast

2 reb

You cap the marker. Stretch your wrist.

Her eyes flicker over it slowly. Like she’s reading a message written in another language but already memorized the translation.

She swallows.

“Why do you do that?”

You glance at her.

“Because you live up to it.”

⸻

Pregame warmups are hot under the lights. You move like nothing happened. She misses two shots in a row, eyes on the rim but brain somewhere else.

You catch her staring at your arm again mid-shootaround.

She doesn’t stop.

⸻

Second Half. 4 Minutes Left.

Paige has 21 points. She’s at the line.

You watch from the key.

She glances at you before she takes the shot. Swish. Ties it up.

Timeout. Coach calls the huddle. You sit beside her. She’s breathing heavy, towel over her knees. Her hand brushes your thigh and stays there.

No one says a word.

⸻

Postgame Locker Room

You’re back in the same corner. Wiped down. Clean hoodie on. Hair damp.

She walks up with her duffle slung over her shoulder. She squats beside you, balancing herself with one hand on your bench.

You look up. She’s already staring.

“I hit 23.”

You nod. “I was one off.”

“You’re never off.”

Silence.

She looks at your arm again. “Can I write something next time?”

You raise an eyebrow. “What would you write?”

She leans in closer, so close you smell her citrus sweat, the sugar from her drink, the shampoo she stole from your locker.

She says, “Ask me before next game. I’ll show you.”

She walks out.

You don’t move. You just stare at your arm.

And think: maybe next time, you’ll write “mine”

#wbb imagine #wnba #wnba x reader #wbb #gxg #wbb x reader #wnba x oc #uconn wbb #wbb x oc #wnba imagine #wnba fanfic #wbb uconn #gxg imagine #gxg fluff #paige bueckers uconn #paige bueckers x reader #paige x oc #paige x reader #paige buckets

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reveriebae · 5 months ago

Text

Love Overdose

pairing(s) : Park Seonghwa x reader

word count : 7946

genre : smut

summary : seonghwa’s been burned before and swears he’ll never fall for anyone again. But when he meets you, he decides to make you fall for him first—playing mind games, teasing you, and letting you get obsessed. Only then will he let himself care.

warning(s) : dom!Seonghwa, sub! reader, Seonghwa is pushing and pulling, unprotected sex, begging, oral, cunnilingus(?), slight hand job, edging, creampie. Let me know if I missed something!

Part of Songfic

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut🪐

It started subtly—just enough to get under your skin without you realizing it.

Seonghwa had always been careful, always in control. Love had ruined him before, and he had sworn never to let himself fall first again. But when he saw you for the first time, something shifted. A spark. An ache. A temptation.

He refused to acknowledge it. Instead, he turned it into a game.

At first, he was polite—charming in that effortless way that made him so damn magnetic. He wasn’t too obvious, never too eager. He let you come to him. And when you did, when you found yourself drawn in by the way he spoke, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long, he gave you just enough to make you want more.

The first time he called you late at night, his voice was smooth, dripping into your ear like honey. “Can’t sleep?” he murmured, low and intimate.

You didn’t even question why he was calling you. It felt natural—Seonghwa had a way of making things feel that way. You talked for hours, your laughter soft, your voice laced with sleep. And just when you started to feel comfortable, just when your heart started to flutter at the sound of his deep, soothing voice, he ended the call with a teasing chuckle.

“Sleep well, sweetheart.”

The next day? He barely acknowledged you.

You caught glimpses of him—passing by in the hallway, standing with friends, laughing at something on his phone. But he never looked your way. Never acted like he had spent the night making you feel special.

It made no sense.

The second call came a few nights later.

“Missed me?” His tone was playful, edged with something darker.

You had missed him, though you wouldn’t admit it. He spoke to you like you were the only person in the world, his voice warm, teasing, addictive. He asked about your day, hummed in amusement at your stories, flirted just enough to make your stomach flip.

But again—when you saw him the next day? Nothing. Not a glance, not a word.

It drove you insane.

You didn’t understand it. Every time he spoke to you, you felt like he was pulling you deeper, making you feel something real. But then he shut you out like none of it ever happened. It was like he wanted you on the edge of something—something just out of reach.

And the worst part? It was working.

You started thinking about him more than you should. Wondering when he’d call again. Replaying his words in your mind. Craving his attention, even when you told yourself you didn’t care.

Seonghwa could see it. He could see the way you started watching him when you thought he wouldn’t notice. The way you hesitated before walking past him, waiting—hoping—he would acknowledge you.

He smirked to himself.

You were already getting hooked.

And he hadn’t even touched you yet.

The first time you confronted him, Seonghwa nearly laughed.

You had been patient—painfully so. But patience had limits, and yours had finally snapped.

He was leaning against the wall in the dimly lit hallway, scrolling through his phone like he didn’t have a care in the world. That same air of effortless confidence, that infuriating calmness. Like he hadn’t been calling you late at night, whispering things that made your heart race. Like he hadn’t been slowly pulling you deeper into whatever twisted game he was playing.

You marched straight up to him, your hands clenched at your sides. “What the hell is your problem?”

Seonghwa barely looked up.

“Hmm?” he hummed, his thumb lazily scrolling across his screen.

That infuriating, dismissive reaction made your blood boil.

“Don’t ‘hmm’ me,” you snapped, stepping closer. “You call me in the middle of the night, you talk like—like I actually mean something to you, and then you act like I don’t even exist during the day? What kind of sick game are you playing?”

Seonghwa finally lifted his gaze, dark eyes locking onto yours. There it was—that look. Amusement. Amusement at you. Like he had been waiting for this moment. Like he wanted you to get mad.

His lips curled into a slow smirk. “Oh?” he mused, pushing his phone into his pocket. He tilted his head slightly, watching you like a predator watches its prey. “You’ve been thinking about me that much, sweetheart?”

Your stomach twisted.

You had walked straight into his trap.

The realization hit too late. Seonghwa was already moving, stepping into your space with that unbearable confidence, that smooth, deliberate grace that made your pulse stutter.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he murmured, his voice just low enough to make your breath hitch.

You took a step back instinctively, but his hand shot out, catching your wrist.

Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs.

Seonghwa studied you for a moment, his grip light but firm. His thumb brushed against your skin absently, almost like he was testing something. Testing you.

And then, as if he hadn’t just trapped you against the wall, as if he hadn’t just sent your mind spiraling into chaos—he let go.

Stepped back.

Shrugged.

“Relax, Y/N,” he said, his tone almost teasing. “I was just having a little fun.”

He turned to walk away.

Your nails dug into your palms.

Seonghwa paused, glancing over his shoulder. That smirk was still there, sharp and knowing. “Don’t be too upset, sweetheart.” His voice dropped just enough to make your skin prickle. “I’ll call you tonight.”

Then he was gone.

And you were left standing there—seething, confused, and somehow, desperately waiting for your phone to ring.

That night, you hated yourself for how quickly you reached for your phone the moment it buzzed.

His name flashed on the screen. Seonghwa.

You hesitated. You shouldn’t answer. You should make him wait this time, make him feel the same frustration he put you through. But your fingers moved before your brain could catch up, swiping the call open.

You pressed the phone to your ear. “…What?”

A low chuckle. “Aww, sweetheart. You sound upset.”

The sound of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. Slow, rich, dripping with amusement. Like he already knew exactly how much you had been thinking about him.

You gritted your teeth. “I should hang up.”

“But you won’t.”

Your breath hitched.

There was a rustling sound on his end, like he was shifting, settling in somewhere comfortable. “You’ve been waiting for my call, haven’t you?” His voice dropped, honey-smooth. “Spent all day thinking about me?”

You refused to answer.

Seonghwa hummed. “That’s cute.”

Your grip tightened around the phone. “You’re an asshole.”

“Mmm. Am I?” A soft exhale, almost like a sigh. “But I bet you’re in bed right now. Lying there, holding your phone with both hands, trying not to admit how much you wanted to hear my voice.”

Your pulse stuttered.

“Tch.” He made a small, mocking sound. “I bet you look so pretty like that.”

Your breath grew uneven. You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Why are you calling me, Seonghwa?”

He exhaled a quiet laugh, like he was enjoying this far too much.

“I told you, sweetheart.” His voice was barely above a whisper now, deep and smooth, seeping into you like a drug. “I just like having a little fun.”

You clenched your jaw. “This isn’t fun for me.”

“No?” He tsked. “Then why haven’t you hung up?”

Your fingers twitched.

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy.

Then his voice dropped even lower, dark and deliberate.

“Be honest, baby.” The way he said it—baby—made your stomach flip. “Do you want me to stop?”

Your lips parted.

You should say yes. You should.

But you didn’t.

Another chuckle. “That’s what I thought.”

He let the silence linger, letting his words settle in, letting the tension coil around you like a vice. Then, just as you felt like you might drown in it, he spoke again—soft, teasing, devastating.

“Sleep well, sweetheart.”

And then the line went dead.

You stared at your screen, your heart hammering against your ribs.

You hated him.

You wanted him.

And worst of all?

He knew it.

The next day, you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again.

You wouldn’t check your phone every five minutes.

You wouldn’t let him get to you.

You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

And yet, the moment you spotted Seonghwa across the room, your stomach twisted into knots.

He was leaned back in his chair, legs spread casually, one arm draped over the backrest, looking as effortless as ever. His long fingers tapped absently against his knee, his lips quirked in that same unreadable smirk. He wasn’t even looking at you.

Like last night had never happened.

Like he hadn’t spent the entire call pulling you deeper, making your breath hitch, leaving you burning with frustration and something else—something you didn’t want to admit.

Your nails dug into your palms. Asshole.

You forced yourself to ignore him, to act like you didn’t care either. But then, as you passed by, something shifted.

You felt it before you saw it—the weight of his gaze, slow and deliberate, dragging over you like a touch.

You refused to look at him.

But then, just as you reached the door—

“Y/N.”

His voice was smooth, rich, curling around your name like a secret. It sent a shiver straight down your spine.

You froze.

Slowly, you turned to face him.

Seonghwa’s eyes met yours, dark and unreadable. He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling at the corners. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“You forgot something.”

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

He leaned forward, resting his chin against his hand, his gaze locking onto yours. The way he looked at you—it wasn’t playful, it wasn’t teasing. It was intentional. Calculated.

And then—his lips parted, and his voice dropped to that devastating, intimate murmur.

“You didn’t say goodnight.”

Your breath caught.

Heat rushed to your face, your chest tightening with something sharp, something infuriatingly needy.

The audacity. The absolute nerve of him.

Your jaw clenched. You opened your mouth to snap at him, to say something—anything—but his smirk deepened. Like he was waiting for it. Like he wanted you to lose control.

You refused.

Instead, you straightened your spine, forced your expression into something neutral, and turned on your heel without another word.

You didn’t see it, but behind you—

Seonghwa chuckled under his breath.

Hook.

Line.

Sinker.

The days blurred together in a haze of tension. You tried to keep your distance, tried to act indifferent, but Seonghwa’s presence was like a magnetic pull you couldn’t resist. Every glance from him, every teasing word, set something off in you. Your patience was wearing thin, and you knew it.

And then it happened.

You were sitting in the quiet, dimly lit café, attempting to distract yourself with your phone, pretending that nothing he’d said or done had affected you. You were fine. You were so much better than this.

Then, the door chimed as it opened, and the very air seemed to shift.

You didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

Seonghwa.

You could feel the weight of his gaze on you the moment he entered, the way his presence seemed to fill up the space, making everything else around you feel insignificant. You resisted the urge to look up. You kept your focus on your phone, acting casual, but it was like you could sense him drawing closer.

And then—his voice.

“I thought you’d be here.”

You finally looked up, your heart giving an involuntary skip at the sight of him standing there. He was leaning casually against the table, his hand brushing lightly against your shoulder as he glanced down at you, that smirk of his playing at the edges of his lips.

You swallowed, trying to keep the annoyance in check. “What do you want?”

Seonghwa’s eyes darkened just the slightest bit, his gaze locking onto yours. “I wanted to see you, sweetheart.” His voice was low, seductive, like he was savoring each word. “Is that a problem?”

You clenched your jaw, trying to keep your composure. “No, just... annoying.”

He chuckled. “I like when you’re annoyed.” His finger brushed against the edge of your cup, tracing the rim slowly. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

You shook your head, half-tempted to leave the café entirely, but the thought of walking away, of letting him win that easily, burned too much.

Seonghwa leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “What’s the matter? Did I make you miss me, sweetheart?” His voice was almost a whisper, sending a shiver down your spine.

The proximity, his voice, the way he was so effortlessly close—it made your mind whirl. “You think you have that power over me?” You whispered, heart racing, feeling caught between the desire to push him away and the urge to pull him closer.

Seonghwa’s lips curled into that familiar smirk, but this time, there was something darker beneath it. “I know I do.”

And then he was gone. Just like that. He turned and walked away, leaving you there, trying to catch your breath, the weight of his words pressing against your chest.

The game was far from over. In fact, it had just begun.

The next few days felt like you were stuck in a loop, and Seonghwa was the center of it all. The more you tried to ignore him, the more he seemed to slip into your mind, infiltrating every thought, every breath. His words, his smirk, the way he looked at you with that cocky confidence—it haunted you, gnawed at the edges of your sanity.

And then, on one of those nights, when the air was thick with tension and the world felt too quiet, your phone buzzed again.

His name flashed across the screen.

You stared at it for a moment, debating whether or not to pick up. You had sworn you wouldn’t do this again. You wouldn’t fall for it.

But a part of you... wanted to.

With a sigh, you answered. “What now, Seonghwa?”

His voice greeted you almost immediately, smooth and lazy, like he’d been waiting for you to pick up. “I’m thinking about you.”

Your breath caught at the directness of it. You cursed yourself for the way your heart fluttered, for how easily you let him get under your skin.

“What’s new?” You tried to sound indifferent, but it came out breathless, like you were already unraveling.

He chuckled softly on the other end, his tone dripping with amusement. “Oh, it’s new, sweetheart.” His voice dropped lower, quieter. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot... in ways I shouldn’t.”

Your breath hitched. You felt your pulse race at the words, a mixture of confusion and something dangerously close to excitement curling in your stomach.

“And what ways are those?” you forced out, trying to sound unaffected, but failing miserably.

He was silent for a moment, the air between you thick with anticipation. And then—“In ways that make me want to break every rule I’ve set for myself.” His words were slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the effect they were having on you. “You think I don’t know how much you crave this? How badly you want me to touch you... feel me against you...”

Your fingers trembled as you gripped the phone tighter, trying to steady yourself. But every word he said, every inch of his voice seemed to tear down the walls you’d built around yourself.

“You want me to make you beg, don’t you?” Seonghwa’s voice was a whisper now, the air between you so thick you could almost feel him beside you. “To make you desperate... because I know you are. You’ve been desperate for me since the moment we met.”

A sharp breath left your lungs before you could stop it, the heat of his words searing through you. You wanted to say something, anything, to push him away, but it was like your mouth had gone dry.

Seonghwa’s laugh was low, dark, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

You swallowed, the words dying in your throat.

He wasn’t waiting for an answer. He never did. His voice slid over you again, more sensual now, more demanding. “I think it’s time you stop pretending you don’t want me.” His words were practically dripping with heat. “Stop pretending you don’t want me to do everything I said I would. To make you mine.”

Your heart slammed in your chest, and the desperation you’d been hiding deep inside you bubbled to the surface, uncontrollable.

“Seonghwa...” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” His tone had shifted, the sweet, teasing layer now stripped away. There was something darker now, something that promised consequences. “You want me to come to you? To take you?”

Your skin burned at the thought, but you didn’t have the strength to deny it.

“Yes...” you whispered, feeling your chest tighten.

Seonghwa exhaled sharply, the sound almost like a growl. “I knew it.” The words were a mixture of satisfaction and something dangerous. “I’m going to make you regret ever pretending you could resist me.”

You felt the words hit you like a wave, crashing over you in a force you couldn’t fight. The tension, the craving, the maddening desire you’d been hiding from—it all snapped.

You wanted him. And he knew it.

The silence that followed was unbearable. Your body was hot, your mind clouded, and every second that ticked by only made it worse. Seonghwa had left you hanging, lingering in that space between wanting and needing, knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

You gripped your phone tighter. "Seonghwa..." You tried again, your voice smaller this time, laced with frustration.

A soft chuckle, smooth and taunting. "Hmm?"

You swallowed. Your pride was slipping fast, and you hated how easy it was for him to pull it from you. "Are you coming or not?"

Seonghwa hummed like he was thinking about it, like he was weighing the decision. "I don’t know, sweetheart." His voice was dripping with amusement. "I think I like you like this. Flushed, restless... waiting for me."

Your stomach twisted, frustration bubbling into something closer to desperation. "You’re cruel."

Another chuckle, deeper this time. "Oh, but you like that, don’t you? You like when I make you wait. When I make you beg."

Your breath hitched.

“Say it, baby. Tell me how bad you want me.”

You clenched your jaw, fists curling in the sheets. It was infuriating how easily he unraveled you, how much control he had over your thoughts, your body. But you needed him. More than you wanted to admit.

And he wasn’t going to let you have him until you did.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. "I want you."

“Louder.”

Your fingers trembled around the phone. Your heart was racing. "I need you, Seonghwa."

A sharp inhale from his end. And then, something shifted. His voice dipped lower, silkier, more dangerous.

"Good girl."

A click.

The line went dead.

And your breath caught when you heard a knock at your door.

You barely had time to gather yourself before another knock echoed through the room. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you pushed off the bed, your legs feeling weak before you even reached the door.

When you opened it, Seonghwa was there, leaning against the frame, his eyes dark and unreadable. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The heat in his gaze alone sent a shiver straight down your spine.

Before you could say anything, his hand was on your waist, pushing you back inside with a slow, deliberate step. The door shut behind him with a soft click, sealing you both into the tension-thick room.

His fingers trailed up your arm, featherlight, teasing. "Took you long enough to say it, sweetheart."

You swallowed hard. "You’re the one who made me wait."

Seonghwa hummed, tilting his head as he stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing yours. "Mm. And yet, look at you." His fingers lifted to your jaw, tilting your chin up so your eyes met his. "So ready for me. Just like I knew you'd be."

Your breath hitched. His scent—clean, intoxicating—wrapped around you, and his presence was overwhelming, swallowing you whole. You felt small beneath him, like you were melting under the weight of his gaze alone.

“Seonghwa—”

He cut you off with a slow press of his lips to your temple, lingering just long enough for your body to tremble. "Shh, sweetheart. I want to take my time with you."

His hands trailed down your sides, fingertips tracing over your hips, toying with the hem of your shirt. "You wanted this, didn’t you?" His voice was smooth, knowing. "Say it again."

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. But you couldn't hold back anymore.

"I need you."

Seonghwa’s breath ghosted over your skin as he exhaled, satisfied. His lips curled into a smirk against your jaw before he whispered, "Then let me ruin you."

Seonghwa’s fingers brushed over the fabric of your clothes, slow, deliberate. Every touch was designed to make you shiver, to make you feel helpless under his hands. His lips hovered just over yours, his breath warm, teasing.

But he didn’t kiss you.

Instead, he smirked as he tilted your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his. “You’re already shaking, sweetheart. We haven’t even started.”

You let out a frustrated whimper, gripping the front of his shirt. "Seonghwa..."

He chuckled, low and dark, completely unfazed. "What is it, baby? Use your words." His thumb dragged across your bottom lip, pressing in just enough to make you part your mouth slightly. "Tell me exactly what you want."

Your body was burning, the tension unbearable. He was so close, his hands touching, teasing, but never giving you what you needed.

“Kiss me,” you finally breathed, voice trembling.

Seonghwa exhaled a soft laugh. "So desperate already?" He leaned in, lips just brushing against yours—but before you could press forward, he pulled back, his smirk widening.

You whimpered again, frustration bubbling over. “Stop teasing...”

His fingers traced over your waist, slipping beneath your shirt, just barely skimming your heated skin. "Oh, baby... teasing is the best part."

Your hands clutched his shoulders, trying to pull him in, but he was stronger. His grip tightened around your wrists, pinning them above your head against the wall.

“Try again,” he murmured, his voice velvet-smooth. “Ask properly.”

Your breath was ragged, body arching against him as you bit your lip, struggling against the ache he had built inside you.

“Please, Seonghwa.”

His expression darkened, satisfaction flickering in his eyes. His fingers squeezed your wrists just a bit tighter. “Please what?”

You swallowed, throat dry. He was going to make you say it.

“Please... touch me.”

Seonghwa hummed, like he was considering it. His knee slid between your thighs, pressing just barely enough to make your legs tremble. “That’s a start.”

Then—finally—his lips crashed onto yours.

The kiss wasn’t sweet. It was starving, all tongue and teeth, like he had been waiting for this just as long as you had. His grip on your wrists tightened as he pushed you further against the wall, pressing his body fully against yours.

You moaned into his mouth, legs threatening to give out. He growled softly at the sound, swallowing it greedily as he deepened the kiss.

His free hand slipped lower, fingertips teasing along your thighs before he gripped your hips, pulling you harder against him. "Fuck, you feel so good against me," he murmured against your lips.

Your head spun as his kisses trailed lower, down your jaw, your neck, his tongue flicking against your skin just to hear you gasp. "I love how easily you melt for me," he murmured against your pulse point. "So obedient when you're desperate."

You whimpered again, arching into him, but he still wasn’t giving you enough.

“More,” you breathed, your voice breaking.

Seonghwa chuckled, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. "Say it again, baby."

You clenched your fists, shaking in frustration. "More. Please, more—"

He exhaled a sharp breath, his fingers finally slipping beneath your waistband, teasing at the heat waiting for him.

"Good girl."

Seonghwa’s fingers dipped lower, teasing over your heat, his touch featherlight—too light. You gasped, hips jerking forward, but he only chuckled, his grip tightening on your waist to keep you still.

"So needy," he murmured against your skin, his lips tracing the sensitive curve of your neck. "You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? Thinking about it? Thinking about me?"

Your breath hitched.

He pulled back slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours as his fingers traced slow, lazy circles right over where you needed him most. "Tell me, sweetheart. Did you touch yourself, thinking about me?"

Your face burned, shame creeping up your spine, but your body betrayed you, hips rolling toward his touch.

Seonghwa smirked. "I’ll take that as a yes."

Then, without warning, he pushed his fingers deeper, pressing firmly against the damp fabric covering you. Your back arched, a sharp moan slipping from your lips, and his smirk widened.

"Fuck, you’re soaked," he muttered, voice low and rough. "All this just for me?"

You nodded frantically, but that wasn’t enough for him.

"Use your words."

Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto. "Yes—Seonghwa, please—"

"Please what, baby?" He moved his fingers just slightly, rubbing slow, teasing strokes over your heat, keeping you teetering right on the edge.

Your whole body was trembling now, your mind fogged over with need. "Please... don’t tease."

Seonghwa clicked his tongue. "But you look so pretty when you beg."

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down in one slow, torturous motion. His lips brushed against your ear, voice dripping with satisfaction. "Let’s see how much more you can take, hmm?"

Then, before you could even catch your breath, he dropped to his knees.

The sight alone nearly made you break. Seonghwa, looking up at you with dark, hungry eyes, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you steady. His breath was warm against your skin as he pressed soft, teasing kisses along your inner thighs, deliberately avoiding where you needed him most.

Your legs shook, fingers threading into his hair, tugging slightly. "Seonghwa—please—"

He exhaled a sharp breath, his hands tightening around your thighs. "You sound so fucking sweet when you beg, baby."

Then, finally—finally—his lips met your core.

The first swipe of his tongue was slow, languid, savoring you like he had all the time in the world. Your body jerked at the sensation, a strangled moan escaping before you could stop it.

Seonghwa groaned softly against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure up your spine. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you in place as his tongue flicked against your clit, relentless and precise.

You gasped, your head falling back against the wall. "Oh—fuck—Seonghwa—"

He hummed in response, his tongue pressing harder, working you open, drinking in every sound you made like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Your legs trembled, the pleasure building too fast, too intense. You tried to shift, to run from the overwhelming sensation, but Seonghwa wasn’t letting you go anywhere.

"Stay still, baby," he muttered against you, his voice thick with lust. "Take what I give you."

You cried out as he sucked harder, his tongue flicking mercilessly over your most sensitive spot. Your whole body tensed, the coil in your stomach tightening dangerously.

"S-Seonghwa—"

He pulled back slightly, his lips slick and glistening, his breath heavy against your skin. "You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?"

You nodded frantically, barely able to form words.

Seonghwa smirked. "Then do it. Come undone for me."

Then his mouth was on you again, working you over with devastating precision, pushing you closer, closer—

Until you broke.

Your whole body tensed, back arching as pleasure crashed over you in waves, a sharp cry slipping from your lips. Seonghwa groaned against you, holding you through it, dragging out every last tremor until you were nothing but a trembling mess in his hands.

When he finally pulled away, his lips were curled into a wicked smirk. He wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"You taste even sweeter than I imagined," he murmured.

Then, slowly, he rose to his feet, towering over you once again. His hands gripped your waist, steadying you as he pressed his lips to your ear.

"And I’m not done with you yet."

Your body was still trembling, breath shallow, mind spinning, but Seonghwa? He was completely in control—calm, composed, devastatingly sexy.

His lips were still wet, glistening with the evidence of what he had just done to you. His tongue flicked out, slow and deliberate, swiping over the corner of his mouth like he was savoring the taste. And God, the way he looked at you.

Dark, hooded eyes filled with hunger. That smug, knowing smirk curling at the edges of his mouth. He knew what he had done to you. Knew you were utterly wrecked, shaking, barely able to stand. And he loved it.

"Look at you," he murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction. His fingers ghosted over your flushed skin, sending shivers through your already-weak body. "Completely undone... all because of me."

Your eyes flickered over him, drinking him in. The sharp cut of his jaw, the way his tongue ran over his lips, the way his black shirt stretched over his lean, sculpted torso. Even the way he stood—towering over you, exuding raw, effortless dominance—had your stomach twisting into knots all over again.

"So fucking beautiful," you whispered before you could stop yourself.

Seonghwa stilled.

Then—slowly—his lips curved into a smirk, something dark flickering in his gaze.

"Say that again."

Heat crawled up your neck, but you couldn’t look away from him. "You’re beautiful."

Seonghwa exhaled a quiet laugh, but there was nothing soft about it. It was laced with arrogance, with desire. He took a step closer, so close you could smell his cologne, the lingering scent of skin and sweat and something undeniably masculine.

"You think I’m beautiful, sweetheart?" His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "That’s cute."

Your lips parted, breath coming in short gasps. Every little movement he made had you teetering on the edge of something dangerous.

His hand slid lower, fingers tracing along the curve of your waist, slow and deliberate. "Tell me more."

You swallowed hard, heart hammering. "You’re... you're sexy."

Seonghwa hummed, pleased. His other hand came up, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, teasing, testing.

"How sexy?"

Your body was burning now, aching all over again despite just having come undone beneath him. "Too sexy."

His smirk deepened. "Mm. That’s better."

Then, before you could react, he grabbed your wrist and guided your hand downward—down, down, until your fingers brushed against the hard, straining bulge beneath his pants.

Your breath hitched.

Seonghwa groaned, low and rough, his head tipping back for a split second before his gaze snapped back to yours, sharp and intense. "See what you do to me?"

Your fingers twitched, the heat between your legs returning at full force.

"Do you want to feel just how much I want you, baby?" His voice was lower now, thicker, dripping with something dangerously seductive.

You nodded weakly, and that was all he needed.

His fingers worked quickly, undoing his belt with a sharp clink, his zipper sliding down in one slow motion. Your pulse spiked as he freed himself, his cock hard, flushed, impossibly thick.

Seonghwa let out a soft sigh of relief, his fingers wrapping around himself as he gave a few lazy strokes. The sight alone had your knees threatening to give out.

"Touch me," he commanded, his voice nothing but smooth, seductive dominance.

Your hand trembled as you reached out, fingers wrapping around him. A sharp hiss slipped from his lips, his jaw clenching as he let you feel just how hard he was.

"That’s it, baby. Just like that."

Your touch was hesitant at first, but Seonghwa was patient—teasing you, guiding you, letting you explore him.

Then, he groaned, low and deep, the sound sending a violent shiver down your spine. His head tipped back slightly, his lips parting just enough to let out another breathy moan.

And you realized—this was what he wanted.

He wanted you to see him like this. Wanted you to fall apart over how beautiful, how strong, how unbearably sexy he was.

"Does this turn you on, baby?" His voice was a husky whisper now, breath hot against your ear. "Seeing me like this?"

Your fingers twitched around him, and he smirked.

"Of course it does."

He took your wrist, guiding you back, forcing you to release him before his hands found your hips, gripping them tightly. His voice dropped even lower, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

"Then how about I make you fall apart all over again?"

Before you could even process his words, Seonghwa was flipping you around, pressing your back against the nearest surface. His body caged you in, all heat and hard muscle, his hands gripping your waist as if he never wanted to let go.

"You’re already shaking, sweetheart," he murmured, amusement lacing his tone. His fingers skimmed along your thigh, slow, deliberate, teasing. "I haven’t even done anything yet."

Liar.

He was everywhere. His scent, his touch, the way his voice alone sent a shiver down your spine—it was all too much, and not enough at the same time.

"Please," you whispered, not even sure what you were begging for anymore.

Seonghwa tsked, shaking his head with that signature smirk. "You sound so desperate. Have I really been driving you that crazy?"

Yes. Yes, he had.

And he knew it.

He pressed forward, his thigh slipping between your legs, his mouth ghosting over your jaw. His lips barely brushed against your skin, teasing, tormenting, never quite giving you what you wanted.

"Tell me, baby." His fingers trailed up, tracing the neckline of your top, playing with the fabric but never removing it. "Tell me how bad you want me."

Your breath hitched. "S-So bad."

"Mm." He hummed approvingly, but his movements remained agonizingly slow. His hands traveled lower, fingertips grazing over the sensitive skin of your thighs, over the heat between them.

Then he stopped.

You whined.

Seonghwa chuckled, dark and deep, his lips finally pressing against your neck in a slow, open-mouthed kiss. "You’re adorable when you beg, you know that?"

You shuddered.

"But I think you can do better."

You whimpered, pressing your hips against his, desperate for anything, but Seonghwa only tightened his grip, holding you in place.

"Use your words, sweetheart." His voice was a taunt, a tease, a wicked temptation. "Tell me what you want."

You swallowed, body burning, head spinning. "I want you to touch me."

"Where?"

Your cheeks burned. He knew where. He just wanted to hear you say it.

You clenched your fists, every inch of you burning with need. "I want you to touch my—"

Before you could finish, Seonghwa was already moving.

His fingers slipped beneath your clothing, finding your heat with terrifying precision. His breath caught, his body tensing for just a moment before a low, satisfied groan rumbled in his chest.

"Fuck, baby." His lips brushed against your ear. "You’re soaked."

You whimpered.

Seonghwa smirked against your skin, his fingers moving in slow, lazy circles, barely applying pressure. "All this for me?"

You nodded frantically, only for him to stop.

"Words, sweetheart."

Your body ached, your nerves screaming for more, for anything.

"Yes, yes—fuck, Seonghwa, all for you!"

"That’s my good girl."

And just like that, he gave in.

His fingers moved with purpose now, rubbing slow, firm circles against your most sensitive spot, his free hand gripping your hip to keep you in place as you writhed against him.

"That’s it, baby." His voice was lower now, almost breathless. "Let me hear you."

You didn’t even care who else might hear. Your body was already teetering on the edge, the pleasure building, tightening, consuming—

"Not yet."

Seonghwa stopped.

A desperate sob ripped from your throat, frustration clawing at your chest as you tried to chase the pleasure he so cruelly ripped away.

"You don’t get to come that easily, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Not until I say so."

You nearly cried. "Seonghwa—!"

He only smirked, his voice a dangerous whisper against your skin.

"I told you, didn’t I? I’m going to make you obsessed with me."

Seonghwa stared at you, drinking in every little reaction—the way your chest rose and fell in frantic little gasps, the way your fingers twitched at your sides like you wanted to grab onto something, onto him. The way your lips trembled, swollen from how much you’d been biting them to keep quiet.

And fuck, if that wasn’t the prettiest sight he’d ever seen.

"You’re already falling apart," he mused, tilting his head as if he were observing something fascinating. "And I’ve barely touched you."

Your entire body shuddered, thighs trembling as you clenched them together, desperate for any bit of friction. But Seonghwa saw. He caught the movement instantly, his smirk curling into something darker.

"Ah, ah, ah—" He tsked, pressing his knee between your legs, keeping them apart. "Don’t be greedy, sweetheart. If you want something, you ask me for it."

You swallowed hard, blinking up at him, completely at his mercy. "Please—"

"Please what?" His fingers dragged lazily up your thigh, making no move to touch you where you needed him most. "You have to be specific, baby."

Your entire body was shaking now, the frustration burning in your chest, twisting into something wild, needy.

"Seonghwa, please—touch me again," you choked out.

"Like this?" His fingers ghosted over the waistband of your underwear, skimming just over your heated skin.

"More," you whined, gripping his wrist, trying to push him lower.

Seonghwa chuckled, effortlessly pulling his hand away. "So impatient," he murmured. "I told you, baby, you don’t get to come that easily."

A desperate sob bubbled from your throat, your fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt. "You’re so mean."

His head dipped, lips brushing over the shell of your ear. "You love it."

You hated that he was right.

"But I think you’re ready now," he continued, voice smooth as silk. "Ready to prove just how much you want me."

Your stomach flipped. Your lips parted to ask him what he meant, but he was already taking your wrist, guiding your hand downward again—back to where he was aching for you.

The moment your fingers wrapped around him, Seonghwa let out a sharp exhale, his jaw clenching.

"There we go," he muttered. "Such a good girl, always listening so well."

Heat rushed through you at the praise, and you swallowed, tightening your grip slightly.

Seonghwa groaned.

"Fuck." His forehead pressed against yours for a brief moment, his body trembling now too. But then he was tilting your chin up, making sure you saw what you were doing to him. "Feel that, baby?"

You nodded weakly, breath hitching.

"You’ve been whining for me all night, begging me to touch you, but look at you now." His lips ghosted over yours, not quite kissing, just teasing, taunting. "You’re the one touching me."

Your fingers twitched around him, the weight, the heat, the power of it making your thighs squeeze together involuntarily.

Seonghwa smirked. "Are you getting off on this, baby?"

Your face burned, but you couldn’t lie. "Yes."

His chest rumbled with a quiet chuckle, his fingers curling around yours, guiding your movements.

"That’s my girl."

The words wrecked you. Your breath came in short, shallow gasps as he made you work him, slow, agonizingly controlled. The way his muscles tensed under your touch, the way his lips parted ever so slightly when you twisted your wrist just right—every reaction had heat pooling low in your stomach all over again.

"Just like that, baby," he groaned, his free hand gripping your hip like he needed something to hold onto. "Fuck, you feel so good."

Your thighs clenched. His voice alone was enough to push you to the brink, the way it dripped with praise, with pleasure, with barely-contained restraint.

"If you keep being so good for me," he muttered, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice nothing but a husky whisper now, "I might finally let you have what you want."

Your pulse spiked.

"Do you want it, baby?" He lifted your chin, forcing your gaze on him. "Want me to fuck you like you’ve been begging for?"

You nodded, desperate.

"Use your words."

"Yes—yes, please, Seonghwa," you gasped.

His smirk returned, dark and knowing.

"That’s my good girl."

Then, in one swift movement, he grabbed your hips, spun you around, and pressed your body against the nearest surface.

"Now, let’s see how well you can take me."

Seonghwa’s breath was hot against your ear as he positioned himself above you, a slow, deliberate grind that had you gasping in anticipation. Every shift of his hips sent a jolt of electricity through your body, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet. He was teasing you, keeping you right on the edge, dragging the tension out, letting you ache for more.

"Beg for it," he whispered, his voice a seductive rasp as his hands moved down your body, gliding over your skin like he was mapping out every inch of you. He wasn’t rushing. No, he wanted to savor this, make you squirm, make you need him.

You couldn’t hold back. Your body, already trembling under his touch, instinctively shifted against him, desperate for more.

"Please, Seonghwa, just… just give me more," you begged, your voice trembling as you arched up against him.

He smirked, the movement of his hips growing slower, teasing, as his hands found the sides of your waist, holding you in place. "You’re so impatient, baby. I want you to beg a little more."

You whimpered, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your fingers dug into the sheets beneath you. Every inch of your body screamed for release, but Seonghwa was playing with you, testing your limits.

"You like this, don’t you?" His voice was dark, his lips trailing down your neck as his hips circled against yours, his hard length rubbing against your most sensitive spot. "You love how I make you wait."

You moaned softly, your thighs shifting, trying to find something, anything to create more friction, but Seonghwa pulled back, holding you still.

"Don’t move," he commanded softly, his hand on your hip firm as he watched you. "I’m in control here, sweetheart. You don’t get to move until I let you."

You shuddered, the words driving you wild, the teasing so unbearable you could barely think straight.

"Please, Seonghwa," you gasped, the words falling from your lips without hesitation. "Please, touch me. I need you."

His smirk deepened, satisfaction evident in his eyes. "Good girl." He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, a hard, hungry kiss that made your mind spin. His hips finally pressed against yours fully, the delicious pressure building again.

"You feel that, baby?" Seonghwa growled, pulling back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide with lust. He rocked his hips slowly, letting the friction build at a maddening pace. "You like how I fill you up, don’t you?"

The sensation of him inside you, so deep, so slow, was enough to make your head spin. You whimpered in response, nodding desperately. "Yes, Seonghwa, I need more—"

Before you could finish your sentence, he pulled away slightly, teasing you with a long, drawn-out thrust, just enough to leave you aching for more, before pulling back again.

"Fuck, Seonghwa—"

He smirked, taking control again, his hands gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head as he began to thrust into you with a slow, agonizing rhythm, each push deeper than the last, sending waves of heat flooding through your body.

"That’s right," he growled, his lips brushing against your ear. "You take everything I give you, don’t you?"

You nodded, your hips instinctively lifting to meet each of his slow, deep thrusts. He had you right where he wanted you, desperate, broken by his teasing.

"You’re mine," Seonghwa whispered, his voice thick with lust. "All mine."

His thrusts began to pick up pace, and the pressure, the heat, the building tension was driving you wild. You could barely hold it together, your body trembling, desperate for the release he was so expertly holding back.

Seonghwa’s movements were relentless now, each thrust harder, faster, until there was no room to think—only to feel.

"Seonghwa—please, I—" You couldn’t even finish the sentence before your entire body erupted in pleasure, a loud moan tearing from your throat as you came undone, your nails digging into his back as your body shuddered beneath him.

He groaned at the sight of you, watching as you fell apart, your body convulsing around him. But he didn’t stop, not even for a moment. He kept fucking into you, hard and deep, until you were begging for him to stop, your voice hoarse with desperation.

"Please, Seonghwa, too much, I can’t—"

But he wasn’t done. He only smirked, his pace relentless, his lips brushing your ear once more as he fucked you through your orgasm.

"Good girl. Take it all. You wanted this."

Your legs shook violently as another wave of pleasure crashed over you, and finally, with a low groan, Seonghwa let himself go, burying himself deep inside you, his body tensing as he came with a soft growl of your name.

For a few moments, you both were still, just breathing, hearts racing in the aftermath.

Seonghwa collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his fingers gently caressing your skin as you caught your breath. "You did so well, baby," he murmured softly, his voice still thick with lust, but with a tenderness that made your heart race. "I’m proud of you."

You let out a soft, exhausted sigh, burying your face against his chest. The heat of his skin, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, calmed the storm inside you.

"You’re mine now," he whispered again, his hand threading through your hair as he kissed your forehead gently. "And I’m not letting you go."

#Spotify #ateez #ateez fic #ateez smut #smut #park seonghwa #seonghwa fic #seonghwa smut #seonghwa

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pinkpurplesunrises · 4 days ago

Text

Heartbeat in Two - the short story - Alexia Putellas x Reader - mentions of heart attack / implantable cardioverter-defibrillator - read with care

Hospitals had a certain smell. Bleached. Cold. Hollow.

Like the building itself was trying to erase whatever had happened inside it. You'd gotten used to it the way someone gets used to waking up at 3 a.m. Begrudgingly, never quite at peace. Familiarity didn’t soften it. It just made the weight more expected.

You were 27. That was still young, right?

But sometimes you felt like you were made of glass. A careful structure of routines, pills, follow-up appointments and numbers on monitors.

Your heart had been failing you since the day it attacked itself. Six years ago. A heart attack at 21 had left you with a scar that ran deeper than anything medical reports could capture. It had changed you. It had taken things. Not everything. But enough to make the world feel like a little less of a promise and more like a wager.

That implantable cardioverter-defibrillator, embedded just below your collarbone, was both savior and prison. A silent guardian, waiting to jolt your body back when it forgot how to live.

Football had been your life once.

Not as a pro. No, you weren’t born for the spotlight. But you loved the game with a kind of ferocity that didn’t need cheering crowds to validate it. You played with fire in your veins and joy in your muscles. Until that six-minute blackout. Six minutes of nothingness. When you woke up, football had become something you watched from the sidelines.

So you adapted. You worked behind the scenes. Athletic trainer, sometimes physio. Invisible but vital. It let you touch the game without letting it crush you. Most days that was enough.

But then came that night.

2:17 a.m. on a Thursday. You remembered the exact time because the fluorescent clock above the emergency reception desk hadn’t moved in what felt like hours. You were curled on the edge of a stiff waiting room chair. Hoodie zipped up to your neck. Hands curled around a bottle of water that had long since gone lukewarm.

You’d been there since 9 p.m. Your heart had skipped three times in one hour, followed by a fainting spell. They’d done all the tests and told you to sit tight 'just in case.' You knew the drill. The long wait. The dull ache of dread you’d gotten used to pretending you didn’t feel.

The vending machine had eaten your coins. Refusing to release the sad packet of pretzels you hadn’t even really wanted. Your water bottle was empty. And you suddenly felt the hot sting of tears that had nothing to do with thirst or snacks. You were just tired. Tired of your body. Tired of trying to feel normal when you were anything but.

Then you noticed her.

She was sitting three chairs down. Still. Quiet. Hoodie drawn up, like she was trying to disappear into it. Her arms were folded tight across her chest, but her fingers kept moving. An anxious rhythm. Tapping against her sleeve. No makeup. No entourage. Just a woman alone in the sterile glow of the waiting room lights.

You didn’t recognize her at first. Her head was down. Her features shadowed. But there was something about her stillness, the quiet way she held her fear, that made you look again.

She must’ve noticed you staring, because her gaze lifted. And your breath caught.

Alexia Putellas.

Even without the braids, without the kit, you knew that face. You’d seen it lit up on stadium screens. Splashed across headlines. Etched into the dreams of little girls with cleats and big hopes. But here, stripped of all that glory, she looked… breakable.

Her eyes, red-rimmed. Her jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitch.

Still, she spoke first.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

You blinked. Startled out of your daze. Of all things she could’ve said.

“Does anyone ever answer yes to that here?” you replied, voice flat but not unkind.

A flicker passed through her expression. Half a smile. Half something else. Solidarity, maybe. Or the briefest moment of recognition that pain was its own language.

“I guess not,” she murmured.

You didn’t say anything after that. But you didn’t look away either.

She shifted slightly, moved one seat closer without fanfare or explanation. Her thigh nearly brushed yours.

She didn’t ask for space. You didn’t offer it.

The silence stretched. Not uncomfortable. Just dense with things neither of you were ready to say. In that moment, it felt like two worlds had quietly collided in the middle of all that clinical stillness.

You didn’t know what she was waiting for. And she didn’t know what you were running from. But for now... for a brief flickering moment... neither of you were entirely alone.

And maybe that was enough.

It had been a week since the hospital.

You hadn’t expected to see her again. That kind of moment. Shared grief. Late-night silence. It was usually a one-time thing. A flicker of connection that disappears as soon as the fluorescent lights stop humming. You had filed it away, like you did with so many things. Tender. Unexpected. And ultimately unfinished.

But a week later, there she was.

You’d just come off a long morning session. Players recovering from minor injuries. A new rehab schedule to tweak. Your third coffee rapidly losing its ability to keep you upright. You were in the rehab wing, tucked into a shadowy corridor near the stretching mats. Checking your notes on a clipboard you didn’t even need to carry anymore. A nervous habit. Like pretending to look busy would protect you from something.

You heard footsteps first. Slow, measured. Then a voice behind you.

“You work here?”

You turned, startled. She stood there like she’d always belonged in the frame. Hands in the pockets of a dark coat. Hair loose around her shoulders. Face open in that quiet, observing way she had.

“Mostly,” you said, recovering. “Sometimes I pretend I don’t so I can steal the physio’s coffee.”

That pulled a real smile from her. Wide. Soft. You saw it touch her eyes this time.

“Well,” she said, stepping closer, “I won’t tell.”

She didn’t explain why she was there. You didn’t ask. It didn’t matter. She leaned against the wall beside you, and for a moment, it was just… comfortable.

Familiar, somehow.

After that, something unspoken shifted.

She texted you two days later. How she got your number? You have no idea.

You still pretending not to work there?

You smiled at the message longer than you probably should have.

Only when the coffee’s good. Why, you planning a heist?

Maybe. But only if you’re my accomplice.

And that was how it started.

It wasn’t dramatic. No thunderbolt. Just slow, soft unfolding.

Texts. Then coffees.

She liked her espresso short and bitter. You liked yours drowned in milk and cinnamon.

She teased you for it. You told her she was a caffeine purist with no soul.

Coffees turned into walks. Parks mostly. Empty streets on rainy afternoons. Once, a bookstore where you spent more time reading the backs of covers to each other than actually buying anything. She never tried to be impressive. Just present. Attentive. Like you were a page she wanted to read slowly, without skipping ahead.

Walks turned into dinners. Casual at first. Pizza at a tucked-away place neither of you had tried. Then a Vietnamese place where she accidentally ordered something too spicy and tried to play it cool while drinking two full glasses of water in under a minute. You laughed so hard you almost choked.

Sometimes the conversations went deep. Family. Career. The things that haunt you late at night.

Other times, they were surface-level. Films. Bad reality TV. Her hatred of olives. You learned she hated the feeling of socks on wet tiles. That she used to cry over losses even when no one else did. That she read poetry sometimes but never admitted it out loud.

But then came the silences.

The dinners that turned into walks back to your flat door. The pauses that lingered in the air like the last note of a song.

Not awkward. Just full.

Like two people carrying too much but not ready to name it yet.

And still, you didn’t tell her about your heart.

You told yourself it wasn’t time. You told yourself she didn’t need to know. But deep down, you knew the truth. You were afraid.

You were afraid of the way people changed when they found out.

You’d seen it before. The hesitation. The softening. The pity that clung to their words like static.

How do I love someone whose body might betray them at any moment?

How do I plan a life with someone who might not make it that far?

So you stayed silent. Not out of dishonesty, but defense.

You didn’t want her to flinch.

But what you hadn’t expected... what disarmed you completely... was how she never asked you to explain yourself. Not once. Even when you turned quiet. Even when you pulled away just slightly on days you felt fragile. She never prodded. Never tried to fix you. Never pushed for a version of you she imagined.

Alexia never seemed afraid of the deep things. She just treated them like sacred ground. Walked around them with the reverence of someone who knew what it meant to be hurt and to keep going anyway.

Sometimes, you caught her watching you when you weren’t speaking. Not with curiosity, but… understanding. Like she sensed you were holding something. But she trusted that you’d offer it when you were ready.

You were beginning to think she might stay.

And that terrified you more than anything.

Because what if she saw the whole truth and decided it was too much?

But even as the fear gnawed at you, a thought kept echoing in the back of your mind, small but persistent.

What if she doesn’t leave?

What if we don’t pretend?

Not to be fearless.

Not to be perfect.

Just to be here. Honest. Unhidden.

Two people with scars.

Two people with something unspoken growing slowly between them.

And for the first time in years, your heart did something strange.

Not skip. Not stutter. Not ache.

But swell.

Like it wanted to try again.

It happened during preseason.

The kind of day that seemed harmless on the surface. No heavy drills. No sprints. Just movement assessments and light conditioning. The air buzzed with early-season chatter. The crisp sound of cleats against turf. The low thud of medicine balls hitting mats. You’d run this exact session a dozen times. Maybe more. Muscle memory.

But the sun was cruel that day. An unrelenting heat pressed down over the pitch like a second skin. Thick and punishing. You weren’t even playing. Just guiding the drills. Correcting posture. Offering water breaks. But you’d skipped lunch. Just coffee and adrenaline. You told yourself you’d eat after. That you were fine.

You always told yourself that.

And maybe part of you wanted to believe you could live like the others. Like your body wasn’t always ticking on borrowed time. Like you weren’t a heartbeat away from a blackout.

You ignored the warnings. The low hum in your ears. The slight dizziness when you turned too fast. You smiled through it. Gave instructions. Clapped encouragement.

You forgot.

And your body reminded you.

It was instant.

A white-out behind your eyes. Knees buckling before you could register the fall. The pitch tilted sideways. The edges of the world curling in, and then... darkness.

Like a curtain pulled closed.

When you woke, it was violent.

A gasp, like being ripped out of water. Your chest seizing. Your vision scrambled and your limbs shaking. Nerves twitching like puppet strings.

You couldn’t hear anything at first.

Just static.

Your whole body felt like it had been struck by lightning... because, in a way... it had.

The defibrillator had done its job. Again.

You blinked hard, trying to make sense of shapes and colors around you. Hands on your face. Warm. Familiar.

Then your eyes found hers.

Alexia.

Her face hovered above yours. Hair falling forward in a messy curtain. Her mouth was moving, but you couldn’t hear the words yet. You saw panic, raw and unfiltered, etched into her features. Her eyes wide and red. Tears streaking down her cheeks. Her chest rising and falling like she couldn’t breathe right.

And then, finally, her voice broke through.

“... you’re okay, you’re okay, just stay with me... please...”

You wanted to speak. To tell her it was fine. To tell her this wasn’t new. That you’d come back before. But your mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

So you stared at her. At the way she clutched your face like it was the only thing keeping her tethered. At the way she looked more scared than you felt.

You were used to this.

But she wasn’t.

You passed out again in the ambulance.

When you woke again, the light was softer. Dimmed. The steady beeping of monitors beside you was oddly comforting. Like an old, annoying friend keeping you company.

You were in a hospital bed. Wrapped in layers of white and the smell of antiseptic. Your chest ached, sore from the defibrillator's shock. There was a dull pressure in your skull and a needle taped to the back of your hand. But you were alive.

And she was there.

Alexia. Curled in the plastic chair next to your bed like she belonged there. Her hoodie wrinkled. Legs pulled up beneath her. Hair a mess. She looked like she hadn’t slept.

When your eyes fluttered open, she moved instantly. Sat up, eyes searching yours like she was afraid they'd disappear again.

“You’re back,” she breathed, relief rushing through her voice.

“I… didn’t mean to scare you,” you said, your voice rasping. Dry. “This… happens sometimes.”

She didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at you. Her jaw clenched like she was holding something in. Something sharp and aching.

You forced yourself to meet her gaze.

“I should’ve told you,” you whispered. The words felt like lead. “About my heart. The defibrillator. All of it.”

There was a beat of silence. The kind that seemed to stretch across lifetimes.

Then she shook her head. Eyes shining.

“I would’ve stayed anyway,” she whispered back.

Her hand found yours. Fingers trembling, but steady when they wrapped around yours. She didn’t look away.

“You scared the hell out of me,” she added, her voice breaking at the edges. “But I’m still here.”

You blinked hard against the tears that threatened to come.

“I’m not used to people staying.”

“Well,” she said, a ghost of a smile at the corner of her mouth, “get used to it.”

And in that moment, something cracked open between you. Quietly, without fanfare. No grand declarations. Just a promise, passed between fingers and heartbeats, in the silence of a hospital room.

That no matter how fragile your body felt, no matter how much fear tried to claw its way in…

You weren’t alone anymore.

#woso writers #woso community #woso x reader #woso #fc barcelona femeni #fc barcelona femeni x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #my short story #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader

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jburrgf · 6 months ago

Text

Friends; The Love Trope Series

You Belong With Me, Part. 1

◦pairing: ¡bestfriend! joe burrow x ¡bestfriend! reader

◦summary: friends to lovers, childhood friendship. slow burn, soulmates.

◦description: you and joe are best friends since day one. both of you are on yours last year of high school. being part of the graduation committee means a lot to you, and you are all 100% with prom preparations. on the other side, joe is there, helping you like always. but now, things hit different when you realize he’s not just a high school sweetheart: joe burrow is the love of your whole life.

° playlist: Friends, Ed Sheeran From Eden, Hoozier 21, Gracie Abramns You Belong With Me, Taylor Swift I Couldn’t Be More In Love, The 1975

◦From the Love Trope Series. Part II / Part III / Part IV

THE PLAINS, OHIO — SPRING 2015

JOE BURROW.

The cafeteria buzzed with the usual hum of overlapping conversations, laughter, and the occasional clatter of a dropped tray. I leaned back in my chair, balancing it precariously on two legs as I half-listened to my teammates debating the best dunk from last night's school game.

My attention, though, was elsewhere. It always was these days.

“Bro, you’re staring again.”

I turned, scowling at Sam, one of my teammates. He was grinning like he’d just caught me red-handed, which, to be fair, he had.

“I’m not staring,” I muttered, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder.

“Sure you’re not,” Sam said, dragging out the words. “Just like you weren’t staring yesterday when she was hanging up those prom posters.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to brush him off, but the heat creeping up my neck gave me away. He wasn’t wrong. I had been staring.

It wasn’t like I could help it. Y/N had been my best friend since we were five years old, but somewhere along the line, things changed. It was subtle at first—a skipped heartbeat here, a lingering glance there. By sophomore year, I’d gone from thinking she was cute in that “best friend” way to realizing I was completely, hopelessly in love with her.

And now? Now I was just the idiot who couldn’t tell her.

Y/N was sitting at the table near the windows, her head bent over a clipboard, her pen scribbling furiously. Her lips moved as she mouthed whatever notes she was jotting down, and her brows furrowed in that way they always did when she was focused. It was one of those little things about her that I couldn’t help but find endearing—like the way she’d unconsciously tap her pen against her cheek when she was thinking or how her voice would rise just a bit when she got excited about something. Watching her now, so completely absorbed, I couldn’t help but smile to myself, even if the ache in my chest reminded me why I kept these thoughts to myself. She had been like this for weeks—wrapped up in her role on the prom committee. She’d tell me about it every chance she got, her voice lighting up as she described color schemes, playlists, and centerpieces. It was cute, really, how excited she was.

But then there was him.

Brian Harris, the shooting guard from our basketball team, sauntered over to Y/N’s table. He was the type who thrived on attention, always quick with a joke or a flashy move to keep the spotlight on him. Brian and I didn’t exactly get along—Brian’s cocky demeanor had rubbed me the wrong way since freshman year, and our clashes during practice, when I used to play basketball, were almost legendary. I stiffened. He leaned on the edge of her table, his stupid, cocky grin plastered across his face as he said something that made her laugh. My stomach twisted at the sound.

He always wanted everything that I had, My talent, my position, my girl. And after I left basketball for good and he became captain, he’s on the run of the other things that he misses.

“Dude, you’re gonna snap that chair if you keep leaning back like that,” Josh, one of my friends, said, smirking.

“Shut up,” I muttered, letting the chair drop back onto all four legs with a thud.

“Oh, someone’s grumpy,” Sam teased, following my gaze. “Ah, I see. Miller’s making a move on Y/N, huh?”

“He’s not making a move,” I snapped, even though the words felt hollow. Of course he was making a move. The guy was a known flirt, and Y/N was...well, Y/N. Beautiful, smart, funny. She had this way of making everyone feel like they mattered, and apparently, Brian Harris wasn’t immune to her charm.

“Relax, man. She’s your best friend. It’s not like she’d go for him,” Josh said, but there was a knowing glint in his eye. “Unless...”

“Unless what?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Unless you’re finally ready to admit you’re into her,” Sam said, grinning from a distance.

“I’m not—” I started, but the words died in my throat. What was the point? Josh wasn’t going to believe me, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I believed myself anymore.

Y/N

Prom committee meetings were the highlight of my week lately. Sure, they were hectic, and half the time I felt like I was herding cats trying to get everyone to agree on something, but it was worth it. This was *our* prom, and I wanted it to be perfect.

Today, I was finalizing the seating chart when Brian Harris’s shadow fell over my table. I looked up, surprised to see him smiling down at me.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, his voice smooth. “You’re working hard over here. Need a break?”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Not really. There’s too much to do.”

“Come on,” he said, leaning closer. “Even superheroes need a break.”

I laughed, though it felt more polite than genuine. The truth was, Brian’s attention did nothing on me. Sure, it was nice to be noticed, but his charm felt too practiced, too rehearsed. Deep down, I knew the only person whose approval I wanted was Joe’s. Brian was nice and all, but he wasn’t exactly the kind of guy I’d go out of my way to talk to. Still, it was flattering that he was paying attention to me. It wasn’t like I had guys lining up to flirt with me.

“Maybe later,” I said, hoping he��d take the hint.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Joe watching us from across the cafeteria. His jaw was clenched, and he was gripping his water bottle so tightly I thought it might burst. I fought the urge to smile. Joe could be so obvious sometimes.

“Alright, but don’t work too hard,” Brian said, winking as he walked away.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Joe appeared at my side, dropping into the seat across from me.

“What did Harris want?” he asked, his tone sharper than usual.

“Nothing,” I said, shrugging. “He was just being nice.”

“Nice? That guy doesn’t do nice, Y/N. He was hitting on you.” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” he said, his voice low. “He’s into you.”

I stared at him, trying to process his words. Was he… jealous?

“And what if he is?” I asked, testing the waters.

Joe’s expression darkened, and for a moment, I thought he was going to argue. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can do better than him,” he muttered, his fingers drumming against the table as his gaze shifted away, like he couldn’t bear to watch me react.

I opened my mouth to answer, but the words caught in my throat. How could I tell him the truth? That I didn’t care about Brian or any other guy because the only one I wanted was standing right in front of me?

Instead, I shrugged. “He’s nice.”

Joe’s expression darkened, and he took a step back. “Right. Well, I’ve got practice. See you later.”

My heart skipped a beat. Was it just my imagination, or did he sound...jealous? I bit my lip, unsure of how to respond. I’d been in love with Joe for as long as I could remember, but he’d never given me any reason to think he felt the same way. Still, moments like this made me wonder.

JOE BURROW.

I couldn’t focus during practice that afternoon. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Brian Harris leaning over Y/N’s table, making her laugh. It shouldn’t have bothered me so much. She was her own person, and she could talk to whoever she wanted. But the thought of her with someone else — especially someone like Miller — made my blood boil.

“Earth to Joe,” Coach called, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Are you planning on joining us today, or are you just here for the view?”

“Sorry, Coach,” I mumbled, jogging back to my spot on the field.

After practice, I found myself walking toward Y/N’s locker without even thinking about it. She was standing there, talking to Tracy, one of her friends from the prom committee. When she saw me, her face lit up, and for a moment, the tightness in my chest eased.

“Hey,” I said, my voice soft but warm. “Long day?”

“Exhausting,” Y/n replied with a laugh. “But worth it. The decorations are coming together, thanks to you.”

“Just doing my part. Are you sure you don’t need a ride home? My truck’s right outside.” As the words left my mouth, I couldn’t help but hope she’d say yes, imagining the quiet moments we could share on the drive back. My mind flickered to the idea of her sitting beside me, her laughter filling the cab, but I pushed the thought aside, afraid of reading too much into the moment.

Y/n hesitated, her gaze dropping for a moment. “Actually, I’ve got a ride with a friend. We’re going to the party store, me and Tracy.”

“Right. Prom,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment.

“You’re still going, right?” she asked, her tone almost...hopeful.

Of course.

With you, I thought.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” I said, forcing a smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Before the moment could grow awkward, Y/n stepped closer and leaned up to press a quick kiss to my cheek. I froze, the warmth of her lips lingering on my skin like a brand. My heart thundered in my chest, my mind scrambling to process what had just happened. I raised a hand instinctively to touch the spot, a faint blush creeping up my neck as I tried to fight back a grin. It was such a simple gesture, yet it sent a surge of hope through I that he couldn’t ignore. “Thanks for always looking out for me, Joe.”

I froze again, my heart pounding as her words echoed in my mind. But when I tried to talk again, she was already gone, leaving me standing in the middle of the hallway with my heart in my hands.

Y/N

As Tracy and I drove to the party supply store, I couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Joe’s face when I told him I didn’t need a ride. He’d seemed...off. Almost sad. Or maybe I was just imagining things.

“So,” Tracy said, breaking the silence. “When are you finally going to tell Joe how you feel?”

I nearly choked on my soda. “What? I don’t—”

“Please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Everyone knows you’re into him. Well, everyone except Joe, apparently.”

I sighed, sinking lower in my seat. “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t feel the same way.”

“Are you sure about that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, her tone teasing yet firm, as if daring me to challenge her judgment. My heart stuttered at her certainty, and for a moment, I wondered if Tracy knew something I didn’t. Was I missing signs? Or was I just too afraid to believe she might be right? The idea was both exhilarating and terrifying, a dangerous hope I wasn’t ready to fully embrace. “Because from where I’m standing, he’s just as into you as you are into him.”

Could she be right? The thought sent a flicker of hope through me, but I quickly pushed it down. Joe and I were best friends, and I couldn’t risk losing that. Even if it meant keeping my feelings to myself.

For now.

JOE BURROW

I watched her walk to her car, her hair catching the golden light of the setting sun, and I wanted to scream.

Why couldn’t I just say it? Why couldn’t I tell her that seeing Brian flirt with her had made me feel like I was losing my mind? That the thought of anyone else being close to her made my chest ache?

Because you’re a coward, Burrow.

I climbed into my truck and gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. Sam’s voice echoed in my head: You should just ask her to prom.

Easier said than done.

I’d known Y/N my whole life. She was my best friend, my partner in crime, the person who knew me better than anyone. But she was also the girl I was in love with, and the thought of risking everything—our friendship, the way she looked at me, the way she laughed at my stupid jokes—was enough to keep my mouth shut.

Still, as I drove home, I couldn’t shake the image of her and Brian at the booth. Her smile, her laugh—it should’ve been me making her laugh like that.

It should’ve been me.

By the time I pulled into my driveway, I’d made up my mind.

I was going to ask her to prom.

Y/N’s POV

I got home super tired from the afternoon that I had with Tracy. After the store supplies, we went to grab some food on our way home. Now, I was sitting at my desk, trying—and failing—to focus on my calculus homework. My phone buzzed, and I glanced at the screen, my heart skipping a beat when I saw Joe’s name.

Joey: Can I come over?

I stared at the message for a moment, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. We texted all the time, but something about this felt… different.

Me: Yeah, sure.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on my window.

I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at my lips as I got up to let him in. Joe had been climbing through my window since we were kids, and even though he was way too big for it now, he still insisted on doing it.

“You know,” I said as he swung his legs over the sill, “we have a perfectly good front door.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he said, flashing me a grin.

But the grin didn’t quite reach his eyes, and I felt a pang of concern.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting back on my bed.

He hesitated, standing awkwardly in the middle of my room. “I, uh… I wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay…”

He took a deep breath, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Do you have a date for prom?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the question. “No. Why?”

His cheeks turned pink, and he looked down at the floor. “I was wondering if you’d want to go with me. You know, as friends.”

My heart sank at the word friends, but I forced a smile.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’d love to.”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—relief, maybe? Or was it disappointment? I couldn’t tell.

“Cool,” he said, his voice softer now. “Thanks.”

He stayed for a while after that, talking about everything and nothing, just like we always did. But when he left, climbing back out the window with a quiet “Goodnight,” I knew something was different, I could feel in the air. But I couldn't tell what.

The next morning, I walked into school with a strange mix of excitement and nerves buzzing in my chest. I was going to prom with Joe. My best friend. The guy I’d been hopelessly in love with for years.

Sure, he’d asked me “as friends,” but that didn’t stop the part of me that clung to the idea that maybe—just maybe—prom night would change things.

I was lost in thought as I made my way to the gym, where the prom committee was meeting to finalize decorations. I’d barely set my bag down at the table when a familiar voice interrupted me.

“Morning, Y/N.”

I looked up to see Brian Harris standing there, his easy smile firmly in place.

“Oh, hey, Brian,” I said, offering him a polite smile.

“Got a minute?” he asked, leaning casually against the table.

“Uh, sure,” I said, setting down my clipboard.

Brian glanced around, as if making sure no one was listening, then turned back to me. “So, I was thinking… you’ve been working really hard on all this prom stuff, and you deserve to have a great night. How about going with me?”

The question caught me completely off guard. I blinked, my brain scrambling to catch up. “You… want to take me to prom?”

“Yeah,” he said, his grin widening. “I mean, who wouldn’t? You’re smart, funny, hot… the whole package.”

Heat rushed to my face, but not in the way it did when Joe said something sweet. This was different—flattering, sure, but not the kind of butterflies that made your stomach flip.

“Brian, that’s really nice of you, but…” I hesitated, searching for the right words.

“Let me guess,” he said, cutting me off. “You already have a date?”

I nodded, feeling a little guilty for turning him down. “Yeah, I do.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Joe,” I said simply, and for a split second, I thought I saw something flicker in his expression—surprise, maybe? Or disbelief?

“Joe Burrow?” he asked, his tone laced with skepticism.

“Yes, Joe Burrow,” I said, crossing my arms defensively.

Brian chuckled, shaking his head. “Didn’t think he had it in him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Just… didn’t peg him as the prom type. But hey, good for him. And for you.”

“He's my best friend. Thanks.” I said, though his words left a sour taste in my mouth.

As he walked away, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of annoyance. Why did everyone act like Joe and I couldn’t be more than friends?

JOE BURROW

I was halfway through practice when I got the text from Sam.

Sam: Dude, Brian just tried to ask Y/N to prom.

My grip tightened on the football, my jaw clenching so hard it hurt. I couldn't believe it. I kinda figured it out he was about to do something like that, he spent too much time quiet with me, it was weird. And now, he found a way.

“Burrow! Pay attention!” Coach barked.

I nodded, forcing myself to focus on the play, but my mind was somewhere else entirely.

Brian Harris. I should’ve known he wouldn’t give up that easily.

By the time practice ended, I was practically sprinting to the parking lot. I spotted Y/N by her car, her head bent over her phone, and I spent the whole time hoping it wasn’t Brian.

“Y/N!” I called, jogging over.

She looked up, her face lighting up in a way that made my heart skip a beat. “Hey, Joe. What’s up?”

“I heard about Brian,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual. The truth was, I wasn’t casual at all.

Her smile faded slightly. “Who told you?”

“Sam,” I admitted, leaning against her car.

She sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, he asked me this morning.”

“And what did you say?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

She gave me a look. “I told him I already had a date. You.”

The tight knot in my chest loosened a fraction. “Good.”

“Good?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to play it cool. “I mean, we already have plans, right?”

“Right,” she said, her expression softening.

For a moment, we just stood there, the afternoon sun casting a golden glow over everything.

“So,” I said, breaking the silence, “do you need help with any of the prom stuff? Decorations or whatever?”

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. “You’re offering to help?”

“Why not?” I said, shrugging. “I could use the extra credit.”

She laughed, and the sound was like music to my ears. “Alright, Burrow. Let’s see if you can survive an afternoon with the prom committee.”

Y/N

I didn’t know what had gotten into Joe, but I wasn’t about to question it. If he wanted to spend more time with me—even if it was just to help with prom decorations—I wasn’t going to say no. We spent the next few hours in the gym, stringing up fairy lights and setting up tables. Joe grumbled about the glitter (“It’s going to be stuck to me for weeks”), but he didn’t complain when I handed him another box of decorations.

At one point, I climbed a ladder to hang a banner, and when I wobbled slightly, Joe was there in an instant, his hands steadying the ladder.

“Careful,” he said, his voice low.

I glanced down at him, my heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the height. “Thanks.”

He held my gaze for a moment, his hands still gripping the ladder, and I felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of us.

“Anytime,” he said softly.

By the time we finished, the gym was starting to look like the prom of my dreams.

The next day, the buzz about prom was everywhere. People were swapping dress ideas, talking about their dates, and sharing excitement about the night that was quickly approaching.

By lunchtime, I was sitting at our usual table in the cafeteria, flipping through a prom checklist on my phone. Joe was sitting across from me, picking at his fries, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Are you seriously still doing prom stuff?” Tracy, my best friend, asked as she slid into the seat next to me.

“Somebody has to,” I said, not looking up.

“Somebody who isn’t you,” she shot back. “You’re already doing, like, ten other things. Delegation, Y/N. Learn it.”

“She’s too much of a control freak,” Joe chimed in, smirking at me.

I narrowed my eyes on him. “I’m organized, not a control freak.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” he said, popping a fry into his mouth.

“Speaking of prom,” Tracy said, leaning forward conspiratorially, “have you told Joe what color your dress is yet? Or are you going to make him show up looking like a colorblind disaster?”

I froze, suddenly aware of Joe’s eyes on me. “I—uh—I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Seriously?” Tracy said, looking between us. “You two are going together, and you haven’t talked about coordinating?”

“We’re going as friends,” I said quickly, feeling my cheeks heat up.

Tracy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure. Friends.”

Joe shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or embarrassed. Maybe both.

“Anyway,” I said, trying to change the subject, “what about you? Who are you going with?”

Tracy grinned. “Brian Harris asked me this morning.”

My stomach dropped. “He did?”

“Yep,” she said, clearly oblivious to the way my hands tightened around my phone. “Apparently, you turned him down, so he went with his second choice. And that’s exactly why I don't go out too much, I Said no, I’m going with Sam.”

“Second choice?” I repeated, the words stinging more than they should have.

“Oh, don’t get all weird about it,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re going with Joe, so who cares what Brian does?”

She had a point. I was going with Joe. But why did it feel like I was still losing somehow? I wasn't surprised about what happened. Couldn't get me, it’s not going to get my best friend either.

JOE BURROW

Sam and Josh , my two closest friends from the football team, were waiting for me by the vending machines after lunch.

“So,” Sam said as soon as I walked up, following me into the hallway “you’re really going to prom with Y/N, huh?”

I rolled my eyes, shoving a dollar into the machine. “Yeah. Why?”

“Because it’s about damn time,” Josh said, leaning against the wall.

I turned to glare at him, while I took my Kit-kat from the machine. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sam snorted. “Come on, Burrow. Everyone knows you’re crazy about her. You’ve been in love with her since, like, the fifth grade.”

“That’s not true,” I said automatically, but even I could hear how unconvincing I sounded.

Josh raised an eyebrow. “Really? Then why did you almost rip Brian Harris’s head off at practice yesterday when Sam told you he asked her to prom?”

“That’s different,” I muttered, punching the button for a soda.

“Sure it is,” Sam said, smirking. “You’re totally not jealous or anything.”

“I’m not,” I insisted, but the words felt hollow.

The truth was, I had been jealous. Seeing Brian talk to her, flirt with her, try to take her to prom—it had made me feel like I was seconds away from losing something I hadn’t even realized I was holding onto.

And that scared the hell out of me.

“She’s my best friend,” I said finally, throwing the paper on the trash. “Exactly,” Carter said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Which is why you need to stop screwing around and tell her how you feel.”

I didn’t respond, because what was the point? Even if I did tell her how I felt, there was no guarantee she’d feel the same way.

And if she didn’t?

I couldn’t risk losing her.

Y/N

By the time the final bell rang, I was ready to go home and collapse. But as I was walking to the parking lot, Tracy caught up with me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. I know she was planing something I could feel in tHE air.

“Guess what,” she said, falling into step beside me.

“What?” I asked, too tired to play along.

“There’s a group going to that new dress shop downtown tomorrow, and you’re coming with me.”

I groaned. “Tracy, I already have a dress.”

“Yeah, but I don’t,” she said, grinning. “And I need moral support. Plus, we need to make sure your dress doesn’t clash with Joe’s suit.”

I rolled my eyes. “Joe doesn’t care about that stuff.” And It was true. It didn’t matter if I was going with a red dress or blue.

“Maybe not,” she said, “but you do.”

I hated that she was right.

“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll go.”

The next afternoon, Tracy picked me up for the trip to the new dress shop downtown. The store was buzzing with excited chatter, racks of shimmering gowns lining the walls, and mirrors reflecting endless possibilities.

Tracy dragged me to the section with bright, glittery dresses that screamed “look at me.” I could tell she was in her element, flipping through racks like a woman on a mission.

“What about this one?” she asked, holding up a strapless red gown with a thigh-high slit.

“For you or for me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. It was too much.

“For you,” she said with a grin. “You’d kill in this.”

I shook my head. “It’s too much.”

“Y/N, you’re going to prom with Joe Burrow. You have to make an impression.”

“I’m already going with him,” I said. “Why do I need to impress him?”

Tracy shot me a look. “You’re kidding, right? You’re hopelessly in love with the guy, and you don’t think this is your chance to finally make him see it?”

My heart skipped a beat, and I froze mid-reach for a more modest gown. I didn’t even know what to say. “I—what? I’m not—”

“Save it,” she said, cutting me off. “You might be able to fool everyone else, but not me. So pick something that’ll make his jaw drop.”

I sighed, knowing there was no point arguing. Tracy wasn’t going to let this go.

After what felt like hours of trying on dresses, I finally stepped out of the dressing room in a floor-length navy gown with a sweetheart neckline and delicate lace detailing.

Tracy’s jaw dropped. “That’s the one.”

I turned to look at myself in the mirror, and for a moment, I didn’t recognize the girl staring back at me. The dress hugged my figure in all the right places, and the navy color made my skin glow. It was that one, I know that.

“Wow,” I whispered.

“Joe’s going to lose his mind,” Tracy said with a satisfied grin.

I didn’t know about that, but for the first time, I felt like I might actually look like someone worth noticing.

JOE BURROW.

Later that evening, I was sitting in my room, staring at my phone. Sam and Josh's words from earlier in the week were still playing in my head.

“Tell her how you feel.”

I sighed, tossing my phone onto the bed. It wasn’t that simple.

Or maybe it was, and I was just a coward.

My phone buzzed, and I picked it up to see a text from Y/N.

Y/N:Just finished dress shopping with Tracy. I think I found the one.

Me: Cool. Send me a pic.

There was a long pause before she responded.

Y/N: Nope. You’ll have to wait until prom.

I frowned at the screen, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

Me: Not even a sneak peek?

Y/N: Nope.

I sighed, but a small smile tugged at my lips. She always knew how to keep me on my toes.

The next morning, Sam and Josh cornered me in the locker room after practice.

“You figure out your prom look yet?” Josh asked, tossing a towel onto the bench.

“I’m wearing a suit,” I said flatly.

Sam snorted. “Wow, groundbreaking.”

“Do you even know what color she’s wearing?” Josh asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I lied.

“Bullshit,” Sam said. “You didn’t even ask her, did you?”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “No, but I’m sure whatever I pick will be fine.”

Carter shook his head. “You’re hopeless, man.”

I’m in Love. It 's different.

Y/N

The week of prom flew by in a whirlwind of final preparations. The committee was meeting every day after school, and by Friday afternoon, the gym was completely transformed.

I stood in the middle of the room, surveying the decorations with a mix of pride and exhaustion. The fairy lights twinkled above, casting a soft glow over the tables, and the dance floor was ready to go.

“It looks amazing,” Joe said, walking up behind me.

“Yeah,” I said, smiling up at him. “I think we pulled it off.”

“You think?” he teased. “You’ve been running this show since day one.”

I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t just me.”

“Sure,” he said, smirking.

For a moment, we just stood there, the hum of the committee members packing up around us fading into the background.

“You’re going to look great tomorrow,” Joe said suddenly, his voice soft.

I looked up at him, my heart skipping a beat. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. “I know so.”

I gave him a smile, and he opened his arms, asking for a hug. I got on my tiptoes, hugging Joe tight while his arms went around my waist.

[...]

The air was electric that morning. The last day of high school had arrived, and it felt like every hallway, every classroom, every moment was buzzing with a mix of nostalgia and excitement. People were signing yearbooks, taking pictures, and talking about their plans for the summer and beyond.

Even I couldn’t help but smile as I walked to my locker. It was bittersweet, knowing this chapter of our lives was coming to an end.

“Y/N!” Tracy called out, jogging to catch up with me. She had her camera slung around her neck, determined to document every second of the day.

“Ready for the waterworks?” I teased.

“Please, you’re the emotional one,” she shot back, grinning. “Anyway, don’t forget we’re doing a group photo at lunch. You and Joe better be there.”

“Of course,” I said. “Speaking of Joe, have you seen him?”

“Probably at his locker, brooding like usual,” Tracy said with a laugh. “Anyway, any big plans for tonight?” she asked, nudging me playfully.

“Just the prom committee meeting,” I said with a laugh. “And then maybe collapsing from exhaustion.”

She rolled her eyes. “You need to have more fun, Y/N. Let loose. Do something crazy for once.”

I shook my head. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

And I heard a voice.

“Y/N!” Joe was striding toward me, his long legs making quick work of the crowded hallway.

“Your shadow approaches,” Tracy whispered with a smirk before disappearing into the crowd.

“Hey,” I said as he reached me.

“Are you ready for the pep rally?” he asked, leaning casually against the lockers.

“Always,” I said, trying not to smile too hard at the way his hair was slightly tousled from football practice. “Are you ready for this?” I asked, gesturing around us.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said with a shrug.

“You don’t sound excited.”

“It’s just a day,” he said, closing his locker.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s the day, Joe. Our last day of high school. Try to act like it’s a big deal.”

We walked to the gym together, the noise and chaos of the hallways swirling around us. Everything felt heightened—like we were living in slow motion, with every moment stretched out and glowing.

JOE BURROW.

The pep rally was loud, chaotic, and exactly what it needed to be. Seniors were on fire, shouting chants and tossing confetti in the air like it was the Super Bowl.

I couldn’t stop glancing at Y/N, though. She was sitting with Tracy and a few other committee members, laughing as they worked on last-minute plans for tomorrow’s prom.

She looked happy—really happy—and it hit me like a punch to the gut.

I wasn’t the only one who noticed her, either.

Brian Harris, the basketball player who’d been hovering around her all week, kept glancing in her direction.

“Man, you have to do something.” Sam said to me, loud enough for me to hear him on top of the school band chant’s. I looked over at him, still seeing Brian smiling to Y/N, and I don’t know, I’m almost sure that she’s not comfortable.

JOE: you good?

I said in my message. Saw her opening her phone, but she didn’t text me back.

“He invited her that day, as soon as you steped back to class.” Josh said as well, looking at Brian ans Y/N.

“She is independent, can be with anyone she wants.”

“And you want that, Burrow?”

Sam asked me, and before I could respond to him, he was running back to our friends. By the time the rally ended, my mood had gone from celebratory to sour.

By the time lunch rolled around, my patience was wearing thin. The day was supposed to be perfect—our last day as seniors, with Y/N by my side—but Brian Harris was determined to ruin it.

I saw him hanging around her at the pep rally, throwing those cocky smiles her way like he thought she’d actually fall for it.

And the worst part? She’d smiled back.

It wasn’t the same smile she gave me, though. Hers was polite, almost distracted, but it still made my chest tighten.

I knew Brian wasn’t going to back off, and the thought of him getting even one step closer to her made my blood boil.

Y/N

The last day of high school felt magical in a way that I couldn’t quite put into words. The hallways were alive with laughter, and the air was thick with excitement and nostalgia. Everything about the day seemed to shimmer—the sunlight streaming through the windows, the fresh breeze that wafted through open doors, the sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floors.

It was hard to believe this chapter of our lives was ending. Every smile, every hug, every glance at the crowded hallways felt like a snapshot I wanted to hold onto forever.

But beneath the sparkle of it all, I couldn’t shake the tension I’d felt since the pep rally. Joe had been quieter than usual. He was there, walking me to class and teasing me like always, but something was… off.

“See you at lunch?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice softer now.

But there was something in his eyes that made me pause.

“Joe—”

“Go,” he said, forcing a small smile. “You’ll be late.”

I didn’t push him, though. Joe wasn’t the kind of person you were forced to talk to. He’d tell me what was on his mind when he was ready.

Or so I thought.

I was walking with Tracy to the cafeteria when I heard someone call my name.

“Y/N!”

I turned to see Brian Harris jogging toward me, that signature smug grin plastered across his face.

“Hey,” he said, stopping a little too close.

“Uh, hey,” I replied, glancing at Tracy, who raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet.

“I was wondering if you’d thought about the prom thing.” he said, leaning against the lockers like he owned the place.

I blinked. “Oh, um… I’m going with Joe. I told you that already.”

Brian’s grin faltered for a second before he recovered. “Right, the football star. But, you know, if you want a real man to take you, I’m available. Joe’s it’s just a football player like every single other one, He’s going to fuck you and forget your name right after.”

I froze, my stomach twisting in discomfort. “Excuse me?”

“You’re too pretty to waste your time on a guy like that,” Brian said, his voice dripping with arrogance. “I’d show you a better time, Y/N. You deserve someone who can actually keep up with you, ‘ya know? Not that bullshit.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, a familiar voice cut through the tension like a blade.

“What the hell did you just say?”

JOE BURROW.

The second I saw Brian cornering her, my body moved before I even realized what I was doing.

I knew that look on his face. It was the same one he used to intimidate guys on the court, and it made my blood run hot. When I heard what he’d said to her—when I saw the way her face twisted in discomfort—I saw red.

“You got something to say about me, Harris?” I said, stepping between him and Y/N.

Brian smirked, crossing his arms. “Relax, Burrow. I’m just saying the truth. She deserves better than some meathead quarterback.”

“Back off,” I said, my voice low and dangerous.

“Or what?” Brian challenged, his grin widening.

I glanced at Y/N out of the corner of my eye. She looked uncomfortable, like she wanted to disappear.

“You’re pathetic,” I snapped at Brian. “You don’t even know her.”

“And you do?” he shot back, laughing. “What are you, her guard dog? Or just her backup plan when no one else asks her out? You afraid cause I can fuck her better dan you do?”

That was it.

Before I even thought about it, my fist collided with his jaw.

I barely felt Brian’s punch. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins, and all I could think about was wiping that smug grin off his face.

The hallway erupted into chaos as people gathered around, shouting and gasping.

Y/N

“Joe!” I shouted, shoving my way through the crowd.

Brian staggered back, clutching his face, and then lunged at Joe.

Teachers swarmed the hallway, pulling them apart before Brian could land a punch.

“You’re insane!” Brian yelled, glaring at Joe as he wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Better insane than a creep,” Joe shot back, his chest heaving.

The teachers dragged them off in opposite directions, and I stood frozen, my heart racing as I tried to process what had just happened.

I burst into the principal’s office, my heart racing.

When I pushed open the door to the office, Joe was sitting in one of the chairs, a bag of frozen peas pressed to his eye. He looked up when I walked in, his expression a mix of embarrassment and defiance. His lip was cut, and his knuckles were red, but he didn’t look the least bit sorry.

“What were you thinking?” I demanded, walking over to him.

He shrugged. “Brian deserved it.”

I crossed my arms, glaring at him. “You know you’re going to have a black eye at prom, right?”

He smirked, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a way that made my heart stutter. “You think it’ll match my suit?”

I rolled my eyes, but my expression softened as I crouched beside him.

“Let me see,” I said, gently pulling the bag of peas away.

His eye was already starting to swell, the skin around it an angry shade of red.

I reached out, gently brushing my fingers against his cheek. “You didn’t have to do that, Joe.”

“Yes, I did,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting mine.

For a moment, we just sat there, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. Then, impulsively, I leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the uninjured part of his cheek.

“For good luck,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Joe froze, his gaze locked on mine. My heart raced like a roller coaster.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said, but his tone was soft, almost affectionate.

“You’re an idiot,” I shot back, standing up.

He grabbed my wrist before I could step away, his fingers warm against my skin.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice low.

“For what?”

“For being you,” he said simply.

I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded.

“Come here,” he said, pulling me into a hug.

I hesitated for a moment before wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He buried his face against my side, his grip firm but not overwhelming. I felt my skiing getting hotter and hotter, and I just could smile. My hands went to his hair, my fingers went through his dirty blonde hair. We stayed like that until the principal walked in, but by then, I wasn’t sure I cared about anything else.

It was just me and him against the world, and nothing else.

[...]

And that was it, it was prom night.

The house smelled like hairspray and perfume, and my room was a disaster zone. Dresses were scattered across the bed, shoes piled in a corner, and makeup brushes lay abandoned on the vanity. Tracy, as usual, was in full control, directing the chaos like she was the queen of prom night.

“Hold still, Y/N!” she barked, holding up a curling iron dangerously close to my face.

“I am holding still!” I protested, wincing as she tugged on another section of my hair.

Tracy sighed dramatically, stepping back to examine her work. “Okay, that’s better. You’re going to look so good tonight. Joe’s going to lose his mind.”

I rolled my eyes, pretending the mention of his name didn’t send my stomach into a flutter. “It’s just prom, Tracy. Not a wedding.”

She smirked. “Sure, keep telling yourself that. One day you’re going to marry him.”

Those words echoed in my mind, like a prophecy. Marriage, Joe, his last name. I felt like a little girl dreaming big.

Deep down, I knew she was half right. Prom wasn’t just another night. It was the last big event of high school, the last chance for everything unsaid to finally come to the surface. And with Joe… there was a lot to say.

JOE BURROW.

I couldn’t stop pacing.

The suit felt too stiff, the tie too tight, and my reflection in the mirror wasn’t doing much to calm my nerves. The bruise under my eye had turned a deep shade of purple overnight, standing out against my pale skin like a neon sign.

“You look ridiculous,” Sam said, lounging on my bed with his arms behind his head. “Like someone punched you in the face or something.”

I glared at him. “Shut up.”

“Relax, man,” he said, grinning. “Y/N doesn’t care what you look like. She’s already obsessed with you.”

“Y/N’s not obsessed with me,” I muttered, adjusting my tie for the tenth time.

“Right,” Sam said, dragging out the word. “And you’re not obsessed with her either.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why’d you deck Brian Harris yesterday?”

My jaw tightened, but I didn’t answer.

“That’s what I thought,” Sam said, sitting up. “Look, just tell her how you feel tonight. It’s prom. You’re supposed to be a little dramatic.”

I groaned, rubbing the back of my neck. “You make it sound so easy.”

My mom’s voice got into my ears, from downstairs, screaming at us saying that Josh got there with his mom’s eight places SUV.

“Because it is,” Sam said, standing up and clapping me on the shoulder. “Now come on. Let’s go pick her up.”

Y/N

The knock on the door sent a ripple of nerves through me.

“Y/N, they’re here!” my mom called from downstairs.

Tracy gave me a final once-over, her eyes narrowing in approval. “You look perfect. Now go knock him dead.”

I smoothed down the front of my dress, took a deep breath, and made my way downstairs.

When I saw Joe standing in the entryway, my breath caught. He looked… incredible. The black suit fit him perfectly, and even with the bruise under his eye, he somehow managed to look like he’d stepped out of a movie.

He looked up as I descended the stairs, his mouth parting slightly as his eyes locked on me.

“Wow,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

I blushed, smiling nervously. “Hi.”

“You look…” He shook his head, searching for the right words. “You look beautiful, Y/N.”

“Thanks,” I said softly, my heart pounding. “You look pretty good yourself.”

He grinned, and for a moment, everything else faded away. My heart was beating so fast… It was crazy.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked, holding out his arm.

“Yeah,” I said, slipping my hand into the crook of his elbow. “Let’s do this.”

JOE BURROW.

The ride to prom was a blur of nerves and stolen glances. Y/N was sitting beside me, her dress shimmering under the streetlights, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to tell her the truth.

That I’d been in love with her for as long as I could remember.

That seeing her with anyone else felt like a punch to the gut.

That she was the only reason high school had meant anything to me at all.

But every time I opened my mouth, the words got stuck in my throat.

When we arrived at the venue, the place was already packed. Lights twinkle from every corner of the ballroom, and music echoed through the open doors.

“Come on,” Y/N said, tugging on my arm. “Let’s go find Tracy before she starts texting me a thousand times.”

I followed her inside, my chest tightening as I watched her weave through the crowd with that familiar confidence. She belonged here, in the center of it all, surrounded by laughter and light. And I couldn’t help but feel like I was just lucky to be standing next to her.

We walked through a crowd of teenagers, everyone stopping Y/N to say that the place was awesome. I was holding her hand, walking behind her and letting her set the pace.

“I’m not finding Brian.” She said, the happiness palpable in her voice.

I gave her a smile. “Cause tonight is your night.”

Y/N

Prom was everything I’d hoped it would be. The decorations, the music, the energy—it all felt like a dream, but even as I danced with my friends and laughed at Tracy’s terrible attempts at doing the cha-cha slide, my attention kept drifting back to Joe.

He was standing by the punch table, talking to Sam and a couple of his football buddies, but every so often, his eyes would find mine across the room.

And every time they did, my heart skipped a beat.

“You should just go for it,” Tracy said, nudging me.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, pretending not to know exactly what she meant.

“Joe,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re practically glowing every time you look at him.”

I glanced at him again, my stomach doing flips.

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?” I asked quietly.

Tracy gave me a knowing smile. “Trust me, Y/N. He does.”

“How–”

“Babe, he walks you to your car everyday, even when he has practice. He’s your pair in chemistry cause he found out you're not that good. He just use his cologne cause you like it. That guy has been in love with you for ages. Go.

But as I walked to meet me, he came down my direction.

JOE BURROW.

By the time the slow songs started playing, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Do you want to dance?” I asked, walking up to her before I could lose my nerve.

She looked up at me, surprised, and then nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

I led her to the dance floor, my heart pounding as I rested my hands on her waist. She placed hers on my shoulders, and for a moment, we just stood there, swaying to the music.

“You having fun?” I asked, my voice quiet.

She nodded, smiling up at me. “Yeah. Are you?”

I hesitated, my eyes searching hers. “I think this might be the best night of my life.”

Her smile faltered slightly, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“Y/N,” I said, my voice shaky. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Her grip on my shoulders tightened, and I could see the fear and hope mingling in her eyes.

“What is it?” she asked softly, looking over my eyes, and my mouth. I almost fainted.

I took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage I had.

“I—”

The words sat heavy on my tongue, burning to be said, but no matter how much I wanted to just tell her, my chest felt too tight. Y/N looked at me expectantly, her hands light on my shoulders as we swayed to the music. Her eyes searched mine, and I could feel the weight of her gaze, like she was daring me to break the silence between us.

But I didn’t.

“Never mind,” I said, forcing a small smile. “It’s nothing.”

Her expression faltered for a split second, a flicker of disappointment flashing across her face before she recovered. She gave me a soft smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You’re acting weird tonight,” she said, her voice teasing but gentle.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

She raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing me, but she let it go. “Okay. If you say so.”

The song ended, and the crowd around us erupted into cheers and applause. Y/N stepped back, her hands falling from my shoulders, and I immediately missed the warmth of her touch.

“Let’s get some punch,” she said, her tone light as if she hadn’t noticed the tension that had been building between us all night.

I nodded, following her off the dance floor, kicking myself for chickening out again.

Y/N

Joe was acting so strange, and I couldn’t figure out why. He was quieter than usual, and there was something in the way he looked at me that made my stomach twist in knots.

For a moment on the dance floor, I thought he was going to say something—something important. But then he didn’t, and the moment passed, leaving me feeling more confused than ever.

I tried to shake it off as we made our way to the refreshment table, but it was hard to ignore the nagging feeling in my chest.

Before I could dwell on it too much, the DJ’s voice boomed over the speakers, announcing that it was time to crown the prom king and queen.

“Oh my god, here we go!” Tracy squealed, bouncing on her heels next to me. “This is my favorite part!”

The crowd gathered around the stage as the principal took the microphone, holding two glittering crowns in his hands.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice echoing through the ballroom. “The moment you’ve all been waiting for—the announcement of your prom king and queen!”

The room buzzed with excitement, and I couldn’t help but smile at the energy in the air.

The principal unfolded a piece of paper and cleared his throat dramatically. “Your 2015 prom king is…” He paused for effect, dragging out the suspense.

“Joe Burrow!”

My heart stopped.

The room erupted into cheers and applause as Joe’s friends pushed him toward the stage. He looked completely shocked, his face turning red as he stumbled forward.

“Go, Joe!” Sam yelled, clapping him on the back.

Joe climbed onto the stage, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as the principal placed the crown on his head. He looked out at the crowd, his eyes wide and uncertain, and when his gaze landed on me, I couldn’t help but laugh.

He looked like he wanted to bolt.

“And now,” the principal continued, holding up the second crown, “your 2015 prom queen is…”

I barely had time to register the words before they hit me.

“Y/N Y/L/N!”

My jaw dropped.

Tracy shrieked, grabbing my arm and shaking me. “Oh my god, Y/N! You won!”

The crowd cheered again, and I felt my cheeks flush as everyone turned to look at me.

“Go,” Tracy urged, pushing me toward the stage. “Go get your crown!”

I stumbled forward, my heart racing as I climbed onto the stage. Joe was standing there, still looking like he couldn’t believe what was happening, and when I reached him, he gave me a lopsided smile.

“Guess it’s our night,” he said softly.

I laughed nervously, and before I could respond, the principal placed the crown on my head. The crowd roared, and for a moment, I couldn’t think about anything except how surreal this all felt.

“I voted for you, actually.” He said to me. “Everyone else felt wrong.”

“And now, for the king and queen’s first dance!” the DJ announced, cueing up a slow song.

My stomach flipped.

Joe held out his hand, his eyes meeting mine. “Shall we?”

I hesitated for half a second before taking his hand. “Let’s do it.”

JOE BURROW.

I couldn’t believe it.

Of all the people to win prom king and queen, it had to be us.

The crowd parted as we stepped onto the dance floor, the music soft and slow. I held her close, my hands resting on her waist, and for the first time all night, everything else faded away.

She looked up at me, her eyes sparkling under the dim lights. “This is… unexpected,” she said, her voice light and teasing.

I chuckled, feeling a little more at ease. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

We swayed to the music, and for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the room.

“You’re a good dancer,” she said, surprising me.

“Don’t sound so shocked,” I replied, grinning. “My mom uses me as a pair for her dance classes every wednesday.”

She laughed, and the sound sent a warm rush through me.

I wanted to say something—anything—that would let her know how I felt. But every time I opened my mouth, the words got stuck. So instead, I just held her a little closer, hoping she could feel everything I couldn’t say.

Y/N

Dancing with Joe felt like a dream.

The music, the lights, the way his hands fit so perfectly on my waist—it was all too perfect, too much.

And yet, it wasn’t enough.

I wanted to say something to him, to break the tension that had been building between us all night. But I didn’t know how to start, or what to say.

So I just smiled, letting myself get lost in the moment.

As the song came to an end, the crowd erupted into applause, and Joe stepped back, his hands lingering on my waist for just a second longer than necessary.

“You’re amazing, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely audible over the noise.

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, Tracy grabbed my arm, pulling me back into the chaos of the crowd.

I glanced back at Joe, my heart aching with everything I didn’t say.

But the night wasn’t over yet.

It was hard to believe that prom had ended. We had just been crowned king and queen, dancing beneath the dim lights, and now here I was, stumbling out of the ballroom with Joe, our friends trailing behind us like a pack of wild animals, laughing and shouting.

“I can’t believe you’re the prom queen,” Tracy yelled, her voice echoing in the parking lot. “You deserve it, though. No one shines like you.”

I laughed, the night air cool on my flushed cheeks. “I don’t know about that,” I said, glancing over at Joe who was walking beside me, his hand brushing against mine. My stomach fluttered at the contact, but I didn’t say anything.

The parking lot was chaotic as everyone piled into cars. Tracy, Sam, and the others crammed into one, while Joe and I ended up in another with a few other friends, laughing and joking like it was just another night. But it didn’t feel like just another night. This felt different. This felt like the last time we’d all be together in this way.

“You guys are gonna miss each other so much,” Tracy said, her words a bit slurred. “This is the last time we’re all gonna be together.”

I looked around at everyone—Sam and his crew, Tracy with her beaming smile, and Joe, sitting across from me, his eyes twinkling in the dim light. I didn’t want this night to end. It felt like the end of something—something big.

JOE BURROW.

The night ended up going by in a blur. The prom was exactly what I expected and nothing like I imagined. My crown, which had been placed atop my head in a daze, felt heavier with every passing second. But as I glanced over at Y/N, standing beside me, I realized that tonight wasn't about the crown or the glittering dance floor—it was about the fact that we had both made it here together.

As soon as the prom ended, everyone piled into cars, the laughter and chaos of the night spilling out into the streets. Tracy and Sam were in the front seats, and the rest of us packed into two cars heading for our usual spot: the 24/7 fast food joint down the street.

“Best night ever!” Tracy yelled from the front seat, her voice full of excitement and maybe a little too much sugar.

Y/N, sitting next to me, leaned her head back against the seat and sighed. “Honestly, this is the only place I wanted to end up tonight.”

I glanced at her, a grin tugging at my lips. “It’s perfect, huh?”

The group of us shuffled into the fast food place, everyone high on adrenaline, and suddenly, the night felt endless. I grabbed a large soda and some fries, and we all sat around, teasing each other, making fun of the awkward moments at prom. It didn’t take long before someone—probably Sam—suggested spiking the punch.

Y/N was sipping her soda innocently, but I could tell the punch had begun to work its magic. Her eyes were a little glassy, and her giggles were more frequent than usual. I could feel it too. The alcohol had taken over, making everything feel lighter, blurrier.

After a few more rounds of punch and laughing over ridiculous prom photos, our group decided to walk. No one really wanted the night to end just yet. Y/N and I stumbled a bit, weaving through the streets as we made our way toward my house. It was a warm night, and we walked slowly, the stars twinkling above us, as if everything in the universe had aligned for this very moment.

By the time we made it to the end of the place, I was barely able to keep my eyes open. But I didn’t want to go home yet. Not like this.

“Joe, we’re walking,” Sam said, slurring his words as he jumped out of the car and started heading toward the neighborhood. “Come on! We’re taking the long way back!”

I looked at Y/N, and she just shrugged, smiling. “I’m in,” she said, laughing.

And just like that, we all piled out of the cars and started walking through the dark streets, the cool night air refreshing against our skin as we stumbled down familiar roads.

We walked past houses, the sidewalks empty, the only sounds coming from our group and the occasional rustling of trees. We didn’t have any particular destination in mind. We just walked and talked, our laughter echoing through the empty streets. It was so easy, so natural, like we had all the time in the world.

At some point, we ended up on my street. My house loomed ahead, warm lights spilling out from the windows. We’d spent so many nights here before, just talking and watching the stars, and tonight felt like no different.

I led Y/N to my backyard, where a small patch of grass sat beneath a canopy of trees, almost tripping on our feet. The stars were clear in the sky, shining brighter than I had ever seen them before. It was like everything was glowing, alive, and the world was just right.

We laid down on the grass, our arms touching, but not quite close enough for me to feel her warmth completely. The alcohol from the punch made everything fuzzy, the stars spinning above us. My thoughts were scattered, my words slow, but somehow it all felt peaceful.

She was lying beside me, her hand resting on her stomach, her eyes on the sky. I could feel her breath in the air, feel her presence beside me. And in that moment, I realized how much I didn’t want this night to end.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said, her voice quiet as I stared at the stars.

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice a little deeper than usual, probably from the alcohol. “It’s crazy how small we are, you know? It’s like everything else fades away.”

My body felt heavy with the weight of everything I had left unsaid. The way I felt about her. The way she made me feel every time she was near.

“I’m glad you’re here with me tonight, Joe,” She whispered.

“I’m glad you’re here too, Y/N.” There was a slight hesitation in my voice. A flicker of something I couldn’t place.

The alcohol had taken over, and everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. The way her voice sounded, the way the world felt too big and too small at the same time—it was all a blur, but one thing was crystal clear: I didn’t want this night to end. I didn’t want her to leave.

I turned my head slightly, catching a glimpse of her face in the dim light of the stars. She looked like she was deep in thought, her lips slightly parted. There was something about the way she looked at me, something that made my heart race and my stomach twist.

I didn’t think. I didn’t even hesitate. I just leaned toward her, closing the distance between us. The moment our lips met, everything else melted away. The world stopped spinning, and all that mattered was her. Her taste, the way her lips felt against mine, the way she kissed me back as if she’d been waiting for this moment too.

It was like time didn’t exist. Like it was just the two of us, under the stars, finally doing what we had both wanted to do for so long.

When we pulled away, breathless and dizzy from the kiss, neither of us said anything. We just laid there, looking up at the sky, the stars blurring into streaks of light as our minds swirled.

The night ended with a haze, the kiss lingering in my mind but slowly fading as the alcohol wore off. The stars were still shining, but everything felt a little more distant now.

I couldn’t remember exactly how we got back to the house, how we ended up on my couch, or how we fell asleep, side by side. But when I woke up the next morning, my mind was foggy, my lips still tingling, and the memory of the stars felt far away.

I could remember nothing about last night.

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