#euphoria but wild things

[linktoo-doodles]

lizzayyyyyy

[autisticbokutoenthusiast]

its been 24 hours and "certified loverboy, certified pedophile" still has me in its grips like... the chills still running through my body....

[good-beanswrites]

Fe Aspec Week Day 1: Coming Out

WOO It's aspec week time!! 💜💚 To no one's surprise I'm starting off with Lukas :3 I know we have the wonderful support convo when he and Python sort of come out to each other, but I was always curious about the loose ends that it brings up -- how he comes out to/is treated by his family, the woman he's left behind, his fellow nobles, etc. This drabble doesn't really answer any of those questions sadfsadf but it's coming from that thought 😂

Father,

I am writing to you now, so soon after my previous letter, as there is something I have yet to confess. It may be difficult for you to hear, but

The sentence stops abruptly, a small dab of ink at the corner of the ‘t’ where the pen had rested a moment in contemplation.

A man sits back at his at a desk. His candle illuminates the page, displaying a few brief lines at the top. He dips his pen in ink time and time again, but the page remains mostly empty. 

At first, the man believes his problem to be a lack of words. No title exists for men like him. He’s well-educated and well-connected in the army; he has an extensive vocabulary for how the upper and lower class categorizes its people. Whether it’s a scholar’s dull terminology, vulgar common language insults, or the carefully chosen phrasing of a gossiper, none of the usual descriptors fit him. All he has are the distantly connected criticisms he’d heard his whole life: “heartless,” “cold,” “detached.” 

When the candle burns lower, however, he realizes the real issue. He has far too many words.

Where would he even start? Should he describe his contentment with his life here? How not one of his fellows ever brought up the lack of a woman at his arm, or how dinners with the King and Queen themselves were filled with pleasantries that never touched on his romantic endeavors? Whatever his father had been preparing for, it had never come.

Or should he begin earlier, when he was first accepted by this group of people? He wasn’t sure if he could properly convey all that he experienced on that fateful night, speaking softly with the unit’s archer – a man he’d come to call one of his truest friends. The man had heard for the first time in his life that there were others like him. He heard that they were content. They were whole.

He could go back further and describe the moment that the realization first hit him. How his father had been right in a sense. Just as he said, one day when the man was grown, he would be in the arms of another, and everything about himself would suddenly make sense. There was only one difference. He’d been forced to bury that clarity, since it wasn’t the same kind that everyone else came to.

Or should he start even further back? He could recount all little hints that haunted him across his youth. His dreams for the future never quite aligned with those of his peers. Nothing ever seemed to align. His choice of stories to read, of games to play, of jokes to make. He wouldn’t ever claim he was mistreated as a child, but everyone would agree that the signs had appeared even then.

The man sighs. Where is the beginning, when one has always been this way? 

The clock strikes on the hour. It is late, and he will need to be at his sharpest tomorrow for drills and meetings. He has no more time to fret over words about his past. 

The man tries a new method, and wonders what his friends may write about him. He can’t resist a dry smile. He knows that he can never, under any circumstance, allow them to exchange any correspondence with his family. 

But the exercise gives him an idea.

He writes out a single statement. Then he blows out the candle and heads to his bed. 

there is nothing broken about me.

Cordially,

Lukas

[moltengoldveins]

having. Thoughts.

[bannock-freak]

fellow chronic pain friends, you ever get that lowkey high when your pain levels suddenly go way the fuck down? cus hoo boy i am not here rn

[shhhhimwatchingthis]

ok yeah, I'm willing to put Young Royals up as one of, if not the best teen drama ever written

and not just writing! cinematography, costumes, music, performances! this show truly is a masterpiece

[meeelis]

If only...

[scavenger-toll]

today was wild

[girls-and-honey]

.

[keingleichgewicht]

I LOVE TO MEMORIZE VOCABULARYYYYY

[idcnticxl]

independent & private multimuse blog for original character twin sisters Jenna & Nova Laurens with verses in stranger things, until dawn, 9-1-1, euphoria, the umbrella academy, & more. Please read rules & fill out interest tracker before interacting.

—A STUDY IN; identity, grief, identical twins, similarities & differences, parental death, mental health, unhealthy coping mechanisms, & self discovery.

Carrd | Rules | Verses | Relationships | Interest Tracker | Memes

[satorena]

✧.* BUT I LASTED TEN ROUNDS LIKE A FREAK !?

featuring. g. satoru, f. toji, n. kento, g. suguru, k. choso

warnings. explicit content, foul language, lots of unrealistic expectations (note. title itself), overstimulation (m+f), dickdrunk!reader, dumbification, usage of toys, squirting, spanking, very light spit play, anal, 69 position, breeding kink, unprotected sex, toji’s kinda mean and choso can’t tell the difference between pussy and an asshole. if i forgot anything else my bad !

rena’s note. BUT I LASTED TEN ROUNDS LIKE A FREAK !!! LIKE A G !!!

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔.

“fuh—fuck, oh shit, hah fuck— ‘ts so fuckin’ good!”

you bounced up and down his cock, surface of your palms pressed at the planes of his chest. you enveloped his length entirely, every single inch, in your pulsating pussy, driving the both of you to madness.

it’d been hours, and for whatever was in the air tonight, you both fucked like wild animals. your thighs burned from over-exhaustion, but you were relentless. you were desperate for another orgasm, the slide up and down his inches effortless due to your juices soaking his thighs and his cum from having nutted inside you multiple times prior.

gojo’s firm hands grabbed at your ass, fingers gripping tightly into your soft flesh, grounding you in position so you wouldn’t run. as if you would anyway, tongue lolled out and drool leaking from your rosy tongue and dribbling down his bottom lip.

“that’s it,” he encourages you, a faint smirk at his lips as he guides you down his length. the fucked out look on your face, your dazed eyes crossing to the centre of your face serves a huge ego boost. “my pretty girl—fuckin’ ride this dick baby, ‘s all yours—mmh,”

the sinful sound of your pussy squelching, folds latching at the tip of his dick before ramming yourself down, the lustful melody of your skin slapping against him in addition to the firm spanks of encouragement on your ass, with your high pitched mewls and squealing sounded like divine music to gojo’s ears.

you rocked your hips back and forth, grinding down, went back to bouncing up and down, made circles and figure eight shapes on his length, mindlessly dragging your hips wherever felt fit. you were so far past a point of euphoria you weren’t even sure if liquids could come out of you for the rest of the night.

“eyes here princess,” gojo brings a hand to cup your jaw, forcing your head back down to face him. “pretty pussy’s griping me so tight—fuck,”

your sweaty foreheads press together, and you clock that he knew you were on the brink of yet again another orgasm. cerulean orbs peered deeply into yours, his hips jerking up and meeting your bounces, aiming to bring you to that high as quickly as he can.

“sa—satoru!” you find is the only thing that comes up in your mushed out brain, the new angle of the position having his dick puncture your cervix. you felt so fucking full of him, so drunk on the pleasure that you failed to notice the coiling in your stomach snapping.

he squeezes at your ass cheeks as hard as he can, the painful pleasure obliging you to sit and take his ramming. he fucks into you with intensity, each drag of his cock at your walls sending you into a temporary state of immobility. your muscles tense as you feel yourself wash with yet again another white-blinding orgasm.

your jaw drops and your eyes roll back, throat exhausted while nothing yet everything is said. satoru pumps his creamy cum back into your womb, praising you for taking him in so well, for having a perfect pussy that’ll surely carry his children, all snug and warm for him.

“perfect fuckin’ pussy—mine, all mine, gonna fuck her full of my nut and have you carrying my babies, yeah? ‘s what you want, isn’t it? atta. fuckin’. girl.”

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈.

“whew, would’ya look at that?” toji whistles, barking out a chuckle as he slows his pace, watching your uncontrollably clenching pussy squirt out your juices like a leaking faucet.

the pressure of your squirting is fucking intense, it has your entire body shaking, thighs quaked and the arch that was once on your back rounded. toji can’t help but laugh as tears stream down your damp cheeks, absolutely in love with how greedy your pussy clamped down on his cock.

“daddyyy—fuck!” your nails claw at the damp sheets on the bed, letting your nth orgasm rake throughout your body.

you feel a firm blow at your ass cheeks, the sound echoing in the room and you whine loudly at the stinging pleasure. you feel two big hands grab at your hips, stabilizing your limp body before a hand rises up and pushes your back into that curve.

“nah uh doll,” toji tuts, hips angling at a new position, one that draws a broken mewl from your sore throat. he picks his pace back up, never fully bottoming out, though you wouldn’t even notice with how many inches he packed.

“what’d i tell you?” he reminds you, and you’re too fucked out to answer him as you mumble his name over and over, helplessly taking the stretch of his dick at your gaping cunt.

he slaps your ass harshly again and you cry, fingernails scratching and clawing at the silk material beneath you. your scalp soon stings as he grabs a handful and effortlessly brings you upper body up to meet him.

“answer me when i ask you somethin’ baby,” toji frowns, hot breath fanning the shell of your ear, sending chills of nerves down your spine. “basic fuckin’ manners.”

“suh—sorry, ‘m sorry toji!” you apologize feverishly, and moan in satisfaction when his tongue laps up your drool and tears streaking your ruined yet pretty face.

“tsk, should have you do the work yourself,” toji teases you, releasing the deathly grip on your hair, causing your limp body to flop back to the mattress. as if proof to avoid calling his bluff, he releases his hold on you, opting to cross his arms above his head instead.

“n-no! toji, no, please, said i was sorry—‘m so fucking sorry!” you whine and ramble when you feel the lack of contact on your body, and your gaping cunt suddenly emptying.

you slither your hand between your thighs, grabbing at his girthy cock, pumping it a few times before slipping it with ease back into your welcoming warmth. you moan wantonly, clawing at your sheets as you fuck yourself on his dick, pushing yourself back and forth.

“greedy fuckin’ pussy,” he comments with a chuckle, spitting a glob of saliva down to your cunt, watching it dissipate into the creamy pearly veil of your essence around the base of his shaft.

he collects your slick with his thumb, before slipping his fingertip into your puckering hole, your body jolting at the sudden intrusion.

“trappin’ me inside—shit, want me to fuck you full of my cum, yeah? leave you swollen and leakin’, dontcha, pretty baby?”

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎.

“‘s too much ken—no more, hah, no more kento!”

you whined and begged, fists clenching as your muscles tensed, back arching off the mattress and toes curling while digging your heel at his shoulder blades. the sound of buzzing filled your hearing, the toy vibrating against your swollen clit ruthlessly while nanami fucked your cunt open with two thick fingers.

“mmh, safe word princess, or else i can’t hear you.” he reminds you, the words ghosting off his lips and sinking into your supple flesh, his lips trailing soft and gentle kisses at your inner thighs.

here he was, giving you an out, and despite claiming enough was enough, you didn’t want it to end just there. with your senses heightened, both your sight and touch restrained, the pleasure emitting from in between your thighs buzzed blissfully and tenfolds through your nervous system.

you released the clench of your hands and opted to scratch at the wood of the headboard you were tied to, projecting your want to touch your boyfriend through the clawing.

“i can keep—hnng—going!” you tell him, legs closing in on the sides of his head. you hear him tut disapprovingly, and you immediately fault your mistake, forcing your legs back open.

“there’s my good girl,” his honeyed voice rings through your ear drums, and it admittedly has you dripping even more on his fingers that curled at your insides. “just need one more from you—can you do that for me?”

you nod your head, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, “mmh, yes—yes i can kento!” you can feel your blood circulation cutting off at the areas were you’re bind, the shortage of blood messing with your already weak body.

the toy playing at your bundle of nerves is painful, having overstepped the boundary of comfortableness and stepping into a new territory of foreign, and you had failed to notice when nanami added in a third finger. you were sure with how much you came just on his hands alone, his watch was drenched in your juices.

those big fingers fuck you open, knuckles pressing into your spongy walls and triggering all sorts of pleasurable feelings throughout you, your stomach tightening into a familiar hot feeling, and you know you’re close again.

“kento, baby i—‘m gonna—fuckkk!” you want to card your fingers through his soft hair, tug and pull and release your pleasure onto his scalp.

“let go for me sweetheart, wanna taste your sweet essence,” nanami swaps the toy for his tongue and flicks at your clit. you feel the dam in your gut release at the sudden warmth exhibiting, and you spray him in pathetic squirts of your juices.

your body trembles as it contracts and gives nanami everything you have left to offer. you squeeze his head in your thighs, moaning wildly as his pace with his fingers never falters, urging you to stay in the state of euphoria a bit longer.

he swaps his tongue out for the toy again, and you wail out a broken cry, body at its limit, still stuck between coming down from your orgasm and greedily wanting another one.

he strokes your slit, collecting all your essence as he licks his lips eagerly.

“good job princess. taste so heavenly, i’ve never had anything like it before. i’ve gotta have another sip, will you let me have another taste, my love?”

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔.

“c’mon, focus sweetheart. do that f’me, yeah?”

you nod your head, mouth too full of dick as you opt to bob up and down. your jaw aches, feeling as though it’s being ripped apart. you force your aching wrist to work up and down geto’s cock, stimulating what you fail to get down your throat.

it would’ve been a simple task for you to focus on, had suguru not been feasting on your pussy like a starved man. he spreads your folds open, tonguing at your insides as if he dug for gold, grabbing both your cheeks in his big hands and spreading you open. he never half assed anything, much less pussy eating.

his skin was soaked in your squirt, orgasms came rolling in and out of you as did the occasional pumps of two fingers into your cunt while he ate you out. you would moan in pleasurable pain, the sounds vibrating on his shaft, which would induce him to moan into you, causing you to moan back on him, the cycle this repeating.

you were greedy—you could complain about how it was too much all you wanted, at the end of the day, you would pause on his cock to grind your hips back and forth on his face, the slip from your slick on his cheeks and nose making the grinding easier.

his nose would bump into your clit and you’d shiver from head to toe, the oversensitivity catching up to you. the free hand at your ass cheek would graze at your puckering hole but never dared to slip inside. all these mixes of stimulations had your eyes crossing, mouth gaping wide which made fucking your throat much easier for geto.

“sweetest cunt i’ve ever had,” he groans in between your thighs, bringing his hand to spank at your wet folds, and your arch your back at the stinging pleasure, your toes curling as your body shook.

the slap at your pussy made flicks of your juices land on his face, and so he landed a few more blows while simultaneously jerking his hips up into your mouth, forcing you down on his cock.

it was all too much— it hurt so good, the strikes at your cunt, his tongue lapping your liquids as he scissored your insides for additional pleasure. how was he expecting you to get him to finish for a second time when he was driving you to the brink of yet again another countless orgasm?

“wanna soak in your juices mama,” he speaks, mouth full of cunt, but you still grasp the message. you subconsciously push your hips back into his face, wanting to abide to his request.

“‘m so fuckin thirsty—don’t you dare be selfish with me. cum in my mouth. be the good girl i know you are and share yourself with me—need it, pretty girl.”

𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎.

“y’feel so good, fuck—sucking me in, oh shit baby, never wanna stop fucking you! please, need your pussy always!”

he’d finally gotten a feel of sex for the first time, and he was already hooked. his locks matted to his forehead from sweat trickling down his nose and plopping down onto you.

“wait—slow d-down cho’—hngg!” you moan, nails clawing at his back, scraping and marking the pale skin. you felt your body recoil entirely with each sharp thrust he pounded into your worn out pussy, dragging each and every inch of his length in and out.

your knees were bent at your ears, feet dangling by his head as his hips slammed into the back of your thighs, marking the skin red from the brash contact. the springs from your bed resonated loudly in the room, as did the creaking of your headboard, but nothing topped choso’s loud whimpers.

he’s too lost in his own pleasure, he starts to mistaken to stinging and achy feeling in his gut and loins for a sign to keep going, “never wanna stop—shittt, need to fuck this pretty pussy every. fucking. day.”

you’ve given up on convincing him otherwise, focusing instead on the rise and fall of his hips digging into yours, stretching your pussy open to fit him inside. you creamed around his dick, your essence resting at the hairs on his pubic area, giving him easy access to slide in and out of you.

his arms wrapped around you tightly, refusing to let you out of his grip, one arm beneath your back and holding you from there and the other wrapping around your shoulders. you were stuck in his embrace, bodies moulding into one as you were split open by a fucked out first timer.

in his excitement, he slips out and wastes no time to grab his base and shove it back into a warm tightness, failing to acknowledge your sudden gasp. his mind is clouded with sex, and if he didn’t know better, you were suddenly much fucking tighter, and shit that drove him on edge.

your arms tighten behind his back as you adapt to the sudden intrusion from an area you hadn’t yet explored. “cho—baby wait—mmhm, fuck, that’s my—!”

“‘m gonna cum—fuck y/n, tell me you’re close too. shit, need to fill you up with my cum, please!” the man seals his lips onto yours, panting and begging for this next orgasm, shifting all of his body weight into the hole that keeps greedily latching onto him.

your eyes water as they stream tears down your cheeks. it’s a new and painful sensation, but simultaneously a pleasurable one, and your body granted you the opportunity of yet again another orgasm from the different stimulation. “hah—gonna cum!—make me cum, choso!”

you spray yourself all over, your pussy clenching around absolutely nothing as your ass gets rammed into and fucked like a pro. choso groans and whines against your lips, brows furrowed at the centre of his forehead as he empties himself into your warmth.

“fuck yes—take it all baby, ‘s all yours—need you to milk me and take it all in—your pussy’s the best, i swear to everythin’, shit!”

i am SO tired.

[kurooh]

WORLD CLASS SINNER ★ JUJUTSU KAISEN

⊹₊˚. featuring gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, & kamo choso fucking you nasty.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, car sex, creampies, overstimulation, crying, spanking, slight public sex, mirror sex, spit, hair pulling, freaky shit, motorcycle sex, riding (multiple things), filming, squirting, cunnilingus. | 4.7K words

xoxo, juno. happy belated birthday to satoru <3

GOJO SATORU.

“for the record, i love you,” satoru pecks a kiss to your cheek and his lips smack, “it is december 7th and ‘m getting my gift early.”

“it is not early!” you protest, snatching the phone from him and wiggling over to the side so you can mount it on the tall dresser. the camera app is open, overlooking the bed and ready to record satoru’s birthday celebration this year. bits of dry frosting color the corners of his lips, serving as the evidence of the cake you made him yourself.

“uh, no need to move so much,” satoru exhales coolly, hands finding purchase on your hips, “you said we’d take it slow, didn’t ya?”

“that was then,” you purr, voice low and sultry, “and this is now. unless . . you actually want me to?”

he shakes his head immediately, cheeks flushing a rosy pink while he pouts his lips. satoru sneaks a glance downwards, diamond eyes feeling a little wet at the sight — you’re sitting on his cock, with your cunt squeezing just above the creamy ring at his base.

“i thought so, ‘toru,” you giggle, blowing a kiss in the direction of the camera. it’ll surely add to the excitement when he’s watching this by himself some time along — after all, nothing else can get him off. your hands splay out on his chest, nails grazing his skin lightly.

“anyway, i’ve just been thinking . . and you’ve been such a good boy this year. i ought to spoil you for your birthday, hm?”

“what did you just call me?” satoru sputters, biting back a laugh although his voice trembles. “did you just say—”

the words die on his tongue immediately. your expression twists into one of pure bliss as you start to rock your hips into him, setting up a decent pace that has you crying out in delight. of course, he has no choice but to join you, his head tipping back while his eyes trace your features. god, you feel good — so tight, so hot, and oh so perfect. but sex feels even better because he’s pleasing you; seeing you falling apart on his cock all because of him will always get him going.

“shit, baby,” satoru gasps, groaning loudly when your fingers tangle in his snowy hair, “faster, please.”

you nod frantically, lifting yourself up and slamming back down on his cock so hard it’s like you’re being split open in the best way possible. out of habit, your fingers wander to your clit, and he pushes them away the moment he sees.

“no, don’t,” he replaces your fingers with his own and lets his free hand settle at the small of your back for support, “let me do it, babe.”

“toru,” you whimper as he flicks the sensitive bud around, “y-you always make me feel so good.”

“‘course i do, sweetheart,” he grunts, starting to jerk his hips upward. each deep thrust pushes his cock into places only he can touch, and your mouth falls open, face crumbling. “here, jus’ arch your back a little—yeah, you got it.”

satoru’s voice wavers as he tells you what to do, setting up a new position and angle for him to fuck into you at. beads of sweat roll down his temples while his chest heaves in exertion, the best kind — he’s never truly gotten tired when he’s fucking you. not only does he have the stamina of a wild stallion, but really, how could he get tired when you’re looking like an angel above him, crying out his name in a voice that’s a harmony if he’s ever heard one.

“so fuckin’ beautiful,” satoru grits out, eyes regretfully squeezing shut for a moment, “god, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep squeezin’ like that.”

curses and sobs of euphoria fall from your lips. as the seconds pass, you’re only getting more intoxicated by the heat between you. misty tears make your eyes shine, and arousal pools deep in your stomach, growing more pronounced with each shove of his cock into your sweet spot. your legs are trembling on either side of him, and your tummy’s slightly more rounded than usual—satoru’s cock is in your guts.

he feels you start to tense up, notices a few stray tears falling down your cheeks. this is it. “l-look at me, baby,” satoru pleads, as if he’ll die without it, “look at me when you cum.”

it’s perfect — you look directly into his eyes, and the camera captures your orgasm perfectly. your cunt flutters and spasms around his cock, and you’re shaking so hard you fall on top of him, flinching away from his insistent fingers. it takes everything he has to hold the urge to cum back, but he manages to pull it off, not even spilling a drop.

“toru,” you mumble into his chest, shivering as he strokes away the sweat on your back, “why didnt you—?”

“savin’ it,” he breathes, teeth sinking into his lower lip in an attempt to try and ignore the way your walls are flexing around him. “hmph. as the birthday boy, i expect you to blow another candle for me.”

your head lifts immediately and you shoot him a glare, eyes narrowed in faux annoyance. “you did not just say that.”

“careful, careful,” he hisses, hands flying to your hips, “don’t wanna accidentally cum right now.”

“right, but you’ll never push me off,” you challenge him, playfully wiggling against his pelvis.

“that is not fair!” satoru whines, looking ridiculous with the dried blue frosting at the corners of his lips. “don’t torture me, pleaseee.”

GETO SUGURU.

“keep your eyes open, sweetheart.”

“‘m sorry, sugu, i just—”

his hand comes down hard against your ass, and the crack of the slap reverberates through the room. you shudder, blearily opening your eyes and looking into the mirror.

behind you, suguru’s flipping a bit of his dark hair over his shoulder and out of the way while holding onto your waist to keep you steady. you can see how pathetic you look in your reflection — drool freely slips from your mouth and you look completely dazed, all sweaty and tired while hearts spin in your eyes.

“hm, that’s more like it. want you to watch yourself, honey.”

you nod, eyes tracing the edges of your thighs and ridges of his abs in the reflection. suguru’s got you on your hands and knees, making you look fucked out and fucked up.

“s-sugu, i wanna touch my clit—it’s not enough.”

he raises a dark brow, eyes narrowing as you slip a hand between your thighs and find your clit with your fingers. now, he settles his hands at your hips, lifting you up slightly to pound into you at a new angle.

“alright. only if you don’t fall over, sweetheart.”

what a bastard. of course he has to set you up with an impossible condition like that — the new placement of his hands is the first sign of your literal downfall. suguru closely observes your reflection in the mirror before his own: you’re covered in bite marks and hickeys, with a sheen of sweat all over your body, which makes your skin look sticky. your tits swing, building momentum each time he slams into you.

beneath the sound of ass clapping, suguru can hear your pathetic, fucked out cries—this is the result of too many orgasms and being an annoying brat to him all day. his blood boils with both frustration and arousal when he recalls a particular memory, so he reaches forward, gathering your hair into one hand before pulling you backwards. messing around with your hair is something that holds a special place in his heart; he loves it whenever you touch his hair in any way, and the same goes for yours.

“takin’ it like such a slut,” suguru croons, his dark tresses falling into his face, “but i really can’t hear you that well. thought i made myself clear when i said i want the whole apartment building to hear how well i fuck you.”

“y-yeah, you did,” you gasp, back arching beautifully, “sugu, need you to touch my clit.”

he smiles wickedly. instead of allowing yourself to fall forward, you’ve decided to give up and steady yourself at the expense of rubbing your clit. suguru almost wants to give you a reward for that.

“not right now, honey,” he revels in the frustrated sob you let out, watching in the mirror as your face crumbles in some kind of distress. so dramatic, he thinks after mentally laughing. as if he’d leave you unsatisfied — how many times have you cum so far? “someone’s fucking greedy, hm? tell you what, sweetheart. cum without your clit ‘n i’ll eat your pussy up right after.”

it’s a good enough deal, and it only seems more enticing when he sticks his tongue out in the mirror, showing off the silver ball in the middle of it. his tongue piercing, and your favorite part of him eating you out.

“o-okay,” you agree tearfully, and he tugs you back by the hair so you’re facing him.

“tell me, tell the neighbors, who’s fucking you this good? answer me, honey.”

“you, suguru!” you moan loudly, feeling a surprising pressure building in your lower stomach, “i-it’s you, ‘s always you!”

suguru nods, letting go of your hair and slipping his hand beneath your chin rather gently. then he lifts your head and tips it back. “open that pretty mouth for me.”

you oblige immediately, going so far as to stick your tongue out for him. he spits right onto your tongue, and it tastes a little minty because of his chapstick and tea when you swallow. the gesture is an erotic expression of dominance and possession, and it’s one that has your cunt quivering around his cock. he lets you go, making eye contact with you through the mirror.

“oh, i feel you squeezing me,” he grunts, smacking your ass and groaning when your cunt automatically bears down harder. “looks like i’ll be devouring that sweet pussy of yours, honey.”

“hah, i need it,” mascara tracks darken your cheeks as fresh tears roll down, “t-think ‘m gonna cum, jus’ like you asked.”

“such a good girl for me,” he praises, egging you on by pressing his palm into your lower stomach, “my girl listens so well, doesn’t she? cum for me.”

the creaking of the bed grows louder as he pounds his cock into you harder, forcing a mixture of slick and cum to pour out from your used hole in glossy strings that stick to your thighs. he’s breathing heavily behind you, pressing into your tummy just right, and oh.

oh, you’re about to make a fucking mess.

a pitched sob tears from your throat when you cum on his cock, pussy gushing all over him and onto the bedsheets. sparkling droplets of cum race down your thighs and your entire body shakes on his cock, gripping him so tightly that neither of you can move.

“s-sugu, ‘m tired,” you gasp, stars flashing across your vision. “feeling kinda . . lightheaded.”

“you’ve gotta rest, sweetheart,” suguru laughs, and it rumbles out from the depths of his chest. he leans so far backwards his back cracks, and then he hands you an open bottle of water.

“what—what’s the record now?”

“ten in an hour,” he strokes your back with loving fingers, curling up beside you even though you’re upside down on the bed together. “let’s try to break it again in a couple hours.”

“how about tomorrow?” you suggest with a yawn.

“okay, okay. tomorrow night, my balls are shriveling up right now.”

“ew, sugu.” your nose crinkles and you scoot an inch away, too exhausted to move further.

“oh, stop it. it’s your fault anyways.”

NANAMI KENTO.

“kento—kennn,” you whine breathlessly, glossy lips parting to release a useless warning. “y-you’re gonna make me cum again, shit!”

“let me feel it, sweetheart,” kento croons, pressing his thumb particularly hard into your clit. the additional pressure has your head spinning too fast for you to even come up with a coherent thought as you orgasm with a drawn out whine on his cock for the nth time tonight. “that—that’s my good girl.”

beneath your bodies, the polished oak desk creaks dangerously, sounding far too tired for something that’s worth thousands. but kento doesn’t give one damn — he’d been stuck working overtime because of his shitty boss, who’d left him cooped up in his office, expecting his orders to be followed. the ultimatum was simple: do a ton of work or get fired.

kento had been so caught up he didn’t get the chance to call you, and the stress he’d been feeling began to ebb away once you stepped through his door with a bag of food from his favorite restaurant. one thing led to another, and soon enough the food had been abandoned somewhere and you ended up on the desk.

papers lazily drift off the desk’s surface while others are inevitably dampened by a mixture of wetness and spit, which leaks from your puffy cunt in thick trails down your skin. again and again, kento’s cock pushes even deeper, the blunt tip of it kissing your cervix rather roughly. meanwhile, his fingers toy with your swollen clit, drawing unrestrained cries from your lips while tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“ken, ‘s too much, i don’t think i can—”

“of course you can take more, angel,” kento huffs, firmly planting his hand beside your head for extra stability. the platinum of his watch glints in the light and his heavy breaths grow more ragged by the second, his chest heaving. sweaty strands of blond hair escape the gel’s hold, sticking to his slick forehead and making him look all the more ethereal above you. “i-i’m nowhere near finished with you.”

“oh god,” you whimper in realization, feeling that hot wave cresting in your tummy; it’s amplified by the rough rhythm of his cock and the attention he’s so generously lavishing your clit with. “g-god, ‘s coming . . ken, i think i’m gonna—”

a deep groan rushes out from him, all the way from the pits of his chest. hazel eyes squint as he watches your pussy push his cock out; it quivers momentarily before spraying cum all over his pelvis, and the sparkling droplets drip through his pubes, toward the shaft of his cock.

“did you just squirt, sweetheart?” kento asks curiously, heat rising to his cheeks and elsewhere.

“i think so,” you swallow nervously, too weak to sit up and look at the mess you’ve made all over him. “ken, i want you to cum inside me. stop holding it back.”

to be fair, this is probably the last time he’ll get the pleasure of fucking you on such an expensive desk. this despicable office he’s spent countless hours in is finally growing on him now that he’s got you in here like this — stripped naked and begging for his cum while making a mess of the shit all over his desk. and oh, he wishes he could see his boss’ face when he comes in demanding all of the finished work, only to be met with a sticky desk. the vision ignites an inferno in him and he guides his cock inside you, biting down on his lower lip when your greedy cunt swallows him.

“beg a little more for it, angel,” he chokes out, spreading your legs impossibly wider while drawing his hips back, leaving only the tip of his cock inside you. “need to know just how you want it.”

you gasp sharply, back arching off the desk and causing your tits to press into his clothed, sweaty chest. “i want you to fuck me like you mean it. t-then, fill me up. please.”

you can’t even say another word before kento’s holding your hips down and plowing into you with a sudden ferocity. if he’s lucky, he can get you to squirt again and maybe this time he can get a taste—yes, this is the thought he wants to cum to.

he shudders, “i love it—ugh, fuck—when you tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

“give it to me,” you cry out, eyes fluttering shut while your legs wrap tightly around his waist, drawing him closer. “h-haven’t i earned it, ken?”

kento comes undone at your words, teeth clenching with a loud grunt as he finally spills inside you. your squeezing walls milk him for everything he has, absorbing each throb of his cock into their sticky softness. his mouth hangs open breathlessly, and he weakly pushes his hips forward before carefully landing on top of you.

wood splinters and snaps beneath you, and you both tumble to the floor atop a heap of the desk’s remains. “kento, what just happened—”

“it’s fine, honey. let’s rest for a moment before we leave.”

“you aren’t gonna clean it up? what about when you have to come in tomorrow?”

kento nuzzles his nose into your cheek with a blissful sigh. “thank you for making my last day at this job special. i’ll be quitting and moving to the other firm closer to the house.”

FUSHIGURO TOJI.

“this is what ya wanted?” with a coy chuckle, toji flattens his tongue against your slit and licks a long, languid stripe upwards. he easily finds your clit, and swirls the sensitive bud around with the tip of his tongue.

“yeah, but not the teasing—” a breathy gasp pushes past your lips when he pushes two slick fingers inside you.

“heh heh. you’ll survive a little teasin’, dollface.”

he’s so flippant with his words, so nonchalant. but his fingers are anything but lazy or uncaring as he bullies them deeper into your cunt, curling them right against that sweet spongy spot inside you. with one leg over his shoulder and the other hanging off the edge of the backseat, you’re fully spread and at his mercy.

“come onnn, toji,” he rolls his eyes when he hears you whine, tonguing at the glossy slick that covers his fingers and the skin around your hole.

“you come on, princess. just wait a second, ‘kay?”

“but i’ve been waiting,” you huff, lower lip trembling in frustration as your fingers push through the dark tufts of his hair. you can’t help but breathe a little heavier, the building anticipation becoming suffocating in the small space of the car. “all night. since we left to go hang out with shiu.”

“don’t tell me that’s why you’ve been so handsy, doll. hmph, i had to pull over so ya wouldn’t make me crash the car.”

“i wasn’t even doing—”

“that much?” toji finishes your sentence for you, the corners of his lips quirking upwards when you look at him desperately. “weren’t ya trying to get in my pants while i was going sixty?”

before you can respond, toji interrupts your train of thought by spitting right onto your clit. the glossy glob trails down his fingers and becomes extra lube for him — he wraps his lips around your clit and starts to sporadically curl his fingers. heat sears its way across your face and your back arches off the backseat, eyes briefly scanning around to make sure the road’s still empty.

it’s dark out and difficult to tell, but what does it matter? there’s no need to focus on spotting other cars, you reason.

“ah, fuck!” the expletive leaves your lips in the form of a startled mewl, a delicious reaction to toji lightly nibbling at your clit with his teeth. the gesture is playful but it drives you wild and makes your head spin, thoughts turning into mush. “toji, that—that feels really good . . ”

impatient as ever, you push his head down, forcing his face into your pussy in a greedy attempt to get more.

“ah ah,” he snaps upwards, pulling free from your grip and moving on top of you easily. you’re nose to nose and he’s speaking directly over your lips, sharing your breath. “i get to eat this pussy my way. she’s all mine, don’t forget that.”

“f-fine,” you cede with a pout, which he kisses away, feeling proud of himself.

“be a good girl ‘n maybe you can ride my face. how’s that sound, doll?”

“it sounds good,” you squeeze your eyes shut when he finally returns to his old position between your thighs, two fingers stuffing your cunt while his tongue laps at your clit as though it’s the best ice cream ever. the temperature in the car seems to spike; your body’s growing hotter and hotter with each lick or curl of his fingers.

“greedy pussy wants some more, hm?”

“h-huh?” you ask dumbly, a little zoned out.

but toji doesn’t repeat himself. instead he shows you what he said by pushing a third finger into your already crowded hole, smirking in satisfaction when you suck him in despite your verbal protests of it being ‘too much’. toji’s big, every part of him, and you always take him even though you complain — what can he say?

“a-ah, so fuckin’ full,” you slur your words, rocking your hips into his fingers to make the stretch burn a little less. “tojiii, go slow.”

“again, girl,” he huffs, rolling his eyes dramatically, “don’t tell me what to do. ‘n you’ll be just fine, this pussy was made for me.”

there’s no point in arguing, so you just let your head lazily lean back against the door. you were supposed to look around for cars, especially police cars, and you’ve given up entirely, deciding to blame your inability to search on the foggy windows.

toji scissors his fingers in and out of you mercilessly, sucking your clit roughly and groaning to express his enjoyment. the wet squelches of your cunt make your cheeks burn hot; it’s just so filthy that you don’t even know how to react. on either side of his head, your thighs tremble, squeezing around him every now and then.

“mmm, you’re so fuckin’ sweet,” he smacks his lips loudly and devours your pussy in between each word, “shouldn’t have made you wait so goddamn long, dollface.”

“i told you,” is all you can utter, hips twisting wildly into his face, “jus’ like that, keep sucking my clit—fuck, yes. ‘m so close, gonna make me cum.”

“aw, i’m gonna make you cum?” he teases you, mocking your tone in a way that has shockwaves of excitement and anger shooting straight through your body. you can’t even find it in yourself to answer, and a sudden flash of red and blue has your eyes squeezing tightly shut.

“‘m cumming, ‘m c-cumming, toji!”

instead of using his tongue on your clit, toji decides to sit back and watch your cunt spasm. to prolong your orgasm and overstimulate you, he slaps your clit a few times, chuckling each time you jerk or nearly scream happily.

“hmph, ya ougtta taste yourself,” toji pulls his fingers out of you and shoves them into your mouth, feeling his cock swell in his pants as your tongue cleans his skin. it’s even better when you moan as you do so, thoroughly enjoying the taste of your cum. “how’s that, baby? if ya can sit up without any help, i’ll let you ride my face.”

a sharp knock on the window startles you, and the bright light of an officer’s flashlight shines in through the foggy glass. without wiping his face, toji reaches into the front seat and turns on the car, then rolls down the window. the light illuminates the glossy cum all over the lower half of his face, and yet he smiles widely.

“good evenin’, officer. what can i do for ya?”

KAMO CHOSO.

“keep it s-steady, baby,” despite his words, choso’s voice shakes, slightly muffled by his helmet. “gentle on the throttle—nghhh, fuck.”

one of his gloved hands is firmly holding onto your hip, gripping hard each time your cunt squeezes around his cock. the sky is now a dark curtain of nighttime, darkness speckled with stars above. in front of you, car lights flash occasionally out on the road. street signs are caught in the bright columns of the motorcycle’s headlights, greens and yellows glinting in the white glow.

you bounce your ass back on choso’s lap, nibbling at your lower lip and allowing a whimper to slip past your teeth. his cock is buried inside you, nestled deep in your hot, sticky walls and extremely sensitive. he lightly strokes his free fingers against your clit, but not too often that it’ll be a distraction—after all, you’re driving a motorcycle.

“there’s a light up ahead,” choso points out, heatwaves crashing over him despite the cool breeze.

“i see it, cho.”

the motorcycle slows as you apply the brake, and you smoothly stop at the light. instead of remaining bent forward, you sit back onto his lap, taking in the last few inches of his cock. choso startles beneath you with a gasping moan and rolls your clit between his fingers.

“cho,” you whimper breathlessly, leaning your head into his shoulder, “gimme a kiss.”

“okay,” he whispers, leaning in slowly. the helmets clash together, but he manages to peck his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. you whine when the light turns green, sitting forward to take off again. this time, your face burns as you steady your feet, and the position allows you to bounce back on his cock with newer efficiency.

“shit,” choso gasps, bucking his hips upwards to match your rhythm, “i—hah, you’re gonna make me cum, baby.”

it’s dangerous in so many ways, but you look over your shoulder at him and he sees the heat in your eyes. it’s almost like you’re daring him to bust a nut inside you while you drive his motorcycle—god, that’s exactly what you’re doing. normally, choso doesn’t enjoy playing truth or dare, but he’ll make an exception for his girl.

with one hand on your hip, he tugs you down onto his cock and jerks himself upwards to make it a little easier for you. tears prick at the corners of your eyes like they always do whenever you take his cock — he’s stretching you out and filling you up so perfectly that it’s impossible not to become overwhelmed.

“faster, baby—t-there’s nobody on the road, you can put s’more gas into it.”

so you do, watching the needle in the speedometer increase as the motorcycle gains speed. choso moans loudly, his face flushing dark red beneath his helmet while his eyes flutter shut for a moment. “g-gonna cum, baby, tell me i can, tell me i can—”

each word grows more urgent, and his voice begins to splinter and break as he begs you for permission. his fingers carelessly toy with your clit, thumb rubbing quick circles around the bud and enticing you to cum with him. you feel dizzy, seeing stars flash across your vision each time you bounce down on his cock, not to mention the additional stimulation on your clit. something hot burns in your stomach and seems to rush throughout every limb in a way that has your body and mind going numb momentarily.

“cum in me, choso,” you sob desperately, gripping the handlebars frantically, “cum with me, cum with—oh, fuck.”

your mouth falls open in shock as you have the most explosive orgasm you’ve ever had with him; your cunt flutters around his cock, drawing him deeper as if it’s the last time you’ll be together.

choso starts to babble thoughtlessly, praises and gasps falling from his lips like the words of a prayer. “yeah, ‘m cumming—ngh, i l-love you, god you’re jus’ so perfect.”

he finally spills inside you, spraying white hot cum so deep it’ll take hours to drip out. the motorcycle wavers, lurching forward toward the next set of lights. beneath the helmets, you’re both panting, coming down from your highs and trying to focus even though you’re feeling a euphoric numbness spread through your body. when his thumb nudges your clit, you jerk as though you’ve been electrocuted, whining from the sensitivity.

“are you okay?” he asks lowly, voice ragged while his hand massages at your side.

“y-yeah, i’m okay. i just—i need to do that again.”

choso laughs, causing you to do so as well. “maybe in a few more minutes. how ‘bout we change up the position so you’re on your back? if we do, i’ll be able to see that pretty face.”

[dilf-hunter-fantasies]

[900 words of fluff, smut, and breeding kink]

Daydreaming about...

Husband!Joel Miller and the first time it slipped from your lips.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen. 

It was a sultry summer evening, the kind where the air still clung to you even after the sun dipped below the horizon. You’d both been a little buzzed, the walk home from the neighborhood block party filled with laughter and teasing touches. 

Joel had barely managed to close the front door before his lips were on yours, his hands greedy and warm as they wandered under your sundress.

It had been the kind of night where everything felt heightened—the taste of his tongue against yours, the way his calloused palms felt against your skin, and how his every touch seemed to unravel you. He’d taken you to bed with that intense, unfiltered adoration in his eyes, the kind that always left you weak in the knees. 

He was almost too much, murmuring worshipful praises into your ear, and against every inch of your skin. He had that sparkle in his eyes that made you melt. Everything was a pleasant blur, the way your bodies fit together, your giggles as he nearly growled, trying to pull you closer. 

The haze of his tender, overwhelming love, was more intoxicating than the warmth of the sun and the last hints of alcohol buzzing in your veins. He was pure devotion, attuned to every part of your body, every thought you might have, and coaxing you into a state of euphoria. 

You didn’t even realize you were talking, rambling softly between gasping breaths as he rocked into you, filling you to the brim until your eyes rolled back. But you’d been singing sweet praises right back to him. 

“So good,” you whispered. “Just like that, fuck.” 

And he did exactly as you said, hitting that perfect angle that had you floating away, lost in the bliss. 

And then it happened. 

Slipping free, soft and breathy between moans. “Oh, fuck,” your brows scrunching together in that way they always did when you were close. “Cum deep, baby, I need it.” Another moan rolled through you as he thrust his cock so deep it kissed the end of you. “That’s it. I want to carry it inside me, always. Fill me up until it takes, Joel.” 

Joel had frozen for a moment, his gaze locking on yours with an intensity that stole your breath. His cock twitched inside of you like he was somehow even harder than he’d ever been. Something primal flickered in his dark eyes, his jaw tightening before he let out a deep, guttural groan. 

Whatever switch you’d flipped in him sent him spiraling into something wild, feral. He’d pumped into you like it was his sole purpose, whispering filth and adoration in equal measure, his body relentless against yours until you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. A tangled vine of limbs. 

Now, a couple of years into your marriage, that same insatiable energy has returned. But this time it’s real. Tangible. The decision to start trying for a baby had been an exciting one, but you hadn’t anticipated how it would unleash a new, unstoppable side of your husband.

Joel’s been radiating pure, unadulterated want for weeks now. It’s in the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing that matters in the entire universe. It’s in his hands, which can’t seem to stay off you, whether he’s tugging you into his lap on the couch, pressing against you in the kitchen, or pulling you into the shower under the guise of saving water.

You’re attempting to finish making dinner when you feel him behind you. His strong arms slide around your waist, his chest pressing firmly against your back. His hands find their way to your hips first, then drift upward, cupping your breasts as his thumbs tease over the sensitive peaks through the thin fabric of your shirt.

“Sweetheart,” he drawls, his voice rough and low, sending shivers down your spine. “How am I s’posed to keep my hands off ya when you look like this?”

“Joel,” you protest weakly, though the way your breath catches betrays you. “I’m trying to cook.”

“Don’t care,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Need you, darlin’. Right here, right now.” His hands trail lower, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your leggings, and you’re gone, dinner long forgotten as he husks into your ear about how he’s gotta keep you filled up. Spouting off nonsense like how he can hear your pussy beggin’ for him, how she’s feelin’ empty and needs him too.

And somehow, no matter how filthy and feral he gets for you, it’s endearing. Wrapped in love and yearning for the idea of a family. Of more to love. 

The rest of your days—and nights—follow the same pattern. 

You find yourself pinned against the kitchen counter, bent over the couch, tangled in the sheets. He’s unstoppable, each touch, kiss, and thrust carrying a purpose that leaves you trembling and breathless.

Even at work, he’s insatiable. A quick trip to his job site to drop off his lunch turns into a heated, stolen moment in the back of your car. His kisses are ravenous, his hands rough but loving as he pulls you into his lap, his gruff voice murmuring, “Can’t wait, baby. Need you now.”

Every touch feels like a vow, every whispered word a promise. Joel loves you with his whole being, and now, with the thought of building a family together, that love has taken on an obsessive edge that leaves you dizzy and utterly devoted to him.

Late one night, as you lie together in the afterglow, his hand splayed possessively over your lower belly, he looks at you with those hearts in his eyes.

“This time,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “I feel it.” 

And you believe him. 

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dividers

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[focusonkayjay]

stuck with you | (3/5)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

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

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

Word Count: 21.5k+

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

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

★ PLAYLIST ★ MOODBOARDS

three: standing at the edge of a cliff

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shallow. Self-serving. Insincere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because more than anything, you're scared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/N!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's no way that's true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe you should just let it go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But despite your best efforts, your thoughts still drift.

Jungkook.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just in case you show up.

Just in case you finally come home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like something has shifted, even just a little.

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

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

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

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

You're not here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay. Fair. Maybe that makes sense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then, a few minutes pass.

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

And then—a small squeeze. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

Then—an exhale.

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

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

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

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

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

Holding back from hurting you.

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

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

"You owe me, Y/N."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice drops lower.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where do you think you're—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you do.

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

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

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

You run.

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

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

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

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

And then—

Your legs give out.

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

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

You retch.

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

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

And then, silence.

The quiet is deafening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Begging you to see Jaehyun for who he truly was.

But you didn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now, what do you have left?

Nothing.

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

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

Because this?

This is all on you.

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

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

In your bed. In your room.

Did he really fall asleep here last night?

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

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

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

Jungkook's drowsiness vanishes in an instant. 

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

Were you back? Had you come home?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Voicemail.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

Still nothing.

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

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

You've deactivated all your socials. 

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

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

Still, he keeps looking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She was such a bitch.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because Jungkook doesn’t stop.

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

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

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

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

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

But still, no one steps in.

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

“Kook?? What the fuck—KOOK, STOP!”

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

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

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

Because Jaehyun fucking deserves it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Jungkook doesn’t move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook proceeds to narrate everything to Taehyung. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ll get over it.

Eventually.

Hopefully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The shower is on. Someone’s inside.

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

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

You’re back.

You’re finally back home.

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

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

And then you appear.

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

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

Your heart clenches.

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

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

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

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

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

And the weight of that realization is suffocating.

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

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

How could you, after everything?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jaehyun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, he doesn’t stop.

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

And it infuriates you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something in you suddenly snaps.

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

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

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

"Y/n, What—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/n, stop it—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/N—"

"Just fucking do it!"

Silence.

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

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

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

You can’t do this.

You can’t breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you need to see him.

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

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

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

series masterlist

my masterlist <3

TAGLISTS CLOSED <333

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[yaseraphine]

pick a card 5 - what are people's first impressions of you ?

masterlist / ko-fi

my last post : your 2025 main lesson and themes.

Pile 1

10 of cups, King of Swords, 9 of Wands, 7 of Swords, 4 of Wands, The Sun, The Lovers, Death

Mischevious, Cunning, Manipulative in a flirtatious way ??, flirtatious, funny, Victorious, Happy, Fun to be around, Doesn’t take responsibility for things, Playful, Too unserious, Hot and sexy, Hot n Fun, Short n Sweet, Wet n Wild, If you’re a woman, people might think you easily get super wet (what is wrong with people respectfully 💀), Femme fatale/fboy boy, You look like trouble pile 1 not gonna lie lmaoo, Too hot to handle, People assume you’re a cheater or just kind of sneaky but all of that dark energy comes out somehow really playful ?? At first glance you exude strong Gemini and Aries energies  : kind of childish and playful, really “oopsie daisy”. They’re impression is that you’re the type of person that plays dumb when you get called out for your misbehavior. People might think you are commitment phobic, A player but people don't even mind to be heartbroken if it's you : “I don’t care if I get played by them tbh” people lowkey want to get heartbroken by you (people are crazy 🤡) 

People’s first impressions of you is that you’re a firecracker. Pile 1 I keep on seeing Maddy from Euphoria and Megan Thee Stallion’s Realer era, Pimpin is a song that plays in the background when you’re walking in the street lmaoo You look like you're always in a badass edit

I am hearing the lyrics “she bad mix the ratchet with the classy ooh so bad i just couldn’t let her past me no i told her “shawty, you so right but you so wrong”. Pile 1, you definitely got that aaah (reference to that one tiktok sound of She Knows - Ne-yo feat Juicy J and T pain). You literally make people do double takes on you.

People directly assume if you came into their life, you would ruin them but they would consent to their own self destruction because of how hot you are.

People's first impressions of you is that you’re a master manipulator, but not a horrible one that genuinely leaves others traumatized forever. You’re flirty, sometimes on purpose, sometimes not, but it's mostly people's delusions and projections that hurt them more than anything. They just assume things when you never meant anything, and honestly I don't even think you give people mixed signals. People mix them up by themselves. Like you smile at them just out of politeness and people are like “ damn they're into me or what ?!” What kind of people are around you Pile 1 ? Never met this level of delusion in my life 😭☠️

Something extremely strange about those impressions is that I don’t think people think you’re toxic ?? Which is a bit weird because I have been only describing manipulative behaviors… Pile 1, your energy is really complex to grasp and it stirs intense and contradictory reactions inside people when they first meet you.

I am getting people make a lot of assumptions about you because it’s not just first impressions. People project a lot on you, probably because you are really attractive and people seem to not be able to think a hot and sexy person can be a good and kind hearted person ??? These people are projecting hard literally

People’s first impressions of you is that you are a really sunny person, a really bright and happy go lucky person. 

They also instantly get that you probably got a lot of suitors and people at your feet, waiting for their chance with you. 

When they talk to you, I feel like people get really insecure and they instantly start to compare your life (i mean the 1000 assumptions of what your life is like that they created in their heads on the spot...) and compare it to their own lives. They compare your eloquence, your energy, your aura, the energy and the vibes you exude with their lack of charisma and presence. I don’t know if you’re around a lot of insecure people but be careful, some of them are secretly waiting for your downfall because of how jealous they are of you.

The type of people that are jealous of you instantly when they first see you are generally the same gender as you. If you’re a man, they compare for example how healthy your hair are, how women are easily attracted to you and follow you everywhere you go . Not going to lie it’s giving Chad VS Nice guy/ Incel kind of dynamic. Like they're internal dialogue would probably something like : “ Nice guys finish last anyways… I am sure he treats girls bad and is a player and girls still love him…It's so fucking unfair.” (such a low vibrational energy yikes 🤢). If you’re a girl, they compare your body, your smile, your makeup and how your outfits fit you perfectly , how their own crushes seem to like you more than them YET you don’t even pay mind to them (the jealous people’s crushes) lol 

Pile 1, I would advise you to be extra protective of yourself and your energy. Your spirit irritates a lot of people’s demons.

I find it interesting because this pile is heavy on gender dynamics, power of attraction,... Most of you here are probably straight, or bisexual at least. I don’t see much queer action going on. You also have a really young and fresh energy so you are probably in your 20s.

You incite a lot of hate, jealousy and envy from the same gender. And you incite a lot of obsession, desire and admiration from the opposite. You incite so much jealousy just by your presence, and it happens almost systematically and starts right when people meet you for the first time. I feel like you might have lilith somewhere prominent in your chart, first house, harshly aspected with your ascendant, also Neptune dominance.

People look at you and they instantly think to themselves “this person should star in a movie, what are they doing working in at the local Walmart ??” or “they should be in the cover of vogue. Why are they in college ? They're too hot to be sitting in a classroom all day ?!!” 

Something I am getting from all this channeling is that people's first impressions of you are generally extreme, and mostly false 💀 Different people have different assumptions about you, but everyone seem to agree that you first come across as a heartbreaker and a player. Basically pile 1, you look like trouble at first glance.

The quote I got for you is a beautiful one from Carl Jung : “People will do anything, no matter how absurd, to avoid facing their own souls”

MUSIC : Pimpin by Megan Thee Stallion / Ne-yo feat Juicy J, T-pain - She Knows (Remix) 2014

Pile 2

Ace of Wands Rx, 5 of Wands, 4 of Wands, 6 of Swords, 2 of Swords, 8 of Cups, The Hanged Man, 5 of Pentacles

People’s first impressions of you is that you’re really closed off and standoffish. Really protective over your energy, your time and your space. You appear somehow aggressively defensive, really “get out of my way bitch” type of energy. 

People’s first impressions are that you’re holding on to a lot of pain and hurt which, in result, makes you really hostile. People can see at first glance that you have been through a lot of negative experiences in life, which made you in return cold and distant. 

Pile 2, you give the energy of a black cat, and you hiss at any person trying to approach you too closely. You really have that lone cat energy.

You have the vibes of someone that bites back. I am hearing the audio “Get your fucking dog bitch!! “ / “It don’t bite.” / ‘YES IT DO !!!”. People think you will jump on them at any given moment if they say something that you don’t like,...lol

When they first meet you, people try to be really careful with their words because they are scared that if they say something wrong, they will cross you. If you’re with a group or someone else when people first meet you, they will avoid, out of fear, to directly engage with you, and will observe how your friends or the people that are with you handle you so they can do the same. 

Pile 2, people’s first impressions of you is that you are scary as hell lmaoo

You give people the impression that you’re judging them in a way. You might unintentionally side eye people a lot. You make people uncomfortable with your standoffish attitude. 

Now, this pile is divided in two sub-types : 

you are perceived exactly like what I described above : really bitchy vibes, no bullshit energy. You’re protective of your energy because you have a lot of self-respect and don’t want people to disrespect the way some did to you in the past. 

The second type, you are like this not really because of self-respect but because there is an underlying insecurity, something particularly broken inside of you. It feels almost like you put up this front of confidence and assertiveness and people usually can see right through it. If you’re faking it until making it a lot of people upon their first impressions pick up on that. 

These two sub-types can be blended too, like you could be both at the same time or perceived as both at the same time. (I don’t know if this makes sense )

People’s first impressions of you is that you are really authoritative and controlling. You probably have a really tight schedule that you don’t like to change for anyone. You look like you don’t like to compromise or work in groups. Their first impressions of you are also that you don’t really like change, you don’t like incompetency, and that you have a really good skincare routine (??random as hell lmaoo). 

People think you eat healthy boring food, like bland porridge for breakfast and a bland salad with almost no seasoning, that you snack on overtly expensive cereal and protein bars that taste like grass (people are really funny i swear this is so hyper specific)

I think their first impressions get them to make a few assumptions on you for a few minutes, but then they move on with their lives like “well i don’t know good for them” or “let them be”. People don’t want to get too carried away in the impressions they have of you and the assumptions they make from it because they don’t want to disturb your peace. Like you have an energetic protection that gives them a limited amount of time to ponder on who you might be. Like I am seeing a system almost like the one in Inside out, a little creature, a fairy or a guardian angel, coming into the person’s mind and starting the timer the moment they stare at you or interact with you for the first time with their foot tapping on the floor and their eyebrows frowned, looking over their watch each second ticking with growing impatience. People feel like they have to go through tests to be allowed to think of you deliberately. 

Pile 2, you have really protective guardian angels damn ! They tolerate no bullshit congrats!!

QUOTE : healed people hear differently

SONGS : Focus - Saweetie / Plan B - Megan thee Stallion / Here - Alessia Cara

Pile 3

King of pentacles, The Star, 7 of swords, 10 of Pentacles, Ace of Wands, 10 of Wands, 5 of Cups, Death

When I first started shuffling for your pile, High Maintenance of Saweetie started playing. Pile 3, you’re standing on business ! It was especially this lyric that stood out to me : 

“See I'ma rider but nah I ain't a die

'Cause I wouldn't take a bullet for a n***a, that's a lie”

People’s first impressions of you is that you are a workaholic with all your life figured out. You have a clear path of where your life will take you. 

People’s first impressions of you is that you’re extremely busy and productive, but, despite that, you are not a robot that does things mindlessly and repetitively. No, you are your own unique person, you have a clear and  higher vision, you seem like a complex individual with a mind of your own.

People’s first impressions of you is that you are a complex individual, with many layers. Instantly, people want to get to know you and get closer to you. They want to know your backstory, and what led you to be so passionate about everything you do today. They want to know how you seem to manage everything in your life so gracefully. 

People’s first impressions of you is that you are a deep soul that learned to make peace with the lighter side of life. You know when to let go and have fun, and when to cling onto things and be serious about things. 

People’s first impressions of you is that you’re beautiful, I am even hearing “striking”. 

People perceive your beauty as being ethereal. It’s not an instagram model type of pretty or handsome, it’s more sophisticated, it’s unique, it is just “you”. 

Maybe a lot of you are not conventionally attractive, you have a particular physical trait, something that makes you stand out instantly. It usually disturbs people a bit when they first meet you like “Oh!...”. I don’t know if you get what I am trying to say lol It is like you’re a woman with really thick and black body hair, but, instead of hiding them or shaving them, you just let them be there. You don’t really care much whether people see them or not. It could also be that you have back acne, and this does not stop you from wearing tank tops or just let them be visible. You don’t try to make a bold statement by doing this, because you’re just like “It’s natural what can I do about this ? It is what it is.” . People immediately pick up on this type of mentality from you. People want you to teach them how to do it. I am hearing “Teach me your ways master” lol . You seem really wise and you know how to not take everything personally. Really an old soul. 

Back to the physical trait thing (because I think people scrutinize your face a lot when they first meet you), you might have a roman nose, or you might look really “ethnic” or “exotic” to people. Maybe you’re a POC in a predominantly white environment, or you just look quite different from your peers.

-> Ok guys, I am picking up on something INSANE. People who would usually bully others for that physical trait you have, sense your strong self-respect and energy and are instantly subconsciously afraid to make fun of you or to try to belittle you. This is actually so fucked up what… I don’t know what is going on in this entire reading but a lot of low vibrational energies were channeled. Anyways. I feel like you grew up being the weird kid that grew into your features and personality, and now, retired high school bullies (not the one that bullied you, if it happened, just general retired high school bullies) lowkey sense they would have bullied you in the past if you were in the same class as them but now can’t do it because it’s lame and not socially acceptable for adults to do shit like that.

People are kind of scared to sit in your energy for too long when they first meet you and have their impressions about you because they feel like their energies are not high vibrational enough for them to be allowed to sit in your powerful energy for too long ?? Lol You intimidate people a lot but they don’t know why, they just feel the urge to shut the f up in your presence and just bathe in your energy silently ?? Weird 

Okay Pile 3, keep it up , never let people dim your light ! Your soul has a powerful pure essence that will  take you far in life.

QUOTE : My soul has traveled long and far to find yours

SONGS : Froot - MARINA / High Maintenance - Saweetie / Icy - ITZY