#ugly sobs and running mascara

[thevoidstaredback]

I've been quiet today. Didja miss me?

My phone, this morning, decided it hates me. Refused to load Tumblr, and then crashed about 15 times in the span of ~30 minutes. Obviously, that upset me. What really pissed me off, though, was when I got it working, it deleted 3 of the notes in my notes app. Which, fine. I remember what was on them, so I can more or less recreate them. However, it also deleted a 4th. All of my notes for Trolly Problem - 4ish months of work - are now all gone. I'm praying that I can recover at least that.

My phone's been completely turned off since just after 14:00. I haven't even turned it on (Hi from my computer, btw), so we're crossing our fingers and hoping everything's back to normal. If it is, I'm gonna transfer every single note to a fresh doc so that I can access them from my computer, too

[focusonkayjay]

stuck with you | (3/5)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

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

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

Word Count: 21.5k+

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

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

★ PLAYLIST ★ MOODBOARDS

three: standing at the edge of a cliff

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shallow. Self-serving. Insincere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because more than anything, you're scared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/N!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's no way that's true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe you should just let it go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But despite your best efforts, your thoughts still drift.

Jungkook.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just in case you show up.

Just in case you finally come home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like something has shifted, even just a little.

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

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

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

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

You're not here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay. Fair. Maybe that makes sense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then, a few minutes pass.

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

And then—a small squeeze. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

Then—an exhale.

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

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

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

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

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

Holding back from hurting you.

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

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

"You owe me, Y/N."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice drops lower.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where do you think you're—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you do.

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

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

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

You run.

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

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

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

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

And then—

Your legs give out.

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

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

You retch.

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

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

And then, silence.

The quiet is deafening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Begging you to see Jaehyun for who he truly was.

But you didn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now, what do you have left?

Nothing.

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

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

Because this?

This is all on you.

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

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

In your bed. In your room.

Did he really fall asleep here last night?

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

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

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

Jungkook's drowsiness vanishes in an instant. 

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

Were you back? Had you come home?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Voicemail.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

Still nothing.

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

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

You've deactivated all your socials. 

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

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

Still, he keeps looking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She was such a bitch.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because Jungkook doesn’t stop.

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

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

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

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

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

But still, no one steps in.

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

“Kook?? What the fuck—KOOK, STOP!”

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

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

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

Because Jaehyun fucking deserves it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Jungkook doesn’t move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook proceeds to narrate everything to Taehyung. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ll get over it.

Eventually.

Hopefully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The shower is on. Someone’s inside.

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

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

You’re back.

You’re finally back home.

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

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

And then you appear.

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

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

Your heart clenches.

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

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

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

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

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

And the weight of that realization is suffocating.

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

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

How could you, after everything?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jaehyun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, he doesn’t stop.

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

And it infuriates you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something in you suddenly snaps.

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

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

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

"Y/n, What—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/n, stop it—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/N—"

"Just fucking do it!"

Silence.

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

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

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

You can’t do this.

You can’t breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you need to see him.

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

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

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

series masterlist

my masterlist <3

TAGLISTS CLOSED <333

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

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

[sugarushwriting]

frat boy sunghoon

may look “cold” but just an introvert with a rbf

bad idea right?

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

“he totally ignored me! i thought he liked me.” your friend called out from where she sat next to you. she was crying, snob running down her nose, mascara smeared over her eyes.

“i told you not to pursue him.” you sighed.

park sunghoon. your friend was crying over park sunghoon.

frat boy. hockey player. acts shy (or maybe he is). ladies man.

“you told me to go for it!” she argued and you had to fold your lips to keep from laughing.

“technically i did not. i warned you, but then said ‘go for it if that’s what your heart desires’.”

she kept crying. you hate to say it or even think it, but your friend was an ugly crier.

“people are staring.” you whispered to her. while other students walked by, they would be startled by the sobs and sniffles.

“why did he ignore me! i mean if it was you, i’d understand, because you are you. but we’re talking about me!”

you sighed, not even surprised or hurt by the snide comments. at this rate you don’t even see this girl as a friend anymore. you’ve noticed in order to lift herself up, she always had to bring you into it.

“karina, please remember you can have any man on this campus. don’t cry over sunghoon.”

karina wiped her tears, smearing the make up even more with a smile and nod. “you’re right! i can have any man on this campus, like san!”

not like san, actually. you’ve overheard what he says he likes and doesn’t like in a girl. karina sadly isn’t.

“go for it!” you gave her two thumbs up.

karina turned to you tilting her head with a smile, brushing your shoulders. “you’re the best. do you have a compact mirror?”

you went to look in your bag, “i do—,”

karina cut you off. “nevermind, someone like you wouldn’t carry one.”

karina tossed her hair over her shoulder, walking away from the bench she shared with you just moments ago.

someone like you actually did carry a compact mirror. she could happily walk across campus looking like a clown for all you cared.

“you need new friends.” a voice startled you.

“sunoo! what have i told you before?”

sunoo pouted, playing with the backpack string. “that you’re easily startled.” he huffed. “sorry.” he apologized with a smile.

“what made you want to come find me and listen to my private conversation?” you teased, and he happily sat next to you with a bounce.

“i have an extra ticket to the hockey game.” sunoo grinned holding two tickets.

you rolled your eyes. “sunoo, you don’t like hockey!”

“i know, but a frat brother of mines is on the team and he needs someone to cheer for him.” sunoo lifted one of his hands in the air like a cheer move.

“heeseung?”

“basketball practice.”

“jay? jake?”

“jay is too busy baking for some event for his movie club, jake is dog sitting.”

“jungwon? ni-ki?”

“jungwon is studying, ni-ki also has practice.”

you looked at him suspiciously. “kinda weird that everyone is suddenly busy on a thursday night.”

“that’s what i said!” sunoo gasped. “please come with me.” he pouted.

“you literally just saw karina crying over that frat brother of yours and you want me to happily cheer for him?” you asked with arms crossed.

sunoos lip poked out. “please.”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

you were going to kick sunoo in the ass.

why?

because once you both entered the arena and went to take your seats, you saw each of the boys that sunoo named that were too busy to come.

“sunoo,” you warned and he gave you a hug from behind.

“i’ll buy you a snack from the concession stand?”

“and a drink!” you scolded.

sunoo went to the concession stand and you took an empty seat next to jay.

from furthest from you, to closest was, heeseung, ni-ki, jake, jungwon, and jay.

“hey! you made it!” jungwon smiled towards you.

“sunoo said you were coming, but i didn’t believe it!” jake said next.

you huffed with a scowl on your face.

jay chuckled. “sunoo trick ya into coming”

“he said all of you were too busy to cheer on sunghoon.”

sunoo came back just as the game was about to begin. he handed you your favorite snack and drink, and you switched seats so he could sit next to jay.

good, then you could sneak out early once you got too bored.

and it didn’t take long for you to get bored. after watching grown men fight and chase a puck after an hour, you grew tired.

“it’s only 7 pm!” sunoo said from beside you.

“i am bored!” you groaned. “how long does this usually last?”

“sometimes 2 hours. sometimes 3.” sunoo answered. “please stay. i haven’t seen you in so long!”

“sunoo, you saw me three days ago.”

“three days too long!”

you loved sunoo, you really did. he was younger than you, but not by much. you met him when he was a freshman, and you both shared a class together. you happened to sit next to each other and hit it off.

you were thrown off when he told you, he was in a frat.

you barely knew the other guys, other than jungwon or jay as that’s who sunoo usually hung around the most.

you were kind of familiar with sunghoon and the others, which is why you tried to warn your so-called friend about sunghoon.

it’s not like sunghoon was mean to you, or mean to anyone you noticed him interacting with. he was just quiet. you didn’t know if it was truly his personality or something he pretended to be.

he also just had a resting bitch face and stared off into space often so you couldn’t really judge him on that.

regardless, it didn’t excuse his behavior with the way he treated karina and probably other girls. karina may get on your nerves, but she has been there for you in tough times.

if a guy didn’t like a girl, then he straight up needed to tell them, rather than string them along.

the buzzer sounded, and you clapped thinking it was all over.

“calm down sweets, we still have at least an hour left.” jay laughed and you slid down in your seat with the biggest pout and groan.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

the next day, sunoo invited you to the usual friday frat party at the frat house. you hesitated, but in the end said yes.

none of the guys lived at the fraternity house (thankfully). jay always said it was because he was too much of a neat freak to have that many people in his house, same with sunghoon.

you got dressed in dorm you shared with your roommate, minnie. you all weren’t close, but you both were friendly and civil, and got along pretty well. it was a good balance.

and she wasn’t a fan of karina as she knows how karina talks to you.

you wore short blue jean shorts (hello ass cheeks) and a plain black long sleeved crop top, with a low v neck.

“i don’t understand how karina judges your clothes. you dress just fine. you just choose to be comfortable most days.” minnie said.

“yeah,” you agreed shyly, “hopefully soon she’ll understand me.”

“i doubt that, she’s too full of herself.” minnie chuckled and you laughed along.

“finally gonna get some tonight?” minnie asked as you were putting on lip gloss.

you snorted, “with who?”

“any of those frat guys would be more than happy to get you to bed, babe.”

“eh,” you thought about it.

“if i were you, i would go for jake or sunghoon.”

you twisted your face at the mention of sunghoon. “definitely not sunghoon.”

“why not? i heard he’s great—,”

“i don’t care how hes like in bed.” you groaned, putting your lip gloss down. “why not jay?”

you turned to look at minnie who sat in the shared common space. “jay is a romantic. you might get him, but he’s very selective.”

“so jake then.”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

walking into the frat house at 10 pm, it was already packed with different people from different cliques from campus.

you went straight to the kitchen to find sunoo and found him, preparing a drink.

“gotcha!” you startled him and he shrieked causing you to laugh.

“your friend is here.” he smiled taking a sip from his cup. he pointed towards the stairs.

it was karina, and she was with san (?).

you walked over to greet her with a smile. “oh hey.” she smiled wearily. “heard you went to a hockey game.”

“yeah, sunoo wanted me to go.”

“yet when i wanted you to go with me, you wouldn’t. no matter how much i begged.” karina said in an unhappy tone.

“what?”

since when did karina ever want to go to a hockey game? she wouldn’t even go if it meant staring at the guys, specifically sunghoon. she also found it boring!

“karina,”

“no need to beg on your knees for my forgiveness.” karina chuckled.

you looked over to san who looked uncomfortable. was karina really just trying to look all tough in front of this guy?

“whatever karina, i’ll never get on my knees for you or anyone at that matter.” you snapped angrily, and turned to walk off quickly.

“are you okay?” jungwon asked from beside sunoo.

“she’s a bitch.” you said under your breath and took jakes drink from across you, drowning it in 3 gulps.

“woah slow down there! don’t wanna pass out too quickly!” ni-ki laughed.

“i need another.” you stated and jay raised his eyebrows looking at sunoo.

“just make the girl a drink!”

and that they did. 5 to be exact. and you drunk each one. quickly.

bright and dark lights. flashing. jumping up and down. dancing. giggling in happiness. laughs.

that’s all you could remember the rest of the night.

“you need to slow down!” sunoo scolded.

you shook your head and pouted like a toddler. “no!” and you giggled. you heard sunoo calling for jay walking off.

you don’t know how, but you ended up being crushed between jay and heeseung who helped walked you to their house down the street from the fraternity.

you babbled nonsense, also complaining about karina. “can you believe,” you hiccuped, “she said that to my face!” you whined.

“oh no, i can’t!” jake fake pouted from behind you.

the boys walked you into the house, helping you take off your shoes by the door. “thank you.” you mumbled.

jay and heeseung walked you to the couch to lay down. usually after frat parties all 7 of the boys stayed at the house that heeseung, jay, jake, and sunghoon shared.

“she’s never been this drunk!” sunoo said.

“what kind of drink did you make her, man?” heeseung asked jay.

ni-ki and jungwon were too busy looking through the kitchen for snacks.

you were left alone on the couch as the boys gathered in the kitchen.

with a small giggle, you found the strength and balance to walk/crawl up the stairs, into a bedroom, and to the adjoining bathroom.

you don’t know how long you sat next to the toilet until you heard a voice, “what the fuck?”

you opened your eyes slowly. “hi sunghoon!” you smiled with a wave, then hiccuped once again.

sunghoon walked to his door frame, “i found your lost girl you idiots!” he yelled and then sighed going back to the bathroom.

just as you were about to say another word, you felt your stomach churn. “uh oh.”

“you better aim for that damn toilet!” sunghoon shrieked.

you did. kind of. some of it got on the seat, but most of it got in the toilet.

sunghoon groaned in frustration. he had not planned on babysitting a drunk you and cleaning up after your mess.

sunghoon was a clean freak, and didn’t like his space being invaded.

“im sorry!” you cried.

“it’s okay.” sunghoon sighed. he went closer to you, to help you stand up. “let’s get you to someone’s bed.”

he only made it far to his bed with you as you could barely stand up without getting nauseated. “this bed is nice.” you fell over.

“well no, that’s my bed. any bed but mine.”

you shook your head. “im staying here.” you inhaled the scent of the bed.

sunghoon cringed because outside clothes on his bed! “uh, do you mind changing into something not outside clothes?”

“it’s not like i brought pajamas for a slumber party sung-hoon,” you hiccuped his name and giggled.

sunghoon sighed and grabbed an old shirt of his with the frat logo that fit you well. he also grabbed a pair of boxers for extra protection on your end.

“here.” he threw them at your head.

“such a gentleman! i can see why girls like you so much.” you said sarcastically. you stood up with a wobble reaching to take off your clothes when sunghoon cleared his throat and turned around.

“i’ll clean up the bathroom.” he said more to himself.

you struggled with undressing and dressing yourself, the shirt put on backwards, but you got the clothing items sunghoon provided for you on your body. your other clothes laid askew on the ground.

when sunghoon came out the bathroom, you sat on the edge of his bed and now you were crying (?).

“uh, are you okay?”

you laughed, then cried. “am i ugly?” you asked with a sob.

“huh?” sunghoon looked at you like you had two heads.

“it’s just karina, who’s supposed to be my friend, but isn’t a friend, constantly basically says i am not attractive enough for guys.”

you continued the sob story as sunghoon stood and listened to your rant. to a guy you barely interact with, you complained to him about the one girl who you should be protecting. who you should be defending to him for treating so badly.

“would you have sex with me if i asked? or kissed me? would you even hug a girl like me?”

sunghoon stood there awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. before he could answer, you answered for him. (wrongly of course).

“who am i kidding! of course you wouldn’t! no guy on earth would!”

as you continued to babble on, comparing yourself to other girls, sunghoon stood there awkwardly, but listened quietly.

it wasn’t until you talked yourself to sleep that he tucked you into his bed.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

[gravehags]

hold me now

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: Teen

Tags: couple fight, well less a fight than copia fucking up supremely, hurt/comfort, self esteem issues, anxiety, secondo once again being a real one

Words: 2,587

Summary: You've never heard that tone from Copia before period let alone directed at you.

a/n: copia baby your anxiety and freeze response...

~~~

He can feel the headache coming on, throbbing right behind his eyes and the base of his skull from staring too long at spreadsheets and numbers and stupid fucking emails from his fellow clergy members. 

Sister Imperator on his ass, like always. Nihil on his ass, like always. You’re pacing back and forth in front of his desk, chattering animatedly about…he’s not even sure, all he can focus on is the static in his brain and the blood rushing in his ears and the noise of your voice and–

He barks your name once. That’s all it takes to have you stopped in your tracks, slowly turning to face him. When the next words out of his mouth come sharp like a whip crack, he sees you physically recoil.

Enough. Quiet.

Immediately he’s filled with regret as he watches you back away towards the door, fidgeting with your fingers. He knows what he needs to do - what he needs to say - but he’s paralyzed with fear and exhaustion. His mouth opens but no sound comes out.

“S-sorry,” you say, your voice uncharacteristically small and high, the way it gets when you’re holding back tears, “sorry I’ll just–”

By the time he reaches out to you, still unable to speak, you’ve already got your back turned to him and he watches you leave and shut his door with a gentle snap. In an instant he forgets about his headache, about the stressors, about everything that isn’t the horror that settles in his belly like lead. He wants to get up, go after you, apologize on bended knee but he just…sits. 

Sathanas, what have I done?

—

You’re proud of yourself, you don’t cry until after you return to your office. As soon as the door shuts though, an ugly sob is wrenched from your throat and you collapse into the empty chair opposite your desk. You can’t form a coherent thought, all you can do is bawl into your hands and shake.

He’s done with you, that familiar, horrid little voice says. He’s finally had enough of your verbal diarrhea, of the silly inconsequential things that come out of you. He realized your mouth is only good for one thing and nattering isn’t it.

You know the wail that comes out of you is pathetic as snot and tears pour down your face and you slide out of the chair and onto the floor. Pressing your back against the desk, you draw your legs up as tight as you can, rocking gently back and forth. The look on his face - the anger, the annoyance - is burned into your memory. It’s wholly unlike your love but the fact that he hasn’t come after you…well. Clearly he meant what he said. You heave a shaky sigh and lean forward to fumble behind you for the box of tissues on your desk. It was a good run, you suppose. You always thought you were unlovable and here’s the proof. To think that he would tolerate you and your annoying habits for the rest of your lives was simply naive. 

You’re just a naive, stupid, annoying little girl.

Your tears slowly cease and you diligently wipe up the streaks of mascara on your cheeks.

You won’t bother him anymore.

—

Two days. Almost three. That’s how long has passed since his horrific outburst in his office and he still hasn’t apologized to you. The guilt gnaws at him, tearing him up, but in all truth he’s not sure how to make the situation right. And he’s embarrassed, Sathanas, looking and sounding like an irritable old man. It’s the longest he’s gone without seeing you in ages and fuck, he misses you desperately. Misses your smile, your laugh, how excitable you get when you’re talking about something you care about. Misses the very thing he chastised you and hurt your feelings for, fotutto idiota. He doesn’t blame you for not coming to his quarters or visiting him during work hours. He certainly wouldn’t blame you for being done with him, with this relationship. The lump in his throat gets worse and worse as he hustles down the corridor, tears blurring his vision. He’s nowhere near his office when he slams into something solid.

“Watch where you’re–oh, Cardinal.”

“Mi scusi,” he chokes out, dodging Secondo’s gaze and trying to hurry past him before his brother can see the streaks of black running down his cheeks but judging from the way one large hand wraps around his bicep, it’s too late.

“Copia, what is wrong?” Secondo’s voice is low and concerned as he steers him into an empty seminar room, shutting the door behind them. As soon as the latch clicks Copia lets out a whimper and then a sob.

“I hurt her!” he cries and Secondo starts.

“What do you mean you hurt her? Copia, I know you did not physically harm her because brother or not, if you laid a hand on her you know I’d–”

“No!” Copia gasps, astonished and sickened at the implication. “I would sooner cut off my own hand than raise it to her, you know this. No I-I…I hurt her feelings.”

Secondo seems relieved, but only slightly.

“What did you do?”

His lip trembles as he recalls the events of the other day to his brother. When he’s finished, Secondo crosses his arms.

“And you did not go after her? Che cazzo, stronzo?” he growls, shoving Copia into a chair. “What must she think now that her beloved was cruel to her and did not offer an apology? Copia you’ve always been self-sabotaging but this is a new low.”

Ouch.

“I…I don’t know what came over me after she left my office. My heart told me to chase after her, to make it right but I just…couldn’t move. It was like…like my brain was telling me that I didn’t deserve her in the first place so I shouldn’t push my luck. That she deserves someone…better.”

“What utter bullshit,” Secondo scoffs, and Copia can feel his face go red in shame, “You don’t deserve her? Well maybe you don’t after this but Copia she chose to be with you. To love you and care for you. And you insult her and her choice by trying to make the choice for her with your wretched behavior? Vergognatevi, Copia Emeritus.”

Copia knows Secondo is right but it doesn’t make the dull ache in his chest any better.

“How do I fix this?” he asks quietly.

“Go to her, firstly, you fucking idiot. Bring her something nice, that will make her smile. But wait until she’s back in her rooms tonight, I’m sure she’s had enough of crying in her office. And tell her how you truly feel and how sorry you are. And if she forgives you then don’t be this stupid again. If she doesn’t forgive you, well…perhaps I’ll treat her better.”

Copia’s head jerks up and Secondo looks down at him with a smirk.

“So you better work hard to make her forgive you, huh? Otherwise she’s getting a ride on the Italian Stallion, capisci?”

“Ugh disgusting,” Copia grunts, standing up, “I don’t know why I was always worried about Terzo stealing her when you’re even worse. Stay away from my amore.”

“Then you better work damn hard to make sure she remains your amore.”

“Any eh, tips?”

“I don’t know, flagellate yourself in front of her,” Secondo says, turning to leave, “She looks like she’s into that.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Copia grumbles as they exit the classroom. A passing elderly sister looks at him and jumps with her hand over her heart.

“Clean yourself up first, huh?” Secondo says, straightening Copia’s cassock, “You look like the nun from The Nun.”

“Grazie mille, shithead. I think I know exactly what to do.”

“Bene. Now get to work.” With a clap on his shoulder and a wink, Secondo strides away. 

Right, Copia thinks, first the bathroom, then Primo’s greenhouse.

He only hopes it’s not too late.

—

Two days. Two fucking days and he hasn’t said shit to you. Hasn’t even attempted to say shit to you. Your pain and embarrassment morphs into anger on the dawn of the second day when you check your phone and see no texts, no missed calls. The hurt is still there, that ache in your chest that doesn’t really go away, but you’re truly floored that he could be so casually cruel to you then act like you simply don’t exist. Maybe it’s over (and the notion makes tears well in your eyes and makes you choke on each breath) but don’t you deserve to hear it from his lips? That’s all it takes to have you sobbing again as you attempt to brush your teeth, dejectedly spitting out toothpaste into the sink. It’s early, ridiculously early to be in your nightgown getting ready for bed but every night without Copia has been agony and all you want is to no longer be conscious. You pad over to your nightstand and are about to check your phone simply out of habit when there’s a loud knock at the door and you freeze. Part of you - the petty, horrible part - considers ignoring it the way he’s ignored you. Letting him stew. But your heart is ultimately what pulls you towards the door and has you opening it. Your lip wobbles when you see him before you - in his clean red cassock, no biretta  - but you pride yourself on remaining tearless. He looks incredibly nervous and nauseated as he beholds you.

“Eh…may I come in?”

You say nothing but stand aside and gesture for him to enter. It’s not until he’s fully inside your apartment you see the healthy bouquet of lily of the valley behind his back and your icy demeanor melts a little. He hands them to you, eyes dodging yours like a fifth grader with a crush. It’s charming, you can’t lie. You take the flowers from him and he watches you carefully as you fill up a vase and place them in it.

“Kinda…kinda gives you déjà vu, no?” he laughs nervously, “Except–”

“Except you brought me orange roses the first time.”

His cheeks go red.

“Right, right,” another half a minute passes of you resting your weight on your hip with your arms crossed and him fidgeting with his cuffs. You’re about to ask him to get it over with if he’s breaking up with you when–

“Amore, I do not have sufficient words to describe how incredibly sorry I am for my behavior the other day. And then for abandoning you in the days since…not only have I insulted you but I have insulted this relationship. Our relationship. Something horrid came over me that day and you did not deserve to bear the brunt of my foul mood. I know it must mean little now but as soon as I said it I-I felt sick to my stomach.”

“You didn’t come after me,” you say, sniffling and staring ahead at the bejeweled grucifix on his chest, “I knew I really fucked up when you didn’t come after me–”

“Amore you…you think what I did was a reflection on you? That you…don’t tell me you believe you deserved this?”

Your vision is going blurry and you swear internally.

“I thought you were, y’know, done with me. Done with my chatter a-and annoying habits and–”

Copia crosses the floor and takes your hands in his.

“How could I be ‘done’ with everything that makes you…you? Dolcezza, I love all of your facets, even the ones you believe to be ‘annoying’. How could I deny anything that is a part of you?”

“Then why did you tell me to be quiet? Why didn’t you come after me? Why did you just let me sit all these days assuming the worst?”

Silence rings out in the small apartment after your last loud statement and Copia looks as if he wants nothing more than to tear his heart out of his chest and present it to you, still beating in his palm.

“Oh cara,” he whispers, “I was having such a-a difficult day. Everything had gone wrong and I could feel a migraine starting and…none of it matters. I should never have lashed out at you and I curse my brain and body for not allowing me to chase after you. There’s no excuse for what I did…for how I abandoned you these past few days and…I understand if you would like to end our relationship.”

Your heart plummets.

“Is that what you want?” you ask softly, voice cracking pathetically, “I just…I assumed the worst after you didn’t try to see me–”

A noise halfway between a sob and a sigh is wrenched from Copia as he falls to his knees before you.

“Amata mia, all I want in this world is you. Your love. Nothing else matters. Only death can rid you of me, I swear to Sathanas. Do…do you feel the same?”

Tears are freely pouring down your cheeks as you look upon the man you love and the way his eyes are upturned to you seeking repentance.

“You know I love you more than anything,” you whisper, “God, we really fucked this one up, huh?”

“Not you, amore mio, me. From start to finish this was my fault and for that I am so, so sorry. I hope you will somehow forgive me–”

You scoff wetly, looking down at him with a smile.

“Is this just what two people with anxiety in love are like?”

He lets out a small laugh.

“Heh…maybe. Surely we’re not the first. Or the last.”

“We should start a support group,” you say, letting go of his hands and gripping his shoulders, “and as pretty as you look in your vestments on your knees, you can get up, my love.”

“I would stay here forever should you command it.”

Hmm. That sounds nice.

“Come to bed with me, Cardinal,” you say softly and obediently he rises to his feet. “I’ve slept like shit without you.”

“And I you,” Copia says, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. Abruptly, you wrap your arms around him and hold him tight.

“I love you,” you murmur into the red wool covering his chest.

“Love you too, anima mia,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head, “and I am sorry for everything.”

The two of you embrace one another in the quiet for a moment before you speak.

“Hmm did we just have our first fight?”

“Eh, I don’t know if it was as much a fight as it was me being a fucking idiot and you having the infinite grace to forgive me.”

“Oh, okay. I guess that rules out make-up sex, then?”

You hide your grin in his pellegrina as he makes a noise of outrage.

“Amore, anything can be make-up sex if you try hard enough. Shall I eh, call you some filthy names and get the ball rolling?”

You giggle as you tug him towards the bedroom.

“Oh, I insist, Your Eminence.”

He growls, trying his best to undo the buttons of his cassock with one hand after you lift your nightgown over your head and let it fall to the floor.

“Think I’m getting eh, a Pavlovian reaction to you using my title, dolcezza.”

You look down at the bulge in the red fabric and smile.

“I’ll be sure to remember that on really inconvenient occasions.”

He sighs.

“I know you will.”

[baby-tini]

Thank you so much @mostlyheinous for letting me make a little post based off your one Dabi audio. I hope I made you proud. 😭

TW: abusive relationship, degradation, physical abuse, verbal abuse, toxic Dabi.

Dabi is an asshole, you knew that, hell- everyone knew that. He never tried to hide it, never feigned nice, never even tried to give a compliment. He absolutely didn't know shit about privacy and personal space, either that or he just didn't care. You're willing to bet it's the former. So it's no big surprise when Dabi bursts into your room unannounced, with a scowl. He looks severely unhappy, looking you up and down and scoffing.

"What's your problem?" you ask with a sneer, adjusting your dress. He stands quiet for a minute before rolling his eyes and giving your dress a once-over. "You look like a slut," he shrugs, shutting your door and throwing your clothes mindlessly on the floor, and plopping down on your bed- if you can even call it that, putting his nasty, muddy shoes on your comforter.

Whipping around, you throw a tube of lipgloss at him, but unfortunately he catches it, throwing it to the side. "Who the fuck are you talking too? Get the hell out Dabi, go bother someone else." You scowl at him, turning back towards the mirror. He stares at you for a moment, getting up he grabs you by the hair, wrapping it around his fist and yanking you up. There's an immediate struggle on your side, hitting at his hand and pushing his chest.

"Who the fuck am I talking too? I'm talking to you bitch," there's a slap to your face, one of his rings catches your bottom, busting it open. "The fuck are you even wearing, huh? You found a new job at the street corner? How much you make a night sucking cock, hm? You let anyone fuck you, don't you? I fucking knew you felt looser, dirty bitch." There's blood leaking down your chin, getting on your chest and staining your dress. You try to push him away but he just slaps your hands away, grabbing your face, squeezing your cheeks together.

"Dabi stop!! Let go, you're hurting me," your crying now, mascara leaking down your cheeks. Dabi rubs at your wet eyes, ruining your eyeliner in the process, he snarls at you. "Shut the fuck up, I'm not hurting you, dumb bitch." He spits on his hand, rubbing it all over your face. "There all better, now you look a little less ugly," he grins.

You're sobbing now, repeatedly attempting to push his hand away, slapping at his chest. He ignores your attempt of a broken struggle, pulling you towards the bed and throwing you on it back first. Climbing on top of you, he rips your dress open. "Stop, stop, this was expensive."

He stops at that, looking up at you, he laughs in your face. Singeing the rest of your dress, he leans back with narrowed eyes. "That shit was expensive? That fucking rag costed money? It wasn't even covering shit, you had your fucking tits out and everything- if you can even call these tits," he grabs handfuls of your chest. Pulling at your nipples through your bra and spitting on your chest. "These barely pass for a fucking B cup." His saliva drips down the valley of your breasts, making them sticky.

"Dabi... please stop, please.." your voice comes out in a croak, chest still heaving with sobs. He scoffs at you, climbing off you and running a hand through his hair. It's quiet for a few minutes, cept for your sniffles now and again. "I told you I didn't want you going out, you didn't fucking listen to me. This is all your fault you know... if you're gonna blame someone blame yourself." You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing before you nod at him. He hums at you, "are you gonna listen next time- actually there won't be a next time. You're not allowed to go out anymore if I'm not with you. I don't care if Toga asks, you come to me first." You nod at him, pushing yourself up on your hands, "I'll ask Dabi, I promise." He nods at you, "good." Throwing a make-up wipe at you, he leaves.

[shanklin]

I was thinking about your Selfish Shellfish au and how you said Caryn had to pick one son to take with her… What if Stanley was the one to tell her to take Shermie? What if he was thinking about it like his first step to becoming less selfish? Like, he knew what was in store for him if he’s left alone with Filbrick, and figured maybe he deserved it, so he told his Ma to take Shermie and run.

Sorry, that’s just been on my mind all evening. This au is living in my head and it won’t even pay rent

Selfish Shellfish AU - Masterpost

AhhhhyHHHH aAAAAAAAAHHHHHRXDZXJDJ

ANON. YES!

Stan tells no one what Filbrick is like when they're alone. 

But surely his mother knows right? She must’ve heard them at some point. Seen the results of their talks.

Stan doesn’t think his mother would agree with his fathers methods. She got real mad that one Pa shoved him too hard.

Or maybe Stan just wasn't worth paying attention to.

Stan catches his mother quietly sobbing after the judge ruled that one of them had to stay with Pa.

When she sees him she tries to hide her tears and smile but it is a futile effort. Her smeared up mascara and red eyes give it away immediately.

Stan moves forward and she cradles him in her arms, whispering apologies.

“Why am I losing all my children? First Stanford and now- and now”

“Me.”

“Oh baby, no. I’m sorry, I-”

Stan hugs her tighter.

“It’s alright Ma. I know. Shermie is too little left with Pa and I’ll be alright. Besides, I can’t leave Glass Shard Beach! The Stan-o-War is still here. We- I need to fix it up if I want to go treasure hunting in the future.”

She starts sobbing again but doesn’t protest. Instead she kisses the top of his head and thanks him.

The ugly part of Stan wants her to refuse. Wants her to fight for him. To take him and Shermie and just run.

Stan wants to scream at her to choose him. Wants to hate her for leaving him behind. He wants to tell her he knows she hates him.

And above all else he wants to be the one sobbing in her arms and not the other way around.

But that would be selfish and he needs to stay strong if he ever wants to be worth the care.

…just as Grauntie Mabel taught him 👍

OKAY OKAY OKAY BUT IMAGINE FILBRICK GETS CUSTODY OF BOTH STAN AND SHERMIE!!!

Stan has to raise a little toddler on top of everything else and no shit, he can’t leave for Gravity Falls even if Filbrick allowed it. 

It would also mean Filbrick gets to die the first time he attempts to hurt Shermie. Older brother Stan is not fucking around.

He also has no time to deal with anything that's happening and seems to be extremely put together. Shermies' wellbeing is way more important than his own issues after all.

But the moment they’re safe and Stan isn’t solely responsible for his little brother anymore, it will all come crashing down and Stan will be barely able to function 🥰

[lolitaa-17]

Treat you better.

-Geto Suguru x f!reader You and your boyfriend get into a huge fight over his ex, it was a mistake to even bring her up knowing all he would do is defend her, so why not drink out the pain in a club.

"For gods sake y/n look at yourself!" Your boyfriend says throwing a beer bottle on the floor. "You always fucking bring her up every time? Are that fucking obsessed." The glass from the bear bottle spreading everywhere.

You scoff as the tears run down your face causing your mascara to smudge. "Obsessed? Noah I'm not fucking obsessed! I just know you still fuck her on the low!" You yell; swinging his phone around with your hand. "I've seen the ass pics on your goddamn phone!" You finally chuck it to the floor.

"What the fuck are you doing throwing my shit? Yes, I fuck her! Is that what you wanted to hear?" He throws your car keys as it hits your arm. "Fuck you. Fuck your hoe of an ex and fuck your ugly ass family." You grit as the tears kept falling non stop. Grabbing your car keys and pushing past him. "Don't you even fucking dare call me obsessed with that bitch when you're the one constantly going back to her." And with that you slam the door shut to his house.

All you could hear was the sobs and heels clanking against the concrete floor as you walk to your car. You two were supposed to go to some nightclub that had just opened up, but things obviously took a turn. That didn't stop you though, slamming your car door shut. You started the car and followed to put the windows down.

You were probably the least best of looking right now, mascara smudged all over your eyes. Bruises on your neck. Puffy eyes. But it's not like you were going to the club to find a one nightstand. You were going to drink all the pain away. The music blasting out the windows as the air hits your skin. Your tears still falling uncontrollably.

You stood at the entrance waiting for the security guard to finish checking your ID. "Enjoy." He says giving you a concerned look at your current appearance. You snatch your ID from his hand and push through. The music entering your ears which was much louder than it was outside.

You walk straight to the bar, pushing everyone and anyone who got in your way. You sigh and look at the bartender, he was cute. Hair was in a messy low bun. His eyes were dark as the night sky, or maybe it was just hella dark in the club. "I don't want to sound cliche, but give me the strongest you have." He smirks and nods, "You got it." You look around the nightclub, seeing people all up on each other. Not a worry in mind. You look back at the bartender to see him passing you the drink. "Drink up pretty one." You smile and grab the drink.

And hell was it strong, after another one you were already throwing it back on random men and women. Not caring about what was going around you. You walk back to the bar to see the handsome bartender. "Another one?" you ask and smile. He smiled back and leaned in "My love you look awful right now, i'll give you a water." You hold your arm up and wave your finger in a 'no' motion. "I danced it out already, I'm all good." You slurred while keeping your sweet smile.

"I'll give you another drink, but not as strong. Okay?" He turned around and started getting to work. This time you admired his every move. He had a tattoo on his forearm, it was a dragon. It was hot. You were a sucker for tattoos. He noticed you watching him, he smirked. You were obviously checking him out. "Want a picture beautiful?" He asked as he passed you the bright pink mojito. "Fuck..." you say remembering that you forgot your phone at Noah's house.

You chug the Mojito and grab your car keys completely ignoring wha the bartender said. You hated thinking about the slob of your now ex boyfriend. But you really needed your phone.

You stumble to the parking lot to see your car completely vandalized. Words like "Cunt." "Obsessed" "Bitch" written all over it with spray paint. This bitch was fucking crazy and so was your ex boyfriend. Your tires slashed. This night couldn't possibly get any worse.

"Hey don't run out like- what the hell." The bartender followed you out. Stopping his sentence after seeing how fucked up your was. You start bawling. He was still stunned, wondering what you possibly could've done for this to happen. "Hey...c'mere." He pulls you into his chest, trying to comfort you as much as he can. "He say's i'm obsessed but this is the type of shit he pulls with that bitch." You sob wrapping your arms around tighter around the bartender. "Do you need a ride anywhere? I know you just me me but I can always help." He offered.

You pull away from his grasp and wipe your already smudged eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm y/n by the way." You hold your hand out. He smiles "I'm Geto." He grabs your hand gently and shakes it. You were hesitant about getting a ride from him, but he has been very careful these past hours. Making sure you didn't consume a crazy amount of alcohol or drive while you were intoxicated.

"You don't mind?" You asked a little embarrassed. "Not one bit." He leads you to his car as his hand was on the small of your back. His car was nice. All black Camaro zl1 with custom red interior. "Just give me the address." So you give him the address to your apartment. You wanted nothing to do with your ex right now. But that police report will be turned in by tomorrow.

"So who fucked your car up like that?" Geto asked keeping his eyes on the road while drake was softly playing in the back. "My ex boyfriend. We had a huge argument, which led to the breakup." You turn to look at Geto. His face was more visible. His jaw was sharp, he looked bigger. Muscular. You could hear a scoff coming out of his lips "He's that petty?" You loved the way he immediately degraded your ex. "Yep." you emphasize on the P.

Geto pulled in the parking lot and turns to look at you. His eyes shift down to your neck. Seeing all the bruises of your exes hand. He moves hands towards your neck softly caressing the bruises. "Who the hell is this man?" He whispers. You grab his hand and slowly push it away. "I'll report him tomorrow, thank you for everything." You open the door and get out of his car. You hear him shutting his door as well. "I'm not letting you walk up there alone."

When Geto first saw you he knew you were going through a breakup, the makeup, the drink request, the way you moved your body carelessly while dancing. Seeing you so vulnerable now. He wanted to know more about you.

He was certain that the breakup had nothing to do with you. It was definitely your psychotic ex. He watched the way you limped to the elevator with no shoes, the way you were swaying while you waited for the elevator doors to open. The puffy eyes he made contact with when you smiled at him.

The elevator doors opened and you walked to your apartment while Geto carefully walked behind you. Finally arriving to the door you turn around to look at him. Softly smiling at him, you didn't know why but you engulfed him in a hug and started breaking down again. "Thank you." you whispered as he hugged you back softly. "Of course angel, here call me if you need anything." He tried giving you his phone to put your number in but you look at him, "Do you just want to um, stay?"

You didn't want this to happen, but when you have a sexy man not leaving your side. You couldn't help it.

The shower was running as he left sloppy kisses on your boobs. Making his way up to your neck. He was more gentle here. You move his head to look at you, the pads of your thumb hovering his lips as he was just staring into your soul. No words were exchanged but his eyes said so much. How much he wanted you, how he wanted to take care of you, make sure your safe for the rest of your life.

He turns you around, your breast hitting the glass of the shower. All that was heard was the running water and your soft little gasp here and there. "You deserve the world you know that?" He whispers. You felt his big hangs grab your ass and massage it. "You don't understand how much I want to kill that pathetic little ex of yours." You moan as you feel his fingers entering your wet cunt. Constantly thrusting in deeper and deeper. "Geto.." You whimper as you feel his cock teasing your asshole. One hand inside of you and the other one is trying to guide his dick inside your ass.

"T'much" You moan as feel his dick sliding in and out of your ass. While his other hand was softly hitting that perfect spot inside your cunt. "Is it?" He grunts going a bit slower. "MmYeah." You moan as you reach for his head. He leans in giving sloppy kisses. "Wan me to stop?" he huffs.

It was too much but god you loved it. The gentleness. The euphoric feeling in your body as you feel his speed slowly speeding up you clench your ass, "you don't want me to stop princess do you?" He says in between every kiss he left on your back. "Mffno Geto keep goin." He suddenly stops leaving your asshole and pussy empty. You move your hand down to you clit rubbing it softly to feel something "Mm" You whine.

You can feel his hand wrap around your waist as he's slowly adjusting himself inside that pretty little cunt. "Don't be so needy princess calm down, you'll be begging fa me to stop." He chuckled breathily. You stop him though. "Wait I wan to look at you." He smiles at your request. He felt his cock twitch at just your voice.

Your eyes filled with lust as he lifts you up. You help him adjust his cock into your cunt. "Fuck, you're so big." you squeeze in slight pain but pleasure. This was definitely a new feeling. He was bigger, hotter, genuine and overall fucking great at sex.

"Shhh I know." grabs face and smashes his lips onto yours as he speeds up his pace. The kissing get sloppier and sloppier the fast he thrust into you. The slapping sounds loudly taking over. "f..faster" you pull his long hair as you tried to hold on to him as tightly as possible.

You kept clenching your cunt causing Geto to moan, "Fuck your so tight my love." He felt himself getting close to cumming. "Fuck m'gna cum baby." You were a moaning mess as his tip kept hitting that sweet g spot. "Cum, I..fuck birth control." You slur struggling to even form a sentence.

He watches you take small breathes in your sleep. How you looked so angelic even when you were sleeping. How could such a man do things to you like that. Geto knew he could fix you. That he could Treat you better.

[txtmetonight]

Camille 2000 ✆

call summary ⋆ ★ You're going to have a midnight dance with your lover

pairing *. * Park Sunghoon x Fem! Reader

genre⋆ ★ Fluff, Angst (Forbidden Lovers)

warnings *. Blood, Violence

call duration⋆ ★ 1.8k

a/n*. * This is a repost!! Also, this is inspired by one of my favorite songs by Piero Piccioni

You weren’t really sure of yourself right now.  

Breathing hard, your hands find purchase on a random suitor, who took your hand without your consent, twirling you around, as a way to welcome you into a dance.

Repeating dance steps; glide, spin, turn, and lean continued on and on as you dance with this stranger, or more so truthfully, many more strangers that night.  

You were starting to feel light-headed and out of breath, remembering the promise you gave to your parents; you were to find a boy by one to wed. Your vision spun as each ‘lucky’ man tried his part to win your heart, win the place you as the future ruling queen once your parents passed away from old age.

Other young women also looked for their future husband-to-be, pretty girls of high status, strutting around with a multitude of colors showering down on them. It’s an ugly–despising sight.  

Excusing yourself messily from the confused boy, you take long strides to the garden that awaits outside through the long maze of marble hallways.

Pillars upon pillars came into sight as you messily wiped away salty droplets, ruining the mascara you put on earlier, not that you cared when all your mind spun around was about your midnight lover.

The clock struck twelve, alarming surrounding crows and causing them to belch their loudest caws as you ran down the impending steps of pure rock, hands clutching the spring green and pastel pink ball gown, so you didn’t tumble down.  

The pearly crown on your head was hanging on barely, and the strands of your hair came undone with every step you took, only slowing down as the bushy green walls came into view, making you sob even more, dizzily taking light steps towards the entrance, stumbling in your heels proceeding you take them off.

The air was perfumed with champagne and the lightest touch of sweet candy. At the same time, the fluttering butterflies flapped their beautiful wings, around a certain man who stood behind the white marble fountain, obviously pondering the deep thoughts of the unknown.  

But god he was so alluring, as the pale moonlight cast a dewy look on his softened features, that reflected off his silver suit, and if you let your eyes stray a little farther, a sharp-ended sword lain across the green grass, collecting dewdrops.  

“Sunghoon!” You sob, as you let yourself out, the joints in your knees unable to hold up your deep-rooted sorrows, falling right into a metal suit, head rolled against his arm as the worried boy sits you up, wiping away your salty tears. 

“Love...” He whispers, mouth close to your flushed ears, hugging you close. He knows exactly what you’re feeling–the pure heartbreak that aches your insides up. The pain of love and the deadly dagger it holds upon its clutches.  

“This isn’t fair! I don’t want anyone else!” You wail, looking up at his frown, delicate hands reaching up his face to smear his lips, thumb stroking the side of his mouth. You whine like a petulant child and it’s horribly sickening to see. Yet Sunghoon doesn’t mind as he wipes away the moonlight of streaks down your cheeks.  

“Me too darling.” He rubs his hands up your opened back, his warmth sending shockwaves down your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your cheeks, relishing in the bittersweet moment.

“Let’s just run away” you mumble without a doubt, shoving your palm down his armor to feel his erratic heartbeat, leaning your head on the cold metal once you did.  

He stays silent for a moment, eyes closed as he slithers his fingers across your palms and up the stomach of your dress, drawing a small ‘I love you’ onto the cloth before he breathes awake, adams apple, gulping when he doesn’t break eye-contact with your curious eyes.

“Let’s have one last dance, shall we then?”  

Sunghoon brings your hand close to his lips, pressing a long kiss to your ring finger before lifting you up, rubbing his forehead against yours in affection. You nod with his words, and he pulls you up into a hug.  

Ball songs echoed onto the nightly daze, letting the creatures that roamed the area have a chance to flow with the heavenly music. The crickets chirped along as the owls perched and ruffled their feathers to the soothing beat, watching two young adolescents clumsily place each other in the other’s hands, lips and eyes unable to flicker away for a second, drunk in love.  

Placing his hand on your waist just in time for a new tune to drift in, your heart skips a beat once you notice what was playing, a hint of surprise and fluster on Sunghoon’s cheeks as he pulls you closer, nodding his head into the crook of your shoulder, slowly swaying in the presence of a full moon, lips melting in with each other.

Memories cascade down the lingering touches that you leave and the heavy hearts that you both heave in your chests. Yet the cavity that you used to dwindle was filled with the keys to each other.  

“You’re so beautiful, so pretty” He sighs, slightly tickling your waist, pulling back a little so he can meet your gaze. “I love you.”  

You smile as an answer, using two hands to pull him as close as possible, manageable to suffocate.  

“I love you too,” you softly reply, before pulling him back into another longing kiss, eyes closed, blindfolding your surroundings, too caught up in the moment, feeling as though if you let go, it would warp into a dream.  

Too bad that it was too late to realize the sword of your lover, was now punctured through your gut. Eyes widening open in shock, you catch Sunghoon weeping hard, his fingers massaging the aching wound in your lower abdomen, body shaking in guilt and sadness.  

“I’m so sorry love. God I’m so sorry, please forgive me. I promised–I promised your mother!” He breaks down, slowly catching you onto the ground, lungs unable to catch the air that you needed as you try to comprehend what he meant.  

“Huh?” You cough, tugging on the straps of his armor, and you knew that you were supposed to feel anger and betrayal at the situation, but you couldn’t help but relax him, splotching his tears around his streaked face.  

Intertwining your hand with his, you shakily let out an exhale, staring at him through your lashes, trying to preserve the last moments of your life. You grunt as he watches you incredulously before pulling out the dagger from your soaked body, pointing the metal blade towards his gut, ripping off his armor.

Using his slender fingers, he stabs himself quickly, penetrating deep enough to choke on rising blood.  

“I love you so much, I’m sorry darling” he quietly sobs, reaching for your arms which you let him take, flipping you over his blood-covered chest, hugging you tightly.  

Taking your last breaths, you leave a chaste kiss on his neck, where his heartbeat slows down into a rhythmic song, two heartbeats steadily dying out.  

[mxxndazed]

Midnight Love - K. Baji

Pairing: Baji x GN!Reader

TW: Angst, hurt, no comfort, cheating, unrequited love, implied nsfw. is NOT proofread!!

WC: 1.4K

A/N: haiii !! this is my first story on this acc!! Inspired by Midnight love by girl in red. def check out the song if you haven't listened yet!! I'm asking for constructive criticism but please don't be ugly lol. Hope y'all enjoy :))

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈-ˋˏ✄┈┈

I know I don't want to,

Be the one that you run to…

You’re quietly on your bed, scribbling rapidly in your diary. Music blaring in the background, nevertheless being drowned out by your sobs. Tears steadily run down your face as you jot down your emotions. Spirally into them, a swirl of emotions feeling heavy in your chest. 

When you got nowhere else to go,

When you need some love…

He’s done it again. This is.. What? The 2nd? 4th?.. 6th time this has happened. And everytime you can’t help yourself from crying. Feeling your heart shatter with every message of his that comes in. 

I know I’m the last one,

You try to call but… 

Baji is one of your closest friends. You loved him to death but not just platonically. You were in love with Keisuke Baji and nothing hurt more than watching him love someone who’s love could never amount to yours. 

I always give in,

To give you it all. 

This seems to have become routine for the both of you. Baji ghosts you for about a week because his “girlfriend” sees you as a threat. She screws him over, breaking his heart. And he comes crawling back to you because he “just needs his best friend.” So you take him in and you let him cry and grieve in your arms until he ends up asleep from pure exhaustion. Knowing damn well when you wake up in the morning… he's gone and he’s blocked you once again. He’s with her again. And yet, you’re the stupid one for letting this pattern continue. 

Your phone is being spammed with messages from both Baji and Mitsuya. Mitsuya has become your best friend, your brother even, though this agonizing situation. He was the first to find out your feelings for Baji. 

It happened at Pah’s birthday party, Baji had brought his girlfriend and they spent the entire night all over each other. Mitsuya noticed your discomfort and your failed attempt to hide it. You stepped out for some “fresh air”, more like to get away from them. Mitsuya quickly following behind, without you taking notice. Stepping out onto the sidewalk. You let out the cries you were so desperately trying to push down. Not caring if your makeup was smudged or ruined. Your heart felt so heavy. That’s when you felt an arm gently wrap around your shoulder. You look to your left and see Mitsuya except he didn’t have his usual angelic smile. His face looked almost disappointed. 

“It’s okay y/n.. You’ll be alright. I’ve got you.” 

Those words, the reassurance, was all you needed to actually break down. Clinging to him, letting out your agonizing sobs into his check while he had a firm grip around your waist. 

“My heart… It hurts” 

You said between sobs, Mitsuya stayed quiet, only rubbing your back softly while nodding his head as if to say ‘i know’. 

From then on Mitsuya was not only there to support and comfort you, but to be a true and genuine friend. Often going on bike rides or going to the park with his little sisters. 

Now here you are, writing on tear ridden pages about the man you love. All while Baji blows up your phone with miss calls and messages asking if he could come over because once again he “needs his best friend.” Skimming through the messages from Mitsuya telling you to either ghost him too or come clean about your feelings. And so you do.

Sending Baji a quick, “I'm free, come over.” before rushing to the restroom to take off your smeared mascara. After washing your face you stay staring at yourself in the mirror. Slowly dissociating, anxiety filling your veins.

You hear a knock at your door making you snap out of your trance. 

"It's' baji,” you thought, “now or never.”

You open the door to be greeted with a dreadful Baji. His hair disheveled, eyes red and heavy, his lips quivering like he’s biting back a sob. You’d seen him torn more times than you’d like to admit but never like this. 

“Baji !,” you gasped, “what happened?” you asked while dragging him inside, wrapping your arms around him for a hug. He didn’t hesitate to embrace your warmth; quickly leaning hugging you back. Something he craved after a long excruciating night. 

“She cheated.”

Was all he had to say before completely shutting down. Sobbing into your shoulder as you run your hands through his hair. He always loved when you did, he found it comforting. 

“I’m so sorry baji…” you say muffled, “I know how much you loved her.” your own words making you nauseous.

“I can’t imagine how you feel right now.” Just after those words left your mouth something in him snapped. 

“That’s right, you could never understand my pain.” he spat, “you’ve never had to watch someone your love betray you.”

You shoved him back, staring at  him in disbelief. If only he was here not 30 minutes early to watch you lose yourself for someone who you did in fact love and betray you for the 7th time. 

You know he was talking out of his ass. You knew he was hurting and he didn’t know how to cope. You knew he didn’t mean those words and yet they still got under your skin. Stabbing you in the heart. 

“What the hell is your problem,” you retorted. “Who are you to say I haven’t felt something even remotely close to how you're feeling right now?” 

“You have no clue what I’ve been through and am going through.” you continued, clenching your fists so tight you swear you could feel the blood from the crescent shaped imprints in your palms. 

“You haven’t been here. You come and you go, you need me then block me. Not even stopping to even think about how I’m feeling.” you start to feel the tears swell in your eyes, voice feelings like it’s about to give out at any second. 

“You’re such a self centered hypocrite. You’re so blissfully ignorant to the pain you cause to those around you, to me.” you rasped. “You’re the one I’m in love with, the one I watch time and lime again betray me, discarding me. I know I’m your second best. Close but not your favorite but goddamn it Keisuke. I love you.” 

Silence hushed over the once chaos filled room. Tears streaming down both your faces. Embarrassment hitting you quickly, making you face the ground.

“Just leave Baji.” you started, voice weak. “Forget I said anything.”

Looking up soon after, you hadn’t taken notice that he walked closer to you. Too close…

“y/n…” his breath arm on your lips, face only centimeters apart. Your heart thumping so loud you could’ve sworn he could hear it too.

You remained silent, both faces inching together until finally your lips collided with his. 

You could taste his spearmint gum and his salty tears. You slowly give in realizing this isn’t a dream. His left hand finds your face while the other rests softly on your waist. 

You both separate, desperate to catch your breath. You look up at him, admiring his handsome features. Dark furrowed brows, his beautiful fierce yet soft bronze eyes, his soft plush lips. 

“Even like this… You look so damn beautiful.” you state before thinking. 

You look down quickly, humiliation once again taking over. Baji’s hand quickly lifts your face to meet his eyes again. 

In this light, I swear, I’m blind.

In this light,I swear, you’re mine. 

He leans in, locking his lips to yours. His hands roaming your body. Making your stomach do flips. He slips his hands to the backside of your thighs, quickly lifting you up as you wrap your legs around his torso. 

Lips still locked as he guides you both to your bedroom. 

“His Midnight Love”, you thought. 

And that you were. Because by the morning, he was gone. Bed cold and vacant. Only the memories from the night before to keep you warm. Looking around your now lonely room to only see your clothes scattered. 

You grab your phone. Immediately landing on his contact. You go and ask where he was. 

Only to see your message was “not delivered.” 

And once again hit with the rude reminder that he was never yours. 

I keep going back for more.

Where there’s nothing from before. 

[quietpagan]

What Goes Around

Summary: Nobby Nobbs knows John Keel's face when it walks through the door, apparently, even if it's been thirty years.

AO3

There was a crime being committed everywhere, Commander Vimes would say. At any point in time you could throw a dart at a map of Ankh-Morpork and find a crime where it pierced, no matter if it were night or day, and if you couldn’t find a crime all you had to do was hold Nobby Nobbs upside down and shake him for a bit.

Commander Vimes spent much of the afternoon in the process of committing several crimes himself, among which were Public Indecency (entirely dependent on the area of the city and who saw you), Breaching the Peace (such as it was), and Running Too Fast For Anybody To Catch Up and Figure Out What Was Going On (a surprisingly common crime).

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Upon the resolution of the evening’s tumultuous events and subsequent return to the Watch House, there was a brief moment where everything was normal, and then people actually looked at him. From the desk there was a gasp and the sound of breaking ceramic – Nobby had dropped his cocoa mug.

There was also, on the edge of Vimes’s hearing, a very thin, watery whine.

His entrance, splattered with blood and carrying a handcuffed crook, was not unusual in itself, but Vimes supposed that the addition of the eye patch, the absence of one sleeve, and the story of his disappearance à la magick put pause to the usual proceedings. He looked at the desk where Fred and Nobby were and where the whine was originating from, and was steadily growing louder.

To his horror, Nobby had begun to cry.

This also wasn’t unheard of, especially recently. Nobby’s idea of machismo had always been a bit runny, and after his adventures in Klatch it sometimes ran around in a dress and mascara. A stiff upper lip, Nobby figured, wasn’t very useful for a kid who’d made small change by hanging around businesses until someone gave him some money to leave; they gave it even faster if he threatened to get snot on the floor. Nobby was an ugly crier. He’d had a rough enough childhood, and teenhood, and adulthood, that The School For Hard Knocks sounded like a nice bed-and-breakfast in comparison, and out of all the watchmen (Carrot excluded), Vimes figured that Nobby had the least to actually be insecure about. Shedding a tear in front of his coworkers could only bring down peoples’ opinion of Nobby Nobbs if they pulled out a shovel and dug.

But it was rare, and usually angry. This was not. Nobby was looking at Vimes like his shriveled little heart was breaking, and he was crying hard, and the whine was picking up pitch and starting to become true sobs.*

*It really was a very, very ugly cry. If the moving pictures people held an audition for Ugliest Crier, Nobby Nobbs would be forced into a pair of red-and-blue tights and slapped in the face with a three-part film contract before he’d even pulled out his hanky.

Vimes’s hands were beginning to ache, gripping Carcer’s handcuffs as he was; Carrot stepped forward and gently removed Carcer, half-carrying him quickly but quietly toward the cells. Nobby’s eyes followed Carcer’s face for a moment before snapping back to the Commander, and Vimes realized that he was looking at the bandage Mossy had put over his eye on their way to the bank. Vimes had been to the Watch House earlier that day, just to show his face, but neither of the usual suspects at the desk had been in then, and so had missed the brief flurry of congratulations and well-wishes.

Sergeant Colon, feeling enough awkwardness for everybody, patted Corporal Nobbs on the arm.

“Er, it’s alright, Nobby,” he murmured. He tried to move Nobby back but it was like shifting a statue. “Er, er, we’re all happy that Mister Vimes is back, right? Just you calm down a bit and…”

“What the bleedin’ hell!” Nobby sobbed, darting forward and jabbing a finger at Vimes’s bandaged eye. “I thought I was just imaginin’ it! And everybody told me I was being stupid, and to just shut up and keep me head down and not say anythin’ to you cause, cause, it would probably be upsettin’ to the poor kid and all, and you… an’ you…”

There was a brief instant where Vimes realized that Nobby, and probably several others back then, had thought what past-Sam had thought, and believed John Keel-nee-Vimes to be young Vimesy’s father. And apparently nobody had bothered to mention this for thirty years. And now here Vimes was, the feeling of Keel not yet washed from his skin, looking exactly the same as he did thirty years ago, having come back from a brief venture through space and time, and Nobby was quicker on the uptake than people gave him credit for.

Vimes did the only available thing and picked up the smaller man by the armpits, stepping around the broken shards of the cocoa mug to carry them both upstairs and into his office. Nobby really wasn’t much heavier as an adult than he’d been as a child; most of the weight was probably armor, to be honest, for all that the man ate like a starving bear, and usually nicked something of his neighbor’s plate too while he was at it.

He set Nobby down and closed the door, only to realize that Nobby was still clinging to him; somehow, his thin little arms had found themselves around Vimes’s waist, and were making a decidedly ample effort to squeeze him to death.

Vimes rocked for a moment while processing this. He finally bent down and jerkingly returned the hug. The sobs, fortunately, had petered out, but Vimes’s jerkin was starting to get rather damp.

“I’hckd’th’spn’,” muffled Nobby, from the leather at Vimes’s waist. “Ate fr’ near a week at that place, and when the money ran out I hocked the spoon.” Vimes was beginning to get rather uncomfortable; Nobby Nobbs in immediate vicinity was never particularly pleasant, especially if he was covering your breastplate in tears and snot. He patted Nobby anyway.

“Yeah, I know, Nobby, it was me you sold it to, remember? Look, let me get a hanky, at least…”

“Rubbish bastard you are, sir,” wobbled Nobby, blowing magnificently into the hanky and wiping it across his face. “So’s that’s your grave we’ve been tossing eggs at for thirty years, yeah? And you never even ate one!”

“Hell, Nobby, I didn’t…I didn’t really…”

I just filled in the gaps, he thought to himself, knowing it was a lost cause. Quantum. What a bitch. Vimes weighed the option of showing horrible vulnerability toward his younger subordinate with the option of being honest with his friend of thirty years, who still had a rather manky-looking lilac sprig tucked behind his ear.

“I didn’t know, Nobby. It really only happened a few hours ago, for me.”

Nobby shuffled over and sat down in the spare chair.

“The wizards said you’d been shuffled around in time. They didn’t know where or when you was sent, sir. So…so you had to be there twice?  At the same time?” Vimes sat down in his own chair with a groan. He hadn’t slept in how long? He’d last eaten when, exactly? He’d shaved but hadn’t bathed yet, and there was still old blood in his hair and soaked into the crevices of his hands, splattered over with fresh blood from his tussle with Carcer. His eye ached and for that matter, so did his ribs and his hands and everything in between, the few hours of sleep he’d gotten while unconscious on the bedroom carpet only a thin veneer of rest over the deep well of exhaustion that grabbed at him with painful fingers.

But Nobby was watching him with bright eyes, and just a few hours ago Vimes had seen him on the ground, trying not to get hit or stepped on as the melee across the barricade continued, after the boy had run through crowds of soldiers and panicking civilians to warn him about Snapcase. He’d probably been around eight or so, not counting the cynicism. Vimes-as-Keel had given him a few meals and a lack of cuffs around the head, and that was all it had taken, really. Even thirty years later, he still talked about that damn spoon, which young Vimes had bought off of him in pity when the kid came around to the Watch House to try and mump a meal from him a few weeks later.

A brief but sharp knife of grief jabbed Vimes in the chest at the realization that Nobby – and everybody else who could remember – would now only ever remember Vimes-as-Keel, not Keel himself as Vimes had known him. It felt like Keel’s name had been erased from the books of time, written over with a facsimile of the man, and Vimes held the only original copy. How was that fair? How was that just or right when the people who spent every May twenty-fifth remembering Keel now only knew the copy that had been stuffed into his boots? When they spoke his name they would be speaking of Vimes. The thought was cold, and sank into his bones like a lead weight.

Through the open window, the smell of lilacs still stirred in the night.

Vimes went down and got the cocoa himself, before he dragged his chair around the side of the desk and began to talk.

He wasn’t expecting the hanky back, in any case.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was nearing eleven o’clock by the time that Vimes dragged himself back to Scoone Avenue, waving off Carrot’s offer of an escort even though he occasionally saw a flash of golden fur in the corner of his eye – the good one, not the right one. That would be permanent, he thought tiredly. A lot of things that had happened in the past few days felt like they were swimming in a sea of then and now, and the thens and nows were all muddled together and swapped places when they felt like having a change of scenery.  Despite the past’s habit of catching up to the present it mostly stayed where it should be, but the scar…

Vimes hadn’t come away with anything permanent the first time, unless you counted the little invisible cuts and bruises that people carried around in their heads. But now, when he’d been thrust back to where he shouldn’t have been (should have been?), he came away with a cut down the right side of his face and an eye that struggled to open when he took the bandage off. Sybil had already fussed over it but had been too exhausted to question why it looked days old, but he knew he’d have to explain, when morning came and Mossy moseyed over to check on her and then redress a laceration he’d last seen thirty years ago. He’d have to explain anyway, because there was no way he would keep this from her. She knew the bits and bobs about the People’s Revolution; he’d told her the outline of it, when they’d first had their understanding and he dragged himself out of the slurry of alcoholic haze to expound the importance of a silly little flower that a very tiny population of people wore on one day a year. She had only been fifteen at the time of the conflict, and well out of it, but she’d heard the twisted politics in hazy smoking rooms, listening with a quiet ear while rich people guffawed and shook their heads. But Sam Vimes as a man wasn’t one for many sentimental gestures, and when one of the few details of his pre-alcoholic life emerged she paid attention.

The detail was bigger now, and had left significantly more visible marks. The horrors of the past now had doubled, viewed from a slightly higher angle, and Vimes still wouldn’t take a single moment back.

Detritus was still looming in the bedroom corridor as Vimes trudged upstairs, nodding to him as he drank heavily from a steaming, oversized thermos. For all that Detritus could look like the city’s most menacing hunk of conglomerates, he had a soft spot toward kids, and Vimes had already caught him cooing over the bassinet.

The room was well-lit despite the late hour, with Sybil snoring on her side of the bed, the lace-encrusted basket close at hand. Vimes nodded to Constable Pediment, keeping watch from the window, and went to soak himself in the tub before he got blood on the pillows again.

He’d have to talk to Fred, too. He’d probably have to talk to Rosie Palm as well, and oh gods, Reg Shoe, and looking Captain Quirke of the Day Watch in the eye promised to be an interesting experience.

But those would be issues for the next day, even as fast as it was approaching, and so as the Glorious Twenty-Fifth of May turned into the more Ho-Hum Twenty-Sixth of May, Sam Vimes – and John Keel – went to rest.

[faetima]

𝐰𝐡𝐲 . .

. . here you were, dove white bedsheets pooled around you, as fat, crystalline tears rolled down your face, an ugly reminder of what you had become.

or, a small fanfic based on boynextdoor’s album: why..

// tws ; none!! :3 ; gn reader ; modern au

a/n: stan boynextdoor guys

𝟭. 𝗖𝗥𝗬𝗜𝗡𝗚

between umbrellas on a rainy strеet

your words broke thrоugh even thе ѕound of rаin, goodbye

i јust shut mу mоuth

i pretend not to hear agaіn

sobs wracked your body.

it’s okay. you’re okay , you thought to yourself, rocking your body back and forth, face buried in your knees.

the lies kept increasing.

lies towards yourself, towards him, towards anyone and everything.

you were fine , you told yourself.

as if.

here you were, dove white bedsheets pooled around you, as fat, crystalline tears rolled down your face, an ugly reminder of what you had become.

of what you had become ever since he left you.

a crying mess.

even the way he had broken up with you reflected the situation — rain pouring down, thumping over your roof as he stood there, umbrella in hand. his jet-black bangs were plastered to his face, wet, as if he had left without an umbrella originally.

your eyes had a joyful gleam as you beamed at him, crinkles at the corners of your eyes a mirror of your happiness.

until he shattered it, alongside your heart, of course.

it was like he had been cradling your fragile, glass heart, taking care of it, protecting it, until he decided to throw it full-force at the ground.

“i have to tell you something,” he had said, cold eyes analyzing you, examining your very being.

thinking nothing of it, you had asked what. he dropped your glass heart as he spoke his next words.

“i want to break up.”

and, so, you were here, crying like a baby.

a fucking baby.

you had thrown away the jacket you had worn when you had asked him out, trying to look your very best.

you wanted to look like an adult, mature and collected, coming to terms with any ups and downs life had to offer.

but, as it turned out, you were still a kid inside. ever so sensitive — fragile and delicate, able to break apart at any moment.

this was so, so much more cruel than any mean words he could speak to you. saying he loved you, whispering sweet nothings, and then dropping the bomb on you? saying he never loved you?

saying everything was meaningless to him?

you had gone to a cafe a few days prior, and what you saw made your heart crack all over again.

he was there, sitting alongside his friends.

worst thing?

he was smiling.

he was fucking smiling.

after what he did to you, he had the audacity to laugh, to smile?

it hurt so, so much, watching him smile, watching him laugh, knowing it would never be you making him do so ever again.

it made you hurt.

it made you hurt.

it made you sick.

and, so, you laid on your bed, crying like a baby.

crying like a baby.

i’m crying for you, baby.

𝟮. 𝗕𝗨𝗧 𝗦𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗦

but you —

heard your mascara's running from crying everyday

kicking yourself now

i never felt better

he had said he didn’t like you swearing.

that you were too delicate, too innocent to.

even when you were angry, you couldn’t fucking swear, wanting to keep the love of your life, the bane of your existence, happy.

you had widened your shoulders when he needed to lean on them.

it only caused trouble for you now when you went upon the crowded metro, bodies pressed up against you.

you wanted to swear.

swear at him.

yourself.

everyone.

every-fucking-thing.

you swore dan heng wouldn’t ever regret it.

you were the fool.

the goddamn fool.

it would’ve been better if he had just said he didn’t love you.

why did he lead you on, saying he loved you if he was just going to break your heart, leaving it hollow?

now you wanted to rip up all the polaroids of him you had kept.

his appearance in the photos was the same — soft, ethereal.

beautiful.

the appearance of someone you had once loved.

of someone you still loved.

it was nothing like the cold and hard exterior he had worn when he broke up with you.

sometimes you just wanted him to get lost, wishing him heartbreak and bad wishes, wishing for him to suffer as you did.

but sometimes, you missed him.

—

you were used and useless now.

now, you wanted to change all your mannerisms — the way you did your makeup, the way you laughed, even the way you walked.

it all reminded you of dan heng.

and that memory stemmed on and on, and lead to another night of you crying in your room, mascara tainting your face, smudging it an inky black.

—

sure, he wasn’t the mean one.

your friends said that he was being reasonable, that he was so mature about the situation, not even putting any blame on you! you were crying for no reason at all, he could’ve ended things on a much, much worse note.

yeah, sure.

yes, you were the mean one! you were the one mad at him, sad over him, because of absolutely nothing! it wasn’t like he was the one who broke up with you!

ugh.

give me a break.

—

late at night, you were curled up in your bed, the excruciatingly bright screen of your phone illuminating your tired eyes and dried up tears.

your finger hovered over the button to delete his number.

you couldn’t even do a task as simple as that.

you were such a fool. you still loved him, even though he had already broken up with you?

pathetic.

—

yeah, this was better.

swearing to get it all out, to get all the red, hot anger off your chest, off yourself.

previously pinpointed on yourself, now you found a new target to direct it all to, to shift the blame to.

dan fucking heng.

previously, you had been sobbing in your room after he had broken up with you, sobs wracking your body as if you were a mere petal in a storm, drifting all alone.

the sorrow had eventually melted, leaving an omnipresent hatred in its wake.

but, if you despised him so much, why did you immediately soften up upon looking at photos you took of him?

he still looked so sweet in the photos, jet black bangs dusting his face, the tiniest smile on his face as he held up a peace sign.

maybe you should just rip up all the photos.

yeah.

—

life wasn’t too bad as of late.

you had been hanging out with new friends, and that took your mind off everything.

maybe you had finally moved on?

yet, you still felt a tinge of hatred towards dan heng, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong as you had come to realize.

you had heard he’d been kicking himself over the break up, crying everyday. you should’ve felt bad.

yet you felt the smallest twinge of happiness upon hearing this.

you could’ve — would’ve — died for him, yet it took him til now to realize what he had missed.

to realize what he had done?

why’d it take him til now? why was he so selfish?

he could’ve just not loved you from the beginning.

huh, maybe you hadn’t moved on yet.

sometimes, you still missed him.

𝟯. 𝗔𝗕𝗖𝗗𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘

a-b-c-d-e-f-g, right?

it’s still awkwаrd, will i gеt used to it?

give me back my a-b-с-d-l-o-v-e,

or draw a nеw lоve

an easy word you could memorize — love.

soft and delicate love, strong as titanium, yet fragile as glass.

but, well, you didn’t know love anymore.

the love you had known had changed.

it had broken into a million tiny bits, leaving behind shards of shattered glass, cutting you and making you bleed scarlet the moment you tried to pick up the broken pieces.

now you practically had to learn the meaning of love all over again.

everything had changed, now it was all inverted. bright, almost blindingly so, yellow shades of happiness and warmth had become depressing, melancholic blues.

dainty pink had becoming a forever burning inferno of red.

dan heng had been the moons and stars, your whole universe.

and, just like that, he had disappeared.

stormy black clouds had covered the glittering skies, leaving only darkness in their wake.

he had told you he had loved you.

you wanted that same love back.

or, perhaps, now you could draw a new love.

—

it was so, so awkward now.

you could barley get any words out around him.

he, who was spring and summer.

he, who left, leaving a cold and barren winter with you.

now who would alight your freezing heart ablaze?

—

it was still so, so awkward.

would you ever get used to it?

well, perhaps you would, you supposed.

if you could draw a brand new love for yourself, rewrite the meaning of it from scratch, you could get used to this too, no?

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Okay so like we probably spoken about this but Yves probably looks so pretty and beautiful whenever he would cry. Like I feel so bad thinking about this but I just know he would look so pretty just weeping, mascara running down his cheeks, his long lashes wet with tears, slightly pink face and all 😭 and we wouldn’t know if he’s doing it on purpose or if he genuinely just looks like that

Tw: mentions of sexual abuse and other abuse on Yves

Yves wasn't always this way, though.

Just like any other man, he was an ugly crier. Especially during the times where he was left violated, mutilated, starving, humiliated or financially devastated.

But he eventually learned a sobbing face with too much wrinkles, too much snot only worsens the abuse. Depraved men and women would masturbate to his agony and wails of pain. So he adapted not to show his pain too much.

He remembers not to stretch his skin too hard, not open his mouth too big, to control his forehead muscles and breathing and to not whine too much. Yves managed to channel his tears away from his nasal tract, significantly reducing the drippings from his nostrils.

He has a lot of practice, a lot of trial and error to find when is the best time to cry and when to stay stoic. Yves learned how to cry on command early on, he used to act in obscure films after all, he had to look pretty.

But he found comfort in being a ridiculously attractive crier. Just like his first time trying caviar, it signifies that he is in control, he is past those days where he allowed himself to get brutalized by anyone and everyone. He is so used to noticing and manipulating all the micro-movements in his face, that it has become second-nature to him.

You can never catch him ugly cry, he will never do that to himself again. However, Yves isn't god. If it's truly devastating, if you had gone through something that he wasn't supposed to allow to happen, perhaps he may look a bit messier when sobbing hysterically in the privacy of his data vault.

But he is never hideous, always beautiful despite the melancholy. Yves does not allow himself to look like that ever again.

[albertswitch]

She marched her sorrowful and penitent daughter down to the living room and in front of her husband. Once downstairs Madison was still crying pitifully, and with her hands, she tried to cover her hairy pussy on display. James could see that she had been transformed into a crying hiccupping mess with her nose running profusely and her face full of tears and dripped mascara.

"Turn around and show him!" Her Dad hissed.

Overwhelmed by the shame and avoiding her husband’s gaze, Madison meekly turned around and obediently bent a little to show him her bare, chastised rear end.

James was stunned at the change his poor wife’s bottom had undergone! All her attractive rear end, from where the buttocks start to separate till mid-thighs and even the inside of her legs, was swollen and flaming red. Everywhere there were the ugly marks of the strap’s edge that overlapped and the sit spot was the darkest color, sort of a blotchy, beet red with grayish blisters forming.

“Go ahead, tell him what you had promised while we were up in the bedroom,” ordered Madison’s Dad.

Still lightly bent and obediently presenting to her husband her well-punished rear end the repentant girl meekly said between soft sobs, “I promise I will be a good wife James.”

[gravehags]

hold me now - the natalie edit

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!OC (Curator!OC)

Rating: Teen

Tags: couple fight, well less a fight than copia fucking up supremely, hurt/comfort, self esteem issues, anxiety, secondo once again being a real one

Words: 2,588

Summary: Natalie's never heard that tone from Copia before period let alone directed at her.

a/n: happy new year's eve you get TWO natalie edits tonight :)

~~~

He can feel the headache coming on, throbbing right behind his eyes and the base of his skull from staring too long at spreadsheets and numbers and stupid fucking emails from his fellow clergy members. 

Sister Imperator on his ass, like always. Nihil on his ass, like always. Natalie’s pacing back and forth in front of his desk, chattering animatedly about…he’s not even sure, all he can focus on is the static in his brain and the blood rushing in his ears and the noise of her voice and–

He barks her name once. No endearments. That’s all it takes to have her stopped in her tracks, slowly turning to face him. When the next words out of his mouth come sharp like a whip crack, he sees Natalie physically recoil.

Enough. Quiet.

Immediately he’s filled with regret as he watches her back away towards the door, fidgeting with her fingers. He knows what he needs to do - what he needs to say - but he’s paralyzed with fear and exhaustion. His mouth opens but no sound comes out.

“S-sorry,” she says, her voice uncharacteristically small and high, the way it gets when she’s holding back tears, “Sorry I’ll just–”

By the time he reaches out to her, still unable to speak, she’s already got her back turned to him and he watches her leave and shut his door with a gentle snap. In an instant he forgets about his headache, about the stressors, about everything that isn’t the horror that settles in his belly like lead. He wants to get up, go after her, apologize on bended knee but he just…sits. 

Sathanas, what have I done?

—

Natalie’s proud of herself, she doesn’t cry until after she returns to her office. As soon as the door shuts though, an ugly sob is wrenched from her throat and she collapses into the empty chair opposite her desk. She can’t form a coherent thought, all she can do is bawl into her hands and shake.

He’s done with you, that familiar, horrid little voice says. He’s finally had enough of your verbal diarrhea, of the silly inconsequential things that come out of you. He realized your mouth is only good for one thing and nattering isn’t it.

Natalie knows the wail that comes out of her is pathetic as snot and tears pour down her face and she slides out of the chair and onto the floor. Pressing her back against the desk, she draws her legs up as tight as she can, rocking gently back and forth. The look on his face - the anger, the annoyance - is burned into her memory. It’s wholly unlike her love but the fact that he hasn’t come after her…well. Clearly he meant what he said. Natalie heaves a shaky sigh and leans forward to fumble behind her for the box of tissues on her desk. It was a good run, she supposes. She always thought she was unlovable and here’s the proof. To think that he would tolerate her and her annoying habits for the rest of their lives was simply naive. 

You’re just a naive, stupid, annoying little girl.

Natalie’s tears slowly cease and she diligently wipes up the streaks of mascara on her cheeks.

She won’t bother him anymore.

—

Two days. Almost three. That’s how long has passed since his horrific outburst in his office and he still hasn’t apologized to her. The guilt gnaws at him, tearing him up, but in all truth he’s not sure how to make the situation right. And he’s embarrassed, Sathanas, looking and sounding like an irritable old man. It’s the longest he’s gone without seeing Natalie in ages and fuck, he misses her desperately. Misses her smile, her laugh, how excitable she gets when she’s talking about something she cares about. Misses the very thing he chastised her and hurt her feelings for, fotutto idiota. He doesn’t blame Natalie for not coming to his quarters or visiting him during work hours. He certainly wouldn’t blame her for being done with him, with this relationship. The lump in his throat gets worse and worse as he hustles down the corridor, tears blurring his vision. He’s nowhere near his office when he slams into something solid.

“Watch where you’re–oh, Cardinal.”

“Mi scusi,” he chokes out, dodging Secondo’s gaze and trying to hurry past him before his brother can see the streaks of black running down his cheeks but judging from the way one large hand wraps around his bicep, it’s too late.

“Copia, what is wrong?” Secondo’s voice is low and concerned as he steers him into an empty seminar room, shutting the door behind them. As soon as the latch clicks Copia lets out a whimper and then a sob.

“I hurt her!” he cries and Secondo starts.

“What do you mean you hurt her? Copia, I know you did not physically harm her because brother or not, if you laid a hand on her you know I’d–”

“No!” Copia gasps, astonished and sickened at the implication. “I would sooner cut off my own hand than raise it to her, you know this. No I-I…I hurt her feelings.”

Secondo seems relieved, but only slightly.

“What did you do?”

His lip trembles as he recalls the events of the other day to his brother. When he’s finished, Secondo crosses his arms.

“And you did not go after her? Che cazzo, stronzo?” he growls, shoving Copia into a chair. “What must she think now that her beloved was cruel to her and did not offer an apology? Copia you’ve always been self-sabotaging but this is a new low.”

Ouch.

“I…I don’t know what came over me after she left my office. My heart told me to chase after her, to make it right but I just…couldn’t move. It was like…like my brain was telling me that I didn’t deserve her in the first place so I shouldn’t push my luck. That she deserves someone…better.”

“What utter bullshit,” Secondo scoffs, and Copia can feel his face go red in shame, “You don’t deserve her? Well maybe you don’t after this but Copia she chose to be with you. To love you and care for you. And you insult her and her choice by trying to make the choice for her with your wretched behavior? Vergognatevi, Copia Emeritus.”

Copia knows Secondo is right but it doesn’t make the dull ache in his chest any better.

“How do I fix this?” he asks quietly.

“Go to her, firstly, you fucking idiot. Bring her something nice, that will make her smile. But wait until she’s back in her rooms tonight, I’m sure she’s had enough of crying in her office. And tell her how you truly feel and how sorry you are. And if she forgives you then don’t be this stupid again. If she doesn’t forgive you, well…perhaps I’ll treat her better.”

Copia’s head jerks up and Secondo looks down at him with a smirk.

“So you better work hard to make her forgive you, huh? Otherwise she’s getting a ride on the Italian Stallion, capisci?”

“Ugh disgusting,” Copia grunts, standing up, “I don’t know why I was always worried about Terzo stealing her when you’re even worse. Stay away from my amore.”

“Then you better work damn hard to make sure she remains your amore.”

“Any eh, tips?”

“I don’t know, flagellate yourself in front of her,” Secondo says, turning to leave, “She looks like she’s into that.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Copia grumbles as they exit the classroom. A passing elderly sister looks at him and jumps with her hand over her heart.

“Clean yourself up first, huh?” Secondo says, straightening Copia’s cassock, “You look like the nun from The Nun.”

“Grazie mille, shithead. I think I know exactly what to do.”

“Bene. Now get to work.” With a clap on his shoulder and a wink, Secondo strides away. 

Right, Copia thinks, first the bathroom, then Primo’s greenhouse.

He only hopes it’s not too late.

—

Two days. Two fucking days and he hasn’t said shit to her. Hasn’t even attempted to say shit to her. Natalie’s pain and embarrassment morphs into anger on the dawn of the second day when she checks her phone and sees no texts, no missed calls. The hurt is still there, that ache in her chest that doesn’t really go away, but she’s truly floored that he could be so casually cruel to her then act like she simply doesn't exist. Maybe it’s over (and the notion makes tears well in her eyes and makes her choke on each breath) but doesn’t she deserve to hear it from his lips? That’s all it takes to have her sobbing again as she attempts to brush her teeth, dejectedly spitting out toothpaste into the sink. It’s early, ridiculously early to be in her nightgown getting ready for bed but every night without Copia has been agony and all she wants is to no longer be conscious. She pads over to her nightstand and is about to check her phone simply out of habit when there’s a loud knock at the door and she freezes. Part of Natalie - the petty, horrible part - considers ignoring it the way he’s ignored her. Letting him stew. But her heart is ultimately what pulls her towards the door and has her opening it. Her lip wobbles when she sees him before her - in his clean red cassock, no biretta  - but Natalie prides herself on remaining tearless. He looks incredibly nervous and nauseated as he beholds her.

“Eh…may I come in?”

She says nothing but stands aside and gestures for him to enter. It’s not until he’s fully inside her apartment Natalie sees the healthy bouquet of lily of the valley behind his back and her icy demeanor melts a little. He hands them to her, eyes dodging hers like a fifth grader with a crush. It’s charming, she can’t lie. She takes the flowers from him and he watches her carefully as she fills up a vase and places them in it.

“Kinda…kinda gives you déjà vu, no?” he laughs nervously, “Except–”

“Except you brought me orange roses the first time.”

His cheeks go red.

“Right, right,” another half a minute passes of Natalie resting her weight on her hip with her arms crossed and him fidgeting with his cuffs. She’s about to ask him to get it over with if he’s breaking up with her when–

“Amore, I do not have sufficient words to describe how incredibly sorry I am for my behavior the other day. And then for abandoning you in the days since…not only have I insulted you but I have insulted this relationship. Our relationship. Something horrid came over me that day and you did not deserve to bear the brunt of my foul mood. I know it must mean little now but as soon as I said it I-I felt sick to my stomach.”

“You didn’t come after me,” Natalie says, sniffling and staring ahead at the bejeweled grucifix on his chest, “I knew I really fucked up when you didn’t come after me–”

“Amore you…you think what I did was a reflection on you? That you…don’t tell me you believe you deserved this?”

Her vision is going blurry and she swears internally.

“I thought you were, y’know, done with me. Done with my chatter a-and annoying habits and–”

Copia crosses the floor and takes her hands in his.

“How could I be ‘done’ with everything that makes you…you? Dolcezza, I love all of your facets, even the ones you believe to be ‘annoying’. How could I deny anything that is a part of you?”

“Then why did you tell me to be quiet? Why didn’t you come after me? Why did you just let me sit all these days assuming the worst?”

Silence rings out in the small apartment after Natalie’s last loud statement and Copia looks as if he wants nothing more than to tear his heart out of his chest and present it to her, still beating in his palm.

“Oh cara,” he whispers, “I was having such a-a difficult day. Everything had gone wrong and I could feel a migraine starting and…none of it matters. I should never have lashed out at you and I curse my brain and body for not allowing me to chase after you. There’s no excuse for what I did…for how I abandoned you these past few days and…I understand if you would like to end our relationship.”

Natalie’s heart plummets.

“Is that what you want?” she asks softly, voice cracking pathetically, “I just…I assumed the worst after you didn’t try to see me–”

A noise halfway between a sob and a sigh is wrenched from Copia as he falls to his knees before her.

“Amata mia, all I want in this world is you. Your love. Nothing else matters. Only death can rid you of me, I swear to Sathanas. Do…do you feel the same?”

Tears are freely pouring down Natalie’s cheeks as she looks upon the man she loves and the way his eyes are upturned to her seeking repentance.

“You know I love you more than anything,” she whispers, “God, we really fucked this one up, huh?”

“Not you, amore mio, me. From start to finish this was my fault and for that I am so, so sorry. I hope you will somehow forgive me–”

She scoffs wetly, looking down at him with a smile.

“Is this just what two people with anxiety in love are like?”

He lets out a small laugh.

“Heh…maybe. Surely we’re not the first. Or the last.”

“We should start a support group,” she says, letting go of his hands and gripping his shoulders, “And as pretty as you look in your vestments on your knees, you can get up, my love.”

“I would stay here forever should you command it.”

Hmm. That sounds nice.

“Come to bed with me, Cardinal,” Natalie says softly and obediently he rises to his feet. “I’ve slept like shit without you.”

“And I you,” Copia says, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. Abruptly, she wraps her arms around him and holds him tight.

“I love you,” Natalie murmurs into the red wool covering his chest.

“Love you too, Natalia,” he whispers, kissing the top of her head, “And I am sorry for everything.”

The two of them embrace one another in the quiet for a moment before she speaks.

“Hmm did we just have our first fight?”

“Eh, I don’t know if it was as much a fight as it was me being a fucking idiot and you having the infinite grace to forgive me.”

“Oh, okay. I guess that rules out make-up sex, then?”

Natalie hides her grin in his pellegrina as he makes a noise of outrage.

“Amore, anything can be make-up sex if you try hard enough. Shall I eh, call you some filthy names and get the ball rolling?”

She giggles as she tugs him towards the bedroom.

“Oh, I insist, Your Eminence.”

He growls, trying his best to undo the buttons of his cassock with one hand after Natalie lifts her nightgown over her head and lets it fall to the floor.

“Think I’m getting eh, a Pavlovian reaction to you using my title, dolcezza.”

She looks down at the bulge in the red fabric and smiles.

“I’ll be sure to remember that on really inconvenient occasions.”

He sighs.

“I know you will.”

[roryculkinsgf]

cinnamon girl // Coriolanus Snow

Ngl this might be a bit cringe but it´s written late, after crying for hours so what else do you want. English isn´t my first language, so don´t expect much lol

Summary: Coriolanus Snow comforts his F tribute

TW: fluff, comforting, awkwardness

WC: 770

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your life never seemed too extraordinary, much interesting. At times you felt like you could be doing such great things if you weren´t poor. If you friends, or your loves and flings lasted. If you had enough clothes, or spare place to show your mind. If you had a simple chance. 

You lost any you the day you got picked. They yelled out your name, all the eyes turned to you. Cold breeze swell your skin in goosebumps. Heart made it´s way out of your system. All ideas to run, to find a life, were gone. Leaving your family behind, they brought you to the podium. It was all over there. 

Few strangers looked up in guilt, some in fury. Most in joke, anyway. You were the butt of it. 

..............................................................................................................................

"Sorry, your name is Y/n, right?" A handsome young man - your mentor-  smiled at you. You nodded, tempting to look anywhere but to his god-to light orbs. Something was so distracting about him. "You okay, darling?" He asked tilting his head left. As you tried to offer a nice smile back, all of the fantasy crashed.

"How can you even ask that?" You cried out loudly, making the boy shake. Every other mentor turned your way. Yours though, didn´t even bother to shush you. All that remained on his face now, was empathy."You tore me out of my life. From my family, to a complete mess and even dare to ask if I´m okay? What could be possibly wrong with you, blonde?!" Hissing voice introduced tears. 

Warm - to you burning even - water ruined the pretty mascara you had been wearring. It was the only thing you had time to take, The only reminder of your loving mother, who had to see the ugly parts of it. All her beauty carried in you seemed to scream out as you came weeping. 

"N-no, I´m not from those who did that to you. I swear to my own life, if it had been my choice I´d never pick out your name, Y/n." Words howeve sweet, coming from a stranger it meant nothing. "Your promise won´t help me, blonde. Not even a whit." A long sob teared from your mouth. 

"Blonde?" "Yeah.." you wiped some salty liquid off with your sleeves. "How else am I supposted to call you? I canno´t guess your name if you won´t tell me.." With shiny eyes you looked up into his. He took a breath. You didn´t know, but deep in his heart there´s been some mercy left. Right now it all for you. If only he could, he´d give all of it to your small figure looking so gorgeous and fragile to him. He´d rather send you to his house then to the arena. Of course, he knew he couln´t actually do any of it, but thinking of maybe being your flame. That was good enough.

"My name´s Coriolanus. Coriolanus Snow." He said with a half-smile. Somehow that´s all it took for you to stop blubbering finally. "N-nice to meet you," your shaky voice provided. People around stared weirdly, not at you anymore. At the tall blonde who seemed fancy, trying his best to give hope to a mess. in front of him.

"I´m so sorry, Y/n, that my country has forced you to be here. It isn´t in my hands, but something is. I promise here, to you, to anyone who hears me... Even if it takes me sleepless nights and names me a fool, this fight won´t be win-less. I ´ll do my absolute best and get you out and to take care of you, dove." 

Those words however unsual they sounded to you, came with such comfort. It was all horrible to be here but maybe there was chance for a start of something new. You couln´t figure out what to respond and so he stepped closer. Really close. And wrapped his arms around you. Not tight. Soft and cozy, smiling into your hair and smelling like vanilla candles and bath bubbles. For a moment you got lost in something your mind couldn´t quite explain. Like a foreign language written on a board, those words simply said "love". (or did they?)

He then held you tighter but you didn´t mind a bit, as you were holding him back, just as firm. "Thank you," you whispered into his clothed chest. 

"I promise to make you a survivor. And then we´ll escape. I don´t know much about you, but you seem to need a new start. That alright?" He said quietly, playing with a strand of your hair. 

"Mhm." 

"Good."

And so he led you in. 

[coffeenstories]

September 17th, Kassie's POV

Kassie wasn't able to sleep that night. Her crush just talked to her, and that is a huge deal for her. She started getting ready earlier than usual. Kassie took a long hot shower with her special expensive shampoo that she rarely used. She put together an outfit that only she could wear, one that could only suit her. The perfume she put on could be smelled miles away. Her makeup was as usual, flawless, but she changed something today. She wore a vibrant red lipstick, so he definitely looked at her. Maybe her eyes, then her cheeks, then her lips....it didn't matter to Kassie.

With her breakfast in her hands, she hurried to school, speed walking so her hair wouldn't get messed up.

Upon arrival, many boys looked at her. Everyone was watching her, how couldn't they? She had a huge pimple on the tip on her nose. Of course, she didn't notice it. She was only thinking about her prince charming, who hasn't arrived yet.

She sat at her usual seat, waiting for him to show up. Finally, five minutes before class started, he showed up. Today, Kassie felt courageous, so she went up to him.

He looked at her nervously, like she was a teacher who caught him cheating on a test. However, the look on her eyes was unforgettable. She was full of joy and excitement, technically running to him.

"Hi Daniel!" she said in a cheerful tone, smiling. He looked pale, like he has just seen a ghost. Daniel handed her a shoe box wrapped in wrapping paper and quickly went to his seat.

She looked at the box, almost disappointed. He didn't even say a word to her, was something wrong with her hair? She quickly pulled out her mirror, and saw it. The pimple! She gently placed the mistery box on her table and ran to the bathroom.

In the bathroom, she just stared at herself. The bell was ringing and the girls inside hurried to class, but she stayed behind. "No matter how much effort I put in, I always look ugly." she thought.

For 20 minutes, she sobbed in the bathroom stall. She couldn't go to class, not like this. Her mascara was smudged, her hair was messed up, and he clothes were dirty because of the filthy floor she was sitting on.

After about 5 more minutes of crying, she got up, washed her face and finally went to class. The teacher scolded her, but this time, she felt everybody's eyes on her, not just his.

Kassie grabed her stuff and the box that Daniel gave her and sprinted home, ignoring the teacher.

After school hours

Kassie was woken up from her nap by a ring on her doorbell. She stood up and slowly approached the door. Through the window on her door, she saw a tall boy wearing a uniform from her school. She opened the door and saw the one and only Daniel.

Thanks for reading❤️