#where despite of being this close to each other

[doberbutts]

With this latest round of discourse being "trans men shouldn't complain about being kicked out of women's spaces", I felt the urge to write up a relatively long post regarding the topic, as I feel it is a long tangled mess and involves a significant amount of people simply talking past each other.

To begin, what is a woman's space? I ask this, because "women's spaces" often fall under one of three categories: medical services, social services, and social gatherings. Of the three, trans men need access to nearly everything if not everything included within "medical services" and "social services". These things often need to be considered co-ed anyway, but are still considered "for women" and often are labeled things like "women's health" or "women's defense". Social gatherings- things such as book clubs, concerts, festivals, and other similar outings- can have a nuanced and complicated history when it comes to the inclusion, or exclusion, of trans men.

As an example- I am a binary, gay trans man who has not yet been sterilized. If I become pregnant and need to seek out social services, I must do so via my provider's "Women and Babies" department. I am neither of those things, and yet regardless of whether I am completing or terminating the pregnancy, I must label myself a woman in order to receive care. If I wish to have a pap smear, receive birth control, or investigate my chances of ovarian and cervical cancer, I must do so via the "Women's Health Clinic". I am not a woman, but I must label myself as one in order to discuss sterilization options. Many trans men who have had their gender markers changed prior to sterilization have reported difficulty even booking an appointment, as well as difficulty convincing their insurance to pay for this appointment due to a discrepancy with gender markers vs gendered care. Many have discussed the realities of being a pregnant man, whether they remained pregnant until their child was born, or whether they terminated said pregnancy with an abortion.

It should come as no surprise that the statistics for trans men receiving quality gynecological care are abysmal. It should be equally unsurprising to hear how many trans men have died from botched abortions, untreated miscarriages, infections and cancers of the uterus and cervix and ovaries, and complications during pregnancy or birth. We belong in this space, despite it being labeled "for women", and the only thing pushing us out has done is quite literally what's been killing us.

This is, of course, not even taking into account the numbers of trans men who have been forced to become pregnant via their husbands or families as a means to detransition them, and those who have become pregnant as a result of corrective rape. There is a saying among trans men of my age- it isn't "we all know a guy this has happened to", it's "which of us haven't experienced this? who among us doesn't fear this? who will it happen to next?"

Which brings me to my next point: women's social services. As with women's medical care, nearly everything labeled "for women" as a social service must be inclusive to trans men. Shelters for domestic violence survivors, rape crisis centers, self defense classes, family planning, these are all things that honestly should already be co-ed. But, many times, they are exclusively targeted towards women. I understand why, I do. But with trans men being statistically more likely than cis women to experience the need for these services, it seems a cruelty to close their doors to a vulnerable demographic reaching out for help.

Where should trans men in crisis go? Shutting the door to us without addressing the reason we need to access these resources gives us a single ultimatum: detransition, or die. Go back to being a woman, or die knowing the likelihood that a woman's name will adorn your headstone, and "daughter, wife, mother" will be said in your obituary. Much like the medical services, this incomplete answer has lead many trans men to their deaths. Whether by their own hands, or by their attackers'.

But there are other social services out there that perhaps are not as dire. Women's scholarships, colleges, all girls schools. Girl Scouts, women's sport leagues, gym memberships. Trans men don't need access to these, right?

Well... is the trans man in question out? Has he been living as a man, or is he still closeted? Is it safe for him to come out? Does he pass, or has he just bought his first binder and given himself his first buzz cut? Is he living under the control of his parents, or is he able to freely decide for himself the type of person he'd like to be and the type of life he'd like to live?

You see, I was a Girl Scout once. And, if we are to believe to our core that trans men are men even before they know the words "transgender", this means I was a boy in a girl's space. I didn't know that being transgender was an option for me at the point where my troop disbanded, and another leader to replace the first within my local area was not found until after I had aged out.

But also... I was in 7th grade when my troop disbanded. Two years later, I would learn the word "transgender", and suddenly everything would make sense. Two years later, I would come out to my parents and my sisters. To put this into perspective, I graduated high school in 2010. The Boy Scouts officially allowed cisgender girls and transgender people of all genders to join all programs in 2019.

I was not expelled from my Girl Scout troop. My leader simply stopped showing up to meetings, and my troop disbanded to go our separate ways when leadership could not find someone quickly enough to replace her. But... if this had not happened, I would have been a recently out transgender boy in a girl's social service, still wearing push up bras and frilly shirts because that's all my parents would buy me until I became an adult and moved out and had a job with my own money to re-purchase myself a wardrobe. Indistinguishable from any of the others, outside of what went on inside my own mind.

I would not have been accepted into the Boy Scouts, if Girl Scouts had been taken from me as abruptly as it was from a different transgender boy in the same state I was born and raised. Which would have left me with... nothing. Neither. And the only reason I even joined the Girl Scouts was because I had wanted to join the Boy Scouts and the local troop had refused to allow me, because they had labeled me a girl.

I don't believe I'm the one that coined Schrodinger's Gender, but I do reference it often. In this situation, one is both a boy when it hurts, and a girl when it hurts. Even if that gender label changes by the second, the point is to use your gender and your assigned sex to hurt you.

But then, why do these services even have to be gendered to begin with? After all, Boy Scouts just updated to be The Scouts, and has removed (on paper) the insistence on gendering.

Well... I certainly agree that the majority of gendering these services is at this point a concept that needs to be reformed, but I'm unconvinced that we will be able to completely integrate without addressing the reason they were segregated by gender in the first place.

Women's gym memberships are gender segregated for two reasons. Women and girls- and anyone labeled as women and girls, regardless of true identity- are frequently not afforded the same access to resources as cisgender men and boys. Women and girls- and anyone labeled such- are frequently at high risk of predatory sexual behavior and physical violence. Both of these problems are symptoms of a larger system of misogyny at play, and both of these problems directly affect trans men especially those who have not transitioned in a way that makes them pass for cis men.

Regardless of the truth of my identity, the reality is that I was seen as and treated as a girl when it came to physical fitness, and thus barred from the same activities freely offered to the boys. Regardless of the truth of my identity, I have experienced predatory sexual behavior from cis men as young as 8 or 9 years old, continuing past when I came out and began to transition socially.

If the problem is not addressed, cis women cannot re-integrate with cis men. But, additionally, if the problem is not addressed, the choice still remains clear for trans men. Detransition, stay closeted, or go without.

A common complaint of trans men is the invisibility and erasure our demographic faces. It should be easy to see why this happens. The problem of a misogynistic society is one that continues to this day, and without addressing the problem we cannot hope for success in creating a more inclusive space. At the same time, trans men are being pushed out and isolated as they realize they must make a choice.

As for social gatherings, such as a woman's retreat or a woman's music festival? Of course, it may sound odd to say that a trans man should feel welcome there. But the truth of the matter is the majority of the trans men asking for the ability to stay are trans men who have been within that space for years already, prior to coming out, prior to realizing some things about their genders, prior to taking their first steps as men.

I'm pretty good friends with an older butch who told me that I am the first person they ever told that they were a nonbinary man. This person is in their 50s. They're married. But the wife doesn't like it, and they love their wife too much to cause friction in the relationship, so they keep it to themselves, and they keep quiet, and they don't say anything about being transgender, but in their head they aren't a woman. This person is not a woman, by their own insistence. Should this person be forcibly ejected from their local lesbian community, which they and the wife helped form decades ago? Should they divorce their wife, since that would make her not a lesbian anymore?

What harm is it, truly, to allow this person to stay? Social isolation kills people. The trans man suicide statistics are just as abysmal as any of the others I've mentioned here. Forcing someone to burn 20, 30, 40 years of their lives and their friends and their achievements because they are finally living as themselves is a deeply hurtful and isolating experience.

The majority of trans men asking to be included in these spaces are not trans men like me- who never really jived with the idea of womanhood and distanced ourselves as much as possible the moment we saw the opportunity. They are men like my friend, often existing outside of the binary, often with a deep love and appreciation for womanhood despite realizing that perhaps the label does not fit them as well as they once thought. They often have many years of connection, entire lives spent intwined in these spaces.

What good does it do to chase them out? What harm does it to do let them stay?

[wereoz]

pocketsfullofpearls:

dreamy-eyed:

#rewind to 2010 VMAs when mischievous woodland creatures cavorted on stage

I am giggling endlessly and doubled over at this. Where do I begin?!?!

Jesse obviously feeling so confused as to how to even act up there because this is just not anywhere he probably ever even imagined being. 

But, despite this discomfort, his endless smiling and joking around with Andrew

The fact that Jesse and Andrew literally have No. Concept. of how to act on stage in front of an audience because they can’t help but fool around with each other. 

Even Justin being super casual and less presenter-y proving how close they all became (I really can’t imagine any other instance when a presenter would say “shut up” to the other two even if they were friends)

Andrew being so earnestly and sincerely excited (maybe, partially, ironically, the fucking hipster)

HOW CLOSE ANDREW AND JESSE ARE STANDING. It makes it look like Justin is a mile away. 

[lunaswicked]

Sweet Talk

Paring: College!Jimmy Uso x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Summary: Two roommates— You and Jimmy—find yourselves caught in a whirlwind of tension, desire, and unspoken feelings. What begins as teasing and frustration between you evolves into a night of unexpected intimacy that blurs the lines between hate and attraction.

Tags: enemies to smutville😫, roommates, 18+, p in v, teasing, dirty talking, 9 incher jimmy uso, dickstressing, AND WHATEVER ELSE, ENJOY😋

You and Jimmy rarely saw eye to eye. It wasn’t that you outright despised each other, but the two of you had a way of constantly butting heads over the smallest things. Maybe it was because you were both stubborn, or maybe it was because neither of you ever backed down from an argument. Either way, there was always a tension between you—one that never seemed to fade no matter how much time passed.  

Both of you were college students, navigating your own paths, yet your lifestyles couldn’t have been more different. You poured yourself into your studies, determined to excel in every class, while Jimmy had an almost single-minded obsession with football—both playing it and watching it. If he wasn’t on the field, he was glued to the screen, yelling at players who couldn’t hear him or analyzing plays with the kind of intensity most people reserved for final exams.  

When he wasn’t fixated on football, he’d be locked in his room, spending hours on whatever video game he and his twin brother, Jey, were obsessed with that month. It was almost impossible to get a word in when he was deep in competition mode, his focus unwavering as he trash-talked through his headset. Sometimes, it felt like college itself was just a background noise in his life, something he did because he had to—not because he cared.  

But despite all of that, you knew Jimmy was smart. In fact, he was one of the smartest people you knew, even if he didn’t always act like it. He had a sharp mind, a quick wit, and an ability to break things down in a way that made even the most complicated subjects seem simple. The problem was, hardly anyone ever got to see that side of him. He didn’t apply himself the way he could have, and more often than not, he played the role of the carefree guy who only lived for football and video games.  

"I'm not going. I got lab tomorrow," you said into your phone, shifting against the pillows as you tucked yourself deeper into bed.  

Bianca groaned dramatically on the other end. "Girl, you always busy! Every time I call, it's the same thing—lab this, assignment that. And don’t even get me started on how you be stuck in that house with Jimmy all the damn time."  

You rolled your eyes, even though she couldn’t see you. "First of all, I am not stuck with Jimmy. We just happen to live in the same space. Not like I have a choice."  

"Uh-huh, sure. And yet, every time I ask you to come out, you got an excuse, and he's always somewhere in the background, being annoying," Bianca shot back. "One day, imma just pull up and kidnap you, no warning."  

You laughed, shaking your head. "And do what? Drag me out in my pajamas? Not happening."  

"Don’t test me. I’ll snatch you right up, bonnet and all," she teased. "Seriously, though. You need a break. When’s the last time you had fun? Like, actual fun. Not school, not arguing with Jimmy—fun."  

You hesitated, chewing on your lip. It had been a while since you let loose, but between school, deadlines, and dealing with Jimmy’s daily antics, going out just felt like another task on your already overflowing to-do list.  

"Exactly," Bianca said, as if she could hear your thoughts through the phone. "Look, just think about it. Even geniuses like you need a night off."  

You sighed, glancing toward your closed bedroom door, where you could still faintly hear Jimmy and Jey shouting at their game. "I’ll think about it."  

"That’s what you said last time," Bianca huffed. "I ain't falling for it again. You better show up, or I will come get you."  

You smiled, shaking your head. "We’ll see, B. We’ll see."  

She let out an exaggerated groan but didn’t push it further. "Fine, but don’t think I’m letting this go. I’ll call you tomorrow, and you better give me a yes."  

"Goodnight, Bianca," you said, smirking.  

"Mmhm, whatever. Goodnight, miss I got lab."  

You hung up, staring at the ceiling with a small smile. Maybe she had a point.

Your stomach let out an impatient grumble, loud enough to make you sigh in frustration. You hadn’t eaten in hours, and at this point, there was only one thing that could fix it—a slice of your favorite vanilla cake with extra whipped cream. The thought alone was enough to get you out of bed, pushing aside your tiredness as you made your way down the hall toward the kitchen.

The house was quieter than usual, with only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant noise of the TV from the living room. Normally, Jimmy would be in there, glued to whatever game had his attention for the night, but the lack of his usual shouting made you pause. Maybe he had finally gone to bed for once? That would be a miracle.

But as soon as you stepped into the kitchen, that hope vanished.

Standing by the open fridge, fork in hand, was Jimmy—mid-bite, chewing your cake like he didn’t have a single care in the world. Wearing a fitted black shirt with yellow shorts that showed too much thigh.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your brain needing an extra second to process the sheer disrespect of what you were witnessing.

"You gotta to be fucking wit' me," you said, your voice flat.

Jimmy turned his head slowly, fork still in his mouth, his expression completely unbothered. He raised an eyebrow as he chewed, finally swallowing before answering. "What?"

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you stared him down. "That was my cake, Jimmy."

He had the nerve to glance down at the plate in his hand, then back up at you with a smirk. "You sure about that?"

You let out an exasperated breath, stepping closer. "Yes, I’m sure. I’ve been thinking about that cake all damn day. It was the last slice!"

Jimmy shrugged, taking another slow, deliberate bite, as if to rub it in. "Was the last slice. Past tense."

Your jaw dropped. "You are actually the worst person I know."

He chuckled, licking a bit of whipped cream off his fork. "Damn. All this over some cake?"

You threw up your hands. "Jimmy, I needed that cake."

"You needed it?" he repeated, clearly amused. "You make it sound like life or death."

"It is!" you shot back. "I’ve had a long day, and all I wanted was to sit down, enjoy my damn cake, and go to bed happy. But noooo, because somebody just had to be greedy."

Jimmy leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, looking entirely too entertained. "Sounds like a you problem. You shoulda got here faster or sum."

"Or you could’ve just not eaten something that wasn’t yours," you snapped.

He shrugged again. "You ain't put yo name on it."

Your eye twitched. "We don’t do that in this house, Jimmy. Because normal people have respect."

Jimmy let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes as he scooped up a piece of cake with his fork. Slowly, deliberately, he strolled toward you, a smug smirk playing on his lips.  

“Here,” he said, holding the fork out in front of you, the fluffy vanilla cake and whipped cream practically taunting you. “You wanna bite?”  

Your arms folded over your chest, and you scoffed, giving him a sharp glare. “I’d rather die before I eat off of you,” you shot back, your voice dripping with defiance.  

Jimmy chuckled, tilting his head as he took another step closer. “Dramatic much?” he teased.  

You held your ground, eyes locked onto his, but the way he was staring at you—intense, playful, like he was daring you—sent a strange shiver down your spine. 

He took another step, closing the space between you, his free hand lazily slipping into the pocket of his shorts. He was close now, too close. You could smell the faint mix of his cologne and the sweet vanilla lingering on his breath.  

“What’s wrong?” he murmured, voice low, taunting. “Scared you’ll like it?”  

Your stomach tightened, but you forced yourself to scoff again, turning your head to the side. “Please, as if.”  

Jimmy let out a soft chuckle, lifting the fork slightly. “Then prove it.”  

You swallowed, glancing at the fork, then back at him. His eyes held something unreadable—dark amusement, challenge. You could feel your own stubbornness warring with the stupid, undeniable craving in your stomach.  

Your eyes flicked back to the cake, the whipped cream looking way too good to pass up.  

He smirked, sensing your hesitation. “C’mon, I ain't got all night,” he murmured, voice smooth, teasing.  

You clenched your jaw, irritation flaring, but your hunger was stronger than your pride. Damn it.  

With an exasperated sigh, you snatched his wrist, steadying his hand as you leaned in. You hesitated for half a second before finally parting your lips and taking the bite off the fork, your tongue barely brushing against the metal.  

Jimmy stilled.  

Your eyes flicked up to his as you pulled away, chewing slowly, the sweet vanilla and cream melting on your tongue.  

For a moment, neither of you spoke.  

His expression darkened just slightly, his smirk fading into something slower, heavier. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips as he stared at you, watching the way your lips closed around the fork before you finally pulled back.  

Something about the look in his eyes sent a heat crawling up your neck, your stomach twisting in a way that had nothing to do with the cake.  

You swallowed, shifting on your feet. “Happy now?” you muttered.  

Jimmy’s smirk returned, slow and knowing. He tilted his head, his voice dropping an octave.  

“Could’ve just said you wanted a taste,” he murmured.  

Your breath hitched, but you quickly covered it with an eye roll, shoving his wrist away as you stepped back.  

“Shut up, Jimmy.”  

He let out a low chuckle, his smirk never fading as he twirled the fork between his fingers. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark amusement mixed with something else—something heavier, something that made your pulse tick faster than it should have.  

"You act like you hate me," he murmured, stepping just a fraction closer, his body heat now palpable. "But here you go, eatin' off my fork."  

Your throat felt dry, but you forced yourself to roll your eyes. "I was starving, Jimmy. Don’t flatter yourself."  

He tilted his head slightly, eyes flickering between your lips and your gaze, his smirk deepening. "Mmm, nah. I think you just wanted to see what I taste like."  

Your breath caught, heart slamming against your ribs.  

"You are so full of yourself," you muttered, stepping back, but you barely moved an inch before he closed the gap again, this time with purpose.  

The air shifted—suffocating, electric. You could hear the faint drip of the kitchen sink, the hum of the refrigerator, but it all faded beneath the way Jimmy was watching you. Like he had all the time in the world to unravel you piece by piece.  

"You sure about that?" he murmured, voice low, velvety smooth.  

His free hand brushed against your hip—not fully touching, just ghosting over the fabric of your shorts, enough to send a shiver through you.  

You should have stepped away. Should have said something cutting, something to kill whatever this was. But your body wasn’t listening.  

Jimmy noticed.  

His smirk flickered into something darker, his fingers grazing up your waist, featherlight, testing, waiting for you to stop him.  

You didn’t.  

A slow, knowing hum left his lips. “Thought so,” he murmured, voice dropping even lower.  

Your breath came a little quicker, your skin tingling beneath his touch. Your body was betraying you, leaning into the heat of him.

His fingers finally landed on your chin, tilting it up slightly, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were unreadable—dangerous, teasing, but there was something else simmering beneath them. Something that sent your stomach twisting in the worst, best way.  

"You wanna taste somethin' sweet?" he murmured, his thumb barely brushing over your bottom lip. "I can give you more than just cake."  

Your breath hitched, fingers tightening at your sides.  

You just stood there. Frozen. Trapped under his gaze.  

Jimmy leaned in, slow enough for you to stop him, to push him away, but you didn’t. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your lips, his presence consuming every inch of space between you.  

Every nerve was alight, your breath coming shallow and uneven as Jimmy inched closer, the space between you shrinking to nothing. The scent of vanilla and his cologne wrapped around you, thick and intoxicating.  

"You gonna stop me?" he murmured, his lips barely brushing against yours as he spoke, his voice low, teasing.  

You should’ve. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t.  

His thumb dragged over your bottom lip, slow, deliberate, like he was testing you, waiting for any sign of resistance. When he found none, his smirk deepened, and then—  

His lips brushed yours.  

Not a full kiss, just a whisper of contact, enough to send a sharp jolt straight through you. Your breath hitched, and Jimmy noticed.  

"You’re shaking," he murmured, his free hand sliding up your side, fingers grazing your ribs, your waist—barely there, but enough to make your skin erupt in goosebumps.  

"I’m n-" You swallowed hard, but the words died in your throat.  

He took advantage of your hesitation, closing the distance entirely. His lips pressed against yours, slow at first, testing, teasing. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer, his body heat seeping into you, his hand tracing up your spine like he wanted to memorize every inch of you.  

The moment you responded, the moment you gave in and let your lips move against his, it was over.  

Jimmy deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping over your bottom lip before slipping past, claiming your mouth like he had every right to. His grip turned possessive, his fingers digging into your waist as he pressed you back against the counter.  

You let out a soft gasp against his mouth, and he groaned in response, swallowing the sound like it belonged to him.  

"You taste better than that damn cake," he muttered against your lips, nipping at your bottom lip just hard enough to make your stomach flip.  

A shiver ran through you, and your fingers instinctively gripped the front of his shirt, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you upright.  

"Jimmy, we cant—" you breathed, but it came out weak, needy, nothing like the warning you meant for it to be.  

"Shhh," he murmured, his lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. "I got you, baby."  

The nickname sent a new wave of heat through you, your body arching into him before you could think twice about it. His hands slid lower, fingers pressing into your hips, gripping you like he had no intention of letting go.  

"You still wanna act like you hate me?" he whispered against your skin, his breath hot, his voice dripping with amusement and something deeper.  

You should’ve said yes. Should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve told him this was wrong.  

But the only thing that left your lips was a soft, breathless whimper.  

Jimmy chuckled, dark and knowing.  

"Yeah," he muttered, his teeth grazing your skin before he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper. "That’s what I thought."

You knew it was a bad idea, knew you were crossing a line that could never be uncrossed, but still, you couldn’t stop. The feel of his lips against yours, the way he held you close, the pressure of his body pressing against yours—everything felt too good to resist.

You’d always found ways to make excuses, to stay just out of reach. The random times you’d bug him when you needed something opened, pretending it was just too difficult for you to handle on your own. You'd act annoyed, making a big show of how "helpless" you were, even though it was never actually hard. It was just an excuse, a reason to get him close to you. He’d always tease you about it, calling you out on how dramatic you were, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes when he did, something you’d always ignored or tried to explain away. 

Then there were the times he’d bring girls over, just to sit around in the living room, loud and carefree, as if they didn’t matter to him. The jealousy it stirred inside you was a dangerous thing. You’d play it cool, roll your eyes and pretend you didn’t care. But you did. You cared so much that it burned. It wasn’t about them, not really. It was the way he’d be with them—too casual, too friendly, not even a hint of what he shared with you. He’d stay in the living room with them for hours, laughing, talking like you weren’t there, almost like he was flaunting it. 

Every time he brought a girl around, he’d still somehow find ways to be around you. He wouldn’t let you slip away completely, not with the way he’d casually touch your arm when passing by, or the way his eyes would seek you out in a room full of people. It was almost like he wanted you to be jealous, wanted to see that spark of emotion flash in your eyes when he paid attention to someone else. But he never made a move on them. Not really. You had to wonder if he was testing you, pushing your boundaries to see how far you'd go. Or maybe, in some twisted way, he was giving you the space to make a move of your own. 

Now, there was no going back. 

His lips pulled away just long enough for you to catch your breath, his forehead resting against yours as you both tried to steady your racing hearts. His fingers were still tangled in your hair, and his other hand had drifted to your lower back, pulling you closer into him. You could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of your clothes. You could feel everything.  

“You know this is crazy, right?” you whispered, your voice shaky, unsure if you were asking him or telling yourself. 

His eyes met yours again, dark and intense, and he gave a small, crooked grin. “Yeah,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lip again. “Maybe it’s what we need, ma.”

That was the problem. It wasn’t just about him. It wasn’t just about you. It was about both of you. And maybe you both had always known this would happen. Maybe you both had been waiting for the other to make the first move.

His hand slid up beneath your oversized tee, fingers trailing against your bare skin, igniting a trail of heat in their wake. Your breath hitched, your body reacting to his touch before your mind could catch up. And god—he looked so damn good in those glasses. He rarely wore them, but when he did, it did something to you, something dangerous. It wasn’t just the way they framed his sharp features, or the way they made him look even more intense. It was the way they added to that quiet, confident arrogance of his—the way he knew exactly how they affected you.

Your lips parted, and without even thinking, you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to contain the rush of anticipation flooding through you. His eyes darkened at the sight, his pupils dilating with hunger. A low, guttural moan rumbled from his chest, deep and intoxicating, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could process it, he moved—swift, effortless, like he’d done it a thousand times before. His strong hands gripped your thighs, lifting you with no effort at all. You gasped, your arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders as he set you down onto the cool marble countertop. 

He didn’t hesitate. His lips crashed into yours again, hungrier this time, more demanding. His hands gripped your ass firmly, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel every hard line of his body pressing into you. Your fingers tangled into his hair, tugging just enough to earn another groan from him, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours.

“Fuck,” Jimmy mumbled against your lips, his voice thick with something between frustration and need. His hands roamed your sides, fingers digging into your skin like he was trying to ground himself. Your breaths mingled, heavy and uneven, as your hands moved instinctively to the hem of your shorts, pushing them down until they slipped off your legs and pooled onto the floor.

It had been over a year—too long since anyone had touched you like this. And yet, a single kiss from the one man you swore you couldn’t stand had you wetter than anyone ever had. It didn’t make sense. It was crazy. But you didn’t care.

Jimmy broke the kiss, his gaze trailing down your body until it settled on your yellow lace thong. The way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes darkened—it sent a rush of heat straight through you. You didn’t even have to look down to know how hard he was. His breathing was labored, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he undid his pants, never once breaking eye contact.

“You hate me for real, huh?” His voice was low, teasing, but thick with something deeper, something desperate.

Your eyes locked onto his, and you forced out a soft, defiant, “Mhm.” But it came out as a whimper, betraying the war raging inside you.

His smirk was slow, knowing. “Yeah?”

Before you could say anything else, his pants and boxers hit the floor, and your breath hitched.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your fingers twitching against the countertop as anticipation curled low in your stomach.

And that’s when you felt it—the hard press of him against you, only the thin lace of your thong keeping you apart. A sharp gasp slipped past your lips, swallowed instantly by his mouth as he kissed you deeper, his hands gripping your thighs, keeping you locked in place. Your fingers curled into his shoulders, nails digging in as a shudder ran through you.  

“You still hate me?” he murmured, his voice teasing but rough, his breath hot against your lips.  

Your eyes fluttered open, locking onto his, clouded with a mix of defiance and something dangerously close to surrender. “Ye—yeah,” you mumbled, though the tremble in your voice betrayed you.  

His smirk was slow, knowing. His grip tightened, his fingers flexing against your hips. “Bet”  

Before you could say anything else, he stretched you—slow, deliberate, making sure you felt every inch of his dick claiming you. Your mouth fell open, a soundless moan escaping as your body arched into him. His forehead rested against yours, both of you caught in the moment, breathing each other in.  

Your hands clutched at his back, nails dragging along his skin as he pulled you impossibly closer, filling you to the hilt. The heat, the tension, the months of unspoken rivalry and buried longing—it all exploded into something neither of you could stop now.  

And you didn’t want to.

Jimmy moved slowly, setting a rhythm that had your breath hitching with every deep, calculated stroke. You were used to men who rushed, who chased their own pleasure without thinking about yours. But Jimmy—he took his time, like he had something to prove. Like he wanted you to feel every inch of what he was doing to you.  

A shaky breath escaped your lips as your fingers curled against his shoulders. “J-Jimmy…”  

His grip tightened on your hips, his mouth ghosting over the shell of your ear. “What, baby?” His voice was thick, teasing, but there was something raw beneath it.  

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as you arched into him. “I—” Your words faltered, another breathy whimper slipping free as he rocked into you again, slow and deep.  

He chuckled lowly, his lips trailing down your jaw, pressing lazy kisses along your skin. “You always talk back, always got somethin’ smart to say,” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. His hands slid up your sides, fingertips brushing under your oversized tee. “But look at you now… all quiet for me.”  

Your nails dug into his back, frustration bubbling in your chest. “Shut up,” you muttered, your voice barely a whisper.  

Jimmy smirked against your skin, his grip tightening. “Nah, you love this shit,” he murmured. “Ain’t nobody ever taken their time with you, huh? Always quick, always rough… but that’s not what you need.”  

You bit your lip, refusing to admit how right he was.  

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression dark, hungry. “When a man really wanna fuck a woman, he don’t rush it. He wanna feel that pussy. That’s the whole fuckin’ point, mama.”  

A shudder ran through you, your breath coming out in short, uneven gasps. He was ruining you, and he knew it.  

“Tell me you still hate me,” he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips as he rolled his hips just right.  

You wanted to. You wanted to hold onto that last shred of defiance. But all that left your lips was a shaky, breathless moan.

His grip tightened as he leaned in, lips brushing over the shell of your ear. “Say it,” he murmured, voice thick with control. “Tell me you don’t hate me, baby.”  

Your breath hitched, every nerve in your body on fire. “I—I don’t hate you, Jimmy,” you panted, barely able to form the words as his dick hit every sweet spot in your body.  

He hummed in satisfaction, his hands gripping your thighs, keeping you right where he wanted. “Mmh, I know,” he rasped, his dark gaze locked onto yours. “You just needed some dick, didn’t you?”  

Your heart pounded, fingers digging into his shoulders. You didn’t answer, couldn’t. But he wasn’t letting you off that easy. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Say it.”  

A soft whimper escaped your lips, your head nodding before you could stop yourself. His smirk deepened, his grip tightening as he watched you unravel beneath him.  

The tension coiled tighter, every inch of your body wound up and desperate for release. “Jimmy—Yes…” Your words trailed off into a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut as the pressure built.  

He read you instantly, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “Cum on this dick, baby. I got you.”  

And just like that, you shattered, a breathless moan slipping past your lips as your body gave in. He held you through it, his hands steady, his eyes never leaving yours.  

“Damn,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours as you caught your breath. Jimmy didn’t let up. His grip on you was firm as he pulled you down to your feet, spinning you around with ease. His hands guided you, pressing your front against the counter as his body crowded you from behind.  

“Arch that back for me,” he murmured, voice thick with command.  

You obeyed without hesitation, your fingers gripping the cool surface as he slid inside of you, teasing, taking his time. Your breath hitched, a desperate whimper escaping your lips.  

“Damn,” he groaned, sliding an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Knew you just needed me to take care of you.”  

Your head fell forward, your lips parting. “Please…”  

He smirked at the way the word rolled off your tongue. “Yeah, baby?”  

You couldn’t form the words. Your thoughts were a blur, tangled in the heat of the moment.  

He chuckled darkly, his fingers trailing down your spine. “Mmh, all that attitude, all that ‘I hate you’ talk—where it at now?”  

You bit your lip, trying to hold on to whatever fight you had left, but it was useless. His fingers slid lower, finding your clit with ease. A sharp gasp escaped you, your body trembling under his touch.  

“Thought so,” he muttered, his lips brushing against your shoulder. His fingers moved faster as he coaxed you closer to the edge. “And you ain’t done yet, baby. You gonna gimme another one before I let up.”  

A desperate whimper slipped from your lips. “Yeah?”  

He hummed in satisfaction, his fingers working fast but firm, knowing exactly how to unravel you. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “And you gon’ take it.”  

Your body tensed, heat pooling low in your stomach as the sensation built higher, stronger, consuming every part of you.  

“Jimmy—” Your voice broke, your grip on the counter tightening as a wave of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you breathless.  

A deep groan rumbled from his chest, his arms holding you close as he followed, his breath heavy, his hands still gripping you like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.  

“fffuuuckk,” he muttered, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl.”  

Your knees felt weak, your breath shaky, but he held you steady, his lips ghosting over your skin as if savoring the moment.  

“You still hate me?” he murmured against your ear, his voice teasing, smug.  

You let out a breathless laugh, too dazed to even pretend anymore. “Shut up, Jimmy.”  

His chuckle was low, knowing. “ight.”

The night unfolded in a blur of tension and connection, each moment between you and Jimmy pulling you deeper into something unplanned. You moved through the apartment together. His dick was inside of you in the living room, slow and intense, his hands exploring with a mix of desire and tenderness. Every room, every new position felt deliberate.

It wasn’t just about the heat between you—it was the quiet tenderness in his touches, the way he’d pull you close, his hand brushing through your hair. With each passing moment, it became clear: this wasn’t a fleeting thing. Whatever had sparked between you two, it was something deeper than you’d expected. And as the night ended, you couldn’t help but wonder where it would lead.

[itsnesss]

ik ur requests are close so u can do this whenever if ever u want but can u do something where myung gi and reader hate each other but just cant get away from each other and one time reader couldn’t sleep and saw myung gi awake so u went to his get and sat herself down and got comfortable and hes all confused and is like “what are you doing” and they just talk and soon fall asleep and wake up cuddling each other

i hope this makes sense sorry for the long request 😓

𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 | lee myung-gi (player 333) × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | angst, confusion, unresolved tension, emotional vulnerability, close proximity

word count | 1.8 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The darkness of the room stretches around you, and although you close your eyes, sleep seems to elude you, as it always does when you need it most. The silence is heavy, dense, but it’s not the kind of silence that comforts you. It’s the kind of silence that invites you to think, to remember all the reasons you hate the person so close to you.

You turn in bed again and again, but the discomfort persists. The hatred you share with Myung-gi has never been easy to handle, but there’s something in him that keeps you trapped.

You know he’s awake. You’ve been hearing his labored breathing for quite a while. At first, you thought you could bear it, but in the end, you realize you need something more than that. Something you can’t define. Something that pushes you to get out of bed and move closer to him, without thinking twice.

You approach his bed, your heart beating faster as you draw near. When you reach his side, he turns toward you, his eyes flickering between surprise and irritation. His posture, always so tense, is filled with that arrogance that frustrates you, but somehow, something in his gaze makes you stay, unsure.

Without saying a word, you lie down next to him. The silence that fills the room is awkward, but you can’t help but feel that, despite everything you share, there’s something liberating about being there, close to him, even though you won’t admit it. The warmth of his body beside you feels strangely comforting, as if a weight you didn’t know you were carrying lightens, although deep down, you know it’s a trap.

After a few seconds, his voice breaks the silence.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his tone low but filled with confusion, as if he can’t understand why you approached him.

You don’t know how to respond, not in words. You decide to be direct because bluntness is all you have between the two of you.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you say, looking up to avoid his gaze. The words seem empty, but it’s the closest to the truth you can get at that moment.

A long silence falls between the two of you. His breathing remains steady, but the atmosphere has changed, as if something invisible has intervened between you. You feel ridiculous for being there, but something tells you that you shouldn’t move. It’s easier to stay still, say nothing, and let time pass.

Finally, he whispers, almost as if he were talking to himself.

“This doesn’t make sense.”

Your chest tightens with a mixture of frustration and something else, something you don’t want to admit. Why does it affect you so much? Why are you still here, close to him, when all you’ve done is fight, despise him?

“I know,” you answer softly. The truth is there, in the air between you two. None of this makes sense, but you can’t explain why you stay.

The conversation fades for a moment, only the sound of your breaths blending in the silence. You feel that what you both share is a never-ending war, one you can’t win but also can’t abandon.

“You know?” you finally say, breaking the silence. You feel vulnerable speaking, but you can’t help it. “Sometimes... I wish things were different.”

You surprise yourself by saying it, but the confession is out of your control. The hatred you feel for him doesn’t go away, but something in you longs for things not to always be this way. Something in you wants him to drop the mask of indifference, that way of not taking a step toward resolution.

He doesn’t respond immediately. You have the sense that he’s thinking, weighing what you just said. When he finally speaks, he does so in a low voice, almost as if it were something personal.

“That will never happen,” he says, and in his words is a tone of resignation, as if he knows it too.

The sound of his breathing fills the room again. The calm overtakes you, as if the fact that you both know it at the same time is enough for the tension to dissipate, even if just for a brief moment. The hatred, the frustration, all seems to slowly drift away.

The conversation continues in small moments, between ironic jokes and comfortable silences, until, without realizing it, you both fall into a deep sleep.

As you open your eyes, you realize something is wrong, but you can’t identify what it is. The warmth beside you confuses you. Your mind is still half asleep, and it’s then that you realize: you’re in his arms. His body is close, closer than you’ve ever allowed it to be. Your heart races and an uncomfortable feeling runs through you, but it’s strangely warm.

You stay still, almost waiting for it all to fade away, for it to simply be a weird dream, but it’s not. The contact of his arm around you, the sensation of his breath near your neck, is real. Somehow, you can’t stop it, but the fact that you’re there, in his embrace, leaves you completely bewildered.

The silence is as heavy as before, but this time, there’s something different in the air. The discomfort begins to grow, and you can’t help but think that all of this is a mistake. It’s then that, at the same time, you both realize the position you’re in, and without thinking, you pull apart in a leap, as clumsy as if you didn’t know how to react. It’s a rushed, almost awkward movement, as if the fear of being so close to the other blinded you for a moment.

You quickly get up from the bed, your hands slightly trembling as you search for an excuse that doesn’t come. Looking at the floor, you struggle to maintain your composure, but you realize how absurd it all has been.

“This...” you say, your voice slightly shaky. “This doesn’t make sense.”

You feel ridiculous, looking for an escape when, deep down, you know there’s nowhere to go. Myung-gi gets up as well, his expression serious, although you can see that he’s also trying to hide how bewildered he is.

“It wasn’t...” he begins, but the words don’t seem to come out of his mouth as they normally do. He stops, not knowing how to continue.

You’re both there, completely out of place, not knowing how to handle the situation. The tension builds again between you, but this time it’s different. It’s not the same tension as before, the one from the fights, from the confrontations. It’s something else, something confusing, that neither of you knows how to explain.

You blush as you realize how close you were to him, how much the simple fact of sharing that space affected you.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” you murmur, feeling the weight of your own words.

Myung-gi doesn’t respond immediately, and you realize that, for once, he doesn’t have an answer either. He pulls away slightly, as if the space between you two is necessary for both of you to process it all, but the atmosphere remains charged, as if something invisible had bound you together unwillingly.

“This doesn’t have to happen again,” he says finally, although he doesn’t sound entirely convinced by his own words.

You, on your part, don’t respond. You don’t know what to say. The words get stuck in your throat because, deep down, you realize that, even though you wish this hadn’t happened, a part of you knows something has changed. And that feeling is what truly scares you.

[blondemrk]

CHALLENGERS ᯓ⚽︎ jeno + jaemin written series

wc 26.1k

✎ elis note . . hi!! just to clarify, there is a lot of timeskips within each grade! if you have seen the movie you know there are a lot of timeskips in it! if you are confused at any point feel free to leave an ask and i will clarify. be prepared to have ur heart CRUSHED. thank you for reading and remember this is only chapter 1

chapters 1 2 3 masterlist

FRESHMAN YEAR

the sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the college soccer field where tryouts were underway. y/n stood among the other girls, stretching her legs and loosening her shoulders, her mind racing with the anticipation of the upcoming drills. she had spent countless hours training for this moment—the opportunity to showcase her skills on a bigger stage, to prove that she belonged here just as much as anyone else.

though the focus of the day was on the girls’ team, her eyes kept drifting across the field toward the boys’ team. they were positioned on the opposite side, running through warm-up drills, and among them stood two players who had already made an impression on her—jaemin and jeno.

jaemin had an easy confidence about him, the way he carried himself effortlessly on the ball, dodging defenders and pulling off cheeky flicks. he seemed to be constantly smiling, teasing his teammates as he played. there was something about his energy that made him stand out, and y/n couldn’t help but watch him for a moment longer than she meant to.

jeno, on the other hand, was more reserved. he wasn’t flashy like jaemin, but his quiet intensity was just as captivating. y/n watched him as he moved with precision, his eyes sharp as he read the game, anticipating every pass and movement. he wasn’t loud like jaemin, but there was something in his demeanor that demanded respect.

the whistle blew, signaling the start of the drills, and y/n quickly turned her attention back to her own team, reminding herself of the task at hand. she wasn’t here to watch the boys; she was here to make the team.

a few drills in, y/n found herself in the middle of a fast-paced passing sequence. she was doing well, keeping up with her teammates, but as the ball came to her, it took an awkward bounce. she scrambled to regain control, but before she could, a figure from the other side of the field appeared out of nowhere, intercepting the ball with a swift flick of his foot.

it was jaemin. he grinned playfully as he jogged past her, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and challenge.

“careful, you almost had it there,” jaemin said, his voice light and teasing. “but i guess i’m just too fast for you.”

y/n shot him a quick look, her competitive streak immediately flaring up. “you got lucky,” she said with a grin, hoping to mask the fact that she’d been caught off guard. “let’s see if you can keep that up.”

jaemin chuckled and walked backwards towards his side of the field, clearly enjoying the exchange. his playful demeanor was hard to miss, and it only fueled y/n’s desire to show him just what she was capable of.

after hours of drills, scrimmages, and practice games, the tryouts were finally coming to a close. the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. y/n, jaemin, and jeno, despite being on opposite teams, found themselves in a shared moment of exhaustion, the competitive tension still hanging in the air between them.

as the coaches gathered the players for one final huddle, jaemin jogged over to y/n, his usual grin in place.

“hey, you did pretty well out there,” he said, a little out of breath but clearly impressed. “didn’t expect you to be that fast.”

jeno, who had been standing nearby, spoke up quietly from behind. “she’s a good player.” he said, his voice low but with a note of sincerity.

y/n was taken aback for a moment by his comment. jeno wasn’t one to offer praise lightly, and she couldn’t help but feel a flicker of respect for him in return.

“thanks,” she said, offering him a small smile. “maybe i’ll make things interesting for you guys this season.”

jaemin’s eyes sparkled at her words, and he raised an eyebrow. “don’t get too cocky now. let's see if you even make the team. rosters come out this friday.”

as the players began to head off the field, y/n felt the excitement of the day’s tryouts settle in. she hadn’t just impressed the coaches—she had caught the attention of jaemin and jeno, two players who had already proven themselves to be forces on the field. there was something about the competitive energy between them that felt like the beginning of something more, a rivalry that would fuel their future interactions and maybe even something else.

for now, though, y/n was just focused on one thing: earning her place on the team. 

a couple of days had passed since the intense tryouts, and the anticipation was starting to get to y/n. after all the sweat and effort she’d put into the drills, she couldn’t help but feel anxious. she had a good feeling about making the girls' soccer team, but that nervous energy still lingered, buzzing in her chest.

the gym doors were open, and as y/n made her way toward the bulletin board to check the final rosters, she could already see a small crowd gathered around. some players were chatting nervously, while others stood in tense silence, waiting for confirmation.

as she walked up, her heart skipped a beat. she didn’t even need to scan the list for long. there it was—her name was on the girls’ team roster. a breath of relief left her lips, but before she could fully process the excitement, she heard a familiar voice.

“hey, looks like you made it.”

y/n turned around to find jaemin walking toward her, a grin already plastered on his face. he was holding his phone in one hand and a water bottle in the other, clearly unfazed by the moment. he paused when he noticed her standing in front of the board and gave her a knowing look.

“guess you’re in, huh?”

y/n shot him a look of mock disbelief. “i’m not even surprised that you’re here already,” she said with a small smirk. “were you waiting for me?”

jaemin let out a short laugh, clearly enjoying himself. “not waiting. just knew you’d be here sooner or later. we all know how important this moment is.”

she rolled her eyes playfully, but the nerves that had been there moments ago were quickly replaced by the warmth of his teasing. jaemin had always had that way about him—making everything feel just a little more light-hearted.

“so, what’s the verdict for you?” she asked, her voice a little more casual now that the tension was broken.

jaemin checked his phone one more time before giving a small shrug. “of course i made it,” he said confidently. “i told you, we’re too good.”

y/n chuckled, shaking her head at his typical overconfidence. “yeah, yeah. of course you would say that.”

before she could say more, another figure appeared at the edge of the crowd, and y/n felt her heart skip again when she saw it was jeno. he had a quiet presence about him, yet it seemed like everyone always knew when he entered a room. his eyes scanned the board, his focus intense. he was clearly a bit more reserved than jaemin, but she couldn’t help but feel the tension between them—like he was always observing, quietly sizing up the situation.

jeno stood there for a moment before finally stepping forward, his gaze flicking between y/n and jaemin.

“made it,” jeno said simply, though there was a hint of pride in his voice. he wasn’t one to boast, but the way his lips curled upward suggested that he wasn’t completely unaffected by the moment.

“of course,” y/n said with a smirk, “you were too good not to make it.”

jaemin glanced between them, a gleam in his eye. “yeah, no surprise. the team’s already got some serious competition with us in it.”

y/n raised an eyebrow. “you’re not getting too cocky already, are you?”

jaemin grinned. “i wouldn’t be jaemin if i didn’t.”

jeno, however, kept his usual calm demeanor. “the real work starts now,” he said, his voice steady. “we’ve still got a lot to prove, no matter what roster we’re on.”

y/n couldn’t help but nod in agreement. jeno was always the type to keep his focus on what came next, and it was part of what made him so dangerous on the field.

“well, i guess i’m looking forward to seeing you both play,” y/n said

the three of them stood there for a moment in comfortable silence, the weight of the moment slowly sinking in. they had all made it onto their respective teams, but it was more than just a roster spot now. it was a start to something new. the season ahead would test them in ways they hadn’t fully anticipated, and their interactions—already laced with hints of competitive tension—would only grow more intense as time went on.

“so, what’s next?” y/n asked, breaking the silence and glancing between jaemin and jeno. “now that we’re all here, do we get to start training, or do we have to wait for the coaches to give us the real schedule?”

jeno shrugged slightly, his expression thoughtful. “i’m sure they’ll get us all organized soon enough. but i’m ready to start anytime.”

jaemin raised his eyebrows, looking over at y/n with a grin. “well, looks like you’ll be on the opposite side of the field from me. try not to get too frustrated when i score a few goals.”

y/n laughed, not feeling the sting of his words but rather the playful challenge that came with it. “we’ll see about that. you’ve got nothing on me.”

jaemin chuckled. “we’ll see.”

jeno, standing quietly to the side, offered a small but sincere smile. “see you both on the field,” he said, before turning and walking off, leaving jaemin and y/n to continue their banter.

as y/n watched jeno leave, she felt a surge of excitement. this season would be different. with jaemin’s playful competitiveness, jeno’s quiet intensity, and her own drive to prove herself, there was no doubt that things were going to get interesting.

the weeks passed by quickly, and while y/n’s days were filled with the usual grind of practice, studying, and balancing life as a college student, there was an undeniable shift in her relationship with jaemin and jeno. though they were on different teams, their interactions outside of practice—at lunch, between classes, and during the rare moments when their paths crossed after a game—became more frequent.

jaemin’s playful, cocky personality made him easy to talk to. he’d often tease y/n, joking around about how the boys' team was clearly superior to the girls' team (though y/n knew better). but over time, she noticed a different side to him. when the competition wasn’t in full swing, he was surprisingly thoughtful and considerate. he’d listen intently when she spoke about her personal struggles or frustrations, offering advice in his own carefree yet comforting way.

“don’t let it get to you,” jaemin would say, his usual teasing replaced by a more sincere tone. “you’re good, y/n. don’t forget that.”

y/n had to admit—there was something comforting about his presence. he made her feel like she could take on anything, even if the pressure was starting to get to her. the endless competition between their teams was exhausting, but when jaemin was around, she felt like she could laugh it off.

jeno, on the other hand, was quieter, but there was an unmistakable kindness in his demeanor. though their practices didn’t overlap, they would often find themselves walking to class together or sitting at the same table in the campus café. he didn’t speak as much as jaemin, but when he did, it was always with thoughtfulness and depth.

during one particular afternoon after class, y/n found herself sitting with jeno, both of them sipping on iced coffees as they talked about the season. jaemin had walked off with some of his teammates after a game earlier that day, and jeno had ended up walking with her instead.

“you’ve been playing really well,” jeno remarked, his eyes scanning her face as though trying to gauge her thoughts. “i’ve noticed you’ve been pushing yourself in the last few games.”

y/n smiled, but there was a hint of exhaustion in her eyes. “i guess i have to. the competition’s getting tougher, and it feels like there’s more on the line now. the season’s just started, but it already feels like everything’s building up to something.”

“i get that,” jeno responded quietly. “the boys’ team is tough, too. every match is a challenge, but it pushes us all to be better.”

y/n nodded, appreciative of jeno’s understanding. “i think that’s the hardest part,” she said. “the pressure. i want to be at my best, but sometimes it feels like i’m just trying to catch up.”

jeno looked at her for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully. “you’re not behind,” he said, his tone steady. “you’re right where you need to be. just don’t rush it. we all grow at different paces.”

there was something reassuring in the way he spoke, a calmness that seemed to settle the restless thoughts swirling in her mind. he wasn’t one to give long speeches, but when he did, it had a way of making everything seem clearer.

as the season progressed, y/n found herself spending more time with both jaemin and jeno, and in a way, she had become a bridge between their worlds. despite being on opposite sides of the field, y/n understood how to balance their competitive natures. jaemin’s boldness clashed with jeno’s quiet intensity, but y/n was able to navigate both personalities with ease. she became their sounding board—jaemin would vent to her about the boys’ team, while jeno would talk to her about his focus on improving, his quiet observations of the team dynamic, and how he wasn’t sure if he was pushing himself enough.

one evening after practice, y/n found herself in a small study group with jaemin and jeno, sitting outside the library and working on an assignment that had been lingering on her to-do list. jaemin, ever the extrovert, had managed to convince both her and jeno to take a break from their work and grab coffee together.

“so,” jaemin said, leaning back in his chair and stretching as he glanced between y/n and jeno, “you two talk a lot, huh?”

y/n raised an eyebrow. “what do you mean?”

jaemin grinned. “i mean, jeno’s all quiet and mysterious, but i swear when you two are together, you just get each other. like you’re on the same wavelength or something.”

jeno, who had been focused on the assignment in front of him, looked up at jaemin’s comment, his expression neutral. “we talk about soccer,” he said simply. “it’s easy to relate.”

y/n chuckled, teasing, “i think jaemin’s just jealous. he doesn’t get the same level of understanding from us.”

jaemin laughed. “i get plenty of understanding from people who know how to appreciate my brilliance.” he gave jeno a playful nudge, but it was clear that he was only half-joking.

jeno, in his typical calm manner, shrugged and then turned to y/n with a soft smile. “i don’t mind it,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically light. “it’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

jaemin seemed to sense the shift in jeno’s tone, but instead of pushing further, he let it go. instead, he turned his attention back to y/n. “you really do balance us out, you know?” he said, his voice more sincere this time. “between me always being the loud one and jeno being the quiet one, you’re like the perfect mediator.”

y/n smiled, grateful for the acknowledgment, though she didn’t want to make it sound like it was all about her. “i guess i just know how to handle you both. you’re not as different as you think.”

jeno’s lips curved into a small smile, and for the briefest moment, it felt like the three of them weren’t rivals from different teams. they were just friends, united by their shared experiences on the field, their growing understanding of each other, and their mutual respect.

though the season was still young, y/n couldn’t help but feel that, in some strange way, this dynamic—being the bridge between two competitive worlds—was exactly where she was meant to be.

the shift had been gradual, almost imperceptible at first. the teasing between jaemin and y/n grew more flirtatious, and the moments they spent together outside of practice began to feel more intimate. at first, it was harmless—just the two of them joking around, teasing one another, and enjoying each other’s company. but soon, something deeper began to take root.

one night, after a long practice session, y/n found herself sitting next to jaemin on the bleachers, the rest of the team scattered around the field, cooling down. the air was crisp, and the stadium lights bathed the space in a soft glow. jaemin had been unusually quiet, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his water bottle.

“so,” y/n broke the silence, nudging him with her shoulder, “you’ve been in a weird mood tonight. what’s going on?”

jaemin looked at her, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “nothing. just thinking.”

“thinking? about what?” y/n raised an eyebrow, curious.

jaemin leaned closer, his tone dropping into something more serious, though there was still a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “about us.”

y/n blinked, her heart skipping a beat. “us?”

jaemin’s smirk widened, and he leaned back, a confident swagger returning to him. “yeah, you know, us. i’ve been thinking maybe it’s time we took this thing between us to the next level.”

the words hung in the air for a moment before y/n could process them. she’d known that jaemin had been flirting with her, but to hear him actually say it out loud—well, it caught her off guard. but something about the way he said it, the light in his eyes, made her heart flutter.

“you mean… like, dating?” y/n asked, her voice softer than she intended.

jaemin nodded, his smile never faltering. “yeah, exactly. i mean, we’ve been spending a lot of time together, right? and i don’t know about you, but i think there’s something here.”

y/n couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him, the connection that had been building over time. jaemin was fun, easy to talk to, and the chemistry between them was undeniable. she had started to notice the way his smile made her heart race, how his touch lingered just a little longer than necessary.

and yet, there was something nagging at the back of her mind. but the pull to say yes was strong. maybe it was the thrill of something new, or maybe it was the simple fact that jaemin had always been there, cheering her on and making her laugh when she needed it the most.

“i… yeah, i think i’d like that,” she said, the words feeling right as they left her lips.

jaemin’s grin grew wider, and in that moment, y/n couldn’t help but feel like she was making the right choice. his arm slipped around her shoulders, and she let him pull her into a casual embrace. it was easy, comforting, and she couldn’t remember the last time she felt this at ease with someone.

“i knew you’d come around,” jaemin teased, his voice light and playful. “you won’t regret it.”

the next few weeks passed in a whirlwind. jaemin and y/n fell into a rhythm, spending more time together both on and off the field. it felt like the beginning of something real, something exciting. they would grab lunch after practice, hang out with friends on the weekends, and sometimes, they would just sit in the library and study together. jaemin was the one who made her laugh when she needed it most, and she became his quiet support when things were tough.

but despite the obvious chemistry between them, there was an underlying tension, one that neither jaemin nor y/n could sense—but jeno certainly could.

jeno had always been quiet, observant, and good at reading people. it was no surprise that he had noticed the subtle shift between y/n and jaemin. he wasn’t blind to the way they had grown closer, how they’d spent more time together, how their interactions had become more intimate.

and while he genuinely wanted to be happy for them—he did, really—there was an ache in his chest that he couldn’t shake. jeno had always admired y/n from afar, ever since their first days at college. but over time, those quiet moments they had shared began to mean more to him than he could admit. he wasn’t the type to express his feelings easily, and when jaemin made his move, jeno had never once considered that his own feelings for y/n ran deeper than friendship.

now, watching them together was like a slow burn. every time he saw them laughing together or sharing a casual touch, a pang of jealousy twisted in his stomach, but he kept it all to himself. the last thing he wanted was to be the third wheel, especially with someone like jaemin who could make everything seem effortless.

one afternoon, after a particularly intense practice session, y/n and jaemin were talking about their upcoming match when jeno approached them. his usual calm expression was still there, but there was something in his eyes that y/n couldn’t quite place.

“hey,” jeno greeted them with a small nod, his voice a little quieter than usual.

jaemin immediately flashed a grin, ever the extrovert. “what’s up, jeno? you here to remind us that we should be focusing right now?”

jeno’s lips twitched, but the smile never quite reached his eyes. “something like that.”

y/n could sense a slight tension between the two of them, but she couldn’t put her finger on why it felt off. jaemin was still his usual teasing self, but jeno seemed to be holding back, as though something was weighing on him.

“you alright?” y/n asked, her tone concerned. “you seem a little off.”

jeno hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking between her and jaemin. then, after a beat, he shook his head. “yeah, just… tired. it’s been a long week.”

y/n nodded, giving him a sympathetic look. “i get that. we’ve all been pushing ourselves hard lately. let me know if you need anything.”

“thanks,” jeno murmured, offering a small smile before walking off, his steps quieter than usual.

jaemin watched him go, a slight frown forming on his face. “what was that about?” he asked, glancing at y/n. “he didn’t seem like himself.”

y/n shrugged. “i don’t know. maybe he’s just stressed about the match.”

but in the pit of her stomach, she couldn’t help but feel like there was more to it. jeno had always been the quiet one, but this sudden distance, this quiet tension—it felt like something was brewing underneath the surface.

what y/n didn’t realize was that jeno’s feelings for her weren’t something he could easily ignore. and while he would never voice it out loud, every smile she gave jaemin, every casual touch between them, felt like a painful reminder that what he had silently hoped for was never going to be.

SOPHOMORE YEAR

the championship game was the event everyone had been waiting for. sitting in the stands, jaemins jersey on her back. the air was thick with anticipation as the boys' soccer team prepared for what would be the most important match of the season. y/n sat in the stands, a sea of excited fans around her, but her attention was fixed on the field below. her heart was racing, knowing how much this game meant to her friends, especially jaemin and jeno. the entire team had worked tirelessly for this moment, but more than that, she knew how badly jaemin wanted to win. 

her eyes swept over the field, finding jaemin at the center. he was full of energy, dancing around defenders with a cocky grin plastered on his face. the game had started off fast, both teams evenly matched, but jaemin’s confidence was evident. as usual, he was the one to take charge, and the rest of the boys followed suit.

beside him, jeno was more composed. y/n had always admired jeno’s quiet strength—the way he seemed to let his actions do the talking. his steady and calculated style of play was the perfect counterbalance to jaemin’s more energetic and show-off demeanor.

as the game went on, it became clear that it was going to be an intense battle. every pass, every shot, every tackle mattered. the crowd was on the edge of their seats, the atmosphere electric. but then, a pivotal moment came in the second half.

jaemin had just stolen the ball from an opponent and was charging toward the goal with a fierce determination in his eyes. the entire stadium was on their feet, cheering him on as he neared the box, only a few steps away from a perfect opportunity to score. but before jaemin could strike, an opposing player lunged forward, tackling him hard from the side.

y/n gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as jaemin crashed to the ground, his body twisting awkwardly with the force of the impact. the stadium went silent, and even the opposing team seemed to hesitate for a moment, unsure of what had just happened. jaemin stayed down, clutching his leg, his face contorted in pain.

the referee immediately blew the whistle, and players from both teams rushed toward jaemin. y/n’s heart pounded in her chest as she stood up, her eyes glued to him. she could see the way his body was trembling as he attempted to sit up. it was clear something was wrong.

“jaemin!” she shouted from the stands, her voice breaking through the noise. she saw him grimace as he tried to move his leg, but it was no use. he couldn’t put any weight on it.

jeno, who had been near jaemin when the tackle occurred, was the first to reach his teammate. his usual calm was replaced with a quiet urgency as he crouched next to jaemin, his expression hard to read.

“jaemin, are you okay?” jeno asked, his voice laced with concern.

jaemin clenched his teeth. “i—i don’t know. i think i twisted my ankle. i can’t move it.”

jeno’s face darkened. “stay still. let the medics check you out.”

the medical team rushed to the scene, quickly assessing jaemin’s condition before helping him off the field. the entire stadium held its breath as jaemin hobbled off, leaning heavily on jeno for support.

y/n’s hands gripped the railing of the stands as she watched jaemin being led to the bench. her stomach twisted in knots—this was the championship game, and jaemin had just been sidelined. she could see the frustration on his face as he was helped to sit on the bench, his eyes filled with anger and disbelief.

with jaemin off the field, the boys’ team was suddenly without their star player. the coach called a timeout, gathering the team around to strategize, but the mood was somber. jaemin had been a key player, and without him, the boys’ team seemed to lose their momentum. y/n’s gaze shifted to jeno, who was now stepping forward in the absence of his teammate.

jeno didn’t hesitate. his calm, measured demeanor was exactly what the team needed at that moment. while the rest of the players seemed rattled, jeno remained steady, his focus sharper than ever.

y/n watched as he took charge, organizing plays and leading his team with quiet authority. he was still jeno—his usual reserved self—but today, there was something different. he wasn’t just playing for the team anymore; he was playing for jaemin, for the game, and for the glory that had seemed to slip away the moment jaemin went down.

the tension in the stands grew with every passing minute. the game was still neck-and-neck, but jeno’s leadership was starting to turn the tide. his passes were impeccable, his vision of the field precise. with each move, he seemed to elevate the entire team, pulling them back from the brink of defeat.

then, in the dying minutes of the game, jeno did something that sealed his place as the hero of the match. he seized a loose ball, dodged an opponent, and took a shot that sent the ball sailing into the back of the net.

the stadium erupted in cheers, but y/n couldn’t help but feel a bittersweet pang in her chest. the boys’ team had won, and jeno was the one who had secured their victory—but it came at a price. jaemin wasn’t there to share the glory. his injury had stolen that moment from him, and now, jeno was the one in the spotlight.

after the game, the boys’ team celebrated their victory, but it was clear that the win was tainted by jaemin’s injury. the atmosphere was a mix of celebration and uncertainty, with players high-fiving and congratulating each other, but their eyes constantly flicking toward the bench where jaemin sat, his leg propped up and his ankle wrapped in ice.

y/n approached jaemin as he sat quietly, his face a mask of frustration. he forced a smile when he saw her, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“hey, you did great out there,” y/n said, trying to comfort him, but her voice was full of concern.

jaemin shrugged, his tone dismissive. “it doesn’t matter now, does it? i’m stuck on the sidelines while jeno takes my spot.”

y/n’s heart sank. “jaemin—”

“no, really,” jaemin interrupted, his voice edged with bitterness. “he played well, didn’t he? took charge, scored the winning goal. now the team’s going to think he’s the new leader.”

y/n didn’t know how to respond. she knew that jaemin’s injury had shaken him more than he was letting on. he had always been the center of attention, the one everyone relied on. now, that position had shifted, and he couldn’t help but feel betrayed by his own body.

from across the field, jeno was talking with some of the other players, but his usual calm demeanor seemed to be weighed down by something more. when his eyes briefly met jaemin’s, there was a flicker of something—a silent understanding—and then jeno quickly looked away, returning to his conversation.

y/n’s gaze shifted back and forth between the two of them, and she couldn’t ignore the shift in their friendship. jaemin’s injury had opened up a rift that neither of them seemed ready to address, but the strain was becoming more and more palpable.

she knew that jeno hadn’t done anything wrong. he had played his part, stepped up when the team needed him. but she also knew that jaemin wasn’t one to take kindly to being sidelined, especially when he had worked so hard for this moment. and now, there was a quiet tension that neither of them was acknowledging—but it was there, hovering between them, thickening the air.

as she stood between the two of them, y/n couldn’t help but feel like everything had changed. the victory, the injury, the unspoken feelings—it was all too much for her to handle. she had always been the bridge between jaemin and jeno, but now, she wasn’t sure if she could hold them together any longer.

the days after the championship game were tense, like a storm waiting to break. jaemin’s injury was the kind that required rest and patience, but the emotional toll it was taking on him was becoming evident. he spent more time alone, nursing his injury, and less time with the team. he could feel the frustration bubbling inside him—every time he watched the boys play, every time he saw jeno step into the spotlight, the bitterness grew.

jeno, on the other hand, seemed to be carrying the weight of the team’s victory. he’d been praised for his performance, and while he appreciated the recognition, something in him felt uneasy. it wasn’t just the fact that he’d replaced jaemin in the game—he knew jaemin hadn’t taken his injury well. what jeno hadn’t expected, though, was how deeply jaemin’s silence would affect him.

their first confrontation came late one evening after practice. the boys were winding down in the locker room, the team buzzing about their upcoming game. jeno was leaning against a locker, talking with some of the other players, when jaemin walked in, his crutches tapping against the floor with each step.

jaemin’s eyes scanned the room, and for a brief moment, he locked eyes with jeno. there was a heaviness in the air, something unspoken, and both of them could feel it. jaemin didn’t wait for anyone to approach him—he walked straight over to jeno, his face tight with emotion.

“you’ve been getting all the attention lately,” jaemin said, his voice sharp.

jeno raised an eyebrow, confused. “what are you talking about?”

“i’m talking about the game,” jaemin snapped, his tone defensive. “you take my place, you score the winning goal, and suddenly you’re the hero. the mvp. what about me? i’ve worked my ass off for this team, and in one moment, it’s like i don’t even matter anymore.”

jeno blinked, taken aback by the sudden outburst. he had known jaemin was upset, but he hadn’t expected this level of animosity. “jaemin, that’s not what this is about. you’re hurt. i didn’t want this to happen. i didn’t want to have to step in. but the team needed me.”

jaemin’s face flushed with frustration. “of course, you didn’t want it to happen. but you’re loving the attention, aren’t you? you’re eating it up, just waiting for your chance to be the star.”

“that’s not fair,” jeno responded, his voice growing colder. “i didn’t ask for this. i didn’t ask to be the one who scored. i did what i had to do, and i played my part. the team needed someone to step up, and i did. what else do you want from me?”

jaemin’s eyes narrowed, the anger now completely surfacing. “i wanted my place back,” he shot back, his fists clenching. “i wanted to be the one to win the game. i wanted to be the one to get all the praise. not you. you’re just... you’re just happy to be the new ‘golden boy.’”

jeno’s jaw tightened. “that’s not fair, jaemin. you’re the one who’s been acting like you’re above everyone else this whole time. just because i’m not loud and flashy doesn’t mean i don’t deserve this. i stepped up for the team. i didn’t ask for this position, but i’ll take it if it means we win.”

jaemin laughed bitterly, his voice rising. “you don’t get it, do you? it’s not about the game anymore. it’s about you, trying to replace me. you don’t care about what it means to me, how hard i’ve worked for this, how badly i wanted it. you’re too busy trying to prove something.”

jeno’s face hardened, his voice dropping to a low growl. “maybe you should stop thinking everything’s about you. maybe you should take a step back and realize that this team doesn’t revolve around you. i’ve been here, too. i’ve put in the work, and i’m tired of watching you act like you’re the only one who matters.”

the room fell into a heavy silence. the rest of the team, sensing the rising tension, had fallen quiet. their argument was no longer just about the game. it was about their friendship—the bond they had built over the years. and now, it was unraveling right before their eyes.

jaemin looked at jeno, his expression hardening, as if seeing his friend for the first time. he opened his mouth to say something more, but the words wouldn’t come. instead, he turned away, crutching himself out of the locker room without another word.

“jaemin, wait—” jeno started, but the door slammed shut behind him before he could finish his sentence.

jeno stood there, staring at the door, his fists clenched at his sides. he felt like his chest had been crushed under the weight of what had just happened. he had never imagined it would come to this. he never imagined that a single argument could destroy the friendship they had built.

but now, as the seconds ticked by, jeno knew that things had changed. his heart ached, but there was a gnawing feeling in his gut that told him this wasn’t something they could easily fix.

jaemin’s injury had kept him sidelined for weeks, and the physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional turmoil he was going through. every day felt like a reminder of his inability to contribute to the team, of the space he was losing—not just in the game, but in his friendships. he couldn’t shake the feeling that his position had been taken, that his importance to the team, and to those around him, was slipping away.

y/n had been there for him, as always. she’d helped him with his recovery, visited him at his apartment when he was too frustrated to go out, and spent hours on the phone with him whenever he needed someone to talk to. but despite all of her support, jaemin couldn't stop the nagging feeling in the back of his mind—jeno was still there. jeno was still the one everyone was talking about, the one everyone was praising for leading the team to victory. and the worst part? y/n had been spending more and more time with jeno, trying to comfort him through the aftermath of their argument, offering him the support jaemin had always given him.

it was late one evening, and jaemin was sitting on his couch, nursing his ankle as he scrolled through social media on his phone. every post, every mention of jeno just seemed to dig a little deeper into his insecurities. he couldn’t stop thinking about the way y/n had looked at jeno the other day—like she was proud of him, like he was the hero of their story. it made his chest ache. his jealousy, which had been simmering for weeks, was finally boiling over.

a knock on his door interrupted his spiraling thoughts. it was y/n.

"hey, how’s the ankle?" she asked, stepping inside with a small smile, trying to keep the mood light.

jaemin looked up at her, forcing a smile in return. "it’s fine. still just... healing," he said, his voice flat.

y/n sat down beside him, glancing at his ankle. "you should really rest it more. i know you hate it, but you need to let it heal properly."

jaemin nodded but didn’t say anything. he couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine. he had been pretending for too long, and it was starting to wear him down.

after a moment of silence, jaemin finally spoke, his voice low and tense. "you’ve been spending a lot of time with jeno, haven’t you?"

y/n blinked in surprise. "what? jaemin, we’re friends. you know that."

jaemin’s expression hardened. "yeah, but it’s more than that now, isn’t it? you’re always checking in on him, always there for him. you never used to do that for me. what’s going on, y/n?"

y/n’s eyes widened, confusion and concern overtaking her features. "what are you talking about? i’m just trying to help him. he’s struggling, jaemin. he’s your friend, too."

jaemin’s heart pounded in his chest as he leaned forward, his gaze intense. "yeah, i know. but it’s like you’re forgetting about me. you’re too busy being there for him. you’ve been... spending so much time with him, talking to him, comforting him. and i’m just sitting here, watching it all happen."

y/n’s expression shifted, her confusion turning into frustration. "that’s not fair, jaemin. i’m here for you, too! you know that, right? i’m not replacing you with jeno. you’re just... you’re just in your head right now."

jaemin’s voice rose, the hurt and jealousy finally spilling out. "it feels like you are. you’ve barely been around since the game. and when you are, it’s always about jeno—how he’s doing, how he’s coping. i’m just supposed to sit here and wait until i’m good enough to play again, right?"

y/n’s face fell. she had never seen jaemin like this before. the defensiveness, the jealousy—it was completely out of character for him. she had always known him as confident, energetic, and optimistic, but this version of him was raw and vulnerable in a way that was hard for her to process.

"jaemin, i’m not trying to push you aside. i’m here for you. i’ve always been here for you," y/n said softly, her voice cracking with emotion. "but i’m also trying to help jeno, because... because he’s going through something, too. you don’t get it, do you?"

jaemin’s eyes flickered with frustration. "i get it, y/n. you’re both just so much better than me right now. you’ve got him—jeno—and you’ve got the team’s attention. and then there’s me, stuck on the sidelines with nothing to offer."

y/n’s heart sank. she didn’t know how to make him see that it wasn’t about jeno or the team’s attention. it was about him, about helping him recover and reminding him of the strength he still had—no matter what had happened on the field.

"i never said you were nothing, jaemin," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "you’re everything to me. but you need to stop pushing people away. you can’t keep thinking that i’m going to abandon you just because jeno and i talk more. that’s not how it is. and you know it."

the silence that followed hung heavy in the air. jaemin’s face softened, but the tension between them remained. he had been so consumed by his own jealousy that he hadn’t realized how much y/n had been trying to balance—her support for him and for jeno. but now, it felt like their friendship, their connection, was slipping through his fingers.

"i’m sorry," jaemin muttered, his voice low. "i didn’t mean to say those things. it’s just... hard, you know? watching everything change."

y/n let out a slow breath. "i know it’s hard. but you’re not alone in this, jaemin. not now, not ever."

jaemin looked away, staring at the floor, unsure of what to say next. the insecurity that had been gnawing at him was still there, but in this moment, he realized that he had let his jealousy cloud the truth: y/n wasn’t choosing jeno over him. she wasn’t replacing him.

y/n, caught in the middle of their fallout, struggles to remain neutral. every day feels like walking through a minefield, where one wrong step might shatter everything. the friendship between jaemin and jeno, once so effortless and full of mutual respect, has cracked under the weight of rivalry, jealousy, and unspoken words. y/n feels like she’s stuck in the eye of a storm, trying to hold onto both of them while everything around her crumbles. she can’t help but blame herself, even if deep down, she knows it’s not her fault. she wishes she could simply make everything go back to the way it was, but the distance between them feels too vast, too permanent now.

when jaemin and jeno had their falling out, y/n immediately felt the ripple effects. they didn’t just stop talking to each other; they stopped being the people y/n had grown close to. jaemin, once so open and warm, now avoids y/n’s attempts to comfort him. his silence is suffocating. y/n tries to reach out to him, but his cold responses only make her feel like a stranger. he’s hurt, she understands that. but why does it feel like every time she extends a hand, he pulls further away?

jaemin’s hurt is so visible. he’s not the same person anymore. she watches as he buries himself in his recovery, and yet, every time he’s with her, it’s like there’s a piece of him missing. the playful glint in his eyes is gone, replaced by something deeper—anger, resentment, uncertainty. he doesn’t express it directly, but y/n can feel it in his tone, in the way his body language tenses when she mentions jeno. he can’t even stand the sight of her talking to jeno for too long, a fact that cuts deeper than y/n would have expected.

it’s not just jaemin’s silence that gets to her; it’s the way he subtly pulls away from her. the days when he would spontaneously grab her hand or ask how her day was feel like distant memories now. he’s still there, but only physically. y/n catches him staring at her sometimes, but there’s no warmth in his gaze. just cold, calculated distance. every time she tries to reassure him, tell him that nothing’s changed, that she’s still there for him, it feels like he’s not listening. he doesn’t believe her anymore. and she feels that, deep down, a part of her is losing him—slowly but surely.

the jealousy that jaemin harbors isn’t just about soccer or jeno’s success. it’s about her. about the fact that y/n and jeno still share moments together, that jeno is still a part of her life even though their friendship is strained. jaemin’s insecurities grow, and they’re starting to eat away at him. he feels threatened not just by jeno’s increasing success on the field but by the bond y/n and jeno share. there’s a part of jaemin that wonders if y/n still cares for him in the same way. the uncertainty is consuming him, and as a result, he pushes y/n further away.

and it’s not like she doesn’t try to fix it. she does, over and over again. she texts him, calls him, tries to make plans for the two of them, but every time, it feels like he’s just going through the motions. the moments when they used to talk for hours have now become quick exchanges, and the silence in between those words is growing. she knows that silence. it’s the silence that comes before something breaks for good.

jeno, too, has been changing, but not in the way y/n had hoped. she can still see the boy she once knew—the one who used to joke around with her, who would tease her in a way that made her feel at ease. but now, he’s a version of himself she barely recognizes. jeno is quieter now, more withdrawn, but he still makes an effort to be there for her. he helps her study, checks in with her after games, and offers her advice when she’s frustrated with her performance. yet, there’s something beneath the surface—something that y/n can’t quite name. the way he looks at her when they’re alone, the way his voice softens when he says her name, it all feels different. y/n can feel the tension growing, a quiet undercurrent that runs beneath their casual conversations.

it’s hard for y/n to ignore that jeno isn’t just supporting her as a friend anymore. he’s hiding feelings, feelings he’s been carrying for far too long. his gestures of kindness, his little acts of support, now feel heavier than before. y/n can sense his pain, the longing that he’s trying so hard to keep buried. she feels it when his hand brushes against hers for a second too long or when he offers her a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. jeno is hiding his feelings, but they’re becoming too obvious to ignore.

the worst part is that y/n doesn’t know how to act around him anymore. she’s torn between loyalty and love. she knows jeno’s feelings for her are real, but she doesn’t know how to reciprocate them without betraying jaemin. she can’t help but feel guilty, knowing how hard jeno is trying to be there for her even as his emotions remain unspoken. but she also knows that the bond they share is built on years of friendship. and she can’t just ignore the weight of her own feelings for jaemin, even as she watches him crumble before her eyes.

y/n feels like she’s drowning in guilt and confusion. she’s struggling to keep the pieces of their fractured friendships together, but no matter how hard she tries, it seems like she can’t fix what’s broken. her efforts to talk to jaemin only push him further away, and when she tries to reach out to jeno, it’s like she’s stepping into a minefield of unspoken emotions. the more she tries, the more everything unravels.

she wants to talk to both of them, to tell them that she’s still here for them, that she’s not choosing sides, but the truth is, y/n doesn’t know if she can. she doesn’t know if they’ll ever get back to the way things were. she doesn’t know if she can carry the weight of their pain anymore. and worst of all, she doesn’t know if there’s a way out of this cycle.

her world is becoming smaller by the day, and with every passing hour, she feels the distance between them grow. what was once a tight-knit trio is now split apart, with y/n standing in the middle, watching as both jaemin and jeno spiral into their own worlds of resentment, frustration, and unspoken feelings. and she’s left, powerless to stop it, only hoping that somewhere down the line, they can all find a way to heal.

jaemin and jeno, now unable to even look at each other, refuse to communicate. the fallout from their argument leaves a thick tension hanging in the air, and it seems like there’s no coming back from it. jeno’s once lively presence on the field now feels almost like a shadow of what it used to be. he plays with intensity, but every movement, every pass, seems mechanical. the joy he once felt in soccer feels hollow. he can feel jaemin’s absence, even though jaemin is still a part of the team. their silent animosity has shifted the team dynamic, leaving jeno with the burden of trying to fill the emotional void left by their fractured friendship. yet, even with all of his success, he can’t seem to shake the feeling of guilt that clings to him.

jaemin, on the other hand, isn’t interested in jeno’s achievements. he’s too consumed with his own bitterness to even acknowledge how jeno is rising in prominence. while jeno has gained respect from the team, jaemin isolates himself further. he doesn’t attend social gatherings, avoids his teammates, and spends most of his time with his thoughts. his physical recovery is slow, but his emotional pain is even more crippling. he watches from the sidelines, not just in the literal sense but also in his own life. the anger he feels toward jeno consumes him, and with each day that passes, the resentment deepens. he finds it impossible to cheer for jeno’s success, even when it’s clear that jeno has worked hard for it.

y/n feels the tension every day. she’s never been so acutely aware of the growing distance between herself and both of them. jaemin’s withdrawal from her is the most painful part of all of this. she tries to reach out to him—texts, calls, messages—but they go unanswered, or at best, she receives short, disinterested responses. the once warm and open relationship she had with jaemin is now a ghost, replaced by awkward silences when they are in the same room. he’s not the jaemin she fell in love with anymore. he’s not even the jaemin she used to call her best friend. he’s someone she doesn’t recognize, someone who has become a stranger in her life.

but jeno doesn’t make things easier, either. he’s still there for her, but the burden of his unspoken feelings weighs on him like a storm waiting to break. he’s quieter now, his once carefree attitude dampened by the constant internal conflict he feels. his gestures are kind, and he’s there whenever she needs him, but there’s an air of sadness around him that y/n can’t ignore. the way he looks at her sometimes, the lingering touches, the soft smiles that don’t quite meet his eyes—they all make her heart ache. jeno is hiding something, something that’s slowly chipping away at the friendship they’ve shared for so long.

y/n feels as if she’s been caught in the crossfire of their conflict. she wants to support jaemin, but he doesn’t want her help. she wants to comfort jeno, but she can’t deny the distance that’s growing between them. the emotional weight of trying to maintain relationships with both of them while they drift further apart is overwhelming. every conversation she has with jaemin feels like she’s walking on thin ice, afraid of saying the wrong thing. every interaction with jeno feels bittersweet, as if there’s something unspoken lingering in the air, a tension that neither of them dares to confront.

the pressure to fix things is crushing. y/n knows that jaemin and jeno are both hurting, but no matter how hard she tries, she can’t seem to get through to either of them. it feels like she’s losing both of them at once. the guilt eats at her. what if there was something she could have done to prevent this? what if she could have said something differently, or acted differently? the "what ifs" consume her, leaving her trapped in a never-ending cycle of self-doubt.

jaemin has become more withdrawn; he no longer has the same spark in his eyes, the same warmth in his gestures. he’s quieter, more distant, and no longer seems to take the same joy in their relationship. while he’s still present, both physically and on the field, his heart isn’t the same. his smiles feel forced, and his touches, once full of affection, now seem mechanical. y/n is left grasping at straws, trying to bring back the jaemin she once knew.

jaemin's disinterest isn't just in their relationship, but in everything around him. he becomes less involved in team activities, declining invites to social gatherings or team dinners. when y/n tries to talk to him, he brushes her off with vague excuses, saying he’s tired or busy. his friends, even jeno, notice the change in him, but no one dares to bring it up. y/n begins to feel like she’s fighting a losing battle, putting all her energy into saving their relationship while jaemin seems to pull further and further away from her.

jeno, still caught in his feelings for y/n, notices the tension between the couple but doesn’t know how to help. he’s always been there for y/n as a friend, but lately, even his attempts at offering support seem to fall flat. jaemin, who used to be so open with her, now keeps everything inside. his demeanor is colder, and whenever y/n tries to talk to him about it, he deflects, pushing her away with every word he says. it becomes impossible for y/n to ignore that something isn’t right.

one night, the truth finally hits y/n like a ton of bricks.

after finishing a late-night practice session, y/n decides to take a detour to the locker room to grab something she left behind earlier that day. she knows jaemin often stays late to work on his recovery, so she plans to surprise him with a snack. but as she steps into the hallway leading to the locker room, she hears voices—low whispers, followed by soft laughter.

at first, she doesn’t think much of it, assuming someone else is around. but as she gets closer, her stomach churns. she pushes open the door, only to be greeted by a sight that freezes her in place. jaemin is standing there, his arms wrapped around her best friend from the girls’ soccer team. the same best friend who had been her confidante, the one she had confided in about jaemin’s emotional distance and her struggles.

her best friend is laughing softly, pressing her lips to jaemin’s in a kiss. jaemin doesn’t notice y/n at first, too consumed in the moment, but when he hears her sharp intake of breath, he pulls away. the look on his face is one of pure shock and guilt, but the damage is already done.

y/n doesn’t know what to do. her legs feel like they might give out beneath her as the world spins around her. the betrayal cuts deep. jaemin, the man she’s been holding onto, the man she thought was her rock, has been cheating on her with someone she trusted with everything. her best friend—the one person who was supposed to have her back—has turned her loyalty into a cruel joke.

jaemin stumbles forward, his words coming out in a disjointed mess. “y/n, i—i didn’t mean for you to find out like this.” but there is no apology in his eyes, no regret. instead, there is just guilt, a guilt that’s tainted by the obvious desire to justify his actions.

y/n doesn’t say anything at first. she stands there, numb, as her heart breaks into a million pieces. everything she thought she knew about jaemin, about their relationship, is a lie. she turns without saying a word, walking out of the locker room and into the cold night, feeling the sting of the betrayal burn into her chest. she can’t look at jaemin anymore. she doesn’t want to. she can’t trust him. not after this.

jaemin watches her leave, knowing that he’s just lost the one person who truly mattered to him. but the reality of his actions doesn’t seem to hit him immediately. he stays in the locker room, facing the harsh consequences of his mistake, but all he feels is regret, not for his actions, but for the pain he’s caused y/n. what’s done is done. the brokenness in his chest doesn’t compare to the pain he knows y/n is feeling.

the next few days are a blur. y/n isolates herself, drowning in a mix of heartbreak and disbelief. she doesn’t return jaemin’s texts or calls, refusing to let him explain himself. there is no explanation that can make this right, not when she feels so utterly betrayed. she tries to focus on soccer, but even the sport she loves doesn’t bring her solace. every time she steps onto the field, the memory of jaemin’s betrayal haunts her. she can’t shake the feeling of being used, of having her trust completely shattered.

meanwhile, jaemin reaches out again and again, but y/n refuses to listen. jeno, who had been quietly watching from the sidelines, begins to notice the strain this is putting on y/n. his own feelings for her, long buried, come rushing to the surface as he realizes just how much she’s hurting. he wants to comfort her, to tell her that she deserves better, but the line between friendship and something more is too blurred. and with jaemin still trying to reach y/n, jeno knows he can’t step in—at least not yet.

the damage is done. y/n has lost her best friend and her boyfriend in one blow, and the aftermath leaves her questioning everything she once believed about trust, love, and loyalty.

JUNIOR YEAR

the sun hung low in the sky as y/n walked across campus, her heart heavy. junior year had begun, but it didn’t feel like a fresh start. it felt like she was still stuck in the aftermath of the betrayal—the cheating, the lies, and the painful loss of trust.

she glanced over at the soccer field as she walked past it, the sound of the boys' team practicing drifting in the air. her eyes briefly met jaemin’s across the field, and she quickly looked away. he had been trying to approach her for weeks, sending texts, leaving notes in her locker—desperate attempts to fix what he’d broken. but y/n had learned the hard way that some things can’t be fixed. not when the cracks run so deep.

her stomach twisted at the thought of him. jaemin had been everything to her—her first love, her best friend, her everything. but now? now, all she could feel when she saw him was the sting of betrayal. the guilt, the anger, the hurt—it was all still there, swirling in her chest like a storm that never seemed to pass.

y/n shook her head and focused on the task at hand: surviving the first week of classes without completely falling apart. her friends—what few she had left after everything—had told her to focus on herself. to stop worrying about the people who’d hurt her. but how could she when every interaction seemed to revolve around jaemin?

as she entered the building for her first lecture of the day, she almost collided with someone at the door.

“woah, sorry!” she said, stepping back quickly.

jeno, who had been walking just behind her, gave her a soft smile. “you okay?”

y/n forced a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “yeah, just... tired.” she gave him a quick nod before turning to head inside. the last thing she needed right now was to engage in a long conversation.

but jeno wasn’t the type to let things go easily. he followed her into the classroom, sitting beside her without hesitation. over the last year, jeno had become someone she could rely on, even if it wasn’t always easy to accept his support. after the fallout with jaemin, jeno had been a silent presence, offering his care without pushing her.

for that, she was grateful. but the last thing y/n wanted was to rely on him too much. she knew how tangled everything already was.

“so, how’s the team?” jeno asked casually, pulling out his notebook as the lecture started.

y/n shrugged, her eyes momentarily flickering to the side. “same as always, i guess. a lot of pressure with the season starting soon.” she tried to keep her tone neutral, but she couldn’t ignore the pang of discomfort that came from thinking about the boys’ team. jaemin was there, of course, and the last time they’d interacted had been... messy.

jeno caught her hesitation but didn’t press her for details. he just nodded in understanding, choosing to stay silent for the rest of the lecture. he could tell that y/n was struggling, but he wasn’t going to push her. not yet.

the days that followed felt like a blur. y/n buried herself in her schoolwork, soccer practice, and the few remaining friendships she had left, all while trying to ignore the ever-present tension between her, jaemin, and jeno. jaemin’s attempts to reach out only made it worse. he’d show up at the field, lingering after practice, hoping for a chance to speak to her, but y/n would avoid him every time. the pain was still too fresh. every time she looked at him, all she could see was the hurt he’d caused.

jaemin’s frustration was growing. he hadn’t been able to understand why y/n was shutting him out completely, why her anger felt so cold and final. he could see the way she leaned on jeno more and more, and the jealousy that simmered beneath the surface began to eat away at him. but his guilt was even worse. the guilt that he’d destroyed something beautiful, something he’d taken for granted.

one afternoon, jaemin waited for y/n outside the gym, hoping for a chance to speak to her before practice started. he had rehearsed what he was going to say a thousand times in his head, but now that he was face-to-face with her, the words felt impossible to speak.

“y/n,” he called softly as she walked by, her head down as she passed him.

y/n froze for a moment, her back still turned to him. she knew he was there, knew he was probably waiting for some sort of acknowledgement. but she couldn’t do it—not yet. not when the wound was still so open. she didn’t turn around.

“please, y/n,” jaemin’s voice cracked slightly. “can we just talk? i—"

“i don’t think we have anything to talk about,” she interrupted, her voice cool. “not anymore.”

the finality in her tone hit him like a punch to the gut, and he stood there, staring after her as she walked into the gym.

it was hard for him to accept, but jaemin couldn’t ignore the truth: y/n wasn’t going to forgive him. not now, not ever.

the following weeks were a blur of practices, classes, and quiet nights spent in solitude. y/n couldn’t bring herself to face jaemin, and with each passing day, the distance between them seemed to grow even wider. the guilt that came with avoiding him was overwhelming, but it was nothing compared to the emotional wreckage she felt every time she thought about everything he had done.

jaemin’s attempts to make things right were relentless. after that last confrontation outside the gym, he continued to text her, leaving notes on her locker and occasionally cornering her after class. but each time y/n saw him, she felt that old sting in her chest. she wanted to scream at him for what he had done—wanted to demand answers for why he cheated, for why he ruined everything they had. but she never did. instead, she put up walls, silently pushing him away every time he tried to break through.

it wasn’t just jaemin’s efforts that were getting to her, though. it was the way he kept showing up everywhere. on the field during practice, at school events, and even at their usual hangouts with friends. his presence was suffocating. y/n knew he wasn’t giving up, but she also knew she couldn’t face him. not yet.

when practice rolled around, y/n buried herself in the physicality of soccer, pushing herself harder and harder, trying to ignore the pain that came with every memory of jaemin. the sound of the ball hitting the net, the exhaustion in her legs, and the focus she poured into every drill kept her distracted.

but even on the field, she couldn’t escape the tension that seemed to hang in the air, especially with the boys’ team practicing at the same time. jaemin’s eyes followed her movements from across the field, and every glance they shared sent a sharp pang through her heart.

jeno, on the other hand, remained a steady presence. unlike jaemin, he didn’t force his way into y/n’s life. he never pushed her for answers or sought her forgiveness. he simply existed alongside her, a quiet anchor in a storm that felt like it would never end.

on the field, jeno’s style of play was as smooth and calculated as ever. he had always been a naturally gifted player, but there was something different about him now. his usual cheerful demeanor had become more reserved, and his focus seemed laser-sharp, as if he was trying to block out his own emotions. y/n couldn’t help but notice the way jeno’s eyes lingered on her whenever they passed one another during drills. he was always there, watching from the sidelines, but never intruding.

during a particularly brutal practice, y/n was pushing herself beyond her limits, running drills until her legs burned with exhaustion. it was a typical coping mechanism for her—distracting herself with the physical. but as she sprinted down the field, her vision blurred, and her foot caught unevenly on the turf. she fell hard, the impact of the ground knocking the air out of her lungs.

she lay there for a moment, struggling to catch her breath. her teammates rushed over, but the one who reached her first was jeno.

“y/n! are you okay?” his voice was laced with concern, his hands hovering over her body as if afraid to touch her.

y/n winced as she tried to push herself up, but the pain in her ankle was immediate and sharp. “i’m fine,” she said quickly, brushing him off, though it was clear she wasn’t.

jeno knelt beside her, his gaze softening. “let me help you,” he said gently. he offered his hand, and despite herself, y/n took it.

she leaned on him as he helped her to her feet, his steady presence offering her the comfort she didn’t know she needed. “i’ll take you to the trainer,” jeno suggested, already beginning to walk with her towards the sideline.

y/n didn’t protest. she let him guide her away from the field, away from the eyes of her teammates, and the watchful gaze of jaemin, who stood from a distance, watching the exchange with a mix of frustration and guilt.

the next few days were filled with rest and rehabilitation for y/n’s injury, and as she hobbled around campus on crutches, she found herself once again caught between two worlds. jaemin tried to reach out, of course, apologizing over and over for the distance between them, but every word from him felt like a reminder of everything she had lost.

jeno, on the other hand, continued to show up quietly in the background. his support didn’t demand anything from her, but it was clear that he was there—always just close enough to make sure she was okay, but never forcing anything. and as much as y/n tried to ignore the growing feelings inside her, it was getting harder and harder to do so.

one evening, while y/n was working on a paper in the library, she received a text from jeno.

“how’s the ankle?”

it was simple, direct, and caring. she hesitated before replying, unsure of what to say. her thoughts were all over the place—too tangled in confusion, frustration, and the quiet ache that seemed to settle in her chest every time she thought of jeno’s kindness.

“it’s getting better, thanks to you.” she typed quickly, then set her phone down, trying to refocus on her work.

a few moments later, her phone buzzed again, and y/n’s heart skipped when she saw the next message.

“i’m glad to hear that. let me know if you need anything.”

y/n smiled softly, her heart pounding in her chest as she read his words. there was something about jeno’s quiet presence that made her feel safe, something she hadn’t realized she’d been missing until now.

the crisp autumn air bit at y/n’s skin as she walked across campus, her ankle feeling better but her heart heavier than ever. she had spent the last few weeks trying to bury herself in her work, her studies, and soccer, but no matter how much she focused on the physical, the emotional chaos just wouldn’t go away. jaemin’s attempts to contact her had become relentless, and no matter how many times she rejected him, he wouldn’t stop.

she was almost used to it by now. almost.

today, however, was different. jaemin had finally sent her a message that broke through her defenses:

“we need to talk. please.”

it felt like a simple request. but after everything they had been through, after all the hurt, y/n wasn’t sure if talking could ever fix what had been broken. she had spent too much time trying to rebuild herself after his betrayal. she wasn’t sure she had any pieces left to give.

jeno had been quiet these days, and y/n was beginning to notice the subtle shifts in him. he had always been there for her, his presence a constant source of comfort, but lately, there was something different in the way he looked at her. something soft, something almost... protective.

she wasn’t blind. she knew that jeno’s feelings for her had shifted over time. he had been the quiet, steady support when she needed it, but now, his concern for her seemed to go beyond just friendship. it was something deeper, something unspoken.

but where did that leave her? she wasn’t ready to think about moving on from jaemin, but at the same time, she couldn’t keep clinging to someone who had hurt her so badly.

y/n stood at the edge of the field, her eyes trained on the boys' team as they finished practice. she couldn’t help herself; she looked for jaemin. his back was to her, but she could still make out the tension in his posture, the way he hesitated before he turned to speak to his teammates.

for a moment, she thought about walking over to him. but then, the thought of everything he had done—everything he had destroyed—stopped her in her tracks.

she turned instead and walked toward the locker room, where she knew jeno would be waiting. it had become a routine of sorts. after every practice, jeno would stick around to make sure she was okay, despite her attempts to push him away.

this time, though, there was something different in the air.

jeno was already sitting on the bench in the locker room when she entered, looking down at his phone. he didn’t look up as she walked in, but y/n could feel his gaze shift toward her as soon as she sat down next to him.

“you’re not practicing today?” she asked, trying to keep the conversation casual. it was the usual way they interacted—friendly, easygoing, without any pressure. but today, the air between them felt thick with unspoken words.

jeno shrugged, putting his phone down on the bench next to him. “just wanted to check on you. i know your ankle’s still recovering, so i thought maybe we could grab lunch after this.” his voice was calm, but there was an underlying urgency, like he was waiting for something.

y/n smiled softly, grateful for his consideration. “lunch sounds good,” she agreed, trying to shake off the weight of the thoughts swirling in her head.

but before they could continue their conversation, the door to the locker room creaked open, and y/n froze. she hadn’t expected anyone else to be here, but when she saw jaemin step through the door, her stomach dropped.

he paused when he saw them sitting together, his eyes briefly flicking to jeno, then back to y/n. his jaw clenched, and for a moment, no one spoke.

finally, jaemin broke the silence. “can we talk?” his voice was tight, hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure how to approach her.

y/n didn’t respond immediately. her heart was pounding in her chest, and she could feel jeno’s eyes on her, waiting for her to make a decision. she glanced at him briefly, silently asking for guidance, but jeno simply gave her a small nod, as though telling her to handle it however she needed to.

with a sigh, y/n stood up, brushing past jaemin as she made her way to the door. she had spent so many days avoiding this moment, but now, she couldn’t put it off any longer.

jaemin followed her outside, but they both remained silent as they walked to a quieter part of campus. y/n was doing everything she could to keep her emotions in check, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” jaemin finally said, his voice low. “i know i messed up, but i need to apologize. i can’t keep pretending like nothing happened. you and i... we were everything to each other, and i know i broke that. but i need you to know how sorry i am, y/n.”

y/n bit her lip, trying to steady her breathing. she had heard these words so many times before. the apologies. the regret. but the damage had already been done.

“you don’t get to apologize anymore, jaemin,” y/n replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “you don’t get to make things right after what you did. i gave you everything, and you destroyed it. you don’t just get to walk back into my life and fix everything with a few words.”

jaemin flinched at her words, his face falling as he saw the raw pain in her eyes. “i know. i know i can’t fix it, and i don’t expect you to forgive me. i just... i need you to know how much i regret it. how much i miss us.”

y/n shook her head, stepping back a little. “it’s too late for that. i can’t go back to what we were, jaemin. i can’t pretend that nothing happened.”

for a long moment, there was nothing but silence between them. jaemin’s eyes were filled with sorrow, but y/n couldn’t bring herself to feel pity. she had loved him more than anything, but now, all she could feel was the aching emptiness he had left behind.

as she turned to leave, jaemin reached out, his hand brushing against her arm. “i still love you,” he whispered.

y/n stiffened at the words, but she didn’t turn back. she couldn’t. “i’m sorry, jaemin. but i can’t love you anymore.”

y/n walked away, her heart heavy, but strangely lighter than it had been in months. saying those words to jaemin—admitting that she couldn’t love him anymore—was the hardest thing she’d ever done. but it also felt like a release. she wasn’t sure what came next, but for the first time in a long time, she felt like she could finally start moving forward.

she didn’t look back, but she couldn’t ignore the quiet ache that lingered in her chest.

as she made her way back toward the locker room, she found jeno waiting by the door, his eyes filled with concern. he didn’t say anything at first—he didn’t need to. his presence was enough.

without a word, y/n walked over to him, and jeno, sensing the weight of the moment, wrapped his arm around her. the silence between them was comforting in its own way, as if jeno understood that sometimes, words weren’t necessary.

and for the first time in a long while, y/n allowed herself to rest in the quiet support jeno offered, uncertain of what the future held, but feeling—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

the days following her confrontation with jaemin felt like a blur. classes, soccer practices, and social events all blended together into a single haze. y/n found herself moving through life on autopilot, her mind always drifting back to the conversation she had with jaemin. the weight of his words, the intensity of his gaze, stayed with her even after she tried to push it all aside.

she avoided jaemin as much as she could. he tried to approach her between classes or at the campus café, but y/n would make excuses to slip away, her heart too fragile to face him again. she didn’t know if she was ready to face the emotions that would inevitably come with it. she couldn’t trust him again, and the hurt still felt fresh.

jeno, on the other hand, was a quiet presence in her life. he was still there, offering her the same unwavering support that he always had. but y/n began to feel the subtle shift in his behavior. he was quieter now, his gestures more lingering. sometimes, when their hands brushed or when he’d pass her a comforting smile, she caught the fleeting glint of something deeper in his eyes.

she didn’t want to acknowledge it—she wasn’t ready to confront it—but the truth was impossible to ignore. jeno was falling for her.

one afternoon after practice, y/n lingered in the locker room, tying her shoes slowly, hoping the rest of the team would leave first so she wouldn’t have to face anyone. but when the door opened, it wasn’t one of her teammates—it was jeno.

"hey," he greeted her softly, his voice warm, but there was a certain hesitance to it, as if he was unsure how to act around her now.

y/n gave him a small, tired smile, forcing herself to appear less bothered than she truly felt. “hey, jeno. what’s up?”

jeno walked in and leaned against the lockers, crossing his arms as he looked at her. “i was just thinking... we haven’t had much of a chance to talk lately, huh?”

y/n chuckled quietly, although it was tinged with sadness. “yeah, i guess you could say that. everything’s been a little... chaotic.”

he nodded, his gaze softening. “i get it. but i miss our talks. it’s not the same without you around.”

the sincerity in his voice made her stomach flutter. she could see the concern in his eyes, but more than that, she could see something that made her heart ache—a deep, unwavering loyalty, and maybe something more.

“i’m sorry,” she said, almost in a whisper, as she looked away from him. “i’ve been... distant. i just... need some time, jeno.”

“i know,” he replied, his voice gentle. “i’m not rushing you. but i’m still here, y/n. whenever you’re ready.”

she nodded, trying to push away the lump in her throat. jeno had always been there for her, through everything. but now, as she stood facing him, it felt like the weight of their friendship was shifting, and she wasn’t sure how to navigate the new dynamic.

“i appreciate that,” she murmured, her voice thick with unspoken emotions.

jeno hesitated before taking a step closer. “you don’t have to face all of this alone. i’m not going anywhere.”

y/n could feel her heart racing. jeno’s words, the way he always made her feel safe and understood, it was hard to ignore. but the thought of opening herself up to him—of acknowledging the way he might feel—was terrifying. she wasn’t sure she was ready to go there, not yet. not after everything she had just been through with jaemin.

“i know,” she whispered, barely meeting his gaze. “but i need some space. just for now.”

jeno didn’t push further. he simply nodded, his expression unreadable. he stepped back, turning toward the door.

“i’ll give you that,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “but don’t forget, i’m here. whenever you need me.”

y/n’s chest tightened, and she quickly turned away to avoid looking at him. she couldn’t bear to see the hurt in his eyes, especially when she knew she wasn’t ready to reciprocate the feelings he had for her.

but no matter how much she tried to push it away, a part of her was drawn to him. jeno had always been there when she needed him the most, and maybe, just maybe, that was enough to make her believe that something could still work between them.

but not now. not yet.

over the next few weeks, the tension between y/n, jaemin, and jeno only seemed to grow. jaemin’s attempts to reconcile with her became more frequent, but every time he tried to approach, y/n would shut him down. the thought of reopening the wounds he had caused was unbearable.

on the other hand, jeno remained patient. he didn’t push her, and he didn’t ask for anything. but y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that he was waiting for her—waiting for her to come around, waiting for her to finally admit that she might feel the same way.

it was a confusing time. she had spent so long focusing on healing from jaemin’s betrayal, that the idea of a relationship with jeno felt overwhelming. she wasn’t sure she could trust herself to be open to someone again, let alone open herself up to someone who had always been by her side.

one evening, as the team wrapped up practice, y/n found herself walking alongside jeno as they made their way to the locker room. the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the field.

“i’m glad you came today,” jeno said casually, his voice carrying a quiet intensity that made her heart beat faster. “it’s been a while since we really talked.”

y/n glanced at him, noticing the way he was looking at her—serious, but kind. “i know,” she replied, her voice quiet. “i’ve just been... trying to figure things out.”

jeno didn’t push her. instead, he simply nodded, his gaze softening. “i get it. and whenever you’re ready to talk, i’ll be here.”

y/n felt something in her chest tighten at his words. it wasn’t that she didn’t care for him—she did, in a way that felt deep and complex. but right now, she wasn’t ready to confront the emotional storm inside her. the pain of jaemin’s betrayal still loomed large, and the thought of opening her heart again, even to jeno, was terrifying.

“thanks, jeno,” she murmured, giving him a small, appreciative smile.

they reached the locker room, and as y/n stepped inside, she caught one last glance at jeno. his face was unreadable, but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes, something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge yet.

it was a wednesday afternoon when everything came to a head. the girls’ team had just wrapped up a grueling practice, and as y/n was stretching on the sideline, her eyes caught the boys’ team warming up across the field. jaemin was leading their drills, his movements fluid and confident, but there was something in his posture that struck her—a defensiveness, a tension in his shoulders that was unlike him.

y/n turned her attention back to her own teammates, but the sight of jaemin lingered in her mind. for the past few weeks, she had kept her distance from him, and yet the unresolved feelings between them never fully faded. she wasn’t sure if she missed the person he was or if she was just mourning the idea of their relationship, the future they could have had before everything fell apart.

“y/n?” her teammate’s voice broke through her thoughts, and she looked up to find her friend standing over her, a concerned expression on her face. “are you okay?”

y/n forced a smile. “yeah, just... tired.”

her teammate wasn’t convinced. “you’ve been off lately. is it still about jaemin?”

y/n paused. she had tried so hard to avoid talking about him, not wanting to reopen the wounds, but it was clear that her friend wasn’t going to let it go.

“i don’t know,” y/n admitted, her voice quieter than she intended. “i’m just... still confused. i don’t know what to feel anymore.”

her friend sighed, sitting down beside her. “you know, sometimes, it’s better to just let things go. you can’t control how people change, or how they hurt you. but you can control how you let it affect you.”

y/n nodded, even though she wasn’t sure she agreed. it wasn’t that simple. her heart felt shattered, torn between two people—jaemin, the boy she once thought she’d spend forever with, and jeno, the one who had been there all along, waiting patiently for her to figure things out.

later that evening, as y/n walked through campus, she caught sight of jeno sitting alone on a bench by the dorms, his gaze fixed on the ground. there was something about his posture, something resigned, that pulled at her heart. despite everything, he was always there, offering her his steady support.

without thinking, y/n found herself walking toward him.

“jeno?” she called softly as she approached.

he looked up, surprised, his expression softening as he saw her. “y/n. hey.”

“mind if i sit?” she asked, her voice tentative, unsure of what she was looking for in this moment.

“of course not.” he moved over to make room for her, and she sat down beside him, the space between them familiar and comforting in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.

for a long moment, neither of them spoke. the only sound between them was the rustle of leaves in the wind, the quiet hum of campus life in the distance.

y/n turned to him, her gaze searching his face. “jeno... i don’t know what to do anymore. with everything. with jaemin, with—”

“you don’t have to figure it all out right now,” jeno interrupted gently, his voice calm. “you don’t have to have all the answers. just... take your time. we’ll figure it out together.”

there was so much comfort in his words, in the way he was always steady when everything else felt uncertain. y/n wanted to believe him, to believe that things could still work between them, but the weight of her past with jaemin made it hard to fully embrace the idea.

“you’ve always been there for me,” y/n said quietly, her voice cracking slightly. “and i don’t want to hurt you, jeno. i just... i don’t know what’s right anymore.”

jeno gave her a small, understanding smile, the kind of smile that made her chest ache. “i’m not going anywhere, y/n. whenever you’re ready, i’ll be here. but i’m not going to push you.”

y/n could feel the sincerity in his words, and it hit her in a way she hadn’t expected. he wasn’t asking for anything. he wasn’t demanding that she figure it all out right away. he was just here, present, ready to support her no matter what.

“i’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “i’ve been so focused on trying to figure out what happened with jaemin that i didn’t even think about... what i might be doing to you.”

“y/n,” jeno said gently, reaching out to place a hand on hers. “you don’t owe me anything. i’ve always cared about you, and i always will. i just want you to be okay.”

her breath hitched in her throat, the weight of his words settling deep in her chest. for a moment, y/n felt the warmth of his hand in hers, the comfort of knowing that she wasn’t alone in this mess.

but the conflicting emotions inside her heart refused to subside. she wasn’t sure what she wanted, or who she wanted it with.

the weeks after the conversation with jeno felt like an emotional maze for y/n. each day brought with it new questions, new doubts, and a growing sense of uncertainty. every time she saw jaemin, her heart ached with the weight of what had been—what could have been. and whenever jeno’s eyes found hers, she felt the pang of guilt from not being able to fully let go of the past.

y/n had always prided herself on being able to handle difficult situations, to keep her emotions in check. but this was different. this wasn’t just a matter of keeping her focus during a soccer match or acing an exam. this was her heart, her friendships, her relationships—all tangled together in a mess of pain, betrayal, and longing.

she could no longer ignore the tension that had been building between the three of them. jaemin had been trying, in his own way, to reach out to her—whether through small gestures or the occasional message, but every attempt only seemed to pull her deeper into the emotional whirlwind she had been trying so hard to avoid.

and jeno... jeno, who had been nothing but supportive and patient, was beginning to look more and more like the person y/n should have turned to when everything fell apart. but the guilt of not being able to reciprocate his feelings was beginning to eat away at her.

it was during one of the rare moments when she was alone in the quiet of her dorm room, reflecting on everything, that y/n received a text from jaemin.

can we talk?

the words were simple, but they sent a shiver through her. she hadn’t heard from him like this in weeks—not since their last confrontation. she had been avoiding him, avoiding the rawness of their past, but now... now he was reaching out again, and she couldn’t ignore it any longer.

her fingers hovered over her phone as her heart raced in her chest. she wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear what he had to say, or if she even wanted to face him again. but she knew she had to. for her own peace of mind, she needed closure, even if it hurt.

when? she typed back, trying to mask the uncertainty in her voice.

now?

with a deep breath, she stood up, grabbed her jacket, and left the dorm. the campus was quiet at this time of night, the only sounds the distant hum of streetlights and the occasional rustling of leaves. her steps felt heavy as she walked toward the park where they had agreed to meet. the cool air did little to ease the tightness in her chest, and the closer she got to the park, the more she felt like she was walking into a storm.

jaemin was already sitting on a bench when she arrived, his back to her. he didn’t hear her approach, and for a moment, y/n just stood there, watching him. his shoulders were hunched, his posture stiff, but there was something about the way he sat that made her heart ache.

he was still the boy she loved, despite everything.

when he finally turned to see her, his expression was a mixture of relief and something more vulnerable—something that made y/n’s chest tighten.

“y/n,” jaemin’s voice was soft, like he was afraid she might disappear if he spoke too loudly. “i—” he paused, taking in a shaky breath. “i’m sorry. for everything. for what i did to you... and to jeno.”

y/n felt her throat tighten at the mention of jeno, but she didn’t interrupt. she needed to hear him out, even if it hurt.

“i was stupid,” jaemin continued, his voice cracking slightly. “i wasn’t thinking. i let my insecurities take over, and i hurt you in ways that i’ll never be able to take back.”

she looked at him, unsure of what to say. the words she wanted to say were stuck somewhere deep inside her, caught between anger and hurt, love and regret.

“you hurt me, jaemin,” she finally said, her voice soft but firm. “and not just once. over and over again.”

jaemin’s face fell, guilt overtaking his features. “i know,” he whispered, his eyes dropping to the ground. “i don’t expect you to forgive me. but i need you to know that i regret it. every day.”

y/n took a step back, her arms wrapping around herself as if trying to shield her heart. “i don’t know if i can ever forgive you. not the way i used to. not the way you want me to.”

jaemin’s face twisted in pain, but he nodded, as if he had expected that response. “i understand. i’m not asking you to forget, y/n. i just... i just wanted you to know that i’m sorry. i didn’t want to lose you.”

y/n’s chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice, but she could feel the walls she had built around herself strengthening. “you already did, jaemin. you lost me the moment you chose someone else.”

the words were harsh, but they were true. and as much as they hurt, they were the closure she needed.

for a long time, neither of them spoke. the silence between them was thick, filled with the weight of everything that had been said and everything that had been left unsaid.

finally, jaemin stood, and as he looked at her one last time, something in his eyes shifted—like he understood that this was it. he wasn’t going to get another chance to make things right, and y/n wasn’t going to allow herself to be pulled back into the same painful cycle.

“i’ll always care about you, jaemin” yn said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

jaemin nodded, his throat tight. “and i’ll always remember what we had. but i can’t keep living in the past.”

with that, she turned and walked away, her steps slow and deliberate. she didn’t look back as jaemin stood there yelling out apologies and begging her to come back”

the tension in the air was palpable. ever since the conversation with jaemin in the park, y/n had done her best to move forward. she had thrown herself into her training, trying to focus on her game and get through each day without the constant weight of the past on her shoulders. but it wasn’t that simple.

jaemin wasn’t just a shadow lingering in the back of her mind anymore; he was there, in her peripheral vision, always there. and with him came the rising tension—the tension that came with his jealousy, his frustration, and his desperate attempts to claw back something he had lost.

y/n had started to notice it on the field. it wasn’t just during practices anymore—jaemin’s jealousy was showing in the little moments. in the way his eyes would narrow every time jeno passed the ball to her, or how his voice would take on a sharp edge when he spoke to her, as if anything related to jeno irritated him. it was subtle at first—small, passive-aggressive comments about how “jeno seemed to think he was part of the girls’ team now,” or how “jeno must be really close to y/n to know exactly where all her classes are and her practice schedule”

but as the weeks went on, it became harder for y/n to ignore.

after a game one evening, where the boys’ team had played a particularly grueling match, jaemin cornered her in the locker room, his voice low and tense.

“do you really think it’s a good idea, spending so much time with jeno?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest. his eyes were dark, and his jaw clenched tightly.

y/n’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “what do you mean? jeno and i are friends,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

jaemin’s eyes flashed with something sharp—anger, maybe, or something darker. “i’m just saying. you’ve been hanging around him a lot lately. too much, don’t you think?” his tone was almost mocking, but it was laced with something else.

y/n took a step back, surprised at his words. “what’s your problem, jaemin?” she asked, the frustration in her voice growing. “jeno’s been nothing but supportive of me. we’ve been friends since freshman year.”

jaemin let out a short laugh, his gaze flickering to the ground before meeting hers again. “yeah, sure. friends. i bet that’s all it is. just friends,” he muttered bitterly, turning away from her with an almost sarcastic wave of his hand. “i’ll leave you to your ‘friendship’ then.”

y/n’s chest tightened, hurt flashing through her. she had never expected jaemin to be like this—not after everything they had been through. but his words, his tone—everything about him was dripping with jealousy. she could feel it, even in the space between them.

for a moment, neither of them spoke. the silence was heavy, suffocating. jaemin finally turned, his back to her, and y/n didn’t know whether to scream or walk away.

the rest of the night passed in a blur. she tried her best to shake off the encounter, but it kept replaying in her mind. jaemin had always been possessive, but this... this was different. his jealousy was like a storm brewing just beneath the surface, ready to spill over at any moment.

jaemin’s behavior began to worsen. he started making excuses to avoid speaking to y/n altogether, but when they did interact, his words were laced with bitterness, as if he was punishing her for things that weren’t her fault. he would drop little comments about her and jeno, as if testing the waters, pushing her boundaries to see how much she would take before finally snapping.

one night, after another game, the breaking point came. jaemin pulled y/n aside in the parking lot, his face twisted in anger.

“why are you so close to him? why can’t you see it, y/n? i’m the one who’s been there for you. i’m the one who’s always supported you!” jaemin’s voice was low, but it was shaking with frustration. “i’ve been waiting for you to come around. but you keep pushing me away for him!”

y/n’s eyes widened as his words sank in, and for the first time in a long while, she felt her own anger flare up.

“i’ve never asked you to do that, jaemin!” she shot back, her voice cracking. “you don’t get to treat me like this just because you’re a selfish asshole! you broke my trust, and now you’re making it worse by acting like i owe you something.”

jaemin’s expression faltered, and for a moment, y/n saw a flicker of guilt in his eyes. but it was quickly replaced by frustration, and he stormed off, leaving y/n standing there, her heart racing.

she stood in the parking lot for a long time, trying to calm her breath, but the ache in her chest only grew.

jaemin had become more unpredictable, his behavior erratic. the once carefree, joking boy she had fallen for had been replaced by someone who was bitter, angry, and manipulative.

and jeno... jeno, who had always been there for her, was caught in the middle. y/n could see how much it was hurting him to watch jaemin spiral, but he stayed quiet. he didn’t push her to choose between them. he never had.

but y/n could feel the weight of it all, the pull of the past and the future, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep pretending that everything was okay.

the tension was becoming unbearable. jaemin’s jealousy was no longer something she could ignore. it was poisoning everything, and y/n wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep herself from falling into the same trap again.

y/n had never felt so torn between two people she once thought she could rely on. jaemin had been her everything once—her best friend, her confidant, the one who’d held her hand through all of life’s uncertainties. but somewhere along the way, he had betrayed her trust, broken their bond, and left her to pick up the pieces of her heart. then there was jeno, who had quietly stood by her side, never pushing her, but always present, in a way she couldn’t ignore anymore.

junior year was almost over, and with it, the façade y/n had put up for so long. she had tried so hard to balance the pain jaemin had caused her with the tenderness she felt from jeno. she’d buried the anger, the hurt, and the confusion, but it was all bubbling up now, and she couldn’t hold it in any longer. the exhaustion was overwhelming. every interaction with jaemin felt like a warzone, and every moment with jeno felt like a bittersweet reminder of what could’ve been. she was drained—emotionally, mentally, physically—and she knew something had to give.

it happened after a particularly tense practice. the girls had just finished their drills when she spotted jaemin and jeno across the field, talking, but there was an edge to their conversation that y/n couldn’t ignore. jaemin’s body language was rigid, and jeno’s face was unreadable. there was too much unspoken history between the three of them, and y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that she was standing on the sidelines of her own life, watching as the people she cared about most drifted further apart.

y/n waited until practice ended, when jaemin finally approached her. she’d been dreading this moment, but she knew it was coming. he had been quiet for days, and she couldn’t pretend anymore.

“y/n,” jaemin’s voice was soft but urgent, like he needed her to understand. “we need to talk.”

she nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. the air felt thick between them, charged with everything they hadn’t said, everything they hadn’t resolved.

“jaemin,” she began, her voice steady but strained. “i don’t think we can keep pretending like everything's okay.”

jaemin’s face tightened, his hands shifting nervously at his sides. “i don’t want to lose you, y/n. i know i screwed up. but i can’t keep living in this tension with you. i miss you. i miss us.”

y/n’s chest tightened, her heart pounding in her ears. “i don’t know if i can forgive you, jaemin,” she said, her voice wavering. “what you did… it broke me. and the way you’ve treated jeno—it’s not fair to either of us.”

jaemin flinched, but y/n pressed on, needing to say the words she had been holding back for so long.

“you don’t get to demand my forgiveness,” she continued, her voice growing stronger with each word. “i’ve spent the past year trying to figure out if i can ever trust you again, and i can’t. you hurt me in ways i don’t even know how to explain. i’m tired of pretending like i’m okay with it.”

tears welled up in jaemin’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything at first. he simply stood there, absorbing her words. his face twisted with guilt and sadness, but there was also something else there—a recognition of the truth she had finally voiced.

“i’m sorry, y/n,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “i didn’t mean to hurt you. i never wanted to lose you.”

the pain in his voice almost broke her, but y/n stood firm. she had to.

“i need to focus on myself now, jaemin,” she said, her voice shaking with the weight of the decision. “i can’t keep holding onto something that isn’t there anymore. i need space. from you. from everything.”

jaemin’s face crumpled as he nodded, unable to find the words to respond. but y/n didn’t wait for him to say anything else. she turned and walked away, feeling her heart shatter with every step she took, but also feeling lighter—like she had finally made the decision she needed to make.

later that evening, y/n found herself on the bench outside, her thoughts racing. she was still shaken by the confrontation, her emotions raw. but in the quiet moments, she started to realize something she hadn’t fully acknowledged before: how much she had been leaning on jeno. his quiet support, his gentle encouragement, the way he had been there for her without pushing her, without trying to fix everything—he had become her anchor.

she didn’t know when it had shifted, but somewhere along the way, jeno had become more than just her friend. she had relied on him in ways she hadn’t wanted to admit. and now, as she thought about everything that had happened with jaemin, she realized that maybe—just maybe—there was a part of her that had been falling for jeno all along. she didn’t know what that meant for her, or for their friendship, but she couldn’t ignore the feeling growing in her chest.

the thought made her heart race, but she couldn’t bring herself to face it fully just yet. the pain from everything with jaemin was still too fresh, too raw.

the next few weeks were a blur. jaemin withdrew further into himself, giving y/n the space she had demanded. the boys’ team continued on , and the girls’ team was stronger than ever. jeno remained by her side, a steady presence in a world that felt like it was crumbling.

y/n didn’t know what would happen next. she wasn’t sure if she was ready to open her heart to jeno or if she was still too broken from the past. but she knew one thing for sure: she couldn’t keep living in the past, and she couldn’t keep running from the feelings she had for him. it was time for her to figure out who she was—without jaemin, without jeno, and without the weight of their mistakes on her shoulders.

SENIOR YEAR

as senior year begins, the weight of the past hangs heavily over y/n, jaemin, and jeno. it’s like an invisible wall between y/n and jaemin—every interaction charged with the ghosts of their past and the pain of betrayal. y/n can’t shake the memories of jaemin’s infidelity, and despite the months that have passed since, the scars are still raw. she’s exhausted from carrying the burden of their broken relationship and the emotional toll it’s taken on her.

jaemin, on the other hand, is still consumed by guilt. the boy who once had so much confidence and charm has become a shadow of himself. his attempts to reach out to y/n—through small gestures, texts, and even the occasional private conversation—are met with indifference. every time he apologizes, y/n’s response is distant, noncommittal, and filled with pain. she can't forgive him, not yet. maybe not ever.

jaemin, desperate to regain her trust, falls into a cycle of self-doubt. he can’t let go of the fact that he betrayed her, and the realization that he’s lost her, perhaps forever, only feeds his spiraling behavior. he starts showing up late to practice, missing key training sessions, and losing focus on the field. his performance begins to falter, his frustration growing, but he refuses to confront the root of his issues—his inability to move forward from the guilt and shame he feels.

the boys' team, once cohesive, begins to feel the strain. jeno, still trying to be a support system for both y/n and jaemin, finds himself caught in the middle. he’s seen firsthand how much y/n has suffered, and he can’t help but feel the bitterness growing between the two people who once meant so much to him. but he’s also aware of how much jaemin is spiraling, how his emotional instability is affecting their entire team dynamic.

meanwhile, y/n grows more withdrawn. she can no longer pretend that everything is fine. every time she sees jaemin, her heart aches with the memory of his betrayal. she wishes she could hate him—make it easier to move on—but that’s not who she is. instead, she retreats into herself, focusing on her studies and soccer, trying to drown out the emotional noise.

her relationship with jeno deepens as he becomes the one constant in her life. while jeno doesn’t push her to talk, he’s always there, offering quiet comfort. they continue their friendship, but the more time y/n spends with him, the more she realizes just how much she’s come to rely on him. he’s not the reason she’s avoiding jaemin, but in his own quiet way, jeno becomes her safe space. it’s unspoken, the bond that’s forming between them, but it’s undeniable.

jaemin can’t stand it. watching y/n grow closer to jeno only feeds his jealousy. he tries to lash out, throwing passive-aggressive comments at jeno, but the latter doesn’t react. the distance between jaemin and y/n only grows wider as jaemin's self-destructive behavior intensifies. his jealousy becomes palpable, but he doesn’t know how to deal with it, except by pulling away more and more. it’s a vicious cycle: the more he pushes, the more y/n pulls away, and the more it fuels his resentment.

through all of this, y/n remains steadfast in her belief that she needs to focus on herself. she can't afford to fall back into the toxic cycle she once had with jaemin. but the weight of her feelings for both him and jeno is starting to take its toll on her. she knows she can’t keep juggling the expectations, the unresolved emotions, and the pressure to maintain the facade of normalcy.

jaemin’s attempts to make amends only seem to create more tension. every apology, every moment where he reaches out, is now a reminder of the trust that has been broken. it’s like a broken record—his words seem hollow, and y/n is no longer willing to listen.

jaemin reaches his breaking point when he realizes that no matter how much he tries, y/n isn’t going to forgive him. his emotional volatility begins to affect his performance on the field in ways it never has before. his usual charisma and leadership are replaced with frustration and irritability. it’s a clear sign to those around him that he’s struggling, but he refuses to confront his issues. instead, he turns inward, spiraling further into his guilt.

jeno, however, notices. he sees through jaemin’s facade. he’s been friends with jaemin long enough to know that this isn’t the jaemin he remembers. but jeno has his own burdens. he’s not just trying to support y/n; he’s silently dealing with his own feelings for her. watching her suffer because of jaemin only fuels his protective instincts. he wants to be there for her—wants to be the one she turns to when everything falls apart.

as senior year progresses, the tension between y/n and jaemin only grows. jaemin’s efforts to fix things are becoming more desperate, while y/n remains resolute in her decision to protect her heart. jeno watches the two of them, helpless in the middle, but trying to give y/n the space she needs to heal.

but the cracks are becoming more visible. jaemin’s self-destructive behavior is starting to cost him more than just his relationship with y/n; it’s affecting his relationships with everyone around him. and as y/n moves further away from him, she finds herself looking toward jeno more and more—unsure of what the future holds but realizing that perhaps the person who’s been there all along might be the one who helps her pick up the pieces of her broken heart.

as the months of senior year drag on, jaemin’s inability to move past his mistakes continues to take its toll, not only on his personal life but also on his career as a soccer player. the once-confident, charismatic team captain has fallen from grace, and his internal turmoil is becoming more apparent with every passing day. his guilt over betraying y/n, combined with the increasing pressure of trying to rebuild their broken relationship, is starting to unravel him.

on the field, jaemin is nowhere near the player he once was. his focus is scattered, his energy is off, and he’s constantly distracted. his once natural leadership is now overshadowed by his inability to keep it together. his performance on the field has been slipping for weeks, but it's not until a crucial game against a rival school that his reckless behavior finally leads to a major setback for the boys’ team.

the game is everything. it’s the deciding match for whether they’ll advance to the regional championships. jaemin, feeling the weight of the stakes and overwhelmed by the pressure to redeem himself, becomes reckless. he overcompensates, trying to push himself too hard in the heat of the game, desperate to prove his worth to everyone—his teammates, the coaches, and especially y/n. but in his haste, he makes a catastrophic mistake: a poorly timed pass leads to a turnover that results in a crucial goal for the other team, setting his squad back in an irreversible way.

the crowd’s disappointment is palpable, and the coaches’ frustration is evident as they pull jaemin from the field. his teammates’ silent judgment cuts deeper than anything he’s ever felt. jaemin can’t bring himself to face them or the consequences of his actions. the guilt floods in once more, but it’s different now. it’s not just the guilt of hurting y/n—it’s the overwhelming realization that he’s failed everyone around him, including himself.

after the game, jaemin isolates himself even further. he can’t face his teammates, who are all visibly frustrated with him. instead of seeking comfort from those who might understand, he withdraws. it’s a familiar feeling—the loneliness that has haunted him throughout the year—but it feels heavier now. every failure feels like it’s stacking on top of him, weighing him down with the realization that he has no one to turn to.

meanwhile, jeno begins to rise in prominence. his performance during the game is flawless, and his leadership shines through, even in the wake of jaemin’s mistake. he is the one who steps up, leading the boys' team to salvage what they can from the game and earning the respect and admiration that jaemin can no longer seem to command.

the contrast is stark: where jaemin once was the leader, jeno now shines. jaemin can see it all too clearly. jeno’s humility and grace on the field, his consistent performance, and his ability to be there for his teammates in the toughest of moments have earned him the spotlight jaemin so desperately craves but can no longer hold. the more jaemin watches jeno succeed, the deeper his sense of failure grows.

it’s not just on the field. jeno has also become a constant presence in y/n’s life. as the two of them spend more time together, their bond strengthens, and jaemin can’t ignore how close they’ve become. every glance, every shared smile between them feels like a reminder of what he’s lost—not only in terms of soccer but in terms of his relationship with y/n. the jealousy simmers beneath the surface, but jaemin is too wrapped up in his self-destructive thoughts to confront it head-on.

for the first time in his life, jaemin feels like a failure—not just to his teammates, but to himself. he’s become consumed by his guilt, bitterness, and jealousy. instead of redeeming himself, he has pushed y/n further away, sabotaged his friendships, and watched as jeno quietly earned everything jaemin thought was his.

the emotional weight is almost unbearable. jaemin can no longer deny that he’s lost control of his life, both on and off the field. and as he watches jeno rise, he’s faced with the stark reality: the man he once was, the person he thought he could be, is slipping away. the question now isn’t about how he can get y/n back—it’s about whether he can fix himself before he loses everything.

as the months of senior year wear on, jeno’s role in y/n’s life becomes more integral than ever before. he’s always been there, supporting her quietly from the sidelines, respecting her boundaries without ever pushing for more. after everything that’s happened with jaemin, y/n has learned to rely on jeno in ways she never thought she would. despite the wreckage of the past, jeno has never faltered in his loyalty to her. and now, as she continues to heal from the heartbreak and confusion jaemin left behind, jeno’s presence is one of the few constants she can cling to.

jeno never pressures her for anything, never expects anything in return. he simply is there. he shows up in ways that are subtle but meaningful—checking in with her after tough practices, offering a quiet word of encouragement when she’s feeling defeated, and being a steady presence during moments of vulnerability. y/n, still grappling with the emotional weight of her past, finds comfort in his steadiness. she knows she can count on him, no matter what. he’s the one person she can trust without hesitation, a stark contrast to the chaos that has surrounded her love life over the past two years.

while their connection remains primarily rooted in friendship, the way jeno has been there for her throughout the years starts to leave a deeper imprint on y/n. there’s a calmness to him that’s easy to be drawn to—a quiet strength that doesn’t demand attention but can always be relied upon. in a way, jeno is the anchor y/n never knew she needed. his patience and understanding provide her with the safe space she’s been craving, and as they spend more time together, y/n begins to realize just how much he means to her.

jeno’s support has been unwavering, even when the weight of jaemin’s actions and her own self-doubt have threatened to pull her under. jeno listens without judgment when she opens up about her struggles and doesn’t rush to offer advice or solutions. he simply listens and allows her to feel everything she needs to feel, never making her feel like she’s burdening him. his genuine care for her emotional well-being gradually helps y/n rediscover parts of herself that she thought were lost forever—her ability to trust, to be vulnerable, and to believe that she deserves to be happy.

as the year progresses, y/n begins to recognize how much jeno has become a cornerstone in her recovery. she’s not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, she’s started relying on him more than she realizes. his presence no longer feels like just the comforting familiarity of an old friend—it feels like something more, something that she hadn’t allowed herself to entertain before. every time they spend time together, she begins to notice the little things about him: the way his eyes light up when he smiles, the way his laugh makes her heart flutter, and how much she values the quiet moments of connection they share.

this growing bond between them doesn’t go unnoticed by y/n, and it begins to make her question everything. could she ever open up to him in the way she once did with jaemin? could she ever allow herself to love him as deeply as she thought she loved jaemin? the questions plague her, but y/n can’t ignore the growing warmth in her chest whenever jeno is near. there’s something so comforting and steady about him that she can’t help but wonder if he’s exactly what she’s been looking for all along.

but there’s still a lingering uncertainty in y/n’s heart. she’s been burned before, and she’s not sure if she’s ready to open herself up to the possibility of falling for someone again, especially someone as important to her as jeno. she knows that she can’t rush her feelings—she can’t rush the healing process. but with every passing day, y/n’s emotional walls begin to crumble just a little bit more, and jeno’s quiet, steady presence is there to catch her when they do.

the distance between y/n and jaemin seems insurmountable. y/n has grown closer to jeno, and jaemin, despite his attempts to mask his feelings, can’t help but feel the growing resentment and jealousy. it’s not just the friendship between y/n and jeno that bothers him—it’s the constant reminder that jeno was there for her when he failed her, when he walked away from their relationship, when he let her down. jaemin’s insecurities and guilt fuel his jealousy, and every time he sees jeno smile at y/n or hear them laughing together, it feels like a dagger to his heart.

jaemin tries to convince himself that he’s fine, that he’s moved on, but the truth is that he hasn’t. his feelings for y/n have never truly gone away. every time he sees them together—at practice, social gatherings, or simply hanging out between classes—the tight knot of jealousy twists in his chest. the more he watches them, the more broken he feels, realizing that he’s lost y/n, and there’s no easy way to get her back. this pain soon turns into frustration and confusion. he wants to reclaim what they had, but he doesn’t know how to fix what’s already been shattered.

unable to handle the weight of his jealousy and guilt, jaemin begins to lash out in small, passive-aggressive ways. he makes snide comments to jeno when they cross paths, mocking his success on the field or teasing him about how close he’s become to y/n. when y/n is around, jaemin often says things that are dismissive or loaded with frustration, hoping to provoke a reaction, hoping to get under their skin. it’s his way of coping with the feelings he can’t articulate or face head-on. but his actions do nothing but create more distance between him and y/n, and deepen his own bitterness.

despite his increasingly erratic behavior, jaemin can’t stop himself. he watches jeno rise in prominence—on the field and off—and it only exacerbates his feelings of failure. jaemin knows that jeno is everything he isn’t: calm, steady, patient. jeno has been there for y/n in ways jaemin never could, and as much as he hates to admit it, jaemin feels like he’s losing her for good. the desperation to get her back grows stronger, but every attempt he makes only pushes her further away.

the tension comes to a head during an intense practice session. the boys’ team is gearing up for an important game, and the pressure is high. jaemin, already struggling with his internal conflict, becomes increasingly reckless. his focus is shattered, and his performance suffers. when a particularly intense play goes wrong because of jaemin’s lack of focus, the frustration from both his teammates and the coaching staff mounts. jaemin can feel the eyes of his teammates on him, disappointed and frustrated. the weight of his failures—on the field and in his personal life—bursts out of him in an explosive meltdown. he lashes out, not only at his teammates but also at jeno, blaming him for everything. in a moment of complete emotional breakdown, jaemin storms off the field, leaving both teams in stunned silence.

the eruption of his emotions doesn’t go unnoticed, and it becomes a moment of reckoning for both jaemin and everyone around him. he has pushed his anger and guilt so far into the back of his mind that it finally comes spilling out in a public, uncontrollable outburst. his colleagues are shocked, unsure of how to handle the situation, but jaemin doesn’t care. all he can think about is the turmoil inside him—the guilt over losing y/n, his jealousy over jeno’s growing presence in her life, and the crushing weight of his own self-doubt.

y/n, having witnessed jaemin’s meltdown from a distance, knows that this moment can’t be ignored. she can no longer avoid the confrontation that’s been looming over her for months. the unresolved tension between her and jaemin is suffocating, and she knows that she can’t continue to keep her emotions bottled up. she finally decides to confront him, to demand the answers that she’s been too afraid to ask.

when they meet in private later, it’s raw and painful. jaemin, despite the guilt written all over his face, can’t seem to form the right words. his apologies come out desperate, but they feel empty to y/n. he begs her to understand that he never meant to hurt her, that he never wanted to lose her, but the weight of his actions hangs heavily between them. y/n, her heart breaking all over again, finally lets out everything she’s been holding inside. she tells him how deeply he hurt her, how his betrayal shattered her trust, and how he emotionally abandoned her when she needed him most. she admits that she will never be able to forgive him for what he did, that the damage is irreparable.

y/n, broken yet resolute, finally says the words that have been lingering in the air for months: “we’re over, jaemin. for good.” the finality in her voice cuts through the thick silence between them, and jaemin knows that this time, there’s no going back.

in that moment, y/n feels a sense of closure, but it’s not a peaceful kind of closure. it’s the painful kind that only comes after everything has been laid bare, after every raw emotion has been exposed. jaemin has lost her, and she has lost him. the weight of it all is crushing, but y/n knows she’s made the right decision. she can’t keep living in the shadow of his mistakes, and she deserves to find peace, even if it means leaving jaemin behind.

jaemin watches her leave, the sting of her words echoing in his chest. he stands there, alone and defeated, knowing that the person he loved is finally gone from his life. he has no one to blame but himself.

after jaemin’s emotional breakdown at practice, the tension between him and jeno reaches a boiling point. the air is thick with unspoken words as jaemin’s jealousy and guilt continue to simmer. jeno, ever the composed and patient one, has remained calm throughout the ordeal, but this time, something snaps within him. he can no longer stand by and watch jaemin tear himself apart and take everyone down with him.

it happens after practice, as the boys’ team is cooling down. jaemin is pacing restlessly, his mind clouded with anger and frustration. he can’t shake the image of y/n and jeno—how close they’ve become, how much jeno has been there for her when jaemin couldn’t be. the jealousy is gnawing at him again, twisting every thought in his head. he feels as though the walls are closing in around him, and he can’t breathe.

jeno, having just finished a set of drills, walks toward him, his usual calm demeanor masking the concern brewing inside him. he’s been trying to get through to jaemin for weeks, but the guy seems impossible to reach.

"jaemin," jeno calls out, his voice steady but firm, “you need to stop. you’re not just hurting yourself—you're hurting everyone around you.”

jaemin stops pacing and looks up at jeno, his eyes wild with emotion. the words come out in a venomous hiss. “what do you know about what i’m going through, huh? you think you’re some perfect hero, standing there with your fake sympathy, acting like you care about me? or y/n?”

jeno’s patience wears thin, and he takes a step closer. “this isn’t about us, jaemin. you’re spiraling. we’re trying to help you, but you’re pushing everyone away.”

jaemin’s hands clench into fists, his breathing ragged. “help me? you don’t even understand. you think you can just step in and take over like you’ve always been the better guy? you think you’re the one who deserves y/n?”

the words hit harder than jeno expects, and for a moment, he’s taken aback. he doesn’t know if jaemin is just lashing out in his pain or if there’s something deeper at play, but the mention of y/n makes his blood boil. he can’t hold back anymore.

without thinking, jeno steps forward and shoves jaemin’s shoulder hard, a physical push meant to get him to back off. "enough. you’re not thinking clearly.”

but jaemin’s temper flares up instantly. his eyes darken with rage, and before jeno can react, jaemin swings a fist at him, hitting his chest with a force that knocks jeno back a step.

"don’t touch me!" jaemin yells, his voice cracking with a mix of anger and frustration. "you have no idea what it’s like to lose everything!"

jeno’s mind is spinning, his heart racing, but he’s not going to back down now. he shoves jaemin back, this time harder, and they stand face to face, only inches apart, both breathing heavily. "and you’re about to lose everyone, jaemin, if you don’t get your act together. y/n deserves better than this. you’re not helping her or yourself by destroying everything."

jaemin’s face contorts with pain, and for a split second, it almost looks like he’s going to break down. but instead, his eyes harden, and he takes a step forward, his fists raised again.

"stay the hell away from her, jeno!" jaemin spits out, his voice laced with venom.

but jeno, now pushing back his own frustration and anger, grabs jaemin by the wrist, forcing him to face the reality of the situation. "i’m not going to let you drag her into your mess any longer. you want to fix things? stop running from it. stop blaming everyone else."

the two stand there, the tension crackling in the air, neither of them moving. for a moment, everything is still. jeno’s grip on jaemin’s wrist tightens, not in anger, but to ground the situation, to get jaemin to listen. jaemin’s chest heaves with ragged breaths, his emotions spilling over in every movement. but after a few moments, jaemin’s eyes flicker with a mix of shame and frustration. he pulls away, stumbling back, his voice barely a whisper, but still full of bitterness.

"get out of my face, jeno. i don’t need your help. i never did."

jeno doesn’t move, his eyes softening, though the hurt is still there. "i’m not leaving you, jaemin. i can’t just stand by and watch you destroy yourself."

jaemin scoffs, shaking his head. "then maybe you should have stayed out of it from the start."

with that, jaemin turns and walks away, leaving jeno standing there in silence, the weight of their confrontation hanging in the air like an unspoken truth.

jeno’s heart aches, but he knows there’s nothing more he can do for jaemin—not until jaemin is ready to face the truth himself.

as the fallout from jaemin’s betrayal continues to cast a long shadow over y/n’s heart, jeno quietly becomes her anchor. he’s always been there, but now, his presence feels different. there are moments when she realizes how much she’s come to rely on him—how steady and constant he’s been when everything else in her life has been in turmoil. the emotional bond between them grows stronger as y/n opens up to him in ways she hasn’t been able to with anyone else.

jeno, for his part, has never wavered. he’s been patient, never pushing y/n, but always available when she needs him. he’s seen the pain in her eyes, felt the tremors of her heartache, and offered his quiet support from the sidelines. but lately, the way y/n looks at him has changed. the small, lingering glances, the way she leans on him when the weight of her day gets too much—it’s all starting to feel more intimate, more real. they both know it, even if neither of them is ready to say it aloud.

it’s after one particularly grueling practice that jeno finds the courage to take the next step. the team has just finished a session, and the night air is cool as y/n sits alone on the bleachers, exhausted but still lost in thought. jeno approaches her slowly, as if testing the waters, and sits down beside her. for a moment, neither of them speaks. the silence between them is comfortable, but there’s something different about it now—a quiet anticipation.

jeno clears his throat before speaking, his voice unusually soft. “y/n,” he starts, his gaze lingering on her but never meeting her eyes. “i need to tell you something.”

y/n looks up at him, confused. she’s never seen him so serious, so vulnerable. “what is it?”

jeno exhales deeply, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. the weight of his words is heavier than he expected. “i’ve always loved you. i just didn’t know how to say it.”

y/n’s breath catches in her throat, her heart pounding in her chest. she blinks, unsure of how to process his confession. she’s never seen jeno in this light before—he’s always been her rock, her friend, but now his words hang between them, so raw, so real.

she doesn’t know what to say. a thousand thoughts race through her mind, memories of jaemin’s betrayal, the pain of their relationship unraveling, the way she’d sworn never to let herself be vulnerable again. but in this moment, all of that seems distant, almost irrelevant. she looks at jeno and sees the quiet sincerity in his eyes—the way he’s always been there for her, never asking for anything in return.

jeno sees the hesitation in her eyes and his heart drops. he opens his mouth to say something more, but y/n beats him to it.

“i—jeno, i didn’t know.” her voice is barely above a whisper. “i did realize how much... how much you’ve always been there for me. but now... i don’t know what to say.”

jeno nods, understanding. he’s not expecting anything from her right away. he’s been patient for so long, and he knows y/n needs time. “you don’t have to say anything,” he replies quietly. “i just... i couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.”

there’s a long pause as y/n processes his words, her emotions swirling in her chest. she can’t help but feel a shift in herself. as much as she’s tried to keep her heart guarded, jeno has slowly chipped away at those walls without her even realizing it. he’s always been there, offering support, offering love in the most unspoken ways. and now, with his confession, she can no longer ignore the feelings she’s developed for him—feelings she didn’t want to have, not after everything with jaemin.

finally, y/n turns to him, her eyes soft. “jeno, i... i think i might feel the same way,” she admits, her voice trembling with a mix of relief and fear. “i’ve been so afraid of getting hurt again, but you’ve been here for me, even when i didn’t deserve it.”

jeno smiles, the weight lifting from his shoulders. “you’ve always deserved it, y/n. you just didn’t know it yet.”

and for the first time in a long time, y/n feels like she’s finally where she’s meant to be.

as their relationship begins to shift into something more, y/n and jeno find themselves spending even more time together. their bond, once rooted in friendship, now flourishes in the space between quiet conversations and shared moments of understanding. every time y/n looks at jeno, she sees not just the friend she’s known for years, but someone who has truly been there for her when she needed him the most.

jeno, for his part, is patient and careful, never rushing things, but always present. he’s no longer just the quiet support he once was; he’s becoming the person y/n confides in the most. they find themselves talking for hours, even on days when there’s nothing urgent to say. jeno listens intently to y/n, offering words of encouragement when she doubts herself, his voice always steady and reassuring. when y/n has a bad day or feels the weight of the past dragging her down, jeno is the one she turns to, and he’s always there, without fail.

their time together starts to shift from the familiar rhythm of friendship to something more intimate. they grab coffee together before practice, their fingers brushing when they both reach for the cup. it’s innocent, a fleeting moment, but it makes both of them pause, just for a second, realizing how natural it feels. there’s an ease between them now, a shared history that makes their bond stronger than ever. the way jeno looks at her, his eyes filled with admiration, and the way she catches herself smiling when they share a joke—it all feels like the beginning of something new.

they spend more time outside of soccer too. jeno starts inviting y/n to small, low-key hangouts—movie nights, walks around the campus, even late-night ice cream runs when the weight of their studies gets too heavy to bear. these moments, simple as they are, become cherished memories for both of them. y/n finds herself looking forward to these quiet times with him, moments when the world slows down and it’s just the two of them, enjoying each other’s company without any pressure or expectations.

one evening, after a long week of practice and studying, jeno takes y/n to a small, tucked-away café on the edge of town. they sit outside, sipping hot chocolate under the soft glow of string lights, the air crisp and refreshing. they talk about everything and nothing—how their teams are doing, their plans for the future, and the small, silly things that make them laugh. jeno’s laughter is like a balm to y/n’s soul, and she finds herself laughing in a way she hasn’t in so long.

as the night stretches on, jeno becomes quieter, his eyes studying y/n as if he’s memorizing every detail of the moment. finally, he speaks, his voice soft but steady.

“you know, i’ve always loved spending time with you,” he says, his tone almost too gentle for the weight of his words. “but now, it feels different. in a good way, though.”

y/n meets his gaze, her heart fluttering slightly. she knows exactly what he means. there’s something undeniably deeper between them now—something unspoken but always present, lingering in the quiet moments they share.

“i feel the same way,” y/n admits, her voice barely above a whisper. she takes a deep breath before continuing, unsure of what comes next. “i didn’t realize how much i needed this, how much i needed you.”

jeno’s expression softens, a small, warm smile playing at the corners of his lips. “i’ll always be here for you, y/n. whatever you need.”

his words mean more to her than she could express. it’s not just about the reassurance; it’s the sincerity behind them, the unshakeable presence he’s given her since the very beginning. it’s comforting and grounding, the way she can rely on him without question.

as the weeks go by, y/n’s heart begins to heal in ways she didn’t think were possible. jeno’s love is different from anything she ever thought she needed, but it’s everything she’s come to crave. it’s steady and gentle, always patient, and never demanding. they share the quiet, tender moments that begin to stitch her heart back together—small gestures like a soft touch on the shoulder or the way jeno looks at her when she’s not paying attention.

their relationship deepens further with each passing day. there are no grand gestures, no rush, just a growing sense of security and warmth that builds between them. jeno’s hand finds its place in hers more often now, their fingers intertwining as they walk to and from class, the simple act a silent promise of what they’re becoming.

there’s a day during midterms when y/n is feeling particularly overwhelmed. jeno notices the way she’s rubbing her temples, the exhaustion written all over her face, and without a word, he takes her study materials and pulls her away from the books. he insists they take a break, dragging her out for a walk around the campus, forcing her to breathe and focus on something other than the weight of the semester. it’s in moments like this that y/n realizes just how much jeno cares for her—how much he’s always cared, even when she didn’t see it.

as the weeks turn into months, y/n’s feelings for jeno only grow stronger. it’s not just his patience or the way he supports her—it’s the way he makes her feel safe. he’s the person she’s finally allowed herself to trust again, the person she knows will never let her down.

one night, after a game, when the adrenaline has worn off and they’re sitting on the grass, watching the sunset together, y/n leans her head against jeno’s shoulder. the peace between them is tangible, and she knows, without a doubt, that this is where she’s meant to be.

for the first time since jaemin, y/n feels truly happy, and it’s with jeno, the person who’s been there all along, quietly, patiently waiting for the chance to make her his. it feels like a second chance—not just at love, but at life, at healing.

the final year of college has flown by, a blur of practices, games, and emotional highs and lows. y/n, jeno, and jaemin find themselves standing at the threshold of a new chapter, the world of professional soccer calling their names. the three of them have worked so hard to reach this point, each driven by their own dreams and aspirations, but now that graduation has arrived, it feels bittersweet. it’s not just the end of college; it’s the end of an era for all of them.

the atmosphere in the locker room is charged with excitement, nerves, and anticipation as the day of signing for their respective teams finally arrives. it’s a moment they’ve all dreamed of, and now it’s here. they’ve each worked tirelessly to get to this point, and their futures are about to change forever.

y/n holds her breath as she watches the team representatives enter, the thick envelopes containing offers for professional contracts in their hands. her heart beats faster when her name is called first. she’s been offered a spot with a prestigious women's team in the usa, a huge accomplishment and a dream come true. it’s a victory she’s worked years for, and as she holds the contract in her hands, she feels a rush of pride and excitement. but as she glances over at jeno and jaemin, she can’t ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. she knows something else is coming—the realization that their paths are diverging in ways that are beyond their control.

then, it’s jeno and jaemin’s turn. the room goes quiet as the tension rises. they’ve both been offered a spot on the same team—one of the top teams in korea. the news hits y/n like a wave. they’ll be playing for the same team, side by side, in korea, while she’s headed in the complete opposite direction. the irony doesn’t escape her. once, they were all three so intertwined in their lives, their friendships, and their dreams. now, their futures are pulling them apart.

jeno glances over at y/n, his expression unreadable. he’d always hoped they could find a way to make things work, but as reality sets in, a silent understanding passes between them. her future is in the usa, and his is in korea. there’s no way their relationship can survive such distance, especially with their professional commitments looming over them. the time they spent together—growing closer, learning from each other, falling in love—feels like it was just a moment in time. the possibility of continuing their love story seems impossible, as much as they want to.

jaemin, meanwhile, stands a little further away, his own feelings tangled in the mix. he’s proud of both y/n and jeno, but the reality of it all is suffocating. he’s tried so hard to fix things with y/n, but now, seeing how their futures are pulling them in different directions, it feels like everything has slipped through his fingers. he doesn’t know what’s next for him and y/n, but he can’t deny that the emotional baggage of their past might just be the thing that keeps them apart, even if he still wishes he could somehow undo it all.

after the signing ceremony, y/n, jeno, and jaemin find themselves alone in a quiet corner of the campus. it’s the last time they’ll all be together like this, the weight of it heavy in the air. jeno looks at y/n with a mixture of love and sadness in his eyes. he’s always been the steady one, the one who supported her through thick and thin. but as much as he wants to hold on to the hope of a future together, reality is crashing down around them.

“i’m proud of you,” he says softly, his voice thick with emotion. “you deserve this, y/n. you’ve worked so hard.”

y/n’s eyes well up with tears, and she smiles through the ache in her chest. “i’m proud of you, too, jeno. i always have been.”

but then, the silence falls between them. it’s the unspoken truth that neither of them can ignore—their love story was never meant to last with the paths they’re about to take. they both know it, but neither can say the words out loud, not just yet.

jaemin stands a little to the side, watching the two of them. he can see the pain in both of their eyes, the unspoken goodbye they’re each trying to avoid. as much as he wants to be angry, as much as he wants to hold on to the hope of fixing things with y/n, he knows that their futures are too different now. there’s no easy way to say goodbye, but in his heart, he knows it’s the only way forward.

finally, it’s y/n who breaks the silence. she turns to jeno, her voice trembling slightly. “i think…i think we both know this can’t work, jeno.”

jeno swallows hard, his gaze meeting hers. the love they’ve shared, the bond they’ve formed—it’s real, but the reality of their careers, their lives, their futures—it’s too big to ignore. he nods, his chest heavy with the weight of it all.

“i know,” he says quietly. “i love you, y/n. i always will, but i don’t want to hold you back. you have your future ahead of you, and i can’t be the reason you don’t go for it.”

y/n smiles softly, her heart breaking all over again. “i love you too, jeno. i always will, but this…this isn’t the time for us. i need to do this on my own.”

the night before y/n’s departure, the campus is quiet. graduation is over, the signing ceremony is done, and now it’s just the lingering goodbyes and the last few moments before they all part ways for good. y/n sits in her dorm room, packing the last of her belongings into a suitcase. her heart feels heavy, weighed down by the reality of everything that’s happened. jeno is going to korea, jaemin is staying in the city, and y/n, despite all her achievements, can’t shake the sense of emptiness that’s settled in her chest.

she’s been trying to stay strong, trying to be excited for the future ahead, but as the hours tick by, the truth becomes unavoidable. she’s about to leave behind everything that’s been familiar to her for so long—her friends, her teammates, the life she’s built here. but it’s not just the soccer; it’s jeno. the bond they shared, the way they supported each other through the darkest moments, the love that had started to grow between them—it feels like it’s being torn apart by the distance that looms ahead.

as she stares out of the window at the darkening sky, there’s a knock at her door. it’s soft at first, hesitant. but y/n knows exactly who it is before she even opens it.

when she swings the door open, jeno stands there, looking exhausted and conflicted. his hands are stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, his gaze fixed on the floor. he doesn’t say anything at first, but the sadness in his eyes speaks volumes.

y/n steps aside, letting him in, her heart aching at the sight of him. she’s tried so hard to push down her feelings, to convince herself that this is just the way things are. but seeing him like this, standing on the edge of everything, it shatters the walls she’s carefully built.

“jeno…” she whispers, unsure of what to say.

“i don’t want you to leave,” he finally admits, his voice raw, thick with emotion. he looks up at her then, his eyes brimming with tears. “i don’t want to lose you.”

y/n feels a lump form in her throat as she meets his gaze. she’s always known how much jeno cares for her, how much he’s supported her, but seeing him like this—vulnerable, honest—it breaks her heart in a way she wasn’t prepared for. she thought she was the one struggling, the one fighting to let go. but now, in this moment, she realizes that jeno is struggling just as much.

“i don’t want to leave either, jeno,” she says softly, her voice trembling. “i don’t know how to say goodbye to you. it feels like everything i’ve known is slipping away.”

jeno steps closer, his hands reaching for hers. he’s shaking slightly, the weight of their impending separation clearly taking its toll. “then don’t say goodbye. stay here. with me. we’ll figure it out, y/n. i can’t imagine a future without you.”

y/n pulls her hands away, her emotions swirling like a storm inside her. she wants to believe him, wants to believe that maybe—just maybe—they can make it work. but she knows the reality is far more complicated. she’s heading to the usa for her career, and he’s going to korea for his. no matter how much they love each other, the distance would be insurmountable.

“i can’t, jeno,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “we both have our futures ahead of us. and i don’t want to hold you back from yours. i don’t want you to look back and regret staying for me when you should have been chasing your dreams.”

jeno's eyes fill with pain as he steps even closer, the space between them disappearing. he reaches out, gently cupping her face, his thumb brushing away a tear she hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“please don’t say that,” he whispers. “i don’t want to let you go. i don’t care about anything else but you. i just want to be with you.”

y/n closes her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. “jeno… i can’t stay. but i want you to know… i will always love you. you’ve been my rock through all of this, and i don’t think i’ll ever stop caring for you. but i have to go, and you have to go, too.”

for a long moment, they just stand there, the weight of their conversation hanging heavy in the air. finally, jeno speaks again, his voice soft, almost like a plea. “can i just hold you for a little while? just… let me hold you, y/n. i just need to be close to you.”

y/n nods silently, too emotionally drained to say anything more. she allows him to pull her into his arms, her head resting on his chest. the world outside seems to fade away, leaving only the sound of jeno’s heartbeat in the quiet room.

as they stand there, holding each other, y/n can feel the warmth of his embrace wrapping around her, the comfort of being with him one last time. she closes her eyes, allowing herself to forget everything—her pain, the distance, the uncertainty of the future. for a brief, perfect moment, there is only the two of them.

and in that moment, she feels herself slipping into sleep, her body relaxing against his. the last thing she feels before she drifts off is jeno gently pressing a kiss to the top of her head, his arms wrapped securely around her.

“i love you,” he whispers, the words a soft promise in the quiet darkness.

y/n’s breathing slows, and though she can’t respond in that moment, she knows she’s leaving a piece of her heart with him.

for now, it’s enough to be with him like this. to have one last moment of peace before the future takes them in different directions.

as she falls asleep in his arms, y/n knows that no matter what happens, she will always carry the love they shared—deep within her heart, a love that was pure, even if it was only meant for a chapter of her life.

taglist . . open @chenlezip @polarisjisung @mrkified @narcisstict @injvns

[dailyadventureprompts]

Mystery: A Light in the Darkness

Seeking to keep their sickly son Luka safe from the dangers of the world, the baron and baroness D'Montria have kept the boy in the tallest tower of their castle for most of his life. Rumour had it that the boy's become a prolific reader as most every night people of the surrounding village could look up and see the tower windows alight with all the candles the boy used to read into the small hours of the night.

The locals knew that something was wrong when the tower remained dark for an entire week. The D'Montria boy has vanished, leaving nothing behind but a guttering lamp and an open window. Now the baronial couple is in a state of panic searching for answers, mobilizing their garrison and offering rewards for any who might have information on where their boy has gone.

Adventure Hooks:

The party's in with the D'Montria family comes in the form of a member of their houshold guard. He's an old acquaintance of one of the heroes, an old family friend, or perhaps a fellow comrade in arms. He was on watch the night Luka disappeared, and while he wasn't in any way involved he knows his captain is looking for someone to blame to show the D'Montrias that progress is being made. Fearful of losing his job, or worse being made into a scapegoat, he's written to the party for help.

It's a fortnight after the disappearance and shortly after the party begin their investigation that a ransom notice arrives, signed by Jacknife Jenny a famous brigand well known for her trickery and ruthlessness. She and her gang want money, and lots of it, before they had the boy over. Not all is as it appears however, as in the course of looking into Luka's disappearance the party will discover some of Jenny's crew skulking about and strongarming folks looking for information.

Krine the bookseller's daughter might have a clue to where Luka might be. She's an odd sort, prone to flights of facy, and the parry will find her trailing them as they investigate. If questioned, she'll claim that despite never visting the castle she and the D'Montria boy have been friends for month. She's an idea where he's gone, but has sworn not to tell, so the party will either need to be clever or very mean to get it out of her.

Background: Luka D'Montria was a fearful child, exactly what you'd expect of someone overly sheltered from a young age and told he was too weak to wether any of life's challenges. He was also deeply lonely, and despite all the things he knew could hurt him in the outside world wished nothing more than to go out and make friends.

The first of these friends was Krine, who's parent's shop was close enough to his parent's castle that they could catch sight of each other's night-lanterns. Casual start and stop "hellos!" and "Goodnights!" became a nightly occurrence, which evolved into full on coded conversations when Trine started slipping hidden notes into the books the noble boy's tutors kept buying for him (the scribbled remnants of which remain in both of their rooms, should the party look).

The second friend turned out to be Tergrid, god of fright, who'd had her eye on the fearful boy for a while and decided to approach him in a dream with an offer; She'd give him the strength to face the world if he had the courage to bear it. Luka accepted, and promptly fell ill for three days, leaving his parents and their physicians to dote on him day and night and leave him swaddled so tightly in bedding he could scarcely move. On the third night, once everyone was tired, he slipped out of his blankets, opened the window to drink in the cool night, and took flight on his new moth wings. He visited Krine for the first time that night, and only left once the dawn threatened to chase him back inside. Not wanting to return to his guilded cage just yet, he left to the nearby forest, looking for a landmark he'd only read about in books.

Challenges & Complications:

The blessings of a fear goddess are not to be taken lightly, nor are they as straightforward as giving a feeble youth the gift of flight. "Strength enough to face the world" amounts to Luka being cursed into a sort of were-moth, growing in might and becoming less human each night as the moon wanes towards new. Predatory and driven to hunt those who wander alone at night, Luka's full feral moth form is not just a threat, it's a sacred beast in service of the goddess who gave him wings. At the same time, the blessing/curse represents freedom to the young D'Montria, and he will be loathe to give it up at first.

Jacknife Jennny's gang found Luka when he blundered into the old fortress they used as a hideout. She'd served under his family as a mercenary before turning brigand, and recognized him from his resemblance to his parents. Initially she was intrigued by the boy's ability to fly, and put on a robinhood style dashing outlaw routine to try and gain the boy's confidence only to try and imprison him for ransom when he saw through her act a few days later. Intrigue turned to fascination when the moon slid to a crescent and the boy escaped one night, leaving several of her best fighters shredded and disembowled in the process. Jenny already wanted to fly, and maybe cheat her former employers out of a ransom, but the idea of being able to turn into a seemingly unkillable monster? Now THAT'S got her attention.

Artist

[lanadelrafe]

Ok so why is no one talking about mob boss! Rafe LIKE HELLO. I think we’re gonna need more🫶🏼

— tw: mentions of a gun, attempted sexual assault, murder, blood.

— author’s note: i’m so glad people actually like this au! i know it’s not all sunshine and rainbows but i’m under the impression that being a mob wife isn’t that great. but they actually kinda like each other in this one.

as much as they fight, mob wife!reader can’t sleep until she knows rafe is safe.

there was a break in once when rafe was out doing god knows what. mw!reader was home alone with no protective detail. had there not been multiple men who rushed around, breaking things, she would’ve put those training sessions to work and defended herself. instead, she called rafe and locked herself in their shared closet. rafe hurried home, gun loaded and ready to be used. she could hear the shots even from her hiding spot. once it got quiet, she began panicking because she had no clue whether it meant rafe was alive or not. she heard the sound of the door knob being turned and she held her breath. when the door didn’t open, whoever was behind it began to jiggle the knob it abruptly.

she knew right then and there that it wasn’t rafe.

the only thing she had to defend herself were her heels. the memory of the incident at the club flashed in her mind. she grabbed a single heel and held it up, ready for the attack. when the masked stranger finally broke down the door, she lunged at him. he struggled for a moment, bleeding from his scalp, before he managed to pin her arms to her sides and flip her onto her stomach. she laid flat against the floor, thrashing and trying to break her wrists free from his hold.

the moment she felt his grubby hands push up the oversized t-shirt she was wearing was when she really started to freak out. she started screaming and threw her head back against his nose. she heard a crunch and a pained groan. he released her and she took the opportunity to crawl out from underneath him. she didn’t make it far when he grabbed her by her ankles and dragged her body towards him. he flipped her onto her back and she scratched at his face, beginning to cry. “get off of me!” she shrieked. she pushed off his mask and gasped when she saw the bone sticking out of his crooked, bloody nose.

he grinned down at her. “don’t worry sweetheart. it’ll be something you’re used to.” he was pressed against her core while her legs were on either side of his waist. he reached down to yank her panties off, laughing deeply.

before anything else happened, they both heard a whistle. she stopped her cries, craning her neck to see where the noise came from. rafe stood at the door, leaning against the frame while cradling his bloody arm against his chest. he pointed his gun in their direction and pulled the trigger. the bullet hit straight between the stranger’s eyes, blood splattering onto mw!reader’s face. she let out a choked sob and shoved his lifeless body off of her.

she stood up and ran into rafe’s arms. he groaned at the impact, having been shot in his shoulder. but nonetheless, he pushed through the pain to wrap his uninjured arm around the back of her neck.

“i was so scared rafe,” she whispered later to him while they laid in bed. the bullet in his shoulder was long gone and he was bandaged up, curtesy of the private doctor he had hired for situations like this. “thought he was going to-”

he cut her off, “i’ll never let anyone hurt you again.” he traced his fingers up and down her back while she clung to his body.

“yeah,” she replied softly. and for the first time in a long time, she believed him.

after that night, rafe installed a high level security system, had armed guards posted outside the mansion’s gate and every entrance to their home. despite the new safety measures, mw!reader would still stay up into the late hours, paranoid. she didn’t close her eyes until she was tucked into rafe’s side, arms wrapped her protectively.

[ghostiequill]

Love, Like Power, Is Not Freely Given

A Doflamingo x Marine Diplomat Reader; Chapter 1/5

You could recognize power when you see it. Being surrounded by the most powerful was a part of your job as a chief diplomat of the marines.

The ballroom stood intimidatingly before you, nearly blinding you with its brilliance. Its glittering opulence, a mockery of finery. The crowd who populated this place were of no noble status. This party was a show of power, not gained by political means but by fear and force. The glitter and gold compensates for the intoxicating feeling of having so much power and wealth, you need to show them off. 

The chandeliers, like constellations suspended in a false heaven, fracture the light into a thousand glimmers, their brilliance almost blinding—too opulent, too indulgent

The polished marble floor, pristine and shiny if not for the steps of criminals seemingly darkening the atmosphere

The air is thick with false pleasantries and fake smiles. Each party knows something that could destroy the other, just calculating when to use it.

In the back center, a grand marble staircase leading up to a balcony where a man of precedence resides, the guest of honour- Doflamingo. His glass remains untouched, instead drunk off the control he has,every guest under his control, his family surrounds him as he gazes over the crowd

You keep a calm demeanor, exchanging empty pleasantries with a nameless lackey when Doflamingo strides over, calm, measured footsteps dominating the space, hushed whispers and avoidant glances as he passes by

“Well, well, well, I haven't seen you before, little marine. Tell me, how is the party to your liking?” His voice is teasing and confident,like a predator toying with its prey, but you don't fall under his command.

“It's strange, isn’t it? How a gathering meant to celebrate power only exposes how it's traded cheaply, sold off to those who only wish to destroy” there's a beat of dead silence from onlookers before he responds

“Fu fu fu! Well, aren't you a clever one? Join me for this dance, querida?” He holds his hand out in invitation, but it's a question you easily recognize as a command. Despite everything in you telling you no, something inside you wars to come out and before you can think, your place your hand into his 

He smiles, grasps your hand firmly, and starts to lead you towards the center of the dance floor, a firm hand that leaves no room for escape

As Doflamingo leads you to the center of the dance floor, the crowd parts ways in the face of both of you, as you hold your head high feeling the stares of hundreds of people boring into you

He snaps, loud as a whip. A signal, no-a demand, for the orchestra to start and they obey, gently manoeuvring their strings 

He drags his hands along your body,slow and deliberate, stroking your arms as he takes your hands, your waist, gently turning you around by your hips and running his hands along your sides to raise your arms up, he grabs your hand firmly in his and you both start following the tempo, a soft 1 2 3, 1 2 3 as your feet follow close behind his 

As you make eye contact at the orchestra, you nod at them then stop, stopping Doflamingo in his tracks, and you snap your foot down, your grip tightens as you pull yourself flush against him The other foot leaving a trail of fire going slowly up his calf, he responds with a low dip as the tempo starts to pick up, the slow waltz turning into a passionate tango

You study him, hidden by his glasses, his only tell being his wide smile that stretches his face, different from his usual smile, this one is between hunger and fascination

You feel the shift of power between you two as he tries to put his hands on your body, you firmly catching his hands and trying to lead his feet, all along with the beat of the music

It feels choreographed, like you had done this before with him. Every step, every spin and turn perfectly on beat with the rushing tempo of the orchestra 

As the music hits its crescendo, you can barely see the crowd around you, nor do you care. He spins you and dances nimbly in a circle, taking you with him 

You feel as if you're floating on air, like this is a dream, everything is hazy and dreamlike, the bright lights whirling past in a haze. Your one focus point being Doflamingo’s face, his smile, his hands a steady force on you as everything else melts away. A final spin, clash of power 

As you abruptly stop with the orchestra,the ghost of the song hangs in the air, you find yourself panting, your hand clinging to his. You look up into his eyes, finding him out of breath as well, his smile never vanishing. Still too close, still an iron grip on each other’s hands, crackling electricity between the two of you as applause begins around you breaking you from the spell as your eyes widen and you begin to back up. He pulls you in closer, lips grazing your ear as he whispers “I will be seeing you later, little marine” he lets go abruptly,you nearly fall forward not realizing how close you were leaning into him as you try to gain your bearings again. 

You barely have time to recover before your superior steps in. “Perhaps it would be wise to keep a closer eye on him. There are some concerning rumors we’ve heard lately that need to be looked into” The words are diplomatic, but the meaning is clear. This is an order, not a suggestion 

Your feel your protests die in your throat

Before you can react, warmth spreads across your shoulders. Fingers ghosting down your arms, a weight at your back.”

“Fu fu fu…” The laughter is low and smug. His chin rests lightly against your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of them”

The promise—or threat—sends a shiver down your spine

(inspired by @physics-of-one-piece thanks so much for the writing advice!!! I hope i did him justice so far, more to come :))

[raingems-blog]

Neumans at night

Warnings: none, just fluff.

Summary: You help Victoria unwind after a stressful day at work.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

You have seen Victoria stressed before, but the stress that seemed to come with campaigning for vice president was simply something you had never seen before. The major changes in Victoria's career that boasted her as a congressman, director of the FBSA, and a vice president candidate left her with little to no free time to spend with her family, and it was taking a toll on her.

You had no doubt that once the kinks of her new schedule were worked out, your time together would return back to normal, but for now, you held down the fort at home. Helping Zoe with homework and other school activities became your primary responsibility now that Victoria was at home less frequently. Despite the challenges, you both powered through.

Tonight, however, Victoria's schedule got the better of her, and your wife had was at her witts end. When Victoria came home, her eyes dull, and her figure slumped, you knew that you had to do something before she ran herself completely ragged.

You had made dinner earlier in the evening, and you had placed it in the oven to keep it warm. It was her favorite, a childhood classic for her that brought her the comfort that you knew that she needed. Victoria moaned as she ate your cooking. It brought her back to a simpler time in life that was much less stressful, where the only thing Stan ever let her stress about were her grades and what outfit next to place on her dolls.

After the well needed meal, you and Victoria took a warm shower together. In your arms, you held her as the warm water cascaded over your bodies. The occasional peck was placed on her lips, her nose, and her forehead, letting your lips linger on the delicate skin. Gently, you washed each other, wash cloths dancing over delicate skin, and left a trail of lathered soap where it touched. Lips pressing softly against freshly washed skin.

Carefully, you dried each other off after stepping out of the shower and into cool, humid air of the bathroom. Still draped in your towels, you both brushed your teeth, making a small game out of it to see who would finish first, both giggling as you spat a mouthful of toothpaste foam into the basin of the sink carved into the marble of the counter.

As your skincare routine commenced, you gently placed her serums and moisturizer on her face, delicately running your fingers over her features. The pads of your fingers traced the familiar lines and features of her face that you knew by heart, ones that you could draw even with your eyes closed. Your fingers came to a stop on her nose, from the bridge to the tip, you loved it. It was beautiful with a slight dimple on her right nostril, a nose that framed her face perfectly. A nose indicative of her your wife's Lebanese heritage.

You both padded into your adjoint carpeted bedroom, dressing each other in your comfortable pajamas.

You both cuddled under the sheets on the comfortable king-sized mattress, with the only light being from the silver of the full moon. You let Victoria rant about her day, about her week, about her stress, and kissed away any tears that fell. With her head on your chest, Victoria fell asleep to the familiar and steady, comforting rhythm of your heartbeat. She was yours, and you were hers. In this world, many things weren't free, and many things came with sacrifices, but in the warm space of your arms, your love was all hers.

[qin-qin16]

i'm going to get you blasted for this but mtt poly 🙂 and its pairs too 🙂🙂🙂

And here we are again… remember my promise to rewrite the way I saw the Murder Time Trio? Well, it seems I’ve been forced to write the analysis for you now.

Precisely because they are a group created by the fandom, it’s hard to talk about them without an established background. HOWEVER! Thanks to my ability to create contexts in record time, I came up with something that makes sense (at least for my bubble of mutuals) and doesn’t involve Nightmare Sans (death to the octopus).

We have Killer Sans, who, under Nightmare’s control, has the travel token (idea stolen from @what-have-i-unleashed) and uses it to travel between universes with low negative energy —veither to increase it or just to report the AU’s situation to Nightmare. However, one of these universes ended up being Dusttale, and Killer, the curious and cynical Killer, became intrigued by Murder’s situation, coming and going to his universe just to mess with him. Until, in a simple, inconsequential idea, Killer decides to gift his new friend with a new travel token — he just didn’t expect Murder not to know the coordinates of his own universe. Something something Murder ends up in Horror’s universe something something fights and near-death experience something Murder and Horror end up in another universe due to a malfunction in Murder’s travel token something something they are found by Killerb— the most experienced in dimensional travel and alternate universes between them.

As you can see, it’s a rushed summary, but still a context that can be worked on! With this in mind, and in a future where Killer manages to escape Nightmare’s clutches and become free, we can finally discuss how I see their relationship with each other.

Killer x Murder: Perhaps the most complex one here, haha, especially because I’m completely normal about them… Killer is fascinated by Murder, while at the same time envying his ability to remain as Sans despite everything; meanwhile, Murder feels some pity for Killer for what he has become, while also wanting to abandon the old shell of the Sans he is and envies Killer for it (for having what he so desperately craves). Envy that corrodes the bones of both, while they see themselves in each other; reflections in a mirror.

Murder x Horror: Most of the dynamics I see with them I don’t like. I think of them more as “guys who are in a shitty situation and take advantage of it by being two jerks”. They probably have a closer bond due to having similar memories and tastes — unlike a certain someone who stopped being Sans a long time ago.

Horror x Killer: I don’t have a fully formed opinion about them yet, but I think Horror feels slightly intimidated by Killer’s frozen smile? As cynical and arrogant as Horror seems, Killer can see beneath all that arrogance; he sees the not-so-subtle trembling of Horror’s sweaty hands every time their faces are too close.

I much prefer this dynamic of “I hate you precisely because you resemble me” that turns into “You’ve seen the worst of me, so maybe I can trust you.” Strangers to enemies to something better.

[double-u-qed]

10k words of sheer jazzprowl fluff. enjoy! ao3 link here. [which i recommend, seeing as none of my formatting transferred over here and i'm a tiny bit lazy]

Jazz doesn’t think he’s ever been so nervous before; his fingers keep tracing over each other, rubbing patterns into the metal. He trails them along the plates, tugs on some of the exposed wiring — a habit his mentor scolded him for often, always redirecting his attention to something else in an effort to make him quit it. But none of his mentors are here right now, haven’t been for a long, long time, so his fingers stay picking and pulling.

He’s never been to Iacon before, despite it being the capital city-state — the head of operations, so to speak. Home of the Primacy and Senate. It’s a hodgepodge of culture, mechs from far and wide settling down, so you’d think a mech like Jazz would have been there before.

But nope — never been.

So why the hell was the Prime himself of all people requesting his presence?

It didn’t make any sense. Well, it did, but — Jazz was just your regular ol’ cultural investigator, nothing special. It was just a fancy, self-given title as well; a way of saying he went to many places and dabbled in the various cultures, researching them (word to be used lightly). He had to make shanix somehow, and the music by itself wasn’t cutting it; it only made sense then to make a career out of what he likes to do best. It paid enough to keep traveling, to keep experiencing a little bit of everything, and that was what mattered to Jazz most.

How Sentinel Prime of all mechs caught wind of him and his work, he hasn’t a clue. If anything, he would’ve assumed the Prime would hear about him from his skirting of the rules before anything related to his work. He hasn’t exactly crossed that line just yet, but he’s not ruling out the possibility, either. Point is, he had trouble believing it when the message found its way into his inbox.

But as much as he tried, he couldn’t find any sign of forgery or tampering with the letter. It definitely looked legit — enough that, well. Here he is: surrounded by a bunch of fancy city mechs not paying him a lick of attention, optics glued to their screens even as the train halts to a strut-breaking stop. All in all, it’s pretty typical, but Jazz can’t help the nervousness he feels all the same.

How was one meant to conduct themselves in front of the fragging Prime? Closest Jazz has ever gotten is a Senator or two, and even then, it was mostly in passing. He hasn’t the faintest clue as to proper Iaconian etiquette. A smooth, charismatic talker he may be, a mistake is a mistake and would still be all too easy to make.

Too bad he doesn’t have more time to agonize over it. The train eventually reaches its station, the doors opening and mechs beginning to shuffle in and out. It’s a hectic mess, really, all kinds of pushing and shoving happening simultaneously. Jazz is just thankful that he manages to make it out in one piece, squeezing between two doorwingers, a litany of apologies on his lips as he wiggles his luggage through the swarm.

After wandering around lost for longer than he’d like to admit, he does eventually find his hotel. It’s not too shabby, but definitely… gaudier than it has any right being. The berth has little hanging crystals attached to it, strips of silver lining the sides. Jazz can’t help wondering if it’s all a show for tourists; give them a little feel of what it’s like to be so close to the Big Building (name pending) where the Prime resides. The streets were lined with his image, after all.

Thankfully, Jazz didn’t bring too many things with him, making the unpacking process easy enough. Unfortunately for him, that also means he has nothing left to occupy himself with; nothing to keep his mind off the fact his presence is expected real soon — less than a joor, his HUD ever so helpfully supplies.

As limited as Jazz’s knowledge of Iacon is, he’s heard plenty of rumors about Sentinel Prime and the company he keeps close to. (All in hushed whispers, of course; it’d be considered heresy to so loudly denounce a mech chosen by Primus Himself).

Sentinel’s… vain. Lazy. The type to shirk his responsibilities onto someone else, most meetings being conducted by his Right Hand more often than not. From what he’s heard, Jazz feels sorry for the poor mech, even if he was constructed during Zeta’s time for the sole purpose of being an attendant. Can’t be easy being stuck to a mech that doesn’t seem to take anything too seriously.

Speaking of which… slag. The Prime’s personal attendant had plenty of rumors surrounding himself too, none of them too kind. He was apparently a real stickler for rules and regulation, no doubt a fault of his pre-programming. He was detail-oriented, a go-getter, the type where nothing escaped his notice. He operates in the limelight and shadows both, the true iron fist of the Primacy.

If the rumors are to be believed—and they often are to be in Jazz’s line of work—then he’ll more than likely be working closely with the Right Hand for… whatever it is they want Jazz doing.

He was seriously screwed, wasn’t he?

“Oookay, Jazz-Meister; you’ve got this. Nothin’ a little sweet-talking can’t get you out of. Hopefully. I’m sure it’s nothing that important. They’d have the dogs on your trail and at your door in seconds flat if it was like that. Probably.” Thinking on it, there was no telling whether or not they weren’t scoping out the area for him already. Unlikely, but Jazz has long since learned to trust his instincts at the first sign of trouble.

It’s just that — they haven’t detected anything. And it’d be rude, maybe even enough for a court-martial, to ignore the summons even more than he already has.

Whining some more to himself, spark set on a path of shaky, nervous revolutions — he sets off for the biggest building of them all.

It’s… no better than his hotel room, adorned in gold and the shiniest of metals, the archways crystalline. Reaches straight out to the sky, proud and — intimidating. Foreboding and imposing, and any other words to say that it was fragging distracting as all get out. Two larger-than-life statues of Sentinel himself sat in the courtyard, of which is fenced off and surrounded by guards no doubt armed to the nines.

Jazz swallows down the bitter taste in his mouth, hands fluttering at his sides as he steels his resolve. They haven’t done anything, so surely that’s a good sign, right?

“’Morning,” he greets them, giving a nod. “I have an appointment with the Prime? Or one of his attendants, I’m not too sure, the letter didn’t specify.”

The guards stationed directly in front of the gate don’t move, but their optics do slide over to each other at the same time. Turning back to Jazz as one, they simultaneously ask, “Designation?”

Unnerved, Jazz stumbles over his words. “Uh, Jazz. Jazz of Staniz.”

“Designation acknowledged. Permission granted. An escort will be with you shortly; proceed.”

Thoroughly creeped out now, Jazz just flashes them a smile and pretty much scurries away, glad to be gone from their penetrating gaze.

True to fashion, the escort practically pops up out of nowhere, suddenly at his side and taking him by the elbow, leading him further into the—palace? It was practically a palace, all regal staircases and spacious rooms to host plenty of mechs in power. The front room alone was bigger than any place Jazz had ever stayed in, that was for sure.

“Wait here,” the small, red bot dragging him around says once they enter a conference-esque room. “Sentinel Prime himself will be here in a moment. In the meantime, do help yourself to any of the refreshments provided.” With that, they give a small bow before leaving.

“You call these refreshments?” Jazz asks no one in particular as he takes a seat. The treat in his hand is a spiky little thing, brittle and dusted with something he doesn’t recognize. Whatever it is, it sparkles and emits a soft glow. “How does a treat manage to be so flashy?”

Chucking it back into the bowl, Jazz leans back a bit, eyes roaming over the place. “Better yet, is everything just like that here?”

Somehow the place didn’t feel very lived in. It was personalized all right — you couldn’t take more than a few steps before running into various things with Sentinel’s image memorialized — yet somehow empty and devoid of life. Maybe that was just how rich mechs lived, with their big, fancy places.

Either way, it sure did make Jazz feel sorely out of place, shifting around awkwardly in his seat. Primus, was it ever quiet here. There was too much junk to make the noise echo, but the sound of his fingers tapping out a little diddy against the table still sliced right through the silence. Not in the good way, either, his fingers curling back into his hand after a mere klik or two of making noise. That left bouncing his left up and down and humming to himself, but even that got old soon enough.

The boredom was about to kill him when the door finally opened again, the mech of the hour and another strolling on through. Strange — Jazz would’ve expected more personnel to be by Sentinel’s side.

Ducking his head a bit to avoid Sentinel’s gaze as the larger mech seats himself across from him, Jazz’s attention is captured by the other mech that came in. He’s on the shorter side — still taller than Jazz, though. His posture belies his caste, all elegant and proud. His paints consist of white and black, his face covered by a full battle mask, and his doorwings fanned out behind him.

Now, Jazz may not be able to see much of the mech’s face, but he can make out the way the mech visibly hesitates for a moment when they make eye contact, doorwings going unnaturally still as he looks at Jazz. And he’s — glaring. He’s glaring, not just staring. His optics are furrowed, his hands suddenly being clasped together behind him as he stands by the door, turning his head to the side sharply, practically severing the contact.

Ah. The rumored personal attendant.

His behavior wasn’t too odd, then; Jazz was well aware of how he looked. His paint hadn’t been redone in a few orns, chipped and dulled all over. Public transit had never really been Jazz’s thing, deeming it a waste of good shanix, making both his modes rather susceptible to pieces of small debris scratching the surface.

Strangely though, Sentinel seems bothered by his Second’s hesitation, raising an optic ridge in his direction. He even eyes the mech up and down before rolling his eyes with an exasperated huff of air when his attendant failed to say anything. Huh.

Turning back to Jazz, the Prime is quiet for a moment. A long moment, actually. Too long. Uncomfortably long. Jazz just hopes his face isn’t giving away his building restlessness.

Sentinel places an elbow on the table, hand to his face as he finally says, “I’ll make this quick — I’m a very busy mech, after all. I need your expertise for the gala I’m hosting tonight. We’re attempting to establish better relations with one of our distant colonies; it’s said you know a thing or two about their customs. I’m sure you get where this is going.”

That — wasn’t quite what Jazz envisioned. He blinks. “I- yes? I think so?”

“Great!” The Prime gives the table a bit of a slap—Jazz can’t help his flinch—splaying his hands out as if to say problem solved. “Glad that’s been taken care of, I hate having to give long explanations. Always admirable, a mech that’s quick on the uptake. Now — you’re to remain here for the foreseeable joors until this whole thing is done with. Direct any of your questions to Prowl over there.”

That takes the other mech—Prowl—just as aback as it does Jazz. Only difference is the amount of exasperation the other manages to exude while somehow keeping his tone reasonably respectful. “You won’t be staying, Sir?”

Sentinel snorts. “Primus, no. You’re the one who recommended this mech to help us; you debrief him. I have a whole day spent agonizing over which of which looks better despite them being the exact same. This is why I hate galas so much.”

Unlike the Prime, Prowl doesn’t seem as keen on acting so lax and improper around an outsider. His words are carefully—and rather pointedly—chosen. “I’d hate to waste your time any further, then. Do take care, Sir; I’ll handle things from here.”

The Prime just raises his hand in a rather dismissive way of parting, the mech continuing to grumble to himself as he exits the room.

If Jazz was a lesser mech, he’s sure his jaw would be on the floor. As it stands, he whips his head around to stare at Prowl, disbelieving in what just happened. It- it all happened so fast. Jazz said less than a sentence! Sure, he was told that Prowl would be handling things, but that — that was just inconsiderate!

Undeterred, acting as if such a thing was a regular occurrence, Prowl takes a seat in the now abandoned chair, unsubspacing a datapad. He glances up at Jazz after a moment of simply scrolling, and it’s — tense? No, that’s not quite right. It’s… it couldn’t be. Could it?

Just as quickly, the doorwinged mech looks away, attention resolutely on the screen of his datapad as he begins to fill in Jazz on the full set of details.

“As Sentinel informed you, tonight is a crucial event for the establishment of our ties to other ruling colonies in the area. Any information you can provide would be deeply appreciated, seeing as we have had little contact with those a part of this colony ourselves.”

The cultural investigator tries to listen, giving his input here and there where needed, but his mind keeps wandering. He’d almost believed for a moment that the look from before had been timid, almost shy, but as the more time passed, the more he was certain he must’ve been mistaken. The rumors, as well; Prowl wasn’t nearly as cold as they made him out to be. He was just awkward if anything.

Only…

Prowl takes him all around the building, never once losing his rigid stance, doorwings not even so much as twitching. The most damning thing of all is his outright refusal to look at Jazz head-on. He’ll get close, their optics almost locking, before settling his gaze on something just a little above Jazz’s eyes. It’s puzzling if Jazz has to be honest.

But you didn’t get to be a cultural investigator without accepting the fact some people act in ways you might not initially understand, so he just chalks it up to being how Prowl normally is. Or maybe it’s a custom from wherever he’s from. That would make sense, actually. Ah, wait — did that make Jazz rude for trying to get the other to look at him? It probably did, didn’t it.

Feeling thoroughly chastised even though it’s just himself he’s arguing with, Jazz puts the matter to rest. He’s here on business, after all.

That’s why he is most definitely not staring when the other suddenly pulls up his mask in the middle of talking, revealing icy-blue eyes and a thin, narrow face. It just — surprises Jazz is all, considering he seemed adamant about wearing it the entire time before.

It’d be rude to stare, so he turns away.

Catching his eye, Prowl lowers his gaze, looks up at the lip of the mask still hanging overhead, casting shadows on his face, then stops walking, prompting Jazz to stop as well. “Standard procedure,” he explains, gesturing to his face. “It’s a safety precaution. Forgive me for not taking it off sooner; I have a tendency to get wrapped up in my thoughts to the point of being negligent of my surroundings. I didn’t realize it was still there until my fans pinged a warning about overheating.”

“’S all good,” Jazz is quick to assure, tapping a finger on his visor. “Just didn’t know if it was something cultural or not, didn’t want to assume or cause offense.”

Prowl seems to consider that in that silent way of his Jazz was beginning to pick up on. It wasn’t obvious that he was updating his files, if not for the way his focus seemed to dim, returning with a couple of blinks. Then he’s all nods, and they continue on their way.

The Prime’s attendant is once again in the middle of explaining something when he suddenly goes quiet, words trailing off. A frown mars his face, minuscule as it is. It’s contemplative, a stylus tapping against the screen of his to-do list. He closes his eyes as Jazz twists his body around to step in front of him.

“Something wrong?” asks Jazz when the silence stretches on.

“Not wrong, per se… Just.” Prowl’s face screws up, the most emotion Jazz has seen on it so far. He taps two of his fingers against his lips. “Sentinel decided most events of the banquet would be left to you.” Blunt, precise. “The event planning itself will mostly be done by himself, but matters are to be overlooked by you before being approved. It’s a lot of work.”

Those icy eyes bore into him, his words seemingly ending there.

Jazz stares back into those unblinking eyes, noting the way Prowl’s grip on his datapad has tightened.

Feeling brave and a little risky, Jazz asks, “Sentinel not trust your word on such matters?”

A bit of pride makes his spark spin a little faster when Prowl actually looks relieved, doorwings lowering a bit. “No,” he says, voice still monotone but holding a little mirth. “He doesn’t. Says a mech constructed cold wouldn’t know a thing about foreign matters, least of all me.”

That gets Jazz’s attention. “How so?”

“Lack of experience,” Prowl says, shrugging. “I was made with the purpose of helping out the Primacy shortly after Sentinel was added to their ranks. I’ve never had the time to experience anywhere but Iacon, really.”

“Not even Praxus?”

“Petrex, actually,” Prowl corrects, bobbing his head a bit as if he was used to having to say it. “And no, I’m afraid. So as you might imagine, there is some truth to Sentinel’s words.”

“But you have something to say anyway, I’m guessin’. Well, let’s hear it,” Jazz says, happily relinquishing some of the control and order over to the other. Planning’s never been his thing, and honestly, this entire thing has left him dizzy. It’s just a little too surreal to be real, no matter how often he bumps his leg against a wall. “Not like I have a completely clear idea of what I’m doing.”

He thought that was encouraging, but if anything, Prowl looked slightly distressed and put off by his words. He glances around them, chewing on a lip.

“Sentinel won’t like it,” he weakly tries to argue. “He doesn’t take too well to some of my ideas, despite leaving most of the work to me. I’d hate for you to be blamed if it doesn’t go over well.”

“You don’t stay as acting attendant for so many vorns without knowing a thing or two.” Jazz grins a Cheshire grin, gently tugging one of those white hands free of its death grip. “C’mon, I won’t tell. I’m sure that big brain of yours has already concocted a whole list of ideas on what to do, so tell me. I trust ya. Pretty pleeeease?”

The attendant stares openly at their clasped hands, making Jazz falter a bit in his enthusiasm, dropping it a little awkwardly. It’s — well, it’s not like he could read the other’s field before this, but now he can’t even get a single hint of what’s going on with him. His face is so impassive as he gives a small nod.

But even as everything seems all fine and business again, Jazz’s hand remains feeling a little cold, his stomach clenched in apprehension.

The gala comes and goes, miraculously being pulled off in the haphazard bit of time they had to spare. It’s not the worst party Jazz has ever been to, either. The foreign guests are a delight, laughing at his jokes and sharing bits of their culture with him that he commits to memory. The band Sentinel hired even lets him play for a bit, even if though it’s a less fancy and richly prestine song than they’re probably used to hearing.

It’s a good time overall, every mech looking happy. Even Prowl.

The battle mask is on once again, obscuring most of his face. But he’s so relaxed as he chats with his company, doorwings moving, even laughing.

He looks so… at home. So peaceful, elegant. Not at all stiff and awkward, adverse to any and all attention.

That is, he’s perfectly at ease until Jazz comes by, wanting to thank the mech for all of his help. Then, he’s a mirror of before; doorwings pulled up high, unmoving, face blank, but eyes furrowed behind the tinted glass of his mask. Jazz would almost think he’s concentrating, if it weren’t for the way his plating is pulled in tighter, tense.

It makes Jazz slow down a bit, his smile slipping. He’s not used to being hated — because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? Him being hated. Prowl had no problems looking the other mechs in the optics, didn’t seem to care when one of the governors from the distant colony put a hand on his arm, tugging on in as they told a story. The only explanation then is that Jazz has done something to upset him. But he came over here for a reason, and he intends on seeing it through. It’d be rude of him not to.

“Thanks,” he says, getting closer. “Never did get to ask you why or how you chose me in particular for somethin’ as big as this, but — thanks. It was fun, if a little hectic. Not what I’m used to usually helping out with.” He chuckles a bit, hoping to ease the tension a bit.

The other’s words are much more clipped, precise and to the point. “I was only doing my duty. It pays to know who is skilled in what is required. You were a big help tonight, so it is I, who should be thanking you.”

Despite himself, Jazz can’t help grinning a giddy grin. He attempts to play it off, hiding it behind the rim of his drink, pretending to take a sip from it. He doubts he succeeds. “Skilled, huh. Didn’t think I was skilled enough for the Prime’s Second to know of me.”

It’s minute, barely there, but Jazz swears the mech manages to just — stop altogether, a little hiss of air being pulled in through teeth. No doubt, it only means something bad, Jazz’s posture slipping back into something only half-relaxed, all cheeriness gone.

“Yes, well,” Prowl’s once again not looking Jazz directly in the face, “as I said: it pays to know. As the one who oversees most of Sentinel’s duties, it is my job to keep track of any names that come up often in conversation.” Now he’s staring down at his own drink, scuffing his peds against the ground as his fingers fidgeted against each other. “Senator Shockwave speaks fondly of you,” he mumbles.

That surprises Jazz. “Really? We’ve only spoken a few times, though…” None of those times particularly stood out, either.

Prowl nods a little more eagerly than before. “Fleeting as it was, your interaction left an impression on him. He was quite impressed with your endeavors and accomplishments, awed with the amount of places you’ve been to.”

It looks like he wants to say more, subtly shifting his weight. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything more at all, merely dismissing himself politely with a bob of wings. It doesn’t escape Jazz’s notice that his doorwings only raise once he’s on the other side of the room, swept up in the crowd of mechs dancing.

And like that, Jazz sees no more of him for the rest of the night.

The next time Jazz met Prowl, it was long after Sentinel Prime’s reign. He’d almost forgotten about the mech entirely, but then, the war happened and things changed. Jazz changed. Mechs kept getting hurt, places kept getting bombed and raided. It hurt, seeing the people and planet he loved be torn apart. It was dying, their planet. Slowly poisoned and unable to sustain itself the way it used to, public transportation lines in ruins and whole cities demolished.

No longer could he safely travel from place to place, playing songs of old and new. There was simply too much death, too much destruction, no matter how much the newly-appointed Prime tried to avoid it.

He was a good spark, Optimus. Enough that Jazz felt sure in his sudden decision to enlist in the faction he had formed. He doubted there was much someone like him could do, but hey; it didn’t hurt to try. If he was truly so knowledgeable of their planet that even Sentinel Prime had paid some notice, he wanted to put those skills to use. People always did say he was a mech of the people, and maybe that was needed right now.

So here Jazz is, lined up and waiting for inspection. His application had already gotten him through the preliminary round, so now it was time for the real test to begin.

As he expected, Prowl himself was the one conducting the inspections, even though it was rather tedious, menial work. Not really something befitting of a mech perfectly constructed for a broad variety of political work. The sight of him and his datapad is enough to make Jazz’s lip quirk in a half-baked smile. Working with the mech even just once had taught him how important control and certainty were to him, down to the very last detail. Though in the case of Sentinel, that was probably more out of a necessity than anything else. Vorns of that kind of work probably left Prowl a little more than distrustful of their new Prime.

All the other mechs in line are nervous, some even mumbling rather profane things about the Second in Command, glancing at him from above cupped hands. Cowards are too afraid to say it any louder than a whisper though. What they didn’t seem to get, however, was just how sensitive a Praxian’s doorwings can be. Careless fraggers didn’t seem to notice the subtle twitches in Prowl’s wings, making Jazz’s smile turn into a smirk he had to hide behind his hand.

Staying in Praxus and other city-states predominately populated by door-winged mechs on more than one occasion had made him rather familiar and acquainted with the various tells of a mech’s doorwings. And boy were Prowl’s wings expressive if you knew what to look for. Jazz was pretty sure he was even cursing behind that stoic demeanor he seemed to be pre-programmed with, attention on his datapad as he cussed them out. Dignity and keeping up appearances were perhaps the only things keeping him from saying such things out loud.

When the Praxian gets closer to where Jazz is, the ex-cultural investigator sees the exact moment the other truly notices he’s there. Disappointingly, not much has changed. Only this time, Prowl doesn’t have a battle mask to properly guard the small changes in his expression.

His optics flickered to where Jazz was, his lips slackening a bit as he blinked. He tilts his head a bit — more when Jazz flashes him a million-watt smile with a coy little way. It’s hard to tell what, but Jazz sees him mouth something to himself before he—rather stiltedly—turns back to the mech he’s meant to be inspecting, blinking a couple times more. Jazz can’t help snickering.

It’s still pretty obvious he’s staring whenever he can, though, as much as he wants to act like he’s fulfilling his job perfectly. Not quite in an apprehensive way, it’s almost — curious? A little wide-eyed and innocent, even if the corners of his mouth are pulled in tight, riddled with stress, straining.

Maybe Jazz hadn’t been mistaken in thinking that night hadn’t been so bad between them, after all.

“Jazz,” Prowl says, bowing his head a little in greeting once he’s standing right in front of him. It’s the very definition of polite, if it weren’t for the datapad he’s ever so intentionally hidden behind, pretending to look busy.

Jazz can’t help the way his spark sinks a little at that. Try as he might, he can’t think of a single thing that would have the Praxian reacting like this in his presence. Sure, he probably wasn’t exactly Prowl’s typical cohort, nor first choice of company, and the mech didn’t seem very social by nature, but…

Whatever. One way or another, Jazz wasn’t going to-

“I see that you expressed an interest in covert operations. Special Ops. May I ask why?” Those icy optics pin him in place, glowing bright as Prowl’s eyes go a little wide, tiny rings of lenses rotating as he studies him.

“That’s not the type of question you’ve been asking the others,” Jazz notes, confused and a little shaken off course, something he isn’t used to. He’s always been known to blurt out rather careless things when nervous, which is exactly why he doesn’t do nervous, not in things like this. “Aren’t you supposed to like, ask about combat training? Background? How serious I am about this? Things like that?”

Oops. Was that insubordination? It sure sounded like it, no matter the fact Jazz wasn’t enlisted yet and this wasn’t his superior. Yet.

Jazz might even be fooling himself, but he swears Prowl’s death grip on his datapad tightens even further. The mech lowers his gaze, raising his datapad a little higher, hiding behind it. Perhaps subconsciously, he puts a bit of distance between them, as if literally trying to un-step over some unseen boundary. “Yes, that is normally the case. My apologies.”

That… that felt wrong. Prowl was in way too high of a position to be apologizing to him so — so submissively. It felt weird, not at all fitting in with the paradigm Jazz had shoved the other mech into. Plus, it’s not like he was offended or anything, he just wasn’t sure what to do with that outlier of a question.

In a rush, he struggles to get the other to stop subtly slipping away, to stop curling away from Jazz. “No, no, it’s- it’s fine… Just a lil’ confused, is all…”

It’s awkward. Primus, take him now, it’s so awkward. Why were things always chock-full of silences and the oddest of surprises when it came to this mech? Jazz never has trouble talking! Socializing is what he’s all about! He loves meeting new people, but this guy — somehow this guy takes everything off-course, which is a rather amazing feat for someone so structured.

Shifting on his peds, Jazz tries to spare the mech who has now begun glaring at some speck over his shoulder, looking… ashamed? Hell, was it ever hard to get a read on this guy. “I guess — I just thought somethin’ like that would be a good fit for me? Dunno if there was really a reason behind it. I know a lot about different frametypes, different people. Figured it’d be helpful in pulling off stealth missions to have a mech onboard that can give a few pointers like that.”

“An acceptable and admirable answer.” The way Prowl says it is careful, as if there were a million things he was trying not to suddenly blurt out. It almost sounds like the words were forcefully pulled out from between clenched teeth. It really didn’t suit him, nor the constructed image of him Jazz had once again formed from the many press conferences shared on the news. He always seemed so regal, so poised in those clipped, reciting lines like a mech made for the job.

From there, the rest of the inspection carries on pretty normal. Jazz even manages to impress the Praxian with his scores on the physical tests, even if he doesn’t say as much. It’s only the barest hint of a swooping motion in his doorwings that gives him away, and that probably only happens at all because Jazz is so far away — most wouldn’t have caught it from this distance.

Really, what does it take to get on this mech’s good side? The other mechs around seemed to be thinking something similar, elbowing Jazz and demanding to know what he’d done to get such a reaction. It’s all light-hearted, but Primus does it make Jazz feel a little miserable. They acted like this measly morsel of attention was the holy grail when, to Jazz, it was hardly anything at all. He’d seen what a relaxed Prowl was like, what he was capable of emoting.

Sitting on the sidelines as the inspections carry on, Jazz observes Prowl. None of the strange behavior is present when he interacts with the other enlisted Autobots, face light while his doorwings say all kinds of things. Some of it manages to get Jazz to smile. It’s a dry kind of humor and wit, the insults he says in everything but words. He’ll tilt his head slightly when someone asks a question he deems dumb; will close his eyes and stand up even straighter when disappointed in someone’s answer to his question.

A few times the Praxian glances Jazz’s way, unmoving as Jazz flashes him a smile just for the sake of being a little annoying. It’s there that Jazz decides he wants to understand this mech a little bit better, wants to make him shed that standoffish nature that seemed to have only gotten worse in the tides of war. He’s just so fascinating, not at all like any other Praxian Jazz has met before.

Inspecting his newly added badge in a mirror, he supposes he’ll have plenty of chances and many things to try.

More vorns go by, and Jazz’s progress is… well. It exists if you know how to look at it.

Prowl has clear, practically visible boundaries with the way he declines offers and separates himself in his office, and the last thing Jazz ever wants to do is cross those in his attempts to befriend the mech. So he starts slow, merely leaving cubes of energon on the other’s desk, nothing more. It’s a bit of a peace offering too, giving Prowl the chance to decline it and make it clear he has no intentions of becoming Jazz’s friend. If so, the saboteur will gladly back off. He might not be used to being hated, but he knows you can’t force these things.

Surprisingly, Prowl always takes him up on the offer, not quite smiling but tilting his head downward in gratitude, not really lifting it all the way back up until Jazz is gone.

His relations with the other Autobots weren’t terrible, but Prowl still didn’t seem particularly close to anyone. Solitude was what he preferred, though the line between voluntary solitude and pure negligence was a thin one. Mech tuned out the entire world when he became focused on something, snapping at anyone who dared pull him away. Not in an overtly aggressive way, mind you, but sometimes if someone pushed a little too far it got to that point. He was always like that when it came to solving any sort of puzzle or fully understanding something that caught his attention, and it didn’t matter if you were friend or foe.

It was rather odd; then again, maybe friendship was just defined differently in Prowl’s book as a whole. It was clear Ratchet, Optimus, and Red Alert all adored him in their own ways, and Prowl both respected and appreciated them in turn.

Ratchet would gently prod and nag at him, but treated him with kindness all the same, never raising his voice. He seemed to get that Prowl didn’t do well with loud noises, easily overwhelmed when there was too much stimuli to keep track of. It’s what made the medbay so hard for him, with its extra bright lights and thrumming machinery. Plenty of medics would try to get Prowl to come in for maintenance, but so far, only Ratchet had a record of succeeding.

Red Alert and him were cut from a similar cloth, meticulous and a little overbearing when it came to their work and protecting everyone. They understood each other without having to say anything, making each other’s jobs easier in a way that even Jazz struggled with.

As for Optimus… Optimus loved everyone, accepting their flaws and all. But he truly valued Prowl in a way that Sentinel didn’t never had, Prowl practically beaming in that subtle way of his whenever Optimus looked to him for input.

Why Jazz seemed to be an outlier remained unclear. And it continued to be murky, until the whole Earth thing.

Everyone got closer to each other the second they came back online and understood their situation, homesick and so small in numbers. They were all they had left of home. They were busier too, trying to maintain their fickle relationship with the humans in power at amicable status. Prowl in particular became swamped with work, prompting Jazz to increase his efforts to get the mech to just relax.

Thus lay the issue — mech didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word, continually rigid, words dismissive and solely professional when it came to Jazz.

“Is it just a Praxian thing? Or does the guy really hate me that much?” Jazz asks, voice pitching up into a whine as he drapes himself over Smokescreen’s desk, giving a big, feline-like stretch. “He hates meeeee… Wants me deeeeeaaaad.”

Looking up from his online game (which was a total violation of on-duty protocol), Smokescreen gives him a confused look of pinched face plates. “Who? Prowl?”

“Yesssss.” Jazz sinks further into the desk, becoming one with it. His words come out muffled, face pressed into the surface. “Talk about mixed signals. One moment I think he might like me decently enough, the next I’m certain he wants me dead where I stand. Is it me? Am I the issue?”

Smokey’s silent — too quiet. It makes Jazz roll over a bit, raising an optic ridge (not that Smokescreen can see it). That was a perfect opening for his friend to say, ‘always, Jazz. You’re the biggest nuisance I know.’ Smokescreen wasn’t one to pass on such openings, either, hence the confusion.

Smokescreen looks… full of mirth? His gaze is up to the ceiling, a hand covering his mouth, shoulders shaking a bit.

“Have you, I don’t know, tried asking him directly?”

Okay, that definitely sounded like stifled laughter in the other’s voice. Like the tone of a mech that knows more than he’s letting on.

Still, Jazz is feeling miserable, so he’ll gladly bite if it means getting the chance to vent a bit. “No,” he says glumly, kicking a ped against the desk for the added effect. “I thought about it, but it didn’t seem right. We’re Prime’s Third and Second, y’know? It’d be awkward, laying it all out. Can’t risk damaging morale if it ends up ugly. And he really does dislike me.”

No, Jazz wasn’t imagining it; Smokescreen snorted, pressing the hand a little tighter against his mouth.

“You’re… really not used to that, are you?”

And, well. That was a problem Jazz was trying not to address. Having it said so bluntly makes him pout a bit. “Maybe not before, but now it’s a little more common.”

Smokescreen sobers up a bit, field twinged with sympathy. “Oookay, that’s an issue you and I are gonna have to sort through at a later time. But what I want to know is, why do you care? What makes Prowl such an outlier you feel the need to sit here and whine to me about it instead of taking action?”

“I don’t know!” Jazz exclaims, plopping himself back down, raising his arms up to Primus Himself. “Maybe it’s the way he doesn’t try to hide it?”

“Hide what?”

Jazz scowls. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Yeup,” Smokescreen says, leaning back and grinning. “It’s annoying, isn’t it? Me making you admit that you’ve got a problem you don’t know how to fix.”

“I hate you.”

“Then get out of my office.”

“No,” Jazz says, all the world’s petulance in his tone as he settles back down on Smokescreen’s desk. “Your desk is a lot comfier than mine. And you’ve got games. Lots of them.”

“Am I at least an added bonus?”

“Not when you’re yapping and pullin’ my leg so much, no. Not even a little.”

“You wound me, Jazz,” Smokescreen dryly retorts, turning his gaze back to his handheld. When there’s the telltale death jingle, he merely sighs, putting it aside as he studies Jazz a bit. It makes the saboteur squirm, that level of scrutiny. More so when Smokescreen’s got that psychiatrist look to his eyes.

Giving up the charade, Smokescreen smirks, leaning in close enough to poke Jazz in the nose. “Oh, you cannot be serious. Who knew you of all people could be so dense.”

Jazz frowns. “What do you mean?”

But the junior tactician wasn’t listening, muttering under his breath, “Hate you?” He shook his head a bit, chuckling. “Jazz — the mech practically trips over his own peds whenever you enter the room. He’s a real bumbling idiot when someone so much as says your name, suddenly all eyes and ears like some kind of organic pet being brought food.”

The saboteur sits up straight, not caring at all that he manages to knock a pad clean off the desk. He ignores Smokescreen’s indignant little ‘hey!’ when it clatters to the floor. “No, that- that can’t be right. Prowl doesn’t—”

“Do romance?” His friend finishes, raising an optic ridge. His grin was still there, but it seemed slightly forced now. It’s that look he gets sometimes whenever he’s stepping on rough terrain, knowing a little too much about the bots on base. “Listen, Jazz — I know that you’ve technically known Prowl longer than I have, but you don’t work directly under the mech. And apparently, you’re fragging oblivious to what’s been obvious to us all.” When that only gets him a blank stare, he shakes out his hands for emphasis. “The wings, Jazz, the wings!”

“W-“

Jazz doesn’t get to finish, the door suddenly opening, stealing both of their attention. And low and behold, there was Prowl, nose stuck in reports as he swiftly made his way through, none the wiser.

“Smokescreen, have you looked over the governor of Oregon’s request yet? I-“

He pauses once he notices said person is in the middle of something. It doesn’t escape Jazz’s notice the way his gaze flicks to him, the way he’s seated, before going back to Smokescreen. It could be an illusion, but Jazz swears the mech takes a small shuffle backward, trying to shield himself partially with the report in his hand. His faceplates looked slightly darker too, optics giving a small flicker, in, out.

“Is… this a bad time?” He’s addressing Smokescreen when he asks, making a point of avoiding looking at Jazz. But his wings — those fucking wings!

Jazz’s jaw could hit the floor. It’s — it’s barely there, barely anything at all, but when you’re actively looking it for, it’s rather obvious; Prowl’s doorwings droop a bit as he says the words, his left foot pulled back as if to pivot on out. His helm is lowered and — yep; he’s sneaking glances at Jazz out of the corner of his eye, nervously tapping his fingers against the side of his datapad.

Oh, Primus — it really was rather obvious, wasn’t it? Like, really, really obvious. The mech was shy. Ridiculously shy. Prowl! That had to be wrong, right? Prowl didn’t- oh. Oh. He didn’t do romance because Jazz was there and not romancing with him. Prowl was rather old-fashioned in everything, so why not this as well?

Snickering quietly, Smokescreen gives him a hard clap on the back that makes him stumble and almost fall off the edge of his desk. He ignores the glare Jazz sends his way, his tongue sticking out. Turning to Prowl, he’s all smiles and politeness, cheeky fragger.

“Nope, not at all, no worries. Jazz and I were just discussing some business, nothing important. And as for your earlier question — yep! Looked it over and ran the numbers myself. Should be all good to go.”

“That’s…” Prowl purses his lips a bit, face pinched and crinkled in thought. It looked… pained. Like he didn’t really want to say the words coming out of his mouth. “That’s good. Thank you.”

“I- uh.” Jazz points towards the door, because it’s clear Smokescreen has no intention of helping him out. “Go.”

That same, little droop. “If it’s because of me-“

“Nah,” Jazz says, cutting him off. And it isn’t. Not completely. Just — not for the reasons Prowl might be thinking. “Like Smokey said: it wasn’t that important. Just a little banter. Your report, on the other hand…”

The tactician looks down at said report, almost as if he had forgotten why he came into the room at all. Again, his face screws up into something rather odd. Indecisive. “It-“

-can wait. But Prowler’s always been a logical, by-the-books kind of mech, never selfish. The words die there, his lips pursed as he stops himself, blinking harshly as he lowers his gaze.

It almost gets Jazz to stay. Almost. His head’s a little too full of discoveries for that, needing some space to simply breathe. Primus. How long had everyone on base known? And why didn’t they tell Jazz? It’s not like he was some serial dater or anything! He wouldn’t react badly!

But… how does he feel about Prowl? He doesn’t know. He’s never had to think past his own wounded ego before, so fixated on the fact the Praxian seemed to only treat him differently.

Maybe. Maybe that was part of the problem. If Prowl was really that shy, no wonder nobody wanted to spoil things for him.

Jazz pauses.

The mech had been flirting with him from the beginning. All those times he would suddenly blurt out an unrelated question, sheepishly apologizing when questioned about it. He was trying to get to know Jazz better.

That. That changed some things — a lot of things. It answered some things too, but that seemed rather trivial right now.

Prowl — Prowl had a crush on him. Him.

A hand comes up to rest against Jazz’s mouth, his head turned and making eye contact with his own reflection. He didn’t remember making it make to his hab, nor entering his washracks.

He was even more startled to find himself smiling.

Valentine’s was. A holiday. A great holiday, even. Jazz was always stoked for it, showing his appreciation for everyone on base in the little things, such as giving them little pieces reminiscent of their home back on Cybertron. From treats to playing music — he had it all. It reminded him what he had loved about being a cultural investigator so much, his spark full and warm whenever people thanked him.

This year… It wasn’t like Jazz was any less excited, far from it. The problem was…

“Woah, either you’re really deep in thought, or you want to kill Blaster right now. Which is it?”

“Thinking, so go away before I catch your disease.”

Smokescreen, damn him, only presses in closer, making an utter mockery of Jazz’s threat. “Hmmm, I don’t doubt that—the thinking bit, just to be clear—but it really does look like you want to tear Blaster apart right now. Last I checked, he was your second best friend—with me being the first, of course—so now I need to know why. Though,” he chuckles, “I might have a guess.”

Jazz sighs, focus thoroughly ruined now. “I’m not jealous.”

“Sure you’re not. Blaster just conveniently happens to be chatting away with your not-so-secret admirer that you may or may not have similar feelings for, all whilst you’re glaring at him. I’m believing you so hard right now.”

“Knock it off,” Jazz says, giving him a shove. “It’s genuinely not like that. I think-“ He hesitates, knowing the words will be very real once they leave the sanctity of his own head. “I think Prowl’s planning to actually confess soon.”

“Oh.” Smokescreen’s blink is audible as he turns back to study Blaster and Prowl from the other side of the room. “What makes you think that?”

“He’s been acting more skittish than usual, almost acting guilty anytime I walk in on the two of them talking. Mighty embarrassed too.”

“Okay,” Smokescreen says, slowly and giving an even slower nod. “I’ll pretend to understand the thought process here.”

Exasperated, Jazz huffs again. “Prowl doesn’t get embarrassed unless it’s something to do with — y’know. This.” He waggles a finger between himself and where Prowl stands. “Which, considering Blaster’s title of second place bestie—soon to be first, if you don’t stop poking me—makes me think he’s plotting something. Something big.”

“Ah.”

It’s quiet then, both of them just staring as Prowl eventually leaves the rec. room, wings a little higher than normal. In unison, their heads turn to follow him out, mouths pressed into lines.

Watching Blaster soon leave as well, Smokescreen drums a finger against Jazz’s arm, humming. “You gonna do anything about it? You want to do anything about it?”

“That’d be mean though, right? He’s obviously trying so hard…”

Suddenly serious, Smokescreen sits bolt upright, grasping Jazz’s arm a little too firmly. Urgently. “Jazz. Jazz, Jazzy, Jazz-meister. You don’t have to reciprocate or do anything if you don’t want to. I know I teased you a lot-“

“What? No.” Jazz wriggles out of his friend’s hold, raising an optic ridge. “I’m not- ah, slag. That’s not what I meant, Smokes. I just meant I don’t wanna rush him by letting him I’ve caught on or anything. It’d spoil his fun, right?”

Smokescreen studies his face some more, likely trying to parse through his words and link them back to his body language. When he’s satisfied, he smiles, leaning out of Jazz’s space once more. He taps all fingers against both knees obnoxiously. “Well, you might be right about that. He might curl in on himself and die if he feels like he’s made a fool of himself.”

And then, he’s wearing that professional, clinical look. He looks over to Jazz out of the corner of his peripheral view. As much as he is Jazz’s friend, he’s also the glue holding this base together, and—in his own way—Prowl’s friend as well. “I know it’s been a long, long time, but he isn’t used to — sincerity, I guess. He’s a little slow when it comes to processing emotions and putting them in the right little boxes he’s made up. Sentinel… had a lot of fragged up ideals, you know. Didn’t approve of being so affectionate with others and other junk.”

The tapping continues.

“Now, imagine living a life of seclusion, hidden away and made to perform only one task and having no other opportunities. The only person that pays you attention is someone who treats you like slag, though not as harshly as you know other people are capable of being. It makes you lacking in social skills, harsh and cold because you were programmed to be as such and nobody has given you anything more than diplomatic pleasantries. Suddenly, that’s gone and you’re surrounded by new, unpredictable people. They care about and appreciate you, but you were convinced such things weren’t yours to have. It goes on for years and years, and while it gets a little easier to believe, you’re still stuck being standoffish and a little alienated. How would you react if someone told you outright ‘I like you’ before you get to do it yourself?”

Jazz is silent for a long, long time. He thinks about it — really, truly thinks about it, hands clasped together, elbows pressing down into the armor of his knees.

Eventually, “I wouldn’t believe it. I’d think it’s some kind of joke to get a reaction out of me.” And Prowl is a very, very logical mech in all areas, except for feelings. There, he’s illogical as can be, as emotional as the best of them.

The Praxian clasps his shoulder. “Good.” Approval dyes his words in bright hues, a small smile on his face as he stands up with a groan, twisting. “Definitely sat there too long,” he grumbles under his breath, wincing as he rubs at his back.

It makes Jazz laugh, which might’ve been what Smokey was really aiming for all along.

He’s turning to leave when Jazz makes a grab for his hand.

“Thanks,” he says, meaning it to a degree words can’t convey. “And don’t worry.”

“Who said anything about being worried?” Smokescreen retorts, so gooey and fond.

Jazz has been avoiding the rec. room tonight, every revolution of his spark loud in his head. He can’t remember ever being this nervous before, practically giving himself a spark attack with the way he’s both giddy and filled to the brim with anxiety.

He can hear the sounds of the party going on even in his room, loud and positively thunderous, making the ground shake a little, depending on where you are. It’s exactly the scene of life he’s always loved, feeling at one with the beat and energy. It makes him remember days of a little town of nowhere, one small mech clinging to a pillar hidden in shadows as they watched a live performance. They were never meant to be there, having snuck in.

Every bit of it was worth it though, the music resonating and positively singing in his spark. It was heavenly bliss, enough for him to get lost in it, forgetting his place.

He expected the musicians to be upset at having discovered a little stowaway taking up their time. Instead, they had been delighted with how enthusiastic he had been about their music, jumping up and down.

It was the entire group that had given him a new designation then and there, taking him along and raising Jazz as their own.

The rec. room practically beckons out to him, but — he’s unable to stay still, so sickeningly worried. What if he’s wrong? What if he’s right?

Prowl was special to him — that much became so blindingly clear the moment he discovered the Praxian’s crush on him. It only made sense for him to be bothered when he thought the mech seemingly hated him — he wanted his attention! He just. Hadn’t realized that at the time. But now it’s so painfully there, squeezing his chest and pressing down until it hurts.

Lovesick — that’s what Smokescreen had called it. Kinda embarrassing, considering Jazz’s age. He’s much too old to be acting like a youngling having their first crush, writing away in this datapad and swinging their peds.

But here he is, virtually doing that very thing.

In, out. Round and round the air goes, flustered hands constantly in motion, checking all over himself for any unseen imperfection.

He wants this to be perfect. He wants-

Prowl. Wants to hold him and kiss him — eventually. He doubts the Praxian’s the type to move so fast, but hey, he’s surprised Jazz before.

All Jazz has to do is go out there and see. He’ll never know if he stays in here all night. Would Prowl be crushed if he did? He would, wouldn’t he. All assuming Jazz’s suspicions are right, of course, and Prowl really is planning something tonight. Primus. Jazz could be so very, very wrong. Prowl didn’t go to parties, what has him so convinced tonight will be any different?

But it’s also Jazz’s party and, well. He’s sorta obligated to show up no matter what.

Right.

Steeling himself, Jazz makes the oh so very scary decision of finally leaving his room, gradually approaching the ruckus of music, streamers, and a little bit of high-grade. Just a little.

The whole room is dyed red, many mechs dancing and laughing, loud, loud, loud. Too loud and totally not Prowl’s scene, Jazz really should just — he’s already said hello to like, five different people, surely — half of them were drunk off their afts already, they wouldn’t even notice-

Where is Prowl??

Jazz doesn’t even notice he lifted himself up to the tips of his peds until he’s lowering himself to the floor in disappointment when he’s unable to spot the mech he’s been both hoping and dreading seeing.

A shame, really, because Jazz really thinks he’s outdone himself this year with the amount of heart decorations and streamers. It’s practically a whole store’s worth of things.

Yeah. That’s the only reason he feels sad right now. The only reason at all.

He tries, he really does. He smiles, he waves, he even dances a bit. Does the things expected of him, acting like nothing’s wrong, nothing at all.

It doesn’t last, not completely. He doesn’t think anyone notices or questions his sudden departure, halfway out the door without anyone stopping him. But he does — stop, that is.

Down the hall, he hears it: a song he hasn’t heard in a long, long time.

Following the distant sound of music, Jazz finds himself in a more secluded section of the Ark, away from prying eyes. It’s not a very spacious room, but nor is it crowded like the rec. room. It’s quiet, save for the red boombox perched up on a small ledge.

“Blaster…? What’s going on?”

Blaster, predictably, doesn’t answer.

“I asked him to, considering he’s the only one with records of this song.”

Jazz whirls around and — there — there’s Prowl. Smiling that smile that he’s so fickle about sharing, saying it makes him look untrustworthy. Which was really just a fancy way of saying he didn’t like it, which always made Jazz sad because — it’s cute. Ridiculously so, the way it’s lopsided and shows a little teeth.

“Hey,” Jazz says.

“Hey,” Prowl echoes.

“What’s,” Jazz gestures to the small bit of heart streamers he’s only now noticed, “all of this?”

“What does it look like?” Prowl says, flashing more teeth as he playfully pokes Jazz’s arm. “Surely you of all mechs recognize a party?”

“I- I do, but-“

Oh, Primus. He really hopes he still looks put together right now.

“It’s my song,” he says, voice nothing more than a choked up whisper packed full of love and shock. “It’s the song my mentors played and re-named after me. I didn’t- I’ve never played this song for anyone before. How did you…?”

“Rewind,” Prowl answers, holding out one of his hands. And Jazz — he takes it. It doesn’t even occur to him why until they’re dancing. Not a formal dance or anything like that — it’s Polyhexian to its core. “He’s got a recording of practically everything, you know. Even of your mentors’ older performances.”

“And the — and the dancing?” Jazz asks, grinning like mad as Prowl leads him through the motions of a song and dance he knows by spark. He thinks he should be more shocked by this entire affair, maybe stuttering and disbelieving. But he knew Prowl a little better than that — knew his subtle cues and spark better than most.

Everything about this was so very Prowl; down to the way it’s a moment between them, and them alone. Minus Blaster, but ah well. Blaster was always good at keeping a secret.

“Blaster. I — apologize if it isn’t any good. I’ve never done anything more than the formal dances expected at political events.” And the thing was, it — well, it was awkward, the movements stilted and a little clumsy. Less than Jazz would have expected from Prowl, convincing him that it’s more about the dance itself than the action as a whole.

Funny, how Jazz wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It’s perfect. Just — perfect. You’re perfect.”

That makes Prowl — stop. Stop like Jazz had always interpreted as being a sign of discomfort.

His eyes go wide, mouth forming a little ‘o’. He ducks his head, trying to hide it in the crook of his neck.

“Aw, c’mon, none of that,” Jazz teases, putting his hands on either side of the Praxian’s face, turning him back forward. “I wanna look at’cha. I don’t get to do it this close, this often. I like looking at such a handsome face.”

“I’m assuming you knew, then?” Embarrassment twinges in Prowl’s field, twined with mortification and a bit of loathing. All making Jazz’s smile turn a little sympathetic, but above all else: full of love, love, love. Adoration for this shy weirdo of a mech he’s come to know and appreciation.

“Took me a bit,” he admits. “But once I caught on — oh boo, all subtly was off the table. You’re so transparent, but that’s something I love about ya.”

Prowl’s eyes are zeroed in on Jazz’s hands, sliding his own up until he’s clasping them. He rubs small, little circles into the palms, voice a little husky and shaky as he says, “Can I take this as a yes, then?”

“Yeah, Prowler,” Jazz whispers, voice equally shaky now, leaning his helm to rest against the tactician’s. “You can.”

[cicobuffs]

to expand on my idea of a sex and the city!stranger things au with reader, nancy, and robin...

its definitely within the same type of timeline as the show: moving to NYC in the early nineties in your twenties and the three of you being in your early to mid thirties by the late nineties/early two-thousands.

satc!nancy is absolutely the miranda of the group. shes a journalist for the New York Times...not huge in the scene because she needs a few more years under her belt but she is definitely taken seriously in the business. she doesn't take any shit when it comes to her work, she worked hard to get to the place she's at and she'd be damned if she didn't work her ass off everyday to get better at her profession. she talks sense into both you and robin: very reminiscent of miranda's whole speech about being a group of intelligent women who should be able to talk about things that aren't just rooted in dating and relationships. she met jonathan in a bar and coincidentally they shared mutual friends, one of which being you and then his numerous other photographer/arts based friends some of which that also work within the newspaper world.

satc!robin is the charlotte of the group but i kind of use that term very loosely. she for sure wants that little perfect romance type thing but shes obviously not as conservative as charlotte. though i will say she definitely goes into so many relationships with the mindset of "oh this is it, i can feel it," before being let down. i imagine she's doing more odd jobs/side gig that relate to music or the arts. i can oddly see her as a standup comedian: her schtick being about growing up in small town indiana. growing up as a lesbian in small town indiana at that. she's funny and independent despite her wanting that aforementioned romance. i can see her dragging the group of you to movies and cute little restaurants.

satc!reader is the carrie of the group but i also say that loosely because carrie is lowkey a mess and i refuse to wish that upon you. you work an office job to a big woman-owned magazine company and you double as a bartender sometimes at a place that's by your apartment because a) you got particularly close to the owner and b) you, nancy, and robin frequent that bar heavily. and not to mention you don't mind helping a friend out at his self-owned bar.you want the one in a way but you're far more level-headed and roll with the punches with the people you date. you're someone who genuinely think that you three where meant to be together at the same place, at the same time. thinking about the whole "what if we were supposed to be each other's soulmates?" moment in the show.

[astertimberwolf]

We're all survivors of one too many bad things happening to us. I've healed from a lot, but CPTSD still makes me feel like I'm the lonelist of all, at times... Mostly because of trust issues. It becomes so hard to trust again and so easy to become a hermit or social recluse who never wants to leave their safe space or interact with other people ever again- out of fear of being abused, hurt, let down, disappointed, etc. all over- for the umpteenth time.

I think the thing that stings the most is- knowing, deep down, that the likelihood of you finding love... AKA someone who understands you wholly, respects you, cherishes you, supports you and wants to know- and love every single part of you... Is close to none. At least for me it is- or feels that way. When people look at me, they only see my mental health issues, my quirks, my defects, my vulnerabilities- or worse yet: my past mistakes. They're not able to see that there's a complex, emotionally deep, sensitive, empathetic, caring conscious being underneath all this.

Yes, I'm autistic and have ADHD. Yes, I suffer from Complex PTSD, which can lead to unfounded anxiety or depressive bouts from time to time- and hinder my ability to socialize and connect to others... But I've got a lot of love to give as well, a past- complete with a stupid number of experiences, both good and bad... a story to tell- a personality, which, while quirky, doesn't make me repulsive or hard to be around. I've also got lots of hobbies and interests as well... In short, I'm not just another "walking, talking problem" or "NPC you can interact with". I'm a person that can add color to your life. All you have to do is take some time to get to know me. If you're not a bad person, then I don't bite at all and won't retreat into myself to safeguard my wellbeing.

Life is so short, yet so many people have been traumatized or are socially maladapted to a stupid degree because they grew up on toxic social media... Wouldn't it be amazing if it became easier to form bonds and deeper connections with people? If we learnt to communicate and respect each other more? Live in harmony despite being very different? Share laughs, good memories and find company in one-another?

I don't know if this pain is just a consequence of having CPTSD- or if it's a whole slew of generations that depended on the internet for everything and, now, don't know how to form meaningful friendships / relationships with one-another.

If we want to change things for the better, we have to start putting more time, effort and points into empathy and mutual understanding. I have... But so many people I have come across have not, and it's deeply saddening and disheartening that nobody takes the time to develop their emotional intelligence or maturity any more... I want a better world and better people...

...a better future. I'm fighting for all that, tooth and nail. But will people join my plea and fight? Can we turn this around...? Be it through investing more time in platforms where you actually have a semblance of seeing a person in front of you like VRChat- or even creating new places where people can gather and help one another?

I don't know anymore. I'm rambling at this point. But I think these are real problems that everyone is just looking away from or denying the existence of by pretending everything is fine... It really is not. Can we make this year, a year where humanity starts slowly turning around and becomes a truly social, communal species again- instead of this individualistic, narcissistic, consumeristic / capitalistic nonsense? I know the former sounds political, but it really isn't. Look at how the most popular social media platforms are designed to enrage us, manipulate us, degrade our attention, ability to function- and click on stupid ragebait and misinformation. All for the sake of targeted adverts, engagement... And at the end of the day, money. It's always about that and not people's wellbeing. Is there a way to stop this and start over? :(

believe me, it hurts like hell to face the fact no one is coming to save you.. but fighting to save yourself can give you a connection to yourself that no one else can give you. it's a feeling that honestly can't be put into words. but it's so worth sticking around for.

and this doesn't mean you have to fight alone. there will be people in your life who can help tend your wounds. give you a safe space to rest. teach you how to strengthen the parts of yourself that are injured. or simply be with you in between battles, doing all the wonderful things that make life worth living, together.

i don't know if that made sense. i just want anyone else going through it to know there is another side to the hopelessness and desperation you're feeling. maybe it won't feel like mine is. but i do hope it's just as rewarding for you. you deserve that much, and so much more.

whatever you're facing now does not have to be the end of you. keep going. i promise you're worth it.

[purplewilmon]

First kisses

[welcometogrouchland]

I miss them so bad (Dick and Damian)

[venti-death-watch]

i know other people have talked about this kind of thing already, but it is so fascinating that both ratio and aventurine almost exclusively refer to each other by parts of them that are true rather than their title: ratio by constantly calling aventurine gambler, aventurine by calling ratio doctor and professor.