Bad Boy in My DMs

Private stories

It was 2:41 a.m. when I got the notification.

WAVY has added you to their private story.

I blinked at my screen, groggy and half-asleep. The room was dark except for the blue glow lighting up my ceiling fan. I tapped the notification, not really thinking, and my thumb hovered over the glowing pink ring on his story.

My heart was already thudding before the video even loaded.

The screen went black. Then static. Then his voice.

“Late nights. No lights. Just me, a mic, and the ghosts.”

Then came a flash of him—shirtless, drenched in sweat, sitting in a tiny bedroom studio with LED lights glowing purple and blue behind him. His lips were moving fast, eyes closed, spitting bars into a cracked mic.

“She a good girl, but I wanna ruin that.

Soft lips, loud thoughts, I ain’t immune to that.”

I felt every word in my spine.

I watched again.

Then again.

And again.

Was that… about me?

I scrolled through the rest of his story. It wasn’t long—just six clips. But each one felt like I was peeking through a window I wasn’t supposed to look into.

One was of his bedroom—messy sheets, a shoebox full of cash under his bed (why?), a chain hanging from a lamp.

Another was a screenshot of his Notes app, lyrics scribbled in all caps:

“NEVER TRUST A SMILE THAT COMES TOO EASY.”

Then the last one hit different.

It was a mirror selfie.

No shirt.

Grey sweatpants hanging dangerously low.

His phone in one hand, head tilted, jaw sharp, tattoos peeking out from under his waistband.

Caption?

“What if I ruined her?”

My breath caught.

I dropped my phone on my chest, heart racing like I’d run a marathon in my sleep.

Was it about me?

Was I the girl he wanted to ruin?

And more terrifying—did I want him to?

⸻

The next morning at school, he walked past me like nothing happened. No smirk. No wink. Just brushed his shoulder against mine in the hallway so slightly it could’ve been an accident.

But I felt it.

And when I checked my DMs in class?

WAVY:

“Did you like what you saw?”

I didn’t answer right away.

He messaged again.

WAVY:

“You watched that mirror one like four times. That means something.”

I stared at the screen, heart pounding.

ME:

“How do you know how many times I watched it?”

WAVY:

“I don’t. But now I do. Thanks for confessing.”

I wanted to strangle him. And kiss him. Then maybe strangle him while kissing him.

⸻

He met me after school that day.

This time, we didn’t just stand and flirt.

We left.

He said, “Let me show you something real.”

We ended up in a dusty park no one went to anymore, hidden behind the old gym. It smelled like wet grass and weed, but I didn’t care.

He pulled a notebook from his backpack, tossed it onto the rusted picnic table, and said, “Read the first page.”

I hesitated. “Is this a setup?”

He rolled his eyes, but there was something softer in his smile this time. “Just read.”

I opened the book.

And I swear, it was like falling into his head.

Lyrics. Scribbles. Doodles. Bars crossed out, rewritten, circled three times.

Page after page of raw pain and anger and lust and something almost like love—but more dangerous.

“You wrote all this?”

He nodded.

“You don’t show this to people?”

“Nope.” His voice lowered. “You’re the first.”

I looked at him, eyes narrowing. “Why me?”

He shrugged. “Because you see past the surface.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“You do,” he said. “You just don’t realize it yet.”

Silence stretched.

Then I whispered, “Why me?”

Wavy exhaled slowly, like the question hurt.

Then he said something I didn’t expect.

“Because when you look at me… I don’t feel like a monster.”

⸻

That night, he sent me another voice note.

“You still awake?”

I didn’t reply.

“I’m outside. Don’t freak out.”

I definitely freaked out.

I opened the window and there he was. Sitting on the hood of a car, hood up, headphones in. Just… waiting.

I slipped outside in socks and a hoodie and crossed my arms like I wasn’t totally spiraling.

“What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“And you thought showing up at my house was normal?”

“I’m not normal.”

I sighed. “You’re insane.”

He grinned. “You like it.”

I hated that he was right.

He stepped closer, gently took my hand, and looked down at me.

“Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“Good.” He leaned in. “You shouldn’t.”

Then he kissed me again—this time slower, deeper, like he was pouring all his secrets into my mouth. His hands rested on my hips, thumbs brushing skin, pulling me into him like gravity was his.

My breath hitched as his lips moved to my neck, soft but hungry, like he was trying to memorize me. I could feel everything—every thought, every want, every need.

“You’re dangerous,” I whispered.

“So are you,” he replied, lips brushing my jaw.

My hands slid under his hoodie, fingertips brushing hard muscle and warm skin. He hissed under his breath, his grip tightening on my waist.

And then he said it.

“You make me feel like I could be better.”

⸻

That night, we didn’t go too far.

But it was the closest I’d ever felt to someone.

And the most terrified.

Because he was showing me pieces of him no one else saw.

And I was starting to crave them like a secret drug.

But then—just when it felt like maybe I was falling too deep—another DM came in.

This time from someone I actually did follow.

UNKNOWN GIRL 2:

“Enjoy it while it lasts. He always ghosts right after he gets what he wants.”

Attached?

A screen recording.

Of him. Months ago.

Saying the same exact line to her.

“You make me feel like I could be better