#ALSO THIS IS NOT ME SHITTING ON ADDING WARNINGS

[lexalith]

FRIENDS || Choi Su-Bong (Thanos)

summary: after late-night sexting with your best friend, everything changes. the bond you thought was purely platonic starts to feel deeper. were these feelings always there, hidden beneath the surface? or did something just… click? is this the start of something real, or the beginning of a mistake that could ruin everything?

warnings: aged up female reader (they’re both in their late twenties) (MDNI), smut (masturbation, fingering, public sex, p in v, oral sex (f and m), sexting, edging, praising, unprotected sex (don’t be silly)) semi and minsu are victims of the reader’s and subong’s freakiness, angst (name calling, miscommunication, pushing, throwing things, lying, deception, fear of commitment, reader refuses to help him at some point, slapping, slutshame remarks), overuse of the words ‘fuck’ and ‘fucking’ (lmaoo), subong should be a warning himself, fwb dynamic, reader uses someone to forget subong, drug use and addiction.

a/n: i’ve never ever written anything here on tumblr before, so i don’t really know what i’m doing, help. also, english isn’t my first language, so mistakes should be present!! lowercase is intentional. this is an au with no games. text messages are in different colors (orange for the reader, purple for subong). the reader’s dialogue is in bold. mind you, this is LOOOONG (it’s a whole fic)

songs that inspired me to write this: friends — chase atlantic || back to friends — sombr || heartbeat — childish gambino || casual — chappell roan

this fic was also inspired by @jedisupernova ‘s writing, check out her page and fics!!! (they’re soooo good)

you’re still thinking about what that guy said. it wasn’t even a big deal, not really. just some random jerk at the club who’d had a few too many drinks and decided to share his unfiltered thoughts about your body. “you’re not really my type,” he’d said, like you’d asked. then he’d laughed and added, “not many guys would go for that.”

it shouldn’t bother you. you know it shouldn’t. but now, a few nights later, it’s stuck in your head, looping like a song you can’t turn off. so, lying in bed, scrolling aimlessly, you do what you always do when something’s bugging you—you text him. your best friend.

subong. are you awake?

yes ma’am. why?

i got a random question. but like, it’s not that deep

???

do you think i’m attractive?

you fire it off without overthinking, like it’s no big deal. it’s not weird to ask your best friend something like this. right?

it takes him a few minutes to reply.

what kind of question is that?

just answer

i’m too high for this shit, bro

you’re not high🙄 liar

i wish i were

omfg can you just say yes or no? please? but be honest, i promise i won’t get mad

yeah, i think u are

really?

sure thinggg, u’re hot mama

dude quit playing, i’m being serious over here

i’m not fucking playing

okay you think i’m attractive but like… what kind of attractive? cute attractive? like awwww. or i’d-fuck-you-raw attractive?

what are we even talking about

why can’t you just answer?😭

what is this for?

for my knowledge

tf is that supposed to mean?

you stare at the screen, mentally deciding whether you should tell him about what happened or not. you hadn’t told him before, not wanting to give it more attention. but this time, you decide to.

ugh, remember i went clubbing the other day? well this dude was being an asshole to me and he said some stuff and i can’t stop thinking about it so just be fucking honest and answer my question

some stuff? what stuff?

he said, and i quote ‘not many guys would go for that’. ‘that’ is me, btw💀

who tf is this dude?

bruh idk, some random guy, it doesn’t matter

it does?

are you gonna answer my question or no?

yeah. i think u r both kinds.

good, good, you think to yourself. his reply makes you relax a little, the knot in your stomach loosening. he thinks you’re attractive. of course he does—he’s your best friend, and best friends are supposed to hype you up.

for a moment, you stare at your phone, chewing on your bottom lip. you know you should leave it there, let it go. but something keeps tugging at you.

so, hypothetically, would you… yk, with me?

the second you hit send, panic sets in. your pulse skyrockets, and you almost want to throw your phone across the room. why did you do that? why couldn’t you just shut up? but you don’t have time to spiral, because the dots appear almost immediately.

are u serious?

and you freeze. your fingers hover over the screen, but you can’t bring yourself to type anything back. what kind of answer is that?

alr, imma be honest. yeah i would

your heart stops. you blink at the message, reading it again and again, like the words might change if you look long enough. you weren’t prepared for this.

subong’s typing…

would u? with me?

you want to lie, to brush it off, but your fingers move before your brain can stop them.

maybe

the dots pop up again. then disappear. then pop up again.

maybe?? that means yes. cmon i’m hot as hell, baby, u know it. u’ve probably touched yourself thinking about me at least once

wtf bro you’re giving me the biggest ick rn 💀

but have u?

and you? i bet you jerk off to my insta photos, perv. don’t even start lmaoo

can’t help it when u look that good💯

you stare at his message, your mind scrambling to process it. you feel your breath catch in your throat. the shock should be overwhelming, but instead, you feel a strange warmth spread through you.

you didn’t expect this. the idea that he’s been thinking about you like that… it sends a shiver down your spine. you should probably tell him to stop, tell him it’s too much, but instead, you feel yourself leaning in, pulled toward this conversation in a way you didn’t think you would be.

i may or may not have done the same with your insta pics

i knew itttt señorita 🙏🏼

shut up

how many times?

why do you wanna know?🤨

i answered ur stupid ass questions, now u answer mine

maybe like idk, two?

no fucking way, just two????????

you think it’s not enough or what???? how many times have you done it?

more than u wanna know

how bad are we talking?

so bad i’ve lost count. u really want me to get into details?

maybe i do

bro, let’s just say that everytime u post i’m over here fighting a battle

you do realize i’m your bestfriend right?

yeah, so?

so aren’t there any girls to jerk off to instead of me???

yeah but they don’t make me as hard

you stare at the screen, your heart pounding, your legs squeezing together instinctively. what the hell is happening right now? and then another message comes through.

even saying this shit is getting me worked up

what???😭 you’re hard??

yeah bro, what's a guy supposed to do when his best friend asks if he would fuck her?

it was hypothetical

hypothetically speaking, if a guy was attracted to his best friend, he'd probably be rock fucking hard right now. so yeah, i'm fucking hard, girl

your stomach flips at the bluntness of his words. you can feel the blood rushing to your face as you stare at the message.

too much info, subong

nahhh, u asked. u wanted details, so here they are

okay… should i leave you to it?

fuck no

damn alr, suffer then🙄

could u help me out?

help you out?????????????

with a pic of u or smth

boy whatttttttttt

what?

i’m not sending you fucking nudes wtf 💀💀

no one asked for that, stupid. just a pic of u

just a pic of you. the request feels so simple. he’s your bestfriend—it’s not that big of a deal, right? especially after everything you’ve both just confessed to each other.

your eyes flick toward the mirror in your room. you’re in your pajamas. no bra. you know how it looks. it’s the kind of thing you wouldn’t think twice about wearing around him in person, but now, with this conversation, it feels different. your legs carry you to the mirror almost on autopilot. you pick up your phone and angle it toward your reflection. you shouldn’t even be entertaining this. but instead, you snap the picture. you stare at it for a moment, biting your lip. it’s not explicit—it’s just you. but still… you know exactly how he’ll see it.

your thumb hovers over the send button, hesitation gripping you. a hundred reasons not to do this race through your head, but one single thought drowns them all out: you want to know how he’ll react. before you can second-guess yourself, you hit send. the moment it delivers, your stomach drops, a mix of adrenaline and regret washing over you. you sit down on the edge of your bed, staring at the screen, waiting for his response, your heart pounding louder with every passing second.

hoooooooooly shitttttttttt

it’s just a pic

yeah, a pic of u looking like that

im just in my pajamas

and i’m hornier now, if that’s even possible

subong you can’t just say stuff like that

why not? we always tell each other everything

i should’ve thrown on a hoodie

i’d still be thinking of what’s underneath

well, glad i could help your horny ass🫡 enjoy or whatever

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

you watch the dots—flickering like they're mocking you. you can't help but wonder what he's typing—or if he's second-guessing whatever bold thing he's about to say. but then, they disappear. nothing. you frown, staring at the screen, waiting a few more seconds. still nothing. you realize exactly what he's probably doing. you bite your lip, heat creeping up your neck as the image forms in your mind: him, sitting there, hand wrapped around his dick, staring at the picture you sent.

you feel like you need to do something—anything—to distract yourself. you toss your phone onto the bed and reach for the remote, flipping on a random tv show. you let the noise fill the silence, but your mind keeps drifting back to him. it's a few minutes later when your phone dings. the sound cuts through the room like a knife, and you hesitate for a moment, staring at the screen, before finally reaching for it.

it's him. he sent a picture.

these are my pajamas. now we’re even, baby

him, standing in front of the mirror, shirtless and wearing only a pair of tight black briefs. the way he's posing is so over the top... he's trying way too hard. his expression is almost comical, like he's not really sure if he's pulling it off but is hoping you'll think he is. you can't help it—you stifle a laugh. but then your eyes drop, and that laughter dies in your throat. the bulge is so obvious, pushing against the fabric in a way that's impossible to ignore. it's not just visible, it's big. big enough that your pulse spikes, and you forget to breathe for a second. that laughter you were holding back? gone. you glance back at his goofy grin in the mirror, but it's no longer funny. shit. you’re wet.

you don't even know how it happens. one moment, you're staring at his picture, then a teasing comment here, a bold reply there—and before you know it, you're lying on your bed, your phone clutched in one hand and your other slipping between your thighs, pressed against the growing ache he's stoked with every message. you've never gone this far with him before—always ignoring his obvious flirting. but you can’t stop now. and he isn’t shy about it either, telling you with detail everything he would do to you.

u'd look soooo fucking good begging under me, baby

and what if i don’t?

then i'd make u

mhmmm, how?

fuck, i’d bury my face between those thighs and eat u out until u can’t take it anymore

a soft gasp escapes your lips as you read, your body reacting to the vivid images his words paint in your mind. you know you shouldn't be doing this—not with him—but the way he's describing everything makes you forget about all the reasons why. you’re far past the point of feeling shy too. you bite your lip, barely believing yourself as you hit send.

i wish you could feel how wet i am just thinking about you fucking me from behind

god damn girl, i’d stretch that pussy so good my dick is the only thing u’d think about for weeks

and then, it's not just texting anymore—you're sending pictures, even though you swore you wouldn't. the first one is a close-up of your fingers, glistening with your juices. his reply comes almost instantly, not as a text but as a voice message. “shit, baby, you're f-fucking killing me... mhmm... look at that. you're so fucking wet f’me, I can almost taste it through the screen... fuck...” his voice is low and rough, broken by soft, shaky breaths. you can hear him stroking himself, moans slipping out between words. you're losing your damn mind over it, replaying the voice message again and again—fingers curling inside of you as you push them in and out, wishing it were his fingers instead of yours.

he sends a pic too. this time, he leaves nothing to the imagination. it’s a selfie, his face barely visible at the corner. the center of attention is his hard dick, hand wrapped around it, tip leaking precum. and the only thing that comes to your mind right there and then is just how badly you want to take him in your mouth.

one picture leads to another, the messages growing dirtier with every exchange. his words are filthy, his photos even filthier, and the way he talks about your body—what he'd do to it, what he's imagining—fucking hell. your breathing quickens, your body burning with need, and before you know it, that familiar tension starts to coil low in your stomach.

shit, subong… i’m close

u’re gonna cum for me? cmon pretty girl, let me hear you

you hit record just as your orgasm crashes over you, moaning his name loudly as you cum on your fingers. after a few minutes, he sends a voice message back “you sound so fucking good… shit, look what you’ve done t-to me… mmm… fuck, fuck, fuck… i’m gonna cum thinking about fucking you, baby. i’m gonna cum thinking about you making those… s-sounds while i fucking pound into you.”

the next few days are a blur. he hasn’t texted, and you haven’t either. but no matter what you do, you can’t stop thinking about what happened. no matter how hard you try to shake it off, it’s there. his voice, the way he sounded saying your name, the damn nudes, the way your heart raced as you typed those things to him.

you don’t know how to feel about it. on one hand, you can’t deny how much you wanted it in the moment. but now? now you’re not sure. did you cross a line? did he? part of you regrets it, wishes you could just rewind and stop yourself before things spiraled. but another part—one you’re trying to ignore—remembers how good it felt, how right it seemed in the moment.

and then there’s the friendship. years of it. he’s been your best friend for a few years now. he knows things about you no one else does and he’s seen you at your absolute worst. like that night you showed up at his door after a horrible breakup. mascara streaked down your cheeks, and he didn’t say a word—just handed you a blanket, put on your favorite movie, and sat there with you until you fell asleep on his shoulder.

but it wasn’t always serious. like the time he tried rapping one of his freestyles for you, all cocky, and you laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe. or like the time you tripped over absolutely nothing at the mall, and he laughed so hard he cried, then spent weeks reenacting it whenever you were around. or when he clogged your toilet and tried to fix it himself instead of just telling you. or when he picked a fight with some guy at a club because the guy bumped into you and didn’t apologize. he got all puffed up and said, “you got a problem, man?” like he was some kind of action movie hero. but the guy was huge, like, rugby player huge, and before you could drag subong away, he swung and missed, and the dude took him down in one hit. he spent the rest of the night with a bloody nose and ice pressed to his face, grumbling, “he got lucky.” you still remind him of how he ‘lost a fight in one punch,’ and it always makes him groan.

you’ve got a thousand stupid inside jokes that no one else would understand, like how you always text each other ‘don’t die’ instead of ‘goodnight’ because of some dumb horror movie you watched together. or the fact that he nicknamed you ‘señorita’ when you said you wanted to visit spain one day.

he’s a walking disaster, an endless source of secondhand embarrassment, and somehow, that’s what makes subong… subong. being around him has always felt easy, like slipping into your favorite hoodie—comfortable, familiar, safe.

but friends don’t do… that. what if it’s never the same again? you’ve always been comfortable with him, never overthinking what you said or did around him. now, you can’t imagine looking him in the eye without thinking about what you two did together. you keep telling yourself that things will go back to normal, but deep down, you’re scared they won’t. because you’re not sure you can go back—not after knowing what it felt like to be wanted by him in that way. not after letting yourself want him back.

one day, out of the blue, he texts you like nothing happened. just casually, like you didn't have your hand between your thighs while listening to him moan your name a few nights ago.

yoooo, wanna hop on call and play videogames? i’m bored

at first, you stare at the text, because... what does this mean? is this his way of brushing it under the rug? of pretending nothing ever happened? still, you say yes. because what else can you do? you hop into the call, and there he is—joking, laughing, completely normal. like the two of you didn't cross every possible line. he's so good at acting like nothing's changed, it almost convinces you. you match his energy, responding with the same casual ease. maybe this is fine. maybe you're fine.

then the group chat lights up a few days later: a cinema meet-up. everyone's throwing out ideas for what movie to watch, talking about snacks, debating over showtimes. he's there, throwing in jokes about popcorn sizes and his infamous sweet tooth, and you're sitting there trying to decide if you can handle seeing him face to face. you hesitate, debating if you should just make up an excuse not to go. but then he replies to the chat, tagging you specifically.

u better be there señorita

i will🙃

the day arrives faster than you’d like, and before you know it, you’re standing outside the cinema, stomach flipping as you spot namgyu, minsu, gyeongsu, and semi waving at you. you force a smile and walk over, doing your best to focus on their chatter and ignore the nerves crawling up your spine. but then you see him—subong, leaning against the wall, vape in hand. and when his eyes land on you, he smirks. he knows damn well. he knows exactly what you’re thinking, and he’s not going to make this easy for you. “finally,” he says when you’re close enough. “i was starting to doubt you’d come.” “why wouldn’t i?” you reply. he shrugs, taking a puff from his vape “thought you might’ve had better things to do.” the way he says it feels loaded, but he doesn’t give you time to respond, turning his attention to namgyu instead.

when it’s time to head into the cinema, you try to position yourself far from him, making a beeline for a seat between minsu and semi. you settle in, thinking you’re safe, but of course, subong has other plans. “yo, minsu, my boy,” he says as he walks down the aisle, stopping directly in front of you. “mind scooting over? i’ll sit here.” “uh, sure,” minsu says, shifting down without hesitation. you open your mouth to object, but before you can say anything, subong is sliding into the seat next to you, drink in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other. “hope you don’t mind,” he murmurs, leaning a little closer than necessary. you grit your teeth, keeping your gaze locked on the screen as the previews start. “not at all,” you mutter under your breath.

you think that’s it. but, of course, it doesn’t end there. he shifts in his seat, his arm brushing against yours every now and then, like he’s waiting for you to react. you swear you catch him smirking out of the corner of your eye multiple times. you try to focus on the movie, but it’s impossible when his presence is so loud. every little movement, every tiny glance, has your nerves on edge. and he knows it.

then, you feel it. his hand—light at first— rests on your bare thigh, the heat of his palm sending a jolt through you. you freeze, your breath catching in your throat. what the hell is he doing? his fingers trace a soft line along your skin, caressing just above your knee. you stay still, unsure of what to do, but your body betrays you, not pulling away.

his touch grows bolder, creeping higher up your leg, slipping under your skirt. you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. he's still watching the movie, acting like nothing is happening, like his hand isn't inches away from your clothed pussy. “what are you doing?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper. he turns his head toward you, looking innocent, like he's just minding his own business. “nothing.” “subong—” “i'll stop if you want me to.” you don't answer, torn between wanting to push him away and not wanting him to stop at all. “do you want me to stop? be honest,” he says, still waiting for your response. “no,” you reply, looking away with embarrassment. he chuckles softly—hand rubbing the inside of your thigh.

you drape the thin jacket you brought over your legs, a flimsy attempt to shield his hand from semi’s view. every nerve in your body screams that you shouldn’t be letting this happen, but you don’t stop him. he spreads your legs with his hand for better access, and soon you feel two of his fingers pressing against your clit over the fabric of your panties. your breath hitches, and you try not to move—not even a sound escapes you—but your lips part at the feeling of his touch. he moves them slow—too slow—in a way that has you shifting against him, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more. and he gives it to you. his hand slips beneath your soaked underwear, and a low chuckle leaves him when he feels just how wet you are.

subong knows what he is doing. he rubs your clit in circles, gently but with enough pressure to have you biting your bottom lip. and god, his fingers feel so much better than you ever imagined. when he quickens the pace, a soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and you quickly slap a hand over your mouth, pretending to be focused on the screen. but the rapid rise and fall of your chest betrays your so-called calm. before you can collect yourself, semi leans in. “are you okay?” “mhm,” you nod quickly, forcing a smile. “yeah, don't worry, i—” your words falter when his fingers move faster. you bite your lip, trying to hold it together, but he's clearly enjoying watching you struggle. “i-i'm fine,” you manage to stutter. semi raises an eyebrow. “you sure?” “yeah,” you nod. “alright,” semi says before shrugging and turning her attention back to the screen.

you let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through you. your head snaps toward subong, eyes narrowing in a glare that’s meant to convey exactly how ridiculous he’s being right now. you dig your nails into his wrist, “are you crazy?” but he only pauses for a second, leaning in close enough to whisper, “relax, girl. no one noticed.” the audacity of him sends heat rushing to your face. but he doesn’t back down, his fingers resuming their slow, torturous movements. and just as you’re about to reach your orgasm… he stops. your body jerks in frustration, and you whip your head toward him, confused. his smirk only deepens as he pulls his hand from under your skirt, bringing his fingers to his lips and licking them clean. “what the fuck?” you whisper, a soft groan escaping at the loss of his touch. “what?” he whispers back, feigning innocence. “you know what.” “i don't. you'll have to spell it out for me.” “subong—” “tell me what you want.” the frustration wells up in your chest. to him, this is probably hilarious—you being so desperate. but for you? it's humiliating. pathetic. begging your best friend for something like this. still, the need outweighs your pride. you lean in, your lips almost brushing his ear, “i wanna... i wanna cum. please, make me cum.” “yeah? be fucking quiet, then.”

his fingers slip back under your skirt. your breath catches, and you press your lips together, your body already trembling from how close you were before—gripping the armrest, barely able to keep still. every nerve in your body feels like it's on fire, and when his fingers circle just right, you're done. the release hits hard, and you muffle your moans by biting down on your lip so hard it stings.

the days after are... strange. again. no texting, no acknowledgment, no teasing, nothing. it's like it never happened. and when he does text again, it's so casual it throws you off. he sends a random picture, a meme he has found on instagram.

this shit is so funny bro loooololol

i fear your humor is broken😐

naahhh u just don’t get ittt babyy

you reply like everything's fine because, well, isn't it? you don’t even know at this point.

another day, he messages the group chat:

pentagon this weekend?🔥

the replies come fast. namgyu’s working that night. semi has plans with her girlfriend. gyeongsu says he’s too exhausted for it. minsu doesn’t even reply. everyone has an excuse, and eventually, the chat goes dead. then, a private message from subong popps up.

wbu? still down to go?

you and subong had gone clubbing together hundreds of times. hell, most nights it was just the two of you, dancing until your legs gave out, taking blurry selfies, and laughing over cheap drinks. it was normal. so, you type:

yeah, sureee

bet. see u saturday, señorita

when the night comes, your phone buzzes as you’re double-checking your look in the mirror.

outside

outsideeee

outsideeeeeeeee

hellooooooooooooooooooo

one minute, let me grab my jacket

i’m freezing man

one minute my ass

patience is a virtue ❤️

cmooooooooon

u knitting the jacket or what

girl i just hit retirement age waiting for u

you’re so dramatic

and u r so slow, balance baby

you grab your jacket and head out, the bass from his car already thudding through the air when you step outside. you see him leaning against the passenger door, dressed in his usual baggy style—a loose graphic tee, cargo pants, and sneakers that probably cost more than your entire outfit (the only damn thing he saves up for…)—vape dangling lazily from his fingers. when he sees you, his eyes trail over you for a second too long. “you’re overdressed,” he teases with a smile. “you’re underdressed,” you shoot back.

the drive to club pentagon is easy, filled with a mix of rap tracks and subong’s singing. when you finally pull up, the line’s already stretching down the block, but subong doesn’t even blink. “namgyu’s working, right?” he asks, sliding out of the car. you nod. “yeah, he’ll let us in.” inside, the music is already pulsing, bass heavy enough to shake the floors. subong grabs your wrist. “drinks first?” “obviously,” you answer. you follow subong to the bar, the pounding music buzzing in your ears. “what are we starting with?” he asks, leaning against the bar. “shots,” you say, already reaching into your bag. he raises an eyebrow. “you’re paying?” “you’re broke,” you remind him, rolling your eyes before ordering four shots of tequila. when the glasses arrive, he grabs two and hands you one. “guess i’ll owe you,” he says, clinking his glass against yours. “you already do,” you reply, downing the first shot without hesitation. the familiar burn of tequila trails down your throat, and you chase it with a quick breath.

you can feel his eyes on you as you throw back the second shot. you don’t meet his gaze, but you can feel it—the weight of it, the way it makes your stomach flutter. shaking it off, you slam your glass on the counter and signal for one more round. “last one,” you say, mostly to yourself, pulling out more cash. he doesn’t argue, just picks up his shot, watching you as you pick up yours. you both toss back the final shot, and the alcohol is just enough to loosen the knot in your chest. but the way his gaze lingers as he sets his glass down makes it tighten again. “dancing?” you ask. he nods. you push through the crowd till you find a spot on the dance floor. the techno track thuds through your chest as you sway to the rhythm. subong moves with you, not particularly in sync with the beat, but in his own way that somehow works. every now and then, his eyes catch yours, and you have to force yourself to look away.

the music builds, and you let yourself get lost in it, the alcohol buzzing through your veins and the tension from earlier slowly dissolving into the haze of the moment. after a while, he stops moving and pulls his phone from his pocket. you glance at him, curious, as he squints at the screen. whatever he sees makes him smile faintly before he shoves the phone back into his pocket. “i need to hit the bathroom!” he says, leaning close so you can hear. you blink at him, confused. “right now?” he nods, gesturing for you to follow. you don’t argue—it’s not exactly safe to hang around the dance floor by yourself. reluctantly, you let him lead you off the floor.

he disappears into the men’s room, leaving you standing against the wall, arms crossed. you tap your foot, watching drunk strangers stumble past. a few minutes later, the door swings open, and subong walks out, a small smirk playing on his lips. “what took you so long?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. instead of answering, he holds up a small plastic bag between his fingers. your stomach flips when you see the little colorful pills inside. “what the hell is that?” you ask, but you already know. he grins, tilting his head. “new stuff.” your brows furrow. “what?” “my plug got these,” he says, holding up the bag slightly. “said they hit different. figured i’d try.” he slides one pill between his fingers, studying it like it’s no big deal. then he brings it to his mouth, about to toss it back. “wait,” you say, grabbing his wrist. he scoffs. “what? you want it instead?” you glare at him. “no, subong. what are you even doing? you don’t need that!” he rolls his eyes, freeing his wrist from your grip. “come on, it’s nothing. we’ve had worse.” “worse?” you scoff. “you’re really gonna compare getting blackout drunk and smoking pot to this?” “you’re fucking overthinking it. it’s just one pill. just tonight. trust me.” he says.

you glance at the bag again, at the little pills that seem so harmless yet scream bad idea. “subong…” you start, but your voice trails off. “look,” he cuts in, his voice softer now. “we’re having a good fucking time, yeah? it’ll be just this once, okay? i promise.” “okay,” you say suddenly, lifting your chin. “but if you do one, i’ll do one.” his smirk falters for half a second. “no.” you frown. “what do you mean, no?” “i mean no. you’re not taking one.” “but you can?” you challenge, crossing your arms.“yeah.” you scoff. “that’s bullshit.” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “this isn’t your thing, señorita.” “since when it’s yours?” you snap. “if you’re gonna do it, then so am i.”

he looks at you, really looks at you. then, with an exasperated groan, he reaches into the bag. “fucking stubborn,” he mutters, pulling out another pill. “just this once.” he holds it delicately between his fingers before stepping closer. “open up,” he says, his voice dropping a notch. you hesitate for a second but eventually part your lips, sticking out your tongue. he places the pill gently on it. “there you go,” he says, stepping back and popping his own pill. you swallow it quickly, trying not to think about what you’ve just decided to do.

you move back onto the dance floor, the pill's effects creeping in like a warm wave washing over you. the flashing lights seem brighter now and everything blurs together—colors, sounds, the heat of the crowd—but it feels good. better than it should. your limbs feel lighter, like you're floating, and the energy buzzing inside you pushes you to move. subong is right there beside you, dancing with his hand raised, and you can't stop staring at him. his messy hair sticks to his forehead, sweat glistening on his tanned skin.

before you know it, your arms are around his neck, pulling him in like it’s the only thing keeping you steady. his eyes burn into yours for half a second, like he’s daring you to close the distance. then his hands are on your waist, rough fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, and he drags you closer until you’re pressed against him. the music is pounding, but it feels distant—like the only rhythm you can hear now is the way your bodies move together, hips rolling in time, every brush of his skin against yours making you burn.

his breath fans across your lips, hot and tasting of tequila and something bitter—maybe the pill he took earlier—and it makes your head spin. then your mouth crashes into his. there’s nothing soft about it. it’s messy and sloppy, urgent—like you’re both too far gone to think about anything but this. his lips part against yours immediately, and your tongues meet in a dizzying clash of heat and need. his hands slide up your back, fingers threading into your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth.

you tilt your head, chasing the kiss even deeper. you feel the sharp graze of his teeth against your bottom lip, a bite that makes you whimper before he soothes it with his tongue. the sound you make pushes him further—he groans into your mouth, his other hand gripping your jaw, tilting your face exactly how he wants it.

you’re not sure where the desperation is coming from, but it feels like if he stops touching you, you’ll shatter. your fingers clutch at his shirt, twisting the fabric as you grind just a little closer, a little harder. he’s breathing just as heavy as you are, lips red and swollen from kissing you like he never wants to stop.

you’ve kissed people before but nothing’s ever felt like this. nothing’s ever felt this fucking good. the two of you stumble out of the club. your legs feel like jelly as you hold onto subong, and his arm wraps around your waist to steady you. his car is parked a few streets over, tucked away in a dark, hidden corner under some trees. “thank god for this spot,” he mutters as he unlocks the doors.

you barely make it into the backseat before he’s on you again—his lips crashing into yours like he’s been waiting for this forever. his hands are all over you, rough and desperate, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. but you’re not going anywhere. his fingers dig into your thighs as he pulls you into his lap, and the second you straddle him, you feel it—hard and thick, pressing right against the heat between your legs. a soft gasp slips out of you, but he swallows it with another kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. fuck, he’s good.

your hands tangle in his hair, pulling as your hips start to move, grinding down on him. his grip tightens immediately, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he guides your movements, rocking you against him harder. the friction creates a delicious, aching pressure that makes you whimper against his lips. “fuck,” he breathes, breaking the kiss just long enough to let his head fall back against the seat. his fingers squeeze your ass, dragging you down against him rougher. “keep doing that.” so you do. you roll your hips, slow at first, letting yourself feel everything. you’re already soaked, already throbbing for more, and from the way his hands are gripping you, the way his breathing is getting heavier, you know he feels it too. “i need to eat you out,” he says, trailing kisses down your neck. “want you to cum on my tongue.” you do exactly what he wants—legs spread wide, thighs trembling as his head dips between them. his breath is hot against your soaked pussy, teasing, before his tongue finally makes contact—slow at first, a long, deliberate lick from your entrance to your clit that makes your whole body jolt.

you gasp at the feeling, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging hard, but it only makes him groan against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure straight through you. he doesn’t hold back. he devours you, eating you out like a man starved, his tongue flicking against your clit before he sucks it into his mouth. and when two of his fingers slip inside you, curling deep, pressing against that perfect spot, you swear you see stars. “you taste so fucking good,” he groans against you, his lips slick with your arousal before he flattens his tongue and laps up every drop. the way he’s working you—his mouth, his fingers, the filthy sounds coming from between your legs—it’s too much, too good, and your whole body is trembling, hips rolling against his face, chasing more. “shit—subong!” your voice breaks as the pleasure crashes over you all at once. your thighs clamp around his head, your body arching off the seat as you cum hard against his mouth. but he doesn’t stop—his tongue keeps moving, drinking you in, dragging out your release until you’re shaking.

when he comes back up to kiss you—chin shining with the evidence of your release— your hand instinctively moves to rub him through his pants, the hard outline of his dick impossible to miss. he hisses at the contact, his hips bucking eagerly against your touch. “you got a condom?” you ask. he pauses. “yeah, hold on.” reluctantly, he pulls away and starts patting his pockets. his brows furrow in concentration as he checks one side, then the other. finally, with a relieved grin, he pulls a condom out and holds it up. “got it,” he says before kissing the wrapper, making you chuckle.

he looks so fucking hot as he rolls the condom onto his cock, his chest rising and falling with anticipation. but nothing gets him off more than watching you climb back onto his lap, your soaked folds teasing the head of his dick as you line yourself up. his breath stutters, his hands gripping your thighs, barely holding himself back. “fuck, you’re so wet,” he says, voice tight with restraint. then, slowly you sink down onto him. inch by inch, he stretches you open, filling you up until there’s no space left between your bodies. “shit,” he hisses, watching as your slick coats him, making every movement easy, effortless—like your body was made to take him. and when you start moving, lifting your hips before sliding back down, a broken moan escapes his lips. “fuck, baby,” he breathes, hands roaming up your back, gripping your ass, anything to ground himself as you ride him. “you feel so f-fucking good—look at you, taking me so… mmm… so fucking well.” his voice is needy, and when you slam down harder, his hips jerk up to meet yours, pushing even deeper. “oh my—fuck, subong!” you cry out, your walls clenching around him so tight it makes his whole body tense beneath you.

he almost fucking loses it the second he feels you clench around him, his face twisting in pleasure, jaw going slack. his hands grip your hips, guiding you—faster, rougher—eyes locked on where your bodies meet, watching his cock disappear inside you over and over again. he forces himself to meet your gaze, even though his eyes keep threatening to roll back. “fuck, if i’d known how fucking good this pussy is… i would’ve f-fucked you sooner.” he moans as you move faster, bouncing on his cock—every thrust making obscene, slick sounds that only turn him on more. his eyes drop to your tits, bouncing perfectly in time with your movements, and fuck, he can’t decide what he wants more—to keep watching you ride him like this or to flip you over and ruin you.

but then you tighten around him, your rhythm stuttering as you throw your head back, moaning so loud he swears the whole damn neighborhood can hear you. “fuck— i’m gonna—! i-i’m gonna cum!” you cry out, your whole body trembling, thighs shaking as you cum around his cock. and that’s it. that’s all it takes to break him. “shit—ngh!” his body jerks beneath you, his abs tensing as he spills into the condom, his head falling back, mouth open.

his hands are still gripping you, holding you down against him as he rides out every last pulse of his release, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. and fuck—you’re still wrapped around him, warm and wet and perfect. you end up laughing for a solid twenty minutes after that, still too high to fully process what the fuck just happened between you two. but even in your haze, every single detail stays with you the next day.

fucking your best friend while high as fuck one night might’ve been an accident. but then it happens again. and again. and again. and you can’t call it an accident anymore.

it happens everywhere.

in his car, where the windows are always fogged up, your moans echoing in the tight space. in your apartment, where he barely gets the door shut before he’s got you pinned against it, hands rough and greedy, yanking your clothes off like he’s been waiting all fucking day for this. sometimes he doesn’t even make it past the kitchen—he just lifts you onto the counter, knocking over whatever’s in his way, too impatient to care as his mouth moves down your neck. in his bed, where the sheets are always a mess, tangled from how hard he fucks you into the mattress, his hands gripping your wrists, pinning them above your head. even in a club bathroom, right after he gives a show, still high off the energy, sweat dripping down his temple. you’re barely inside before he’s got you bent over the sink, hiking your dress up, shoving your panties to the side, fucking into you so deep you have to bite your hand to keep from screaming his name.

wherever. the second you’re alone, it’s happening. it becomes a thing. a need.

you always figured subong would fuck good. he never shut up about the girls he’s been with, the shit he’s done, bragging like he was the best lay any of them ever had. and every time he talked about it, you’d feel heat pool between your thighs, wondering if he was really that good or just full of shit.

now you knew. and fuck, he wasn’t lying.

he’s rough and passionate—the kind of lover who takes without hesitation but gives just as much, maybe even more. he loves watching you squirm, loves the way your body responds to him like it was made for this. like it needs this. his fingers trail down your skin, barely touching, making you shiver before he finally gives you what you want. and fuck, he lives for it—the way you gasp when he finally presses his mouth between your legs, the way your back arches when he fills you up, stretching you wide, making you take every inch.

some days, he drags it out, torturing you with slow touches, lazy kisses, making you beg before he finally gives in. he’ll tease you until you’re trembling, hands gripping at him desperately, “please, subong… need you so bad.” and then, maybe then, he’ll give you what you’re begging for. other days? he doesn’t bother waiting. before you can say a word, he’s got you pinned to the mattress, yanking your legs apart, pressing himself against you, making you feel just how hard he is. “been thinking about this all fucking day.” then he’s inside you, fucking you like he’s been starving for it.

it’s been months now—this thing between you and subong. but you don’t talk about it. not once. there’s no late-night confessions, no whispered ‘what are we?’ between tangled sheets. he doesn’t ask who else you’re seeing, and you sure as hell don’t ask him. but the uncertainty lingers. because he’s still your best friend. you still laugh at his dumb ass jokes, roll your eyes when he’s being his cocky self, and feel that weird, warm twist in your stomach when you catch him watching you from across the room.

and yet, there are a bunch of little things that scream something more. like that time you sat on his rumpled bed while he was writing a song, and you helped him hammer out stupid-ass verses—even when he swore they’d never work. you teased him for his cheesy lines and then watched his face light up like he’d just discovered a new fucking world. hell, he even calls you his muse sometimes, and you hate how damn proud that makes you feel.

or that stormy night. the rain was lashing against the windows, and you two were locked in his tiny studio apartment. one minute you were laughing, taking silly pictures of him with a digital camera while he smoked, and the next, he had your face pressed against the wooden table as he fucked you from behind—your ass cheeks burning from his vigorous spanking. after, he pulled you close, running his fingers through your hair as if trying to memorize every inch of you.

that one night he showed up at your door at 2 a.m., high off his ass, slurring your name with that cocky grin, his knuckles tapping too fast against the wood. “couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled, leaning against the doorframe. “fucking missed you.” you should’ve told him to fuck off, should’ve rolled your eyes and slammed the door in his face because he promised he wouldn’t do that shit again. instead, you let him in, let him collapse onto your bed with a heavy sigh, pulling you down with him. his arms caged you in, the scent of his cheap cologne filling your senses.

then there was the time you caught him staring at you while you were getting ready. you were fixing your hair in his mirror, wearing nothing but his oversized t-shirt, and when you turned around, he was just standing there—arms crossed. “what?” you asked, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. he just shook his head, smirking a little. “nothing,” he said. “you just—you look good in my clothes, mama.”

and when you called him crying after a shitty day at work, voice shaking so bad he could barely understand you. you didn’t even have to ask—he just showed up, no questions. drove way too fucking fast to get to you, and pulled you into his chest so tight it felt like he was trying to hold you together. “who do i need to punch?” he asked, half-joking, half-dead serious. and you laughed, even through your tears, because that was him—always trying to make you smile. he let you cry into his hoodie, let you hold onto him like a fucking lifeline, and then, when you finally calmed down, he kissed your forehead like it was second nature. “you’re okay, baby” he murmured. “i got you.” he always had you.

or the night he took you to some shitty underground concert, knowing damn well you didn’t even like the band. “it’s not about the music,” he told you, grinning like an idiot. “it’s about the experience.” you rolled your eyes, but you still let him pull you into the crowd, still let him wrap an arm around you when the pit got too wild, still let him hold your hand. afterward, sweaty and breathless, you sat on the curb outside, sharing a cigarette while he rambled about how sick the show was. “you should play up there one day,” you told him, nudging his shoulder. “your songs have gotten better.” “you think?” “yeah. you’re good, bong-bong.” the nickname made him laugh. a week later, he showed you something he wrote. something raw and messy and fucking beautiful. he let you hear a part of him no one else ever did.

you even helped him rebrand himself. it started with him pacing his room, muttering to himself, stopping every few seconds like he was about to say something, then changing his mind. eventually, you sighed, rolling onto your stomach while watching him from his bed. “are you having a breakdown or just being dramatic?” he ignored you, still pacing. and then, out of nowhere, he stopped. snapped his fingers. looked at you like he just discovered the secret to life itself. “i’m gonna dye my hair purple.” you stared at him for a long second, waiting for him to laugh or tell you he was joking. but he just stood there, completely serious, shoulders squared like he was about to go to war.

within twenty minutes, you were in his bathroom, gloves on, a box of purple dye sitting between you. you didn’t even ask how he got it so fast. knowing him, he’d probably been sitting on this idea for weeks, just waiting for the right moment to drag you into it. he sat on the closed toilet lid, legs spread, while you stood over him, parting his hair and working the dye through. up close, he looked smug as hell, like he knew he was onto something. the whole rap game was about standing out, and he was done waiting for people to notice him.

the name ‘thanos’ caught on faster than you expected. at first, it was a joke—you called him that to be annoying, and then he used it in a song, and suddenly, people were saying it back to him. dms started piling up. more people started listening. before you knew it, subong wasn’t just some guy making music in his bedroom—he was thanos. and, of course, he acted like he knew it was gonna work all along.

and fuck, the time he brought you home to meet his family. his mom fussed over you like you were the perfect daughter-in-law, laying on your favorite dish and insisting you have seconds. then, saying, “he talks about you a lot”, making subong choke on his food while his sister goaded him about how he treats you like his damn girlfriend. you felt so out-of-place and yet so damn loved by the way he proudly introduced you to everyone, as if you were the missing piece in his fucked-up puzzle. he even opened up to you about his dad—how he never gave a shit about him, never looked at him unless it was to point out everything he did wrong. maybe that was why he kept stealing glances at you like he was trying to make sense of it—of being wanted, of being next to someone who actually cared.

and later that night, when you were both lying on his couch, full and sleepy, he nudged your knee with his. “thanks for coming, señorita,” he mumbled, eyes half-lidded. “they liked you.” you turned your head to look at him, saying, “of course they did. i’m fucking amazing.” he smirked, but it faded quick, his gaze lingering on you a little too long. “yeah,” he murmured. “you are.”

nights that weren’t about sex at all. the ones where he just wanted you close, his hands resting on your back, his lips pressed to your shoulder, his voice low and sleepy in the dark. “you’re warm,” he’d mumble, pulling you closer. “don’t leave.” “i work tomorrow, baby,” you’d say. “i’ll drive you… stay with me,” he’d always replied.

and you did. every single time.

and there were the nights he fucked you like he meant it. not just like you were some girl he was hooking up with, but like you were the only one who had ever mattered. like he was trying to prove something with every touch, every kiss, every time he pressed his sweaty forehead to yours and whispered your name like a prayer.

like he loved you. but he never said it. and neither did you.

so instead, you settled for the quiet moments—for the way he always pulled you into his lap at parties, his hands resting lazily on your thighs; for the way he let you pick the music when you drove anywhere, even though he always bitched about your taste; for the way he let you steal his fries, let you doodle on his lyrics notebook, let you wear his hoodies even when you didn’t ask; for the way he texted you ‘good morning, baby❤️,’ and it made you smile for no damn reason; for the way you woke up to find him still asleep beside you, hair a damn mess on the pillow, and traced lazy circles on his chest while he mumbled some half-remembered melody. for the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching.

you can’t help but hope that one day you’ll both just say the damn words and finally admit that all these little moments mean something. you hope that maybe, just maybe, one day you’ll stop wondering if you’re more than just friends with benefits.

are u busy?

no, why?

good, i’ll be there in 10

i’m on my period

who gives a shitttt, i sure as hell don’t, mama

subong.

yeah?🙏🏼

not in the mood❤️

oh

alr cool👍🏼💯

can i still come over tho? we could watch a movie or something

yeah okayyy, bring snacks (or else i won’t let you in)

i’m the only snack u need, girl

you don’t expect him to show up with anything, but when you open the door, subong’s standing there, hands full—one holding a plastic bag, the other gripping a bottle of soda. “what’s all this?” you ask, raising a brow. he steps inside without waiting for an invite, kicking off his shoes. “you said ‘bring snacks’, didn’t you?” he says, dropping the bag onto your coffee table. “figured you’d want something sweet.” you peek inside—chocolate bars, a pack of strawberry pocky, even a container of sliced fruit. your chest tightens at the thought of him actually remembering the little things you like.“what, no painkillers?” you tease, flopping onto the couch. he scoffs, collapsing next to you, way too comfortable in your space. “what do i look like, a pharmacy?”

you give him a knowing look, and his lips twitch, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. grabbing the remote, you ask, “so, what are we watching?” “something i won’t fall asleep to,” he says, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. “which means no boring indie shit.” you nudge his thigh with your foot. “first of all, my movie taste is elite. second, if you fall asleep, i’m taking pictures.” he grins, lazy and cocky. “yeah? what will you use them for?” heat rushes to your face, and you smack his arm without thinking. “shut up.”

the movie plays, and for a while, it’s normal. easy. you snack on the pocky while subong steals pieces of fruit from the container, acting like he’s doing you a favor by eating the ones you don’t like. he stretches out on the couch, legs spread, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. goddamn.

it's barely been a few minutes when you find yourself on your knees in front of the couch, his strong hand fisting in your hair as you hungrily suck his dick like your life depends on it. you couldn’t help it. he just looked too fucking good. you take him deep, your nose pressing against his abs, gagging slightly but refusing to back off. he lets out a groan as you take him, the head of his dick hitting the back of your throat. His hand tightens in your hair, guiding your head up and down. “fuck, just like that baby... show me how much you love this dick.” his hips thrust forward, making you gag slightly. “you're so f-fucking good for me... mmm such a pretty little mouth, choking on my cock.”

drool slips down your chin as you struggle to breathe but maintain eye contact, wanting him to see how much you love taking him in your mouth. the wet, obscene sounds of you slurping and gagging fill the room. he watches you intently, pupils blown wide with lust, his dick throbbing against your tongue. moaning around him, the vibrations make his thighs quake. "shit... you’re gonna make me fucking c-cum," he breathes out. “you gonna… you gonna let me cum in that s-sweet mouth of yours, hm?” “mhmm,” you purr around his length, looking up at him with hooded eyes. you double your efforts, sucking him hard and fast, your hand pumping what you can’t reach. he holds your head in place as he comes, making you to swallow every last drop. you take a moment to catch your breath, wiping your mouth before sitting back up.

the bathroom lights hum to life as you rinse your mouth and splash cool water on your face, trying to shake off the heat thrumming through you. you press your palms against the sink, inhaling deep in an attempt to look less flustered. the movie’s still on when you come back. you get comfortable, leaning into subong just slightly. he doesn’t say anything, just lifts his arm and lets you settle in against his side. the warmth of him seeps into you, and you rest your head on his shoulder. subong smiles at you before kissing your forehead, something that shouldn’t mean anything but somehow does.

you shift slightly, but he just pulls you in closer, his body solid and warm against yours. your heart stutters in your chest, and the thought of what you are—what you actually mean to him—becomes impossible to ignore. the longer you sit there, the harder it is to pretend this is normal. your heart is beating too fast, your mind racing with thoughts you’ve been shoving down for months. finally, you tilt your head to glance up. “subong,” you start, your voice quieter than you mean it to be. he hums, eyes still on the screen, but you can tell he’s listening. you swallow, suddenly nervous. “what… what are we doing?” that gets his attention. “what do you mean?” you sit up a little, putting some space between you—enough to see him clearly. “this. us. it’s been months, and we’ve never talked about it.” “what’s there to talk?” “i mean, is this just sex to you?”

he doesn’t answer right away. his jaw tenses, his eyes flicking away for a second like he’s weighing his words. “does it feel like just sex to you?” he finally asks. your chest tightens. “no.” his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to admit it so easily. like maybe he’s been trying to convince himself of something different. “right. it’s not just sex, we’re friends, too,” he says. “then why are we acting like this?” you push. he rubs a hand over his face. “i don’t know.” he leans forward, elbows on his knees. the silence stretches thick between you, but you refuse to let it suffocate you. you need to know. “what do you want this to be?”

subong exhales hard, dragging a hand through his hair. he looks frustrated, like he doesn’t even want to have this conversation. like you’re ruining something by asking. “why do we have to call it something?” he says finally, and your stomach twists. you blink, sitting up a little. “because it’s been months, subong. because we’re not—we’re not just fucking and then going our separate ways. because we’re sitting here, cuddling, watching a damn movie, and it feels like more.” his jaw clenches, his fingers tightening around his knee. “it doesn’t have to mean anything.” that stings. worse than you were expecting. you swallow around the lump forming in your throat. “it does to me.” his face twists, like he hates hearing that. “shit, don’t fucking do this,” he mutters, shaking his head. “why can’t we just keep things the way they are?” “because i’m tired of pretending this is casual when it’s not,” you snap, your voice cracking. “not for me, at least.”

he squeezes his eyes shut for a second, like he’s trying to hold something back. when he looks at you again, his expression is unreadable, but his next words hit like a punch to the gut. “then maybe you shouldn’t have let it get this fucking far.” you feel like the air has been sucked out of the room. “what?” “i never promised you shit.” the words cut deep, sharper than anything he’s ever said to you before. you open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. because he’s right. he never did. but the way he touched you, the way he held you after—none of that felt like nothing. you shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your voice steady. “are you fucking kidding me?”

he hesitates for a second too long. and that’s all you need to know. you force yourself to nod, pressing your lips together. “okay.” his brows furrow, like he wasn’t expecting you to take it like that, but you don’t give him the chance to say anything else. you grab the remote, press stop on the movie, and push yourself off the couch. “you should go.” “are you fucking serious?” you cross your arms over your chest, fighting to keep your composure. “yeah, i’m serious. get the fuck out.” “we have one fucking shitty conversation, and now you don’t want me here?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “what the fuck do you want from me, subong?” your voice shakes, and you can feel it crack, but you force it out. “sit here and pretend like i didn’t just fucking tell you how i feel? pretend i’m not fucking hurt because you—” you stop yourself, biting your lip so hard it almost bleeds. his jaw clenches. “what?” you let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. “because you don’t fucking care.” “i never said i don’t care.” “you might as well have,” you snap, voice breaking with frustration. “you just don’t give a shit enough to do anything about it.” he presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek, breathing hard through his nose. “just because i care doesn’t mean we have to slap a fucking label on it!” “and i just have to be okay with that?!” you snap, your voice rising. “i have to sit here like a dumbass and pretend this is fine when it’s not?”

he throws his hands up, his face twisting in frustration. “for fuck’s sake, why do you have to make everything so fucking difficult?” “difficult?!” you let out a humorless laugh. “you’re the one acting like a fucking idiot, subong! you want to fuck me, cuddle me, act like i’m your fucking girlfriend, but the second i ask you to be honest about what this is, suddenly i’m the problem?! you even introduced me to your damn family!” he freezes for half a second when the words leave your mouth, then he stands up, jabbing a finger in your face. “what the fuck did you just call me?!” you swat his hand away, your glare burning into him. “don’t fucking point at me like that!” his jaw tightens, and his nostrils flare like he’s barely keeping himself from snapping. “you wanna talk about being a fucking idiot?! look in the fucking mirror!” he spits. “you’re the one acting like some needy little bitch because i won’t say what you wanna hear.” “fuck you, subong!” you don’t say anything else. you just turn on your heel and walk out of the living room, heading straight for the kitchen. your hands are shaking, your chest tight, and you just need to put some distance between you and him before you completely fall apart. behind you, you hear him scoff. “seriously? you’re just gonna walk away mid-fucking-conversation?”

you grip the edge of the counter, squeezing your eyes shut. maybe if you stay quiet, he’ll take the fucking hint and leave. but of course, he doesn’t. you hear his footsteps as he follows you in. “you always do this shit,” he mutters, his voice dripping with irritation. “running off the second things don’t go your way.” you whirl around, your eyes burning. “what should i do, then? hm? get on my knees and suck your fucking dick again?!” he clenches his fists at his sides, his mouth opening like he’s about to argue—but then he hesitates. because the truth is, you do mean something to him. he just doesn’t know how to fucking deal with it. subong has never done this before—never been in something that wasn’t just fucking around, never had to deal with real feelings, real expectations. and the idea of fucking it up? it scares the shit out of him. but instead of admitting that, instead of being honest for once in his life, he just does what he does best—pushes, lashes out. it seems easier than dealing with what he feels when he’s around you.

“why do you care so fucking much about not calling it something?” you ask, your voice softer now. “if we’re not seeing other people, if we’re always together, if you do care about me, then why?” his throat bobs as he swallows hard. and then—because he’s a fucking coward—he lies. “who says i’m not seeing other people?” you freeze. his face is unreadable, but you can see the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he already regrets saying it. “you’re lying.” your voice is quiet. he just shrugs, “i’ve been seeing this girl.” “who?” you raise your voice, taking a step closer as tears start falling down your face. “who?!” “i’m not fucking telling you!” “are you serious?! aren’t we supposed to be friends too?! we used to tell each other everything!”

his eyes flick to yours, and for a second—just a second—something flashes in them. something like guilt. but then he shuts it down, scoffing as he shakes his head. you continue, “but we’re not even friends anymore, are we?” “don’t say that.” “why not? it’s true, isn’t it? friends don’t do what we do,” you wipe at your face, even though the tears won’t stop fucking falling. he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, pressing it against the inside of his cheek like he’s trying to hold something back. but then he just shrugs again, voice flat. “guess we’re not fucking friends either, then.”

your vision blurs as you cry, no matter how hard you try to keep it together. “get the fuck out, subong.” your voice breaks on the last word, and you hate how fucking weak you sound, how pathetic. and the second the first real sob rips out of your throat, something in him shifts. “fuck. no, i—” he exhales, raking a hand through his hair, his voice softer now, like he’s realizing he went too far. “i didn’t mean it. i’m sorry—i’m sorry, baby.” “don’t fucking call me that!” “you gotta listen to me!” you shake your head, taking a step back, your whole body trembling. “no. i’m done listening to your fucking bullshit.” “baby, please.” his voice cracks, and his hands reach for you—hesitant, like he doesn’t know if you’ll let him touch you. “please.” you slap them away instantly. “don’t fucking touch me.” “you’re really just gonna shut me out like this?!” “you shut me out first!” “i fucking care about you!” “not enough!” his breath catches in his throat, and for a second, he just stares at you. “you’re being fucking dramatic.�� “get the fuck out of my house, subong.” “why are you being such a fucking—” “say it.” your voice is a challenge, daring him to go there. he doesn’t hesitate. “bitch. a fucking bitch. you—you’re acting like a bitch.”

you’ve had enough. without thinking, you shove him—hard. he stumbles back a step, caught off guard, but you don't stop. you shove him again, your palms flat against his chest. “you’re a fucking asshole! fuck you! get out! get the fuck out!” his jaw tightens, like he wants to argue, like he wants to throw something else back at you, but you're already stepping forward again, grabbing his arm and shoving him toward the front door. subong wrenches his arm away, but you don't let it stop you. you push him again, shoving him past the threshold. but he’s not moving, so you grab the nearest thing—his damn sneakers—and chuck them at him, one after the other. the first one bounces off his chest, the second one catches him square in the shoulder. “what the fuck, man?!” subong barks, flinching back, his face twisting in irritation. he barely catches the second shoe before it can hit the ground. “you’re a crazy bitch!”

“fuck off!” your voice cracks again, but you don’t care. you’re already stepping forward, already reaching for the door—and you slam it in his face. the sound echoing through the room. for a moment, silence. a long, awful pause where your breath hitches, where your chest tightens so much it feels like you’re suffocating. then—“open the door. c’mon, open—open the fucking door!” he slams his fist against the wood. “stop being so fucking childish!” “you’re calling me childish?! grow up, subong! you’re twenty six, you don’t know what you want and you still dress like a fucking kid!” he bangs the door. “you’re one to talk, girl! always dressed like a damn slut!”

you squeeze your eyes shut and stumble to your room until your knees hit the bed, and then you’re collapsing onto it. the first sob breaks out of you before you can stop it, and then another, and another. you curl into yourself, pulling the blanket over your head, pressing your hands against your ears. but it doesn’t block him out. “fucking talk to me!” another bang. you hear the doorknob rattle. “baby, please! i’m sorry, okay?! c’mon, don’t do this! we’re fucking friends!” your voice is muffled when it finally comes, thick with tears, but loud enough for him to hear you. “go away!” “not fucking happening! open the damn door!” “go away or i’m calling the fucking cops, motherfucker!” that seems to work. you curl tighter, press your face into the pillow, and sob until the sound of his fists against the door fades away. he did this. he made you feel this way. and he fucking hates himself for it. but it’s too late.

the next few days are absolute shit. you barely leave your bed at first. your body feels too heavy, your chest too tight, your eyes too sore from crying. when you do finally move, it’s only to go through the motions—brushing your teeth, pulling on the same oversized hoodie, forcing down a few bites of food even when everything tastes like nothing, and going to work. you don’t check your phone at first. you can’t. but eventually, the screen lights up, and you don’t have to look to know who it is. subong. you let it ring. he calls again. and again. when it finally stops, the texts start.

pick up the fucking phone

cmon baby please

i fucking miss u

don’t do this shit to me

u make me so fucking angry

bro istfg

please

you turn the phone face down. but he doesn’t stop. every time you glance at your screen, his name is there.

i know u r reading these

don’t fucking ignore me bro

at least tell me u r okay

minsu asked why u didn’t come with us today

just fucking answer

is it that hard?

years and years of friendship man and u throw it all away like that?

u r fucking selfish

i hope u know that

the texts keep coming. always at random times. but the worst ones come at night. one day, at 4:12 a.m., your phone buzzes against your nightstand. you try to ignore it, try to pretend you’re asleep, but something tells you to look.

im highhg as fuvckk bro

look whatu vdone to me

fukcing bittvhhh

its urA fault

i mis uu

u r myybhaby❤️❤️❤️❤️

its fucking 4am. i wake up at 6 to go to work, stfu and leave me alone

can i cone over? plewaasse

answer bitchj

fuck you, subong. i don’t want to see you again

come bsck

i loveyouy

you block him, roll over, and squeeze your eyes shut. but sleep doesn’t come easy. not when the last words he sent are still glowing behind your eyelids, burning into your brain.

blocking him should have brought peace. should have been the final step, the clean break. but it doesn’t feel like that. instead, it feels like holding your breath underwater, waiting to resurface, except there’s no hand to pull you up this time. the first few days, you keep checking your phone out of habit. unlocking it without thinking. but there’s nothing. you still reach for him in small ways—almost texting him when something funny happens, almost turning to tell him about your day. but you can’t do that. you won’t do that. so you keep yourself busy. you pick up a book, let your eyes scan the words without really absorbing them. go on long walks, let the cold air bite at your skin, hoping it shocks you out of your thoughts. start journaling, writing down everything except his name, except the way your chest still feels hollow. you even try new things—take a yoga class with a friend, bake cookies at 2 a.m., cut your hair just to feel something different. but memories of him are stitched into the fabric of your life.

you hear his voice on the radio sometimes now, when they play a song of his that went viral. see him in the reflection of dark car windows, like he’s just a step behind you. hear a joke and immediately think about how he’d laugh, head thrown back, eyes crinkling at the edges. you tell yourself that eventually, you’ll forget. but some nights, you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he’s staring at his too. if he’s thinking about you. and the ache doesn’t go away.

your phone rings one night, when you’re already in bed. you almost don’t answer, but when you see semi’s name flash across the screen, you pick up. “hello?” your voice is groggy, tired. “hey,” semi says. “sorry, did i wake you?” “no,” you lie. “what’s up?” there’s a pause. hesitation. then, “it’s subong.” your stomach drops. “we’re worried about him.” she rushes the words out, like she’s been holding them in for too long. “he’s been acting weird lately—worse than usual.” you close your eyes, already knowing where this is going. already knowing what she’s about to say before she even says it. “he’s been taking those pills,” she continues. “the ones he used to mess with sometimes, but now he’s on them all the time. it’s like he’s not even—shit. he was out,” she says, frantic. “namgyu couldn’t wake him up at first, it was fucking bad, dude. and now he’s still high as hell, barely making sense, and he keeps—” she hesitates. you frown. “he keeps what?” “he keeps mumbling your name.” you feel like you’ve been punched in the chest. you press your fingers to your temple, trying to stop the pounding in your head. “fuck.” “he’s not okay,” she says. “he’s barely sleeping, barely eating. he looks like shit. well, he always does, but you know what i mean. and when he does talk, it’s like he’s—like he’s not there.”

you take a shaky breath. you shouldn’t care. you don’t care. he’s not your problem anymore. but your stomach still twists at the thought of him like that. “maybe you could talk to him?” semi says, hopeful. “when he feels better. i think he’d listen to you. gyeongsu is gonna take us to the hospital in a few minutes, maybe you could come too? we’ll pick you up. we’re at namgyu’s apartment, we had to take him—” “we’re not friends anymore, semi,” you cut off, swallowing down the lump in your throat. silence. “what?” she says. “what do you mean?” “he hasn’t told you?” “told us what?” “it doesn’t matter,” you say finally, letting out a heavy sigh. “i can’t help him.” “but—” “i can’t, semi.” the words come out sharper than you mean them to. she falls quiet. after a long moment, she sighs. “alright, okay,” she says, voice heavy with disappointment. “i just… i didn’t know.”

and even though you tell yourself it’s not your problem, even though you tell yourself you did the right thing—you don’t sleep that night. maybe you’re the most horrible person ever. for not helping him. that’s what you think to yourself as the days go by. you don’t go to see him. you don’t text semi back. you tell yourself that there’s nothing you could have done, that he made his choices, that you’re not responsible for saving him. but the guilt sticks to your ribs.

you keep moving forward. and then, somewhere along the way, you meet him. he’s nothing like subong. not really. but sometimes, in the way he leans back in his chair, in the way he runs his fingers through his hair, in the way he laughs when he’s had one too many drinks—he almost is. (he even likes rap!) and maybe that’s why you let him take you out. why you let him kiss you. why you let him press his hands against your skin and pretend it feels right. it doesn’t. but you let it happen anyway. because it’s easier. because when you close your eyes, you can almost pretend it’s subong. it’s fucked up. you know it’s fucked up. but you tell yourself it’s fine. that it doesn’t matter. that this is what moving on is supposed to look like. but it’s not fair. you know you shouldn’t be doing this. and when he asks what’s wrong, why you get quiet sometimes, why you look at him like you’re seeing someone else—you just smile. shake your head. press a kiss to his lips and hope he never realizes that you don’t mean it. hope he never realizes that no matter how hard you try—subong is still the only one you see.

he invites you to a show one night, says it’ll be fun. you don’t really know much about it—just that it’s some rap battle tournament called ‘rap battlegrounds’—but you’re bored, and it’s something to do. you don’t ask too many questions because, honestly, you don’t care that much. he picks you up, and you follow him through the neon-lit streets to a club you’ve never seen before, the bass already thumping from inside. he leads you through the crowd to a small corner of the club. it’s dark, gritty, with exposed brick walls and dim, flickering lights that barely cut through the haze of smoke hanging in the air. the floor is sticky. it’s the kind of place you usually avoid, but tonight, you let it slide.

you're barely paying attention, your eyes drifting over the crowd, the noise just background filler. the battles blur together, the hype not really doing anything for you. you're zoning out, tapping your foot to the rhythm of the beat, hoping this night will pass quickly—regretting all your life choices when he wraps his arm around your shoulders. when suddenly, a voice crackles through the mic, cutting through the noise. “yo, yo, yo, we got a real one up next! fresh off that new heat, straight killin’ the game—make some noise for ‘thanos’!” you freeze, snapping your head to the stage as the crowd cheers. “…and he’s goin’ up against the beast, the local legend, the one and only jace ‘the hammer!’”

there’s no way. you blink, trying to process it, but everything’s too dark, shadows everywhere, making you second-guess yourself. but then, you hear it—his voice. your stomach sinks. this is real. subong is here. for a second, you think you might pass out. he’s standing there, center stage, all cocky confidence, rapping like he owns the room. you wish you could ignore it, wish you could pretend he’s just another guy on stage, but he isn’t. and you can’t. and then it happens. his eyes sweep across the crowd, like he’s eating up the attention, and then they land on you. he freezes. just for a second—just long enough for his flow to falter, the words dying on his tongue. the beat keeps going, but he doesn’t, and the guy he’s battling jumps in, taking advantage of the opening. subong blinks, shakes his head, tries to recover—but it’s too late. he’s lost the rhythm, lost the momentum, and the battle ends with subong’s opponent eating up the win. the crowd erupts, but subong doesn’t hear any of it. he stands there for a second, chest rising and falling like he can’t believe it—like he can’t believe he actually lost. then, without another word, he shoves the mic into someone’s hand and disappears behind the stage.

someone else takes the spotlight almost immediately, the next rappers stepping up, music booming through the speakers again. you turn to the guy beside you, grabbing his wrist. “i wanna leave.” he frowns. “what? why?” you glance toward the side of the stage, your stomach twisting. subong won’t just leave it alone—you know him. “i’m just—i’m kinda tired.” the nervousness in your voice alarms him. “are you okay? what’s wrong?” “nothing. i just don’t wanna be here right now.” he studies you, and you can tell the exact moment he realizes how tense you are, how your shoulders are stiff, how you haven’t stopped glancing over your shoulder. his expression softens, just a little. “hey,” he says, voice quieter now. “it’s okay. i’ll take you home.” “yeah?” “of course.” you don’t move when he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. and it feels like… nothing. just lips on lips, a fleeting warmth that barely registers. your chest feels tight, like you need to shake something off, drown something out. so you kiss him back, harder this time, pressing in, searching for something. maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s the way seeing subong on that stage messed with your head, knocked you off center. maybe you just want to prove to yourself that you can feel that rush with someone else. but you don’t. no matter how deep the kiss goes, no matter how much you try to lose yourself in it, there’s nothing there.

and just a second later, he’s ripped away from you—shoved back so hard he stumbles, nearly knocking into the bar behind him. and when you look up, you already know. subong stands there, shoulders tense, and his eyes locked on you. “what the fuck are you doing?!” “me?! what the fuck are you doing, subong?!” the guy composes himself and goes back next to you with a strained expression, one of his hands caressing his side. “what’s your problem, man?!” “who the fuck is this?” subong demands, his eyes never leaving yours. you exhale sharply. “just leave me alone.” disbelief flashes across his face like you’ve just insulted him. “nah, what the fuck is this?” he gestures vaguely between you and the guy. “this who you’re with now?” the guy straightens up. “is there a problem?” subong laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “yeah, there’s a fucking problem. who the fuck are you?” “just go, subong.” you cut in quickly. “no. i’m not fucking leaving.”

the guy beside you steps in, placing himself between you and subong. “you know this asshole?” he asks you. you sigh, “he’s… we used to be friends,” you reply. “yeah, and i’ve probably fucked her more times than you have, bro,” subong adds, a smirk on his face. “don’t listen to him,” you tell the guy before redirecting your attention to subong. “you’re being more than ridiculous right now. stop it. leave us alone.” he just stares, like he didn’t even hear you. like you didn’t just tell him to fuck off. “ridiculous?” he repeats, like the word itself it’s funny to him. “you wanna know what’s fucking ridiculous? you showing up here with—” he finally looks at the guy, eyes dragging over him like he’s barely worth acknowledging “—this.” “enough! i said… leave us alone.” “no, we need need to talk.” “she told you to leave, man.” the guy interrupts. wrong move. subong’s lips curl into something mean. “and who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” he sizes him up, scoffing. the guy doesn’t back down. he squares his shoulders, keeping himself between you and subong like he actually thinks that’ll stop him. subong steps closer, just enough to invade his space. you step forward, grabbing the guy’s arm. “seriously, let’s just go—”

subong’s hand shoots out, grabbing his collar. the guy shoves him back instantly, and that’s all it takes. subong’s always been quick to anger, and now he’s pissed. “relax,” the guy says, lifting his hands like he’s trying to de-escalate, but subong’s past that. “relax? you want me to relax when you’re out here kissing my girl?” the guy exhales through his nose. “you wanna fight me over her that bad?” he shakes his head. “man, you already lost once tonight.” subong’s expression shifts in an instant. his shoulders go tense, his nostrils flare, and his jaw locks so tight you swear you can hear his teeth grind. he snaps, swinging first. it’s fast, a punch aimed straight for the guy’s jaw, but he dodges, stepping back just in time. the guy doesn’t waste time. he drives forward, ramming his shoulder into subong’s chest, sending him stumbling back. for a second, you think it might end there—but of course, it doesn’t. subong recovers quick, too quick. he surges forward, grabbing the guy’s shirt and yanking him down just to throw a knee into his ribs. the guy grunts, shoving him off, and then they’re both swinging. fists connect, curses fly, and you can barely keep up. the guy tries to hold his own, landing a few hits, but subong barely flinches. he’s fueled by something else, and he’s not stopping. one punch lands hard against the guy’s cheek, snapping his head to the side. another follows, a brutal hit to his jaw that makes him stumble. then another. and another. the guy grunts, arms coming up to shield himself, but subong doesn’t let up. he grabs the front of his shirt, yanking him forward just to slam his fist into his face again.

blood splatters. and that’s when you snap out of it. “subong, stop!” he doesn’t hear you. “subong!” he pulls back for another hit, and you move before you even think. you grab him by his shirt, using all your strength to shove him back. he stumbles, losing his grip on the guy, his eyes wild when they snap to yours. “what the fuck is wrong with you?!” you scream, chest heaving. subong’s nostrils flare, hands still clenched into fists like he’s seconds away from going back for more. the guy groans, wiping blood from his face. “you broke my fucking nose, man! you’re insane!” he yells. “shut the fuck up,” subong spits, but before he can go at him again, you shove him harder. “leave him alone!” his breathing is heavy, his eyes dark, burning into yours. for a second, you think he might listen, that the fight might finally be over. but then, in one swift movement, he grabs your wrist. “what are you—” you barely get the words out before he pulls you with him, dragging you through the crowd, past the stage. “let go of me!” you struggle against his grip, but he doesn’t stop. people turn to look, but no one moves to intervene. they just watch. before you know it, you’re backstage, away from the lights, away from the eyes—trapped in a space that feels too small.

subong finally stops, shoving you back against the wall. you barely have a second to catch your breath before you’re shoving him off. “what the fuck is wrong with you?! what the fuck was all of that about?! huh?!” you slam your hands against his chest, but he barely moves. his jaw clenches, and when he speaks, his voice is rough. “what the fuck is wrong with me?! you’re really asking me that?! when you’re the one out there acting like a desperate fucking slut?!” your head jerks back, a bitter laugh ripping from your throat. “are you fucking serious right now?! you just beat the shit out of him, and you’re mad at me?! for what?! for moving the fuck on?!” “yeah, i fucking am!” he snaps. before you can react, he steps in, closing the space between you in an instant. his hands come up, slamming against the wall on either side of your head. your whole body tenses. he’s seething, breath ragged and reeking of cheap liquor and god knows what else. “why?!” “because you’re mine!” “yours?! fuck off!” you shove at him again, hard. “and take a goddamn shower while you’re at it. you smell like a fucking alleyway.”

his nostrils flare. “yeah? well, you smell like a cheap whore.” rage flares hot in your chest. “right, because you’d fucking know, wouldn’t you?” you sneer. his head tilts, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “at least i don’t pretend to have fucking standards. what’s his name, huh?” your stomach turns, but you don’t let it show. instead, you smile. “why? you jealous? go cry about it, asshole.” he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “you know he’s just using you, right? you’re nothing but a warm hole to him.” your hand flies up before you can think better of it, shoving his face away. “yeah. like that wasn’t exactly what i was to you too, motherfucker.” he stumbles back a step, running a hand over his jaw. “we never talked about what the fuck we wanted, or what we expected from each other. so don’t—don’t—” “that’s what you tell yourself? that you didn’t lead me on? that you didn’t fuck with my head for months?!” you cut him off. “you’re a fucking coward, subong. too fucking scared to admit you wanted me, but the second i move on, suddenly you give a shit?” “move on? to who? that fucking loser? you think he actually gives a shit about you?” “and you do?” “you can’t just act like we never fucking happened!” “we didn’t happen, that’s the thing!” you shoot back. “you didn’t want to be with me like that,” your voice wavers, but you force yourself to hold your ground. “so you don’t get to fucking act like this. you don’t get to be jealous, you don’t get to start fights over me, and you sure as hell don’t get to drag me back here like you own me.”

his throat bobs as he swallows. he looks away for a second, like if he doesn’t meet your eyes, this won’t sting as much. like he can pretend this isn’t hitting him the way it is. his fingers twitch at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching like he’s trying to hold onto something—maybe the last shred of whatever this used to be. his breath comes sharp through his nose, the kind that’s meant to steady him but doesn’t do a damn thing. “i didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters, voice rough around the edges. “i don’t—i don’t own you.” but there’s something bitter in the way he says it, like he hates that it’s true. like he hates that he ever let it get to this point. you’re not his anymore. you never were, really. “then stop acting like it! don’t try to ruin everything just because you can’t handle the fact that i moved the fuck on!” for a second, he doesn’t say anything. his eyes flick over your face, tongue running over his teeth like he’s trying to stop himself from saying something worse. but then— “if you had, you wouldn’t have let that motherfucker shove his tongue down your throat right in front of me.” you scoff. “you think i did that on purpose?” he steps in, too close, and you instinctively take a step back. “fuck yeah, you did. you wanted me to see it. you wanted to fucking piss me off.” “you piss yourself off, subong! newsflash! not everything is about you! get over yourself.” “get over myself? you made me look like a fucking idiot out there!” “what the fuck are you talking about?” his eyes flash. “you made me lose the fucking battle, man!” you blink, caught off guard for half a second, then roll your eyes. “first of all, i’m not a man. second of all, don’t blame that shit on me.” “right. it’s never your fucking fault, huh?” he shakes his head. “you just get to do whatever the fuck you want and act like it doesn’t affect me.” you throw your hands up. “if you weren’t such a fucking asshole, maybe this wouldn’t have happened!” “yeah?!” “yeah!”

and then there’s silence. thick, heavy silence. his breathing is still ragged, his hands still curled into fists at his sides. your heart is pounding, your own fists clenched just as tight. then subong scoffs, shaking his head. “you’re so fucking full of shit.” “excuse me?” “you wanna talk about me being an asshole when you’ve been ignoring me for months? like i didn’t fucking exist.” the pain in his voice is evident and it catches you off guard. “i wasn’t—i didn’t ignore you. i was trying to heal. you’re seriously throwing that in my face right now?” “yeah, i am. don’t act like you’re the only one who got hurt.” “don’t do that.” “do what? tell the truth? you fucking blocked me, girl!” “no! don’t—don’t twist shit around just to make yourself feel better,” you snap. “you know exactly why i did it. don’t act like you’re the fucking victim.” “who is it then? you?” he scoffs. “oh, eat shit, subong! you never fucking came to see me!” you throw your arms out, exasperated. “not once! you could’ve fixed this, but you didn’t.” his jaw clenches, but he doesn’t look away. “you think i didn’t want to?” “i don’t know what the fuck you wanted!” your voice cracks, but you don’t care. “i called! and texted you every single fucking day!” “and you think that’s enough?! after everything?!” "i almost fucking overdosed!" he yells. "i was at my fucking lowest, and you—" he lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "you weren't there." you shake your head, anger bubbling in your chest. "don't put that on me, subong. you did that to yourself," you snap, voice sharp. "don't fucking guilt trip me with that." "are you serious?" “what do you want me to say? did you expect me to just forget everything and come back to you like nothing happened? you promised me—how many times?—that you weren’t gonna do that shit anymore, and here we are! and not only are you trying to make me feel like a fucking piece of shit for it, but you’re also acting like this—all of this—is my fault? when you were the one who decided i wasn’t good enough to be anything more than a fuck buddy?”

his expression falters—just a flash of something almost guilty—but then he scoffs, masking it with anger. “you’re really trying to act like you didn’t fucking replace me the second i was gone?” “replace you?” you repeat, incredulous. “you can’t be serious right now. i wasn’t the one fucking other people when we were…. whatever we were!” he freezes, his face draining of color for a split second. “don’t bring that shit up.” “oh, I’ll bring it up, alright. because you can’t say that shit to me when you were too busy screwing around while i was waiting for you to call me your fucking girlfriend.” he opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, a group of people walk past, glancing over at the scene. a couple of them whisper, eyes flicking nervously from you to subong. his face hardens, irritation flashing across his features, and without warning, he grabs your wrist. “what the fuck are you looking at?” he snaps at them. the group quickly averts their gazes, pretending they weren’t just watching him. he yanks you away and you struggle for a moment, trying to free yourself from his grip, but he doesn’t let go. you’re too caught up in the heat of the moment to really think about where he’s taking you. before you know it, you’re being shoved through a door into a dimly lit room backstage, the door slamming shut behind him with a force that echoes in the silence. the room is small, cluttered with his belongings—bags, jackets, and scattered items. a mirror with round vanity lights casts a dull glow over the space, reflecting the mess on the counter: a half-empty water bottle, energy drink cans, his vape, a lighter, a bunch of candy wrappers and a few crumpled papers.

“you need to stop doing that!” you snap. “dragging me around like i’m—i don’t know—like i’m some puppet!” he ignores your words. “listen,” he says, “i tried to make it right, okay? i did.” “calling me? texting me?” you scoff, disbelief laced in your voice. “that’s what you think making it right looks like? all you ever did was send bullshit messages—half insults, half nothing at all.” you shake your head. “if you actually meant it, you would’ve come to me. you know where i live, where i work—you had every chance to show up, to prove that you actually gave a damn. but you didn’t.” his voice shakes now. “i thought… i thought you didn’t fucking need me anymore! i thought you’d be better off without me!” “better off without you?! that’s the dumbest excuse i’ve ever heard!” before you can stop yourself, you shove him, hard enough that he stumbles back a step. “you were my fucking best friend, you idiot!” your voice cracks as a tear rolls down your cheek, and you have to look away. “and i…” the words tangle in your throat. you swallow hard, forcing them out. “i fucking loved you.”

the words hit him like a fist to the gut. he swallows, his throat suddenly dry. because he knows. he knows exactly how that feels. he’s loved you too—probably longer than he even realized. but he’s never said it. not properly. not in a way that mattered anyway. and now? now it sounds like it’s too fucking late. “loved,” he repeats. “past tense?” you don’t answer. “you don’t—you don’t love me anymore?” the words slip out before he can stop them, and he hates how pathetic they sound, how fucking vulnerable they make him. “subong i—i’m sorry, i can’t… i can’t do this,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “answer me,” he presses, stepping closer, his pulse thundering in his ears. “please.” “i’m not talking about this,” you say firmly, reaching for the door. but he moves faster, pressing his hand against it, keeping you trapped in the small room with him. you squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling sharply. “i don’t want to see you again, subong.” “i do.” “well, i don’t.” “why not?” “because it fucking hurts!” the words barely leave your lips before the weight of everything crashes down on you all at once. “it… it hurts.” your throat burns, and suddenly, you can’t hold it back anymore. a choked sob rips through you, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crying.

subong’s eyes widen for half a second, like he doesn’t know what to do with the sight of you breaking down in front of him. but then, without hesitation, he reaches for you. “i know,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. “i know, baby.” the warmth of him, the familiarity, the way he holds you…it all feels too fucking good. too safe. too much like home. you sob into his shirt, fists clutching at the fabric, body shaking as months’ worth of pain and anger pour out of you. he holds you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other resting firm against your waist. “i’m sorry,” he breathes.

you suck in a sharp breath, realization slamming into you. and just like that, the warmth turns suffocating. “no,” you whisper, pushing against his chest. he stiffens. “what—” “get off me.” he hesitates, grip loosening slightly, but you shove harder, forcing space between you. “fuck, subong, what the hell am i doing?” he looks at you, confused, almost dazed, like he doesn’t understand why you’re suddenly pulling away. “baby—” “don’t call me that,” you cut him off. “i can’t—i can’t do this with you.” his jaw tightens. “you don’t mean that. you know you don’t.” “i do! because you fucking broke me!” you yell, hands trembling. “and i hate that you still make me feel like this!” you pause, trying to catch your breath, wiping at your face furiously. you hate the way the tears cling to your skin. you hate even more that he’s standing there, watching you cry. you force yourself to steady your voice. “i’m leaving.” “no, you’re not.” he’s there—blocking the door. you let out a frustrated breath, shoving at him again, but he doesn’t move an inch. “subong, move.” nothing. he doesn’t even blink. “is he your boyfriend?” the question throws you off balance. your brows furrow, and for a moment, the anger is eclipsed by confusion. “what?” “that guy. is he your boyfriend?” you exhale sharply, shaking your head as you glare at him. “jesus christ, subong, really?” “is he?” “it’s none of your business,” the words are clipped, laced with venom. his eyes darken. “none of my—?” he drags a hand through his hair, like he’s barely keeping himself together. for a second, it looks like he might actually lose it. “seriously? you can’t even say no?” “why does it matter?!” you snap. “it fucking matters to me!” your heart pounds. you don’t know why it’s so hard to answer, why the words feel like they’re lodged in your throat. his patience wears thin. “fucking hell, just—” “no!” you cut him off. “he’s not my boyfriend, okay?!” you shake your head. “did you fuck him?” “are you serious right now?” “answer the fucking question,” he demands, stepping closer. you scoff, shaking your head. “you’re actually insane.” “fucking answer!” “yes!” the word rips out of you before you can stop it. “yeah, i did. happy now?”

for a moment, he doesn’t react. he just stares at you, like the air has been knocked from his lungs. his jaw clenches, his nostrils flare. but nothing can stop the thought from sinking its claws into him—someone else touching you, having you, getting what he let slip through his fingers. it makes him sick. and it’s his own damn fault. he knows he has no right to be angry. no right to feel this way. but the jealousy curdles in his stomach, and before he can stop himself, the words tear from his mouth like a whip. “you’re a fucking whore.” the second he says it, he hates himself for it. but he doesn’t take it back. your fury is instant, white-hot.“fuck you! don’t call me that!” “i’ll call you whatever the fuck i want!” he snaps. he needs to hurt you, to make you feel even a fraction of what he’s feeling. “you really don’t see how fucking pathetic that is? spreading your legs for some guy who doesn’t even matter?” the words taste like acid in his mouth, but he spits them out anyway. he doesn’t know how else to deal with the anger, the self-hatred he feels. it’s easier to take it out on you than to admit the truth—that he ruined everything, that he’s the reason you were with someone else.

your vision goes red. before you can think, before you can stop yourself, your hand swings up and smacks across his face. his head jerks to the side from the impact, and for a moment, everything is dead silent except for the sharp sound of your ragged breathing. then, slowly, he turns back to you, his jaw tightening, his tongue running over the inside of his cheek like he’s tasting the sting of your palm. “did you just hit me?” his voice is low. oh, he’s angry. “yeah, i fucking did,” you say, your hands trembling. “because you’re a fucking piece of shit!” “you’ve got some fucking nerve!” he seethes, shoving your forehead with two of his fingers, forcing your head back slightly. you slap his hand away, your own anger doubling at the touch. “do that again, and i’ll break your fucking fingers, motherfucker,” you warn. “you just slapped me!” “and you called me a whore twice, subong! i wonder how the fuck i was ever friends with you! you’re a hypocrite!” he steps closer, jabbing a finger in your face. “don’t fucking talk to me like that!” “and i told you many times not to fucking point your finger at me!” you yell, shoving his hand away harder this time. so hard his arm jerks back. “who the fuck do you think you are?! you can’t fucking judge me when you’re the one who—”

his patience snaps. he grabs a nearby chair and hurls it at the wall. it hits with a loud crack, rattling from the impact before toppling over. you flinch, but you don't back down. “real fucking mature.” “you don’t fucking get it.” “why do you even care, huh? you have plenty of other girls to fuck, don’t you?” you spit. “so why the fuck does it matter who i’m with? why is it a problem when you do the exact same shit?” he doesn’t say anything. fine. you’re done here. you reach for the door again, shoving past him. “i’m leaving—” “i lied.” his voice stops you cold. slowly, you turn back, brows furrowing. “what?” he swallows hard. “i lied about it. there was never another girl.” you stare at him in disbelief. “i just—i said that shit to piss you off. to make you hate me. but i never—” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “i never touched anyone else when i was with you.”

your mind spins, struggling to piece together what he’s saying. he’s lying again. he has to be. “you expect me to believe that?” your voice is defensive. “i don’t give a fuck if you believe me,” he snaps back. “it’s the truth.” your throat tightens. there’s something in his eyes, something desperate, something you’re not used to seeing. “why?” he hesitates. his lips part, then press into a thin line. “because i—” he exhales sharply, looking away for a moment before forcing himself to look at you again. “because i love you. i’ve—” “don’t fucking lie to me, subong.” frustration flashes across his face. “i’m not lying, okay?! i’ve—” “sure as hell you aren’t.” “jesus—can i fucking talk?!” you huff, arms crossing tightly over your chest. your jaw aches from how hard you’re clenching it. but you don’t interrupt again. you let him speak. “i’ve loved you for so fucking long, and it scared the shit out of me. you were my best friend and i didn’t—i didn’t know how to do it. how to be with you without fucking it all up.” you shake your head, gripping your arms tighter. “you can’t just say this shit and think it fixes everything,” you whisper, voice trembling. “you loved me, and you never told me. you preferred this… this shit between us rather than just… being fucking honest. you—” your breath shudders and you stop to breathe for a moment. “you’re confusing me, subong.”

he sighs. you can see it in his eyes—the regret, the pain, the anger at himself. then, he steps closer. his hands find your face, fingers gentle as they cup your cheeks. his thumbs move carefully, wiping away the tears you hadn’t even realized were still falling. his touch is soft—so fucking soft it almost breaks you. you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing against the lump in your throat. you shouldn’t let him do this. shouldn’t let him hold you like this, shouldn’t let yourself sink into the warmth of his hands. but you do. because it’s him. “i’m sorry, baby” he murmurs, his breath warm against your face. “fuck, i’m so sorry.” his voice is lower now, and when you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you—his brows furrowed. “i didn’t mean to hurt you,” he continues, his hands steady on your face. “i swear to god, i didn’t.” “but you did.” “i know,” he whispers. “i was a fucking idiot.” his thumbs still trace slow paths along your skin, like he’s trying to ground himself in the feel of you. you try to look away, but he won’t let you. his grip isn’t forceful, but it’s firm—just enough to keep you there. “i can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his brows furrowing deeper, like it physically hurts him to admit it. “no matter what i do—it’s always you.” “don’t—” “it’s the truth,” he cuts in, his hands sliding down to your jaw, his fingers just barely brushing your neck. “i wake up thinking about you. i fall asleep thinking about you. every fucking song i write is about you. every stupid little thing reminds me of you.” you shake your head, blinking back tears. “stop it.” “i can’t,” he breathes. “i don’t know how.”

he leans in slightly, his lips barely an inch from yours. “tell me you don’t feel the same, and i’ll go.” your heart pounds so hard it hurts. he’s so close… and the way he’s looking at you, like he’s daring you to push him away, makes something snap inside you. before he can say another word, you grab his shirt and yank him down, crashing your lips against his. subong freezes for half a second, like he wasn’t expecting it, but then he groans into your mouth, his hands gripping at your waist as he kisses you back just as hard. he barely gives you a second to breathe before he’s backing you up, walking you straight into the wall. the impact makes a sharp gasp escape you, but he swallows it down, one hand threading into your hair, tilting your head back as his mouth moves against yours.

then it happens—your breath catches, and before you can stop it, a tear slips down your cheek. he stops. his lips hover just over yours, his chest rising and falling against you, and he pulls back just enough to look at you. “are you okay?” you don’t answer. instead, you pull him back in, your fingers curling around the back of his neck. you kiss him harder, and he lets you—lets you take what you need, lets you pour everything you can’t say into this. his fingers tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to pull your head back before pressing his forehead to yours. “tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs, breath hot against your lips. in a broken whisper, you finally say it. “i need you.” he’s been waiting to hear that. for months, it’s been the only thing on his mind—you. every time he got high, every time he tried to flirt with someone else, every time he told himself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter. but it was all a lie. because you did. you always did. and now you’re here, in his arms, needing him. and he’s so fucking mad at himself for wasting all this time, for pushing you away, for pretending he didn’t want this when you’ve been the only thing he’s wanted.

that’s all it takes. he’s on you in an instant, his hands gripping your waist as his mouth crashes against yours. he walks with you, never breaking the kiss, his fingers pressing into your sides, guiding you until your legs bump against the edge of a small table. before you can steady yourself, his hands move to your hips, helping you up until you’re perched on top of it. his lips leave yours, dragging along your jaw and your neck. one hand slides up, fingers curving over your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt. the touch alone makes a soft moan slip past your lips. he swallows the sound with another kiss, deep and greedy, before tugging your shirt up, his palms skimming your skin as he pulls it over your head. his other hand moves with purpose, working the clasp of your bra. the second it falls away, his mouth is on you. you gasp when his tongue flicks over your nipple, your head falling back as pleasure shoots through you. “gonna make you feel good, baby,” he promises, his breath hot on your skin as he switches to your other breast, his teeth grazing your nipple just enough to make you squirm. his free hand slides down your stomach, unbuttoning your pants with practiced ease before slipping between your thighs. you spread them instinctively, your breath hitching when his fingers brush against the damp fabric of your panties. “you’re so wet for me already,” he says, pulling back to look at you, his eyes dark with hunger.

subong takes his time peeling your pants off, pressing soft kisses to your thighs, your knees, your ankles. once they’re gone, he hooks his fingers into your panties, dragging them down at the same agonizing pace, his lips following their path. he tosses them aside without a second thought. then he’s on his knees, hands spreading your thighs wider as the cool air hits your skin, making you shiver. “let me show you how sorry i am, yeah?” you nod slowly in response. subong leans in, his breath hot against you, and you bite your lip, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach. and then his tongue is on you, licking a long stripe up your center, parting your delicate folds, exploring your wetness. you gasp when it finds your clit, your hands flying to his purple hair as his tongue swirls around it in slow circles. “f-fuck, yeah, right there,” you whimper, and he hums against you in approval.

he focuses all his attention on it, flicking his tongue over the sensitive nub before sucking it gently into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing out as he applies gentle pressure. you feel one of his fingers slide inside you, then two, curling them upwards and hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back. his tongue never leaves your clit, licking and sucking in perfect rhythm with his fingers, and you can feel that familiar pressure building in your lower stomach. your hand travels to the side of his face, your thumb caressing his cheek as he works you. moans grow louder, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face. “subong—” you try to speak, but the words die in your throat—the pleasure too strong. he smirks, feeling you tightening around his fingers. “that’s it, baby” his voice is muffled against you. “cum for me.” and you do, your back arching, knuckles white from gripping the side of the table, a cry tearing from your throat as you fall apart. his mouth never stops, drawing every last wave of pleasure from you until you’re boneless, panting.

you try to catch your breath as he stands, pulling you into him, his mouth claiming yours again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. your fingers tremble slightly as they find the hem of his shirt, slipping beneath the fabric. he shudders under your touch, muscles tensing before he exhales, letting you lift the shirt over his head. it falls somewhere behind him as your hands roam his chest. this isn’t like before. like the other times you’ve had sex. there’s something different in the way his fingers brush your skin, in the way he watches you like he’s afraid to blink, afraid to miss a second of this. you reach for his waistband, tugging at it, and he lets you, his breathing uneven as he watches your hands work him free. his pants and boxers slip to the floor, and he steps out of them, never once breaking contact.

“do you… do you have a condom?” you ask quietly. he stills, his hands resting on your hips as he looks at you. his brows pull together slightly. “no,” he admits, then asks, “do you?” you shake your head. “no.” “shit,” he exhales, his forehead falling to your shoulder. you can tell he’s frustrated—not at you, but at the situation. “it’s… it’s okay. we don’t need one,” you add softly. his head snaps back up. “you sure?” he asks, and you nod. “i want to feel you.” your words are the confirmation he needs. he grabs your thighs before pulling you closer to the edge of the table, spreading them apart to find room between them. his raw tip presses against your clit and you take a deep breath when he starts grinding against you, his stiff dick sliding across your wet slit. you both moan at the feeling, but nothing compares to the gasp that escapes both of your lips the moment he slides inside of you.

he’s slow at first, letting you adjust to the feeling, his hands holding you in place as he sinks in deeper, stretching you around him. you try to steady yourself, holding onto the side of the table with one of your hands again. his breath is uneven, and each slow, measured thrust makes you ache for more. but then his pace shifts. his grip tightens, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls back and thrusts in harder and faster. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the space between you, mixed with your breathless moans and his ragged groans. when you meet his gaze, his brows are furrowed, his lips parted. you can see it all written on his face: how much he’s wanted this, how long he’s been waiting, how badly he’s yearned for you. he looks like he’s barely holding himself together, like he’s afraid he won’t last because you feel too fucking good. “fuck,” he grits out, voice strained, his fingers flexing against your hips. “i missed you s-so fucking much…” his words cut off in a groan, his head dropping forward, forehead pressing to yours as he fucks you like he’s trying to make up for all the lost time. “i missed this… mmm… missed this pretty pussy of y-yours.” he drives into you harder, like he’s trying to claim you, like he’s trying to erase every trace of anyone else who’s ever touched you—muttering curses under his breath like he’s punishing himself as much as he’s fucking you. your nails scrape down his back, leaving red streaks in their wake, and he groans at the sting, at the way you cling to him. “fuck, baby—” he gasps, voice rough. “was he better than me? tell me,” he demands, his thrusts turning brutal, each one punctuating his words. “did he—did he fuck you like this? mmh? shit… did he make you cum like i-i do?” there’s anger in his voice. not at you—at himself. for waiting too long, for not telling you the truth when he had the chance, for letting someone else have you. you shake your head in response. his hand grips your chin, forcing you to look at him. “answer me.” “n-no!” you whimper “he… he didn’t, baby. only you—mmph!—only you make me f-feel this good.”

his grip on your chin tightens for a second before he releases you, his hand sliding down to wrap around your throat instead. not squeezing, just holding—just feeling you. his pace doesn’t slow, if anything, it gets rougher, like your answer wasn’t enough to satisfy the anger. “that’s right,” he grits out, sweat slicking his skin. “he could never…he could never fuck you like this.” his other hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise as he slams into you, making you cry out. you hold onto him, and he loves it—loves feeling you claim him the way he’s claiming you now. and fuck, he needs this, needs to remind himself that you’re here, wrapped around him—that you’re his. “look,” he mutters, commanding. “look how fucking g-good you’re taking me.” your breath hitches as your eyes drop, and fuck—seeing it is different. watching the way his dick disappears inside you, the way your body clenches around him, the way he’s completely buried in you, over and over again… “see that?” he pants. “you were made for me. this was fucking made for me.” his hand moves again, sliding between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, precise circles. “shit—subong!” you let out a broken moan. “y-yeah… fuck, yeah, just like that!” a whimper slips from your lips when subong fists your hair, tugging your head back up until your eyes meet his again. “say it,” he practically pleads. “say that you're mine.” “i-i'm yours!" you gasp, your voice shaking, your whole body trembling from the intensity of him. “i'm fucking yours…mmm… always been.” “i’m yours too, baby.”

his thrusts grow frantic and his breath comes in harsh, uneven bursts. all he can hear is the sound of his name falling from your lips in desperate, breathless moans. he swears he’s never heard something as beautiful. you can tell he is close, holding you in place as he leans over you, his forehead pressing against yours. your body tenses, your gummy walls clenching around him, his fingers still pressed on your clit as he pounds into you, making it impossible for you to hold back. your body tenses, and your free hand clings to the back of his neck with desperation as you kiss him, trying to muffle your whimpering. “gonna cum for me, b-baby?” he whispers, pulling away for a moment. “gonna—mmh! gonna cum on my cock?” you can’t even nod. his words are like a spark, and you can’t hold it back anymore. your body snaps, the pleasure flooding you. “subong!” you cry out, legs shaking. he watches you, his name on your lips, and the sight of you completely undone drives him to the edge. with a final, deep thrust, he follows you, quickly pulling out, his release spilling into your lower stomach. his face contorts, a strangled gasp escaping him as he rides out his own climax. he stays there for a moment, his body pressed against yours, both of you breathing heavily, sweat-slicked skin sticking together. “i love you,” you whisper, hands running through his messy hair. “i love you too, señorita,” he smirks, his hand cupping your cheek before leaning in to give you a small peck on the lips. “i missed you.”

subong is a good boyfriend. or at least he tries to be. he still messes up sometimes, still says things without thinking, still gets into fights he shouldn’t, but he’s trying. you see it in the way he waits for you after work, hands shoved into his pockets like he’s trying to play it cool, but you know he’s been standing there for a while. in the way he walks on the outside of the sidewalk, even though you never asked him to. you see it in the way he always grabs an extra drink when he stops by the convenience store, handing it to you without a word, like he just knew you’d want one. in the way he texts you did you eat? before he even says hello. in the way he always grumbles about carrying your bag when it looks too heavy, but takes it anyway. in the way he lets you steal his hoodies, rolling his eyes when you show up wearing one but never actually asking for it back. you see it in the way he lets you mess with his hair, even when he pretends to hate it. in the way he looks at you, like he still can’t believe you’re his. in the way he says your name, soft around the edges. in the way he tells you he loves you—not just with words, but in a hundred different ways, every single day.

there’s no confusion anymore. no second-guessing, no wondering where you stand with each other. he wants you, and he’s not afraid to say it. he tells you all the time, in every way he knows how. sometimes it’s casual, like when he looks at you in the middle of a conversation, something soft in his eyes, and says, “you know i love you, right?” like he just needs you to know. and then there are times when he’s shameless about it. like the time he made it his entire mission to embarrass you in front of both of your friends, throwing an arm around your shoulders and grinning as he declared, “isn’t my girlfriend the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen? no offense to you, semi.” there’s a beat of silence before half of them go “what?!” while the others just exchange knowing looks. “wait—dude, since when?!” namgyu asks. “oh, come on,” semi scoffs, rolling her eyes. “like we didn’t all see this coming.” subong just smirks, pulling you a little closer, dropping a kiss to your cheek. he’s here, and he’s yours, and he makes sure you know it.

you’re still best friends. you still laugh until your stomach hurts, still steal food off each other’s plates, still shove at each other like you’re kids. except now he kisses you after. or before. or sometimes instead of shoving you back. he’s still stubborn, still gets on your nerves more than anyone else. he’s not perfect, but he never pretends to be. and maybe that’s what makes it feel so easy. there’s nothing to prove, nothing to question. just the two of you, exactly as you are, exactly as you’ve always been. just you and him.

if you’ve read this far, i love you, let’s get married pookie ong

[nodoubtily]

warnings : soft sex, enemies to lovers, bathroom quickie, pet names, happy ending, rushed as hellllll taglist :

@jyikeu

@goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby

@17ericas

Maybe it was because of the half-empty drink in your hand, or maybe the way his clothes fit him perfectly, but you know for a fact that you want him.

You want Lee Heeseung.

If someone told you earlier how bad you wanted— no, needed, him, you would have laughed in their face and called them delusional. But now you were here, you can’t help but feel you’ve been feeling this way for a while.

You ignore this though, and your reach your cup to your lips, letting the liquid fall between inside your mouth, and swallow it all down. Maybe you should get another drink.

“You look…different.” You almost dropped the damn cup. His voice replays in your mind as if it’s a song you can’t get over. You sigh, pretending to be annoyed.

“What do you want, Lee.” You groan.

“I want to know where this body of yours has been. Maybe, it’s just been hiding under all the baggy clothes you drown it in.” He just also be a little under it, as he’d never say that sober.

“Maybe i’m just trying to find someone to use it.” Your words awaken a side he’s been trying to hold chained.

“How so?” He stands next to you now, his drink forgotten next to him.

“I want to be fucked, Heeseung. Absolutely ruined.” Your eyes meet his, and he swears you only said that to him because you want him just as much as he wants you.

“By who?” He just needs to hear it. Hear it from your weakening voice. He stands right in front of you, hands resting on either side of you, palming the counter behind you.

“Whoever—“ you look away, but Heeseung brings his hand to your chin, and he forces you to lock eyes with him.

“Don’t you fucking lie”. His voice is low, you can barely hear it over the music. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Need you to fuck me.” Your fingers fiddle with his party shirt, and that’s all the confirmation he needs, and his hand wraps around your wrist, and he drags you to the closest toilet.

“Oh fuck.” Your voice drips with pleasure, your legs trembling around his waist. “S—so deep.” Your voice wavers, feeling Heeseung reach deeper places you didn’t know to be real as he slowly glides in and out of you.

“Pussy so tight around me, baby.” His voice shakes with need, his tip rearranging your guts as he slowly fucks you. “Doesn’t want me to leave.”

“So don’t.” As much as you don’t want to admit, you don’t want this moment to end, because that means that you have to go back to being enemies. Heeseung can see the thoughts circulating your head, and his lips meet yours in a passionate kiss, his hips grinding, his tip abusing your g-spot as desperate whines leave his mouth.

This kiss says a lot, and you can’t help but feel the urge to cum, and so your arms snake around Heeseung’s neck, bringing him closer as your walls spasm around his throbbing cock.

Your eyes roll, mouth gaping as silent moans elicit from your throat. “Shit, you’re getting so tight—fuck.” His hips snap faster as he chases for his needed climax, and his thrusts turn sloppier by the second, before pulling out, cumming over your pussy.

“Feel so good, Hee.” The nickname slips out of your mouth before you could stop it, and Heeseung’s climax continues, more coming out as his hand wraps around the shaft, jerking it. It was the way you said it, needy, eyes glazed with lust as you stared up at him. He couldn’t help it.

“Fuck, baby. Gonna get me horny again.” Heeseung says as if that’s a bad thing. But he slips his jeans on again, zipping them up without saying a word.

“Heeseung.”

He hums in response.

“Do you hate me?” Your question freezes him for a second, before moving again.

“No. Do you hate me?”

“No.” Your response was quicker. “I think I love you.” You added. And before you could even regret it, Heeseung kissed you again.

“I know I love you.” His words swell, and you can’t help but feel weird. But it’s a good weird. A weird you’re gonna have to get used to.

[houseofaegon]

SKINNY DIPPING pt. 2 ✩ Wally Clark

Pairings: Wally Clark x Fem!reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. very slow burn. semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, teasing, heavy sexual tension, explicit dirty talk, praising, degradation, skinny dipping in a public pool, possesiveness/jealousy, light choking, rough gripping & mandhandling, overstimulation, wally being a cocky little shit and very possessive, kinda dom!wally, risk of getting caught, begging, breeding kink. wally whimpering???? (god have mercy)

Summary: For what feels like an eternity, Y/n and Wally have been nothing more than just friends. but that changes one reckless night when they decide to cross skinny dipping off their "100 things to do before crossing over" bucket list. Teasing and meaningless flirting turn heated, and the tension that has been simmering between them finally snaps. Under the moonlit water, boundaries blur, and their friendship is completely wrecked, in the best possible way.

Author's note: this is part 2!! Part 1 is linked below <3 And part 3 soon! I had to take a moment to breath and relax while writing this cause hello????? god jesus have mercy I'm literally gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. Also, thank you so much for the love on part 1!! it made me soooo happy to see you guys liked it <3333 it means the world to me!

Word count: 4043

Song choices: lose control - teddy swims, tear you apart - she wants revenge, closer - nine inch nails, flawless - the neighbourhood, do i wanna know? - arctic monkeys, TiO - zayn, again - noah cyrus.

masterlist. part 1. part 2. part 3

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"So...Skinny dipping?" his lips brushed against your ear, his voice now a low whisper.

"Skinny dipping," you repeated, lips curving into a playful grin. "Just don't get all excited to see me naked, Clark," you teased, pushing him lightly. "And hands to yourself," you added.

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes darkening a little. He couldn't help but smirk as well. He was excited at the thought of seeing you like that.

"I make no promises," he replied with a teasing grin, his raspy voice sending shivers down your spine.

"I mean it, Clark," you huffed, rolling your eyes, though the warmth you felt bubbling up inside you betrayed the annoyance you were trying to fake.

He leaned in again, his face mere inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Can you blame me, though?" his voice dipped lower, rougher, almost a whisper. "You look so damn pretty, I can't help but flirt a little."

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to let him notice it. You pushed him back again, keeping the smirk on your lips. "Yeah, yeah," you drawled, tilting your head. "Am I the first girl you've ever said this to? Or the fourth? Or ninetieth?"

He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. The truth was, Wally had a certain reputation, and everyone knew it. His charming smiles, teasing grins, and how he made girls feel like they were the center of his world… He never meant any of it. None of the girls he flirted with ever came close to you, to how you made him feel.

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. His gaze held yours, unwavering.

"None of those girls were you," he said quietly. "And none of them meant anything to me."

With a dramatic sigh, you place your hand over your forehead, pretending to swoon. "Oh, Wally! How you make my heart race!"

His laugh was loud, unrestrained, the kind of laugh that made your stomach flip every single time you heard it. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he nudged you in the stomach. "Oh, shut up," he said, grinning. "You're such a dork, you know that?"

"And you love it," you shot back, tilting your chin up in defiance.

Wally didn't answer immediately. Instead, his smirk faded slightly, and it made your chest feel too tight. He took a step closer again.

"Yeah," he admitted, voice just above a whisper. "I do."

The teasing had completely vanished now. Your throat suddenly felt dry, your pulse hammering in your ears. Something in his eyes told you that he wasn't playing anymore.

Your mouth opened, but before you could say anything, he lifted a hand, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered just a second too long, his touch light, but it managed to burn right through you.

He knew exactly what he was doing. The way he spoke, the way his gaze bore into you, the slight grin on his lips—it was all too deliberate, too calculated, and it made your pulse quicken. His eyes didn't lie, it was pure desire that clouded them and his judgment too. Wally had always been a flirt with everyone, and you were no exception. There had always been playful and flirty banter between you, but it was nothing more than a game. Nothing more than playful teasing. This? This felt different, it felt real. Lines were getting blurry, and your body was reacting in a way you never thought possible.

"You're trouble, you know that?" he murmured, his thumb grazing your jaw.

Your breath hitched. "Takes one to know one," you whispered back.

His eyes darkened, and for a second, you thought he was going to close the distance between you completely. Your heart slammed against your ribs, anticipation running through every nerve in your body.

With a smooth, effortless motion, Wally pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside like it was nothing. He knew you were watching him, and you did. You watched him, you couldn't tear your eyes away, hypnotized by his every movement, by the way the moonlight caressed his skin, his body gleaming under the soft light. You had seen him shirtless plenty of times before–he loved to work out and flaunt what he'd earned. But tonight? Tonight felt so much different. 

Your heart skipped a beat as you let your gaze travel down his chest, the way his abs tightened as he took off his shorts, kicking them aside, leaving only his boxers on. "You coming?" his voice was casual. But the way his eyes roamed over you, the way his smirk depended as he noticed the way you couldn’t keep your eyes off him, it was anything but innocent. "Go ahead," he added, nodding toward the water. "Get in first. I'll be right behind you."

You folded your arms over your chest, tilting your head as you arched a brow. "Oh, I see what you're doing," you mused, propping yourself on your hip. "You want me to strip first so you can get a show, huh?"

Wally's grin became bigger, shameless, and cocky. "And if I do?" he murmured.

"Then that makes you predictable," you shot back, tilting your head trying to feign disinterest.

His smirk didn't waver. If anything, it grew bolder. "Or just a man with very good taste," he countered smoothly, stepping closer. "But, hey, if you're too shy—"

Before he could finish, you grabbed the hem of your white shirt and pulled it over your head, letting it drop carelessly onto the ground. His smirk vanished. It was only for a second, but you saw it, the way his throat bobbed, the way his gaze dropped, drinking every inch of you. Satisfaction curled in your stomach.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips. That cocky smirk? Gone. Replaced by something you couldn't quite place, something darker, deeper. Something raw.

You stepped toward the pool, your back to him, deliberately ignoring his presence, pretending you didn't feel the heat of his gaze burning into you. "You were saying?" you teased, sliding your skirt down inch by inch, slowly, letting it slip past your thighs and pool at your feet before stepping out of it. "What was that about me being too shy?"

A smirk tugged at your lips as you tilted your head just enough to catch a glimpse of him over your shoulder. Victory. He wasn't smirking anymore—his mouth slightly parted, eyes darker, stance tense like he was barely holding himself together. You had him right where you wanted him.

But you weren't done. If he wanted a show, he was gonna get one.

Keeping your gaze locked on his, you let your hands drift behind your back, fingers working the clasp of your lace bra with infuriating slowness. You could see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling faster.

The straps slid down your shoulders, the cool night air hitting your skin, making your nipples harden instantly. And still, you watched him, letting his gaze devour you. Letting the bra drop, you let yourself bask in the way his pupils dilated, the way his hands clenched, every single vein and muscle in his arms tensing like he was fighting every instinct to move towards you and touch you.

And he was. God, he was fighting it, hard. Every demon inside him was telling him to grab you, to pull you close to him, to feel your skin against his, to claim you.

With a wicked grin, you toyed with the waistband of your lace black underwear, sliding it down, teasing him slowly. "Cat got your tongue, Clark?" you chuckled. Before he could answer, you turned your head and slipped into the pool.

When you submerged in the water, disappearing from his view, he let out a sharp exhale, the sound more like a whimper. As you resurfaced, he could've sworn he stopped breathing. You were everything he had ever wanted, and to see you there, bare, wet, and exposed? It was almost too much for him to handle.

His hands clenched into fists, his entire body trembling with the effort to restrain himself. His gaze didn't waver—it never left your body, exploring every inch of you.

You looked mesmerizing, the way the moonlight made your wet skin glow underneath it. He was desperate to touch you, to run his hands over your perfectly soft skin.

You ran your hands over your wet, slicked-back hair, your gaze on him. Wally stood there, frozen, eyes dark and fixed on you.

It was intoxicating, the power you had over him.

"What happened to all that smooth talk, Clark?" you teased, tilting your head, a playful smirk on your lips. "You suddenly forgot how to speak?"

That did it.

Wally's jaw locked, his hands clenched at his sides like he was physically restraining himself. For a second, you thought he might actually fight it—might crack a joke, roll his eyes, brush it off like he always did, return to his usual cocky self.

But then, without hesitation, he shoved his boxers down and kicked them aside. His eyes never leaving yours.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He stood before you, the hard lines of his body tense with restraint, every muscle in his stomach flexing as he fought for control. And then there was the unmistakable evidence of his arousal, thick and hard, a blatant display of everything he wanted—everything he wanted from you.

A shiver went down your spine, heat pooling in your stomach as your eyes slowly flickered up to his.

He didn't say a word. He just stepped forward, smoothly, deliberately, like a predator hunting its prey, before dipping into the pool. The water rippled as he disappeared beneath the surface. And then, he surged back up, breaking through the water right in front of you, so close that droplets splashed on your face, so close that his lips nearly brushed yours as he exhaled a deep, slow breath.

You inhaled sharply, instinctively swimming back, but his hands were already on your waist, locking you in place. Holding you right there, right where he wanted.

“What happened to all that smooth talk, sweetheart?" he repeated your exact words, the term of endearment making your stomach flip. His voice low, almost teasing. "You suddenly forgot how to speak?"

Your pulse hammered against your ribs. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to smirk even as every nerve in your body buzzed with anticipation. This was dangerous, you knew it, and he did too.

But neither of you seemed to care.

"You think you're real cute, don't you?" his voice was low and rough, every word seemed to vibrate through your chest as his lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. His voice made your knees weak.

You grinned, hands sliding up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. "I don't think," you whispered. "I know."

A low growl rumbled in his throat. And suddenly, you weren't smirking anymore. There wasn't a single hint of playfulness in his eyes. They were filled with pure and raw heat. Dangerous, Hungry. His grip tightened, pulling you flush against him. Beneath the water, skin met skin, heat against heat. It was undeniable now, impossible to ignore, impossible to run away from. Everything you tried to ignore, every line you'd both tried so hard not to cross.

Everything was collapsing in on itself.

This was happening.

This was real.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me." His voice was thick with frustration, like he was holding back every ounce of self-control. Every inch of him trembled beneath your hands, his chest rising and falling too fast, his fingers digging into your waist. The struggle was written all over his face. He wanted you. You could see it. Feel it. He was trying so hard to hold back.

And God, he wanted to. You could feel it in the way his body tensed against yours, in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his lips hovered right there, barely an inch away, like he was dying to close the distance. Dying to taste you.

You inhaled sharply, your heart slamming against your ribs. What the hell were you doing?

Stripping in front of him? Letting him see you like this, bare and exposed? Teasing him? Knowing exactly what it would do to him?

It wasn't like you at all.

It wasn't like either of you.

This wasn't the playful banter you'd always shared. It never got further than simple jokes and meaningless teasing. This? This was territory neither of you had ever ventured into. There was a thin, fragile line. You wanted to cross it. You needed to. But the fear... the fear of losing everything you had—the fear of losing him—kept you hanging on, just barely.

Wally swallowed hard, his fingers tracing slow, agonizing patterns against your skin. "You're dangerous," he whispered again, lower this time, rougher, as if the words were ripped straight from his chest. His hands tightened against your hips beneath the water, his eyes locked onto yours, searching for hesitation—begging for it, for a reason to stop.

But there was none.

The words slipped out of your mouth before you could even think. "Am I?"

His breath caught a subtle tremor in his jaw. "Don't tease me," he growled. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

But you did.

And so did he.

His forehead dipped to yours, his breathing uneven. Your hands slid up, curling around the back of his neck, fingers threading through his wet hair. His eyes squeezed shut like he was trying—really trying—to fight it.

But there was nothing left to fight.

You’d both lost this battle a long time ago.

"You know this changes everything," he whispered, his voice raw, breaking over the words. His thumb brushed your skin, so painfully slow, like he was memorizing you, like he was savoring this moment.

Your chest tightened. You knew he was right. You knew this was it—the point of no return.

But it was too late for second thoughts.

Your lips parted, breath shaking. His eyes darkened at the sight of your open mouth, the sounds of your shaky breath making his pulse quicken. He was undone. Completely undone. All his hesitation, his willpower, his good intentions. Gone. He was drowning in you.

"Maybe it should," you whispered.

A sharp inhale. His hands gripped you tighter, and his forehead dropped fully against yours. "You have no idea what you're saying."

You let out a soft, breathless laugh. "Oh, I think I do."

His head lifted just enough for your eyes to lock, his pupils blown wide, lips slightly parted. His mouth was right there. Just a little more...

"You don't fucking get it," he rasped, his hands sliding up, thumbs brushing the underside of your ribs. "If we do this—if I kiss you—I won’t be able to stop. I won’t be able to just pretend it didn’t happen. You know that, don’t you?”

Your pulse slammed in your throat, and you nodded, barely breathing.

His fingers traced slow, lazy circles against your skin, like he was trying to soothe himself, trying to keep his composure. But you could feel it—the tension radiating off him, the heat rolling off his body even beneath the water.

"What if I don't want you to stop?" you whispered.

His eyes darkened, the grip on your waist tightening, pressing into your skin, making you groan. You were sure he was going to leave bruises, but you didn’t care. 

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking as he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. "You think this is a fucking game?"

“A little," you replied, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

Wally let out a strained, bitter chuckle, but there was no humor in his eyes. No playfulness was left in the smile that painted his face. “You wanna keep playing?” he murmured, his voice rough, teasing, but there was an edge to it now, something deeper, dangerous. “Because I can play, sweetheart. But you better be ready for what happens when I stop holding back. When I stop pretending, we can go back to how things were. When I stop fucking pretending we're just friends.”

With a growl, he pushed you through the water until your back hit the edge of the pool. The impact and the feeling of the cold tiles sent a sharp shiver down your spine, making you gasp. The way he mandhandled you with such ease, his grip so possessive, the way his body caged you in completely, it made your head spin. 

His lips brushed yours—just barely. But it was enough to make your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, like he was the only thing keeping you standing.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against your lips, pleading. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

You should say it. You should push him away, laugh it off, pretend like this was just another game, another moment of playful teasing between best friends who had spent years toeing the line.

But you didn’t.

Because you couldn’t.

Instead, your fingers crept up his neck, nails tracing the hard line of his jaw, tightening in his wet hair, pulling him closer, your body pressing against his beneath the water. You felt the way his breath stuttered, the way his fingers dug into your ribs, his thumb caressing your breasts, like he was barely hanging on.

Your lips brushed against his as you whispered, “I dare you.”

A sharp inhale. His hands tightened. "Don't," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "I swear, if you keep looking at me like that—"

"Like what?" you interrupted, faking innocence as your fingers trailed down his chest, nails scraping over his hard muscles.

His breath left him in a shaky exhale. "Like you want this."

Your lips curled. "Who says I don't?"

A low groan rumbled from his chest, his restraint hanging by a thread. His hands slid down slowly, gripping, teasing, like he was testing himself—testing you. “You don’t get it.”

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I do," you whispered, your mouth just barely on his, so close he could feel your words on his skin. "You're the one who doesn't."

His jaw ticked. "Don't push me," he warned, his voice a painful growl. 

You tilted your head, dragging your nose against his. "Why? Afraid you'll give in?"

"Afraid I won't be able to stop."

A wicked smile danced on your lips as you leaned in, your mouth grazing the corner of his. Not a kiss—just a taste. "You know what I think?” you murmured, your teeth just barely scraping against his lips, leaving the most devastating kiss there. “I think you’ve thought about this. A lot.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” you taunted him, your voice nothing but a breath, a challenge, a plea. "Just tell me I'm wrong, and we'll stop, we'll forget any of this happened, we'll just—"

His patience snapped.

His hands slid down your waist, gripping your thighs before he hoisted you up, forcing your legs to wrap around him. A choked gasp escaped your lips as you felt all of him, thick and hard, pressing right against your soaked core. A groan tore from his throat, guttural and desperate, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs, bruising you. 

“Fuck,” he whimpered. “You keep grinding on me like that and I fucking swear–” His words cut off into a sharp inhale as you grinded against him again. 

You rolled your hips against him, dragging your slick heat over the hard ridge of his cock, and his entire body tensed.  

A sharp, wrecked groan tore from his throat, his grip turning bruising as he slammed your body harder against the cool tile. His mouth was on you in an instant—biting, licking, claiming—his teeth scraping your jaw, his tongue lapping at the spot he just marked, soothing it just to do it all over again. 

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped. 

You swallowed hard. The words were right there, on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say them.

Stop.

No, you wouldn’t. You didn’t want him to stop. You wanted him to keep going, to touch you right where you needed him the most, to make you his, to claim you, to possess you. You wanted to feel his lips on yours, on your entire body. You needed this, the release–you needed him. 

“Say. It.” His groan was raw, wrecked. His hands ghosted up your thighs, slow, teasing, so agonizingly close to where you needed them. “Tell me to fucking stop.”

You stayed silent. 

His lips curled into a dark smirk. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

His hands flexed, gripping your thighs tighter, dragging your hips flush against him, grinding against your core so hard and deep it made your breath catch.

“Fuck, you feel that?" he groaned, his voice rough dripping with need. "Feel how hard you make me? You did that, sweetheart. You."

His lips brushed your jaw, teasing, before his teeth sank into your skin—not enough to hurt, but enough to make you whimper. His tongue soothed the spot, only to bite again, harder this time.

"You don't think I've noticed? The way your eyes are on me when you think I'm not watching? The way your whole body reacts to me?"

His fingers dug into your hips, hard, making you gasp, dragging your body against him once more, letting you feel every single inch of how much he wanted you.

Fuck.

"You've been playing a dangerous game, baby," he growled. "Playing dumb, acting like all those little teases, all those flirty smiles, all those times you touched me without meaning to—like they didn't mean anything."

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest.

"But we both know that's not true, don't we?" His grip became stronger by the minute, his fingers slithering lower, teasing the edge of your stomach, dancing along your skin with agonizing precision. He knew what he was fucking doing, he wanted to drive you insane, the same way you drove him to the brink of insanty.

"You know it's not true. Deep down, you always knew exactly what you've been doing to me."

And he was right.

Every glance, every touch, every smile, every almost—you’d been testing him, taunting him. Watching, waiting, wondering how far you could push before he snapped.

And now? He was breaking apart.

His fingers inched lower, making your entire body arch against him, desperate, aching, starving for more.

Please, please, please.

A gasp tore from your throat as his fingers finally found your aching clit, pressing down in slow, agonizing cirles.

Oh, fuck.

Your head fell back against the cool tile, your breath coming out in ragged pants. This was different. He was different. This wasn't the Wally you were used to—your best friend, the sweet, flirty, cocky, Wally who loved teasing you just as much as you teased him.

This was someone else, a completely different version of him you'd never seen before. Dangerous.

"I think you know how much I fucking want you," he groaned, his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes dark, desperate, completely feral with need. "And you've been pretending you don't feel it, too."

You swallowed hard, but no words would come out. What could you say? That he was wrong? That this was just another game?

It wasn't. Not anymore.

You'd crossed every line, and there was no going back.

Your entire body trembled as his fingers moved harder, faster, making your entire world narrow to the feeling of his fingers against your aching core.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, your breath coming in gasps, but you didn’t answer.

You couldn’t. Not when you were falling apart in his hands.

Not when you felt so good pressed against him.

So fucking good.

"And now, baby?" His tongue brushed over your lips, slowly. "Now you're gonna find out exactly what happens when you push me too fucking far."

[winteringdream]

𝑴𝑬𝑬𝑻 𝑼𝑮𝑳𝒀 — 𝑻𝑨𝑬𝑺𝑨𝑵

You've had a small crush on Taesan since your first year of university Now that second year has begun, you're determined to get to know him better. Your first meetings with him are ugly to say the least. But as you try to connect with him, you realize that Taesan struggles to show his feelings. Will the two of you manage to show each other how you feel, or will your feelings remain untold?

✩ ⋅ pairing. bio major!taesan x bio major fem!reader ✩ ⋅ genre. fluff, angst, university!au, mutual pining (i tried) ✩ ⋅ warnings. alcohol intake, miscommunication, ankle injury, mentioning of being followed, reader studies quite hard-core, overworking ✩⋅ wc. 10k ✩⋅ with ive's liz & rei, all of bonedo and triples mayu ✩⋅ a/n: no mentioning of y/n, also the you character is somewhat similar to taesan personality-wise ✩⋅ this is part one! part two coming soon

It was a sunny day. the beginning of what was supposed to be a good academic year. It didn’t last long before you managed to completely embarrass yourself in front of Taesan. A guy you may or may not have a small crush on. 

Your iced tea had spilled all over his books and clothes when you were admiring a cat.  

“I can pay for dry cleaning,” you had blurted out, face burning with embarrassment.

Taesan exhaled sharply, shaking his hands free of the liquid. “Don’t bother.” And then he just walked away.

You were flustered, a mess, to say the least—for five days after the event. Replaying the encounter at least 500 times in your head.

So much for making a good first impression...

You had promised yourself that the next time you’d see him, you’d properly apologise. But you just didn’t think meeting him would happen so soon. 

A few leaves had started to fall, and the temperature outside had started to lower. Shivering in your t-shirt, you scold yourself for not bringing a jacket. 

You look at the time, realising you’re late for class. 

“Shit.” you mutter to yourself. “Class started five minutes ago.” 

Running for your life, you manage to reach the building within two minutes. But, then came the problem. You weren’t familiar with this place at all.

Where was room 523 supposed to be? 

Out of breath you frantically run upstairs, after realising all the classrooms on the first floor start with a 3. 

Your stomach dropped. Wrong floor.

Panicked, you took off toward the stairs, moving too fast to notice the person coming from the opposite direction.

On your way to the second floor, you bump into someone, causing you to tumble down a few steps. 

You look up to see no other than the Han Taesan. Your butt hurt from the fall, but you didn’t have any time to think about the pain.

“I'm sorry I didn't see you.” 

"You’re not even going to say sorry?" you muttered, brushing off your pants. Then, narrowing your eyes, you added,

Taesan barely blinked. “You ran into me.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, but before you could argue, he stepped past you without a second thought.

“Try the next floor up,” he said flatly as he disappeared down the hall.

You exhaled sharply, watching his retreating figure in disbelief.

Unbelievable.

It’s when you’re on your way to the campus cafe after class, your mind wandering when you hear footsteps behind you. 

You quicken your pace, trying to get to the door of the cafe.  You reach the door of the cafe, hand on the handle, and then it happens. He steps up right behind you, closer than you expected. 

You pull the door open, and as you do, it almost hits him. His gaze flickers to you for only a second, barely acknowledging you, before he steps past, his shoulder brushing yours like you’re nothing more than an obstacle in his way.

You blink. Then scoff under your breath.

Maybe it’s the way he doesn’t even bother to say “excuse me,” or the way he acts like you don’t exist, but something inside you deflates.

For a second, you wonder why you even liked him in the first place. The person standing in front of you feels so different from the one you once admired from afar.

You watch as he takes his drink and turns to leave without so much as a glance in your direction.

And that’s when it really sinks in.

You let out a slow breath, the weight of disappointment settling in your chest as you turn toward the counter.

Why am I even trying?

Maybe it’s time to stop. To stop chasing after someone who never cared in the first place.

The thought of Taesan was already floating away and out of your head. You hadn't bumped into him anymore after that day and the seasons had changed. It wasn't winter yet, but it might as well be. It was freezing outside, a thin layer of ice forming on the school fountain. 

It’s late in the evening, and you’re walking on campus, juggling a pile of books in your arms as you head toward the library. You had received an email reminding you that five books you had lent from the library needed to be returned today. 

You should've read your mail earlier, because by the time you had actually read the email it was already 9:30 pm, 30 minutes before the library closing time. 

Why were there no online copies of these books? you complain with a sigh, readjusting the books in your arms. The thick biology textbooks were heavy and completely blocked your view. 

You don’t notice the small puddle that had turned into ice on the ground. You slip, your foot sliding out from under you, and before you can catch yourself, you crash to the floor, the sound of your books hitting the ground echoing.

You wince in pain as you try to sit up, your ankle throbbing immediately from the impact.. You glance around a little embarrassed, hoping no one saw.

Just as you're about to sigh of relief, because no one seems to be around you, your eye catches sight of Taesan. He is standing just a few feet away, walking towards you with his cold look and unreadable expression.

Why is he walking over? 

Quickly composing yourself you try to look around for the books you had just dropped. But before you can stand up, Taesan is standing next to you. 

His eyes flicker over you, lingering on your ankle. His usual impassive gaze shifts, his jaw tightens for a fraction of a second before he exhales quietly. Is he worried?

"You alright?" His voice is low, and despite his usual cold tone, there's an underlying concern.

You laugh nervously, "This is so embarrassing." you mutter to yourself, as you pick up the book closest to you. 

He raises an eyebrow, taken aback by the fact that you're not replying to him like he had expected. 

His gaze flicks down to your ankle and then back up to your face, his posture still stiff, but there's something almost protective in the way he's looking at you now.

Without waiting for your response, he crouches down, carefully taking your ankle in his hands. It’s an unexpected move, and you’re caught off guard by how gentle he is. 

His hands are cold, but his touch is surprisingly tender as he examines your foot, testing for any obvious swelling or injury. 

His hand extends, fingers curling slightly as if debating whether to offer or simply act. You hesitate before grasping it, his grip is steady, warm despite the cold air.

His brow furrows slightly as he ensures you're stable on your feet, his gaze flicking down to your ankle with a quiet, assessing look. 

"Careful," he says, his voice soft but commanding, as if it’s an order rather than a suggestion. For a second, his touch lingers just a bit longer than necessary.

"You shouldn’t walk on it," he mutters, his voice flat but with a hint of care that makes your heart skip a beat. "It could get worse."

You open your mouth to say something, but he’s already reaching for your books, picking them up with ease. He doesn’t look at you as he hands them back.

“Come on,” he says, standing up and glancing down at you again. “I’ll walk you to the nurse’s office.”

"No need," you tell him, finally opening your mouth. "I need to return these books today or I'll be fined." 

You attempt to step forward, putting weight on your injured ankle, but the sharp pain shoots up your leg, and you immediately wince, slightly stumbling. 

You bite your lip to keep from making a sound, determined not to show how much it hurts. But before you can take another step, Taesan is already there, his hand holding your arm to steady you. 

His gaze flicks down to your ankle once again, his brow furrowing slightly. “You’re not walking on it like that,” he says, his tone more forceful than before.  

Something in you twinges, Taesan, who has been nothing but cold to you is now suddenly trying to help you? 

Without another word, he takes the books from you. Then, to your surprise, he steps a little closer, his shoulder coming up next to yours. “I’ll take you,” he says. 

"Look I don't know what you're trying to do, but I can get it checked out later. I'm telling you these books have to be returned within—" you glance at your phone, panic creeping into your voice as the time flickers at 9:50 p.m. "—10 minutes." 

Without another word, he takes the books from your arms. Then, to your surprise, he steps a little closer, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“I’ll take you,” he says in that calm way of his. “You won’t make it on your own, I’ll get you there in less time.” 

You hesitate, eyeing him, unsure how to react to his quiet confidence. You’ve always known him to be the cold, logical type, the one who keeps to himself, hardly ever showing emotion. So why now? Why would he offer this help when it’s so unlike him?

"How are you going to take me?

Your eyes meet his, and for a split second, you feel the tension between the two of you tighten. There’s a brief pause, and you swear you see a flicker of something in his gaze. Is it surprise? Or amusement?

"Any way I have to," he says. “Even if it means carrying you.”

You blink, caught off guard by his words. Taesan is talking about carrying you? You try to process it, your mind racing, but all you manage to do is stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious or if it’s just another one of his sarcastic remarks.

He looks like he’s already made up his mind about this. "You can’t walk on that. It’ll get worse," he states flatly, as if it's simple logic. "And you don’t have time to waste. Let me do this."

You take a deep breath, feeling the rush of emotions that had built up inside you. The blood is rushing to your cheeks at the thought of Taesan carrying you. 

He’s not the same person you thought he was, and for some reason, that realization leaves you speechless.

“Alright,” you say quietly, finally letting go of the last thread of resistance. You look up at him, offering a small, unsure smile. “If you really think I can’t make it.”

His eyes soften just a touch, though his expression is still as unreadable as ever. He doesn’t smirk or say anything else, just nods once, his movements smooth as he steps a little closer, ready to help.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, and for the first time, there’s something faintly warm in his voice, as though he’s trying to reassure you, though he says nothing more. He puts down the books on the ground, and crouches in front of you. 

You hesitate for only a second before you allow him to carefully lift you, his arms steady around you. He is surprisingly gentle, his grip firm but never forceful. 

Your heart races, but you’re not sure if it’s because of the way he’s holding you, or because for the first time, you’re realizing that Taesan might be showing you a side of him you never thought possible.

Taesan carries you towards a nearby bench, carefully letting you down before walking back to pick up the books. 

"I'll return these for you." He says, somehow the stack of books look lighter in his arms. "Give me your student ID." 

You reach into your pocket, pulling out your wallet. Luckily you had taken a good photo for the ID card. 

You hand him your student ID without a word, but as you do, you catch yourself watching him more closely than usual. 

As Taesan walks over to return your books, his mind is racing with questions.  The task itself is simple, return the books, make sure everything’s done quickly. But even as he holds the stack of books in his arms with his usual calm, his thoughts keep drifting back to you. 

The way he’d carried you, his concern, it's different from how he usually thinks and acts. It feels strange. 

He’s never been one to let his emotions get involved, especially when it comes to others. But something about the way he couldn’t just leave you there, struggling on your own, is bothering him more than it should.

He picks up your student ID, barely glancing at it. Until he does. His gaze hesitates, lingering longer than it should. His fingers tighten ever so slightly around the card before he exhales, expression unreadable once more.

Why was he so insistent about helping you? Why does it bother him that you’re hurt? He knows it shouldn’t.

It’s just an injury, he thinks. And yet, when he saw you struggling, when he saw you hesitating, he couldn't help but care. 

He sets the books down with more force than necessary, the librarian looking at him with confusion. He tells himself it’s nothing, that he’s just overthinking. It’s just books. Just an inconvenience.

As he walks back to you, the feeling lingers, like a quiet hum in the back of his mind. He’s never been the type to get involved like this, to feel the need to make sure someone is okay.

As he nears you, Taesan realizes he’s worried. And he doesn’t know why. 

He’s not sure why, not sure what it means, but for the first time in a long while, he doesn’t have all the answers. And that, more than anything, makes him uneasy.

Your ankle healed quickly, and two days later you’re still thinking about that night.  You try to focus on the lesson, but your mind keeps drifting back. After everything he’d done for you, after helping you with your books, the care he showed. Why was he so confusing?  

One moment he’s cold and distant, not even apologising to you when the two of you bumped against each other. And now he’s suddenly carrying you on his back, returning your books for you?  

How can you feel this way about someone who’s been so cold to you? You groan, sinking lower into your seat, your hands tangled in your hair. The soft murmur of your classmates fades into the background as you try to push the thoughts aside. 

Taesan enters the classroom like a shadow. He takes a seat in front of you, tossing his bag into the seat beside him without a second thought. He doesn’t bother to look around, just pulls his head down onto the desk with a soft, exhausted sigh. 

You’ve never seen him like this before, and you can’t decide whether it makes you feel worse for him or more confused about everything that’s happened between you two. 

You hate how much you’re thinking about him, how his presence so easily takes over your mind. You wonder if he’s still thinking about last night, if he’s wishing he hadn’t stepped in. And the thought stabs at you, suddenly leaving you feeling guilty, and even more tangled up inside.

He hasn’t even glanced at you. But for some reason, that distance feels even more confusing than the moments when he’s so close. 

After the lecture the lecture hall is slowly emptying out, and you're packing your things into your bag, preparing to leave. 

Leehan, a marine sciences student, walks over to him with a grin on his face. 

"Taesan!" Leehan calls out, and Taesan looks up, just slightly, his eyes flicking toward his friend.

"Jaehyun is hosting a party this weekend," Leehan continues, "You wanna come? You’ve been buried in your books for ages, man. It’s about time you took a break."

Taesan doesn’t immediately respond, glancing briefly at Leehan before his eyes drift toward the door. For a moment, it looks like he’s debating the offer in his mind.

"Come on, a little chaos won’t kill you," Leehan nudges him with a teasing push. "Besides, we both know Jaehyun’s gonna keep asking until you say yes. Might as well save yourself the trouble."

Taesan's gaze shifts away again, his expression remaining as unreadable as always. He seems distracted, almost lost in thought. His shoulders shift slightly, but there’s no real indication of whether he’s interested or not.

Leehan, noticing his friend's hesitation, adds with a grin, "Just show up for an hour. No one’s expecting you to dance on tables. Just exist in the same space as other humans for once."

Taesan remains silent for a moment longer, looking at Leehan, then back down at his bag. Finally, he responds in his usual calm, detached way, "I’ll think about it."

Leehan laughs, shaking his head. "Mhm, sure. But if you don’t show up, Jaehyun will drag you there himself and you know he won’t shut up about it the whole night."

Later that evening, you’re sitting on your bed, flipping through some notes when Rei, your roommate, bursts through the door with a wide grin plastered on her face. 

“Guess what?” she says, practically bouncing with excitement. “Jaehyun’s hosting a party this weekend. You should come with me!”

You glance up at her.“A party? I don’t know,I’ve got so much stuff to catch up on.”

Rei flops down on the bed next to you, her eyes sparkling. “Come on, you’ve been studying nonstop. You need to unwind! It’s going to be fun, I promise. I’ll make sure you’re not stuck in some corner by yourself. You’ll have a good time.” 

You feel a tug of hesitation, Rei’s always so convincing. Plus, you know she’ll be there, and she’s great at pulling you into her whirlwind of energy.

"I don’t know, Rei” you trail off, glancing at the pile of work on your desk. "I could use the time to catch up on some stuff."

Rei shakes her head, already knowing where this is going. “You always say that, but you never actually get any work done when you stay in. Trust me, you’ll feel way better after letting loose for just one night.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a small smile on your face. “Fine, fine. I’ll go. But you’re not leaving me to get lost in the crowd alone."

“It’s not just me, Liz and Mayu are going too.” She laughs when she sees your eyes light up. The four of you haven’t met up in a while, and the thought of reuniting makes you happy already.

Rei gets up, already heading to her side of the room to change, humming to herself. You can’t help but laugh at her excitement, feeling a little bit of your own reluctance fade away. 

The weekend rolls around, and despite your hesitation, you find yourself standing outside Jaehyun’s apartment with Rei, Liz, and Mayu.

"I swear, I haven’t seen Jaehyun throw a party like this in months," Liz says, her eyes wide as she takes in the scene. The bass from the music vibrates the ground beneath your feet.

“I haven't been to a party like this in ages." You chuckle, adjusting the small shoulder bag. 

Mayu laughs, looping her arm through yours as she leads you toward the door. "Exactly! And you haven’t had any fun in ages either."

The four of you chuckle, walking through the door of Jaehyun’s house. You step inside, immediately hit by the heavy thrum of music and the overwhelming scent of alcohol and perfume. 

The living room is packed, people are dancing, talking, and laughing, and the air is thick with energy. Rei takes the time to greet a few of her friends. 

“Sungho!” Rei exclaims, waving in his direction. You and Mayu exchange confused glances but Liz is quick to fill the two of you in. 

“New friend she made,” She whispers to the two of you. You nod, trying to make sense of the new information. Sungho looks like he’s part of the crowd, laughing and chatting easily with everyone, while Rei joins him with a wide grin on her face. You watch them for a second before turning your attention back to the rest of the party.

The room is alive with chatter, flashing lights, and the steady thrum of bass. You can feel the familiar knot of discomfort form in your stomach. You’ve never been the party type, but you promised Rei you’d at least try.

“Come on,” Mayu says, nudging you gently. “Let’s get some drinks, and maybe find a spot to relax. No need to dive straight into the chaos.”

You smile gratefully, following her as she guides you through the crowded room. You can see a long line of people near the bar, everyone laughing and shouting to be heard over the music. You figure you’ll grab something light, maybe just a drink to ease the tension in your shoulders.

Suddenly, your eyes catch something familiar.

Standing near the far end of the living room, Taesan stands off to the side, more noticeable in this environment. He’s wearing a dark jacket over his usual casual clothes, and his expression is unreadable as he observes the crowd. 

Your heart stutters slightly, remembering once again, that time he helped you with your books. He doesn’t notice you staring, or if he does, he gives no indication of it. His attention is on a conversation between Jaehyun and Woonhak, though he’s clearly not involved in their loud conversation. 

"Here you go," Mayu interrupts your thoughts, handing you a drink. You take it with a polite nod, still glancing in Taesan’s direction.

Mayu follows your gaze and raises an eyebrow. “You know him?” she asks, her voice low enough that it’s mostly drowned out by the music.

You blink and quickly turn your attention back to her. “Sort of. We’re in a couple of the same classes. He helped me with something once.” You don’t go into detail about the books, though a part of you wonders why you feel the need to downplay it.

Mayu smirks knowingly, her eyes darting back to Taesan. “Interesting. He doesn’t seem like the party type.”

You can’t help but agree with that. Taesan looks out of place here, You wonder why he even bothered coming. Maybe Jaehyun convinced him, like Rei did to you.

The moment stretches on as you continue to observe him, torn between curiosity and discomfort. Finally, Mayu nudges you. "You gonna go say hi?"

The question is a little too direct, and you feel your cheeks warm, even though you can’t really explain why. You don’t know if it’s the party atmosphere or the fact that Taesan is so different from everyone else here, but you suddenly feel a little nervous.

"I don’t know," you mumble, taking a sip of your drink, scrunching your face at the taste. "What did you put in this?"

“Is it that bad?" She replies, taking a sip as well. “Ooh, it’s got a little kick to it. Don’t worry, maybe it’s a good idea to get drunk considering your hesitation to go up to him.” 

You roll your eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. Mayu’s right, though. It would be weird to just leave it hanging.

You take another glance at Taesan, and this time, your eyes meet. There’s a brief moment of recognition between the two of you, but then he immediately looks away, back to his drink.

The night starts to blur together, the music pulses through the floor, the lights flash, and before you know it, you’re on your third drink, not realizing you might have had one too many.

Your head feels light, your thoughts a little foggy, and your body is just warm enough to make you feel oddly detached from the world around you. It’s not that you’re drunk, just tipsy.

You glance over toward Taesan, and for some reason, your heart picks up pace. There’s something about the way he’s standing there that makes you want to talk to him, but something keeps holding you back.

Rei and Liz are laughing about something near the punch bowl, and Mayu is already halfway through a conversation with some guy you don’t recognize. 

You stand there for a moment, the noise of the party swirling around you, but all you can focus on is the distance between you and Taesan. Your heart thumps louder in your chest with each passing second, and it’s becoming harder to ignore the pull to go up to him. 

You take another sip of your drink, the alcohol only making you feel lighter, more detached from the moment.

For some reason, your body won’t move, though. It’s like there’s an invisible wall between you and Taesan, one you can’t quite get past. You try to convince yourself it’s because the party's just too chaotic, too loud for any real conversation, but deep down, you know it’s more than that.

You steal another glance at him. He’s still standing there, drink in hand, his gaze flicking across the room but never settling on anything or anyone. 

Just as you're about to look away and find another distraction, you catch his eyes again. This time, it’s longer. You can’t tell if it’s intentional or if it’s just a coincidence, but there’s a subtle change in his expression when he meets your gaze. 

It’s enough to make your heart skip a beat. For a brief second, you’re aware of how close he is, in a way that feels strange. 

"Go on, say something,” you tell yourself, but your feet feel like they’re glued to the floor.

You take another sip of your drink, but it’s barely registering on your tongue anymore. The thoughts are starting to swirl in your head, and you’re not sure whether the alcohol is making it worse or if you’re just being you.

“You should talk to him,” Mayu’s voice suddenly breaks through the fog, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You blink, and Mayu’s standing next to you now, an amused smile on her face. She must’ve noticed you staring at Taesan.

“I- what?” You stammer, a little flustered, your cheeks burning despite the alcohol running through your system. You turn your head quickly, trying to mask the sudden rush of nerves.

“Come on, I see the way you’re looking at him. Go talk to him,” she teases, nudging you playfully.

“I don’t know. He looks busy.” You try to shrug it off, but the words feel weak in your mouth.

Mayu raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You’re drunk, huh?” she asks, sounding amused but concerned at the same time.

“I’m fine,” you quickly reply, though your voice wavers slightly.

Mayu doesn’t look convinced, but she gives you a reassuring smile. “Okay, well, if you don’t go, I’m going to make you,” she says, her tone teasing. “You never know until you try.”

With a quick shake of your head, you tell Mayu, “Okay, okay, I’ll go talk to him.” You don’t know if it’s the alcohol talking, but you’re suddenly moving with confidence.

Mayu smiles brightly as you start making your way toward Taesan. You can feel your heart racing as you push through the crowd, trying to keep your composure.

As you get closer, you can feel the thrum of the music in your chest, the chaos of the party fading away a little. And then you’re standing right in front of him, your breath catching a little as you finally find yourself face-to-face with him.

“Hey,” you say a little too quickly, the word tumbling out before you can stop it. You’re suddenly very aware of how loud the music is, how everyone else around you seems to be talking and laughing, leaving you standing here in the middle of it all, heart thudding in your chest.

"Hey," he says simply, his voice calm, not as stiff as usual, but still carrying that quiet tone. He doesn’t look surprised to see you, but you can tell he's taken a moment to adjust to you being here, standing in front of him,

You open your mouth, unsure of what to say next. It’s a little embarrassing that you’ve come this far and now you’re not sure what the hell to do with yourself.

“Uh, it’s loud in here,” you say, realizing how ridiculous it sounds the moment the words leave your mouth.

Taesan looks around the room for a moment, as though weighing your observation. “Yeah,” he replies, his voice low. 

You take another sip of your drink, trying to play it cool, but the alcohol’s already got your head feeling a little too light. 

You can tell by the way his gaze lingers on you that he's picking up on something. His eyes shift slightly, scanning you in a way that's more thoughtful than usual. 

"You okay?" he asks, his tone softer now. "You look a little off."

You blink, not realizing that your body has started to sway ever so slightly, the edges of your vision blurring just a little. It’s not like you’re completely drunk, but the alcohol’s definitely made everything feel hazy, and you're suddenly very aware that maybe you’ve overdone it with the drinks.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, but even to your own ears, your voice sounds a little slurred. You smile awkwardly, hoping it doesn’t come off as obvious.

Taesan raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "You sure?" He glances at your drink, and then back to you.

You nod, too eager to prove you're not completely tipsy. "Yeah, yeah, just a little tipsy." You let out a half-hearted laugh, but it doesn’t sound as confident as you hoped.

He seems to be studying you now, his expression unreadable. There's a quiet tension in the air, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve said something wrong, if you’ve ruined the moment before it even had a chance to start.

Taesan shifts a little, adjusting his grip on his drink, but doesn't say anything right away.

“Want me to get you some water?”

The offer is unexpected, and you blink at him for a moment, feeling a wave of warmth that has nothing to do with the alcohol. You hadn’t expected him to notice, much less offer to help. It’s the kind of thing you would never have expected from someone like him. 

“Yeah, maybe” You laugh a little, feeling like an idiot now. “Thanks.”

He nods once, then turns away. You can’t help but watch him for a second longer. When he returns with the water, he hands it to you wordlessly. 

You take it gratefully, immediately sipping it to try and clear some of the fog in your head. As you drink, you notice him watching you, his expression still as unreadable as always.

"Better?" he asks, his voice quieter now.

You nod, feeling the cool liquid help clear your head just a little. "Yeah, thanks," you murmur, suddenly feeling a little more grounded.

There’s a brief moment of silence between you two, the loud music and chatter of the party filling the space around you. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, unsure of how to continue the conversation now. 

You’re not sure what to say next, but for the first time tonight, it feels okay to just be here with him, even in the chaos of the party.

"Thanks," you say again, looking up at him. "I didn’t think you’d care."

Taesan looks at you. “I don’t like seeing people uncomfortable,” he says, indifferent.

You swallow, thinking back to that night again. Was it all just kindness? Had you taken his kindness as a sign that he was interested?

"You don’t seem like the type to care," you mutter under your breath, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

You blink, suddenly realizing the weight of what you just said, your cheeks flushing as you try to clarify what you mean. “I just mean, you don’t seem like the type to care.”

"It's alright," he says quietly. "But it's kind of interesting how you think you know me."

Your cheeks flush even more, a wave of warmth creeping up from your neck to your face as you try to recover from the awkwardness. 

You let out a nervous laugh, “I didn’t mean it like that,” you repeat, "You just seem like the type who doesn’t really get involved, you know?"

Taesan tilts his head slightly, considering you, his eyes never leaving your face. He takes another slow sip of his drink, clearly unbothered by your awkwardness.

"Maybe I’m not," he replies, "Maybe I am."

"You don't have to," you mumble. The alcohol, the proximity to him, and the faint warmth in the air all mix together to make you feel light-headed.

Finally, he lets out a quiet exhale and shifts slightly, lowering his voice. "I guess it depends on whether I want to or not."

Your heart skips a beat, his words hanging in the air, leaving you to wonder if you’ve misread everything. Is he toying with you? 

You take a small step back, the warmth of the alcohol in your veins making everything feel a little more intense than usual. But then doubt creeps in, maybe you’ve been overthinking this. 

Maybe he was just kind to you that night, when he helped you with the books, because that’s what he does. He’s not interested, he’s just being Taesan.

You blink, trying to shake off the feeling, but the more you think about it, the more unsure you become. You had hoped for something more, but maybe that was just wishful thinking. 

"Maybe I’m just imagining things," you think to yourself, the self-doubt sinking in. You’re tipsy, and your thoughts feel muddled. You don’t even know why you’re standing here, talking to him, trying to figure out something that probably isn’t there in the first place.

Taesan seems to notice the shift in your demeanor, but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes stay fixed on you, his posture still relaxed as if nothing’s changed. 

You open your mouth to say something, to smooth over the awkwardness, but the words die in your throat. What could you even say?

You let out a breath and try to shake off the uncertainty, turning back to the noise and laughter around you.

You open your mouth, but before you can say anything else, Rei appears next to you, snapping you out of the moment. 

“Hey! Are you guys having fun over here?” She grins at the two of you, clearly not picking up on the subtle tension in the air.

You glance at Taesan, unsure whether you should continue this conversation or just let it go. 

“Yeah, we are done talking.” you say, as if nothing had happened between the two of you just now. Though inside, you're stung by the harsh realization that Taesan’s help was just a kind gesture, not a sign of anything more, and you can’t help but feel a little foolish for thinking otherwise.

“Well, if you’re done with your little chat, there’s a whole crowd of people waiting to dance. Come on!” Rei grins, linking arms with you. “It was nice meeting you, uhm” 

“Taesan.” 

“It was nice meeting you, Taesan!” Rei says, before pulling you away toward the dance floor, her energy as infectious as ever. 

You don’t dare to glance back at Taesan, trying to forget about him all together. You shouldn’t have been foolish to think he was interested in the first place. 

The rest of the night is a blur, and by the time you’re heading home with Rei, your head’s still spinning from the alcohol, the music, and the confusing conversation you had with Taesan.

You lie in bed later, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it all. But no answers come, only more questions. 

You roll over onto your side, pulling the covers tighter around you, but it does little to ease the unease swirling inside you. The night keeps replaying in your mind, the way Taesan looked at you, his words, the strange shift in the air between you two. 

You had convinced yourself, before, that it was something more, but now it’s clear that it was nothing more than his usual detached kindness.

You sigh, frustrated with yourself. You shouldn’t have expected anything different from him. He’s always been distant, so why would tonight be any different? 

You close your eyes, but the moment when your eyes met his flashes back in your mind. A brief flicker of something, but was it real? Or were you just reading too much into it?

Your heart aches, but you push the thought away. You can’t keep dwelling on this. He doesn’t care about you like that, and you shouldn’t have let yourself hope.

As Taesan sits on his bed later that night, the dim light of his desk lamp casting long shadows across the room, his thoughts keep drifting back to the brief conversation you had at the party. 

He hadn’t meant to make things awkward. But then you’d suddenly shut down, brushing him off with that casual dismissal.

He hadn’t been prepared for that.

His fingers grip the edge of his notebook, frowning as he recalls the way you’d pulled away so quickly, the way you’d told Rei the conversation had ended when it hadn’t. 

Did he say something wrong? Did he come off the wrong way? The thought that maybe he’d hurt you lingers in the back of his mind. He couldn’t figure out why it bothered him, but it did.

Why did it matter so much? He wasn’t the type to dwell on things like this. But here he was, unable to shake the feeling that he might have said something that made you uncomfortable. 

A few weeks pass, and the rhythm of campus life carries on. You and Taesan don’t cross paths much. The occasional glance during class or passing by in the hallways, but nothing beyond that. 

You focus on your studies, drown yourself in textbooks, and try not to overthink things. Rei, Liz, and Mayu keep you distracted, as they always do, but there’s still a quiet part of you that wonders what would’ve happened if you hadn’t pulled away from Taesan that night. 

What if things had been different?

It’s late one afternoon when you run into him again. You’re walking through the library, buried in your phone, trying to find a quiet corner to study, when you bump into him. The collision is soft but unexpected, and you almost drop your phone.

“Sorry,” you mutter, not looking up. Only when the figure you bumped into doesn’t reply do you look up. It’s Han Taesan, but this time his eyes are wide with surprise, as though he hadn’t expected to see you at all.

You freeze for a second, unsure of how to react. Should you just walk away? Pretend like nothing happened between you two?

To your surprise, Taesan speaks first, his voice quieter than usual, as if he’s uncertain of what to say. “It’s fine,” he says, glancing down at your phone before meeting your eyes again. “I didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

You swallow, feeling the tension in the air. “Yeah,” you say nervously. “I was just looking for a place to study.”

He nods, glancing around briefly. The silence stretches between you two, and for a moment, it feels like both of you are unsure of where to go next.

You want to ask him how he’s been, or maybe apologize for being so cold that night, but the words seem stuck in your throat. What if he doesn’t want to talk to you at all?

But before you can say anything, Taesan surprises you by taking a small step closer, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than usual.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, the words coming out softer than you expected.

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of avoiding. It feels like the air around you has gotten thicker, heavier. 

“I didn’t mean to,” you reply, your voice quieter now. “I just didn’t think you wanted to talk after that night.”

Taesan’s brow furrows slightly, and he shifts uncomfortably, looking as though he’s trying to figure out how to respond. 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I just didn’t know how to react when you walked away with Rei so suddenly.”

“I was just confused,” he continues, looking at you more directly now. “I thought maybe I had done something wrong.”

You hadn’t meant for it to come across that way.  You let out a shaky breath, then manage a small, honest smile. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly. “I just, I guess I assumed you weren’t interested, so I backed off.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then Taesan looks at you, his expression unreadable but not distant. The corners of his mouth tug up just slightly. "I guess we're both bad at this, huh?"

"Bad at what?"

"Bad at whatever this is," Taesan says with a small shrug, his eyes flicking over you. "Talking, not sure what to call it."

Taesan shifts slightly, taking a step closer, but not enough to invade your personal space. "I don't know what I was expecting after the party," he continues. "Maybe I thought it would just be normal. But then you pulled away, and I didn't know what to think."

You nod, "I didn’t know what to think either. You were being nice, but I thought maybe you were just being kind, you know? I didn’t want to read too much into it."

You play with the string of your hoodie, slightly tugging at it. All the disappointment and feelings you’ve been trying to avoid come rushing back again now that you’re standing in front of him. 

“Were you just being kind when you helped me with my books? Would you have done the same if it were anyone else who slipped that day?”

The question hangs in the air, and you can feel your pulse quicken. Taesan’s eyes flick over to you, there’s a slight tightness in his jaw, like he's trying to process something that doesn’t come easily to him. 

"I didn’t think about it at the time but now, I don’t know. He exhales sharply, looking away. "Maybe I just wanted to."

You swallow, frustration tightening your chest. This wasn’t how you imagined this conversation would go. You thought maybe, just maybe, there was more to it, more to him. 

But now? Now you don’t know how much more of this confusion you can take. You take a step closer, the two of you being only a few inches away from each other.

"Then why?" Your voice wavers slightly. "Why did you help me at all? Why act like you care?"

“Why help me when you’ve been nothing but cold to me before? When I spilled my drink on you or when we bumped into each other on the stairs on the first day of school?”

As the words slip out, you feel the rush of heat flood your face, a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and something else, something that makes your stomach churn. 

Taesan doesn’t move, but his gaze shifts downward, like he’s avoiding your eyes. His lips part, like he’s going to say something, but he stops himself.

"I—" He starts, but he doesn’t know what to say, his heartbeat thumping in his throat. The lack of explanation hangs in the air, and you can see it now, he doesn’t know why he’s been acting this way. 

Hell, you don’t know why you’ve been acting this way.  You can feel the frustration bubbling inside you now, mixing with that strange, painful feeling that you don’t know how to name.

The way he’s been helping you, acting like he cares, like there’s something more to it, but then he tells you he doesn’t like seeing people uncomfortable? It feels cruel.

“If you don’t know,” you say, your voice more stern than before, “then stop helping me. Stop looking out for me. It’s unfair.”

The air feels thicker now. There’s a brief silence that makes your throat feel tight. Taesan looks at you. His lips twitch like he wants to say something, anything, but he doesn’t. 

Instead, he looks at you, his gaze lingering longer than usual, and for a split second, you wonder if he even understands what you’re really saying, if he feels the same frustration, the same confusion that you do. 

But just as quickly as that thought enters your mind, it fades away, swallowed by the silence. The words don’t come from him. And that’s enough of an answer, isn’t it?

You nod slowly, feeling a mix of disappointment and sadness settle in your chest. “Okay. Fine,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. 

You take a step back, not wanting to stay any longer. You didn’t expect an answer from him anyway, but the lack of one hurts more than you thought it would. 

Taesan stands frozen in place, watching as you turn and walk away from him. He doesn’t know what just happened. Why couldn’t he explain himself? Why did everything seem to come out so wrong?  

He’s never been good with words, but this was different. It’s not just that he couldn’t say his thoughts. It's like something inside him was stopping him from saying what he really wanted to say. 

Then, he catches a glimpse of your hand moving to your face, wiping at your eyes. His breath hitches in his throat. Are you crying?

His mind races, but his body stays rooted to the spot. He watches, almost helplessly, as you walk further away, your back to him now. 

He feels like he got punched in the gut, realizing that he might have hurt you, even though he never meant to. He never thought you’d react like this. Did he really make you cry?

The thought of you being upset, especially because of him, gnaws at him. He feels that familiar sense of discomfort that always seems to follow when it comes to emotions, but this time, it’s more urgent, more real. 

What’s wrong with me? Taesan thinks, his chest tightening. He wonders why he couldn’t simply tell you what was on his mind, why he couldn’t explain himself the way he should have.

For a long moment, Taesan stays where he is, standing motionless. All he can focus on is the sight of you walking away. His heart clenches with a mixture of regret and something else.

He should follow you. He should stop you, say something, apologize, explain everything. His fingers twitch at his side, an impulse to reach out, to stop you. But his feet stay rooted, and before he knows it, you’re already gone.

A few days after your encounter with Taesan, you sit at a corner table in a cozy café, holding a half-finished cup of coffee while your friends, Mayu, Liz, and Rei, sit across from you, chatting amongst themselves.

The air inside the café is warm and inviting, but your mind feels anything but.

Rei is the first to speak, breaking the silence that has settled over the table. "So, are you going to tell us what happened?" she asks, her tone teasing but laced with concern.

“I thought he liked me." Your voice fades, the words hanging in the air. Your thoughts are still jumbled, and every time you try to make sense of them, it only gets worse.

Rei leans in, her usual playful attitude slipping for a moment. “What happened? You guys have been talking a lot lately. I thought everything was fine?”

“Yeah, well, I thought so too,” you say, bitterness creeping into your voice. “But then he just couldn’t explain himself. He couldn’t even reply to me.”

Mayu stirs her drink absentmindedly, while Liz presses her lips together before speaking. “Do you think he realized he made you feel that way? Maybe he didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. He just shut down. It felt like he didn’t care at all. And now, I don’t know what to think. Maybe I read too much into everything.”

Rei exhales, shaking her head slightly. “You’re really overthinking this. Maybe Taesan’s just as confused as you are. He’s not exactly the most straightforward guy.”

“But that’s just it,” you say, your voice rising slightly. "If he cared, why did he stay silent? Why let me walk away without even trying?"

The table grows quiet, and even Rei, who usually finds humor in everything, sits back in her chair, her expression serious.

Mayu finally speaks up. “Maybe he’s not used to being vulnerable. Maybe he doesn’t know how to handle it either.”

Liz nods. “Yeah, I’ve noticed he can be closed off. Maybe he didn’t know how to fix things.”

You frown, not sure whether to believe it. “I don’t know. I can’t keep trying to figure him out when it feels like he’s not even trying to figure me out.”

Mayu’s eyes soften as she reaches over to place a hand on yours. “Hey, we’re not saying you’re wrong. You have every right to feel hurt. But sometimes, people don’t know how to handle their own emotions. It doesn’t mean they don’t care, it just means they’re lost too.”

Rei raises an eyebrow. “So, you’re saying we should give him the benefit of the doubt? You think he wants to make things right?”

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice quiet. “But it’s not like he’s trying to reach out to me. I don’t want to sit here like an idiot waiting for him to approach me.”

A long pause follows as everyone absorbs what you’ve said. Liz shifts in her seat, her fingers tapping gently on her cup. “You don’t have to wait for him. If you want to talk to him, go ahead. But don’t make it all about him making things right. You deserve someone who’s willing to put in the effort too.”

Rei nods vigorously. “Yeah. And if he’s too dumb to realize what he’s got, then we’ll find you someone better.”

“Yeah,” Mayu chimes in, “We all know Rei has got the best connections, right, Rei?”

“Of course! Ask me anytime!” The four of you burst out into laughter, easing your mind a little of all the thoughts about Taesan. 

You're running late, so so late, for a study session. 

As you walk through the crowded campus, your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out to check the message. It's from Mayu, reminding you of the study group you’ve agreed to attend. 

where r u? 

i’m omw you quickly text back before hastily stuffing your phone back into your pocket. 

You weave through the crowd of students, rushing toward the building where the study group is supposed to meet. 

As you enter the classroom, you're hit with the familiar sight: your friends have already gathered around, scattered across a table, but your eyes immediately find him. Taesan.

He’s sitting at the far end of the table, his usual neutral expression on his face as he flips through a notebook, completely absorbed in his work. You hesitate for just a moment, unsure of how to approach the situation, but quickly shake off the nerves. It’s not like you haven’t run into him before.

You hadn’t exactly expected to see him in the study group. Sure, he was in some of your classes, but you figured he’d be the type to stay away from these group study sessions.

Mayu spots you as soon as you walk in and gives you a little wave. You slide into the seat next to her, trying your best to act natural, though you can’t help but feel his presence like a weight at the other end of the table.

"You didn’t tell me Taesan was going to be here," she whispers with a raised eyebrow, her voice barely audible.

You sigh, already feeling the weight of the situation. “Yeah, well, neither did I. I had no idea he’d be here either.” You glance over at Taesan, who’s quietly working through a set of notes, the soft rustling of paper the only sound between the two of you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Taesan’s gaze again. This time, he’s not looking away so quickly. His eyes linger, just for a moment longer.

You try to ignore it, but it’s hard when you can practically feel the tension from across the table. Mayu, sensing the shift in the air, glances over at him too and lets out a small, almost dismissive sigh. “You know, if he really wanted to talk, he’d say something. You’re not the one who needs to make the first move."

You let out a long breath, running a hand through your hair again. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I mean, he’s the one who-"

But before you can finish, you catch sight of Taesan making a quick adjustment in his seat. His fingers briefly brush the edge of his notebook, and he opens his mouth like he’s about to say something.

You freeze, eyes on him, but then nothing happens. He simply closes his mouth, clears his throat quietly, and goes back to flipping through his notes, looking like he’s just as uncomfortable as you feel.

Mayu shoots you a small look. "See? It’s fine. Just focus on the work."

The study group eventually wraps up, and everyone begins to gather their things. You try to keep to yourself, making a quick exit. Immediately as you walk out the door, you’re surprised by Taesan pulling you away from the rest.

“What are you doing? I’m walking back with Mayu.” You hiss at him, annoyed at how he had suddenly pulled you away like this. 

Taesan doesn’t let go of your arm immediately, his grip surprisingly firm but not tight enough to hurt. He looks down at you and back toward the study room, where Mayu and the others are still packing up.

"I know, but I need to talk to you." 

You tug your arm out of his grasp, adjusting the bag that had slid off of your shoulder. 

He hesitates, looking conflicted for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. “I didn’t mean to make you angry.” He trails off, clearly searching for the right words. "I didn’t know how else to get you alone, and we need to talk."

"You made it pretty clear that I wasn’t worth talking to before. So why should I now?" You retort.

His face stiffens at your words, the usual impassive look falling over his features again. For a split second, he almost seems like he wants to say something, but then he presses his lips together tightly, as though debating with himself.

“I need you to know that I’m not avoiding you, or trying to make you uncomfortable. I’m just bad at this. At all of this." His voice grows quieter with each word, afraid someone else is going to hear.

You’re caught off guard by the vulnerability in his words, even if it’s not quite enough to dissolve the anger and disappointment that had been simmering since you last spoke.

"Why now?" you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "Why are you talking to me now, after all this time? Just because we’re in a study group together?”

"I don’t know," he admits, the edge of frustration creeping back into his voice. "I just... I didn’t want things to stay the way they were. And I didn’t want to keep pretending that everything was fine when it wasn’t. Not with you. Not after everything that happened."

Just as the tension between you and Taesan hangs in the air, Mayu's voice cuts through the moment.

“Hey, are you ready to leave?” she asks, her figure appearing in the corner of your vision as she stands just a few feet away, arms crossed as she watches the two of you closely.

Taesan immediately steps back, the space between you widening. You glance at Mayu, grateful for the interruption, even if it’s not quite the escape you were hoping for.

"Yeah, just about," you reply quickly, giving Mayu a small nod. You try to keep your voice steady, though you can’t help it when your voice trembles slightly.

Mayu raises an eyebrow at the two of you, clearly noticing the quiet tension, but she doesn’t say anything further. Instead, she gives you a brief look and then turns, making her way to the door. 

“I’ll wait for you downstairs,” she says with a soft smile. 

You take a deep breath, glancing back at Taesan.  “You should go.” you say, the words coming out quieter than you intended. 

Just as you start to turn away, Taesan’s voice stops you.

"Wait," he says, his tone firm, and it makes you freeze mid-step. You glance over your shoulder at him, your heart racing a little as his presence feels suddenly even more intense.

He’s standing there, hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze avoiding yours for a second before it finally meets yours. 

“I should have said something that day,” he continues, his voice softer than before. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You feel a pang in your chest. His words don’t quite match his usual demeanor, and it throws you off. You’re not sure what to do with this sudden shift in his approach.

He takes a small step closer. “I don’t expect you to forgive me or anything. I just-” He hesitates, unsure, before looking away. “I just wanted you to know that I didn’t mean to hurt you.  And I don’t want you to think I don’t care about you.”

“You’re not the problem here,” he says, almost too quickly, as if trying to convince both you and himself. “I’m not good with people. And I don’t know how to say the right things when I want to. I don’t want you to think I don’t care.”

The version of Taesan you know, the one who could be rude one moment and kind the next, feels so different now. And for some reason, hearing him say it aloud makes you question everything you thought you knew about him.

“Why didn’t you say this sooner?” you ask, your voice shaking just slightly. “Then why did you act like you didn’t care? Why push me away if you knew all along?””

Taesan runs a hand through his hair, he lets out a deep sigh. "I was scared. This is the first time I’ve felt like this,” he admits, looking at you with frustration “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to fix it, but I’m trying.”

You stare at him, trying to process everything he’s saying. 

“Look,” you say, the frustration finally bubbling over. "I’m not doing this right now. You made it clear that you couldn’t figure out how to talk to me before, and now you want to fix it all at once?" You shake your head, unable to make sense of it.

Taesan opens his mouth as if to say something, but you don’t wait for him to speak. Turning on your heel, you walk back toward the door where Mayu is waiting, the tension between you and Taesan hanging in the air like an unanswered question.

As you pass the threshold, you can feel Taesan’s eyes on you, but you don’t turn back. You’re not sure what this is, or if it’s even something that can be fixed. For now, all you want is to be somewhere else, away from this conversation, away from all of it.

Mayu is standing by the door, arms crossed and brow raised, but she doesn’t ask. She doesn’t need to. You nod at her, offering a small, strained smile.

“I’m ready,” you say quietly, and together, you head for the stairs. You’re not sure if you believe him, or if you even want to. But for now, you just need distance.

[sanccharine]

02 | first sight

single parent au, neighbours au 

pairing: single parent!san x reader   genre:  word count: 2.3k

warnings: swearing, parents could be pushy, also mentions of the cheating

summary: 

status: ongoing  a/n: really wanted to get this out so here it is. that being said, to any new people to this account, i suck at schedules so please do not expect timely posts on this series, love and peace on planet earth <3

masterlist | chapter 1 | chapter 3

“Hey.”

“Hey, hey—oh, sweetheart, we can’t see your face?” 

Well, yeah. You had your phone facing the ground. 

Biting down the groan, you looked around to locate the switch to turn on the living room lights. “Just give me a second, I’m doing something, I’ll just—” 

Fingers barely scraping the edge of the light switch, you turned on your knees, almost standing up at full height when you turned on the switch. The perks of earning money and designing the home you wanted was the fact that you installed dimmer lights. A warm welcoming amber slowly washed over the room, lighting up everything you hoped you wouldn’t see until tomorrow’s sunlight reminded you.

Moving boxes. Lone boxcutter. Discarded clothes. 

With a sigh, you took your place back on the floor and reached for your phone. 

“There you are!” your dad basically screamed, forcing you to push your phone far away from you and spam the volume button to lower the noise. 

“Here I am,” you groaned as you brought the phone back to show your face. 

You look like shit. 

“You look like shit,” your dad said, only to receive a smack from your mother. “What, it's true! Are you not eating? You look like you’ve lost weight. Is that husband of yours not feeding you—!”

His face blurred as the phone was yanked away from him and instead replaced by your mother’s face. 

“Not husband,” you joked as usual, though now more sardonic than ever before. 

“Yet,” your father added as he shoved himself back into the screen. 

For a man who could barely tell the difference between granulated sugar and powdered salt, you’re not surprised his poor observational skills extended to being unable to read the room. Or just identify emotions, for that matter. 

“That’s enough,” your mother said, standing up and moving away to another room but not before throwing your father a pointed glare. Your father protested, but he was far too lazy to actually follow your mother, so his voice died out when the door closed. With a similar sigh to you, your mother seated herself on your childhood bed. “Why are you on the floor, sweetheart?” 

If your father was as perceptive as a distracted toddler, then your mother was the exact opposite. 

Attempting to steer away from her question would be futile. 

With another sigh, you admitted. “I’m just tired I guess.” 

She pursed her lips. You could guess what she would say, but was stopping herself as you had asked her to do. At least one of your parents attempted to understand your boundaries and requests. 

Why don’t you buy a car?

“Why don’t you lie down on your bed?” 

That’s not a better question but you couldn’t fault her, she didn’t know your situation. Mentally shaking away your desire to whine, you answered truthfully. Or at least as truthfully as you could without revealing what just happened. 

“I don’t know, I just find the floor comforting I guess,” you attempted a small chuckle. It felt forced even to your ears. 

“You still haven’t set up the bed, have you,” she angled her question as a statement, if only to attempt to join in on your poor excuse. 

“No, I haven’t,” your words trailed off at the end, you couldn’t carry the light tone. Should you have said ‘we’?

“Did your fiancé not help?” 

You couldn’t look your mother in the eye. Instead, you stared past your phone and at the gray slacks on the floor. 

Your mother hummed a note of question before moving on. “Please set it up over the weekend, sweetheart.”

“I will.” You will. 

“I’ll let you go now. Eat dinner please before you go to sleep, order something if you have to,” she said, reading you as easily as a children’s tale. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”

Mumbling your ‘I love you’ back, you cut the call and dropped your phone to the floor. 

Dinner. Sleep. Work. Then the weekend. 

One more day before you could let yourself shatter into a million unidentifiable pieces that could never be put back together. One more day. 

You barely slept. The couch wasn’t exactly made for sleeping. And breakfast was a cereal bar you found at the back of your cupboard. It will have to do. 

Making sure you were somewhat presentable for a nine-hour shift, you exited your apartment. 

Just as you stepped out, you caught a glimpse of the person living opposite you. The briefest of images since he was turned away from you. The most striking feature being his broad back nearly covering the width of the door. His hair was a black tousled mess and matchingly he was dressed head to toe in black. Though, what startled you was his greeting. 

“Good morning,” his voice was low, soft, still groggy from sleep. And with that, he was in his apartment and locking his door. 

You stood at your door for a second, a hand on your door handle, the door waiting to be closed so it can automatically lock your apartment. Darting your gaze up and down the corridor, you come to the conclusion he was talking to you. So you did what anyone would do.

“Uh, morning,” although your greeting was to an empty door. 

Well, at least now you couldn’t say you never interacted with your neighbour. 

Shaking away your confusion, you made your way to the elevator and walked to the bus stop near your block. It was a short walk so the interaction was fresh in your mind. Though not for long. 

“Good morning!” a cheery tone greeted you, as you came to a stop by the bus station. You knew that voice.

In an instant, you were looking to your left. It was the young girl from last night!

“Nice to see you again,” she smiled at you, all wide and chipper. 

This time around her hair was in two braids on the other side of her face, tied up with carefully crafted purple ribbons. You doubted the bows would last the school day, though they did look adorable. Her school bag was almost more than half her size and you noticed the patterns of dinosaurs. They were hand-drawn, cartoon-like, so the dinosaurs looked a bit goofy, you supposed, but identifiable nonetheless. And the colours… were colourful, for sure, but the only thing that matters was that she likes it. So purple and dinosaurs are a favourite. Cute. 

The young girl was also holding a carry bag with containers of… cupcakes.  

“Uh, yeah, morning, kid,” you stammered much like you did with your neighbour. “Nice to see you too.”

“Did you sleep well?” she asked without missing a beat and you couldn't help but look around to check if she was still talking to you. 

No, not at all.

“Yeah, decent. You?” you asked out of politeness, still facing the road. 

“Could’ve been better, to be honest,” she chuckled to herself. “I think my father is more exhausted though.” 

“Oh, is that so?” What were you doing?

“Yeah, we were up all night making cupcakes! He stayed up much later though,” She shook the bag in her hands. Alright, they were cupcakes. 

“Oh,” you repeated as you stalled for a way to converse with a child. “Nice.” 

“Would you like to try one?” She was already reaching into her bag and opening the container. 

“Oh, no! No, it’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“Here you go, I designed this one!” 

Extending her hand, you saw the beautiful cupcake she picked out. The icing was a harmony of delicate purples, pinks, and blues. They were piped to a precision that only a steady hand could bring, the design formed a flower… the name of which slipped your mind. 

“They’re hydrangea cupcakes, because, you know,” the girl said, wiggling the cupcake in front of you like some bait. “Do they look like them?” 

You stared at the cupcake, then at her and nodded. Hydrangeas, yeah, those. 

“That’s good, I worked really hard to learn how to pipe them,” she giggled before pushing the cupcake closer to you. 

Now, would you be an asshole to reject her? 

Thinking of how to navigate this social situation, you were reminded of last night. That same smile of hers and her near-perfect manners. 

“Listen, kid, about last night,” you started, still only looking at the treat. “I hope I didn’t freak you out or—”

“No worries, I know you were only concerned for me,” she nodded, urging you to take the cupcake. “Please take it, as a thank you. My father also appreciated it.”

“Alright,” you shifted your laptop bag in your hand before taking the cupcake with an awkward smile. 

The girl just stared at you, waiting… right.

With another brief smile, you peeled the cupcake sheet to take a bite. 

Maybe it was the fact that you craved sugar from all your stress. Or perhaps the fact that you had a questionable breakfast. But the cupcake was absolutely divine. It took all of your strength not to shove the cupcake into your mouth and gulp it down. The icing was a bit too sweet for your taste, but the sponge cake balanced it out.

Gulping down a bite, you nodded. “So good.” 

Her smile widened, that sparkle in her eyes returning again and you couldn’t help but share that smile with her. Something about her carefreeness alleviated the burning in your chest. A brief reprieve from the shitshow that is your life, but a reprieve nonetheless. 

“What are you making cupcakes for?” you asked, a genuine curiosity laced in your small voice before taking another bite.

“We have a bake sale today, so,” she shuffled her bag in her hand, though only slightly so as to not mess up the treats. 

You frowned, reaching into your pocket as you asked, “hold on, should I be paying you?”

“Oh, no! No, like I said, this is a gift,” she shook her head when she saw you pull out your wallet. 

“You sure? I don’t mind,” you said, rooting to pull out some notes. “How much?”

“Seriously, it’s alright,” she grinned, pink tinting her round cheeks. She was so adorable that you felt bad for getting a free cupcake, but you doubted she’d take your money. 

Nodding, you put away your wallet before turning back to the road, both of you patiently waiting by the bus stop for your respective buses. It was so early in the morning, that the sky had barely lightened. You travelled early to beat the rush of the trains. The last thing you needed was being smushed next to other people and tolerating their presence first thing in the morning. 

Pausing your internal grumbling, you turned to the little girl and frowned. “Kid.”

She craned her neck to look up at you, a hum as her response. 

“Why are you up this early?” you asked, it was a fair question considering there were only two other students at the bus stop. A young boy and a girl, though they wore different uniforms. Surely, these buses can’t be arriving so early for these kids. 

“My school is quite far,” she said, her demeanour dimming just slightly. “So I’m the first to be picked up and last to be dropped.” 

Well, that was some terrible luck. 

“When does school start?”

“We have to be in the homeroom by seven forty-five.”

It was just about six-thirty.

“That is…” Fucked is the word you’d like to use, but you doubt that's appropriate language to use with a child. “That—That sounds awful.”

“It really is,” she agreed but then shrugged, easily shaking off her fleeting somberness. “But it gives me time to catch up on my sleep!” 

Well, that’s a positive spin. And it works considering she didn’t need to be concerned about missing her stop. 

“Fair enough,” you nodded and turned back to the road. Your bus should be here soon. 

Another silence banketed the pair of you, before your bus pulled into a stop. 

“Good luck with your sale, kid,” you mumble, before adding, “and thanks for the cupcake.” 

Her grin widened, pushing up her rosy cheeks further. It was almost cherub-like. Were kids always this adorable? That can’t be. 

“Thanks, have a good day!” she waved as you climbed in and took a seat. 

She was still waving when the bus pulled away from the stop. 

Of course, you were aware that this would happen but unfortunately, you did not see the young girl later that day. Probably because she returned home way earlier than you did. You hoped her sale went well, and considering her delicious goodies, you were sure she had no problems raking in the cash. 

Somewhat motivated about the weekend, you took a ten-minute break on your couch to ease the pain in your back before starting to clean. The first chore to tackle was the many many bags of take-out that should’ve been discarded a long time ago. Grabbing two bags in each hand to make this a one-time trip, you waddled your way out of your apartment. The garbage chute was only to the right around the corner. 

Just as you were struggling to bring your tired fingers to grab the door handle, the door opened towards you. Stepping back, you shifted your bags to a more comfortable position, waiting for the person to step out. But instead of simply leaving, the person stayed, holding the door for you. 

“Good evening,” they said. Low and delicate. You knew that voice. No longer slow from grogginess anymore. 

And much like in the morning, you fumbled your words. What is with the residents of this building?

“Uh, thanks—and yeah, good evening to you too,” you couldn’t have sounded more reluctant. You stepped into the garbage room as you spoke, pointedly avoiding looking at your neighbour. 

“No problem,” is all he said, before letting the door close after him. You turned in time just to catch his profile, his eyes scrunched shut with a small upward curve at the corner of his lips. 

Was he laughing at you?

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: hey chat realistically how long does it take to get over a breakup HFKJSDF

masterlist | chapter 1 | chapter 3

taglist: @eternallyghosting

[dixonsdarkelf]

Daryl Dixon & The Weird Girl Headcanons

In which Daryl is dating the weird, off-putting girl who looks like she could lead a cult. As a weird, off-putting girl who looks like she could lead a cult, I felt called to do this one. I took this down the road of Reader having a creepy/spooky/witchy 'cult' vibe.

Saw this post from the lovely @bambidixon & came up with some headcanons. I hope y’all like them 🖤

Remember, these are MY OPINION. If you disagree, that’s fine, but play nice. I'm still new to doing headcanons, so please be gentle. I may add to this as time goes on.

Warnings: mentions of the following: cults (duh), death, bugs, spiders, taxidermy, animal bones, seances, ghosts/witchy shit

➼ Honestly, he’d be hesitant to approach you at first, wondering if perhaps you were in fact a cult leader in the old world. But he’d be drawn to that strangeness about you.

➼ After getting to know you, though, he’d come to appreciate all of your little quirks, and they’d be his favorite things about you.

➼ He’d be sure to pick and bring you any sort of half-dead or withered flowers he finds so you can dry and press them. He’d also bring you more unconventional plants like ivy, moss, and mushrooms.

➼ You’d decorate your home with all the plants he brings you—ivy hanging from the banisters and curtain rods, dried flowers in vases in the living room, etc.

➼ He would be incredibly protective of you. Not that he wouldn’t normally, but he knows a lot of people have some not-so-nice things to say about you, and he’d quickly put any of those people in their place.

➼ Being a weird, off-putting girl involves having some weird, off-putting interests, such as death, taxidermy, and entomology (the study of insects). Speaking of bringing you things, he’d collect things like animal bones and dead insects for you to add your collection.

➼ If you wore makeup, he’d love to watch you do it. Anything he comes to learn about makeup would be from you. He’d learn your favorite shades of eyeshadow (the dark colors of course) and while he might be intimidated by your black lipstick at first, it would eventually become his favorite shade on you.

➼ You’d make him gifts with your own little twist to them. You’d cut up scraps of fabric from old clothes and paint skulls and spooky things on them to make patches for his vest or jeans, carve astrological or witchy designs into a candle, or make him an ashtray shaped like a spider or beetle.

➼ He likes your style and how you’re not afraid to wear what you want and express yourself through your attire, the bullshit others have to say be damned.

➼ He’d let you paint his nails to match yours. He loves it, even if he pretends to do so begrudgingly.

➼ When going on runs with him, you’d joke that every house you passed was a ‘haunted house’ and talk about the times you did seances with your friends before the outbreak. He’s heard those stories more times than he can count, and he never gets sick of them.

➼ You love to play into the rumor started by some kids in the community that you’re a witch, and he thinks it’s hilarious.

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract @dixons-sunshine @tinysunshine

Hit me up if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist 🖤

GIF and © below were made by me, pink sparkle and 'continue reading' dividers are by @anitalenia

[vampiriccollective]

I….. what do you mean the head mod told someone to put a trigger warning for ROMANCE in the comments under a community post. WHAT

Im sorry what in the 2020 discord server is this

[randomshiptime]

credit to randomlifelog24 on X/Twitter, account deleted

[ambitions-of-an-eccedentesiast]

each panel is a different camera angle and they also move a good amount in the room- help me.

Next->

<-Previous

[lilpea]

Does anyone here have a Bluesky account? I just finished following everyone I followed on my fandom twitter and it's pretty chill so far!

My account is lttlepea, same as my twitter!

[carpet-gremlin]

utr&y new home spoilers!!

FLOWEY STALKS YOU IN NEW HOME??!!??!???!?

that’s a freaking JUMPSCARE omg

I took a couple of screenshots but my dialogue glitched and I accidentally saved before I remembered so I can’t get it again or try to get a screenshot of flowey himself. so oh well. but like

!!!!

[faithinlouisfuture]

i honestly don’t understand why Niall is not getting more flack for that selfie backstage?

there’s a host of reasons actually

from his solo fans; the age old ‘my fav can do no wrong and has no agency and was forced into this’ excuse

from directioners with quarter of a brain cell who can recognize that liam is a walking red flag; they’re letting it go because the only person they ever want to hold accountable for anything (even things that have nothing to do with him) is louis, all the rest of them get a free pass

from harries & zquads; because they can’t make this about louis, even though so many of them have tried their hardest do (they miss him so much 🥹)

and listen i’m no Niall fan but the other day i saw someone’s tweet that was quite accurate, they had said something to the effect of; liam payne seems like the sort of dangerous and unhinged person who everyone around him has to handle in a certain way because if you don’t then he’ll crack and air all your dirty laundry online since he’s hit rock bottom & has nothing left to lose … which is something i agree with, i’m sure that Niall wasn’t pleased having to take that selfie and being dragged into this shit show

[hauntingmiser]

Istg Tumblr / YouTube stop giving me ads w/ ai or some sexual shit cuz I'm sick and tired of this shit

[apocalypticdemon]

only seven more weeks before I never have to do ethnographic work again. it's so far away but also..... so close.....

[fushitoru]

i can't stop looking at his d—d—d—d—FACE!

pairings ⸺ (SEPERATE) boy next door!gojo x reader, wrestler!toji x reader, gym trainer!sukuna x reader, pizza delivery boy!choso x reader, husband's boss!nanami x reader, perv on train!geto x reader

summary ⸺ jjk men as overused p0rn/h3ntai plots! inspired by this awesome post by the talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular @/osamucide! pls check it out and the rest of his work :3

warnings ⸺ SMUT (mdni), consent is pre-established in all scenarios (but dub con just in case), everyone is of age (or older), exhibitionism, infidelity in nanami’s, pussy drunk men lol, not edited (as always), cowgirl, missionary, creampies, VERY public sex in toji’s, art by 3-aem, lmk if I’ve missed anything!

a/n lolll i'm ngl this was so fun to write. some of these scenarios are so funnny hELP. this one is also for some of the anons who are so obsessed w choso and sukuna in bridgerton au. wrote them for you 🫡 choso’s is my fav hehe

NEW: part 2 here

general masterlist

SUKUNA RYOMEN ⸺ HOTTIE'S PERSONAL TRAINER HAS A VERY HANDS ON APPROACH!

“Brat!” Sukuna’s voice cuts through the air like a whip. “Watch your back. You’re supposed to be hinging your hips back, not whatever lazy shit you were doing.”

He steps around to your side, the heavy thud of his boots on the gym floor adding to the oppressive weight of his presence. Squatting down, he sets his hips back in one smooth motion, demonstrating with sharp precision. “Like this. Not whatever the fuck that was.”

You glance at him, your legs trembling under you. Sweat clings to your skin, a thin sheen that feels heavy after the grueling thirty minutes with your personal trainer. Sukuna definitely takes the "tiger mom" approach, every tattoo on his body echoing the sharp, uncompromising authority in his eyes. Right now, those eyes bore into you, narrowed with impatience, his hands on his hips. His scowl is practically carved into his face—stone-hard and unmoving.

Breathing hard, you slump forward, hands gripping your knees as you gasp for air. Your heartbeat drums loudly in your ears. “Sukuna, g-give me a sec. I just—fuck—” You can barely string a sentence together between gulps of air. “I just maxed out. My legs are literally shaking.”

Sukuna clicks his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment, but his voice softens—just a little. “Fine. Catch your breath. But as you do that, let’s practice proper form.”

You nod exhaustedly, not being able to think very clearly. Wiping the sweat to prevent it from getting into your eyes, you put your legs hip width apart as Sukuna gets behind you to observe your form. You bend down, trying to sit back onto your hips as best as possible, but as soon as your ass grazes Sukuna’s crotch, you lose the form in your back in surprise. “Sorry—”

“That was wrong.” Sukuna’s voice is in your ear as he puts his hands on your hips, and you are dizzy with the contact. “Here.” Both of you squat down, Sukuna’s hard body moving right behind you, and at the lowest position, Sukuna’s thumb roves over the fat of your ass, and they leave your hips to trace up your back. “Your back should be neutral, otherwise you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“O—okay,” you breathily reply, dizzy with the way he was touching you. If you listened closely, it almost sounded as if you were whimpering. Unfortunately for you, it seemed like Sukuna was more observant than you had hoped because he was looking at you in suspicion, eyes raking up and down your figure to observe your appearance. Disheveled, chest rising rapidly, sweat dripping right in the middle of your breasts—

Sukuna, out of nowhere, grabs your hand and begins walking away. “Come with me. You’re not doing them right.”

Soon, you’re led into one of the gym’s stretching rooms—the private ones, the ones meant for Sukuna to help you after the workout. 

“Sukuna, what are we—” you breathlessly ask, but you’re quickly shushed by Sukuna as he hoists himself on the massage table.

“Come here,” he motions to his lap, and you wordlessly follow his directions, sitting directly on top of his lap, gasping as you realize there’s a bulge making contact with your pussy. “We’re going to try an alternative way of doing squats, one that involves a bit more cardio.” He pulls down his sweatpants, blushing, furious cock springing out as he pulls down your yoga pants.

Soon, you’re moaning as you slowly take in his cock, sliding down as his precum and your copious amount of slick mix and drip onto his pelvis. Your feet are on either side of his legs, making you squat every time you lower yourself down on his length.

“Fuck! You’re so tight.” He slaps your ass as you bounce yourself rapidly on his cock. “Pretended to not know how to squat just for me to put this fat cock in you, isn’t that right?”

You didn’t have the capacity to answer, just moan as his cock hits your spot. Unsatisfied with your pace, Sukuna flips you both over until your back is on the table. 

“Oh fuck yea,” Sukuna pants, hips pistoning into you rapidly, effectively fucking you into the table, and his quads are bulging in sheer strength as they clench and unclench in reflection of his pleasure. “Didn’t know my client had such a sweet pussy.”

KAMO CHOSO ⸺ SHE ORDERS BIG SAUSAGE PIZZA AND GETS HER DEEP DICK CRAVINGS FILLED! (the title is so ridiculous im crying)

“Your total’s $14.93. You’re five bucks short.” The delivery boy—an emo looking guy with hair in space buns—responds to the wad of cash and coins you had just given him. He couldn’t look any less bored than he was as he stared down impassively at you, hot, steaming pizza in one hand.

"Wait, but I ordered a small?" You ask him in confusion. "I couldn't possibly finish a large one by myself!"

He pulls out your receipt from where it was tucked into the pizza box. "Your order said a large." Upon glancing on it, you look that he was indeed correct—right next to your pizza, the size LARGE glared at you through the sheen of the reciept's paper.

"Oh," You said, dumbly, blinking in confusion. "Well, I can pay the rest in card if that's okay."

You get an impassive "I don't have a card reader."

"Oh, okay," you laugh nervously, hand going up to scratch the back of your head and fiddle with the rest of your fingers. "Okay, well," you squinted at his nametag, "Choso, let me just check the remaining cash I have. You can come inside if you'd like." 

He comes inside, dropping off the pizza you ordered on your kitchen counter as he makes his way to sit on your couch. You go to your bedroom, checking your desk drawer for any loose cash you may have stored but to no avail. Heart racing and nervous, you frantically search the upper shelf of your room, on your tiptoes as you look for your money jar, praying that there was a 5 dollar piece of cash lying around. Instead, your fingers crash against some book propped on it, tumbling down onto the floor with a large thud!

You hear footsteps coming up to your bedroom door. Choso, standing near the door. "You good?"

"Yea," you strain, still reaching up high to grasp at the jar. "I'm just trying to find somethi—”

The heat of Choso's body surrounds you as he presses closer to you, reaching up effortlessly to grab at the money jar. His groin presses against your backside, acutely aware of his breaths as he passes you the jar. 

Which is empty.

"Fuck!" you curse. You turn, looking at Choso in anxiousness, as you notice he hasn't backed away at all. "I'm sorry, but is there any alternative way to pay for the pizza? Again, I'm really really sorry for the hassle."

"You have to pay for the food in some sort of way," he says with a stony face. Your mind is racing, thinking of ways you could pay but coming up short.

As a result, you end up with your face stuffed against your pillow, the hot delivery boy plowing and drilling his cock into you. 

"Fuck, so irresponsible. Couldn't even pay for the pizza she ordered without a stranger's cock inside of her." At his dirty talk, you whimper and squeeze your pussy, Choso groaning as a result.

"What was that?" He grabs your hair and pulls your face up as his tongue traces the frame of your ear. "What were you trying to say, you cockslut?"

"'M sorry!" You squealed and babbled, eliciting little ah! ah! ah!'s as he continues bumping his cockhead against the gooey spot inside your pussy.

"Yea, you better be. Wasting my fucking time. I'm going to come inside, got it?" Choso growls as he continues pistoning his hips inside.

GETO SUGURU ⸺ ANIME GIRL GETS HER PUSSY FINGERED ON PUBLIC TRAIN!

He pulls you in for a deep kiss while rutting inside you. "Aren't you my good girl? Taking this cock for me like a good girl?" You squeal, blabbering nonsense as he fucks you into next Tuesday…

You read the smut from your favorite author on Tumblr, devouring each word while remaining stony faced as the train rocked underneath your feet. In the corner facing the doors, you made sure that you were angled in such a way that no one would be able to see the filthy things you were reading on your screen. 

However, the metro was slowing down and you looked up quickly—which was painful, considering you were so invested in the story—to make sure it wasn't your stop. As the rush of foot traffic simultaneously populated and vacated the metro, you paid no attention to the people behind you. After all, other people would be too busy on their phones to see what you were reading, right?

"You're going to take this cum, right? I'm going to breed you, my sweet, sweet girl." He laughs.  You take a moment to take in his pretty features. Long hair, beautiful face, all filled with lust for you...

You scan the words, blush evident on your face as your favorite writer has done it yet again. Adjusting, you squeezed your thighs for relief and toyed with the hem of your skirt, failing to notice the soft breaths trailing down the back of your neck just because of how enthralled and taken you were with the plot.

And then, a hand trailed up your thigh, catching you by alarm. You almost drop your phone in your rush to turn and look at the creep that was touching you, ready to beat the shit out of him. 

But when you do turn, you stop and widen your eyes. The man in front of you seems even prettier than the fictional man you were reading about, and you take him in as he rubs circles on your thigh. His sultry eyes rake down your figure, his lips pulled back in a knowing smirk. "That's some filthy shit you're reading."

Looking at him, your heart starts beating faster solely because of the promise of what his hands would do as they were currently softly stroking your thighs, getting closer and closer to going under your shirt. "I—I—uh sorry—I—"

"It's okay, pretty girl." He gives you a kiss on the side of your neck. "Continue reading it. Can you do that, baby?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. Coincidentally, you're at the part where the man helps the girl masturbate, rubbing and teasing her pussy up and down. The man behind you does the same, teasing your lips while refusing to delve inside your panties, no matter how badly you want him to do.

"That feel good?"

You whimper. "Yes—ah—it feels good. Please touch me on my pussy directly. Please."

The man behind you chuckles, and your knees buckle at how rich his voice is. You would join a cult for this man. "Since you asked so nicely, I will. Call me Suguru."

His fingers pull your panties aside and enters, soon knuckle deep inside your cunt, and as quietly as you can, you moan his name as he continues fingering you in front of all the strangers on the train. His hips press closer to your ass, and you throb even more at the huge bulge he’s sporting. He’s sloppily licking on the outside of your ear, right where you’re sensitive, and you shiver and lose yourself in the pressure even more.

The pleasure was building in you steadily and Suguru groans. “That’s right, take it all.”

You almost jump when the PA sounds. "The next stop is Shinjuku."

“That’s my stop. You have to cum before then, or you won’t be able to cum,” Suguru whispers in your ear, speeding up and hitting your g-spot with precision. There are tears forming in your eyes as you make an effort to stay quiet, especially with Suguru giving seductive kisses to your sensitive neck. 

“Fuck, you got so tight,” he groans. “Gonna cum?” He uses his thumb to rub fast circles on your clit, and you see stars. 

“I will—I will,” you cry, as the throbbing and pulsing sensation grows faster and faster until finally, you cum with a muffled cry, because Suguru has his fingers in your mouth to ensure you don’t scream out on this very, very public train.  “Squeezing my fingers so much, relax,” Suguru laughs, popping his slick-coated fingers in his mouth. “You gonna do that to my dick next?”

NANAMI KENTO ⸺ BEAUTIFUL WIFE HAS TO FUCK HER HUSBAND'S BOSS! (NTR)

“Mr. Nanami,” you scrape a hand through your hair and clear your throat. “You wanted to see me?” 

For a moment, your husband’s handsome boss eyes you down, catching on the top button of your blouse currently unbuttoned. You mainly did it because of nervousness, the heat of the room escalating with Nanami Kento’s presence. After a long bout of intimidating silence, he finally speaks. “I assume you can guess why you are here?”

You bounce your knee as you sit across from the man, and you suddenly start sweating. Of course you can guess. Your bum of a husband—the one currently under your charge—neglects to do his deliverables, choosing to take comfort in the fact that you were his higher-up to trust that he would not be getting terminated for his lack of responsibility. 

But what he doesn’t know is that you’ve been begging Nanami not to fire him, despite the propelling and clear reasons to do so. And you fear the day he finally chooses to stop listening to you. 

“Team leader, I’m going to need much more convincing. Your team has been decreasing in productivity ever since your husband joined, and it’s hindering the company,” he reminds you stoically. “I’ve seen you working overtime far too frequently to cover up for your spouse’s negligence.”

You wish time would speed up just to get this difficult conversation with. “I—I’m going to be honest, Mr. Nanami. I don’t have much warrant to continue having him on the team, but it would put my family in much…emotional conflict if this were to happen.” The said emotional conflict would really only be from your husband. You’re sure he’s going to take this as an excuse to drink himself silly, blaming you for not being able to keep him employed. Your throat dries as you finally meet eyes with your boss, silently pleading him to come up with a solution.

“I see.” Nanami crosses his arms. “I suppose there is a…favor you could do for me.”

At that, you perk up and nod your head frantically. “Of course. Anything.”

Which is why you find yourself bent over Nanami’s desk, his cock drilling inside you. He’s ripped your stockings, pulled up your miniskirt, and put your panties to the side as he moans about how sweet your pussy feels. “I’ve been waiting for this forever. Tell me, is my cock better than his?”

“It is!” you squeal. “You’re so—so big!”

Nanami moans as he ruts inside you, your walls squeezing him tight. “Darling, I c—can tell he doesn’t treat you right. You are so tight around me, pussy’s been waiting for a while for a real man.” 

You moan and curse, blabbering affirmations while his dick impales you. Even though Nanami is the one who’s owed the favor here, his hands wind their way around your body to rub at your clit, simulating you even more, making you sob. “Please don’t stop!”

“I won’t ever, sweetheart,” he pants. “I’m going to finish inside her, okay? Make sure to keep it in when you go home and greet your husband.”

FUSHIGURO TOJI ⸺ BABE GETS IMMEDIATELY DESTROYED IN NAKED WRESTLING (WITH AN AUDIENCE) (find extended ver here!)

Cheers surround you as you step into the arena. You know who your opponent is—-Fushiguro Toji. Even when you looked at his pictures earlier, you knew you were doomed. No matter what angle the photographer took the photos in, his muscles seemed to be bulging, effectively spelling out the sore defeat you were about to face today.

And there he is. Him in the flesh. He’s leaning against the boxing ring’s outer borders, head tilted back lazily while his manager, Shiu, was informing him quickly (and intensely) about the rules of today.

Nothing crazy. Only fuck when all clothes are off of her.

The way his neck is tilted back, compression shirt showing off his upper physique made you weak in the knees already. Additionally, judging based off of the bulge he seemed to be sporting in his grey sweatpants, you knew you were doubly fucked.

Shiu seems to be done talking, so he steps back and takes a seat. Toji leans his head back, rolling his neck to stretch it out, and in the middle of doing so, catches your eye.

You almost drench your panties.

His eyes darken, giving you a sultry look as he cheekily winks. While his cocky demeanor was warranted (he was much stronger and bigger than you), your cheeks heated up in both arousal and irritation.

The sound of a whistle is heard as music starts to play. The stadium’s screens flashes the cocky image of Toji, who saunters in the middle of the ring, flexing his muscles to his screaming fans.

When your signature theme plays, you do the same, to no shortage of fans yourself. You can feel everyone in the stadium, especially your male fans, rove over your figure. You’re wearing a very low cut top that displays the swell of your boobs and even tighter shorts that squeeze your ass and show off the shape of your pussy. As you walk towards Toji, you can feel his heavy gaze on you as you nervously shake his hand.

“Try to last long, okay?” Toji smirks, patting your shoulder. “I’ll try to drag this out as much as I can, but it’s gonna be fuckin hard if that ass is grinding against me.”

You glare at him, but there’s not much intensity there. “Yea, yea,” you huff. “For all I know, you’ll be my personal dildo today.”

And the fucker’s smile widens. “Let the games begin.”

Soon enough, the sound of the whistle draws you towards each other, keeping each other in a lock to tackle the other down in an objective to take off layers of their clothing. Your fans cheer when you have Toji underneath you for a split second, only for female ones to become more riotous as he easily overtakes you, pins your hands down, and wrenches your shorts off of you.

“Toji is currently in the lead!” The announcer’s voice in the stadium echoes of your defeat as you flail around, now bottoms only covered by your panties. Deciding to pull out your signature move, you maneuver so your thighs surround Toji’s waist and hump your hips against his bulge. This momentarily distracts and weakens Toji, and you take full advantage of it by overtaking him and now straddling him. You quickly take off his shirt, salivating at the muscles you see. The whole stadium, in fact, can his abs and pecs glistening with sweat.

Your attention is back to Toji as he chuckles darkly. “You’re going to regret that. I was going to drag this out, princess, but I gotta fuck the brat out of you.” With that, he puts his whole body weight on you and strips you down one by one.

The arena cheers as your lace bra is uncovered, your sweat shining on the screen as your breasts are displayed. Toji then unhooks your bra, and the roars get even louder as your tits pop out. He takes a moment to grope them, your whines ignored as he pinches your nipples. “What a sensitive girl,” he coos. “Too bad she was too weak. Now she’s going through to have to take my cock.

With that, he finally unveils your glistening pussy for all eyes to see and the crowd goes wild, chanting for Toji to finish inside you. Toji flips you over so you’re on your hands and knees and pulls down his pants.

You don’t look back at the monster that’s about to enter you for the sake of your mental health, but your legs are shaking in anticipation of his cock, slick dripping down your thighs.

“Fuck.” And Toji’s slowly entering you, the humiliating plap! plap! plap! of his hips against the flesh of your ass echoing multiple strangers watch your pussy get wrecked. “The fuck this pussy’s so tight for? Thought you were a slut?”

You’re tearing up, but not fucked out enough to prevent you from snarkily replying, “You’re not turning me on, small dick.”

He did not like that very much.

Toji drills his hips into yours faster and slaps your ass multiple times consecutively. “Yea, so why is she clenching so fucking much? Why is she dripping? Just for that, I’m going to come inside of your slutty pussy.”

The crowd chants cum, cum, cum! and Toji just does that. Ropes of his cum fill you, and you drop down in exhaustion to hear Toji declared as winner.

GOJO SATORU ⸺ GIRL GETS FUCKED BY PEEPING TOM NEXT DOOR!

You sigh, extending your back and un clipping your bra, letting your tits bounce free after a long, long week of college. It was finally Friday night, and with no one in the house due to a party the rest of your family was attending, you could finally enjoy your time home on the holidays, starting with a solo session.

You clench your thighs in anticipation as you scrolled your phone, seeking an audio you could masturbate to. And you were close to finding one, until you felt eyes on you.

These eyes were nothing new. The boy next door, Gojo Satoru, has also been your crush since middle school. Even though neither of you have ever made a move, you’ve made bold moves since starting college, stripping with the blinds open to give him a show. You had kind of had a sixth sense as to when the fucker would start watching you, and it flared as you slowly dragged your hands down. Bending over and shaking your ass, you slipped your skimpy shorts down your legs, giving him a clear view of your wet pussy.

But masturbating wasn’t enough for today. None of the college frat bros could make you cum, no matter how much they boasted about their fuckin roster, and you were tired of Satoru just watching. Just seeing him work out shirtless in his lawn, sun shining his sweat to give him a golden halo, was enough to make you sick, hungry for his dick. The way he was so shy and the mannerisms he had (as a loser) let you know he had a big fucking dick.

Needless, to say, you were tired of just fantasizing and speculating about his dick. Turning around, the moonlight allowed you to see the silhouette of his wrist moving up and down his length, even if he had tried to make his best effort to darken his rooms. Putting on your best show of an angry face, you grab your phone aggressively and dial his number.

The line rings, and he picks up. “Hey,” and you can tell he’s a little breathless. “long time no see. What’s up?”

“Cut the fucking act out,” you spit. “I know you’ve been fucking watching me, perv.”

Satoru’s panic is comically obvious over the phone as he rushes his words. “Wait, wait—listen, I—I can explain.”

“On how you’re being a peeping tom?” You glare at his window. “Come over, Gojo. Then I’ll listen to your fucking explanation.”

One thing leads to another, and now you’re spread out on your childhood bed, Gojo whimpering and whining as he plows his dick into your pussy. “You feel so—so good. M’ sorry—sorry for doing that. Your pussy is too good for me to look at.”

You laugh meanly and grab his chin. “You feel sorry yet, you pervert?” And Satoru can only cry out as you yank his head. “Remember, this is the only fucking thing you’re good at. Being my glorified dildo. Got it? Now, you’re going to fill me up only after you make me cum at least two times.”

a/n yea this was depraved….lmk what yall think tho 😭

comment and reblog I’d love to hear your thoughts! (also, requests are open heheh)

NEW: part 2 here!

[xavierfan]

more bre3ding/cr3amp1e p-links pls 🫣

warnings: sexual content below! p-links and sexually explicit descriptions are in this post

i genuinely don't know what to say anymore but this is sylus. on everyone's soul, THIS IS SYLUS

this one too

this too

sylus likes to fuck his seed back into you himself, he does so quite softly. it's an extremely intimate act when he does it, he's gentle and slow, and it's really not about possession to him. he just likes it— the warmth, the slickness, the sound, and the lewdness of it all.

> heavy breeding kink with no hints of possessiveness, he straight up just wants you to have his kid idfk. he would definitely say stuff like, "you're going to make a wonderful mother to our kids." / "kitten, one day you're going to get pregnant and i'm going to be so lucky." / "fuck, kitten, you want me to fuck my cum back into you, right? you want me to get you pregnant, right?"

idk why but this one gives me a caleb vibes

this one is also him

this one too

this too 😭😭😭

i keep adding caleb links im tweaking

caleb really enjoys watching his cum leak out of you. he would tease you, "pipsqueak, you're wasting it", as he just watches you squirm. to him, this is something akin to 'marking' you, walking up behind you later while out talking about, "think you're still leaky, pip."

> he's also probably got a crazy breeding kink mixed with a little —or a lot— bit of crazy obsession idfk, shit like "when your belly gets big, everyone's going to know who you belong to" / "one day i'm gonna get you pregnant" / "you'd look so good carrying my child, pips" / "if you let it all out, you'll hurt my feelings pips."

i think rafayel kind of goes feral once you let him cum in you... like he just keeps going idk

teasing him

rafayel is less breeding kink more crazy about you. loves anything to do with you, sex is not an exception, and he puts you on a pedestal a little differently to the rest of the boys. a bit like a mutt, you let him cum in you and suddenly he can't stop rutting into you, trying to chase another high.

> less breeding kink, more pathetic subby male who is so fucking excited to be fucking you. "fuck. fuck. fuck. 'm gonna cum again, please? please let me keep going?" / "princess, you feel soo good, please." / "princess, i'm sorry, let's keep going..." / "i'll be so good for you, princess, let me keep going."

sorry i know you specifically asked for breeding and i know this isn't but it still has cum ...

this is also zayne idk

zayne....

zayne rarely ever finishes inside of you, citing that it's not good for you, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to. idk how to explain it, he doesn't let himself finish inside of you because he's worried he'll lose self control.

> heavily likes the idea of breeding, like it probably takes everything in his body to not ram into you as he feels his balls squeeze, probably in your ear talking about "you'd look so beautiful pregnant." / "want to start a family with you." / "one day i'm going to get you pregnant, no need to worry." / "if you keep asking me to cum in you, i just might one day..."

i think xavier would like you fucking yourself with his cum... like shoving anything that comes out back inside

this one too

anotha one

xavier just wants to watch your fingers plug your hole up to prevent any more spillage. it brings a smile to his face to see how desperate you are to keep all of his seed inside of you, it probably gets him hard all over again prompting him to say something like, "don't worry, there's more where that came from."

> no specific breeding kink per say but likes the possessive element of pregnancy like caleb, "they'll know what we get up to at night." / "maybe when you're pregnant he'll stop coming up to you" / "want everyone to know how good you make me feel every night"

notes : i couldnt find that many links 😭😭😭 i've been searching all day so i'm sorry anon... pls forgive me... i hope the little blurbs makeup for the lack of links :(