#and if you try to talk about it with the characters they won’t understand what you’re talking about because they never experienced it

[loulou-land]

'Cause all of my enemies started out friends

So, I have no idea what this is, I just needed to work through some feelings. This was a challenge to write because its 95% dialogue heavy and that's never been my strong suit. But I really needed Tommy and Eddie to argue apparently. Fair warning, this isn't Eddie friendly, though I really tried not to go into character bashing. Please let me know if I need to include a warning for that.

Spoilers for 8x17 | arguing, mentions of grief, mild physical altercation, dialogue heavy, mild hurt/comfort | 1,625 words

“What did you say to him?” Tommy asks when he comes into the kitchen. 

“Oh, so now you’re talking to me?” Eddie doesn’t look at him, just keeps stacking dishes in the sink. 

Tommy folds his arms, keeping a careful distance. “You’re the one who cut ties, Diaz. And believe me, I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t have to.” 

He hates that it’s come to this. Eddie had been a good friend—someone Tommy genuinely thought understood him. But then he’d dropped him without a word, like he was yesterday's trash. And yeah, that had hurt more than Tommy wants to admit. He gets it, loyalty is complicated, and Evan was Eddie’s best friend. Still, that doesn’t excuse whatever’s been going on between them lately. Not when it’s left Evan looking so small and acting skittish. 

Eddie scoffs. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means,” Tommy says, locking eyes with him, “I’m pretty sure Evan left a lot out when he told me what happened. He downplayed it. I can see it in how careful he is around you. Like he’s afraid to say the wrong thing. So I’ll ask again—what did you say to him?” 

“Jesus,” Eddie mutters, shaking his head. “That’s what this is about? We had an argument. We moved past it—or at least I thought we did. But of course, Buck’s making it out to be bigger than it was. Making it all about him again. Has to be the one hurting the most.” 

Tommy stills. His voice, when it comes out, is quiet but razor sharp. “Is that what you told him? That he’s making it about himself?”  

Eddie finally looks at him, like he’s surprised Tommy’s even making an issue of this. 

“Eddie,” Tommy continues, voice tight with restraint, “Bobby died. His father in everything but blood. Evan’s allowed to hurt. However loud, however long he needs to. You don’t tell someone how to grieve.”

Something shifts in Eddie’s expression, turning defensive, bitter. “I lost Bobby too. And you—god, you don’t have any idea what that was like for me. For any of us. You’re not part of the 118. Not our 118.” 

The words cut straight through him, but Tommy doesn’t flinch. He takes a breath, rubs a hand through his hair, grounding himself. 

“You’re right. I’m not part of your family. But Bobby still meant something to me. And I was there Eddie. I might not have seen what it did to you, I saw what it did to Evan though. You didn’t—���

He pauses, remembering how helpless he felt, watching Evan break through a tiny screen, being unable to get to him. He meets Eddie’s stare, “You didn’t watch him fall apart.” 

“I should’ve been there,” Eddie says, sidestepping Tommy’s statement. Tommy wishes he could be surprised, but he’s starting to understand why Evan doesn’t feel like he can talk about his feelings. “I could’ve done something. I—”

Tommy lets out a bitter laugh. “I’m sorry, did I miss the part where you’re a miracle worker? A genius scientist with a cure in your back pocket?” 

Eddie squares his shoulders, puffing up with practiced intimidation. Tommy nearly rolls his eyes, but he knows baiting him won’t help. 

Still, Eddie stalks closer, jaw clenched. “Fuck you. You—”

“We all did what we could,” Tommy snaps, finally losing some of his own restraint. “I’m sorry you weren’t there. I really am. But don’t take your guilt out on Evan. He’s already drowning in his own and still trying to take care of everyone at the same time.”  

Eddie scoffs. “He’s spiraling, that’s what he is. And what the hell do you even know about Buck’s guilt? His pain?” he shoots back. “You dumped him. Left him.  And now what? He puts out one time and suddenly you think that gives you the right to waltz back in. He’s hurting, and you’re using that to your advantage.” 

Tommy’s whole body tenses. He can’t believe Eddie is insinuating he’s using Evan. That he would be that kind of person. And using the worst mistake he’d ever made, leaving Evan, against him? Something he’s regretted from the moment he left. 

He inhales sharply, fist clenched at his sides. Not because he’s thinking of swinging—never that. But the bite of his nails digging into his palms helps ground him. 

“Don’t you ever say that to my face again, Diaz. Or to Evan, for that matter,” he says, trembling with anger. “I’m here for him—in whatever way he needs me. I’m not asking for anything. I’m not expecting anything. Which is more that I can say for you.” 

Eddie reels back, nostrils flaring. His eyes flash angrily and Tommy braces himself. 

“No,” Eddie growls. “You don’t understand. Don’t pretend you know anything about our relationship.” 

“I know Evan!” Tommy interrupts. He refuses to let Eddie bait him with that dig. 

“You don’t know what Buck and I have been through. The bond we have. He’s like a brother to me.” 

Tommy stares at him, incredulous. “Brother?” He huffs out a sharp breath. “You barely treat him like a friend.” 

Eddie’s face twists. He jabs a finger toward Tommy’s face. “Shut the fuck up. Don’t talk about shit you don’t understand.” 

Tommy doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just meets Eddie’s fury head-on. 

“Diaz,” he says, voice tightly controlled. “Back off, before I break that finger.” 

“I love Buck. He’s family,” Eddie snaps, using the words like a defense. Like that single word erases all the damage he’s done.

Tommy bites the side of his cheek to hold in his immediate response. He breathes through it. Damn it. He’s not going to throw a punch. Not at someone Evan still loves, still looks up to—even if they don’t deserve it right now. 

He won’t be the one to hurt the people Evan holds close. Not even when they’ve done plenty of damage themselves. 

Tommy exhales, slow and steady. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.” 

“Excuse me?” Eddie asks, a hitch in his voice now. 

Tommy meets his eyes, unflinchingly. “You call it love, Eddie. But love doesn’t make someone feel like a burden. Love doesn’t kick you when you’re down. Love doesn’t twist the knife when they’re already bleeding.” 

The words seem to land like a strike. 

Eddie flinches, staggering back half a step like the air’s been punched from his lungs. 

For a second, Tommy thinks that’s it. That he’s finally gotten through to him. 

Maybe now Eddie will actually take a look at himself—really look—apologize to Evan, try to do better. 

He gives him too much credit. 

Eddie’s face hardens, shutters down—and then he comes swinging. It takes Tommy off guard. He moves, but not fast enough, and the punch clips him on the side of the head. He’s already bracing to restrain Eddie when—

“Stop!” 

They both turn toward the entryway, where Evan stands. He’s breathing hard, eyes wide, clearly upset. It’s obvious, he’s been there a while, listening. 

Tommy feels a wave of regret crash over him. He never wanted Evan to hear any of this, let alone witness them like this. 

“You should leave,” Evan says quietly. 

Tommy’s heart sinks—until he realizes Evan isn’t looking at him. He’s staring straight at Eddie. 

“Me? Are you serious right now?” Eddie asks, incredulous. 

“Yes, Eddie. You.” Evan’s voice is sharp, angry. “You swung at Tommy. What the hell?” 

“Oh, of course you’re taking his side,” Eddie mutters, rolling his eyes. 

“This isn’t about sides,” Evan snaps. “You need to cool off. Before you dig yourself an even bigger grave.” 

His voice shakes with fury, but there’s a note of something else underneath. Hurt, exhaustion. Tommy sees it in the tremble of Evan’s hands, the rigid way he’s holding himself upright. 

“Just…leave. Don’t come back unless you’re ready to talk like a civil person, and apologize. To Tommy. And…to me.” 

He meets Eddie’s eyes squarely, head held high. Tommy watches, quietly awed. He knows how much it’s costing Evan to say this, but he’s doing it anyway. 

Tommy turns to Eddie worriedly. He can see it—the poison gathering behind his teeth, just waiting to spew out. 

“Eddie,” Tommy says softly, tiredly. Almost pleading. “Please. Take a walk.” 

Eddie glances between them. Something finally sinks in, because the fight drains out of him. He turns without another word and walks out the back door. The door slamming shut behind him. 

Tommy exhales in relief. He looks at Evan, who’s still watching the door with a sad, distant expression. 

“Hey,” Tommy says gently. “I’m sorry.” 

Evan frowns, eyes welling with tears. “Tommy, you don’t have anything to apologize for. You—” he pauses, swallowing hard. “You stood up for me.” His voice cracks on the last word. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” Tommy doesn’t hesitate. He moves toward him, and Evan meets him halfway. They fall into each other, hugging tightly, grounding themselves in each other. Tommy runs a soothing hand down Evan’s back, trying to steady the tremors in his body. 

After a long moment, Evan whispers, “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that. I…I could’ve done it. But th—thank you.” 

“Anytime,” Tommy says fiercely. “I’m here for you.” 

Evan shudders, then pulls back slightly, offering him a small, smile. “I know.” 

He squeezes Tommy’s hand, then glances down at his lips. 

Tommy lifts his hands, cradling Evan’s face gently, and kisses him softly. 

They stay there, foreheads pressed together, breathing in sync, taking comfort in each other. 

They’ll have to deal with Eddie later. Sift through the wreckage and make sense of where they go from here. But for now, it’s enough that they have one another. They’re in this together. 

[telemarketing101]

I can’t fully relate to what you’re going through, and I won’t pretend I can. You’ve been dealing with this for so long, and I see now how much it hurts to watch something so important to you get twisted over and over again. I’m really sorry for being part of that, even if I didn’t mean to be.

I understand now why this is so frustrating. People keep changing classic stories, stories that are tied to real cultures and real histories, just to make them trendy or entertaining. Instead of creating something new, they pick apart something sacred and reshape it for their own gain. And somehow that version becomes more popular than the truth.

I’ve been there too. I’ve watched people treat my culture like an aesthetic. And it pissed me off SOO MUCH. Because that’s not your quirky hyperfixation obsession, that’s part of my people, my identity, my HISTORY. And watching it be reduced to a fashion statement or a character trope was infuriating. It made it feel like no one cared to actually understand.

And now I realize I was part of doing that exact same thing to you. And that makes me so angry at myself. I got really into Greek mythology because of a musical that twisted the actual stories. I thought I was being respectful because I did my research and tried to talk about things accurately, but that doesn’t erase the fact that I got into it through something built on a shallow, commercialized version of your culture. And then I had the nerve to tell you not to be upset because “the music is good”? What was I thinking? That was condescending, careless, and completely ignorant and I apologize, I'm genuinly so sorry.

You have every right to be angry. I’ve been angry in your position, and now I see how hypocritical I was. You clearly care about these stories and fight to keep them told with the respect they deserve. That should be the standard, not the exception. And the fact that people like me helped push the twisted version forward? I'm so so sorry man

Keep speaking up. You're absolutely in the right, and your voice matters more than the ones trying to make a profit off your culture

Most people on Tumblr: Yay! We can have a musical based on the Iliad! Me after seeing what happened with Odyssey plot especially the last saga and the fandom logic inserting the ancient sources (again):

[cinsketches]

You ever randomly get sad by realizing that the people on No Man’s Land are probably missing a lot of the human experience and how most of it is connected to earth?

They’re never going to know what rainstorms are like, or the smell that lingers in the grass after it’s over.

They’ll never know what it’s like to hear cicadas or frogs croaking near a lake at night.

Earth has so many colors, so many animals, and so much flora. Even though they have the geodomes, they’re merely a fraction of what the planet had to offer.

But they’ll never know.

[luvelydelilah]

Struggling with emotional scenes? Here are some tips for writing emotion!

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1. While you’re writing, try to build an explanation for their feelings. What triggered their emotion? Is their reaction rational or are they overreacting? Do they fight, flight, fawn or freeze when provoked? Do they feel threatened? 

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2. Show, don’t tell. Describe what is happening instead of plainly stating the situation. Try not to use words like sad, happy, devastated, in pain, angry, nervous, scared, or worried. They cut back on the emotional integrity of the scene and make it hard for readers to connect with your characters. Here are some different behaviors for different emotions.

-Eager-

Bouncing up and down

Unable to sit still

Breathing deeply

Fidgeting

Pretending to do something

Trying to stay busy

Constantly looking at the clock

-Nervous-

Red and hot face

Sweaty palms

Voice cracks

Shaky hands

Biting nails

Biting lips/inside of cheek

Wide eyes

Shallow breathing

Heart racing

-Excited-

Wide smile

Squeal/scream

Bouncing up and down

Fidgeting

Playing with hands

Tapping foot

Talking fast

Tapping pencil

Pacing back and forth

-Scared-

Curling up/bringing knees to head

Closing eyes

Covering ears

Stop breathing or breathing quickly

Biting nails

Shaking

Gritting teeth

Hugging/squeezing something tight

-Frustrated-

Stomping

Grunting/mumbling/yelling

Deep breaths

Red and hot face

Hitting/kicking something

Pointing

Straining/veins become more visible

-Sobbing-

Eyes filling up with tears

Eyes burn/turn red

Red cheeks

Face becomes puffy

Pursed lips

Holding head down

Hyperventilating

Fast blinking

Trying not to blink/holding back tears

-Happy-

Smiling wide

Laughing loudly

Cheeks hurting

Talking loudly

Higher pitched voice

Animated/expressive

-Upset-

Walking slowly/shuffling feet

Head down/avoiding eye contact

Biting inside of cheek

Dissociation

Keeping quiet

Fidgeting

-Bored-

Pacing back and forth

Sighing loudly

Complaining

Fidgeting

Blank face

Looking for something to do

Making up stories

Talking about random topics

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3. Try and bring some trauma into your character’s emotions. For example, something might happen that reminds them of a suppressed/traumatic memory. This is an easy way to hook your reader and have them really feel like your character is a real person with real emotions. They might have some internal conflict they need to work through and a certain situation reminds them of that. They might become irritable at the thought of their traumatic experience and they might snap at whoever is nearby. 

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4. Most characters won’t dump their entire backstory or feelings in a conversation. Try and reserve your character’s emotions to make more interesting scenes later on. For example, your character may be triggered and someone may ask them what’s wrong. Will they give in, soften up and share? Or will they cut themself off and say they’re fine? Also take into account that your character might not know the other character very well and won’t be comfortable sharing personal information with them, like details regarding their trauma.

=========

5. Last but not least, you don’t need to have a major event happen to connect emotionally with your audience. You don’t have to kill off a character every time you need to spice up your story, even simple interactions can just help your readers understand your character better. Show how they react to certain topics or situations. Describe their feelings, their surroundings, their body language. Their defense mechanisms will help the audience to better understand what kind of person they are.

=========

[honey-tongued-devil]

Arcane preference reacting to a s/o with a mental health issues (eating)

My disclaimer, as someone with this issue, I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. I’ve actually been thinking about it for a while, but I was a bit cowardly about doing it, so I’m taking the opportunity now. I don’t want to go out of character, so I’m sorry if some characters come across as harsher than others. Unfortunately, I know I should write the name of the illness, but if I post it that way, Tumblr will take it down.

Jayce:

- He’s academically intelligent, but it takes him far too long to notice that something’s wrong. But you can’t blame him, it’s something so far removed from him that he couldn’t have understood it sooner.

- When he does realize, his first reaction is panic.

- Jayce can’t feel like just a blade of grass; he feels emotions deeply, taking on any blame, especially if something happens to the people he loves. His first thought is that he did something to make you feel that way, inadequate.

- But once the panic phase ends, the responsibility phase begins.

- He does the grocery shopping, he cooks, and his workouts become more regular, where he has you climb onto his back while doing push-ups or holds you in his arms during other exercises.

- He doesn’t know why you do it, but the quickest way to show you that your weight isn’t a problem is by showing you how easily he lifts you.

- And maybe, if you feel up to it, he can hold you in his arms with one arm supporting you while he cooks, letting you taste various ingredients.

Viktor:

- Unlike Jayce, it only takes two suspicious behaviors in a row for him to understand what’s happening. It’s something far from his world, sure, but he recognizes it.

- And he confronts you. He doesn’t beat around the bush, doesn’t stammer; he might even sound angry because he doesn’t understand why you’d hurt yourself like this and willingly give up your well-being.

- I won’t lie, I doubt that an open discussion about something this delicate with him wouldn’t lead to at least one hysterical cry.

- But he’s not brutal for the sake of being brutal; his suffering and frustration turn into anger. It takes him a while to calm down, but he won’t accept compromises.

- You’ll have meals together at home, either returning to your rooms together or straight to the house, so no one can see you and you won’t feel bad.

- And he won’t force you, he tries to handle it with as much care as possible, but there’s no day that goes by without him getting up from the table if you haven’t eaten at least two food items per meal.

- He loves you too much to see you hurt yourself in that way, and knowing that he can't do anything about it makes him feel powerless.

Ekko:

- It takes him a week—not to understand, but to process it.

- Having grown up in total poverty, the idea of giving up food “for whim” makes him react in a way that is only human.

- And the whole thing is too distant for him: everyone’s skin is grayish, 90% of the population of the Lanes has missing limbs and monstrous prosthetics, and everyone’s goal is to survive as long as possible. What does it mean that you’re against your own survival??

- As unsupportive as he might be regarding the issue, he becomes incredibly vigilant and concerned.

- He’ll always make sure you’re warm enough, that you’re comfortable, and no matter how frustrated he is, he’ll always try to stay close to you, even just holding you in bed until you fall asleep.

- Every single comment you make about your body, he’ll respond with, “Don’t talk about my partner like that,” 

- no one can speak badly of you, not even you.

Vander:

- The most understanding: he was young once too, and although in his size meant an advantage, he and Silco snuck into various galas when they were younger, and there, even though he never had these problems, he would feel a strange sensation seeing that he was the biggest in the room or that it was hard to find someone to steal clothes from that would fit him.

- He doesn’t lecture you or anything like that, he doesn’t get angry despite how he grew up; he just feels sadness for you that you can’t see how little that complex matters and how beautiful you already are.

- His compromise is vegetables. If you don’t feel like eating every meal every day, it doesn’t matter, but at least four days a week, you have to have three meals.

- And for the rest, he’ll cook, making sure to prepare the best dishes made from vegetables so that you don’t feel guilty and your body doesn’t deteriorate.

- But he doesn’t support your illness, he simply ensures that you get everything you need and never go below the necessary intake without having you feeling guilty about it.

Silco:

- Hoping that the most attentive and watchful man in the lanes wouldn't notice how, suddenly, meals go from moments of lightness to something you try to avoid at all costs is a bit foolish, but he says nothing.

- He waits for as long as necessary, basically to see how long it lasts and how much you're not planning to talk to him.

- When he realizes you won’t, not anytime soon, he waits for you to be alone in his office, where you’ll find a slice of cake on his desk. Sure, it’s a low blow, but it’s also the fastest way to get you to confront the issue without too many escape routes.

- He’s a big fan of the saying “dirty laundry is washed in the family,” so if you act strange about meals in front of others, he won’t allow questions or jokes, but in private, he won’t accept “no” for an answer.

- He has enough problems already without you crying from hunger pains or having psychotic episodes due to sugar deficiency, so as long as you're under his watch, under Zaun's eye, he won't let you live with unhealthy standards.

- During meals, he becomes the strictest. He doesn’t say anything, but one look is enough to make you think twice about contradicting him. In the evening, though, when your mental health is most fragile, he becomes gentler, comforting you as much as you need.

Jinx:

- You find fertile ground, but like any good bearer of the same issue: she feels she can do it, but you cannot.

- Being with her or in her space becomes like a live-action version of Thumbelina: she’ll leave sweets, chocolates, things she knows you like to encourage you to eat so you can’t hurt yourself.

- She usually forgets to eat herself when she’s caught up in her studies and work, but if she has someone to care for, it doesn’t matter how, she’ll make sure to remember. Even if it means setting a few colorful bombs with timers.

- She feeds you. In the most visible, worst way. It’s easy that if you turn your head, you’ll find a cookie shoved in your mouth unceremoniously.

- And every single tight-fitting outfit disappears from her lair. Magically, whatever clothes you pick up from her pile fit loosely, but if you ask her about it, she’ll claim she doesn’t know what are you talking about.

Vi:

- Want to see Vi in a panic, becoming super protective and possessive in a way? Just wait for one episode, and you’ll see everything you haven’t seen.

- She’ll check on you at least three times a day, and in the evening, when you have pain or a crisis, she’ll run back and forth from the room, thinking about everything she can do to help you feel better without making you feel guilty.

- During meals, she’ll hold you in her arms and insist that you eat, but not aggressively—in a way that’s almost frightened: she’s always been used to fighting big, real monsters, but even when it came to her sister, she could never defeat the invisible ones, and the fear of failing or hurting someone she loved again terrifies her in an agonizing way.

Caitlyn:

- Like Jayce, she’ll also try a more physical way of reassuring you, like body worshipping when you’re alone or working out with you to show you that your weight doesn’t matter.

- She doesn’t know how to react; she realizes it quite quickly but fears that by acknowledging it, she might only make you feel worse.

- One day, she gathers the courage to ask if everything is okay and tells you that she’s noticed those behaviors. When you open up to her, telling her about the issues, she doesn’t respond right away and simply hugs you.

- She becomes more caring, making sure that you don’t have to attend banquets or dinners where you wouldn’t feel comfortable, bringing you food in your room to eat together, and sometimes even leaving the room so as not to put pressure on you.

- When you mention a craving, she immediately springs into action to get it for you, even if you complain that you weren’t serious. Once she understands how your condition works, she orders everything in three portions, so she can eat with you and then be the first to say that she wants more, asking if you want to share the third portion.

- If you have fat accumulated in any area, she’ll knead it with her hands while kissing you, to let you know that she loves every inch of you.

Mel:

- She notices you're having a crisis before you even realize it yourself.

- She’s a ruler, but what she learned from a young age is that a leader must appear reliable and look good, so even if unconsciously, she too sometimes experiences small crises when she feels like she isn’t looking perfect.

- No conversations, no lectures, just an increase in cuddles, moments of intimacy, and later, she brings home sweets.

- “They were a gift to me today at the council,” she lies, but sometimes she says she got them for both of you.

- She doesn’t want to make you feel like you’re in the wrong.

- She knows that when you’re ready and if you want to, you’ll bring up the issue with her, but for now, the best thing she can do is help you get through the episode with euphoria, love, and treats that encourage you to listen to your hunger rather than the illness.

Sevika:

- Like everyone in Zaun, the idea that someone would voluntarily give up food is simply incomprehensible to her.

- But she won’t comment on your problems. She doesn’t intend to invalidate them, but she also won’t encourage it.

- “Are you sure? That’s a bit too little,” will be her comment when you eat something ridiculously small, before making you a proper portion of food herself. If you try to argue, she’ll respond with a smug smile, saying that if you eat that little, you’ll end up breaking when you’re in bed together.

- If a crisis is particularly bad, she’ll try to finish her work as quickly as possible to be able to stay with you for the rest of the day and not leave you alone.

- As much as possible, she’ll try to get the best, freshest, and most natural food, to reassure you that you don’t need to worry, but she’ll never insist that you eat if you say you don’t feel up to it.

- She’ll gesture for you to come sit on her lap and keep you there, occasionally offering you things she knows you like, telling you that she’s really craving them, and if you want them too, she’ll go get them.

[errriiie]

The last practice before nationals

poly!yellowjackets x fem!reader minors DNI, all characters are 18 y.o

TW: smut, gangbang extra tags: porn with plot, praising, bodyworship, sharing is caring, fingering (r! receiving), oral (r! receiving), oral (r! giving), little bit of spanking word count: 5.1k not proofread english is not writer's first language! you've always been so nice and sweet to Yellowjackets, the one and only soccer team in your school, Wiskayok High. But you also were naive and innocent enough to constantly overlook the fact that every single girl on the team wanted your attention. And when, the last day before their nationals, they finally decided to make things clear between you and them.

When Coach Martinez first introduced you to the girls, they weren't too impressed. Average hair, average eyes, average height. Nothing special or anything to look at more than usual. You weren't even, roughly speaking, a full-fledged part of the team. At least that's what Taissa said. She was always like that - confident and sure of her opinions, even if they were somewhat offensive.

But you didn't mind, and even agreed. You were just an equipment manager, and you only became one because your mother and father were very close with Coach Martinez and asked him to find you a place out of old friendship. Of course, the coach made up a different story for everyone about how you came to be on the team - but every time you remembered the truth of your presence here, you wondered if you had the right to wear your signature yellow and blue bomber jacket. You felt ashamed, even though you didn't act like someone who got in because they got a pass. You were responsible, punctual, but you didn’t forget about empathy and responsiveness when communicating with girls. Over time, you began to be noticed by more than just Misty Quigley, who shared the same position with you.

Misty Quigley herself wasn’t too bad. Well, she was… weird. But you decided that everyone had their own cockroaches in their heads and she was just trying to make friends this way.

"You know, if we ever run out of food, I’ve always wondered what human flesh tastes like. I mean, they say it’s like pork, right? Maybe we should start taking notes just in case." Misty once said while you were cleaning up the cones after practice. You looked at her with wide eyes, full of confusion.

"Excuse me? Misty, this is a little weird…" You awkwardly continued to do your job, while Misty burned a hole in you with her gaze. Misty tilts her head slightly, her expression shifting from playful to earnest.

"Oh, come on! I was just joking… mostly. But think about it—survival is all about adapting, right? It’s just a thought experiment! Besides, we’ve got to keep our spirits up somehow. Want to talk about your favorite horror movie instead? I promise I won’t suggest cannibalism this time!”

But Misty didn’t always say such creepy things. She could talk about history, especially about Roman emperors, about her experience in first aid and medicine in general, about her interests, of which there were quite a few, but no one except you, apparently, wanted to listen to her. You didn’t understand the reasons and were patient with her. Misty immediately began to appreciate this - she did not throw away potential loved ones. Then Natalie Scatorccio appeared. Natalie did not have much experience with love, including the manifestation of care towards her. You didn't know anything about her, except that she lived in a van and was an extremely good and promising soccer player. But the more Misty shared the good news about your "endless love and care", trying to brag that she had such a tasty morsel and not the rest of the team, Nat couldn't help but become interested in you. People who lack love often don't quite realize how much they subconsciously want to find it.

She caught you after practice once and started talking to you. Nat herself didn't understand why she wanted to come back to you more and more every day - was it your manner of speech or how brightly you smiled at her after silly stories? She wanted to blush under your gentle gaze, and her heart beat strangely when you waved at her after she made a good pass to the other team members. But of course it wasn't always like that. The more attached she became to you, the more she focused on looking into your unexpectedly deep eyes, rather than at the ball.

"Natalie, don't you want to start playing properly? What are you constantly distracted by?" Lottie narrows her eyes when Natalie refuses to pass the ball to her and tries to dribble the ball to the goal herself, but hits the wall.

"Forget it, Lots. I'm just having a bad day." Natalie waved it off. It was odd that for someone having a bad day, she was smiling so stubbornly and persistently in the wrong direction. Lottie couldn't help but realize that she was looking at you. Perhaps you needed to have a heart-to-heart talk.

So, Charlotte Matthews quickly became next.

After practice, she caught you doing your job as you were supposed to, and called you out on it. She was annoyed, but more curious about your relationship with Natalie. You were blushing and apologetic, and it was hard to deny that you weren't to blame for Nat's deteriorating performance.

And then Lottie discovered that your shy face was extremely hard to get out of her head. Inadvertently, you began to talk after and before practice, Lottie sharing some details about upcoming parties at her house and inviting you. You, of course, refused. Your parents expected you to be decent, and Lottie didn't like rejection and didn't know what rejection was, being a rich girl. So she made it her goal to get you at least once. Or twice. So trying to get under your skin, subtly courting you, and trying to get through to your difficult parents was already routine. Including giving expensive gifts.

"Tai, have you seen the new hair clip in Y/N's hair? Those things cost a lot of money, I tell you, I saw it in the window of that expensive jewelry store." Vanessa was amazed at the new accessory you now had.

"I didn't really pay attention to it, to be honest. What do you… mean? Do you want one like that? I didn't think it was your style." Taissa chuckled, and Van rolled her eyes.

"Haha, very funny, but that's not what I mean… Hey, Lottie! Does Y/N have a rich mommy and daddy like yours?"

Lottie, passing by, chuckled, clearly filled with pride. "Not really. That was my gift. Y/N is very nice, you know. You shouldn't have doubted her, Taissa."

Then Taissa Turner and Vanessa Palmer appeared. They were already in a relationship and were amazed to see how quickly you changed the team's attitude for the better. And yet, from the very beginning, you were a black sheep for Taissa. Van, however, did not treat you with great disdain. She preferred to give people a chance to prove themselves first, and only then draw her own conclusions. However, they quickly liked you. Taissa was surprised that you had previously attended law and jurisprudence classes, and these topics interested her greatly. Van was pleasantly pleased with your taste in films and comics. You complemented their couple with something that they could not complement each other with on their own, after all, no relationship can simply be perfect. It was a matter of time before they both wanted your attention more than was possible. Van often invited you to her home to read or watch something, and Taissa loved to discuss social issues with you. You turned out to be more than either of them could have thought.

"Tai, I'm sorry, but I've already taken up Y/N's time for the evening with myself." Van smiled tenderly at Taissa.

Taissa raised an eyebrow in surprise, seemingly hoping for something. "Damn. How did you manage to come to an agreement with her faster than me? Maybe you'll take me with you?" she said with awkward hope. "Of course, I don't understand a damn thing about your conversations, but still…"

"No way, babe. You'll steal her attention again." Van shook her head.

"Why do I keep hearing everyone talking about Y/N from every corner of the room?" Jackie folded her arms in displeasure as she found herself next to the couple. "I understand that she's new and all that… but what's so unique about her? I swear, we won't get to nationals like this."

Jackie Taylor was annoyed by your popularity within the Yellowjackets. She could see the effect you had on the girls - they were going crazy trying to get a piece of you. She wasn't interested in you at all, but she had a feeling that if she didn't get a little bit closer, they would dethrone her and make you the team captain and even make you their mascot. She had to do something, and fast.

One day, Jackie stayed with you after practice, kindly offering to help you clean up the equipment. When you both walked into the warehouse, she almost pinned you against the wall, demanding answers to her questions.

"Y/N, I can see something's going on. I understand that you want to be friends with everyone, sure, but… we're trying really hard to get to nationals. And you're being way too… outgoing, you know? You need to stop. For the good of our team, as captain, I'm asking you to…"

"Your hair looks great today. Even after playing so hard." You blurted out, unable to contain your genuine respect. "Oh. Sorry. Keep going."

Jackie froze, her combative attitude seeming to completely falter. "You… you think so? Finally, someone sees how much I work on this hair, trying to get it just right every morning! I use powder and hairspray literally all the time, and no one has even bothered to compliment me… until you, of course."

Jackie took pity on you after that. Not when you were willing to spend hours shopping for clothes with her, stealing your clothes and trying on what she told you to try on, making you her model. No one had ever shown such steely restraint with Jackie Taylor, and every time she put on your makeup, it was so hard for her to resist the pounding of her heart and the strange desire to cover your lips with hers. But there was a catch to being with Jackie. The amount of time you spent together didn't sit well with Shauna Shipman. She was the only one who showed no interest in you at all. She didn't care about you, and that was surprising. She never, not once, approached you. You doubted she even knew your name, although considering Jackie told her everything, your name was the only thing she knew about you.

And the fact that you were a real suck-up. That's what she called you when she decided to have it out with you.

"What do you have with Jackie? Do you think I can't see how you're trying to pull the wool over her and everyone else's eyes?" Shauna narrows her eyes, looming over you. "What is it about you? Are you such a good suck-up?"

You felt hurt, but even more so, you felt a seething injustice. "I don't know what you're talking about, Shauna, I was just trying to be friends with everyone. It's not my fault they saw something in me."

Shauna snorted, unsure of what to do with you. "Well. Fine. Just stay away from Jackie, okay? And you'll be fine." Shauna had already turned away from you, about to leave. She adjusted her backpack, but a book fell out. You quickly picked it up.

"You dropped…" You looked at the cover, sighing in surprise. "Pride and Prejudice? That's my favorite book!" You exclaimed, surprising Shauna. She rolled her eyes, simply taking it from you, pretending not to care, but in reality, she was even a little impressed. You were left standing in the hallway, not quite sure what you did wrong.

And then you were surprised when Shauna came to you wanting to discuss the book, as if nothing had happened. Perhaps she was so eager to discuss her interests with someone that she decided to choose the worst option of all - you (Jackie, as expected, did not like reading books at all). You liked to read in your spare time, and Shauna was pleased that you had read a lot of female writers from the 18th and 19th centuries. She sometimes shared her thoughts on them with you, but the main thing was that at one point she made you a playlist of songs named after you. You were flattered and too busy enjoying the gift to notice how much Shauna blushed as she tried to hold your hand.

You didn't even know it would be like this. It seemed like almost all the girls on the team were literally tearing you apart. You'd never received so many gifts, compliments, and, it seemed, hints? Of course, you were pleased. You were a girl, after all. And you suddenly had little free time. Sometimes you spent time with two or even three girls at once a day. Of course, sometimes this led to conflicts between them, but they never dragged you into it. You were untouchable.

But you didn't expect that they would all decide to fix it in one day.

Despite everything, training for Nationals continued. Luckily, the Yellow Jackets team still managed to get their game together and win the filtration game that determined their participation in the competition. Everyone, of course, was incredibly happy. As were you for your favorite team.

There was just one thing. Your parents forbade you to fly with them. You begged as much as you could, but they were adamant. They wanted you to stay home and use your free time from your team to good use, studying and preparing for college. You shed so many tears in front of them, almost begging, but nothing worked. Sometimes you wanted to curse your parents.

Tomorrow, everyone was supposed to fly to Nationals. You entered the locker room, terribly dejected. You were immediately noticed, and the girls were insanely worried. Lately, all of them had been very attentive to you.

"You don't look well, Y/N," Natalie said, her smile from earlier quickly fading.

"Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Maybe a stomach ache?" Misty jumped up to you as if your life depended on it.

"Get away from her, Misty. Y/N might need some space." Vanessa shook her head, and was just as concerned about you.

"I-it's okay…" you sniffed. "It's just… I couldn't convince them. I did everything I could, I begged as hard as I could, and they still refused me. You… you'll have to celebrate your victory at the nationals without me." your eyes sadly looked around at everyone. The shared sadness touched every girl present.

"Y/N… I'm so sorry." Lottie took your hands in hers, looking at you sadly, but Jackie quickly jumped up to her.

"How so? Do they not care at all that you want to fly with us?" she snorts, angry at your family. Being spoiled by her own parents, she did not understand this attitude, especially towards you.

"At least you will be here when we return." Taissa tried to find the positives, although she was disappointed too.

"It does not make much sense, she will not be able to share the joy of us taking the first place in the moment." Shauna said, shaking her head. There was silence between all of you. You were so upset that you didn't even notice how all the girls were looking at each other meaningfully and nodding silently. Suddenly Lottie ran a gentle hand down your cheek, took your chin.

"Don't be so upset, Y/N," Lottie said softly, looking soothingly into your eyes. "You know… in all this time that you've been part of our team, we've grown attached to you. You've always been so kind to us. I think we can come to an agreement and find a way to thank you properly."

You were very embarrassed, and suddenly you felt a little awkward. "I was just being myself, you don't have to do anything for me." You, of course, felt pleased. But you were surprised when you felt hands behind you, and out of the corner of your eye you could see blonde strands of hair, and then you heard the familiar voice of Nat, who decided to come up to you from behind.

"Don't be such a shy princess. Why don't you let us comfort you?" she almost purrs in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. It felt… oddly pleasant, like a wave of excitement had washed over you.

"I, um… I don't know… how are you going to do that?" you ask. You can already see and feel Misty wrap her arms around your right hand, stroking it, looking at you in awe.

"You see, Y/N, you have some kind of influence over all of us." Lottie continues. Jackie glares at Matthews, apparently annoyed that Lottie is in charge. While she's busy burning a jealous hole in someone else's body, Shauna approaches you, her hands stroking your neck, and you shiver, vaguely aware of where this is all heading.

"We feel an irresistible… attraction to you. It's hard for us to share you between us. Haven't you noticed how hard we try to please you?" Lottie asks, genuinely concerned. "And you still wouldn't give in to any of us. We tried to figure out what you wanted, but we failed every time. So we thought you'd have to try each one before you figured out which one of us you wanted to be with."

Your brain was already running out, and now that Van's hand was stubbornly touching your thigh, and Taissa was holding your waist, whispering something in your ear, you completely stopped thinking. You were surrounded by a crowd of girls with whom you spent all your free time so happily, and they were trying to get you all the time. Was it all of them? Each of them wanted you to be their girlfriend? These thoughts left you shocked and you didn't even know how close or far from the truth it was. You, of course, dreamed about them. About each of them at least once, though about some more than others. But for you it was not serious, you did nothing! Did they really want it that much?

You yourself do not notice how you let out a quiet sigh when Shauna kisses your neck. She does it roughly, as if she is having difficulty containing the desire that is accumulating in her. Shauna is silent, examining, analyzing and suppressing in herself, and then explodes like a time bomb. And now she wants to explode at any moment.

Misty's hand undoes the button of your pants in irritation, and Van and Taissa pull them down. You are brought back to reality, and you feel panicked. You were definitely not prepared for being undressed.

"W-wait, there's no need to go anywhere-" you break off with a groan. Nat, still standing and supporting you from behind, bites your ear, licks it, makes your sensitive earlobe wet. You sigh at the newness of this strange, disorienting sensation.

"Don't worry, sweet thing. Everything is going to be just fine." Natalie purrs, and you can't tell if she's stoned or not. Your pants are thrown to the floor. And then your panties. You are naked for all the girls, and they are looking at you so mesmerized, like this is the best thing they've ever seen in their lives. Even Jackie and Lottie, standing behind you, are watching you in awe.

This time, Van is first. Her tongue touches your already wet cunt, and she circles it, tasting you. You moan, and Natalie tugs your hair a little, exposing more of your neck. Taissa gives you a couple of loud slaps on your ass, interested in seeing your reaction. You shudder and your hips jerk, because you like it. Misty's hand goes under your shirt and gropes your breasts, pulling your nipples almost painfully, while Shauna leaves wet marks on your collarbone from her mouth, wanting to leave marks on you that will definitely last until their collective return from Nationals.

You are so turned on, and you feel stimulation from all sides. Your hand wants to reach for Van's red head, to press it harder, but Nat, watching you like a hawk, pulls you back.

"Let her do it herself." She whispers in your ear. You nod frantically, it's best not to argue with them. A few more movements of Van on your clit, her skillful tongue, which had probably done the same with Taisa before, could easily bring you to orgasm. You moaned more actively, your chest moved a hundred times more intensely, and then she pulled away.

"She's ready, Lottie." Van said, wiping her mouth. It was hard for you to understand what was happening, and you just whined, saddened that you were not allowed to come. For a moment, everyone broke away from you. Everyone was listening to Lottie.

"We'll help you after you help us, Y/N," Lottie says with a smile that sounds like she's some kind of prophet. "We've been waiting so long to get your attention. We think we deserve to come first. But I promise you won't regret it."

You nodded at her, mesmerized, but you felt like this wasn't quite the Lottie you knew. She was so mysterious, and you couldn't tell what was on her mind.

"Get away from her, all of you." Lottie commanded. "And you, Y/N, sit on your knees, please. Put something down so it won't hurt her to sit on the floor."

Van and Nat dutifully laid out their own jackets so your knees wouldn't hurt from what you were about to do. It was a pleasant moment of care. You obediently settled down on your knees in front of Lottie. You were literally being eaten with their eyes, and you were ready for what was to happen.

Lottie was already reaching for her shorts, but Jackie spoke up. "Sorry, Lottie… but I'll be the first." She said, raising her chin high. Jackie's voice was filled with nervous confidence, and she tried to withstand Lottie's and the other girls' piercing gaze. "I'm the captain of our team, and I want to be the first one to do this. What made you think you could lead?"

Lottie was silent, and you couldn't even understand what she was thinking right now. Then she nodded, and her voice was cold. "Okay. Be the first. But don't ruin it too soon."

You didn't understand the meaning of the words, but Jackie frantically replaced Lottie, pulled down her shorts, and the taste of her cunt quickly imprinted on your tongue. You didn't know what Jackie really wanted to achieve by this - to let you fuck her first or she just felt depressed because of how Lottie quickly took control and everyone, even Shauna, was ready to obey her. In any case, you didn't mind. You devotedly licked her pussy and tried to watch Jackie's reaction, just to please her. In your fantasies, you tried many times to make Jackie as good as you could. In your mind, Jackie was not the type to give - she liked to receive more, and if she had to be on top in your fantasies, she was so gentle and timid, afraid to make an extra move, that it only excited you more. But here she was — trying to have your whole mouth, like she had been fantasizing about it for so long that you were almost dizzy with the realization. Your drool and her juices were running down her thighs while she moaned, and the others were watching, some daring to stick their hands down their own shorts. A couple of minutes passed and Jackie came convulsively, sitting down on the bench. Now she wouldn’t object. She had no strength.

Shauna was next. She was never patient, not with what she liked - her hand grabbed your hair (no one protested, everyone decided she deserved it for scoring the final goal during the nationals qualifiers) and she pulled herself roughly-gently towards her vagina. Your eyes rolled back and you almost got lost in her thick dark pubic hair, but fuck, she was delicious and you were ready to continue as long as it took. You even forgot how to breathe sometimes - Shauna was a little rough, muttering something harshly under her breath and moaning, repeating your sweet name. She came quickly and took a step to the side, pulling up her shorts and retreating to the bathroom, apparently to rethink something.

Then there was Taissa… and Van. They were both allowed near you at the same time. You were dumbfounded, not knowing how to cope with taming two pussies at the same time, but you didn't even have time to wipe the saliva and cum from your mouth, as the red vagina was in your mouth. You had to change one pussy to the other every 15-20 seconds, trying to lick both like never before. You were forbidden to use your hands, but they both frantically encouraged you as best they could, while your tongue circled their clits, and the dirty noise filled the locker room, already filled with heat and languid sighs.

"You're holding up great, Y/N… Come on, help Van a little…" Taissa whispered, tearing you away from her pussy, because you stubbornly did not want to stop. However, upon hearing her order, you quickly set to work on Van, drawing a sigh of excitement from her, and ten seconds later, an orgasm. Taissa followed.

Then there was Nat. You licked your lips, ready to receive her. You were surprised that her pussy was shaved, maybe she was getting ready and wanted to please you? This thought caused a sweet warmth in you. And Nat's pussy tasted sweet too. You sucked on her clit, wanting to please her in a way that no guy had ever done. Natalie moaned surprisingly softly, and it excited you so much that there was almost no dry spot left in your panties. She let you use your hands, and you held her by the hips, because she was shaking while your wet tongue caressed her tender folds, and the hot air from her nose came straight to her pubis. Needless to say, Nat came quickly, but for some time she did not want to leave your mouth? Misty didn't even ask your permission. Her head was wrapped around yours, her fingers tangled in your soft hair, and she was holding you to her bushy pussy like she was dying without it. You were taken aback, but that didn't stop you from wanting to please her, even if her actions were met with disapproval from the other girls. No one wanted to be played with more roughly than the rest. You licked her, trying to please her as much as possible - Misty looked like she was not easy to please, but she was whispering so sweetly in your ear, praise and advice, that your arousal literally flowed out of your panties.

"Yes, t-that's it, Y/N… That's just perfect, oh, you're so beautiful. You're just an angel, a little perfection." She muttered selflessly, her glasses falling to the tip of her nose as she came loudly in your mouth.

You were exhausted, but Lottie was still there. She was the last one. You looked up at her, tired, sluggish, and excited. She gave you a quick smile, but there was undisguised triumph in her eyes. She had you after all. Did we mention that Lottie hated rejection and not getting what she wanted?

Lottie lifted your chin, gently stroked your hair and tidied it up, wiped the tears of pleasure from your eyelashes. She let you dive into her pussy yourself, start licking it yourself, as if you were in some kind of licking contest and were going to take first place there. She let you keep glancing at her, watching every movement of her moaning mouth and trembling hands, just to please her. Your heart was beating so fast and it was so hot and you wanted to please her so much, plunging your sweet tongue into her pussy over and over again, that you had a hard time holding on. Lottie took the longest, savoring every second and apparently holding herself back. Eventually she pulled your head away from her, pressed her pussy to your forehead and came, covering you even more with her wetness. You were all for it.

"You did well, Y/N. You love us so much, you were ready for everyone." Lottie said tiredly. She nodded to the girls, and they sat around you. "Now you've earned a reward, huh?" You nodded vigorously, needing release. You were so wet, and almost whining with excitement. Your head ended up in Shauna's lap, and Nat, Misty and Jackie quickly found themselves at your feet. Misty nibbled on your calves and thighs, often not hesitating to do it quickly and hard, while Jackie, on the contrary, licked them like a kitten, gently nipping at the sensitive skin. This crazy contrast made you breathe quickly and roll your eyes, and all for the sake of Shauna watching this cute picture. Nat touched your pussy with her tongue, her two fingers slid inside your wet cunt - after such a long abstinence, taking two fingers at once was not at all difficult. You moaned, letting them all work on you while the others watched. Natalie's tongue was trying so hard to please you, playfully sucking and pulling on your clit, playing with your labia and purposely quickly driving her fingers into you, wanting to bring you to the peak and play on you like guitar strings.

"We love you, Y/N, such a gift for us." Jackie purrs, watching Natalie fuck your helpless pussy.

"You're the best!" Misty agrees with a smile, biting you and licking it slobberily.

"All that's left is to cum." Shauna says calmly, not hiding her smirk, constantly keeping her eyes on herself. "Come on. Nat's mouth is waiting for it."

As if on cue, you spill into Natalie's mouth with a loud moan. Everyone exhales relaxedly, and Natalie cleans your pussy with her tongue. "You're just sweet, princess." She smirks at her own abilities.

You let yourself sink into the girls' arms, catching your breath. You don't know yet that later they'll help you get dressed, each of them will kiss you on the lips, and you'll tell them to talk about it after Nationals. In the end, you still can't seem to choose one. You love them all, and you're waiting for them to return to Wiskayok, safe and sound, with victory in hand.

[abbotjack]

Godless Things

content/warnings: 18+ MDNI explicit sexual content, rough sex with emotional intimacy, size kink, creampie, emotionally repressed male character, canon-typical violence references, possessiveness, praise kink. no one asked for this but yolo

summary : After a violent job leaves Pope simmering in guilt and emotional chaos, you show up uninvited—knowing full well what he is, and wanting him anyway.

word count : 1,429

You shouldn’t be in his house tonight.

Not after what went down.

But that’s the thing about Pope Cody—you never show up when things are good. You come when it’s bad. You come when he’s bleeding.

And tonight, he is.

Not in the literal sense—he’s showered, scrubbed the blood off his hands. But you can feel it radiating off him the moment he opens the door, tension coiled tight behind those tired eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says flatly.

You step inside anyway. Let the door fall shut behind you.

“I know,” you answer. “But I am.”

He stares at you for a long time, unmoving. Then exhales through his nose and walks back toward the kitchen without another word. That’s your invitation.

You follow.

The house is too quiet. The way all Cody houses get when something’s gone wrong and no one wants to talk about it. There’s a bottle on the table—something cheap, half-drunk, and untouched for at least an hour. He isn’t drinking anymore. Not really. He just keeps the bottle there. Like a warning to himself.

You watch him lean back against the counter. He crosses his arms. His eyes drop to your throat, then your hips, then back up. Calculated. Controlled. Like he’s trying not to react.

“Tell me what you want,” he says.

His voice is low. Tired. Hoarse from shouting, maybe. You don’t ask what happened out there tonight. You don’t need to.

You walk to him slowly, unzipping your jacket.

“You.”

His breath stutters—barely. But you catch it.

“I don’t think you understand what you’re saying.”

“I do.”

He laughs, dry and bitter. “You have no idea what kind of man I am.”

“I know exactly what kind of man you are.” You reach for him, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw. “And I want you anyway.”

Something breaks behind his eyes.

He grabs you.

Not gentle. Not cruel. Just urgent. Like he’s been starving for weeks and you’re the first real thing he’s touched in days.

He presses you back against the wall, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. His mouth doesn’t ask. It takes—a bruising kiss that tastes like guilt and need and everything he’ll never say out loud.

“You should be afraid of me,” he growls against your mouth.

“I’m not.”

“You should be,” he says again, and there’s something in his voice this time. Not anger. Not even warning. Begging. Like he wants you to run so he won’t have to do this.

But he’s already pulling your shirt over your head.

You tug his hoodie off, feel the heat of his body beneath it—lean, scarred, hard with muscle earned from years of running, fighting, lifting, breaking. This is a man who’s never known softness that didn’t turn on him. Who flinches when you’re gentle and falls apart when you’re not.

You strip for him. Slowly. Deliberately. His jaw tightens the more skin you reveal, like he can’t decide whether to fall to his knees or shove you against the wall and fuck you until the pain makes sense.

He steps closer.

And when he touches you—really touches you—it’s with both hands. One palm across your ribs, the other sliding down your spine, warm and firm and reverent in the most godless way.

“Go to the bedroom,” he murmurs. “Now.”

Your breath catches, but you obey. The bedroom is quiet. Sheets still rumpled from nights he pretended to sleep. He follows you in slowly, watching you with that sharp, analytical look he always wears before a job.

Because this is a job now.

Making you his. Marking you in a way that’ll outlast whatever sins he racks up next.

He strips in the doorway—shirt, jeans, boxers. You look at him and it hits you how ruined he is. Not just his body—though the scars there tell their own story—but the way he stands. Ready for violence. Ready for rejection.

But you don’t flinch. You open your legs.

And fuck, the noise he makes.

He’s on you in seconds. His cock is heavy and hot against your thigh as he shifts over you. You’ve never seen him like this—undone but still trying to hold it in. His whole body is tight with restraint, the kind that aches more than it satisfies.

He lines himself up and drags the thick head of his cock through your slick folds, slow, almost reverent—just once. Testing. Tasting. Marking you with it.

“Fucking soaked,” he mutters. “You want this?”

You nod, breath catching. “Yes.”

He doesn’t push in right away.

Not yet.

Instead, he leans in, voice low against your ear.

“You want me to fuck you, knowing what I did tonight? Knowing I’ll probably do worse tomorrow?”

You turn your face to his, eyes wide open. “I want you.”

And that’s it. That’s the edge.

He grabs the back of your thigh, shoves it up toward your chest, and thrusts in with a single, brutal motion.

You scream—half pleasure, half shock. The stretch is too much, nearly splitting, and you feel the air leave your lungs as he bottoms out inside you. Every inch of him fills you, thick and heavy and real in a way that drowns out everything else.

“Oh my God—”

“Don’t say that,” he growls, teeth gritted. “Say my name.”

You cling to him, barely able to breathe. “Andrew—fuck—Andrew—”

He groans like it hurts. Like hearing his real name in your mouth is worse than anything that happened out on the job. He starts to move—deep, punishing strokes, grinding down with each one like he wants to live in your body, like this is the only time he ever lets himself feel good.

You can’t even think. You’re gasping, grabbing at him, nails raking down his back, legs trembling with every thrust.

“You’re so tight,” he mutters, almost like he’s talking to himself. “Taking me so fucking good—like you were made for it.”

“Harder,” you beg, eyes glazed, hips already chasing his. “Please—don’t hold back—”

He loses it.

He lifts your hips, changes the angle, and fucks into you with a brutal rhythm, hard enough that the headboard thuds the wall. Sweat drips from his temple onto your chest. His hands grip your thighs like he’s bracing himself from falling off the edge entirely.

“Fuck,” he pants, staring down at where he disappears into you. “Look at that. Look at you taking all of me.”

You’re shaking now. Drenched. The sound of skin slapping fills the room, wet and frantic, but all you hear is him. His breathing. His grunts. His voice—low, unsteady, reverent like prayer.

He slides a hand between you, rubs slow circles over your clit with the pad of his thumb, and your back arches.

“Andrew—I’m gonna—fuck—I can’t—”

“Come on,” he growls, teeth at your neck. “Come for me. I want to feel it. I want you to fucking lose it around me.”

And you do.

It slams into you like fire. Your thighs clamp around him, your vision whites out, and you scream his name, loud and raw and real. Your pussy flutters around him, dragging a deep, guttural moan from his chest as he fucks you through it, not stopping, not slowing.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “Just like that. That’s it.”

You’re still coming when he pulls out just far enough to slam back in again, harder, deeper, then stills. His whole body stiffens.

He groans into your neck—something primal, almost broken—and you feel him spill inside you, thick and hot, as his hips jerk with each wave. His hands are on either side of your face now, holding you like he might disappear if he lets go.

Neither of you move. Not for a long time.

He stays inside you. Head on your chest. Hands gripping your hips like he’s anchoring himself to shore.

You run a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

He whispers, barely audible:

“You make me feel clean.”

You press your lips to his temple. “You are.”

“You shouldn’t let me do this to you.”

You hold his face in both hands. “Then why do you treat me like I’m the only thing that’s real?”

He stares down at you like he’s trying to memorize your answer. Then, without a word, he lays back down—still inside you, still holding you—and closes his eyes.

Like this is the only time he ever sleeps.

[glamourscat]

Can I please request things batboys + Bruce does when they have fallen in love with someone? Things they do for their crush, hinting their feelings etc.?

୨ৎ Batboys + Bruce and what are they like when they have fallen in love ୨ৎ

A/N: when i think about them and having a crush, i always imagine them having a crush on someone they work with or are very close friend with.

──── ୨୧ ─────

DICK 

The worst out of the bunch in hiding his feelings

When he realises he is probably the most chill out of batboys

If his crush is also a vigilante he might pull some strings to patrol with them

His love is loud. There’s no other way of putting it. Thing is, Dick is just so loveable with everyone, most of the time at least. 

He is never shy to let others know how much he cares for them. So, at first you might think he is just being his usual self, just a bit more energetic

Then you pick up on the small things

Like his touch lasting just a bit longer than usual. Him being more protective. Him being around you more. Laughing at your jokes even when they are terrible

How would he hint his feelings? Easy. Terrible cheesy pickup lines, EYE CONTACT, like intense. More touchy than usual, hugs, ruffling hair, nudges… 

──── ୨୧ ─────

JASON

If Dick is the worst at keeping his feelings a secret, jason is the best

Truly you won’t know a thing unless you’re extremely good at reading body language

I imagine him, realising he has a crush, and gaslighting himself into believing he doesn’t

Then something happens, maybe someone flirts with you or simply you seek him out specifically for something you could have gone to anyone else, but you choose him, and he realises he is gone.

At first he might even distance himself and you’re like “what have i done?” because genuinely it’s like a switch happened

But when he comes to terms with his feelings I think his love would be more noticeable on the outside than inside. What I mean is that others would be more prone to pick up on his crush than you. 

He would sit besides you on the couch, thighs touching and everyone is like.. Jason? Allowing you in his personal space? Interesting

Would pay attention to the little things. You said you are cold? Here, his jacket is strangely flying on your shoulders

Gifts you books that remind him of you, annotated with specific passages. 

He doesn’t give hints, hell, in a way he hopes that you won’t notice how much of a sick idiot in love he has become. But in the hopes you do, well, he is cooked isnt he? ( a oneshot coming out soon) 

──── ୨୧ ─────

TIM

The worst. A mix between jason and dick.

If tim likes you, then you’re his best friend, there’s no other way around it lol. 

He would already be clingy, but when he realises he has a crush there’s two things going in his head:

1) panics. He starts running around his room over analyzing every little detail and trying to understand how, when and why he fall for you

2) goes down a rabbit hole. He will overthink everything he has done recently. Was he too clingy? Did you suspect something? Do you feel the same? 

After absolutely losing it, same tim, he will assess the situation. He is good at reading body language. He knows how to listen and he knows how to talk. He is observant and rest assured he will put his vigilante skills to action. 

He wouldn’t necessarily ask you out if he comes to the conclusion you like him back, i think it will happen randomly. Maybe one night you’re over at his, it’s 3am, he doesn’t have patrol tomorrow and you two are watching a show together. The main characters are having some sort of love emotional shambles, maybe there’s a kiss involved. He looks at you, you look at him. There’s a moment of silence unsure if you two should confess your feelings or laugh. At the end, somehow, his lips are on yours– the show long forgotten– as his cold hands cup your cheeks to deepen the kiss.

──── ୨୧ ─────

BRUCE

intense eye contact

he listens and listens almost as if the sole act of listening to your voice is soothing for him

Gifts. Like this man would just randomly increase his gifts. It wouldn’t be at once, but gradually you started to notice that one rose became 5 and then 10. Chocolates turned into gems.

Would ask you to accompany him at events, which is when you know, he is at least seriously interested. Because events and galas, as much as he is not a fan of them, are important to his image. 

Little subtle touches 

He doesn’t really express things by words if he can avoid it, so you need to be good at picking the subtle signs 

Gifts aside, they are nice and surely it’s one of his love languages, but when he makes the effort to get to know the true you and what your interests and hobbies are, safe to say he expects the same interest back. To know that you are at least interested in getting to know him not as batman, not as Wayne but as Bruce, and simply as Bruce will put you 5 steps ahead already. 

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[innerfare]

You’re Jealous

 Summary: You get jealous of someone else in his life.

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, and Kid

Genre: Slight Angst // Fluff

CW: None // SFW

——— 

Luffy:

He never told you Boa Hancock was in love with him, and when you find out, you have to remove yourself from the situation before you have an emotional outburst and start something with the Pirate Empress. The problem is, you don’t even know which emotion will spill out of you. Finding out the world’s most beautiful woman, and a powerful Warlord, no less, is desperate to marry Luffy is a whirlwind, to say the least. Luffy can seem clueless at times, but his emotional intelligence is through the roof, and he picks up on what has you upset almost straight away. He knows to give you some space, and when he senses you’re ready, he approaches you with a handful of wildflowers he picked. He doesn’t really say much, just pulls you into a hug, presses a few kisses into your cheek and temple, and says in your ear, “you’re my girl.” 

Zoro:

He didn’t mention Perona was also at Mihawk’s castle for those two years until a few months after the crew gets together. He tells a story that features her, and you realize there was a woman keeping him company. Your heart drops into your stomach. Zoro insists he didn’t mention her because he didn’t think she was relevant; the only thing Perona did those two years was annoy him. He’s actually the one who won’t let it go, not you (even though you are pretty jealous). Whereas you’d prefer not to talk about it, Zoro is wracked with guilt because he’d never considered the whole thing in a relationship context. Him fretting constantly over it actually heals your jealousy because you realize you’ve never seen him panic over the prospect of hurting anyone else’s feelings. 

Sanji:

Even with a third eye, Pudding is stunning. And Sanji almost married her. It was before you two were together, but listening to the stories from Whole Cake, hearing how close he came to marrying another woman, knowing she really did fall in love with his kind heart and wonderful cooking, turns you into a little green monster. You know you shouldn’t feel jealous of a woman you’ve never met before, a woman Sanji chose not to marry, but you can’t help it. Sanji is completely shocked that you would feel jealous over his relationship (if it could even be called that) with Pudding, though after thinking about it some more, he does realize why you might be jealous that he had a fiancé. His solution is to bring you a bouquet of roses and walk you through the dark details of his life, telling you things he’s never outright told anyone, so you understand the special place you have in his life. 

Ace:

He collects people without trying, and often times, without realizing, either. Ace thinks he’s just making friends, but you see the way the women he laughs and shares drinks with are drawn to him like plants to the sun. He promises them freedom and adventure (and he has a very nice laugh), and you can see how it excites them. You don’t really mind it, knowing Ace well enough to see the way he holds those women at arm’s length, even if he seems close with them (such is the magic of Fire First Ace). But Yamato makes you jealous. It’s not hearing the way they laughed together but hearing the way they fought that gets to you. You know how Ace lives to fight and even just roughhouse, you know how he’s a rough and tumble guy, and you worry you’re not tough enough. Should you be punching his arm when he makes a joke? Should you be trying to trip him out on deck? What should you be doing? When you finally come clean with Ace about what’s been bothering you, he actually laughs. “If I wanted to be with someone who gives me hell, I’d be sleeping in Marco’s cabin every night. Besides,” he says, scooping you up in his arms, “I like being able to manhandle you.” 

Sabo:

Sabo is a flirt, and you knew that going into your relationship. It actually doesn’t bother you when he flashes that charming smile of his at someone else or swoops in to save a damsel in distress (a speciality of his) and even serves to entertain, especially on the rare occasions his flirtations are rebuked. What does bother you, though, is his tight relationship with Koala. You know it’s ridiculous to be envious, you know Koala would sooner saw off her arm than kiss the man she considers her irksome big brother, but they’ve known each other since they were little kids, and Koala has been through so much with Sabo that the pair have such a close bond. It’s not the angry kind of jealousy that bubbles up in you when Koala mentions something about Sabo’s past that she assumes you know but you don’t, just the sad kind that you try to keep to yourself. Surprisingly, Sabo notices, though you don’t realize until he hugs you from behind and mumbles in your ear that he’s glad you’re the only one who knows he has a skincare routine, his silly words diffusing your mood and acting as the exact affirmation you needed. If it’s not enough, though, he’ll happily prove his loyalty to you by challenging Koala to a karate match, though.  

Law:

Dr. Law and Dr. Robin sure do get along well- so well, in fact, you can’t help but wonder if they are better suited to each other than you and him. Even if they didn’t have such good chemistry, it would be impossible not to feel a touch of jealousy toward the archeologist. She’s intelligent, beautiful, fiercely loyal, a member of the Straw Hats, and has an impressive bounty that she earned even before she became a pirate. Needless to say, you find yourself brooding when the Robin brings him a beer and sits down beside him to discuss the immune systems of fishmen, a topic both are rather interested in. Of course, you’re interested in that, too, thus the reason Law realizes something is wrong when you don’t participate in the conversation. He ends up excusing the two of you and taking you to bed, worrying you had too much to drink, the thought you may be jealous never once occurring to him. You end up not saying anything (many thing in your relationship with Law being unspoken) and just sleeping it off, the fact that he excused the two of you proof enough of his loyalty. 

Kid:

He doesn’t ever talk about his first love, Victoria. In fact, you didn’t even know she existed until Killer got drunk one night and began speaking of his dearly departed. What he didn’t mention was that Kid, too, had been in love with her. It only comes up the next night when you mention it to Wire, who mentions it was the death of his first love, Victoria, that put Kid on the war path and united the first four members of the Kid Pirates. Realizing Wire messed up, Heat chimes in to say, “he’d do the same for you.” But you’re not convinced, mainly because Kid never told you any of this. It tears you apart, leaves you tossing and turning for nights on end, until you finally burst into Kid’s workshop one night ranting about how he doesn’t trust you and holds you at arm’s length. “Heat says you’d do the same for me, but-” Kid cuts you off and says, “I wouldn’t do the same, I’d do worse. Much, much worse.” And from the wicked gleam in his eye, you’re inclined to believe him. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 07. An explosion of emotions

PREV PART trigger warnings: anger, medical + emotional neglect, shouting, Reader loses their shit because Jason triggers their fight and flight, mental breakdown, mentions of wanting to die, basically a very angsty and dark chapter misgendering (Reader isn't out yet), introduction of a dc character main m.list           series m.list

Ignorance is bliss, and you wish you kept that ignorance. After Maria sent you an article that has been logging Penguin crimes, you just couldn’t help but research them obsessively as you walk back to the manor.

You wince as you see a mugshot from your supervisor flash by. Yeah, you are closing this article and forgetting everything you read. The job pays well, and when you get into university you’ll just quit and get a job or two on campus. It will most likely be shit pay, but at least it wouldn’t morally weigh on you. “Just until you can move out,” you mumble as you open the front door. “and the colleagues are kind…”

When you walk through the door, there was Jason, you try to ignore him. Swimming in your thoughts, yet to notice how impatient he has been, how irritation was brewing in the air.

“You and I are going to have a chat about your behaviour towards Alfie,” Jason says, snapping you out of your thoughts and your eyes snap up to his. You could feel your heart start to pound, why was Todd speaking to you. “and before you refuse, we are going to the park.”

He looks irritated, but his eyes aren’t that glowing green. They are dull, not the vibrant colour that haunts you every time you close your eyes. “...No…” you assert, picking the skin around your fingers, your posture slumped and you look terrified. “I see no need to go anywhere with you, I see no reason why you would need to speak to me about my behaviour.”

He just sighs and shakes his head. “My god, I suggested a public area, we need to talk because you’re a disrespectful piece of shit. Stop being a---”

“No. We don’t, and you are the piece of shit! I am just done taking everyone’s bullshit.” you interrupt, your tone harsher and your stance more confident than before but you still look pathetic to Jason. You still look like the same teen he beat up that day, sure your eyes are harsher and your body is littered with scars he gave you. But you are still the same pathetic child clingy to the memories of your mother. “You have yet to show remorse for your actions after all these years, I will never be alone with you again.”

He scoffs, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s not like he could deny that the apology was insincere, and he still feels little to no remorse. He sighs; “It was years ago, grow up.”

“Why don’t you fucking grow up!” you suddenly shout, throwing your bag on the ground. The echo of your shout loud and you could hear doors open. “You beat up a child! I was barely a teen and you still can’t fucking apologise! You still can’t look me in my eyes and admit what you did was wrong! None of you can! I was attacked by my supposed brother in my own room!” You could feel your muscles tense as your pain intensifies, anger is a painful emotion to have. But to hold it in is even more painful. “You destroyed most of what I had left of my mother and her family! Why?! Because you were jealous that Bruce took in his recently orphaned biological child?!”

You step closer to Jason, your eyes are scaring him, you look like you are in pain. But at the same time you look vengeful. You look like you’ve been pushed to the limit. “You don’t understand,” he hisses, stepping closer to you. He won’t be intimidated by a civilian.

“Then fucking let me!” you shout, basically spitting it out. Your nose flaring and your hands shaking. “You all tell me that I don’t understand, yet you all tell me that I have to forgive and forgive as you tear my heart out! And I am done! I am finally getting my life together, finally taking the next steps. And now you suddenly want to talk?! But you still refuse to explain?!”

You laugh, it was hysterical. If Jason didn’t know the laughs of the Joker, intimately, he would compare them in a heartbeat. Without thinking he grabs your arms, trying to force you away from him. Your siblings were watching the fight, he didn’t want to turn around to see Stephanie, Cassandra and Barbara. If he did, he would see their confused faces. He would see how they don’t understand your anger, and he would see Tim finally telling them the full story. A story that Cassandra had deciphered from just your shouting. A story that made it seem like you were in great physical pain.

“None of you have any rights to my time!” You shout, trying to get your arms lose from Jason’s grip. “And you have no right to touch me!” But Jason still didn’t let you go, you want to keep shouting, you want to shout at him until he let’s you go. Until he realises what harm he has done to you. Until your whole family finally realises all they’ve done, why did Tim seek you out? Why couldn’t Alfred just leave you be?! Why couldn’t you just keep your anger hidden until you were gone?! “Stop touching me, I hate you. I wish I died that day! I wish I didn’t have to live like this!”

You weren’t even shouting at him anymore. You were shouting at all of them, you were shouting about everything they’ve put you through. But you were also finally letting out the emotional pain your illness has given you. You’re shouting to the heavens, you are shouting to whoever will listen. You are shouting because the pain has finally become too much to handle.

The straw that breaks the camel's back has finally come.

You’re like a bucket overflowing with water, you are full of emotions that Jason had never seen you express. The only time he has ever seen you shake like this was that day, oh gods, what has he done?

You’re broken in ways he will never understand. You are in pain, and he’s the reason why. You are slipping, you’re breaking down and he doesn’t know what to do. “Step away from them,” he suddenly hears Duke’s voice, a boy that Bruce had recently thought about adopting, a meta that joined their ranks. Wait, is he calling her, them? “before I knock your teeth out.”

Jason steps backs in shock, his hold of you disappearing, but you didn’t even notice. Your hands going up to your shoulders as you start scratching. Oh my dear, you look crazed, you look as if you belong in Arkham Asylum. And Duke, he looks like he knows you. “(Name)” Duke whispers, trying to get you to stop scratching yourself. It almost seems as if you were trying to scratch away your pain, and by the gods, you were attempting to. Your fingertips bleeding, your eyes full of tears. “I am here, it’s Duke, your lab partner, what can I do for you?”

“I need to die,” you whisper, your eyes snap to his. “can you kill me?”

“You know I can’t,” he whispers, brushing some of your hair out of your face. Carefully making sure that his fingers don’t get tangled in your hair, if his fingers were to do that you would panic even more. Your mind would set you back even more, at least now you seem partly lucid. “but I can and will listen.”

You choke on a sob, and tears start streaming down your face as you slowly stop scratching. You barely know him, and here he is in your home (for whatever reason unknown to you), offering his ear to you. “What’s going on?!” Jason whisper-shouts, staring at Dick for guidance. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to act, not with the slimy feeling in his chest. Not with this voice in his head whispering that this is all his fault. Dick stares at him and mouths; ‘I have no idea’

But you ignore it all.

“You promise?” You ask Duke, your eyes show how scared you are to be hurt. Your body language defensive. Black spots were slowing clouding the corner of your eyes.

“I promise.”

And with that you close your eyes.

NEXT PART Notice how I was in a dramatic mood here?

taglist: Taglist: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways (is there a limit with tagging people or something???)

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, yandere, kidnapped reader, murder of nameless side characters

♡ fem reader

Thinking about that moment of violent change you’re forced to go through when your loving boyfriend becomes the terrifying man you don’t recognize—and how it completely eradicates the reality you’d grown so comfortable in, realizing it was all some perfectly orchestrated lie.

Rope burns on your wrists and ankles, tears streaking your chunky cheeks, and a poor soul’s blood on your pretty face belonging to some guy who’d gotten a little too close for comfort.

He’d cut him down like it was nothing.

The knife is held still by his side, a shining red murder weapon, dripping on the floor in the growing pond by his feet. He sighs heavily, casts his head back then looks behind him, beholding you through slim eyes, clicking his tongue, “Look what you made me do…”

He wouldn’t be the only one… several victims followed in his bloody path—witnesses who’d seen him struggle with you, kicking and screaming for all your worth, trying anything to get away. You were all too easily manhandled into the car, and could only watch behind the locked door, banging with bound fists on the glass while he gutted other passersby who’d threatened to call the police.

Driving off, he growls at you, first to shut up and then, “That was your fault—if only you’d been a good girl, none of those innocent people would have had to die.” His knuckles whiten on the wheel, wringing it in his stained grip—scarlet on ivory. “If you don’t want any more blood on your hands, you better sit pretty and not cause me any more trouble.”

You sob uncontrollably and inconsolably despite the threat—you can’t stop yourself—you can’t even comprehend his words. None of it makes any sense. You’d seen it all, and yet you can’t understand it—any of it. You’d watched the sweet guy you knew shed his skin and become a monster right before your eyes. It must be some bad dream, some terrible, awful, horrible nightmare.

But even if it is, you don’t want him touching you ever again. It makes you physically sick to your stomach to think you’d ever shared a bed with him—exchanged sweet nothings in the damp heat of each other. No, no, no, it’s not the same person—it can’t be. It can’t be true. What about the smiles you’d shared over breakfast, those times you’d surprised each other at lunch, all the dates, all the gifts, all the kisses, the future you’d talked about?

You’d fallen in love. But you’ve fallen in love with someone who doesn’t even exist.

He makes sure the door to the bedroom’s under lock and a key he stores somewhere you won’t find it. You squirm in your bonds on the bed when he approaches, shivering with whimpers under his hands, flinching at his touch while he unties you, then cringing as he angles your face to look at him—wanting to pry free, anything not to look into those changed eyes.

You hadn’t thought his build was imposing before, it hadn’t struck you as lethal. Naively, you’d thought him cozy—a big chest and a warm embrace he would scoop you up in, a safe place you could live. He’s cold now, menacing and filthy from his crimes—the body of a killer, a cold-blooded murderer. He’s so big it makes the room feel too small for the both of you. Claustrophobic.

He forces your gaze to him, and it’s all you see, those eyes, those unrecognizable eyes, with that look within you can’t understand, beholding you with burden.

“I still love you,” he states, though it angers him. “Even though you broke my heart. I still love you.”

You shake your head, or you try to, but it results in only tiny tremors caught in his hand where he keeps your chin, bloody fingers buried in your plump cheeks, squeezing so hard you wince.

“But it doesn’t come for free,” he seethes with an awful sneer. A type of grimace you’d never thought him capable of, overfilled with disdain. “My love is earned. And after all you did today, you’re in deep debt.”

He lets go of your face with a nasty shove, taking a mean grip on your shirt instead, using both fists to tear it down the middle. You yelp and cover yourself, but that only angers him further—causing him to grab your wrists and pin them to your side. You think you feel your joints popping.

“Test me, and I’ll hurt you,” he growls, his teeth bared at your ear where your face curls to hide itself in the pillow. “I don’t want to, but if that’s what it takes to make you sorry, then so be it. Be good, and I won’t have to take it that far.”

You lie as still as you can muster while he removes the rest—roughly as he goes—your bra, your skirt, your underwear. You only snivel and toil with the sheets in weak little fists, making your joints cramp up—feeling raw under him, at the mercy of those blood-dried hands.

You understand what he’s about to do, and yet it doesn’t really dawn on you before you hear the sharp ringing of his belt buckle being undone. You don’t look, but you don’t close your eyes either—the room is already dark enough that closing your eyes would make you feel too close to death. So, you keep your gaze fixed to the side, to the stale wall.

The bed bounces you as he shuffles. The urge to run bubbles within, but you know it wouldn’t be to your advantage. So your mind spins, thinking of other possibilities, growing ever more panicked when coming up empty.

He spits on your slit, then rears it with his spitefully erect shaft—pushing in without further prep. And you lose all sense of control.

Twisting at the attack, you scream again, “No! Stop—”

Your hands barely touch him before he’s answered the protest with a tightening grip on your neck. Unrelenting, your throat instantly snares, and you choke on any further outburst.

“I told you,” he chastises. “Why do you have to force my hand, huh?”

You gasp for any sliver worth of air, sipping through the cracks of his chokehold, but it’s very nearly sealed completely shut. You try lifting his grip with your own, both hands holding onto his wrist, wanting to pull loose but achieving nothing.

It’s so pitiful that he ignores the effort. Using his remaining hand to continue what he’d set out to do. Planting his tip at your unprepped entrance, he wasted no time before surging forward.

Your vision starts to spot, and your hands grow weak, barely hanging on.

“That’s good. Lie still and take it,” he groans—his lips on your cheek as he bullies through your dry walls, only aided by his spit. “And I might consider once’ enough.”  

You don’t have a choice, feeling your body go numb. He picks your thigh up over his hip and drives deeper—starting a steady pace without letting go of your throat, squeezing the life out of you. Your hands finally drop, lying limp, and still, you feel it deep within—the thrusting as he beats your sorry cunt into an aching mess, then fills you up with awful warmth.

♡ BNHA ��� Deku, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Naoya

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[sknyuz]

before the storm | na baekjin

pairing — na baekjin x gn!reader

genre — angst, hurt/comfort (don’t expect too much of the latter), found connection, canon to whc2 events

cw — major whc2 spoilers, violence (off-screen), blood, character death, emotional distress, gang activity

wc — ~4k (don’t ask...)

a/n — #neededthat in-depth baekjin backstory and wanted to give him more of a background to his humanity so viewers can empathize with "donald na" that the show lacked so much :c ily na baekjin <333

playlist — astronomy - conan gray | the night we met - lord huron | as the world caves in - sarah corthan | sa susunod na habang buhay - ben&ben | promise - laufey (main)

part of the “i can fix him!” trilogy

masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic

the rain’s loud tonight, like it always is when you want to be left alone with your thoughts. it’s relentless, drumming against the windowpane like it’s trying to tell you something. but baekjin doesn’t seem to notice. he stands by the window, looking out, his arms crossed, folded infront of his chest. the city lights reflect off the rain-soaked streets, but his eyes are distant, like he’s not really here at all.

you’re behind him, watching him, waiting for him to turn around. you hate seeing him like this—cold and unreachable. you know what tomorrow is, what it’s going to mean. the fight. eunjang high. baku. si-eun. you know it’s been building up, and you know he’s not going to walk away from it.

but you’re still going to try.

you take a step closer, voice barely above a whisper.

“baekjin, please. you don’t have to do this.”

your words sound too soft against the noise of the storm. his fingers twitch, like he’s heard you, but he doesn’t turn around. not yet.

“you don’t understand, do you?” his voice is low, cold, like it’s been coated in something bitter. “they won’t stop. they’ve pushed me for too long. tomorrow is the only way to settle everything, i have no say in refusing to fight.”

you know why he’s doing this. you’ve seen it in his eyes every time he talks about it—the anger, the frustration, the years of being torn down until there’s nothing left but this. he can’t see past the fight, the need for closure. the need to serve the union.

but you’re still trying.

“i know what this means to you, baekjin. but this isn’t the way.”

you take another step forward, your fingers brushing against his arm. the contact is tentative, unsure, like he might pull away at any second. “you don’t need to do this. you’re better than this fight. we’re better than this.”

he doesn’t flinch, but you can feel the tension radiating off him. his shoulders are stiff, his back rigid like he's trying to hold himself together, even though it’s all falling apart.

“i never wanted this,” he says quietly, almost like he’s talking to himself. “but it’s the only language they understand. they all know what i can do. they know i’m not going to back down.”

you hate the way he says it. like this is the only choice he has left.

“i know how you fight, baekjin. but you don’t have to fight this way. you’re so much more than that.”

you reach up, fingers brushing the side of his face. his skin is cold, like the rain. he doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, but you see his eyes close for just a moment. that tiny crack, that hint of something more. it’s enough to make you take another step closer, your hand resting gently on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

“you’re not heartless.”

he finally looks at you then, and for the first time, there’s something softer in his eyes. it’s not much, just a flicker of something that’s been buried for so long, but it’s there. you know him better than this mask he wears, better than the anger and the pride. he’s not just the fight. he’s the boy you met in your first year of high school. the boy who let you in even when he didn’t want to.

“this isn’t who you are,” you whisper, your voice catching. “you don’t have to do this alone.”

he pulls away, slowly, like he’s unsure of the comfort you’re offering. you want to reach for him again, but you don’t. you just stand there, waiting for him to decide, even though you’re terrified he’ll walk away from you.

“i never asked for you to save me,” he says quietly, his eyes hardening again. “i don’t need saving. i just need to end it. i need this to end, y/n. one way or another.”

he sounds so sure, so determined. but you can see the cracks. you always could. you know him better than he knows himself sometimes.

you don’t know what else to say.

you just hold him, pulling him into your arms like you’ve done so many times before. his body’s stiff at first, hesitant, but then his arms come around you, pulling you close, burying his face in your shoulder. you breathe in the familiar scent of him, the rain, and something else—something broken that’s been there all along.

“i’m not asking you to change who you are,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. “but i need you to know that you’re not alone in this.”

he stays quiet, his breath warm against your skin. the storm outside seems to die down a little, but inside, it’s still too loud. too much. the tension is thick, like something’s about to snap, but you’re holding onto him, holding onto whatever pieces of him you can.

you pull back, just enough to look him in the eyes. his gaze is conflicted, torn between the fight and the person standing in front of him. and you’re scared, because you don’t know which side he’ll choose.

“i’m here,” you say softly, your hand brushing against his cheek. “i’ll be here, no matter what happens.”

for a moment, you think he might say something. but instead, he just nods, a barely noticeable movement. his gaze flickers to the door, like he’s already thinking about tomorrow. about the fight.

“then i’ll be there... in case you change your mind,” you whisper, your fingers slipping from his skin.

baekjin doesn’t say anything more. he doesn’t need to. he walks away, his figure swallowed up by the shadows, and all you’re left with is the rain pattering gently on the window and the silence. you don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but you know you’ll be there. even if it’s too late.

— freshman year.

you had transferred midway through the semester, and already, you felt out of place. the private academy was stiff, everyone was too serious, keeping to themselves, absorbed in their studies. you tried to smile at a few people, but no one seemed to care. and now, after weeks of struggling to catch up, you were staring at a test paper—the grade glaring at you, a constant reminder that you were too far behind. you sighed, dropping your pen, sinking back in your chair. everyone else seemed to breeze through it, their papers already turned in. you had barely managed to finish. it was a mess. a failure.

when the test was graded, the score was worse than you expected. you didn’t even look at the sheet at first. you just stared at the red ink, the marks that burned into the paper like a reminder that you were out of place here. the teacher called you up after class, giving you a look that said everything: you need help, and you need it fast.

later that afternoon, you were told baekjin would be tutoring you. great. na baekjin, the guy with the sharp eyes and the reputation that seemed to follow him like a shadow. he was known around here—not just as the smart, mysterious guy, but also for his involvement with some kind of shady organization. you didn’t know much about it, but you’d heard the rumors. he was always busy, always in some kind of trouble, always surrounded by people who made you nervous. 

but here he was, waiting for you in the library after school. you’d walked in, feeling awkward, unsure of what to expect, he had his legs crossed and was leaning back in his chair, his phone in hand, eyes focused on the screen. you weren’t even sure he’d noticed you.

you hesitated before sitting down across from him. there was no greeting, just the sound of his fingers tapping the screen. his face was slightly twisted as if he had just read something that displeased him. when he noticed you, he didn’t say anything at first—just let out a soft sigh, like the last thing he wanted to do was be here.

“sit down,” he finally said, his voice low, still glancing at his phone. “let’s get this over with.”

you sat down hesitantly, glancing at him. he wasn’t looking at you, his attention still on his phone as he swiped through the screen, clearly frustrated. when he finally put the phone down, his gaze finally settled on you—properly, this time. those cat-like eyes, sharp and calculating, now focused directly on your figure. you weren’t sure if it was the way you were sitting or if he was actually acknowledging you now, but there was a moment of pause before he spoke again.

“i’m not sure why i got stuck with you, but here we are,” he muttered, his voice quiet but firm. “answer these sample questions first. show me where you’re at. i’ll see if it’s worth my time, i’ve got places to be.”

he pushed a set of papers toward you. you stared at the first question, feeling a tight knot in your chest. none of it made sense. you looked back up at him, but he was already looking at his phone again, clearly uninterested in your hesitation.

“go on,” he sighed. “don’t waste time.”

you started scribbling down answers, trying your best, but the words felt like they were slipping away. you couldn’t keep up with the pace, couldn’t understand it the way you needed to. baekjin, however, didn’t seem to care. he only glanced up briefly, then back down at his phone.

“this is pointless,” he muttered, clearly displeased by what he was seeing. “okay, stop. you’re really not getting this, huh?”

he rubbed the back of his neck, letting out another exasperated sigh. for a moment, he just stared at the papers, thinking. then, his expression softened—just barely—and he stood up, grabbing his own set of notes.

“fine,” he said, his voice quieter now, a little more patient. “i’ll explain it to you, but you need to actually pay attention this time.” he sighed again, as if this was the last thing he wanted to do, but when he explained, it was clear and precise. you followed his lead, bit by bit. things started to make sense—slowly, but surely. it wasn’t perfect, but it was progress.

the session ended quietly. baekjin picked up his phone again, still not really looking at you. “don’t expect me to do this every day,” he muttered as he stood up. “next time, figure it out yourself. i helped you once because mr. park said so, so don’t get used to it.”

you nodded quickly, feeling relieved that at least it was over for today. but as you gathered your things, you thought the worst was over. maybe you won’t see baekjin one-on-one for a while, at least.

but the next day, when you walked into the library again, there he was, sitting at the same table, phone in hand. no greeting. no complaints. just baekjin—ready to tutor your sorry ass again. you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

“don’t get comfortable,” he muttered without looking up, as if reading your thoughts. “this doesn’t mean anything. just get it together.” (정신차려)

you weren’t sure what to make of it, but you knew one thing for sure: na baekjin wasn’t just leaving you to fend for yourself and fail. and maybe, just maybe, you might finally be able to make him warm up to you.

—the aftermath.

you felt cold.

the field was empty now. the fight was over, and the only evidence left were the puddles of rainwater, mixing with the mud, reflecting the fading light from the sky above. discarded broken umbrellas littered the ground, abandoned like everything else. the air was thick, heavy with the last remnants of the storm, but the rain had finally stopped, leaving only a damp chill behind.

there was a figure lying in the middle of the field, chest barely rising and falling. you barely recognized him at first—the blood staining his clothes, his face battered and bruised, eyes closed. but it was him. it was baekjin.

your heart raced as you ran to him, your legs shaky but determined. tears blurred your vision as you knelt beside him, hands trembling as you reached out to him, touching his cheek, feeling the coldness of his skin beneath your fingers. raindrops, mingling with the tears already streaming down your face, fell onto him, mixing with the blood and grime, staining his face in a way that seemed unreal.

"baekjin," you whispered, voice barely audible, but desperate. "baekjin, please... wake up. you can't... you can't just be like this."

you were in denial, your mind unable to fully grasp what was happening, what had already happened. why? why did it have to end like this? he had to win. losing this fight was never an option. you knew what losing this fight would entail—the union wouldn’t let him get off so easily. they couldn’t. not with the tension within the ranks already building up the past few weeks.

you couldn’t fathom what would happen to him. the cold, hard reality of it was creeping in on you, but you couldn’t accept it. no, you wouldn’t accept it. "please, don't give up on me." you were shaking, but you couldn’t let him go—not now.

and then, with great effort, he coughed, a weak, wet sound that sent a wave of relief through you. his eyes fluttered open just slightly, meeting yours with an intensity that cut through the fog in your mind. a smile, small and faint, twisted his bloodied lips. it was weak—broken even—but it was there.

his hand reached up slowly, trembling as he felt pain shoot up into every muscle, as if it took everything he had just to touch you. his thumb swiped under your eye, gently, as if trying to wipe away the tears you hadn’t realized had fallen so freely. but when you looked at him, you saw red. his thumb was smeared with blood, and the smear stained your cheek too, just under your eye.

the blood was fresh, a stark contrast against your skin, and it hit you all at once—how real this was. how brutal the fight had been. how close you were to losing him. your breath caught in your throat, and all you could do was shake your head, still in disbelief.

“baekjin, no…” you whispered, voice breaking. “you can’t… i can’t lose you.”

the thought of him slipping away—of losing him—squeezed the air from your chest. you clenched your fists, and before you could stop yourself, they gently thumped against his chest, not hard, but enough to feel the weight of your frustration, of the desperation bubbling inside you. the betrayal of it all—how could he? how could he do this to you when he promised?

“you promised…” your voice cracked with the rawness of it. “you promised we’d leave all this behind... after graduation. we’d leave it behind, together... there’s barely a year left, baekjin-ah... please.”

and somewhere in your mind, that promise plays again.

you were curled up on the office couch in the back of the bowling alley—the one baekjin always holed himself up in after late-night deals and longer days. the place was a mess. no decorations. walls painted a sickly kind of white, like someone had tried to bleach the past away and gave up halfway through. his textbooks were stacked on the floor. your own was half-open in your lap, one hand flipping through the pages, the other clutching onto him like you needed the weight of him to stay grounded.

his arm was around your waist, thumb tracing idle circles into your back. absentminded, but gentle. like he always was with you when the world finally left him alone.

“this place is a mess, jinnie,” you muttered, frowning. “when are you really gonna stop?”

he didn’t answer right away.

“we’re almost seniors…” you added, softer this time. there was no judgment in your voice—just worry, just that ache of hoping too hard for something that kept getting pushed farther out of reach.

baekjin looked at you then. just for a second. then his textbook hit the coffee table with a soft thud. the hand around your back slid up to your shoulders, the other falling to your thigh, warm and grounding. he tugged you closer until your head rested under his chin.

“after graduation,” he said, and he said it like he meant it. like it was already a plan written into the sky. “we’ll leave this behind, you and me. we’ll have stupid quiet lives. cute campus couple stuff. matching outfits, photobooth pictures… you’d like that, right?”

he glanced down at you, and for once, his piercing gaze softened. searching your face. waiting for your answer like it mattered more than anything else in the world.

you nodded. a little unsure, a little hopeful. and that was enough for him.

baekjin leaned down, lips pressing softly to your forehead. he lingered there, breath warm against your skin as he whispered,

“thank you, darling.”

he wasn’t one for affection—not really. but his thank you held every star in the universe. your presence, a light in a boy who had forgotten softness until you showed him, for seeing the na baekjin underneath all the sharp edges, the one who never got to be soft, or scared, or saved. you were a rare kindness in the life of a boy who was taught the world would never be kind back.

thank you for finding me. thank you for failing that stupid test. thank you for understanding. thank you for not cowering away or fearing me.

thank you for loving me.

he didn’t say it out loud—na baekjin barely used his words to express his feelings. but you felt every word in the way he held you tighter, like you were the only thing keeping him from slipping into the dark all over again.

tears blurred your vision again, and you leaned into him, needing to feel his warmth—anything to prove this wasn’t the end. but just as you tightened your grip around him, holding onto him as tightly as you could, a sound cut through the stillness.

the low rumble of an engine. distant at first, but growing louder, closer.

you froze.

“y/n…” baekjin’s voice, hoarse and weak, barely reached your ears.

“baekjin...” you whispered, your voice trembling with panic. “no! please... no, baekjin!” as you held him tighter by the collar of his leather jacket, the faint beat of his heart the only proof that he was still there with you, he was here. baekjin was alive underneath you.

the sound of the engine roared louder, and you felt the reality of it sink in. the union. you knew what this meant. you knew the danger was still there—the threat, looming over you both. they wouldn’t let him go. they couldn’t. even more so after losing this goddamn fight.

and you knew, deep down, that if they came for him now, if they took him, you might never see him again.

the black car appeared around the corner, its sleek body cutting through the gloom. your breath hitched in your throat, and you pressed yourself harder into baekjin, as if that would keep him here, keep him safe.

“don’t…” you begged, barely able to form the words through your sobs, crying against his chest. “baekjin, please… don’t let them take you...”

his hand, weak but still there, found its way to the back of your head, pulling you closer as best as he could. the warmth of his touch was the only thing grounding you to him in this moment of terror. you could feel the tremor in his arm, the effort it took for him to hold you. you wanted to pull him up, carry him, do anything to protect him, but you knew you couldn’t. not now. not like this.

his chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, and though his body felt frail, his grip on you was unwavering. in that moment, he was the only thing holding you together.

“i’m sorry... i broke it... my promise,” he whispered, his voice cracking, but he still managed a faint, apologetic smile. “i’m sorry, i love you, y/n.” tears already streaming from the corner of his eye, his eyes shutting as his body wracked with sobs together with yours.

despite all this, baekjin’s thumb gently brushed the back of your head, trying to soothe you, even though his own voice was barely audible. “i’m here,” he repeated softly. “i’m always gonna be here, darling...”

you could feel the blood staining your skin, the streaks of red marking where his thumb had wiped your cheek. but in that moment, with his arm around you, holding you close, you didn’t care. all that mattered was that he was still there. still breathing.

you knew his words were a lie. but you held onto them like a lifeline. the raw, painful desperation filled you as you clung to him, refusing to let go. you pressed your face into his chest, your body wracked with sobs, hot tears seeping through the fabric of his shirt. you could feel his body, weak beneath your touch, but you didn’t care. you needed him here.

just then, the sound of footsteps drew closer. you felt strong arms grip you forcibly, pulling you away from him, and you screamed, the rawness of your voice echoing across the empty field. “no!” your body twisted in their hold, thrashing wildly, trying to reach him again. “baekjin! baekjin, no!”

please, please, please. please let him go. please, he’s just a boy.

you struggled against the grip that was tearing you away, but they held you tight, forcibly dragging you, thrashing against you with no mercy. you watched as baekjin was practically thrown around with no regard, his body being pushed roughly toward the waiting black car, his eyes barely open, but still locked on you. you screamed his name again, your voice breaking, almost unrecognizable with the fear and desperation.

“baekjin… BAEKJIN, NO!” you cried, your voice raw, as you were yanked away. your feet slid through the mud, your body slamming against the ground, but you didn’t care. all you could think about was him—his face, his eyes, pleading with you even though he was so far from you now. 

they pulled you back, tighter, holding you to keep you from running, from reaching for him. but your hands still stretched out, desperate to touch him, to make him see that you wouldn’t let him go. “BAEKJIN!” you screamed again, thrashing with every ounce of strength you had left. but your body was weak from the panic, your limbs refusing to cooperate, his eyes slowly fluttering close in surrender, as the black car’s door slammed shut on his defeated figure.

you were so focused on keeping him safe, on protecting what little time you had left, on clinging to every moment like it wouldn’t slip through your fingers the second you blinked. you were too busy holding onto him to realize you never got to say it back.

and now he’s gone, he disappeared without ever hearing it.

without knowing that you loved him just as much as he loved you.

and that was the last time you saw na baekjin.

the next time you saw his face, it was framed. adorned with flowers, surrounded by people who had come to mourn him. the world felt hollow as you stood there, staring at his peaceful face, knowing the price of this fight—knowing that he had given everything for something that you didn’t even understand. and now, all you had left were memories and a lingering pain in your chest.

you couldn’t breathe. you couldn’t think. all you could do was stand there, as the cold reality sunk in.

the promise of leaving everything behind. of escaping. of being free. it was gone. baekjin was gone. your baekjin. and now, you were left alone, standing in the ruins of everything you had dreamed for.

because the truth was—no matter how tightly you held him, how many times you whispered that he deserved more—baekjin had always been in pain. maybe he was just good at hiding it. maybe you were just good at pretending not to see how deep it ran.

he was just a kid. just like you. trying to survive a world that asked too much and gave back nothing but scars.

you were two kids in love, trying to dream a future into existence—one with matching hoodies and late-night takeout and photobooth strips and polaroids taped to your would-be college dorm walls. a future somewhere far from the violence, far from the weight he was forced to carry.

but this place—this twisted, brutal position he’d been trapped in—it never let him go. no matter how warm your arms were, how soft your voice sounded when you said his name, it was never enough to save him. you couldn’t save him.

and now all that’s left are the echoes of that dream, scattered around your feet like glass. and all you can do is kneel there in the shards, clutching the memory of his voice in your hands—“thank you, darling.”

like that alone could stitch the pieces back together.

edit: changed the divider to soft bae nara as compensation for my readers crying under this fic 🥺🤏 sorry 2 everyone’s hearts xx

a/n — it’s literally 3 am... edit: i’m sorry for making you guys cry (⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠) i reread this before publishing with the playlist and homestly teared up too ㅠㅠ

𐔌 . ⋮ taglist .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱ @ateez-atiny380 @alien0n3arth @cuppasunu @dhaliaa1211 @seokminfilm @loserlvrss @nanamiswifesatorusgf @hateateez

[rainrot4me]

Love Me Like I’m Yours

Summary: Eijiro’s got it bad for you, but he won’t admit it out of fear of messing up your comfortability with him. He’s your rock, your stability, so when you sleepily ask him to stay the night, it takes everything in him not to ruin that wall he’s built.

Characters: Eijiro Kirishima x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Pining, secret feelings, friends to lovers, gentle sex, fluffy sex, fluff, emotional, embarrassment, morning wood, longing, vaginal, vaginal fingering, morning wood

Words: 4.0k

There was something so hypocritical about Eijiro loathing movie nights.

It was exactly what he loved: spending time with his friends, hanging out together and sharing something, exactly what he always wanted to do anyway. His classmates could never understand why he always wanted to go out on the designated movie nights, spending Saturday evenings trying his best to make some excuse. Still, Mina dragged him down to the couches forcefully, rolling her eyes at how the redhead grovelled about not wanting to be there. Why wouldn’t he want to spend time with his beloved classmates snuggled on a couch?

He’ll tell you why. The reason was walking straight towards him.

Your cute little face was already cheerfully smiling as you plopped down in your familiar spot beside him, blankets wrapped in your arms. The routine was the same: On movie nights, Eijiro let you lay on him (you always fell asleep before the movie was over), and you brought your weighted blanket big enough to cover you both. At first, it was sweet, a close friendship that the redhead genuinely enjoyed entertaining, always eager to see you snuggled against him.

But the weekends passed, Saturday nights rushing along, and eventually, Eijiro found himself blushing and tense as you snored quietly on his lap. You had become comfortable with him, he was happy for it, but another part of him cursed himself for letting it happen. You were his best friend, besides Katuski and the others, Eijiro felt the most comfortable just being with you, the happiest in your company. So, when he let his happiness slowly fade into a crush, everything came crashing down. He was supposed to be your friend, you were supposed to feel free around him, not like he was about to ruin your friendship with one slip of a wrong word. 

“Hi, Eiji, what movies tonight?” You smiled, throwing the blanket over you two as you both hauled into the corner of the common area couch, the rest of your classmates finding their usual spots on the floor or on the couch with you. Yaoyorozu and Denki were to your right, Jiro nestled on the ground between their legs and offering a bowl of popcorn up to you, the buttery scent nice as you scooped it up. Bakugo and Ashido sat on the couch adjacent to you all, her legs thrown over his thighs as she tapped away on her phone, the blond craning his neck to try and talk to Tokoyami about some band stuff. Everyone was settling in, Ida making sure everyone was comfortable before he switched off the lights, starting the movie up as the pictures flashed across the large TV. “Some American movie, I think,” Eijiro whispered, tensing as you already began to lay your head on his shoulder, skipping straight to his point exactly. “An older one.”

You hummed, tucking your legs close and wrapping snugly in the large blanket, tossing the extra onto Eijiro’s lap. Everyone was quietly whispering, shushing each other as the movie began to play. The class was relaxed, spread out, and took up the entire common area. Eijiro was already stiff and rigid. You already knew, despite what he thought. It barely took you even speaking to him anymore before he was a mumbling mess, hurriedly apologizing for having to leave and get out of your sight. The redhead never was good with being straightforward, not with you, at least. With everyone else, he was always giddy, always so excited to have people piled into his dorm and hanging around, but if you entered, there were sudden complaints of being tired and needing to get some sleep. This, unfortunately, was the only way you were going to get to be around him. Whether he liked it or not.

The movie dabbled on, some old romance from the early 2000s you couldn’t bring yourself to care about as you felt your eyelids dip. You couldn’t help it, Eiji was just so warm, so stupidly warm and cute when he was like this, stiff as a board under your heavy head. There was no use fighting, you knew he’d wake you up at the end anyway…

Eijiro glanced cautiously, stunned when he watched your eyes fluttering closed and cheeks squished against his shoulder. He blushed, adjusting his position so it was easier for you to get comfortable, your breathing quiet and labored beside him. 

These were the times Eijiro really enjoyed, the moments when he could just look at you without fear of being caught or called out on it, where everyone else was so focused on the movie they couldn’t even see his eyes roaming, grinned with your pretty little face. He would just let you sleep, tucking the blanket closer under your arms or letting you slobber into his shirt sleeve, but he didn’t care.

-

The movie’s credits rolled, everyone tiredly shuffling towards the stairs with their pillows and blankets tucked under their arms. A few straggled towards the kitchen, reaching for some late-night snacks to tie them over till morning before making their way up as well. Eijiro waited, like he always did, until everyone was gone before he lightly tapped your shoulder, stroking his finger across your plump cheeks to coax you awake. You were snuggled in tight tonight, lips parted and cheeks squished against his shoulder, his t-shirt slightly stained with your drool. He smiled, tapping your shoulder again, but you just wouldn’t wake up. “[Y/N]...” He cooed, nudging his arm a little to jolt you, but you just slid down, head bobbing down until it fell onto his thigh, and laid completely down.

Eijiro jolted, panicking slightly as you laid your head on his lap, just as deep into sleep as you were before, completely unaware. “Ah- Shit… okay.” He huffed, sliding his hands under your head and propping you back up, tucking his other arm under your body to haul you into his lap fully, cradling you. “Rough day. She was up studying in here until morning yesterday. Stressed about finals or something.” Eijiro looked up, Mina’s pink curls filling his vision as she leaned down, smiling at your sleeping face. He hadn’t even heard her come in, too focused on making sure you were still comfortable. “Oh, shit.” The redhead replied, wiping your bangs off of your forehead as you turned your face into the crook on his shoulder, settling in, tucking the blanket back over you. Mina chuckled, waving and heading back towards the stairs with a bag of chips in her hand, knowingly giving a wink. Eijiro sat, a little pink on his cheeks as he watched you breathe, holding you tight. “We gotta get you to bed then, huh?” He asked, smiling at you as he hauled you up, carrying you in his arms, you were practically light as a feather. 

The walk up to your room was full of your quiet sighs and fingers clenching into his shirt, sleeping soundly. You were always good about being able to wake up and haul your own self to your bed, but Eijiro knew that was out of the question tonight. 

Pushing your door handle down with his elbow, Eijiro pushed open your dorm door, clicking it back shut with his foot as he turned into the dark space. He realized he had never been in here before, never confident enough to stride into your room without getting all flustered. It was cute, the decorations matched your sweet personality. He fumbled around, the streetlights outside your window illuminating through your curtains just enough to find your bed, setting you down on top of the sheets. Eijiro noticed the way your whole room smelled like you, your nice perfume and hair products mixing and making him smile, tugging your soft sheets down to help you under them. 

It was funny, as he tucked you in you didn’t stir once, his awkward touches not rousing you until he pressed away, his presence retreating and causing you to flutter your tired eyes open. “Eiji…?” You mumbled, turning on your side as you watched the muscular boy slide towards your door quietly, tossing your blanket onto your chair. He hissed, turning slowly to see your eyes lazily trained on him in the dark. “Don’ leave…” You mumbled again, letting your eyes close as you shoved the covers down, inviting him in. The redhead blushed, cheeks flushed as he stepped closer, shaking his head. “You need to sleep, [Y/N]. Me too.”

“Then sleep here, kay?” You lazily smiled, reaching out as he began to retreat again. Eijiro groaned, fighting his every instinct to jump into bed with you, his nervousness overtaking him once again. “I can’t. You won’t sleep comfortably with me in there.” You shook your head, this time pushing the covers down to your knees and sitting up, reaching out to grab his shirt sleeve and tug him towards you. Eijiro stuttered, muttering excuses as his heart raced, but you dragged the large guy towards your mattress, his knee raising to press against the bed to stop you from pulling him down. You sighed, plopping back onto the pillows as you held his shirt sleeve, refusing to let go. “Get in bed, Eiji…” You smiled, looking up at him through half-lids and giving his sleeve a good tug. “Or I ain’t sleeping at all.”

The redhead sighed, giving up as he kicked off his shoes, pulling the covers up as you victoriously smiled. You knew him, his lack of capability when it came to you. This was the only way you knew to break that, the only way you knew to push past that wall he had built for himself and get him comfortable. Straight to the point, you supposed.

Sliding over, Eijiro slid under the covers, anxiously lying with space between you two as he placed his head on your pillow, refusing to look at your face as you rolled your eyes. “So far…” You huffed, turning your back to him and tugging his arm with you, smiling at how much larger even just his arm was compared to you. You hauled him closer, forcing his forearm around your shoulder and holding on tight, his chest pressing to you. You could blame it on being tired and delusional, but you knew what you were doing, and you had a suspicion he did too. “Ah- okay…” Eijiro cringed, awkwardly adjusting up against you and trying his best not to impose. He just took up so much room though, you getting swallowed up against him as you breathed deep, settling back into sleep. The redhead just watched, nervously nibbling on his bottom lip as he watched you effortlessly slide back into slumber.

Eijiro thought that was his favorite view. No matter where, he always enjoyed watching you sleep, just how peaceful and relaxed you looked. It was the one time he wasn’t freaking out about you potentially catching his gaze. Making sure you actually were asleep, he pressed closer, letting his arm relax over your waist and wrapping close, pressing against you comfortably. He grinned, breathing deep and still trying not to stir you, letting his own eyes shut as your hair tickled his nose. He would leave in a little bit… Yeah…

-

Morning came faster than expected, the sunlight peeking and lighting up your dorm. You both snored quietly, Eijiro’s arms now completely wrapped around you and tugging you closer as you gripped onto his hands. His mouth hung open, hair a mess and shirt tugged up to his chest, you cradled practically under him. Everything was peaceful, the Sunday morning creeping slowly as you stirred, eyes gently popping open.

You smiled, realizing that Eijiro hadn’t left and had stayed throughout the night. You leaned your head back against his shoulder, letting your body contort to his largeness and accidentally letting your ass pressed back to his hips, gasping when you left his boner already present. Morning wood. Eijiro felt the stimulation too, because he was already rousing awake behind you. You refused to move, shutting your eyes back quickly as he groaned, his hips instinctually pushing forward for friction until he realized what he was doing, jumping awake.

The redhead sat up quickly, knocking your head off of his shoulder and hissing when he realized he had woken you up, quickly apologizing. “Jesus- Uhm… sorry.” He groaned, gripping the covers tight over his hips as you sat up, smiling awkwardly. “It’s fine…” The air was tense now, Eijiro glancing back and forth between you and the door, anxiously trying to find an out for himself without you seeing his very untimely bulge in his gym shorts. You knew but tried to act oblivious as you crawled over him, sliding off of the bed and reaching for your phone, noticing the time was later into the morning, almost noon. “Damn, heavy sleepers, huh?” You laughed, Eijiro nodding but cheeks giving him away, their redness almost concerning. “I, uhm… I gotta go.” Eijiro smiled, trying to nonchalantly stand up but you blocked his path, crossing your arms sheepishly. “Why? Cause your boner?” You teased, popping a hip out as you stood that the redhead definitely took notice of. The redhead stuttered, face turning deep shades of red as he gawked, embarrassingly trying to state otherwise, but it was too late.

“[Y/N]...” He grits, looking to the floor but desperately wanting to look at you. “Can’t help it.” You smiled, pushing back onto the bed beside him. He hesitated, trying not to let you get too close but you were already holding his arm, pressing against his shoulder. “It’s alright Eiji… But, we do gotta talk.” You grinned, leaning back into your headboard and dragging him with you, his hand tight on the covers to cover his crotch. “Can I say no?” He smiled awkwardly back, trying to stop himself from leaving altogether. Shaking your head, he sighed, relaxing back as you held his arm. “You can’t avoid me anymore.”

Eijiro groaned quietly, looking in the opposite direction but eventually finding his way back to you, his cheeks a dark tint. “It’s just… I don’t know. I can’t explain it.” You huffed. “Try.” The redhead locked his eyes onto yours, admiring how the sunlight from the window accentuated your cheeks, how cute. But he was also keenly aware of how close you were, nervously letting his arm relax as you traced his veins with your fingernails. “It’s just… I’m so good with people, making friends, anyway. But, something about you is just different. I just feel so embarrassed and nervous, I’m never like that. Only with you…” He cringed, nose crinkling as he pushed his hair out of his face, the usually spiky strands looking a lot more limp and tangled. “I think I like you, maybe…” He sat awkwardly, hesitant for your response. 

You laughed, “You think?” Eijiro answered by covering his face, sheepishly laughing with you as you slid your hands down to hold his hand, his rough callouses from working out tickling your soft ones. “Eiji. It took you long enough.” You finally broke, smiling at him as he looked into your eyes, trying to find some hint of a joke or a tease but being left with only butterflies. “You’re very obvious, by the way.” You chirped again, giggling as you slid closer, letting his body press close as he contemplated, but eventually fell into your touch. “Sorry… So, what does this mean, or like, uhm…” He laughed, trying to gauge you but not being too blunt, jolting when your face was suddenly close to his, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “That.”

Eijiro looked at you for a moment, stunned and far too excited to realize what had just happened, body moving before he could think. His hands were around your cheeks in a second, tugging your face close to his and pressing a firm kiss onto them, his roughs ones resting comfortably with your soft ones. You melted in, pressing your hands to his chest and gripping his shirt, trying to drag him closer. “Ei…” You groaned, letting his arms wrap behind your back and tug you onto his lap, the redhead assumingly forgetting the morning wood that was very much still present underneath your ass. Pressing your lips firmly against his, you let him lead, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he gripped your hips, unconsciously pushing you down firmly. 

“Ah- Ei-” You laughed, pulling back off of his lips as he leaned forward, trying to reconnect them before coming to. “Shit! Sorry- Ah, jeez… Sorry… Just wanted to do that for a long time…” He confessed, slightly out of breath as he realized what you meant, your wandering eyes alerting him to his morning wood turned boner. “Fuck…” He groaned, embarrassment causing him to push your hips off and tug the covers back over. You laughed, pressing back closer for another kiss, tugging the sheets down as you pressed onto your knees. “Well, can’t just leave it unattended, right?” You teased, pulling the sheets off of the redhead and watching as he became startled, slightly panicking as you tried to slide your fingers into his shorts. “Wait- Ah, are you sure..?” You nodded, pressing your fingers up into the hem of his shirt and slowly sliding it off, pushing the fabric over his messy hair as he settled in. “Have been for a while…”

Eijiro let you lead, setting back against the headboard as you tugged your own shirt off, the sight of your tits making the redhead squirm. He sat forward, forgetting himself and pushing you down to the bed, his eagerness catching you off guard, but his hands were gentle. “Sorry… jeez, you’re just so pretty.” He smiled, dipping his large hand into your shorts and tugging them down, looking into your eyes as you giggled, pressing kisses against his cheek. 

Laying down beside you, Eijiro pulled your shorts off your ankles, face growing dark as you were half-naked beside him. “Listen. I don’t want you to think I’m doin’ all this just cause I wanna get laid… I… I really like you, [Y/N]...” He reassured, your answering kiss on the lips easing him, still nervously tracing his fingers along your stomach. You sat up on your elbows, watching as his thick fingers pressed past your panty line, down towards your folds. You were so excited, hips practically arching upwards to get his fingers closer faster. When you finally felt his thick pads press into your already wet lips, you groaned out. 

Eijiro was peppering your cheeks with kisses, making sure you were okay every couple of minutes as he pumped his fingers in, stretching you slowly. “You okay, love?” He mumbled, eyes trained on how his fingers looked as they tugged out of you, his digits slick with your arousal. He slowly, lazily fingered you, making sure to curl upwards against your squishy walls just enough to make you whine, but always making sure it felt good. “I’m okay… Faster…” You mewled out, letting your head rest against the boy’s shoulder, breathing his scent deep as you fell apart to his fingers, their size much larger than your own could ever reach. “Just breathe, baby.” Eijiro hissed as you wrapped your hand around his wrist, holding his hand still as you ground your hips down, practically riding his fingers. His palm jerked against your clit, making your eyes flutter as your face felt hot, angling so his fingers would reach up into your g-spot. “Need you, Ei…”

The redhead groaned, tugging his own shorts down with his free hand as you still worked, soaking onto his fingers before tugging them out, just to push them right back in. “Okay, okay.” He smiled, kissing against your neck as he lazily pumped his cock, you gasping at the sight of it. He was big, girthy anyway, but definitely bigger than any dildo you had taken. Whining, you tugged his fingers out, spreading your legs and staring into his eyes as you smiled, arching back into him. “Please, Eiji…” The boy groaned, laying flush behind your back as he tugged your leg up, spreading your cunt apart as he aligned himself with your entrance, gauging your reactions as he slowly pressed in, moaning at the way you gasped. “So big…” You mewled, smiling wildly as he pushed further, letting his cock spread your entrance wider and your plump lips swallow him in, your cunt just as desperate as you were. “Shit, baby…”

You reached behind yourself, gripping onto a tuft of Eiji’s hair as he lazily fucked into your warm cunt, kissing the back of your neck and cooing lovely words into your ear, telling you how beautiful you looked. Despite his size, Eijiro was so soft, so considerate towards you and every reaction you gave him, his love far more than just mental. “Doin’ so good, love.” He smiled as you gripped the sheets, his cock pressing against your walls and tugging moans past your lips. You wanted to submit, to let him do this all the time, every day even… “Ei… date me…” You gasped between moans, giggling as he rocked his hips, stuttering at your request. “You ask that- ah- now?” He groans, letting his head fall to your shoulder as he breathes in your smell, already knowing his answer. “It just… felt appropriate…” You smiled, a hiss rolling from your tongue as his cock stretched you, your leg growing tired as Eijiro held it up, stretching your hips wide. 

Eijiro gasped quietly, burying his head into your neck as he agreed, smiling like an idiot as he pushed your leg past his chest, pushing into your hips and placing his arms on either side of your head, rolling his hips in. “Jeez, baby, feels so good. You look so pretty…” He huffed, kissing against your cheeks and lips as he fucked into you, your cunt swelling and pulsing around him. “Gunna cum…” You moaned into his mouth, breathy sighs fogging his cheek as he wrapped his arms under your back, keeping a steady pace to tilt you over, rocking more intentionally now…

“Eiji-” You whined as you came, pressing your lips to his as your cunt pulsed, aching pleasure through your body as he groaned, trying to push past your tightness and ride you through your orgasm. “Fuck-” He tried to press in as long as he could, giving one finally thrust before tugging out, stroking his cock quickly before releasing onto your stomach, his apologies quick as he moaned through them, your hands roaming his body as he panted. You smiled as he eventually calmed, kissing your cheeks as he pushed off, grabbing a napkin from your desk and cleaning you off with a teasing apology.

“So…” You smiled, still out of breath as you settled into the covers, reaching for the larger boy as he laid back down, cradling his arms around you. “So..?” He chirped back, a goofy smile spreading across his face. “Jesus I love you.” You laughed, rolling into his arms and kissing his skin.

-

Saturday rolled around again, the scheduled movie night pressing closer as everyone piled into their seats, the usual pairings snuggling up as Eijiro waited patiently, scrolling on his phone. 

His vision was blinded as hands reached around to cover his face, the redhead’s arms shooting back to grab the mystery arms and tugging the light body over the back of the couch, right into his lap. You giggled as you hauled the blanket over with you, landing comfortably into your boyfriend’s lap and smiling wide, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Gotcha.” 

“Sure.” Eijiro smiled, pulling the blankets from your hands and throwing it over the two of you, his arms finding their usual spot cradled around your body and holding you close. Knowing pairs of your classmates' eyes watched, some smiling as Iida turned the lights down, everyone turning their attention away. But you both continued to look at eachother, admiring the way you slotted against each other so perfectly. 

Finally turning to look at the tv, you smiled, Eijiro’s eyes still trained on your pretty face. This was the first time he was able to look at you and not feel embarrassed, nervous you would catch his gaze any minute. Now he just looked, unashamed and longingly, smiling every time you glanced back at him.

He’d never look away again.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[artist-issues]

Let’s be real. Rachel Zegler is responsible for her own actions and attitude and bad taste, and she’s hurt her own image.

But the Snow White movie isn’t failing because of Rachel Zegler alone. It’s failing because it sucks as a whole. It’s failing because these remakes are Disney trying to flash colors and names and sounds we recognize in front of our faces and go “we made the sound you like, now beg for a treat,” instead of making a good story, or at least paying genuine tribute to one. But their audiences (most of them) are not going to shell out for a bad product, and that’s it.

I hate how Rachel Zegler talks about the real Snow White.

But I also think if she were 100% respectful and wanted to pay genuine tribute to the original and really understood the character, it still wouldn’t have saved this remake. Because the story got changed. The effects are bad. The songs are worse.

I also think the company is totally fine subtly pinning the entire disaster on Rachel Zegler as a way to make it look like her fault and distract from the fact that they made another bad movie and this time nobody went to see it.

If they can get everybody talking and commenting about the 23 year-old who won’t stop running her mouth, and how “Even Disney is pulling her from the press tour!” then they’re painted in a slightly better light and then nobody’s talking about the fact that they made another bad movie. They’re talking about how insipid one actress is.

I have lots of posts defending the original Snow White or analyzing it or talking about why load-bearing parts of it shouldn’t be changed…but by far the one that gets the most clicks and reblogs is the one that’s focused on Rachel Zegler’s comments.

So Disney’s strategy is working. Yall would rather make hubbub about a 23 year-old girl’s immature lack of understanding than you would the bigger problem; there’s a whole company of executives and producers and shareholders who think they can buy your time and repurpose your nostalgia while they corrode the original—and then when it goes wrong they let you eat one actress alive instead of taking the blame, themselves.

Rachel Zegler is an actress. More than anybody, she is responsible for her own mannerisms and choices when it comes to how she presents what she thinks and what she supports. She’s responsible for her own actions. She’s not responsible for all of the company’s actions, though.

And again real quick—the reason any of it is important is because stories convincingly harness your emotions to argue for certain values. Values strung together make up a worldview. A worldview fuels your choices. And choices have eternal consequences, they make or break the world we live in and the world our kids live in. Therefore stories are a hammer in a storyteller’s hand: they can build or break the audience.

Disney’s been using the fact that they are a unique storyteller—they have the upper hand, they raised us on their older stories so our emotions from being kids are tangled up in their older stories—to take advantage of us. They’re using their “hammer” as a weapon to make them money, not a building tool to make the world better.

But watch Disney keep subtly pretending to “be on our side about the whole Rachel Zegler thing, boy isn���t she the worst?” until the next Live Action gets cast, when they cast someone vaguely conservative-leaning or someone who’s still amazingly liberal leaning, but has been coached to say all the right things about the original in press tours. So that bloggers and content-creators and influencers can start their reels with phrases like, “looks like Disney has finally learned its lesson in casting after the Rachel Zegler mistake!”

And that’s so not the point, also it’s super underhanded. Don’t fall for it.

[bunji-enthusiast]

𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 (𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥?)

Sypnosis [You go out to scavenge for food, basically.]

Characters [Poppy, Doey The Doughman.]

Note || it be rough down in Playtime Co fr, also the potential for the fluff is unmatched. Like, trying to vy for some light and hope, despite the horrors that await us at every turn in the factory. Raghh— also I’m posting another one after this, I wrote both of this and the other in tandem.

The factory was a maze of forgotten memories and rusted machinery, its shadows deeper and darker than most could ever imagine. Yet, amidst all the chaos, there was still a flicker of hope for survival. You were tough, yes—no stranger to hard labor and hardship—but survival in the backrooms of Playtime Co. required something more. Food, for one.

The small toys in the safe haven, especially Doey, needed sustenance, and even though they were small, they weren't any less deserving of food than you. Poppy, Kissy, and the others—tough as the journey was, you couldn’t ignore their needs. It was your responsibility.

But before you could set out, you found yourself in the worn, cold hall of the safe haven, where Poppy sat with a gentle but questioning look. Her eyes, despite their haunting bloodshot hue, carried something soft, something almost maternal. Her porcelain face, cracked as it was, held the same delicate, thoughtful expression you had come to expect.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Poppy spoke, her voice light and almost melodic. It had a faint echo, as if the walls themselves remembered her long-forgotten commercial days. “You’re going out to scavenge, aren’t you?”

You nodded, giving her a small grin. “I’ll bring back something for you too, Poppy. Don’t worry.”

Poppy’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of concern passing over her features. “You should be careful out there, you know. The factory's a dangerous place. Even for someone like you.”

“I’m tougher than I look, Poppy,” you reassured her, though there was a hint of apprehension in your voice. No matter how tough you were, the factory still held secrets, and not all of them were willing to let you go free.

Poppy looked down, her fingers twisting the ribbons in her red hair as if caught in a whirlwind of thoughts. When she spoke again, her voice had lost some of its previous cheerfulness, replaced by something deeper, something weary. “You have to understand… It’s not just food that’s at stake, you know.”

Your brow furrowed, confused at first. “What do you mean? The food—”

“I’m talking about the Prototype,” she said quietly, almost as if the mere mention of it weighed heavily on her. “If you go out there, be careful. He’s always watching, even when you don’t see him. The food… it’s just the beginning. Things could get much worse, much faster. You’re already in too deep, aren’t you?”

Her words gave you pause. Despite the factory's twisted games and horrors, the Prototype loomed over everything, a constant shadow.

“I know,” you sighed, “but we’re not getting out of here without doing something. The others—Doey, Kissy, and even you—need to be taken care of. And if that means I have to risk it, then so be it. I’ve survived this long, haven’t I?”

Poppy smiled faintly, her porcelain lips curling ever so slightly. “You’ve survived, yes. But maybe… maybe you don’t have to do it alone. I know I can’t leave, not with everything that’s happened. But we can’t let him win. We can’t let him keep us here.”

You gave her a reassuring nod, feeling the weight of the factory’s twisted past pressing down on you both. “I won’t let him win, Poppy. I’ll be back. Promise.”

She stood up slowly, her delicate porcelain limbs moving with an elegance that belied the danger lurking just outside the safe haven. “Be careful. And if you can find anything more than food… anything that could help us escape, don’t hesitate to bring it back. We all deserve that much.”

As you turned to leave, Poppy’s soft voice called out to you one last time. “Don’t get lost, okay? The factory is full of distractions, and not all of them are friendly.”

You smiled at her words, a small flicker of warmth in your chest. “I’ll be fine. Just stay safe, alright?”

With that, you stepped into the darkened halls, your mind focused on the task ahead. The air was thick with the scent of rust and decay, but your resolve was firm. You had a job to do. Not just for yourself, but for those who had no way of scavenging for themselves. And you couldn’t let them down. Not after everything that had happened.

The factory's mechanical heart seemed to pulse around you, but you kept moving forward, determined to find something—anything—that would give you all a chance at survival.

The factory was a place of eerie silence now, broken only by the occasional echo of footsteps. It had once been a bustling factory, filled with the sounds of laughter and the buzz of mechanical parts working in harmony. Now, it was a place of fear, of shadows lurking in every corner, and of memories that clung to the walls like ghosts. As a former employee, you had seen things here that no one should have ever witnessed. Yet, amidst the horror, there were still those who needed you. The small toys that had found sanctuary in this forsaken place — Doey, Poppy, Kissy, and others — were relying on you.

Food. The thought lingered in your mind like a simple but necessary task, a reminder of how even in a world so broken, survival still required basic needs. You had made your way through the depths of the factory once before, and though the dangers were still there, they didn’t faze you the way they used to. You were tough, resilient — your body honed for the challenges this factory threw at you. But even you couldn’t fight the gnawing emptiness in your stomach. And it wasn’t just for you. Doey, the ever-caring doughman, had proven himself to be a true companion. And Poppy... Poppy had become something more than just another toy. She had become someone you could rely on. Kissy, too, though she was quieter, always watching from the shadows, had her own way of offering help.

You knew where to go. The factory had its secrets — areas tucked away behind locked doors, hidden alleys between forgotten rooms where remnants of old supplies might still be found. The storage areas and old kitchens, once a part of the bustling workforce's meals, were now just echoes of the past. But perhaps, with a little luck, you could scavenge something to bring back. It was risky. The factory had changed since the disaster. The toys that once greeted customers with joy and laughter had become twisted, warped by the Prototype's influence. Yet, there were still pockets of safety — places where the light still flickered faintly.

You moved quickly, but cautiously, your eyes darting from shadow to shadow. The factory’s labyrinthine corridors seemed to stretch forever, each turn filled with uncertainty. You had a destination in mind, but that didn't make the journey any less perilous. The faint sound of machinery echoed from far off, and the distant scraping of claws against metal made your pulse race for a moment. But you pushed forward. There was no turning back now.

As you reached the old kitchen, memories of its former use haunted you. It had been a place of warmth once, where the workers would gather, a place of respite. Now, the shelves were bare, save for the scattered remnants of broken toys and discarded wrappers. A few boxes remained — their labels faded and worn, but their contents still promising. You pried open a few, finding only scraps of half-eaten meals and stale bread. Not much, but it would have to do.

You moved through the dark corridors, the boxes tucked under your arm, and it wasn’t long before you spotted a small, familiar figure in the distance. Doey. His doughy body shuffled forward with surprising agility, a small bundle of food in his hands.

"I thought I might find you here," he said, his voice soft but warm. "Food’s scarce, but we’ve got a few things hidden away. Thought you might need some."

"Anything helps," you replied, grateful. "What about the others? Poppy? Kissy?"

Doey smiled, his form stretching slightly as he thought. "Kissy's still laying low. She’s... been through a lot. And Poppy’s keeping an eye on things, making sure the others are safe. But they're hungry. We all are."

You handed Doey a few of the boxes you had scavenged. "We’ll make do," you said, though the truth was, the food would hardly be enough to sustain the group for long. But it was better than nothing.

“Poppy will be thrilled,” Doey continued, his voice quieter now. “We’ve all been struggling to get by, and every little bit helps. You know, it’s funny… in a place like this, food doesn’t just fill your stomach. It reminds us of a simpler time, a time when we didn’t have to worry about every little thing, when we were just toys living for fun and play.”

You nodded, understanding the gravity behind his words. While Doey often kept things light, he had his moments of deep thought, moments when the weight of what had happened here truly sank in. He didn’t often talk about the past, but you knew from what little he'd shared that he was one of the few who still remembered the humanity behind the toys—the lives they once lived. That empathy he showed for the other toys, even those whose humanity had long been erased by the Prototype’s cruel machinations, was something you admired about him.

“I know Poppy wants to put an end to all of this," Doey continued, his voice soft but serious now, the usual joviality replaced by a more reflective tone. "But I think... I think there's something worth saving here. Even after everything that's happened, these toys—like us—are still capable of so much more than what the factory intended. I believe that. Even if some others can’t see it.”

The words struck you in a way you didn’t expect. You had always known that Doey, despite his playful exterior, had a more complex side—a side that had always tried to balance the need for action with the need for understanding. While Poppy, the other leader of the Safe Haven, was adamant about destroying the factory and moving on, Doey had a different perspective. He wanted to understand, to find a way to preserve what remained of the toys' essence, to protect them.

"You really think there's a chance?" you asked, genuinely curious.

Doey nodded, though his expression remained neutral. "I do. Not all of us are beyond saving. We just need the right push. Poppy may want to destroy everything, but… I can’t just give up on them. I can’t give up on us."

There was a certain sadness behind his words, a sadness that only surfaced when Doey was truly vulnerable, when the weight of responsibility took a hold of him. But it was that very vulnerability that made him such a powerful leader—because it made him relatable. He understood loss, struggle, and hope, and he knew that sometimes, saving someone wasn’t about destroying everything around them. It was about offering them a chance at redemption, even in the most hopeless of circumstances.

"You know, Doey," you said, your voice steady, "You're not alone in this. Poppy and the others may not always see eye to eye with you, but… I think you’re right. We can’t just abandon the idea that there’s good left in these toys."

His smile returned, albeit more subdued this time. "Thanks. I needed to hear that."

Just then, you both heard the distant sound of footsteps echoing through the factory—another sign that the factory wasn’t as empty as it seemed. You both turned your heads, ready for whatever came next. But for now, in this brief, quiet moment between you and Doey, there was a sense of peace—a fleeting sense of hope amidst the ruins.

"Come on," Doey said, his playful tone back. "Let’s get this food back to the Safe Haven before anyone else starts getting ideas. They won’t be disappointed."

The two of you walked back toward the Safe Haven, the only place where any semblance of safety remained in this factory of horrors. As you passed through the corridors, the shadows seemed to shift. The factory had a way of making you feel watched, as if every creaking floorboard or distant thud was a reminder that the nightmare was never truly gone. You quickened your pace, eager to return to the others.

When you reached the Safe Haven, the sight of the familiar, fortified walls provided some comfort. Inside, the toys were scattered in various corners, huddled in their own small groups. The warmth of their presence was palpable, even if they were all, in their own way, broken by what they had endured. Doey moved to the corner, setting down the food he had gathered, and you followed, your eyes searching for Poppy.

She was standing near something—you couldn’t make out what, her porcelain face calm but her eyes searching the dark expanse beyond. As you approached, she turned to you, her usual cheer absent but replaced by something more serious.

"Did you find anything?" she asked, her voice soft yet filled with hope.

"Not much," you replied, holding up the food you had gathered. "But it's enough for now."

Poppy nodded, her lips curling into a small, appreciative smile. "We’ll make it work. We always do."

It was a rare moment of peace, fleeting though it was. You had been through so much together — the horrors of the factory, the twisted games and monstrous toys that had haunted your every step. But here, in this small corner of the factory, you had found something like family. It wasn’t much, but it was all you had.

And as you sat down with the others, sharing what little food there was, you couldn’t help but feel that, for all the darkness, there was still something worth fighting for.

[daechwitatamic]

You Think You Might - Chapter 4 || csc

banner by @itaeewon

You Think You Might (masterpost)

Seungcheol x fem!reader angst smut fluff fake dating!au, kind of sort of exes to lovers?

NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Seungcheol agrees to be your fake boyfriend at your sister’s destination wedding, under the condition that it “stays there”. You didn’t expect it to hurt when he holds you to that promise.

WC: 54k across 5 chapters; this chapter 13k

Status: complete; posting a new chapter each Friday

Warnings: language, angst, hurt feelings, arguments, casual/recreational drinking, a super cringe dm exchange, bad behavior by pretty much everyone except soonchan because they're perfect angels, an almost-kiss

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-ing and to @kkaetnipjeon for naming almost every background character for me

You don’t see or hear from Seungcheol for days - during which you go from feeling disappointed to confused and embarrassed, which is where you land by the next weekend.

His absolute silence was surprising, and remains confusing, but you’re determined to keep as much of your dignity intact as possible, so when Soonyoung texts you to come hang out on Friday night, you accept.

If you’re praying that Seungcheol doesn’t show up, no one needs to know but you.

And maybe your brother will have some insight as to what happened.

You hadn’t talked to Soonyoung about it at all, yet. You’re sure you’ll be accosted for information immediately on arriving, and you waste a good hour of your afternoon trying to decide what you’ll say. Should you lie and say everything went right back to normal? What if Seungcheol has just been busy, and he reaches out and does want to talk, or see you, or -? No, that won’t happen. Best to just be honest.

By the time Friday night rolls around, you’re still unsure what to say, and still unsure if you’d rather see Seungcheol there and potentially have to face his disinterest head-on, or if you’d rather he not be there there, leaving you wondering about where his head is for another week or so.

You spend all evening turning this over and over in your mind - how tender he’d been with you at the resort, his dimpled grin and airy giggles when you goofed off together, his hands on your body, his music in your ears. And now silence.

Had you imagined it all?

No. You know you hadn’t. There had been something between you. So…what had happened?

Your brother greets you by pressing a beer into your hand, the cold both jarring and grounding, somehow.

“Bless you,” you joke, but really, you mean it. You say a quick hello to the guys on the couch (Vernon, Joshua, and Wonwoo for now) and then you head for the kitchen, for some semblance of privacy. You perch on the counter, leaning back against Soonyoung’s ugly cabinets, and down part of the beer. When you set down the bottle, your brother and his dumb roommate - a brother by proxy - stare at you expectantly from the kitchen table.

“What?” you ask.

Soonyoung levels you with a look. “Anything you want to get off your chest?”

You shrug. “Can’t think of anything.”

Dumb and Dumber exchange a look and then turn back to you in unison. “About Seungcheol? And you?” he prompts flatly.

You struggle with what to say next. You look down at your beer bottle, at your feet, at the floor. Finally, you meet your brother’s eyes, feeling that wave of embarrassment rise up inside you. At the end of the day, Seungcheol left you looking like a fool. You shrug, let this speak for itself.

And he understands, because he’s your brother, and he’s known you as long as he’s been alive. Something in his face crumples a little. “I’m sorry,” he says. He lets this sit for a minute, then adds “I shouldn’t have suggested that you bring him…”

“It’s not your fault,” you assure him. “And I’ll be fine. I’ll get over it. It wasn’t that deep, honestly. I just… feel really fucking stupid.”

“Noona, no,” Chan says, reaching across the table as if to soothe you. “We were all there. We all saw what was going on.”

This should make you feel better, but it doesn’t.

“I just…” you trail off, heels kicking against the lower cabinets, “I’m just… confused, I guess. When we were coming home, I was sure - like - even at the airport he was…”

They look at you with twin looks of sympathy, waiting you out.

You tap the bottom of the glass bottle against the countertop, just to look at something besides their pitying faces.

“I thought something would happen,” you finish quietly. “And I’m just confused as to why it didn’t. But it’ll be okay. It wasn’t that deep.”

The silence drags so long that you do look back up at them, finding them engaging in one of their frequent silent conversations.

Finally, your little brother meets your gaze, a bit cowed. “Would you… feel better, if you understood why? Or worse?”

Your blood runs cold, though you couldn’t say why. You just know by the question that they know something, that there is something to know.

“Tell me,” you demand.

“Have you… seen his insta?” Soonyoung asks timidly.

“No,” you say, heart sinking. “I unfollowed yesterday.”

He slides his phone across the table for you to see, and you’ve got the gist of it before your feet even hit the linoleum: him and Jieun, faces pressed tight together for a selfie.

You freeze in the middle of the kitchen, eyes on the screen, taking in the way he presses his cheek into the top of her head, familiar and affectionate.

It all makes sense, now - how he’d changed his tune out of nowhere. Jieun had said jump, and he’d leapt from his seat, as you’d seen him do for her since you were all still in college.

You wonder at what point during the trip she’d reared her head again - before the flight home? After?

There’s no way to know.

Joshua appears in the doorway, looking around at you warily like he knows he’s interrupting something.

“Sorry,” he says, skirting around where you stand frozen in the kitchen’s center, as if he’s afraid to get too close. “I just needed another beer.”

“No, you’re fine,” you say, making your way towards the table. “We were heading in there in a minute anyway.”

As Joshua exits again, beer in hand, he spots Soonyoung’s phone on the table, the offending image still displayed.

“Yah,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “Here we go again, right?”

You all stare at each other in silence as he leaves.

Finally, you sigh. “Can you just… warn me if he’s coming over?”

Chan frowns. “Don’t leave just because he’s here,” he begs.

“I won’t,” you promise. “It’ll just be nice to have some warning, you know?”

There’s nothing any of you can say to change the situation. You’ll just have to deal, have to move on. It’ll be fine; you just need a bit of time. In the end, you should just be grateful it wasn’t worse, grateful your heart hadn’t gotten in deeper. All things considered, you got out pretty unscathed.

Back in the living room, you all settle in and put on a movie you’ve seen a hundred times so you can talk over it without upsetting anyone. It feels nice to settle back into normal, back with people you consider friends, back with your brother, and you feel yourself relax.

That is, until Vernon’s phone buzzes on the coffee table and he reaches to answer it. “Hey hyung. Yes, at Soonyoung’s. Okay. Sweet.”

He hangs up and tosses his phone back to where it was, obliviously announcing, “Hyung is coming over.”

Even if you weren’t sure which hyung it was, the reaction would answer for you. Soonyoung and Chan look at you so immediately, heads turning in unison, that you feel yourself flush hot. Your stomach twists.

You spend the next ten minutes - you time it - arguing with yourself, trying to talk yourself into staying, trying to convince yourself that you can handle this.

Your cowardly side wins.

“I’m pretty tired,” you lie, starting to rise. Maybe some of the guys will buy it. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

The look Chan gives you reminds you of a sad puppy, but you do your best to ignore him as you wave goodbye, gather your things, and slink out of the apartment.

You’re too late; you spent too long waffling. Seungcheol’s car is parked two spots down from yours, and he seems to be fishing around his backseat for something. You try to sneak to your car, but he spots you, straightening up and closing his door.

“Hey,” he says tightly, and you wonder if he’s nervous, too.

“Hi,” you say back. You don’t mean it to sound like, hi, you asshole, but it absolutely does.

You stare at each other across the cracked concrete, the tension thickening.

You don’t know what to say - you don’t know what you want from him. An apology? An explanation from him instead of your baby brother? Both?

Finally, he closes his eyes and shakes his head, shoulders sagging a little. “I should have texted you.”

It’s neither an apology nor an explanation, so you look at him flatly. “Only if you had something worth saying,” you say, and you can hear how cold it is. You suppose he deserves it, at least a little.

He seems to tuck small into himself for just a second. “So I guess you heard.”

You squint at him. “Could have saved me some embarrassment if you’d had the balls to tell me yourself, but yeah, I was informed.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, quickly - appeasing, insincere, just to get you off his back.

“Sure,” you say easily. “It’s whatever.”

He hears the lie for what it is and goes on the defensive. “It was supposed to stay there,” he points out. “We said - we said it stayed there.”

“We said that before,” you shoot back. Before he’d kissed you in private, before you’d slept together, before you’d stayed up all night talking, before he’d held your hand even when the weekend was over.

“No,” he snaps, taking a step towards you, away from his car. “You don’t get to do that. We agreed that we’d come home and go back to how it was. You don’t get to change your mind because you - because -”

He trails off; he clearly doesn’t want to put words in your mouth, doesn’t want to say because you liked it when you haven’t admitted it yourself.

“But you can change your mind - and let’s both be very clear, that’s what happened here - you can change your mind, just because your ex came sniffing around again?”

There it is - the whole picture, the entire truth, shattered on the feet of pavement between you, shards spraying into the darkness around you.

His expression darkens. “You don’t understand.”

You laugh, once, bitter. “I’ve been around since undergrad,” you bite. “I understand a lot more than you think I do.”

It’s true - you’ve seen it all before, the games Seungcheol and Jieun play to piss each other off: waiting to see who would text first, purposely making each other jealous, being petty and passive aggressive instead of ever talking something out.

Something plaintive crosses his face and he opens his arms wide, beseeching. “Don’t I owe it to her to try?” he asks, voice pained. “What if I can do it this time? What if I’ve… grown enough, or whatever, to be right for her?”

You feel sorry for him - that’s the feeling that overcomes all the others. Because you understand this fear: that not working is his fault, that it says something about his character, that it’s a fatal diagnosis that he’ll never shake.

That if he can’t do it right with her, it means he can’t do it right with anyone.

And you know he’s wrong. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Seungcheol,” you say, instead of answering his question. He lets his arms drop, just stares at you across the pavement. “You’re not broken or irredeemable. And nothing’s wrong with her either.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightens. “But?” he bites out.

“There is no but. You’re both capable of being a great partner to someone. Just not each other. It’s not a bad thing, and it’s not anyone’s fault. You just need someone… different than her.”

“Someone like you,” he says flatly, like he’s clarifying, but the sarcasm isn’t as hidden away as he might have meant. 

You regard him evenly. You still feel mostly pity. 

“I don’t know,” you tell him truthfully. “We didn’t get to find out.”

Then you shake your car key out from the others and head for your driver’s side door.

He calls your name, quietly, but you ignore him. You make a point of not looking for him in your mirrors as you toss your phone into the center console, slide into reverse, and weave out of the parking lot. You don’t want to know if he watches you go. It doesn’t matter either way.

The thing about your brother is that he has tells. Blatant ones, even over texting. So when his picture - an old, grainy one you’d found in one of your mom’s physical photo albums, from the year he was four, grinning in a full-bodied hamster onesie - pops up on your phone with a faux-innocent “hiiiiii” beside it, you frown immediately.

“Hi what?” you send back. You just know, based on years of experience, that he's going to ask you something he thinks you won't agree to.

And he knows you too well, because he knows that being cute about it won't help him. Instead, his next message is just the link to a brewery's website and the question - “Friday night?”

You click it and scroll around - it seems like it's pretty new, and the owners must be trying to drum up young clientele, because the website boasts a number of events (trivia! paint and sip! 90’s night!) and the photo gallery proudly displays images of games like giant jenga and cornhole.

You're still scrolling through the photo gallery when you're interrupted by an incoming call. You go to swipe it away - instinct, naturally - when you realize it says Nayoung. 

You frown, rereading the name on the screen as if maybe it’s a lie. Then, with a bit of simmering anxiety, you slide your thumb to accept the call.

“Hey, unnie. What's wrong?” you ask automatically, sure that she must be calling because someone is dying - nothing short of that ever got her to call before.

Her silence on the other end rings for a second, long enough to make you scared that someone really did die.

“Unnie?” you prod.

“Sorry - hi,” she says, her voice coming to life in your ear. “Nothing’s wrong. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

There’s an edge to her voice and you try to define it - defensive? Irritated?

“Oh,” you say. This whole thing is so weird. “So, then, what’s up?”

“Just calling to chat, I guess.”

“You guess?” It slips out before you can stop it.

She sighs, like she knows you’re right. “I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s weird, right? I just… seeing you made me realize that you’re all grown up now, and I don’t know you.”

You don’t say anything. Every instinct you have is begging you to defend, to dig your shovel into the crumbling, wet earth of years of anger. But you want to see what she has to say before you bury her.

When you don’t answer, she pushes on. “I was just thinking that… if I want to change that… someone needs to start trying. And I guess it should be me.”

You tap your fingers on your desk, uneasy. “I don’t know what to say,” you admit. “I guess I appreciate… that you want to.” It feels stilted at best, completely faked at worst. You need time to process, to decide what you want. You wish this had been a text message so you didn’t have to say anything until you were ready, until you'd scripted it perfectly.

Because, in real time, she asks, haltingly, “Well, what do you want?”

You can’t not answer. You can’t spend six hours asking for help to craft the ideal reply.

“I don’t know,” you whisper.

“Okay,” she says, like she’d braced herself for a worse response and she’s relieved it’s only this. “Okay, that’s okay. That’s fine. Just… think about it.”

“Mhm,” you manage. You feel like you’re in a play and no one ever gave you your lines. Then, as you glance sideways at the calendar tacked to your office’s bulletin board, you ask, “Aren’t you still on your honeymoon?”

She laughs, and the tension breaks a little. “Yeah. We’re just hanging out right now. We have two more days and then it’s back to reality.”

“Sorry,” you deadpan, and she laughs again.

“Me too,” she agrees. Then, she adds, “Well, I’ll let you go. I know it’s a workday.”

“Yes and I am clearly working very hard,” you say flatly, just to make her laugh again.

“If you want to call or text,” she says, “you’re welcome to, okay?”

“Sure,” you say, but you know you won’t. Habits of over twenty years are pretty tough to break, you think.

“Are you having a good time?”

It’s a delicate question; you find yourself spending your Friday night at the brewery that Soonyoung had texted you about, and it should be fun - has all the trappings of a good time. The vibe is nice, the live music is great, and you love a good game, so you’ve been playing giant Jenga and connect-4 against Soonyoung and Chan for the last two hours as you knock back different craft beers. All things you like.

But for some reason - which certainly isn’t that Seungcheol is here, and he hasn’t talked to you once, instead staying sequestered with Mingyu and Jeonghan - you’re in a shitty mood, constantly checking your phone to see if it’s late enough that you can leave without being a party pooper. 

You’re not even sure how long ago Chan and Soonyoung abandoned you with the stranger. You’re seated at the bar now, your back facing the games, and you can hear Seokmin’s noisy giggle floating your way.

“Yeah,” you say, because you hate being impolite. “I seem to have lost my friends, though.”

The guy - who, now that you’re paying attention, is actually pretty cute - glances over your shoulder towards the giggler. “I noticed,” he says, turning back to you, “that you are here with thirteen guys. What’s the situation? Are they, like, your sister wives?”

You laugh, and he smiles, happy to have succeeded. “Well, the one about to start crying over Jenga is my little brother, so let’s quickly remove him from the scenario,” you say, and the guy nods, playing along.

“They’re mostly his friends,” you admit. “I just tag along.”

“Ah,” he says. “So no sister wives. Or boyfriends.”

“Ah,” you repeat, because he showed his hand. “No boyfriends or wives. Or partners of any kind, just to cover all the bases.”

He does a valiant job trying to carry a conversation with you, and you try to engage at least to a polite degree, but your heart just isn’t in it. Your bad mood festers, weighs heavy like water-logged clothing. When the clock strikes midnight, you consider yourself off the hook.

You apologize to the guy - whose name you didn’t even get, during this whole time - and extract yourself. You make your way over to where the guys are gathered by the indoor cornhole games. 

“I’m gonna head,” you tell your brother. 

He frowns, glancing at his phone. “It’s only midnight.”

You nod, tight-lipped. You don’t want to speak, don’t want to let it all spill out - that it isn’t fun to hang around trying not to watch Seungcheol out of the corners of your eyes, not fun to push your bitterness down and keep up the mask of someone who isn’t angry. 

Luckily, he doesn’t push it. “Fine,” he says, kind of flatly, and it makes you sad for a whole different reason. You hate letting Soonyoung down. “Get home safe.”

In your periphery, you watch Seungcheol’s head snap up at this. You shift so he’s out of your view, start pulling up the app to get a ride home. 

He doesn’t get the message your body-language is sending, instead sidling up next to you, his own phone in hand.

“Are you heading out?” he asks. “I was going, too, if you want to share a ride.”

Soonyoung gives you a quick pat on the arm and dips, heading back to Chan and the little bean-bags on the cornhole board. You don’t blame him - you wish you could vanish from here, too.

“Fine,” you say evenly. You don’t wait for him or even look back as you tap to confirm the ride. You just head for the front door at a clip.

Outside, you have a few minutes to wait before the car will arrive. You cross your arms, watching the street carefully, determined to engage with Seungcheol as little as possible.

Apparently, he has his own agenda. “You’re leaving pretty early,” he observes, sliding his phone into his hoodie pocket. 

You hum noncommittally, since he hadn’t asked a question. 

“Not having fun?” he prods.

You glance sideways at him. His cheeks are a bit pink. You hadn’t been paying enough attention to know how much he had to drink, but you’re wondering if he’s a little buzzed. 

“Just tired,” you lie, because it’s fewer syllables than the truth. 

He nods. His phone buzzes in his pocket again, loud enough that you both hear it. His face instantly shifts into guilt before he can correct it, and you know it’s Jieun blowing him up. You know that’s why he’s leaving early. You don’t even need to ask.

“Listen,” he says finally, and you lift your gaze to him. You feel absolutely nothing. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you ask, but your voice comes out hard.

“You know.”

This makes you let out a sarcastic laugh. “If you can’t even articulate it, then I don’t think I can accept.”

He sighs heavily, like you’re being difficult. “I’m not sorry that I chose to try again with Jieun,” he admits. “I think I have the right. But I’m sorry that you got hurt in the process. That wasn’t… what I wanted.”

You choke back the defensive I’m not hurt. “I appreciate the apology,” you say coolly. 

He regards you silently. For a second you’re back at the resort and he’s your knight in shining armor, ready to stand between you and whatever’s upsetting you. For a second, you’re back between his arms in bed, warm and safe and hopeful. For a second, your hand is back in his, accepting his promise to make things better for you.

The car slides up to the curb and you check the license plate against the app before opening the door and getting into the backseat. 

“I hope you’ll actually forgive me,” he says quietly, as the car pulls away. “Even if it takes a while.”

And there he is, your Seungcheol - earnest and quiet. 

“I forgive you,” you say. “I’m just… I’ll be fine. You hurt my pride, but I’ll get over it.”

“I am really sorry,” he repeats, and this time you believe him a little more. 

“It’s fine,” you say, because it’s going to have to be. “We’ve got to move past it, anyway, or things will be weird for my brother forever.”

Seungcheol’s quiet for a minute, thinking. His phone buzzes twice more on his lap, but he ignores it. 

“Do you think we can?” he asks finally. “Move past it? Maybe be friends?”

That would be new, you think. 

“I don’t know,” you say slowly. You’d have to put a lot of feelings away - both the good ones and the bad ones. “Do you think we could?”

He shrugs. “I already consider you my friend.”

You stare at your lap for a minute. “I’ll try,” you tell him, because it’s the most you can offer. 

He sends you a tiny, sideways smile. “I’m glad,” he says. 

That’s the last thing you say for the rest of the ride, until you’re slipping out of the car and calling a goodbye over your shoulder.

August

Time heals all wounds, and while you don’t want to say you were wounded necessarily, things do settle down - the sting ebbs, day by day. It’s replaced with acceptance and a bit of that same unnamable feeling that you always get when you think of Seungcheol and his quest to fix things with Jieun. It’s sort of how one might feel about Sisyphus - you understand his motivations and the good place they come from, but you wish he could step away and let the rock go, move on to more productive challenges. 

But he can’t - can’t step to the side and let the past roll away, can’t stop trying. Love is a curse, right?

“Don’t comets mean, like, disaster is coming?” Joshua asks. 

You’re all on Soonyoung and Chan’s roof - not even just the eight of you, but a bunch of your brother’s neighbors, too, all with the same idea. You’re not sure you’ll be able to see anything, with the city’s light pollution, but it’s one in the morning and you’re all standing around craning your necks, waiting for the promised show.

“Just change in general,” you say.

“Depends on the person, or the culture,” Vernon corrects from somewhere to your right. “To some, it’s a harbinger of disaster. To some, it just means change - good or bad.”

“Ominous,” Chan says, coming up behind you and resting his chin on your shoulder playfully before moving to bother Seungkwan.

You’d all been down in the apartment for a while, drinking and snacking. You’d even created a little themed cocktail you’d named the Comet-kazi, a play on the usual kamikaze made with your favorite tequila. It had been a nice night, even with Seungcheol there. You left each other alone, kept space, but you didn’t feel any of the simmer anything - neither the anger nor the desire. Things felt almost how they used to. Almost.

Now, all crowded together against the concrete wall of the rooftop, you feel a wave of affection for the whole crowd of your brother’s idiot friends - even Seungcheol. You lean a bit on Mingyu, mostly because you’re sleepy and he’s solid enough to hold you up, watching the sky for any flickers or flashes.

Seungcheol’s voice breaks the silence from behind you. “I gotta bounce. Sorry.”

No one answers him for a second, though you feel bodies shift around you as some of the guys look over their shoulders to see him already backing towards the door into the building. Next to you, Soonyoung meets your gaze, his expression flat and knowing - probably mirroring your own. 

It’s Joshua who speaks first. “You sure, man?” he asks. “They said this is once in a lifetime…”

“It’ll be there tomorrow,” Seungcheol says, already halfway through the door. He doesn’t look back as he disappears from view.

“Won’t be as good tomorrow,” Vernon mutters, too quiet for Seungcheol to hear. 

In front of you, leaning against the concrete, Chan sighs heavily. 

“We’ve lost him, lads,” Soonyoung murmurs next to you.

“Again,” adds Seungkwan darkly.

You shift your weight to lean against Soonyoung instead of Mingyu, unconsciously moving to comfort him, sensing his distress. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly.

He gives your elbow a squeeze. “None of it’s your fault.”

You aren’t sure you agree with that. Maybe if you’d been better, more worthy somehow - prettier, more witty, something - he’d have chosen you over the familiar path, and then your brother’s friend group wouldn’t be splintering. 

“There,” Mingyu says suddenly, pointing. You all shut up, turning to follow the line of sight from his finger. A few of Soonyoung’s neighbors press closer to your little group, all trying to see.

It takes a second, but then you see it - a ball of light not much bigger than the blinking planets, moving slowly across the sky. It has no tail, no flashes or sparkles or anything else the media might have led you to expect. But still, your eyes stay on it as it travels. You’re all silent, watching, nearly holding your breath.

Change.

You let yourself wonder what kind of change could be in store for you, let yourself hope that maybe - maybe - the universe could be bringing you something good.

“Did you see the comet last night?”

You switch your phone to your other ear and tuck it against your shoulder, your hands busy chopping an onion for dinner. Your mother’s voice rings, tinny. 

“I did,” you tell her, pausing to push some of the chopped pieces to the side with the blunt side of the knife. “I was at Soonyoung’s with all the guys. It was pretty cool. Did you?”

“Mhm,” your mother answers evenly. Then, “All the guys, hm? Was Seungcheol there?”

Your stomach drops. You hesitate on the cusp of the lie, your hands already starting to sweat enough that you have to set down the knife and wipe them on your jeans before resuming the chopping. 

Your fake relationship was - as Seungcheol had said, back on the night you’d argued last month - supposed to stay there. You hadn’t discussed what would happen after, as far as your story. Should you keep the lie going a little longer, or will it make the situation snowball into a problem?

You hesitate too long and your mother catches it. She says your name, inquisitive, and you sigh. You don’t like being dishonest with her. You push the last of the onion pieces into one pile and rinse the knife in the sink, then turn and lean back against the counter, dragging a hand over your face wearily, trying to decide what version of the story to give.

You settle on something that at least mimics the truth.

“We broke up,” you say. You can hear the flatness of your tone, can hear the regret and sliver of hurt in it. Those aren’t a lie at all.

She doesn’t respond for a long moment, and your stomach twists again. You tap your nails against the kitchen counter you’re leaning on, your pulse singing so loud it’s nearly yodeling. Then, she says, “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want to talk about it?”

You hear the question for what it is - what happened?

You chew on your bottom lip, once again toying between the truth and a nicer version - it just didn’t work out, or, I’m not really sure what happened.

“His ex came back around,” you admit. It actually feels kind of good to say it to someone that’s not Soonyoung, something loosening in your stomach, a muscle you didn’t know you’d had clenched. “They’ve been on and off as long as I’ve known him. She’s like a drug he can’t quit, or something.” You pause, heart pounding hard as you trip over the words you’ve kept to yourself for almost a month now. “It was stupid of me to think it would be different now.”

Stupid to think he’d be different, for me, you add silently.

She says your name again, soft and regretful, and your eyes fill at the unexpected understanding and sympathy.

You let out a little bitter laugh, just to offset the unwelcome tears. “It is what it is,” you say, because that’s better than backsliding into being hurt, when you’d finally been putting it behind you.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her voice going uncharacteristically quiet in response to the stark sadness in yours. “You aren’t stupid for hoping something will work. It’s not stupid to hope that someone will step up for you.”

You busy yourself by digging out the pot you need for the soup you want to cook, just to do something, put your sudden adrenaline towards an action. “I guess,” you say, but you’re wondering if she’s speaking from experience with your dad, all those years ago. Is this a lesson she’d learned after waiting for him to step up, time and time again? 

“He seemed to really like you,” she muses in your ear, and your fingers tighten on your phone as your face heats.

Yeah, you think. I thought so, too. You can’t make yourself say it, so you simply hum in agreement. 

She sighs. “Well, darling, there’s nothing to do but brush yourself off and get back on the horse.”

You scoff. “I think I’ll go inside and watch the horses from the window for a while, actually.”

She laughs, understanding the metaphor. “Well, not for too long, yeah?” she concedes. “Or you’ll forget how to ride.”

You drop the pot, the phone falling from your shoulder as you scramble to catch it. “Sorry - sorry,” you tell her, once you’ve righted everything. “Dropped the phone. I’m trying to cook dinner.”

“I can let you go,” she says easily. “I should call Nayoung, anyway.”

You say goodbye and hang up, and then stare listlessly at the pot and chopped vegetables on the countertop. You suddenly feel too tired to cook, too tired to think.

You close your eyes, press a cool hand against them and breathe. Talking about the situation had felt a bit freeing, it’s true, but it’d also brought some of the emotions back, and you’ve been trying to pack those up tight. 

“Enough,” you mutter to yourself. You reach to turn on the burner, waiting for the flame to emerge, waiting for your hurt feelings to settle back into quiet.

It’s the hottest week of the year when your air-con dies, because of course it is.

You call the building’s super, who tells you that the building’s entire HVAC unit is busted, and he’s got a team coming to work on it sometime in the next week.

You lay on your living room floor in your underwear, star-fished because you can’t stand to have one part of your body touch another, and melt, miserable. Even your pulse and your heartbeat feel like too much work for your overheated body.

It takes you less than twelve hours to crack, using your phone to buy a window unit from the local hardware store (a decision that future-you will regret when your credit card statement comes, but right now you’re too hot to care), selecting in-store pick-up. 

You get the unit into the car without a problem, thanks to the help of a store employee in a blue vest embroidered with the store’s name. It’s getting it out of the car that you realize you hadn’t thought enough about.

You call Soonyoung, who picks up on the third ring.

“What are you and Chan doing tonight?” you ask. You’re standing next to your car’s open back door, staring at the box like it’s a problem you might be able to solve. “I need a favor and I am willing to pay cash.”

“Sorry, but I have a date,” Soonyoung says. “And Chan’s at his parents’.”

“Fuck,” you mutter. 

“Why?” your brother asks, as you crouch next to your car just to keep yourself in its shadow; the sun beating down on you has nearly made you dizzy already. “What’s wrong?”

You explain the situation to him, a bit desperately. 

He hums. “I could ask Seungcheol-hyung,” he suggests.

“Soonyoung.”

“I’m serious. He’d be the most help, anyway. Probably more than Chan.”

You hear an indignant hey! in the background of the call.

“I don’t want you to call Seungcheol,” you say. “In fact, I would rather eat glass.”

But then you think about spending the rest of the day laying like a starfish in your living room. And about trying to sleep - sweat trickling down your back, legs sticky, flopping over time and time again.

There’s no way. You won’t survive.

“God,” you groan, miserable. “It’s fine. I can call him myself. Thanks anyway.”

“Good luck,” he tells you.

You lock your car and head inside - at least you can be out of the sun, and back under your ceiling fan. It’s not much but it’s better than nothing. You go back to starfish position and tap Seungcheol’s name on your phone. 

It rings out and goes to voicemail, so you hang up. Then your phone buzzes in your hand.

You roll your eyes. He’d texted you a “what’s up” instead of answering, which means he’s with Jieun and doesn't want to be on the phone with you in front of her. 

You text him back, need help with something.

Your phone rings almost immediately.

“You okay?” he asks.

Your chest tightens. You love and hate the way he’ll jump to take care of you. It isn’t fair, it promises something he can’t provide. It also makes you feel like you’re being filled with helium, cared for and protected.

“Yeah, it’s not, like, an emergency,” you explain. “It’s just… the air-con in my building went out, and I bought a window unit, but I can’t get it upstairs. I tried my brother and Chan and neither of them are home. I was gonna see if… but if you’re busy it’s totally fine.”

It seems like Seungcheol has pulled the phone away from his mouth; you can hear his voice, muffled, catch the words Soonyoung’s sister. 

You want to smash something. You almost hang up. 

“I can help,” he says, normal volume again. “Do you mind if it’s in an hour or so?”

“You’re doing me a favor,” you point out. “Take your time.”

He laughs lightly. “That’s true,” he says agreeably. “Okay. It might be a bit, but I’ll get there before dinnertime. Sound good?”

When the knock on your door comes, you’re almost dozing - still in the middle of the living room floor. You have to peel yourself off the ground gently, your skin sticking slightly. You make your way to the door sleepily, belatedly realizing that you should probably throw on at least a t-shirt - you’re thankfully not in just underwear anymore, but you are only in a sports bra and a pair of workout shorts. 

Oh well, you think. It’s not worse than a bathing suit. 

When you open the door, Seungcheol takes a small step backwards. 

“Um,” he says, a bit unsteadily, “hey.”

His gaze sweeps over you and then he looks steadfastly somewhere over your shoulder, the tips of his ears going dark.

“Hi,” you say, as normally as you can, as something both smug and bitter swims in your stomach. “Thanks for coming.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, sounding more like himself, though his ears stay red as you step backwards to let him in.

“I did try my brother first,” you say, even though he already knows this. You feel kind of defensive, like you need to be very clear that you hadn’t just wanted to see him or something. 

(It’s nice to see him, just the two of you. It makes you want to sink into his presence, unclench something you hadn’t realized you’d had tightened, lose yourself in his slightly spicy scent. But that’s a road you can’t go down.)

“It’s not a problem,” he says, looking around your place absently. You realize he’s never been here before. 

“Do you want a drink? Water or anything?” you ask.

“Maybe after I carry it up,” he says, pulling on the front of his t-shirt and flapping it to cool down his sweaty skin. “Fuck, it’s hot in here.”

“Yeah, it’s been pretty unbearable,” you say. And it’s hotter now, just because his proximity makes your heart beat faster, your body raising its temperature without your permission. Just because his dark eyes look troubled, and it’s work to fight the instinct to fix it. Just because his smile still cuts through you, even when it’s kind of wary. “Let me just grab my keys and we can…” 

You trail off as you pat around your cluttered kitchen table until your fingers find metal. Then you lead Seungcheol back into the hallway and towards the stairs.

“So, uh,” you say as you walk, the back of your neck prickling under his gaze from behind you, “how have you been? How are things?”

You turn over your shoulder as you ask, which is the only reason you watch his face twist for a second before he says, “Ah, you know. Normal.”

“The face you just made says differently,” you point out.

He shrugs, mouth going into a firm, thin line. “It’s complicated.”

Ah. Of course. Jieun.

“Oh,” you say. “We, uhm. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“We probably shouldn’t,” he says, sounding a bit chagrined. You watch his face carefully - your eyes charting the way his lashes flick as his gaze drops, the down-turn of his mouth flirting with the idea of a pout, his jaw flexing and relaxing like he’s focusing on making it look normal. 

You wish you could squeeze his hand or give him a hug; anything to let him know that someone cares if he’s hurting. But you can’t - he’s not your problem, not your responsibility. Straight-up not yours.

You blow out a quick breath, determined to get your shit together. “I mean,” you say, pausing on the stairs’ landing so you can face him, “you’re not going to hurt my feelings at this point. We did say we’d try being friends. If you want to talk about it and get a perspective that’s not from a twenty-something-year-old dude, I’m offering. As a friend.”

He stares at you for a moment, processing, making a decision. He seems to deflate a little when he decides. 

“It’s nothing really worth talking about,” he says. “Just the usual with Ji.”

Ji. You work hard not to grimace. 

“Are you two… back together?” you ask, your voice kind of small in the empty stairwell.

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, eyes finding the ceiling of the stairwell like he can’t look at you while he says this. “Not yes, but not no. Hence the… complicated.”

“Hence,” you repeat with a snort. He makes a face at you. For a second, it feels easy again. 

“So, what’s the problem?” you ask, leaning back against the wall and crossing your arms. The cement is cool against your back, actually feels nice after melting in the apartment for hours. 

“I dunno,” he admits. “We’re talking non-stop, it’s just… no one has pulled the trigger on it. It’s like we’re both waiting to see what the other will do. Neither of us wants to say it first.”

“Why not?”

He laughs once, a bit bitter. “Gives the other person the power, I guess. Gives them the chance to say no. So… here we are. Limbo.”

“So stop it,” you say clearly, like it’s simple. His brows scrunch. “Seriously. Say what you mean - tell her what you want.”

His eyes flick to the floor and then back to yours, something swimming in his brown eyes. “What if she -”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say firmly. “If she says no, if she laughs in your face - it doesn’t matter. Would that be worse than never getting what you actually want? Really?”

He’s quiet for a minute. Then he grumbles, “How come you always have the answer? I really fucking hate that.”

“It’s because don’t think with my dick,” you fire back, and he laughs out loud.

“What’s her excuse, then?” he asks. 

“Not sure,” you say, thinking about this. “But I have a lot of theories. The first one being that she enjoys the games just as much as you do - until they stop being fun.”

He lets out a wry laugh. “That’s no secret.” He regards you for a second, and you swear his eyes sweep your form again. Then he lowers his voice and says, “It’s kind of refreshing, how you don’t. Play games, I mean.”

You flush hot - angry, you think. You open your mouth to scold him, to tell him it’s fucked up to stand here and compare you to her, but he beats you to it.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I just heard what I said.”

Your fury settles, just slightly, but your body takes longer to get the message. Your heart still pounds, your face feels like you need to stick it in the freezer, your pulse thuds with adrenaline as it prepares to fight.

For a second, you’re in that hotel shower with him again, your fingers in his hair. The adrenaline feels the same. The space between you feels charged, suddenly, alive and awake and ready to take what it wants - take what you and Seungcheol both want, it seems.

You’re saved from having to reply - the door at the bottom of the stairs slams open and Mingyu’s voice yells, “Hello? I’m dying out here!”

You look at Seungcheol, baffled, the moment broken.

“I brought help,” he explains. “Come on.”

Before he leaves, as the new window unit blasts into your bedroom, you stop him.

“Be honest with her,” you tell him, voice low so Mingyu won’t overhear and get nosy. “It’s Boyfriending 101.”

Later, you lay on your bed in the dark, your new window unit blowing directly over you. You want to freeze, want to have goosebumps for the rest of your life to make up for how hot your last two days were. 

Your phone lights up with a notification and you glance at it. 

Your sister - mom told me about your break up :( sorry to hear that

You frown. You don’t appreciate your mother spreading your business, don’t want Nayoung getting little peeks into your life that you don’t feel she deserves. 

Another text pops up under the first - want to talk about it? 

Not with you, you think sourly. 

Your real response is nicer. You send back, not really. i’m okay. thanks for checking in.

Your phone rings. You growl, loud and frustrated, then fix your tone. 

“Hey Nayoung,” you say, trying to sound like you don’t want to throw your phone across the room. 

“Hi,” she says, her voice sweet in your ear. You feel bad for being so prickly. “Are you sure you’re okay? It sucks more than normal to lose a boyfriend to an ex. There’s like… I don’t know, an extra hit to your pride in it. I know, I’ve been there.”

You wonder how many boyfriends and heartbreaks Nayoung had after moving out that you didn’t know anything about. 

You wonder what it would have felt like to have a big sister back when you were a teenager navigating your first heartbreaks, having boy problems. But you’re trying to move on from that kind of thought, trying to let go of your anger for decisions decades old, so you let the thought float along instead of clinging to it.

“I’m really fine,” you insist. 

“I just can’t believe it,” she says, and you can picture her shaking her head, hair swinging with the motion. “He seemed head over heels with you. I thought he was crazy about you. And I was only around him for a few days.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Yeah, I was… I was wrong, too. But I’ll be fine. It’s not my first rodeo, you know? I’ll be fine.”

Nayoung is quiet for a minute. “Maybe he’ll come to his senses? Would you even entertain him if he did?”

“I don’t think so,” you say. “He and his ex have been on and off the whole time I’ve known them. I shouldn’t have… I should have known the pull she has on him would… I don’t know. Win. I don’t know if he’ll ever really be able to separate himself from her, you know?”

Maybe your relationship had been a lie, but every word you say now is true.

Nayoung groans dramatically. “That’s horrible,” she laments. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sucks for them, too,” you say, rolling and looking at your ceiling. This is the longest conversation you’ve had with your sister since before you wore a bra. 

She lets out a single disbelieving laugh. “Wow. I would not be so empathetic if it was me.”

“I’ve been around them a long time,” you explain. “Since college. I’ve seen him go through it with her over and over again. Sometimes I just want to yank him off the ride. I thought I had, for a while. But I guess not.”

She sighs. “Maybe there’s hope for him,” she says. “I was… when I was young, I was definitely the toxic ex for more than one guy.”

“You?” you say, surprised. “Toxic?”

She lets out a long breath. “Yeah,” she says, a bit guiltily. “I’m not proud of it. When I first moved out? You and Soonie were so young, you might not remember - it was bad in the house. Mom and Dad fighting was like… a black hole. Nothing else mattered - nothing else could exist except their fighting. I took a lot of my anger into my next few relationships. And then, even when I wasn’t as angry anymore… that was my example of love, right? I picked men who were bone-heads like Dad, and I treated them like… well, like Mom treated Dad.”

You’re stunned into silence. It’s a lot to process.

“Sorry,” she laughs. “Was that too much?”

“No,” you say. “No, not at all. I just… never saw that side of you. It’s hard to picture.”

“I know,” she says, a bit sadly. Then, she seems to steel herself. “I had to learn to do better. Therapy helped.”

Nayoung went to therapy? News to you.

When you hang up after chatting a little more, you sit on the edge of your bed, just thinking. You hadn’t really thought about how things had been for Nayoung before she’d left. You’d only thought about what she left behind.

The thoughts feel heavy. You’re too tired for them. You open social media instead, tapping when you see a message in the corner. 

Your whole body goes ice cold when you see the name next to the picture.

@princess_ji: hey girl. i want to clear smth up if thats ok?

“Oh, shit,” you mutter, standing up and pacing in your living room, despite the cloying heat in there. 

You: hey jieun. ofc, whats up?

@princess_ji: cheollie told me that when he went to your sister’s wedding last month you came onto him and you slept together. is that true?

“He told you what?” you bark, your voice echoing across your empty apartment. You stare at it for so long that you stop being able to feel your hands. Blinking, you set your phone down on the coffee table.

Be honest with her, you’d told him. You hadn’t meant this honest!

He’d told her you slept together. 

And you came onto him? Technically true… if you omit almost every single thing that happened leading up to it.

Jesus.

You stand up and start pacing, pressing your palms to your heated cheeks. Your stomach knots up, nausea creeping up your throat. You pace the length of your apartment six times before you sit back down again, pressing your forehead to your knees and exhaling slowly.

He must have told her he wants to be with her. He must be trying to do it right, starting with no secrets. 

Seungcheol had been there for you. He had held your hand and defended you to your family and held you when you were low. He’d done everything he’d promised and more. 

And then he’d carried your new air conditioner up two flights of stairs.

You owe him.

You: yes, it’s true. he went to the wedding with me as a favor so i wouldn’t be alone. i was going through some hard stuff that weekend and he was there for me. 

You: i was in a bad place and i let myself make a choice i wouldn’t normally make. that’s all it was.

You exhale slowly again, almost dizzy with anxiety as you see her start to type.

@princess_ji: okay… so like… what about now? do you still want him???

You can’t even blame her for wanting to know what she’s walking into. You’d want to know, too, if you were in her position.

You owe him. It’s with this in mind that you send your final reply.

You: it doesn’t matter. he doesn’t want me. he only wants you. the whole time i’ve known him he’s only wanted you.

There, you think, as you turn your phone off completely, sliding it away on the table so you can’t reach it. Now we’re even. 

September

Another Friday night finds you surrounded by your brother’s friends in his dimly-lit living room. It is identical to a thousand Friday nights before - the flicker from the tv, the sound of chatter and video games, beer fizzy in your mouth, the company shifting slightly week by week depending on who’s around. There’s only one thing different.

Seungcheol brought Jieun. 

Things were tense at first - the room going silent for a nano-second when he walked in with her, before everyone burst into noisy fake-normalcy to cover for it. But an uneasy acceptance seemed to fall over the room when you knocked back a bit of your beer and said, “Hey, guys. Either of you need a drink?”

Now, Seungcheol’s on the couch watching Vernon get absolutely destroyed in whatever team game they have on, Jieun’s legs draped across his lap and his arm around her back. You’re on the floor in your usual place. Chan has seated himself beside you, steadily between you and the couple, like a loyal golden retriever standing between you and something dangerous.

You love him a little, this second baby brother.

You chat with him quietly, trying hard to keep your attention on your conversation and not what’s happening across the room on the couch. You feel a little resigned, which is a step closer to acceptance, so you’ll take it. You’re starting to come to terms with the fact that this is just going to be how it is - you’ll move on from Seungcheol bit by bit, but for a while it’s going to continue to sting a bit when he’s in front of you like this. It’s going to be a long time before his presence doesn’t stir up everything you’re walking away from - the affection, the attraction, the sameness. When he’s in the room with you, you’re always going to feel the rush of how much you like him. 

It’ll be easier when you’re not around each other as much. 

And, with time, the rest will get easier, too. 

When Soonyoung calls you from the kitchen to help carry snacks, you rise quickly, happy to be in a separate space even if just for a minute. 

You grab a bowl of chips and a plate of veggies and dip and make your way back into the living room, heading to the coffee table to set down the dishes. As you draw closer to the couch, Jieun leans up, wrapping her arms around Seungcheol’s neck to pull herself closer to his ear. 

“How long do you want to hang out here?” she whispers. “Back to your place soon?”

She releases him, smiling mischievously as he turns to look at her. You set down the food and head back to Chan, so you miss his reply, which is too quiet to catch, muttered low only for her to hear. 

It must not be the answer she wants, because when you glance back at them after settling on the floor near Chan again she’s taken her legs off of his, her arms crossed and her mouth downturned. 

Seungcheol’s jaw tics. He shifts sideways so they aren’t even touching, but then his gaze inexplicably lands on you.

You hold his gaze. It feels like you’re having a conversation, eyes locked and neither of you speaking. You tilt your head just slightly. 

Do better. 

Don’t play the game.

His slides his eyes closed, lets out a slow breath, his chest deflating as the air leaves him. When he opens his eyes again, they don’t look at you. He reaches over to Jieun, gives her thigh a quick squeeze, and murmurs something to her.

You watch her soften, watch her frown slip away. 

You flop backwards on the carpet, so that you can’t look at them even if you’re tempted to. It’s not much longer that they rise, both of them apologizing for dipping out early.

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, giving them a smile as genuine as you can. “The guys don’t realize how boring it can be to sit and watch them play video games.”

“Hey!” your brother objects. “No one’s making you hang out with us!”

Jieun sends you a grateful smile, though. “Exactly,” she says. “I like to hang out with your friends, Cheollie, but I can only watch so many rounds of -” She mimics a machine gun with her hands, complete with sound effects.

Seungcheol scrunches his face at her in adorable, teasing protest and whisks her out the door. 

You flop backwards, suddenly exhausted - from masking, from trying to push through the awkwardness, from being “on”.

“Was that as awful as I thought it was?” you ask the ceiling.

“Yes,” Soonyoung says seriously, as the rest of the room assures you that it was not. 

“It’ll get easier,” he promises. 

Whatever guidance you’d given Seungcheol clearly doesn’t last. When you join Soonyoung and Chan (and whoever else they’ve roped in on this particular Friday) at a dive bar halfway between your places, it’s clear that things have gone sour. 

He gets there late, storming in and slamming himself onto the empty barstool to Mingyu’s left, ordering something that sounds like it’ll burn the whole way down.

“Rough day?” Mingyu asks, one brow arched. 

“Fucking over it,” he mutters, which is somehow both an answer and not an answer. 

He’s too many seats away from you to really carry a conversation with each other, so you turn your back to him and Mingyu. You instead chat with your brother and Chan and occasionally Wonwoo, who’s on Chan’s other side. But you can hear, behind you, the low timbre of Seungcheol’s voice, snapping and dark and so unlike the version of him you’ve known. You can hear and feel the force with which he slaps down his glass each time it’s empty, can feel Mingyu’s back stiffen bit by bit as Seungcheol’s temper gets hotter and hotter.

“I need some air, hyung,” Mingyu says finally. “You want to come with?”

Seungcheol declines, but Dumb and Dumber get up from next to you and follow him, elbowing each other (for no purpose except to annoy) as they go.

Which leaves you alone with Seungcheol one barstool to your left, and Wonwoo two barstools to your right.

With a side, you swivel left. Seungcheol is already looking at you, his expression still stormy.

“Well,” he says sourly, and then drains the rest of his glass, dropping it heavily to the wooden bar like he had his last few. You wince, expecting it to break, but it doesn’t. “How was your day?”

“Better than yours, I guess,” you observe.

He scoffs, lip curling. “Don’t need to fucking rub it in.”

You shrug. “Just stating the obvious. I’d ask what happened, but I can guess.”

His entire face twists, and for a second you wonder if you’ve poked the bear one time too many. Then, he seems to catch himself, takes a breath. He turns to signal for another drink before he responds, which you’re guessing was a ploy to give himself more time to cool off. 

“Haven’t heard from her since Wednesday. Either her phone’s off or she blocked my number.”

“Did you fight?” you ask, even though it seems like a dumb question. 

He raises and lowers one shoulder. “Not a bad one. Not a never speak to you again kind of fight. Not a don’t talk for three days kind of fight.”

You grimace. “Sorry, buddy.”

He mirrors the face back at you. “Don’t call me buddy.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” you ask, fake sweet. 

“You call every guy buddy who’s had his mouth on your pussy?” he sneers.

“Seungcheol!” you gasp, horrified. You glance over your shoulder - Wonwoo is pretending he’s not listening as he nurses his beer, but his ears have gone dark. You whip back around. “What is wrong with you?”

He seems taken aback - maybe at himself. “Sorry,” he mutters, looking at the wood of the bar instead of at you. “I just… didn’t like that.”

“Get over it!” you snap. “I don’t lash out at you or embarrass you in public every time something happens that I don’t like!”

He has the decency to look ashamed. “You’re right. I said I’m sorry. I mean - I am. I’m sorry. Fuck, I need some air.”

He stalks past you - definitely unsteadily - and you lower your forehead onto the bar, groaning with frustration.

“Sorry, Wonwoo,” you mutter, unable to even look at him. He awkwardly pats your shoulder, and then you’re saved by the sound of Dumb and Dumber returning, boisterously arguing about a band they both like.

You’re just starting to lose the heat of embarrassment when a notification pops up on your phone. Your eyes narrow. Seungcheol has tagged you in a photo? That can’t be good. You didn’t take a photo with him today.

Silently, you swipe to open the app. The shot you’re tagged in - along with the rest of the group - is just a blurry shot of everyone’s mostly empty glasses atop of the bar. It’s paired with a selfie he most certainly hadn’t taken here at the bar, but whatever - that’s not the problem.

The problem is you know exactly what move he’s trying to make here.

You release a breath too loudly. Your brother turns to look, alarmed.

“Where are you going?” he asks, baffled, as you grab your shit and stand.

“To fight with Seungcheol, apparently,” you mutter. 

You push your way through the bar, slipping through the door and past the bouncer, scanning the sidewalk for the idiot you know you’ll find here. 

“Hey,” you call when you spot him, leaning against the brick wall, face lit by his cell phone screen. “Untag me in that shit.”

He looks at you, confused. “Why?”

“Because you only did it to make her mad,” you say firmly as you draw closer. “You want her to see that I’m out with you guys and get pissed off or jealous or both. Don’t do that. Don’t use me to play your fucking games with her.”

The silence you’re met with is so stony, you think he’s going to fire back at you. But instead he lets his screen go dark and his arm lowers to his side again, and then he mutters, “Fine. You’re right. Sorry.”

“Tell her sorry,” you grumble.

He scowls at you. “Whose side are you on? She should be apologizing to me.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes a little. “This is getting old, don’t you think?”

“What is?” he asks darkly, a warning in his tone for the first time. You ignore it; he’s pissed you off too many times tonight and you’re done being delicate about all this.

“Me trying to correct the course while you try as hard as you can to steer towards the rocks.”

He pushes himself from the wall, coming to face you completely. A shiver goes through you, despite yourself. You meet his angry gaze just as furiously.

“Why are you trying to steer at all?” he asks, mocking. “You shouldn’t even be on the boat.”

A laugh bursts from you - half from shock and half because he’s right.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding, still smiling despite how fucking angry you are. “I guess it’s just… as your friend… it’s kind of hard to watch it happen. Especially when I know you can do better.”

His expression darkens further, his brows furrowed and his eyes angry slits.

“You know,” he says, his voice low and hard, “I’m getting really tired of your I know everything act, when I’ve spent the last three or four months watching you pretend that if you keep everyone but Soonyoung off your island, nothing will ever hurt you.”

“Excuse me?” you breathe. “I don’t do that.”

He shrugs, all innocence. “Sure seems like it from here. Who else do you let see you when you’re down - your family? Definitely not.”

A dangerous wave of anger washes over you. “That’s pretty fucked up,” you say, voice sounding warped to your own ears, “considering you saw firsthand why I keep distance with my family. I’m not trying to not get hurt, I’m creating boundaries -”

“Creating boundaries that don’t let them close enough to hurt you,” he says, like you’ve proven his point.

“That’s not the same,” you argue. “And who the fuck asked you, anyway?”

He shrugs. “You seem to have a lot of opinions about my life, just thought I’d return the favor… buddy.”

You very nearly launch at him, your hands balling into furious fists, but you’re saved from yourself by Soonyoung jogging up the sidewalk, calling both of your names.

“What’s going on?” he asks, panting. “I came out to see if you were gonna come back in to close your card. Are you guys fighting?”

“No,” you both say, in tandem.

You start to follow Soonyoung back towards the bar. Over your shoulder, to Seungcheol, you shoot, “Untag me. Got it?” Then you head back inside with your brother, leaving your ex fake boyfriend outside, alone.

–

You’re pulled from a dreamless sleep by your phone buzzing on your nightstand. You reach for it without opening your eyes, mumbling a hello, expecting Soonyoung or Chan.

“Come open your door.”

For a long second, you have no idea who’s talking or what the hell they’re talking about. You blink your eyes open, pulling the phone away from your face to peer at the screen.

“Seungcheol?” you manage to ask. “What do you mean open my door? Wait, are you in my building? How did you even get in?”

“I knocked,” he says simply. “Come let me in before your coffee burns all the skin off my hand.”

“Coffee?” You perk up just a fraction.

You can almost hear the playful eye-roll he gives you. “Come on, it’s really hot. They didn’t give me one of the paper-hand-protector things.”

You hang up and shuffle across your room, grabbing a hoodie from the back of your desk chair and pulling it over your head as you make your way to your front door.

Seungcheol clearly hasn’t slept, is probably nursing a hangover - but somehow still looks great. 

“Here,” he says, holding out a to-go cup from a nearby cafe. “I think I got your order right. Careful, it’s hot.”

You take the cup and regard him silently. You have a hunch that he’s here to apologize for fighting with you, and you aren’t sure how you feel - not sure if you’re going to forgive him or pretend to forgive him or maybe even just keep fighting.

“Can I come in?” he asks, a bit sheepishly.

You twist your mouth sideways. “Won’t you get in trouble for that?”

He smiles ruefully. “She can’t yell at me if she isn’t speaking to me.”

“That’s true,” you murmur, and after considering for a moment, you find yourself backing up to let him in.

He stands near your table, looking around with mild interest, the same way he had when he came with your air conditioner. 

“You wanna sit down?” you ask. Then, “You want half of this? I can pour it into mugs.”

“No,” he says quickly. “That’s yours. I want you to have it.”

This solidifies your guess that this is an apology coffee. But he does sit at your table, gingerly, like he’s scared the chair will break beneath him. 

You sit across from him, sipping at the coffee he brought you, and wait. He came with something to say, so you’ll sit and listen.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says, quietly.

You look at the cup in your hand - it’s easier than looking at him as you say, just as quietly, “Some of it was true.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shifting forward. “Just because it’s true doesn’t mean I had to say it. You’re right - I can’t keep inserting you in my bullshit. It isn’t fair.”

You shrug. “I should stop telling you what to do, too. I’m… inserting myself into the bullshit, I guess. It’s just…” You trail off.

He raises both eyebrows, like he wants you to complete the thought. 

You let out a nearly silent sigh, a breath of defeat. “It is really hard to watch you go ‘round and ‘round with her, after all these years. But… even if it’s hard… it’s not my business. I’ll try to stay out of it.”

He nods. “That’s probably… better for both of us.”

“Well,” you say, a bit of awkwardness settling between you, “we can both make an effort to keep me out of it. I appreciate the apology. I’m sorry, too, if anything I said was out of line.”

This was good communication, you think. If you weren’t trying to stay out of it, you’d say so, tell him that this was how partners should talk after a fight.  

You walk him to the door instead, slowly, something weighing on your mind.

“Seungcheol?” you say, as you get within arms’ reach of the door. “What you said outside, last night… about my island…”

He looks embarrassed, shaking his head immediately to deny the truth of it. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It isn’t true,” you say again - firmly, but much more calmly thank you had outside the bar. “I keep my family out of my day to day life because I prefer that.”

He waves his head slowly, like he’s considering what you’re saying. “Sure,” he says after a second. “So, ask yourself why. Why is it preferable, without them?”

“Because they drive me crazy,” you say. “Because I can’t rely on them to support me. Because they don’t consider my needs, or even feelings.”

“Because they’ve hurt you,” he says gently. “And sometimes they still do.”

You purse your lips, annoyed that his point has checked out. 

“And your friends?” he prods. 

“My friendships are fine.” Your tone has gone defensive again.

“You’ve never brought anyone out with us,” he points out. “I’ve known you since college and I don’t know the name of a single person in your life that isn’t in your brother’s living room every Friday night. Why keep your circle separate?” 

“No room left in Soonyoung’s apartment.”

He says your name like a gentle scolding. “Seriously.”

You blow out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know,” you huff. “My friendships aren’t like that - lay around the living room and bullshit over beer. They’re… get brunch on Sunday morning and maybe get a mani-pedi before going home again. It’s just different. They like different things - a plan, an activity. Soonyoung’s is just… sitting around.”

“Have you ever let them see you when you’re ‘off’? Just lounging? Do you ever talk to them when you’re low? Who did you turn to the last time you had your heart broken?” he asks.

You go quiet. It had been Soonyoung, and Chan just by proxy since you couldn’t avoid him in their kitchen.

“I’m not trying to pick on you. I shouldn’t have said it in the first place. But, you asked, so I’m explaining,” he says, a bit pleadingly. 

Your throat has gone embarrassingly tight and your vision blurs. The answer to his question is, no one.

His arms around you are so unexpected that you jump a little, startled. Then, after less than a second of consideration, you melt into his hold, into the safety between his arms that you’ve missed and craved since your sister’s wedding ended.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your head. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You let yourself hold him back, your arms loose around his middle. You don’t know where the line is - is this a friends hug, is it okay to lean on him or do you need to hold your tension yourself? 

In the end, you hover somewhere in the middle until he releases you, stepping back and looking at you carefully, one hand resting on your shoulder.

“I don’t want to be like that,” you whisper.

He gives you a sad smile. “Then you have to let people in.”

 “I don’t… think I know how,” you admit. Your stomach feels like lead.

He nods, face serious. “Yes you do. You let me in, when you needed me. That’s a start.”

And look what you did with it, you think. You were just more proof that my way is, in fact, keeping me safe.

His hand moves from your shoulder, up to your jaw. You startle again, your gaze jumping to his in alarm, a question on your face.

There’s a question on his, too, and he’s still standing so close.

“You should not kiss me right now,” you whisper, voice raw. Because, fuck, you want him to - or you would if he were here fully unattached. And he is very much not.

But that would be a mistake anyway, because even if he was unattached for now, Jieun would show up again eventually. You’ve made the mistake of thinking he can say no to her for the last time.

It doesn’t matter anyway. Right now, he’s with her, whether she’s currently speaking to him or not.

“You’re right,” he says, his own voice rough. His hand is gone from your cheek, but you don’t remember him removing it. “You’re right. Sorry. That was… that would have been a mistake.”

“It was a very good apology until that,” you tell him, reaching for the doorknob. “We’ll pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I’d appreciate that,” he admits, stepping into your hallway. Over his shoulder, he adds, “Thanks. For talking to me.”

“Thanks for talking to me,” you return, and then you watch him go.

–

When your sister calls a few nights later, you don’t feel the spike of frustration or anger you had the last few times. You’d almost been expecting it - at some point.

When she asks what’s new with you, you start to say nothing - just like always - but Seungcheol’s words are still swimming in circles in your head. Nayoung is trying. Maybe you could try, too.

So, you admit, “Kind of had a weird fight with Seungcheol the other night. I dunno.”

Her surprise is clear in her tone. “You talked to him?”

“Oh,” you say, realizing how little your sister knows about your day-to-day happenings. Of course she wouldn’t know that Seungcheol is at your brother’s essentially every weekend, just like you. “Well, yeah. He’s one of Soonyoung’s best friends. He’s always around.”

“God, that’s the worst,” she grouses. “How can you be expected to get over someone when they’re always in your face?” The question seems rhetorical because she continues, “What did you fight about?”

“Him and his ex, at first. Well, she’s not his ex… currently. I’m his ex, currently. But, you get it. Just like… watching him act like a tool with her when… he was better with me.” You let out a sound that’s almost a laugh - at your own expense. Because you can hear how stupid you sound. 

Your sister says it more nicely. “You have to let people make their own mistakes, unfortunately,” she says. 

“I know,” you say mournfully. “It just sucks.”

She sighed. “You’re braver than me,” she tells you. “I don’t think I could date again. If anything happens to Jeongwoo, I swear I’ll be single until I die.”

“It’s rough out here,” you agree. 

“Seriously,” she says. “I really only got in deep with Jeongwoo because when we started talking, I had already known him from college. I knew his character already, I knew his reputation. I’m not sure I could just… learn to trust a stranger.”

You go cold with how much this sounds like you.

“Yeah,” you say slowly, not sure you want to unpeel this truth for her, not sure you want to reveal this ugly part of yourself. But maybe this is the best place to do so - with someone who seems to match. Someone who knows how you grew up, learned love from the same fiery wreck that you did. “I… me, too. That’s the second thing we fought about. He kind of threw it in my face that I don’t let… most people in.”

She laughs once, sarcastic and biting. “You can blame Mom for that.”

This shocks you into silence. “I don’t blame Mom,” you say carefully. “I mean, I don’t fully blame anyone - every day of my life worked to shape me into who I am, no person is responsible. But between Mom and Dad… I wouldn’t say it’s Mom’s fault that I don’t like… sharing myself with others.”

The words come from you unsteadily, like a newborn colt, wobbly and unbalanced. You’ve never articulated this before, never even really thought about it. But you don’t blame your mother - for all of her flaws - for your fear of vulnerability with others. She hadn’t left you behind.

That had been Nayoung - Nayoung, and your dad.

Nayoung makes a sound that seems like the vocal representation of a shrug. “I don’t remember Mom ever feeling like someone I could talk to when I had problems, or when I was upset,” she observes. 

“Maybe,” you say, because, true, your mother hadn’t really been soft and comforting. But - “But at least she was there.”

And there it is. 

Unlike Dad. Unlike you.

You don’t say it, but you think she probably hears it anyway. Nayoung doesn’t respond for so long that you check to see if you got disconnected.

“We’re all a mess, huh?” she muses finally. “All four of us. How’d Soonie end up so normal?”

“Everyone babied him,” you supply, and she laughs, the potential moment of depth successfully swerved - as expected for you, and apparently from your sister, too. 

Still. When you hang up a little later, you feel somehow lighter. Like you understand her better - and maybe you let her understand you better, too. You’d let her in a little bit - just an inch - but it wasn’t nothing.

It almost feels kind of nice.

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The final chapter will go up next Friday!! Thank you for reading!!