#and then what i did called attention to the thing that was about to happen

[lexalith]

FRIENDS || Choi Su-Bong (Thanos)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

subong. are you awake?

yes ma’am. why?

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

???

do you think i’m attractive?

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

it takes him a few minutes to reply.

what kind of question is that?

just answer

i’m too high for this shit, bro

you’re not high🙄 liar

i wish i were

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

yeah, i think u are

really?

sure thinggg, u’re hot mama

dude quit playing, i’m being serious over here

i’m not fucking playing

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

what are we even talking about

why can’t you just answer?😭

what is this for?

for my knowledge

tf is that supposed to mean?

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

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

some stuff? what stuff?

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

who tf is this dude?

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

it does?

are you gonna answer my question or no?

yeah. i think u r both kinds.

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

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

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

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

are u serious?

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

alr, imma be honest. yeah i would

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

subong’s typing…

would u? with me?

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

maybe

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

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

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

but have u?

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

can’t help it when u look that good💯

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

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

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

i knew itttt señorita 🙏🏼

shut up

how many times?

why do you wanna know?🤨

i answered ur stupid ass questions, now u answer mine

maybe like idk, two?

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

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

more than u wanna know

how bad are we talking?

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

maybe i do

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

you do realize i’m your bestfriend right?

yeah, so?

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

yeah but they don’t make me as hard

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

even saying this shit is getting me worked up

what???😭 you’re hard??

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

it was hypothetical

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

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

too much info, subong

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

okay… should i leave you to it?

fuck no

damn alr, suffer then🙄

could u help me out?

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

with a pic of u or smth

boy whatttttttttt

what?

i’m not sending you fucking nudes wtf 💀💀

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

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

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

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

hoooooooooly shitttttttttt

it’s just a pic

yeah, a pic of u looking like that

im just in my pajamas

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

subong you can’t just say stuff like that

why not? we always tell each other everything

i should’ve thrown on a hoodie

i’d still be thinking of what’s underneath

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

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

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

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

it's him. he sent a picture.

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

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

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

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

and what if i don’t?

then i'd make u

mhmmm, how?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

shit, subong… i’m close

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

u better be there señorita

i will🙃

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this shit is so funny bro loooololol

i fear your humor is broken😐

naahhh u just don’t get ittt babyy

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

another day, he messages the group chat:

pentagon this weekend?🔥

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

wbu? still down to go?

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

yeah, sureee

bet. see u saturday, señorita

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

outside

outsideeee

outsideeeeeeeee

hellooooooooooooooooooo

one minute, let me grab my jacket

i’m freezing man

one minute my ass

patience is a virtue ❤️

cmooooooooon

u knitting the jacket or what

girl i just hit retirement age waiting for u

you’re so dramatic

and u r so slow, balance baby

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it happens everywhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and you did. every single time.

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

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

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

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

are u busy?

no, why?

good, i’ll be there in 10

i’m on my period

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

subong.

yeah?🙏🏼

not in the mood❤️

oh

alr cool👍🏼💯

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

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

i’m the only snack u need, girl

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

pick up the fucking phone

cmon baby please

i fucking miss u

don’t do this shit to me

u make me so fucking angry

bro istfg

please

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

i know u r reading these

don’t fucking ignore me bro

at least tell me u r okay

minsu asked why u didn’t come with us today

just fucking answer

is it that hard?

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

u r fucking selfish

i hope u know that

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

im highhg as fuvckk bro

look whatu vdone to me

fukcing bittvhhh

its urA fault

i mis uu

u r myybhaby❤️❤️❤️❤️

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

can i cone over? plewaasse

answer bitchj

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

come bsck

i loveyouy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[nosyrobin]

Nerdy Tactics

————————

Yandere!Batboys Highschool AU

Prologue | I.Riding Pays | II. The Gray Side | IV. Lucky Artistic Charm

Previous… on the Yandere!Batboys

You jolted up to see a boy with neat fringe hair cut, and nerdish glasses. He looked at you with softness, his hand lifting up to wave at you. You swore you could see a small bit of blush on his pale cheeks. There stood the Wayne brother of this class.

Tim Drake.

Present time. Time: 8:10 am. Date: Wednesday , 7th, 20XX.

You stared at Tim in shock before you looked away from him. The boy frowns as he sits next to you, “Hey… Y/N? Is something wrong?” He quizzes as he places his hand again onto your shoulder.

You tensed up as memories blared into your brain.

Blood, blood all over his hands as he grabs you along with a small brown skinned boy who stranded by him.

“We had to do this for you… they aren’t perfect like we are for you.” The voice says, echoing in your head. The last thing you felt was something inserted into your neck.

You snapped out of your thoughts when Tim kept calling your name. You looked at him, flashes of his dark cold face of that switched with his concerned soft one. You started to breathe heavily, you felt as time was going slow. He reached his hand lifts off of your should and goes towards you.

Your mind kept switching to him dragging you across the floor. How his younger brother was just coldly staring at you.

Before Tim could touch you, you slapped his hand from your face with wide eyes and narrowed brows. The boy moves back, pulling his hand to his chest. Shock written on his face as you started to calm down from him moving back.

“S..sorry.” You said softly, chuckling it off. How weak and embarrassing can you get. Showing that the accident was getting to you. “Guess I’m not feeling that well after all.”

Tim’s eyes soften as he nods, “I see. Well, I’m glad you’re back in school now. I’ve been worried that you may had it be homeschooled.” You nodded, really wishing he would be quiet. You looked forward at the teacher who was showing the programs of coding. Tim continued talking, looking at your side profile with soft dilated eyes.

“And if you did, you wouldn’t be safe either ways.”

“What?” You turn back to him who was looking forward like you. Tim looks back at you with a raised brow. “Hm? What’s wrong?” “Did… did you say something?” You felt yourself get nervous now. You swore you heard what you heard.

“I didn’t say anything? Are you sure you’re okay?” Tim says worried, a frowns appeared on his face. “Wow, you weren’t really joking about not being okay still..”

“Yeah…” you gazed onto his face, studying him to see if he’s hiding anything. You point to the glasses on his face.

“What’s up with the glasses? You never wore them before?” You said with a raised brow. That seem to make Tim’s face burst red, he messed with the glasses a bit before looking at you with a wide smile.

“Well with programming classes and coding a lot in robotics, my eyes started to get a little weak. So I had to get checked out and yeah.” He says as he stares at you with a soft stare.

Raising a brow, you looked at him confused. Tim always had 20/20 vision. He told you himself, he never needed glasses…

“But didn’t you always use to—”

“MX. [LASTNAME] & MR. DRAKE!”

You and Tim jolted at the teacher’s loud voice as the coding character has finished the programming. Classmates turned at you with either annoyance or confusion.

“Stop talking. Pay attention or I’m writing you both up.” With a stern look, the teacher turns back to the board. Leaving you with your hand in your hair and a confused face.

What the fuck was happening?

Tim could see you breaking down a little beside him, only moving his eyes to glance at you. His eyes started to darken.. he remembered.

“[name], what’s your type?” A girl with pigtails said, she looked at Jason. This was all in middle school. “My type is Jason! He got this bad boy vibe about him.” She giggles behind her hand. “You’re so lucky to have Jason by you.. I would die the second they say hi to me..” you awkwardly chuckled, “I don’t know what my type is.. I’m not really into dating.” You rubbed your arm. The girl gives you a raised brow, “No way you don’t have a type! You have to have a type at least…”

“Okay okay.. fine. I guess I like nerdy guys? Like Andrew Garfield spider man wise.. yknow? He looked hot with the glasses on.” The girl’s eyes widen as she shook you hard. “Omg yesss!!! I agree as well!!”

You and the girl walked away from where you were standing by the swing sets, not knowing a certain boy with a fringe heard what you said.

“So they like nerdy guys….” Tim looks down before a dark smile itched across his face.

“Okay.”

After class ended, you got from your seat ignoring the calls of Tim fumbling to get his notebooks and bag. You didn’t think a certain Wednesday would be like this when coming back from a few days.

Next class is Art, ah yes the peacefulness of creating the art inside of your mind and into the world. You smiled a genuine smile as you went to the 2nd floor of the school and into the class.

Sitting down, you let out a fresh breath of air.

Nothing can go wron—

“Hello, [last name].”

And it can.

When you turned to your left, there sat the worse of them all.

Damian Wayne.

Taglist: @roryroro @elect1z @lil-isha @no-bishes @darkfaethedestroyer @nightblanc @cxcilla @winter-world @cim0nnin @yl90 @enjisthings @gwyneveire @ashleeytrx @nightwinglover101 @exactlynumberonekryptonite @caffeinatedvigilantewriter @red-phantom-0 @iriseros00 @zenyyyluvyuu @xen-blank @obsessedwithromance @loafersrs @devils-blackrose @not-herexo @nyxisdark @chiarasworldd @apelepikozume @bookwarm0-0 @daffy-the-duck @holyfishbailiffpeanut @kaylp-godly @cheriecelestial @helloitsmeeeeeee @khalinda-ev @vodkaredbullsblog @another-one-writer @tenswife @that-creepy-girl-000 @childofman12 @1jieka @d1nne @alishii @tsuniio @melvin333 @lillian-morningstar @gentlemonstersworld @skullyz1 @eosfung @hearts4mica @sukaretto-n @mxvoid26

[thekoalapastriesbakery]

ATTENTION

formula one x male!rookie driver!reader

request: I was wondering if we could get a cute fic where a retired driver catches feelings for a new driver on the grid? Like, the retired driver is totally smitten and keeps trying to get the new driver’s attention in the cutest ways, but the new driver is kinda oblivious at first. Bonus points for some playful banter and the retired driver getting teased by his old grid friends about his obvious crush. Preferably with retired drivers like sb5, nr6, jb22, kr7, and ms5. Thanks so much, you’re the best <3

summary: it's your first year in formula one, and you've caught the eye of a world champion.

warnings: age gaps (duh), minor negative self-image (reader), one joke about reader being a "boy-toy (kimi), minor suggestive content (seb)

contains: jenson button, kimi raikkonen, + sebastian vettel

word count: 1,586 (total — 485/512/589 separately)

jenson button:

you’re way too old for him, jenson scolded himself.

you were just joining the grid for the new season. you weren’t as fresh-faced as some of the other rookies (like kimi antonelli, for example), but you were still young. way younger than jenson would ever think to go for. he couldn’t explain what about you it was that caught his eye. all he could explain was that you were an attractive guy and he just admired your driving. right?

wrong.

as the season kicked into first gear, jenson found himself interviewing you more and more. basic (well, as basic as sky got) interviews turned into banter and jenson could have even sworn that you were flirting with him on occasion. everyone noticed the way jenson lit up whenever you joined him for an interview, or how he could have that googly-eyed, smitten, puppy love-look in his eyes for you even when he was standing right next to his sworn enemy. yet, you didn’t seem to notice. you just talked to him like normal. smiled at him like normal. and jenson was convinced he’d be doomed to a life of pining.

from your perspective, you were very reticent to believe that a driver of jenson’s calibre had taken such a keen interest in you. you knew you were a good driver. you didn’t make it to formula one for no reason, after all. you weren’t surprised people would recognise that—though, that didn’t stop the proud feeling in your chest whenever someone complimented your driving. what you were surprised about, though, was that people seemed to think jenson liked you for something other than your driving capabilities. he was basically twice your age, a world champion, and a commentator. you just couldn’t see what was so appealing about yourself. it didn’t seem plausible. 

the season continued. you were having a rather impeccable rookie year, if you did say so yourself. not that you needed to. everyone else said it for you. you got closer with jenson. the hero worship faded the more you got to know him, replaced by genuine admiration. and maybe a little bit of attraction—he wasn’t your gay awakening for nothing—but he didn’t need to know that. 

years later, when you told the story, jenson piped up cheekily to say “i think i did, actually!”

the closer you got, the more smitten jenson became, and the more the other older drivers teased him for it. then one very special grill the grid episode came out. one where you were asked about your very first celebrity crush. several drivers said ‘sally’ from cars. a few others said supermodels, or disney channel actors. you, though … the interviewer had barely finished the question before you blurted out, “jenson button”. 

the clip went viral. of course it did. but it also finally gave jenson the courage to ask you out, and neither of you had looked back since.

kimi raikkonen:

kimi was known for being stoic. he’s not called the iceman for no reason. before this year, he would’ve said there were only two things in formula one that could him to smile: seb, and alcohol.

then he met you. 

he wasn’t sure how it happened, but before he knew it, he was actually looking forward to visiting the paddock. he didn’t even hate the media as much as he thought he would. especially if you’d stop by his interview to say hello—you couldn’t help it, he was one your favourite drivers ever—kimi would even find himself enjoying it. he had to filter his own name on social media with how many people started commenting about his rosy cheeks whenever you were around. 

unfortunately, he wasn’t able to filter his friends’ mouths. a night out when a few of them were all at the same race quickly turned to kimi’s puppy crush on you. plenty of teasing about kimi wanting a “boy-toy” echoed from their booth. the more time he spent in the paddock, the more he fell for you, the more he did to get your attention. he’d even put up with a lot more media attention than he wanted to. starry-eyed whenever you’re in sight, kimi had almost given up hope that you’d ever even notice his feelings, let alone return them. 

you really had no idea that when you joined formula one, you’d catch the eye of kimi raikkonen of all people. you’d grown up watching kimi race and how he behaved with the media. of course you knew that the way kimi acted with you was different. you just assumed that he was different with everyone off camera. but a few conversations with your fellow rookies quickly proved that assumption incorrect. so you started asking around. none of the other younger drivers knew kimi all that well, which then pushed you into something a bit more daunting—asking the older drivers. lewis hamilton and fernando alonso. both perfectly nice guys, but both multiple world champions. asking them if kimi raikkonen was being weirdly nice to you felt silly and downright awkward. 

lucky for you, you’d already asked charles and lance, who were … not the best at keeping secrets. 

one race later you had two championship-winning drivers telling you that, yeah, the iceman had an embarrassingly big crush on you. not exactly news you expected on a race weekend. the race went by in a blur of overtakes and instructions. it wasn’t your best performance, but it wasn’t bad either. for hours after you went to bed that night you were tossing and turning. 

you had no idea how you got to where you were. standing in front of kimi’s hotel room door in sweatpants and a t-shirt you didn’t remember packing, you were half-sure you’d regret it in the morning. but then he opened the door. you had only partly explained what lewis and fernando had told you before kimi lurched forward to kiss you. 

it was certainly safe to say you didn’t regret going to see him.

sebastian vettel:

seb may have been retired, but he still kept up with formula one. and a season with no less than seven rookies … that was something he needed to see. 

he never intended to fall for you. you were way too young for him! and you were just starting in formula one. sebastian didn’t want to distract you from that. you deserved a good start to what he (and everyone else) was sure would be a very long career in the pinnacle of motorsport. he just couldn’t help himself from trying to get your attention, no matter how much jenson, kimi, mark, lewis, fernando, and even charles teased him for it. he had it on good authority—also known as your teammate in formula two who was all too eager to have someone to complain about your late night escapades to—that you were at the very least bisexual, so he started subtly trying to shoot his shot. 

except you were far too oblivious. even though seb wasn’t being nearly as subtle as he thought he was, you didn’t even consider that he would be flirting with you. he was a four-time world champion! you were a rookie! in your mind, there was no version of reality where he’d actually be into you. despite what the other drivers seemed to think. you were friendly with sebastian, and even occasionally flirty, but to you it was just harmlessly flirting with your celebrity/childhood crush. sebastian didn’t need to know that some of his podiums in the early 2010s made you realise certain things about yourself …

as the season progressed, so did seb’s desperation. his flirting attempts escalated from subtle and sweet compliments to just about as intense as they were when he was in his red bull and ferrari days. he’d lost count of how many times one of the older drivers had sent him tweets or memes about him reviving his “feral twink era”. they weren’t exactly wrong, either—with the way seb acted around you, it would’ve been a fair assumption that he had returned to his early 2010s chaotic gay tactics. he was making comments about how you looked when you were drowned in champagne after your first podium, making suggestive and borderline explicit jokes with you, batting his eyelashes at you … everything.

it all culminated in the final race of the season. after twenty-three races, the vibe in the paddock very much reminded you of the last day of school. everyone was tired and ready for a holiday. jetlag got to everyone eventually, no matter how used to traveling they were. and, apparently, the last thing on the agenda was a game of telephone between the drivers to tell you that sebastian had actually been flirting with you all season. by the time the rumour got to you, it was a little distorted, but the core of the message was still clear enough: you needed to talk to seb. 

he was torn between embarrassment and just continuing with his over-the-top attempts to get your attention. he’d forgotten how fun it was to be a little feral every now and then. eventually, though, seb decided that he didn’t want to risk pushing you away. he explained his feelings with a lot of clarifiers that he didn’t want to pressure you at all. he rambled so much that you just gave in and kissed him to stop him. it wasn’t exactly the relationship you expected to have with one of your favourite drivers, but … well, you weren’t complaining.

©thekoalapastriesbakery :: please do not copy or rewrite my work on any platform !!

author's note: enjoy early-mid twenties!2025 rookie!reader, because i do <3 (nico not included because i don’t really think i’d write him well)

comments + reblogs appreciated!

taglist: @raizelchrysanderoctavius @crispysoup318 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @ncrsbrg @spoonfulofmilo @justaf1girl @widow-cevans

[wildestheart4ever]

Here are some scenes that have been sitting in my head for a while:

Jason quietly closes the door behind him, scratching the back of his head as he thought of the new information that has been brought to his attention.

The Joker’s dead, it had been a whole public ala execution affair. Killed by his grandfather’s hand.

The King was angry

The Infinite Realms and the human world [or at least, the US] had been at war for two years. Spirits were haunting the streets so often that civilians were secluding themselves in their homes hoping for some semblance of peace.

“War, since when?” As if learning the Joker was dead wasn’t enough, now there’s this? Why did he not know any of this, why did Talia not tell him anything about this???

His bafflement gets him a few laughs and a sympathetic pat on the back. He has to keep from bristling and growling in response, it’s not their fault his source of information has been faulty .

“You’ve really been out of touch with Gotham for a while, haven’t you?” The older man teases, taking another sip of his beer before continuing, “It’s been a whole thing that started two years ago - conoces el Rey de los Muertos? Well apparently he was our Robin’s grandfather, and when he learned that his nieto had been killed, se encabrono. Had a whole manhunt out for the Joker - you should have seen it, it was all over the news. He - como lo mato?”

“Froze the fucker from the inside out and then ripped off his head,” a skinny looking fella at his right offered, letting out a scoff “Good riddance, I say.”

Murmurs of agreement were echoed, as the old goon continued, “I’ll say - anyway! So he not only killed the Joker, he declared war on the US government ‘cause apparently they were hunting his people, you know?”

“What was up with that, anyway? I get all those bozos lookin’ to help the dead move on and shit - but hunting them???”

“I think the Ghost King publicly killing the Joker says enough on the why.”

Jason’s not even gonna touch on that, maybe point a few shadows in his direction, see how that line of thinking fairs.

“Yeah, but it was the Joker.”

“Yeah? And then the war happened, pendejo.”

He pointedly clears his throat to call their attention, giving them a flat look as they offer him sheepish looks.

The man next to him looked just as annoyed by the interruptions, grumbling under his breath before continuing, “So the Ghost King declared war, and we were - or at least the government and the Justice League - that is, were losing badly, which only added to the dead so you can imagine how that went.”

“And the big guy didn’t think that was enough, no, don’t know what he did, but the streets of Gotham were suddenly crawling with dead folk, they were running the streets, harassing people - it was terrifying up until we realized only the rich folk -“

“- And the rogues, don’t forget the rogues”

“Yeah, and the rogues were getting the brunt of their anger, and Crime Alley - donde estaba lleno de ellos? - fucking peaceful. Then there was rumors of people seeing their dead so and sos, and well, since the big dead hotshots we’re keeping the violent ones in line……”

“Fuck them, right?” Jason finished with a mean smile. He can only guess who the hotshots were - his old man had a lot of stories to share about what used to be his own rogue gallery. He huffed at the boisterous jeering, smiling a little before nodding, “So when did the war end?”

“Since this March. I’m guessing the big guy finally got what he wanted ‘cause since then everything has been quiet - his troops all left except for the residents of Gotham I think.”

“Good riddance - ow! Hijo de su chingada madre, what was that for?!” One goon swore, rubbing the back of his head and scowling at the woman who smacked him.

“We’re you born yesterday? Everyone knows that the dead like to talk. You know the phrase Even the walls have ears? Best take that shit to heart, ‘cause they’re everywhere.”

He huffed a large gust of breath before tensing, finally picking up the presence in his apartment, hand immediately pulling out his gun and pointing it at the shadowed figure sitting on his ratty couch -

“Now, sonny, you should know by now those things don’t work on me.”

The sound of that familiar voice had him relaxing a smidge, lowering the weapon and carefully eyeing his grandfather, “Hey gramps.”

It had been hard to differentiate the chill between all the strong spirits roaming the streets these days, but none of them resonated with his core the way only one ghost could.

Turning up the light switch, Jason watched as his grandfather studied the book in his hand with a bemused look, “You always were such an avid reader, much like my sister.”

“Great aunt Jazz?” Yeah, he recalled the stories his gramps used to tell him about his old friends and family. It had given him a warm feeling, knowing his family hadn’t been pervaded by cruel or indifferent relatives.

No, just mostly dead dead ones.

The old man hummed, smiling a little smile before setting the book aside, “Yes, though her taste in literature lied more in psychology than your old classics. It’s nice to know the beyond hadn’t changed any of your interests.”

“Nah, just a bunch of other things.” He hopes this wasn’t the man starting down the path of bemoaning the loss of who he used to be, he was already fearing it from Bruce.

“Yes, Fright Knight has been telling me about the things you’ve been getting up to. Blood thirsty is how he describes it.”

Great, so it was sounding a lot like he had a babysitter he wasn’t aware of. Deciding to ignore the thought, he offered the man a shrug, “Had some important plans I’ve been trying to set in motion but - but apparently there was some unexpected trouble I had to……”

Jason watched the man get to his feet, eyes drifting higher and head tilting back, once again feeling like that clueless boy pinned under the man’s heavy gaze. The years have done nothing to his grandfather [not surprising, considering he was dead], he was still the same looming figure he always was, he was in his human disguise - not that that changed anything about his intimidating disposition but…..

His eyes were red

“Something troubling you, Jason?”

He quickly shook his head, scratching the back of his head and feeling a little off kilter, “No no, it’s just…….did you really kill the Joker?”

“Of course I did.”

Of course I did. Like it was such an easy thing to admit, Jason couldn’t - he - but this wasn’t, “Why?”

The old coot blinked owlishly at him, “Why, ‘cause that sorry excuse of a meat bag killed you, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him get away with it, that’s why.”

“It’s because I’m the Prince of the Infinite Realms, your heir, right?”

Large rough hands carefully cradled his head, “Because you are my grandson, one that I had failed miserably - the least I could do is make sure your murderer faced the consequences.”

That…..that was a little too much to take this late in the day. Jason tried to resist leaning into his grandpa’s touch, taking comfort in the guttural growl of his core and letting out a shuddering sigh before mumbling, “Aren’t you worried about him coming back as a ghost? He certainly seemed obsessive enough for it.”

The man huffed, almost as if amused, “Trust me, my little ghostling - that’s already been taken care of.”

There was something sinister in that statement and Jason was sure he was going to regret asking but, “What did you do to him?”

“You remember what your teacher taught you about newly forming cores?”

“Yeaaaaaah?”

“So you know there’s a window of opportunity while the core is forming it’s body in which stronger ghost can and will devour it?”

Jason blinked, leaning back to stare at the man’s seemingly peaceful expression and tried not to shudder at recalling that bit of information, “Gramps?”

“Yes, Jason?”

“Are you telling me you ate the Joker?”

The old man laughed, like he thought Jason was being funny, “Oh no, not at all. No, I let an audience of his victims get their pound of flesh of his newly formed body before I devoured his struggling core.”

Casual cannibalism aside, he got a feeling that there was more to that, “Aaaaaand?”

He let the old coot carefully dust him off, picking lint off his shoulder before adding, “Well you see, Jason, the Joker had a very long list of victims - and while some of them were very persistent in the notion of never seeing or hearing from him again, the majority really wanted their pound of flesh. So you can image it was quite a…..repeated process.”

Torture, the Joker was fucking tortured just as he got into after life, going through the most likely arduous process of reforming only to repeat the process all over again, and just when he thought he’d finally get away?

Bye bye, off to never after, never to be someone’s problem anymore.

Holy shit.

@stealingyourbones @ashfly

In this AU, Danny is Jason’s paternal grandfather. [Does DP take place in like the 70s if I'm making Danny this old in the current time? Idk, but the idea of changing the era in which it takes place is always an interesting concept]

It takes place in an "Ultimate Enemy" AU, everyone dies and Danny is left a sad bitter drifter [Destroying all Fenton equipment and research, and avoiding Vlad like the plague, every encounter growing more hostile]. To add to the general angst, he’s also basically on a one-man mission to burn down the GIW.

He did not take the GIW into that much account, so Danny spends years being hunted and equally destroying GIW bases. Unbeknownst to him, the GIW had been keeping a very keen eye on the Fentons and their work [not to mention unearthing Vlad's brand of work], and thus Danny seethes at his failure

At some point, he tries to lead some semblance of a human life after sticking to the Ghost Zone and learning the ways of the ghosts for a while [He finally destroys the portals after learning to make portals on his own - if the destruction of Vlad's portal leads to Vlad sustaining a fatal injury, well whatever].

He meets someone, someone he feels he can trust with his secrets, and pursues a life with them. Cue marriage in the courthouse, cue bun in the oven. Cue nice shit for a while that has him thinking everything will be okay

Cue GIW being generally awful [Police investigating, worried neighbors, ransacked apartment, and a missing wife. Cold rage and unsettled officers, his eyes turn red for the first time.]

Dead wifey on a metal table, bun in the oven missing, and cue Danny’s faith in humanity taking a severe blow.

He loses his shit.

Growing older, growing bitter, and his moral compass turning all the more grayer [at some point wondering why he's been letting these people live]. He hunts GIW bases with a bloody vengeance and any stragglers that might've escaped? Well, he's got plenty of hounds and shadows to send on the hunt.

He turns anti-ish humans, bitter and angry.

Years continue to pass and the staggering numbers of agents loyal to the anti-ghost organization grow smaller, enough for Danny to pull back and leave only a few shades to keep a lookout. With that, he keeps mostly to the Infinite Realms, dead and resentful but taking great care of his people.

Why did he never find Willis or Jason? Well, I say it's because Gotham is a pretty strong city spirit, so her ecto signature kinda masks the ghostly residents living there.

Baby grows up to be Willis, but more on the weirder ghostly nonsense side. I like the idea of him being a good dad before things went to shit, teaching Jason about all the ways of the ghost [Not that either of them knew that. They’re not as ghostly as Danny, it’s just subtle things like cores communication and sneakiness]

Jason goes through his tragic events before his and B’s fateful meeting. Cue Jason being noticeably weird and ghostly in the Manor halls [his and Dick’s first meeting is Jason scaring the shit of Dick. One minute Dick is angry and looking to pick a bone with Bruce, the next, there's a child standing behind him staring at him - where'd he come from? Cause he sure as shit didn't hear anyone walk into the room.]

Danny is part of JL, only as a member that they call for hopeless scenarios. He is pretty unapproachable and JL is just relieved he’s willing to help at all.

He's a somber man by the time that first meeting comes around, bitter, unapproachable, and carries a distinct dislike for humans. The JL are only grateful that he's willing to give his help at all. Do they know about his quiet war with the GIW? No, Phantom keeps measures in keeping it all hush hush, he doesn't let agents get the chance to report incidents or call for outside help, in fact, he makes it all look like an accident when he's feeling particularly vicious.

Jason meets Phantom in an apocalyptic mission he wasn’t supposed to be in. Shrinks under the man’s intense gaze and quietly thinks Dick’s opinion of the man is spot on, he’s an overwhelming force and it feels like he’s being stared down by a predator.

He thinks the old man looks kinda sad.

But strangely enough, he also feels familiar.

[I like to think that there’s such a thing as familial cores, that can communicate impressions and feelings, that resonate deeper than a core would with a stranger. Like beacons.] Their cores are the source of purring. Jason's embarrassed to say the thrum [The one he's known and taken comfort in all his life] within him sounds almost like a kitten's purr, questioning, and yearning. The man's? It sounds almost like Willis' used to: Like a crocodile, deep and guttural, a sound so chilling yet feels warm and tentative. Hopeful and just as strangely yearning as his.

I also just get the image of Bambi meeting his dad for the first time lol

Batman swoops in like an over protective parent. Phantom is demanding where did he find Jason, he’s agitated and asking all sorts of questions B doesn’t have all the answers to.

Batman asks for the reason for Phantom’s desperate interest in Jason.

“Our cores share resonance, a factor only found in familial relationships”

Now B knows about Jason’s oddities, has a year getting used to them - but it’s never occurred to him the source or read for them.

The age difference hides a lot, but B can see a lot of the family resemblance. It’s in their bro, the shape of their jaw, the shape of their eyes

The burning green Jason’s eyes turn to when overwhelmed.

Cue Danny finding maybe not the child he thought he lost, but a grandchild and he makes it abundantly clear he wants some involvement in the boy’s life.

And a health check. Gotham may have been able to sustain Jason but she is still a cursed city, god knows how that affected the ghostling’s health.

[If Batman tries to search up every possible thing about the Ghost Kings from his human life, well, it's not like Gotham will tell - heck, she probably helps nudge him along. Gotta make sure Jaylad's last living(???) biological relative would be a good thing in his life]

Jason’s life proceeds as normal, even as he tries to forget the fact he has a grandfather who’s the king of another dimension and that there are now shadows dogging his steps. That's not mentioning the trips he gets to make to the Infinite Realms.

If he grows impish and generally more creepy? Batman nor Batgirl mention it. A far cry from the mischievous demeanor Dick built Robin on. They don't mention how his giggle now feels chilling or foreboding, or how their adrenaline pumps when he exercises his invisibility, Batman refuses the thought of it feeling like a predator stalking prey - he's sure the goons already think that enough as is.

Then you know what happens: Joker has been keeping a keen eye on Batman and his lot, he knows about Batman’s little birdy’s weirdness and……well, he is eager to play with the new toys he got from that decrepit little organization he found.

Cue the tragedy, cue an angry grieving Bat and an even angrier king.

Phantom is there at the funeral, disguised as a human [He doesn't have a human form, not anymore.]. Making it clear to Bruce he blames him just as much for this tragedy.]

Phantom spent weeks searching in the deepest corners of the Infinite Realms hoping to find the forming remains of his grandson. Phantom is only left with the knowledge that the boy passed over to the beyond.

Anything left of his patience for humans snaps like a frayed thread.

The king is furious, demanding why the boy felt the need to find family elsewhere, demanding why he was left alone

He wants blood

[I suppose he turns into a different flavor of Dan, he’s not targeting just everyone, he’s just targeting those involved down from the Joker to what remains of everyone involved with that damned organization]

He basically declared war on them.

Superman in a typical fashion when faced with Batman’s first attempt on the Joker’s life, tries to reason with the ghost.

Phantom isn’t having it.

“I’m going to make this very clear to you, Kal El. The prince of the Infinite Realms, my beloved grandson, the last of my family, has been murdered by a retched human, using weapons designed against my kind. If you think I’m going to sit idle or let you and anyone else get in my way? Don’t expect mercy from me and mine.

Try to get in my way Kryptonian, I dare you.”

Ghouls and shades swarm everywhere, particularly in Gotham [She is facing the punishment of being unable to protect her bird, even if he’s left her reach], the ghost in the cursed city become visible to the human eye as they help search for the Joker.

He’s found, by the king’s knight. Dragged kicking and giggling as he’s thrown at the king’s feet.

The king grabs the retched clown’s head with a large clawed hand and stares the Joker in the eye as he slowly freezes his insides

While many silently rejoice over the monster finally meeting his end, they cannot stand to look as bloody icicles stab through the man from within.

The beheading seems pointless, but watching this man rip off the Joker’s head, they get the feeling the Ghost King could not help the display of violence

He was stating a point.

Danny loses all faith in humanity and makes it known. He's pissed.

Basically, Batman had one job and he blew it, so there goes whatever relationship the JL had with Phantom.

JL is now missing one of their heavy hitters.

Tim watches Batman spiral and Gotham grow more obviously haunted.

It's like a war zone

Jason returns from the dead and Danny instantly knows about it [he had shades guarding his grave, he knows]. Cue him following his catatonic grandbaby and basically becoming a helicopter parent - Ras is kept in line at the threat of his corrupted bath water being taken from him, and Danny vaguely threatens Talia as he discerns her intentions towards Jason.

The Prince returns to Gotham and the shades are supporting his violent hobbies.

Jason's a little thrown off to find that the Joker had been publicly murdered execution-style.

He goes back to his apartment to think and finds Grandpa waiting for him. He's a little shocked and ill at ease at the massive grudge the old man holds for Batman.

Phantom offers Lady Gotham an apology, citing her inability to interfere. But Batman is a different matter.

That’s all I got for now. Lol, this got very long and I wasn’t expecting to be hit with the inspiration, might think of more soon.

I’ll add what I imagine old King Danny looks like in a minute. Is it necessary? No, but I have to share it with you.

How Danny looks:

I know everyone is a fan of twink!Danny but I'm leaning more on Jack's side of the gene pool in this case. The dude is huge, broad, and towers over everyone by several inches [Jason's epic growth spurt makes more sense when you look at his family lineage lol]. You know that thing Walker does where he's normal heights one moment, and looming sky high the other? Yeah, Danny can do that.

His getup? From what comes up at the top of my head: Something between Dan’s suit and lightweight gothic-style armor, spikes, and beady eyed skulls galore. He doesn’t wear gloves so you can see he charred black claws and he doesn't wear a chest plate, so it reveals the tattered remains of the insignia Sam made for him [I’m honestly thinking of Infinity War!Steve, with how roughened up he looks].

He's like Alfred's age, maybe older. He always has a severe frown on his face. Generally looks like he's one step away from losing his patience

Corpse pale skin, almost bluish

Wispy hair. Some say it looks like it's moving like it's underwater, others think it's wispy and foggy lookin' like dry ice. Along with the crown, it looks like his hair is flaming, which he tries not to think about.

Three eye colors: The general acid green - default, pale ice blue - when using his powers, red - when he's really pissed off. There used to be a fourth, the soft sky blues of when he was human. Jason had his eyes, Danny's sad those were gone too.

He has fangys, he will use them. In fact, he can stretch his jaws wide open horror style to reveal rows of sharp teeth.

Claws, he'll use those too. Long black claws up to his second knuckles, cold blue up to the center of his palms.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Requestion: New girl Cady flirts with reader which makes Regina jealous as fuck. When reader tries making it up to her, bringing flowers to her house and stuff, she discovers that Regina is actually a little insecure and feeling threatened by Cady.

Thelping

|| Regina George x fem!reader

|| Warnings; Cady trying to flirt with reader, awkward moments, jealous Regina, brief threat of killing but it's more talk than bite, insecure Regina, fluffy ending

|| Summary; when Cady talks to reader in the halls, Regina isn't too happy.

Requests open!

Started; March 2nd

Finished; March 2nd

~~~

Finally, Calculus was over for the day. As the bell rang, you gathered up your things and headed for the door. Not hearing the hurried footsteps behind you. You had just made it into the hall way when you heard someone trying to get your attention.

"Wait, wait, wait! Y/N!" Cady caught up to you, grinning and walking beside you. Struggling to get her school bag over her shoulders, because of how much of a rush she had been in to get to you.

"Need help?" You asked.

"I think I got i-" the words weren't even out of the new girl's mouth before her bag had fallen, spilling everything inside," dang it.. okay, I need help."

Cady hadn't been at the school very long, but from what you could gather she was an awkward mess. Something the two of you seemed to have in common.

You bent down with her, helping her gather her papers and binders.

"So um- I heard Aaron's friend is hosting a party.. are you going?" Cady asked, hoping to make small talk with you. She really liked you, more than she cared to admit.

"Yeah, Regina told me about it yesterday," Cady looked like she was almost deflating at the mention of Regina. She had heard that the two of you were dating from Janis, but Cady had hoped it wasn't true.

"Oh, Regina told you? Are you two close?" She replied, her eyes looking to yours. Seeing how they seemed to almost sparkle with an unspoken passion about the blonde.

"She's my girlfriend, why?"

"Um- no reason, just curious," She awkwardly laughed, picking up the last of her papers and getting her bag sorted.

"I'll see you later, Y/N, thelping-" She paused. Thelping? C'mon Cady..

You also happened to pause when you heard her, raising an eyebrow as a smirk tugged at your lips," thelping?" You repeated.

"I was trying to say thank you for helping- but it came out thelping...." Her cheeks were bright pink.

"Okay, yolcome," you nudged her shoulder in a playful gesture. Saying yolcome instead of you're welcome.

Cady couldn't help but smile as she watched you walk away and over to Regina, who had come around the corner not too long ago. Yeah, that interaction definitely did not help her growing feelings for you.

"Absolutely not," Regina stated. Arms folded across her chest while she glared at you. She didn't like the way that Cady was looking at you.

"What?" You weren't sure why Regina was so upset with you all of a sudden. You hadn't done anything wrong, had you?

"She was flirting with you, God are you blind?" That made you stop and think for a moment. It hadn't felt like Cady was flirting with you... you were only helping her gather her stuff and had a light conversation.

"Regina, I'd hardly call that flirting."

"So, blind then. Got it," she scoffed and started walking away from you, you tried to catch up with her.

"Regina, c'mon- that wasn't-"

But the blonde completely ignored you. Figures.

It was later now, sometime into the evening when you arrived at your girlfriend's house. Determined to make things right with her. You made your way to the door and knocked, holding her favourite flowers and chocolates in your hands. Normally, you would have just walked right into the house. However, Regina was mad at you. So, you didn't want to make things worse by just showing up.

It was Regina's mom who opened the door, smiling when she saw you with the stuff in your hands," well aren't you adorable. She's just up in her room, dear."

"Um- thanks, Ms George," you replied, clearly feeling awkward by the compliment. After all, all you did was bring flowers and chocolate. It wasn't much to praise over.

You made your way through the familiar home, up the large stairs and to the bedroom you'd been in 100 times. Gently, you knocked the back of your hand against the door.

"Regina?"

There was silence, before the door opened. Revealing Regina, who looked as though she had been crying moments before.

"G..." you murmured, setting the stuff you had brought to the floor in her room and immediately wrapping your arms around her. You could feel as her body tensed against you, before her arms made their way around your waist. Her head in the crook of your neck.

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like a long while, then Regina let go. Her eyes going to the stuff you brought, followed by a scoff," you're such a simp."

You couldn't help but laugh, bumping your hip to hers in a playful manner," duh. Who wouldn't be? Have you seen you?"

She rolled her eyes and pulled you into her bedroom, you happily followed and kicked the door closed.

"And you're stupid."

"Stupidly in love with you? Yes, I agree," the two of you fell to her bed, you hovering over Regina and looking into her eyes. Wiping her tear stained cheek with your thumb," I only have eyes for you. You know that, right?"

Regina was quiet for a moment, before she spoke up again," I guess I was just... scared to lose you. But if you tell anyone I will kill you."

"Oh, I don't doubt it," you laughed, snuggling up with her," you're not going to lose me. Especially to Cady. I'm yours. Okay?"

She nodded, pulling you into a deep kiss that you more than happily returned.

[twins-write]

Half a Truth is Still a Lie

Pairing: Evan Buckley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Buck finally finds out about Y/N's feelings and asks her on a date... but is it a real date, or just a ploy to make Veronica jealous?

Based on 4x08, when Albert invites Buck to a double date with him and Veronica

Warnings: None, just a bit angsty. Could be classified as hurt-comfort.

Notes: Finally posting again! I involved a lot of best friend Eddie as well... I couldn't resist. Hope you guys like this one <3

Word Count: 8.06k.

Author Signature: 🦋

The 118 pulled up to the scene they were called to, hopping out of the firetruck, but not taking any action as they watched a negotiator talk to the armed criminal who was pacing on top of the roof.

“And how did he manage to get up there?” Y/N asked with raised brows while Buck and Eddie chuckled next to her, the former shaking his head as he shrugged, “Guess he wanted to try and prevent himself from getting arrested.”

“Looks like he’s doing a good job.” Eddie commented, scoffing in slight disbelief as they stood next to the firetruck, watching the negotiator try his best to talk the criminal down.

“Oh, look- Taylor’s here.” Buck stated, pointing to the reporter that stood a good distance away from them, talking about the incident to the camera.

Y/N rolled her eyes, the girl having not liked the reporter since the day she met her, but for some reason, it seemed Buck had taken a slight liking to her- especially considering he had slept with her before.

That may be another reason Y/N didn’t like her all that much.

“While we sit here doing nothing, let me continue telling you about Veronica and how Albert-”

Eddie groaned, interrupting his friend, “This again?”

“What?” Buck asked in an offended tone while Y/N shook her head at him, “You’ve been talking about them the whole time we’ve been on shift. That’s six hours.”

“So?” Buck scoffed, “You guys are my friends, aren’t you supposed to listen to me rant?”

The girl next to him shrugged, “Yeah, technically, but you’ve been repeating the same thing over and over. We get it- you had a bad date, bad date girl happens to live on the same floor as you, your roommate took a liking to said bad date girl, and bam, you caught your roommate in her apartment in nothing but a towel.”

She then turned and looked at him with raised brows, “Does that sound about right?”

Eddie laughed while Buck sighed in slight defeat, “Yeah.”

“Why are you so mad about it anyways?” The girl asked him curiously, turning her attention back to the male who was pacing on the roof.

“What do you mean? You don’t think I have a right to be mad?” The blonde male questioned.

She shrugged, “I mean… from what you’ve been saying… you didn’t like her all that much. Why do you have a problem with Albert dating her?”

“It’s bro-code!” Buck argued, causing Y/N to turn to Eddie, “Eds, what do you think?”

Eddie raised his hands in mock surrender, “Oh no- do not bring me into this.”

Buck turned to him quickly, “What? Traitor!”

“I didn’t agree or disagree with you!” Eddie replied in slight disbelief that his friend was now annoyed with him.

“Fine. Whatever. I’ll go talk to someone who will listen to me.” Buck said before walking in Taylor’s direction, causing Y/N to scoff, rolling her eyes as she yelled after him, “We have been listening to you for the past six hours!”

Buck didn’t reply nor turn around, only continuing on his path to talk to the red-head, which Y/N realized- releasing a sigh as she watched him begin to converse with her.

Eddie gave her a knowing look, causing the girl to look at him with furrowed brows, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Looking at you like what?” He asked, giving her the same look- the one that implied that he knew something.

She pointed at his face, “Like that!”

He pursed his lips, giving her a small shrug, “I don’t know, just seems like you’re jealous of a certain someone.”

Then he glanced at Taylor, causing Y/N to follow his gaze. She laughed, “You’re joking, right?”

Eddie raised his brows, “No.”

“I’m not jealous of Taylor- of all people.” Y/N told him, annoyance covering her tone.

Eddie looked away from her, mumbling something under his breath.

The girl looked at him and spoke sarcastically, “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

He repeated himself so she could actually hear him this time, “Maybe you’re just jealous that Buck is giving her attention because you see him as more than a friend and he doesn’t realize it.”

“I-” She began, only to stop talking, knowing he was right. The girl sighed, leaning her back against the fire engine, allowing her head to thunk into the side, “You’re right.”

“I know.” Eddie chuckled, leaning next to her and patting her shoulder gently, “You should just tell him.”

“And, what? Make every shift awkward? No thanks.” She said, shaking her head at his suggestion.

“I don’t think that’s how it’d turn out, but okay.” The Diaz male shrugged, deciding to drop the conversation as they walked closer to the rest of their team- minus Buck.

Her and Eddie stood to the left side of Hen, who was sitting down on the side of the fire engine, Chimney and Bobby standing to Hen’s right.

The group sat quietly, listening to the criminal yell while he walked around the roof, “You shut up! You’re a liar! You said you’d help me find a way out.”

“I didn’t mean with a helicopter.” The negotiator quickly replied, gaining a shout from the criminal, “Shut up! I need to think!”

“Eh… should’ve tried thinking before he ended up on a roof.” Eddie stated, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against the side of the engine again, “I mean, he cornered himself.”

“That there is a whole series of bad life choices culminating in this one unfortunate moment. It’d be tragic if it wasn’t so moronic.” Hen replied.

“Why don’t they just storm the roof?” Chimney questioned, “It’s not that high. We can give ‘em a ladder.”

Bobby shrugged, “It’s a tactic negotiators use to drag out the process in order to wear down the suspect. Eventually they hit a breaking point.”

“Or we do.” Chimney said in response.

“Yeah, you got that right.” Y/N scoffed, shaking her head and looking at Bobby, “Shouldn’t we set an airbag below the roof or something incase he falls?”

He shook his head, “We don’t want to make him think we’re going to push him off or anything. He might just panic if we start setting it up.”

The girl shrugged, “I mean, it’s just a safety precaution, we could tell him that.”

“I don’t think someone pacing on a roof with a gun is going to be thinking rationally, though.” Eddie told her, nudging her in the shoulder as she nodded in agreement to his statement.

“Ten bucks says he falls right off that roof.” Hen muttered, causing Y/N to laugh as Eddie pulled money from his pocket, “20 says he makes a leap for the tree.”

As Bobby looked over to Eddie in slight disbelief, the male replied, “Come on, the guy’s got at least one more bad life choice left in him.”

Y/N looked to the side and noticed how irritated the homeowner looked, the girl smirking as she pulled a bill out of her pocket, “50 says the homeowner pushes him off.”

“That’s morbid.” Hen chuckled with raised brows, causing Y/N to shrug with a grin. 

Y/N, Eddie, and Chim handed Hen money, the woman taking it and pocketing it as they stood, continuing to watch the situation.

After a few moments, Y/N’s eyes trailed over to where Buck was standing, leaning against the railing as Taylor reported to the camera- the male waiting for her to be done.

She shook her head with a sigh, “I need coffee.”

Bobby looked at her with raised brows, “Want to make a coffee run?”

“Am I okay to do that?” She asked her captain, the male shrugging, “I don’t see why not.”

“What am I going to drive, though?” The girl then questioned, knowing she couldn’t take the fire engine or ambulance in case something happened while she was gone.

Her captain hummed in thought as Hen chimed in, “You could always ask Athena if you could borrow a cop car.”

Y/N laughed, “There’s no way I’m allowed to drive one.”

“Then ask for an escort.” Eddie suggested, causing her to nod, “Okay. I’ll be back.”

The girl walked towards Athena, who just so happened to be near Buck and Taylor- Y/N noticing that Taylor was off air at the moment because her and the male were talking.

“Athena!” Y/N yelled, causing the sergeant to turn towards her, “Do you think it’s possible I could get an escort to a coffee shop?”

“As long as you’re getting coffee, I can get someone to take you.” She replied with a laugh.

Y/N smiled as Athena walked away to grab someone, the girl taking this opportunity to go ask her other friend if he wanted any.

“Buck.” She shouted as she got closer, her voice drawing not only Buck’s attention, but Taylor’s also.

“I’m going on a coffee run, do you want anything?” She asked, causing him to nod, “Coffee sounds amazing right now.”

“Your usual?” 

Buck nodded with a smile and then turned to Taylor, “What do you want?”

Instead of replying directly to him, Taylor turned to Y/N and stated her order, the latter trying to make sure her distaste didn’t show on her face as the former spoke.

Once Taylor was done speaking, Y/N gave them a thumbs up, Buck shouting a quick thank you as she walked away, rolling her eyes once she had turned away from the duo.

Eddie chuckled from a distance, having watched her interaction and her reaction as she walked away, drawing the attention of the group next to him.

“What’s so funny?” Hen asked, causing Eddie to shake his head as he smiled, “Nothing.”

-

Two hours in

-

Y/N returned from the coffee run about an hour and a half ago, having gotten her team their specific orders- along with Athena and Taylor’s- and then having gotten a bunch of other plain ones for the first responders that she hadn’t asked. Even though they weren’t their specific orders, she figured the least she could do was bring them some. She also brought sugar packets and more for them to put additives in their coffees if they wanted to.

Her coffee was gone now, though, along with her teams’, and she sat in the back of the ambulance playing cards with Hen and Chimney as the latter talked about the upcoming birth of his child.

“So Maddie really wants to have this baby at home?” Hen asked him as she placed a card into the pile, Chimney’s turn coming up as he replied, quoting what the mother of his baby had told him, “‘I was a nurse, you’re a paramedic, what could possibly go wrong?’”

The duo with him chuckled as Y/N took her turn, Hen replying to him, “Feels like a 911 dispatcher should know the answer to that question.”

They all laughed at that, Y/N chiming into the conversation, “I think you just need to tell her how you’re feeling. I’m sure she’ll understand your point of view.”

Chimney shrugged, “With all the pregnancy hormones, I’m not so sure.”

Eddie walked over to them, peeking around the edge of the ambulance so that he could see all three of them, “How would you guys feel about pizza?”

“Please!” They all replied in unison.

-

Three hours in

-

“I’m so hungry!” Y/N whined, laying her head on Eddie’s shoulder, the male laughing as he wrapped his arm around her and shook her slightly, “He should be here soon. They mentioned that they had a lot of orders, so it would take a while.”

“It’s been an hour!” She replied as Eddie looked towards the edge of the scene where a pizza man was walking in. He pursed his lips, “I think you might’ve summoned him.”

Then he walked off towards the male, Y/N cheering as her stomach growled, “Finally!”

“Good lord. How much trust are we trying to build here?” Athena asked, causing Eddie to turn to her, “Actually, that’s for us.”

“Why does everybody get to eat but me? Maybe I’m hungry too!” Mr. Nowels, the homeowner, complained, causing Y/N to shrug as she walked closer, “You want a slice?”

Mr. Nowels sighed, having only been trying to make a point, and walked away. Y/N shrugged as Eddie paid the delivery man, the girl grabbing the hot bag and pulling the two boxes out with a grin, “I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to stuff my face with a slice of pizza.”

Eddie chuckled as she handed the bag back to the delivery driver and waved before he walked off, the duo turning and walking back towards the truck.

“Me either, Y/N. Me either.” Eddie replied.

-

Four hours in

-

Y/N looked to the side and noticed one of the police officers leaning against the fire engine as Buck talked to him, the girl laughing and shaking her head as she walked closer.

“Is he bothering you, sir?” She asked the officer, causing Buck to glance at her with a deadpanned expression.

The officer shook his head, “He’s telling me how his roommate violated ‘bro code’, whatever that is. I don’t think that’s a real thing.”

Y/N looked at Buck with raised brows and a grin as the male sighed and then spoke, trying to defend his point, “How do you know, though? It’s unwritten.”

“How long did you date this woman?” The officer asked him. Y/N crossed her arms with a smirk on her face, watching the interaction as Buck replied, “90 minutes, maybe less. We took dessert to go.”

A watch began beeping, the officer glancing at his wrist, “And I’m done. Good luck.”

Then he walked away, Y/N letting out a low whistle before she began laughing. Buck glared at her, “Shut up!”

Then he took his mask off, throwing it at her, which only made the girl laugh more.

-

Five hours in

-

Eddie quietly began chanting under his breath, leaning against the firetruck as he whispered, “Jump. Jump.”

The rest of the team, except for Buck who wasn’t with them, quickly joined in as they watched the criminal continue to pace on the roof, “Jump. Jump.”

-

Six hours in

-

Y/N sat quietly by herself, Buck with Tayor, Eddie with Athena and Bobby, and then Hen and Chim with each other.

The girl quietly picked at her nails as she waited for something to happen so that they could finally leave this scene.

She heard footsteps, but decided to ignore them, until they came to a stop in front of her. The girl looked up from her hands, looking at the officer who had come up to her.

“What’s a pretty firefighter like you doing all by herself?” He flirted, causing the girl to raise her brows before smiling, “Waiting for this guy to be done pacing on the roof so we can leave.”

“Yeah, I feel you.” He agreed, sitting next to her on the asphalt.

He then looked at her, holding his hand out with a grin, “I’m Anthony, but people always call me Mac because my last name is Macallister.”

“Well, Mac, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.” She smiled, shaking his hand.

Mac looked over her shoulder for a second, furrowing his brows before bringing his attention back to her, “That blonde firefighter keeps starring at us.”

“Hm?” Y/N hummed before Mac pointed and she turned, making eye contact with Buck, who quickly looked away and continued his conversation with Taylor.

The girl shrugged, “He’s probably just wondering who you are.”

“Yeah, I think he may be a little jealous.” The officer laughed, giving her a knowing look with a smile. Y/N furrowed her brows, shaking her head, “Nah, he doesn’t think of me in that way.”

“You sure?” Mac questioned with raised brows, causing the girl to nod, which prompted another question, “But you like him, right?”

“Is it really that obvious?” She asked with a sigh, causing him to laugh, “Well, I’ve been watching you a bit today- not to sound creepy or anything- and I’ve noticed the stares you give him when he’s talking to that redhead. I just don’t think you realize that he stares at you also.”

Y/N looked at Mac with a small smile, “Yeah, I-”

The girl got interrupted by a loud crash, a car alarm going off. She quickly stood up, looking over towards the criminal and running over there- noticing Mr. Nowels had just pushed him off the room. Internally, she was cheering, knowing she just won the bet, but externally, she began to do her job.

She ignored Mr. Nowels, who was yelling, and ran over to the criminal, Eddie quickly coming over to assist.

They got to work on safely getting him off the car, putting a neck splint on just in case he had a spinal injury before putting him on a backboard and attending to some of his cuts. Hen and Chimney hopped into the back of the ambulance while Eddie went to the front, the rest of the team getting into the fire engine- the ambulance turning on their sirens. Athena followed in her cop car so that she could make sure he was arrested after he got his medical care.

The fire engine drove to the station while the ambulance and police car went to the hospital. Y/N sat in the back of the engine while Bobby drove and Buck sat in the passenger seat.

The latter turned around and looked at the girl, “So, who was that guy you were flirting with?”

Y/N furrowed her brows, “What guy? I wasn’t flirting with anyone.”

“The cop.” Buck elaborated, the girl shaking her head, “Yeah, we were just talking.”

“It looked like more than that.” Buck argued, “What’s his name?”

“You know what? Why does this matter to you?” She spat out, becoming annoyed with his attitude as they pulled into the firestation.

“Because, I…” He began, trailing off and not allowing his next words to come out.

Y/N scoffed, “Unbelieveable.”

And then she rushed out of the engine, missing the look that Bobby gave the blonde male as she went to her locker.

“Idiot.” The older male mumbled to the younger one, causing him to stare at Bobby in disbelief before they both got out of the vehicle.

Y/N angrily got her casual clothes out of her locker, changing and then slamming the metal door shut as Buck walked in.

“Look, Y/N, I just care about you and want you to be safe.” He said as he walked into the glass area.

“Want me to be safe?” She scoffed, “You’re talking about a cop.”

The blonde rolled his eyes, “That doesn’t mean anything. He could still be a jerk!”

“Well, he’s not the one I think is a jerk.” The girl retorted, glaring at him.

“Ok… I deserve that, but-” He began to say, only for her to interrupt him, “Buck, just stop. Why are you so bent out of shape about this anyways? You were flirting with Taylor the whole day and I didn’t complain to you about it even though it annoyed me! So why do you get to complain to me about someone, who wasn’t even flirting with me, giving me attention?”

“Wait- I wasn’t flirting with Taylor.” Buck stated, causing her to look at him, “What?”

“You said you were annoyed with me flirting with Taylor… I- I wasn’t flirting with her. I was just talking to her about the Albert and Veronica stuff because you and Eddie made it clear you didn’t want me to talk to you about it.” He told her.

The girl sighed, “Yeah, I’m sorry. I might’ve been too harsh about that.”

He shook his head, “No, I deserved it. You guys had to listen to me repeat myself multiple times and… I get what you were saying. I’m going to try and be less awkward with Albert about this.”

She smiled and nodded, “Good.”

“And… I’m sorry for bugging you about the cop guy.” He apologized, gaining a nod from Y/N as she grinned, “I appreciate the apology. I know your heart is in a good place, you just didn’t approach it very well.”

He nodded before they went silent, the male thinking about his next sentence while Y/N gathered her stuff, glancing at the entrance of the fire station and noticing the ambulance was pulling in.

“I gotta go talk to Chim, Eddie, and Hen about something, but I’ll see you tomorrow.” The girl smiled, beginning to walk out, but Buck quickly stopped her, “Wait.”

She turned around, raising her brows as an indicator for him to speak, “Why… why were you annoyed when you thought I was flirting with Taylor?”

Y/N just shook her head with a sigh, looking up and waving, not giving him an answer, “Bye, Buck.”

And then she walked out, the male watching her as she walked towards the ambulance.

The girl figured that he could think about it on his own and hopefully come to the correct conclusion.

The three that Y/N had mentioned earlier hopped out of the ambulance, the girl stopping in front of them and holding out her hands.

The trio looked at her with raised brows, and she quickly spoke to ease their confusion, “I won the bet. Mr. Nowels pushed him off the roof. Money, please!”

Then she made grabbing motion with her hands while the three in front of her laughed, Eddie speaking up, “I can’t believe you were right about that.”

Then the money was slammed into her palm from them, the girl grinning, “Thank you all and have a good night!”

She mock-saluted them before turning and walking out of the fire station.

-

The next day, Y/N walked into the fire station with a smile, ready for her shift for the day. 

The girl went to her locker, changing out of her casual clothes and into her fire station shirt along with her turnout pants, putting her gear suspenders over her shoulders.

“Hey, Y/N.” She heard a voice greet, the girl turning and sending a smile Buck’s way as he went to his locker, “Hey.”

“So, I’ve been thinking.” He stated, causing the girl to jokingly reply, “Oh no.”

He looked up at her with a small, joking, glare before continuing his sentence, “I think I figured out why you were annoyed.”

Y/N crossed her arms, leaning against the lockers, “Well, let’s hear it.”

“It’s because you were jealous.” He smirked, pointing at her before opening his locker and getting his stuff out.

The girl stood, waiting for him to continue. She pursed her lips as he said nothing else and she shrugged, “That’s it?”

He shook his head, “No. You were jealous because you… like me.” 

“Yeah. Apparently I’ve been pretty obvious about it, so I’m a bit surprised you just figured this out.” She said as Eddie walked in, “Actually, he didn’t. I told him.”

The girl looked at him with a dropped jaw, “What?”

And then she glanced back at Buck, who was sending a glare Eddie’s way before he quickly directed his attention back to the girl, “Anyways, with that said, are you doing anything later tonight?”

Y/N tilted her head, raising her brows, “No… why?”

“How about you come to my apartment? I can cook us dinner and we can watch a movie?” He suggested.

The girl grinned, “Is the Evan Buckley asking me out on a date?”

“Maybe. Depends on if you say yes or not.” He said with a small smile. The girl laughed and nodded, “Yes, that sounds great.”

“Finally.” Eddie muttered from behind them, having already changed into his clothes for the work day.

The duo that was just talking both rolled their eyes and turned to their friend, speaking in unison, “Shut up, Eddie.”

Eddie was about to speak before the siren went off, causing them to sigh, Hen peeking her head into the room, “Come on, slowpokes. Let’s go.”

The call rang out through the firestation, informing the group that they were on their way to a house to look for someone inside the walls. 

This meant they needed both the ambulance and the fire engine, so Hen and Chimney took the former while the rest of them piled into the latter.

Eddie and Bobby were in the front while Buck and Y/N were in the back, ready to head to the scene. Eddie turned around and faced his friends as Bobby drove, “So… what movie are you two planning on watching later?”

Y/N rolled her eyes as he wiggled his brows at them, Bobby furrowing his brows in confusion at the interaction while Buck replied, “I’m not sure yet.”

Then he turned to Y/N, “What movies do you like?”

The girl shrugged with pursed lips, “Pretty much anything. I’m a huge horror and comedy fan, though.”

He nodded with a grin while Bobby looked in the rearview mirror, “What’s this for?”

Before the two in the back could reply, Eddie did for them, “Oh, Buck finally asked Y/N out on a date. They’re gonna hang in his apartment and watch a movie.”

Bobby’s brows raised in slight surprise at the information before grinning, “Finally.”

The duos’ jaws dropped, the two replying in unison, “Really?”

Eddie just laughed while Bobby spoke, “Yeah, It’s about time. I can see the way you two look at each other. It was pretty obvious.”

“Okay, no, I might’ve been obvious, but this guy was not!” Y/N argued, pointing at Buck who just shrugged in response.

“Yes, he was. I just think you’re both oblivious.” Bobby said as they pulled into the driveway of the house they were going to enter.

“Hey!” The two shouted at their captain, taking offense to his words. Bobby quickly hopped out of the fire engine, wanting to avoid more words from the duo as they both glanced at each other with shocked looks on their faces, Eddie chuckling as he got out of the passenger door.

Buck stood up and went out, holding a hand for the girl behind him. Y/N gratefully took his hand, hopping down from the engine in her turnouts. 

The group all put their masks on as Bobby shouted, “Buck, grab the saw, the rest of you, head inside.” 

The members of the 118 obeyed their captain, except for Buck who was doing as he was told, quickly following behind him as he grabbed a heat signature camera.

They made their way inside and Athena heard them, shouting to alert them of the room she was in. They team walked into the room, noticing the wife was sat in a chair, hands cuffed behind her back with an officer standing behind her as Buck jogged into the room with the large tool in his hand.

“Kinky.” Y/N muttered jokingly, the group looking at her with deadpanned expressions at her words while the wife scoffed.

“What?” The girl asked, Bobby rolling his eyes before turning to his wife and pulling out the heat signature camera, turning it on and scanning the walls by the window.

He looked through the lens, noticing a figure on the screen that was moving, “I’ve got movement.”

“What?” The wife behind them questioned, causing the group to turn towards her, “He’s still alive?”

Once she noticed their expressions, she was quick to change up her words, “I mean… great!”

“Why don’t you start by telling me how exactly your husband got behind that wall?” Athena asked with raised brows.

“Ex-husband. Or at least, soon to be. He filed right before the pandemic-” The wife began to explain, talking about how the courts closed and they were trapped in a house together during COVID. 

Buck raised his brows, leaning in towards Y/N, “If this date doesn’t go the way you expect, do you promise to not put me inside the walls?”

The girl shrugged with a smirk, “No promises.”

Buck turned to Hen, “You heard that right? You’re my witness if something happens to me.”

The woman turned away from him, pursing her lips and feigning confusion, “What did I hear? I didn’t hear anything.”

Y/N grinned, holding up a fist for Hen to fist bump, which she did. Buck’s jaw dropped in disbelief, “Wow.”

After the woman finished explaining her story, Chimney and Hen ran to get their medical supplies while Eddie went and grabbed the needed items to get behind the brick wall.

Once they returned, Eddie handed Buck the chisel and a hammer, giving one to Bobby as well. The duo quickly began hammering away at the bricks in their weak spots, waiting for when they were loose to pull them away. Slowly, a hole began to form in the wall, Bobby yanking the bricks from their position and dropping them onto the ground behind him, “I think I can see him!”

Once the hole was big enough, Y/N knelt down and reached her hand towards the male, “Can you give me your hand, sir?”

She grabbed his wrist as he reached towards her, the girl gently beginning to pull him out, Buck coming to assist her. “You got him, Buck?” She asked as he reached and grabbed the male’s other hand.

“Yeah, we’re good.” He replied, the girl nodding, “Okay, ready, set-” 

“Go.” She then said, both of them tugging him through the hole and onto the backboard.

Y/N was quick to put on medical gloves while Eddie began checking for a pulse and if the male was breathing or not with his stethoscope, “He’s breathing, but barely. Only one side of his chest is rising.”

Y/N reached under the male before pulling her gloved hand back, showing the blood on it, “Stab wound.”

Eddie nodded, “He probably has a punctured lung.”

“Looks like he lost a ton of blood, not to mention extreme dehydration.” Hen said, getting the bag from her medkit, “I’m gonna run two lines wide open.”

“Alright, let’s get him stabilized and prepped for transport.” Bobby ordered, watching over the group as they did what was necessary.

Once they were done, Chimney and Eddie lifted the backboard and began to walk out of the house, Y/N noticing that the other officer that was there had taken the wife away.

The rest of the group began gathering their other tools before returning to the fire engine and putting everything away, the ambulance heading to the hospital while the engine went back to the station.

-

Once the shift was over, Y/N headed to her locker, doing her quick routine of getting back into her casual clothes so that she could leave.

Buck walked in and smiled at her, the girl giving him a grin back as she put her work necessities in her locker, “So… what time should I get to your place?”

“How does 7 sound?” He asked her, opening his locker and taking his shirt off so that he could change.

The girl’s eyes trailed down before she heard Buck laugh, Y/N quickly bringing her gaze up and noticing that he had caught her. She cleared her throat, “7 sounds great.”

“Great.” He grinned, finishing what he needed to do. He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before sending a wink her way and walking out the door, “See you then!”

Y/N’s cheeks turned red as Hen walked into the locker room and spotted the girl standing there, looking dazed. “Someone’s blushing.” The woman stated with a cheeky smirk.

Y/N threw her dirty shirt at Hen in response, causing the woman to laugh and throw it back at her before the former walked out of the locker room with her keys in hand, going to her apartment to prepare for her date.

-

Y/N took the elevator up to Buck’s floor, the girl wearing a dark blue dress that reached her mid-thigh, a black sweater wrapped around her shoulders. She slung her small purse over her shoulder as the elevator reached his floor, Y/N quickly stepping out in her black heels and walking to his door.

Once she reached his apartment, she lifted her hand, knocking on the dark wood and waiting for Buck to answer the door.

Instead of Buck, though, his roommate answered, Y/N smiling at him, “Hey, Albert, what’s up?”

“Nothing much. Buck didn’t mention that you were the one he was dating.” Albert commented, “He’s in the bathroom right now.”

The girl nodded, walking into the door as he stepped to the side, “It’s been a while since i’ve seen you. It’s nice to see…”

She trailed off as her eyes met with the girl in the kitchen, her brows furrowing in confusion.

Buck stepped into the room as Albert introduced the woman, noticing Y/N’s confusion, “Oh, that’s Veronica.”

“Well it’s nice to see you and Veronica, Albert.” Y/N muttered with a clenched jaw, making eye contact with Buck as he gave her a sheepish glance.

“Dinner’s not ready yet, but it should be soon.” Buck told his date, trying to act normal as the girl made eye contact with Albert’s girlfriend once more.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Veronica asked with a smile, Y/N quickly nodding, “Yes, please. I could desperately use a glass right about now.”

Then the girl placed her bag on the table as Buck came over, placing a hand on the small of her back, “Uh.. shall we?”

He gestured over to the couch, Y/N moving so that his hand slipped off of her as she made her way to the piece of furniture.

“You lied to me.” She muttered as he followed, the male shaking his head, “Technically… I didn’t. I-”

She stopped walking, turning and facing him with an angry glare, her eyes growing watery but she wouldn’t dare to let her tears fall- at least not right now, “That’s not the point, Evan. You failed to mention that this was going to be a double date with ‘bad date girl’ and your roommate. I kind of count that as lying.”

The girl then continued making her way to the couch, muttering under her breath as she took a seat, “I wouldn’t have said yes if I knew you were just going to be using me.”

Buck looked at her like a deer in headlights, opening his mouth to speak but not getting the chance to spit a word out as Veronica and Albert walked back over, the former speaking as she handed Y/N her wine glass, “Dinner is going to take a few more minutes, but I figured we could do appetizers while we wait.”

She then sat down, Y/N quickly taking a sip out of her glass as Veronica spoke up once more, “How long have you two been dating?”

“I was wondering that too, Buck. How come you never said anything? Y/N’s awesome!” Albert chimed in, Y/N immediately giving him a response before Buck could speak, “Oh, that’s because we aren’t dating. He just wanted me here so he wouldn’t be a third wheel. We’re just friends.” 

She then looked at the male next to her, “Right?”

Evan avoided her question, looking at Veronica as he began to talk, “We actually work together. She’s been my partner-in-crime for as long as I can remember.”

“I’d gladly let Eddie take that spot now.” The girl murmured quietly before looking up and smiling at the duo in front of her, “And I know how you two met. Buck has told me about it. Quite a few times, actually.”

The male beside her shook his head, “I- I wouldn’t say that-”

Veronica just looked at them with raised brows as Albert chimed in, gesturing to his girlfriend and his roommate, “I’m actually surprised you two didn’t get along.”

Y/N took a long gulp from her glass before nodding, and nudging Buck with her shoulder, “Yeah. This guy sometimes doesn’t know how to act around women. His ego deflates when someone doesn’t immediately like him.”

“Yeah, I don’t stroke anyones’ egos. That’s not my thing.” Veronica replied with a small shrug, causing Y/N to nod, “Good for you. I think I’m going to try that also.”

She then set the glass down, pulling her phone out from her sweater pocket as her tears were about to spill over. Y/N cleared her throat, standing up as she lied, “Sorry, my coworker, Eddie, just texted me. It’s an emergency and he needs someone to watch his son last minute. I gotta go.”

The girl then pocketed her phone once more, smiling at the pair in front of her, “It was nice seeing you again, Albert- and it was nice meeting you, Veronica.”

“You too.” She heard them say from behind her as she rushed to grab her purse, opening the apartment door and wiping her eyes as she began to walk towards the elevator.

“Y/N- Y/N, wait!” Buck yelled from behind her, the girl listening as his footsteps sped down the hallway, “I know Eddie didn’t actually text you, okay? It’s not what you think!”

She turned, looking up at the ceiling to prevent the water from spilling from her eyes and once she felt that it wouldn’t, she looked back down at him, “What? That you never actually wanted to go on a date with me and that you were just using my feelings for you to get them to see you with someone? Fuck you.”

Then the girl turned back around, Buck quickly grabbing onto her wrist and turning her back towards him, “No- it’s not like that-”

Y/N yanked her wrist from his grasp, “Don’t- Don’t touch me. You… God, I mean, you decided to hurt me just because you can’t stand the idea of someone not liking you? Are you serious?”

“No, that’s- I mean…” He shrugged with a false smile, “Come on, I’m very likeable.”

The girl stood there in silence, swallowing the lump in her throat as a tear finally made it’s way down her face. Buck sighed, glancing off to the side before making eye contact with her, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay? Look, Albert invited me over and I knew it was gonna be super awkward, and I didn’t want to sit through that alone. So I asked a friend.”

Y/N gave him a watery smile, “Right. A friend. ‘Cause that’s all I am to you.”

She sniffled as Buck’s heart dropped, the girl wiping her tears before speaking once more, “You could’ve just told me the situation and then asked me as a friend. You didn’t have to lie about having feelings for me.”

A scoff left her lips, the girl continuing, “I mean… If this is how you decide to treat your ‘friends’, maybe the problem isn’t Albert.”

Her eyes met his, “Maybe it’s you.”

Then she turned, walking away from him, hoping he’d say something as she left…

But he said nothing.

So she continued on her way, getting into the elevator and letting the doors close before her tears began to run down her face at a faster pace.

Y/N pulled out her phone as the elevator doors opened to the lobby, the girl pulling up Eddie’s contact, about to hit the call button- but her phone rang before she could.

She raised her brows as she noticed it was the man she was about to call, Y/N hitting answer and bringing the phone to her ear, “Hey, I was just about to-”

He cut her off as he began speaking in a panicked tone, “I need your help, Chris is missing and-”

Her jaw dropped at the words, the girl turning and making her way towards the building exit, but she quickly stopped in her tracks as Chris walked through the lobby doors.

Eddie was still rambling on the other side of the line, Y/N cutting him off so that she could let him know his son was safe, “Eddie, he’s here.”

“At Buck’s place?” He asked on the other side of the line, Y/N nodding even though he couldn’t see her as she replied, “Yeah. He’s here.”

“Okay, I’ll be there to get him soon.”

And then he hung up, Y/N wiping her face before she walked towards the kid who was making his way towards the elevators, “Chris, what are you doing here?”

“I had a fight with my dad. I came here to see Buck.” He informed her, the girl nodding and hitting the up button to the elevator, “Okay, I’ll take you up to him. You can’t run off like this though, your dad is worried sick.”

“Did you talk to him?” The kid asked her, glancing up as they entered the elevator. She nodded, “Yeah, he called me just as you walked in. He’s coming to get you. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He sighed, the adult next to him humming in acknowledgement as they reached Buck’s floor, the duo leaving the elevator and walking to his apartment.

Chris knocked on the door, the girl next to him beginning to walk away, but the kid turned to her, “Wait, where are you going?”

She sighed, “Buck and I aren’t really on good terms right now, buddy. I just wanted to make sure you got here safe.”

Buck opened the door as Chris replied, “I want you to stay.”

“Want who to st-” The older male began to ask before he peeked out of the door and noticed who he was talking about, “-oh.”

“Fine.” The woman muttered, walking into the apartment behind Chris, noticing that Albert and Veronica were now gone and it was just them three in the living space.

“Does your dad know you’re here, Chris?” The male asked the child, who was quick to respond, “Yes, he called Y/N.”

Buck then looked at the girl for confirmation, her nodding in response, “He called me as I was leaving to ask for help finding Chris, but he was walking into the building. Eddie is on his way to pick him up.”

He pursed his lips and then looked at Chris as the said kid sat on the couch, “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Chris shook his head as Buck sat on the table, Y/N leaning against the wall near the TV, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, you’re here, so we gotta talk about something.” He said to the child, using a gentle tone with him. Once Chris didn’t reply, Buck sighed, speaking once more, “Come on, look, you were there for me when I needed to talk, so now I want to be here for you. It’s what friends do.”

Y/N scoffed under her breath at that, the action not going unnoticed by Buck as Chris replied, “Dad’s dating.”

The girl gave him a sympathetic look as Buck continued to interact with the boy, “Yeah, that’s gotta be weird for you, huh? Maybe it feels like he’s forgetting your mom, but, Chris, I promise you-”

Chris sighed, interrupting the male, “I wish I could forget.”

Y/N pushed off the wall at that and moved closer, sitting on the table next to Buck and talking to Chris, “What do you mean by that, bud?”

“People go away. Not just mom.” He stated sadly, “Abuelita, Carla, my friends… they leave, and then I miss them. I don’t want to miss anyone else.”

The adults in front of him nodded in acknowledgement, sad looks on their faces as Buck spoke again, “Yeah, um… people- people go away… and i-it’s sad, and it hurts. But, you know, not everyone goes away for forever. Sometimes they come back, and as much as we miss them, that’s how happy we are seeing them again. Your grandma, your friends, Carla… you’re gonna see them all again.”

“Do you promise?” Chris asked.

“I do. And until that happens, you still got us.” Buck replied, gesturing to him and the girl next to him, Y/N sending a small smile Chris’ way and nodding in agreement as she spoke, “We aren’t going anywhere.”

Chris got up, opening his arms and pulling the two adults into a hug. One of Buck’s arms wrapped around Chris while the other wound around Y/N, the young boy’s head in between both of theirs.

“You guys are good friends.” The kid said to them, his arms hanging around their shoulders.

Buck glanced at Y/N over Chris’ back and spoke, “Yeah… sometimes.”

He then patted his back and pulled away, Y/N giving Chris one last final squeeze before doing the same, a knock coming on the door soon after.

All of them stood up, Buck going to the door and opening it, Eddie quickly rushing in.

Once his eyes locked on Chris, he moved forwards, encasing his son in a hug and muttering to him, “Don’t run away like that again, okay? You can’t scare me like that.”

Chris nodded into his shoulder, “I’m sorry, dad.”

“It’s okay, bud.” He replied, pulling away from the hug and standing up, “Let’s go home, okay?”

The kid nodded and Y/N smiled at the duo before looking at the younger boy, “Tell him what you told us. He’ll understand.”

Chris nodded once more, grabbing his crutches and making his way towards the door while Eddie looked at his friends, “Thank you guys.”

And then they went to walk out, Eddie turning around and speaking once again, “You’ll have to let me know how the date went later, okay?”

Y/N pursed her lips while Buck sent a smile his way, the door closing behind the father-son duo.

“Well, I’m gonna go also.” The girl then said, pulling her sweater closer to her frame in an attempt to close herself off as she began to walk towards the door.

“Or… you could stay? And we can try this again?” The male spoke, stepping in front of her in an attempt to stop her from leaving.

She sighed, “Look, you don’t have to pretend to have feelings for me just because you-”

He was quick to cut her off, “It’s not pretend. I’m sorry for making it seem like it was, and I’m sorry for earlier. I do have feelings for you and I should’ve asked you out on a first date a long time ago. I know I messed up tonight, but let me try to make it right, okay? With just us two. If you still hate me later, you never have to talk to me again. I’ll transfer firehouses and be out of your sight for forever.”

Y/N huffed, setting her purse down on the table, “Fine, and even if I hate you by the end of this, which is impossible because I could never hate you- even after what happened earlier, I’d never make you do that. I know how much the 118 means to you.”

He just smiled at her and nodded, one of his hands grabbing her own, “So? What do you want to eat?”

He dragged her to the kitchen, opening the pantry and showing her the stuff he had and giving her an idea of what could be made.

She pursed her lips, “How about we just have some takeout delivered? And watch a movie like we were talking about earlier today?”

Buck squeezed her hand, “Sounds perfect.”

Then he kissed her cheek before making a call to her favorite takeout place while she picked the movie they would watch.

She didn’t notice, but Buck watched as she sat on his couch, making herself at home while she picked the movie.

And he couldn’t help but think how nice this sight would be to see everyday.

[brummiereader]

@call-sign-shark I'm sorry I'm so late commenting on this chapter, Shark 😩!

Arghh, but what a chapter it was! This one has left me with so many mixed emotions when it comes to Tommy and Heavens relationship. I still remain on the non-ship HYE reader side 🙈. Even more so after this chapter! Their toxic relationship has evolved into something very, very dark.

I'm often wrong when it comes to my understanding of things 🤦🏼‍♀️, but a part of me think that Tommy sees the way Heaven has helped heal Arthur over the years, and he's selfishly seeking the same from her. Whether that's the case or not, what happened towards the end of this chapter left me in shock!

“Do you think Arthur would want you to risk your life? Do you think I’d let you go on a rampage with my niece or nephew in your belly?” after having read this chapter, I'd say he doesn't care about his future niece or nephew. This seems all a little to calculated and selfish on his part.

“Above everything. Untouchable. But here we are. Both haunted.” I think it must have been this line and the use of "haunted" that made me think that Tommy's twisted attentions towards Heaven is him seeking her out to give him peace.

“Tom… No.” You thought you had spoken with a stern tone but your voice had been nothing but a whisper that melted in a moan and, consequently, he didn’t stop - In a final scream of intense pleasure he came, stars waltzing behind the blackness of his eyelid and the mighty hands of God ripping all his suicidal thought from him just enough time to finally be at peace. Arghh, noooo....you didn't have to make this kinda hot, Shark 😩😂. This was what I was talking about when I said you left me with mixed emotions. I can't help but think that Heaven wasn't in her right mind when she this happened. And another part of me thinks, that neither was Tommy. I'm on the side that, canon Tommy would never do this to his brother. But in HYE, he's a lot darker and a lot more desperate. And it seems he's sought out Heaven as the only one that can give him peace of mind. My heart hurts for Heaven though. Not only did she think she was losing her husband, she also thought she was gonna lose her baby. Tommy may have been drunk, but a degree of manipulation on his part was used for him to get off 😬.

Only after a few minutes Tommy looked up at you, the eyes that once stared at you with disgust and burning rage now softened – though the remnant of something dark and fierce burnt inside his black pupils. That sounds like the start of love, if you ask me 😳. With a dark drive to have Heaven all to himself!

Your heart is as black… As mine. - “Each other’s death.” wow, what a way to end this chapter! This feels a little forbading. And at this point in time, I could definitely see it all ending in one of their deaths if Tommy doesn't back the fuck up!

Amazing chapter, Shark ❤️.

Heaven in Your Eyes || Tommy Shelby x You

Summary: For safety purpose and following Arthur's death, you are forced to live under your enemy and unforgiving brother-in-law's roof. It's only you and Tommy between the dreadful walls of Arrow house where grief, hatred, and attraction blend.

some musical background to read + the song that inspired it.

Words: 6.5k

TW: angst, rocky dynamic, pinning, sexual tension, graphic description of violence, strangulation, very very strong sexual innuendos, mention of blood, murder and grief, alteration of canon events + time.

Notes:

✞ Heaven in Your Eyes is an Arthur Shelby story but considering what happens to him in this part of S4, this chapter and the next one will be entirely focused on Reader/Heaven's relationship with Tommy.

✞ This is chapter 17 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alone.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

Your pale aquamarine eyes opened to an unfamiliar ceiling, far too different from the ceiling of your house in Watery Lane. The soft glow of morning light filtered through the dark and heavy curtains of the guest bedroom that was bathed in warm shadows. The bedding was too smooth, giving you the unpleasant impression that the mattress was slowly but surely swallowing you whole. As for the room itself, it was too silent, with no trace of the reassuring sounds or smells of your own home, like the floral fragrance of the lily of the valley perfume Arthur sprayed on your pillow each night before sleeping, fully aware that it reminded you of your mother.

A little cry escaped your lips when you turned your head towards the half-hidden window; its blinding light making your head throbbed painfully. You tried to move but your whole body ached, like a cruel and dull echo of the chaos that had ripped your world apart the night before. The chaos who took Arthur, your sweet Arthur, from you.

 Arthur.  With your heart pounding in your chest to the rhythm of invisible drums, you sat up – certainly a bit too violently. As the room spun around you, you clawed the fabric of the blanket not to fall back on the bed. Breathe, Hev. Just breathe, you told yourself. Exhaling slowly through your nostrils, you waited a bit until the dizziness and nausea became bearable and only then did you proceed to scan your surroundings. The place you had woken up in was a spacious bedroom, impeccably furnished yet so sparsely decorated that it ended up cold and impersonal. Just like a furniture store. But despite the unfamiliar setting, the peculiar smell of wood and faint traces of cigarette smoke that lingered in the air rung a bell. You recognized the man who owned it immediately.

Arrow House?

Tommy.

The memories violently surged back. The images of Arthur’s blood, the frenzied struggled to save him, the stabbing of a first Italian, then the murder of another, all of this leading to the moment you had lost consciousness. What the hell happened after? Why were you in Arrow House? Where was Arthur? Questions buzzed in your mind like a hive of furious hornets crashing against your skull. Through the fog, you thought you remembered Thomas’ low voice and arms wrapping you just before you fainted, but you weren’t sure – so came the necessity of finding out. Your sly hands shook as you scrambled out of the bed, even though the cold surface of the floor managed to ground you when your feet touched its polished wood.

You needed to find Tommy and ask for an explanation – or excavate that same explanation from him by using sheer strength and torture if you had to. Yes, you needed to know if Arthur made it. If he was safe, because he had to be safe after everything you did. He had to be safe, or else what would be left of you beside an empty shell? Wasting no time, you rushed out of the room like a fury without minding your poor state. In fact, your legs wobbled beneath your weight as you pushed the door open and made your way through the cool hallway, head spinning with disorientation. For sure, staying in bed would have been the best option but, as was the case that night you fled from your little town in the mountains, a combination of rage and panic controlled you. You braced yourself against the wall, your fingers curling into the wood and tapestry for balance. Each meters reached took a disproportionate amount of effort, each step felt unsteady. Your determination might be spotless, but your body betrayed as you swayed, to the extent that you careened into the wall with a dull thud from time to time. And when it weren’t the walls, it was the uneven carpet that made you almost trip. That damn corridor seemed endless, but the more you walked the sharper the scent of Tommy’s tobacco reached your senses and lifted the haze you were embedded in.

Little King Shelby was there.

That sole observation swept away the remnant of sickness you felt, your energy all regained as your steps, usually light and ethereal, echoed through the expensive house of Arrow house – a sumptuous mansion whose beauty only equaled its claustrophobic and maddening emptiness. The grand, austere décor loomed all around you in rich, dark wood paneling, chandeliers and old paintings staring from their frames. Ironically enough, it wasn’t the old and slightly obscure ones that made you feel uncomfortable, but rather Grace’s gigantic portrait. She was overhanging the house, her piercing blue eyes seemingly glistening in the sunlight and judging your every move.  Silently asking you what the hell you were doing in her home. A shiver ran down your spine, as if you could sense her presence, heavy and utterly sad, sipping through all the walls.  Arrow House might carry a distinct scent of polished wood and smoke, but beneath it lingered something as heavy as the Grace’s portrait – sorrow. It clung to the air like a haunting memory, subtle but inescapable, much like what Tommy himself hid under his expensive after-shave.

Finally, you reached the heavy double doors of Tommy’s office, your heart a relentless thud in your tight chest. Usually, little King Shelby despised being disturbed when he was in his study but you couldn’t care less considering the emergency of the situation – and you wouldn’t have cared in a more casual one. Without the slightest hesitation, you threw the doors open and your voice, already sharp, resounded in the room like a tigress’ roar.

“Where is he?” You demanded, as your pale iris, which were burning with Hell’s fire, surveyed the room until they found Tommy behind his desk.  His ice-cold stare met yours with a calm that only pushed you further to the edge of fury, “Where is Arthur?!”

The blue-eyed demon might have many flaws, but stupidity wasn’t one. He knew you would make a mess when you woke up so he had spent the last few hours patiently waiting for the chaos to storm, a glass of whiskey for sole companion to brace your thunder. He let out a sigh and reached for that same glass, which had remained untouched on his desk until now. After a sip, he leaned back on his chair, his eyes wandering on you as if he was calculating every possible outcome of your conversation.

Then only he spoke.

“Heaven, would you calm down ay?” He said with a smooth yet firm voice that carried an irking placidity. How could he be so serene after his brother got attacked and butchered? Was it the same Tommy who, overwhelmed with emotions you recalled, tried to help you last night? Or was he some kind of evil twin, who locked up his good brother somewhere in Arrow House most of the time?

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”  You snapped, walking toward him with your first clenched and stopping in front of his desk while he was still sitting, “After everything that happened last night, I wake up here and you think you can just sit there and act like this is normal? Tell me where Arthur is now.” You spat, your words like a winter blizzard.

Tommy stubbed his cigarette in the crystal ashtray that was on his deck before he stood, sky-blue eyes narrowed as he moved around slowly around the furniture. Your whole little body tense when he approached, his sole presence irking you.

“Arthur…” He started, his voice drawling, “Had to make a quick exit. We had to make him disappear for his own safety.”  His statement was heavy with the implications of danger and truth he didn’t wish to fully reveal. Tommy and his little secrets, you thought bitterly. Your jaw clenched, your icy eyes narrowing as you tried to swallow your burning fury in favor of a cold, quiet, anger.

“Disappear? Is he alive? Where is he?”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you any more information.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words pressing on you. Was he serious? Momentarily stunned by the audacity of the Peaky Blinders’ boss, you blinked. He couldn’t be serious.

“And I’m just supposed to accept that dumb answer? After everything I went through trying to save him?”

Tommy moistened quickly his lips with the tip of his pink tongue, his face an unreadable mask. Still, you could see through it, and you knew he was searching for his words, “It’s not about accepting or not. We suggested the idea to him, and he agreed. Arthur made his choice – he’s lying low, and right now, that’s the best place for him.”

A slap across your face would have been less painful that what he was saying. Trembling with frustration, you shoved your fist into his chest. Tommy didn’t move nor show any hint of paint. If anything, he just let you lash out at him.

 “So what—you’re just hiding him? Keeping him locked away while I’m left in the dark?”

“I’m not hiding him. Not keeping him from you. He’s the one who decided to leave.”  

“You’re lying. That’s just another of your fucked up games.” You hissed, plump lips curling and revealing your sharp canine teeth you dreamt of sinking into your brother-in-law’s throat.

Arthur had left. Without saying anything. Without a fucking warning. Without a fucking 'hi, I'm alive love". You couldn't believe it.

Tommy shook his head, cold but resolute, “I’m not playing. There are people out there looking for him. And if they know you’re alone and vulnerable, those same people will come after you, too.”

Another blow to his chest. The charming gangster closed his eyes a few seconds and exhaled loudly through his nose to swallow the pain.

“Go fuck yourself! I’m going to find him and murder those bastards myself!”

When Tommy reopened his eyes, his large and warm hand grabbed your wrist suddenly in mid-action and kept you from punching his strong chest again.

“Do you think Arthur would want you to risk your life? Do you think I’d let you go on a rampage with my niece or nephew in your belly?”

Your breath suddenly caught, the mention of your pregnancy striking a far too sensitive nerve. With your eyes wide-opened in surprise, you studied Tommy with an expression of pure shock on your seraphic face. How could he possibly know about the baby?

“You nearly lost that kid,” Tommy’s intense gaze softened as he continued, his husky voice dropping lower and his grip loosening around your frail wrist.

“How?” You whispered, your lower lip trembling.

“Polly is not the only one who can sense things eh,” Apart from being gifted with animals, Tommy had a sensibility you had never expected. He had known about the baby the same day you had talked to him about keeping Arthur busy during their meeting. It was the way you touched your belly sometimes, the way you had acted more feral than usually – which he hadn’t thought possible, “But that’s not the point. If you leave, you’ll risk everything. Arthur wants you safe, and right now safe means staying here.”

The air between you grew thick with desperation and frustration. You gritted your teeth so harshly you wouldn’t have been surprised if they would all broken, but it was the only thing that helped you biting down the urge to scream.

“So, you’re telling me I have no other choice than stay?” Your voice wasn’t loud, but its defiance and hatred cut as deep as the razor blades he kept in his cap. To be fair, the fact he talked about the baby made you falter more than you’d wish to admit. Your shoulders slumped in reluctant defeat.

“Yes,” Tommy said simply, leaving no room for argument, “You stay here, under my roof, until this fucking mess is sorted out and until it’s safe for both you and the baby. I don’t expect you to like it, but you just have to accept that situation.”  He finally released your wrist in a surprisingly soft gesture – the fire of your fury had been so bright you had completely forgotten that Tommy had been holding you during your entire exchange. And now that he had stepped back, you realized that his touch had been grounding, and you found yourself missing it.

“It will be temporary, I promise.”  He added, heading back to his office to grab his whiskey and gulp it down. The glass chimed when he put it back on the wooden surface.

Your fruity lips pressed into a tight line, your gaze falling to the floor. That burning anger that had fueled you earlier felt dulled, swallowed by exhaustion and creeping darkness settling deep in within the marrow of your bones. As much as you wanted to fight, to demand answers and storm out of the cage Arrow House was, you knew deep down that Little King Shelby was right. The stakes were too high and your strength, for once, too fragile. This was with reluctance and resignation that you looked up to meet Tommy’s eyes.

“Fine,” You muttered, “But don’t think this means I trust you.”

“It wouldn’t have crossed my mind.”  Tommy made a little tilt with his head while raising one brow, “So you’ll stay ay?”

“Hm. But I’ll get the fuck out of here whenever it will be safer. ”

A little glint of something — approval? Satisfaction? — flickered briefly in his eyes, “As long as you respect the terms of this arrangement, that’s all that matters, Devil.”

With a final, deathly glance, you turned on your heels and left the room, feeling the burn of his scorching gaze on your back. Staying with him was an awful idea, but for now you had no choice but to play along.

To abide by the rules he would set.

The fire flickered low in Arrow House’s main yet darkened living room, the dancing flames casting their undulating shadows along the wooden walls. Wrapped in Arthur’s long coat, you sat curled up in the armchair closest to the fire in a vain attempt to warm your cold soul up. A glass of whiskey was in your small hands, barely tasted. There was exquisite alcohol here, at least. To be honest, you hadn’t planned on staying up this late but killing time here was better than tossing and turning in bed, feeling near suffocating at the sensation of the bedsheet around you. A little sigh escaped your plump lips, whose skin had been picked at until you had bled at the bottom right. Sleep had been quite elusive ever since Arthur’s death – or rather, absence. A deliberate absence that gnawed at you, leaving you restless and hollow the same way you did after the tragedy that took your family from you on a cold October night.  The same way it did when you had left your former fiancé.

Another chill ran down your spine as the events that brought you to Arthur and what followed played in your head like a broken record: you felt like only a few days had passed from your unexpected encounter in the church to the awful evening during which you had held your husband bloodied and limp body. And with the memories came an even more aching revelation: all the people around you always ended up dead or hurt in the end, whether you pulled the trigger or not.

At this moment you would have given everything just to switch your brain off and let someone handle the rest. Everything to be in Amos’ reassuring arms, his tender velvet voice whispering in your ear that everything was going to be fine.

A thought that occurred for the second time, the first appearing when you danced with Luca Changretta.

The door suddenly creaked, the darkness of Arrow House’s corridor subsiding as Tommy appeared in the orange light with an unlit cigarette between his fingers. His steps were heavy and his mesmerizing turquoise eyes slightly glazed. As was always the case when you breathed the same air as this asshole, your body tense entirely, every muscle ready to pounce on him and shred him to piece. However, you only raised your head, your pale eyes falling on his face. What you saw made you frown: he was well into a drink himself, judging by the loose expression he wore and the very faint flush on his salient cheekbones.

Despite being intoxicated, the sharpness in his gaze didn’t dull when he spotted you by the fire. If anything, it intensified.

Ah! It was still the same old and hateful Thomas Shelby you knew.

“Couldn’t stay in your room, could you?” You muttered, your tone soft but laced with a mix of sarcasm and intrigue as the man approached. Tommy didn’t answer though and sunk onto the couch opposite you.

“This is my house, remember?” He retorted, husky voice almost making the air rumble around him. A few days had passed since you argued in his office. A few days during which you mainly stayed locked up in the room, stubbornly sulking.

“And believe me, I’m counting down the hours until I can leave it,” He met his gaze when you finished speaking but, as surprising as it was, Tommy didn’t find defiance in your eyes. Only fatigue. For once, the insolent brat you usually were seemed too exhausted to bite. "I’d rather not be here, but we don’t always have the choice.” You had wanted to add that the choice was scarce when Tommy Shelby was around, but you didn’t. Not only would it be pointless, but you weren’t in the mood to fight.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, “You’re right. Just like I didn’t have a choice when Arthur took you in, dragging all the trouble that followed,” He paused, attentively studying how your seraphic traits expressed your spitefulness at his words, then pointed at you with his finger “Thought you were above it all, didn’t you?”

“Above what?”

“Above everything. Untouchable. But here we are. Both haunted.”

Your grip tightened on your glass. So strongly you almost snapped it. “Don’t you dare blame me for what happened to him, Thomas. I know you’re used to do so but don’t fucking do it this time.” You warned.

Tommy’s blue eyes darkened as he looked away, shaking his head as if he had just remembered something awfully painful. The same thing that was plaguing your dreams: Arthur and his almost severed throat, “I don’t blame you for that – not for the attack nor for trying to save him.” He admitted. Wow, Tommy not blaming you for something was unexpected!

The gangster sighed and finally brought the cigarette to his mouth, rolling the filter onto his lower lip first before lighting it. Then, he threw the lighter on the small table near him and took a long drag. You carefully observed him all the while, afraid he would jump at your throat if you ought to lose your focus for one microsecond, “But it doesn’t change what came after, does it? You’ve done nothing but bring trouble to me. To all of us.”  He added with a hoarse voice, punctuating his sentence by blowing the smoke noisily. His voice didn’t carry the slightest aggressiveness though, only exhaustion. Yes, you were both drained by this fucking life.

Your jaw clenched, his word cutting deep. “I tried to save him with everything I had, Thomas. I’ve always tried to do my best for this family. Tried my best to make it work. But you –” You sneered, “You’re so determined to hate me that you won’t see it.”

Tommy snorted, the ghost of a desperate smile floated on his lips before it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. The look in his eyes was hard as steel, unyielding, but utterly melancholic. “Save him? Yes, it’s true, but you think that changes a thing? He was better off with you from the start.”

Things were always like this with Tommy. Even though you told yourself that you weren’t going to give in to your anger, the blue-eyed demon always knew which buttons to push to annihilate your self-control. And even if you didn’t want to play his twisted game, you always ended up getting pulled in. Your heart pounded in your tight chest, anger sparking beneath grief and the pain. Driven by a furious rage only he could fuel, you stood up from the armchair, Arthur’s black coat falling on the floor as you moved. “You don’t get to stand there and act like you know what is best for him. You only know what’s convenient for you. It’s always about you, innit?”

Following your movement, Tommy also got up from the couch to face you, cigarette hanging from his mouth and icy turquoise eyes burning fiercely. “What do you think you know about about me? Or about Arthur, for that matter?”

“About Arthur? Everything. About you? More than I needed to know.”  Your body moved instinctively, taking a step closer to him in utter defiance. “You really think you’re that unfathomable, do you? You think that no one except Thomas Shelby can understand what’s happening in this twisted and scheming mind of him, right?  No, let me correct my mistake, even you cannot understand yourself.”  Trying to calm down sheer anger and the acid you were made of, you took a quick gulp of whisky from your glass before putting it on the table.  Once the glass left your mouth, your lips curled in a mean smirk.

“I know the man you are because my former fiancé was cut from the same cloth. An egocentric criminal with bulging ambition, a far too high sense of self esteem and a greed beyond words. A man who dragged his loved ones down with him without even realizing it. But Tom, you are a poison. And even with good intentions and genuine love, everything you touch ends up rotting. Just like you.”

And just like him.

Your voice sounded like an angelic lilt as you spoke, but there was something horrifying in its softness: a belittling tenderness that was only aimed at mocking and hurting.

Tommy’s jaw clenched, dimples digging in his already sharp cheeks. Bitter, he stubbed his cigarette against the couch’s armrest and threw it right onto the carpet, not minding the damage he just did. For fuck’s sake, he had enough money to buy a new one. Even a new mansion had he wanted to.The tension that was floating in the room became thicker, intoxicating, as your cutting remarks threw sparks into the gasoline of his soul. One could even wonder if the crackling sound of the fire really came from the hearth or if they were made by the flames of your hatred. 

The gangster didn’t reply, yet his eyes were locked with yours, speaking a silent challenge none of you was willing to back down from. He might have remained mute, but his body didn’t. All of sudden, he walked closer to you, reducing the distance step by step until he stood in front of you only from a few inches, fierce and unafraid. He was so close that you could feel the warmth of his bare chest radiating off him, gently warming up your frozen skin without even touching it. The musky scent of his after shave, worn off by the shower but still strong enough for you to catch its fragrances, mixed with his whiskey breath.

“You think I’m scared of you?” You whispered only for him to hear, light tremor of defiance in your voice. “Be careful Thomas, you know I could kill you right here right now.”  You spat, the warm fire reflecting its dim light against the pearly white enamel of your sharp canine teeth and making your ivory mane shine like moonlight.

“It’s Tommy.” He corrected. The way you kept using his full name was starting to get on his nerves, especially after how delicate his nickname had sounded, melting on your tongue like sugar, the day you threw yourself in his arms, mourning John. Crying real tears and not staged ones.

“No, it’s Thomas. You said it yourself years ago.”  You cut him, the name as sharp as the shards of a broken mirror, whose cracked surface reflected Tommy on one side, and your own being on the other, like two perfectly intricated parts of the same puzzle.

A short silence hovered above the room, sharing the space with the electric air as you glared at each other, waiting for the next unpredictable move the other could make.

The blue-eyed demon didn’t bother picking up your little taunt, but rather went on with what you said just before, “Kill me…” He repeated, leaning over you. His void pupils relished every trait of your doll face, “That’s what you want ay?”  Tommy’s voice was dark and daring, but it held a flicker of something different. Something more dangerous. As he spoke, his husky and hushed tone feeding the electric tension, you both stood locked in that heated moment, your breaths mingling in the space between you. Why were you realizing how close you were, both invading each other’s private space, only now? 

This time, Tommy’s expression shifted again and before you could react, he reached for you, his strong calloused hands wrapped around your wrists with a firm yet tender grip and pulled you even closer. “Do it”, he urged in a low growl as he guided your hands around his neck. “Show me how strong you really are without that evil magic of yours...”

Your heart raced, missing a vertiginous beat, as your sly fingers curled instinctively around the hard line of his throat. There was a thrill in the danger, a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins when you felt the steady thump of his pulse under the soft pulp of your thumb, a reminder that Tommy Shelby was indeed a mortal man. Without control of any sort, your eyes fell on his throat, which was a striking canvas of both strength and vulnerability, the sinewy muscles taut beneath his smooth, pale skin. The very, very thin layer of sweat which covered him glistened under the dim light, attracting your attention even more on the angular lines of his jaw. Your breath stopped for a few seconds when you noticed how the coolness of his complexions contrasted sharply with the heat that was radiating off him.  Tommy Shelby was a walking paradox, as cold as ice, as hot as fire. Just like you.

With a surge of anger, you tightened your hold and let your nails dig into his skin. “You think this is a game?”

“Life ain’t nothing but a cruel game, Devil” he replied with a hitching breath and a light smirk dancing on his seductive lips as he leaned more into your grip. The gangster exuded something primal you couldn’t really describe. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel it too—the tension, the way we keep pushing each other.”

Your faces were now inches apart, heat pooling in your body and overwhelming you.

 “You’re insane,” you hissed, a tremor of uncertainty creeping into your voice despite your bravado. You had tried to hide it but it was vain and you knew it didn’t go unnoticed.

“And yet here we are,” he murmured, his growling voice turning into a whisper that sent shivers down your spine. A raspy lilt that made all fibers of your being vibrate like a piano’s strings during a symphony of chaos and desire. Caught off guards by the intensity of his gaze, your grip faltered just a moment before your thumb pressed a bit more on his windpipe. The noise his breath made as well as the way he sharply sucked in for air left no doubt on the power of your grip – you were slowly but surely squeezing the air out of him and, this time, you didn’t need any kind of magic to do so. It made the whole act even more exciting. Suffocatingly intense. 

At this point, you were convinced that the black-haired gangster, with his intoxicating smell of whiskey, cigarettes, leather and expensive after shave, would back up but he did quite the opposite. Leaning forwards, his lips brushed against your ear with a tenderness you didn’t suspect he possessed. Another shiver ran through you, and you hated him even more for enabling this reaction. “Harder…” He breathed, voice already muffled, “ Y—You want this as much as I—I do.”

In that moment, the storm of your usually muffled emotions collided. Rage, desire, fear, hatred, loneliness, doubts, lust, all intertwined with the numbing effect of alcohol, blurred the line between Tommy and you even further.

“Harder, like your former fiancé loved, right?”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck me your – yourself ay.”

Lost in the intensity of everything, you felt the control slipping from your fingertip along with the will of fighting him. Tommy Shelby was sliding under your skin and the undeniable urge to give in was too much for you to resist. And somehow, you didn’t want to. What he made you feel was too similar to what you had lost after slashing Amos’ face and running away the day of your wedding.

This was why your grip suddenly tightened around him, your slow choking turning into the verge of deadly strangulation. In reply, Tommy let out a muffled moan. His strong hands, scarred by murder, grabbed your frail hips. So frail he felt like he could crush them easily and break you in half.

Your eyes maybe whole, But the story I'm told is your heart is as black as night.

As the room started to dangerously spin around him, the lack of oxygen building up gradually, the necessity of words faded away. Giving in, you leaned too and gently rubbed your cheek against your brother-in-law’s while still strangling him. Your lashes fluttered at the silky sensation of his perfectly shaved skin, your nerves sparkling with sensations at the lines of his sharp facial bones. His fire skin against the frost that constituted yours was ecstatic. Another little husky yet muffled moan echoed in the living room, his touch feeling as good as a shot of heroin and as brutal as getting crushed by a train. 

“Hev—” Tommy’s muscular body suddenly dropped to its knees, unable to hold his weight anymore.  At first you thought he would finally give up and admit he couldn’t take it anymore but the black-haired gangster didn’t. His rough hands didn’t leave your waist but rather pulled you closer, as if he couldn’t bear a single inch standing between you. The two turquoise gems that he called eyes locked onto yours — unfaltering and desperate. Tommy exhaled a shaky breath and surrendered himself fully to your touch. You wanted to kill him? So be it, he thought.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, fascinated for he looked so weak, so… willingly at your mercy that everything around you blurred, your focus only on him. Him and his freckles. Him and the too-perfect traits of his face from his adorable nose to his slightly chapped lips. Him and the sight of what you could be together.

Your lips maybe sweet such that I can't compete, But your heart is as black as night.

A far away cry resounded in the back of your head, pleading you to put a stop to this folly, but you were far too embedded in a primal trance to mind it. 

 Tommy’s head lowered until his cheek pressed against your belly, his arms snaking around your waist in an intimate, blazing embrace. And just like that it wasn’t a fight anymore; it was something else. The same thing you were both desperately pushing away for years — what fueled the vitriol of his hatred. For him and his twisted and tired mind, your deadly hands around his throat weren’t hurting him anymore, they were granting him a momentary relief from his untamable demons. The dirt couldn’t touch him here, your seraphic yet murderous aura keeping it from burying him alive. You strangled him, but he felt like he had never breathed this freely for a long, very long time. 

Soon the static hug turned into a sensual one, with Tommy softly rocking you in a way so soothing that you couldn’t help but bit your juicy lower lip. For a moment you both stayed like that, your body petrified and your hands still squeezing the air out of him while his scorching breath fanned over your belly when he moaned, sipping through the thin fabric of your silk nightgown. It was only after a while that all of Tommy’s energy fled from him. Now he hed had reached his limits. You felt the gangster waver, then he fell back onto the living room floor, dragging you along in his fall. You simply followed, letting him pull you on top to make you straddle him. A firework exploded into you when your hips collided together, your beings only separated by the thin layer of your lace thong and the fabric of his trousers. 

I don't know why it came along at such a perfect time, But if I let you hang around I'm bound to lose my mind.

Beneath you, Tommy’s body was entirely tensed, his breath hitching in difficulty, mouth gasping for air and a vein on his forehead pumping blood furiously. Yet, his hypnotic turquoise eyes didn’t waver from you except occasionally when he rolled them back in pure ecstasy. You shut your eyes closed, squeezing them very tight, unable to hold his gaze anymore when his hips started to sensually roll under you, the feeling of his hard length making you gasp.

“Tom… No.” You thought you had spoken with a stern tone but your voice had been nothing but a whisper that melted in a moan and, consequently, he didn’t stop. Quite the opposite, he kept rubbing against you, your hips dancing together in perfect rhythm and intensifying when he felt the warmth pooling between your legs and the small, damp spot on your sinful undergarment. It was too much for him to bear — Tommy growled, a low and primal noise that came from the depths of his soul, and his hips bucked under you. In a final scream of intense pleasure he came, stars waltzing behind the blackness of his eyelid and the mighty hands of God ripping all his suicidal thought from him just enough time to finally be at peace.

Peace, at last. He thought.

Shocked, confused and caught in the haze of the moment, you finally released your grip and freed his throat before curling up in a ball in his arms, trembling. 

“I’m fine.” He stuttered, panting, as if he had read through your concerns.

As you lay entwined on the floor, both of you breathless and tangled in each other’s arms as if your life depended on it, the silence of the room grew thick with unspoken desire and barely bridled resentment.

Would life be easier if you’d give in for good? Would he be the one, strong and steady, guiding you and protecting you? Could he be the one able to finally heal that open wound your attachment to Amos was?

No.

Tommy could never be your solace.

You would never let him.

You’d never do this to Arthur. Never.

Your hand tenderly reached his face. They lingered on his perfectly carved jaw to trace faint lines across his skin as though you were discovering him for the very first time. Had he always been so pretty? The soft caress of your fingers almost made him purr, but he was still panting too much to say something more judging by how his chest rapidly fell with each shallow breath. Only after a few minutes Tommy looked up at you, the eyes that once stared at you with disgust and burning rage now softened – though the remnant of something dark and fierce burnt inside his black pupils. 

He finally broke the silence with a voice both rough and tender, “You feel it ay? The weight of it. The weight of us.” It wasn’t a question for he knew he was right, no matter how hard you would deny it. He pulled you closer to make your embrace even more intimate until your nose nuzzled in the crook of his neck — his perfume soothing you, lulling you.

'Cause your hands maybe strong but the feelings are all wrong, Your heart is as black as night.

“Tommy. This has to stop.” You said slowly, fingers still caressing his face with sheer tenderness, “You have to let it go.”  Fighting against the torpor the sweet comfort of his arms brought you, you raised your head to plunge your gaze into his.  In response, Tommy let out a sigh and one of his hands found yours, intertwining your fingers together.

“You think he loves you the way I could?” His other hand moved to your face to tilt your chin towards him, keeping you from fleeing his vulture eyes which were filled with longing he didn’t bother to hide anymore, “I’m not letting you go.” 

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest at the thought that Tommy would never stop haunting you. 

He was talking exactly like Amos. Using the exact same words and sickly-sweet tone.

“Don’t say dumb shit like this.” You retorted, the warmth you had granted him with turning to freezing arctic ice again. With that being said, you gathered all your remaining strength to overcame the comforting haze he instilled in you, and managed to snatch yourself from his arms. You needed to leave this fucking room now. Surprised, Tommy tried to hold you, to keep you from leaving him but you had been too quick. Defeated, the gangster hauled himself with his forearms against the carpet and frowned.

“You know we’re meant to be.”

“And what are we meant to be Thomas?” You sneered, glaring at him from above your bony shoulder, “Can you tell me?!”

Your heart is as black… As mine.

“Each other’s death.”

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[maskedcrawford]

Hidden Secrets

G-Dragon x Reader ft. Song Kang

Summary: Tensions rise with Jiyong's insecurities, you make a move that hurt's him, and you must learn how to maneuver in the world with a new dynamic.

Warnings: ANGST

A/N: Rest assured I have a plan. Trust the process. <3 Chapter 6 will be out as soon as I get it typed and proof read!

Masterlist

Chapter 4

Chapter 5- Mistakes and Heartbreak

Over the next two months, you and Jiyong grow closer than ever before, and you weren’t even sure it was possible. But all good things come to end, don’t they?

“Hey, my love,” you sing as you walk through the door of your shared home. Jiyong is on the couch and grunts with slightly raised brows staring at his phone. You set the shopping bags down on the table in front of him and try to playfully peal his phone from his hands.

“Quit!” You pull back quickly at his snappy tone. He cuts his eyes at you briefly before returning his gaze to the screen.

“Who pissed in your cheerios?” He sighs and looks at you, his eyes full of malice.

“Don’t fucking worry about it,” he gets up and walks to his room; the door slam echo’s through the house. You stay there for a moment, processing what just happened. You slowly get up and put your bags in your room. You then turn to go into Jiyong’s room, but when you try to turn the knob the door is locked.

“Aein,” you call out as you tap on the wood.

“Can you just leave me alone for a bit?” His tone is harsh and you're so confused.

“Someone’s on their period,” you joke to yourself.

Jiyong had been stressed from work and seeing you in the news with Song Kang recently. You had met him when you were at a party with Jiyong last month and he had asked if you would mind to run lines with him for an upcoming audition. You told Jiyong and he said he didn’t mind, that he trusted you. But the two of you quickly bonded and became close friends. Now the media is running with a story that you two could be seeing each other romantically. None of this was in your realm of knowledge as you didn’t watch the news and didn’t pay attention to magazines or online gossip.

You spend the evening alone while Jiyong is holed up in his room. You tried calling him for dinner but he didn’t answer. You set a plate of food outside his door and knocked to let him know it was there if he wanted it. You went to your room and shut the door.

He was going slightly crazy.

Is this why she didn’t want the public to know, in case she found someone else? She would’ve told me if she wasn’t happy, right? Did I do something? The thoughts buzzed in his head like an angry bee. He really thought you two were ok until this. That things had gotten better. But now he fears he’s wrong. He hears your knock on his door again and then hears the door to your room open and shut. He opens his own it revealing his dinner and a drink. He smiles slightly to himself. He picks it up and see’s a note underneath it.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m here if you want to talk. Please don’t shut me out, even if I can’t help, I can listen <3 xoxo – your girl

He grips the paper, crumpling it up and he knows if he talks to you now he won’t be very nice about it. He takes his dinner and shuts his door. Meanwhile you are in your room talking to Song Kang on the phone.

“Hey,” he answers cheerfully.

“Hey,” you offer a half smile to no one, trying to make your tone sound cheery, but you fail.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m just, I’m just down.” You lie straight through your teeth.

“You know you can talk to me,” he offers.

“I know, but there’s nothing you can do. I just wanted to call and see how the audition went.”

“I got the part, thanks to your amazing help,” his tone was friendly, a little too friendly but you didn’t read into it. You offer him a giggle.

“Congrats! If Jiyong would stop being so moody, we could go out and celebrate!” you wince as you realize you let an intimate detail slip to another guy.

“Moody? What’s going on?” you sigh, too late to lie now.

“I don’t know, Kang, it’s like he doesn’t even want to see me. He snapped at me when I got home.”

“For what?”

“I genuinely have no idea,” you confess.

“He won’t talk to me long enough to tell me.” You pause for a moment, “But I shouldn’t bore you with this,” you trail off.

“No, no it’s not a bore, I honestly didn’t realize you two were so close.”

“We’re actually dating,” you say shyly.

“And he’s treating you like that," he scoffs before continuing with a slightly prideful tone, "Man if you were my girl,” he trails off and the conversation goes silent for a moment.

“So, you’ve been thinking about me being your girl?” you tease him and he laughs awkwardly.

“Actually, yeah, I-I have,” he admits and your jaw drops slightly. You had no idea he liked you like that.

“Oh, um,” you hear a knock on your door.

“Hang on a sec,” you say as you get up off the bed and open it to see Jiyong standing there.

“Who’s that?” he mouths and you put your finger up.

“Kang? Yeah, I’m gonna have to call you back.” You press the end call button and meet a pair of angry dark eyes.

“Song Kang? Really, y/n?” He walks away like he’s going back into his room and you grab his arm.

“Hey, what the hell is with you, we’ve been doing fine, great even, and now all of a sudden, you’re pissed at me and won’t talk to me? I want to know why. What did I do?” His eyes dart between yours and he bawls his fists.

"I can't fix anything if I don't know what I did wrong, Jiyong," you try to reason with him.

“Why don’t you just call Kang back, hmm? It seems I interrupted something important,” he feigns a considerate tone.

“No you didn’t, now if you’d quite being a dick and talk to me maybe we can figure something out.”

“Go figure out something with Kang,” he spits. Your pull your head back in confusion and then it hits you.

“You’re jealous of him?” you ask surprised. He shakes his head with a scoff.

“I’m not jealous,” he starts but can’t finish.

“Then what’s the problem with me talking to Kang,” you cross your arms.

“He likes you, y/n, and I don’t like it. Not at all.” He shakes his head and remember the confession he made.

“Well, it’s not exactly his fault, he didn’t know we were dating.”

“Didn’t? You told him?” He quirks his brow.

“Yeah, just now, actually.” His face softens a little.

"Why did you need to tell him?" he asks his voice filled with suspicion.

"Well, he, uh, he told me that he'd been thinking about me," you trail off and that earns a scoff from Jiyong.

"It's not like anything happened, Ji." you say annoyed, "Wait is that what you think?" your tone is more offended now.

“Have you seen the articles?” he asks pointedly.

“What articles? You know I don’t pay attention to that stuff.” He sighs and pulls out his phone. He shows you the article with pictures of you and Song Kang out at a local market, which you had been to so you could grab something he needed for his audition and you were running lines with him at the time. Then there was a picture of you leaving his house, again to help him run lines. You never questioned why it never was anyone else that it seemed he’d ask, but you also didn’t read into it.

“Song Kang and a new love interest? Song Kang and his girl y/n l/n. Is Song Kang y/n’s new Muse?” he reads out and you sigh, pulling the phone away from his face.

“Why didn't you just tell me this,” you ask frustrated, but trying to gracious.

“I,” he sighs and rubs a hand down his face.

“I got so upset I assumed the worst.” That strikes a chord in you.

“Wait you really thought I would do that to you?” you take a step back from him.

“I just feared,” he begins.

“That I’d leave you for him? That I’d go fuck him and leave you here wondering where I’m at? That I’d cheat on you?” You become more outraged by the minute.

“Kwon Jiyong after all we’ve been through that’s what you think of me? You think that’s the kind of person I am?” He looks at you apologetically.

“It wasn’t,”

“Have I given you any reason to distrust me?”

“You did call Steve when you got mad at me,” he says quietly and you holler a sarcastic laugh.

“Don’t you even fucking go there with me. First of all, you said we were good. We talked and that it was over for both of us. Second that was months ago, we weren’t even together and neither of us knew how much we lov-,” you stop dead in your tracks and his ears perk up at you. You had only said the words once, when you first got together, but it still was a word with so much meaning and you don't want to throw it around.

“Neither of us knew how much we cared about each other,” you start again, “Third, it’s not like we were having issues! Things were so good,” you almost whine out the last sentence as you think of the romantic dates and sweet moments you had shared. The sweet at home date nights and movie nights where you would lay blankets out and watch a movie on a projector on his ceiling or wall. The way he'd hold you during it. The romance and genuine intimacy of it all.

“If that’s really how you think I’d treat you, why are we together?” you ask him after a moment of silence. His own insecurities got the better of him at times, and now it sounds as if it could cost him your relationship.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he tries to defend.

“It must be, because if you did you would’ve talked to me about this instead of snapping at me and then trying to shut me out. You do this every time something is wrong. When are you going to learn I’m a safe place for you? God, Jiyong,” he winces at the use of his name. You never really use his full name unless you’re upset.

“If you trusted me then you’d of come to me and tried to talk,”

“I was afraid you were going to leave,” he interrupts.

“And yet, here we are. So you don't trust me or the faith I have in our relationship.” You storm back into your room and slam the door.

“Y/n,” he calls after you and you sit against the door for a moment, he tries to open it but you push it closed on him.

“Y/n, I don’t want you to go,” he says through the door.

“You don’t want to talk when there’s problem’s either, Jiyong. I refuse to be in a relationship with a man who can’t even talk to me when he’s upset. I’ve done nothing but be loyal to you, except for the one time you can’t seem to let go of,” you say with tears pricking your eyes, it's not like the was the only one, but you had forgiven it and you were trying to move on from it. For the most part, you did. Your heart was shattering, but you've had enough. With the way you two started off and now he’s acting the same way again, it’s looking like nothing but a cycle; one you refuse to be apart of. You grab a suitcase and start packing. You shove your clothes, phone charger and shoes in it and you open the door to see him still standing there. He looks at the suitcase in your hand and his eyes grow wide.

“Wait, you’re actually leaving? Where are you going to go?” His tone is fearful.

“Maybe I’ll stay with Kang, he seems to be fond of me.” You sass and his eyes look scared, but he hides it with fierce anger and jealousy.

“Fine, go stay with him, but if you walk out that door we are done.” He says as he watches you walk toward the door.

This is what you were afraid of, that you would lose him and you wouldn’t be able to recover. But you were hurting being with him too. You take your phone out and dial Kang right there in front of Jiyong.

He stands there as you put the phone up to your ear and if looks could kill, you’d both be dead on impact. He hears your voice all too fake and cheery.

“Kang? Hey, listen can I stay at your place tonight?”

“Really? You’re a doll, thanks. I’m on my way now,” you cut your eyes at him.

“Y/n,” he warns.

“As far as I’m concerned, we’ve been over. You shouldn’t be with someone you don’t trust, and you clearly don’t trust me. So since you’re all but coming out and accusing me of sneaking around with him, I think I’ll just go and do it. That way it isn’t an accusation anymore.”

“Y/n, if you leave,” he sucks in a sharp breath, “We’re done for good. There’s no coming back, there’s no ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘I didn’t mean it’. We’re done forever.” He doesn’t know what else to say. Your mouth slightly parts in shock at his words. But your mind says it’s time, despite your hearts pleas.

“Jiyong, if you don’t trust me, then there’s no reason to be together.” Your voice is solemn, your heart is thumping out of your chest. You turn to face the door.

“I’ll come get the rest of my things tomorrow,” you say as you barely look over your shoulder. You hear his footsteps come up behind you and as you open the door, he shuts it his hand and turns you to face him. His eyes are pleading with you not to go, he cups your face with his hands and kisses you deeply. You kiss him back and sigh into it. You separate and he gives you a soft smile thinking you’re going to stay.

“Goodbye, Jiyong,” you say as your voice cracks during his name and you turn to walk out. You shut the door behind you and get in your car. You let out a loud scream as your tears flow freely and your heart physically feels as if it’s being broken into a million tiny pieces.

Inside Jiyong is on his knees staring at the door with tears silently rolling down his cheeks. Why did he keep hurting you? He didn’t mean to, why couldn’t you see things from his perspective? He didn’t want you to leave, but between begging and threatening, he didn’t know which was the better option. He's left wandering if you were always doomed to fall apart.

------------

You get to Kang’s house, obviously an emotional mess. He opens the door and his face softens to your broken state. He moves past the doorway and allows you inside.

“What the hell happened?” Kang wasn’t necessarily upset that you were here, but he didn’t like the fact that you were upset. You went to speak but just broke down in tears again. You sink to the floor as the sound of pain and heartache fills his apartment. He comes over to hold you, doing anything he can to make you feel better.

“Hey, hey, come on, talk to me.” He strokes your hair. You want to, but right now you can’t, not really.

“It-it hu-hu-hurts,” you grab at your chest as you hiccup and you start crying all over again. This was it; Kwon Jiyong has ruined you like you knew he could. And the worst part is you felt like it was all your fault. You knew better. You should’ve stayed friends, you never should’ve hooked up and you never should’ve put a label on it.

He rocks you back and forth as you hug onto his neck. His heart genuinely broke for you, he hated seeing such a lively and beautiful soul be so broken.

After a little while you finally calm down and you sit on his couch explaining what happened.

“He really gave you an ultimatum?” He’s shocked by your story. You nod as another lone tear makes its way down your cheek. He goes to scoot in behind you, to hold you and you let him. You lean against his chest and the tension of the room is thick. You stare at each other for a minute and just as Kang barely inches forward you clear your throat.

“Can we watch a movie? I really want to take my mind off all this.” He gives a semi forced smile to your question.

“Sure, you can pick one out. I’ll grab some snacks.” You pick a comedy, maybe it’ll ease the pain and tension.

Back at home, or what you used to call home, Jiyong is stunned. He’s picked himself off the floor and flopped on his bed on his back, listening to the stillness of the house. He suddenly lets out a scream of frustration before getting up and drowning his sorrows in alcohol. He plays a drinking game by himself. The rules? Anytime you cross his mind he takes a shot. It makes it a lot easier when he starts to pack up your things for you.

It's not long until he’s drunk, close to blacking out. Yet the alcohol can’t numb the pain. He ultimately drinks until he can’t think about you, or anyone else for the night.

Back at Kang’s house you two are in the middle of laughing at the movie you picked; your heart still hurts and you wish it could be like this with Jiyong. As much as it hurt, you missed his presence. His arms being around you and gentle kisses on the back of your neck when you’d cuddle, you could still almost feel the ghost of his touch on you, and for a moment you imagined you were back home with him. Like nothing happened and things were still ok. But reality hit you once more when Kang let out a belly laugh. You snap your head at him and he’s popping some popcorn in his mouth, eyes glued to the tv.

“You got anything to drink?” you ask suddenly. He tears his eyes from the tv to you.

“I got Soju, Vodka, Hennessy, pick your poison.”

“Can I get Vodka and Hennessy?” He looks at you surprised.

“You sure you can handle both?” he smirks as you shake your head.

“All right, ladies’ choice,” he says cautiously. Before you know it, your feeling warm and fuzzy, buzzed from the drinks. And Kang feels the same. He wouldn’t dare let you drink alone.

“You know,” he slurs as he pulls you into his lap so you straddle his waist. You giggle.

“He really should’ve trusted you,” he downs another shot. You match him every time.

“It’s not like I gave him any,” you hiccup, “reason not to, I mean he acted like we’d slept together.” You hiccup again and then a giggle slips out.

“Hell, by the way he accused me, I should’ve done it. At least then he would’ve had a reason to freak out,” you take another shot and wrap your arms around his neck and lean in close to him, your breath a strong sent of the two drinks you were downing. Kang looks at you, his eyes searching yours.

“Maybe you should,” he mumbles. You tilt your head, confused.

“Maybe I should what?”

“Maybe you should stay here, be with me and let me take care of you,” he says quietly. He suddenly seems more sober and you feel your buzz come down some.

“I um,” you look away and he brings his face back to where you look at him.

“Just tell me to stop and I will,” he whispers just before putting his lips on yours. You freeze for a moment, Jiyong’s memory heavy in your mind again. You push it away and let your body give in to the temporary comfort Kang is willing to provide.

-------

The next morning, you wake up tangled in Kang’s bed sheets, naked underneath them.

“Oh my god,” you groan quietly as you see him next to you, also naked. You rub your face and quietly slip out of bed, sliding on your clothes from last night. You check your phone half expecting to see some text from Jiyong, almost hoping to, but nothing is there. You’re disappointed, hurt even. You weren’t sure that he really meant what he said. You thought maybe he was mad and just said it to try and get you to stay. You sigh and head to the kitchen, head pounding from a hangover. You grab a granola bar from his cabinet and some medication.

You dial Jiyong’s phone and he doesn’t pick up. You shoot him a text.

Coming over at 10 to get my things.

You hit send and wait for him to respond, but he doesn’t. Part of you is worried about him, maybe he drank last night like you did. You started freaking out internally and decided you couldn’t wait. You left Kang a note saying you would be back and you grabbed your keys.

You arrive at Ji’s place and see his car is still there.

“At least he didn’t drive” you think to yourself.

“Ji?” you call out as you open the door. You walk in and see the house is a mess. There’s broken glass in the kitchen, magazines on the floor, some torn to shreds. There’s plates and other dishes broken in the sink and on the living room floor.

“Jiyong?” you call out again, getting no response.

“Oh, my God Jiyong,” you say in shock as you see him on the floor of the living room. He looks unconscious.

“Ji? Jiyong?” You frantically pat his face and shake his body. He doesn’t budge.

“I swear,” you say out of fear as you reach into your bag and get a mirror. You put it under his nose and see it fog up. At least he’s alive. You get up, a little less panicked, and get a glass of cold water. You throw it in his face and he wakes up.

He looks around and see’s you standing over him.

“What the hell,” he groans.

“You scared me, that’s what,” you say as you help him up, he’s wobbly, still a little drunk.

“How much did you drink last night,” you ask trying to help steady him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” his breath reeks of it as he pushes you off him. Yeah, that stings, bad. You purse your lips.

“Why are you here, anyway. I told you if you left last night,”

“That we're done for good, yeah I know. I have things here I need to get.”

“I could’ve dropped them off or at least put them outside.” He says getting another shot.

“Jiyong it’s not even 10 am and considering you were passed out when i got here, no you couldn't have,” you scold and he gives you a death glare.

“You fuck to deal with the pain and I drink. So what?” His tone is venomous. You bite back tears as you scoff and he raises a brow at you just before downing his shot. He walks over to you, backing you up against the wall by the archway of the kitchen.

“You’re really going to act like you didn’t fuck him last night?” his voice is dangerously low, his face is inches from yours. He moves your hair out of the way revealing a hickey on your neck that wasn’t there 24 hours earlier.

He sneers and can’t help the deprecating laugh that emits from his vocal chords.

“You’re too damn predictable baby, tell me, how many times were you with him before you actually left me, hmm?” Before he can process what’s happening, he feels a sting on his cheek.

“You’re an asshole when you’re drunk,” you push him away feeling a light sting on your hand as you go to the back studio. You notice most of your stuff is all ready packed up for you in bags. The painting of you and Ji still sitting on the easel he bought for you a couple days after you moved in. You feel the tears prick your eyes as you look at it. You bite your lip as your hand runs over itl feeling the texture of the canvas and the raised paint splatters. Jiyong sneaks into the door way, watching you. He stared at the painting for what felt like forever last night, he debated on destroying it, all of it really. Everything you ever made, but if he did that he’d be like Steve and despite your screwed up relationship, he wouldn’t be like Steve, at least not in that way.

“You can take everything but that painting,” he says causing you to jump.

“It’s my painting.” You retort.

“I’ll pay you whatever you want for it.” You scoff at him, and he leans against the door frame, a deadpan look on his face.

“I’m serious. How much?”

“Its not for sale.”

“Everyone has a price,” you scoff at his words.

“Why do you even want it,” his face softens before he hardens it again.

“Something to remember you by,” his voice drips with sarcasm.

“I’m serious why do you want it,” you cross your arms.

“Because, it shows your true colors,” he sasses and you roll your eyes.

“The red and orange, the fiery passion I hold within myself. The blue and gray the way you always play the victim, baby.” He sneers again.

“It’s so, us." His laugh is villainous.

“You want it so bad, it’s 2, 921, 460,060.00 won.”  (That’s 2 million dollars for my U.S readers)

He nods his head, “Cool I’ll write you a check,” he says casually. He grabs his check book and writes it down.

“Cash it today, heck I’ll take you there myself.”

“There’s no way that thing is worth this much,” you look at him trying to figure out his goal.

“Oh, to me, it’s priceless,” his smile is plastic, and you give up trying to figure it out. With that you grab your things from the art room and put them in the car. You go to what used to be your room and see everything in boxes.

“Couldn’t even let my body heat leave the room before he packed me up,” you think to yourself. Truth be told, this hurt more than if you had to do it yourself. This was like Jiyong saying he was completely and forever going to be done with you. That he was ready for you to leave. Part of you wondered if any of it was just for show.

“Need any help?” his voice cuts through the tension you feel like a knife. You shake your head no.

“I’m good,” you say quietly.

“Whatever,” he says casually. He goes back to the kitchen to finish off the bottle of liquor he opened a little while earlier. He was dying inside. Seeing you here, obvious signs you’d been with someone else the way you had been with him. It ate him up inside. It was almost too much. He sighed before downing the last shot watching you carry out a box. He had to stick to his guns. He made you a promise and he intended on keeping it, maybe it was to punish you, or maybe, just maybe, it was to punish himself.

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Tags: @loveesiren @natalicss @mashtatosworld @nerdydoll-com @fleabagspurplewife @multifanxtvshows

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

“I just changed the titles. The first one is a prologue. This is more set in the future, but that should be clear with how the chapter changes? I mean, last one is prologue. Here’s an continuation after about a year.😭” - Ichor

Summary - “Simply walking the halls of a defective mansion. You are suddenly met with new things.”

“@kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.”

“+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @marcela2000.” - Tagged

TW // Neglect, Predator.

|°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| • {Prologue} • {Chapter II}

Your hands are behind your back as you walk straight down one of the mansions corridors. A gleaming white tile glaring at you each time you pass and wide window that brings in a reflective glare of the sun into the home. Something you honestly hate of this modern mansion. Too much white for your tastes, and well the people that lived inside of it, but that couldn’t be clear enough already. Yet, your not one to purely judge people and nature itself- Well… unless those Golden Knights count as something… unnatural.

Its weird though, you have never really addressed them as their original titles: Adeptus Custodes or just Custodes in short. You have just been mentally calling them “Golden Knights.” Your pretty sure it was because you practically grew up under their eyes, and your younger, innocent self couldn’t fathom nor pronounce Adeptus Custodies. So your little mind settled on what was closer: Golden Knights. Knights also had happened to one of the things you admired then and well now. Admittedly, you like to think of a more… characteristic knight now since you figured out how exactly knights where back in the 12th century. It was a very stark contrast between a little fairytale and the real thing. All the more reason to avoid the Golden Knights though. You’re not sure how they act besides being annoying statues, and trying to follow you are despite your inner turmoil.

Maybe you should just settle for a War World II soldier instead? At least they cared for their nurses… Well, in the movies they did. You didn’t have enough information in written history to claim such. Maybe that is something you could figure out in the time being? Learn a bit more about War World II? You know you have heard of the Astarte's being first sighted there… Maybe that will allow you to get more information on the Golden Knights in your home er- household? No, those words don’t seem right to call this false security of a home…

You pause in your steps; in the middle of the hallway. Your head slightly down as you eye the shiny tile. Your mind in a sudden deep thought. What would you even call this household? Certainly not the Last name of the family, the blood is too mixed and… judging. You felt like they didn’t even deserve the honor of a last name. So, what would you call this… corruption?

‘Dysfunctional? Toxic? Tumultuous? Unstable?’ You almost amuse yourself with those definition's.

“Auntie?” A little, childish voice brings you out of your thoughts. Blinking, your back straightens up a bit again at your other- rather only friendly title you’ve been called here. Eyes flickering down to a little girl behind you, no more than 4 years old. Her wavy, strawberry hair stopping at just her shoulders; her sea green eyes innocent of youth. “Little Eden” you like to call her- mentally. Selectively mute you chosen to be. If you can’t talk in the home; voice your opinion's… Why bother talking at all?

You remember the first time you had met little Eden though. How her little fingers, grasped around your pointer finger while she tried to eat at her other hand, slobbering all over it. Her little cheeks chubby with cute fat, and her eyes a bit puffy with the cry’s for attention she desperately needed. Yet, she seemed to calm at your mere presence. Quieting down to soft sounds of nibbles. A few gnawing “yah, yah, yahs” leaving her. It would have been cute sight if it weren’t for the thought of the whys and hows she was crying for attention in the first place.

You were simply wandering the night halls of the mansion again. A routine you usually do to keep yourself and other things in check. Another party being hosted by your father as the walls thrum with vibrations, and through all that noise? You can hear a faint cry of displeasure. A cry of a newborn that you knew that was, and had come into the world, but just was never allowed to the hospital to see the brith of the new addition. So, you had to settle on patiently waiting for the time you would be able to see her without the foul glares and words of the family that might change her perspective of you at day one. It just… wasn’t a risk you were willing to take just to see someone new, but that wasn’t the thing you were most worried about. It was how the child was crying their heart out, wanting, seeking, needing attention. Their parent no where in sight, no doubt joining that damn party, and you’re not sure what scares you. The child’s obvious neglect or how you feel like you would be another failure to someone else. Even if they weren’t supposed to rely on you.

You sigh out, trying to calm your thoughts before your body would start to shake in anxiety. A hum leaving you to acknowledge the little one behind you. Your body turning a bit to give her your attention. Her eyes brightening up at your simple movements after she rubbed her eyes with her palms. Your eyes flickering to the shimmer of gold behind her, ignoring the… What was he again? A Shadow Keeper? Did she just wake up from a nap?

“Hi, auntie!” She greets you again, bounding up to you on her little legs. Her hands coming out to grasp at your pants. A huge smile on her face, and you’re not sure of what to make of it. No one has ever smiled so brightly at you before. Your brain thinks “logically;” to protect yourself, even from a child, thinking this was a trick. While your heart craves for such actions. Yet, you know better to have your heart to lead you, but it doesn’t mean you would neglect anything- anyone that would show you a smidge of kindness in this chaotic world.

Your eyes flicker over to the Shadow Keeper again. His form slow, basking in the shadows that a part of their armor seamlessly absorbs. His red visor softly glowing, even in the brightest areas, and it never fails to pull a shiver down your spine. These beings were so unnerving, but they have shown nothing to… oppose that. Opposite, really? You think? The people just somehow accept these… things that just appear out of no where, didn’t they think that was a bit suspicious? You weren’t at all judgmental of them nor combatant of them. You just wanted to know their origin, their purpose. Everything has it purpose you believe, but you can’t find anything to support your own ideals of them. Not even with the normal Astarte's. You just find they are kind of like different species: Primaris Marines, first-born, Iron Warrior’s to Salamander's…

Ugh, thinking about them just hurts your brain, brings you a massive migraine. You’ve gotten a bloody nose out of it one time, and you really don’t want to experience that again. It was one of the worst ones that you had, and even that, was suspicious to you. It wasn’t hard to notice that something was at play here as a mute watcher. Yet, something stops you from thinking of such. You wonder if you can get your answers from an Alpha Legionnaire or a Thousand Son. You heard it was a bit risky to deal with the mysteries untold, but if you wanted answers…

“Auntie?” Eden calls for you again, a tone of worry, perhaps defensiveness in her voice. Her hands tugging up at you. Wanting your attention again. “Did Mr. Varon offend you? You stare at them quite a lot…”

‘What? ’ You think to yourself, blinking away from the Shadow Keeper; rising your brow as you look back down at the child. Ignoring your own hint of embarrassment that grows inside of you that you were just… staring at things. Though, who's Varon? Wait…

Your head moves back up to the Shadow Keeper, your eyes narrowing at him slightly, judging him. His helmet tilting a centimeter to his right. His visor flashing a bit brighter as if he was… amused. Never in your life have you made on effort to learn the first and last names of the Golden Knights. You didn’t want to, you wanted the favor of your supposed parents then, but now?

You shake your head, ridding of any thoughts that could be driven by your heart. Turning your head back down to the child that was trying to pull you along somewhere. Her hands tightly grasping at you, grunting in… cute effort to try and move you from your spot. A singular twitch of your lips frowning upward, being shown for the trained eye before quickly going stoic again and following where the child wanted you to be. The shadows’ following at a respective distance right after.

She leads you a bit through the mansion, as if she was checking it out with you. Her hand never leaving their spot on your pants to pull you along. Taking you around the kitchen, living room, the outer rim of the mansion before taking you back inside and pulling you up stairs that has a loft near the entry way of the mansion. An honestly good spot to spy on the new people that come and go, and you suppose its one of the things you and Eden like doing together. Sitting in each others presence and watch the drama unfold just at the entry of the mansion.

“Father! I got someone new I want you to meet!” Ah, and so the show begins. A male and feminine figure slamming the front door shut upon entering the mansion. A click of heels echoing through the area as Father and Mother appear from just down the hall. Mother appearing from the laundry room. Something you take note of quickly as her being in the laundry room was suspicious, she never- doesn’t do laundry. Father appeared somewhere further down the hall. The rest of the hallway unseeable with the second story room wall’s in the way, but you would have to guess it was from his office.

Mother, something you don’t even call her anymore nor Father, but she was a rather fine looking woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. Good figure that would make her a model until you get to her shitty attitude. Most of the time she's a manipulator. Her tone untrue to others, including family. Seems like she just can’t stop being in a play. A fantasy she puts herself in. Something at least you can feel pity on her **for.

Father was all the dark a broody unless he was hosting his parties. Drinking away his worries. His dark eyes almost distant; black, slicked back hair seemingly always greasy now a days, but at least he occasionally shaved when a beard started to grow. That was something to show he wasn’t a complete failure. At least physically, emotionally? You, and only you knew he was drowning in silent debt. He should really consider rejecting some things… It will only be a matter of time before he breaks. You take a bet that he would even brake before your mother would.

“This is Linton Stokes.” Your stepsister, more like half-sister, but you don’t really even consider her blooded or even a sister. It’s another thing you think that many would need to earn the title of, but she introduces the new male next to her. Her arms wrapping around his neck while this “Linton Stokes” puts his hands on her waist. A sound of hushed disgust coming from the child besides you. “He’s my new boyfriend.”

‘What's the number now for that? The 12th one this year?’ You muse to yourself, shifting your weight as you lean up against the glass railing. That's also not even counting the past years she's had these flings of boyfriend's. Sometimes you feel bad for them because some of them seemed genuinely good material, only to be ruined by Lessas’ habits of being well…. a known whore, to put it boldly. Other times you can tell it was just a game to the men, and this male? Was going to be no different. You can just tell. It’s like a sixth sense.

“Oh! How exiting!” Mother gasps in fake excitement, but it has just enough training that it fools nearly everyone. Her hands clasping together. Her smile too bright, and the bright red lipstick she was wearing wasn’t helping her either. “What do you do, young man?”

“I, uh, I do business.” The guy retorts and immediately, you know that's a lie. If he was business he wouldn’t be dressed like a commoner. He would be more formal. Not only that, but he hesitated his words. He wasn’t confident in his position. So that's all the more reason to think that he was a liar or he just wasn’t doing well at his job that he was most definitely going to get fired sooner or later.

That, or you’re too judgmental.

“What type of business?” Father inquires, raising his brow. His fingers threading through his hair as he sighs out. Seemingly not in the mood to meet anyone else, unless of he was drinking of course. Friendly, deceiving person when drunk. Uncaring, tired man when sober. Pitiful, almost.

“Corporation, sir.” Linton speaks with manners but if he actually had any he wouldn’t be allowing himself the freedom of touching Lessa openly. He would have been respectful and shown promise in front of father, but you know the simple word: Corporation caught your father’s interest. His eyes regained a bit of light to them at the first syllable.

“Corporation, eh?” Father chuckles in a low tone, coming forward to remove Lessa from him and wrap his own arm around his shoulder. His daughter, not even of blood, pouting just a bit with a stomp of her black heels. “Say… I can teach you a thing or two? Hmm?”

“Mother!” Lessa huffs and puffs, never really liking the attention off of her. Another clicking stomp coming from her as she looks over to mother, expecting her to do something when another solid gold came into the room: Aquilan shield if you remember correctly of what type the Golden Knight was that has entered the entry way freely. His golden armor, and what you assume jewels imbedded in it having a bit of a reflex on the tile below. His figure more prominent in the tile reflection than anything else in the damn house. Probably the most expensive thing in the world too. It’s one of the few things why your father just… tolerates them because not only do they look intimidating, but your pretty sure there is dollar bills in your fathers eyes each time he glances over them.

Linton, probably and most likely has never seen an Custodies before, shivers in his spot. His adam apple signaling that he swallowed hard at the Aquilans’ sudden appearance, and man was it always amusing to see the new people crumble at just the sight of them. You had to at least give that to the Golden Knights. They were effective in chasing people off and keeping them off the property. Not they really intend to. It was just how they were built.

Yeah, built. You don’t believe these men or perhaps just things of armor: formed like golden bars were birthed like 1,000+ pounds at the getaway from a woman’s womb. They were definitely created in a lab unless they came from a line of giants or some mythical creature. Exaggerated? Maybe, but what else could you think of without getting a pounding headache that stops you from thinking further?

“Is…i-is that a Astarte's?” Is the first thing Linton says about them, and it’s almost a boring answer. Her eyes flickering over to father before looking back at the Aquilan with clear nervousness. His hands were shaking a little bit as he swallows again. It was a bit of a miracle that he hasn’t excused himself yet. It was a bit strange, but not everyone was the same. Maybe this guy has a bit of a back bone?

“No, that’s Atlas!” Eden speaks up right next to you. Her little mind not taking the disrespect for the Custodies, no matter if it was a simple question, and you… praise her for it, but did it have to be near you? You were just the playing object, perhaps a puppet in their eyes. Not even their child or sibling, just some random that lives in their house, eating their money, and you can just tell with how they look up to you with such disgust. It would sicken you, yourself if you weren’t used to it already.

“What are you doing out?” Your father more like comments up at you. His arm still wrapped around Lintons’ shoulders while they just seem to forget about the new Golden Knight in the room since they noticed you, and not in a good way as an uncomfortable silence stretches through out the area. Your mouth never opening to answer them. You never do as it would come with a cost of your own sanity. You just watch.

“Who is that, sir?” Linton speaks up with a slight waver in his tone. His brown eyes looking up at you in mild curiosity, and it leaves you skeptical. Your eyes tracking every movement that he does. Man should know what not to question around here. Especially with the attitude of your mother and Lessa. They do not do well with your mere presence or of an uttered word of/and/or about you.

“They are no one, honey!” Your mother grins too brightly, gaining the attention of the newcomer for a second and huff from her daughter: who smirks in response as if she won something she never even participated in. Her arms folding over her chest as she shoots a poor attempt of a sinister glare up to you.

‘Was that suppose to remove me from the plains of the Earth?’ You muse to yourself to keep your spirits up despite the prickling anxiety that feels like lightning was roaming across your back. Your form shifting your weight on one leg.

“Come, baby!” Lessa smiles too brightly as well, forcefully taking Linton back from her father, pulling at the mans’ clothes. Her tone so full of under toned venom, and she wasn't even hiding it. She never tries to. Probably one of the reasons she losses relationships so much…You honestly wonder how well she would do if she was paired up with a chaos Emperor Child? For you, you want it to be a form of punishment for her. You know that what you’re thinking of is… dark. You know the difference between chaos and a “holy” marine; have a slight concept of it, and by god you wished something akin to what was going through your mind happened to her. “Let me show you around my mansion!”

Your father face twitches at Lessas’ words, clearly taking in of how she says “my mansion.” Clearly displeased with her. Not only did she take away a potential victim of his… scam’s, but she was pulling a dominance card, and if you didn’t know any better yourself? Certain men don’t like that, like your father. It’s surprising he doesn’t do anything about it just yet. Most likely wanting to try and score some money off the “Linton Stokes” and spend it all in one go. That is if he was even a business man. This guy could be wanting to do the same to him.

“Hold on now,” Linton pauses their attempts to move him further down the mansion. His hands coming up to hold Lessas’ hands to try and stop her from dragging him. Lessas’ eyes giving him a glare that he simply ignores, looking back up at you. “I thought I was supposed to be meeting your whole family?”

‘Whole family, huh?’ You narrow your eyes down at him, meeting his gaze; making sure that you gather any more detail you could about him physically. He knows a lot more than what he leads on… His eyes flickering around briefly: at Eden then back to you, and something about that simple look around irks you. It sends a couple of negative mixed signal’s through your brain. Your form shifting a bit to cover Eden up more with your body, at most your legs. Her hands squeezing at your clothing at the unintended invitation.

Lessa was a absolute fool to bring this one in.

“She’s nobody.” Lessa hisses through her teeth with a happy tone. Her blue eyes sending you another glare up at you before lighting up again once Linton looks back at her. Smiling as if she hasn’t done a single unholy thing in her life before giving a light laugh. “A maid at most! Let me show you around, babe!”

You can see the man hesitate before reluctantly following her. Letting himself be pulled by her hand and lead him further into the mansion. Your parents lingering for a second, giving you a lasting glare before following their steps. You would feel… sorry, but with how many years you put up with their shit? It wasn’t even worth to waste such emotion.

“That guy is weird.” Eden comments up at you, saying whatever pops up into her head. Your figure leaning up from the glass railing while you decided that pinnacle of drama was enough for the both of you. Better things can be done besides being bait to some theatricals.

You nod down at her though: agreeing. This “Linton Stokes” was definitely weird. He knew that you were part of the household even if you weren’t really well… apart of it. His gives off an… strange aura that you can’t pinpoint just yet, but you know it’s negative. It’s not something to just brush off either. Not to mention the random look he gave Eden…

You need to keep an eye on this dude. Yet, you cannot always be there for her, no matter if you want to or not; could or not. The family would get suspicious, and start lies or something that was supposed to ruin your own reputation. She also could get targeted too, and you definitely did not want that to happen. No child deserved to not feel a mother’s love, father’s protection or even a siblings connections, and just because you didn’t have it yourself? It doesn’t mean you would revoke someone else of that… wholesomeness. That was just a low blow, or at least you think it was- is.

You sigh, your shoulders dropping slightly in some form of internal defeat. How would you even protect her? At least until you feel safe that she was safe? It’s not like you could hire a damn mercenary or bodyguard. The spent money would be suspicious too.

…Wait.

Your eyes flicker up to the black and gold Shadow Keeper that kept to the shadows and the gold and royal blue Aquilan Shield below that keeps his own red visors staring up at you. Your mind thinking… There are others that can protect her, but were you willing to take that risk? To finally make request them of something after years of trying to ignore them the best you could?

To finally give them a sliver of your inconclusive trust?

[lindsey-laufeyson]

Distractions- Chapter 21

Distractions Masterlist

Pairing: Reader x FWB!Tom Hiddleston

Series Warnings: SMUT, fluff, angst, friends with benefits

The morning after the charity ball, you woke up to a text from Tom, but it wasn’t exactly what you expected.

You checked your insta, and sure enough, there were tons of videos of Tom dancing with both you and Shauna. Admittedly, you were pleased to know that the videos of you and Tom were far more popular than the ones with Shauna, and most of the comments pointed out that you and Tom had a palpable chemistry that wasn’t at all present between him and Shauna. However, there were also plenty of comments calling you all sorts of colorful names, ranging from “slag” to “whore.” You didn’t let it get to you though. This was just how it was in the world, especially the industry you worked in. What did bother you were all of the comments about how the two of you were “clearly in love.” You practically gagged. Did people not have anything better to do with their lives than smoosh two people together like little Barbie dolls, singing “first comes love, then comes marriage?” Gross.

…

You wished you could say your little encounter with Tom the night of the charity ball was a one time thing. You tried not to let it happen again. You really did. But it turned out that angry sex was really hot. Like, really hot. And a memory and a vibrator can only take you so far. Finally, one night around one in the morning, you couldn’t resist any longer. You decided to take a chance and text Tom.

Not long after you canceled on Adam, there was a knock at your door.

“Has anyone ever told you how manipulative you can be?” Tom asked as soon as you opened the door. 

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to be,” you said smugly as you closed the door behind him. 

“Will you shut the fuck up already?” he snapped as he crashed into you so hard the air left your lungs and went directly into his. He had your face in a tight grip as he kissed you like he was starving. Meanwhile, your hands fumbled with his belt and trousers. Why on earth he had a belt on at one in the morning, you had no idea. You only just unzipped his fly when he picked you up and carried you to your bedroom. Once there, he literally threw you down on the bed. 

“What the fuck!” you exclaimed when you hit the mattress, even though you secretly loved it. “If you break my bed, you’re buying me a new one,” you told him as you removed your clothes.

Standing at the foot of the bed, Tom stripped his shirt off while he looked down at you with a stern expression. “Your bed is shit anyway.” He then pulled his belt off in one swift motion and moved to the top right bedpost. “Wrists.”

That explains the belt, you thought with a smirk. You laid back diagonally across the bed and reached above your head to place your wrists on either side of the bedpost. You craned your neck back to look up at him, but he kept his eyes on the belt he was now using to restrain you. Once it was secure, he removed the rest of his clothes and climbed into your bed, settling on his knees between your legs. His cock was at full attention and it made your mouth water and your pussy throb. Then he leaned over you and reached into your nightstand for what you thought was a condom, but he grabbed your vibrator instead. He turned it on and when it started buzzing he raised his eyebrows. 

“Hmm. I’m surprised this still works. I would have thought you’d have worn it out in the last few months.”

You glared up at him. “Fuck you.”

“I’d be a little more pleasant to the person who has you tied up, darling,” he said with mock pleasantry as he lightly touched the vibrator to your nipple. 

You twitched from the stimulation, but you kept your composure. “And I’d be a little less snarky to the person who invited you over for sex, darling.” You said the last word through gritted teeth.

He moved the device to your other nipple. “‘Invited’ isn’t the word I would use.”

“Oh please,” you scoffed, pretending you weren’t growing wetter by the second. “Are you trying to tell me I forced you?”

He began dragging the vibrator slowly down your stomach. “More like begged me.”

You laughed. “Telling you to come over is begging you?”

“No, but pretending you’re going to fuck someone else is clearly a cry of desperation.”

“I wasn’t pretending, you bellend. Oh god!” He had just briefly brushed the vibe over your clit. “You can check my phone. I had texted him before you said you were coming over.”

Setting the vibrator down between your legs and resting it against your clit, Tom leaned over to your nightstand again and grabbed your phone. Then he held it in front of your face to unlock it before opening up your messages. “‘Adam Model’? You don’t even know his surname?” He laughed until he read your messages. His face fell for a moment, and then he started typing.

“What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?” you asked, beginning to pant and tugging against your restraints.

“He asked if you were okay,” Tom replied nonchalantly as his thumbs tapped rapidly across the keyboard. “And we don’t want to leave the poor boy hanging now do we?”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Too late.” He tossed your phone aside. “Already sent.” 

“Shit. What did you say to him?”

Leaning down, he applied more pressure to your clit with the toy while his lips brushed against your ear. “I told him you were a little tied up at the moment.” 

You hardly paid any mind to what he just said because the intense stimulation on your most sensitive bundle of nerves had your head swimming, and to add to it, he began kissing your neck in all the right spots. 

“Oh fuck! Yes!” you cried as your orgasm quickly hit you. You arched your back and bucked your hips as you rode out your climax. 

Instead of removing the vibrator once you were finished, Tom brought your legs together with your ankles resting on his left shoulder, the toy kept firmly in place between your thighs. You squirmed and whimpered from overstimulation, but he just snickered deviously, keeping your legs pressed together while he put a condom on. 

“God dammit,” you grunted in frustration. “You realize this isn’t exactly a pleasant feeling for me right now?”

He leaned forward, practically bending you in half. “You are perfectly welcome to use our safe word at any time,” he replied smugly.

You glared up at him. “Like I’d give you the satisfaction.”

“Then maybe you should stop complaining and take it like a good girl, huh?” 

You were about to respond when he pushed his cock inside you. It was an especially tight squeeze with the position he had you in, making you both release the filthiest moans. You dug your nails into your own palms, wishing you were digging them into his back, as he started thrusting into you. Suddenly, the uncomfortable feeling of overstimulation from the vibrator turned into unbelievable pleasure as the head of his cock hit your g-spot over and over at this newfound angle. You came fast and hard, but he didn’t let up. In fact, it only inspired him to fuck you harder. Your bed creaked loudly with every thrust, making you think that he might actually break it after all, but you didn’t even have the capacity to care as he was already driving you closer to your third orgasm of the night. Your whole body was shaking, both from the immense strain on your arms and legs and the intensity of your impending climax. 

“Fucking HELL!” Tom groaned as he leaned even farther forward, cumming long and hard with a few more staggered thrusts. The increased stretch combined with the pulsating of his shaft was all you needed to fall over the edge yourself. You let out a deafening wail as you came undone underneath him, after which he immediately sat up, pulled out, and put your legs down to give your muscles a much needed relief. 

Without looking at you, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and got up to get dressed. 

“Forgetting something?” you said, breathless, as you tugged on your restraints.

Taking his time, he buttoned his trousers and pulled on his shirt before he walked over to the bedpost and released your wrists from his belt and put it on. You hissed and rubbed your wrists, finally feeling the sting now that the pleasure had subsided. 

“Shit,” Tom muttered under his breath. He went into your bathroom and you briefly heard the water run before he reappeared with two wet washcloths. He wrapped them around each of your wrists and the cold cloths provided instant relief to the leather burns. “Keep those on your wrists for a while.” 

“I got it. Thanks,” you mumbled, and without another word, he left.

Once he was gone you grabbed your phone and looked at your messages with Adam to see what Tom had said on your behalf.

“Are you fucking kidding me??” you yelled to yourself. You texted Tom immediately.

Taglist:@chronicallybubbly, @the-princess-of-loki , @princess-ofthe-pages , @darcylikesloki , @kikster606 , @foxherder , @simone818283 , @newtomofgods @christinebloodwrittings @tom-hlover , @lulubelle814 , @kingliam2019 , @leniram1890

[loveharlow]

SEVEN [POGUELANDIA] - FALLING DOWN

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[2.9k] Three weeks on Poguelandia and it seems things are looking up just a something starts to come down...

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of injuries, graphic depictions of natural disaster(s),

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ heyyyyy! THIS IS THE LAST POGUELANDIA CHAPTER AND THANK GOD (i loved writing this but i'm more excited for season 3, it's so much dramaaa)

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

“HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE BACK IN THE WATER?” JJ asked as the two of you waded in the middle of the ocean, floating on large pieces of wood. It was early in the afternoon, the sun just reaching its peak. 

“Feels good…” You nodded, admiring the crystal waters beneath you for the first time in weeks. “Great, actually.”

“That’s great, baby.” The blonde smiled, eyes stuck on your glowing figure in front of him. “Hey,” He called in an attempt to gain your full attention. You turned to look at him, eyes locking with his own. “Look, I don’t wanna kill the mood but…I think we should talk.”

You swallowed, tucking a strand of hair behind your hair. “...About?”

“...Kiara.” The boy dragged.

You couldn’t stop your immediate sigh. “I thought we already did.” You snapped slightly — it’d been a week since one of your best friends took it upon herself to risk your relationship to clear her conscience. 

“You’re right…” JJ nodded, paddling closer to you in the water. “But I had some time to think. And I owe her an apology…and so do you.”

You nearly choked on your own words at his statement. “An apology?” You spewed incredulously. “For what? If anything she owes us an apology.”

“Baby, be reasonable about this-”

“I am.”

“You’re not.” He finalized, head dipping down as he fixed a stern look your way. “Look, I love you and it’s because I love you that I gotta tell you — you’re being mean, princess.”

“Mean?-”

“Yes. Mean.” He asserted. “Do you want me to be real with you?” The Maybank boy asked rhetorically, speaking before giving you the proper capacity to answer even if you intended to. “You’re being really harsh about this whole thing. Kiara has been your friend, your closest friend, longer than any of us. You two have literally spent your entire lives together. And correct me if I’m wrong, but she’s been there for you through a lot and kept a lot of secrets to protect you. I get this is weird for you, but think about how hard this is for her. She may not have made the best choices, I’ll admit, but neither have you and neither have I, but you know and I know and all of us know that Kiara would sooner die than do anything to intentionally hurt you or any of us. She’s dealin’ with some seriously complicated shit, baby. And we’re her friends. We’re not supposed to make it worse. You gotta realize she wasn’t out to hurt you. The same way I wasn’t out to hurt you when I lied about what happened in Charleston. The same way you didn’t mean to hurt her.”

You sat in the ambient silence for a moment, contemplating the boy's words. JJ was right, and if he was the one mediating, then there was clearly a problem. You weren’t completely blindsighted — you knew this whole thing hadn’t been easy for yourself or Kie. But you admitted to yourself, you’d been being just as inconsiderate as she was. If not, more so.

“I already talked with her earlier,” JJ continued, eyes glued to your own that were glossing over the more your thoughts raced in your mind. “I apologized for reacting the way I did and we’re okay. I’m not going to do anything on your behalf. All I’m doin’ right now is giving you a push, alright? Kiara is more your family than anyone here. I get it, shit is awkward but you don’t want to lose her. And definitely not like this. I know you don’t. I know you.” He explained, taking one of your hands in his. “Each other is all we’ve got. So, don’t push away one of the only people you have left. Go talk to her.”

“...NEED SOME HELP WITH THAT?” You asked, creeping up behind the brown-haired girl as she stood on her tippy-toes, reaching for the low-hanging fruit on a tree.

She quickly glanced over her shoulder, startled by the unexpected voice before registering just exactly who was offering help and turning away, refocusing on the fruit swinging in front of her as she strained to get it. “No thanks.” She muttered.

You stood awkwardly behind her, rocking back and forth on your feet. Your skin was sticky and slightly cool from the sea water, small grains of sand sticking to your frame. A few moments of silence passed, watching the girl struggle to get the mango taunting her before you decided to try and spark a conversation once more.

“I, uh, I talked to JJ.”

“Well, he’s your boyfriend... I’d expect you to.” She shrugged, finally grasping the fruit with the tips of her fingers and snatching it down with an exasperated sigh and returning flat on her feet, turning on her heels to face you. She drew her lips into a thin line, raising her eyebrows. “Did you need something or…?”

You simply sighed, running a hand through the front of your hair. "I came over here to apologize.”

To your surprise, the girl scoffed before rolling her eyes and walking past you to take a seat on a large log. Your eyes followed her as she sat down, a look of confusion etched on your features. “What?”

“Nothing.” Kiara shrugged, mindlessly fiddling with the fruit in her hands as she avoided eye contact with you. “Did JJ put you up to this? ‘Cause I just find it funny that he apologized this morning and suddenly you’re so eager to patch things up.”

“He didn’t put me up to anything.” You defended. “He suggested it, yeah, but I can make my own decisions-”

“So, he did.” She scoffed. “That’s-”

“Okay, I’ll admit I wasn’t jumping up this morning with the intention of apologizing to you. But JJ helped me see some things that I clearly wasn’t seeing before.” You started, taking a slow and cautious seat next to the girl as she made a point to not look at you. “So, do you want to talk to me or do you want to ignore each other forever?”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Y/N…” Kie sighed, dropping her head as a small breeze drove by. “You said everything I needed to know the night I told you how I felt. And you’ve made it abundantly clear that every since that night, all I’ve done is make your life worse.”

“That’s not true-” You tried.

“But that’s how I feel.” Kiara cut in, finally turning to look at you. “That’s how you’ve been making me feel.” She told you, voice wavering as her eyes softened in the slightest ways. “And I mean, I keep thinking to myself…can I really blame you?” She spoke aloud. “I mean, ever since our freshman year, it’s like everything I do just drags you down. If I hadn’t introduced you to my friend group, you wouldn’t have gotten tangled up with Rafe. If I didn’t kiss JJ in Charleston, maybe our friendship would’ve been more salvageable. Maybe me telling you how I felt would’ve gone differently. Better…”

You couldn’t help but twist your face in something between sadness and utter confusion. “Kie…” You started, voice soft. “I am…so sorry, if I made you feel like you being in my life has made it worse.”

“...Hasn’t it?” She added, eyes welling with tears slowly.

You shook your head quickly, angling your body more towards hers and placing a hand on her shoulder without thought. “Kiara, you have literally been my guardian angel. You and your family were there for me when my dad died, when I moved to Figure Eight you made sure I had friends and didn’t feel like an outcast because you knew what it was like. My situation with Rafe wasn’t at all on you.” You assured her, watching the girl focus her sights on her shoes. “And when he did what he did, you didn’t tell anyone because I asked you not to. It didn’t matter that you thought I should, you respected my wishes. You were ready to fight Rafe when he drugged me and not to mention, you and your parents have been kind enough to give me and Marley a place to stay. From the moment I was born, you made sure I always had a person. And I just threw seventeen years of friendship back in your face.” You listed, your own eyes tearing up now. “...I don’t know why I’ve been acting like you feeling what you feel for me is the end of the world. I can’t excuse it or take back anything I said. But I am genuinely so sorry, for everything. I think…it’s just been so many changes and losses at once for all of us that it just took me by surprise to the point where I took all of my frustrations out on the wrong person. And you didn’t deserve that.”

Kiara sniffled at your words, quickly wiping a stray tear. “...I just, I’ve been trying to do the right thing. I thought, with everything going on, that it’d be better to just get that one thing off of my chest.” She said, voice shaking. “It’d been crushing me for so long. It was like walking around with a boulder on my chest. Everytime I’d see you or you and him together, I just couldn’t take it. I thought saying it and getting it out into the open, or at least out to you, would somehow relieve the guilt that I was feeling. But I shouldn’t have. I was being selfish-”

“No, you weren’t.” You shook your head, letting a stray tear fall. “I should’ve told JJ when it happened. I was so mad at him for what happened in Charleston and I turned around and did the exact same thing. And I shouldn’t have put that pressure on you, either. You had a right to tell him. And what I said to you wasn't okay. All I’ve done since you told me about your feelings is make you feel worse.”

“All I’ve done since I realized my feelings is hurt you.” She let out a watery chuckle. “So, I guess we’re even.” She threw out with a bittersweet smile, placing her hand on top of yours that hadn’t left her shoulder. “Y/N…I don’t know how we’re going to work around this but…I can try.”

“Well, for starters,” You began, letting your hand fall and throwing it out in the direction of JJ who was trying to start a fire. “I know it’s not easy with us practically rubbing it in your face…”

Kiara started shaking her head to the side, scrunching her face together. “No, no. No matter whether you guys make your relationship known or not doesn’t affect me. And even if it did, I’d never ask you to tone down your love for someone to make me feel better.” She immediately shut down your thoughts and turned fully to face you now. “Look, I will get over this. It’s not the end of the world. Maybe one day, we’ll look back on this whole thing and see how stupid it all was.” She said lightheartedly. “...But, seriously. I know it may not seem like it but it’s already gotten easier to see you guys together and talk to you again. So, really. I’ll be fine.” Kiara assured you.

You didn’t offer a verbal response immediately, just a quiet nod as you stared out at the clouds in front of you, hands gripping the log underneath you. “...And the others?” You remembered. “Did you tell them or…?”

Kiara took a deep breath and nodded, glancing over at the remaining group of your friends as they gathered food, rinsed their clothes in the ocean water, and set up for the night. “Yeah, I did…” She trailed off, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “They didn’t really…care? I didn’t expect them to freak out or anything, y’know, but they were so…’eh’ about it, the blank look on their faces was actually kind of funny.” Kiara smiled to herself as you chuckled at her words. “But they agreed — the situation isn’t an easy one. I did things, you did things, JJ did things, and it’s all just messed up. I even got a chance to talk to Cleo and get an actual feel for her. But we’re all each other has. And they said letting something like this ruin one of the longest friendships in the group would be ‘catastrophically stupid’, as Pope put it.” She added. “And I agree.”

“Yeah,” You started. “It would be. And I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You added with a small smile.

“Yeah, I don’t know what you’d do without me either.” The girl joked to which you playfully nudged her shoulder.

“Shut up.” You grumbled with a lopsided smile, throwing an arm over her shoulders and pulling her into a tight embrace, which she eagerly returned. “I’m really sorry.” You spoke into her shoulder.

“Me too.” She softly returned the sentiment when the sound of rapid footsteps bounding your way had the both of you pulling apart and turning towards the direction of the noise to find Sarah and Cleo running your way.

“No, don’t stop, we wanna join!” Sarah screamed, nearly tripping over her own feet as they dug into the sand. Once the pair of girls reached the both of you, they practically tackled the pair of you off of the log and into the sand, forming a messy group hug. “I love this! I love my girls!” Sarah squealed, voice muffled from the embrace.

The four of you fell into a fit of laughter, struggling to breathe under the mess of limbs until you abruptly startled away from one another when a bolt of thunder struck in the sky — a loud crack sound reverberating against your ear drums.

As you released one another and sat up to peer at the sky, you noticed that the once beaming sun was hidden behind an army of grey, stormy clouds, with an occasional spark of lightning behind them. Seconds later, small drops of water hit your skin, one by one — the sand underneath your feet turning from its typical tan color to a sodden shade of brown almost resemblant of brown sugar.

“Get away from the trees!” A voice shouted, all of you turning to your left to find Pope standing out in the open sand with JJ and John B, his hands cupped around his mouth. “Now!” He urged.

The four of you scrambled to your feet, the rain coming down harder by the second. You ran through the sand to reach the guys, shielding your face from the rain as it gained weight and the sand started to pick up with the wind.

“What the hell is goin’ on?!” Cleo asked, trying to move her hair from her face. Her voice was almost lost to the whipping winds that had seemingly risen from nowhere. The sky was now completely grey.

“The storm!” Pope communicated back to her, a hand over his eyes as his shirt whipped around his figure.

“I thought you said it wasn’t coming!” Sarah added, eyes squinted.

“I didn’t think it was! I thought it had passed over us last week!”

“Well, what’re we supposed to do?!” You asked, trying to ignore the roaring winds, quarter-sized raindrops hitting your skin.

“I-” Pope stuttered, quickly glancing at the island around him. “I don’t know! But we can’t stay out in the open like this! The tide’s gonna start rising and I don’t know how far past the shoreline it’s gonna go! And the trees aren’t safe from the lightning right now!”

“We got that, Pope!” John B retorted. “But we don’t have anywhere to go!”

“Nowhere?!” Kie asked like the statement was ridiculous. “Nobody found anything in the three weeks we’ve been here?!”

“Have you?!” John B shot back.

“Shut up!” JJ threw in, looking behind him at the rolling waves in the ocean before turning back to you all. “I know a place we can go!”

“What?!” You started. “Where?!”

“I don’t have time to explain!” He told you, now walking in your direction. “Just follow me!” He urged the rest of your friends, taking your hand in his and heading in the forest of trees. 

“Wait, JJ!” Pope protested, slowing in his steps but still following. “The trees aren’t safe!”

“Then we better run!” The blonde called over his shoulder before quickly sweeping you off of your feet and managing to swing you onto his back with some assistance from you. “We can make it! But we gotta move!”

As the seven of you disappeared into the forest, you looked behind you as JJ carried you to wherever he was leading the group. Your eyes were glued to the makeshift fire pit, the pile of leaves you’d been using as beds, and the fruit pile you all had been living off of for the past three weeks. 

Poguelandia was a dream but it was clear that this dream didn’t come without some nightmares. By the time this storm passed, you knew everything you all had built for the past few weeks would be gone with the wind once you returned. And you couldn’t help but wonder — would you and your friends restart or was it finally time to start finding ways back home?

[mgu-h]

Hi! I know this is from a couple days ago but I was wondering if you had seen this clip from one of Max's streams

threads.net/@ mr.boblandoooo/post/DGgliMIKZFj?xmt=AQGzSM-FlpYKIAiMcfIB4BHqnoj|SMTrFsf5p2xYMTrtcw

I know it's probably just a joke that he "called" Jon but I still thought it was super cute and just so notrell and was wondering if you had seen this clip and if so what your thoughts on it were

(I hope the link works this is my first time ever doing an ask so l'm not sure if the link will actually work 😭)

yesss ok so i saw this when it happened, and it was so funny and kind of surreal?? to watch something so classically nortrell happening live before our eyes lmao.

i went back to try to find what set max off enough to pretend to snitch, and i found that there was a (predicable, familiar) series of events that pushed him to the limit:

it was the "let's put on a pink golf shirt to play a nice bit of golf with bob" stream, max had waited around for lando to show up, and clearly expected the game to last the usual amount of time.

lando did irritatingly well at golf and beat max in the first 9 holes (time elapsed: like 15 minutes).

he'd been playing quite badly recently, and this was a notable turnaround, which is important; max is usually better, but lando's had an outlier, and his ego demands he capitalize on the moment to be insufferable about it.

so lando said he had to go to bed to be ready for testing, and he abruptly quit the game, not letting max respond in the next 9.

max was very 😠😤 about it and changed out of his golf shirt.

he only got grumpier as lando spent the next 15-20 minutes lurking in chat after leaving the game (enough time to play another round and let max catch back up).

lando was being his normal competitive prick (affectionate) self, and even used the classic:

that emoji is called "maxfewCozy" and gives such a bratty energy to the message dklajsfafslk

[max began to rationalize that he lost because he was hungry, and that lando won because he'd been eating well in preparation for the season, but in typical lando fashion he denied it.

max refused to believe that, and tbh i wonder who was right. it is in character for lando to neglect to eat for whatever reason, but max is also right that jon et al. would be keeping a close eye on his fitness right before season. ANYWAY]

lando then pretended to get bored with teasing max and said goodbye, but then clearly Kept Hanging Around. he must've texted ed to come dunk on max about losing as well.

he clearly wanted to see max be further annoyed (i love friendship), and max was indeed further annoyed! i guess i should say what ed called it, which was "frazzled."

BUT the thing that finally triggered max to pretend to call jon was:

max really is just as competitive as lando (or nearly so), which is why it's so fun and easy for lando to get him riled up. i also think it's why their friendship works and why lando likes him. he can beat max and gloat and know that max is just going to come back at him harder next time. there's a strong bond of trust that runs through the push-pull antagonistic/playful relationship.

it's interesting to me that there's a limit to what max will tolerate from lando before he'll act out in some way to shut lando up, usually through some mimed imitation of a harsher consequence, like pretending to hit him with hand or golf club, pretending to throw water on him, and pretending to call his trainer. he's soft even when he's being hard, you know?

the "calling jon" bit must've worked, because lando cleared off from chat after that lol. i think lando knows when the performative miming of consequences has happened and the game is not longer going on, and he'd risk actual anger from max if he keeps needling him (aka actually getting hit for real). he likes to push buttons for attention but it's not about actually making max feel bad or feel upset. it's so familiar and playful it makes me sick.

[@gwenie-creates thanks for this ask, it DID work but when i tried to post my answer, tumblr ate it and it vanished. i'd taken a precautionary screenshot (i know how tumblr is) and i resubmitted the question to try again, in case you were wondering wtf happened and why it's on anon now haha]

[mosertone]

via Volodymyr Vlad Kunko

I’m calling it as it is. I dont care whether you agree with me or not, just check your response with your gut. My gut never lies to me.

I’ve had my suspicions all along about this stooge. He’s not intelligent enough to pull this off by himself. We better hope that all the social security numbers and tax info that Muskrat just uploaded from SSA and IRS from every single american citizens account, doesn’t end up in Putin’s files. Whoever has that info can potentially wipe out every dime we have and can potentially fund a world takeover:

There is something rancid in America, a slow, creeping rot that smells like cold McDonald’s fries, aerosol hairspray, and the unmistakable musk of a country too sedated to recognize its own hostage situation. For years, the idea that Donald Trump was compromised by Russia was dismissed as paranoid fantasy—just another wild-eyed conspiracy theory, another overblown headline in the endless saga of American political dysfunction.

But now, two former Soviet intelligence officers—Alnur Mussayev and Yuri Shvets—are saying it outright: Trump was recruited by the KGB in 1987, groomed as an asset, and remains under Russian control to this day.

And the worst part? He’s already back in the White House.

That’s right, America. You did it. You walked face-first into the banana peel of history, slipped, and fell straight into the arms of Vladimir Putin. Trump was kicked out in 2020, spent four years plotting his comeback, and now he’s returned, like a bloated, orange cockroach that just won’t die. The Kremlin’s favorite stooge is running the country again, and this time, he knows exactly how to stay in power.

If you think this is just another round of the Trump Show, you’re not paying attention. This isn’t politics anymore. This is treason. This is foreign subversion. This is a goddamn coup in slow motion.

Let’s break it down, nice and simple.

Alnur Mussayev isn’t some Twitter conspiracy theorist with a tinfoil hat and a podcast. He’s the former head of Kazakhstan’s National Security Committee, which means he knows exactly how Russian intelligence works—because he was part of the system. And what he’s saying should make every American’s blood run cold.

According to Mussayev, Trump was identified, recruited, and compromised by the KGB in 1987 during his first trip to Moscow. They saw him for what he was: a narcissistic, greedy, attention-starved buffoon who could be easily manipulated. The KGB flattered him, promised him business deals, and planted the seeds of political ambition in his empty little head. And from that moment on, he was their man.

But Mussayev isn’t alone. Former KGB major Yuri Shvets said the exact same thing in 2021: Trump was cultivated by Soviet intelligence because he was an easy mark—too stupid to realize he was being played, too egotistical to care. They saw him as a useful idiot—a man who could one day be nudged into power, a walking, talking Trojan Horse for Russian interests.

And now? The plan has worked. Trump spent four years in office weakening America from within, got booted out, and now he’s back for round two.

If you had told the American public in 1962 that a Soviet-backed asset would one day sit in the White House, they would have burned Washington to the ground before letting it happen. But today? Nobody seems to care.

The media treats this like just another wacky subplot in the never-ending Trump reality show. Congress is too busy fighting over meaningless culture war nonsense to do anything about it. And the American public? Exhausted. Numb. Checked out. Years of scandals—Russia collusion, Ukraine blackmail, classified documents, tax fraud, sexual assault, an attempted coup—have fried the country’s brain like an overcooked steak at Mar-a-Lago.

Trump has done the impossible. He has committed so many crimes, so openly, so brazenly, that none of them matter anymore.

And now, with Mussayev’s revelation that Trump is an active foreign asset, we have finally reached the point where the biggest political scandal in American history is met with a collective shrug.

This is how democracy dies—not with a bang, but with a goddamn eye-roll.

This is the part where the skeptics start clutching their pearls. “Oh, come on,” they say. “If Trump were really a Russian asset, wouldn’t there be more proof?”

To which I say: Are you blind, or just willfully stupid?

Let’s go through the evidence, shall we?

Trump spent his entire first term doing exactly what Russia wanted. He attacked NATO, calling it “obsolete” and threatening to pull the U.S. out. He tried to blackmail Ukraine into manufacturing dirt on Joe Biden, because weakening Ukraine helps one man and one man only: Vladimir Putin. He pulled U.S. troops out of Syria, handing power over to Russian forces. He picked fights with Canada and Europe while cozying up to dictators.

Even now, in his second term, he is more openly pro-Putin than ever. He has made it clear that he will not protect NATO allies from Russian aggression. He is actively dismantling America’s alliances, just as Russia planned. And while Americans scream at each other over whether Target should sell rainbow t-shirts, Trump is quietly selling the country to the Kremlin.

At some point, you have to stop calling it a coincidence and start calling it what it is: treason.

The United States is running out of time. If Trump serves out this term without being removed, America as a functioning democracy is finished.

The media needs to wake up. Enough with the “Trump fatigue” excuse. This is not just another scandal—this is the single greatest infiltration of American power in history. Journalists need to dig into Mussayev’s claims, demand declassification of intelligence files, and treat this like the national emergency that it is.

Congress needs to subpoena Mussayev immediately. His testimony must be public, and every document he has should be reviewed. If there is proof that Trump has been compromised since the 1980s, the American people need to know.

The Justice Department needs to stop pretending that Trump is just another politician. If there is evidence that the sitting president of the United States is working in Russia’s interests, he must be removed from office and prosecuted for espionage.

And the American public? You have one last chance. This is not about Republican vs. Democrat. This is not about taxes, gas prices, or whatever nonsense outrage is dominating the news today. This is about whether the United States remains a sovereign nation, or if we spend the rest of the century as a Russian client state with a golf course.

The sheer volume of Trump's corruption, the blatant nature of his crimes, the mountain of evidence that should have ended his political career a hundred times over—none of it mattered. He survived it all, not because he was innocent, but because he drowned the country in so much scandal that nothing stuck.

But this time, it’s different. If Mussayev and Shvets are right, this isn’t just another chapter in the endless Trump circus. This is the culmination of a decades-long Russian intelligence operation to install an asset in the White House.

There is no coming back from this. If America lets Trump serve out this term without removing him, then the United States as a democratic republic is finished. The country won’t collapse overnight. There won’t be tanks in the streets. Instead, the destruction of democracy will happen in slow motion—buried under lawsuits, propaganda, and corruption so blatant that people stop caring.

If America lets this happen—if Trump is allowed to complete his mission—then Putin wins. The West crumbles. And the people who could have stopped it will look back, years from now, and wonder how they let it happen.

Good night, and good luck. Because if people don’t wake up, America is going to sleepwalk straight into its own funeral.

Hangnailias Nix

18h

Reply

[stereopticons]

On This Day in Schitt's Creek: March 1

2019

practice makes perfection... [david/patrick, T, 803] by @startswithhope

This show and these two characters make me happy, so here's some nighttime snuggling. These two are so soft, so this is what I want for them...

Vroom Vroom, David [david/patrick, T, 1,304] by @mostlyinthemorning

Patrick discovers that Alexis is not the only Rose family member with an online past. After S5E08 "The Hospies"

Wild and Wired [david/patrick, T, 19,433] by lettered

David and Patrick up through their first kiss.

2020

Privacy [david/patrick, E, 5,023] by JessX2231

It was thrilling, being the one to make Patrick fall apart. He’d been starting to see small moments here and there, but since privacy was a tricky thing for them, it didn’t happen nearly as often as David wished. So of course he was doing all he could to make up for lost time. Or, their night at Stevie's.

Room Ten [david/patrick, E, 3,341] by WellSchitt

This is the second installment in the Sex Motel series! It begins the day after the previous fic, DelilahMcMuffin's Room Six <3 <3 -- “Do it. David, I’m ready, you can- you can-” “Shh. I want to take care of you.” Because he cared too much about Patrick to rush this, cared more about Patrick’s wellbeing than a good fuck. He wanted, needed, to be careful with Patrick.

Room Eight [david/patrick, E, 3,817] by @noahreids

This is the third installment in the Sex Motel series that continues to explore David and Patrick's stolen moments at the Sherwood Motel. My contribution continues about a week (maybe?) after WellSchitt's Room Ten. <3 And! In the moments right after Girls Night (4x04).

Room Two [david/patrick, E, 4,751] by @samwhambam

This is the 5th installment of the Sex Motel series. This takes place after the BBQ, but before the Olive Branch episode. * He tapped the phone screen to keep it from dimming and before he could think twice, he tapped on Patrick’s contact information and hit ‘call’. Patrick picked up on the first ring. “David.” David took a deep breath, just to center himself. “I’m still upset. But I miss you,” David said.

Gift Shop [david/patrick, NR, 563] by @distractivate

David this wasn't meant to be some Advent calendar of apologies. It was like an olive branch to get you to talk to me. Patrick sends an olive branch after the barbecue.

Room Thirteen [david/patrick, T, 3,164] by @missgeevious

David suffers an injury that may ruin his plans for hot, sweaty make-up sex. Takes place immediately after David’s Olive Branch lip sync in episode 4.09. This story is part of a series about David and Patrick using the Sherwood Motel (the motel Johnny and Roland buy in Season 6) to connect before Patrick gets his own apartment.

Room Eleven [david/patrick, E, 4,777] by @unfolded73

David and Patrick decide to go to the Elm Glen motel for some alone time after Jocelyn's baby shower.

Room Sixteen [david/patrick, E, 4,097] by Elsewherefumbling

This is number 9 in the Sex Motel series. It begins the day of the roll out. When David contracts the dreaded poison oak and has a very horrible no good very bad day. Except, of course, now, he has Patrick to help make it all better. _ “I need you.” David whispered. An admission as much as a plea for physical attention. He really did need Patrick he was learning. To make him feel better. To make him feel right. To always be there at the end of the long days. But right now, he really needed Patrick’s hands on him.

Room Seven [david/patrick, E, 11,569] by @ladyflowdi

Patrick loves this motel, much more than he’ll ever say out loud. Thousands of people have slept and fucked and laughed and cried in these rooms. He feels a funny sort of peace, knowing that the story of how he and David fell in love will live between these walls, too. This is the tenth installment of the Sex Motel series, and takes place the night before 4.12 Singles Week.

Room Fifteen [david/patrick, E, 2,463] by @ahurston

This is an installment of the Sex Motel series, taking place just after Singles Week. * David and Patrick need a little privacy after the day's emotional revelations. Now if they can just make it to the Sherwood Motel before combusting...

Room Nine [david/patrick, E, 2,876] by FormerlyEmu

This is an instalment in the Sex Motel series, set immediately following 4.13 - Merry Christmas, Johnny Rose. A few days off, and a scheduled vendor pick-up, give David and Patrick some time to *connect* at the Sherwood Motel.

Room Four [david/patrick, E, 3,295] by @thedidipickles

After finding out that David thought their relationship 'needed a generator,' Patrick has an important question. David does everything he can to answer it.

Room Three [david/patrick, E, 8,469] by @blueink3

“Um, where are we going?” His voice is rough and he’ll need a lengthy spa manicure in Elmdale to fix the way he’s mangling his cuticles. “Thought we could use some alone time,” Patrick replies, eyes never leaving the road. There’s something odd in his tone. Casual. Controlled. “Oh.” 'Alone time' is usually the prelude to a seduction, but David isn’t feeling particularly sexy at the moment. Or, another installment of the Sex Motel series. Takes place after the robbery in 5x02.

the ties that bind [gen, G, 1,388] by oh_la_fraise

Charles goes to visit the Schitt’s Creek Boyles. The rest of the 99 comes along for the ride.

2021

back to the drawing board [david/patrick, T, 12,957] by mycleverusername

“It’s early, but we’ve got a few results coming in. For more, we’ll send you over to Patrick Brewer at the Big Board.” David expects to see another boring old suit, but Patrick Brewer, it turns out, is young, with short brown hair and wide, inviting eyes. “Hi,” he says, smiling. “I’m Patrick Brewer. Let’s take a look at the first numbers coming out of Indiana…” “Ooh,” David says. “Board guy is cute.”

Dandelion Days [david/patrick, E, 26,561] by @asoftplacetoland

David’s first real memory of Patrick involved a scraped knee, a dandelion, and a sunny smile that, upon recounting the tale of how they met, left him blushing so hard Alexis had singsonged “David and Patrick sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” for a solid week. The story of Prince David and Bodyguard Patrick from the very beginning. Now complete!

David Rose is a Sappy Romantic [david/patrick, T, 2,951] by LondonSpirit

They're married. MARRIED. David still can't believe it.He muses a bit about it as he gets ready for his wedding night with his husband.

Djibouti [gen, G, 300] by Rosey_Peach

Family [david/patrick, T, 1,156] by @rmd-writes

Later that afternoon, lying in bed with his head resting on Patrick’s shoulder, David is admiring the way the sunlight glints off his wedding ring as his hand rests on his husband’s chest. Or, what we didn’t see in Happy Ending

get me with those green eyes, baby [alexis/twyla, T, 1,000] by @sarahlevys

Alexis has lived a thousand lives, and has escaped twice as many sketchy, legitimately dangerous situations. But she doesn't know what's scarier: the movie playing out on her television screen, or way her heart's hammering in her chest, keeping time with every one of Twyla's quiet breaths. Written for the prompt: Twyla and Alexis' first kiss while watching a scary movie.

I can take you higher [david/patrick, E, 3,561] by @rockinhamburger

Before the barbecue incident, Patrick had been making progress at lasting longer, whenever they actually managed privacy ... He’s been right back at square one ever since, now that they’re having regular sex again. It’s hard not to feel discouraged about the restoration of his hair trigger when it seemed like they were on the way to getting rid of it. A follow-up to got a bad desire in which Patrick continues to learn how to relinquish control.

people worth missing, things worth sharing [david/patrick, G, 1,018] by @grapehyasynth

Unexpected emotion pulls David away from a lovely summer evening with his husband and in-laws, but it's all because everyone just loves each other so much.

The Windows to the Soul [david/patrick, T, 5,570] by @agoodpersonrose

Nobody ever noticed in New York, but when David starts painting his graffiti in Schitt's Creek, he has to be a little more careful about it.

2022

Eyebrows at Midnight [david/patrick, M, 1,409] by @ineveryuniverse-sc

To StolenAway55n3... Hey babe - to make up for my sassy response, I went ahead and wrote the damn thing. To you, and to all my favorite SBC peeps! Smooches!!!!!! For the prompt: "Begin a story with a stranger at your door at midnight" Thanks a million to my lovely beta and friend goodiecornbread. ❤️

Fracture [david/patrick, M, 9,850] by littlebebecrows

Patrick finds himself in a dreary interrogation room, being grilled about his life by a man who is hidden in shadows. When he is asked to remember a man he has never met before - a man with dark hair and eyes named David - Patrick realizes he may be suffering from amnesia. When he ventures out to search for clues about the man he has apparently forgotten, he very quickly realizes that nothing is as it seems. Although memories of David start to resurface, it may be too late. In a race against time, Patrick struggles to uncover the truth about his memory loss before he loses David forever.

Full of Surprises [david/patrick, G, 712] by @fictasticvoyage

David meets a new friend at the Apothecary and Patrick learns a surprising fact about his husband.

Halfway Down the Aisle: Twylexis Femslash February 2022 [alexis/twyla, E, 2,800] by @sarahlevys

A twylexis drabble collection, following the Femslash February 2022 prompts to tell a continuous story focusing on marriage.

Roses on the Wall [david/patrick, G, 713, CW: suicide, eating disorder] by elifisher96

Patrick was lying in bed for the fourth consecutive hour since waking up.

You've Got the Love to See Me Through [david/patrick, G, 1,584] by lucianowriter

Patrick is home sick so he turns on his favorite TV show. This opens up a conversation between him and David about his continued asexual journey.

2023

600 Candles [david/patrick, G, 5,930] by @a-noble-dragon

David throws a Birthday bash for a dragon. His family help. It's a recipe for disaster!

everything else is just noise [david/patrick, G, 1,054] by OrganizedWatermelon

This is my take on how Patrick's version of "The Best" came to be. Takes place around "Stop Saying Lice!"

2024

You Are the Reason [david/patrick, E, 2,900] by @a-noble-dragon

100 word drabbles. 100% smut.

Stats:

No fanworks for 2017 or 2018 2019: 3 fics/21,540 words 2020: 14 fics/59,593 words 2021: 9 fics/55,074 words 2022: 6 fics/17,068 words 2023: 2 fics/6,984 words 2024: 1 fic/2,900 words Total: 35 fics/163,159 words

[socialitesleuth]

Penelope wasn’t sure what was worse: the sight of the bruising on his ribs, or the fact that he was showing it off.

She hadn’t needed to see the swelling to believe him, or to know what bruised ribs looked like. Her first thought, upon being shown the injury, had been concern over whether he’d ended up breaking anything, but her faith in Virgil’s medical skills had her refraining from asking. Penelope trusted that, if there had been anything more to worry about, Virgil’s medical gadgets would have flagged it up for him.

Which left her with a really large realisation, one she wasn’t about to verbalise any time soon. If she trusted in Virgil’s abilities to do his job, why was she unable to trust in Gordon?

Of course, it wasn’t really about trust. Penelope had meant what she’d said before, about trusting him with her life. Her trust in him unshakeable. She knew he could handle himself, in most situations, and yet there she still was, seemingly fretting over his abilities. It would have been so much easier if Penelope just openly admitted why she worried so much over him instead of his brothers, why she lectured him so and commented on his injuries.

It wasn’t about her lack of trust or her lack of faith. This was about her lo—

Dangerous territory! Don’t go there!

“Accidents happen when people become careless, so yes. You were careless!”

Penelope spoke so confidently that anyone who might have been listening into the call, who wasn’t aware of the details, might have assumed she had been physically present at the rescue in question.

“Two hundred people were relying on you to get them home safe, yes, but I was relying on you getting home safe too!”

Her voice could have cracked. It didn’t. Somehow Penelope had managed to keep her features composed. The only emotion in her words had been translated as intense exasperation. It was easier to be outraged. It hurt less to express the fury she felt instead of the deep-rooted fears she’d developed ever since she’d pulled him out of that trench.

Her anger had supposed to be directed towards the situation, not him. Never him. But once Penelope began, she couldn’t stop. Her emotions, though they were still masked to a certain degree, poured out of her at a rapid speed.

“I’m not sure whether it’s wise you come on Saturday, Gordon. I wouldn’t want you to worsen those injuries.” Or get anymore injured. “It’s better to play these things safe. You can pass on the invite to one of your other brothers, if you so wish, otherwise I shall go alone and pass on any intel I may find.”

Icing him out was the wrong decision. Penelope knew that.

But, equally, she couldn’t bare the thought of him in pain. If things went south at the weekend, she didn’t want Gordon, already battered and bruised, getting caught up in the middle of that.

Yes, technically speaking this mission should have been shared between them — he’d brought it to her attention and she had the relevant skills to see it through — but Penelope believed, at least in this area, she had some sort of duty of care to enact. Was she being overzealous, over cautious? Perhaps. But, if the worst did happen, how would she explain it to Scott?

How would she be able to live with herself? 

:COMMS BEGIN:

Lady P,

Sorry for the early morning comms, hope this doesn’t wake you too early - I make it just after 5 your time.

We’re just finishing up a mission in the Persian Gulf - a luxury hotel collapsed overnight, on an island just offshore Doha. Only built two years ago, whole place is pretty new and shiny.

Been a rough night, Pen - fifteen we were too late to help, including two kids. Just families on vacation...

Anyway, victims are saying they felt tremors, it certainly looks like a quake from the debris now the sun is up and J is absolutely confident it came from beneath the sea bed (absolutely being a rather irritated direct quote, so I’m not asking again).

But… this isn’t a quake hot zone. It doesn’t make any sense, and there haven’t been any aftershocks either while we’ve been working. Five can’t get a good read because of the debris and mineral interference underground. The whole place is on top of the enormous old oil fields, and it sends the scanners haywire.

The company that owns the hotel has set my squid sense off though. Name’s Fulcra, I’ve sent you the profile on them. Ran by a guy named Randall Price. He’s a venture capitalist from Houston originally, but the company’s HQ is a London address. That’s as far as I’ve managed to get.

They own a couple of the small artificial islands around here that are being used as tourist hotspots. Think luxury waterfront villas on stilts kinda stuff, the hotel that’s collapsed was the biggest. Nice place, high end, lots of good dive spots.

This area’s all under a World Heritage protected marine environment permit for a biosphere reserve. They’ve spent decades trying to replenish the mangroves and coastal vegetation after what the oil fields and production did to the waters here, the aquatic populations are only just starting to rise comfortably. I didn’t understand how they even got permission for this sort of work but…

They’ve got a giant platform further out in the Gulf that’s supposedly ‘cleaning the sea’ and helping to replenish the sea bed. Seems to be some sort of agreement that they can build these resorts, in exchange for what appears to be green work. I tried to get a proper look at the platform in Four, out of interest, but they’ve got laser nets up. I got an autoturret my way for trying to go any further in the exosuit…

I’d like to think they’re just really protecting that biosphere, but I don’t get a nice eco-friend impression.

My gut says I’m getting Hydrexler vibes, and you were right about that oily CEO last time. I’m not sure I want to be right, but I do want to know what’s going on here… and I thought you might too, as our resident top agent with a passion for all things Earth-saving.

So, I thought I’d hand it over to you, and let you do what you do best - cosying up to the billionaires and getting them to spill the tea.

Lemme know if you know or find anything on them. We’re going to be here another couple of hours, finishing up stabilising the debris field and having another run through, and then heading back. S managed to get the Price guy on comms briefly, but he wasn’t much for talking. Maybe you’ll have more luck.

G 🦑

:COMMS END:

FIRST DATE?

The flickering light and the soft buzz from her compact device caught her off-guard. Penelope, who had positioned herself in an armchair beside her tall windows after giving up on sleep half an hour earlier, sat herself up a little straighter. The blanket which she’d wrapped around herself was pulled tighter to her frame as her eyes read the message.

The hour might have been earlier and, on any other day, Penelope might very well have still been sleeping, but today was different. She rubbed her tired eyes as they scanned Gordon’s words. At first, she’d hoped it had been something akin to a social call. She rather enjoyed those, especially when they came from Gordon, but the more she read, the more Penelope realised it was anything but that.

Her interest peaked as she reached Gordon’s conspiracy.

Her mouth grew dry when she reached Gordon’s information.

The blanket was thrown off her body and Penelope stood. With her comms device still in hand, her eyes still darting from left to right as she continued her reading, she crossed her bedroom and gently tugged on the bell. 

Minutes passed before a very sleepy Parker knocked on her bedroom door. Penelope, having only just finished Gordon’s message, opened it.

“Terribly sorry to wake you, Parker, but it seems we have a situation. I need you to cancel my schedule for today and then get me all we have on the company known as Fulcra. CEO is a man named Randall Price.”

“But, m’lady, that’s—”

“I’m perfectly aware of that, thank you, Parker. See if you can arrange a meeting of some kind, if that’s at all possible.”

Parker nodded, still more asleep than he was awake, before he trundled off down the hallway to make good of his ladyship’s requests.

Penelope returned to chair by the window and curled herself back up. The sun was just beginning to rise on the horizon as she typed out her reply.

COMMS BEGIN

@squidsinashirt, Thank you for your concern — I shall look into this and get back to you when I

Penelope ceased her typing and sighed. She knew it wasn’t fair to lie to him, not after her sent her looking. A moment or two passed before Penelope deleted her previous sentence and began to re-type it. 

COMMS BEGIN

Gordon,

This company?

I shall look into this as you requested but, I must warn you, you may not like what I find. Randall Price is… let us say a man I am already familiar with, or rather his business is. What I can tell you is that, for the most part, Fulcra is celebrated as a rather clean company, but that doesn’t always mean much — you were right to mention Hydrexler. The Persian Gulf was supposed to remain a protected marine environment, at least that was how I understood it. I’ll ask some of my World Heritage connections what they know too, see if I can get a bigger picture for you.

Give me a couple of days. I’ll try and, what was it you said? Cosy up to the billionaire? Get him to spill the tea? Parker is going to try and get me an appointment but, if that fails, I do have an alternative plan.

Do try and get some rest once you’ve finished up. The mission in Doha sounds like it’s been a terribly distressing situation for all involved. You know I am always here if you need to talk about it. Any of it.

I’ll be in touch once I hear something.

Stay safe, 

Penny x

COMMS END

-------------------------------------

Once upon a time, names held weight. Penelope had thought that Scott’s name had simply been too tied up with International Rescue for Randall Price to give him the time of day… until she too was ushered away once the more difficult questions were asked. From her other sources, Penelope had heard only rave reviews of the company. Yet something felt… off.

It was just after dinner when Penelope began her second message to Gordon.

COMMS BEGIN

It's too clean. Not sure what’s going on but I definitely sense something. Plan B is in operation. Randall Price might not have wanted to speak to me today, but he did invite me to his Charity Ball this weekend — I’ll see if I can find out more then.

I’m hoping you returned home safe and sound and that you managed to have a good rest. I suppose it’s my turn to apologise if this message wakes you. 

Penny x

COMMS END

[not-cool-enough-to-scuba-dive]

me when i try to prevent something from happening and the act of trying to prevent it makes it happen: 👁️👄👁️