#but I promise!!! you are not alone!!! people DO want to talk to you

[hivemuthur]

Eee sorry about the vague request lol. I'm thinking maybe reader is unknowingly giving someone else a lil too much attention at a house party or something like that and Vik gets jealous and pouty about it and reader makes it up to him 👀👀

Clearly im not great at wording requests lol, I hope this makes sense

<3

Hi! I love you, so after I've written the first part of smut for this, I went to pray to the smut fairy and she gave me more smut :v @rennethen we thank you, we bow to you. And yes, there is no other point to this story than smut, because we had a lot of emotional stuff happening on this blog in the last couple of days :')

Eat Me

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! Viktor is jealous, therefore: smut, also dom!Viktor

word count: 3,3K

—

“Yes, I suppose you could say that,” you laughed sheepishly at—what was his name again? Mark? Maurice? Never mind, you politely laughed at his joke. Somewhere in the middle of this conversation, you had felt Viktor’s hand slip off the small of your back as he walked away to have a chat with Jayce. You could swear you heard a sigh accompanying the action, but the number of people talking at you simultaneously was too great to stir your mind to focus on one thing.

You looked around the room; the party had visibly dispersed into small groups— a few people splayed on the floor, talking in hushed voices; a smoking gang squished on the small balcony; a not-very-promising-looking queue to the bathroom; very loud voices coming from the kitchen, where some groundbreaking conversations were definitely taking place. Exactly opposite you and Mark—or Maurice—Viktor stood leaning on the doorframe, a glass hanging limply from his hand. He seemed very determined not to glance in your direction, no matter how many smiles you tried to send him.

You remained unalarmed until it was Mark’s—or Maurice’s—hand travelling to the small of your back, his mouth closing in on your ear to whisper, “So… can I get your number?”

At that point, Viktor scoffed and retreated into the corridor, out of your sight. You shifted uncomfortably, sliding yourself away from the intruder’s touch, and squeaked, “Eh, sorry, I don’t think… I don’t think my boyfriend would be happy about it, you know?”

Mark—or Maurice—raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, saying, “Forgive me, I didn’t know. Enjoy the party.” He patted you on the shoulder, his touch immediately shifting from seductive to friendly, his eyes moving from your cleavage to your face, and began snaking deeper into the room, leaving you alone and a little stunned by the windowsill. Huh, that obvious.

You downed your drink and left the glass behind, ready to find the lost boyfriend. You searched Jayce’s cramped apartment room by room, people trying to pull you in for a drink occasionally slowing your progress. Jayce, already moderately drunk and flushed from all the hands invading his personal space, pointed you toward his study. The door was ajar, and a faint glimmer of light was coming from inside.

“Hello?” You peeked your head through the door, only to see Viktor slumped behind Jayce’s desk, engrossed in a book. He didn’t look up at you and only threw you a dry, “Hello,” in return.

“Tired of the crowd, hmm?” you hummed after slipping inside and leaning over the desk opposite him. Your fingers tapped on the wood, awaiting a reply, only to be given the cold shoulder in the form of a quiet, dismissive hum. “Well, do you want to go home?” you tried again, inching your fingers to sneak under his sleeves, and Viktor shuddered.

“Home? No, I am quite content where I am. Also—” he paused as his eyes landed on your hands before retreating further into the chair to avoid your touch. “You seemed quite content with where you were as well,” he retorted, flipping to the next page.

“I’m not sure I quite follow?” You gave him a puzzled look, hoping he saw at least a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye. “Viktor?” you asked, splaying yourself all the way across the desk to pluck the book from his hands. “Why are you not looking at me?”

He sighed, his hands frozen in the air exactly where the book had been a second ago, and finally did look at you, at which point you started to wish he hadn’t.

“You were in quite stimulating company, no? Has Gregory abandoned you that you decided to pay me a visit?” Ah, yes, Gregory, not Mark or Maurice. He gave you a cold stare and an unforgiving smirk, and you choked on a snort.

“Excuse me? Viktor, are you being jealous?” You were now both leaning over the desk, playing a game of stares. Viktor blinked first but made it look like he had won.

“From where I was standing—and I will add that it was many different angles I got to observe—he was quite ready to eat you all right up,” he cocked his head to the side and left you to deal with the statement.

“Eat me? We were just talking,” you said, pointing your finger between the two of you to accentuate that, up until some point, Viktor had also been a part of the conversation. Realising the new round of the staring game had just begun, you relented, “Still—that’s completely irrelevant, as the only person I would wish to eat me is you.”

“That’s very unfortunate then, given that I seem to have lost my appetite.” Viktor took the opening and squeezed it dry. He picked up the book, opened it to a random page, and pretended to sink back into reading.

You straightened, taken aback by this... ridiculous display of mistrust. A smile played under your nose as you circled around the desk, turned the chair to make Viktor face you, and leaned in to touch his mouth with yours. “Are you sure I can’t even interest you in a snack?” you murmured against his lips, placing a lingering kiss there.

Viktor didn’t move, and soon you felt the handle of his cane poking at your stomach, beckoning you away. You shot him a questioning look and moved the cane aside with your hand, only for it to return to where it was, his eyes still fixed on the book. “I said, I am not hungry,” he said, his tone feigning exhaustion.

“Really? Are you telling me you would rather read—” you paused to take the book away and glance at the cover, “Jayce’s journal, rather than quit this pointless display of sulk and spend some time with me?” You held it expectantly in your hand, bemused.

“Yes. And give it back now.” He leaned forward, his hand reaching for the tome, only for you to swing it behind your back and move your body so your face met his.

“What will I get in return?” you asked sweetly, your breath ghosting his cheek. But Viktor wouldn’t give in. He shifted away, gluing his spine to the chair’s backrest.

“How about freedom to roam the party as you please, with whomever you please? Ah, right, apologies—it seems you already took that opportunity,” he mused, his tone almost annoyed as he kept his hand extended, expecting the stolen good to be returned.

“Viktor—” you scolded, growing more and more impatient. The book dropped to the desk with a thump, and before Viktor could reach for it, you straddled his lap, ignoring all the huffs of protest and palms trying to push you away. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your face to his, whispering into his ear, your voice needy and keen, “What I want is my man to stop sulking. I can apologize, if you let me.”

Viktor hesitated until his hands rested on your hips, the rest of him still frozen in place. “I’m listening,” he muttered, causing a satisfied smirk to bloom on your lips.

You took the cue and slid your palms flat onto his chest, tugging at his collar. “Well, how would you like your apology to be served, mister?” You licked at the seam of his mouth and sucked on the crown of his upper lip. Viktor allowed it but still wouldn’t engage much, keeping his façade of a man who was hurt. Your tongue travelled down to his jaw, then up to the pulse point below his ear. Finally, you were rewarded with a shudder and a sigh. “Hmm, that seems to be working, no?”

“I’d say your little stunt requires some more remorse to be shown for me to forgive you entirely, my girl,” he murmured, his hands squeezing your hips in tandem with a grunt coming out of his mouth.

“Remorse, huh? I might know one universal way to repent,” you said, sliding off him to the floor, your knees resting on the carpet between his feet, your fingers already tugging at the buckle of his belt. “I’ve heard begging on one’s knees can work wonders.”

He uttered a quiet fuck along with your name, eyes fixed on yours, as you beckoned him to lift his hips, allowing you to slide his pants down his legs. His thumb brushed on your lower lip as he gave you a thoughtful look. “Show me. How sorry you are.”

You smiled and propped your hands on his hips, as you leaned in to tease him. His cock was still soft, twitching slightly under your breath. You began to place lingering kisses across his length, all the way from his balls to the tip, not moving it from the crease of his hip where it rested. Then, you flipped it to the other side with your nose and proceeded to do the same, from the top to bottom, watching it harden after each peck.

Viktor’s breath hitched, his fingers curling into your hair, as he pressed his hips into your face and rasped, “I will have to see some more initiative if you want me to believe you.”

You immediately responded with opening your mouth and letting him drag his half-hard length on it, his cock now splayed between your mouth, side of your nose, the tip resting somewhere around your eyebrow, smearing your own spit all over your face. Viktor’s brows pinched together, his lips parted into a toothy smile as he sat back down. “Good,” was the only praise you got so far, and you felt yourself aching for an addition of girl next to it.

Your kisses deepened, more passionate and lingering on the base, your tongue reaching down to his perineum, releasing a startled chuckle somewhere from the depth of his chest. You cocked your head, taking the side of his cock between your lips and started dragging it leisurely up and down, pausing to tease a sensitive spot below the head with the tip of your tongue.

Viktor remained still, his hand resting tangled into your hair, the other gripping the arm rest tightly as his eyes followed your every movement. You glanced up to meet his gaze—blown pupils, cheeks already flushed, lips shining from constant licking. Pleased with the view, you took him in your hand and patted the head of his cock on your flattened tongue, baring your teeth in a smile when his eyes rolled back, and he gave you a quiet ah sound as a reward.

“I feel like you are enjoying it far too much for a proper atonement,” he smirked. Before you could respond, he gripped your hair tighter, motioning your head to rest on his lap, as he slid himself inside your mouth. You groaned against him, grabbing his forearm and he only tsk-ed at you. “Bad girl. Tongue out, breathe through your nose,” he commanded, and you immediately obliged.

He fucked your throat steadily, retreating right before you were about to gag, soft praises falling from his lips. He watched himself appearing and disappearing between your lips and the hand that was previously whitening at the armrest travelled to cup your face and caress your cheek. You closed your eyes at the touch and let the drool roll out of your mouth onto his thigh, your breath heavy through your nose as you tried to even out its rhythm with the one of his thrusts.

He retreated to rub himself all over your face, smearing your makeup in the process. “So pretty like this,” he cooed, stroking your hair. “Are you sorry?”

You nodded, looking at him from under glued eyelashes. And Viktor looked so in love you couldn’t help a smile forcing itself onto your lips.

“Let’s apologize some more, are you ready?” he asked hoarsely, already lining himself against your mouth. Wordlessly, you opened, splaying your tongue out, coating your teeth with your lips to avoid any accidental scratches. He pushed himself deeper, tickling your uvula, while plugging your nose with his fingers and holding you in position.

“Are you sorry?” He leaned in to whisper into your ear, and you nodded, as much as you could. Obediently, you stayed for as long as your breath allowed you to, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes, before patting his thigh three times, and Viktor released you with a loud groan, spit glistening on his length.

“Good girl,” he breathed, and you felt something perking up inside you as you reached back out for him to suck on his head. He leaned in the chair, granting a few languid rolls of his hips into your mouth, whispering quiet praises when you gagged yourself on his cock. Undying affection seeping from his eyes, from his touch, pumped air into your lungs, when your nose couldn’t.

“Will you be a good girl and eat me up?” he asked, feeling the lance of lust twisting his guts, his movements speeding up, his breath hitching and you mumbled something sounding like a yes against his thrusts.

His body curled in, hands cupping your face, thumbs digging into your cheeks, wiping your tears away. You felt him hitting the back of your throat a couple of times, drool leaking out with each movement in and out, before his stomach tensed up and he coated the inside of your mouth with his cum, distantly whispering “Yes, yes, good girl.”

You swallowed the salt of him, not letting him out, making sure to lick down every last drop. Viktor shuddered, suddenly overstimulated, and gently pulled you up to sit back on his lap. The thin layer of your knickers so wet it almost disappeared as your cunt pressed on his softening cock. He licked his thumb to clean the smears of mascara cascading down your cheeks and murmured, “You did very well. I forgive you,” before kissing you on the mouth lovingly.

A giggle forced itself out of you, as you wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your face into his neck. “Were you really so upset?” You asked quietly, tracing your fingers up and down his chest.

“Of course not,” he chuckled, massaging the nape of your neck. “I wanted to see how willing you would be to apologize though.”

“You are such a bastard,” you smacked his chest and bit his neck, making him wiggle and wince underneath you. “Now you have to apologize to me.”

“If you accept apologies delivered while laying on my stomach, I am willing,” he stated with a shit-eating grin. His expression softened, when he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Well, tricked!” you exclaimed, narrowing your eyes at him. “I’m alright. Pleasantly full, I might add,” you added with a smirk and placed a peck on his lips. “You?”

“Eh, quite alright myself. Pleasantly devoured, though slightly hungry,” he mused, nipping at your lip, before deepening the kiss. You felt breathless again, his hands sneaking under your shirt, when you mustered some strength to pull away and breathe into his mouth, “I might have something to eat for you when we get home.”

“Or—” Viktor cocked his head, eyeing your knees with a knowing smile.

“Or… what?” You arched your brow, knowing exactly where this was going. Viktor licked his lips.

“What if I am too hungry to wait? Would you accept my apology now?” He asked and his smirk deepened as he tapped your hip three times signalling you to stand up. “And maybe lock the door? For a good measure. Unless, of course, it was a part of your little plan.” His eyes feigned innocence as he played idly with the hem of your skirt, and you could feel your face flush red. Of course, the door was still ajar.

“R-right,” you stuttered sheepishly and went to lock it, your legs wonky. You almost skipped coming back to where Viktor’s finger was pointing on the desk. He let you in between him on a chair and the edge of the wood and pushed his palms flat underneath your skirt to yank your knickers down to your ankles. You shuddered at the sensation of the material ungluing itself from you.

“Up,” he commanded and once you were seated, he leaned down to pick up your underwear, sniff it obscenely to finally put it in his pocket. Your eyes were so transfixed on the action, that the touch of his hands under your knees startled you, as he scooted the chair closer to the desk and hooked them over his shoulders.

And then he paused, eyes staring at your weeping cunt, his breaths deep and steady as he inhaled your scent. “To think you would let this waste and make me wait until we get home deserves a punishment in itself, I might say,” he murmured and the hot air coming from his mouth fanned your skin. His flat palm travelled up from your navel to your stomach, pressing you to lay down.

He didn’t wait for your spine to meet the desk fully, so when he dived in, the back of your head hit the wood with a quiet thump. His tongue stroke a rapid lick along your seam before coming to your clit with a chuckled hum of approval. A very vocal moan pushed itself past your mouth and you were grateful to your past self for closing that door. Soon your voice pitched higher as you breathed an incomprehensive, “Ah, Viktor,” while trying to bring your hips closer to his face, but his grip on you rendered it utterly impossible. His licks, fast and precise, caused your thighs to shake on his shoulders.

His hand slid from pressing on your stomach down to your navel, his thumb brushing your clit, when he asked hoarsely, “And what do we say to a Gregory, next time we meet him, hm?”

Completely confused and frustrated at the sudden change you managed to rasp, “Who?” and Viktor chuckled warmly, straight into you. “Good girl.”

His tongue slid down to your entrance, giving you shallow thrusts, while his thumb rubbed even circles on your clit, keeping the previous pace. Another thump of your head, fingers whitening at the edge of the desk as you tried desperately to move underneath him.

He began to deepen his movements, pressing his face hungrily into your cunt. Feeling your walls closing down on his tongue and mouth, his thumb picked up the pace. And you felt it so strongly, the orgasm wrenched out of you, built up by the last hour of apologizing on your knees. You felt it down to your toes, your heels digging into Viktor’s ribs as he hummed into you, drinking you all up, and keeping your thighs hooked with his arms. Only when you patted his shoulders blindly, he released you, placing one last kiss on your pubic bone.

You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, exhaling shakily, your chest heaving. You heard him getting up, allowing your legs to hang limply from the edge of the desk, as he circled around it, and took your jaw in his hand. He leaned in to give you a sweet kiss on the mouth and asked, “Am I forgiven?”

“Yes. Am I?” you murmured against his lips, and he smiled again.

“Not sure. You might want to check again at home.”

[lemonsdietcoke]

Get Gone - Player 230

Dark!Thanos/Choi Su-bong x Fem!Reader

This is part 3 of my mini series love ridden

Warnings: physical abuse, DV, implied NONCON, toxic relationship, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, and intense depictions of psychological distress. Reader discretion is advised.

Summary: “How many times do I have to say To get away, get gone?” A late-night confrontation unearths buried truths, forcing you to confront the cost of her own survival. loosely inspired by Get Gone-Fiona Apple

MINORS DNI!

A/n: yall I’m sorry this took so long, I have work & school during the week and low-key got lazy lol but it’s finally here!!! Lmk if yall fw it. I love feedback. Lmk what you think!! <3

…………………….

The room feels smaller now, the air pressing down on you like it’s alive, like it’s conspiring with him. Every second ticks by painfully, loud and sharp in your ears. You swear you can feel the weight of his gaze on you, heavy and unrelenting.

“If you walk out that door,” Su-bong says again, his voice low, deliberate, “you’ll never see me again.”

There’s no anger in his tone, no malice. Just a quiet certainty that chills you to your core. It should feel like a relief—like a clean break. But instead, it feels like a threat wrapped in a promise.

Your hands tighten around your phone. Ji-hye’s name still flashes on the screen like a lifeline you’re too afraid to grab.

“Why would you say that?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Because it’s the truth,” he says, tilting his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he watches you. “I don’t want to play games anymore, Y/N. I can’t do this halfway. Either you stay, and we figure this out together, or you leave… and that’s it.”

The simplicity of his words makes them hit harder. They slice through you like glass, leaving behind wounds you can’t see but can feel.

“You don’t mean that,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

His lips curl into a faint, humorless smile. “Don’t I?”

You feel like the floor is shifting beneath you, like the ground you’ve been standing on has suddenly turned to quicksand. “You’re just saying that to scare me,” you accuse.

“Am I?” His voice is calm, measured, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it. “You think I don’t mean it, but deep down, you know I do. You know I’ve always meant it when it comes to you.”

“Stop,” you say, your voice cracking.

“Why?” he presses, taking a slow step toward you. He’s close now, too close, his presence overwhelming. “Because you don’t want to hear it? Because you don’t want to admit that it scares you?”

“I’m not scared of you,” you shoot back, even though your heart is hammering in your chest.

“No,” he says softly, almost thoughtfully. “You’re not scared of me. You’re scared of what happens if you leave. You’re scared because you don’t know who you are without me.”

Your stomach twists violently. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” His voice softens, but that only makes it worse. “You don’t want to leave, Y/N. You’re just trying to convince yourself that you do. But we both know the truth. You’ve always been afraid of being alone.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” His words are quiet, but they land with the force of a wrecking ball. “You stayed with me for two years, even when you knew you should’ve left. You forgave me for things most people wouldn’t. And why? Because you didn’t want to be alone. Because you don’t know how to be alone.”

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “You don’t get to do this,” you say, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. “You don’t get to make this about me. You’re the one who—”

“I’m not making this about you,” he interrupts, his tone sharpening. “I’m just telling you the truth. You don’t want to hear it, fine. But don’t act like I’m the bad guy for saying it.”

You let out a shaky breath, your chest heaving as you struggle to hold yourself together. “You don’t know anything about me anymore.”

He scoffs, the sound low and bitter. “I know everything about you, Y/N. I know how you think, how you feel. I know you better than anyone, including Ji-hye.”

The mention of her name sends a jolt through you, sharp and electric.

“that’s who you’ve been talking to, right?” he asks, his voice dropping into something quieter, more dangerous. “Ji-hye?”

Your throat tightens. “She’s my friend. Of course I’ve been talking to her.”

“About me?” His question is calm, but there’s something venomous just beneath the surface.

“She’s my best friend,” you say, lifting your chin even though your hands are shaking. “I tell her everything.”

His jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I thought what we had was private. I guess I was wrong.”

“Private?” you repeat, your voice rising. “You’ve been calling me nonstop for weeks, leaving voicemails threatening to kill yourself, and now you want to talk about privacy?”

“That’s different,” he snaps, his control slipping for the first time.

“Is it?” you shoot back, your voice cracking. “Because it feels a hell of a lot like you’re just mad that I told someone the truth about you.”

He steps closer, and you instinctively take a step back. “You’re the one dragging her into this,” he says, his voice low but cutting. “You’re the one making this worse.”

“She’s worried about me!” you shout, your emotions spilling over, raw and unfiltered. “She’s worried because she knows what you’re like!”

His expression darkens, his gaze boring into yours. “She doesn’t know you like I do. She doesn’t know what you’re like when you’re falling apart. When you’re scared. When you don’t know what you want.”

“I know what I want!” you yell, your voice breaking. “I want to leave!”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“Then go,” he says, his tone soft but razor-sharp. “But don’t come back. Because if you walk out that door, Y/N…” He pauses, his gaze steady and unrelenting. “I promise you’ll never see me again.”

Your chest tightens, panic clawing at your insides. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m done,” he says simply. “I’m done chasing you, done begging you to talk to me, done waiting for you to figure out what you want.”

You stare at him, your mind racing, your pulse pounding in your ears. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

Your phone buzzes again in your hand, the sound startling you. You glance down at the screen, Ji-hye’s name flashing like a lifeline.

“She’s outside,” you say, your voice trembling. “She’s waiting for me.”

He doesn’t react at first. And then—

“Of course she is.” His lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile. “You always need someone to save you, don’t you?”

The words hit you like a slap, the sting radiating through your chest.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

“Go ahead,” he says, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door. “Run to her. But don’t pretend you’re doing this for you. We both know you don’t have the guts to face this on your own.”

Your legs feel like lead, your heart pounding as you take a shaky step toward the door.

And as you reach for the handle, his voice cuts through the silence one last time.

“When you realize I’m right,” he says softly, “don’t bother coming back.”

You don’t look at him as you open the door.

But you feel his eyes on you the whole way out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The car door shuts behind you with a heavy, final thud.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your own ragged breathing, loud and uneven in the stillness of the cabin. The air inside feels thick, stagnant. You reach for your seatbelt with trembling hands, but the buckle slips from your fingers twice before you manage to click it into place.

Ji-hye doesn’t start the car. She doesn’t even move.

Her knuckles are wrapped tight around the steering wheel, her nails biting into the leather. The dim glow of the dashboard casts her face in sharp relief — her set jaw, the hard line of her mouth, the slight tremble in her lips she’s fighting to keep still.

Her eyes flicker toward you, then away, like she can’t bear to look too long. “You okay?” she asks, her voice low, strained. The question sounds more like an accusation than concern.

You nod — a jerky, unconvincing motion that does nothing to quiet the storm inside you. “I’m fine,” you lie, your voice breaking on the last syllable.

Her fingers tighten on the wheel, the tendons standing out in sharp relief. “You don’t look fine.”

“I just…” You press your hands to your lap, flattening them against the fabric of your dress to keep them from shaking. “I just want to go home.”

She exhales sharply, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. But she doesn’t start the car.

“What happened, Y/N?” Her voice is still low, but there’s an edge to it now — a tremor beneath the surface, like she’s holding herself back from grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking the truth out of you.

“Nothing happened,” you say too quickly, too defensively.

Ji-hye’s head snaps toward you, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t bullshit me.”

You flinch at the sharpness in her tone, the anger laced through it, though you know it’s not directed at you.

“I…” You shake your head, your breath hitching. “I don’t know.”

Her jaw tightens. She turns back to the steering wheel, but her fingers twitch against it, like she’s holding herself back from punching something. “What the fuck does that mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean I don’t remember!” The words explode out of you before you can stop them, loud and jagged and filled with panic. Your chest heaves, and your eyes sting as the tears start to well up again. “I don’t fucking remember, Ji-hye! I blacked out, okay? I don’t know what happened!”

She goes still, completely still, her hands frozen on the wheel. Slowly, she turns to look at you again. “You don’t remember anything?”

Your breath hitches, and you shake your head.

Her gaze sharpens, her eyes scanning your face like she’s searching for the pieces of a puzzle you can’t see. “But you woke up there,” she says finally, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “At his place.”

You nod, and the weight of the admission makes your chest tighten, makes the shame press down harder.

Ji-hye leans back in her seat, dragging a hand through her hair. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath.

Her reaction makes your stomach churn. “I—” Your voice cracks, and you have to swallow hard before you can speak again. “I don’t know if anything happened.”

Her head snaps toward you again, her eyes widening. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t know,” you whisper, the tears spilling over now, hot and relentless. You clutch at your dress, twisting the fabric in your fists as the words come tumbling out. “I don’t remember getting there. I don’t remember going to bed. But when I woke up—” Your voice falters, your breath hitching painfully. “There were bruises, Ji-hye. On my thighs. And my underwear was—” You choke on the words, unable to finish the sentence.

The silence in the car is suffocating.

Ji-hye doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and when you finally glance at her, her expression makes your chest tighten even more. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and her eyes are dark, her gaze fixed on the dashboard like she’s barely holding herself together.

“You think he—” She can’t even finish the question.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, the words barely audible. “I don’t know, Ji-hye. But what if he didn’t? What if I’m just overthinking it? What if I’m—”

“Stop.” Her voice cuts through your rambling, sharp and commanding. She turns to you fully now, her gaze locking onto yours. “Stop right there. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. Don’t you fucking dare.”

“But—”

“There is no ‘but,’” she snaps, her voice rising. “You were drunk, Y/N. If he did anything — anything — that you didn’t consent to, it’s not your fault. Do you understand me?”

You can’t answer. Your throat is too tight, your chest heaving as you fight to keep yourself together.

Ji-hye exhales sharply, dragging her hands through her hair again. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, her voice trembling now. “That fucking piece of shit.”

Her words make your stomach twist, the nausea bubbling up again. “What if I—”

“You didn’t do anything,” she cuts you off again, her voice softening but no less firm. “Do you hear me? You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one—” She stops herself, her voice breaking on the last word. She clenches her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and unbearable.

Finally, Ji-hye starts the car, but she doesn’t drive. The engine hums beneath you, the only sound in the suffocating quiet.

“What do I do?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Ji-hye’s hands tighten on the wheel. She stares straight ahead, her gaze burning with quiet fury. “You don’t go back to him,” she says, her voice steady now. “Not ever. I don’t care what it takes, Y/N. He doesn’t get to be a part of your life anymore.”

You swallow hard, her words cutting through the fog in your mind like a lifeline.

“We’ll figure it out,” Ji-hye says, her voice softening. She reaches over, her hand resting on yours. Her grip is warm and steady, grounding you. “I promise. Whatever you need, I’ll be here.”

The weight of her words sinks into you, anchoring you to the moment. You don’t know what comes next. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to put the pieces of last night together.

But for now, you let her words steady you. For now, you let yourself believe her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air smells like caramelized sugar and charred meat. Smoke curls from food stalls, the sizzle of grilling pork belly mingling with the faintly sweet aroma of tteokbokki simmering in spicy sauce. Somewhere in the distance, someone’s laughing, the sound light and bright, cutting through the low hum of the crowd.

Ji-hye’s arm loops through yours, her grip warm and grounding as she steers you through the maze of vendors. It’s loud here, chaotic in the way only street markets can be, but you’ve missed it—this pulsing rhythm of life, the neon lights reflecting off puddles of rainwater on the pavement, the voices overlapping as vendors shout over one another to hawk their food.

“Y/N,” Ji-hye says, tilting her head toward a stall where skewers of fish cake glisten in the warm glow of a heat lamp. “You want one?”

You start to shake your head, but the look on her face stops you. She’s been trying so hard to pull you out of your own head, to make you laugh, to make you eat.

“Sure,” you say. Your voice feels foreign, stiff and distant, but Ji-hye beams anyway.

She orders two skewers, handing one to you before taking a bite of her own. “This is the best part about winter,” she says, her words muffled around a mouthful of food. “I swear I could eat eomuk every single day.”

You take a bite, the broth-soaked fish cake warm and savory on your tongue. It’s good—comforting, even—but it doesn’t reach the hollow ache in your chest.

Ji-hye is still talking, something about the new club opening next weekend, but her voice fades into the background as your gaze snags on something across the street.

Purple hair.

Your breath catches in your throat, the skewer trembling slightly in your hand. It’s not him—it’s a girl, her hair cropped short and spiked, her face unfamiliar—but your body doesn’t know the difference.

Your heart is racing, the world around you narrowing to a pinpoint. The noise of the market fades, replaced by the pounding of your pulse in your ears.

“Y/N?” Ji-hye’s voice cuts through the haze, her hand on your arm.

You blink, your chest heaving as you drag your gaze away from the girl. “What?”

“Are you okay?” Her brow furrows, concern etched into every line of her face.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, forcing a shaky smile. “I just—thought I saw someone I knew.”

Her lips press together, like she doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she squeezes your arm and changes the subject, dragging you to the next stall.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. You smile when Ji-hye laughs, nod when she talks, but your mind is elsewhere. Your skin feels too tight, your senses stretched thin. Every shout from a vendor, every gust of cigarette smoke, every glimpse of purple in the crowd sends your heart skittering in your chest.

When you finally part ways with Ji-hye, your cheeks ache from forcing smiles, and your stomach churns with the weight of pretending.

The walk home is quiet. The market’s noise fades into the background as you leave it behind, replaced by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a stray dog.

Your apartment building looms ahead, its shadow stretching long and dark across the street.

You reach the door, your fingers trembling slightly as you punch in the code. The lock beeps, the door clicking open, and you step inside, the familiar scent of your apartment wrapping around you like a blanket.

Safe.

You kick off your shoes, leaving them by the door. The silence is heavy, pressing, but it’s better than the noise. Better than the chaos.

You make your way to the bathroom, the tiles cold under your bare feet. The fluorescent light flickers to life, casting your reflection in sharp relief.

You look… tired.

But not the same kind of tired you were before. It’s different now—less hollow, less fragile. Still frayed around the edges, but stitched together enough to pass.

You wash your face, the cool water shocking against your skin. Your movements are slow, methodical, each step of your routine grounding you just a little more.

The week since you left Su-bong’s apartment has been a blur.

You’ve thrown yourself into small, safe routines: going to work, meeting Ji-hye for meals, scrolling aimlessly through your phone until sleep overtakes you. Anything to fill the silence. Anything to drown out the questions.

For the first time in years, you feel like you’re breathing again. Slowly. Unevenly. But breathing.

Ji-hye says you look better. Healthier.

You believe her, mostly. Even though you still jump at sudden noises. Even though crowds make your chest feel tight. Even though you sometimes find yourself scanning unfamiliar faces for someone who isn’t there.

The clock reads 12:03 AM when you finally collapse onto the couch, a mug of tea cooling in your hands.

You’ve only just started to relax when the knock comes.

At first, you think you imagined it.

You weren’t expecting anyone this late.

Then it comes again. Louder this time.

You freeze.

Another knock.

“Y/N.”

Your heart drops into your stomach.

It’s him.

No. No, this isn’t possible. He doesn’t even know where you live.

You moved after the breakup. You didn’t tell anyone except Ji-hye.

So how the fuck does he know?

Your chest tightens, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as you stare at the door.

Another knock.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there.”

His voice is slurred, thick with alcohol or something stronger.

“I just want to talk. Please.”

Your fingers dig into the couch cushion, your nails scraping against the fabric.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says, the words cracking in his throat. “I shouldn’t have said those things. You know I didn’t mean them.”

The lump in your throat grows heavier, your stomach twisting violently.

“Don’t ignore me.” His tone shifts, harder now. “I can see the lights are on.”

Your pulse roars in your ears. You grab your phone from the coffee table, your hands trembling as you scroll to Ji-hye’s name.

The knocking stops, but his voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

“Y/N.”

Your fingers freeze.

“Just open the door, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

The weight of his words settles over you like a lead blanket.

“I need to see you.”

No.

“You’re not being fair, you know that? After everything we’ve been through…”

You press the phone to your chest, your other hand gripping the armrest so tightly your knuckles ache.

“Do you really want me to cause a scene?” His voice is softer now, coaxing, but the threat is clear beneath it. “Your neighbors don’t need to hear this, do they?”

The knot in your chest tightens, fear and anger twisting together into something sharp and unbearable.

“Come on,” he says again, his voice breaking slightly. “Please. I just… I just need to talk to you.”

The silence stretches, your own breathing ragged in the quiet.

Then, a softer knock.

“I’ll leave if you just talk to me,” he says. “I swear.”

You close your eyes, your stomach churning violently.

You don’t want to open the door.

You don’t want to see him.

But you know Su-bong.

You know how loud he can get when he doesn’t get his way.

And it’s late. Your neighbors are probably asleep.

You take a shaky breath, your body trembling as you rise to your feet.

The floor feels unsteady beneath you as you make your way to the door, every step heavier than the last.

Your fingers tremble as you unlock the deadbolt, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness.

You open the door just a crack, your body blocking the gap.

And there he is.

His hair is a mess, his shirt wrinkled and half-untucked. His eyes are bloodshot, his pupils blown wide. The faint smell of alcohol wafts off him, mixing with the cloying scent of his cheap cologne.

But it’s his expression that makes your stomach drop.

The desperation in his eyes.

The anger lurking just beneath it.

“Y/N.”

Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, soft and broken.

You grip the doorframe, your nails digging into the wood. “What do you want, Su-bong?”

“I want to talk.” He shifts his weight, his hands twitching at his sides. “That’s all. Just… just talk to me.”

The second you crack the door an inch more, you regret it.

It’s instinctive, the way you step back as he pushes forward, brushing past you into the apartment like it’s his. Like there aren’t layers of pain, distance, and boundaries between you now.

“Su-bong, wait—”

“I’m not waiting,” he says, his voice low, a slur of alcohol softening the edges. “Not after you’ve been ignoring me for a week.”

He’s already halfway to the couch. The door is still open, the cold night air seeping in as you stand frozen, your fingers gripping the edge of the doorframe like it might ground you.

He turns back to glance at you, his expression unreadable in the dim light of your apartment. “You’re going to leave it open?”

You blink, your heart hammering in your chest. Slowly, reluctantly, you close the door.

The sound of the lock clicking into place feels like a nail in your coffin.

When you turn back, he’s sitting on your couch, slouched like he’s settling in for a long stay. His elbows rest on his knees, his hands clasped together loosely, but there’s nothing casual about the way his gaze locks onto you.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.” His voice carries a hint of something sharp, but his eyes stay soft, almost sad. “I didn’t even know where to find you, Y/N. Do you have any idea what that felt like?”

You stay near the door, keeping as much distance as you can, your pulse roaring in your ears. “How did you even—”

“How did I find you?” He cuts you off, leaning back into the couch like he owns it, like it’s still the one you used to share. “I have my ways.”

Your stomach churns. The vagueness in his tone makes your skin crawl. “What do you want, Su-bong?”

He lets out a soft, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “What do I want? I want to know why you blocked me.”

His words hit like a slap, the audacity of them stealing the breath from your lungs. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” His gaze sharpens, the softness in his eyes hardening. “You didn’t even let me explain, Y/N. You just—what? Cut me out? Pretend I don’t exist?”

“I had to,” you say, your voice trembling. “You wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Because I needed you!” The words burst out of him, loud and raw, echoing in the quiet apartment. “I didn’t know where else to go! I didn’t know what else to do!”

Your throat tightens, your chest heaving as you fight to keep your composure. “That’s not my problem anymore, Su-bong.”

He flinches, just slightly, but the hurt in his eyes is quickly replaced by something sharper. “You really think you can just shut me out like that? Like I don’t matter?”

“I never said you don’t matter,” you whisper. “I just… I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Couldn’t do what?” he demands, standing suddenly. The movement makes you instinctively take a step back, your fingers brushing against the wall behind you.

“This.” You gesture between the two of you, your voice cracking. “You calling me nonstop. Showing up here. Saying things you can’t take back. I couldn’t—” Your voice falters, breaking on the words. “I couldn’t keep letting you drag me down with you.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Drag you down?” he repeats, his tone quiet but venomous.

You press yourself harder against the wall, your palms flat against the cool surface. “You know what I mean.”

He takes a slow step toward you, and your stomach twists violently. “No,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “I don’t think I do.”

“Su-bong, please,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just leave.”

He stops, just a few feet away from you now. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Your breath hitches, your chest tightening painfully. “Get what?”

He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. “You’re scared,” he says finally, his tone softening. “You’re scared because you don’t know what you’re doing without me.”

The words land like a punch to the gut. “That’s not true,” you say, your voice trembling.

“Yes, it is.” He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. “You’ve always been scared of being alone, Y/N. That’s why you stayed with me for so long, even when you knew you shouldn’t.”

Your nails dig into the wall behind you, the sharp pain grounding you. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” His voice softens, but it only makes the words hit harder. “You blocked me because you couldn’t handle it. Not because you’re over me. Not because you’re moving on. But because you’re scared of facing me.”

Your vision blurs with tears, your chest heaving. “That’s not true.”

“It’s not?” His voice drops to a whisper, his eyes searching yours. “If it’s not true, why’d you let me in?”

The question cuts deeper than you want to admit.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice breaking. “I don’t know why I let you in.”

His lips curl into something that’s not quite a smile, something that makes your stomach twist. “I do,” he says softly.

“What do you mean?”

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush against your arm. You flinch, but he doesn’t pull back.

“You let me in,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, “because you still love me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “That’s not—”

“You do,” he says, his tone almost gentle. “And that’s okay. I’m not mad about it. I’m not mad at you.”

His hand lingers on your arm, and you feel like you’re drowning, like the walls are closing in on you.

“Su-bong, please,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face now. “I can’t do this.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says, his voice soft and coaxing. “Just… let me stay. Just for a little while.”

You shake your head, your breath hitching. “I don’t want you here.”

“Yes, you do,” he says quietly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “You don’t have to say it, but I know you do.”

The weight of his hand on your face is unbearable.

And in that moment, you realize—

You’re trapped.

His hand lingers on your cheek, warm and steady, but the weight of it feels crushing. Your breath catches in your throat, your vision blurring as his thumb brushes gently over your skin. It’s too much — the closeness, the intimacy he’s trying to pull you back into.

“Stop,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He doesn’t.

“You don’t have to fight this,” Su-bong says softly, his voice slurring at the edges. “I’m not your enemy, Y/N.”

The words twist in your chest, sharp and suffocating. You push his hand away, your fingers trembling as you take a step back.

“You need to leave.” Your voice is quiet, but there’s an edge of panic creeping into it.

He doesn’t move. Instead, he watches you, his gaze heavy and unreadable. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, his voice low and raw. “Why are you pushing me away when you know—”

“Know what?” you snap, cutting him off. “What the fuck do I know, Su-bong? Because right now, I don’t know anything.”

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” you continue, your voice rising, breaking under the weight of your emotions. “I don’t know why you can’t just leave me alone. And I don’t know what the fuck happened that night.”

The room goes still.

For a moment, all you can hear is your own ragged breathing.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

Your chest tightens, your stomach twisting violently. “Don’t do that,” you say, your voice cracking. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

He shakes his head, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/N.”

“Stop lying!” The words burst out of you, loud and jagged, echoing in the suffocating silence. Tears spill down your cheeks, hot and relentless, as you take a shaky step forward. “Stop fucking lying to me, Su-bong!”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are!” Your voice breaks, the weight of your anger and fear crashing over you all at once. “You’ve been lying this whole fucking time, haven’t you? About everything.”

His gaze flickers, something dark and frantic flashing in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Tell me what happened that night,” you demand, your voice trembling but unrelenting. “Tell me what you did.”

He flinches, just slightly, but it’s enough.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. “I woke up in your bed, Su-bong. I had bruises on my thighs. My underwear was backward.” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight of the words. “And I don’t remember anything.”

His face goes pale, his eyes widening ever so slightly before he quickly looks away.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Fucking say something.”

He drags a hand through his hair, his movements jerky and unsteady. “I didn’t—” He stops, his jaw clenching so tightly you think it might shatter. “I didn’t mean for it to—”

Your stomach drops. “For it to what?”

His gaze snaps back to you, wild and panicked. “I wasn’t thinking, okay?” His voice rises, cracking at the edges. “You were just—”

He stops himself again, his words hanging in the air like a noose tightening around your throat.

“I was just what?” you demand, your voice trembling. “Say it, Su-bong. Finish your fucking sentence.”

He doesn’t.

He looks at you, his chest heaving, his lips parted as if he’s searching for the right words. But none come.

And that’s worse than anything he could have said.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. Your mind spins, piecing together fragments of the truth you’ve been trying to avoid.

“Did you…” The words catch in your throat, your stomach churning violently. “Did you touch me?”

“No,” he says quickly, too quickly.

You flinch, the sharpness of his denial cutting through you like a blade. “Then why can’t you just tell me what happened?”

His hands shake at his sides, his knuckles white as he clenches them into fists. “Because it doesn’t fucking matter, Y/N!”

The words hit like a slap, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“It doesn’t matter?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He exhales sharply, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s not what you think, okay? I didn’t—” He stops himself again, his voice breaking. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far.”

The room tilts, the weight of his words crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

“That far?” you whisper, your chest tightening painfully. “What the fuck does that mean, Su-bong?”

He doesn’t answer.

The silence is deafening, your pulse roaring in your ears as you stare at him, waiting, hoping for something—anything—that makes sense.

But all you get is the look on his face.

The guilt.

The shame.

The fear.

And you know.

You know.

Your legs give out, and you sink to the floor, your back pressing against the wall as your breath comes in short, shallow gasps.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice soft now, pleading. He takes a step toward you, but you hold up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “Don’t come near me.”

“Please,” he says, his tone desperate. “Just let me explain—”

“There’s nothing to explain,” you say, your voice cracking. “You did it, didn’t you?”

His silence is all the confirmation you need.

You press your hands to your face, your tears spilling over, hot and relentless.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, his voice breaking. “I swear, I didn’t—”

“Get out.”

The words are quiet but firm, cutting through the suffocating tension like a knife.

“Y/N, please—”

“Just fucking go!” you scream, your voice raw and jagged, echoing through the apartment.

He doesn’t.

“Get the fuck out!” you scream again, your voice raw and jagged, slicing through the suffocating tension.

But Su-bong doesn’t move.

Instead, he stares at you, his chest heaving, his face twisting into something you can’t quite recognize. Something darker. “I’m not leaving,” he says, his voice low, dangerous.

Your stomach twists violently. “You need to leave, Su-bong. Now.”

“Why?” he snaps, his voice rising. “So you can sit here and hate me? So you can keep twisting this into something it’s not?”

“Something it’s not?” Your voice cracks, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “You just admitted it! You just fucking said—”

“I said I didn’t mean for it to go that far!” he shouts, cutting you off. His face is flushed now, his eyes wild, the faint slur in his voice sharper. “That’s not the same thing!”

“It’s exactly the same thing!” you scream back, the words ripping out of you like a knife. “You knew I was drunk! You knew I couldn’t—”

“You didn’t say no,” he interrupts, his voice low and venomous.

The room falls silent.

Your breath catches in your throat, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut.

And then, quietly, trembling—

“That never stopped you before.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Su-bong’s face twists, something dark and ugly flashing across it. His jaw clenches, his fists tightening at his sides. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” you say, your voice shaking but firm. “You’ve always pushed, always taken. And I—” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight of your emotions. “I let you, because I loved you. Because I thought you loved me.”

“I do love you!” he shouts, his voice breaking. He takes a step closer, his movements unsteady, uncoordinated. “I’ve always fucking loved you!”

“Love?” you laugh bitterly, the sound harsh and cutting. “This isn’t love, Su-bong. This is control. This is you trying to fucking own me.”

“I don’t want to own you!” he yells, his voice cracking. “I just—” He stops, dragging a hand through his hair, his movements erratic. “I just want you to stay. I just want us to be okay again.”

“There is no ‘us,’” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “Not anymore.”

The words hit him like a physical blow. He staggers back slightly, his eyes wide, his chest heaving. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

And that’s when it happens.

He lunges forward, grabbing your wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you flinch. “Don’t do this,” he says, his voice desperate, pleading. “Please, Y/N. Don’t fucking do this.”

“Let me go.” Your voice is sharp, but your heart is racing, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Not until you listen to me!” he shouts, his grip tightening slightly.

“Let me go!” you scream, jerking your arm back. The force of it sends you both stumbling, and for a moment, everything is chaos.

Your hand connects with his chest—an instinctive push to get him away from you. He stumbles again, his back hitting the edge of the couch.

And then he snaps.

“Fuck!” he yells, slamming his fist into the wall beside him. The sound is loud, jarring, the plaster cracking under the force. “Why the fuck do you always have to make everything so goddamn hard?”

Tears stream down your face, hot and relentless, as you back away from him. “Get out,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Su-bong.”

“I’m not leaving,” he says, his voice low, dangerous. “Not until you stop lying to yourself. Not until you admit you still love me.”

You laugh. Bitter. Sharp. The sound scrapes its way out of your throat, raw and venomous.

“Love you?” you say, the words trembling on the edge of rage. “I fucking hate you.”

The air in the room shifts.

His expression changes — a flicker of something unrecognizable crossing his face before it hardens into something darker. He steps toward you, his chest heaving, his fists still clenching at his sides.

“What did you just say?” he asks, his voice dangerously quiet.

“You heard me,” you snap, your voice rising, shaking. “I hate you. I hate everything about you. I hate what you’ve done to me, what you’ve made me. I fucking hate you, Su-bong.”

For a second, you think he’s going to hit you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he reaches for the mug sitting on the table beside him.

“You hate me?” he says, his voice shaking with barely-contained rage. “After everything I’ve done for you? After everything I’ve put up with?”

The mug is in his hand now, his knuckles white as he grips it.

“You could barely last a week without me,” he spits, his voice rising. “You think you’re so fucking strong now? You’re nothing without me, Y/N. Nothing.”

And then he throws it.

It happens so fast, you barely have time to react.

The mug shatters against the wall behind you, fragments raining down around your feet. You flinch, your heart slamming against your ribs, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Are you fucking insane?” you scream, your voice cracking.

“You’re the one who made me like this!” he yells, his voice raw, ragged. He takes a step toward you, and you instinctively step back, your shoulders hitting the wall behind you.

“Get out,” you say, your voice trembling. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Su-bong.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

“Yes, you are!” you scream, your voice breaking. “You don’t get to do this to me anymore! You don’t get to keep fucking breaking me and acting like it’s my fault!”

“I never broke you!” he yells, his voice rising to a roar. “You were already broken, Y/N! You’ve been broken since the day I met you!”

The words hit like a slap, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face.

“Go ahead,” he snaps, his voice venomous. “Blame me for everything. That’s all you’ve ever been good at.”

“Blame you?” you shout, your chest heaving with rage. “You ruined my life, Su-bong! You fucking destroyed me, and you don’t even care!”

“I cared more than anyone else ever did!” he shouts back, his voice cracking. “No one else gave a shit about you, Y/N! No one else stayed!”

“I wish you hadn’t!” you scream, your voice breaking. “I wish I’d never met you!”

The room goes silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a guillotine.

He stares at you, his chest heaving, his hands shaking at his sides.

“Say it again,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet.

“I wish I never fucking met you,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

The air in the room shifts, heavy and suffocating.

His chest heaves with every labored breath, his fists trembling at his sides. And then he moves.

It’s a blur—the way he closes the distance between you, the way his hand shoots out and tangles in your hair. Pain flares at your scalp, sharp and instant, as he yanks you closer with a force that steals the breath from your lungs.

“Su-bong!” you cry, your hands flying up to claw at his wrist. “You’re hurting me!”

“No,” he snarls, his face inches from yours, his voice cracking with rage and desperation. “No, you’re hurting me, Y/N! You’re hurting me!”

His words are guttural, raw, as though they’ve been ripped from the deepest, ugliest part of him. His grip tightens, pulling harder, and you stumble, your knees buckling as you try to twist away.

“Let me go!” you scream, panic lacing every word. Your nails dig into his arm, leaving crescent-shaped marks against his skin, but it only seems to fuel him further.

“You don’t get to do this to me!” he yells, dragging you closer until you can feel the heat of his breath on your face, the wildness in his eyes swallowing you whole. “You don’t get to walk away like none of it mattered!”

“I didn’t—” Your voice cracks, tears spilling over, hot and relentless. “I didn’t do anything to you!”

“Liar,” he spits, his grip jerking you violently. “You’ve done everything, Y/N. You’ve ruined me, and you don’t even fucking care.”

Your heart pounds, a frantic, desperate rhythm that drowns out everything else. “Please,” you choke out, your voice trembling. “Please stop.”

But there’s no stopping him.

You twist sharply, pulling against his hold with every ounce of strength you have. He lets out a snarl of frustration as you manage to free yourself, stumbling back against the wall. For a moment, you think it’s over, that maybe he’s come to his senses.

But then his gaze drops to the lamp on the side table.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He doesn’t hesitate.

The lamp is in his hand before you can react, his fingers curling around its base like it’s an extension of his rage.

“You want me to stop?” he spits, his voice rising. “Fine. I’ll fucking stop.”

And then he throws it.

The lamp sails through the air, and for a split second, time seems to slow. You see it coming, but there’s no time to move. It smashes into your shoulder with a sickening thud, the force of it sending you sprawling to the floor.

Pain blooms instantly, sharp and white-hot, radiating from your shoulder down to your fingertips. You cry out, clutching the spot where it hit, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Does it hurt?” he taunts, his voice dripping with venom. “Good. Maybe now you’ll fucking listen to me.”

Your vision blurs with tears, the pain and fear twisting together into something unbearable. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” you scream, your voice breaking.

“What’s wrong with me?” he snaps, his voice cracking. “You, Y/N. You’re what’s wrong with me. You made me like this!”

“You’re insane,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

His laughter is low and bitter, a sound that sends chills down your spine. “You drove me to this. You, with your lies, your fucking games—”

“I didn’t play any games!” you shout, your chest heaving. “I just wanted to get away from you!”

“You don’t get to run!” he roars, his face twisting into something unrecognizable. “Not after everything I’ve done for you! Not after—”

He stops abruptly, his gaze flickering to you, then to your throat.

And before you can move, before you can scream, he’s on you.

His hands wrap around your neck, his grip cold and unrelenting.

At first, it doesn’t feel real—the pressure, the way your breath catches in your throat, the way his face looms above you, wild and furious. But then the reality slams into you all at once, and the panic sets in.

You claw at his hands, your nails scraping against his skin as you gasp for air. The world narrows to the sound of your strangled breaths, the pounding of your pulse in your ears, the fire spreading through your lungs as you fight to inhale.

“Why do you always make me do this?” he growls, his voice shaking with anger. “Why do you always push me, Y/N? Why?”

Your vision blurs, black spots creeping in at the edges.

He’s saying something else, his voice a low, guttural snarl, but you can’t make out the words. All you can focus on is the pressure, the way it feels like your throat is collapsing under his grip.

And then—

A loud, sharp knock cuts through the haze.

“Police! Open the door!”

The sound barely registers at first, muffled and distant, like it’s coming from another world.

But it’s enough.

The knocking grows louder, more insistent. Voices shout from the other side, commanding, urgent.

“Police! We’re coming in!”

Su-bong’s grip falters, just slightly, as the realization dawns on him.

His gaze snaps to the door, then back to you.

“You called the fucking cops?” he snarls, his grip tightening again, his face contorting with rage. “You think they can save you? You think anyone can fucking save you from me?”

The sound of the door bursting open cuts him off.

In an instant, the room is flooded with voices—sharp, commanding, barking orders that you can’t quite process.

“Get off her!”

“Hands up!”

Su-bong freezes, his hands still around your throat, his body trembling with barely-contained fury.

“Let her go now!”

For a moment, he doesn’t move. The tension in the room is suffocating, the weight of his anger pressing down on you like a vice.

And then, finally, he lets go.

You collapse to the floor, gasping for air, your body trembling violently as you clutch your throat.

The officers swarm him, grabbing his arms and pulling him away from you. He struggles against their hold, shouting obscenities, his voice wild and broken.

“She fucking lied!” he screams, his voice cracking. “She lied about everything!”

You don’t respond. You can’t.

All you can do is lie there, your chest heaving, your vision blurred with tears, as the reality of what just happened crashes over you.

The officers’ voices blur together, a cacophony of sound that you can’t quite make out. One of them kneels beside you, their hand on your shoulder, their voice soft and steady.

“Miss, are you okay?”

You don’t answer.

Your gaze drifts to Su-bong as they drag him toward the door, his screams echoing in the apartment.

And for the first time in years, you feel something you haven’t felt in so long—

Relief.

You know what’s good for you.

You’ve done what you could for him.

And he was finally gone.

[sungiescheotluv]

mirror muscles ⭑.ᐟ na jaemin

pairing: na jaemin x gender neutral reader

word count: 2.7k

tags/warnings: fluff, established relationship, suggestive, gym talk(?)

summary: doing your new resolutions with jaemin has always worked in your favor, most goals ticked off your lists. however, when you mention going to gym, jaemin's enthusiasm reaches new heights.

notes: hiyaaaa! it feels like forever since i last posted (two days omg 🙄) but i do hope you pretty stars enjoy this very indulgent fic! as an aspiring gym girlie, i'd do anything for this kind of princess treatment (particularly from jaemin 😋) also, the title of this is based on the soft play song with the same name (emo jisung, lemme give u some music recs). ok, i think i'm done here. wishing u all the best, much loveeee! <3

Note to self: never, under any circumstances, tell Jaemin your New Year’s resolution. Because one peek at your ambitious list and Jaemin will pry you from your warm bed, at the ass crack of dawn (might you add) to go to the gym because ‘nothing beats a morning pump.’

If you weren’t stupidly in love with him, you would’ve dropped a dumbbell on his toe.

How you get to this point is a lot more wholesome. Since the start of your relationship, once snow trickles down for Christmas, you two sit at your dining table with your laptops opened on Pinterest and pin-point what goals you'd like to achieve the following year. This way, you’re not shouldering your ambitions alone, having each other every step of the year as you tick off box after box. So far, you’ve managed to complete most of your goals. Go traveling, learn a new language, cook more home-cooked meals, limit screen time (still working on that) and many more. Jaemin was also progressing well: dedicating more time in his photography, reducing his coffee intake, going to bed earlier and visiting his mother more. 

For this year’s moodboard, while collecting pictures of your next set of goals, fitness content shows up in your recommendations. People in pilates studios in their pastel pink gym-sets. The aesthetic draws you in, how content people feel moving their body besides getting their 10k steps a day in. More photos start showing up, people sculpting their pride in the gym, sharing personal stories of their fitness journey and how the gym has taught them so much about themselves. What they’re capable of, what they never thought they could do and what opportunities lie await now that they’re happier in themselves. It all seems promising, even more so when you reconsider how bright your best friend’s life’s become since making the choice. She’d rarely accompany you to a game of badminton and now she’s pioneering her own run-club, amassing a social media following the size of an army.

You’d have to ask her how to get started once she’s back from her influencer trip (maybe content creating is something you needed to hop on). Then again, peering over your laptop screen to Jaemin’s glowing face, you could simply ask him. He’s been consistently going to the gym for a while now, to the point where you fake-pleaded for SM to close their gym because your boyfriend's become too buff for you to function. He’s always been gorgeous, with a face that could charm a snake, but now that he’s carved like a Renaissance sculpture, you couldn’t form a coherent sentence around him. Of course, aesthetic reasons are what lured him into the space, but he relays it’s become a lot more than that for him.

“I want to be strong, not only to build my confidence but to also protect my loved ones,” he looks directly at you, a serious hue to his eyes that has you breathless. “It’s another form of self-love, is my thinking. Showing up for myself, proving I can do hard things, even when I don’t want to. That I can step out of my comfort zone, trying new things and ultimately, living a longer life. Because at the end of the day, as much as I do this for me, I also do it so I can help you carry groceries. So that I can move furniture around when we move in together, be the one that my family calls if they need something physically demanding done,”

Fondness curves his lips, a flicker of timidity dart his eyes down to the desk before they flicker back up at you, astoundingly earnest as he says, “I’d also want to keep up with our kids. Carry them when they’re tired or run after them in a park. Those are my reasons.”

Something stutters in your chest. Then, leaps. Over the course of your three year relationship, it’s only natural that topics like this are mentioned, like marriage and children. Heck, you two shared a Pinterest board of decor ideas for the shared apartment you’d been on the lookout for. So, it shouldn't phase you but it does. How far into the future he sees with you. How he shares a bit of himself so effortlessly, in a way that lacks pressure and possesses good faith. Love and promise. All prominent themes throughout your relationship, one you thank your lucky stars for.

As a consequence, you flush. Folding like the early days of your relationships. “You’re getting bold these days. We haven’t even moved in together.”

“All in good time, angel,” he grins, looking a bit lovesick. “In any case, if this is something you wanna do, I’d be more than happy to help. Go to the gym with you so you don’t feel anxious, show you how to use the machines, get you workout clothes - whatever you want.”

You could marry this man.

You extend your arm across the wooden table, hand finding his as your fingers interlace, the same song and dance you’d hope you’d spend your life doing. “Thanks, baby.”

And now? Now, divorce weighs heavily on your mind.

In an effort to avoid the New Year’s crowd, Jaemin wakes you up early in the slum of days after Christmas where time doesn’t exist, cuddling into your half-sleeping figure with a gentle voice. Coaxes you to get up, slip on the new gym clothes you’d spent on his card (his treat, he said) and somehow, here you are, stinging eyes squinting under fluorescent lights with some EDM track playing faintly in the background.

“Oh, baby. Don’t look so down, you’re in good hands,” Jaemin coos, hand squishing your cheeks under your chin before pulling you into his chest, warm and comforting. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Couldn’t this wait until,” you glance at your fitness tracker, your own treat to yourself. “Midday? No one needs to be here at 9 am.”

“Maybe, but it’s a good way to start your day. Or get it out of the way,” he chuckles, spinning you out his arms before he wiggles his eyebrows. “Plus, who doesn’t want to see my muscles first thing in the morning?”

He drives home his point by kissing his bicep, something that should make you cringe out your skin or disappear without a trace, but no. Perhaps you’re still sleepy, shielding a snicker with your hand because of how lame (said adoringly) he is.

“You said you’d usually start off with thirty minutes on the treadmill, right?” You nod your head. “Okay, I’ll go with you. I’ll run for fifteen and row until you're done. So you don’t constantly have me in your ear.”

You laugh, because as grumpy as you’d been on the way here, you could never grow tired of him. All his carefree and mischief nature, his sweet and generous manner - you couldn’t even if you tried. 

Few people populate the modern gym, near to none in the cardio section as Jaemin refreshes your memory on all the buttons before you begin. Beside you, he does sporadic sprints, no heavy breaths clouding his chatter with you. You, on the other hand, keep it relatively reserved for your first time, upping the speed when you want to challenge yourself, surprising yourself with the distance and time that flies by. Soon enough, Jaemin’s squeezing your hand and moving a few rows back where the rowing machines are, leaving you with your walking playlist.

Again, in a flash, time passes by, upbeat songs blaring in your headphones that make you dance through the next fifteen minutes, a simmer of sadness coming when you’ve reached time with a whole host of songs still in the queue.

“You can listen to them next time,” Jaemin winks before leading you into a dark, LED room dotted with mirrors and yoga mats. This is one of the rooms booked for classes, but for now, it’s your stretching area where you cycle through some stretches and Jaemin jokes about folding you like a pretzel. 

The one other person in the room - a woman in her thirties - coughs, before smirking your way, the heat of your embarrassment migrating to your cheeks as you swat at Jaemin. He simply laughs, stretching to reveal his happy trail and suddenly, you forget why you’re even mad. 

When you’re finished, he shows you different sections - an assortment of cable machines, the weights area and then to an area with more machines. There’s a few people occupying the machines, immersed in their own world with flushed cheeks and sweat seeping into their clothes. It fills you with relief, that no one’s focused on you and your sweating figure as if you had ‘gym newbie’ written across your forehead. Jaemin shows you some of the machines he uses, depending on what he wants to work out but for the most part, lets you decide what machines you’d want to use - if any.

“Why do I need to put on muscle? You putting me in a headlock is good enough.” You fake-complain, feeding off the gentle approach Jaemin’s taken in trying to convert you to a gym rat.

“And you say I’m the dirty one,” he tsks with a matching grin. “You don’t need to do anything. All I’m doing is showing you the options you have. The more things you try, the more likely you’ll find something you lik-”

“Is that the slut machine?”

Jaemin’s head jerks back, eyebrows pinching together in confusion. “What are you talking about?’

“This one,” you approach the machine closeby, pointing to the photo attached along with its actual name - hip adduction. “Isn’t this the one where people like, open their legs like crazy?”

Jaemin shakes his head, amusement in the smile he swipes with his hand. “Yes, it is. Wanna give it a go?”

“Hell yeah,” you climb into the machine in a rush, finding the experience more exciting than scary as Jaemin makes sure everything is in order. “This is gonna be hilarious.”

“I’m setting it to a low weight. If it’s too easy, we’ll move it upwards and try and find your range,” he comments, looking at you through his silver hair. “You ready?”

“Ready,” and you go, the weight moving like nothing, so much so that when it sets back to its original position, you’re more caught off guard by how far apart your legs are spread. “This is so raunchy, ohmygod.”

“Good thing it’s facing the wall,” Jaemin laughs at you shielding in between your legs. He ups the weight, the number looking a lot scarier than anticipated. “Let’s try this then. You should be able to rep 10 of these.”

You shuffle, a bit unconvinced. Taking a breath, you engage the machine, exerting more effort than before but managing to do one rep. Then two, then three all the way up to ten. Enough to challenge you, but not strain you.

Jaemin howls, pinching your cheek as he says, “Look at you go! That was great.”

“Thank you,” you huff, the tingle in your thighs somehow the source of the happiness in your chest. “That was really fun, actually.”

“Isn’t it?” Jaemin smiles, using some paper towel to wipe after the machine for you. “Usually people do about three sets of those. Reps depend on what you want to do - build endurance, muscle strength, all that. But that was really great, I’m so proud of you.”

And you feel proud of yourself too. Having tried something new, feeling unsure but leaning into the feeling. Letting yourself see how far you can extend yourself, pleasantly surprised with the distance. 

So, this was what Jaemin was on about.

You continue your morning like this, getting a personalised tutoring session in how certain machines works and what areas they work out. Jaemin runs through his leg day, since you two were on the hip adduction machine, enjoying more exercises like leg press and goblet squats. By the time you get to the hip thrust machine to try, someone’s occupying it. Jaemin suggests using the squat rack, the scary thing with a long barbell and weights attached to it. Sensing your apprehension, Jaemin lets you know he’s got you, coaching you through the exercise and any queries you may have about movement or positioning. Eventually, it’s your turn to lean against the incline bench and despite your fear, you work your way through 8 hip thrusts. You don’t nearly enjoy it as much as people online talk about it, which Jaemin says,

“That’s perfectly fine. There’s so many exercises that work the same areas. You’ll find one you prefer.” 

Finished for your session, Jaemin asks for you to hold tight while he does some deadlifts. It’s maddening watching him pick up such heavy weights, concentration knitting his eyebrows together with his exposed arms flexing under the tension. Wearing a sleeveless top for the gym in theory is great, but for your mental health? Bad, so bad. 

Because even if your body rings with exhaustion, the kind that’s refreshing and ensures a peaceful slumber, you’re about ready to jump his bone. 

Ill with lust, as you’d joke. 

Jaemin snickers, snapping his waist belt off with one hand, which shouldn’t be sexy but is. Your eyes then trail to the barbell, the memory of Jaemin’s set vivid in your mind.

“Did you wanna try it?” Jaemin asks, reading your mind. “We can start off with no weights. Just the barbell. There’s also different variations of a deadlift, let’s see which one you prefer.”

Out of the three, you pick the most conventional one to start with, teeth sinking into your bottom lip at what you’ve gotten yourself into. Particularly after Jaemin loads weights on each end when you've rehearsed with the barbell.

“Think of the barbell cutting your feet in half - not standing too close so that your shins are touching it and not too far away that you have to lean to grab it,” Jaemin coaches, your feet shuffling into the right position. “Nice. Let’s move onto the hinge movement,”

From behind you, his hands settle onto your hips, pulling them back with him. He pats them, a chuckle left in his wake as he steps to your side to demonstrate without overly being horny. 

Bastard.

“Like you just did, you’ve gotta hinge your hips backwards until you can’t hinge anymore. Then, you’ll move a little into your knees, like a squat almost so you can grab the barbell,” you follow along, the barbell cold against your hands as you blow a breath.

“Great. Keep your body tense, engage your core and glutes. No arch,” his hand hovers over the arch of your back, something teasing in his smile. “Show your chest, keep your head up straight and lift the barbell up. Remember to keep it close to your body before you lower it down with the same hinge movement and movement into your knees.”

You puff out another breath, the same fear you’ve conquered throughout the session whirring in your chest.

“Don’t worry, angel,” Jaemin smiles, moving behind you again with hovered hands around your figure. “I’ve got you. You’ve got you.” 

Again, his words dawn on you. All the power in your hands, a feeling your heart wants nothing more than to run towards as you lift up the barbell, strength personified as you wait at the top of your stance, smiling at the “Let’s fucking go, you’re doing it! You’re doing it, angel!” in your ear. You hinge backwards, the weight knocked down to the floor with no tension on your back as expected.

Once you’re upright again, Jaemin engulfs you in a backhug, lifting your figure off the floor and kissing your neck, drawing giggles out of you. Joy moves through your body like warm light at his excitement that exceeds your own, belief not setting in quite yet.

“I can’t believe you,” he coos, the mirror ahead of you capturing the embrace he holds you in, the elation in his eyes as he does nothing but adore you. Like he’s always done. “Actually, I can. You’ve got a laundry list of things you’re good at. Can you believe it?”

“Not originally,” you admit, the confession somewhat bittersweet. “But after this, I think I’d better have more faith in myself.”

Fondness finds itself in his lips again, a kiss against your cheek as he gently guides you out the way, lifting the barbell onto the rack with his gaze in the mirror directed to yours. 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

And you fall into laughter, helping him slid off the weights before flexing in the mirror like you wanted, finding a different strength in yourself with Jaemin by your side.

[oceanicwriting]

quickly.

summary: you and mattheo are coworkers at your father's bank. you're both pretty competitive in the area, but you were both madly in love outside of that.

pairing(s): mattheo riddle x fem!reader

a/n: sorry if this is boring! i've been on my road trip and i haven't had much time to post. i'll keep doing my best, promise and kisses <3.

+18 smut, standing, public sex, praising, cursing

ㅤㅤㅤ the museum where the fundraising dinner for the magic school in london will be held shines like never before. among all its event rooms, there is one that has large paintings, tables, and people talking animatedly. among those guests was you.

ㅤㅤㅤ ever since you finished school, you have worked at the bank that your father owns. you have always been part of the project coordination wing, leading selected teams to develop marketing strategies or loan plans for companies in the magic world.

ㅤㅤㅤ —young lady! how are you? —an adult man, accompanied by a girl who looks your age, calls out from behind you—. your father just told me about your latest project for mr. graham's company. i must admit, it's genius.

ㅤㅤㅤ you smile cordially, accepting the man's hand. you were trying to remember his name since you turned to see him, but in the whole work conversation, you couldn't do it.

ㅤㅤㅤ —it's just a wonderful idea... oh, mr. riddle! —the man stops, looking over your shoulder—. i didn't know you had arrived. george told me you had been delayed by traffic a while ago.

ㅤㅤㅤ mattheo riddle, your worst enemy and precious boyfriend. although that last thing was a secret that both of you kept under the rug due to your father's strict policy of no relationships between workers. yes, you were sure that if you talked about this with your father, he wouldn't have a problem, but keeping it a secret was a little more provocative than you would like to admit.

ㅤㅤㅤ when you turn to look at him, taking in his figure in that tight black suit, you have to hide the soft smile that forms on your lips with a long sip of champagne. on the contrary, mattheo doesn't seem to have any reaction to your outfit.

ㅤㅤㅤ —mr. whitestock. —a victorious smile draws on his lips—. how is everything here?

ㅤㅤㅤ now his lack of reaction makes sense. mattheo was watching you from the shadows long before passing by you to get the man's attention, knowing from the first moment that you didn't remember his name.

ㅤㅤㅤ —here with this beautiful young lady talking about her new project to boost mr. graham's international investments. what a lucky man! —the man says, making you smile angelically—. did you participate in that project?

ㅤㅤㅤ mattheo denies.

ㅤㅤㅤ —unfortunately the beautiful lady here didn't consider me. wasn't that right?

ㅤㅤㅤ you look at him, trying to keep your composure under his gaze and ironic comment.

ㅤㅤㅤ —well, mr. riddle, i had better candidates in mind. —and we know that working together would end up giving us away instantly—. besides, weren't you busy with your five failed projects?

ㅤㅤㅤ mattheo looks at you with a raised eyebrow, and although you can see the intention to respond, mr. whitestock steps forward saying—: oh! i see what's going on. a little rivalry gives more excitement to work, doesn't it?

ㅤㅤㅤ you look at your partner, who hides his smile under his hand.

ㅤㅤㅤ it's amazing to think that mattheo riddle, a man full of ambition and selfishness at work, had managed to make you fall in love effortlessly. it's likely that the greed of both of you had drawn blurred lines of desire that neither of you wanted to ignore. you liked him to be your biggest competition, but every time you were alone, he made sure to make you feel loved.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you don't have the slightest idea, mr. whitestock —you say, noticing how another investor calls the man from afar—. it seems that you are needed over there.

ㅤㅤㅤ the man turns, temporarily saying goodbye in case you sit together at dinner and walk away with his hand resting on the waist of his young companion. mattheo and you watch him walk away, side by side, feeling how his eyes fall on your tight figure in that beautiful white dress soon after.

ㅤㅤㅤ —don't look at me so much, mr. riddle, they'll think you like me.

ㅤㅤㅤ he lets out a soft laugh, taking another glass of champagne from the waitress who is passing in front of you with a full tray.

ㅤㅤㅤ —what can i do? you look beautiful in that dress —he whispers with a hoarse voice, clearing his throat and taking a sip—. really beautiful.

ㅤㅤㅤ you both remain silent when one of your colleagues passes in front of you, greeting him effusively.

ㅤㅤㅤ —beautiful enough to take me to dinner at a nice restaurant? or beautiful enough to break it when you have the chance?

ㅤㅤㅤ you move sensually to his right side, hoping that will draw his attention to the cut of the dress that shows one of your fine legs.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you know i'd do both in one night, love.

ㅤㅤㅤ a satisfied smile forms on your lips when you hear his nervous voice, but it fades as soon as you notice your father walking in your direction with a young investor at his side.

ㅤㅤㅤ you glance at mattheo beside you, circling his back to say softly—: matt, i'm not wearing any underwear today. just so you know.

ㅤㅤㅤ meeting your father halfway, you begin to listen to the ideas of the investor who accompanies him. In the middle of that you turn to see mattheo, who has not stopped looking at you even though he is trapped with some coworkers and squeezes his glass so hard that you feared it would explode in his hand. that is what you wanted.

ㅤㅤㅤ the rest of the night progresses normally. mattheo and you had to sit three tables away, listening to speeches, business conversations, and private jokes. when the formal part was over, the grown men began to dance on the dance floor. your father had insisted that you accompany him, but when you manage to escape with a glass of wine in hand, you begin to wander through the rooms full of art.

ㅤㅤㅤ minutes later you stop in front of the large frame that has a series of lines in red, black and yellow.

ㅤㅤㅤ —why so alone? —it's his voice, echoing in the almost empty place. you know he must have a vain smile for finding you without company, how could you not know?

ㅤㅤㅤ —thinking —you say, listening to his quiet steps approach you—. don't you think this painting is grotesque?

ㅤㅤㅤ he comes up behind you, hugging you and leaving a trail of kisses on your bare shoulders. they are calm, sonorous, and warm as always.

ㅤㅤㅤ —grotesque? —he questions, his voice and the smell of cologne playing with the little thread of sanity you have before his warmth—. it looks like a bunch of meaningless lines.

ㅤㅤㅤ you let out a laugh that is accompanied by the soft sound of mattheo's kisses. you settle into his arms, turning to see his calm eyes, roaming over your face as if he’s seeing it for the first time. his hands move down to your ass to press you against him.

ㅤㅤㅤ —do you know there are cameras in here? —you ask, kissing his mischievous smile softly—. as much as you want to fuck me, you can’t.

ㅤㅤㅤ —the bathrooms are always available.

ㅤㅤㅤ —with all those middle-aged men going to the bathroom every two minutes? not really my kind of sex.

ㅤㅤㅤ mattheo moves in to capture your lips in a disgustingly lustful kiss. his tongue enters your mouth to play with yours instantly, while his hands squeeze your ass and rub you against his pelvis. your hands hug his neck, panting softly at the desperation of his lips. he was as perfect as ever, but you had to stop him before you couldn't take it anymore.

ㅤㅤㅤ —matt... —you say, gently hitting his shoulder—. mattheo, wait.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i promise i'll do it quickly. okay, love?

ㅤㅤㅤ you caress his face that doesn't waste seconds to disappear into your neck, tickling with the tips of his messy hair brushing your skin. you look at the camera of the place with a growing need that mattheo, with those wet kisses spreading on your neck, doesn't help to lower.

ㅤㅤㅤ —come with me —he says suddenly, taking your hand and leading you through the halls.

ㅤㅤㅤ you don't remember exactly the path he takes you, but mattheo seems to have complete knowledge of where to go. when you get to a place with less light, he stops you right against a thick marble pillar. he doesn't even let you ask and catches your lips in the middle of a deep growl.

ㅤㅤㅤ it doesn't take you long to get used to the movement of his mouth against yours, responding with the same intensity that envelops you like never before. you feel butterflies in your stomach that carry a series of tickles to the rest of your body. mattheo kisses your cheeks and licks your earlobe and neck so calmly that you can't help but laugh between your sighs.

ㅤㅤㅤ mattheo takes the glass from your hands, drinking the remaining drink in it and leaving it on the floor.

ㅤㅤㅤ —let me check if you were lying —he says, putting his hand in the cut of the dress, reaching your wet pussy—. what a nasty girl. at a charity meeting, love?

ㅤㅤㅤ you laugh, being forced to turn your back and spread your legs.

ㅤㅤㅤ —don’t pretend your cock hasn’t hurt all dinner, matt —you say, moaning afterward at the slow massage he’s started on your clit—. i can feel it.

ㅤㅤㅤ you know he has a smile on his face by the way he kisses your bare back softly. besides, mattheo is a man who enjoys it when you start vocalizing what he does to you, and that’s exactly what happens when he caresses that sensitive spot.

ㅤㅤㅤ —too bad i can’t enjoy this for longer. —you can hear his pants falling down his legs and, shortly after, the tip of his member threatening your entrance—. but we have to hurry if you don’t want them to know what a slutty you are.

ㅤㅤㅤ a cry that echoes between the high ceilings escapes your lips when mattheo buries himself completely inside you. his hand stimulating your clit has stopped, helping you keep your composure at his large size filling every inch of you.

ㅤㅤㅤ —ready?

ㅤㅤㅤ you nod. mattheo watches the waves of your hair bounce against the top of your shoulders and spreads kisses down your empty back before he begins to move.

ㅤㅤㅤ at first he’s not soft or tender as if he’s afraid you’re going to break into pieces because he thrusts hard the same moment he feels your walls tighten around him. he was eager to hear you, to make you shiver and touch your entire warm body. mattheo felt so hot to feel your deepest being that even he was surprised.

ㅤㅤㅤ his mouth takes care of biting and kissing your shoulders softly, enjoying how the echo makes your sounds and his attack them from all directions.

ㅤㅤㅤ —is this what you wanted, right? —he asks, stopping abruptly and bringing his hand to your clit—. is this what you wanted to happen when you came without underwear?

ㅤㅤㅤ his fingers massage your erect area in circles, pushing themselves inside you lazily, grunting and sighing against your ears. you try to regain your speech as best you can, because you needed to hear the hard crash of his pelvis against your buttocks, you need him to bite your shoulders as if he were dying to mark you and for your juices to splash on his cock.

ㅤㅤㅤ —matt...

ㅤㅤㅤ —yes, love? come on, you can talk.

ㅤㅤㅤ —just, please, move faster —you whimper, lowering your hand to his to increase the movement of his fingers pressing your clit—. please. i need you to give me hard.

ㅤㅤㅤ a laugh, mixed with a pleasurable sound, is drowned out when they find your lips to do what you ask.

ㅤㅤㅤ his thrusts have become so violent that he forces you to rest your hands on the pillar to keep from hitting your head against it. you gasp and moan with an intensity that's impossible to control because mattheo knew exactly how to stimulate your body until you were brought to ruin.

ㅤㅤㅤ —m-more, matt. a little...

ㅤㅤㅤ from the first moment you hooked up at an office party, he discovered that you needed him to talk to you to release your orgasm. you loved how his raspy voice, full of lust, praises the way only you know how to take it.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you're doing well —he says, lifting your dress a little more to see his cock disappear between your thighs and pelvis crash against your ass—. s-shit. such a nice view and so little time.

ㅤㅤㅤ your hips seek the sensation of your desperate orgasm in a movement against mattheo, coupling with his thrusts to deepen his entrance as much as you can. the muffled screams that leave your throat are lightened by the soft laughter that hides the boy's moans.

ㅤㅤㅤ —so tight and perfect looking for more.

ㅤㅤㅤ it's the way he talks to you, how his hand squeezes your hip to pull you against him while the other massages your clit. it's the mix that all that does with the aroma of his cologne that makes you stop breathing.

ㅤㅤㅤ —come on, love, just cum for me.

ㅤㅤㅤ the shock of his breath hitting your ear is enough to feel a tingle throughout your body, contracting your muscles and stifling a scream. your orgasm is so powerful that it cuts off your breathing and weakens your legs, forcing mattheo to hold you in his last thrusts that fill your insides with his semen. god, how you loved the heat of his semen taking you.

ㅤㅤㅤ —are you okay? —you nod, mattheo stops holding you to get out and fix his clothes while you lean on the large marble post—. come here.

ㅤㅤㅤ he hugs you again, capturing your lips and caressing your back while his tender kiss imprisons you against the wall.

ㅤㅤㅤ —if a camera caught us, they will talk to my father —you whisper.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i will take care of that.

ㅤㅤㅤ that makes you laugh, separating yourself to look into his brown eyes delirious from his orgasm seconds ago. he is so cute that you could die in his arms and you would be the happiest person on the planet. mattheo caresses your cheeks gently.

ㅤㅤㅤ —go back first —he says, taking two steps back. you pick up the glass from the floor and kiss his cheek—. i love you.

ㅤㅤㅤ you look at him, paralyzed by those words that had not been said until this very moment. his soft eyes with a hint of fear for having said it only make your heart beat much faster and a giant smile appear on your lips to hug him tightly.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i love you too, matt.

[etherealval]

actress!reader and chris sturniolo’s first time meeting | a/n: so excited to expand into this au !!

the party was in full swing, the bass from the music thrumming through the walls and floor like a second heartbeat. bodies packed the house, filling every corner with chatter, laughter, and the faint clinking of glasses. you stood in the corner, nursing a drink you didn’t even like, a sugary, overly sweet concoction that phoebe had handed you earlier. you’d tried to sip it as slowly as possible, mostly as a distraction from the fact that you didn’t want to be here in the first place.

phoebe had dragged you along, promising it’d be fun, that you’d meet cool people and make memories. but right now, she was in the bathroom, and you were stuck standing awkwardly by yourself, dodging glances from strangers who looked a little too eager to start small talk. part of you wished you were at home, curled up with a book, the soundtrack of this party replaced by pages turning.

when phoebe finally emerged from the hallway, you let out a quiet breath of relief, until you noticed she wasn’t alone. trailing behind her were three guys, all tall, with strikingly similar features. it took you a second to realize they were triplets.

“this is nick, matt, and chris,” phoebe introduced, her tone casual, as if she hadn’t just walked over with some of the most recognizable faces on the internet.

your eyes flicked between them, offering a polite smile. “hi,” you said softly, unsure of how else to respond. but before you could even finish your greeting, the one in the beanie, chris, you remembered. stepped forward with a teasing grin tugging at his lips.

“wait a second,” he said, pointing at you like he was making some grand revelation. “aren’t you that girl from that netflix show?”

you blinked, caught off guard by the playful accusation. “uh… i guess? if you mean stranger things, then yeah.”his grin widened, and he snapped his fingers like he’d just won a bet.

“knew it. max mayfield in the flesh.” he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms in an exaggeratedly cool pose. “wow, never thought i’d be rubbing elbows with a big hollywood star tonight.

you rolled your eyes, but a laugh bubbled out before you could stop it. “you’re being dramatic,” you said, shaking your head. “i’m not that big of a deal.”

nick, standing just behind chris, snorted. “you’re kidding, right? this dude is obsessed with you. we’ve heard about you, like, a hundred times.”

“nick,” chris hissed, his face flushing as he shot his brother a sharp look.

your brow quirked, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “oh, really?” you asked, tilting your head as you met chris’s flustered gaze.

“ignore him,” chris muttered quickly, running a hand through his hair. but the telltale redness creeping up his neck betrayed him. “he’s exaggerating.”

phoebe, who had been watching the exchange with an amused expression, leaned closer to you and whispered loudly enough for chris to hear, “looks like someone’s been caught”

“whatever,” chris muttered, his usual playful confidence faltering for a moment before he straightened up again. he met your eyes, a boyish grin creeping back onto his face.

“i’m just saying, it’s cool to meet you. no shame in admitting it.”the sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and you felt a warmth bloom in your chest that wasn’t there earlier.

“thanks. it’s nice to meet you too.”“so,” he said, leaning a little closer, “what’s a big hollywood actress like you doing in the corner of a party like this?”

“hating every second of it,” you admitted dryly, a playful glint in your eyes. he laughed at that, the sound rich and warm over the music.

“then let me make it better,” he said, his voice softening just enough to feel genuine. “stick with me, and i promise i’ll keep it interesting.”

and for the first time that night, you didn’t feel so out of place.

taglist: @heartsforvin , @sturncakez , @matts-myloverboy , @mattsbitchh , @zayluvss , @ilyttmatsa , @sturniolosluttt

[wlwsoccerfics]

This was not the plan (Lena OberdorfxSchüllerReader)

Summary: you and Lena really wanted to tell Lea about your relationship but things don't go as planned.

Warnings: mentions of minor s*xual activity, small argument, swearing

You and Lena have been together for 3 months now. No one knew. You planned on telling people. Especially Lea. Your older sister who also happens to be Lenas best friend. But there was never the right time. The universe has funny ways of outing people though so she was about to find out soon. And it was totally not the way you or Obi would have chosen.

Lea and Lena were rooming together again at national Camp while you were rooming with Jule. She was your best friend & one of Lenas best friends. So the fact that you & her didn't even tell Jule about the relationship was making the two of you feel quite guilty sometimes. So your plan was to tell them in the next few weeks of camp.

The Team was currently having lunch downstairs while you and Obi said that you wanted to nap. It was obviously not the case. You two just wanted some time as a couple. It was day 3 of camp so you knew how long the others usually took to eat lunch so you had around 45 minutes to yourself. You just had to skip two doors down the corridor to get to Lenas room. Which was quickly done and you didn't even have the chance to open the door before your girlfriend managed to do that for you and pull you inside the room and into her arms. Kicking the door Close with her foot. She picked you up as the two of you kissed and carried you to the bed. "Finally some alone time!" you said in between kisses. "Let's make the most out of it. " Lena replied and laid down on top of you. The kiss deepened and her hands slipping under your shirt. "Take it off, Babe!" You whimpered out. You sat up a bit with her still on top of you. The brunette quickly removed your shirt and threw it on the floor.

You two shared lots of passionate kisses until you heard some voices. "What the f*ck!" Lea yelled out. You and Lena jump apart and you quickly put your shirt back on. "I can't believe this!" Jule said, clearly in shock. "Lea, Jule, we can explain!" Lena stated. "How you gonna explain to me that you are screwing my Little Sister behind my back?!" Lea asked. Clearly angry at her best friend. "We didn't mean to keep this a secret for so long but we wanted to find out what this is between us without anyone knowing!" You explained. "Well how long is this been going on and what is this?!" Lea asked. "Good question!" Jule answered. It was obvious that she was more hurt about you two not telling her about this. Lea on the other hand was furious. "We love eachother! And we have been together for 3 months!" You told them. "And it's really serious! Lea i love your sister! I apologize to both of you! This was not what we wanted! No one was supposed to be getting hurt or anything like that!" Lena explained. Thankfully after a few minutes you were able to defuse the situation a little.

You sat on Lena's bed next to her while Lea and Jule sat on Lea's bed. "So this really isn't just about...s*x?" Lea asked. You took Lenas hand and squeezed it gently. Looking over at your sister & Jule. "No this Is real, i love her." You answered, smiling softly. "Your sister is the best. I Love her with all of my heart! And the two of us promise to not keep important information from you Guys!" Lena replied. Smiling just as much. "I am happy for you! For both of you!" Jule told you. Which you appreciated. The talk ended in a group hug and then you went to tell the rest of the team about you being together.

Around 5 months later she proposed to you and you said yes. Which you told Jule and Lea about. But they knew about the proposal before you did because she asked your parents, Lea and Jule for their blessings since they are the most important people in your Life, apart from her of course. The Wedding was 4 months after that and you couldn't be happier. Life was amazing.

[coffee-obsessed-freak]

I need to talk about this because it’s eating me up alive

SNOWCROW THOUGHTS LET’S GO

Okay, so I don’t think these two have even MET in canon, I’m also pretty sure Zayne only knows Sylus as the head of Onychinus and the most wanted man alive, BUT— their personalities? Their possible dynamic? I just think it would work sooo well, like slow burn mixed with different-morals with a hint of angst (a lot, actually, cuz that’s just the type of people they are)

I think a lot about Sylus “cannot-go-a-day-without-physical-touch” with Mr. Zayne “Withdrawn-but-will-always-respond-back” a LOT. Like, and I imagine that the first time Zayne is the one that initiates contact, Sylus is all wide-smirk and teasing quips. But Zayne KNOWS he’s happy about it, because it shows in the way his eyes will soften, and there are happy lines that pull his face upwards in a smile, and his ears are just the slightest bit red — to which Zayne is much more certain that his own are a shade darker, given the warmth he can feel

Their humor as well? I feel like Sylus would enjoy attempting to annoy Zayne a lot (the unstoppable force meets the immovable object), and Zayne would huff and reply back dryly or sarcastically quip something back. And Sylus would be so amused and smitten because Zayne is able to keep up with his energy — he’s just as sassy if not moreso. And his quips are always so smart, always an inside joke between the two of them that only they understand— Sylus would revel in the intimacy of that gesture alone

PLUS, RRRRR, the fact that they’d be polar opposites of each other? One will ruin the world for the other, the other will risk himself to save the world? Selfless x Selfish OOHH, MY HEART. BUT THAT’S THEM WHEN THEY’RE ON THEIR OWN. CAN YOU IMAGINE WHAT THEY’D BE LIKE TOGETHER? THE ROLES WOULD SWITCH. Sylus would risk himself to save “his world” (his significant other), and Zayne would defy GOD to save his. The selfless becomes selfish, and the selfish becomes selfless — all in the pursuit of saving the other. And I just think it would be so goddamn beautiful to see these characters who are so assured of their roles, of the parts that they need to play, immediately throw it all away for that one singular person

The level of trust it requires. The yearning. The divide of moral conflicts. But at the end of the day, if Sylus were ever to be stuck in a ditch or an alleyway, battered and bruised, I imagine all he’d need to do is give Zayne a call — and he’d drop everything just to speed his way over to Sylus. No questions asked

He’d nurse him back to health, and Sylus will be silent the whole time as he’s being looked after because — he isn’t used to this. Being fussed over like this. Sure the twins themselves will make a huge deal about it, but Zayne? Zayne is the quiet sort of worried. Zayne would look at him with those soft, concerned eyes and softer, lower voice and— and then what? Sylus is at a loss for once in his life. Because here is one of the most renowned cardiologists, who probably has more important things to deal with than someone who willingly throws himself into danger oftentimes for the thrill of it — scolding him softly, asking him about his well-being, spoon feeding him even

And I imagine Sylus would say, “You don’t have to worry about me being down on my luck, next time. I’ll make sure it won’t happen again” and that doesn’t ease the concern in Zayne’s gaze, but his shoulders slump down just slightly, and all he says back is, “I want to worry for you. And I will continue to” and it sounds like a promise that’s laced with something more than just a Doctor looking after his patient

In return, Sylus will take at least a week and a half off from doing any shady business (doctor’s orders, he says), and Zayne is all the more relieved about it because he’s following his orders for once and looking after himself more

And Zayne? Zayne doesn’t even need to call for aid when he wants it (Not that he will, the goddamn self-sacrificial bastard), because canonically? Sylus will know. He has eyes everywhere, he’ll keep a special eye out on Zayne every time, regardless of how busy he is. So on the occasion that Zayne finds himself in a fight he can’t win against, Sylus will pop out of nowhere and say he was “in the area” (no he wasn’t). They make for an amazing team.

And on lonely days where it’s just Zayne working overtime? Where he feels the heavy presence of silence in his office? There Sylus will be, waltzing into his office, late night snacks in his arms for his poor overworked Dr. Zayne, because luckily for Zayne, Sylus is a terrible night owl and an insomniac some nights. And Zayne, albeit a little startled and exasperated the first time it happens, welcomes it along with every other new thing this dynamic of theirs brings. He finds himself looking forward to it some nights when he works overtime, because Sylus likes to bring new things to show off to him, or new desserts that he thinks Zayne would like

All in all, I just think their dynamic would be so sweet dasdhsjkad

[nestaians]

repeat after me: just because a man is seen to be a good, kind person by people, his family, does not mean he can’t be terrible or abusive to someone else

cassian is seen as a good person by feyre, by inner circle, they see him as a “good, kind hearted male” when;

cassian has constantly invaded nesta’s boundaries and harassed her

he has done it from their first meeting, back when she was human

nesta has repeatedly made it clear she does not want to be around him

“leave me alone” he does not

cassian has constantly refused to listen to nesta’s wants and needs

“i don’t want anything from you”

when she talks of how wants her ceremony and he thinks of his family’s opinions first

when she says to not call her with that nickname

cassian has constantly stalked nesta and been possessive over her

cassian has constantly pushed nesta’s buttons

because he sees interacting with her as a game rather than talking to her like a normal person

cassian has constantly said nasty stuff to nesta

“i don’t understand why your sisters love you”

“not eating won’t bring your father back”

the shackled line

cassian constantly reminds nesta of things he believes are her wrongdoing

feyre hunting

cassian has constantly pushed nesta to her breaking point

the nasty comments

the hike

cassian has constantly made what happened to or what nesta does about himself

when cassian learns of what tomas did

nesta rejects him and he thinks it’s because of his upbringing

nesta opens up and talks about her childhood and he thinks that’s what she wants, a prince and makes it’s about his own upbringing

cassian has constantly tried to make nesta do things she doesn’t want nor asked about nor consent to

accept his presence

be train her to be a warrior

to make weapons and be used to win wars for rhysand

be nicer to feyre for feyre

be a part of his family

cassian has constantly let nesta down

his promises to protect her

his promises to keep her safe

him agreeing to lock her up in HoW

him laughing at her when she falls down the stairs and is hurt

him putting mor first

him sucking rhysand’s dick and not standing up for nesta when his precious high lord wants to use nesta as a weapon or worse wants her dead, instead cassian punishes her

him never saying anything to stop his family from making jokes or comments about nesta -it’s worse when u remember she has opened up to him about herself

him never standing up for nesta

him never putting nesta first

but it’s poor cassian, right? nesta was mean to him, didn’t accept his gift and broke his heart🥺

“nesta does not deserve cassian” and that i agree with, because these people are right, she does not

she deserves better

why is it okay for nesta to apologise to cassian for her having boundaries?

why is it okay for nesta to be gaslighted into believing she was in wrong?

why is it okay for nesta to think she has to earn cassian and others love after being with him?

what about cassian sexualising her when she was unhealthy?

where does cassian having sex with nesta while being her main caretaker for her recover from drinking, fucking and her trauma and her being a vulnerable emotional state come into this? it’s called taking an advantage

how is nessian not an abusive relationship?

nesta deserves a better mate, a good partner and a healthy romantic relationship where she can feel safe and be truly happy

like she has with valkyries

but it’s never going to happen with cassian bc cassian does not love nesta, he does not even like her for who she is nor sees her as her own person -like inner circle

inner circle as a whole are abusive towards nesta

cassian loves the idea of nesta, a strong proud queen, and having a mate for “someone like him” (his words, not mine) aka he has a lot of unresolved issues and he projects them onto nesta

nesta was abused as a child, then neglected and let down by her father, then sa again and again (tomas, the cauldron, etc) and now is in a toxic environment, forced to be apart of a toxic family where no one actually is there for her and is stuck with a man who does not actually love her

free her!

to summarise: cassian may be a good, kind and perfect male in the eyes of his family, but he is abusive towards nesta. men like that exist IRL

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/773392582602637312/httpswwwtumblrcomolderthannetfic773101778664?source=share

I want so badly to tell the people I follow to not respond to those asks anymore, as blocking the profiles doesn't make those answered asks not show up in my feed. And sure, people have a choice to do what they want on their own blogs, but sometimes people with blogs that otherwise have rock solid specific posting topics will post these bloody asks anyway and not question them for even a second, even if they otherwise seem like reasonably intelligent people. Of course, nobody wants to tell anyone to not do that, as they'd be labeled as a bigot, even tho I've been online for 2+ decades and I can smell scams from a mile away. I've gotten asks from these things, and I post barely anything let alone ever interacted or posted anything related to this specific topic. Plus, just think about the logic of a poor person in need sending asks to fandom blogs about fanart, RPF, all kinds of things like that, at least I could understand people falling for it if they talk about these things regularly. But no, people don't think. I got a duplicated ask, two of the exact same one at the sane time. I curiously browsed the blog it came from, there was a random shitpost reblog in between like a dozen "plz help us uwu" reblogs. I'm sure that poor helpless mother just found that specific fandom shitpost very funny and wasn't an accidental reblog to the wrong blog from another user to a side blog at all, nobody would ever do that. Begging people here to get a little bit of critical thinking, I promise you're not a bigot for questioning something, you are being emotionally manipulated, I'm sorry. Not all scams are penis pills and preying on your grandma. You are also an easily manipulated target, don't fall for it and it will go away.

--

IDK if it will go away. I block like three of these bots per day.

[gul4bjamoons]

✩ the sparks of sunrise; 

           omar marmoush ────── 

what happens when a certain receptionist finds herself drawn to the charm of the club’s newest signing?

⭑  wordcount : three thousand one hundred fifty-seven.

⭑  notes : i was supposed to put this up when he was announced but was sick out of my mind so whoops– enjoy it on his debut day instead ;)

˙⋆✮ masterlist.

Morning light filters softly through tall windows, illuminating the polished floors. Outside, the city stirs, slowly waking. Inside, the gentle hum of morning routines unfolds—the shuffle of feet, hushed voices. It’s a rhythm you know well, yet today feels different. 

A stillness hangs in the air, anticipation crackling as you prepare to meet Omar Marmoush, the club's newest signing. The buzz around him has been impossible to ignore—young, incredibly talented, a player with potential that could light up the field. But it’s not just his skill that’s caught everyone’s attention; it’s his reputation for being something of an enigma. Quiet, reserved, almost unreachable. The kind of guy who keeps to himself, preferring to let his play do the talking.

When the glass doors slide open, Omar steps through with a grace that seems almost calculated. The moment he enters, the air shifts. His presence is commanding despite his almost shy demeanor. There’s something about him—something that makes you pause for just a beat, like the sudden change of a breeze on a warm day. It’s not just his height or the way the light catches his sharp features; it’s the quiet confidence that emanates from him, like an unspoken promise of something more. 

His eyes, dark and observant, scan the room before landing on you, and when they do, there's a quiet intensity there, almost as if he's studying you in return.

"Good morning," you greet, offering him a warm, easy smile as you glance up from your desk. Your voice is light, the corners of your lips lifting automatically. "You’re early. Didn’t expect anyone for a while."

Omar’s gaze meets yours, his eyes steady, his expression unreadable at first, but then his lips quirk into a small, confident smile. “I prefer to be early,” he says, his voice calm and smooth, like the slow roll of waves lapping against the shore. “Can’t afford to waste time, right?”

The words are confident, but there’s a faint, almost undetectable edge of uncertainty in his eyes. You’ve seen it before, in other athletes, in other people who carry the weight of expectation on their shoulders. 

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by the way he seems to carry himself. “Agreed.” you reply, leaning back slightly in your chair, your eyes narrowing playfully. “Not many players are here though. I think the only one you’ll find around is the coach.”

His eyes flicker toward the hallway, his gaze momentarily distant, as if imagining the journey ahead. “I’m fine with that,” he says, readjusting his gym bag while stepping away. “I just need to get out on the pitch again.” 

You smile, amused. "Okay, but just so you know, the hall can be a bit of a maze. You’ll want to go straight, past the gym, and then left. It’s easy to get lost your first time."

Omar waves you off with a casual flick of his wrist, his grin still intact, but you notice something in the way his shoulders tense, the slightest hesitation in his movements. “I’ll manage.” he replies, a little too confidently, as if he’s trying to convince both you and himself.

There’s something about the way he says it, though—the way his jaw tightens just a little, the way his hands curl at his sides—that tells you he’s not entirely sure of himself. It’s the instinct of someone who’s used to standing alone, used to figuring things out in his own way. It’s also the instinct of someone who’s afraid of being seen as anything less than perfect.

“Alright,” you say with a knowing smile, unable to resist teasing him just a little. “But if you do get lost, I’ll be right here to help. Can’t promise I won’t make fun of you for it, though.”

Omar chuckles, a quiet self-awareness that lingers beneath the surface. “I won’t need that.” he says, his voice light and teasing, but you see the way his cheeks flush a little, the color creeping up his neck like a telltale sign. He’s not fooling you. 

You watch him carefully, noticing the way his posture straightens, his steps purposeful, yet unsure. And then, instead of turning right, where you’d directed him, he veers left, heading confidently down the middle of the hall towards the trophy room. 

You can’t help but laugh softly to yourself. 

"Hold on!" you call out, your voice light and teasing. "Didn’t you hear me? You’re supposed to head right. The locker room is the other way.” You push away from the desk and stand up, the heels of your shoes clicking on the floor as you make your way toward him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. 

Omar freezes mid-step, his body jerking just slightly, and then he turns slowly, his dark eyes meeting yours, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. His cheeks flush, and the awkwardness is palpable, but in that instant, he’s more human than anything else. 

“Oh, I misunderstood.” he admits, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “My bad.”

"Don’t worry," you say softly, the teasing lilt in your voice making it clear you’re not holding it against him. “It happens to the best of us. The walls here can be tricky.”

He chuckles, a quieter, more genuine sound now, and you notice how the tension seems to melt away from his shoulders. “Guess I was too caught up in my mind” he says with a half-shrug, the easy arrogance of earlier replaced with something more sincere.

“Yeah, that happens,” you reply, matching his pace. "But you’re going to want to pay attention to the signs, especially if you’re trying to avoid making a fool of yourself in front of the team. Good luck!”

Omar laughs and for the first time, you sense a little vulnerability behind that seemingly impenetrable exterior. "I’m sure they’ll forgive me. First day and all."

“First impressions are everything,” you tease, nudging him lightly with your shoulder as you walk. Your eyes meet, and for a heartbeat, there’s a spark there—a connection that neither of you acknowledges out loud, but it lingers between you, quiet and unspoken. “But lucky for you, I’ll make sure it’s a good one.”

As you approach the locker room, Omar’s steps slow, and he looks over at you with a smile. "Thanks. I guess I wasn’t as prepared as I thought.” he admits, his voice quieter now, the weight of his earlier bravado replaced by a touch of humility.

You give him slight shrug. "It’s no problem. The first day’s always the hardest. Besides, it's good to have someone show you around—no matter how much you think you’ve got it under control."

He looks at you one last time, and the expression on his face is a mixture of gratitude and something else, something more fleeting and harder to pinpoint. "I owe you one, I guess."

“No worries,” you reply, stepping aside to let him pass. “But you better keep that ego in check—next time, I won’t be here to bail you out.”

As the door swings closed behind him, you smile to yourself, the quiet satisfaction settling in your chest. He’ll fit right in here—he just doesn’t know it yet.

Guess first impressions do matter.

-       

Outside, the world was still drowsy, waiting for the sun to summon it into action. But inside the building, it had already begun. The soft rustle of movement—slightly muffled footsteps down the hall or the faint hum of the HVAC system sputtering to life.

You sat behind the reception desk, bathed in the amber glow of the early morning sunlight. The air was cool, with just enough crispness to make you feel awake but not rushed. The soft buzz of your computer, the shuffle of papers between your fingers—everything felt familiar, grounding. As if this quiet moment could stretch on forever, and you could lose yourself in it without fear. 

The door opened, a soft sigh of movement that cut through the stillness taking you from your thoughts. And there he was. Omar Marmoush. Just as he had been for the last few mornings—before anyone else, sometimes even before the coach. The space bent to his presence, the stillness rippling around him as if acknowledging that this was his moment, his time.

He donned his City kit, the fabric clinging to his broad shoulders, and the way it fit him—neat and purposeful—wasn’t just athletic, it was almost sculptural. His dark eyes caught yours instantly, as if your presence had always been part of the plan. 

"Good morning, Mr. Marmoush," you said, the words slipping out almost automatically. Your voice chirped the greeting that had become familiar over the last few days. 

"Good morning," He replied, his voice carrying the same smooth confidence as always. He lingered at the counter, his eyes studying you for a beat longer than usual, as if he were contemplating something.

You tilted your head, a small smile playing at your lips, the sparkle in your eyes sharp and knowing. "You’re up early like usual," you remarked, the words slightly mocking him. "Not many players are awake at this hour."

"I like the quiet," Omar said, his voice lowering, a touch of something more honest there. "Helps me focus. No distractions before the chaos begins."

You allowed yourself a soft smile, the corner of your mouth lifting in quiet acknowledgment. "I thought you liked the spotlight," you teased, your voice light, playful. "Doesn’t the chaos suit you?"

His smile returned, but it was more guarded now, a shield back in place. "I do," he said with a shrug, a flicker of mischief dancing in his eyes. "But sometimes, it’s good to step away from all that. Makes the work feel... more real, you know?"

You leaned back in your chair, the soft creak of the leather adding a sound to the stillness around you. "I get it," you said, your voice a touch softer now. "Still, not sure many people would show up before their boss just for a little peace and quiet."

His gaze held yours a moment longer, that familiar intensity flickering again, and you couldn’t help but feel the subtle challenge in it. "Some of us like to be ahead of the game," he said, his voice carrying the weight of something unspoken, something that suggested this wasn’t just about arriving early—it was about owning the moment.

You laughed. "Ahead of the game, huh? You sure you’re not just trying to make your teammates look bad?"

The challenge in his eyes deepened, and he leaned a little closer to the counter, the air between you suddenly feeling charged. "Someone’s got to set the standard," he said mischievously, yet the presence of sinceirty lingered in his words.

You shook your head, amusement dancing in your eyes. "Careful, Mr. Marmoush," you teased, your voice light but the words carrying more weight now. "If you keep showing up this early, soon you’ll be the one unlocking the building instead of me."

His lips quirked upward into a half-smirk, and he paused for a moment, letting the playful tension build between you. Then, his voice dropped just slightly, almost a whisper. "You know," he began, his gaze steady, locking with yours, "if you keep calling me that I’m going to start thinking I’m older than I am."

The warmth in your eyes sparked with a glint of mischief. "Well, I wasn’t sure how formal we should be," you said honestly. "You keep showing up so early, I wasn’t sure if you were going for the 'boss' vibe."

A rich chuckle escaped his lips, deep and amused, as if the idea of it pleased him more than it should. "A boss vibe, huh?" he repeated, his fingers tapping lightly against the counter as if the idea were something to be considered. "I don’t need a title to make an impression.” 

You chuckled as you shook your head in response.

"But, fine. If you want to keep calling me ‘Mr. Marmoush,’ I guess I can’t stop you." Then, his gaze held yours, intense and unyielding. "But I’m not going to stop asking you to drop the formalities," he added, a subtle challenge hidden beneath the smoothness of his words. "Plus, you can’t keep calling me that forever, eventually you will have to refer to me as 'Omar'."

Your heart skipped a beat, the air between you both charged with something more than just playful banter. "We’ll see, Mr. Marmoush," your tone playful.

-

The morning air outside had a crisp bite, carrying the first whispers of autumn through the open window. Soft beams filtered through the tall windows, stretching lazily across the floor and illuminating the dust particles that seemed to float like tiny stars suspended in time. It was a moment frozen in peace, a stillness that only the early mornings seemed to hold.

You were wrapped in the hum of the building, the rhythmic ticking of the clock like a heartbeat in the silence. The steady click of the pen in your hand created a symphony of concentration until the door opened. A gust of cool air slipped in, catching the edges of the papers on your desk. The familiar scent of his cologne—earthy with a hint of citrus, like rain on stone—suddenly filled the room, grounding you in the moment.

Omar stood in the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the glow of dawn. He wore a hoodie, the dark fabric a stark contrast against the warmth of the room. His eyes found yours almost instantly, and in that gaze, there was a quiet intensity, something that made the room feel smaller, more intimate.

"Early as usual, Mr. Marmoush," you said, your voice light but warm, a playful edge to your words. You couldn’t help but notice the way the corners of his mouth tugged upward in that half-smile that always made your heart race just a little faster.

"Of course, Good morning." Omar replied, his voice raspy due to the timing of the hour. 

You couldn’t help but watch as he moved, the way his fingers slid into the pockets of his hoodie, his thumb tapping absently against the fabric. His eyes never left yours, and it made your pulse quicken, a little unexpected warmth formed in your stomach. For a split second, everything around you faded—the ticking clock, the soft creak of the building settling, the hums of your laptop—and all that remained was him.

Omar leaned casually against the counter in front of you, his arms folded across his chest. His gaze lingered, sharp and steady, and yet there was a playful glint in his eyes that you couldn’t quite decipher. 

You tore your eyes away from him, focusing instead on the day’s schedule. Your fingers moved across the papers, steady and deliberate, though you were aware of every movement in the room. His presence filled the space like a slow-burning fire.

"Alright," you began, your speech was monotone despite the fluttering in your chest. "Mr. Guardiola wants the players to check their recovery schedules before heading to the locker room. He has something special planned for later in training, but health comes first."

Omar nodded, his gaze flicking briefly to the clipboard on the counter, the edges of the paper catching the light in a way that made the whole moment feel sharper, more defined. He seemed to be listening intently, but there was a glimmer in his eyes—something knowing, something that made you feel like he saw right through you.

"Got it," he said finally, his voice low. But then, as if he couldn’t resist, his lips curved into that maddening smirk. "Thanks, Qamari."

You froze, the word hanging in the air between you like a spark. Your fingers stilled mid-motion, and suddenly, it felt as though the room had grown smaller, quieter, like time itself was holding its breath.

"Qamari?" you echoed, your voice soft, hesitant. The way it sounded on your tongue felt foreign but… intimate, like something you shouldn’t want but did anyway.

He leaned a little closer, his grin never wavering. "It’s the nickname I decided to give you," he said, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "It fits, doesn’t it?"

You felt the heat creeping up your neck, blooming across your cheeks. "Oh really?" you asked, raising a skeptical brow. 

Omar’s expression softened, his teasing smile giving way to something quieter, something almost tender. "Yeah," he said simply. "It means ‘moon’ in Arabic. It’s common in Egypt, you know. A compliment for women with beauty so striking."

His words settled in the air between you like a gentle breeze, and you could feel them taking root in your chest, in your thoughts. The phrase lingered, and you found yourself feeling an odd sense of peace in it, as though the nickname fit in a way you couldn’t explain.

"Why don’t we just stick to the name on my badge?" you managed, trying to inject some playfulness into your tone to cover up the fact that your heart was practically racing out of your chest.

"Hmm." He rubbed his chin theatrically, his expression exaggerated as though he were deep in thought. "Nope. I’ll call you what I want since you refuse to call me Omar."

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "But—"

"Nah," he interrupted smoothly, shaking his head with a teasing lilt in his voice. "Fair’s fair, right? You stick with 'Mr. Marmoush,' so I get to choose a name for you."

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossing in mock defiance, though the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to suppress. "That’s not how this works," you said, a faint chuckle betraying your stern expression.

He shrugged, the movement easy and unbothered. "I think it is," he said, his grin softening just enough to make it even more maddening, like he knew exactly how to press all the right buttons without ever trying.

Then, with a casualness that was almost infuriating, he reached for the schedule you’d so neatly laid out, his fingers brushing the paper followed by his shoes scuffing against the floor. 

"See you later, Qamari," he said, his voice orotund, the nickname sliding off his tongue with maddening ease. He started toward the lockers, his brows furrowed as he glanced down at his schedule.

"You can’t keep calling me that forever!" you called after him, your voice rising above the hum of the building, echoing down the corridor as if it were chasing him.

He paused for a brief moment, just enough to glance back over his shoulder. The grin he wore widened into something brighter, effortlessly charming and completely infuriating all at once. Then came the laugh—rich and full of mischief, the kind that made your stomach twist in ways you couldn’t quite explain.

Damn him.

You stared after him, your cheeks still flushed and your pulse betraying you. You already knew you’d lost this round. And worse—you weren’t entirely sure if you minded.

© gul4bjamoons 

[booigi-boi]

How my video chat with the Tin Can Bros went 🐐💛

I got to talk to the three of them separately with a special guest (James and Mariah) so I'll put this into three sections (writing this down mostly for my awful memory, gonna be long)

Brian and James

First thing Brian said when the call started was "have you gotten any new tattoos since the last time we saw you?" A: No :(

He and James asked about Finland and what it is like

I was asked something about what is my fav thing about Finland (minus sauna) and I said the nature. I told them to visit northern Finland both during summer and winter cause the nature is fucking amazing, ok? They googled it and James said he's putting it on his list, lol

Brian asked while googling if I've ever been to the Snow Castle in Kemi, and I laughed a little and said I was actually born there so yeah, I've been there multiple times

I was also asked if there's something I'd like the rest of the world to know about Finland

I answered how I hate how other countries have turned saunas into a luxury item, when in Finland literally every house and apartment building has a sauna. Also told them the correct way to pronounce sauna

James asked me how I learned about TCB. Said I discovered SK in mid 2018 and somehow figured TCB was also a thing. He also asked how I got into Shipwrecked, and to that I just said Spies Are Forever. Brian nodded and said "they're cool"

(Honestly, I'm leaving so much out cause we really just talked about my country and how happy it is, lol)

Corey and Mariah

Brian and James left for another call once Corey and Mariah joined (I didn't expect them to do this call like this tbh /neutral)

Mariah was excited about the fact I'm Finnish, she was enjoying meeting people all over the world

Corey asked if I had any questions for them and I had to admit I suck at asking questions and never know what to say (he was cool with my child brain)

Mariah said she had so many questions she would have liked to ask me. She really liked looking at the wall behind me and seeing all the shit I have on there

Then my cat decided she wanted attention and hopped on the table and made herself known to them. Told them she was Lotta and she's 14

After a while Corey asked me what my fav project from the Tinlightenment was, and I said I've been most excited for Gross Prophets. Corey revealed it's going to be difficult to rehears it without an audience and it's apparently super silly (in a good way)

Before they left Mariah asked me what was my fav movie or musical or anything so she could get to know what I'm all about, so I excitedly told her about Tetsuo the Iron Man (more about this later)

Then Joey joined all alone and it was time for Corey and Mariah to leave

Joey

Joey didn't have a guest with him so it was just me and him on a call together. He complimented my long ass vampire nails

He heard us talking about movies and asked me about it, so I said how Mariah asked me about my fav movie

He got a little excited and asked me about it, so I told him about Tetsuo, and how it's one of those movies that you're either going to love cause how artistic it is, or say wtf did I just watch

He got intrigued and googled it and read its description. He was interested (pls google it)

He read reviews and said how it's either 5 stars or 1 star, and I told him it is very 50/50

He put it on his list and promised to tell me once he had watched it :3 (hopefully not on discord cause I don't use it, lol)

Then before time was up, he asked me about my hospital stay last year (which I didn't talk about publicly and he was one of the few people that knew about it). It was kinda nice of him to ask about it and ask if I was good now (I am)

One last thing he asked about before he had to leave was if I was going to the new Starkid concert this year, and I said no, unfortunately. Maybe he was little saddened about it, but he told me last year wasn't that long ago and we might see each other again at some point

Then he wished me a good rest of the day and told me we'd see each other soon (next month when I again embarrass myself in Quiplash)

One last note, but I was kinda surprised how Joey didn't apologise to me for the 100th time for something he promised me back in 2023 and still hasn't done it, especially since he seems to apologise about it any time we have an interaction, lol (but I'll talk about it more when that happens, shhh)

Sorry if it was all so long, but I did leave out stuff too, sksks. Honestly, I kinda needed this, it was nice talking to people and they're all so easy to talk to 💞 James and Mariah were a nice surprise, can't wait for Gross Prophets 👉👈

[justanothermemestrider]

Nothing Ever Stays Dead - Part 5

Sgt Gadriel x Childhood Friend OC

Good news! Gadriel and Ellie finally have a moment to talk alone.

Bad news! That quiet moment is taking place in a Drukhari ship.

If you missed part 4, you can catch up here :)

I know I probably sound like a broken record at this point, but I am so grateful for all the support this series has had so far. So, all you lovely people, thank you for reading, liking, reblogging and commenting <3

Once again, I've butchered the lore a little bit. But tbh I've been doing that this entire series so hopefully you guys are used to/expect that from me by now 😅

Violence and 40kness under the cut, as well as some light ellusions to some nsfwness at the start. Apologies for spelling and grammar errors, and thank you for your support :D

Love, Memestrider xoxo

When Gadriel walked through their bedroom door, Ellicent had known right away. She'd been dreading it. Praying that it wouldn't happen. But the moment she saw the look on his face, she'd known.

"You've been accepted," she said.

Gadriel closed the door behind him. He let out a tired sigh before turning to face her once more. "I asked if I could return home to say goodbye. They were reluctant, but said yes."

Ellicent closed her eyes. Her knees felt weak, and she sat on the bed lest they give out on her entirely. "Have you told your mother yet?"

Gadriel visibly recoiled from the question. "She said she was happy; that she was proud. But I could tell it was a lie. She wants me to leave about as much as you do."

"Can't say I blame her," Ellicent said.

Gadriel gave her a sad, sympathetic smile. It only infuriated Ellicent more. Taking a seat next to her, he clasped his hands in his lap, eyes fixed on the floor as if ashamed.

"I leave tomorrow," he said quietly.

Ellicent looked at him "Seriously? When?"

"First thing." Still, he refused to meet her gaze. "You and Mum probably won't even be awake yet."

Ellicent bit her lip as a wave of tears threatened to overwhelm her. She was so angry with him. So angry. Why did he have to be so selfless? Why did his heart have to be so noble that he would do something like this for the mere chance of making her and his mother's lives just a little bit better?

"So... What happens next?"

"Well, assuming I pass all of my trials and actually become an Astartes, I can request to have you both transferred to someplace in Ultramar."

"You can request? You mean, it isn't guaranteed?"

"I don't know. It's... It's not a commonly done thing, apparently." Chewing his cheek, Gadriel clenched his hand into fists. "But I'll make it happen. I promise I will."

"You better," Ellicent whispered. "If you can't, then this whole thing would have been for nothing."

They both lapsed into silence. Heavy, tense and melancholic. Tears were flowing freely down Ellicent's cheeks now. The grief she'd been anticipating for months now had broken free of its cage, and is now sewing painful knots in her belly and chest.

Why? She continued to ask herself. Why did it have to be like this? Why did he have to go?

"Ellie?" She felt Gadriel's hand wrap around hers. "Talk to me. Please."

Ellicent sniffed, wiping her eyes with her free hand. She met his gaze and found that he, too, had started to weep.

Her body moved without thinking. Throwing one leg over him, she straddled his lap before pulling him into the fiercest, most passionate kiss she thinks she's ever given him. It took him off guard. So much so, he almost fell backward onto the bed. But he didn't hesitate in returning it. Sliding his hands up her back, he gripped her nape hard, pressing her into him and working his mouth against hers.

The taste of him was wonderful. His scent and touch, the closest things to bliss Ellicent had ever had. And she was about to loose him. The world was trying to take him away. A sob rises into the back of Ellicent's throat. She had to break the kiss in order to let it out. Gadriel cradled her cheeks in his hands, pressed his forehead to hers. He let her take all the time she needed to catch her breath. His own, soft exhales were warm against Ellicent's lips.

Ellicent intertwines her fingers in his hair. It's tangled and coarse, and slightly damp from the humid air outside. But to Ellicent, it's as soft and beautiful as silk.

"I want more, Gadriel," she whispers.

She feels his brows furrow against her forehead. "Do... Do you mean?"

"I do."

"Are you sure?"

She'd expected him to be hesitant. While they had shared a bed for as long as Ellicent had been living with Gadriel and his mother, they'd never slept together. Not for a lack of attraction, of course; Gadriel was easily pretty enough to pass as a high lord's son, and even before he'd started training for the Astartes, his body was a well-sculpted work of soft muscle and olive skin; and while Ellicent is less certain of her own physical attributes, Gadriel has told her time and time again how stunning her figure is, how her eyes reminded him of falling stars.

But even so, their relationship had always been built on emotional intimacy- sex was a line they were yet to crossed.

But Ellicent couldn't wait any longer.

"I am," she said in reply to his question. "I want you, Gadriel. I love you. And if the world is so determined to take you from me tomorrow, I want to have you tonight." Gently, she covers his hands with her own, brushing her thumb across his knuckles. "But of course, all of that is moot unless you'll have me too."

Gadriel's reply is instant. "Of course I will."

"Then please," Ellicent whispered. She pressed her palm against his chest. Felt his now-racing heart beating against her skin.

"Take me."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Welcome to the Dark Star," Ellie says quietly. She hugs her legs a little tighter, resting her temple on her knees so she is facing him.

It's only then that Gadriel notices she's missing her left arm.

"Where's your prostethic?" he asks.

Ellie glances at her empty shoulder socket. Her expression, like her voice, is totally flat. "They took it. Weren't keen on the idea of locking me up with my hyperphase sword." She raps her knuckles on her right knee, making a soft clanging sound. "Let me keep my leg, though. So that's something, I guess."

"But why?" Gadriel asks. "I mean, why are you even here? I thought these xenos were allied with you."

Ellie meets his gaze. Something hot flashes behind her eyes. "They're allied with Severus. Not me."

"But do you not work for him?"

Her next words come out laced with poison. "More like I'm indentured to him."

Despite himself, her words leave Gadriel feeling relieved. I knew it, he thinks. She's not here by choice. She's not a traitor."

"But I see your point," she continues. "And typically, it'd be right: Severus does keep the Dark Eldar off me. But then I fired off that flare and..."

She lapses back into morose silence. Gadriel feels a twinge in his chest unrelated to any of his wounds.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

"Don't be," Ellie replies. "It's not your fault. I knew what I was doing, how he would react. I'm just sorry you got hurt because of it."

Gadriel swallows thickly. "I... I'm not just talking about that."

Ellie cocks her head for a moment. "What are you..." Her face suddenly drops. "Oh. Right."

The sad silence returns. Ellie's eyes drop to the floor as she fiddles with a crack in the floor. Small ribbons of light catch her cheeks; tear streaks, Gadriel realises.

He forces himself to take a breath. From the moment he'd seen her again, the same terrible question has been plaguing his mind. But he can't hide from it any longer. Not when they may be so close to death.

"What happened to you, Ellie?" Gadriel asks. "How did you end up involved with... with people like this?"

Her reply is sharp as a blade. "It wasn't willingly. I can tell you that for nothing."

"I'd already guessed as much," Gadriel says gently. "But, truth be told, that only makes me more desperate to know how it all came to pass."

For a long while, Ellie is silent.

"Are you sure?" she finally asks.

The way she says it makes Gadriel's throat close over. "Yes," he answers. "Please."

Ellie goes quiet again. Her gaze returns to the cold, dank floor. "About six months after you left," she says. "Your mother died. Same sickness that killed my Dad. I couldn't stay in the house after that. Too much loss. I swear I could feel it coming out of the walls."

A twinge of grief pangs in Gadriel's chest. He'd already assumed that his mother was likely dead by now- if not from disease, then certainly from age. But nevertheless, the confirmation from Ellie still stings.

"I lived off the streets after that," she continues. "You know, stealing from topsiders, raiding trash piles, fighting for the best abandoned building to sleep in for the night; all the standard type stuff." She lets out a sigh. "Then Severus showed up.

"I don't know how much you know about him, from your mission briefing or whatever, but his main shtick is that he's a slaver. A trafficker. He and his cronies zip around the galaxy, visiting feral hive worlds and plucking healthy-looking vagrants off the streets to... Well, to do whatever he wants."

Gadriel swallows the lump in his throat. "And he..."

"Yup."

"Throne, Ellie."

With her one remaining shoulder, Ellie shrugs. "Wasn't just me. He probably took about a hundred people in the end. I was taken in my sleep. Hit over the head, woke up in the belly of some disgusting cargo bay." Briefly, she looks around her cell. "It wasn't too dissimilar to this, actually. Except a lot less roomy, with more people crammed inside. Most of the people Severus takes are to sell- that's what he's allied with the Dark Eldar for. But sometimes, he'll come across someone he takes a liking to, and he'll keep them as his own."

Once more, Gadriel's mouth fills with acidic bile, and the corners of his vision turn from black to red. When Ellie sees the look on his face, she forces a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, it wasn't like that. Not with me, anyway. Only reason he liked me was 'cause I could handle myself in a fight. He saw a killer in me, not a play-thing. Probably the only stroke of luck I've had during this whole thing."

The only thing Gadriel can think to do is nod. "How about your arm and leg?" he asks. "How'd you loose them?"

"I didn't loose them," Ellie says. "Severus took them."

"He took them?"

She nods. "He'd have taken the others too, if he'd had enough necron parts lying around. But he only had a left arm and right leg, so that was all he could replace." She touches her empty shoulder socket. A soft, harsh laugh slips from her lips. "Another stroke of luck on my part, I guess.

"He made me his hit-man," she continues. "His errand girl."Defend this cargo, Ellicent. Kill this officer, Ellicent. I've got a pack of space marines coming after me, so set a trap for 'em and kill them for me, Ellicent. If you refuse me again, I'll let the Drukhari have you, and you'll be begging me to take you back." That was my life. For fifty years. And the cybernetics, they affected the rest of my body. Hardened my bones, slowed my aging right down. Meant death was hard to come by; even when I wanted it to."

Her voice is so full of emotion, it almost sounds devoid of it. Like an overloaded fuse, there is so much pain in her words, she can't possibly express it anymore. Gadriel's eyes well with tears. He can't stand this. All of these things happening to Ellicent. His Ellie. The girl he's loved from the moment he was old enough to understand what love even was.

All these things have happened to her, and I didn't save her. I didn't even try.

The silence that falls between them is a physical presence, one of hurt, foreboding and grief. Gadriel's wounds continue to scream at him, but compared to those coming from his hearts, they're little more than whimpers.

"So," Ellie mutters. "Now that you know all of that, I have to ask..."

Gadriel closes his eyes. He waits for her next words he were waiting for an executioner's axe to fall.

"Do you still remember the night before you left?"

The question takes him completely off-guard. And the memory it brings... Gadriel can't help but smile. "Of course," he says.

Ellie nods. "Do you remember what you said to me? When it's was all over?"

As quickly as it had come, his smile dies. "I said I loved you."

"Before that."

Gadriel averts his eyes. "I said I'd come back."

"No," Ellie replies. "You didn't just say it. You promised me. You looked me in the eye and you swore it."

"... I... I know."

"So why didn't you?"

Gadriel goes to chew the inside of his cheek, but winces as his teeth grate broken, bleeding skin. Seems the Dark Eldar's poison has kept even that wound from closing, too.

"And don't lie to me, okay?" Ellie adds. Her tone isn't accusatory; instead, it's almost a plea. "I don't want... poor excuses or anything like that. I just want the truth. No matter what it is. Surely I deserve that, at least."

"Of course you do," Gadriel says.

Ellie doesn't reply, but her silence indicates she's waiting for him to continue.

Gadriel looks down at his hands. Already, they're slick again with his own blood.

He takes a deep breath, ignoring the pangs of protest the movement sparks from his wounds, and clenches his hands into fists. "Do you know what re-education is?" he asks.

"No," she answers.

"It's the psychological aspect of Astartes' creation. Just as thorough and invasive as the surgeries and the physical training. But, arguably, it's more important than both."

He hears Ellie shift in her seat. "I don't think I like where this is going," she mutters.

Gadriel exhales hard through his nose. This time, the spike of pain that follows is enough to make him grimace. "I didn't even know it was a part of the process until it was happening to me," he says. "But if I did... I don't think I'd have joined."

The astonishment is Ellie's voice is tangible. "Do you really mean that?"

"I told you I wouldn't lie, didn't I?"

For a while, Ellie is quiet. "What did they do?" she asks softly.

Gadriel closes his eyes. His thoughts suddenly don't feel like his own. The very thing he's trying to tell her about, it doesn't want him to. It's fighting him. Filling his lungs with stones so he cannot speak, hijacking his thoughts to he cannot remember. But Gadriel refuses it. Pulling his eyes up from his fists, he looks at Ellie's face, takes in her scarlet hair and twinkling eyes. He uses them as anchors. As lifelines. For fifty years he's let this thing stand between him and the one he loves. He'll be damned if he's going to let it happen again.

"We were hypnotised," he says. "Then for days, we were fed these pict-casts and vox-recordings. I don't know what they were, but they had been developed by psycho encoders. They were meant to indoctrinate us, I suppose. I don't really remember much from those weeks, only that it was... unpleasant. I remember my throat being very sore after the end of every session. Like all I'd done the entire time was scream."

"You probably did," Ellie says quietly.

Gadriel doesn't respond to that. He doesn't know how. "After that," he continues, dropping his gaze again. "They let Librarians- psykers- into our minds. Again, I... don't really know what they did. But as I think about it now... It was after I'd had those sessions that my life before the Astartes became difficult to recall."

"Difficult how?"

"As in, it felt like a dream," Gadriel says. "Like a fantasy. You and Mum- you were... figments of my imagination. You weren't real. Nothing that came before my becoming an Astartes was real."

"Until you saw me again," Ellie whispers.

Gadriel feels tears prick his eyes. "Until I saw you again. After that, everything came back with startling clarity."

He musters the courage to look at her again. The expression he finds on her face almost breaks him.

"So..." she whispers. "So you never abandoned me."

It's not a question, so much as a statement. Tears roll down her cheeks again, but there's a smile on her face.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Gadriel pushes himself off the wall. He crawls up to the bar wall on his knees, collapsing against it as consciousness threatens to leave him once again. Grimacing, he clutches one hand on the hole in his stomach. But the other, finds Ellie's hand. "If I had known I would've been forced to forget you," he rasps. "I'd have never joined the Astartes. I mean that. From the bottom of both my hearts, I mean it."

Ellie chokes on a stifled sob. Bringing his hand to her lips, she kisses his knuckles. "I'm sorry, Gadriel. I'm sorry I doubted you. I never should've. I should've known-"

"You should've known no such thing," Gadriel murmurs. "And you had every right to resent me."

Tears are rolling down his cheeks now, too. Dropping his hand, Ellie sidles up closer, reaches through the bars and gently wipes them away with her thumb. Her skin is rough with callouses- far more so than he ever remembered. But right now, it's the softest, more comforting thing Gadriel has felt in a long time.

"If these bars weren't in the way I would kiss you right now," Ellie says.

Gadriel smiles softly. "You took the words right out of my mouth."

Footsteps outside his cell make both of them turn.

Long shadows creep up the hallway's wall, moving in time with the steps. Gadriel doesn't need to wait, however, to know exactly who they belong to.

"Wakey wakey, space marine!" The voice is gravelly, feminine, and undeniably inhuman. "Someone wants to see you."

The Dark Eldar wyche prowls up the Gadriel's cell door, clad in leather and bone and wielding a spear. She unlocks the door with a click, before dragging it open and slipping inside.

"No," Ellie says, gripping Gadriel's hand.

Gadriel pulls free to cup her cheek. "Let go, Ellie. It's okay."

"No it isn't. It's-"

Through the bars, the wyche slams the butt of her spear into Ellie's face. Gadriel shouts her name, but the word devolves into a cry as the dark eldar kicks him in his wounded side. "Come on now," she purrs. "Cut that out. There'll be plenty of time for screaming later."

Dark spots flash before Gadriel's vision. The agony in his side is so intense, he can barely even draw breath. Grabbing him by the back of his undersuit's collar, the wyche drags him from his cell. The furious, desperate screams of Ellie follows them all the way down the hall.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I'm sorry to have to do another cliff hanger. The wait for part 6 shouldn't be too long, I promise.

Thanks again for reading, and please let me know what you think of the story so far! Your comments and tags are literally food for my soul ^^

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[magnificentmiraclenacho]

The sister of the winner

Part 5 = the race

Summary: When gi hun wants to take down the games he faces a lot of problems. But one problem he also has is his relationship with his sister minji ( reader ). Gi hun dosent want to tell her about the games do to her innocent. But what happends when the salesman lores her into the games, and the siblings finds them self fighting for their lifes

----

The sharp clang of metal trays echoed through the dormitory as the contestants finished their breakfast, the air thick with tension. Gi-hun barely touched his food, his appetite gone after the horrors of the last game. He glanced across the table, watching Y/N push around the scraps of rice and broth on her tray. She hadn’t taken a single bite.

“You need to eat something,” Gi-hun said gently, leaning closer to her. He knew that eating is a key thing to survive.

Y/N didn’t respond, her eyes fixed on her tray as if lost in thought. Around them, the guards began to collect trays and usher players away, signaling that the next game was approaching. Jung-bae and Young exchanged uneasy looks before standing up, slowly making their way toward the doors.

Gi-hun stood as well but noticed Y/N didn’t move. She just sat there, her hands resting limply on her lap, her shoulders slumped. Her usual quietness now felt heavier, like something was weighing her down.

“Y/N?” Gi-hun asked, crouching next to her.

She turned her head slightly, just enough for him to see the exhaustion in her eyes. “I don’t think I can do this,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“What do you mean?” he asked, keeping his tone soft.

“I’ve been up all night, oppa,” she admitted. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The games. The people who’ve already…” Her words trailed off, her throat tightening. She looked at him, nothing but pain behind her beutifull eyes.“I don’t want to die, i.. i don't want to see you die or enyone. Gi-hun. I’m so scared. I just want to go home”

Gi-hun’s chest ached as he looked at his younger sister. He reached out, placing a hand over hers. “Y/N, listen to me,” he said firmly but kindly. “I know this is terrifying. It’s terrifying for all of us. But I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You hear me?”

She bit her lip, her mind calming a little bit. “How can you promise that? You don’t know what the next game is. None of us do.”

“I don’t care what it is,” Gi-hun said with determination. “We’re going to survive this. Together. I’ll make sure of it. You’re not alone in this, okay?”

Before Y/N could respond, the doors to the dormitory slammed open, and a group of guards filed in, their faceless masks as cold and unforgiving as ever.

“Move,” one of them ordered sharply, motioning for the contestants to line up.

Gi-hun cursed under his breath but turned back to Y/N. He squeezed her hand tightly, pulling her to her feet. “Come on, well talk about everything after the game okey” he said, his voice softer now. Ruffeling her hair a little bit “Let’s go. Stay close to me.”

Y/N game a small smile and nodded, clutching his hand as if it were a lifeline. Together, they followed the group into the long, sterile hallway. The sound of their footsteps echoed ominously, and Y/N’s grip on Gi-hun’s hand didn’t loosen for a second.

When they entered the game arena, the sight that greeted them was surreal. The room resembled a giant playground, with colorfull seelings and walls towering overhead. But what caught everyone’s attention were the two massive circles painted on the floor, each one covered in swirling rainbow colors. The vibrant hues were unnerving, clashing against the grim, sterile backdrop of the room.

“What the hell is this?” gi hun muttered, eyeing the circles warily.

The sound of static crackled through the speakers, and the chillingly calm voice of the game master filled the room.

“Welcome to the next game. The rules will be explained shortly. Players, please step into the circles.”

Gi-hun glanced down at Y/N, her eyes wide as she stared at the circles. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay,” he said. “We’ll figure it out. Just stay close.”

She nodded hesitantly, and together, they stepped forward into the rainbow-colored circle, their hearts pounding as the game began.

Y/N and Gi-hun spotted Jung-bae and young il near the edge of the circle, their faces equally tense as they surveyed the playground-like arena. The siblings approached, and the four naturally gravitated toward one another.

“This place is insane,” young il muttered, his arms on his hips. “What kind of game is this supposed to be?”

“No idea,” Gi-hun replied, glancing around at the oversized equipment and the colorful circles beneath their feet. “But whatever it is, it’s not going to be as innocent as it looks.”

“We should try to figure it out,” Jung-bae said, his voice low. “It might give us an edge.”

The group began murmuring ideas, throwing out theories about the equipment or the meaning of the rainbow circles. Before their brainstorming could go any further, the static-filled voice of the game master cut through the air.

“Players, form teams of five,” the voice instructed. “You have five minutes to assemble your team.”

The four of them froze, exchanging quick glances. They were already four, and it was obvious they only needed one more.

“That’s convenient,” Jung-bae said, trying to sound lighthearted despite the tension. “We just need one more person.”

Y/N nodded, but her eyes were scanning the room nervously. “Who, though? We don’t know anyone else.”

Jung-bae suddenly perked up and gestured toward a man standing a few feet away. “Wait, I talked to that guy earlier. He seemed decent. I’ll ask him.”

Without waiting for a response, Jung-bae jogged over to the man and exchanged a few words. Moments later, he returned with a tall, broad-shouldered man with a calm demeanor.

“Everyone, this is Kang Dae-ho,” Jung-bae said, clapping the man on the shoulder. “Player 388. He’s joining us.”

Dae-ho gave a polite nod. “Nice to meet you all,” he said, his voice steady.

“I’m Gi-hun, this is Y/N, Jung-bae you know, and that’s young il” Gi-hun said, gesturing to the others.

“Good to meet you,” young il said with a small smile.

“Do you have any idea what the game might be?” Dae-ho asked, glancing at the circles again.

The group started to discuss possibilities, theorizing about the playground equipment and how it might tie into the rules. The conversation grew more animated as they traded ideas, but before they could make much progress, a young girl approached them hesitantly.

She was small and looked young. Her number, 222, was stitched across her green tracksuit. She stopped a few steps away, clutching her hands nervously.

“Excuse me,” she said quietly, her voice shaky. “Could I… could I join your team?”

The group exchanged uneasy glances.

“Uh…” Jung-bae started, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “We already have five people. Sorry.”

Everyone looked away, guilt creeping into their expressions. Y/N glanced at the girl, feeling a pang of sympathy.

The girl hesitated, then placed a hand on her stomach. Her voice cracked as she said, “Please… I’m pregnant. I really need help.”

The group’s collective gaze dropped to her stomach, the realization hitting them like a punch.

Y/N’s heart clenched, and without hesitation, she spoke. “You can join us,” she said firmly giving a big and reasuring smile, even tho she was feeling very scared herself. Y/n stepped towards the girl. “I’ll find another team.”

Gi-hun’s head snapped toward her. “No,” he said immediately, his tone sharp. “You can’t just do that, Y/N!”

“She’s pregnant, Gi-hun!” Y/N snapped back. Now looking straight at gi hun “What are we supposed to do, just let her fend for herself?”

Gi-hun’s jaw tightened. “We can figure something else out. But you’re not leaving this team. End of story.”

“You’re being selfish!” Y/N shot back. “She’s carrying a child, for God’s sake!”

The tension between the siblings thickened as their voices rose. The others stood awkwardly, unsure of how to intervene. Finally, Dae-ho cleared his throat.

“I can switch teams,” he offered calmly, drawing everyone’s attention. “The other groups don’t look as strong. I could help them, and you can take her.”

“What?” Y/N asked, surprised.

“I have older sisters,” Dae-ho explained, his expression softening. “I know what it feels like to want to protect someone. If she’s pregnant, she shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

There was a beat of silence before Y/N nodded, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said sincerely.

Dae-ho gave her a small smile and turned to the girl. “You’ll be fine with them. Good luck.”

He walked off toward another group, and the remaining five watched him go, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt.

“Thank you,” the girl said softly, her eyes brimming with tears.

“It’s okay,” Y/N said, placing a reassuring hand on her arm.

With their team now complete, they moved to sit down inside the rainbow-colored circle, their hearts pounding as the countdown to the game’s start loomed over them.

The speakers crackled to life once again, and the voice of the game master filled the room.

“The next game is called the Six-Legged Pentathlon. Each team will compete in a series of traditional childhood games, one after the other. All five players must participate, with one assigned to each game. You have two minutes to decide who will play each game.”

The announcement sent a ripple of murmurs through the room. Y/N’s team huddled together, the urgency in the air pressing down on them.

“Okay,” Gi-hun said, his voice tense. “We need to pick quickly. What are the games?”

The rules flashed on the large screen in the arena:

1. Ddakji

2. Biseokchigi

3. Gonggi

4. Paengi Chigi

5. Jegi Chagi

“okey so they’re traditional games,” Gi-hun explained. “We’ve all played them at some point, right? But we need to think strategically. Who’s best at what?”

Y/N glanced at the pregnant girl, player 222, “She should diecide first ” Y/N said quickly.

Everyone nodded and looked at the girl. " umm i guess the ddjaki. I mean i won the more times than the man in the train station." She said smiling.

“Okay okey, good,” Jung-bae said. “I’ll take biseokchigi. I used to be good at flicking stones back in the day.”

“I can handle gonggi,” Y/N offered. “I was decent at it when I was younger.”

Young il raised a hand. “I’ll do paengi chigi. Spinning tops are kind of my thing.”

“Guess that leaves me with jegi chagi,” Gi-hun said. “Kicking’s easy enough, I think.”

They all nodded, their plan finalized just as the timer on the wall hit zero.

“The assignments are locked in,” the game master announced. “The first team will begin. Teams will proceed one at a time. Watch carefully.”

The room tensed as the first team was brought to the starting area. Guards approached and began tying their legs together with thick cords, binding them at the ankle so they were forced to move as one. It was chaos as the team struggled to balance, and the first player crouched for the ddakji game.

The room erupted into cheers as they successfully flipped the tile, advancing to the next station. With every completed game, their coordination improved, and by the time they crossed the finish line, their celebration was deafening.

But the mood shifted quickly. The second team wasn’t as lucky. They fumbled through paengi chigi and couldn’t regain their footing. When the failure buzzer blared, guards stepped forward. What followed was visible to the remaining teams, and the chilling sound of gunshots echoed through the arena.

“Don’t look,” Gi-hun muttered, turning to Y/N. He placed his hand over Y/N eyes to cover them up. “Just focus on our turn.” he said to her in a calming way.

The room’s energy dimmed each time a team failed. When a team succeeded, it felt like a fleeting moment of hope, quickly overshadowed by the next team’s impending doom. Gi-hun made it his mission to shield Y/N from the worst of it, whispering reassurances and blocking her view when necessary.

Finally, only one team remained: theirs.

The guards approached, their presence cold and unrelenting. “Players, stand up,” one commanded.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she stood alongside her teammates. Her palms were sweaty, her breath shallow. Around her, everyone looked equally nervous, their eyes darting between the guards and the arena.

The guards began tying their legs together, binding all five players into a line. The thick cords forced them to stand uncomfortably close, their movements already awkward.

“Ready yourselves,” the guard said flatly.

Y/N glanced at her teammates, who wore matching expressions of fear and determination. The weight of survival pressed down on them as they steadied themselves, their fates now tied—literally and figuratively—together.

The sharp buzz signaling the start of the game blared through the air, jolting the team into motion. They began to shuffle forward, their legs tied tightly together, struggling to find a rhythm. After a few wobbly steps, they fell into sync, moving as one toward the first table.

When they reached it, Player 222, the pregnant girl, stepped forward. She picked up the red ddakji tile, glancing nervously at the blue one lying on the ground. The team stayed quiet, watching as she took a deep breath, gritted her teeth, and slammed the red tile down with all her strength.

The blue tile flipped immediately, landing perfectly on its other side.

“Yes!” Jung-bae shouted, pumping his fist into the air.

The team erupted into cheers, clapping and encouraging her as they began shuffling toward the second table. Their spirits lifted with their first success, but the pressure only grew as the seconds ticked down.

At the second table, Jung-bae stepped forward. He grabbed the smooth rock, turning it over in his hand as he studied the setup in front of him. Two stones were laid out on the table, and he needed to knock one out of the circle with a precise flick.

“Take your time,” Gi-hun said, his voice calm but urgent.

Jung-bae exhaled slowly, then flicked the rock with expert precision. It struck the other stone perfectly, sending it out of the circle.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, grinning as the rest of the team cheered again.

“Great job!” Y/N said, but as they shuffled toward the third table, the anxiety she’d been keeping at bay began to crash down on her like a wave.

Her palms grew sweaty, her chest tightened, and her breathing quickened. By the time they reached the table, she felt lightheaded.

“It’s okay,” Gi-hun said quietly, sensing her hesitation. “You’ve got this, Y/N.”

Y/N nodded but couldn’t stop the trembling in her hands. She dropped to her knees in front of the table, her breaths coming out shakily.

Young il crouched next to her and placed a hand on her back. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “Take it easy. We’ve got time.”

Y/N nodded again, forcing herself to focus. She picked up the small, lightweight gonggi stones and closed her eyes for a brief moment to steady herself. When she opened them, she moved with precision, her hands deftly tossing and catching the stones.

One. Two. Three.

She completed the sequence perfectly on her first try.

“I did it,” she whispered in disbelief, then turned to the team with a wide smile.

“Yes, you did!” Jung-bae shouted, clapping. The team erupted again, their cheers pushing them forward to the fourth table.

There, young il stepped up to take on the paengi chigi challenge. He picked up the spinning top, wound the string around it tightly, and crouched to the ground. He flicked his wrist with practiced ease, and the top spun furiously across the table. It stayed upright, spinning for the required time before toppling over.

“Done!” he said triumphantly, and the team immediately shuffled toward the final table.

The timer on the wall was running dangerously low now, and they moved as quickly as their tied legs would allow.

At the final table, Gi-hun stepped forward, determination etched into his face. He grabbed the jegi—a weighted object attached to a string—and began to kick it into the air.

One. Two. Three.

The team held their breath as he kept the jegi in the air, his movements controlled and precise. Finally, after completing the required number of kicks, he caught it and slammed it onto the table.

“Done!” he shouted.

“Come on!” Gi-hun urged, his voice urgent.

The five of them stumbled and nearly fell, but they pushed forward with everything they had. Their breaths were ragged, their legs aching, but the finish line was just ahead.

With seconds to spare, they crossed the line, collapsing onto the ground in a heap. Relief washed over them as they realized they had made it.

“We did it,” Y/N whispered, tears streaming down her face as she laughed shakily.

The guards approached and began untying their legs. The moment they were free, the team slowly got to their feet, leaning on each other for support.

As they made their way back to the dormitory, every pair of eyes in the room was on them. The remaining players stared with a mix of awe, envy, and fear.

Gi-hun glanced at Y/N and the others. “We survived,” he said quietly, his voice filled with determination.

And with that, they returned to their bunks, their bodies exhausted but their spirits unbroken—for now.

----

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[oldmanfuckerbrigade]

please tell me you're going to expand on why the newsies movie is perfection and the musical is ass, I'd love to see it

(because you are right)

yknow, i was gonna save my rant for my imaginary video essay but it’s too in my head now so i might as well do the deep dive here. you asked so i shall deliver! (Be forewarned this is long as fuck i didnt know how much i needed to say until i started writing this)

Newsies is a (Gay) Love Story and That’s Why The Musical Fails™️

Ok. So. First and foremost, let’s talk about Newsies 1992. To be fair to my own biases, I have a very strong personal connection to 92sies, it was the first musical I ever saw on screen - one of the first movies I ever watched PERIOD - and some of my first memories are of listening to the soundtrack. So you could, on a certain level, chalk up my vehemence about its quality to my fondness for it, and I will gladly admit to that.

BUT. I have now been on this earth for 20 years, and in those 20 years I’ve watched a lot of movies, and a LOT of musicals (and am now studying film full time yippee for me). So I think I can say confidently, with my broadened tastes, that Newsies (1992) is a goddamn masterpiece of a movie musical.

It succeeds spectacularly in both regards, as a film and a musical. It had a stacked deck going in honestly, with directing and choreo both done by Kenny Ortega of High School Musical fame, as well as music by the inimitable Alan Menken. You know this shit was boutta pop off. From a filmmaking standpoint, it’s beautiful. Gorgeous matte paintings in the wide shots, fantastic set work and costume design, as well as the lighting and cinematography being on. fucking. point. every damn time it’s so good it makes me sick. You don’t even need me to say anything about the acting, cause we already know it’s phenomenal.

As a musical, it’s also right on the money. Every tenet of musical theater is respected, we have our intro ensemble number, introducing us to the world, the people within it, and the stakes of the story that we’ll follow. We have our absolute fucking BANGER of an “i want” song which Christian Bale puts his whole Baleussy into. And ofc we have some fantastic call-to-action, come-together, and uplifting songs and dance numbers.

But most importantly, every song does the one of two things any musical theater number should do: advance the story or give us insight into a characters thoughts and feelings. Let’s talk about them all in order (i promise this is gonna tie in to the stage show in a second just bare with me):

The Music

Carrying the Banner is ofc our opening theme, introducing us to the world and characters. Where and when are we, who are the heroes of our story? This is the “known” part of our hero’s journey, the home base and the place to which we will return. This is our Normal Time.

Santa Fe is, as we all know, Jack’s “I want” song, the song that tells the audience the hopes and dreams of our main character, so we can understand, well, what he wants. We can discover through this song what Jack’s character is all about. Through both what he has, what he lacks (or perceives he does) and what he hopes to gain. Jack has no family, he’s alone, but he has seemingly given up on ever being NOT alone, so he pins all his hopes for a better life on the mirage of Santa Fe. If he can pave his own way in the world, leave the city which has done nothing but take from him, maybe he can feel whole again. He’s a dreamer, despite his rough exterior, and he dreams of a life of freedom, beyond what he can find in New York. So there we get, all wrapped in a tidy bow, the essence of Jack Kelly’s character. a deeper look beyond what we have seen up until this point. Ok moving on.

In between Santa Fe and The World Will Know we have a small song which Medda sings. While that song in and of itself isn’t terribly important (it’s just part of her show), the scene that it’s in is VERY important. This is where we have an introduction to one of the few people we could consider part of Jack’s family, as a sort of mother/aunt figure. Overall it serves to give Jack more humanity, therefore giving our audience surrogate David (and hey i’m gonna go off about Davey just gimme a minute) more reason to trust Jack, and thereby the audience can trust him as well. We also get a little interaction between Jack and Davey that was pretty much ripped wholecloth from the movie and supplanted on Jack and Katherine in the show. It’s literally the same shit, Dave and Katherine are mistrustful of Jack and his intentions, they argue, it’s homoerotic as fuck, and it all takes place at the theater. (And also we get the one scene in the movie that does a weak ass attempt to un-gay David by having him drool over a pretty lady. It does not work lmfao).

The World Will Know is a standard call-to-action, but it by no means is mid-tier in any way. This shit slaps. HARD. We have Jack as the voice of the people convincing the gang of erstwhile children to band together with him on this, and stand up for their rights. This is also the first real time we get Jack and David teaming up to achieve a goal. Jack may be the voice of the people, but it’s David who’s the brains behind the operation, knowing what to say and do, while Jack has the respect and tenacity to put it forward. THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT. BECAUSE THE STAGE SHOW ALL BUT BRUSHES OFF DAVID’S INVOLVEMENT IN THIS SCENE, SO IT NO LONGER SERVES IT ENTIRE PURPOSE. A big secondary point of this scene is to illustrate that while Jack and David are strong boys independently, they work so much better together, and are able to achieve what they wouldn’t normally, alone. And the musical does not understand this. But i’ll get to that later.

Seize the Day is David’s first step towards standing in his own power. The newsies are losing steam on the strike train after Brooklyn refuses to join so David is the one to raise everyone’s morale and bring back their fighting spirit, getting all the other boys to take up the call, preaching brotherhood and community, the strength of standing together. Here is your come-together song. But this is the important thing: It’s David who does it. The song becomes an ensemble number as it goes on but HE is the one who STARTS it. David was hesitant to really rally behind the strike at first, but now he’s all in, he’s connected with the boys and he believes in the cause (thanks to the spirit that Jack brought to it, and how much Jack believe in it cough cough). He does start it in the musical as well, but the tone is very different, it’s only after Jack’s urging that he says anything. Bro didn’t even have to say shit in the movie. But whatever moving on.

King of New York is a hard song to mess up. It’s just good. and fun. and I like it. It probably has the least to do with moving the plot forward or giving us an internal look on any specific characters. It’s an ensemble and dance number. I do like it better in the movie rather than onstage, though that’s mostly personal preference. The stage show kind of beats it to death, like why is it 10 minutes long I swear to god. They know it’s a good song and they wanna capitalize on it, which makes it all seem kind of transparently cynical to me. it’s still like, good and the dancers are on top of it but….its too much y'know. The movie just has a good time with it. Because it’s a good time. Also Jack is there in the movie and he’s not in the stage show for some reason, I forget why. Probably because of some plot contrivance they got from trying to shove new elements into an already lock tight story. sorry ok back to actual critique.

Once and For All is like maybe my favorite song of the whole soundtrack. It just eats. Every time. This is the song we should play while smashing in the heads of the capitalist pigs that run our stupid fucking country. It’s a banger. AND it moves the plot forward, which is always a slay. Let’s make that underground pape and radicalize all the child workers being abused across the city!! yeah!!!

And then we got our TWWK and CtB reprises to tie up the ending in a neat little bow, bringing us back around the our beginning, a la the hero’s journey. We’ve completed our circle and are back to the beginning, changed but better for it, with our characters at transformed equilibrium, the evil vanquished, and bright days ahead. Jack realizes that he doesn’t need to chase the illusion of Santa Fe when what he really wants and needs is to be with the people who love him, the family that was right under his nose the whole time. David is a full fledged newsie, has come out of his shell, become more confident in himself, and his relationship with Jack is assured. So. Let’s talk about Jack and David.

Jack and David

Historians would call them “good friends”. This whole section is gonna be me preaching to the choir, so to speak, so I’ll try and keep this concise. We all know they’re gay, everyone and their mother knows they’re gay, so why is it important? It’s not like that shit is actually baked into the story right? WRONG. Jack and David are at the heart of the story of Newsies. Jack may be the “““main character”””, but David is the impetus for the events of the story, the driving force behind the plot. He is, in essence, the call to adventure that our hero Jack receives at the start of his arc.

He is also the audience surrogate. It’s through him that we learn the ways of the newsies, the ins and outs of the newsboy life, the trials and tribulations. It’s through him that we come to know Jack’s character on a deeper level. We only get Santa Fe after Jack has met Dave’s family (talk about U-Haul lesbians like my god he knew the guy for a DAY and he was already meeting the parents), and we get to see how seeing David’s loving family is painful for Jack, how he grieves that lack of connection but copes by pinning his hopes on Santa Fe. Most everywhere we see Jack go, we see it because David goes too. (MOST. There are exceptions, like his talk with Pulitzer. But of course, David is still RELEVANT in that scene). We see the story through David’s eyes.

Which is why the musical fails.

Because in the musical, David is so far removed from the narrative you could replace him with any guy and it would still work. He is an after thought, all but scrubbed from the script, and for why???

This I don’t have an answer for, which is really frustrating. My best guess is that it was a well-intentioned but misguided attempt to tighten up the script by placing Jack as the main character. And to make room for Katherine.

Oh Katherine….I used to really vehemently hate Katherine, and her addition to the story. I’ve obviously grown since then, I can recognize her importance as a woman within the story, and how that is important for young people to see in media. But also. She is unnecessary. TO THE PLOT. I won’t speak to her necessity from a larger, misogyny-on-the-world-stage level, but to the actual plot itself she is completely unnecessary. And you know how I know? Because they took movie David’s whole personality and just copy and pasted it onto her.

Ok now hear me out, I KNOW that it is not 1:1, but it really doesn’t have to be. If you step back and look at the bare essentials, it is the same shit. Jack and Katherine have the same enemies to lovers type dynamic that was Davey and Jack’s in the movie. There’s the initial mistrust, the dislike, she’s very professional, and kind of a know-it-all. Jack is the charming street rat, all dry wit and golden retriever energy. They tease and bicker and snap at each other. Exactly like Dave and Jack did in 92. Watching both versions back to back made this almost glaringly obvious to me. Like it was actually kind of shocking how obvious it was.

And the thing is, I understand why they did it! Sarah was such a nothingburger character in the movie (sorry Sarah, love you in fics, hate your actress with a burning passion) that they knew they had to add SOMETHING more to any potential romance subplot, and if they were conveniently sidelining David’s character anyway, why not take some cues from the most powerful relationship in the film? I understand the logic behind it, I really do.

But. That still leaves David, flopping around the script like a severed limb, with nowhere to go and nothing to do to help the plot. Cause here’s the thing, his and Jack's relationship is what makes the movie. I don’t care if I'm fandom-goggling this my tin hat is ON I have a MASTERS in FUJOSHI STUDIES. The movie is at its core, about brotherhood and community. It’s about boyhood and friendship and banding together with your peers to achieve great things. They give us this theme through Jack and Dave.

Dave is an outsider, unfamiliar to the ways of the street kids and working within a community like that. Jack is old hat to it, born and bred in it, it’s his home and his family. They come together through a twist of fate, Jack initially thinking only about what’ll earn him the most money at the end of the day, and Davey rightfully mistrustful of him. But they end up forming an organic bond through the strike, finding common ground with one another, and realizing if they team up they can accomplish great things. We see them struggle together, and break apart for a bit. We see Jack realize he’s gotten too close to this boy, brought him into something dangerous and now he genuinely cares for him which is even worse. David goes so far as to break Jack out of jail, but not before Pulitzer can get to him and threaten him with the one thing Jack will take seriously: David. Jack is forced to destroy David's and the rest of the newsies' trust just to keep them safe.

But through all this, facing incredible adversity, dangerous circumstances, gaining and losing a close friend, David is forced to come into his own, take on a role of leadership and stand up for what he believes in. In this way, his own character arc is fulfilled, by the end of the movie. And the one thing that gets Jack back to the newsies? Why David being in trouble, of course. The one thing he hoped to avoid by agreeing to Pulitzers terms. That’s all it takes for him to take it all back, the prospect of David being in danger.

BRO. WHEN I SAY. THAT THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS WHAT DRIVES THE PLOT. I FUCKING MEAN IT.

And y'know they make their own paper and radicalize all the kids in the city, they go to Pulitzer TOGETHER. BY THE WAY. TOGETHER. Which the musical cannot seem to understand. It’s only as a united front that they are able to beat Pulitzer and win fair terms for the newsies. And then jacks like ahhh yeah im goin to santa fe so long fuckers and then is like never mind actually i wanna come back and kiss Dav- I mean Sarah.

Which is also a hilarious fucking scene to me like that whole last interaction between Dave and Jack is so damn romantic in tone that the only way for the tension to break was with a kiss, so they had to have Sarah come in out of nowhere to kiss Jack 💀 like they knew that shit was leading to something but they couldn’t have the boys kiss obviously so they had to throw a woman in there real quick.

-

So. tldr. I meant this to be a lot more organized and make a lot more sense than it did but oh well. The reason the musical fails is because it fails to recognize that Dave and Jack are EQUALLY both the main characters, you can’t have one without the other, their partnership is the core force of the plot and story, without both of them you are left with something resembling the story you once knew, but with none of the heart and spirit of the original.

Other Technical Things That Are Bad

i wanted to take a second and just touch on some smaller details that also stood out to me, but are less connected to my central thesis.

//

Costumes. Oh boy did they fuck that one up on stage. Now to be fair, I’ve only seen the 2017 pro shot and one (1) local children’s production. Not any of the other runs or anything. So I'm only talking about what I’ve seen here. But what I’ve seen is Not Good. There’s already a lot of names and faces flying around in the movie which are hard to keep track of as it is, but everyone looks different enough from the person next to them that you know who your main players are. Each kid has his own way of dressing, unique color palette, accessories, and other styling choices that make them stand out. If you know who you're looking for, you can pick out any named newsie from any of the major ensemble scenes. You can't do that with the show. Everyone is wearing a variation of the same bland shirts and pants, and the color palette is dull gray-brown across the board. I'm not saying you have to go crazy with colors and shit, the costumes in the movie are believably period accurate, but I can still tell Racetrack from Mush without having to squint. (Also hey shout out to whoever decided to do that little red/blue color palette motif on movie Jack and Dave. I see you, and I appreciate you.)

//

The new songs suck but what can you do :/. Sorry to Alan Menken you ate with the movie my guy but you were just not on your A-game with this one. I didn’t even know it was still Menken doing the music in the stage show honestly, with how different and sucky the new songs were. Personal taste on this one I guess. But I don’t like them. Why does Pulitzer need a song. Literally why. If they had to give any pre-existing character their own song it should've been David! Like literally no question about it, it should have been David. Also why are we doing Santa Fe at the opening?? Did we forget how musicals work?? We never open with the "I want" song! ESPECIALLY if it's a ballad!!

//

The set. Yeah I’m really here to tear everything down ig, I didn’t know I had this many gripes until I started writing this sorry guys 😭 But yeah it’s not as gooood. And I'm like. ok. I know they were never gonna be able to do anything close to the movie. It’s onstage. They had to make sacrifices. But tell me why it all had to be cool toned?? The movie's color palette is so nice and warm, it feels antiquated but also real, it’s homey and nice. But also unforgiving and rough when it needs to be. They could’ve done that with lighting and shit onstage, changing the tone when it needs to, but instead they opted to throw out the warm tones for mostly cool gray steel backdrops. Whatever. I’m not a set tech. They know better than me.

//

THAT KID. IS SO MOTHERFUCKING ANNOYING. I AM SO SORRY. BUT IT IS HOW I FEEL. No hate at all to the kid playing Les in the 2017 pro shot, he was just a child he was doing his best not his fault at all. I’m choosing to blame the writing. But also goddamn if that kid's choices for delivery did not grate on my ears. His voice. just. did not sit right with me idk. Les in the movie is such a cute and endearing kid, I always adored him as he reminded me a lot of my own younger brothers. But this kidddd. is so unlikeable it’s like, going PAST annoying unfunny comic relief character straight into “how the fuck did anyone think this was a good idea”.

//

The ending suuuuuucks boooooo it’s bad I don’t like it I'm kinda running outta steam here but I still got shit to say so fuck it we ball. it’s so over explained that it’s just. just dumb. It just becomes dumb at a certain point. Jack going to do cartoons for Pulitzer??? What??? Don’t get me wrong I actually really love them giving him artistic talent I think that really adds some actually GOOD dimension to his character, but this????? Really????? Everything is just so like *perfectly* wrapped up that it totally destroys my suspension of disbelief. In the movie it’s definitely very wish-fulfilling and unrealistic, but it’s from the perspective of kids. It’s exactly as a kid would perceive it. And we don’t see exactly how the conceding of Pulitzer goes down and we SHOULDN’T!! Because then it gets all bogged down with the logistics of it all which is exactly what happened to the play! We don’t need all the details, we just need to know they won.

//

This one isn’t a gripe actually because I apparently DO have love in my heart: I love musical Crutchie. I love him, I love him so much my sweet boy. I love him being Jack’s little brother I love them having that deeper connection. I love Crutchie in the movie so to see him getting more screen time (so to speak) is just lovely. The one change I agree with. I love you forever Crutchie.

ok i’ve been writing for hours and my hands gonna fall off so im done now. if i think of anything else…well, you’ll just have to wait for my video essay i guess.

[911coded]

As promised, chapter 5. This feels rougher than usual but it still works. There is a slight cliffhanger at the end, but was a good stopping point. 😬

Chapter 5: Tear In My Heart

Tommy lay in his shitty bed at McMurdo trying to figure out where his life went off the rails. A flash of a beaming smile and ocean blue eyes comes to mind and he groans, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. I answered the phone when Howie called and a beautiful man walked into my life with a handshake and a bashful smile, that’s what happened. Fuck me. It was destined to end, but he thought maybe he would get to keep some friends out of the deal. That they would end things amicably when Evan was ready to move on and he would pretend to be fine with it and lick his wounds in private. Instead, he panicked at the first sign of permanency and blew up everything spectacularly, hurting them both in the process. Now, in an effort to move on and not think about Evan at every moment, he’s traveled to the other side of the world where no one knows him. And now, people that know his ex are popping up out of the snowy tundra to tell him that, what, they are destined to be connected to each other? What is that supposed to mean? What is he supposed to do with that? Tommy groaned, rolled over and pulled a flat pillow over his head but shot up at the pounding on the door of his tiny room.

“Kinard! Boss wants you to the office, there’s another VIP coming in and they requested you.”

Tommy opened the door to one of his fellow pilots and leaned against the door frame, rubbing a rough hand over the scruff collecting on his face, “Yeah, thanks man. I’ll get suited up and head on over.”

He starts to close the door but the pilot slaps a hand on it and leans in, “Hey, is everything ok? You’re not in any trouble, are you?”

Tommy would have appreciated the sign of friendly intent, but he was sure Peter (Pete?) was just after the latest gossip and Tommy has never made it a habit to give people something to talk about. He shook his head, “Nah, I have no idea what’s going on. The last guy just had me fly around, never said a word.” Tommy shrugged and again pushed at the door and the pilot let up, turning away and making his way down the hallway to tell the next guy what he heard.

*******************

Buck contemplated his future as his plane into Colorado Springs started its descent. Noise-cancelling earphones were filling his ears with the playlist he made the night before, while trying to work out what he was feeling. He is still sad that he and Tommy managed to explode their relationship so suddenly and spectacularly, but the longer he really thought about it instead of distracting himself with work and baking, the more embarrassed he was to be struck with the realization that the cracks were there all along, neither of them had wanted to look. The foundation of a relationship needed to be laid with communication and that was the one thing they didn’t do, not about important things anyway. And maybe they would have gotten there in time, maybe they weren’t ready to slice themselves open and expose all the pain and trauma they each hid behind their ribs.

He had been so relieved to be able to be his whole self with Tommy, that he didn’t want to examine all the insecurities and damage that they both were carrying around, let alone talk about them. But he thinks back to the anniversary dinner and barely recognises himself. Who was that guy fumbling how to talk to beautiful women in a way that turns them down but doesn’t cause a scene? Why did he never look up the Kinsey scale? Ok, he knew OF it, but maybe he should have given it a closer look if he didn’t even know what the numbers meant? Just because it wasn’t exactly considered accurate and complete didn’t mean that it wouldn’t come up in conversation. Maybe there were too many things that he should have taken a closer look at. Unfortunately, all of that leaving things be and enjoying the moment left them both blindsided when they managed to set off the landmines hiding in their pasts. Buck’s response to the explosion was to cling and Tommy’s was to run. Now here they are, Tommy ran all the way to the arctic and Buck is chasing him right into a job interview. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as the fasten seat belt sign light goes dark. Here goes nothing.

*****************************************

Tommy had never been bullied out of the pilot’s seat by a passenger before. He was pretty sure he hated it. Major General John Sheppard was a cocky pain in the ass, but he could certainly fly. The helicopter banked sharply to the north and Tommy resisted the urge to reach for a cyclic that wasn’t there. Oh yeah, he definitely hated it. As they went further north, that not quite voice in his head got a little louder but not any more clear.

Tommy saw General Sheppard’s eyes narrow, “Wow, it’s much chattier than it was all those years ago.”

“You can hear it?” Tommy asked. He turned to look at him instead of the horizon.

“Oh, yeah. I wasn’t able to until I sat in the chair last time. I can’t really understand what it wants, though. You get used to the hum in the back of your mind after a while. The feeling of a whisper that you can’t quite hear but can feel in your bones, the steadiness of never quite being alone, it gets to be comforting. I bring a bit of home with me whenever I visit earth now. Let’s set down and see what the ruckus is about, shall we?” With his statement that didn’t make much sense to Tommy, Sheppard began to lower their altitude and came to a hover over flat ice cleared next to a geometric dome rising over the tundra. After shutting down the helicopter, Sheppard (he said to call him John, that will be weird) turned to Tommy with a serious look on his face. “It’s sure to be a mess of people down there and they get real excited when someone with a strong impression of the gene shows up, just get my attention if you start to get overwhelmed.” Tommy nodded at John but he still had no real idea what was going on or what they were doing there.

Tommy followed John into the dome and to what looked like a freight elevator. With a push of a large button, they started to go down. And down. And down. “How far does this thing go?” Tommy asked, peering down into the darkness below.

“A mile? I think? All I know is that it takes forever. Hey! That means we have time to talk! What do you know about how Buckley came to the attention of our program?” John asked awkwardly.

“I know that he met some of your people when he lived in Peru. I know that he’s been in contact with them ever since. I also know that if he was able to activate this technology without being in direct contact with it, that he knew something weird was up and didn’t say anything. Probably part of why he kept in touch, in case your people wanted to keep an eye on him,” Tommy shrugged. “Make it easy, and they don’t make a fuss. Seems like something he would do.”

“Well, shit. I wonder if any of them have realized…..bet Parrish has, for a botanist, he sure does love chaos. So, you and Evan, what was the problem between you two?” John asked with a smirk.

Tommy cleared his throat and looked anywhere but at John himself, “No offense intended, sir, but that’s none of your business.”

John sighed deeply, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the back wall of the elevator, “That’s really unfortunate, ‘cause Parrish made me promise to be on my worst behavior and make it my business. At least until Buckley can get to you and make you listen.”

Tommy grunted and rolled his eyes, “I don’t know why he just can’t let it go. It’s obvious that he can do better. He can move on and live in LA with his family and be happy. Why would he want to get involved in my bullshit or yours for that matter? Technology that can talk to you? A research base on the bottom of the world, literally a mile beneath the surface? Why would he think any of this would be worth it? He doesn’t even know the real me at all!?” Tommy shouted. He tucked his hands under his arms and panted for breath, shaking with emotion and pressed his head against the elevator gate, as he struggled to regain control of himself.

“What makes you say that?” John asked calmly as if Tommy hadn’t just made a fool of himself.

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut and regrets all his choices that brought him to this place. He should have ignored Lucy when she suggested he get away for a while. Who could have known his golden retriever ex-boyfriend was really a husky in disguise with a reach further than even he could run? “He never asked,” he replied softly.

“Did you want him to?” John asked equally as softly while the elevator chugged along deeper and deeper into the earth.

****************************************************

Buck left baggage claim with his two duffle bags and backpack containing, hopefully, all he would need for the next six months. He looked around for someone who looked familiar or at least a sign with his name on it. He happened to spot both in Lorne leaning against a window with a small sign reading EVAN. He hurried over to join him with a giant grin. “Evan!” he shouted, which brought about Lorne’s and also half the crowd’s attention. Lorne grinned once he saw Buck and shouted back, “Evan! You made it!” Lorne grabbed one of the duffles out of Buck’s hand and gave him a half-hug around the other.

“How was your flight?” he asked as they made their way to the waiting car. It only took a couple of minutes to load the trunk with his things and Buck followed Lorne into the waiting car to see a marine sitting in the driver’s seat.

Buck glanced at the marine but mentally shrugged, “It wasn’t bad, short at least, and the smaller airport is much easier to navigate. I hear from Dave that congratulations are in order! Promoted and taking over as base commander! That’s so great! Is the current person retiring?”

Yeah, Cam is ready to retire and spend more time with family in Kansas. I’ll be taking over here at the mountain and we’re still deciding how Dave will split his time between here and there. I’ll have a more regular working schedule, which will be an adjustment for both of us. The hour drive from the airport to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex was spent quietly, Buck watching the scenery go by and attempting to psych himself up for the interview of his life. Buck startled from his daydream about his future when the car turned through a guarded gate and drove about a mile down a straight lane directly into the mountain through a massive tunnel. Here we go. Showtime.

**************

Tommy and John stayed silent for the rest of the slow ride to the bottom. Tommy kept running what John had said over and over in his mind. Did you want him to? Did you want him to? How many times had the conversation gotten heavy and one of them deflected with a joke or another topic? The shudder of the elevator and the sharp clank of metal announcing the end of their ride broke him from his thoughts.

”General Sheppard! Did we know you were visiting?” asked who Tommy could only assume was some sort of scientist in a puffy coat.

”Nope! Just came down to introduce Kinard here to the chair. He’s thinking about joining the program,” answered John.

Tommy shot him a betrayed look, confused. Joining the program? He’s a firefighter, not a ….. he realizes he has no idea what he would even do for these people. He has no idea what they even do! After a couple of minutes of John promising to share anything they learn from “the chair”, Tommy follows him into a large open room, with only what looks like a metal recliner in the middle.

”What are we really doing here, John? This isn’t a job interview, I’m on the logs at McMurdo for a flight to the research base and back, that’s it. So, what are we doing?” Tommy asked, exasperated.

John sighed and muttered under his breath what sounded like “should have sent anyone else.” He took a deep breath, “Look, I need you to listen for a minute, kid, ‘cause I’ve been where you are and I wasted too many years being miserable because I just couldn’t get the words out to say what I really wanted and needed, and I still have trouble…. so this is gonna suck for me.” There was silence from John while he seemingly looked at the rock walls gathering his thoughts, then he heaved a long sigh, “When I first came to Antarctica, the only thing I had left was flying. No family, my friends were all dead and I was ready to spend the rest of my commission flying scientists and supplies back and forth every day because at least I still had the sky. Then I sat in an uncomfortable metal chair and the universe opened up to me. I had the opportunity to see and experience things that I had never even dreamed of before.” He paused and glanced at Tommy, “It wasn’t just about the program, either. I met this loud, rude, absolutely brilliant man, a scientist, and spent the next six years of my life completely in love with him. It took two years to realize it, another four to have the courage to let myself love him, but I still didn’t say anything. DADT wasn’t enforced by Stargate Command, but I was still in the US military. I wouldn’t be able to live openly while serving and I decided I couldn’t do that to him. I made the decision that he deserved better than me, so I stayed quiet and watched him fall in love with someone else. I was still convinced that I wasn’t allowed to be happy. How could I ever give him enough of myself, unbend enough so that he could see and have all of me? Not just Colonel Sheppard, but John. Colonel Sheppard was in charge, he was a hero. John was a mess of neuroses and insecurities. Who could ever want him? No one had before. Sound familiar?” Tommy was staring at the freaky metal recliner blankly, arms crossed over his body, but he nodded slightly at John’s question.

“But, you are together now. You worked it out. How?” he asked, so softly John could barely hear him.

“Well, his relationship fell apart not long after it started when they realized that they wanted different things. They parted as friends, believe it or not. She stayed for a few years then went back to earth,” he said casually, and all the tiny hints that John had been dropping throughout the day suddenly came together to paint a disturbing picture.

“Wait. Earth?!” Tommy choked out.

“Did you miss the part when I said I visit earth? John looked amused as he shook his head mockingly at Tommy. “The gene that we all have that allows the tech to talk to us? It’s alien DNA, my friend. One or more of the assholes either played around with our ancestors and a probe, or decided to play happy families until they were able to pass on their legacy and peace out. I thought Jack and Daniel had a talk with you?”

Tommy scoffed, “There was definitely talking and the general handed me what I think was a toy for children’s therapy, but all I got out of it was that we have a genetic anomaly that allows us to communicate with advanced technology. They didn’t say anything about aliens! They talked about family lines and that we would be drawn to each other!” Tommy growled, absolutely done with playing along.

“Well, that’s true. Did they mention that the researcher who studies the gene thinks it has something to do with all of us being at least bisexual?” John asked, grinning.

Oh. Oh fuck. What?! Tommy bent over at the waist, his heart racing, “I need to sit down.”

John startled and looked around in a panic but there was only one option, “Shit! Yeah, come here, it’s not very comfortable but at least it reclines.” John carefully sat Tommy down in the only chair available without thinking much about it.

“Hello Thomas,” a voice rang out calmly.

“Oh shit! That is definitely new!” John exclaimed and glanced at Tommy, gaze full of guilt.

Tommy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Fuck my life.

Tags🩷❤️: @anangrylittlehobbit @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @grimmsdead

[k9emote]

The people who talk about me usually are not just talking about their experiences, and if they are, they don't communicate that well. They get asks like "Why is K9 bad?" and then those people state their opinions like they are facts, or they say things they've heard from others like its undeniably true with no context. These posts have brought me genuine harm. To be angry that I want to defend myself is unfair, because in reality I probably respond to 1/5th of this stuff if that. I have basically begged my audience to bring things to me directly instead of talking about things they don't understand publicly. I have apologized again and again to the people I've hurt, but I owe people like you nothing.

If I respond, I'm called a harasser or attacking people. If I don't, I'm ignoring and hiding from the situation. I can't win.

All I've ever done is provided context and truth to things I've seen spread around. I don't attack every blog that dislikes me and it's unfair to push that narrative. If you were in my position you would be upset and scared and want to defend yourself as well. It literally feels like you're being cornered.

I would love to see those 14 inbox messages, because a part of me doesn't believe it's harassment or hate. Many people have told me they're getting harassed but haven't actually shown me anything. I find it incredibly hard to understand because I have never met a supporter who's mentioned doing this, and I very often heavily push my audience to NOT FUCKING HARASS PEOPLE. DON'T DO THAT.

Nevertheless, if you are genuinely getting attacked, I'm sorry. I wish this app wasn't like that and I have tried my hardest to discourage it.

I am. I am making a post that is in my drafts currently. I am getting things ready so I can move any tumblr commissions to discord. I am getting off tumblr for my health and for the health of those obsessively hating or defending me. I have been scared for a year. I have been nitpicked and shit talked to the floor for a year. I have been demonized and lied about for a year, so yes, I'm fucking leaving. I promise you anyone scared of me has not been experiencing the daily panic attacks that have been plaguing my fucking life because of this app. I will write out an apology, say my final words, and delete this app. My account will be archived and I will fill out requests in my server only. If people are lying about me or copying my art, I won't see it, and they'll be left alone. There will not be a figure to hate here any more. If I'm such an aggressive, abusive creator; then congratulate yourself to the length my mental state has been pushed. I'm leaving.

(making my own post about this because it wouldn't let me reblog for whatever reason)

Here is an unedited speed paint of that emoji. I did not trace Reki. However; I see that I was subconsciously referencing/inspired by Reki's emoji and I'm very sorry. I hadn't ever realized that. I had no intention of copying it, and I hope my screen-recording proves that. I was trying to remake Custom Emotes cheek kiss. To Reki; I'm genuinely sorry. I will take the emote down and recreate it more originally.

Unfortunately I don't have many speedpaints due to the fact I do not have a good ipad and its storage is very bad. I often have to delete past canvases to make room for new ones when I'm done, or the app won't work. I hope the speedpaint I've shared is able to prove that we have issues subconsciously redrawing emojis we've seen. It doesn't make it okay — but it is not intentional as many claim. We have gone back and apologized for this issue and have stopped & double checked every new emoji we make now, just to be sure.

We checked this artists boundaries with staff beforehand and credited the artist. We are willing to take this down if it's too close, it is not traced. It is heavily inspired; and that was said publicly.

That's the point. It's supposed to look similar. It was one of our first ever interactions on our new tumblr account, and we wanted to make a matching emoji guy to the one they'd sent as a silly response. It isn't meant to be used as a public emoji. The credit obviously goes to that person because our emoji was posted in response to them. They never brought this up as an issue with us. If it is a problem, we will take it down if that creator reaches out.

This isn't traced. None of the lines match. The only similar quality is the expression which, again, is easy to subconsciously recreate. Especially because of the fact we used this emoji a few times in the past. This doesn't make it okay and we will take the emojis down due to unoriginality, but this isn't traced and the artist has stated in the past that they were okay with inspiration.

I have nothing to say here besides sorry. It is obvious that in the past we have had a blatant issue with accidentally recreating emojis/art we had internalized, and we've apologized for that multiple times publicly and stopped. We now double check everything we make to make sure we're not accidentally copying someone. I have no recollection of making this emoji, but we obviously must've referenced this artist while trying to make spider emotes and forgot about it before posting. (We used to draw emojis and let them sit in our ibis paint before posting them.) Before we had a bigger audience we really didn't take crediting or this issue seriously and we understand now, especially with our own boundaries, that it wasn't okay. We haven't been shown this before to my memory and I'm really, genuinely sorry. That does NOT make it okay and I am completely at fault for the lack of credit. I've background searched the art but I can't find the artist. Those emotes will be taken down, and if anyone knows who drew this, please let me know.

I've never said people have to like me. I've said the exact opposite, but at least bring things to me before saying stuff that isn't true. I have been open with the fact that this was an issue witn us, but we've worked really hard to fix it. This wasn't a simple issue to be fixed; it was literally how our mind, memory and creativity worked. Still, I'm sorry. Like we've said before, we won't let it happen again.

https://discord.com/channels/1222249319240040501/1222250341228089465/1295186047344447589