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"Chaewon: Digital Whore, Brutal Revenge"

Tags: Slutty idol with a collar / Painful butt plug / Slobbery blowjob / Virgin anal fuck / Contradictory orgasms / Ripped lingerie / Shower sex / Dirty words on the body / Hardcore SimpSpace / Neon speakeasy / Turned on with beating / Humiliation with marker

Words: 5.825

Seoul at night is a neon monster, with flashing signs and the smell of fried kimchi mixed with exhaust. In the midst of this chaos, Chaewon, 21, runs through the streets of Hongdae, her black hair messy, her worn-out sneakers slapping on the asphalt. By day, she is the proper intern at Starlight Entertainment, a K-pop company that promises to transform newcomers into brilliant idols. Chaewon spends hours filing contracts, serving coffee to idiotic producers and dreaming of the day she will stand on stage, microphone in hand, singing until the world forgets she was once a nobody. But reality is cruel: the internship pays a pittance, and the rent in Seoul is unforgiving. So, at night, she becomes someone else — or rather, another Chaewon, with red lipstick and a short skirt, serving shots at a speakeasy called Black Velvet, hidden in the alleys where the police turn a blind eye.

Black Velvet is a dirty but lively hole. The walls are covered in graffiti, the air smells of cheap vodka and incense, and the electronic music thumps so loud it makes glasses shake. Chaewon glides between the tables, balancing trays of drinks with names like “Hot Sin” and “Wrong Night.” She wears a uniform that’s more fetish fantasy than workwear: a tight black top, a leather skirt that barely covers her ass, and fishnet stockings that scream trouble. The customers—guys in suits with pert hands, girls with colorful hair giggling loudly—stare at her as if she’s the main course. Chaewon doesn’t care; the tips pay the bills, and the bar is her secret stage, where she tests out the charisma she’ll one day wield as an idol. “One more shot, princess?” a drunken customer asks, and she smiles, leaning in just enough for him to toss her an extra bill. “Only if you can handle it, uncle,” she says, her voice sweet with a hint of venom, and sways away, hearing him laugh.

But it’s not all that easy. Chaewon lied to get the job. She forged an ID, changing her age to 19, and used a fake name, “Soo-min,” so she wouldn’t be tracked. The bar owner, a guy named Min-jae with neck tattoos and zero questions, doesn’t care about the rules, as long as she sells drinks and doesn’t cause trouble. The problem is Yuna, the other waitress, a 23-year-old blonde with a lip piercing and a talent for sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong. Yuna is smart, sarcastic, and has a laugh that cuts like glass. She and Chaewon have never gotten along—Yuna thinks Chaewon is too big for herself, with her K-pop dreams and good-girl ways. “You can’t fool anyone with that angelic face,” Yuna always says, blowing cigarette smoke in her face during breaks.

That night, the bar was packed, the air heavy with sweat and perfume. Chaewon dances between the tables, pouring a round of green shots that glow under the neon lights. She’s in the flow, laughing with a customer, when she feels Yuna’s gaze fixed on her. In the corner of the bar, Yuna is leaning against the counter, fiddling with her phone, her piercing glinting as she smiles in a way that gives you goosebumps. Chaewon ignores her, but during her break, when she goes to the bathroom to touch up her lipstick, Yuna appears, blocking the door. “Soo-min, huh?” Yuna says, her voice acidic, dragging out her fake name like it’s a joke. Chaewon freezes, her heart racing. “Or should I call you Chaewon? You know, I thought it was funny when I saw your real name on a Starlight form that got passed around in the bar’s gossip group. Fake ID, huh? How ugly for a future idol.”

Chaewon tries to keep her composure, her lipstick trembling in her hand. “What the hell do you want, Yuna?” she says, her voice steady, but fear seeping through her. Being exposed could ruin everything—her internship, her dream of singing, the life she’s been building. Yuna laughs, crossing her arms, her vinyl top reflecting the dim bathroom light. “Calm down, princess. I won’t tell… yet. But you’re going to do what I tell you, or I’ll show Min-jae and his fancy little company that you’re a fraud.” She steps closer, her minty, cigarette-like breath hitting Chaewon’s face. “First task: tomorrow, you cover my shift. And there’s more coming, Soo-min. If you play your cards right, maybe I’ll keep your little secret.” Yuna winks, sways away, and leaves Chaewon alone, the mirror reflecting a girl who’s about to enter a game much more dangerous than serving drinks.

The streets of Hongdae are a carnival of lights and chaos, with crowded bars, karaoke bars spewing K-pop, and the smell of fried tteokbokki hanging in the air. It’s Friday night, and Seoul’s nightlife is booming: girls in glitter makeup spill out of clubs, guys with bleached hair yell drunkenly, and couples make out in alleys like the world is ending.

Chaewon is in the middle of the chaos, covering Yuna’s shift as part of the blackmail. She carries a tray of blue shots that glow like poison, dodging cheeky hands and smiling at customers who shout “Baby, another one!” Her red lipstick is already a little smudged, sweat dripping down the back of her neck, but she holds her pose, swaying slightly as she serves, the charisma of a future idol shining through even in that hole. Inside, she’s a wreck: the fear that Yuna will open her mouth and ruin her life at Starlight Entertainment—where she dreams of being an idol—is on her mind. I'll fix this, she thinks, but her anger towards Yuna only grows.

During her break, Chaewon runs to the bathroom, a cubicle with cracked tiles and a smudged mirror. She’s touching up her lipstick when Yuna walks in. “Are you enjoying my shift, Soo-min?” Yuna teases, her tone acidic, leaning against the counter to block the exit. Chaewon grits her teeth, the tube of lipstick clutched in her hand. “Just say what you want, Yuna. I’m sick of this shit,” she snaps, her voice shaking with anger. Yuna laughs, pulling out her phone and showing a screenshot: Starlight’s form with Chaewon’s real name, which she found in a gossip group. “Look, your idol life is in my hands. One click, and Min-jae kicks you out. Another, and Starlight kicks you out. Imagine the producers knowing that the nice intern serves shots in a whore’s skirt.”

Chaewon’s stomach churns, but she tries to keep a brave face. “You’re a bitch, you know that?” She says, but Yuna just smiles, leaning closer until her breath hits her face. “Bitch is in charge of you, honey. And now, new assignment: you’re going to create an account on SimpSpace.” Chaewon blinks, confused. “What?” Yuna explains, her tone amused: SimpSpace is a platform where girls sell intimate content to horny fans—messages, photos, videos, anything that makes guys spend money. “You’re going to join, post some hot stuff, and give me half of the profits. Or I’ll send your story to everyone, including your bosses at Starlight.”

Chaewon wants to punch Yuna in the face, but she’s cornered. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to do that,” she spits, but Yuna leans in, her finger poking her in the chest. “You’re crazy, thinking you have a choice. You start with spicy messages, some light things. But you’re not wrong, Soo-min — I’ll want more. Pictures in your panties, videos of you dancing like those sluts on TikTok, audios of you moaning as if you were getting fucked. And if you complain, your life will turn to ashes.” Yuna laughs, tossing her blonde hair, and leaves, leaving Chaewon trembling, the mirror reflecting a girl who is sinking into a bottomless pit.

Back in the tiny apartment Chaewon shares with an intern, she throws herself on the bed, her bar uniform thrown on the floor, the smell of vodka still clinging to her skin. It's 3 a.m., and Seoul rumbles outside, neon signs shining through the window. She grabs her phone, her heart heavy, and creates an account on SimpSpace with the name “VelvetKitten,” an ironic echo of Black Velvet. The platform is a sea of ​​profiles with panty pics and promises of “exclusive content.” Chaewon swallows her pride and starts with light messages, responding to guys who send her fire emojis and “Hi, kitty.” “I'm in my pajamas, wanna know what it's like?” she writes to one, bile rising in her throat, but money dripping into her account. Each message is a stab at her dream of being an idol, but also a spark of rebellion — if she's being forced to do this, she'll do it her way.

The next night, at Black Velvet, Yuna doesn’t miss a chance to humiliate. As Chaewon serves a table of screaming guys, Yuna walks by and whispers loud enough for some to hear: “Are you sending nudes properly, VelvetKitten? Or do you want me to teach you how to suck on a phone?” The customers laugh, thinking she’s joking, but Chaewon blushes, her tray shaking in her hands. “Fuck you, Yuna,” she mutters, but Yuna just blinks, blowing a sarcastic kiss. Later, at the bar, Yuna checks Chaewon’s phone, laughing. “Texts? That’s it? I’m serious, Soo-min. I want pictures of you in black panties, twerking in a video with that slutty skirt, and some audio clips of you moaning ‘oh, fuck me’. Otherwise, your career is over.” Chaewon stares at the bar, the glass of soju Min-jae pours gleaming like a way out, but she knows she’s trapped. The bar throbs around her, the graffiti on the walls seeming to laugh at her, and Chaewon, for the first time, feels the weight of a double life that could swallow her whole.

As “VelvetKitten” on SimpSpace, Chaewon has sent racy messages like “Wanna see my pajamas, you rascal?” and the money is pouring in—50,000 won here, 100,000 there. But Yuna, the bitch with the lip piercing, wants more. Yesterday, she demanded panty shots, videos of her twerking, and audio of her moaning, and Chaewon, her heart in her throat, was starting to give in. She opens the app, and the notifications explode: “You’re so beautiful, Kitten, I want to see you on your knees,” says one subscriber. “I’m paying you to be my little slut,” writes another. Chaewon feels her face burn with embarrassment, but also a treacherous heat between her legs—the compliments, even dirty ones, ignite something she hates to admit. They want me, she thinks, and for a second, it’s like being on the stage she dreams of as an idol.

But then the shame hits harder. Each message is a reminder of how far she is from the Chaewon who files contracts at Starlight Entertainment, smiling at producers who may never see her sing. She throws her phone on the bed, her heart sinking, and mutters to herself: “Fuck, I’m not that.” But Yuna doesn’t let up.

The next night, Chaewon is serving soju shots in a corner of Black Velvet, her uniform tighter than ever — Yuna “suggested” a top that barely covers her breasts and a vinyl skirt so short that she feels the air on her thighs with every step. The fishnet stockings are ripped on purpose, and the red lipstick, now smudged from biting her lip, completes the “adult movie waitress” look. She tries to ignore the stares of the customers, guys in suits with hands that “accidentally” brush against them and girls laughing loudly, but Yuna is watching, leaning against the counter, fiddling with her phone like a villain in a cheap comedy. “Hey, VelvetKitten!” Yuna screams, loud enough for a few tables to turn their heads. Chaewon blushes, her tray shaking. “Come here, your little digital bitch needs a lesson.”

Chaewon approaches, teeth gritted, and Yuna hands her her phone, open to SimpSpace. “Read this one out loud,” Yuna orders, pointing to a message from a subscriber: “Kitten, I want you on all fours, moaning my name.” Yuna’s voice is pure venom, and a few customers laugh, thinking she’s joking. Chaewon swallows hard, her face burning. “Yuna, stop this shit,” she whispers, but Yuna leans in, her piercing glistening. “Read it, or tomorrow Min-jae and Starlight will know you’re a fraud. And say it nicely, like the little slut they think you are.” Chaewon wants to punch her in the face, but she’s cornered. Her voice trembling, she reads softly: “Kitten… I want you on all fours… moaning my name.” Yuna laughs, clapping her hands together. “Louder, Soo-min, or I’ll turn it on the bar’s stereo!” Chaewon repeats, her voice cracking, and a guy at the next table whistles, shouting, “That’s it, kitten!” The humiliation burns, but Chaewon’s eyes shine with something new—anger mixed with a confused lust, as if the shame is turning into something else.

Later, in the back of the bar, in a small room that serves as a storage room and dressing room, Yuna throws a bag of clothes in Chaewon’s face. “Time to step it up a notch, VelvetKitten,” she says. The bag contains a black lace bodysuit that looks like a spiderweb, a pair of strap-on panties that barely cover anything, and a leather belt with chains that screams porn. “This is for your next video,” Yuna explains, crossing her arms. “I want you to dance, shaking that ass that the guys are paying to see. And record an audio moaning ‘fuck me, daddy’, really naughty. If you don’t, you know what I mean.” Chaewon stares at the clothes, her stomach churning. “You’re turning me into a… a…” She doesn’t finish, and Yuna finishes, laughing: “A digital slut? Congratulations, Soo-min, you already are. Now do it right.”

Back at the apartment, Chaewon puts on the lace bodysuit, the fabric brushing her nipples in a way that makes her gasp. She records the video, dancing to a slow beat by SimpSpace, shaking her hips in front of the mirror, the chain belt jingling. “You’re so hot, Kitten,” one subscriber comments, and others send: “Be my slave, please.” Shame swallows her — she’s the intern who wants to be an idol, not this — but excitement comes along with it, like a betrayal of her body. She records the audio, moaning “Fuck me, daddy,” her voice hoarse, and when she sends it, the money pours in: 200,000 won in one night. Chaewon throws the phone on the bed, her hands shaking, her heart in pieces. At Black Velvet, Yuna checks it all out, laughing as she humiliates: “Look, the little idol is learning how to be a slut properly.”

It’s Saturday night, and Hongdae is a hive of lights and sound, with bars blaring K-pop music, girls in high heels stumbling on the sidewalks, and the smell of soju and fried chicken in the air. Black Velvet is packed. Tattooed owner Min-jae’s counter is covered in sticky glasses, and the electronic beat, like something from Jay Park, makes the tables vibrate. Chaewon darts between customers, her uniform—a black lace bodysuit that looks like a web, strappy panties, and a jingling chain belt—leaving her exposed to hungry eyes. Her red lipstick is smeared from biting her lip, sweat drips down the back of her neck, and every “Hey, kitty!” from a drunk customer is a stab to the soul. But she keeps her smile on, pouring shots of “Hot Sin” while thinking about SimpSpace, where, as “VelvetKitten,” she’s making money from dirty texts, twerking videos, and audios that make her want to vomit with embarrassment.

During her break, Chaewon hides in the back room, a cramped space with boxes of liquor and a cracked mirror. She checks her phone, her heart sinking, and sees a new message on SimpSpace. It’s from a guy with the nickname “GoldKing88,” a VIP subscriber who’s already spent thousands of won in the past few days. The message is straightforward: “Kitten, I’ll pay you 5 million won for a personalized video. I want you on a leash, on all fours, moaning my name and begging to be mine. 10 minutes, no cuts.” Chaewon’s stomach drops—5 million is more than she makes in months at Starlight Entertainment. But the thought of humiliating herself like this, on a leash, begging, is too much. She tosses her phone into her bag, muttering “No way,” but Yuna’s shadow is already looming.

Back at the bar, Chaewon is serving a table of guys in suits when Yuna appears. “Time to check out SimpSpace star VelvetKitten!” Yuna announces, loud enough for a few heads to turn, and Chaewon blushes, her tray shaking. At the counter, Yuna grabs her phone without asking, laughing as she scrolls through her messages. “Wow, look at this! ‘GoldKing88’ wants to leash you? And 5 million won? Damn, Soo-min, you’re hot!” Chaewon tries to grab the phone, her teeth grinding together. “Yuna, stop this shit. I’m not doing this,” she spits, her voice low, but Yuna leans in. “You’re not?”

Chaewon feels the floor disappear, the bar spinning around her. “You’re destroying me, Yuna,” she mutters, her eyes watering, but Yuna laughs, tossing her blonde hair. “Destroying me? I’m making you rich, you ungrateful bitch. Now take the guy’s offer, record this video, and give me half. Or do you want me to send your slutty face to the Starlight gossip group?” Yuna pokes her chest, her finger digging into her lace bodysuit. “And do it well, huh? Collar, on all fours, moaning like the little slut he wants. If not, it’s over.” Yuna throws the phone in her hand and walks off, shouting “Good luck, Kitten!” to the audience of customers, who laugh, thinking she’s joking. Chaewon stands still, her heart racing, the humiliation burning, but a spark of excitement — dirty, wrong — grows at the thought of so much money and attention.

In the apartment, the silence is broken only by the buzz of a neon sign outside, casting pink light on the peeling wall. Chaewon stands in front of the mirror, her body trembling as she puts on what Yuna sent her: black lace panties, a jingling chain belt, and a cheap leather collar she bought at a sex shop in Itaewon, her heart clenching with each click. The lace bodysuit has been replaced by a top that barely covers her nipples, and she feels the fabric brush against her skin, igniting a heat that embarrasses her. She turns on her phone’s camera, SimpSpace opens, and takes a deep breath. I’m not that, she thinks, but Yuna’s threat—Min-jae, Starlight, her career—weighs more than her pride.

Chaewon kneels on the carpet, on all fours, her collar glinting in the lamplight. “Hi, GoldKing,” she begins, her voice husky, forcing a sensual tone. “I’m here for you… your Kitten wants to be yours.” She moans his name, as if he were asking, and grinds slowly, her belt jingling, her panties slipping slightly. “Please… make me yours,” she murmurs, the words cutting like knives, but the money—5 million won—shines in her mind. The embarrassment is suffocating, but the comments that pop up on SimpSpace—“You’re perfect, Kitten, my hot slave”—get to her. The video lasts 10 minutes, every second a test of her limits, and when she turns off the camera, she’s sweating, her face flushed, her body strangely hot. Money drips into her account, and Chaewon throws the collar on the floor, muttering, “Fuck, what have I become?” But deep down, a part of her—rebellious, lively—is starting to enjoy the game, even if it’s dangerous.

The next night, at Black Velvet, Yuna checks the video on Chaewon’s phone, laughing out loud. “Look at that, the little idol with the collar! She’s turning pro, Soo-min!” She squeezes Chaewon’s arm, forcing her to look at the screen while the customers around her jeer. “Don’t forget: half of it is mine, or I’ll fuck you up.”

As time goes by, the messages from subscribers start to explode: “Kitten, you with a collar are my fantasy,” says one. “I want to see you cry from cumming,” writes another. Chaewon feels her face burn with embarrassment—she’s a Starlight Entertainment intern, dreaming of being an idol, not a “VelvetKitten” on all fours. But, damn, there’s something about this that gets to her. Every dirty compliment, every won dripping into her account, is like a drug. She’s scared, of course—scared of Yuna, of being exposed, of becoming this forever. But there’s also a perverse pleasure, an adrenaline rush of being desired, of exposing herself and, in some twisted way, controlling these guys through her cell phone. They want me, she thinks, and the thought makes her pussy throb, even though she hates to admit it.

On another day at work, Yuna drags Chaewon to the back room, a claustrophobic space with boxes of liquor and a cracked mirror. “Time to spice things up, VelvetKitten,” Yuna says, her tone acidic, tossing a black marker into her hand. “The subscribers want more, and you’re going to give it to them. Write what they tell you on your body.” Chaewon blinks, her heart racing. “What?” she blurts, but Yuna shows her phone, open to SimpSpace, with messages from subscribers: “Write ‘whore’ on your boobs, Kitten,” says one. “I want ‘slave’ on my ass,” asks another. Chaewon feels her stomach churn, but Yuna just says, “Do it, Soo-min.” Chaewon grits her teeth, anger mixed with that twisted pleasure she’s starting to enjoy. “You’re trash,” she spits, but takes the marker, trembling.

In the mirror, Chaewon pulls up her top, exposing her breasts, and writes “whore” in large letters, the marker cold on her skin. On her thigh, she scribbles “slave,” and on her stomach, “yours.” Each word is a stab, but also an electric shock—she’s humiliated, but the idea of thousands of guys paying to see this makes her feel powerful, even if it’s dirty. Yuna laughs, clapping her hands together. “Perfect, you little bitch. Now record a video for the subscribers. I want you dancing, rubbing those words, and moaning like they’re fucking you.” Chaewon wants to scream, but Yuna has her phone out, recording the humiliation. In the apartment, Chaewon films, dancing with the words exposed, shaking her hips as she moans, “I’m your whore, daddy,” her voice husky, her body hot. The subscribers go crazy—“You’re my queen, Kitten!”—and the money pours in, but Chaewon is torn, her perverse pleasure fighting with the shame of seeing herself like this.

When she returns to the bar, it ends up more crowded than ever, the air thick with sweat and incense. Chaewon pours shots, her vinyl top gleaming, the words “whore” and “slave” hidden beneath her clothes but burning into her skin. Yuna appears at the counter, her villainous smile shining. “Good news, Soo-min. A top subscriber, ‘DiamondLord,’ wants a private meeting. He’s offering 10 million won to see you in person.” Chaewon freezes, her tray shaking. “In person? Are you crazy?” she spits, but Yuna laughs, crossing her arms. “You’re the crazy one, thinking there’s a way out. He’s powerful, like he owns a club or something. He wants you in a suite downtown, and he said he wants to… satisfy you. You go, you’re going to be his little whore for a night, and you give me half.”

Yuna leans in, her finger poking Chaewon’s chest. “Imagine, Soo-min, a Starlight producer knowing that you write ‘whore’ on your body. Or Min-jae kicking you out for lying. Accept the date, or I’ll fuck you.” Chaewon feels the bar spin, the customers screaming in the background, the electronic beat like a hammer. The imaginary collar tightens — and, fuck, that dirty pleasure is there, whispering that maybe she wants this, just a little. “You’ll pay for this, Yuna,” she murmurs, but Yuna just blinks, blowing a sarcastic kiss. “Good girl, Kitten. If you play nice, who knows you might like it.” Chaewon stares at the bar, her soju glass glistening, and knows she’s sinking into a game where limits no longer exist.

Chaewon leaves Black Velvet after another hellish shift, her body exhausted, her uniform stuck to her sweaty skin. Her red lipstick is smudged, and the words “whore” and “slave,” which she washed off with force, still seem to burn into her skin. In her apartment, Chaewon flops down on her bed, her phone flashing with messages from SimpSpace. “DiamondLord” has confirmed the meeting: a suite at a luxury hotel in downtown Seoul, tomorrow night. “I want my Kitten live, ready to serve me,” he writes, and Chaewon feels her stomach churn. 10 million won is a fortune, but satisfying a stranger? That’s a line she’s never wanted to cross.

But Yuna doesn’t give her a choice. At the bar, before Chaewon could leave, Yuna cornered her in the back room, the cramped space smelling of vodka and dust. “You’re going to do it, Soo-min, and you’re going to make him cum with happiness,” Yuna said with a laugh. “If you try to run away, you know what. Imagine your bosses seeing the little idol moaning ‘fuck me, daddy.’” Yuna threw a bag with a “costume” — a red lace lingerie, a rhinestone collar, and a butt plug with a shiny jewel — that made Chaewon gag. “He asked for it, Kitten. Be a good slut,” Yuna mocked, poking her in the chest.

Chaewon stood in front of the bathroom mirror, her heart racing, the bag of “costume” that Yuna had thrown in her face open on the sink. The red lace lingerie is so thin it shows off her nipples, the rhinestone collar sparkles like a trophy, and the butt plug with a red jewel makes her swallow hard. Chaewon has never worn anything like this—her asshole is virgin, and just thinking about the sensation makes her stomach turn. But Yuna is clear: “DiamondLord wants you in this, Kitten.” Chaewon takes a deep breath, her red lipstick trembling as she applies lip gloss. I choose to do this, she thinks, trying to convince herself, the perverse pleasure she’s been feeling in SimpSpace fighting with her fear.

She slips on the lingerie, the fabric brushing against her skin, and puts on the collar, the rhinestone cold on her neck. Then, hands shaking, she grabs the plug and a tube of lube she bought at a sex shop in Hongdae, her face burning with embarrassment. Chaewon leans over the sink, her lace panties pulled to the side, and spreads the lube, the cold gel making her gasp. When she pushes the plug in, the pain is immediate—a sharp burn that makes her bite her lip, her eyes watering. “Fuck, that hurts,” she murmurs, her body tensing but pushing harder, her virgin asshole resisting before giving in. The plug goes in, the jewel glistening between her buttocks, and each movement sends a wave of pain mixed with a strange pleasure, as if she’s crossing a line she never wanted. Chaewon looks at the mirror, at the collar, at the lingerie, at the plug—she’s no longer the Starlight intern, but “VelvetKitten,” and that, in some twisted way, makes her feel alive. She pulls on a black trench coat over it, grabs her high heels, and heads out for the date, the plug tightening with every step.

The suite at the Lotte Hotel in the heart of Seoul is a dream of wealth: floor-to-ceiling windows with the skyline shining down, a king-size bed with black silk sheets, a bottle of Dom Pérignon champagne sweating on the table, and the smell of leather and jasmine in the air. Chaewon enters, her coat falling to the floor, revealing her red lingerie, her rhinestone collar, and her heels clicking on the marble. The butt plug sends shocks of pain and arousal with every movement, and she tries to maintain her “VelvetKitten” pose, even with her heart in her throat. DiamondLord, or Jin-ho, is waiting: in his 40s, with slicked-back hair, an Armani suit, and a smile that mixes charm with hunger. “Fuck, Kitten, you’re a living sin,” he says, his voice deep, pouring champagne. Chaewon smiles, her lip gloss glistening, and accepts the glass, the cold liquid calming her nerves. “I want to make you happy, Lord,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse, knowing she’s there by choice — Yuna forced her, but she wants the 10 million and, perhaps, this dangerous game.

Jin-ho leans in, his eyes fixed on her, and pulls Chaewon into a deep kiss, his tongue invading, the taste of champagne and whiskey mingling. She responds, her hands on his chest, feeling the heat through his shirt. “On your knees, Kitten,” he orders, his voice firm, and Chaewon obeys, the soft carpet against her knees, the plug tightening as she moves. She unzips his suit, his cock already hard, and licks the glans, slowly, like she learned from the SimpSpace videos. “Fuck, you know how to suck,” Jin-ho groans, his hand on the collar, tugging lightly. Chaewon swallows harder, her throat tight, the wet sound echoing in the suite. She’s nervous, but the wicked pleasure grows, the control she has over him even on her knees. He comes fast, the warm liquid filling her mouth, and Chaewon swallows, cleaning her lips with her tongue, her eyes fixed on his. “Good girl,” he says, laughing, and grabs a bottle of blue pills from the table, swallowing two with champagne. “I’m just getting started, Kitten.”

Jin-ho lifts her up, his hands ripping her red lingerie, the lace falling in shreds, exposing her breasts and strappy panties. “You’re mine today,” he growls, but Chaewon, sensing the power of the moment, whispers, “Then use me right, Lord.” He throws her on the bed, exploring her body with his hands and mouth, sucking on her nipples until she moans, his fingers in her pussy, wet despite her shame. Chaewon arches her body, the butt plug intensifying everything, and comes for the first time, a muffled scream, the pleasure fighting with the guilt of being so exposed. “Fuck, you come good,” Jin-ho says, and flips her onto her stomach, pulling her panties aside. “I’ve never done anal,” she confesses, her voice shaking, but adds, “I want to try… with you.” He lubes the plug, pulling it out slowly, the pain making her bite the sheets, and thrusts his cock in, slowly at first, then harder. Chaewon screams, the burning mixed with pleasure, and obeys when he commands: “Touch your pussy, Kitten.” She masturbates, her fingers quick, and comes again, her body shaking as he fucks her ass, ejaculating with a hoarse groan.

Exhausted, he leads her to the shower, steam filling the marble bathroom, hot water running down her skin. Jin-ho presses her against the wall, penetrating her pussy this time, his wet collar glistening. “You’re my slut, Kitten,” he says, but Chaewon, feeling the pleasure taking over, replies: “I’m yours… but only today.” They fuck until exhaustion, she coming once more, her legs weak. When they’re done, Jin-ho hands her a fat envelope—10 million won—and dresses her in one of his shirts, the fabric smelling of cologne. “It was perfect, Kitten,” he says, his tone hardening. “But if you open your mouth about this, I’ll find you, and you won’t like it.” Chaewon smiles, feigning submission, but inside she is plotting. In the elevator, the envelope in her bag, she feels her body aching, but alive, and one thing is certain: this game is changing her.

At Black Velvet, the next day, Chaewon was still serving shots, her vinyl uniform shining, her short skirt exposing her thighs marked by her encounter with Jin-ho. The rhinestone collar is hidden in her bag, but the weight of it — and the 10 million won — gives Chaewon a new confidence, an anger that is ready to explode. The encounter with DiamondLord was more than sex: Jin-ho let it slip that Yuna had worked with him, selling nudes on SimpSpace and doing “extras” at nightclubs, things that Min-jae, the bar owner, never knew about. Chaewon dug through the app and found old messages from Yuna on a deleted profile, with explicit photos and promises that could screw her over with Min-jae and even with the police, since Black Velvet is illegal.

Chaewon waits for the break, her blood boiling. When Yuna walks past her at the bar, laughing and shouting, “How was your date with that rich guy, VelvetKitten?” Chaewon can’t take it anymore. She grabs Yuna’s arm, her nails digging in, and drags her into the back room, ignoring the stares of the customers. “What the fuck, Soo-min?” Yuna whines, trying to pull away, but Chaewon slams the door shut, the sound muffled by the noise of the bar. Chaewon pushes Yuna against the wall, her vinyl top glistening in the dim light. “Enough of your shit, you bitch,” Chaewon growls, her voice shaking with rage, and slaps Yuna hard across the face, the sound echoing like a gunshot. Yuna stumbles, her piercing shaking, her hand on her face red. “Are you crazy?!” she screams, but Chaewon doesn’t stop, landing another slap, her red lipstick shining as she spits, “You’re the crazy one, thinking you can fuck me forever.”

Chaewon pulls out her phone, showing Yuna’s old messages on SimpSpace. “Look here, you hypocritical bitch. Selling nudes, sucking dick in nightclubs, and Min-jae doesn’t know anything about it. Do you want me to show it to him? Or to the police, who are already looking at this bar?” Yuna goes white, her eyes wide, but tries to defend herself: “You have no balls, Soo-min.” Chaewon laughs, an acidic sound, and grabs Yuna’s blonde hair, pulling hard until she moans in pain. “Balls? I became a bitch in SimpSpace, and now you’re going to be mine.” To humiliate her even more, Chaewon grabs the black marker from the table — the same one Yuna used to force her to write “whore” on her body — and writes “SLUT” on Yuna’s forehead, the thick line shining on her skin. “See how good it feels?” Chaewon scoffs, throwing the marker on the floor. “If you open your mouth, I’ll show your pictures to the whole bar.”

Yuna is shaking, her face red, the word “SLUT” shining like a stamp. “You’ll… regret it,” she mutters, but Chaewon slaps her again, a lighter one, just to make a point. “Regret it? You made me a whore, Yuna. Now shut up and obey, or I’ll make you swallow this piercing.” Chaewon leaves the little room, her heart racing, her anger mixed with a sadistic pleasure she’s never felt before. At the bar, she serves shots with a new smile, her uniform shining, while Yuna, still in the back, wipes the marker off with shaking hands. Chaewon has won this battle, but she knows Yuna won’t stay quiet.

[babyscottoncandy]

Bad Things

Su-Bong "Thanos",, Squid Games

Summary: Su-Bong "Thanos" x Fem¡Reader,, Su-Bong was never the type to commit to any person until he met (Y/n), a genius who somehow ended up in a strip club as a stripper, who had him head over heels.

TW: SW,, Drugs/Substance Abuse,, Pregnancy,, Mentions o/Sex

Based off the song "Bad Things" by MGK and Camila C.

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The strip club was a chaotic haven, a world where smoke thickened the air, neon lights buzzed overhead, and the thumping bass of electronic music rattled the walls. Su-Bong “Thanos” leaned against the bar, nursing a glass of something half-empty, his eyes glazed over with that signature combination of too many substances and too little sleep. His hair was disheveled, his clothes slightly wrinkled, and his vibe… well, Thanos was never the type to blend in anywhere. A rapper, a wannabe genius, and a druggie all rolled into one package, Su-Bong was content with drifting through life in a haze of poorly thought-out decisions.

“Yo, bartender!” he shouted randomly, slapping the bar with a bit too much enthusiasm for someone in his state. “Another drink! And make it stronger than my future.”

The bartender didn’t even bother looking up, too used to Su-Bong’s antics by now. It was a regular scene. But tonight, something was different—something caught his eye, and it wasn’t the cheap whiskey.

Su-Bong sat at the bar, slouched in his chair with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a bottle of cheap liquor in his hand. He hadn’t been in the club long, but he’d been watching you since you stepped on stage. There was something about the way you carried yourself—flirtatious, confident, and so unbothered by the eyes that drank you in—that captivated him.

He was used to being the one to draw attention, used to having people beg for a glimpse of his charisma and arrogance. But tonight? Tonight, it was all about you. His gaze never left your form as you spun around the pole, your movements fluid and graceful. It was an art form. And for the first time in a long while, he felt something—something that wasn’t the typical numbness.

The crowd was loving it, but you weren’t here to please them. You were here for the thrill, for the fun of it. You loved teasing the men who couldn’t take their eyes off of you, knowing full well the power you held over them. Tonight, your eyes kept drifting toward Su-Bong, and each time, you shot him a knowing smile. It was like a game to you—one that you were winning effortlessly.

You slipped into your jacket and took a deep breath. The night was chilly, the cool air cutting through the alleyway as you stepped outside. The buzz of the city surrounded you as you walked towards your car, trying to ignore the slight buzz of discomfort that always seemed to cling to you when you were alone after hours.

That was when you heard it.

A voice, low and threatening, cut through the stillness. “Hey, sweetheart. Got a minute?”

You froze.

Turning slowly, your stomach twisted in on itself. The man was unkempt, his face half-hidden in the shadows. His eyes were wild, unblinking, and in his hand was a knife—shiny, too clean, and terrifying. It glinted in the dim light as he stepped forward, his hand shaking slightly, but his grip firm.

You instinctively took a step back, your heart hammering in your chest. “W-what do you want?” you stammered, trying to sound calm, but your voice wavered.

“Your purse. Now,” he growled, his voice harsh, almost panicked. He waved the knife in the air, and your breath hitched.

You didn’t know what to do. Every instinct screamed at you to run, but the knife—that knife—kept you rooted to the spot. The last thing you needed was to make a move that would escalate things. The cold steel of it glinted as it hovered in the dim light, and your mind raced for any possible escape.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” you tried again, keeping your hands in view, not wanting to provoke him. “I’ll give you the purse, okay? Just… please, don’t hurt me.”

The man’s laugh was jagged, desperate. “I don’t want your purse, lady. I want something more.” His eyes flickered over you, and you could see the hunger in them, the desperation. It made your skin crawl.

Before the man could react, a figure appeared in the alleyway, silhouetted by the dim glow of the club’s lights. It was fast, and you didn’t even have time to process it before the man was flat on his back, groaning in pain.

You blinked, staring at the stranger who stood over the would-be mugger, his clothes unkempt and his posture… well, ridiculous. He had an aura of unpredictability around him, a weird mix of confidence and complete absurdity.

“You alright, lady?” the man asked, his voice sounding slightly slurred, but still strangely endearing. His hand was extended toward you, the other still hanging loosely by his side. You raised an eyebrow as you looked him over.

He had messy hair, a leather jacket that probably hadn’t seen a wash in weeks, and a pair of sunglasses that were clearly meant for the daytime. But there was something familiar about him. Then it clicked. His voice, his swagger—this was Su-Bong “Thanos,” the rapper and druggie who made the rounds in the local scene. You’d heard his name a million times in the clubs, but you’d never seen him in person before.

“Wait a minute,” you smirked, narrowing your eyes as you took in the sight of him. “You’re that rapper idiot, right? Thanos, isn’t it? The one who’s always high off his own ego?”

Su-Bong grinned, looking you up and down like he was sizing you up, his eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and charm. “Yo, yeah, that’s me. You… you’re the dancer from the club, right?” He paused, his grin growing wider. “Damn, girl, I swear I’ve seen you shake it on stage before. You’re fire.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. His ridiculousness was contagious. “I’m flattered, but, uh, do you always save people by randomly throwing people around like that?” you asked, gesturing to the unconscious guy still twitching on the ground.

“Nah, just when it’s fun,” Su-Bong shrugged nonchalantly, then added with a cheeky grin, “And when they’re annoying me.”

“Uh-huh,” you smirked, feeling the heat rise in your chest. You didn’t usually let anyone get this close to you, especially not after hours when you just wanted to get home and crash, but there was something about his cocky attitude that made it hard to look away. “Well, thanks for the rescue, ‘Thanos.’ I guess I owe you one.”

He leaned in closer, clearly trying to be dramatic, his voice dropping to a more serious tone that somehow didn’t match his demeanor at all. “You don’t owe me anything, babe. I just couldn’t stand to see you get robbed. Not when you’re looking so… distracting.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. “Flattery will get you everywhere. But I’m not about to sleep with you just because you knocked out some loser. Nice try though.”

Su-Bong let out a loud laugh, making the whole alleyway seem a little brighter. “Damn, you’re just as fire off-stage as you are on. I like you, (Y/n). I really do. You got that… confidence. I respect that.”

You shrugged, your hands tucked in your jacket pockets. “You don’t get very far without it. And clearly, you’ve got enough ego for the both of us.”

He chuckled, stepping closer and then abruptly taking a step back like he was having an internal debate. “Yeah, well… maybe one day, I’ll show you just how much I can handle.”

You scoffed playfully. “Don’t get cocky, ‘Thanos.’ You’ll scare me away.”

“Oh, I’m not scared of that.” His eyes gleamed mischievously. “But maybe you should be scared of me next time someone tries to rob you. I’ve got your back now, whether you like it or not.”

You met his gaze, holding it for a second longer than you expected. There was something oddly magnetic about him, despite how ridiculous he was. Maybe it was his confidence. Maybe it was just the way he made everything seem so… effortless.

“Alright, you’re alright,” you said, finally cracking a smile. “But I’m still not sleeping with you.”

Su-Bong threw his head back, laughing loudly, the sound echoing in the alley. “Damn, I’m just trying to be a gentleman! You’re tough, girl. I respect that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, already turning to leave. “Catch you later, Thanos. Try not to do anything too stupid, alright?”

“You know you like it,” he called after you, his voice full of laughter.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the grin spreading across your face as you walked off, the chaos of the night already slipping into the background. Somehow, you had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time you crossed paths with Su-Bong.

You had always been used to the crowd, the spotlight, and the occasional flirtatious encounter that came with your job. But after that night, things felt different. The alleyway, once just another mundane part of your routine, had become a place of tension. A place you couldn’t quite shake the feeling of being watched.

It had been a week since Su-Bong—Thanos—had barged into your life, knocking out the mugger with his ridiculous swagger and grinning like he was some sort of hero. You tried to brush it off at first, laughing it off as just another weird encounter. But for some reason, he couldn’t seem to stay out of your mind. His cocky grin, his obnoxious confidence, and the ridiculous way he carried himself—it was hard to forget.

And, as it turned out, Su-Bong wasn’t just a one-time thing.

Every night, without fail, you noticed him.

It started small. At first, he’d be leaning against the wall, tucked in the shadows near the back alley, his scruffy figure barely visible under the dim light. You tried to ignore it, telling yourself it was just a coincidence. He was probably there for something else, right?

But as the days went on, you realized it wasn’t a coincidence at all. Every night, after your last set, when you slipped out of the back door to make your way home, there he was—waiting for you.

At first, you just rolled your eyes and kept walking, pretending you hadn’t seen him. But it didn’t take long for him to break the silence with his usual over-the-top greeting.

“Yo, baby girl,” he’d call out with that cocky grin plastered on his face. “You missed me already?”

You couldn’t help but smirk, rolling your eyes. “You’re out here again, huh? What, you think I need an escort now?”

“Well, yeah,” he’d reply without skipping a beat, crossing his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’m just lookin’ out for you, girl. Can’t have you out here by yourself, not after last time. You do remember last time, right?”

He was referring to the mugging attempt, of course, and while it had been terrifying in the moment, you couldn’t deny that his presence had given you a sense of security.

Still, you weren’t about to admit that. “I’m fine,” you’d respond, your voice laced with sarcasm. “I can take care of myself, Thanos.”

He’d just laugh, that obnoxious, carefree laugh that made everything seem less serious. “Yeah, sure you can. But, you know, it never hurts to have a little backup. Besides, you wouldn’t want to walk home alone in this city, would you?”

You’d sigh, knowing full well he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “Fine, whatever. But don’t think you’re getting a thank-you out of me,” you’d tease, your voice softening despite yourself.

“Aw, c’mon, babe,” he’d say, stepping up alongside you as you began walking down the alley. “I’m just tryin’ to be nice here. Can’t blame a guy for lookin’ out for a pretty girl, right?”

You would chuckle, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous. I don’t know how you’re always this confident, Thanos. You’ve got an ego the size of the moon.”

“Hey, when you’re as awesome as me, you gotta show it off,” he’d reply with that familiar grin, giving you a playful nudge.

You couldn’t help but laugh at him, despite yourself. It was silly, but in a way, you’d gotten used to him showing up, even if it was a little strange. There was something oddly comforting about having him there, even if you didn’t want to admit it. Every night, it became a routine—Su-Bong, the oddball rapper with a messy past, would show up to walk you home, his loud, ridiculous presence acting as a buffer between you and the world.

One night, as you stepped out of the club after your shift, you found him leaning against the wall, as usual. But this time, there was something different in his posture. He wasn’t laughing or making a joke; he looked… serious. His eyes softened when he saw you, and for a second, it almost felt like he wasn’t the obnoxious mess you’d grown used to.

“You good?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You gave him a wary smile. “Yeah, just… tired. Long night.”

He nodded, pushing off the wall and walking up beside you. “Want me to grab you a ride home? I can get us a cab. Or, y’know, I could just give you a lift myself, if you trust me.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting the offer. “You, give me a ride? In that… what, your glorious car that I’ve seen you driving around?” You couldn’t help but tease, but there was a hint of genuine curiosity in your voice.

He shrugged, unfazed. “Hey, it’s not that bad. And I don’t mind. Just… if I’m gonna keep making sure you’re safe, might as well go all the way, right?”

You hesitated, the weight of his words settling in. It wasn’t just about the knife-wielding mugger anymore. It felt like he actually cared.

“Alright,” you finally agreed, your voice softening. “You win. But I’m not sitting in the backseat, alright? You’ve gotta deal with my sarcasm front and center.”

He grinned, almost as if he’d won a small victory. “Deal. I’ll take all the sarcasm you can throw at me. You know I love a good challenge.”

As you both walked toward his beat-up car, the quiet between you was comfortable—something you hadn’t expected. It was strange, but somehow, having Su-Bong, the self-proclaimed hero, around every night after work felt a little less like a chore and a little more like a choice.

The ride to your apartment was nothing like you’d ever experienced before.

You’d expected the usual quiet, mundane car ride home—just a brief escape from the chaos of your night. But with Su-Bong behind the wheel, that was never going to be the case.

His car was a beat-up mess, an old thing that probably hadn’t seen a wash in years. The leather seats were cracked, the dashboard was littered with empty snack wrappers, and the air smelled faintly of stale cigarettes and something that you couldn’t quite place—maybe weed? Definitely a mix of chaos. But none of that mattered as he slammed the car into gear and sped off, making a sharp left turn that had you gripping the door handle instinctively.

“Woah—su-bong!” you shouted, leaning back in your seat as he swerved around another corner, the tires screeching in protest.

“What?” He grinned at you from the driver’s seat, the ridiculous confidence on his face never faltering. “You scared or something?”

“Scared?! I’m trying not to have a heart attack!” you shot back, trying to sound annoyed, but you couldn’t keep the smile from tugging at your lips. He was so ridiculous, so unpredictable, that it was hard to stay mad for long.

“Pfft, this is nothing,” Su-Bong said, swerving around another turn, his hand effortlessly shifting the gearstick. “If you’re gonna hang with me, you gotta be ready for a little adventure, ya know?” His voice was laced with a mix of cockiness and complete obliviousness to the danger he was putting both of you in.

You glanced at him, feeling your pulse quicken. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“Nah,” he replied, effortlessly breezing through the next intersection like he owned the road. “I’m just living life. No time for slow driving, babe.”

Before you could respond, the car blasted with the sudden boom of heavy bass as the speakers came to life, drowning out your thoughts. You jumped a little, caught off guard as the car’s old speakers rattled with the beat of the music.

“Yo, yo, yo!” Su-Bong shouted, his hand slapping the steering wheel in time with the rhythm. “This track’s fire! You gotta hear this!”

It was loud—ridiculously loud—and the music was straight-up rap, the kind that boomed with heavy bass and fast-paced verses. You weren’t usually the biggest fan of rap, but Su-Bong’s energy was contagious. Despite your initial surprise, you found yourself nodding along, the music rattling through your chest with every beat.

“Alright, alright, I get it!” you laughed, trying to be heard over the pounding bass. “But are you sure you can handle driving like this?”

“Can I handle it?” he shouted back, his face lit up with the thrill of the ride. “I live for this. Look at me go! No hands on the wheel, no problem!”

And just like that, he threw his hands up in the air, the car swerving again as he hummed along with the lyrics. Your eyes widened, heart racing, as you quickly grabbed the door handle, bracing yourself for the ride.

“Su-Bong!” you screeched, genuinely worried. “Keep your hands on the wheel!”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m a professional!” he said nonchalantly, his eyes still on the road—barely. The music blared so loud that you could feel the vibrations in your seat, the sound almost deafening.

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered, trying to keep your cool despite the fact that you were moments away from either laughing or having a panic attack. There was no in-between when it came to Su-Bong.

He shot you a grin, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I’ll take that as a compliment, babe. You know you like my style.”

You couldn’t deny it. Despite the fact that you were pretty sure you were seconds away from crashing, there was something about him that made it all feel… fun. Alive.

“Seriously though,” you said, shifting in your seat to look at him. “If we die tonight, I’m haunting you forever.”

Su-Bong tilted his head, his grin widening. “Deal. You can haunt me all you want, babe. But I promise we’ll be just fine. Look at that—flawless driving,” he said, swerving through another turn with ridiculous ease. The car’s tires screamed in protest, but somehow, he pulled it off.

You rolled your eyes, but the adrenaline was starting to get to you. It was like you were in some kind of action movie, and you were either the heroine or the idiot for getting into the car with him. Either way, you couldn’t stop the thrill running through your veins, and it wasn’t just from the speed of the car.

“You’re insane,” you muttered, but there was a smile tugging at your lips again.

“Yeah, but you love it,” Su-Bong grinned, his eyes flicking to you for a brief moment before turning back to the road. “You think you can keep up with me?”

You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms, your expression turning teasing. “You think you’re the only one who can handle this? You’re not the only one who lives for the thrill, Su-Bong.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, glancing at you with that cocky look in his eyes. “But I’m definitely the one who knows how to show you a good time.”

You rolled your eyes again, but the laughter bubbled up from your chest. There was no getting rid of him, and frankly, you didn’t want to. Despite the chaos, the blaring rap music, and the almost terrifying driving, there was something undeniably magnetic about Su-Bong. Something that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, this reckless adventure wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

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A few days had passed since Su-Bong had gotten you home in one piece, despite his completely reckless driving and obnoxious sense of confidence. You hadn’t really expected to hear from him again after that—figured it was just another one of his impulsive acts of “heroism.” But, much to your surprise, he’d kept showing up like clockwork, always there in the alley after your shifts, escorting you home like it was some sort of routine.

You’d almost started to look forward to it.

But tonight was different.

As you walked out of the club, stretching your tired muscles after another long shift, you spotted Su-Bong standing against the brick wall—again, as usual—but this time, he was grinning like he had something up his sleeve.

“Yo!” he called out, practically bouncing on his feet. “I got something special for you tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow, walking over toward him with a smirk. “Special? What, did you sign us up for a bungee jump or something?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, nah. But I am taking you somewhere a little more exciting tonight. You’re gonna love it.”

You couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of curiosity, but you tried to hide it. “You sure you’re not just dragging me to some back-alley karaoke bar again?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, I’m not that predictable, am I?” He took a step closer, his tone suddenly more serious. “I’m taking you to my friend’s club tonight. Nam-Gyu’s place. It’s a bit more… private. You’ll like it. Trust me.”

Nam-Gyu. You’d heard of him—one of Su-Bong’s friends, another rapper in the local scene, but apparently with a bit of a reputation. If Su-Bong vouched for the place, though, you figured it couldn’t be that bad.

“Okay, fine. You can’t keep surprising me with random stuff forever,” you said, crossing your arms. “Lead the way.”

A wicked grin stretched across Su-Bong’s face as he reached for his keys. “That’s what I like to hear, baby girl. Let’s roll.”

You followed him to his car, and as usual, the music blasted through the speakers before you could even get the door closed. He slammed the gearshift into place, the car roaring to life as he revved the engine with his signature, reckless enthusiasm.

As you drove through the city, the streets flashing by, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous—this was a different kind of place. The fact that it was “private” sounded a little mysterious, but you trusted him (well, somewhat). And besides, you didn’t want to admit that you were kind of excited to see where Su-Bong was taking you.

When you finally pulled up to the club, you were surprised to see a sleek, black building tucked away behind a row of trees. It was way more low-key than you expected, with only a few cars parked outside. Su-Bong parked the car with that same reckless flair, jumping out without hesitation and opening the door for you.

“Welcome to the real underground, babe,” Su-Bong said with a wink, gesturing toward the entrance like it was some kind of VIP exclusive. “Nam-Gyu’s place. You won’t find anything like it around here.”

You raised an eyebrow but couldn’t help the curious grin that spread across your face. “Alright, Thanos. Let’s see what you got.”

Inside, the club was darker than the ones you were used to, with neon lights flashing in hypnotic patterns across the walls. The atmosphere felt electric, a mix of sleek design and gritty underworld energy. It wasn’t as flashy as the places you performed at, but the music was just as loud, and the crowd? Rowdy, to say the least.

Su-Bong led you through the crowd, nodding at a few familiar faces as he made his way toward the back. You couldn’t help but notice how everyone seemed to know him, giving him the kind of respect that made it clear he wasn’t just another rapper here for a good time. He was someone who ran in the deeper circles.

“Yo, Nam!” Su-Bong called out as they reached the back area, where a man with a buzz cut and a leather jacket was lounging on a couch, surrounded by a few other shady-looking individuals.

Nam-Gyu looked up, his expression unreadable at first, but when he saw Su-Bong, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Thanos,” he greeted with a nod, as though this was just another casual meeting between old friends. “You bring me someone new?”

You smiled, trying to look as confident as you could. “Not just anyone, Nam-Gyu. This is the one and only Y/N.”

Su-Bong shot you a sideways glance and then grinned even wider. “She’s got talent. You’ll see what I mean.”

Nam-Gyu stood up, his eyes sweeping over you with mild interest. “She looks like she can handle herself,” he said, offering you a handshake. “Welcome to my place.”

You took his hand, nodding politely but still feeling a little out of place. “Thanks for having me.”

“Of course,” Nam-Gyu replied, his gaze flicking back to Su-Bong. “Thanos talks a lot, but when he says something, it usually means something.” His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it, a hint that this place was more than just a club.

Su-Bong stepped forward with a playful grin. “Well, I’m the one who says she’s got talent, so… Nam, don’t make me look bad, alright?”

Nam-Gyu chuckled, turning toward the DJ booth and waving toward the back. “Relax. You know how we do things around here.” He turned to you with a wink. “I think you’re gonna like it.”

As Su-Bong pulled you into the crowd, the music pulsed around you in a way that made your body buzz. It was harder, faster, and rawer than anything you’d experienced before. Su-Bong was practically bouncing on his heels, nodding along to the beat with exaggerated confidence.

“See? I told you it’d be fire,” he said, grinning like a proud kid showing off his favorite toy.

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you looked around, the feeling of the place settling in. It was gritty and real, and maybe just a little dangerous—but you’d gotten used to that with Su-Bong. And as the bass reverberated through your chest, you couldn’t help but admit that maybe this was a kind of thrill you hadn’t experienced before. A different kind of world, one you didn’t quite understand yet—but with him by your side, you weren’t as scared as you thought you’d be.

You gave Su-Bong a sideways glance, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, alright. This might actually be kind of fun.”

Su-Bong winked at you, his usual cocky grin back in full force. “I knew you’d come around, babe. Stick with me, and you’ll never have a boring night again.”

The night after Su-Bong took you to Nam-Gyu’s club, everything seemed to blend into one chaotic mix. The sounds of the city, the pulsing beat of the music, and Su-Bong’s larger-than-life energy had you feeling like you were in a whirlwind. You weren’t used to his world, not really, but something about the unpredictability of it all kept pulling you in.

Tonight, though, there was something different in the air.

Su-Bong had invited you out again. This time, you found yourself in his car, the familiar scent of weed and cologne surrounding you as he navigated the streets with his usual reckless abandon.

“So,” Su-Bong said, glancing at you as the music blasted through the car. “You’ve been hanging around a while. You ever think about… loosening up a little?” He was grinning, but his tone was serious, like he was trying to gauge something.

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. “Loosening up?” you repeated, leaning back in your seat. “You mean, like… not stressing over everything?”

“Exactly,” he said with a casual shrug. “You’ve been working hard. Living life in the fast lane, like I do, but it’s easy to get stuck in your own head. Sometimes, you gotta let go. Trust me, I know how to take the edge off.”

You could see where this was going, but you weren’t sure if you were ready to follow him down that road. Su-Bong had a way of making things sound so effortless, like it was no big deal. But you’d heard the rumors—about the substances people used in the circles he ran in. You didn’t want to be just another person caught up in it, not really.

“What do you mean, ‘take the edge off’?” you asked cautiously, trying to keep your tone light.

Su-Bong shot you a sideways glance, his grin widening. “Come on, you’ve got to know how it is. Everyone does it. Just a little something to take the weight off your shoulders.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a small baggie, the contents hidden inside. His fingers moved deftly, almost too casually, as he pulled out a small white pill.

Your stomach dropped. You’d seen people like him before—always talking about the “high” and the “rush,” but you never thought you’d be in this situation. You’d heard about the risks, the people who got lost in it, and the way it could take control of someone’s life. And yet, here Su-Bong was, offering you a glimpse into that world.

“Don’t do it,” you said, your voice shaky. “I didn’t come here for that, Su-Bong.”

He seemed to pause, the playful look on his face shifting into something softer for just a moment. “Look, I’m not gonna force you,” he said, his tone changing slightly. “But you’re overthinking it. One time, and it’s just… it’s just something to help you forget for a bit. No harm in that.”

You hesitated, looking at the pill in his hand, your heart pounding in your chest. The pull of curiosity was strong, but the fear of what could happen if you went down that road kept you rooted where you were. “I’m not you, Su-Bong. I don’t want to get caught up in all that.”

For a moment, there was a quiet understanding between you two. Su-Bong didn’t try to push it, just watching you with those intense eyes that seemed to always be reading you. Finally, he slipped the pill back into his pocket, sighing.

“You don’t have to,” he said softly, looking away from you for a moment as the car slowed to a stop at a red light. “I get it. Some things, you can’t just dive into without thinking about the consequences.”

You appreciated the fact that he wasn’t pushing you, but you also couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. It wasn’t just about the substances. It was about Su-Bong himself. The easy way he lived, always rushing into things without thinking—sometimes you worried he didn’t realize how much he was losing control of.

As the light turned green, you felt the weight of the moment shift. You weren’t ready to dive into his world of substance use, but you weren’t ready to walk away from him either. Maybe, in time, you could help him find balance, just like you were trying to do for yourself. But for now, you just wanted to enjoy being you—free of the chaos he seemed to embrace so easily.

“I’m good,” you said, breaking the silence.

Su-Bong gave a small nod, his grin returning, though it seemed less playful now, more reflective. “Yeah, I get you. But, you know, I’ll always be here if you change your mind.”

You didn’t reply, but there was something in the way he said it that made you think maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as carefree as he liked to make it seem.

The drive continued in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You both knew where the other stood. In a world full of fast decisions, maybe it was nice to slow down every once in a while.

He looked at you with that familiar grin, his eyes glinting. “One time, Y/N. Just once. You’re not gonna regret it.”

Your hands felt clammy, but you found yourself nodding, unable to look away from the pill in his hand. There was something in his voice that made you believe him, even if you knew better. The need for relief, the escape from the endless cycle of work, the constant pressure, it all mixed with the thrill of being here, with him, in this moment.

You reached for the pill, your fingers brushing his as you took it. Su-Bong’s smile widened. “Trust me, babe. You’ll feel like a new person.”

The pill felt small in your mouth, barely noticeable as you swallowed it down with a gulp of air. The seconds ticked by in silence. Su-Bong kept glancing over at you, a nervous anticipation settling over him.

At first, nothing happened. Your heart raced, but it could’ve just been the adrenaline of the moment. Then, slowly, the world around you began to blur. The sharpness of your thoughts softened, and a warm, familiar rush settled over you.

Everything felt a little easier, like the weight you had been carrying on your shoulders had been lifted just enough for you to breathe.

You exhaled, your body relaxing into the seat. It felt… good. Too good. A sense of calm washed over you, as if the noise and chaos of life were just distant echoes. The anxiety you hadn’t even realized you were holding onto faded into the background.

Su-Bong’s voice cut through the haze. “How do you feel?”

You looked at him, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Different. In a good way.”

He nodded, a satisfied look crossing his face. But even as he smiled, something in his eyes flickered, almost as if he were waiting for something—waiting for you to say the words he wanted to hear, to say you were hooked.

And that’s when the reality of it all hit you.

This wasn’t just about feeling good for a moment. It was about the slippery slope you were now standing on. The world around you felt soft, but you knew this feeling was temporary. The sense of ease would fade, and then what? Would you keep going back to that escape? Would it always be this easy to forget?

You turned your gaze out the window, watching the city lights blur past as Su-Bong drove. The high was nice, yes, but a gnawing feeling in your gut told you that this moment was something more than just a little escape. It was a door opening, and you had no idea where it would lead.

As Su-Bong reached for the radio, changing the song to something upbeat and loud, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were on the edge of something dangerous.

The music blared through the car, the beat pulsing in your chest. But now, it was hard to ignore the fact that you’d crossed a line. The question was: would you ever go back?

Su-Bong didn’t seem to notice the shift in your mood. He was too busy jamming along to the music, lost in his own world. You tried to focus on the rhythm, but the weight of your decision hung in the air like a fog you couldn’t escape.

For now, you were caught between two worlds—the one you knew and the one you were just beginning to understand. But one thing was for sure; nothing would ever be the same again.

The lights inside the club had always been bright, always flashing in rhythm to the music. But tonight, they felt harsher, too bright, like they were highlighting everything you were trying to ignore. The constant pressure, the constant need to perform, to be perfect—every night felt like a cycle you couldn’t break.

Su-Bong had been there, waiting in the shadows, just like always. But this time, he wasn’t just a distraction or a carefree joke. This time, he was the one handing you a way out.

At first, you resisted. The pills, the escape, the numbing sensation that came with it all—it wasn’t something you thought you’d need. You weren’t like those people, the ones who lost themselves in the high. But with each passing day, with each stressful night at the club, it became harder to resist.

It wasn’t long before Su-Bong noticed. He always noticed.

He was there after every show, leaning casually against the doorframe, waiting for you like a predator who knew exactly when to strike. His smile was always a little too knowing, a little too confident. It was a charm you couldn’t ignore, not even when you tried.

“You don’t need to keep pretending like you’re fine, Y/N,” he’d say, his voice low and teasing, as if he was talking about something no one else could understand. He’d pull out a small pill, gliding it across the counter to you, that signature grin never leaving his face.

At first, you hesitated, telling yourself it was just one time. You could control it. But with Su-Bong there, telling you it was okay, telling you it would make everything easier—it became so much harder to say no.

And so, you didn’t.

One pill turned into two. Then, three. And with every hit, the pain, the pressure, the nagging thoughts—everything seemed to drift away. It felt good. It felt like freedom, even if it was just for a moment.

“You see?” Su-Bong would say, his voice slick with reassurance. “This is what you’ve been looking for. No more stress. No more worrying about what’s next. Just feel it. Let it go.”

It wasn’t just the pills. It was the way he made it sound so harmless, the way he painted it like an escape, something you deserved, something to help you get through the night. The high was a temporary fix, but the way he made it seem like a reward for all the hard work—you couldn’t help but fall deeper.

By now, your relationship with Su-Bong was more than just the occasional offer. It became routine. You would go through the night, dancing and smiling, your body moving to the beat, but the only thing keeping you afloat was the buzz, the pills tucked into your bag, always there waiting for the next round.

“How’re you feeling?” Su-Bong would ask, his voice always low, as he handed you more, his grin never faltering.

“I’m good,” you’d say, though you could feel it deep in your chest. The high was starting to fade too quickly now. You were chasing it, but it was slipping away faster than you could catch it. But with Su-Bong around, it never felt too bad.

You never realized how much you had come to rely on him until one night, when you didn’t have the strength to ask for it yourself. The club had emptied out, and the workers were packing up. The glow of the neon lights reflected off the glass, casting long shadows across the alley.

You stood there, your hands trembling, trying to find the energy to leave. The pressure of the night, the exhaustion, the constant strain of needing to be perfect—it was all too much. You couldn’t face the world without another pill.

Su-Bong was there, waiting, as always. But this time, he didn’t say anything. He just pulled the bag from his pocket and handed it to you without hesitation. You knew you didn’t need to ask. He was always there to give you what you needed, even when you didn’t want to admit you needed it.

“Just one more, Y/N. I’ve got you,” Su-Bong murmured, his tone soft, almost coaxing. He knew exactly what you were thinking, knew exactly what you wanted. And somehow, the way he said it—so sure, so confident—it made you feel like it was the only thing that would make everything okay.

You took the pill from his hand, swallowing it down without a second thought. The world began to blur again, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe.

It wasn’t the first time you had taken it, and it wouldn’t be the last.

But every time you fell back into it, you realized just how much control he had over you. Su-Bong didn’t just offer you an escape—he made sure you needed it. And as much as you hated to admit it, the idea of living without it, without him, seemed impossible now.

“You good?” he asked again, his voice like a soft, dangerous hum. You nodded, smiling the kind of smile you didn’t feel, but it was enough to keep him satisfied.

“I’m fine,” you lied, knowing that deep down, things were slipping out of control.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you knew. The cycle was spinning faster now. And you had no idea how long you could keep up with it before everything came crashing down.

The music in the club was louder tonight, the bass thumping through the floor, but it felt like it was miles away. Everything was distant, as if the noise, the flashing lights, and the crowd weren’t real at all. Your thoughts were clouded, like a fog that never really cleared. You’d been here too long—performing, pretending, and with every passing minute, it felt more like you were living someone else’s life.

Su-Bong was there, as always. He was waiting in the back alley, his usual spot, where the world outside felt far removed from everything that weighed on you. You hadn’t even noticed him approach until he was standing beside you, close enough that his presence filled your every breath.

“Tonight was rough, huh?” Su-Bong’s voice broke through the silence. His words weren’t full of the usual jokes or sarcasm. They were softer, almost concerned, like he was seeing through the mask you wore.

You didn’t answer right away. The high from earlier was wearing off, but it wasn’t enough to clear your mind. You were tired. So tired. “I just need a minute,” you muttered, leaning against the wall of the alley, your hands trembling.

He watched you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours. The heat from his skin sent a jolt through you, a strange mix of comfort and unease. You looked up at him, but you couldn’t read his eyes. They were too dark, too intense.

“You can come to my place, if you want,” Su-Bong said, his voice low, almost like a question. “Get away from all this.”

You didn’t know why, but something in the way he said it made you nod. It was as if you had no control over your own decisions anymore, as if you were caught in some sort of web, tangled in his words and the pull of his presence.

The drive to his place was quiet, save for the occasional beat of the rap music that blasted from his car’s speakers. You stared out the window, letting the cold air from the cracked window cool your flushed skin. The world outside was blurry, the streets lighting up in quick flashes as he sped through them recklessly.

When you finally reached his apartment, the door slammed shut behind you with a finality that echoed in the silence. Su-Bong didn’t waste time. He motioned for you to sit on the couch, but you didn’t follow his instructions. Instead, you moved towards the window, pulling the curtain back slightly to glance at the city lights below.

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” Su-Bong’s voice cut through the quiet room. It wasn’t an accusation, but more of a gentle reminder. Like he was giving you a way out, even though you knew deep down you wouldn’t take it.

You turned to look at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” you confessed softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer, and for a moment, there was a stillness between you. His hand brushed against yours again, and this time, you didn’t pull away. His fingers wrapped around yours gently, and the contact sent a strange warmth through you, grounding you in that moment.

“I know,” Su-Bong murmured, his voice low and soothing. He reached up, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a little longer than it should have. “But you don’t have to figure it all out tonight. We can just… be here. Together.”

The air between you seemed to crackle, and without thinking, you stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hands found your waist, pulling you in close as his lips brushed against yours. The kiss was slow at first, tentative, like neither of you wanted to acknowledge how much you needed it. But as it deepened, it became something else—something raw, something real. The chaos of the night, the pressure of your life, the confusion of everything that had been building up inside you—it all seemed to vanish as you kissed him.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was an unraveling. A surrender.

You pulled away for a moment, your breath shallow as you looked up at him. His eyes were darker now, filled with something more than just lust. There was an understanding there, a quiet acceptance.

“I’m not good for you,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Su-Bong’s thumb traced your jawline, his touch tender. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be real.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything made sense. But that was the thing about moments like this—they never lasted long enough.

You leaned in again, this time with more urgency, more desperation. The walls you had built around yourself were crumbling, piece by piece, and the only thing that seemed to fill the void was him. His touch. The connection that had started with a shared glance, a shared high, and now… something deeper.

As you moved towards his bed, your heart was racing. It wasn’t just about the sex, though. It was about the closeness, the way his presence filled the empty spaces in your soul. The things you had been hiding from, the parts of yourself you had locked away—they were spilling out, unfiltered, raw. And somehow, Su-Bong was the only one who seemed to see it.

When the moment finally came to a halt, when the exhaustion and emotions settled, you found yourself lying next to him, staring up at the ceiling in the quiet of his room. The air was thick with unspoken words, and neither of you seemed in a hurry to break the silence.

Su-Bong was the first to speak, his voice soft and almost uncertain. “You know, Y/N, I never thought I’d say this, but… I don’t want you to keep running. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You turned your head to look at him, the weight of his words sinking in. There was something sincere in his gaze, something that made you question everything you had believed about him.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But… I want to try. I want to stop pretending.”

Su-Bong smiled, a small, soft grin that made your heart skip a beat. “We’ll figure it out, together. One day at a time.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed it.

You had known something was off for weeks, but you kept pushing it down, ignoring the signs. The late-night cravings, the nausea that came and went, the dizziness that seemed to follow you everywhere. It wasn’t until you missed your period that the weight of the situation hit you. The reality settled in with an almost suffocating force, and no matter how hard you tried to dismiss it, you couldn’t escape the thought: What if I’m pregnant?

So here you were, sitting in the bathroom of your apartment, the harsh fluorescent light above casting a sterile glow on the cold tiles. You held the pregnancy test in your shaking hands, staring at it as though it could somehow change if you stared long enough. Your mind raced. You had never wanted this. You weren’t ready for a child. You couldn’t even keep your own life together, let alone bring a new life into it.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and finally, you peeled open the box. There was a small, almost cruel silence in the room as you followed the instructions, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for the test to process. The minutes felt like hours. It was hard to focus on anything except the heavy weight of what you knew could change everything.

When the time finally passed, you looked down. The two lines stared up at you, stark and undeniable. Your heart stopped. Positive.

You sat there, frozen, as the world seemed to stop around you. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess—fear, confusion, anger, guilt. You had no idea what to do next. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that this could happen. You were used to running from things, ignoring them, hiding away in the high you chased. But this was different. This wasn’t something you could run from.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you stared at the test in disbelief. The bathroom felt too small, too confining, and yet the outside world felt miles away. You couldn’t make sense of anything. You couldn’t even make sense of yourself anymore.

You leaned your forehead against the cool tile, trying to breathe through the panic rising in your chest. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know how to fix this. You couldn’t even fix yourself.

The party was a blur of flashing lights, loud music, and the heavy thrum of bass that made the walls of the house vibrate. You barely noticed the people around you, the laughter, the chaotic fun. All you could focus on was the gnawing feeling in your gut, a pit of dread you couldn’t shake. The flashing images of your life in the last few weeks had become a montage you couldn’t turn off. The pregnancy test, the growing fear, the moments of trying to escape into the noise of the club scene, hoping it would all somehow disappear.

But it hadn’t disappeared. The truth was a constant weight on your shoulders, and you couldn’t ignore it anymore. You knew you had to face it, even if you weren’t sure what to do.

Su-Bong was nowhere in sight at first. You wandered through the party, half-heartedly sipping on a drink, trying to pretend you were fine, trying to forget the reality that had been clawing at you from the inside. Every time you looked at him in the crowd, your stomach twisted more. He seemed so carefree, so full of life, his usual confident smirk always on display, surrounded by people who adored him. He seemed untouchable in a way, like he could do whatever he wanted and never have to answer for it.

But tonight, everything felt different. You felt like you were sinking into yourself, standing on the edge of a cliff, terrified to fall.

Finally, you spotted him—Su-Bong, in the middle of a conversation, his laugh echoing through the room. He caught sight of you and, with that typical swagger, made his way over, a grin already spreading across his face.

“Y/N! You look way too serious for this crowd. What’s up?” He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently before stepping back, his eyes scanning you with a playful gleam. “You good? Or are you just trying to play it cool?”

You didn’t want to ruin his night. You didn’t want to make it harder than it already was. But the anxiety gnawing at you was unbearable, and there was no hiding it anymore.

“I’m fine, just… tired,” you lied, trying to offer him a half-hearted smile.

He raised an eyebrow. “Tired? You’re acting like you’ve been through a marathon. Come on, let’s get you out of your head. You’re here to have fun.” He gestured toward the table where drugs were being passed around like candy. The smell of smoke hung in the air, mixing with the sweet, sickly scent of alcohol. It wasn’t a surprise, but tonight it made you sick.

You shook your head, taking a step back. “I’m not doing that, Su-Bong. I’m done with it.”

His grin faltered for just a moment before his usual cocky demeanor returned. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “What do you mean, you’re done with it? You’ve been doing it for months.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the lump in your throat. “I don’t want to anymore,” you said quietly, but the words felt weak. “I don’t need it. I’m done pretending everything’s fine.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, not fully understanding what was going on. “You don’t need it? What, you think you’re better than all this now?” His voice had a sharp edge to it, the irritation slowly creeping in. “You think walking away from it’s just gonna fix everything, huh?”

You looked at him, frustrated and hurt. “No. It’s not about being better, Su-Bong. It’s about… it’s about everything spiraling out of control. I’m not just acting like I’m too good for this. I’m saying it’s not working anymore. None of it is. And I’m trying to get my life back, to figure out what’s real.” Your voice wavered slightly, but you pressed on. “But that’s hard when I’m stuck in a cycle of—of crap I can’t get out of.”

He stepped closer, now eyeing you more carefully, but there was still a flicker of defensiveness in his eyes. “You’re acting all serious and distant tonight. Is it about me?” he asked, his voice dropping lower. “What’s going on, Y/N? You’re not talking to me.”

“I’ve been trying to keep everything together. Trying to keep up appearances. Pretend I���m not breaking down inside.” You inhaled sharply, trying to steady your racing heart. “But it’s not just the partying. It’s everything. It’s all falling apart.”

He tilted his head, his smirk finally fading. “What do you mean by that? What do you think you’re falling apart from?”

You bit your lip, debating whether to tell him. You’d been avoiding it for weeks now, terrified of the consequences, afraid of his reaction. But the truth had nowhere else to go. You couldn’t keep hiding it.

“I’m pregnant, Su-Bong. With your kid.” The words left your mouth before you could even process them, and the silence that followed felt suffocating.

The shock on his face was immediate. His eyes widened, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. He blinked several times, as if trying to make sense of what you had just said. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out at first. He took a step back, his hand dropping to his side as though he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“You’re… pregnant?” He repeated, voice thick with disbelief.

You nodded, your heart racing as the reality of it all came crashing down on you. “Yeah. With your kid.”

Su-Bong stared at you, his face unreadable, but you could see the gears turning in his mind, the panic flickering in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, his expression faltering as he processed the words. The music from inside the party seemed distant now, the noise too sharp. The whole world seemed to shrink down to the two of you standing there in the cold, quiet night.

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “Shit, Y/N… I don’t… I don’t even know what to say to this. This is… this is too much.” His voice was low and strained.

You flinched, your chest tightening as his words hit harder than you expected. “Su-Bong…” you whispered, your throat tight with emotion. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… I just need you to know. I didn’t know how to tell you. I’m scared, okay? I don’t know what to do, and I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with confusion and frustration. “Scared? Of course, you’re scared! But I’m scared, too!” His voice raised slightly, raw with emotion. “What do you expect me to do? I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready to be a dad. I’m not!”

The words stung, and your heart sank into your stomach. You tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. “I never asked you to be ready, Su-Bong. I didn’t expect you to have all the answers. But I need you to understand. I don’t know what to do alone.”

He ran a hand over his face, frustration and panic clear in his expression. “I… I don’t know what to say. I didn’t want this to happen. I’m not ready for any of this. I’m just—fuck.” He kicked the ground lightly, trying to find something in the air to focus on.

You took a shaky breath, trying to control the lump in your throat. “I know you’re not ready. I know it’s a lot, but I—”

“Stop, Y/N,” Su-Bong cut you off, shaking his head. “I can’t just turn around and pretend this is gonna be fine. You think I’m ready to just—just jump into this? I can barely keep my own shit together, let alone deal with a kid. I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to be a dad!”

You stepped back, feeling the sharp sting of his words, the weight of it all crashing down. “I’m not asking you to do anything you’re not ready for, Su-Bong,” you whispered. “But I’m scared of doing this alone.”

His expression faltered, his frustration giving way to something else—regret, maybe? But before he could speak, you turned and walked away from him, the tears finally slipping down your cheeks, the sounds of the party fading behind you as the night swallowed you whole.

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[someonesrealityshifting]

.・✭・. Life Explanation .・✭・. ・

✭ My life is like a 2010s coming of age novel, but one of the ones with a shitty ending, like Before I Fall. Except it doesn't have a shitty ending, you just worry it might. My life is dancing in the rain and forgetting a coat and ending up with a cough but not caring because I was dancing with him. My life is climbing into abandoned buildings and befriending the rats who live there, leaving them food and telling them how pretty they are. My life is finding roadkill and bringing it home to pray for it and to send it to Thanatos gently, as he would want it.

✭ My life is making stupid decisions because I never got to as a kid. My life is smoking cheap cigarettes and coughing so hard I vow to quit, only to come back six hours later when he pulls out his lighter. My life is drawing on myself and loving it so much I go get it tattooed that day. My life is incohesive playlists and rants about movies and bugs I love. My life is collecting rainwater and rocks and bones I find, pressing flowers and leaves between the pages of limited edition books.

✭ My life is collecting soda pop tabs and butterfly wings and walnut shells because I can. My life is crying over the dead things I find and mourning them, giving even the worm I find on the sidewalk as it pours the simple respect of life. My life is constantly defending my position as an ambiamorous gay trans man as well as a leftist, an anarchist, quite possibly a communist, because my idea that all living things have inherent worth is apparently 'radical'.

✭ My life is tiny jars and using watercolor on canvas even though you're absolutely not supposed to use watercolor on canvas. My life is painting my nails outside because I don't want to risk my dog inhaling the fumes and feeding my gecko by hand because he's a diva but I also can't touch him because it frightens him. My life is car rides to vibe-based playlists, sticking my arms out the window and screaming when I see a puppy in the next car.

✭ My life is loving, endlessly and without remorse. Giving my love to anyone who will take it, accept it, regardless of whether or not it's reflected back at me, because if one can hate without cause, why can I, too, not love the same way? My life is shamelessly blocking and cutting off toxic people because I'm worth more, because the people I love are worth more.

✭ My life is holding a cat like a baby, because I'm a bit too fucked up to have a real one, and dancing around the house with it, telling it how much I love it as shitty music blares from the phone in my pocket. My life is putting stickers on my canes and headphones and every electronic device I have because they deserve to feel pretty, too. My life is putting too many layers of dye in my hair and not caring because it makes me feel better. My life is asking "would you still love me if I was a worm?" a thousand times and never getting bored of the answers.

✭ My life is keeping Loki's altar in my kitchen because it's never not chaotic as all hell in there, even if the odd assortment of things he likes is a bit of an eyesore; that's where he belongs. My life is keeping Christmas lights up all the year round because they're pretty and I love them. My life is finding a spot where I can see the sky without light pollution and staring at the stars for as long as I can, even though I know so very few of them, just because they're beautiful and I can. My life is getting a shitty camera from, like, 2015 because it's cheap and it has decent exposure, and even though the pictures always come out a little blurry, I pin them to the wall over our bed anyway.

✭ My life is writing poetry on every available surface, buying a shit ton of notebooks in August when they're 25 cents each and them all being full by March. My life is texting him "this song reminded me of you" at 3am when I know we should be asleep but neither of us are. My life is freaking out anytime I see a cat, because fucking look at him, he's such a cutie, aaa he booped meeee. My life is listening to Taylor Swift because they like it, and because I'd do anything to make them smile, even if I think "Antihero" is the single stupidest song I've ever heard in my life.

✭ My life is the word 'paladin', which is not only my dad's favorite WOW class, but it's my mom's favorite episode of bones. "Paladin" means, "I will always protect you. I will not choose violence for myself, because I can keep myself safe enough, but I would burn the world for you, because I love you, and I will hurt anyone, even myself, to keep you safe." My life is my parents telling me at age 9 that to love a hero was to hate one's self. That a hero would sacrifice you to save the world, that a villain had no such obligation. To always love the villain, the person most likely to hurt everyone but you.

✭ My life is painting on a 60 year old denim jacket and having no idea how to get the paint off so I just take a razor to the paint to get it a bit thinner and then saving up money so I can buy a Vincian flag to hide the marks it left behind. My life is having a bunch of scars from stupid things, and being proud to share each misadventure, because they define me, because I let them. My life is wishing I wasn't clean until I meet him and them and maybe deciding that I prefer having marks from love than self loathing.

✭ My life is waking up with my legs tangled in theirs only to get up before they do, going to make us shitty coffee because it's the only kind I know how to make, but they drink it anyway because I also make French toast so it's palatable. My life is house plants that I take care of exquisitely for years only to leave them in his care for a week and find them to be on the verge of death. My life is eating too much chocolate and dragging them both into the living room to build a pillow fort and watch Bluey for 6 hours on a random Friday night.

✭ My life is thrift shopping and buying shit I know I'll never use, simply because I can afford it, and because I love it, and because I can. My life is gardening all of spring and summer and never leaving the woods in autumn and shoveling until my knees buckle in winter. My life is learning how to swim in a creek because I don't trust anyone but the two of them to teach me.

✭ My life is love. My life is light. My life is making myself feel whole, and being able to give myself to the people who love me and the people whom I love. My life is happy, and warm, and safe. My life is starlight and wholesome until it's dark moons and dirty jokes, and even then, the sun comes back the next morning, and so do the gentle kisses and caresses. My life is safety and comfort and value, inherent and known, in every person I come across.

[blubushie]

Home at last. Allow me to formally introduce Mattie.

Taken at the servo. Also have a pic Dad took while I was driving. He thought the sunset was pretty. Something in the orange.

Lemme tell you about this beastie.

I need a sparky to have a squizz at her cuz practically nothing electronic in her works. Radio works. Dash lights work. Brake lights work. Headlights work.

That's all that works.

She's got no rear lights, no rear indicators, no hazards, no horn, her petrol gauge doesn't work, her electric fuel tank switch doesn't work, it was a bitch and a half switching her tanks on the highway because I had no warning that she was about to sputter and then she did and I had to grapple around under the seat unable to signal to anyone around me that she's a hazard because her hazards DO NOT WORK and then it took her three gruelling seconds to kick back in after I managed to switch tanks.

But she went 25 in a 65 to 70 in about 3 seconds, so that's cool. Almost gave me a fucken nosebleed, heh.

Her headliner's falling in on the driver's side, her cigarette lighter doesn't work but she reeks of cheap Marlboro, her antenna's snapped off, but hey, at least she's got an 8track. But her tiller's also turned wrong—the bitch sits sideways. She's got some give to it too, takes some wobble to make the steering catch. No power steering, no power brakes, she screams when you drive cuz the vent windows don't seal properly so you need to leave them cracked open, but when you do that you can hardly hear the person next to you over the wind roar. Her heater don't work, her dash lights are so fucken dim you can't even see them until it's pitch black outside and even then you can barely make out any of the readings, her driver's side door sticks and you gotta breech it with your shoulder to make it open, her emergency brake only engages if you kick the fucken thing like a mule, her dome light don't work, and her headlights are so dim that the highbeams are the only thing what come close to normal brightness headlights.

But her engine purrs heavenly, and she's got good bones, and I love her. I love her for all the work I get to put into her. I love her for everything wrong with her that I get to fix.

Fifty-six years ago tomorrow, my father went to Vietnam. And fifty-six years ago, this car was built. And today, the day before the fifty-sixth anniversary of my dad going to Vietnam in 1968, I've got myself a 1968 Ford F250 Camper Special Custom Cab, my dream car. So here's to brighter days and better tomorrows, and more sunrises than sunsets.

I'm gonna go make myself a drink and wake up at the arsecrack of dawn tomorrow morning so I can wash her before putting her over to the grease monkeys so they can have a crack at her, because sometime this weekend we're heading back south to pick up Tilly from the repairshop, and I'm not driving home in the dark with no fucken lights again.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Dancing 'til the Break of Dawn - Pt 26

<Pt25

(TWST Zombie apocalypse AU where Yuu beast tames just a little too close to the sun)

They agreed that ‘Christmas’ would be in two weeks. It wasn’t as if they were sure what day Christmas actually was, so they might as well give themselves time to travel and think about what they wanted to get each other.

Not to mention the whole ‘fighting for their life’ thing, which made concentrating on gift-giving difficult. But who cares about that?

Yuu scratched his head as he squinted down at the party bags. Was it worth it to pick those up? It would make it obvious where the presents were. And Yuu did not trust Ace to not look through his presents the night before like a child.

Besides, he didn’t know what he would put in those bags, yet, anyway.

They talked. A lot. But Yuu didn’t actually know that much about Ace’s past. He, of course, would be a hypocrite if he complained about this, considering he’d hidden even his last name from his friends for ages… but he wouldn’t ignore that it made his life difficult.

As for Deuce, when he mentioned his time before the apocalypse, he usually talked about his mom (which Yuu didn’t want to encroach on), or, occasionally, his time as a delinquent (it should be obvious why Yuu wasn’t considering this present-worthy).

Yuu could just make some cookies or something, that would probably be enough for them… but he didn’t want to do that. It felt cheap.

Cheaper than stealing, though? Technically, wasn’t the effort worth more?

Yuu groaned, pressing his face into his hands.

Ugh, when did he become so lame?

~

“Yuu,” said Deuce.

Yuu blinked at him.

Deuce grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.

Yuu gave a little gasp of surprise, for the store he’d just been in had spontaneously burst into flames. What an unfortunate act of God!

“I didn’t put my cigarette out all the way. Whoops.”

“And I’m sure it just so happened to land on the bottle of vegetable oil you always carry with you.”

“Life is crazy like that.”

“Mhmm. I’m sure,” Deuce said, smiling wryly. He held a hand out, and Yuu obliged, taking out two cigarettes.

They all had their own lighters. Even Ace, who didn’t smoke. After the incident with Jade and Floyd… well, yeah, they weren’t taking any chances.

That being said, Deuce still flashed a grin as Yuu pulled out his lighter.

Yuu rolled his eyes. “Old habits die hard, hm?”

Regardless, Yuu was perfectly happy to lean in close to Deuce and light both of their cigarettes at once. To save fuel, of course.

Then, he drew back, squinting at the fire he’d accidentally-on-purpose caused. “Did I kill Ace?”

“Nah, he’s trying to figure out where to go next.”

“Does it matter?”

“Seems to matter to him,” Deuce said, shrugging.

And Yuu supposed he didn’t care, so, when Ace came back and pointed in a specific direction, Yuu was happy to agree.

~

The real problem with gift shopping in the apocalypse was… they were in the apocalypse.

Shocking, but true.

Firstly, there were the automatic limitations that came along with the apocalyptic wasteland. Electronics don’t work. Any food you find is almost guaranteed to be stale. Any and every store you visit has already been visited by someone else at least once, meaning every aisle has been picked clean. The selection was limited, to say the least.

Secondly, they would have to carry whatever they found each other. They only really kept a single backpack each and, while they could just start carrying more bags, that would slow them down. Which meant that Yuu was tempted to get them practical things, things that would come in handy in a fight or hygiene products or some kind of food. But that wasn't fun, now, was it?

Thirdly, everything around them was free (to steal). If Yuu really wanted to, he could go into a random toy aisle and pick out everything he liked. Ace and Deuce could do the same. Which begged the question – what could Yuu get them that they couldn’t get for themselves? If they already had access to anything they wanted, then was everything they didn’t pick up automatically something they didn’t want?

Which left what exactly?

Small, sentimental items?

They were teen boys! Yuu would rather kill himself! Maybe Deuce could manage it, he was certainly as soft as a person could be given their circumstances, but Yuu? Ace? They were screwed!

Yuu groaned, running his fingers through his hair.

And then he pulled out his lighter. He needed to let off some steam. Or create steam. Whatever.

~

“Yuu, stop setting the stores on fire,” Ace said, absently lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the light.

“Where did you even get your hands on an accelerant?” Deuce muttered, digging through his backpack and seeming frustrated when he found the cooking oil was right where he left it.

“It was a craft store. The place was practically made of paper. I didn’t need to do much.”

Deuce looked exhausted. “What was the cause of the fire this time? A bug?”

“No. It pissed me off.”

“The store itself? How?!” said Ace, suddenly far more interested.

Yuu shrugged. “The more fires I set, the longer it’ll take for the zombies to feel safe around me.”

“I hope you have beef with more stores. God bless.”

Ace attempted to make a cross over his heart, but seemed to forget halfway through what they looked like and ended up just pressing his hands together in a fake prayer.

“That’s what I thought.”

~

Christmas was upon them, and Yuu had never been so nervous in his life.

Considering it was the apocalypse, this was quite a feat.

Regardless. The three of them sat in a kind of lopsided triangle, their backpacks at their sides.

Deuce gave Ace his present first. It was… a top hat?

Ace blinked at it as it was set in his hands, only to grin as he reached in and pulled out what appeared to be a book on magic tricks.

He then tossed the hat away with a roll of his eyes.

(He had to go back and collect the hat again when, after thumbing through the pages, he realized that the hat actually had a false bottom and could also be used for magic tricks.)

Absently, Yuu wondered if it really counted as magic tricks if Yuu and Deuce knew what the tricks would be ahead of time.

He also wondered how Deuce knew Ace liked this kind of thing. Did they perhaps… have a life outside of him? Conversations that did not include Yuu’s name?

No, impossible. He is, clearly, the center of the universe.

Wait. He forgot about Grim. Grim is… even more in the center? Like – where’s the center of the body? In Yuu’s stomach, maybe? No, that just sounded like he had eaten him… he could workshop that later.

For now, though, Ace was looking at him expectantly, and Yuu hoped to deliver.

“S-so,” Yuu said. Stuttered, really. He was going to kill himself. God damn it. “You know how you’re always fidgeting?”

“I don’t fidget that much,” Ace said.

Yuu glanced down at Ace’s hands. He was currently twirling the magic wand Deuce had given him around his fingers.

Ace also looked down. A flush spread across his face and he was quick to stop. Unfortunately for him, the magic wand was, in fact, a magic wand. Plastic flowers popped out of it, drawing everyone’s eyes right back to the fidgeting.

“... okay, so maybe I fidget a little.”

Yuu strongly disagreed with those last two words. But he was going to let that go. In the spirit of Christmas, or whatever.

He, somewhat awkwardly, pulled a bag of miscellaneous objects out of his backpack. Decks of cards, rings and bracelets, things that were literally called ‘fidget toys’ (Yuu didn’t know what that meant, but he had grabbed them)... his guess was that Ace would prefer the cards, but variety wasn’t a bad thing. He might as well give Ace the option to choose something else, even if he probably wouldn’t.

Because, honestly, Yuu didn’t mind him fidgeting. It was kind of cute, actually... so long as Ace wasn’t fidgeting with a knife, which Yuu had caught him doing more times than he was perfectly comfortable with. Ace hadn’t injured himself that many times, and certainly had never hurt himself too badly, but it was only a matter of time.

“Dude…” said Ace. “How long did it take you to find all this stuff?”

“A normal amount of time,” Yuu blatantly lied to his face. As if he hadn’t just endured the most frustrating two weeks of his life.

Ace decidedly didn’t thank either of his friends, but considering he was already fidgeting with a deck of cards – Yuu did not smile a little knowing he had guessed what Ace would prefer – the appreciation wasn’t exactly hard to notice.

So, it was time for Deuce's presents.

Ace didn’t reach into his backpack for this gift. Instead, he slid a hand behind himself.

And pulled a damn katana out from under his jacket.

Yuu and Deuce’s eyes damn near popped out of their skulls.

“What the fuck,” said Deuce, as he was handed the huge-ass sword. “I should have gotten you way more.”

Ace had never looked this smug before. Which was saying something. “I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me – I’ve won Christmas.”

“It’s not a competitive thing.”

“Those sound like the words of a loser.”

Yuu, however, was coming to an unfortunate realization.

“You stole this from a museum, didn’t you?” He winced internally. “Now that I think about it, that last place did kind of look like a gift shop…”

He had… probably set fire to a ton of national treasures.

Whoops?

Deuce, thankfully, was always there to distract him – “So that’s why you were walking like you had a stick up your ass.”

Ace rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s not exactly small and easy to hide.”

Yuu tipped his head to the side. “And it’s probably why you insisted on going in a specific direction, too…”

“Yeah? What other reason would there be?”

“Honestly? I thought you were just heading North to look for mistletoe,” Yuu admitted.

Ace smirked, leaning closer. “Wishful thinking?”

“Sure,” said Yuu, flicking him on the forehead.

Ace huffed, backing up a little to rub his forehead, only for Deuce to push him out of the way. He leaned into Yuu’s space, his hands out for his present. He looked like a kid on Christmas Day. Which, Yuu supposed, he technically was. Sometimes it was strange to think about. They were all 16 (Ace claimed he was 17, but Yuu and Deuce had vetoed that)...

“You got over the sword so easily!” gaped Ace.

Okay, maybe it was easy to remember sometimes.

Yuu stuck his tongue out at Ace. “It’s ‘cause I’m more likable than you.”

Despite his bravado, Yuu had to take a deep breath before he pulled a camera out of his backpack.

He’d done way too much research to figure out which cameras printed photos immediately and how to develop them. But Deuce didn’t need to know that!

“Here. We should take pictures while we’re here so, when we get out, we can look back on all of this and think ‘dang, that sucked, glad we’re not in the apocalypse anymore’,” Yuu said.

Deuce snorted. “‘Thank god we have running water now’.”

“‘Our hair looked like shit back then’,” Ace said.

Deuce grinned. “This will be great for our therapists.”

“Bold of you to assume Yuu is going to go to therapy,” Ace said.

Yuu spluttered. “What the – why would you call me out? On Christmas?”

Deuce slung his arm around Yuu’s shoulders, dragging him into his side. “Because it’s funny. Ace, quick, snap a picture.”

Yuu tried to school his face into something more normal, but the flash of light was too quick for him.

“I’m not teaching you how to develop film, now,” Yuu sulked.

“Pretty sure you just need a dark room, right?” Deuce said.

Ace glanced up at the dead light bulbs that hung over their heads. “Oh no. Where will we get one of those?”

Fuck! His plans have been foiled!

Yuu huffed. “I’ve never regretted a decision more. Is it possible to take back a gift? Because I’m gonna –.”

“Thanks, Yuu,” Deuce said, smiling softly.

Yuu felt a blush rise to his cheeks. He was not winning today.

“Why’d you thank him and not me?!” Ace said.

Thank you for bringing back the status quo, Ace, Yuu couldn’t handle this amount of sentimentality.

And, fortunately (or unfortunately) for him, his friends seemed to know this.

Deuce jumped to go first, a smug little smirk on his face that made Yuu suspect that he would hate whatever happened next.

Yuu raised an eyebrow at the Rapunzel shirt Deuce offered to him.

“Come on, you’ve got to admit there are some similarities!”

Deuce looked less amused by those similarities when Yuu pulled a frying pan from his backpack and brandished it like a weapon.

Yuu carefully set it back in his lap as a warning that he would totally follow through on, should Deuce’s actual present to him be stupid.

He blinked at the can of axe body spray Deuce offered him.

Like, sure, he appreciated it. Cleanliness was difficult in the apocalypse and all, but uh…

Deuce grinned and pulled out his lighter. He flicked it on, and then, after a quick glance around, aimed the body spray at the flame.

Who knew it was so easy to make a flamethrower out of household items?

Yuu was in love holy shit.

He made grabby hands for the weapon of mass destruction.

“Man, how am I supposed to compete with that?” Ace complained.

Even Yuu wasn’t sure. He cradled the DIY flamethrower to his chest like it was something precious. Because it was.

Ace responded by thrusting his gift into Yuu’s face. Casually. The most casual nearly-throwing-it-at-Yuu-as-if-it-burned-him behavior the world has ever seen.

Yuu rolled his eyes at the ‘Kiss The Cook’ apron he’d been ‘handed’. He did sometimes complain about how often he had to look for new clothes… usually because he had gotten injured again, but regardless, something to guard his clothes while he cooked would also help. So, he pulled it over his head without complaint.

Until he looked down.

Deuce looked a little confused as to why Yuu had gone completely silent, so he followed his gaze, too.

There was a long, long silence.

Deuce, slowly, brought his hand to his mouth, trying to stifle a snort.

He hadn’t needed to, because the sound had finally managed to return Yuu to reality.

“Why – why is the kiss mark so low?! What idiot put it there?!”

Ace’s shoulders shook with barely concealed laughter. “I found it that way. Thought you’d think it was funny.”

“Aren't you supposed to put the kiss mark at the top?” Yuu asked. It wasn’t a rhetorical question, but it wasn’t aimed at Ace or Deuce – it was aimed at the stupidass clothes designer who either had no idea what this looked like or knew exactly what they were doing.

Not that he didn’t love the apron, for all of its stupidity, but holy shit.

Deuce leaned back on his hands, giving an exaggerated glance around. “There’s gotta be lipstick around here somewhere, we can fix that.”

This finally broke Ace and Yuu.

“Not while I’m – wearing it, you idiot!” Yuu said, nearly falling over if it wasn’t for Ace.

Ace wasn’t in much better condition, incredulous little peals of laughter spilling from his lips, but he was more practical as he said, “That wouldn’t get rid of the one at the bottom!”

Once everyone had calmed down (which took a normal amount of time, Yuu promised), Ace nudged Yuu in the side. “I also picked up some fireworks that may or may not work and some ammo for your gun, but that’s not as fun so who cares about that?”

Yuu grinned. “Sweeeeeeet.”

“Not that you use your gun enough for that to be an issue,” Deuce added, smiling as he leaned against Yuu, batting his eyelashes, as if swooning over him. “Our favorite pacifistic loser.”

It was hard to tell who was less impressed – Yuu or Ace.

“Don’t try to discredit my gift!”

“Don’t have to try. I totally won,” said Deuce, smirking. “Right, Yuu?”

Yuu groaned, turning to flop against Deuce to try to make him stop bickering with Ace. Deuce could, sometimes, see reason.

Deuce, however, smirked victoriously. “He chose me to sleep on! Therefore I win!”

"He always sleeps on you -!"

"Exactly."

So much for that hope.

~

Yuu sighed contentedly as the three of them lay on the floor. Deuce was pressed against his back, an arm thrown over the two of them – not quite protectively, Yuu was pretty sure, more as if he thought they were a pillow. As for Ace, he was clingy at night, tangling their legs together, pressing so close to Yuu’s chest that he sometimes thought that Ace was trying to absorb him.

Warm breaths puffed over the back of his shoulder. A heartbeat thrummed against his abdomen, steady and strong even through their shirts.

He would love to fall asleep like this, it was so tempting. But alas. He had to keep watch for another few hours.

He busied himself by absently toying with Ace’s hair, making tons of little braids, only to undo them, and then start all over again.

None of this was new. Of course it wasn’t. They had been sleeping like this for months. The sleeping in shifts part was relatively recent, sure, Grim used to do that for them but now… the point is – it was normal.

And yet, Yuu’s brain refused to be distracted from all of these little details.

It wasn’t that Yuu wasn’t… aware that the way he liked Ace and Deuce wasn’t the way you’re supposed to like your friends.

Friends didn’t get jealous at the idea of their friends dating someone. Friends weren’t supposed to choose to sleep in the same room – the same bed – when they had an entire hotel available to them.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to think about the barely-there sunspots dotting Ace’s cheeks as much as he did, and definitely shouldn’t want to press kisses to every one of them. He shouldn’t think about the scars on Deuce’s hands as often as he did, nor should he want to hold them for hours, carefully mapping out each little indent or bump in his skin.

His mind shouldn’t stray back to that day he and Ace had opened up to each other, when Ace had called him pretty with their faces so close together. He shouldn’t linger on that moment with Deuce, when he’d taught him a different way to light a cigarette, a warm glow washing over his cheeks that couldn’t really be blamed on the small flame.

Yuu was perfectly aware of these thoughts, and that they weren’t exactly platonic. He was also aware there was a high chance that Grim would gather enough courage to show up at some point. And, if Grim found out Yuu was into them, Grim would put a stop to it immediately.

Frankly, the fact that Grim hadn’t caught on yet was a godsend.

He sighed.

As long as he was able to settle for this… in-between… everything should work out.

Of course, that didn’t make it easy.

It was made even harder by Ace and Deuce themselves.

“Holy shit! Mistletoe!” Ace said a few days later, giving an incredulous little laugh, his eyes locked somewhere above their heads.

Yuu followed his gaze.

There was some kind of plant in the tree they were standing under. The plant… was green. Yuu had no other thoughts about it. That was it. It was green. Really, he wasn’t sure what mistletoe looked like. Ace could be lying to him, and he wouldn’t know.

Either way, Ace pointing it out meant something.

Yuu wasn’t stupid.

But he knew someone who was.

He looked at Deuce, grinning. “It’s got more than two leaves and three berries, though, does Deuce even think it’s mistletoe?”

“I mean… I’ve never seen it in person before… it might be,” Deuce said, his eyes flicking away.

Damn it!

Yuu sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m abstaining.”

“On what grounds?” Ace snorted.

“On the grounds that Grim would kill you if he saw us kiss, even if it was just a joke.”

Deuce deflated. “Those are some pretty strong grounds.”

“Grim’s not here,” Ace argued. “He doesn’t need to know.”

God, this really does sound like I’m a cheating spouse.

Deuce sighed. “Ace… if he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t have to.”

“He never said he ‘doesn’t want to’,” Ace said, as if it was something significant.

(And, to be fair, it was. That didn’t mean Yuu was happy about it.)

“I know,” Deuce said, with a helpless little shrug. “But if it makes him uncomfortable…”

Ace squinted at Yuu for a long moment.

“If you say it’s ‘for our sake’, then shouldn’t we get to help make that decision?” Ace asked, in a tone that suggested that he thought he was being perfectly reasonable. “You don’t want Grim to kill us, or whatever, but it’s our lives.”

“What, are you planning to die for some –.” Yuu bit down on his tongue. “Some… kissing? I’m so sorry, but that’s clinically insane, and people with mental illnesses aren’t supposed to make important decisions without a third party present.”

“I’m sick and tired of every part of my life being decided by fucking zombies,” Ace said. “They’ve already ruined enough.”

“I refuse to be the reason you die.”

Ace laughed, but it wasn’t exactly a nice sound. He marched forward and balled his fist in Yuu’s shirt. “That might work on Deuce, but don’t pull that shit with me. Deuce and I are dead men walking no matter what. No one on this island is going to get to die of old age. What I do while I wait for death is my own damn decision.”

“Just because you’re going to die doesn’t mean you should speed up the process. Are you stupid?”

“I’m not trying to speed up the process. I’m making the most of the situation while I still can. There’s a difference.”

Yuu groaned. Why couldn’t he just get it?

He took Ace’s chin in his hand, tipping his face to the side just slightly so he could press a kiss to his lips.

It was a quick, chaste thing. Mostly because Ace clearly hadn’t been expecting it. He stood there, stiff as a board, as Yuu kissed him. Both of their lips were chapped after months of dehydration.

Not to say it was a particularly awful kiss, to Yuu’s eternal chagrin. His heart still hammered in his chest. Ace’s skin was still warm, flushed a pretty shade of red beneath his fingers.

Yuu pulled back. It was easy to brush Ace’s hand off of his shirt, as stunned as his ‘friend’ was.

“There. I did the mistletoe thing,” Yuu said, swiping a hand across his mouth, more for the sake of plausible deniability than any real want to get rid of the feeling. He turned to look at Deuce, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to insist I do it, too?”

Deuce, who had been awkwardly hovering around them the entire time, unsure what to do, shook his head rapidly, holding his hands up in surrender.

“I’d really rather not die, thanks.”

At least someone had sense.

Yuu ran a hand through his hair, spinning around, trying to get his bearings again.

He swore he met eyes with someone in a window but, when he did a double-take, they were gone. His fingernails dug into the skin of his palms. Was that real? Or just his brain messing with him? He could check, but he really didn’t want to know. Damn it. He’d fucked up – kissing Ace, and so publicly at that, out in the open where anyone could catch them…

Yuu felt a hand grab his arm, and turned around to find Ace’s lips against his again.

~~~~~

Pt27>

[cliperry]

WHAT EVERYONE'S TALKING ABOUT THIS WEEK

Five things to bear in mind while listening to the new Harry Styles album The One Directioner's long-awaited debut is out today. It's called Harry Styles.

As well as singing on all 10 tracks, obviously, Harry plays two strange instruments on the album: the omnichord—a 1980s handheld electronic synth—on the opening track Meet Me In The Hallway, and something called a güiro (a notched wooden percussion thing) on Two Ghosts. A man of many talents.

Harry Styles was made in the luxury Geejam Studio in Jamaica and The Village Studios in Los Angeles, where everyone from The Doors to Bob Dylan have recorded.

If you like a bit of mystery, try and work out who the girl on the hard-rocking Only Angel is. "Couldn't take you home to mother in a skirt that short / But I think that's what I like about it," sings Harry, before casually adding, "she's a devil between the sheets." Is it the same girl on the song Kiwi who "worked her way through a cheap pack of cigarettes," we wonder?

Is Harry also trying to show off his nice new house via the medium of song titles? Meet Me In The Hallway and From The Dining Table suggest that yeah, maybe.

Brit-poppers Shed Seven have had a minor issue with the artwork, suggesting Harry copied the cover photo of their 1994 single Ocean Pie. "When I first saw it I genuinely thought, 'Are you ripping us off?' It's very close to the mark," singer Rick Witter told The Daily Mirror. He won't be taking Harry to court though, adding, "It's a nice compliment. They really do say imitation is the biggest form of flattery. I saw him on Graham Norton trying to be all indie. Good luck to the lad."

Read the NME review of Harry Styles on NME.com.

[deartoddanderson]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀────۶ৎ chapter one

overview : Revery, a girl-band from Oxford, have traveled to Liverpool and booked a gig on the dirty, old stage of a local pub. It's a new thing to them, and it starts off awkwardly, but soon enough they fall back into their usual rhythm and finish the day successfully. It's a time-skip of sorts to get a decent start to the story.

content warnings : none

links : character intros author note : not fully proof-read, open for criticism

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 𐙚 words.ᐟ 1.1k

July 28th, 1961 𓈒 ݂۫ ୨୧

Revery had probably been waiting all week, if not all month, for this moment. After having nervously booked that stupid pub stage for the evening, suddenly the realization that they’d be doing this for real hit them like a ton of bricks. The four girls found themselves shuffling awkwardly past the crowded floors of the pub, instruments strapped to their backs or already waiting on the stage to be borrowed, the same old ones other wanna-be bands borrowed before. The air was sticky, tacky floorboards beneath their much-too-pretty shoes, probably dirtied with spilled drinks and other things they didn’t want to think about. 

At last, they’d find their spot by the edge of the stage. Meeting up with a member of staff, an old man with messy, patchy hair and a toothy smile. Usually doing the announcements into the microphone whenever the pub had performances on the small, almost pathetic stage. An uncomfortable smell of sweat, alcohol and cigarettes lingering in the air, but they were probably used to it already. Their beloved bassist, Ruby, gave a smile and introduced them by their band name, Revery. Making it clear at last why they had bothered with pushing past all those drunks, especially in clothes which probably fit better somewhere neater than some old, dingy pub.

Still, the old man had been informed that they were booked that evening, giving a gleeful nod before striding up on the creaking stage as if he owned it. Grabbing the microphone just a tad bit too harshly, a painfully annoying screeching sound being let out by the electronic in his grip. Though it didn’t seem to bother him, as he quickly did a thorough but gross clear of his throat before speaking, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome–!” then he paused. It had started so well, and then he just... paused? Though by the way he looked as lost as anything, it was obvious that the fool forgot the girls’ band name within that short minute it took for him to get onto that stage.

After enough awkward silence, the crowd had begun to mostly quiet down after he practically slobbered all over the microphone. Their drummer, Odette, finally sighed. Grumbling a few not-so-nice words beneath her breath before saying the band name again, making the old man’s face light up before he sheepishly grinned to the drunk crowd. “Revery! Uh. Welcome Revery.” He enthusiastically yet awkwardly muttered, quickly stumbling away from the microphone again like a chicken without its head attached to its neck. What a piece of work, huh? Perhaps he was drunk as well, like most of the other pub-visitors; or his age was finally catching up to him and making him all silly and uncoordinated.

Despite the painfully awkward start, finally it was time for the girls to go up on the stage, which they did. The air felt hot, sweaty and strange… but that was just the beauty of pubs, at least this one, probably due to the cheap alcohol and cramped space. The slightly stage-fearing vocalist (and guitarist), Genevieve, took her spot in front of the microphone. Avoiding standing too close, not trusting the number of bacteria which probably swam over the object. The other three members also took their places, the other guitarist, Angela, happily standing off to the right. Whilst Odette sat awkwardly on the stool to the complimentary drum kit, and Ruby took a spot to the left, her trusty bass guitar in hand. 

The expecting stares from the crowd, at least those sober enough to be able to focus, tangled up their thoughts. But with some of the girls being slightly more confident than the next, the show still started mostly as it should. With Angela, the guitarist, giving Odette, the drummer, a thumbs up. A sign that she should start the beat of whatever song they were to play first, Genevieve seemingly not being ready to greet the crowd… so it was best they just started instead of standing in painfully bad silence. A familiar beat followed, figuring their half-blacked out viewers would maybe react better if they started with a cover, instead of an original song. Genevieve’s hands gently took a better hold of her guitar, taking a rather deep but hopefully also silent breath; so the show goes on.

The sticky air and filthy floors only worsened throughout the night, but that was the familiar sights of the establishment. Thankfully, the crowd hadn’t been full of joy-killing drunks, plenty of both youth and the seniors taking to the crowded floors; dancing and drinking. Beers and whatever other cheap, dirty drinks they had in hand spilling over the floorboards and other dancers, not that anybody was sober enough out there to notice. Despite the gross sight of it all, Revery could only smile and continue their performance– because the dancing or even the sing-alongs, as sloppy as it was, at least meant that they were having fun and enjoying the show. The brunette vocalist by the germ-covered microphone suddenly didn’t feel as stage-fearing, fingers dancing over her trusted instrument with ease, her vocal chords possibly working overtime but dancing along either way.

No show truly lasts forever, so sooner or later, their performance had to come to an end. A few sighs or messy sounds of complaints following after, the girls lining up side by side to give the faintest little bow. Their matching Mary Jane style shoes clicked over the grimy stage as they waved, walking in a line to get off it like it was the damn military. Giggles bubbling in their chests, proud pats to the back, grinning high fives or smiles similar to that of a child in a candy shop. It was scary, sure, and they wouldn’t be surprised if the mucky filth from the floor and air was stuck to them like glue. Yet they felt proud, because they had succeeded, both bringing joy to the crowd, and themselves; shit-faced drunk or not did not matter, the spilled drinks, and still drunk dancing and slurred singing despite the sudden silence proved that.

It was hard to believe that these girls had once been stuck playing together in frilly nightgowns and hair rollers at sleepovers, their audience being posters, teddy bears or sometimes a parent or maybe a sibling. Yet here they were, clearly breaking out of the warm embrace of their comfort zones, fingers dancing over their instruments from venue to venue– finally making themselves known after oh-so many years of being too afraid to try. Tacky floors and humid air still stirring around them, shoes making awkward noises with every step as they maneuvered through the inebriated horde of people. The crisp air suddenly felt extra fresh once they finally made it outside, the cold breeze barely a bother as they hurriedly strolled down the streets of Liverpool.

© deartoddanderson ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work without permission.

[allaboutthems]

What Does Your Icon Smell Like?

Mello smells like leather and chocolate, mixed with Matt's cigarettes. Sometimes with expensive cologne.

Matt smells like cigarettes, Cheetos, electronics, more cigarettes, sometimes a little bit of "haven't showered in a couple of days" funk, weed, cheap beer, Mountain Dew, more cigarettes, and just a hint of Mello.

[quick-drawn]

@chronal-anomaly asked: When Jesse was relearning how to work with his prosthetic arm, did he have any sensory difficulties? Did he ever struggle with gripping things too delicately and having them slip from his grasp, or accidentally denting or cracking something from holding it too tightly? Did he ever lack the temperature sensory input and accidentally hand his flesh hand something scalding or freezing without realizing it was like that? 👀

thank you for feeding me spacy, as always.

i've talked about jesse's arm before, but i've been meaning to elaborate on that hc post so i might as well do that here — answering your questions along the way, probably focusing more on how he handles the thing as opposed to how it works.

so, for starters,

i hc that jesse lost his arm during his blackwatch days. we see that he clearly still has his flesh arm in, not only his blackwatch skin, but also the UPRISING comic — which takes place in london, towards the end of his overwatch career. this would probably lead most to believe it was an incident that happened during his vigilante years — i, however, beg to differ.

losing an arm is HARD. and replacing it with a prosthetic isn't cheap. i personally don't believe jesse would have the resources or support needed for either of those things outside of overwatch. i believe the amputation took place during his tussle in london ( on his little " vacation ", during blackwatch's suspension ), further decommissioning blackwatch as a whole.

now, the reason i'm telling you this, is because i need you to understand that this was what's called a TRAUMATIC AMPUTATION, meaning the arm wasn't surgically removed in a controlled environment. because of this, there was pretty significant damage to certain things like his nervous system, the pending port rejection not helping his case. this would make certain things like controlling the prosthetic and reading the incoming sensory input difficult at times.

in case you don't feel like reading that other hc post: the prosthetic jesse receives from overwatch DOES allow for sensory input, meaning he can register things like, temperature and pressure. and it's pretty good at doing so. HOWEVER, because of the damage caused by the amputation and infections following surgery, the accuracy and reliability varies, typically triggered by things like stress and temperature. but overall, on a good day, he's retained somewhere around 90% of his normal movement abilities and input registration. the most noticeable for him being a slight numbness in his thumb, which gets incredibly worse in the cold, sometimes making it difficult for him to grip things.

he's right handed, so it's not too often he'll use the prosthetic for primary movements, but he's dropped a glass or two over the years because of it. he's also done things like pulled open doors and drawers with incredible force, unable to tell how much power is being used. having more power and force available to him is another thing he had to get used to. in a quick knee-jerk response, it may be difficult for him to judge how much force he's putting into his grip or throw if his focus is not on the arm itself.

but, for the most part, he is typically aware of his abilities.

he's used his unmatched grip strength to crush things like phones and other electronic devices. and, with the added bonus of a prosthetic elbow and bicep, he's definitely thrown overly hefty punches and won quite a few arm wrestling matches.

he also uses his prosthetic to hold his cigars and ash his cigarettes, purposefully to avoid burns and tar left behind by the smoke.

now, because he can still register temperature, it's not often he'll do things like, use the prosthetic to grab a hot plate out of the microwave. it was built like this to not only help AVOID situations like forgetting that his other hand is not metal, but also to help aid in PROTECTING it. the thing's not indestructible, and they didn't want him treating it as such. while it's not necessarily fragile, it still has it's limits, like any machine. but, in more pressing situations, he has used it's higher melting point and stress resistance to his advantage.

but, speaking of damage: because of the way the arm is docked, it's typically all or nothing when it comes to both input and output. if he's not getting any sensory response, his arm is also going to be either limp or locked up, unable to control it ( which one depends on how the arm was disabled — it will go limp when properly disconnected from the base, but it will seize up if it's damaged beyond use while connected ). so he hasn't had the exact scenario occur that you stated above, in passing something hot or cold between hands.

BUT, i will say because of this, there was one time a short in a wire caused jesse to be latched onto the handle of the communal fridge for an hour before someone realized he was missing.

[alexjcrowley]

I saved this post a while ago before I even read it, since I had yet to see the movie. Now that I did, I came back.

This is such a wonderful analysis! I truly love it. To be honest, while I watched the movie I wrote down a few points I wanted to discuss and the treatment of women was one of it.

I couldn't word it better than you did, so, if you don't mind, I am just going to add this. I think there are few other examples in recent years of parallel editing as powerful as the one in which Cardinals are arriving at Casa Santa Marta and the nuns are getting the place ready for them.

The nuns arrive first, because the servants arrive first. They're travelling by bus, which is about the chepeast way to travel, and they're all in respecteful silence. As soon as they get off the bus, they set to do their work. They are wearing presumably cheap transaprent raincoats (they look very flimsy to me) that don't cover their head. Sure, they wear a veil, but that just means the veil is going to get wet.

The cardinals all arrive with carry-on luggage, with the implication that many of them travelled by plane (a luxurious and expensive mean of transport), and are greeted enthusiastically with a series of "Long time no see", like they're a bunch of guys in the same travel group who just arrived at a holiday resort or a group of people who is about to attend a week-long convention in some fancy place with all of their business expenses covered. The pope is dead, but they're cheerful more than somber, happy to catch up with old pals. When it starts to rain, they all take out their large, identical, black umbrellas, which fully shield them from the rain.

While the cardinals kill time smoking or playing with their phones, the nuns are getting their room ready. There are a few nuns in the courtyard, but no cardinal speaks to them or greets them. They are invisible for them.

The nuns stock the bathrooms of each room, store electronics away, while the cardinals significantly do nothing, we get a bunch of unexpressive close up on their faces. They're are not doing something else while the nuns work, they're just waiting to be served.

And this is probably my favourite shot from the sequence

Because you see a bunch of cigarettes butts on the floor- which you know, from what you have been shown, have been smoked by the cardinals, who didn't even bother to use ashtray. And because of that, because of the carelessness with which they threw those cigarettes butts on the ground, you know it's not the cardinals who's going to clean them up. Someone else will. And you don't need to be shown who, because you've seen them working for the cardinals until this very moment: it's the nuns.

I think this frame is powerful because, even though you are not shown a scene of a nun sweeping the cigarettes butts, your mind fills that gap. That shot is there to tell you "They did their beds, they run inventory on their techs, they stacked their bathrooms, of course they will also clean after them. That is expected from them." That's why the cardinals leave the cigarettes on the ground, they don't even think of who's going to clean up- it's not them, anyway. It's the nuns. Cardinals are called to serve God and nuns are called to serve them, that's how it is.

Not me scrolling through the Conclave tag only to see no one talk about the deliberate positioning and framing of the women in this movie.

Pulling up this movie I completely expected to only encounter Sister Agnes as the one woman we see in the trailer, the conclave a space that has been kept from the female members of the church. Now, color me surprised when I started the movie and most of the establishing shots we got were focused on all the women working in the Vatican.

And it is such a deliberate choice, it does the film a disservice not to talk about it.

Because while Cardinal Lawrence is having his fifteenth breakdown during sequestering and Bellini finds the ambitious asshole within himself, Ray does all the leg work, and Bel---- we see the women work.

We see the kitchens, we see them cook, we see them stand aside. Most of the time when the Cardinals are conspiring it is the women who interrupt because they are busy working, walking, running errands.

And there is power in that.

I think it is very deliberate how often (and with such lingering gaze) the camera shows us the lives of the other half - partially to connect to the wider themes of the movie, on how Bellini asks for women to get more power but never thanks them, and how Benitez stumps them all by thanking the women preparing their meals when asked to say the prayer (considering his own probably tumultuous relationship to gender within the church).

But it also stands in direct opposition to a long tradition in story telling: servants don't exist. How often the heroes of a regency romance are "alone" because the two hand maidens and three maids don't really count.

Conclave doesn't do that.

It doesn't let us look away.

Between all the petty drama, the politics, and the real life consequences of the conclave, we never stop looking at the people doing all the work.

Yes, we follow the ups and downs of Lawrence and Co, but in doing so the movie reminds us again and again of the women working the kitchen.

And that was just such a powerful artistic choice in a movie about a famously misogynistic church... I loved it. And I had to talk about it.

[metrosmokeshopfl]

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[ecigguaevapedubai]

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[vapematch]

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We are a leading manufacturer of vaping products and hence we are highly committed to providing our customers with the most reliable information they need to make informed decisions regarding their vapingchoices. Here we explore the world of nicotine vape juice and discuss its basics and benefits. From this discussion, you will know what to look for while choosing a high-quality product.

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[thevapegiantt]

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[nicohitvape]

Disposable vape guides

Vaping has become a craze and gained popularity over the last

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What are Disposable vapes? 

Disposable vapes are the outcomes of advanced technology and are

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Notable differences between Disposable and traditional devices

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It does not require much effort and loads of instructions to operate a

disposable vape device. The device comes in a sealed package and

after opening it, activate the device by following the instructions on

the package, or in certain cases, it is automatically activated once

you start inhaling. Once the battery is discharged or runs out of

liquid, it is time to dispose of it.

Though as with everything disposable vapes have their pros and

cons. But still, it has ensured that many chain smokers have

smoothly transitioned to vaping without much hassle.

Nicohit E-liquid provides a diverse range of vape juices and

disposable vapes and is one of the prominent wholesale suppliers in

the UK.