#i just don’t think i ever said what you think i said | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lexalith · 1 day ago

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FRIENDS || Choi Su-Bong (Thanos)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

subong. are you awake?

yes ma’am. why?

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

???

do you think i’m attractive?

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

it takes him a few minutes to reply.

what kind of question is that?

just answer

i’m too high for this shit, bro

you’re not high🙄 liar

i wish i were

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

yeah, i think u are

really?

sure thinggg, u’re hot mama

dude quit playing, i’m being serious over here

i’m not fucking playing

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

what are we even talking about

why can’t you just answer?😭

what is this for?

for my knowledge

tf is that supposed to mean?

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

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

some stuff? what stuff?

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

who tf is this dude?

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

it does?

are you gonna answer my question or no?

yeah. i think u r both kinds.

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

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

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

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

are u serious?

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

alr, imma be honest. yeah i would

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

subong’s typing…

would u? with me?

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

maybe

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

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

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

but have u?

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

can’t help it when u look that good💯

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

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

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

i knew itttt señorita 🙏🏼

shut up

how many times?

why do you wanna know?🤨

i answered ur stupid ass questions, now u answer mine

maybe like idk, two?

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

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

more than u wanna know

how bad are we talking?

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

maybe i do

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

you do realize i’m your bestfriend right?

yeah, so?

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

yeah but they don’t make me as hard

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

even saying this shit is getting me worked up

what???😭 you’re hard??

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

it was hypothetical

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

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

too much info, subong

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

okay… should i leave you to it?

fuck no

damn alr, suffer then🙄

could u help me out?

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

with a pic of u or smth

boy whatttttttttt

what?

i’m not sending you fucking nudes wtf 💀💀

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

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

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

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

hoooooooooly shitttttttttt

it’s just a pic

yeah, a pic of u looking like that

im just in my pajamas

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

subong you can’t just say stuff like that

why not? we always tell each other everything

i should’ve thrown on a hoodie

i’d still be thinking of what’s underneath

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

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

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

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

it's him. he sent a picture.

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

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

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

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

and what if i don’t?

then i'd make u

mhmmm, how?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

shit, subong… i’m close

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

u better be there señorita

i will🙃

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this shit is so funny bro loooololol

i fear your humor is broken😐

naahhh u just don’t get ittt babyy

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

another day, he messages the group chat:

pentagon this weekend?🔥

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

wbu? still down to go?

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

yeah, sureee

bet. see u saturday, señorita

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

outside

outsideeee

outsideeeeeeeee

hellooooooooooooooooooo

one minute, let me grab my jacket

i’m freezing man

one minute my ass

patience is a virtue ❤️

cmooooooooon

u knitting the jacket or what

girl i just hit retirement age waiting for u

you’re so dramatic

and u r so slow, balance baby

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it happens everywhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and you did. every single time.

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

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

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

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

are u busy?

no, why?

good, i’ll be there in 10

i’m on my period

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

subong.

yeah?🙏🏼

not in the mood❤️

alr cool👍🏼💯

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

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

i’m the only snack u need, girl

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

pick up the fucking phone

cmon baby please

i fucking miss u

don’t do this shit to me

u make me so fucking angry

bro istfg

please

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

i know u r reading these

don’t fucking ignore me bro

at least tell me u r okay

minsu asked why u didn’t come with us today

just fucking answer

is it that hard?

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

u r fucking selfish

i hope u know that

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

im highhg as fuvckk bro

look whatu vdone to me

fukcing bittvhhh

its urA fault

i mis uu

u r myybhaby❤️❤️❤️❤️

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

can i cone over? plewaasse

answer bitchj

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

come bsck

i loveyouy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#squid game #squid game 2 #choi seunghyun #choi su bong #thanos #thanos squid game #thanos x reader #thanos smut #choi subong x reader #squid game smut #choi su bong imagine #squid game season 2 #thanos imagine #top #bigbang #seunghyun x reader

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unknownogre · 1 day ago

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“I come to steal a famous dime, the locks will be picked and it will be mine

I’ll dance away and you will see…I’ll laugh at you while I drink my TEA!”

The rhymes were terrible but that was the trademark for The Fool. He wore the jesters costume, bells and all with a mask that was always smiling, it could be seen as unsettling…if he didn’t have the reputation he did. If there was a rank for villains below F that would be where he sat. Glitter bombs, whoopie cushions, rubber chickens…and very telegraphed heist plans. No one took him seriously…and that was certainly part of his charm. No one ever got hurt fighting The Fool, no one ever lost hope. Villains, heroes, it didn’t matter. When The Fool was involved oddly everyone felt better about themselves. Even if he was considered a villain he had respect from both sides and that was good enough for him. He didn’t need to be taken seriously; he was here for his own mission, and it was being done just fine.

“I am evil…no one is on my lee-vil…

I’ll add this loot to my pile…no one can beat my style!”

He was just marching down the street, popping here and there in the blink of an eye. Everyone sees this as minor illusion at best since he hasn’t so much as scratched a single hero of villain. That was good to have them think of him as harmless, that was the best way to get done what he wanted to get done. The museum was in sight…it was time to get the heist started. He knew who’d be trying to stop him…a husband and wife team called Wind and Fire…they boost each other’s abilities a considerable amount and have stopped world ending events with just the pair. These heroes were greatly respected. They just lost their son to a long debilitating illness and haven’t had their heads on straight since. This just what they needed, some banter, low steaks risk…a little fun and they’ll be right as rain.

“The Fool is here, please be a dear,

And steer clear but don’t shed a tear

My victory is all but clear!”

He said as he rounded the corner to the museum. Today was going to be a good…

…the front to the museum had been all but destroyed and the sounds of battle could be heard within. On the steps The Fool could see the body of fire…tormented, twisted and very much dead eyes frozen open in horror and pain. His heart stopped for a moment…this wasn’t supposed to happen. What…what was going on here?

He ran, forgetting who he was and why he was here for a moment just so he could get eyes on the fight that was happening. Wind would need support, oh gods he hoped he wasn’t too late. Right when he made it at the top of the steps her body hit the ground right at his feet, her limbs were crushed and twisted in impossible angles. Still she had a bit of life…her eyes landed on the familiar mask, sorrow in her eyes…so much pain.

“Fly you Fool. Fly…r…u…”

With that the light from her eyes faded. Sadness, grief…this wasn’t supposed to happen. This was supposed to be a nice easy day, hearts were supposed to be repaired not stopped. Heavy footsteps brought him back to the current scene, surrounded by debris right in front of him stood a giant of a creature, dressed in all black with a mask that hid any features of his face…was the villain known as Terror, he was supposed to be small time though. Sure there were whispers that he was on the rise, fifteen hours away. Why would he come here?!

“The Fool…THE FOOL! HA! My lucky day. If you bow down to me and lick my boot I might let you get me a beer from the fridge!”

Terror stood over seven feet tall with arms as thick as tree trunks. The Fool just looked there, standing his ground for the moment. His head canting this way and that.

“Today…wasn’t the day

Yet into the fray I dare stray

Still, I don’t think I feel

Submissive enough to lick your heel.”

Terror laughed and threw a lazy punch at the Fool’s head fully intending to connect. Yet it seemed he just punched the air right next to the trickster villain. There was a touch of confusion but then just a light chuckle. Terror’s eyes went to Wind’s twisted body.

“Oh, she is kind of cute, twist her limbs back and I could have some fun. Bet she is still warm…”

IT was then The Fool’s mask changed. There was no smile, nothing pleasant, but instead it was in a grimace of rage. Teeth bared, eyes glowing red…very much reflecting his current mood. Terror only noticed this as he was sailing backward through the air from a hit that was so powerful it took a few moments to register the pain from the impact.

“SHUT UP! You don’t get to talk about her anymore, not him either. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?”

Then Terror seemed to hit an invisible wall stopping him just short of the actual museum wall…and he hit it hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. He bounced off the barrier and then hit the floor, rolling onto his back with a groan.

“You…you were an easy mark. Kill…to show dominance, then you submit, and I have a place in a big city.”

In a blink The Fool was in the face of Terror, moving several dozen yards in the span of a heartbeat. Another strike to the head, a back hand that shattered Terror’s mask, embedding pieces in the skin of a rather unremarkable face. Again he was lifted off of his feet and again he slammed into an invisible barrer before he could do more damage to the interior of the museum.

“Think if it was that easy it would have been done already? Did you ask around? Ask why not a single hero of villain has come to ‘claim my territory? First, I am well liked…I perform a service to keep everyone sane so they don’t go insane or kill themselves. Everyone has a place in this world, hero or villain and I’m here to make them want to stay in it instead of destroying it or destroying themselves.”

Again in a blink The Fool covered a distance impossibly fast. Terror could hardly move as he was grabbed by the front of his shirt and thrown into the center of the room as though he was nothing more than a rag doll to the man who stood no taller that five feet five inches.

“One…a single villain has tried this. I caught wind of it first…they simply disappeared. No one knew what happened to them and not a single person gave a fuck. The truth…if I wanted to I could rule the world. Not a group of heroes, not the league of villains, not anyone could do anything to stop me. I’ve done it twice actually…burned entire nations just so I could ‘protect’ everyone. I fucked it up each and every time…so I’d reverse time and try it again. Never came out like I wanted…so I stopped.”

During this conversation Terror tried to stand and summoning what rage he could tried to charge forward to punch The Fool…yet he seemed to be almost held in place. All of his power being put to just move less than a millimeter.

“I found my role was to help in different ways. A simple heist, a way to give confidence. Let the heroes vent their loss, talk about their insecurities. Who isn’t your best friend if it isn’t your arch-nemesis? I KNOW I’ve helped so many. YET HERE YOU ARE! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING! You killed GOOD people. Now you will beg me for death. You will plead and cry and scream for me to end your suffering. See I’m actually very evil, just in a different way than most. You’ll see…I’ll give you a hint on my power. I can bend space-time.”

The Fool was just strolling around Terror at a normal pace while the Super Villain did everything he could just to move a little tiny bit.

“I could go into the complicated nature of everything, but I’ll say this. You won’t move unless I want you do. I’m ancient, and I know exactly what I’m doing. Still though, my power is more than gravity manipulation. I can make worm-holes at will. You might ask why that is important…well I can take pieces off of you without a blade in the most precise way possible. You’ll see…I’ll start with this…”

The Fool just looked to Terror and released the hold he had on him. The villain moved to stand up…there was an odd vacuum noise…and right as he was about to attack he fell down into a pile on the floor.

“You don’t regenerate you just can recover well. I just removed the part of your brain for motor function. You can’t talk, or move or even really change where your eyes look. I spent a great many years learning neuroscience just for moments like this. I didn’t want to mess up and kill someone on accident. Though Honestly I use the ability to remove tumors that are considered inoperable often. Though now…I get to play a little bit. Don’t worry…”

There were a few more of those vacuum sounds and with each one Terror was unable to do even more, until he was just sitting there, breathing…but fully unable to move at all. The fool then maneuvered him onto his back with the easy of a child playing with an action figure.

“You’ll never be able to respond, or blink, or cry or even raise your heart rate to more than just enough to keep you alive. I have successfully imprisoned you in your body. Since you don’t regenerate, well you cannot heal the damage. I can’t go back in time to bring back Fire and Wind…that does too many things to too many realms. Death is still a little upset at me for the last time I did it. At least they are with their son now, hopefully happy.”

Terror couldn’t respond, motionless his gaze stuck on the ceiling…he could do nothing but listen…fully aware of his surroundings.

“Also don’t worry, I put a little barrier around your mind too. Don’t think anyone will be able to talk to you with telepathy or some of them fancy dream reading machines. This will be your and my little secret. You’ll lament in some hospital as your body degenerates. Helpless…until you die and THEN I get to have fun with you. I just want you completely broken first.”

The Fool’s face went to a sad one from rage as he gathered the bodies of the heroes and set them next to each other. He even sobbed a little bit over them straightening their limbs so they could be found presentable. Then a call was made and he fabricated everything…no one would know. As Terror was taken away on a gurney…only The Fool knew how much he was screaming in his mind to be let go.

“They Deserve respect for what they have done,

Wind and Fire two great heroes are now gone,

With hope I wish their souls will fly

With a heavy heart I will say goodbye.”

The Fool said as their bodies were taken away…he didn’t even want the stupid dime anymore. He learned something though, and he’ll never be caught unaware again.

You pretend to be a small-time villain. At most, you annoy the local supers, but your crimes never hurt anyone. To you it's all good fun. Things change when a truly sadistic supervillain invades your turf and murders a few of the supers. No one has seen the extent of your true powers until now.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writers #writing prompts #writing inspiration #UnknownOgre #Hero x Villain #Hidden powers #Creative writing #Short stories

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beloveds-embrace · 3 days ago

Note

Ok Duke au but only one of the boys fell for user! Maybe it was when she first came to the castle/ house, yk if Price ain't gonna give her love then let him!

Or maybe feelings showed up slowly, finally realizing that maybe he should go finally interact with her grace, seeing as she avoids any interactions with others.

Sorry if it makes no sense, I tried to make the decision of which boy falls only for user up to you, minus price >:)

i didn't want to make this too angsty fjddkcj </33 so it's more of the normal dukedom au

Kyle knows he shouldn’t; it isn’t part of the arrangement.

You were meant to be a formality, a necessity, a woman to fill a role, nothing more. And for a while, you had been just that. Sweet and competent, always carrying yourself with quiet dignity no matter the murmurs of high society. A wife in name, a duchess in duty, a friend of theirs, but never a true part of their world.

John had expected you to remain at a distance, and in return, you had been given a life of luxury and protection. That was the agreement. That was how it should have stayed.

But Kyle should’ve known better.

He should have known the moment you leaned over his shoulder one evening, peering at his bookkeeping notes with genuine interest instead of mere obligation. He should have known the moment you scolded Johnny for burning his hand, or when you’d pressed a cool cloth to Simon's temple after a headache instead of calling for a servant.

He should have known when you stopped seeing them as just your husband’s lovers.

But the real moment of downfall- the moment that shattered any fragile delusion he held- was when you smiled at him.

Not a polite smile, not a passing pleasantry.

A real smile.

It had been late. You had been working over estate documents at the desk, and he had lingered, pretending to tidy up, pretending to have something important to do. And then, you had looked at him, eyes warm, lips curving in a way that made something in his chest lurch.

"You work too hard, Kyle. Come sit down with me ?"

You had said his name. Not 'Mr. Garrick,' not 'the head butler.' Just Kyle. And it wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time it made his heart ache something fierce and longing.

Because it was too soft. Too familiar. Too much like a wife speaking to a husband.

And now, he is here, standing beside John as you make your absurd little request, completely unaware of the way his hand clenches against his side.

You are oblivious, as you always are, so innocent in your own kindness. You do not see the way John’s gaze darkens, the way Kyle stiffens at your words.

"I am merely a bit… unsatisfied."

Your voice wavers slightly at the admission, and Kyle wonders- if he had been the one to claim you, if he had been the one to hold you at night, would you ever have been unsatisfied?

He bites the inside of his cheek and looks away, even as John’s fingers tighten around his glass.

Something tells him neither of them will let you remain unsatisfied for long.

But he knows the truth.

Even if you are claimed, even if you are made theirs, it will not be by some stable boy.

And that knowledge alone fills him with smug satisfaction.

He doesn’t miss the way John’s grip tightens around his glass, and he knows that if the other two were here as well, Simon's jaw would have tensed and Johnny would have lost all his amusing charm. You are oblivious, of course- always so sweetly naive, thinking you can simply ask for something like this and have it granted without consequence. But this? This will never happen.

John would never agree to this.

And Kyle is relieved. Relieved that your foolish little request will be swiftly discarded. Relieved that you will stay exactly where you belong- here, with them, under their watchful eyes.

You don’t even realize what you’ve done, do you? You think this arrangement is still just convenience, that they merely tolerate you. But Kyle sees it- the way even Simon looks at you during dances, the way Johnny slips you extra sweets as if bribing you into affection, the way John has begun watching you more intently, possessively.

You’ve wormed your way into their hearts, tangled yourself so deeply into their lives that they can’t ignore you anymore.

And Kyle?

Kyle is pleased.

Because it means you are theirs, whether you realize it or not. And no matter how much you pout over John’s rejection, you’ll never be anyone else’s. Because even if he'd been the first to fall for you, he did not need to worry about the others not liking you as well. And now, he will not need worry about anyone else taking you from them.

Not now, and not ever.

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cutehoons02 · 3 days ago

Text

Dark Seduction

*pairing: boxer spiderman-venom Jay x radio university Girl

*trope: roomates to enemies to lovers

*synopsis: What would happen if your roommate who doesn't like you told you that you're too curious and nosy about always talking about this vigilante with the nickname of Black Spiderman-Venom on university radio? Doing 2+2 with all the clues that Jay left you understood that he was the vigilante of the city but you discovered him in an unexpected way with the personality of Jay but also the mysterious and sneaky Venom

*tags: A lot of tension, they love to tease each other, Jay is the eggermente arrogant at the beginning of the story, possessing, protecting, body shaping in Spiderman-Venon, tentacles, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) masturbation (f.receives) kisses, sucking, touching, licking, curiosity, white lies.

6.1k (🕷️) (English is not my native language)

The University radio was your kingdom. From eight o'clock in the morning, your voice filled campus frequencies, informing and entertaining sleepless students with your brilliant spirit and sharp tongue.

"Good morning to all listeners! Here is your favorite student radio to speak to you, the voice of the University of Seoul, and today we talk about him... the mysterious vigilante who is making the news crazy. He wears a black suit, moves in the shadows, and helps people but... let’s face it, he's not exactly the classic hero. Some say that he is a savior, like all the people he is saving. Like the little girl who was saved while a deranged man was kidnapping her and others that he is a monster. What do you think?" said pausing and announcing the new comeback of a K-pop band.

Across the glass, in the small waiting room of the radio, Jake and Sunghoon sat on a crumpled couch, listening to you with funny smiles. They both had coffee in their hands and backpacks lying next to them, waiting for the lessons to start later.

'Again with this story?' Sunghoon snorted, stretching. 'Maybe it’s just a mockingman who dresses up to avoid getting caught.'

-Or maybe it’s a real anti-hero! - Jake said, giving you a fun look. -Like... Batman but even darker.-

You smiled, swiping your finger on the keyboard as you read the live comments. "I think it’s hiding something big. What if it was someone we know or who goes to the same university as us?" you asked with a flash of curiosity in your eyes.

Jake and Sunghoon exchanged a quick, understated glance. They looked like they knew more than they wanted to admit and certainly did not want to be discovered by anyone that they were hiding a secret even bigger than themselves.

-Hey, stop making a thousand theories of the plot and then who knows, it could be anyone...- said Jake with a fake innocent air to misdirect the conversation

'Yep, it could be anyone,' added Sunghoon, shrugging.

"But I would pay gold to see it live, I would like too much to see those tentacles and also how he shoots the webs from his hands," you said as you saw the two guys not looking at your face anymore.

"You two are too suspicious. Don’t you know him? Or that you saw him in action? You stepped forward, narrowing your eyes. But before they could answer, the broadcast timer told them that the next song had to start. "And now, folks, I leave you with a piece that has shaped generations as well as Thriller by Michael Jackson. Stay with us!"

You press the button to start the song, then you shoot your fingers towards your roommates. "Okay, now you’re talking. What are you hiding? Have you ever seen him live?"

Jake chuckled and took a sip of his coffee. -Come on, don’t be a detective. Simply, maybe this guy has his reasons for doing what he does and I think that if you saw him live on one side you would be happy because it would save your life but on the other hand according to me you would be afraid if you found him in front of you with all his tentacles and with his Hands that shoot webs- and he laughed at Spiderman’s gesture

You looked at them suspiciously but at the same time you laughed to see Jake so happy, you were ready to press them again, but just then the door of the radio studio opened with a squeak.

Jay made his entrance as if he were the protagonist of a movie, with ripped jeans, and black leather jacket, the usual guitar strap, and the lethal look that could make you shiver and infuriate at the same time.

«Interesting conversation yours,» said Jay with a low voice and loaded with sarcasm, crossing his arms.

«I hope I have not interrupted anything important»

"Oh, nothing," you replied, approaching him with defiance. "Just speculations about our mysterious vigilante friend. Who knows, maybe you know him too. Have you seen how everyone is talking about it?"

Jay tilted his head to the side with an almost amused smile. «I? I have no time for this bullshit, I’m too busy with music and that vigilante should be more careful because every time I hear the news, the police are getting closer to finding his identity» And with that phrase he took your coffee and drank it all and went away throwing you a glance that made you shiver.

That night, outside of Seoul, the storm was raging. You were alone in the house: Jake, Sunghoon, and Jay had all.

Jake was definitely at the university football training, Sunghoon would have been around the city shooting as a model and well Jay would have been in his music office composing music for some record company. The shared apartment with those 3 guys was always full of screaming, laughing and people but that night you were at home alone and you sincerely missed spending time with them; It was for weeks that in the evening they came back late or only one of them returned and you understood that life as a student and worker was different from that of the high school but sometimes you just wanted to spend time with them like in the old days.

You sat on the couch with your phone in hand, carelessly scrolling through Twitter until a trending video caught your attention. A boy along with the vigilante or "Black Spider-Venom" so named by everyone on social media was wearing his black suit and he was saving people in a bank from robbers: he was blocking a car on the way, He stopped a criminal with dark tentacles and protected a woman with a black barrier of spider webs.

Stay glued to the screen for almost an hour, reading comments and police statements.

The police had been saying for days that the superhero or "monster" was between 20 and 25 because they found a backpack with university books but the fatalities were books used in all universities of the state and a snack boy who did sports. So you thought that this guy had two personalities: one was the student who could be anyone and the other a superhero who tried in every way to protect people but also had a dark side as well as the emphasis from Venom and Spiderman.

A deafening thunder shook the house, and you clenched your phone. Then you heard the front door open.

Jay was there, soaking wet, his hair stuck to his forehead, his face marked by fine scratches. You knew that Jay was a boxing athlete and that he trained meticulously but it was strange to see him with scratches and split lips, you tried to talk to him but he closed the door in the face of the bath and sighed and waited anxiously. When he came out, he was wearing a jumpsuit, an old 80’s band shirt that he loved so much and his hair was still wet. He made to go to his room, but you blocked the way.

Jay looked at you with a funny grin. «Problems?»

"What’s the matter?" you asked, crossing your arms, his face was full of small scratches, his lip slightly split and covered with blood and also his hands were bruised

He shrugged his shoulders. «I slipped while boxing, you know it’s not a princess sport and sooner or later you can get hurt and I took a good punch while I was training because I wasn’t careful.» said in a too-serious tone.

You sighed, holding your arms. "I don’t believe you, I know how boxing works, and ok the lip can also stand but those scratches?"

Jay laughed softly, coming one step closer. He was towering over you, the height difference was embarrassing. It was enough of a gesture to grab and push you against the wall.

Why did you always have to stick your nose everywhere? Thought Jay, irritated. He could not stand your insistence, your way of talking to him as if you could decipher every thought.

But beneath his irritation was something else. Something darker. Venom whispered inside him, hungry.

It is small... fragile. We could break it or make it our own.

Jay chased away those thoughts with a deep breath, but the voice inside him laughed. He made to open the door of his room, but you grabbed his wrist and dragged him into your room. "Sit down. I will take care of you."

He nodded, looking at you with a shadow of amusement. But inside him, Venom was agitating. How nice it would be to see her below us, to hear her tremble, fill her until she can’t think of anything but us...

Jay clenched his jaw. Fucking symbiote...he thought as he saw you go back to your room with the first aid kit you used to disinfect the beatings that Jake was getting, as well as your cousin at soccer or perhaps in some other way but did not deny that the idea was damn inviting to have you all for himself as he so desired.

You took the first-aid kit and sat next to Jay. He looked at you with his usual funny grin, the air of not taking anything seriously, but there was something strange in his eyes. Something darker. Deeper.

You grabbed his hands to disinfect them and only then did you notice how big they were compared to yours. Your little fingers almost seemed to get lost against his venous hands, with corns here and there for the hours spent playing guitar.

"Wow, you have huge hands," you murmured distressingly, focused on passing the cotton ball over the bruises.

Jay laughed softly, tilting his head. «And you are really small.»

You looked up at him, crossing his dark eyes staring at you with something undefined.

He was teasing you, as usual, but this time there was a different intensity in his words. He seemed... amused, yes, but also curious.

Jay wondered how it was possible that someone like you, so noisy, cheeky, stubborn, could be so delicate in gestures. He was annoyed by how your presence penetrated his skin, like a melody that could not get out of his head. Yet, there was something about you that irritated and attracted him at the same time. Ever since he first met you in the park when you fell off the slide, With the knee peeled and tears running down your face had thought about how dramatic you could be but to the same inside he had promised that he would never want to see you cry again because he would make sure to protect you.

Venom, on the other hand, had completely different thoughts. He was intrigued by you, by your apparent innocence, by your small body that moved with lightness beside him. Jay’s dark side only wanted one thing: branding you, making you his. He imagined you under him, bent to his will, your skin marked by his bites. And the more he tried to ignore it, the more that desire became overwhelming.

You rubbed the scratches gently on your face with disinfectant. Jay stood still, letting you do it, but your gaze lingered for a moment on the mark on his neck, that little dark spot in the shape of a heart or perhaps a butterfly. You bit your lip without realizing it, the indecent thought that crossed your mind was instantaneous and unstoppable. How good would it have been to kiss her? Lick her? Suck her?

You got yourself right back, driving those thoughts away. You shouldn’t have them. Not on him.

You have known him for more than 10 years and you have always found him annoying but it was a while ago that you found him extremely attractive and this thing made you go crazy because he wasn’t even your type with his character "I know everything."

Just then you passed the cotton swab over his split lip and Jay barely moaned, a low, involuntary sound that made you shudder. His breath became heavier, and you noticed him moving, escaping your touch as if he didn’t want to let you do it. It was frustrating.

"Stop moving," you snapped with an exasperated sigh. "Don’t be a baby," you warned him, but you knew he was doing it on purpose.

Jay smiled dangerously. «Don’t be a caring mom. I didn’t know you liked taking care of me.»

"I don’t like it, but if you don’t stand still I can’t finish."

Without thinking about it you put yourself on his legs, only to keep him still and be able to finish the job. But as soon as you did, you knew you’d made a mistake.

Jay curled under you for a moment, before relaxing and bowing his head with a grin that made you tremble.

«Oh... baby, that was a big mistake on your part,» he murmured in a low and husky voice, his hands slid naturally over your thighs, just clutching them but you felt a lot of chills go through your body because of his touch.

His rational side knew that he had to stop, that it was just a game of provocation between you. But Venom... Venom didn’t want to stop at all. He wanted to taste you, feel your body give in under his grip, and hear every sound you could make for him.

«Tell me, what do you think of that guy?» asked Jay, with a mischievous grin as he heard you disinfect him carefully

You bit your lip. "It’s... intriguing. After all, it is for everyone, isn’t it?" you said looking at his expression.

Jay nodded slowly. «Yeah. Maybe a little too much.»

You raised an eyebrow.

"Well, when something spectacular happens it always ends up on social media. That’s normal."

Jay bowed his head, his piercing gaze. «And you’re happy about it, aren’t you? You can’t wait for something exciting to happen to snoop around and talk about it on the radio so are you happy to have new material for your show?»

You smiled. "Sure. I love my work, both on radio and social media."

Jay came a little closer, his fingers slid down your back in a barely perceptible touch. «You’re too curious,» he murmured. «You also have the habit of asking too many questions.»

"Informed," you corrected.

«Curious,» he repeated, bowing his head with a clever smile

You looked him straight in the eye. "What questions?"

He chuckled. «I see and hear the questions you say you would ask if you found him in person: Who is he? Where does he come from? Why does he do it? What is it like to live two lives? What is it like to have the human part but also the monster part inside? You would like to find out, right?»

You raised your chin in defiance "Maybe yes, you know I was always too curious when we were little"

Jay shook his head, his eyes became darker. «You know, girls who are too curious have a bad end»

You didn’t look down. "I’m not afraid."

Jay was silent for a few seconds, then smiled. «You should.»

You came even closer, challenging him. "I’m afraid of murderers, rapists... not a boy who transforms to save people."

Something changed in him. His breath became heavier, his eyes shone with a dangerous light. Maybe it wasn’t just Jay at that moment Maybe it was something else.

A soft growl made its way through his lips, a low, almost animalistic sound. Venom was emerging. He wanted to test you, to see if you really wouldn’t be afraid when you were in front of him. And Jay couldn’t stop touching you, tightening his grip on your thighs, imagining what it would be like if he gave in to his instincts.

It was at that moment that something changed in Jay. His gaze became darker, more intense. Without giving you time to understand, Jay grabbed your face in his hands and smashed his lips on yours. The kiss was sudden, hungry, almost brutal. There was not only Jay at that moment. There was also something more dark, something more dangerous.

His hands clenched around your hips, holding you glued to him, while his tongue invaded your mouth with a security that made your head turn. You couldn’t even think. All you could do was hold on to him, arms around his shoulders, while your body instinctively reacted to contact.

You felt his fingers sink slightly into your skin, exploring every curve with a possession that made you shiver. Every touch sent sparks down your back, and before you knew it, your body was starting to respond to his.

"Jay..." moaning against his lips when you felt something hard press under you.

Jay smiled at your mouth, but there was something more. That smile wasn’t just his. It was also Venom’s.

His lips fell down your neck, initially leaving gentle, almost sweet kisses. But then the kisses became more insistent, more possessive. You felt him sucking, biting your skin slightly, marking you, leaving marks. Signs that no one else could have erased and you still didn’t know what you were getting into.

Jay’s lips were hot, and hungry, moving on yours with disarming security. His taste was intense, the breath barely altered as his hands clenched more tightly on your thighs, holding you firmly against him. Every touch of it seemed to leave a mark on your skin, an invisible mark that made you shiver and want even more.

He detached himself from you only for a moment, his dark eyes full of something indecipherable, a mix between the Jay you knew and another presence that seemed more and more domineering.

«Tell me...» he murmured, his voice was husky, charged with something that made you tremble and light at the same time. «Would you like to interview Venom?»

You looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and excitement, the chest rising and falling faster. "Yes," you answered without hesitation, with the desire to dig into that mystery that attracted you like a magnet. "I would ask him a lot of questions."

Jay smiled, but there was something dark behind that grin, a shadow that fascinated and frightened you at the same time. A hand slid under your shirt, fingers touching the bare skin of your side with an exasperating slowness. You shivered and he noticed it, lowering himself slightly to whisper in your ear.

«Venom has never been interviewed by anyone...» he paused, letting his warm breath caress your skin. «And if he did, he would want something in return.»

You looked into his eyes, your heart beating hard in your chest. "How do you know?" you asked, even if deep down you already sensed the answer.

Jay tilted his head to the side, his smile became sweeter, but no less predatory. "Maybe because Venom is much closer to you than you think.»

And as he said it, the change came before your eyes.

The black of the suit seemed to emerge directly from his skin, wrapping it in a slimy and eerie embrace, making it look bigger, more imposing. The symbol of Spider-Man shone on his chest, his body now a perfect balance between muscles and the dark power of Venom. But his face, which was still uncovered, as if he wanted you to see the man behind the monster.

Your breath stopped in your throat when you felt something cold and sinuous slip under your shirt.

A black tentacle touched your bare skin, caressing you with an exasperating slowness, making you shiver.

Jay- or maybe Venom- looked at you with bright eyes, his voice now more guttural, deeper.

«I want you all to myself,» he murmured, and her tone was an obscure promise. «And not only today.» His hands came back on you, stronger, safer.

«You may ask me any question,» he added, a mischievous grin spreading on his lips. «To Venom... or Jay.»

Your hands trembled as they slid over the black suit, feeling the strange but fascinating texture of the living material that enveloped it. It was warm under the fingers, pulsating as if it had a life of its own. When your fingers touched his biceps, the consistency changed, revealing the hard and sculpted flesh of his muscles.

Without thinking too much, you started sliding the suit off, slowly discovering her body. And fuck... it was beautiful. Perfect in an almost surreal way, with the skin stretched on defined muscles, some scratches here and there, and those damned tentacles that seemed to move with a will of their own. But for some reason, you didn’t feel scared. Maybe you should have, but the idea didn’t even occur to you.

Jay looked at you with a mixture of surprise and something else, something darker. «You... aren’t afraid?»

His rational part was confused, but Venom... Venom was damn smug. You could feel it in the air, in the tension between you. Her already overblown ego seemed to grow even more when she saw you so close, so curious instead of terrified.

You leaned over him, letting your lips touch his skin. Your warm breath tickled his neck as you began to kiss the heart-shaped birthmark perhaps a butterfly- that he had there. Jay closed his eyes for a moment, a sigh escaped from his lips, but when he opened them again there was something more dangerous in that look.

«You’re getting into trouble, you know?» he murmured in a husky voice.

I murmured in a hoarse voice. «Because when I fill you... it will not be just me.»

Those words made you shiver, but you did not stop. You continued to kiss his skin softly, savoring the warmth of his body. You looked up at him, your eyes shining with curiosity.

"Who did you save today?"

Jay barely smiled, a crooked smile, almost amused by your attempt to distract him. «A bank. There was a robbery.»

Annuded, without stopping to leave him little kisses on the tense muscles. He was seriously the vigilante, you had had him in front of your eyes for a long time and your doubts had come to light some time ago but you finally knew the truth. When your lips touched a scratch, he made a slight movement, almost imperceptible.

"Then you did a good job," you whispered, sliding your fingers over another mark on her skin.

Jay bowed his head, looking at you. «Do you want me to make the tentacles disappear?»

For a moment you considered the idea, and then you looked up at him with a curious smirk. "Venom would be happy if you let go of your tentacles?"

His expression changed. Jay puffed, but his eyes darkened slightly as a tentacle slowly brushed your back under your shirt. «Yes,» he admitted. "It would be.»

He paused, then added in a lower tone: «It’s hard to live with two personalities. Venom only comes out when I transform... Otherwise, I’m just the usual Jay.»

You looked at him, tilting your head slightly. "So, in a way, you are two different people?"

Jay stared at you, then smiled. «You’re not stupid at all, are you?»

You were winning. You felt it. You were asking questions, asking questions, taking him exactly where you wanted. But what you didn’t expect was that, at some point, Venom would notice. And it wouldn’t have worked out for him.

Your lips kept coming down her body, tracing a line of kisses on her warm, scratched skin. When you reached his navel, you heard Jay moaning softly your name, his irregular breath against your neck.

«You’re playing with fire, you know?» he murmured, his voice roaring, crossed by a thread of fun and something darker.

But before you could answer, a deep growl vibrated in the room.

"You’re too slow, Jay," Venom hissed into the boy’s mind. "This prey is ours. We must claim it."

Jay clenched his jaw, trying to maintain control. But he knew it was impossible with you. With you, Venom had too much desire to emerge.

Then, without warning, he pushed you gently backward, making you lie down under him. His dark eyes were burning reflections of something more primordial. More dangerous. You instinctively caressed his hair, your fingers intertwining between the dark locks. Jay closed his eyes for a moment, as if he wanted to taste your touch but it was only a moment.

When he opened them again, a grin cut off his lips.

«Do you realize what you’re doing?» he whispered, lowering her head to the edge of your ear. «Do you know how tempting you are? Or maybe... are you doing it on purpose?»

Its length rubbed against thy center, and thy breath broke.

Venom chuckled in Jay’s mind. "Look how she reacts. So hot. So ready. She’s ours. I want to hear her pleading."

Jay swallowed, fighting the way Venom was trying to overwhelm him. But he was on the edge of the abyss too.

«I can’t wait to fill you up,» he said in a loud, low, hypnotic tone. «Both me and him.»

His hands slipped on your hips, holding you tight as he lifted you slightly towards himself. His fingertips drew fire lines on your naked skin.

He took off your shirt slowly, with a deliberate slowness that made you shudder. Then he looked down at you, his eyes shining with desire.

«You are so sensitive,» he murmured, his lips resting on your hard buds, his tongue caressing them, his teeth teasing them with sweet cruelty. «Tell me, how will you take all of me?»

You rolled your back, "Jay" a moan escaped from your lips and inside him, Jay was struggling. A part of him wanted to take you with an almost painful sweetness, like a cat that enjoys teasing his prey before giving it the final blow but Venom... did not want to play. Venom wanted to eat you and you didn’t know what you were into.

His lips moved along your skin, descending ever lower, leaving a trail of warm and possessive kisses. Jay’s breath deepened as it reached your breasts, his tongue drawing circles around your tight buds before wrapping them completely.

You moan his name, your head slightly bent backward, your senses now completely overwhelmed by him.

Jay looked up at you with a satisfied grin, his eyes shining with something darker, deeper.

«Call me as you like,» he whispered, his voice stinging and dangerous. «Jay... or Venom.»

His tone made you shudder, but you nodded, hands still clinging to his hair. " Yes..." you murmured, your breath broken by excitement.

Jay smiled at your skin before coming down again, his hands caressing you with exasperating slowness. He took off your pajamas without haste, enjoying every second that your body revealed itself to him.

Then he looked down at your exposed center and a lascivious whisper slipped from his lips.

«You are already so soaked...» he muttered, the fingers that touched your intimacy with a light but devastating touch. «It is so sensitive... only for me.»

He looked at you carefully, tilting his head slightly.

«Tell me...» whispered, the fingers that kept exploring you without ever giving you enough. «Have you ever thought of me in this way?»

His question hit you in the chest. Your breath stopped, and for a moment there was only silence between you. Then, with a slight movement of the head, you nodded no.

But you couldn’t stand his gaze.

Inside him, Venom hissed amused. Liar.

Jay laughed softly, but his eyes were dark, full of something that made you tremble. «You are a terrible liar,» he said with a smirk. «I see how you look at me.»

And without giving you time to answer, he slipped a finger inside you.

A moan immediately escaped from your lips. "Venom..."

Jay smiled. Or was it Venom?

«Good girl,» he whispered against your skin, while his finger moved slowly inside you, exploring you, testing every reaction.

You shudder, the heart pounding in your chest. " Perhaps... in the past..." your voice was trembling, full of desire, "I... I fantasized about you..."

Jay laughed, satisfied, while inside of him Venom was boiling with pleasure.

«Oh, honey,» whispered Jay, his mouth back to bite your neck, leaving red marks on your skin. «You belong to me now.»

Venom became more brazen, his desire almost tangible. You are ours.

Jay’s breath was erratic, his body tense as he watched you with those deep dark eyes. Venom, however, was scrambling to take control. You felt his presence, a hungry shadow growing in him, ready to claim you.

"Look how fragile she is... so small in our hands," the voice of Venom resounded in the room, low and guttural. "It’s ours. Nobody else can have it, nobody else can touch it."

Jay clenched his jaw, fighting with the creature inside him. "Venom, calm down."

"No," hissed the symbiote. "Can’t you see what he calls it? He wants us both. He wants to feel us inside him. Why should we wait?"

Wet and sloppy sounds fill your ears and Jay’s as he pumps another finger into you, Jay feels how well you took it and how excited your pussy was as he pumped and curls his fingers up and down, Your legs are wriggling as you hear Jay’s tongue slowly pinch and suck on your swollen clitoris for the stimulation you’re receiving, Contrast the muscle with a moan so pronounced that Jay could come all on himself because it was for whole months that he dreamed of hearing your moans, Instead Venom from the first day you met you had thought about how beautiful you were and how much he would want to make you feel good but at the same time take you and make you his and fill you.

"mmhm! It’s too much, I need to come" Your eyes spill into the skull as you feel your body be pervaded by shivers and feel your excitement slowly increase as you come between Jay’s fingers. Jay took his fingers full of white cum into his tongue and tasted you.

«delicious,» he said to you with a rock voice and a shiver ran across your back as Jay touched your face with his fingers, his warm fingertips on your skin. «Are you all right?» His voice was sweet and worried, but there was something deeper in his eyes. Desire.

You looked at it and nodded slowly. "I want both."

It was all that Venom needed to hear. A low growl vibrated in Jay’s chest as the symbiote took over, his hands clenching tighter on your hips. " You hear that, Jay? She wants it. She wants to be ours."

Your trembling fingers slid along the elastic of his suit, slowly lowering it down with his boxers. Your breath stopped for a moment when you saw it in its entirety.

"Fuck... will it fit me completely?" whispering, biting your lip as you watched.

Jay laughed softly, shaking his head. «Only you could make fun of me at a time like this.»

You curled your lips, letting your fingers slide along its length before gently squeezing it and starting to pump it with slow movements, knowing exactly how to make it go crazy. You felt his breath getting heavier as the pre-sperm liquid started to wet the tip.

"I want you..." you said in a low, sensual voice, moving closer to his ear. "But I want both the Jay and Venom parts."

Jay held his head for a moment. «Are you sure?»

You bit your lip, brushing its chest with your nails. "I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. Did you think I would let someone else touch me like that?"

Venom made himself feel inside him, a shiver shook Jay as his deep voice resounded in his head. It’s perfect. Cheeky, provocative. She wants to make it ours. he wants to fill it and brand it.

Jay swallowed hard as he felt his darker side take over. With the tip of his member, he began to touch your entry, slowly teasing you, driving you crazy.

"Jay..." moans, the need in your voice was clear.

«Tell me exactly what you want,» he said with a satisfied smile.

You bent slightly, trying to push against him, but his hands stopped you, holding you still.

"Asshole," you hissed, eyes burning with desire. "Move."

A guttural growl escaped from Jay’s lips, or rather of Venom. «You are so impatient... and so excited for us.»

Then, without further ado, it pushed itself inside you, slowly at first, letting you feel every inch as your body adapted to its size.

He withheld a groan, seeing you shudder beneath him, your body wrapped around his.

"Fuck, you’re perfect...» murmured Jay, caressing your face softly. "I want you to like it.»

"Move," you whisper, the voice full of need.

It was at this moment that Venom took control. His hands seized your hips with force, his movements became deeper, faster, and more brutal.

«You hear him» he growled, his voice lower, darker. «Are you enjoying being filled like this?»

The pleasure overtook you, you clung to his shoulders, your nails sinking into his skin.

"Yes, fuck!" you panicked, your body responding to every push. You felt something fresh and sinuous enveloping your belly, sliding along your body with an unnatural precision. A glossy black tentacle crept towards your center, pressing firmly on your clitoris. A shiver ran down your back, making you shudder.

"Oh God..." groans, squeezing Jay even harder.

«Do you like it, baby?» Venom’s voice was deeper, darker. Jay was still there, but you could hear him leaving more and more room for the creature. The tentacle wrapped around your body, stroking you in places you didn’t even think were so sensitive. The pressure on you increased, each pushes more intense, deeper until you lost your breath.

«Look how well you treat us... You were born to be ours.» Venom’s voice was a hoarse whisper against your skin, a sinful murmur that made you shiver.

Jay stuck his fingers in your hips, his blows getting stronger and faster. The pleasure accumulated in your belly, each push sent waves of heat into your body, while the tentacle kept on tickling you without respite.

«Tell me you’re coming for us.» Jay clenched his jaw, holding back with difficulty.

"S-yes... I’m coming..." you panicked, your body shaking.

And when the pleasure finally exploded inside you, Venom emitted a guttural sound of approval.

«Beautiful...» whispered Jay. You felt the heat spread within you, as the tentacle slowly retreated, leaving behind a trail of electric chills.

Jay panted as Venom pushed deeper, feeling your orgasm grip him perfectly. With an animalistic growl, Jay let go of every brake, pushing himself inside you one last time before filling you.

It remained inside you for a few seconds, the heavy breath, the body still tense from pleasure.

«You are beautiful with my seed inside you,» he whispered against your neck, slowly licking your skin.

You still felt trembling, exhausted, and completely possessed by them.

«Now you are ours,» added Venom with a satisfied grin.

Jay hugged you and felt that the "human" Jay you knew was back. Both of you had a long breath, the bodies still intertwined, and you gently brushed the bruises that began to form on her skin. He sank his head into the hollow of your neck, tickling you with a warm breath, and with a thread of voice asked you:

«Did you like it?»

He seemed almost embarrassed by the question, which made you smile. You stroked him gently and with a slight smile, you replied:

"Jay, it was crazy. I was so stupid not to know that you were the guy I talked about every day..."

He stood up slowly, pulling a strand of hair from your face and touching your cheek with his fingertips. His gaze was full of sweetness but also a veil of apprehension.

«You won’t tell anyone, will you?» he asked with a hint of concern in his voice.

You smiled and, without a word, gave him your little finger. Jay burst out laughing but crossed his finger with yours, sealing that secret with a swearing oath.

After a few seconds of silence, you looked at him with curiosity.

"But... are there others like you?"

Jay just made a gesture with his boss, pointing to the little picture you had on your bedside table. In that photo were you, him, Jake, and Hoon. You felt the breath cut and brought a hand to your mouth, surprised.

"Wait... they too...?"

Jay nodded with a clever smirk. «You’ll find out for yourself. But not in spicy situations!»

You burst out laughing, shaking your head as a shiver of excitement ran down your spine. This story was becoming much more interesting than you ever imagined.

If you like the genre tell me if you want to discover also the other members with their powers:)

Taglist: @hearts4cheol @lovenha7 @in-somnias-world @heeseungxo @luvyeni @jayjw16enxp @jvngwnii @jooniesbears-blog @gguk-n @cloudykim @enhaverse713586 @immelissaaa @d4-b1 @firstclassjaylee @stormy1408 @jakesw82 @misssparklyprincess @bamguetismee @jaylajakey @arclviie @strxwbloody @steddie-steddie @jungwoosbaey @laurenmia65 @tasnemluvs @lovellydisaster @rikiscupid @simj4k3 @numnommz @sspidermanss @vixialuvs @smlbch @m3wkledreamy @xylatox

The taglist is open!!!!

Comments and rebblog are appreciated

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cryinggirlnamedhelen · 1 day ago

Text

seven - m. kaiser

you were seven years old when you first met the piece of trash named michael kaiser.

sitting on the swings alone with a busted violet lip and ripped jeans and scratched up, bloody knees wasn’t considered the ideal invitation for a friendship. but you had mindlessly approached him, sitting on the swing next to him before waving to him.

subhuman garbage looked up, wondering why such a nice girl would be looking at him, talking to him. but he didn’t question it and instead listened to you talk, introducing himself.

“but i don’t like to be called michael, so don’t call me that.”

“got it! you’re mihya then!”

subhuman shit—no, newly named mihya felt his heart skip a beat. no one was ever affectionate enough to give him a nickname, so such an experience made mihya strangely ecstatic. he nodded, a small smile slowly making way onto his swollen lips. “right. im mihya.”

the second time you saw mihya was only a few days later.

he had been sitting on the swings, crying his eyes out. this time he had a nosebleed, angry red marks on his neck, and his hands were nearly purple. you had approached him, your eyebrows knit together.

“mihya? what’s wrong?”

mihya had sniffled before looking up at you. “will you get mad at me…?” he choked out weakly. your jaw dropped, grasping both of his hands.

“mihya, i would never get mad at you!” you exclaimed. “you’re my friend!”

mihya muttered something incoherent before sighing. “…my dad. he gets mad a lot.”

you blinked a few times, your seven year old mind not quite comprehending the situation. but you frowned, looking up at the sky. “oh, i really hate it whenever mama and dad get mad at me. your dad is always mad? that sounds so bad. im so sorry, mihya.”

mihya nodded. “it’s…don’t worry about it.”

one day, after many encounters and at eight years old, you finally spoke your thoughts.

“i think your house is haunted.”

mihya, who had been chewing on garlic and sugar flavored bread from the bakery, stopped mid chew. “why?”

“well, your dad is always mad, and you’re always crying. you’re outside as much as you possibly can, and you don’t wanna be there. that sounds haunted to me. and when you are, you hide from him.” you muttered. “i don’t like that. i don’t like how you’re always crying and hiding.”

mihya hummed, quick to respond. “well, i guess i really got no other choice. i wanna avoid getting hit as much as i can.”

your chest tightened to the point where it hurt, a frown making way onto your face. “i love you, you know that? to the moon and saturn, i really do love you.”

mihya’s heart stopped.

and eight years old, having such a crush probably won’t end good for him. but no one had ever told him that they loved him before, and yet you say it out of nowhere, and to the moon and saturn? he might just die of happiness.

heat spread throughout his cheeks before he squeaked out. “i-i love you…too?” you gave him a toothy grin and gave him a high-five.

at ten years old, you’re on the swings once more, this time with a blue raspberry popsicle in between your lips. mihya has a strawberry flavored one, bought using your money.

“you know, mihya. we should move away forever. or maybe we could be pirates or something. y’know, like from one piece.” you said dreamily.

“that came out of nowhere. why?” mihya replied, tossing his now empty stick into the trash can of the park.

“so that we could get away from your damn father and you won’t have to cry anymore.” you muttered, pouting. “i’ve never even met the guy, and yet i hate him.” you chomped down on the popsicle stick, breaking it in half.

mihya laughed. “yeah? i want to leave too. and it sounds nice to leave with you.”

at fourteen, the news arrived.

you sat on the swings, sobbing into your hands. mihya had come from behind you, his heart aching when he saw your tears. you were the love of his life (you just didn’t know it yet), and your tears hurt him.

“mihya, im moving.”

three words, and yet it wasn’t the usual three words that was like music to mihya’s ears.

he swallowed, tears stinging his own eyes. “to where…?”

“japan. apparently it’s supposed to be a safer environment there or something like that. i have to learn the language and the customs and everything.” you sniffled. “but i don’t want to. i don’t want to leave everything i know. but i mostly don’t want to leave you, mihya.”

mihya wanted to go to your family and interrogate them and to beg them to let you stay. he couldn’t live without you, he wouldn’t be able to survive without the light of his life. you would leave and forget him within a month or two because you have all new friends, and he’ll just be another piece of your forgotten childhood. but you would still be his whole life; you were his first friend, his only real friend.

the only person who he will ever love and the only person who will ever love him.

“right. got it.” mihya replied, his throat dry.

two weeks later, mihya became subhuman piece of shit again.

however, at fifteen, the subhuman was arrested and eventually scouted.

subhuman became kaiser.

at nineteen, kaiser traveled to japan to participate in the still fairly recent blue lock program. although he was interested in blue lock’s new rising player isagi yoichi, he wondered if he could coincidentally see you.

nothing was impossible, after all.

—

for the past five years, you’ve been lonely.

the language barrier was resolved within three years of hard work, but unknown customs and a personality that didn’t match the japanese status quo just made everything worse. for years, you had no friends, you spent lunchtime alone, and worst of all?

you didn’t have mihya in your life.

there were nights when you felt so alone that you would just curl up with your pillow and remember mihya. your mihya. those beautiful seven years spent with him, years that you will never forget.

there was a night where you forgot what he looked like.

panicked and crying, you had opened up your phone immediately too look at a picture of him. after a few minutes of staring, your tears stopped as you memorized his face once more. you never wanted to forget him, not a single bit.

at nineteen and in desperation of college credit and money, you volunteered to be a manager of the blue lock program. ego jinpachi was a strange man, but everything was worth it for the money.

and you couldn’t help but think of your mihya, who you remembered bought a soccer ball for his twelfth birthday and adored it.

for years, you’ve refused to check soccer news out of heartbreak.

after blue lock won against the japanese u20 team, you were given a two week break, and was afterwards immediately shoved into the hell of the neo egoist league.

responsible for helping bastard münchen (“for it’s undeniable potential” said ego, although you really couldn’t care less.), you had walked to the germany wing expecting to have the rest the next few months surrounded by the company of isagi, kurona, yukimiya, hiori, and the others.

and yet when you entered, the first thing you saw was pale blonde hair.

the same that mihya had.

kaiser turned to you, as did the other blue lockers and bastard münchen members.

and finally, kaiser became mihya again.

BASED OFF OF THE TAYLOR SWIFT SONG “seven”

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niniwritesxo · 2 days ago

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‘what happened?’

hamzah x fem reader (fluff)

summary:

as martins roommate you quickly made friends with HIS best friend hamzah, one day you come home from box training and hamzah seems a little TOO concerned

——————————————————————————

―୨୧⋆ hamzahs perspective

hamzah was sprawled across martin’s couch, controller in hand, half-focused on the game and half-scrolling on his phone. martin sat on the other end, muttering under his breath as he tried and failed to beat hamzah in tekken.

“bro, i swear this controller is broken,” martin grumbled, throwing it onto the coffee table.

“yeah, yeah, blame the controller,” hamzah said, smirking.

martin rolled his eyes. “whatever, man. hey, when’s our next stream?”

“tomorrow. thinking of doing something cursed, like a five nights at freddy’s vr stream. but, like, blindfolded.”

“that’s the dumbest idea i’ve ever heard.”

“thank you,” hamzah said proudly.

just then, the front door opened. both of them looked up as you stepped inside, dropping your gym bag by the door with a heavy sigh.

hamzah sat up straighter immediately.

your eye was bruised, swollen and darkening into an ugly shade of purple. a cut split your bottom lip, the dried blood making it look worse than it probably was. you had a couple of red marks on your knuckles too, like you’d been throwing punches without wraps.

hamzah didn’t even think.

“what the hell happened?”

you blinked at him like you’d forgotten he was here. “boxing,” you said simply, kicking off your shoes.

hamzah’s jaw clenched. “yeah, no shit. but why do you look like you lost a fight with a brick wall?”

“gee, thanks.” you snorted, heading toward the kitchen. “i was sparring with someone bigger than me, and they kind of beat my ass. it happens.”

hamzah exchanged a glance with martin, who just raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

without thinking too much, hamzah went to the freezer, grabbed an ice pack, and wrapped it in a kitchen towel. by the time you turned around, he was holding it out toward you.

you hesitated. “i don’t need that.”

hamzah gave you a look. “okay, cool. then i’ll just stand here holding this like a dumbass.”

martin snorted. “i mean, you do that anyway.”

“shut up, martin,” hamzah said without looking at him.

you sighed, stepping closer. “fine.”

hamzah pressed the ice pack lightly against your bruised eye, and you flinched at the cold, grabbing his wrist instinctively. his breath hitched, but he didn’t move.

up close, he could see the faint sheen of sweat on your skin, the way your lips parted slightly from the sting. his fingers curled around the ice pack tighter, as if that would stop him from thinking too hard about the fact that you were so close.

“you shouldn’t let people get hits on you like that,” he muttered.

your grip on his wrist tightened. “that’s kinda how boxing works, genius.”

hamzah exhaled sharply. “yeah, well. pick someone your own size next time.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you volunteering?”

he scoffed. “i’m not trying to die today, thanks.”

martin, still watching, snickered. “damn, hamzah. you taking care of her like she’s your wife or something.”

hamzah shot him a shut the hell up look, but his ears burned anyway.

you, on the other hand, just laughed. “relax, hamzah. i’m good.”

―୨୧⋆ your perspective

hamzah was still holding the ice pack to your eye, but his expression was unreadable. he looked… annoyed? maybe? or just focused.

either way, it was weird.

you had known hamzah for a while now. he was your friend, chaotic, loud, always cracking jokes. but this? this quiet, almost gentle concern? it was throwing you off.

his fingers brushed against your temple, adjusting the ice pack, and you suddenly became hyper-aware of how close he was.

you swallowed. “dude, i can hold it myself.”

hamzah rolled his eyes but handed it over. “whatever.”

the second you took it, he shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, rocking back on his heels. “just don’t go breaking your face again. or at least warn me next time.”

you smirked. “why? you worried about me or something?”

something flickered across his face just for a second. and then it was gone, replaced with an eye roll.

“please,” he scoffed. “i just don’t wanna see your ugly-ass bruises while i’m trying to eat.”

you shoved his shoulder lightly. “wow. thanks.”

hamzah grinned, but his eyes lingered on you for a beat too long.

and even though he didn’t say anything else, you could tell.

—————-—————————————————————

first hamzah fic and lowkey i hope ppl want to read this lol, please let me know if you like it ;)

authors note: thank y’all for the crazy support it means the world, requests and second parts of stories will be written but right now i am lowkey focused on different fandoms <3

#hamzahthefantastic #hamzah x reader #hamzah imagines #hamzah fic #hamzah x y/n #hamzahthefanatasticxreader #hamzah fluff

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fairyhaos · 2 days ago

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❖ kiss your heart // xu minghao

minghao x f!reader, 1.1k+ words

tags: established relationship, both xmh + yn are RICH rich, fluff, kissing, marriage/proposal talks, minghao is literally so in love omfg

warnings: pet names (angel, sweetheart)

notes: literally me rambling about rich + devoted minghao with absolutely no direction planned and i think it's super obvious HELPP but it does not matter !! ur honor i luv these 2 theyre so sassy smitten and it devastates me

“you’re actually the worst person i’ve ever met.”

you glare at your boyfriend as he gets out of the driver’s seat, walks around the front of the parked car and opens your door for you. he’s still smiling that faintly smug smile that’s been on his stupidly handsome face ever since you left the restaurant, and you hate it.

“sweetheart,” minghao says, taking hold of your hand and helping you out of the car, “it’s really no big deal.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes. releasing minghao’s hand, you deposit your purse into his waiting palm and flounce away, across the car park and to the apartment building doors.

minghao struggles to hold back a laugh as he trails after you. “y/n. you’re not truly mad, are you?”

“of course i’m truly mad,” you huff. “you said i could pay for our date this time.”

during the five years you’ve been dating minghao, he’s taken you on a whole variety of incredible dates. from the impromptu long weekend to paris to the days where you just go to the restaurant down the block for dinner, minghao has never failed to take care of you and always pays for your meal.

any other person would be flattered to have such a rich and devoted boyfriend. and really, you adore that about him, too.

but, well. you’re rich also. and sometimes, you want to be the one to dote on your boyfriend.

you punch in the building code unnecessarily hard and stomp through the automatic doors before minghao can catch up with you. from behind, you can hear him laughing, and it makes you whirl back around to look at him, pouting extravagantly.

“i don’t see why that’s so funny. you promised, hao,” you whine, and minghao just laughs again.

that night had been just a normal date night, nothing more than the two of you dressing up to go to that one upscale chinese place that you both love. and so, it seemed like the best day to finally start paying for your dates—if it was any big occasion, minghao would’ve definitely protested against the idea, insistent that he wanted to treat you on such a special day.

and at the time, it seemed like it would work.

minghao had smiled at you, adjusting the pearls around your neck, and agreed.

you’d felt ridiculously satisfied, excited at the fact that finally, you’d have a chance to pay for your boyfriend. but oh, how wrong you were.

“i’m sorry, angel,” minghao says now, brushing a finger over your cheek fondly before pressing the ‘up’ button for the elevator. “it just so happened that i’d already paid for our meal before we’d even got there. i didn’t want to burst your bubble by telling you so, but i guess that made it even worse, hm?”

you whine again in frustration. “hao, that’s not even a thing! you can’t pay for a meal in advance!”

“i can when i know exactly what we’re going to order,” minghao grins.

“what?! i swear, that must go against restaurant etiquette! that's actually crazy behaviour. i can't believe you did that."

the elevator arrives then, and minghao gestures for you to get in first. you do, still arguing with him over restaurant rules and whatnot. even as you do so, supposedly very upset over his behaviour, you still hold onto his arm and lean against him to take off your heels, and then pass them over to him once they’re off your aching feet.

minghao smiles amusedly, terribly smitten.

“—going to get you back for that stunt one day, xu minghao,” you say, stabbing an accusing finger into his shoulder. “gonna book out the entire restaurant. no, wait, the entire street! we’re going to venice one day, and i’m going to close down a whole road for us only. just you wait.”

the elevator doors open with a ding, and he trails behind as you continue talking, dreaming up big plans on how to treat your boyfriend sometime in the future.

it’s devastatingly endearing. he knows it was maybe a tiny, tiny bit mean to advance-pay the bill tonight, but in his defence, he does that most nights anyway. plus, he likes seeing how pouty you get over it, knowing you're not actually upset, but still insisting you are because you can pay for your own meals, without minghao's card, thank you very much.

and you very much can—he hasn’t run the numbers in a while, but he’s pretty sure you’re richer than him right now—but he likes paying for you. likes taking care of you like this.

he inputs the keycode to the apartment, chuckling as you continue to rant.

“okay, alright,” he finally concedes, opening the door and letting you enter first, taking off your wool coat for you and hanging it up by the door. “in which case, how about a compromise? i pay for our ordinary dates like these, and you can pay for special occasions.”

your eyes light up at his words. “wait, really?”

minghao laughs. “yes, really.” he puts your purse on the dresser by the door, your shoes in the shoe cupboard and then takes off his own. “except for valentine’s day, white day, our anniversary, and your birthday. i’ll be paying for those.”

“what?” you complain. “hao, you’re leaving me with nothing!”

“you can pay for my birthday.”

“come on, that’s a given. i would do that anyway.”

you’re giving him those big, sad eyes again, and minghao can’t help but smile even wider. lord, you’re just so pretty and you love him so much and he’s never been more grateful for that because he loves you so much too.

“well,” he says, pretending to think, “we don’t have an engagement or wedding anniversary yet. so if those things ever happen… then maybe…”

your eyes widen, little sparkles appearing in your irises even as your entire face softens, gentle and hopeful. “you’re… you want to marry me?”

minghao can’t take this anymore. he walks over, takes your face in his hands and kisses you, once. and then again, deeper, softer, for good measure. just to get his point across.

“of course,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away. “i love you.”

you lean in and peck him on the lips once more. “i love you too,” you say, and then pull away so he can see the mischievous glint in your eyes. “hey. if i propose to you, then i’ll definitely get to pay for every engagement anniversary we have, right?”

minghao laughs, pulling you back into his embrace. “sure, sweetheart. that’s only if you propose to me first, however.”

“are you trying to start a proposal race, minghao?”

“maybe. will you join in, y/n?”

you laugh, looping your arms behind his neck and bringing his face close to yours again. “oh, it’s on.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit @dokyeomkyeom @hopeless-foolery

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xzaddyzanakinx · 2 days ago

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Not That Kind of Guy

Part Twenty One: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker x femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, panty/scent kink, mask kink(Ghostface), gaslighting/manipulation, public/semi-public, spitting, cumplay, nude vids/pics, masturbation, oral, PIV, dick piercing, forced orgasm, bondage/blindfolds, biting/slapping/ spanking/cutting, rape kink, NONCON/DUBCON/CNC, Somno, blood, knife, GEN. SMUT, [All possible tags listed, all may not apply] GORE, MURDER

Info: I’m back after my long sabbatical, don’t hate me. It’s shorter than usual, I just didn’t want to make you guys wait any longer [diary entries from Ani] extremely not proofread, there’s probably so many mistakes. MDNI 18+

With the front door shut, you were finally alone with Anakin again. Every time you tried to lift your head, each time you managed to turn to the side to escape the onslaught of primal kisses he’d trap your lips in; he’d pull you right back in without giving you a second to breathe.

“Stop.” His voice stern and unyielding even as he muttered it against your lips, his long fingers wrapping around your neck to further drive his statement home.

“Ani-” You squeaked, your hands resting on his biceps, fingertips digging in harder as he tightened his hold. “Just talk-”

“Shut up.” He growled, shaking you just beneath your jaw out of irritation. His eyes blazing with a ferocity you hadn’t ever witnessed with your own two eyes, only felt burn into your flesh. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“I’m not stupid!” You snapped back, quickly regretting the outburst when the back of his hand made contact with your cheek, luckily only one of his metal rings caught the skin, allowing a stinging pain to seep across the sensitive skin.

“No. Not yet.” He shook his head, standing up and unbuckling his belt. “But you will be.”

With a sharp movement he snatched a handful of your hair and guided you to the arm of the couch, kneeling on the cushion behind you as he bent you over. An audible pop of the stitches in the waistband of your pants permeated the otherwise silent room as he ripped down your pants mid-thigh. The blood rushed to your head as you scrambled to hold yourself up, grasping at the upholstery to find traction to lift yourself back up, to no avail.

“Anakin, I'm serious, I want to talk about this!” You shouted, your face feeling flushed as you struggled to hold yourself up on the tips of your fingers that barely brushed the floor.

“Excuse me?” He shouted back, ramming himself into your wet cunt as you yelped in surprise. “What did I just fucking say?” He barked rhetorically. “I said to shut your goddamn mouth.”

Anakin grabbed your hair again, pulling you up just enough to press two fingers to your lips, he let you loose, allowing your head to drop down. A loud gag emitted from your throat as his fingers hit your uvula, accompanied by a coughing fit that had your vision blurry. Your whole body jolted with each and every thrust and snap of his hips. He set a brutal pace that stole away your breath and your ability to think about anything other than the intense fire he’d lit in your lower abdomen.

“There, that’s better.” He grunted, satisfied that the only noises coming from you were wet and whiny.

“I’m only going to say this once.” He grumbled, smacking your hip before grabbing it and using your own body as leverage. “You. Don’t. Know. Shit.”

“And it’s gonna stay that way.” He added, driving into you deep and hard as you drooled around his fingers, his thumb digging into the side of your face. “Understand?”

Anakin finally removed his fingers from your mouth, allowing you a chance to gulp down fresh air and breathe more easily as you coughed to ease the itching in your esophagus. With both of his large hands enveloping your hips, he leaned forward, his chest now flush against the heated flesh of your back. The way he so gently, sweetly kissed your spine all the way up and across your shoulders, was the complete opposite to how he was manhandling the rest of your body.

His thick length stretching you perfectly, so perfectly that every time he sheathed himself it felt like a sparkler had lit up inside your stomach. With each kiss the tip of his cock bruised your cervix with, the sparkler burned brighter, popping and crackling until it fizzled down to the end. With a final burst in your core, Anakin sent you spiraling into a world where there was nothing left but him.

Your only thoughts surrounded him, each breath that was drawn in and out of your lungs, held his scent. Your skin tingled and warmed as though hundreds of his calloused hands held you within their grasp. Even the tears formed in the corners of your eyes held the same heat that you felt pool between your thighs for him. Your lips frozen in a soft ‘O’ shape as you came down from the heaven he’d tossed you up into.

“I asked you a question, you know.” He panted, his rough palms smoothing up and down your back.

“Huh?” You murmured, allowing him to continue slowly rutting up into you while his cum leaked out and formed a frothy ring of white at the base of his cock.

“Acceptable answer.” He chuckled as a smirk twitched across his mouth. He’d take your inability to comprehend his words as a sign he’d fucked your questions deep enough into the back of your mind that you’d leave it be for now.

“What?” You asked confusedly as his arm hooked beneath your stomach and pulled you up as his cock slipped out of you with a soft pop.

“Nothin’ sweetheart.” He whispered, standing behind you as he kept you steady on your wobbly legs. “We going to bed here? Or wanna go across the hall?”

“Here.” You nodded tiredly, stripping off your clothes right there in the living room before you sluggishly traveled to the bathroom to clean up while Anakin tidied up the dining table and the kitchen in his boxers.

Feeling frustrated and annoyed, you sat down on the edge of the tub to wash up a bit. Once again you’d allowed yourself to be steered away from a conversation you desperately needed to have, despite really not wanting to have it. Part of you was thankful to have avoided it, but the logical side of you was screaming at you for being such a fool. The answers to such big and burning questions were just on the other side of the wall, making odd noises to stave off the boredom that came along with clearing the table and scraping off the dishes.

If only you could get a yes or no. That’s all you really needed, just a simple yes or no. You knew it in your soul. You’d known for a while and refused to admit it. But his vague words and his aggressive reaction confirmed it.

You should be scared. Terrified.

Though it just left you feeling… hollow. Why? Why would he do this for so long and never confess it on his own? Why had he hidden himself in the first place? Did he think less of you for demanding answers? Was it only going to push him farther away, farther into himself if you kept pushing?

How could you coax it out of him? It was obvious that he knew you knew. So why was it so hard for either of you to speak about? The complacency you felt with the situation had been stagnant for so long that it was a difficult shell to break out of. You’d both become so accustomed to the secrecy of it all that it felt almost wrong to hear the truth.

You sighed, standing up, brushing your teeth and combing through your ratted up hair before steeling yourself and exiting the bathroom. As you ran a hand through your hair, you turned to the kitchen, expecting to see Anakin scurrying about. Though he was nowhere to be seen. The bedroom was empty as well, so you checked the fire escape, seeing him there with his bong, the flame of his lighter flicking to life as he took a long pull of smoke.

You stood and watched him for a moment, admiring the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, the soft curve of his lips and the way his hair curled up at the nape of his neck. Those piercing blue eyes drifted from the alley below, out to the street as he observed the city moving around him. He was so interesting to watch, especially when he didn’t know your eyes were on him.

He lost the bravado and the confidence he carried so well. His body language was more reserved and relaxed, as if he were taking off a weight from his shoulders. It made you wonder what he was carrying around with him that weighed so heavily. Was it the secret you knew of? Or something buried deeper?

After grabbing a blanket to wrap around your naked body, you walked to the cracked open window and nudged it open a bit further to stick your head out. He looked up at you with a sullen expression, making no effort to hide that he was feeling… feeling something.

“You okay Ani?” You asked quietly, sitting on the lip of the window sill despite it being horribly uncomfortable.

“As good as I can be.” He nodded, a plume of smoke wrapping around his head.

“What do you mean?” You asked, watching him tilt his head to the side as he tongued his labret jewelry.

“I mean, I’m as good as I can be.” He said flatly, a face accompanying the words that made you believe there was a hidden meaning beneath them.

“Are you coming inside soon?” You asked softly, your eyebrows swooped up in concern.

“Yeah, just give me a minute.” He nodded, his voice gruff and disinterested. He reached over and squeezed your hand, rubbing your knuckles with the pad of his thumb.

You stayed there a second longer, trying to decipher his mood and his thoughts via body language even though you knew it was useless, it was never easy to get a read on him. Even harder when he was like this. You stood and began to make your way to the bedroom when you heard his voice, softer and more diminutive.

“You do love me. Don’t you?” He asked, his voice melancholic. He wasn’t asking for reassurance, he seemed to be asking as though he genuinely didn’t believe it.

“Yes.” You said firmly, turning to look at him under the faint yellowed street light. “I do love you.” You added just to further confirm it for him.

“You’re sure?” He asked, visibly swallowing.

“Of course I’m sure.” You stepped closer, pulling the blanket tighter around you.

“Good.” He nodded, looking down at the bong he held between his knees, lighting the bowl once more and taking a long pull. He held his breath far longer than you expected him to, letting the thin line of smoke leave his pursed lips slowly, enjoying the lightheaded feeling that addled his brain.

Just as you turned to leave the living room, he called out to you again as if the thoughts swirling in his mind simply wouldn’t let him wait to speak another moment.

“You know how I feel about you, right?” He asked, his icy blue eyes holding a warmth that had been absent during your conversation up till now.

“Yes, I know.” You smiled softly, your body relaxing a bit more.

“You do?” He asked in a worried tone, like he wasn’t convinced you were being completely truthful about it. “I’d do anything for you darlin’, you know that?”

“I know.” You nodded, the smile slipping from your face as it was replaced by something harder and more serious. “Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked with concern.

“I’m alright doll. Just makin’ sure.” He nodded, his fingers drumming on his thigh as he leaned back on his elbows to tilt his chin up and look to the sky. Murmuring something about how he wished he could see the stars as he shook his head and drug a hand down his face.

Diary Entry:

I’m losing it. I can’t do this. The closer I come to confessing, the sicker I get. Literally sick. I threw up after you went to bed last night. I want to tell you. You already know, but you should hear it from me. I know that. I know it’s unfair to tell you to shut up and leave it alone, but that’s the only thing I can get to leave my fucking mouth.

It’s like I’ve been barred from telling the truth.

My mind just can’t handle the thought you may recoil and run when it’s finally confirmed for you. I guess it’s just my way of protecting myself, but that’s hurtful for you. I’m unfortunately well aware of how hurtful that it is. It was clear on your face tonight.

Twice, I tried to tell you twice. Though all that came out were my worries. I feel strange. Like I've been flattened. Is that normal? I feel like it’s not.

What does it mean?

——————————————————————————

Diary Entry:

I feel like an animal. Not just any animal. A beast, of what kind, I’m not sure. I just feel like my skin isn’t sitting right. I don’t know how to let it out. What am I supposed to do? Go fucking nuts?

That’s what I want to do. I feel like I could trash an entire grocery store and I still wouldn’t be out of energy. It’s just boiling up under my skin. I feel like my bones are too big. Look at me, using all these ‘I’ statements. Wouldn’t you know it? They didn’t do shit.

I still feel those things, putting them down on paper and claiming those feelings didn’t do a damn thing but make me feel stupid.

How am I supposed to live my life in limbo? Between stages haven’t ever been something I'm comfortable with. Yet here I am, at the end of the week, still in limbo. Floating around, high stepping to avoid squashing the fragile truce we’ve called. You haven’t asked, I haven’t told.

The words sit on my tongue like acid. I haven’t ever felt like this before, such a strong urge to tell the truth. What have you done to me? I don’t like this. Is this what it’s like to feel a sense of responsibility? If it is, then fuck it. I don’t like it.

My eyes feel goopy. My feet are heavy. My lungs are on fire. My hands are numb. My scalp is tingly. My flesh is too fleshy. My muscles are too meaty. My bones are too big. They’re too big and they want out.

DATE:

Anakin walked to work as slowly as possible. Dragging his sneakers on the sidewalk just to listen to the scraping noise the soles made. He pushed his bottom lip up and sucked the ball of his labret jewelry between his teeth, moving it back and forth with his tongue to add a different sound to occupy his attention.

Anything to quiet his thoughts.

He was jumpy, overwhelmed, nervous. So nervous. His palms sweaty and tingling as he rubbed them across his thighs roughly, friction heating up the denim while it absorbed the moisture.

Finally, he stopped at the employee entrance of the bar. Staring at the solid gray metal, wondering how badly it would hurt in he sprinted head first into it. That would be a good reason to go home… maybe he’d even be able to rattle his brain hard enough that he’d shake the voices right out of his ears.

“Sup?” Trevor asked, walking up behind Anakin and lightly smacking the back of his neck.

“Fuck you man.” Anakin grumbled, startled out of his frozen state to rub the stinging flesh on the back of his neck. His fingers threading through his hair and mussing it up to rouse himself a bit.

“What’s up with your face?” Trevor asked, holding his palm up in front of Anakin’s face and flexing his fingers, actual concern in his voice now that he stood in front of his friend.

“I’m tired.” Anakin said flatly, no reason to elaborate considering it was very clearly the truth. The exhaustion he wore on his face was a heavy weight, making it difficult to mask the stone-like expression that was his default setting.

He couldn’t even muster the energy to blink at a normal speed, his eyelids so weighty it took a conscious effort to lift them. Anakin’s words seemed sullen, as though his very voice were just as meloncholic as his mind.

“Did you sleep at all?” Trevor asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Does it look like I fucking slept?” Anakin snapped.

“No. That’s why I asked, asshole.” Trevor muttered, reaching forward to open the door but Anakin stopped him with a sound he’d never heard him make before.

It was a tiny, audible swallowing sound that appeared to have taken a great effort to produce. It was like Anakin was manually operating himself and wasn’t used to the controls. Trevor turned, glancing back at him and was about to open his mouth before he was interrupted.

“Got any K?” Anakin asked, sounding far away.

“Uh-“ Trevor frowned. He did, of course he did. His bag was in the trunk of his car. “No dude, sold out yesterday… can’t get any until next week.”

“You’re an awful liar.” Anakin’s lip twitched and he pushed past Trevor and threw open the door, clocking in before heading out front.

“April where the hell is my apron and shit?” Anakin grumbled, rifling around beneath the counter where it was supposed to be.

“Laundry day, it’s in the back room.” She reminded him, frowning at his tone and aggressiveness. She shared a look with Trevor, conveying her concern through her eyes. Trevor simply shook his head as if to say ‘Don’t ask’.

“Oh. Right.” Anakin nodded, grunting as he straightened back up and went to retrieve his apron.

The night went on as usual, though Anakin uncharacteristically declined to be the front man on the bar. No taking orders for him, only mixing drinks and cleaning up messes. He didn’t have the mental energy to make his face look polite. He didn’t even have it in him to make it neutral, he wore a scowl that just wouldn’t go away. Not even when he thought of you. If anything, his frown deepen at the mental image of your face.

“No? Actually I was hoping to talk to him.” A female voice with a flirty tone floated through the chatter, causing Anakin to look up and over his shoulder at Trevor.

“You look really familiar.” Trevor said thoughtfully, while Anakin turned back around and pretended not to hear the conversation. Focusing much to hard on cutting limes and lemons. Each chop of the knife louder, harder.

“Yeah, I get that a lot. Guess I just have one of those faces.” She lightly laughed.

Anakin froze. He knew that sound. He hated that sound. He hadn’t ever expected to hear it again. His eye twitched and his grip tightened on the knife handle, slicing a deep groove into the wooden cutting board before using the blade to scrape the fresh citrus into a bowl.

Anakin grabbed the edge of his apron and wiped the blade as he turned around to face the direction of the offending voice. Locking eyes with a woman he hoped he’d never meet in public. Reaching behind him, he jammed the blade tip onto the wood, the metal vibrating up through the handle from the force of it.

“This lady says she knows you.” Trevor thumbed toward the dark haired, brown eyed woman in dress clothes.

“She doesn’t know shit about me,” Anakin snapped, walking over to the bar top and leaning forward. “what the fuck are you doing at my work?” He growled.

“No reason to be so hostile, I didn’t even realize you worked here. I just thought I’d say hello.” She said with faux politeness.

“Is that right?” Anakin gritted his teeth, rapping his knuckles against the slick surface of the bar. “Hello and goodbye.”

“You missed your call, confirmation of your next appointment.” She said matter of factly.

“Say one more word and I will call the licensing board.” Anakin’s lip curled up in anger, stepping back slightly as he remembered there was a camera watching his movements. He couldn’t be caught acting aggressively on tape.

“Pretty sure you’re breaking some kind of law by being here, talking about confidential shit.” He said in a calm voice that was almost more chilling than the grit that came along with his anger. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Anakin, there’s really no need-“ Trevor began and was swiftly interrupted.

“Trevor, I’ll be taking a break now. If this person isn’t gone by the time I come back, I’ll be quitting and finding somewhere else to work.” He said matter of factly, taking off his apron and tossing it underneath the counter before storming off into the backroom, leaving Trevor and April in complete confusion.

“Sorry, um… here’s your margarita.” Trevor said awkwardly. “On the house for the trouble.”

“It’s really no problem.” She shook her head and waved him off, allowing him to tend to other customers.

Meanwhile out in the back, Anakin paced back and forth, wondering what the hell he could do to get out of this situation. How dare she? That damn know it all bitch. Did she search through his personal information? What the hell kind of professional would do that? Exactly why women shouldn’t work in a field like hers.

Research. He needed to do some research.

He pulled his phone from his back pocket, thumbs hovering over the keyboard after tapping the search bar in Safari. Unsure of what to type, not even certain if he -should- attempt to look for answers to the questions floating around his skull. Anakin decided to switch gears, rubbing his face before logging into an app he hadn’t used in a while.

‘Long time, no see.’ He typed, scoffing to himself as he erased it.

‘Do me a favor-‘ Nope, no good either. He couldn’t be that direct about it after going into hiding from you.

“Fuck this.” He grumbled, tugging at his hair with one hand as he sucked on his labret jewelry, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “Stupid bitch isn’t worth the trouble anyway. Right? Some damn doctor.”

Anakin stormed back inside the bar’s employee entrance, walking through the back room before popping his head around the door frame that led behind the bar. He didn’t see her anymore, but he did see a very stern faced April waiting for him with his apron.

“Don’t give me shit right now okay?” Anakin growled, snatching the apron and tying it on.

“What is your problem?” April hissed, clasping her hand around his arm, pushing him into the backroom.

“The hell? What is *your* problem?” Anakin shot back impatiently.

“You’re not yourself. Not to mention whatever the fuck that was with that lady!” April whisper yelled.

“Not your damn problem. Get back and let me go back to work.” He huffed, trying to shoulder his way past her.

“Absolutely not. That woman is still out there, thought you were going to quit if she was here when you got back.” She challenged him with a scowl.

“Whatever, I’m not letting some dumb whore drive me away from my job.” Anakin muttered tiredly, running a hand through his hair before crossing his arms.

“I figured as much.” April said with a tone of voice that seemed almost relieved. “Look, I don’t know what your deal is, but I need you to get it dealt with okay?”

“Jesus, why’s everyone on my ass lately?” Anakin barked, a little too loudly, catching the attention of one or two bar patrons. April sighed and shut the back room door for privacy.

“Because we’re worried about you!” She said seriously.

“No one asked you to be!” He yelled back, clenching his left hand into a fist. He brought it up to April’s face and slowly unfurled his pointer finger to poke her forehead with more force than necessary. “My girl is the only person who has the right to worry about me. Okay? And she knows I’m doing just fine.”

“Really? You’re sure? Because I thought friends were supposed to look out for each other.” April retorted, unconvinced by Anakin’s words and display.

“You’re not my fucking friend. You’re my coworker.” He snarled, untying his apron once more and dropping it to the ground. “I don’t have to listen to whatever speech you and Trevor cooked up. Can you handle the bar by yourselves tonight? Cause I can’t be here right now.”

“Why not? Too big a pussy to let us see some bitch get under your skin?” She taunted him, leaning forward. “Bet your little girlfriend would be real disappointed in her man if she knew that’s all it took to make you give up your own stomping grounds.”

“Shut the hell your mouth.” He growled out, teeth bared like a dog prepared to bite. “Get the fuck out of my way.” Anakin pushed past her and took long strides to reach his station at the bar, washing up and going straight back to work like he hadn’t just thrown a hissy fit. He couldn’t allow a woman to put him in his place, especially when that woman wasn’t you.

Meanwhile you laid on the couch at home in the comfort of your apartment. It’d be relaxing if not for the pile of laundry that seemed to never end. Taking a break had turned into an hour long rest with your feet kicked up and the tv blaring some nonsense. It was nice to have nothing to think about for the time being. No worries about Ghost or Anakin, both of them, one of them? Are they a them? No. He’s not. He’s one man.

One man who split himself in two.

How hard would it be to sew those halves back together? Could it even be done? Or had the separation caused a major divide within him, like magnets repelling each other. Sure, they can get close, but they may never click into place again like they were meant to.

You wouldn’t know until you tried. If you could convince him to allow it. But that seemed impossible at the moment, considering how he wouldn’t even entertain the possibility of a conversation about it…

There you go, worrying about it all again. Your mind never allowed you much peace anymore. Things used to be so much simpler, gods how you missed that. The warmth of Anakin when he would come home and hold you. The searing heat of Ghost’s eyes burning into your flesh. Both tangible. Both completely different.

They were oil and water at the beginning, repelling each other with all their strength, but even oil and water can be mixed if shaken well enough. There’ll still be small bubbles of oil, floating around the water, but it wouldn’t be nearly as cumbersome as an entire layer of oil skimming the surface of the water. It’d be more manageable, for the both of you.

One side of him was certain to catch fire. Though at this point you weren’t sure which. The well put together and loving boyfriend? Or the masked man who’s made it his mission to have you no matter what, a masked man who always carries a knife and never missed an opportunity to show you that he’s in charge?

“I need a drink.” You groaned, rubbing beneath your eyes to find that your body had betrayed you, small water droplets of salty tears sat in the corner of your eyes. You stretched and shook your head, disappointed in your own inability to keep yourself off the edge of the path you believed you were meant to take.

Your own path. One you could stroll down without worrying about anything at all, because the man you loved would be right behind you. The path lined with lillies of all colors, bright and clear skys, rolling waves of grasses in the distance, beauty as far as the eye can see. All yours. You just had to find it first.

Reaching the kitchen cabinet, you hesitated when seeing the wine glasses. There’s no reason you should use one. No one is home but you, it’s not like it’s practical to use anyway, especially if you’re planning on consuming enough to make a horse drunk. Lightly tapping the cabinet door, you halfway closed it and spun around to grab a wine bottle from the fridge, a delicious deep red.

Then, you swung your arm out to grip the handle of your favorite travel mug. The pretty patterned one that held almost a whole Brita pitcher of water. With the cork squeaking out from the place it was wedged in the neck of the wine bottle, you smiled to yourself, giving it one more tug. Finally graced with the glorious ‘bup-pop’ of the cork coming loose, you poured yourself a generous dose of big girl juice and snapped the lid down onto your cup.

You leaned down, sipping the cold red wine with vigor through the light pink straw. With the handle firmly in your grasp, you shuffled back to the couch and wrapped yourself in a blanket, deciding to choose a movie to watch. Kicking your feet up carelessly onto the coffee table, not even batting an eye at the pile of folded clothes that slid off into the floor. You weren’t in cleaning mode anymore, you were in ‘me time’ mode now. Focused solely on getting as drunk as a skunk.

“Dude, at this point I think I should probably just… I don’t know, skip town and go to the Bahamas.” You muttered, clicking your tongue rapidly to summon your four legged friend for emotional support and the valuable input she might be able to give.

As she curled up and purred against your leg, you sighed, scratched between her ears. The soft fur there was like a velvety worry-stone, petting her gave you a little peace among the storm raging inside of you.

“What do you think?” You asked, voice quiet and soft. Your tongue poking out the corner of your mouth to pull the straw in your big cup toward you. Taking a big swig of the wine, you sighed dramatically, letting yourself relax against the cushions of the couch.

Taking the tip of your cat’s ear between your fingers, you rubbed the soft, thin cartilage. Fur as smooth as the world’s softest moleskin; her ear twitching between the pads of your fingers.

“Could you be helpful, please?” You groaned, futile as it was, you almost wished that she’d meow in response, you’d even take a smack to the face. It would be better than the outward silence mixing in with the swirling vortex of conflicting opinions settling in your throat.

“So, it’s like this, right?” You sat up a little straighter, both hands on the cup between your palms. “You knew him before me. So it’s your fault for not telling me. We could’ve avoided all this fuss if you’d just moved those whiskers.”

”I don’t even wanna speak to you right now.” You huffed, holding up your cup with one hand to keep from dropping it while you went limp and let yourself slide down onto the floor, your legs beneath the coffee table. ”Just sit up there and keep being a sneaky little bitch.”

”Can’t believe you. Fraternizing with the… enemy? For so long!” You whipped your head around leaning back against the front of the couch and resting your head near her stomach. “You let him into the house! Aren’t pets supposed to be protective? It’s all your fault.” You sniffled, not yet realizing your eyes were watering.

”I’m too tired to even hold my head up to watch this stupid shit.” You scowled, angrily wiping away a tear that leaked out. Grabbing the remote, you turned it off, purposely knocking off the rest of the clothes from the coffee table. You weaseled your upper body beneath the glass coffee table, unlocking your phone to lay it screen down on the glass to comfortably watch your silly little shit while you laid there like a lazy dog. Just as you got comfortable, you realized the flaw in this plan was your big cup with its big straw. You’d have to turn your head to drink your wine and that just wasn’t going to work.

”Oh my god!” You huffed, pushing against the front of the couch and you straightened out on the rug, coming out from under the coffee table on the other side. Clumsily clamoring to a standing position, you trudged to the kitchen cabinet, searching for a different cup.

Funny how you had the energy to find a more suitable drinking glass, but not the energy to tilt your head to the side or look at the actual tv screen. Priorities, you supposed, rolling your neck on your shoulders after craning it to reach high into the cabinet. Out of all the options, none of them fit the bill for your needs. Melting to the cold tile in the kitchen, you slid into a kindling position with your forehead pressed against the cool stainless steel of the dishwasher. You rested there for a moment before shuffling on your knees to the fridge, pulling it open to grab the bag of shredded cheese.

There, in the door of the fridge, you found a perfect solution to your ‘drinking problem’. A Gatorade bottle with a twisty top. Snatching it up, you stood a bit too quickly and dizzied yourself, swaying on your feet as you grabbed an empty cup to pour the Gatorade out into. Without even rinsing the bottle, you transferred the wine over and snapped the lid back in place on your adult sippy cup. You made it back to the coffee table before having to spin around and go back, closing the door of the fridge.

Settled beneath the glass coffee table, a blanket over your lower half where you’d propped your legs up onto the couch, you turned the Gatorade bottle up and took a long pull of wine from the small opening, squeezing the bottle’s side to squirt more into your mouth before you swallowed and used your opposite hand to sprinkle shredded cheese over your open lips.

After a while of rinse and repeating these actions, your cat settled into a loaf position above you on the glass tabletop. She looked down at you with a judgemental stare, silently scolding you for the way you were acting.

“Don’t you dare judge me.” You coughed out, covering your eyes with the crook of your elbow over your face. “You’re just as bad as me! All it took was a few treats and you made friends with a fucking serial killer!” You sobbed, full chest heaving breaths that caught in your throat halfway down.

“Hello mental institution, take me away!” You wailed in hysterics, the last of your composure and majority of your sanity leaked out along with the tears pooling on the floor beneath your head at a rapid rate. “I’m an idiot who willingly let herself be an accomplice to murder! I’ve killed a man! I thought I was cheating on my boyfriend and I was totally okay doing it! Turns out I was cheating on my boyfriend, WITH my boyfriend! Who kills people! For fun!”

”While I’m confessing my sins I may as well do them all, huh?” You said aggressively to whatever powers that may be listening, if any at all existed.

“In first grade, I blamed Todd for killing the class fish, but it was my fault!” You sniffled, wiping snot across your face. “I put soap in the filter, a whole shit load of it!”

”When I was in fourth grade, I hit this girl with my mountain bike while going down the big hill near our house. Totally gross, peeled off part of her knee skin.” You took a halting breath, washing down the bile that threatened to crawl up your throat with a quick chug of wine. “I said it was an accident, but I did it on purpose cause I hated her for getting the Lizzie McGuire makeup thingy before I did, and when I finally got it, she ATE my damn chapstick like a fuckin’ lunatic! Who does that?”

”I worked hard at that stupid, sweaty fucking yard sale to get enough cash for the damn thing and when I get to show it off to her and prove I was just as good as she was, she said, ‘mm the strawberry one tastes good, can i have it?’. What the fuck? She just grabbed it and rolled it up and ate it like a toddler eating a glue stick.” You scoffed, hiccuping before shoving a small handful of shredded cheese in your mouth, complete with the salty tang of the palm sweat that came along with a mental breakdown.

Sure, you had a little bout of lunacy when you killed that guy, in self defense, you reminded yourself. But this was completely different. You didn’t crawl into yourself and hide away. No. It was like all this emotional turmoil was boiling you from the inside out and the only way to save yourself was to pull the lid off the pot and pray it didn’t spill over the sides.

“Luke’s cat.” You sobbed, curling up and rolling onto your side. “I just couldn’t stand seeing him so…” A long, self loathing groan left your lips. Your mouth open but lips connected by a thin line of saliva.

It was nearly two in the morning by the time Anakin left work. He was tired. Angry. Irritated. All he wanted was to go home and sink himself inside that velvet cunt waiting for him there. Alas, as a man with shit to do, he had to get that shit done. Passing by the apartment building, he paused in the middle of the road, lightly tapping the breaks when he realized your apartment’s lights were still on.

“Still up?” He furrowed his brows, pulling his phone from the cup holder of his car before remembering he’d gotten rid of the cameras. “Damn.” He muttered, shaking his head and cutting the wheel hard to the right, whipping into the parking lot to shut the car off and make his way up the fire escape to take a peek in your window.

What he found was a shock, to say the least. He’d never seen you in such a state before and if it weren’t for the loud and clear snores bouncing off the walls and into his ears, he’d have thought you were dead. Sprawled out on the rug, a dark red stain by your head and a Gatorade squeeze bottle of wine in your hand, clutched to your chest like a teddy bear. You’d drunk yourself to sleep. He couldn’t believe it. He was absolutely floored.

He knocked on the window with the back of his hand, loudly, hoping to stir you awake. Your slumbering body didn’t even flinch.

”Fuck me running.” He mumbled under his breath. He hated having a change in his plans, but what kind of monster would leave their girl in such a state without helping?

With a huff, he trudged back down the steps and slid down the ladder at the bottom, landing on booted feet with a grunt. What happened to the Anakin who was always prepared? The Anakin that carried all the tools he needed, he cursed at himself as he stomped toward the door, typing in the door code only to have it flash red at him.

“The fuck?” He breathed out, tugging on the door handle before typing in the code again. Flashing red light glowed in the darkness of the early morning hours once again. “Are you FUCKIN” kidding me?” He barked, pulling the door handle hard enough that the entire door rattled when he released it.

Pulling out his phone, he glanced down at the date. The door code had changed that morning. As it did on time, every time. Only, he was so in his head that he had completely forgotten about it. When did he begin to unravel like this? He should’ve never forgotten something like that, he simply shouldn’t have. He’s… he’s HIM. Angrily, he kicked the bottom of the door and called up the super for the building.

”Can you give me the new door code? I forgot to check on my way out.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose when the super asked his name. “Skywalker. Don’t you have all your tenet’s numbers?” He scoffed.

“Security stuff.” The super replied sleepily, obviously annoyed at having been woken up. “What’s the… key number?” He sniffed.

Anakin looked down at his key reading the engraved number on his apartment key. “Z3287.”

“5309.” With that said, the call dropped and Anakin heard the line go dead on the other end. Typing the new door code into the keypad while muttering under his breath. He jogged up the steps to your apartment and walked in, taking in the very strong scent of spilled wine.

“Okay.” He sighed, kicking off his shoes and locking the door behind him. He walked over and pulled you out from under the coffee table by hooking his hands under your armpits.

“Up we go doll.” He grunted, pulling you into his arms while he crouched down to gather up your limp body. “Goin’ to bed. Like you should’ve done earlier.” He murmured, kissing your forehead.

Once in your room he laid you on the bed, going to the dresser to retrieve a clean set of pajamas. He tossed them on the bed and grudgingly went across the hall to the bathroom, grabbing a wash cloth and wetting it. Wringing it out, he set to work on cleaning up your face, neck and hands. But before he could gently wipe at your cheek, he got a really good look at your face.

”Who made you cry?” He asked, grabbing your chin to turn your head from one side to the other.

He was gentle with his grip, not really asking the questions in hopes you’d answer. He didn’t want to acknowledge that he might’ve been the cause behind your sorry state. Clicking his tongue, he went back to work, gently wiping your face.

“Alright doll, let’s get you out of these.” He grunted, trying to be gentle with your limp form as he pulled off your shirt and tugged down your shorts and panties.

He paused, tempted to…

No. No. Not right now. He’s busy. Anakin reminded himself that this was only a pit stop. He had an errand to run.

“C’mon babydoll.” He grunted, trying his best to be gentle as he dressed you, but you seemed even more limp and ragged than you did the night he drugged you. Were you really that drunk? That tired? “Work with me here sweetheart.”

”Quit.” You muttered in your sleep, your arm flopping over the edge of the mattress to dangle like a noodle.

”Feisty brat even in your sleep, huh?” He chuckled lightly, pulling you toward the middle of the bed to make sure you didn’t roll off in your deep slumber.

”Ghost?” You halfway lifted up your head and slurred the single word so badly it was almost intelligible, your eyes still completely shut.

Anakin froze, his hand recoiling from your body like you’d scorched his fingertips. He didn’t speak, standing completely still, unconsciously holding his breath to keep as silent as possible. It felt like a full day had passed by the time your body lost it’s tension and melted back into the deep sleep you were in before he’d startled you.

After that, Anakin hit the floor running, making a quick escape through the front door so quickly he almost failed to make sure your door was locked. He absolutely could not let you catch him there, he didn’t want to explain himself and he really didn’t want to come to terms with the fact that you were asking for the facet of himself he was tucking into his back pocket.

“Come on.” Anakin groaned in annoyance, smacking his right cheek lightly to keep himself awake. It was nearly 3:30 AM and he hadn’t had a wink of sleep. He’d been high wired since he started his shift at the bar nearly 9 hours ago.

Currently he was fighting his sleepiness tooth and nail with a Monster Energy and chain-smoking until his new pack of cigarettes were down to just three left. The home in front of him was on the outer west side of the city, a nicer subdivision, one he hadn’t even known existed until that night. Such a nice subdivision that he had to park nearly a block away and walk around the brick barrier and wrought iron gate to enter through the bushes continuing the barrier to prevent unwanted vehicles in the area.

The home was brick, two stories. A modern structure with huge floor to ceiling windows in the living room. Only a pretentious bitch like this one would want a feature that showed off the uncomfortable and ugly, yet presumably expensive furniture, decor and fireplace in the living area.

“God this is so fuckin’ boring.” He huffed impatiently. This stakeout was lackluster compared to the countless nights he spent watching you. It was exciting, fulfilling, giving him purpose.

This just felt like a job, a stupid chore that he just had to get done.

Each house here was protected by a high quality security system. Cameras, motion sensors, automatic locks and door codes. To add to the safety features, there was also a CCTV camera fitted to every fifth street light. All provided by the same security company: Westside Watch. This made Anakin’s plan easier in someways, extremely difficult in others.

Once he’d completed his scan of the area and jotted down his findings, he stood up, knees crackling in protest when he stretched and shoved his laptop back into his bag.

“Baby, just go back to sleep.” Anakin grumbled, swatting your hand away as you tried to wake him up for the fourth time that morning.

“It’s 11:00, are you sick?” You said in a quiet voice, the back of your hand coming down to feel his forehead for the second time. He didn’t stop you this time, letting you feel that his temperature was normal.

”I’m just tired.” He huffed. “Up late.” He mumbled, falling asleep before he could take another breath.

Around 3:00 in the afternoon, Anakin finally emerged from the bedroom, looking like a hermit who hadn’t seen the sun in over a year. His hair was stuck to the nape of his neck and forehead, plastered there with sweat. Circles under his eyes so dark it looked like he’d forgotten to wash off his usual light touch of under eye kohl.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Ani.” You snickered, standing up from the nest you’d made of pillows and blankets on the couch.

“Ha-ha, you’re so funny it hurts.” He grumbled. Clearly he was still much too tired for conversation.

”Do me a solid sweetheart.” He sighed, rubbing his hands together. “I need a fuckin’… beer and a fuckin’ McGriddle.”

”That’s… unfortunately not something I can do.” You said, picking up your phone from the couch arm to show him the time.

”No way.” He snorted, in disbelief that he’d slept so late. “Shit, I was set on that for breakfast.”

”I can make pancakes and sausage?” You offered apologetically. “It’s basically-“

”It’s so not ‘basically’ the same thing.” He groaned, running a hand down his face and bending backwards, back arching as he stretched his arms out behind his head. “I suppose I could be persuaded to eat it, since you’ll be the one making ‘em.” He gave you a small uptick of his lips, not really a smile, not really a smirk.

”I can do that.” You nodded, pleased to see he was slowly coming out of his grumpiness.

“Thanks babydoll.” He roughly tugged you against him, his hand on the back of your head as he gave you a peck on the forehead. “Gotta go shower, I reek.”

“Only a little.” You snorted. Though it wasn’t really truthful. You were armpit height to him and it was abundantly clear he’d sweat like he was running a marathon in his sleep.

Once he was fresh and clean, he walked through the apartment in just his boxers, plopping himself down onto the couch, manspreading and claiming ownership of the remote.

“Would you hate me if I smoked inside?” He asked suddenly. Leaning forward with a loan grunt to swipe his nearly empty pack of cigarettes.

“No…” You shook your head, plating the ‘breakfast’ you’d made, giving him a generous amount of syrup in a small dip cup. “You feeling okay?”

”Just… y-yeah.” He cleared his throat, lighting one up and taking a long drag, the red hot cherry crawling up the end of the paper casing. “Can’t be bothered to go out. I’d have to put on clothes, fuckin’ cold out there.”

“True,” You nodded, accepting out without further question as you slid the plate down onto the low glass table in front of him. “Still want beer?”

”Of course.” He said, the tone of his words making it sound like he was answering a stupid question.

“Hey, did you ever hear from that realtor friend of Luke or whatever?” He asked curiously, tearing off a piece of pancake to dip into the syrup.

“No, not yet.” You shook your head, giving him a raised eyebrow, trying to prompt him to elaborate on his line of thinking.

“When we start looking, lets try some subdivisions, yeah?” He said, clearly not planning to look for anything else.

“Why?” You asked, kind of surprised by his response. You knew he grew up in one but you had remembered he didn’t particularly like it.

”Safety reasons, most of ‘em are like gated communities, good security and stuff.” He shrugged like he hadn’t been researching them last night.

“I mean, I appreciate your concern for safety but I’m not super keen on having close neighbors.” You said, a slight grimace on your face as you cuddled up next to him while he ate.

“Well too bad, you’re gonna be the brunch mom and I’ll be the cul-de-sac cook-out dad.” He snorted, one cheek puffed up as he chewed his food. “It’ll be fine.”

You frowned, really not amused by his lighthearted response. This was your house too and you wanted input on where it was and what it looked like. You’d be spending hundreds of dollars on it each month in payments. It was baffling that Anakin was being so nonchalant and passive about finding the home you’d raise your kids in.

“I can hear you breathing like you’re annoyed.” He mumbled, tugging a lock of your hair.

“I am annoyed.” You huffed, swatting his hand away from your hair.

“Just give it a try, would you?” He sighed, rolling his eyes. “I wanna take a look at the layout and stuff. Most of those homes are built by the same contractors. They all have a similar layout.”

”I’m not asking you to just let me have full reign over it. Jesus, you’ll have your opinion considered.” He shook his head in irritation, not liking you were questioning his wishes.

“Look, even if you do hate the idea of living in a gated community, seeing the houses, floor plans, it’ll be good for getting ideas on the kind of place we want. You know?” He explained, trying to keep his voice on the encouraging side.

“I just don’t like that you want the decision making to be left up to you.” You muttered, sitting up and crossing your arms.

“Would you want a child in charge of house hunting?” He snapped at you, gesturing to your defensive posture.

“Tell me you didn’t just say that.” You glared at him.

“I said it and I meant it. Act like an adult and I’ll give you adult privileges; like having an opinion.” He said, tone snarky and frustrated. Obviously he hadn’t shook off all his shitty attitude.

”Maybe we’ll find a place you really love, you won’t know until we go looking. If you really fuckin’ hate the subdivision thing, maybe we can steal one of the house plans of a place you like and build elsewhere.” He said, grabbing you by the inner thigh to tug you back over to him, making sure you stay close despite being upset with him.

Diary Entry:

Can’t you just listen? God you were really pushing back on me today. I was giving you options and not a damn one of them was good enough.

I just want to be able to get a feel for the layout, alright? It’ll make my life easier. I’ll be able to touch the security system panel, familiarize myself with the physical version, rather than the digital diagram. I shouldn’t have to explain myself all the damn time. Act right.

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