#not even going to tag this with much else

[emtearzz]

Wah ty for the tag ely!!! 💖💖💖

Being with you feels like being wrapped up in the softest blanket imaginable, listening to the rain while sitting on a window seat, your hands wrapped around a mug of cocoa. People come to you for advice and it’s almost always sound. You do tend to try to “fix things”–it’s okay for others to be having negative emotions, and sometimes they just need you to sit with them as they go through it. You are very artistic and you shouldn’t invalidate your creativity because you feel like you don’t express it flawlessly. Also, this applies to any medium: painting, drawing, music, singing, crafting, needlework, writing, or even just having a deep appreciation of art. You would be a penpal and get so creative with it. When you give someone a gift, it’s often homemade and intensely personal–you put so much thought into it. At least at some point you thought you would own a bakery or coffee shop when you grew up.

Oh I don’t like this accuracy. 💀 why did go so deep into the art sectionnn

Tags list!! (No pressure!!): @mango-thuy @evermorethecrow @seukorei @coffee-without-anesthetics +anyone else!!!

Have you ever wondered what flower from Victorian flower language you are? I have! I have a quiz about it! (my credentials are that I have a spreadsheet of over 600 flower meanings)

[1-800-adore-me]

Quickies are never possible with Caleb .

🍎nsfw warning (18+) + tags:, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names (baby, honey, sweetie/sweetheart, princess, etc…), biting, praise kink, big cock, deep creampie, overstimulation, inappropriate usage of Caleb’s evol [ 1.3k words | porn without plot ] [A/N: i really want to write about Caleb using his mechanical arm...]

Here’s the thing that you quickly realized with Caleb ever since the two of you have became intimate: You could never do quickies with him. 

And it is very hard to say no to quickies when it comes to Caleb, especially with those big puppy eyes of his. It’s that sweet voice that he possesses that can easily fog your judgement. “Just 5 minutes, princess. It’s all I ask for, okay? I won’t take long, sweetie. I just- I just need you right now, yeah? Understand me, sweetheart? I just need to feel you real quick and we can get going, okay?” 

And who were you to deny him? Ever since you guys were little, you were always weak to his wishes. If Gran asked if you wanted to go to the grocery store with her and get some snacks, you would say no - giving an excuse of something like: “I’m tired” or “I have homework to do.”

Oh, but if Caleb asked you to? It didn’t matter if you pulled 2 all-nighters straight to study for an exam or if you barely woke up a minute ago, you were already rushing to put on your clothes and head out. Sure, you’d complain about how he decided to go at an inconvenient time but really, you were just happy to be by his side. With that sweet smile of his that is only seen with you, it felt like you needed nothing else from the world. 

Which is why Caleb was currently drilling his big, thick cock inside your sopping wet cunt right now. This all happened because you couldn’t muster a simple “no” to his request after he walked in on you changing after a shower. You knew that your period was going to come soon so in order to prepare for it, you shaved your pubic hair so it wouldn’t get too messy down there. Just when you were slipping on your underwear, Caleb walked in to see the sight of your plush, bare pussy. It began with a simple - “Just let me feel you, baby. Just real quick, okay? I’ll even wash you again after.”

Perhaps you wanted this to happen as well because if you were stronger, you could’ve easily said ‘no’. But was it really your fault that his voice was just so irresistible? 

“Aah-...! Haahn- C-Caleb! Caleb…!” His name, along with your dirty moans, were the only sounds that could be made from your drooling mouth. He was on top of you, relentlessly pumping his hard cock in and out of your pussy that was just gushing juices everytime his shaft pulled out of you. He thought that it was so cute that your cunt didn’t want to let go of him. 

“What is it, princess?” He’d say in a playful tone, chuckling as he did so. “What do you want me for, baby? You’re saying my name so much… You always say my name so pretty.” He teased the opening of your mouth with his thumb, which you then began sucking as if he had another cock. You could see that his eyes darkened with lust as you licked and teased his tongue before enveloping your soft lips around his digit. 

When he dragged his cock out of your pussy, only leaving his thick tip inside, before bucking his hips forward and shoving it all back inside, you bit down on his thumb to contain your cries. He hissed at the pain, letting out another rich chuckle from his throat. 

“You want to give me another bite mark again, honey? Go ahead, give me everything you have. I’ll take it all so long as it’s you.” He pressed his pelvis closer to yours, trying to get deeper into your cunt. You could feel him reaching the depths of your sobbing pussy and the only thing that you could do was take all of Caleb inside of you. Along with that, he decided to torture you by rubbing your swollen clit with his large, big fingers. Your soft walls clenched around his thickness as you began squirting now - your mouth opening to let out a cry.

Your squirts began dirtying his abs, soaking it with all of your slick and wetness. He let out a dark laughter, satisfied by your adorable reaction to him fucking the shit out of you. 

Caleb continued to fuck you as you orgasmed, enjoying the feeling of your walls getting wetter and tighter with every spasm he forced out of you. He felt delirious now, moaning as he felt you give him everything you had from your cunt. - “Fuuck, baby… You feel so fucking good inside. You’re taking my big cock so good with your pretty ltitle cunt, honey.” You tried to get up and slap away his hand in order to stop the overstimulation but you quickly felt his evol stopping you - forcing you to stay in your current position. You were just a fuckdoll laying down on his bed, forced to take whatever torture he wished to lay on you. 

You started sobbing as he didn’t stop thrusting inside of you nor did he stop his fingers from playing with your swollen bundle of nerves. Your hips began squirming down and you, yourself, were unsure if you really wanted him to stop or not. 

He leaned down to start to kiss you, tasting all of the sweet gummies that he had bought you earlier. One of his free hands intertwined itself with yours, a kind gesture that contrasted how brutal his thrusts were. He was fucking you into the mattress, as if he was trying to get inside your womb room.

The sound of skin slapping against another rang out in his bedroom, along with your cries and moans that you couldn’t help let out. - “Be a good girl for me and cum again, princess. Who’s making you cum? Say my name again with that pretty mouth of yours.” And in response, you moaned out his name again as if it was the only word you knew. Happy with your response, he dragged out his cock until the tip was the only thing left inside, and then slammed it inside of you again. A wet plap! noise was heard, along with your screams. The mattress underneath you was absolutely drenched with cum, slick, and squirt - all because Caleb needed to see you be absolutely ruined underneath him. 

“-Mmph… mmm! Baby, I’m so close… I’m gonna go fast now, okay? I’ll let it all in your baby room, sweetheart. Let’s make a cute baby, yeah?” He said against your neck as he began suckling the sensitive skin and nipping at it with his teeth. You weren’t even sure if you could cover them with your Hunter uniform as he began biting the very center of your throat, making you squirm against his evol. His hold on your hand tightened as you felt his brutal pace began going faster. You could feel his cock begin pulsating as he released his seed deep inside of you, pumping in a few last thrusts into your abused pussy in order to make sure that your womb was drinking every single last drop of his precious cum. He whispered your name against your skin, his breath hot and heavy. - “So good, you feel so fucking good… You’re milking me, honey…”

The feeling of his thick cum filling you up made you begin squirting again as you both climaxed together. Your poor abused cunt was grinding against his cock still inside of you, the both of you moaning as you rode your orgasms. 

When you felt Caleb release his evol, you sat up and grabbed his face - kissing him deeply as you craved his every person. You needed him more than ever as your mind slowly became more delirious as well. 

He chuckled against your lips as you two took a small break to breathe. “Looks like someone is ready for round two then?” 

Perhaps this was why you would never believe Caleb asking you for quickies. 

[bunny-jpeg]

sinful sentences (six)

franco colapinto - "how do you like that?"

tags: smut/pwp, phone/facetime sex, mutual masturbation, voice kink, dirty talk

sinful sentences catalogue

weeks apart, you have been apart for weeks. while formula one had been a blessing to franco, it had be a source of personal hell for you. while his karting career meant he was away a lot, at least the schedule allowed you to visit him more often. but with you wrapped up in your own academic work, you had been without the touch of your lover for close to four weeks now.

and things were getting dire for you. you missed sleepy mornings together, you missed the good luck kisses, you missed his jokes and his laugh. you missed the smell of him after a shower (sometimes after a work out) - he was such an important part of your life that without it everything felt grayer.

you tried to keep a positive outlook though, you cheered him on and watched every race. you were his number on fan on top of being his lover. but you could only masturbate so many times with your face in his pillow before you started to get cramps in your hands.

but a small saving grace came when you got a text message from franco asking if you wanted to facetime - "i miss you, my love. i want to see your face once more!"

you were both sexually needy. franco wanted you and casual catch-up turned into him without his shirt on and his hand grasped around his cock in his sweatpants. his breathing heavy as he positioned his phone up against some pillows. to eye you with heat while he pleasured himself.

you did the same before you kicked off your sweatpants and took off your (formerly his) t-shirt. he caught sight of your breasts and gripped his cock a little tighter to off-set the throb of erection. you drove him crazy, you were something else entirely. that was why he wanted you so badly, why he craved for you the way someone craved food or water. your pretty tits were a life source for him.

"i wish you were here right now. i wish i was back home in your bed. does it still smell like me, angel? you know i have one of your sweaters, sadly it accidentally got covered in cum. but when i get home, i'm going to put it on you and fuck you right up against your dresser until all those little toys fall off." his voice was heavy with lust, his breathing was heavy as he got his cock out of his sweatpants. he couldn't take anymore. not while you looked so beautiful for him.

"i miss you franco." you said softly, "i'm so proud of you, but i miss our time together. i want you, fuck. anyway i can have you, i just need you, honey." you started to rub your achy clit, your wetness got all over the fabric of your panties and seeped through onto your hand.

the feeling was intense as you two started to pleasure yourselves. franco's phone fell over once and he was quick to move it back as he stroked his cock quickly. pleasure zapped through your bodies, even so much space between you two, you felt the connectivity between you two. the closeness you shared as you masturbated together.

"i missed you too." he groaned, "every day we are apart, it feels like days upon days. i missed you, i missed our home. i miss the way you laugh and how you look when you are asleep. and i know that you think you look ugly when you sleep, but i love it. i love all of you." he groaned as he continued to pleasure himself. his hand fisted his cock as he felt the pleasure leap through his body.

he kept his eyes near glued to the screen by him, the sight of your hands in between your legs. you looked beautiful in a way that words failed him. the usual charming franco colapinto was at a loss for words in regards to your beauty. knowing that you were touching yourself because of him, that you couldn't deny yourself pleasure in regards to your lover.

"you'll be home soon, and when you come home, i'm going to make it special. because you've been working so hard, i miss you. but i'm so proud." you whimpered as you touched yourself further. you could feel the pleasure through your body the more you touched yourself, "i'll make our reunion special, babe. that's a promise." the words were filthy and he loved it, he loved you.

"i'll take care of you, my love." he said softly, "make up for lost time. you and i, you better buy enough groceries for two weeks because we won't be leaving the apartment." he chuckled lowly, "i want to remember every part of you while we are apart."

franco wanted to touch you. he wanted his strong hands up and down your body, he wanted to feel his lover under his touch. he wanted to hit your sweet spot, the spots you couldn't quite reach. he wanted to feel your climax and then kiss your heated skin once you came down from the high. he wanted everything, he was a lover in that way. the kind that wanted you in every capacity. just one of the funner ways was to fuck you.

facetime would just have to make due until he finally got his hands back on you. to see you on the screen masturbating did arouse him greatly. he tensed his grasp around his cock as he continued to let his mouth run with his affection towards you. "you look beautiful, even with that shit camera of your phone. but i know your body anywhere. look at your breasts, your pussy. that look on your face." he purred as he continued to stroke. he could feel the want in his body as he made the pleasure grow in his core.

"how do you like that?" you asked, near pathetic.

"my hand is nothing like you. but, i'll think about when i see you again. two more races and then i am all yours. just as you are mine, right?" he panted heavily as the pleasure raced through him further. he could feel the tension in his body from the intense feeling of it all. his heart hammered and he could feel it down to his feet.

"sweet talker."

he chuckled, "only for you, my love. only you make me act like this. when i'm with you, i lose control. even over a screen, i want you. fuck, i need you." he licked his lips as the pleasure continued to mount in his body. he stroked his cock heavier and let the pleasure wash over him. the thrill of want in his core only grew the more he touched himself. he switched up the pace every so often to keep the pleasure throbbing in his brain.

"i love you, franco." you groaned.

"and i love you." he replied. he watched you through half-lidded eyes as you brought yourself to climax. he said as you panted through climax, "when i come home, you'll get the real thing. i promise." there was a lust to his words that only emboldened you to continued to pleasure yourself through orgasm.

and it excite franco enough to finish as well. he came with a groan and tried to bite back his words getting too loud. williams didn't need to know what he was getting up to tonight. the pleasure washed over him as you teased your clit to the sight of him orgasming.

you soon both stopped your pace and laid out on your respective beds. you brought the phone closer to him and looked at his flushed expression. you giggled and made kissing noises towards the camera which made him laugh a little.

"a few more weeks, my love. then i am back home and i'm back in your arms." he smiled dreamily at you, "i'm thinking maybe, after the season, i can take some of the racing money and we can go somewhere for the holidays. i want to make up for all the time we're apart. what do you say?"

his gesture made your cheeks heat up a little bit. you replied as franco got a good look at your face on the screen, "make me finish harder than i just did. and i'll go anywhere with you."

"then, my love, i suggest you pack your bags." <3

[moonwoodhollow]

Honigtwiete - An Eclectic Townhouse by moonwoodhollow (cc)

My first build download for 2025, and I hope you'll like it! As it's still cold and gloomy - at least where I live - I wanted to create a townhouse that feels warm and welcoming, even a little nostalgic, but mostly cosy. Let your new university students live here until they find their own place or renovate and make this your family home, or have someone live in the (probably) mouldy basement apartment... there are lots of possibilities!

More screenshots, info + download link under the cut!

Building Background

I don't want to bore you too much with any architectural details, but I first took a look around Britechester's debug builds and got inspired by architecture around the Netherlands and Nothern Germany. While the building on the left is quite similar to what you'd see in the old towns of Amsterdam or Bremen for example, the building on the right is not as common, as it's missing a traditional roof, which you'll find usually have with older buildings. For that house, I took a few liberties, so to say and modelled it more closely to houses in Greenwich Village, New York. Architecturally speaking, this doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but it's all about the aesthetics in the end and it's the Sims... so you know, everything's possible!

By the way; Honig is the German word for Honey and a Twiete is an older Nothern German word for street. So the lot would be called Honey St. in English!

So what do you get?

Honigtwiete is a 20x15 lot best placed in Britechester (Honeydew Fields lot) or somewhere else if you feel like it. The lot is set as a residential lot and consists of 2 houses. The house on the left is completely unfurnished and has a basement apartment with separate access from the street. The house on the right is completely furnished. I had the idea to create a townhouse that is partly rented out to students while the owner still lives there, but you're welcome to create your own story or just go with it. Either way, I furnished the townhouse with that idea in mind: the ground floor consists of a living room with a dining area and a kitchen. The 2nd floor belongs to the owner and consists of another living room, a bedroom and an ensuite. The 3rd floor is rented out and has 2 bedrooms with separate bathrooms.

Uses items from the following packs: looks best with almost all packs. But a tip: take a look at the build in the gallery and click on the packs to see the items I used from that pack, it might also look good with fewer packs.

Download: Google Drive (490mb) | or up on the gallery: aeromantica

Is the CC included? Yes.

I want to thank these cc-creators especially since their pieces were integral in making this build come alive: @surely-sims, @baufive, @sforzcc, @awingedllama, @leaf-motif.

@kiwisim4, @bluehopperx, @ccbybudgie, @alexpilgrimblog. Thank you so much for your wonderful cc!

-> Btw. I’m still using DX9, so you might have to do a batch fix if you’re already using DX11.

TOU: Please don’t claim as your own or put behind paywalls etc. If you find any issues please let me know + tag me if you’ll use the building, I’d love to see it in your games.

If you like what I do and want to show your appreciation, I have a ko-fi!

[chrissturnsfav]

can you pls write something about rapper!Chris spoiling singer!reader and when they get home her showing him how thankful she is???

⋆.˚✮ singer!reader is always grateful for rapper!chris' gifts

you’re sat in the passenger seat of chris' matte black maybach, window cracked just enough to let the cool la breeze play with your hair.

he’s got one hand on the wheel, the other tapping his thigh to the beat of the music blasting through the speakers—something unreleased that only you’ve heard. his voice rumbles low, cocky and effortless, rapping over the track as he glances your way with that signature smirk.

"we hittin' dior first," he says, leaning back like he owns rodeo drive itself. "then whatever the fuck else you want, baby."

you try to hide your smile, biting your lip, but he catches you. "why you actin’ shy now? i told you to wild out."

shopping with chris is never just shopping. it’s a whole scene. sales associates trip over themselves the moment he walks in, wearing chains and confidence. you stay close by his side, fingers lightly brushing his, even though you’re used to the attention by now.

he spoils you without a second thought—handing over black cards like candy, telling you to try on everything.

"you look fire in that," he says when you step out of the fitting room, voice low enough that only you hear. "but you already knew that, huh?"

you roll your eyes and chuckle, but your heart flips anyway.

bags fill the trunk by the time you're done, and when you finally pull back up to his mansion, your legs are sore from walking but your energy's still buzzing.

chris grabs all the bags himself, brushing off your attempts to help. "nah, i got it," he says, cocky but sweet. "you jus' look pretty 'n go inside."

inside, you kick off your shoes and follow him into the living room. he dumps the bags on the floor with a heavy thud, sprawling back onto the massive cloud couch.

you drop down next to him, curling into his side without thinking. "thank you," you mumble softly through an appreciative smile, toying with the hem of your top.

he lifts a brow, smirking like he’s about to tease you. "f'what? i ain’t do nothin'."

"for everything," you say honestly, wrapping your arms around his waist. "you always do too much for me."

"ain’t no such thing as too much," he scoffs. "you my girl. you deserve all that."

you sit up just enough to look him in the eyes, a little spark in your chest now. "yeah, but i mean it. i appreciate you."

he pauses, like he wasn't expecting you to get this serious, then breaks into that grin you love—the one that makes your heart skip.

"you’re sumthin’ else," he mutters, shaking his head. "but i fuck wit' it."

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @tessasturns , @coquettechris , @courta13 , @sturniolo101

@chrissturnsfav ™

[strang3lov3]

Boys Will Be Boys

You hit Roman where it hurts. Meaning you fuck his dad as he watches and cries.

Tags - dubcon, girthy age gap (80/???), smut, unprotected piv, fingering, creampie, masturbation, sexual harassment/assault (Roman’s punished for it, and I kept it short and sweet), unsolicited dick pics, roman roy gets cucked by his father, osteoarthritis, hypertension, logan roy dirty talk, logan roy takes viagra, coercion, tears and mucus as lube, almost?subby?romey??? lowkey...logan roy is kinda a fuckin' stud. uhhhhh…idk. kinda grotesque. you have to embrace it. crack fic adjacent, but this is serious business to me. you’ve been warned.

A/N - you know what you’re fucking here for. maybe it’s morbid curiosity. maybe you wanna see roman roy crying while masturbating. maybe…maybe you wanna fuck that old man. it’s ok if you do. i won’t tell on you, you fucking pervert. enjoy Logan Roy screwing your brains out <3 I tagged my romey readers, and while i implore you to be brave, don't feel pressured to read if it's not your thing. @beefrobeefcal thank you for the beta hot stuff! i love you so much.

It’s been happening for a while now.

It was just small things at first. A little comment here and there. He told you that you had nice legs the first time you wore a skirt, said something else about loving a long-legged woman. Then he asked if you shaved for him, too. What else do you shave, huh? Are you bare everywhere? 

The little tattoo on your wrist, usually hidden by your blouse. What’s that about? Got any other tattoos? Perhaps in a more private place? If I guess where it’s at, can I see it?

Oh, the way you got flustered. Your eyes went wide, mouth dropped open a little. Too easy. Roman took that as a challenge - an invitation, rather, to take it up a notch. 

He turned up the heat in his office to a balmy 75℉ the week after that. After each time you’d turn the thermostat down a few notches, Roman would use a little remote he’d point at it to turn it right back up. Must be busted, Roman told you. How about you call maintenance, huh, assistant? Maybe do your fucking job for once?

Roman watched with a crooked smirk on his lips as you slipped off your cardigan, exposing your body to him. That pretty nude camisole. Roman sidled up behind you, fingers skating over your shoulders until he reached the strap of your bra. Your blood went cold as he wriggled his fingers beneath them, then pulled up, up, and snickered as he let them snap your skin harshly. Nobody else had done that to you since junior high.

In the elevator, he stands too close. While riding up the many floors of the tall building, Roman fucking breathes on you, and follows you when you inch away from him. Your skin prickles when he touches your lower back, fingers drumming against you, walking down your waist. He’d first started by testing you with a little pinch on your ass cheek, just to watch you jump and hear that startled little squeak you’d make. He gropes your ass now, squeezing a handful of it, kneading his fingers. He loves the visible discomfort on your face, and knowing you can’t do a goddamn thing about it. Harrassing you is the best part of Roman’s job. It’s why he wakes up in the morning, getting to exert that power over you. It fills him with a sick sense of satisfaction, of delight. 

Your phone is full of photos of his cock. Lawsuit material, if you were brave enough to go up against Roman and Waystar and all of its bells and whistles. Roman tells you his lawyers would eat you alive before you even step foot into a courtroom. 

It was late last Saturday night when Roman texted you a picture of his crotch, cock visibly hard under his slacks, outlined in sharp detail.

10:07 - Got a job for you. Wanna help out the boss?  

Every notification on your phone with Roman’s name attached makes you want to puke. You wish you could ignore him. Block him.

10:07 - No, Roman. 

You waited with bated breath for Roman’s response, the little dancing ellipsis on the screen mocking you as he formulated a text back. How’s he gonna make your day worse this time?

10:08 - Funny how quickly a job can disappear.

Fuck it. Whatever. You sent him as modest of a nude photo as you could muster - panties and bra on, face cropped out. 

10:12 - Cute. Smile this time. Lose the underwear. 

10:32 - Leaving me on read wont work. Nice try tho

10:33 - Five minutes. Don’t make me wait

You sighed in frustration as you stripped, then snapped a photo from above. Legs crossed to hide your pussy, your forearm covering your chest.

10:35 - *fire emoji*

10:35 - *As in I’ll fire you. 

10:35 - Bare tits. Bare ass. Bare pussy. Do it now

With no choice but to comply, and with an awful feeling in your gut, you took more photos. First of your tits, then your ass. Sent and sent. 

10:38 - Forgetting something?

It made you feel even more sick, but you needed him off your back. You spread your legs, pointed the front-facing camera at your cunt, and took the photo, then sent it to Roman. 

10:45 - I bet you’re so tight. Are you wet right now? 

10:45 - Yeah

Playing along. 

10:47 - I wanna be inside you

10:47 - Gonna cover you in my cum

Roman went quiet for a while then, probably ten minutes before texting you back. 

10:58 - I wanna watch you cum for me. 

10:59 - I’ll know if you fake it

He made you send him videos of you masturbating, all different camera angles, different positions. He kept you up until almost three, making yourself come over and over for him. Until he could hear you crying in the videos, your thighs trembling. It was horrible - humiliating, exhausting, so fucking dehumanizing. He sent you pictures of an old cardigan of yours covered in his come at the end of the whole thing. You thought you lost it.

It’s Monday afternoon now. You have a bad feeling when you walk to Roman’s office, seeing that the blinds are drawn over the large glass panes of his windows. You let yourself into the room at his request, and Roman’s sitting on his little gray couch, legs spread wide. He’s palming his bulge, eyes following you as you close the door. You avoid making eye contact with him, something that only serves to challenge him. He straightens, then wordlessly pats the seat next to him. 

“I have those files you asked for, Roman.” 

“Oh, that’s great. That’s really, yeah - awesome. Set ‘em down.” 

You set them on the coffee table, then anxiously drum your fingers on your lap. You steal the littlest glance at Roman sitting next to you; his thumb mindlessly stroking where the hard head of his cock presses against his slacks. 

A heavy silence falls as you process what’s inevitably coming next. Roman unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his pants, then unzips them. He rests his head against the couch as he pulls out his cock, then looks right at you. A lazy smirk pulls at the corner of his lips and his eyes are lidded, darkened with lust in a way that makes him look like an animal. 

Roman lets out a little giggle at the nervous way you fidget your hands. He takes one in his own, holding tightly onto your wrist when you try and pull it back. “Hang on - wait. I like your nails. Pretty, very pretty, sweetheart. I think they’d look nice wrapped around my cock, don’t you?”

You bunch your fingers in a fist, attempting to pull your wrist out of his grip. “N-no, I don’t, Rom–”

“Oh, come on. That’s why you got ‘em fuckin’ done, right?” Roman uses his other hand to pry your fingers open. “Hey, open your fucking - there we go.” He lowers your hand, pressing your palm against his warm package, and his cock looks smaller in person. Just as upsetting, though. 

Roman lets out a quiet, soft groan of pleasure, then turns frustrated when you pull away again. He snaps his fingers at you, “Hey - assistant girl. Isn’t this your job, right? To assist?”

A knock at Roman’s office door has him jumping, and you take the opportunity to get away from him entirely. You leave Roman on that couch, and he’s cursing you under his breath while quickly tucking his cock back into his trousers, watching you do your quick little half-jog out of his office. Fine, be that way. You’ll fucking get it later. 

You don’t have a plan in mind when you begin walking, you just leave. Looking over your shoulder to see if Roman’s following behind you, if he’ll grab you by the forearm and drag you into a supply closet. Do god only knows what to you. Probably fuck you with the end of some maintenance man’s mop.  

You find yourself knocking at Logan’s door, then exhale a shaky breath. You’re not…you’re not sure what you’re doing here. What you’re gonna tell him, if you’re gonna tell him anything. It’s not like he’d do anything about it, right? Logan eyes you through the window, then calls you inside with just a simple wag of his fingers. He looks annoyed, fuck. But when does he not?

Logan’s room is large, and you’re not entirely sure how to navigate, which feels silly. Sounds even sillier to say. You’re not often alone with Logan, and the proximity makes you unsure of yourself. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’ve always felt…something for him. He’s a brute, yes, and you’ve seen the ugliest sides of him. Something about it makes his softer moments that much more profound, though. The tenderness is there, and it shows in quieter times. He winks at you now and then, offers you a smile with no malice or contempt or derision behind it. 

Logan’s got a soft spot for you, too. You’re a sweet girl. He’s always thought so, really. You do what you’re told, and you don’t ask for much. You’re not a bumbling idiot or a nagging fly buzzing in his ear. Easy on the eyes, too. Never hurts.

Logan gestures to a seat in front of his desk and hums a little. “Need a minute,” he mutters as he reads something on the screen. You look at all of his belongings on his desk - papers, folders, a mug. A framed photo of him somewhere warm and beachy, showing off his pale legs and his swollen ankles. 

Finally, he closes the window and smiles at you. His piercing, steel blue eyes pin you in place, but they’re warm too, almost. Warmer than Roman’s. When Roman makes eye contact with you, it makes you feel like prey. Like he’ll hunt you for sport. Not Logan, though. His gaze is heavy, but not hungry. 

Logan claps his fingers together over his thick belly. “What can I do for you, dear?”

“Uhhh…” You cross and uncross your legs as you shift in your seat, then fidget with your manicure, nervously chipping the paint off. You hate this color now. When you look up, Logan’s got his eyebrows raised at you, waiting for you to continue. You don’t want to wear his patience thin. 

“It - I was gonna talk about Roman, but it’s nothing. It’s nothing. I’m not - I don’t need to tattle.” 

“Fuck that. What’s he doing?” Logan demands flatly, immediately, furrowing his brow. 

“No, I shouldn’t have said any–”

Logan interrupts, speaking your name softly. “Tell me.”

You tell him everything about the harassment. How long it’s been going on for, how it started small and just kept escalating and escalating. How fucking relentless Roman is. You show him the texts, the photos, becoming flustered when Logan stumbles across the photos of yourself Roman made you send to him last weekend. Logan quietly hums in approval. 

You tell him about Roman in his office, the stunt he pulled just before now. It feels good to get it off your chest, at least momentarily. The way Logan simply nods, rubbing a hand on his chin makes you feel uneasy, though. A silence hangs heavily as he takes it all in, thinking. 

“What?” The anxiety makes your question slip out rather impatiently. “Sorry, I just - what are you thinking, Mr. Roy?”

Logan scoffs, smiling just a little. “...Didn’t think the kid had it in him.” 

“O-oh. Okay.” 

That’s…that’s it? You wonder if he’s gonna tell you that you were asking for it. Or to buck up. Maybe the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and Logan will be just as cruel to you as his son is. Fuck, you already regret this.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice softer than you expected it’d be. “Truly. I’m sorry my son put you through this. I promise I raised him better, darling. I did my best.”

“No, it’s–” You interrupt yourself to exhale steadily, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” 

“You know,” Logan begins, absentmindedly wiggling his fingers, “You know what it is. Boys’ll fuckin’ be boys.” 

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, you know. Men don’t grow out of boyhood so quickly, anymore, s’all. World’s turnin’ to fuckin’ shit. Unacceptable behavior, the fuckin’ kid’s pushing forty,” he spits, rolling his eyes. “Roman - he’s…well, you know what this is, don’t you? You see through his act, yes?”

You shake your head. “No,” you reply.

“Boys like him, they’ll pick on ya when they’re sweet on you,” Logan explains. “That’s all it is. Usually harmless. Usually,” he adds.

“But, Mr. Roy, I don’t–”

“I know, dear. He’s not your type, is he?”

“No,” you answer quickly, garnering a hearty chuckle from Logan. You laugh too.

“The boy always was an odd duck,” Logan adds, then pauses, thinking. “What is your type, darling, if you’ll forgive my asking?”

“Oh, gosh,” you giggle, feeling Logan’s heavy gaze on your body, your warm face. He knows. He absolutely knows. 

“Older, for one,” you admit. 

Logan smirks, and you share a smile with him. He seems to pick up on everything, knows exactly what the words left unspoken spell out. It’s always girls like you, vibrating with desire for him. No matter how white his hair becomes, nor how much rounder his belly gets, nor every new wrinkle that graces his face as the years stack up - doesn’t change the fact that Logan Roy’s still fucking got it. He reaches for one of his desk drawers, then pulls it open and reaches inside. Logan grabs an orange bottle and rattles out a tiny, blue, diamond shaped pill. His blue eyes twinkle at you as he swallows the pill, then points to the bar cart by the window. “Be a lamb, darling. Some water.”  

Quickly, you grab Logan a glass of water, watching him wash down the pill as you clench your thighs. 

“I need to hit him where it hurts,” Logan says in between sips. “Make it fuckin’ stick this time.” 

Logan shoots Roman a quick text, and you wait anxiously for his arrival. When he finally enters the office, his face falls upon seeing you at his father’s desk, looking…happier than he’d like to see you. You’re sitting up straight, chin held high, shoulders back. Logan’s scowl darkens as he gestures for Roman to sit down, right in the seat next to you. Roman’s hands shake a little as he pulls the seat back and lowers himself into it. 

“What’re we gonna do about you, son?”

“What?” Roman’s brows furrow, and his bottom lip wobbles ever so slightly. “I don’t kn–”

“You a sicko?”

Roman shifts uncomfortably in his seat, realizing this conversation is absolutely not going to go his way. “No, I–”

Logan cuts Roman off, his tone sharp. “She tells me you’ve been harassing her, Roman. Is this true?”

“What? Dad, no. She’s f-fucking lying,” Roman stammers. Roman looks at you then, and you can see how he tries to glare, to scare you, to regain control. He’s powerless here, with you protected by his father. 

Logan reaches for your phone, which is sitting face down on his desk. He turns it on, “Gimme a hand here, darling. Pull it up again.” 

You have to bite down on your smile as you put in your passcode, feeling so empowered at the moment. It’s the moment you’ve been waiting for. Roman’s humiliated you so many times and finally, he’s gonna take what he dishes. And then some.

Logan shakes his head a little, grumbling as he prods the screen with his fat fingers. “Fuckin’ bastard…here. Here it is. S’that your fuckin’ dick?” he sneers, spit flying from his lips. He turns the phone around, showing Roman one of the many, many photos of his own dick on your phone.

Roman freezes, his face turning pale enough to make his freckles vanish. “N–”

“Certainly small enough to be yours. Look–” Logan scrolls through more texts, “This one too, huh?”

“No,” Roman seethes, and it almost makes you giggle, the way he scrambles to lie. So fucking…pathetic. He’s everything Logan’s not. 

“Oh, see? Look at him, darling. He’s squirming.”

Logan reaches for his eyeglasses sitting on his chest, held by a cord that wraps around his neck. He squints a little as he scrolls through your phone, then clears his throat before reading aloud. “‘I bet you’re so tight’,” he reads loudly, droning in a monotone voice. “‘I need to be inside you. You’d look pretty covered in my cum.’ You think this is a fucking compliment?” Logan asks, looking at Roman through his eyebrows.

Roman’s face twists, and he scratches the back of his neck in discomfort. “Dad–”

Logan turns the phone around again, and this time a picture of Roman’s hand is on the screen. Fingers spread, covered in his own come. He scrolls again and the next photo is a picture of Roman himself, licking those fingers. 

“You are a fuckin’ sicko,” he growls.

You and Logan watch Roman shrink into his seat, how he looks like he’d willingly crawl out of his own skin and die, if he could. Logan lets him stew in his discomfort and his shame for a beat, then pats his lap, petting his bulge a little.

Roman watches you round the desk at the same time Logan rolls his chair back, making enough space for the both of you. You sit on Logan’s meaty thighs, watching the color drain from Roman’s lips. “Ope - up a second, dear. C’mon, up, up.” Logan swats your hip gently. You stand up then, and feel Logan’s large, paddle shaped hands slide up your thighs, under your skirt. He reaches for the waistband of your panties before tugging them down, letting them pool at your feet. You step out of them, then sit back down, leaning against Logan’s thick, pillowy belly. 

“Spread your legs,” Logan whispers, helping you part your thighs. Your skirt rides up your body, putting your throbbing cunt on display for Roman. Roman swallows thickly, watching as his father reaches for your center, grunting a little as he stretches. You moan when you feel him touch you, sliding just one, thick digit through your slippery folds. “Oh,” he gasps mockingly, holding out his hand for Roman to see. “See how wet she is, Romulus? Tell him, darling, who are you this fuckin’ wet for?”

“You,” you whimper, turning to speak to Logan. Logan groans, and you feel his thick cock twitch against your backside. “I need you, Mr. Roy.”

“Oh, my dear. Be patient. We’ll get there.”

Logan glares at Roman as he pushes a single finger inside of you, and even that’s a stretch that has you whining. Logan coos in your ear, quieting you as he uses his other hand to unbutton your blouse. He wriggles his fat hand underneath your bra, palming and groping your tits, teasing your nipples with his thumb. “Fuckin’ kid wouldn’t know what to do with a pair of tits like these, now would he, sweetheart?”

“N-no,” you agree, looking right at Roman. Your eyes scan down his body, noticing that - oh, god. He’s fucking hard. He’s trying to hide it, hands covering his crotch. But you see it. You see the way he’s rocking his hips, pressing down on himself to alleviate that pressure a little. 

Logan pumps his finger inside you once, then twice, then adds another. He curls the two rhythmically, noting how it makes Roman squirm. Roman’s making desperate, stifled little noises as he watches his father fingerfuck you, so shamefully, disgustingly turned on by the sight. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, resting your head against Logan’s shoulder. Your eyes flutter shut as you bask in the pleasure, bucking your hips into his palm a little. 

“Ah-ah. Eyes open, darling, and look at Roman. Look, he’s fuckin’ hard for ya. See?” You lift your head a little, looking at Roman through half-lidded eyes. His face is so fucking red, eyes still wild but a little broken, too. All wet and sad. He’s sweating, you can see it glittering at his hairline, the protruding veins in his forehead twitching to match. “He’s making a mess of himself,” Logan adds, pointing to the the wet spot bleeding through Roman’s pants. “Fuckin’ disgusting, isn’t he?”

“Dad,” Roman whispers, voice breaking. “Please, d–”

“Shut the fuck up, Roman,” you snap. You’re melting as Logan now rubs your clit in practiced circles. He’s got decades of experience under his belt. Guided some hundreds of women to orgasm. You’re no different, just as easy as the rest of them.

You whine as Logan pulls his hand away, pushing you forward so he can free his cock from his slacks. He sucks in his belly as he unbuttons his pants, then exhales deeply, thick belly bulging against his thin shirt. Even at the ripe age of eighty, Logan’s cock is long and thick, and everything Roman’s simply is not. You don’t get much of a look at the thick, unruly patch of white pubic hair surrounding the base of his shaft before Logan’s pulling you against him, tapping his dress shoe between your ankles to make you spread your legs. “Show Roman how you take care of his old man, huh? See how he likes that.” He fits the blunt head of his cock against your entrance, then slowly pushes you down with a firm push on your hips. “Ohhh, that’s it, darling. You take it so well.”

The stretch of his cock entering you has you sucking in a sharp breath, then exhaling through that delicious pain. Your cunt pulses around Logan’s cock as you watch Roman free his own dick, desperately pawing at his own length as tears fall from his eyes. He wipes them quickly, then uses the same hand to stroke himself.

“Help a man out, sweetheart. The osteoarthritis…my knees, I–”

“Of course, Mr. Roy,” you coo sweetly, lifting yourself up and down on his turgid, wrinkled member. Logan steadies you with his hands on your waist, guiding you along. Roman lets a little sob escape as he watches his father fuck his massive cock into you, squeezing his own cock so desperately. You giggle at that. 

“Quit - don’t fucking laugh–”

“Hey,” Logan barks, pointing a finger at Roman. “You don’t call the shots here, Roman, I do. I fucking run game,” he growls. Logan squeezes your breasts in both hands as he draws in and out of you, letting out wheezy exhales as his heart rate increases, but he won’t let his hypertension stop him from pleasing you. “Yeah, that’s it, honey. Look at him, fucking his hand. Tell me darling, what do you think of that?” 

“I think - I think he’s fucking pathetic,” you answer, looking right at Roman as you say it. Roman’s face breaks even further, more tears falling from his big, wet eyes. He wipes his eyes and his dripping nose, using the mess on his hand as lubricant as he fucks his fist with a depressing sort of fervor.

“Hear that, son? She thinks you’re fucking pathetic,” Logan taunts. 

“I fuck- oh, fuck,” Roman whimpers, throwing his head back as he desperately works himself. 

“Oh, you’re fuckin’ adopted,” Logan grumbles under his breath. He lifts you up then, and spins you around, then lays you across his desk so you’re looking at Roman upside-down. Logan enters you again in one swift motion, then begins fuckings you with an energy you wouldn’t expect, but that pleasantly surprises you. He’s so spry for an eighty year old. 

“You do so good for me,” Logan praises you. “My idiot son could get fucked like this too, if he weren’t such a fucking screwup. Isn’t that right, Romulus?”

“Y-yeah,” Roman whines. 

“Speak up, Roman. Let her hear you. Actually–” Logan grunts, punctuating the sentence with a brutal snap of his hips “I want you to apologize to her.”

“What?”

“He’s that fuckin’ stupid, huh?” Logan pants, the comment directed at you. “Fucking. Apologize,” he tells Roman. “Do it now.”

“I’m fuckin’ sorry. Okay?”

“Again, Romulus,” Logan demands, annoyed. “Louder.”

Roman tells you he’s sorry again, and it makes you smile. His voice all high-pitched and broken. Good, it’s about fucking time he’s taken down a peg.

“Tell her again,” Logan says. “Like ya fuckin’ mean it, Roman. And you don’t stop apologizing until she comes. Are we fucking clear?”

Roman nods frantically, pumping his cock as he whines, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

His words go right to your core. Logan fucks you harder, and licks his thumb before bringing it to your clit. He uses those same practiced circles from before to coax along your release, and it’s not long before you’re pulsing around his cock, moaning Roman’s father’s name as you come hard, all that pleasure washing over you as Roman whispers how fucking sorry he is. 

With a few harsh thrusts, Logan’s spilling into you next, coming with a deep, guttural grunt and wheezing breaths, a sharp pain in his chest. It’s all fucking worth it. He reaches into his pocket and tosses you his handkerchief, then excuses himself, mumbling something about needing his supplemental oxygen. 

You sit on Logan’s desk as Roman strokes himself to completion, sobbing as he gets off to the sight of your puffy, swollen cunt, ruined by his own father, and dripping with his spend. He makes a mess of himself as he comes, “Here, Rome–” you offer, tossing your used cumrag at him. 

“Get that - fuck,” Roman cries, swatting it away. He sobs as he comes down from his orgasm, unable to even look at you as you put yourself back together. 

“It’s smaller in person,” you murmur, touching Roman on the shoulder before leaving. He flinches at that, then breaks down in tears again as he shoves his softening cock back into his pants. “See ya tomorrow, boss.”

if you enjoyed, please shout at me 🩷💕 comments, rb, or go to my inbox. I turned anons back on because I know a handful of freaks will need to scream about their horniness but would prefer to do so anonymously.

romey tags

@goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout

@galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson @moth-maam56

@kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink @romanarose

@kappasbbgirl @magpiepills @highinmiamiii @verstappensrealwife @thesummerpetrichor

@lilipads @luiscarrutherss @baronessvonglitter @myromeow

@ovaryacted @doll-0f-flesh @always-andromeda @causesimmer @pedropascalbabygirl

@baloobalee @slimybeth69 @pearlstiare @romanisbrat @callsignwidow @ziggymars

@perpetuallymanic @111melo @veryverycoolgirl @marisemonteiroo

@prettybpdgirl @butuhaventseenmyman @drunkdriverkillerwhale @fawnjaw @/fadedviolets

[goldendiie]

Tagged by @praxcrown5 -- Sorry it took so long for me to do this!

Last Song: Vanilla by Flipturn

Last Book: The Apothecary's Wife by Karen Bloom Gevirtz. I'm taking a history of medicine course this semester-- VERY interesting read if you're into that sort of thing! (and it's not even written by a historian!)

Last Movie: Empire Strikes Back. Been rewatching Star Wars with my partner!

Last TV Show: Probably Game of Thrones. I don't tend to watch too much TV.

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: Sweet!

Relationship: going steady!

Fav color: Probably light blue at the moment! Otherwise I'm a big fan of neutrals.

Last internet search: On JSTOR (because that's all I seem to do anymore): "((haight ashbury) AND (communes))"

Tags (i don't know ten people): @alienfromwesternmars @kisskissfallindebt @gaybullracing @cars-at-the-bahamas & anyone else who wants to play!

"10 people I’d like to know better" game

@anime-grimmy tagged me so why not joining XD

Last song: Madness in Me (Skillet)

I have an addiction to that song fr

Last book: I read more comics than anything, the last one I’ve read was the Yu-Gi-Oh! Manga

Last movie: Sonic Movie 3 and it was an absolute blast💥

Last game: It’s been a while since I played videogames (I know shame on me), the last one I completed was Super Mario Galaxy (goated game)

Last TV show: Mob Psycho 100! I need to watch season 3✨

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: Savory

Relationship: Happily Aroace lmao

Fav colour: Dark Blue

Last internet search: "Something to Protect OST from Yu-Gi-Oh! Arc V"

Tags:

@magpieddd @vbnhuet @giuliagt-art @itsmeaxumii @doweesig @chaotic-deity @pixie-yuni @natsuko-the-mun @m4dumy @unknownpov19

[ldydeath]

Let's Make This Count | Kang Dae-ho

Summary: You've entered into Squid Game to help pay off some debts, not expecting your best friend, Daeho to be there. You both will do anything to proect each other, no matter the cost.

Warnings: Typical squid game stuff.

Author's Note: This is my first time writing Dae-ho. If you'd like to be tagged in future fics of his, please let me know.

Life has been hard lately, which is why when you’d been presented a chance at fixing at least one of those things, you’d jumped at the chance. You however, hadn’t been expecting this to be a game of death. You’d heard player 456’s cries to listen to him at the start of the game, but like everyone else you had ignored him. That was until that girl moved during red light, the chaos that had ensued after that had you praying to gods you didn’t believe in to keep yourself safe. You’d been in Squid Game for a few hours now and already had the blood of your competition splattered over you. You were definitely in over your head and needed to get out. 

Thankfully, the pink suits had announced a vote and you prayed everyone would agree to send you home. You’d been standing for what felt like hours waiting for your number to be called, listening to play 456 plead with everyone to leave the games. He’d been here before so you were definitely going to take his advice. Once your number was called you made your way quickly to the front, voting to go home. You may have needed money, but you’d find another way. You weren’t going to die over some debt.

As you were putting your x badge on your jacket your eyes caught sight of a familiar, gorgeous face and your breath caught in your throat. No. He couldn’t be here. Why was he here? Daeho’s eyes met yours and his brows crinkled in confusion. You shook your head and made your way to your spot. There were too many people around to talk comfortably yet and you weren’t exactly sure it was safe to announce that you knew someone else in the games. That mother and son duo seemed to be the only exception to that rule, and you weren’t about to chance it. After play 001 voted, the pink soldiers announced that there would be another game in the morning, panic rising in your body.

Trying to act normal, you turned to head towards your bunk when you felt a hand on your arm “don’t touch-“ you let out a breath, thankful you didn’t have to fight for your life when you came face to face with your best friend. “What are you doing here?” He hissed, panic in his eyes. You shrugged out of his grip, crossing your arms defensively. “I needed money. What are you doing here?” 

His hand went to his hair, fixing the bun that sat on top of his head and nodded in the direction of some empty bunks.  “I also needed money, why else would I be here?” You raised a brow as you followed him towards the private spot. You wanted to know what he could possibly need money for, but Daeho was so private you knew you’d never get that answer. Even if you were his best friend. “You shouldn’t be here, Dae.” You sighed as you leaned against the wall. 

You couldn’t protect your best friend, not from this.  After Daeho enlisted in the Marines you had a never ending supply of worry in your body for him. Constantly fearing the worst, him being here was going to distract you from staying alive. Your heart raced at the thought of either of not making it out and your eyes found his. “I can’t lose you.” It came out as a whisper but you knew he’d heard you as he moved closer to you.

His hand moved to cup your cheek, “Come on, I’m a Marine, I’ve got this. And I’ve got you. We’re going to get out  of here. I promise.” You nodded, moving to lean your head on his chest. You knew it would be bad if anyone caught you panicking but as Daeho's hands wound around your body you allowed yourself to take a few minutes to collect yourself. Perhaps it wasn’t normal to feel so much comfort from a friend, but you weren’t ready to dive into those feelings, not yet. “We don’t die.” He murmured against your hair. “We don’t die.” You repeated. He grinned at you before walking you over to your bunk, making sure nobody messed with you as you got sleep. 

The next game was a team game, Daeho took the lead in finding you a group, being the friendlier person in your duo. You’d somehow managed to end up with player 456 and player 001. You said a nervous hello and stuck close to your best friend. After you completed your task perfectly, the team cheated, Daeho pulling you in for a quick side hug as you marched forward. For a second, with his arm wrapped protectively around you, you almost forgot that you were fighting for your life inside these games. 

After the game had ended you stood with your newly found team, waiting for the next vote. You had all agreed to vote to go home again so when it was your turn to vote, you proudly hit that x and put the badge on your jacket. Almost as if on instinct, Daeho moved to stand next to you as you awaited the rest of the votes. As the final four players made their way to the front, your hand reached out, grabbing his, he gave you a squeeze in response. Your heart raced at the touch and you looked down at your entwined hands before meeting your best friends’ eye.

So, maybe you had a crush on your best friend, maybe that was why you were so afraid to lose him. Either way, this wasn’t the time to start admitting your feelings, so when he smiled at you you smiled back and pushed those thoughts down, hoping that these votes would go in your favor and you’d be able to go home. A groan rang out amongst your peers and you looked up to see that there was only one vote left and you’d lost. Your mouth hanging open in shock as you turned back to Dae.

Another game? Why would anyone want to stay here? “Let’s Go!” someone shouted from across the room and you looked around spotting the purple haired man high fiving his friend. Of course he’d be excited to stay. “Hey, look at me.” Daeho’s hand was under your chin moving your gaze back to him, your heart racing as you locked eyes. Daeho had always been in tune with your mood, and would do anything in his power to keep you calm and safe. You were the most important person in his life and even in a game of literal life and death he was going to do whatever it took to make sure you weren’t living in constant fear. “We’ll get through this one together too, okay?” You swallowed the lump in your throat refusing to let the rest of your team see you so defeated and nodded. “Yeah.” You agreed. 

“Let’s go get some food and talk strategy for the next time.” He held his hand out for you, a reassuring grin on his face and you eagerly took his hand following him to your new found team. You weren’t sure you wanted to be close to anyone else in the game, but you also knew you couldn’t keep Dae alive without some help so you were going to do whatever it took to keep him alive, even if that meant making nice with people who all had one goal in mind. You scooted closer to Daeho, your hand resting on his leg and he grinned at you as he started eating his food. You didn't care if you made it out of here or not, so long as he did.

[arolesbianism]

I received a vision and had to doodle it immediately

[nyxelestia]

I have an addition to this but that will require some addendums / additional points.

This got a lil long so I threw the rest under the cut but tl;dr

The interrelation and complexity of marginalized identities irl makes authors' usage of them as protective labels on content counterproductive and discourages community and empathy.

Either don't mention your identity, or at most save it for the author's note instead of the tag when it's a contribution instead of a protection.

We don't need to hide what parts of ourselves inform our writing, but we do need to avoid normalizing the sharing of personal information to justify writing choices.

Too Long But Reading Anyway:

I know the degradation of privacy is getting normalized everywhere else on the Internet, but that sounds like all the more reason to avoid dragging that new norm into fandom.

A lot of this comes from the fear of making mistakes in public. After all, many fans (especially young one) grew up with the hyper-awareness that damn near their entire lives -- or at least their entire lives since entering social media -- would be documented and therefore could be dragged up from the depths of the past and used against you. People are trying to achieve "perfection" not for a sense of superiority, but a sense of safety; "if I do everything right, no one can call me out." I'm telling you right now, bullies don't work that way. They'll find a way to twist anything and everything into harassment campaigns. It is much better to be willing to write outside your lived experiences, to learn and grow, to own up to any mistakes you do make, and be ready to tell anyone who tries to castigate you for mistakes you didn't make to go screw themselves.

A lot of these identities are fluid. Maybe you're still trying to figure out your sexuality or gender, maybe you'll convert religions, maybe you'll discover something new about your heritage, maybe you will be able to treat your disability such that you won't have it in the future, etc. The fact that your identity might change in the future doesn't change your past, so it doesn't affect why you are putting that label for yourself on a fic…but, it does mean that if some bully wants to cause you trouble, they can absolutely turn around and use this against you. Just throwing this out there as a follow-up to both the first and the second points.

Being close to or part of a marginalized group doesn't give you carte blanch to write whatever you want. You can absolutely be part of a marginalized group and also perpetuate stereotypes or problematic tropes. (e.x. Transformative fandom is heavily dominated by women, yet so much of the het fanfiction is also saturated with sexist or downright misogynistic tropes. Obviously, being part of the marginalized identity group didn't help anyone writing that marginalized identity group. This is just the most prolific example but hardly the only one.) And that's if your own marginalization really matches the character's to begin with. Some axes of marginalization are incredibly vast (ethnic experiences and disabilities come to mind) and encompass a wide variety of identities, so being part of one doesn't give you magical insight into all the rest.

I feel like this also ignores the way identities and marginalization experiences intersect with each other. If we're so focused on labels for one identity, we end up discarding the others. This applies even when thinking about fictional characters in completely fictional settings. Most of these settings will, to varying degrees, reflect our real world. By using an identity label for only one aspect of a character's in-universe identity that happens to reflect a real world identity, what does this about all their other in-universe identities that reflect real world identities?

Circling all the way back to OP's point (sorry for the hijacking!):

Fandom is made up of communities. That doesn't sound like much on the surface when everyone uses that as a buzzword, but what I mean is that fandom isn't an institution or object that exists without people participating in it. Fandom is the participation, fandom is the interaction, fandom is the mutual connections fans build with each other. The 'mutual' there is important; a lot of social media makes it very easy for people to feel like they are friends with someone, when that other person barely knows them or doesn't know them at all. (The word is "parasocial relationships" if you wanna learn more.)

The "Author Is X" tag is about the author as an individual. Sharing facets of yourself as an individual isn't an inherently bad thing. Sometimes, we're proud of that and want to share that; or our specific experience is relevant to the specific story we're telling; or we want to make others with the same identity who feel alone know that they can reach out to us. These are all ways that sharing part of your identity with your audience can build a community. (Hell, even just writing out this long ramble right now, I find myself debating whether or not I should mention my own ethnic heritage on the fanfic where my heritage is influencing the way I'm worldbuilding.)

But using it as a justification or as a defensive measure is inherently contradictory to the spirit of community and the pursuit of empathy. It's implying that an individual author is supposed to be on their own and only relying on their knowledge and experience to write something; or that the author who already wrote something had no input from people around them. Quite frankly, that's never true. It's extremely rare for someone to just start writing fanfic without some semblance of community, even if it's literally just the single fandom friend. (Never mind the fact that fanfic by default always has at least two creators, the author of the fic and whoever made the canon thing that the fanfic is about.)

When we ask each other how our various experiences affect our lives, that is a connection we are building. When we ask multiple friends for their various inputs, for the different ways they experienced the same marginalization as their identity, for the ways a marginalized identity might have impacted their lives (even if that identity wasn't their own), all of that is building connections and thus building a community. These are threads of empathy fans build with each other.

And we should be doing more of that.

One trend on ao3 that I feel uneasy about is the increased use of “author is trans” “author is disabled” “author is ace” etc tags.

On the one hand I can understand how it can feel like a reassuring sign for readers who are trans/disabled/ace etc that their lives are less likely to be misrepresented in that fic because the writer has lived experience.

But at the same time, when we’re writing fanfiction—about kids who can manipulate the force of the waves, about necromancy, about flying on dragons—I think the suggestion that you need to have lived experience to write sensitively about something is so limiting.

Like if we aren’t exercising the full force of our imaginations and empathy in fanfiction, where exactly are we doing it?

It also makes me sad because sometimes you can tell from the nervousness of the author’s note that the writer felt they had to justify their writing with their lived experience. And I don’t think you should feel ethically obligated to gesture toward personal and often painful aspects of your identity to justify writing you do in your spare time that makes you happy.

Some of the best fics I’ve read about disability have been written by authors that didn’t have experience with that exact condition and did heartfelt research and really let themselves inhabit it. And I think that’s a bravura display of empathy and the very best that fiction can offer: caring about a character enough, and caring about your readers enough, that you want to understand what it’s like.

Sometimes friends have asked me about my visual disability to better understand Zuko for their stories, and I’ve always found it really moving. It means they care so much about the fictional world that they want to get the real world right too. It means they’re learning and growing so they can make stories about disability.

It means they love the show, and it means they love me.

[runninriot]

was tagged by the lovely @sidekick-hero to share a snippet of something out of context 🖤

   “Why do you even care?” There’s no bite in his question, none of the frustration and anger he feels inside. Eddie sounds pathetic, like he’s desperate for attention, for someone to tell him he’s worth the struggle.

   “Because,” Harrington takes another step forward, “I know you can do better. And I hate to see you throw away your life for nothing but an act.”

Eddie swallows roughly, feels his heart rate pick up. Mostly deaf to his words, he can only focus on the movement of Harrington’s pretty pink lips. It’s distracting, and it must be obvious, because one hand comes up to grab him by the back of his neck, giving him no other chioce but to look into a pair of green-speckled eyes.

  “Always pretending it’s all about ‘fucking authority’ when the real problem isn’t authority, it’s you not being able to follow the simplest rules.”

Eddie feels heat spread where the broad palm is splayed across his neck. Heat pooling in his lower half, too, where something stirs, and pulses, and rattles at invisible bars.

This is bad. He should probably tell the older man to let go, should bring distance between him and the coach, but he’s stuck. Feels trapped despite having every possibility to step back, walk away, run if he must but he can’t.

Because he doesn’t want to.

   “Make me,” he grits through his teeth, fists curled at his sides to keep his hands from trembling.

   “You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Harrington chuckles, low and vibrant, and Eddie can barely swallow the noise that tries to slip from his throat.

    Fuck. FUCK!

Why is this so hot? Doing things to Eddie he won’t be able to hide much longer, not if his body betrays him.

   “Want me to tell you what to do, is that it?”

    No.

    Yes?

Eddie’s mind is reeling; he’s fighting for clarity, needs to get level, needs to get out before he does something stupid.

   “What makes you think I’d listen?”

    Shut up. God, you fucking dumbass, just SHUT UP!

That has always been Eddie’s problem, hasn’t it. He just can’t keep his big, stupid mouth shut. Has heard others complain about it so many times before but did he learn? No. So, here he is again, talking himself into trouble rather than out of it. And this time, he can't even blame anyone but himself.

   “Don’t challenge me, Eddie.”

    Oh, but he does. Can’t stop himself from taking yet another step forward. One step that brings him way too close to the man whose hand suddenly tightens in his hair, pulling enough to make it sting.

   “This is your last warning.”

There’s something dangerously dark in his voice and his eyes but not enough to scare Eddie off, to make him stop. He should, obviously, but he can’t shake the feeling that they both want something else instead.

It’s stupid, risky, wrong. So, so wrong. But when has Eddie ever made smart choices?

   “I said- MAKE. ME.”

tagging (no pressure, all love) @steddie-island @steddieas-shegoes @adverbally @yesdangerpls @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe

@hotluncheddie @mugloversonly @queenie-ofthe-void @scoops-aboy86 in case you want to share something 🖤

[patchs-curiosity-corner]

𝑳𝒆𝒕 𝑴𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒀𝒐𝒖 | 𝑺.𝑹. 

𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝟏𝟓𝐭𝐡 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟕 - 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒉

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: A new member is added to the BAU soon after Reid’s kidnapping. She seems determined not to overlook him.

𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: angst, hurt/comfort, slight arguing, themes of drug addiction and self harm, referenced overdose, likely inaccurate depiction of drug addiction/withdrawal, Spencer and Reader being insecure.

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 2.5k

𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓’𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: Fair warning this could be horrible. It’s part one of hopefully six total oneshots stemming from the concept of ‘5 times you help Spencer Reid heal, and one time he helps you.’ So, heart attack levels of cheese. Largely inspired by my righteous fury when no one helped Reid with his addiction. I will do a tag list for anyone interested in being alerted when part 2 comes out! Not proofread.

𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

You and Spencer Reid don’t get along.

Maybe that’s the wrong way to put it; it would be more accurate to say that he doesn’t get along with you. You were brought on a month ago, 36 days 4 hours and 27 minutes had passed since you had first walked into the bullpen and given him one more person to deal with. It didn’t help that you were sweet, gentle and understanding in a way seemed to grate on his already frayed nerves. You’re 22, but only recently, recently enough to have just barely squeaked out the title of “youngest member to join the BAU” that had previously belonged to him. It’s a childish record, he’s a 25 year old man, and it shouldn’t affect him much less upset him, but it does. 

Your presence feels like a personal insult. Your arrival so soon after his kidnapping churns his stomach, makes him wonder if the team is questioning his capabilities as a profiler. Why else would they need to suddenly hire an extra person? Not-so-deep down he knows that logically, it probably had to do with the recent increase in the units budget. Nothing to do with him, but rather Hotch taking advantage of the opportunity to have another pair of boots on the ground during cases. None of that matters though, because Spencer doesn’t feel very logical right now.

He’s found more little ways to justify his distaste for you in the weeks since your arrival. The way you always seem to smile and nod along with his ramblings, despite the fact they’re not directed at you. You must be mocking him, he concludes, secretly patronizing him for his inability to shut up. Or the way you look at him after learning about his recent… ordeal with Tobias Hankel, the gentle sympathy in your eyes he willingly misinterprets as pity. He hates being pitied. He hates being patronized. He hates the analytical way you always seem to look at him, and he almost immediately convinces himself that above all: he hates you.

———

Something’s up with Reid.

You’d noticed it from day one, but it had been easy to disregard as growing pains. After all, with Emily having only joined months before you, you were sure there was going to be a bit of an adjustment period, especially when the sting of losing one of their previous teammates was still so fresh. You’d heard so many good things about Elle from everyone, and you’d be lying if it didn’t make you feel even a little bit insecure as the greenest among them.

It takes about a week for you to realize there’s something more to his behavior than awkward aloofness. The way he wears long sleeves even as the cool air of spring grows warmer, the near-constant twitch in his brow, and especially the way he seems to constantly fidget with those aforementioned sleeves, scratching nervously at his inner elbow. Even just the way his wiry fingers tighten around the strap of his bag, you can’t shake it.

Something is terribly wrong.

You try to remain casual, asking after him when he disappears into the bathroom for a touch too long, or when he takes a sick day that even as the newbie you know is out of character. Innocuous little questions like: “Is Reid alright?” or “Does he seem paler lately?” that gleaned no real answer from any of their teammates. It made you furious. Spencer was a part of their team, part of their family, regardless of his icy attitude towards you. So why wouldn’t any of them help him?

You watch him deteriorate over time, in the 36 days you’d spent on the team you’d been silently festering, mentally begging someone to do something, anything for Reid. Help him! your eyes beg Morgan, Hotch, Gideon, JJ, anyone. He’s going to die like this…

…but no one does, and enough is enough.

———

Spencer can’t eat, he can’t sleep either. Whenever he tries to his mind is filled with the memory of the horrible night he spent with Hankel, his crystal clear eidetic memory forcing him to relive that torture again and again the moment he closes his eyes. He knows there must be dark circles under his eyes, that his cheeks are likely sunken and pale, eyes rimmed red from lack of sleep. He’s certain the others must have noticed, there’s no way they couldn’t. But he tries to convince himself they haven’t, because if they had and no one had checked on him? …He doesn’t want to consider that reality.

The soft rapping of knuckles against his door stirs him out of his sleepless daze. It’s late, late enough that no one in their right mind would be awake right now, much less knocking on his door. In his drained state he heaves himself off the couch, plodding with weighted feet over to the door of his apartment. He doesn’t bother to check the peephole, if he did maybe he wouldn’t have been so startled by who he sees upon pulling open the door.

You.

A travel bag slung over your shoulder and a determined look set on your features. You both just stand there for a moment, until your voice breaks the silence.

“Hi.” It’s just one word, but it tugs at something inside him he can’t quite name.

“Hey.” He croaks back apathetically, or at least he tries to. Before he can say anything else or even question what you’re doing you push past him into his apartment, tossing your bag onto his kitchen island. “What the hell-“ Is all he manages to get out, irritation swelling in his chest as he scowls at your form, looking at him with arms crossed, fingers picking at the frayed edges of your sweater.

And just like that it’s quiet again. It’s his voice that breaks the silence this time, quiet and tired: “What are you doing here?”

“Make sure you don’t die, hopefully.” you murmur, your own voice cracked by anxiety and a frail attempt at humor. “Where are they?” That makes his jaw tighten, you both know what you’re talking about, and it causes long-suppressed frustration to boil up in his chest.

“You have no right to be here. You- you have no right to look through my things.” The words are gritted out through teeth clenched so tight you worry they may crack. It’s painful, watching him fight so hard against the help you’re trying to offer.

“Look, Spencer” you sigh, unable to hide the pained expression of your own face, “Hotch knows. I talked to him about it.” You brace for something, anything. Maybe shouting, you seriously doubted Reid would ever consider laying a hand on you but… drugs did funny things to those you would have thought you knew. “S-so you either let me help you, or I’ll be forced to report your current addiction to Strauss.” Your voice had wavered at the beginning, but the more you spoke the more conviction bled into your voice. Soon all the pent up anxiety and worry for your brilliant coworker was pushing you forward, fueling your words. “I won’t stand by Spencer, because if you keep going like this it’s not a matter of if but when it kills you, and that is the last thing I would ever want because you are too damn good for that.”

Reid glares at you, every ounce of misplaced anger in his system directed at you alone in a gaze far more furious than you or anyone thought him capable of. Then his shoulders slump, and that tired, worn appearance returns. He could deny it, claim you had no proof, but with no energy left in his tired, broken body- He didn’t have it in him to lie. When Spencer finally speaks it’s quiet, and reluctant.

“In the bathroom,” his voice croaks, “Inside the medicine cabinet.”

He would have expected you to immediately go there, to play the role of drill sergeant for his sudden makeshift rehab, but you don’t. Instead your own shoulders sag, and in a number of slow steps you cross the room to where he stands, wrapping your arms tightly around his middle. Spencer goes stiff at first, unable to process the sudden display of affection, why this girl seems to care so much about him when he’d been nothing but distant to her at best. After everything he’s been through though -even with his germaphobia- it’s impossible not to relax into the embrace, his own slender arms wrapping around you in return. It’s nice to be held again, he thinks.

“This is going to be awful.” You mumble against his chest, “A week and a half, that’s all Hotch could give us. Far as anyone’s concerned I had a family emergency and you’re on a mandated sabbatical.” It takes him a minute or so to process her words, stuck in the haze of affection after going to long without.

“…what are you talking about?” Reid asks, his voice is quiet. He can’t understand why you care so much, he just needs you to go away now, before he gets addicted to your presence as well. Before something happened to you and you left; like his Mother, like Elle.

“Getting you clean.” You say hesitantly, finally pulling away from him after what felt like a peaceful eternity. “Under normal circumstances quitting outright is a terrible idea, but-“ you swallow thickly- “you’re a federal agent, so there’s a clock ticking.”

“And your plan is…?” Spencer sighs, running a heavy hand through his hair and down his face. He tries to ignore the feeling that lingers, the ghost of you in his arms.

“Stay with you through the inevitable withdrawals, I hope.” The words are tentative, not as confidant as before while you pick nervously at the sleeve of your sweater. “The first thing I have to do is get rid of all the Dilaudid in this apartment.”

His body goes rigid again, this time with the flash of panic that goes through him at your words. Hands clenching and jaw tightening, the thought of losing the thing he’d come to rely on so desperately makes him terrified. Part of Spencer wants to say ‘no,’ to stop you- beg you not to let what gave him peace drain away… But he just can’t muster the energy, forced to watch in dejected silence as you conduct a thorough search of his apartment for the offending drug -his only comfort and companion in these past two months- and dispose of it, all in a few moments. Gone.

Once you’re finished, you settle yourself on his warm, comfortable couch, letting out a quiet sigh as you wave him closer. “C’mere.”

Reid lets himself be touched for the second time that night, accepting your offer and laying his head on your lap. He’s quickly hit with a hazy feeling as your fingers slide into his hair, playing gently with the chocolate strands and scratching lightly at his scalp.

“Are you angry with me?” You ask softly after a moment, concerned by the silent treatment he was currently giving you. Again he can’t lie to you, even compared to the unwillingness to admit his fear and anger. In an act of petty rebellion he refuses to look at you when he answers.

“…yes.”

“That’s alright.” He hears you reply, as soft and gentle as everything else you had been so far. “You can be angry, Spence.”

“Why are you even here?” He bites back, a storm of emotions behind his eyes as he finally looks up at your face: anger, sadness, confusion, fear. The brilliant ‘boy-genius’ reduced to an absolute mess.Your answer is just as easily spoken and simple as before: 

“Because I care about you.” Those five words ring in his head even as you continue. “Because despite how we started out you are an incredibly genuine person, Spencer, and probably one of the most brilliant minds I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.” Spencer shakes his head, for once lost for words. Why were you here, being so nice to him? Why did you even care in the first place when he had been so cold and hostile to you over the past month. 

“I don’t- you shouldn’t care.” He spits out, turning away from her. The action feels petulant.

“But I do.” You say a hint of amusement in your voice despite the circumstances. “And you can’t stop me from caring.”His face feels hot, and his jaw clenches again as he rolls back over to hide his face in your stomach. Reid mumbles in a voice almost too low to hear: 

“You’re frustrating.” It makes you laugh.

“Don’t worry Reid,” you say through your laughter, “the feeling is definitely mutual.”

———

The next week is just as brutal as you had both been expecting.

Spencer didn’t know what he expected drug withdrawal to be like. He’d read plenty of textbooks sure but they did nothing to prepare him for a firsthand experience. The only way he can think of to describe it is pure, unadulterated misery. His body struggles without consistent doses of Dilaudid to keep him going, it’s evident he had become much more dependent than he realized in a short amount of time. He can’t eat, he feels violently sick. Too hot one moment and freezing the next with his emotions following much the same kind of roller coaster.

You stay through all of it, keeping him comforted during panic attacks and soothing his fevers with a cool washcloth as you try to get him to drink just a little more water, even if it may come back up minutes later. You’re tired, exhausted even, and yet you won’t leave Spencer’s side for more than a second. It’s easy to endure the moments of anger he has, shouting and cruel words flung in your direction are hardly any price at all if it means he might recover faster. He doesn’t understand how you take it, all the snapping, screaming and crying. Reid takes out every anxiety and fear he has on you, and still you remain in the end, ready to let him fall into your arms again and cry like a child.

He feels guilty, ashamed even in this state. An overwhelming feeling of helplessness weighs heavy on his heart, but little by little, things do get better, even if he doesn’t notice at first.

It must be the 8th day of this hell when he realizes that slowly, far too gradually for him to notice: things have returned to something oddly adjacent to normal. Sitting at his kitchen table with a cup of warm honey tea in his hands, watching you hum along to the radio while you prepare breakfast… Spencer almost feels human again. Things weren’t perfect by any means, his hands still trembled, the ghosts left behind by the worst of it all still tugged at his mind, a familiar voice begging him for just one more hit. But the voice is tiny now, easier to ignore. It was strangely peaceful, in fact, the way he could sit at this table and observe the domestic scene of you cooking breakfast in his kitchen. His chest warms pleasantly, and for what feels like the first time in years:

Spencer can finally breathe.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

compos mentis 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: my head is fucked

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Andy brings you breakfast in bed. You can't help but feel the guilt rippling off him. All of this is penance on his part. 

It's as close to vindication as you'll get. You're mother would never admit what she did, let alone apologise. That's when you see her again. You're not so sure you ever want to. 

The world is distant. It doesn't feel quite real. It's like a dream. The edges aren't quite sharp enough and the colours are cloudy. 

You look down at the plate and your stomach grumbles out of basic need. You don't have much appetite but your biology is at a constant battle with your mind. You shouldn't be able to breathe but you are, you should take your meds but you don't feel all that different.  

A poached egg, whole wheat toast, turkey bacons, and thick greek yogurt with fruit. It's all very healthy but a bit more than you would eat, when you feel up to it. Your breakfasts are a hard-boiled egg or a small cup of hot oats and milk. 

"I hope it's okay," he hovers at the foot of the bed. He's dressed already. You're less than put together. You're still groggy from a grief-laden sleep and the hangover of the bitter revelation. You wear his borrowed shirt and gym shorts, your messy hair untamed despite your efforts.  

"I called in to the office. I don't think I could focus of I tried," he explains. "And there's too much to be done here." 

"There is?" You nibble the toast. 

You'd hoped for some time alone. Not to think, just to be. You're still lost in all of this. The anger, the hurt, the regret, the confusion, and shame... 

"Sweetie, you don't have any clothes. I have a spare toothbrush for you but it's a travel one from a hotel. And you'll need everything else, right? Soaps and whatever." 

"Oh, I... I don't... my mom has all my money..." you utter and deflate again. You put down the toast. Your stomach is roaring but you just want to puke again.  

"I'll deal with that. Don't worry. She's not as clever as she thinks." He puts his hands on his hips. He does that when he's upset. He used to argue with your mom and stand like that. "Please, eat. Your clothes should be dry soon." 

"My clothes?" 

"I threw them in the wash for you--" his sentence is punctured by the doorbell. His jaw ticks. "I'll deal with that. Probably Mrs. Potter trying to give me more casserole." 

He leaves and you put your focus on the plate. You shouldn't just eat because you're hungry, you should eat because he went to all this effort. You pick up a slice of toast and break through the soft yolk. 

You eat deliberately. Chewing slowly, methodically. A shrill yowl tightens your throat around a swallow. You know that shriek. 

You carefully slide the tray forward and balance it on the legs as you angle out from beneath. You go to the window and try to see past the eaves and awning. You can't. Only the police cruiser and a familiar car... 

You listen. The noise wafts in from the bedroom door. You follow it and peer down at the front door. It's muffled but clearly coming from the porch. 

You twist the handle nervously and open the door a crack. You can't see past Andy as he stands staunchly on the mat, arms crossed. You glance an officer's belt with the radio attached and your mother's snarl lashes you like a barb. 

"He has my daughter. She's sick--" 

"She's an adult," Andy insists. "I'm not holding her against her will." 

"She can't-- I am her legal guardian. She can't be here on free will, genius." 

"Ma'am," a stern female voice warns. "Sir, where is the daughter?" 

"She's sleeping." He lies. 

You let the door fall inward. You don't want to be in trouble. No one seems to notice. You stall and shiver on the threshold. It isn't cold, you're just scared. 

You make yourself step out. There's not much room. As Andy stands like a wall. You peek around him. 

"Hi," you murmur. 

"My baby," your mother throws her hands up and comes forward. Andy moves to block her. "You can't keep me from my girl-- where is her oxygen? Officers, she needs air!" 

“No, I don’t,” you say, quiet but firm. 

Your mother flinches but doesn’t relent, “he’s manipulated her. I can call the doctor right now and you’ll see. She hasn’t been without her tank in years. She could die--” 

“That’s not true,” you murmur. 

“Ma’am,” the female officer warns. “Let her speak.” 

You look around with wide eyes, taking in the full scene. Andy stands just behind you, you can hear him exhale. A male officer is on the other side of your mother. You open your mouth then shut it. 

“Sweetie,” your mother reaches for you and you shy away. 

“Alright, Jackson, you stay here, I’m going to talk to her. Alone,” the female officer says. She reaches out and waves you to her delicately. “You wanna come with me? We can talk. Just you and me.” 

You gulp and look at Andy. His blue eyes blaze as he meets your gaze. He dips his chin slightly. You turn back and nod. As you cross the porch, your mother tries to latch onto you. The other officer, Jackson, pulls her back. 

You sidle past her and follow the woman. She takes you to the curb. You look down at your bare feet then at her. 

“I’m Officer Patel. What’s your name?” She asks. 

You answer and she shifts so you can’t see the house. “Me and my partner came because we got a call about a possible abduction. We’re just here to hear the full story. What’s going on here?” 

You rub your neck and fidget. You can’t tell her the truth. Not the full truth. You can’t tell her your mom lied to you. Not even that she hit you. You don’t want to go back to court. You don’t want to tell everyone how stupid and pathetic you are. 

“I’m here.... because I want to be,” you shrug. 

“Your mother says there was an argument.” 

You chew your lip, “she couldn’t find her pills. She left. I don't know... I don’t know why she came back.” Your chin trembles and you clasp your hands on your shirt hem. You sway back and forth. “She doesn’t love me.” 

You hang your head. That’s it. What you always knew deep down. What’s so clear now that she’s ground you into dust. You’re nothing to her so she made you into nothing at all. 

“She’s your mom, I’m sure you two will work this out. Me and my partner are just making sure you’re safe. We were told that man is keeping you here without consent.” 

You flinch and shake your head furiously. You wave your hands, “no, no. Andy... Andy helped me and... I shouldn’t be here because... because... because I’m a loser and.... my mom... my mom...” you stutter. “She doesn’t want me.” 

“She says you’re sick? You need oxygen?” She prompts. 

You twiddle your fingers. “No, not really. Not... all the time. I can breathe, see?” 

She watches you, “right. How old are you, miss?” 

“Twenty-four.” 

She nods. “You’re not a minor?” 

“No,” you blurt out. Many assume as much, especially with you always hiding behind your mom. “No, I’m an... adult.” 

“Do you want to press charges against anyone?” 

“Charges? For what?” You wonder. 

She sighs. “You’re free to go. You’re grown up and you can make your own choices without mom.” She tuts and turns to look across the lawn, “Jackson, come on.” 

You peer over. Andy stands, arms crossed, staring at you. Your mother rears like a snake, muttering under her breath. You head back up the walk and Officer Patel speaks again. 

“You have to leave, Ma’am.” 

You stop and peek over your shoulder. Patel points to your mother, “we will escort you if need be.” 

Jackson looks at her. She snarls and stomps her foot, “oh don’t you even think of touching me.” She huffs and storms past him. She comes down the steps and you think for an instant, she might push you. She stops beside you. “I took care of you, sweetie. Do you think he will for long? After he figures out what you are?” 

She continues past you. You continue up the paved squares and past Officer Jackson as he follows. As you come up to the steps, you hear the engines turn over. You’re suddenly very tired. 

“Andy,” you drag your feet over the mat. “I want to lay down.” 

“Alright, honey. We’ll sort everything out later,” he turns and stretches his arm across the door frame as you enter.  

He shuts the door as you stagger on, eyes hazy with tears. Your own mother despises you. She’s right about him too. He’ll hate you one day but you don’t know what to do to change any of this. 

💙

Andy makes you finish breakfast before you lay down. He’s right. It’s good for you to eat and you haven’t been doing a lot of that. 

You lay down for an hour before you sense him getting restless. You can hear him downstairs. You can’t be lazy. You don’t have any excuses anymore. You’re not sick, just weak. 

You make yourself get up and venture downstairs. He’s in the kitchen, flicking through his phone as it rests on the counter. You clear your throat and wring your hands as you enter. 

“I’m sorry. I was upset. It’s really stupid but sometimes I just... can’t do anything. Even if I try. I’m sorry, Andy. I’m... so sorry.” 

He faces you and his face contorts in a spectrum of emotion, “oh, honey, you don’t need to be sorry. I put your clothes on the couch for you. Just waiting. Take your time.” 

“Waiting for me,” you frown and look at the floor. “My mom lied. A lot. But I don’t think she was wrong about everything.” 

“What do you mean?” He shifts closer. 

You shrug, “me. I’m... I’m useless.” 

“No,” his voice hardens. “No, take it back.” 

“What?” You pout and bat your eyes as you peek up at him. 

“You’re not going to talk about yourself like that. Not with me. So take it back.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry--” 

“Apologise to yourself,” he insists staunchly. “Honey, don’t let her control you. She’s gone.” 

“But... but...” 

“You’re adjusting. I understand that. I’m not expecting you to be okay right now. Be patient with yourself. Be patient with me. We’re both... figuring this out.” 

You nod and your lips twitch. You could cry. 

“Thanks, er, I’ll... change then. Um, Andy... are we going somewhere?” 

“Sure, sweetheart. I mentioned earlier, didn’t I? About clothes? I tried to get the officers to agree to an escort to go to your mom’s but you saw her. She’s not in her right mind,” he explains. 

“Yeah, that makes sense,” you flutter your fingers nervously and he looks down at them. You clasp them over your chest to make them stop. “I’ll hurry up then.” 

You turn and scurry out. You go into the front room and grab the neatly folded clothes. He keeps everything so tidy and in its place. You go to the bathroom and set it on the counter. 

As you take your panties from between the jeans and tee shirt, you hesitate. It’s a bit embarrassing to think of him washing your underwear. You could’ve done it if he showed you where the machines are. 

You shrug it off. You’re just happy he helped. It’s a nice feeling when people do things for you. 

You change and bring out the borrowed clothes. Andy is still in the kitchen. You stand in the doorway. 

“Where do I put these?” You ask. 

He pops his head up and tucks away his phone, “oh, I can take care of them.” 

“Thanks, Andy, but uh, could I see? I’d like to know where everything is so I can help.” 

“Help?” He approaches and takes the clothes, his hands brushing over yours. “With what?” 

“I don’t know, everything?” You say. “You helped me so much and I want to do the same. I want to be useful. I want to be... better.” 

The tension leaves his shoulder and he smiles. “Alright, sure, that’s nice of you.” He goes to step past you then stops. “Sweetheart, you know, your mom is wrong. About everything. You’re an amazing girl. Really, you’re wonderful. And today, I want you to try as much as you can to forget. I want you to feel good about you, because you should. Because you deserve it.” 

You swallow and bounce nervously on your feet, “Andy, you’re so nice.” 

“I’m just being honest. Should’ve tried that a lot sooner,” he says. 

[tkomptgoedluv]

girl with one eye.

icantbelieveiletyougetaway pt.4

pt.1 here | pt.2 here | pt.3 here | pt.4

joost klein x f! reader

tags: dead dove do not eat, f! reader, non-famous! reader, reader is finally seeing a therapist, established relationship, they’re so so in love i wanna cry, reader just wants a good night sleep, joost just wants to help, a loootttttt of hurt, maybe too much of comfort, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 2,833.

warnings: very detailed descriptions of SA, very brief allusion to drugging, semi-vague descriptions of a panic attack, rpf.

notes: hello angels! this is veryyyyy overdue but it’s finally here! the ending is a little rushed and i’ve only half-proofread it so please forgive me for any errors. also — this part comes with a MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING for those of you that struggle with SA, please do not put yourself at risk by reading if it’s not meant for you!

on a happier note, i’d like to give credits to @spentandpent for drawing that first image of joost in my little header thingy. their fan-art kinda inspired this whole part <3

also i wanna shoutout @howisjoostfanfictionforfree simply because sloane is one of my favourite people on this whole entire app, and she’s been so so supportive of me since my very first fic post. i ♥️ you, sloane my bbyg xx

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

you wanted to kick yourself.

genuinely, you felt a little sick whenever you thought about all those years you’ve wasted by being just a little too stubborn for your own good.

all those sweet, early mornings where the sun would peak through the blinds and you’d wake up to find him still curled all around you, and how you would run from them just because they started to feel a little too real. all those nights where you’d leave him still tangled up in the sheets, breathless and wishing you’d stay just a little while longer whilst you were already halfway out the door.

for years all you did was run, and you’re yet to forgive yourself for it. because this — this was heaven and you could have had it so much sooner if only you hadn’t been such a fucking coward.

you blame it all on those three little flings that you had over the years; those three no-more-than-six-weeks-long ‘relationships’ that still, somehow, almost ruined you. the first was a guy that seemed to love his pills and potions more than you, the second was once the ‘love of your life’ before he stuck his dick in someone else, and the third was nothing more than a few too many bad hookups with a guy you couldn’t quite shake.

they were what did it for you, in the end. what convinced you to avoid anything more than the odd one-night-stand here and there. you just weren’t cut out for the whole ‘dating’ thing, apparently, and that was fine. you were fine with that; happy about it, even. as long as it meant that you wouldn’t have to go through anymore disappointment, you’d live with it. or without it, rather.

so when you found yourself stood outside in the pouring rain, arguing back and forth with joost about something you can’t even remember anymore, you still thought it to be out of the question. you were refusing to believe that you were anything more than a stress-reliever to him, because that’s all you could ever be. all you ever wanted to be.

whatever it was that you and joost had, it was special. you couldn’t explain it, and you certainly weren’t willing to lose it by feeling all the wrong things for him. you had no idea that he was the one who’d fallen down that rabbit hole, the one who’d started feeling all those wrong things first — not until he kissed you that day.

with the rain soaking the two of you down to the bone, tears pooling in both of your eyes. his chest had been heaving and your throat had felt all scratchy from the yelling; still, he had been so gentle with you. even more so than he usually was. he had his hands cupping your face and the way he’d looked at you, still to this day it gives you goosebumps whenever you think about it.

how lucky you are that for the past six months joost has kissed you just like that, every single day.

every morning now, when you wake up to the sun shining through the blinds and joost’s arms still wrapped around you, you don’t dare to move. you wait until you hear that low grumble in your ear that’s always followed by a sweet kiss to the back of your shoulder, and only then do you roll over to return the favour. sometimes it unravels into something more, other times you’re both able to show some restraint.

the afternoons are always a little more unpredictable with joost’s job being what it was. there were days where he’d say his goodbyes before midday and wouldn’t return until the early hours of the next morning. there were the months where you’d be lucky to even get a whole day together at all. but there were also the days where he’d only be out for a few hours, either at the studio or one of the boys’ houses. on those ones, whether it was your place or his, joost would always come home to you with pastries in his hand and some new art of his to show you.

for the first time in all your years of living, things were finally good. you were happy; you were in love. it was only right to assume that with that, everything else was bound to fall into place.

but you just weren’t sleeping.

you drift off for a while, tucked neatly away into joost’s arms as he engulfs you, him always being so insistent on being the big spoon. for a couple hours you’ll sleep like that, tossing and turning until you’re all the way over on the other side of the bed, and it’s there that you wake up struggling to catch your breath, shaking like a leaf.

usually, it’s just bits and pieces of that night all jumbled up that you see. quick ‘flashes’ of his face, the bloodied crack in the bathroom mirror, the feeling of the porcelain sink digging into your stomach as he bent you over it. nothing truly coherent, but enough to still wake you up in a panic at three o’clock in the morning. then it becomes a gamble as to whether or not you’re able to fall back asleep. most of the time, you’re still laying there wide awake when the sun starts to rise, still far too afraid to close your eyes again.

though for whatever reason, tonight’s dream had been particularly awful. you could’ve sworn that you were actually back there this time, relieving the whole thing. you could feel his hand on the back of your neck, squeezing, keeping you pinned down. you could feel your skirt all in a bunch around your waist again and your tights barely hanging on from how he’d ripped them to near shreds.

and now you were here, staring at the ceiling and trying not to cry too loud whilst the clock ticked closer and closer to dawn. it was almost five o’clock in the morning so really, it should’ve felt as though you’d gotten at least a couple hours of good sleep. instead, you were exhausted; wide awake with your heart pounding inside your chest, but exhausted as tears slipped from the corners of your eyes.

this wasn’t what you expected, not when joost had painted such a beautiful picture that therapy was the be all and end all cure for any and every problem. it had you convinced that by the time you were a few months into your sessions, things would’ve gotten at least a little bit easier. perhaps it was your fault for getting your hopes up the way that you did.

you were trying to keep it quiet, your crying. you hadn’t told joost about what had actually happened that night yet, let alone the nightmares about it. he had a habit of carrying other people’s pain so that they wouldn’t have to themselves — you didn’t want to be one of those people.

after a while though, you didn’t have that choice anymore. there was a bang from outside, nothing more than just an old, cheap car backfiring, and you jumped. you made the bedframe shake a little more than it already was and yelped just loud enough to wake joost up from his sleep. you swore underneath your breath as he grumbled something you couldn’t quite hear before looking back over his shoulder at you.

“you heard that too?”

when you didn’t say anything he turned over fully, the sheets rusting and the mattress creaking as he moved.

you heard him whisper your name, just in case you really were still asleep, but even in the dark he could see that your eyes were open and staring blankly at the ceiling. it was a quiet sniffle that gave you away in the end, because the dark did well at hiding the wetness in your eyes. still, it couldn’t conceal the quick wipe of your nose; even in the dark and without his glasses on, joost could still see that.

“hey, are you crying?”

you didn’t mean to flinch when he went to brush a strand of hair out of your eyes, and you didn’t mean to worry him by doing so. it made his eyebrows furrow as he pulled his hand back and sat up slightly, propping himself up on one of his elbows.

“what’s going on?”

“nothing, i just…i’m just being a bit stupid. i’m fine; you can go back to sleep.”

maybe if there wasn’t that waiver in your voice you would’ve gotten away with it. joost would’ve mumbled something of an ‘okay’ and kissed you goodnight before rolling back over. you would’ve been left alone to wait for the sunrise, a cold sweat coating your skin despite the warm summer air that was rolling in through your open windows.

but even if he was half blind without his glasses on, joost’s ears worked just fine. he heard the waiver in your voice as well as the sniffle in your nose, and he knew.

joost wasn’t stupid; he noticed things. noticed the way the bags under your eyes had been growing heavier over the past couple months, and saw how even the smallest things were making you jump out of your skin. he knew what you were like though, knew better than to try and ask you about it. all he could really do was hope that the therapist you had now would be enough.

but he’d found you near-sobbing at five o’clock in the morning now; heard the fear in your voice, saw the tears in your eyes. it didn’t surprise you to see him immediately sit up and reach over, switching on his bedside light before turning back to face you. but it did bring on a wave of sickness to your stomach, the kind that made your hands feel clammy.

“no, you’re not fine. what happened?”

you wiped at your nose again, and then at your eyes. as you spoke you refused to look at him, keeping your gaze fixed on the ceiling because you truly did believe that all of this was stupid. your tears, the heavy beating of your heart — all of it.

“just had a bad dream, that’s all.”

you heard a soft sigh from bedside you and felt gentle fingers in your hair, finally tucking that one strand behind your ear. this time, you didn’t flinch. you leaned into the touch, letting a single tear slip down your cheek as you realised that soon, this might be the last time he’ll ever want to touch you.

“anything i can do?”

you really didn’t want to do this, but you knew you needed to.

“can i…can i talk about it? you know, about what happened that night?”

joost didn’t hesitate, he couldn’t — not when this was such a rarity for you. he nodded and laid back down, his tired eyes watching as you rolled over until your back was facing him. he couldn’t bring himself to ask why you wouldn’t look at him, just listened quietly as you sucked in a deep breath and watched as you curled yourself into a ball.

“the guy, he was nice at first; saw that i was on my own and wanted to know how i ended up there, i guess. he seemed normal, like he just wanted to get to know me.”

your voice was shaking as you spoke, and you were struggling to breathe through your stuffed up nose.

“i should’ve known that something was wrong when i started to feel like, drunk drunk, after only a couple of drinks. maybe he slipped something in one of them, i don’t know, but when he asked if i wanted to do a line with him i didn’t think i could say no.”

a large hand squeezed your hip from over the covers when you paused for a moment, a few tears getting caught in your throat when you tried to swallow them down.

“i uh, i followed him into the bathroom and i let him lock the door behind us, and i did the line he racked up for me. he promised me that it was a gift, that he didn’t want anything for it; he knew i didn’t have any money to pay him and he said it was fine. but when i tried to leave he told me that he’d changed his mind, said i could pay him back another way.”

joost’s hand fell from your hip when you slipped out from underneath it and curled in further on yourself. it meant that all he could do was watch from the other side of the bed as your shoulders began to shake from the small, pathetic sobs that you couldn’t hold back.

“i said no, joost. he got me up against the door, tried to reach underneath my skirt, but i said no. he didn’t like that — didn’t like it when i hit him, either. he…he bent me over the sink, hit my head against the mirror, told me that i owed him for what he’d given me.”

you had to fight to get the words out through all of your blubbering; through each of the hiccups and all of the gagging. you truly were in a bit of a state now, spiralling further and further down into the memory, but you needed to do this. no matter how much it hurt, you just needed to get it out.

“he held me down by my neck and he…he laughed when i told him i couldn’t breathe. i couldn’t move, joost, i couldn’t get him off so i just…”

when you started to trail off, a pair of arms scooped you up and gently pulled you across the bed until you were flat again joost’s chest. you felt him rest his head in the crook of your neck, a dozen salty tears of his own dripping down onto your shoulder. for a while, neither of you said anything else; you’d gotten yourself too worked up to find the rest of your words and quite frankly, joost didn’t need to hear anything else. he had an imagination, he knew what happened next.

you caught him off guard when after a couple minutes, just after the silence had settled, you started to apologise over and over again. like a child too consumed with guilt, you were spewing out desperate ‘i’m so sorry’s one after the other until the words all slurred together.

“hey, hey, hey, stop that. you don’t need to do that.” you felt him kiss the back of your ear, your neck, your shoulder. “i’m never gonna blame you for it, okay? — it’ll never be your fault.”

joost’s grip on you tightened when you began to cry harder, your tears soaking the pale, bare skin of his arm. he nuzzled his face deeper into the dip of your neck, listening to the unsteady beat of your pulse as you breathed in quick, shallow breaths.

“i-i’m sorry.”

“shhh, hey, it’s alright. just focus on breathing, honey. that’s all you need to do.”

it took you until little drops of sun were spilling through the blinds to finally relax enough to breathe right. neither of you had moved an inch, you were both still all wrapped up in each other, only now the tears had dried and your eyes were growing heavier.

carefully, you twisted in his arms until you were facing his chest, and it was there that you curled up again. you felt him leave kisses all along your crown; in your hair and on your forehead. as you hooked a leg over his, he used an arm to pull you closer, only satisfied once you were as close to being under his skin as you could be.

the warm summer air was still blowing in through your bedroom windows. it made the whole room hot and sticky, making you sweat even more than you always were from being so close to joost. beads of sweat were gathering along your hairline as well as his, and the bedsheets were beginning to cling to your skin. it was clammy and uncomfortable — still, you wouldn’t move.

“thank you, by the way.”

it was the sound of your own voice to break the silence again, but it was your words that made joost shift a little, only to tilt his head down to get a better look at you. when he met your eyes he saw that you were already staring up at him with something of a smile tugging at corners of your lips.

“for what, baby?”

“for letting me talk about it…and for not running away afterwards.”

with his eyes drooping and his breathing slow, joost simply scoffed. his hands danced their way up to your jaw and cupped your face, his thumbs gently stroking along the pink blush of your cheeks.

“i could never run away from you.”

[cryingpariah]

I know that we (Usopp Nation) love to discuss the multiple different ways the eventual meeting between Usopp and Yassop could go but today I wanted to discuss how I think the Strawhats would react to Usopp having/wanting/feeling like he needs to meet his father but hesitating for [Insert reason here].

Luffy: Likes Yassop obviously and would be excited to see him again! But our emotionally intelligent king would pick up on Usopp's vibes and just outright ask him what’s wrong. Would respect his decision to go or not go. If it’s a no though, he'd go and break the news but do it much too bluntly (“Yeah, Usopp didn’t want to come!”). Honestly the whole time there he’s unintentionally making Yassop feel like the biggest piece of shit.

Zoro: Pretends to not care/not have an opinion when he in fact has plenty of both. Zoro's just not the kind of person to care about blood connections, not his own anyway, so he'd probably veer on the side of not going but acts neutral. Regardless of Usopp's decision though Zoro is there to make sure he sticks to it, no wussing out! If he says he’s going he’s going, even if he’s got to hide behind Zoro the whole walk there.

Nami: Usopp's BFFL. She’s there to hype him up! No shitty absent father is allowed to make him feel like shit! She’s helping him get ready, picking a killer outfit and hairstyle for him, everyone knows looking good is the best social armour! If he decides not to go she’s still dressing up him but this time to go and paint the town red! If he does want to go she’s heading there right alongside him! Even if it looks like she’s engaged with something else best believe she’s keeping a hawk eye on Usopp.

Sanji: Guy who is so anti biological father. Is staunchly against Usopp going but tries to hide it behind neutrality and fails miserably. Ultimately though having had some emotional catharsis with facing his own father he’ll accept Usopp's decision no matter what. Absolutely tags along and brings a dish because he was raised a proper chef. (“Oh this? It’s Usopp’s favourite. Not that you had any way of knowing.” *faux polite customer service smile*)

Chopper: Little fella is CONFLICTED. On one hand he’s literally only heard good things about Yassop from both Usopp and Luffy so obviously this guy must be great! But if that was true why did Ussop look so..scared? He decides to approach this from a doctor perspective first by sitting Ussop for a checkup and letting him ramble all his thoughts out. If Usopp decides not to go Chopper's making an official announcement that Usopp's got ‘can’t-leave-the-boat-disease and has to stay for his own good.

Robin: Notices Usopp's discomfort immediately and whisks him away. Sits him down with a cup of her secret stash of soothing tea and lays down all the facts for him. Yes, he has no obligation to go see his father just cause he’s here. No it doesn’t make him a bad person if he doesn’t want to. Despite how wildly different they are, she’s the best at understanding his feelings right now and all that come with it. If he decides to not go, she’ll go in his stead to explain (and also to make sure Yassop doesn’t try to go himself).

Franky: He’s about as emotional as you’d expect. He’d probably be encouraging Usopp to go, not for his dad but for himself. His dreams of being a ‘proper man’ and ‘brave warrior of the sea’ means he shouldn’t live or die with regrets or what ifs. Regardless of Usopp's decision, Franky just wants to make he won’t regret for one reason or another. Will tag along and hype up Ussop to anyone and everyone.

Brook: Like Robin he’s taking Usopp somewhere else to calm down and think. He’s also playing him some soft violin to relax to. They don’t talk much, just let the music guide them for a bit. In a moment of violin driven vulnerability, Brook would tell Usopp that regardless of what does or does not happen, he has a place and a family right here, and that won’t ever change. Places neutral but would prefer if Usopp stayed and didn’t risk getting hurt.

Jinbei: Probably knows Yassop on a semi-causal level and therefore knew of Usopp long before FMI. Was really stunned upon hearing this would be Usopp's first proper meeting with his father. Jinbei's got plenty of sage of advice and can wash away Usopp's parental insecurities by reminding him of who he is and how any man worth a damn would be proud to call him his son. Stays behind if Usopp goes but only because he’s worried of overstepping if he does.

BONUS! (Argue with your mama, your daddy and your congressman Vivi will be the final Strawhat!!)

Vivi ft Karoo: They’re absolutely gobsmacked. Vivi's the one that brings out some latent anger Usopp doesn’t even realize he’s been holding in. I can definitely see Vivi wanting to go even if Usopp's not, she’s very confrontational after all but she defect to what Usopp wants ultimately. If he does want to go she’s right there with him and is totally throwing some shade Yassop's way. Karoo is there as a supportive friend and a quick exit strategy if Usopp needs it.

[gdinthehouseee]

Neon Secrets - Part 2: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: after management scolding the two of you for sneaking out, you were both distancing yourselves from each other. so what happens when ji-yong finally lets his jealousy boil over after seeing another male idol get close with you?

word count: 6534

tags: angst to fluff; miscommunication, jealousy, alcohol consumption

ao3 link | part 1

Tension was thick in the stark white meeting room. You were sitting with your hands folded in your lap, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts you couldn’t quite process. Ji-yong sat beside you, his usual calm demeanor nowhere to be found, replaced by a deafening silence. Across from the both of you, a manager from YGE paced back and forth, his face a picture of frustration.

“Do you two have any idea how this looks?” The manager snapped, his voice tight with anger. “A viral video of you two sneaking out, running to a car like you're just out for a joyride? What on earth were you thinking?”

You felt the weight of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. What could you say? What could you even explain? Neither of you had meant for it to go viral; all you wanted was to get away for a few minutes—nothing more, nothing less. But clearly, you had misjudged how public your little escape would be.

Ji-yong finally spoke, his voice quiet, almost measured. “We didn’t mean for this to happen. It was just... spontaneous. We didn’t think anyone would notice.”

Their manager shot him a sharp, incredulous look. “Spontaneous or not, this is an image nightmare. You two are supposed to be setting an example, not acting like rebellious teenagers!”

“We didn’t even see anyone. How could we have known?” Ji-yong continued.

“That’s even worse!” The manager blew up, throwing his arms up in anger. Naturally, it made you flinch and Ji-yong noticed from the corner of his eye. 

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, you could feel your stomach knotting the longer you sat in the hard, wooden chair. You had never been the type to make waves or step outside the rules. The reality of what you had done was sinking in. In the same way you could feel yourself sinking under the weight of the manager’s gaze, but it wasn’t the manager’s disappointment that stung the most. It was the quiet tension coming from Ji-yong. He hadn’t said much else since he’d sat down.

As the manager continued to scold the both of you, the words blurred together in the background. All you could focus on was Ji-yong, who had become uncharacteristically silent. His jaw was clenched, his eyes lowered to the table. You had always known him to be confident, even cocky at times, but now? Now he seemed like a stranger. He was angry, maybe even disappointed in you.

When the manager finally stopped pacing and shot you both one last glare, he spoke in a more controlled tone. “This better not happen again. Lay low. The last thing we need is more negative attention. We’re on a tight schedule now, so you two better stay out of trouble.”

Ji-yong nodded stiffly, but didn’t say a word. The manager gave one last disappointed look before walking out of the room, leaving the two of you in suffocating silence.

The door clicked shut, and you just couldn’t bear it anymore. You glanced over at Ji-yong, expecting him to say something, but he just sat there, his face unreadable. You tried to meet his eyes, but he was looking anywhere but at you. This can’t be good.

Your chest tightened. This wasn’t just about the video anymore. This was about the distance between the two of you that had grown in the past few days—the distance neither of you could quite explain. He had always been so easy to talk to, so carefree, but now... he was silent, distant, and it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m... I’m sorry, Ji. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t want to get us into trouble.”

He didn’t respond, and that silence was louder than anything. Your heart sank, and a heavy, sickly feeling settled in your stomach. It wasn’t the first time you’d gotten into trouble, but this felt different. This wasn’t right: it felt like something was broken. 

Assuming he was mad at you, you pulled your hands back and looked away, feeling the need to distance yourself. You definitely didn’t want to make things worse, and if he was angry, it would be better to give him space.

Without saying another word, you stood up from your chair. “I think... I think I’ll go,” you mumbled, before turning and walking toward the door. You heard Ji-yong shift in his seat but didn’t wait to see if he was going to say anything.

You were already out the door before you had time to second-guess herself.

As the door clicked shut behind you, Ji-yong stayed rooted to his seat, his body frozen in place. The silence in the room was truly deafening now, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. He had barely registered the manager’s words, too focused on the fact that you had distanced yourself from him—you had turned away without a second glance.

It was all his fault. He had wanted to say something, to speak up and tell the manager off for scolding you and making you flinch like that, but he couldn’t find the words. He was angry, yes, but not at you. It was never at you. He was angry at himself. Angry at the way he had let this situation spiral out of control, angry at how helpless he felt. He had been watching you from the corner of his eye, watching your shoulders tighten as the manager yelled at you, and it was eating him up inside.

The worst part was that he couldn’t even comfort you. He wanted to tell you how much he hated seeing you like this, how much it hurt him that you were apologizing for something that wasn’t even your fault. He wanted to reach out and say it didn’t matter what anyone else thought—he didn’t care about the viral video, the managers, or the consequences. All he cared about was you.

But he hadn’t said any of that. He hadn’t said a word. He had sat there in silence, fuming at the injustice of it all, and then watched you walk away.

Ji-yong ran a hand through his hair in frustration, his knuckles white from gripping the edge of the table. The anger he felt was like a knot in his chest, a mix of frustration at himself and something else—something deeper, something he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge until now.

He was angry because he wanted nothing more than to tell you how he felt. How much he admired you, how much he cared for you, how he couldn’t stand seeing you hurt. But he just couldn’t bring himself to say it. Every time he tried to open his mouth, the words caught in his throat. It felt too risky, too vulnerable. What if he ruined everything between the two of you? What if telling you how he really felt only pushed you away even more?

He exhaled sharply, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him. He had wanted to keep things light, to pretend that everything was easy and carefree. But now... now he couldn’t deny it. There was something real between you two, something that had been building long before that night you snuck out together. And it was becoming impossible to ignore.

But he had waited too long. He had waited until the damage was done, until the silence between you had grown so thick that he didn’t know how to break it. Now, he was alone with his regrets, and all he could do was watch as the distance continued to widen. He wanted to chase after you, to tell you everything he had been holding back, but he couldn’t. He had already messed this up.

And maybe it was already too late.

The silence in your own room was suffocating. Staring at your phone, you sat on your bed, but your mind was elsewhere—lost in a whirlwind of guilt and uncertainty. Ever since that night, you had avoided Ji-yong, unable to shake the feeling that you had messed everything up.

You hadn’t seen him at all since that meeting, and honestly, it felt like the universe was conspiring to keep you apart. He hadn’t sought you out. And you? You couldn’t bring yourself to face him. Every time you thought about talking to him, the overwhelming fear of rejection crept in. What if he was angry with you? What if he didn’t want to talk at all? What if he never wanted to see you again?

The thought made your stomach twist, and you felt the familiar pang of regret.

Your phone buzzed in your lap, but you didn’t move to check it. Then, there was a soft knock at the door before it slowly opened, and Taeyang’s head peeked inside. “Hey,” he said gently. “You’ve been in here for a while. Everything okay?”

You didn’t have the words to respond right away. Your chest felt like it might close in on itself, and the thought of speaking to anyone about what was going on inside you felt too vulnerable for your liking. 

“I’m fine,” you said finally. Despite the way your voice was shaking, as if you weren’t just trying to convince him. 

Taeyang stepped inside and closed the door behind him, a slight frown on his face as he sat down next to you. He placed a hand on your shoulder as a casual, reassuring gesture. “You sure? You’re not really acting like yourself lately, and it’s hard to ignore. You’ve been avoiding everyone, especially Ji-yong.”

You bit her lip, looking away from him as your mind raced. The thought of Ji-yong made your heart ache, but there was something about it all that felt too complicated to resolve.

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me,” you admitted quietly. “I’ve messed everything up, Taeyang. Everyone here knows we both got in trouble with management, and I’m sure he’s upset with me for making him part of this mess.”

He sighed, a touch of frustration creeping into his tone. “You’re wrong, you know that? Ji-yong’s not angry at you. He’s just… he’s been trying to figure out how to deal with all this, just like you have.”

Unconvinced, you shook your head. “But he’s been avoiding me. I’m sure he regrets everything that happened. And now it’s like… everything is different. He probably doesn’t even like me anymore.”

There was a pause before Taeyang spoke again, softer this time. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You don’t know that for sure. If you keep avoiding him, it’ll only make things worse. You have to talk to him, and you have to stop assuming everything’s falling apart before you even try.”

Just as you were about to respond, the door opened again, and a manager stepped inside, clipboard and various papers in hand.

“Ah, good, you’re in here,” she began. “I’ve got some news for you. You and the girls are scheduled for a variety show tomorrow. You’ll need to be ready for the filming in the morning. I’ll send someone to get you for makeup and wardrobe early, so don’t be late.”

The manager didn’t wait for a response, nodding at Taeyang before leaving the room.

The door clicked shut, and for a long moment, the reader and Taeyang sat in silence.

“Good to know you’re not blacklisted from the media, I guess.” He joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Tomorrow,” you murmured to yourself, still processing what the manager had said. Your thoughts were swirling, but ideas started to piece together in your mind like clockwork. 

You looked at Taeyang, seeming more uplifted now. “Okay, I think I know what I’m going to do.”

Taeyang raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. “What’s that?”

“I’ll talk to Ji-yong after the variety show,” you said, your voice more confident than it had been in days. “I won’t run away from it anymore. But… I’ll do it after we’ve gotten through the show. Once everything settles down, I’ll find him, and we’ll talk. I won’t leave it hanging any longer.”

He gave you a small, approving smile. “I think that’s a good plan. Just don’t wait too long, okay? And don’t let fear keep you from talking to him. It’ll only make things harder if you keep avoiding it.”

“I won’t,” you promised, feeling a weight lift off your chest. “Thank you, Taeyang. I needed to hear that.”

He patted your shoulder again, standing up to leave. “I’m glad I could help. Remember, we’re all rooting for you. And, hey. Things are gonna go better than you might think.” He gave you a friendly wink and dipped out of the room. Was there something else he hadn’t shared with you on purpose? 

As the door clicked shut behind him, you sat for a moment, your heart still racing. Tomorrow, everything will change. You would face Ji-yong, have that conversation, and—hopefully—clear the air. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was the first step.

And for the first time in days, you felt like you finally had control over something.

The next morning, you stood in front of your mirror, applying light makeup in a daze. Naturally, your mind kept drifting back to the night the video had gone viral—the way it spread like wildfire across social media, the comments, the hashtags, the endless reposts. Everywhere you looked, there it was: a short clip of you and Ji-yong running to the car, pure happiness in your eyes, the excitement of your shared secret clear on your faces. To the world, it was just an innocent moment of two idols sneaking out for a bit of fun. But to you, it was the beginning of something much deeper.

You had been trying to avoid looking at the video, but no matter where you turned, there it was—fan edits popping up on your feed, reposted by fans who were obsessed with the idea of you and Ji-yong together. The captions ranged from lighthearted teasing to fans sharing their hope for you to “find happiness with him,” all with colorful hearts and bright emojis filling the comments.

But it was hard to ignore how everything felt so different now. The more you scrolled through those edits, the more the weight of it all sank in. You could feel the eyes of the world on you. In every edit, Ji-yong looked so carefree, so happy—something you hadn’t seen in days. Meanwhile, you felt the typical tightness in your chest, the shame that you’d somehow ruined whatever was between the two of you. Every comment that supported this ship felt like a reminder of the mess you had made.

As the final edit appeared—a slowed-down clip of the moment with soft background music—you quickly closed your phone, fingers trembling. There was no denying it anymore. This was bigger than just you and Ji-yong. The world had their eyes on both of you now, and the weight of it was suffocating.

When the manager from last night reappeared in your room to collect you, the other members of your group behind her, you got up with a newfound determination and followed them down to the car, desperately trying to ignore the way the boys watched you leave.

You had thrown yourself into your work all day today, your heart racing as the clock ticked down the time until you were ready to finally talk to Ji-yong again. With full transparency and honesty. What’s the worst that could happen?

You had barely thought about the hot, new male idol that was sitting a little too close to you during the shoot. 

Later that night, the room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the TV screen the only source of light. Seunghyun, Daesung, and Taeyang were scattered across the couch and chairs, lazily flipping through channels as they waited for the variety show to start.

Ji-yong sat stiffly on the couch, his arms crossed as he stared at the television screen. When today’s episode had begun playing, Seunghyun, Taeyang, and Daesung were watching with amused expressions, while Ji-yong barely paid attention to anything but you.

There you were, sitting among your group members, your smile as bright as ever—but he could see it. The difference. The way it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way you laughed at the host’s jokes but it seemed just a little too rehearsed.

“She looks so good,” Daesung commented casually, but his eyes flicked toward Ji-yong with curiosity. “Don’t you think?”

Ji-yong didn’t respond. He just tightened his jaw, gripping his own arm to keep himself still as the scene changed—only for his stomach to drop when the male idol group appeared on screen, taking their seats beside you.

He sat on the edge of the couch, his posture rigid, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest. His gaze was fixed on the screen, but there was no mistaking the way his jaw clenched whenever the camera cut to the reader on the show. The others noticed immediately, exchanging glances.

“Hey, Ji,” Seunghyun said, leaning back, trying to get his attention. “You okay?”

Ji-yong didn’t respond again. His eyes were still on the screen, but his lips pressed together in a thin line and barely blinking.

The camera zoomed in on you, showing a clip of you laughing with one of the male idols from the opposite group. The guy was leaning in a little too close, making you laugh with something he said.

Daesung noticed Ji-yong’s stiff posture, his eyes narrowing at the screen. He nudged Taeyang with his elbow. “Uh-oh. Someone’s jealous.”

Taeyang grinned but said nothing, watching as Ji-yong’s expression darkened.

Seunghyun raised an eyebrow. “You know, he hasn’t said a word since the show started. Something’s up.”

“I’m fine,” Ji-yong muttered, his gaze never leaving the screen.

“Uh-huh.” Seunghyun didn’t believe him for a second. “Are you sure about that?”

He opted to remain silent, even though his leg began bouncing with his anxiety truly kicking in, his knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping the armrest.

On-screen, the man put his arm around your shoulder, and you smiled up at him in a way that made Ji-yong’s chest tighten.

Taeyang leaned forward, raising his voice a little. “You’re really gonna sit here and act like you don’t care?”

Ji-yong’s gaze flicked to him briefly before going back to the screen. “I don’t,” he said flatly. “It’s just a variety show.”

“You’ve been pretty quiet, man. What’s going on?” Seunghyun leaned forward.

Daesung chuckled softly. “Yeah, Ji, you’re looking like you might implode.”

Ji-yong clenched his fists, his teeth grinding as the male idol leaned even closer to the reader, his fingers brushing against her arm.

“I’m not jealous,” he muttered, though he couldn’t even convince himself of that.

Taeyang took a moment to observe his friend before glancing at the others. “You know, you could use a break. You’ve been watching this show and stewing in your thoughts all night.”

Ji-yong shot him a confused look. “What are you talking about?”

Taeyang stood up, stretching his arms out. “Like Daesung just said, you’ve got that ‘about to blow up’ look, man. How about we head out for a bit? Get some air, clear your head?”

“I like that idea. You’re clearly not gonna calm down until you get this off your mind.” Seunghyun agreed.

Taeyang nodded, his expression turning more serious before he kept talking. “And once you’re not so wound up, we can help you sort things out, Ji. We’ll be here to back you up.”

He hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking back to the TV, where you were now smiling at the man, your hand resting on his arm. Ji-yong felt sick to his stomach.

“I don’t know…” he trailed off, but the way his friends were watching him, the concern in their eyes, made him finally sigh. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Seunghyun, Daesung, and Taeyang exchanged proud looks.

“Great,” Taeyang said, clapping his hands together. “Get your coat, Ji. Let’s get you out of this funk.”

Ji-yong stood, brushing off his jacket. As they left the room, his stomach churned again. But maybe, just maybe, getting out of his head for a bit was what he needed to figure out how to handle what was building up inside him. Finally, figure out how to break the silence between the two of you.

“We’ll help you with this situation when you’re ready, man. But you need to clear your mind first.” Seunghyun told him softly, he hated seeing his best friend so worked up over something that could have been easily fixed if it weren’t for his anxiety and the miscommunication that happened between the two of you. Ji-yong didn’t respond, but he appreciated it more than he let on.

Turns out, the club had been exactly what Ji-yong needed—at least, for a little while.

With the bass thrumming through his chest and a drink in his hand, he felt lighter than he had in days. The guys had been right—being out, laughing, and letting loose was enough to clear his mind, even if just temporarily. He wasn’t thinking about the variety show, the viral video, or the way you had been avoiding him. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was just Ji-yong, out with his best friends, not weighed down by the mess in his head.

He laughed as Daesung dramatically butchered the lyrics to the song playing, and he clinked glasses with Seunghyun, who smirked over the rim of his drink. Even Taeyang, who had been keeping a careful eye on him all night, finally seemed satisfied that Ji-yong wasn’t sulking anymore. For a moment, everything felt fine.

And then, it didn’t.

The second he turned toward the entrance, his heart jumped.

You.

You had just walked in, looking effortlessly stunning, your eyes quickly scanning over the crowd as you and your group made your way inside. Ji-yong felt the familiar warmth spread through his chest, a natural reaction he could never seem to control when it came to you. But just as quickly as it came, that warmth turned cold.

Right beside you, close enough that your arms nearly brushed, was him. 

Ji-yong’s grip on his drink tightened as he watched the same male idol from the variety show lean in, saying something in your ear. You laughed—really laughed—like he had just told the funniest joke in the world.

His night had just gone from the best he’d had in a while to completely ruined. Ji-yong’s stomach twisted. Up close, it was so much worse.

He could see everything now—the way the man leaned in just enough that your shoulders touched, the way he spoke to you with an easy confidence. But what made his heart sink the most was you. You weren’t brushing the guy off. You weren’t shifting away or rolling your eyes like you sometimes did when she was uninterested. You were smiling, laughing like you were actually enjoying his company. And for the first time, Ji-yong felt something ugly crawl up his spine. Was this what you wanted? Was this why you had been avoiding him? While he had been sitting around, overthinking, missing you, regretting every moment of silence between them, had you already moved on? His fingers curled into fists at his sides, an unfamiliar bitterness rising in his throat. He wanted to look away, wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop staring at you, couldn’t stop wishing that, just once, you would look up—look at him—and give him a sign that he hadn’t already lost you.

Taeyang must have noticed the shift because he sighed beside him. “Ji—”

“I’m fine,” Ji-yong muttered, downing the rest of his drink. But even he didn’t believe that. For the first time since you had started avoiding each other, he wasn’t wondering whether you were upset over him. Now, he was wondering if maybe you weren’t upset at all. And he hated how much that possibility made his chest ache.

“You’ve been staring at her for the past ten minutes,” Seunghyun said, swirling the alcohol in his glass. “Not very subtle, Ji.”

Daesung let out a low whistle. “Look at that. She’s laughing. At his joke.” He nudged Taeyang with his elbow, giving each other knowing, wary looks before looking back at Ji-yong. “That’s gotta sting.”

Ji-yong tore his gaze away long enough to shoot him a glare. “Shut up.”

He exhaled sharply, downed another drink, and set his glass down with a clink. “You know what?” He pushed himself up from the booth. “I’m done with this.”

Taeyang raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what exactly are you planning to do?”

Ji-yong ignored him, already striding towards you.

The moment he approached, the male idol’s gaze lifted, eyes widening in recognition. “Oh, wow—you’re G-Dragon.” Ji-yong barely had time to speak before the guy extended a hand, grinning. “I’m a huge fan. Your music’s been a big inspiration to me.”

You tensed beside him, clearly picking up on Ji-yong’s mood shift. Your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t just the fact that he was here—it was the way he looked. His usual sharp confidence was there, but beneath it, something was off. His dark eyes locked onto yours, unwavering and intense, but there was a slight unsteadiness in his steps, the telltale looseness in his posture that only came when he’d had too much to drink. Had he been drinking because of you? You hadn’t spoken to him in days, especially convincing yourself he was mad at you, that you had ruined things between the two of you. But now, standing under the flashing lights, you could feel the weight of his gaze like a burning imprint on your skin. He barely spared a glance at the idol beside her, his focus entirely on you, and for a second, the rest of the club faded into background noise. Your heart pounded against your ribs. Why was he looking at you like that? And why did it feel like, even in a crowded room, he was the only one who could make you feel like this?

After zoning out for a second, you noticed Ji-yong took the handshake, but his grip was too firm, his expression unreadable. “That’s nice,” he said coolly. His gaze flicked to you, then back to the guy. “But I think you’re getting a little too comfortable with what’s mine.”

The male idol blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“What?” You couldn’t help but blurt it out. 

But before you could say anything else, Ji-yong moved without thinking, casually draping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in just enough to make his point clear.

The male idol awkwardly glanced between you. “Uh—I’ll catch you later,” he mumbled before making a quick exit.

Ji-yong smirked, watching him leave. Good.

But when he turned back to you, your expression was far from pleased. You stepped out of his grasp. “What the hell was that?”

Ji-yong shrugged. “Just making sure he knows his place.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “His place? You don’t get to do that, Ji-yong. You don’t get to act like—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “Forget it.”

“No, go on,” he said, tilting his head. “Act like what?”

Like you care. Like you still want me.

You huffed, clearly not willing to have this conversation here. Instead, you grabbed his wrist and yanked him toward the exit.

Seunghyun, Daesung, and Taeyang had been watching the whole thing unfold from their booth, amusement clear on their faces.

“Well,” Taeyang said, raising his drink. “This just got interesting.”

“Should we follow?” Daesung asked.

Seunghyun smirked. “Oh, absolutely.”

By the time you reached outside, the cool night air did little to calm the heat between Ji-yong and you. The moment you were alone, you turned to face him, arms crossed, frustration clear in your expression.

“You’re unbelievable,” you said. “You have no right to get jealous over who I talk to.”

He scoffed. “Jealous? You think I’m jealous of him?”

“Weren’t you?” You challenged. “Because that’s sure what it looked like.”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

Ji-yong stepped closer, his voice lower this time. “That I don’t like seeing you with him. That I hate the way he looks at you, the way you smile at him—like he actually has a chance.”

You froze. The words hung in the air between them, too heavy to ignore.

But he wasn’t done.

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair as his frustration spilled over. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like? Watching you act like I don’t exist, like what we had—what we have—doesn’t mean anything?” His voice wavered slightly, and for a second, he looked almost exhausted, like holding everything in had been weighing him down for too long. “I tried to stay away, I really did. I told myself that if you needed space, I’d give it to you. But then I see you with him, and it’s like—” He cut himself off, his jaw tightening. “It’s like I was stupid for ever thinking I could just let you go.”

Your heart pounded, but you forced yourself to take a step back. “Ji-yong, you’re drunk,” you said, shaking your head. “You don’t mean any of this.”

His expression hardened instantly. “Don’t do that,” he said, voice firm. “Don’t act like this is just the alcohol talking.”

You hesitated, forcing yourself to really look at him. He was tipsy, sure—you could tell from the way his movements were a little too loose, the way his emotions weren’t as carefully controlled as usual. But his eyes—his eyes were clear. Sharp with frustration, dark with something deeper. The weight of his words settled over you, pressing against the walls you’d tried so hard to keep up.

He meant it. Every single word. And that terrified you. 

So why could you practically hear your heartbeat? Your heart fluttered at the possibility of finally getting him back. The truth was, there had never been anyone else. Not even for a second. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself that keeping your distance from Ji-yong was the right thing to do, no matter how much you told yourself he was probably mad at you, that you had ruined things, it had never changed one simple fact—you were in love with him. You had been for longer than you were willing to admit, and nothing—not time, not silence, not even the presence of someone else—had ever come close to changing that. The male idol had been nothing more than a distraction, a way to pretend, just for a moment, that you weren’t still aching for Ji-yong. But standing here now, with him looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered, you knew there was no more running from it. There had never been another option. It had always been him.

Ji-yong could feel eyes on them. He glanced to the side and spotted the rest of the members from your respective groups watching from just outside the club entrance. Fantastic.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck it.”

Then, before you could react, he closed the distance between you.

An excited gasp echoed from the group behind them, followed by Daesung muttering, “Oh my god.”

Ji-yong didn’t care.

The moment your lips met, the rest of the world faded—the club music, the street noise, everything. It was just you. The way you tensed for half a second, like you couldn’t believe this was really happening, before you gave in, melting into him like you had been waiting for this all along. The way your breath hitched against his lips, your fingers instinctively gripping his jacket as if you were afraid he might slip away. 

His hands were steady, one cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek as if memorizing the shape of you, the other settling at your waist, pulling you closer. His lips were warm, urgent but unhurried, like he wanted to take his time, like he had been starving for this but was determined to savor every second. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, and the heat that shot through you made your knees weaken. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a confession, a plea, an apology, a promise all at once. And as your heart pounded against your ribs, matching the wild rhythm of his, you knew—there was no going back now.

When he finally pulled away, he searched your eyes, waiting for a reaction. You just stood there, lips parted, heartbeat hammering in your chest. Their groups stood frozen in shock, waiting for what would happen next.

Ji-yong swallowed hard. “Say something.”

Would you push him away? Would you yell at him? Would you—

Hands still gripping his jacket, you pulled him back in. 

The kiss lingers, but only for a moment longer than either of you intended. It feels like time slows down—neither of you rushing to pull away, as if savoring the shift in everything. Ji-yong's hand still rests at your waist, his thumb gently brushing against your skin. His other hand, however, seems unsure of where to go, hovering for a second before gently cupping your cheek.

You both pull away just slightly, your faces still close, and Ji-yong’s breath comes a little heavier than before. His eyes flicker to your lips, like he’s thinking about kissing you again, but he hesitates.

"Well," he says with a playful grin, "that was definitely not in the plan."

You can’t help but laugh, a little breathless, still trying to process everything. "Yeah, you don’t exactly follow instructions, do you?" You tease, giving him a playful shove on the chest.

He chuckles, taking a step back, but his eyes never leave yours. “Hey, it wasn’t just my fault. You were kissing me back, too,” he says, raising an eyebrow in mock offense. “I think we’re both in this mess together now.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You really know how to make everything sound like it’s my fault, don’t you?”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just stating the facts here. You're the one who keeps pulling me in. What am I supposed to do, huh?”

“You could’ve, I don’t know, not kissed me like that,” you say with a smirk and your arms crossed, playing along.

“What can I say? I’m a man of action.” 

“Clearly.”

“But seriously though…” he began, taking on a more serious tone again. “I don’t think either of us can pretend like we don’t have something going on between us. Something real.” 

"I thought you were mad at me," you admit quietly, still unsure of how to process everything that's happened. “You’ve barely said anything to me since... well, since everything with management.”

His expression softens. He steps closer, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “I was never mad. I was just... confused. And scared. I didn't know how to deal with what I was feeling. And I didn't want to mess things up.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a playful side-eye. "And kissing me like that just helps the confusion, huh?"

Ji-yong smirks, but it’s playful, the tension between you both easing. “Hey, if I had known that’s how you’d react, I would’ve done it sooner.” He winks at you, his voice teasing again.

You laugh, finally feeling like things are normal again. The weight of this situation feels a little lighter now, the tension slipping away with every teasing word. “You’re such a troublemaker,” you say, shaking your head but still smiling.

“Guilty as charged,” he replies with a wink. Back to his usual confidence, it seems. “But I think you like it.”

You certainly can’t argue with that.

“So, uh… what now?” You chuckled a little nervously, unable to ignore the way your heart was still pounding.

His smile widens, but this time, there’s no teasing in it. Just sincerity. He takes a step forward, his presence commanding as he gently brushes a stray lock of hair from your face. “Now… we figure this out, together,” he says softly, voice low. “No more running away.”

“Promise?” You held out your pinky, giving him a shy smile. 

“You’re adorable.” He laughed, before hooking his own pinky around yours. “Promise.” 

The two of you share another kiss, a quicker and lighter one this time, as if to solidify the promise. Your friends standing a little way from you almost forgot about until Taeyang piped up.

“Finally!” 

The others, who had been watching quietly, burst into laughter. Seung-hyun shakes his head. “Took you long enough. I was wondering if you two were ever going to stop pretending.”

“Right?” Daesung added, grinning ear to ear. “You’ve been dancing around each other for months, and all it took was a pinky promise?”

The two of you decide to join your group, hand in hand, and Ji-yong rolls his eyes but his smile betrays him. “You’re all just jealous.”

“Jealous?” Seung-hyun scoffs. “Nah, we’re just happy you two finally figured it out. Took you both long enough to stop being idiots.”

“Could’ve done this a lot sooner,” Taeyang teases, crossing his arms with a smirk. “We’d have saved you both a lot of trouble.”

You roll your eyes but can't suppress your smile. Ji-yong, now fully leaning into the teasing, shoots back, “Yeah, well, now that it’s done, are you guys finally done with your comments?”

“Of course not,” Daesung chimes in, laughing. “You two just gave us the best material for at least a week of teasing!”

One of the girls from your group chuckles and shakes her head. “I swear, the way you two acted around each other was like watching a soap opera. But I knew it was only a matter of time before it happened.”

Another girl smirks and adds, “We should’ve known. You two have been glaring at each other like you're ready to pounce for ages.”

You blush, feeling your face heat up. “We weren’t glaring…”

“You were,” the first girl teases with a playful grin. “And it was adorable.”

“Could’ve saved us the suspense if you’d just kissed sooner,” the third girl laughs, nudging you gently. “We’ve been waiting for that moment.”

Ji-yong laughs, a bit sheepish but still confident. “Guess I’ll just have to get used to it, huh?”

“I think we all will,” you respond, laughing as you nudge him back.

The guys continue to joke, but it’s clear that despite the teasing, the air around you both feels lighter. For the first time, you're not just surrounded by the laughter of your friends; you're wrapped up in a sense of belonging, of something real—and you're excited to see where it goes.

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