#serious question. i would like to know what you think...

[bixbythemartian]

the problem with the bathroom wasn't so much that it was ugly, the thread was actually fairly positive and helpful at first, with people who at least didn't hate his design and were cheering him on, giving him advice (please note that SA does filter swearing if you don't have an account, so loving is fucking and poopoo is shit and drat is damn and so on)

Like, the bathroom isn't to my taste exactly, and the gravel surround for the tub always looked deeply uncomfortable to step on, and like a mold magnet, but the colors are fine enough in theory, and he was getting what seemed to be quality materials. it's distinctive and striking, it's a look, I never thought it was particularly ugly. I don't like that particular shade of red, but I know that's a matter of taste. I could do it in green and be happy with it, tbh.

the problem was that this guy was a DIY guy who made at least one REAL BIG OOPSIES and someone said:

I started writing up a big post but I don't think it will be constructive. Basically the jist is this: You've done a really bad thing and are making some choices that will have serious consequences. I suggest stopping here for a bit and thinking things over. Also ask lots of questions and listen to what alot of people are about to say here.

and he responded fairly poorly, a big old 'well the internet just likes to be mean' thing and insisted that things were fine, and that just because something 'wasn't up to code' doesn't mean it won't work, people let code violations slide all the time, it's not a big deal, blah blah blah.

he continued to be like 'oh I can deal with internet hate' while kind of poopooing the idea that he'd made that big of a whoopsie, and then everybody he called to get help for this was mysteriously not returning his calls (he had a big rant about how all contractors just took his money and made stuff he didn't want)

and it went on and on from there. at one point, being roasted for the design of the bathroom, he insisted it was to appeal to women, because women had an 'unfair' amount of influence over home buying, and brought out some really gross misogyny as more women chimed in to tell him he was incorrect

like the thread at SA could have been him responding 'aw, beans' and getting people in to help and then continue the DIY thread and it would have been fine, and wouldn't have been preserved in the comedy goldmine for posterity, almost nobody would remember it

but he kept throwing out shit like 'if you're not going to be CONSTRUCTIVE then don't criticize me!' because he wasn't acknowledging that people weren't being mean to be mean, that 'no, stop, wait, don't!' isn't criticism, it is an attempt to arrest your forward momentum on making a really bad mistake!

and he just kept doubling down, which is just bait for places like Something Awful.

that's more why the bathroom is notorious, although it's become 'look at this ugly bathroom', which really wasn't the original point (although that was part of the thread much later on down the road), it was more of a 'get a load of this guy' situation.

what is the child annihilating zipline

in 2010, a camp counselor goon logged on to the somethingawful forums asking for help with the zipline he build from scratch, and with no engineering knowledge, that didn’t seem to be working right. when he tested it with a sandbag, it continued to gather speed during the entirety of the 143 foot drop (19 degree slope) until it slammed into the wooden platform at the bottom at a speed of 65mph, presumably creating a child paste that would have to be scraped off to be sent home. there were pictures.

[lexalith]

FRIENDS || Choi Su-Bong (Thanos)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

subong. are you awake?

yes ma’am. why?

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

???

do you think i’m attractive?

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

it takes him a few minutes to reply.

what kind of question is that?

just answer

i’m too high for this shit, bro

you’re not high🙄 liar

i wish i were

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

yeah, i think u are

really?

sure thinggg, u’re hot mama

dude quit playing, i’m being serious over here

i’m not fucking playing

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

what are we even talking about

why can’t you just answer?😭

what is this for?

for my knowledge

tf is that supposed to mean?

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

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

some stuff? what stuff?

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

who tf is this dude?

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

it does?

are you gonna answer my question or no?

yeah. i think u r both kinds.

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

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

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

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

are u serious?

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

alr, imma be honest. yeah i would

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

subong’s typing…

would u? with me?

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

maybe

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

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

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

but have u?

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

can’t help it when u look that good💯

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

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

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

i knew itttt señorita 🙏🏼

shut up

how many times?

why do you wanna know?🤨

i answered ur stupid ass questions, now u answer mine

maybe like idk, two?

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

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

more than u wanna know

how bad are we talking?

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

maybe i do

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

you do realize i’m your bestfriend right?

yeah, so?

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

yeah but they don’t make me as hard

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

even saying this shit is getting me worked up

what???😭 you’re hard??

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

it was hypothetical

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

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

too much info, subong

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

okay… should i leave you to it?

fuck no

damn alr, suffer then🙄

could u help me out?

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

with a pic of u or smth

boy whatttttttttt

what?

i’m not sending you fucking nudes wtf 💀💀

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

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

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

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

hoooooooooly shitttttttttt

it’s just a pic

yeah, a pic of u looking like that

im just in my pajamas

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

subong you can’t just say stuff like that

why not? we always tell each other everything

i should’ve thrown on a hoodie

i’d still be thinking of what’s underneath

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

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

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

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

it's him. he sent a picture.

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

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

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

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

and what if i don’t?

then i'd make u

mhmmm, how?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

shit, subong… i’m close

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

u better be there señorita

i will🙃

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this shit is so funny bro loooololol

i fear your humor is broken😐

naahhh u just don’t get ittt babyy

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

another day, he messages the group chat:

pentagon this weekend?🔥

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

wbu? still down to go?

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

yeah, sureee

bet. see u saturday, señorita

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

outside

outsideeee

outsideeeeeeeee

hellooooooooooooooooooo

one minute, let me grab my jacket

i’m freezing man

one minute my ass

patience is a virtue ❤️

cmooooooooon

u knitting the jacket or what

girl i just hit retirement age waiting for u

you’re so dramatic

and u r so slow, balance baby

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it happens everywhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and you did. every single time.

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

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

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

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

are u busy?

no, why?

good, i’ll be there in 10

i’m on my period

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

subong.

yeah?🙏🏼

not in the mood❤️

oh

alr cool👍🏼💯

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

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

i’m the only snack u need, girl

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

pick up the fucking phone

cmon baby please

i fucking miss u

don’t do this shit to me

u make me so fucking angry

bro istfg

please

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

i know u r reading these

don’t fucking ignore me bro

at least tell me u r okay

minsu asked why u didn’t come with us today

just fucking answer

is it that hard?

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

u r fucking selfish

i hope u know that

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

im highhg as fuvckk bro

look whatu vdone to me

fukcing bittvhhh

its urA fault

i mis uu

u r myybhaby❤️❤️❤️❤️

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

can i cone over? plewaasse

answer bitchj

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

come bsck

i loveyouy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sailoryuns]

INAMORATA ─── PSH

genre. idol!sunghoon x model!f!reader | established relationship

warnings. angst, fluff (moreso towards the end), smut, accusations of cheating, hoon being lowkey toxic, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, some mentions of crying, not proofread wc -> 1.5k

ps. the position i’m referring to is this (nsfw link), i usually hate vids but this was rly good imo.

“i think we should take a break...” you admit, voice growing shakier as you spoke. this was never something you wish to say in a million years, you wanted this relationship to work more than anything. but you were at your wits end with everything, talking to sunghoon was like conversing with the wall, never fully grasping any of your concerns.

you noticed the cracks beginning to seep in the midst of six months of being with him. he would often be dishonest of his whereabouts, saying he was out late due to “work” but was actually out drinking at some bar with jake or something. it made no sense for him to lie about such trivial things but he does it without even thinking. this was supposed to be a lovely vacation in paris together but lately you’ve grown tired of feeling like you’re unappreciated. a break from each other might be the best solution in getting his act together once and for all.

sunghoon felt his whole body turn limp as you uttered those words. not only was he blindsided by your decision, but you never indicated before to him that you were ready to propose such a drastic idea. “but why though? don’t you think this is a bit random? i mean this came out of nowhere y/n, i thought everything was good between us, why are you suddenly saying this now?” his thick, bushy brows furrowed in confusion, he wasn’t letting you off this easy and you know it.

“i just think it’s for the better right now hoon, we’re both so busy. we have a lot on our plate, especially you… and this relationship is just— it’s only putting more strain on everythi-”

“are you serious y/n? do you hear yourself? i knew what i was getting myself into the day i asked you to be my girlfriend. i’m well aware that i can’t be with you 24/7, and neither can you—however, i don’t expect that anyway. all i ever wanted was to have you by my side, i want to work through the hardships with you but if you’re so willing to give up like this then… i don’t know. i don’t even know what to say to this honestly..” sunghoon couldn’t help but cut you off, once his emotions take over, all sense of logic and reasoning is thrown out the window.

he was never one to question his worth in the eyes of his partner, but you were his longest relationship, he saw you as his first and only true love. it never occurred to him that he could lose you, the possibility of this break lasting long enough to make your love fade away was a scary revelation. there had to be a way he could fix this, he couldn’t bear to be without you.

“are you seeing someone else? maybe that’s why you’ve been so distant towards me lately…” he wanted to scream for saying that out loud but at least he got it off his chest. he knows how petty it sounds but he didn’t care, he wanted you to give him answers.

“no! i’m not seeing other people, i don’t have an interest in anyone but you sunghoon. i want to do this for the sake of us, we’re clearly not where we need to be and this break could help with getting us back on track and spending time apart could be beneficial.” you try your best to articulate your words properly but he remained unconvinced, he wasn’t on board with any bit of this.

how could you even be okay with something like this? spending time away from you drove him absolutely insane, he couldn’t fathom taking a break—not from someone as important as you in his life. he just needed to remind you that the love was still there, though it may be but a dull flame, he could ignite the spark again, with the little bit of hope he had left.

the foundation of your relationship was built from shared interests, since you both are part of professions that rely heavily on looks, you refused to see each other based solely off those superficial aspects. instead you got to know each other’s minds, your core values and beliefs, what mattered to you the most. you cherished every one of those deep conversations you shared together, it was a beautiful experience, an indescribable memory that shaped your bond forever.

so why is it now that you feel this way? was he really that oblivious to everything? he should’ve done more to prevent this but now he fears it’s too late. he’s faced with the conundrum of losing you and there wasn’t much time for him to stall or ask for a chance of redemption, he couldn’t waste another second.

“fuck that,” sunghoon angrily spat, his face contorting into a look of pure disgust. “you’re not going anywhere.” he reaches out to grab your waist before you could walk away, aggressively pulling you into his chest.

no matter how much you attempt to escape his hold, he’s not letting you go in the slightest. he’s much stronger than you, could easily lift you up without breaking a sweat. there was no use in fighting, you had no choice but to give in and let this conversation go. once his lips crashed into yours, everything faded to black. as if a simple kiss was the cure-all of mending this decrepit relationship.

sunghoon’s forehead pressed against yours as he pulled away, “shhh, lye down baby,” he hushes your quiet mewls, instructing you to do as he says. “gonna make you feel so good,” his hands slid under your skirt, gently rubbing over your clothed core “you’ll forget everything.”

* :.･ﾟﾟ･ ✿

“oh my- fuckk, sunghoon!” you cry out, almost on the verge of tears just from how skilled he is, rutting your hips upwards into his mouth as he devours you whole.

the pace of his tongue is relentless, roughly lapping up all your juices like he’s the most starved man alive. you’ve lost count at the amount of times he’s already made you come undone just from his mouth alone. your body’s buzzing with titillation, all you can do is scream and clench your pussy around nothing while he fiercely sucks on your clit.

you couldn’t stop twitching, feeling yet another orgasm approaching. your legs anchored over his shoulders, unable to think or speak coherent sentences as his face was fully buried into your sloppy cunt. he relaxes his jaw a bit more, going all the way from the bottom inching further up as he comes back in contact with your puffy clit. at any given moment it feels as if your heart’s about to stop.

“hoon-” your heads thrown back into the pillow, digging your nails into his shoulder blades from how overly sensitive you are. “n-need to cum.. can feel it. m’so close.” it surprises you when you’re able to even express such words.

a low grunt can be heard underneath, sunghoon loves hearing you— it’s arguably the best part about going down on you. the hand that wasn’t occupied went straight to gripping a fistful of his ebony hair, continuously moaning his name so loud that you genuinely feel bad for whomever the unlucky people that got to hear this.

just when you thought it couldn’t get anymore intense, he slips 2 of his slender fingers inside, making you gasp from the overwhelming sensation. flashes of white invade your vision, violently shaking as your lips form an “o” in the throes of ecstasy. sunghoon knows your body so well that this is nothing for him, he’s got it all down to a simple science. no one knows your body like he does, and especially no one can make you cum as hard as he can.

“go ahead, make a mess for me baby,” he strongly encourages, picking up his pace as his digits fuck into you faster. “just gonna clean it up with my tongue all over again.”

your eyes roll back to the depths of oblivion, feeling an out of body experience when reaching your climax. a string of curses leaves your shaky breath, limbs trembling and faint tears stain your flushed cheeks. sunghoon slows his movements, rubbing his thumb over your clit gently to make you even more sensitive. you love the way he calls you “good girl” and how proud the look on his face becomes while you ride out your orgasm on his fingers. he doesn’t stop showering you with compliments, only ramping up his affection as he plants fleeting kisses to your thighs, hips, and stomach.

once he’s finally come back up for air you grab his face to pull him into your lips again. moaning in his mouth while getting a taste of yourself was probably the hottest thing sunghoon’s ever witnessed.

“can’t believe this is all mine.” sunghoon whispers against you, gently massaging your aching thighs. “i love you so much, baby.”

“love you too hoon.” you instantly say back, feeling more at ease now that things are somewhat back to normal.

maybe a break isn’t necessary after all, how else would you be able to have such earth shattering orgasms?

- 完 ♡︎

[sixic]

letting gojo fuck you raw might have been a mistake, especially now that he wants kids..☆

(part 1 here)

yes—it felt good. heavenly, even. feeling him fill you up without a contraceptive barrier between you might overlap an ego death on the life-altering-experiences venn diagram.

but now your boyfriend throws a tantrum whenever you tell him to wrap it. he pouts and whines and stamps his fucking feet like a child at your child-preventative measures. he’s too tall to act like a toddler—if you didn’t secretly enjoy the pining you’d hit him upside the back of his head and tell him to stop sulking.

“we’re too young to be parents,” you’d tell him as he rubs his uncovered cock through your folds, from your entrance up to your sensitive clit and back down.

his counter? “the earlier we start, the longer we have to try for more.”

“maybe youre forgetting the whole ‘jujutsu sorcerer, could-die-at-any-moment' thing?”

“are you forgetting that i’m the strongest? plus, i think i’d look hot saving the world wearing a baby carrier… not that i would endanger our kid like that. bad point, ask me a new one.”

“we aren’t playing trivia.”

“cmon,” a tap of the head of his cock to your clit. “humour me.”

“alright, children are fucking expensive.”

“babe, you’re not serious—you do know i’m filthy rich, right? capitalism fears me. i’m like that rich disney duck with the top hat and—”

you point a finger in his face. “put a goddamn condom on or you’re banned from sex for a month, scrooge.”

and he blinks, pretends to be offended at how responsible you are, and then falls into an easy smile because sex with you is more than enough for him. when he sinks into you, condom-covered or not, he falls a little bit more in love each time.

but it is not the same and you know it.

the weight of him on top of you is the same. as is the snapping thrusts of his hips into yours and the gentle circles he traces over your clit and the way he moans your name once he’s sheathed fully inside of you. it’s the same.

but it’s not the same as taking him raw. it’s not the bulge of his veins against your velvet walls. nor is it the beading precum at his tip dripping inside of you, or the filthy fucking drawling moans he lets out when he fills you to the brim.

“you’re so beautiful,” he's moaning like he's in heat. completely enthralled with every aspect of your being, satoru groans and moans and snaps forward into you like he's trying to breed you regardless.

and you're so full, stretched to your limits with his cock pulsing inside of you, but you don't feel satiated like you could. you've tasted it once, the feel of his cum spilling into you, the knowledge of what it could do to you. to him. he would look good as a dad. god, him holding a baby in his arms...

"pull out."

gojo stops immediately at your words, blinking the lust from his eyes in an immediate shock change of expression. he's looking you over, making sure you're not in any pain, before pulling out of you completely with no questions asked. he's always been good like that—sure, he'll whine about wearing latex but he'd never push you past your spoken limits.

"you wanna stop?" he asks gently, already reaching for a washcloth to wipe you down with. his eyes watch you carefully, obsessed with your interest and comfort: you have to stop yourself from laughing at his panic. "we can watch some TV or go to bed or i could make you—"

his words die in his mouth when you reach down to his still-hard cock and slowly pull the condom that covers it from the top. it slides from his length with a little resistance before finally pulling over the head and snapping back at your hand with a subtle sting.

"fuck me," you meet his eyes.

"what? you said—"

"satoru. fuck me. breed me, even. how many other ways do i have to put it? i want you to fuck a baby into me."

he blinks again. no witty comment, no awful smirk or joke about being a dilf. you've gone and rendered satoru speechless. when he does finally move his lips, it's not to dirty talk you like expected.

"we aren't married."

you can't help but laugh. "what?"

"i'm going to marry you first, and then you are going to make me a dad. i have it all planned out, babe, we can't have drunk honeymoon sex if you're pregnant. though you would look fucking beautiful on a beach somewhere with a baby bump. god now i'm conflicted."

"you have it planned?"

the thought of satoru planning this out hits you, him thinking about a future with you, a ring on your finger, embracing the stress of parenthood together so well that when the kids move out and you're old and grey, you abhor having a silent home.

"so are you going to propose or not?" you look at him.

again, he blinks. "right now?"

"why not? do you have a ring?"

satoru looks at you, smiles, and slips off the bed—still naked—to reach into the bedside drawer. a small black box sits in his top drawer, ironically under a pile of condoms. he holds it in his hand and returns to you with a kiss to your knee, and then one to your inner thigh, and another just above your clit. he works his way up your stomach, of course stopping to bite at your nipples when he reaches your chest, and then presses himself fully against you once his lips find yours.

when he pulls away, you're met with the sight of a ring you had pointed out to him months ago. had he really been planning this long? "i knew i was going to marry you on our first date," he says, but then counters, "actually, that's a lie. it was when i tasted that sweet pussy of yours for the first time, but that's not as romantic."

you smile, bracing yourself for a long-winded speech when satoru suddenly pushes the tip of his now-uncovered cock inside of you. you gasp, and he swallows it with a kiss before taking your hand in his and slipping the ring down your finger with a breathy; "will you marry me?"

"yes," of course, is your answer. which warrants a sudden deep thrust from your now-fiancé as he bottoms out inside of you.

"yeah?" he nips at your neck. "you'll marry me? gonna make me a dad too, huh? gonna fill you up, baby, gonna breed you out and—"

"i thought you said—"

"changed my mind. now, lift your legs up: you're not leaving this bed until i've knocked you up, pretty."

[saydams]

this is not the real transcript, though the real transcript is a similar argument. read it here.

here's a lot of it:

Vance: “I’m talking about the kind of diplomacy that’s going to end the destruction of your country… Mr. President, with respect, I think it's disrespectful for you to come to the Oval Office to try to litigate this in front of the American media. Right now, you guys are going around and forcing conscripts to the front lines because you have manpower problems. You should be thanking the president for trying to bring it into this conflict.” Zelensky: “Have you ever been to Ukraine that you [can] say what problems we have? You should come once.”

Zelensky: “[There are] a lot of questions. Let's start from the beginning. First of all, during the war, everybody has problems, even you, but you have a nice ocean [in between], and don't feel it now, but you will feel it in the future. God bless you.” Trump: “Don't tell us what we're going to feel. We're trying to solve a problem. Don't tell us what we're going to feel… because you're in no position to dictate that. Remember this, you're in no position to dictate what we're going to feel. We're going to feel good. We're gonna feel very good and very strong.” Zelensky: “You will feel the influence. I’m telling you now you will feel the influence.” Trump: “You're right now, not in a very good position. You're not in a good position. You don't have the cards right now with us.” Zelensky: “I’m not playing cards right now, I’m very serious Mr President. I am a wartime president.”

Zelensky: “Please. You think that if you will speak very loudly about the war…” Trump: “He‘s not speaking loudly. Your country is in big trouble. Wait a minute. No, no, you‘ve done a lot of talking. Your country is in big trouble. You‘re not winning. You‘re not winning this. You have a damn good chance of coming out, okay Because of us. Zelensky: “I know… We are staying strong in our country. From the very beginning of the war, we‘ve been alone, and we are thankful. I said thanks in this cabinet.” Trump: [shouting again] “You haven’t been alone. We gave you, through the stupid president, $350 billion. We gave you military equipment. You and your men are brave, but they had to use our military [equipment.] If you didn‘t have our military equipment this war would have been over in two weeks. Zelensky: “In three days. Yes, I heard it from Putin ‘in three days’…. in two weeks.” Trump: “Maybe less… It‘s going to be a very hard thing to do business like this, I tell you.” Vance: “Just say thank you, accept that there are disagreements, and let's go litigate those disagreements rather than trying to fight it out of the American media, when you're wrong, we know that you're wrong.” Zelensky: “I said it a lot of times to the American people.”

Trump: “What if anything? What if a bomb drops on your head right now? Okay, what if they broke it? I don‘t know. They broke it with Biden because Biden didn‘t respect him. They didn‘t respect Obama. They respect me. Let me tell you, Putin went through a hell of a lot with me. He went through a phony witch hunt where they used him and Russia, Russia, Russia, Russia ... You ever hear of that deal? That was a phony. That was a phony Hunter Biden, Joe Biden scam. Hillary Clinton, shifty Adam Schiff, it was a Democrat scam. And he had to go through that. And he did go through it. We didn‘t end up in a war. And he went through it. He was accused of all that stuff. He had nothing to do with it. It came out of Hunter Biden‘s bathroom. It came out of Hunter Biden‘s bedroom. It was disgusting. And then they said, oh, oh, the laptop from hell was made by Russia. The 51 agents The whole thing was a scam. And he had to put up with that. He was being accused of all that stuff. All I can say is this: he might have broken deals with Obama and Bush, and he might have broken them with Biden. He did maybe, maybe he didn‘t. I don‘t know what happened, but he didn‘t break them with me. He wants to make a deal… …The problem is I've empowered you to be a tough guy, and I don't think you'd be a tough guy without the United States. And your people are very brave, but you're either going to make a deal or we're out, and if we're out, you'll fight it out. I don't think it's going to be pretty, but you'll fight it out, but you don't have the cards, but once we sign that deal you're in a much better position. But you're not acting at all thankful and that's not a nice thing, I'll be honest. That's not a nice thing… All right. I think we‘ve seen enough… “This is going to be great television. I will say that.”

[undiagnosedcruelty]

GAME OVER

Pairing: bf!felix x afab!reader

Summary: Felix has been stuck in bronze all day, frustrated from shitty teammates and losing streaks. You decide to offer him a little… distraction. But what starts as playful teasing quickly turns into payback when Felix reminds you exactly who’s in control.

Genre: Smut —MINORS DNI!

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Warnings: Oral sex (m + f receiving), teasing/dom!Felix, overstimulation, edging, mild degradation, praise kink, spanking, language, slight power play, Felix being a menace, reader being a brat, explicit sexual content.

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: the things i have in my drafts are questionable.

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EVERYTHING WRITTEN IS PURELY FICTION──NOTHING IS DIRECTLY RELATED TO ANY REAL LIFE EVENTS.

Felix had been gaming for hours.

The constant clicking of his mouse, the aggressive taps of his keyboard, and the occasional frustrated growls had filled the room all evening. He was tense, jaw locked, golden brows furrowed in frustration as he lost yet another ranked match.

“Are you fucking serious?” he groaned, tossing his head back against his chair. His deep voice carried a rough edge, thick with irritation. “These teammates are garbage. No comms, no awareness—how the fuck am I supposed to rank up like this?”

You bit back a smirk from where you stood behind him, watching the sharp rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers flexed aggressively over the keys. His hoodie had ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of taut, golden skin above the waistband of his sweats. His long legs were spread in his gaming chair, his posture stiff with frustration.

Another defeat screen flashed.

Felix exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his dark roots.

That was your cue.

Padding over, you slid behind him, your hands settling on his shoulders, kneading into the tension gathered there. “Still stuck in bronze?” you teased, voice lilting with amusement.

Felix let out a low grunt, his head tilting slightly at your touch, though his fingers remained glued to the keyboard. “Don’t start.”

“You know, maybe you just need a break,” you murmured, leaning in so your lips brushed the shell of his ear. “Or… a distraction.”

Felix stiffened slightly, a visible shiver running through him as your breath fanned against his skin. But he huffed a short laugh, shaking his head. “Babe, I don’t think—”

“You should focus,” you purred, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, feeling his breath hitch beneath your touch. “You're in a ranked game, right?”

He swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “Yeah.”

“Then don’t let me stop you.”

And with that, you sank onto your knees between his legs.

Felix froze. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but his entire body tensed as your hands trailed up his thighs, nails scratching teasingly over the fabric of his sweats.

"Shit—"

The game started. His teammates moved. But Felix didn’t.

"You wouldn’t leave your team hanging, would you?" you murmured, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

His breath shuddered. "You little—"

You tugged at his sweats, and Felix lifted his hips instinctively, letting you pull them down just enough to free him. The moment your fingers wrapped around him, his head tipped back against the chair, lips parting in a sharp inhale.

"Fuuuck—"

His cock was already hard, flushed and hot against your palm, and when you gave him a slow, teasing stroke, his thighs tensed beneath your hands. His fingers twitched on the keyboard, barely able to form a response as the chat flooded with messages from his confused teammates.

"Babe, I swear to—"

But his words cut off into a choked moan as you licked him, the warmth of your tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path along his length.

"Fuck, you’re—” He exhaled shakily, struggling to focus, struggling to breathe. His grip on the mouse was completely useless now, his knuckles white as his free hand slipped into your hair, fingers tangling in the strands.

You took your time, lips brushing over sensitive skin, teasing him with feather-light kisses before finally wrapping your mouth around him.

Felix lost it.

His hips jerked, a sharp gasp breaking from his throat as he completely abandoned his game. His other hand shot to your hair, gripping tight—not to stop you, but to ground himself, to keep from unraveling too fast.

"Fucking—" His voice was low, wrecked, vibrating deep in his chest. "You're killing me, baby."

You hummed in response, taking him deeper, feeling the way his thighs quivered beneath your touch. His cock throbbed in your mouth, the heat of him heavy on your tongue, and when you sucked just a little harder, he swore.

The game blared in the background—his teammates pinging frantically, spamming question marks in chat as his character stood idle in spawn.

But Felix didn’t give a single fuck.

His breathing was ragged, his hand tightening in your hair as he fought to hold himself back, but when you flattened your tongue against him and swallowed around his length, his restraint snapped.

"Shit, shit—baby, if you keep that up—"

His voice was shaking, his muscles taut, his head thrown back against the chair as his hips bucked up, desperate for more. He needed more.

“Babe, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m close—” His thighs trembled, his entire body coiled with tension, his grip firm as he guided your pace. His voice was deep, desperate, laced with pure, unfiltered need.

And then, with one last shattered moan, Felix let go.

His hips stuttered, his breath catching in his throat as he came hard, pleasure crashing over him like a tidal wave. His whole body shivered with the force of it, his fingers tightening in your hair as he rode out every last pulse, every last second of bliss.

You swallowed him down, letting your tongue flick over him just to hear him curse again, his thighs twitching as he let out a broken, ruined groan.

His chest heaved, his body sinking into the chair, completely spent. His grip on your hair softened, fingers threading through the strands gently, soothingly.

The room was silent except for the sound of his ragged breathing. The defeat screen blinked on his monitor.

But this time, Felix didn’t even notice.

Finally, he cracked one eye open, looking down at you with a dazed, blissed-out smirk.

“You’re a fucking menace,” he muttered, voice hoarse, fingers brushing over your cheek.

You licked your lips, grinning up at him. “And yet… you didn’t stop me.”

Felix let out a breathless chuckle, tugging you up into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist. His lips brushed over your ear, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.

"Oh, you are so fucked, baby."

Game over.

Your body barely had a second to recover before Felix was on you.

The moment you wiped the smug grin off your face, he had you in his lap, his hands gripping your hips hard as he pulled you close. His eyes—normally soft, warm—had darkened into something predatory, his lips curling into a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Oh, you are so fucked, baby,” he murmured, voice thick, deep, dangerous.

His fingers flexed against your hips, holding you in place as he tilted his head, brushing his lips over your jaw. It was soft—deceptive—before he nipped at your skin, hard enough to make you gasp.

“Thought you could distract me during a ranked match?” he murmured, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, tongue flicking over sensitive spots as you shivered. “Thought I’d just let you get away with that?”

Your breath hitched. His hands slid up beneath your shirt, fingertips skimming over your waist, slow and teasing. You tried to shift in his lap, feeling the heat of him beneath you, already growing hard again despite how wrecked he had been just minutes ago.

But Felix wasn’t letting you set the pace this time.

“No,” he murmured, gripping your thighs and flipping you effortlessly onto the bed. His body caged you in, the weight of him pressing you down, leaving nowhere to run.

Your breath caught as he dragged his fingers down your chest, the teasing, featherlight touch a stark contrast to the dark promise in his eyes.

“You wanted my attention so bad, didn’t you?” he mused, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. “So desperate to have me focus on you instead of my game?”

His fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, just brushing over where you needed him most—so close yet still not enough.

“Felix—”

His hand tightened on your waist.

“Oh, now you’re begging?” he chuckled, his deep voice sending heat pooling in your stomach. His free hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. “That’s cute, baby. But I think you need to be taught a lesson.”

And then his fingers slipped lower—deliberate, maddeningly slow.

You gasped, back arching as his fingertips teased at your entrance, pushing your panties to the side, barely pressing inside before retreating. Your hips jerked instinctively, trying to chase his touch, but he tut-tutted, pressing your hips down with his free hand.

“Patience,” he murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to your stomach. “You didn’t let me focus earlier, so why should I give you what you want so easily?”

You whimpered, legs trembling as he kept teasing—dragging his fingers through your slick, never quite giving you the friction you craved.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he mused, pressing the tip of his middle finger inside, barely an inch, just enough to make you ache. “All from sucking me off like a needy little thing, hmm?”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But Felix saw through you—the way your thighs twitched, the way your breath stuttered when he curled his fingers just right.

He smirked, leaning down until his lips brushed against your ear.

“Go on, baby. Tell me how bad you want it.”

Your pride wavered. His fingers stilled, just on the brink of where you needed him, and you nearly lost your mind.

“Felix, please—”

He hummed in approval, finally pressing two fingers in deep, curling them until he found the spot that made you cry out.

“There you go,” he murmured, watching your face as you melted beneath him. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You barely had time to register the teasing before his lips were on yours—hungry, devouring, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your toes curl.

And then he moved—his fingers pumping in slow, deep strokes, dragging out every sound from your lips, his pace methodical, merciless.

Your thighs trembled around his hand, heat coiling low in your stomach, pleasure mounting at an overwhelming rate.

“F-Felix, I—”

He pulled away just enough to murmur against your lips, “Not yet, baby.”

His fingers stopped.

You whined, arching against him, desperate for him to keep going. But Felix only smirked, withdrawing his hand completely—leaving you empty, aching.

Your body screamed for release, but he was enjoying this too much.

“You think you can just tease me during my game and not suffer the consequences?” he murmured, his fingers dragging slick, lazy circles over your clit, never enough pressure to push you over the edge.

“I—I can’t—” You writhed beneath him, your body betraying you, every nerve ending burning with frustration.

Felix chuckled, dark and sinful. “Oh, baby, I know.”

His lips trailed lower, past your collarbone, down your stomach, his breath scorching against your overheated skin.

And then, with a wicked gleam in his eyes, he dipped lower still—his tongue flicking right where you needed him most.

The first swipe had you jerking, a strangled moan breaking from your lips. But Felix just pinned your hips down with his hands, keeping you right where he wanted you.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured against your soaked skin, his voice wrecked with lust. “I’m not stopping until you’re shaking for me.”

And then he devoured you.

His mouth was sinful, tongue working in slow, agonizing strokes before sucking your clit into his mouth, alternating between teasing and torturing you with pleasure.

Your hands shot to his hair, tugging, desperate for something to hold onto as his tongue curled against you, relentless, merciless.

His hands tightened on your thighs, keeping you spread for him as he feasted, groaning against your heat like he was starving.

And then—just when you thought you might survive—he thrust his fingers back inside, curling them against that perfect spot, his tongue and hand working in tandem.

Your vision blurred. The coil inside you snapped.

You shattered.

A choked sob left your lips as the orgasm ripped through you, pleasure crashing in waves so intense it left you shaking beneath him. Felix groaned in satisfaction, his grip on your thighs tightening as he worked you through it, milking every last drop of pleasure from your body.

When you finally slumped against the mattress, boneless, trembling, Felix lifted his head—his lips shiny, his eyes blazing with pure desire.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking as he leaned up, voice mockingly sweet.

“Now you know what happens when you mess with me during ranked.”

Your pulse still pounded in your ears, your body wrecked—but even through the haze, you found the strength to whisper:

“…Maybe I should do it more often.”

Felix’s eyes darkened.

“Baby,” he murmured, flipping you onto your stomach, his body pressing flush against yours.

“That was just the warm-up.”

[kiszjuli]

・── love or leave .ᐟ (L.TY) ; PART 2

(태용) ; fem!reader x lee taeyong

──in which love has always felt like a risk you're not willing to take. but taeyong was someone who makes it feel safe, maybe even possible. falling for him was never part of the plan, and you don't know how to let him stay.

genre. angst. romance. self sabotage. ; tags. bittersweet romance. slightly suggestive. patient! taeyong x guarded reader. emotional conflict. ; w.c. 2.6k

find part one here .ᐟ

the rain picks up, drenching the street in a sheen of wet reflection, and you can hear the quiet rush of water running along the sidewalk. you keep your eyes focused on the ground, unwilling to meet his gaze. taeyong’s silence presses against you, heavy with unspoken things, until he finally steps forward.

“do you think i’m going to keep waiting around for you?” his voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it now, a quiet frustration that you haven’t heard before. “because i can’t. i won’t. i can’t keep giving you pieces of myself only to watch you pull away when it gets real.”

you blink rapidly, trying to ignore the sharp sting in your chest. the words feel too raw, too honest. you try to brush it off, but it’s there—his confession hanging between you, and you can’t erase it.

“i never asked you to wait,” you murmur, voice cracking despite yourself. “this was never supposed to be anything more. i told you that.”

his laugh is dry and humorless, the sound a harsh contrast to the soft patter of the rain. he runs a hand through his wet hair, clearly frustrated, but there’s a vulnerability in his gaze that cuts through the anger.

“you’re right. you told me it wasn’t supposed to be anything. but that doesn’t mean i’m okay with it. i’ve been patient, i’ve been there when you needed me, and i tried to respect your space. but you can’t keep pushing me away without expecting me to eventually walk away too.”

he pauses, letting the words sink in, and when he speaks again, his tone softens, though the firmness remains. “you don’t get to pull me in and then act like it was nothing. like it doesn’t matter to you. it does matter to me. and if that’s something you can’t handle, then i can’t keep doing this. i can’t keep waiting around for you to change your mind. i’m not going to keep holding onto something that isn’t real to you.”

there’s a long silence between you two, the rain drenching everything around you in a haze. you feel like you’re standing in a storm—both literal and emotional. his words are final, not harsh, but certain. like he’s finally come to a decision he’s been avoiding.

“you have to choose, y/n. whether this is worth it or not. whether i’m worth it. because i can’t keep chasing after you while you run in the other direction. and i’m not going to wait around for you to decide if you want me.”

he takes a deep breath, eyes locking with yours, holding your gaze steady as though searching for something. “maybe i’m not the one you need. maybe i’m not the one who can make you stop running. but if you need space, if you need time, you need to say it. because i need to know if it’s worth sticking around to find out. or if i should just let go.”

his words hang in the air, heavy and sharp, cutting through the space between you both. you know he’s serious, and for the first time, you realize how much he’s been holding in. how much he’s been willing to give to something that you’ve been unwilling to truly take.

you swallow hard, unsure of how to respond. the reality of the situation is pressing down on you, and you can’t pretend anymore. he’s not asking you to give him all of yourself. he’s asking you to be honest. and maybe that’s what scares you the most. the honesty of it all, the vulnerability, and the fear of what it would mean if you let yourself need him.

the rain falls harder now, but you don’t move. you can feel the weight of the decision pushing down on you, the weight of his quiet but unwavering stance, and the silent question in his eyes. do you let him stay, or walk away?

—

the rain continued to fall heavily, soaking through your clothes, a chill creeping into your bones. the world around you is blurred, a mix of gray and shadows, but in this moment, everything seems to center on taeyong. his gaze is unwavering, though you can see the storm inside him—a turmoil that mirrors the storm above.

his lips are pressed in a tight line, his chest rising and falling with each breath. you want to look away, to avoid the weight of his stare, but something about the way he holds himself forces you to stay grounded in the moment. you try to swallow the lump in your throat, but it feels impossible. every word he’s said cuts deeper than you expected, and you can’t help but feel it all. his frustration, his quiet pain, the battle he’s been fighting with himself.

“i can’t keep doing this.” the words are quiet but firm, and they cut through the thick air between you. “i’m not asking for everything. i’m just… asking you to let me know if this—whatever this is—is worth holding onto. or if it’s just me fooling myself. because i’m done pretending i’m okay with how things are.”

your fingers tremble slightly at your sides, but you don’t move. you can’t bring yourself to speak yet, not with the sudden weight of everything crashing down on you. the pressure is unbearable, suffocating even.

“you don’t get it,” you whisper finally, though your voice is small. “i don’t know how to do this… how to be what you need.”

he takes a step closer, his eyes softening just a fraction. “i don’t need anything from you that you’re not ready to give. i just need you to be honest with me. are you going to keep running, or are you going to let me in?” his voice is steady, but there’s a quiet desperation now, an unspoken plea beneath the surface.

a shudder runs through you, not from the cold, but from the fear of it all. the fear of admitting that you’ve let someone this close, that you’re not sure you’re capable of giving back what he’s offering. you’ve been afraid of what it would mean if you did. but standing here, with him so close, with his words echoing in the silence, you can’t ignore it any longer.

“i don’t know how to let go of everything i’ve been guarding,” you murmur, barely audible above the sound of the rain. “i’ve never let anyone in like this. i don’t know how.”

for the briefest moment, his expression softens, and you think you see something—understanding, maybe even a touch of sympathy. but it fades quickly, replaced by the guarded resolve that’s taken its place.

“i get it,” he says, his voice gentle now, almost like he’s trying to soothe you. “but you can’t keep holding onto that forever, y/n. not when there’s something between us. you don’t get to ask for me to keep waiting while you stay in this place where nothing can happen. you can’t shut me out completely and expect me to just be fine with it. i won’t be. not anymore.”

the words hit like a punch to the gut. you feel like you’ve been standing in this downpour forever, but the tension between you two feels like it’s grown years older in mere seconds. he’s laid it all out, his heart in the open, and it’s terrifying in a way you can’t quite explain. the rain is getting harder, and it’s starting to feel like it’s pressing down on you both, filling every silence, every space, with its relentless rhythm.

“i’m not asking for you to have all the answers right now,” he continues, his voice quiet but resolute. “but i need to know if you’re still willing to try. because i’m not going to waste my time waiting for something that you’re not ready to give.” he inhales sharply, the words spilling out before he can stop them. “i’m not asking you to love me, y/n. not yet. but i need to know if you’re willing to take a step towards me. i need to know if you’re still here, or if this is where we end.”

the silence that follows is deafening. you try to hold onto something, anything—an excuse, a reason not to answer, but the words feel stuck in your throat. your chest tightens, and you want to say something, but nothing seems enough. nothing seems right.

taeyong shifts his weight, a quiet sigh escaping him as he rubs his hand across his face, pushing back the frustration threatening to overtake him. his shoulders slump, just slightly, and you know he’s fighting a battle of his own. his eyes flicker back to yours, and this time, there’s no anger, no harshness. just that quiet, searching look—the look of someone who’s giving everything but doesn’t know if it will be enough.

you want to say something, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. the storm inside you feels even more intense now, swirling in your chest, and you don’t know what to do with it. your heart is racing, and yet, there’s a part of you that feels like you’re still frozen, unsure of what comes next.

the rain continues to pour down, the world around you turning into nothing more than a blur of water and sound. you’re not sure how long you stand there, trapped between your own hesitation and taeyong’s quiet resolve, but the tension is thick—unavoidable, suffocating.

and still, you say nothing.

—

the rain is relentless now, your clothes now clinging to your skin like a second weight you can’t shake off. it makes it harder to speak, harder to breathe, but the way taeyong is looking at you—the way he’s standing there, waiting for something.

but your silence stretches too long. his jaw tenses, and his hands curl into fists at his sides before he exhales sharply.

“i get it,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “that’s my answer, isn’t it?”

“no—” you step forward, but he’s already turning away, the rain blurring the edges of his figure.

he’s leaving.

panic flares in your chest, drowning out every hesitation that’s kept you from speaking until now.

“taeyong.”

your voice wavers, barely cutting through the storm, but it’s enough to make him stop. his shoulders stiffen, and for a moment, he doesn’t turn back. you can’t see his face, can’t tell if he’s giving you a last chance or if he’s already decided that this is it.

the rain pounds against the pavement between you, filling the space where words should be. your pulse is hammering. you don’t know if you can say it, don’t know if he’ll even believe you if you do.

but you have to try.

“i love you,” you say, the words spilling out, rough and unsteady.

taeyong turns then, slowly, his expression unreadable beneath the streaks of rain sliding down his face. his dark eyes search yours, but he doesn’t move toward you. “then why do you keep pushing me away?” his voice is quiet, but it cuts through everything. “why do you act like i’m someone you have to be scared of?”

your throat tightens. “because i am scared.”

something flickers across his face, but he doesn’t interrupt.

you swallow hard, forcing yourself to keep going. “i’m scared because i love you, and the last time i loved someone, they broke me.” your voice shakes, your heart beating so fast it physically hurts. “and i don’t know how to trust that you won’t do the same.”

the confession leaves you breathless, like you’ve just opened a wound you spent years trying to patch up. you don’t know what to expect, but taeyong doesn’t look away. he’s fully focused on you, rain dripping from his lashes, his lips slightly parted like he’s trying to find the right words.

and then he exhales, his features softening just enough for you to see it—the understanding, the hurt, the way he’s piecing everything together.

“i’m not them, y/n,” he says, voice steady despite the storm around you. “i would never be them.”

you nod, but the fear is still there, tangled with the love in your chest. “i know,” you whisper. “but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

for a moment, neither of you move. the rain keeps falling, soaking you both to the bone, but it’s like neither of you feel it anymore. it’s just him. just you. and the truth between you.

then, finally, taeyong sighs. he lifts a hand to his hair, pushing back the wet strands clinging to his forehead, and when he looks at you again, there’s something steadier in his gaze.

“you don’t have to have all the answers right now,” he murmurs. “but i need to know—do you want me to stay?”

your chest tightens. “yes.”

his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it so easily. but it’s the truth. it always has been.

slowly, cautiously, taeyong takes a step toward you. his hand lifts, hesitates, then settles gently against your cheek, his palm warm despite the cold. his thumb brushes over your skin, grounding you in a way nothing else has tonight.

“then let me,” he whispers. “let me love you the way you deserve.”

you close your eyes for a second, leaning into his touch, rain slipping between his fingers. and when you open them again, he’s still there. still waiting.

you don’t know if you’re ready. but you know you don’t want to lose him.

so you nod. just enough for him to see it. just enough for him to stay.

and this time, when taeyong pulls you into his arms, you let him.

—

taeyong holds you close, his arms tightening just slightly, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. you press your forehead against his chest, listening to the unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the layers of soaked fabric. it’s fast, but steady. just like him.

the rain continues to pour, drenching you both, but neither of you make a move to step away. not yet.

you feel his breath against your hair when he finally speaks. “i’m not gonna say that love isn’t scary.” his voice is low, quiet, but there’s something certain in it. “but i can promise that i won’t leave you to figure it out alone.”

something in your chest cracks open at his words. he’s not asking you to be fearless. he’s just asking you to let him be here—with you, beside you, through it all.

you pull back just enough to meet his gaze. his eyes search yours, patient, waiting. you don’t know what to say, so you just nod.

taeyong exhales, a small, almost disbelieving smile flickering across his lips before he brushes his thumb along your cheek again, wiping away water—rain, maybe tears, you don’t know.

“okay,” he murmurs.

and then, finally, he leans in.

the kiss is slow and careful, like he’s letting you set the pace. his lips are warm despite the cold, the press of his mouth against yours a silent promise that he’s here, that he’s not going anywhere.

and for the first time in a long time, you believe it.

when you finally break apart, the world feels quieter, softer, despite the storm still raging around you. taeyong rests his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you steady.

“let’s go home,” he murmurs, and this time, when he reaches for your hand, you don’t hesitate.

you lace your fingers through his, and together, you step forward—through the rain, into the unknown, into whatever comes next.

but this time, you’re not alone.

—

▸ sorry for the wait !! i got like a jumble of ideas for other fics at the time i started writing this

▸ i hope this is a good enough ending, i kinda lost ideas for it lmao

[dailydoseoffanfics]

I just learned something kinda interesting, did you know that robloxians are shorter than standard humans, as in robloxians are 3-4 feet tall but most humans are at least 5 and up. This means we can pick them up, perhaps including the killers. What do you think of this.

just looked at this ask and thought to myself, "DO WE SHARE THE SAME MIND ANON???" CUZ I WAS THINKING ABOUT THAT LIKE....10 MINUTES AGO. (wouldn't that make c00lkid 2 feet tall since he's 10 years old LMAO?)

That would be funny though, but man I can imagine everybody's reaction to you being human, ESPECIALLY the survivors.

Man, all of the survivors got varying degrees of reactions. Some are:

Scared as fuck (WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE THAT, AND WHY ARE YOU SO FUCKING TALL????): Noob.

Flabbergasted, bewildered, astounded, shocked, surprised, bamboolzed: Two Time, Elliot, 007n7, Guest 1337 and Builderman.

IS surprised, but quickly gets over it and thinks you're cool as hell: Chance and Shedletsky.

The killers? All of them are quite surprised, but they just you're....weird. I feel like they won't care at all, but you will get some questions.

And when you pick them up? Most of the survivors (Noob, Two Time, Chance, Elliot and 007n7) while spooked at first, would try to hide their blush as they try to avoid your gaze as possible. Curse your tallness. While the more serious survivors (Shedletsky, Builderman and Guest 1337), Shedletsky would try to get out of your grasp refusing to believe that he's that short, Builderman would just give you a blank stare, devoid of emotions, and Guest 1337 would just be too tired to care so he justs sigh and gives you a tired smile.

Now for the killers? Oh they gonna be PISSED. ESPECIALLY 1x1x1x1.

Jason would just hit your arm with his weapon.

John Doe gives you a nasty glare.

c00lkid would either giggle and tell you to go up higher or whine and try to escape your grasp, complaining that you're no fun or something similar. Depends on how you treat him (and how good your skills are).

I just know 1x1x1x1 is the most INFURIATED. How dare you disrespect him? Do you even KNOW who he is, or have you merely FORGOT? He's gonna threaten you to release him, and you better listen to him. You've got guts picking up the literal manifestation of malice, hatred and negativity.

All of the killers are such party poopers..... sigh.

[mossangelll]

is that hyperpigmentation?

arcane characters x reader

basically what the title says, you draw the arcane characters à la hyperpigmentation 😍 i needed smth silly to work on to get me out of my writing rut, hope you enjoy :p

content: gn!reader, reader is their partner (could be seen as platonic/child reader but i think most of, if not all, the hcs allude or explicitly call reader their partner - sorry!)

Jinx

she LOVES it

as an artist, engineer, overall creator she can really appreciate the more wacky expressions of art

she does a whole art critique (barely a critique tbh) and pretends to be some stuffy piltie talking about the genius and emotion behind the artwork

“ya know, toots, i’m reaaallyyyy enjoying what ya did with that…um, splodge? on my face there. yeah!”

she draws her own version but this time it’s a portrait of you

you swap them and have a cute little date where you colour the pictures in together and add details in the background

by the end, jinx’s workshop is covered in glue and glitter and paint and powder and also for some reason silly string

jinx even makes frames from scratch so they can be hung up - they’re probably the most nicely presentee decoration she has in her place

Ekko

you slide the portrait of him over to his side of the table in silence

he looks down absently and has to do a double take

“this is…me?” he asks hesitantly with his eyes widened like a deer in headlights; a look you rarely ever see from him - you nod and confirm his fears

“we have one tree down here. paper’s expensive. remember that.”

walks away and goes about his duties helping the firelights and though you suspect he might be upset, he did take the picture with him

feels so guilty about his reaction he almost sacks himself into a wall as he rides his hover board

later that night he apologises and makes a show of sticking the picture on his bedroom wall (in the corner he can barely see of course)

Vi

she’s been in prison and seen some interesting tattoos but this takes the cake

spends a good ten minutes staring at it whilst rubbing her chin as if that’s gonna make it look better

asks you if this was the rough draft

she’s smooth though so she basically tells you she hates it but in a way that you don’t even realise - you’re too busy being seduced to notice

“i love how wild your imagination is babe 😍”

vi keeps the picture and shows jinx; needless to say, this portrait becomes famous

kids all through the lanes have a challenge where they find all the weird faces jinx spray painted everywhere

vi pretends to act dumb as if she doesn’t know how jinx got ahold of them but you both know what happened LMAO

Caitlyn

she laughs in your face

she probably just had an argument with her mum over being an enforcer so she really needed this to lighten her spirits

teases you over it but accepts it gracefully because she’s a kiramman and those manners have been engrained into her

keeps it in her room as a joke and everything’s seemingly ok

except she can’t stop looking at it

and then looking at her reflection in the mirror

starts to question reality because she knows there’s no way she looks like that but if so, why would you draw it in the first place 😭

then she enters the mad stage and she confronts you about this thing called negging she discovered

it’s a loooooong night but don’t worry it ends in lots of laughter and giggles

she understands it wasn’t serious and was just projecting her stress onto the picture

but then this starts a new tradition where you two draw daily doodles of each other; sometimes with stupid faces, other times as animals, whatever you two are feeling really

Mel

the woman was too stunned to speak

no, she’s literally speechless for a good minute or two as you hold it out for her

she eventually takes the portrait from your hands but does it in a way where you’d think it was going to explode the second she touches it

she tries her best to smile and be graceful about it, years of etiquette training being tested but even this is a bit excessive

she finds a way to dodge actually having to tell you it looks bad but also dodges telling you that it looks good too - she’s a lot of things but she’s not a liar 😭

she’s incredibly diplomatic

the very next day she’s introducing you to an absolutely fabulous painter who just happened to make an impromptu visit but has just enough time to run a session (or multiple) with you!

how serendipitous is this!

never again will she receive a portrait from you like hyperpigmentation

Jayce

“oh wow this is for me?”

you handed this to him in the busy academy building in front of SOOO many people and now his face is red

his teeth are gritted, hand rubbing the back of his neck and if you look closely there’s even beads of sweat dripping down his forehead

you’ve got this man stressed out

takes like 20 minutes trying to tell you that he’s not too sure if this is exactly his style

internally he’s crying for help because he just wants to get out of this situation

he loves you don’t get it wrong but this has never happened to him before and it’s not like they’ve got a guidebook on this stuff

eventually admits defeat and accepts the portrait

it’s probably in the break room and although he isn’t particularly fond of it, he won’t stand for anyone saying mean things about what you made

that is until you tell him it was all a joke in the first place and you never thought he would actually accept it considering how shitty it was

yeah, he allowed everyone a ten minute free for all where they could slander the picture after that

he is gonna give you silent treatment for all of an hour before he can’t stand it anymore and he asks you not to pull pranks like that on him again with tears in his eyes 😭

Viktor

viktor is chronically ill AND chronically overworked

gonna be real, he sees the portrait and doesn’t even think anything of it

like, he’s so sleep deprived that he’s constantly squinting and so to him, it low-key looks like him

you even got his beauty mark right too! most people forget that detail!

it’s only after a good few weeks of having the picture on his bedside table and actually, finally, getting eight hours of sleep that he properly looks at the picture and

who the fuck is that

but at this point it’s too late, it’s already in a frame next to the bed you two share and there’s no way he can discretely get rid of it without you noticing

stages an accident where his cane “accidentally” happens to slip and somehow punt the picture frame right out the window with surprising accuracy

he gives you those puppy dog eyes and tells you how sad he is but that he’ll survive so don’t worry!

can’t even feel guilty about the situation because the moment the portrait is gone he stops having nightmares

Silco

another one who is speechless

if you were anyone else, he would’ve berated you so badly you would want to quit by the end of it

unfortunately you’re someone he loves so he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place

the thing is, he really does appreciate that you went through the effort of drawing a picture of him since it reminds him that perhaps his love isn’t as one-sided as he fears

so he really does want to have it framed and put up on his desk so he can stare at it whenever he misses you

the problem is that even though one of his eyes is fucked up he can still see how butt ugly the drawing is

plus the fact that if he has meetings his business associates are gonna see it and that’s gonna be a tough one to explain

rather not lose out of business because his partner decided to be picasso for a day

silco ends up compromising by having you draw a teeny tiny version he keeps in his wallet instead :3

the bigger version stays in a locked compartment of his desk drawer, he doesn’t want to risk sevika seeing it

Vander

vander does NOT care what it looks like, he loves it

you could literally scribble on a page, say “that’s you” and he’s tearing up at your thoughtfulness

it’s going on the fridge asap and it’s staying there too

he’s gonna show it to everyone with such pride in his voice

sure, he doesn’t know exactly what he’s looking at and maybe you drew his body hair a bit liberally but you made it so that’s good enough for him!

when he shows it off, most people say aww what a cute werewolf and ask how old his kid is

the light leaves their eyes when he tells them, chest puffed out, that his fully grown adult partner did it and that it’s actually a portrait of him

whether you made it as a joke or not, expect all of your friends, your friend’s friends, those friend’s friend’s friends…everyone to have seen it

Sevika

sevika tells you it’s ugly straight away <\3

rolls her eyes as she listens to you explain all the reasons why she should like the drawing

she does nawt care

wants to act unbothered but deep down she’s a bit insulted

however she doesn’t like sein you upset so she kisses you to distract you from the fact she hates the drawing

sevika is an incredibly considerate partner so now she knows you like art, she takes it upon herself to buy colouring books and art journals that you two can fill out together

this is how you find out she’s a god at drawing and you find it sweet how she takes you under her wing

if something’s bad she’ll tell you but it will always be constructive criticism and before you know it your portraits actually look decent

she’s smug knowing she helped you get to that point

little do you know she kept your abhorrent portrait of her and she looks at it every so often to see how far you’ve come

she’s a softie deep down

AU!mylo

he says he likes it but that’s just because he wants to hit

also is a bit pretentious so you could hand him a really bad painting and he’ll try and act like he “gets it” even if there’s nothing to get 😭

this WILL make him doubt his looks constantly

he’s confident for sure, more than he should be at times, but now he’s got that image in the back of his head

aura down and now he’s even WORSE at flirting god save this man

will go around asking random people if he looks like the guy in the portrait because he’s not going down without a fight

he needs to beat the allegations one way or another‼️

AU!claggor

genuinely too nice to decline it or say it looks bad

doesn’t know what exactly it’s meant to be even though you already said it’s a portrait of him

too focused on his plants to worry about it too much, it’s just something that makes him chuckle every now and then

he will conduct a mini interview on why you made it look the way it did

he looks all serious as he nods at your answers

deep down he just wants to understand how your brain works

masterlist

[flowery-mess]

kill the silence

Pairing: frat boy Noah x female reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! / argument with reader's mother / mother's asshole boyfriend mentioned / mentiones of alcohol / I think that's it, let me know

Words: 2,8k

Author's note: don't you just love when writers self project themselves in their works? Because that's exactly what I did lol. Hope you like getting to know more of Ella's story💕

frat boy Noah masterlist

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“Can we talk about it?”

“Ella please, act like an adult.”

You rolled your eyes after reading your mom’s messages. Yesterday she called you on facetime to show you the big diamond on her finger, throwing the news of being engaged at you.

Your parents divorced when you were 4 and it has been a wild ride since then.

You stayed living with your mum, seeing your dad only a few times a month. You’d think that something like this would make your and your mom's relationship stronger, but it was the opposite.

She started dating different guys, but no one was serious enough for her to bring him home for good. She introduced you to some of them, but you never liked any of the men that walked through the door of your home. And you didn’t hide your dislike.

You never crossed a line with doing something rebellious, but you always made sure that they knew you’re not a fan of them with the way you talked to them or about them behind their backs.

Your mom always put up with it, but it brought lots of fights between you two. She never blamed you for her failed relationships, because they weren’t meant to last. Until she met him, Richard.

Richard was a few years older than her, with no kids and with a nice house. Moving to his place wasn’t a question, she just told you to pack your stuff. “You’re my child, you’re gonna follow me wherever I go. I don’t care that you don’t want to.” will probably replay in your head until the day you die.

Sadly for you you were still underage and with no other place to go, so you moved to his place and that’s where the hell started.

Heated arguments with your mom every day, silent treatments from both of you and cold shoulder for Richard. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance, you dismissed him at the very beginning.

You hated the house and you cried yourself to sleep every other night.

He turned out to be a narcissistic and arrogant guy which you couldn’t stand. You were counting the days until it was time for you to move away for college. The best thing that ever happened to you.

Seeing your mom and Richard less was a good thing for keeping the family relationships at least somehow working. After a few months of not seeing them you finally found the courage to come back for a weekend and somehow you three acted like the hell before you left never happened.

You got along with Richard for a few hours and then left their place again. It wasn’t home for you, it was just their place. And since then you visit them occasionally.

You got used to their relationship and swallowed all your opinions for your mother’s sake and happiness.

That was until yesterday though.

You didn’t know what reaction from you she expected, but it probably wasn’t “Are you fucking serious?” and hanging up on her. Since then you didn’t pick up any of her calls nor replied to any of her messages.

“Ella please, just a few minutes so we can talk about it.”

You read the next message and rolled your eyes again. You finished the drink in your hand before standing up and going outside.

Little did you know Noah was watching you look at your phone every other minute, rolling your eyes and making sad faces. He could tell something was wrong so he wasn’t surprised to see you storm out of the crowded living room.

He wanted to give you a few minutes and see if you come back, if not, he knows where to find you.

In the beginning of your friendship with benefits you two sometimes sneaked away from your friends and met in the backyard in a small place that was separated from the rest of the big garden by bushes. There was an old swing, too small for both of you, but it provided you lots of fun. Also the almost broken fence where Noah pinned you many times just to steal kisses from you was there. It became “your place” any time you two couldn’t find each other and texted the other “our place?” and time, you both were there.

Your place was exactly where you ran off. The drink you just finished gave you enough courage to face your mom’s voice over the phone and tell her your opinion.

She picked up almost immediately and started talking, but you cut her off.

“Finally darling, ca-”

“No mom, you let me talk now.” you started, taking a deep breath before letting it all out. “I’ve been silent for the past few years, but I can’t let you marry him without telling you my honest opinion.”

You kicked a few rocks that were laying around and walked back and forth, a habit of yours when you were too nervous.

“I don’t think he’s good for you. I don’t think he’s enough for you. You were always a strong independent woman who knew her worth, I never thought I'd see you running around a man like you do now. You always laughed at women who served food under their man’s nose or had to pack a bag for them. But now that’s you mom.” you stopped talking, expecting some protest from her, but there was just silence at the other side of the line.

“You do everything he says, you’re like his maid mom. That hurts me to see. You should find a man who’s gonna carry you in his arms and worship the ground you walk on, not someone who tells you he won’t eat the food you made because it tastes weird, but also refuses to cook his own meal. He’s a child mom.” you threw your hands up and down in a frustrating gesture.

She finally spoke and you could hear the hurt in her voice. “That’s not true Ella.”

“You know it is, you just don’t want it to be.”

“Listen, I know you don’t agree with my relationship, but you need to respect it. I’m finally happy.”

“I don’t think you really are.” you whispered back and couldn’t stop the tears running down your cheeks. Of course you want your mum to be happy, but if this is how happiness looks like, you hope you’ll never find it.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion. I just wanted to tell you that we will be sending invites next week and I’d really appreciate it if you’d come to the wedding.” there was a short break before she added “Please.”

She rarely used “please”, “thank you” or “I’m sorry” with you, so you knew how hard it must’ve been for her to say those words out loud.

“I have to think about it.” you told her the truth. You didn’t want to make any promises in case you’d decide to not attend in the end.

“You’re hurting me Ella.” there she was, back at attacking you for your feelings.

“Bye mom.” and before she could say anything else you pressed the red button and silenced her voice that could only say more hurtful things.

Your eyes stayed on the ground, colors of the grass and dirt mixing together as your tears formed in your eyes, one blink of your eyelids sending them down your cheeks.

You were hurting too. You were hurt, sad and angry. The anger took over your body and before you could think of what you were doing, you threw your phone away and only heard a loud bang when it landed somewhere in the dark in front of you.

When Noah thought you were gone for too long he decided to go after you. He found you with your back facing him, your hands by your sides, but you weren’t talking or moving, you were just standing there.

“Did something possess you?” he joked. He expected a silly comment back or you saying “shut up”, but you stayed silent.

The tears kept running down your cheeks, because you suddenly felt so small. You felt betrayed by your mother and you felt like you were standing in your childhood room listening to her “I don’t care what you want” speech all over again. You just wanted to cry.

You heard Noah's question, but what possessed you was just a pure sadness that was making it impossible for you to move or speak.

Noah made a few steps to be closer to you and reached for your hand, but before he could do that you finally spoke up.

“Can I have your phone?” even with your back still facing now very confused Noah, he could hear the tremble in your voice.

“What?”

“Your phone.” you turned around to face him. When you did, his confused face turned into something softer. He saw your wet cheeks and the small shakes of your chin. “I threw mine somewhere in the bushes and I need to find it.” you said it like it was the most obvious thing and waited for Noah to give you his phone.

He didn’t ask any questions and just handed you his phone, turning the flashlight on for you.

You turned around and went in the direction of where you thought your phone could be. Noah just stood there in silence, his eyes following your every move.

Well, now you really looked like something possessed you. Your hands were snapping the twigs that came your way, some of them got stuck in your hair while you tried to find your phone.

With no luck finding it, you got out of the bush and dived straight into another one.

“For fucks sake.” Noah couldn’t keep watching this shit show in front of him and yanked you out of the bush, took his phone from your trembling hand and started looking for your phone himself.

You cleaned yourself from the mess and leaves that were stuck to your clothes and hair. The need to escape this loud place made your body shake. You were thinking about telling Noah to stop and come for the phone tomorrow or even buy a new phone with a new number so your mum couldn’t call you again.

“Here.” Noah’s voice took you out of the trance you were in, looking at you with a proud smirk and leaves in his hair, but he had your black phone in his hand. And it looked like you didn’t break it when you threw it away.

“Thank you.” you took it out of his hand and put it in your pocket.

Noah, scared of what you’re going to do next, stood in silence and waited for your next move. But you just kept looking around, avoiding his face. You for sure didn’t make it easy for him.

“Do you want a hug?” he asked you, unsure look on his face.

“What?”

“Isn’t that what people want when they're sad?” just as he finished his question your hands were wrapped around his torso.

You didn’t want him to see you cry again, so you just hid your face in his sweatshirt. You tried to hold your sobs and cries in, but you felt like you’re going to explode, so you let everything out.

Noah didn’t know what else to do than just rub your back and gently sway you from side to side.

After a few minutes your breath calmed down and you stepped out of Noah’s arms, cringing at the wet spot on his grey sweatshirt.

“Sorry for that.” you whispered and pointed to the place that was covered in your tears.

Noah just looked down and laughed. “It’s okay. Come on, let's take you home.”

He took your hand in his, but you realized how crazy you must look after this meltdown, so you stopped in your tracks, making Noah stop too.

“I can’t go there. I look crazy.” you panicked.

“Yeah you do, but everyone is drunk at this point, they won’t notice.”

“No, Molly and Clara will and I don’t want to explain it to them.”

Noah just sighed and looked around, rubbing his jaw with his palm and thinking of ways to leave the fraternity without anyone seeing you.

“We can jump the fence.” he proposed.

“Are you out of your mind?” you looked at the tall metallic fence around you.

“It’s either that or the main door.”

“It’s impossible for me to jump over it Noah.”

“I’m gonna help you.”

You looked at the fence, then at Noah and then back at the fence.

He’s tall and strong and falling on your ass in front of him was better than doing the walk of shame.

“Okay.”

He led you in the direction of the fence. “Okay, so, you’re gonna put your feet in my hands and I’m gonna push you up. Then you have to carefully move over the top and jump down, okay?”

“How are you gonna do it?” you asked him, because there's no way you're going to help him from the other side.

“Haven’t thought of that yet.”

“God, don’t laugh at me if I fall.” you made him promise before he leaned forward and intertwined his hands low enough for you to step into them.

“Grab my shoulders. I’m gonna count to three and then push you up okay?”

“Okay.” when he started counting you were sure that neither of you knew what you were doing.

You felt yourself being lifted from the ground, reaching for the top of the fence and swung your leg over it, then the other one.

“Jump!” Noah yelled at you, because he was scared you’re going to fall back at him.

You closed your eyes and jumped, landing perfectly on your feet.

“I did it!” you turned around to see Noah through the metallic barricade between you, laughing at the situation.

It was Noah’s turn to jump over the fence and after a few failed attempts you had to hold in a laugh and said “You know you can walk through the inside and meet me in the parking lot?”

Before Noah gave you an answer, he was happy to hear you wanted to leave with him. He was scared you’re going to push him away and won’t let him comfort you like you did to him many times.

“Can’t let you have all the fun.” he snorted, laughing at himself after another failed attempt.

After he finally managed to climb to the top of the fence, one of his legs betrayed him and he fell down on his ass in front of you.

You gasped, not knowing if he was okay, but then you started laughing. He looked up at you, shame all over his face, but he couldn’t help laughing too.

“You know, I did that just to make you laugh. It was intentional.” he shrugged his shoulders after he stood up and used his hands to get rid of the dirt from his clothes.

“Smooth Sebastian, real smooth.” you laughed, but appreciated his attempts to lift your mood.

—

Noah paid for the cab to his place even though you insisted that after everything he’d done for you it was your turn to pay.

He sent you in the direction of his bathroom after he found a few leaves in your hair in the elevator and ordered some food while you washed the dirt of that night of your body.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Noah asked after he swallowed his food, looking at you at the other side of his sofa.

“Not really. Long story short, my mum is engaged to her ass boyfriend, we had a fight over the phone and I’m probably gonna have to buy a new dress for their wedding.”

“I’m sorry.” he didn’t know what else to say. Your mood was better now, no more tears and throwing things around, so he thought he did a good job.

He wasn’t good at those things, taking care of people, so he was proud of himself for returning the care you gave him many times before.

“Don’t be, shit happens. I just need time to process it.” you put away the take out box. “And maybe some cuddles would be nice.” you made your puppy eyes at him.

“Ugh, women.” he acted annoyed, but you didn’t miss the smile on his face when he lifted the blanket on his lap so you could lay down on his chest.

He put on his favorite show and you two watched in silence.

You were happy he found you in the garden. You loved your friends, but they wouldn’t give you the comfort you needed.

You realized that you want comfort from Noah just as much as you want to comfort him when he’s feeling unwell.

His fingers played with your hair and his eyes were focused on the TV. You laid on his chest, playing with the fabric of his t-shirt and thought about the upcoming wedding.

As if Noah could read your mind he suddenly said “You know, I could be your plus one at the wedding if you decide to go.” his gaze stayed on the TV.

“Shut up, you mean it?” because if you’re going to go, in a place so uncomfortable and full of people you haven’t seen in years, you’d appreciate someone by your side.

Do you want part two?

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This story is a work of fiction, with the plot and characters entirely made up. The appearance and name of the main male character are inspired by Noah Sebastian Davis, but the storyline bears no connection to the real person. Please do not steal or repost this work on other platforms without permission.

Taglist: @lacy1986 @concretejunglefm @super-btstrash-posts @amelia-acero @justcarrie @koskeepsake @dominuslunae @ami--gami @chey-h @xmads-omensx @blade-dressed-in-red @respectfulrebel @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @mrscevans @blvckmvgicwoman @punkprincess1999 @fear-its-beauty @bloody-spades @n0n3xsisting @thenmaybehellaintsobadafterall @athenexe @tashka @badomensls @fadingintothegrey @concrtlimits

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[littlxpxtal]

I wish I never met you

TYRANTS || STORY MASTERLIST

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem!reader

WARNINGS: MDNI 18+ Content, swearing, sexual content, drug and alcohol use, violence

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

Mixing liquor and pot

Heard your brain cells can rot

If my memory was shot

I would like that a lot

I wish I could forget you

May

It was all a blur. The whole day. Zipping up my gown, putting the bobby-pins in my hair to situate the cap on my head.

I wish I could say graduation was the best day of my life, but I barely remember any of it. My name rumbled through the field, my legs moving without a thought. I moved my lips up on my face for the picture, shook hands with faculty that I had never seen or spoken to in my entire life.

The dinner with my parents was bland. They went on and on about college, asking me questions about what I decided to study. I don’t even remember the answer I gave.

I didn’t come to reality until the third time my phone rang while I laid on the edge of my bed, head hanging off the edge with my eye closed, a random record playing on my turntable was at the end and a soft humming noise filled the room.

I decided to finally check who it was, and to no surprise it was Sabrina.

“Hi” I mumbled into the phone, flipping over onto my stomach, one hand barely holding up the phone while the other dangled towards the ground.

”You done with family shit yet?”

”yes.” I answered simply, closing my eyes.

“Well I know you’re out feeling the best but, I really think you should come with me tonight.”

I groaned into my sheets.

“Sab” I whispered, my voice shaking.

“You can’t let this take over your life, y/n. We only graduate high school once.”

her positivity sickened me. I knew she was right. I didnt want her to be.

“Sab its the same shit we’ve been doing all year, what is different about tonight?”

“Well there’s no risk of expulsion”

”hah” it was her turn to groan in response.

“Y/N, im spending the whole summer abroad and I leave next week. I seriously need you to do this for me.”

”you cant pull that shit on me Sabrina its not fair.”

”but its true, y/n. You’re my best friends and I need you. You were a fucking zombie today. Snap out of it.”

there was a period of silence. I sat up in my bed and turned the lamp on.

“Well, what should I wear?” I can tell she tried to hide it, but I could hear her squeal on the other line.

“Cute top and a skirt.”

”I can make that work”

”fuck YA THERE SHE IS” she cheers into the phone. “I’ll pick you up in 15.”

We arrived to see the beach was already filled up, party in full swing. Sabrina gave me a reassuring look before we walked towards them.

”Let’s get some drinks. You deserve one” she says to me. I nod my head, following her lead.

We make our way over to the nearest keg, taking one of the many cups the boys were passing out.

“Grab me two” I whisper in her ear. She smiles wide and winks.

”That’s what im talking about.”

I chugged the first cup,passing it back to the kid who was pouring them out, he filled it back up and we walked with our cups to the dance floor.

“You gonna double fist all night?” Sabrina asks over the music.

”that’s the plan” I mumble back. The speakers are booming a new Metro Boomin song, and we make our way to the group of girls that are dancing.

I lose track of time, and snap back into reality when I notice Sabrina furiously texting on her phone.

“What’s up?” I ask. She hesitantly looks up, and locks her phone, sliding it back into her purse.

“Nothing, just, Toppers here. But, he’s with … his friends. So im just gonna stay here for a bit.” She awkwardly looks away, makes eye contact, then looks away.

“Sab, its okay, I would be an idiot to think he wouldn’t be here, especially with your boyfriend. Go say hi.” I give her shoulder a nudge and she shakes her head.

“No, im here with you.”

”im serious Sab.”

”just one more song. Who knows how long he’ll keep me on his arm if I go now.”

”you know I can fend for myself.” Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift starts playing on the speakers and Sabrina jumps up and down.

”I know, but I LOVE this song”

She starts leading us to the middle of the circle, and we sing to each other, as if we were the only two people on the beach. By the time the song is over, were doubled over laughing,our drinks spilt all over the sand.

“Im gonna go get another drink, you go say hi to topper okay?” She frowns and reaches for my hand.

”Fine, but I’ll be right back okay?” I roll my eyes.

”I told you I’ll be fine. Just go okay?” She smiles and skips away. I watch her walk over to the other side of the crowd, where a group of guys are standing, including Topper, Kelce, and, well of course, Rafe.

I notice everyone’s in conversation, expect for him. He’s just sipping from his cup, staring out into the sea.

I catch myself staring for too long, and realize i'm still in the middle of the dance circle, with two empty cups. I look around for the nearest keg and walk slowly over.

I made empty conversation with the girls standing around the keg while waiting in line, checking my phone every so often. The DJ continues to play songs I like, including pursuit of happiness, collard greens, Roll in Peace and more.

I find myself tipsy, dancing by myself in the sea of people. By the time I finally looked at my phone again, it had been an hour and I had a text from Sabrina.

were fuckin in my car really quick lol I’ll be right back.

that was from 5 minutes ago, so I probably wouldn’t see her for at least another half an hour.

I was tired of dancing, so I started walking towards the edge of the party, closer to the water.

The temperature outside was perfect. There was a slight breeze, not enough for me to put my hair up, but enough to get a whiff of the sea.

I pulled my phone out to take a picture of the water and the moon, before I heard a shout.

“Fucking BITCH”

I could recognize that voice anywhere. I whip my head to the right and see Rafe and another figure a few yards away.

everything in my mind told me not to go. But my heart was controlling my feet. I walked closer, and realized the other person was Noah.

“You ruined fucking EVERYTHING” Rafe growled.

“I didnt do shit expect tell her the truth man. She’s a dirty fucking shut,all you did was make sure I knew.”

I tensed up, and made eye contact with Noah. He smirked and looked back at rafe.

“Perfect timing, y/n, we were just talking about you!” Noah exclaimed, splashing the liquid in his cup in the air.

Rae whips his head back and stares deep into my eyes.

“Y/n,” he whispers. My body is still tense.

“Wh-whats going on” I ask

”your boyfriend - sorry I mean .. your confusing complicated situation ship over here is harassing me.”

rafe keeps his eyes on me. I cant read his expression, he looks empty.

“Maybe, if you just stayed in your place on the cut, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” Noah shouts at me.

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.

I decide its just best if I leave. I start to walk away and hear Noah chuckling.

“This is all YOUR fault” Rafe yells, lunging at Noah. Noah swings back in defense, and I stop in my tracks.

“STOP” a scream escapes my lips and I run over. Rafe is knocked to the ground scrambling to get back on his feet.Noah kicks him back down, and I hear a sharp click, and notice something in Noah’s hand. The smile on his face is terrifying, and as I get closer I realize its a switchblade.

“My god Noah put that thing away.” I whisper.

“If rafe wants to fight, we can fucking fight.”

He points the blade down at rafe who is still struggling to stand.

“Noah, seriously,” I walk towards him and his eyes flicker towards me, down at rafe and back at me. He points the blade up at me, and I start to shake.

“You’re insane” I whisper, taking a step back.

While he’s distracted, Rafe takes the opportunity to pull Noah’s leg, knocking him to the ground. The blade falls from his grip into the sand, and I lunge to get it. He reaches after it too, our bodies colliding. Rafe pulls him away from me while I grab the knife, and he pins Noah down, punching him straight in the face.

“That’s ENOUGH” I shout at the two of them. They both freeze and look up at me. The knife is dangling from my hand pointed down.

“Noah get the fuck out of here. And don’t EVER pull this shit again. You’re just embarrassing yourself.” He scrambles to his feet, patting the sand off his pants.

“Give me my knife back y/n” he commands. I shake my head.

”I’ll give it to you when you’re sober.”

he looks over at rafe. Something in his face must’ve scared him, because he makes a beeline back to the party.

I walk slowly towards rafe and pass him the knife. He safely closes it and stuffs it in his pocket.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He huffs, brushing sand off himself. He turns to look at the water, and his shoulders slump.

”I wish I knew” he whispered. After a brief moment of silence he turns to me, with sadness in his eyes this time.

“Look, y/n, im really-“

”I don’t want to fucking hear it okay? How many times are you going to put me through this. Like seriously?”

His jaw twitched and he looked down, running a hand over his hair.

“It hurts. It hurts so fucking much to see you hurt” he finally says.

“Then why do you keep hurting me?”

the sound of the waves and music behind us fills the silence.

“I don’t mean to. I just keep fucking up.”

I sigh, unsure of what to say. He takes a step towards me, I flinch slightly, which he notices, and makes him sigh.

“Sometimes I cant tell” I start to say. He looks up at me and takes another step forward.

“Sometimes I cant tell if you like me or hate me” I whisper the last part.

“Neither” his voice cracks slightly, and he looks up at the moon.

“I don’t hate you. I could never hate you, y/n. And I don’t, I don’t just like you, okay? I don’t just like you I fucking-“ he stops himself, his voice getting hoarse. “I fucking love you okay? And its driving me insane.”

I furrow my eyebrows and let out an involuntary laugh.

”the fuck are you talking about Cameron?”

he looks back at me, his face hard and serious.

“I mean, im fucking obsessed with you. I can never get you up of my head, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. You’re always just THERE. All the fucking songs you’ve showed me, all my favorite shows and movies. God even my favorite color. Its just you, and its always been you. It’s fucking terrifying, did you know that?”

”I-I-“ I stammer. He takes a step closer.

“I think about you when is wake up, when I eat breakfast, when I work out, when I do homework, when im smoking, when im drinking, when im high out of my fucking mind, when im sober, when im driving around town. All I see is you. You’re fucking everywhere and I cant get you out of my head.”

”it sounds like you don’t want me there.”

”that’s the problem is I DO. I want you there, I want you with me. And I finally fucking had you, and I just-“ his voice breaks again and he closes his eyes.

“Just don’t know how to keep you.”

”rafe” I whisper, walking towards him to close the distance. “Rafe, why didnt you tell me?”

”god y/n, you don’t even know how hard it is. Im dealing with all this shit in my head, and I wanted to save you from it but you made your way deeper into my life than ever before, and I couldn’t hide you from how fucked up I am. I tied you into this mess, and it’s not good for you.”

”why did you tell Noah that lie about me and JJ?”

”I told him because he was bragging to everyone about taking you out. I was pissed that someone else was going to take you. I was jealous. I didnt think it was going to hurt you the way it did.”

”why didnt you just tell me before he even asked me out. We were seeing each other-“ he cuts me off

”because y/n, its easier for me to do shit like that than it is to express my feelings okay? I cant do this love shit easy alright? It doesn’t come naturally like it does some people. It’s fucking terrifying”

his breathing is ragged, and he starts to clutch his chest.

“It gives me these chest pains like I cant fucking breathe.”

he huffs out, trying to catch his breath. I notice his face is flustered.

”cmon, lets sit” I grabs his hand and pull him down onto the sand,

“its okay just breathe” his pants slow down, and I wrap my arm around his shoulders.

“It’s okay” I whisper again. He leans his head on my chest, and I hear a sob escape his mouth.

“Im so fucking sorry. Im so fucking sorry” he repeats this over and over a few times before going quiet.

”I know you are.” I finally say.

We sit in silence for about 5 minutes before its interrupted.

”Y/N! There you are-“ Sabrina cuts herself off when she sees us, Topper trailing behind her.

“I knew it” I heard him whisper to her.

”well, did you guys kiss and make up” topper slurs. She shoves his chest, letting out a giggle and a hiccup.

“You guys have been boning for hours now”i shoot back at them. Topper lets out a nervous laugh and Sabrina hides her face.

“Well, are you guys going to come join us or?” She asks. Rafe sits up and looks at me

“Can we start over?”

I smile at him, stand up and reach out my hand.

“Rafe?” I whisper, he takes my hand and stands up, his figure looming over me.

“Yes, pretty girl?”

”i Love you too.”

Previous Chapter | Instagram AU

Tags: @ltristessedureratoujours @davinashifts333 @tomholland792

[radioactive-earthshine]

Hi! Im sorry if this is a silly question but I was wondering if you know what the Flash diabetes thing is? I've seen it around occasionally but never found out if it was a canon one off thing or a fanon group theory because on one hand I can kinda see it making sense although it would probably have to be re-worked to fit a speedsters bodily profile (in terms of their hyper-metabolism and all) but then on the other hand I'm reminded of the times I've read YJ fanfic and out of nowhere Bart is taking ADHD medication and I'm like.. he would not be able to take ADHD meds and actually feel a difference for more than maybe 3 seconds as seen with general painkillers and medication when he had the knee surgery with nothing. I just can't help but feel like, in canon, neither of these theories/situations would be possible but then again fanon is meant to be fun,, not serious etc. How do you draw the line?

Hello!

I have NEVER heard of it phrased as "Flash diabetes" but looking over the meat of your question it appears this is more about their metabolism, so I am approaching this as a metabolism question rather than a blood-sugar question.

When it comes to speedsters and their metabolism in the comics, it is very inconsistent and it honestly depends on the writer and what would be most exciting or inconvenient the most in any given scenario.

On one hand, the prevailing canon is that speedsters heal FAST. Their metabolism is so high they can get over broken bones, lacerations, even gunshots very quickly. We even have instances of them getting over drugs very quickly or drugs just not impacting them the way they should, because they metabolize them too fast for them to work.

The biggest in-comic example of this is Bart's famous knee surgery in Teen Titans v.3 when they were unable to put him under ANY anesthetic because his metabolism would negate its effectiveness.

Teen Titans (2003) #3

(Side note, the amount of laws broken in this scene would have probably shut that entire hospital down, licensees would have been lost, and Cyborg probably should have done jail time or at least been kicked out of the tower because holy shit the ethics.)

Teen Titans (2003) #4

This scene is one of the more poignant and famous examples of speedster metabolism being a medical foil as much as it is an advantage in combat and it is extremely dramatic.

We also have a more recent example of drugs just not working properly on speedsters, from Bart yet again in more recent publication history.

Young Justice (2019) #16

Sedatives or maybe even some sort of anti-psychotics only stayed in Bart's systems for so long before they wore off well before they should have and he was able to just leave.

If these are pushed out of his system prematurely, then it is extremely unlikely any ADHD medication would work on him unless they were specially made for speedsters which is not outside of any realm of possibility in a comic.

However... because these are comics and because these sorts of foils are variable and depend on whoever is writing them we also have some evidence that certain things do work on speedsters... but in heightened ways such as caffeine which makes no sense and yet...

The Flash (2011) #3

Barry had an espresso and got so hopped up and jittery he lost control of his vibrating for a while and ended up through multiple floors. How caffeine works on them, and in extreme ways, but other drugs don't, is something maybe a biochemist can answer which I am not.

We also have decades of publication going back to the silver age of Barry and other speedsters interacting with drugs, poisons, alcohol and them not working or not working properly and the above examples are just those I knew I could cite easily because I think about them a lot.

So returning back to the question of if ADHD medication would work... I feel like again in the comics they wouldn't work how they are supposed to unless they are specialized because even the caffeine did not work how it is supposed to.

But again this is fanfic and fanon so anything is possible and with this particular subject it wouldn't be too outside of canon to have ADHD meds work. Again any writer could also explain them as special speedster-strength medication then it is good to go.

I hope this sort of answers your question?

This is for the comics and the comics alone, no other form of media.

[hoiststowline]

second meetings [aka, the day after you first met w/ ultra magnus, cliffjumper, sideswipe & hound]

ultra magnus’ impromptu arrival is initially more for business-purposes, hardly pleasure for him nor you. it isn’t until after this meeting that he would come to realize he throughly enjoyed your company, entranced by your input and easygoing nature. yet, when he first arrives, it’s to complete sweeping amounts of documents, information about you that he would require for more paperwork later. you’d actually laughed, thinking he wasn’t serious, but quickly understand that magnus is the kinda guy to poke fun, at least in this regard. hesitantly, you step upward and into his proffered cabin door, but calm down instantly when you find that his words paint him a better picture: intelligent and trustworthy. you’d end up chatting for hours, conversation drifting away from a formal tone to somewhat casual, magnus so uncharacteristically distracted he doesn’t realize the time until blaster is radioing him. “perhaps we can resume this another time,” he tries, uncertain of your reaction to such a suggestion. “I’d like that,” you respond, a much calmer posture adhered to your body language, sincere. magnus hadn’t wanted to depart so soon, but opts to let this one go here, knowing that it would pick right back up where it left off whenever he had the opportunity to meet with you next.

upon arrival back from work, you come to discover the red beetle parked in your driveway, headlights dimmed out. briefly, you can recall cliffjumper mentioning swinging by to check up on you the following day, but you hadn’t taken his words to heart as he appeared so indifferent to such an idea. yet, even if he was the one who suggested it, it hadn’t seemed like something he’d actually follow through with. carefully, you exit your own vehicle and begin up the concrete, jumping slightly as his headlights blink to life and the passenger-side window rolls down. “hi.” is all he says at first, to which you pause before offering a short wave. “ratchet sent me to check on ya. you’ve been gone for a while.” swallowing thickly, you nod before answering. “I had work today. I’m sorry,” even though you can’t see his eyes, it’s as if he blinked confusedly at you, perplexed by your answer. “you don’t have to be sorry. ‘m the one intrudin’.” eventually, the conversation would spin off into other topics, and simultaneously cliffjumper had slowly begun to shed his tough-guy armor. with each passing moment he recognized a growing fondness over you, though not quite dropping his armor entirely. you weren’t all that bad, admittedly, though silently impressed by your sympathetic and friendly demeanor.

sideswipe’s visit is all pleasure, the exact opposite of ultra magnus. the red sports car rolls up to your curb and waits for you to come outside, engine thrumming loudly and impatience high. but he doesn’t want to startle or scare you, so eventually when you do cross the lawn, his window rolls down immediately to better address you. “you came back?” you ask, not out of annoyance, just plain confusion. “of course I did! we had a good time yesterday, didn’t we?” while at first you wouldn’t call it fun, sideswipe had shown his true colors from the start: he’s a lighthearted guy and pretty laidback. your personalities meshed well, and the red lambo couldn’t quite get his mind off of you since he dropped you off back home. “yes, yes we did.” you breathlessly laugh, impressed by his enthusiasm once more. “to what to I owe the pleasure?” you follow up with, and that question momentarily stumps him, but his surprise is well masked. “I dunno. do you wanna go for a drive or something?” he offers, passenger door swinging open before you can even reply. he’d enjoyed your company immensely, and would like to learn a little more about you, if you’d have him. after a brief pause of contemplating, you nod, a small smile brimming as you maneuver into his cabin and sideswipe now finds it increasingly difficult to contain his excitement.

out of any of them, hound’s visit was more for peace of mind. both yours and his, as he lingers, tucked away at the end of the street to observe your house and surrounding areas. just to make sure you were safe and unharmed, as he was now terrified of something happening to you on his watch. you need not to worry as long as you were his charge, but that didn’t mean his unease would deescalate any sooner, still moderately afraid. after an hour, he swallows his nerves and risks his chances, rolling forward as you exit your home to collect your mail for the day. “hello.” he warbles, but is quickly mesmerized by your simple wave and small smile in return. “jus’ makin’ sure you were alright,” hound confesses, never quite able to pass as a believable liar. “i’m fine, thank you. how are you?” the exchange ends up moving locations twice, first to your driveway, and then your garage as it begins to rain. he had attempted to leave you be once the storm started, but you had politely asked him to stay if he had the time. and who is he to deny you, especially when you’d been so forthcoming and understanding regarding the whole ordeal? he wants this to last forever, but knows he must return to base once the storm lets up, a disappointing revelation. hound had been so nervous and worried about protecting you, when there was so many positives to this situation, including your kindness and companionship.

[hrrtshape]

this isn’t a question i just want to yap bc u sound like u would like to hear about this stuff

but naturally as someone with higher intelligence i like to think about things a lot and ask questions and form my own opinions and theories about things regarding research and such

and i’ve come to the conclusion that people who disregard shifting as false or mental illness are of lower intelligence and have no sense of self. they disregard philosophy, neuroscience, sociology, and other forms of science because shifting/manifesting goes against the idea that their logic is always correct and never flawed (in that sense, they are right— one who says they will shift, will, and one who says they won’t shift, won’t, to put it simply). but with the logic they are using, they are condemning themselves to an existence of suffering

these people are content with being cogs in a corporate machine. even if they are creative or imaginative, they still hold a standard of mental health criteria that directly relates to how people function under intense capitalism and oligarchy. they think they’re normal because they get up and work their 9-5 and feed their families and repeat the same thing every day. they can’t imagine even having a sense of control over any aspect of their lives.

i think it’s anti human to disregard shifting, among other things. as intelligent creatures compared to other species (who are no less deserving of respect despite, might i clarify), we are naturally curious. we want to build and create and nourish ourselves, both mentally and physically. we want life and community and love and food and to have fun and enjoy ourselves. in current societal structure, that is flattened, nuked, obliterated. anything that isn’t contributing to an oligarchs income is disregarded, because the art, philosophy, music, and culture of working regular people isn’t important to them. and unfortunately, many working people are so affected by propaganda and the belief that rich people are better and stronger is enough to paralyze them. and therefore, we’re turned enemies with the ordinary people, and seen as crazy for even thinking of something that doesn’t align with a capitalist lifestyle because this society is so focused on toppling each other just for a chance to get to the top. there’s no community, no understanding, no gentle or kind nature. we have completely disregarded the power of our own minds as humans, and these people have therefore lost their humanity.

they don’t even know what happens after they die, so how can they know all that happens when they live if they don’t even try to think of anything else?

just wanted to share. :P

you're so right !!!! imagine living in a world where human innovation has birthed quantum mechanics, existentialist philosophy, surrealist art, and entire simulated realities. but you draw the line at moving your consciousness somewhere else. be serious.

your take on capitalism hijacking imagination is so painfully true it makes me want to eat drywall. like yeah, of course, society doesn’t want people believing they have infinite power. how else do you get them to clock in at target for 8 bucks an hour? we’ve literally been gaslit out of our own potential.

also "they don’t even know what happens after they die, so how can they know all that happens when they live" is some next-level, put-it-on-a-plaque, tattoo-it-on-my-rib energy. 10/10. keep thinking. keep yapping !!!!!

[rarepairdumpster]

Sugar Baby Silco AU Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Viktor/Silco (Arcane) Rating: M C/W: Age Reversal, Sugar Daddy Viktor, Sex Worker Silco, NSFW, Disability, Aftercare, Some more Russian

Silco arches a brow as Viktor heaves himself out of bed, leaning a bit more heavily on his cane, and heads into the en suite

Viktor being determined to take care of his boy, despite feeling exhausted and sore, because Silco deserves a Daddy that will take care of him.

Silco following after him when he hears a stumble and a pained grunt, to find Viktor with a death grip on the sink AND his cane.

"Viktor," Silco questions, voice serious as he hurries to his side. "Please, allow me."

"You shouldn't have to take care of me," Viktor answers, voice soft and almost wounded. "I'm the one in the dominant position."

Silco frowns.

"The ones in charge need looking after too," Silco points out. "This is a give and take dynamic. It's mutual."

Silco slips under Viktor's arm and puts himself between him and the sink.

Cups Viktor's cheek.

"You take care of me daily, Viktor. Without this dynamic, I'd have been homeless months ago. Let me take care of you now."

Silco gives Viktor a peck on the lips and reaches for the face cloth folded up nearby.

Viktor being so taken aback. Because Silco never let on that he'd been struggling, not once, until now.

Silco turns on the faucet to the large bath and turns back to Viktor with a smile. "I think this will clean us both up just fine"

Once the tub is filled, Viktor eases himself into it first, closing his eyes as the heat sinks into his tired muscles. He opens them again when Silco slides into the tub with an easy grace and settles himself in front of Viktor, between his legs. Silco leans back, tilting his head to rest on Viktor's shoulder and kiss his jaw. 

"Good idea, dusha moya," Viktor sighs, turning his face to give Silco a tender kiss.

"What does that mean," Silco asks softly, curious.

And Viktor feels himself flush before he clears his throat and answers, "My soul."

Silco lets his fingertips trail along Viktor's legs as he ponders the translation. "Like a soulmate?"

Viktor chuckles a little. "Nothing that deep. I suppose we just like a little more drama in our words. When you don't know what the next day will bring, it's not worth it to be subtle."

Silco hums and kisses his jaw again. 

"Dusha moya," Silco mutters, smiling to himself.

Viktor grins at how well Silco mimics his accent

"I'll teach you more if you wish," Viktor offers as he lazily drags a washcloth along Silco's thighs and holds him close with the other hand.

"I'd like that. If I'm going to be your dusha moya, if I'm going to be in your life for a considerable time, I should be able to converse with you in your native language."

Viktor stills for a moment, focused on the implication of the words. "You wish to continue this, then? Even after you learned of my...limitations?"

Silco looks at him carefully, brows knitting together. 

"You thought I wouldn't?"

"Too many have looked at me and assumed I wanted a caretaker," Viktor explains. "That I was incapable of taking care of others myself."

Silco tips his head against Viktor's jaw.

"You're more than capable of taking care of me," Silco sighs, but his lips curl around a soft smile,"but we all have our limitations. We all need help sometimes. I'd like to think that if I were the one with a disability, you wouldn't be so quick to dismiss me either."

"Never," Viktor assures, tilting his face towards Silco. "I'll take care of you as long as I can." He captures Silco's lips in a kiss and trails his hand down Silco's taut stomach, letting his fingers slide along the waxed skin at the base of Silco's cock.

Silco hums his approval at those words and spends a few moments just kissing Viktor before asking, "Will I get to escort you at events in future or would you rather keep this more discreet? I don't mind either way, but I'd like to know if I need to update my wardrobe."

"I don't require discretion, but going public won't be easy on either of us," Viktor replies. "I'm sure you understand why I also kept my face hidden until now."

"I read Forbes," Silco smirks. "I understand if you prefer to take it slow in public."

"There will be an office and lab Christmas party," Viktor states after a short pause. "The event is private, so media presence will be minimal. But....it would mean being introduced to my colleagues, if that is alright."

"I think I can handle that," Silco replies. 

"I'll provide you a wardrobe stipend, of course," Viktor brushes his nose against Silco's temple. "Along with my tailor."

"You spoil me," Silco answers through a chuckle. He relaxes against Viktor fully, just appreciating his presence and the warmth of the tub. "I hope I've been able to spoil you just as much in other ways."

"Oh, terribly," Viktor smiles, luxuriating in the weight of Silco against him. "Will you allow me to continue to spoil you the rest of this weekend? Here, with me?"

"Depends," Silco says slyly. "Can we get room service?"

And then Silco adds "Can I raid the minibar?"

Viktor chuckles. "You can have whatever you like. I would give you the world, dusha moya"

"Excellent. I'm getting lobster."

Viktor laughs.

"Da, da, I know what it's like to want something you weren't able to afford before. I grew up dirt poor. Lobster was my first rich meal too."

Arch + Woods

[3hks]

Get to Know Your OCs! (ASK GAME)

Hello! A lot of people seemed to enjoy my first ask game quite a bit, so I figured why not release another one? Some of these are silly and fun, and others are more serious! It says that there's thirty questions, but some of them ask for more elaboration/have related questions added on, so it's technically a bit more than thirty. I'm slightly more experienced with these questions now so I hope you enjoy! (My apologies if I repeat any ones from my previous post!)

(1) ✎ What does your OC look for in a relationship?

(2) ✎ What was your OC's childhood dream? Where are they now?

(3) ✎ How does your OC feel about where they ended up?

(4) ✎ What inspired your OC's character?

(5) ✎ What school subject does your OC think is the most valuable? Why?

(6) ✎ What are your OC's toxic traits?

(7) ✎ What emotions/characteristics does your OC prefer to hide?

(8) ✎ What is your OC most concerned about in the beginning of the story? What about in the end?

(9) ✎ What is a tough lesson your OC learns during their journey?

(10) ✎ Why is it a valuable lesson to them?

(11) ✎ What song do you think defines your OC (or your OC's relationship with someone)?

(12) ✎ What is your OC's biggest fear? How does it influence them and their actions?

(13) ✎ What would your OC wait in a VERY long line for? Why?

(14) ✎ What is your OC's love language?

(15) ✎ How does your OC deal with failure and mistakes?

(16) ✎ How does your OC deal with success?

(17) ✎ How/what does your OC want to be perceived as?

(18) ✎ What (idea) does your OC base their morals around?

(19) ✎ Is your OC willing to break the rules and laws if they think it's right to do so?

(20) ✎ What does their OC miss about their childhood?

(21) ✎ What is something your OC struggles to understand? (School subject, a moral, ideal, sarcasm, etc.)

(22) ✎ What's something your OC wants other people to know but doesn't mention? Why don't they mention it?

(23) ✎ What is most commonly misunderstood about your OC?

(24) ✎ Does your OC have a hot take/hear me out? If so, what is it?

(25) ✎ What does your OC consider to be the biggest red flag? What influenced their choice?

(26) ✎ How would your OC act to a complete stranger (like in a conversation)?

(27) ✎ What's a skill your OC has that might surprise people?

(28) ✎ What's your OC's type? Do they have a partner? If so, how well does their partner fit into your OC's ideal standards?

(29) ✎ What's your OC's favorite time of day? Why?

(30) ✎ What does the person closest to your OC like the most about them? How well does your OC think they match the description?

Happy writing~

3hks :)