#so i will have a better understanding of everything

[iamactuallysocute]

Who's the freakiest out of the saja boys do u think

asking for a friend

This was a harder one. (No pun intended. Maybe a little.) They’re all freaky so I’ll just rank them.

cw: NSFW UNDER THE CUT!! such as mentions of spanking, toys, hair pulling, biting, pinning, no actual smut scenes written though, just talking about sex

Romance, no question. I’m not saying this because his name is Romance, no. I’ve put literal thoughts into this and have a note in my notes app that simply says that he likes getting spanked. He’s got patience, knows every trick in the book and then some. Into eye contact. Into toys. Into worshipping you. Do I have to say more?

Abby. The THINGS this man is capable of. He’s mostly a freak w the positions though bc he’s strong enough to go from doggy to Mongolian-Lotus-Balltwister-Christmas edition-Strictly on the floor 3000 in a second if u get what I mean. My man has stamina. Willing to try anything once. You have to shout at him to keep the condom on though, not a big fan. All brawn, a little shy after, but you wouldn’t stop smiling for a week. Think “accidentally broke the bed” energy. Likes mirror sex. Gets off on praise. Real good at lifting you without warning. Would absolutely rail you then ask if it was better than Romance. (It was.)

Baby. He’s a slut your honor. When he’s not too lazy to be one, he’s a freak. From that on, wild card. The kind who pulls hair and tests limits, and then acts like it didn’t mean anything after. (It did.)

Jinu. Sweet. Soft. …Until he isn’t. Built like a gentleman, but there’s something under the surface. Like the first time it happens, he’s hesitant—slow hands, whispered consent, forehead kisses—but the third time? He’s got your wrists above your head and his teeth in your shoulder. When he gets into it, it’s mind-blowing. Polite dirty talk. Praise kink. Wants to make sure you feel everything. Probably the only one who says “please” before ruining your week. Patient. Dangerous in that “let’s try that again, slower” kind of way.

Mystery. You didn’t expect him to be at the bottom, am I right? Him being the last one doesn’t mean he’s not freaky, kid you not he is. No instructions necessary. Probably bites. Definitely doesn’t warn you first. Doesn’t speak, but you’ll hear him. He’d pin you against the wall with one hand and growl into your neck. Might not understand “foreplay” as a concept but knows exactly where to touch.

[beargyu313]

Let’s not do this again .ೃ࿔ *:･

⋆✴︎˚Summary: you’ve known Riki since you were little, but as the years pass they force you apart. You never knew running into him after two years would make you meet the worst version of yourself.

⋆⭒˚.⋆Word count: 13k

CW: This story explores messy, flawed characters—read with caution.

 *ੈ✩‧₊˚Tags: angst with happy ending, smut, childhood friends, brat tamer Niki, subtle degradation, cheating, blackmailing, possessive behavior, sex as retribution, jealousy, angry sex, fluff at the end

જ⁀➴a/n: This was way angstier than I intended idk what happened taglist: @mrsjjongstby

mdni smut ahead, masterlist

You have known Riki your whole life. Being neighbors meant you saw each other often. And all it took to spark a friendship was him sharing his candy with you on a cold September day.

You still remember it, as if it happened yesterday. First day of school, overcast weather, and your chest tight for no real reason.

After school ended you went to the playground. And your younger neighbor was already there. He didn’t understand why you were sad, but he knew he wanted to make you smile again.

He just sat down beside you and placed the wrapped sweet in your hand. Like it was obvious that he wanted to make you feel better. That he would.

After that, it was always just you two. Matching Halloween costumes. Staying up too late on Fridays. Trading secrets. You had other friends, but Riki always came first. He felt like home.

As you two got older, things shifted. But not in a sudden, dramatic way. It was slow. Soft. The kind of change you barely noticed — until one day when you kissed him, and it didn’t feel wrong.

On his 18th birthday, you two had sex for the first time. It wasn’t planned. But it also wasn’t a surprise. That was the thing about you and Riki, everything just sort of happened.

He’d touch your wrist a certain way, and you’d end up in his lap. You’d fight, and then you’d make out in silence.

You weren’t a couple. But you weren’t just friends either.

Then Jungwon came along. Same age as you. Same classes. Smart, kind, charming in the right ways. It made sense to date him. To say yes to something real. Something normal.

So you did.

And for the first time, Riki wasn’t there. He hated it. Tried to act indifferent. Played along at first. But you could feel it. The resentment. The anger. The disbelief that you’d actually leave him behind.

Because here’s the thing… Riki thought you’d pick him. He thought he was your endgame. But you didn’t. And he never forgave you for it.

But you still dream about his mouth sometimes. You still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin, especially on cold and foggy days that reminisce the early autumn weather.

And no matter how much time passes… you can’t move on. Even two years later, as you’re getting ready for a party you think about him as you look out at the blinking city lights hugged by the mist and fog.

You hug your bare arms, already wearing the backless ruby dress, matching with Jungwon’s shirt.

He steps out of the bathroom, his blonde hair impeccably styled into fluffy bangs. You force a tight smile as you look over him.

“Ready?” he asks you, holding his hand out.

You take his hand, “almost,” you say, spritzing the final beats of perfume and then you’re leaving.

The party was glamorous. Screaming Park Jongseong. Flashing lights, gold hues dominating the ballroom, at least five different types of wines to choose from, and you think you can even spot a champagne tower through the crowd of people dressed in fancy clothing. You grab onto Jungwon’s hand tighter as he happily leads the two of you to Jongseong. This is why you like Jungwon, he grounds you.

You’re still taking in the room once you reach Jongseong, you exchange greetings, let Jungwon take over the conversation with his lifelong friend, and then it’s like time freezes.

Right across from you, you spot him. Your heart beats harder in your chest as you stare. It can’t be him. Can’t be your Riki. This Riki was taller, broad shoulders, somehow intimidating. Which was weird because the Riki you remember always felt like home.

He still hasn’t noticed you. He was too busy smiling at a girl hanging off of his arm. Unknowingly your jaw clenches at the sight. What was worse even, you knew the girl.

Rei.

Sweet, kind Rei. She and Riki used to be classmates back in middle school. You never would’ve guessed this was Riki’s type. Selfishly you wanted, or hoped, he would chase the ghost of you in every girl he meets.

Same as you did, looking for traces of your Riki no matter where you were.

That’s when he spots you. And you quickly avert your gaze, cheeks burning at your shameful thoughts. You reach for comfort, for Jungwon – still in deep conversation with Jongseong – and he wraps his arm around your waist and you melt. A little. But it’s enough.

That’s when you hear what they’re talking about. And your blood runs cold.

“—still won’t tell anyone what the occasion is,” Jungwon is saying, laughing under his breath. “A little dramatic even for you, don’t you think?”

“Come on,” Jongseong grins, swirling his champagne. “I give you flowers, live music, gold everywhere — and you complain?”

“I’m just saying,” Jungwon tilts his head, “I’ve seen people throw royal galas with less mystery.”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Jongseong smirks. Then like it’s nothing, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a velvet box. Flips it open.

“Oh my god,” you breathe before you can stop yourself.

Inside is a ring. Elegant, shimmering. Oval diamond, flanked by two smaller stones.

Jongseong’s grin widens.

“So you’re—?”

“Yup,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “She said yes last week. Tonight’s just the warmup.”

Jungwon lets out a low whistle. “That’s what this whole thing is?”

“Soft launch,” Jongseong winks. “Dinner on Sunday’s the real reveal. Only close friends.”

You nod slowly, still a little stunned. That was the thing about men like Jongseong — everything was glossy, fast, and expensive. Even the life milestones felt like magazine spreads.

He notices your hand still looped through Jungwon’s, and his smirk returns, sharper now.

“What about you two, huh?” he drawls. “Two years and counting, right? When are you putting a ring on it, Mr. Romance?”

You force a laugh. “Don’t start.” And you can feel the bubble of anxiety growing again.

“Seriously,” he nudges Jungwon. “You gonna make her wait for a diamond or what?”

Jungwon chuckles. “I’m pacing myself.”

Jongseong raises a brow. “Yeah? Careful. Someone might steal her first.”

The words land strangely. Too pointed. You’re about to respond, to deflect, tease back but your gaze drifts again.

And across the room, Riki is still in your line of vision.

He looks happy. Or at least, he’s playing the part well. You watch as he leans down, lips brushing Rei’s ear, saying something that makes her giggle before she kisses his cheek. And you wish the ground would swallow you whole.

For the rest of the evening you can feel his eyes on you. You don’t see him look at you, but you know he’s watching you. His presence is like a dark cloud. Following you across the galla no matter where you go.

You can feel yourself getting drunk. Whether it’s on his attention, or the alcohol you don’t know.

Later, maybe an hour in, you see Jongseong cutting through the room, dragging Riki behind him. Jungwon straightens beside you, smile returning.

“Come meet my business savior,” Jongseong announces proudly. “Guy practically rebuilt the whole backend in a week. Couldn’t survive without him.”

Riki stands next to him, hands tucked in his pockets. His hair is a little tousled, jaw sharper than you remember, but he gives the same bored nod he always used to when being praised.

Jongseong gestures between them. “Jungwon, this is Nishimura Riki. Riki, this is my oldest friend in the world.”

Jungwon eyes him curiously, then tilts his head. “Wait... have we met before?”

There’s a beat. A flicker of something passes through Riki’s eyes.

And then, calmly he motions to you and your stomach swoops, “We used to be neighbors.”

Disappointment shoots through you.

“Oh—” Jungwon turns to you. “That’s right. You did say your old neighbor moved back to the city.”

You don’t remember saying that. Maybe you did.

You look between them, nodding softly. “Yeah. We go way back.”

Riki doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t need to.

But then Jongseong is waving over a waiter, and suddenly there are flutes of champagne being passed around, and someone’s asking what everyone’s drinking.

Without thinking, you grab a glass of Hibiki from the tray and hand it to Riki.

You don’t ask if he wants it. You don’t need to.

He takes it without hesitation. A soft hum of thanks.

Then, like nothing’s happened he says, “You still drink brut rosé?”

You blink. You’re holding that exact glass in your hand. Your cheeks warm.

“Guess some things don’t change.”

He smiles at that. Barely. Just a flicker. And still not once do your eyes meet directly.

You’re in a progressively worse mood as the week unfolds. Nothing obvious. Not the kind anyone can name. Not even Jungwon.

You still kiss him goodbye, still laugh when you’re supposed to, still hold his hand in public like it means something.

But your head’s somewhere else. Your body moves through the days like clockwork, while your mind stays circling back to a half-smile and a glass of Hibiki.

You lock the door to your bathroom. Turn on the faucet. Stare at your reflection. You swore you’d be fine. Swore he was the past. But your mascara’s starting to get smudged and your hands won’t stop shaking.

And worst of all you still want him. Not in memory. Not in fantasy. You want him now.

You bite your lip until it bleeds, desperately pushing down your arousal. But your thoughts keep betraying you throughout the week. Little things. Like if he has any new kinks, any new fantasies he wanted to try out. Maybe something Rei doesn’t want to do. But you would. You were always down for whatever he wanted.

An invitation comes a few days after the party. A private dinner hosted by Jongseong’s family. Only close friends and immediate relatives.

You don’t want to go. But Jungwon lights up at the mention.

“I think we should,” he says, smiling. “It’ll be nice. Just family, you know?”

You nod. Smile back. Pretend your stomach doesn’t drop.

The party’s held at a hotel you’ve only seen in magazines. Huge mirrored ceilings, white orchids adorning the room, the kind of ambient lighting that makes everyone look beautiful. Jongseong’s fiancée is radiant, warm in a way that’s clearly rehearsed, but still charming. Her and Jongseong’s parents sit near the head of the table. Jongseong’s sister flirts with a waiter.

You’re seated across from Riki. Of course you are.  You’re seated just barely enough to avoid conversation. Close enough to feel the weight of his stare.

The table is long, candlelit, buzzing with low conversation and vintage jazz from invisible speakers. Jongseong is laughing with his fiancée’s father. Someone makes a toast.

Rei leans into Riki’s side and loops her arm around his, she’s glowing in soft pink. Like a cherry blossom come to life.

You want to bite something.

It’s awkward between you and Riki. Too quiet. Eye contact too fast, too sharp. Every glance feels like a threat.

Rei is talking about something — her job? A skincare line? You’re not listening. You’re watching the way Riki cuts into his steak. The way he drinks water with his left hand. The slight curve of his mouth when Jungwon says something flirty in your ear and you laugh.

Riki doesn’t say a word, doesn’t flirt. But he keeps refilling your glass.

Twice. Three times. Brut rosé, always.

Your leg brushes against his under the table once. He doesn’t move it. You’re not sure if you’re even breathing. The room is suddenly too warm. Or maybe it’s you.

Still the dinner drags.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom.  You don’t expect him to follow. But the moment the door clicks shut, you hear it. Footsteps. Then the quiet lock turning.

His reflection appears behind you in the mirror.

You don’t turn around.

“You looked real domestic tonight,” Riki says, voice low. Flat. Like a dare.

Your breath catches. You grip the sink tighter.

“Still playing house? Even when I’m this close?”

You shake your head once. Not at him but at yourself. At this. You can’t look at him, not when your whole body’s already betraying you. His scent, his closeness… it was too much, too soon. You’re not ready to face him.

“I haven’t said anything,” you whisper. Your skin is flushed, something akin to nervousness (or arousal) building somewhere deep in your tummy.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s kind of your thing, isn’t it?”

He takes a step forward. You feel the heat of him now, not touching, but close enough to scorch. And even though there’s no touching, your body reacts like there is. Like it remembers what his breath feels like against your neck. What his fingers can do.

“You said you moved on. So did I,” he pauses. Smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “But wanna know something funny?”

You don’t answer. You already know it won’t be funny.

He lifts his phone. Swipe. Tap. Holds it just out of view, “Guess what I still watch when I can’t sleep.”

You turn your head just slightly and see it. A flash of movement. Your body. The sound of his name gasped like a prayer.  You flinch like you’ve been slapped. Heat rushes between your thighs. Your stomach sinks, and tightens.

That night. That angle. You know exactly what he’s watching. What you wore. How he looked when he came inside of you.

“Delete it—”

“Why?” His voice is calm. Dangerous, “You think you didn’t want the camera on you that night? You think I didn’t know exactly what that look in your eyes meant?”

You did, still do. You know exactly what he means. You remember the way you looked up at him. Mouth parted, eyes wide, begging without saying a word. You remember how it felt, being watched by him.

You turn to leave back to your boyfriend before you do something stupid. You try to push past him, but he’s already moving. Not blocking you. Just enough to remind you you’ll have to touch him to get out.

His hand grazes your wrist. Not by force, just subtle touch. It lingers like a promise.

Like a warning. You should pull away but your skin tingles from that one brush like it’s been lit on fire.

“You’re still lying,” he says softly, “Just not with your mouth.”

You flinch. Something in you twists — humiliated, exposed, wet. Your body still wants him. But your mind claws for a way out.

You snap your gaze to his, eyes sharp.

“I have to get back to my boyfriend,” you hiss. More bite in your voice than you intended. It echoes against the marble tile like a slap.

His face changes. Barely. A twitch of the mouth. But it’s enough to tell you you hit something raw.

He laughs once, bitter. Low.

“Yeah. That’s always been your line, hasn’t it?”

You blink.

“Run back to Jungwon when it gets too real. Just like before.”

Your jaw tightens. He doesn’t stop.

“You think I didn’t know you were using me? Letting me fuck you like that — whispering my name like I was the only one — and then going home to him?”

“Say it,” he murmurs. “Say you didn’t think about me when he touched you.”

Your breath hitches. His words hit you straight between the thighs… and that’s the worst part. You do still think about him.

And he knows it.

You shove past him this time, physically push the door open and leave before you say something you can’t take back.

You return back to the table, flushed. Your chest is tight as you try to calm your breathing. Jungwon places a hand on your lower back.

You startle. But smile. Too quickly, too rehearsed.

Riki joins the rest of you a moment later, leaning boyishly across his chair. He places an arm around Rei’s shoulder, looking directly at you.

But you don’t give him the reaction he’s looking for. Instead, your hand rests on Jungwon’s thigh and he clasps your fingers together as he tells you about the dessert that’s about to be served.

And as the sky outside turns to black everyone starts slowly leaving the hotel.

You’re in bed when your phone buzzes. Jungwon’s in the shower. You’re half-scrolling, half-asleep.

It’s a screenshot of that same video he was showing you in the bathroom. The photo is blurred. But unmistakably you, pink thong pushed to the side, exposing your wet cunt that’s gushing with Riki’s cum.

He didn’t add any caption.

you’re sick

Is what you type back, knowing exactly who this is from.

u like it.

Is what comes back, a second later. Then, another buzz.

go somewhere you can be alone

 before I send it to your boyfriend

You stare at the messages. But your feet are already moving. You slip onto the balcony, tightly wrapping the black robe around your shoulders. The cold wind cuts through you. You shut the door just as your phone rings.

You don’t hesitate as you pick up.

“I told you to delete it,” you snap. No greeting. No pretense.

A beat of silence passes between you before you hear the crackling on the other side. Was he smoking? Then, his voice cuts through the line, deeper and rougher than you remember him sounding on the phone.

“And you also said you loved me.”

Your breath stutters. You grip the phone tighter.

He exhales, something sharp behind it, “You think I sent that to fuck with you?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer, “I sent it because you’re mine. You always have been.”

Your lips part to argue, to say something cold. But nothing comes out. He hears it. The silence. The surrender.

His voice softens, but only slightly.

“Just spend one week with me,” he says. “Like before. No strings. And I’ll delete it for real.”

You laugh, bitter, “And Rei?”

He doesn’t flinch. “Don’t act like you’re any better.”

You stiffen. His voice is sharper now, no softness, “You were still fucking me when you started dating him. Or did you forget that too? Three months of you calling me baby, coming over at midnight, then going to brunch with him the next morning like your mouth wasn’t still swollen.”

Your stomach turns. Shame curls hot under your skin because he’s right. Because he remembers it better than you do. Because you never really stopped. You couldn’t. That’s why you had to leave.

He exhales into the silence slower now. Controlled. Cruel, “So don’t ask me about Rei like you’re innocent. You don’t get to moralize, baby. Not when you let me fuck the lie out of you for months.”

You feel it low in your gut, the feeling building the longer he taunts you. That horrible, aching twist of guilt and arousal, of memory and muscle memory. Like your body remembers every time you swore you’d stop, and every time you came crawling back.

“Does Jungwon know that?” Riki asks, so calm it could kill you. “That when he took you to your first fancy dinner, I was the one you called when you got home?”

Your mouth is dry. Your thighs press together, not because you want to but because your body’s already answering questions you haven’t asked.

“I thought you didn’t care,” you manage. “You’ve moved on.”

“Sure,” he says, too fast. Too sharp. “Me, Rei, we look good, don’t we? That what you wanted to say?”

You don’t reply.

“So why are you breathing hard into the phone right now like you want me to say more?”

You clench your eyes shut, grip the phone harder. You want to throw it. You want to drop it. You want to crawl through it. Anything to make it stop. To don’t’ make it stop.

“You kept that video,” you whisper.

“I did,” he confirms, without apology. “Watched it last week. And last month. And again the night before your anniversary.”

You gasp softly, shoulders curling inward. Shame coats your skin, thick and electric. But there’s no denying it anymore. You like his obsession with you. The confirmation that he was just as bad as you were was weirdly soothing.

“I told you not to make it so pretty,” he murmurs. “You think I was just gonna delete that?”

“You’re sick,” you say, but it comes out breathier and whinier than you intend.

“You liked it,” he says. And then, softer he adds, “And I know you still do.”

Your hand trembles. You press your fingers to your lips to quiet yourself, to swallow whatever sound might escape. You slide a finger down to your panties. Pressing down on your clit. You don’t move your fingers though, gaslighting yourself that this is okay. That you’re not about to masturbate while Riki’s taunting you with his deep voice and cruel words.

He lowers his voice. It’s barely a whisper now. “You’re still mine, even if you won’t say it.”

You feel your pulse stutter. There’s something dangerous about the quiet in his tone — not violent, not even angry. Just… sure. Like he’s not trying to convince you. Like he knows you’ll say yes. Eventually.

You press the phone harder against your cheek.

“I have a boyfriend.”

He lets that sit. Lets it rot.

“And I had you,” he says finally. “Every fucking version of you. Not just the good parts.”

You think about Jungwon’s hand on your lower back. How light it felt. Safe. Soft.

But it’s not what you ache for now.

“Where?” you whisper decisively.

A pause. And then, with brutal precision he answers – as if he’s thought it all out, “Hotel Majestic, on the top floor. Friday. Wear whatever you want, but no underwear.”

The line clicks dead.

And you’re left out in the cold, wind wisping hair all over your face. You sneak back into the warm bedroom and luckily Jungwon was still in some other part of the penthouse.

Throughout Monday and Tuesday you’re trying to stay composed. You’re soft-spoken, polite, and polished. You hold Jungwon’s hand a little tighter in public. Smile a little sweeter. Your makeup is perfect, your outfits more carefully curated than ever. You’re performing the role of the good girlfriend with a new level of desperate conviction.

But once you’re alone, you spiral. You can’t stop replaying the phone call in your mind over and over again. You’re easily startled. You zone out. You can’t stop anticipating and imagining Friday — his hands, his mouth, his voice.

He texts you on a Tuesday evening.

You’d stayed late at the office — some intern mixed up a calendar invite and your boss chewed through the whole team like wet paper. Your brain feels like it’s in a mush. You’re half-dressed out of your blazer, collar loose, wine-stained lipstick smudged, when your phone buzzes on the desk.

You glance over. Coupang Eats. You’d saved him under that name to avoid raising suspicion. Your stomach knots, low and sharp.

You unlock the screen. The message is already waiting.

Coupang Eats: u gonna wear white on friday

Your throat tightens. He doesn’t even say hello.

You: You don’t get to ask that.

Coupang Eats: didn’t think u’d answer didn’t think u’d say yes either

You: It’s just sex. That’s what you said, right?

Coupang Eats: sure. keep saying it if it helps

You stare at the text box. Thumbs hovering. You type ‘Don’t text me again’. But then you delete it.

You don’t send anything.

So he does.

Coupang Eats: u’ll be thinking about me either way might as well give you something real to touch yourself to

You turn your phone over and chuck it across the room.

The next day you’re jittery. Checking your – now cracked – phone over and over again. But he doesn’t text you. You don’t know if you’re happy or disappointed by that as you lay in bed next to Jungwon, staring at the ceiling. He’s warm. He always is. One arm thrown across your waist like you’re something precious. Like you’re not betraying him the longer this goes on.

And still, your legs are clenched tight together. Your breath uneven.

You check your phone again, around 3 a.m.

Nothing.

The next day you try distracting yourself. You fold laundry. Light a candle. Then give up pretending you’re not waiting. Your phone buzzes at exactly 11:04 p.m.

Coupang Eats: still thinking about the video?

Your stomach flips. You hate him. You hate him for knowing. You hate him for being right.

You: How long have you had the video?

Coupang Eats: long enough.

You: Why?

Coupang Eats: I like watching you when I miss you.

There's a pause. Long. You try not to breathe. But he’s typing again.

Coupang Eats: you miss me?

You: You’re disgusting.

Coupang Eats: and you’re wet, quit stating the obvious

You clench your jaw. You throw your phone across the bed like it burned you. But when you crawl after it again — your hand doesn’t go to the keyboard. Instead you open the gallery and click play on the video.

Your hand snakes between your legs. Just like Riki said it would.

You probably touched yourself more than you did when you were a teenager this week. And each time, you hated yourself for it. You’re consumed. It feels like Riki owns you. Again. You're ashamed that you still want him. It’s humiliating. And what’s worse, it turns you on.

On Friday Jungwon comes home with takeout and a new bottle of red. You’re pacing around the room, white dress on when you hear the front door open.

You greet him by the door, always the perfect girlfriend and he kisses your cheek, leaves his coat on the stand, and hums something low as he sets the table for you two.

Two plates, two candles, and the playlist you made him months ago still queued up from some night before. He lights the candles without asking. Like being with you has made him softer in all the right places.

“Surprise date night?” you ask, trying to sound playful. As if you’re not lowkey trying to rush out the door.

“You’ve been quiet this week,” he murmurs, brushing your hair off your shoulder. “I missed you.”

The words land in your chest like a bruise.

You pour the wine. Try not to shake. Try to smile. It’s real — the affection. But it feels like you’re loving him with your hands tied behind your back.

“Since when do you pour for me?” he laughs, eyes warm and teasing.

You smile, small. “You’ve had a long week.”

He hums. “You’re so good to me.”

Your stomach coils. Guilt, maybe. Or something worse — the part of you that wants to ruin it all.

He kisses your temple. “You’re gonna make an amazing wife one day.”

The glass nearly slips from your hand.

You don’t respond. Just press your face into his shoulder and nod like you believe it. Like that’s the version of yourself you want to be.

He doesn't notice. He leans in, kissing your jaw, his voice warm and low against your skin. “You look so pretty. Is that the dress I bought you?”

You nod. He beams like you just gave him a gift. You press your lips to his. Slow. Familiar. Gentle. But your head is somewhere else entirely.

The first message from Riki comes just as Jungwon is plating dinner.

Coupang Eats: tick tock.

You ignore it.

Jungwon sets your plate in front of you. Sits. Laughs about something his coworker said. Eats with one hand while he reaches for yours with the other. You let him hold it. Let him squeeze. Let yourself pretend this is enough. You don’t check your phone again until he leaves to get another wine bottle.

Coupang Eats don’t keep me waiting. again.

Your heart stutters. Then starts racing.

You: He’s almost asleep.

Read.

Coupang Eats: aww. such a sweet girlfriend want me to call? help tuck him in?

You bite the inside of your cheek. Hard.

He’s baiting you. Of course he is. And you hate that it’s working.

You: Shut up.

Coupang Eats: did he kiss you goodnight? did you kiss him back thinking about me?

You clench your thighs together. It’s not fair. It’s never been fair. And worst of all he knows it.

Jungwon comes back in a t-shirt and sweats, smelling like mint and dryer sheets. He drapes an arm around you on the couch, nuzzles into your neck.

“You’re warm,” he mumbles. “I love this.”

His fingers trace circles on your thigh. Not sexual just sweet. Just his. His version of forever. You feel him relaxing next to you. Melting into the couch as his breath evens out.

You leave a blanket on the couch. Place a kiss on his forehead so soft he doesn’t stir. The guilt is loud in your ears, but not louder than the pull. Your phone buzzes again in your coat pocket.

Coupang Eats: wear white.

And you already are. Because it’s not about being good anymore. It’s about seeing if he still burns.

You drive in silence. Not because you want to but because any music might make it real. The roads blur. Your hands grip the wheel tighter than they should. Every red light feels like a warning.

Jungwon’s scent is still on your clothes. Your lips still taste like the kiss you left on his forehead. And under all of it, you’re wet. You hate yourself for it. You hate how easy it is.

Your turn signal clicks. You’re five minutes away.

Your phone buzzes again in the passenger seat. You don’t even look. You already know who it is. You already know what you’re about to do.

The hotel hallway reeks of too much cologne and carpet cleaner. Room 912. You hesitate once, then knock.

The door swings open fast. Like he was already standing behind it.

He doesn’t speak.

You’re not sure who moves first, maybe him. But suddenly, you’re inside, your back against the door, his mouth inches from yours.

His voice is low, rough. “You wore white.”

You almost say for you. But you don’t. Because that would be too honest. Riki doesn’t care to wait for your answer. His big hands are on you as soon as the door locks.

"You missed this?" he gruffly asks, pinching your nipple through the dress as his hips grind against yours.

"I missed being treated like shit? No, thanks," you bite. But your body betrays you, chest pushed out, legs spreading to allow him access.

Riki's grip on your waist tightens, his hands find the curve of your ass. He hikes the short dress higher, exposing your ass.

His mouth is by your ear when he speaks, and you have to fight the urge to nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

"Funny. Your pussy says otherwise," he lowly says, fingers prodding by your clothed wet entrance.

You clench around nothing, groaning in what you hope Riki thinks is annoyance.

He doesn’t.

He roughly turns you around and wraps his hand around your throat. Just enough to make your mind go numb, enough so your knees tremble.

Your hands are pressed against the door, as Riki pulls your hips back. He has you awkwardly half-way bent as he bunches your dress around your waist. Expertly tucking and folding it in so it doesn’t slide down.

He harshly spanks you and you moan at the contact.

“Stand still, take what you came for,” he gruffly tells you.

“I didn’t come for you,” you spit out, moaning as he lands another fat spank on your ass. You feel it jiggle at the harsh contact.

"No? Then why are you shaking?"

You don’t reply. You can’t, not when his hands slide up your back sensually. He’s pulling you back against his body and you let him.

Riki wraps his arms around you and guides you towards the bed.

He doesn’t let you lay down. Gripping your hips when you reach the edge of the bed and pushing your head forward.

Doggy. Of course. That was always his favorite way to have you. He finds your lacy panties, slowly slipping them down.

"You still wear lace for me, huh? Or is this what you wear when you’re playing house with him, too?"

"Don’t flatter yourself," you tell him, refusing to feed his ego. But you can feel your pussy gushing, the substance dripping past your lips, making your thighs sticky.

"Why not? I’m the reason your thighs are shaking right now," he whispers as he hovers by your neck.

"Fuck you," you hiss as you bite down on your lip.

"You will. But not yet," he tells you, his hands on your ass. You feel him press his hips into you and glance over your shoulders.

He was still dressed and that only made you even more turned on. Oversized gray tee, black chrome hearts boxers.

Riki hisses as he lets your pussy stain his boxers. You feel him twitch as he humps you once, twice, three times.

Then he slips two fingers past your mouth. His larger frame allowing him to do so from behind. "Every time you lie to me, I’ll make you gag on the truth."

“Shuck yoh,”

Fuck you is what you mean to say but it comes out muffled with his fingers pressing down on your tongue. He has them in so deep you can’t even swallow, saliva pooling at the corner of your mouth.

But Riki only presses closer, his other hand traveling to your clit.

"You already did. That’s the problem."

He starts playing with your pussy then. Just the way you like, and each time you moan, the fingers in your mouth pull back a bit.

"You looked real proud, playing perfect girlfriend. Walking around like you’re innocent."

"I am innocent," you complain and Riki immediately slides his fingers deeper into your warm and wet mouth.

"Not after tonight. You came to this hotel just for me.”

"I had to. You said you’d delete the video if I did."

“Oh sweetie,” he mocks you, “you and I both know you’d be coming regardless of the video.”

That when he pushes you fully on the bed. He flips you around so you’re laying on your back.

He positions himself between your thighs, gaze locked on your glistening cunt.

You move up on your elbows as you watch him watch you. His eyes flick to yours as he pushes past your entrance.

He shows you no mercy as he immediately pushes two digits deep into you.

"Slower— I haven’t—" you gasp, back arching off the bed.

"You haven’t been properly fucked. That’s what you meant, right?" he darkly mocks you. But you see the ghost of smirk on his handsome face.

"Riki—" you whine, trashing on the bed as he roughly pushes in and out of your wet pussy. Loud moans and squelching noise fill the otherwise quiet hotel room and you really hope it’s soundproof.

But Riki is merciless, almost cruel as he taunt you, "No one else gets you wet like this. Say it."

"No one," you quietly gasp, gripping onto his hair as he presses a wet kiss on your clit. His tongue swirls and sucks on it, just enough to make your mind spin. He pulls back with a popping sound.

Your breath hitches when he says it—

“That’s my good girl.” Like he’s been waiting to say it. Like he knew you’d earn it eventually.

Your eyes drag up, greedy, as he pulls his shirt over his head. The muscles. The sharp cut of his waist. And then the tattoo—dark, bold ink sprawled across his side, crawling up his ribs like a warning.

You stare. Maybe a little too long.

“You like that?” he smirks, thumbs hooking under his waistband. “Thought about this when you were with him?”

You say nothing. But he sees the way your thighs press together. The way your lips part when he drops his boxers and steps toward you, cock hard and already leaking.

You swallow. And nod. Just once. Honest, finally.

He smiles, cruel and slow.

“Of course you did,” he says, voice low as he crawls on top of you. “Bet you fucked him with this image in your head.”

You’re trembling now. Not from fear. From the weight of it — the ache, the guilt, the unbearable want. His tattoo is right there, close enough to touch, and your hands rise almost instinctively, splaying across his inked ribs. He’s warm. Solid. Real.

“Say it,” he murmurs, bending slightly, his mouth ghosting over your jaw. “Tell me you thought about me.”

You exhale shakily. “I… did.”

He hums, pleased. His hand slides to your neck, the other gripping your thigh, forcing it open.

“And now you get to have me. Just like this. Just like you wanted.”

You don’t say anything. Can’t. Because the truth is lodged in your throat — hot and humiliating and dangerous.

He leans in until his lips brush your ear.

“Good girls shouldn’t lie,” he says. “And you’ve been lying for so long. Would love to punish you, but some other day. Need you too badly right now.”

Then, Riki is on you. Body on yours, lips on your neck.

He growls ever so slightly as he grips his dick and positions it close to your pussy.

“Been waiting for this, for so long,” he softly mutters and then he’s slipping in.

He was way girthier than you remember, the stretch pleasurably painful and you claw at his back. Your legs automatically wrap around his waist.

Riki continues pushing in, slowly stretching your cunt with his big dick.

"God— I forgot—" you whine in a strained voice. 

"No, you didn’t. You pretended to forget. Just like you pretended he was enough," he replies through gritted teeth.

"Stop talking about him," you whine, lips brushing against his shoulder.

"Why? You’re dripping around my cock while he’s asleep thinking you’re loyal," he mocks as he sheaths his dick fully into you.

You cry out at both the pleasure and his cruel words, "You’re a fucking monster."

He pins your wrists to the bed when you press your nails into his back. Harshly. His other hand goes to your throat, squeezing you in silent warning.

"Yeah? And you let the monster ruin you every time," he taunts you, his hands move to your legs – still wrapped around his waist – and he adjusts your position so they’re resting on his shoulders.

You’re folded like a pretzel, left to his mercy. And Riki knows it too.

He smiles down at you as if he won a prize and then he starts fucking you. His thrusts are intense. Deep and unrelenting as the fucks you as if he’s punishing you. He is.

Your sounds are a mix of gasps, whimpers and moans, “Please—Riki, please—”

“Yeah? This how you wanted to get fucked? To be ruined?”

But he softens just a bit, slowing down ever so slightly, “You miss how I break you open, don’t lie.”

He’s softer. But not sweet. His thrusts fueled by the betrayal, the jealousy, the ache. This is sex punishment for leaving.

And you understand that this is him establishing control. So you let him, hips tilting up to meet his rhythm, hands fisting in the sheets instead of pushing him away, your body falling into obedience before your mind can catch up.

And it’s only when he sees you break, after your moans start to sound like sobs — that his mouth lowers to your throat, planting a gentle kiss. Then another on the inside of your knee, a subtle crack in the armor. Always a reward.

“I always knew you’d come back like this,” he breathes into your neck, his voice a low growl. “Opened up. Begging.”

He slows down then. Just enough to make you feel him in a different way, the angle almost brutal. He stays deep inside of you and leans down so your foreheads nearly touch. Not kissing. Just staring.

“You think he can make you feel like this? Tell me who owns this pussy. Say it.”

And you do. Pleasure swirls in all parts of your body, you don’t even register the building ache in your thighs.

You’re nearly crying, choked "Harder— please, I want—"

"Want what? Say it," he tells you, nuzzling into your neck.

"I want you to ruin me."

"Already have," he growls, and then his hand finds your small clit. Peeking through the gap between you two.

He rubs you, not to fast, not too slow – but just right. You lock in place, the pleasure of his fat cock entering you, stretching you open and his big hands playing with your cunt too much.

"I c-can’t— Riki— it’s too—" you beg.

"You’ll take it. You owe me this."

"Please— I’m gonna—"

"Cum for me. Prove it still belongs to me," his voice is strained as he speaks. He can feel your tight cunt squeezing impossibly tighter around his dick and he groans when he hears your breathy voice.

"Yours— yours— fuck, I’m—" you say, trembling and not breathing momentarily as you cum.

You’re still trembling when he pulls out. Riki fists his cock, teeth clenched, eyes locked on you as he cums hard, messy, all over your bare skin like a claim.

Neither of you speaks.

For a moment, the only sound is your broken breathing, shallow, trying to come down. You reach blindly for something, maybe a sheet, maybe him and feel the mattress shift under his weight.

He doesn’t hold you. Not fully. He doesn’t even look at you as he tosses you a towel and lies back beside you, chest rising and falling.

But when you move closer, he doesn’t stop you. Your head finds his chest, and he stays still. Heart pounding beneath your cheek.

You close your eyes.

Silence stretches.

Then, just as your fingers start to relax against his ribs, you hear his voice low and steady, dangerous.

“You left me once.” A pause. “You won’t get another chance.”

You lay there for a moment longer, catching your breath on his chest. He still hasn’t touched you, not really. He’s just letting you cling onto him.

You speak first. “I should go.” Your voice is quiet. Calculated. You don’t look at him.

Riki doesn’t move. “Obviously.”

You sit up. Wipe the mess from your stomach. Slip your dress back on, not bothering to fix your hair. You’re still flushed. Still swollen where he broke you open. But your voice? Steady. Controlled.

“I live with him,” you say, reaching for your phone. “I can’t be gone all night. He’ll wake up.”

You expect silence. Maybe something cruel.

Instead, Riki laughs, it’s short. Bitter, “You think I give a fuck about Jungwon?”

You turn, fixing your earring in the mirror. “You did this whole thing because of Jungwon.”

He sits up now, elbows on his knees. His stare cuts through your reflection.

“No. I did this because you pretended you were over me.” He stands, walks up behind you, not touching. Just close enough. “And you’re not.”

You hate how your knees almost give.

You snap the clasp on your purse shut. “I never said I was.”

He steps in closer. “So stay.”

You swallow. “I can’t.”

Riki’s jaw ticks. Something in his eyes dims. “Right. Because you’re such a good girl now.”

You don’t flinch, but your heart does, “Better than I was with you.”

It lands. It hurts him. But he doesn’t stop you when you reach for the door.

You pause before leaving. Glance back once.

He’s watching you with that look again, the one that never says what he wants, only what he can’t admit.

“Text me when you get home,” he mutters. “So I know you didn’t crash or something.”

You stare, “You’re not my boyfriend.”

“No,” he calmly says. “I'm not, but you're still going to text me.”

You don’t respond. Just close the door behind you. But you don’t stop shaking until you’re halfway back home.

You wake up sore the next morning. The ache in your hips is slow and low and everywhere. Your body remembers before your mind does.

You're curled against Jungwon’s warm and familiar chest and his hand rubs soothing circles on your back.

“Don’t feel good today, Wonnie,” you mumble, barely above a whisper.

He presses a kiss to your temple. You flinch. Not enough for him to notice. But you feel it. The echo of Riki's mouth, rougher, crueler… it still burns under your skin.

Jungwon hums, his voice soft with concern, “You were tossing around a lot last night,” he says. His fingers trail down your spine. “I’ll make you tea. Go shower, baby.”

You do. Twice.

The water is hot enough to scald. But it’s not enough. You scrub behind your ears. Between your thighs. Inside your bellybutton. There’s still something on you. In you. His scent. His breath. The way he said mine like it was a curse and a promise.

You check your phone with wet fingers. One new message. A photo.

Riki’s hand, ringed and veined, fisted around something delicate and pale. Your panties. Twisted in his palm like a trophy.

Coupang Eats: forgot these.

You close your eyes. You bite your lip. And you save the photo.

And when you meet at night his mouth is everywhere, teeth against your thigh. His voice dark and amused, whispering to you what he’ll do next time.

This time, after you are done, you make sure to stuff your ruined panties into your coat pocket as you’re leaving.

On Sunday he simply texts you “come outside in 15” and you do. You slip out just as Jungwon get’s on a business call coming from overseas. You mumble something about needing air. He kisses your cheek without looking and you’re already halfway out the door.

Riki’s car is parked at the edge of the driveway. Engine low. Window down. He doesn’t say a word as you slip into the passenger seat. The smell hits you first — leather, smoke, cologne that clings to your skin even when he's gone. His eyes drag over you like he’s checking for damage.

You don’t greet him. Just say, “What if Jungwon finds out?”

He laughs, sharp and short. “You’re not worried about that,” he mutters, not even looking at you.

“I am,” you snap. “This is insane. We shouldn’t—”

But his hand is already moving, low between your thighs, and your body betrays you instantly. You flinch, it’s not from fear but from how fast your pulse spikes when he touches you like that. Like he’s entitled to it.

You climb into his lap anyway.

It’s cramped. Messy. Windows fog too fast, too loud, and you're fucking him in the front seat with your skirt bunched around your hips. Your back hits the steering wheel. He doesn’t care. Neither do you.

You tell him to be quick but the moment he’s inside you, time fractures. He grips your waist like a lifeline. You ride him like you’re drowning.

There’s no music. No words. Just breath and skin and the wet slap of your bodies colliding in the dark. You bury your face in his shoulder and his hands slide up your back like he’s remembering every inch of you.

Oddly, it feels romantic. Not soft. Not safe. But intimate in the way only ruin ever is.

He finishes with his mouth on you, not your lips — no kiss. Not yet. That would mean something.

When he pulls back, his eyes are still half-lidded, gaze fixed on you like you’re something carved out of sin. Your heart’s pounding in your ears. Your thighs are shaking.

You reach for your coat silently. Pull it around you like a shield.

“Next time,” he murmurs, voice low, “don’t wear anything. Saves us both the time.”

You slam the car door harder than necessary.

The next day you’re halfway through lunch with Jungwon when your phone buzzes on the table. You glance at it absently, thinking it’s work—until you see her name.

Rei: I’ve been thinking! Maybe we do a little double date? It’s been forever! 🥹 I think Riki’s been down ever since he saw you again. I wanna patch you guys up 😭💗

You choke slightly on your iced coffee.

Jungwon looks up from his plate, concerned. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say quickly, setting the drink down and wiping your mouth. You try to play it cool, but your fingers tighten slightly around the phone.

He squints, playful. “Who is it?”

You hesitate. Just a beat. Then force your best smile. “Rei. She wants to set up a double date. Us and her… and Riki.”

Jungwon’s brows lift. “Really?” He seems genuinely surprised, but not suspicious. Just thoughtful. “That’s kind of sweet of her.”

“Yeah,” you lie. “It really is.”

You feel his foot graze yours under the table. “I’d be down,” he says with a grin. “Maybe you two can finally patch things up.”

Your stomach coils. Not from guilt. From the irony of it all. Rei wanting to help. Jungwon wanting to trust. You’re smiling through your teeth like you’re not already branded head to toe in Riki’s touch.

You: Totally! Would be fun.

Rei: He needs this. He won’t say it but I can tell 🥺

You turn your screen off.

You haven’t even seen Riki today, and still it feels like his hands are all over you. The rest of the day stretches, thick and frustrating. No texts. No missed calls. Not even a sign.

You go home with Jungwon. Let him kiss your cheek. Let him laugh against your neck. Let him touch your waist with hands that don’t know better.

You wait. All day.

You shower. You try not to think about the marks on your skin, the ache between your thighs that never really left. You try not to check your phone every ten minutes.

By nightfall, you’re pacing.

Finally, just before midnight, your phone lights up.

Coupang Eats: rei’s breathing down my neck. can’t today.

That’s it.

No “hi.” No apology. Just dismissal dressed like explanation.

You don’t reply. You leave it on seen. You throw your phone on the nighstand and crawl into bed. You hate that it hurts. You hate that it hurts because you miss him.

You curl up, blanket pulled to your chin, and close your eyes like that’ll stop the heat from spreading low and slow inside you.

You don’t expect another text.

But at 1:13 a.m., your phone buzzes again. You grab it with more desperation than you mean to.

Coupang Eats: but ive been thinking about you the whole day

There’s a slight pause, and then he’s double texting you.

Coupang Eats: think rei’s starting to catch on. she asked if i’ve been seeing someone else

Another pause. You keep leaving his messages on seen.

Coupang Eats: anyway. i want your mouth tomorrow

You stare at the screen. Your body flushes instantly, pulse skipping. He always knows what to say to wreck you.

You read it again. And again.

Your thighs clench under the blanket. You should block him. You should throw the phone across the room. Instead, you place it gently on your nightstand. And smile, just a little. You never stood a chance.

Tuesday he’s ignoring you. Again.

You try to stay rational. You tell yourself it’s because of Rei. Because of guilt. Because of everything this already is. But that doesn’t explain why your chest tightens every time your phone buzzes — and it’s not him.

You last until midnight. You’re curled under your blanket, half-dreaming, half-angry, when your screen lights up.

Incoming Call: Coupang Eats

You step into the hallway and gently close the door so you don’t wake Jungwon. Then you answer without a word.

Silence on the other end. Not awkward. Not hesitant. Just… breath. Slow and steady.

“Riki?” you whisper.

Still nothing.

Your voice sharpens. “What’s wrong?”

Another breath. Then finally, his voice — low, worn, unsweet.

“You’re mad.”

You scoff. “You think?”

You can’t help the raising of your voice, “I waited all day for you yesterday. I sat next to him thinking about you, and you haven’t even—” You catch yourself. Bite down the whine in your voice. “—you haven’t said anything. Not even a text.”

“I’m not here to make love to you. You have someone for that,” he says, flat and final.

You flinch. Like he slapped you through the phone. Your throat tightens. You wait for him to say something else.

He doesn’t.

You end the call first.

You stand there in the hallway with your phone pressed to your chest like it might keep your heart inside your body. But it doesn't help. Not even a little.

Sleep doesn’t come easy. You toss and turn so much that Jungwon at some point bear hugs you and keeps you close to his warm body. And finally you’re able to relax enough to let sleep overtake you.

The double date is happening late afternoon today. You don’t mention the call — not to Jungwon, not to yourself. You just get dressed. Not in red because that’s too obvious. But soft. Romantic. A pink silk dress that hugs your waist and slips off your shoulders with every movement. The kind of dress that would make someone believe you’re innocent. That you belong to someone.

The date is happening in a cute, but luxorious sweet shop. The café is a pastel-hued dream. Soft pink walls, delicate white lace curtains, and dainty gold accents catching the light. Glass display cases are lined with perfectly frosted cupcakes. Vintage floral teacups clink softly against saucers, and gentle indie music hums in the background, mixing with the faint chatter of quiet patrons.

Rei and Riki are already sitting down by the window overlooking the entrance. Your heart squeezes when you see him. He’s dressed in a crisp, black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the lean muscle of his forearms. A subtle flash of silver chain is glinting around his neck. His shirt is tucked neatly into tailored charcoal trousers, sleek and effortless, like he stepped straight out of a midnight city skyline.

You make sure Riki sees you walk in first. With Jungwon’s arm around your waist, smiling up at him like you mean it.

Rei waves you over. She’s sipping on her drink, other hand on his thigh like she owns it. You slide into your seat across from them, perfectly poised.

Jungwon orders for you, as always. You rest your chin on your hand and glance at Riki just long enough to make it look casual.

He won’t look at you.

Not at first.

But you can see the tension in his jaw. The white of his knuckles on his water glass. He’s trying not to react.

Good.

Rei watches you. Not warmly. She senses something — can’t name it, but it’s there. Then she blurts, “Didn’t you two used to be, like, inseparable?”

Her tone is off. Maybe playful. Maybe not.

“That was a long time ago,” Riki speaks.

You shrug, smile too sweet. “We were kids.”

You don’t look at him.

Jungwon laughs, reaching for your hand. “Didn’t you say you had a crush on him in high school?”

Your stomach tightens. You throw your head back and laugh, “God, don’t remind me.”

This time, Riki looks at you. Dead on.

Then, slowly, his hand drops to Rei’s thigh. He leans closer to her and murmurs something — something that makes her smile and adjust her grip on his bicep.

You almost break. But you don’t. Instead, you slide your hand under the table and rest it on Jungwon’s knee. Riki’s gaze drops. Then sharpens. You can feel it burning through your skin.

Jungwon starts telling a story to break the tension — something light about his boss messing up an email thread. You fake-laugh, brushing your hand along his forearm.

Still nothing from Riki.

So you go further.

You lean into Jungwon’s ear. Whisper something that makes him grin and kiss your cheek. You giggle and sip your coffee, letting your lips linger on the mug.

Your phone buzzes in your hand.

You glance down.

Coupang Eats: Stop fucking smiling at him like you’re not going to be on your knees for me in 2 hours.

You excuse yourself. A moment later, in front of the bathroom stalls, you hear footsteps. You don’t turn around.

“So that’s how we’re playing it?” you murmur.

Riki doesn’t answer.

“She’s clinging to your arm like a trophy and you’re looking at me like you want to kill something.”

Still nothing.

You turn. Face him. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, shoulders tight, breathing slow and shallow.

“She asked about us,” you say. “You really gonna sit there and pretend we were nothing?”

His eyes narrow. “You’re the one pretending.”

You raise a brow. “I’m just being polite.”

Riki steps closer. Still calm. Still composed. But you know the signs… the way his jaw clicks, the twitch in his brow. He’s unraveling slowly.

“You smile at him like he’s enough,” he says quietly. “But I know what you look like when you’re lying.”

You look up, but Riki’s already turned back toward the tables.

And you follow.

Because you always do.

You return to the table with Riki just a few paces behind, the silence of the hallway still clinging to your skin. Jungwon glances up from his cappuccino, expression tightening. Rei’s head tilts ever so slightly, like she’s trying to catch a whisper she just missed.

“Everything okay?” Jungwon asks, voice easy, but his hand slips off the back of your chair like he’s not sure if he should still be touching you.

You nod too quickly. “Just—long line.”

“Hmm.” His eyes stay on you for a beat too long. You know he doesn’t believe you, but he smiles anyway.

Rei's stirring her iced latte with her straw, the clink of ice loud in the delicate atmosphere of the café. The scent of vanilla and buttercream hangs in the air. Around you, couples laugh softly, forks clinking against pastel plates.

But at your table, the energy has shifted.

You take your seat, careful not to brush against Riki’s knee under the table. You don’t want to give anything away… except maybe in this moment you do. Maybe you want to be caught.

Jungwon reaches for the last macaron, brushing a crumb from your plate as he does. “Try this one, it’s raspberry.” His voice is soft. Familiar. And it makes you ache.

But before you can answer, Riki’s voice cuts in, sharp around the edges. “She doesn’t like raspberry.”

The table stills.

You freeze mid-reach.

Rei blinks. “Oh?”

You force a laugh. “I guess I… grew out of that.”

Jungwon sets the macaron down slowly. “Right,” he says, like he's trying to convince himself.

The tension spirals, thick and sticky as frosting. You try to redirect, compliment the café wallpaper, anything to smooth it over. But Rei’s already watching Riki too closely now. Her fingers trace the edge of her water glass. Her mouth presses into a thin line.

“So,” she starts, “you guys been seeing each other lately?” She phrases it light, like it’s casual. But her eyes are too sharp, scanning you both.

You smile like you’ve practiced it. “Not really. We ran into each other a couple of days ago. Unexpectedly.”

Riki doesn’t say anything. He’s staring down at his coffee like it personally offended him.

Rei hums, glancing between you again. “Weird. Riki never mentioned it.”

You sip your drink to avoid answering. It tastes like syrup and guilt.

Jungwon shifts beside you. He’s been quiet too long. Observing. Calculating. He reaches for your hand under the table—and you flinch. Just slightly. Just enough.

You see the flicker in his eyes. Something cold, unsure, tightening his jaw before he lets go.

Riki’s chair scrapes softly as he leans back. He stretches one arm behind Rei’s chair. It’s casual. Possessive. Performed. But when your eyes flick to him, he’s already watching you. And he doesn’t look away.

The silence stretches too long.

You glance at the time. Not late, but suddenly, it feels like you've been here too long.

Jungwon clears his throat softly. “We should probably get going. You have work early, don’t you?”

It’s a neutral out. A subtle offering. But the edge in his tone is unmistakable.

You nod too quickly. “Right. Yeah.”

You stand, smoothing the hem of your dress. Across the table, Riki doesn’t move. Rei offers a tight smile as she pushes her hair behind her ear, eyes flicking between you and Riki again.

“You two heading out too?” Jungwon asks, polite.

Rei shakes her head, “I think we’ll stay a bit. Riki’s sweet tooth hasn’t kicked in yet.” She laughs, light but forced. Riki doesn’t even blink.

Jungwon places a warm hand on your lower back, guiding you toward the door.

You don’t look back.

But still in the café, as you and Jungwon are leaving Rei watches Riki pick at a dessert he’s not even eating.

“You wanna tell me what that was?” she asks.

Riki shrugs. Doesn’t look at her.

“You couldn’t fake it for two hours?” she says, still trying to keep it light, but her voice is breaking at the edges.

He doesn’t respond.

She swallows. “You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?”

Still nothing.

Rei sits back, blinking fast.

“I hope she’s worth ruining everything.”

In the car you and Jungwon are barely halfway down the block before he speaks.

“You don’t like raspberry,” he says. Quiet. Not accusing. Just… unraveling the thread.

You stare out the window.

He doesn’t push. Not yet. He just lets the silence sit between you both, letting you feel the weight of it.

And when he parks the car outside his and yours penthouse, his voice drops lower.

“How long has this been going on?”

You blink. “What?”

He turns to look at you. Not angry. But hurt. And that’s worse. Way worse. You never meant to hurt him. You were just too blindsided by Riki. Like you always are. Everything is always too much with him. Too colorful, too loud, he makes you too ha-…

“Whatever this is between you and Riki,” he says. “You think I can’t feel it?”

You open your mouth. Then close it again.

He nods, jaw clenched. “I didn’t want to be right.”

You don’t say anything. Not because there’s nothing to say but because anything you could say would sound cruel. Or worse, dishonest. And you’ve lied enough.

The penthouse is quiet when you step inside. Not soft quiet — hollow. Like all the warmth Jungwon tried to build with you has finally leaked through the cracks. You trail in behind him, your eyes skimming over the small signs of his care… the flowers he replaced just this morning. The charger he keeps plugged in for your phone. The pink cupcakes you like in the fridge, even though he doesn’t eat sweets.

You should feel something. But you only feel heavy.

You sit on the edge of the bed. Your dress folds gently at your thighs. The same dress you wore to hurt someone. Or maybe yourself. You can’t tell anymore. Somewhere between the fucking, something in you blurred.

Across the room, Jungwon doesn’t move. He stands like he wants to ask for something, an explanation, an apology — but knows he won’t like the answer.

And maybe the worst part is… you wish he would yell. Or cry. Slam a door, something. But Jungwon is still himself, still his calm self and it only makes you feel messier. Uglier.

Your phone buzzes.

Coupang Eats: We should talk.

You lock it. Set it face-down on the nightstand.

Coupang Eats: Whenever you're ready.

Your hands shake slightly as you unzip the weekender bag. You don’t pack much. Just what you need. You tell yourself you’ll come back. That it’s not permanent. You lie to yourself the way you always have. Softly, sweetly.

You glance toward Jungwon once more. He hasn’t moved from his office. His back is to you now, one hand gripping the edge of the desk like he’s trying to ground himself.

You want to go to him. Say sorry. Say something. But you don’t know how to comfort someone while still choosing someone else.

So instead, you whisper “I’m staying at a hotel. Just for a while.”

He doesn’t answer.

You leave the keys on the credenza. The door clicks shut behind you.

And just like that, you become the kind of girl who walks away from a man who would’ve never walked away from you.

You last 5 minutes in the car by yourself before you’re shaking. Your vision blurs and you pull over. Your hands stay on the wheel, but your shoulders can’t stop shaking.

No noise escapes you, the kind of breathless crying that comes only after you’ve been thoroughly overwhelmed. You don’t even know why you’re crying. Because you hurt Jungwon? Because you left him? Because you chose Riki this time and you’re sorry for hurting him too? Because you don’t know if you’ve ruined it with him too?

You gather yourself slowly. Just enough to drive to the closest hotel.

It’s shabby. If you were your usual self you wouldn’t be found within 10 feet of it. But right now the small and dim room brings you comfort.

The lighting is yellow and uneven, the hallway carpet faded with time and secrets. But right now, the small, dim room wraps around and it's enough.

The walls are a muted pastel green, chipped at the corners, soft and sleepy. The heavy curtains are the color of oversteeped tea. The rug beneath you is old, scratchy in some spots and suspiciously soft in others — probably disgusting. But it’s warm. And it doesn’t ask anything of you.

The bedspread is stiff. The air smells faintly like cheap linen spray and leftover takeout from whoever was here before you. But there’s a strange comfort in how off it all is — like the room knows you don’t belong here, and it’s choosing not to care.

You drop your bag. The zipper’s still half open.

You lie down on the carpet, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The glow from the streetlights outside crawls in through the blinds in thin gold lines. You trace them with your eyes like they might lead you out of this moment.

But they don’t.

They just remind you that morning will come whether you’re ready or not.

Eventually, you sit up with heavy limbs and pull your dress off in silence. You throw on an oversized tee, one that smells faintly like Jungwon’s laundry detergent, and immediately hate it. You shrug it off your shoulders as if it burned you.

You flick the TV on, scroll through the channels until you land on one that only plays indie love songs and soft piano ballads. You try to sleep to it, but your brain won’t quiet down. The pillow feels too loud. The room feels too full of everything you left unsaid.

So you grab your phone.

The screen lights up with missed calls. Coupang Eats (3 missed calls) 11:08 PM. 11:42 PM. 12:17 AM.

You don’t call back.

Instead, your fingers start flying across the screen. You swipe through your notes app, scroll past voice memos and lists you never finished, until you find it: “Shared account pw 🫣🤐🤞”

The login still works.

The finsta you and Riki made when you were fifteen. No followers, no bios, no comments. Just a locked archive. You remember laughing about it back then, calling it your “burner for memories.”

The feed loads.

First photo you see is a blurry close-up of your pinky with his pinky wrapped around it. Captioned contract sealed.

Then you scroll past selfies at the convenience store, your faces mid-laugh, Riki sticking out his tongue. Then a video of him trying to teach you how to skateboard, failing miserably and pretending to die in the parking lot. You can hear your own cackling in the background.

The further you scroll, the harder it gets to breathe.

A picture from your sixteenth birthday. He’d made you a paper crown from receipts and straw wrappers. You wore it all night. He wrote in the caption ‘Queen of making me soft’. You’d replied ‘Ur weak anyway’.

You press the screen. Let the image fill up your phone. Let the ache press into your lungs.

He was your best friend before he was anything else. And now everything feels like too much.

You set the phone face down and finally let yourself cry. Quietly. Face buried in your arms. Not for Riki. Not for Jungwon. Just for the version of yourself who didn’t know how complicated love could get.

You fall asleep like that, head pounding, throat sore and dry and eyes swollen. And wake just as the sun is starting to paint the skyline yellow-

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Your heart leaps. You sit up too fast. The pounding continues, it sounds urgent, not frantic. Like whoever’s on the other side knows you’ll open. Like they’re sure of it.

You reach for the first thing you can find (your old hoodie) and slip it over your head as you stumble barefoot to the door.

You peek through the peephole.

Riki.

Hair a mess. Hoodie half-zipped. Jaw tight. His shoulders are hunched like he’s been holding his breath for hours. His eyes are ringed with exhaustion, skin pale under the hallway light. You open the door slowly.

Neither of you says anything at first.

He just looks at you. Takes in the hoodie. Your bare legs. The redness around your eyes.

You swallow hard. “How did you even find me?”

He scratches the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze for once. “Went to your place. Jungwon opened the door. Didn’t say much… just said you were staying at some hotel. That you left.”

He looks up now. “So I checked every hotel near the highway. Every cheap one I thought you’d never usually pick. I figured, you’d want to be somewhere that didn’t ask questions.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Your chest tightens just seeing him there.

Riki doesn’t wait for an invitation. He doesn’t speak again. Just steps inside, shuts the door behind him with a soft click. Tosses off his jacket onto the nearby chair.

Then he walks over and pulls you into his arms.

No tension. No games. No hunger.

Just holds you.

You cave instantly, burying your face into his chest like your bones have been aching for this. And you cry. Again, but it’s not like last night, not quiet or restrained — but open. Loudly. Like a kid.

Riki says nothing for a while, just moves you both to the bed. His hand just runs slowly over the back of your hoodie, warm and careful. You can feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Then, just barely above a whisper he tells you, “I told you I’d never stop choosing you.”

And that’s all it takes.

You let yourself collapse into him, fully.  His hands splay across your back, holding you close enough to feel every shaky breath. The kind of hug that says stay here. That says I’ve got you.

Time moves differently in his arms. You don’t know how long you stay there, pressed against his chest, legs tangled, hearts a little quieter now.

Eventually, your tears slow. You sniffle and wipe your cheek against his shirt, then freeze. “Sorry. I got snot on you.”

Riki glances down. “I don’t care.” He slightly pauses before speaking again, “I like when you ruin my stuff anyway.”

You roll your eyes, even as the corners of your lips threaten a smile. “You're such a freak.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you — his thumb brushing beneath your eye gently. “And you look ridiculous in that hoodie. It's swallowing you.”

“It’s yours.”

“Exactly.”

You both laugh. A small one. But real.

Riki presses a kiss to your forehead. It's gentle. No pressure. No expectation. Just warmth.

You sit on the edge of the bed while Riki disappears into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. You hear the faucet, the clatter of the cheap soap dish. It’s quiet again, but this time, not lonely.

When he steps back out, his hair is damp and pushed back, and his sleeves are rolled to his elbows. He looks younger this way. Less like the person who ruined you, and more like the boy who used to make you laugh until your stomach hurt.

You curl your knees up to your chest. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

He glances at the crusty hotel menu on the nightstand and lifts a brow. “Room service?”

You nod. “Please don’t judge me if I order pancakes and miso soup.”

Riki smirks. “That’s disgusting. I’m getting that too.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re sitting cross-legged on the bed with trays between you.

Miso steam fogs your lashes. The pancakes are a little dry, but Riki drowns his in syrup and makes a show of pretending it’s gourmet. You throw a rolled-up napkin at him and he catches it mid-air with his mouth. He’s so smug, it’s ridiculous (ridiculously endearing).

For a while, it feels like the world outside doesn’t exist. Like you’re not running away. Like this is just... the two of you again. Existing in a quiet pocket of peace.

“I forgot how easy it is,” you murmur.

Riki chews, swallows. “What is?”

“This. Us. When we’re not trying to hurt each other.”

He’s silent for a second, then reaches across the tray and tugs your sleeve. “Then let’s stop trying.”

After breakfast, you both stretch out on the bed. You lie back. He lies beside you. Not touching. Just breathing together. And after a while, without saying anything, Riki slips his pinky against yours.

You link it.

He glances at the clock. “It’s still early,” he says. “Wanna go for a drive?”

You turn to look at him. “Where?”

He smiles. Soft. Secretive.

“Somewhere we left a part of ourselves.”

A short drive later with the windows cracked and the morning sun warming the car you’re on your way.

You recognize the route before he even parks.

The overlook.

It’s stupid, really. Just a hill that peers out over the city, tucked behind an old park and some bike trails. You used to sneak up here after dark when you were both barely sixteen. It was the first place you ever kissed. On a hot rainy summer day. Hair soaked, heart pounding, shoes caked in mud. Neither of you ever talked about it much after — like it was a secret even from yourselves.

You stare at the familiar curve of the hill, the chipped bench still there.

“You remember?” Riki says as he kills the engine.

You nod slowly. “Of course I do.”

Neither of you says this is where it started. But you’re both thinking it.

He helps you out of the car like he always used to, like you’re fragile and treasured and something he doesn’t want to lose again. You sit on the bench, shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the skyline.

And when he takes your hand, he doesn’t lace your fingers together… he just holds it, palm to palm. Still. Soft.

“Do you think we could ever do it right?” you ask quietly.

Riki looks over at you. His lashes catch the light. His voice is a little hoarse. “Maybe not perfect. But honest this time.”

You nod. “I could live with that.”

And then, he finally kisses you.

Slowly. Gentle. The kind of kiss that makes time stretch like the world softens just to give you this. He kisses you like he remembers every version of you — the girl from next door, the one who used to steal his hoodies, the one who left him, the one who came back. Like he’s been holding his breath since the last time you touched and finally gets to exhale.

And you melt into it. Your hands slide into his hair without thinking, like it’s an old habit. He tilts his head just slightly, deepening it, and your heart stumbles because it’s not lust that makes you shiver — it’s how much you feel. The love. The passion. The yearning you’d been hiding from yourself.

There’s something unsaid in it. A hundred unsent messages. All the years in between. An apology. A promise. A beginning.

And when he finally pulls back just an inch, your forehead rests against his. Both of you a little breathless.

“I missed you,” he says quietly. “More than I should’ve.”

You don’t speak. You just kiss him again. Because saying it aloud would break you.

But he already knows.

You sit beside him on the old bench by the reservoir for the long time after that. Shoulder to shoulder, reminiscing together.

You glance at him. “It hasn’t changed much.”

Riki smiles faintly, eyes forward. “You have.”

You huff a laugh. “Thanks?”

“I mean it in a good way.” He tilts his head toward you, expression open now, so rare for him. “You always had all this light in you. You just… didn’t know how to carry it.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Letting it in. Letting it sting.

Then you nudge his knee with yours. “You were the first person to ever see me.”

[holylulusworld]

An absent mate

Summary: Your mate cares more about a taken omega.

Pairing: Wolverine x Omega!Reader

Warnings: a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics, abandonment, emotional cheating, heavy angst, pregnancy, loneliness, language, shitty friends, shitty alpha, Jean being the worst ever, Jean hate (sorry)

Square filled for the Wolverine bingo @buck-star created for me: Square 23: a/b/o

In the beginning, you believed everything would turn out for the better. Everyone encouraged you to pursue the alpha you fell in love with. You believed their words, their lies, so easily.

Logan wasn’t happy with all the attention you gave him at first. But the more you threw yourself at him, the more he got fond of you. Or so it seemed.

You spent many nights tangled in each other, touching every inch of your bodies, while you got more and more lost in Logan.

His mark soon was on your neck, indicating that he finally settled for an omega and forgot about the one he couldn’t have.

You soon would find out that the passion he showed in the bedroom did not dull the ache whenever he ignored your needs.

Hugs, a no-go. Kissing, only when it was to start something else. Being around you for longer than needed was out of the question.

Day by day, you realized that you got trapped in a loveless bond by no other but your chosen family. The people you trusted the most.

“Logan, where are you going again?” You almost pleaded while grabbing his arm. “I told you I need you today.”

“I told you that Jean needs me. Scott is on a mission, and she’s all alone,” Logan bites back, wincing as you flinch at his harsh tone. “Give me an hour or two, and we can do whatever you want to do.” He tries to charm his way back into your good graces, but you only scoff.

“What if I ever get pregnant? Will you be there for me, too, or just ignore me?” Your questions make Logan stop in his tracks. He considers your words before walking toward the door.

“We shouldn’t have a baby.” His words cut deeper than any knife. “I’m too old to have children.”

“You will outlive all of us. Me…anyone,” you scoff. “You’re not too old. You simply don’t want to have children with me.”

“No…I…” Logan shakes his head. “I’d outlive our child, too, Y/N. I don’t want to see them die like everyone else.”

“You could play with your grandchildren, and their children,” you sniffle. “Anyone would kill for that chance, but you…” You protectively wrap your arms around yourself. “If Jean’s child were yours, you wouldn’t hesitate.”

“That’s not…true.” He tries to argue, but you are too wound tight to give in today. In the past, you endured the pain in silence.

“Forget it,” you sniffle and already turn back around. “I can handle my problems on my own. I’m not a weakling like Jean.” You grab your jacket and bag and storm out of the room, slamming the door shut.

Jean stands in front of your room, running her hand over her visible bump. She smirks, knowing you got into a fight with your mate because of her.

“Get fucked.” You curse and storm past her. In your condition, you shouldn’t stress yourself or always get into fights with your mate. It’s no use. He will not turn toward you, and Jean won’t stop playing the victim.

“I’m so done,” you think in your mind, catching Professor Xavier’s attention. Usually, you guard your mind like a dragon guarding a captured princess. Today, your heart and soul a screaming because you cannot endure more heartbreak. “That’s enough heartbreak for a lifetime.”

After returning from your doctor's appointment, you decided to talk to your fellow X-Men.

You don’t understand why Logan claimed you if his heart was still hung up on Jean.

They all assured you that Logan feels the same, but now you feel like they lied to you.

If you are right, the betrayal cuts even deeper.

Walking along the hallways, you change your mind. If you ask them directly, they’d only lie to you to shelter your feelings.

It’s against the rules, but to get the truth, you are willing to break all the rules.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath before using your powers. You focus on everyone telling you to make a move on Logan.

Not only did Logan and Jean underestimate you, but your fellow X-Men did too.

In full control of your powers, you can read their minds all at once.

Your eyes fill with tears, realizing, they knew Logan would never reciprocate your feelings all along. None of them was truly on your side.

“All of you.” You accuse, pointing at Professor Xavier in particular. “Every single one of you told me to give Logan a chance. You told me he’s bad at admitting feelings.”

“We only asked you to give him a chance to make him happy,” Storm tries to save the situation and calm you. No such luck.

You scoff at your stupidity and shake your head. “You didn’t ask me to give him a chance to become his mate, his partner, or the mother of his pups.” You emphasize your last words, running your hand over your swollen bump. “No. You did it, so he got someone to fuck!”

Professor Xavier flinches at your outburst. Not only because your words are true, but also because you screamed in his mind.

“You wanted me to let him fuck me while his whole attention was focused on Jean. A taken woman. A mated omega. Someone else’s wife.” You sniff and look away from them. “You made me believe he’ll reciprocate my feelings one day.”

Professor Xavier wants to say something, but you raise your hand to stop him. “Save it, professor. He doesn’t care for me. Logan is all over Jean all the time because she won’t leave a taken man alone.” You snarl the last line. “She’s nothing but a homewrecker, and all of you decided to look the other way. I’m done.”

Logan finally joins the others, staring at you as if you lost your mind. He heard every word thanks to his higher senses and advanced hearing.

“If you are unhappy, go.” He growls and points at you. “But before, give me my favorite shirt back.”

You can’t believe his cruelty, but you are not surprised either.

“Fine, have it.” You drop your bag and jacket to take off his shirt, throwing it at Logan. Everyone gasps, even your mate, looking at the prominent bump you hid so well over the last few months. You’re five months pregnant and are already showing a big belly.

Logan’s shoulders slump, and he gasps loudly. “You’re pregnant too?” He asks, as if you tried to hide your pregnancy from him.

“Yeah, that,” you run your hand over your bump, “isn’t your problem, right? That’s what you told me last week when I, once again, tried to tell you about my pregnancy. But you were busy rubbing Jean’s back because she was nauseous.”

You laugh loudly at the absurdity. “She’s pregnant with another man, and you do anything to make her feel better while your mate suffers alone, hoping her mate will at least help her with her nest. I was only ever an afterthought to you, nothing else.”

“How did you not know she’s pregnant?” Ororo’s eyes clouded watching you grab your jacket to cover yourself. “Logan? How did you not know?”

“I…” Logan averts his gaze and shakes his head. There’s no excuse for not knowing about his mate’s pregnancy. For months, he took care of another omega.

You look Jean straight in the eyes and say, “Don’t worry Jean, I give my mate free. You should ask Scott to do the same so you and your chosen mate, the one you love, can be together.”

Jean looks anywhere but at you. Her hands tremble when she places them on her belly. Her pup kicks, and she feels bad for you for a moment. She had the attention of two alphas, while you had to do everything on your own.

Your features darken, and you smirk cruelly as she looks flustered.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot you only wanted Logan to give you his full attention out of jealousy. You never wanted him, but seeing him become my mate didn’t sit right with you. Correct me when I’m wrong.”

Jean doesn’t answer. Her silence speaks volumes, though.

In the beginning, she kept her distance and watched you get closer and closer to Logan from afar. Until one day, she decided not to let Logan stop yearning for her. It didn’t matter that you wore his mark, and that he called you his omega at that time.

“I still don’t understand how Logan didn’t know about Y/N’s pregnancy.” Ororo looks at Logan. “Logan?”

“Because he gives a shit about me. I was only good for getting off. I have no worth to him. Not when Jean is all over him most of the day and night. I always wondered if Scott loves being a cuck.”

Gambit snorts at your comment. He shakes his head and shoves people out of his way, holding out his hand. “Do you want me to drive you somewhere?"

“No,” you slap his offered hand away. “I don’t want anything from you or the likes of you.” You walk past him, not sparing Logan a glance as you walk toward the front door. “I hope you all go to hell.”

With that, you slam the door shut behind you, leaving them alone with their regret.

[highlyillogicalandroid]

I could write a whole essay on what Murderbot means to me, but it’s 1:30 am and I’ve just watched the season 1 finale and I’m still crying, so for now, I just want to tell a short story:

I received my autism diagnosis at the ago of 28, and suddenly so much of my life made so much more sense. But I didn’t tell my dad until three years later. And what I’d feared would happen did. He didn’t get it. He hand waved it away. He changed the subject. I wanted this knowledge of who I was and how my brain worked to help him understand me better, but I think it just made him feel guilty.

Then I introduced him to The Murderbot Diaries. I knew he’d love them. After all, he’d raised me on a steady diet of Asimov and Bradbury, of Scott Card and Le Guin and Herbert and L’Engle. What I didn’t expect was the call I got after he finished All Systems Red.

“I get it now!” he said, sounding delighted, sounding relieved. “I get how your brain works.”

And he did. I see so much of myself in Murderbot—in the Murderbot of the books and the show. And seeing myself in that character has been so precious to me. But having my dad look at that character and finally, finally see me—that’s everything.

[skellyrose]

It's especially gross because they don't even seem to understand, or at least refuse to filter, what they're actually talking about. By saying a trans woman competing in chess is unfair, they're saying "men" are supposed to be smarter than women, and I'm not even sure if they themselves are picking up on that. It's so ingrained in them that, by them saying trans women have an unfair advantage in ANYTHING, they're revealing that they don't think cis women can compete. A story I always love (hate), that maybe someone on this website can cite for me, is that several Olympic sports used to be co-ed, until women started performing BETTER than men, at which point, they were separated, or women were outright banned from competing. It all ties back to fragile masculinity as well as horrible misogyny. There's this constant sentiment, in our society, that men will ALWAYS be better than women at everything despite us having MULTITUDES of evidence definitively proving that that is not the case. Fighting to take trans women out of women's spaces is just fighting to keep inequality in place, rather than celebrating everyone equally. Also, I'd like to point out that the "official" they're talking about suggested banning "newly declared" trans women from participating, which is a roundabout way of saying "the estrogen hasn't gotten the chance to make her inferior to men yet." It's remarkable how there are so many little hints in the dialogue surrounding this that it's not really about trans women, so much as it is about oppressing women and keeping us in our theoretical "place."

Also, side note: I fucking HATE the sentiment that, if a trans woman succeeds or even participates in anything, everyone needs to focus on the fact that she's trans, rather than celebrating her accomplishment, so, like, genuinely, congratulations to Nora Heidemann. An accomplishment like that deserves appreciation, and good on her for being able to succeed. It often feels like trans people are expected to fail, just so we don't end up on the news, so I always respect someone who refuses to back down, and gives it their all, even if society itself seems stacked against them.

It was never about "fairness." They're punishing trans teenagers for existing. Most chess tournaments aren't even gendered.

[n0rmal-cat]

Kpop demon hunters x reader- selling your soul for job experience Part 7

[the girls are fighting!! also reader's going through it]

[also i try to write more next time aghhhhh]

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

Reader draped a blanket over Abby with a sign, with a satisfying stretch they bent backward, cracking their spine with relief “Who knew lifting a bunch of muscular men would be so hard?”.

They made their way back to the comfort of the couch, they spotted Baby where they once sat, looking up at them from his water. “You’re still here? Don’t you want to get some sleep?” they asked, now sitting next to him.

“I’m fine. Being tired isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to me.” Baby shrugged as he watched the water swirl in the bottle.

“Thanks, by the way…for the yeah..” he didn’t even seem to want to say it, but the anxious tapping of plastic told them everything. “Don’t worry about it, um, do you want me to call you baby?”

He responded with a small laugh, “It really doesn’t matter to me, Baby is just a stupid name.” he paused and looked up at them, "but I don't mind being called 'baby' someone cute," he smirked to himself.

Reader blushed, "I'm going to choose to ignore that comment." They put a hand over their flustered face.

A comfortable silence settled between them, filled only by the soft buzzing of the room. 

"So I gotta ask," reader turned, leaning back against the cushions.

“Hmm?” Baby hummed, taking a slow sip from his bottle, his eyes fixed intently on Reader.

"Why'd you agree to this? You don't seem like the type," they gestured with their hand.

Baby leaned back slightly as well. “Well, it’s either this or rot away right? What would you choose?”

“I was already doing that, wasn’t I? choose the same thing you did” Reader shot back.

He teased, “I guess you're not so far off from us then, huh? Who knows? Maybe when we go back, we’ll be in Gwi-ma’s good graces. The rest of the demons seem to like us.” Baby leaned in a bit closer to them, they could feel the cold radiating from his body.

"right 'we' " their hands were still warm, but for how long would it stay that way?

“Is it really that bad to be a demon? I mean, you’re talking to one, and you’re living with five,” Baby pressed

“It’s not just about being a demon it’s what it represents—agh, shit!” Reader suddenly doubled over, a sharp pain shooting through their head.

Concern flickered in Baby’s eyes, but he made no move to help. Instead, Reader repositioned themselves, rubbing their temples. “Damn, that’s been happening way too often. Maybe I need to sleep more…”

“Maybe…” he echoed, finishing the last drops from his water bottle with a sigh. He set it down on the table, the sound seeming far louder than it should in the quiet room. “You don’t have to stay with me, you know. You can sleep if you want.”

“Nah, I know you’re waiting for Jinu. I don’t want you to be alone here, right?” Reader smiled.

Just then, the elevator doors opened, and footsteps echoed down the corridor. “Well, speak of the devil-er, Jinu!” Reader exclaimed.

Jinu stepped in, glancing between Reader and Baby with a confused frown. “Why are you two here... and together?”

“The better question is where were you?” Baby replied, standing up, his expression shifting to one of annoyance. “You can’t just leave us without telling us where you’re going.”

“It’s not that serious,” Jinu said, trying to downplay the situation. “I’m just doing what Gwi-ma wants.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I wouldn’t be so worked up if you actually talked to us. This whole thing, you never run anything by us,” Baby shot back, his frustration clear.

Jinu stood there in silence, not looking at either of them.

"What do you think? None of us understands what it's like to be you. Don't lie to yourself Jinu. You're not the only one struggling here. we're all pieces of trash. The least we can do is acknowledge it," Baby said, shaking his head as he spoke.

"I had a chat with one of the hunters," Jinu glanced up.

"Wait, what?" reader stood to their feet.

"You had a-what is wrong with you!?" Baby pushed him back with a growl.

Jinu let himself fall to the floor, his back meeting the edge of a shelf with a thud. “That’s what happens when I tell the truth,” he spat, glaring up at them.

“Alright, hold on,” Reader stepped between the two, trying to diffuse the situation. “We’re not going to have a fallout over a stupid argument.”

“Stupid? He went to meet a hunter and didn’t think to warn us? What if she followed you back?” 

"Even if she did, she thinks I'm human, she can't kill you here, now you," they turned to Jinu, “why didn’t you just tell them? That’s the dumb part! Baby was waiting for you the least you could’ve done is call!”

Jinu scoffed, rubbing his arm where Baby had pushed him. “Call? I don’t even have a phone! How would I call any of you?”

"ok, he has a point," reader looked back at baby, "but again, let's not fight."

The two continued to glare at each other as Jinu stood up. "I'm going to bed," Baby muttered, turning away.

Jinu watched him walk away. "Whatever..." he mumbled, pushing past reader and toward his own room.

Left alone, the reader stood still in the dim, empty room, the only sound was the doors clicking shut. "Damn it,” they whispered to themselves.

Suddenly, the stove top flickered to life, drawing their attention. A familiar pink and purple flame appeared in the darkness. "Gwi-ma?..." they asked, stepping cautiously toward the kitchen.

'Did you have fun today?' His voice was warm, almost genuine. “Fun?” they echoed.

'Playing pretend, of course, 'the innocent human' is that right?' he seemed to grow bigger again.

“Look, if you want to talk to Jinu, I can go—” the reader started, but he cut them off 'Did I ask for Jinu? I believe I was speaking to you, no?'

Reader's hand shook over the knob, tempted to turn him off, they knew it wouldn't work. "What is it you want to talk about then?" they managed to ask.

The fire morphed into a smile. I told you I came to ask if you had fun pretending to be 'human'...or maybe it's not pretend and just plain denial?'

Reader turned the knob, like they thought it did nothing. "It's just strategy, they can't go after them if they see me here, can they?" They glared

'Oh, of course,' his tone dripped with sarcasm. 'And you wouldn't want the three of them to get hurt either, would you?' Their grip on the knob tightened, knuckles white as they squeezed harder, until-crack!

The knob snapped clean in half, causing purple marks to scatter across their hand. “What?-” Their breath hitched as they dropped the broken piece in shock, cradling their hand as if it were in pain.

He let out a whistle, it pierced their ears 'oops, looks like you and the purple one finally have something in common now' as quickly as he came, he left, leaving reader panicked staring at their own hand like it was someone else's.

They looked towards the sink and turned it on, shoving the plug in, when it got to about halfway way they put their arm in and put their head down. They didn't know if it would do anything, but it did help them calm down a bit.

They took it out, looking at their hand once more marks finally gone. They let out a sigh of relief, they looked around the dark room again.

They made their way to the light switch, turning on both the kitchen and living room lights. They turned the TV on and put it on half volume, they sat down and started to watch whatever was on.

"Why do you have that on!?" Jinu came in, covering his ears, once his eyes landed on reader however, he quickly went to their side. "What's wrong? Why do you..." he tailed off to reader's wet hand.

"Nothing, just wanted to watch some TV is all" they stared blankly at the TV.

Jinu bounced his leg as he looked around the room. "I'll ah, ill apologize to baby when he wakes up, if you want, I can stay here till you fall asleep?"

"I'd like that," they leaned against his shoulder.

He smiled, "You know we're gonna finish this in the idol awards, you're gonna make us look great then aren't you? i don't know if you can tell, but the others really like what you put together.

"Hm," reader gives a hum in response, "you guys would be nothing without me, huh?"

He gave a laugh, "Get some rest, I'll be here."

the tag list-

@tumblblob @snowy-violet @yumi-does-stuff @d3sperate-enuf @kashasenpai @scara-simp69 @starwormy @luv1ayala @00hellohello00 @julia-loves-cupcakes @twilightknightt

[horny-marbles]

can you tell us, what are the creeps ideal types? personality, body type, fashion, etc! 🖤❤️

yes i can 🙂‍↕️ i'll try to keep this as short as i can because i always get carried away lmfao

jack:

personality wise, he'd gravitate towards someone that resembles him in the ways that matter — someone that doesn't start shit but finishes it, quiet and self aware, a critical thinker, collected, stuff like that. but he'd appreciate gentle patience (even if he'd never expect anyone to wait for him to come out of his shell, it would be his undoing) and a positive view on life, opening his eyes (haha) to the details that make a shitty situation not so shitty

he doesn't have a preferred body type, flesh is flesh and if you put your trust in him to handle you despite his nature, that's all that matters. he does love some meat to grab and feel and he loves softness that contradicts his sharp edges, but he definitely won't be picky lol

fashion wise... jack is blind, he really doesn't care — not to say that if he could see it would matter. I KNOW I'M NOT GIVING YOU MUCH TO WORK WITH HERE but i really genuinely think this is entirely trivial to him

jeff:

he will never admit it if it was pulled out of him with pliers, but he will get palpitations if you match his bullying. instant ticket to boner town if you go off on him like it's just an afterthought, rapid fire insults that come easy like you don't even have to think about it. it hurts his ego and hits something real nasty in his groin at the same time 🙂‍↕️ other than that, sarcasm and shock value humor will get him furiously in love, and if you're the sort of person that takes crazy risks but almost never loses anything to it, you will NEVER escape him lmfao

i've said it before, this man loves tits like no one's business, even considers himself a rack connoisseur despite folding at the sight of anything above an a cup under a low neckline. he's mostly into short + thin or athletic, but again, tits are the main attraction to him so

to no one's surprise, "need me a goth bitch" truther, but unlike most users of this phrase, he actually fucks with any kind of goth style, from trad to mall. maybe not pastel goth. also, biker clothes = hard smash

toby:

his "type" differs wildly from what he needs. he thinks he wants someone that matches how unpredictable he is and how erratic he can get, but the moment he experiences gentleness and lack of judgement it's like his whole idea of attraction gets flipped on its head. the moment he gets a taste of soft and understanding, he starts chasing it like crazy. bonus points if you're funny!

as for body type, he's not one to turn down an opportunity based on your physique, but he does have a soft spot (or should i say a hard spot lol) for thick and tall. thick thighs, wide hips, meat to grab everywhere. 100% in your comments on social media talking some "mommy? sorry. mommy?? sorry uhh mommy?"

a slut for sluts. the less clothes you wear the better, that's all that matters. you can be goth, emo, preppy, gyaru, y2k, basic, it doesn't matter. take your top off.

ben

you need to meet 3 criteria to appeal to him: be loyal, be open minded and be a freak. everything else is semantics to him. you're hyper and have the energy of 10 toddlers on sugar? cool babe, i'll cheer you on from my bed. you're aggressive? hot, bite me. you're mellow and grounded? awesome, let's kick back and let me eyp. you're shy and awkward? cute, take your time, i'm patient.

half of his heart belongs to soft bodies, round edges, curves to smother him, the other belongs to The BBL Body™. he's chronically online guys, it should be no surprise. but, he's at least aware it's something not easily achievable, so he doesn't have expectations like that from anybody—mostly made peace with admiring from afar (aka jerking off to megan thee stallion 3 times a week)

as for fashion style, he might as well be blood related to toby. as long as you have at least 70% of your skin showing it's a hard smash.

tim

he wants someone severe and steady, with patience to anchor him back to reality and slice through the fog when the lines start getting blurry. just like jack, he wouldn't ever put this pressure on someone, he's fully aware of how one sided and toxic this shit could get, but nothing is more attractive to him than reliability and staying through it all when he knows he doesn't even deserve it.

a mom/dad bod lover. something about the strength under softness that doesn't give it away man... the "i carry my life in my skin" look, the realness of curves that aren't polished, just mm mm mmm

really into kinda cottagecore-rustic-americana??? very specific, but basically this

brian

he has two types: aggressive freak bitch that's just mean enough to get him itchy, or soft spoken mellow sweetheart, no in between. if you can be both consider yourself married without papers and without the commitment. bonus points if you want him more than he wants you!! that's equally hot and crushing to him because he knows how you'll end up, but the high OHHHH the high of it

he loves curves. the less his hands cover on your ass the better. loves love handles, loves tits that sag with weight and plumpness, loves soft tummies, loves creases and folds and movement, it's just so (howls) you know?

a slut for the "femme fatale" style. all black tight dresses and leather and killer heels and garters, textbook definition of "sexy" in the form of fabric

with all that said and done tho, these are men after all so the fashion preferences are a reach, but this was so fun to think of hehehe

[kaivenom]

I had a nice idea and HAD to share since I love your writings so much <3 Okay so imagine the OP dilfs accidentally eavesdropping on their beloved's phone call and hear them talking to a friend and sounding frustrated and embarrassed. And the friend saying they need to rub one off or something to relax, but beloved snaps that they can't!

Friend asks why and they admit in embarrassment that they can't cum unless it's on their love's dick. They've tried their hands, toys, everything! But it all just leaves them frustrated. They NEED their lover but they don't want to bother them all the time..

How would each dilf react? Who barges in and gives her what she needs right then and there? Showing her that it's never a bother. And who groans in delight knowing their beloved needs them THAT much? Them and ONLY THEM~ ;o)

OP Dilfs reaction with a reader that can't cum without them

Characters: Doflamingo, Mihawk, Crocodile, Smoker, Shanks

Warnings: sex mentions, toys, etc... all of the request.

Masterlist

Dracule Mihawk

"I tried everything and I can't cum without his fucking dick..." you finally said with despair, "and I don't want to bother him everytime I am needy."

He wasn't trying to gossip your conversations but he couldn't help himself when he heard that answer thru the hallway. He started to feel... warm, like a primal instinct inside of him, or the frustation of not fulfilling his partner's desires well. He wasn't sure which of that two was, maybe both.

"My dear." you turned scaried to saw him on laying on the door.

You were about to say something but he put down the bottle of wine and the book, extending his hand to you. You got to his side and took it, while blushing a lot.

"You know you can always tell me things, right?"

"Yeah but..." he put his finger on your mouth to make you stop talking.

"Then please don't do it again, I will be more than pleased to help you with your needs" his tone made you shiver with eagerness "at the end, it is my duty."

Donquixote Doflamingo

"I tried everything and I can't cum without his fucking dick..." you finally said with despair, "and I don't want to bother him everytime I am needy."

Doflamingo's eyes ringed with bliss, he felt his pants tightened instantly. Then he processed the second part and felt even better. He always wants to have sex with you and somehow you are always horny for him... he just felt a little frustated that you even think that your sexual needs are going to make him uncomfortable.

As silently as he could (he was smiling and gigling like a kid), he got behind you and huged you, making you feel all his cock. He took the den den mushi from your hand and throw it away, not caring if the call ended.

"Did you..."

"Yeah, I hear it" he obliged you to move around and see him, "and I don't understand how could you possibly think that you were going to bother me... do you even know me at all?"

His face showed false frustation, but he was true, you should have known that he is more than ready to help you, every time.

Sr. Crocodile

"I tried everything and I can't cum without his fucking dick..." you finally said with despair, "and I don't want to bother him everytime I am needy."

His eyes opened wide open, he needed to reincorporate himself on the chair and think. You obviously didn't know that your work's den den mushi was connected to his. He was about to hung the call but now he can't even move.

After considering a lot, he come to your desk and made you a signal to follow him. When you both were finally alone, he towered you against a wall.

"My love, I advice you to check out your den den mushi connections before you start a call that compromising at work" you start to blush.

"I'm sorry Croc." you said, trying not to reveal the info of your conversation, but he surely knows everything.

"Good. And I will be waiting, for when you want to search for me... for whatever bussiness you are having." his eyes pierced your soul while he went out of the hallway, leaving you flustered and wanting to follow him.

Smoker

"I tried everything and I can't cum without his fucking dick..." you finally said with despair, "and I don't want to bother him everytime I am needy."

He almost chocked on his cigarette and needed a lot to process that. How could you be talking about that on workspace? and how could you be so addicted to his dick.

He didn't want to but he runned away from you all day, he required some time to think about his next move.

When you came home that night, he was already waiting for you, in bed, ready for you.

"You heard it, right?" you throwed yourself on bed defeated.

"What betrayed me?"

"You never wait naked, you love to much the 'get each others clothes' thing" he crossed his arms frustated.

"Ok, I did... I then supose that you don't want this sex coupons I did?"

"I never said that... neither I declined the current offer." you both smiled and the show began.

Akagami Shanks

"I tried everything and I can't cum without his fucking dick..." you finally said with despair, "and I don't want to bother him everytime I am needy."

He started jumping around like a kid, his biggest wish was exactly what you said. He is addicted to you, a lot, and seeing that you are too was the biggest award ever for him.

He thought about going straight to you so you both can have the best make up sex ever but finally stoped himself, he didn't want to overwhelm you.

But all the crew knew that something hapenned cause he was smiling all day with a dreamy look at you.... and your ass and tits. It started to get even a little violent for them cause Shanks was being too obvious about his desire for you.

After dinner, he went right next to you with a gigling sound and a couple of laughs. He started kissing your neck and complimenting you.

"(Y/N), I want to fulfill all your desires... I want to be yours to use." you had to keep a straight face in front of the crew, but they are all looking.

[jedi-enthusiast]

Except Yoda and the Jedi didn't do any of that and you're just making shit up, which tracks with pretty much everything anti-jedis say about the Jedi.

Anakin quite literally only told Yoda that he was having NIGHTMARES- (aka bad dreams) about someone he loved being hurt, which again is something that is very likely to happen in the middle of a war---to be clear: NO ONE WAS HURT OR DYING at that point in time. Literally no one. It was a nightmare that turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy because Anakin literally strangled his wife and murdered a bunch of people, just to be clear on who you're trying to turn into a poor little meow meow here.

And Yoda wasn't "telling Anakin to suck it up," he WAS supporting him! He told him the truth: that everyone will die at some point, and it will cause him pain when that happens, but that there's no changing the fact that people die and so he should focus on enjoying them while they're here with him and celebrating their lives rather than spending all his time worrying about if/when they're going to die. It was in typical Yoda-speak, so it sounded all sagey and crap, but that's quite literally what he was telling Anakin.

I mean, what would you have rather had him say at that point? Did you want him to lie to Anakin? "Oh, don't worry Anakin! No one is gonna die ever and nothing will ever change!" -because that's what Palpatine did, except he tacked on a lovely- "everything will be fine if you kill a bunch of little kids" -on the end. Like seriously, they were in the middle of a fucking war, odds are people Anakin cared about would get injured or die, did you want Yoda to pretend that that wasn't something probable? Again, did you want him to lie?

And like I said before: everything Yoda said is quite literally taught in grief counseling. You're basically told that, yes, the death of a loved one hurts and it'll never fully go away, but that it's better to focus on the time you had with that loved one and the good stuff you did together rather than focusing on the fact that you didn't do xyz with them or that you didn't get enough time with them. Because that's unhealthy and it only makes you feel worse.

And you can go ahead and shut up about the- "I'm neurodivergent and so was Anakin, the Jedi were all neurotypical bigots who Don't Understand Us Neurodivergents" -because that's really just a bunch of crap.

I am also neurodivergent and have trouble with my emotions, and I think that 1. trying to paint Anakin as the Singular Neurodivergent Jedi is a bad thing and 2. the Jedi Order is absolutely NOT built around neurotypicals, are you fucking serious, have you ever actually watched the shows or movies?

On the first point: as someone who's neurodivergent, I don't think our one point of "representation" in SW should be the genocidal baby murderer who is repeatedly racist, misogynistic, and a literal fascist who strangled his wife the moment she didn't agree with him, went along with/assisted in several genocides, and assisted the Empire in enslaving several other races. Call me crazy, but I'd rather that guy not be singled out as "the only neurodivergent jedi ever because the jedi are all Evil Neurotypicals," thanks.

Secondly: I'm convinced you either never really paid attention to the shit you were watching or you haven't watched the Prequels or TCW in a while because exactly WHAT is giving you the impression that the Jedi are neurotypical? Please tell me.

Their culture is in complete opposition to literally everything neurotypical and heteronormative about our society: the Jedi don't have any pressure to get married or have children, the Jedi don't pressure anyone to be physically affectionate with each other (although there are moments of physical affection that we see from them and there's a lot of verbal affection), the Jedi's relationships with each other don't fit into the typical heteronormative family structure, the Jedi place value on constantly learning new things and changing whenever you need/want (no need to stay stagnant);

The Jedi aren't separated from each other as they all live together in a community of friends and teachers, the Jedi quite literally a job for every specialization (hyperfixations, you can literally be a jedi and specialize in your hyperfixation), the Jedi don't have to wear the same thing 24/7 but you also can wear the same thing 24/7 (no need to worry about wearing "the right outfit") + all their outfits are made to be comfortable and easy to move around in, everyone contributes something and everyone takes care of everyone, there's no pressure to be overly emotional or expressive either (although you can be, if you want to), and the Jedi's teachings are quite literally based around DBT---Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, which is meant to help people with mental illnesses, specifically people with BPD!

So this whole- "oh they're Evil and Neurotypical and Oppressing Us Neurodivergents with their terrible Buddhist teachings" -is complete crap, you are just pulling this stuff out of your ass.

The Jedi do have empathy and do succeed in supporting each other, we're literally shown evidence of that EVERYWHERE in the movies and shows---quite literally the first episode of TCW is Yoda protecting his squad of clone troopers, showing them empathy, and telling them that there's more to them than just their appearances, and the episodes after that literally have Plo Koon showing empathy to his troops and telling them that they're not expendable to him, and there's so much more evidence that I could add JUST IN THAT ONE SHOW!

Anakin is the outlier here because he wouldn't accept help, and you can't help someone if they won't help themselves. Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Yoda, Luminara, Plo, Mace, Padme, EVERYONE gave Anakin every chance to change and do better and open up to them so they could give him more than just vague advice---but Anakin refused to change, refused to tell anyone anything, and refused to accept the help that was given.

And THAT is the point of the Prequels: that Anakin was selfish and refused help from everyone, which ultimately led him to Palpatine, the Empire, and the Dark Side.

He did that, no one else.

So why don't you stop making shit up to try and absolve Anakin of any responsibility for his actions.

If you like Anakin, go ahead and like him. If you think he's great neurodivergent representation, that's your opinion on that and no one can tell you otherwise. If you don't like the Jedi, okay that's fine.

But what we're not gonna do, especially on my page, is pretend that Anakin never did anything wrong and the choices he made were all the Jedi's fault. They weren't.

Anakin had options, many options, and he chose to do the terrible shit he did---and that is no one else's fault but HIS.

Ngl I think a lot of people, when they talk about Jedi and attachments and how "the Jedi should be allowed to have them," just plain ignore the single most important show of attachment in all of Star Wars.

Padme and Anakin.

Obviously people bring them up 24/7 when they want to bash the Jedi or pretend that Anidala is the epitome of a "healthy relationship" (lmao), but when it comes to the actual point of how their relationship is framed and how it highlights how attachment works/what it does---suddenly all the discussion around Anakin and Padme disappears!

Anakin's attachment to Padme and his unwillingness to let her go is LITERALLY what ends up killing her!!!

He has dreams of her dying, becomes convinced that those dreams are what's gonna happen (despite the unreliable nature of visions), and---instead of actually telling anyone anything in enough detail so they could actually help---he:

- Starts working with a Sith Lord

- Massacres a Temple full of children, the elderly, the injured, etc. and the people who were caring for them

- Helps commit a genocide

- Overthrows democracy

And then, once Padme won't support him vying for them to control the galaxy, he becomes convinced that she's betrayed him and attempts to kill her---then, later on, because of Anakin's actions Padme dies.

----------

THAT is what attachment is and what it does.

Attachment is being unable, unwilling, to let someone go, no matter what that might mean for you or them, because you don't want to go through life without them---and the people you try to hold onto so tight ultimately get crushed in your grip because of it.

Think of it like holding someone's hand.

Non-attachment would be, when the other person wants to stop, letting them slip away and being happy with what you had while you had it---being content whether they choose to stay by your side or run off to go do something else.

Attachment would be, when the other person tries to let go, tightening your grip or grabbing their wrist---hurting them because you don't want there to even be a chance that you would be without them.

----------

So no, the Jedi were not wrong to teach non-attachment and they should not have "changed their philosophies so they were allowed to have attachments" like some people have suggested, because attachment is unhealthy and selfish and all it does is end up hurting those around you.

[bethanydelleman]

One thing that always confused me when I was younger was why ordinary people in the past would care if the monarch had a son/heir. I found it odd that they would be excited, it's not like they know if the little baby will be a good monarch. I had a teacher once tell me it was the equivalent of modern celebrity culture and that made sense to me so for a long time that was the only explanation in my head.

Then just recently, while I've been watching a lot of historical shows and reading historical books it finally smacked me in the face: it's about stability! Whether a monarch is good or not, you want them to have a healthy, legitimate heir so that when they die, everything keeps moving smoothly along. Change is scary. Succession struggles or wars are frightening and get people killed.

It wasn't until I became an older adult that I started to understand how much other people value stability; how much a lot of people just want their days to be predictable and relatively the same. Change of any kind, even for the possible better, is viewed with suspicion. The stock market always shrinks in fear when leadership changes, even if leadership is supposed to be competent.

The monarch having a healthy heir promises that things will stay the same and that's all a lot of people want. And this is not such a hard concept, I don't know why it took me 30 years to get here. (There is probably also an element of celebrity culture and the fact that many people love babies)

But do correct me if I'm wrong

[introsquirrel]

Okay okay just finished rapport and we can now confirm that mb is a VERY unreliable narrarator.

Under the cut so I dont accidentally spoil things for people

Also, in regards to art, it doesn't have any context of how it it truly had affected art.

Because oh my god. Oh my god.

Art learning security bypassing codes from mb, learning safety precautions and how to make them subtle from mb, looking at mb's drones and being amazed at how versatile and small they were.

Art, being kind of grumpy and sulky and evasive because it made a friend that it really really likes and then had to leave it. Art, being incredibly protective of secunit even in its absence. Art, being a little in love.

Art, now now understanding that trauma isnt always obvious or dramatic. Art, finding that trauma can stem from losing a childhood home, from getting your research stolen, or from being a part of a system that treats you as disposable and unessential and everything else. Art, who probably heard mb say "sometimes people do things to you that you can't do anything about. You just have to survive it and move on" and likely went oh shit what the fuck

Iris pointed out that art doesn't get along with human adults it doesn't know and that it doesn't get along with ANY other machine intelligences. It never really saw anyone as its equal. It loves and cares for its crew, but it also still manages them in a way.

One thing we see with all of ART's crew is that they are kind and that they want to help. Which is EXACTLY what mb is in its own way. Mb is cranky and thinks it knows better than it's humans, but its still kind and it wants to help. Art is bossy and overbearing and knows its better, but to its people it is kind and it wants to help others.

The idea that art met mb and watched a TV show with it and then watched mb take down a fucking organized crime syndicate while saying "you just had to give them the data chips" in the most exasperated and long-suffering tone (like tlacey could have prevented her own death, and honestly she could have) and art was like "I've never felt this way about anything or anyone before, wOW" is so goddamn funny

It's mentioned later that art didn't tell its crew that mb was the rogue unit in all the news feeds, probably because it didn't want everyone to insist on visiting pres alliance.

But man, I bet it daydreamed about it.

Jdkdbdkdhd god I love these two so much

[einawnimie]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. — sylus

He noticed. He always does. Especially if the matter is regarding you.

You’d wake up happy, but you slowly grow quiet as the day went on. When the sun sets, you’d got lost in your thoughts. Coincidentally, you’d start thinking about your home.

You moved into another state for college, and it has been a few years since and now you’re working. But the anxiety still lingers here and there.

He notices during the times you’d spend the night in his room and waking up with a look that says longing. He notices how you held your chest and take deep breaths as a routine to make it stop feeling so heavy so early in the morning.

He notices during all the times your eyes would become glossy when you mention home, how your voice cracks slightly talking about your family at home.

“Are you homesick?” He asks, as he sat beside you om the sofa of your apartment. As if it was his instincts, he came during the days where it felt particularly silent. During the times where your gaze lingers on the family pictures you hung around your apartment.

You look at him. His eyes. His face. Concern, softness.

You slowly nod as your eyes started to become glossy again, but you played it off, as usual (never worked on him but he lets it slide every time.)

“Just missing home.” You smiled, the crack on your voice was so clear, you hope he didn’t catch it. (He did.)

“Just?” He wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

“…Well, I feel like-” Another crack. You winced.

Something you hate about yourself. You’re strong, but you tear up easily. What a crybaby. At your big age?

“Just say it. I’ll listen to everything.” He kissed your head.

“I feel like I’m in a contant state of homesickness.” You took a deep breath. “I’m okay, really. I can operate well, but everyday. Every freaking day, I can’t stop thinking.”

“About?”

“Home. My family, how I don’t belong here.”

He didn’t respond, you took it as a sign to continue.

“I know, it’s been years since I moved, and a few times I went back to visit them, but I can’t help think about them every day, especially during the days where I’m so tired.” You softly chuckled. “Sorry, you must think I’m a little spoiled.”

“Never, Sweetie.” Sylus looks at you.

“Missing your family isn’t spoiled. It’s human nature.” He sighs. “It’s just… I hate it when you cry without me. Alone. It breaks my heart.”

It’s your turn to keep quiet while he continues.

“Whenever your eyes get watery, I just wanted to fly you back to your hometown right there and then. Whenever your voice cracks, it makes me find every solution to ever exist.” He slowly brings you to sit on his lap, facing him.

“And I have one.” He smiles.

“Move in with me.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“But—”

“Please. I know you’re not alone most of the time due to work, but I don’t want to leave you alone even during your sleep, your day offs, your weekends, your mornings, when you drive. I want to be your distraction. And if you feel like you miss home, I want you to tell me.”

You look at him. He frowns, “Heck, I want you to cry beside me. Never alone.”

This is the first time in 1 year of your relationship that you finally let it all out.

“Let me share it with you. Your happiness, and your pain. Everything. We’ll share it. Don’t carry it all alone.”

He craddles your face in his hands.

“I love you, Sweetie. It hurts me to see you hide everything. Badly at that. And while I am not your family, I want you to feel at ease at all times, not with a heavy heart by the time you wake up. I want you to feel safe, not anxious the first thing in the morning.”

You didn’t say anything as you hug him. He immediately hugs you back.

“Homesickness is like picking a scab, sometimes it’s not bad. It makes you understand what type of person you are.” He softly speaks.

“While I am not you, I know you. Better than yourself. You’re strong. Even with all the tears and cries, you’re still here. You haven’t quit. And that’s admirable.” He kissed your forehead. And then your eyes, and then, your cheeks, your nose, your lips.

“Move in with me?” He smiles. Asking for approval.

When you nod, he lets out the biggest sigh of relief as he hugs you tighter.

“That’s my girl.”

a/n: writing this to cope with my severe case of homesickness :\ need a sylus in my life.

[intoblonde6ftwbbplayers]

Win it all

pairing; teammate! x uconnpaige!

synopsis; I which after uconn less the ideal start they start winning. And y/n makes a video diary entry about how they're going to win it all this year, for each other and Paige.

warnings; not edited sorry not sorry, a lil sad lowk but its fine trust, reader dies but not detailed.

||

UConn hadn’t done badly in the first couple games of the season but they hadn’t lived up to their usual standard either.

Their roster was stacked with talent and a couple of injuries. But mostly talent and just love.

Coach yelled at them and was hard on himself too. But finally they found their momentum and won their third game in a row.

The locker room was calm. The team knew what the goal for the season was and they knew it was going to be a hard road to get there.

Because they all wanted that championship. They needed it. They wanted it for everything that they have faced. All the adversity they’ve faced in their time and everything they’ve overcome together.

But most of all they wanted it for each other. And no one wanted to see her teammates win more than y/n.

So after that win when they all went back to the hotel. y/n was sharing a room with Paige.

The thing is y/n and Paige always had something going on. They never spoke on it but it was a mutual understanding of wanting to finish the season strong and that they would have their time after

But that didn’t mean that they didn''t look at each other for too long, or hugged too tight, or stood a little to close to each other for the better part of their 4 years together.

So when y/n got to their shared room first because Paige had lent Ice her charger y/n made a quick little video diary entry.

It wasn’t abnormal for you to to do this. The team and other loved ones often recieving very hyped texts or voice messages from you talking about whatever was on your mind.

You loved telling people how great they are and tried to make sure they never forgot it.

But this felt different. For some reason you felt that you had to record this because you would need it for later.

So as you got your phone out and filmed on snapchat to not looked absolutely chopped in the video. You started speaking. You talked about how UConn women's basketball could and would win it all this season.

-

That video was filmed in the fall. You died in the winter.

Freak car accident, just you driving around your hometown to take it all in before heading back for march. You stayed an extra couple days with your family while the rest of the girls were already back in Storrs

When Geno got the call from your parents he didn't believe it at first. He didn't want to believe it.

He also knew this was something the rest of the girls shouldn't hear over the phone but he knew news would circulate quickly.

So chocking back his tears Geno Auriemma called each girl on the roster individually and told them to come to the gym immediately

Once they arrived he sat them down and told them what your parents told him. It was a car accident. You died on sight. Thats when they all got the notification from espn and every sports news outlet or account after that.

'UConn star, y/n l/n, dead in a car accident'

The girls didn't know how to handle it. Practice was canceled obviously. They all went back to Paiges dorm that night and they all stayed together.

-

March came, finally. And UConn coming in as the number 2 seed for the first time maybe ever was a shocker but they didn't let that phase them.

Each girl played like they had something to prove. They did, all they wanted to do was win, but they didn't want it for just themselves or Paige anymore, it was for you.

They all made a pact that they were going to win that national championship for you. It was in the locker room the first day of practice after the accident.

Azzi was the one who said it

"We're going to win this year. I don't care what happens, healthy team, available players or not, we're winning. And we're doing it because y/n knew we could."

The girls who walked into the practice gym that day had never been seen before. They weren't just fighting for their legacy anymore it was yours too.

-

The group of women who walked into the final four championship game had a look on their face like they had already won.

So when the timer hit 0:00 and they officially were national champions everyone let out the breath they were holding in.

They did all the interviews trying not to get emotional when being asked about how your death affected them.

Even Geno went on live television and spoke about you with the biggest smile and said “Ask anybody on that team or anyone who’s talked to them since she died… this was for y/n”

-

Your parents had found the video you recorded and sent it to coach. He decided that it was something everyone deserved to see especially knowing why the girls were a different force this season.

So after most outstanding player was announced and everyone was getting off the stage just looking around, the Jumbotrons and all the screens in the building changed.

Your face was on every tv in the building and in thousands of homes with espn showing it as well.

“ALRIGHT uhh… i don’t really know why in doing this but… i just feel it, this is gonna be important for later— for march.”

Everyone recognized you and quieted down instantly. And when you finally spoke, your voice felt like a prayer.

you take a deep breath and continue

“so we haven’t had a great start to the season but we’re doing good now. like i genuinely believe we can win it all” you state with an excited giggle

“I feel it guys like this year we are STACKED! Big East? in the bag like always don’t fear but i’m talking national championship. This is our year. I know it”

you’re still smiling so hard like you can’t almost see into the future and touch it

“I mean with the freshman powerhouse SARAH STRONG like please a round of applause. She is going to change the game. I already know it. She is the future of this sport. I just know she is going to do amazing things and i can’t wait to see all of it and have bragging rights that i said it here first”

you blinked away some tears that appread when talking about you freshman’s future. you were truly so invested in this girls future and knew she was going to be not the next maya moore but the first sarah strong and you always talked about her like she had already proven it (to you she had)

Sarah was looking up at the screen in tears, the whole arena was either crying or about to and there wasn't a single voice talking.

“and let’s not forget the newest super senior.. KAITLYN CHEN!! guys come on she’s not just a normal a basketball genius she’s a talented star who wins at every level and this is gonna be another one”

you and kaitlyn had truly bonded. Both of you never shutting up and being from california, you bonded over the terrible food culture shock when you get to connecticut, she was like you sister at this point and whenever you brought up the draft she would waive you off but you made it a point to tell her that you knew a team was going to call her name.

Kaitlyn felt your absence probably the most when it came to sending each other tiktoks and stuff and just always giggling together and laughing at your own jokes. She still sent some to you secretly hoping you would send one back someday.

“Let’s not forget the people’s princess of course. I mean a healthy azzi fudd? what more could you ask for? that fact alone should just make every team run in fear. She is unstoppable. Her jump shot? That quick release? Hand crafted by god. It’s biblical to not just watch her but to be able to play with her? It’s an experience i wouldn’t trade for the world. Im staying another year just to stay with her to be honest”

You met azzi in high school. It was a random trip for school to DC and long story short you ran into her and recognized her for espn. She was sunshine in warmth in human form and you told her that daily. And it wasn’t a lie that you wanted to stay another year just for her but you also wanted to prove yourself—not to the media or the coaches or the spectators. But to yourself.

But that’s when it start hitting you a bit more. You had another year but Aubrey, Kaitlyn, and Paige.

Paige... god how you wished you could convince her to be a super, super senior and stay with her at uconn forever.

You finish your rant going through every girl on the team and how you believe in them. Slowly you get more and more emotional.

How Kk makes you laugh and no matter how much you complain you’ll always dance with her. How Ice is a crucial part of the team and that you’ll always believe in her even if she doesn’t herself. Jana being not just beautiful but powerful and a joke about her wearing your favorite number, 8. Aubrey and how she’s too old but you’re glad she’s been there for as long as she has. Everyone, even coach.

“Also coach you’re gonna watch this too cuz ima make you. I love you, like honestly and truly i do, no matter how much you yell or whatever names you call me when im zoned out or being plain dumb. I know it comes from love and i’m so incredibly greatful to have someone..” you start tearing up at this and can’t help a tear the escaped you just from talking about all this at once

“i’m so greatful to have not just a coach but also another father in a way.”

you take a deep breath. saving the best for last because in truth it’s better if you get it all out now on a video no one will probably ever see in serious context anyway.

“Paige… where do i start?"

Everyone looks over at Paige. there was always rumors about you both. Circulating media and campus. The stolen glances, flirty comment or nicknames, being too touchy, looking at each other too long and too deeply to be just friends. Everyone thought you were together. Everyone thought they knew.

But they didn't.

"All i can think of is I love you. I love you so much, probably more than you’ll ever know. In every way a person can be loved. You are perfect. And thank you. Thank you for loving me as well even though i annoy you on purpose. this whole yap attack is about wanting to win the championship. And honest to god. This year? at this point in time right here right now until the timer hits 0:00 at the final four game of our lives. I want it for all of our team. For coach, from the freshies to you super seniors, it’s not for me this year, it’s for all of you guys… Its for you, Paige. You deserve this. This year, this team, we want it for ourselves but for you too. Even if it meant that I didn't win, I just want you, you Paige Bueckers, to get your storybook ending here with UConn, with ….(me)"

Paige is trying not to cry right now because she wished more than anything that you were here celebrating with them and that she would hold you and feel you one more time. She would give up the entire championship title if it meant getting you back for even just five more minutes.

you let out a breath and laughed "god this was a lot... you know what I actually wanna be dramatic. This needs to be put on the Jumbotron after the natty win after they announce mop and I want 'sign of the times' playing in the background please... yeah thats actually cinema" you finish laughing at your own joke

You hear footsteps which means Paige is coming back but you dont say anything or stop the video. You just get up from your spot on the floor where you phone was propped up facing the rest of the room and get up to sit on the bed nearest to you.

"Hey Paig--"

Thats where the video cuts off. The screens go back to saying how uconn won. The people slowly start talking again. The team the announcers talk about how seeing that video made the moment even more special, but not Paige.

Paige walked right up to coach who already had his phone out knowing what she wanted.

There was more to the video she knew there was because she was there. And she needed to see it.

So she takes Geno's phone and sits down in the locker room and presses play

"Hey Paigey"

"Hey mama. Whatcha been up to?" She says walking up to you seeing the phone recording.

"Im recording a lil video to be able to prove myself right at the end of the season" You say smiling over at the camera and waiving slightly

Paige smiles slightly at this. It's almost like you're waiving at her again. almost

"Oh yeah? What you gon be right about?" She says now standing between your legs and gently grabbing your chin to look up at her

"Um- Winning." You say after stuttering for second at the contact

"You think we winning the natty?" she says smiling at you

"Yeah I mean no. I KNOW we're gonna win that title." You finish getting up now being chest to chest with her.

You both dont say anything but the look you give each other says more then any words could.

It's all the unspoken feelings and memories you guys have mixed with hope for the future.

"Im so proud of you. You're going to continue to do great things Paige. You'll win a championship, go number 1, get rookie or the year, be an all star, break records, set records, get mvp. Everything."

"...you dont know that yet" she says quietly as you basically tell her she's going to do everything she's ever dreamed of.

"I do know that. Cause to me? You're already the greatest women's basketball player we've ever seen. Past, present, future, its always going to be Paige Bueckers... the rest of the world is just gonna take a few years to catch up."

"I... I dont know what to say." she says tearing up a bit.

"you dont have to say anything Paige"

Paige immediately hugs you and buries her head in your neck as she begins to cry a little. As she mumbles quiet I love you's and you tell her sweet nothings in return that the video barely caught.

And as snapchat would have it. The video cuts off right there not that either of you notice falling asleep in each other's arms.

Paige is left there starring at a black screen. The one just filled with the sound of you both muttering I love you's to one another now just filled with her reflection.

The reflection of her with a t shirt and hat and a net all to prove that she won tonight.

She finally won but all she feels is loss.

Because Paige Bueckers and Y/n L/n may have said I love you's

But Paige wishes she had, had the courage to say she was in love with you and hearing you say it back.

Because that would’ve been winning it all

[uconndallas]

Title: Just Us, No Shot Clock

A/N: Hi guys! Idk how to feel about this one shot ngl. This will be the last post from me for the upcoming days. my personal life is a mess rn so im gonna focus on that for rn. But I promise Collision Court will def return. For now I hope you guys enjoy this one shot, and thank you so much for reading <3

-

The gym was quiet, save for the rhythmic echo of a basketball bouncing against the polished hardwood. Paige dribbled in slow circles at half-court, her ponytail swinging with each pivot. The overhead lights buzzed faintly above them, casting soft halos that lit the court in gentle gold.

Azzi sat cross-legged on the bleachers, her eyes following Paige’s every move. She was still in her hoodie and team sweats, fresh from practice, sweat cooling against her skin. Paige hadn’t said much since they stayed behind. But she hadn’t needed to. Azzi knew her well enough to understand when she needed space and when she needed someone just to be there.

“You know we have a curfew,” Azzi called, voice low and teasing.

Paige stopped at the free-throw line, turning slowly. The ball came to rest against her hip.

“Not for this.”

Azzi tilted her head. “For what?”

Paige walked toward her, bouncing the ball once more before it rolled toward the edge of the court. “For this moment. Just us. No shot clock.”

Azzi’s lips curved up gently. “You always get poetic when you’re tired.”

“I’m not tired.” Paige sat beside her, their knees brushing. “I just... I didn’t want the night to end.”

Azzi turned slightly to look at her. Paige’s expression was unreadable, somewhere between exhaustion and longing. The kind of look that came after weeks of late-night practices, too many hours in the gym, and feelings that had been sitting just beneath the surface for too long.

Paige finally looked at her. “Do you ever wish things were simpler?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. “I used to. Before I met you.”

Paige blinked. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Azzi said softly, “things aren’t simpler. But they’re better. You make the mess feel worth it.”

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was full. Brimming. Paige shifted slightly, their shoulders touching now, breaths syncing.

“I keep thinking about what happens when the season ends,” Paige murmured. “When the crowd’s gone. The lights. Everything. And all that’s left is... real life.”

Azzi reached over, her pinky brushing Paige’s. "Then let’s start real life right now. Just us. No clock. No pressure."

Paige looked down at their fingers barely touching. Her throat tightened. And then, slowly, she laced hers with Azzi’s.

“I think I’ve wanted this since the first time you stole the ball from me.”

Azzi laughed. “That was freshman year.”

“You were annoying and perfect.”

“You tripped me the next play.”

“I panicked!” Paige laughed, cheeks flushed. “I didn’t know how else to talk to you.”

Azzi squeezed her hand. “You’re doing just fine now.”

They sat in that quiet bubble for a long while, the distant hum of the campus beyond the gym nothing but static. Paige’s voice broke the stillness again, softer this time.

“Do you remember the away game last year? You took that hit under the basket and I—I thought—”

Azzi nodded slowly. “Yeah. I remember. You didn’t leave the trainer’s tent.”

“You scared me.” Paige’s voice cracked. “And I realized I didn’t want to do this without you. Not just basketball. Everything.”

Azzi shifted, her hand moving to Paige’s cheek. “You don’t have to. I’m not going anywhere.”

Paige’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Promise?”

“Swear on the final four.”

That earned a watery laugh from Paige. She leaned in, just enough to close the gap. Their lips met in the softest, most tentative kiss one built on seasons of chemistry and unspoken words, a slow-burning story that finally found its breath.

When they pulled apart, Paige pressed her forehead to Azzi’s, her heart pounding like tip-off.

“Is it weird that I feel like this is the most real thing I’ve ever known?”

Azzi smiled. “It’s not weird. It’s us.”

They stayed there, curled up on the bleachers, long after the lights above them dimmed and the court faded into shadow. The world could wait. The next game. The next day. The future. For now, they had time real, lingering time.

Just them. No noise. No expectations. No shot clock.

And in the quiet, Paige whispered, “I think I love you.”

Azzi didn’t even hesitate.

“I know I love you.”

[peasack]

Thought this was a wholesome and cute idea so I wrote it out.

Enjoy!!!

Thunderbolts x Gn!Teen!Reader

~ 750ish words~

✦ Late night grilled cheese ✦

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

The kitchen glowed with warm light. It was past midnight, and the world outside was a quiet blur of crickets and distant traffic, the kind of silence that made your thoughts echo too loudly in your head.

You weren’t planning on staying up. You just wanted some water. Something to cool the burn in your chest from thoughts you didn’t want to think. But the moment you walked in, your tired eyes caught them, Bob, sitting on a barstool at the counter, and John standing over the stove, spatula in hand, flipping a grilled cheese like it was a sacred ritual.

The smell hit you instantly. Golden-buttered bread. Melted cheese. A hint of garlic from the butter John always seasoned just right.

Bob looked up first, his brown eyes soft under the kitchen light. He smiled softly before talking “Couldn’t sleep?”

You moved toward the cabinet, grabbed a glass. “Yeah.”

John didn’t look away from the pan, but he greeted you like he knew you’d be coming “Join the club.”

The sink gurgled quietly as you filled the glass. You sipped once, then leaned back against the counter across from them, fingers curled around the cool glass. You didn’t talk. Neither did they. Just the occasional soft sizzle from the stove filled the air.

And then John, without asking, without saying a word, pulled out a third slice of bread from the bag, stacked the cheese like he always did when he cooked for the team, and tossed it onto the skillet.

He didn’t look at you. Just said, “You’re not walking out of here without a sandwich. Kitchen rules.”

You didn’t argue.

A few minutes passed, quiet and soft and almost normal. Then John plated two sandwiches, cut diagonally, obviously, and passed one across the counter to you before sliding the other in front of Bob.

You took it. Sat down on the stool next to Bob. Your fingers felt steadier with the warmth of the bread seeping into your skin.

It was Bob who finally broke the silence. “Nightmares?”

You nodded slowly. “Not the kind you can wake up from.”

He hummed, something knowing in it. “Those are the worst kind.”

John didn’t say anything right away. He was leaning against the counter, arms crossed now, his gaze a little distant. You picked at the edge of the sandwich. Ate a bite. Let it anchor you.

“Sometimes,” you said quietly, “I think sleep just makes the walls go down too far. And then all the stuff I’m good at ignoring just shows up. Like it’s waiting.”

“Yeah,” Bob said, voice gentle. “Like it knows you’re too tired to fight it.”

You didn’t expect to say the next thing. Maybe it was the warmth. The quiet. The safety of the kitchen at 2 a.m. “I think I’m scared of myself sometimes. Of the stuff I’ve felt and done and buried. I don’t wanna dig it up, but it keeps scratching at the surface.”

Neither of them tried to fix it.

John moved slowly, sitting on the other stool, sandwich long forgotten. “You ever feel like... if you stop holding everything in for even a second, it’s all just gonna spill out and drown the room?”

Your gaze flicked toward him, surprised. “Yeah.”

He nodded. “Me too.”

Bob said nothing, but you could feel it in the way his shoulders relaxed a little. The understanding in his silence.

John leaned back a little, a flicker of something old and worn-down in his eyes. “There was this kid. Private First Class Tanner. He was nineteen. Barely made it through basic. Skinny as hell. Couldn’t keep his rifle straight. But he had this laugh, man. Like the world hadn’t broken him yet.”

You watched him, blinking slowly. He wasn’t telling this for sympathy. Just to say it out loud. To give it weight.

“He used to sneak candy bars into our rations. Share ‘em with everyone. Thought it made things better, even if it was just a bite.” He exhaled through his nose. “We lost him in a desert I don’t remember the name of. Didn’t even have a body to bring back.”

The kitchen stayed quiet. Your sandwich forgotten in your lap now, half-eaten and warm.

“I still hear him sometimes. When it’s late and too quiet. That laugh.” John rubbed the back of his neck. “Grief’s weird. It doesn’t always hurt. Sometimes it just... lingers. Shows up in the stupidest places. A grilled cheese sandwich. An empty hallway.”

You didn’t know what to say. So you didn’t say anything. You just let it sit there. The story. The silence.

And then, gently, you leaned your head against the counter, cheek resting on your arms. The sandwich was still in your lap, but your eyes were getting heavy. The water, the food, the talking, it had peeled something sharp off your chest.

John glanced over, seeing your breathing slow.

“They out?” he murmured.

Bob nodded once. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He stood and grabbed a nearby throw blanket from the living room, draping it over your shoulders without waking you. “Let them sleep there. We’ll keep watch.”

And they did.

John cleaned the pans. Bob sipped what was now cold coffee. The kitchen stayed softly lit, the three of you sharing a quiet peace, a supernatural being, a super soldier, and a (super?) kid, tethered to each other by broken pieces that somehow made the night feel whole again.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Had to give some form of trauma bonding one-shot to yall, hope you enjoyed!!!

[transhuman-priestess]

#breaking bad#i like it but as a mexican it's weird to watch sometimes#plus every time they're in mexico they use the fucking yellow filter ajsjsj#i could elaborate but watching narcos in american shows often feels... cringe#then again i don't like those plots so i don't watch anything related#(brba and bcs being the exception)#ok maybe i will elaborate but not much bc i don't even remember half of brba at this point#i am however rewatching bcs and it didn't necessarily get better when it comes to this#i don't think these shows ever aimed to do a good or a realistic portrait of narcos/cartels/whatever#for starters the cartel is isolated. you don't actually see the repercussions of their violence#beyond the effects they have on each other#because they aren't the point. they feel like villains in an (american...) superhero movie.#they don't have powers but they aren't down to earth people either.#if you compare them to the white characters they barely feel like people#now. you must know that brba was also a very popular show here in méxico. still is i guess.#and i don't feel like there are many serious conversations about these topics here either#partly because... if you don't take us mexicans seriously as people why should we take your media seriously lol#(mexicans and latinos in general) (the reason why i despise watching any narcos stuff made by americans btw)#(i mean. you don't take narcos seriously. people that kill kidnap and genuinely destroy lives. daily).#(what chance do we have to be well represented as regular people. one wonders)#and partly because in this country we are often forced to live under this impression that american media is So Cool#we must admire it! regardless of everything!#(but this is a whole other conversation)#anyway. it is sad to listen to the insider podcasts and see how much effort was put into these shows#and how they insist in wanting to write three dimensional characters. in not wishing to stick to “this character is simply this or that”#but most of the cartel characters are simply evil. they only serve the purpose of being villains.

#(i ran out of tags so another rb sorry) (said the person that wasn’t going to elaborate)#but here's my biggest pet peeve about these shows. and i think this assures you that this was made strictly for an american audience#no matter how well they did in other countries#you can somehow find an extra that actually has a snake tattoo on his face.#you can do all these amazing props. create whole documents that’ll be on screen for 3 seconds bc fans pay too much attention to everything.#but you can't 1) hire people that actually speak spanish or 2) hire a dialect coach at least?#(maybe they did and i don't know)#don't get me wrong. there are Great actors in these shows#but some of those scenes are not understandable at all!!!#english is my second language. i don't always need to have subtitles to understand.#then there are scenes in spanish and i NEED subtitles. to understand my native language. because... well. i wonder if they even bothered#to check#again i don't blame the actors. but i feel it does a disservice to their performance.#if an actor mispronounced something in english would you keep that take in the show?#if the scenes in spanish (or any other language) weren’t that important for you to consider casting actors with that skill from the start#maybe you can avoid making them struggle and therefore reducing the quality of their work and the show.#(not that americans care I guess)

Hey this is all fascinating and great insight. Especially the subtitles bit.

I feel like nobody appreciates how incredibly racist Breaking Bad was, and I think it’s overwhelming popularity is, at least in some small part, responsible for the wave of anti-Latino sentiment that has defined right wing politics for the last decade, in much the same way that The Birth of a Nation helped make the Klan mainstream again in the 20s.