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sangunary · 1 month ago

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- Hush now Crybaby.

YANDERE BATFAMILY X NEGLECTED READER.

\\ Part 1 // \\ Part 2 // \\ Part 3 //.

You would stay by your rotting corpse, gently brushing your hair out of your face or just starting at it in general. Your corpse was becoming stiff and extremely cold, at times you tried to warm it by holding it.

A soft sigh left your mouth as you give up on trying to warmth the body display infront of you.

"How much longer do I have to wait...?"

You've been thinking alot, wondering why your body is still chained to Earth and you realised your physical body never got the rest it deserves.

The body laying on your coffin underground was a decoy made by your father, as twisted as it sound he only did it in hope of putting your soul back into the body.

Alfred and Bruce knew that, they knew that your current physical body was hidden inside the batcave. Alfred was hesitant at first but Bruce assure him that what he was doing might be morally wrong but it was the best option they have, if they want a new start.

Even after death nothing was better, your life only change slightly and it was for the worst. No one could see or interact with you, but you can uncover all the secrets which was alot more depressing than you expected.

You've found out how your mother died recently after a drug overdose... She was found stiff and unresponsive in her motel and a foam seeping out her mouth, surprisingly everything was clean, no missing things or any sing of struggle.

It was ruled as a sucide, the media claimed it as 'Woman killed herself after her daughter died of her neglection' it was Ironic... You couldn't help but stump your feet a little at that information, first your mother would never neglect you... and Second she was the best mother you could wish for.

You couldn't bear the silence inside the room so you decided to go outside to check on a particular individual.

Dick Grayson.

He was sitting infront of your grave cleaning it with his bare hand, replacing the previous flowers with Rose's. Since your relationship with him was on the edge when you died he doesn't even know your particular taste in flowers , as a result he would pick out new flowers everyday and replace them each day.

Your ghostly figure sit next to his watching him clean your grave once again, atleast he was being productive. Some especially Tim was coping in an unhealthy way.

Locked himself and barely ate anything, everything reminded him of you... His favourite coffee was now leaving an extremely bitter taste on his tongue, it was only because he realised how involved you were in his life and how without you his daily routine weren't the same.

Tim have also started to spiral into madness, doing research on you instead of his usual detective work. Who have hurt you and who have been nasty to you, he was willing to do anything but blame himself for your death or the family.

He's been looking back at every video footage of you and him and storing it into new files each file were specifically made for each video.

"Im sorry little wing... I couldn't find anything new today, so you'll have to take this for today"

Grayson gently murmured as he pluck out the old Lily's- old by one day - Wiping the vase carefully, holding as if it were the most fragile vase in the word.

"Life been abit hard... I know I shouldn't burden you with my problem especially when... You never had them. But, Kory and I took a break..."

His voice was more high-pitched than normal... Yet he continues to look after your grave, dealing it with great tenderness.

His mind flashing back to everything he had done wrong, prioritising joker over you... He remembered how he left you inside a burning building and instead saved the joker, as a result you got a nasty burn mark on your left hand.

Although he doesn't know who to blame you or the joker. Cause you're a hero, he thought you could save yourself... It doesn't matter that you were like what 7? Thought he did half heartily apologise after being lectured by Bruce.

"If you were back... Everything would be fine, im not blaming you of course... Just, I don't know anything good from bad especially after you left us"

"I do not know what possess you to be so reckless... I can't imagine what you must have felt but it's selfish"

"If you were here, Kory and I would take you before any of those... people could. It'll be just the three of us, I'll be the one you will depend on... You won't need to worry anymore, We'll never let you get hurt. Never again"

Dick continues to pour his heart out and slowly he began to smile, his mood began to shift from gloomy to thrilled, suggesting places and activities as if you were still alive.

If anybody was to come across this interaction it's either they'll lable him as mentally challenged or is high on sadness that they ended up talking to a grave.

You stood up getting ready to walk away, it's abit hard to pity them. They never acknowledged you when you were breathing and it's messed up that they only care after realising their mistakes.

"...Huh?"

A mysterious man was standing infront of you, you wouldn't be startled if he wasn't staring right into your eyes. A white lantern...?

You know him only because of the file you would read when you were bored out of your mind. Bruce must have called him, afterall he was a very new and surprising face to see in Gotham.

"...Nice to meet you?"

After your short introduction and your very long introduction on why he must not interfere at all, because as much as it suck being a ghost being alive with your current family would be hell.

Thought he does not seem to value your opinion at all, directly telling Bruce about your presence.

"You can speak... she can hear you"

Deadman informed Bruce.

"I apologise for my negligence and your mother unexpected death. She was a great woman just like you... I don't expect you to forgive so easily but, I want to see you smile again"

You didn't utter a word. You wanted to comfort him yet it was hard pitting the same man who avoid your presence when you were alive.

"Can't you bring her back...?"

"No, she's too far gone"

Your corpse look fine from outside but your inside were rotting and molding. Bruce tried his best yo preserve your body but what's gone is gone. All you want is for your body to rest.

"I refuse to believe. There must be a way for her to be back."

"I have no saying in logic. But there are artifact's that allows one to see ghost"

"I will do anything to see that smile again... I want to apologise to her face to face as well"

Your Father was one of the rare people in the family taking the responsibility in your death, this wasn't the first time he utter an apology. He would slept in your bed missing you, crying or talking in his sleep apologising it seem as the guilt never stopped chasing him.

Though he was the same man who left you unattended during gala surrounded by random man while you were a child. The same one who lecture your brother for leaving you in a fire only because he would have to explain why the burnt mark was there and not because it was wrong.

It was only natural for guilt to cling onto him the longest, he already lost Jason. But you were different, Jason died while having a somewhat happy memories. You died with nothing but bitterness and salty tears.

As much as you would love to fulfill your father's dream you couldn't help but be uncomfortable.

You've overhead Bruce and Jason conversation once and you regretted it. Jason being the most experienced in dying suggested the worst thing possible.

A new bedroom, made just for your liking.

A dingy room with chains to restrain you. All the window must have bars, even if you somehow managed to broke the iron chain you wouldn't be able to jump out and possibly risk breaking a bone.

"It's a necessity, I went mad when I came back, what gives you the idea that she won't be the same and in our case you'll be her first victim"

Jason harshly spit out. You couldn't help but disagree you wouldn't dare to hurt your family, even if they have hurt you in unexplainable ways. Your heart still ache for them in vain.

"Even if she dare to break out I have another method, far more wise and useful but I rather we use it as a last resort"

The last resort was, smashing your ankle. It was simple and Jason already have experience to make sure you won't be in more pain than necessary.

To put anything between your foot and for that object to be used as a support, tying the foot and arm's to restrain you. With a hammer all they have to do was to smash the bone into pieces, you wouldn't be able to walk at all but it was also necessary to treat the bone to avoid disability.

If the bone was to be left to heal by itself it would reconstruct themselves wrong leaving you to excruciating pain, not being able to depend on your foot and you might need to cut your foot off.

Another reason why you dread to be brought back, no amount of convincing or pleading would make them understand... They'll break you and rebuild you as if that was nothing.

They can't treat you like a daughter or a sister even tho they seem so willing... To you they only love you because of the guilt and not because they understand.

Damian was a reason itself, didn't even let a single tear drop during your funeral and the visit at the hospital. He did cry in secret which was pleasant to watch.

He's either beating people into pulp for the smallest crime or is actively trying to bring you back in another form. He have asked Raven to assist him but even the girl found it inhuman, suggesting for him to just mourn you and let your soul be in peace.

It was now noon the whole family jam inside the living room discussing.

"She can't be brought back? Jason died, the Lazarus pit can and must brought her back"

Damian argued, as much as he doesn't wanted to be emotional your absence was taking a toll on him.

You were the first to treat him like a human and he took that for granted. When he realised others weren't as understanding as you were he would get bothered... As much as he hate you that was just the crust of his heart, to him the core matter more... It was totally not an excuse for his horrible behaviour.

"You haven't tried that, father we must try before coming into conclusion!"

"I have tried Damian, nothing worked. Her body was rotting from the inside I was not aware"

Finally Barbara spoke up.

"You have tried? I have been visiting her grave everyday when did you di-"

"It was a decoy"

Jason decided to told the truth. The room felt into a long silence and suddenly shouting and names. They weren't happy that Bruce didn't tell them about the decoy, to them that was a breach of trust Bruce desperately tried to build after your death.

"Silence! There is another way we can see her, Deadman suggested using special artifact's that allows people to see ghost... We will us that as a temporary comfort and we'll find a way to bring her back... with us "

Everybody agreed, unknowns to them you were contemplating life whether you should leave your family and risk the chance of being brought back to life against your will or... Leave.

TAGS: @lovebug-apple, @leeiasure, @invinciblewaffles, @dangeroustravelermultiverse, @shycreatorreview, @bellethesleepypotato , @cluelessteam , @fortunatelydifferentqueen, @doggyteam2028 @icryat2

SPECIAL TAG: @megasweetbones.( TYSM for the great idea 🫶)

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humanjarvis · 3 months ago

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i'm sorry for scaring you

synopsis: caleb shows a new side of himself during one of your fights. it almost makes you believe he's changed.

tags: angst, suggestive (psychologically), fluff (sorta kinda), caleb kneels, caleb crawls, caleb is pathetic, caleb is overprotective and unwell pairing: farspace colonel!caleb x reader word count: 1.7k

a/n: this is angstier than i intended i wanted it to be hot, maybe it's still hot, when he tries to lock u up in his house but he has lethal booboo face ⬆️

“I didn't ask for any of this! I didn’t ask for your protection, and I sure as hell don’t want it.”

“You not wanting it doesn’t change the fact that you need it,” Caleb replied blankly.

In the four months since you’d reunited with Caleb in Skyhaven, your relationship had taken a hit. In the first few weeks, you’d barely seen each other; he’d stop by to check on you, assume you thought him the scum of the earth, and abruptly retreat back home. It wasn’t until you’d grown fed up with the awkwardness and uncertainty that you began approaching him again—asking him about his day, initiating phone calls, and even starting the rare video call, if he was lucky.

Around the last month or so, things had gotten better. During your increasingly frequent visits, you’d gone out together several times—to see the new cyberpunk action movie, to window shop in the pet store, to marvel at the Skyhaven nightscape from the safety of his personal aircraft. Just as you thought you’d both been making progress adapting to your new dynamic, a wave of highly dangerous wanderers had infiltrated the city, and Caleb had had the nerve to essentially place you on house arrest until the threat was dealt with. Fast forward to now, his composure threatening to overpower your impassioned rebuttals.

“Did you honestly think I’d let you leave right now?” he asked. “You’re here for a week. The Fleet will take the next couple of days to sort out the problem, and we can go out together when it’s done.”

“We can go out together. Right. So you can rush me back here the second someone looks at me the wrong way?”

“No one will look at you the wrong way. Not here. Not while you’re with me. But you need to understand, Pipsqueak: you came to Skyhaven for me. You’re in skyhaven for me. I won’t stand by and watch you put yourself in danger, and you won’t change my mind,” he replied, his large frame looming over you as he stepped closer.

You’d had enough. You’d spent almost an hour on the losing side of this back-and-forth, and you were too exhausted to pull your punches anymore. “My first time seeing you after the explosion,” you started, voice trembling. “Do you know how it felt? When you stepped off that plane, when you interrogated me behaving like you never have in your life—I didn’t know what to think. But when you brought me back here? Started spewing off that shit about a world where my only world is you? I was scared, Caleb. I thought I’d needed to be afraid for you, but I was afraid of you. That you’d lock me in this house forever, that I'd only see the sun when you decided it wasn’t top bright for me. I was afraid that I’d die here having grown to hate the person I’d wanted to live for,” you finished, your words dripping with venom.

Seething, you spun around, ready to storm out of the kitchen and into the quiet of the guest room Caleb had remodeled for you.

You’d taken three steps toward the door when you heard something hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Body still facing the door, you stopped in your tracks. This was new. Unexpected. You’d been prepared to hear a few calls of your name, some “Wait!”s, maybe even a “Don't walk away from me.” Worst case, you’d expected him to pin you in place with his Evol, preventing your exit and prolonging your fight.

But a thud? A thud could mean many things. Enough things for you to remain frozen contemplating the possibilities before the voice in the back of your head broke through your thoughts, reminding you of the very real chance that you’d spiked Caleb's blood pressure so much that he’d fainted.

The fear that he was hurt made you finally turn around, only for Caleb to catch you off guard yet again.

Caleb the Loathsome, the overprotective, obsessive, now cold-blooded colonel of the Farspace Fleet, was on the floor before you. Kneeling.

All at once, your anger dissipated, melting into shock at the assertive man before you’s sudden display of submission.

Realizing you’d turned around, Caleb lifted his head, meeting your flustered expression with his pained one. His furrowed brows, shining eyes, and pouted lips—he looked pitiful, honestly. And as much as it tugged at your heartstrings, it awakened something dormant inside you.

It made you feel powerful. It gave you an idea.

Biting the inside of your bottom lip, you took several steps toward Caleb’s kneeling form, closing the distance you'd been so eager to put between you all of ten minutes ago. A slight gasp escaped Caleb at your movement, and he swiftly lowered his gaze back to the floor, as if worried that daring to watch your approaching form would make you retreat.

When you came to a stop, you were just in front of his knees, looking down your nose at his bowed head. For a few moments, Caleb’s heavy breaths were the only sounds between you, thickening the cold air in the room.

Then, finally—finally—you touched him, lifting his chin up before resting your palm on his cheek. At your touch, he leaned forward, nuzzling his head against your thigh.

“…You want this that bad, huh? Want me that bad?”

“More than anything,” he breathed.

You stared at him.

“Please,” he whispered, turning his head into your hand to brush his lips across your fingers.

At this, you hummed softly, running your thumb across his cheek twice before turning away from him once more. When you break contact, Caleb freezes in the midst of rubbing his face on your leg, his eyes popping open in panic. He only calms when he sees you heading for the armchair tucked into the right back corner of the room, slowly taking a seat, your legs spread.

“Relax,” you call out, settling in your chair. He didn’t move a muscle.

You decided you’d had enough of the tense silence after a few more beats. It was time to test him.

“…Come here, Caleb.”

In an instant, his head snapped up. His gaze, abruptly ending its budding relationship with the floor tiles, held yours for more than a few seconds this time, your slight smirk challenging his slight disbelief.

Caleb had all the cunning in the world. Since joining the Fleet, nothing got by him—and on the rare chance that it did, he’d chase it down and make it beg for mercy. He was a prideful man. He was a calculated man. So when you called for him in your sweet voice, slightly breathy with unadmitted nerves, he figured you out quite quickly.

You were testing him—to see if he’d walk or crawl to you—and he knew it.

And unfortunately for his dignity, any reservation he held about the latter was overshadowed by his desire for you: to be in your space, to breathe your air, to be close enough to feel you—even if he rarely did now, out of fear that his touch would repulse you.

He needed you to need him. So he crawled.

Inch by inch, Caleb crawled toward you, the only person who would ever see him reduced to this. The only person who could reduce him to this. And all the while, as the fabric of his dark pants dragged across the floor, his violet eyes never left yours. In them, you saw resignation. You saw anticipation. You saw the shattered remnants of a pride that he’d let be broken, and you saw them rebuild themselves in lust the closer he came.

A few inches away from you, Caleb stops, sitting demurely on his heels. His hands twitch in hesitation before falling into his lap. His vulnerability is palpable, and you can feel him banishing himself back to his hell of self-deprecation, the guilt-eroded space in his mind where he repeats how little he deserves you. Before he can lower his gaze again, you beckon him upwards, guiding his palms to rest on your knees. His kneeling form almost equals your seated one in height.

“I used to love watching you scare off the boys who were mean to me,” you tell him, placing your palm back on his cheek. “But as much as I like you intimidating, this little act might be my new favorite.”

His nervous breaths come to a momentary halt before he brightens slightly, chasing your touch. He nuzzles into your palm like he did your leg earlier, and you sigh.

“You scared me, Caleb,” you murmur.

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“I know you want to keep me safe, that you have kept me safe for as long as either of us can remember,” you say, continuing to stroke his head. “But I don’t want to be afraid of you, Caleb. I won't be afraid of you. So if you want to keep doing this, if you want us to move on, if you want me—it can’t happen again. Tell me it won’t happen again.”

Your movements still as you tighten your grip on his jaw, forcing him to meet your eyes. A grimace flashes across his face as he goes quiet for a moment. But you wait for him. You have to. As exhilarating as it’d been to see him crawl before you, this was the true test—if you extend your trust, will he extend his lenience? You have to believe that he will. To give him the chance to.

And as you’re wrapped up in your optimism, your fantasies that he’ll acquiesce and let your relationship go back to normal, Caleb responds.

“...I’m sorry for scaring you.”

#iris writes #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x reader #caleb x you #lads #lads x reader #lads caleb #caleb #lads angst #lads fluff

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itneverendshere · 7 months ago

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LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - THREE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x Sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy, of abortion, health risks & death. chapter one ┆chapter two ┆ chapter four

Two lines.

Two bold, definitive lines.

You blinked. Once, twice, but it didn’t change. It wasn’t going away.

Two lines, clear as fucking day, staring back at you like they were taunting you.

The universe was laughing right in your face. You felt everything plummet to the very bottom of the earth—the room, the floor, your stomach—it all just plummeted, like you’d been pushed off a cliff with no warning.

The test fell from your grip, clattering onto the marble countertop, but you didn’t care. You backed away from it like it was something radioactive, something dangerous that could destroy you if you got too close. But it already had, hadn’t it?

You were pregnant.How could this happen? How the fuck could this happen?

You knew how, obviously. You weren’t that dumb. All you could see in your head was Rafe’s stupid fucking face. His name alone made you want to punch something, preferably his balls.

You were pregnant? With his kid? You were so careful with your life, with your image.

You could feel the resentment rise in your throat again, the taste of acid making you want to scream. He didn’t get to do this to you. He couldn’t ruin your life twice, fuck you up this bad and then just leave. You wanted to hate him. You did hate him. You hated it. And worse, you hated yourself.

There you were, stuck with this. Alone with a baby you didn’t even want to think about. The thought of it growing inside you—of carrying some piece of him, some reminder of everything he put you through these past two months—it was loathsome. He wasn’t part of this, not anymore. And you weren’t that girl—you didn’t want to be. You weren’t the one who begged for him to care, who waited around for him to come to his senses, who made excuses.

You weren't going to cry. You couldn’t. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you physically couldn’t. Not with your makeup done so carefully. Your eyes were lined so meticulously, your foundation blended like a dream, your lips painted in that bold red everyone said you pulled off effortlessly. You couldn’t afford to let your mascara run. He wasn’t worth it.

You weren’t going to ruin all that hard work over him again. No way.

You pressed a tissue to your eyes—not to cry, but to catch the stray moisture that threatened to ruin your eyeliner—and took a deep breath. You smoothed your dress, and made sure everything was in place.

You didn’t have time to figure it out, or wallow, or throw shit around. You straightened your back, lifted your chin, and forced yourself to feel nothing.

Not the panic, not the nausea, not the rage. Nothing.

You could push it all down, shove it into that deep hellish place in your guts where you put everything else. Later, maybe you’d have to let it out.

Just as you were spiraling deeper into the pit, there was a knock on the door. Loud. It made you jump, pulling you out of your head for just a second.

“Hey!” It was Lily, her voice bright, oblivious. “It’s time. We need you out there. You’ve got like three minutes.”

Right. You wanted to laugh at how ridiculous this was.

You stepped out of the room, every movement rehearsed, the smile expertly placed on your lips. You were a master at this—faking it, pretending like nothing in the world could touch you. Not after seeing those two fucking lines.

Your heels clicked on the floor as you walked through the hallway, down the steps, and into the ballroom. It was filled with kooks being kooks. Fake smiles, fake compliments, fake friendships. You weren’t even listening to a word anyone said to you.

“Hi, darling, you look stunning as always,” someone said, leaning in to kiss you on the cheek. You smiled, said thank you, maybe even added a you too, but you couldn’t hear yourself. Your body knew exactly what to do at these things.

Pretend like you gave a shit.

“Your dad would be so proud,” another woman gushed, and you wanted to throw up. You laughed.

If he knew what was happening. Pregnant? By a man who didn’t put a ring on your finger?

And there they were, of course—Topper, Kelce and Ruthie, standing in the middle of it all, grinning like idiots. Well, Topper grinning like an idiot.

Ruthie? That girl was giving everyone her signature snake sneer. Of course she was. The bitch had this superpower of sensing everyone's business before they even knew it themselves.

A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne flutes, and you reached out instinctively, but the waiter, somehow, just missed you. The tray floated right past, and before you could even realize the fact that you didn’t have a drink in your hand, her eyes were on you.

“Oh, you're not drinking?” she asked, voice dripping with fake concern. Her eyes flickered, like she knew something, and you swear to god, your eyelid twitched.

“Not yet,” you replied with the same faux smile.

Ruthie just kept watching you with those too-knowing eyes, like she was looking for a crack, some little tell. Because she always did.

You had to be so careful around her.

One wrong move, one second, and she’d be all over it, spreading it around the entire town before you even had a chance to breathe.

Your cousin, completely oblivious, was babbling with Kelce about something—probably golf, or the new boat his dad bought, or some other thing you couldn’t care less about. You nodded along, pretending to listen, but you were mentally still in the bathroom, staring at those two lines.

“So, you invited Rafe?” Kelce said it like it was nothing, like bringing up your ex-boyfriend was the most casual thing in the world.

“What the actual fuck did you just say?” You all but growled out, enough to make him choke on his champagne.

He looked genuinely confused, as if he didn’t just mention the one person you’d rather hurl off a bridge at the moment. “Yeah, Rafe. He’s on the list, right?”

Your whole body went rigid. You blinked, trying to keep your face from giving anything away, but inside? You were dying. Ruthie’s eyebrows shot up—oh great, now you had her attention too.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Kelce, of course, had the nerve to chuckle.

If Rafe had spoken to them about being taken off the guest list, you’d lose it. The insolence of him mentioning your name—like he still had any right to talk about you? He should’ve buried the memory of you right along with whatever feelings he claimed to have had.

But then, if he hadn’t said a word about it to his best friends—that meant something worse. That meant he didn’t care. He was over it. Over you.

He hadn’t even bothered to tell them that he wasn’t coming to the gala because he wasn’t thinking about it. Or about you.

You hated either possibility.

Kelce like the asshole he was, "I thought you two were—"

"Don't." You cut him off so fast, so hard, he had to take a step back.

You wanted to grab Top by his clueless shoulders and demand answers. Did Rafe care? Was he coming tonight? You didn’t like any option—every scenario made you want to get on a plane to the other side of the world. If he was planning to show up despite being cut from the list…Shit, what would you even do? You could feel the headache starting already.

That would be so him, though.

The arrogance. The entitlement, ignoring boundaries because he never thought the rules applied to him.

Ruthie, of course, was still watching you like a hawk. Her eyes darted between you and Topper, and you could practically feel her mind working, trying to piece together whatever she thought she was seeing. She loved this. She lived for other people’s drama, and you knew she’d sniff out anything that didn’t look flawless.

You did out without even thinking, grabbing Topper’s ear between two manicured fingers like you were his mom dragging him out of Sunday school, pulling him away.

"Ow, Jesus—what the hell?!" he yelped, stumbling to keep up with you in his shiny loafers as you all but hauled him into the nearest corner of the ballroom, out of sight, but still within earshot of the crowd.

You didn’t care. Let someone see. Let them all see.

You turned to him, barely letting go of his ear, your nails tapping impatiently against your crossed arms. He looked at you like you’d lost your mind, and maybe you had.

“Spill it.”

He was still rubbing his ear. “What are you talking about?”

“Rafe,” you snapped, eyes narrowing. “Is he coming tonight? And don’t you dare lie to me, Top.”

He gulped. Actually gulped. You swore you could see the gears turning in that pretty, empty head of his, trying to figure out if he could weasel his way out of this.

“I— I don’t know, okay?” Topper stammered, running a hand through his hair. “I haven’t talked to him today, but I figured… I mean, he always comes to these things, so I assumed—"

That meant Rafe didn’t tell him. That your little stunt hadn’t phased him in the slightest.

“You assumed?” You leaned in closer, eyes burning holes into his skull. “After everything, you thought it was a good idea to just assume he’d show up and not even bother telling me?”

“I can’t put him on a leash!” His voice rose defensively, eyes wide like he was the one under attack. And yeah, maybe he was. Maybe you’d gone full psycho mode. Rafe always turned you into this—this furious, spiraling, out-of-control version of yourself.

Your cousin was just collateral damage.

“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe someone should.” You said it slowly like you were explaining something to a child. “Do you even know what it’s like?” you hissed, leaning in closer, your voice dropping , “To sit here, wondering if he’s gonna show up like some ticking time bomb?”

Topper’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

He didn’t know shit about what you were going through. How could he? He wasn’t the one with a whole life-changing secret burning a hole in his brain, wondering if the father of the child growing inside him was going to ruin everything—again.

“I—I didn’t think it was that serious,” Topper stammered, hands flying up in surrender. “I mean, he’s always been a dick, but—”

You remember the first thing he texted you after weeks of radio silence.

“No,” you interrupted, “He’s more than just a dick. He’s—” You stopped yourself before you said too much. God, you were on the edge, and you needed to rein it in.

Topper, still looking like a kicked puppy, shifted on his feet.

“Look, I’ll text him. I’ll ask if he’s coming or not, okay?” He pulled out his phone, typing something quickly. You watched him, arms crossed, tapping your foot against the marble floor like your life depended on it. If you saw his face—his stupid, beautiful, infuriating face—you didn’t know what you’d do.

Punch him? Scream? Run? The thought of him being here, so close, when you hadn’t even processed what was happening to you…

“Okay, he says—” He paused, squinting at his screen, “he’s not coming.”

The relief. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, shoulders sagging for just a second before you caught yourself. He’s not coming.

But why did it hurt? Perhaps a small part of you wanted him to show up—just to see you, just to care. The other part, however, didn’t. You didn’t want him anywhere near you, or this... this thing inside you.

“See?” Topper said, holding up his phone like it was some peace offering. “He’s not coming. Crisis averted.” He gave you this awkward, nervous smile, like he thought you might hit him again.

You forced a laugh, even though nothing about this was funny.

“Great. Awesome. Perfect,” you said through gritted teeth simultaneously smoothing your dress, and pushing your hair back over your shoulder, “Thanks, Top. Really. You’re a real lifesaver.”

He looked at you like he wasn’t sure if you were being sarcastic or not, but you didn’t care. The moment was over. You’d survived.

You rolled your eyes as you turned away heading back toward your original group. Of course, Ruthie was still standing there her arms crossed, that smug little smirk on her face. She’d been watching the whole thing, no doubt about it.

You could feel her nosy ass dissecting every single move you made.

“He’s not here yet,” she hummed, her eyes narrowing just enough to piss you off. “Weird, right? Maybe he’s busy with Sofia.”

Of course, she brought up that fucking name.

She was sniffing out blood in the water, as if she wasn’t just another Sarah Cameron knock-off. You could already picture it—the headlines, the whispers spreading through the audience, everyone talking about you. The legacy who ruined her own gala.

Kelce snorted, not even bothering to hide his amusement, because of course he thought this was all a joke. He never got it. None of them did.

You wished, for just a second, that you weren’t born into this pristine, high-society life. You felt so smothered by these expectations. If you were anyone else, if you weren’t some debutante raised on champagne and etiquette, you’d have punched her right there. You’d have knocked her straight to the floor and wiped that pretentious smile off her face with blood in front of every stuck-up rich asshole in the room.

“I didn’t realize we were talking about her,” you said, voice like sugar, even though you knew Ruthie could sense the underlying warning in it,“But thanks, Ruthie, for always keeping me updated on things that don’t concern you.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t back down yet.

“Just making conversation. I mean, it is weird that he hasn’t shown up yet, right? Considering how close you two used to be. I’m sure it’s nothing, though.”

Kelce, that asshole, leaned in, "Come on, don't act like you’re over it." His eyes glanced down to your hand. "You’re shaking."

You were. You hadn’t even noticed.

But instead of acknowledging it, you shot him a look that could've killed. "Fuck off, Kelce."

They were trying to get you to admit you didn’t invite him. Well, they’d have to try harder. You’d been swimming around sharks since you were born, no one was going to fuck you over so easily.

“Uh-huh,” Ruthie said, not buying a word of it. Her eyes flicked between you and Topper, and you knew what she was doing. She was fishing. “You sure about that? You were giving him a look.”

You glanced at your cousin, who was still rubbing his ear like a toddler. “Just sorting out some... logistics for the gala,” you said, voice saccharine, but it felt like chewing on glass. “It’s nothing. Really.”

She arched a brow, her lips curling up in a knowing grin. She knew something was off. She always did. “Right,” she said slowly, drawing the word out like she was savoring it. “Because for a second there, it looked like you were about to explode.”

She was monitoring you so closely, you could feel it crawling up your skin.

“You know,” she sighed, like she cared. “If something’s going on you can tell me. I won’t say a word.”

That was rich. Ruthie, keeping a secret? You’d sooner trust a thief with your jewelry. “I’m sure you wouldn’t,” you said, not keeping the sarcasm out of your voice. “But trust me, there’s nothing to tell.”

Ruthie’s pursed her lips, annoyed that she hadn’t managed to dig anything up, “Are you—”

You were two seconds away from shoving her into the nearest fountain. But instead, you took a deep breath, “You should worry less about me,” you advised her, “and more about that atrocious dress you’re wearing.”

The smile fell off her face so fast, it was glorious.

You didn’t wait for her to recover. You turned on your heel, and grabbed Topper by the arm.

As soon as you were far enough away, he let out a breath he’d been holding. “Jesus, I thought you were gonna deck her.”

You grinned, but there was no warmth in it. “I still might.”

He sighed, “She’s still my girlfriend.”

“Yeah, downgrading seems like a thing for you boys.”

Like a guardian angel sent from above, Lily appeared, stepping between you two with a concerned expression.

“Hey, hey,” she interrupted, glancing between you, “What was that about?”

You could see the caution in her eyes. She wasn’t stupid—Lily knew things between you and Rafe had been rocky, and she’d probably been sensing the tension the entire night. But right now, she was doing her best to defuse the earlier situation before it got any worse.

“Nothin’, just Ruthie being herself,” You dismissed, as you grabbed onto her forearm, “Let’s go.”

Lily blinked, startled by your urgency, but she didn’t argue. “Yeah, we should head backstage, the speech is coming up.”

“Bye Top. Stay the fuck away from the chocolate fountain.”

You could hear him whine in the back, “I did that shit once!”

Lily pulled you along through the ballroom, her arm linked with yours, quickening her pace to keep up with you as you nearly bolted toward the back of the venue. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” you bit out, though your voice didn’t even convince you. “I’m fine. I just need to get this speech over with.”

“Uh-huh,” She replied, clearly not convinced, but smart enough to drop it for now. “You got it, don’t worry.”

Finally, you made it to the side entrance that led backstage. The thick drapes and low lighting created a shield, giving you a small moment of privacy before the world demanded your attention again.

Lily stood next to you, gently touching your arm, “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. We can stall, or—”

“I have to,” you stopped her, rubbing a hand over your face, “I can’t—” You didn’t finish your sentence because you didn’t know how to say it. You had no choice.

Lily’s fingers squeezed your arm a little tighter. “Okay,” she said quietly, nodding. “But I’m here if you need me.”

You forced a smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks,” you whispered, even though the words felt hollow in your mouth.

You appreciated her being here, really, but she was blissfully unaware of the pregnancy test in the trash can.

Taking a deep breath, you adjusted your posture, straightened your dress, and ran a hand through your hair, reminding yourself that you’d been here before. You’d stood on that stage so many times.

This wasn’t new. You just had to get through it.

One more speech. One more night. You glanced at Lily, gave her a quick nod, and stepped through the final curtain. Back into the spotlight. Back into the role you’d perfected so well—put together, poised, untouchable.

The low murmur of the gathering hummed in your ears, growing louder with every second. You weren’t ready. You were never going to be ready.

You just needed to remember how to breathe.

The speech was printed and sitting in your hands, it felt like dead weight. You hadn’t even read through it since you’d finished it hours ago, and now, the thought of standing in front of all those people, pretending to have it together—it felt impossible.

Then, in the corner of your eye, you saw him.

Rafe.

He said he wasn’t coming. Topper said he wasn’t coming. But there he was, standing there, watching you just like he always had.

You hadn’t even meant to look. You didn’t do it on purpose, perhaps it was muscle memory, always searching for him. He was standing in the same spot he usually took. Like nothing had changed.

As if he hadn’t ripped you apart.

You tried to focus, but your heart was racing, thundering in your ears.

How dare he? How fucking dare he? Instantly you were back there, that messy, intoxicating space you swore you’d never return to. The one where he controlled the air you breathed. He looked so good. Too good, really. He was wearing a crisp navy suit that hugged his frame perfectly, hair buzzed again.

You should’ve guessed he’d find a way back here, even after everything.

“Are you ready?” Lily whispered beside you, her voice pulling you back from the brink of a breakdown.

“Yeah.”

Your heart raced as you forced yourself to look back at Rafe.

He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t even pretending to look interested. He just stood there, his eyes locked on you, unreadable, unfathomable.

He was still watching you. It felt like could see through your polished exterior. He probably did. He knew you better than anyone else. You wondered what he saw—the confident girl who had always pulled off these events with ease or the terrified woman who was about to pass out from the pressure.

Then, he’s lips lifted slightly. That infuriating, devil-may-care almost there smirk that had made your heart stutter long before everything went to hell. It reminded you of nights spent tangled in sheets, whispers pressed against your skin under the cover of darkness, moments that felt like they belonged in a dream.

You wanted to throw the speech away and storm off the stage, leaving this whole night behind.

Instead, you cleared your throat and gripped the edges of the podium, the cool wood bringing you back to the world.

The words were on the paper in front of you, but you didn’t need to look at them. You knew the speech by heart every year. You’d written it yourself, after all—crafted it with care, knowing exactly what people needed to hear to make their checks bigger, to keep your father’s legacy alive.

It was just a matter of saying it without breaking.

A deep breath, and then you began.

“Good evening, everyone. Thank you so much for being here tonight.”

Your voice sounded better than what you felt, and you leaned into that, letting it carry you through the first few lines.

“We gather here every year for the same reason—to celebrate the incredible work this foundation does, and to honor the legacy of those who came before us. This foundation isn’t just a charity; it’s a tribute. A way to remember those we’ve lost and to carry their dreams forward. It’s about giving back to a community that gave so much to us.”

You paused, just for a moment, glancing down at the speech in your hands, feeling the overwhelming crush of what you’re about to say next.

“For me, this has always been personal.” Your voice softened as you continued, “Most of you are aware I lost my family a few years ago. My father started this foundation. His vision was always to make sure that no one was left behind, that we take care of our own. My mother helped build it. And my sister…” You hesitated, remembering how faultless she’d been, “She was always the heart of it.”

The room was utterly still now, everyone listening intently.

“Tonight, as I stand here, I can’t help but think about how proud they would be of what we’ve accomplished. At least, I hope they’d be proud.”

You allowed yourself a small, bittersweet smile.

“My dad would’ve been in his element, making sure everything was spotless. And my mom, well, she’d probably tell me that the curtains were horrid and needed to be replaced immediately.”

The crowd gave a light laugh, the tension in the room dissipating just a little. You smiled, a real one this time, for the first time in weeks, picturing your mother in her no-nonsense way, criticizing every decoration like it was the most important thing in the world.

“I miss them every day,” you added, “And I’m certain I’m not the only one in this room who’s experienced that kind of loss. It changes you. But it also reminds you to live in a way that makes them proud. And that’s what tonight is about, continuing their work, continuing their legacy, and making sure we do right by them.”

Your grip on the podium loosened, and you looked up, making eye contact with the audience.

“So, to everyone here tonight—thank you. Thank you for believing in this cause. Thank you for your generosity, your support, and your kindness. And thank you for helping me keep their memory alive.”

With that, you stepped back from the podium, the applause swelling around you, but all you could hear was the sound of your heart breaking.

It was over. You did it.

Automatically, your eyes flickered up toward the back corner, the spot where Rafe was standing. You never needed to look before; you’d always just known he’d be there. It was his silent promise to you since you were sixteen. Every gala, every speech—no matter what happened between the two of you—he was there.

But he wasn’t there anymore. The space was empty.

This was what you wanted, you didn’t need him anymore. You were going to get through this on your own. It was the first time he wasn’t there to catch you like he’d always been.

You stood taller, and forced a smile, but as you started to step down from the stage, you felt it.

That stupid fucking warmth.

His hand found your elbow as you and every nerve in your body screamed bloody murder. The applause was still buzzing in your ears, cameras flashing—none of it registered.

All you saw was him.

Three seconds. That was how close you were to snapping. Who the fuck let him in?

You yanked your arm away, the touch burning your skin like it was staining you. You didn’t say a word—just turned and headed straight for the back exit.

Behind you, you heard his footsteps.

Of course, he never knew when to stop, when to let you breathe.

“Can we just—” he was practically jogging after you, his voice strained. “Can we talk like fucking adults?”

You were already halfway down the hall, pulling off your earrings as you stormed toward your suite.

The fucking sheer audacity of this man. You couldn’t even process it—how he could stand there, with his fake-ass calm tone, chasing after you like you were the one being unreasonable.

You threw open the door to the suite you got ready in, the one that was supposed to be your sanctuary for the night and stepped inside, not bothering to close it behind you; you knew he was going to follow you in any way.

He was relentless like that.

You tossed the earrings onto the vanity and glanced up to see he was right behind you now, lingering in the doorway, as if unsure of how much further he could push before you exploded.

He looked at you like he was the victim in all this.

“Can you at least listen to me for a second?” It sounded like he was forcing himself to stay calm.

But that bite was so Rafe.

You spun around, your breath coming out harsh.

“Listen to you? Listen to you? You’ve got to be out of your fucking mind.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but you were already pulling off your heels, the sharp tug at the straps doing nothing to calm your frustration.

He stood there, his eyes on you, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him for more than a second without feeling the betrayal flooding your chest.

Rafe was rubbing the back of his neck in that agitated way he did when he was frustrated. “I came here because I didn’t want to leave things like that. I thought we could be civil—”

“Civil?” You nearly laughed, “You seriously think you can walk in here and be civil after everything?”

His eyes narrowed just a fraction. He moved on his feet, stepping further into the room, and you saw it—the way he rolled his shoulders like he was already preparing himself for a fight. “I came to apologize.”

He ran a hand through his buzzed hair, the same agitated motion you’d seen a thousand times as if he was trying to smooth out the mess in his head.

Your hands stopped mid-motion, your necklace halfway off. You looked at him like he’d lost his mind. "Apologize for what, exactly?"

“For calling you dramatic.” He exhaled like he was doing something noble by saying it. As if he was doing you a favor. “For that text. I was drunk, didn’t mean it.”

He wasn’t apologizing for ghosting you. He wasn’t apologizing for her.

You stared at him, completely floored. He was serious, he thought this was some kind of peace offering. The fact that he thought an apology for that would fix anything? Insane.

“You think this is about that?” You cackled, chucking one shoe to the side, not caring where it landed, and the other followed right after. “Oh my god, Rafe, you are so fucking clueless.”

His expression changed then, brows furrowed, “I’m trying to make things right,” he mutters. “I don’t want you out of my life, okay?”

You threw the necklace somewhere on the ground, your patience gone. “You were the one who pushed me away. You don’t get to waltz in here and act like we can just fix things because you finally feel bad about it.”

He stepped closer, looming over you now, his lips curling into that sneer. “I’m trying to give you a chance to be friends—”

Give you? Like you were some charity case to him? As if you should be thankful.

“I don’t want to be your friend!” You growled in his face, stepping forward and jabbing your finger into his chest, “I’d rather set myself on fire than be your friend, so you can take that chance and shove it up your ass.”

His hand came up to run along his head again, and you saw the way his fingers curled into his scalp like he was trying not to give in to his impulsive thoughts. His breathing was heavier now, too, chest rising and falling quickly.

“Why are you being so difficult?” he snapped, and there it was—the familiar, accusatory edge in his voice. “After what you said about my dad—”

The reason.

The thing that broke you two this time, the thing he’d been holding over your head. You saw the hurt in his eyes, the one thing he hadn’t let go of.

You told him the truth and now it had become the scar he wouldn’t stop picking at. He was hurt. And he was angry, because you’d finally told him the truth about his dad, and it shattered that fake picture he had in his head.

“You’re gonna bring that up right now?” Your voice was so quiet it nearly scared you. “After all the shit you’ve put me through, that’s what you’re mad about?”

“You don’t get to talk about him like that,” he growled, stepping forward. “That’s why we broke up. Because you don’t fucking get it.”

But Sofia did, right?

That was fucking hilarious. She didn’t grow up listening to Ward’s bullshit. Didn’t see the kind of things he’d say or did to his oldest child.

Of course, she would take his side. She didn’t know better.

You shook your head, “No, we broke up because you didn’t like me telling the truth. Your dad was a piece of shit, and you know it.”

For a moment, the air went deadly still between you. You could sense his hurt, the way it sneaked between every bitter word.

Then, he did it—the thing you knew he would, that thing that made your blood boil.

Rafe pulled at the back of his neck again, looking like he might’ve ground his teeth to dust. “Oh, I get it now,” he says, his voice thick with condescension. “You’re jealous.”

Your whole body went borderline rigid, like a door, locked in place.

He was standing there, offering you friendship like a pity prize, calling you jealous when you were standing there broken, trying not to fall apart because of him.

“Jealous?” you repeated, in disbelief. “Of your little pogue girlfriend? Please, fucking spare me. You want me to throw a penny at her?”

He stepped closer, his breath quickening. "She’s real, okay? She’s not some polished barbie pretending in front of everyone, just to fall apart behind closed doors."

Ouch. But you could do worse.

"Real huh?" You scoffed, the bitterness in your chest taking over. "Is that what you call it? Someone who doesn’t know the difference between caviar and fucking canned tuna? That’s the 'real' you’ve been slumming it with?"

"At least she doesn’t care about any of this," he snapped, gesturing to the glittering gala that surrounded you both. "She’s not obsessed with keeping up appearances.”

A cold laugh escaped your lips. He must’ve forgotten to look in the mirror today.

"God, you’re so delusional. Do you think I wanted any of this?” You shot him a look that could cut through steel. "I’m not the one faking it. You are. You are still so desperate for Daddy’s approval that you can’t even see what a fucking mess you are."

Rafe's hands flexed at his sides, his fingers twitching. His nostrils flared, and he tilted his head to the side, running his tongue over his teeth like he always did when he was trying to stay calm.”

"I’m not afraid of who I am," His lips barely moved as he spoke, rolling his shoulders back again, standing to his full height. "You spend so much time trying to be perfect, you don’t even know who you are anymore."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin, like a predator sizing you up, his eyes locked on yours. You could see his jaw clench, his chest rising and falling with every shallow breath as he tried to keep his composure.

You took a step closer, your chest brushing against his, your heart pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears. His gaze flicked downward, scanning your face.

"Is that a joke? You spend so much time trying to be your father, you’ve lost yourself. Do you think I don’t see it? You’re so fucking empty without his approval,” Your voice dipped lower, “You’re so pathetic it’s almost sad."

He clenched his jaw again, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He took a sharp breath through his nose, staring you down with a look that was all Rafe—volatile, unreadable, on the edge of breaking.

Right then and there, Lily burst into the room, her wide eyes taking in the scene like a bomb had just gone off.

"Okay! What is going on in here?" she demanded, her voice sharp but layered with concern. “I could hear you two in the hallway. If something happened, this is not the place to deal with it.”

“You wanna know what happened, Lily?” you started, almost laughing with disbelief. “This motherfucker started seeing someone behind my back. Two months—two fucking months—with no real closure, no answers. And he’s off fucking some pogue.”

“It’s not like that,” He scoffed, pointing a finger in your direction as he took a few steps back, "Don't drag Sofia into this.”

His posture screamed defensiveness, and all you could think was how much you hated the way he said her name. It made you want to throw up, it felt like someone was taking a rusty nail and dragging it down your spine.

He said it so casually, so carelessly, as if it hadn’t ripped you apart. It was the way he said it, with that hint of affection, like she was this delicate, shiny little thing he was protecting, and you—you—were just a threat he had to deal with.

"I'll drag the fucking Pope into this if I have to.”

You were the one who had been there through all his bullshit, you were the one who held him together when everything in his life was falling apart. Now, suddenly, she was the one he spoke about softly. Like she mattered.

It was insulting.

“Guys!”

Lily stepped between you both, throwing her hands up as if she were separating two wild animals about to rip each other apart.

“Please, please calm down. Rafe, I think you should leave. Now."

He looked like he wanted to say more, you knew he had a million things screaming at him beneath the surface, but for once, he stayed silent. Maybe it was the fact that Lily was there, or maybe he finally realized you weren’t going to bite into his bullshit excuses and provocations.

Whatever it was, he took a step back, shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, storming past Lily and out of the room.

You could hear the distant sound of the door slamming as he left.

The moment he was gone, you felt your breath coming out in shallow gasps. Your heart dropped to your stomach, your pulse racing.

Lily turned to you; her face full of concern. She reached out and grabbed your shoulders gently.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice soothing, “Breathe. Just breathe.”

You pressed a hand to your chest, your breath hitching. Pregnant. You were pregnant with his kid, and this was what you got in return.

No peace. No calm.

Your chest tightened, your vision blurring.

“Hey, hey,” She cooed again, her hands on your arms, grounding you. “You’re okay. We’re going to figure this out. Just breathe, okay?”

You couldn’t believe you’d let it get this far—couldn’t believe you were even in this situation.

There was no way you were having his kid.

Absolutely not.

You didn’t even have to think about it. The decision had been made the second he’d defended her and insulted you like you were sidewalk littering.

Tomorrow, you’d take care of it. You’d book the appointment and that would be that. Clean break, no more ties to Rafe Cameron, no more staying in that fucked up twisted cycle with him.

“I really think you need to sit down and breathe for a second. You’re scaring me sweetheart, and honestly, this isn’t good for you.”

Once again, you pondered telling her everything—about breaking down and spilling every ugly detail. But that would make it real.

Your designer dress clung to you in all the wrong ways, as if even the fabric could understand the order going changes in your body.

“Whoever let him in, I want them fired.”

You spat suddenly gaining momentary strength to ruin lives. It wasn’t just a demand; it was an execution order.

The quiet threat of it was more terrifying than your screaming would have been.

Tomorrow, you’d make sure this nightmare ended before it could begin.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron @serrendiipty @sunny1616

@yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog @psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

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keferon · 5 months ago

Text

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head is all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Part one

Holy shit I actually managed to finish it…..Oh. My god.

Under the cut⤵️

Is it stupid to miss someone who doesn't even exist?

Probably yes, but hey, Swerve already has several degrees, might as well get another one. A degree in Stupidity or something. Who cares?

For the first few days after waking up from his coma, he feels like he's going crazy. Everybody has realistic dreams, right? The ones where you can scrutinize every angle, memorize every face and smell and sound. The ones that make you lie still for a while after waking up, grasping at every thing you can. Trying to memorize everyone you meet, imprint them in your head.

Because apart from your mind, they don't exist anywhere else. So that's your only way to keep them.

It never works. Obviously. Details slip away. Impressions fade. Just a couple days, and you won't be able to recall anything but the main events from memory.

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

His life is a weird, pathetic, fantastical circus. Earth term. Heh. There are no circuses on Cybertron, haha!

But Swerve remembers. And the word circus, and the smell of asphalt, and rains that were made of water not acid. Remembers the English language. Can speak it fluently, even if you wake him up in the middle of the night.

Remembers his work schedule and remembers which company makes the best details. And Tailgate with his bright blue uniform and Wheeljack with his endless experiments and Swindle with his expensive coat and of course...yeah, no, don't think of Blurr, don't think of Blurr, don't. Don't.

He'd heard about it. Read about it, too. Mechs waking up from comas and doing wild things. Some forgot how to speak at all, some gained a new skill, some lived a whole life while they slept.

Articles tell Swerve, don't worry, what you've experienced isn't unique. The doctor tells Swerve that the same thing has happened to others before you, it will be okay, it will pass.

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

He's been in a coma for who knows how long. The medic said it was caused by an internal trauma that decided to suddenly get worse. One minute he's recharging , the next he's gone. Internal injuries are insidious.

So it turns out. One day he just disappeared from the world because he was busy slowly dying in his room and no one noticed until a thief tried to sneak in. The only one who came to him was a Mech who wanted to steal his stuff. Huh.

That feels revolting. Swerve liked to think he had enough friends. Or at least enough good connections. Enough those who should have noticed his absence, right?

Apparently not. His shifts at work were reassigned, his contacts never texted him first, his...

His small persona wasn't important enough for anyone to notice his disappearance.

Would his human coworkers notice? Would Tailgate have noticed? Or Jazz? Swindle?

Jazz would have noticed, he was always surprisingly attentive when it came to his friends. And he was friends with just about everybody.

Swindle would probably get upset about the money he'd lost.

It's amazing how much his brain-- wait, no, his processor. How much his processor could create to entertain him. It's a more elaborate world than the most complex series Swerve has ever known. And that scrap had forty-six seasons and fifteen encyclopedias!

People, Earth, a bunch of new languages and rules and all for the sake of the end being like, OOPS! ...it was all a dream. Hilarious. Worst plot twist ever. Swerve hates it when stories go in this direction even more than when they kill off their characters.

In his humble opinion, death is better than the revelation that none of the experiences made sense or had any value. In terms of writing scripts obviously. Haha.

He's busy roaming haphazardly through his own memory. He's looking, comparing, trying to find inconsistencies or things that don't make sense. All the stuff that usually gives away the fact that what happened was a dream.

Most of his memories are occupied by--No. Frag.

Don't think about Blurr, don't think about Blurr, don't think..

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

In the time he spent just looking at him, you could hand-build an entire Mech. Maybe even three. Swerve remembers picking up every bit of merch he could reach with his paycheck. Watching hundreds of videos and buying every new themed drink even if it was a flavor he didn't like.

Then spent a surprising amount of time resenting Blurr for not living up to his fantasies.

Blurr's behavior hadn't helped either, of course, but now, looking back at the past himself Swerve thinks that.. Oh wow. You weren't just annoyed at him. You blamed him for ruining your beautiful fantasy. You were having so much fun entertaining yourself with thoughts of this marvelous image, and he came along and corrupted it. Poisoned the well you drank joy from.

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

Blurr was more complicated than that. But exactly how, he'll never know. All he has are his memories, and those memories are cut short at the most interesting point.

Swerve knows this plot twist. The asshole character that no one loves at the last second turns out to not be what everyone thought, but it's too late.

Oh no, he's not an evil jerk, he's actually traumatized. Oh no, he wasn't bad, he was actually secretly helping everyone. You thought he was awful? Well now you're going to feel awful reading fanfics.

Serevus Spayne didn't actually betray the main character's dad, no no, he was in love with him! Bam. Drama.

Swerve isn't a big fan of this stuff. He likes his characters developed properly. But he can't deny the appeal of a character leaving behind a bunch of questions you thought you knew the answer to.

Uggh.

The doctor was wrong. These thoughts don't go away. These memories don't dull.

Swerve just boils in them, constantly getting stuck in his own head. Sometimes he puts English words into his speech and everyone looks at him strangely. Sometimes he reflexively says some inside joke and no one gets it and he's left standing there with an awkward smile. Because. Guys, you don't understand, if my coworkers were here they'd think it's hilarious. I promise, in my fantasy world, it's funny.

When he gets a job on one of the Autobot ships, he accepts it thinking it might be a good distraction from his thoughts.

When he happens to see Prowl with a tiny human on his shoulder in the corridor of that ship, he thinks he's lost his mind.

The whole thing. The whole load-bearing structure on which his picture of the world has been held suddenly gives a lurch. Living your life in a super realistic dream is wild, but meeting a character from your dream in real life??

Freaking cursed.

Jazz looks puzzled by his reaction, but all Swerve can think about are two things.

One, if Jazz is here, does that mean everything else was real, too???

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

It never occurred to him. But he didn't really know what size humans were. Well, sure, he could measure it in numbers. But he was among humans himself. And about the same size. He was generally even shorter than most of them.

If Jazz is so small, he can't imagine how tiny Tailgate would be. Or--

He can feel his spark freeze. In fact, he can almost hear the sound of a string breaking in his processor. Does that mean Blurr is real too? Real and just as tiny and currently dead? Because Swerve was there but was too convinced it was all just a dream to help?

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

Swerve taps his fingers nervously on the countertop. Come on. You're good at talking. Talking is your greatest skill. All you have to do is tell someone else about your comatose hallucinations and hope they don't think you're crazy.

They're sitting at a table at the bar. More specifically Swerve and Prowl are sitting at the table, and Jazz is sitting right on the table. (God he's so small).

“So uh. I got injured a while back and...uh...well, it got worse, turned out important systems were affected and I kind of. I was in a coma. For a really long time.”

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He speaks in a mildly wonky Common, Swerve notes to himself. He waves his servo a little too cheerfully in response.

“'Ay it's no big deal really. I saw a whole other world while I was asleep and like. See, I thought it was just my fantasies, but it seemed very real and...”

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

“And it was about this planet called Earth and about people who were building their own inanimate huge robots to fight huge aliens and their boss wanted to launch Mechs into space, so he picked the best of the pilots named Jazz and sent him on this test mission and...”

Jazz looks at him with huge eyes before switching to English in surprise.

“Mech, what the hell?”

“...And we lost him...” finishes Swerve with a sad smile.

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

“I'm going to show you a trick I can do.”

And then projects his holoform onto the table in front of him.

This. It's weird. Not in a way that would tilt it in the direction of unnatural. More like walking around in his comfy indoor pajamas right in the middle of the street. Being human is familiar to him, but being human amongst huge Cybertronians? Strange. And a little creepy.

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

Swerve doesn't even manage to respond, only to smile in relief before Jazz rakes him into his arms. In his holoform, Jazz feels right again. He's taller than Swerve and oh boy, he's alive and unharmed. To think everyone thought he was dead, staying up nights trying to find what was left of him, and he was on the other side of the universe the whole time?

Swerve chuckles into Jazz's shoulder. Then picks him up and spins him around a couple times just because he needs something to get his energy out. Man, it's nice to hug people. Warm and soft, eight out of ten.

Jazz pulls away but still stays standing very close. Swerve can literally see the happy stars in his eyes.

“Dude, I'm not complaining but what...how???? You just kinda..."

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

“I still speak English, you don't have to torture yourself with Common.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Jazz throws his hands up dramatically “you're my favorite person right now.”

There is a polite click of the vocalizer resetting above their heads.

“I” Prowl says “very glad you two are happy but I'd like some explanation”

Swerve presses his head into his shoulders guiltily. Prowl has the unique ability to always sound like you've done something wrong in front of him.

Although Jazz doesn't seem to feel the same way?

“Short version - I sleepwalked my holoform to another planet.”

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

“It's a holographic avatar that I can project using a holomatter generator. Sort of like a remote controlled game character.”

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

“Have you been able to do that all this time too?“

Prowl hums

“I can create an avatar, but it takes a lot of practice to make it at least believable. And to fully perceive the world through it takes even more. It's a whole new technology. What Swerve does is essentially an art form. Sophisticated and impressively detailed may I add.”

Swerve shrugs shyly. He's still using the holoform to stand on the table next to Jazz. Looking up to speak to Prowl isn't exactly comfortable, but Jazz definitely looks like he's been missing the human presence. Swerve isn't human, but he might as well be.

“Thank you. Yes! Uh. Anyway, it seems while I was in a coma my processor projected my avatar onto Earth and I...let's just say I lived there for a while.”

Jazz laughs

“Dude. So you're telling me you were basically sleepwalking the whole time?”

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

“But the range limit of the holomatter generator is only four hundred miles...”

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

“You learned a whole other language! Got an ID!. You had a job!!!”

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

Jazz scratches the back of his head, still looking very amused

“How many degrees did you get? Haha wait no, I have a better question, did you pass your driver's license?”

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

“Dude you are literally a car without a driver's license!” collapses Jazz on the table with laughter.

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

“Says you who retook the physical several times. You couldn't pass the "being human" exam.”

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

“Don't worry, that's him getting excited. So...where have I been...”

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

“...Do either of you two know where Earth is?”

Prowl twitches his door wings

“No. Since Jazz was teleported we don't have much clues.”

Swerve grimaces. Scrap. Of course nothing's going to be that easy. He's also been, like,....teleported.

He stands there for a couple minutes and just feels fifteen different emotions rise up in his head at once. A crooked, unsteady smile creeps across his face.

He's thinking.

Oh hell, yeah! I knew it wasn't a dream!

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

“Ah frag..” Swerve says weakly ”it wasn't a dream.”

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

Swerve remembers his friends. Remembers the Mecha program. Remembers fire and smoke and screams and rumbling and crackling flames. Ashes flying through the air and the smell of burnt wires. He remembers blood and debris and...

“It's...complicated.”

This wasn't just a stupid plot twist he'd dreamed up because he'd watched too many shows. This wasn't a hallucination or a disembodied fantasy that just happened to linger in his head. This was real. His friends exist out there somewhere. His work and his collections and his little apartment...

And Blurr. Was real. Or still is? Swerve doesn't know. Blurr wasn't a product of his imagination. He was real and what he did was real and Swerve left him there alone, bleeding and trapped in rubble and tiny and...

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

He doesn't like this plot. It's too much. Too much to handle, too complicated, too ambiguous.

It's also probably too late.

But he can't leave it like this, right? Blurr went into the damn burning building just because of the possibility that there might be someone alive in there.

And Swerve doesn't even have to go through the flames. He has to look. He has to try at least.

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

Or maybe more accurately an idiot, but with several degrees.

He's well aware that finding Earth in space with only a description of it is impossible. Which leaves him with two options.

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

The first sounds like death. The second like coma. Swerve has exquisite enough taste to know which is better.

He just needs to do some preliminary reserch.....

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

“You're not going to die suddenly and for no reason, are you?”

Swerve laughs.

“Pfffff what, no of course not, would I kill myself hah. No no, look I'll just put myself in stasis for a bit. Send myself to Earth. And try to figure out where it is from there. Get the coordinates. If I'm lucky, I can see what Space Bridge the local Quintessons use. All you'll have to do is wake me up after a while.”

“It's not harmful?”

Swerve makes an uncertain gesture with his hand...servo.

“If I have enough fuel. And an additional connection to an external generator.”

Jazz tilts his head

“ Why are you so eager to get to Earth? Don't get me wrong, I miss it too and want to go back, but.”

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

Swerve tries to think about Earth. And not to think about the fact that he doesn't know where it is. If he's already been there once, he might as well go there again yes? In theory? Perhaps?

Except for the possibility that his sleepwalking just takes him to random planets. That would be very inconvenient. It would be a whole new level of lost

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

What's he even gonna do when he gets there? How far away is it? Swerve is very talented with his holomatter generator, but if it's really far away... maybe he should reset some settings.

He mentally starts going through his options. Does he need tangibility? Probably not. Come to think of it, it would only make him more vulnerable and take a lot of energy. Yeah, the tangibility has to go. What else? Touch, too. Sight and hearing should stay, that's not even a question, but colors and textures are not really necessary.

The amount of detail and picture quality can be reduced as well. His holoform will become colorless and grainy and will probably ripple with static, but he'll survive it.

After he finishes making changes to his holoform he thinks about his old stuff left in his house. Then about the posters. Then reminds himself that he needs to focus on the goal or he'll never find Blurr and...oh FUCK his phone! Where was his phone when he disappeared? Was it found?? There were so many personal things on that phone, he's hoping the phone was burned under the rubble. Either that or the arriving investigators will find his browser history and he'll go into another coma from pure embarrassment.

He blinks dazedly when he realizes he has loads of rocks in front of his eyes. Oh..Did he screw up? Did he end up on the wrong planet? Is it a cave or--

Then he notices the odd shape of the “rocks” and. Oh, no. It's not a cave. It's charred concrete debris.

This is the place where he was last.

He hastily looks around. Anxiety creeps up the back of his neck, makes him feel like something slippery and cold is crawling over his skin. There is nothing but ruins all around.

Blurr is not here. The place where his Mech was lying is empty.

Which means he was at least found and dragged out. Dead or alive.

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

He's trying to stay out of sight. Which isn't hard, considering he's just a hologram. At first, he just sneaks around in the quiet areas. Then proceeds to do a facepalm and start teleporting. Think, Swerve. Did you read all those comic books for nothing? Superheroes who couldn't really use their superpowers creatively always annoyed him. And he does, in fact, have a superpower. Gotta get creative, right?

He stops and looks at himself again. His holoform is going static and is a dull white color. He thinks for a bit, and then shrinks himself. Thinks some more, and makes himself almost transparent. There's no way he could pass as a normal human right now, so he'd better just do his best to avoid being seen by anyone.

He looks around thoughtfully. Hmm. Even if he's going to be absolutely tiny, he needs to make sure no one sees him, otherwise the whole base will think the Quintessons are now spying on them through holograms or something.

Breaking the rules feels...it's exciting.

All his ..human life here he hadn't thought about it, but if he threw away the rules he was used to about what people could or couldn't do...

He looks up in a sudden rush of sly genius. All people look under their feet when they walk, but how many look up? And how many of them notice the barely visible tiny holoform hiding just behind the blinding lamps?

The answer is probably none.

Swerve projects himself onto the ceiling and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for his impressive intellectual accomplishments. A creativity degree should definitely be a thing.

A degree in spying on the Quintessons' ships wouldn't hurt him either.

Fortunately sneaking onto their ship turns out not to be that difficult. Swerve makes himself absurdly tiny and hides in the darkest corners that no one would ever think to look into. Why hasn't anyone thought of using holoforms for spying before? Could he be the first to think of it? He doesn't know, but he mentally decides to patent the idea.

Finding the Space Bridge is surprisingly easy. The local Quintesson fleet is clearly used to being the dominant force in space. And that's generally logical. Even if humanity collects a mountain of money from somewhere to throw a dozen Mechs into space - there will be thousands of monsters waiting for them. In such a situation, you don't have to hide, the guards are enough.

Well done, well done, don't hide, Swerve thinks, copying the coordinates and address of the space bridge to himself. You have absolutely nothing to fear here, he thinks, so stay where you are and don't move. Please and thank you.

Once the coordinates are obtained, he... has some freedom to explore. And he uses it for probably the most boring-sounding thing in the world. He returns to his usual workplace.

It’s simple. As damning as the Mecha program was, Swerve loved his job in it. He loved his position in the assembly shop. And he missed his friends.

He quickly teleports through several rooms, continuing to hide close to the lamps. Tailgate is here. Alive and unharmed. Wheeljack is too, though his face has some scars added to it. It's great to see them again, even if he can't talk to them right now. No one will probably react well to a grainy unexplainable hologram. He's just glad to know they're okay and honestly, the last thing he needs is paranoid Onslaught installing extra signal jammers.

It takes time to find Blurr. Partly because Swerve is terrified of what he might find if he started looking. So he goes to check the death lists first, and only after flipping through and re-reading them three times does he finally exhale in relief.

Blurr's name isn't there.

So his smug, shiny ass must be around here somewhere.

He checks the hangar. Flips through the Mech launch logs and feels an uncomfortable knot begin to form in his chest. Blurr's Mech has never been repaired or launched even once since the incident. Its plating has been replaced with new, well polished, and put in a prominent place where anyone who wants to can take a picture of it. But all the internal systems are destroyed. This machine hasn't been used for anything other than being a beautiful exhibit.

That's...something's wrong.

He checks offices and schedules as well as eavesdropping on a few conversations and ends up secretly following Swindle, who is arguing loudly with someone on the phone. He says something about deals and how he doesn't need anyone meddling in his business. Then he talks about how he's got everything under control and the person on the phone is “a dumbass who's making drama out of nothing” and that “he doesn't need anyone's handouts". Then he sighs and says, “you know how celebs are. Dumb and dramatic. You can't take their words literally.”

Then drops the call and for a couple seconds looks like he's just had a large bill taken right out of his hand. Curses again, but in a quieter voice. Leafs through his contacts and stops at the one signed 'free ice'.

“Blurr? Where are you? Wha...ah, no wait. No, the advertising agency called. No, liste...Can you shut up for one second?Where are you?

Uh-huh....... Uh-huh.Okay.

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

He shrinks himself further and teleports under the collar of Swindle's coat.

He wants to take a look. Just. Just a peek. Make sure everything's all right. Then he can go about his original mission in peace. He watches Swindle get in his car and drive off somewhere. Swerve doesn't recognize this part of town. The houses here are much nicer than where he lived. The streets are cleaner.

He tucks himself further under the coat collar. He's not going to be a stalker or anything, but he's worried and he doesn't have time to wait for Blurr himself to show up for work. Just one little look and that's it.

Swindle's car stops outside a beautiful, shiny hospital. Swerve nervously tries to bite his knuckles, but remembers he's disabled touch in his holoform. Shit? Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

Okay, not really. His left side that faces the door to the hospital room looks like a mangled corpse and that's the first thing that catches Swerve's eye when he's inside.

Blurr is pale and thin and his hands are covered in bandages. The left side of his face has been turned into an absolute ugly nightmare. A piece of his ear is missing. In the place of the left eye is a creepy empty hole.

Suddenly Swerve realizes why Blurr didn't show up for work. You can't even show him to his coworkers like that, not just to the public.

Blurr turns his head and the spell breaks. His lips stretch into a cocky smile.

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

Swindle doesn't show the slightest emotion at the gruesome sight. He casually pulls a chair over to the hospital bed and sits down.

“Shockwave is trying to sneak a new project into the program. And he's slowly swaying investors to his side, using you as an excuse. Tells everyone you're a poor martyr he can save if only he's given the green light from above.”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“Not that he's wrong. The doctors say I need to pick a new career because with this...” he jerks his head to the left implying his damaged half, ” neither racing nor piloting is an option for me anymore. I'm out of your project.”

Then he stops talking for a few seconds and raises an eyebrow curiously.

“You wouldn't have come here in person just to say that. Why are you really here?”

Swindle adjusts his glasses

“Have I ever told you why I made the contract with you?”

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Fair point. But money wasn't my only priority.”

He pauses for a second. Gets up. Draws the curtains in the room. Checks to make sure no one is outside the door.

Goes back to his seat.

“You didn't see what the Mecha project was like before. Brutality and absolute disregard for human rights multiplied by a thousand. People were desperate and no one cared to maintain any decency.”

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

“No no, listen to me. If you think things are bad now, you're right. But it used to be much. Much, much worse.”

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

“Vortex was taken as a boy. He wasn't even out of high school when they shoved him into the lab. Me and Onslaught were pulled right out of the college exams. The others were no better, although they were usually a little older. My point is that it was allowed. It's what the superiors could do and no one told them no.”

Blurr tilts his head and gets a little all turned around to see Swindle better with his right eye.

“But you... found a way to change that, didn't you?

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

“I have no power over my own superiors. But Onslaught and I have come up with a plan. Look. I'll put it in simple terms for you. Above me is my boss, and above him is another boss, and so on but at the very end of that chain are people from the government. The investors. So we figured out a way to cut through the chain of command and influence them directly. Make them worry about us. It's a kind of social shield. Onslaught is a genius.”

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

Swindle takes off his hat and just. Crumples it in his hands. The back of his head shows numerous scars and the glint of tiny metal implants barely visible behind his hair.

“You're that shield right now, Blurr. You can't leave.”

Blurr's eye widens

“Is that why you insisted on ‘befriending’ me with all those bullshitters?”

“I needed to make sure that in their minds we weren't just a military unit. To keep them thinking that we're as human as they are. So I gave Project Mecha a face.” He tugs on the hat again, “Your face.”

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

“Shockwave can't do whatever he wants cause...because of me his efforts would risk going public and people wouldn't like it and it would ruin the reputation of our investors-and-they'd-cut-off-his-funding.”

Swindle puts his hat back on.

“Exactly.’ That's why he's being so persistent right now. He knows you're vulnerable and he wants to capitalize on the opportunity. Make you part of his new project and tell the world about it. Make publicity his weapon, too.”

The lamp above them flickers faintly. Blurr takes a breath. Long and tired and exhausted and. a bit doomed.

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Please. Don't leave. At least not now. And don't let Shockwave get to you. That would open the way for him to get to the rest of the pilots you represent.”

They just. Sit in silence for a while. Blurr quickly taps a finger on his knee. A rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Swindle moves his hand away and gets up from his chair.

“There's a press conference coming up. I need you to be there. I've told everyone who needs to know that the problem is exaggerated and you're fine but they need to see you.”

Blurr smiles sourly.

“My lawyer is going to charge you such a handsome sum for that stunt.”

Swindle laughs, but his cardboard advertising smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“We’ll see about that. Seriously though. I need you there.”

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

Swerve...doesn't know what to think of that.

Blurr shows up for the press conference. Late, but he makes it. Just as Shockwave is presenting his new project in his amazingly well-pitched voice. Blurr swings the door open and waltzes lazily inside, skillfully pretending not to notice the many cameras and eyes instantly directed at him.

Swerve, whose memory is still fresh thinks for a second that no, no this can't be the same person. Past Blurr looked like a wreck. Past Blurr was tense and tired and hunched over. Present Blurr couldn't look more alive. His shoulders are squared proudly, there's that cheerful springiness and grace in his stride. He moves with ease and confidence. Smoothly.

The left side of his face is neatly covered with fresh white bandages. Carefully, without leaving the even the slightest gap through which his injury could be seen. His hands are hidden under a fancy jacket. He smiles wide and bright and squints playfully toward the table.

The very embodiment of nonchalance. The few pilots sitting in the audience roll their eyes.

Swindle breathes out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Swerve, once again using Swindle's collar as a tactical cover, can't help but let out a silent triumphant laugh. Maybe slightly more nervous than he is supposed to be.

Blurr sends Swindle a sly, sharp smile and even knowing it wasn't meant for him, Swerve feels his cheeks heat up.

Ah, damn it.

Swerve breaks the rules. He tells himself that peeking is fraught with consequences when it comes to military organizations, but he can't stop himself from being curious. And from worry, too.

And now that he knows where to look, he sees things he'd rather not see.

Blurr ... is crumbling.

Swerve doesn't know all the details and consequences, but that incident did leave a mark.

But every time Swindle calls him and says “I need you at some place in two hours” he gets up and assembles himself into a human being. Like a goddamn puzzle. Tapes and covers the burned half of his face. Covers up the bruises and hides the stitches. Fixes his hair and sets off on shaky legs to pretend he's fine.

He smiles so bright and carefree, laughs so sweet and beautiful that no one would ever think that even standing up sometimes hurts.

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

The only difference is that this time Swerve mentally gives him the presumption of innocence before he starts judging.

Blurr does a lot of things that seem rude. He also does a lot of things that are actually rude and figuring them out without resorting to alien superpowers would be nearly impossible.

When the pilots see Blurr sitting right on the table while negotiating with investors, they roll their eyes and make comments about his terrible manners. Or when he stops showing up for even the most basic, rudimentary training.

Or when he develops that stupid habit of leaning his elbows on people standing next to him.

It's the model behavior of a rich, spoiled brat.

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

Employees say “that dumbass has never heard of personal space.”

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

Blurr leans on Swindle's shoulder and through a charming smile says “Don't move or I'm gonna fall.”

Swindle also keeping up the smile discreetly holds him back, pretending it's a friendly half hug.

Swerve feels like yelling at both of them, but he's not sure what for exactly. For one thing, Blurr in his condition is very VERY VERY contraindicated to even get out of bed, let alone participate in social activities.

On the other hand, without Blurr, everything is going down the pit.

Without Blurr, all the government sees are dry reports and spreadsheets. Without him, all the high command has is numbers and a sense of impunity. Swerve is sickened by how easily people tend to forget that numbers represent other people.

Most pilots are able to draw a parallel between deteriorating working conditions and Blurr's sudden fondness for staying home instead of working. But they think the rich jerk got scared and ran away. Considering the way Blurr has always behaved at work - Swerve can't even judge them too much for it. They assume Shockwave getting more freedom is the cause of Blurr's absence, not the result.

Blurr's influence only becomes noticeable when it slowly starts to fade away. It's like switching from expensive tea to a cheaper one. The awful flavor only becomes noticeable in contrast.

Blurr doesn't lead the development of new technologies or go out to fight in the field. He doesn't make plans and reports, he doesn't participate in drills, he doesn't cover anyone's back in battle.

But he's the one who puts his hand on the government's shoulders when they're about to sign the next piece of paper. He's the one they have to look in the eye before they have a pen in their hands and a document authorizing Shockwave to stick more needles in people's brains.

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

It turns a disembodied imaginary “combat units” into a tangible person.

From “do you want to accelerate the combat training of new soldiers” to “are you willing to tell the living, breathing guy standing in front of you that shoving poison under his skin is an idea you approve of.”

More importantly (And Swerve actually admires Swindle for this) Will you be able to explain anything to your families later on, when this same guy is on TV all over the country saying that's what you did to him?

There have been two fronts here all this time, Swerve realizes.

While the pilots were protecting people from monsters wearing teeth and armor, Blurr was protecting the pilots themselves from monsters wearing ties and lab coats.

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

“Thanks darling~ Sorry I interrupted you. Your speech sounded like something important, but I don't really know much about nerd stuff.”

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

Shockwave doesn't move. Doesn't give any indication at all if he's offended or upset or whatever.

“It must have been hard getting here with your injuries.”

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

“It's just a few bruises here and there. Not the end of the world.”

Shockwave nods slowly. His voice and posture and all, Swerve thinks, looking very uncomfortable.

“Of course it isn't. But hardly good for your career.”

Blurr freezes.

No, Swerve thinks. Shit. No, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't

“Your brilliant achievements have always been a source of admiration to me” continues Shockwave “it would be a pity to lose them.”

Blurr makes an indifferent face and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Like I said. Not the end of the world.”

Swerve imagines choking Shockwave. Dropping a lamp on his head. Maybe jumping on top of him himself. Shut up, he thinks. Shut up, shut up, stop fucking talking.

Shockwave with a nice, slow gesture pulls out a notebook from somewhere and flips a couple pages.

“Multiple burns, cracked ribs, poisoning from carbon monoxide and combustion products of toxic chemicals...”

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

“...loss of vision on one side...” Shockwave continues reading, ”and partial hearing loss. Finally, the impact of neural link malfunctions. And this, if I'm not mistaken, is on top of the already existing memory problems?”

Shockwave takes a step closer. Not fast enough to make it look threatening, but enough to hover.

“It may not be the end of the world, but it is the end of you.”

He writes a set of numbers on the same page, tears it off, and hands it to Blurr.

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

“That fixing would involve giving you consent to mess around with my head, wouldn't it? It's brave of you to think I'd go for that.”

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

“I can assure you, neither I nor anyone else is interested in your brain. I just want to give you back what you're truly valued for.”

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

“ If you say so,” Shockwave agrees easily. Nods, slowly and smoothly. Then starts to walk away “But you do need your fame.”

...

“By the way, you might want to wipe the blood off.”

Blurr waits until Shockwave's back disappears around the corner, then quickly pulls a tissue from his pocket and brings it up to his nose.

____________________________

Swerve wakes up looking up at the ceiling of his room. The high, metal ceiling, of a metal room on a metal spaceship.

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

“Are you alive? You've been gone for like quite a while...Did it work?”

“Hey Jazz” frowns Swerve “what do you know about Blurr?”

Jazz laughs

“What are you fanboying over him again? Still??? Dude's smug and arrogant. Good boss though. I was hired to perform at his parties before I became a pilot.”

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

“Wha...ah! Yes! Yes, it worked! I managed to get the number and codes from the space bridge the Quints used on you. We just need to find another space bridge and we'll have a pretty much direct route to Earth...well. Or rather, to the Quint ship that's located near Earth. You get the idea.”

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

Swerve jumps to the floor and heads to grab an energon cube. Man, these holoform exercises are burning energy like crazy.

He stares at his metal hands like an idiot for a couple minutes. Just...Contemplates how non-human they are.

He has eight fingers again instead of the human ten. Huh.

Prowl downloads the information he's gotten and immediately runs off to plan a route to the nearest working space bridge and for a while Swerve is just.

Left to himself.

He tries not to think about Blurr. What would he even say to him? Hey, look, I'm sorry I accidentally set you up, see, I'm actually an alien who was sleepwalking and thought you were fictional, surely this won't affect our non-existent strictly professional working relationship? Nah, screw that. If he's going to sound crazy, he needs to at least come up with a good presentation for his insanity.

....

Is it weird to think humans are beautiful if you're not human? If you're kind of human, but only in your soul and only half human?

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

“Right now, yes. But we got on each other's nerves quite a bit when we first met.”

Swerve looks up at Jazz's chattering legs from his height and thinks. This is working somehow.

On the other hand, Jazz is the exception rather than the rule. He's friendly with everyone, he's easy to get along with, he's the soul of any company and most importantly, he was a little too much into robots before he discovered they could be alive. If anyone could find common ground with the Cybertronians, it would definitely be Jazz.

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

Swerve shrieks in fear and gets covered in static. He hadn't planned on talking. He hadn't planned on being noticed at all. Blurr was supposed to be asleep! And Swerve just wanted to close the curtains and leave, because there's some noisy party going on outside and bright illuminations are very bad for a patient already suffering from neural connection withdrawal.

He freezes in place like that dude from Jurassic Park. Like if he's still enough, he won't be noticed. Oh, or was that from another movie?

“I'm just uh” he awkwardly reaches up and closes the curtains “Lights. Bad for...you...now.”

Blurr chuckles. It sounds suspiciously joyful. His whole posture and facial expression. He looks very relaxed for someone who had a ghost materialize into the room out of thin air.

Swerve traces the line of the IV with his gaze. Oops, that looks like painkillers.

“Yes I am. Uh. A ghost watching the curtains. And now the curtains are fine, so I guess I'd better go?”

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

“Uh, I can teleport into the next room?”

He backs up his words by making himself disappear and reappear in another corner of the room.

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

Swerve is involuntarily infected by his mood and makes a couple dramatic bows as if he were some kind of magician.

“ Show me more?”

“Hehehe okay eh” Swerve spreads his arms like he's presenting something and then makes himself the size of a soda bottle and teleports to the edge of Blurr's bed “Ta daaaa~”

“Wooooo look at you, you're like an action figure~”

Blurr immediately makes an attempt to touch him, but fails to reach and drops his hand back on the blanket.

Swerve chuckles and steps closer. It's funny to see the usually incredibly agile Blurr struggling with something so simple and ridiculous.

“They really drugged you huh?”

“It's not the drugs” snorts Blurr ”...it's my eye.”

He raises his hand once more and hesitantly pulls it towards Swerve until it bumps into his hair

“... depths Per…percen.. ah, shit. I can't tell how far away things are.”

Swerve just. Lets Blurr fidget at himself, while starting to feel really bad at the same time.

"If you can't tell how far things are, how are you going to drive?

Race???”

He must have a plan right? Something? Let’s-prove-Shockwave-wrong tactic???

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

He freezes when the all too close fireworks rumble outside the window. Then points to his head.

“With this. I can't drive, I can barely walk at all, and I look like horror movie material. Pathetic heeh.”

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

“If I had died, it would have been epic. You know? Dharm...dramatic! It would be big news and everyone would be talking about what a hero I was or...or something...”

“...”

“Swindle would be so angry, but he'd figure out a way to make money out of it. He'd make a commercial about how people should be heroes. I'd be remn..remembered for being cool and brave and stuff.”

Fireworks can be heard from the street again. Swerve notices that there is a thin slit between the closed curtains through which a slim, flickering strip of multicolored light streams into the room.

Blurr frowns and leans back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

“I've turned into a boring wreck. My records will be beaten, my career forgotten , and all the guys from work will remember me as a brat. In a--in a--in a way, it's worse than death. Shockwave's right.”

Swerve isn't sure what exactly would be an acceptable gesture of comfort, so he kind of just. Places his hand on the blanket covering Blurr's lap.

“Hey, don't say that. I think what you're doing is great.”

“Liar” smiles Blurr crookedly ”You hated me. I saw your posters collection.”

Oh shit. The ones he ripped off the walls and destroyed in a fit of fan frustration? He didn't even hide them, just shoved them in the back corner. Aw, man...

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

“I can be mad at you and think you're cool at the same time. I'm a multitasker.”

“You're a very specific kind of ghost.” says Blurr. Then, apparently inspired by the painkillers, decides to drop the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb on Swerve's head “You died because of me?”

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

“You know.” he makes a gesture with his hand that's ..unclear what it's supposed to mean. “You were working there with everyone else, and then there was that fire and I was sure I saw you down there under the rubble.”

He's silent for a couple seconds before he hesitantly continues

“And then no one could find you so most assumed you either burned or ran away. And now you're here with all your weird ghost stuff, so you must be dead.”

Swerve has.No idea what to think about it. And what to say? He's been so busy blaming himself for Blurr getting hurt that it hasn't occurred to him to think about what it looks like from Blurr's own perspective.

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head’s all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Swerve wants to run around and bang his head against the wall.

Instead, he gets up from the hospital bed. Carefully.

“You're high. I'm not going to explain things to you while you're high, you won't understand or remember them. Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night.”

“You'll tell me later?”

Swerve hums quietly and pulls the curtains all the way closed.

“If future, sober Blurr would want my company.”

---------------

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

“Are you going to tell me who this mystery person you keep coming back to Earth for?”

Swerve snorts.

“What makes you think it's anyone in particular?”

“You're right, you're right~” raises his hands in surrender Jazz “So are you going to tell your friend the whole thing?”

Swerve crosses his ..metal arms over his metal chest.

“Is it that big of a deal? He thinks I'm a ghost or something.”

Being a ghost...somehow better, he thinks. If you're a ghost, it kind of automatically implies you're human. Or was a human.

“Sooner or later, he'll put the facts together~” says Jazz in a chant.

Swerve laughs.

“That's unlikely. He's got a pretty bad memory.”

_______________

His plans to stay out of anyone's sight combust with a dramatic pop the next time he projects himself to Earth. He doesn't plan to interfere, he doesn't even plan to linger. He just wants to see what's going on.

He actually just quietly sneaks into the hospital to make sure nothing's happened to Blurr since last time, but when he finally finds him then...oh shit, is that Pharma in the same room with him??? This can't be good.

They don't speak, but Pharma has clearly locked his eyes on Blurr and starts making his way towards him with the relentlessness of a industrial metal press.

Swerve does some rough math in his head. If he briefly gives his holoform back its detail and voice, will that be enough to fry his processor? He's not sure.

Pharma gives a believable impression of a shark getting close. The staff, as if sensing something untoward is about to happen, leaves the room in a hurry.

Blurr looks indifferent, but Swerve's attention is drawn to the way he squints tensely. Man, the lamps are too bright in here.

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

Swerve's mental processes fly out the window. Oh no no. Not Pharma. Not in his fucking fanfic. He quickly changes his work clothes into a slightly more business-like looking shirt. Thinks for just a moment and adds a cap to his head to blend in more strongly with the attendants and hide his face to an extent. And then projects himself around the nearest unoccupied corner and runs out of behind it looking as anxious as he feels.

“Blurr!!! Sir, there you are!!! I've been looking everywhere for you!”

Pharma wants to say something, but Swerve doesn't even let him start. He stands in front of Blurr separating him and Farma expressively waves his hands trying to keep his head down.

“The guys you were talking about didn't bring the new hydraulics! It's a disaster, we'll have to use the one on the old models!”

Blurr, to his surprise, backs up his act almost instantly

“Really? But I thought there was nothing to take from the old models?”

“That's exactly the point! I got the paperwork this morning and...oh those assholes are going to screw it up if you don't step in as soon as possible!”

Pharma tilts his head

“Can it wait? We were actually talking here!”

Oh no, thinks Swerve I'll show you who's talking.

“Sir, no offense but this is a matter of extreme urgency. Are you implying that the safety of your patients is not important?”

“What do you mea...”

“Old faulty hydraulics, that's what you want?” raises an eyebrow in horror Blurr.

“No I'm just...”

“I had a better opinion of you, to be honest.”

“I...” opens his mouth Pharma “...WHAT...?”

Swerve shakes his head.

“And I thought his profession was to help people, can you imagine?”

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

“Any idiot can get an important position these days.”

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

Pharma looks like he's about to start pulling the hair out of his head.

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

“Sir, I understand you're a bit detached from reality spending so much time in your department, but you need to take better care of your reputation.”

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

“Wouldn't want the rumors about you to turn out to be true. You know what I mean?”

Pharma doesn't even answer anymore. Pharma just looks like a discarded fish.

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

“Of course” shrugs Swerve ”Ask Norman, he usually knows everything about everyone. And about your interesting tricks with safety, too.”

He leans in conspiratorially, effectively pulling all of Farma's attention to himself

“So if I were you, I'd stay out of any more things you don't understand.”

Pharma wants to say something. Swerve can tell by the look in his eyes. Pharma tries to come up with a witty and context-appropriate response, but this whole conversation has no more context than a typical episode of Teletubbies.

“Where does this Norman guy work?” finally finds the ground beneath his feet Pharma

Swerve shrugs.

“Block C, if he hasn't been transferred yet. He's already been fined several times for spreading harmful information you know? The guy can't keep a secret.”

Pharma throws his hands up angrily and storms away. Probably looking for context. Or revenge.

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

“So. Should I be worried about Norman's health?”

Swerve feels the hair on the back of his neck shiver and slowly turns to face Blurr while still looking somewhere on the floor.

“Uh...only if you're concerned about the fate of fictional characters. I made up Norman's wife, she'll be upset if he gets fired for gossiping.”

Blurr chuckles. Then goes silent. Then, after a couple seconds, starts laughing again. That's a good look for him, Swerve thinks. It's not like Blurr's usual velvet-smooth laugh that he uses at social events. It's more like a quick, jerky giggle, and in Swerve's subjective opinion, it's pretty damn cute. He can't help but grin.

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

Swerve reaches back, expecting a handshake, but Blurr ignores his hand and instead goes for his cap and lifts it by the brim.

Swerve, not expecting this, freezes with his hand outstretched.

Blurr freezes as well, still holding the cap in his hand and looking...like he's rethinking his life. A little.

Ugh, and how to explain it all to him....

“Uh...you...uh...probably don't remember me. I...it's...”

Blurr shifts his gaze from Swerve to the cap in his hand. Then back to Swerve.

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

“Ah not.., not really. Do you know why Pharma was looking for you in the first place? He doesn't work with patients anymore, he's been reassigned to the research department, right?”

Blurr shrugs.

“Last time I saw him, he said I might have implant rejection in the third ..uh..what? stage? or something? I think he's trying to get me in for a checkup.”

Swerve twitches.

“Third??? How are you still standing???”

He then quickly reaches up with both hands to Blurr's head and tilts it so he can see his face better. Using one thumb, he pulls his lower eyelid slightly and mentally catalogs. Temperature normal, pupil normal, eyes are steady, no darkening or trace of blood on the eyelid. Implants? He puts both palms up and gently feels the places behind Blurr's ears. No signs of rejection or malfunction.

“No no no” sighs Swerve ”You're fine, it's only stage two. I mean, second sucks too, migraines and all, but you just need to rest and no bright lights and...” he finally notices his hands are still on Blurr's head and pulls them back as fast as if he's been burned ”I MEAN I'm uh...sorry, I didn't mean to, I...”

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

He wakes up in his quarters and can feel his face burning.

When he goes out to get the energon, Jazz throws him a look.

“Is something wrong? You're all kinda...shaky.”

“Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuu” imitates signs of life Swerve “Say, doesn't it bother you that Prowl isn't human?”

Jazz smiles

“ Oh, I went crazy when I found out. But we figured it out.”

“Like...on a scale from ‘bad grade in school’ to ‘an asteroid is coming to Earth’ how crazy was it?”

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. Whatnooooo, no of course not. I'd be worried if I planned on telling them at all.”

Jazz frowns

“No offense, but keeping secrets isn't your strong suit.”

“Haha” Swerve waves his servo “ Watch me.”

#maccadam #tf mecha universe #blurr #Swerve #mecha writing #mecha kef writing #mecha bs writing #if you saw any mistakes - no you didn’t #it’s six am I need to go to bed but I wanted to post it before my brain shuts down completely #mecha pilot jazz au #jazzprowl #jazzprowl happens on the background lol #Swindle #two nano seconds of Vortex #Shockwave #Pharma

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thepitlanepress · 2 months ago

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BREAK DOWN –

↳ oscar piastri + gf!reader

⌗ :: masterlist

⌗ :: a/n: coming out of the aus gp with no will to live and an idea for a fic is probably the worst thing ever but here we are...

oscar was devastated.

you knew it, from the moment he spun out of the race, you knew he was crushed. his words on the radio were filled with so much sadness and you had to fight the urge to run out of the garage and hug him as soon as he finished.

you could see it in the way he got out of the car, you could see it in the way he held himself during interviews, you could see it in the way he was walking.

you had always been able to read oscar like a book, and it was moments like these when you were grateful you were so fluent in him. because you can see his hurt and the disappointment coursing through him. he puts on a brave face that falters every so often and fans catch onto that but you can see past it.

it crushes your soul when you watch the post race interview through a screen tucked away in a corner of his drivers room. you so badly want to comfort him, to assure him everything will be okay.

when he does walk through the door, he's quiet and hard cleaning up his things and ignoring you, sitting down and just resting there in silence. you don't take it personally though, and wait for him to let you in.

after about half an hour of quiet he shuffles over and offers you his hand, you take it, instantly offering support in whatever way you can, gently rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand.

you sit like that for a long while you playing gently with his hand while he holds onto your tightly, staying in the private bubble of his drivers room, politely declining all of the people who stop by trying to talk to him.

and eventually when its time to go home, he stands in silence, still gripping your hand as if its the only thing tethering him to earth. you walk out of the paddock together ignoring the reporters and cameras shoved in your faces with you leading the way back to your car.

he's silent all the way back home, not saying anything but still holding onto your hand. its the only thing that tells you that he's still here with you- that he still wants you with him.

you walk into the apartment together, dropping your bags on the kitchen counter and watching as he lets go of your hand and makes his way into the bedroom, you hear shuffling for a bit and then the shower starts running.

deciding to keep yourself busy while he's in there you walk over to the couch and flick through some of his favourite shows, settling on one and pressing pause as you wait for him to emerge from the shower.

oscar's soft footsteps announce his arrival and when you look up you can see the last cracks in his amor shatter. he collapses into your arms sobbing violently, his body wracked with tremors as he loses his composure.

your arms instantly come around him wrapping him and a fierce hug and rubbing his back trying to soothe him in anyway you can.

his tears break your heart clean open and he tightly wraps his arms around you, refusing to let go. you gently run your hands through his hand pressing kisses to his head and whispering soft assurances in his ear.

"its my fault," he says through cries. "i fucked over the win."

"shhh," you whisper into his hair. "it's okay, its okay, its okay."

"i could've won. i could've won and i fucked myself over. i'm so worthless, whats the point if i can't even keep myself from spinning out?"

"you listen to me oscar piastri," you say your voice soft but fierce. "you are not worthless, and it was not your fault, it was the weather the track was wet you hit the gravel and you accidentally spun out. you are so talented. you wouldn't be here if you weren't."

"i should've anticipated the wet track though, i should've been better," he says into your lap.

"you forget how amazing you are baby," you say quietly pressing another kiss to his head and playing with his hair, "you are so extremely talented, i wish you could see that."

you fall back into silence after that, the only sound filling the apartment is oscar's quiet sobs and your murmurs as you calm him down.

soon he stops crying his body no longer shaking with sobs and tears no longer falling down his face. he still has a death grip on you and he nestles in closer to you, sighing softly when he registers your hands running though his hair.

you stay together like that for half of the night. and no matter how many nights over time that end up like this - not that you hoped these types of days happened ever again - you would stick by oscar's side.

for all the times he felt crushed, you would be there to build him back up, you would be there for the days he felt like shit, you would be there for all of it.

especially when he won.

because oscar was worth it.

2025 © thepitlanepress | please do not steal, use, translate or repost any of my works

– comments, likes and reblogs appreciated !

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kathaelipwse · 2 months ago

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"No More Hiding" | C.Seungcheol

Warning: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Heavy Angst & Comfort, Body Worship, Suggestive Content, Jealousy, Strong Language, Emotional Vulnerability Word Count: 1.2k Synopsis: You and Seungcheol have been friends since fifth grade, but he's been in love with you since tenth. You’ve spent years avoiding his gaze, drowning in insecurities, and trying not to crumble under the weight of cruel words. But when someone takes it too far, Cheol snaps. No more hiding. No more avoiding him. And certainly no more doubting how he sees you. Because in his eyes? You are everything. Author’s Note: This is for the girls who hide behind oversized hoodies, for the ones who tug at their skirts and second-guess how they look in them. Seungcheol adores you, and he’s about to make sure you never doubt it again. Also, let’s all collectively laugh at the fact that he got jealous over a fictional man—as he should.

You’ve known Cheol since the fifth grade. Back when he had chubby cheeks and an uneven haircut, and you were still figuring out how to make friends without hiding behind a book. Through every awkward phase and every growing pain, he’s been there, smiling at you like you hung the damn stars.

Now, years later, he's the basketball team captain—loved, admired, and constantly in the spotlight. You? You’re still the introverted, reserved person you’ve always been, only now with extra insecurities courtesy of high school.

And Yuni, the cheer captain, makes sure you never forget them.

She sneers at your thick thighs, your stomach folds, the way your gym shirt clings to you more than it does to the other girls. She makes jokes when Cheolie isn’t around, and when he is, she bats her lashes, acting innocent while throwing subtle jabs at you.

But Cheol never falls for it. He ignores her, brushing past her to meet your eyes. Compliments spill from his lips effortlessly.

“You look cute today, pretty.”

“Your hair’s nice like this.”

“You wore that sweater last week. I liked it then, and I like it now.”

It’s overwhelming sometimes—how easily he finds beauty in you when you struggle to see it yourself.

Then, it happens. In the cafeteria.

Yuni’s voice rings louder than necessary. “No wonder you wear oversized hoodies all the time. If I looked like that, I’d cover up, too.”

The laughter that follows feels sharper than a knife, but it’s not the worst part. The worst part is Cheol’s reaction.

He doesn’t just get mad. He gets furious.

“What the fuck did you just say?” His voice silences the room.

Yuni stammers, but he doesn’t let her finish. “Say that shit again, and I swear—” He stops himself, jaw clenched, eyes burning as he looks at her like she’s the lowest thing on earth.

You feel sick. Embarrassed. Exposed.

You avoid him after that. You stop meeting him at lunch, stop waiting for him after practice. The guilt eats at you—he defended you, stood up for you like he always does. But it doesn’t erase the way the words latched onto your skin like a parasite

A few weeks later

The library is nearly empty, the only sound being the faint rustle of pages and the occasional sigh of exhaustion from students buried in textbooks. But Seungcheol isn’t focused on any of that.

His eyes are locked onto you—dressed in layers, oversized hoodie swallowing your form, sleeves tugged over your hands, like you’re trying to disappear. And it fucking breaks him.

"Pretty, talk to me," he calls softly, voice careful as he approaches.

You tense, fingers curling into the fabric of your hoodie. "Cheol, please. Just go."

But Seungcheol doesn’t listen. He never does when it comes to you.

In one swift motion, before you can protest, his strong arms wrap around you, and he lifts you effortlessly. Like you weigh nothing. Like carrying you is the easiest thing in the world. Your shocked gasp is swallowed by his presence as he sets you down on the library table, stepping between your legs, hands firm on your thighs. He doesn’t let you move away.

His voice is low, a growl, edged with frustration and something darker. "I’ve had enough. Enough of you hiding from me. Enough of you covering yourself up like you aren’t the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen."

Your breath hitches, heat crawling up your neck. "Cheol—"

"No," he cuts you off, fingers squeezing your thighs as his eyes devour you. "You think I don’t notice? The way you flinch every time someone talks about your body? The way you avoided me after that cafeteria bullshit? Like I could ever—ever—look at you and see anything less than perfection."

Your head drops, but he doesn’t let you retreat. His hand grips your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"You wanna know what I see?" His voice is pure sin now, deep and rough as he leans in, lips brushing your ear. "I see thick, delicious thighs that I’ve been dying to sink my fingers into. I see soft little folds that make my mouth fucking water. I see a body that—Jesus, baby—ruins me every time you walk into a room."

His hands tighten their grip, heat flooding his gaze as he drags his thumbs along the plush flesh of your thighs.

"And your stomach? You think I don’t see it? You think I don’t fucking love it?" His breath is ragged, like just talking about you is short-circuiting his brain. "You shift in those hoodies and all I can think about is how fucking soft you must be underneath. You wear those skirts, and I’m—"

He stops, groaning through clenched teeth, like he’s physically restraining himself.

"Pretty girl, I lose my fucking mind when you wear skirts."

He exhales sharply, forehead pressing against yours. His restraint is crumbling.

"That night," he murmurs, voice dark, thick with hunger. "That black dress. You in it? Pretty, I barely survived. You walked into that party and I swear to God, I almost dragged you away. Had to spend half the night gripping my drink instead of gripping your hips."

Your thighs press a bit around his waist instinctively wanting to close em cause fuck this you were turned on, and he notices—oh, he notices. His smirk is devastating, pure male satisfaction as he presses closer, his warmth seeping into you.

"You have no idea, do you? How many times I’ve had to look away, had to force myself to think about something—anything—other than how badly I need to bury my face between these thighs? How badly i have claimed myself as yours?" His voice drops, rough with hunger. "How much I ache to have you trembling under me, pretty? To feel you, taste you—"

A strangled sound escapes you, fingers fisting the front of his hoodie.

He chuckles darkly, the sound vibrating against your lips.

"And it’s not just your body, baby." His thumb traces slow circles on your inner thigh, creeping dangerously high. "It’s you. Your pretty little pout when you argue with me. The way you never shut up about those damn romance books you read—"

Your eyes snap up, indignant. "I do not ‘never shut up’—"

"Oh, you do," he teases, grinning. "And I fucking love it."

His voice drops lower, lips ghosting over yours. "You wanna know something pathetic? Once, I got jealous of a fictional guy you were swooning over."

You blink, stunned. "You’re kidding."

"I wish," he groans, rubbing a hand over his face like the memory physically pains him. "You went on for thirty minutes about how perfect he was, how you’d ‘sell your soul’ for a man like that." His eyes burn into yours, frustration clear. "And all I could think was, ‘What about me?’"

Your heart stops.

"I’ve liked you since the tenth grade," he admits, voice raw. "After being your best friend since the fifth. And all this time, all these years, I’ve just been waiting—praying you’d see it. That you’d see me."

His forehead presses against yours, breath hot against your lips. "You have me wrapped around your fucking finger, pretty. And I don’t want out."

Your breathing stutters, overwhelmed, dizzy. "Cheol… I—"

"No more running," he murmurs. "No more hiding from me. From this."

And then, he kisses you.

It’s slow at first—like he’s savoring you, taking his time memorizing the shape of your lips, the way you taste. But then you kiss him back, and that’s it. The dam breaks.

He groans, deep and raw, as he pulls you closer, fingers digging into your thighs, devouring you. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, claiming you, and you let him—because it’s Seungcheol. Because it’s always been him.

When he finally pulls away, he’s breathless, pupils blown.

"You’re beautiful," he murmurs against your lips, brushing his nose against yours. "So fucking beautiful. And if you ever doubt it again, pretty, I swear I’ll spend every damn day proving it to you."

And something tells you, he absolutely will.

---

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astrolook · 1 month ago

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🔬HOUSE PLACEMENTS IN SIGNS OBSERVATIONS 🔬

Note : These are all my personal observations and patterns I've seen over the years and based on western astrology. Take what resonates and leave the rest. One placement isn't enough to predict and should look at the whole chart to analyze what's in there. Lemme know in the comments whether it hits home or not!

1st house placements in fire signs loves the spotlight or at least love taking selfies and posting it on social media. If in earth signs, looks in the mirror frequently to make sure they look good when crying and takes mirror selfies. If in air signs, their style changes everyday and in some cases, loves to color their hair especially if they have moon in 7th, 9th or 11th houses. If in water signs, has this " cry now, think later" energy or " I'm fine" energy even if they're not.

2nd house placements in fire signs are prone to impulsive buys and spend recklessly. If in earth signs, affordable shopping or hoard things like there's no tmrw. If in water signs, holds onto things and get emotionally attached to stuffs like that's my grandma's watch or this recipe is from my great grandma from world war 2. If in air signs, cheap buys and looks for discounts, thrift stores, spends too much on something and then live on pennies for the next whole month.

3rd house placements if in fire signs, can jump to conclusions or interrupt without realizing it. If in earth signs, waits for their turn to speak which never comes if in retrograde motion, could be too blunt and brutal with their words and insult you wrapped up as a compliment. If in air signs, convos are all over the place and ends Convo abruptly and moves on to next and struggle with articulating words if in retrograde as mind processes 120 words and in 5 topics at once, they end up with speaking 20 words. If in water signs, overshares and take things personally even when others meant in a general way.

4th house placements if in fire signs, stubs their toe constantly or just prone to little/major accidents at home. If in earth signs, black sheep of the family, might seem too distant or emotionally closed off, selective affection. Constipated at times. If in water signs, can't let go of toxic people around them and pretends they're happy even though they're not. If in air signs, selective communication, gossips within family, argues sometimes and reconcile with the other person like nothing happened. Also forget things quickly like where is my key?

5th house placements if in fire signs, defensive and loves riding a bike to watch the sunrise or such. Short-tempered and into games. If in earth signs, stingy when it comes to spend for others they don't wanna spend money on. Classic "I have nothing to wear" energy. Loves desserts and likes to try new restaurants/dishes. If in air signs, smart and would navigate their way out of trouble. Doesn't like relatives showing up. Watches bad movies knowing it's bad like The Room or Neil Breen movies. The kind to spread a rumor for fun. If in water signs, never asks their crush out and daydreams about their crush like having kids and dying of old age together. Bathroom/Kitchen singer like sings while doing household chores. OCD in some cases.

6th house placements if in fire signs, watches at least 5 shorts/reels a day. Doomscrolls their feed. Watches cooking tutorial or natural skin care remedies. If in earth signs, has a schedule for when to clean and when to run errands and expects their kids to follow/help. Learns new hobbies later in life like in their 40's. Prefers a clean kitchen. If in water signs, breaks things accidentally and spills coffee or other drinks often. Religiously drinks coffee or at least into green tea and such. Into collecting things they like such as pokemon cards, art collections and such. If in air signs, they are their worst enemy and comes up with worst scenarios in their head which never happens in reality. Talks and smiles to self like if someone seen them smiling, talking to themselves, would be seen as a crazy or a weirdo. Inner voice is their best friend. Unemployed/underpaid in some cases.

7th house placements if in fire signs, has this "world is your oyster" vibe and grass is always greener on the other side for them. Has Plan B. If in earth signs, multitaskers. When comes to love, juggles between two people and also loves architectural designs like interior designs and all(eg: Pinterest and Zillow). If in water signs, never satisfied with things or people. Either a drunk or the sober friend. Also a hopeless romantic. If in air signs, struggles with decision making. Migraines and hate loud noises or loud people. If single, in a relationship with their bed.

8th house placements if in fire signs, sexual tension or sexual conquest. Loves the chase and an ego boost and defensive in relationships. One-night stands/flings. If in earth signs, picky with whom they let in. Asexual in rare cases. Transactional relationships or relationships based on sex rather than any real love in some cases. If in water signs, one-sided sexual attraction, BDSM and such. Fantasizes about their interest sexually and watches p*rn to get off. If in air signs, into hard-core p*rn fantasies, abused/cheated on in relationships, sex when travelling, aquaphobia if moon is placed, quickly jumps from one interest to another. LGBTQIA+ in some cases.

9th house placements if in fire signs, smells BS from a mile away. Likes k-pop or other culture movies/songs than their own. Would leave everything behind to pursue their passion and start from scratch. Into animal rescues and like action movies. If in air signs, prefers an apartment/penthouse/condo than a home in the suburbs. Loves to attend concerts, rallies, festival events and all. Not a homebody or gets depressed if stayed home for longer periods of time. Likes stand-up comedy. Watches true crime. If in water signs, loves to travel via water or at least swim in lakes or rivers in the weekend. Fishing/sea food in some cases. Potential to become a chef/ just food business or simply eat at buffets. If in earth signs, watches home building tutorials/DIY construction kits. Loves snow/rain. Spends at least an hour/day on shopping apps or might even sell stuffs online. Could be into vintage/futuristic fashion and buys gadgets/antiques. Into old model cars/scifi cars in some cases.

10th house placements if in fire signs, have a start-up founder like passion and energy. Moves away for career. Has Plan B,C,D like an accountant in the morning and comedian in the evening. Career change might happen later in life to follow passion. If in earth signs, two or more sources of income is possible. Strategist and an "insider". Knows things most of us don't have access to or not known by public. Sometimes becomes a stay-at-home parent after kids enter the picture and willingly takes a backseat in their career. If in water signs, values connections which sometimes gets romantic. Co-workers/colleagues are like family. Fakes their smile or acts friendly to people they don't like but do so to avoid being called rude. If in air signs, trusts people blindly sometimes, gets betrayed by people they knew well, unemployed/underpaid in some cases.

11th house placements if in fire signs, debates in the comment section, struggles to stand out from crowd/find their community or niche, feels lonely even when surrounded by people. One man army. If in earth signs, feels too old for trends like a grandma/grandpa to tech or live in the 2050s. Struggles to be heard in groups or spends time and money on people as what others think of them matters. If in water signs, talks to strangers online looking for love and connection. Long-distance relationships which might or might not develop further. Spends on celebrity products/merch in some cases. If in air signs, send pics to strangers online or an active OF account in some cases. Could get blackmailed/hacked in some cases. Probably has a troll account.

12th house placements if in fire signs, feels like the side character in their own life. Fire on the inside, calm and composed on the outside. If they do succeed in life, people around them won't even believe they can do great things. Hides their true self. If in earth signs, clean and tidy when happy, poor hygiene and unkempt hair/nails if depressed. Skin and food allergies. Body image issues/self-harm tendencies. If in water signs, falls for unavailable people, hypochondriacs, diabetes/blood pressure issues later in life in some cases. Dehydration/over-indulgence. Cries under the sheets or in the shower. If in air signs, might develop su*cidal thoughts/self-destructive tendencies, stalk exes online or gets stalked. Hides their true opinion on things and says what's acceptable in the society. Writes under a pen name. When 12th house placements move far away from native, they usually get seen/recognized by people there and loved more.

Wanna go deeper into the layers of your placements? DM me for a complete astrology reading or a 5 year/8 year marriage report🌙💬 and check out my pinned post for pricing + details 💫💸

Let’s decode your cosmic chaos together ⭐

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lavenderprose · 4 months ago

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Imagine you're Johanna Hezenkoss and your one goal in life is to Be Right All The Time and you've got this sidekick named Emmrich. He can do the whole corpse whispering thing and he's an objectively pretty skilled necromancer but, of course, YOU are Johanna Hezenkoss. And you decide that you like Emmrich enough to drag him along with you to glory. So you spend a few decades doing that. Only Emmrich is six and a half feet of saccharine poetry and fanatical devotion to the core tenants of the Mourn Watch and YOU, Johanna Hezenkoss, are just counting the moments until you can go Beast Mode in this bitch and show everyone what TRUE NECROMANTIC POWER means. So Emmrich weighs you down a bit but you're a little obsessed with him only because he's like. Real? That's a real dude? Saying that shit? Wild. Totally insane. He's like an annoying chattering dog who keeps all your secrets and makes the biggest saddest eyes at you when you say stuff like, "The world could be exactly what we want it to be. Aren't you MAD. Aren't you ANGRY at what they've taken from you. Don't you want to MAKE THEM SUFFER LIKE YOU'VE SUFFERED--"

Yeah. Whatever.

And then Emmrich betrays you because you're scaring him. SCARING him? After everything you've done for him? You were going to reinvent the world--you were going to put him at the top of it all so NOBODY could step on either of you ever again and now he's all, Oh Johanna, you're scaring me, this isn't what we believe in, you're letting your fear control you, blah blah BLAH he never shuts UP

Fear? FEAR, Volkarin? How fucking rich.

Then some stuff happens. Half lich 125 foot skeleton someone named Elgar'nan, maybe a God, who cares. You get so close--SO CLOSE--and then fucking Emmrich rolls in and this time he takes it ALL. Your power and your mortal life and your last remaining shreds of fucking credibility in this fucking world. And then he doesn't even have the basic fucking decency to say I Told You So. He keeps you on his desk like a tchochke and listens to you scream and spit and even THEN he doesn't do anything.

All the while he has his own sidekick now. Some vapid little thing always batting their eyelashes and paying Volkarin the kind of lip service that always distracted him, made his eyes go soft and his chin quiver. He's still such a weak man. You tell him so. You tell him and tell him and tell him until--

The sidekick disappears. Emmrich's eyes go empty and haunted in a way that makes you wonder what he's done to himself in his heartache and grief.

"Whoever did this to you," you tell him on the worst day, "You can make them pay. You're powerful enough. You defeated me." You being, of course, Johanna Balls of Steel fucking Hezenkoss.

"I just want them back," Emmrich admits. Because he's weak WEAK he's a weak man mewling pitifully in a dark room for his piece of ass while the moon rises red in the fucking sky and a God walks the earth.

"You have the power," you tell him. "When the world takes from you, you take those things back. This is what I've been telling you all these years, Volkarin. For once in your miserable life, LISTEN TO ME."

Finally, finally, Emmrich reacts. He screams. He throws a few books. He kicks his desk. Punches something, probably, because his knuckles start bleeding at some point. You watch it all with barely-contained glee. Anger, yes, fucking finally. You've been waiting your whole goddamn life for this man to realize how fucking ANGRY he is.

"How do I break into the fucking Fade?" He screams. He's not even looking at you. His hair is seven different kinds of fucked. His shirt is unbuttoned to the navel, and he's missing a boot.

"You could start by asking someone who's done it," you say. Emmrich turns, startled for some reason to hear you. Again you say, "Listen to me."

"Oh, Johanna," he sighs. "I've rarely done anything else."

It's not the words 'Thank you' or 'You're right'. It's certainly not lichdom or godhood or a 125 foot tall skeleton. But it's one point for Johanna Hezenkoss.

You'll make up the deficit eventually. Volkarin has a kid, after all.

#Johanna Hezenkoss #Emmrich Volkarin #DATV #Dragon Age

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heeseungsbm · 11 months ago

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・₊✧ 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞‧₊˚☏♡₊˚

lee heeseung

₊˚⊹❥𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: idol!heeseung x female reader

₊❥𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: the hardest part of heeseung's job was being separated from you; it drove him physically insane. he was determined to find a way to satisfy his insatiable cravings—his intense desire for you, one way or the other.

❥𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: smut with plot, fluffy ending

⊹₊ ⋆𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒♡: sexting, heeseung is very horny, phone sex, masturbation (male & female), dirty talk, edging, fingering (female), orgasms, squirting, overstimulation, nicknames (baby, good girl).

❥ word count: 7.4k

𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 & 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧!! (𝐌𝐚𝐲 2025)

thank God, the fate tour and its excessive, completely unnecessary extensions had finally come to an end. there wasn't a word strong enough to describe how relieved heeseung felt to be done.

don't get him wrong, heeseung loved being an idol. he loved the rush of adrenaline he got from performing in sold out shows, and having hundreds of thousands of beautiful girls losing their composure over him was quite the ego boost.

but tour? like, the process? hell no.

not heeseung's thing.

while it was an amazing experience in many ways, it had its dreadful downsides.

the lack of sleep, the pounding headaches from jet lag, the body sores and bruises from practicing for hours and hours on end, leaving him with literally no energy for anything else.

privacy was practically nonexistent, it'd become a distant memory. heeseung literally had no space to himself.

everything was a group activity.

however, not seeing you for months was the worst, most agonizing part of it all. i mean, who would willingly want to be away from their girlfriend for nearly half the year, and then the longest time they'd get to be with her was 2 weeks?

sure, you guys made it work, but that didn't make it any less torturous.

at the end of the day, when the arenas went empty and the stage lights grew dark, heeseung was a male with hormones.

a man who got horny, just like any other.

nothing could fulfill his desires the way you did. he absolutely hated not being able to have sex for long periods of time.

of course there were quick and easy alternatives he could've ran to. but unlike his members who had numerous one night stands and groups of girls signing NDAs to come give them a good time in their hotel rooms, heeseung didn't care to fuck anyone who wasn't you.

to heeseung, sex was sacred—an intimate act meant to express the depth of his passion and unwavering devotion. he only found true pleasure in it when it was shared with one person, someone he trusted completely.

that someone being you.

it was hell on earth having to bust a painfully quiet nut while his members slept in the same room as him, having to sneak away and jerk off in bathrooms. even in heeseung's sleep, his filth lived in his fantasies past his eyelids. it's all he could dream about.

sex, sex, and more sex.

every part of you—your lips, your voice, your scent, your body, your touch.

he missed it.

it was like a drug, and your absence gave him the most excruciating withdrawal.

he couldn't wait for the tour to end so he could finally be with you, even if it was just for a little.

he was sick and tired of cumming in his palm.

backstage, heeseung sat criss-cross applesauce on a chair, picking at the skin of his fingers in his lap as he fidgeted restlessly. he tried to steady his breathing, but it did little to soothe him.

this always happened. the wrong place, the wrong time, like the universe was purposely trying to humiliate him. his dick would not go down for the life of it, no matter how hard he tried to make it.

he did push ups, played mobile games as a distraction, chugged down water bottles so he peed often.

but nothing was working.

he was so fucking horny that he couldn't think straight, and his body language spoke louder than words. helpless, discreetly covering the unsettling sensitivity in his lap. his heart pounding, his hands growing moist with sweat.

was it really this necessary?

even though no one was looking, it felt like all eyes were on him, focusing on the hardening feeling that he longed to ease.

and the more he fed the thought, the more he pondered on the one thing he could do if he found a place to do it. heeseung kept an entire folder in his phone. hidden, loaded with your explicit photos & videos for when he desperately needed to get off.

you were the only thing that led him to actually finish.

no interest in porn, it needed to be to you.

after what felt like hours of contemplation, he decided to surrender to it and text you, knowing you were the only person who could fix this.

maybe he could get something new from you to use, and hopefully find a place to use it.

[Hee | 7:22 PM] hello lovebug

he texted you, the ding of your phone striking you confused as you applied soap onto your back. you rinsed off your hand and reached out of the shower curtain for your phone to see who it was.

ah. no other than your boyfriend, of course.

[You | 7:22 PM] oh hey, you're done for the day?

heeseung sat eagerly waiting for your response, eyes glued to his phone screen. when your message came through quickly, he let out a sigh of relief, happy that the wait wasn't long.

[Hee | 7:23PM] thank goodness i am ㅋㅋㅋ

[Hee | 7:23PM] are you busy right now baby?

the bubbles indicating typing appeared, and after a few seconds your messages sent.

[You | 7:23 PM]😂i hope it went well

[You | 7:23 PM] and kind of, in the shower hehe

a sly smile spread across heeseung's face, flashbacks of your naked body gleaming with water running through his mind from when you last showered together.

[Hee | 7:23PM] ooooo, perfect

[Hee | 7:24PM] can you do me a favor?

his teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he waited in anticipation.

[You | 7:28 PM] sure what's up

you didn't even get a chance to place your phone back down before you heard another ding, he was replying unusually fast.

[Hee | 7:28PM] can you make me a video while you're in there?

your eyes widened at his text.

[You | 7:28 PM] omg

[You | 7:29 PM] ok but what kind? lol

heeseung chewed his inner cheek at your question, thinking of what to say back. he knew exactly what he wanted to see, he just didn't want to come across as... desperate.

[Hee | 7:29PM] just something to cum to, if that's okay with you?

but fuck it. he had to make it known so he could get what he itched for.

[Hee | 7:29PM] i wanna see your tits

[Hee | 7:29PM] with soap on them ㅎㅎㅎ

you chuckled as you read. no wonder he was texting back fast.

the big rave about tits—you never understood it.

but it wasn't like you minded. if anything, there was a quiet power in giving him what he craved. knowing that just the sight of your body could satisfy him, it made you feel wanted, desired in a way solely reserved for him.

you reached for more shower gel, squeezing a generous amount onto your chest. the fruity scent filled the steamy air as you began to lather it across your skin, the suds gathering in soft bubbles on your tits.

with the water trickling down your body, you lifted your phone and posed for him, your bubbly boobs glistening in the frame.

you even recorded a few short clips, your hands massaging the soapy swell of your chest, biting your lips and sticking out your tongue—you knew what he liked.

after carefully picking the best ones, you hit send and set your phone aside, letting the water rinse away the bubbles as you continued your shower.

[You | 7:34PM] Attachments: 5 Images, 2 Videos

[You | 7:34PM] enjoyyyyy😘

heeseung felt his phone buzz twice on his thigh as he impatiently shook it on the chair, sending a wave of butterflies straight to his tummy.

he scanned his surroundings, and thankfully everyone was busy having their own conversations and doing their own things. but just to surely make sure nobody was looking, he covered the side of his phone screen with his hand as he opened your messages.

fuck.

his face lit up at how much you'd spoiled him, gawking at your pretty face complimented by your wet hair, your plump boobs covered in bubbles.

if only it was his cum.

[Hee | 7:35PM] you're so sexy

[Hee | 7:35PM] i wish i could fuck you right now

[Hee | 7:35PM] even just a titjob

[Hee | 7:35PM] make you suck me with my cum all over your tits

heeseung looked like a dumb dog. his eyes locked wide, lips parted, almost drooling as he watched how your hand fondled your tits.

his face was hot. his phone was too warm in his grip. his heart thudded in his chest, and lower—he felt it strengthen. the aching pulse in his pants that made it hard to sit still. his jaw clenched as he subtly adjusted himself, but it was no use.

he needed to be alone— now. somewhere private, somewhere quiet, where he could finally let go of the tension building in his body.

otherwise, he was going to cum in his pants.

"hey, hyung, are you okay?" jake asked as he came up from behind, noticing the red flushing of his friend's cheeks, the jittering of his thigh.

heeseung flinched dramatically, nearly dropping his phone on the ground in the process. he quickly shut his phone off and placed it face down on the table, hoping to God that jake hadn't been standing there for long,

"you seem extra tense today," jake teased, placing a hand on his elder's shoulder. "your cheeks are as red as a tomato."

"i'm fine, don't touch me." heeseung hissed, harshly removing jake's hand off his shoulder. he cracked his neck on both sides, then his knuckles one by one.

"sheesh. somebody needs their dick sucked," jake joked, bursting into laughter at heeseung's uptight behavior.

well, he wasn't wrong. that's exactly what heeseung needed, actually.

"oh yeah, you wouldn't believe what happened to me earlier," jake exclaimed, voice full of enthusiasm. "these two girls were hanging out in the lobby, and they would not leave me alone. until i let them give me a 2 for 1 special, if you know what i mean," he elbowed heeseung, a playful grin on his face. "they didn't even know who i was, made it 10 times hotter. never came so fast in my life. one was twisting with her hand, while the other was sucki—"

"shhhhh!" heeseung silenced jake, placing his hand over his mouth. he wanted to gag, he was disgusted by the thought of sex with more than one girl. "i'm on the phone with my mom, you freak," he lied on the spot, removing his hand from jake's mouth. "do you know somewhere i can take this call in private?"

jake let out a low chuckle, clearly unconvinced. he wasn't an idiot. and between the two of them, heeseung was the freak here.

"there's an empty dressing room a few doors down from here. it's down the hall, the third silver door on the left," he said, pointing in the direction of the exit. "hope you and mom have fun," jake shot a wink, before scurrying off to continue flirting with backup dancers.

phew.

heeseung sighed in relief, glad his lie cut the conversation short. lately, even casual interactions felt suffocating—especially when his mind was already drowning in thoughts of you.

the last thing he needed was to be stuck in small talk with someone as unfiltered as jake.

he got up from his chair and made his way out of the backstage area, squeezing between cameramen and staff, reciting the directions jake gave him in his head.

back at home, you finally finished your shower and skincare, your body smooth with rich butters to seal the routine. you slipped into a pair of pink lace panties and draped yourself in a silk robe heeseung had gifted you not too long ago, its fabric cool against your freshly moisturized skin.

entering the bedroom you shared with him, you lit a few vanilla-scented candles, their soft glow casting a warm glow across the space and adding a sweet, comforting fragrance to the air.

with the lights dim and everything quiet, you yawned in fatigue as you padded toward the king-sized bed and sank into its plush warmth, diving into its cozy embrace.

but even with the room spotless and your skin still warm from the shower, something felt incomplete—hollow, almost. the space lacked the comfort of heeseung's presence, and no amount of clean sheets or candlelight could replace it.

you missed the way he used to slip into bed behind you, pressing soft kisses to your neck, how he'd hug you tight and softly sing you to sleep.

your eyes fixated on his empty side of the bed, a pang of loneliness striking your chest. you moved closer to heeseung's pillows and clutched them tightly, as if they could somehow fill the void he left behind.

meanwhile, halfway across the globe, heeseung found himself standing in front of what he hoped was the spot jake had described.

his brows furrowed as he eyed the door. plain, silver, and how weird that it had no label—not even a handle. it felt oddly secretive, but it was no doubt, the third silver door on the left.

despite the uncertainty, he pressed his palm against it and pushed. the door gave way with a soft creak, and he quietly creeped inside, letting it close behind him.

empty dressing room? yeah... so that didn't exist.

way to lie to a lie, jake.

heeseung stumbled through the crowded darkness, blindly swatting away at hangers of clothes as they brushed against his face like ghostly fingers. he hugged his body with his sleeveless arms, feeling a painfully cold blast of air conditioning.

and to make his matters worse, there was no light switch. well, at least to his knowledge after feeling around for one.

this was clearly not a dressing room. more like an ... abandoned closet.

great.

with the help of his phone's flashlight, heeseung managed to make his way to the very back, the area thankfully warm behind a rack of performance costumes.

he could not believe he'd sunk this low— sneaking off to masturbate in such an ominous room. but at the same time, anything would be better than walking around with this sexual urge that plagued him all day.

he resigned himself to sitting on the floor, sighing as he sank against the wall. he unlocked his phone and went to your messages, his thumb hovering over the screen to see if you replied to any of his previous texts.

he scoffed in a bummer. no text back.

heeseung's mind started to race with possibilities, maybe you'd fallen asleep. or maybe you were flat out ignoring him—he couldn't help but wonder if he'd pushed the boundary with his request for nudes.

had he gone too far?

but still, the burning, bad desire for you consumed him. he ached to hear your voice, to feel some version of closeness, even if it was just through the sound of your breathing on the other end.

to tell the truth, heeseung had fantasized about phone sex with you more times than he could count. he always craved the idea.

how good it would feel to listen to you touch yourself while he did the same, how pretty you'd moan for him, how it wouldn't take long to make each other cum.

he thought it was the least you two could do with the distance, he just never knew how to ask.

however, the need coursing through his body was overwhelming. this—cramped and dim as it was, might've been his only chance to turn his long standing fantasy into something real. he didn't know how it would play out, or if it even would happen. but it was worth a try.

he began texting you again, in hopes of fast replies like before.

and you, you weren't asleep.

you were lying in bed on twitter, how coincidental that you were searching for a new fancam of heeseung, your common way to cope when you missed him. you were completely unaware that you had him on delivered.

[Hee | 8:12PM] hey

[Hee | 8:12PM] are you still up baby?

[Hee | 8:12PM] call me if you are :)

the flurry of new notifications put an end to your scrolling, literally making you freeze in place.

your heart began to pound out of your chest, pupils dilating at the words: "call me".

it'd been roughly a month since you were able to, due to heeseung's hectic schedule and all the time zone differences.

at least at the start of his career you two were able to text and facetime throughout the day, even falling asleep on the phone every night. but now that enhypen's popularity was increasing rapidly, you and heeseung barely had any time to talk consistently.

like, ever.

it was actually terrible. some days, you found yourself residing to his weverse lives to remember what his speaking voice sounded like.

after multiple sets of deep breaths and practicing how you'd talk, you clicked his contact and looked away as you pressed call. you couldn't bear to look at the screen as the phone rang for what felt like eternity, your stomach doing cartwheels as you waited for him to answer.

heeseung sat in the dark, his phone serving as his only source of light. he'd given up on thought of calling. he scrolled through his collection of you, biting down on his bottom lip, trying to find whatever would help him get off the best.

suddenly, his screen flashed, and he squinted as it abruptly brightened up his face, following his loud ringtone.

shit, you were awake.

it was like an answered prayer. like God himself felt bad for him as he watched from above.

with no hesitation, heeseung swiftly swiped the green button to answer, bringing the phone to his ear. he cleared his throat as the call began, with the biggest smile on his face.

"hey baby," heeseung greeted you.

that sweet word, baby. it was like a warm hug and a loving kiss intertwined into one, it made your insides melt every time.

"hello mr. celebrity," you playfully said back into the phone, curled up on his side of the bed. "what are you up to?"

heeseung laughed lowly, your honeyed voice immediately sedating him. he'd missed it terribly. "nothing much, just been thinking about you. nothing new, right?"

he sounded so gentle, so velvety, making you more shy than usual. but to be fair that's how heeseung always made you feel— everything with him gave you first time nerves. "i've been thinking about you too, babe," you confessed.

"how are you feeling?" he asked you, his speech smooth. "it's late over there, isn't it? did you eat dinner yet?"

you sighed. "well i guess i'm okay, you know. just waiting for you to come home." you couldn't help your uncontrollable smile, you felt like a middle school girl on the phone with her crush. "and i had a chicken cesar salad for dinner, with a strawberry-banana smoothie," you added after thinking.

"ahh. that's good baby, sounds yummy. we had really good catering today, i thought you would've liked it," he happily shared. no matter where he was, there was always something that made him think of you, in some way shape or form. "i really wish you could've been here with me, y/n. all i am without you is stressed."

you pouted, also sad that you had to stay behind. the plan was for you to come along with him, but the company quickly shut it down—too risky, they said, fearing any glimpse of heeseung's personal life might slip into the public eye.

"well, i'd imagine all the dancing you do helps relieve some of that stress, no?"

heeseung rotated his neck that was sore from performing, placing his hand on the nape of it. "well yes, but no... not enough." you could hear the distress in his voice as it rasped. "honestly, i'm feeling a bit crazy right now."

lord, you were going to hell for this.

heeseung was simply just expressing himself, and you could physically feel the arousal coiling within you.

but his voice… god, his voice. it was rough in all the right ways, low and thick with something you couldnt name. something raw, something so alluring.

maybe it'd just been a while. he sounded so captivatingly different, you just couldn't put your finger on it.

whatever it was, it had you squeezing your thighs together.

tight.

you spaced out as he kept talking, staring at the spinning ceiling fan above you. the line soon went silent thanks to your trance, causing heeseung to worry.

"um, y/n... h–hello?"

"oh! im sorry," you quickly apologized, snapping back to reality. you took your phone off of your ear and put him on speaker, sitting more upright against the headboard of your bed. "im here, babe. you just... you sound really good."

heeseung's voice softened. "you like hearing me, dont you? even when im not there."

"mhm," you hummed in agreement. "i do. missed your voice."

"i miss you, just.. you. everything about you," he murmured. "i really wish i could touch you right now. its been too long for my liking, baby."

the corners of your lips curved into a smile at the thought of heeseung's perfect hands, how big they were compared to everything on your body.

"i miss you so much more," you replied, filled with longing. "wish you could touch me too."

wish you could touch me.

those words were just what heeseung wanted to hear, and he was trying so hard to not unzip his jeans and jerk off while you talked. he desperately wanted to tell you how hard you were making him, how bad he'd been wanting to cum all day, how bad he wanted to listen to you fuck your fingers on the line. but he knew that needed to ease into it gradually, like a gentleman.

heeseung moved his hand underneath his sleeveless top, smoothing it over his lower stomach, trying to relax. "you're in bed, right? what are you wearing baby?" he asked, hoping it was little to nothing.

it caught you off guard, wondering what he could possibly do with that information. "yeah, oh, uhhh... one of the robes you sent me for my birthday," you tell him, your fingers idly playing with the string of it.

"oh," he raised a brow, picturing your bare body in the silk. "so, nothing else? just the robe, baby?"

"well, if you're not counting underwear, then i guess.." you nonchalantly replied, looking at your nails.

"mmm, i really like that." heeseung bit his lip, thinking of all the pretty undergarments you'd wear to bed. the lace patterns, the cheeky underwear that turned him on so much— he always insisted you kept them on while he fucked you. "they're pink, aren't they? your panties, i mean."

"mhmm, they are," you responded with a big smile, as he was surprisingly right. "wow, you know me so well."

"i do, don't i," he smirked. but his cocky smile deliberately faded as he remembered where he was, and how he didn't have much time. he had to get this over with before someone went looking for him, and found him. "i need to tell you something, baby. it's been on my mind for a while."

the suspenseful tone in his words scared you, it felt dramatic. like he was about to break up with you or something.

"...go on hee, please."

"well, there's really no other way to say this," he began, his voice deepening lower than before. "i really miss having sex with you, y/n." and once it was out, the confidence in his voice grew.

"since we won't be able to see each other for a while, i was wondering if you'd be interested in trying something."

heeseung exhaled. why the hell was that so hard? he felt like a bulldozer had been lifted off his body.

the way he spoke was rich, penetrating on its own. his tone sent a pulsing feeling to your core, making you clench around nothing.

"oh i—i miss it too," you shyly agreed, nearly spacing out again. your mind flooded with the filthiest flashbacks of those unforgettable, sinful nights that only the two of you knew about. "what did you want to try?" you asked, with a curious tilt of your head.

heeseung took a deep breath. "phone sex," he cleared his throat. "...what do you think of the idea?"

fuck did he sound so hot. God help you.

but it caught you off guard, you'd never done anything like that before. sex, yes—plenty of it. and of course, he obviously used his hand when he needed to. but mutual touching? listening to each other?

the thought was nerve wrecking, to be honest.

you managed to find your voice after a long pause, your words coming out soft, shaky.

"you... you want to try having it?" you asked, your fingers tracing the contour of your thigh to ease your nerves.

"i do, but what about you, baby? would you like to?"

heeseung waited patiently, praying in his mind that you'd say yes. the denim of his jeans brutally outlined the shape of his cock, it was begging to be freed from his boxers.

"to be honest, im not sure how well i can do it," you quietly admitted. "it might not be as good as you're hoping for."

but man. the throbbing between your legs grew stronger as you considered his offer, your mind racing with indecision. heeseung clearly really wanted it, craved it in a way that stirred something in you too. it couldnt hurt to try, right?

you took a deep breath, letting your nerves melt beneath the warmth of your desire to please him.

"but since it's for you... we can try."

heeseung exhaled. he was beyond thrilled that you agreed—more than happy. but he knew you more than anyone, too well to miss the subtle hesitation in your voice.

as much as he wanted this, your comfort meant everything to him. he wanted to be sure that this was something you genuinely wanted too. it wasnt just about his pleasure—it was about sharing it together.

"don't feel nervous, i'll be here to guide you through it. you can trust me, okay?" he gently assured you, soft, somehow authoritative. "if at any point you don't like it baby, just tell me and we can stop."

you smiled at heeseung's reassurance, the nerves fading away with his tenderness. "you're so sweet. don't worry, i trust you," you assured him back. "we can start now... if that's what you wanted."

heeseung let out a sigh of relief, calm after hearing your affirmation. "great," he replied, the corners of his lips curling slightly. "give me one second."

he unzipped his tight-fitting jeans, feeling a sense of freedom at finally being able to unwind. sliding a hand into his Calvin Klein boxers, he freed his aching cock— groaning as it sprang upward, slapping against his stomach. precum beaded at his flushed, sensitive tip. he gulped down a thick swallow of air as he smeared the slick fluid over the head with his thumb.

"are you comfortable?"

"mhmm," you nodded, pulling the covers over your lower body, seeking warmth and privacy even though there was no one to hide from.

"close your eyes for me baby," heeseung murmured, voice low and coaxing. "from now on, i want you to picture me there with you. just trust me it'll feel better with them closed."

he wrestled with the impulse to wrap his fist around the thick length straining against his stomach, aching for friction. but he wanted you worked up first. he needed it. "are they closed yet?" he asked you, closing his own.

you did the same. "they're closed."

heeseung's breath hitched at the sound of your compliance. "good, baby. i want you to focus on my voice, nothing else matters. okay?"

"okay," you tell him, your heart racing faster now, tension heightened by your inability to see.

"touch your body for me," came his commanding tone. "you know where to touch first, right? you know how to tease yourself."

"mhm, i think so." you gasped as you slipped your hands inside the silky fabric of your robe, your fingers trailing gently along the sensitive skin of your neck before moving to run along your collarbones, then downwards to gently caress your bare chest.

"where are you touching, sweetheart?"

"my tits," you responded, massaging your tender breasts and playing with your hardened nipple between your fingers.

"mmm, good girl. spread your legs for me," he lowly instructed, spitting a long glob of his warm saliva onto his cock and smoothing it around the length, hold firm with his fist as it dripped down. "move your hand to where you'd want me to touch you if i was there baby."

your body responded to his commands like a puppet on a string.

you were on your back, slightly propped up by pillows as you opened your legs, wandering your hand down to land between your thighs. "okay, i did," you quietly replied.

"you want to touch it so bad, don't you baby?" heeseung taunted you, his teasing revealing your own longing to touch the sensitive flesh through the fabric. "you want to play with your pussy so bad for me. i know you."

"please," you begged him. "please let me."

"touch for me." he granted you permission, and could already hear a change in your breathing, it became inconsistent within seconds.

you rubbed your clothed pussy, pressing down right where your clit was swelling. your folds left a big puddle on the thin material, your underwear entirely soaked, absorbing your arousal. "heeseung," you softly moaned his name as you groped at the wetness, "my panties, they're ruined."

heeseung threw his head back against the wall.

the thought of your pussy being so wet that it seeped through your panties made his cock grow painfully harder, harder than it already was. it pulsed violently, throbbing as it cried to be stroked up and down. "you wanna be a good girl and touch your pussy for me?" he asked, his voice saturated with his own need to touch himself.

your voice cracked as you answered, "yes, wanna touch so bad."

heeseung could cum off of how sweet and submissive you sounded. "okay. go ahead and touch, baby. tell me what you feel."

you slid your fingers underneath the damp fabric and massaged the surface of your folds, stickiness glazing your fingertips. "im wet, i'm really wet."

"that's perfect, baby." his tongue darted out to wet his lips, visualizing running the head of his cock between the outside of your pussy. "touch your clit and play with it."

your body twitched as you began to toy at your sensitive bundle of nerves, teasing yourself like heeseung would with his perfect fingers. you took deep, trembling breaths against the mic of your phone, turning heeseung on so much on the other side.

he let out a sharp moan as he finally glided his hand up and down his wet dick, applying immense pressure to his sensitive tip. he didn't need lube, his precum and spit were just enough. "can you hear it, baby? listen to me stroke my cock for you, just for you." he grunted, lowering his phone and bringing the mic near his hands, allowing you to hear every wet, sloppy sound of the friction.

you whined, rubbing delicate circles on your clit as you listened to the slipperiness of his cock. "shhh...it. f-fuck," your teeth sunk down on your bottom lip, in slight shame of cursing.

heeseung's fist rhythmically twisted around his cock, his chest rising and falling heavily with each lubricious stroke. his thigh muscles spasmed at the heavenly, warm sensation from his hand, his toes tingling in his shoes. it felt so fucking good to finally be able to jerk off.

but still, nothing compared to how you felt.

"put your fingers in your pussy. fuck it for me." he demanded it of you, more than ready to hear it.

with your imagination fixated on the thought of heeseung's cock in place of your fingers, you carefully teased your tight entrance, sticky and slick from how bad you wished he was home to fuck you. you hissed as you pushed one in, then another, deeply past your tight walls.

your soft moans let him know that your fingers were inside of you, and heeseung smiled to himself at your obedience. "i need you to talk to me, baby. does it feel good? feel good to finger yourself while you think of me?"

"feels s-so good," you trembled, spreading your legs further apart as you gradually slid your fingers in and out of your hole. your mouth hung open at the immense pleasure, it was blissful to finally have something penetrating you after so long—you hadn't touched yourself since he left for tour.

heeseung routinely licked his lips as he steadily stroked his cock, your whines and whimpers into the phone bringing him a different type of contentment.

it motivated him.

he wanted to hear more, he wanted to feel like he was there making you feel good. "moan for me some more, baby."

just the sound of his voice alone guiding you was stimulating, hypnotizing. you were completely under his spell, and in your current state, there was nothing you wouldn't do if he asked. you pumped your 2 fingers deeper, moving them in and out of your tightness with care as you let yourself get louder. "miss you, miss the way you fuck me," you whined, trying your best to sound as pornographic for him as possible. "im ... so tight," you squealed, searching and exploring for that sweet spot that he always reached.

"yeah?" heeseung jerked himself off with a more strong grip around his girth, attempting to mimic the tightness of your wet cunt. "tell me, tell me how tight you are for me."

"im so wet, and tight for you," you shakily moaned into the mic as you fingered your pussy, the squelching driving him crazy. "-so tight, just for you, hee." you switched back and forth between fingering yourself and massaging your tits for more simulation, taking your fingers and spreading the wetness on your nipples, then fucking them back into your pussy.

"such a good girl. keep playing with your pussy for me baby, just like that." heeseung praised you as his adam's apple moved up and down in his throat, breathlessly talking you through your pleasure.

he took his lower lip between his teeth and sucked on it, his breathing growing increasingly heavier. his right hand weakly held his phone against his ear to hear you whilst he thrusted his hips upwards, fueling his desperate grinding into his left hand.

he was still a little paranoid about someone coming in and busting him in this closet— for doing something so immoral, so nasty, but he wanted to vocally please you the best he could. so, he didn't back any sound that came from his throat.

you could hear the ruffling of heeseung fucking up into his hand, it was so intense that you could've sworn you started to feel it. the vulgar profanity that left his lips made your pussy so wet and slick, you completely melted into the mattress at the sound of his filth against your ear.

you couldn't believe how quickly the phone call had changed within a matter of just 7 minutes.

here you were, playing your pussy on the phone while heeseung moaned like his life depended on it.

you physically couldn't stop, and neither could he. heeseung relished in his salacious fantasy, his mind entirely fogged with lust for you. he never wanted it to end, because you sounded so good. it made his cock so fucking hard, how he was the only one who got to hear you this way; so cute, whiney and breathless, so desperate for him without his touch.

"oh my g—fuck me," you moaned, pumping your fingers faster into yourself. "you're gonna make me cum," you quivered as you pleaded for him, cream dripping from your hole and wetting your sheets.

heeseung let another pool of drool slip from his mouth and onto his dick, reminiscing how moist and warm you felt in his head, his wet hand picking up the pace. he could feel it in his stomach, he was going to explode if he kept stroking himself at this speed. as torturous as it felt, he slowed down his hand's movements, choking on air as he occasionally let go of his cock to edge it and reserve the buildup.

you tortured your clit with the tips of your creamy fingers, the pleasure becoming so overwhelming that a tear rolled down your cheek. "hee, i-i'm gonna cum," you faintly whimpered, your clit starting to feel too sensitive to touch.

"cumming already, baby?" he let out a stifled moan, his primal desire for you to cum surging. "good girl, cum all over your fingers."

you'd never heard heeseung be this vocal, but you completely submerged in it, loving how careless and expressive he was being. it was a side of him you hadn't known before, and you couldn't get enough.

he mumbled profanity under his jagged breaths and begged you to cum for him, his fist fucking his hand with more force as he thought of being inside you. he could hear the speed of your fingers getting faster and faster, and all that mattered to him was that you were close to cumming— because he damn sure was.

heeseung panted, gripping himself tighter, stroking faster, so fast that his hand began to cramp. he furrowed his brows and his mouth fell wide, his nose scrunching as he felt his sweet release seconds away. "oh fuck... fuck y/n, i'm gonna cum, fuck! im—"

cumming.

his orgasm took over his entire body, spurts of his hot semen oozing out of his tip and dripping down his length, making a thick white mess all over his hand. he moaned in ecstasy as his cock relentlessly leaked, his abs clenching as his seed spilled onto his jeans.

it was disgusting.

you mouth salivated at the obscene sounds of heeseung reaching his peak of ecstasy, and it wasn't long before your own body succumbed to its own waves of pleasure, cumming with him at the same time.

you shrieked as you uncontrollably squirted all over the bedsheets, leaving heeseung's side drenched with the liquids from your body. your legs shook violently and you could barely catch your breath, lost in the overtaking overstimulation.

but heeseung wasnt ready to be done. he absentmindedly pumped his sensitive cock in a slower, teasing rhythm, milking out remaining ropes of cum to the sweet sounds of your climax.

there was so much, it just kept coming and coming, and coming.

you knees so fell weak that you lost feeling in them. you gasped as you opened your eyes after seeing stars for so long, moaning with heeseung in unison as you both came down from your highs. you slowly removed your fingers out of your pussy, a string of milky wetness following as you brought them into your mouth, tasting the sinful mess you made.

"i j-just changed these sh-sheets," you stuttered as you caught your breath, still shaken from your orgasm. "i made such a mess."

heeseung also was still recovering from his intense release, his breathing heavy and rapid. he let out a long, satisfied sigh, his body relaxing and his cock falling soft as he basked in the afterglow of cumming so much. "let me see the mess you made, baby," he pleaded, desperate for visual proof. "show me."

"you really are something else," you snickered, rasp in your voice from all of the high pitched moans you'd sang. you opened your legs and snapped a picture of the icky mess of cum between your legs and sent it to him, then pulled your robe back closed, tying it snug around your waist.

heeseung's jaw clenched as he opened the photo, his eyes rounding with awe. he ran his tongue over his lips at the downward pov, like he could taste the sight.

the white, creamy essence on your pretty pussy made his cock twitch, despite it falling back tender.

saved to camera roll.

"i really missed hearing you like that, you're so cute. you did so good. so good for me," he praised.

"oh stop," you blushed, feeling flustered. "it wouldn't have been possible without you, though. you say all the right things."

heeseung chuckled, a cocky grin on his face. you gave him an ego boost that no fan could ever give. "it felt good, didn't it baby?" he asked, hoping you enjoyed it as much as he did. though he knew you did, there was no way in hell you faked those noises.

"mhm, it felt really good, thanks to you," you nodded with a smile, reminiscing about it already. "i'm glad i tried something new with you."

he grabbed his softened cock that was still hot and sticky, hissing as he put it back into his boxers, zipping his jeans closed. "i'm glad i could help you. thank you for helping me," he replied, playing with the goopy aftermath of his own release between his fingers. "there's so much i want to do to you, baby. when i get back, we'll make up for lost time. yeah?"

"yeah," you softly told him, getting horny all over again. a shiver ran down your spine, because you knew how things got when there was a gap of time in between seeing each other.

he wasn't going to have any mercy.

you didn't know how much longer you could wait. you needed heeseung. you needed the real thing, your fingers could only go so far.

"okay, i have to go now. it's time for you to get some sleep anyways," heeseung said, slowly standing up from the floor, pins and needles in his legs from the seated climax. "i'll give you a call tomorrow. alright?"

you couldn't help but feel sad that he had to go, you wished he could stay on the phone forever. "okay," you sighed, "i hope you know that i don't believe you."

heeseung chuckled into the phone, shaking his head at your insistence. "why? i will call you, you'll see."

but doubts still lingered, he'd been so busy lately. "do you promise?"

heeseung's voice softened, his tone earnest. "i promise, baby. I promise i'll call."

"pinky promise?" you ask him, your voice sweeter.

"pinky, pinky, promise." he echoed into the speaker. "double pinky promise. now do you believe me?"

"you pinky promised, so i'll be waiting on it," you smiled, clinging to his word. "goodnight, heeseung."

heeseung's heart wrenched at your words of goodbye. he missed you already, not a single part of him wanted to go. but he knew had to get back to where he was supposed to be. "goodnight baby, i love you."

"aww. i love you too bubbabear," you said back. "so much."

"but not more than i love you," his voice turned childish, "never ever."

you tiredly got up out of bed, still damp between your legs, the sheets beneath you soaked with evidence of your pleasure.

boy did you have laundry to do.

"okay, you can hang up now... i guess."

"no, you hang up," heeseung insisted.

"no you hang up," you spat back.

"no, im not hanging up," he argued, "so you can go ahead, hang up."

"whatever," you rolled your eyes. "you're so corny. just hang up."

"no, you."

heeseung laughed, he knew you'd go back and forth forever if you had the chance. "fine, i'll hang up. but only because i love you."

"that sounds... a bit manipulative?" you replied with sarcasm, "i love you too, by the way."

"sweet dreams," he wished you, before blowing a kiss into the mic. "give me a kiss back, baby," he asked cutely, waiting for you to reciprocate it. "kiss me through the phone."

"gosh, grow up," you complained, knowing you'll do it anyway. "fine—but let's do it at the same time."

"even better," heeseung agreed, full of excitement. "on three."

you counted to three together, both of you bringing your lips to the phone and kissing it, with an exaggerated mwah that made you giggle.

"i love you," you whispered one last time, not wanting to let go.

"you're the cutest, heeseung cheesed. "i love you even more."

𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉<3

GOOD LORD THIS WAS SO LONGGGG HOW DID YALL READ IT

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axeeglitter · 7 months ago

Text

Melorius's shop: Fitting in

Felix adjusted his glasses and brushed a stray lock of hair from his face as he stepped into the costume shop, his slender frame almost swallowed by the oversized hoodie he always wore. Standing just a bit shorter than average, his narrow shoulders and slight build made him easy to overlook, especially with his soft, bookish features and perpetually messy hair. His hands were long and fine, fingers ink-stained from hours of note-taking, and his skin was pale from too many nights spent studying instead of seeing the sun. With his hunched posture and timid gait, Felix looked every bit the shy, kind-hearted geek who’d rather be reading about heroes than pretending to be one.

Felix opened the door of the old looking Costume’s shop; a bell rang as the door opened and its sound echoed between the dusty racks of costumes. Costumes crowded every corner, piled high in stacks and hung on hooks from the ceiling, casting odd, twisting shadows. He adjusted his glasses, blinking in the dusty light as he took it all in. The place seemed nearly forgotten, like it had been waiting for decades just for him.

"Excuse me?" he called out softly, his voice echoing a bit. "I'm looking for…um…a Spiderman costume, or really any superhero costume."

From behind a counter lined with old-fashioned masks, an elderly man emerged, smiling a bit too widely. His eyes glinted, as if he found Felix’s presence amusing. "Ah, superheroes. Everyone wants to be one," he mused, studying Felix with a strange intensity. "But I’m afraid you're a bit late, young man. All the superheroes are gone."

“Oh.” Felix sighed, glancing around as he tugged at his collar, feeling the cool, almost expectant air of the shop pressing in on him. "Do you have anything else? Something…kind of low-key? Anything cool will be perfect to be honest."

The man tilted his head thoughtfully, then reached under the counter. After a moment, he pulled out a different outfit, holding it up. It was a football quarterback uniform, complete with shoulder pads, a helmet, and a jersey bearing the number 11 in bold, almost intimidating font.

Felix felt his heart sink. "Uh… I’m not really the football type," he began, unsure how to say no.

But the man only smiled. "Halloween is a night for trying new things, isn’t it? You might find this… transformative." With a small wink, he pressed the costume into Felix’s hands, gesturing toward the dressing room in the back.

Reluctantly, Felix took it. The fabric felt strange under his fingers, thicker and heavier than he’d expected. With a last look at the old man, who was watching him with that same enigmatic smile, Felix ducked into the dressing room, closing the door behind him. He really didn’t want to try it on, specially because at college, he was bullied by the football team, especially Josh, one of the biggest douchebag earths has ever worn. He was everything Felix hated. Big, muscled piled on muscles, obnoxious, fucking everything he could find and worst of all, forcing his best friend Nathan to do his homework and terrifying the shit out of him.

Felix hesitated, looking at himself in the mirror. His slight frame, glasses, and messy hair were the epitome of what people at his college would call "nerdy." This costume was everything he wasn’t and everything he despised. But not wanting to appear rude, he slipped the jersey over his head, adjusting it as it clung uncomfortably close to his skin. Oddly, it felt warm, almost like it was… alive.

As he finsihed putting on the quaterback equipment and tugged the fabric of the jersey over his torso, a sharp, sudden pain blossomed across his chest. He gasped, clutching at his sides as a strange pressure spread through him. His chest muscles contracted and expanded, stretching outward with a force he couldn't control. The flat, narrow lines of his torso swelled as new muscle filled every inch, his chest pushing outward in thick slabs of pecs that strained against the jersey. With each breath, his pecs grew denser, pressing forward until they filled the front of the jersey, hard and defined.

“What…what is happening?” he whispered, trying to pull the jersey off, but his arms wouldn’t obey. He was frozen, forced to watch as the transformation moved to his shoulders and arms.

Pain surged through his shoulders as they broadened, the pads pressing down on him, molding his frame into something bigger, stronger. His deltoids pushed outward, rounding out, followed by his biceps, which bulged, straining the fabric with their new mass. Thick veins appeared along his forearms, pulsing with a warmth that was both exhilarating and terrifying. His hands changed too, the fingers thickening, becoming rough and calloused, palms broadening until they looked like they belonged to someone who’d spent years gripping footballs rather than comic books.

Each new jolt of growth felt like a small explosion, his nerves alive with the prickling of muscle fiber expanding and hardening beneath his skin. His legs cramped next, a powerful spasm that had him doubling over as his thighs and calves swelled. Muscles he’d never known he had bulged out, pressing against the fabric until the pants were stretched taut over thick quads and hamstrings that filled out with each second. He staggered, watching his thighs widen, hard and massive, his calves now like solid trunks that seemed rooted to the floor.

Felix started to feel an odd sensation creeping under his soles. Suddenly, he felt like they began to burn as they expanded within the cleats he had just put on. His toes thickened, his arches lifted, his entire foot stretching and swelling until they filled the once-loose cleats perfectly, now large and sturdy, every step grounding him with an unfamiliar weight.

The changes weren’t just physical. A strange heat built up within him, simmering in his core, moving down to his groin with an intensity he couldn’t ignore. He tried to fight it, his mind screaming for control, but his body surged ahead. His hips rolled slightly as his groin responded, thickening, growing, his manhood pressing uncomfortably against the waistband of his pants. He felt his shaft pulse and throb as it swelled, growing heavier, bigger, until it strained against the fabric, every inch filling him with an unsettling mix of power and shame. It was relentless, each throb amplifying the sensation, his groin now packed with a weight and presence that was almost dizzying. Even his balls grew, swelling until they hung heavily between his legs, pressing against his thighs, a constant reminder of the physicality that had taken over him.

As he looked down, horrified, he saw that his pubic area was now covered in a thick, wiry thatch of dark hair. Felix couldn’t even the skin under the hair anymore. Pure dark thick hair. It itched slightly, but there was no escaping the primal, raw feeling it gave him. His hands, now large and rough, instinctively went to adjust his groin, but he couldn’t control the action, it was like his body was reveling in its own size, flexing, posing.

His reflection sneered back at him, a cocky grin that made his skin crawl. His face had sharpened, his jawline strong and angular, his cheekbones high and defined. His eyes, once soft and shy, had become piercing, almost predatory. His hair had changed too, dark and thick, styled perfectly as though he’d just stepped out of a salon.

“Oh no… no, no, no…” he whispered, his voice deeper, resonant, filled with a confidence he didn’t feel. He tried to speak again, but it was like his voice had been absorbed, lost within the powerful timbre that echoed back at him.

Inside his mind, a voice spoke, smooth and arrogant, brimming with strength. “Looks like you’re ready to play, bro.”

“No! I’m not…I’m not…” he tried to say, but his own body laughed, a rich, self-assured chuckle that came from deep in his chest. It was like he was locked in a cage, forced to watch as his new form flexed and stretched, testing the limits of his newly thickened muscles. His hands slid over his chest, his abs, tracing the hard ridges of his pecs and torso in a way that horrified him. Every touch was a betrayal, each inch of him celebrating its own strength and virility.

And then, with a horrible clarity, he realized his surroundings had changed. The dusty walls of the dressing room had faded, replaced by the familiar, well-worn space of a college bedroom. Posters lined the walls, a football on the desk, the scent of cologne mingling with the faint smell of beer, feet and cum. His heart pounded as he saw the reflection of the street in the mirror in front of the bed. He knew this street, but from where? His body kept on flexing his biceps and posing while adjusting his python in his jeans. Suddenly Felix recognizes it, it was Josh’s Fraternity house. “God please, NOOOOOO…” he screamed internally as his body groped once again his thick semi hard dick pressed against his thighs.

The door burst open, and Josh strode in, grinning widely as he clapped him on the back. “Yo, Mike! You ready to tear it up tonight? Halloween bash is going to be insane! Get ready and come downstairs bro’ ”

Inside, Felix’s true self screamed, but his new body only laughed, a confident sound that filled the room. He could feel everything, trapped as a spectator within his own body, unable to stop the deep, casual flex of his muscles, the cocky grin that spread across his face.

Felix swaggered out of the bedroom, every muscle loose and relaxed as he automatically headed downstairs. He barely noticed the lingering shift in his walk, the easy confidence that had replaced his usual awkward, careful steps. He knew, in some distant part of himself, that this wasn’t him. But the name "Mike" echoed back each time he tried to remember his real name.

The first person he saw downstairs was Josh, grinning as he slammed a hand down on Felix’s shoulder with a rough camaraderie that would have once made Felix cringe. Josh, the biggest, brashest jock on campus, was someone he’d always tried to avoid. Now, though, he found himself smiling back, his thoughts warming with a strange fondness he couldn’t quite understand. Josh chuckled, punching him lightly in the arm. “Ready to get this party started, bro?”

The response came instinctively. "Always, man!" His voice sounded rich and easy, filled with that same underlying confidence, and Felix felt a surge of warmth in his chest. It felt… right, somehow, and as they worked together with the others, hanging lights and arranging tables, he was overwhelmed by the feeling of fitting in, of belonging here in a way he never had before.

Then the doorbell rang, and Mike headed to answer it, his steps naturally assured, shoulders relaxed. When he opened the door, he froze for a second. Standing there was Nathan, his best friend, the same familiar face and shy smile he’d grown up with. His friend’s arms were full of papers, Josh’s homework, he realized with a strange clarity.

“Hey, uh, I’ve got the assignments Josh asked for,” Nathan said, looking slightly uncomfortable as he handed the papers over. Mike reached out to take them, a small pang of something strange flickering in his mind as he looked at his friend’s familiar, nervous expression. Felix woke up from his mental fog and remembered who he truly was. He was not Mike; he was Felix and Nathan was his best friend. How long did he forget, how is that possible to forget who you are? Inside his head, Felix was panicking and trying to scream and beg for help to Nathan, but on the outside, Mike just grabbed the paper and put on a cocky grin as he realizes how thick Nathan’s ass was.

“Thanks, man,” Mike replied automatically, the words feeling strange in his deeper, confident voice. Josh took the papers with barely a nod, heading back toward the party, and Mike found himself lingering, watching Nathan’s body with a hungry look. Out of nowhere, Mike started to talk kindly to Nathan and to Felix’s surprise, Nathan answered back, worst he recognized in his best friend a feeling of joy as they kept talking together about every and anything.

They chatted for a few minutes, the small talk flowing in a way that felt oddly natural. Felix was screaming for this to stop. Maybe if he screamed loud enough, he will be able to grab dominance over this new Mike’s mind and be able to ask for help. But it didn’t work. Worst, he screamed in panic as he heard himself asking Nathan to come outside to grab a drink. They both went to his bedroom upstairs and just before closing the door, Mike threw a knowing look and a cocky grin to Josh, both of them smiling as they knew Mike was getting lucky.

Once they were there, Mike listened to his friend talk, nodding as they laughed over stories that seemed almost familiar, yet distant. He felt himself leaning in without even realizing it, his heart pounding a bit harder, his thoughts becoming hazy. There was a moment, a single spark that made everything feel suddenly real, and then just as Nathan was saying that he should go back home to get ready for his Halloween Dungeon and Dragons party, Felix felt his body plunging on Nathan’s lips. He felt the surprise of Nathan fading into acceptance as he gave back his kiss. After some minutes of kissing and touching each other, Mike jumped back up and threw his clothes away, standing erect with his 11 inches dick in front of Nathan. He then started to walk slowly back to Nathan while grinning and talking again. “So tell me Bae’, Trick or treat?” Felix was disgusted by what was happening, how could this happen. He wasn’t even gay, and Nathan was his best friend. No that couldn’t be, it must be a nightmare. But out of nowhere, Felix felt wet lips around his thick cock. The sensation sent shivers down his spine and Mike grabbed Nathan’s head under his calloused palms as he forced it all the way down to his pubes. Felix was torn apart between the pleasure was feeling and the pain of knowing his best friend was giving him a blowjob. Then he felt a rush coming down on him. He felt as his toes started to grip the carpeted floor, his muscles started to tense and his breath became chaotic. “No please, I can’t…” Felix tried to say in a last moment of consciousness as Mike started to spasm and cum straight inside Nathan’s throat, making sure he swallowed every drop of his precious cum. His mind went blank, a flood of warmth washing over him, leaving nothing behind. For a split second, he reached for something he couldn’t name, something lost in a flood of heat and release. Then everything was clear. He was Mike. When he opened his eyes after a couple of pleasurable seconds, Felix was gone. Only Mike stood there. With a satisfied sigh, Mike got his dick out, feeling the lingering warmth radiate through his body, calming his heartbeat. He pulled back on his gym shorts, adjusting his jockstrap, and shot a quick glance in the mirror. As Mike opened the door, he took a look down at Nathan still baked in the pleasure they both just had. “So, do you want to go for a drink tomorrow?” Nathan asked with kindness in his eyes. Mike turned back and laughed before answering “Yo bro’ get the fuck out before I call the broskis to finish you up. You really thought this could be a we? You are a whole for me to fuck and nothing else. Now get the fuck out looser!”

Mike turned back to the mirror and adjusted his cap backward. Perfect, as always. Heading downstairs without another thought, he was ready to enjoy the party, the memory of whatever he’d been worrying about entirely gone.

______________________________________________________________

Hey everybody! Here is the new chapter inspired by this prompt from @yuighjvbn123 "Well, I hope you continue the melorious shop, especially making the sequel for the First Customer story. I really want to see the other perspective, now this time for a shy clumsy nerd who got transformed into a muscular handsome sexy jock. Bit then his demeanor also changed, into more cocky self-obsessed narcissist diva and the usual horny lol. I know it's a basic standard tf plot, but I know you'll find a way to spice things up and make it even hotter"

Hope you guys enjoyed it and see you soon for another adventure ;)

#male transformation #my writing #mental change #male tf #reality change #tf #gay #personality change #ask me anything #Melorius #straight to gay #dumbification #dumber tf #smart to dumb #nerd to jock #jock tf #halloween tf

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hairmetal666 · 6 months ago

Text

Eddie stands at the edge of the ruined, stinking field, heart somewhere down by the soles of his feet. He watches the grey vines creep across the rotten earth, bracketing the blackened and split pumpkins.

"This can't be happening again," Steve says next to him. There's nothing in his voice, in his expression.

And Eddie doesn't know what to say because it is happening, the Upside Down is creeping into Hawkins, Vecna defeated or not.

"We have to tell the others," is Eddie's response. He doesn't know how he sounds normal when his heart is breaking, when Steve's blankness is killing him.

They walk back to Eddie's van in heavy silence. He can't read what Steve is thinking and that's--they're not something, not yet, but they spend all their time together and it's right there, under the surface, and--

He always knows what Steve is thinking, now. Can read his face like Tolkien wrote it, no matter what's happening, but right now it's empty, unreadable, unfathomable, untouchable King Steve risen from the grave.

The drive back to Hop's cabin is silent. Eddie doesn't even turn on music, his brain can't take it.

Cars fill the cabin's driveway, everyone in attendance, everyone waiting. On the porch, they hear the TV, the tinny whirr of lightsabers. It all stops when they push open the door, movie paused, conversations broken off, every face turned in their direction.

Neither of them speaks. Looking at all these faces, the kids, Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, Hop and Joyce, the hope and trust, and he can't--he can't.

"Well?" Joyce prompts. She's working a kitchen towel between her fingers.

He nods as Steve says, "it's back."

Eddie expects an outcry, horror, an explosion, but it's quiet. Quiet enough he can hear Steve's soft breaths next to him. Quiet enough he gets to watch as the news hits on each face in the room. It's like a punch every time.

It's so much different from planning the fight against Vecna. There was so much energy, drive, to get it done, to defeat the Upside Down forever. There wasn't silence, not ever, no faces painted with grief. Even when things were at their worst, an undercurrent of hope buoyed the group.

"Are you sure?" It's Nancy who breaks the silence, of course it is.

"It's the tunnels all over again," Steve answers.

"El?" Hopper asks. "Have you--?"

Will and El are looking at each other, Eddie's sure that no one else in the room exists for them.

"We haven't felt anything." El finally says.

"Nothing?" Mike's eyes flick between them.

"Not since Vecna," Will says.

"It's--it feels--" El waves at the back of her neck.

"Blank." Will finishes.

"Blank isn't gone," Erica says.

Dustin hums, eyes distant. "So, it went dormant."

That gets all the kids going, arguing and shouting over each other, and it isn't long before everyone is involved.

Eddie throws himself into it, grateful to be back in a familiar place of planning, discovering what they're up against, fighting. They're at their best like this, all of them, and it takes the edge off the fear eating up his insides.

He doesn't really get a chance to talk to Steve one-on-one, but Eddie's aware of him always, catches the moments in between bickering with Mike and shouting with Dustin and whispering with Robin where he goes distant, empty, just like at the field, just like in the car.

Eventually, everyone trickles home for the night, Hop's cabin emptying until it's just the Byers, Hoppers, and Steve. And since Eddie goes wherever Steve is--

Steve stands at the window in their room, back to Eddie. His shoulders are rigid, and Eddie is--he's scared in a whole new way. Steve is--he's strong, he keeps them together, he. They look to him to be brave, to be the first to jump, and--

"Steve?" Eddie comes up next to him.

His eyes are squeezed shut, fists clenched.

"Sweetheart?"

Steve opens his eyes, tears track down his cheeks. "I don't think I can do this again," he sobs. "I don't think--" He presses his fists to his eyes, like he's trying to force the moisture back inside.

Eddie grabs his wrists, gentle, murmurs, "it's okay, it'll be okay, I've got you."

"How can it be okay?" Steve asks. His face is wrecked and Eddie's heart shatters. "This was supposed to be over, Eddie. We were supposed to be done with fighting, we beat Vecna. So, tell me how it's going to be okay."

He freezes, unsure how to respond. In the end, "you're right," he says. "it's not okay. And I don't want to pretend that it is. It fucking sucks. We did the work already. We shouldn't be right back here like it never happened."

"But we are," Steve sniffles.

"But we are. And you know what?"

"What?"

"We're going to get through this. Just like we did the last time."

"We almost lost you last time, Ed. We almost lost Max. What if--what if--" Steve's eyes fill again. "I can't do this without you," he sobs.

Eddie doesn't hesitate, pulls Steve into his arms, holds him as tight and close as physically possible. "You won't." Eddie soothes. "You won't. I'll be right here with you. I promise."

"How can you know?"

Again, there's only one answer for that. "I don't. But I know I'll never leave your side willingly. None of us would. And I know that we're going to fight--all of us--like we always do."

"How can you have so much hope?" He asks. "After everything?"

"It's hard," he answers. "I'm terrified. But I know I have you, and Robin, and Dustin, and Wayne, and--everyone. We fight for each other, you know?"

"We keep going because we have to," Steve says.

"Yeah, sweetheart. We protect each other and this godforsaken town, no matter how much it sucks."

Steve's laugh is husky and short. "It sucks so much."

"Real trash heap of a place."

"And that's without the alternate dimension and monsters."

"I think we've got a really strong ad campaign for the Hawkins tourism board." The giggle that escapes from Steve is the sweetest thing Eddie's ever heard.

Later, the lights off, Steve pulls him close. "I'm so glad I have you," he whispers, fingers trailing through Eddie's curls. "You give me something to hope for."

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #ficlet #angst #pre slash #best friends who will be lovers #hurt/comfort #the upside down #trauma #grief #somehow palpatine returned #processing my election grief through fic #i don't even know anymore

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sofiawritesstuff · 10 months ago

Text

Apologise

pairing: oscar piastri x norris!reader

based on the most recent race day events

warnings: a little bit suggestive towards the end but nothing major, lando being an ass but he makes up for it

(I love Lando and Oscar both, this isn’t to make Lando look like a bad person)

You knew it would somehow end up being tough at one point, although you didn’t realise how bad it was going to be.

Your brother and your boyfriend. The two most important men in your life, other than your father of course.

As teammates you would think it would be easier, but not when it was their own team that had created tension in the air.

Waiting in Oscar’s drivers room, your legs bounced with the thought wondering how on Earth you were going to support both of them.

The door flew open and Oscar stood with a proud smile, holding his P1 trophy in hand.

“I’m so proud of you baby” you smiled, opening your arms for him, you felt him sigh and he hugged you tightly, him nuzzling his head into your neck “Thank you” he mumbled against you.

“Is everything okay?” you asks pulling away from him “I’m happy, I really am but I think Lando is mad at me”

“Baby, Lando isn’t mad with you, he might be mad but he is mad with the team. Never you. It was team orders and he had to follow them. He’s probably just annoyed that he didn’t get another win, but he will come back and get another. Just like you will. Let’s go out for dinner tonight. We can celebrate!”

“I don’t know, it feels a little disrespectful to Lando”

“Oscar”

“Alright, sounds good. I’m going to get a shower before we leave. Maybe go check on Lando, he will want a little comfort right now”

“I’ll go see him now, call me when you’re ready” you kiss him gently before leaving, making your way along the hall to your brothers room.

Lando could get mad, yes. Just like anyone. But you knew today he was really mad. With the look on his face after the race. You knew you weren’t walking in to your cheerful brother.

You knocked the door before entering, you seen him throwing all of his stuff into his bag “Shouldn’t you be celebrating with your boyfriend?” he asks bitterly without glancing at you

“Lan-“

“No Y/N. I don’t want to hear it. Go away. Celebrate with the race winner”

You scoff causing him to look at you “Don’t you dare do that to me Lando, you know it was the team’s fault today. Not Oscars”

“Yeah take his side! I’ve been embarrassed enough today i don’t need a pity speech from my little sister. He probably waiting for you right now to go out and celebrate. Don’t worry I won’t tell him you were here!” he begins shouting

“Stop shouting at me! It was actually Oscar that told me to come talk to you. He feels guilty enough for what happened today he doesn’t need your bad attitude getting in the way either! If you’re going to blame anyone blame your stupid team and not my boyfriend”

“So you’re choosing your boyfriend over your brother? Okay”

“Stop twisting things! Have you actually lost your mind? Oscar did nothing wrong. He was hesitant on even going out tonight because he felt guilty towards you! Oscar looks up to you Lando, he’s done so much for you in races before. I’m done with this conversation. Come talk to me when you decide to be an adult and when you want to apologise to my boyfriend” you tell him, slamming the door behind you.

It was rare for you and Lando to have an argument, what made it even worse is you felt like you had to pick a side. Lando or Oscar. You knew what your brother was saying what out of anger, he would never actually mean disrespect towards his younger teammate.

But you couldn’t help but let the tears fall. It was a short lived argument, but also one of the worst you had ever had.

“Baby?” Oscar asks confused, popping his head out of the bathroom “What happened? Is everything okay?” he rushes over to comfort you, putting on him clothes while he does

“I’m okay, just a silly fight with Lando” you smile, wiping away your tears, he stops you holding both your hands with one hand and moving the other to your cheek, wiping the fresh tears “Let’s go back to hotel and go out for a nice meal”

“I’m not bothered about that right now, I’m bothered about you. It must have been a bad fight if you’re crying”

“This is your night Osc, let’s ignore everything else” you nod trying to stop the topic of conversation “Alright, I understand that you don’t want to talk about it right now but I hope we can when you’re ready, if it’s tonight or tomorrow. I hate seeing you cry”

“I’m sorry, I’m ruining your special moment”

“Hey, come on. You’re not ruining anything. Here’s a better idea. We will go back to the hotel, order room service and have a movie night with a bottle of champagne. Sounds like a perfect way to end this night of an eventful day”

“If that’s what you want”

“All I want is to spend time with my beautiful girlfriend. Come on” he stands up, taking your hand.

Leaving the paddock felt weird, usually you would have both McLaren drivers either side but tonight you only had one. But you had to remind yourself that this was Oscar’s night and nothing was going to ruin it for both of you.

He swayed your hands back and forth walking towards the hotel, he stopped for the few fans waiting close by for him, signing the notebooks and hats held out to him.

You smiled to yourself as everyone congratulated him, trying to ignore the sympathetic smiles a group of girls gave you as you waited.

As you got comfortable in your room and turned on a movie you heard a knock at the door, Oscar quickly got up to answer it

“I’ll get it, it will probably be room service” he kisses you, leaving the bed “Oh hi mate” you head Oscar stutter.

You knew the stutter, the same stutter that came from Oscar when Lando first found out that his teammate was dating his sister.

“Can I come in?” you hear Lando’s voice asks before the door closes. Oscar sits next to you on the bed while Lando stands at the end of it, playing with his fingers.

“I owe you an apology, both of you”

“Osc I’m sorry that I was rude to you earlier, I was so frustrated with the team and I took my anger out on someone which was wrong of me. I am disappointed with myself but I’m also really happy for you and I’m proud of you. It’s great points for the team and you”

“Thanks Lando, I appreciate the apology. I think we need to have a meeting with the team to discuss a better strategy so nothing like this happens again in the future”

Lando nods agreeing with him, before turning his eye contact to you “And to you, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, you were defending both of us and I took it the wrong way and I knew it. Thank you for being an amazing sister, I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you”

“You’re so lucky that you’re my favourite” you smirk, getting up to hug him “I love you” Lando whispers “I love you too, even if you are Dad’s favourite”

“Thats false, you are definitely your Dad’s favourite” Oscar jokes “See! you are Dad’s favourite” Lando agrees “You’re his favourite! Remember when I was 13 and I got grounded for a week because you threw and egg at me and it hit Dad’s car? I got grounded for that because he didn’t think that you would ever do that”

“Or the time when we had your birthday dinner and you were feeding the cake to the dog and you blamed it on Lando later on in the day when the dog was pooping everywhere”

“Alright, I don’t need the two of you ganging up on me! Thank you for coming to apologise Lan”

“Yeah and all is forgiven” Oscar nods “Good to hear, are you guys staying in tonight?” Lando asks pointing at the TV

“Yep, a good night full of room service and sex!”

“Ew! That’s disgusting! Why am I related to you!” Lando rushes out the room

Laying in bed a few minutes later, you hear a second knock at the door. You pull away from Oscar’s kiss, storming to the door

“Lando I didn’t realise you wanted to send Oscar naked so bad-“ you stop once you realise it was not in fact your brother standing on the other side of the door, it was room service and a poor innocent old man now knew that your boyfriend was naked on the other side of the door

“Sorry” you apologise, pulling in the tray and closing the door.

You hear a loud laugh from the bed and you rush over jumping on him “It’s funny”

“Oh it is! You’re never living that down baby” he smirks, flipping himself on top of you.

#lando norris #oscar piastri #mclaren f1 #mclaren #mclaren racing #P1 #P2 #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri smut #brother lando

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ktownshizzle · 2 months ago

Text

Nerd & Nerdier | Finale

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader, Jeon Wonwoo x reader; endgame? x reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Attempt At Comedy, Roommates au, Love triangle

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Moving in with two introverts should have been easy. Not when it’s Min Yoongi and Jeon Wonwoo, who decide they both want you. Unhinged, awkward, and nerdy as hell, they proceed to compete for your attention in the most unnecessarily dramatic fashion that culminates into a… rap battle.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Wildly gratuitous, 100% chance you’ll fall in love with both of them so that’s a problem, no mxm dynamics to be expected (kinda)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: MDNI 18+, overuse of the word fuck, yoongi GOING THROUGH IT!, pop culture references (pokemon, inzoi), drunken shenanigans, second hand embarrassment, unprotected sex (be smarter tho), everybody gets a happy ending

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 6k hooray! ✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: April 1, 2025

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Not a joke! The finale is here!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6

Yoongi yeets himself out of the apartment. Gets the fuck out of there and walks to the ends of the earth for all he cares.

He stuffs his hands inside his pockets. It’s freezing but the wind feels like a welcome punishment against his face. He needed to be numb.

Shit. He’s already down to his last cigarette, and he’s barely halfway through the block when he lights it with shaking fingers.

The smoke burns. His throat burns.

And still, not as bad as what he saw. And in his own home no less.

Granted he shared it with you and Wonwoo. But that doesn’t give you fuckers the right to….

He stops and knocks his forehead against a lamp post. Twice. Thrice.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He’s gonna kill Namjoon for forcing him to go to that songwriting retreat. And Hoseok for sending Namjoon that email invite.

The last 10 minutes stick in his brain like gum—right on the amygdala, where all the worst things like to linger.

The way you kiss Wonwoo like he was it. Like he was the one. Like the last few weeks meant nothing. Like your message yesterday meant nothing.

He doesn’t know why he stood there long enough to register the way Wonwoo touched your face, the way you let him.

The way you said you knew it was him from the beginning. He didn’t wait to hear the rest.

Didn’t need to. Couldn’t bear to.

Fuck that shit, honestly. Wonwoo wasn’t the only gamer in that house. You played him, too.

After walking around, picking up stuff (alcohol, cigarettes), Yoongi ends up at Genius Rkives.

The place is empty—blessedly, quietly empty as Namjoon is probably just getting settled in his own home. As he should.

The studio smells like incense and a bit like old wood. It’s comforting, in a way. At least this place hasn’t changed even if everything else fucking has.

He slumps onto their old leather couch and stares at nothing for a long, long time. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink (probably).

Just sits there, hoodie over his head, cigarette ashes still clinging to the smell of his skin, contemplating how the hell he got blindsided.

Before he blacks out he does one thing that he’ll regret in a few days. He blocks you.

He spends the next few days in the studio, hunched over tracks he is unable to finish. Everything sounds hollow now. Like someone else made it. Like none of it fucking matters.

He doesn’t eat. Drinks more coffee than water. Doesn’t sleep unless he passes out from sheer exhaustion.

“You look like shit,” Namjoon says casually, tossing a banana on the table. “Eat something.”

Yoongi doesn’t even look up. He does take the banana, peels it, and scarfs down half in a single bite.

Namjoon studies him for a second. “Wanna talk about it?”

Mouthful of fruit, Yoongi exhales a humorless laugh. “Nah.”

And that’s that.

On the fourth night, when the silence is too loud and even his own thoughts start sounding like white noise, he opens Instagram. You’ve posted something a few minutes ago.

Just a dim photo of the living room. One mug on the table.

The photo is accompanied by a single word: Empty

Yoongi stares at it and his throat dries up.

It’s his coffee mug. The same one he uses everyday because he is a creature of habit.

“Shit,” he mutters to no one.

Because he doesn’t know what it means. Doesn’t know if it’s about him. Doesn’t know if he wants it to be.

All he knows is that he hasn’t stopped thinking about you.

About how you said you missed him. (And the fact that he misses you, too. So damn much.)

About how he thought—really thought—he was the one you wanted.

But all he can picture is the way Wonwoo held you like he probably had every night he was gone.

And now he’s feeling just like your caption.

He hasn’t been getting your texts. But he has been getting Wonwoo’s.

Wonwoo: Hyung. Can we talk?

Yoongi stares at the notification.

Nah.

Talk?

Talk about what?

Talk about how he was standing there—hands on your waist, mouth on your lips—the girl Yoongi was in love with?

Yeah, no thanks.

He doesn’t answer. Just slips on his headphones and drowns himself in half-finished mixes until the sky turns pink and the ache in his chest numbs into something dull and half-dead.

The next morning, another message comes in.

Wonwoo: Unblock her

Yoongi scoffs, almost laughs. Who the fuck does he think he is, barking orders like that?

He’s ready to swipe and block his ass too when another message lands.

Wonwoo: She chose you Wonwoo: Not me

That one stops him cold.

He stares at the screen until it fades to black.

He doesn’t reply.

Not right away.

Not until five hours later, halfway through a bottle of Cass, a dull burn crawling up his throat, your voice echoing in the hollow of his skull like some stubborn loop he can’t mute.

He types.

Deletes.

Types again.

And finally hits send.

Yoongi: Didn't look like it

Then shuts his phone off completely.

Because if he sees one more message tonight, he might actually break.

He’s pissed. And hurt. And yeah, maybe Wonwoo doesn’t get to boss him around. But he followed the instruction anyway.

He unblocks you.

And then passes the fuck out.

The moment he opens his phone. A barrage of pings irritates his eardrums. He’s mildly surprised it’s all from you.

You: Yoongi. Are you okay? You: Please come home You: I miss you You: It was a mistake

You: I’m sorry

He wishes he had it in him to hate you.

It would be easier. Cleaner. Simpler.

But all he feels is the ugly twist in his gut. That soft ache behind his ribs. That voice in his head that still wants to believe there’s a version of the story where you picked him first.

He throws the phone across the couch and covers his face with his hands.

His chest rises, falls. Rises, falls.

He breathes like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

You’re drunk.

Not a little tipsy. Not that cute, flirty kind of drunk. You’re talking full-blown, slurred speech, bit of drool on your chin drunk.

And the worst part?

So is Wonwoo.

“Where the fuck is he?” you whine from the floor, your head tilted back dramatically against the couch as you shovel cold ramyeon into your mouth with chopsticks.

Wonwoo lets out a groan from where he’s collapsed half-on, half-off the bean bag. “You think he died?”

You blink at him. “He viewed my Instagram story three days ago.”

Wonwoo nods solemnly. “So not dead. Just dramatic.”

You groan and roll onto your side. “God, he’s such a little bitch.”

“Agreed,” Wonwoo mutters, clinking his empty glass against your half-full one. “Still hot, though.”

Present-you accepts that as a drunken truth. But future-you would look back and wonder—Did Wonwoo just call Yoongi hot?

“Stupidly hot,” you mumble to your drink anyway.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then you both burst out laughing. Hysterical, ugly, half-sobbing laughter. You’re crying into your noodles. Wonwoo is hugging an empty soju bottle like it owes him money.

You sit up suddenly, noodles still hanging from your mouth.

“I’m texting him again.”

Wonwoo lifts his head. “Do it.”

You fish your phone from the couch cushions, squint at the screen, and thumb open your messages.

You don’t even think about your words before hitting send… multiple times. Afterwards, you throw the phone onto the couch like it’s on fire and collapse into a giggling mess.

“I did it,” you whisper, horrified and proud all at once.

Wonwoo lifts his fist for a drunk high five. “You’re so brave.”

The phone remains silent.

But somewhere in the dark, you hope Yoongi is reading those texts—and that maybe, just maybe, he’ll find it in his heart to give you a chance.

Yoongi isn’t drunk, but he is a little buzzed.

The kind of buzzed that makes the edges of his thoughts feel a little cottony, blurry.

He’s sitting on the couch in Hoseok’s apartment—legs kicked up on the coffee table, one hand holding a beer, the other lazily scrolling through his phone, until your name pops up. And it’s not one text. It’s… a flood.

You: yo You: yoongi You: yoooooooongiiiiiii You: you crusty sexy neckless bastard You: why did you ghost me You: your flowers are DEAD You: i’m DEAD You: wonwoo’s crying You: not really You: but i am You: pls COME HOME You: i can explain You: im sorry You: IDIOT You: i miss youu

He groans.

Hoseok in the kitchen calls out, “What’s going on, hyung?”

Yoongi just grunts, because what the fuck.

He reads the messages again. And again. He scrolls up and down like the words might rearrange themselves into something easier to process.

His thumb hovers over the keyboard.

Then pulls back.

Then hovers again.

He should ignore it. It’s drunk nonsense. He can hear your voice in the excess vowels.

But it’s the last one that fucks him up.

He swipes a hand over his face and exhales sharply, the sound catching somewhere in his throat.

Yoongi doesn’t melt easily. He’s not the type. He gets pissed before he gets soft. Gets silent before he gets sentimental. But goddamn you. Goddamn the way your words still manage to punch through the walls he’s put up.

He opens your text thread and coincidentally another message slips through.

It’s a gif. A Pokemon gif of all things. Of Ash throwing a poke ball saying: Pikachu I choose you.

God you are so fucking WEIRD. But saying that did not endear him to you further would be a vicious lie.

He groans. Stares at the blank message and finally types..

Yoongi: you idiot Yoongi: i’m coming home

Then he grabs his coat, slides on his headphones, and steps into the night.

He misses you too. Bad. But he doesn’t say it back. At least not through text.

Yoongi doesn’t expect a grand homecoming when he pushes the door open. But a little groveling wouldn’t have hurt.

Instead, he’s greeted by the sight of you passed out on the couch, limbs tangled in a blanket, lips parted in the softest little snore. Wonwoo’s slumped nearby, equally unconscious, an empty soju bottle balanced dangerously on his knee.

A cornucopia of soju and ramen, and chips lie in the center like it was The Hunger Games and these two lost.

He shakes his head, sighs. He should be angry. But all he feels is that he missed you. Both of you. Being here and being home.

First order of business: get Wonwoo to his room. Yoongi somehow manages it, half-dragging, half-guiding the much taller man down the hall. Tucks him in, even takes off his glasses and sets them gently on the bedside table so he doesn’t roll over them in his sleep.

Then there’s you.

Still curled up on the couch, one sock half off, hair a mess, hugging an unopened bag of shrimp chips like it’s a stuffed animal.

Yoongi runs a hand through his hair and exhales before crouching down beside the couch.

You’re drooling a little. And your shirt is halfway riding up your stomach.

He mutters a curse under his breath, hooks one arm beneath your knees, another around your shoulders, and lifts you up—bridal style. You’re actually heavy and your limbs flop like you’re some tranquilized wild animal (in some ways you are), but he grunts and tries his best not to drop you.

You stir slightly as he wobbles toward your room.

Then you blink. And blink again. Before your eyes go wide. “Oh my God.”

Yoongi pauses. “…What?”

“Are you—are you real?” you whisper, voice raspy and full of awe. “Is this really you, Yoongi?”

He blinks. “Yeah?”

“You look so gooood in person.”

Yoongi huffs a laugh. “Shut up.”

“Your arms are so toned, oh my god. Did you work out when you were away?”

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re hot.” You grin. “I’d totally hit that.”

He mutters a very pained “Jesus Christ” as he kicks your door open.

But he’s smiling. He can’t help it. He’s so fond.

You look up at him with those glassy eyes, and your voice softens, barely a whisper now. “I love you, you know. Like, a lot. I cried every night you were gone.”

Something in his chest squeezes. Almost painfully. Before mild annoyance settles with it. This is not how we thought he would hear those words for the first time. Why are you like this?! But fuck, you love him.

“You’re drunk,” he says again, but this time his voice is lower, shakier.

You nod solemnly. “And honest.”

He lays you down gently on your bed, pulling the covers over you with the same care he gave Wonwoo earlier.

He disappears into the bathroom for a second, comes back with a warm washcloth, and kneels by your bed to wipe the sheen of soju from your cheeks and the corner of your mouth.

You hum under your breath. “Stay.”

Yoongi pauses mid swipe.

“Stay forever,” you add, breath catching. “Please, Yoongi?”

He looks at you. Really looks at you.

And maybe it’s the way your voice broke when you said his name, or the way your fingers weakly reach for the sleeve of his hoodie, or the way you look so impossibly small and soft in the dim light—but he knows he’s not going anywhere.

Not tonight.

Not if he can help it.

“Okay,” he whispers.

He climbs in beside you, lets you curl into him without hesitation. Big spoon to little spoon, arms wrapped around your middle like he’s willing to protect you from all kinds of harm.

You sigh. Melt into him like you were made to fit there.

And finally—finally—Yoongi sleeps.

Not the restless kind. The kind he can only get when he’s home.

The first thing you register is the headache.

The second is the unfamiliar weight around your waist.

You blink blearily at the soft morning light spilling through your curtains, your mouth dry as sandpaper and your brain moving at the speed of a buffering livestream. Everything hurts. Your body, your stomach, your eyeballs.

You shift slightly—just enough to turn your head.

Shit.

Yoongi. Yoongi is in your bed.

Your erstwhile missing roommate, Yoongi.

Your potential boyfriend but you fucked it up by getting caught making out with another man, Yoongi.

Yoongi, whose legs are tangled with yours beneath the blanket, one arm snug around your waist like it belongs there.

Mild heart attack. Bile threatening to rise up. You need to get out of bed.

But before you can do that, a deep, groggy voice rumbles behind you. “Stop squirming.”

You freeze like an Inzoi character on pause. You don’t even breathe so you're starting to get lightheaded.

Yoongi inhales deeply against your hair, retracts his arm.

“Drink your aspirin,” he murmurs. “It’s on the table.”

Your eyes flick to the nightstand. Sure enough, a glass of water and a single pill sit waiting. Your hand trembles slightly as you reach for it, trying not to disturb him, which is hard because the bed is tiny and he’s very much in your space.

You wash it down in one gulp. Set the glass back.

“You’re awake,” you whisper.

“No shit,” he grumbles, still not opening his eyes. “You elbowed me in the ribs three times.”

You wince. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he exhales, the air warm against your nape. “Was worth it.”

Your heart stutters.

And then—

“Holy shit,” you whisper, panic climbing in your throat as some memories start to flood back in–lots of junk food and soju with Wonwoo, laughing and then crying, Yoongi’s face close to yours, telling him you love him. “Did I—what did I say last night?”

Yoongi’s silence is a little too smug, and he shifts to roll away from you.

“Yoongi,” you hiss, trying to turn him, but he is immovable.

“You were drunk.”

“I know. I mean, did I—” You bite your lip. “Just tell me what I said.”

A beat passes.

“You said I was hot.”

You groan, burying your face in the pillow. “Please tell me that was it.”

“You also said you’d totally hit that.”

“Oh god.”

“And,” Yoongi continues, drawling now, “you confessed your undying love.”

You shut your eyes. “Kill me.”

He chuckles. “Nah.”

He shifts to face you back and this time you’re the one to pull away but the weight of his arm around you sinks in. You’re both lying there, warm, drowsy, tangled up in the morning haze.

“…You stayed,” you whisper.

He hums. “You asked me to.”

Your fingers curl into the edge of the blanket. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just presses a gentle kiss against your clothed shoulder, his breath slow, steady.

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs. “We’ll talk later.”

You want to ask what later means. Want to know where this is going. But for now, your head is pounding and Yoongi’s body is warm against yours and it feels like the safest place on earth.

So you let him hold you.

And you close your eyes.

You must’ve dozed off again because the next time you wake, Yoongi’s no longer spooning you (sad)—he’s sitting on the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees, face in his hands.

He looks like he’s been sitting there for a while.

“Yoongi?”

He doesn’t look at you immediately, just rubs a palm down his face. When he does glance your way, his expression is hard to read—tired, maybe. A little wrecked around the edges.

“We should talk,” he says quietly.

You sit up, pulling the blanket around you like armor. “Yeah.”

Silence stretches for a few seconds.

Yoongi looks down at his hands.

“I saw you,” he says. “The night I came back.”

Fuck. You knew this fact, but shame pricks at you anyways as he says it.

“Wonwoo.” His jaw clenches. “You. In the living room. You were saying things to him.”

Your stomach sinks.

He exhales through his nose, sharp and fast. “You said you loved me. But what was that?”

You bite your lip. Hard. “Yoongi…” You move forward, reaching out—slowly—until your fingers graze his wrist. “I didn’t pick him.”

His eyes flick to you, guarded.

“I know.” You nod, guilt curling tight around your ribs. “I know what it looked like. And I don’t blame you for leaving.”

You swallow hard, gathering the words you’ve been holding back.

“He asked me to pretend. Just for a second. Just to know what it felt like to be loved back. And I—I should’ve said no. But he looked so hurt, so I just… I should have said no.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t pull away either.

“It was wrong,” you continue. “It wasn’t fair to you. Or him. But I swear, that night, and even before that, I already knew it was you. I was just waiting for you to come home to tell you. But yeah, that happened, and, fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Yoongi is quiet. Too quiet. His face was unreadable. God you royally fucked this up.

You shift closer, your voice softer now. “I love you, Min Yoongi. It’s not a drunk confession, it’s not a mistake. I wanted you from the start. I still want you. And I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

You hold your breath. Wait.

Then—

“Fuck,” Yoongi mutters, running both hands through his hair. “How do you say shit like that and expect me to stay mad?”

You let out a breathy laugh, relief washing over you.

He turns to face you fully now, his gaze softer—still raw, but softer. “You’re lucky I’m obsessed with you.”

You blink. “Obsessed?”

“Biblically,” he deadpans, lips forming a straight line.

Your laugh bubbles out before you can stop it.

Yoongi leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “Don’t do that again.”

You shake your head.

Then he kisses you, just lightly, before pulling you back into the cushions with a grumble, “if Wonwoo ever asks to roleplay as me again, you tell me and I’m gonna kick his ass.”

You snort, settling into his arms. “That feels fair.”

“Damn right it is.”

And with that, Yoongi wraps you up like he’s never letting go again.

It takes a couple days.

Yoongi doesn’t go out of his way to avoid Wonwoo—but he doesn’t go out of his way to talk to him either. They move around the apartment like polite strangers. It’s getting super awkward and depressing. You almost wanted to start scheduling the bathroom in shifts.

But you give them space. Let them figure it out. Because before you came into their lives, they were good friends, almost brothers even. And you know they’re both good men whose love for each other runs deep despite their stoic facades.

Sometimes you’d leave Yoongi’s favorite album quietly in the background whenever you’re in the living room, because you know Wonwoo still lingers near the door when it’s on. You know he misses him too.

The truce finally comes on a Wednesday.

You’re out grocery shopping—on purpose—when it happens.

Yoongi’s in the kitchen, a mug of black coffee in hand, when Wonwoo walks in wearing a hoodie two sizes too big and the face of someone who’s been up editing for twelve hours straight.

They stand in silence for a second.

Then Yoongi gestures to his mug. “You need this more than I do.”

Wonwoo blinks. “Hyung...”

“Yeah, yeah, just take it.” Yoongi waves his hand dismissively.

Wonwoo’s fingers finally close in on the mug, bringing it towards his lips. “…Thanks, hyung.”

Yoongi hums, looking out the window.

Wonwoo hesitates. “I’m sorry. For… all of it.”

Yoongi doesn’t look at him. Just stares into space. “I know.”

Wonwoo exhales. “Shoulda taken the L like I promised. But I just—liked her. I thought maybe I had a shot. Thought I could handle it. But I didn’t expect to care about you both this much.”

Yoongi finally glances over, eyes tired but not unkind. “Big mad I had to see that shit, though.”

Wonwoo cringes. “Yeah. I know.”

“You kiss sloppy.”

“I was crying, hyung.”

Yoongi smirks. “I’m just saying.”

They stare at each other for another beat.

“We good.” Yoongi tells him, and the stress on Wonwoo’s shoulder eases tenfold.

Wonwoo grins, “good.”

And just like that, the tension breaks—fragile but real. Not erased. Not forgotten. But healing in the way only true friends can.

When you get home an hour later, you find the two of them huddled over Yoongi’s laptop, arguing about which 8-bit sound effect is better for Wonwoo’s Youtube channel’s opening beat.

Yoongi looks up briefly when you step in, bags at hand. “Why do you take forever in Olive Young?”

“You two are talking again.”

Wonwoo motions you to be quiet. “Shhh. Don’t jinx it, noona.”

Yoongi just shakes his head, clicking away.

“Chimaek, tonight?”

Two thumbs ups.

Ah. It feels good to be finally home.

One month later…

Wonwoo’s already at the table, sipping his coffee. His hair is still damp from a shower, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he scrolls through something on his phone.

Yoongi’s plating up some eggs, bacon already looking crunchy and so good on another plate on the counter.

You glance between them, heart tugging at the sight.

It feels almost like the early days again—before all the mess and the pining and the rap battles and the ghosting. Just three roommates, slightly chaotic, mostly functioning.

Wonwoo clears his throat. “So… I have some news.”

You and Yoongi both look up.

“I, uh—so my channel’s been blowing up.”

You smile. “I know…”

Wonwoo nods, lips twitching into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. One of my compilation clips hit a million views. Then two. It’s a little crazy that I’m getting millions of people watching my streams. And now this creator house in Osaka, they’ve reached out. They want me to join them full-time.”

Silence.

You blink once. Twice.

Yoongi’s egg slides off his chopsticks and hits the table with a soft splat.

“You’re moving?” you ask quietly.

“In two weeks.”

The words hang heavy in the air, like steam that won’t quite dissipate.

You swallow. “Wow. That’s… amazing, Wonwoo. Really.”

He chuckles softly. “Yeah. I’m still trying to process it. But I think—I think I want to go. It’s a big opportunity. They’ve got a deal with Netflix and everything. It’s wild.”

Yoongi doesn’t speak. Just stares down at his bowl, jaw set.

Wonwoo looks at both of you, his expression soft. “Also… I think it’s for the better.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs lightly, but there’s nothing careless about his words. “You two need space. Real space. I’ve seen how careful you’ve been around me—like you’re always tiptoeing, trying not to… like, I get it. But it’s okay.” He smiles then, genuine and a little bittersweet. “I don’t want to be the third wheel anymore. I want to see you guys figure this out for real.”

You open your mouth to disagree, but nothing comes out. Because he’s right. You have been walking on eggshells around him.

Yes, you and Yoongi have had the talk, have shared the quiet moments and the whispered promises—but living with Wonwoo meant holding back. Kisses stolen in the hallway. Frantic touches under the covers. Making out like teenagers afraid to get caught by their parents. You haven’t even fucked—not properly—because you don’t trust yourself to stay quiet. And the last thing you want is to make things more uncomfortable than they already are for Wonwoo.

You sigh, reach for his hand, squeezing it. “We’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you both, too. But we’ll still game. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Thank god,” you say. “I need someone to carry me in Valo, ‘cause this one’s useless.”

Yoongi still hasn’t said a word even as you maligned him. But when you glance at him, his head tilted toward his bowl, you notice the way he lifts a hand—just briefly—to brush beneath his eye. Subtle. Almost imperceptible.

You don’t call him out for it.

Instead, you quietly nudge your foot against his under the table.

He looks up, finally, and you offer a soft smile.

He exhales, then lifts his head, trying to school his expression. “Congrats. You deserve it.”

Two weeks later, Wonwoo’s bags are packed. Two suitcases by the door, gaming headset carefully wrapped in a hoodie and tucked into his carry-on. His favorite mug is still in the drying rack. You hope he forgot it, just so you can have something to hold onto.

He’s still coming back in a month’s time to wrap up everything else he wasn’t able to box or sell before he flies out. Some equipment he won’t need because they’re giving him a new system, plus a couple of odd items here and there. There’s still his bed, some clothes, old games, some extra cameras—it honestly still feels like he lives here and has just gone away for college.

You walk him to the door.

He turns to face you, lifting his brows like he’s expecting a lecture.

You step closer, fixing the strap on his backpack. “Keep up your Duolingo streak. Get that English sharp. The fans are gonna eat it up.”

“‘What’s up, guys, it’s your boy, Wonwoo, welcome back to the stream,’” he deadpans in a flat accent.

You snort. “Exactly.”

For a moment, you both just stand there, silence pressing in around the edges.

“I know hyung will take care of you. Probably even better than I could.”

You reach for his hand, squeezing it once. “You’ve taken care of me more than you know.”

He smiles—small, sad, but grateful. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Oh I am sure you’ll forget me what with all your new fangirls… what do you call ‘em? Your baby chocolats?”

He laughs, a short, bright sound that makes your throat sting a little. Then he leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

“I’ll text you when I land.”

“You better.”

And with that, you step back and let him go.

You go towards the window where you see him meet up with Yoongi on the street, helping the driver lug his boxes on the compartment of the SUV.

You don’t hear what’s said. Don’t try to.

But you do see them stare at each other for a second too long, then—awkwardly, almost reluctantly—move into a hug. A real one.

Two introverts. Two non-huggers. And still, there they are, arms around each other, no jokes, no snark.

Just something soft. Something understood.

Damn. You never thought you’d see the day.

When the car finally drives off, Yoongi looks up and your eyes meet. There’s sadness in it but there’s also something else.

Like something new is finally about to begin.

Roommate Rule #5: Always check for blinking lights… you’ll know why…

It was weird at first when Wonwoo left.

It was the lack of him being there between you and Yoongi. Because no matter how close you and Yoongi had gotten, the space between you was always padded with caution.

Too careful.

Too considerate of the younger one in the house. You loved Wonwoo, and Yoongi loved him too—in the gruff, brotherly, could-murder-you-but-won’t kind of way. But the care you had for him, the quiet hesitance of not wanting to hurt him, made everything feel just a little restrained.

Now, with just the two of you, it’s different.

Better.

There’s a fluffy kind of freedom in being able to kiss Yoongi whenever you want. To drape yourself across his lap on the couch and whisper the dumbest shit just to hear him chuckle against your neck. To argue about which records to play, who left the light on, how many mugs he’s used and not washed. You fight more. You make up more. You say what you feel. You say it often.

And tonight? Tonight, you finally said you wanted him.

Really wanted him.

Like inside you.

Bad.

So now here you are, stumbling into the apartment after a romantic dinner, laughing between messy kisses, giddy and tipsy and so stupidly in love it’s honestly embarrassing.

You yank his silly leopard hat off somewhere near the entryway.

“Wait,” you murmur breathlessly, lips brushing his jaw. “Where?”

Yoongi, already halfway out of his shirt, pants, and possibly his mind, blinks at you.

“My room?” he offers.

You hesitate. “Your bed’s too far from the wall. I can’t brace myself if we’re—”

He stares at you, smirking. “You’ve thought about this.”

You don’t deny it. You also don’t even justify why your feet take you to Wonwoo’s room.

“Neutral ground?” Yoongi says, tilting his head.

You shrug. “Yeah. Feels… fair.”

You don’t talk much after that. Because Yoongi, goddamn him, is rendering you speechless. The way his mouth trails kisses along your neck, breathing softly against your skin. You arch into him, fingers curling into his hair, his shoulders, wherever you can touch and pull and hold.

Yoongi lays you down on Wonwoo’s bed gently. His mouth never leaves yours, just soft kisses turning messier and dirtier as the tension finally, finally unravels between you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he rasps into your neck, trailing his tongue towards your earlobe. “Been thinking about this for so fuckin’ long.”

Your hands tangle in his dark strands, tugging lightly, and he groans—rough, needy. The sound of it punches heat straight through your core.

More clothes come off in a haze of giggles and curses, until you’re naked, flushed, and sprawled beneath him. Completely exposed. Completely his. But you don’t feel shy. You feel… safe. Because that’s how he has always made you feel.

Especially when Yoongi looks like he’s staring at the fucking Mona Lisa. His eyes rake over your nude form, before he exhales a soft “fuck,” and lowers himself to mouth at a taut nipple. He swirls his tongue over the bud before giving it a long suck, encasing it between his teeth with a slight tug.

“Shit,” you arch your back, electricity surging from your chest.

When his hands slide between your thighs and his fingers slip inside, your head falls back with a gasp.

“Yoongi—”

“I got you, baby,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

And he does.

You’re already shaking when he finally slips it in, filling you inch by inch as he whispers praise against your ear.

“Fuck,” he mutters, warm breath seeping into your moist skin. “You feel—God.”

He moves like he’s laying down the beat of his life. Every roll of his hips perfectly in sync with your ragged breaths, every soft moan you make dragging curses from his throat.

Your nails make crescents into his milky skin. Your legs wrap tight around his waist like a vice grip.

And when you come, it hits you so hard you think you’ve gone blind. He groans your name desperately and follows right after, buried deep, falling apart against you with one final buck.

You lay there after, chest to chest, sticky and hot, your heart pounding..

He brushes your hair back from your forehead and plants kisses all over your face. Butterfly kisses that leave you emotional at how gentle he is.

“I love you,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against yours.

You smile, boneless. “I love you, too.”

He hums low. “So we’re doing that again. Obviously.”

“I can’t feel my legs,” you confess.

He smirks. “That’s how you know it was good.”

You swat at his chest. “You’re the worst.”

“And you’re… welcome.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence, staring up at the ceiling, smiling at nothing.

Until—a soft blinking red light catches your eye on the corner of the room.

You frown. “Yoongi.”

“Hm?”

“…Is that—?”

You both sit up, squinting at the CCTV camera that’s starting you down like an evil eye.

Your stomach drops. “No. No fucking way.”

Yoongi squints. “That better be off. That better be—”

Your phone vibrates. Then Yoongi’s.

Both of you freeze. You already know what it is. Actually, you already know who it is.

And there goes the single message in the “Roomies” group chat to confirm your suspicions.

Wonwoo: Thanks for the nudes 😉

The End (Or is it?)

A/N: And another K series done and dusted. I am gonna miss these 3 honestly. They’ve been such a joy to work on. I loved being in their world and writing this unhinged and chaotic plot line that all started because I wanted to write a silly little rap battle.

Thank you so much for reading, you lovely, beautiful human! Xo

Serve safe and serve well, Wonwoo my baby chocolat! <3

Let me know in the notes what you thought! A reblog would be an amazing gift if you enjoyed reading :) Love you, guys!

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Divider by: @cafekitsune (thank you!)

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 25 days ago

Text

Cain (p4)

Tw: Cain is really violent, like verbally violent. Tantrums, toxic relationships, isolation from friends and family, sexual content, sexual descriptions, profanity- like a LOT of them, Cain losing his shit really frequently. Gender neutral reader, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

This is part 4.

Click here for part 5

Click here for part 1

Cain tries. He really did.

The first week or so after his earth shattering confession, Cain was elusive. You hardly see him at home, not even for meals. But you know he's eating, because you would leave leftovers in the fridge and it would disappear the next day. You thought he was avoiding you, and you understood, because you practically rejected him at first.

He came back one day, seemingly waiting for you in the living room. To your surprise, instead of only acknowledging each other with a split second glance, Cain tried to make a conversation.

"How was it?" He asked.

You asked him what he meant.

"Your day." Cain continues, looking right into your eyes, which caught you off guard. Usually, eye contact means he's about to stir some trouble up, but you think this time he's actually making an attempt to communicate. "How was... your day?"

You told him that it was okay. Then you asked him about his day.

You could definitely see that he physically stopped himself from responding like he used to. Cain closed his eyes and took a deep breath before answering.

"My day is okay too."

And both of you left it at that, as you did your own thing, he did his own thing... which happened to be reading a book of sorts? Strange, he doesn't seem like the type to even be remotely near words. But you didn't want to pry and potentially get your head bitten off.

"It's cold." You turned to him and finally noticed that he's actually bundled up in a hoodie instead of his usual sleeveless shirt. That made sense, the seasons are changing, and very soon you would see frost on the sidewalk again.

Come to think of it, he has recently changed up his fashion sense to cover up a lot more, adjusting according to the weather. No more ripped jeans, instead opting to wear a pair of thick cargo pants with numerous pockets. He also got himself a new pair of shoes, trading in his tattered sneakers for a new pair of combat boots.

You asked him if it bothers him. Cain seemed to pause and think about his answer for a moment before replying.

"I always hated the fucking cold." He spoke with a sense of dread in his voice. Cain knows that he can't change the weather, and he just needs to tough it out. He has done this for years, ever since he was abandoned in that dumpster. But it doesn't make it easier, and each winter feels as intense as the last. And the worst part is, he doesn't understand why the bites of frost disturb him so much. Cain never found out how he was abandoned by his parents; he only knew that they did.

You nodded and decided to just... put aside a bit more cash for the heating bill. You cranked up the heat enough at home to make it comfortable for him. The water heater is also switched on 24/7 now, even if it does hike up your bills. Sometimes you even think the apartment was a little too warm for your liking, but seeing Cain being a lot less miserable made you suck it up and just wear lighter clothing instead.

And you didn't think much of it, until there was one night, when the wind was howling and all you could see was powdery white outside; You heard a knock on your bedroom door, and you were about to fall asleep in a pair of shorts and shirt, because the thermostat is dialed all the way up that it felt like summer. Upon opening it, you saw Cain towering over you, exuding vulnerability. He's not wearing his hoodie, but a white t-shirt, a pair of comfortable plaid shoes, and warm, fuzzy slippers. You were surprised that he showed no signs of sweating, unlike you, struggling to cope with the artificial heat, yet you do so for the sake of your troubled roommate.

You asked him if he needed anything from you. Only to be pulled into his arms for a tight hug. You were about to say something, but you felt wetness on your shoulder. Cain was crying.

"I don't... I don't know what I'm feeling..." Although muffled, you could hear how pained and conflicted he was.

You patted his back as he let it all out. You were dying to ask him questions, but knowing Cain, it wouldn't get you very far if he wasn't ready to share it in the first place.

"It feels good. I-It's warm." He spoke between sobs. "Please... let me stay."

You didn't understand what gave him the impression that you were planning to kick him out anytime soon. You told him that he's welcome here. And that was all he needed to hear tonight.

And what neither of you knows is that today was his birthday, or rather, the day those bystanders found him discarded like trash. Cain may not remember, but his body does. And it was the first time in his life that he wasn't shivering on this special day.

And Cain is afraid, utterly terrified to lose what he has now. Yet he doesn't know how to keep it. So he latches on, he does his best, he tries.

He slept in the same bed as you that night. It wasn't comfortable at all; his body ran hot. And on top of the running heaters? You felt like you were in a furnace. Cain had his arms wrapped around you at all times, constricting your movements, but he wouldn't budge, no matter how much you squirmed. His hold felt desperate; you could feel the aching yearning he held in his body for decades. Cain would bury his head at the back of your neck, making you wonder if he just liked the feeling of being suffocated by his own breath.

You woke up the next day earlier than he did. Cain was still clinging to you with dried tears on his face. But you didn't have the heart to wake him up, because he looked truly peaceful. Though you didn't have to wait long until he opened his eyes and groggily rubbed them, freeing you from his prison.

You greeted him and asked him how he slept last night.

"Good..." He yawned and stretched his arms. Well, at least one of you had a good night's sleep. Cain doesn't seem to be particularly embarrassed that he reached this level of intimacy with you; hell, he doesn't seem to see it as anything out of the ordinary at all. It's as if he were sleeping in the same bed as you for months.

He got out of bed to freshen up, leaving you to finally reclaim your space and take your turn to doze off. Luckily, today is an off day for you, or you would have gone to work in a sour mood.

"Who the fuck are you all?!" You were jolted awake by Cain's sudden outburst in the living room. You heard extra voices and assumed he had opened the door to someone.

An argument ensued, making you scramble back up on your feet to see what was going on. Upon poking your head out of the door frame, you saw Cain heavily berating someone outside your apartment.

You called him by his name, and that caught his attention. "I don't know who these assholes are, they are not coming in!" He yelled, attempting to shut the door on the visitors.

You caught a glimpse of your long-time friends' confused and horrified faces before he slammed the door loudly against them.

Oh.

You forgot that they were visiting. Shit.

You see that Cain was agitated, threatened, even. He began hurling profanities at them, wishing doom on them, so on and so forth. He was panicking; the only way he could express this was by lashing out and pulling on his already messy, short, fiery hair.

You tried calming him down, but that only made him spiral more.

"They said that they're your friends-- They're nothing! They're nothing to you, they don't fucking matter! They're scum, they're trash!" He screamed as tears streaked down his frenzied face. Cain began hyperventilating, the more you tried to get him to see reason. "I'll fucking kill them, I fucking will!"

You decided to shut up and let him burn all his fuel out. All this while, you were extremely baffled as to what suddenly set him off. You know, Cain could be somewhat decent to strangers; he doesn't go off on the delivery men that sometimes come here to give you your packages or food. He would sometimes even be the one who signed the delivery confirmation form with no issue. Not even door-to-door salesmen would make him erupt like this; at most, he would just close the door on them. Why is he suddenly so territorial?

And as predicted, his explosion ended with him curling up into a pathetic ball of misery on the floor. You think your friends decided to leave you and him alone for a while, you're definitely getting a very concerned phone call later.

So, you did. And you managed to convince that you're okay, and Cain is a good man. It was challenging, but they decided to respect your wishes. Or maybe they also didn't want to deal with that unstable landmine of a person.

You don't think he left the apartment without you during the entirety of winter. He would flare up as soon as he felt a draft, and you wonder if it's a traumatic response to something. Either way, you don't think you should pry if he's not ready to talk about it.

Cain got very comfortable with you now. The sofa bed is left empty, now he goes straight into your bedroom. It doesn't matter if you're purposely hogging the bed, he would either manhandle you as if you're his beloved stuffed teddy bear, or have the audacity to say, "Scoot your ass over."

He developed a habit of possessively wrapping his arm around your waist whenever both of you were out. Instead of waiting for you to move out of the way or barking commands to move aside, Cain would just manually move you by guiding your shoulders or sometimes, your hips.

He seemed to be starved of touches. Whenever you take an afternoon nap without him, you would wake up to find Cain holding you in his arms. And he gets annoyed at you for waking him up. When you would spend the day watching television on the sofa, Cain would either lie his head on your lap, or trap you into his- making you his personal lap table for the bowl of popcorn you two shared.

Cain needed something to occupy his hands. So he chose to massage yours instead to soothe himself. It felt nice to apply pressure to your palm and fingers, but sometimes he wasn't aware how strong he was. You would wince at the pain, which caused him to frown, and spit,

"Fucking wimp."

But then, he would bring your hands to his lips to kiss them, and adjust his strength to not hurt you anymore. He wouldn't outright apologize or thank you for most things, but he has his own way to express remorse, guilt, and gratitude.

It felt... strangely natural. He wasn't making it awkward at all when he transitioned from not touching you at all to giving you regular cuddles, kisses, and even sharing beds. Cain moved like it's always been this way, as if he had always given you a kiss on the forehead before dropping you off at your workplace, as if he had always kissed you on the back of your neck to thank you for the meal. Whenever you stood in front of him to say something, he would have his large, calloused hands gripping your arms in place as he listened. You never knew what the purpose of it was, as he doesn't seem to be aware that he's doing it.

You're not necessarily complaining that whenever the two of you waited at the bus stop, in the cold, he would bury you in his chest. It's ridiculously warm, and he would wrap his heavy coat around both of you. Cain would absentmindedly rub your back up and down, stroke your hair as he remains hypervigilant for any assailants that could attack the two of you. And you would be lying when you said that it doesn't make you feel all fluttery inside.

Cain was willing to open up even more on how he feels about various things. But it was still excruciatingly difficult.

One day, he decided to talk to you about your giving nature. It occurred when you decided to give a homeless man some spare change.

"Why did you do that?" He asked when you and he reached the comfort of your apartment. Cain didn't remove his coat just yet, while you're practically stripping everything off yourself because your heating system is too efficient.

"Why did you give that bum money? He didn't work for it." He clarified what he meant. You can see that he's asking from a place of curiosity, not hostility or judgment.

You shrugged and said that it makes the world a better place.

"How?" He furrowed his eyebrows in frustration.

He would have enough money to buy himself something hot to eat and drink.

"That's bullshit. He's going to waste it on booze and drugs."

You asked him how he would know.

"All these bastards think about is their next high." He frowned bitterly.

You said that everyone can change. You wanted to tell him off for being a hypocrite, but it probably isn't a good idea. He vehemently disagreed.

"No they fucking can't. You're being used, you're being a damn jackass! You should have kept that for yourself, these fuckers can't even give you anything of worth back but have the balls to ask for a handout!" He was getting more and more exasperated by the second.

You decided to clam up.

"They're scum, they're all fucking good for nothing pieces of shit!" He continued his angry ranting as he entered the bathroom to freshen up.

And conversations that were deeper than small talk usually go something like that. You refused to be the one who started chatting, allowing him to take the initiative. It seems like he's jealous that you're also generous to other people, as anytime he sees you doing a good deed, he would be throwing a tantrum about how you're letting others walk all over you.

You can't really do donations under his watchful eyes anymore, because he would find a way to get it back from them and return the cash into your wallet.

He's always the nicest when it's just the two of you, and the concept of the world stopped existing. The apartment is his safe haven where nothing outside matters. He is in no way romantic, but he would be much, much tender compared to when you first met him. However, it is actually agonizing to live with him hovering over you every waking minute. If the shows you watch involve the topic of child neglect or even families in general, no matter how mild, no matter how positive or negative, ten times out of ten, he would have one of his infamous, explosive meltdowns.

Oddly enough, he's mostly unaffected by documentaries, even if they potentially touch on his traumatic experiences. He tends to watch those that describe how everyday things are made, unfazed by true crime.

You avoided nature and animal documentaries because Cain would get unbelievably distressed if they involved the abandonment of their young.

Outside of that, you don't know what else to do with him. Cain seems uninterested in anything creative, but recently got obsessed with chess for some unknown reason. Regardless of your chess skills, he would beat you in almost every game, only losing to you when he first started out.

Perhaps it was boredom. Perhaps it was arousal, but you and Cain would begin to frequently have sex. And he fucks like a rabid animal, forceful, angry, desperate and primal. Cain would leave bite marks deep enough to bleed, as if he's trying to shred you into pieces. The curtains are always drawn shut because of his inclination to go down on you anywhere in the apartment. He has no problem bending you over the kitchen counter, making your legs spread on the sofa bed, pinning you against the wall, pounding you deep into your bed, letting the sound of the shower drown out your moans... The only place that's off limits is whatever table that held his valuable chessboard and pieces.

And you know that it just takes a deep kiss on the lips to initiate it, where both of your tongues must dance together. Cain would escalate quickly by rubbing his hands under your clothes. But he wouldn't press it if you decided that you're not in the mood anymore; he would just need to deal with his disappointment and sexual frustration on his own, in pure silence.

Cain doesn't say anything when fucking you. There will only be grunts and groans, but no dirty talk. Probably since he's too busy biting the hell out of your flesh.

His aftercare is a bit strange to you. It would be a strange mix of his usual harshness and an unusual dose of sentimentality:

"Get up." He would order you after a long session of post sex cuddling. Knowing him, you shouldn't oppose it.

"Go shower. I'll clean up." He began chucking the blankets, bedsheets, and pillow cases into the laundry hamper. Once he's done and sees that you're still there, he would turn to you and give you an affectionate peck on the forehead.

"You've been so good to me." He then squeezed the cheeks of your face firmly, causing you to pucker. Cain would chuckle at how silly you looked before kissing you lightly on the lips.

"I love you." He would whisper in your ear before letting you go, patting your head in praise.

However, if you just stood there and watched him ready the laundry basket, he would get annoyed.

"The fuck are you doing there, standing ass naked? Either put on some clothes or go take a damn shower." He would point in the direction of the bathroom. This would be enough to send you on your way.

Overall, you think Cain is a confusing man with moods that swing like a pendulum. You don't think he really feels shame towards you, just familiarity, trust, and comfort. And you feel honoured that you get to see his sweet side (sometimes), no one else outside of this apartment could ever hope to witness it, as he's just so spiky towards everyone. You're still so curious as to what sets you apart from all the other people who tried to help... You assume that Cain does have people who tried putting him on the right track in his life, but he pushed them away.

So one day, you mustered the courage to ask him about it. Expecting nothing more than some deranged yelling, you braced yourself:

"They shoved their help down my throat."

To your surprise, his response is as if you asked him for the time. Your speechlessness prompted him to continue.

"I fucking hated them. None of them really wanted to help me; they just wanted to feel good." He scrunched his nose as if he recalled something disgusting. "To them, I'm nothing more than a broken pet to fix. Something that should get no respect. Something practically useless in everything else, but gets them off like some street whore."

That sounds similar to what you thought of Cain. But you didn't say that out loud.

"They can take their fake sympathy and shove it so far up their asses that it kills them. Fuck them all." He snarled.

You let him release whatever steam he had for them. Well, that made sense that he gets crazily upset when you try to impose help without his request in the first place.

Once he's done, he decides to get up from his seat and pick up his now-worn duffel bag. You didn't have to ask him where he's heading out to.

"I'll be back by eight, I just need to get some stuff. Leave your bedroom door open for me." He pecked you on the cheek and smoothed your hair.

You watched him open the door and turned back to face you one more time:

"And don't fucking open the door to anyone that isn't me! You have a habit of doing stupid shit that's going to get you killed if it wasn't for me looking out for you!" He scolded before slamming the door behind him.

You wonder if Cain thinks of you as someone needing his protection, and so that's why you're not a threat to him but an object of his affection. You sat with this question, and you pondered if Cain genuinely thought of you as someone who is handicapped in some way. Made sense, your boundary-setting skills are non-existent, and you're always people pleasing, no matter how detrimental it is to your wellbeing. That's how you scored Cain.

Finally home alone after a while, you felt a little clueless as to what you should do. You know you should update your friends and family that you're doing well, and Cain is nothing they should worry about. Then again, you don't feel like talking to anyone right now.

The apartment looks pretty messy, with all the random junk Cain would bring back. God knows where he gets this merchandise, or where he got the money to buy it. You are actually in heavy denial that he's been shoplifting and wanted to believe that he's living honestly.

You thought it would be a good idea to tidy up a bit before he gets back and unloads more things from his duffel bag. It's a mystery how that bag could contain ungodly amounts of stuff.

You decided to start with the most cluttered part of your living room: the sofa bed. You know these are things that Cain would use daily, but it wouldn't hurt to organise them a bit.

The first thing that caught your eye? The book that Cain was attached to lately, and was almost obsessively reading. You wonder what was so interesting about it until you read the cover of the book.

It was a copy of "How to Be a Good Boyfriend".

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