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lexalith · 4 months ago

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FRIENDS || Choi Su-Bong (Thanos)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

subong. are you awake?

yes ma’am. why?

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

???

do you think i’m attractive?

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

it takes him a few minutes to reply.

what kind of question is that?

just answer

i’m too high for this shit, bro

you’re not high🙄 liar

i wish i were

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

yeah, i think u are

really?

sure thinggg, u’re hot mama

dude quit playing, i’m being serious over here

i’m not fucking playing

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

what are we even talking about

why can’t you just answer?😭

what is this for?

for my knowledge

tf is that supposed to mean?

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

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

some stuff? what stuff?

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

who tf is this dude?

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

it does?

are you gonna answer my question or no?

yeah. i think u r both kinds.

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

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

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

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

are u serious?

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

alr, imma be honest. yeah i would

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

subong’s typing…

would u? with me?

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

maybe

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

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

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

but have u?

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

can’t help it when u look that good💯

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

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

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

i knew itttt señorita 🙏🏼

shut up

how many times?

why do you wanna know?🤨

i answered ur stupid ass questions, now u answer mine

maybe like idk, two?

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

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

more than u wanna know

how bad are we talking?

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

maybe i do

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

you do realize i’m your bestfriend right?

yeah, so?

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

yeah but they don’t make me as hard

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

even saying this shit is getting me worked up

what???😭 you’re hard??

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

it was hypothetical

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

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

too much info, subong

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

okay… should i leave you to it?

fuck no

damn alr, suffer then🙄

could u help me out?

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

with a pic of u or smth

boy whatttttttttt

what?

i’m not sending you fucking nudes wtf 💀💀

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

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

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

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

hoooooooooly shitttttttttt

it’s just a pic

yeah, a pic of u looking like that

im just in my pajamas

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

subong you can’t just say stuff like that

why not? we always tell each other everything

i should’ve thrown on a hoodie

i’d still be thinking of what’s underneath

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

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

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

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

it's him. he sent a picture.

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

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

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

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

and what if i don’t?

then i'd make u

mhmmm, how?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

shit, subong… i’m close

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

u better be there señorita

i will🙃

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this shit is so funny bro loooololol

i fear your humor is broken😐

naahhh u just don’t get ittt babyy

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

another day, he messages the group chat:

pentagon this weekend?🔥

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

wbu? still down to go?

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

yeah, sureee

bet. see u saturday, señorita

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

outside

outsideeee

outsideeeeeeeee

hellooooooooooooooooooo

one minute, let me grab my jacket

i’m freezing man

one minute my ass

patience is a virtue ❤️

cmooooooooon

u knitting the jacket or what

girl i just hit retirement age waiting for u

you’re so dramatic

and u r so slow, balance baby

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it happens everywhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and you did. every single time.

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

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

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

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

are u busy?

no, why?

good, i’ll be there in 10

i’m on my period

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

subong.

yeah?🙏🏼

not in the mood❤️

alr cool👍🏼💯

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

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

i’m the only snack u need, girl

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

pick up the fucking phone

cmon baby please

i fucking miss u

don’t do this shit to me

u make me so fucking angry

bro istfg

please

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

i know u r reading these

don’t fucking ignore me bro

at least tell me u r okay

minsu asked why u didn’t come with us today

just fucking answer

is it that hard?

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

u r fucking selfish

i hope u know that

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

im highhg as fuvckk bro

look whatu vdone to me

fukcing bittvhhh

its urA fault

i mis uu

u r myybhaby❤️❤️❤️❤️

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

can i cone over? plewaasse

answer bitchj

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

come bsck

i loveyouy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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cesiscribbles · 1 year ago

Text

Round 3 of the art style challenge!

⚠️WARNING! ⚠️

The bonus sketches may require background knowledge about the game and its world AND

it gets VERY angsty and dark!

Also this is based on the amazing bug designs of Fl0Y4uwu (on twitter)!

Plus I gave moth Azira some cute little glasses as a little nudge to the wonderful Bug Omens AU by ArtBeanWithAJ1 (also twitter)~

#yeah i dunno i went places with this one #hollow knight #is my fav game ever #my art #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow

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porcelainbirdss · 2 months ago

Text

the wrong neighbor

summary: after losing your job, you figured a brief escape to the countryside might offer a semblance of peace — or at least a new outlook. alas fate, with its usual flair for wickedness, had other plans. it handed you a new challenge in the form of a neighbor so annoying, his entire existence felt like a joke at your expense.

cw: fem!reader, modern au, fluff, brief mentions of blood, alcohol consumption, slight enemies to lovers but honestly reader is just stubborn, so it’s kind of one-sided, relationship not established (but lovey-dovey still) || wc: 16k

you scrutinized the keys of your 'new' home, which now dangled on the carabiner — you glared down at them, as if their mere existence somehow managed to personally offend you.

there were three facts you could easily discern: you got fired from your job (and maybe it was for the better, because you hated it). the house on the countryside in which you were supposed to temporarily reside in surely looked like a ruin, and your suitcases were so over-stuffed, you barely managed to close them.

oh, and Bubbles was wailing so loudly in the carrier, you were already starting to feel bad for the cat. well, it’s not like you didn’t share its lament — if you could, you’d cry along with the pet.

unfortunately, your woes would have to be put aside now, because the sight of your new place started to steadily appear on the horizon. thank gods, you somehow managed to reach the countryside without your gas running so low you’d have to call for roadside assistance — or a worse scenario, with you pushing the car away from the uneven road.

as you parked beside the slightly crooked, wired fence, you began to wonder whether this whole charade really was a good idea. your decision to take rather long vacations in the countryside was made on a whim — upon losing your job, you descended on a downward spiral, ultimately thinking you definitely needed to reconnect with nature.

everything was going smoothly — you asked your parents for the keys, informed your friends of the upcoming departure (for how long, you weren’t sure), packed and got into your car as if it was the simplest course of action. only halfway through the rather long distance, as you finally drove into the mountainous area, a realization hit you — your knowledge was basically zero. nonexistent.

how do you even live on a countryside? are there necessities, or will you have to drive out into town for everything? how will you deal with the bugs, and the deep silence of night? is the house of your parents, which they bought so long ago, later on moving to the city, still intact? or maybe vandalized?

you were aware of the fact they kept on checking up on the place from time to time, but hey — that’s a village. what if there’s a big nest of wasps located somewhere by the balcony you briefly remember through the blurry memories of a young girl? or — or what if the water doesn’t run? or, since the village is practically hugged by the mountains, what if you stumble across a bear?!

well, you doubted that, because you had no plans of venturing into the forest — but still.

a huff of exasperation escaped your lips as you turned off the engine, quickly pocketing your carabiner and turning to see if Bubbles was alright — the cat seemed fine, now a little bit calmer, as if it sensed you finally reached the destination. you knew your pet wasn’t especially fond of road trips — same goes for you, so it was a relief to open the door of the vehicle, and step outside.

you stretched your slightly stiff limbs, thinking any longer in that car, and i’d go insane. surprisingly, the house looked fairly well-maintained. the lush grass was covered with weeds, and wildflowers, but nothing else was alarming enough to cause you distress. it was really fortunate, because you already had a plenty on your plate, and dealing with any damage would surely push you to have a breakdown in the middle of that sandy road.

with a new-found resolve, you opened the gate, wincing at the loud creak it made upon being moved for the first time in forever. you skipped over the cobblestone steps, unlocking the door — the space inside was covered in a thick layer of dust, but it matched what little you could recall from your childhood days, when your parents would take you to see the house.

they always said it would belong to you — and as a young girl, you never failed to cheer in response, excited to move in once you get older. well, you were all grown now, and upon retrospection, you don’t know what was so appealing to you about living in the countryside — not many opportunities, limited access to most shops or entertainments, vast fields and forests with nothing to do.

but it’s not like you’ll stay there forever, after all. you just came for a quick visit — two or three months, as long as your savings last you — april will pass, then may, and towards the end of june, when summer starts, you’ll be gone. yes, that’s definitely what you’ll do, so there’s no point in dwelling on how boring it could be. you came here to relax, and gather your disarrayed thoughts, not to seek for a new life-path.

once you were done inspecting the whole building, you stepped outside, mentally preparing yourself for the burden of tugging all of your suitcases inside, and then upstairs — a mere thought of that made your determination falter. as for Bubbles… perhaps it would be better to let the cat snooze in your car for now. you didn’t want the little critter to tangle between your feet as you fought with the baggage — anyway, the temperature outside was still low, so you wouldn’t have to worry about the cat overheating.

as you opened the car trunk, ready to wrestle with the weight of your luggage, a rather loud, but friendly voice snapped you out of your deep reverie.

you barely managed to hold back a frown.

"hey!" the man called, and you glanced up, your eyes meeting with two bright-blue hues, already crinkling in the corners as he beamed at you. "are you the owner of this house?"

what do you think?, you wanted to say, but decided it would be better to not make any enemies from the start. you were never too big on people — always keeping to yourself, secure in the small circle of friends you made while working at your former job. still, you weren’t in the city now, and you were completely on your own — so perhaps snarling at the stranger who greeted you with such a cordial expression would be a bad idea.

no matter that something about his overly-kind demeanor irked you.

you studied his rather tall frame, taking note of the slightly old-fashioned button-down shirt he wore, its sleeves rolled up above his elbows, exposing the muscular arms. seriously, was he crazy? if not for your jacket, you’d be freezing, your teeth chattering from the cold. "yeah, that’s me." you answered briefly, trying to force the corners of your lips upwards.

his smile only widened as he strolled closer to you, and you wondered what got him so excited. "oh, is that true?" he asked eagerly, allowing himself to lean on the side of your car, "i saw some people visiting the house, but it was so rare, i actually thought no one would ever move in."

"i’m not moving in," you corrected, trying not to grimace at how casual he was acting, "i’m on vacation. don’t plan on lingering for too long."

the man’s expression seemed to falter, just slightly. "really? such a pity, then. and here i was, thinking i got myself a neighbor." he chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest.

oh. he is your neighbor, it would seem. well, it is only logical looking at the way he suddenly emerged from gods know where — immediately jumping to your side, washing you over with questions and small-talk. still, the thought of having someone like him, as a person living next doors was… excruciating.

you let out a sigh, attempting to hold up your polite voice. "you live there?" you gestured with your head towards the building, internally hoping you were wrong.

"yes!" the man affirmed, outstretching his palm towards you, "by the way, i completely forgot to introduce myself. ah, where are my manners?" he laughed, a little abashedly now. "i’m Phainon."

great — just great. your place was a semi-detached house, so not only was he your neighbor, but he resided in a home practically glued to yours, a singular wall being the only thing that separated you.

you reached to shake his hand without much finesse, wincing at how strong his grip was. "[name]."

"[name]? a lovely name, then." Phainon chirped, bestowing you with the mercy of letting go. "well, i hope we can get along from now. maybe i’ll even convince you of staying here forever, who knows?" he joked, laughing again.

yeah, right. what else? maybe you’ll marry him, and take down the wall separating your houses? seriously, you tried to convince yourself he wasn’t that bad, but now he was genuinely getting on your already fragile nerves.

you reached towards the suitcase. "doubt that."

the man seemed to ignore your slightly irked tone, leaning forwards to look into your trunk. "do you want me to help you with all that? not to brag, but i’m pretty strong, and your stuff looks… well, heavy."

a shudder ran down your spine as his clear, still so friendly and unrelenting voice rang practically next to your ear. at this point, you could make a list consisting entirely of the things that annoyed you about your new neighbor: for one, he possessed an unbearably happy attitude. he was overly-casual, acting as if he knew you for his entire life. loud. said he doesn’t like to brag, but just did that — so a hypocrite.

"thanks, but i’ll manage just fine." you replied, grabbing the handle and tugging the suitcase out, trying not to show how much of a struggle it was.

Phainon blinked twice at your refusal, as if it was something he completely didn’t expect. his lips parted in confusion before he gathered himself, once again donning that wide smile. "oh, but how could i let my neighbor do that all by herself?" he mused, reaching for your baggage. damn those villagers, and their weird conviction of integrity — maybe you really should have just stayed in the city, bothering yourself with the search for a new job, instead of indulging in 'relaxation' time on the countryside. it was hardly worth it, at least as of now.

a grimace appeared on your face, knitting your eyebrows together. you didn’t care for containing it anymore. "i told you, i can do this myself." you muttered, finding an odd sense of insult in the man helping you out — you were capable enough, weren’t you?

you tugged the handle out of his fingers, and Phainon stepped back, the message finally getting through his seemingly thick skull. he cleared his throat awkwardly, chuckling under his breath as he pretended to look around, his bright irises avoiding yours. "oh, i’m— i’m sorry, [name]. didn’t mean to offend you."

with a roll of your eyes, you closed the trunk shut, starting to walk towards the entrance of your house. "bye." you said, audible enough for the man to hear, and leave you alone.

Phainon didn’t protest any further, scratching his nape with a conflicted expression before shrugging and deciding to go back home. at least now his happy-go-lucky demeanor wouldn’t bother you.

a long day of cleaning, and moving in your stuff was already over — you were elated to find out that you, indeed, still had hot water, and the stove was working, even though you had to use matches to get the gas going. Bubbles was a bit unsure at first, anxiously treading the space, but ultimately deemed the new place as good enough. you definitely had to agree with your cat — it wasn’t perfect, but the lull of a quiet road successfully managed to ease your frayed nerves.

in addition, Phainon didn’t step out once to offer any other unwanted help, so that was a plus too.

you fell onto the bed, stretching out your hurting limbs from working so hard — you were planning on going to sleep, but the balcony door seemed especially enticing, so perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to check it out as well. you dragged your feet over to the glass door, pushing it open, taking in the crisp air of night, gasping at how beautiful the sight of the mountains was — and then you saw it.

irritation washed over you the second you spotted a familiar silhouette, leaning on the railing of another balcony — right. you almost forgot the design of your houses was a mirror, the buildings being twins of themselves. you cursed under your breath, tucking your head down in hopes that your annoying neighbor failed to notice you — but before you could even move to walk back inside, he already waved your way, a wide smile stretching his lips.

"[name]! hi!" Phainon called, making your blood pressure skyrocket, "did you also want to get some fresh air before sleep?"

an overwhelming sense of déjà vu washed over you, as you itched to reply — what do you think?

you scoffed, your feet glued in place, even though you wanted nothing more than to shut the balcony door, swish the curtains, and lie in your bed. "no, i was actually planning on jumping out." you deadpanned.

the man’s features initially twisted into concern, but then he laughed, finally catching up on your sarcastic remark, which definitely wasn’t aimed to offend him, nor his wits anyhow, "oh, you better not. it’s a long way down from here." he said, moving to step closer to your own balcony.

almost as if that was the whole point. "well, yeah, i came here to take a breath, but now i have someone yapping behind my ear."

Phainon shrugged, appearing as if he didn’t take that as an insult, even if his wide smile was now reduced to a mere, weak smirk. "c’mon, i’m just trying to be nice here." he responded, craning his neck to look into your eyes, seemingly avoiding him as they stared into the black outline of the mountains. "you know, i don’t want to admonish you, because i believe we’re the same age—" he paused, "wait, how old are you again?"

"twenty-four."

that evoked an almost triumphant noise out of him. "see? i’m only two years older than you. so, as i was saying, i really, really, don’t want to admonish you, however…"

you sighed at Phainon’s lag, finally meeting his gaze. "however what?"

"you see," the man began, a bit reluctantly, "maybe it wouldn’t hurt you to be a little more friendlier? as far as i am concerned, you’re alone here. and so," he continued, prolonging the syllables of the words, "you have to be nice to people. if you keep glaring at everyone, then just imagine how that could backfire! no one around to help, no one to—"

must he always talk so much? it’s not that you were rude by nature, but his presence simply made you irritated. another thing to add to your list — he liked to force his beliefs on others, insisting he was so righteous. and he was a chatterbox.

"or maybe i just don’t find your company all that endearing, huh?" you interrupted his rant lazily, leaning your cheek over your palm. this conversation was starting to exhaust you much more than cleaning the entirety of your house.

Phainon breathed in, placing his hand over his chest, as if you genuinely managed to insult him. “mean! see? that’s exactly what i’m talking about." he huffed out, his eyebrows narrowing together.

you rolled your eyes, thinking that perhaps you truly were a little bit too unkind — but it’s not like you felt especially guilty about it, so you ignored the weak need of apology. "a grown man getting offended by something like that?" you mocked, shrugging. "i simply expressed my opinion. nothing personal."

his lips pressed into a tight line as he looked away from you, his line of vision locking on the rocky line of horizon. "you know, [name], you kind of remind me of someone." Phainon said, drumming his fingertips against his forearm.

you almost caught yourself asking — who?, but you held back, thinking the man was merely trying to pull at your tongue some more. without glancing back, you turned on your heel, starting to walk towards the door.

your movement seemed to snap Phainon out of his short stupor, "ah, you’re going already? see you then!" he called, though this time his voice wasn’t as upbeat as earlier.

"not if i see you first.” was all you replied with, shutting the balcony door with a loud 'thud!', and slipping off your flip-flops.

if you can’t even relax in your own house, then perhaps there was no rest for you in this place — you should start reconsidering your decision, and go back to the city.

——

go back to the city, you did not — one week passed since the moment you found yourself in this countryside, and even though your neighbor kept getting on your nerves, keeping you company during evenings on the balcony, offering you bottles of milk (which for some reason you didn’t get delivered), or waving friendly at you whenever you tended to your overgrown garden — you still stayed. maybe it was something in the air, or the vision of packing everything so soon and having to tug your suitcases back to your trunk was simply too much.

however, no matter how idyllic the time you had for yourself seemed (by which you meant — no Phainon in sight), some trouble came up. Bubbles was acting slightly off — it’s not like the cat was evidently sick, but its movements were slower than usually, and it made you worry. Bubbles was the ultimate highlight of your days, and you loved that animal terribly — so the second you noticed something was wrong, you called up the closest veterinary clinic.

a deep voice on the other side of the phone told you to come visit now — if you had the time, which you obviously possessed in ample amounts — so without further ado, you packed Bubbles into the carrier, and drove to the clinic. it took you some time to find it, which was surprising since you had the maps opened on your phone, and the village wasn’t overly big — but you miraculously managed to arrive before your cat would start to voice its sorrows from having to be driven around through the bumpy roads.

you gently grabbed the carrier, and entered the space, a characteristic smell attacking your nostrils. "hello." you greeted the lady at the front desk, smiling as politely as you could. "i came to have my cat checked up.”

the woman returned the gesture, her doe eyes flickering up from the computer as she examined your form. "and what does seem to be the problem?" she asked, her tone softer than you imagined it would be. most probably, she wasn’t the one who picked up your call.

"uhh," you began, a little unsure, "i don’t know. it’s just acting… off, so i got a little worried."

she nodded with understanding, asking for personal information and the cat’s name. once you were done with all the registering, she gestured towards the door, telling you the doctor was already waiting inside. in response, you sent her a grateful look, and quickly opened the entrance — only to be met with the sight of a face you prayed you wouldn’t have to see today — or ever again, for the record.

"[name]!" Phainon almost cheered, his eyes widening with recognition, "i didn’t expect to see you there. come, come." he ushered you inside, because as it turns out, you somehow forgot how to walk. you moved your feet reluctantly, your hold on the carrier tightening.

you felt absolutely flabbergasted. that fool — that absolute moron — was working as a veterinarian?!

upon taking in his navy-colored uniform, and the stethoscope hanging loosely around his neck, you had absolutely no doubts now. still, you found yourself asking: "you work here?"

Phainon laughed with obvious amusement, raking his fingers through the fair locks. "what do you think?"

ugh, was that déjà vu you were feeling again?

you tentatively settled the carrier down on the table’s surface, narrowing your eyes at the man. so he was the doctor. and he would be taking care of your cat.

"sorry, could i request someone else to take over?” you asked to no one in particular, looking around in hopes that another vet would pop out from the space, and help you out of the dire situation.

your neighbor scoffed with feigned hurt (at least you think it was feigned, looking at the way his eyes still crinkled in the corners). "why, [name], who do you take me for? i’m more than qualified, so don’t worry." he smiled at you now, taking a quick glance through the carrier’s bars. "oh, what an adorable kitten you have! what’s its name?"

"Bubbles.” you responded, curt and bitter as you continued to frown, anxiously chewing on your lower lip.

Phainon nodded in understanding, slipping on his medical gloves before reconsidering. "and is it friendly?" he mused, his blue eyes briefly flickering over to another pair of gloves of thick material, probably made only with the purpose of protecting the doctor’s hands. "or is it as feisty as its mistress?"

you listened to the man’s chuckle, as if the poor joke he just offered was the funniest thing in the world. "friendly enough." you said, tapping your foot against the tiled floor with impatience.

"glad to hear that." he carefully opened the carrier’s little doors, reaching towards your cat, now huddled into the corner. Phainon gave it a gentle tug, but once it refused to move, he sighed with resignation. "it’s scared of me. could you take off the carrier’s top?"

you cocked one of your eyebrows up at him, doing as he told you. "i’d be scared of you too, to be honest."

Phainon huffed at the comment, sending you a halfhearted glare — then, his focus returned to your pet as he picked it up, placing the animal down on the table. "hi Bubbles." he cooed at the cat, running his palm up and down its fur affectionately. the sight almost made your disdain towards the man soften, as you watched him smile so widely at the utterly anxious Bubbles. "what’s the matter, sweet thing?" he mumbled to the cat, even though it couldn’t answer him.

you took a singular step back, observing the whole charade with a dry smirk. "to be honest, i’m not sure myself. it was acting weird, you know… moving slower, eating less. i decided to bring it to the vet, 'cause i got worried."

Phainon seemed to mull over your words for a short while, and it didn’t surprise you when he came up with nothing. "i’m going to examine it, and then we’ll see what can be done." he decided, leaning down to look at Bubbles from up close.

everything that occurred then happened in a quick fashion — your mouth opened to warn him, next the cat’s whole tail seemed to puff up — before you could even say anything, sharp claws scratched the man’s pale skin, its reflexes too quick for a human to react to. you gasped, conflicted between bursting out into laughter, and expressing your hardly-genuine concern.

seriously, Phainon was either still inexperienced (which he earlier said he wasn’t, but as your list of annoyances told you — he was a hypocrite), or he was straight up stupid. you watched him jolt back, hand immediately flying over to his now wounded nose, feeling at the droplets of blood gathering up.

you winced. "oops."

"hey, you said it was friendly!" Phainon whined, quickly reaching for the napkins, and pressing one to his face. "for real, maybe someone else should take care of that troublemaker." he murmured, glancing towards the other door. "Mydei!"

who now? oh, so there really was an another vet — and it would seem whoever that was, they decided to ignore your earlier call for someone else’s assistance.

the door opened, a blonde man’s head peeking out as he took everything in with a stern expression, his sharp eyes narrowing at Phainon, who happened to be still gripping his bleeding nose. you almost wanted to take another step back, suddenly feeling small under his rather displeased gaze — if not for the polite nod he sent your way, you surely would have done so.

"Mydeimos, oh, my dearest friend, you’re the cat expert here." Phainon pleaded, his eyebrows narrowing, "wouldn’t you be so kind, and help—"

the veterinarian scoffed, immediately shaking his head. "first of all, you’re acting unprofessional." he said, his golden irises falling upon Bubbles, who still seemed terrified. "second of all, stop making a commotion. you’re scaring the cat."

"Mydei—"

"third of all," he interrupted mercilessly, going back to the separated room, "i’m getting prepared to check up on the horses, so i’m busy. take that as a no."

the door shut quietly, and once again you were left on your own with Phainon, whose expression was nothing short of defeat. against everything you felt towards him, you still sent him a sympathetic look — that Mydei guy really possessed quite a character.

"damn. and you’re calling me feisty when he exists." you remarked, careful to keep your voice low enough so the other vet wouldn’t hear you — if he did, then certainly you’d go flying out of the window.

Phainon let a silent snicker slip past his lips, "well, i’m not sure if you remember, but i did say you remind me of someone, didn’t i?"

you paused, unsure whether you should treat that as an insult, but ultimately decided to let it go — it wasn’t worth getting worked up over something like that. "…and you said he’s the cat expert. so what is your expertise, if you can’t even deal with a little feline? lizards?" you mocked, your eyebrows arching in amusement.

he shook his head. "well— i’m pretty sure you don’t share my sentiments, [name], but i’m rather fond of dogs." Phainon explained, "and by the way, lizards can cause damage too!"

your amusement only furthered when your gaze found its way onto the man’s exposed arms — scratches and bites in all variants of severity splattered across his skin, signifying he definitely had his own share of incidents with animals. "okay, whatever you say, doc." you huffed out, stopping yourself from rolling your eyes.

Phainon shrugged, throwing the napkin in the trash can, his focus returning to your pet. "well, alright then. let’s… let’s try again, shall we?"

as it turns out, your cat’s behavior was caused mostly due to stress — the new environment, smells, and everything piled up — but other than that, Bubbles was completely healthy, which caused you to breathe out in relief.

that evening, you didn’t see Phainon on the balcony. good riddance.

——

agony.

it was the only adequate word you could use to describe whatever you were feeling right now.

another seven days passed, and you deemed that as enough time to get acclimatized — the saturday’s morning started out slow, with you deciding to finally get a grip on your life, and perhaps search for jobs you could take up once you return to the city.

you set up your laptop, prepared yourself some tea, sat down as comfortably as you could with your pet making sure to keep your lap warm, and then it started.

that awful, absolutely terrible sound of complete anguish — drilling.

the second Bubbles heard it, the poor critter bolted from your legs, sprinting downstairs to probably hide from the loud noise. you wished you could do the same, except you actually had some work to do, so running away was out of question. technically, you could move your laptop somewhere else, but its battery condition was so bad, you had to keep it charging all the time — and it just so happened that the only accessible electrical contact was by your humble desk.

you knew who was making that noise. who else could be the culprit, but your annoying neighbor? it was only logical, looking at the way your semi-detached houses stood separated by a good few yards away from others.

that damned man, deciding it would be such a brilliant idea to start whatever renovations he had to do simultaneously with your work — not to mention, doing it so early in the morning. what time was it anyway, like seven? you glanced at your laptop’s screen — 7:31 AM.

you gritted your teeth, letting out a low grumble of dismay as you started typing on the keyboard. five minutes passed, then fifteen — all you did was stare blankly at the bright display of information you couldn’t possibly process through the clamor. you were wasting your precious time — no, Phainon was wasting it! if only you had his number, you’d immediately dial it, and start screaming at him to wait for at least the next three hours until he could resume the drilling (you doubted he’d listen).

with a sigh of resignation, you put your forehead in your hands, cradling it once you felt a headache building up behind your eyes, hammering painfully.

some time passed, and the noise was finally gone — which can’t be exactly said about your current migraine. you closed your laptop shut, thinking there was no way you would be able to continue with your lookout during such an insistent ache.

it was long since you felt so utterly livid. perhaps he was one of the few people who were able of evoking such strong emotions in you.

"jerk!" you yelled at the empty space of your bedroom, "stupid bastard! good thing you stopped, else i’d shove that goddamn drill up your arse!"

you huffed, and upon letting your frustrations out, you felt better — only slightly, but that was progress. it wasn’t like you, screaming and cursing like a spoiled brat, but at least you had a way of venting your anger caused by the ruckus. and it’s not as if Phainon could hear you, so you didn’t particularly care.

the rest of the day was monotone at best, and excruciating at worst. you didn’t do anything useful — tried wiping the dust off of some shelves, but they were already clean. then, you played with Bubbles, prepared dinner (which tasted awful, by the way), scrolled through your social medias, watching some mind-numbing videos until darkness came, and it was time for bed. you took a shower, changed, blew your hair dry.

everything you did was already a routine, and while it might have been relaxing, it was also boring — the sense of urgency in your body not letting you enjoy your quiet vacations, instead pushing you to do something more productive. alas, you found yourself lacking in the strength to even move a finger — well, almost, because instead of hitting the hay, you thought to step out on your balcony. again.

you were not surprised to see Phainon standing there, as it was also a part of the routine — you hoping to take a breath, and then being forced to listen to his usually thoughtless rambling. yesterday, he told you a story of how a cow kicked him straight in the gut when he was still a rookie to his profession — then proceeded to act offended when you laughed at it.

well, you found him annoying (especially now), but perhaps he was right about one thing — you were absolutely alone here. maybe the solitude caused you to become insane, pushing you to spend more time with him? yes, that’s definitely what happened. once your countryside excursion is over, you’ll certainly have to get your brain checked by a specialist.

Phainon clicked his tongue when you measured him with your dull gaze, setting your vision on the faraway trees as if he was but a mere speck of dust. "well, good evening to you too, [name]." he said, that ever-present smile already dancing on his lips.

you leaned over the barrier, feeling the gentle breeze rake through your hair, caressing your face. it was getting warmer and warmer by the day, and personally, you thought the change was for the worse. "don’t talk to me, or i’ll sew your mouth shut." you muttered under your nose, trying to ignore his intense eyes.

your neighbor tilted his head to the side, sending you a half-curious, half-teasing glance. "what? i didn’t hear you, [name]."

you knew damn well he heard you the first time, with the way he was standing so close to the barrier of your own balcony, looking like he was ready to take a leap across any moment, as if only to be closer to you. two another things to add to your list: makes too much noise (with the drill, to be precise), and has no concept of personal space.

"i said," you began, agitation arising in your voice as you turned yourself to face him fully, "shut your mouth, or i’ll shut you up myself."

Phainon whistled lowly, his eyebrows arching upwards. oh, if you had a rag, you’d definitely smack that empty head of his, wiping the smirk off his mouth. "[name], i’m already starting to shake in my boots." he hummed, amusement evident in his tone, "don’t look at me this way, or i’ll actually—"

your hand shoot up, stopping him from whatever nonsense he wanted to say next — you didn’t have enough mental strength to bear the things he could possibly throw your way. "no. just no."

"aww, must you always be so mean to me?" he whined, and you supposed you should spend less time with him. at first he was somewhat tolerable, but now all the initial politeness was gone, instead replaced with an unrelenting onslaught of winding you up.

another thing to add to your list: Phainon was a straight-up tease. (and you hated the way it made you smile sometimes)

with a heavy sigh, you looked back towards the rocky mountaintops, wishing you could just teleport there. "i’m not in the mood. i had a migraine from all that noise you made earlier."

the man’s confidence seemed to falter now, and he leaned back from the railing, clearing his throat. "oh, you mean when i started to drill? yeah, sorry 'bout that." he smiled sheepishly at you, scratching his nape. "are you angry at me?"

mere anger would be lenient, in this case. "take a wild guess, Phainon."

he clasped his hands together, his eyebrows knitting as he appeared genuine for the first time this evening. "oh, i must apologize. i should have told you earlier— i mean, about the drilling." the man leaned over, searching out your eyes. "does your head still hurt?"

what do you think? is what practically forced its way onto your tongue, but you held it back. déjà vu, déjà vu.

"no, i’m fine now." you breathed in response, "what did you assemble?"

Phainon seemed to consider your words for a second, before the characteristic smile found its way back onto his lips. "just a shelf. i ran out of space for my books, so i needed to add another one."

you nodded. "i see."

deep silence fell over you both, the only sound being the song of crickets, chirping away to their heart’s contents. Phainon’s mouth opened and closed, as if he was wondering whether he should speak up on whatever was bothering him right now — you, on the other hand, relished in the tranquility, his verbose tongue stopping for a rare moment of peace.

finally, he leaned over the railing so hard, you were sure one gust of wind, and he’d come tumbling down. "[name], honestly i still feel bad about causing you headache. as a compensation, why don’t you— i don’t know, let me treat you to a dinner, or—"

as if there was actually a fancy restaurant in this village. "save your money, i don’t need any compensations from you." you interrupted, pushing yourself away and starting to walk towards the balcony door. the only thing you didn’t need was your neighbor’s pity.

"hey, wait! you didn’t let me finish!"

was the last sentence you heard before shutting the door, and draping long curtains over the glass.

——

may came around, and life seemed easier now. after a month in here, your mind arrived to a rather simple conclusion — being on the countryside could be pleasant, at times. when you had nothing better to do, you’d leisurely lie down on the hammock you somehow managed to secure in your garden, the oak’s wide branches successfully obscuring you from unrelenting sun. Bubbles would accompany you, sprawled out on the grass, dozing off to the pleasant chirping of birds, its attention eventually caught by some grasshoppers.

the taste of lemonade, and the sweet scent of blooming lilac were utterly comforting, and so you found yourself enjoying the little vacations much more than you initially thought you would.

except — there was still one, big problem, and its name was Phainon.

you could recall it as clear as a day — his almost mocking chuckle as he peeked over the wired fence, watching you sweat when you worked on planting the potatoes, your knees digging uncomfortably into the soil. why you decided to plant them in the first place — you didn’t know, but you were bored beyond reason, and so the idea of indulging yourself with some true countryside life appeared somewhat enticing.

"are my eyes deceiving me?" Phainon laughed, spreading the tall stalks of sunflowers, which obscured his sight of you. "[name] actually tries to do something in the garden. who would’ve thought…"

you huffed in irritation, your eyes snapping up from the dirt you desperately attempted to dig out as you deemed fit (because you obviously were too lazy to even check how potatoes should be planted correctly — why not eyeball it?).

once your gaze met with the happy twins of blue, you felt an irresistible need of throwing the dusty soil straight at the man’s face beaming face. "yeah, i do. what’s it to you?" you murmured, starting to feel overly exposed.

Phainon shrugged, attempting to lean on the wired fence, but ultimately discarding the idea when the thing bent dangerously under his heavy weight. "nothing." he responded nonchalantly, but still refused to go away.

you scooped the dirt into your palm, clenching it into a fist before dumping in his direction. he ducked, briefly avoiding having his snow-white hair stained — then, he laughed again. of course. was the sound of joy the only one he could ever make?

you should add it to your list: laughs too much.

"wow, almost hit a bullseye.” he breathed, straightening out, "maybe you could prolong your stay and join us during the summer festival. there’s a plenty of games that consist of throwing." Phainon mused, and you snorted when one of the sunflowers bumped his head.

with a roll of your eyes, your focus returned to the ground, as you tried to resume your digging. "i’d rather not."

he clicked his tongue with dissatisfaction, that you couldn’t tell whether was true, or feigned. "ah, but why not?" he whined, his fingers hooking on the fence’s loops. "[name], if you really feel so unsure in your skills, then maybe i could play for you, and win you some prizes?" upon his coercion, you sighed, looking back into the giddy irises with an unimpressed expression.

"i’m sorry, Phainon, but do i look twelve to you?" a scoff escaped your lips as you took in his smile. "i don’t want teddy bears, especially not from you."

your neighbor seemed to deflate, almost just like balloons do. "especially not from me? and here i was, thinking we were already starting to get along."

you knew the hurt was feigned, because he had to work his lips into a thin, tight line, as if forcing back that insistent giggle threatening to slip past his lips — but he still looked like a kicked puppy, and you hated how it tugged at your heartstrings.

"stop guilt-tripping me." you responded bluntly, digging your small shovel into the dirt with probably much more force than necessary. "i didn’t come here to frolic around with you, and your friends. i actually have to get my shit together soon."

Phainon pushed his body onto the fence, evoking a weak creak from the old wires. "well, perhaps you should start getting it together now," he hummed, his intense gaze set on you, "because i don’t think potatoes should be planted during may.”

you halted your movements, chagrin prickling at your skin — come again? what does he mean by 'not planted during may'? all of your efforts — buying the potatoes, digging the rows during such a heat it made your vision go white — and now it would go to waste? maybe you really should have read something about the topic before taking up your work.

shame of an unknowing city girl washed over you as you let the shovel go from your hands. "why didn’t you tell me from the start?" you asked with pretension painted across your face, "it would’ve saved me some time, instead of wasting it!"

the man shrugged, sending you a smirk that was teasing, and yet so innocent at the same time. “i’m sorry, but you just seemed so engrossed. didn’t want to ruin your fun."

you seethed internally, already grabbing another handful of dirt into your palm. Phainon noticed your action, immediately hiding behind the shield of sunflowers. "seriously, [name], that’s like— common sense!" he continued, and even though you couldn’t see his face, you were absolutely sure he was grinning from ear to ear. "who in their right mind thinks that potatoes can be planted near summer?"

"well, maybe me?" you retaliated, getting up from your aching knees.

Phainon’s head peeked out from behind the flowers. "then you’re definitely in for some tutoring. maybe i should just teach you how to—"

you shoved the dirt into his face. he yelped dramatically, stumbling backwards, and falling on his ass.

for once, you could be the one smiling down at him with an undeniable triumph in your eyes.

…and that’s how it went. truthfully, Phainon’s unrelenting desire of keeping you company whenever you tried doing anything was quite perplexing. more often than not, you were simply mean — perhaps wanting to chase him away with your bitter attitude. he was either extremely oblivious, or didn’t care. but it’s not like he lacked in friends to keep himself practically glued to your hip — an obvious proof of that was now, as he cheerily conversed with familiar faces over the grill.

it was unbearably hot today, however you still failed to occupy yourself with anything useful, so you discarded your disdain for the sun, and decided to lounge in the garden. Bubbles was happily prancing around the grass, chasing after little bugs — and you felt the need of curling up on yourself.

Phainon, who seemed almost hellbent on always spotting your presence, turned away from the grill, and waved your way. you didn’t wave back.

your cat, possessing its ever-traitorous nature, hopped over to the wired fence, rubbing against the rusty wire. the man immediately crossed the distance and crouched, his eyes softening, which was a vivid contrast to the wide smile he still donned. he reached over to the animal, sticking his fingers through the fence, and petting its little head as Bubbles purred upon the newly-received attention.

"Phainon," a deep voice called from over the grill, causing your neighbor to turn his head, "what are you doing over there? the bread is gonna burn."

"then just take it off yourself!" Phainon retaliated, huffing out in frustration before his gaze returned to the pet — then to you. "how’s Bubbles? already feeling better?"

you dragged your feet closer to the pair, crossing your arms over your chest as you studied his hunched form, caressing Bubbles’ fur. the man had to practically force his way through the sunflowers, and other lush bushes obscuring his way — he really must have loved animals… or bothering you.

with a shrug, you leaned down to give the critter a small pet on its back too. "it’s feeling way better." you responded briefly, not wanting to expand upon the well-being of your cat. Phainon already did what he had to, and he wasn’t at work now, so it frankly wasn’t his business.

"is that right, beautiful?" he beamed down at Bubbles, finally retracting his hand. "well, i’m very glad to hear that. oh, by the way," he straightened out, gesturing with his head towards the people sitting by the grill in his garden, "[name], wouldn’t you like to join us? i’m sure everyone would love to get to know you."

you gave a sigh, the trail of your vision landing upon Mydei — who you were already acquainted with, because you took Bubbles for another check-up, and that time he was the one tending to your cat (thank gods), and the familiar lady from the front desk. you didn’t know her name, but she seemed friendly enough — so you waved in their direction, trying not to show how unsure you truly felt. both of them smiled at you.

you genuinely wanted to join them, because in contrast to Phainon, the pair actually seemed somewhat bearable — but it felt like… intruding. a weird sense of not being exactly separated from everything else, but also not belonging. "i’m sorry, but i must decline. i was— i was actually going to do some work now." you spoke to the violet-haired woman more so than to Phainon directly, and she gave an understanding nod.

"that’s alright." she took a sip of her drink, her irises briefly flickering over to Mydei, who was now busying himself with flipping over the meat, "next time, then."

you leaned down to scoop Bubbles into your arms, and your neighbor voiced a sound of disappointment, spreading the stalks of sunflowers further hastily. "oh, but [name], why not? can’t your work wait?" he whined, giving you puppy eyes. could he get any more pathetic than that?

a protest bloomed on your tongue, and you already opened your mouth to speak up on it, but another voice interrupted you. "give that woman a rest, Phainon. didn’t she say she’s busy?" Mydei spoke, and you breathed out in relief. truly a life saver.

"yeah." you affirmed, pressing Bubbles a little closer to your chest. "i’ll go now. bye."

with that, you turned on your heel, and walked back home, still feeling that intense gaze on your shoulders — seriously, would it hurt him to cut you some slack for once? it’s not as if he was lonely, unlike you.

so why did he continue to seek you out so much?

you stared at the chuck steak, now placed on your table — after your neighbor’s little get-together was over, and the slightly irritating smell of grill and burning meat dissipated (exactly — burning. you didn’t know what was going on, but you heard panicked screams of Phainon through your open window, wailing over the food he accidentally ruined), he decided to knock at your door. of course, you opened it, only to be met with a sight of neatly packed steak, practically pushed into your face.

you took the tupperware boxes, sending him a confused look — then, he proceeded to explain he bought too much, and they couldn’t eat everything, and how he didn’t want it to go to waste, and how delicious it was, and so on. this time, you didn’t interrupt his nonsensical rambling for a change, allowing him to stumble over his words awkwardly — for some reason, it was endearing.

after he was done with his hardly-coherent rant, you thanked him for the food, and closed the door in his face. for a second, you even wondered whether this steak was poisoned, or something — but upon closer inspection, it turned out to be completely edible. actually, you were quite surprised with the taste. it was exactly as he said — delicious. through his logorrhea, you managed to catch one information that stuck out to you — Mydei was the one to season, and prepare the portion.

it honestly was kind of bewildering to you, because that stern guy with a no-nonsense attitude didn’t look as if he was especially familiar to the art of cooking. well, as the saying goes — don’t judge a book by its cover.

still, you couldn’t help but feel gratitude, thanking the gods he was the one to take care of the meat, instead of Phainon — who, due to your earlier deduction, successfully managed to burn it.

once you finished your rather late dinner, you put the dishes away in the sink, deciding to let them soak for now. then, you continued on with your usual routine — shower, change, blow your hair dry, bid goodbye to Bubbles who was peacefully snoozing on the couch. drag your feet over to the balcony, open the door, greet your neighbor dryly… wait, where was he?

you almost caught yourself frowning at his absence. almost.

should you add it to your already long list of annoyances? doesn’t keep up with the unspoken routine: check.

usually, you’d be happy to find that the balcony beside yours was empty, except this time it irked you — why, you weren’t sure, but perhaps his company during the evenings, when the sky was already darkened, and splattered with bright stars, was the only consistent thing, keeping you grounded and secure in this still somewhat unfamiliar countryside.

but you’d never admit it. never.

so, with a reluctant sigh, you departed back inside, falling onto your bed, and closing your eyes. the hour was still fairly young, perhaps too early for you to fall asleep, especially since the air seemed oddly still — the chirping of cicadas distant, not quite reaching your ears.

now, you could easily discern all the other noises surrounding you — the creaking of your old house, Bubble’s quiet meows from downstairs, the loud yelp of pain — wait, what?

you jolted upwards on the mattress, listening to the following chain of curses, the sound of a familiar voice resonating muffled just behind the wall where your bed stood. you blinked in surprise, thinking — since when was the wall separating your rooms so thin? yes, you heard some weird noises before, but you chalked it up to nothing in particular, deciding to ignore them. right now, doing so seemed almost impossible.

you pressed your ear to the cold wall, meeting with silence. "hello? Phainon?" you called over, keeping your voice loud enough for the man to hear. another beat of silence passed before you heard a barely audible sound of footsteps. it is truly miraculous you somehow failed to guess where all the foreign noises were coming from (which was, most likely, caused by you living in your lavish family-house for the bigger part of your life).

once you pushed the side of your head closer, you could almost make out the ruffling of sheets coming from the other side. "[name]?" the voice resonated louder than you expected it to, causing you to jump back.

you found yourself almost laughing at the discovery, but at the same time, you felt somewhat disturbed by the lack of privacy you had from the start. "are you okay?" you asked, making sure to keep your tone clear.

a quiet chuckle reached you, and you thought Phainon really must have been acting quiet when he was alone — which was unusual, at least in your opinion, but what else could be the reason? after all, you barely heard him, and you already spent a month here.

"i’m— i’m fine." he stammered out, and you imagined him pressing his ear to the wall too. "just stumbled my toe on the table’s corner. nothing serious."

now it was your turn to giggle. "really? it sounded almost as if you had your leg cut off."

Phainon laughed louder now, and if not for the wall separating you away from him, you would’ve thought he was standing right next to you. "sorry. did i scare you?" he mused, and you rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it.

"hardly. although," you sighed, now leaning a little bit more comfortably on the hard surface, "i didn’t expect the walls to be so thin. i got surprised, is all."

he hummed in response, seeming to consider your words. "well, i was aware for some time now."

"really?"

another chuckle. "yeah. uhh… do you remember when i was was done drilling, and you started screaming curses at me?" your neighbor recalled lightheartedly, and you felt your heart sink to the floor. oh no.

did he really hear you, back then? well, the possibility was rather obvious, since he now told you about that little outburst of yours. it wasn’t like you — to suddenly start feeling guilty about things that didn’t bother you earlier on. still, you couldn’t help but flinch in shame, thinking you wouldn’t mind if the earth opened, and swallowed you whole.

upon hearing your lack of response, Phainon urged. "[name]? you still with me?" you could hear the smile in his voice.

"yes, i am." you snapped out of your stupor, "sorry 'bout that. i guess i got a little too angry, then." you apologized quickly, feeling your cheeks burn. good thing you weren’t on the balcony now, else that awful man would tease the hell out of you.

listening in — you almost wanted to add to your list, but it wasn’t exactly his fault. plus, if you’d try to enforce that logic, you’d be equally guilty.

"ah, but don’t worry about that." he assured, as if sensing your concern, and you imagined him waving his hand dismissively. "i found it funny, just so you know."

you chewed on your cheek for a second, before finally deciding to let the topic go. "why didn’t you come out on the balcony today?" you asked instead, swiftly changing the course of conversation.

another, very quiet snicker which you barely were able of discerning. "why, is my lovely neighbor suddenly troubled about my well-being?"

if he were standing on that balcony, you’d push him off.

"no." you immediately refused, maybe a bit too quickly, "don’t get your hopes up. honestly, you could be dying right now, and i wouldn’t bat an eye."

Phainon scoffed. "ouch. your words are cruel as ever."

…well, perhaps you didn’t mean it to come out that way. truth be told, if Phainon was as much as sick, you’d be already worried — even though you didn’t want to admit that. still, he was annoying, and so you wouldn’t let down your bitter facade down.

a slightly awkward silence fell over you, and you finally started to feel fed up with all the talking. too much happened today as it is, and now you’d rather face your embarrassments alone. "anyway, i’ve still got some work to do, so…" you trailed off, the lie easily slipping off your tongue.

"you’re still not finished?" the man inquired, and then you realized you offered the same thing as an excuse earlier, because you were probably too shy to join the grill.

was your mind always so slow, and clumsy? "i— i, uh, yeah, still not finished." you forced out, and it would seem it was now your turn to stumble over the words. "you know how it is. work, work…" you let out a dry chuckle, hoping he couldn’t hear the waver in your voice.

"but didn’t you say you were on vacations?"

that much was true — still, you felt a little bit too tangled in your own web of lies and excuses. with a heavy sigh, you said: "yeah, 'cause they fired me. now i’m searching for a new job."

you didn’t know what tempted you to admit your woes, and you were already starting to feel regret. it was a surprise when instead of a teasing remark, you got met with consolation. "oh… that’s unfortunate. i’m sorry, [name]." Phainon said, his tone unusually serious.

you nodded to yourself. "nah, it’s nothing. i already sent a plenty of applications, so it’s only a matter of time before i’ll be back on my feet." you huffed out a breathy chuckle. "you won’t be bothering me any longer."

"and so you’ll leave?"

you blinked, sensing the faceless voice become more muffled, and distant now. you almost hoped he would laugh at your sarcastic comment, but nothing of the sort reached you. "i suppose."

why was he asking such obvious questions? the day you met, you clearly stated you wouldn’t linger for too long — and now Phainon had the audacity to act all solemn when you simply repeated the facts. but, perhaps, you were a little sad too, to part with this countryside. if you could, you’d try and prolong your stay — however, the savings in your bank account weren’t looking as promising, and you knew you had to get a grip. long gone were the days of your parents supporting you.

"ah, i know, i just—" he lagged, "never mind. you know what’s best for you, [name]."

hearing the evident defeat in his tone, you banged at the wall, once but hard. you didn’t like when he was acting so odd. upon your action, you received a startled yelp from the other side — and then a laugh. "stop acting as if i’m going to die, Phainon. maybe i’ll come visit in a year, or two."

"yeah! that sounds— that sounds great." he said, and you pretended to ignore how fake his upbeat words sounded.

you glued yourself off from the wall, lying down in your bed. for some reason, your eyelids got heavy, and the tension that built up between you appeared unbearable (at least in your opinion). "i’m going now. goodnight." you called, pulling the sheets over your body.

you frowned when you received no reply, but didn’t push further.

——

you were… stalling.

right now, the calendar clearly indicated twenty-first of june, and you couldn’t help but grimace at the innocent object, as if it was its fault for your reluctance to leave.

you have tried to pack and go — truly. but a week ago, when you opened your suitcases, you heard a characteristic knock on the wall — and then you proceeded to talk with Phainon for one hour, before deciding to go out on the balcony, and converse for another two.

three days ago, you’ve gathered up your resolve, swearing you wouldn’t get distracted this time — except Bubbles was nowhere in sight, and after your restless search for the animal, you spotted it sprawled out in Phainon’s garden, its tail flickering gently as it leisurely rolled over to the side, obviously relishing in the sun. with a heavy sigh, you committed the act of breaking and entering — well, could you even call it that, when the gate of his fence was open? (thank gods he was at work then).

yesterday, you already had enough of your laziness, and even started taking out your clothes from the wardrobe, but then Castorice, who you managed to become friends with, payed you a visit with a big tray of strawberry cake (bless that woman’s soul).

and so, you finally took the fate’s hint, and decided to lay off your departure preparations for now. it was honestly terrifying how easily it came to you — you simply checked your financial situation, esteeming it as poor but manageable, called your parents to let them know you’ll stay for another week or two, and then pushed the suitcases to the corner of your room.

alas, your quiet day of tranquility came to an end rather quickly, and the second you saw who was calling you up, you almost started to curse yourself out for forgetting — astronomical day of summer, and that damned festival…

you swiped over your phone’s screen, picking up with reluctance. "what?" you greeted dryly, not even bothering to contain your disdain.

"[name]!" that usual, awfully cheery voice resonated from the speaker, and you frowned upon hearing it so loudly. "are you free today?"

you wanted to say — what do you think?, but due to tradition, kept your mouth shut.

"yeah." you offered instead, leaning on the soft cushions of your couch, rubbing at your temples. it would be easier to say no, but the longer you spent in this countryside, the further your weird fear of missing out grew — and since you’ll be leaving soon anyway, it wouldn’t hurt to socialize some more… probably.

you heard the weak sound of shuffling. "great! uhh, do you remember about the festival? maybe you’d like to join us?" you opened your mouth to reply, but Phainon didn’t even give you the chance of voicing your opinion. "well, i’ll be at your door at around… 6 PM? oh, and Mydei and Cas are coming too, just so you know.”

an exasperated groan ripped from your throat, and you wanted to berate him for not letting you speak — it would seem he already made the decision for you. "fine, geez, calm down." you muttered, the corners of your lips itching upwards at his hasty rambling. "just don’t be too late, okay?"

"of course, i’d never let my beloved neighbor wait for me!" he laughed, and you looked up at your ceiling, as if calling out for help from the gods. it appeared they preferred to ignore you today.

you didn’t even say goodbye, immediately hanging up with a sigh of relief. the clock hands indicated a late afternoon, so perhaps it would be better to start getting ready now. you pulled yourself upright, already tired by the vision of an indescribably long day ahead of you.

the loud, upbeat music attacked your ears as you stood tucked away in some corner with Phainon, not wanting to obscure the road for other people, as there were rather plenty amounts of them moving around. only after a prolonged minute of suffering, you noticed you were literally standing by the tall, big speakers — no wonder the music was so unbelievably notorious.

your casual outing started rather calmly, even though you could already hear the clamor from the distance — good thing your house was located far away from the vast fields, now pumping with life as everyone either drank, danced, or tried to shoot their shot with the games. only halfway through your walk, Mydei called Phainon to let him know that something came up — your neighbor’s face fell, and as you asked him what’s wrong, he explained about the 'cows' and 'complicated labor', and that Mydei and Castorice won’t come.

you nodded stiffly, hardly making any sense from his words, but that’s the life of a veterinarian, you supposed. still, the dread of being forced to spend time alone with him — not just talking on the balcony, or bickering through your fence (or wall, as of now), but rather really, really spending time. just the two of you, with no one around to help you out of the awkward situation.

and so, right now you were shifting your weight from one leg to another, pondering how long you’ll have to keep loitering before Phainon graciously offers something to do. his blue irises flickered over to your form time to time, and every time your gazes met, all he did was let out a nervous chuckle.

it would appear he didn’t think the situation through, just like you.

you tugged at his t-shirt, forcing him to lean down to your level. damn him, and his stupid genes for making him so tall. "what should we do?" you asked, keeping your voice audible enough to pierce through the commotion.

Phainon’s whole body seemed to react to your words, his tense shoulders slouching with relief. "there’s many things we could try." he offered, still leaning so close to your face, you could almost smell the minty scent of his breath. for some reason, now you were the stiff one, your nape washing over with salves of hotness. "would you like a drink? or try some games?"

you studied his smile, as friendly as ever, and looked around to scan your surroundings. "maybe games?" you decided weakly, recalling how he once complimented your throwing skills — you doubted it was genuine, but hey, it wouldn’t hurt to try.

the man nodded in understanding, the corners of his lips curling upwards even further as he started to take wide steps towards one of the stalls. you pushed through the crowd, trying to keep up with him — not only was he tall, but he had long legs too! ugh, you supposed those things go in pair.

after searching for an adequate game to play, you finally stood before a rather simple one — throw the balls into buckets, win a prize. easy, no? except the buckets were small, and the balls absurdly light — for a second, you wanted to tell Phainon it was an absolute scam, but he seemed so hellbent you decided to keep quiet. it’s not like he’d listen to you, anyway.

your neighbor’s turn came first, and you snickered under your breath as he kept missing. at first, he boasted just how great he is at the game — then, as his frustration grew, he proceeded to whine and wail at how rigged it was.

"you absolutely suck." you clicked your tongue, tilting your head to the side as you observed him throw in the last ball — it rolled off the table’s surface, disappearing somewhere your eyes didn’t reach.

Phainon’s face whipped in your direction as he frowned at the comment, his eyebrows knitting together. "i swear i don’t!" he retaliated, a mixture of disappointment and ire painted across his features. "if you’re so smart, then why don’t you try yourself, huh?"

the game organizer laughed at your interaction, his gaze flickering over to you, as if he was beckoning you to test your strength. with a shrug, you paid the fee, and the older man handed you five balls. you tested their weight in your palms — light, just as you thought. you knew you’ll probably fail just as miserably as Phainon, so you threw one of them without much finesse — and you actually succeeded. your eyes widened in surprise as the owner of the stall whistled, a rumbling chuckle escaping his mouth.

"well, would you look at that!" the stranger exclaimed, as if even he was taken aback. "sir, turns out your lady is much better at the game than you!" he laughed once more, and you gaped— what did he just call you?

you looked at Phainon, wholeheartedly expecting him to correct the man, but all he did was give him a tight-lipped smile, scratching his neck abashedly. maybe he didn’t hear the older one clearly? well, never mind, it’s no use dwelling on that — you threw another ball, trying to mimic your movement from earlier — it fell into the bucket. the third one wasn’t so lucky, but the fourth one managed to score as well.

Phainon stood behind your back, his hands flying over to your shoulders and shaking you excitedly, "c’mon, [name], you got this! only one left!" he exclaimed animatedly right beside your ear, making your skin crawl at his overly-enthusiastic demeanor — it would seem his earlier bitterness completely dissipated now.

you huffed, shaking him away. "lie off or i’ll miss!" you said, straining your tone to dominate over the ever-present loud music and noise. he took an obedient step back, and you swear you actually started to feel a little afraid of losing now — it’s not like they’ll have you publicly executed if you mess up, right? right?

with a bated breath, you threw the remaining ball into the bucket — you anxiously observed it swivel around, almost threatening to fall out, itching over the edge — and then, it rolled down, stopping at the bucket’s bottom. you caught yourself wanting to jump up in triumph, but all you did was send a self-satisfied smirk towards Phainon, obviously signifying: see? i’m better.

the man cheered in your stead, reaching over to pat your back, and you couldn’t help but relish in the positive attention directed straight at you.

the stall owner cleared his throat, gesturing towards the row of plush toys located behind him. "for four successful throws, you can choose something from this section." he explained, and you measured the cute muzzles of various animals — you almost pointed towards the cat of an eerie resemblance with Bubbles, but then another one caught your attention. a dog of white fur, it’s dark, beady eyes sticking out, as if the object was mutely begging to be picked.

"i’ll have that one, please." you said, gesticulating towards the toy. it was given to you, and you inspected its goofy face, smiling unconsciously at the slightly crooked nose.

you then turned to Phainon, pushing the thing into his arms. personally, you had no need of stuffed toys, and the space in your suitcases was already very limited, so there was no way you’d drag it all the way home. and… perhaps it was worth it, looking at the way his whole face lit up. "oh, is that for me?" he cooed, lifting the dog to his eye-level.

you shrugged nonchalantly, pretending as if you didn’t notice the way Phainon continued to ogle the toy for the whole time of your game. "yeah. never thought i’d see someone who’s pushing thirty being so excited to have a stuffie." you remarked sarcastically, though your voice lacked in any real bite.

"thank you, [name], i’m going to cherish it forever now!" he ignored your comment, leaning down to embrace your shoulders with his free arm, the white dog resting under another — and for some reason, you didn’t find yourself pulling away. a mere eye-roll would be enough to voice your completely truthful, and totally not feigned disdain for the action.

after you were done hopping around all the other stalls, you decided to sit down for a drink — which in your humble opinion, wasn’t the best idea, but you couldn’t find the strength to refuse Phainon. you huddled with him on the lengthy benches, one of your sides pressing against him, and the other briefly brushing against some unfamiliar woman, who seemed to be too occupied with her conversation to even pay you any attention. which, of course, you were grateful for.

the same couldn’t be said about Phainon, who casually leaned over the wooden table’s surfaces, happily chattering with acquaintances and strangers alike, occasionally introducing you.

you stopped at one cup of beer, deeming that as enough, but your lovely neighbor continued to drink one after another — after the fourth glass, you stopped counting. he seemed to uphold pretty well, still talking with enough finesse to make out what he wanted to communicate, and even asking you out for a dance multiple times — it’s not hard to guess whether you decided to accept, or decline.

still, nothing lasts forever, and soon it got dark enough, with you becoming quite bored with sitting around and listening to the conversations around you. Phainon’s face was now slightly blushed, and his hair disheveled more than usually, which was an obvious sign you better go before he starts making a fool out of himself.

right now, you were practically dragging his arm forwards, berating yourself for thinking you could ever deal with that man-child. "c’mon, move faster or i’ll leave you here, and you’ll perish in those bushes." you urged, pointing towards the rather dense flora on the side of the road.

he chuckled in response. "nah, you wouldn’t."

"wanna see for yourself?"

that seemed to shut him up. for now.

a beat of silence passed as you tried navigating through the darkness, the only source of light being moon, and the distant leds of the festival. "[name], did you enjoy yourself today?" a slightly unsure, but still obliviously jovial tone came from beside you.

"i guess." you responded dryly, even though a multitude of insults kept forcing themselves onto your tongue. for whatever reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to throw any mean comments at the man — which was unusual, so perhaps you were drunk too. no matter if you only had one cup.

"you guess?" Phainon started, the syllables of his words slurring slightly, "that’s not an answer, y'know!"

you huffed, deciding to indulge his drunken mind. "yes, i had fun today, thanks to you, and only you. happy?" you deadpanned, and the man’s eyes seemed to brighten as he reached out to ruffle your hair, still trailing one step behind like a lost puppy.

"very!" he affirmed, nodding excitedly. seriously, if he was pathetic while sober, then what levels did he reach now?

you sighed with resignation, shaking your head as you continued to lead Phainon towards your houses. once you got there, he was almost ready to bid you goodbye, but you opened the gate for him, ushering the man to step forward. looking at the stumble in his step, that moron could accidentally hurt himself — and you didn’t want to explain to the paramedics how your neighbor decided to get wasted, proceeding to slip on the cobblestone stairs of his place, and cracking his skull open.

"ah, [name]," Phainon crooned, batting his thick eyelashes at you, "i didn’t know you actually have a heart!" he joked, wincing when you slapped him across the wrist.

"i just don’t think you’re capable of conquering the stairs by yourself, dumbass." you nagged, though truthfully, your worries stretched much further. a drunk person is extremely vulnerable, and, well, Phainon could be rather… unfortunate at times, so you’d better not risk it.

the man dragged his feet over to the entrance, patting the pockets of his pants before pulling out the keys. after another failed attempt of pushing them inside the lock, you clicked your tongue in irritation, taking them and opening the door yourself. it was your first time visiting the man — such a way to make an impression — so you looked around the space of his home, thinking it was rather cluttered for someone living alone. not to mention, that house was built at least for a family of three — and he never mentioned having any, so why is he…

"do you really live here alone?" you found yourself asking, observing Phainon as he struggled to close the door.

you briefly noticed his shoulders stiffen, but he nodded. "for some time now, yeah." he answered, his voice quieter than usually. he turned to you upon hearing the lock click, his smile a little too tight, and you sensed you were treading into a dangerous territory.

your curiosity almost got the better of you, especially since he was drunk, and would probably spill anything you wanted to know — but you quickly discarded the idea, thinking you could never take advantage of him. "alright, i won’t ask. stay there, i’ll bring you a glass of water."

Phainon nodded obediently, leaning on the wall as you turned on the big light, and tried to find your way to the kitchen — which obviously wasn’t hard, because as it turns out, even the layout of your rooms was the same.

you swiftly took out a singular cup, filling it up with tap-water before your attention got caught by something on the fridge — a few photos stuck to the surface with colorful magnets. it wouldn’t be polite to pry, alas your earlier ignited curiosity demanded for you to take a closer look — and so, you stepped a forwards, quickly scanning the contents.

the first one depicted Phainon and Mydei in their veterinary uniforms — the blonde’s man arm was loosely slung over Phainon’s back as they posed for the casual photo. a small, brown puppy sat in his embrace as your neighbor smiled widely at the camera, exposing a row of pearly whites. for some reason, he looked happier then.

next one was of similar nature, with Castorice and Phainon sat atop some hay, two calves resting on their laps — nothing else caught your attention.

the third picture was much more thought-provoking. Phainon and an unfamiliar girl of fuchsia hair stood in front of a sea — her lips were curled into a smirk, while the man’s mouth was open, brows furrowed, as if the photo was taken during some kind of a lighthearted bicker. you didn’t know who she was.

another one presented you with more context — a family of four, posing in front of a statue you couldn’t exactly discern. the fuchsia-haired girl seemed to be his sister, leaning on Phainon’s side as she licked on some icecream. beside them stood two other people — a woman of the same fair locks Phainon possessed, and a man, grinning from ear to ear with thumbs-up.

your eyes already flew over to the next one, but a distant call rapidly snapped you out of your reveries, almost causing you to drop the glass. "[name]! did you die here, or something?"

you cursed under your breath. "coming!"

you forced your feet to move, but your thoughts still reeled over and over again, and you felt an uncomfortable ache in your chest — just what happened to Phainon? where was his family now? did they decide to move, leaving him alone here? oh, but that didn’t make any sense — the house was obviously full of their stuff, because there was no way he would need so much of everything.

you decided to abandon your pondering for now, thinking you’d find another occasion to ask. "sorry i took so long. let’s go to your bedroom." you breathed, flashing him an apologetic smile.

Phainon didn’t protest, beginning to climb upstairs with you in tow, making sure that if he stumbled, you’d be there to catch him. his bedroom was even more so cluttered than the entirety of the house — books sprawled out on the desk with papers messily thrown around, ceramic figurines sitting atop some shelves, a few plastic bottles of water discarded all about the space — still, you thought it definitely fit him.

"ugh, i’m so exhausted." he groaned, sitting on the mattress as you handed him the glass, turning on a small lamp standing on the bedside table. the man sipped the water hastily, tilting it at such an unfortunate angle it spilled across his torso, soaking his t-shirt. Phainon mouthed something under his nose, placing the plush toy beside his head as he fell heavily onto the bed.

you rolled your eyes, observing his half-asleep form. "seriously?" you asked, searching his wardrobe for a new top — once you succeeded, you turned to face him again. "at least change, for gods’ sake."

Phainon voiced a sound of protest. "don’t wanna. too tired." he mumbled, evidently defeated by the alcohol still running through his bloodstream with fervor.

you sighed, closing the distance between you, and begrudgingly easing his shoes off, placing them neatly in the corner of the room. then, you grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it upwards. Phainon laughed weakly at your action, his big palms catching your wrists. "wow, i didn’t take you for someone so bold." he gave you a lopsided grin, and you wished you could smack him across the head.

"shut up." you warned, and the man thought to lie off with the teasing remarks — a wise decision indeed.

you took off the clothing, throwing it on the nearest chair before you started to tug on the new, dry tee on his shoulders. "arms up." you instructed, and you felt as if you were playing dress-up with a very large, uncooperative doll (meanwhile also having to avert your eyes, because staring at the toned chest was definitely improper).

Phainon hummed in satisfaction, stretching out. "thanks, [name]. what would i do without you?" he mused, and you found yourself terrified to hear that his voice was unusually tender. why were you helping him in the first place?

(the answer lied somewhere far away, at the back of your disarrayed mind — but for now you were way too scared of admitting it, even in your thoughts).

you gently grabbed his shoulder, pushing him to lie on his side. "stay like that. preferably don’t move at all." you said, your eyebrows unconsciously narrowing together. "if— if something happens, just call me up, or knock at the wall. understood?"

before you could even take a step back, a hand shoot out to grasp yours — your breath hitched, eyes widening as you felt Phainon’s fingers locking through yours, keeping you in his grip. "are you going already?" he asked, his hazy gaze seeking you out with such insistence, you thought your heart might just crawl out from your throat.

what was he doing to you?

"…probably. you need to sleep it off." you murmured meekly, trying to keep your voice steady. "don’t want to bother you any longer."

Phainon huffed out a dry chuckle at that. "bother me? you could never, [name]." he spoke, and something in your gut told you he must have hit his head earlier, when you weren’t paying attention.

upon receiving no reply from you, his expression shifted into something slightly dejected, and you wanted to burst out from a mixture of ambivalent emotions swirling in your poor brain. "when are you leaving? i mean, the countryside." he inquired quietly, pressing his fingers tighter around yours. you hated how easily you could discern anxiety in his eyes.

you considered his words, leaning down, just a little. "don’t worry about it now."

the man seemed unsatisfied with your dismissive answer, a somber grimace blooming on his face. "tell me."

you let the air out from your lungs; why not add it to your list? stubborn as a donkey. "soon. in a week, or so." you explained, your erratic heartbeat still yet to falter. "maybe longer, maybe not. we’ll see."

Phainon mulled over your words, the cogs in his mind turning slowly as he tried to process whatever information you threw at him. "and will you visit soon?" he questioned finally.

that you weren’t sure of. what’s his definition of 'soon'? a few months? a year? well, if you know Phainon, you’d bet all of your money for an absurdly short amount of time — something like… five days. maybe four. "i don’t know." you answered truthfully, because you didn’t feel like lying him straight in the eyes.

for a brief second, he looked done with the interrogation, but then, his mouth opened again. "and must you… must you really leave? [name], i—" he winced, hissing in pain. you knew drinking would be a bad idea. "i know you have your own life, but it’s not like— it’s not like you’re not enjoying yourself, right? i could help you find a job here, actually, i already have a plenty of ideas what—"

your free hand shoot up, cutting his slurred rambling short — now that was new. you knew Phainon got attached, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t get as well, but you never thought it extended to such an intensity. your annoying, irritating, absolutely awful neighbor was thinking of searching for a job, specifically for you — and for what? so you’d stay?

you couldn’t bear to listen to him anymore, and you thought you actually blessed him with a favor by interrupting the vulnerable rant. in the morning, when he sobers up, Phainon would surely regret spilling so much (that is, if he even remembered).

still, his desperation with constantly seeking you out, and making vast effort to please you remained a riddle — and then, as you frowned at his expression bordering on panic, you came to a rather simple, albeit morose conclusion — he was lonely. previously, you were sure things like that stretched only in your direction, but upon looking through the cracks of his mirthful mask, you couldn’t ignore the vivid sorrow seeping out of him.

you recalled how much he enjoyed talking, and occupying himself with anything, at all times, as if only to keep his mind busy. earlier on, you didn’t understand how someone could possibly push through a long day of work, and then demand even more stimulation — now it was almost logical. then, his quiet nature when he was alone, either reading or doing gods know what, treading his bedroom so silently you wouldn’t even know he was there.

and finally, the photos of his family, stuck to the fridge, their smiling faces frozen forever in time. if Phainon had a fallout with them, surely he wouldn’t keep the memories exposed in such an obvious place — the possibilities tugging along with that conclusion almost made your heart stop, your stomach churning uncomfortably.

"Phainon." you spoke, trying not to show how much all of this affected you. "you’re drunk, and you don’t make much sense. we’ll talk about this once you’re sober, alright?"

that stupid glimmer of hope in his eyes seemed to go dim, and he merely nodded in understanding, ultimately deciding to ease his grip from your hand. you slipped it away from his slender fingers, instead reaching to his tousled hair, and brushing the bangs away from his forehead. "i’ll go now. sleep well."

"okay. you too." the man answered, and you waved at him briefly before silently shutting the door, and descending downstairs. if you wanted to, you could go take a peek at the photos again — but for some reason, it felt like a way of betraying trust — even if Phainon didn’t know you were doing it. still, you decided to stick with your moral compass, and left the house altogether, your heart unbelievably heavy.

——

twenty-second of june. the morning started out slow, with you waking up barely after 7 AM, and even though sleepiness continuously pulled you down into the mattress, you decided against lying and lazing around.

your thoughts were still heavy with what occurred yesterday, and the vision of Phainon’s utterly defeated, slightly flushed face haunted your memories, causing you to become restless. perhaps, you felt a little… well, bad, about leaving him alone when he oh-so obviously needed company — and if you’re not mistaken, he’s probably sleeping now, or just awoke with an insistent headache, completely hangover.

upon your guilt, a wonderful idea sparkled within your half-working brain — why not make him a gift, preferably some dry food, as if just to settle his stomach (in case the alcohol wanted to make its last revenge, and cause Phainon nausea as he hopelessly bent over the toilet).

with that, you concluded mere sugar cookies should be fitting — not overly sweet, but dainty enough for an appropriate gift — and most importantly, easy to make. for a second, your aspirations rose higher, and you almost found yourself calling up Mydei to ask him for assistance, but who in their right mind would get up at seven on the sunday morning? you quickly discarded the idea, afraid of meeting with his ire.

you were no cook, and baking was never your strongest forte, however after one hour of wrestling with the batter, and your slightly cranky oven, you were done (the recipe said it would only take thirty minutes, so maybe you were the problem). still, you couldn’t help but gaze at the product of your efforts with pride, now sitting nicely atop the tray. you tasted one — and while it wasn’t perfect, you deemed it as enough.

not so long ago, you let yourself buy a rather beautiful summer dress, with a ribbon tied loosely around its waist — and so you donned the piece, allowing the liberty of appearing somewhat presentable after a long night of tossing and turning. you didn’t bother packing the cookies into a container, instead parading straight into Phainon’s yard with tray in your hands — your thoughts reeled as you wondered what excuse should you offer. you made too many, and wished to share? they tasted shit, but you don’t want to waste? or — or anything, if only you didn’t have to admit that indeed, you were worried, and wanted to make him a pleasant surprise.

after all, it’s unlike you to be so openly kind — and you aren’t kind, no, you were always supposed to be stern and rigid. except now that facade you built up specifically for your difficult neighbor would be hard to uphold — with you dressed in a sweet summer dress, carrying cookies straight to his door.

you chewed on the inside of your cheek, feeling waves of heat crash over you, either due to nerves or the sun, that shone brightly down on you, even though it was still early in the morning. what could you say once you look him in the eye? how will he react?

you took a few steps forwards on the freshly cut grass, which Phainon seemed to enjoy mowing at the crack of dawn (as if only to spite you), and before you could spiral downwards your slide of overthinking, the front door opened, a familiar silhouette emerging — that’s not how it was supposed to go!

you stopped dead in your tracks, feeling the surprisingly feisty wind whip at your cheeks — Phainon didn’t seem to notice you at first, his irises downcast as he intently studied the pattern of his cobblestone stairs with a pensive expression. you coughed, immediately catching his attention — like a medicine, the man’s whole face lit up, and he beamed at you.

"[name], hi!" he greeted, skipping over to your frozen form. your vision briefly scanned his appearance — he obviously showered not so long ago, now changed into a set of new clothes. "how are you? i was afraid you might be mad at me for the stunt i pulled yesterday." he laughed sheepishly, his eyes locked on yours, as if he completely failed to spot the tray of cookies.

it wasn’t easy, but you forced yourself to speak up. "no, i’m not angry at you." you explained in a strained voice. "actually, i was— uh, you know, wondering if you’re okay, and all that."

Phainon blinked at you, still smiling like a moron, the cogs of his brain turning — and then something seemed to click, because his eyebrows narrowed in a heartfelt manner. "ah, don’t say…" he glanced down at the thing in your palms, the corners of his lips itching even wider.

you shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "yeah, that’s for you." you affirmed, sensing his uncertainty. then, you took in his pale skin, and the prominent eyebags, hanging lowly under the twins of blue. "are you hangover? you look like shit."

that earned a chuckle, and you almost sighed in relief upon hearing the sound of joy you earlier seemed to despise so much. "a little.” he breathed, "still, i can’t believe my dear [name] was so kind to bake for me—!"

you growled in exasperation, and Phainon stopped his sentence before your grimace could deepen any further. "if you don’t like it, then i’ll just eat the cookies myself." you huffed, flustered by the teasing remark. you wanted nothing more but to let your soul step away from your body, and bolt the opposite way.

"no, no!" the man gesticulated animatedly, shaking his head as his features turned coy again, "i like it. i love it, actually. it’s very sweet of you to think about me— so, uh, thank you." he laughed nervously, his palms reaching towards the tray.

you rolled your eyes fondly at his stammering, opening your mouth to offer a response — but then, a sudden, definitely more stronger gust of wind hit you both, causing the ribbon of your dress to unravel loose, and fly up into the air. you gasped, your eyes widening — Phainon didn’t seem to think much when he practically jolted for the lace, outstretching his arm to catch it.

and, since fate thoroughly enjoyed making a fool out of you both — your neighbor stumbled over your own legs as his chest collided with yours, subjecting you two to the inevitable pull of gravity while the cookies went flying along with the tray, and you finally crashed onto the soft grass with a thud.

you gaped, staring at Phainon’s equally bewildered face, now hovering above yours. you tried to catch a breath the impact successfully knocked out of your chest — or maybe your inability of proper breathing was caused by the rather close proximity between you and the man.

"got it." he announced dryly, gripping the ribbon in his hand — which also happened to block out your shoulders, tightly trapped beneath him.

you don’t know what caused it to be so funny — all the effort you put into making the cookies, now wasted as they lied discarded somewhere, ants probably gathering to collect the sweetness of the dough. or maybe just how utterly terrified Phainon looked — pupils blown wide, eyebrows shoot practically into the hairline — his eyes studying you with panic, as if you’ve broken at least ten bones.

still, you couldn’t help but erupt into salves of laughter, pressing your eyelids shut as you continued to wheeze, so hard and intensely you started to feel tears gathering up, your whole stomach hurting. Phainon at first seemed confused, thinking that perhaps you hit your head too hard — but then joined in on your cackling, the sound ringing clearly by your ears.

you tried to recall when was the last time you laughed so hard — and you honestly couldn’t, because moments like these were unbelievably rare in your life. when you could let your guard down, completely disarmed — it would appear Phainon somehow managed to pry your psyche open, reaching into your brain, and fixing the circuits.

upon finally calming down, you slowly opened your teary eyes, looking up at the man — the sun shone brightly from behind his head, encompassing the while locks with its light, and you almost caught yourself thinking he looked like an angel, donning a halo. from this up close, you could easily discern the slightest scrunch of his nose, and the faint scar running across its bridge — Bubble’s making.

you hated yourself for it, but in a dream you don’t tell anyone, Phainon and you remain together. you don’t leave the countryside, finding a humble job. your neighbor helps you move in for good, tugging the suitcases with your stuff upstairs, and you let him decorate your room while you fold the clothes. you let him into your life, and he allows you into his — it would be a lie if you told you could remember when the line between neighbors, friends, and something more began to fade into one.

and then, when your poor brain began melting into a puddle, his voice snapped you out of the stupor. "[name], are you— are you alright?" he questioned, still smiling, albeit shyly now. oh, right — you almost forgot. he was still pressing you into the ground.

"what do you think?" you found yourself asking, that comically familiar sense of déjà vu washing over you at once.

in response, Phainon let out a timid chuckle, his face blushing a furious red, and you thought — maybe i’ll stay. perhaps that dream of yours, which previously appeared as an unattainable desire could become true. for some reason, you felt older, more tired now, and so you didn’t wish to part.

(you couldn’t. not when he looked at you like that.)

the man cleared his throat, avoiding your eyes. "i’m sorry. ah, the cookies, and—" he stammered, "your dress, i’m—"

that evoked a chuckle out of you, and you reached for the crown of his hair, giving him a consoling caress (which was supposed to help, but only made him shrink even more). "everything’s alright, no need to apologize." you hummed, smiling so widely it felt almost unnatural.

Phainon immediately nodded, making quick work of standing up, and helping you upright, perhaps a bit rapidly. "gosh, i’m so embarrassed now." he muttered, his tone bashful as he studied your form, as if searching for any injuries. "are you sure you’re alright?"

"i should be the one asking you that." you sighed, resting your hands on your hips. "you look as if you’re going to combust any moment."

the man laughed, scratching his nape — which was his nervous habit, you deduced by now. "i mean— yeah, yeah i s'pose so…" he mumbled under his breath, taking a reluctant step towards his house. "come inside, i’ll give you something to drink, or, i don’t know, have you eaten breakfast yet? i could make you some." he rambled, the loquacious tongue working overtime.

you nodded in a grateful manner, falling into step beside Phainon. then, you paused, as if remembering something. "oh, by the way, is that job offer you found for me still available?"

your neighbor stopped in his tracks, his face whipping towards you so quickly you were surprised to find he didn’t accidentally snap his neck — then, his expression morphed between astonishment and joy so vast you thought he might genuinely explode into a puff of confetti and glitter.

"what?" he asked dumbly, jaw slack.

a shrug. "you heard me."

the fuses in his mind seemed to lit up simultaneously, his contagious grin spreading over to your mouth. "so, does that mean you’re going to stay?" Phainon questioned, though it sounded more like a statement.

"yeah, i—"

before you could even think of finishing your sentence, strong arms whipped around your waist, hoisting you up into the air. you yelped, a surprised giggle ripping from your throat when Phainon twirled you around, cheering with joy as big as the life itself. you instinctively grabbed his shoulders to secure yourself, laughing along.

"h-hey, set me down!" you forced out, briefly glancing at the elderly couple strolling by, and watching the whole charade with evident amusement.

he shook his head in protest, pressing the side of his face to your shoulder, and you thought he truly resembled a dog. "oh, you’ve no idea how happy i am!" Phainon exclaimed — all you could do was roll your eyes in response, accepting defeat.

as he held you close — so tightly it felt as if your ribs might crush — all your uncertainties began to dissolve, vanishing like snow beneath the first sun rays of spring. at that moment, you knew with unwavering certainty that deciding to stay in this countryside was the right choice. undoubtedly so.

the truth is, everything was better with Phainon. no — everything has became better. ever since him, your dull days began to harbor more meaning. he didn’t simply enter your life — he seemed to force his way inside, bothering you with a multitude of jokes that hardly landed, and his nature of a chatterbox, and all the annoyances, and you still found yourself yearning for more.

he filled you up with that odd, wild desire to know everything about life. even the simplest words from his mouth, a casual “will you visit me today?”, began to sound with the weight of: "come home, [name]."

and you would. every time.

#phainon x reader #this feeling when you wanted to write something fluffy #but it’s just another metaphor for grief #heyy at least i didn’t write pure angst for once #reader’s cat name is bubbles as in the chimera from hsr #pleaseee it’s so cute #also i didn’t specify the cat’s gender #so any cat owner reading this can insert their own cat lmfaooo #anyway i know this is super long but!#hsr #honkai star rail #phainon x y/n #phainon x you #phainon #hsr x reader #hsr phainon

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coniferouspines · 13 days ago

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Sharing is caring?

AU where Ford attempts to get in contact with Stan a couple years into living in gravity falls. He’d rather not, but his mother has been bugging him recently about Stan, lamenting about how she lost contact with him months ago and is worried. She asks Ford multiple times to try and find his brother for her, and eventually he gives in.

But Ford isn’t about to give up the life he’s carved out for himself to go searching the whole country for his troublemaker of a brother, oh no. Ford decides to find Stan through magical means. Of course, the spell he finds for it sounds a little iffy, with sections that are worn away, but Ford is sure he has enough knowledge to fill the gaps himself and make it work. The spell should give him Stan’s exact location, and even project a snapshot of Stan’s current view into his mind like a picture.

Ford sets everything up for the spell and. It doesn’t work. He tries again, but still nothing. After pouring over the spell for a few hours, frustratedly trying to figure out where he went wrong, Ford decides to give up for the night and go to bed. He falls asleep.

And wakes up somewhere that’s very much not his home.

“Where am I?” he wonders.

“Woah! Hey! What was—?” someone says back.

Except. Ford didn’t really hear the person audibly speak, so much as he felt as though the words had been projected right into his mind, loud and clear.

“Hello?” he asks tentatively.

“Oh, man, I’ve finally cracked,” the other voice says with worry. “I’m finally hearing voices in my head! I knew I shouldn’t have done so many drugs!”

Ford blinks, except he doesn’t, because his body doesn’t seem to be obeying him. “What?”

His body jumps up, and Ford feels a jolt of panic. He didn’t tell it to move! He didn’t do that! It was just moving on its own!

“What’s going on?” he asks himself.

“You’re asking me?! You’re the random voice that just showed up in my head!” the voice cries back agitatedly.

And Ford… knows that voice. Of course he does.

The voice is mumbling to himself, “Can’t believe the crazy voice has to sound just like my brother too. Of course my brain would do that to me. Why not? Why not an internal Ford to berate me all day?”

“Stanley?” Ford gasps.

“Shut up, fake Ford,” Stan grouses.

Hands come up to grab at the sides of Ford’s head. And they only have five fingers. Normal hands.

…This isn’t Ford’s body.

“The spell,” Ford groans in realization. “It must have done this.”

Stan ignores him, in the middle of his own panic spiral. He pulls on his (their?) hair and it hurts. Ford doesn’t like that. He feels disconnected from the body (of course he does, it’s not his) but he wonders if he can…?

Ford mentally lunges forward. There’s a strange sensation, like he’s grappling with another force, one that’s too surprised to fight back, before Ford metaphorically sits himself in the driver’s seat. He untangles his (Stanley’s. Their) hands from his hair, and looks around the crummy motel room he’s (they’re) in.

“What the hell?!” Stan screams in their new shared mind space. “What did you do?! Voices shouldn’t be able to do that! Give me my body back!”

“You’re not hallucinating,” Ford tries to explain. “I’m not just a voice. Or, well, I am right now.” And he wondered what had happened to his physical body, if it was still back home laying in his bed. “It’s me. Your brother. I seem to have accidentally projected my consciousness into your body.”

“WHAT.”

And then the brothers have to road trip up to gravity falls to check on Ford’s body and hopefully find a way to fix their situation, all while sharing Stan’s body. Arguments are had, and both learn new things about each other. Ford realizes that maybe Stan isn’t doing so great. And what do you mean the mob is after you, Stan? Why does your body ache so much? Why are all your clothes so ratty?

Stan is not so enthused about his unexpected new head-mate, and needs a lot of convincing to even believe that it’s really Ford and not just a hallucination and that he’s finally gone crazy. What do you mean you cast a spell, Ford? Magic isn’t real. What do you mean you aren’t sure how to fix it? You better figure it out; this is a violation of privacy!

TLDR:

In an attempt to find Stan, Ford messes up a spell that transfers his consciousness into Stan’s body. Now they have to share that body until Ford figures out a way to undo it. Discoveries are made, arguments are had, and eventually reconciliation happens.

#Ford: btw what did you mean by you’ve done so many drugs?#Stan: don’t worry about it #also I like to imagine that not only do they yoink control of the body from each other when they disagree with the other’s actions #but that they realizes they can share control of the body #so sometimes Stan’s body does really janky moves when Ford pulls it in one direction and Stan in another #limbs are flailing #gravity falls #stanley pines #stan pines #ford pines #stanford pines #gravity falls au #stan twins #Ford: can we eat? I’m—we??—are hungry #Stan: so I don’t really have much food #Ford: well can we buy some then?#Stan: I don’t really have much money either…

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itstheghostofmypast · 4 months ago

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Boiling Point

College AU Choi Jongho x (F)Reader

Summary: Crawling back to you, ever thought of calling when you've had a few? Cause he always did- enough for him to fall sick.

Genre: Hurt + Comfort

Word Count: 1.8K

Est. Read Time: 9 min

Warnings: Language

Rating: PG-13

Type: One-shot

Networks: @k-labels

Banner: @cafekitsune

Song Rec: Do I Wanna Know- Artic Monkeys

A/N: I can not explain how much I hate this man for battling with the other Choi I'm obsessed with- my laptop isn't even working and I typed this like a raccoon since morning till noon. Yes, I prefer the original song more.

“He's sick.”

Mentally, yes, Choi Jongho was sick, at least according to you. Though to your knowledge, his current physical well-being was not at its finest. The golden boy who was never sick, never later and never wrong - though he did prove to be an idiot. Those two words were all it took for you to pull your hand out of your ‘date's’, looking up at him as he smiled at you with a knowing look, nodding at the direction of your object of infatuation and frustration.

You rang the doorbell, before looking into the paper bag, you had brought various things; ibuprofen, cough syrup, tissues, chocooates- honestly you didn't know what kind of bug he had but you knew why he was sick. You were about to ring the doorbell again, but the door opened, catching you off guard, a cuter version of Rudolf in front of you, sniffling as he looked away, mumbling, “What do you want?”

“My god, you are sick,” you sighed, moving in without his invitation, squeezing past him and the door, giving him a small smile, trying to ignore his bloodshot eyes and quivering lip.

With a heavy groan he slammed the door shut, not in the mood to deal with you right now, yet here he was walking into the open kitchen as he slouched against the counter, the creak of his barstool catching your attention as you dumped the contents of the premade soup in the water only for him to sigh, “You need to let it reach its boiling point first.”

“Sometimes it's better to handle things without reaching a definite reaction point.” You mumbled, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon, watching the contents slowly dissolve, too afraid to look at him. Honestly, you thought he had moved on. Why else would he have not reacted when you told him about your date. He had always been very expressive and vocal about things he didn't like, never bottling up his feelings of disapproval. Initially, you had found him very rude, even complaining to Hongjoong about how his ‘friend’, was actually a rude a-hole who'd take advantage of the group because he was the youngest. A bit far-fetched for sure, but who could blame you? Nobody likes overhearing someone complain about them.

“I'm telling you, hyung, she's only friends with you because she wants a good grade.”

“Jongho, we've been friends since school, trust me, if anything, I became friends with her to pass 4th grade math.”

Unknown to either of them, you had walked into the room when they were having this conversation. Mind you, the library is no place for gossip. What Choi Jongho did not expect, but Kim Hongjoong did expect, was for you to confront them.

“If you don't like me, just say it. I won't waste my efforts trying to befriend you.”

Jongho had been too stunned to speak. Confrontation was not his strong suit, especially when it involved someone he wasn't particularly close to, and yes, once you had stormed out, he had felt horrible. He had asked Hongjoong for advice who had told him to let you be, “It'll pass. She'll cool down eventually.”

Only you didn't. Instead, you had decided to ignore him, and for some reason, that bothered him tremendously. You had ignored him during a group presentation, only talking to him if no one was around to convey your message, only smiling at him during the presentation and once that was done you walked away like he didn't exist. You had turned down a few invites because of him, and if somehow Hongjoong had convinced you to come, you'd stick around someone other than him, particularly Yunho. It was weird actually, Yunho just always had something to say to you, and for some reason, you always ended up giggling or smiling at him, for more unforseen yet illogical reason, everytime his eyes would land on your smiling face he wished that it were him who you were laughing with.

So from that day onwards he had slowly started to warm up to you, starting off with approaching you after class, looking at you when you looked right through him, only to frown when he didn't move out of your way, instead he mumbled an apology, cringing when you scoffed, “What was that? I didn't hear you?” Oh, you had heard him alright, but you weren't going to let him off easy just because most of his friends babied him -

“I said I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed such things about you, especially when I didn't know you well enough.”

That's all it took, though. You were confrontational, but you were also an uncannily forgiving person. A decent apology and your brain would reboot, something Jongho had realised when you had brought cookies to a study session in the library, making sure to give him one with a smile- a smile that had him gulping down his heart that had been climbing up his throat to run to its new owner. He was glad you were like this, though. He'd cringe at the thought of what he had said about you every time he'd think about it and hear you were, pretending it had never happened. One thing was for sure now, Jongho didn't want to say anything to upset you because deep down, he had realised he was smitten.

“Didn't you have a date?” He sighed, pressing his forehead against the cool counter top, everything hurt. His head, his joints, his back, his shoulders, his heart-

“Sit up straight, Choi Jongho.” You huffed, placing the bowl of warm soup in front of the crouching boy, “And it wasn't a date, can't a guy and girl just be friends?”

With a groan, he sat up, rubbing his neck like an old man, damn, that's what he gets for making fun of his hyung. He frowned and looked at her before glancing down at the soup, mumbling as usual, “Not if that guy is Yunho.”

You paid no mind to his grumbling. He was a bit under the weather. You knew that, and if your suspicions were right, you knew why he was sick. You weren't going to bring it up though, you were following Yunho’s advice, and at this point, you weren't sure if it had backfired or- you clicked your tongue at the mess in his room God, sometimes you wanted to best him up - he'd been spending too much time with Hongjoong.

You picked up the blanket and tossed it back on the bed before going to the window and opening it, letting fresh air into the room. A bit of cross ventilation didn't hurt anyone.

Jongho sniffled as he stared at his empty bowl, he could hear your muffled complaining, talking about how much of a mess he had made- it was ironic how she didn't realise the mess she has made of him, moping around, drowning in self pity at the thought of her slipping through his fingers. He heaved off the stool, trying to keep his balance as he dragged his feet to his bedroom, where he saw you fluffing the pillows. Could you fluff his heart like that, too?

You looked up at him and frowned, about to say something, he looked worse than before, “Jjong, how about we go to the doctor-YOU PSYCHO!”

Your shriek caused his head to ache, but it didn't matter. His heart was already in more pain. He was rolling on the bed, kicking the blanket to roll into it like a burrito before grabbing a pillow and grumbling, “I wanna sleep.”

Shaking your head in disbelief you slapped his shoulder, hard enough for him to glare up at you, pushing the blanket aside to say something only for you to cut him off, “Can you stop being so stubborn and say it already!?”

“Say what!?” He spat back only for his breath to hitch when he saw the way you deflated, your shoulders slumping as she sat on your knees on the mattress, twirling your thumbs before staring at the blanket between the two of you, “Nothing.”

You were about to leave when he gripped your wrist, causing you to turn and glance at him mumbling, “Jongho…you're burning up, let's-”

“Please don't go…” he mumbled before pulling you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, ignoring how you squeaked, though he noticed how you sighed against him, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, fingers tangling in his tuft of soft unruly hair.

“You wanna talk about it?” You sighed, closing your eyes when he pulled you closer, shaking his head.

“Why, Jjong?”

“Don't…wanna upset you.” He sighed, trying not to think of the image of you frowning of him, the thought of you avoiding him because of his selfishness.

“I won't be…Jongho…Nothing’s ever stopped you before from speaking your mind-”

“I don't wanna be selfish, okay? I'd…rather we be friends than nothing at all.” You ducked down to look at him, only for him to avert his gaze, moving so he was closer to you, snuggled in your embrace.

“I don’t think I'd let just a friend press himself against me like that, you dumbo.”

Your words caused his grip to tighten, a day chuckle leaving his body, when he felt you move a bit, enough for your head to lay on the pillow, staring at the wall, gently scratching his scalp, as he whispered against your skin, “I kinda want to be more…”

“Me too, Jjong…”

You got to no reaction from him, smiling when you noticed how he had dozed off, his body relaxing against yours, completely vulnerable to your touch- oh Choi Jongho, what an idiot, a man who was actually sick because of love- he was love sick. Maybe, if he hadn't let it simmer for so long, it wouldn't have boiled out. Who knew he was afraid of Yunho wooing you, when clearly, he had been trying to convince you that Jongho was a great guy, who actually liked you- he was only unable to “comprehend” how much he had liked you.

You smiled to yourself before kissing the top of his head, mumbling a, “Get well soon, you silly goose.” Before drifting off to a comfortable sleep.

Though that didn't last long, because you were rudely shook out of your blissful sleep, cracking open and eye to glare at the pink faced man with a his hair pointing at every direction, as if it were electrocuted by your love-

“You were serious, right?”

You scoffed at his question before turning to your side, pulling the blanket closer, ignoring the moron who was hovering over you, only for him to peck your cheek and jump off the bed, leaving you stunned as you whipped around like a mad woman- the balls this man had-

“Welp, guess I feel better already, tell you what, I'm gonna go shower and change and then we can go out and eat something.”

You raised your brows at the man in front of you, his hands on hips as he smirked at you, causing you to sigh and close your eyes, “Thought you were sick.”

“Turns out all I needed was a nice warm hug!” He yelled, walking out of the room, adding something that had her sit up all embarrassed and flushed, “AND THOSE SOFT PILLOWS REALLY GAVE ME AN ENERGY BOOST!”

God, he was an idiot…but…he was her idiot.

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fishymom-art · 2 months ago

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STEP ON THEM!

Hehe

@fishymom-art

#kill them like a bug /j #fix a beast au #light of knowledge

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cimoris · 3 months ago

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- ⚜︎ Our Youngest ⚜︎ -

A Cookie Run Kingdom Reader Insert Fanfiction

==============================================

Relationship: Child!Reader & Parent!Shadow Milk Cookie, Sibling!Reader & Sibling!Black Sapphire Cookie, Sibling!Candy Apple Cookie & Sibling!Reader

Summary: Shadow Milk Cookie's latest masterpiece, a child.

Series/AU: Chasing Home

<< Prev -- Next >>

[Masterlist]

==============================================

“Tadaa!!!” The Fount of Knowledge, with a puffed-up chest, waved his staff at the object. “Behold, yet another one of my masterpieces!”

Y/n blinked as she stared at the floating object on her father’s desk. An apple, larger than the usual one they ate, swayed within a bubble of magic. It glistened underneath the natural skylight with fresh syrup dribbling on its edges. In the middle of the fruit was a blue closed eye.

“And… what exactly is this?” Black Sapphire Cookie asked with a tilted head. He leaned his weight against his staff, staring incredulously at his father’s so-called masterpiece. Y/n turned her attention to her brother, waiting for their father to answer.

“Ah! A terrific question! Thank you for your eager participation, dear child of mine!” Shadow Milk Cookie twisted his way from the front of the desk to behind it, hovering his hand lovingly over the giant fruit. “This, my dear audience, is a cookie!”

Y/n and Black Sapphire Cookie blinked and glanced at each other before facing their father with an equal amount of ridicule in their eyes–their father had been lacking sleep for the last few weeks, and it seemed to have finally messed up his brain.

“Of course, grandpa. Now, let’s get you some rest–”

“Shush!” Shadow Milk Cookie huffed and crossed his arms, floating over to the siblings with a pout. “I see your distrust. And I understand that as a fellow scholar. But, would it hurt you to trust your old man just a little more?”

Y/n smiled sweetly and avoided her father’s gaze. Black Sapphire Cookie stared back with a grimace.

With a gasp and a dramatic flair, Shadow Milk twisted in the air of his study and landed behind the desk. “I cannot believe I had raised such unfilial children! The pain, the hurt! My heart as a parent is broken!”

Y/n watched the familiar ordeal with half-lidded eyes. If she were a little less behaved, she would have rolled her eyes just as Black Sapphire Cookie did. Black Sapphire Cookie sighed and rubbed his temple.

“Can you please just tell us what it is exactly?”

The Fount grinned–sharp-toothed and warm–before hovering over the apple again. Blue hands gently reached toward the apple. The magic that protects the apple bends and makes way for its creator, allowing him to touch its surface.

“As I said before, this is a cookie. They are still developing within this capsule… it will take another 9 to 12 months before they’re ready.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s eyes softened as he continued his affectionate touches. “They will be a glorious little creature, beautiful and shiny like this apple. Another member of the family.”

Y/n tilted her head. “Another member?”

Shadow Milk snapped his head to the other siblings, grinning. “Yes! A new little sibling! I noticed that the two of you are getting a little lonely. So, why not spice up our life with a cute little one?”

Y/n placed a hand under her chin, eyes wandering to the ceiling while her mind pondered the possibility of a new little sibling. Well, a younger sibling will be nice. They would be a fine replacement for Black Sapphire Cookie’s prank victim. Or even better, the new little sibling can be her partner in crime.

If they are going to be a little brother, then maybe Y/n can introduce him to some of her favourite bugs. It would be nice to have somebody else than her father to share her interest with. Oh, the many beautiful things she can introduce them to–praying mantis, centipedes, arachnids, and many more.

If they are going to be a little sister, then no doubt that Y/n will spoil them rotten. Share her favourite sweets, her favourite clothes, and accessories… It will be nice to have another girl in the family. As much as she loves her father and her brother, they would never truly relate to her like a sister would.

“A quick question, Shadow Milk.” Black Sapphire took a deep breath. He tucked his staff under his armpit before clapping his hands and pointing it at his father. “Why did you not make a newly baked cookie using… a natural way? Like the way the witches intended us to do?”

Shadow Milk Cookie rolled his eyes, waving his hands in a circular motion, “Pfft, and complicate things with romance and mortals? No, thank you!” Shadow Milk floated behind the two younger cookies and cradled them from behind, huddling them like a bird around their unborn sibling. “All I need is right here.”

The apple jostled in her grasp, cradled within loving hands as Y/n rushed through the Spire. From a distance, she could hear the shouts of angered cookies rushing to climb up the Spire. Their pitchforks clanged against marbled flooring, and their torch burned through silk tapestries. Nothing in this Spire will remain standing once those greedy, foolish, idiotic, and blind cookies are satisfied.

Nothing should be standing, but it will remain untouched. And in that object, Y/n bet all her cards on.

Y/n wiped her tears and smeared syrup all over her face, continuing her hurried steps toward her father’s study. Yes, she knew her father had told her to run with her little sister–oh, her sweet little sister that would never know how much Y/n and Shadow Milk Cookie loved her. But,..

There are too many of them.

Too many angered cookies, too many pitchforks, and too many torches.

All aimed at her.

And the big red apple will only be a great target on her back.

“At the very least, your brother will love you enough for both of us.” Y/n slammed her whole body through the wooden door, opening it just enough for her to slip in. “I know,” Y/n gasped, “I know he will. That’s just how your brother is.”

High on adrenaline, Y/n walked swiftly to her father’s desk, tearing the desk’s cabinet open. Her tired eyes lit up as she saw the familiar dark gem. One that shimmers within its confines with the overflowing magic only she, her brother, and her father could sense–the magic that belongs to the fallen Virtue of Knowledge. Y/n smiled and cradled the apple in her grasp tightly.

“Dear sister, I might never have the chance to see you again, but I hope you know this.” Y/n kissed the top of the capsule, tasting the sweet syrup on its surface. “I love you. Your father loves you. Always and forever.”

The young cookie crawled and touched the dark blue gem, summoning a small crystal-like dome that fits the capsule. Y/n gently placed the apple inside the dome and tried to ignore the impending doom of the crumbling spire.

Her touch lingered on the apple, “Stay safe. May fate bring us together.” Y/n let go and watched as the dome sealed her sister in its protective embrace. “If … fate ever favour us again.”

With that final whisper, Y/n closed the cabinet and left the study.

And she ran, and ran, and ran, leaving the apple of her eye behind.

Black Sapphire Cookie slammed through the door, coughing from the ashes that lingered in the air. His purple eyes scanned the empty room, swiftly glancing from left to right, up and down, then back to left and right. With increasing desperation, the cookie grasped his staff tightly, then left the empty room.

His stepped echoed through the empty hallways, covered in soot and lingering resentment of the mob. Remains of tapestries littered on the ground along with the memories woven into them–and the sight made him wish to drop down and cry, despite him never shedding any tears over the last decades and a half of his life. But he could not cry, not just yet.

Not until Black Sapphire Cookie searched through this Spire. Searched through the crumbling buildings' nooks and secret places.

Not until he truly confirmed that his sisters were not in the building. His father was imprisoned within silver roots already.

Gritting his teeth, Black Sapphire aimed his staff at the final door and blasted the burned-down wood with a great show of firepower. He huffed and walked into the room, one that used to be his father’s study.

Again, it was void of life.

Black Sapphire Cookie stood in the middle of the room, breathing heavily as he took in the smell of burnt wood and papers. Black mist seeped through his footings, spreading over the small study. In that moment of numbness, Black Sapphire Cookie closed his eyes.

He could see the figure of his father sitting in his study, with a cup of warm Butterfly Pea Tea on his side. Its subtle floral scent brought a smile to Black Sapphire’s face as he walked in through the door, Y/n following close behind. His father, eyes warm and full of glee at their presence, grinned and abandoned his paperwork to attend to his dear children.

And they would chat in the sunlit study, talking about everything from the stupid things to the greatest things.

A family of scholars. Of geniuses.

Their family.

Black Sapphire Cookie opened his eyes to dark rooms and ashes.

He gritted his teeth, raised his staff, and slammed it onto his spreading pool of magic, summoning a mighty force of hurricanes. Bookshelves, desks, papers, and curtains–all ripped and shredded away. And when Black Sapphire Cookie’s mind cleared of the storm of emotions, the room no longer resembled the study he remembered.

“Aha..hah…,” Black Sapphire Cookie crumbled to his knees, still clutching his staff tightly onto the burnt marbles. “Haha… hah…” He laughed in tears, visions blurring from the anguish that leaked from his eyes.

“Cursed the witches…” Black Sapphire clutched on the staff tightlly, not noticing how it begans to change following the shapes of his corrupting heart. “curse their desires…their powers… swines, hoes, whores, bitches, curse them ALL!”

And as he was about to continue cursing Earthbread and their witches, a flicker of light caught the corner of his eyes. He blinked away his tears, wiping them, before glancing at the shine again.

Within the rubble of destruction, a small light flickered through cracks. Pulsing like heartbeats of a living being. It took a moment longer before Black Sapphire Cookie sensed the faint magic that the light emitted.

Familiar magic.

Like one of his father’s.

Staff abandoned in the middle of the room, Black Sapphire rushed to the flickering light. Crawling on scratched knees and cut hands, he reached the mounds of jagged marbles. Ignoring his wounded hands, Black Sapphire Cookie began moving aside rubble and splintered wood. And when he finally saw the object, he laughed.

“Y/n… you…swine.” He grinned with tears dribbling from his eyes as he reached to cradle the apple within the flickering dome. “You smart swine… why would you do this…”

The apple looked exactly as it was the last time he saw it. Unschated and pristine. The one thing that remains clear on the remains of their home. The only thing that was untouched by the greed of those foolish cookies.

“Ah, dear little sister… I am so sorry you have to see your older brother like that…” Black Sapphire Cookie brought the apple closer to his chest, kissing it and tasting its sweet syrup. “You must’ve been so scared… Our youngest sister… It’s alright now…”

Black Sapphire Cookie curled around the apple. The only bright thing in this gloomy world.

“I’m here. Big brother is here.”

<< Prev -- Next >>

A/n: And here is another instance of the series! Hope you all enjoy it!

And yeah, Shadow Milk Cookie makes his children using magic and science, like creating a homunculus. So no, no canon lovers. At least not for now~

#doodle #cookie run kingdom #crk #crk fanart #shadow milk cookie #black sapphire cookie #crk x reader #crk x y/n #crk x you #angst #candy apple cookie #chasing home crk au

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elliesfreckle · 7 days ago

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over & out | radio au |

▶• ılıılıılılıılıılı. 0

previous | next

📟 : record two 𖣠 white noise and wrong stars

⏯ synopsis : you’re a voice on the other side of the radio. she’s your wrong frequency — a mistake. a fortune, maybe, at the edge of a devastated world. you never told her your name. she never asked what you looked like. but when the nights get colder, in a world full of silence, you keep talking.

⏯ pairing : ellie williams & fem!reader

⏯ content warning : swearing; canon tlou after outbreak world; idk and prob edit it later

⏯ word count : 4.7k

⏯ a/n : HELLO we did it! today is the day! i have passed (away) the exam (two more left)! wont say much 'cause i died while proofreading, editing and uploading this shi on tumblr. and im REALLY sorry if there are so many stupid mistakes that you'll ban me forever. trust me i hate being perfectly literate in my native language while writing english like a 9 year old boy. but! i have to thank you all for how gently you embraced this idea and for your support. special shoutout to @losing-it-lately youre SO SWEET, and i loved that crazy night talk.

promise ill learn how to make posts prettier, maybe even create a masterlist and a playlist. flirty reminder that your reblogs and comments feed my soul

also if you wanna be tagged in the next chapter, let me know. for now, enjoy ♡

The one constant thing about the broadcast room in the Great Falls quarantine zone is that it’s freezing cold no matter what. This chill has been dwelling deep inside your bones for years. Not the kind that bites, but the kind that settles over your skin like a breath held too long.

And yet, sometimes you keep forgetting to bring a threadbare sweater on your night shifts. Like tonight. But there are nights in which you don’t need any of it, because the world you’re forced to live in doesn’t let you feel comfort too often. It wants you to keep in mind that given life is fragile, and might be taken back whenever the world pleases. Your blood runs cold every time the sent patrols go silent.

Like tonight, again.

Outside the narrow window, evening fades away and coming night stretches wide and endless, clinging to window frame like wet lining. The air has that strange, waiting stillness—too quiet, too heavy—that lingers in your lungs and makes it hard to breathe. Crickets hum faintly in the grass (you can hear them even from your radio cell on the highest floor), but even they sound unsure, like something’s pressing down on them from above. Birds are hovering in the low sky, almost bruising tree crowns with their angled wings. Their calls warn you. A bug cracks with all its tiny power into the glass of the windowpane, attracted by the lamp’s light. You flinch.

The pine trees don’t move. Not yet.

They stand stiff and dark against the horizon, their needles limp in the air, knowing what’s coming.

You can feel it too—not in sound, but in pressure, like something biding just beyond the edge of hearing. For days, the weather’s been thick with it—heat that doesn’t lift even after sunset, that makes the floors sweat and tempers run short. Checking the weather is one of your responsibilities too—radio signals are capricious with changes in the air, and with years it became a sense, not a science. You’ve learned that from the specific shapes of clouds—or their absence, the shade that sun has at the dawn; you’ve been watching birds and stray cats, as they are the first early harbingers of storms. You like to think they share sacred knowledge with you. Leaving your post on grey mornings, you can tell if it’s going to rain just by looking at the dew. And that definitely won’t be modest to claim that you have some skills in handling forecasting tools. Smartass, they call you.

So now you keep thinking the sky will crack open and bleed it all out.

But it doesn’t. Not yet.

The radio crackles softly beside you, calming like an old friend, warming like embers popping in a dying fire. Yes, in four walls of the radio station there is still cold.

And still no sign of the patrol.

You lean forward, elbow on the desk, the familiar ache of exhaustion in your shoulders. Something’s telling you it’s going to be a long shift. The transmission button is worn smooth, paint rubbed away years ago by hands just like yours, probably older. The headset squeezes your head—a relic that somehow survived the outbreak. You forgive it the discomfort. Most nights. You adjust it out of habit—the ear padding still crooked from the last shift.

You press the button down.

“This is Homebase calling AA40B. Do you copy?” A heartbeat-long pause. “AA40B, check-in, you’re two hours overdue. Report your position.”

You count to five. Then ten. Dead air. This is the first radio term you ever learned—not from a book, not from a manual, but in the heavy silence beside someone older, more practiced. You must’ve been sixteen. Maybe younger. Watching, listening and realizing that sometimes, absence speaks louder than any broadcast.

Dead air means something has gone wrong. Someone important, who never spoke through the white noise again.

It stays with you—static coiling around your ribs, slow and taut like wire. You’ve never forgotten the weight of it, because now it’s here again.

Flipping to a fresh page in the logbook, you scribble the call sign again, even though the page already looks like a graveyard of unanswered calls:

18:04 — AA40B — 94.7MHz — Received scheduled check-in from AA40B. Background static, but no incidents reported.

18:15 — AA40B — 94.7MHz — Attempted contact with AA40B. Negative. Assumed out of range unit. Logged for follow-up.

18:24 — AA40B — 94.7MHz — Logged inactivity. Next scheduled check-in ???

20:02 — AA40B — 94.7MHz — No response.

Silence. It is always about silence at the end. You’ve faced the same ends of different stories too many times. However, you’re just a radio operator, aren’t you? A messenger. The one whose face people barely remember. They know you for your voice. They hate you for it; they hate to hear it in moments of another acknowledgement of things going wrong. But this is not your fault, right? You receive news—then you report. Bad news—report. No news? Report. So you file the report like always. No sirens. No raised voices. Just protocol, neat and quiet. Loss isn’t rare enough to stop the day. Or night. Collateral damage, they call it. Lives.

The last entry in the logbook is smudged—ink dragged by the heel of your palm in a moment of distraction. You underline the status. Twice. You want to breathe, really breathe. Tear off the headset, heavy and too tight; let your pulse settle in open air, feel your shoulders drop for once. Shake off the weight of duty.

But protocol says stay.

So you do.

Anchored in your chair (as old as the headset), waiting for something. Or nothing.

The clock on the wall is old, its plastic yellowed with age, but it still ticks with rude efficiency. Every second lands like a drop of water in an empty basin.

You count minutes by it — minutes left until the next scheduled check-in. The last one for the night. The one you’re not expecting to go any differently.

A small glass jar sits near the base of the radio, filled with dried wildflowers you picked earlier that summer. Yarrow, tansy, bluebells gone brittle in the heat. It doesn’t belong here—not among the grey buttons, frayed wires, and institutional gloom—but you brought it anyway. Something to look at while the hours crawl.

You clear your throat. You don’t bother sounding official anymore.

“This is Homebase. Again. Check-in.” You swirl a faded yellow petal in your fingers. Squeeze it until your fingertips are covered with its sticky powder. “I repeat—AA40B, answer my call. Report the situation. Have you got any troubles? This is channel ninety-four point seven, if you’re suddenly unaware. Be advised, Lisa, if you don’t respond your mother will fucking murder me. Slowly.”

You let the words trail off, resting your fingers lightly on the worn edge of the desk.

The kind of joke born from routine.

Lisa and you had planned to grab dinner after her shift next week—you weren’t close; maybe you would’ve been. It was supposed to be the first. A small thing. And now just…undone. Silence folds back over the room like a heavy blanket. Your peripheral vision catches something alike with a flick of lightning far away. Just a second that might be a play of your overwhelmed mind. Just a second. Then—

Click.

Soft; barely there. But unmistakable—not static. Not interference.

Someone pressed something.

Your body reacts before your mind does—a tightening in the chest, a shift in the gut. The way this familiar frequency is talking to you now: you can recognize its hiss among the thousands of others. And this one is totally different. Something unusual is happening.

This isn’t protocol, isn’t your patrol.

And there’s no call sign.

Just a breath, maybe. A small, ambient shuffle of noise—a movement. Someone is there. And then, at last—a voice cuts through. You will think about it many times later; you’ll try to replay this moment like an old tape, always returning to the second she spoke to you. You will lie for that voice. And you will—

“Who the hell is Lisa? And…who the hell are you?”

A beat. Long pause. The silence stretches, tense, uncertain. She’s close to the mic. No headset, no filter. Unmistakably not Lisa. But someone who’s used to surviving, not asking questions.

The voice doesn’t match anything you were expecting—sharp and low, with a slow drawl that sounds like it's been roughened by time and too many cold mornings. She doesn't sound scared, but she sure as hell sounds like someone who’s ready to pull a knife if you so much as breathe wrong. And as for your breathe…it’s more than wrong. Something about her makes you sit up straighter. You glance down at the console, thumb hovering over the mic: 94.7.

That should be right. That’s the patrol’s frequency; it has been for months. You double-check the band anyway, twisting the dial just enough to hear the edge of the next channel before snapping it back.

How the hell—?

Maybe the storm’s fucking up with the signals. That happens sometimes. Reflections bouncing off mountains. Electromagnetic interference. Whatever excuse science likes to throw at you when something strange happens in the middle of the goddamn night.

Your understanding of fate is called science.

“Are you ghosting me now?” Your stomach dips with another question from her. You forgot to reply. Do you really have to do it? Probably not. But damn—curiosity and boredom are louder than reason. And you want it. Badly.

You clear your throat, shift your weight in the creaky chair, and press the button.

“Uhm…Hello.” Suddenly, you don’t know what to say. You—the person who spent years talking to strangers over the radio—and now you’re mute. “I’m here. But you’re not supposed to be on this channel, are you?”

A soft scrape of fabric brushes the mic—like something is shifting on the other edge. Another pause. You can hear the smile in her voice before she even speaks.

“Nope. Definitely not.”

Her voice sounds younger now, almost smug. The way she says it—calm, sure, like she has a knife in one hand and her finger on the trigger with the other, makes your pulse skip. Calm. Dry. Like she’s holding back either a laugh or a warning. On the edge of your mind you wonder how old she is. Could you be peers? Some people define age by looking at someone’s palms. Your trained hearing doesn’t require watching to see things.

You pull a thin blanket tighter around your shoulders; you keep it here special for night shifts and instead of forgotten jackets. Moths ate through its fabric; holes stare at you like frightened eyes or twisted mouths.

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of the low hum of the equipment, the way twilight sky is fading navy, and your lamp is the only source of light. There’s no one else in the room: just you, just her. And the strange, thin thread of static connecting your two points of the map.

She doesn’t break the silence again, allowing you to take your time and think. Lead the dialogue or end it. She gives you choice.

You don’t even know her name.

But somehow, in this moment, that feels like the least important part.

“So…first of all, I must ask: do you need any urgent help?”

The question comes out too formal, like you’re reading off protocol.

“Do I sound like I need help?” The mic chuckles faintly with the sound of her voice. You knew the answer, but you had to ask. Just in case.

“Right now I’m not sure if I should answer at all,” you say. Does she hear the smile curving in the corners of your lips? “You’re not in danger, looking for signal to save you?”

“Save me? No way.” Her tone dips low, husky at the edges. A pause. There’s a smirk—quick and barbed—but it doesn’t soften fully. You figure out that she speaks like someone who’s used to being heard but never really listened to; that happens to people who don’t speak much.

Each of her words clipped just enough to sound in control, laced with amusement sharp around it. There’s warmth in it, sure, but distant warmth, like fire through glass. You catch the tail end of a sigh. “I’m fine. No danger. And even if I were, what’d you do? Send a helicopter?”

This. Even in her irony, something stays braced, like she’s talking with her back still against the wall.

You huff a soft laugh. Involuntary. You better think on what the hell you are even doing. You better think twice before the answer. But you choose to play her game.

“Just a helicopter? I have a whole rescue team for losers like you.” probably you don’t think even once, replying.

“Enjoy saving losers?” She baits.

“I’m here daily for it.” You bite.

She doesn’t miss a beat.

“What ‘bout nights?”

You lean back slightly, flexing your aching fingers. The headset hums with a tiny echo of her voice and some static. There’s a rhythm forming here—and it isn’t protocol. You’re treading on thin ice. Almost dancing.

You glance at the faint, flickering bulb above you—the only company in this concrete box you’ve half-started calling home. The air smells like warm dust and coil-burned wire. Silence is hovering, like she’s waiting for you to laugh or shoot back some banter, because she has no idea how long it’s been since anyone spoke to you like that.

Your finger lingers over the transmit button. You press it, slower this time.

“Nights are for ghosts and dead batteries,” you realize how desperate that must’ve sounded, and add, “You fit right in.”

The girl scoffs. You’re not sure if she’s smiling or offended. Or just listening. A low crackle fills the space between you. If you close your eyes, will she remain on the border of your signal? Or will she vanish into the white noise?

You don’t want to know, so your eyes are open. Surreal night.

The connection falls quiet again. That particular silence that means someone is thinking. You interrupt it with another question:

“How did you catch this frequency?”

The response comes, broken and crackling:

“By random? I was—”

The rest is swallowed by static. Not loud, but needling. Noise spilling through the line like wind through the flung open window.

You wait, leaning toward the console, squinting as if that might help decipher the pattern in the interference. You try again, more precisely this time.

“Take on the headset. Your sound is shit.”

A pause. Some fumbling on her end. You hear what might be a soft grunt, the clang of something metal.

“Didn’t think it’d make any difference,” she mutters, half-off mic. “Hold on… I don’t see any— Oh. Here it is. Looks terrible.”

Only God knows what’s going on over there. Something to do with wires and dust, maybe. There is a clumsy thud, then a hiss, then the faintest muttered curse. Whatever it is—they’re putting up one hell of a fight. You smirk silently.

Finally, a low rustle, then—click.

“Well. Fine. Do you hear me now?”

And just like that, you do. You almost regret the suggestion.

Her voice lands crisp, close—like it’s suddenly right behind your ear, not scattered across states. The line is clear enough to catch the curve of her vowels, the scrape of dry amusement under the words.

Oh, you do.

It’s the kind of voice that makes you forget the question. The kind that holds back more than it gives—something low, a little rough, but sharpened and steady, like she’s watching you through the wire and dares you to blink first.

So you blink. Swallow.

“Yes.”

No more, no less. You decide to keep your freaky thoughts to yourself.

She hums, then moves: now you can hear it perfectly well, trying to imagine this natural movement. You fail.

A shift in your seat, the chair creaks. The room suddenly feels smaller. Warmer?

She’s the first to speak.

“What’s with your, how did you call it, AA40C?”

You correct her out of habit—and to buy time.

“Forty-B.”

A beat. Your ink-stained finger hovers the transmit button a moment too long. The clock mocks you—shame prickles beneath your collar. You’d completely lost track of time. And of the patrol.

“I can’t share this information with someone from beyond.”

You hesitate to call her a stranger. You must be losing your fucking mind. You add a half-smile into the mic, though she can’t see it. The words aren’t harsh, but there is a line in them—clear, official, practiced. One you’ve been taught to hold. You almost feel like apologizing—which is absurd. Unfamiliar. Not like you.

Her reply is quick, clipped.

“Fair enough.”

But something in her tone curls at the edge. Like she’s testing you, just to see how far the signal stretches. It’s not like she’s interested in all your military secrets, but like she has some interest in you. Or you’re just fantasizing things.

Her voice lingers in the headset—that grainy warmth, half static, half smirk. She doesn’t let it drop.

“Where are you talking from then?”

You freeze for a breath. The words are simple, innocent-sounding, but they land sharp. You’re not supposed to—

“I can’t—“

“Jesus. C'mon.” A scoff, close to the mic. Her voice crackles at the edges. “Such coincidences happen once in a lifetime. Ain’t you curious?”

You are, and this is the problem.

You hesitate, eyes fixed on the dull glow of the frequency dial. You’ve followed protocol a hundred times before. But it doesn’t feel like protocol—not anymore. You tell yourself it’s fine. Montana’s a big place. Nobody would guess.

“Ugh… Montana.”

There’s a bit of silence on the other end, then a click of her tongue.

“That’s it?”

“What?”

“Girl, you're so fucking paranoid.”

You huff through your nose—not quite a laugh. She’s not wrong. You hadn’t realized how tight you were holding the line—like names could unravel something if spoken too clearly.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” you answer, steadier than you feel. “It’s safer. For both of us.”

“Let it be.”

There’s a shift in her tone that might come with leaning back, chin tilted, daring you.

“Then you can call me…” A beat. A mock-dramatic sigh. “Damn Jackson.”

You blink at the console, then laugh before you can stop it. It catches in your throat. The name drops like a pebble in a well. Small, almost casual. Echoing. You know the name. Most do. A settlement too far south. Rumored to be peaceful. Overgrown with good soil and better people. Rumored, at least.

You let yourself savor the answer. Like you need to place her somewhere on a map just to stay grounded. Small details start to shape her features in your mind.

“Jackson’s not even a state, dumbass.”

“Wyoming doesn’t sound cool at all.”

Her voice flattens with false seriousness. You imagine a shrug. A smirk, maybe. Something self-aware but distant—like she’s drawing lines in the sand just to rub them out a moment later.

The words slip out without thinking.

“It kinda does.”

Are you still talking about names?

You slightly frown, eyes scanning your table, though there’s nothing to see. You raise an eyebrow.

“And why would you tell me your place?”

“It’s not really mine, is it?” A pause. “Just a name.”

You bite your lip. She’s still playing. Still keeping her real cards hidden, just like you. But the word Jackson settles into your memory heavy. Like it matters.

Like you’ll be writing it down later, in a space not meant for records.

There’s a lull again. Not awkward—just stretched thin. Like neither of you wants to admit the conversation has no more ground to stand on.

You glance at the clock. It’s later than you’d thought. Your logbook lies open beside you, the last line still unfinished.

“You should go,” you say, your voice barely above a breath.

You don’t add what you’ve begun to notice—how her breathing has slowed between sentences, how the edges of her voice soften, just slightly, like the weight of the night is finally catching up to her.

She’s clearly not home.

Not even on watch. Just… out there.

Wherever she is, it’s not where she’s supposed to be. You hear it in the way she pauses more often now; in how the static doesn’t quite hide her quiet exhale. The kind people let out only when they’ve been running too long.

She’s lost. For now.

And somehow, you don’t want to keep her any longer. Not out of duty—but because something in you wants her to rest. Just a few hours. Just until dawn.

Even if you’ll never know where she lays her head.

Even if she never calls again.

“You gonna report me?”

It’s half a joke. Maybe.

You answer before thinking.

“Not if you promise not to show up again.”

Do you want her to show up again? That’s another question. The one you’re not going to think on.

“Harsh.” You hear her shift—maybe the creak of a table beneath her elbow. “Guess I’ll just get lost then.”

Her tone is light, but something flickers underneath.

You hesitate, then add—

“Batteries don’t last forever anyway.”

That earns you a breath of static shaped like a laugh.

“Neither do ghosts.”

The silence that follows is different. Not quite goodbye. Just long enough to say something without needing words. The button waits beneath your touch, untouched. You sigh.

“Well, Jackson. Over and out?”

You try to make it sound casual, like it doesn’t matter if she answers.

But she snorts — soft, amused.

“What does that mean?”

“Uhmm… it’s like ‘bye’ in radio slang. Some kind of etiquette.”

Another pause. This one warmer.

“Then over and out, Montana.”

You smile—not that she can see it. But feel, maybe.

Your hand slips from the button. You expect silence. Expect her to vanish into space, like she was never there.

But then, you remember something:

“Oh. Wait.”

There’s a second you think she’s gone. You hold your breath, unintentionally. Your knuckles brush the edge of the transmitter, hesitating. Her voice comes through quiet, no louder than an exhale.

“Yeah?”

“Storm’s coming. Stay safe.”

You wait—half-expecting her to follow it with a joke, or some snide comment about the clear skies.

But she doesn’t. You wonder if she hears it too—that strange pressure in the air. That breathless weight.

Her answer is simple.

“I will.”

And somehow… that’s enough.

The line goes quiet. Not with a pop or sudden crackle—just…softer. As if her breath was still caught in the waves of signals, and then even that lets go. An act of disappearing without curtain call.

You don’t realize how much noise she’d brought with her until it’s gone.

Now there’s only the faint hum of the equipment; the low buzz in your skull, and underneath it—a hush that finally feels real. It presses against your ribs. Wraps around the base of your neck. Heavy, still. Known.

You lean back slowly, letting the weight of it all settle in. Shoulders drop, the holey blanket slips onto the floor—loud in the absence of her voice. Your body reminds you that it’s late. That your eyes sting. You haven’t moved for too long. And you sit there, still, another minute, or maybe more. You don’t know why.

You haven’t touched the dial since she stopped talking. Since that sharp and guarded voice cut through the wrong frequency and landed in your hands like something not meant to be held.

You should log it.

You should log everything.

You reach for the journal and stare at it for a long time. The pen dangles on a piece of string, tied to the corner of the desk. You’ve lost too many not to do it this way. It hovers in your hand. No idea what to write. A few entries above, your own writing stares back at you—neat, all-caps block letters. You draw a line underneath it, slow, deliberate. Then glance back at the console, the frequency is still open. But she’s gone. You press the pen to the paper.

20:27 — Unknown signal —

You pause, biting your lip. Hell. No words come. You don’t write what she said. Or what you said back. Instead, you cross this line out and turn to the next page. A blank one, cleaner. Further from truth.

20:28 — atmospheric interference — ghost frequency spill. No contact established.

You underline it once; like that will make it true. Then you flip the page, just in case someone else reads it in the morning.

You know it’s not procedure. But you also know how it works: unofficial frequencies are monitored sometimes. If the others find out you spoke to someone from another city—someone who shouldn’t have been there—they’ll shut it down. Change the band. Pull your shift. Maybe worse.

You close the book and push it at the edge of the desk. Your fingers tingle, thumb is awkwardly ink-stained as before. You don’t bother to wipe it. Just tilt your head back and close your eyes.

The silence hums, her voice lingering in your mind—

and it’s yours to keep.

Ellie doesn’t remember the walk back.

Morning mist obscures the sound of her steps, hides her uneven silhouette. She’s smoke, a breath of wind in the ferns. She’s at the edge of there and nowhere.

By the time she’s near the gates behind the west trail, the trees whisper above, restless with the wind that hadn’t been there an hour ago. She swears it wasn't. Light spills over the treeline—pale and uncertain, like it’s not sure it should be here yet.

Jackson's lights bloom like low, tired fireflies. The gates creak open just past dawn. Someone nods to Ellie from the watchtower. She lifts a hand, doesn’t stop walking.

As she reaches home, the door groans as she pushes it open. Inside, the air is still—cooler than outside. Ellie doesn’t bother turning on the light. Her shoes leave dark shapes on the floor, soles soaked from dirt. She shrugs off the backpack, peels off the outer jacket, and kicks at her converse until one tumbles sideways and stays that way. No sign of Joel. She doesn’t check. The weight of everything settles in the quiet. The shirt—one of her favorites—clings to her back, damp with sweat and dust. She scratches at her wrist, smearing a thin line of dried mud. She’ll shower later. Maybe. Exhaustion pulls her to the ground.

She has a couple of hours before they will need her.

Ellie sinks onto the couch like the bones have gone out of her. Face-down, arm tucked under her head, too tired to change. Her knuckles sting a little—a scraped corner from earlier—but it barely registers. Her brain floats somewhere shallow. Not asleep. Not fully awake. Just drifting.

She blinks once. Twice. Between those blinks, a voice brushes the edge of her thoughts, like a skipped page in a journal. It’s not clear at first—just a wordless shape, like a whisper behind closed doors. But then it forms: “you’re not supposed to be on this channel, are you?”

Ellie doesn’t smile. But she doesn’t not smile either.

She hears it before she sees it—the soft tap-tap-tap on the glass. That type of rain that starts tentative, as if asking permission. She turns her head, watches the droplets race each other down the pane.

Ellie exhales, low and long, and lets her eyes close.

The storm came after all.

#overnout #ellie tlou 2 #ellie williams #radio au ellie williams #fanfic #ellie x fem reader #ellie fanfic #the last of us #i def forgot one more tag #x fem!reader #sapphic #wlw #lesbian

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