#to all of you who interact with my posts: | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nephynes · 7 hours ago

Text

Jay calls you “baby” like a threat. Heeseung fucks you like he hates you. You say you’re confused, but you’ve got both of them on their knees and still keep the door open. Someone should stop you, too bad they’re both in love with the wreckage.

➺ minors do not interact

➺ pairing: jay x afab reader x heeseung

➺ wc: 12k

➺ content tags: SMUT, toxic relationship, manipulative behavior, possessive ex, jealousy, dubcon undertones, emotional whiplash, angst, degradation, praise, emotional manipulation, hurt/comfort, power imbalance, obsessive love, heartbreak, crying during sex, coercion, unprotected sex, unresolved feelings, blurred boundaries, rough sex, aftercare (questionable), guilt, shame, self-worth issues, eroticism as control, reader with poor coping mechanisms, kind of a self righteous slut, complicated ex, trauma bonding, spiraling emotions, unhealthy attachment. NOT PROOFREAD.

➺ a/n: going against all tumblr protocols/norms and posting fics without wips or teasers, let’s consider this my comeback after taking so many BEATINGS. i wrote this with like zero emotional stability and no moral compass whatsoever and i wrote the ending with so much anxiety about my work, i feel so insecure about it but whatever. enjoyyyy and block your ex! reblog and heeseung will appear in your dream calling you angel face

➺ nsfw warnings under the cut

oral (f receiving), rough sex, degradation, threesome, double penetration, hair pulling, mean dom!heeseung, kind of switch!jay, crying during sex, jealousy sex, handjobs, manipulation kink (implied), ass play, saliva for lube (lots of it), power play, coercion themes, sub!reader, possessive behavior, humiliation, slut shaming (not corrected), multiple partners, use of pet names, hand over mouth, spanking, forced positioning, reader cries but doesn’t stop. let me know if i missed any.

Jay's room always smells like wood smoke and something mixed with his cologne and boy musk, but you've grown way too used to it over the years. You're currently stretched out across his bed with your laptop propped against your thighs and your phone in your hand, hovering a finger over a barely there lace slip in your shopping cart. "Is it too much?" you ask, turning the screen toward him.

He barely glances up from where he's messing with his journal on his desk. "It's basically dental floss. You should get it." You snort, clicking to add it to your cart. "How supportive."

Jay turns then, walking back over with a bottle of water in hand, eyes flicking toward the screen like he's expecting more lingerie picks. He drops down beside you, one knee brushing yours, lazy and comfortable and way too familiar.

You scroll through another site, mindlessly showing him crop tops and overpriced boots. He makes stupid little comments until eventually, you lean across him to grab your charger from the nightstand beside him and your tank top slips. Just slightly thin straps sliding down your shoulder, fabric dipping lower than you meant to but it's enough for him to see them. The darkened, wine colored shadows blooming along the swell of your breasts, stark against your skin.

He goes still and you don't even notice at first, you’re too busy trying to untangle the cable, but Jay reaches without asking, curling his fingers under your strap and tugging it down a little more, his eyes sharpening. "You let him mark you up like that? Heeseung?"

You frown a little, brows raising as you glance down at where his hand is still lingering so close to your breast. Then you swat him away, annoyed. "No, Jay. The fucking tooth fairy. Who do you think?"

He doesn't laugh like you assumed he would. He leans back against the headboard, jaw tense, tongue poking the inside of his cheek like he's chewing on something he won't say. You can feel his stare, heavy and unreadable.

You roll your eyes defiantly and turn the screen back to yourself. "I didn't realize I needed to send you a memo every time I get fucked."

Jay scoffs out dry and humorless. "Guess not," he says, "just didn't think you'd still go back to him." He glances at you. "What? I didn't meet up to his standards?"

That makes you snap your head toward him. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That thing. Where you act like I owe you something."

Jay laughs low under his breath. "You don't owe me shit," he says, "but maybe you could admit you liked it."

You go quiet. Just long enough for him to know he's hit a nerve and now he looks smug, but not in a gloating way, it’s in that I know what gets under your skin and I'm going to sit there and rot it out kind of way. He shifts a little closer, gaze lingering too long on your collarbone.

"You're said we were just having fun," you say, stiff.

Jay grins. "I did."

You don't know what pisses you off more—his smile, or the fact that part of you wanted to hear something else.

You open your mouth to say something, maybe something catty but the buzzing of your phone on his bed interrupts you.

What shitty timing, you think as Heeseung's name flashes across your screen, loud and abrupt in the quiet lull after Jay's last comment. His lips curl in amusement, and he lets out this mocking laugh, like of course it's him. "Speak of the devil," he mutters.

You want to melt into the floor or throw your phone out the window, but instead you sit frozen, watching the screen pulse with Heeseung's name.

Then it goes silent—only for a text to flash up a second later.

Heeseung: you coming or not?

Jay hums, mean. "Such a romantic."

Your stomach drops as he reaches for your phone. "Jay—don't," you snap, lunging forward, but he catches your wrist easily, holding the phone up and out of reach with a bored flick of his hand. You try to grab it with your free hand, but he's quicker, suddenly twisting you around with too much ease, like he knows every way you move. In one slick move, he tosses your phone across the room and catches your arm behind your back, pinning you on the bed.

"Jay!" you gasp, twisting under him.

He leans over you, lips brushing your ear. "You were really about to go crawling back to him again?" His voice is soft but razor-sharp. "After everything he's done?"

His thigh slides between yours, pining you in place. His grip on your wrist tightens a little and you can feel his warm steady breath against your cheek. "Is that what you like?" His voice is rough now. "Being treated like a fucking afterthought."

You try to twist away from him, to say something, but he turns you over and kisses you before you can, with brute force and possession. You can feel the frustration radiating off him as he swallows the sound of your protest. Your heart rate increases and you hate how quickly your body turns against you, how familiar it feels, how much worse it makes it, the fact that it's Jay. The one person who's always known how to get under your skin.

"I just didn't think you were still that easy," he says lowly, right at your ear. "Still letting him fuck you like you mean nothing."

The words sting somewhere deep in you. You try to jerk away from him, but his hand doesn't move. "That's all he does, isn't it?" Jay adds, almost casual. "Fuck you and leave. And you run back like some good little pet."

Your heart's racing faster now and you’re trying to twist harder in his grip.

But he cuts you off by pressing in, his lips brushing your jaw in a cold and measured contact. "You let him treat you like that. But I'm the one you keep in your bed?" He asks. "Don't think that's fair."

You're too stunned to respond and he knows it. Jay releases you just as suddenly as he grabbed you, pulling away like it didn't mean anything, like he hadn't just shifted the air in the room.

He doesn't even apologize, he just watches you with that stoic look in his eyes, waiting to see what you'll do next. His eyes never leaving yours, even as he stands up from the bed.

You're panting, chest rising and falling as you sit back up on the bed, glaring at his retreating figure. He's already halfway across the room, calm like nothing happened, when he says, too offhandedly, "Your mom called me."

You frown, confused. "What?"

He looks at you. "Said you haven't been eating."

Your stomach twists and you shoot up to your feet, face hot with frustration. "You bring that up now?" you snap, breath catching in your throat. "Seriously?"

Jay just shrugs like he doesn't see why you're upset, like it's just another data point he's sliding across the table. "I'm just trying to show you what he does to you," he says simply.

Your jaw clenches. "Don't blame Heeseung for that," you bite out, angrier now. "I had issues with food way before him. You know that."

There's a pause and the air in the room feels way too heavy for how quiet it is.

He doesn't argue this time, he just flops on the bed again and says, "Come here."

You don't move at first, you shouldn't move—in fact you should get your shit and leave his apartment. But his voice is soft and smooth and too familiar, like a trigger your body's been unfortunately conditioned to obey.

You go, as if something tugs you forward, your legs moving even without your consent.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed by the time you reach him, and without asking or saying a word, he takes your wrists and pulls you into his lap, guiding your thighs to straddle him.

You settle there, shaky and annoyed, but too used to the way this goes to resist. His hands settle on your hips, holding you there. "I’m not the problem." he says, looking up at you. "I'm the one who cares, baby."

You stare back at him. At his straight face. At the boy who always knows exactly when to twist the knife.

You don't answer him right away.

Because all you can think of is how this whole fucked up thing between you and Jay didn't even start with care. Not really.

It started with rage.

Two nights after your third breakup with Heeseung.

You'd shown up to Jay's apartment with mascara bleeding under your eyes, your hoodie sleeves pulled over trembling fingers, and that look you always wore when you were ready to swear Heeseung off for good.

Jay didn't say a word when he opened the door. Just stepped aside and let you in. You stormed past him, fuming, fists clenched like you wanted to punch something.

"I'm done," you'd said. "This time I mean it. He can fuck himself—he can rot."

Jay had nodded, slow. "So he said it again."

You broke. Right there on his couch. Hot, angry tears spilled down your cheeks, your voice cracking with how bitter it all tasted. You told Jay everything. What Heeseung said, even what he didn't say and how he always knew just how to keep you hooked.

Jay sat there the whole time—legs spread, arms resting over the back of the couch, like he was soaking it in.

And then he leaned forward, pressing a hand to your thigh. "Let me help." His voice was quiet, measured even. "I could make you feel better? Or…forget?"

You didn't really know what he meant until he dropped to his knees. You definitely didn’t expect the way he grabbed you by the hips, dragged you down until your back hit the cushions of his couch. You didn't expect how gentle he was when he peeled your sweats down, your underwear off. How he kissed the insides of your thighs like they were bruises only he could soothe.

How he said—"Just let me do this. You don't have to think."

And you didn't think, in fact you couldn’t. His mouth was too good—hot, slow and sinful, tongue fucking into your soaked pussy like he was trying to reclaim every inch of you Heeseung had tainted. He moaned when you gripped his hair, when you cried out, "Jay—Jay, I'm—"

You came with your fists in his hair and your mouth slack from the shock of it, thighs shuddering where he’d placed them over his shoulders. You'd never cum like that before, not even with Heeseung.

He just looked up at you, lips wet, expressionless. "Feel better?" he'd asked.

You could barely nod.

But that was how it started and how it didn't stop.

After that night, you kept coming back. You told yourself it was casual, just a physical thing to get your mind off your ex. Jay never made a big deal about any of it, never even asked for more.

Until he found out you'd gone back to Heeseung.

He didn't yell or sulk that day. He just looked at you one morning while you were still naked in his sheets, and said, "So you let him fuck you again?"

You froze, mind scrambling for a lie to give him, but nothing came out.

He didn't press further or accuse you of anything. He stared at the ceiling and muttered, almost to himself,

"I didn't realize you liked crawling back to someone who doesn't even pretend to care about you."

And then he got out of bed.

He didn't touch you for two weeks after that. Not until you caved and showed up at his door at 1am, asking if he hated you. He just gave you that same look and pulled you into his lap like always.

Jay never needed to yell, he only needed you to come back. And somehow you always did.

The memories fade, but Jay's mattress is still beneath your knees and his hands are still coasting lazily over the backs of your thighs, because to him he's always had the right to touch you. He's moved up against the headboard now, taking you with him, dark hair messy from where you yanked it earlier. His eyes pin you in place with calm surface to them but cold calculations rippling underneath.

His thumbs press just above the curve of your hips.

"Promise me you're done with him."

It isn't a question, it's merely a line in the sand. No heat, no coaxing, just the terms of staying right here. Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out. Jay lifts one brow, waiting.

"I...can try," you whisper, hating how small it sounds.

He shakes his head once. "Not good enough." Followed by a slow inhale, an almost disappointed one. "I've cut off half the girls I see for you—stopped answering DMs, stopped returning calls. You know that."

You do and part of you was always stupidly flattered every time a name disappeared from his phone.

Jay's fingers slide under the hem of your tank, thumbs brushing skin. "So here's what you're gonna do." His voice stays level, matter of fact, with nothing pleading or cruel. "You're going to block him. Delete the number. The next time he wants someone to fuck when he's bored, he can call literally anyone else."

You swallow, feeling the air too thick in your chest.

"Say it," he demands, eyes never leaving yours. "Promise me."

You despise your pulse for fluttering and that it feels like gravity tilting the room. But all you manage is a small nod and a softer, "Okay...I promise."

Something in his jaw unclenches as his palms slide up your sides, settling possessively at your ribcage. "Good girl," he says, and it isn't praise so much as confirmation that you've aligned yourself correctly. His hands guide you down until your chest brushes his. "Keep me happy," he adds, voice almost gentle, "and I'll keep making you forget why he ever mattered."

Your eyes flutter shut, equal parts relief and dread. You want to keep him happy. God, you do. Even if it means burning every other bridge until only Jay's hands are left to catch you.

So you kiss him, seal the promise on his tongue, and try not to notice how pleased he sounds when you sigh into his mouth—like he's already sure you'll never break your word.

He laughs into your mouth condescendingly, like he's entertained by you and it knocks the rhythm right out of your kiss.

"Fuck," he murmurs when you bite down on his bottom lip, his hand tightening briefly at your waist. But it's still followed by a chuckle, smug, cruel and lazy. "You're so eager now. Look at you."

You grind down on him, hips shifting instinctively, desperate to make a point, but it only makes him laugh harder. "Aww." He tilts his head, voice thick with derision. "Look who thinks she knows how to ride now."

Your stomach flips as you feel the heat of shame curling with arousal prickling up your neck.

"So precious," he keeps going, hand dragging down the small of your back, right over the curve of your ass. "You kiss like you're starving, but your hips still falters every time."

"Shut up," you mutter, breathless, but it comes out whinier than you want.

"Oh, now you're embarrassed?" His smile sharpens. "Didn't seem so shy when you were humping me just now."

You shove at his chest, but his hands only tighten, grounding you in place, locking your body against his.

"Go ahead," he says, softly now, teeth grazing the underside of your jaw. "Get mad, but prove me wrong, baby. Show me you finally learned how to fuck me properly."

And fuck—he knows exactly what he's doing. His voice, his words, his mouth, all of it designed to crack you open. He drags the shame, defiance and desire out of you like he's mining for gold.

Your hands shake a little where they press to his chest.

But you roll your hips anyway.

Because God help you, you do want to prove him wrong. But when he doesn't move you nearly falter like he predicted, he doesn't help you or even touch you, he's leaned back against the headboard, arms spread uselessly beside your knees, his expression deadpan but his eyes locked on you with sharp, dark, and maddening patience.

You're the one shifting on top of him, dragging your skirt up around your hips with trembling fingers, your breathing shaky as you tug your panties to the side yourself. He doesn't make a sound, not even when you reach down between the two of you to palm him through his sweats, trying to coax his cock hard.

Still, he just watches. You're a private show, meant only for him. Not someone he's touching, but someone he's witnessing, every breath and movement is a performance he can't tear his eyes from.

His dick twitches in your hand, slowly filling, but he gives no reaction—not a moan, not a sigh, not even a shift of his hips. Just that steady gaze that makes your skin burn.

"You won’t help me?" you whisper, a little breathless.

He shrugs, that same frustrating smirk on his lips. "Thought you were trying to prove you could ride me good now."

You glare at him, fingers curling tighter around the base of his cock. You stroke him a little rougher than necessary, but he only raises a brow like he dares you to keep going.

"Come on," he murmurs, voice low, goading. "Figure it out. You wanted to be the one in control, didn't you?"

You press your lips together, swallowing a shaky breath as you line him up, lowering yourself slowly on the thickness of him and shaking just slightly, fingers clutching his shoulders for balance.

You gasp as the bulbous head of his cock slips in. But he just watches quietly like he’s waiting.

And somehow, to you that's worse than anything he could've even said.

You're whimpering, trying to take more of him rolling your hips just right, moving slow and deliberate like you think he wants. Like you hope he wants.

Your hands brace on his chest, your thighs burning already, and you move with every ounce of desperation you can muster—arching your back, biting your lip, trying to look as sexy and confident as you can manage.

But inside, it's sheer panic. Because you know what Jay could have, you know all the other girls he's brushed off for you. All the girls who would've killed to be in your place, bouncing perfectly in his lap, earning his soft praises and smug grins.

What if one of them would've been better? What if you're just…forgettable?

The jealousy twists sharp in your gut. And the need to matter and to mean something to Jay pushes you harder. You grind your hips down with more focus, swiveling just right, clenching around him tight and desperate.

And it finally pulls a real moan from him. It seems so raw and almost involuntary, but your heart stutters in your chest anyway.

You look down at him through your lashes, still rocking your hips, barely breathing. "Am I..." Your voice is shaky. "...doing good?"

Jay's eyes lift to meet yours—half-lidded and blown black, finally trailing his hand up to rest on your waist, not guiding you yet, just holding.

He exhales slowly, like the sight of you ruins him.

"So good," he croons. "So fucking good, baby."

And like that, you feel your whole body light up with relief, pride and maybe even power. Like maybe you’re finally enough for him.

His fingers suddenly tighten around your waist, and without warning he starts moving you himself, bouncing you harder on his cock. It’s not gentle or kind like you had hoped it would be when you’d asked him to help you. No, Jay is using his strength like it's second nature, like he's been waiting for you to tire out just so he could take over.

Your breath punches out of your lungs when your hips are dragged down hard, the thick length of his throbbing cock pushing in deeper than you'd dared to go on your own.

"Jay—!" you cry out, head snapping back, thighs trembling. But he's already covering your mouth with one large palm.

"Shhh," he breathes, lips brushing your cheek as he leans forward. "You're gonna get me a noise complaint, baby."

You can't help the way your eyes roll back, the stretch, the pressure, the depth of him inside you making your body seize with too much sensation. "Mmpfh."

His grip on your waist is absolutely bruising, dragging you down again and again, faster and harder. Your moans go muffled into his hand, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, your body turning to nothing but a puppet in his lap.

And Jay just watches you fall apart with that same infuriating calmness. "Look at you," he mutters. "Didn't even know how to ride it right five minutes ago."

His voice is smug and dirty. "But now? Now you're screaming for it." He says shifting his body a little, just his hands, one still rests at your waist while the other slips off your mouth and between your bodies, fingers seeking out your clit with perfected ease. You gasp when he finds you, the slick sound of your wetness absurd in the quiet of the room.

He presses his thumb just right and you jolt, the sudden pressure driving you dangerously closer to the edge. Your hips start to stutter, rhythm completely lost, but he picks it up for you—gripping your waist and moving you with a strength you'd forgotten he liked to flex. The next thrust is deeper, more brutal, and your head tips back with a cry, body arching into his. "J—ay! Ngh—Y—yes! There! There!"

Jay doesn't let up at all. "You're babbling now," he says, voice like velvet and venom. "What, you getting stupid for me already?"

You try to respond but your mouth won't cooperate, nothing comes out but a broken whine. Your limbs are trembling, your head swimming. He can feel it in the way you're squeezing around him, right on the brink.

Then he leans forward, mouth at your ear, voice a low rasp, "Do it again."

Your whole body slows to the stiff point. You know exactly what he means, exactly what it means and panic flares across your face, just for a second. Then his hand is on your throat, but not to choke you, just guiding you and pressing you gently back down onto the bed. Your back hits the sheets, chest heaving and Jay climbs over you, slow and deliberate, gaze fixed on yours.

You don't have to say a word. He sees the desperate, delirious relief in your eyes now that he’s on top. The smirk that spreads across his face is so mean and satisfied.

"There she is," he whispers, brushing your hair back with mock affection. "Right where you belong."

Then he moves inside you again, and your world splits open. The new angle is different and it’s letting his cock brush something achingly good inside you.

Your mouth opens, forming a silent no, but it's already happening, he's coaxing it out of you with the same rough rhythm, the same maddening meticulousness.

Your body starts to stiffen again as the pressure boils over, and just as you start to panic more. "Relax," he breathes. "Let it happen."

"I said do it again."

Your thighs quake. The wet slap of skin, the slick mess between your bodies—it's so overwhelming, so humiliating, and so perfect.

You choke on a gasp as your orgasm crashes down, blinding and involuntary, and then it happens. You feel it. The heat, the release, the wet flood you tried to hold back.

Jay's eyes light up, fucking triumphant. "Look at the mess you made," he says low, like he's proud of you and taunting you all at once. His hand glides down, wet with you, lifting his soaked fingers to your mouth. "Open."

You do. Of course you do.

He pushes two fingers past your lips, and you suck them obediently, tongue swirling slow even as your chest still heaves from the aftershocks. His eyes darken.

"You like it nasty, don't you?" he mumbles, pulling his hand away with a wet pop, dragging your jaw open with his thumb. "So fucking easy."

He shifts then, the weight of him pressing your legs wider as he strokes himself once, twice, and not gently. He's so hard and even almost angry with it, and it makes you realize he's been holding back, waiting for you to cum first.

He leans forward, teeth at your jaw, whispering, "You want to be used, right? That's what Heeseung doesn't get. You don't need love. You need to be ruined."

Then he pushes deep in again, faster and meaner.

You scream a loud sound you really try to swallow but it comes out anyway.

He doesn't hold back this time, his pace is rougher now, desperate, driven by something darker. He holds your leg up over his shoulder, trying to mark his name into the deepest part of you.

"Fuck," he grits, breath coming hot against your throat. "You're still so wet—squeezing me like you want me to finish inside."

You can't seem to form any sensible thoughts so you just grip his shoulders like a lifeline, head rolling back, another moan choking in your throat.

"Still so tight," he pants, sweat dripping down his temple, his thumb dragging across your spit-slick mouth. "Still...fuck—still letting him fuck you like you're not already mine."

You sob when he shifts your legs higher, deeper now, hitting that spot that makes you claw at the sheets.

"Jay—" it's all you can manage, too far gone to stop him but too full of him to breathe. But it’s not like he's even listening. Not really. He's watching the way you fall apart, as if he's memorizing the proof that he can still undo you this thoroughly.

His hips pulse, the rhythm of them breaking down—he's close. You feel the way his breath goes jagged, the way his arms start to tremble, how his teeth dig into the underside of your jaw before he groans right there, like he's in pain.

"I'm gonna cum," he grits, voice tight. "You want it, don't you?"

You nod frantically, already crying from the sheer overstimulation. He's everywhere—his scent, his voice, the weight of him fucking you into the mattress.

"Say it."

You try, you do really try. "Want it—want you to cum—inside, please, Jay, please—"

And that's what does it for him. He buries his cock inside you to the hilt with a broken sound, hips grinding into you as he cums hard, long and deep, filling you with thick ropes of his cum until you swear you can feel it pooling inside. His whole body jerks, muscles clenching, breath catching at the base of his throat. He stays like that for a long moment, frozen over you, forehead pressed to yours, both of you slick with sweat and sex and something even heavier.

He props himself up on his hands to look down at you when both your breathing slows, but he still doesn’t pull out. He just stares down at you, still inside, his hand sliding up your ribs until it's cradling your jaw.

"Next time you go back to him..." His thumb strokes over your bottom lip. "I'm done with you."

"And if you do...you better make sure I don’t find out."

His voice isn't even loud but it's steady and enough to make your stomach drop. He ignores the look on your face and shifts your panties back in place then gets off you.

Sometime between the kisses he peppered all over your face, the threat and the uber he'd ordered you, Jay had helped you get dressed again, his touch cool and careful, not speaking as he smoothed your hair down and tucked your phone back into your hand like a peace offering.

You're curled up on your bed, thumb hovering over the keyboard of your phone, the half-typed message to Heeseung glowing like a bruise.

you: ok fine. you win. when?

You stare at it too long, not because you're hesitant but because you know you should be. True to your word and your promise to Jay you had deleted Heeseung's number but you hadn't blocked it, and what use was that when you had it memorized.

Jay had looked you in the eye not even an hour ago and basically told you to choose between them. And maybe you'd meant to take it seriously. Maybe.

But then the soft thud against the glass pane of your window that has you blinking and turning you head—changes everything.

And there he is, changing everything. Heeseung.

Climbing through your window like it he would when you first started dating, but it's not with a smile and an embarrassed chuckle like those days, it's with a frown.

He's mad.

You can tell from the second his feet hit your floor, his jaw locked tight, his eyes raking over you with that specific brand of fury only Heeseung has, that’s quiet and cold, but mean under the surface.

His gaze drops to your legs tucked beneath you on the bed, your wrinkled tank, your flushed skin, and something shifts in his expression—tighter, darker.

"Why the fuck didn't you answer my text?" he says, voice low but sharp enough to cut.

You swallow hard. Your phone's still in your hand, the screen glowing with the message you never sent. He sees it.

"I was gonna—"

"Yeah?" He takes a step closer. "You were gonna what?"

You flinch at the heat between your legs cooling too slowly, the sticky ache of Jay still clinging to you. You didn't even shower or change, the drop in serotonin you experienced after leaving Jay's house left you in a rut.

And now Heeseung's standing here, inches away, breathing the same air as you.

He stops beside your bed, looking down at you, and you can't seem to meet his eyes.

Your shame feels loud, you're even scared he can probably smell it on you.

All your fears are validated when he grabs you by the ankle, one strong hand curling around and dragging you down the bed like a ragdoll. You gasp, your phone slipping from your grip as your back hits the mattress edge.

"Don't ignore me," he mutters, but it's distracted now. His hands are already on your thighs, pushing your skirt up. You squirm, legs instinctively snapping shut, but he doesn't allow that, never does. He spreads you open with one rough motion, ready to scold you, tease you, touch you but then he looks between your legs and his hands stop moving.

Your panties are soaked. Still a little askew. You hadn't fixed them right. Hadn't bothered.

You watch his face twist in real time—brows pinching, mouth parting slightly, like he can't seem to believe what he's seeing.

"What the fuck?" he says, low, breathless. "Did you let someone else fuck you?"

Your stomach flips violently. You try to sit up, to cover yourself, to explain, to say something but he grips your inner thigh tighter, forcing you to stay open.

His voice is flat now. "Who was it?"

He blinks at your silence.

And then, without even looking at you, just staring down at the complete mess between your legs, he lets out a laugh. It's not loud, it's not even mean at first, it's actually almost like he's stunned.

"So you're a little slut now, huh?" he whispers.

The word hits you like a punch to the stomach. Your chest caves in a little. Not because of what he said, but because he said it. Heeseung—who's never called you that. Who's always had this unspoken softness for you, even when he was being cruel. Even when he was distant or cold or high out of his mind, he'd never call you out of your name.

"You don't get to say that," you whisper, voice shaking. "We're not even—" You break off, choking on the heat rising in your throat. "We're not together anymore."

"Right," he scoffs, running a hand through his hair. "You just keep my name in your phone. Keep my number on speed dial. Let me fuck you whenever I want. But now suddenly I don't even get to ask?"

"You don't," you snap. Your hands slam into his chest, weakly at first then harder the second time. "Get out. Get the fuck out, Heeseung."

He doesn't budge.

You push him again, as hard as you can, trying to guide him toward the window he so casually crawled through as if things were normal between you two. "You can't just show up here and—and check my fucking underwear—"

That makes him grin. A slow, infuriating grin.

You hate him.

You want to cry.

"You're really throwing a tantrum right now?" he says coolly, dodging your push like it's child's play. He catches both your wrists with one hand, effortlessly holding them in place. "What happened to that little whimpering mess I had in my lap last weekend?"

"Fuck you," you spit, writhing in his grip, breath catching. "You don't get to shame me and then act like you care!"

He just shrugs. "Didn't say I cared."

Then his grip tightens just enough to make you stop squirming. "But I'm not leaving either."

He walks right past you like you're not even standing there, like the argument didn't just happen. He moves with lazy arrogance—shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets.

You watch, stunned, as he sinks down into your bed, like he's done it a hundred times before. Which in his defense, he has.

He reaches over to your nightstand and picks up your phone. Just grabs it, thumbing through your screen, looking for God knows what, maybe the name of the person he's so sure you fucked earlier.

Your throat is too tight. Your fists clench by your sides, but he doesn't even glance at you, he's sat there, scrolling through your phone and the silence starts to ache.

Then he looks up.

Expression calmer now. "Go shower." He says with a flat and final tone.

You don't move, the twist in your stomach and the ache in your chest from the shame blooming there makes it hard to move. The worst part is that you don't even know if it's from what he said, or the fact that a part of you wants to listen.

"Now," he adds, eyes flicking back down to your phone.

Like you're just some mess he needs to clean up. You do as you're told—of course you do because Heeseung said so.

Your bathroom light is too bright, too exposing. You scrub harder than you need to, the soap scalding your skin as the shame now settles thick in your chest. You clean yourself like you're trying to erase something. Like you can.

What if Jay calls? What if Heeseung picks up?

Your mind races as you step back into the room, wrapped in a towel, your hair dripping, your skin flushed from the too-hot water. Heeseung looks up from where he's sprawled across your sheets and laughs, so casually amused.

"That supposed to impress me?" he asks, gesturing to the towel. "Like rinsing off some other dudes cum suddenly makes you clean?"

"Cute," he says, tilting his head. "You look nervous. Is it guilt or just performance?"

"Don't just stand there," he says after a beat, voice slow like syrup, sliding back into his usual apathy. "You think we're gonna cuddle or something?"

You shift uncomfortably, still frozen in place, clutching your towel.

He finally sits up, rolling his shoulders back, spreading his legs and patting the edge of the bed like he's calling a dog.

And somehow, stupidly, your body moves before your brain tells it not to.

You sit beside him, still shaking a little, heart hammering against the wet towel. You don't look at him, and you wish he couldn't see the panic painted all over your skin.

He doesn't touch you.

Just leans closer, nose grazing your ear, voice flat and low.

"I'm not gonna fuck you in the same hole you just gave another guy." He exhales a soft, sharp breath

You jolt, but his hand grips your waist tight enough to make you shut up and stay still. "You wanna make it up to me?" he says, voice so calm it cuts deeper. "Then get on all fours. Be useful for once."

"You know what I want."

The worst part is that you do know and you feel it breaking something open inside you—something ugly and raw and so, so tired.

But regardless of the tiredness, your body still moves.

Because that's what you've always done when it comes to Heeseung.

He shifts over you, his chest grazing your back, towel slipping as he cages you in. His mouth brushes your shoulder in a slow deliberate kiss, laced with the kind of false tenderness that makes your skin crawl. You shiver, more from the pressure than the heat of it.

Then he reaches around and pushes two fingers between your lips.

"Open up for me, angel face." he says, voice low and close to your ear and when you hesitate, his other hand presses down on your lower back, a clear warning. You part your lips, and he pushes the fingers deeper, right against your tongue. You nearly gag, your cheeks heating with sheer mortification. He doesn't move them until your saliva begins to pool around them.

"That's enough," he says, yanking them out and watching a strand of saliva cling between your lips and his fingers.

Without pause, he brings that spit slick hand behind you, reaching between your ass cheeks, spreading you open.

He coats his cock with the spit lazily, intentionally letting you feel every second of the slow glide of his fingers against you. You flinch when he teases the tight ring of muscle, his voice flattening into something amused.

"What?" he asks, tauntingly innocent. "You gave him your pussy. I'm just working with what's left."

You squeeze your eyes shut, thinking of how his cruelty has never sounded this casual.

"You should be grateful," he continues, positioning himself behind you. "Most guys wouldn't want you after that. But me?"

He chuckles.

"I'll still fuck you."

His hand comes up to your throat in a choke. A reminder, as his hips press in slowly, forcing your body to adjust. Your legs tremble, stretched awkwardly on your knees, hands digging into the mattress. You can barely breathe through the sting, and he hasn't even started moving yet.

"You look so pathetic right now." He says, feeling the way the walls of your asshole spasm around him as he pushes in deeper, hot and slick with your saliva and his precum. "Poor you, helpless and weak. You just take me whenever I show up, uhn?"

You squirm in pleasure at his words, nodding, repeatedly moaning words about being his slut and for him to give you his cock, completely forgetting about the promise you just made Jay—like a true whore.

"Yeah?" He taunts you, slipping one hand under you to your tit and pinching your nipple so hard you arch your back at it, arching into him as you feel the pain shoot all the way through you in pleasure. "You're only good for taking my cum, right angel face?"

A gasp rips from your throat when his nails bite down on your nipple again, the sting shooting straight through you. Waves of goosebumps ripple across your skin, relentless, and all you can do is nod harder, desperate to keep up. "Ah—Hee, oh my god!"

"Shhh, isn't your mum home? You want her to come in here and see me fucking your needy hole? See how much of a fucking slut her daughter is?" You shake your head violently but the drag of his cock against your walls and the slap of his balls against your cunt that's dripping onto the bed as you doing otherwise.

His thrusts stay unrelenting, each one a willful reminder that this is only about release, not some sort of reunion. He leans down, mouth beside your ear, the rasp of his breath harsher than the slap of skin against skin.

"This doesn’t mean we're getting back together?" His laugh is cold and cruel, hips snapping forward harder just to hear you gasp. "Keep dreaming. I'll fuck you, but I'll never get back together with you again."

You clench around him, feeling the shame, hurt and sheer pleasure all tangled, and he hisses, the smile in his voice turning near vicious.

"That's it—tighten up like you don’t believe me," he taunts, hand curling in your hair to keep your face buried in the pillow. "We're done, angel face. You're just a convenient hole I'll use when I'm bored."

He punctuates every word with another sharp thrust, voice dropping even lower. "So stop pretending, stop hoping—because when I pull out, I'm gonna walk away, and you'll still be nothing but leftovers in another guy's bed."

You’re nearly in tears at his words, feeling it pooling on your lash line. You’re starting regret breaking your promise to Jay or for not standing your ground and pushing Heeseung out of your window. "Hee—Heeseung, please."

In one swift motion he pulls out and drags you to the edge of the bed and onto your back, pushing in again, completely ignoring your pleas. "Oh fuck! Shit’s so fucking tight—You let him fuck you here?"

"No! N—Never!" your response has him fucking forward faster, pinning your knees to your shoulders as he fucks deeper and rubs his fingers all over your clenching pussy. "You gonna squirt for me like a good girl?"

The sounds your pussy is making are messy and obscene, and when he hooks two fingers inside your pussy and curls them up? You don't stand a chance in the world, you cum hard, body spasming violently as the liquid shoots out of your cunt and sprays his chest and stomach, he laughs at the sight, "Yeahhh, there we go."

It drives him on towards his own orgasm. He thrusts faster and harder, pushing your legs into your chest harder, so hard that all you can do is bask in the pain. Your ass is burning deliciously, your pussy is hot, and your clit swollen as he finally groans and spills inside you. Hot strings of his cum filling your ass, making you keen and moan at the delicious feeling.

His skin is slick against yours as he falls over you, caging you in with your sweat cooling in the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You lie tangled together on the rumpled sheets, the aftermath of your stormy reunion thrums through every nerve of your body. His breathing comes out in ragged gasps as he shifts, body weighted onto you.

His hand drifts across your waist, the pads of his fingers rough where he's still too worked up. He leans in, voice clipped on your neck, every word laced with that familiar sting, "Don't get soft on me now, angel face. I'm not your boyfriend again."

Your heart thumps at the barb because you want him to be. But instead you force the usual shrug, feigning like you don’t care and wincing at the ache between your legs.

"Yeah," you whisper, a little out of breath. "I know."

He presses closer, chest against your spine, and you feel the heat of his body like something too close to a claim for someone who just outwardly said he doesn’t want to be with you again.

"Good," he mutters through a sharp exhale. "Then you know I'm sleeping here. Don't bother moving."

You don't argue, not because you don’t see the need but because you’re far too exhausted and you know damn well he won’t listen to you anyway. You're too used to his cold commands and your quiet yielding, so you let him pull you tighter, you let his arm settle across your ribs.

No kisses or soft words or aftercare, at least Jay had tried to make you look more presentable—smoothing out your skirt and trying to tame your here it’s just the steady thump of Heeseung’s heartbeat against your back and the whir of the street outside your house.

You close your eyes, mind drifting instead to Jay as you try to ignore the not so soothing circles Heeseung’s thumb is rubbing into your stomach.

He'll kill me, you think, eyelids heavy. He said he'd be done if he finds out, he actually said to make sure he doesn’t find out. The worry threads through you, sharp and anxious, but sleep drags you under before you can chase it down.

And for a moment, you're caught between their worlds—Heeseung's cold possession holding you in the dark, and Jay's promise of finality echoing in your head as you drift off.

You wake up to the sound of someone exhaling sharply through their nose, it’s not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. But it's enough to pull you from the tangle of sleep, your limbs feel heavy and your skin is too warm beneath the sheets. Your body aches, but not sore in the good way, this is in the used up and exhausted way.

There's a dull throb between your legs and the rawness in your throat reminds you that you cried hard last night. For a second, you don't even remember where you are, but then you shift, and the bare skin against yours moves with you.

Heeseung still asleep beside you, with his chest rising and falling steadily. One of his arms is draped across your waist. You're completely naked with sticky thighs and a dull ache between your ass cheeks. The air in your room feels wrung out and the smell of sex is clinging to the sheets.

That same breath comes again and you realize it’s not from Heeseung, so you blink your eyes open.

And Jay is standing above you.

Dressed in sweats and a white tee that clings to him like second skin. His face is stoic, eyes flicking between the shape of you under your blanket and the man lying beside you.

Your heart stops, it actually stops before crashing into a violent rhythm inside your chest.

"Wow," Jay says, voice calm in that terrifyingly low way. "Not even twenty-four hours."

You shoot upright, dragging the sheet over your chest, like it'll somehow undo everything or erase the guilt growing like mold in your throat, threatening to suffocate you. You feel exposed and nauseous, like you could throw up right there in the bed.

"Jay—" you start, voice cracking.

But he just lifts his hand, not even to silence you, just so incredibly dismissively. Like your words aren't even worth hearing.

"Your mum said you didn't eat dinner," he says after a beat, not even looking at you now. "That's why I came. She said she was headed out for the day. Thought I could check on you."

Your stomach sinks. Shame slams into you so fast you have to look away. You want to be so angry at your mother for thinking Jay is so responsible with you but you can’t because he is responsible, especially with you.

Heeseung starts to stir at the sound of voices around him. He blinks up at Jay, completely unbothered. "What the fuck—?"

You can't breathe, not to talk of move. You feel like a child about to be punished, or more like a criminal caught red handed, but worse than all that, you feel absolutely pathetic.

"Is this how you let random guys barge into your room now?" Heeseung grumbles, rubbing his eyes. He squints at Jay. "The fuck are you even doing here?"

You want to scream at him to shut up. You want to cry, as you watch Jay stare into your eyes.

Heeseung sits up slowly, scoffing under his breath. "Get the fuck out, dude."

Jay doesn't budge or even feign like he’s about to. No, instead he plants himself at the foot of the bed—arms crossed, back straight, that unnerving calm carved into every line of his face. His gaze stays glued to you, not even wavering when Heeseung pushes up onto an elbow, blanket slipping low across his hips.

"Get dressed," Jay says, voice quiet but completely resolute. He isn't loud, because remember? he doesn't ever have to be. The authority in his voice is always ice cold and precise.

You scramble at the sheets, fully dizzy with panic, shame and adrenaline. Your hands are shaking so badly you can't tell if you're gripping cotton or fucking air.

Heeseung scoffs, a bark of incredulous laughter. "Who the fuck are you to tell her what to do?"

Jay doesn't still spare him a glance. He just extends a lazy hand toward your dresser. "Clothes. Now."

Heeseung's eyes narrow, confusion dawning into something uglier. "Wait." He sits all the way up, raking his gaze over Jay's face, then yours. "Hold on. Is this—" He points between the two of you, lips curling. "You? You're the guy who fucked her?"

You fathom speaking now, even though he truth is screaming inside your skull, your throat feels cemented shut.

Heeseung lets out another humorless laugh. "Wow. Your so called best friend, huh?" He looks you over, disgust edging his tone. "You'll really spread your legs for just anyone, won't you?"

The words punch a hole straight through your chest, it has your vision blurring, but you still slide from the bed, clutching the sheet to the front of your body—the ache between your ribs way louder than the ache between your legs.

Jay's jaw flexes, but he doesn't rise to the bait of Heeseung referring to him as just anyone. He still doesn’t look at him. Rather, he turns slightly, exposing his profile to you, creating a corridor of privacy in the room that somehow excludes Heeseung entirely.

"Drawer," he says softly. "I'm counting to ten."

The absurdity of it almost makes you laugh—or sob. You stumble to your dresser, jerk it open, and pull the first t-shirt you find over your head. Your fingers fumble with a pair of panties. You feel Heeseung's stare on your back, burning with hate and disbelief.

Jay murmurs, "Eight...nine—"

You wrench the panties up just as he reaches ten, heart jack-hammering in your throat. Then you stand there, arms wrapped around yourself, sheet puddled at your feet like evidence.

Finally Jay shifts his gaze to Heeseung—slow and intentional with his eyes flat and glacier cold. "Out," he says. One syllable and absolutely nothing more.

Heeseung brims with tension, rising from the bed. "Fucking make me."

The air in your room turns heavy, electric, charged with something darker than anger. You tug the oversized shirt lower on your thighs, cheeks burning, pulse rabbiting beneath your skin. You should tell one of them to leave, you should scream, you should do something. Instead you stand there uselessly with a pounding heart and a twisted gut while the two men who know your body like a map stare each other down over the wreckage of your sheets.

Jay breaks the silence first, voice low. "You promised."

Heeseung lets out a dry laugh, eyes flicking to you, then back. "And? She promised me once too. Didn't stop her moaning my name last night while I fucked her ass."

Your breath catches so hard you think you might faint. You taste shame, guilt and it’s something sour that turns strangely sweet when both their gazes snap to you at the same time, like you're the prize in a game neither of them intends to lose.

"You proud of that?" Jay asks, still calm, but you hear the steel under the words.

Heeseung's smirk widens. "Looks like she is," he says, nodding at the way your knees knock together, the way your fingers twist in the hem of the shirt that ridiculously smells like Jay's detergent and Heeseung's sweat. "Little thing's shaking."

Your stomach flips with equal parts dread and a perverse thrill. Yesterday's memories flash hard behind your eyes, both of them inside your head, under your skin. You know you'll never be able to choose. Because part of you likes this, you like their attention crashing over you from both sides, two tidal waves colliding with you caught in the undertow.

Jay steps closer, toying with your phone in his palm. "Show him you can fucking follow instructions." he says quietly, gaze never leaving Heeseung.

The command sinks into your bones, all too familiar and unraveling. Your lips part but you don't even know what you're about to say or do. But then Heeseung's hand snakes out, catching your wrist and pulling you toward him instead.

"She listens to me just fine," Heeseung declares, fingers sliding to your chin, forcing your head back so you're looking up at him. "Don't you, angel face?"

You swallow, throat tight. A tiny sound, half-whimper, half-yes escapes your lips.

Jay's eyes are blazing when Heeseung shifts you to have your back against his chest. His hand traces a slow, infuriatingly confident line down your stomach, and you flinch at the intimacy of it. You don't even have time to move before Heeseung's mouth is right beside your ear, dragging a lazy kiss against your neck, possessive and smug.

Jay doesn't say anything, but his eyes darken, you see it and so does Heeseung.

"Seriously?" Jay finally mutters, voice low, somewhere between daze and something shockingly hungrier. "You're letting him touch you like that, right in front of me?"

Heeseung just laughs, warm breath skating over your shoulder as his hand slips lower, palming your pussy like he has every right to. "You can't look away though, can you?" he says, eyes fixed on Jay now, goading. "What's the matter? Didn't get enough yesterday?"

Jay's fists curl at his sides but he doesn't move, the tension radiating off of him is palpable. His stare drops to where Heeseung's hand is inside your panties you put on, groping like he's testing ownership.

"You're disgusting," Jay snaps, but his voice is thinner now, less conviction. His gaze is low and lingering.

Heeseung hums. "And you're hard."

That hits Jay like a gunshot and he freezes, nostrils flaring because he is hard.

Heeseung turns his attention back to you, smirking a little. His fingers slip between the folds of your pussy, finding your clit and you whimper, head dropping forward into your hands, embarrassed, but not enough to tell him stop, or enough to make them leave.

"Don't pretend this isn't what she wants," Heeseung says, dragging his lips along your neck. "She's been taking both of us, hasn't she? Plus I don’t really care about her, she just lets me do things other girls don’t."

Jay doesn't answer, but he does step closer. Close enough to see everything and close enough that your skin burns from the weight of both their attention.

"You gonna join me?" Heeseung asks him, too cocky now. "Or you gonna watch with your dick in your hand like a fucking cuck?"

Jay looks at you and the way his eyes soften is the only warning you get before he grabs your chin and kisses you, rough and unrelenting. Now you know neither of them are leaving at least not until one of them wins or they break you.

Heeseung's grip on your waist tightens, but his gaze is all on Jay now, trying to stand behind you like he's bored, like he's not fully hard from just watching Jay kiss you. He lets out a slow exhale, smirking a little as he confesses something that seems to not matter to him anymore.

"You know," he starts lazily, still watching as your tongue collides with Jay’s, "when I was with her...back then? You used to piss me off. Thought you were some kind of threat."

Jay pulls his mouth from yours. "Shut the fuck up."

"But looking at you now..." Heeseung tilts his head, continuing and dragging his eyes lower in a way that makes the air shift. "I don't think I wanna fight you anymore."

There's a beat of silence, something electric buzzing underneath it. You blink, unsure if you heard him right.

"I kinda wanna fuck you instead," he adds plainly.

Jay's lips part slightly, brows drawn in confusion that's quickly swallowed anger or curiosity, you can't truly tell.

Heeseung laughs at Jay’s reaction and then leans in closer to you, resting his chin lazily on your shoulder, eyes still on Jay. His tone drops. "Bet you taste good too," he says, like it's nothing, like he's not teasing the both of you. "Wouldn't mind finding out."

You tense between them, pulse thudding, because you see how this is power, pride...and a pull between them that neither of them wants to admit but both of them feel.

"Fuck off," Jay mutters, but his voice is hoarse now. "That’s not fucking happening."

Heeseung grins, victorious, and kisses your neck again, but slower this time cause he knows Jay is watching.

Heeseung's palm slides possessively over your stomach again while his mouth works a heated trail up your throat—never taking his eyes off Jay. Every flick of Heeseung's tongue feels like a dare thrown directly at the other man, and Jay's control is visibly eroding, his jaw flexed, chest rising faster, fists clenching as though he's deciding whether to shove Heeseung away or drag him closer.

"Getting worked up just watching?" Heeseung murmurs, lips brushing your earlobe, but the words are for Jay. He drags his hand lower across your thigh, slow enough to make you squirm. "Thought you were the one giving orders."

Jay's reply is a dark and unamused laugh. "Keep talking."

Heeseung does—whispers something filthy against your skin, hips nudging his hard clothed cock against your ass until you gasp and he continues to goad Jay.

"Tell me," Heeseung says, voice low as he noses along your jaw. "Is he a good kisser?" His question hums with challenge, and his fingers flex on your hip, reminding you how completely you're pinned between them.

Your pulse thunders. Shame and anticipation collide in your chest, and something reckless slips past your lips, something soft and breathy and meant only for him.

"Why don't you...find out?"

For a beat neither man moves. Jay's eyes flash in shock and something close to resentment, a flare of something hungry. Heeseung's grin spreads, slow and wicked. He leans past you, crowding closer until his breath mingles with Jay's.

The charged silence hangs, but then Jay closes the distance, grabbing the back of Heeseung's neck like he didn’t tell him a moment ago that it would never happen. Their mouths crash together, raw and forceful. You're caught between them, heat bouncing off their bodies, every muffled groan vibrating through your spine.

It's messy and competitive—Jay bites Heeseung's lip and Heeseung answers with a low growl, hand sliding boldly down Jay's side before circling back to squeeze your thigh. You feel the tremor that rolls through Jay at the touch, and pride twists with awe in your lower belly.

Heeseung's grip on your thigh loosens just long enough for him to shove you forward, away from the collision of their mouths. You stumble onto your knees beside the bed, watching as he turns fully to Jay, eyes blazing with hungry curiosity.

Heeseung presses his palm to Jay's chest, sliding it down over his ribs, fingertips tracing the line of his abs. Jay's breath draws sharp, caught off guard.

"Ever been with a guy before?" Heeseung's voice is soft, teasing, every word loaded.

Jay blinks at him. "No," he manages, tone rough.

Heeseung just laughs, soft and smug, thumb brushing over Jay's exposed skin. "That's alright. I'm honored to be your first..." He glances at you, eyes gleaming. "Just like I was hers."

Jay's jaw tics, but he doesn't move away. Heeseung steps in closer, chests brushing, heat rising in the thin space between them. His hand moves higher, curling around the back of Jay's neck, pulling him in again. And this time the kiss is filthier, open-mouthed with teeth grazing and tongues sliding without hesitation.

You're breathless watching them. Jay's hand grips Heeseung's side, uncertain but firm causing the other to groan into his mouth, hands slipping lower to snake between both their bodies to palm Jay’s hardened cock over his sweats. Jay jerks, gasping into the kiss, hips twitching forward in shock.

"Fuck," Jay hisses, pulling back just enough to suck in air.

"Sensitive already?" Heeseung grins, licking his lips. "That's cute."

You press your thighs together, pulse pounding at the sight of them, Jay's cheeks are flushed, Heeseung's calmness is near predatory, and the sheer tension vibrating between the three of you. Your body still aches from the night before, but all you can think about is them.

Heeseung bites his lip, fingers curling tighter around Jay's waistband, tugging it down enough to expose the hardness beneath.

Jay shudders. Heeseung raises an eyebrow. "You hard for me already?" he murmurs. "Or is it for her?"

Jay doesn't answer and it causes Heeseung to grin wider. "Guess it doesn't matter."

And then he spits into his hand, slow and deliberate, before wrapping it around Jay’s dick without breaking eye contact with him.

You swear you feel your clit forming a heartbeat.

Jay takes a sharp inhale he tries desperately to stifle. This is new to him, but his chest tightens either way and his pulse hammers in his throat when Heeseung wraps his spit covered hand around his dick. Everything in Jay screams that he shouldn't want this, that Heeseung is the enemy, but beneath that war, a dark current of arousal is coiling.

Heeseung's fingers pump him slow and sure, eyes locked on his as if he willing him to break. Jay's lips part, and for a heartbeat, he almost moans but he clamps his jaw shut instead, head tilting back so only the curve of his throat shows, as heat floods his face.

His hands twitch at his sides, yearning to grip something, anything. He lifts one to knot in Heeseung's hair, not in anger, but instinct like a desperate plea for more and it makes Heeseung's grin flicker with victory.

Jay's vision darkens at the edges as the pleasure builds, electric and terrifyingly sweet. He fights for control, but his body betrays him when a low groan slips free, startling even him, one which has you trailing your hand between your legs to find some sort of relief.

Heeseung doesn't even glance your way but his voice slices through the thick air like a whip, "Touch yourself and neither of us lay a hand on you."

Your fingers freeze, inches from your cunt, the sight before you too overwhelming, their bodies are close, with tension humming like live wire, and you’re drowning in it, arousal clouding everything else.

A pit of embarrassment forms in your chest. You slowly lower your hand back to the ground with your heart racing.

Jay looks you too now with a dark gaze, you notice his chest rising and falling hard like he's on the edge of saying something—but doesn't.

Heeseung's pace stroking Jay's cock quickens, it turns somewhat relentless, he has one hand still steady at Jay's hip while the other pumps him with confidence. Jay's eyes flutter shut as the pressure builds, you know that look.

"You like that, don't you?" Heeseung says, voice laced with amusement.

Jay's fingers cling to Heeseung's shoulders, body trembling under the rising tension of his orgasm. You watch, breath caught as Heeseung leans in close, lips brushing Jay's ear.

"Look at you—so proud you could handle her, and yet here you are, helpless for me." His thumb presses in right over the phallic tip of him, dragging a trembling, lewd pulse through Jay's cock. It makes Jay's hand jerk, scrabbling at Heeseung's wrist, helpless.

Heeseung smiles knowingly against Jay's skin—slow, knowing. "No hiding," he teases, brushing fingertips over Jay's lower lip until Jay parts them, letting Heeseung trace the wet line. "You don't sound like the tough guy you pretend to be."

You watch Jay try to swallow, try to form a retort, but his voice is gone, it's replaced by a soft, whimpering moan that vibrates through his whole body.

"Go on," Heeseung says. "Let me see what you look like when you cum.”

Jay's head falls back, neck bare, throat exposed. And then it happens, a trembling exhalation, guttural and urgent, as Jay's body shudders and clenches. You see the flush spread across his cheeks, you hear the wet heat of Jay's cum slicking across Heeseung's palm.

Heeseung strokes him through it with a steady hand, letting Jay's orgasm roll through him until the final shudder. Then he slowly withdraws his hand, setting Jay's spent cock free to twitch in the cool air. He watches Jay's chest heave, eyes still closed, mouth parted.

For a heartbeat, there's only the sound of Jay's ragged breathing, then Heeseung's gaze flicks downward, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips when he notices Jay still hard, flushed and ready like he hadn't just come undone seconds ago.

"Well, shit," he drawls, low and smug. "Didn't think you had stamina like that."

Jay doesn't respond at first, he just eyes Heeseung up and down, standing firm, his chest heaving with barely restrained unease. But there's a flicker in his eyes of something darker, especially when Heeseung keeps looking at him like that, like he's impressed and still in control all at once.

Heeseung's grins because he doesn't miss the look Jay gives him. He leans in a little, "I wanna know, Jay. You ever fucked her ass?"

That hits. Jay's head snaps toward you, and there's a twitch in his lip, his whole body tensing like he's about to swing, but it's not from shame or shock but something possessive and territorial, and it makes his tone is clipped and bitter when he replies, "No. I haven't."

Heeseung hums in jest, clearly savoring it, but then Jay steps in, crowding his space more with a tight jaw. "You think that makes you better than me?" he mutters, eyes narrowing. "You think that means you get to take what's mine?"

Heeseung raises a brow, not backing down. "You really think she's yours right now?" he says, voice velvet-smooth. "She let me in first. And look at you..." He chuckles as his gaze drops again. "Still acting like you've got any say."

But instead of escalating, Heeseung steps back a bit. A surprising glint of generosity or maybe twisted mischief shines in his eyes. He turns to you, then grabs your wrist, dragging you of the ground effortlessly toward him.

"Come here, angel face," he says, already sitting back on the sheets.

You shake as he guides you to straddle him, already pushing your panties down your thighs.

Jay's confusion flashes at the sight, followed quickly by understanding. His eyes drag across your body as you're pulled onto his lap. The way you're still pliant, already slick, flushed from everything that just happened. You settle over him like instinct, thighs shaking.

Heeseung lays against the bed with his hands spread on your ass, satisfied. "Go on," he tells Jay, like he's giving him a gift. "Or you don't wanna fuck her ass?"

Jay doesn't speak, he just gets on the bed behind you and grabs your hips roughly, eyes never leaving Heeseung's. The tension between them is tangible now, some primal challenge in the air and you're caught right in the center of it—torn and dizzy with it, as Jay pushes you down onto him, every inch of him searing and full of purpose. And all the while, Heeseung just watches cause he likes what he sees.

The sheets are cool under your knees as Jay's hands splay around your ass, guiding you to angle back against him. Every breath from you seems too loud in the sudden hush of your room, it's just the faint creak of the mattress and the muted hum of morning outside your window. Jay's hands are warm against your spine, his skin damp where he's still riding the edge of anger and desire.

Heeseung lounges at the head of the bed and under you, propped against the pillows, dark eyes tracking every twitch in your body and every flicker of tension across Jay's jaw. You're hyperaware of his presence—how his gaze sears like a brand, claiming you even as Jay'sce fingers spread across your waist in their own possessive pattern.

You're pinned between them—straddling Heeseung's lap as Jay lines his spit and cum covered dick up with your clenching hole. Heeseung's hands grip your hips too, trying to keep you in play for Jay, his thumbs digging into the flesh of your ass, forcing you back hard on Jay's cock behind you. You moan out something incoherent, "Oh—! W—Wait! Nggh."

Heeseung's voice is a rasp at your ear with something wicked and out of breath, "Look at you—between two men like some cheap toy." He adjusts himself under you, pulling out his cock from his boxers and gently lining it up with your pussy. "Oh my god! Heeseung wait!"

You gasp, heat roaring through your core as Jay picks up a steady pace of fucking his cock into you and Heeseung pushes his up into your sopping cunt, each stroke makes you push back Jay, the feeling of both of them in your holes has you digging your nails digging into Heeseung's shoulders.

Heeseung chuckles darkly. "You like that, don't you? Two big dicks fucking you?" His grin is jagged, but you can't even look at it for too long because the fullness is so intense you have to close your eyes. "So good! So good!"

Jay's hand finds yours on Heeseung's shoulder, gripping tight, his is palm hot on yours. He doesn't say anything, but you feel the strain in his muscles as he drives his cock into you harder and faster.

Heeseung leans upward, kissing you quickly before shoving his fingers into your mouth. "Ngh! Oh! Goddamit! I can feel your dick through her." He takes his fingers from your mouth and uses the same ones to rub your clit in harsh circles.

"Too much! Heeseung! Jay!"

"Sloppy little thing," he snarls. "But Jay'll fix that, huh?" He fucks up into you with renewed determination, the pressure of your orgasm building inside you in a jagged, desperate wave.

Tears sting your eyes as Jay's grunts fill the room. "Hole's so tight—My God."

"She ever squirt for you before?" Heeseung asks Jay, pace never failing, "Yeah," Jay groans, his eyes screwing shut and his head lolling back.

Heeseung laughs. "Yeah? Think you can go faster?"

You hear Jay grumble in agreement as his pace picks up along with Heeseung's and they both brush something delicious inside your two holes. The stretch is impossibly overwhelming, it has you drooling right onto Heeseung's chest.

You're right at the edge of losing control and you know they are too, every nerve ending in your body erupts into a blazing white-hot spark. You can feel the relentless fullness of Heeseung thrusting into your pussy and the deep burn of Jay pushing into your asshole like two currents of pressure that clash inside you, building into one ridiculously impossible wave.

"I'm gonna cum! Hee!—Jay! Gonna cum! Gonna cum!"

In that instant, your vision blurs at the edges, your breath catches in jagged gasps, and your holes clench down around them both. Your hands slam into the headboard as a rush of heat floods outward from your cunt, simultaneously constricting and exploding, like every drop of blood in your veins has turned to molten fire. "Yes yes yes! Use me! Use me!"

Your whole body convulses with Jay's name on your lips, need shooting through every nerve until Heeseung's words pull you back from the edge. "Fuck, that's right—Ugh."

A strangled moan tears from your throat, your back arches, and your toes curl as the wave crests. You're suspended between fierce ache and a blissful orgasm, every inch of you humming with overload.

Time fractures and each of your heartbeats thump in your ears as your orgasm rolls through you again and again with thick surges of bliss that crackle with humiliation and joy all at once. Your vision swims with dizziness, you're so fucking elated and completely undone.

Behind you, Jay grunts grow louder, his own ripping orgasm from him in a raw exhale as he cums into your asshole, continuing to pump himself into you. His hips jerk with every pulse, driving you higher even as you cum. "Oh fuck me."

Beneath you, Heeseung's breath snarls in your neck, with a husky voice. "Cumming!"

You feel his cum spill inside your pussy, so warm and grounding, as his hands tighten on your hips and hold you in place.

You're suspended between them with Jay's and Heeseung's pleasure and yours intertwining in a moment of pure, overwhelming abandon. Your body trembles so hard you think you might shatter, tears slipping free as the last tremor fades.

You feel trapped in their storm of shame, lust, and fear. It has you dizzier and you start to drift, so close to passing out. Your limbs feel heavy and detached, as if you're watching someone else slumped between them. Their bodies surround you so steadily while the world outside your bedroom window carries on oblivious.

Heeseung's breath is soft against your neck, his hand still resting on your hip. Jay's steady weight behind you reminds you of every promise made and every threat whispered. But no one speaks and time thins.

All you can feel is the slow pulse of your heart, the faint sting of tears on your cheeks, and the relentless press of desire still humming through your veins.

Then, almost too quietly to hear, Heeseung shifts, voice against your skin but eyes on Jay.

"I wanna fuck you next."

➺ taglist: @immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @inawonderfulworld @usuallyunlikelyfox @starry-eyed-bimbo @strayy-kidz @mheretoreadff @bloomiize @xoenhalover @mamuljji @rawwwre @gabrielinhaa @cherrieikeu @niyzu @ieatwon @rialikesbts @lunacrtk @dulcetnostalgia @bussolares @lovel1z @dearestdreamies @kristynaaah @rosepetals09 @c1eod1n3 @kiikiisblog @plumdove @pqrkjyx @tojiworshipper @loverseon

210 notes · View notes

rcvcgers · 3 days ago

Text

Rotten Apples ❦.ׂ

chapter fourteen: frankenstein's monster

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3 link

previous part | next part coming soon

oh yeah, i made a spotify playlist for this <3

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: you and caleb are on the run. tensions run high between you two. you make a call for help.

word count: 10.2k words

warnings: please, please, PLEASE read the trigger warnings before proceeding. lightly proofread...it ain't perfect!

author's note: hi everyone! just wanted to swing by and say hi! i'm sorry if this chapter sucks! but also a quick note for my taglist: at least half of you are not interacting/liking/commenting/reblogging the past few chapters. kinda annoyed by this so if you want to stay on, make for sure you at least like the post so i know you're actively wanting to be on the taglist otherwise im gonna take you off and make room for the others who wish to join!

oh and remember...the narrative isn't completely objective!

trigger warning: death/murder, bodily harm, thoughts about death, light suicidal thoughts, caleb grabs reader's neck once (not choking), let me know if i missed anything

my rotten apples <3 : @militaryapple , @kebarney , @pinkismyfavcolor , @romils , @erisnxxi , @rik0shii , @reni502 , @spacehopper27 , @llamabois , @likesvader , @pandoras-rabbit , @princessfruit , @lukassafespace , @jexireads , @etsuniiru , @tinnyrabbit , @orianakira , @xiaorixx , @beomluvrr , @sanzy4 , @vickykazuya , @blcknebula , @sleepydang , @flamedancer13 , @gojosbedwarmer , @silmeria-lafleur , @ikiru-wa , @animecrazy76 , @fealy , @i-messed-up-big-time , @motheraiya55 , @vvonunie , @1uv4jiya , @yuuuumii , @okumurarinsbabe , @mcdepressed290 , @luleck , @sanzy4 , @lucifers-silhouette , @crazygirl3001 , @april-likes-smut , @kazbrkker , @l1ttlebabyapple , @writersandroses , @kookie-my-little-sunshine , @curryexpress , @earthykitsunesrain , @raining4food , @chaoticbardlady99 , @lemonwithstupidity

Caleb hated pressing the off button. He despised watching your body crumble in on itself, the way it surrendered to its momentum before succumbing to the ground. It took everything in him not to reverse his choice. The single flick of his finger to bring you back to life, to see your chest rise and fall again instead of it being suspended in limbo, frozen in time.

The Colonel uses his Evol to catch you. You float through the air and into his arms with practiced ease, the man releasing your body from his power, the full weight of your unconscious body now supported by his arms.

“I’m…” Caleb breathes the words out as if they are a respectable apology that will make up for this sin that he has committed, “I’m sorry for this.”

Caleb pushes through the metal doors of the compound. His purple eyes scan the immediate area, your hair flowing in the night desert wind. You’re much lighter than before. Underneath the Farspace Fleet uniform must be an undernourished body that the Professor forced you into. Caleb remembers his days with Ever, how most days he was fed through a tube or IV and the days that he was allowed to eat, it was scrap pieces of bread and leftovers from the scientist’ cafeteria.

Can you hear his words? Are you able to listen to his voice while you sleep? Caleb hopes you can hear his apology but if you can’t, well, he is not too mad about that either. He simply does not know what the right choice is in this moment, what choice will bring the two of you the least amount of pain or hurt. All he knows is that he is protecting you.

Every choice that he has made after pulling the trigger on Professor Lucius has been made with you and you alone in mind. What he is doing now is to protect you. All he can do is hope that you will understand as he walks you through a battlefield littered with the corpses of men who fought for nothing but a cold place in the grave.

Caleb knows what death is like and you do too. You both know what that dark place is like. Although, you have visited it more often than he has. Death and you are friends now, or so it seems. Caleb does not know what goes through your head whenever you find yourself in its clutches.

He wonders about it, though. None of the files that the Professor had on you described the state that your mind goes into whenever you die or are turned off. The man hopes that it is like a gentle sleep, a way for you to finally find peace in rest.

He also knows that with you like this, body and mind disconnected from one another, that he can do whatever he wants with you. He knows that you will not be able to fight back against him if he decides to move you to a remote location in the world, to hide you away from the evil people who wish to bring you harm. He can take you wherever he wants, whenever, and you would be none the wiser…or so he thinks.

Fuck. Caleb feels dirty thinking about you this way, like you’re a toy that he can play with and can control at will and yet here he is, controlling you, putting you straight under his thumb, the one thing that you most likely hate the most.

Caleb adjusts you in his arms. It is eerie that you don’t flinch in your sleep. Twitch. Breathe. It’s one of the most unsettling things that he has ever encountered. Even with the corpses that line the taxiway, your inability to be a living being in his arms makes Caleb feel so unsettled.

He steps over the bodies of men from other countries, the men who laid their lies down for nothing. His foot hesitates when his eyes land on Liam. His adjutant remains face down, a pool of blood formed by his head, creating a sadistic looking halo. He gives him a gentle tap with his foot, one last attempt to see if the lifeless body will move.

It doesn’t. Caleb moves on.

There are a few options out of the desert. There is the obvious choice, the Farpspace Fleet aircraft that he flew here. The only problem that comes with it, though, is the fact that the Fleet can track his location and ultimately follow the path that leads them straight to you. Caleb can’t risk it.

He looks around, stopping at the Farspace Fleet aircraft, opening its doors and placing you into one of the chairs. You slump over, head hanging low, strands of hair covering your eyes. He shrugs off his Colonel jacket and drapes it over your body, protecting you from any stray specks of sand that slice through the air. He places his gun on your lap followed by the pad that controls your body and Toring Chip.

There’s not a soul around who can kill him or you. He can take the risk of leaving you alone for just a few seconds, right?

Caleb exits the plane and scans the area. There are a few cars to the side, old jeeps that still run on gas. They most likely come from the guerrilla troops that the Professor brought. They’d have to remind away from technology, away from the eyes of the country they fight against. He knows just how hard it will be to remain disguised. Technology is everywhere, after all, and the Colonel will try his damn best to get the two of you away from it.

The man heads to the jeep, a small smile flashing across his face. He drove one similar to this in high school. He bought it for a cheap price and drove it home with the shell taken off of the top, the warm summer wind touching against his skin and tousling his hair. He remembered the way the car vibrated and shook, its age prominent in every turn and press of the gas pedal. Caleb, with very finite resources as a teenager and with the help of your father (you weren’t aware of this fact), he was able to fix the engine and make it run smoother than ever before. Sure, the engine was basically new after he fixed it, but it was still the same old jeep he bought months prior.

Caleb grabs the gas cans that sit in the back of the jeep, collecting all of the leftover canisters that sit in nearby cars, piling them in the open trunk. The keys weren’t inside of the car but it only took a few minutes to find. The keys were pocketed in one of the dead solider’s jacket, just barely poking out onto the asphalt when Caleb spotted it. After a few minutes, Caleb begins to drive the car back to the Farspace Fleet aircraft.

He gets out, pocketing the keys as he moves, and turns to see you standing outside of the plane with his gun pointed at his head. Caleb pauses, his purple eyes trained onto yours, slightly narrowing at the sight.

You hold the gun with your right hand while the left fidgets with the Toring Chip pad. Your thumb swipes across the screen, making quick work while you try to remove Caleb’s retinal scan, not appreciative of the way he took away your bodily autonomy within seconds of gaining control.

“You’re awake,” Caleb speaks, trying to ease the tension. He holds his hands up, beginning to move closer to you. He only stops when your eyes snap back to him, arm stiffening as your aim returns back to his head. “Hey, hey, I’m on your side.”

“Are you?” you’re quick to counter, gaze sharpening onto his. “You did the one thing that I never wanted to experience again, Caleb,” you take a step forward, staring at his head from just above the crosshairs, “the one god damn thing, Caleb!”

“I know,” Caleb nods at you, his throat tightening, “I know and I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do.”

Caleb takes another step towards you. You pull the trigger, a blast of energy shooting past his head at lighting speeds. Caleb doesn’t flinch. He cements his feet into the ground knowing that you’ll kill him. He sucks in a breath, eyes flickering to the pad in your hand, anxiety beginning to form deep inside his muscles.

“How did you wake up?” Caleb asks, trying to move the conversation to something else — literally anything — to buy time. He doesn’t know just how trigger happy you are, wondering if that was the only warning shot you were going to give him before blowing his brains out.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you murmur, eyes floating back to the transparent tablet.

Truth is, you don’t know what happened. Last thing you remember was stepping out of the bunker before things went black. You remembered the ice cold feeling that overtook your body as you slipped into the temporary coma before being pulled out, waking up inside of the Farspace Fleet’s plane. The tablet was on the ground besides Caleb’s gun and, well, here you are.

“Why is your retinal scan in here?” you ask, barely looking over at Caleb. You hesitate when he doesn’t immediately respond, turning to look at him. “Why haven’t you used your Evol on me?”

“I need you to trust me, pretty bird,” Caleb grunts.

“Yeah,” you let out a quiet chuckle, shaking your head, tilting your face back towards the transparent tablet, “look at where that’s gotten me.”

“You can…you can still trust me,” he continues. His eyes move between your face and the tablet, his curiosity slowly killing him. “What are you doing?”

“Deleting your retinal scan,” you murmur, holding the pad up to your face. A small red light flashes, capturing the details of your irises. Your hand lowers, the gun slightly faltering in its place, as you navigate through the Toring Chip’s options.

“We’re safe now,” Caleb comments. It brings you no relief, just dread of what is to come.

Will you live a life on the run? Are you forever destined to be on the road, always looking over your shoulder for the people who may never come?

It is not a life worth living. You are done of letting other people control your life, control your body and emotions. You are done playing the role of a pawn. The game’s master is now dead and, well, you wish to burn the board and everything that comes attached to it.

“They can track us,” you inform Caleb, glancing in his direction. A quiet ding comes from the tablet. You turn to him and force a fake, cheery smile on your face, waving the tablet in the air as an ‘I told you so’. “I guess they can only track you now.”

“Pretty bird,” Caleb lowers his hands and straightens his posture. He opens his mouth to say something and you lean forward, waiting for the response that never comes.

“What was your plan to escape, Caleb? Hm? You turned me off and thought, ‘Hey! Let me just pack up my things and unconscious girlfriend and get out of here!’? Is that what you thought was going to happen?” you can’t help but laugh at the situation you find yourselves in.

Caleb, the one person that your gut instinct told you you that you could trust, has obliterated any progress that he has made with you since your short-lived reunion. He did the one thing you never wanted to happen to you and now it feels like the man who stands before you is a stranger, calling you pretty nicknames, his voice soft and gentle…who knows what he had in plan for you.

When he continues to be silent, you scoff and lower the gun. Your gaze drifts up and down his body, shaking your head as you close your eyes, throwing your head back with a laugh. Caleb watches, unsure what is happening to you.

Is it a mental break? Has your mind finally had enough and is ready to plunge itself into compete and utter insanity? He wouldn’t blame you if you did. He would have done the same thing if he were in your shoes. Constantly dying and being experimented on is something he would never wish upon someone, especially you.

“What are you doing, Caleb? Truly. What are you hoping will happen?” you ask, opening your eyes to look at him.

He’s much closer now. You can see the orange in his eyes. The beads of sweat in his hair. The way he’s loosened the tie of his uniform, unbuttoning the top three buttons to combat the heat. You narrow your gaze at him, grip on the gun tightening.

“I was hoping to get us out of here,” he truthfully answers. “I need to get you to safety.”

“I needed that eight months ago, Colonel,” you push your shoulders pack, emulating the perfect posture to a man who you should consider to be your superior. Your knuckles turn white. Anger boils inside of you, red hot and ready to burst at any moment. “Hate to break it to you, but it’s a little too late.”

You go to turn away from him when your body freezes in place. Caleb’s Evol engulfs you. The blue and orange flicker of his power annoys you more than it should. You look to the side and watch as Caleb comes into view.

He slowly takes the place in front of you, his purple eyes now dark. Caleb lets out a quiet sigh. His long fingers attach themselves to your chin, moving it from within the dense gravity field that surrounds you, and tilts your face up to look at him. He licks his dry lips, his skin burning into yours. His gaze remains on your eyes, the way the moonlight reflects off of your eyes.

“I can keep you safe now,” Caleb’s voice is low and hoarse. It itches the back of your brain in just the right way, shutting you the hell up. “I won’t let anyone else hurt you.”

“I can take care of myself,” you mutter back. A smile flickers across his face.

“I thought you wanted a hero,” he tilts his head to the side. “I thought you wanted me to come save you. Well, here I am, pretty bird, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t respond. You bask in the quiet sound of the desert wind, the beats of your heart echoing in your ears. Caleb leans in, his hand moving from your chin to your cheek. The pads of his fingers are tough against your skin, sending chills down your spine with one flick of the wrist. The tip of his nose presses against yours, the man nuzzling into your face. His forehead is hot from the heat of the night.

“We’ll never leave each other ever again,” Caleb whispers, his breath warm against your mouth. You remain silent. “Now get in the jeep,” his Evol releases you, your muscles no longer in suspended agony from the tension, and he pulls his face away from yours, his hand still on your cheek, “or I will make you get into it.”

Caleb slips the gun from your now weakened grasp. He turns on his heel and opens up the aircraft’s door with a wave, the hatch door dropping down with ease. You stand there and watch as Caleb casually picks up his Colonel’s jacket, laying it into the crook of his elbow, grabbing a few other items from inside the plane such as a flashlight, first aid kit (not like you need it anyways), and flares. He turns back around and looks down at you, flicking his hand to the jeep.

“Go,” he says.

The command alone sends chills down your spine. You slowly do as he says, your eyes remaining on his for as long as possible before your back is turned to him, your feet dragging across the ground as if his Evol were still chained to you. The car is about a meter or two from the aircraft. You instantly spot the gas cans, noting the way the driver’s seat as already been adjusted.

With the way Caleb has been acting ever since you woke up, you are certain that there is no way in hell that he’ll let you behind the wheel. If he wanted to, he could handcuff your hands together, condemning you to remain by his side until he decides he’s had enough of you.

Weird. You thought you had finally escaped from one crazy ass motherfucker but now? Now you’re trapped with a man who has been through a hellscape of a childhood and has emotional issues…you suppose it’ll be fine, though, since he claims to love you.

At least he did in the past.

Before you can open up the car door, Caleb is behind you, reaching around your body, his slender fingers connecting with the metal. He pulls it open with ease as you turn around and look up at him with a raised eyebrow. You slowly get inside of the car, the door closing behind you, watching Caleb from the corner of your eye. He tosses his jacket into the backseat along with the other things. You shrug off your own, placing it on top of your lap. Caleb gets into the car. The vehicle dips down under the weight. You turn your head away.

Whenever an animal is trapped, it will chew off its own leg to escape, no? Suddenly, you feel like one of those unfortunate animals.

The engine rumbles. You shift in your seat and Caleb rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. The gears shift into place and Caleb slowly reverses the car with one hand.

The sand dunes catch your attention. From the distance, the wind picks up the loose specks and carries them just a small gap above the main body of sand. It’s mesmerizing to watch as the car pulls away from the taxiway. You steal a quick glance of the side of his face.

Caleb’s jaw is clenched. He holds one hand on the top of the steering wheel while the other rests on the gear shift in front of the middle console. You cross one leg over the cover, earning a quick look from the man, and look at the side mirror.

Caleb’s eyes drop to your legs. In the past, his hand would have been welcomed there if you weren’t holding it. Was it a habit that formed between the two of you? Obviously. He knew that would be crossing the line, pushing far too many boundaries even though he was still considered to be your boyfriend. If you even considered him to be your boyfriend. He digresses, though. He presses on the gas pedal and the car lurches forward. He clears his throat, traversing over the top of the sand dune.

The tablet’s tucked into your pants. You feel the base of it press into you, dying to reach for it and figure out a way to get your body back. Heat remains in your face where Caleb touched you. It helps with pushing away the feeling to immediately try and fix yourself.

Is it pathetic to want to do so? You haven’t been yourself in so long. Time never moved while at Ever and your mind began to splinter from constantly dying and being put back together again. You can’t even bring yourself to look at the man who sits beside you, who has reminded you that you are his top priority. His words mean nothing yet they hold so much weight. To you, though, he is just a means to an end. A stepping stone before you can break free from the confines of the desert and find yourself in a new world with no more strings attached to you and your body.

Freedom. Independence. Free will.

It is all so close yet so far, not quite attainable just yet as you and Caleb drive through the never ending desert.

You close your eyes and relax into the seat. You shift away from Caleb, angling your body towards the open stretches of golden sand, the moon in one of it’s crescent phases, providing just enough light fro Caleb to drive over the hills. You cross your arms over your chest and slowly inhale. Your muscles begin to relax, slightly tingly as the tension from the day begins to leave your body.

It’s unfortunate how you are able to sleep in stressful situations. You do not even feel entirely safe and yet here you are getting comfortable in a jeep with a man who controlled your body not even an hour ago. A yawn leaves your lips. Caleb quietly chuckles beside you. You open up one eye to look at him, adjusting your body one last time with a quiet groan.

“What?” you ask.

“What?” Caleb repeats just as the car tilts over the top of a dune, leaning forward. Your body moves with the momentum, ready to slip forward, when Caleb reaches over, his hand splayed against your chest, keeping you pushed into the chair.

“What’s so…funny,” you ask, your heart slightly swelling from his touch.

“Oh, you know,” Caleb quietly huffs, removing his hand once the car reaches the bottom of the hill. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined taking you on a car ride.”

“You’ve taken me on plenty of car rides,” your mind slowly becomes awake again, the sleep slipping away form you. “You’ve driven me to work, back home, to all of those restaurants that I wanted to do to.”

“No…that’s not,” Caleb looks over at you, your gaze meeting his. You raise an eyebrow. He clears his throat, awkwardness settling into his body. He looks back to the front of the car, gaining up at the stars as it guides him to a nearby city, an oasis that barely made it onto the map. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” you tilt your head to the side, licking your dry lips.

Caleb doesn’t respond. You bask in the sound of the rumbling engine, the way the car vibrates whenever he pushes back down onto the gas pedal.

The side of his face is backlit by the moon. You try your best not to stare, not to give in to your temptations and urges. You’ve done it so well before in the past, what makes it so different now?

“Do you remember when I had that jeep back in school?” Caleb finally breaks the silence. He clears his throat and sits up in his seat, glancing at you.

“That old thing? I fucking hated it,” you can’t help but laugh, closing your eyes and shaking your head.

Caleb’s eyes shoot open. He fully turns his head towards you, both hands now clutching the steering wheel for good life. He always thought that hearing your laugh would cure all of the troubles that burden his soul, an instant remedy that would bring him the joy and happiness to get him through the rest of this shitty situation. He just never thought, though, that your laughter would be at the expense of him and his not-shitty jeep from almost ten years ago.

“What do you mean you hated it?” Caleb’s disbelief is written all over his face. “It was a great car!”

“Yeah, a car that woke me up at four in the morning,” you open your eyes and look at Caleb. “Every. Single. Day.”

“I had a busy schedule okay,” the man begins to defend himself, “I had to work out before basketball and practice was always in the morning because coach didn’t—” he stop himself before he can go any further. “It was a good car, pretty bird.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” you snort, turning away from him.

“I had always dreamed of taking you for a drive in that car,” Caleb’s voice softens. Your body tenses at the sound. You do not turn to look at him, instead focusing on the sand ahead. “I had a plan and everything before you, well, cut me off,” Caleb’s chuckle is bittersweet. “I was going to get you flowers. Make some food for a picnic. Drive us all the way to a faraway beach so it’d just be the two of us. No distractions…no people to interrupt us. I’d drive us back at night with the stars in the sky and our favorite song playing on the radio—”

“Our?” your question interrupts him. Caleb simply nods.

“I knew all of your favorite stuff back then. Your favorite song was my favorite song,” a heartfelt smile spreads across his face.

You don’t know whether you should feel loved, flattered, smothered, or pity for him. How could one person revolve their life entirely around another? Especially when that person wanted nothing to do with him. It’s a sad life to live in your opinion and yet you dedicated yourself to avoiding him, carving him out of your life, so you suppose you’ve lived a very sad life as well.

“At least we have the backdrop of stars you wanted,” you tilt your head up to look at the stars. “There’s the sand…not a beach but it’s close enough, right?”

“Driving at night,” Caleb nods, humming to himself, “escaped a doomsday bunker that our abuser brought us to.”

Your head snaps to look at Caleb. He stares back. You clear your throat, diverting your gaze away from his. A bitter taste forms over your tongue, swiping it over your teeth to try and get it to go away. Shifting uncomfortably in your seat, knee bouncing up and down from the sudden burst of adrenaline coursing through your body, Caleb places his hand on your knee. The pressure from his touch keeps your leg cemented to the ground, his thumb gently stroking the small area on the inside of your knee, hospital touch searing hot through the thick pants of the uniform.

“Caleb,” you breathe his name out and close your eyes, “what are you doing?”

“You liked this before,” he quietly responds, “it helped you during your bad nights.”

“Why are you doing it now?” you don’t know how you want him to respond.

A part of you wishes that he’ll say that he is simply doing it as a favor to you, that he no longer feels that romantic connection to you. That the two of you can get out of this situation and be free from each other. He can go back to his back up plan and run into her arms while you can pick up the pieces of your life and rebuild it all over again. Maybe you can pick up that job as a language teacher in a community college, the one place you didn’t want to end up.

The other half of you, the half that is still a lovesick girl who wants to be protected by the man she has constantly dreamed and thought about for the past ten years. That piece of you who has had the opportunity to love and be loved by Caleb Xia, to feel the warmth of his affection, to remain stuck in his arms the mornings he doesn’t want to get us early, the man who knows exactly how you like your eggs to be cooked in the morning. You wish for him to tell you that he still loves you, that he truly is not going anywhere, and the you will be safe in his arms and that you don’t have to constantly be in a state of fight or flight.

“You should get some sleep,” there is a hint of longing in his voice but you don’t call attention to it. “It’s a long drive before we reach the town. Rest up.”

Your face sours but you nod in return, unsure if his sudden change of conversation is a good thing or not. Caleb swallows the lump in his throat and begins to pull his hand away. You quickly grab it back, placing it on your thigh. He shudders, briefly closing his eyes as you reach into the backseat for his jacket. You drape it over your body, balling up your jacket and making it into a makeshift pillow, adjusting yourself in the passenger seat.

“I’ll wake you up when we get there?” Caleb asks, eyes flitting to you.

“Sure,” you sigh, closing your eyes, willingly surrendering yourself to sleep.

“Pretty bird,” Caleb coos, gently shaking your arm, “time to wake up.”

Your eyes shoot open, hand grabbing a fistful of Caleb’s shirt, yanking his face to be close to yours. Your breathing is sharp, eyes darting around. Caleb’s hand settle on the center console, the other planted on the side of the car. His purple eyes train on yours. Worry flashes across his face at the sight of your scared state, unsure what is happening.

“Bad dream?” Caleb whispers. You nod. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of your face. “It’s okay. I got you, you don’t need to be scared.”

You slowly release your grip on his shirt. Your eyes drop to his Adam’s apple, watching it slightly bob up and down, your palm flattening against his chest, slowly pushing him away from you. Caleb’s head blocks the sun, your cheeks hot from the morning heat. He looks down at you and tilts his head to the side, the sunlight breaking through the strands of his dark brown hair.

“Where are we?” you quietly ask, slowly sitting up in the passenger seat.

Behind Caleb is a casual yet busy scene. There aren’t as many people in the town as you thought there would be, definitely on the less populated side. Perhaps the town you find yourselves in will be a ghost town in the next couple of decades — years, even. The buildings are made out of plaster and dried mud, the color of red ochre prominent.

Caleb opens up the car door and offers his hand to you. You ignore it, slipping free from the vehicle, stepping away from the man. You rub your sweaty hands on your sides, your fingers grazing over the tablet.

There are a few people who walk by. There’s a child with their mother, holding hands as she swings her doll around in the air. A man carries a bag over his shoulder while another speaks into a nearby pay phone, a piece of paper hanging from his hand. They all wear smiles on their faces. Friendly and happy, everything that you are not.

In another life where you weren’t kidnapped and taken away, maybe you and Caleb would have taken a trip to a village just like this, a vacation for yourselves in a distant land where the Farspace Fleet and Ever aren’t watching.

Why dwell on fresh fruit that you will never be able to taste when your own rotten and decaying fruit is for you to take?

“What’s the plan?” you ask, shielding your eyes from the sun.

Caleb casually steps in front of you, blocking the bright light from your eyes as he looks around the nearby area. Your eyes move to his face, noticing the pink on his cheeks. Sunburnt, that’s for sure. His skin is slightly darkened but that’s from the kicked up dirt and sand from the car ride once he found the road that led him here.

“Find new clothes, for starters,” Caleb huffs out, tapping the loosened tie that hangs around your neck. “Make ourselves look invisible. After that…” he shrugs.

“Wonderful plan, Caleb,” you try your best to bite back the sarcastic comment and the irritation that begins to nip at the back of your brain. “How do you plan on getting us the clothes?”

“We can always steal and run,” he comments with a small smile. As soon as he sees your serious expression, though, his face immediately falls. “Okay, maybe not steal and run—”

“Do I need to do this for us?” your tone is sharp, arms crossing over your chest. “I can go talk to a storeowner and see about the clothes for us.”

“I can handle it,” he quietly groans, his own annoyance and anger flooding his body.

“Can you? I don’t mind—”

“No,” Caleb cuts you off, his voice sharp, angered. You raise an eyebrow at him. “Stay here. I’ll go get us clothes. Don’t worry about it, I have it all under control,” Caleb walks off without another word, leaving you hanging as you watch from the car.

You shake your head, rolling your eyes. Of course, he just had to leave you behind. It is probably one of those times where he thinks that playing the role as your savior and over protective knight in shining armor will win your affection. News flash: it won’t.

You know that Caleb definitely doesn’t know the language that the people here speak. Just by standing around with the village’s world passing you by, you have picked up on a few of their words. You know a similar language that shares a few of the same words. You could learn their language fairly quick if needed, already having picked up on what a few words mean when you watched a child point and yell.

Leaning to the side, you watch as Caleb struggles with conversing with someone. A small smile spreads across your face at the sight. Just complete and utter amusement as the older woman with a scarf over her head yells at Caleb in a tongue that he does not understand. Your feet carry you across the small distance, slipping inside of the small store where Caleb has his hands on his hips, looking down at the much smaller woman. You force a friendly smile on your face, placing your hand on Caleb’s back, sliding it up between his shoulder blades. Caleb tenses, eyes widening, ears turning a light pink color as he looks down at you.

“Please excuse him, he doesn’t know the language,” you smile at the woman, whose mood immediately improves once she hears your voice with her words. “Can I ask what the problem is?”

“He has no money,” the woman lets out a tired sigh, pointing at the clothes in Caleb’s arms.

“We don’t have money, but,” you look up at Caleb for a brief moment, slipping the tablet from your hand. You show it to her, watching as Caleb moves from your side to the space behind you, placing his hands on your waist. You don’t fight him away or push him off. “We can pay you back in time. I know that you have no reason to believe us and you have every right to tell us to go away, but we can give you money equivalent to this entire store if you help us out.”

The woman looks you up and down. She’s uneasy, of course, of the proposition of two strangers taking clothes with the hope that they might return. She knows that it is a risk that she isn’t willing to take at the moment but there is something about the desperation in your eyes, the way Caleb is so quick to protect you and shield you from the outside world while you speak with her. It reminds the woman of her own life, the past she once lived with a man who is now buried deep beneath the sand.

“Are you two in need of a place to rest? I can provide clothes, a home cooked meal, and a room to sleep in,” her words come at a surprise to you.

You glance at Caleb, who glares at a man who enters the store, and turn back to look at the woman. You nod and she smiles, waving her hand over her shoulder to the doorway that has a cloth acting like a door. You flick Caleb’s wrist and slip free from his hold, following the woman through the curtain. Caleb is quick to follow, listening to the sound of your voices. When you speak the language, it sounds so beautiful to him, like an angel sent from the heavens to grace his ears as the morning turns into the afternoon.

The three of you walk up the mosaic stairs, the inside of the woman’s home so much cooler than the dangerous heat outside. It is a breath of fresh air, honestly, and you can feel your body begin to thank you for getting away from the sun. The white collar of your shirt is drenched with sweat and the fabric sticks to your skin. You follow the woman inside of a mostly empty room.

A single bed with a wooden dresser to the side of it. There’s a window that overlooks the small oasis, the heart of the city where a group of people meet for the day’s tasks. It is small and yet you feel so safe in here knowing that Ever is no longer watching you. You can deal with the guard dog at a later time.

“Thank you so much,” you speak to the woman. Caleb places the clothes down onto the bed, closely inspecting the small and bare room. “Could I ask if you have a phone that I could use?”

The woman instantly nods. You follow her out of the room and wave a hand at Caleb for him to stay behind. The woman guides you into the share living space where a couch and very humble tv sit. Cords come out of the back, something that you have only ever seen in old movies and tv shows you have watched, and there’s a phone attached to the wall. It is like time has stood still here. You love it.

“It is right here. I have to go back down and run my store, but please, make yourself at home. I will be back when the sun begins to set. We can make supper together,” she smiles at you and it warms your heart. She gives your shoulder a pat as she walks away, disappearing down the stairs.

“Who are you going to call?” Caleb asks from behind.

You jump in your skin, goosebumps scattering across your body. You slowly turn around and watch as Caleb approaches you. He presses his hand against the wall right beside your head. You tilt your chin up to look at him, back pressed against the wall. Caleb cocks his head to the side, eyes darkened as he leans down.

“I’ve missed you,” he says. You hum in response. Confusion flickers across his face. “Can you not say it back?”

“What difference does it make?” Caleb’s breath hitches in his throat from your words. “I’m here now, aren’t I? There’s no need to miss something that is here.”

It feels like a trap. You are ready to grab a nearby knife and cut yourself free from the tension and angst that forms in your heart. You want to give into him. You want to push through the boundaries of your mind, the walls that the Professor has built so high.

The fortress that you placed yourself behind only five months into your time with Ever kept thoughts of Caleb out. You hid behind the fortified walls, seeking refuge in the darkness of isolation, knowing that only pain can come from the man with violet eyes. Whenever the Professor brought him up in your conversations with each other, you would try to avoid the conversation. He watched how your heartbeat spiked on the tablet — the same one that is tucked away on your body — and would always laugh at the sight of it.

He would make you pay for your thoughts about Caleb. The way your body reacted so viscerally to the mention of his name or status in the Farpsace Fleet. He would poison your food, beat you until you cried blood, leaving you a shell of yourself to hide behind a forming layer of hatred towards the man.

Whenever you look into Caleb’s eyes, all you feel is conflict. How can you love someone who you can only see as a means to hurt you? To bring you harm?

And yet he has done nothing but protect you — he even killed for you. His sweet words of promises and safety call for you, beckon you to join him in his arms, to run away from the pains and agony of life that you have had to endure for so long. Will you even feel normal in his arms? Will you even be able to open your heart to him all over again?

There are so many unanswered questions. Too many open ended possibilities and hypothetical endings to your story with Caleb. You wish to leave it unanswered, to leave it open to the interpretation of the world that surrounds you. You wish that death should have taken you a long time ago, that your time on this earth has come to an end.

At least he’d be happy, right? Happy with her instead of you, away from the drama and fractured mind that you now hold.

“Didn’t you miss me too, pretty bird?” Caleb coos into your ear, his lips grazing the outer shell, chills running down your spine. “Come on, tell me you missed me.”

Caleb plants his hands on your waist. His slender fingers wrap around your side, pulling your body close to his. Your arms move around his neck without thinking. His head dips down, lips now hovering over the skin of your neck. His breath is hot. It makes you feel alive, like the spark you once thought to be smothered is now back to life. He pulls you closer to him, bodies now connected, his hand moving to the back of your head to keep you in place.

“So quiet,” Caleb murmurs against your skin. He drags his nose against your neck. Your breath hitches. “What? Don’t have a response for me after I got you out of there?”

“Do you want a gold star?” you whisper, fingers sliding into his hair.

“I would like,” Caleb roughly pulls away from your neck. His hand moves up to your face, gripping it. Your chin rests in between his thumb and index finger, the tip of his index finger resting just below your eye. “—for my girlfriend to tell me that she’s missed me. That me killing those men was worth it to hear that she wants to be in my life as much as I want to be in hers.”

There’s something dark in his voice. Something dangerous and unbridled. It is both exciting and terrifying to see, to witness the switch between the mask that you know Caleb puts on every single day to the man who has the desperate need to control everything. It takes your breath away.

“Caleb,” your voice trembles, “I missed you.”

His purple eyes darken. It is quiet for a moment, the sounds of your breaths light on your ears. You hope that he believes your words even when you don’t believe too much in them. His eyes drop to your lips. They slowly move back up, his gaze as sharp as a razor.

“I don’t believe you,” Caleb whispers, a slight shake of his head. His eyes flicker to the phone behind you. A small chuckle leaves his lips, a flash of a smile striking his face, disappearing as soon as it came. He turns his attention back onto your face, slowly inhaling. “Who were you going to call, pretty bird? Hm?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters,” Caleb’s grip on your face slightly tightens. “Everything that has to do with you matters,” he lets out a soft sigh.

Can you not see what you are doing to him? This is pure agony for Caleb. A reunion he deluded himself into believing has been turned on its head, backfiring on him. He underestimated the Professor. He underestimated the older man’s ability to take you away from him. When he was a boy, he was able to save himself from the Professor’s clutches, to keep his fresh and young mind as far away from him as possible. He only wished that you were able to do the same.

Circumstances were different, though. Caleb knows this. He knows that what he went through as a child is nothing in comparison to you being subjected to the same cycle of death over and over again. Who knows what it has done to your mind, the way you think and see the world. No wonder you have been so, so cold with him. Distant. Using him. He knows this. He knows that you will never be able to look at him through the same lens as before.

Caleb will make you see through light. He will make you see that the only safe place for you in the world is a place at his side, one that will forever belong to you and the love that you once shared with him. Caleb will make you see that he is the only person in the world who can understand you is him and not some doctor that he knows you are bound to call. Caleb will show you that he will love you more than life itself.

It reminds him of a quote that he lighted in a novel in high school. He saw you reading it and checked the book out of the library the next day, finishing the book in one sitting. It is a quote that he has carried with him every single day, throughout the entire time he watched you from afar, the mornings that he saw your bedroom light flick on when he started his car right next door to you.

And if thou dost not love me, I love thee enough for both.

“Is that what you want?” Caleb quietly questions. Confusion flashes across your face. Caleb’s hand drops from your face to your neck. He keeps it there, not applying pressure but his hand does not hover either. His eyes burn into yours, your touch in his hair loosening. “You want someone who will be there to catch you when you fall. To take the brunt of the hit and tell you that it will be okay, that everything will be fine.”

“Caleb…what are you—”

“Fuck that. I can’t lose you again,” Caleb’s fingers flex on your neck. He quickly removes them and suddenly you are able to breathe again. He attaches his hand to your waist, fingers roughly digging into your skin. He takes a step forward, pushing you back up against the wall. He leans his head down, mouth hovering beside your ear. “I will protect you. I will keep you safe from danger. I will make for sure nothing will happen to you, even if it means locking you away from the rest of the world for only me to have access to.”

Well fuck.

You open your mouth to speak but Caleb shakes his head, cutting you off before you can even begin.

“You’ve lost that privilege, pretty bird. You’ve lost the privilege to call whoever you want, to go wherever you want…to be with whoever you want,” he breathes the words out like they are a part of his manifesto that he has written inside of his head, a manifesto entirely dedicated to you.

“You want to keep me in a cage?” you ask, hiding the tremble in your voice.

“I want to keep you with me,” Caleb pulls his face away from your neck and looks down at you, his stare even more intense than before.

“You know who you sound like?” you lean up, your face closing in on his. Caleb mimics your movement, meeting you halfway. You stop just before your lips meet. “You sound just like Lucius.”

Caleb pauses, eyes flying open. His eyes are met with a look of disdain on your face. The anger and annoyance that you feel.

“Do you want to help me, Caleb?” you whisper, placing your hand right above his heart. You can feel how it pounds on the inside of his chest. His eyes soften, the darkness from within beginning to dissipate but you’ve already seen it. You know the truth. You know what his motives are. “Then help me break free from the first cage I’m in before putting me into another one.”

You push him away from you, stepping towards the room the woman first led you to. Before Caleb can catch up, you snatch his clothes from the bed and throw them in his direction, the door immediately closing from behind you.

“Pretty bird,” Caleb groans. He leans his forehead against the door. He quietly knocks, listening to the sound of rustling clothes and your quiet, and very annoyed, breaths. “Open the door. I’m sorry. Let’s—”

“Let’s what?” you say as you swing the door wide open. Caleb’s body falls forward before he catches himself on the doorway. “Talk about our feelings and pass a talking stick? No thanks.”

You push past him, the new clothes significantly lighter on your skin. The fabric is a deep blue color, red accents and floral designs lined up at the cuffs of the sleeves, moving up towards your shoulders. The pants are just as flowy too, giving you so much more comfort than the suffocating Farspace Fleet uniform.

You enter the living room, feeling the weight of Caleb’s eyes on your shoulders. He’s quick to follow, grabbing your wrist and turning you around to look up at him. You narrow your eyes at him and suck in a breath, ready for the argument that is sure to come.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Caleb whispers.

“Doing what?” you play dumb.

“Torturing me by staying distant,” he honestly answers, “by being so…”

Caleb falls silent. Your eyes fill with tears but you refuse to let them fall, blinking them away. You slowly nod up at the man, seeing the pain and torment flicker from deep within his purple and orange irises.

“Go on,” you whisper, “say it. Say that I’ve changed. That I am not the same girl that you fell in love with all of those years ago. That I am a different person than the woman you reunited with in the Fleet. Go ahead and say that my change is torture to you.”

“No…that’s not what I meant,” Caleb shakes his head.

“You were going to say it though. I know you’re thinking it,” you reach out and tap the center of his forehead. “I know what you’re thinking, Caleb. Yes, I have changed. That is abundantly clear. I do not need to be reminded of it because I was fucking there,” tears fill your eyes once again, voice shaking. “I am well aware that I am what the Professor has made me to be.”

Caleb’s face softens. He reaches out for you but you take a step back, shaking your head at him, unable to deal with his hands on your body or the way he wants to keep you locked away just like how you were for the past eight months of your life.

“Do you know how long I waited for you?”

The question makes the room fall heavy. Caleb can barely keep his perfect posture, his shoulders slumping, hands desperate to reach out to you and make your pain go away. He knows that he can’t. He shouldn’t. It will only push you away more and that is the last thing that he needs right now.

“I waited for five months. Five months, Caleb. I thought of you every single day. I wondered where you were and how you were doing. Your face was the first and last thing I thought about every day. I knew that you were trying to find me. I remained patient and held onto that flicker of hope that you would come bursting through the doors of Ever and rescue me from my holding cell — which by the way, the Professor put me on full display for all of his other experiments to see,” you pause, your voice shaking. “The first day of the sixth month was when I gave up on you. The Professor used you as a weapon against me, Caleb. He used you and your image and your voice and your words…he turned them into poison. Now all I can see is the reason why I ended up there in the first place.”

“Pretty bird,” Caleb’s voice breaks.

“I believe that you are the reason I am like this. A freak of nature. I defy death at every single turn and all I can hope for is that the next time someone decides to put a bullet inside of my brain, that I never wake up! That I never escape from its clutches!”

You cross the small distance and get into his face, the tears now freely flowing down your face. You shove him away from you but he steps right back, your fists pounding against his chest.

If you could, you would show him all of the scars that your mind wears. If there were any remnants of the deaths that you have endured that you could show to Caleb, you would do it in a heartbeat. You would show him the way your skin has been burned, your blood boiling, eyeballs melting, limbs being cut off just to be reattached with a flimsy piece of string to hold it all together. You had become Frankenstein’s monster.

That is the fucked up situation about the matter. You feel like a monster that the scientists in the Ever lab could watch as if they were at a zoo. They laughed at your screams, giggled at the way you squirmed under the scalpel. You had become friends with lunacy to stay sane, as ironic as it may sound, and sound comfort in the way your mind fractured since your body simply wouldn’t.

“Do you know what they did to me, Caleb?”

“Yes, I read the—”

“No,” you interject, shaking your head. “Not in the fucking files. All of the shit they didn’t record. All of the times the Professor thought that one of his loyal soldiers and scientists could use me as a way to make their sick fantasies come to life.” A laugh flies from your mouth. “They burned me alive because one of them wondered what burnt flesh smells like. Another time, they thought it would be fun to see just how much my—”

“Stop,” Caleb’s voice trembles.

And you do. You do stop. You obey his soft demand like the loyal monster you are because, quite frankly, that is what you think is all that is left of you. A monster.

“Don’t put me in another cage, Caleb,” you whisper. “I will chew my fucking leg off to get away. Don’t worry, I’m used to the pain. I’m used to feeling my muscles stitch themselves back together, my bones sliding right back into place as if they were never broken before. I will not get used to being captive…never again.”

The room falls silent. You let the tears fall from your face. Caleb cries too. His eyes are red and irritated from your dark revelations. Has it infected him now too?

Has the apple tree of your relationship finally dead? Will you finally stop wishing for an ending that will never come?

“So yeah, Caleb. I’m fucking different,” you finish. “You may not see the scars on my body but I’ve changed. Deal with it. Go get changed,” you turn around and walk over to the phone.

You pick up the black machine, bringing it up to your ear, listening to the quiet dial tone, the machine ready to receive the number you’re about to put in. With one quick look over your shoulder, you watch as Caleb disappears inside of the bedroom, the door closing behind you. A sigh leaves your mouth. You suck in a slow breath, the anger and tension finally leaving your body, the tips of your fingers tingling from the sensation.

The clock hangs just a few feet away from you. The sun, the last you saw of it when you were outside, was hanging in the middle of the sky. You can assume that it is past noon, diving deeper into the afternoon. The person you wish to call leads a very busy life. They may be on a lunch break, though, so you could use this chance to call their personal phone instead of their work. No…that won’t work. You have to call the front desk. It is too risky to call their personal phone, anyways, just in case Ever is on the lookout for you and Caleb.

Your finger spins the dial, watching as the phone slowly collects the number. You lick your dry lips, tasting the saltiness from your tears. You wipe them away, listening to the quiet beeping of the other end of the phone.

“Akso Hospital. This is the cardiology department. My name is Yvonne, how may I help you?” a woman’s voice comes through the other end of the call.

“Hi,” you breathe into the receiver’s microphone, closing your eyes. “I was wondering if there is a Dr. Zayne Li available? I need to speak to him about something. It is…well, it’s urgent.”

“Uh huh,” the woman hums. You can hear the annoyance in her voice, the way you have clearly interrupted her day. Is it busy at the hospital? You can always try again later, right? And call his phone when you know he will be home. “Can it wait?”

“Uh,” your mind goes blank. You shake your head, unable to calm the anxiety that blossoms inside of your chest. “No. It can’t. I’m sorry. Can you tell him that it’s me?”

“Sure, honey, what’s your name?” the nurse asks. You give her your name, playing with the spiral cord that is attached to the phone. “Please hold. Dr. Li is walking by right now.”

“Alright, thank you,” you breath out, relief taking over your body.

From behind, you hear the door quietly open. You glance at Caleb from over your shoulder, watching as he closes the gap between the two of you, tossing his old and bloodied Farspace Fleet uniform onto the couch. You quickly turn away, focusing your eyes back onto the tan wall in front of you. His presence comes from behind you, his body heat enclosing yours beside the wall. He shifts on his feet and your body tenses once again.

You turn around and look up at Caleb, the phone still pressed onto your ear. Your eyes meet and he reaches out, gently fixing the strings at the top of your shirt. goosebumps raise on your chest and you become aware of your breathing, trying to remain as still as possible. On the other side of the phone, you hear the rustling of papers, a familiar voice that sounds all too worried before asking the call to be transferred to his office.

“Dr. Li will be with you soon. Thank you for holding,” the nurse says.

“Thank you for helping me out. I appreciate it,” you speak as calm as possible. Caleb’s eyes burn into yours, making you feel more nervous than you need to be.

“Who is it?” Caleb whispers. His eyes slightly darken and his jaw clenches when his mind wanders to the only possibility. “No. Pretty bird, we can do this on our—”

“Is it you?” Zayne’s voice cuts through the phone. It silences Caleb, the man able to hear the muffle of his vice through the phone’s tiny speaker. “Are you okay? Where have you been? You disappeared—”

“Zayne,” the name rolls off of your tongue not as smooth as Caleb’s does. “I don’t have much time. I need you.”

Caleb shoots a glare at the phone. He groans and takes a step away. You raise an eyebrow at him, listening to Zayne’s calculated breathing. Caleb’s eyes meet yours. He steps right back to your side, hands attaching themselves to your waist, pushing you up against the wall.

You may have changed, buy Caleb surely hasn’t.

“What is it?” Zayne asks after a moment of contemplation.

“I…” your voice falters, “I need you to perform surgery on Caleb and I. There’s so much I can’t say over the phone but…please. I need you.” Caleb’s grip on your waist tightens. He leans in, his ear trying to get as much volume he can.

“Alright. I’m assuming this needs to be somewhere…discreet?”

“Yes,” you nod. Caleb groans, hating absolutely every second of this conversation. “You need to find a way to dissolve Caleb’s Toring Chip. It may not be able to be removed surgically like mine.”

Zayne’s breath hitches at your words. You wish he didn’t do that, to remain the calm and never emotional man.

“I have a colleague who can help you,” Zayne breathes into the phone, “meet me in a week in the Arctic. I’ll pick you up from the station.”

please drop a like, reblog, & comment!! i love see what you all have to say <3

i <3 commenters

182 notes · View notes

vampireradiation · 13 hours ago

Text

Oh my fucking GOD, man. I keep seeing the most insufferable tags and comments on posts like these. 'But I wish I could be in a gay relationship the way CIS MEN are' or 'Yeah I want to be a guy, but I don't want to be a TRANS guy, it will never be the same as growing up cis so there's no point'... and on one hand I get it, because literally every trans person has felt this way and it's a step you have to get over. On the other hand it makes me so fucking angry, because it does make it extremely clear that people still completely refuse to see our experience as equivalent to any other man. ESPECIALLY when they comment on relationships, it feels like they're shitting on the very fucking real, very fucking gay experiences I have had in every romantic interaction of my life. I'm sorry if you're too pussy to put in the effort, but the real men are getting their shit together, working through dumbass internalised bullshit and fucking all the men you wish you could, while you're crying about it alone because you refuse to get over your issues and project them onto those of us who have. By real men I mean those of us with the balls to know what we want and work fucking hard for it, not cis men, if that's not obvious. I know I've totally derailed from the point, but I saw some of these tags and wanted to bash my head into a wall. At least when I was struggling to come to terms with my identity I wasn't obnoxiously loud about how I didn't see trans guys as real men equally capable of being in gay relationships. Keep it to yourself or get over it and learn to fuck like a man. Seriously.

where’s that article by james frankie thomas where he says like “prior to my transition there was only one kind of sex i wanted to have. and i thought i could never have it” because i am about to blow these people’s minds

6K notes · View notes

ao3commentoftheday · 2 days ago

Note

I haven't been able to stop thinking about your post from a few days ago about attachment styles and the 'write for yourself' versus 'write for the feedback' groups, and with the recent asks that have something to do with, essentially, loneliness in fandom, I thought I'd share this in case it's either interesting or maybe might resonate with others.

I use 'I write for myself' as a mantra to avoid emotionally confusing feedback on fanworks with fulfilling human interaction. Fandom is full of spoonies who are notoriously isolated, physically, socially or both, and I think a lot of us are either lonely in our real lives or, if we're lucky and have some genuine social contact there, are lonely within fandom. I know for myself feedback can feel like, I guess like someone giving you candy, and when you're hungry enough eating something, anything, can feel better than nothing at all. And, for me, it's really easy to slide into craving candy (which at least I can earn by creating content) while I'm living in a food desert. Candy is great! I love candy! But it's not a replacement for actual nutrition and a diet of only candy does nothing, in the end, but make me sick.

I write fanfic for complicated reasons (not least of which is hyperfixation) and every time I start writing again I set myself up to make that mistake because I'm starving. So 'I write for myself' is one of the things I use to prevent myself from consuming feedback like maybe this piece will taste like a real conversation or maybe that piece will lead to something like a friendship. It helps me manage my mental health, and helps me genuinely appreciate and value feedback for what it actually is instead.

Thank you for sharing that with me (us) anon! Reading through your metaphor, I definitely resonate with that idea. When I'm hungry for community or for friendship or for confidence comments can satisfy that hunger, but only ever temporarily. And unfortunately, since that "candy" doesn't provide the same nutrition as actual friendship or other close relationships, the hunger just keeps coming back.

Plus, you get that unfortunate sugar crash when the comments stop.

Here's the post anon is referencing, btw, for those who are curious.

#asks and answers

186 notes · View notes

pissnvinegarchips · 12 hours ago

Text

👀🕸️

I had to block this douche a couple days ago for bothering myself and others on one of my posts, and for blowing my phone tf up lol

I just had to post some of the shit he was saying, mostly because I need other people to see it too. These are the geniuses we're arguing with. It almost makes me feel a little better.

Here is the ask I sent right before blocking douchebag:

I usually refrain from being just plain nasty during arguments, but after all the misgendering (classic transandrophobe "oh if you don't benefit from male privilege you're admitting you're not a man right??) and condescending bullshit I couldn't resist tbh

I think this guy is just really genuinely dumb, or he doesn't know what most words mean or both because I most certainly did not harrass him or literally specifically call him out in my post. I didn't know this fucker existed until he made his stank my problem. Here is the last paragraph of the post he is referring to and a link:

Anyways, sorry to everyone he harassed! I saw his initial comment on my post but ignored it before he started replying to literally every person who commented. What a piece of fucking work.

#transandrophobia #fite club #trans discourse

73 notes · View notes

chrome-barkz-aac · 2 days ago

Text

this blew up overnight (cool!)

ive gotten a lot of supportive tags ( i always do on posts like these, which is great! i love to see it /srs) from non AAC users griping about people who arent patient with it, and that they'd NEVER do something like that, and while i appreciate that, id rather that yall spend that energy lifting AAC users up instead of pointing fingers, especially if you yourself have never interacted with someone on a personal level who uses AAC.

pt: especially if you yourself have never interacted with someone on a personal level who uses AAC.

i reserve judgement and want to say that y'all would act with the good faith you say you would, but if you haven't met or interacted w an AAC user (esp. some of us that have HrSN or may use different methods of AAC besides high tech like spelling) i will believe it when i see it. that's not saying that your words are inherently performative, nor am i asking you to "prove" yourself to me.

but i see this a lot and sometimes i wonder if y'all love disabled people more than you hate ableists.

(all of this is with a neutral/positive tone. im not passing / will never pass judgement on anyone who's left these tags, just airing my thoughts as a full time AAC user who sees people "talk the talk" about supporting disabled ppl but rarely "walk the walk")

i dont think non aac users will ever understand the helplessness that we feel in regards to communication.

your device pronounces a word wrong. laughter. its fine, just go with it. but thats not what you meant. the meaning is changed. you type it differently, hoping to trick the program into saying it right. it doesnt.

your device bugs. you have to use a voice that does not match how you feel inside. you feel dysphoric like you did before you went on t. laughter from others. its fine because it has to be.

someone makes a bigoted remark to another person. you are typing as fast as you can - "that's not okay, you need to apologize" - your hands are shaking with the effort to be fast. the conversation moves on before you can hit "play". harm has been done and you have no control over it.

you navigate through a few folders. you want the word "sun". you keep hitting the button next to it, cloud. you hit delete. try again. you hit cloud. delete. try again. you hit cloud. over and over again. your body seems to have a mind of its own. it is frustrating. it is so so easy for everyone else.

your tablet is in the other room and you are trying to fingerspell. you want to sign "d". you see the shape your hand needs to be in in your mind. you keep signing "f". your hand will not make the correct finger go up and the rest go down.

the other person is trying to be patient. but theyre not. theyre frustrated. theyre trying not to show it. theyre frustrated. theyre frustrated. it radiates out from their body and makes your blood run cold. you're nauseous. you are always waiting for someone to lose their patience. it has happened before. it will happen again.

"do you understand how hard it is for us to get used to this" they say. youre about to cry. and if you, the aac user, if you show frustration, anger, sadness, anxiety, about not being able to communicate - you are difficult. "if you tried harder to speak, we wouldn't have these problems" - it stays unspoken but you hear it echoing in their words, on their faces, on the exhale of breath as they put their hands in their lap and call you "sweetie."

3K notes · View notes

viviansturns · 2 days ago

Text

THANK YOU FOR 1K

um so this is insane?? thank you all so so very much for 1000 followers, i actually never thought i'd ever get this many, especially after I had to restart my blog.

SPECIAL THANKS TO my no 1 supporters who comment and repose and are the ABSOLUTE sweetest beings ever, you guys are the reason i write ilysm~

@le4hsblog @auttysturnz @httpssturns @riggysworld @matts-hersheys-kisses @chrispycremedonut @lilyswirly @matts-babytomatoes @beardedbernard @bernardsbendystraws @vampyyluv @mattstromboli @courta13 @mattslilies @sorrybirds @whimsylrum @stevielovesmatt @ajskorner @oopsiedaisydeer

I appreciate every single person who has ever interacted with and enjoyed my work <33333

I'm so happy about the community of friends ive made and i'm proud of the blog i built. at the end of the day its not about followers at all, its about making a community and i'm so grateful for my moots <3

I LOVE U GUYS!!!!!!

ps. i'm posting a ~8k wrd fic today as my 1k special <3

#sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo edit #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic

71 notes · View notes

mountaingutta · 1 day ago

Text

I thought about it and realized that the only MegOp I actually like is the version from TFA and G1.

Why I like TFA (this is just a chaotic stream of thoughts that I tried to organize a bit, but I’m not sure I succeeded):

There’s no tearful backstory between Optimus and Megatron — Meg doesn’t even remember what the hell OP’s name is until the end of season three.

TFAMegs is an asshole regardless of the existence of Optimus Prime or Orion Pax. My biggest problem with other continuities is that fanfics often directly or indirectly blame Orion/Optimus for Megatron becoming a galaxy-scale jerk. And it’s always Optimus who’s supposed to feel guilty, to apologize. It drives me crazy.

Another thing that irritates me is when Megatron’s actions are constantly justified by his tragic past. If the villain has a pretty face and a rough background, they’re forgiven for nearly everything. Everyone else is to blame except him.

Honestly, I’m not very interested in redemption arcs for this jerk — I like him better as a straightforward villain or at least a charismatic bastard with questionable morals.

But in TFA, by the time Megs rose to power, neither Orion Pax nor Optimus Prime existed — and in the very first episode we see this Satan in all his sinister glory (I mean, he really is gorgeous, no argument there).

He’s charismatic, intelligent, and cunning. Rarely gives in to emotion, and thinks like a strategist — calculating his moves, squeezing every situation for maximum advantage. He’s like a mix of Cardinal Richelieu (Dumas) and Frollo. I adore this version of him.

Now, about Optimus. TFA OP is basically a burnt-out 25-year-old dude who dropped out of college and is dealing with way too much crap all at once. He’s got dry humor, a bit socially awkward — an introvert with a hyperfixation on history. He’s an idealist, but he knows the world is trash. He has boundaries, and his team (his family) often stomps all over them, but he still cares about them.

He’s sarcastic even on the verge of death and has absolutely zero sympathy for Megatron or the other Decepticons. If he gets the chance — he will kick their tailpipes.

And in the end, he actually did it. But he’s still better than most people or bots. TFA Optimus is a paradox — he’s everything a typical Optimus should be and everything he’s not. In the Autobot society of TFA, he and his team are basically outcasts.

So this soggy cat Optimus holds a special place in my stone-cold heart.

And the biggest reason behind my love for TFA MegOp is the plot and worldbuilding of this continuity.

An original storyline — no Matrix, no religious mumbo jumbo, no “chosen one” nonsense.

Autobot society is just as bad as Decepticon society. YES, DECEPTICONS ARE ALSO BAD AND I DON’T CARE THAT THEY STARTED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS! It all went downhill. We have direct evidence that Autobots conduct morally questionable experiments on other bots without their consent (JettTwins), and direct evidence that Decepticons use biological weapons on their enemies (Rodimus). Both factions are xenophobic toward organic life forms.

Basically, these are two totalitarian/authoritarian regimes.

Megatron is the one who created the existing Decepticon order, while Optimus is just “a cog in the great machine.” A cog that slipped out — and took a few others with him.

In the show, their entire interaction boils down to fights and exchanges of sarcastic/insulting remarks and death threats.

But this opens up so many possibilities for interpreting the development of their relationship in post-canon.

And then there are the comics, where a few interesting interactions between these two pop up.

Without context, they can be interpreted however you want.

So, there won’t be any kind of conclusion I just wrote down what was in my head.

#maccadam #tfa #optimus prime #megatron #megop #tfa optimus primeme #tfa megop #random thoughts

93 notes · View notes

mcsiggy · 2 days ago

Note

The reason you received so many hate asks the past few days was because of margaretkart. Her followers accused you and your fans of being racist because you draw certain Greek gods with darker skin tone and margaretkart agreed and started enlisting what she considered to be everything wrong with your comic DESPITE NEVER READING IT IN THE FIRST PLACE AND ONLY TAKING (MIS)INFORMATION FROM WHAT HER FOLLOWERS SHARED WITH HER!!! HOW MORE ANNOYING COULD SHE BE??!?!!

You know, I expected you two to be on good terms, since you're both Ariadne/Dionysus girlies, but it's so sick how she regards you without making any effort to actually know you (she said something about you blocking her??)

I mean that's pretty sad use of their time. especially since all this started, it's gotten me to work on my comic more where the first 8 pages of the 4th chapter is already more or less ready for me posting some new pages within the next month lol.

like i wish i could befriend every artist who has the same interest as me, but alas, I didn't want to interact w/ them anymore than i already had, which was literally me reblogging their art once in awhile if i saw it in the Dionysus tag.

Really I don't care if they like my comic or not, It's obviously not made for them, and me blocking them didn't really affect them until her followers decided to tell them i'm somehow disrespecting greek culture for not having enough white greek god designs.

#this isn't an invitation to attack margaret or any of their followers #i contemplated on posting this ask or not #but the fact that theyre openly talking about me kinda opened that door for me to do that too #but it still doesn't mean i want people to attack them either #I now goes back to drawing comics

74 notes · View notes

hvacfucker · 21 hours ago

Note

Me and a friend were JUST talking about how people view Hector as a yandere/stalker, and our take was that the people who see him that way don't seem to account for the fact that he's been falling in love with you as long as you've been living in the house, but all his feelings are bottled up because he's never been able to express them to you before the dateviators!! My man has LITERAL YEARS of built-up yearning!!!

anon, you understand me. lighthearted rambling below the cut

no dude, like not only that, but my guy probably thought he wasn't ever gonna meet us, like, EVER. hector literally refers to us as a divine force upon meeting him for the first time, which makes total sense considering there's never been a way for objects to interact with humans before the dateviators. it also explains the erotica he's written, too! that's the same energy as people using ao3 for fictional characters: a healthy way to process attraction (conversely, fantina literally collects pieces of our hair and nail clippings [unhealthy/stalker])

there really isn't anything inherently creepy about him doing that since, again, he thought he'd never actually meet the person of his desire. if anything, i imagine he'd be pretty embarrassed about his writing, if not for being prompted with positive questioning. which we can do, and even express enthusiasm over.

i completely understand the appeal of a stalker/creep hector, and i enjoy it too. but my main issue is that there seems to be a lot of mischaracterizations him. (i'm being very unserious here. please have fun hcing hector however you want)

sure, he can be interpreted as creepy, but if you factor in the idea he was admiring us from afar under the belief there'd never be direct interaction, his actions make a lot of sense. they're actually incredibly similar to fawning over fictional characters/celebrities, which is the majority of what these fandom spaces do too lol

i feel like the main difference between him and fantina in terms of creep level is how they handle their affections. yes, what hector does toes the line, (again, though, consider the pretense he never thought he'd meet us!) but fantina's action are out right unhinged, especially when she meets us face-to-face (i love her tho, she's one of my pookies)

idk i could go on and on, but at the end of the day i don't want anyone to feel discouraged/disparaged for imagining hector this way. obviously i feel pretty strongly about him, hence this blog, so i'm a little irked to see him written off as a stalker. (and i'm only referencing to posts i've seen of people saying this with their whole chest. not the wonderful hcs or fanfics)

these are just my own personal opinions/observations! please don't take them to heart if you disagree

#date everything #hector valentino airnesto condicionado #hector date everything #ask #like pls dont misinterpret this as me saying stalker hector is bad #im a fan of murdersims and darkfics #i just don't think he really has like canonical capacity to be as unhinged as ive seen him made out to be

71 notes · View notes

inchidentally · 3 days ago

Note

how do you feel about people saying that lando and oscar are not friends outside of the f1 space and they’re just purely teammates? ofc i’d love to think that they’re not just teammates but actually friends but we really don’t hear much about them together outside of race weekends or there are stories of them not interacting at all while being near each other. on the other hand though in the clips we get from media and race weekends they seem close enough, but then again it literally is media and pr, they need to seem like they like each other.

omg this is loooooooong as fuck honestly u can refer back to my previous responses - or even this post - bc I will not expect anyone to want to read this fcking essay aslfsjafglsaf proceed if you want to tho

this has come up more than once so I kind of want to just dump every thought out here so it can be like a reference ?? I’ll try to link to sources wherever I can but also life is not at all conducive to me doing too much research for a topic I personally don’t have a problem with

OKAY SO here’s the main thing that will help people who are judging landoscar’s dynamic by other Lando driver friendship dynamics: Oscar - as Lando himself said - is practically the flip opposite to Carlos, Daniel and honestly almost every other driver. he’s an introvert, he’s low frequency (Oscar’s term) he has at no point been a single guy since being in F1 (or a cheater, sorry to get #tooreal) and he only does partying on very special occasions (usually Lando’s bidding). even Max V likes partying and couldn’t be classed as an introvert, he just doesn’t like doing media. Oscar is a very unique being in a sport mostly populated by guys who view having a great time and meeting beautiful women and looking good on camera as the little side benefits to an already fantasy career. and there is nothing wrong with any of that (well there is with cheating but I won’t go into that) but Oscar quite literally is just there for the racing part. he’s not joking when he says that his priorities after racing are sleep, his gf, his family, his friends and in that order lasgsajlfas.

(there’s also things like Oscar not being super tactile or into PDA (even with Lily) with other people so there’s no deliberate PR yaoi potential for the types of fans who are hopping from 1D or kpop rpf. the times that Oscar has wound himself up to actually touch Lando’s body deliberately are adorable and awkward. and also that Oscar resolutely has never once since becoming known to the public done gay chicken or queerbaity humor. I don’t say that as in drivers who do queerbaity/gay chicken are being offensive - it’s just seen by most men as just part of the arsenal of guy humor that softens their image to girls and women. but Oscar literally just does not do it. when he openly finds Lando adorable he just openly looks at him like he’s adorable. when he flushes and giggles over someone bringing up how attractive Carlos is he’s flushing and giggling and saying he has “great hair” bc that’s how he genuinely reacts. whatever Oscar’s actual attractions to other people are, he both doesn’t change them for public consumption but he also doesn’t make any definitive or specific indications. which makes it even cuter/more of a minx that Lando likes invading Oscar’s space and smacking his ass and holding him by the hips etc.)

so you’re never going to see Lando being the same with Oscar as he is with the other drivers bc Oscar is an anomaly among the drivers. I’ve always said you should more look at their friendship in terms of Lando’s non-F1 friendships bc those are the guys Oscar gets along with/most resembles best anyway. Max F and Oscar are actually pretty damn similar in personality (Max is just more chatty) and Max also only really parties with certain people and leans toward hanging out in small groups of friends to attending huge events or going to clubs.

and I’ve had more than one person be unaware that Max F and Oscar have kept their friendship going ever since Renault Academy but you only have to look at my piastrell tag to get an overview of it. Pietra has said on a dinner stream that she loves Oscar too. and crucially Max has been the voice of reason during things like Hungary and Monza to calm fans down and mitigate hate towards Oscar from Lando fans bc he’s always rooting for both of them when he watches on weekends. Lando is his obvious priority but he also has no time for Oscar hate.

so the funny thing about ‘it’s just PR’ with landoscar is that landoscar don’t do PR! all the times they or someone else has mentioned them playing padel or having dinner or traveling together to races have never been used for social media or publicity - which is why, unless you follow landoscar content pretty heavily and consistently, you won’t hear about it! landoscar rank probably dead last every single season only behind maybe 2023/4 Alpine for teammate pairings who get the least amount of sm traffic and engagement, while carland0 easily rides at the top every single season bc they are PR gold and they both very actively engage in it.

and the only story of them not interacting while together was that satire “gossip” acc that said their parents didn’t see Lando and Oscar greet each other at a restaurant fully 15 minutes after just being together in team debrief at a restaurant where they were split off to their own garage debriefs. that was not actual gossip aslfgsjlaf and what’s funny is that McLaren is known specifically for having an open door policy between the garages so it’s not even one of these cases where the drivers’ teams would be ignoring each other/hostile etc

but even funnier about that whole thing is this is what they were actually like at Barcelona - literally they couldn’t have been cuter and omg if you compare the lowkey energy of this to carland0 and dand0 videos like howwww do ppl look at landoscar and go oh yea THOSE guys are the ones playing up for cameras to sell a bromance ??? in what world does Lando murmuring that Oscar smells like his deodorant and Oscar blushing and stuttering that it’s chocolate flavored scream “strategic PR” like who out there would be whispering to them to very awkwardly giggle and mumble about how Oscar smells different to usual like what strategy is that

and just as an example of what all these guys are like together when they don’t know they’re being filmed or are far from fans - and they’re not my photos to share and aren’t public - but a friend of mine shared some pictures her friend took behind the fanstage that same weekend way at a distance: Lando is on his phone and typing/focusing hard and “ignores” Oscar and Carlos and only talks to Alex (he actually is smiling up at Alex while offhandedly fist bumping Carlos). which hey! if someone wanted to obsessively twist every bit of downtime in a stranger’s life, could easily be made into him hating Carlos AND Oscar and his only REAL friendship being Alex !! but instead it’s that in real life we don’t have to obsessively perform friendships for them to be real and our friendships don’t live and die based on if our interactions would perfectly fit fan fiction. it was Lando being relaxed around three friends of his bc he had stuff to do on his phone and he doesn’t have to continuously offer verbal and physical reminders to them that he does in fact like them just as much as the other day or ten minutes ago when he saw them.

(but also there would be precedent for Lando somewhat preferring Alex over anyone like no one will ever match his first love lbr)

and as someone who is embarrassed at how much gossip I consume I can assure you any other “examples” someone who dislikes landoscar is claiming to have heard about aren’t real. everyone except landoscar fans actually do want Lando and Oscar to hate each other so trust me if there was a verifiable instance of them actually being hostile or avoiding each other I would’ve seen it already bc I’m trash and I follow wayyyy too much gossip ((:

(I also follow an extremely wide selection of blogs on tumblr and race weekends are wild bc the reactions are all completely different - and more than one either hates McLaren or hates landoscar (they don’t hate constantly it’s just one of the things they don’t like) so yea trust me any valid instance of landoscar tea would show up somewhere I would see it)

again, they don’t play up a big bromance for PR so they don’t have to pretend to like each other to keep up any kind of facade. so when you see them laughing together and chatting off alone and choosing to spend the intervening week in Bahrain after the race together playing padel or playing a game of padel in Monaco during a break or Max F or Lando brings up Oscar during a stream then it’s bc they want to. when Lando complained to a room full of fans at a Jack Daniels m&g that he doesn’t spend as much time with Oscar as he does his other driver friends bc Oscar won’t get into a sport Lando likes, he didn’t do it to a huge audience or to the media and there was just one video of it. and when Oscar almost immediately started learning padel and even kept practicing in Australia during the winter break, it wasn’t used as PR or to push the bromance at all. hell, we never even got the Williams vs McLaren padel match that people asked for and Alex volunteered for.

all these interactions and developments of their friendship gets them absolutely zero PR benefit and never travels beyond landoscar fandom bc we don’t have any of the rpf crazies to go out and flood comment sections and make millions of posts declaring in full insane seriousness that these two men would be married with babies if only those pesky real life partners would just disappear etc etc

and this is a big thing: landoscar fandom is not what most other rpf fandoms are. not in a stupid elitist fandom way askfgsjkagfa I mean as in it’s entirely based on two guys who have been very slowly and gradually growing closer together but who provide absolutely zero targeted ship content. there are some very intriguing threads of fate there and Oscar’s social media history regarding Lando is what most people pretend the few pre-F1 interactions of drivers were - but the whole fandom is people who are enjoying watching a friendship and bond in real time and with no PR narrative being presented to us. especially that so much about landoscar was perfectly prepped for them to be in their innermost friend circles but that contrary to other ships, being teammates actually has made things more complicated and difficult. they’re so easy to write as a pairing bc in every way they fit their existing private lives and closest friendships perfectly. but they’re even more compelling in reality bc they’re taking their relationship as teammates SO incredibly seriously and passionately that their baby steps into friendship have been so unusually cautious and careful compared to how teammates usually are.

but that’s also why the fandom doesn’t spread and doesn’t attract any of the die hard rpf delulu ppl. nobody wants to augment reality and nobody wants Lily to disappear and nobody has a problem with keeping fic writing and discussing real life separate. we will just never do numbers the way carland0 and dand0 do where they’ve got armies of women determined that girlfriends are all fake and beards and will go to any lengths to remove them so that their yaoi dolls can get smooshed together and have a gay relationship in spite of these men irl bro coding each other and doing queerbaiting precisely bc they feel safe and comfortable in their sexuality and aren’t among the terrified actual gay male athletes who stay in the closet until they retire and often long afterward.

now let me make a quick note abt something relevant !

so most ppl seem to be using PR completely wrong and think that it refers to some nefarious big brained 4D chess plot to fully dupe the public and cover up something that’s the opposite of what’s presented. the terms for that are whitewashing, spin etc which yes technically falls under the umbrella of public relations but most public relations do not involve stuff that dark.

that’s not how PR works for these drivers or for most lesser known celebrities. PR is how and what a public person chooses to present based on knowing that it will get engagement and interest from the public that will increase focus and attention on the person. when someone hires a “PR person” it’s the same as hiring an administrator for thinks like finances or filtering emails etc. they’re just helping out with the controlled image that a person already has cultivated. it’s not a pack of lies but it’s also not fully honest or authentic either. the driver friendships using PR are absolutely based on real friendships! but they’re also very deliberately engaging with fans and media in whatever way will sell them more, even if that just means doing some excessive PDA or always making sure to take pictures or video when they hang out or hanging out in places where they know they’ll get seen. it’s not dark sided or sinister or even all that cynical, it’s just how most of these guys incorporate things into being public figures and having sponsors etc!

but what’s so funny to me as someone who has had F1 in my peripheral life forever bc of my relatives who are lifelong fans is newer fans thinking that teams give a single fuck about driver PR outside of don’t do anything openly illegal. men in this sport are actually expected to be playboys and the whole social level where it exists is one of elitism and excess and indulgence. it’s not American team sports, it’s not pretending to be wholesome or originating from salt of the earth or bootstraps etc etc.

and they sure as SHIT do not care if two teammates make for good PR or not. if they at all cared about that then a very openly struggling team like Alpine wouldn’t have had Esteban and Ocon together.

media day is one day and PR day at the factories is one day and provides enough content to be spread out for weeks. if the content is plentiful and engaging then it’s purely bc the drivers themselves choose to do it and are wanting the PR for themselves as well. the teams have so much more to focus on than if people are squealing over the latest challenge on social media !!

but what’s even more hilarious about ‘landoscar are PR’ is that McLaren actually dropped almost their entire socmed dept not long after Oscar got his seat - this is the team that right up to Daniel leaving would release bromancey big production long form content almost daily and made beautifully edited Unboxed episodes and liaised with Lando and Carlos and Daniel’s personal PR teams so that they could coordinate releasing content on their own social media as well. oh and Carlos (and Daniel until his retirement) will still work with F1 and McLaren to create bromance content or make sure to be at certain places and times and even Adam uses carland0 content and Carlos Sr to promote his scooters.

PR at McLaren used to be a MAJOR machine for literal decades in no small part bc their drivers were so shit hot at it - and when it comes to carland0 even after him leaving, it’ll still rev back up along with all Lando and Carlos affiliated accs to milk everything possible out of them being in any physical proximity or interaction

but it all started tapering off after Oscar joined McLaren - to hilariously minor fanfare might I add, they do more for new F2 drivers - and the longform stuff had all but ended by Austin 2023. as of the instagram wipe in 2024, Unboxed was scrapped and all socmed videos were filmed in short bursts on phones and the video length almost never exceeded 2 minutes. there might be some props that can be borrowed but usually it’s just having them read questions from cards or prompts

(and the one rumor that Unboxed was ending bc of DTS makes no sense bc DTS has been going as long as Unboxed since 2019 and no other team or driver has been told to drop their long form content)

part of this absolutely came from the fact that Oscar didn’t want to do the whole PR thing with Lando (remember that McLaren made an entire dramatic production out of Carlos leaving after just two seasons and Daniel straight up said ‘landan’ would be bigger than carland0) and he doesn’t have the personality/stamina for the Carlos and Daniel level of publicity. so all the cute little interactions between him and Lando on twitter or instagram have always been unplanned and sporadic and natural. (Oscar has gone almost entirely over to a private acc since we can’t even see his likes in the wild much anymore and Lando has started to do the same) when Lando posts Oscar on his jpg acc or we see him taking video and pictures of Oscar it’s always just bc Lando thinks Oscar is neat! he posts him like one would an often elusive but beloved neighborhood cat.

and tbh there has been more than once (getting to that in a minute) that having a big public bromance creates totally unnecessary and distracting tension when two drivers are inevitably clashing on track and rrrrreally do not feel like dancing around so everyone can have their bromance feel good moment. so to whatever degree the team/Lando/Oscar felt that yea this new teammate pairing has strong legs to it, it would make logical sense to also say yea let’s just drop the whole bromance angle and let them focus on their jobs and the whole friendship thing will be up to the two of them.

and as someone who got sucked into F1 fandom literally bc of carland0 and dand0 PR being truly outstanding, it’s also worth mentioning that the way Lando’s relationships with Carlos and Daniel started was also completely different to with Oscar:

Carlos’ first season with Lando was Lando’s first season in F1 and it was absolutely perfect bc Lando needed a big brother figure to lean on and Carlos had been that for Max already - and Carlos himself always tries to have a great rapport with his teammates and is still close to all of them even now

Carlos spent his last season with Lando during COVID and Daniel spent the whole of his time with Lando during COVID, so there were whole periods where they existed in a bubble and quite literally had nowhere else to go and no on else to go to. again, thankfully they did actually get on very well but in a normal situation yes they would’ve chosen to spent a lot of that time with their friends and family

Daniel was already known to Lando through Max and mutual DJ friends so there was already a friend group they both belonged to

and I don’t want to focus on the bad times with carland0 or dand0 so I don’t go around storing up every instance of them fighting or tense/awkward moments where they could be classed as “ignoring each other” so just pulling from memory with these: Lando said here and multiple other times that he “hated” Carlos and Daniel as his direct competitors, especially because they had so many years of experience on him. and as he said here he felt very isolated and was even worrying if he could continue in F1 because Carlos was so far ahead of him. then of course there’s the famous moment when Carlos said something so out of pocket that Lando looked him up and down in disgust and straight up walked wide of him even when Carlos was clearly trying to smooth it over. I think their personal teams scrambled to arrange a golf date not long after this to keep fans and media happy asgdlsjagd. there’ve been more than a few times where Carlos has had to hastily say to media that “carland0 is okay” bc contrary to fan theory, Carlos and Lando have always raced each other same as they do anyone else and that means clashes sometimes. then Lando’s first win last year Carlos angrily asked “so he won it then?” over radio and in all his interviews with media said that if he’d had Lando’s luck with the SC then the win could actually have been his and while he made sure to do a big public hug, he opted out of celebrating with Lando after and chose to have dinner with Nico instead. bc yea he’s happy for Lando bc that’s his friend and former teammate BUT he was also wrestling with his last season for who knows how long being able to even fight for podiums and these drivers are literally paid to try to win and that’s what they want more than any type of friendship with another driver (I could also point out how Carlos “almost entirely ignored” Lando at the F1 movie premiere and “barely showed interest in him” at the big filmed Stefano dinner this weekend - quotes being bc if someone wanted to read into it with a slant against carland0 the way they do against a ship they dislike then it would be very easy - but the reality is that it’s perfectly ok to be a veteran driver who got dropped from Ferrari and is stuck in a car that’s exploding while your younger former teammate who used to look up to you now looks set to get the WDC before you - it doesn’t mean you don’t love your buddy or that you’re mad at him it just means it’s hard to do ride the PR chuckle bus as expected of you sometimes and that’s okay!!)

the majority of the DTS rewatch with Daniel was full of uncomfortable moments where they try to joke thru obviously being annoyed at each other - especially when Lando started laughing when DTS Lando got a little bit savage and wouldn’t back down so Daniel started making jokes about his hands or smth? there was also the I think Unboxed moment or post race debrief where Daniel’s win overshadowed Lando’s best result in F1 to date and Lando was very openly annoyed by it and Daniel was super awkward with how to deal with that. and it’s pretty well documented that Daniel was very unhappy at McLaren and his and Lando’s experiences as teammates diverged heavily even tho they were able to still have a laugh.

and all of these instances of tensions or fighting are normal and part of friendship and when you don’t try to pretend that these friendships are “special” or romantic then you won’t be upset by them !

speaking of which, the big things people say make carland0 and dand0 more special than their other friendships are

a quick visit to Daniel and his friends in Perth that Lando said was “never planned” and was “just to get out of the place he was currently in” and this was during one of Lando and Martin G’s solo world journeys over the winter they sometimes do. Daniel and Martin are also tight so this really was not some deep pre-planned dand0 bonding experience it was riding dirt bikes and watching NFL games askfskahgf oh and Lando making breakfast for the group who didn’t eat it and made him do the washing up r u d e

Lando going to Carlos’ sister’s wedding was again, not some deep bonding moment at an intimate family event it literally involved press photographers and interviewers ?? I read a whole post on ig last year (the page is private now so I can’t find it again to link to it) that basically detailed how these types of huge society weddings among old money classes always involve inviting famous friends - and also that Carlos Sr 100% sees the strategic benefit of carland0 and having Lando as part of the family’s very carefully controlled and honed publicity. so it’s not to be compared with say Lando attending P’s birthday parties where it’s mostly family and just a few intimate friends and no press involvement. was the invite bc Carlos and his parents are fond of Lando? yes! was the invite done with a lot of publicity benefit involved? also yes! that’s fine!

this also goes with the times ppl thought Carlos and Lando were flying together or at dinner together just them but Rebecca was there too and was still hiding from being in pictures (Pierre’s the one who accidentally posted her first then edited it) and Mexico this year was Lando being invited along as a little brother with the huge group who had come to support Carlos - and he quickly left the grown up club they all went to after dinner to go party as the single young guy he is

I won’t get into it bc it’s gossip and in the past and Isa is happy and moved on but yea a lot of those ferda trips Lando took with Carlos and some friends were absolutely not for “guy bonding” so we should just… ignore those in terms of wholesome friendship moments el oh el

side note to this a lot of ppl are like Sainz Sr loves Lando and yes! he does! but Sainz Sr also is like that with multiple drivers and people on the grid bc he’s been deep into that world since long before Carlos was born! and just to say that Charles used to play padel with Sr and Carlos and that even with all the huge ups and downs Charles has had with Carlos and his family, literally still to this day Carlos Sr seeks Charles out specifically (even at his own son’s home race) to show affection and support. again it’s the fact that carland0 fandom is so insanely massive and the ship gets so much corporate socmed interest is why so many ppl think it's only Lando or especially Lando that gets on with Carlos’ family.

I should also bring up the fact that Carlos and Ollie have developed a completely spontaneous bond outside of F1 that would have carland0 fans in seizures over if it was happening with Lando - but bc it’s not the popular yaoi the fandom reaction to it has stayed realistic and calm. but yea Ollie is straight up in Team 55 and Carlos’ life away from F1 in a way no other driver has been and it’s not at all publicity helpful or strategic and I find it so sweet <3

and I’m not going to go too deep into the charlos of it all bc I haaaaaaate rpf ship competitions and there are still ppl who deny Charles and Lando having a solid friendship that’s nothing to do with Carlos butttt it’s worth mentioning that Carlos himself is the one who has said he and Charles spend a huge amount of downtime and social time together, have meals together and that they “talk about anything, every subject you can think of” and that their girlfriends are even bonded in friendship - charlos are definitely a friendship of equals and contemporaries compared to the big brother/little brother age divide that Carlos has with Lando. so again, no point comparing bc the relationships are totally different.

and I have to say again !!! I never like having to do these bc when people delulu these things it means that reality seems “worse” but it isn’t !!! Lando was yes on a very lengthy invitation list and happened to be available where other drivers weren’t BUT he was still a friend that Carlos asked to come! if no one tried to turn it into something that shits on every other friendship Carlos has with other drivers then it could’ve just stayed as this super sweet thing and no one would have to like be talked down from the rpf ledge. for example, I use carland0 lore to create a super emotional doomed romance storyline for them in my royalty au bc I understand that taking reality and manipulating it for fic is fun but also not reality ! and then I enjoy reality as two guys who are good buddies and have perfectly matching sense of humor who no, don’t hang out as much as they used to but still hang out a lot! and they also hang out with a lot of other drivers too! and shouldn't that be enjoyed rather than turned into an insane competition among fans!

and god, Daniel and Lando couldn’t be more your typical extroverted fun-loving ferda type friends. they don’t do “deep and personal” they’re just bros. which again is really cute and fun and is only considered disappointing by ppl who take the PR and run with their imaginations to pretend it’s super "special" meaning want to pretend it's ~real life rpf~ (and omg the rages these ppl exist in when maxie| happens again or oh no norstappen is what ppl want carland0 and dand0 to be !!)

whereas Lando and Oscar are jointly committing to McLaren over and over again and saying things like “we’re going to grow old and gray together” “we’ll be the strongest and longest running partnership” “we want to have this for as long as we’re in F1” about each other as teammates even as they’re still developing and feeling out their friendship !!

it just has zero comparison at all to not just any of Lando’s other teammates but honestly to any other teammates at all. so trying to find the PR yaoi will never work and yea unless you follow pages or blogs that are heavily landoscar, you won’t for instance have seen the one grainy video of Oscar saying how he played padel with Lando and one of Lando’s friends (we all think it was Ed) bc while we in landoscar fandom love hearing about that, we’ve gotten fully used to the fact that neither Lando nor Oscar shares that stuff on social media or with McLaren PR.

ironically the only comparison that can be made in terms of how they both approach their relationship and how we should too is Oscar and Lily salfgsjalfgslaf “private but not secret” we know literally nothing but the basics about their relationship and get very sparse amounts of actual coupley content of them and they're never actually spotted out and about except from someone mentioning it and honestly if Lily didn’t use her phone camera and Sarah Oscar’s socmed person didn’t liaise with her then we wouldn’t even have most of that ?? which we all FULLY respect and honestly love that they don’t want their relationship out where people can analyze it and pick it apart and project nonsense onto it.

that’s very clearly what Lando and Oscar are doing with their developing friendship. it’s not there for all of our benefit and they don’t have anything to prove to any of us. they’re also not liars and they’re blatantly not doing anything for publicity.

if you want to enjoy landoscar then just bear in mind you won’t be spoon fed anything and they won’t be giving you a load of “content” to freak out over, you’re just going to be enjoying them having little private in-jokes they never fully explain and drawing close together when they feel under threat and using soft little private voices with each other when they’re tired or feel comfortable. it’s so genuine and soft and vulnerable and they have everyone telling them they’re going to fall apart and their response is to say they want to stay together long term and they want to never fall into the self-destructiveness of toxic competition with each other.

so no, it isn’t that Lando and Oscar don’t like each other "as much as" other driver friends and it sure as shit isn’t that anything they do is PR - it’s that in order to see their relationship at all you can’t rely on publicity or fandom visibility you’ve actually got to pay attention to what they say and do. and none of that is coming from a PR machine.

#inchreplies #landoscar meta #for reference #wank adjacent #it's not really but some ppl just dw to see posts about discourse so I use that tag #I hope any of this makes it clear anon ?? sorry this is so long

64 notes · View notes