#am i the only one with staying alive playing in there head

[sunnami]

the 5 times you did (not) love each other and the 1 time you did.

summary. as the title suggests. this one was a request! i hope you enjoyed my version of this anon.

pairing/s. poly!marauders + lily / reader.

wc. 4.1k

tags. hurt/comfort, angst, peter pettigrew mention, not proofread, like seriously, fluff, happy ending.

cws: brief mention of violence and blood.

note: i am alive?? crazy. i began this fic, whilst sick, around august, nursing the worst headache ever. i wrote the middle of this fic, sick. and i think it's only fitting that i finished this fic. sick... honestly, i did not proofread any of this, i just know i lowkey love it. after the first one-thousand words, i just spiral and become delirious, so i don't even know what happened here. my first request finished! yippee! and thank you all for 2k :< i love you all so much.

i. 

SIRIUS BLACK did not love you—not even close, not even a little bit. Not even at all.

After Peter Pettigrew’s slight against his family, Sirius would never hold warmth or pity for the skittish mouse ever again. He was played for a fool. And, he did not know which betrayal had hurt more. Peter’s—or yours. (Had you known all along of your adoptive brother’s plans? Did you not think for one second that Sirius would, without a sliver of hesitation, put himself in the way of a killing curse to keep you safe? He’d have died before ever letting the fire in your eyes wither to ashes. Clearly, you did not share the same sentiment.) 

He wanted nothing to do with you. Ever. And if the rat-bastard dared to show his face, not even Death would know where to put Peter’s body to rest. Sirius would keep him alive until he begged for death—until the idea of living frightened him more than dying. And for you—beholder of his heart, captor of his soul, and co-possessor of his mind—he could only hope that you stayed far away. You had wrecked him—all of them. 

He wanted—

He did not know what he wanted. 

For when it came to you, Sirius Black was reduced to a man wandering the deserts—mistaking clouds for water, and the sands for grass blades. You had ravaged every fiber of his being; consumed his every thought and word. The most ironic part of all was that if you had been the one standing there—Sirius would have let you Avada him. Dumbledore could scold him in the afterlife—Sirius could care less. He’d have snapped his wand in half and asked someone else to fight you because Sirius had vowed from the moment he met you that he would never harm a hair on your head. He would never be the reason that tears stained your pretty cheeks. 

Well, apparently, trust and promises were not worth a damn thing nowadays. 

No, he did not love you—even as you stood on the steps of Grimmauld, your hair ruined by the downpour of rain. Your lips bruised and bitten from a nervous habit Sirius had yet to break out of you. 

“I didn’t know, Sirius,” you whispered—your voice the only sound falling on his ears amidst all the thunder and lightning. He only saw you. “Y-You have to believe me. If I knew—Gods, I would have told Dumbledore in a heartbeat. Fuck. I thought you knew me better than that.” 

He thought so, too. 

“Did you know?” Sirius began, taking a step forward and into the storm, a demeaning sneer on his lips. “That when Voldemort stood in our home, your portrait was right behind him? That was all I could look at. If I had died—you would have been the last thing I saw.” 

You had not replied. 

Sirius grit his teeth. “Go,” he said, voice hoarse. 

“Go!” he yelled, grateful for the rain as it masked his own tears as you flinched from the sound of his voice. Not the thunderclap, the lightning strike—but it was him who scared you. 

(But you had done so first.) 

When you apparated away, Sirius crumbled to the ground and pounded his fists against the asphalts where you were moments ago, screaming and cursing until he saw blood flowing with the rainwater.

It was laughable, really. The way he did not love you. 

It was not love that drove him to madness, pummeling Gideon Prewett into a bloody pulp for mentioning your name during a meeting with the Order. He had presumed you to be a Death Eater alongside your brother—Sirius instantly saw nothing but red. (He condemned Bellatrix, his own cousin, for becoming a madwoman. Yet, here he was, unraveled by the very thought of you. The very whisper of your name.) 

But whatever it was that had turned him into a fool and a hypocrite all at once, it was not love. 

ii. 

JAMES POTTER had no love for you—make no mistake about that. He loved love, and he did so fiercely and truthfully. But you and Peter had broken his trust—defiled his loyalty from the moment your brother had brought Voldemort to his doorstep. (Did you know that as he begged and screamed for Lily to hide with their son, Harry—he thought of you? For a fleeting moment, he saw your face, marked by fear and tear-rimmed eyes. And James knew straight away that he would spit on Tom Riddle’s bare feet if only to keep his family safe. If only to see you once more. Alive and well. But, you must not have thought the same—if you had conspired with Peter to sell him and Lily out to the Devil reborn.) 

The thought of you breathing was enough to keep James alive. 

But, that was not love. It was a mockery of it. 

No, he did not feel so much as a twinge of emotion for you. Not even as Mad-Eye Moody brought your limp body back to Grimmauld. It was not love that threatened the magic in his being—that simmered in his blood until the painted walls saw an indent of his fist. (“Poor thing,” McGonagall cooed as she pressed her palm over your forehead. Despite some of the members’ growing distrust for you, you still took an Unforgivable in their stead. “We can only wait. . . Four Cruciatus curses. . .”) 

What more did James need to want to rip Peter apart limb by limb? 

It was not love that rooted his feet by your side. Sitting hunched on a chair too small for his height, bags beneath his eyes, and the pale of his lips becoming noticeable to everyone who spoke to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to you lovelessly—hands desperately clutching your own. Sirius stood across the room, arms crossed over his chest, dagger-like eyes waiting for so much as a twitch of your finger. “I’m sorry.”

It was a plea this time.

He only hoped you did not ask him to love you. For James could give you the world, hand-pick the stars, and burrow his body deep beneath the ground if you had asked for it—but he could not love you. 

Everyone had told him not to hope that you would wake up. That your pretty eyes would not flutter open, and you would no longer look at him as you had before. But James was stubborn. He was selfish as he was stubborn. He did not love you—but he needed to hear the sound of your voice. And James would take it any way that he could. The soft cadence of a whisper, or a rough utterance of a single word. Molly Weasley told him to accept reality for what it was. (“You need sleep, dear,” the matriarch fussed. “There’s nothing we can do. Look at the Longbottoms. . . We can do no more for this one as we had done for them.”) 

In the still of the night, he left his reveries on the cold of your skin. “Wake up,” he demanded. 

“Wake up or else you’re the traitor everyone thinks you are,” James hissed. 

But his words held no heat—and his heart held no love for you. 

Make no mistake about that.

Then, when you finally woke up, disoriented and throat parched—a hazy recollection of the weeks before—James made sure that no more than four people could enter the room. He did not care if a hurricane, or if Voldemort himself—James had faced him once already, after all—threatened to break the door down. You were theirs to protect.

 (But not to love.) 

“We need to begin the questioning, James, you know that,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt, almost exasperatedly; weary lines written across his face. James would not allow even a toe beyond the doorway. An interrogation meant you had something to do with the attempted murder of James and his family. Whether or not you were innocent, James did not care—he just wanted you safe. 

(And a small part of him already knew that you were not your brother’s keeper. Just as they had absolved Sirius of his family’s sins. It would be unfair to not show you the same grace. But before his mind knew that, James’s heart and soul had known the truth all along.) 

He found Sirius gently tending to your every need, and already James knew that was Padfoot’s way of begging for forgiveness. The ebony-haired man hung onto your every word. He winced when you flinched, and pressed his apologies to your forehead, rasping for a kindness he did not deserve. Not after what he did. How he turned you away and cursed your name. How they betrayed you. 

James did not love you. 

But what else could he call the manacles that bound his hands and forced him to his knees when it came to you? 

Not. Love. 

iii. 

REMUS LUPIN could not bring himself to love you. But, he could not love Sirius, Lily, and James either. He was undeserving of such a privilege. But he was not allowed to love you; Remus could only hope that you saw even a shred of worth in him—to wrest each word from his lips and every breath from his lungs. But, he did not love you. No. 

Because loving you meant he was to tell you of your brother’s crimes. And Remus could not hurt you like that. 

“P-Peter?” you had asked, wearing the eyes of a fretful sibling. Remus lifted his hand to tuck a strand of hair gone astray behind your ear. Bellatrix had done a number on you—just as she had done to Alice and Frank. Remus was fairly certain that Sirius was off on a hunt for his cousin, his mind toyed with by the barbarity of war. What they could not do for the Longbottoms, they’d wring themselves dry to do for you. After the Lestranges’ attack, you suffered damage to your throat and memories. Remus could not bear to see you in such pain. 

He could not give you love, but Remus would offer up to you his every limb, and the weary skin upon his bones. 

“They. . .” Remus grimaced. How could he act as the bearer of bad news? He’d rather dive headfirst into shark-infested waters. Be anywhere else but here. In fact, Remus would rather snatch you away from the funereal walls, and hold you in his arms in the quietude of dawn, than be the one to bring anguish to your eyes. “They’re looking for him at the moment, love.” 

One question lingered in your eyes: Why? 

Luckily, Sirius was always the better one at sharpening a blunt knife. “He was a traitor,” he spat like acid. “A traitor to the Order. A traitor to us. He’s no friend of ours. Not anymore.” 

But Sirius knew—better than anyone else—how difficult it can be to truly hate little brothers, especially once they’ve gone. 

“No. . .” You trembled, almost retching as you sobbed into your palms. 

Remus held you then, the front of his shirt soaked in your tears, eyes firmly shut as you trembled and heaved in his arms. The sound of your guttural screams bounced off the four walls, and Remus had to bury his nose in your hair. You were alive. Safe. Breathing. But you felt cold as ice; an empty husk stripped bare for grief to take over. And Remus could do nothing but hold you. (He just hoped that wherever Peter Pettigrew was, Remus would not be the first one to find him. Otherwise, they would not be able to recover even a fingernail from his remains.)

“Hush, love,” Remus whispered into your ear as you cried yourself sick. Mourning the loss of your brother, reeling from the betrayal of a bond that was supposed to be stronger than blood. Remus would make him pay, he vowed as much to you. No, Remus and the wolf in him did not know how to love. But he knew how to hurt. And, that, he’d gladly do for you. His body was for you to use as a shield, his soul for you to strip bare, and his heart for you to thieve and never return. 

“Don’t cry,” said James, a shadow cast over his frames. “Not for Peter. Never. Fucking bastard will get what’s coming to him.” He laid on the vacant space of the bed, gently untangling your hands that were pressed over your heart. “I’ll make sure of it.”

They all would.

But not because they loved you. 

It was not out of love, Remus had to remind himself in the coming days, when he stayed diligently by your side as you recovered. Daily sessions with the best healer St. Mungo’s could offer—as if James would allow anything else. There were days your eyes would glaze over, your words rough and sluggish, and Remus would try his damndest to make you smile. 

It was the least he could do. 

For failing to protect you. 

But that was not love. 

(It was hope. Wretched, disastrous hope as he fell to his knees, and your name in between his teeth.)

iv. 

LILY EVANS was a fighter in all the ways that mattered. 

And from the very first moment she held Harry in her arms, eyes raking over his wrinkly, bloodied skin; all ten fingers and toes, her soft cries over his loud screaming—Lily knew she would trade her life for his in a heartbeat. Little, lovely eyes that would soon see the world in his own time. Lily adored him. Cherished every tear, snore, and giggle. She knew then, that a mother’s love was entirely different from any emotion she’d ever felt before. 

This was proven the first time Harry had gotten seriously ill. A few weeks after the attempted murder on the Potters, Harry was ceaselessly crying—screaming, even, every night—red-faced as he fussed every breakfast and dinner. Lily found herself at wit’s end. Her protectiveness had gone up a hundred measures; wouldn’t let anyone besides family or Madam Pomfrey see Harry. Yet, even with all the draughts and silly-flavoured syrups, Harry wasn’t getting better. 

“Lily dear, you cannot actually be thinking about this,” worried Molly Weasley as Lily stood in front of your door, holed away in the room where you had been recovering for the last few days. It would be the first time she saw you since the incident. More than anything she was afraid. Frightened that you would look at her differently. Whether or not that fear stemmed from love, Lily was not concerned. “We can call for another Healer from Mungo’s to have a look at Harry. . . Who knows what might. . .” 

Lily held Harry closer to her, lips firmly pressed, attempting to ignore the way his temperature was unnaturally high. “Might what, Mrs. Weasley?” She knew Molly was only talking out of concern, from a mother’s perspective at least. But she knew you better than anyone else. You would never hurt her, or Harry, that much she was certain of. And if you were the traitor everyone else was afraid of accusing you of, a sentence delivered by association to Peter—then let the guillotine fall, Lily would carry your crimes for you. 

She remembered ever-so clearly in her sixth-year, you with dreams glistening in your eyes. (“I’m going to be a Healer, Lils! Minnie said I’d be a great one. . . I want to protect those I love. . . I know I can do it. . . Oh, I can’t wait to tell Peter that I’ve gotten recommendations already to work at Mungo’s after graduation.”) 

And Lily recalled at that moment, she had felt a different kind of emotion that she had never experienced before. It was not love, of course. Tuney said she was too young and too stupid to know what real love was. But, at sixteen, what else could describe the way her heart fluttered and the way her lips threatened to break out into a smile whenever you lit up talking about your future? (It was just a crush, young Lily told herself.)

Only to be crushed and cast aside in the face of the war, where fighters took their place at the forefront of the lines, mothers and children hid; healers stretching themselves thin to be here, there, everywhere; where traitors walked in plain sight. 

“There is no one else I trust more with my life,” replied Lily. 

And that was that. 

Lily skirted around Molly and opened the door to your room, where Sirius, James, and Remus all stood at attention at the sight of her and Harry. She ignored them, and headed straight to your side. 

“Hello, love,” she greeted with all the gentleness she was made of, a smile creeping up to her eyes as Lily watched you turn your head at the sound of her voice. Truth be told, she did not know what her end-goal was in coming here. But being by your side had always made life a little more bearable, like all the illnesses in the world could not bring her down. And so, her magic had instinctively summoned her person to you. She, at least, was relieved to see colour returning to your cheeks, though the red in your eyes had dulled the hues she adored so much. 

“Is that. . .?” you croaked. 

Lily nodded. “Harry, meet—” 

One of the loves of my life, the most loyal and pure witch anyone ever has the privilege of meeting, someone I want to stay in my life forever. 

Lily’s smile wilted. “A friend.” 

Later, she would place Harry in your arms—her little hope embraced by her dream—and Lily would wonder if it was by pure magic that Harry calmed in your presence. 

For if love could hurt and destroy, could it mend and heal the broken as well?

But what a shame, for not one in that room carried an ounce of love for you.

(She would die for Harry, yes—but she would live for you.)

v. 

YOU did not love them, either. 

The very idea, thought—insinuation—was absurd. (Why, they deserved much better than you, after all.) With hands that failed to protect them, were you even allowed to hold them anymore? Did your heart have the right to breathe for them? You had failed as a sister and a friend—how much more would you have failed as their lover? Well, you’d never know. 

Because you did not love them. 

Merely wished them happiness and for the world to extend them kindness. For the sun to look brightly down on them, and for time to heal their scars and wounds. For if they were in pain, the earth would stop spinning. But such a request was not borne from love. 

Surely not. 

Because, then, that would have meant that it was love that teared you apart when Sirius cursed your name, when James turned you away, when Remus could not look you in the eyes, or when Lily—for all your history together—called you a friend. 

The whole of you was made by the parts of them. Each memory welded into the crevices of your soul. From the moment you had all found each other in the same train compartment, same common room—there was a shift in the fates that bound all five of you together. (The ties were red, but the thread was not of love.) You did not believe in Professor Trelawney’s talks of providence and destiny. 

Because if you did, then why was the universe so cruel? 

Falling—not in love—for four people who could very much do without you in their lives. Lacking severely as a sister to the point you had not noticed your brother fading and fading away into the shadows. 

Was love that unkind? That merciless? 

Then, you did not want to love at all. 

Oh, but magic or not, every creature on this earth selfish. 

You were no different. 

You wanted. 

Oh, how you yearned. 

“I LOVE YOU.” 

You barely had enough time to react before Sirius pressed his lips to the side of your head, arm covertly sneaking around your waist. The sound of the train whistling as parents yelled their goodbyes filled the station. You stood in the midst of the crowd, eyes never leaving one window in particular as you waved at Harry, now eleven-years-old and now off to Hogwarts. 

“Quite a random thing to say, husband,” you murmured, leaning into his warmth. “What for?” 

“Just because,” he replied in turn with a fiendish grin. “Well, perhaps for choosing us, for choosing me despite all my fuck-ups. For existing. For being the beautiful, wonderful, kind, precious you. I could keep on going, my darling. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” 

You wrinkled your nose, eyes rolling from fondness. “I love you too, quite unfortunately.” 

He only laughed and pulled you closer to him. “Let’s go home.” 

–

“I love you.” 

In the house built by new memories, warded by stronger protection charms, and filled with warmth and love—James said this to you each morning before he left for the Ministry, promoted after the war as Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Not one foot out of the door until he had showered you in kisses and the symphonies of his heart. James had always been loud, even in his time at Hogwarts. The war had not taken this part of him, and you figured James was too loud to let it be taken from him. He was unapologetically and unabashedly him. 

And you had loved him fiercely for that. 

“I’ll be home early tonight,” he said, a quiet intimacy washing over the both of you. The early birds of the cottage. “Wait for me?”

“Of course,” you answered without an ounce of hesitation, delicately chasing after his lips. “I love you. Be safe.” 

-

“I love you.” 

“Are you saying that to me or are you reading from the book?” you teased from where you laid on Remus’s chest, hours after James left for work, the afternoon bringing you two together in the living room. Lily was in the gardens, and Sirius was in the shed working on his motorbike. It was perfect. You felt the rise and fall of Remus’s chest beneath you, his heartbeat close to your ear. He was perfect. It was a miracle you had not fallen asleep to the tender lull of his voice. 

“Both,” he responded, hand coming up to trace the bare of your skin—a miracle you did not crumble or burn instantly from his touch. 

You hummed. “Then, I love you, too.” Then, you grinned, lifting your head to stare up at him. “You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you.” 

And, oh, how photographs could not capture the beauty in Remus’s smile as his eyes regarded you with such fire.

“My heart, my light, my desire,” Remus began, one finger ever-so softly tracing the curve of your cheek. “In vain I have struggled, it will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” 

–

“I love you.” 

Said Lily as she lied in your shared bed, red-nosed and her cheeks pale, sluggish. The Christmas holiday was generous enough to gift her with an unfortunate cold that had been going around the wizarding world. “But, please, go,” she commanded weakly, gesturing for you to join Harry who was stood by the door. “It’s a lovely day outside for making snowmen with carrots as noses and snow angels. Not for taking care of poor old me.” 

You rolled your eyes as you sat by her side, swiftly pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And I love you, which is why I would rather much be here, taking care of the prettiest snow angel to ever exist,” you countered, bringing a spoonful of broth to her lips. “Besides, Harry here has something to tell you. He’s made friends at school. One of them is Molly’s little one.” 

“Oh, you did?” Lily cooed, before sniffling weakly. “That’s lovely, darling. Tell me all about them.” 

“That’s not all, Lily mine,” you began mischievously as Harry’s eyes narrowed at you through his glasses. “This friendship apparently formed after fighting a troll.” 

“You what?” Lily croaked, emerald eyes shimmering with concern and near-dread. 

“Did you really, Harry?” James popped his head in the doorway, clapping his son on the shoulder before ushering him inside the room. A spitting image side-by-side as they took the empty space by the foot of the bed. “Good boy. Father approves.” 

“Of course you would,” Lily shot at him weakly, melting when Sirius then entered the room and greeted her with a kiss to her cheek. “And where are you all coming from?”

“Outside,” announced Remus, tugging his tie from his neck. “Sirius and I took a quick trip to Diagon Alley to get some things that’ll make you feel better, Lily love.” 

And as the snow fell outside, lazy winds against the window, your little family gathered in one room, there was one thing you knew for certain.

You loved them. 

And they loved you. 

a/n: i wrote all 4k words while sick. crazy. but anyway, i wanted to believe in love again so here i am. thank you all so much for being patient with me. i promise to do even better in the next fics!

[jaysbaefie]

noona | sjy (2/2)

synopsis: in which your little brothers best friend can’t keep his feelings and true intentions a secret anymore.

genre: brothers best friend to lovers

pairing: little brothers best friendljake x older afab reader

warnings: sad!jake, petty!jake, degrading, light dubcon, light fondling, manhandling, oral (m.rec and f.rec), unprotected p in v, forced confession of feelings, choking, jake eats his own cum…overstimulation, fingering, pussy slapping, creampie, almost getting caught (again). that’s it….i think.

wc: 5.1k

read part 1 part 2

a/n: i didn’t think id pop out w a part 2 for this fic but here i am… i was procrastinating w my other ones so i decided to do smth w little to no plot and just filth. anyways.. hope u enjoy! notes reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

──── ୨୧ ────

weeks went by and you'd had enough.

the guilt was eating you alive, and every time jake touched you when sunghoon was nearby, your heart nearly stopped. it was reckless, dangerous and completely insane.

your heart ached whenever you saw jake and sunghoon hang out, seeing their friendship. you wondered how sunghoon would react if he found out that his best friend was fooling around with his older sister.

you couldn't bear the thought of your brother looking at you differently, so you made a decision.

that night jake was over, as he always was. you watched the two boys play games on the living room couch, standing afar as your cleaned up in the kitchen.

your parents had bid their goodnights, heading upstairs to go to sleep leaving you, sunghoon and jake alone downstairs.

"hey! you said you'd cover me!" sunghoon grunts, his eyebrows furrowed as he squints his eyes—focusing on the screen ahead.

"i was getting attacked! i had to protect myself!"

"and your ass still died. what was the point of that."

the two argued playfully amongst each other, the thought of them not being friends because of you ached you.

time passes by, you loiter in the kitchen—pretending to do work on your laptop.

"noona, you can go to sleep you know. i know you're bored," you heard sunghoon say to you, peering back to see you sitting at one of the barstools in the kitchen.

you give him a soft smile, shaking your head. "it's no big deal, i have to stay up anyways. have to finish off these papers."

he nods, adjusting his head set. jake looks over, your eyes widening when he smirks at you—biting at his bottom lip. you quickly avert your eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

jake had gotten much bolder with his actions, however, nothing too intimate had happened ever since the kitchen scene a few weeks ago.

he wasn't as touchy, but his words had gotten bolder.

he always found ways to lean in too close, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured things that made your face burn. "you smell good today, noona." or "you know, i have dreams about you. wanna know what they're about?" and when you pushed him away, he only chuckled, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

if you dropped something, he'd pick it up and hold it out—only to yank it back when you reached for it. "use your manners, noona. say please."

"please?"

his smirk widens, "good girl, noona."

if you were cooking, he'd stand behind you, arms caging you in as he reached for something. "careful, wouldn't want to burn yourself." he'd rub himself up against your butt, letting you feel how hard he was for you. but he never did more than brushing up against you or the occasional lingering touches.

it was almost like he was riling you up, teasing you so you'd snap.

when sunghoon was in his room with his headphones on, you pulled jake aside into the hallway. sunghoon had said goodnight, insisting that jake stay over since it was past midnight. jake had agreed, a dark smile on his face as his eyes raked up and down your figure—tongue jutting out to quickly swipe over his lips.

his usual cocky smirk was already forming, like he knew exactly why you wanted to talk.

"jake, we have to stop."

he blinked at you, amused. "stop what, noona?"

you swallowed, your stomach twisting. "this. whatever this is. it's wrong."

his smirk faltered for a second before his expression darkened. he stepped closer, forcing you back against the wall, trapping you between his arms. you tried not to shiver when you felt his breath against your skin.

"you think you can just cut me off like that?" he murmured, voice low and dangerous. "like i'm some bad habit you need to quit?"

you turned your face away, refusing to meet his gaze. "i—jake, i mean it. this is over."

he scoffed. "bullshit."

your eyes snapped back to him, widening as his fingers trailed along your arm. "i know you, noona. i know how you sound when you're turned on. i know how you taste when you're falling apart under me. and i definitely know how you look when you're pretending you don't want me." his hand suddenly slid between your thighs, over your shorts, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.

you gasped, pushing at his chest. "j-jake, stop—sunghoon is upstairs!"

his smirk returned, but this time it was cruel. "exactly. so why haven't you screamed for him yet?"

you froze.

your mouth opened, but no words came out.

his grip tightened on your hip. "you could call him right now. tell him everything. tell him what a perv i am, how i've been touching you when he's not looking, how i licked your pretty cunt until you were shaking in the kitchen." he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "but you won't, will you?"

your breathing was ragged. "jake—"

"because you like it, noona." his fingers pressed harder, making your legs clench involuntarily. "you like how dirty this is. how wrong it feels. you say we need to stop, but your body?" he chuckled, sliding his knee between your thighs. "your body says otherwise."

he squeezes your hip, pushing you down so you grinded against his knee. you held in a moan, pursing your lips as you feel jake get tougher with his actions.

tears pricked at your eyes. whether it was from frustration, guilt, or something else entirely, you didn't know. "this isn't fair," you whispered.

jake pulled back slightly, tilting his head as he studied you. then, to your horror, his smirk completely disappeared. for the first time, he looked... genuinely hurt.

"you think this was just a game to me?" his voice was quiet, almost disappointed. "you think i did all this just to fuck around and piss you off?"

jake was hurt, he felt like you didn't even know him. he was never the type of guy that fooled around with girls, and you knew that. he thought he had made it clear how much he liked you, and only you.

you didn't know how to answer, standing there speechless.

jake clenched his jaw, his hands dropping from your body. his warmth disappeared, replaced by an unsettling emptiness.

"fine," he muttered, stepping back. "if that's what you want."

you felt like you could finally breathe again. but the victory was short-lived.

because the very next day, everything changed.

jake ignored you completely. no teasing touches. no lingering glances. no stolen moments in the hallway. it should've felt like relief, but instead, it felt like loss.

and the worst part? he was still around.

he still showed up at your house every day, still hung out with sunghoon like nothing had happened—but now, he acted like you didn't exist. and it was killing you.

although you hate to admit that you missed him and his advances, you were thankful that it had ended.

but just when you thought you were free, just when you started convincing yourself that maybe this was for the best.

jake reminds you why you could never escape him.

it happened late one night. a week had gone by since jake had pretended as if you didn't exist, you were slowly coming to terms with it.

you were in the kitchen alone, getting a glass of water, when suddenly, the room darkened. the air shifted, and before you could turn around—a familiar voice whispered against the shell of your ear.

"miss me yet, noona?"

your heart stopped.

and that was when you realized. this wasn't over. not even close. and in fact, it'll never be over.

your breath hitched as jake's hands found your waist, his grip firm, possessive—like he had every right to touch you.

"j-jake," you whispered breathlessly, your fingers tightening around the glass in your hand. you should push him away, should scream for sunghoon, should do anything but melt into him like you seemed to be doing.

but your body betrayed you.

he chuckled darkly, his nose grazing the side of your neck making you shiver in delight. "you thought i was done with you?" his fingers slid down to the hem of your shirt, teasingly brushing against your skin. "you think you can ignore this?"

his free hand covered yours, plucking the glass from your grip and setting it aside on the counter. the moment it left your grasp, he spun you around, pressing your back against the cool marble of the counters.

you mind races with flashbacks from weeks ago, when jake had his head between your legs and his tongue in you—making you writhe in pleasure. your chest heaved as you finally met his gaze—dark, hungry, filled with something dangerous.

"i was trying to be nice," he murmured, dragging his fingers down the dip of your throat, over your collarbone, down to the top button of your pajama shirt. "but you don't want nice, do you, noona?"

you looked up at him with pleading eyes, "you're a lot stronger than i thought you were, noona," he starts, his hand grabbing a hold of your breast making you whine. "i thought you'd break in a few days, but seems like you were getting used to my absence. can't have that now, can we?"

you swallowed hard, eyes darting to the doorway. "s-sunghoon is upstairs," you reminded him, voice barely above a breath.

jake smirked, popping the first button open. "then you better be quiet."

your stomach twisted as another button came undone, then another, his fingers deliberately slow, teasing.

"jake," you tried again, but suddenly, his lips were on yours—hot, demanding, stealing the breath from your lungs.

your hands instinctively flew to his shoulders, but whether to push him away or pull him closer, you weren't sure. it didn't matter. he took the decision from you, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed himself against you, letting you feel just how much he wanted this.

a muffled whimper escaped your throat when he rolled his hips into you, your core throbbing at the friction.

"fuck," he groaned against your lips, one hand slipping under your shirt to splay across your bare waist. "you have no idea how much i missed this."

"we—we can't," you breathed, even as your fingers found their way into his hair, tugging him closer.

"we already are," he murmured, teeth grazing your jaw before trailing down to your neck. you gasped when he sucked at the sensitive spot just below your ear, your body arching into his as heat coiled deep in your stomach.

"so sensitive," he mused, his lips curving against your skin. "you missed me too, didn't you, noona?"

you hated that he was right. hated that you had missed this—his touch, his voice, the way he made you feel alive.

but before you could admit it, before you could even think of responding, his hand was dipping lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.

your breath hitched.

"jake," you gasped, your knees nearly giving out when his fingers brushed against your clothed heat. he groans at the dampness he found, his other hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"look at you," he murmured, eyes dark with need. "so fucking wet for me." you let out a soft whimper, and that was all it took for his restraint to snap.

"you're going to be a good girl, right noona?" he pants softly, his hand slipping out of your shorts. you almost whine at the loss, missing his touch where you need it the most.

you nod mindlessly, looking up at him to catch the dark look in his eyes. his lips pull into an almost evil smirk, "then you're going to have to apologize to me, noona. you hurt my feelings," he fake pouts.

you gape at him, your mouth opening to apologize only for jake to slip in two of his fingers past your lips. you gag around his fingers, not adjusting to the sudden intrusion in your mouth.

he stares down at you, his breath hitching when he pumps his fingers slowly into your mouth.

"nu uh, noona. that's not how i want my apology," he begins, his mouth pulled into a lazy smirk. he slowly pulls his fingers out, a trail of saliva connecting your mouth and his digits. he rubs his spit covered fingers over your lips messily, his face pulled into a pained look as he holds in a moan. "you don't need to use your mouth, but your going to let me use your mouth. yeah?"

your eyes widen at his words, swallowing harshly before you're nodding your head. it felt as if you didn't have control over your own actions.

he grins at your obedience, his hands tangling it into your hair before he's pushing you down to your knees slowly.

you sink down, coming face to face with jake's crotch—your eyes widening when you see the large tent in his pants. jake smirks, tilting your chin up.

"c'mon, take it out."

your hands fumble with his pajama pants, pulling them down along with his briefs. you gasp when his cock springs free, thick, flushed, already leaking. your eyes flick up to meet his, but he doesn't give you time to marvel or breathe—his hand is already fisting in your hair again, pulling your head closer.

"open," he mutters, and when you hesitate, he tightens his grip, yanking your head back. "don't make me ask again, noona."

your lips part, and jake doesn't wait. he slides his cock into your mouth with one slow, brutal thrust, groaning low in his throat when he hits the back of it. your hands fly to his thighs, nails digging in, but he doesn't ease up—he rolls his hips, feeding more of himself into your throat until you're gagging, tears stinging your eyes.

"this is what you wanted?" he grits out, in pure bliss that the woman he had wanted for half of his life was taking him in to her mouth. "just my cock, right? that's all i was to you, yeah?"

you try to shake your head, try to speak around him, but he just holds you there, his other hand coming down to cup your jaw, thumb smearing at the tears running down your cheeks.

"don't lie now," he growls. "you said it yourself. you thought i didn't give a fuck about you. you thought i was just using you."

he pulls out just enough for you to suck in a shaky breath before slamming back in, your moan muffled, choked, sinful.

"you're older than me, right?" he spits, voice bitter. "supposed to be the mature one. then why the fuck are you acting like a scared little girl?"

you look up at him, ruined. your jaw aching, drool trailing down your chin—and jake just smiles. not soft. cruel.

he could feel the familiar coil in his stomach tighten, but this wasn't the way he wanted to cum for you.

"you hurt me, noona," he whispers, finally pulling out completely. you gasp, throat sore, but he doesn't let you rest. he grabs you by the arms and yanks you to your feet, pushing you hard against the counter.

"bend over."

"jake—" you choke, blinking through the fog of tears and lust. "we shouldn't—sunghoon—"

"you think i give a fuck about sunghoon right now?" he hisses, dragging your shorts down roughly, letting them pool around your ankles. "you think he'd care about protecting his slutty sister who lies about what we have?"

you flinch, but you don't stop him—not when he kicks your legs apart, not when he presses the head of his cock right against your dripping entrance.

"say it," he snaps, one hand gripping your hip while the other holds your hair in a tight, punishing fist. "say i'm not just a fuck. beg me to forgive you." you hold in a mewl as his grip on your hair gets tighter, the crown of your head touching his chest.

you bite your lip, shame and heat colliding in your chest, but you say it anyway—voice trembling, broken.

"you're not just a fuck," you whisper. "i'm sorry, jake—please, i didn't mean it. i thought you didn't care...i was scared."

he goes still for a beat, his grip on you relaxing before his chest presses against your back. you hear the shift in his breath.

and then he thrusts into you so hard the air is knocked out of your lungs.

"you should be scared," he hisses against your ear. "scared of how much i fucking want you. scared of what i'll do when you try to run again."

you cry out, biting your own wrist to keep quiet as he starts to pound into you, fast, rough, relentless. you could feel yourself convulse around his girth, your velvety walls sucking him in like a suction.

"mine," he growls with every thrust, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. "mine. you hear me?"

you nod, gasping his name, body trembling from the intensity. it's overwhelming—the pace, the anger, the feeling behind every snap of his hips.

"say it," he demands again, thrusting particularly hard.

"i'm yours," you sob, gripping the edge of the counter like your life depends on it. "jake, i'm yours, i swear—"

"damn right you are."

he grabs your throat from behind, turning your face just enough so he can kiss you—deep, messy, almost violent with how badly he wants to consume you.

"no more ignoring me," he pants against your lips. "no more pretending this isn't real. you understand?" you nod frantically, unable to speak, unable to think—just feel.

and when his hand slides between your thighs, rubbing fast, precise circles over your clit, your whole body locks up. you could feel that familiar feeling tighten up in your lower stomach, your body shaking with every thrust he delivers.

"cum for me, noona," he whispers. "make a mess. and don't you dare try to hide it."

"jake—jake, i—" your voice breaks into a whimper, hips jerking as his fingers circle tighter, rougher.

"go on," he pants, cock driving into you so deep you can't breathe. "cum all over my cock like the slut you said you weren't."

you sob into your arm, your entire body tightening as the knot in your stomach finally snaps. pleasure crashes over you like a wave—sharp, hot, almost unbearable. you clench around him, trembling as you come hard, your release soaking the base of his cock, dripping down your thighs, coating his fingers.

jake lets out a strangled groan at the feeling, his hips stuttering. "fuck, fuck—you feel that?" he growls, voice cracking. "so fucking tight when you cum for me. you were made for this."

his rhythm falters, becoming erratic. you know he's close—the grip on your hips turns bruising, his breath uneven as he drives into you with punishing force.

"where?" he growls, leaning over you, his chest flush against your back. "tell me where, noona. say it. beg for it."

you turn your head slightly, eyes glassy as you whisper, "inside. jake, please—want you to cum inside me."

he curses under his breath, his hands shaking as he fucks you harder—desperate now, his control gone.

"say it again," he snarls, voice wrecked.

"come inside me," you cry, your knees threatening to give out. "need you, jake. need to feel you."

that's all it takes.

with a guttural groan, he slams in deep one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you. his entire body shudders as he comes, filling you up with thick, hot spurts that you swear you can feel leaking out even before he's pulled out.

he stays buried in you, breathing hard, one hand gripping your hip, the other fisted in your hair as he presses his forehead against the back of your shoulder. you're both shaking, sweat-slicked and ruined, your legs barely able to hold you up.

but jake doesn't move—not for a long moment. when he finally does, it's slow, careful, like he's afraid of letting go. he pulls out with a hiss, watching the way his cum spills from your swollen cunt, dripping down your thighs onto the kitchen floor.

his jaw clenches.

he gently turns you around, lifts you up onto the counter, and cups your face between his hands—his voice lower, quieter, but still rough with leftover anger.

"you really think i didn't care?" he murmurs, brows furrowed as he looks into your eyes. "you think i could fuck you like that and not be in love with you?"

your breath catches at his sudden confession.

"you ignored me," you whisper, still dazed.

"because i was hurt," he growls. "because hearing you call yourself a toy—saying i was just using you—fucked me up, noona. i've been in love with you, and you thought it was just my dick talking."

he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

"you're mine," he whispers, softer now. "and i'm yours. whether sunghoon likes it or not."

you swallow hard, your hand rising to rest on his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart.

"...i didn't mean it," you whisper. "i was scared. you're younger, and—i thought i was making a mistake."

he kisses you—slow, breathless, a stark contrast to how he'd fucked you minutes ago. and when he pulls away, he's smirking again, cocky and flushed and still so mad.

"you did make a mistake," he says. "and you're going to make it up to me." his hands slip beneath your thighs, dragging you toward the edge of the counter again.

"starting now."

his hands are already back on you before you can breathe—dragging you down the counter, legs parted, chest heaving. he doesn't even give you a moment to recover. you're still dripping with his cum when he spreads you open, gaze locked on your wrecked, swollen pussy.

"look at this mess," he growls, thumb smearing the mix of your release and his across your folds. "you look better like this. ruined. mine."

you gasp, hips jerking at the overstimulation, but he just chuckles darkly, grabbing your thighs to yank you closer until your ass is barely on the counter.

"you made me wait," he sneers, his tone dropping. "you ran your mouth. called me a kid. said i was just using you. and now look at you."

you try to respond, but he presses two fingers to your lips again, "no. you don't get to talk right now. just sit there and take it."

then he's dropping to his knees between your legs, and you barely manage to get a word out before his tongue replaces his fingers—licking up every drop of his cum that's still leaking out of you. he moans like he's starved, eating you out through the overstimulation, not stopping even when your legs tremble around his head.

"fuck—jake, too much—" you sob, fisting his hair, but he just growls into your cunt, locking his arms around your thighs to keep you in place. his tongue runs up and down your slit, flattening it where you need it most.

"this pussy's mine," he mutters against your clit, slapping it lightly with his tongue, making you cry out. "mine to ruin. mine to clean up. you don't get to tell me when i'm done." he continues the pattern, licking figure 8s on your clit as his fingers pry into you slowly—teasing you.

and he doesn't stop until you're falling apart again, legs shaking, tears streaking your cheeks as you cum a second time with a broken scream, biting down on your hand to muffle it—sunghoon still upstairs.

he stands up slowly, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, eyes wild. his cock is hard again, flushed and angry-looking, already twitching against his stomach.

"turn around," he orders, his eyes wild as he stares down at you with hunger.

you hesitate—wrecked, overstimulated—but he grabs your hips and flips you over himself, bending you back over the counter like you weigh nothing.

"you wanted rough?" he pants, lining himself up again. "you wanted to act like i was just some horny little kid with a crush?"

you try to speak but scream instead when he slams into you in one brutal thrust.

"jake—"

he wraps his hand around your throat from behind, yanking you upright against his chest. you gasp at the feeling, his grip on your throat now bruising as you struggle for air. 

"say it again," he hisses in your ear. "say my name like that again."

"j-jake," you sob, your voice breaking as he fucks into you with punishing force.

he leans down, biting your shoulder hard enough to bruise. "you're never calling me a kid again. i'm the only one who fucks you like this. the only one who makes you this dumb."

his other hand slides down, slapping your clit repeatedly without mercy, and your whole body jolts.

"gonna cum again, noona?" he pants. "fucking pathetic. creaming around my cock again when you said we couldn't. when you said i didn't mean it." your body trembles as jake forces your third high out of you, your cunt convulsing around him pathetically.

you cry out, tears falling freely now, your body on fire, collapsing in on itself with every thrust.

"beg for it," he growls. "beg me to fill you up again."

"jake, please—" you gasp, clawing at the marble. "fill me up. need it. need you."

"yeah?" he groans, his rhythm faltering as you tighten around him again. "say you're mine. say you love this."

"i'm yours," you cry, so close to breaking. "i love it—love when you fuck me like this—i'm yours, jake, only yours."

he lets out a low, desperate moan, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "that's right. my noona. my pussy. mine."

his hips slam into you once, twice more—and then he's spilling inside you again, groaning through gritted teeth, his entire body curling over yours like he's trying to bury himself so deep you'll never forget.

you collapse against the counter, boneless and shaking, his cum dripping out of you all over again as you relish in the feeling of your third high.

he leans down, kissing your shoulder softly now—contrasting the bite he left minutes ago—and whispers, "never again. don't you ever say i don't mean it."

he pulls you back up into his arms, pressing soft kisses behind your ear now, your body still trembling.

"...you okay?" he finally asks, quieter now. "too much?" you nod slowly, clinging to him. "no. not too much."

just jake. your jake. four years younger and somehow still the only one who's ever made you feel like this. you don't know how long you stood there, pressed against jake's chest, his arms tight around you as if he couldn't bear to let go.

your legs barely worked, still trembling from the aftermath, and you knew you looked wrecked—shirt open, hair tangled, neck littered with blooming marks. you were both soaked in sweat, your thighs sticky, his cum dripping slowly down your leg.

jake kissed your temple softly, breath still ragged. "i should clean you up," he murmured. "but if i touch you again, i'm not gonna stop."

you leaned your head back against his shoulder, exhausted. "don't think i can take another round anyway."

he chuckled, but it was laced with something darker—possessiveness still simmering just beneath the surface. "you'll take what i give you next time. and you'll say thank you."

you didn't get the chance to respond because that's when you heard it.

a door creaking open upstairs.

both of you froze.

footsteps.

"shit," you breathed, panic setting in as the reality of your situation crashed down.

sunghoon.

your little brother.

he was awake and if he came down and saw this you two would be screwed.

"move," jake whispered harshly, grabbing a dishtowel from the counter and tossing it over the wet mess you'd left behind. "go to the bathroom. now."

you scrambled to button your shirt, tugging your shorts up with shaking hands, nearly falling in the process. jake tucked himself away quickly, grabbing his hoodie from the kitchen chair and pulling it over his head just as the stairs creaked again.

you slipped down the hallway barefoot, heart pounding in your throat, ducking into the bathroom and locking the door with a soft click.

two seconds later, you heard sunghoon's voice from the kitchen.

"jake?"

"yo," jake replied, voice smooth—so effortlessly casual you wanted to scream.

"what are you doing down here?"

"water," jake said, cracking open the fridge to grab a bottle "couldn't sleep."

sunghoon hummed, still half asleep, "you good?"

jake laughed, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. "never better, hyung." you covered your mouth to keep from making a sound.

"you coming back up?" sunghoon asked, voice groggy with sleep as he reaches for the bottle of water that jake had offered him.

"in a bit."

they stood there in silence for a moment before you heard the footsteps retreat. the stairs creaked again. the door shut.

you waited a beat longer—just to be safe—before cracking the door open. jake was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, head tilted slightly.

his eyes met yours. slow. hungry.

you looked like hell—still flushed, lips swollen, hair a mess.

and jake?

jake looked like he'd do it all over again if he had five more minutes alone with you.

"you okay?" he asked, voice quiet now—sincere. you nodded, stepping closer, until he reached out and tugged you into his arms.

"you scared the shit out of me," you mumbled into his chest.

"you scare me every time you act like this is something i'm not serious about."

you froze.

jake pulled back slightly, his hands gentle now as he cupped your jaw. "i'm not just fucking you, noona. i've never just been fucking you."

your chest ached at the truth in his voice. raw and exposed.

"i know," you whispered, finally. "i believe you." he smiled—small, but genuine. "good. because next time you call me a kid, i'll fuck you and fill you so you have mine."

your breath hitched, but this time it wasn't from fear or shame—just need. you kissed him—soft, slow, the kind of kiss that promised this wasn't over.

because now you knew, it would never be over.

and god help you, you didn't want it to be.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

[strangerexee]

(3) ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ɢɪᴀɴᴛꜱ | ᴇʟɪᴊᴀʜ "ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ" ᴍᴏᴏʀᴇ

𝙼𝙾𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙽!𝙶𝙰𝙽𝙶!𝙰𝚄

pairings: Elijah "smoke" Moore x black!fem!reader

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢: 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 | 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 | 𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚐/𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜 | 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎/𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 | 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚌 𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚜 | 𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 (𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜), 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 | 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝-𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚢 | 𝚃𝚆𝙸𝙽 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙵𝚄𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 | 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗.

A/N: short lil chapter…sorry

You woke up the next morning sore.

But not like “I need a chiropractor” sore.

More like…“Yeah, that man did exactly what needed to be done” sore.

Thighs tender.

Lower back pulsing a little.

Neck stiff in that good way from how he bent you up last night.

And your coochie?

Worn. The hell. Out.

Not in a bad way.

More like: “Damn, this what it feel like to be dealt with properly?” kind of way.

More like: “Maybe I am the problem, because how the hell I let myself go this long without THIS??” kind of way.

And his bed?

Way too comfortable.

It smelled like cedarwood, lavender, and wealth.

Blankets soft. Pillows plush. Sheets cool on your bare skin.

It was giving “he paid for thread count.”

It was giving “this ain’t no twin mattress on the floor”.

You groaned a little when you stretched, body sore but satisfied.

Rolled over, ready to complain about being broke in half —

Only to find him already up.

Sitting against the headboard.

Shirtless.

Sweatpants on.

Phone in one hand.

Other arm draped behind his head, showing off the kind of bicep that made you forget how to spell.

He was quiet.

Scrolling.

Thumb tapping slow like he was sending voice notes.

You blinked up at him.

“Damn…good morning to you too.”

He looked down.

Smirked.

“Sleep good?”

You rubbed your eyes.

“Like the dead.”

He leaned down, kissed your forehead.

You smiled.

Then narrowed your eyes a little when you noticed that he kept typing.

“Who that?” you asked.

He didn’t flinch.

“My best friend.”

You raised a brow.

“Girl best friend?”

He grinned.

“Yeah.”

You stayed quiet.

Not mad.

Just noted.

Because one thing about a girl best friend?

You been through that war before.

You stretched again, slowly.

Let the blanket fall just a little — just enough to remind him of what he wrecked last night.

He glanced down.

Smiled.

And then?

Then he pulled you in.

One strong arm around your waist, dragging you close until you were tucked against his chest, legs tangled up like y’all been sleepin’ like that for years.

He kissed your temple.

“You jealous already?” he murmured.

You frowned.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

You gave him a look.

“Is she cute?”

He chuckled.

“Slick question.”

“Is she?”

“She married, baby.”

“Oh.”

He kissed you again.

“And pregnant.”

“Oh.”

You still squinted, skeptical.

“You tell her about me?”

He nodded.

“She was the one blowin’ up my phone the night you came to my place.”

Your brows jumped.

“For real?”

“Deadass. She said I had the ‘I found somebody’ look on my face.”

You sucked your teeth.

“I bet she did.”

He unlocked his phone again.

Tapped.

Then held it out to you.

A message thread open.

The name “Trina” at the top.

Most recent message?

“Sooo…did she sleep over or just blow her back out and kick her out? Cuz if you playing with another one I will key your car.”

You burst out laughing.

“Damn, she protective.”

“She real dramatic.”

You gave him a look.

“Can I respond?”

He raised a brow.

“You bold like that?”

You reached for the phone.

He didn’t stop you.

Typed real quick:

“Hi Trina. This is her. I’m alive. He did not kick me out. I made him feed me after. 10/10 would do it again. Sincerely, back blown.”

Sent it.

He looked over your shoulder and wheezed.

“You foul as hell.”

“She gon’ love me.”

“I already do,” he muttered, quiet.

You froze.

Then turned.

“…What?”

He blinked.

Like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Cleared his throat.

“Like, you cool,” he said, trying to recover. “I ain’t sayin’ I’m in love with you.”

You smirked.

“So you saying I could make you fall?”

He kissed you again.

This time, on the lips.

Long. Slow. Deep.

When he pulled back, he smiled real low.

“Ehh.”

“I mean…if you goin’ through phones…”

He raised an eyebrow, amused.

“You offering?”

You shrugged, but it was giving nonchalant with a hint of panic.

“I mean, I ain’t got nothin’ in there for real. Maybe some lil randoms but like…nothin’ recent.”

He looked at you over the rim of his lashes.

Leaned his head back against the headboard and gave you this lil squint like he was tryna figure out if you was playin’.

“You said randoms?”

You blinked.

Paused.

Because okay maybe you didn’t phrase that correctly.

“Not like recent recent…”

He snorted.

“Okay. What’s the timestamp, then?”

You fiddled with the blanket.

Looked down at your fingers.

Tried to act all innocent.

“Like…last month.”

He blinked again.

Tilted his head.

You clarified, quick:

“BUT like…early last month. Like — barely February. The first. Matter fact it was still snowing out. That don’t even count no more.”

Now he lookin’ at you with the most “mhmm” face you ever seen.

“Girl…that was four weeks ago.”

You held your hand up.

“I ain’t even like him like that for real. It was one of them ‘lemme not be dry’ situations. He didn’t even get to stay the night. And he ain’t have snacks. You got snacks. That’s already more.”

He laughed, low in his chest.

Not mad.

Just enjoying the way you squirmed.

“So what if I said I do wanna see your phone?”

You looked at him sideways.

“You tryna make me nervous?”

He leaned in, real calm.

Voice deep.

Soft.

“I just let you talk to my best friend and reply to her wild ass message. You gettin’ breakfast and pillow privileges. Of course I wanna know who got access to you before me.”

You blinked.

Damn.

Okay then.

You picked your phone up from the charger on the nightstand — because yes, he let you use his actual fast charger, not some raggedy off-brand one — and unlocked it.

Held it out.

“You wanna see? I ain’t gon’ lie to you. There’s one lil link, but that’s it. He texted me like…two weeks ago tryna spin the block but I ain’t even open it. See the lil preview? Boom. Dry. Just ‘hey stranger.’ He ain’t even come with a plan.”

He took your phone real slow.

Looked down at the messages.

Scrolled a lil bit.

You felt your soul leave your body just a smidge.

Because okay you might still have a couple old flirty convos in there, but it ain’t like you was double-bookin’.

He didn’t even look pressed, though.

Just nodded.

Scrolled back up and handed the phone back.

“That’s cute,” he said, voice all deep and casual. “But you not linkin’ with him again.”

You blinked.

“I’m not?”

He looked at you like you knew better.

“Nah. You mine now.”

You blinked twice.

You weren’t expecting the claim to come out so smooth.

So sure.

And now you sittin’ there in his bed, still slightly sore, still wrapped in his T-shirt, phone warm in your hand —

Heart doin’ the absolute most.

“…Oh.”

That’s all you could say.

Just: oh.

Cuz you ain’t have no rebuttal.

No smart-ass comeback.

No “boy please.”

Just that quiet little oh that means ‘yup…I fell but I’m not saying that shit out loud.’

He chuckled, leaned over, pulled you back into him —

Pressed your cheek to his chest.

Started playin’ in your hair like he already knew how you like your scalp scratched.

“You deleting his number?”

You nodded against him.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

You pulled back, looked up at him.

“I said yeah. You think I’m tryna lose this over a dry-ass ‘hey stranger’ text? Please.”

He kissed you again.

Slow.

Real kiss, too.

Like he was stampin’ his name on it.

Then he smirked and climbed out the bed.

“I’m makin’ food again. You comin’ downstairs or you need me to carry you?”

You groaned.

“My thighs still don’t work right.”

He looked back at you, proud as hell.

“Sounds like a personal problem.”

You threw a pillow at his back.

He dodged it.

Didn’t even break stride.

And you?

You laid there grinning like a fool.

Phone cleared.

Mind quiet.

Heart, dangerously invested.

The food was crazy again.

Like — no joke — you damn near cried into your second plate.

He made some pancakes, eggs, bacon and sausage.

And it wasn’t no “quick lil plate” either.

You was lowkey embarrassed the way you licked the damn plate.

You leaned against his marble countertop like, “You tryna marry me or just fatten me up so I can’t run away?”

And he laughed — that laugh, the deep one that comes from his chest — and said, “Who said you was allowed to run in the first place?”

Oh.

Right.

You grinned like a dummy.

Still full, still floatin’, still sittin’ there in his hoodie and them shorts he gave you last night, legs swingin’ from his barstool like you didn’t just get rearranged in his bedroom less than twelve hours ago.

And the whole time he movin’ around the kitchen — puttin’ leftovers in Tupperware, washing up dishes, wiping down counters — he stoppin’ every so often to lean down and kiss you on the cheek.

Or your shoulder.

Or the side of your neck, real low and slow like he tryna get your pulse to spike again.

You whispered “stop playin’ with me” every time.

And every time he said “who said I was playin’?”

And just kept on.

By the time he grabbed his keys, you was damn near goo.

You didn’t even expect him to drive you home. Like…you just assumed he’d call you a car or something.

But no.

This man held the door open, unlocked the car for you, and even adjusted the heat because it was a bit chilly.

He didn’t play no loud-ass music.

Didn’t rush you.

Just cruised through the city, hand on your thigh, thumb makin’ lil circles on your skin while you looked out the window, heart beatin’ like boom-boom, boom-boom, boom-boom on some high school crush type shit.

The sun was out.

Your lip gloss still poppin’.

And he looked so damn good drivin’.

One hand on the wheel. One hand on you.

Gold chain glintin’ in the light.

Lips all plush and sittin’ pretty like they made to kiss you exclusively.

Like…Lord.

Why was he like this.

And why did it feel so easy?

When y’all finally pulled up to your spot, he parked real smooth, put it in park like he already made up his mind.

You blinked.

Looked at him.

“You…gettin’ out?”

He looked over, like “of course?”

“You think I’m just gon’ let you walk upstairs by yourself? After I had you folded like a towel last night? Nah, baby. I’m escortin’ you.”

You wanted to laugh.

You tried not to smile.

But it was bad.

Like — you was cheesin’ so hard it hurt your cheeks.

He walked around the car.

Opened the door for you.

Walked with you all the way to the building door.

And then — THEN — when you got to the top of the steps, he stepped in close.

Real close.

His body was warm, big, familiar.

Like he already knew how to stand in your space without overstepping.

His hands found your waist automatically.

You looked up at him like ‘please don’t kiss me unless you mean it.’

And then?

Of course.

He meant it.

He leaned down real slow.

One hand tilted your chin.

The other slipped around your back, fingers splayed on your lower spine.

He kissed you — real deep, real soft — like he wasn’t in no rush to leave.

Like he ain’t have nothin’ better to do than taste you one more time.

And just when you thought it was over, he kissed your neck.

Not just one lil peck.

A line of kisses.

Right up the side.

Lips, tongue, little graze of teeth that made you damn near arch against him on the damn stoop.

You whisper, “You tryna start somethin’?”

He whispered back, lips pressed to your collarbone —

“Nah. Just don’t wanna leave you without a lil reminder.”

You grabbed his wrist, grinning.

“You think I’m not gon’ be thinkin’ about you all day anyway?”

He smirked, let you go real slow like it was physically difficult.

Like pullin’ away from you took effort.

“You gon’ text me when you get inside?”

“We’re literally right outside the door...”

He gave you a look.

“Don’t worry that — I’m tryna see you again. Of course I’m textin’ back. Matter fact—go head. Send me that lil ‘home safe’ text now so I got it locked in.”

You did.

Right there on the steps.

And he waited until the ding came through before he finally backed up, gave your hand one last squeeze, and walked off like the finest man on planet earth.

Which, honestly?

Might be true.

And now you standing in your hallway, phone still warm in your hand, hoodie still smellin’ like him, neck kissed and soul stretched out, thinking:

What the hell just happened.

And how fast can I see him again?

Lil taglist — @sertonins - @crimsonxm00n @klssngss @juicypinksblog @mingisg00dgirl @stilestotherescue @imperfectlyperfect78 @hoouno06 @kirayuki22 @christinabae @pinkpantheris @kxllanxtdoor

[tokoyamisstuff]

Second Chance At Love Epilogue

Warnings: none, maybe slight mental health issues

A/N: sorry for the wait, writing fluff doesn't come easy to me... but damn, I am incredibly thankful for everyone that has been engaging with this fic! 💌 it's been a pleasure, and I can't wait to create more for you wonderful people! ✨️

[Six Weeks Later]

"Had a nightmare again?"

Mark's half-lidded eyes were locked on you, wiping his wettened lashes dry before nuzzling against your chest again. He had fallen asleep on top of you while cuddling on the sofa, seeming rather peaceful until suddenly he had started getting restless and whisper concerning things in his sleep.

Those present days his only trouble was an irrational fear that he might hurt you during one of his night-terrors, and yet he was also too anxious of losing you again to not be at your side 24/7. So he had taken on the habit to simply hold you in his arms as and forcing himself to stay awake, admiring and protecting you even throughout the whole night.

Most of the time he'd just randomly pass out due to exhaustion, just like it had happened earlier. It's a miracle how he can even be functioning on so little rest, but Mark kept assuring you he's had it worse before and sadly, you did take his word for it.

"Mhh..." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shun out the unpleasant memories haunting his dreams and instead concentrates on your heartbeat in order to calm his own.

You're alive. You're here with him. This is real.

"A true nightmare would be waking up and see you gone" your boyfriend mumbled shyly as his panicked breathing slowly evens out, trailing an absentminded path of kisses along your collarbone.

Sometimes doubt would overcome him, thinking this was too good to be true, that maybe he just completely lost his mind and made it all up in his head.

"Hey, I'm with you" you coo sweetly, planting a wet kiss on the crown of his head. It's like you always have the words he needs to hear on the tip of your tongue.

"I know, I know..." Mark's grip on you loosens a bit, although his hands remained possessively hooked to your body. "Thank you."

You try sitting up but a noise of protest drang to your ear, making you giggle as the man climbed on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck to inhale your scent.

"Mark..." His mouth plays with the shell of your ear, making a pleasant shiver run down your spine. You let out a sensual sigh, hands disappearing under his shirt to feel up his muscular chest, before softly pushing him away. "We're already late..."

Your boyfriend sat up, still straddling your waist as his eyes darted throughout the room, trying to look anywhere but your face. "Are you, uh...are you sure William is okay with me accompanying you to his birthday party?"

"He specifically asked me to bring you along" you snicker, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt to pull him in for another kiss. He practically melts when he feels his lips move against yours, even after all this time. He'd never get tired of this, of you.

Mark's face is adorably flushed when you finally break contact, and you poke his chest in a teasing manner, offering him a cheeky grin. "So don't worry too much, okay?"

"Alright..." he murmurs under his breath, letting himself dramatically plummet onto you again. "Ugh, this is gonna be so awkward..."

Indeed...

With the sheer endless rebuild and trying to figure out your boyfriend's place in this world, there wasn't really much time for you to have a long overdue talk with this world's Mark and his girlfriend Eve.

"We need to get it over with eventually, right? The party is a great opportunity."

Those past weeks have been rather eventful, and frankly a lot is still complicated.

You haven't even let him meet your parents yet, since it'd be hard to explain why the man you're dating looks exactly like your childhood best friend down to the last minicule detail. A long lost twin, maybe? Damn, Cecil better earns his taxpayer's money and come up with something - it's a exhausting to keep your relationship a secret as technically, your boyfriend shouldn't exist in this dimension.

But ever since he was officially allowed to stay and roam freely, he's relentlessly working to make amends for his deeds.

He once confided in you that he's afraid of his father- no, Nolan's return to earth - because even though it's not the same version that tormented him all these years, he was afraid to relapse and lose control at the mere sight of him.

But that's a worry for another day. One step at a time.

Initially Cecil wanted your Mark to become the Guardian's new leader, however that 'the strongest leads' mindset was too similar to Viltrum culture for his liking. Not to mention he has yet to earn their trust, and is still not completely mentally stable.

When he first joined the team, everyone was - and frankly, still is - pretty wary, if not downright hateful towards him. After everything they needed to endure because of the variants, it's no wonder really. And yet, up until now they managed to swallow their feelings and treating him polite and respectful, though distanced, which is more than he could dare asking for.

A small victory is that the knowledge he got from his own timeline proved useful against many foes to come. Like that he's already indirectly averted so many dangers and saved countless lives!

One would think that after defeating an enemy as ferocious as Conquest through shared efforts, the two Marks would get along by now, right? But actually they were far from it, neutral at best.

Cecil insisted that both Marks could share their identity as Invincible, down to having the same costume and all. You were surprised that the original Mark had declined, as it would've certainly worked in his favor to have more free time and less responsibility. Seems like he was against having a variant - with questionable morals at best - act in his stead. You got the sentiment.

Your Mark on the other hand was willing to accept whatever circumstances he was handed, as long as it meant that the two of you could stay together. Besides that, he didn't really care about anything else.

Much to your delight at least, he's slowly but continuously getting better, with the help of a therapist the GDA had provided. You're a little distrustful of anyone working for them, but they basically owned your boyfriend by now - and also, there's no regular therapist on this earth that would be able to unpack all of his issues.

All that counts is that it's working. He's been unrecognizeable compared to his former self, getting out of his shell lately and cautiously opens up to other people and experiences again. It's truly heartwarming to see him try to enjoy life again, because he deserves nothing less.

You were so incredibly proud of the progress he made, and would do anything to support this wonderful, resilient and kind man leaving his dark past behind.

One prolonged shower the both of you took together later, and you were almost ready to leave for the evening.

"At least in my empire didn't have to wash the dishes anymore" you hear him whine ironically as he rummaged the kitchen, making you snicker. "I was soaking them!" you said in a fake offended tone, but you knew he was just stalling. "We can do them together later. Let's go!"

Looking around your rundown apartment sure makes one wonder how luxuriously he probably lived in his world. You were just glad to afford anything to live alone, but this sure must be a downgrade for him. "Now that you finally get payed by the GDA we could affort to move somewhere nicer? I mean you basically live with me already."

"Don't overthink it, I was just trying to be funny." You sulk a little, almost smearing your lipstick while applying. "Yeah, we need to work on your humor too apparently..."

"You know I wouldn't trade this- you for anything in the world...we could be living in a trashcan and I wouldn't complai- woah..." As Mark stepped into the entrance area his jaw dropped at your getup.

His eyes couldn't stop raking up and down your form, admiring how your outfit highlighted your body in all the right places. Anything from the way you wore your hair over the necklace he got you with his first paycheck, it was a sight to behold.

The most important accessory however was the radiant smile that appeared on your face when you noticed his reaction, so warm and bright that it felt as if bathing in sunlight itself.

"Wow, you, uh...you look incredible."

Only now he realized for how long he has been staring, and your innocent smile turned into a wide, amused one as you noticed the effect you had on him.

"The compliment goes right back!" You wink at him and Mark swings an arm around your shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. "How do I even deserve you?"

"It should be me asking that question" he insists, ignoring the way his stomach churns at the thought of meeting all of your friends. "Hurry up, before I change my mind."

7:20 pm and you're finally at the bowling alley, not even half an hour too late. A new record. And as you were soon told, the party didn't start until 10 minutes later - you were just given an earlier time since they knew Mark would be late in any dimension.

To be perfectly honest, you were surprised that William invited your boyfriend, yet kept quiet to not worry him any further. But a few weeks prior you tried to get them acquainted, and of course William had pestered Mark about his counterpart's fate - until the latter finally confessed having gruesomely killed him at his father's request.

You reassured him that it was William's fault for riddling him with so many uncomfortable questions, and that he shouldn't have asked if he can't handle the truth. Seems you were right at least, there's a reason they were best friends across so many timelines.

The two of you were the first to arrive, before the actual birthday boy even, and still you needed to coax your boyfriend - who was currently spiraling - inside like one would lure in a timid animal.

You could only imagine what went through everyone's mind as they entered one after anothe - especially since not only them, but also Amber and her new partner had come. Feeling the anxiety radiating off of him, you remained at your boyfriend's side, squeezing his hand ever so slightly to remind him you're not going anywhere.

"Kinda awkward, huh? The relationship dynamics are all over the place" William teased, before turning around and busying himself with playing. "Try to act like adults, I'm busy destroying all of you with my skills."

"You wish!" Eve seemed the least rigid out of all of you, jumping up and materializing a custom bowling ball as she joined the couple. At least she seemed approachable...you'd rather not want to be on the receiving end of such a powerful being's wrath.

To be perfectly honest, seeing the original Mark - your former and hopefully soon again friend - after all this time wasn't nearly as strange as you imagined it'd be. You were glad to see him of course, but other than that you felt nothing but a siblinglike bond between you - the heartache and unrequited love you had felt for so long had vaporized completely.

He wasn't your Mark after all.

A few drinks later the mood loosened up eventually - at least for those of you who could still be affected by alcohol.

"They seem to get along surprisingly well" Amber noted, taking a seat next to you and clinking her bottle with yours, before nodding towards the two Marks conversing in the background. "What are they taking about?"

"They're complaining about the animation of the new Seance Dog season, I think?" You roll your eyes and both of you break out in laughter. "It was the first thing he did after the whole war. Made me sit through the entire thing in one night."

"Glad to hear our world's Mark is not the only hopeless nerd" Eve commented as she joined you two, now effectively trapped in between Mark's ex and his current girlfriend.

You took a deep, shuddered breath, before trying to explain yourself. "Eve, hear me out, before you say anything, I didn't-"

"I know" she interrupted you anyways, shooting you a sympathetic look. "I think we all understand. No matter how crazy the situation is, I think we're used to stuff like this by now..." You huffed an uncomfortable laugh, but she was right wasn't she? "Amber and I have been through similar things not long ago. I had a crush on Mark when they were still together, but we talked it out and are still friends."

"Why would we even be mad?" Amber added, "You never acted on your feelings and respected our relationship with Mark."

"Still, it's just...weird, isn't it?" You're fidgeting with your fingers, eyes darting between your boyfriend and the floor. "I mean, I'm dating a different version of Mark, that's just-"

"But he's his own person. It's not like you're setting for him just because you couldn't get the original, right?"

"Of course not!" you blurt out mildly upset, though you had also once accused your boyfriend of using you as a rebound. "He's not a replacement. He's himself. Even though they look alike and share similar memories, my Mark is different in so many ways...I didn't even plan to, we just happened to fall for each other."

Yeah. It may have started wrong, but the two of you got to know each other beyond your unhealthy obsession for the concept of your other variants.

"I'm glad to hear that" Eve and Amber both lay a hand on your shoulder, proclaiming they're very happy for how things turned out for you and the alternate Mark...

...but were rudely interrupted by the TV volume increasing due to emergency news about a villain rampaging in a nearby city.

"Mark!" all three of you yell in unison, and both of them flinch at the sound and rush towards you.

"We may need to give them nicknames..." You chuckle at Eve's idea, turning your attention to your partner. "Maybe I should call you 'Sebastian' from now on, so we can distinguish you two better?"

"Whatever you say, babe!" he chirps like the lovestruck fool he is, before realizing what was going on. "Oh. I'll go take care of it!" He turns to the original Mark, determination present on his face. "You can stay with your friends."

"You mean our friends" the original corrects him, and both crack a appreciative smile at each other. "And I don't think so. How about we go together?"

"Sure!" his counterpart chants happily, giving you a last quick embrace from behind before going outside. "Should be quick work with the two of us, see ya soon!"

Later this night the two of you were entangled under the sheets, long since stripped of any clothing as you enjoyed the warmth of each other's body. Your boyfriend absentmindedly caresses your skin, raising goosebumps as his fingertips trace little paths across your curves.

"Sooo..." you ask curious, now facing him while you pepper countless kisses across his face. "Did you enjoy the evening after all?"

"You have no idea" he admitted, feeling as content with himself as never before. "It's been forever since things felt so...normal. Also..." His thumb gently stroke your cheek and you eagerly leaned into his touch. "Mark said that our- uh, his mom and brother want to meet me."

"Oh?" Seems like things were progressing even better than you anticipated. "Well, what did you say?"

"I couldn't object even if I wanted to. Opened my mouth and he directly cut me off by saying something like 'what's one more half-viltrumite to accept into the family?'"

"Yeah, sounds like them." You snort with laughter, tears of happiness forming in the brim of your eyes. "But I'm glad, really. There's so many good people who welcome you into their lives now. You are so, so loved, do you know that?"

Mark leans his forehead against yours, briefly closing the gap between your lips. "All thanks to you" he claims, his voice wavering with almost worship-like reverence.

"No, that was all you." He tends to take all the blame but rarely gives himself credit. After the tragic turn his life took, throughout all the pain and loss...in the end he chose to do what's right.

If anyone deserves a happy ending, it's him - and you will make sure he gets it.

"Do you think Angstrom will return one day?" You ask cautiously and in an instant your boyfriend has securely cradled you against his chest.

"Of course, that bastard is tough. Being driven by insanity does that to a man, I know what I'm talking about." His joke only caused you to frown, but the sanguine smile plastered on his face was contagious nonetheless. Not to mention you were too drunk and tired to argue anyway. "Don't worry. This time we're two Invincibles, and I'll make sure nothing happens to this world. It's my home now...because you are on it."

Mark proceeds to rub a soothing pattern between your shoulderblades, draping the blanket over both of you as he watched you slowly drift into sleep. He leans in to plant a last, lingering kiss atop of your temple, closing his eyes as well to indulge in this peaceful closeness.

"...maybe I should be thanking Angstrom, for making me meet the true love of my life..."

[lemonsdietcoke]

Get Gone - Player 230

Dark!Thanos/Choi Su-bong x Fem!Reader

This is part 3 of my mini series love ridden

Warnings: physical abuse, DV, implied NONCON, toxic relationship, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, and intense depictions of psychological distress. Reader discretion is advised.

Summary: “How many times do I have to say To get away, get gone?” A late-night confrontation unearths buried truths, forcing you to confront the cost of her own survival. loosely inspired by Get Gone-Fiona Apple

MINORS DNI!

A/n: yall I’m sorry this took so long, I have work & school during the week and low-key got lazy lol but it’s finally here!!! Lmk if yall fw it. I love feedback. Lmk what you think!! <3

…………………….

The room feels smaller now, the air pressing down on you like it’s alive, like it’s conspiring with him. Every second ticks by painfully, loud and sharp in your ears. You swear you can feel the weight of his gaze on you, heavy and unrelenting.

“If you walk out that door,” Su-bong says again, his voice low, deliberate, “you’ll never see me again.”

There’s no anger in his tone, no malice. Just a quiet certainty that chills you to your core. It should feel like a relief—like a clean break. But instead, it feels like a threat wrapped in a promise.

Your hands tighten around your phone. Ji-hye’s name still flashes on the screen like a lifeline you’re too afraid to grab.

“Why would you say that?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Because it’s the truth,” he says, tilting his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he watches you. “I don’t want to play games anymore, Y/N. I can’t do this halfway. Either you stay, and we figure this out together, or you leave… and that’s it.”

The simplicity of his words makes them hit harder. They slice through you like glass, leaving behind wounds you can’t see but can feel.

“You don’t mean that,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

His lips curl into a faint, humorless smile. “Don’t I?”

You feel like the floor is shifting beneath you, like the ground you’ve been standing on has suddenly turned to quicksand. “You’re just saying that to scare me,” you accuse.

“Am I?” His voice is calm, measured, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it. “You think I don’t mean it, but deep down, you know I do. You know I’ve always meant it when it comes to you.”

“Stop,” you say, your voice cracking.

“Why?” he presses, taking a slow step toward you. He’s close now, too close, his presence overwhelming. “Because you don’t want to hear it? Because you don’t want to admit that it scares you?”

“I’m not scared of you,” you shoot back, even though your heart is hammering in your chest.

“No,” he says softly, almost thoughtfully. “You’re not scared of me. You’re scared of what happens if you leave. You’re scared because you don’t know who you are without me.”

Your stomach twists violently. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” His voice softens, but that only makes it worse. “You don’t want to leave, Y/N. You’re just trying to convince yourself that you do. But we both know the truth. You’ve always been afraid of being alone.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” His words are quiet, but they land with the force of a wrecking ball. “You stayed with me for two years, even when you knew you should’ve left. You forgave me for things most people wouldn’t. And why? Because you didn’t want to be alone. Because you don’t know how to be alone.”

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “You don’t get to do this,” you say, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. “You don’t get to make this about me. You’re the one who—”

“I’m not making this about you,” he interrupts, his tone sharpening. “I’m just telling you the truth. You don’t want to hear it, fine. But don’t act like I’m the bad guy for saying it.”

You let out a shaky breath, your chest heaving as you struggle to hold yourself together. “You don’t know anything about me anymore.”

He scoffs, the sound low and bitter. “I know everything about you, Y/N. I know how you think, how you feel. I know you better than anyone, including Ji-hye.”

The mention of her name sends a jolt through you, sharp and electric.

“that’s who you’ve been talking to, right?” he asks, his voice dropping into something quieter, more dangerous. “Ji-hye?”

Your throat tightens. “She’s my friend. Of course I’ve been talking to her.”

“About me?” His question is calm, but there’s something venomous just beneath the surface.

“She’s my best friend,” you say, lifting your chin even though your hands are shaking. “I tell her everything.”

His jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I thought what we had was private. I guess I was wrong.”

“Private?” you repeat, your voice rising. “You’ve been calling me nonstop for weeks, leaving voicemails threatening to kill yourself, and now you want to talk about privacy?”

“That’s different,” he snaps, his control slipping for the first time.

“Is it?” you shoot back, your voice cracking. “Because it feels a hell of a lot like you’re just mad that I told someone the truth about you.”

He steps closer, and you instinctively take a step back. “You’re the one dragging her into this,” he says, his voice low but cutting. “You’re the one making this worse.”

“She’s worried about me!” you shout, your emotions spilling over, raw and unfiltered. “She’s worried because she knows what you’re like!”

His expression darkens, his gaze boring into yours. “She doesn’t know you like I do. She doesn’t know what you’re like when you’re falling apart. When you’re scared. When you don’t know what you want.”

“I know what I want!” you yell, your voice breaking. “I want to leave!”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“Then go,” he says, his tone soft but razor-sharp. “But don’t come back. Because if you walk out that door, Y/N…” He pauses, his gaze steady and unrelenting. “I promise you’ll never see me again.”

Your chest tightens, panic clawing at your insides. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m done,” he says simply. “I’m done chasing you, done begging you to talk to me, done waiting for you to figure out what you want.”

You stare at him, your mind racing, your pulse pounding in your ears. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

Your phone buzzes again in your hand, the sound startling you. You glance down at the screen, Ji-hye’s name flashing like a lifeline.

“She’s outside,” you say, your voice trembling. “She’s waiting for me.”

He doesn’t react at first. And then—

“Of course she is.” His lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile. “You always need someone to save you, don’t you?”

The words hit you like a slap, the sting radiating through your chest.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

“Go ahead,” he says, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door. “Run to her. But don’t pretend you’re doing this for you. We both know you don’t have the guts to face this on your own.”

Your legs feel like lead, your heart pounding as you take a shaky step toward the door.

And as you reach for the handle, his voice cuts through the silence one last time.

“When you realize I’m right,” he says softly, “don’t bother coming back.”

You don’t look at him as you open the door.

But you feel his eyes on you the whole way out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The car door shuts behind you with a heavy, final thud.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your own ragged breathing, loud and uneven in the stillness of the cabin. The air inside feels thick, stagnant. You reach for your seatbelt with trembling hands, but the buckle slips from your fingers twice before you manage to click it into place.

Ji-hye doesn’t start the car. She doesn’t even move.

Her knuckles are wrapped tight around the steering wheel, her nails biting into the leather. The dim glow of the dashboard casts her face in sharp relief — her set jaw, the hard line of her mouth, the slight tremble in her lips she’s fighting to keep still.

Her eyes flicker toward you, then away, like she can’t bear to look too long. “You okay?” she asks, her voice low, strained. The question sounds more like an accusation than concern.

You nod — a jerky, unconvincing motion that does nothing to quiet the storm inside you. “I’m fine,” you lie, your voice breaking on the last syllable.

Her fingers tighten on the wheel, the tendons standing out in sharp relief. “You don’t look fine.”

“I just…” You press your hands to your lap, flattening them against the fabric of your dress to keep them from shaking. “I just want to go home.”

She exhales sharply, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. But she doesn’t start the car.

“What happened, Y/N?” Her voice is still low, but there’s an edge to it now — a tremor beneath the surface, like she’s holding herself back from grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking the truth out of you.

“Nothing happened,” you say too quickly, too defensively.

Ji-hye’s head snaps toward you, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t bullshit me.”

You flinch at the sharpness in her tone, the anger laced through it, though you know it’s not directed at you.

“I…” You shake your head, your breath hitching. “I don’t know.”

Her jaw tightens. She turns back to the steering wheel, but her fingers twitch against it, like she’s holding herself back from punching something. “What the fuck does that mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean I don’t remember!” The words explode out of you before you can stop them, loud and jagged and filled with panic. Your chest heaves, and your eyes sting as the tears start to well up again. “I don’t fucking remember, Ji-hye! I blacked out, okay? I don’t know what happened!”

She goes still, completely still, her hands frozen on the wheel. Slowly, she turns to look at you again. “You don’t remember anything?”

Your breath hitches, and you shake your head.

Her gaze sharpens, her eyes scanning your face like she’s searching for the pieces of a puzzle you can’t see. “But you woke up there,” she says finally, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “At his place.”

You nod, and the weight of the admission makes your chest tighten, makes the shame press down harder.

Ji-hye leans back in her seat, dragging a hand through her hair. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath.

Her reaction makes your stomach churn. “I—” Your voice cracks, and you have to swallow hard before you can speak again. “I don’t know if anything happened.”

Her head snaps toward you again, her eyes widening. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t know,” you whisper, the tears spilling over now, hot and relentless. You clutch at your dress, twisting the fabric in your fists as the words come tumbling out. “I don’t remember getting there. I don’t remember going to bed. But when I woke up—” Your voice falters, your breath hitching painfully. “There were bruises, Ji-hye. On my thighs. And my underwear was—” You choke on the words, unable to finish the sentence.

The silence in the car is suffocating.

Ji-hye doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and when you finally glance at her, her expression makes your chest tighten even more. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and her eyes are dark, her gaze fixed on the dashboard like she’s barely holding herself together.

“You think he—” She can’t even finish the question.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, the words barely audible. “I don’t know, Ji-hye. But what if he didn’t? What if I’m just overthinking it? What if I’m—”

“Stop.” Her voice cuts through your rambling, sharp and commanding. She turns to you fully now, her gaze locking onto yours. “Stop right there. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. Don’t you fucking dare.”

“But—”

“There is no ‘but,’” she snaps, her voice rising. “You were drunk, Y/N. If he did anything — anything — that you didn’t consent to, it’s not your fault. Do you understand me?”

You can’t answer. Your throat is too tight, your chest heaving as you fight to keep yourself together.

Ji-hye exhales sharply, dragging her hands through her hair again. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, her voice trembling now. “That fucking piece of shit.”

Her words make your stomach twist, the nausea bubbling up again. “What if I—”

“You didn’t do anything,” she cuts you off again, her voice softening but no less firm. “Do you hear me? You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one—” She stops herself, her voice breaking on the last word. She clenches her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and unbearable.

Finally, Ji-hye starts the car, but she doesn’t drive. The engine hums beneath you, the only sound in the suffocating quiet.

“What do I do?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Ji-hye’s hands tighten on the wheel. She stares straight ahead, her gaze burning with quiet fury. “You don’t go back to him,” she says, her voice steady now. “Not ever. I don’t care what it takes, Y/N. He doesn’t get to be a part of your life anymore.”

You swallow hard, her words cutting through the fog in your mind like a lifeline.

“We’ll figure it out,” Ji-hye says, her voice softening. She reaches over, her hand resting on yours. Her grip is warm and steady, grounding you. “I promise. Whatever you need, I’ll be here.”

The weight of her words sinks into you, anchoring you to the moment. You don’t know what comes next. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to put the pieces of last night together.

But for now, you let her words steady you. For now, you let yourself believe her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air smells like caramelized sugar and charred meat. Smoke curls from food stalls, the sizzle of grilling pork belly mingling with the faintly sweet aroma of tteokbokki simmering in spicy sauce. Somewhere in the distance, someone’s laughing, the sound light and bright, cutting through the low hum of the crowd.

Ji-hye’s arm loops through yours, her grip warm and grounding as she steers you through the maze of vendors. It’s loud here, chaotic in the way only street markets can be, but you’ve missed it—this pulsing rhythm of life, the neon lights reflecting off puddles of rainwater on the pavement, the voices overlapping as vendors shout over one another to hawk their food.

“Y/N,” Ji-hye says, tilting her head toward a stall where skewers of fish cake glisten in the warm glow of a heat lamp. “You want one?”

You start to shake your head, but the look on her face stops you. She’s been trying so hard to pull you out of your own head, to make you laugh, to make you eat.

“Sure,” you say. Your voice feels foreign, stiff and distant, but Ji-hye beams anyway.

She orders two skewers, handing one to you before taking a bite of her own. “This is the best part about winter,” she says, her words muffled around a mouthful of food. “I swear I could eat eomuk every single day.”

You take a bite, the broth-soaked fish cake warm and savory on your tongue. It’s good—comforting, even—but it doesn’t reach the hollow ache in your chest.

Ji-hye is still talking, something about the new club opening next weekend, but her voice fades into the background as your gaze snags on something across the street.

Purple hair.

Your breath catches in your throat, the skewer trembling slightly in your hand. It’s not him—it’s a girl, her hair cropped short and spiked, her face unfamiliar—but your body doesn’t know the difference.

Your heart is racing, the world around you narrowing to a pinpoint. The noise of the market fades, replaced by the pounding of your pulse in your ears.

“Y/N?” Ji-hye’s voice cuts through the haze, her hand on your arm.

You blink, your chest heaving as you drag your gaze away from the girl. “What?”

“Are you okay?” Her brow furrows, concern etched into every line of her face.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, forcing a shaky smile. “I just—thought I saw someone I knew.”

Her lips press together, like she doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she squeezes your arm and changes the subject, dragging you to the next stall.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. You smile when Ji-hye laughs, nod when she talks, but your mind is elsewhere. Your skin feels too tight, your senses stretched thin. Every shout from a vendor, every gust of cigarette smoke, every glimpse of purple in the crowd sends your heart skittering in your chest.

When you finally part ways with Ji-hye, your cheeks ache from forcing smiles, and your stomach churns with the weight of pretending.

The walk home is quiet. The market’s noise fades into the background as you leave it behind, replaced by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a stray dog.

Your apartment building looms ahead, its shadow stretching long and dark across the street.

You reach the door, your fingers trembling slightly as you punch in the code. The lock beeps, the door clicking open, and you step inside, the familiar scent of your apartment wrapping around you like a blanket.

Safe.

You kick off your shoes, leaving them by the door. The silence is heavy, pressing, but it’s better than the noise. Better than the chaos.

You make your way to the bathroom, the tiles cold under your bare feet. The fluorescent light flickers to life, casting your reflection in sharp relief.

You look… tired.

But not the same kind of tired you were before. It’s different now—less hollow, less fragile. Still frayed around the edges, but stitched together enough to pass.

You wash your face, the cool water shocking against your skin. Your movements are slow, methodical, each step of your routine grounding you just a little more.

The week since you left Su-bong’s apartment has been a blur.

You’ve thrown yourself into small, safe routines: going to work, meeting Ji-hye for meals, scrolling aimlessly through your phone until sleep overtakes you. Anything to fill the silence. Anything to drown out the questions.

For the first time in years, you feel like you’re breathing again. Slowly. Unevenly. But breathing.

Ji-hye says you look better. Healthier.

You believe her, mostly. Even though you still jump at sudden noises. Even though crowds make your chest feel tight. Even though you sometimes find yourself scanning unfamiliar faces for someone who isn’t there.

The clock reads 12:03 AM when you finally collapse onto the couch, a mug of tea cooling in your hands.

You’ve only just started to relax when the knock comes.

At first, you think you imagined it.

You weren’t expecting anyone this late.

Then it comes again. Louder this time.

You freeze.

Another knock.

“Y/N.”

Your heart drops into your stomach.

It’s him.

No. No, this isn’t possible. He doesn’t even know where you live.

You moved after the breakup. You didn’t tell anyone except Ji-hye.

So how the fuck does he know?

Your chest tightens, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as you stare at the door.

Another knock.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there.”

His voice is slurred, thick with alcohol or something stronger.

“I just want to talk. Please.”

Your fingers dig into the couch cushion, your nails scraping against the fabric.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says, the words cracking in his throat. “I shouldn’t have said those things. You know I didn’t mean them.”

The lump in your throat grows heavier, your stomach twisting violently.

“Don’t ignore me.” His tone shifts, harder now. “I can see the lights are on.”

Your pulse roars in your ears. You grab your phone from the coffee table, your hands trembling as you scroll to Ji-hye’s name.

The knocking stops, but his voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

“Y/N.”

Your fingers freeze.

“Just open the door, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

The weight of his words settles over you like a lead blanket.

“I need to see you.”

No.

“You’re not being fair, you know that? After everything we’ve been through…”

You press the phone to your chest, your other hand gripping the armrest so tightly your knuckles ache.

“Do you really want me to cause a scene?” His voice is softer now, coaxing, but the threat is clear beneath it. “Your neighbors don’t need to hear this, do they?”

The knot in your chest tightens, fear and anger twisting together into something sharp and unbearable.

“Come on,” he says again, his voice breaking slightly. “Please. I just… I just need to talk to you.”

The silence stretches, your own breathing ragged in the quiet.

Then, a softer knock.

“I’ll leave if you just talk to me,” he says. “I swear.”

You close your eyes, your stomach churning violently.

You don’t want to open the door.

You don’t want to see him.

But you know Su-bong.

You know how loud he can get when he doesn’t get his way.

And it’s late. Your neighbors are probably asleep.

You take a shaky breath, your body trembling as you rise to your feet.

The floor feels unsteady beneath you as you make your way to the door, every step heavier than the last.

Your fingers tremble as you unlock the deadbolt, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness.

You open the door just a crack, your body blocking the gap.

And there he is.

His hair is a mess, his shirt wrinkled and half-untucked. His eyes are bloodshot, his pupils blown wide. The faint smell of alcohol wafts off him, mixing with the cloying scent of his cheap cologne.

But it’s his expression that makes your stomach drop.

The desperation in his eyes.

The anger lurking just beneath it.

“Y/N.”

Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, soft and broken.

You grip the doorframe, your nails digging into the wood. “What do you want, Su-bong?”

“I want to talk.” He shifts his weight, his hands twitching at his sides. “That’s all. Just… just talk to me.”

The second you crack the door an inch more, you regret it.

It’s instinctive, the way you step back as he pushes forward, brushing past you into the apartment like it’s his. Like there aren’t layers of pain, distance, and boundaries between you now.

“Su-bong, wait—”

“I’m not waiting,” he says, his voice low, a slur of alcohol softening the edges. “Not after you’ve been ignoring me for a week.”

He’s already halfway to the couch. The door is still open, the cold night air seeping in as you stand frozen, your fingers gripping the edge of the doorframe like it might ground you.

He turns back to glance at you, his expression unreadable in the dim light of your apartment. “You’re going to leave it open?”

You blink, your heart hammering in your chest. Slowly, reluctantly, you close the door.

The sound of the lock clicking into place feels like a nail in your coffin.

When you turn back, he’s sitting on your couch, slouched like he’s settling in for a long stay. His elbows rest on his knees, his hands clasped together loosely, but there’s nothing casual about the way his gaze locks onto you.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.” His voice carries a hint of something sharp, but his eyes stay soft, almost sad. “I didn’t even know where to find you, Y/N. Do you have any idea what that felt like?”

You stay near the door, keeping as much distance as you can, your pulse roaring in your ears. “How did you even—”

“How did I find you?” He cuts you off, leaning back into the couch like he owns it, like it’s still the one you used to share. “I have my ways.”

Your stomach churns. The vagueness in his tone makes your skin crawl. “What do you want, Su-bong?”

He lets out a soft, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “What do I want? I want to know why you blocked me.”

His words hit like a slap, the audacity of them stealing the breath from your lungs. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” His gaze sharpens, the softness in his eyes hardening. “You didn’t even let me explain, Y/N. You just—what? Cut me out? Pretend I don’t exist?”

“I had to,” you say, your voice trembling. “You wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Because I needed you!” The words burst out of him, loud and raw, echoing in the quiet apartment. “I didn’t know where else to go! I didn’t know what else to do!”

Your throat tightens, your chest heaving as you fight to keep your composure. “That’s not my problem anymore, Su-bong.”

He flinches, just slightly, but the hurt in his eyes is quickly replaced by something sharper. “You really think you can just shut me out like that? Like I don’t matter?”

“I never said you don’t matter,” you whisper. “I just… I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Couldn’t do what?” he demands, standing suddenly. The movement makes you instinctively take a step back, your fingers brushing against the wall behind you.

“This.” You gesture between the two of you, your voice cracking. “You calling me nonstop. Showing up here. Saying things you can’t take back. I couldn’t—” Your voice falters, breaking on the words. “I couldn’t keep letting you drag me down with you.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Drag you down?” he repeats, his tone quiet but venomous.

You press yourself harder against the wall, your palms flat against the cool surface. “You know what I mean.”

He takes a slow step toward you, and your stomach twists violently. “No,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “I don’t think I do.”

“Su-bong, please,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just leave.”

He stops, just a few feet away from you now. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Your breath hitches, your chest tightening painfully. “Get what?”

He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. “You’re scared,” he says finally, his tone softening. “You’re scared because you don’t know what you’re doing without me.”

The words land like a punch to the gut. “That’s not true,” you say, your voice trembling.

“Yes, it is.” He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. “You’ve always been scared of being alone, Y/N. That’s why you stayed with me for so long, even when you knew you shouldn’t.”

Your nails dig into the wall behind you, the sharp pain grounding you. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” His voice softens, but it only makes the words hit harder. “You blocked me because you couldn’t handle it. Not because you’re over me. Not because you’re moving on. But because you’re scared of facing me.”

Your vision blurs with tears, your chest heaving. “That’s not true.”

“It’s not?” His voice drops to a whisper, his eyes searching yours. “If it’s not true, why’d you let me in?”

The question cuts deeper than you want to admit.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice breaking. “I don’t know why I let you in.”

His lips curl into something that’s not quite a smile, something that makes your stomach twist. “I do,” he says softly.

“What do you mean?”

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush against your arm. You flinch, but he doesn’t pull back.

“You let me in,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, “because you still love me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “That’s not—”

“You do,” he says, his tone almost gentle. “And that’s okay. I’m not mad about it. I’m not mad at you.”

His hand lingers on your arm, and you feel like you’re drowning, like the walls are closing in on you.

“Su-bong, please,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face now. “I can’t do this.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says, his voice soft and coaxing. “Just… let me stay. Just for a little while.”

You shake your head, your breath hitching. “I don’t want you here.”

“Yes, you do,” he says quietly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “You don’t have to say it, but I know you do.”

The weight of his hand on your face is unbearable.

And in that moment, you realize—

You’re trapped.

His hand lingers on your cheek, warm and steady, but the weight of it feels crushing. Your breath catches in your throat, your vision blurring as his thumb brushes gently over your skin. It’s too much — the closeness, the intimacy he’s trying to pull you back into.

“Stop,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He doesn’t.

“You don’t have to fight this,” Su-bong says softly, his voice slurring at the edges. “I’m not your enemy, Y/N.”

The words twist in your chest, sharp and suffocating. You push his hand away, your fingers trembling as you take a step back.

“You need to leave.” Your voice is quiet, but there’s an edge of panic creeping into it.

He doesn’t move. Instead, he watches you, his gaze heavy and unreadable. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, his voice low and raw. “Why are you pushing me away when you know—”

“Know what?” you snap, cutting him off. “What the fuck do I know, Su-bong? Because right now, I don’t know anything.”

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” you continue, your voice rising, breaking under the weight of your emotions. “I don’t know why you can’t just leave me alone. And I don’t know what the fuck happened that night.”

The room goes still.

For a moment, all you can hear is your own ragged breathing.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

Your chest tightens, your stomach twisting violently. “Don’t do that,” you say, your voice cracking. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

He shakes his head, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/N.”

“Stop lying!” The words burst out of you, loud and jagged, echoing in the suffocating silence. Tears spill down your cheeks, hot and relentless, as you take a shaky step forward. “Stop fucking lying to me, Su-bong!”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are!” Your voice breaks, the weight of your anger and fear crashing over you all at once. “You’ve been lying this whole fucking time, haven’t you? About everything.”

His gaze flickers, something dark and frantic flashing in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Tell me what happened that night,” you demand, your voice trembling but unrelenting. “Tell me what you did.”

He flinches, just slightly, but it’s enough.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. “I woke up in your bed, Su-bong. I had bruises on my thighs. My underwear was backward.” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight of the words. “And I don’t remember anything.”

His face goes pale, his eyes widening ever so slightly before he quickly looks away.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Fucking say something.”

He drags a hand through his hair, his movements jerky and unsteady. “I didn’t—” He stops, his jaw clenching so tightly you think it might shatter. “I didn’t mean for it to—”

Your stomach drops. “For it to what?”

His gaze snaps back to you, wild and panicked. “I wasn’t thinking, okay?” His voice rises, cracking at the edges. “You were just—”

He stops himself again, his words hanging in the air like a noose tightening around your throat.

“I was just what?” you demand, your voice trembling. “Say it, Su-bong. Finish your fucking sentence.”

He doesn’t.

He looks at you, his chest heaving, his lips parted as if he’s searching for the right words. But none come.

And that’s worse than anything he could have said.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. Your mind spins, piecing together fragments of the truth you’ve been trying to avoid.

“Did you…” The words catch in your throat, your stomach churning violently. “Did you touch me?”

“No,” he says quickly, too quickly.

You flinch, the sharpness of his denial cutting through you like a blade. “Then why can’t you just tell me what happened?”

His hands shake at his sides, his knuckles white as he clenches them into fists. “Because it doesn’t fucking matter, Y/N!”

The words hit like a slap, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“It doesn’t matter?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He exhales sharply, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s not what you think, okay? I didn’t—” He stops himself again, his voice breaking. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far.”

The room tilts, the weight of his words crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

“That far?” you whisper, your chest tightening painfully. “What the fuck does that mean, Su-bong?”

He doesn’t answer.

The silence is deafening, your pulse roaring in your ears as you stare at him, waiting, hoping for something—anything—that makes sense.

But all you get is the look on his face.

The guilt.

The shame.

The fear.

And you know.

You know.

Your legs give out, and you sink to the floor, your back pressing against the wall as your breath comes in short, shallow gasps.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice soft now, pleading. He takes a step toward you, but you hold up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “Don’t come near me.”

“Please,” he says, his tone desperate. “Just let me explain—”

“There’s nothing to explain,” you say, your voice cracking. “You did it, didn’t you?”

His silence is all the confirmation you need.

You press your hands to your face, your tears spilling over, hot and relentless.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, his voice breaking. “I swear, I didn’t—”

“Get out.”

The words are quiet but firm, cutting through the suffocating tension like a knife.

“Y/N, please—”

“Just fucking go!” you scream, your voice raw and jagged, echoing through the apartment.

He doesn’t.

“Get the fuck out!” you scream again, your voice raw and jagged, slicing through the suffocating tension.

But Su-bong doesn’t move.

Instead, he stares at you, his chest heaving, his face twisting into something you can’t quite recognize. Something darker. “I’m not leaving,” he says, his voice low, dangerous.

Your stomach twists violently. “You need to leave, Su-bong. Now.”

“Why?” he snaps, his voice rising. “So you can sit here and hate me? So you can keep twisting this into something it’s not?”

“Something it’s not?” Your voice cracks, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “You just admitted it! You just fucking said—”

“I said I didn’t mean for it to go that far!” he shouts, cutting you off. His face is flushed now, his eyes wild, the faint slur in his voice sharper. “That’s not the same thing!”

“It’s exactly the same thing!” you scream back, the words ripping out of you like a knife. “You knew I was drunk! You knew I couldn’t—”

“You didn’t say no,” he interrupts, his voice low and venomous.

The room falls silent.

Your breath catches in your throat, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut.

And then, quietly, trembling—

“That never stopped you before.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Su-bong’s face twists, something dark and ugly flashing across it. His jaw clenches, his fists tightening at his sides. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” you say, your voice shaking but firm. “You’ve always pushed, always taken. And I—” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight of your emotions. “I let you, because I loved you. Because I thought you loved me.”

“I do love you!” he shouts, his voice breaking. He takes a step closer, his movements unsteady, uncoordinated. “I’ve always fucking loved you!”

“Love?” you laugh bitterly, the sound harsh and cutting. “This isn’t love, Su-bong. This is control. This is you trying to fucking own me.”

“I don’t want to own you!” he yells, his voice cracking. “I just—” He stops, dragging a hand through his hair, his movements erratic. “I just want you to stay. I just want us to be okay again.”

“There is no ‘us,’” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “Not anymore.”

The words hit him like a physical blow. He staggers back slightly, his eyes wide, his chest heaving. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

And that’s when it happens.

He lunges forward, grabbing your wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you flinch. “Don’t do this,” he says, his voice desperate, pleading. “Please, Y/N. Don’t fucking do this.”

“Let me go.” Your voice is sharp, but your heart is racing, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Not until you listen to me!” he shouts, his grip tightening slightly.

“Let me go!” you scream, jerking your arm back. The force of it sends you both stumbling, and for a moment, everything is chaos.

Your hand connects with his chest—an instinctive push to get him away from you. He stumbles again, his back hitting the edge of the couch.

And then he snaps.

“Fuck!” he yells, slamming his fist into the wall beside him. The sound is loud, jarring, the plaster cracking under the force. “Why the fuck do you always have to make everything so goddamn hard?”

Tears stream down your face, hot and relentless, as you back away from him. “Get out,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Su-bong.”

“I’m not leaving,” he says, his voice low, dangerous. “Not until you stop lying to yourself. Not until you admit you still love me.”

You laugh. Bitter. Sharp. The sound scrapes its way out of your throat, raw and venomous.

“Love you?” you say, the words trembling on the edge of rage. “I fucking hate you.”

The air in the room shifts.

His expression changes — a flicker of something unrecognizable crossing his face before it hardens into something darker. He steps toward you, his chest heaving, his fists still clenching at his sides.

“What did you just say?” he asks, his voice dangerously quiet.

“You heard me,” you snap, your voice rising, shaking. “I hate you. I hate everything about you. I hate what you’ve done to me, what you’ve made me. I fucking hate you, Su-bong.”

For a second, you think he’s going to hit you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he reaches for the mug sitting on the table beside him.

“You hate me?” he says, his voice shaking with barely-contained rage. “After everything I’ve done for you? After everything I’ve put up with?”

The mug is in his hand now, his knuckles white as he grips it.

“You could barely last a week without me,” he spits, his voice rising. “You think you’re so fucking strong now? You’re nothing without me, Y/N. Nothing.”

And then he throws it.

It happens so fast, you barely have time to react.

The mug shatters against the wall behind you, fragments raining down around your feet. You flinch, your heart slamming against your ribs, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Are you fucking insane?” you scream, your voice cracking.

“You’re the one who made me like this!” he yells, his voice raw, ragged. He takes a step toward you, and you instinctively step back, your shoulders hitting the wall behind you.

“Get out,” you say, your voice trembling. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Su-bong.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

“Yes, you are!” you scream, your voice breaking. “You don’t get to do this to me anymore! You don’t get to keep fucking breaking me and acting like it’s my fault!”

“I never broke you!” he yells, his voice rising to a roar. “You were already broken, Y/N! You’ve been broken since the day I met you!”

The words hit like a slap, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face.

“Go ahead,” he snaps, his voice venomous. “Blame me for everything. That’s all you’ve ever been good at.”

“Blame you?” you shout, your chest heaving with rage. “You ruined my life, Su-bong! You fucking destroyed me, and you don’t even care!”

“I cared more than anyone else ever did!” he shouts back, his voice cracking. “No one else gave a shit about you, Y/N! No one else stayed!”

“I wish you hadn’t!” you scream, your voice breaking. “I wish I’d never met you!”

The room goes silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a guillotine.

He stares at you, his chest heaving, his hands shaking at his sides.

“Say it again,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet.

“I wish I never fucking met you,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

The air in the room shifts, heavy and suffocating.

His chest heaves with every labored breath, his fists trembling at his sides. And then he moves.

It’s a blur—the way he closes the distance between you, the way his hand shoots out and tangles in your hair. Pain flares at your scalp, sharp and instant, as he yanks you closer with a force that steals the breath from your lungs.

“Su-bong!” you cry, your hands flying up to claw at his wrist. “You’re hurting me!”

“No,” he snarls, his face inches from yours, his voice cracking with rage and desperation. “No, you’re hurting me, Y/N! You’re hurting me!”

His words are guttural, raw, as though they’ve been ripped from the deepest, ugliest part of him. His grip tightens, pulling harder, and you stumble, your knees buckling as you try to twist away.

“Let me go!” you scream, panic lacing every word. Your nails dig into his arm, leaving crescent-shaped marks against his skin, but it only seems to fuel him further.

“You don’t get to do this to me!” he yells, dragging you closer until you can feel the heat of his breath on your face, the wildness in his eyes swallowing you whole. “You don’t get to walk away like none of it mattered!”

“I didn’t—” Your voice cracks, tears spilling over, hot and relentless. “I didn’t do anything to you!”

“Liar,” he spits, his grip jerking you violently. “You’ve done everything, Y/N. You’ve ruined me, and you don’t even fucking care.”

Your heart pounds, a frantic, desperate rhythm that drowns out everything else. “Please,” you choke out, your voice trembling. “Please stop.”

But there’s no stopping him.

You twist sharply, pulling against his hold with every ounce of strength you have. He lets out a snarl of frustration as you manage to free yourself, stumbling back against the wall. For a moment, you think it’s over, that maybe he’s come to his senses.

But then his gaze drops to the lamp on the side table.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He doesn’t hesitate.

The lamp is in his hand before you can react, his fingers curling around its base like it’s an extension of his rage.

“You want me to stop?” he spits, his voice rising. “Fine. I’ll fucking stop.”

And then he throws it.

The lamp sails through the air, and for a split second, time seems to slow. You see it coming, but there’s no time to move. It smashes into your shoulder with a sickening thud, the force of it sending you sprawling to the floor.

Pain blooms instantly, sharp and white-hot, radiating from your shoulder down to your fingertips. You cry out, clutching the spot where it hit, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Does it hurt?” he taunts, his voice dripping with venom. “Good. Maybe now you’ll fucking listen to me.”

Your vision blurs with tears, the pain and fear twisting together into something unbearable. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” you scream, your voice breaking.

“What’s wrong with me?” he snaps, his voice cracking. “You, Y/N. You’re what’s wrong with me. You made me like this!”

“You’re insane,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

His laughter is low and bitter, a sound that sends chills down your spine. “You drove me to this. You, with your lies, your fucking games—”

“I didn’t play any games!” you shout, your chest heaving. “I just wanted to get away from you!”

“You don’t get to run!” he roars, his face twisting into something unrecognizable. “Not after everything I’ve done for you! Not after—”

He stops abruptly, his gaze flickering to you, then to your throat.

And before you can move, before you can scream, he’s on you.

His hands wrap around your neck, his grip cold and unrelenting.

At first, it doesn’t feel real—the pressure, the way your breath catches in your throat, the way his face looms above you, wild and furious. But then the reality slams into you all at once, and the panic sets in.

You claw at his hands, your nails scraping against his skin as you gasp for air. The world narrows to the sound of your strangled breaths, the pounding of your pulse in your ears, the fire spreading through your lungs as you fight to inhale.

“Why do you always make me do this?” he growls, his voice shaking with anger. “Why do you always push me, Y/N? Why?”

Your vision blurs, black spots creeping in at the edges.

He’s saying something else, his voice a low, guttural snarl, but you can’t make out the words. All you can focus on is the pressure, the way it feels like your throat is collapsing under his grip.

And then—

A loud, sharp knock cuts through the haze.

“Police! Open the door!”

The sound barely registers at first, muffled and distant, like it’s coming from another world.

But it’s enough.

The knocking grows louder, more insistent. Voices shout from the other side, commanding, urgent.

“Police! We’re coming in!”

Su-bong’s grip falters, just slightly, as the realization dawns on him.

His gaze snaps to the door, then back to you.

“You called the fucking cops?” he snarls, his grip tightening again, his face contorting with rage. “You think they can save you? You think anyone can fucking save you from me?”

The sound of the door bursting open cuts him off.

In an instant, the room is flooded with voices—sharp, commanding, barking orders that you can’t quite process.

“Get off her!”

“Hands up!”

Su-bong freezes, his hands still around your throat, his body trembling with barely-contained fury.

“Let her go now!”

For a moment, he doesn’t move. The tension in the room is suffocating, the weight of his anger pressing down on you like a vice.

And then, finally, he lets go.

You collapse to the floor, gasping for air, your body trembling violently as you clutch your throat.

The officers swarm him, grabbing his arms and pulling him away from you. He struggles against their hold, shouting obscenities, his voice wild and broken.

“She fucking lied!” he screams, his voice cracking. “She lied about everything!”

You don’t respond. You can’t.

All you can do is lie there, your chest heaving, your vision blurred with tears, as the reality of what just happened crashes over you.

The officers’ voices blur together, a cacophony of sound that you can’t quite make out. One of them kneels beside you, their hand on your shoulder, their voice soft and steady.

“Miss, are you okay?”

You don’t answer.

Your gaze drifts to Su-bong as they drag him toward the door, his screams echoing in the apartment.

And for the first time in years, you feel something you haven’t felt in so long—

Relief.

You know what’s good for you.

You’ve done what you could for him.

And he was finally gone.

[alllgator-blood]

'FOGGY STREETS AND CHRISTMAS LIGHTS'

(part 3/3)

I'm gonna infodump about the backstory of this comic, don't feel obligated to read it because it's not cotl related it's just personal stuff, I just want to be able to write about it somewhere cause I can't really talk to anyone about it.

As always, thanks for reading this far, sorry my stuff has been such a bummer so consistently. This comic goes out to all my "christmas induced depression" homies, I left my house maybe like ~5 times all month and it was NOT pleasant hearing "IT'S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR!!" on the radio when I'm so ready for it to be over. Gonna take it reaaaaal easy til the year ends, you guys take it easy too!! Got some asks I have to respond to when I'm more stable but probably no new comic pages til january

Alright uhhh so this part of the comic is pretty much taken directly from the last time I saw my great-grandma alive, a few days before christmas. She didn't remember me, but at the nursing home there was a piano, and I sat down and played some stuff because I didn't know what to say. I was really into lisa the painful rpg at the time, and I played that "I've got the joy" song that the villain sings without realizing it was an old christian campfire song. She didn't really say much or move that whole night, just kind of gave me a polite blank smile, but started singing the words when I played the notes to that song.

I kinda stopped in shock, my dad frantically asked me to keep playing, so I did. While the comic I made is way more sappy than the actual moment was, I wish I'd cherished the moment longer. I didn't know it was the last time I'd see her alive. Every family christmas was held at her house when she was around, so it's been weird the past few years. I actually lost another dementia-addled grandma to cancer on christmas eve in 2009, so the holiday was already kind of weird for me on top of everything else that makes me sad this time of year. That's what part 2 was about, I'll spare the details but I wrote leshy to act out how I felt back then. Why are we all sad? This is supposed to be a happy time, all the decorations are up and we're almost all here, so why is everyone smiling yet everything feels so wrong? I feel like since leshy's canonically the most ignorant one to things lurking below the surface, he'd be the one to try and make everyone feel better but not quite understand why everyone is so miserable. My first memory of having self injurious behavior came from then, hence why I had leshy pull his leaves off in the last comic. It was confusing and frustrating and I was just old enough to comprehend something was wrong, but not old enough to understand the depth of it, it DEFINITELY didn't help that nobody helped me back then so I made leshy's siblings actually come in clutch instead of grabbing him/yelling at him.

That night with the piano was something that's stuck with me the few years she's been gone, but I felt kind of strange when I asked my dad and my sister about it and neither of them remembered it. The room we were in was completely empty so nobody else witnessed it but us three. I myself have a history of head trauma and memory loss (plus, native americans are disproportionately more likely to develop dementia... lucky us) so if I ever forgot about that moment, there'd be nobody left to remember it. Sometimes when I do comics, it's my way of going "this happened at some point, and the only evidence it ever happened was me witnessing it, so if something happens to me I want the memory to stay alive in some form."

Anyway. The autistic urge to overshare, am I right? Idk what my religious ass great-grandma would think of me drawing demonic comics about my last memory of her, she'd probably think it's funny though cause she raised my dad whose interests have always been "death metal and devil worship". I'm not sure if anyone read this far, I just hope my dumb comics can convey the things I can't say with my voice and struggle to say through text. None of this was supposed to be "feel bad for me!! Woe is me!!", it was supposed to me more like...cathartic? Healing? I almost didn't post this comic because it felt kinda weird, but seeing people connect with it made it worth it imo. Thank you

[0omillo0]

BIKER LEE KNOW

x reader <3 angst —> comfort/happy ending

everyone warned you about him, how he plays with girls and then leaves… you don’t believe them, until…

The clock ticked quietly in your room, the only sound breaking the heavy silence. Rain pattered steadily against your window, mimicking the slow tears that streaked down your face. You clutched your phone tightly in your hands, scrolling through old messages, trying to reconcile the sweet, caring Minho you’d been dating with the cold, distant person he’d become over the past week.

You couldn’t help but smile as you thought of the day he took you to the diner on his motorcycle. The ride had been exhilarating, the city’s lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of color as you held tightly to him, feeling the comforting warmth of his back against your chest.

When you reached the diner, Minho had insisted on ordering three servings of pudding.

“You’re unbelievable,” you teased, watching as he tucked into the first one with childlike enthusiasm.

“Don’t act like you’re not impressed,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He leaned closer, spoon in hand, and offered you a bite. “C’mon, taste perfection.”

The way he watched you eat—like you were the most fascinating person in the world—made your heart flutter. Afterward, he’d noticed your hair was windblown from the ride and gently brushed it back into place.

“These moments… they make me feel alive,” he murmured, almost to himself…

But that Minho had vanished. It started with him being quieter during your calls, then came the short, clipped replies to your texts, and eventually, nothing at all.

You (Monday, 7:12 PM): Hey, how are you? Did you make it home safe last night?

My Mimo💕🏍️ (Monday, 9:45 PM): Yeah.

You (Tuesday, 4:30 PM): I was thinking about getting tickets for that movie you mentioned! What do you think?

(Seen, no reply)

You (Wednesday, 10:15 AM): Are you okay? I feel like you’re being distant. Did I do something wrong?

(No reply)

You’d tried giving him space, telling yourself he might be busy or overwhelmed. But by Friday night, the ache in your chest was unbearable. The rumors—about him being a heartbreaker, about him getting bored and leaving without a word—crept into your thoughts like poison.

“Maybe they were right,” you whispered, the tears coming faster now. You curled up in bed, clutching your knees to your chest. “Maybe I was just another distraction for him.”

….

It was a saturday night, the knock on your door was loud, urgent, and startling. You glanced at the clock, 11:47 PM, and hesitated. The rain was heavier now, and the thunder growled low in the distance. You wiped at your eyes, your heart pounding. Who could it be at this hour?

You opened the door cautiously and froze.

Minho stood there, drenched from head to toe. His motorcycle helmet was tucked under one arm, his leather jacket soaked through, and rain dripped from his dark bangs onto his flushed face. He looked… disheveled. Vulnerable.

“Minho?” you managed, your voice shaky.

His eyes softened the moment they met yours. “Can we talk?” he asked, his voice low and rough, almost drowned out by the rain.

You blinked, torn between anger, confusion, and a flicker of hope. Your teary eyes must have been obvious because his expression shifted to one of guilt.

You stepped aside wordlessly, letting him in.

Inside, Minho stood awkwardly near the couch, his shoulders tense. He looked around your apartment like it was unfamiliar territory, though he’d been here many times before. You crossed your arms, watching him carefully.

“You’re soaking wet,” you said flatly, disappearing into the bathroom and returning with a towel. You threw it at him without ceremony.

He caught it, his lips twitching into a faint, almost apologetic smile. “Thanks.”

You stayed standing, waiting for him to say something, anything. But he just dried his hair in silence, avoiding your gaze.

“Why are you here, Minho?” you finally asked, your voice trembling.

He stopped mid-motion, the towel hanging limply in his hands. “I owe you an explanation.”

“You think?” you snapped, the bottled-up pain of the past week bursting out. “Do you have any idea how hurt I’ve been? You disappeared without a word! And after everything people said about you… I didn’t want to believe it, but—”

“Stop,” he said, his voice cracking. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But it’s not what you think.”

“Then explain,” you challenged, your arms wrapping around yourself protectively.

He took a shaky breath and sank onto the couch, running a hand through his damp hair. “I didn’t know how to deal with what I was feeling,” he admitted. “I thought if I put some distance between us, I could figure it out. But all I did was screw everything up.”

“Figure out what?”

He looked up at you, his eyes glassy with emotion. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw.

Your breath caught, and you took a step back, your mind racing. “You… what?”

“I’m in love with you,” he repeated, his voice firmer now. “I’ve never felt this way before, and it scared the hell out of me. I didn’t think I deserved you, and I didn’t want to risk messing things up. But pushing you away was the worst thing I could’ve done.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your ears. Tears welled up again, but this time they weren’t from pain. “Minho, you really hurt me,” you said quietly.

“I know,” he said, standing up and taking a tentative step toward you. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you let me.”

You hesitated, your emotions warring inside you. But the look in his eyes—the vulnerability, the sincerity—broke down your walls.

Slowly, you closed the distance between you, reaching out to touch his face. “You’re an idiot,” you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“I know,” he said with a soft smile, his hand coming up to gently wipe the tear away.

And then you kissed him.

It was slow at first, hesitant, but then the dam broke. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him, as if he was afraid you might vanish. The kiss deepened, raw and desperate, a mix of apology and promise.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily. He rested his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your face.

“Does this mean I still have a chance?” he asked softly, his lips quirking into a hopeful smile.

You laughed through your tears. “You’re lucky I love you too, Minho.”

His grin widened, and he kissed you again, this time softer but no less passionate.

That night, as the rain poured outside, the two of you stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, the pain of the past week washed away. And for the first time in days, you felt whole again.

tags: @hannamoon143 @intartaruginha

[muqingslover]

[ I've bullied my lovely Sylus' fans with my last post so here's my apology <3 ]

Mornings with you are one of his, if not the most, favorite things. Sylus believes he is beyond blessed when he sees your slumbering form next to him after the long, tortuous years he endured of refusing to fall asleep at night because waking up without you was too much for him to bear. Now, as you laid safely in his arms again, his heart felt as if it was overflowing with all the love he held and he wanted nothing more than to give it all to you.

His lips gently press right under one of your eyes, followed by a few other soft kisses to your cheek while one of his large hands carefully wrapped around your throat, guiding your head back towards him. "My love," He'd call in a low voice, almost a purr against your ear. "Mind sparing me a bit of attention?"

You stirred awake but not quite. There was some sleepy mumbling under your breath before one of your hands lazily raised and pat his face, which you had intended to be his head, so he'd be satisfied and let you sleep some more. Sylus could only smile, oh absolutely smitten by your every action was the man. His hand gently grasped the one that was tapping him and brought it to his lips, planting small kisses on each of your fingertips, then the palm of your hand, making his way towards the inside of your wrist where he paused, pressing only a little harder against the pressure point to feel your steady heartbeat.

"I've missed you..." He whispered like a prayer. Those words are something he'd always say, though he'd never elaborate on the real meaning. 'How could you miss me when I've been here the whole day?' You'd raise the question at him sometimes, but the man would do nothing except smile at you, playing it off as mere tease 'Am I not allowed to miss you? How strict you are.' Sylus moved his kisses upwards on your arm, basking in the comforting scent your body had and the warmth you provided him. His heart longed to spend every moment, of every day, connected to you. Until the very last stars burned out and even then, he knew, your souls would stay intertwined, sacredly laced by the promise the two of you shared.

"So peaceful..." He kissed your neck, allowing his lips to linger once again where he could feel your heart beating so he could soothe his own. 'Alive', yes, that's what matters the most to him. "So beautiful." He whispered oh so very quietly against your skin as to not disturb your slumber any further. Instead, he lowered his body to nuzzle his forehead against you, his nose brushing yours in a old, affectionate gesture. Only in moments like these would he allow himself to momentarily forget about how this sweet dream would eventually come crumbling down, as it did once before, and focus on the feeling of security that you, only you, could give him.

'My heart is so full of you...Can it even be called my own anymore?' He silently wondered as his eyes fluttered closed, following you into a quiet and peaceful sleep.

[criibibi]

Synopsis: After losing so much, Spider-woman learns to just keep moving. Only for her to end up somewhere far from home. Her first agenda is figuring out where she is, and how to get back. The only problem is that she ended up somewhere fictional (to her). Playing hero with Batman was not in her bingo cards this year. Hopefully she will be able to make it back home before she catches unwanted attention.

Masterlist: Prev; Next;

Chapter 1 - Home Sick

Okay, let’s start this from the top. Once upon a time and all that shit.

You had somehow, some way, ended up stranded in another universe when you were going toe-to-toe with the Spot that (unfortunately) Mile’s apparently created (unintentionally). Got it? Good.

Now the question is how you got stranded in another universe while fighting the Spot is another shebang that you do not know, and frankly, not your top priority as of right now.

Your mission is finding a way to power your web-watch (no offense but the gizmo name sucks), and either use it to find Miguel, the spider-society, or your very own earth. You honestly weren’t choosy on which option you land, as long as you safely made it out alive and unscathed. 

Speaking of unscathed, which in fact you are not, you quietly swung across many buildings, in the shadows, making sure you were hard to spot. Your dark spider suit being perfect for night patrol is a blessing for the camouflage it provides you in this god forsaken gloomy city.

Now, to get back on track, it took you an embarrassing amount of time to process that you have basically been thrown into a world where in your universe is all but fiction. 

Have you kept up with the comics?

No, of course not. After Aunt May’s passing, you honestly gave up everything and just solely dedicated yourself into fighting crime. Well, you know some things, since Peter was also a mega comic nerd.

He would go on for hours and hours and hours about Batman and his kids (adopted and biological) and whatnot. You didn’t mind, since spending time with a talkative Peter was better than being in your own headspace. If you recall the latest one to come under Batman’s wing was someone named Duke? Well, that’s as far as you remember. 

Regardless, now you're looting someone’s clothing wire. Picking out a thick gray turtleneck and black leggings (thank god) you don them over your suit, making sure nothing was visible. Now the issue is your footwear. Maybe you can get away with it? 

Taking off the mask you were able to stuff it inside your bra (extra pocket, am I right?) while your gloves were hidden among your sleeves. Making sure nothing was out of place you pulled out the wallets of the two petty criminals, counting the money.

“Four-fifty, not bad.” Though you don’t condone your actions, you are in a precarious situation at the moment. Oh well. Tossing one of the wallets away (making sure not to touch it with your fingers), you also placed it inside your bra for safe keeping.

Maybe this would be enough for a motel? How expensive- or cheap are those in Gotham? With how often crimes occur, it shouldn’t be that expensive, right? Regardless, first things first, find a place to eat, find out the date and then a place to stay. Shouldn't be too hard.

Quietly climbing down the side of a complex building, you made sure the coast was clear before heading out. The lack of a jacket made you feel very vulnerable and exposed. Head down and hands to your sides, the cool breeze of the city causes shivers down your spine. “This fucking sucks.” you mumbled, making sure to avoid gothamites as much as possible. 

No time to gawk at your environment when you’re so out of place. You honestly just kept walking around, hearing police sirens and the occasional cop car driving by while you try to not lose your goddamn mind.

Walking around, using back streets and alleys you shiver as the cold nips at your face. It’s not that you’re sensitive to cold, it’s just that you can’t afford to get sick here. In a world where you don’t exist.

“Wait a minute…” thinking back on something, it’s true that you don’t exist here. But that doesn’t mean that a you- doesn’t exist. Maybe somehow there is a version of you or spider-woman here. A far reach but hey, just hours ago, this was all fictional to you. But something worth looking into. 

With a heavy sigh you walk inside an alley, looking up to gauge the time to see- oh, what’s that? Another clothing line! And guess what? It has more clothes to loot! Score! Don’t mind if I do! Finders keepers baby!

And you thought your spider luck was ass.

Discreetly looking around to see for any cameras that can potentially identify you only to come out flat. Perfect. Using the fire escape you parkour to snag a black oversized zip up sweater. 

This would be perfect in covering you even further (and now you have pockets for your mask) and making your figure harder to identify. Now you can start acting like a true gothamite.

With a pep in your step, you exit the alleyway.

Spotting a diner up ahead, settling yourself inside you order your drink of choice and a bagel just to have something to entertain yourself while you calm your nerves.

Sitting down next to a window, taking slow sips and bites from your meal you subtly look around (making a point of subtly ignoring the gaze of the cashier). It seems to be late afternoon, heading to night. Not good, not good at all. 

Besides finding a place to stay, you glance at your wrist, the web watch looking pretty obvious and suspicious out there in the open on your wrist. But, without it, you could perish in this foreign world. Should you pull a Hobie Brown and create a new watch from scratch? No, you don’t have the time, tools, or luxury. Thank god for the hoodie covering it up.

Right now, staying on task is essential. A job, maybe? With what credentials? Hell, you don’t even have an ID. Maybe a fake one? Who would do such a thing for a reasonable price and isn’t a criminal? Another note, you need supplies, enough to build web shooters and the cartridge. Unlike other spiders, you had the ability to shoot webs from your wrist, gross. But (with Peter’s intellect) you ended up also creating webs on your own in case yours fails. And it has- a lot both in comical and crucial times. Peter wouldn’t let you live anything down (god you miss him).

And being in a new world and everything going on, the last thing you need is a web block because of the high anxiety and stress this place is already giving you. You’d rather be safe than sorry. Now, how to get supplies? Stealing them seems easier than working for it. You just don’t have the time. How were you going to steal them, and from where? Who the fuck knows. Probably from a college science room or something.

In order to do even that, you need to find out the layout and what not of this place. So maybe the best place to start is the library? Doesn’t someone from Batman’s little possie work at the library? Can you risk that? Probably.

Fuck, this was going to be harder than it looks. No phone, basically no money (not counting the one you stole from criminals), no ID (or insurance), no place to stay, no allies, ya got nothing. Zip, zero, nada. 

You feel so lost and alone, so vulnerable. And the thoughts in your head are slowly getting louder and louder. Eating away at your insecurities and feelings. God, you’re starting to get homesick. Will you make it back? Will you find a way back home? Is anyone even looking for you?

Last thing you recall was fighting the Spot with Miles, Hobie, Gwen and Pavitr. You remember hopping onto Spot’s back while he was absorbing but then he poof and you along with him. Everything went black for you and then you landed here in this city (ungracefully might I add).

You just want to go home…even if it’s lonely without Uncle Ben, Aunt May and Peter Parker.

You really have nothing, rock bottom, baby. But then again, the only place to go is up, right? 

Sighing you finished your drink and bagel before leaving the diner, making sure to look at the clock above the exit, and aimlessly walking around. Would they let you in one of those shelters? Are those even a thing? Probably, maybe. 

Couldn’t hurt to try. Buuuuut, then again, you need the privacy, so maybe the shelter was a no go. Okay, perfect, back to square fucking zero. A cheap and possibly dangerous motel it is!

Hopefully your spider luck doesn’t fuck you over. You’re honestly thankful for not coming across any batsonas and whatnot. And you were able to get clothes so you say you’re two for two.

After looking around for some time, emphasis on some, you managed to find a motel and get yourself settled. No ID required, just cash, and you internally sobbed at the remaining funds you had left. You really will need a job or a sustainable income.

“Are underground rings still a thing? Is it a thing here?” You mumbled, discarding your stolen clothes before fiddling with your watch until its screen flashes before abruptly turning dark again. “Well now, how fucked am I?” A deep sigh resonated in the empty room. Hopefully while it turned on, Miguel would somehow by some god given miracle (or your spider luck but don’t bank on it) that he received at least a signal, no matter how microscopic it is.

You had to get home. At all costs. This place isn’t your home. It’s not like you should play by the rules. But, Ben, May, and Peter would be so disappointed in you if you break laws just to return to your home universe. And if you’re being truthful, it wouldn’t sit right with you either…

But Miles needs you. 

If this world doesn’t have a- you in it, then you aren’t needed here. So you shouldn’t waste time twiddling your thumbs. Maybe you really do need to break into a computer lab to see what’s up with your watch or scavenge for parts. Hobie built it with parts from Miguel’s earth. Meaning, you can too, with whatever scraps you can find.

You’ll prioritize your watch first, then this city. It’s unfortunate, but you really have to get back home, and you can’t let your feelings get in the way and distract you.

Maybe you should call it a night? Figure things out in the morning? A yawn takes over your thoughts. “Yea, sleep sounds really good right now.” 

These problems are for tomorrow’s you. For now, you’ll catch some Zzz’s and flesh out a detailed plan on how to get back home. 

You’re banking on hacking a computer at the library despite the risks. Shooting a web at the door to prevent any possible and/or unwanted inconveniences because let’s be honest, trust no one but yourself, especially in this bat(ha)shit crazy world, better to be safe than sorry. You need your sanity to fix or at least charge your watch in order to get back home.

“Ben, May, Peter- give me strength.” and into dreamland you go.

-

“Hey B, come look at this.” A female voice spoke out, catching the attention of the adult in the cave. “I got something to show you. I got a trace of a disruption- but it happened quickly and only once.”

“Where.” A gruff and stern voice asked.

“Around the East End.”

“I’ll let Selina know.”

“Should I get someone to look into it?”

“No, I’ll do it myself.”

With that, silence once again enveloped the Bat cave as Batman stepped out.

Prev; Next;

I'll be honest, I have no outline of where I want this story to go, this is just brainrot hour for me. Less go. A very high chance this will soon turn into somewhat of "yandere" but it's mostly just them being "possessive" honestly. Slooow burn. This was the last thing i had typed up, and I have no clue where I will drive this story, oops.

[dxrlingluv]

Player || Lee Myung-gi

Series : Chapter 1 : Cards and Debt, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Description :

Driven by love and desperation, you risk everything to participate in a mysterious game with a life-changing prize. But the opulent setting masks a deadly reality.

As the games escalate in brutality, you must outsmart your cunning opponents, confront your deepest fears, and make impossible choices to stay alive.

Will your love for your boyfriend be enough to overcome the unimaginable horrors that await?

Lee Myung-gi x Fem!Reader

You slowly rose from your bed, the sun still hiding behind the fog that accumulated from the coldness. Suddenly, you hunched over to the side of your bed, and puked out everything you ate from the night before. You groaned, your head feeling heavy from all the tireless work and studying you had done the day before.

Grabbing your phone from your bed side desk, you checked the time. 6:34 AM, it read. You groaned yet again, opening your phone and deciding to message your boyfriend good morning.

y/n 🌸

- good morning ! i hope you had a decent sleep. we should definitely meet soon, i miss you.

You waited for a minute or two, just staring at the message you sent as it went from delivered to seen. Not a second passed, your boyfriend replied.

myung-gi 🩷

- yeah.

You sighed, gripping your phone tight to your chest, a heartache slowly forming as you stared up at the ceiling.

You wondered what he might be up to right now. He's never really been this cold before until last week, but you guessed that it was because he's busy trying to pay off his debt. You feel bad that you couldn't help him a little.

You know that he's not telling the truth about how big his debt really is, but being an ex-YouTuber with a lot of subscribers that fell for the crypto coin scam, there should be a lot.

The only thing you wanted to do was to help him find a way to pay off all his debt and restart his life, you'll do anything.

Facing your phone once again, you messaged him one last time before starting your day off, free from school and work.

y/n 🌸

- let's meet up later at our usual place, 11 AM sharp.

Closing off your phone, you decided not to wait for a reply. Standing up, you stretched and immediately went to the bathroom of your small apartment to clean off. After cleaning yourself, you went to the kitchen section of your apartment, opening up the stove, putting on a pan and pouring oil, then grabbing 2 eggs from your small fridge.

Yeah, sure, egg for breakfast, how original. But as a college student, you can't afford to lose even a little amount of money.

After cooking the eggs, you decided you also wanted buldak noodles to come with it.

You sighed for the nth time, staring at your phone. He didn't even bother to reply an 'ok'. Seriously, what has gotten into him?

Hours passed and it's not 10:30 AM. Deciding to take a quick bath, you went off. Locking your apartment door behind you, you check your phone again but seen no response or confirmation.

Arriving at the train station, you awaited for your train. Feeling your back ache from standing, you decided to sit down but immediately regretted it as you felt dizzy yet again and felt like puking. What has gotten into you this time? You can't be sick.

You then felt a presence beside you. Looking over, you saw the guy already staring at you which made you make a face. "Uhm. Can I help you?" You asked him.

He continue smiling at you, then showing you his suitcase and opening it. "Would you like to play with me?"

You stared at him in bewilderment, "Play... with you. Is this some kind of scam?" You accused as you stared at his suitcase that contains a red and blue papers and an uncountable amount of money, and you don't feel bad about accusing him one bit.

He chuckled, staring at his suitcase for a moment before looking at you and speaking again, "No, ma'am. We would only be playing ddakji, if you win, I will give you 100 000 won, and if I win, you will give me 100 000 won in return."

You stood up abruptly in shock, "What? Is this- Are you serious?"

He only nodded in return, slowly standing up to come face to face with you.

"I'm sorry, even if I wanted to- I don't have that amount of money," you admitted, dejectedly.

The business man's smile only widened in return, "You can pay with you body then." And before you can protest, he continued, "If you win I will give you 100 000 won, but if I win, I will slap you."

Now that sounds more like it... a slap isn't too bad, plus you're great at playing ddakji yourself so this shouldnt be a problem.

"Okay, lets do it."

...

100 000

Slap !

100 000

100 000

100 000

Slap !

100 000

...

"That should conclude our game."

"Wait- But I'm not done yet!" You exclaimed. Hoping to get at least 2 or 3 more wins.

The business man's smile ignored you as he fished out a calling card from his pocket. He offered it to you with a smile, too uncanny to your liking. You stared at him in confusion, staring between the calling card and his face.

"If you wish to play more games and win a bigger price, just call the number on this card." He said, answering the million question on your head.

You felt uneasy about this, "Now, this- This is a scam!"

"L/n Y/n, [birthdate], 23 years old, formerly used to live in seoul with your parents until you had to move out to pursue your college degree. You are not in debt, but you desperately need to help your boyfriend with his." He calmly said.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, how did he know this... This made him more suspicious but now that he mentioned your boyfriend's debt, you felt more desperate and wanting to trust him.

Dejectedly, you accepted the card from his hand. You stared at the symbols on the front, a square, a triangle, and a circle. Deciding to call the number later, you placed the card on your pouch.

"How did you-" You started, but was immediately cut off when the man you were just talking to disappeared as if he wasnt even there in the first place.

"Y/n."

You whipped your head to the side when you heard a familiar voice call to you. You smiled.

"Myung-gi."

You ran up to him and hugged him tight, "I missed you so much."

He hugged you back just as tight, "It's only been 3 days, Aegiya." He let go as he stared lovingly at your eyes.

You stared back with a small loving smile, taking in his appearance. He was wearing a hat, most likely to keep his identity as hidden as he can. He was also wearing a grey jacket that fits warmly against him. Even with just a simple outfit, he still looks stunning.

You pecked his lips as he stared at you in shock, "Not here, Aegiya," He muttered shyly.

You feigned shocked and hurt, "Wha-! You dare do that to me, you lover!?" You playfully smacked his arm to which he just laughed at with you following suit.

The both of you decided to eat lunch at a park, having only buy decent meals, enough to fill up your stomachs.

You hummed at the delicious sandwich you just tasted, deciding to talk to him, you asked, "Hey, Myung-gi."

That catches his attention as he paused from chewing his food and looked at you. He hummed, as if to tell that He's listening.

You continued, "You've been so busy lately, if I hadn't told you to meet up with me, would you have asked to meet up instead?"

That made him quiet, slowly chewing for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he quietly said, refusing to look at you.

"For what?" You asked, trying to search anything from his face as he apologized.

He was silent for a moment before responding again, "For everything."

You smiled, sighing from your nose. "It's okay...

I will always forgive you."

[n0eyed-taissa]

sorry but i actually love that season three of yellowjackets turns the viewers' expecation of shauna on their mf heads. since the first season, shauna is our focal character, the one we see the most and know the most about in the present timeline, with the teen post-crash timeline informing how/why she came to be the way she is 25 years later.

through season 1, we THINK that shauna is unhappy in her adult life because of the way she fell to the wayside, lost in jackie's shadow. we THINK that she starts her affair with adam because she's bored with the stagnancy of her life, but after 19 months of life or death survival in the wilderness, any semblance of safety and normalcy would be mind numbingly boring. adult shauna is a stay at home mom. she collects ceramic bunnies and goes to yearly birthday lunches with her dead best friend's parents. it doesn't always read that she has the capacity for cruelty within her, but it's always been there. we see that immediately in the adult timeline as shauna has no qualms about killing the rabbit thats in her garden and preparing it like she would with any other game meat (HOW she killed said rabbit also speaks to her cruelty...bluntly with a shovel, rather than slicing its throat like we see in the wilderness). teen shauna's capacity for cruelty is revealed slower, with the pressure building as shauna fucks her best friend's boyfriend and becomes pregnant with his baby. as she lies to jackie, fights with her, and pushes her away (ultimately leading to jackie's very preventable death, as even taissa points out that jackieshauna's squabbling could be resolved if only she Talked To Her). this capacity for cruelty is then overshadowed by the strength of her grief, which informs the bulk of her season 2 characterization.

in season two, we THINK that adult shauna's actions can be explained by the deep amount of grief she felt at the loss of jackie. and the guilt she holds knowing that she could have saved jackie if not for her own stubbornness, her own cruelty. which is all true! shauna's grief is only heightened by the complications of her pregnancy (re: months of starvation / jackie for dinner / belt soup / starling stew all not providing enough nutrients for neither shauna nor the baby) and the loss of her firstborn child (who is unfairly deified by lottie and her wilderness cult because they, like shauna, are looking for a way to persist through the horrors that they are forced to survive). the psychological fake-out of shauna Feeling and Sensing her child, but not being able to physically reach him or comfort him. similarly to how she Feels and Senses jackie despite not being able to physically reach her. so shauna sits out there in the meat shed with jackie, playing MASH and doing her makeup and talking her literal ear off trying to ignore that she was who put jackie there. and taissa? poor taissa's well-meaning, pragmatic attempt at helping shauna go through the motions of grieving by laying jackie to rest via cremation goes horribly awry when The Wilderness 'decides' that feasting on jackie is the only way for the yellowjackets to stay alive. and if grieving jackie isn't bad enough for shauna, she loses one child and then is forced to butcher another. javi was a little boy!!! and was clearly shauna's surrogate brother/son figure in season 1!! so YEAH, if i just ate my best friend in a not-fun-gay-way, lost my wilderness pregnancy but hallucinated that i didnt (and also hallucinated/dreamt that my teammates helping me through labor ATE said baby because that's something that they Do Now) ((also x 2, if my whole soccer team saw my v*gina i'd become evil too lbr)), then had to carve up and eat one of the few people i had the ability to feel soft/protective towards, i think i too would be Not Doing Well!!!!!

so yeah, in the months before season three, i am absolutely not surprised that shauna's unchecked grief has turned into anger. months and months of lottie's religious fanaticism asserting that the loss of the baby was a sacrifice to the wilderness that brought on the miracle of spring is incredibly dismissive to shauna's experience with pregnancy and grief/loss. we see in season 2 that lottie (and others) had attached themselves to the baby as a factor to motivate their survival, but lottie always took it one step further, claiming group parentage (ownership? of "our baby" aka shauna's baby, aka the team's motivation to survive). as lottie's mental state continues to deteriorate, her dedication to the wilderness, its messages, and its sacrifices reaches a new level of intensity (as proven by her consistent attempts to sway travis and akilah into connecting with 'it', even when both characters voiced their concern about the potential dangers). of course shauna wants nothing to do with the summer solstice ceremony, even when she is being honored as The Mother of The Child. she doesn't want to be honored for hers/the child's sacrifices, she wants to grieve!! and honestly, the only healthy grieving we see from shauna come in episodes 1&2, as she vents in her journal about the current state of her world and then reburies the child on her own terms. of course shauna is carrying resentment for coach scott ditching her in labor (only to later flee the scene after the cabin was burned down). of course shauna is power hungry, she was made to feel secondary to jackie her entire adolescence and now has been stripped even further of her autonomy. so shauna results to some desperate measures in order to reclaim her identity within the group. BUT!!! shauna's rightful anger causes her to lash out in some un-rightful ways. her capacity for cruelty outweighs her grief. her competitive edge resurfaces during the game of capture the bone, where she tackles/bites mari as a ill attempt at reclaiming her power and autonomy. she spits in mari's food, doesnt offer to help find her. she wants to make coach scott pay for what she THINKS that he did, so much so that she strong-arms the rest of the team to vote ben guilty. she wants to burn him at the stake???? and then enables melissahat to slice ben's achilles???? she restrains the scientists who can offer them all a way home. she shoots at melissa, the only person who has been exhibiting any softness/kindness towards her. the more shauna gives into her anger, the more primal and connected to the wilderness she is. the more she comes into her own power, the less she wants to go back home and fade back into the shadows. she wanted this. she always had the power to become this. why are we surprised about how she ended up 25 years later?

[tremendouscreationperson]

Logan x Reader pt.2

So I truly didn't think that many people would like this but thank y'all so much, genuinely

The reader is unfortunately no longer GN, they are referred to as 'mom' but otherwise fairly neutral

There is blood/sort of self harm imagery in this one but it ISNT SELF HARM I promise! Make sure you only read if you're comfortable though!!!

<< Part 1 Part 3 >> Masterlist

Waking up next to him was pretty surreal. Mostly because of how relaxing it actually was. His chest pillowed your head and one of his arms was around your back, playing with your hair. He smelt fucking amazing.

You lifted your head and looked down at him, images of last night flashing behind your eyes. It had actually been pretty funny to begin with, neither of you could work out how to get the other out of their suits, ending in you both giggling and undressing yourselves. He was out of his suit lightning quick - you're surprised it is still intact - and immediately found his way back to you. Kissing your neck and you struggled to remove your shoes.

“I promise this isn't some elaborate plot to turn you off.” You laughed as your foot was finally free of the blasted shoe.

He merely hummed, breath fanning your neck as he slowly bit down. Your brain short-circuited and it took a full shaky breath for you to be back in the room and removing the spandex.

His face was calm, relaxed, and he gifted you a small smile.

“Hey.”

You grinned back. “Hi.”

“It's still pretty early.” He wiggled his brows.

Your cheeks warmed and, in a move that probably wasn't wise, you hid your face in his chest. “No. We have to get ready.”

His chest rumbled with his chuckle and you groaned, placing playful kisses on his pecs.

“C’mon, baby.” He pulled you up to his lips and kissed you slow. Taking his time with a leisurely pace.

You kissed him back before nipping his bottom lip, knowing it would drive him crazy, and pulling back. “Stop." Kiss. "It's a big day." Kiss. "I gotta make sure Laura eats.”

Confusion splattered across his features but he slowly released you. A fact that you were grateful for because you don't think you could've rebuked him another time.

You eased yourself up, still a little sleepy and a little sore before stretching fully. His eyes watched your naked body shamelessly and you turned to locate your suit.

“What is that?” His expression was stony.

You turned around to catch what he had seen and couldn't find anything. “Was it a spider or something?”

“No, what is that?” He pointed at you.

There better not be a fucking spider on me. You looked down, scared, to see nothing. Just yourself, naked as the day you were born. “I'm still confused.”

“That fucking scar on your back."

Ah.

Shit.

He hadn't seen it last night because he had you laid on your back for the majority of it.

“Oh. That scar.” You played it off. “It's nothing real-”

“Did I do that?”

“No. It wasn't you.” You bit your cheek. “It was a version of you.”

“Wh-”

“Lo.” You stopped him before he could spiral, placing a hand on his cheek. “Nothing happened that I couldn't handle. He just got lucky and unlike you I can't heal everything so unfortunately I have claw marks. But I am alive and safe and you are not to blame.”

He looked like he was about to argue but a knock at the door stopped that.

“Guys, are ya decent?” Wade asked in a sing-song voice.

Not really. “You okay?” You called back.

“Yeah, I'm here to tell you to hurry up because Maya doesn't know how to end this part.”

Who the fuck was Maya? “O-okay?”

“See ya soon!”

Logan didn't look like he wanted to move. He was content with staying here and blaming himself for something that he didn't do.

“Look, Logan, if he is awake they all are. It's time to go.”

He had to agree with you there.

~~

Logan entered the main living space and was unsurprised to see everyone else there. Gambit was sitting with Elektra talking strategy, Blade was kneeling spinning his weapon and psyching himself up, Deadpool copying every move he made and you were braiding Laura's hair.

“At least they won't be able to grab your hair, lovely.” You kissed her crown as you finished, tying it off with a small piece of fabric. She smiled and scooped a handful of dry cereal into her mouth. “Make sure you have some fruit, please.” The girl rolled her eyes but did take a piece of fruit from the can by your feet. “Good girl.”

Laura would never tell anyone but she loved praise from you. You were her favourite person and for you to tell her she was doing good meant the world. She liked to be strong and fierce but secretly she loved when you babied her.

“You her mom or something?” Logan asked. He didn't mean for it to sound so insulting. Every set of eyes turned to him, their judgement sitting heavily on his shoulders.

Wade even piped up, “What in the ever loving fuck?”

You looked up shocked and a little embarrassed. “No, of course not. But it's good to keep her safe and s-she needs a balanced diet, so I try to... provide one.” Oh, god. You sounded crazy. Your gaze fell to Laura who was staring right back at you. “Sorry. I guess I have been acting like your.. I know you have parents and I know I'm not- I’m sorry.”

“I don't have any parents.” She clarified.

That didn't hurt, per se, but it didn't feel good.

“‘course you do.” El called over. “She just braided your hair.”

Laura smiled and leant further into you, you hugged her back and handed the can of fruit to her. “Have you packed your things?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. Her ‘things’ were her comics and a pair of sunglasses. The light was far too bright for her eyes and they were a blessing in this wasteland.

“That's good.” You smiled as she stood up and walked through Wolverine, clipping his shoulder with her own.

Gambit asked Laura to help him in the other room. Everyone in your party knew it was a distraction so that Blade could feed. It was your turn and you knew it would go over swimmingly with the man that just insulted you.

“I didn't mean-”

“It's fine.” You stood and made your way over to the Daywalker. “You ready?”

“I hate this.” He clasped your arm and you helped him to his feet.

Wade reached his arm out and you obliged, pulling him up too. He bounced happily on his toes and hugged you. “You can be my mom any time.”

“Sure thing.” You chuckled.

“Where are you going?” Logan asked. He was just stood awkwardly where he had stopped in front of you and Laura.

“To feed Blade.”

“Feed him?”

Blade sneered, revealing his fangs. “I used to have a friend that helped my hunger. Now I'm here.”

“We all pitch in.” Elektra continued. “Take turns.”

Wade fanned himself, “he bites you? Kinky bitch.”

“No,” You shook your head. “I cut myself and pour an amount into a glass, we have a measuring line. It's a very well thought out system.”

“Cut yourself.” Logan's stony expression hadn't quite left from earlier but was back in full force now.

“It might sound strange to you but it's a good system.” You defended it. “We try to shield little Laura, we all take turns, it's fair. The only victim is Blade! He hates it!”

Blade, who had stayed quiet, nodded. He was embarrassed to ask anything like this, he hated that he was a Dhampir. His mother had died because of a selfish Vampire and said being cursed him, he swore to rid the world of them and here he was. No better than those he hunted.

“I'll do it.” Logan volunteered. “I heal so I'll do it.”

“You don't have t-”

“I'll do it.” He was firm but then spoke lowly. “I don't want any more scars on you.”

You sighed but agreed, half hating and half loving him.

“Come on then.” You ushered them both into the makeshift kitchen.

Deadpool followed watching with wide eyes.

Blade hung back as you got the glass, it had been scratched halfway to indicate the measurement.

“That's a lot of blood.” Logan's tone was accusatory.

“Every other day.” Blade informed, emotionless.

Logan was quick to yank off a glove and cut a quick slice on his hand. The hand had so many veins that he was sure it would take seconds to fill the cup. Except, he healed before he could fill it a quarter of the way.

He repeated his actions and the cut seemed to heal faster.

“This is embarrassing.” Wade ‘whispered’.

“Shut up.” Logan growled as he did it again and finally got just under the mark. “Is that enough?”

“Not quite-”

Blade agreed to stop this painful display. “It'll do.”

“Blade, we have a big fight coming up, you'll need all your strength.”

“It's okay, I'll be good.” He picked the glass up and took long thick swallows, hating that the taste was good. That it itched the scratch in the back of his head.

“So if he's a Vampire why can he go out in sunlight?” Deadpool asked whilst Blade licked his lips.

“Daywalker.. he can handle light.” You recalled something, “actually did you know that Dracula could as well? Sunlight didn't kill him, it just weakened him.”

Blade set the glass down, “I killed that mother fucker.”

“Dracula?”

“Yeah.”

“He's real?”

“Real as the stake I shoved into his heart.”

You were in complete shock. “Are you being serious? For real life? This… this is mind-blowing.”

Wade shrugged. “I dunno, I'm pretty sure in that comic he comes back to life.”

“Comic?” Blade raised a brow.

“Yeah keep up, sweety, this is a bunch of nerd comics thrust together with you included.” Deadpool pointed at you.

~~

You'd never seen a fully grown man scream ‘shotgun’ and sprint to the side of a car. Yet, here he was, shoving Gambit to the side and opening the door of a beat up Honda.

Wade rolled down the window and explained, “I'm not driving but I am a passenger princess.”

“I guess, I'll drive.” Elektra shrugged and there were no objections. She was probably the most logical of all of you, she could handle his outbursts and tune him out. She had done that to Daredevil for years apparently.

Laura, Gambit and Blade were next in the car, the latter sandwiched in between the others, they say in the middle row as the back row had been destroyed. You smiled at Laura leaning against Blade.

“Y/N.” Logan gestured to the open boot. Oh, right. Yeah. You'd have to get in the boot. With Logan. The man that had been cold towards you today. Great.

You shuffled into the car and settled your backpack next to you, he got in behind you and you were both just sitting facing each other. Knees meeting.

You busied yourself with your backpack, handing Laura her sunglasses. She had them on her head and placed them down for a second, forgetting them. Luckily you picked them up for her.

“There you go, hun.”

She blushed and took them happily. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

After that there was nothing else to do. You had no distractions.

Wade had put the radio on as El had pulled away from your home. This might be the last time you ever saw it. It was actually a little bit sad. You all might never be back here. Or all but one could be, you hated that thought. It was bad enough Johnny being dead - and he was fairly annoying - you couldn't handle anyone else. Were you going to cry? No. You weren't. You were fine. Everyone would be fine.

You sniffed just as Britney Spears started singing and Gambit and Wade put on a terrific performance.

"I think I did it again."

“You look tired.” Logan whispered, the others wouldn't hear him over the duet.

“Do I?” You frowned. What had you done to him this morning? “Way to make a girl feel special.”

“No I mean.” He sighed. “Have a nap. It's a long journey.”

“There's not an abundance of space.” You gestured to each other.

Logan manoeuvred and motioned for you to move with him, you were wary but did as he asked and ended up in a very comfortable position. It mirrored how you had awoken this morning, resting on his chest, except you were both closer. If that was possible.

To be comfortable he pulled your leg over his, leaving the other straight, and wrapped both arms around your sides.

“I'm sorry I've been a dick.” He whispered against your hair. “I- The scar set me off this morning and everything I've done since I can't explain. I don't know why I've been an asshole. I jus-I haven't meant to be it's just come out like that.”

“It's alright.” You raised one shoulder in a half shrug. Your Logan had explained once that sometimes he says something and between his brain and his mouth it was as though it went through an 'asshole filter'. He truly didn't mean to be a dickhead but he couldn't help it. He usually felt horrible when it happened.

“No it isn't-”

You placed your hand on his lips, “yes it is. Now shush let me sleep. I was up practically all night.”

At least that got you an amused huff.

Part 3

[neeeooon]

shut me up ;

6 | the death of isagi yoichi

ft. fem!reader & chigiri, nagi, bachira, shidou, isagi, rin, sae, kaiser, reo, kunigami

cw. cussing, panic, mention of alcohol/drinking (legal), slight violence, vomit, the word “penis”, mentions of death/dying, kaiser being a jerk

nagi stayed on facetime with you and played a few rounds of mario kart before falling asleep. you drifted off not long after, feeling much better about sleeping alone.

the sound of pounding on your door startled you awake. checking the time through sleep-squinted eyes, you groaned when you saw that it was only 1 am. “the heck?” you grumbled, speeding up when the knocking became more frantic.

cracking your door open just a tad, your brows furrowed when you saw a fidgety bachira standing there with wide, bloodshot eyes. “y/n!” he cried when he spotted you, panic evident in his voice. “you have to come quick!” he didn’t give you a chance to reply before grabbing your hand and dragging you from the warmth of your apartment.

you should have been worried about following a practical stranger to his room in a tank top and pajama shorts, but you were too confused and tired to think properly. “what, what?” you repeated, heart racing. bachira tossed his door open, sparing you a brief, wild glance. “you used to be a nursing student, right?!”

“yeah—“

“i think i killed isagi!”

☆ 🎸

according to bachira, he and isagi had been playing a drinking card game where the loser had to take a shot, but shidou was helping bachira cheat. they lost count of how many rounds they played, but isagi had to do most of the shots, and after the last one, he passed out and wouldn’t wake up.

“okay, calm down!” you raised your voice at bachira, who was blabbering about how he was too young to go to jail. shidou was sitting beside the unconscious isagi, slapping him around until you shouted, “stop slapping him!”

huffing a breath, you pulled your hair out of your face and asked the men to help you drag isagi into the bathroom. you managed to hoist him into the tub and laid him between your legs with his back to your chest before sticking your fingers down his throat.

ew, ew, ew, ew, you repeated in your head, grimacing when you heard him gag. you shoved his head forward when he puked and rubbed his back until he sucked in several deep breaths of air.

“you’re alive!” bachira wailed as he flung himself over the edge of the tub and onto his best friend. isagi groaned against you, but he seemed able to sit up on his own, so you stood and stepped out of the bathtub.

“what happened?” he asked, voice rough from puking.

“i cheated and you had to take all the shots and then you wouldn’t wake up and y/n brought you back to life!”

“i died?!”

“you didn’t die.” you tried, but it went in one ear and out the other.

“am i a ghost?! oh god, what if my dick disappeared?! i can’t look. someone look!” bachira nodded in determination and tugged on isagi’s waistband. “it’s there!”

you left the boys to cry over isagi's penis and found shidou making coffee in the kitchenette. "isn't it too early for that?" you asked, still shaking from all the adrenaline.

shidou grinned at you from over his shoulder. "it's not for me. i figured you'd need something after... that." you graciously took the steaming cup from his hands.

"i wasn't expecting my first night to go like this," you admitted with a single dry laugh. he nodded but didn't look very surprised. "yeah, we probably should have warned you. but that? nothing compared to sharing a wall with kaiser."

your brows knit together at his words. "who's kaiser?"

you caught shidou smirking at you from over the rim of your mug. "oh, honey, you'll find out soon enough."

shidouontop started following you!

b4chira started following you!

yoisagi started following you!

masterlist // previous (ch 5) // next (ch 7)

notes -> thank you smsmsmsmsmsm for 800 😭🫶 idk what i’m gonna do for u all if/when i hit 1k so pls lmk if you have any ideas!!

tags -> @x3nafix @n0tbelle @nensi @ohagiyo @tired-child00 @melinana @chaoslibra @kaidostwin @bubybubsters @miss-aesthetic-13 @ihsoti @arwawawa2 @lonigiri @realrintaro @mivqko @sorasushik1 @pookalicious-hq @higuchislut @tofumiarchives @p1z-d0n7jud6em3 @rainychi2 @ch4rstxr @sapph1r3x @sagging-saging @5-laska @tuna-toes @seinuis @sindulgent666 @evilari111 @newinhalerpls @kisses2kanao @sugacor3 @meizumi @90s-belladonna @meowstertruck420 @kyutiipie

© neeeooon, 2025

[darlingsblackbook]

The princess and the fool

Jester!Gojo x Princess!Reader

Medieval Court AU

Summary : The halls of the castle are always cold. I have grown used to it, the chill, the silence, the feeling of existing yet never truly being seen. Then the jester arrives.

English is not my first language, I apologize in advance for any grammatical or spelling mistakes. Feel free to point them out but be kind with it♡

°•♡•°

The great hall is alive tonight.

The long tables overflow with food, the scent of roasted meats and spiced honey thick in the air. The golden chandeliers shine a warm glow over the gathered nobles, their laughter filling the room. Musicians play a lively tune, filling the air with the sharp trill of flutes and the deep hum of stringed instruments.

I sit at my place near the high table, not beside my father, nor near my brothers. Those seats belong to those with purpose. I am here because it is expected, nothing more.

Then, a voice cuts through the revelry.

"Ah, my lady of eternal gloom!"

The hall hushes, if only slightly, as heads turn toward the source of the voice.

I lift my gaze.

He stands in the center of the hall, a stark contrast to the muted elegance of the court.

Silver hair glows under candlelight, strands falling messily over his forehead, though I sense the disarray is intentional. His clothing-a jester’s garb in rich crimson and gold-is striking, adorned with delicate embroidery that glimmers when he moves. The bells at his sleeves and boots barely chime, as if he is too graceful to let them.

But his eyes...

His eyes are the most dangerous of all.

A shade of blue so bright they seem otherworldly, sharp with amusement yet unreadable beneath the weight of something deeper.

His grin is reckless, the kind that belongs to a man who has never known restraint.

"If I dare say," he continues, spreading his arms wide, as if addressing the entire court, "I have met ghosts with more cheer than you, oh princess of goom"

A murmur ripples through the gathered lords and ladies. Some chuckle behind their goblets of wine, while others glance at me, waiting to see how I will respond.

I say nothing.

I just hold his gaze

Then, as if nothing has happened, I lower my eyes back to my plate.

The moment passes. The court resumes its chatter. The musicians play again. The jester- whoever he is- laughs and continues his performance, spinning through the hall with charm.

But I can feel it.

Even as he entertains the crowd, his presence filling every inch of the room, those piercing eyes keep finding their way back to me.

And I can't helpt but wonder, what is it that he sees?

°•♡•°

I see him before he speaks.

It has been this way ever since that first night.

Whenever we are in the same room, his gaze seems to find me. Even when he is performing for the nobles, spinning tales and juggling goblets of wine without spilling a a single drop, I feel the weight of his attention.

I do not know why.

Perhaps he has taken it as a challenge: to crack the stonefaced silent princess, to pry a laugh from lips that rarely part.

Perhaps he is simply a fool.

His laughter echoes through the great hall again and I can not seem to withhold myself from lifting my gaze in the direction of the sound. His eyes almost seemed to glimmer in the warm glow of the chandelier suspended above the table. Lips pulled in a wide grin, his teeth-fangs- almost seemed to glint as if sending off a warning to stay away.

His head shifted and tilted to the side, I moved my gaze up to realize he had caught me admiring him. The jester did not seemed to mind though, he only blinked one eye in a quick wink.

What a fool.

°•♡•°

A week later, the feast is the same as always. Lords and ladies drink, their voices growing louder after every emptied goblet. Musicians pulling their strings until their fingers ache, the servants moving between tables like shadows, unseen, unnoticed.

My eyes swept over the great hall once, then another time, and again. I scanned every and each indivudal, but what was I looking for, really?

White locks, shimmering blue eyes and the faint sound of bells ringing.

My grip on my fork tightened until I could almost feel the heavy metal bend under my hold. What am I thinking? I released a breath I had not realized I was holding as the realization dawned on me. I had unconsciously been looking for-

A heavy sigh, exaggerated and drawn out, cuts through my thoughts.

I know it is him before I even turn.

"Ah, woe is me!," he laments, dramatically collapsing onto the floor beside my chair. A few nobles turn to watch the spectacle, curious. He places a hand over his heart, as if pained beyond reason. "My suffering knows no end!"

I raise one eyebrow as I lift my goblet and take a slow sip of my wine.

"If only—" he gasps, lifting his head to meet my gaze. "If only the princess of eternal gloom would spare me a glance, perhaps my shattered heart might mend just a little."

I do not indulge him.

He groans and lets his head fall back against the floor, arms spread as though he has perished on the cold stone. "No?" he mutters, voice full of despair. "Not even a glance? Not even the tiniest flicker of pity?"

Someone kicks him.

"Get up, fool," one of the knights mutters.

The jester lifts his head, feigning deep betrayal. "Even the knights have turned against me! Tell me, is there no love left in this world?"

But I simply set my goblet down and say, "Not for you it seems."

A collective murmur ripples through the court, amusement laced with intrigue.

The fool freezes for a fraction of a second.

Then he grins.

His suffering deepens—his body crumpling as if my words have physically wounded him. "A cruel, heartless woman! How ever shall I survive this torment?" He turns his gaze to the ceiling. "Perhaps I shall wither away. Perhaps the weight of my unrequited love will drag me to an early grave—"

"You would not be so lucky," I interrupt.

He falters.

Then, laughter bursts from his lips, loud and unrestrained. His whole body shakes with it, delight sparking in his impossibly blue eyes. He presses a hand to his chest, shaking his head.

"You wound me," he gasps between chuckles. "And yet—I think I adore you even more for it."

Fool.

I should not entertain him.

I should not allow him to pull me into whatever ridiculous game he has started.

But the corners of my lips twitch.

Just slightly.

But his gaze sharpens, as if he has caught me in the act.

He does not let me go so easily.

°•♡•°

He seems to always find me.

It does not stop at feasts.

If anything, he is worse outside of them.

I do not know how he does it, how he appears in the most unexpected places at the most ridiculous times.

But somehow, he does.

The first time, I am in the library.

The towering shelves stretch high above me, filled with books older than the castle itself. I am searching for a particular volume, my fingers trailing over the worn spines-

When a deep sigh echoes through the chamber.

"Truly," The jester laments from somewhere behind me, "this heartbreak will be the end of me."

I do not turn. "If you are here for pity, you will not find it amongst books."

He appears beside me in an instant, leaning against the shelf with a lazy grin. "No? I thought perhaps I’d find some poetry on tragic love to soothe my pain." He glances at the books. "Or a guide on how to win the heart of a cold and distant princess."

I pull a book from the shelf and hand it to him. "How to disappear, completely."

The jester takes the book from my hands, glancing at the title.

Then he looks at me.

Then back at the book.

His grin widens.

"Ah," he muses, flipping it open dramatically. "A personal recommendation. How cruel you are, princess. Do you long for my absence so dearly?"

I return to scanning the shelves. "I long for silence."

"And yet, you keep speaking to me."

I do not offer that with a response.

He leans closer, dropping his voice as if sharing a secret. "You know, if you wish to disappear, you could always run away with me. I happen to be very good at sneaking out completely unnoticed."

I glance at him then, just briefly. "A jester and a runaway princess. How original."

"Mm, you’re right," he sighs, pretending to reconsider. "Perhaps we should fake our deaths first. Make it dramatic. You can even pick how we go."

"Poison."

The word leaves my lips so quickly, so flatly, that for a moment, he blinks at me.

And then he bursts into laughter.

It echoes through the grand library, far too loud for the sacred quiet of this place. I should tell him to lower his voice.

But I don’t.

Because despite myself, I feel something stir in my chest at the sound of his carefree laugh.

Something dangerously unfamiliar.

Gojo holds the book against his heart. "I shall cherish this gift of yours, my gloomy princess. A token of your deep and unspoken love."

"Then I shall expect you to vanish by morning."

He gasps, clutching his chest. "You wound me! Again! Just how many times must I die for your love?"

"You have survived this long," I say, taking a different book from the shelf and turning away. "Clearly, your suffering is not terminal."

His laughter follows me as I walk away.

And when I am far enough that I should not hear him anymore, he still calls after me.

"I shall suffer on, then! Only for you!"

It is not just the library.

Nor is it just the feasts.

He seems to find me everywhere.

In the courtyard, where I sit by the fountain, enjoying a rare moment of quiet.

Only to hear a dramatic splash behind me as he throws himself into the shallow water, arms spread wide. "I am drowning in sorrow!" he declares. "A love unreturned is a fate worse than death!"

"You are drowning in two feet of water," I say without looking up.

"In my sorrow," he corrects, laying flat in the fountain like a man lost at sea.

I shake my head, returning to my book. A maid walks by and pauses, looking between us with concern.

"Leave him," I say before they can ask. "He is beyond saving."

The fool gasps, lifting his head. "How cold!"

The servant wisely leaves.

And him, the fool that he is, remains in the water for another five minutes, waiting for me to acknowledge him.

I do not.

But the next time I pass by the fountain, I see something new. Something that had not been there before.

A tiny paper boat, floating lazily in the water.

When I unfold it, I find a simple message written inside.

I would not mind drowning a thousand times, over and over, if it meant I could be by your side.

~ Your fool

I do not know why he seeks me out, why he insists on drawing laughter from someone who has long since forgotten how to give it.

I do not know why, despite everything, I let him

But I do know this.

The castle has always been cold.

The halls have always been empty.

And I have always been unseen.

But then came the jester.

And no matter how I try to disappear, he will not let me. He keeps finding me. He keeps seeing me.

°•♡•°

The castle is quiet at this hour.

Most are asleep, lost in dreams or the silence of the night.

Not me.

And, it seems, not him.

I hear the footsteps before I see him. Light, unhurried, belonging to a man who walks as though the world lays in the palm of his hand.

I do not turn, even when I feel his presence settle beside me on the stone ledge of the tower balcony. The wind is gentle tonight, cool against my skin as I look out over the sleeping kingdom.

"You never sleep," the jester muses. His voice is softer now, quiet, stripped of its usual mischief.

"Neither do you," I reply.

He leans forward, arms resting against his knees. "I sleep plenty."

"Liar."

A soft chuckle, but he does not argue.

For a while, both of us stay silent.

The air between us feels different tonight. Not tense, but something quieter, something softer. I do not know if it is the hour or the solitude, but for once, the Jester does not fill the silence with his usual laughter.

Instead, he tilts his head, looking at me with a strange kind of curiosity.

"You never call me by my name," he says suddenly.

I blink, caught off guard. "What?"

He smiles, but it’s not the grin he usually wears, it’s something smaller, something almost… shy. "You call me ‘fool,’ ‘jester,’ sometimes ‘idiot’ when you think I’m not listening."

"You are all of those things," I say, but my voice lacks its usual bite.

"And yet," he hums, "not once have you called me by my name."

I open my mouth, then close it.

Because he’s right.

I never realized that I do not call him by his name, it had not been intentional. Or maybe, subconsciously, I had never called him by his name to still keep a distance between us- so I would not let him too close to my heart.

The thought of saying it aloud feels… intimate.

More intimate than anything we have ever done.

He watches me expectantly, his usual playfulness dimmed into something more patient.

And maybe it is the night, or the way the world feels impossibly small on this tower ledge, but-

"...Satoru."

The name feels unfamiliar on my tongue.

Satoru's eyes widen slightly, and for the first time since I have met him, he looks startled.

But the surprise fades quickly, melting into something impossibly soft. "Again," he says.

I shake my head, looking away. "No."

"Please?"

I close my eyes. "Do not push your luck."

A breath of laughter, and then,

"Come with me."

I turn to him, confused. "...What?"

"Let’s leave," he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. "You and me. Run away. Disappear."

I snort. "You are ridiculous."

"I’m serious.", His voice holds no humor.

I look at him then, truly look at him, and I see it, the absence of laughter in his gaze. The rawness in his expression. The way his fingers twitch against the stone as if he is holding something back.

He is serious.

He is serious.

The weight of it settles in my chest, something heavy and unfamiliar. I do not know how to hold it.

"Why would I leave?" I ask quietly.

"For the same reason I would," he says, and I hate that he says it like I should already know.

Like the answer has always been there, unspoken between us. I search his face, trying to make sense of this, of him, of the impossible thing he is asking of me.

"Do you know why I became a jester?" he asks suddenly.

The question catches me off guard.

Gojo exhales, leaning back slightly, gaze drifting toward the stars. "Because I wanted to laugh," he says simply. "Because I wanted others to laugh. Because laughter makes the world feel lighter, even when it isn’t."

He looks at me again, and this time, I see something deeper in his eyes.

Something sad.

"But you… you never laugh."

I turn away. "Some people are not made for laughter."

"That’s not true," he says, his voice too soft, too kind. "I’ve seen it, you know. The way your lips twitch when you fight a smile. The way your eyes crinkle when you think no one is watching."

My chest feels tight.

"I could make you laugh," he continues, quieter now. "Every day. Every night. Until death do us part, and even then, I’d haunt you just to make you laugh."

A broken little huff escapes me. "You would be an insufferable ghost."

"Yes," he agrees easily. "But I’d be yours."

I close my eyes. It is too much.

Too much.

"Satoru…"

The way his name leaves my lips feels like a plea. For him to stop. For him to continue.

For something I do not have the words for.

But Gojo just smiles, tilting his head.

"See?" he murmurs. "That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

I shake my head, not knowing if I want to laugh or cry.

But he doesn’t push further.

He doesn’t ask again.

He just reaches out, slow enough for me to pull away-

But I don’t.

His fingers brush my wrist, warm and steady. And in the quiet of the night, with the whole world sleeping below us-

Two lost souls finally become whole.

[see-arcane]

Something I’ve been chewing on for this go-around of Dracula Season is the fact that, for all that I am absolutely 110% on board with the whole ‘Dracula wants Jonathan for himself, calls dibs, wants first taste, wants to keep him as part of the castle permanently, I too can love~ et cetera’ deal, I can admit now that I’ve been overlooking one very key part of the whole Bluebeard wifery setup.

And that’s the unavoidable fact that Dracula fully intends to leave Jonathan Harker to be drunk and collected by the Weird Sisters.

Now there’s all manner of guesswork to make about what exactly these three’s relationship to Dracula really is. A personal harem is usually the go-to, and what I usually land on as explanation, considering how things will play out in the future regarding his usual choice of vampiric victim. But others have suggested familial connections, going by Jonathan noting a couple similar traits between the two brunettes, ala facial features, hair, the same red eyes and so on, leaving Blondie as a potential wife the Count turned along with their daughters. Or hell, maybe they’re all actual sisters. We never get to know.

All we know is that they accuse Dracula of ‘Never loving,’ while Dracula stares meaningfully at Jonathan, insisting otherwise. And claims that the trio themselves know it is so from the past. Whatever past that is.

To that end, the Weird Sisters matter to Dracula. Enough to keep them fed, enough to not even put up a full villain monologue at them when they go against his orders to try and snatch Jonathan out from under him, followed by laughing in his face. Beyond his far-too-intimate interactions and abuses with Jonathan, this is the closest we get to seeing Dracula trying to be close with and/or properly*** interacting with someone. An exchange that ends not only with handing over the poor stolen baby in the sack, but outright promising Jonathan to the Sisters once Dracula is finished with him.

And that’s sticking with me this year. Because for all that I’ve joked and memed about it in the past, it never really whacked me over the head with the import and terror that comes with Jonathan’s opening line in this entry.

God preserve my sanity, for to this I am reduced.

Reduced. That’s the key word here.

Even if he doesn’t know all the rules, he knows now that he is no longer just a temporary prisoner. Not even a mere murder victim waiting out the clock. No. He has been reduced to a living decanter. A possession there to be nursed from and used and given as a gift from Dracula to his companions. Like a toy or a new pet.

At the risk of slight spoilers (avert your eyes first-time Dracula Dailiers!), two important lines are yet to come during Jonathan’s stay in Vampire Hell. One from Dracula:

But I am in hopes that I shall see more of you at Castle Dracula.

(Yes, he does think he’s very funny. Prick.)

And another from Jonathan:

At its foot a man may sleep—as a man.

Two vital beats.

The first, because it is a winking confirmation to all that Jonathan has feared. Namely, that Dracula and the Weird Sisters mean to never let him leave the castle again, alive, dead, or otherwise.

The second, because it shows that for all Jonathan is not aware of, he does rightly suspect that there is more expected of him than being a mere meal to have and discard. He knows he is not due for a fleeting pain and escape, even via death. Because Dracula wants to ‘love’ him. To keep him.

And Dracula will do so because he keeps the Weird Sisters, and they will keep him. A parting gift from their loving lord of the castle. The conqueror’s playbook in miniature.

I turned you. You turn him. I have you all.

This, buried under the veneer of:

See girls? I care! Here, a fine new plaything to keep you company. Housebroken already.

(To this I am reduced. To this I am reduced. To this I am reduced.)

There’s time right now. However much time Jonathan can win by playing a good guest. But if he doesn’t get out by the time Dracula is done with him? He lives the rest of his human life as a wine bottle and then all of eternity after that as joint undead property.

Better hope your acting skills are up to the task, Mr. Harker.

[asapstarkey]

It's Complicated — Rafe Cameron

Chapter Two: It’s just how it always ends

Chapter One

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Routledge!Reader

Summary: You try to stay away and set boundaries with Rafe. For worse or for better.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex, alcohol consumption, vomiting, possible grammatical errors

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Another semi-short chapter. They will get longer as this fic progresses. Once again, this is a slow burn. I’m building things up and trying to set the scene. Feedback is always appreciated!

It had been almost three weeks since that night on the beach. Almost three weeks since you had seen Rafe at all. His two-in-the-morning phone calls and text messages went unanswered by you.

The Pogues didn’t get much out of you about what happened. They just knew Rafe had opened his big fat mouth like he always did and you had enough. You couldn’t tell them too much without giving away your dirty little secret. How you had been able to keep sleeping with him a secret for over four years was a miracle.

You had pretty much been in hiding. You hadn’t left the Cut at all, gone to a single party, or gone downtown at all. You couldn’t keep it up much longer either. You couldn’t stay away forever.

The bell above the door chimed as you walked into The Wreck. It was still early in the day so there weren’t many people in the restaurant. Kiara had asked you to come help her and Dad that day. A couple of employees called out and the business still needed to run. Thankfully, you had worked there your Senior year of High School and a couple years after to keep the lights on and food on the table for you and John B.

“(Y/N)! So good to see you,” Mike greeted you with a bright smile and a tight hug. “How are you? How’s business going?”

“Just taking things day by day,” you answered truthfully. “This Summer seems busier than in the past.”

“You’re telling me,” Mike sighed and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “I really appreciate you helping out today.”

“Anytime! You know I loved working here back in the day.”

It was true. When your dad was missing, being at The Wreck was your only escape. Balancing school and trying to parent your menace of a kid brother took up all of your time. You couldn’t imagine it any other way though. Had John B not met Kie, and she not helped you get the job, you didn’t know where you would be now. The only reason you quit was to keep John B alive when he and the Pogues went after the Merchant Gold.

Mike handed you an apron and you got to work like you had never left. Time moved quickly as you moved about the kitchen making food. Music played softly from a speaker Kiara had brought. You sang along quietly, dancing around Mike as the two of you worked together.

You felt at peace. For once you weren’t at the Surf Shop, balancing numbers and figuring out how much more you needed to make that month to make sure everything was paid. You weren’t worried about JJ coming home with some elaborate scheme that would surely get all of you arrested. You weren’t worried about making sure Cleo wasn’t getting into trouble with people, Pope’s college papers, or whether or not your brother and Sarah were using protection. For once you had no worries.

And Mike had already said he was going to pay you generously for helping him out. If that was on paper or not, he told you not to concern yourself with that, so you didn’t.

Your phone chimed from the counter behind you. It had gone off a couple of times but you figured it was just your brother updating you on how business was going. Deciding you should check it, you walked across the kitchen and picked it up. You scoffed when you saw you had new messages from someone who was /certainly not/ John B.

Rafe: U up? 2:21 am

Rafe: Um hello? Are u alive? 10:47 am

Rafe: Ur starting to worry me here.. Like fr 3:09 pm

You shook your head and locked the phone back. It’s been three weeks, dude, take a hint.

“(Y/N) can you go help Kiara bus some tables real quick? The rush is over and I’ve got lots of dishes to bring back,” Mike poked his head in to ask you, work phone pressed to his shoulder where someone was surely on hold.

“On it!”

You put your phone back down on the counter and grabbed a buss tub before heading out into the dining room to clean up. You had barely finished bussing your third table when the bell above the door signaled someone walking in. You turned around to greet them, not expecting it to be the last person you wanted to see.

His eyes found you within seconds and there was no escaping. You couldn’t just hide in the kitchen and you couldn’t escape out the side door with no explanation. You had to face him.

Rafe looked almost relieved to see you. His features softened and his shoulders lost tension. He walked straight over to the table you were wiping down and stopped on the opposite side.

“Did your phone break or something?” he asks.

Some greeting that was.

“No.”

“Well, I know my number’s not blocked cause all of my texts and calls have gone through.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” you replied with a shrug, trying to play it off like this didn’t bother you. But the hurtful things he said to you on the beach replayed in your head daily. Your subconscious always reminds you of how he truly felt about you. You went back to cleaning the table, hoping he would take the hint and leave you alone.

He laughed as he questioned, “You’re not seriously still mad, are you?”

What a silly question for him to ask after you quite literally exploded on the beach.

“Yes, Rafe, I am,” you snipped. “And I’m working so you need to leave.”

You grabbed the tub and moved to a different table, moving with haste as you cleared the dishes. Your back was to the blonde Kook but you felt him move closer as he followed you around the dining room. You glanced around, hoping to see Kiara or someone who could save you from this situation.

“C’mon, baby,” Rafe’s voice dropped as he took on a more pleading tone. “Y’know I didn’t mean it.”

Your chest tightened and your face heated up. The same rage you felt on the beach slowly reigniting in your chest. This was just a tactic to get you back into his bed like he had done time and time again.

“No,” you whipped around to face him, the smirk on his lips slowly fading. You pointed your finger and every word off your tongue was laced with venom. “You always do this. You use me to get your fix, then treat me like shit and throw me away when you’re done. I don’t know if it’s some sick kink of yours to belittle me every chance you get, but I’ve had enough.”

Rafe scoffed and shook his head, “That’s not true, (Y/N).. I-“

“Shut up!” You held your hand up, closing your eyes and breathing in deeply. There are still tables in here, keep your cool. When you looked at him again he looked hurt. A small frown tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Just shut up, Rafe. I don’t care what you have to say anymore. I’m done. Do you hear me? I’m fucking done.”

You meant it. Every word you said to him you meant. You were sick and tired of him treating you like all you were meant for was a quick fuck. You were fed up being spoken down to like you were less than because of how you grew up. You were absolutely done being Rafe Cameron’s secret little play thing, and judging by the look on his face, he knew it.

Rafe didn’t say anything else. He stared at you for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, and then he left.

You were visibly shaking at that point, breaths coming out in short puffs as you tried to calm yourself down. You felt lighter after finally speaking your mind and letting it all out. Though, your eyes stung with unshed tears as the door to The Wreck shut behind him. You just let go of someone you wasted years of your life with after all.

What was supposed to only be a few hours of you helping turned into a twelve hour work day. After your run in with Rafe it seemed like all of Kildare Island and some decided The Wreck was the spot that day. You stuck around helping Mike cook, Kiara take tables, and you even helped the bartender make drinks when they got swamped.

By the time Mike was ready to let you and Kiara go it was just after nine o’clock and the sun was lowering beyond the horizon, casting an orange glow over the parking lot as you climbed into the passenger seat of your curly headed friend’s car. You couldn’t wait to just get home, take a hot shower and absolutely crash.

A few more weeks had passed since Rafe sought you out at The Wreck. You’d barely seen more than a glimpse of him. He’d pass the shop on his boat but never stop for gas or come inside. He’d be at the beach with his friends when you were surfing, always keeping his distance and leaving shortly after.

You had even ended up at the same house party somehow. Some Touron’s parents left him at the AirBnB alone and he threw an absolute rager. The two of you would steal glimpses of each other from across the room without the other knowing. Though you were never in the same part of the house at the same time for more than a minute or so.

It was a relief, truthfully. You weren’t anxious the whole time that he’d walk over and whisk you away to the bathroom for a quickie and someone would see you. You weren’t scared your brother would smell his cologne in your hair from your face being tucked into his neck. You weren’t afraid Sophia would see the scratch marks on his shoulder blades and know they weren’t her doing.

But, God, did you miss him sometimes.

You missed the rise and fall of his chest under your cheek when he was too tired and spent to kick you out of his house and he’d fall asleep holding you close. You missed him playing with your hair as he talked to you, trying to convince you to sneak away from your friends for five minutes so he could take care of you for once. You missed the weight of his lips against yours when all you could do was steal sloppy kisses in the dark and there was no time for funny business. You missed the way he looked at you, even if it was purely lustful and nothing more, his blue irises saying more than words ever could.

But Rafe had made it very clear he would never be with you. And despite those little moments where you thought otherwise, you could never be with someone who made you feel so shitty all of the time. You had to hate Rafe in order to protect yourself.

“Something’s bothering you,” you were snapped out of your thoughts by your brother’s voice.

John B had been watching you from behind the wheel of the boat. You sat at the front, staring out at the water as you mindlessly picked at the skin around your nails.

He got up from his seat and walked over to you, holding out an ice cold bottled beer fresh from the cooler. “What’s on your mind, sissy?”

The snort you let out brought a smile to John B’s lips. He stopped using that nickname years ago, unless he wanted something from you or he got himself into trouble. He was genuinely worried about you though. You hadn’t been acting like yourself for months and everyone was starting to notice.

“Just.. stressed,” you sighed and shook your head, avoiding his prodding hazel eyes.

“Business is good, (Y/N). We’re finally getting our feet under us,” John B tried to reassure you. Little did he know this wasn’t about the shop at all. “We’re finally getting everything we deserve.”

You twisted off the cap of your beer and tossed it in the grocery sack being used as a trash bag hung off of a rope hook. “I know, I know. That doesn’t mean I’m just gonna stop caring. Someone around here has to run payroll and budget,” you continued. “No offense, but none of you are remotely close to qualified. Except maybe Sarah.”

John B laughed but didn’t disagree as you took a swig from your bottle. He wandered over to the edge of the boat to talk to JJ and you watched the other four Pogues as they hung off foam noodles and talked not too far.

As you brought your beer back up to your lips, you paused. Your stomach twisted as the bitter smell met your nose. Suddenly, you were scrambling to turn around and wretched into the water in the knick of time. The sound of the amber bottle hitting the deck of the boat was what caught the attention of your brother and friends.

JJ must have skipped the ladder and hoisted himself onto the boat from the side because he was pulling your hair back in a matter of seconds. He rubbed your back and encouraged you to ‘just let it out’. You could hear John B calling the others back to the boat, your stomach too busy emptying its entire contents for you to protest.

Once everyone was back on board and you weren’t vomiting anymore, John B crouched beside you, “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I don’t know.. One second I was fine and then I just felt sick.”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and sat back against the seat with a heavy breath. Your brother stared at you worriedly and rubbed your knee. “Let’s take you back. I don’t want you out here in the sun in case it gets worse,” he suggested.

“No,” you groaned. “Don’t let me ruin the fun. I’ll be fine, JB.”

JJ had already started cruising towards the Chateau though, so you knew it was pointless to argue.

“We planned on heading down to catch some waves anyway. I want you to rest. Kay?” John B insisted.

He reminded you of your father in that moment. Caring and protective. You tried to be the strong older sister who looked after everyone but he was always looking out for you too. So you nodded and let him wrap a towel around your shoulders for the short boat ride back home.

After reassuring your brother that you’d be fine alone, you headed into the Chateau while they loaded into the Twinkie and headed off to surf. You dropped your belongings on your bedroom floor before falling face first into your bed. Exhaustion caught up with you and in a matter of minutes, you were fast asleep.

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