#i think he is wrong. and it is PISSING ME OFF

[t6ji]

filthy 1am thoughts (04)

just your boyfriend(s)— aka jjk men being pussy drunk for their girlfriend. mdni! cw: pussydrunk!jjk men, filthy bull

your man’s shoulders spread your thighs like he has been deprived of getting his hand on you, cheek pressed into your inner thigh just to feel how hard you throb when he spits on your pussy like it’s nothing.

doesn’t even bother warming you up with fingers. doesn’t bother being nice. you’re already soaked—he made sure of that twenty minutes ago when he talked about what he was gonna do.

the way he leaned down and said it slow, in that low murmur like you weren’t gonna start dripping through your underwear just from hearing it: “gonna get my whole fuckin’ face in it. right here,” he said, thumb dragging through your folds like he was clearing a path.

sure it turned you on but you’re still shy with him being so bare for you and when you tried to make an excuse, your man hit you with: “you think i care how messy it gets? c’mon, y’know want it messy.” he breathes on your hot skin. “wanna ruin you with my mouth.”

and now here he is. kneeling like it is the only will he came here to fulfill. holding your cunt open with both thumbs, just watching— no, observing you naked. for a second you think he’s teasing you but your wrong thought is cut short when his tongue is dragging up the mess like it’s syrup off a spoon. slow, heavy, filthy.

then he goes mean.

mouth clamping down like he’s starving. lips sucking your clit in tight while his tongue swirls rough circles around it—sloppy and deep like he’s fucking it with the tip of his tongue. and then both thumbs dig in. spreading you further, holding your pussy taut and pretty and open like he’s putting it on display just for himself.

“you hear how wet you are?” he says right into your cunt, lips brushing your clit when he talks. “you did this. just from me putting my mouth on you, you nasty fuckin’ thing.”

you moan—loud. too loud. that kind of noise you don’t even mean to make. it’s just what comes out when he does that flutter thing with his tongue and your thighs lock up, toes curling like your whole body’s trying to grab onto something. anything.

he doesn’t let up. not even when you’re trembling. not even when your hips start to buck.

“baby, stay still.” he pinches your thigh softly. “let me eat.” he spits a globe of spit again. lets it dribble right down the middle and then licks it back up like a pervert. like he’s obsessed which he definitely is. jaw tight, lips shiny, nose pressed in while his tongue drags every single moan out of you. he wants you dripping down his chin, messy, sobbing, twitching from how good it is.

“gonna suck on this tight cunt ‘till you cry,” he groans into it. “then i’m gonna fuck your hole so deep you won’t remember your name, get it?” you’re almost wasted.

his tongue slows—not out of mercy, just to watch you squirm.

he leans back slightly, lips shiny from your juice, chin slick with spit and arousal and everything he’s worked out of you already. breath heavy. hungry eyes fixed on your twitching cunt like it just pissed him off.

“part your lips,” he demands, voice low but fierce like it’s a fucking order. “spread it open for me. i wanna see it.”

your shaky fingers move on instinct, reaching down to obey. you hook your fingers under your folds, pulling yourself wide, and he groans low in his chest like it hurts to see you like this. so wet. so raw. clit swollen and twitching from the attention he’s given it—and now, exposed like this, it’s almost too much. it should be too much.

but then he leans in again, and your whole spine arches like it’s bracing for impact. he doesn’t start with his tongue this time.

no. he starts with his nose.

just brushes it up the slit slow, deliberately letting it nudge your clit—bump, bump, bump—like he’s testing your reaction. like he’s marking time with the softest part of him while your legs flinch and your stomach pulls tight from the overstimulation.

“look at this greedy little thing,” he murmurs, voice warm and dark against your cunt. “swollen like she’s beggin’ me to hurt her.”

then he flicks his tongue out—sideways, not up. not gentle. your thighs clamp down again.

“don’t fuckin’ close up now,” he growls, annoyed slap getting delivered to the inside of your thigh hard enough to sting. “i said open.”

you do. because you have to and this shit feels so good.

your boyfriend sucks your clit back into his mouth again, lips plush and tight around it, and just holds it there. tongue flicking back and forth underneath like a motor, side to side, building that high-pitched pressure that makes your whole lower body feel electric. and just as you’re about to go—

he slides one finger in, “fuuuuck.” he mouths, watching you stretch then adds another.

then—fuck—a third.

all in one go. deep. curling them inside you like a ‘c’mere’ sign. he knows exactly where to press and he does. his fingers are thick, deliberate, merciless. your walls clamp down, a slippery squeeze that makes his groan vibrate through your clit.

“tight as fuck,” he growls into you, barely able to talk through the wet suction of his mouth. “look at you. all stretched open and still tryna suck me in like you’re starving.”

his wrist moves faster. three fingers fucking in and out of you with obscene speed, knuckles wet, palm slapping against your cunt. he’s feeding your pussy the sound of it—squelch, squelch, squelch—and every time he presses up into that spot, every time he sucks on your clit at the same time, you swear your vision whites out.

“you feel that?” he pants. “that’s me fucking you with my hand. stuffing you like you’re made to take it. this hole’s so good i’m about to lose my fucking mind.”

you moan something incoherent—can’t even tell if it’s his name or just sound—and your hips try to run from it, but he just growls low and hooks one arm under your thigh, dragging you right back down to the base of his wrist.

“don’t fuckin’ run,” he says, licking a wide stripe up your pussy like a punishment. “take it.”

and like a good girlfriend, you will. you have to.

your legs are shaking.

trembling like you’re being exorcised, like something holy and terrifying is ripping through your core and trying to claw its way out. you’re babbling—words, moans, curses, all mangled into one long, wrecked sound while his mouth stays latched onto your clit like he’s feeding from it.

and his fingers— god, his fingers.

three thick digits fucking into you like he’s digging for something deeper, pumping in and curling like they’re sculpting you from the inside out. it’s fast. rough. deliberate. every drag of his palm over your soaked entrance sends another wave of heat crashing up your spine.

“you’re close,” he says into your cunt, voice tight and wet and vibrating directly into your clit. “tightening on me and shit, so proud of you.”

your thighs are twitching.

your belly’s clenching.

your whole body’s bucking off the bed like you’re being shocked. and he just laughs, this low, mean sound that makes your stomach drop—because he knows. knows what’s coming. knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“yeah, baby, that’s it,” he groans, sucking your clit hard while his fingers slam into you. “give it to me. i want it.”

your vision goes white.

your hips lift off the bed.

and then it happens.

your cunt grip down like a vice—and your whole body seizes up, thighs locking around his head as you squirt all over his face. gushes. hot and fast, soaking him down to the jaw, running in messy rivulets down his neck and chin.

he doesn’t flinch.

doesn’t pull away.

doesn’t even slow down.

“fuck, there it is,” he grunts, filthy and proud, lapping it up like he’s dying of thirst. “so sweet when you let go like that. look at this mess you made on my face. you fuckin’ animal.” you would’ve playfully slapped him if you were in the right state of mind.

“so good for me.” your thighs are still twitching when he finally looks up at you, lips slick, eyes dark and hooded—but soft. not hungry anymore, just… proud. reverent.

“look at you,” he murmurs, voice all low and ruined. “still shaking.”

you try to speak, but nothing really comes out. your lips part, but all you can do is breathe, jaw slack, chest rising too fast.

he leans in anyway. kisses the inside of your knee. then your hip. then drags his hands up your sides, slow and grounding, like he’s trying to put you back together.

“you okay?” he asks, pressing his forehead to your stomach. “talk to me.”

you nod, but he doesn’t move just yet. just holds you, skin to skin, letting your body calm in his hands. his fingers trace lazy circles over your ribs, over your waist, like he’s memorizing every inch all over again.

“you were perfect,” he whispers. “every fuckin’ second.”

and even when your breath steadies, he stays right there. quiet. close. just making sure you’re still here with him.

t6ji | 2025 prod — do not copy, reuse, or translate anything written on this blog. — like and reblog if you enjoyed!! lmk your thoughts 💕

[zoguy1]

I love trans headcannons. And don't get me wrong. Loving the Trans Jax headcannons.

I'd just like to gently point out that this is also what toxic masculinity looks like in cis men.

Like, my brother would quite litterally *not* touch anything he thought was feminine and would actively get pissed off if anyone ever suggested the idea of him having any feminine qualities what so ever. My brother didn't ever act out like Jax did, but then again, we never forced my brother in a maid's dress. And I imagine he'd have Jax's exact reaction if we did.

And my dad pulls this exact reinforcement of his masculinity that Jax does with his ears and 'tail'. I feel like Jax is mostly being humorous with it. Because I don't think rabbits were ever considered a masculine thing, so to insinuate that they are is humorous, and it's the exact kind of humor my dad pulls all the time. I also feel like Jax's predatory, animalistic behaviors are a way to compensate for that.

Of course, trans men aren't a monolith, and there are definitely some Jax-like trans guys out there. But from what I've seen in the trans guys that I know, they have a more nuanced and complicated relationship with femininity and masculinity than just outright rejecting femininity. Because a lot of trans people have to break down and deconstruct what masculinity and femininity are and what they means to us. I've also known trans guys who are more empathetic to others and act more akin to Zooble then they do Jax. But then again, that's just the trans guys that I personally know and my experience is skewed as I do hang out with more genderqueer people then I do people with a strict sense of gender binaries.

Something that I do thing dose have something going for trans Jax, or at least queer Jax is the fact that he pokes fun at Zooble's queerness a lot in a way I haven't seen cis guys poke fun at queer people for. Making the joke that Zooble turns straight when they hold their breath, laughing at Zooble being a bartender and a tattoo artist in their previous life. The fact that Jax wholeheartedly acknowledges Zooble's non-binary gender identity. Zooble's gender was never treated as a joke by Jax, nor dose Jax pull any low hanging transphobic shit. He respects their queerness in a way I've only seen in genderqueer to genderqueer solidarity.

And I repeat again, I don't hate the trans Jax theory or headcannon. I like it!

Jax transmasc is so real

Well, in episode 5 we have many dialogues, scenes that show us a real Jax trans behaviour

At stargazing, after Pomni tells that everyone looks weird, this is Jack's reaction:

And just after, he reinforces it

And it doesn't stops there, as we have later in the last episode's adventure, when is voted to Jax be made of maid, and that's his reaction

His rage and disgust is clear, he can't stop feeling bad, and bothered like never with Zooble's mocking him

They even say that they never saw Jax acting this way before

What is at least dubious, it doesn't fit the way a cis man with Jax's humour would behave at this situation imo, and even if it was, all the signals and comments leads me to think that he is a trans man!

Yeah guys, Jax as tmasc is here afff

[gumigirl]

you are the only exception— ft. megumi fushiguro and gn!reader

cw: mentions of depression, avoidant attachment style

it had been a week, two at most, of you being couped up in your dorm on your own accord. nobara had texted, yuuji had called, you were even summoned to gojo's office— but you never answered. you barely had enough energy to pick up your phone, far less to answer a text. the past couple of days had been a blur of hallucinations between intervals of sleep and trips to the bathroom made on shaky footing. your mind was numb as you stared up at the ceiling of your dorm from your mattress; your limbs weren't strewn leisurely, but pinned to you sides as if you needed to feel them to know you were actually there in that moment. a knock at your door would shake you out of your daze, head tilting up to look over at it. you hadn't seen anyone in a while, this was probably yaga doing a wellness check. “come in.” you would mutter through cracked lips, barely loud enough to breach the barrier of the wooden door.

the door handle would turn, the dim light of the hallway seeping into your cold, dark dorm as the figure stood there. it was megumi, out of his uniform, replaced by that washed-out black long sleeve he wore to bed. clearly, he came here on his own time. “hey..”

your eyes would widen ever so slightly. out of everyone, you hadn't expected him to be the first to check on you. if anything, you expected him to be pissed off that you ghosted him for the past week. without another word, megumi entered your dorm, closing the door behind himself with a small sigh. “uhm.. i've been trying to give you space, but i got worried. sorry.” he added, as if he was in the wrong for your shitty mental state.

you could only look at him; partly in awe, partly resignment, not bothering to object as he sat on the edge of your bed, his hand folded neat on his lap. “you're too good to me, you know that?”

megumi could only scoff at that, a bitter chuckle. “i'm not, don't say that.” he denied sternly, and he'd deny it a million times if it meant keeping your mind at ease. he wouldn't trouble you, not while you were already suffering with yourself.

“you are. you're so.. perfect and i'm just.. me. you'll forget about me eventually.” you appraised dully, your tone exhausted and weary as you seemed to sink back into your mattress. the worst part about being with megumi was that he was unavoidable. class, missions, training, hanging out with yuuji and nobara— but the real killer was how tender he was, it was almost domestic. his touch was always gentle, as if one wrong poke could shatter you like glass. while his expression didn't shift much, his tone would soften whenever he regarded you, even if it was as simple as telling yuuji about that date you two went on.

“i won't. no matter how much you try to push me away, i'll be here." he retorted immediately, sounding mildly irritated at the notion of him ever 'forgetting' you. until you sighed.

“that's the problem, megs. you're always here. it's like i can't escape you.” you said absentmindedly, but with every word that left your lips, megumi's heart shattered a little more.

“..do you want space? is that what you're saying?” he responded gruffly, his eyes shifting away from you, like he was thinking about something. you could faintly see his jaw clenching in the darkness of your room.

“i— maybe. i'm not sure, okay? these past weeks have just been really hard on me.” you stated hesitantly, your voice carrying a small waiver as your brows knitted. “but i still love you, i always will.”

“don't say words you don't really mean.” megumi refuted with a small scoff, hands clenching into loose fists on his lap as he let out a shuddering exhale. “how can you love me when you barely love yourself?”

[mullermilkshake]

Just a donor - Sakura blossoms in April

Part 1 <- Part 2 -> Part 3

Satoru's delusions are just the tip of the iceberg.

Sperm donor!Satoru Gojo x Fem New mom!reader x Suguru Geto Tags - Breastfeeding, Emotional abuse, Manipulation, Coercion, mentions of mark making

<<< For more Satoru content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Mood board >>>

“Are ya comin’ out or do I need to come in there?” 

Nothing. You said nothing. Weighing up your options until Suguru came back seemed like the best choice, however, this ‘evidence’ Satoru had brought bile to the back of your throat.

Panicked, a word you used rarely, became your new title. Your engorged breasts were starting to sore, pressured by your milk you had to express. Your daughter was a hungry baby, but not hungry enough to drink enough to take the pressure away until your husband returned.

Shit. 

“Because I’ll get in there…” Satoru continued, banging what sounded like the phone on the door. A plastic knocking to mock you. “I wouldn’t want to traumatise my lil girl though. I don’t want her being scared of her daddy.” 

You weren’t going to fall for that innocent sentiment in his words, in his tone of voice like he was starting to see reason, you weren’t that foolish.

“You’ll need to pump soon, right? I saw it downstairs, did you know it’s bad for you not to while you’re breastfeeding, so much can go wrong and I heard mastitis is painful enough to need antibiotics in some cases, I’d hate to have that whilst also holding a crying baby. And if your milk stops, how are you going to feed her?” 

The annoying truth was that he was right. Though it wouldn’t happen right away, not in the time Suguru was gone for. Just another ploy to play on your conscience.

You watched your sleeping daughter, noticing her stir and breathed sharply to catch up and smack her lips so adorably next to the pink crib number.

She was so beautiful.

You called your daughter Sakura for one simple reason, because of the Sakura blossoms overhanging the window as you gave birth. Your favourite flower, their colour seemed perfect to paint her nursery and they were absolute perfection for the little time they spent blooming in Tokyo.

And your daughter was exactly that. Perfect.

How the fuck are we in this mess? 

Picking your daughter up, you should have felt shame waking her up, but you didn’t. She was due her feed and overslept, her sleepy eyes still shut, screwed together whilst yawning and stretching to the best of her ability swaddled in her blanket.

"Shh, shh, sorry baby."

“So you’re gonna ignore me now too?” Yes, you were going to ignore him.

Laying her on the bed, you released her from the confines of the pretty pink, knitted swaddle and sat down in the bed with her. If you swapped halfway through she could take the edge off of the milk pressure instead of pumping at the same time.

Teasing her cheek with your finger, she opened her mouth as well as her eyes and latched in without issue. Then came silence, ear splitting silence that should have eased your soul, but it didn’t. You knew Satoru was up to something and couldn’t catch on to what.

Then you did.

How could you have forgotten the open window? Not open by much, but Satoru yanked it by standing on the back porch roof.

Shit, shit, how the fuck could you have been so careless? Your body froze, mouth wide open at his perseverance.

“Get the fuck out-“

“You seriously made me climb through a window to get you to talk to me?”

You could tell he was pissed by the calmness in his voice though laced with a spiteful edge, his eyes flitting from you to your daughter like he was conscious of making a scene big enough to scare her.

“Though I suppose this might be even better. You and me in the bedroom with the door locked. Not sure how you could explain this one away.”

How could you admit that he was right? You wouldn’t ever . But he was. “Suguru won’t believe this, he has a little more trust in me than you think… Sakura is still his daughter, I’m his wife. Give me a little recognition at least.”

You didn’t have the confidence behind your words and Satoru knew that.

“Y’know, I almost went through with tryin’ to convince him not to marry you that day, did you know that?”

Obviously not. Though it still pumped adrenaline from your heart around your body anyway. Like you were guilty of something, or that on the off chance that Suguru might have listened.

“I had this big thing planned, to split you two up. And then Suguru mentioned how you and he were struggling to have a baby… then everything changed.”

You did nothing.

Satoru carried on, sitting down on the bed like he owned it. “I thought, if he left you at the altar, there was no guarantee that you’d see reason and come to me, you had no obligation to… but a baby, well, when a baby is involved, those two people that made the baby are tied together for at least eighteen years. It was the best I could have hoped for.”

The way he looked at you, that cockiness. You wouldn’t forget it for the rest of your life. “It’s permanent.”

“You and Suguru jumped at the opportunity, despite pretending to think it over. You two were so easy to manipulate I almost felt bad."

“So…” You tried to wrap your head around it, adjusting Sakura’s position after she unlatched. “You had this all planned even before you suggested donation? We were married two years before that. Satoru-what the fuck have you done?”

“Now, now, we shouldn’t swear in front of our daughter, what would she think of her mom’s filthy mouth?”

It was sexual, that last bit, the undertones sticking to your throat like an illness. Satoru Gojo wasn’t a virus though, nor bacteria. He was a parasite, latching to you and draining every bit of good you ever had in your life.

“Where are you going?”

You froze, barely moving an inch. “I’m getting up, I need to pee.”

The best excuse you could think of.

“Give her to me, then you can go.”

Gathering some confidence, you stood up with her and came around the bed towards the door. “She’s feeding, if I unlatch her now she’ll scream the place down. I’m taking her with me.”

You walked past him but studied everything from the corner of your eye, like prey anticipating an attack from the side. It never came, he sat there and waited for the lock click of the door and then made his move.

“Give her to me.”

“No.”

“I wanna spend as much time as I can with my daughter seeing as you were so adamant that I wasn’t ever gonna see her again.”

More like, give me your daughter so you can’t run for help because I know you won’t leave without her. 

A stalemate.

Like hell were you letting her out of your sight in Satoru’s arms.

“No. If you want her that bad, you’ll have to pry her from my cold, dead arms.” Stepping away from him and facing the window gave you power. “Suguru is going to see what type of person you are, you know that, right?”

It never stopped every alarm bell in your gut screaming at you to turn around and keep your eyes in him at all times. But as a man who turned to doing the most unsettling things to have access to a baby he just happened to be related to, you took a chance that he wouldn’t hurt you or act impulsively at least until Sakura was sleeping back in her crib.

His deafening and deranged silence confirmed your theory.

“Y’think I’d hurt you?”

You didn’t dignify him with a response. The bastard dragged you down the stairs not ten minutes ago, of course he had the potential. It was the power dynamic that churned your stomach.

He could absolutely obliterate you if he wanted.

“Yes.”

Turning, you saw a hurt expression on his face, eyebrows dipped in hurt. He had sat back down on the bed, knees spread wide as he leant on them, presumably for support but that would have been a well calculated ruse. He’d planned everything else to the letter so far, worming his way in from being the friend of the family, to the legal father of your daughter on paper.

He’d arranged everything. Why was he looking so unsettled now?

“Baby, I wouldn’t ever hurt you. I want to have this family with you, have more family with you. Look how beautiful our baby girl is, you can’t tell me that you haven’t thought about another one.”

No, you had not thought about having another fucking baby. Sakura was six weeks old, you were barely cleared to have sex again to which you had no desire for just yet. The option of another baby sat right down the bottom of your non-existent list, to be forgotten about until years down the line once you’d wrapped your head around the baby you and Suguru were currently struggling with.

“I can give you that without the tubes and the uncomfortable waiting around until you ovulate and sitting on that cold table while they put my come inside of you. We can just cut the middle man out, I know you’ll enjoy it…” His expression darkened with disdain. “Suguru can’t. I don’t see how that isn’t a no brainer for you.”

You gave yourself privacy and unlatched your daughter, swapping her over to your other breast. Her lidded eyes looked up into space, getting milk drunk and embracing the comfort of food and your body warmth. 

“Someone’s worth isn’t weighed out by their fertility, or their ability to produce children, Satoru. I value Suguru because he is kind, he makes me feel so special-“

“I can do that, you just have to give me a chance-“

“I don’t want to!” All you could do was whisper-shout at him to get him to back off. “All I wanted was a happy and calm life, and you’re ruining it! I was happy you being in Sakura’s life as her uncle and nothing more. We agreed that was the best way forward. We knew at some point in her life that she’ll work it out eventually just by your hair, but that is something we’ll deal with then and not now!” 

Now, he said nothing.

You took your opportunity to carry on. “What you did for us is something me and Suguru will never fully be able to repay, but I think we’ve let you in enough to say thank you. So all I want is for you to leave us alone- I’ll even let you come and see her now and then under supervision if you leave now and clear up the mess you left behind, and sort out the birth certificate… but if you don’t… I’m going to burn your world.” 

That was a new mother's guarantee.

Having a baby set off chemical triggers in your own brain, that you’d fight tooth and nail for your baby girl despite your exhaustion and ensure no one was left to break any pieces of her life. And if push came to shove, you’d fight the man in front of you and go down doing it. You had no way of winning, but hoped that there was some ‘new mother adrenaline’ or something to help you along.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, that is non negotiable. But I think it’s time to stop fucking around now and make your choice. Tick tock, tick tock.” 

“I’m not-“

“I fucking love you- are you so blind that you never saw that?”

“No you don’t-“

“I do. I stayed and watched you the entire time when Sakura was born, because there was no way that I’d miss my daughter's birth. Do you know how agonising it was not being able to go in there and hold your hand, but a man who isn't even related got to?” He got up and paced like a wild animal.

“To comfort you and place a cool flannel on your head, or-or being there when you named her and held her for the first time? I had to watch it all through a little window and you didn’t even care.”

What the fuck? He was there the entire time?

How on earth could you approach this? “Satoru-“

“I hovered by that hospital door, wracking my brain, worried for your health and I couldn’t do anything to help. It was like crawling through glass hoping none of it embeds itself into my skin. Making marks on my body and hoping it wouldn’t scar- but I’d let you scar me.”

Where had this sudden desperation come from? You weren’t certain, but you were not going to fold to it either. If Satoru was having issues coming to terms with such things, he needed professional help.

“Satoru, listen to yourself-“

“I am, for the first time my mind is clear.” He stepped towards you a little too enthusiastically, there was nowhere for you to move away. “I love you and my mind is clear. Suguru has to go so we be together, you just need to take that chance.”

“I will not.”

And then came the dreaded sound, clear as day and Satoru heard it too.

“I’m home!” Suguru’s weary yet distinct voice called from the closing front door.

Satoru was much closer now and took advantage of the distraction. “Oh, I guess your time is up. You wanna take a chance and see if your dear husband will believe you over me? Or do you want this all to go away? You just have to let me in.”

Endure what was to come, or lie about it for no reason what so ever.

Nope. A no brainer. You were doubling down.

Fuck Satoru Gojo.

And fuck all of the lies he was going to tell.

Part 1 <- Part 2 -> Part 3

If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! 🤗

Tag list - @ryomenslvr @ilovebattinson @ilyannailyanna @charlenexoxo1 @satorupied

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[narnian-neverlander]

The Haunting [Jason Todd x GN!Reader]

Preview: “You really never stopped searching… Never gave up…” It’s quiet, almost reverent - like he still can’t believe it, even though the proof is right there in front of him. And you can feel the sting of tears behind your eyes before you know it; no modulator to make him sound like a different man, a monster. No sobs racking his entire body, turning his voice hoarse and frantic. Just Jason. Exhausted and broken, but still Jason. Your Jason. Who sounds like he can’t fathom the idea of you caring enough, loving him enough, to dedicate your life to bringing him home.

Genre: hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending

Word Count: 7,9k

Warnings: mentions of canon typical violence & torture, erratic & unstable behavior and panic attack (Jason), mention of unintentional injuries and self harm (Reader)

A/N: One AK edit to this song back when the game came out and I’ve been obssessed since. Arkham Knight Jason, my broken, beautiful baby. Can y’all believe it’s been 10 years since this version of Jason became my favorite and I’m still not shutting up about him? Happy game release anniversary everybody where the fuck did the last decade go

If you use any of my works for AI I will hunt you down for sport 😬

You know something’s wrong the moment you unlock your apartment door and step inside. Nothing’s out of place, there are no lights on and you can’t hear anything either, but the chill crawling up your spine is enough of a warning that while you might not be consciously aware of any threats, your unconscious mind is most definitely screaming at you. So you drop your bag to the floor as gingerly and quietly as possible and immediately go for the gun taped under the couch table. Weapon held out in front of you, you creep around your dark apartment, mindful to make as little noise as possible. It’s a small place to begin with and there’s only so many spaces someone could truly hide if they wanted to - as it turns out though, the intruder isn’t trying to hide in the slightest: a dark figure, hunched over next to your bed, inspecting something on your bedside table.

“Just for the record, I wait tables at a greasy diner. Whatever big score you might be hoping for here, you’ll be sorely disappointed.” you quip as you cock the gun and aim. The figure turns around slowly, not cautiously, more so unbothered, standing to his full height and as the streetlights from outside filter through your blinds and glint off his armor you start to realize that you might be in way more trouble than you originally thought. He’s an absolute unit of a man, at least six foot with a broad frame to match, armored head to toe and two guns strapped to his thighs. Whoever he is, you’re definitely not looking at your run of the mill, Gothamite burglar and you feel your palms start to sweat as dread spikes. “Okay so I’m pretty sure I didn’t piss off anyone in power enough to warrant you,” you start, desperately trying to keep a cool demeanor and your voice from cracking, “so I think you might have the wrong apartment, buddy.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warped through the modulator in his helmet, as he crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his head to the side, glowing blue eyes fixed on you. “No, I’m exactly where I need to be, sweetheart.” You open your mouth to argue again, but he interrupts you with your full name, birthday, even your phone number.

Well, fuck.

“‘Kay, so you know an awful lot about me, but I know nothing about you or what you’re doing here. Kinda rude, don’t ya think?” You’re inching backwards as slowly as you can while you say it; you’re fairly certain there’s no way in hell you’ll be able to outrun him, but you’d rather take your chances running from him than having to fight him head on. “You realize I know where you live; how much good is running right now really gonna do you?” So much for that plan. You halt your steps, but keep your gun trained on him, forcing a wry smile. “Ah, you noticed. Good. Figured I’d assess how good you actually are before I take you down.” He spreads his arms out wide as an invitation. “Take your best shot. But just so we’re both on the same page, I’m not here to hurt you.” And you have no clue where you take the courage from, maybe just downright stupidity, but you actually have the guts to roll your eyes at that. “Well pardon me, your getup and the whole breaking and entering thing doesn’t exactly scream friendly neighborhood Nightwing.”

“Oh trust me, I’m nothing of the sort.” he states, taking a few heavy steps in your direction and you barely fight the urge to bolt. “But my fight’s not with you. I’m simply here to deliver a warning.” Furrowed brows are enough of an indication for him to keep going. “Get outta of Gotham before Halloween. Matter of fact, book it to the other side of the country and don’t come back.” The absolute shock actually makes you lower your gun just a fraction, staring at him in complete bewilderment. “I… what?”

Shrugging, he turns back towards your open window. “You’ve had your warning, take it or leave it. But when the storm hits, you’re not gonna be my responsibility.” And with that he moves to leave.

The fact that you grew up on Gotham’s streets and lived to tell the tale would not occur to anyone watching this unfold, since your sense of self preservation seems to have taken the day off.

Because you reach for him.

Grab a hold of his wrist and refuse to let go, your mouth working overtime before your brain can catch up. “Now hold on a second, you can’t just—“

He has you disarmed in two seconds flat, your body colliding with the wall next to the bed with a thud and a groan spilling from your lips; your weapon clatters to the ground as he pins your wrist next to your head, his other arm coming up across your throat and pressing down. A few long agonizing seconds of a standstill tick by; wide, scared eyes staring at the unflinching facade of his mask.

And then something shifts.

He lowers his arm letting you breathe again and while he doesn’t let go completely, his iron grip on your wrist lessens and he straightens up, putting some more distance between you both. Almost as if he hadn’t meant to hurt you. Almost like you’d simply startled him and he’d acted on instinct.

You take some trembling breaths to try and collect yourself before you speak again. “Alright, let’s say for a moment that I believe your Good Samaritan act. Why me? Out of all the people in Gotham, why do I get a warning? What makes me so special?” He doesn’t answer right away, like he’s considering if he should at all, but then, “Consider it a courtesy call for old time’s sake.”

You repeat that last part under breath, brain already kicking into overdrive to figure out what on earth he’s talking about. And it’s easy enough to miss, easy enough to write it off as trivial and innocent, the way his fingers shift and his thumb repeatedly brushes over the gold bracelet on your wrist almost fondly. No, you can’t possibly disregard that, not with they way your heart familiarly stutters like it always had when he’d done that. You glance over at the pictures on your nightstand - what you’d found him looking at when you first entered the apartment.

No.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

It can’t be.

After all the time you’d spent searching, all the sleepless nights, all the tears - he can’t just be standing in front you right now.

“Take off the mask…” it’s nothing more than a whisper, but in the quiet of the room it’s still too loud. Too poignant.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t react in any way you’d be able to see, so you repeat yourself, louder this time. No longer asking, but demanding.

“What difference would it make? You won’t know the man underneath anymore.”

“Bullshit,” you hiss, somewhere between utter disbelief and hysteria. “I never forgot about you.”

He scoffs as he lets you go and grabs the picture frame off your bedside table instead, mockingly waving it in front your face. “Clearly. You didn’t forget, but you gave up on me just like the rest of them.”

Tears burn in your eyes while the lump forming in your throat threatens to choke you. “That’s not true, I didn’t—“

“Don’t you dare lie to me!!” he shouts, chucking the frame he’s still holding across the room in a fit of rage and you flinch back from him right as it shatters into dozens of pieces against a wall. “How long did it take you, huh? To write me off as nothing more than a memory? Cherished in theory, because sure that’s easy, but actually trying to find me was just too much work in the long run, wasn’t it!? I just wasn’t worth the effort!”

You don’t answer, simply stare at him with big, hurt eyes, tears now flowing freely down your cheeks and he pretends he doesn’t care. He’s right after all and he knows it and there’s nothing you could possibly say that would—

“The abandoned wing under Arkham. That’s where that monster had you.”

And he just about feels his brain short circuit and his heart stop. He couldn’t have heard you right.

“What?”

He doesn’t even realize he said it out loud, not until you push past him and he just lets you, frozen to the spot, as you throw open the doors to your closet, pushing the clothes aside and pulling on the string that hangs from the ceiling, the single, dim lightbulb slowly flickering to life and giving him a full view of the back wall.

And it’s all right there. Connected with actual, literal red string stretched between case files and pictures.

The explosion at the warehouse where he’d been taken. Dozens of Joker’s old hideouts, all investigated and discarded. And upon closer inspection as he steps forward, photographs of his ‘room’ under Arkham, right beside lab reports proving that the blood found down there was his. There are blurry, staticky pics of a security cam, showing a man with dark hair in the classic orange jumpsuit prisoners received, encountering Deathstroke the night Joker had taken over the asylum. He rips a piece of paper off the wall, dated not more than a month ago, that clearly places the mercenary in Venezuela, heading some form of military operation - and underlined several times, encircled in bright red, the fact that he’s working for someone calling themselves the Arkham Knight.

“I never gave up on you.” he hears you reiterate somewhere behind him, voice shaky and choked up. “I was just… always one step behind.”

The version of you that Crane’s toxin had created wasn’t real; the version of you that had used him and his relationship to Bruce as a stepping stone into higher education and a better life for yourself, while leaving him behind, because he was beneath you now. But the version of you he’d created in his own mind while imprisoned wasn’t real either. The you that had always had the brightest, sharpest mind he’d ever seen, the you that must’ve figured it out even if Batman couldn’t. The you that would walk through those damn doors instead of the clown and come save him, surely. Eventually.

No, the real you he’d found working at the diner that was to be ground zero for Gotham’s downfall; dreams of becoming an architect clearly abandoned. He should’ve stayed away after seeing you there, you were a distraction, a dangerous one, and yet he’d kept going back, always in a corner booth, in the section of one of your coworkers, always with his hood up, making sure you wouldn’t recognize him. And he’d learned plenty about the person you’d become in his absence. Had learned that you still wear the bracelet he stole for you years ago cause he’d caught you longingly looking at it every time you’d passed that shop. Had learned that you still celebrate his birthday, taking his favorite muffins out of the display case at work, telling your coworker that you couldn’t go drinking tonight cause you had a birthday to attend - meanwhile he hadn’t even realized what day it was. He’d learned that the real you had gone little to no contact with Bruce and the rest of the family, if the aggravation and shouting matches whenever one of them showed up at the diner to check on you were anything to go by. The real you rarely went out anymore, always straight home after work, a few exceptions to the rule only to get drunk and hook up with guys that looked like him - at least that’s what Barbara had hurled at you when one of your arguments had gotten too heated, too personal. He’d seen the immediate regret on her face and the hurt on yours, but the damage had been done.

He’d felt a sick sense of satisfaction at the time; knowing that you were willingly letting his memory torture you. That you failed him and now you were stuck with his ghost forever haunting you. Yeah, that had felt good, like poetic justice.

But now?

Now he feels shame rising in the back of his throat like bile, burning and threatening to choke him.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

After all the time he’d spent convincing himself that you left him, that you just didn’t care enough… you’d given up on living your life trying to save his?

“Jason…” you start, quiet and gentle as not to spook him and he slightly turns his head over his shoulder in your general direction, indicating that he’s listening. “Whatever it is you’re planning to do, you don’t have to—“

“Don’t call me that.” he growls, but there’s no bite to it; his previous anger has dissipated and now, even with the modulator, he just sounds exhausted. Defeated.

“But it’s your name…” you insist and he barks out a laugh, bitter and broken, accompanied by a burst of static from his helmet.

“Jason Todd died in that hole under Arkham, along with Robin. There’s only the Arkham Knight, now.”

A sob forces itself out of your throat wether you like it or not and even though you know it’s a horrible idea, you reach for him again, only to have him recoil from you. Your heart’s been held together by nothing but sheer force of will and spite the past years, but seeing him like this, hearing him talk about himself like he did in fact die even though he’s right there and having to see him back away from your touch like a wounded, cornered animal is too much. Pulling yourself together as much as humanly possible, for his sake more than anything else, you try again.

“Jason, please. Just… stay, alright? Stay here with me and I promise we can fix this.”

“I can fix it!!” he roars, whirling around to face you again and you inadvertently take a step back. “I know now what to do and it doesn’t. Involve. You. Get out of the the city. Or don’t. Either way, I don’t care what happens to you.”

You manage to shake off some of the grief and fear weighing you down, wipe a sleeve over your eyes and stand up a little straighter to stare him down, defiance burning in your eyes. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be here. And I’m not going anywhere without you.” He gazes back at you, unreadable and unflinching, before moving back over to the window. “Suit yourself.”

And then he’s gone. No trace left behind, no way of finding him - and it all feels so much like back then, you feel your knees give out beneath you. Your back makes contact with the wall, sliding down until you’re sat on the carpeted floor of your bedroom, knees pulled up to your chest and letting yourself sob and scream at the top of your lungs as your heart finally shatters in your chest.

You don’t get much sleep that night. Or the night after that. Or any night until Halloween finally rolls around some weeks later and Scarecrow unleashes hell upon the city. True to your word, you didn’t leave, but you’re not stupid enough to completely ignore a warning, either. You’d reinforced all entry points to your apartment as best as you could and had stocked up on supplies - none of which would do you any good if the fear gas managed to creep in somewhere. Granted, there’d been no reports of any major attacks in your general area, but you’d rather be safe than sorry. You’d only ever heard stories about the things Jonathan Crane’s toxin made people see and do and you have absolutely no interest in experiencing it first hand. So now there’s a flashlight tucked between your teeth, because of course the power in your building had gone out hours ago, focused on shoving towels and old shirts into any cracks you can find and simply consider yourself lucky that with all the riots and looters running amok, this is your only possible problem.

And then there’s a crash from your bedroom, clearly the sound of a window shattering, followed by a heavy thud of something - or someone - hitting the floor. Adrenaline kicks in and you immediately grab the gun from the back of your pants and sneak towards the noise. Whoever it is isn’t bothering to even try and be quiet or conceal their presence; you can hear shuffling, the crunch of glass under the person’s weight and—

Are… are those sobs?

With quiet steps, you creep around the last corner to peak into your bedroom and sure enough, there’s a person on the floor, back against the foot of your bed and crying loud enough for you to clearly hear. You’ve still got your gun raised when the neon sign on the store across the street flickers back to life, bathing your room in red and blue for only a moment, before it dies again like it has been doing all night, but it’s enough - enough for you to recognize the armor and at first you’re certain Crane’s toxin got to you after all.

One. Two. Three deep breaths is how long it takes for your feet to finally unstick from the floor and slowly, carefully, carry you forward, terrified that he’ll vanish into thin air again or turn into something worse if you get too close. A quiet call of his name, maybe too quiet, because he doesn’t react, simply continues to weep, head in his hands, only interrupted by his own incoherent mumbling. You try again, a little louder this time, but are met with the same result. You don’t want to risk touching him, not after what happened last time, but you have to do something.

“Breathe… I-I can’t… Can’t breathe…” he stutters out and next thing you know he yanks off his helmet to carelessly toss it aside and it comes to a rolling stop at the tip of your boot; cracked, broken static flickering up at you against a glowing, faceless red. “Didn’t… d-didn’t know where else to go…” It makes your head snap back up because that? Yeah, maybe you can work with that.

“Okay… you didn’t know where to go but here. Do you… do you know where here is? Do you know where you are? Jason?”

He doesn’t answer right away and you start to feel sweat beading at the back of your neck in anxiety and concern, because while you want to help, of course you do, you truly have no idea what you’re doing. If maybe you’re just making things worse. And against the backdrop of screams and gun shots and manic laughter that now filters in from the streets freely through your broken window his answer is so quiet, you almost miss it. “Your apartment…” You nod in encouragement, even though he’s not even looking at you; head hung low, hands fisted in his hair. “Yeah, that’s right. Do you know how you got here? Where you were, what you were doing before?”

He dissolves into quiet mumbling again, yet you can clearly make out the word ‘Failed…’ over and over again. When carefully questioned, he admits to having failed what he set out to do tonight: to kill the Bat. To kill Bruce. “He did this to me and I couldn’t even— I couldn’t—“ You watch him beat his fists against his skull in frustration and anger and only barely resist the urge to grab a hold of them and stop him from hurting himself, lest you accidentally, unintentionally cause more harm. Thankfully it doesn’t last, gloved fingers instead threading through his hair again, anxiously tugging at the dark strands and you recognize it as a nervous habit he’s always had. Despite the circumstances, it’s what makes you breathe a little easier, lessens the fears and feeling of helplessness, because this is still Jason. Your Jason, who you’ve calmed down and talked out of fits of rage and self deprecating rants a hundred times over - you can do this.

“You’re right, you did fail.” you start and watch him go completely still at your words, almost as if in shock and you’d hate for him to get the wrong idea of where you’re going with this, so you quickly continue speaking. “Failed to be what that monster tried to turn you into and god I hope his pasty faced ashes are rotating in his fucking grave. And I know it’s not fair, shit, it’s not fair that he ruined you just to spite the Bat, but in the end you didn’t let him make you his weapon, his final laugh. You gave him one last middle finger even though the asshole’s already dead and fuck if that isn’t the most Jason Todd thing to do, I dunno what is.” You chuckle quietly, sniffing as you wipe a sleeve over your eyes. “Proves to me that the boy I grew up with is still in there. A little different, a little bruised, a little bit broken, sure - but he’s still here and he’s certainly not beyond repair.”

Another sob racks his whole body and while you can’t pinpoint it as a good or bad sign, you decide to push this angle, distract from the events of tonight and focus on something else instead, so you go to grab something off your nightstand and carefully kneel down in front of him as close as you dare, broken glass shards everywhere be damned. “I don’t wanna talk about them, though, I don’t care about either of the two, I care about you. Could you take a look at this and tell me what you remember about it?”

The picture you slide over to him has seen better days for sure, wrinkles and slight tears at the edges, made worse when he’d smashed the frame it had been in not too long ago. And despite your doubts, despite the way he flinches when you slowly slide the paper over to him like it’s gonna eat him alive, he picks it up with shaky fingers.

Jason half expects the picture to be an exact copy of the last one that had been shoved in his face: Batman with his new Robin. Instead, he finds himself staring back him, younger, without all the scars, a spark in his eyes and an easy grin on his lips. The sight alone is enough to make the scar on his face burn like it had that first day and if not for the other person in the photograph, he probably would’ve torn it to pieces right here and now. All bright eyes and happy smile, you radiate joy - as someone should on their birthday. And you’d made the best of it, as good as two Gotham street rats could make a birthday: you’d stolen some six packs and cupcakes from a corner store, had gotten drunk on a rooftop somewhere. He remembers how he’d barely stopped you from toppling off the edge while making fun of Bruce Wayne and proclaiming that your name would be on the biggest building in this city one day. How kissing you for the first time had felt. He remembers it all, surprisingly clearly, too, but that’s all it is: a memory. The people in that picture no longer exist, after all. He had taken all the pain and the blackness the Joker instilled in him and had reforged himself, into something different. Something horrible. And unwittingly, he’d dragged you down into the abyss right along side him. You’ve become a broken shell, a shadow, of the quick-witted, ambitious person you used to be - and it’s all his fault. All your energy and time and resources, you’d wasted them on him in the last few years instead of building a better life for yourself, like you should’ve. Growing up on Gotham’s streets, never knowing where your next meal or shelter was gonna come from, being threatened, beaten and left on a street corner to bleed out - none of that had ever managed to break you. Out of all the hardships in your life, he’d been the one to to finally break you, make you lose yourself. You would’ve been better off if you’d never met him.

“Jason?”

It’s soft and careful and concerned and it makes him wanna throw up because he doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve you treating him kindly after what he put you through.

“I just… I just wanna help. Please let me help you.”

‘Jason, I can help you!’

‘There’s no helping me!’

He flinches at the memory, at the desperation and grief he’d seen even through the mask and curls into himself even further. He doesn’t wanna see the same look on your face. Doesn’t wanna see it morph into disappointment when you realize that there is no helping the boy you still have your heart set on saving - that Bruce had wanted to save - because he’s long dead.

“Jason, I… I know I failed you and you have every right to be angry, but please just… just gimme a chance.”

What a joke. He’s the only failure here. He’d worked towards one thing and one thing only for the past years and when it had come down to it, he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t bring himself to kill the Bat. And that’s not even the worst of it, because he’d failed you, too. Had stolen years of your life without even knowing, with no way of ever giving them back to you. The best thing, the only thing, he could do for you now is to leave you be. To get out of your life for good and never look back. To finally set you free from the curse his existence had put on you. And maybe, just maybe, he could still do something for Bruce, too.

He staggers to his feet, reaching for his helmet with shaky hands while he does, refusing to lift his head to look at you until it’s securely back in place, the crack vanishing from its’ surface with a few practiced pushes of a button on the side. “I should go. I never should’ve come here in the first place.” It makes you push up from the floor so fast, you feel a glass shard slice your palm open in your hurry, yet it doesn’t truly register. Not when the cold dread that runs down your spine at his words stings so much worse. “Wait, wait, no, absolutely not. You’re not in any state to be going out there on your own, don’t—“

“Scarecrow isn’t done.” he interrupts, “This is all my fault, I’ve gotta— If I don’t do something, he’s going to— I have to go.” His voice is steady, calm, sure of himself and it gives you pause. His entire demeanor seems to have changed, compared to when you first found him. More present, put together. It lessens the horror of having to think about him just vanishing again, if only the slightest bit. You’re chewing on the inside of your cheek anxiously, looking him up and down, trying to assess wether or not you can let him leave in good conscience. His helmet gives off a slight glow, red and ominous, and not for the first time you find yourself wishing you could see his face. To be able to read him easier - to be able to ensure yourself that this is real. Swallowing thickly around all the protests and fears rising in your throat, you cross your arms over your chest and dig your nails into your arms so hard it stings as you shrug. “It’s not like I’m going to keep you here against your will, Jason. If you want to leave, you’re free to.”

Right. Right, you couldn’t, even if you tried - not that you ever would. You’re not… him and Jason’s not a prisoner here, he has to remind himself. He came here of his own accord because… because some part of him, however small, still knows he’s safe here. Because he’s with you. It’s not something he’s had or felt in a long time and it makes leaving so much harder, because he knows he won’t be coming back. He already has one leg up on your windowsill, halfway out onto the fire escape when you call out to him again.

“Could you… can you please come back? When it’s over? You don’t have to stay, just so I’ll know you’re alright?” Your eyes keep flicking over to your closet, its’ doors wide open and your investigations on full display.

He takes a long, yearning glance at the picture he’s still holding onto.

He should. He owes you some form of peace of mind, if nothing else. But he’s not sure he’d be able to bring himself to leave you again if he does. So he’ll stay away, for your sake. Maybe, if he’s lucky, you’ll end up hating him for it. You should.

“Yeah, yeah, I… I’ll come back.”

And even with the helmets’ modulator, even with the time you’ve spent apart, even accounting for the fact that he’s definitely not quite the same person you grew up with, you know he’s lying.

For the sake of your sanity, you internally convince yourself he’s not.

But he’s not back by the time you can hear the sirens of the GCPD echo through the streets, rolling out to retake their city. He’s not back by the time the power in your building flickers back to life, just in time for you to watch Wayne Manor go up in flames on the news. And he’s not back by the time the sun slowly starts to creep up over the city’s skyline, blocked out by clouds and smoke and drenching everything in a dull, gray light. Fitting, after the night Gotham’s had, you suppose. After the night you’ve had. You busy yourself with haphazardly patching up the wound on your hand and then getting your apartment back to its’ original state; granted, maybe a tad too early considering the city’s still in a state of chaos, but you need something to keep you occupied, to keep your mind from wandering. You don’t want to think about having to keep up that god forsaken evidence board in your closet. About more weeks and months and years of searching. About lying awake night after night, not knowing wether he’s dead or alive - or worse. You’re oh so tired of the vicious cycle you’ve trapped yourself in, yet you’re not sure you have the strength to break it.

The sound of glass crunching underfoot coming from your bedroom rips you out of your thoughts and had you been thinking a bit more clearly, you would’ve grabbed your gun off the couch table before going to investigate. But your mind’s a jumbled, frantic mess and so you rush over immediately, loud and entirely unprepared should it be anyone else but who you’re hoping, praying, for.

No armor this time, but sneakers, jeans and a red hoodie. You recognize his frame anyways: the way his shoulders seem permanently hunched over, the way he still hides his face from view, this time under the brim of a baseball cap, peeking out from under the hood of his sweater. He’s standing in the mess of broken glass from last night, gaze fixed on your open closet. Your breathing’s shallow and quick as you approach slowly, terrified that he’ll bolt again if you startle him, meanwhile your heart hammers against your ribs painfully, like it’s trying to claw its’ way out of your chest to get to him. You stop by his side, keeping a mindful distance between you, and even though you want to see him more than anything else, you refrain from from trying to get a look at his face. He’s been doing nothing but hide since that first night he came to see you again weeks ago and you’re not about to force him out; you’d only be pushing him further away. Instead, you keep your gaze locked forward, distracting yourself with following the red string with your eyes, like you don’t know the pattern it creates by heart at this point.

“You really never stopped searching… Never gave up…”

It’s quiet, almost reverent - like he still can’t believe it, even though the proof is right there in front of him. And you can feel the sting of tears behind your eyes before you know it; no modulator to make him sound like a different man, a monster. No sobs racking his entire body, turning his voice hoarse and frantic. Just Jason. Exhausted and broken, but still Jason. Your Jason. Who sounds like he can’t fathom the idea of you caring enough, loving him enough, to dedicate your life to bringing him home. It’s that last thought that makes the tears fall and that forces a bitter, self deprecating scoff out of your throat.

“For all the good it did you…” you rasp, running a hand through your hair as you take a few steps forward to rest your forehead against the back wall of your closet. “I tried, but I was… always just one step behind. Never quite smart enough, never quite fast enough; no matter what I did it was just never enough!” Your voice rises in pitch and volume despite your best efforts to keep calm, a fist colliding with the wall hard enough to send some papers fluttering to the ground.

Even in the dim, sparse, natural light bleeding into the room through the blinds, Jason can see the dried blood on the wall now, the scratches in the wood clearly created by fingernails. He can almost see you now, standing right where you are now, literally clawing at the walls in desperation and defeat, nails a broken and bloody mess, like you’d find the answers right behind those old wooden boards if you just managed to dig deep enough. He feels his fingers twitch, like they’re itching to reach out and take yours, to make sure you can’t hurt yourself again. Especially not for his sake. The impulse is there, but he doesn’t follow through, instead opting to run a finger along the picture he took earlier that night, now safely tucked away in his hoodie pocket. Fuck, he shouldn’t even be here. He’d promised himself to let you have your life back, and yet here he stands, selfish bastard that he is. He could pretend he’s only here to let you know he’s alright; that he can look after himself, he’s no longer your responsibility, he never should’ve been in the first place, and that you can move on with your life with a clear conscience - but that would be a lie. Cause when the sun had come up, shedding first light on the carnage and chaos and despair he’d created, all he’d wanted to do was hide. Hide from what he’d done, from what he’d become and his first thought had been to go to you. Because with you he’s safe, even from himself and the demons constantly clawing at the edges of his mind and he can’t… he doesn’t want to lose that, not again.

“I know I wasn’t there when you would’ve needed me most and I’ll never forgive myself for that, but I’m still so, so sorry Jason. I know saying that isn’t gonna help fix anything, but I… I dunno. Still felt I had to say it.”

You receive no answer, not that you expect one, because what is he supposed to say? ‘It’s fine’? It’s not, you know it isn’t and no amount of apologizing is gonna make it alright. You half expect him to just leave, maybe he’ll already be gone when you turn back around. He’d come back to show you he’s still alive, that’s all you’d asked for - he doesn’t owe you anything else, after all.

“You’re here now.”

He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t say it - can’t or won’t, you’re not sure - but you understand anyways. Understand the unspoken words hanging between you.

I need you now.

You turn and approach him and slowly, carefully, as not to spook him and also to give you some more time to think about what to say. The second he hears you step closer, he pulls the brim of his hat down further and angles his face away from you and it sends a painful sting right to your heart. Coming to a halt about a foot in front of him, you gently and quietly ask if you can see his face. When he doesn’t react, you continue with how much you’ve missed him, that you’d like nothing more than to finally see him again, but that he doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to; it’s his choice and you won’t force him. You hesitate and ultimately decide against telling him that you know. That you’ve seen the tapes the clown had kept sending; watched them over and over until you’d thrown up, until you’d grown almost numb to the senseless torture and suffering. You’d had to; if you’d missed even the tiniest clue, the slimmest chance of finding him, just because you couldn’t stomach the blood and screams, you wouldn’t have been able to look him in the eye again once you’d found him. But all the horrible wounds that will undoubtedly have left nasty, ugly scars by now? You couldn’t care less, but he clearly believes you would.

The quiet between you isn’t awkward or oppressive, instead calm and welcome, and you’re being so patient and reassuring, he eventually caves. Pushes the hood back and takes off the cap with a sigh, carelessly dropping it to the ground, before anxiously running a hand through his black hair as he finally brings his eyes to yours. A whole range of emotions flashes across your face, all there and gone before he can identify any of them, but he most definitely didn’t expect for you to settle on simple relief and affection, a soft smile and eyes glossy with tears. “There you are, beautiful. Finally back home with me, finally mine again.”

‘He’s mine. Mine, mine, mine. To do with as I wish.’

He doesn’t mean to, but it’s pure instinct, the way he flinches away from you, from your words, because he expects another shotgun shell to the chest to follow. When he manages to will himself to look at you again, he almost bolts right out your broken window, because you look so lost. So hurt. And of course it’s his fault again.

“I-I’m sorry, Jay, I didn’t know— I didn’t mean to—“

“‘S not your fault…” he croaks, throat tight and mouth dry.

Meanwhile you feel like bashing your fists against a wall in frustration over and over and over again, until your knuckles are sore and bleeding like you’ve done so many times while searching for him, because maybe then you’ll be able to understand a fraction of the pain and suffering he’s had to endure. He’s right here; you finally have him back and yet you still have no clue what to do, how to help.

Pathetic.

Useless.

He’d be better off without you.

The same voices that have been taunting you for years rear their ugly heads again, but one look at the man in front of you is enough to ultimately find the strength to tell them to go shut the fuck up. This isn’t about you.

“Will you be okay if I touch you right now…?” you ask, deciding to throw caution to the wind.

He immediately shakes his head. “I… I dunno…”

So you rephrase your question. “Can I touch you?”

This time it takes him longer to answer, hesitation and uncertainty radiating off of him in waves, yet you can heave a sigh of relief when he slowly nods. Carefully, gently you reach up to cup his cheek and try as you might you can’t seem to get your fingers to stop shaking. The touch is feather light, barely even there and while he doesn’t back away, every muscle in his body goes tense and he screws his eyes shut, instinctively prepared for more pain and it forces you to harshly swallow around the lump that forms in your throat at the sight before you speak again.

“It’s just me, Jay. The same annoying, clingy little shit that latched on to you when we were kids that you haven’t been able to get rid off since. I’m not gonna hurt you and I’ll be damned if I ever let anyone lay a hand on you again.” Your voice is firm, steady, the shaking in your hands has ceased and while he hasn’t opened his eyes, he seems to have calmed down and it encourages you to be bolder; to bring your other hand to his face as well, gently thumbing over the ‘J’ branded into his skin. “You’re safe here. You’re home.”

Home.

Someplace warm. Someplace safe.

Someplace where he’s needed. Someplace where he’s loved.

It’s like something shifts, breaks; his entire body goes slack, all but lurching forward into your hold and you almost stumble backward from the sheer unexpected weight of him, but you manage to catch yourself, catch him, quickly adjusting your hold on him, one hand drawing soothing patterns into the small of his back, the other buried in his hair at the nape of his neck as his own arms wind around you and squeeze tight enough to hurt and steal the breath from your lungs, like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t cling to you like a lifeline, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You simply hold him tight, listening to his breaths go from shallow and trembling to deep and calm, feeling hot, wet tears soaking the fabric of your shirt over your collar bone.

“I can stay…?” he rasps, your heart cracking at his tone, quiet and uncertain, poised for rejection. “Of course, as long as you need - or want.”

He swallows thickly. “I’m gonna be nothing but work.” You choke out a sound somewhere between a snort and a chuckle, turning your face to nuzzle into his hair. “What, like you’ve ever been anything else? Please, I’m perfectly capable of handling you, my love.” Gently teasing, like you used to, yet you feel him tense up again at the nickname. “I’m… I’m not the same person you knew, the man you loved…” A deep inhale as you pull back to look at him again, one hand to his chest to feel for his steady, if slightly elevated, heartbeat, the other back to his scarred cheek and you feel your heart soar in happiness when you see him lean into your touch, eyes closed, because for once he doesn’t have to watch his back constantly, not with you right here. “I know that. All I’m asking for is the chance to get to know you again.” Long lashes flutter against his cheeks as he blinks his baby blues open, glossed over with unshed tears, accompanied by a barely there huff of a laugh, nothing more than an exhale through his nose. “I don’t even know who I am anymore…”

“We can figure it out together.” Voice firm and filled with resolve while you pull back to put some distance between you two; you could feel him start to tremble under your touch and you’re unsure if you’re grounding or overwhelming him. You simply don’t know what he needs right now, or at all, but you’d learn again. Until then, you’d leave the choice wether or not to reach out, to accept touch and support, up to him. With that in mind, you offer a hand to him, earning a confused gaze flicking between your eyes and your outstretched hand. “Ya know what? It’s been… a night. How about we talk about everything else over breakfast? You hungry?”

It’s such a normal, downright domestic question, and it feels so utterly surreal Jason almost laughs. He takes a few more very long seconds to mull it over, not that he’s in any state to make any truly rational, well thought out decisions currently. Not when you’re right here, smiling at him like you used to, eyes soft, but pleading. Then he drops the duffel bag with the Knights’ gear to the floor with a sigh and kicks it into your closet, reaching for your hand right after and you immediately weave your fingers through his happily. It’s stupid, downright ridiculous, he thinks, that despite his own fingers being scarred and permanently crooked and bent in odd ways from being broken one too many times, they still fit into yours perfectly.

“I don’t think you’re gonna find any place up and running to deliver breakfast right now; not even Gotham recovers that quick.” he states. The light and conversational tone is foreign and awkward to him, he feels like an imposter, a monster only playing house, but the smug smile that is so very you he’s rewarded with quiets the harsh voices in his mind to an annoying, but ignorable whisper. “I was gonna make us something, smartass.”

“I didn’t survive this long just for your cooking to be what does me in, you know.”

You blink at him owlishly, once, twice, three times.

He just cracked wise. Like he always had with you. And yeah, the smile on his face is barely even there, just the slightest upturn of the corners of his mouth, not to mention it doesn’t reach his eyes, but he’s trying. For you. It feels like the first glimpse at the real man behind all the pain and rage and arrogance he put up as a front to parade around with and it’s such a relief, a laugh bubbles out of your throat before you can stop it, which immediately puts you back on guard, your body winding like a spring in anticipation and worry - you’re certain he’s heard enough laughter to last him a lifetime. If he’s bothered by it though, he doesn’t show it, only squeezes your hand a little tighter in reassurance, for himself or you, you’ll never know.

Unbeknownst to you, it’s the first laugh in years that he in fact doesn’t mind. The urge to cower, to bolt, to hide is there at first yes, but it ebbs away, because your laugh is different. Soothing, not haunting. He still knows it, remembers it, and it was never accompanied by anything but joy - it wouldn’t be any different now. After all, he’s safe with you. He’s home.

“I’ll have you know that I got better at cooking, you asshole. I uh… I asked Alfred to teach me some things. Wasn’t particularly gifted, but I can whip up some mean scrambled eggs and a decent banana bread by now.” You feel your heart skip an actual beat when his smile grows just the tiniest bit at your defiant teasing. “Right. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Well, come on then.” you state with an eye roll, your own smile firmly in place as you slowly, gently tug him from the room, him following oh so willingly, the Arkham Knight along with your hunt for Robins’ ghost left forgotten in the back of your closet.

[tyunningism]

Come on Don't Leave Me

── .✦ pairing: c.bg x reader

You've been attached to Beomgyu by the hip since forever- there's a special attachment between the two of you which can't be described through meagre words and that's why the two of you were so loveable together; blooming in to the naivety of a budding relationship. Yet he suddenly leaves everything behind anyways, radio-silence, leaving you wandering alone in your small hometown until he returns years later with another woman by his side.

...or in simple words...ᴇx!ʙᴇᴏᴍɢʏᴜ x ᴇx!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (+ h.k. mention)

ᝰ.ᐟ wc - 16.1k words

mentions !! and warnings !! - Lots of angst, open ending + break ups, mentions of death, Beomgyu's a dick for a part of it el oh el, arguing + degrading comments, minor wound on finger, Beomgyu smokes, cheating accusations but not proved, small fractions of reader x huening kai, mentions of genetic medical condition (muscular dystrophy),slut-shaming, speeding (lmk if there's anymore I need to add because this is long and not proofread).

tyunningism's note: had the sudden change of heart to write a longer angsty fic, originally wanted to cap it at 8k but i got lost in making the plot a bit crazy and reached twice that. I doubted myself a lot in writing this because I think my writing was a bit inconsistent and sloppy at time but hopefully it was worth the wait!!

"You know I like you right?"

"Duh, you can't not love me if you've stuck by my side even after I've pissed your bed like every sleepover."

"No, I'm being serious, I like you."

You watch his adam's apple bob in his throat, the way the mischief in his eyes fade like he's matured from his boyish annoying act that he pesters you with every second of the day; he lifts his head just slightly to search for something in your gaze but his mouth is zipped shut, the silence deafening.

You've just confessed your diehard feelings to the biggest blessing and pain in your ass for the past 12 years and Choi Beomgyu can't even give you an answer back?!!

A grunt escapes from your lips at his dumbfound expression, suddenly wanting to bury yourself alive in the very bed room you basically co-lived in together.

"Ugh forget I even said anything."

Falling back on to the outgrown mattress on your bed you refuse to face the literal bane of your existence now as you dangled your feet off the too-small bed you both used to share as kids. He rested his head against where your feet laid, criss crossed on the ground and boring holes in to your bedroom's ceiling.

It wasn't the best time to confess you'd admit- especially when five minutes ago you both were pissing yourselves laughing watching cringy vlogs you both documented on an ancient ipad from god knows how long ago. You just slightly hoped that you'd have both overcome the embarrassment phase at this stage of your friendship after years of going to the same school and clubs and holidays, snotty crying sessions and heated arguments.. enough to be transparent with each other's feelings you thought at least. So you're unsure why his silence disturbs you so much, because it shouldn't. His rejection shouldn't make you feel so stupid for even risking to confess your minor feelings right now.

The awkwardness was starting to linger in the air around you suffocatingly, reaching out to pull the duvet over your head before a meek voice broke the initial tension.

"Can I give you my answer now?-" Your eyes blink hard.

"What?!!"

Chaos followed when you sprang up from your bed nearly knocking yourself out cold on his head, who is now directly facing you breathing in staggered intervals. "Shit Gyu don't scare me like-"

He smothers a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, instantly causing you to furrow your brows at his impulsive action, ready to start kicking at him for even attempting to shut you up, waiting for him to start laughing the shit out of you.

But you’re wrong, so wrong. Because within seconds he leans in to close the gap between you a little bit more, ever so slightly leaving enough space for you to feel his breath fanning on to your skin.

And to whichever relationship guru he must've searched on the corners of reddit to learn this from- it's working because your brain short circuits on the spot, hands clammy and clenching on to the strings of fabric on your shirt.

You felt it.

The softness of his lips on yours for a short second of bliss enough to drive you insane. The taste of cherry coke laced and latched on his lips that lingered on yours for mere seconds after.

"My answer," He smiles bashfully while tucking stray strands of hair behind your ears.

Suddenly feeling hot and unable to meet his gaze you jump at the sound of his signature boisterous laughter breaking the initial romance of the moment, "I'm shitting myself I can't believe I just did that, can't believe I finally get to have you."

And it’s like your nerves drop. He’s back to the same happy-go-lucky spirit and the same Beomgyu you’ve always known him as (except more affectionate) as he pounces on top of you, immediately getting to work with peppering small fleeting kisses all over your reddening face.

"I can't believe even a shithead like you can have feelings like that… I really thought you were going to reject me then and there Gyu.." you joke lightheartedly.

Assuming he would take it lightheartedly you glance up to see his expression; but he avoids eye contact again, instead choosing to pick at his finger nails.

"I promise you, if I didn't love you you can consider me dead.”

Beomgyu has always been loving despite his antics; even now, at the ring of the bell he rushes out of his homeroom first just so he can walk back with you to the shared club room the two of you have slumped around in during lunch break for years.

Entering without a knock you greet your mutual friends casually with Beomgyu following close behind, an arm snaked around your waist and his chin stunted on the centre of your head.

“You two are so gross, it’s like incest at this point.” The familiar sight of Yeonjun’s outgrown hair and body sprawled across the stained couch of the club room made you grimace all the while shooting him a quick middle finger.

Beomgyu chimes inexplicably fast- eager for any chance to argue with Yeonjun- the laughter bubbling from him made your heart skip a beat each time- not that you’d ever tell him that in case you’ll boost his ego further to the moon than it already has.

“Where’s the little one? Haven’t seen him at all today. Ugh I told him I wanted to go for band prac too.” His groans are music to Yeonjun’s ears, who lets out a chuckle before pointing towards the boy huddling to himself in the corner - zipped up in a hoodie with his back turned to everyone.

You tap lightly on his shoulder before speaking gently, “How’s the new hair for the band Kai? Hm?”

“I bet it’s horrible, like bright green or something”

“Shut up gyu,” Kai hisses before reluctantly revealing the flashy blue head of hair he dyed with cheap box dye and immediately looked sullen the moment he saw the shock in your faces. “I know it’s too bright..I’m just hoping it’s gonna fade out.”

The first person to react is your boyfriend who is scrambling behind boxes and shelves of magazines and small trinkets, random snack packaging and left over hoodies before finally emerging back out of the stack of junk with a small digital camera.

“This one’s for Kai’s new hair style !! You’ll take a photo of us right jjun ??” He giggles melodically, the kind that’s hard to miss and sounds in your head on repeat minutes after.

You really liked Choi Beomgyu.

And you’re sure he loved you and everyone around him too. Despite the forefront he likes to mimic himself as loud and silly- you knew Beomgyu better than anyone else could.

Especially his small habit of wanting to document everything with people he loved the most: Kai growing up, his vacations with his family to beach resorts, questionable photos of yeonjun, his music and lyrics, little snippets of Toto, and you.

He never stopped documenting you. Whether it was making sure that he’d take a photo whenever you had time with each other or when you weren’t there he would call just to hear and record your voice to listen to later.

Beomgyu has always been thoughtful and ambitious. Often complaining about how much he wants to leave the small town to pursue his own band with Kai, who although is more reluctant, can’t help but say yes to him.

Maybe it was the time that you sat down with him at a small brunch spot for a date that you realised his own liveliness stemmed from his passion for music, his head bopping a long to the silky sound of rnb resonating through out the cafe.

“You really do like your music stuff don’t you Gyu?” You ponder, lips wrapping ‘round your straw again for a sip of your mango cooler in mid spring.

Your boyfriend only responds with a hum before giving a sweet smile, he grips the handle of his mug with both hands like he’s reflecting on something, something deeper starting to brim in his eyes.

“I’ve been really in to these kinds of songs lately. I’ve been working on a few projects, wrote a couple of lyrics about..you know, us.

Kai said he’ll compose everything in time for Summer for our second anniversary, I wanted it to be special so I even got his sisters to help. And while I was writing the lyrics I thought about this a lot . If we were to never meet, if we didn’t connect so quickly, if we didn’t bicker and cry together, if we never fell in love with each other. And I know it’s out of character for me to be so open but we’re graduating high school soon and I’ve always wanted to start a band. Everyone knows that. But I hate change, I hate the thought of leaving such a big part of us behind and with Kai too, he’ll be alone in that club room-our club room- when we’re gone too. But if there’s anything that does change I don’t want it to be us. I like how everything is right now..I think I’d rather die if it wasn't like this, honestly."

Maybe it was when you realised how much time you really had spent together.

Beomgyu had always been the same boy you first met; toothy grin and loud shouting whenever something didn’t go his way. You notice it now too in the way he’d pout whenever he’d notice tomatoes in his mom’s cooking, desperate to moan and groan, or after a date when he’d cling on to you and pepper a couple of kisses on your face before pulling you in to the tightest hug of your life as if you would escape from his grasp if he let go, or when he’s excited and really at his happiest- the way he’d unleash his signature laugh in excitement.

There was a charm to him that you always looked forward to every morning when you stepped out of the door to be greeted by the same face you’ve grown accustomed to since the start of time, stood waiting so you could spend every ounce of time together even if it was stupid small-talk.

"Yeah, I shouldn't have skipped sports class.. Mr Kim's going to give me an earful.."

"If I skip my first class today then we can both get a detention, then it wouldn't be so bad because you have the glorious, amazing, handsome Gyu right with you, right?"

There's a mutual pining for these kinds of conversations between you, it made your relationship 1000x more authentic, more human, more filled with understanding and love.

And then you hurry out of the door on the first day of summer, muttering the usual ‘morning Gyu!!’ to an unusual silence that welcomed itself on your porch.

Like you were talking a ghost, the bench sunken in to the grass of your front yard where he usually rested before you were ready to walk to school remained empty. None of the usual strum of music leaking through his head phones nor the feeling of the warmth that radiated from him.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be late or sick and skip out on a day of school but the unnerving feeling in your gut wouldn’t let you rest, as if something had gone terribly wrong, as if something had formed a climax in your life that you weren't even aware of yet.

So you trod to school alone in the scorching heat; the sliding of doors to your home room signalling the cluster of gossip and muttering to drown itself out as you slump over your desk, waiting for Beomgyu to message you about how he was feeling or if he overslept.

But the message never came.

In fact, he halted from showing up to school at all. His spot on the couch in your club room felt emptier than ever and the dread in your heart would only gape harder when he’d refuse to pick up your calls, the small time together you both used to treasure so dearly, let alone Yeonjun or Kai’s calls.

And no one reported him missing or filed in a report for a dead body in your small town; everyone got the hint when they’d walk by his house and the lights would remain turned off, when his parents didn’t come by with a basket of peaches from their backyard, when the small remnants of life started to fade without the Chois in the home they've lived in for decades.

It was like he never existed. Like he vanished mid-air.

There was no way to understand it; how one moment he would be cuddling with you in bed to the tranquil of the matching music boxes your parents had gifted you , and the next it would be complete radio silence, not a single voice mail or message from him.

The first time you cried after his disappearance occurred when you visited his home hoping he was merely unwell from a stupid summer cold that he always caught year after year. Kai had tagged behind like he knew you’d bawl your eyes out the moment you saw the polaroid photos you had taken together on your first date sticking out of the trash like a sore thumb upon heaps of waste and old toys and pans.

A smack to your face. That’s what it truly felt like seeing the way he grouped you with useless junk, like the lifetime you spent together meant nothing to him apart from a way to pass time and entertain himself. The flimsy film of paper waving back at you mockingly in the wind for even thinking for a split second that he would've thought about you before going MIA.

In the next few moments everything that came out of your mouth ranged from sobbing to incoherent cursing and tears rushing down your cheeks and on to Kai’s shoulder. You cursed at Choi Beomgyu like he had murdered your entire bloodline, you cried until you physically couldn’t strain your throat to wail anymore and you clutched on to Kai to fill the gap in your heart- substituting the void Choi Beomgyu had abandoned.

Still, you’d wake up every morning a bit earlier and linger by your door step a little longer just in case he’d show up again like he used to do.

Every. Single. Day.

But it was a one-man show every time you'd spend lunch in the noticeably duller club room on Yeonjun's phone attempting to ring him or his parents.

"Look, stop being a fool you've been ringing up his phone for a week and there's no answer. Fuck knows where he's at?"

You know Yeonjun's right, but you can't let go go of the slim chance that possibly he would pick up.

With no updates from Choi Beomgyu nor his parents, slowly he’d fade away from the scene of your upside down life that he'd left without warning.

The second time you cried so exhaustingly was the first winter without him when it was starting to show signs of frost- the flimsy thin blanket needing to be exchanged for a warmer duvet. Which of course had to be situated under the frameworks of your bed that strikes a hassle to reach as you hovered your hand over boxes of clutter and old treasures you’ve kept since you were young.

What you thought you were taking out to be a box stuffed with your winter duvet turned out to be a box bedazzled with striking bold letters, ‘Y/N and Beomgyu’s time capsule’, and poorly cut out cheesy photos of holding hands and playful cheek kisses plastered all over the lid.

Usually after a couple months of Beomgyu disappearing from your life and slowly adapting to a life without him you would cease to acknowledge anything that reminded you of him; knowing it will only pain you more. Though, you’re still healing from his unexplained absence, to this day you still didn’t know if he was even alive let alone avoiding you, so you can’t bring yourself to throw away the only bits you have left of him, the only evidence that he wasn’t purely fiction- that he really did exist in your life.

Uncovering the lid of the time capsule revealed your photographs from the rollercoaster you both screamed your hearts out on, the picnic in the hills by your homes in a spot no one else knew about except you and him, and the photo-booth strips of the both of you pulling stupid faces at the camera with props adorned all over your heads.

You’re unsure of what it was about the contents inside that really struck you with uncontrollable tears and wallow; possibly the naivety plastered on your face while you giggled, the moment of bliss frozen in time. More likely the anniversary gift you never had the chance to give him, a custom guitar pick you had bought for him engraved with your initials. Cheesy, but the thought of being so excited to pour your heart out on a gift you never got the chance to give lands your head buried in to your knees which were slowly becoming damp with tears.

The last time you ever let yourself cry so hard over Choi Beomgyu was at Kai’s house the following summer. Simply a call from him to visit before he leaves for Uni after he graduated. A soft knock on his door and it swung open, displaying to your eyes his cheerful expression that started to diminish in to a more solemn pitying glance once he saw you. It was evident he could tell you were still hurt and it was evident that whatever he was planning on handing over to you now probably wasn’t the best idea.

“What are you hiding from me, Kai?” A hand reaches up to scratch the back of his neck in self-conflict, unsure of whether or not to show whatever ‘forbidden’ item he had to you.

“I think you’re better off not having it actually, you don’t look so great right now Y/N.” He shies away from your stare knowing he’s hit a nerve. And something snaps in you because it only hurts you further that wherever you go the remains of his impact on you still show on your face, that no matter what you do to get over him people will always tie you back to him, like you can’t move on without being constantly reminded of what Choi Beomgyu once was to you.

“Show it to me Kai, please.” You hated to admit that you sound weak but you hated to admit more the way your face drops at the box he hands over to you. The box you, yeonjun, kai and choi beomgyu had kept in the club room filled with the sd cards of his digital camera and dvd cassettes of band practices.

“I figured you might’ve wanted them for safekeeping now that the club room’s been wiped of everything, I-I’ve got the dvd player going if you want to watch it, it would be nice to revisit those times.”

You nod gently before kicking your shoes off at the entrance and wandering in to his bed room where he kept his small figurines and boyish posters in trash bags ready to be disposed of.

"Kai, you really liked that show, why are you throwing all of your collectibles away?" There's a frown that only seems to become more extreme as you dig through the bag of old plushies and figurines he's kept since you first met him.

"I didn't want to throw them away at first, but I'm grown now..it's embarrassing to bring these with me to Uni.. you know that. And plus it's been ages since the club room fell apart, I matured a lot in that time too." Kai was always viewed as a little brother that you and Choi Beomgyu quote-on-quote 'raised', yet to see him now a fair few inches taller and more mature you can't help but feel shameful that everyone beside you has moved on already, leaving you stuck in the past in the club room with a playful Kai and Yeonjun, leaving you stuck with the craving of Choi Beomgyu's return behind.

Before your thoughts got to the worst of you the cassette was loaded by shaky hands and your glossy eyes fixed on to the static of the tv revealing a young Yeonjun, Kai, You and Choi Beomgyu in front of the camera- all laid out on the couch toppled and fanned over each other in a mess.

‘What’s this for gyu?’ You asked with a tongue stuck out at the camera.

‘He said it’s a secret. Who knows what he’s going to do with videos of me..” The older boy shudders at the thought jokingly which launches you both in to laughing and slapping Choi Beomgyu lightly on the back.

‘Well whatever it is, I’m sure Beomgyu hyung has his own reasons.’

‘Tbc’ flashes on the tv screen at the end which cues you to coo at how cute Kai was in these old outdated videos. Part of you wants to thank Choi Beomgyu for wanting to document all of this, especially when Kai slotted in the next cassette labelled ‘for her’

The video started with the light strumming of guitar (which you assumed was his own original piece) and Kai struggling to zoom in on his face, awkwardly fiddling with the camera before letting it rest at an angle.

‘Hi love,’

Two words. All that you wanted to hear in the past year and a bit without Beomgyu.

Two words from the voice that you’re slowly starting to forget.

‘I wanted to wish us a happy anniversary, to our second year of being together as a couple, and not just stuck to each other’s side. By the time you’re seeing this I would have gotten my hair cut already- it’s getting long now and I know you like it better when it’s neater so that it doesn’t get tangled in your rings I gifted you.

There’s a lot that I want to say: first how proud I am of you. I don’t think I got the chance to tell or show you how shocked I felt when you confessed to me out of the blue, I think you’re admirable really, even if you’re a bit lightheaded at times. Second, how much I love you. I’ve said this before loads of times but there’s never a time when i’m not thinking about you and never a time where I can imagine a future without you being part of it. You're so important to me to the point I feel guilty for not being able to be as great of a lover as you are to me. Back to the main point of this tape... I hope you remember my promise I made on that day; it’s special- okay? I’ve put a lot of effort in to preparing a song that I want to dedicate to us only... Kai and I haven’t decided a name on it yet but we wanted to name it after you, so happy anniversary beautiful, I love you.

Beomgyu out.‘

By the time the dvd ends with Choi Beomgyu singing the lyrics of a slow ballad he wrote for you, the locks that held your own emotional stability let the tears escape and fall from your eyes again- staining your shirt in the process,

you can’t grasp why he left when he dedicated so much time in to showing his love in his own discreet ways, what you did that was so terrible he couldn’t stand being with you anymore and where you went wrong.

There’s no logic in learning to move on from someone you loved so fulfillingly when you’ve spent over half of your life dependent on them. Could you even resent him? You wish you could..but for all you know he could be hurt, or he could be living his best life he's always dreamt of without you and you don’t know what’s arguably worse,

Because you can feel it, the distaste that remains on your tongue that gets stronger the more you start to resent him, a constant reminder of his own selfishness and a reflection of what he had turned you in to by leaving. Yet you can't bring yourself to hate him, not until you can get the closure on what made him want to leave what you had so desperately and never come back, not until you can see with your own eyes that he's alive and well.

Telling your self one thing.

That no matter what, you wouldn't be able to love Choi Beomgyu the same way again.

"Can you copy up some of the files I've sent you? Management needs it for a product showcase later." Sae whirls the mixture of warm milk and instant coffee in her mug mundanely before leaning on the counter of the rest station to complain to you about the intern she's supervising.

"I also need you to ask Kazuha if she can cover my shift on Monday, I've got plans with my boyfriend to go see the movies."

Your responses don't vary much outside of agreeing hums and polite nods but you enjoy being in Sae's presence, her long talks bringing some form of entertainment in your boring office job.

"Speaking of which, are you seeing anyone right now? Come onnn I know there has to be someone who has the hots for you in the department. Oh and plus you have the high school reunion that Kai's been begging you to go for the past month !! What do you think of Kai?? Doesn't he give you that puppy-dog kind of vibe?? I think you should try-"

The stern tone in your voice cuts her off immediately,

"It's fine Sae really..I'm not that in to functions anyways and Kai's like a bro-"

A head of brunnete hair peeps in to the door of the rest station, grinning ear-to-ear to which makes you roll your eyes in exhaustion.

"Did I hear you talking about me?? Does this mean you're considering coming to the reunion with me? Pretty please Y/N-"

"For the last time no, Kai, you know I don't like going to these sorts of things." You shrug and look back at Sae who's busy making melodrama scenarios in her head, visibly geeking at the thought of you and Kai.

"But Yeonjun hyung will be there, he's coming back from Seoul, you wanna see him too right?" Kai pleads.

"Yeah, listen to Kai ! Go to the function ! Go to the function !"

Truth be told, you don't want to be back there. You don't want to revisit the people who saw you at your lowest 5 years ago when he first left you, it irks you to think back on it. But it's so rare to see Yeonjun who only revisits your small hometown once or twice a year, especially when he's now thriving running a successful dance school and creating choreographies for record labels, he doesn't even have time to message you or Kai with how busy he is- so you know how important it is to show up when he has time.

Sighing, you give in to their pleas and agree on a time for Kai to pick you up from your apartment. You couldn't imagine him or Sae happier as she shoos you back to your desk to finish your piles of work on time for her to plan an outfit and prepare you for your 'biggest event in months', forcing you to type away spreadsheets of work until your fingers ached and swelled.

Surprisingly Sae's advice (forcing you) to finish work quickly kept handy as you submitted in your last document. The week flashed by in an instant and now at 2.pm on a Saturday you were ready to clock off.

The tapping of your heels echoed behind as you walked outside of the building's entrance to wait for Kai's jeep to roll up, giving you time to think.

Something really minor that you noticed was Kai's shift in attitude towards going to the reunion as if a week ago he wasn't begging at your feet to accompany him, to avoiding any talk about the reunion; instead circling around the idea of just going to a bar with Yeonjun as the three of you. You brush it off as Kai overly worrying for your own wellbeing which only makes you want to prove yourself to him more by going, hoping to save some face.

And still when you enter the quiet space of his car and lean against the back rest he asks you again,

"are you sure you still wanna go? I feel like I've forced something on to you that you're uncomfortable with.." the only thing you can focus on is the subtle frown his lips have automatically formed and the quieter voice he uses when he's upset or overly guilty over nothing.

"I'm sure Kai," you chuckle lightheartedly, " I think we should get going to my place or else Sae's going to give us an earful for locking her out."

The attempt to lighten the mood works because the ride home is smoother with small-talk between you and the younger male blabbing on about company gossip and badmouthing some of the classmates that had scandalous school lives who might be showing up to the reunion.

Conversations come to an end when he parks outside of your apartment to give a quick thumbs up that he'll be there to collect you in about 3 hours. Sae's quick eye runs down the flight of stairs to hug and spin you around in excitement-

"You didn't back out this time girl!! Come on come onnn, open the door I want to show you the outfit I prepared." You cringe at all sorts of outfit combinations coming in to mind; analysing her own personal style the key accessory to the outfits you think she's planned for you is a bralette and optionally a skirt and underwear and bangles- nothing that you'd really like to show up in to a high school reunion.

Jangling your keys to unlock the doors to your apartment Sae dashes to your bed before pulling out strips and bits of fabric and patterns and dresses out of her pocket-sized designer bag. Assuming she's been gifted a lot by her boyfriend and spending her promotion pay on a new wardrobe you can only admire at the rows of meticulously planned outfits suited for the reunion, and finally you can understand why she's so highly praised in the office as a fashion goddess.

Once your three hours are up and your eyes are starting to dry from the mascara you've applied in a rush you scurry downstairs with Sae following behind snapping a couple pictures for 'memories'.

You were dressed head to toe in a sleek white cardigan and a miniskirt, wielding a purse you had been gifted by Yeonjun on your birthday which adorned your bracelets. Kai's already leaned against his car in a beige flannel and tank paired with loose jeans held up by a leather belt: his hair is lazily styled with volume mousse to accentuate a couple of his brunette curls.

"W-Woah..Sae did a great job, you did too of course.. I like the uhh-lashes, they make you really stand out."

"I know right ?? She's practically glowing today !!" Sae giggles and rushes you into the passenger seat before pulling out a dangling necklace from her pocket.

Your heart drops.

"I saw it in the jewellery box earlier, I think the gold will really compliment your top!!!"

Of course, you don't dare to ruin her high spirits that the necklace she had just handed to you was your ex's first anniversary gift; a small pendant containing a diamond which rested between your collar bones as she clasped it on. You didn't want to project your own insecurities and sound immature by crying over a necklace your ex had given you when realistically it should mean nothing but a simple accessory to you now considering he's been a ghost for 5 years to you. So you let it dangle around your neck meaninglessly on the car ride to the restaurant the reunion was being hosted at.

Immediately upon entry the two of you are greeted with loud hollering and cheers from fuzzy faces you can barely piece together, Steve from your sciences, Yuna who was in the home room next to you and Sohyun who joined your maths class halfway through the year:

"Hey guys look who's here !! Kai and Y/N!! They really lucked it out with the club room..they used to sell candy and pirated games there remember?!!"

The memory makes you mentally facepalm as you greet the large group gathered already, 1-2 shots in to the night and laughing and conversing as you make your way to sit down at two empty seats with Kai facing Yeonjun and next to you.

"It's been a while you idiot, how's work goin'? The older male's voice booms louder than usual, already appearing to be slightly tipsier than usual before coddling at you and leaning over to squish your cheeks which you argue over 'ruining your base'.

"Rare seeing you at a place like this hm, did you come just to see me? God I raised you two so... well.." His speech started to slur as he took another sip out of his glass, the connotation of being the same level of maturity as Kai shakes you a bit, but if you were Kai you'd probably feel this way too when you talk about how cute and angel-like he was when he first knocked on your club room door- still a child in your eyes.

Yeonjun pours you a shot amidst the loud chatting and cheers from drinking games which leaves your head to zone out and tune in with the beat of the background cacophany of shrieks and chants, interrupted by the jingling of bells as the doors of the restaurant opens to reveal another face you doubt you'll recognise.

However your head doesn't cease to turn when the sudden loudness becomes nearly mute almost comedically before someone exclaims,

"What the fuck man!? Beomgyu's here too?"

You don't know how to explain what you feel next. A million thoughts and emotions flooding your head as you turn your head around almost shakingly to face the entrance of the restaurant where he stood: leaned back in a graphic tee and baggy jeans hung low around the drip of his waist, his jawline was sharper after gradually losing the baby fat in his face and now opted for black styled bangs instead of the mute shoulder length middle part he made his signature hairstyle through out your youth, noticeably taller and more masculine too specifically in his shoulders which are broader. It only makes you realise how much time has passed since you last saw him, it only makes you want to run up to him and wrap your arms around him and never let go in case he vanishes again before you know it. But the only thing you can focus on, and what everyone else can focus on, is the daintier hand eloped around his arm, a petite girl with pink dyed hair and ribbon pigtails, she was cute, awfully cute which only stirred unease deep inside you.

It's like instinct that the first thing you both do is search and analyse each other, eyes locking for a split second before he calmly dismisses the mass amounts of questions asking about where he's been all along and swerving over to sit snug next to a drunken Yeonjun, directly facing you.

"My mann, Gyu !! You showed up geez look at you now- nearly taller than me. I wanted to go out for drinkss together last time but.. you knoww I got called up by my director n' couldn't make it."

There's a wave of surprise that rushes through your blood in the way that Yeonjun converses with Choi Beomgyu- like they've been in contact daily for ages, and you- you didn't know about it.

"Listen up everyone, Gyu's been one of my closest friends since forever in high school, I recently got in touch with him in Seoul half a year ago so let's give a toast to him and his girlfriend Lilith, yeah?"

No one bothers to hide the gossiping and muttering evidently about you and Beomgyu's new girlfriend- pitying you for being left behind and unable to date someone new in this small town or comparing you to the younger girl by his side now. Your blood runs cold as you reach out for your cup for the toast before Kai sets your hand down, offering to toast for you instead.

If you didn't look in time you would've missed it. The twitch in his eye as he watched you and Kai exchange gestures together, not bothering to waste any time in asking Kai a question,

"Both of you are dead silent you know, don't ya miss me? Beomgyu?? Fuck man we've spent years together and none of you wanna speak up or ask me something? You two look real close."

The pride in his face makes your blood boil at the lack of consideration for the fact that he's been missing and ghosting you for 5 years only to return with an even more insensitive comment??!! All that wants to leave your mouth is a string of curses but Kai interrupts, clearing his throat,

"We're doing fine, better actually. You?"

Anyone who can see or hear can sense the rigid tension on your table as Yeonjun downs his shots away becoming drunker and more absent in the conversation.

"Oh really?" Beomgyu snaps back, "That's funny to hear..I've been doing good too, especially with Lilith by my side, we met at a company dinner and she's been a blessing ever since."

The contrast between the 'awwws and cooing at his relationship reveal and the nauseating feeling rising in the pit of your stomach makes you all the more sickly; watching him intertwine his fingers with hers to flash an engagement ring, a rock size a woman can only dream of, on Lilith's finger, not yours. You obnoxiously stare at the ring, a bit too long.

'When I start a successful band I'll make sure the first thing I do is buy you a ring, make sure everyone knows I'm yours.'

'Well I want a radiant shaped ring, think you can do that Mr. all bark no talk?" You giggle

You stare at the exact model dazzling on her finger, radiant and glistening under the ambient lighting of the restaurant. There's no appetite in you anymore, there's enough to stomach already as you watch Lilith giggle when Beomgyu whispers in her ear- it's jealousy that bubbles in you- ugly and disdainful. You feel sour for thinking this way- for wanting to believe that you should be in her place.

The anger and resentment that you've buried deep within you over the last 5 years tilts on edge, veins probably popping on your neck and hand with how tight you're clutching on to your purse.

Beomgyu is only amused by your reaction, a smug grin shamelessly written all over his face as he watches you tremble almost mockingly, degrading you with only his gaze which focuses on the inexpensive necklace his teen self had gifted you still resting around your neck in ridicule compared to the luxury ring around his new lover's finger.

"I'm Lilith in case you forgot, I really love your necklace- where'd you get it from lovely?"

Beomgyu cuts you off before you can get out your first words as if he knew you'd say something insensitive to his so-precious girlfriend,

"That's Y/N, you've heard about her." Your brow furrows at him as you watch the distinct difference in Lilith's body language; now instead of choosing to engage in conversation, is ignoring you and flaunting her affection for Beomgyu: running her fingers across his back and ruffling his hair lghtly, even going as far as to kissing him on the lips on full display in your direction to irritate you- to show that she's now the centre of his attention, that she's his muse.

And it works, greatly so because you can't bear with the humiliation being thrown on to you so explicitly. Within seconds you're unclasping your necklace and launching the edged metal directly towards Lilith's face aggravatingly followed by your untouched shot of alcohol causing her to shriek and flail which left the table in uproar. The chair screeches against the cold floor as you strut towards the door in anger,

"If you love my necklace so bad you can keep it because your cheater of a boyfriend gifted it to me anyways."

Regret settles in as you storm outside, you can just about hear Beomgyu and Kai arguing as you walk further and further away, drowning out the sound of your surroundings with your own thoughts, leaving you with black-dyed tears that started to run down your cheeks without you even realising it.

You're about to reach a red light when an arm yanks you hard with brute force,

"What the fuck has gotten in to you? We haven't seen each other in 5 years and now you wanna be a whining bitch?" Choi Beomgyu looks outraged and the grip on your arm only gets stronger at your silence.

"What do you think Beomgyu? Seriously I can't tell if you're playing stupid or if you really are fucked in the head. You leave me out of no where to move to God knows where to return 5 years later with a new fiancee? If I were any smarter I should've realised sooner how eager you were to move on to another woman behind my back. You didn't even try to answer or call me, you didn't even try to give me a reason for why you left and now you want to reenter the life I've gotten used to without you just to mock me right in my face that you've found someone new to toy with?"

There's no stopping the tears that fail to keep put in your tear ducts, constantly rolling out one-by-one as you avoid making eye contact with him knowing that you might just collapse in to sobbing again like you did when you first visited his house after he left.

"Look I didn't mean to mov-"

"Yeah because suddenly moving out of nowhere is a great excuse for you to ghost me for 5 years, I left everything the exact same as it is begging for you to contact me one day. Because suddenly moving out of nowhere somehow excuses our photos that you dumped in to the pile of trash outside of your house the week you left? How am I supposed to believe you even ever loved me when you couldn't even hide your disgust for me in the first place? Why did you even say yes to my confession if all you were going to do is leave me in the end anyways? What was the point Choi Beomgyu, fucking tell me?!!"

"How can I tell you if you're going to cut me off to bitch on about something irrelevant? I did love you for all I and everyone else knows I don't get why you're trying to make shit up when I put so much effort in to the relationship and this is what I get back? What? Because we're exes that gives you the excuse to humiliate my fiancee in front of strangers now, do you know how crazy and attached you look? It's been five years Y/N why can't you leave it as a mistake we made when we were young?"

Your sniffles only become obscenely louder as your eyes widen at his audacity to brush off his disappearance so lightly, as if you didn't waste months searching for him in every corner of the town, as if you didn't stay up all night trying to find out what could've happened to him, like you didn't matter to him as much as he mattered to you.

"You've changed too Y/N. Always refusing to come to these kinds of dinners and now you're clinging on to another man and trying to seduce others aren't you?

The silence triggers him to speak insensitively again,

"You're jealous, aren't you? You're so stuck in the past you can't let me go, you can't let us go, going so far to accuse me of cheating- it's been 5 years.. I'm sure you've been slutting yourself out to Kai while I was gone anyways so don't be all sensitive and crying now because I decided to move on," He kisses his teeth before speaking again, " We were never going to work out Y/N, we both know that. We were just experimenting as kids so don't get hung up on it and don't bother trying to interfere with my life now either. There's nothing between us."

Tears still continue to fall from your reddened eyes, the mix between a disappointed and angry expression on his face while he judges your crying only makes you cry harder, a hand reaching up to wipe your eyes and cover your face to avoid any more embarrassment.

Choi Beomgyu huffs and spins on his heel to head back towards the restaurant- probably to go comfort Lilith after the whole fiasco- before making one last remark with his back turned to you as he walks away,

"And I wasn't trying to ghost you by moving all of a sudden, I just didn't want to burden you with long distance, I didn't want to be such a fucking nuisance in your life like I am in everyone else's."

To that you muster up all the strength you have between hiccups and sobs to shout back at him,

"I never asked for you to love me back. I would've preferred if you had just told me straight up that you couldn't bear it Beomgyu. I waited every single day, for you to come back t. I watched the cassette tape you left for our second anniversary every night just to hear your voice because you were gone for so long I was starting to forget it. If anything you're all that I want to forget right now. Did you even bother to think about how I felt when you left?

For fuck's sake Beomgyu, " You sniffle,

"I thought you were dead..."

He stops in his tracks and for a minute you think the old Beomgyu would return, the Beomgyu that would write little love letters and slide them to you during lessons, the Beomgyu that would offer you a piggy-back ride home whenever your legs felt weak, the Beomgyu who would've given up the whole world just to be with you.

But he walks on, in silence, refusing to turn back around as he keeps direct on the path back to the restaurant.

Your fists clench as you scream at the top of your lungs loud enough to hear from the distance,

"Fine then. I'll consider you dead. The Choi Beomgyu I know would rather die than be shit like you."

Rain started to downpour heavily almost cinematically as you crouched in the middle of the side walk unable to move from the spot that changed everything. With your tear stained face buried in to your neck you crouch, hoping that at some point you'll wake up from a bad dream. But there's anything but peace in your head right now to even fall asleep, his words constantly ringing in your head; "We were never going to work out." a constant reminder of how naive you were for bothering to confess your feelings in the first place.

Although suddenly the rain stopped even as it continued to pitter-patter all around you. Moving your neck to see an umbrella with Kai crouched under it too to meet you at eye-level.

"Fuck don't look Kai it's embarrassing-"

"Cry. I feel like you pent up all your feelings nowadays and it's hard to see you vent out these emotions even to me. It's okay to cry, I promise there's no judgement in me, Y/N. We can stay here for a bit, you can cry all you want, I'll listen."

The brunette removes his flannel to drape around you to prevent you from catching a cold, a warm hand holding on to yours as he waits patiently.

"Kai, do you think I'm selfish?"

His eyes widen before returning back to normal at your question, immediately reaching to comfort you as you sobbed all over Sae's shirt.

"I think you're more selfless than anyone I've ever met, in fact I think that jerk is the selfish one, could he give up 5 years of his life to wait for anyone that he loves?"

And it's like your wails never stop until you reach your apartment at half 1 in the morning, Kai carrying you up the stairs to your flat after spending nearly two hours talking and consoling you in the rain, you were bound to both be ill tomorrow, but all that he can focus on is his own guilt.

He should've told you that he would've been there.

He should've never dragged you to the reunion in the first place.

So he does what's logical to him, send Yeonjun a quick message.

You: What made you think it was a good idea to invite him? You knew she would've been upset by it.

Yeonjunnie: It's about time that she moves on, she needs that exposure or else she'll be dreading it the rest of her life.

Yeonjunnie: The hangover's starting 2 kick in, i'll msg you later

You: You know it was wrong of you to do this, to set her up like that.

You: We'll talk another time.

Groggily you wake up in your bed in the same clothes reeking of alcohol as you did yesterday, rubbing your eyes to clear your vision only to spot a sleeping Kai resting at the edge of your bed.

You've never been more grateful for the younger boy beside you, he truly felt like your last resort at this point, he really lived up to his nickname; angel.

The buzzing of the phone and the flood of messages trying to instigate something out of the act you put on last night makes you groan in frustration, desperate to rip your hair out in shame. Why on earth would you pull a stunt like that? Now everyone thinks you're obsessed with this lousy Choi Beomgyu and his girlfriend!!

Little did you know the whole of last night Beomgyu couldn't rest either. Constantly arguing non-stop with Lilith at the hotel they booked. He's been arguing with her almost daily ever since they got together out of convenience. From the moment his dad had fallen in to huge debt and was forced to move in to Seoul to work under Lilith's family to repay it, he's been ushered in to trying to make connections between their families ever since. Especially with his mom's sudden illness from stress, hooked up to the machines and needing vital treatment, he knows better than anyone else that he'd be unable to leave you with such overwhelming news, instead choosing to settle his debts with Lilith- who's giving him an earful all the time.

"Ugh she- she's not even your fiancee Gyu !! I am !! Did you really have to humiliate me by making even more of a scene chasing after your ex-girlfriend like a lost dog? I had strangers comfort me because my own boyfriend couldn't!!"

Beomgyu cusses under his breath before leaning over the balcony with a cigarette between his lips- a bad habit he had picked up in order to escape from the petty arguments his 'fiancee' always wanted to pick, the whole engagement ‘act’ made him want to puke in revolt.

A part of him shattered when he saw you crying for the first time in 5 years because of him. So deeply wretched and hurt by his words that he said out of anger, spouted out of spite.

Beomgyu can never find balance in himself; he's always felt like a burden to the people around him, he knows that if you saw the habits he picked up while working to pay back the debt his family owed you'd be hurt even more.

He's become insensitive trash. Visible in the differences between the two of you as you both matured so distinctively. You didn’t change at all, you still kept on to fragments of him, the tape recordings, the necklace, everything, and he felt like shit. Forced to take family photos and attend business dinners with a woman he despises, his dad slaving away for her family who trapped them in to debt in the first place and a mom who he couldn’t even talk to for the first 2 years of moving because she was so ill from shock. There’s no escape from the fact that he’s practically useless to everyone around him.

So he thought, he thought that you would be better off with someone unlike him- someone like Kai who could deal with his own issues much better than he can and still prioritise and love you without hurting you like he does because of his own incompetence.

And he regrets it so so much, how vile he was insulting you when he would never dream of even muttering those words to you in any universe, becoming too extreme to even slut shame you when he knows you're the purest person at heart, he knows you better than anyone.

He at least knew you better than anyone. But he knows he's fucked it all up to apologise to you now, cut too deep to ever rekindle the love he still has for you…he's gone too far with his hateful words.

"Are you even listening to me?!"

"Let's break it off."

"What??"

"The engagement, let's break it off. The debt's been paid off hasn't it?"

"Are you seriously pulling this because you saw your old teenage girlfriend at a reunion? Are you fucking kidding me Gyu- she threw her drink on me!!"

"It’s not like we’re engaged out of love anyways. I'd never spare a look in the direction of someone in the likes of you. My mom's last treatment session is this Friday, so there's no need for us to stay is there?" He scoffs blatantly, taking a drag out of his cigarette- a bad habit he'd picked up on that he knows you'd hate.

The smoke ascends in to the current of cold air, ashes from the burnt edge dusting off on to the marble of the hotel balcony."Tell me what she said to you today Beomgyu ?? What did she say that makes you not want to marry me anymore- thi-this is outrageous are you insane??" Lilith crosses her arms and leans against the door of the balcony, irritated by Beomgyu's silence with his back towards her.

"Hah? What makes you so confident she even wants you back Beom? Any woman who wants to go back to a man who ditched her in this shithole is stupid, you have me here already so why do you keep looking in her direction? You only have me Beom, what don't you get?" She unties her ribbon pig-tails and runs a slender hand through her hair before walking up to Beomgyu, a hand snaking around his waist as she presses her tiny face to the small of his back with fake sniffles.

"I'll forgive you Beom..it's okay. Just apologise and I'll-"

"I can’t stand being under the same roof as you. I despise it more than anything. You know well that if you didn't interfere I wouldn't have left, I would've sat by her side at the dinner with her instead of the whiny bitchy act you keep putting up at the table.

Don't even try calling me, I'm sure there's other men you can find with your grandaddy." The force exerted on Lilith's hand as Beomgyu breaks from her grip is great enough to make her yelp and clutch at her wrist, starting to bruise as she shouts with a more authentic drag of her voice,

"Fuck you Choi Beomgyu you jerk!!"

Storming out of the hotel room late at night his feet drag him to the only place he knows best, landing him at your parent's house with a weak greeting hoping that your mom would show him some mercy considering he’s slept in your room for half of his life.

She welcomes him in without thought seeing the redness that’s starting to tinge his eyes.

“It’s been a long time Beommie, how have you been?” Her wrinkled hands pours a warm cup of Jasmine tea which is pushed towards him,

“Have you seen Y/N yet? She’s been looking for you ever since you left you know- you were best friends.”

His heart pangs with even more guilt, refusing to look your mother in the eye knowing he’ll only beat himself up more for something he can’t fix.

“I haven’t seen her yet..it’s probably better that way, I don’t look the greatest.” He jokes with a salty taste in his mouth unable to tell her how horribly he spoke to her daughter, his love.

“Beommie, tell me what’s happened, why did you leave? Why did you come back? I’m sure you had other plans in this small town.” And all he can do is bawl and crash down the moment he starts speaking, telling her about the debt, about his mother’s condition, about his job, about Lilith and about you, oh what he’s done to you.

In the corner of his eye he can just about peep the time capsule the two of you had made together jutting out jarringly under the couch.

All he can think about is the regret and guilt he feels for letting himself become such a hot mess at the cost of losing you when you're the last thing he wanted to lose, the lovestruck photos of the two of you messily stuck on to flimsy cardboard only twisted the knife further.

Beomgyu doesn't ever cry- you could say he doesn't show his vulnerable side to anyone but you because even when he had to move out of the very town he grew up in because of debt he never cried, even when his mom was hospitalised he never cried, yet every single time he catches himself missing your embrace he can’t restrain the urge to cry.

Cry like he's never let out any of his emotions before.

Cry until he's numb from the hurt of letting you go.

In fact, you probably didn’t notice today that he cried as he walked away; tears burning and streaming down his cheeks the moment he saw your emotions so raw, so vulnerable, so pained by him. The immense guilt he had observing the way your throat scratched abrasively as you shouted and scolded him deservingly.

He never planned to be so horrible to you,

He only wanted to deter you from being hurt even more by him,

yet it backfired, spitting insults far worse than he could control, regretting every decision, every word, every action that had hurt you.

There's nothing that hits worse than self realisation after the argument,

that Choi Beomgyu is a fool,

the lowest of the low for ever treating you like this.

“Kai you have to wake up now, I need to collect a couple side dishes from my mom.”

Usually he’d take a couple more nudges before fully waking but this time he’s on full alert- worryingly asking if you felt okay.

Then again, Kai’s always been the alert type. Always making sure that he’d be the first to knock on your door the moment you messaged that you were sick, hand carrying all sorts of medicine and porridge. You’d think that you were diseased with a terminal illness with how much he panics over these things.

“Auntie wants you to collect some side dishes again?”

“Yeah, I bet she’s made too much food for the neighbours and now she’s handing it all down to me.”

Your attempt to joke doesn’t land because Kai stills looks at you with worry- having a six sense built in to him so that he knows when something’s wrong.

“I’ll come with you too, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her.”

The drive gives you a peace of mind as you step outside of Kai’s jeep to push open the paint-chipped gates which creaked with even the slightest touch, “Do you reckon you could get this repainted for us one day?”

“Don’t push it now,” he laughs, “your mom would kill me if she saw me doing all the work while you watch your dramas.”

“Stop trying to get on my mom’s good side seriously !! You make me look like a shit daughter” you replied, knocking on the door expecting to see your mom with a basket full of fruits and side dishes she’s cooked.

Right as you knock the second time the door creaks open, except your mom is not 5’11 with short unkempt hair with the first sign of stubble emerging from her chin, she’s far from it.

You bite on your lip hard enough to draw blood, watching Choi Beomgyu emerge out of the door disheveled and in a trance.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!!” You grunt shoving past him which signals him to raise his hands in the air, “Mom?? Are you here?”

“Look- I didn’t do anything to your mom I just happene-“

”Yeah right.” Kai shoves in to his shoulder as he walks past through the doors causing Beomgyu to scowl. Out of all the people you could see today, why him after you argued so feistily yesterday?

“Be nice to Beomgyu will you?” your mom asks concerningly around the corner, “you never stop making a ruckus do you? It’s been years since you’ve seen each other cut him some slack.”

“I would if he didn’t disappear for 5 years and decide to return and think he can storm all over what’s mine on a random Sunday.”

Beomgyu shifts uncomfortably by the door, choosing not to speak in case he opens his mouth recklessly again.

“Well he’s going to be staying here for the next couple of days before he goes back so why don’t you help clean out the house, hm? You’ve got Kai to help you too.”

You feign defeat as you drag yourself up the stairs to look for the hoover, Kai following behind before Beomgyu could even intercept; expressionless in every manner as he greets him out of politeness.

It’s like a breath of fresh air again away from Beomgyu, who although was bothered snd full of shit yesterday is quiet and meek today. You search inside the dust-filled storage room for the hoover,

“Fuck!” pricking yourself slightly in the process over a nail embedded in a plan of wood inflicting you to yelp was not how you wanted your day to go at all, looking down at the small wound with furrowed eyebrows and half annoyance half pain.

“Show me that.”

“What’s gotten in to you?! It’s fine.” You brush off Beomgyu’s arm which gripped on to your hand with a scowl, staring intently at the small wound starting to clot.

“Just because we’re not dating anymore doesn’t mean I don’t care about yo-“

“Save it, Beomgyu. I heard all that you wanted to say yesterday.”

“Y/N can you come here for a sec?” From the distance Kai shouts out cinematically in time, waving a hand in the air to call you over giving you the opportunity to shake your hand from Beomgyu’s grasp to shift to whatever dilemma he's got now.

“Can you help me open the paint lid? Think it’s a bit jammed.”

“Hah!! You’re so weak Kai seriously it’s nothing..” You retract your laughter the moment you attempt to remove the lid, shut tight around the ridges impossible to remove like the sword in the stone.

”Quit being so embarrassing!”

“I’m not !! You definitely gave me this to open to embarrass me on purpose !!”

Laughing, you ruffle Kai’s hair affectionately, trying to hush his wild laughter fit so your mom doesn’t think you’ve bloody murdered him upstairs.

Beomgyu’s eyebrows knit together as he watches the subtle glint in Kai’s eye as he tucks your hair behind your ears and laughs, one that makes him sick to his stomach as he watches the soap opera you both are putting on display in what he can only describe as jealousy.

His eye twitches at Kai who notices the audience watching, choosing to court you more obnoxiously as he tucks a strand behind your ear and whispers small jokes, unnecessarily touching your hands whenever he could and finding any opportunity to distract you from Beomgyu.

Beomgyu wanted you to have someone better, someone like Kai. But the anger that resides within him refuses to leave as he grabs the hoover and walks past the both of you in a berating silence, an expressionless face and heavy trodding down the stairs.

"Always in a mood, gosh." Kai handles the now-opened cans of paint and signals you to carry the other hues of green that were definitely straining on the muscles in your hand.

To put it short, Kai's emasculate build has its pros because he carries the tins of paint down the stairs like light work while you lag behind, still finishing the last couple of sets of stairs.

"We need to talk."

"Oh my god fuck!!" Exclaiming in surprise you don't even register the blotches of forest green splattered across your face and baby doll top from launching your occupied hands in to the air. Once again at the crime scene rests Choi Beomgyu who becomes startled the minute he realises his mistake.

"I didn't mean to do that."

"I got it Choi. Just go to my room and fetch me a shirt I need to change out of my top..."

There's a slight sulk on your face as you wipe your hand across the paint (which only smudges and widens the stain much to your annoyance) as Beomgyu hurries up the flights of stairs, Kai's worried voice sounding in the distance as he exclaims an "are you okay?"

Reaching your room which was overfilled with moving boxes and your dad's gardening gadgets made it feel more like a storage room despite the signature smell of your home in the very room you both had stayed in still lingering. Doors which creak at the handles when opened reveal the mix of grays, blues and whites in your wardrobe with a bold addition of black in to the mute tones.

It was his shirt. A loose, black graphic tee with a print that was starting to fade which he religiously wore to every band practice, ironed and well kept on a hanger.

He knows how you'll react to the shirt.

He knows he shouldn't do it.

But he rushes down the stairs anyway with the fabric clutched tight in his hands as he knocks on the bath room door.

"Come in.. you owe me big time because the stain isn't coming off-"

click-

Your head whiplashes around to the dooming sound of the door locking behind you- a towering Choi Beomgyu blocking it directly, arms crossed with a shirt tucked between them.

"I don't like that. Open it now Beomgyu this is weird.."

A glint of anticipation appears in his eyes, face contorting in to a grin which made your stomach churn, unsure of what to do in the situation as your mouth goes dry.

"Dropping the last name now huh?" You open your mouth to retaliate but all he does is flick the shirt open to reveal his graphic tee you've kept in your wardrobe for years. It's embarrassing how fast instincts kick in to grab at the shirt to hide it as if he hasn't seen that you've kept a lot of his stuff already, huffing out a "don't get any big ideas I can see it on your face, it's gross."

The attempts to shift past him to reach the door becomes futile which only makes you more agitated to see the shit eating grin still radiant on his face.

"Move it Beomgyu."

"You still want me..right?" In a state of complete shock you cross your eyebrows and look up at him and the audacious question he asked, not even sure if he's being completely honest asking you this when just yesterday he was so set on being a dick to you.

"I want the Choi Beomgyu I knew 5 years ago so move it."

"I'm sorry."

"I know that already it's just a top who gives a shit, stop acting like you care Beomgyu.

"No that's not it, listen to me." The huffs that come out of your mouth are direct evidence that you wanted to be anywhere but stuck in a room with Beomgyu now, the awkwardness between you starker than ever,

"I'm sorry, for what I said yesterday- I didn't mean it, you know that Y/N. You know I still care for you, I thought about you every single day after I left, and after seeing you yesterday while you were crying I went back to Lilith and I- I called off the engagement." He slowly clicks the door open again, preparing for you to leave, but you stay stuck in motion and in paralysis.

If your eyes weren't bulging out of your head earlier they definitely were now, words stuck in your throat and unable to escape as the familiar feeling of hot tears threaten to burn at your eyes again.

"I'm an idiot for saying such hurtful words something over came me..I was pent up about everything, about Lilith, about not seeing you earlier about Kai too- and I know I can't take back what I said and that you won't forget it so easily, I just wanted to make sure you know that I don't hate you. Actually we're not so different, Y/N, I still listen to those recorded calls we had together too, I still look back on the digital camera of us in our last year of high school, when I was away from this small town every single thing reminded me of you. Everything about me still revolves around you, so please don't resent me..." His voice croaks at the end with his head looking down at the bathroom tile, a singular tear hitting the floor in the silence, he waits for a reply which doesn't come out of your mouth at all, instead your lips quiver in sync with how you slightly shake.

You're unsure of what to say- there's not right answer to his apology, no right answer to his confession which can't blur the messy boundaries he's already crossed yesterday. It was like day and night and it boiled your blood how fast he can decide to change his mind as if he wasn't fuming at you yesterday like he wasn't missing for 5 years with no contact.

Slap!-

There wasn't even time for your answer before your palm instinctively reached to singe a red burn on his face which became redder with the minute, triggering a couple more droplets out of his reddening eyes to fall simultaneously on the cold tile.

"I can't even tell what you really think anymore Beomgyu," You choke, holding back on salty tears, "One moment you want to call me obsessed and a slut and the next, you're.. you want to tell me that I'm all you think about? Be honest Beomgyu. Do you really love me? Because I don't think anyone who says their world revolves around me would fucking leave me here for 5 years for no reason!! I'm begging you please, just be honest with me Gyu...don't..don't waste my time anymore." Glossy eyes damp with tears look up to his with raw sadness, the guilt in his face written all over the way his eyebrows raise and his jaw opens and closes like he wanted to say something, but he doesn't take the initiative to.

Without answering he walks closer towards you; a hand reaches up to wipe your tears away however you flinch and push him away which makes his heart sink, only now realising how badly he's hurt you to the full extent.

"I can't resent you Gyu you know that, I just don't understand what was so disgusting about me that made you want to leave, what made you want to get rid of me, why you left in the first place?" Spit from how fast you're talking runs down your chin as you begin to bawl uncontrollably again; you hate how bad you are at controlling your emotions given that every time you try to make a point your body just resorts to tears when it comes to Beomgyu.

Shock in all 5 tiers of regret floods over the male whose fists clench subtly, wanting to let you know that the reason for him leaving so suddenly was anything but being disgusted by you, it tortures him to see you beat yourself up over his own actions, his own foolish decisions.

"Please.. don't say that..I would never leave because of you. I left be-"

"What the fuck is going on here?" A concerned Kai bursts through the door leaving it weakly creaking, succumbing to his outraged behaviour- out of the ordinary for the usual 'angel' Kai.

Seeing the way Beomgyu has his hands clutching on to your shoulders for stability, his fingernails starting to penetrate the first layer of skin from how hard he was gripping on to you, and your reddened and sore tear-stained face Kai can only jump to conclusions.

In seconds he pulls Beomgyu off you and on to a nearby towel rack which causes him to slump on the floor and groan in agony, the force brute enough to leave bruises on his back the next day. Kai's hands wrap around your wrists and drag your weak-minded self out of the bath room and out towards his jeep.

"Kai! Kai! Let me go! Listen to me!" Attempting to shake off the grip on your wrist you knock in to him in the process, causing him to turn around and grab you by the shoulders gently afraid of causing you any discomfort.

"I didn't get to hear what he had to say-"

"Why do you let yourself do this? Why do you willingly listen to him try to shortcut out of his own responsibility for leaving you on your own when you end the conversation every time in tears? Why do you do this to yourself?"

His eyes, rimmed with quiet sorrow, watched as you reluctantly buckled in to the passenger seat, wiping your tears away with your arm, with a tenderness that spoke louder than words. His brows were drawn together, not in anger, but in a deep, aching concern, as if Kai could feel the weight of the your pain in his own chest.

"I'm taking you back to your place, okay? I'll let Auntie know. I just don't want you to be hurt by that jerk again, always searching for excuses."

Your head feels light as you roll down the window conflicted between Kai's advice and the truth behind Beomgyu's disappearance. You're not even sure if what he was going to tell you would change anything, so you ignore it, letting the thought drown out as background noise as you watch the view of the small town slowly transition into high-rise buildings and apartments through the window.

But just because you drowned it out as background noise doesn't mean you'd forget the what ifs with Beomgyu.

There were still feelings for him in you; buried under layers of protection and closing off your heart over the years, it's been pierced through and through every time you're reminded of him, how he left, how he returned, how he apologised- but you don't have the will power to resent him like you say you will, not when the bond you've had for over 15 years is still strong between the two of you, like it's fate that you were supposed to encounter Beomgyu through and through.

It's a dangerous game the two of you are playing, it's dangerous to think about crossing the wall you've built up between you and Beomgyu, dangerous to fall in love him again.

"Shit." Beomgyu curses under his breath and digs into the pockets of his ripped jeans to search for his pack of cigarettes, instead brushing over his phone which starts to ring as he gets back on his feet.

Beomgyu’s gaze flickers over the blue light of the screen as it buzzed in his hand, lit up with a simple, bold 'Dad'. His heart drops again, an unsettling feeling sweeping over him- like a weight pressing against his chest. He had always known that his dad’s calls weren’t casual check-ins or everyday conversations-there was always an undercurrent of something worrying; perhaps asking for more money, to visit Lilith's parents again to keep the deal going, something about his mom in between the lines of getting better or getting worse with her health. His thumb hovered over the screen, the decision to answer hanging in the air like a question he didn’t want to face. The familiar dread settled in his stomach, and for a brief moment, he considered letting it go to voicemail, but he knows he has to answer, he knows what it's like for everything to change over a phone call.

"What is it now?" He complains, a string of cursing, insults and scolding sounding out of the speaker, another meaningless complaint about Lilith wailing and running to her parents about his actions, how he's ruined it all for his family, for himself.

"Hurry over to the in-laws and apologise, I can't believe you decided to call off the engagement I worked so hard for you to have, you'd think I'd have a more grateful son for all that I've done for you."

The line cuts off eerily as Beomgyu dusts off his pants, unlocking the doors of his car as he walks out of the bathroom and in to the silent living room, limping slightly down the stairs. His head started to ache and fuzz his vision as he stepped out in to the yard of your home, unable to think properly before his eyelids closed down on him, the whole of his body weight dropping to the floor in an instant at great impact.

The first to discover his unconscious self was your mom who returned from the town market with a bag of groceries, immediately calling a flight of ambulances with sirens sounding through the usually quiet town, alarming and sparking worry among the locals who nosily peeked out of their windows to see the chaos surrounding Beomgyu who's strapped in to a stretcher and completely blacked out, slight wounds to his face as the paramedics loaded him in to the back of the emergency vehicle.

His pulse hammered in his ears, each beat louder than the last, and his body felt like it was drifting to the rhythmic beeping of the machines that surrounded him. Panic clawed at the edges of his consciousness, but he couldn’t summon the energy to push it away, struggling to find balance between keeping in and out of consciousness.

The next thing he knew, he was hooked to a network of drips and monitors, feeling weak in the hospital bed that confined him as the initial mumbling became clearer as he blinked away.

Despite the pain in his upper arm, he pushes himself up to sit straight, analysing his surroundings: a small empty vase, a heart rate monitor, a plain cream room that smelled of disinfectant and you and Kai, although he bore a more concerned look more than anything. He spotted your mother who comforted you through a series of pats on your back as you weeped with your head in your arms on the white bedsheets where his feet laid.

Him suddenly stirring awake startled you further as you rush to ask him a plethora of questions.

"Why didn't you tell me Beomgyu?" You hiccuped between sobs, the confusion still settling on his face as he tried to recall what had occured in the hours that he was unconscious,

"What am I doing here- I'm confused what's wrong with me?"

"You fainted at the doorstep of Auntie's house, you were unresponsive it gave her the shock of her life," Kai answers for you, his stern look from earlier filled with concern as he faces Beomgyu again,

"You have muscular dystrophy, Beomgyu."

Muscular dystrophy. Beomgyu’s body felt like it was sinking into the bed, as if the weight of the Kai's words were pulling him down deeper into a pit he couldn’t escape. Muscular dystrophy. The phrase echoed in his mind, each repetition more jarring than the last.

Beomgyu couldn’t process it, attempting to lift his arm, but it trembled, showing the first signs of progressing pain. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, a cruel reminder that everything was changing, that his life was slipping out of his control, exactly like how you did.

A fleet of nurses and doctors rush in to the room only to bombard him with another series of questions and information, shooing you, Kai and your mom out of the ward away from Beomgyu.

"We believe it's caused by genetics, your mother has the same condition as I'm sure you're aware. We've had a couple blood tests done and it's a miracle that the symptoms didn't show up earlier, probably in recession. You've been over-working yourself recently I'm guessing which must have led to a flare up in muscle fatigue and pain. It's important that you rest properly and aim not to damage your muscles too much because it'll only get worse. There's no cure for it, you'd know, but I can refer you to the hospital your mother is residing in right know for physiotherapy and a treatment plan- it's unfortunate that we don't have the right facilities for it."

The rest of the doctor's words enter one ear and out the other as Beomgyu is dazed, unable to process the information all at once, like the whole world was crashing down on him. He can't find the energy to answer apart from weak nods as he looks down at the state of his body; weak, sickly, deteriorating.

He can't accept reality,

He doesn't know what to do next at this point.

As you continue to sob in the waiting room, clutching on to Kai all you can focus on is how impatient you were with him, picking a fight and slapping him, only getting angry at him without even realising how detrimental it could've been to both his mental and physical state; you can't scrub your mind of the fact that you could've caused the flare up, that you could be so horrible to him when all he wanted to do was speak.

All you can think about is whether his apology was an attempt at soft launching you in to telling you about his condition, about how if you stayed to listen maybe you could've helped him out faster instead of storming out with Kai. The guilt is overbearing as you weep harder in to Kai's shoulder, who still can't comprehend why you care so much over Beomgyu when he's hurt you over and over again, why you still want to be the first to be there for him when he's never there for you.

But all of your dismantled thoughts come to a halt as Lilith's family strut through the door, completely unbothered and unashamed of their presentation as they walk in to his ward. Lilith sends a dirty look towards your direction in the process before following behind her parents.

The next few moments consist of shouting and arguing which wreaks havoc in the hospital when Lilith's family are escorted out shortly after, shouting "That fucking bastard tried to marry my daughter to a fucking paraplegic!! Let me go I need a talk with that damn boy for lying to us !!"

You can feel the guilt bubbling inside you as you take in the scene before you, a family of grown, rich adults who have nothing better to do than pick on a boy who just discovered he's had a genetic condition that will leave him struggling to stand soon all along, picking on your boy who aspired of starting his own band one day- now strapped to the hospital bed as he gets all sorts of testing done to him.

You hate being so sympathetic, you hate that all you can do is cry over Choi Beomgyu, cry for Choi Beomgyu, hurt over Choi Beomgyu and hurt for Choi Beomgyu.

You don't remember when he became off limits to visitors, the last memory being the day he fainted and you found yourself tossing and turning in bed, worried and stressed as visible eye bags formed under your eyes.

There was no answer as to why you were so impacted by it, you simply couldn't say anything other than you still loved him, that you still cared for him even after everything. That you can't let yourself hate him when he's already had his life flipped over, and even if you still couldn't understand why he had left you in the first place you were at least willing to care for him in a life where not even his parents wanted to see him, where his ex-fiancee's family couldn't bear to see him in his condition out of disgust.

So you can only imagine the way the blood drains out of your face one morning when your mom sits you down at breakfast, asking an innocent question,

"What time are you leaving today? I want to come too."

"I'm not working today? What, did we plan something together?”

She quirks a brow at your cluelessness before swallowing and asking,

"You didn't know? Beommie's going back to Seoul today, he's going to see a specialist who'll help him with his condition like his mother."

You couldn't see it coming. One minute you're arguing with him for the first time in 5 years of seeing each other, and the next, he's leaving just as quickly as he was starting to reenter your life.

For a moment, everything stops. You stare, waiting for your mother to laugh, to tell you what she said was some sort of joke, but her face remains constant.

"That poor boy..it's such a shame that he had to stop school so early because his father fell in to debt after trialing an unsuccessful drug for his mother's muscular dystrophy, he told me he even had to sell his phone and get a job so early just to pay it off!

If only they didn't fall in to debt he would still be helping out at their apple and peach farm here in this town now, he really has gone through so much. On top of being married off by his incompetent father to a family like that ! Gosh it's scandalous!

If I could I would take in that boy immediately, he was only 11 when he had to start bearing all the responsibilities, had to sleep over in your bed room because his mother was constantly causing a ruckus screaming in agony. I can't even begin to imagine how he feels now."

And suddenly, your world feels off-balance, like the ground beneath you is cracking. You didn’t know. You didn't know he had to leave because of his father's debt, you didn't know that it wasn't his fault and yet you blamed him.

Over and over again you would blame him and curse at him like you knew everything about him after he went missing for 5 years. You made sure he couldn't receive your approval to his interrupted apology. And still you want to be a little selfish, you want to complain because if he had told you before he was swept away in to the harsh reality of adult hood; you would have stayed- you would have helped him, made sure that he never cried on the nights that he was left alone in a foreign city where he had to work among adults just to survive, you would have made sure that he knew you were still there supporting him from a distance- that he did have someone rooting for him.

Your heart starts racing, the panic settling in, but your mind can’t catch up. A million questions swirl in your head, but none of them make it past your lips.

"When..When does he leave?"

You grip the steering wheel tight, knuckles white against the black leather, the engine growling beneath you. The road screeches as you push the accelerator harder, for sure a couple miles above the speed limit as you head towards the train station. You glance at the clock-12:11. Beomgyu's train departs in a couple more minutes, creeping closer, each second slipping away, and you know if you don’t make it you might never see him again. Might never be able to apologise to him, instead leaving your last impression on him as arrogant and refusing to listen.

The town around you feels like it’s closing in, the sounds of honking mute in the distance as you weave in and out of lanes, your heart pounding harder with every twist and turn, but you can’t slow down. You don’t have time. Not even a second to waste if you wanted to see him.

If you wanted to see Choi Beomgyu for what might be the last time.

The train station is just a few miles ahead, but it feels like an eternity. Your hands are slick with sweat, but you don't dare let go of the wheel, quickly swerving in to the parking lot and lazily leaving your car at an angle which was sure to serve you a fine or some sort of fight later.

Rushing up the stairs that seemed to last for an eternity you can hear the dull roar of the train's engine come to a halt, leaving a soft pshhht of steam blowing out of it. You scurry on to the platform, sweating, red faced, hoping he may be able to leave some time for you to say sorry, in hopes that he'd forgive your pent up anger like he asked for you to forgive his.

And there you spot him, boarding on to the train with a small burgundy suitcase decorated in dandelion stickers, his hair much longer and uncut than when you last saw it, his skin starting to look paler than you remember.

"Choi Beomgy-!"

"This train is departing to, Seoul."

Your heart starts to slow as you scavenge through windows upon windows to find him in which ever carriage he seated himself in, tears staring to unfold again when you struggled to see him, mistaking him for the hundreds of people in the same attire until you reach the end of the carriage, where he looks you directly in your sore eyes.

He doesn't say anything- not that you can hear anyways- but you watch him smile, tears starting to form in his eyes as well, a mere glass screen separating your hands as you sob uncontrollably with snot dripping out of your nose embarrassingly.

He doesn't look frustrated with you at all for taking so long to finally see him again, and even if he looks weaker physically and mentally than he did at the start you can see the boyish smile of the 16 year old Beomgyu you first fell in love with in his grin, slowly pulling out his hand to sign to you in sign language amidst the loud roar of the engine preparing to take off again,

'Don't Cry. We'll meet again.'

You stand there, frozen on the platform, watching as Beomgyu’s train starts to pull away in to the distance without warning. You couldn't tell what he was thinking in the moment, but you could understand the mutual agreement between you two that you'll find each other at different times again, when you're both ready for each other, when you're both more mature to handle the oppression of the adult world that you're only just really entering in to.

Though, you can feel the weight of it in your bones- the quiet goodbye neither of you could say out loud. Your heart is heavy, aching with the kind of sadness that feels endless, like you’re watching your entire world fade into the distance, too helpless to stop it.

It's a crushing realisation, but you're satisfied because you're certain he'll come back. He always keeps his promises.

You lag behind Kai again in a park, the two of you now in Seoul 4 years later, you've always found it difficult to catch up with Kai, but he'd always find a way to make sure he was there to support you. That's just the kind of person Kai is.

But there's something heavy hearted that both of you have realised today. That after a year of dating- you were never meant to be.

Kai deserved someone who was capable of loving him back as much as he loved them, someone who wouldn't take his acts of kindness and his heart at a minimum and treat it as simply being 'nice'.

And you, you deserved peace, since moving to Seoul you've never stopped searching for Beomgyu, the sinking feeling once again that in such a big city it's difficult to even know if Beomgyu was roaming the same streets as you, if he even could walk around the streets of the city again. There's no lying in the fact that you appreciated Kai, seriously, he's one of the best people you could be blessed with on such a twisted world, but every time you look at him you imagine the latter instead. The weak boyish grin he tried to put on for you before he vanished again, and you can tell it hurts Kai when you start crying again just by staring at his face- because he's constantly overlooked in Beomgyu's shadow.

Like no matter what he does, he can't compete with fate, he can't try to sever what was destined to be, which leads you to today, 26 and 27, walking down the park during cherry blossom season when he turns around to face you with downturned eyes,

"Why can't you pick me over Beomgyu?" He asks with genuine sadness, which only deepens the wound in your heart because after 9 years you still don't know how to answer him.

"You still love him don't you?"

His question cuts right through to your soul, he's read you like a book, he's always been attentive like this and you can't look him in the eyes in case you'd start crying again like you always do.

"It's okay, I don't blame you. It's okay if you don't know why you feel this way. I just think, it would be best for the both of us to go our separate ways." Kai sends a slightly forced smile which quivers in to a frown at times as he reaches out to hug you first, because he can see it in the way that you act now that you need help, that you need someone who understands you on a deeper level,

you need Beomgyu.

And as the cherry blossoms start to fall and Kai's tall figure starts to wander off in the distance ready to start a new chapter of adulthood you feel eyes staring at the back of your head from above, the feeling of being observed. The familiarity of ruffled, black hair.

"Long time no see."

A/N: Please lmk if I need to make any grammar edits !! But this is my first ever big fic on tumblr!! Wooo, hopefully the angst actually hit at some points because that was lit my whole intent for this fic, reblogging or criticism is appreciated !!

tyunningism 's work !! 2025

tags: @whoisgami

[onmy20thwip]

i don't know if this has been said before but hear me out..

laurent's veretian accent coming through when he says damen's name

damen being absolutely obsessed with the way laurent says his name

damen's heart giving a little twitch every time laurent says his name. it's softer, sweeter than damen is used to his name sounding. it's adorable. damen goes feral for it. multiple water pitchers were probably harmed bc of this

(and maybe other parts of him love it too. particularly when they're in bed and laurent is repeating his name over and over like a soft prayer. actual music to damen's ears)

fast forward to a little after they join their kingdoms and laurent's akielon has improved so much that he can now spot when his accent is wrong and fix it. the first time he says damen's name "correctly" damen is like did you just stab me??

he makes laurent promise not to change the way he says it. laurent listens, for the most part, except when damen pisses him off and he wants to be petty, then he says it so perfectly and precisely you'd think akielon is his first and only language. damen is convinced an angel loses its wings every time he does it

[viviansturns]

i see everyone requesting for cocky subby chris so I'm gonna also

chris being flirted with by other girls and reader gets jealous and shows him who he belongs to and is lowkey mean 🤗✨️

cw: jealousy, orgasm denial, handjob, sub!chris

𝒄𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒚𝒔𝒖𝒃!𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑨𝑼

You notice it immediately

The girls—friends of Matt’s friends or maybe just some randoms who tagged along—are already watching him the second you walk in. One of them practically lights up the second she sees him. Tall, blonde, too touchy. The kind who flirts with her hand first and her voice second.

Chris doesn’t even try to play it down. He smiles back. Leans in when she laughs too loud at something he said. Lets her touch his arm like she’s got a right to.

You’re sitting across the room, jaw clenched. Trying not to let it show.

You keep your mouth shut through most of it. Pretend to scroll. Sip your drink. You know what he’s doing—he’s not interested in her, not really. But he likes the attention. Likes the way your eyes stay glued to him when someone else gets close. He wants to push. Test the waters.

And then—he glances over at you.

His eyes meet yours, and he has the audacity to smirk.

It takes an hour before you’re alone. Matt and Nick stay behind to clean up. You and Chris head back to his place, and he acts like nothing happened. Laughing. Talking. Grinning like he hasn’t got a damn clue you’ve been holding back all night.

The second the bedroom door shuts, you shove him against it.

Hard.

He stumbles, chest thudding against the wood, and before he can say a word, your hand is gripping his jaw, tilting his face toward you.

"Wha— what the fuck?"

“You think that was cute?” you ask, low and flat. “Letting her put her hands on you?”

Chris blinks, lips parted. His eyes widen just slightly. “I didn’t—”

You press harder, cutting him off.

“You smiled at her,” you snap. “You let her touch you. You let her flirt with you while I was right there, Chris.”

His expression shifts—cocky creeping back in at the edges.

“She wasn’t that serious. You jealous, baby?” he asks, mouth twitching into a smug grin.

Wrong answer.

Your hand drops from his jaw and shoves down the front of his pants without warning. He gasps—actually gasps—as your fingers wrap around him. Half-hard already. Of course he is.

“I’m not jealous,” you whisper, tightening your grip. “I’m pissed.”

You yank his sweats and boxers down to his thighs, forcefully enough to make him stumble. You press your palm flat to his lower stomach, keeping him pinned. He watches you, jaw tight now, a flush crawling up his neck. You stroke him once. Slow. Just enough to make him twitch.

“You think you’re a prize?” you murmur. “You think you get to walk around letting other girls eye-fuck you like I won’t do anything about it?”

He exhales hard through his nose. Tries to stay still.

“You’re mine,” you growl, hand moving again. “Mine. Not hers. Not anyone else’s.”

You start stroking him properly now—slow, excruciatingly slow, barely enough pressure to satisfy. Your thumb brushes his tip, smearing the slickness leaking out of him, and his hips twitch before he catches himself.

“Don’t fucking move.”

Chris clenches his fists at his sides. His cock pulses in your grip.

“You think I didn’t see you smirking at me?” you whisper, lips right at his ear. “You wanted me to get mad, huh? Wanted me to drag you back here and use you?”

He swallows hard. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t trust himself to.

You keep going, deliberately slow, your hand dragging over him with a cruel rhythm. His cock is fully hard now, flushed and leaking, twitching with every stroke—but you never speed up. Never give him enough to chase the edge.

He’s breathing harder now, biting the inside of his cheek, his head tipped back against the door like he’s fighting the urge to buck into your hand.

“You can stop pretending now,” you murmur. “You’re not tough. Not when you’re like this.”

A whimper escapes him—quiet, barely audible.

You stop.

Chris jerks forward like his body’s chasing the motion.

“Ah—fuck—don’t,” he pants.

“Oh, now you want to talk?”

You drag your fingers down his shaft, so lightly it’s barely a touch. He’s shaking now, thighs trembling.

“I didn’t say you could cum,” you say coldly. “You’re not gonna cum until you earn it.”

He groans softly, forehead pressed to the door.

“What was that?” you ask, stroking him just enough to make him twitch. “Wanna speak up?”

Chris doesn’t answer. He’s breathing hard, hips twitching again.

You grip his cock tighter.

“Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” he says, hoarse. “Fuck—I belong to you.”

You stop again.

Chris practically whines, chest heaving.

“That’s not good enough,” you murmur. “Say it like you mean it.”

“I’m yours,” he repeats, voice cracking. “I—I’m only yours.”

You smile.

“Good.”

You stroke him again—faster now, just a little. Enough to make him gasp. His hands go to your waist like he needs something to hold onto, but you bat them away.

“No touching.”

He whimpers again. You keep your eyes on his face, watching it fall apart. Watching the pride leave his body in real time.

“Please,” he chokes. “I—I need to cum. Please. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“You’ll do whatever I want anyway.”

And then you finish him.

One tight, fast stroke and he’s gone—hips jerking, teeth clenched, breath stuttering out of him as he spills over your hand, moaning through clenched teeth. His legs shake. His eyes flutter shut. He looks completely undone.

You slow your strokes as he comes down, watching the twitch of his cock, the mess he’s made, the ruined, flushed look on his face. His mouth is still parted like he’s trying to remember how to breathe.

You wipe your hand off on his hoodie and step back.

He leans against the door like it’s the only thing holding him up.

“You look pathetic,” you say. Then, without saying anything, you just walk away.

a/n: damn they lwk toxic as fuck 😭😭

kinda feel bad that i didn't write chris aftercare but yk what that's what you get for flirting w other girls

[afroslacks]

So Good Part 4/?

After a couple of drinks and finishing dinner, you silently sit in the booth, slowly blinking and looking around the restaurant. Feeling calmer and looser—that's what alcohol will do to you, unfortunately. “Oh, you starting to feel that liquor, lil mama?” Smoke declares, looking at you with that beautiful smile on his face, he reserves just for you.

You look at him with furrowed brows before smiling back. Elijah raises his hand and flashes his expensive watch to get the waiter's attention. He’s satisfied with your current state, you can tell, when you're woozy, willing, and desperate for his affection.

Your body starts to lean towards him as you lay your head on his chest, placing your smaller hand softly on his heart. “I’m ready to go home, Eli,” you confess. His heart beating in a steady rhythm causes your eyes to close. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, damn near pulling your legs onto your lap.

Because close isn’t enough in his eyes. His lips make their home on your head before uttering, “Come on, baby, stay awake; we didn’t even get started yet.” The waiter returns to your table just in time, taking a concerned look at your state. “Sir, is everything alright?” Smoke immediately replies, “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m ready for the check,” not taking him off the waiter to get his attention so he’ll stop looking at you. I

t's starting to piss him off because it's not his place to stare so hard at his woman. He knows that you aren't officially together, but, in his mind, you’re all he could see. There’s nobody else.

After a few moments, the waiter stands there, not ready to leave just yet. “Stop looking at her and go get the check now,” Smoke orders, sounding like the boss that he is in a harsh tone. That snaps the waiter out of his trance, and he immediately apologizes before walking away.

“You don’t have to be so mean to them, Eli.” The words escape your mouth with a soft pout on your features, hating the sound of his harsh tone. “They were looking too hard, and I didn’t like that shit,” he confesses and has his mind replay the look on the waiter's face. Placing your hand on his face, you push his face towards yours, making sure he can look into your eyes. “Eli, don’t worry about them; instead, focus on taking care of me. Think about what you’re going to do for me when we get home,” suggesting in the hope of Smoke not relating and ruining your date night. He doesn’t take things far often, but when he does, it gets ugly quickly.

His brown eyes take in your face, contemplating your words, trying to let it go to see a smile on your face. He always hates when you look into his eyes because it’ll instantly make him melt like a bitch in heat. It makes him feel powerless, and he hates that feeling because he then thinks about what could go wrong. “Nuh-uh, don’t get in your baby; stay here with me.” As the sound of your voice, sweet as honey, he silences the voices. Submitting to your pleas.

The waiter returns with the check in their hand, nervously handing it to Smoke. “I hope you both enjoy the rest of your night.” After paying for their food, Elijah slides out of the booth first, then walks over to your side, holding a hand out so you don’t stumble out, possibly hurting yourself.

Scooting forward to your place, your hand in his hand, standing up, the room starts to look a little off as you sway a bit once on your feet. You're not feeling nauseous, just off balance. “It’s alright, baby. I got you. Let’s go,” your sugar daddy says, pulling you closer. You walk with him as his hand wraps around your lower waist, brushing your curves, rubbing your booty occasionally as a self-soothing touch. Smoke leads you out the door, walking past the other restaurants patrons, some having conversations, sharing affection, or simply dining.

Just as you were before you got drunk as a skunk. Smoke Hand doesn't let up as he continues to mindlessly rub on you.

Getting closer to the car, he opens the car door, helping you get into the car. Before he closes the door, he leans over, pecking your lips repeatedly, making you giggle, some of your lipstick on his lips. The pad of your thumb swipes itself over his lips in an attempt to get it off.

He then gets in the driver's side of the car, starting the engine. As he drives, his playlist quietly runs in the background with occasional GPS cutting in every once in a while. Your body is turned to look at the night sky as you struggle to stay awake. Thirty minutes later the drive is over, and you're back at Smoke’s home.

He leads you inside, shutting and locking the door behind himself. “Go to our bedroom; I'll be there in a minute.” Your heart stops at ‘our’ because it reminds you that Smoke wants more, and it's a lot to handle considering the age gap between you both. It’s clear he wants something serious, but he’s treading lightly so he doesn’t scare you off, but you catch him slipping, and you have to pretend it didn’t happen. So he won’t bring up having a really heavy conversation. “Alright, see you in a bit,” you reply, steadying your heartbeat.

Flicking on the bedroom light, you take a deep breath, happy to be home. Home, you don't know why you said that because this isn’t home; it's your sugar daddy’s place. You're slipping up, and a player never slips up.

Shaking your head, brushing over your simple mistake. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you take off your shoe, placing it to the side. The sound of the footsteps getting closer causes you to raise your head to meet Elijah’s face as he leans against the door, crossing his arms over his chest and flexing his muscles.

There are no words exchanged between us. You look at him with want and hunger. He looks at you with the same thing reflecting in his chocolate eyes. Exhaling, you ask, “Are you going to help me take off this dress?” with a subtle, suggestive look in your eyes. He looks at you with a look in his eyes before answering, “Turn around.” Your heart races, but you still follow orders. Baring your backside to him, his fingertips trail slowly up your zipper. He reaches the top with the other hand, getting a grip on your neck, keeping you in place as he unzips your dress, placing wet kisses on your spine as the zipper gets lower.

Your eyes close at the sweet sensation. The feeling of wet kisses disappears as your dress is unzipped, causing you to audibly scoff, “Why’d you stop?” Elijah chuckles as you say, “Baby, we can keep going once you take off your clothes.” He promises. After taking off your dress, you sit on the bed as he stands in front of you, looking at your figure as you sit there in nothing but a pair of royal blue panties. Turning him on even more. Large hands place themselves on your face, pulling you into his lips, creating a smack sound. Elijah tilts his head to the side and then forces your mouth open so he can kiss you deeper, causing you to moan. Your tongues battle inside your mouth, creating a sucking sound. You kiss each other. little longer before you separate for a second to get some of your arms to wrap his neck, pulling him closer. “Please, please, please come back, Eli,” you demand. Your bare breast pressed against his clothed chest, silently wishing you were skin to skin and it felt more intimate.

His lips slam back onto yours, going in for the kill again, fighting for your tongue, wanting to pull it into his mouth, swallowing it whole. Breaking apart, he moves to your neck, planting wet, sloppy kisses on your neck and sucking an occasional hickey in your chocolate skin. “That’s it, baby, give me some neck kisses, show my body some love,” you praise, closing your eyes in pleasure and running your fingers through his waves, knowing he loves it when you give him praise and tell him pretty words.

He continues to get harder inside his trousers, poking your stomach. Elijah takes his head out of your neck. “Take off your clothes,” you demand with your lidded eyes. He raises a brow. “Oh, you think you’re in charge?” I told you I was running the show.” He started pulling away from you; he took a step back. “Take off your panties, and spread those legs for me,” he demands, dropping his voice low. At his words, you feel yourself get wet.

He holds eye contact with you as you take off your panties, refusing to appear scared because Mama ain’t raising no bitch. Scooting back slowly opens your legs, giving you a view of your cookie, as he likes to call it (because it's his favorite treat). His attention shifts to your clit hanging there by itself. He gets on his knees, getting between your legs. He wraps his big arms around your legs, locking you into place.

Leaning on one of your thighs, he sniffs your downstairs, closing his eyes at the smell alone. “Oh, she smells like she is ready for me,” he utters to himself, getting harder in his trousers. “She’s always good for you,” you reply, biting your lip at the comment. You look at him on his knees, feeling like you're on top of the world as you look at your best eater.

Smoke places his face in your nookie, giving it a tongue kiss, exploring your warm walls, wanting to taste every inch, not letting a lick of skin go untouched by his talented tongue. Moans spill from your lips as the satisfying sensation of a warm tongue on your pussy makes you not want it to end. “That’s it, let me hear you,” he praises before diving back in to eat his favorite meal. The bedroom fills with moans and slurping coming from his tongue. You place your hand on your face, covering your face at the embarrassment that you feel for folding like a bitch.

Feeling weak and defeated. Your stomach tightens as you feel yourself getting closer as he doesn't stop. One hand places itself on his head. “Baby, please give me mercy,” you beg, trying to turn away but unable. Your sugar daddy grins, showing you his bread, and his lips are dripping in your juices. “I’ll show you mercy when you come for me,” before going back to his meal. Chest rising and falling rapidly after he holds your clit in his mouth, flicking his tongue at your hole, engulfing it in warmth, your shout cumming. Your cream floods his mouth, and he swallows it immediately.

His eyes lock on your figure as his chest rises, and you look at the ceiling, unable to look at him. “Look at me,” you hear from underneath after your refusal. A hand grabs your jaw, forcing you to connect with Elijah. He just stares at you with this vulnerable look in his eyes that you hate.

before it confirms what you already knew, which is that it's becoming more than what it was supposed to be. ‘Don’t pull away from me.” Elijah sheds his clothes, standing before you bare and hung. But he just looks at you and stares at his member standing there looking very excited. He then gets into bed, and instead of taking the missionary position, he sits against the headboard. “Come here.” Grabbing you like you weigh nothing, he places you right before his length, not forcing you on it, letting you go at your own pace.

Your body raises itself right above his length, slowly sliding down, adjusting to his length. You groan, shutting your eyes. “Shit,” you curse, placing your hand on his neck. Elijah groans, biting his lip, closing his eyes at the sweet sensation of snatch stretching itself. Sliding down slowly, you finally surround all of him.

“Get to work,” the word breathlessly escapes his mouth as his hand grips your hip tightly. “Nigga, don’t rush me; you’re too damn big.’ You snap as your rhythm slowly picks up as you begin to find pace riding him.

Causing him to cycle before turning into a moan sounding like a star. Breasts bounce in front of his face as his favorite girl slides up and down your favorite face as moans fill the bedroom. Elijah forces his eyes open so he can look at you, refusing to let go of the sight of you for as long as he can.

“That’s it, ride me like the good sugar baby you are,” he says, gripping your hips tighter. One hand goes towards your neck, pulling your head down so he can affectionately peck your lips, craving your kisses. Even though you’re trying to concentrate. Sex between you two goes on for two hours before you finally tap out, tiredly cuddling in his arms.

a/n : I feel...dirty.

[magicalqueennightmare]

Marks

John Walker x Reader

John ends up marking you despite you thinking what’s between you means nothing to him. He proves you wrong

Suggestive language? Talking about sex?

You woke up to an empty bed which wasn’t a new occurrence. More times than not you would roll over after a night spent wrapped around John to find his side of the bed long emptied. You were used to it.

However what you weren’t used to was heading to get in the shower and seeing that your body was a freaking roadmap of that man’s lips, teeth and fingers. He’d marked you damn near everywhere and not all of it would be covered by your tact suit. Fuck.

The group was sitting in a debriefing room when you walked in. Bucky barely glanced up “Nice of you to join us” John expected you to bite back at Bucky. The two of you always went tit for tat but this morning you just mumbled a quick “Sorry Bucky” and took a seat on the far side of the table between Alexei and Ava, slouching down in your chair.

Bucky’s eyes jolted up at that, the super soldier examining you for a long moment “You good sweetheart?” John felt that same stab of jealousy that always went through him when it seemed like you and Bucky were having a conversation with just your eyes but after a moment you nodded “Aces, ready to roll” Bucky nodded slowly “Ok. You’ll be paired with Walker on this” a low groan left your mouth and John didn’t try to stop the corners of his lips from quirking up “Am I that bad honey?”

You finally met his eyes and held them before saying “Yet to be decided”

John had seen you pissed, seen you scared, seen you in damn near every mood. He had no idea what was going on with you. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to take out any guards. You were a one woman wrecking crew.  “Perimeter clear, do a final sweep then evac”  came through the coms, Bucky’s voice stopping you in your tracks. 

You looked up at John, putting your guns back in the holster and stooping to wipe the blood off your blades. He walked closer to you “Want to tell me what the hell is going on?” your eyes widened “The damn coms” he tapped his “I muted mine” you reached up to do the same and when you turned your head he got a view of his handy work, dark marks littering your neck and disappearing below the clothes line “Do you know how much hell I’ll catch? They’ll think I took some random douche home from the bar?”

“I’m sorry but you weren’t complaining about it last night” he offered and you damn near growled “Because the only time you want to be near me is when you’re inside of me” your words slammed into him. “What?” you threw your hands up in frustration “Forget it” you turned to walk off but he was faster. He had his hand around your arm and your back pushed against the wall “Talk,now” 

You crossed your arms “You fuck me at every chance then leave before morning yet I’m support to be ok with being covered in you?” he held your eyes then nodded slowly, undoing the top of his suit. “John,,what are you…” 

He leaned down “You’re gonna mark me. As big as you want, as dark as you want” “No” you whispered and he shook his head “Why?” 

“It doesn’t mean anything to you” you whispered, eyes dropping to the floor but his hand found your chin, gently cupping it so you had to meet his eyes “I leave because I don’t want you to regret waking up in my arms. I don’t want to get too close and break this like I’ve broken everything but I want this. I want you. Let the team know, today. Now. Mark me”

You stepped into his arms and he nodded as you leaned up, lips teasing at his. “Are you sure?” “Please baby” he begged and you damn near melted. Your lips met his in a hungry, desperate state. When you broke away from the kiss he started to chase your lips until he remembered what he’d asked of you.

You tilted his head, kissing across his jaw then down to his neck. When your tongue flicked out across the sweat covered skin, he groaned low, hands gripping your hips tightly. “Go ahead” he whispered so you leaned closer, rolling the skin in between your teeth, sucking a rather dark mark onto the flesh. When you pulled away to admire your handy work John looked wrecked, eyes dark “Happy now?” you asked and he swallowed hard “I’ll be happy when we get back to the watchtower. Just know you’re not walking off that jet. I’m putting you over my shoulder and carrying you to my room in front of the whole damn team”

You grinned and pulled him into a kiss “Then we better get to evac huh?

I got the prompt "Leave a mark on their body" from @john-ny-walker Spin the bottle challenge

[saintormentor]

m e a n i e c . s

i n w h i c h . . . chris prolongs your release when you whine, and then gives you four more.

w a r n i n g s . . . orgasm prolonging, multiple orgasms, smut, stomach bulge, degradation, crying, comfort

the sex felt mindless. detached. it was frankly pissing chris off, his movements sloppy and lazy.

your body was trembling, every nerve frayed from how close you were — how unfairly close — when he pulled out without warning. just like that. gone. empty. aching.

you gasped, eyes snapping open, chest heaving as your thighs instinctively tried to close, to hold onto something that wasn’t there anymore. but all you got was the sting of abandonment and the unbearable throb of denied pleasure.

“what the fuck,” you breathed, voice shaking more from betrayal than from exhaustion. “are you serious right now?”

he just stared down at you, dark and unreadable, his chest rising and falling like he was the one on edge. like he was the one about to break.

“you think you get to come that easy after the shit you pulled?” he muttered, low and cutting. his voice was calm — terrifyingly so — and it made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

your jaw dropped. “i didn’t even—”

“exactly.” he leaned in, nose brushing yours, that stupid, infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you didn’t do anything. didn’t apologize. didn’t beg. didn’t even say my name the way i like.” he tilted his head. “why would i let you finish?”

your hands clenched the sheets. tears of frustration welled in your eyes — not from hurt, but from the sheer tension knotted in your stomach, throbbing between your legs like a cruel punishment. “you’re such an asshole.”

“mhmm.” he pressed a single kiss to your lips. “but you like that.”

“i hate you.”

“no, baby,” he cooed, thumbing your swollen bottom lip. “you hate that you need me to cum. and i’m not gonna give it to you.”

you stared at him, burning, furious, unbearably needy — and he was already backing away, wiping himself off like he hadn’t just wrecked you without mercy.

“chris,” you warned, voice breaking. “don’t you fucking walk away.”

he paused at the door. glanced back.

“then don’t give me a reason to,” he said simply, and disappeared into the hallway.

you screamed into the pillow. and shit, you hated how much you still wanted him.

you laid there for a long moment, body still trembling, thighs clenched so tight it hurt. the silence in the room was deafening — not peaceful, not calm, but taunting. it mocked you. echoed your pulse. pulsed in sync with the empty ache between your legs.

your hand twitched at your side. you considered finishing yourself — just out of spite. just to feel something other than the shameful burn of need.

but it wouldn’t be the same. it never was. not after chris. so you didn’t.

you wrapped the sheet around your chest and stumbled off the bed, legs wobbly and weak, more from rage than anything. padding into the hallway, you found him in the kitchen — shirtless, sipping water like he hadn’t just ruined you on purpose. like he hadn’t just played god with your orgasm and walked away whistling.

“you think that was funny?” your voice cracked. you hated that it cracked.

he didn’t even look at you at first. just set the glass down and turned, slow, deliberate, leaning back on the counter. “wasn’t meant to be funny,” he said. “meant to teach you a lesson.”

“about what?” you hissed. “about how to become a fucking lunatic? congrats, chris. i’m there.”

his eyes flicked over you — the sheet, the flushed cheeks, the unsteady posture. “lesson about how actions have consequences,” he said smoothly, walking toward you. “and that maybe next time, you’ll think twice before pretending you don’t care.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but he was already there, tilting your chin up with a single finger.

“you came in here looking to argue. as usual.” he said, voice low, “but all i see is someone who still wants to cum, huh?”

you slapped his hand away. “you don’t get to control me like this.”

“i’m not controlling you,” he murmured. “i’m making you honest.”

and before you could reply — before you could say another word — he grabbed your wrist, spun you around, and bent you over the counter.

“chris—” you gasped, the sheet slipping off your body, heat flooding every nerve.

“you think i don’t want you?” he growled into your ear. “you think it doesn’t kill me not to cum in this messy cunt?”

he pushed just the head in, slow, punishing, and you whimpered.

“this time,” he said through clenched teeth, “you’ll fucking scream for it.”

he didn’t move.

just the tip — barely nestled inside, stretched enough to ache but not enough to satisfy. your fingers gripped the edge of the counter so hard your knuckles turned white, breath coming in sharp little gasps as your thighs trembled.

“chris,” you whimpered, trying to push back against him, just enough to take more, to pull him deeper.

his hand came down hard across your ass. a sharp smack. you yelped.

“don’t,” he warned. “you don’t get to set the pace.”

he rocked his hips — shallow, infuriatingly slow — just enough for the head to slip in and out, dragging against that first ring of resistance. you choked on a moan, back arching, your body betraying you completely.

“this is what you wanted, right?” he murmured, voice low and cruel. “wanted to be put in your place. wanted to be reminded who you belong to.”

“you’re such a dick,” you gasped, eyes stinging from frustration, from pleasure that refused to peak.

he leaned down, chest against your back, one hand wrapping around your throat as he pushed in just a little deeper—then pulled out again.

“and,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear, “you’re dripping all over me.”

you could feel it — the mess between your thighs, the humiliating slickness he was smearing all over with nothing more than the head of his cock. every time he rocked forward, it dragged through you, hot and swollen and soaked.

“please,” you breathed, and hated how desperate it sounded. “chris, please.”

he stilled. stayed right at the edge. unmoving. cock twitching against you.

“you gonna be good?” he asked.

you nodded furiously.

“say it.”

“i’ll be good,” you whispered. “i’ll be so fucking good, i swear—”

but he didn’t move.

he just pulled out again, rubbing himself through your folds like he wasn’t wrecking you slowly, deliberately.

“you think you deserve it?” he asked, now lazily trailing the tip up toward your clit and back down again.

“yes—“

he pressed the head in again. just the head. you bit your lip so hard you tasted blood.

“you haven’t earned it yet,” he said simply, cruelly, and god—you might’ve cried.

he was merciless.

he didn’t push in. didn’t give you what you were aching for, what your body screamed for. no — all he gave you was the thick, swollen head of his cock, nudging just barely past your entrance, then pulling out again. slow. calculated. cruel.

“c’mon,” he murmured, thumb brushing the base of your spine as he kept you bent over the counter. “you’re the one who said you didn’t need me.”

you were shaking, chest pressed to the cold marble, cheek turned, lips parted as you panted. “chris,” you whimpered, the name leaving you like a sob. “please—i can’t—”

“you can.” his voice was low, cruelly gentle. “you will.”

he rocked forward again, just enough for the tip to slip in, warm and thick and teasing right against that oversensitive entrance. he held it there, hands gripping your hips so tight it left bruises.

and then he started to move.

not fully — just that inch, back and forth, shallow thrusts that barely scraped at your walls but somehow still had your legs buckling. the friction built fast. too fast. too much.

“fuck,” you moaned, high and broken, your voice echoing in the kitchen. “it’s not enough—”

“then why are you already close?” he growled.

his grip on your hips tightened, and he kept that brutal rhythm — shallow, deliberate, precise. the tip hit just right, again and again, your swollen, aching walls gripping for more that never came. but it didn’t matter. it was too much and not enough all at once.

he reached forward and slipped his fingers between your thighs, finding your clit with practiced ease. rubbed tight circles, slow and filthy, while his cock teased you open just barely.

“gonna come just like this,” he muttered. “just on the tip.”

“i c-can’t—” your whole body was shaking, voice trembling as tears pricked your lashes. “chris, please—”

“look at you,” he cooed, “crying over a cock that’s not even inside you.”

and that broke you.

your body seized, thighs quivering as the orgasm hit — sudden, sharp, and humiliatingly intense. you cried out, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open and trembling as your walls clamped down around nothing. around just the tip.

he held you through it, fingers working you through every last wave, until you were a gasping, twitching mess against the counter.

and still — he didn’t push in.

“that’s one,” he said softly, brushing your hair from your damp face. “now beg me for the next.”

your breath caught on a sob, your thighs trembling, your core still pulsing around the emptiness he left inside you — or worse, almost inside you. it felt cruel, unnatural, unbearable. you couldn’t stop shaking, body still wracked with aftershocks that hadn’t fully ebbed, and he hadn’t even given you more than the tip.

and now he was standing behind you again, lazily stroking himself, your slick still shining on his skin.

“you feel that?” he whispered, running the head along your overstimulated folds, dragging slow. “you’re still soaking. messier than before.”

“chris,” you whimpered, face turned against the cold marble. “don’t—don’t make me beg.”

“i’m not making you do anything,” he murmured, leaning in. his lips ghosted over your ear, slow and low. “but if you want to come again? you will beg. and if you want me to fuck you—really fuck you? you’ll forget your pride.”

you stayed quiet.

and he pulled back.

“wait—wait!” you gasped, twisting around, reaching for him, tears in your eyes now. frustration, yes. but more than that. shame. need. aching need. “please,” you whispered. “please, chris. i need more. i can’t take just the tip anymore, i swear—i’ll do anything.”

he tilted his head, eyes dark with something mean and satisfied.

“then show me,” he said simply.

you dropped to your knees.

your palms hit the kitchen floor. knees spread, forehead pressed to the tile. it was humiliating. it was desperate. it was exactly what he wanted.

“good girl,” he breathed, stepping behind you again. he dragged himself along your folds one more time, the swollen head catching your entrance. “stay just like that.”

and he did it again.

just the tip.

back in, slow and shallow. dragging, teasing. and now you were so sensitive, your whole body twitched with every motion.

you let out a noise — something between a moan and a cry — as he picked up the rhythm, still not fully inside you, but fast enough to drive you insane. his fingers dug into your hips. your knees started to slide. the sounds were obscene.

“you gonna come again?” he asked, and you hated how proud he sounded. “gonna fall apart with just this?”

you nodded, face still against the floor. “yes—yes, chris, i’m—”

your voice caught again.

this one was even worse than the first. you shattered with a scream, legs collapsing, body going limp as wave after wave tore through you. and still he didn’t push in. still he didn’t finish.

you were crying now. overwhelmed. destroyed.

he leaned over you, kissed the back of your neck.

“that’s two,” he whispered. “you still want the rest?”

you nodded, broken.

he smiled, slow and wicked.

“then get back on the counter.”

your legs barely worked. they shook beneath you, slick with sweat and tears and everything he’d pulled from you without even giving you what you needed. your body throbbed with overstimulation, your thighs sticking together as you tried to move. but you did. because you had to. because when chris told you to get back on the counter, there wasn’t another choice.

you reached up, pulling yourself onto the marble, chest heaving, arms trembling under your weight. your cheek pressed to the cold surface, and your legs dangled, spread open behind you as you barely managed to stay propped on your knees.

you heard him behind you. the quiet smack of skin against skin as he stroked himself, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world.

he came closer.

his hand smoothed up your spine. his other gripped your hip, guiding you into place. “look at you,” he murmured. “ruined. still begging.”

you didn’t speak.

you couldn’t.

and he didn’t wait.

this time, there was no warning. no teasing. no more mercy.

he slammed into you in one sharp thrust, burying himself to the hilt — and your scream was raw, high-pitched, completely involuntary. your back arched, body locking up as the stretch hit like lightning. finally. he was inside. thick, deep, pulsing.

“there she is,” he groaned into your ear, his hand fisting your hair. “this what you needed? is this what you begged for?”

you sobbed out something that might’ve been a yes, your hands scrambling for grip on the counter as he pulled back and rammed into you again. and again. and again.

his pace was brutal. merciless. all control was gone now — his, yours — and he fucked into you like he had something to prove.

your body, already sensitive, couldn’t handle it. everything was white-hot. your vision blurred. your skin flushed. and the noises — the slick, filthy slap of skin on skin, the way you couldn’t stop moaning his name, the way he kept whispering how tight you were, how good you felt around him — it all pushed you higher.

“chris, i—i’m—” you choked out, tears running down your cheeks. “again, i’m gonna—”

“good,” he growled. “you’re not done ‘til i say you’re done.”

and then he brought his hand to your throat again, pulling you up by it, your back pressed to his chest now as he fucked you from behind, fully in, deep and fast and relentless.

your orgasm hit like a fucking explosion.

your scream echoed through the kitchen, loud and desperate and cracked, as your body convulsed around him, squeezing him so tight he cursed under his breath.

he didn’t stop.

not even when you collapsed onto the counter.

not even when you begged.

he just leaned over you, lips at your ear, and said—

“that’s three. now take one more for good measure.”

his hand slid from your throat, down your chest, over your stomach — hot and firm, fingers splayed as he pressed, slow and deliberate, right over that soft, swollen bulge.

“feel that?” he murmured darkly against your ear. “that’s me. that’s how deep i am.”

your eyes rolled back, a guttural moan escaping your lips as the pressure made everything worse — or better — you couldn’t tell anymore. your stomach twitched under his touch, your body already so wrecked you didn’t know where the pain ended and the pleasure began.

he pushed a little harder, palm digging in, and you felt it — the way his cock nudged something deep inside you, the faintest resistance, the unbearable fullness. it was obscene. intimate. wrong, maybe — but your body responded with a helpless clench around him anyway.

“look how far you’re letting me in,” he whispered, lips brushing your neck, his hips still snapping into yours, slower now, but deeper. filthier. “you’re taking all of me. like you were made for it.”

you sobbed something — a yes, maybe. a plea. a prayer.

his thumb circled the spot on your stomach, watching how your body tensed every time he pressed down and moved his hips in sync. like he owned your insides. like you were his to rearrange.

and god, he was so fucking deep.

“i can feel myself inside you,” he groaned, pressing just a little harder. “right here. stretching you out from the inside.”

you were gone. eyes unfocused. jaw slack. nothing in you had the strength to pretend anymore — not to fight, not to protest, not even to beg.

and he knew it.

he slid his other hand between your legs again, two fingers working your clit as he pushed up into you with a devastating roll of his hips, thumb still holding that soft bulge in your belly like he could mark you from the inside.

“one more,” he murmured. “you can give me one more. i want you to come while you feel how deep i am.”

and with his cock buried to the hilt, his hand pressing against your belly, and his fingers rubbing perfect circles over your clit — you did.

your body shattered around him, trembling and clenching and sobbing as the orgasm hit you harder than any before, your thighs twitching, stomach jumping beneath his palm. and even as you screamed, even as your body went limp — chris was still fucking you through it.

your body gave out before your voice did.

you were sobbing — not dramatic or performative, just real, guttural, raw. it tore from your chest before you could stop it, hiccuping around your breath as your limbs trembled against the counter, your face wet with tears, your body wrecked in every way imaginable.

“chris,” you choked out, broken and small. “i can’t—i can’t anymore.”

and instantly, everything changed.

his rhythm stilled. the grip on your waist loosened. and then, so gently it made the tears come harder, he slipped out of you and caught you before you could fully collapse.

“shhh,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you as he lowered both of you to the floor, letting your back rest against his chest. his hand cradled your head. his lips pressed to your temple, over and over. “i’ve got you. i’ve got you, baby.”

you sobbed into his shoulder, hands clinging to his arms like you were afraid he’d disappear. your body still trembled, overwhelmed and spent, but now the ache was emotional — too much, too fast, too deep.

he rocked you slowly, whispering soft apologies, his voice a stark contrast to the one that had ruined you minutes ago. “i’m sorry. i pushed too far. i’m so sorry.”

you shook your head against him. “no… i just… i don’t know why i’m crying.”

“it’s okay,” he murmured. “you don’t have to know. you don’t have to explain anything.”

he pulled a blanket from the couch and wrapped it around both of you, tucking you into his lap like something fragile. his hand smoothed over your thigh, your back, your ribs — grounding you with touch.

“you’re okay,” he said softly. “you’re safe. i’ve got you now. you did so good.”

you hiccuped. “i felt everything. it was too much—”

“i know,” he whispered. “i know, baby. you held it in for so long.”

you curled into him tighter, his arms wrapping around you like a shield, like a balm. and for a long, long while, he just held you. no teasing. no games. just warmth and steady breath, chest to chest, skin to skin.

and when your tears finally started to slow, when the trembling dulled into something quieter, he kissed your damp cheek and whispered again—

“i love you,” he said, barely audible. “even when i have to be mean. even when you cry.”

and somehow, that made you cry a little more. but it didn’t hurt this time.

not with him holding you like that.

you didn’t answer at first.

you couldn’t.

you just let yourself melt into him, boneless and quiet, his warmth pressed against every trembling part of you. your breath hitched now and then, like your body hadn’t fully caught up to the calm. your eyes were sore, your cheeks flushed, and your thighs still ached from how hard they’d clenched. but none of it mattered now. not with the way he was holding you — like you were glass and he hated himself for even nudging a crack.

“say something,” he whispered, voice hoarse, nose buried in your hair.

you swallowed hard.

“you love me?” you asked, voice barely above a breath.

his arms tightened instantly. he shifted just enough to pull you fully into his lap, both of your bodies tucked into the oversized blanket now. he looked down at you with eyes that weren’t cocky or taunting — just stripped. open. bare.

“yeah,” he said, no hesitation. “i do. even when you drive me crazy. even when i get in my own head and pull shit like that.”

your lip wobbled. “you… you were so mean.”

he closed his eyes. exhaled sharp through his nose. “i know. i was trying to prove something. trying to get you to feel how much i need you, even when i don’t know how to say it.”

you pressed your cheek to his chest. “there are softer ways to say it.”

his throat worked as he swallowed hard. “i’ll learn ‘em. if you let me. i just—i get scared sometimes. scared you’ll stop needing me back.”

you looked up at him, eyes still glossy. “chris. i don’t think you realize what you do to me.”

“i didn’t cry because you hurt me. i cried because i couldn’t handle how much i felt. because you don’t just fuck me, you undo me.”

something in his expression broke — softened. he reached up and cradled your jaw, brushing his thumb along your cheek like he needed to memorize every part of you.

“i don’t ever want to make you cry unless it’s from feeling too much love,” he whispered.

you let out a soft, tired laugh. “then you succeeded. idiot.”

he kissed you then. slow. grounding. nothing like earlier — no dominance, no teasing. just lips against lips, like an apology and a promise rolled into one.

you sighed into it, and when he pulled back, you stayed close.

“you want a bath?” he murmured. “or to lie down?”

“just you,” you whispered. “for a little while. just this.”

he nodded, resting his forehead against yours, arms wrapped tightly around your body. “then you’ve got me. all night.”

and this time, when your eyes welled again, it wasn’t from pain or frustration or overload.

it was relief.

[dreamqueenmab]

An in-depth too long analysis of odyssey! Telemachus’s sexism and the role that translation plays in it + mother-son relationship analysis

Ah, canon Homer Telemachus. Ithaca’s batshit pissed off prince. Recently I’ve been seeing some takes on telemachus that make my heart sad, so I’m going to blab about my interpretation of him in Homer's odyssey. Not epic, though I love epic very dearly. While epic! telemachus is a lovely determined boy, OG tele is quite the controversial figure. Namely: the sexist little shit allegations. These allegations are not unfounded, however, as someone who has read wayyy too many translations of the Odyssey, I have a lot of thoughts about Telemachus's behavior and the way it's interpreted. So here’s my extremely deep analysis into Telemachus’s attitude towards his mother in Homer’s original Odyssey.

First thing out of the way: Is Telemachus sexist? Yeah. Quite a bit. It's ancient Ithaca, of course he’s talking about being the man of the house. As much as I love the idea of spartan princess penelope, it’s unfortunately not very viable. When we read the Odyssey today, there’s a ton of shit that does not age well. However, when it comes to Telemachus’s dialogue with his mother, specifically, my interpretation of their relationship is a little different. (Only when it comes to penelope though the maid stuff is a whole other story).

In order to talk about different interpretations of the Odyssey, we’ve got to talk translations. Telemachus’s, and the behavior of characters as a whole, is oftentimes largely dependent on the translator. Case in point: If you read Wilson for example, Telemachus is unabashedly a sexist punk. But if you read Fitzgerald or Pope, he’s really not. And there’s a reason I think the latter are more faithful translations. While I like Wilson’s Odyssey, her goal was to create a very progressive version of the original. She makes a lot of changes to language to call out the problematic nature of the original, and is obviously going to make sexist ideas at the time blatantly more apparent for a modern audience. Nothing wrong with this and at times it's quite lovely, but her translation at times stands out as much, much, different than most of the other translators not only in language, but in intention. Let’s look at a specific passage from the Odyssey, namely the infamous moment Telemachus telling his mother to go inside after she addresses the bard, and from there look at the differences from translation to transaltion not only in what Telemachus says, but Penelope’s reaction.

Wilson: Sullen Telemachus said, “Mother, no, you must not criticize the loyal bard for singing as it pleases him to sing. Poets are not to blame for how things are; Zeus is; he gives to each as is his will. Do not blame Phemius because he told about the Greek disasters. You must know the newest song is always praised the most.  So steel your heart and listen to the song. Odysseus was not the only one who did not come back home again from Troy.  Many were lost. Go in and do your work. Stick to the loom and distaff. Tell your slaves to do their chores as well. It is for men to talk, especially me. I am the master.” That startled her. She went back to her room and took her son’s uneasy words to heart. She went upstairs, along with both her slaves,  and wept there for her dear Odysseus,  until Athena gave her eyes sweet sleep

Oof. Not a good look for Telemachus. Hold your horses though because again, no shade to Wilson, but there are… a lot of things off here. From the first line, “Sullen Telemachus”. Sullen? Wilson is the only person I've seen call him sullen, although tell me if I'm wrong plz, but in nearly every other translation he is always thoughtful. Thoughtful or poised, or clearheaded. That really does show the kind of bias Wilson had when translating, because even though it’s a good translation, I do think this one exchange in particular is very misinterpreted, and at times a bit odd in the wording. Take note of the placement of the word uneasy, which I’ve always found to be fascinating especially compared to other translations. Looking at these translations, it's very clear how different Wilson's is from the rest of them.

Lattimore: Then the thoughtful Telemachos said to her in answer: ‘Why, my mother,  do you begrudge this excellent singer his pleasing himself as the thought drives him? It is not the singers who are to blame, it must be Zeus is to blame, who gives out to men who eat bread, to each and all, the way he wills it. There is nothing wrong in his singing the sad return of the Danaans.  People, surely, always give more applause to that song  which is the latest to circulate among the listeners.  So let your heart and let your spirit be hardened to listen.  Odysseus is not the only one who lost his homecoming day at Troy.  There were many others who perished, besides him.  Go therefore back in the house, and take up your own work,  the loom and the distaff, and see to it that your handmaidens  ply their work also; but the men must see to discussion,  all men, but I most of all. For mine is the power in this household.’  Penelope went back inside the house, in amazement, for she laid the  serious words of her son deep away in her spirit, and she went back to the  upper story with her attendant women,  and wept for Odysseus, her beloved husband,  until gray-eyed Athene cast sweet slumber over her eyelids

Looking at Lattimore, often considered the most accurate, the changes are immediately very obvious. The sexism remains, especially in the latter half, but Telemachus isn’t sullen, and most importantly, the way he addresses her is not disrespectful in the way Wilson’s is. Not what he says, but the manner in which he says it. Wilson’s modern language translation is very brief, and Telemachus as a result sounds harsh, while Lattimore makes it obvious that he is addressing his mother, and in the way that a son respected a mother in ancient Greece, respected her. However, the biggest difference is Penelope’s response. She is not “startled” and his words are not “uneasy”.  In fact, it’s quite the contrary. He’s serious, and she can be interpreted as trusting him and being impressed at his stoicism, and it is fairly clear that she is awed and takes him seriously, and is not hurt by what he says. Also note the difference between “master” and “mine is the power in this household”. One is asserting dominance over his mother specifically, and the other is asserting dominance over his house, which coincidentally has 108 power hungry suitors in it. Huh. As for the sexism, he’s a man in Ancient Greece. Period-typical, BUT I am going to talk about my thoughts on that once we look at all of the translations (well not all of them but the ones we are discussing here).

Fitzgerald: But Telemakhos intervened and said to her: "Mother, why do you grudge our own dear minstrel joy of song, wherever his thought may lead? Poets are not to blame, but Zeus who gives what fate he pleases to adventurous men.  Here is no reason for reproof: to sing the news of the Danaans!  Men like best a song that rings like morning on the ear.  But you must nerve yourself and try to listen. Odysseus was not the only one at Troy never to know the day of his homecoming.  Others, how many others, lost their lives!"  The lady gazed in wonder and withdrew, her son's clear wisdom echoing in her mind.  But when she had mounted to her rooms again with her two handmaids, then she fell to weeping for Odysseus, her husband. Grey-eyed Athena presently cast a sweet sleep on her eyes.

Here we’re getting into a much more nuanced and interesting version of Telemachus and Penelope’s relationship, and this my personal favorite translation of the Odyssey. I adore Fitzgerald's language and highly recommend it. Again, Telemachus is not disrespectful at all to her, and again most importantly, Penelope does not take it that way. “Gazed in wonder and withdrew, her son’s clear wisdom echoing in her mind” Come onnn man. I would argue that this Penelope is much less fragile than Wilson's. She’s not startled at his “uneasy” words (sorry for harping on about that I just hate that word choice), she respects her son. And he respects her. This dynamic is much more interesting, because even though what Telemachus is saying is obviously not the most sensitive, she is not afraid nor resentful, and she sees him as brave and smart instead of rude/scary. (kind of like his father if you're feeling like drawing some parallels) Notable that Fitzgerald completely omits Telemachus’s sexist words here, but even then Telemachus does speak of men very often and bring up Penelope needed to deal with the song like the men do, so he's not completely erasing the hints of patriarchal elements. Now, let’s look at the last, and my personal favorite of this scene, and then finally into my interpretation of Telemachus’s remarks and Penelope’s reaction.

Pope: "Why, dearest object of my duteous love,"  Replied the prince, "will you the bard reprove?  Oft, Jove's ethereal rays (resistless fire)  The chanter's soul and raptured song inspire;  Instinct divine? nor blame severe his choice,  Warbling the Grecian woes with harp and voice:  For novel lays attract our ravish'd ears;  But old, the mind with inattention hears;  Patient permit the sadly-pleasing strain;  Familiar now with grief, your tears refrain, And in the public wo forget your own; You weep not for a perish'd lord alone.  What Greeks now wandering in the Stygian gloom,  With your Ulysses shared an equal doom  Your widow'd hours, apart, with female toil  And various labours of the loom, beguile:  There rule, from palace-cares remote and free;  That care to man belongs, and most to me."  Mature beyond his years, the queen admires  His sage reply, and with her train retires.  Then swelling sorrows burst their former bounds,  With echoing grief afresh the dome resounds;  Till Pallas, piteous of her plaintive cries, In slumber closed her silver-streaming eyes.

Ohh fuck that’s a sexy translation. That's the sexiest translation of all. If you've never read Pope and hate Telemachus, read Pope! I love Pope so much. Not the easiest to get through, but that man knew how to give us emotion. We’ve gone from bitchy sullen Telemachus to “dearest object of my duteous love”. Like?? That's his mom! That's literally the only person he has ever consistently been truly devoted to other than a dad who he's never met! And it goes both ways, like “mature beyond his years” godDAMN that’s so perfect. The reason I think “mature beyond his years” is by far the line that understands their relationship the most is simply because when we look at the context of his situation, let’s try to understand what Telemachus is trying to do. He’s NOT uneasy! He's occasionally pushing her away to show his status to the suitors (although it doesn't really work lmao they don't give a fuck), and she is consistently impressed by it. As for the argument that this is just as inaccurate to the original as Wilson’s, I disagree because there are a lot more common threads that connect Pope, Fitzgerald, and Lattimore than Wilson. The most obvious just in this scene alone is that Penelope is impressed by her son in varying different ways. Consistently when Telemachus tells her to leave and let him have the authority she is quietly impressed or surprised, and looking at the context of the situation we can understand why. Analysis time baybe.

The reason I keep bringing up the time period is because Penelope canNOT really do anything against these suitors. Odysseus is her husband, Telemachus is her son, they can do something. Women in ancient Greece did not have the power to stand up against 108 angry men, and that is reflected in the text. The way I have always interpreted Telemachus’s insistence on being the “man of the house” is that he needs to be. It is essential. If he is not the man of the house, he loses the freaking house. That is why Penelope is impressed here. Why she’s either “in amazement”, “gaz[ing] in wonder”, or “admir[ing] his sage reply” Telemachus is young, and is treated as such. In a lot of the translations he is not yet considered a man. His insistence on being the man of the house, and this scene in particular, imo is him just saying “let me try to take care of this. As the literal only guy left, I have to fill that space and get them to respect me or we are massively screwed." Is it toxic masculinity? Of fucking course! The man has no father in a patriarchal society, the daddy issues are real intense with this one. He has no male authority figure except for suitors who harass his mom, whom he defends constantly. I’m not going to quote anymore so just read the scene where the suitors find out his mom is lying about the loom. They tell him to kick her out and his response is literally “why would i do that that’s stupid” in everything except wilson’s. Telemachus, unfortunate as it is, NEEDS to be the man of the house or get his dad back. That is why his mom is always so impressed with him being bold, because him standing up for himself and asserting power as the man of the house is kind of crazy when you think about how there are 108 men totally willing to kill him in order to get what he is claiming as his own. Mature beyond his years guys! That’s why she says that! I love Pope so much!! Unfortunately when he tries to speak in front of the suitors, they completely shut him down and that’s when he makes his voyage bc he just kind of keeps crying and they do not give a shit lmao. Telemachus is obviously sexist in a lot of ways, all the men in ancient Greece believed that men had more decision making authority than women, but I blatantly disagree that he does not respect his mother. He is desperate to prove himself, to “be a man”, but at the end of the day he protects her and I think there’s something to be noted about him continually asking her to go to her room to avoid the suitors. In the scene I used to analyze, he asks her to leave and go to her room, but once the men start saying they want to lie with his mother, he tells them to stfu and that tomorrow they have to gtfo. These men are dangerous, and he as her son, and yes, as a man, probably wants to take care of him themself instead of watching his mother deal with them. Yes, he asks her to go to her room again towards the end but that’s because he and Odysseus are literally going to MURDER the suitors. He wants her to get out of the way, and again Penelope’s reaction to this says multitudes.

Fitzgerald:  “She gazed in wonder, turned, and so withdrew, her son's clearheaded bravery in her heart.”

Come on gang. Is that the reaction of someone who feels like her son is disrespecting her? He's brave! He's choosing to deal with 108 men on his own who disrespect and actively want to kill him, and Penelope admires the hell out of it! Anyways, I love odyssey Telemachus. I think the Wilson interpretation makes me so sad because in nearly all of the other ones you can see how he just wants to protect her and keep their home. He wants to be the “man of the house”, yes, but he is literally facing 108 men who are most likely much older than him and who fully bully him constantly. He is trying to grow up because if he doesn’t they can claim the role of man of the house and both he and his mother are going to be in a terrible position. Also btw to anyone who says his reaction to Penelope’s silence at Odysseus’s return is bratty, I think it’s a fucking hilarious scene because you can tell he pictured his parents reuniting so happily and emotionally after 20 and is literally so frustrated when she’s just staring at him. Give him a break he just killed 108 people to see this reunion and she’s just staring silently, ofc he's a little pissy about it. To wrap it up, here’s some of my favorite Telemachus Penelope reunion scenes because anyone who can read this and say he doesn’t love her makes me sad.

Fitzgerald: “Back with me! Telemakhos, more sweet to me than sunlight!  I thought I should not see you again, ever, after you took the ship that night to Pylos—  against my will, with not a word! you went  for news of your dear father. Tell me now of everything you sawl"  But he made answer: "Mother, not now. You make me weep.  My heart already aches—I came near death at sea.”

Literally mom stop crying you’re going to make me cry and I've been through so much, angsty teen behavior. Also look at her! She loves him! That's her boy! And that's his mom!

Pope: "Light of my eyes! he comes! unhoped-for joy!  Has Heaven from Pylos brought my lovely boy?  So snatch'd from all our cares !  —Tell, hast thou known Thy father's fate?  and tell me all thy own."  "Oh, dearest! most revered of woman-kind!  Cease with those tears to melt a manly mind,"  Replied the prince: "nor be our fates deplored,  From death and treason to thy arms restored.”

Brb fucking sobbing I love them leave them alone. Unhoped-for joy is fucking heartbreaking when you think about what Penelope's been through. Although peep the toxic masculinity at the end there. Read Pope. This whole long ass essay was begging you to read the Pope translation. Here's a cookie for making it to the end I love the odyssey and if nobody reads this i will be sad 🍪

[doliveiraa]

sweet like hell - lee felix

pairings : felix x fem!cannibal!reader

genre : horror, gore

warnings : dark themes, gore, blood (a shit ton of blood), murder, some suggestive scenes

wordcount : 1.5k+

a/n : so i based this fic off of “jennifer’s body”. i hope you guys enjoy! remember feedback and reblogs are appreciated!! ^^

you were the kind of girl everyone wanted but no one could have—not really. you walked the hallways like they were a catwalk, hips swaying, blood still wet on your lips from the night before. guys tripped over themselves trying to catch your eye, and girls watched you with a mix of envy and fascination.

lee felix wasn’t like the rest of them.

he didn’t look at you like a prize. he looked at you like he already knew your secret.

you first noticed him in the back of the library, headphones in, mouth curled in a soft half-smile as he tapped a pen against his notebook. your hunger stirred—low and hot in your gut—but you didn’t act on it. not yet.

he looked up. held your stare like it didn’t burn.

“hey,” you said, tongue flicking across your teeth. “you always sit alone?”

“you always hunt alone?”

you blinked.

he smiled. “i’ve seen what you do.”

most boys would’ve pissed themselves and prayed you didn’t drag them into the woods after dark. not felix. he leaned back in his chair and let you circle him like a predator.

“you don’t know anything.”

“i know you haven’t eaten since jake choi. he went missing after the homecoming game. last seen leaving with you.”

your lips parted. “are you calling me a killer?”

“i’m saying you’re hungry.”

your breath hitched. it wasn’t often someone saw you that clearly.

“careful,” you said, leaning down until your lips almost grazed his ear. “i might bite.”

“then bite.”

you grinned.

♡

you didn’t kill felix that night. instead, you kissed him. deep and slow in the backseat of your car, the kind of kiss that made your jaw ache and your thighs press together.

he tasted like cinnamon gum and defiance.

“why aren’t you scared of me?” you asked, nails trailing down his chest.

“maybe i like dangerous girls.”

“maybe i like breaking boys like you.”

“then break me.”

you didn’t.

♡

he found you the next morning behind the gym, covered in blood.

your cheer skirt was ripped, your skin glowing unnaturally beneath the moonlight. you were crouched over a body, still twitching.

felix didn’t scream. he didn’t run.

you wiped your mouth and looked at him, breathless.

“you followed me.”

“i wanted to see.”

“you saw.”

“is that what they did to you? the band?”

your stomach twisted. low shoulder, the indie band with eyeliner and too many rings. they’d taken you into the woods after that stupid bonfire, tied you down to a rock and sang some shitty satanic song while stabbing you again and again, thinking you were a virgin.

joke was on them.

you came back wrong.

hungry.

powerful.

a succubus with killer cheekbones and a grudge.

“you know,” you whispered.

“i know,” felix said, stepping closer.

“then why aren’t you running?”

he reached out and touched your face. “because i think you’re still in there. the real you.”

you flinched.

“don’t.”

“you’re not a monster.”

“i am.”

“then let me be yours.”

he became your secret. not a victim, not a meal—something in between.

♡

you’d meet in parking lots and dark classrooms, his hands tangled in your hair, your legs wrapped around his waist.

he knew how to touch you. how to make you forget the blood on your hands.

you never took from him. never fed. not once.

but you dreamed about it.

his pulse, hot under your lips.

the way he’d taste.

the way he’d scream.

“you don’t have to keep killing them,” he said one night, lying beside you on the bleachers.

“i do.”

“there’s other ways to stay strong.”

“not for me.”

“then let me help you.”

you rolled to your side, fingers brushing his collarbone.

“how?”

“give me a piece of it. share the hunger.”

you blinked. “you’d take that on?”

“for you?” he smiled. “yeah.”

you kissed him.

bit his lip.

tasted blood.

the change was slow.

felix started looking at people differently.

not like they were friends or classmates, but meals.

you weren’t sure if he was becoming like you or just slipping into your world.

you didn’t care.

he was yours.

♡

when the football team started dropping one by one, the town freaked out.

cops came to the school. parents held vigils.

but no one looked at you.

you were too pretty, too polished, too perfect.

except felix.

he looked at you like you were a god.

like he’d kneel if you asked.

like he already had.

“they’ll figure it out,” he whispered one night, lips pressed to your neck.

“let them.”

“you’re not afraid?”

“not with you.”

he pulled back, eyes dark. “then let’s burn it down.”

“what?”

“the school. the town. all of it. start over somewhere new.”

you smiled, wide and wicked.

“you really would do anything for me.”

“i already have.”

♡

you didn’t just burn it.

you made it bleed.

felix lured them out one by one, and you fed.

full. powerful. untouchable.

by the time the flames reached the front doors, you were already gone.

hand in hand.

fingers intertwined.

blood on your heels.

a trail of bodies behind you.

no regrets.

no apologies.

just love.

twisted. feral. forever.

doliveiraa ꪆৎ ― est. june '24 © do not copy or repost my content on other platforms

[toozmanykids]

Yep, I’m rereading this chapter too. This series was just so fun!

""Mmm, but..." your voice trails off as he slows and takes the steps with you one at a time, they're low and long, a rather tedious design.”

Again and again you show her mental state and mood, her resentful look on life in the most illustrative way. Omg she’s pissed - no she’s irritated by the steps. Not that she’s wrong, but damn she is so frickin grouchy! Reminds me of Bucky.

Andrew beat her down psychologically so much that she disparages herself before anyone else can , as well as when no one else is or would.

Not everyone is as judgy as she assumes. Not everyone is up to date and knows which labels come from where. Not everyone gives a damn what someone else is wearing. I’ve found that most of the time people are too worried about themselves to even glance at other people. Or if they do, who cares what they think anyway. Right?

Then again, when you’re forced to be around judgy people and their judgement directly affects you even though it shouldn’t — fuck!!! Like stuck in a marriage with Andrew?

Just tell me where and when to find him. And he won’t be bothering you anymore, girl. If Jonathan doesn’t take him out, I will.

Forgive me for getting carried away.

Helping Hand 8

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of divorce, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Jonathan Pine, 40s reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The car door shuts and jars you from your daze. You look over, your head bobbling as you squint at the empty seat beside you. You lean against your side of the car until the door opens suddenly and you're only kept from falling out by the restraint of the seat belt.

"Oh, dear," Jonathan's voice startles you.

You frown up at him, rolling your eyes to clear the fog. The last few days, the last weeks, months, and years all flow over you. The displacement of it clutches in your chest.

Just a minute before, you thought it was Andy who left you in the car alone, that you'd just sat through another of his lectures, more a dressing down. No, you're divorced now and that was a very long time ago. You wince as your shoulder thrums and give a pathetic wine.

Jonathan reaches across you and unbuckles the belt. He catches you as you slouch towards him, his proximity suffocating. He is your boss. You need to be careful.

Careful or what? You'll lose your shitty job and your shitty apartment. Big deal.

"Come, darling," he helps you stand, keeping an arm around you, "we can't have you falling now."

You set your feet, your body heavy and stiff. Your hips ache from the waiting room chairs and that persistent soreness that never seems to go away. You lean on him as he shuts the door.

He angles you around and you look up at the building before you. It's not what you expected. You're not at your apartment, instead walking, nearly stumbling, towards the sleek modern architecture of a detached house.

"Where..." you garble around your dry tongue.

"Well, the doctor did advise you not be left alone and you won't be using your arm any time soon. I figure for the time being, you might do well with some supervision, rather assistance."

"Mmm, but..." your voice trails off as he slows and takes the steps with you one at a time, they're low and long, a rather tedious design.

"But what?" He wonders lightly.

You blink as he stops you again, keying in the code on the pad beneath the door handle. You groan and shake your head. You should go home.

"I'll be fine," you argue.

"It is only one night," he counters smoothly, "I couldn't in good conscience--"

"You're too polite, you know that? And so proper," you mutter and let him usher you inside. You couldn't stop him if you tried.

He turns you and sits you a leather bench next to the shoe mat. Of course, his place is luxurious and immaculate. God, what he must think of the broken glass in your front door.

He bends to remove his leather shoes before he comes before you, kneeling to unlace your black orthopedic sneakers. The ones from Walmart with the memory foam. They don't do much for your arches.

"Why are you so nice to me?" You mope, brain fuzzy as your thoughts escape before you can filter them.

"Am I? Or am I just decent?" He scoffs, "darling," he stands with a grunt and bends over you, looping his arms around you to lift you, "I won't presume to know much of your previous entanglement but it might be that you've accepted treatment lesser than what you deserve."

He guides you through a broad square archway and into an equally refined room. You dare say your ex-husband might just drool at the aesthetic. He takes you to the couch and eases you down, pulling several cushions behind you before lowering you gently.

You tisk and look away from him, staring at the black and white portrait of Big Ben on the wall. You don't want to be here, it just reminds you of how pathetic you are. Look at you, broken and beat down.

You close your eyes and groan. You wait, refusing to look, until you sense him back away. You let out a long breath and try to relax. The tension is just making your arm throb and you don't have the energy to maintain it.

He returns and drapes a blanket over you.

"This should do for the time being. I've brought some lounge clothes you may borrow when you feel up to changing out of that uniform. Those things are not very comfortable," he chuckles, "I might make you some tea?"

"I'm fine," you grumble, letting your eyes open just slightly. Your head lolls as you feel ready to doze.

"If you'd rather sleep, that is probably best," he aquiesces.

"Hm," you sniff.

He lets out another soft laugh, "what? You disapprove of something?"

"No," you growl.

"You must. If it is some flaw I possess, I don't mind changing--"

"You," you snip, "you're too handsome and rich to be doing all this for me."

"Handsome?" He repeats coyly.

"Don't even try to pretend you don't know," your eyes close as you babble, "tall and blonde and... strong. I'm a divorcee who can't afford brand name mac and cheese." You yawn and sink back into the pillows, "I know it's only pity. Rich guys just wanna stroke their egos."

The words blaze in your mind as somewhere deep down, you know you shouldn't say them. You can't worry about your rambling as the painkillers mute any strand of sense left in you. He is right, sleep is best, sleep is your only escape.

[fuyungus]

Jason Todd fucking u until u cry !?!?!

Jason took you on a sweet date, he asked you to wear something nice because he was aware that you loved teasing him with those short skirts or dresses with no panties under. And obviously you didn't care what he said, you wore the tiniest skirt you owned with your pink panties that if you bended over anyone could see everything.

When you got out of your department your boyfriend was outside waiting for you on his motorbike, his face instanly went dead serious.

"You're fucking crazy if you think I'm gonna let you go out like that" you pouted and softly hitted his arm. "What's wrong with this?" you showed him your outfit in a 380° spin.

"I can see your ass popping out of that skirt". "So? You like my ass" coquettishly you got closer to him. "Yeah but I don't want the whole city to see what's mine...fuck it, get on the bike".

He was pissed off the whole night, with the man sitting on the restaurant staring at your ass, or the waiters looking shamelessly at your tits. Jason couldn't even focus on what you were saying, he was so full of jelousy. As soon as he payed for the food he grabbed you by your arm and dragged you outside were his bike was.

You didn't say anything, you knew he was mad at you. So when you got to your apartment you were waiting for him to just drop you off and leave, but he parked his bike and came in with you.

He doesn't like to fight, so he didn't say anything, he just sat at the end of your bed and waited for you to talk.

"Are you mad at me, Jay?" you asked sitting next to him. He didn't reply, he just grabbed you and made you sit on his lap. He started taking your shirt off as he kissed you.

Jason's kissed went from your neck to your abdomen, he made you lift a little bit from his lap to take your skirt, and on his way he ripped apart your little pink panties.

He dropped you on the bed and took his own shirt off. "What were you thinking, hm?" he asked as his fingers moved inside of your pussy to find your sweet spot, meanwhile his thumb played slowly with your clit. "Answer." you didn't and his hand left your cunt to slap your ass.

"I wasn't thinking, Jay, baby, please put it inside" you pleed as you clenched around nothing.

He didn't say anything as he inserted his fat cock inside of your little hole.

A couple of minutes passed and you were shaking on the bed, on missionary with your boyfriend still pounding hard at your cunt.

"Please Jay, let me cum" you asked as your hand went to play with your clit, he slapped your hand. "You really think I'm gonna let you cum after what you did tonight?" tears started to fill your eyes, you have been close to cum for so long and it hurted not bein able to do it.

A fat tear dropped down your cheek. "Aww, you're crying, baby? That will not help tho, you're not cuming tonight" his big hand moved to your cheek and he wiped your tears.

You grabbed the back of his head to pull him closer to you and kiss him, he started feeling you getting tighter and tighter. "Do you want to cum?" he asked as his short nails digged into your skin. "Mhm, Jay, please" his hand now circled your puffy clit "Cum then" he kept fucking you until he came inside of you "Thank you my love" you cried as you finally came

[havennz]

drunk nights | hwang hyunjin

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ cw: alcohol, suggestive, drunken angst, lowk toxic reader .𖥔 ݁ ˖ a/n:  don’t get me wrong but hyunjin and red is SUCH a combo like you got me giggling and shittt anyways, hope you enjoy !!

you can’t deny it. no matter how much you try to. 

you still miss him. every time you saw something that excited you, your head whipped around to look for him. why wouldn’t he set you free? why did every thought, sooner or later, lead you to him? 

seoul had never seemed so cramped. sightings of him were everywhere on your social media feed. living in constant fear of having to encounter him sooner or later, you had decided today’s evening would be spent in your apartment. 

the dim light over your head set a sombre atmosphere in your otherwise cheerful apartment. the dull voices of the drama you were supposed to be watching was supposed to help with it. but of course, it didn’t. just sounded like white noise. hana was supposed to be here. but she probably was running late. you emptily gazed into the television, eyes finding no refuge in the two leads sharing a gaze. honestly, it was so fake. it wasn’t like that with him.

with him, it had felt like there was an anchor to the ground. like the earth finally had something to offer you. like there was something to live for. each glance felt like a beginning of a romance. like a candle being lit. even when you were with him, you immediately would turn away if he caught you staring, cheeks red. not like whatever this was, 

but now, you felt so alone. the days had just been floating by. no anchor. no nothing. nothing to live for.

popping open the champagne bottle, you carefully poured some into a glass. it was a tuesday. or a thursday? did it even matter? the bubbles fizzed up like they had something to celebrate. you, however,  didn’t. you took a sip anyway, letting it sting a little going down. maybe it’d feel like something.

god, why did the apartment feel so loud when it was this quiet? the stupid drama was still playing. the leads were doing that slow-motion eye contact thing that was supposed to be romantic. you rolled your eyes and slumped further into the couch.

“fake,” you muttered under your breath. “so fake.”

not like it was with him. fuck. there he was again. rent-free. always showing up when you weren’t asking. like muscle memory. when you saw something funny, your first instinct would be to send it to him. when you passed that fried chicken place, you still thought  of how he’d always steal my drumsticks.

ugh. this was so annoying. you pressed your fingers to your temple like that would physically force him out of your brain.

you took another sip. a bigger one this time. no, you know what? fine. if he’s going to haunt you anyway, might as well make it official.

 you grabbed your phone, thumb hovering over his name in your contacts.

don’t.

no, do. screw it. you were tired of being the only one haunted.

y/n [11:47pm]: come over.

you stared at the message. bold. or stupid. maybe both.

the second it sent, you slammed the phone face down on the couch.  

oh my god what did i just do.

what if he says no? what if he says yes?

you drained the rest of your glass. either way, you weren’t  going to be sober when he got here.

- 

ding dong. 

fuck. i think he’s here. breathing into your palm, you checked your breath. god, you smelled. smelt of alcohol. smelt like everything he left behind. you know what, he doesn’t deserve me caring.

click.

he looks different. in the red leather jacket. (inhale) the one you had gifted him. 

“i thought…”

“come in.”

you could feel his tall presence looming over my shoulder. uncertain, you gathered. hmph. he didn’t have a right to be. 

“sit.”

and so he did. and you sat beside him. 

“y/n, w-”

“do you KNOW what an asshole you are?”

“...what?”

wringing your hands, you exclaim “why THE FUCK are you everywhere? like, i get you’re an idol, but WHY THE FUCK everywhere huh? you’re fucking pissing me off. do you get that? can’t you leave me alone?” 

“y/n”

“and don’t get me started on your things. why don’t you pick them up, huh? leave them here so that i can stare at them and miss you, huh? i see through everything mister.”

“y/n-”

“WHAT?”

“why are you doing this? you said we wouldn’t work out. so i listened, i gave you space. i- i didn’t bother you. but now, what’s this for? it’s unfair”

my dear, this is it, i have got to go.

three counts. 

one. 

two. 

three. 

“maybe i miss you, hyune”

“what?”

“what the fuck, y/n. you broke my heart two months ago, and i- i’ve been trying to put together the pieces. and i’ve finally got it. i was going to-”

“please, hyun. i think… i think we can do this again. let’s try one more time”

“y/n, i get you’re not sober right now. and i think you’re going to regret this.”

baby it’s falling.

you cupped his face in your hands, thumbs grazing over his cheekbone. immediately, you felt his face melting into your hands, his large eyes following your every move, eventually settling into your eyes.

“please”

your lips slowly met his, seeking comfort, shelter. but you didn’t expect him to return it so fiercely. this wasn’t rough, no. this was your hyunjin. the one that still loved you, somewhere down there in his heart. 

he kissed you like it was muscle memory. like nothing had changed, like no time had passed. like his heart hadn't been shattered, piece by piece, in your absence. but it had. and so had yours.

your fingers curled in the soft strands of his hair, and he let you. he always let you.

“don’t,” he breathed against your lips, forehead resting against yours now. “don’t come back just to leave again.”

“i’m not leaving,” you whispered. “not this time.” hyunjin’s eyes fluttered shut, and for a second you saw it—the hesitation. the quiet storm behind his lashes. but then he opened them again, and it was gone.

he pulled you in, arms around your waist, like he didn’t trust his voice anymore. like if he spoke, he might break. you held him just as tightly.

neither of you moved. the room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside, and the frantic thud of your heart against his. you didn’t need to say it—that you missed him every day. that it hurt to see him in your dreams more than in real life. that this wasn’t just about tonight.

and when he finally spoke, it was barely a whisper.

“then stay.”

you kissed him again—a little deeper this time, hands wandering, not searching for anything in particular. just needing to be closer.

“y/n,” he murmured, gently breaking the kiss. your lips lingered near his, like they were waiting for him to change his mind.

your hands slid down his chest. you didn’t say anything—you just looked at him with this soft, pleading kind of desperation.

“please,” you breathed. and it wasn’t just about sex. it was everything—every fight, every lonely night, every version of ‘i miss you’ you never got to say out loud.

he took your hands in his, stilling them.

“don’t,” he said softly. “not like this.”

your brows pulled together, just slightly.

“i want to. i want you.”

he shook his head, forehead resting against yours again, like he couldn’t bear to be farther away, even if he was saying no.

“i know,” he whispered. “but you’re not sober. and i… i need to know it’s real. that you’ll still want me tomorrow.”

you swallowed hard. the weight of his words settled in your chest like an anchor.

he wasn’t angry. he wasn’t cold. he was just… steady. kind.

like always.

your eyes burned, but you blinked fast, refusing to let the tears fall.

“okay,” you whispered. and he kissed your temple.

“just sleep,” he said, pulling you into him. “just stay.”

you curled into his warmth, his heartbeat thudding quietly under your ear. and for the first time in months, it felt like home.

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