#yes I have lost my ever loving mind but enjoy

[blainesebastian]

yours

word count: 13,918 ship: guy thwarte x reader rating: NC-17 (for smut, suggestive language and expletives) summary: You know that some of society thinks the same things about Guy that your father does--that he's easy, likeable, charming…but not 'good enough' to be called someone's. Yours. You can't think of anything that feels less true. notes: the romantic in me needed this to happen haha there's something about period piece romances that do something to me 🥹 it'll probably be just this one fic, but i really enjoyed writing it! thanks to anyone who gives it a shot! appreciate you 🥰 notes2: gifs from here, nick leister masterlist here!

April.

Drawing in a deep breath, you look out over the property that’s been in your family’s name for generations. This is one of your favorite spots, under a large, looming tree, spreading out behind a small lake, the sounds of bug song trilling in your ears. Leaning back against the trunk of that tree, you fiddle with the bodice of your dress, your thoughts spinning through your mind like unstitched yarn. 

The realization has finally settled in today that your big sister is taking over the family name. Or rather, the family responsibility—because nothing truly belongs to a woman. Not when they’re married. 

Especially if the man is a brute. 

You lost your mother at a young age, barely remember her other than the smell of flowers and the mustiness of books. Duty has weighed heavily on you and your sister’s shoulders ever since because, after all, finding a suitable and wealthy husband is no easy feat. Since you’re younger, Cassandra has shouldered most of that task, showing herself off at countless luncheons, parties, events and balls like a butterfly spreading beautiful wings. You’ve always hated things like that, have overheard far too many men who’d be more than happy to pin those wings into place and never let her fly free again. 

Despite knowing this, your sister has never minded—would smooth your hair away from your face during early hours of the morning and speak of marriage as if it was a contract. As if it didn’t matter whether she loved someone or not. 

You’re not sure how to live that way. 

And yes, you might be the younger sibling, but you’re still expected to marry one day, your father will still have the final say. You love him, unsure what you and your sister would do without him, but it’s times like this that you miss your mother. 

You miss what could have been, what might be, you miss the assuredness of comforting words and sage advice. 

Maybe then you might be able to tell Cassandra that there has to be a better way than to end up with Louis. Lord or not, must she be expected to sacrifice everything? Even her wellbeing? 

Running a hand along your forehead, you nearly jump out of your skin when you hear a branch break in the distance, shattering your concentration. Your gaze whips over your shoulder, heartbeat thundering in your ears, and then draw in a breath when you realize it’s Guy. 

“You nearly gave me a heart attack.” The hand that was resting on your chest slides down your dress. 

A small smile teases the corners of his mouth as he comes to stand beside you, “My apologies. Never my intention,” He angles his body a little towards your own, “After all, if you perished, who would I speak to about the dreaded theme Lady Brightlingsea will no doubt put together for her next ball?” 

You hum lightly, a warmth returning to your chest that felt dwindled before, “I’m sure you’d manage.” 

“Unlikely.” 

You turn a little, your eyes drinking in the profile of your neighbor. Your family and the Thwartes have lived on the same land for a long time, this tree and small lake a connecting feature for both the households. As long as you can remember, Guy has always been there. Someone who you dearly call a best friend, a confidant…a secret feeling. You can’t recall when something shifted between the two of you, only that it did, seeing him somehow as you always have and brand new all at the same time. 

He’s always had a solid frame—though you’re certain that has less to do with physicality and more with how dependable Guy is. He’s dressed in a long-sleeved button shirt rolled up to his elbows, a navy blue waistcoat buttoned overtop. It’s simple, plain, paired with black slacks, and yet it just highlights the trim lines of his body. You linger on his face for what feels like far too long, eyes different shades of brown thanks to the daylight surrounding them, scruff along his chin, trimmed and orderly, tight curls kissing his forehead. 

A sight to behold, for sure. 

There’s warm amusement as he catches you looking, motioning to the lake in front of you both. “Hiding out?” 

Chewing on your lower lip, you shrug, pushing yourself up from leaning on the tree, “No. What gave you that impression?” 

He smiles a little, as if you can’t hide anything from him. Maybe you can’t. “Because you’re here. You usually only end up at the lake when something is wrong. Or you need space.” He takes a step closer to you, the fabric of his shirt brushing your arm, “And given that you haven’t told me to leave—” 

You can feel the heat of his body through his clothes. Through yours. And you visibly swallow, straightening your shoulders, 

“This is your spot too.” You’re not about to ask him to leave. 

Guy is quiet for a few moments, his hands interlocking behind his back. “Your father came to the house looking for you. Obviously I have no idea where you are.” 

Your lips twitch, “Obviously.” 

“Clearly.” He agrees and then smiles again, more earnestly. He leans into you, gently bumping his shoulder into your arm. “Is it about your sister?” 

“Isn’t it always?” You ask wryly, though that comment feels unfair, especially since you know Cassandra is relatively fine in the situation she has found herself in. 

She bears that responsibility with grace, far better than you ever could. Not to mention, you think she likes it, the show and dance of it all, the attention, the future laid out before her in even and expected stepping stones. Maybe it’s easy for her because she’s known all along where her destiny would take her, she’s been preparing for it her entire life. 

It’s not as simple for you to swallow. Especially since marriage has always seemed like such a far-off concept. 

“I’m just…” You draw in a deep breath, focusing on the way the water ripples underneath the light breeze, “I’m sad for her, I think.” 

Guy is quiet, contemplative, but when you look at him, his eyes are bright and empathetic. He’s always been a listener, someone you could talk to, share secrets with, trust. He’s not exactly the stellar example of a society member either—you know that he’s been struggling with money, with keeping his mother’s house, with debating whether it’d be better to stay alone or find a wealthy woman to make his wife. 

“It’s not enough that she has to carry the influence of our household but the fact that she’s had to marry someone so…” A breath leaves your lungs and you struggle for composure, your hands wringing in front of you. 

Guy steps closer, a quiet comfort, his hand finding your back. His touch is calming, up and down your spine, never lingering too long in one place. It’s not proper for him to be touching you, as a single woman of marrying age, society might consider you as somehow indecent, damaged…unworthy. And yet none of that has ever bothered you, regardless of what people think. Here, tucked away underneath an old tree, the breeze off the lake brushing cooly over your skin, you feel hidden, like something well-cherished. You lean into him, your shoulder pressing into his chest. 

“Have you spoken to your father about your concerns?” 

You shake your head, sniffling, Guy’s hand coming up to rest behind your neck. His thumb brushes the muscle there, back and forth. 

“Cassandra won’t allow me to. Louis is well-to-do, handsome, influential and wealthy.” You tuck a strand of hair that’s slipped free from your updo behind your ear, “And that’s all anyone cares about.” 

And maybe that’s unfair to say, given that you know your father would care if he knew. But it’s also about propriety, about a scandal, about your family ending up better than when you started. Things like that matter to your sister and father. The happiness of a wife and how she’s treated…are irrelevant. 

“I’m sorry,” Guy finally voices, the timber of his voice vibrating against you. “I know it has to be difficult for you, wanting to help and not being able to.”

A tiny smile pulls at the corners of your mouth, “Think your mother used to call me a meddler.” 

That garners a true laugh from him, “A menace.” He corrects, “And you are one. But she meant that affectionately.” 

You’re glad that he’s smiling when mentioning his mother—you know how difficult it’s been for him since he’s lost her, that not much time has passed. Though you know that time is often irrelevant, you miss your mother too, as if it was yesterday even though you were young when she passed away. Being able to speak with warmth when it comes to loss, to grief, lends to how much love that person has left behind. 

You hum lightly, turning a little, your hand finding one of the buttons on his waistcoat that’s loose. You know playing with it will likely make it fall off, but you can’t stop yourself, wanting to feel connected to him in some way. Wanting to touch him but unsure how to without it feeling like more. 

You tip your chin up to look at him, warmth spreading like a bloom in your chest as his eyes find yours. His other hand brushes that stubborn strand of hair away from your face again, tucking it behind your ear. 

Thinking about what he said, about how his mother meant that term affectionately, you raise your eyebrows at him. “Do you mean it too?” 

Guy’s eyes slip down to your lips, a brief gaze and yet it feels like eternity. “I do.” 

Before you can say anything else, or live within this single heartbeat, thunder booms nearby. It is all the warning you receive before it begins pouring. There’s a moment of brief disbelief as rain filters in through the branches of the tree, some covering you before the onslaught becomes too much. A squeak leaves your lips, the rumble of a laugh leaving Guy’s chest before he wraps an arm around you. 

He hoists you in the direction of his home, the complete opposite of where you should probably be headed but you can’t find it within yourself to care. You don’t want to go home, as awful as that sounds. When he moves forward in two large steps, his hand reaches back to grab your own, rushing with you through the sheets of water. Despite the quick movement, you’re soaked when you enter through his front door. 

As it closes behind you, another sound of amusement leaves Guy’s mouth and he shakes himself out almost as a dog does when caught outside in inclement weather. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you take a brief look around, the corners of your mouth pulling down just slightly every time you notice something else is missing. A portrait, an extravagant rug or elegant piece of furniture. Another item of Guy’s past sold to make his future a possibility. 

He misreads your expression, reaching out to touch your arms with his hands, “I’ll get a fire going.” 

So much he has to do on his own, the wait staff no longer employed. You would never comment on that, you know he can handle it but…it doesn’t mean he should have to. You still worry. “It’s really not n-necessary.” 

He smiles a little, amused, “Tell your chattering teeth that.” 

You draw your lower lip between your teeth, an action that is not missed by him, his hands lingering along your arms as his gaze flickers to your mouth. “I don’t want you to fuss.” 

Guy draws in what seems to be a calming breath, dropping his hands and taking a step back as if he needs that distance. “You’re shaking. It’s no trouble.” He motions with his hand towards his sitting room, as if you don’t know the layout of this house like it were your own. 

Heading into the large sitting room, you make your way around the couch and bypass it completely to stand in front of the fireplace. There’s plenty of wood and within a few moments, a fire roars to life. A soft sigh leaves your lips and you lift your trembling fingers near the flames before rolling your shoulders back. 

“Did you know my grandfather thought he could tell when it was about to rain?” 

Guy shifts besides you, undoing his waistcoat with deft fingers. 

“He always said his right knee ached—” Your voice immediately falters when you turn and see him tugging the waistcoat away, met with the material of his white shirt sticking to his skin, sheer, almost. Your mouth opens slightly and despite knowing you should look away…you can’t. 

Even when he lifts his chin to look back at you. “You didn’t inherit that from him, I imagine.” 

You blink. What? “Oh,” You laugh softly, shaking your head, “No. Obviously not.” 

A twinge of a smile on his lips, “Unless you like getting caught up in it and just never told me.” 

“Not like this,” You admit, glancing down at your dress. It’s beyond damp, the bottom dripping into the carpet, the fabric plastered against your chest and arms and creating a chill to seep down your spine. “This dress is rather heavy when wet.” 

“We could always take it off.” Then his eyes widen as he seems to realize what he’s said, “I mean—that’s.” He opens and closes his mouth like a fish caught in a net. You can’t help but smile at his flustering, how sweet it is. “Obviously I would find you something dry to put on.” 

You hum lightly, “Obviously.” 

“Right,” He mumbles, clearing his throat before taking a step back, “Well…I’ll just…” 

And then he turns, abruptly, to head out of the room—your guess would be to head upstairs to find you something to slip on. Amusement pulls sharply on your mouth, making you laugh, a warmth beginning from the inside out that has nothing to do with the fire. 

—

There are moments in your life that you would say define you, moments that feel ingrained, living in your lungs and blood, in the crevices of your heart. 

Somehow all of those moments involve Guy. 

—

7 months ago—September.

As much as you love dancing, you would rather never attend a party framed as a ball. Every interaction becomes a transaction, every stolen glance becomes a game, every dance a spectacle. But one would be a fool to ignore an invitation from the dowager duchess of Tintagel—and at this point, you know Theo as well as you know Guy. 

Moving through the beautifully decorated ballroom, you take another glass of wine off a tray, bringing the crystal to your lips for a long sip. Since you’ve arrived, you’ve lost sight of your father and sister, Cassandra making the rounds to find a husband or at least dance with as many eligible men as she can tonight. 

You’re just trying to slip under the waves of attention, quietly disappear, maybe involve too many glasses of wine and dance to a few songs. Alone. 

You should be so lucky. 

Unfortunately, you’ve garnered attention from several men, those that need no introduction, Lords that, at this point, know who you and your family are. And that you are of marrying age. By the eighth attempt by six different men (Lord Brandt really cannot take a hint), you excuse yourself towards the hallway to use the lavatory. 

In reality, you just don’t want to be followed. 

A headache blooms under your eyebrow and while you lean against the banister of a set of stairs, you close your eyes for a moment to rub your fingers along your forehead. A soft groan leaves your throat, your heels also beginning to throb from moving around the ballroom all night. It almost makes an ironic smile pull at your lips because…your feet hurt from outrunning men, not from dancing. A shame. 

Tugging off one shoe at a time, you hold them in your hand and tip your head back to look at the ceiling, the buzz of chatter and music floating in from the other room. You consider finding a balcony or something to get some fresh air. 

“Is that... Y/N L/N in a dress the color of violets?" 

You can't help but smile, transferring your shoes from one hand to the other. Turning slowly so that your dress swishes, you peer up to see Guy leaning against the banister of the second floor of the same staircase, smiling down at you. 

"Or is that lavender?" He asks, "Either way, both incredibly out of season. You're not trying to cause a scandal, are you?" 

Your smile grows, "God no, how will I ever find a husband that way?" You both know that’s not really a question, crinkling your nose the whole time, and it makes Guy laugh. 

When he makes his way down to you, he reaches for your hand, giving you a playful twirl in a tight circle as his eyes appraise. "He'd just need eyes, I imagine." 

Heat crawls underneath the collar of your dress, making you feel slightly lightheaded. Maybe that can be blamed on the full-circle spin after too many glasses of expensive alcohol. "I don't think it's that simple." 

Guy hums softly, pursing his lips. He hasn't let go of your hand, some of your fingers intertwining. "Fools then, the lot of them." 

Your heart feels like it might burst from the sentiment and if you were alone, you might kiss his cheek. But here, in public, you can do no such thing. Instead, you squeeze his fingers, shifting the conversation before you do something regrettable. 

"Speaking of fools, that's why I'm already tucked away. My feet ache," Your nose wrinkles again, "And Lord Brunt's hairline is nearly as bad as his breath." 

Guy's sudden guffaw makes an unrestrained giggle slide from your lips and you place your other hand over your mouth as he sneaks a look into the ballroom, "That's who you've managed to charm tonight? Out of everyone?" He glances towards the right at another familiar face, "Your sister seems to be doing well with a Lord herself." 

You watch Cassandra dance with Lord Louis before looking back at Guy. His hand is still in yours, his thumb absently tracing circles along your knuckles. He's astoundingly handsome in a three piece suit, black silken fabric pressed into the long, lean lines of his body. He smells of the woods, something clean, fresh. And your eyes trace a few tight curls resting on his forehead, begging you to reach up and toy your fingers through them. 

You're about to say something, anything as a distraction, when Lord Brunt appears out of nowhere in front of you. Your back goes rigid, faltering a step back so that the much older man does not step into your space. "Ah, there you are Lady Y/N, I've been searching for you." He grins, "Might I have the next few dances?" 

Guy bristles beside you, his hand reaching behind your back to pluck your shoes free. He shifts them to hide behind his body while his other free hand grips yours. He then encourages you to hold onto the inside of his folded elbow, demure and nonchalant. 

"I'm afraid she's been spoken for," Guy replies, his voice smooth as cool water. He holds Brunt's gaze, unwavering, something predatory in the depths of his brown eyes that's gone almost as soon as it appears. He licks his lips, "Of course, that's after we find her shoes. They seemed to have run off." 

Brunt blinks, looking down at your feet. "I see." 

"Yes," You speak up, clearing the small squeak in your voice. You can feel more than see Guy's lips twitch in an almost smile, "I think maybe around the lavatory somewhere." 

"We can check there first," Guy nods his head, "Good evening, Mr. Lundt." 

An unladylike sound surges forth at Guy purposely calling Brundt the wrong name but you fail to keep it clamped down. You try to cover it with a laugh as Guy steers you in the opposite direction, towards another set of stairs. Once you’re free and clear of Lord Brundt, you linger, standing on one of the steps so that you're an even height with the man in front of you. 

"I believe a 'thank you' is in order." He teases. 

You scoff out a laugh, reaching to fix his bowtie which isn't at all skewed, but it gives you an excuse to remain close. "Is that so?" 

Guy hums in agreement, his eyes brushing over your face, as if he's seeing you for the first time at this angle. "Actually, it's two-fold." 

"Is it?" You ask, "And why is that?" 

He lifts his hand, "Because I found your shoes." 

A bright smile spreads across your face, an unbridled laugh making your cheeks feel warm. This...might be one of the best balls you've been to in a while. You reach for your shoes, holding onto his shoulder with your hands, one at a time, to put them back on. 

"Why, thank you," You smooth your hands down your dress, playing along, "How can I ever repay you?" 

And because he knows you, he takes a step back and outstretches his hand for you to take, "How about a dance?" 

A zing of heat travels up your arm when your palm connects with his, allowing him to tug you off that step and guide you back into the ballroom for the next song. This is not the first, nor the last time, you and Guy will dance together. And yet when he pauses in the middle of the floor, facing you, his hand guiding along your back, pulling you close—it’s never felt like this.

An entire room filled with people, yet he’s the only one that you see.  

—

November.

Drawing in a deep breath, you center yourself as you walk through the tall grass, heading to a familiar destination. The same one you end up at every year at this time, on this day, no matter the weather. A chill courses down your spine and you tilt your head up to look at the gray sky, the clouds like puffs of smoke. You wonder if it’ll snow. 

You pull your thick cloak closer around your shoulders, passing the lake on your family’s property to a small area with headstones. When you were younger, you always used to make spooky comments to your sister that this area of the estate was haunted, that you could hear ghosts moaning in the middle of the night. Turned out to be wind passing through crevices in the windows and doors in the late hours, but still. 

Sometimes there’s a comfort in thinking someone is still here. That your mother��

You put a hand on your chest, swallowing over a thick emotion that feels like it’s capable of taking you out at the knees. Your bodice feels far too tight suddenly. 

Spreading a blanket out on the ground, you gather your skirts to adjust and sit in front of your mother’s headstone. You drag your fingers along the moss covered stone, tracing letters carved there that have faded from weather and time. Somehow, coming every year gets harder and easier all at the same time. 

You sense him before you see him, Guy’s presence something you know like the back of your hand at this point. He lingers behind you for a moment before joining you on the blanket, close enough that you can smell soap and citrus, can feel the heat of his body pressing along your own. You turn your head a little, almost smiling, your eyes falling to what’s in his hands. 

A bouquet of flowers. 

Tears instantly well in your eyes and you have to hold a breath in your lungs so it doesn’t shudder out of your mouth. 

“Hey,” Guy says gently, mostly in reaction to your emotions. His free hand reaches for one of yours, squeezing your fingers. 

“Hi,” You reply, sniffling. “You didn’t need to bring anything.” 

He sets the bouquet on top of the stone, the chilled breeze brushing through the field and rustling the petals. Something blue and purple, soft greens. It’s lovely. Thoughtful. The sentiment reaches directly into your chest and squeezes. It means everything that he’s here, that he’s always there when you need something. Someone. 

A thought flutters in the back of your mind, something that’s dangerous to consider. Something that you can’t keep. He’s not yours to keep. You shake your head, sniffling as a tear slips off your eyelashes and down your cheek. 

Guy reaches a hand out, thumbing it away. “I wanted to.” 

He wanted to bring flowers. He wants to be here. You squeeze his hand a little tighter, probably hurting him, yet he doesn’t move. 

It’s quiet for a few moments, another shiver that you’re not sure has to do with the cold making your body tremble. Guy inches closer, presses his shoulder into yours, both of his hands covering your right hand, warming it. You stare at the stone, almost feeling your chest wanting to cave in—if it weren’t for Guy showing up, you’d be alone. And while you were ready to weather that, it doesn’t mean you wanted to. Or should have to. 

“My father and sister don’t find any use in visiting, you know. Because it’s…” You trail off for a moment, trying to find the right words, even though those don’t feel like they exist. You settle with, “Because it’s the past.” And even that feels wrong. You remember your mother even less than your sister does, being some years apart, and yet you’re here. 

“I don’t know, I think there’s something comforting about being here, next to her, with her.” You turn your head to look at Guy, whose eyes are already on you. Gaze gentle, open, compassionate. “Do you think that’s foolish?” 

He quickly shakes his head, “No. No, of course not.” 

You draw in a sharp breath, suddenly realizing— “I’m sorry, this…this must be so difficult for you.” 

Death. Mothers. Grief. 

He nods gently because yes, it is. And yet, “You have nothing to apologize for.” His thumb traces the back of your hand. Back and forth, a comforting rhythm, “I’m here because you’d do the same for me. Because I care about you.” 

You swallow over a lump in your throat, those tears feeling like they’re overwhelming you again. This day is difficult as it is and then there’s Guy, here, being there for you in a way that is not altogether new. And yet it feels like something you’re clinging to, pulling you through the storm, a lifeline. Guy, who doesn’t need to be here, who is struggling with something similar and possibly more painful. He’s just lost his mother—you barely knew yours. 

You close your eyes for a few moments, attempting to center yourself before speaking again, “I know I was really young when she passed but it’s…” 

Of course he gets it. “Like you’re mourning for something that never was. Or…what could have been.” 

A shuddered breath claws out of your throat, “I hope she’d be proud of me. I don’t—” 

“Shh,” Guy murmurs, “Hey, of course she’d be proud.” He catches your chin between his fingers, angling your face towards him. “Of course she’d be proud.” He repeats, making sure he holds your gaze so that the words sink in. 

Your lower lip wobbles but you nod. You know you’re not exactly living up to society standards but…you take care of your family best that you can. You’re happy. You’re honest with yourself about what you want and what you need. About who you love. 

You hope she’d be proud. 

“Come here,” He says gently, encouraging you to lean into him, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You instantly fold into his chest, burying your face in his shoulder, breathing him in. The crisp smell of snow mixes with his comforting scent, his hand sneaking up and under the cloak you’re wearing and pressing into the knobs of your spine. 

You squeeze your eyes closed, tears seeping into the fabric of his coat, arms winding around his waist. You linger there, holding one another, until snow begins to gather on the blanket. 

—

December.

There’s something about Christmas that makes you feel relaxed down to your bones. With the snow flurries outside making the inside feel cozy and intimate, there’s the constant glow of fires and candles along with the smell of chestnuts, pine and mulled wine. You’ve also always been a big fan of gift giving, even outside of the season, just a small way in showing someone you care for them. All your presents are carefully wrapped and tucked under the tree…except the one you’ve gotten for Guy. 

That one is sitting on your bed, tissue paper gently tucked around it. You’re still…unsure if you want to give it to him, worried that it’s too much. If he’ll like it. You suppose it’s the thought that counts but. Still. It’s been something you’ve been thinking about for a while. Christmas is the perfect time to hand it over under the guise of nonchalance. 

Usually you enjoy the festivities that your family puts together—an intimate party for extended family and friends, but this year it’s a little different. Your sister is set to marry Louis and…while you’re excited for her, this gathering has become more of a pre-wedding get-together than a holiday celebration. It’s all anyone can talk about, any time you spin towards someone new with a glass of warm, mulled wine in your hand, cinnamon stick swirling in the glass—how excited you must be for Cassandra, how lucky she is. 

And while these things are true, it’s taking pieces of Christmas from you, of the intimacy and memories you associate with this party at your estate. Selfish? Maybe. But is there something so wrong with that? 

Before you can run into Louis’s mother, who’s eyeing you up across the foyer—because of course Louis has a brother your age, you make a quick turn out of the room. A sharp noise leaves your lips as you collide with—

“Guy!” 

He manages to hold onto his small plate, a glass of mulled wine in his other hand. His eyes are a tiny bit glassy, telling you he’s been enjoying himself. You knew he was here but you hadn’t managed to find him yet. How fortuitous. 

“I’m sorry,” You laugh softly, helping him stabilize everything he’s got. 

“Menace.” He teases, using that tone of endearment that his mother gave you when she’d call you that. 

A breath of relief leaves your lungs to see him, but also that you didn’t manage to ruin the maroon knit sweater he’s wearing. The color does wonders for his complexion, for the soft brown of his eyes. Swallowing down a wave of butterflies trapped in your chest, you straighten your shoulders. 

“I was looking for you.” 

He raises his eyebrows, motioning to the room you’ve come from with his plate, “Couldn’t help but notice the scowl you’ve been wearing half the night, so I figured I’d bring you something.” 

“Cheese?” You ask, a bubble of a laugh in your voice. 

Guy crinkles his nose at the sound but there’s amusement in his gaze, “Who doesn’t love cheese?” 

“No, I do,” You touch his hand with a grin, “Very thoughtful, thank you.” 

Reaching for a small block of white cheese, you pop it into your mouth, chewing with enthusiasm. Guy’s lips twitch, 

“Spirit lifted?” 

“Tenfold.” You agree, glancing past him towards the steps. “But I can also think of something even better…” 

You begin to walk past him, tugging on the sleeve of his sweater. As if you’d need to encourage him to follow…he’s always right behind you. That warm weight of awareness sits low in your chest, licking downward in a way that makes you feel dizzy. You blame the wine as you snag a bottle right off the table that’s supposed to be used for the mulled bowl right next to it. You then lift up your skirt so you don’t trip going up the steps. 

You can hear Guy’s footstep behind you, all the way up, towards your destination—

“The roof?” He asks, “It’s freezing.” 

You stop in your bedroom first, picking up the small gift that’s for him, using a side entrance of steps to the attic and finally, the roof. You wave the bottle over your shoulder, 

“That’s what the wine is for, drink up Thwarte.” 

He smiles, shaking his head as if you exhaust him and yet he can’t get enough. 

There’s no protest from him as he takes the bottle from you, having a long sip as you both maneuver your way outside. It’s stopped snowing, just cold, yet not the wet kind that tends to sit too long in your lungs. It’s crisp, not windy, so it’s…it’s almost enjoyable. The heat of your skin certainly thinks so as you wander along the edges of the roof, tipping your head back to look at the spackling of stars. 

It’s perfect. 

Turning to look towards Guy, you grab the bottle from him when he offers, pulling a short sip into your mouth. It’s not as sweet without the spices and the coolness on your tongue is a slight jolt to your system. But it feels good to be up here with him, drinking, escaping a bit. You carefully set down the gift you got him in a spot that doesn’t have snow or dampness and sit down too. 

He raises his eyebrows. “We’re really doing this?” 

“Don’t be such a spoil sport.” You tease, “It feels good up here.” 

Guy hums, sinking down next to you, his body warm and solid and…there’s this ridiculous urge to bury your face in the fabric of his sweater. One that you outright ignore by looking at the stars again. 

“Feel like I’m always running into you when you’re trying to hide.” 

A small smile tugs at your mouth, looking over at him. The moon is big and bright, casting a cool glow along his curls, the handsome panes of his face. He appears almost iridescent, more beautiful than you feel like you could commit to memory. It makes your chest ache for some reason. 

“Not from you,” You assure quietly, as if a secret, as if it’s important for him to know. “Never from you.” 

He smiles too, gently bumping his shoulder into your own, “I know.” His fingers linger along yours when he takes the bottle back, “You’re a safe space for me too.” 

You breathe in, deeply, the cold air lighting your lungs up like a Christmas tree. But you feel more alive that way, in a sense, a small dizziness beginning behind your eyes from the wine. It’s a warm sensation, rose-colored. Safe. You think that describes how you feel when you’re around him perfectly. 

And because something else lingers on the tip of your tongue, Guy tilts his head a bit when he looks at you, reading words unspoken as easy as breathing, 

“You don’t like him, do you?” He asks, “Louis?” 

You’re not sure that you do. You’ve heard unseemly conversations about Louis, about him having a heavy hand, but it’s all just gossip. Nothing well-founded. And even if it was? Telling Cassandra, you already know, most likely wouldn’t change anything. 

You shake your head, “Doesn’t matter what I think.” 

Guy licks his lips, the bottle set down between your bodies. “It matters to me.” 

His words, paired with your attention drawn to his mouth, has you searching for another distraction. You clear your throat, remembering the gift for him that you brought up. 

“Speaking of mattering to one another,” You smile a bit, picking up the small square canvas, wrapped in tissue paper, that’s slightly larger than the palm of your hand. “I’ve got something for you.” 

Guy’s shoulders go a little rigid, staring down at the gift for one heartbeat, “You weren’t supposed to be getting me anything.” 

You shrug your one shoulder because…you certainly never agreed to that. When Guy mentioned maybe skipping an exchange this year, you merely let him believe whatever he needed to. You know why he offhandedly mentioned it, because he doesn’t have money to spend. And that’s fine? You don’t need anything. 

But that didn’t mean you weren’t going to get something for him. 

He doesn’t take it from you. “I don’t have one for you.” 

“Guy,” You say, voice stern but tone warm, “You know I don’t care about that.” You lift your hand with the gift, pushing it gently towards him. “Please.” 

He lets out a long sigh from his nose before taking it, unwrapping the tissue paper with a gentleness you know him for. Sometimes you picture his hands undressing you like that—careful, deft, almost reverent. 

His sharp intake of breath snaps those thoughts loose, your gaze lifting to his face as emotions swim immediately to the forefront. He tugs the tissue paper further away from the small portrait of his mother that you had done, nature around her, in all the ways that you remember her. Beautiful and vibrant. 

“I know it’s not much, I just…” His silence makes you nervous, wondering if maybe you’ve made a mistake. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him. “I know you’ve had to sell a lot of the portraits of her and I—”

“Y/N,” His voice is thick with emotion, a sheen to his brown eyes. It’s like he doesn’t have the words, just shakes his head, brushing his thumb over the face of his mother. He sniffles, composing himself before speaking again, “I wasn’t sure what Christmas was going to be like this year. You’ve made it…bearable,” He whispers. “Worth celebrating.” 

You smile, lifting your hand to cup his cheek, brushing your thumb over the bone. Leaning against his side, he wraps an arm around you, keeping you close as he looks down at the portrait again. You feel Guy shift, tipping his chin down, pressing a kiss to your temple. It’s something that he’s done before…and yet it feels brand new. 

It’s the best gift he could have given you. 

—

February. 

Smoothing your hands along your dress, you try not to fidget with nonexistent issues in the fabric. There’s nothing wrong with what you’re wearing, and yet it feels like it’s suffocating you. This God-forsaken bodice. You had the corset laced too tight or something because it’s almost like it’s crushing your ribs, making it difficult to breathe. The wine you drank a little earlier is sitting heavily in your stomach, a sickening feeling swirling forward like you’re on a ship. 

Your father insisted on hosting another party, this one with the sole purpose of finding you a husband. And while he hasn’t set a date for you to marry, given that his oldest has been, it’s highly encouraged that you begin courting someone.

Or rather that someone begins to court you. 

The concept makes you absolutely nauseous. Half the night has been spent dancing (which you usually love), paired with shallow conversations, unwanted hands brushing against your lower back, shoulders, arms, and a man actually trying to touch your face. You feel like your skin is crawling. 

Thinking some cold, fresh air will do you some good, you move through the dining room towards the balcony, turning a corner and bumping right into Louis’s younger brother. Xavier. He reaches out a hand to steady you but you pull yourself back, making amusement tug the corners of his mouth. 

He’s handsome, it’s a shame his reputation is just as loathsome as his brother’s is. 

“Sorry,” You clear your throat, “Just need a little bit of air.”  

He hums, lifting his drink to his lips. “Escaping?” You don’t like the tone of his voice, like you’re somehow ungrateful for your father putting this together. And while you never asked for something like this to be done…you still appreciate where he’s coming from. Regardless that he’s doing all of this for the wrong reasons. 

You don’t need a husband. Not until you’re ready. 

You’re about to offer an invitation for Xavier to step outside with you, just so he’ll step out of your way, but then he opens his mouth, “A bit inconsiderate, don’t you think? Given that this whole event is for you?” 

You feel yourself bristle, straightening your shoulders. “Needing to take a breath is inconsiderate?” 

He’s got some nerve. Yes, your father put this together for the sole purpose of having you consider your options, but not everyone in attendance is here for that. A party is a perfect excuse to drink a little bit too much, dance, and most importantly: gossip. That’s what the majority in attendance is doing tonight. 

He reaches for you, his open palm resting against your upper waist, “Maybe your dress needs to be loosened.” 

You jerk back from him a bit, but your hip bumps into a nearby table positioned against the wall. “Don’t touch me.” You snap, bringing your hand down onto his wrist. 

He maneuvers you far too easily, using his weight to create an imbalance, pushing you against the table so you’re trapped against it. He locks your arm down by your side, pressing himself into you, bringing his head down to speak against your cheek. 

“This entire party is a ruse anyways,” He whispers, gripping your chin between his fingers, “You’ve practically been promised to me.” 

You feel ice slither down your spine, blind panic bubbling in your stomach at his words. That…that can’t be true. Your father would never—

“You’re lying.” You wish your voice sounded stronger. You hate giving him the satisfaction that the notion scares you, that the loss of your freedom, of your ability to choose, crushes something inside of you. 

His smirk is cruel, “Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy being my wife. Your sister certainly enjoys being Louis’s.” 

You bite down on the inside of your cheek so you don’t do something as shameful as crying, emotions building up in your chest and clogging your throat. It’s almost completely overwhelming and you try to channel it in a way that matters, that restores a semblance of self-control. You bring your knee up and step, hard, heel first on his foot. 

Xavier hollars, jumping away, but before you can rush down the hall, he grabs your elbow and yanks you towards him so violently that your head nearly snaps back. 

“Take your hand off of her.” 

A breath of relief instantly skitters from your lips as you turn to see Guy coming down the hall, his eyes boring into Xavier. And while his expression is calm, cool, stoic even, the brown of his eyes are the embers of a roaring fire. He’s pissed—barely controlled as he comes to stand in front of you both. He’s only a half a head taller than Xavier but the tension in his body makes him appear as if he’s towering over him. 

Xavier scoffs, unaffected, “Excuse me?” 

A muscle in his jaw clenches, “You heard me.” 

God, this is bad. Not only are you caught up on the awful reality of Xavier’s previous words, you don’t want this to turn into some sort of scandal. You know Guy—he’s sweet, thoughtful, gentle, but he’s also protective of who he cares about. He’s not about to back down from this, from seeing you in this position. There’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he doesn’t care about what happens to him, but you care. You don’t want him to get hurt. You don’t want whispers and scandals to involve him. 

You step forward to place your hand on your friend’s chest, “Guy, it’s alright—” 

Xavier grips your arm, making you wince, “See? She's perfectly fine. Besides, she could use a little help in finding her place.” 

The flash of pain on your face, combined with Xavier’s words, is all it takes for Guy to snap forward. His fist flies through the air, cracking him in the nose and causing him to stumble backwards. Your arm dislodges from his grip and before things can further escalate, you press on Guy’s chest. 

“Stop,” The tremble in your voice breaks his attention, his gaze finding yours. The harsh edges around him soften and he nods once before his hand snakes down to carefully squeeze yours. 

Xavier is still sputtering behind you, but luckily Guy is leading you both down the hallway, towards the kitchen. You don’t even spare the other man a backwards glance, have no idea whether his nose is broken or he’s bleeding or whether he’s perfectly fine. You don’t care. You’re shaking from leftover adrenaline and the cruel words that Xavier spouted before Guy’s arrival—you have to talk to your father. They can’t be true. 

He tugs you into your kitchen, a few staff handling food and refilling beverage trays. 

“I need a few minutes.” You manage to tell them and wait until they all file out before squeezing your eyes shut. Your breathing is a little unsteady as you attempt to get your bearings, a soft noise leaving your lips when you feel Guy wrap his arms around you. 

He gently encourages you to lean against his chest, his one hand smoothing down your back while the other massages the muscles of your neck under your hairline. It takes several minutes, but you eventually calm down, your hand wrapping around one of his biceps. 

“What were you thinking?” Your voice is muffled along the fabric of his suit jacket at his shoulder. 

He lets out a slow sigh, “To be fair, I wasn’t. Just saw red at the look on your face.” 

You swallow, pulling back a little to look up at him. You’re not sure how all of this is going to unwind, what Xavier is going to mention to his family, to your father, but at least…at least your sister’s marriage is secured. It feels silly to be thinking of concerns like that but the last thing you want is for this to somehow impact Cassandra. 

You look down as his hands slip away from the back of your body, and you reach for his right wrist. Splaying his fingers open, you wince at the reddish bruising beginning on the bones of his knuckles. 

“Your reputation is going to go right down the drain.” You mumble to which Guy lets out a short laugh, mostly air out of his nose. 

He waits until your gaze meets his own, “I don’t care.” 

Your stomach does a full flip, and regardless of how sick you felt in the dining room before all this happened, you find yourself utterly at ease in his presence. Your eyes linger on his lips far too long and you pull yourself away before doing something foolish. Making your way towards the icebox, you grab a chunk of ice and wrap it in a tea towel, bringing it back over to him. Guy shifts, leans back against the kitchen counter, allowing you to take his hand again to set ice down on his sore knuckles. He pulls a face, his eyebrows drawing together before his shoulders even out. His thumb brushes back and forth over your own. 

You concentrate on the task in front of you even though his hand is relatively fine, no broken skin, no blood, but it gives you something to do while your mind spins. He angles his head down but doesn’t say anything, waits for you to tell him what’s still bothering you. 

You’re not sure you even want to get into it, shaking your head, “Sometimes I really hate being a woman.” 

A small smile tugs the corners of his mouth. It’s not what he expected you to say, “I would look rather silly in a dress.” 

That encourages you to laugh and based on his expression, that was his intention, “I don’t know, I think you certainly got the legs for it.” 

A laugh rumbles in his chest as well and the sound blooms heat in your stomach, curling lower. You pull the ice back to check on his hand before bringing it up to your face. You place a kiss on his knuckles and Guy visibly swallows, his thumb moving to trace the line of your jaw. 

Suddenly the words unfortunately unspool from your lips, “I think my father might want me to marry Xavier.” 

Guy’s body stills, his jaw clenching as he listens to you. His reaction flames that same heat to curl in your veins, spreading it throughout your body. You suddenly feel far too close to him, the warmth of his body kissing your skin, the scent of pine and something purley him brushing against your nose. 

You look down at his hand, tracing circles into the underside of his wrist, along the tree of veins there. 

“I have to talk to him about it. I’m sure he wouldn’t…” You shake your head, chewing on your lower lip, “Xavier mentioned—”

“I wouldn’t believe a word out of his mouth,” He finally offers, his voice more of a comfort than he realizes. 

And maybe he’s right—it certainly wouldn’t be the first time men have told you things that were lies. To garner favors, attention, respect. Xavier definitely seems like a person who might do that. Who’d want to make you squirm, influence you, hurt you. Just because he can. 

Guy turns the hand that you’re holding so that his fingers can grip yours, “Your life is your own.” 

And as you linger in the kitchen with him, your hands joined, fingers slowly lacing together—you wish more than anything that that were true. 

—

March.

You speak to your father. And while Guy was right, Xavier was just trying to get under your skin, you’re still expected to find a husband before the next season. Someone suitable. You suppose you should be thrilled, given that some parents choose outright for their daughters who they’re going to end up with. But…you also know that while the choice might fall into your hands, it’s an illusion. You can’t pick just anyone. 

There are standards, expectations. Things you couldn’t care less about. 

Your father might not tell you explicitly, but you can see it in his eyes when you talk to him about what happened with Xavier. About Guy. He’s grateful that Guy didn’t allow anything to happen, his expression is fond, something that comes from knowing the Thwartes for so long.  

But there’s also a sternness to him, like he can sense where this conversation might be going far before a certain thought colors everything for you: he likes Guy, he thinks he’s a good man—but he’s not the marrying type. 

Of course this would come down to money, to prestige, to influence. 

 And, what—someone like Xavier would be more ‘fitting’ because he has money to burn? The fact that Guy Thwarte is a good man should be more than enough.

As you walk through the grass towards the lake on the estate, you try to push as many of these thoughts that you can right out of your mind. It’s not as if you and Guy haven’t spoken about marriage but…never between one another. 

It’s not just about the technicalities, either. You know how you feel about him, how you’ve always felt about him, but that doesn’t mean he feels the same way. Doesn’t mean he’s interested in being tied down. You know just as well as he does that marriages to influence and money mean something, and while you’ve got something sizable to offer…he could want more than that. 

He’s the man you’ve always talked to about everything and suddenly you have no idea how to speak to him about this. 

The weather is fading into a soft chill, no longer freezing or snowing, but not yet spring. You glance down at the edge of the lake, reaching the toe of your boot at the water and tap the surface. A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth because this would be absolutely absurd to do…and yet. 

Making the decision before you can change your mind, you tug your coat off, toeing your boots to the side. Parts of your dress go next, even though getting out of the bodice and corset is difficult, a ping of sudden excitement at the thought that you won’t be putting them back on. At least not by yourself. You strip down to the sheer, full-body slip underneath the thick fabric of your skirt, goosebumps spreading along your thighs and arms. 

And then you jump into the lake. 

A sharp squeal leaves your lips at the temperature, but when you feel your body catch up with your half-brained idea, there’s something refreshing and utterly cleansing about disappearing under the surface of the cold water. You close your eyes and wait as long as you can before wading to the top. 

Dragging a deep breath into your lungs, you lean your body back, floating slightly and looking up at the sky. Clouds speckle the grayish blue, like big puffs of cotton stuck to fabric. A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth, finally beginning to feel centered once again. 

“What on earth are you doing?” 

Your foot slips on a rock, nearly pulling you under as you look over your shoulder at Guy approaching the lake edge. He’s got his hands in the pockets of his slacks, his eyes wide and touched with amusement, dancing over your form submerged in the water. You wait for the moment for his presence to send you off-kilter, to disrupt the calm you desperately just sunk your teeth into…but that moment never comes. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised, he’s always made you feel this way. 

Calm, comfortable, safe. 

Turning to face him, you float a bit on your front to get to a place in the lake where you can stand. Your shoulders and the top of your chest exits the water and you’re well aware how sheer this slip is, plastered to your skin. 

Guy is aware too. His eyes travel down your form and then snap back up, as if he realizes what he’s doing, looking away a moment before a twinge of a smile tugs the corners of his mouth. 

“You’re going to catch your death.” 

You hum, shaking your head, “I’m tough.” 

He laughs suddenly, though the sound is warm and intimate, like a shared secret. And maybe it is. “I’m well aware of that.” 

You lift one of your hands and send a small splash towards Guy’s leg, not enough to soak him, but enough to tease, “Get in here with me.” 

His mouth opens, eyebrows shooting up, “Absolutely not—”

“Get,” You send another splash, this time with purpose. It sprays along his side even though he attempts to jump back to avoid it. You laugh, “in here.” 

“Menace.” He tosses out, but it’s so affectionate that he can’t even begin to hide it. Especially with that handsome grin on his face. 

You lean back into the water and you know you should turn away when Guy starts to take off his coat, when he unbuttons his pants, when he removes his waistcoat. And yet you don’t. You drink him in. There’s a moment where his eyes find yours, when his fingers slow, and there’s a drawn breath into his lungs, his mouth slightly parted. 

And heat gathers in the center of your body, dipping between your legs. You swallow over an emotion in your throat, something you can’t (or don’t want to name), and eventually you tear your gaze away. You don’t look up again until you hear him slip into the water, a harsh breath leaving his lips at the temperature—but your thoughts zip elsewhere, that heat between your legs giving a sudden pulse. 

“Alright, you got me in here.” He says it begrudgingly, but his tone of voice doesn’t match his expression as he wades closer to you. 

You’re not sure whether you’re just getting used to the water or because you can feel the warmth of his body, but you slip into that contented state that you usually are with him. You walk backwards, the water brushing over your shoulders, and for a moment you wish he wasn’t taller than you—because your gaze is drawn to the broadness of his chest, the map of his shoulders, the soft slope of his neck. 

You drag in a breath, attempting to clear your head. “Wasn’t sure you would.” 

He huffs out another laugh, “And how often do you find me denying you anything?” 

You grin. 

Comfortable silence stretches between you, birds stirring in the singular tree that’s near the embankment. You wonder if that means spring is truly close, hugging winter through its last bout of chills. A sound of chatter draws your attention towards Guy’s estate, the crunched gravel of carriage wheels, the huff of horses. Eyebrows drawing together, you see someone moving in the distance, but can’t make out whether they’re coming or going. 

“Did you have a visitor?” You ask, slowly rotating back to look at him. 

He’s quiet, contemplative, chewing on words in his mouth. He drags his fingers through the water, “Yes,” Guy pauses, his focus returning to your face before, “Jean Hopeleigh, actually.” 

Oh. You know her—you’ve seen her at various parties, have heard her name passed around like a tray of champagne at a party. Women and men alike are enthralled by her, by the promise of attachment, not just because she has the impressive promise of wealth, but because she’s beautiful. 

And she’s been to visit Guy. 

A thousand questions begin to pelt the inside of your mind, like rainfall, did he invite her? Did she come on her own? What did they discuss? Is he interested in her? How could she not be interested in him? Is he going to see her again?

Is it too late? 

“Oh she’s…” Words fail and you try to come up with something that doesn’t speak to what feels like a sickening rock settling in the base of your stomach. “I’ve heard she’s sweet.” 

Your cheeks feel hot at that being the only thing you have to offer, and the twitch of a smile that pulls on Guy’s lips makes you want to look away from him. To slip underneath the water until your lungs burn and beg you to resurface. 

“She’s lovely,” He agrees. 

“Are you courting her?” Blurts from your mouth so fast it takes you a moment to even realize you’ve said it. It’s not supposed to sound so…so accusatory. 

There’s hesitation in the way Guy’s body stills, as he watches you. It’s a singular heartbeat, a one breath in, before he steps closer. Your eyes tip up, unable to look away, nowhere for you to hide from the aftermath of your question. 

“Would it bother you if I was?” 

Yes. 

It’s an instant response strangling your tongue and you bite down on everything inside of you in order to keep that word under lock and key. 

“No,” You whisper, “No, of course not.” But despite the words leaving your lips, Guy is still looking at you the same. Like he doesn’t believe you. Like he knows you, because he does. He knows you better than anyone. 

You clear your throat, trying to float away from him by tipping yourself back and lifting your feet off the lakebed, “You’ve always talked about if you were to…find a wife, you’d want someone who could be a friend, a partner. Jean, I’m sure, would be your equal in every way.” 

Guy purses his lips, “Would she?” The question is asked like he already knows the answer, and it catches you off guard in a way that you were not prepared for. 

“Wouldn’t she?” You toss back, arching your knee up to gently send a splash in his direction with your foot. 

The movement seems to break the odd spell between you two, silence melting into the water and disappearing, Guy grabbing hold of your leg and tugging so you have no choice but to float into him. Your breath catches in your chest and it takes everything in you not to wrap your legs around his waist when his body lines up with your own. 

“I spoke with my father,” You tell him after a moment and while his touch disappears from your leg, it lingers near your waist, a teasing reminder of how close he is. “You were right—I’m not set to marry Xavier.” 

You don’t tell him other things that were said, about inferences that were made, about how you ended up at this lake to be alone. About how some of society must think about Guy if your father was saying the same thing—that he’s not ‘good enough’ to be called someone’s. Yours.  

You can’t think of anything that feels less true. 

You pick your hand up out of the water, fingers gently toying with a tight curl that rests on his forehead. You’re not sure whether it’s an accident or on purpose, but Guy tips his head down, his nose and lips brushing against the soft skin on the inside of your wrist. 

“Looks like we’re both free to make our own decisions.” He murmurs. 

We’re both free—meaning—

“You’re not courting Jean?” 

Guy smiles a bit against you, pulling back a little as he shakes his head, but he doesn’t look up at you. Your fingers twist his curl for a moment, eventually letting it go. Your heartbeat is ricocheting against your ribcage, your hand slipping under the water. There’s a certain secrecy in being cloaked by the water, his fingers grazing your wrist, like it’s only a world for the both of you that no one else can see into. 

His hand wraps around your own. 

Both free to make our own decisions—you squeeze his fingers. You hope more than anything that that’s real. 

—

Present—April, continued. 

When Guy returns from upstairs, he’s got a set of dry clothes on himself, a long-sleeved dress shirt for you draped over his shoulder and then a bunch of blankets tucked under his arms. 

“It’s not much but I figured the trousers would be swimming on you.” 

A small smile because yes, that’s probably true. He’s taller than you, so the dress shirt should be fine. You can wrap the blankets around you, anything to get this damp dress off. It’s keeping a chill lingering in your chest and the tip of your nose. 

He sets the blankets down on the floor and when your fingers touch his as you take the shirt, Guy seems to realize that he should be turning around or leaving so you can undress. 

“I’ll just—” He motions over his shoulder. 

But before he can disappear, you reach for his wrist, waiting until his gaze meets your own, “Can you…” 

You’re unsure why it’s difficult for you to finish that sentence, suddenly the room feeling overwhelmingly warm. You think it’s from the heat of the fire but your skin still seems cool to the touch. Luckily, Guy doesn’t need you to explain, just gives you a brief nod before encouraging you to turn around. 

And he begins removing pieces of your dress. 

The elaborate skirt comes first, untied with practiced hands, and tugged down so you can step out of it. The cage-like petticoat is something you always felt was rather silly, and yet you sometimes enjoyed wearing it. Like your legs were birds, or something, kept behind flexible wires. A small smile tugs the corners of your lips at the thought as it's untied and gently lifted over your head. Your chemise is left along with your corset and you're not sure whether the small intake of breath comes from you or Guy when you feel him step closer, a shiver slipping down your body as his fingers tug on strings. 

It doesn't take long for him to loosen it, the fabric falling free, and there's something about taking an unrestrained, deep breath with him so close by that makes you feel dizzy.

Turning to face him, you tilt your head back to look up, fingers gripping the bottom of your chemise. Your nipples are hard against the soft stitching, from being cold or from anticipation, you’re not sure. But you can tell that Guy is purposely looking at your face, his nostrils flaring a little, jaw gently clenched in concentration. A gentleman. 

“Would you be willing to help me with this as well?” You ask, heart beating so fast you can nearly hear the reverberation in your ears. 

This is a line that cannot be redrawn once it’s erased.

And Guy destroys it as if it never existed in the first place. 

His fingers curl into the chemise and he uses it as leverage to yank you closer. The moment your body bumps into his own, he leans down and kisses you with fervor—like he may never get another chance. Like he’s been thinking about this as long as you have. That’s all the encouragement you need. Your hands rake into his hair, gently tugging, titling your mouth against his own. A noise you’ve never heard him make before, but have thought about him making far too often, climbs up his throat. It creates another fire in your chest, seeping outward, liquid heat pulsing between your legs. 

When his hands bunch the fabric of your slip near your thigh, you draw in a sharp breath. He seems to pause at that, looking down at you, lips slightly wet, eyes dark. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks against your lips, “We can stop.” 

You shake your head, your hands moving to his shirt, pulling it out of his waistband. The muscles along his abdomen twitch as your fingers find the buttons of his trousers. “No.” 

Guy holds onto that thread of control, just for a moment, “If you change your mind…” 

You pause, making sure he sees your face before you nod in understanding. And then that thread of control snaps. He cups both sides of your face with his hands, leaning down to kiss you again, gently encouraging you onto the floor where blankets are still haphazardly piled up. You reach blindly for one, fanning it out, before you end up lying on your back. Guy brackets your body at your shoulders, his mouth finding the curve of your neck, his hand sliding between you to tug up the fabric of the chemise. 

You didn’t have a mother to tell you about the inner workings of what you’re supposed to do in situations like this. Your sister’s eyes would go wide any time you might mention a man was attractive, like it was some dirty little secret that one shouldn’t pry with. The only reason you have any semblance of how to move, on what happens, is because you have an aunt that’s saucy after she’s had a few champagnes. 

Not wanting Guy to interpret your thoughts as hesitation, you also reach down between your bodies to work on the buttons of his trousers again, groaning slightly at the heat of his skin. His fingers caress the inside of your thighs before he inches up, right where you want him most. Your eyes close when he spreads your lips, thumb finding that bud of nerves, circling. Drawing in a sharp breath through your nose, you slide a hand inside his pants and wrap your fingers around him, stroking upwards. 

Guy groans, moving a little into your touch, his lips crashing down onto yours again. The stubble of his facial hair against your skin almost adds to the pleasure—you wonder what it’d feel like between your legs. 

You’ve explored your body on your own, but nothing has felt nearly as good as this. He maps out kisses down your jaw to your neck, one finger sliding inside of you, and then two after you’re used to it. His wrist turns, he curls his fingers up—

Fuck. 

You try to continue your ministrations for him as well, but it’s almost difficult to concentrate, contentment pulsing in waves, making you feel like you’re too close to the fire. Your thumb circles over the tip of his cock and he moans, pulling back just a little to look down at you. 

“I don’t…” You begin, worried you’ve done something wrong. 

He shakes his head, the thumb of the hand holding his body above yours brushing against your shoulder. “You’re doing so well,” He promises, assuring you, “Especially if you do that again.” 

You lean up so you can reach him, nipping at his lower lip and then follow his suggestion. You roll your thumb back and forth across the tip of his cock, his whole body reacting by thrusting into your hand. He begins to show more attention to your clit, a strangled whine emptying from your lips, and suddenly all that build-up comes to a peak—and you feel yourself falling right over the edge. 

Your eyes slammed close with your release, hoping Guy isn’t far behind. Seeing you come apart, along with a few more strokes, your thumb pressing against the head, he loses himself against your body. Even though both of you are breathing heavily, he kisses you again, his tongue sliding along yours languidly—like there’s all the time in the world to be here, doing this with one another. 

There’s a moment in which you both pull back, catching your breath and Guy takes the opportunity to clean you up, removing the chemise entirely. His eyes drink in the sight of your body, completely naked before him, leaning down to brush kisses along your sternum, stomach and between your breasts. It almost makes you want to begin all over again. Almost. 

He reaches for the shirt he brought down, helping tug it over your head and slide your arms through. When he’s pulled his trousers moreso around his waist, he lies down on top of you, but not enough for his body to crush your own. He becomes a comfortable, solid and warm weight, using his elbows to keep himself propped up. He smiles at you, curling his fingers around some of your hair that’s framing your face. 

You bring your hand up as well, cupping his cheek, encouraging him to lean down so you can kiss him again. 

“Warm enough?” He asks, his nose bumping against yours. 

“Perfect.” You whisper back, another kiss following. 

—

May. 

The prospect of snagging a husband is so far in the back of your mind, it’s practically something you’ve forgotten about. Your father, however, hasn’t. And while you love him, you’re starting to lose a little bit of respect for him.  He’s not only begun to pile that pressure onto your shoulders, but he’s also been ignoring how terrible of a husband Louis can be to Cassandra. He may not be putting his hands on her (at least nowhere that can be seen), but the light is gone from her eyes. It’s clear any time you look at her. 

If your father wants to ignore that fact, if Cassandra would rather stay in a loveless, brutish marriage just because it’s ‘what a woman does’...then the only thing you can vow to do is now allow yourself to become that. 

You refuse to settle on any man just because it's ‘what one does’. You will not sacrifice your happiness for anyone. 

You’ve also been seeing Guy behind closed doors for the past month. 

Now, there’s nothing to be ashamed of and it’s not like you’re trying to hide, exactly, but moreso being together feels like something precious, intimate. Yours. And you’re unwilling to share that, lest it crumble like ash between your fingers. 

To those with prying eyes, you and your neighbor, your best friend, appear as you always have been: close, friendly, confidants. But…seeing him in the morning as light filters in through curtains, the way he cups your cheek and brushes his lips along your temple when you’re in the kitchen, the way he smirks before he kisses you, his hands wandering to undress you and eventually pulling you close to help put clothes back on, 

—that version of Guy belongs to you. 

“Escaping again?” You hum at the familiar voice behind you on the roof of your home. “Are you ever where you’re supposed to be?” 

A thrum of amusement plucks in your chest as you turn to look at Guy, who’s walking towards you with his hands in his pockets. The perfect portrait of easy handsomeness, dressed in trousers and a white button down, a pine green waistcoat over top. It somehow makes his skin glow, the warmth in his brown eyes like toffee as he steps closer. No matter how often you see him, it’s still the same reaction of fluttering butterflies and your stomach turning inside out. 

“It’s right here,” You tell him with a smile, tipping your chin up to look at him. “On this roof. With you.” 

It’s a much smaller get-together than your father has thrown before, but Louis’s family is here too. And you don’t want to see Xavier unless you have to. 

He reaches for your hand, bringing it up so that he can encourage you into a small spin that makes you laugh. Which seems to be his intention, if the answering smile is any indication. “I brought treacle toffee.” 

You sigh softly, tipping your head back in a dramatic fashion, “I suppose those are the magic words.” And some of the only ones that could get you off this roof. 

Guy holds onto your hand to lead back downstairs, briefly squeezing your fingers on the steps before letting go, offering his arm instead so you can walk with him into the main living space where people are gathered. You ignore gazes that feel like someone is trying to get your attention and allow Guy to guide you into the kitchen. He lets go of your arm so you can make a b-line to the toffee on the table, grabbing a small chunk with a content hum. 

“This is your mother’s recipe, right?” You ask. 

He makes a noise of acknowledgement, “Brought something else of my mother’s today too.” 

You turn to see what he’s referring to but you almost inhale the toffee when you see him get down on one knee. 

Instantly, “No.” 

Guy’s lips twitch, “You didn’t even let me ask you anything yet.” 

You know exactly what he’s going to ask you—he has a small, red velvet box between his fingers. It’s not open yet, but you know what’s inside. His mother’s wedding ring. The bridge of your nose stings as tears well in your eyes. You can’t accept this from him, you can’t say yes to any of his questions. 

“No, Guy.” 

He sighs softly out of his nose, but he doesn’t lower the box, nor stand. “Why not?” He asks quietly. 

A choked laugh leaves your lips but you try not to cry. Is he being serious right now? “Don’t play games with me.” 

He brings the box down, but he doesn’t put it away. Instead he opens it. “You think that’s what I’m doing?” The ring is beautiful—plain, but not meager. It’s not meant to be flashy or overly expensive, gentle in its craftsmanship, elegant. It was perfect for his mother, who was so stunning inside and out that she made jewels look superfluous. 

“I think,” You sniffle, “You’ve always been someone to protect me, to rescue me when I needed it. Be there for me when no one else was. You know my father is close to forcing my hand when it comes to marriage.” A tear slips down your cheek, “And I’m terrified it might have to be Xavier.” 

Guy’s entire body tenses, like he wants to stand at the sight of you beginning to cry. But he doesn’t move, just takes his mother’s ring out of the box. 

“Those things might be true, but that’s not why I’m asking if you want to marry me.” 

You swallow over a lump in your throat, a shuddered noise leaving your lips. You have no idea what to say, what to do. You feel frozen to the kitchen floor, so afraid beyond anything that you’ll somehow lose him. 

“You want me to say it?” He adds, waiting until your gaze meets his, “It’s because I love you.” 

All the air in your lungs rush out, two twin tears skirting down your cheeks in the aftermath. The room suddenly becomes tight, like it’s filled with cotton, your heart hammering in your chest at simple words you thought you’d never hear him say. Yet the moment he says them, you feel at home, like it's the most honest thing you know. 

Because maybe they’ve always been true.

“I think about you every day—” He continues, “From the moment I open my eyes to when I put my head back on my pillow. Because I can’t picture a day not spent with you.” Then he smiles, finally standing from where he was kneeling and reaches for you. His hand cups your cheek, brushing away your tears with the pad of his thumb. “Please don’t cry.” 

A wet laugh sounds from your throat and you tip your chin into his touch, closing your eyes. You press a series of kisses to the palm of his hand, relishing in how he makes you feel. How he’s always made you feel. 

You allow yourself a moment to calm down before you give him the very real consequences of a decision like this. Just…just in case he wants to choose a different path, you wouldn’t blame him. 

“My father might disown me if I marry you.” The words come out shameful, a whisper. “I wouldn’t have anything to offer you.” You know that he’s been forced into a role that often falls to women in society—to marry someone with money. In this case you know how important that is, what’s at stake, his home…his mother’s home.

Guy is quiet for a moment before tipping your chin, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. He makes sure his gaze is fully on yours before, “I don’t care—we can build something together. It doesn’t change my question.” 

Drawing in a soft breath, you look at him. Your eyes memorize the handsome lines of his face, crystallizing this moment, because things will not be the same again, “Then ask me.” 

He doesn’t get down on one knee, but he does take your hand, “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” 

Wife—something about that has never felt so right, a small smile pulling at the corners of your mouth as you look at him. Guy, your neighbor, your closest friend, someone you never saw coming but fell in love with all the same. 

The word yes is barely out of your mouth before Guy is kissing you, sliding his mother’s ring into place. 

—

June. 

Your father is not thrilled at the secret proposal but in a surprising turn of events, he does not disown you, either. There’s a conversation he has with you in his study, asking you if you’re happy. You remember how quickly you told him yes, how unequivocally easy it was for you to give that response. He looks into your eyes as you say it, how he weighs that word with precise care, like maybe he’s asked your sister the same thing and has come up with something dishonest. 

“That’s all your mother would want,” He tells you, then a ghost of a smile, “She decided to marry me against her parent’s wishes, you know. And look how well that turned out.” There was a teasing lilt to his voice that made you hug him all the tighter towards the end of that conversation. 

You’re not sure what changed his mind on the matter…but maybe the mention of your mother should be all the answer you need. Things are not altogether settled with your sister either, but…there’s hope that you can eventually help. Cassandra has to want to be happy just as much as you want it for her. 

Walking through Guy’s estate until you find him in the unkempt greenhouse, a small smile tugs the corners of your mouth as you see him perched on the ground above wildflowers. There’s no waistcoat, just a long-sleeved button down rolled up to his elbows. It’s unclear whether he’s trying to plant something or tame weeds when you approach him. 

“Think you’re making it worse.” You tease. 

His entire body relaxes at hearing your voice, turning his head to look up at you. “Quite possibly. I admit I don’t have a green thumb at all.” 

He stands to his full height, waving around a few stems of wilted daisies. Or…at least you think that’s what they are? They’re terribly discolored. Your nose twitches and you take a step back from him, stifling a sneeze into your arm. 

Guy lets out a soft laugh, “Bless you.” He tosses the flowers aside, digging into his pocket for a handkerchief to hand you. “Won’t be using these in the bouquet then.” 

He means for the wedding. Your stomach does a full-bodied swoop, warmth kissing the back of your neck, chest and cheeks. “Well I would hope not,” You sniffle, dabbing your nose with the handkerchief. “They’re wilted.” 

He purses his lips, “Valid point.” He reaches for you, wrapping an arm around your waist and uses his body to back you up a step, “Let's get you out of here before your nose is all red.” He leans down and teasingly kisses the bridge of it. 

You playfully swat his chest, “I don’t mind being in one of your mother’s favorite places.” 

Guy hums thoughtfully, tipping his head back to look at the greenhouse as you both step outside of it. “It was. Other than the walled garden.” 

You smile, pressing yourself up on your toes to steal a soft kiss. It’s a quick thought, but you find yourself saying it anyway, “We should get married here.” 

He pulls back a little, brushing some of your hair aside that’s caught in a breeze. His eyebrows draw together in gentle confusion, “What, here?” 

You nod, “On your estate. I don’t need or want anything fancy.” Your hand rests on his chest, relishing in the strong pattern of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. “I just want you.” 

Guy watches you for a few moments, perhaps to gauge if you’re serious. He then picks up the hand that’s resting on his breastbone, bringing your fingers to his lips to press a series of small kisses there, making you smile. 

“Well there’s no need to worry about that. I would think by now, it’d be fairly obvious.” He murmurs, “I’ve always been yours.” 

Guy cups both sides of your face to draw you into another kiss—languid, with all the time in the world at your feet. Your heart beats in tandem with the sentiment. 

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Their little sunshine p.3

Heyy guys, I didn't forget about this story; I just didn't know how to continue, so let me know what you think, and I hope you enjoy this Alex x reader x Lily story. Here's part 1 and part 2.

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

Breakfast with Alex and Lily was always a guaranteed good time, filled with laughter, gentle teasing, and your soft but relentless bullying of Alex to make sure he drank enough water and didn’t sneak extra pastries before a long day in the car.

But eventually, duty called.

Alex, ever the responsible driver, checked his watch and groaned. "I have to get back before the engineers come looking for me."

You and Lily pouted dramatically in sync.

"Bye, birthday boy," you teased, poking his side as he stood.

"Not yet!" he grumbled, but you caught the tiny smile tugging at his lips. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Lily’s hair and gave your shoulder a playful squeeze before disappearing into the swirl of the paddock crowd.

Once he was gone, Lily looped her arm through yours, her eyes sparkling. "Come on. Let’s walk. I need to stretch my legs and you’re the perfect partner in crime."

"Am I being kidnapped?" you asked, giggling as she tugged you along.

"Absolutely. No work for you until I’m done with you," she declared.

You strolled lazily through the paddock, exchanging polite nods with mechanics and press officers, admiring the bustle of team staff and drivers darting between garages. It felt nice to just… be. No stopwatch. No muscle knots to chase. Just sunshine and the easy warmth of Lily’s chatter about outfits, future travel plans, and whether she should dye Alex’s hair in his sleep for fun.

You rounded a corner and immediately spotted a familiar little furball trotting on a lead, his fluffy ears bouncing with each step.

"Alexandra!" Lily squealed first.

Sure enough, Charles’ girlfriend Alex (the other Alex, as you’d come to call her to keep things less confusing) was standing just a few feet away, looking effortlessly chic in a sundress and sneakers as Leo dragged her closer to you both.

Leo spotted you and nearly lost his mind—his tail wagging so fast you wondered if he’d lift off the ground.

"Hi, handsome!" you laughed, crouching just in time for him to leap at your legs, tiny paws scrabbling for your attention. You ruffled his fluffy fur, giggling as he smothered you with kisses.

Alex winced apologetically. "I’m so sorry—he gets overexcited sometimes—"

Lily waved it off with a grin. "Don’t worry—she has that effect on everyone."

You stuck out your tongue at Lily but kept cooing at Leo, scratching behind his ears. "He’s perfect. Aren’t you, baby? Who’s a good boy? You’re a good boy!"

Leo responded by trying to climb fully into your lap, ignoring the fact that you were still crouched awkwardly in the middle of the paddock walkway.

Alex laughed, gently tugging his lead. "He’s going to follow you home if you keep that up."

"Tempting," you joked, reluctantly letting Leo drop back to the ground.

When you finally stood, brushing fur from your leggings, Lily leaned closer to Alex. "Hey, by the way—we finally convinced my Alex to let us do a little dinner for his birthday. Very low-key. You two have to come."

Alex’s face lit up. "Yes, please! Charles would love that. He’s always saying he needs more normal evenings with friends. Just tell me when and where, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t forget."

"Perfect!" Lily said, clapping her hands. "I’ll text you tonight. And you," she pointed at you, "are in charge of decorations. No excuses."

You gave her a mock salute. "Pink balloons everywhere. Even in the engineers’ office."

"Don’t tempt me," Lily giggled.

After a bit more chatting—and a final round of goodbye belly rubs for Leo—you and Lily finally peeled yourselves away and headed back toward the Williams motorhome.

Back at the Williams motorhome, you and Lily barely paused to catch your breath before she nudged you with her elbow.

“Come on. Let’s go see our boy before he disappears into the garage forever.”

You laughed, falling into step beside her. “You mean before he hides behind the engineers and pretends he can’t hear us yelling at him?”

“Exactly,” Lily said, eyes twinkling.

You found Alex in his side of the garage, helmet in hand, chatting with one of the mechanics. He looked up as soon as he heard the unmistakable squeal of Lily greeting him.

“There’s my troublemakers,” he drawled, already bracing himself as both of you practically pounced.

“Pre-race hug for luck!” you declared, looping your arms around his torso from one side while Lily hugged him from the other.

Alex, half-suffocated in your affectionate ambush, laughed into the top of Lily’s hair. “You two are going to mess up my suit.”

“You love it,” Lily teased, leaning back to straighten the collar of his race suit.

“You’re welcome for the extra luck, birthday boy,” you said, poking his chest lightly.

Alex rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the way he relaxed under both your hands fussing over him. “I’m never living down this nickname, am I?”

“Not a chance,” you grinned.

When Lily finally stepped back, still holding Alex’s hand, you checked the time and smiled. “Alright, I’m going to go find Carlos and annoy him with a good luck speech.”

Alex laughed. “Give him my condolences in advance.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, blew Lily a quick kiss, and bounced away toward the other end of the paddock.

As soon as you were out of earshot, Alex turned back to Lily, who was still watching you skip down the pit lane like a walking daydream in sneakers and a Williams jacket two sizes too big.

“You know,” Lily murmured, squeezing Alex’s gloved hand gently, “I really love her.”

Alex’s expression softened. He squeezed back, following your figure weaving between mechanics and other drivers.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, a tiny, fond smile curving his lips. “She’s… good for everyone. Makes things feel lighter, even when it’s all a bit much.”

Lily looked up at him knowingly. “She makes you feel lighter, too.”

Alex didn’t argue—didn’t need to. Instead, he let out a soft huff of laughter, shaking his head.

“She’s like a human lucky charm.”

Lily nudged him playfully. “You better appreciate her forever. Or else.”

He leaned down, kissing her forehead. “I do. And I always will.”

Then, with one last glance at where you were chatting animatedly with Carlos, both of them smiled—grateful for the little pink hurricane that had crashed so perfectly into their life.

[prythiansprincess]

What's each boys fav sex position?

— switchin' the positions for you

a slytherin boys headcanon

theo loves cowgirl. there's just something about watching you ride him that drives him insane. eye contact is a must for him. mostly because he knows how flustered you get when his dead eyes lock in on yours, drinking in every inch of your body while you rock your hips and moan his name. he can’t help but admire you as your tits bounce, his large hands cupping them softly, before taking them into his mouth, groaning as he licks and sucks and marks you up. so good bella, just like that. la mia piccola troia perfetta. theo thinks it’s hot when you lose control, smirking and chuckling to himself when your pussy clenches while he speaks dirty, filthy things to you in italian. sometimes he’ll stop midway to eat you out because it’s his nature — theodore nott is a munch through and through. he never gets tired of the taste and if you even dare say that you’re too sensitive, he’ll yank you by the ankles and pry your legs apart because you’re done when he says you’re done. countless orgasms later, he’d return you to your original position, smirking as you straddle him with shaky legs. when you’re too tired to ride, he’d hold your hips in place and fuck into you, coaxing another orgasm even though you swore you couldn’t take any more. theo knows you can. he loves pushing you to your limits. watching you fall apart and cum on his cock is his favorite thing in the world. keep those pretty eyes open, cara mia. I want to watch you cum for me.

mattheo switches between missionary and doggystyle. if you’re being good, he loves taking the lead and doesn’t mind you being a pillow princess. he’d worship and adore you, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear while he hovers over you, that endearing smile tugging at his lips in response to your giggles about his curls tickling your nose. he’d lean down and give you a sweet kiss before making you see god. if you’re being bad, then there’s no mercy in him as he bends you over a bed, a desk, a counter — it doesn’t matter where or when, mattheo will fuck that attitude right out of you and make you wish you’d never acted like such a brat in the first place. he’d spank you until you’re crying, leaving red handprints all over your ass for days to come. he’d be rough and degrading, his fingers bruising your hips as he fucks you from behind. mattheo isn’t fooled by your tears, he knows it’s not out of pain but of pleasure. he’s well aware that you purposely push his buttons to get fucked dumb, so he edges you over and over again until you’re whining and sobbing. mattheo shuts you up by hooking his arm around your neck, his bicep holding you in place as he shakes his head in feigned disappointment. not so brave now, huh princess? where did all the fire go? now you’re begging me to fuck you like the needy little slut that you are. too fucking bad. if you want to cum, you’ll have to work for it, baby.

enzo is the designated big spoon. your cuddles always start off innocent enough, but it’s not long before he’s slipping a hand into your shorts, teasing your clit in tantalizing circles and smirking against your shoulder as you arch against him for more. you’re so wet that it’s almost too easy for him to slip his fingers right in, scissoring and pumping and curling them into that sweet spot that has you seeing stars. pretty soon, you’re pliant and needy, exactly how enzo wants you because it makes it that much easier to slip off your shorts and panties before rubbing himself against your folds. just the tip, honey. let me make you feel good, yeah? you nod, biting your lip. both of you know it’s never just the tip, but it gives you a sick little thrill as enzo fucks you in shallow little thrusts, edging you until you’re teary eyed and begging him to fuck you for real. enzo coos as he licks your tears away. aw, you’re so pretty when you beg, honey. how could I say no? it’s then that enzo finally sinks in, spreading your legs so he can bury himself so much deeper. you’re sobbing from relief, nothing but a blubbering mess as his skilled fingers circle around your swollen clit.

draco is a fan of the classic. missionary is his go to. he used to hate it before he met you because of how vulnerable the act is, but when he looks into your eyes, he knows that you see him for who he truly is — the good, the bad, and the ugly. you see every part of him and you love him through it all. you trust him through it all. you’re taking me so well, darling. such a good girl. he makes sure to reassure you every step of the way, communicating how much he loves and adores you with every action. draco kisses your ankles before yanking you towards him, the backs of your thighs pressed firmly against his chest as his cock kisses your cervix, both of you groaning from how deep he is inside you. his signet ring is cold against your stomach as he marvels at the size difference. can you feel me, princess? i’m so fucking deep. a choked moan is all you can manage before his ring makes it way down to your clit, vibrating against the already sensitive nub while draco worships your body.

tom is a no brainer. this man is a sucker for doggystyle. he loves bending you over and spreading your cheeks before thrusting all the way in, smirking when you gasp at how big he is. watching his cock slip in and out of your pussy as he sets a punishing pace is so satisfying to him. tom is dark and dominant, deliciously possessive as he lays his claim on you. he knows he’s the only one who can make you feel this good. tears streaming down your cheeks, profanities spilling from your lips, and fingers clutching at the sheets as he pounds into you over and over again. tom is relentless, driving you towards the brink and release just to pull you back and repeat the process until you’re so desperate that you’re outright begging. he sneers when you fuck yourself against him, eager to take as much of him as you can. your pussy suctions him in so greedily, the warmth of your walls hugging around his cock like a vice. such a needy little slut. you’re so desperate for my cock, aren’t you? look at you, all stretched out and still asking for more. you’re shameless as you rock against him, moaning when tom spanks your ass, his handprints seared into your skin. tom lets you have your fun, but at some point, he takes the reign again by yanking your hair back, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he stills your movements. you belong to me, doll. I own you — mind, body, and soul. don't you ever fucking forget that.

regulus is a certified freak. he may not look like it, but he’s hiding a basilisk in those trousers. he doesn’t really have a preference of position. this man just loves to fuck. most of the time, the two of you do it while standing because he loves the thrill of getting caught. sex with reggie is risky. he has a huge exhibition kink and definitely gets off on the thought of someone walking in while he’s balls deep in you. there’s been countless times when you’ve ended up fucking at a common room party or at a night out in hogsmeade or even during movie nights with your friends because he just can’t keep his hands off of you. his favorite is when you’re in the restricted section with your legs wrapped around him, skirt pulled up over your waist while he thrusts, making the shelves shake behind you. reg bites his lip as you sink down slowly, his eyes nearly rolling back as he watches his cock disappear between your folds. he’s got one hand around your waist to hold you up and the other against your mouth to keep you from moaning too loud and attracting attention. he also loves dirty talking in french because he knows it gets you so much wetter for him. j'aime quand tu me regardes comme ça, mon amour. the black family heirloom ring kisses the side of your neck as regulus wraps a hand around your throat, tilting your chin as his lips meet yours in a filthy kiss. you’re mine, love. mine and only mine.

[hcdragonwrites]

Rain (a Journey to the Au Drabble)

I wrote another thing! I was touched and inspired by @journey-to-the-au ! I wasn’t expecting to finish it in one sitting but my brain was afire, and I lost track of time so swiftly. I hope you like it and I hope I did your babies justice !

“Another day in paradise.” Earth Reaching Willow spoke the words aloud, soft and sad.

Then why did it feel like another day pressed between the pages of a book? The thought came like a tidal wave to the front of her mind, stirring and shaking Willows mask of serenity just a bit. No colors or sensations, just the barest touch of description was what the South Pole Palace had become to her.

Heaven was peace - but that peace was starting to chafe Earth Reaching Willow sharply. Here she stood, Eldest Daughter to the Jade Emperor along the railing of her favorite bridge in The Garden of Heaven, feeling the softest breeze curl against her cheek. The water beneath her did not stir with the breeze. The koi swimming beneath in their burning colors of gold and orange fire had the grace of clouds, hardly stirring the silt beneath them.

‘Why can’t I be content?’

She knew why. Earth Reaching Willow was able to eloquently pick apart her own thoughts just as she could with any noblemen or Celestial counselor that brought her gifts to bribe her hand.

Knowing peace all of her existence was beginning to feel as if she were repeating the same day over and over. Reading the same passage in a book, viewing the same painting upon her fathers study wall of bobbing cranes and water dragons. The frustration rose in her. But that’s all I can do. I view the things I hear of. Read of them but I, Daughter of Heaven, will never experience them.

She let that grace her father so prided her on slip off of her as she slumped to rest her arms upon the bridge. The same breeze teased her face again and also revealed she had, surprisingly, a loose thread upon her sleeve.

Earth Reaching Willow took the thread in hand and twisted it between her fingers.

The golden royal hues of her gown were pearled in the most intricate of stitches of willow leaves and falling blossoms, reaching downward from her arms to brush against the river that wove itself across the hem of her attire in a frothing and silent roar. Her handmaidens were so scrupulous in their fussing of her that she was surprised they had missed this little thread. She tugged and noticed the thread was connected to a stylized blossom on her wrist in free fall. It was forever stuck in its descent, never moving beyond where it was perched.

“Are you rebelling against the design of your Life, little thread?” Earth Reaching Willow gently asked.

She had been taught and schooled in being the epitome of serenity, in walking with a stillness and grace that other immortals and celestials envied. Willow and her sisters danced with grace, every motion balanced and calculated. That was the true flow of peace- to balance every motion to not disrupt the water around it. All the people of earth craved this peace, this very place that Earth Reaching Willow lived in.

She plucked at the thread. I am but a stitch in Heaven's grand tapestry. Just like this thread I’m bound up and frozen in a state of existing between.

It almost raised Willows emotions above that dam she had built within herself, almost swamping her in the feeling of stasis.

I cannot succumb to that feeling. She would not. Her finger came away from her sleeve with a snap that startled her silence. The thread she had been twisting and worrying at had come free. It waved in the breeze between her fingers.

Earth Reaching Willow let it go, watching as it floated down and shattered the mirror surface of the water. Ripples rolled from its wake, the most movement Willow had ever witnessed here. The carp swam close, investigating this intruder to their watery paradise.

“Be free Little thread. Be free for both of us…”

“Should I be concerned that my bride-to-be is talking to her clothing?” A warm buttery voice called from behind her.

Willow knew this voice.

“You should be more concerned you have yet to greet me this day, Husband-to-be.” Earth Reaching Willow responded, turning. Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven strode forward and took her hand to kiss it.

Of all the heavenly attendants and immortal beings in all the heavens of the worlds she knew, she was glad Wukong was hers. The Monkey King was dressed in his royal regalia, the armor shining bright in the perpetually perfect sunlight. He was dressed to impress. But it wasn’t to impress her.

Willow raised her sleeve to cover her face in mock flustered love, when really she was hiding her silent laughter. She whispered just loud enough for her dear friend to hear but too silent for any eavesdroppers to catch.

“How many are watching?”

Wukong looked up from her hand, hiding his own smile against her wrist.

“Two from beyond the wall and one from a bench beneath the pear blossom tree. I think if you entwine your hand with mine and if we make moon eyes at each other we may satisfy their curiosity.” He had a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“Done.” Earth Reaching Willow dipping her hand to clasp Wukongs fingers, laying her own kiss upon his skin.They pressed their faces close, cheek to cheek.

Playing at being head over heels in love was the most fun Willow had ever had. When Wukong and her and thought up the scheme, she had had her concerns- mainly with the retaliation from the simpering suitors that would be furious that a mere immortal had caught the Princesses attention. There had been protests of course. Then Wukong had declared his intentions, regaling the court with his great deeds and how, if he had to, he would champion himself and outdo all his previous accomplishments in the name of proving he was worthy of the hand of Earth Reaching Willow.

Well that had set the court to a flummoxed and outraged chaos. When Wukong and Willow had gotten away from the courts eyes and ears they had bent over and laughed, tears welling in their eyes. Yes Earth Reaching Willow had had her misgivings. But months down the line Willow loved the game they played. It was the most alive she had felt in all her life. She began to look forward to her days and meetings with Wukong, this handsome monkey who brought life to her she so craved.

After a time of whispering in each others ears (mostly jokes or riddles that would set the other to smiling) Wukong flicked his tail, their silent signal that they were alone.

They stayed close but relaxed truly now, smiles becoming wide and friendly instead of the flirty facade they played for court.

“We should start our own acting troop.” Wukong said, resting his arms over the bridge to gaze out on the garden.

“Oh?” Earth Reaching Willow raised a perfect brow.

“We are both actors of stunning caliber!” He said, tapping his chest with pride. “You keep pace with every act I bring to the table and have even come up with your own! Remember the Banquet of Snow?”

How could she forget? “We danced together so long that my own Father had to interrupt us! Then I fed you from my own plate and you me- I am pretty sure we left them all sick with how in love we had been.”

Wukong laughed. Willow laughed with him. He had that effect with his laughter, so warm and uncontained. The sound broke Heaven's peace in such a way it swept one up with it in a tide of warmth.

An edge of melancholy overcame Earth Reaching Willow then. I want to feel this all the time- this laughter. This light.

“Oh Wukong, I wish you would never leave.” She told him then, staring off into the water. Her thread was gone, either taken by the invisible current or plucked out of the water by some invisible attendant.

The Monkey King turned his head, ears curved forward.

“Now Willow, what has made you so sad?”

She shook her head, eyes cast to the water below.

“Don’t try and hide it from me- I know you too well now. You may be an actor but you can’t fool me. I’m your partner in crime, after all. I’ve seen all your tricks.” He jested, smile playing along his lips

“Oh have you?” Willow asked but her voice lacked the usual playful banter. Her mind had returned to the heavy thoughts of grace and perpetual serenity, of the mantle of sameness and here, with him, she couldn’t hide.

“Willow…” Wukong gently tapped her arm with his hand. “What has dampened your light ? My friend, tell me. There is no one in the Garden. It’s safe here.”

It was the softness with which he spoke that almost broke Willow. He had always been kind to her. She took just a half shuffle to the side, reaching for recomposure. If she stayed in his kindness she would have unleashed that tidal wave battering within her.

It wanted to get out.

She had to keep it in.

She took a breath.

Then another.

“Heaven is … Paradise.” The words came from Earth Reaching Willow softly. Only a bit- only a trickle of that emotion I will let forth. If I let it flow free I’ll loose that peace and I don’t want my Father to catch wind I cried in the Garden. Or to thing it was Wukong who caused it.

“Maybe a little rain or something.” Or anything her heart sang. A bird within a gilded cage.

Now that it was out- now that she had said it, her body felt lighter. A stone cast from her soul. If it had just been her, Willow was concerned she wouldn’t be able to cast off this pallor of sorrow with ease. With Wukong however, his vibrancy drew from her heart the deepest of her well locked up sorrows.

Wukongs hands were suddenly over hers, tugging Willow off and away from the bridge.

“W-Wukong what -“ Earth Reaching Willows voice faltered. Her friends face was brighter than any sunbeam she and her sisters had ever woven, some unknown emotions twinkling in his eyes.

“Come with me Willow-I have something to show you!” He pulled her off the bridge and out the garden, tail tapping in tandem to his bright smile and little laughs. “Come come- out of that stuffy garden with you!”

“Wukong what has taken over you?”

“An idea. A brilliant and stupendous idea! But it is a surprise so you must close your eyes!” He peered right into her face, mockingly stern. “No peeking! It will ruin the effect!”

Willow snorted, being swept up again in his golden glow of emotion. He is quite adorable.

“Alright alright ! I will cover my eyes!” Willow lifted her hands, covering her eyes from view. The smile dancing on her lips couldn’t be washed away by the tide of sorrow within her. Not when this burning bright flame of a person was with her.

“Wukong…”

“Not yet!”

“Wukong how much longer?”

“Not much farther! Just — oop watch your step here!”

It had been a short flight to this mysterious place Wukong had taken Willow and she couldn’t help the electrical feel of excitement ripple up her spine. Any other being covering her eyes would give Earth Reaching Willow pause. Wukong however ? This was her sweet monkey, the kind soul that had seen her trapped between unhappy marriage options and had come in to give her an escape.

She trusted him just as he had trusted her with his past, with who he was.

Wukong stopped.

“Alright Willow- let me cover your eyes now that I have you on a safe spot.”

“Don’t want me to wander off a cliff dear husband-to-be ?”

“I would be a terrible husband if I let my wife-to-be walk her way off a cliff. The Emperor would have a new monkey rug to enjoy.”

She laughed, smiling against his palms.

“You could never be turned into a rug my dear.”

“You are right- however my own mothers would make me one in his stead.” The laughter slowly faded and Willow felt Wukong lean forward from behind. He was warm against her back, the breath against the shell of her ear making her ticklish.

“Are you ready?” He asked. She couldn’t help the spark that set off in her limbs. Surprises in Heaven were always of the placibile kind. A new set of moon needles to sew with, a gown woven from the beard of a water dragon, a parasol that changed decorations by the phases of the sun- all orderly gifts expected to be given to a princess.

Wukong however was not of the Heavenly court. His gifts had never been of the ‘appropriate’ kind that those stiff backed men had presented to Willow.

“Yes.” Her breath came quickly now.

“Alright…” the Monkey King removed his hands from her face. “Open them.”

Earth Reaching Willow did.

And lost her breath.

She and Wukong were standing upon the edge of a mountain cliff, facing out to something Willow had only seen once before. The ocean sparkled and flashed beneath the warm amber sun that was beginning to set in its sea. Like scales upon a dragons skin, the ocean moved as if breathing, basking in the buttery glow of the sun. Colors came alive in the twist of the mountains beside them- upon the leaves of the trees as they refracted the sunlight. Something was rising from within her, a rush of feeling. What could it be? It was as if she had drunk too much heavenly wine, a headrush so clear and bright and so unlike the muddling effects of wine. Willow opened her mouth, to speak to gasp to thank, she didn’t know. She didn’t get a chance.

A great cloud of gray swept over one of the mountains, close enough to see its plumes of ink dark but not in the way of its storm path. Great sheets of water streamed down beneath its mass, diamond drops of water glowing like honey in the sunset. The sound! Her ears, if they could move, would have swiveled to catch it. A great Crescendo of sound, sweeter than chimes and deeper than flutes, fell with the rain. It made sound out of the colors and things before her, falling on that great oceans back, painting the mountain dark, and scenting the air with such a perfume as to be heady and intoxicating. It made her heart race, her blood feel afire. Willow took a half step forward.

“Careful love.” Wukong caught her arm, gently stopping her from getting too close to the edge. Willow turned to him and Wukong gasped. Her monkey reached up and wiped away something that was spilling from her face. A tear. She had been crying?

“Wukong …” she heard the emotion in her voice, that swelling water within her threatening to come up and drown her words.

“We call it a sun shower.” Sun Wukong replied, gesturing to the magnificence before them. “Do you like it ?”

The dam within Willow broke then. Her smile became as wide and bright as to rival the sunset before Wukong. She laughed, throwing back her head in a way he had never seen before.

“Like ? Like ? Like does not even begin to brush upon the - this - this feeling. It’s-“ How to describe this thunder within her body? Willow was eloquent and well versed in poetry. But all the poetry of the broad heavens and the words in all the languages known and unknown failed to compare what this gave to her. She could only laugh, only cry and only smile. “I Love this…”

Suddenly Earth Reaching Willow was vibrating with a radiance The Sage had only caught in glimpses when he had disarmed her within the court with his charm or wits. Wukong felt a glow of pride and love wash over him, seeing her in a way no one else had.

Earth Reaching Willow was finally alive in a way she had never been in all her eternity within Heaven's own Garden. Rain and sun, sea and sky had freed her and, if Wukong had anything to say about it, he would give her this every day for the rest of their existence together.

Earth Reaching Willow was for the earth after all. She was finally Home.

[batfamenjoyer]

Relationship headcanons for the batfam!

Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain

Sorry for no Barbara, Steph, or Duke ☹️ love them but I honestly just don’t know them well enough

Sorry if some of these aren’t the greatest, I feel more strongly about some characters over the others so I don’t have many head canons.oh also also might be out of character ofc, these are just my personal headcanons of how I see the characters. Also sorry if this is a bit messy I didn’t edit the best :)

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Bruce Wayne

This man has been through a lot so I feel like to truly get close to him would be difficult, especially considering he is Batman.

he needs a stable healthy relationship oh my god, yes he enjoys the chase of those hard to get but for his own sake he needs to settle down.

he’s definitely scared of losing you, he’s lost so many people in his life in one way or another.

I feel like he is one to get nightmares at night about losing you or other people. After waking up your comfort is everything to him, and if you don’t wake up at him startling awake he won’t disturb you and will just study your features the best he can in the moonlight before sleep grasps him once again.

Love language is a mix of gift giving and affection!

Always loves to have a hand on your waist, if he ever takes you to one of the gala’s he has to go to he is stuck to you like glue. Once he’s settled with you he doesn’t want women fawning over him, he wants to give the signal that his heart is yours.

Showers you in so many kisses when no one else is around, seems like a hard ass but he’s a softie for you. It makes the bat family happy to see that for him.

Onto gift giving though!!!! He’s a very busy man so he unfortunately cannot be around all the time but he always makes sure to send you little gifts to let you know you’re on his mind.

If you like expensive gifts then he’ll give you expensive gifts but truly he just wants to give you little things that will make you happy, he wants to save the big gifts for important days!

A toxic trait of his is that when he gets hurt and upset he tends to distance himself from you even though you’re there for him. After a while of talking him through it everytime it happens he starts to stop and open up to you more and more.

Dick Grayson!!!

Dick is a bit of a man hoe and has dated many people before you. Hopefully when he finally got with you though he’s matured a lot more and won’t leave you after a while just to date another girl.

If not it’s probably a complicated on and off relationship ☹️ don’t want that for you tho.

For him to settle down with you you’d likely need to be someone who’s like his anchor, able to hold your own and on the more mentally stable side.

You in no way need to be perfect though, he will love you all the same and will do his best to help you.

Speaking of helping, he’s got eldest sibling syndrome. He is STRESSED as he carries the weight of his family and the name of nightwing. He truly loves his family and try’s his best to be there for them but it runs him thin. This does mean he can be a lot snappy sometimes cause he’s not good at actually expressing his emotions so it comes out in bursts.

But for him having that eldest sibling syndrome, support him cause he really needs it, he may seem all happy but it’s usually hiding something.

Back to him being snappy tho is that he has a tendency to not let you know he has any problem with you and will act completely fine and then make some snarky remark which was clearly personal about some thing you did. It’s always uncalled for and happens when his temperament is running thin.

The more he starts to get it in his head though that he doesn’t need to perform being okay all the time he very much improves.

His love language is words of affirmation!

He likes reassuring you, supporting you, and saying sweet things to you. He also loves being reassured, told it’s okay, and being told sweet things, please give him words of affirmation he needs it.

Come up to him randomly and praise him about how well he’s been hiding stuff together lately, that you love him, and are there for him if he ever needs anything? His heart is melted.

If y’all share an apartment it’s routine to leave sticky notes around for eachother.

Onto affection tho, He absolutely will be affectionate to you in front of other people and he absolutely does not care about the teasing of his family, he owns that shit.

If he gets forced to a gala he is dragging you along so he doesn’t end himself. Love hates the attention of other women fawning over him, he’s an attention whore so a part of him loves it but the other part of him gets pissed because he is taken to a lovely you.

That is another flaw of Dick though, he loves attention a bit too much so hopefully you’re not a jealous type? He would never cheat and he absolutely isn’t tolerating any disrespect on your name, he just like when people pay attention to him.

Jason Todd ☺️

I like the idea of Jason with a nurse reader, or at least one well experienced in first aid.

Almost every night he comes home to his cold grimy apartment to patch himself up but once he has you in his like he’s able to come to your warm home to be patched up.

It’d take him getting gravely injured for him to allow you to help him in the first place but after that he starts to come to you to help him, even if it’s not necessary, he just wants to see you.

He has so many walls built up that will need to be taken down. He has a lot of fears that what he does will get you hurt, he’s also just not much of a people person. But if you are able to protect yourself decently well and install some good ass security it’ll put his mind at ease.

He will then constantly fuck with your security to prove it’s not secure enough and then try to make it more secure. After a certain point it is just more of him trying to find an excuse to be around you.

Please reassure him that he can come to you whenever and he doesn’t need a reason to at all. Also give him keys and beg him to stop breaking in. He will still occasionally break in though.

Refuses to introduce you to his family for a long time. They do still find out about for after some point and they will be running many background checks on you, they are a family of detectives after all.

The bat fam teases him very hard about you if given the chance, Tim and Steph are the worst, Damian is in disbelief anyone would even date Jason, Dick and Barbara usually keeps their mouths shut with possible light teasing. Cass and Duke are supportive though!

His love language is acts of service and affection.

He will fix anything you need fixed if needed. Your sink is leaking? Easy he’s fixed that like nothing. Need to to put together furniture but you don’t feel like putting it together? He will put that together in a heartbeat. Parts in your car need to be replaced? Absolutely he’s doing that 10x better than any person you’d pay for but for free.

Well not completely for free though, he’ll want all the cuddles, kisses, and all the affection now, not even in a sexual way most of the time, he wants sweet affection a lot of the time.

He’s almost always very gentle with you despite his rough exterior and personality. He always looks at you so sweetly and has a habit of brushing your hair out of your face and fixing your hair anytime something is astray.

After a while he basically just lives at your place as his place is a shit shack that he sucks at up keeping, he’ll keep your place clean though don’t worry.

Has a tendency to sleep on your couch a lot. He always gets back late and doesn’t want to wake you, also sometimes he’s smelly and gross but too tired to shower when he gets back so he just shuns himself to your couch and showers whenever he wakes up. That’s usually when you wake him up at some point mid day and go make him shower.

Not big on PDA but sometimes he’ll walk with you with a hand on your waist or holding your hand. Especially likes to hold your hand if sitting next to you and will rub his thumb atop you hand.

Tim drake (love my Bi Icon)

He loves cuddles. Tim is often consumed in work and running off so much caffeine and once he crashes and sleeps he’s cuddling with you if available and he’s OUT. Hair messy, sprawled out over you, and drooling. Be ready to be stuck there. It’s okay though because he’s absolutely adorable, messy hair galore.

Vibes heavy with working on things alongside eachother. He’s okay with just being in your presence as he works on what he needs to work on.

He may be hella smart and a great detective but when you guys first start dating he becomes an awkward nervous wreck who suddenly second guesses all abilities to read you. Like what if you secretly hate him? Or think that he’s weird?? What if he’s being to much???

He levels out after a while and is normal again don’t worry, he just gets way to nervous at first.

His love language is words of affirmation. He’ll leave you sticky notes and little cards all the time. Either it’s in your laptop or notebook that you find after you two were just hanging out, or he breaks into your really quick while out on patrol and leaves you a quick little sticky note, he also love making you cards. All of this containing how much he loves you and how much you mean to him.

A possibly toxic trait of his is that he cannot keep in touch and be there for you all of the time. If you are someone who is secure with not having constant attention from your partner then it’ll be okay but Tim is very busy and definitely can’t text all of the time or hangout all of the time.

Makes an effort to call when he can tho! He’s just not much of a texter tbh but he’ll call randomly.

When you two finally get to hang out it is yap central. Y’all are cuddling, playing games, and catching up on any and all drama and things that’s happening in your lives. Also because you guys might be able to hangout much it at least means y’all have A LOT to talk about. Also when y’all hangout it’s usually a sleepover.

When he has you meet his family he will tell you about any and all family drama, and if anything shocking happens between the bat family in front of y’all, you BET y’all are gonna be talking to each other about it later. Y’all love the drama.

Damian Wayne (not kid Damian ofc)

To have gotten close to him you’d likely have to had known him since he was a kid and also through forced proximity, probably due to his family having you around for some reason. It’s possible that you could’ve met him from school but it seems unlikely as he thinks lowly of most average people, BUT if you prove yourself as very intelligent or skilled in some way that would earn his respect.

In the case you are able to get close to him he shows his care in his own interesting way. He’s stubborn and doesn’t fully like to show that he cares about you but he’s very protective of you.

Generally a bit hard to get through to or get close to Damian because of his past. He sees opening up to people as a weakness in one way or another, but, I think over time with the support of his family (that’s not on his mother’s side ofc) he becomes more open to opening up to people.

Back to him being protective though! If you get into trouble he’d likely slightly bully you for getting yourself into trouble, sometimes he is just messing with you but other times he can’t help but feel angry at you if you did or almost got yourself seriously hurt. It’s definitely a red flag of his that he gets angry and doesn’t handle his anger well if your get yourself seriously hurt or almost so, he does try to work on it though.

Damian isn’t a complete asshole though, he still does truly care and if you visually start to get upset or break down he will take a breath and comfort you the best he can. Which isn’t well ,but, depending on how long you’ve known eachother it is something he’s been working on.

will absolutely never admit his weakness to you to anyone, not a soul, but maybe Alfred.

His family is able to see it though, they just chose not to tease him about it like they would for anyone else’s relationships in the family. They understand that feeling weak is a big thing for him and he absolutely will take it to heart if they tease him.

You’re close to the only person he’d not be a complete a menace to, still a bit of a menace though but he tries to be better for you.

also not one to cuddle much but he loves to pet your hair. You both are watching a movie and you rest your head on his lap? You will be falling asleep because how won’t stop playing with your hair.

This is because he still isn’t great with affection, he does still crave it though.

When y’all kissed for the first time he probably ran away to question his life for a little, one of his sensible family members had to tell him it’s okay to love someone and it doesn’t make him weak and his mom won’t kill him for it (well they at least wouldn’t let her)

Oh also I think his love language is acts of service. He will be fixing anything for you if needed. It’s the easiest way for him to show that he does really care about you.

Casandra Cain 💕

Would likely prefer a civilian reader who she can tell about her being a vigilante to, I say a civilian reader as you would have a much more stable schedule than compared to another vigilante.

Her love language is quality time. She absolutely love going places with you, like the aquarium, the park, a coffee shop, any place really.

Y’all have a list of places that with one of you want to visit and you two slowly try to get through that list.

Cass loves people watching, please people watch with her. Y’all can then talk about what your seeing, Cass would have an especially good eye too with her amazing ability to read body language. You will still have to do most of the talking though because she isn’t much of a talker. It makes her happy though to just listen to you talk, she finds your voice soothing.

She’s very attentive to your needs and is very very quick to notice if something is wrong.

Her flaw which isn’t even a bad one at all is that she’s quick to always try and do something to make you feel better. Which that doesn’t sound bad but sometimes being able to just feel your emotions is very important instead of her just instantly trying to make you feel better.

With communication though she gets better at communicating with you about if you want yo be cheered up or if you just need to feel your emotions and just be upset for a little.

It takes her a while to be open to affection with you but after a while she really likes cuddles.

Scary big dog gf, appearance wise she’s not that scary but oh boy can she give of big dog gf energy as soon as anyone comes up to y’all who’s hitting on either one of y’all. Oh if walking in the streets of Gotham and probably about to get mugged she’ll scare that person off in an instant.

She’s sweet but absolutely do not underestimate her- do not forget she kicks so much ass.

[velvetydream]

꒰ :🥀 [ The radio star lost ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

Summary : Your husband was the feared serial criminal in New Orleans, Louisiana, and you where his dearly beloved wife, his right hand. So.. Oh what a despair was awaiting you soon..

Pairing : Human! Alastor x Wife! Reader

Word count : 3549 Words

Genre : Angst, Drama, Romance (a bit)

Warnings ➵ Murder, Swearing, Blood, Death, Guns,

Death penality, Corpses

a/n : Continuation of my Alastor x Wife! Reader > Till death do us part < , seeing as this isn't really a continuation, but rather a prequel, it can be read as a stand-alone, hope ya'll still enjoy it just as much as the first part!♡

Another thing in advance, this is purely fiction and shall not be seen anywhere near reality, I do not condone anything in this and it's pureply based on fiction.

┌───────────────────────── ·  ·  ·  · ♡

1933'

You were like Bonnie and Clyde. A criminal duo, invincible. Or so you thought.

Alastor, your beloved husband. The man you had known for almost two decades, married for almost one decade now. You loved him dearly, even with his little quirks and tendencies. He worked as a well-known and quite popular radio host in New Orleans. Yet he had a tendency for disposing of those he deemed right, you had helped him many times already. Having found out way before you even married him, how he was a murderer, yet you found it enticing, how his mind worked, who he deemed worthy to let go.

"Dear, the meal is almost ready!" You got pulled out of your thoughts by the soft voice of your husband. It was rather unusual for the man to cook in a marriage, but your relationship was far from ordinary, so you enjoyed it. His cooking was far better than yours after all. "I'm coming!" Standing up from the couch, you make your way over to the kitchen, there he was in all his glory. His brown hair was pushed back, glasses sitting on top of his head instead of resting on his nose, and sleeves pushed up to not get them dirty, ironic considering the amount of times he got them bloody. "It smells amazing my beloved! Thank you so much!" A quick peck was pressed to your husband's cheek, as you took a seat at the table, some amazing meal steaming on the table. Alastor puts his apron away, sitting down as he slides his glasses back onto his nose.

Dinner time was always one of your favorites during the day, enjoying a warm meal while talking to your husband about both of your days.

Just after you had finished dinner, your husband took a seat in front of the piano, letting his hands softly glide over the tiles. The instrument echoed with the soft tune he was playing. Walking behind him, you lay your arms around his neck softly, swaying your body a bit to the music he played. Alastor was a talented man with instruments, being able to play a few of them, the piano being one of them. Also quite talented with the violin. "Oh my darling, what a beautiful tune as always~" Humming along now. No one heard the screams coming from the basement. The desperate screams of your next victim.

"When we're talking about music right now my dearest, Mimzy invited us to her performance tomorrow! So how about we postpone our.. plans to the day after tomorrow?" No killing and instead going to Mimzy's show? Oh yes! "Oh, how lovely that sounds! Of course!" Agreeing to his proposal. But for now, you two get ready for bed, lying down in your shared bed.

Another one of your favorite times of the day, getting to lay down with him and finally rest, letting the stress and exhaustion of the day pass. "Did I ever tell you that I love you a lot?" Resting your head on your husband's chest now, who was silently reading a book, closing it now that you were talking to him. "Many times darling and I do love you a lot too~" Alastor knew his way around words for sure, he was such a sweet talker, but that's one of the things you appreciated about him. Raising your head to face him, you take a glance at his lips, before up into his eyes, you knew how he felt about touches he didn't initiate, right now you were only cuddling because he pulled you onto him. Chuckling lowly, he lowers his head down and captures your soft lips with his. Alastor's kisses mostly were soft, like a butterfly resting on your hand or like a spring breeze. Usually, his kisses were planted on your hand or cheek, but from now and then he gave you the satisfaction of a soft kiss on the lips, which always left you giggling like you were right now. Falling asleep in the safe embrace of your husband shortly after.

The next day went by smoothly. Alastor was busy with his work as a radio host, while you took care of the house and did some grocery shopping, meeting up with a few friends of yours over tea. Shortly before you went home for the day, you visited Alastors mothers grave to leave some flowers and clean it, you sadly never met her, but your husband tends to tell you a lot of stories about her. Sitting down by the grave for a minute, you tell her a bit about what Alastor has been doing, how you were loving his cooking and music as always. It was a habit of yours, you hoped she was listening to all the good things you were telling her about him. Taking your things after a while, you bid your goodbye to his mother's grave as you make your way back home. Putting away the groceries before starting to freshen up. Loving to take your time to get ready when you and Alastor decide to go out in the evening.

"Dearest I'm home!" Hearing the lovely voice of your husband calling from the door, answering him now, how you were getting ready. Putting on your favorite dress. It was made out of a beautiful deep red color with black lace all over it, a few gems here and there. Your best jewelry could of course not be missing, most of it you got from Alastor or your own mother. "Darling I'm ready! How far are you?" Exiting the bathroom now, searching for your husband and finding him in the kitchen with a glass of whisky. "Oh my, what do I see here? What a lovely gem you are darling!" Abandoning his glass, Alastor walks over to you, taking your hand as he twirls you around, before kissing the back of your hand. Clad in a black suit, his button-up shirt underneath dark red matching to your dress, while his bowtie was adorned with a red gem, he looked lovely. "My you also look lovely dearest! Definitely going to catch some eyes!" Hooking your arm in his now, you together leave the house and make your way to where Mimzy's show will be held.

Mimzy was a great friend of Alastor, a blonde gorgeous but short lady, who performed like no other. Arriving at the place, you were led to a table for the regulars, as Alastor and you were known by the staff by now. Ordering two drinks, as you await the show. Soon lights go out and Mimzy comes out, her singing and dancing amazing like always.

"Dollface! Pumpkin!" Mimzy's voice was booming as she approached your table, giving both of you an affectionate hug. You ended up talking with her for quite a while, telling her how amazing her performance was and that you were so glad that she invited you two again. Thanking you for your kind words, her attention quickly diverted to Alastor again. It was almost always like this, she said she liked both of you, but you couldn't shake the feeling that she did have a certain distaste for you. But you decided to let it slide like always, as you listened to Alastor tell Mimzy what you two were up to since you've last seen her.

Alastor of course started to notice how you were getting irritated by Mimzy and how she was only focusing on him. "My dear, I think my lovely wife is not feeling so well tonight, perhaps it would be better to take our leave now, still thank you for having us as always. Till the next time." Alastor stood up now as Mimzy stomped off with an annoyed face, extending his hand for you. Smiling at him softly as you take his hand and let him lead you outside. A shiver ran down your spine as your arms got goosebumps, a coat was soon placed over your shoulders, looking over to Alastor who watched you with a soft smile. "Dear, next time you feel uncomfortable please do tell me and we will leave immediately, you know how much I care for your comfort." Thanking him, you take his arm as he leads you through the park to your home, it was a little longer than walking through the streets, but it was calming to walk through nature together.

"Shall we head to bed? It's been a long day and evening." Taking the coat from your shoulders at home, he hangs it on the hanger beside the door. "I love that idea, let me tell you about my day in bed, I visited your mothers grave again." You were already walking to the room as you talked to him, so you weren't able to see his eyes follow you as they softened. It saddened him you never got to meet his mother, she would've loved you dearly, just as he does. Telling him all about what you told her before, how you left flowers and also cleaned her gravestone, as you settled into bed, as he was changing into his sleepwear. Alastor was so thankful for having a caring and lovely wife like you.

The night went by fast, today Alastor would finally have a day off from work, which meant a different kind of work today for both of you!

The steps down to the basement squeaked as Alastor put his weight on them, your heels making clicky noises as you followed him down a stark contrast in sound. And there sat the victim he deemed perfect for his next case. The screams would be recorded for his personal little collection. You were getting everything ready for him, it would be interesting to watch like always. Alastor changed so much when he killed, no shimmer or glimmer in his eyes, not how he looked at you, the soft gaze replaced with a blood thirsty one. Liking it quickly, you were soon getting rid of the victim, this time deciding to bury him in a forest, you opted for the forest a few times already even though it was a bit risky, it was the easiest to get rid of them. At home, Alastor decided to take a bath, as he told you to head to bed already with a kiss on your cheek.

When he joined you in bed, he looked relaxed, cuddling up to you. Murders always ended like this, it somehow made him so calm and affectionate with you. Placing a soft kiss on your neck, as his arms hold your waist. Your hand threaded through his brown soft locks, something you loved to do. For once your beloved husband fell asleep quicker than you, making you be able to watch him sleep, not in a creepy way, but in a loving way. Alastor was often so stressed with work, yes he loved being a radio host, but it sometimes got to him. Rubbing your fingers over his cheek softly, then over the bags under his eyes before pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. Yourself slowly falling into dreamland.

Morning came way too quickly, Alastor was back to work, and while you decided to stay at home and do some housekeeping, a few rooms needed cleaning. A friend of yours stopping by to tell you how a new corpse was apparently discovered by the police, which is connected to the many murder cases lately. Tensing up a little bit when she told you how they discovered it in the forest after one of the farmers nearby saw some shadows in there. It couldn't be the corpse from last night, right? Simply agreeing with her that you would be careful, even telling her how your dear husband would never let something happen to you on his watch, which made her coo at your marriage, if only she knew..

Mid conversation your husband comes home, greeting you with a soft kiss on the cheek before he leaves for the back of your home. Your friend leaves soon after, as you go and search for your beloved. Finding him in his office, gripping the table. You knew what was about to come.

"Dear?" Approaching him, Alastor pushes everything on his table off, papers scattering, a cup breaking as pens roll all over the floor. "They already discovered it.. HOW?! I was careful! Pathetic! How dare they! Are they making fun of me?!" Worried for your husband, yet you stood still, listening to him. "I had to talk about it today! At the broadcast! Act as if I was surprised! Haha! If only they knew! Right doll?!" Turning around, his eyes were darting around the room, before falling onto you, laughing as he took your hand to pull you in. "They really think they can discover us like this! US! They are worthless! Pathetic even! Oh my dear! We truly are the greatest!" He was twirling you around as if dancing now, despite no music playing. Only his mad monologue. You've dealt with this behavior a couple of times already, knowing to just let him act and talk for now as he pleased. "Oh, what a wonderful day my beloved! I will go and make my favorite dish for us now! How beautiful!" Leaving the room now, a skip in his step, as you bend down to clean up the mess your husband caused.

Joining him in the kitchen now, as he was softly humming to the radio as he was cooking his favorite, Jambalaya.

A knocking sounds from your door, looking up, you tell Alastor you are going to get it, and upon opening it you come face to face with a detective and a police officer. "Greetings ma'am, is your husband home?" His voice was deep, you nodded, leaning the door closed as you hurried into the kitchen to get your husband. "Greetings gentleman, how may I help you?" Alastor opened the door composed as ever, drying his hands from washing them with a clean towel, as he gave the men at the door a polite smile. You retreated back to the living room, still listening to their conversation. Asking him about the murder cases, why him? It was probably only because of the radio broadcast, right? Maybe his boss told him to talk about it without the detective's permission. As the door closes and Alastor is back in the kitchen, still calm as always as you join him. "Dear? What did they talk about?" Looking up at him with worry written all over your face, he turns to you. "Don't worry your pretty little head dearest, it was nothing to be mentioned! Smile dear, you know you're never fully dressed without one!" Pushing the corners of your mouth up with his fingers now, making you smile, before shushing you out of the kitchen so he can cook. Not able to help it but worry, were you about to be figured out?

But over the course of the next few days it all calmed down again, no more police officers or detectives visiting you, which finally calmed your mind. Alastor meanwhile had found a new target, telling you about this man he met the other day and what bothered him. It was all back to normal now, which you were glad about. Till this one dreadful day.

Alastor and you made quick work of the man, your husband telling you to stay home this time to clean up and that he would take care of this on his own. You worried again, but he assured you that he would be quick, after cleaning up and getting rid of any evidence, you cleaned yourself and sat down to wait for your beloved. Yet after hours of not coming back, you grew anxious, desperate even to know what took him so long. As a knock echoes through your house, you rush to the door, opening it ready to scold your husband for taking so long, but your breath stops when a detective stands in front of you.. What happened?

He asked to enter your home, sitting you down on the couch as he took a seat opposite of you on the armchair. "Your husband got shot ma'am, he was burying a corpse, we assume him to be the serial killer at fault for so many murders lately. He passed away instantly, I'm sorry for your loss and to bring you this horrific and murderous news." Your ears were ringing. Huh? Shot? Was that man joking with you? Was he someone Alastor paid to prank you? No, he wasn't the type for these kinds of pranks. Tears were streaming down your face, burying it in your hands now, sobs shaking your whole body. If that stupid man just knew, knew how you helped your husband with everything! Stupid! "Ma'am I-" The detective started, when you darted up, grabbing the man by his hair and throwing him out of your house. "Get lost! Never show up again! Leave.. NOW!" Slamming the door shut now, he probably took this as a shock to knowing who your husband really was, but you knew that already for years. Sinking to your knees, your arms hug around you as your head hits the floor, screams and cries of agony echo through the now empty halls. Your husband, the man you loved so much was dead, just like this? What sick nightmare was this? Cries reduced to soft sobs when your throat started to hurt, by now your body was curled up into itself on the floor and like that, you fell asleep.

The next day you awoke to the sunlight, your body sore from crying and sleeping on the floor, looking around for a second, for Alastor before it doomed on you, he was dead. Shot like an animal.

Your mother accompanied you to identify your late husband, you of course clad in all black. His forehead is now adorned with a hole, the detective explaining to you that he was mistaken for a deer. Asking for some privacy from everyone, you were left alone in the room. If it wasn't for that damned hole he looked like he was simply sleeping, peacefully like the night before. Leaning down to press one last kiss to his temple. "I will always love you my dearest, for now and forever, till I join you in death."

Leaving the room, you didn't dare look back, you were going forward from now on, knowing that someday you would meet him again.

Your mother had offered for you to move back in with her, but you told her despite what he did, he was a lovely husband to you and that you weren't able to yet let go, which she understood. Back at your home, you sat down and just stared at the wall. Why did this have to happen? You could be cuddling together right now or enjoying a meal, but that would never be the case ever again. But you told yourself, swore yourself with that last kiss to his temple that you would carry on in his memory. And so you did, three more murders continued after your husband was dead, till you were discovered.

In front of the law, you were sentenced to the death due to having caused three murders yourself and helped with multiple, carried out by your late husband. You accepted it, not that anyone asked, but you would be seeing your husband again, at least you hoped you would. A few days later after the case was closed and you were sentenced, it happened.

1935'

"Alastor! Dearest! Charlie told me you wanted to see me?" Entering the radio tower with a bright smile, Alastor turned to you with his signature smile. "My beloved! You look lovely as always! Look at you, aren't you a little gem!" He was walking over to you, his red ears on his head bouncing slightly with each step he took. Closing your eyes now as he told you to do so, a sensation of something cold around your neck running through your body now. "Open up doll!" Opening your eyes and looking down, your eyes tear up. It was a necklace, that looked similar to one he gifted you on the first anniversary of your marriage. "Alastor.." Looking up at him, as a few tears escaped your eyes.

"Now now sweetheart, we don't want you crying hm? Smile dear! You know you're never fully dressed without one!" Giggling a little bit at that quote, he had used it so often when you two were alive. Not being able to help yourself, you throw your arms around his neck and pepper kisses all around his face and lastly a big kiss on his lips, you would be apologizing for suddenly kissing him later, but right now you just needed to kiss him. "I'm glad you love it dearest!" His arms are around your waist now as he laughs at the tickling kisses placed on his face, starting to spin you around as with a snip of his fingers music starts to play.

Charlie and Vaggie watch the soft moment from the door, tears streaming from the blonde's face as her girlfriend pulls her away to give you two some privacy.

[https-bobreynolds]

insane together

pairing: robert ‘bob’ reynolds x reader, mentions of the void x the enchantress

summary: just a random conversation on a monday morning in the kitchen with your boyfriend, bob.

author’s note: this is just pure random fluff, thanks for all the love guys <3 am not having a good time rn, reading all your comments and reblogs makes me feel so much better

“love,” you called the man, your boyfriend, who’s sitting beside you, “do you ever find it weird..?”

he gave you a look, “do i find… what, weird?”

“the fact that the two entities inside of us are also a thing?”

bob sighed, sipping on his cup of coffee. “it is a bit… weird, i suppose. why… why do you ask?”

you shrugged, “i don’t know, the thought just crossed my mind, that’s all.”

bob nodded, setting his cup down on the kitchen counter, “well yes, it is weird, but i prefer not to think too much about it, it’s-“ he paused, trying to find the right words, “it’s like… trying to make sense of an unsolvable math problem.”

you chuckled lightly, “yeah… i guess it is pretty much like that, huh?”

he nodded, a small smile on his face, “yeah… i don’t really want to get a headache trying to do the math to figure them out.”

you nodded, picking up your mug, “yeah, i don’t want to either. our relationship already confuses the public enough, imagine what their reaction would be if they find out that our respective entities are practically dating, too.”

bob chuckled quietly, his expression turning amused, “probably… probably just utter confusion and disbelief, followed by a lot of questions, and a few headaches.”

you laughed, “yeah, no kidding. they’re either going to think we’re insane or we have lost our minds completely. maybe both.”

he nodded, a smirk on his face, “oh yeah, they’ll definitely freak out. and imagine how they’ll react when they learn about the whole treaty thing we have with them…”

you rolled your eyes, a small grin on your face, “that’ll blow their minds- they’ll wonder how the hell we manage to come to an agreement with a goddess, worshipped by the pre-columbian maya and inca civilizations, AND a destructive entity which is the literal embodiment of depression.”

bob chuckled, “yeah, i’m sure they will. hell, i don’t… i don’t think they’d even believe us if we told them the whole thing… they’ll think we made it up.”

you nodded, “honestly, i wouldn’t be surprised if they do end up thinking we made it all up. the whole idea of it sounds a bit ridiculous when you say it out loud, don’t you think? who do you think will believe that?”

he sighed, “not one person for sure. they’ll think we belong in a mental institution… but… i don’t mind, though. being crazy with you seems better than being normal. a-at least, in my opinion.”

you rolled your eyes playfully at that, “yeah? you enjoy being crazy with me, huh? do you like being labeled as insane?”

he chuckled, “hey, being insane with you? i love it. as long as we stick together… i don’t care what people think of me or what they label us as.”

you cracked a smile, “yeah, who needs normalcy anyways? insane together, right?”

he returned the smile, his eyes filled with affection, “insane together indeed, sweetheart.”

tag list:

@lovetoalll

[agustdtown1]

CLOSER TO YOU [TEASER]

PAIRING: nerdy!roommate!jungkook x OF!reader.

SUMMARY: After getting various comments about your poor filming skills for your OF page, you finally decided to give in and reach out to the one person that could help you with your problem. However, what started as your roommate just helping you to film your video turned into you begging him to fuck you.

How long would it take for Jungkook to finally give in? After all, all he ever wanted was to be closer to you.

WC (teaser): 615, final work is almost 10k

WARNINGS (teaser): swearing, sexual themes, allusion to masturbation, it’s not explicitly stated but reader is fully naked, reader being a little menace and jk being completely whipped for her. The rest of the warnings will be added to the final fic.

A/N: not me coming back here after almost a year of not writing anything. I don’t have any further explanation aside from the fact that my life changed a lot and I got way busier than I thought I would, I also kinda lost inspiration and motivation to write so… there’s that, hopefully with this new fic I’ll be back to writing more often and being active. n e way, enjoy your reading and lmk if u wanna be tagged for the final fic! <3

You can read part one here !!

masterlist

“Kook…” You breathed out, “I need you.”

It was so subtle, so fleeting the smugness that covered his face for a brief instant that you barely noticed. His eyes widened and his lips moved like that of a fish trying to survive out of the water, he didn’t know what to do, much less what to say. 

“Me?” He whispered, completely clueless of the effect he was having on you in that moment. You nodded, fingers stilling in between your legs. “Wh-What do you mean?”

You sat up, stopping the filming once again. “Exactly what I said, I need you… I-I need your help with something else. You can say no, but… I would be forever grateful to you if you said yes.”

Jungkook was putting to use his 128 IQ score to try and understand what you were hinting at, but none the wiser, he needed the words spelled out to him to get your idea. And so, as softly as possible, you explained what your need was actually about. You noticed the way his body reacted to you and the show you were putting on for your viewers but more specifically for him; it was painfully obvious how much he desired you, and in all honesty, you weren’t any better. 

Ever since you two started living together, you swore that you wouldn’t act on the small and silly crush you developed for him after meeting for the first time. It was just a silly attraction that wasn’t worth the hassle of getting involved with your roommate; his built body and big biceps drove you crazy, and you couldn’t turn a blind eye to the intricate tattoos adorning his arm, which was such a stark contrast to the type of man he made himself out to be; the lip ring shining from his mouth was so painfully enticing, and more often than not, you found yourself wondering what it would feel like against your lips while kissing the life out of him. And God bless the person that gets you started on how much you loved those black rimmed glasses that adorned his eyes almost 24/7, giving him a geeky look that would never fail to make you weak in the knees. But all of those features, as well as the lewd scenarios conquering your mind minutes before going to sleep, had made it difficult for you to stay in your lane all this time. Tonight, however, might be your one and only chance to turn your dirty dreams into reality, only and only if Jungkook agreed to your idea.

“I don’t want this to ruin our friendship.” He murmured, looking down at the floor and avoiding your hopeful eyes glaring at him. You reached out for him, your soft hands coming in contact with his covered thighs while you kneeled in front of him. “Y/n… don’t do this to me.” His whole body stiffened, fighting the urge to jump your bones and turn you into a crying mess just like he always imagined.

“You don’t want me like that, Kookie?” You so innocently asked, lashes fluttering against your cheekbones. “Is that the real problem, hm?” Your hands were sliding up and down his thighs, teasing him.

“God, no.” He answered breathlessly, “You have no fucking idea how bad I want you…”  

“Then why don’t you show me? What’s stopping you, hm?” Your cheek resting on his jean-covered thigh elicited a soft gasp from your roommate. “It's just a small favor.” 

“I… fuck, you’re driving me crazy right now.” He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends while letting out a frustrated groan. Jungkook took off his glasses while rubbing his eyes before looking at you again. “You have to promise… you really have to promise that it will be a one-time thing. No more favors after this, at least not of this caliber.” 

You nodded eagerly, looking at him with a spark in your eyes. “I promise, just this time.” 

“Okay,” Jungkook nodded, “I’ll help you with anything you need.”

[lexalith]

SOUR || Choi Subong (Thanos)

summary: a summer trip to seoul was supposed to be a brief escape, not a love story. meeting subong wasn’t on your bucket list… neither was spending five nights tangled up in his world, wrapped in a kind of closeness that felt too good to ever be temporary. you wanted to believe in it. in him. in the version of love that could survive anything. but loving subong was never meant to be easy. and by the time you realize the damage, there’s no saving either of you from the inevitable crash. when did your love turn so sour?

warnings/this story contains: 18+ (reader discretion is advised) female reader, small age gap (reader is 24, subong is 28… story ends when reader’s around 27 and subong’s around 31), smut (fingering, implied unprotected sex, face sitting, praise, degradation, p in v, oral sex f+m, public sex, sexting, phone sex, breeding kink, sex while being high, switch!subong and switch!reader, leg humping. subong acts like a dog in heat quite literally and is very pathetic at times… he’s overly freaked out) subong calls himself daddy once as a joke but it felt morally correct to include it as a warning lmaoo. reader is a foreigner. excessive use of pet names and the words “fuck” and “fucking”. completely fabricated subong lore. angst (miscommunication, manipulation, gaslighting, lies, deception, name calling, heartbreak, drug abuse and addiction, emotional codependency, verbal fights, toxicity, trauma, emotional whiplash, mentions of suicide/mental health and suicidal ideation, near death experience, identity loss, financial instability, debt, gang involvement) subong’s an actual human being with feelings!! (crazy, right?) both subong and the reader do and say questionable stuff at various points. they’re not perfect. ah, yes, there’s also a bit of fluff too ig… this story doesn’t have a happy ending.

a/n: this is an au set before the games! this story took me forever to write, but it’s finally here and i really hope you enjoy it :) it’s extremely LONG, though (around 40k words), so get comfy. also, i have absolutely no idea how crypto works, but i did my best. as always, lower case is intended, reader’s dialogue is in bold, text messages are in purple for subong and orange for the reader. english isn’t my first language.

songs: ifhy — tyler the creator (pls, pls, listen to this because it’s literally them) || all i need — radiohead || duvet — bôa || less than a zero — the weeknd

the night has barely started and you’re lost in hongdae, sweating through your shirt, and praying your phone doesn’t die because it’s already on 27% “let’s just go in here,” one of your friends says, pointing at a building lit up in flashing purple and blue. it’s not your first choice. not even your third. the last two clubs you tried had lines stretching down the block and bouncers who barely glanced at you before shaking their heads, and the one before that was so packed you heard someone literally got pushed back down the stairs. you’ve spent more time wandering around than actually partying, and at this point, anything with functioning air conditioning sounds good. no one argues, you’re all too tired to keep searching. so you follow the group through the door.

the club isn’t what you expected, and the second you walk in, you all kind of pause like… huh. for one, the music’s live. which isn’t necessarily a bad thing—it’s just not what you were hoping for. not exactly what you had in mind when you pictured partying in seoul. but you stay. partly because it does feel more local and less… touristy. and also, one of your friends is already deep in conversation with a very tall, very handsome guy who appeared out of nowhere and offered to buy you all drinks—which, given the state of your wallet and your mood, feels like a small miracle. so you can’t really complain, can you?

the guy casually mentions he’s got a table upstairs and asks if you all want to join. next thing you know, you’re slipping past the crowd, walking toward a staircase in the back that leads to the vip section. an area you definitely wouldn’t have gotten into on your own, not dressed in sneakers and a tank top that’s slowly clinging to your back from the heat. so there you are, heading up, clinging to the sticky handrail. upstairs is somehow worse and better at the same time. the music is slightly muffled, the lighting is dim and moody, couches line the walls, there’s actual airflow, and from here, you can see the stage perfectly—a little overlook built for people who want to pretend they’re part of the party without actually being in it.

you hang back for a bit, sipping something cold and citrusy, listening to your friends laugh and flirt and fall into easy conversation with a new group of people that magically appeared the second you sat down. and then, just as you’re about to zone out entirely, the music shifts. a beat drops and you freeze for half a second because is that 50 Cent? it is. or at least, a sample of something that sounds very, very similar. then, you hear a voice sliding between english and korean with ease, and that makes you stand up. you mutter something about needing air (which is a lie), and wander over to the balcony that overlooks the stage, drawn in like a moth. that’s when you see him—mic in one hand, the other moving with that effortless kind of swagger people either spend years practicing or were just born with. he’s wearing yellow tinted sunglasses even though it’s pitch black in the club, oversized clothes, and purple hair styled into what looks like two small, deliberate horns which, if you’re honest, is the first thing that catches your attention. his voice is deep, a little rough, and he spits each line with the mic so close to his mouth you can hear every breath he takes between bars. there’s something strangely intimate about it, like he’s performing just for himself and anyone else who happens to be listening is just lucky to be there. the crowd doesn’t seem particularly impressed, but you are. the lyrics aren’t exactly genius, but the delivery is. some lines are so cocky they make you laugh under your breath without meaning to. because it’s not what he says, it’s how he says it. he knows exactly how good he looks with a mic in his hand and doesn’t care if you agree. and unfortunately, you do.

“oh god, he’s awful,” your friend mutters beside you, and it startles you a little. you hadn’t even realized she was there, you’d been too focused, too pulled in by the purple-haired guy onstage. “he’s not that bad. i like him—the song, i mean,” you say, still watching him. there’s a pause, and then she gives you a look, trying to figure out if you’re being serious or if you’ve just had one too many drinks. “he’s said the word ‘bitch’ over twenty times,” she says flatly. “i counted.” you let out a small laugh, shrugging. “yeah, but like… with passion.” your friend snorts, shaking her head, but before she can get another jab in, someone calls her name from inside. she turns, leans in a little. “they’re doing shots,” she says. “come on.” you hesitate, glancing back at the stage—only to realize the music’s stopped. the lights have shifted, and the guy with the purple hair is no longer holding the mic, someone else is already taking his place, adjusting a guitar strap. he’s gone. you blink, surprised at how disappointed you are, and nod. “yeah, okay. coming.” you follow your friend back into the low light and noise, pretending not to care that you didn’t even get his name. not that it matters. it’s not like you’re going to see him again.

except you are. when subong steps into vip, still slightly buzzed from the stage lights, his eyes move instinctively across the room, and he sees you. he doesn’t know who you are, doesn’t recognize your face, which is rare. because he’s seen most of the faces that cycle through this place, and someone that pretty? oh, trust, he would’ve remembered. you’re standing next to the couch with a drink in one hand, looking a little overwhelmed but not uncomfortable, surrounded by people but not really paying attention to any of them. you’re not trying to stand out. which is probably why you do. his gaze lingers longer than it should. because something about you is pulling at him, and subong’s never been the type to ignore that feeling. so he grabs a drink from someone’s tray and makes his way toward you, direct. like he’s already sure how this is going to go. he stops in front of you, eyes flicking down once before landing on yours. “señorita, excuse me,” he says, voice smooth. you recognize him immediately. up close, he’s different. prettier. no, actually… he’s so fucking fine. you pay special attention to his sharp jaw, and eyes that are clearer now without the yellow sunglasses hiding them. “you’re cute,” he continues, casual, like it’s just a fact he felt obligated to mention before anything else. then, after the smallest pause—“hi.” you blink, caught off guard by the compliment more than the greeting. “hi.” his lips twitch, holding back a grin. “i’m thanos.” the music chooses that exact moment to spike—a sudden burst of bass and reverb that drowns his voice out completely. “sorry—what?!” you ask, leaning in slightly. he steps closer, bringing his mouth near your ear, his breath warm against your skin as he repeats himself loud enough for you to hear over the music. “i’m—i’m thanos!” you catch a whiff of his cologne when he moves, something fresh layered with the faint, bitter scent of smoke. it hits you all at once, and for a second, you forget what you were even trying to ask. you pull back enough to look at him again, brows lifted. “thanos?!” “stage name!”

the music finally drops to a bearable level, something with a steady beat. “like the marvel villain?” you ask, laughing a bit. “the one who wiped out half the universe?” “yeah.” “why thanos?” he just lifts a hand, points lazily at his hair, and then turns his wrist to show you his nails, each one a different color—deep purple, bright blue, fiery red, vibrant green, and a sharp orange. “see?” he says. “you’re fully committed to the bit!” “branding,” he says, like it’s obvious. you shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “well, nice to meet you,” you say, offering your name in return. he repeats it under his breath, trying it on. it sounds different with his accent—stretched out a little, in a way you instantly like. his korean accent is obvious, and you’re sure some people would call it heavy, but to you it just sounds… hot. he gestures toward the space between you, then tips his head slightly. “did you see the set?” you nod. “yeah. from the balcony.” “and?” “you were… loud.” you admit, taking a sip of your drink to buy time. “mmh,” he hums, clearly entertained. “not your style?” “not usually,” you say. “but i liked it! you had your moments.” “that’s good,” he nods, eyes still on you. “i only needed one.” “one what?” “moment. to get your attention.” oh, okay… smooth. he lets the silence hang for a second, sipping his drink. “you’re not from around here,” he says eventually—not a question, more like an observation he already knows the answer to. you shake your head. “nope.” “where you from, baby?” you raise your eyebrows at the pet name, almost embarrassed at how warm your cheeks have gotten hearing him say it. you tell him where you’re from, and he nods like that fits some kind of theory he’s already formed about you. “just visiting?” he asks. “yeah, we’re here for the week,” you say. “girls’ trip.” his gaze flicks past you briefly, toward your group of friends still talking and drinking behind you, then back to you. “that all?” “mhm.” you nod. “good timing.” “for what?” you ask, tilting your head. his eyes flick over your face. “me.”

so that’s where this is going. not that you weren’t already suspicious. you kinda figured by the way he looks at you like he’s halfway through undressing you with his eyes, but still, hearing him say ‘me’ with that much confidence really drives the point home... he wants to fuck you. this is very much a he has already made up his mind and you’re just the last one to catch up. well, good luck with that, boy. you tilt your head, pretending to think. “i don’t even know your real name.” he grins. this part is his favorite—the push and pull, the game. “i’ll tell you later, baby.” you narrow your eyes. “later when?” he doesn’t miss a beat. “when you let me buy you another drink.” you stare at him for half a second, considering your options, which—let’s be honest—are limited. you could walk away and rejoin your friends, go back to the safety of watered-down vodka cranberries and gossip. or you could stay here, entertain whatever this is, and see how far he plans to take the act. subong’s still looking at you, glass in hand. in his mind, he’s already planned five different ways to keep your attention if this line doesn’t land. you glance down at your drink—or what’s left of it, really. a few pathetic ice cubes floating around in reddish water, the sad remains of something that once had flavor. it’s warm now, or getting there, and you’ve already chewed on the straw more than any adult should admit. there’s no real reason to say yes, but there’s also no good reason to say no, so you nod. “okay.”

it’s quieter closer to the bar, though still not quiet. he orders something—you don’t know what—in korean, and you don’t ask. you just lean against the bar like you’re not mentally calculating how close he’s standing. the drinks arrive, stronger than the last one you had. you sip as he asks about the trip, nods when you give half-baked answers, says little things you don’t always catch but smile at anyway. somewhere along the way, he starts teaching you random korean words, pointing at objects. you try to follow along, repeating what he says with varying degrees of accuracy, sometimes getting it close enough to earn a nod, sometimes butchering the vowels so badly you can see him wince, like you’ve committed a mild crime against his language.

he’s close. so close you start noticing the details. the way his the fabric of his shirt moves, the faint line of a scar near his collarbone, and the thin silver chain resting against his skin, catching the low light with every shift of his body. it disappears beneath the collar of his shirt and reappears again near the dip of his throat. a tattoo peeks out from the side of his neck, a straight black line that seems to be connected to one of his fingers. your eyes flick to his hand before you even think about it. silver rings catch the light—some smooth, others engraved with intricate patterns. you don’t know why you’re so focused on them, but there’s something about the way they contrast against his tanned skin that keeps your attention. then he lowers his hand, and your gaze follows. there, on the back of it, another tattoo in black ink sprawls across his skin—some kind of demon with horns, twisted together with what looks like snakes. it’s faded in places, like it’s been there a long time and he hasn’t bothered to touch it up. without thinking, you track the movement of his fingers as they flex slightly before settling at his side. they’re long, perfectly proportioned to his massive hands. wait… that’s fucking hot. would they feel coarse on your skin? would they— “yo.” you blink, snapping back to reality, realizing he’s watching you, head tilted slightly, amusement playing at the corner of his mouth. “you good?” he asks, his smirk deepening and making your face warm. “yeah,” you say too quickly, clearing your throat. you’re pretty sure your mouth was watering for a second there.

you try to focus back on the conversation. focus on the way he tilts his head every time you speak, like he’s making room for the sound of your voice. it’s probably something he does with every girl he likes the look of, and yet you still feel the heat crawling up your spine like you’re special, which is probably exactly how he wants you to feel. and then, without ceremony, it just happens. one second you’re trying to act normal, pretending you don’t notice the way he keeps glancing at your mouth between sentences, and the next he’s leaning in— hand on your jaw, breath warm and close, before he kisses you. and honestly? it’s not great. it’s hot, yeah, and his mouth is warm, and you can tell he knows what he wants to do… but it’s too much. all tongue and pressure and zero pacing… like biting and breathing through his nose and full-on consuming you is the only way to make sure you’re into it. your teeth knock once, your lips feel bruised, and for a second you’re just trying not to choke on the fact that he is really going for it. you pull back, a hand against his chest to create a little breathing room, your lips probably shiny in the worst possible way. your eyes meet his and you swear he looks kind of smug about it, like he thinks you’re about to fall into his arms or ask him to fuck you right here. “jesus,” you mutter, not even hiding it. “slow down.” his brows lift, breath shallow, lips parted like he’s halfway through his next move, and you can tell he didn’t expect to be stopped. he probably never is. “what?” you don’t move your hand, just stay there, catching your breath. “i’m not going anywhere,” you say, a little softer this time. “just… not like that. try—try going slower.” he blinks once, like he’s rewiring the pace in his head, and then the corner of his mouth twitches. “bossy. i like that.”

and to his credit, he does what you asked. he leans in again, slower. this time, it actually feels like a kiss. it’s still deep, a little wild and rough, but better than before. you make a soft noise into his mouth and his hands respond immediately—one sliding lower, the other gripping your hip. and then you feel it—his fingers moving further down, gripping your ass like he needs something to hold onto or else he’s going to lose his fucking mind. bold. heat is building fast, and he’s pulling your body right up against his, which you let him do. he’s finally moving like he’s tuned in to what you want instead of just steamrolling through it. it’s good. the kind of kiss that makes your brain go fuzzy and your knees a little weak. and then he pulls back. “you wanna get outta here?” and… he’s just ruined it! “what?” his hand squeezes your side a little, still very much pressed against you. “yeah, like… somewhere private. we don’t gotta stay long.” the subtext is not even trying to be subtle. you lean back to look him in the face. “seriously?” he shrugs, but his eyes flick away for half a second because he already knows he’s misread this. “i mean. you’re into it. i’m… really fucking into it. figured we could…” he trails off, then laughs like it’ll cover for the fact that he has absolutely no idea how to finish that sentence without sounding like a dick. “you don’t even know me,” you say, and it comes out flatter than you expected. “you kissed me, girl.” “and that means what, exactly? that i owe you something now?” you start to move, shifting away from him, scanning the room for your friends.

“wait, wait—! shit—no, don’t go,” he says, suddenly very aware that he’s said the wrong thing. “please don’t hate me, pretty girl.” his hand almost reaches for you but he thinks better of it. “i didn’t mean it like that. okay, no—i did, but not like—damn. shit, man.” you don’t say anything, and that seems to only fuel the panic. he keeps going. “you’re just—fuck, you’re so hot, bro. like… so fucking hot. you have the best ass i’ve ever touched in my entire fucking life, and your mouth? damn girl. i’m not built for that kind of shit, i got so hard i—sorry.” he laughs under his breath, runs a hand through his hair. “i’ll—i’ll chill. i can chill, baby. i’ll make out with you for five hours straight if that’s all you want. i swear to god. i just—i don’t want you walking away thinking i don’t respect you or some shit.” he knows how he looks. like the kind of guy who gets girls easy, like he does this all the time. and sometimes, yeah, sure, some do stick around for a night or two, but not like you. and if kissing is all he’s getting tonight, then fine—he’ll take it happily. you laugh, soft and breathy, and he can’t tell if it’s at him or with him, but it doesn’t really matter. there’s something amused in your eyes, like you’re watching a very eager dog try to sit still. you’re trying to decide if he’s serious or just really, really horny. maybe both. either way, you find extremely funny the way he went from cocky to borderline begging in under a minute. “i’m not like that,” you say finally, and your voice is gentler now. “i don’t do the one night stand thing. it just feels… cold.” he nods. he hears you, even if he’s still a little dazed from the way your mouth tasted two minutes ago. “and you’re sweet,” you add. “but i’m gonna head back to my friends.” “wait,” he says. “can i—can i get your number, baby?” you pause, considering whether or not you want to give it to him. “yeah, okay. sure” you end up saying. “give me your phone.” oh, don’t tell him twice… he fumbles for it, unlocks it fast, and hands it over. and when you type your number in, he watches, not quite sure it’s really happening. you hand his phone back, and he stares at the contact for a second longer than necessary before locking the screen. you’re already stepping back when he finds his voice again. “and—fuck, wait,” he says. “if i asked you out… like, on a date. would you say yes?” you snort. “maybe.”

by the time you get back to the hotel, your feet are killing you and your face hurts from laughing, your makeup slightly smudged. you’re all stretched out on one bed, voices low and tired and still a bit drunk, retelling the night in pieces, everyone interrupting each other with “wait—wait—and then she said—” and “i swear he looked straight at me,” and “i think that guy wanted to kick us out, dude.” and then, eventually, they ask. about thanos. you tell them about the kissing, about the moment he ruined it, the apology and all the ridiculous things he said. they laugh, obviously. one of them calls him down bad, and yeah, fair. another says he sounds like a walking red flag, and you nod, because again, fair. but then you mention the part where he asked for your number. how he asked if he could take you out. “and you gave it to him?” one of them asks. you just shrug, staring up at the ceiling. “i mean… he asked nicely.” they tease you, of course. and you pretend not to care, but you’re smiling into the pillow like a fucking idiot anyway, because something about the way he said please don’t hate me, pretty girl has been playing on loop in your head all night, and it’s way too late to pretend it didn’t get to you. you’re about to drift off, the room quiet now, someone already snoring in the corner—when your phone buzzes. a text. from a number you don’t have saved yet, but you know exactly who it is.

yo babygirl

pls tell me this is u and not like some random old man

you stare at the screen for a second, already shaking your head, biting your lip to keep from laughing. you don’t respond right away.

dont leave me on read baby

you finally answer:

who’s this?

you know exactly who it is but you still want to make him suffer a little.

girl dont play me rn

it’s thanos🔥

you roll your eyes, but your smile’s already giving you away.

mm idk name doesn’t ring a bell

crazy, u were tryna suck my soul 2 hrs ago, girl

you tried to suck my soul, get it right boy

okay thats fair, my bad

i got excited

u fine asf what was i supposed to do

you glance over at your friend, still asleep, then sink deeper into your pillow, thumbs moving slow on your screen.

romantic

i can be for you bby

:))

cute

you never told me your real name btw

it’s subong

choi subong if we r being formal n shit

subong?? no way that’s real, it sounds made up as hell

why would i lie tho

this me fr, ask my mom

oooh say less, send me her number, i’ll fact check

u tryna meet her already?? damn girl slow down

you read it once, then again—and the laugh that comes out of you is loud enough that your friend stirs beside you and mutters something unintelligible into her pillow. he texts again.

so what u doin tmrw night, bby?

depends

on?

what you’re asking

dinner, me n u

dinner?

yeah u said u not on that one night shit so i adjusted

growth, baby

okay mr. mature

so what time u lettin me pick u up tmrw

when did i agree to the date?

dont play w me ma, cmon lemme feed u

ooookayy pick me up at 8

bet

dont flake on me pretty girl

i already told my friends i got a date w the baddest tourist in seoul

dw i’ll send you the hotel address tomorrow🙂‍↕️

goodnight subong

goodnight❤️

you wake up slowly, blinking against the sunlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains as someone’s phone buzzes on the nightstand. your mouth’s dry, your back aches a little from the shitty mattress, and one of your friends is already rummaging through their suitcase way too loudly for 9 a.m. the day starts in hongdae, where you grab iced lattes from a café, and eat soft pastries that flake apart in your hands while you lean against the glass and watch the crowds pass by. you wander from there, no real plan in place. it’s hot, not unbearable but definitely the kind that makes the shade feel like a gift from god. you end up in ikseon-dong after someone sees a post about it on tiktok—the winding alleys and hanok rooftops and little stores selling handmade accessories. you try on rings, pose in front of storefronts you can’t pronounce, and eat cold tteok skewers that stick to your teeth while your friends debate if it’s worth renting hanboks just for the photos. and it’s somewhere in between all that—while you’re wiping your hands on a napkin—that someone turns to you and says, “so what happened with purple hair?” you shrug. “he texted.” “and?” you don’t say anything. instead, you reach into your bag, pull out your phone, and start scrolling. you wordlessly hold your phone out, and one of them takes it, squinting at the screen as the others gather around her shoulder. it takes about three seconds for the noise to start. “yo babygirl?” “oh, god… not the fire emoji.” “nahhh, he’s a bit icky—” “no, no, i think he’s lowkey funny.” they keep scrolling—laughing, gasping, reacting… and then someone sees it. the message. “wait… you’re going on a date?” you nod. “what? girl, you met him like twelve hours ago—do we trust him?” she lowers her voice even though no one around would understand anyway. “we’re in a different country, you literally met him at a club, and now he’s taking you somewhere alone?” “i know,” you say, already anticipating this. “i’ll be careful.” “how careful?” “i’m gonna send you my location before i leave. i’ll keep it on the whole time. if anything’s weird, i’ll text.” the worry’s still there, visible in the slight crease between their brows, in the way they exchange looks. “i’ll be fine, don’t worry.” “okay. but try to be in public spaces.” “i will.”

you make it back to the hotel just as the sky starts turning that soft, bruised purple, and you peel off your clothes like they’re too heavy, staring at the limited wardrobe you packed as if suddenly it matters way too much. you change your outfit twice, almost three times, before settling on something simple, something that doesn’t look like you’re trying too hard. you’re fixing your hair for the hundredth time when your phone buzzes.

outside

your stomach flips so hard it’s stupid. you grab your bag, do a quick mirror check you immediately regret because now you’re second-guessing everything, and head for the elevator before you can talk yourself out of it. and when you step out into the sticky air outside, you spot him almost immediately—standing by the curb, head tipped back slightly as he exhales a slow stream of vapor into the humid air. he’s dressed way more casual than you expected too… an oversized white t-shirt hanging loose over broad shoulders, baggy jorts and sneakers. he looks… cool. subong spots you, flicking the vape down to his side with a lazy grin as you start walking toward him. you barely get the word out— “hey—” when he steps right into your space and presses a kiss to your mouth. your body freezes, every muscle stiffening in surprise. you instinctively pull back, blinking up at him. “what—” you start, hand coming up between you half in reflex, half in shock. “what are you doing?” he shrugs, one shoulder up, all casual confidence. “what you mean, girl?” he says, tucking his vape into the pocket of his jorts. “we kissed last night.” you just stare at him, heart still hammering, lips tingling from the stupidly quick kiss. he’s looking at you like you’re the crazy one, like this is normal. but there’s the smallest tug at the corner of his mouth, the smallest glint in his eyes that says he knew exactly what he was doing. “that was different,” you mutter. “was it?” you open your mouth, ready to say something—not sure what—but nothing comes out. you try to catch up to the pace he’s apparently set without telling you as he glances back at you, one eyebrow raised, head tilted slightly like what? what did i do? you shake your head, blinking to reboot your system or at least form a coherent sentence, “you can’t just kiss people like that.” he grins. “wasn’t just people. it was you.” you snort. “you’re lucky i didn’t slap you.”

he laughs under his breath, genuinely amused by how hard you’re trying to act unbothered when you’re still standing close enough to feel the heat coming off him. “okay, don’t trip,” he says, like he’s letting you win just because he feels like it. “i won’t kiss you again, i’ll be good. you set the pace. whenever you’re ready to stop acting like you ain’t feelin’ me, you let me know.” you roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts, but you’re also pretty sure your face is still warm from the kiss, and the worst part is, he knows it. his eyes trail down your body, and he lets out this soft, almost inaudible damn under his breath that somehow feels a thousand times louder than it is. “you look so fucking good, baby,” he comments, voice dipping lower. “shit’s actually disrespectful.” he licks his bottom lip. “got me thinkin’ wild stuff.” before you can even finish processing the fact that he just said that out loud with no fucking shame, he reaches out, fingers curling gently around your wrist, and spins you—checking out the full view. there’s something in the way his eyes trail over you as you turn that makes your skin prickle. and subong knows he’s pushing it but can’t quite help himself. you stumble a little when you land back in front of him, cheeks hot, hand fluttering uselessly at your side.“so pretty.” “thank you,” you respond, voice smaller than you mean it to be.

desperate to shift the focus, to get it off you, you ask, “so this is what you wear on a first date?” your voice back to playful now. he grins, completely unfazed, hands slipping casually into his pockets. “yeah,” he replies. “like what you see?” you can’t deny he pulls it off. “could be better,” you tease, throwing it out just to see if you can knock him down a peg. it makes him laugh, head tipping back slightly like you just said the funniest thing in the world. “alright,” he shakes his head. “i’ll let you get away with this one. first one’s free.” you grin, feeling lighter now, falling into step beside him as you both start moving. you walk for a bit, the conversation drifting into whatever, until something tugs at the back of your mind. you glance around the street, at the line of cars parked along the curb, at the people climbing into taxis and scooters buzzing past, and a tiny frown pulls at your mouth before you even know why. you slow your steps just a little, enough that subong notices, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “wait,” you say, looking around again, feeling the pieces start to click together. “where’s your car?” he doesn’t answer immediately—just lets out this quiet heh under his breath, the kind of sound that’s both i knew this was coming and damn bro, she caught me. “uh,” he starts, dragging the word out way too long. “‘bout that.” you try to keep a straight face because you’re very close to laughing and you’re not sure if you’re allowed to. “i don’t have one.” “you made it sound like you were picking me up.” “i did pick you up,” he argues, grinning like this is all very charming and not mildly ridiculous. “i’m here, aren’t i?” you shake your head, letting out a laugh you can’t hold back this time. “relax, señorita,” he says, nudging your arm lightly with his elbow, walking backwards a few steps so he can keep looking at you. “the place we’re going is close. we good. thanos’s here with you.” you raise your eyebrows, biting back another laugh. “yeah, okay.”

you follow him down a few blocks, weaving through narrow side streets that don't look like they lead to anything good, the sidewalks cracked and uneven, neon signs lit overhead. you're not really sure where you're going, but somehow you don't care. finally he stops in front of a tiny restaurant. there's no sign in english, just a battered old menu taped to the window, the plastic chairs outside scratched and sun-bleached to hell. you glance at him, raising an eyebrow, and he just smiles, flashing you that lazy, boyish look like trust me, i got you. subong holds the door open for you, and you step inside. the place smells like frying oil, grilled meat and cheap beer, and the tables are crammed so close together you have to squeeze sideways to get through. there’s a little bar shoved in the back, stacked with soju bottles and bags of chips, and a woman behind it who looks like she’d throw you out if you looked at her wrong.

you sit at a table near the window, the seat creaking under you, and he grabs two menus—ones that are almost falling apart from too many hands flipping through them—and leans across the table like he’s about to tell you a secret. “they got the best shit here,” he says, all serious. you laugh under your breath and skim the menu… it’s all in korean. and when you look up at him, he’s already watching you. “what you want, baby?” he asks, tapping the menu with his ringed fingers. “i have no idea what any of this is.” he chuckles, low in his throat. “don’t worry. i got you.” he orders for both of you, tossing words toward the server with an easy familiarity, laughing at something she says in return, flashing her that same smile that’s been getting him out of trouble his whole life, probably. you watch him, chin propped on your hand, hiding your grin. it’s hard to pretend you’re not a little charmed. the food comes fast: bubbling stews, plates of fried chicken glistening with sauce, little bowls of pickled side dishes you can’t name but don’t hesitate to try. it smells incredible. you barely finish thanking the server before you’re digging in, laughing when you nearly burn your mouth on the first bite because you were too impatient to let it cool. “careful, girl,” subong says, laughing at you while he pops a piece of chicken into his mouth. he watches you take your first proper bite, waiting for a reaction, looking way too pleased with himself when you close your eyes and groan around a mouthful of food. "told you.”

the conversation flows easy after that—mostly him talking, telling you stupid stories about growing up in the city, about getting in trouble for sneaking into clubs before he was legal, about how he got kicked off stage once for getting too drunk during a performance. every once in a while he has to stop mid-sentence, brows knitting together as he fumbles for a word in english, pulling out his phone to type it into a translator app, muttering curses under his breath when it doesn't come out right. but most of the time he powers through, thick accent clinging stubbornly to every word. you notice it—the effort, the way he doesn’t act embarrassed about it, just keeps talking, keeps looking at you like what matters is that you’re listening, not whether he gets every syllable perfect. but his english is way better than you expected. by the time the plates are empty and you’re leaning back in your seat, full and happy and a little buzzed from the cheap beer he insisted you had to try, you realize you haven’t stopped smiling for at least an hour. when the server drops the check, he snatches it off the table before you can even reach for it, tossing a few crumpled bills into the plastic tray. “i said i got you, baby. you’re my guest in seoul. gotta treat you right.”

you step out of the restaurant still laughing at something stupid he said. subong throws an arm around your shoulders, tugging you a little into his side as you start walking again. jesus, this man loves physical contact. but you let him because fuck it—you’re in seoul, he’s fine as fuck and you just had the best dinner ever. you assume this is it. that he’ll say something smooth about how he had a good time and then you’ll part ways like normal people… but of course that’s not how this night is going to end. “yo,” he says suddenly, glancing at you sideways. “you ever been to karaoke?” you blink at him, thrown off. “like, here? in korea?” he nods, looking way too excited about it. you laugh. “i mean, no? not yet.” “say less,” he says immediately. “we’re going.” you don’t even protest. maybe it’s the beer, or maybe it’s the way he says it, giving you no room to say no but somehow you don’t want to anyway. once you arrive to the closest karaoke place you could find, he pays for an hour and drags you into one of the rooms, tossing the remote onto the fake leather couch before flopping down like he owns the place. and you swear you’re ready—thinking he’s going to pick something remotely cool that would actually show off the fact that he’s a real rapper with actual skills—but instead, he picks the corniest, cringiest song you’ve ever heard, something so bad it feels like it should be illegal to perform it in public. and he commits to it, bouncing a little on the couch and pointing at you dramatically, hand over his heart, singing the dumbest lines with so much fake sincerity that you’re doubled over laughing, wiping tears from your eyes while he struts across the tiny room like he’s on tour. “this one’s for you, babygirl,” he says between lines, winking exaggeratedly, nearly dropping the mic because he’s laughing too hard at himself. you can’t remember the last time you laughed like this. to the point where your stomach hurts, and the laugh bubbles up uncontrollably until you can’t breathe and you’re clutching the arm of the couch just to stay upright.

somewhere in the middle of it you realize you’re completely fucked because he’s so annoying and so stupid and so fucking handsome at the same time. his hair’s sticking to his forehead, sweat glinting at his temples, his oversized t-shirt clinging to his chest in a way that makes it real fucking hard not to stare, and every time he sings louder, that vein in his neck strains against his skin like it’s begging for your mouth. lord, have some fucking mercy. you hate him for it—hate the way he’s making you want him without even trying, without even looking at you sometimes… just existing like this, all loud and cocky and hot enough to make your thighs press together. you cheer for him because you can’t not, hollering louder than you should when he throws in a stupid dance move that nearly knocks over the mic stand. and when he finally hands you the mic, yelling “let’s gooo, pretty girl!” like you’re stepping onto a stage instead of a busted karaoke floor, you realize you’re smiling so hard it actually hurts. you sing, and he’s clapping, hyping you up like you’re winning a fucking grammy—shouting your name. you take turns picking songs after that, drinking whatever cheap shit they sell at the front counter, voices cracking, bodies slumping closer together the longer the night drags on. and somewhere between your third song and his fourth, somewhere between him rapping aggressively at you from three feet away and you pretending to dodge his dramatic finger guns, it happens.

you catch him grinning at you, and your heart kicks hard against your chest, like your body already knows what you’re about to do before you even decide it. you remember in that moment what he said outside the hotel, about letting you set the pace. and god help you, you’re ready to set it now. you don’t think. you just move, leaning over the little gap between you, grabbing the front of his t-shirt, and pulling him in. when you kiss him, it’s nothing like the night before. it’s so much better. his mouth slants over yours perfectly, with enough pressure to make your stomach flip and enough softness to make you forget about everything outside. one of his hands slips around your jaw to hold you steady and the other one finds your thigh. you hum against his mouth without meaning to, and subong breathes out a low sound in response. you pull away to catch your breath, and when you kiss again, it’s a bit more desperate, which makes him groan, the sound vibrating against your mouth. it’s honestly embarrassing how fast you feel your panties soak. you don’t know how long you stay like that—lost in the beat of some awful pop song bleeding through the thin walls as you heavily make out—but you know that when you pull back again, breathing hard, you’re smiling like an idiot. and so is he.

it’s past three in the morning by the time you finally stumble out of the karaoke bar, that area of the city almost empty now. the only sound between you is the soft scuff of your sneakers on the pavement and the occasional lazy laugh when one of you says something too stupid to hold in. you make it back to the hotel slower than you probably should’ve, feet dragging a little like both of you are trying to stretch the night out just a little longer, neither one really willing to say it’s over yet. you stop just outside the hotel doors, under the weak yellow glow of the streetlights, and turn to him. subong smiles at you. “had fun with you, baby,” he says. you smile back, feeling it settle deep under your skin. “i had fun too. a lot.” he nods like he’s filing that away somewhere important, then shifts his weight. “we should hang out again,” there’s a thread under it you can hear, something almost urgent. you bite your lip, hesitating just a second longer than you mean to, and his eyes catch it immediately, narrowing slightly, picking up the shift in you. “i mean…” you start, fumbling a little, “i’m here with my friends. i told you, it’s like… a girls’ trip. we already have stuff planned and—” he cuts you off, scoffing, half laughing under his breath, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “man, fuck them plans,” he says, grinning but shaking his head like he’s serious underneath it. “they get to see you all year. i got only four days now, girl. four.” you open your mouth to argue, to say something logical and responsible, but he continues, “they ain’t gonna miss you for a few hours,” he says, coaxing, all lazy sweetness. “i will.” you blink up at him, caught off guard by the way he says it. maybe you should say no, tell him you’re here for your friends, not to get caught up in some boy you barely know. maybe you should turn around and go inside and pretend this night was enough. but the truth is, you already know what you’re going to do. so you just breathe out a soft, helpless little laugh, and shrug one shoulder like you’re trying to play it off even though you know he sees right through you. “okay.” you nod. “i’ll see you again.” the grin that breaks across his face is so quick, so bright, it almost knocks the air out of you. he doesn’t even try to hide it. “damn right you will,” he says. “same time tomorrow, yeah?” you can’t help the smile that pulls at your mouth, can’t stop yourself from playing along. “same time?” “yeah, baby. same time.”

the next morning you wake up feeling like you barely slept at all. you lie there for a few minutes, blinking up at the ceiling, replaying pieces of last night in your head, until someone throws a pillow at you and tells you to get up because you’re all late for whatever tourist plan you made before the trip. you tell them about the date during breakfast, skipping over the part where you made out on the sticky leather couch, but you’re pretty sure they can read it on your face anyway. they tease you again. ask when the wedding is and if they should start learning korean for the reception. those bitches. you laugh along with them, pretending you’re not checking the time more often than you should as the day wears on, counting down the hours until the sun goes down and it’s time. when you make it back to the hotel to shower and change, the sun’s just dipping low behind the buildings, painting the whole city gold. your friends are sprawled out on their beds, chatting about dinner plans for the night, but you’re in another world, getting ready for your date with subong. you slip outside just a few minutes before the time you agreed on, standing on the same spot as the night before, the concrete still holding the heat of the day. you spot him as he walks toward you, vape tucked between his fingers, a slow stream of smoke curling up. he’s hard to miss—not just because of the purple hair, but because somehow he looks even better tonight, a little more put together. he’s wearing those same jorts, a white tank top that clings to him in a way that makes you bite the inside of your cheek, the thin fabric stretched across the lines of his shoulders and the curve of his chest. over it, he’s thrown on an open short-sleeved button-up, some tropical print you can’t even process because you’re too busy processing him—the way the shirt flutters open as he walks, flashing glimpses of tan skin and silver chains. you restrain yourself from barking because oh my fucking god. you’re so feral, it’s insane. he gets closer, mouth curling into a smirk. “damn, mama,” he says. “you tryna kill me looking like that?” you smile. “maybe.” he snorts before reaching out to hook a lazy arm around your shoulders like he did last night, pulling you into his side. “come on, baby,” he says, giving you a little squeeze. “night’s young.” you glance up at him, amused. “so, what’s the plan?” he hums, thinking, like the idea of having a plan never once crossed his mind. “have fun, get you fed and keep you laughing. that good enough?” you chuckle, letting yourself be dragged wherever he feels like going.

he pulls you down a side street you wouldn’t have noticed otherwise. there are carts lined up one after another, steam rising from boiling pots, old men barking orders, kids laughing, girls dressed way too nicely for the grime around their shoes. subong stops at the first tteokbokki stand he sees, hands you a toothpick without asking like it’s a rite of passage, and grins at you when you eye the bubbling, angry red sauce with suspicion. “don’t be soft,” he says, plucking a rice cake out and blowing on it dramatically before popping it into his mouth. “fire, but it’s good for you.” “fire? what do you mean ‘fire’?” you poke at a piece, hesitating, and he bumps your hip with his. “c’mon, girl. don’t think about it.” you stab the piece, blow on it half-heartedly, and take a bite—immediately coughing as the heat punches you square in the mouth. he laughs so loud people actually turn to stare. you glare at him through watering eyes, cheeks puffed out, waving your free hand frantically. “shit, baby, you good?” he says between wheezing laughs, grabbing a water bottle off the cart and handing it to you. you chug half the bottle in one go, scowling over the top of it while he keeps laughing, trying and failing to school his face into something resembling sympathy. “it’s not funny,” you choke out, but it’s hopeless—you’re laughing too, half in misery, half because his smile is so stupidly infectious.

you move from cart to cart after that, him insisting you try everything—fish cakes dipped in broth, skewered meats glazed with something sweet, a fried pancake stuffed with brown sugar and nuts that you basically inhale because it’s the first non-lethal thing you’ve eaten all night. you end up perched on the curb a few minutes later, paper trays balanced between you. it’s not exactly glamorous, but somehow, sitting here next to him, none of it really matters. he’s good company… snatching bites off your plate like he didn’t just buy two full meals for himself. you watch him for a second, amused, as he chews dramatically, eyebrows raised like he’s waiting for you to fight him for it, but you don’t. “by the way,” you say, nudging him with your knee. “i forgot to ask. how old are you?” he freezes mid bite, eyes wide like you just hit him with a question he wasn’t ready for. then he swallows and smirks, licking sauce off his thumb before answering. “twenty-eight,” he replies, tapping his chest like it’s a badge of honor. “grown-ass man, baby.” you laugh, shaking your head. “you act like you’re eighteen.” he grins wider. “young at heart, old in the dick.” you almost choke on your food, smacking his arm while he doubles over laughing, clearly way too proud of himself. “jesus christ,” you mutter, hiding your face in your hands for a second while subong keeps laughing, wiping fake tears from the corner of his eyes. “what about you?” he asks once he catches his breath, nudging you back with his shoulder. “twenty-four,” you say, still side-eyeing him like you’re waiting for another stupid comment. he whistles low under his breath, shooting you a look. “damn. little baby. you’re so cute.” you flip him off automatically, but you’re smiling too much for it to mean anything.

after a while, he pushes himself up, brushing crumbs off his jorts, and reaches a hand down to you. you let him pull you up, your fingers slipping easily into his for a second longer than necessary before you let go, pretending not to notice the way he smirks. you start walking again, no real direction, just weaving through the crowds as the streets pulse around you. he keeps glancing down at his phone, scrolling, texting, doing something you can’t quite catch, and you’re about to tease him for being glued to it when a low rumble cuts through the street noise—a motorbike pulling up just a few feet ahead of you. you pause automatically, stepping closer to him, and he looks up like he’s been expecting it. the guy on the bike kills the engine and pulls off his helmet, grinning wide. subong grins back, stepping forward to dap him up—a quick handshake and a bro-hug, that thing guys pretend isn’t just them being affectionate. they talk fast, laughing and jostling each other like they’re still teenagers. you’re not really listening, since you understand absolutely nothing. your eyes flick between the beat-up bike and subong’s lazy posture, the way he gestures casually in your direction mid sentence and jerks his chin toward you. then he says something that you do understand. “that my girl.” and you can feel your cheeks get warm. the guy nods, still grinning, and tosses subong two helmets before hopping off the bike completely and handing over the keys without a second thought. he gives you a quick polite bow, claps subong on the back, and then disappears into the crowd without a backward glance.

you blink at subong, stunned, as he turns back to you, tossing you one of the helmets with a cocky grin. “what just happened?” you ask, catching it awkwardly. he shrugs, sliding his own helmet on. “my boy owed me a favor,” he says casually, tugging the strap of his helmet tight under his chin. “told him i needed a whip for tonight. came through.” you open your mouth to question that (because what the actual fuck) but before you can, he steps closer, plucks the helmet out of your hands, says, “c’mere, baby,” and starts fitting it onto your head like you’re a little kid he’s dressing for school. he’s surprisingly gentle about it too—adjusting the strap under your jaw, fingers brushing the sides of your neck, tilting your head a little so he can buckle it properly. you hold still, heart thudding a little too fast, trying to focus on anything other than the way he smells up close. he tugs the strap once to test it, his thumb brushing the underside of your chin lightly. “perfect,” he says, grinning down at you like he just built the whole damn helmet himself. you look up at him, a little too aware of how close he is, and mutter, “you do know how to drive this thing, right?” his grin only widens. he swings one leg over the bike, settling onto the seat like he’s done it a million times, flashing you a look so smug you already know the answer before he even opens his mouth. “nah. not really.” he pats the seat behind him with the flat of his palm, all easy confidence like he’s not actively trying to kill you both tonight. “come on, baby.” “what do you mean, ‘not really’?” “i mean, like... how hard can it be?” you just stare at him, actually opening your mouth this time because no, absolutely not, what the fuck. “subong—” but before you can launch into the speech he probably deserves, he twists a little in the seat, facing you more fully, one hand reaching out to tap his knuckles lightly against the side of your helmet. “chill, girl. i’m not gonna kill us.” you narrow your eyes at him through the visor, unconvinced. “trust me, yeah?” the sheer audacity of this man… but he looks so fucking good it physically hurts. like hell yeah, if he were to fuck you right now, the helmet would stay on because holy shit…

you blow out a slow breath, feeling the last of your protests crumbling away, and swing your leg over the bike, sliding onto the seat behind him. your hands find his waist automatically, gripping tighter than necessary, and you’re pretty sure he feels it…because he lets out this low, smug little laugh. “if we crash,” you mutter, “i’m haunting you.” “shit,” subong laughs, glancing back at you. “you can haunt me anytime, baby.” you snort, and then he’s pulling out into the street, smooth and confident in a way that should not belong to someone who openly admitted he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. the bike jolts forward a little rough at first, and instinctively, you squeeze him tighter, your fingers fisting the hem of his shirt like you’re clinging for your life. which you are. he laughs again. you can feel it more than hear it, this rumbling sound that vibrates through his back and straight into your chest. the first few blocks are hell. you’re tense, stiff, squeezing the life out of him every time he takes a turn too sharp or guns it a little too hard between cars. subong’s reckless, weaving through traffic, laughing under his breath when you curse him loud enough to make two drunk guys on the sidewalk turn around. “relax, pretty girl!” he calls over his shoulder. “i got you!” hell no. you don’t relax. but somewhere along the way— maybe after the third near-death experience—you loosen your grip a little. your body starts to move with his instead of against him, leaning into the curves, even when your stomach drops into your shoes. he flies through the city, streets blurring into streaks of gold and red and neon blue, the whole of seoul stretching wide and endless around you. you laugh and he hears it. you can tell because he glances back briefly, enough for you to catch the way he’s smiling with his eyes under the helmet.

eventually, he slows, pulling into a quieter part of the city where your hotel is. he rolls the bike up to the curb, tapping the kickstand down with the side of his foot. the engine cuts off with a low grumble. subong looks back at you, hands still resting lightly on the handlebars. “see? you survived,” he says. you snort, pulling off your helmet, your hair sticking to your forehead and your cheeks hot from the ride and the adrenaline. maybe a little from him too. “barely,” you mutter, swinging your leg off the bike and standing, feeling the ground steady itself under you again. he watches you, leaning back a little, hands loose in his lap, looking so stupidly proud of himself you almost want to smack him. but mostly, you just want to kiss him. and you hate how badly you want it. how badly you’re really starting to want him. you shove the helmet into his chest instead, and he chuckles, grabbing it easily like he was expecting the hit. “damn,” he says, shaking his head like he’s genuinely offended. “no kiss goodbye?” “maybe if you took off the helmet first.” without missing a beat, he yanks the helmet off, rakes a hand through his messy, sweat-damp purple hair, and looks at you. you don’t even hesitate. you lean in, pressing your lips against his, and he’s ready for it—smiling against them like he knew you’d cave, hands finding your waist and pulling you in. you pull back after a second, but subong stays close, forehead almost bumping yours. “better,” he murmurs. you huff out a laugh. “don’t get used to it.” “too late, pretty girl.” you shake your head, trying not to smile too wide, stepping back to give yourself breathing room you’re not sure you actually want. “i wanna know more about you,” you say all of sudden. his eyebrows lift. “oh yeah?” “yeah,” you say, feeling your face heat up. “we’re hanging out again tomorrow, right? i wanna know more.” he blinks, like you caught him off guard for a second, then he smiles. “oh, we are?” subong tilts his head, teasing. you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too, shoulders lifting in a half-shrug like you’re giving him a choice when you both know you’re not. “unless you’re busy.” you know damn well he isn’t. “i’m always free for you, girl.” “good. same time tomorrow then,” you afirm, stepping back, starting to turn toward the hotel entrance. behind you, you hear the faint click of his helmet getting strapped back on, the low rumble of the engine coming back to life. “hey,” subong calls after you, voice a little louder now over the growl of the bike. you glance back over your shoulder. “better get some rest, baby. you’re gonna need energy to handle all this tomorrow.” you raise an eyebrow. “all what?” he laughs, shaking his head. you’re so cute for even asking. “me,” he answers, flashing a wink. “got plenty to show you.”

and he’s right. he’s got plenty to show you—all the places that built him. the convenience store he used to get kicked out of for loitering. the fried chicken shop where he spent whole summers broke and eating scraps off his friend’s plates. the basketball court where he learned how to throw a punch and how to lose without crying. he shows you the narrow alley behind a laundromat where he tried his first cigarette—coughed so hard he almost passed out, ended up swearing off smoking for a year before picking it back up like a dumbass. and the little restaurant his mom used to take him to when she had extra money, telling you all proud, like he was taking her out instead of the other way around—points at a booth through the window, saying, “we always sat there. always. didn’t matter if the place was full, we’d wait.” you pass the corner where he says he got his first kiss—“shit was so bad… she had gum in her mouth, bro. almost choked me out.” he laughs so hard at his own misery you can’t help but crack up too. half the time you’re laughing so much you have to grab onto his arm to stay upright, the other half you’re just smiling, letting yourself imagine him at fifteen, wild and cocky and probably just as much of a little shit as he is now. he tells you about the time he broke his front tooth on a skateboard he stole from his neighbor—“wasn’t even a good skateboard, man, shit was so trash it couldn’t even roll properly”—and the time he got detention for a month straight for sneaking out during lunch breaks to freestyle rap behind the gym. he’s proud of it all in a weird way, even the stupid stuff, even the shit you can tell he probably should’ve been more ashamed of. and you get it. you get why he’s showing you this—the scraps, the corners, the places no one else would think mattered. because to him, they do. and for whatever reason, he wants them to matter to you too.

the night keeps pulling you along, the city thinning out into quieter streets, until you turn a corner and there it is—his old high school. the building itself looks tired, the chain-link fence rusted and sagging in places. he slows down as you approach, hands tucked loose into his pockets, eyeing the fence. you already know the look on his face before he says anything. and sure enough, a second later: “wanna go in?” you hesitate, glancing around. it’s late, the streets mostly empty, but still… breaking into a high school wasn’t exactly on your vacation checklist. “subong,” you hiss under your breath. “what if we get caught?” he just laughs, not even pretending to be worried. “ain’t nobody patrolling this old-ass place at night, baby. plus, you said you wanted to know more about me, right?” “shit—okay, fine. but i don’t wanna stay for too long,” you sigh, knowing you’ve lost, already stepping closer to him like an idiot because honestly, how could you not. he finds a spot where the fence leans out, grabs it with both hands, and yanks it back with a sharp creak, wide enough for you to slip through. he holds it open, hand reaching for yours. “ladies first.” you mutter something under your breath about how stupid this is, but your fingers still find his, and you duck through the gap, heart hammering way too loud in your chest. inside, the courtyard feels huge. you stick to the shadows instinctively, ducking your head as you walk, trying not to step directly under the working lampposts buzzing dimly overhead. subong moves beside you, easy and relaxed, hands shoved back into his pockets, looking around like he’s remembering every stupid thing he ever did here. he points out the corner where he used to ditch class to smoke, the back wall where he and his friends would race to see who could climb over it the fastest without getting caught. “got caught only once. made me mop the cafeteria floors for a week.” you stifle a laugh behind your hand, glancing at him sideways.

you weave through the empty playground, passing a soccer goal and a few wooden picnic tables, until you find yourselves near the old bleachers, which are leaning like they’re about to give up completely. before you can say anything, subong grabs your hand—big and warm around yours—and tugs you toward the space underneath. it’s dark under there, the only light filtering through the cracks in thin, broken lines from the nearest lamppost, but it’s enough to make out the shape of him standing in front of you. you’re still smiling when your hands find the back of his neck, fingers curling into the hair at his nape. his hands find your waist, sliding low, rough palms against your sides as he backs you up until your spine hits the thick metal bar behind you with a soft clang. you let out a breath, feeling the cold bite of the steel through your shirt, and feeling the way he cages you in with nothing but his body. he doesn’t say anything for a second—just stands there, so close you can feel the heat rolling off him. you tilt your head back a little to look at him, and he just grins, lazy and lopsided. “what’s your opinion, then?” he murmurs. “on what?” he leans in. you can feel the brush of his breath against your mouth, his hands tightening a little on your waist. “me. thanos.” you pretend to think about it, humming, dragging it out just to see the way his mouth twitches, fighting a smile. “trouble… but fun,” you whisper finally. he huffs out a quiet laugh. “good,” he says. “wouldn’t want you gettin’ bored on me.”

and then he kisses you, his mouth moving over yours with purpose. your fingers tighten in the hair at the back of his neck, making him groan, the sound slipping out between your mouths. the kiss grows hotter fast, needier. his hands are everywhere—pulling you closer until your body is pressed tight against his, the cold metal bar digging into your back the only thing keeping you grounded. you don’t even think about it, you just move. you grab his wrist, sliding his hand up, up, until it’s over your chest, pressing his palm flat against your left breast through your shirt. he stiffens for a moment before he squeezes, making you gasp softly. subong pulls back to look down at you, his pupils blown wide, lips parted, breathing heavily. “want me to make you feel good, baby? hm?” he mutters. you nod, fast and desperate, the word ‘yes’ stuck somewhere in your throat. his hand slides lower for a second, dragging slow over your ribs, down your waist, before he comes back up—fingers hooking into the dip of your neckline, where your shirt already hangs low. he tugs it down, dragging your bra with it until your left breast spills free. you barely get a breath out before subong’s mouth is on you, wrapping around your nipple and sucking hard enough to make you whimper. his tongue’s lapping at you like he’s tasting something he’s been thinking about for way too fucking long—because he has. his hand comes up to cup the underside of your breast, squeezing, pushing you harder against his mouth. your fingers dig further into his hair, pulling, desperate for something to hold onto because your legs are barely holding you up anymore. he sucks harder, sloppier, teeth grazing your nipple just to hear the broken sound it pulls out of you, his other hand already sliding toward the waistband of your shorts. you’re so fucking wet already it’s humiliating, a low ache building between your thighs.

his hand doesn’t stop—fingers dipping just beneath the waistband, grazing over your panties. you whimper, hips jerking forward instinctively, chasing the heat of his touch. his fingers slide under the thin fabric, and when he finds you—hot and soaked and so fucking ready for him—he hisses through his teeth, his whole body tensing against yours. “fuck,” he mutters, mouth still trailing over the swell of your breast. “you’re so fuckin’ wet for me—shit, baby.” he doesn’t even give you a second to catch your breath. his middle finger slips between your folds, gliding slow through the mess he’s already made of you, teasing your clit with the lightest fucking touch—making you writhe and grab at his shoulders, nails digging in. he pulls back from your chest finally, lifting his head to look at you with dark eyes and a shiny and swollen mouth from sucking on you. “you want it, pretty girl?” he rasps, fingers barely circling your clit, teasing you. “want me to fuck you with these fingers right here?” “yes,” you manage to say. “yes—please.” he grins like he was just waiting for you to beg. and then he finally gives you what you’re aching for. he slides one thick finger into you, slowly, letting you feel every inch of it, the stretch enough to make your mouth fall open around a broken gasp. “fuck,” he mutters under his breath, he can’t believe how tight you are around just one finger. “been thinking about this shit since the second i saw you.” he thrusts his finger deeper, curling it inside you, making your hips jerk helplessly against his hand. “couldn’t stop picturing it,” he keeps going, filthy and sweet all at once. “you, all needy and fucking dripping for me… just like this.” you whimper when he adds another finger, and your body moves on instinct—desperate for him, desperate for something more—your thigh brushing up against the bulge straining against his pants.

he shudders when you do it. a sharp, involuntary twitch running through his body. so you do it again, slower this time, dragging your leg against him on purpose just to feel the way he grits his teeth and mutters something under his breath in korean. “you got me so fucking hard, girl. shit—” he rasps, but he doesn’t pull away. he just flexes his fingers inside you instead, fucking you deeper, rougher, desperate to keep you right there against him. and when you do it once again, subong finally gives in, hips grinding into your leg in these short, helpless thrusts, chasing friction. you keep rocking your hips into his hand, feeling the heel of it grind up against your clit every time his fingers sink deep inside you. it’s filthy, the wet sounds of him working you open, and the soft, broken little whimpers spilling out of your mouth no matter how hard you try to bite them back. he pumps his fingers faster, his palm catching your clit on every thrust, making your whole body jerk and tremble, gasping so loud you’re sure someone’s gonna hear. he kisses you before you can make another sound, crushing his mouth against yours, swallowing every moan. his tongue slides against yours, demanding as you cling onto him, legs shaking. “you’re so fuckin’ loud, baby,” he pants, pulling away for a second. “what, you tryna get us caught?” you shake your head frantically, mouth falling open around another moan.“then be good for me,” he growls, thrusting his fingers harder, lips brushing yours. “c’mon. be fucking good and cum for me. let me have it, baby.”

you don’t even have time to warn him. your whole body tightens, back arching into the cold metal behind you. you bury your face in his neck, biting down on his skin to stay quiet as the orgasm rips through you. he feels it—feels the way you clamp down around his fingers, trying so hard to stay quiet and still end up letting out this broken little cry against his throat. “yeah. yeah, that’s it. that’s it, baby.” you’re still cumming, trembling against him, and he barely holds it together. he knows he should slow down, let you catch your breath and be a decent fucking human being for once—but he can’t. he’s so fucking hard it’s unbearable, grinding helplessly against your thigh because he needs you so bad he feels feral. and it’s fucking pathetic but he can’t stop. he’s humping your leg like a goddamn dog and he doesn’t even care. you’re warm and wet and still pulsing around his fingers, and all subong can think about is how much he wants it to be his cock instead, how fucking good you’d feel if he was buried inside you instead of just fucking you with his hand. “a-ahh, fuck—shit—” he mutters against your skin, hips rutting against you without rhythm, without shame. “should be my dick i-inside you… fuck, fuck, fuck, baby—” he feels it hit him hard—feels the heat coil up in his gut—and then he’s cumming in his fucking pants like an loser, grinding against your thigh one last desperate time, his whole body locking up, breath catching in his throat. and it’s messy, leaking hot and wet into his boxers, making him feel like he’s sixteen years old again with no self-control. he slumps against you, both of you panting. for a second, neither of you says anything, and then you shift a little, enough to glance down between you and realize what the fuck just happened.

you freeze. your head snaps back up to look at him, eyes wide, mouth parting like you’re about to say something—and he knows. he knows the exact second you realize it. “oh my god,” you whisper, choking on a laugh. he groans, dropping his head into the crook of your neck, too fucking embarrassed to meet your eyes. “don’t fucking say it,” he mutters, voice muffled against your skin. “shit’s not funny.” you start laughing anyway. even harder when he curses under his breath like he’s actually contemplating death as a real option right now. “bro,” he pulls back, cheeks flushed redder than you’ve ever seen them, voice miserable, “the fuck am i supposed to do now?” he gestures vaguely down at himself—at the wet stain darkening the front of his pants. “walk you back to the hotel like this?” he scoffs, dead serious, like this is a real crisis. “people gonna think i fucking pissed myself, man.” you’re laughing so hard now you have to cover your mouth with your hand, trying not to completely lose it right there. he just shakes his head, dramatic as hell, pulling his shirt down lower to cover himself like that’s gonna fix anything. “nah, fuck it,” he mutters, resigned. “relax, subong,” you say, finally managing to get your breath back. “it’s dark. no one’s gonna notice.”

you walk back to the hotel—subong sticking close to your side, occasionally tugging at his shirt like it’ll somehow hide the obvious mess he’s made of himself, and you’re barely holding back your laughter every time you catch him glancing down at himself in misery. when you finally reach your hotel, he slows, almost reluctant. you turn to him, smiling. “thanks for tonight,” you say, which sounds stupid when you think about it, like… you’re thanking him for blowing his load in his own pants and making you cum on two of his fingers. “anytime, baby,” he says with a grin. “anywhere, too.” you roll your eyes before stepping closer, and kissing him—quick and soft. when you pull back, he smiles. “we’re hanging out tomorrow, right?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck, looking down the street instead of at you. you raise an eyebrow like really? “yeah, of course.” which translates to: duh, obviously. he shifts his weight, dragging his sneaker against the sidewalk. “could… could we meet earlier, maybe?” you blink at him, a little surprised at the sudden softness in his voice. “just,” he adds quickly, “you know… we only got, what? tomorrow and one more day? tryna… see you more—make the most of it.” and it’s the kind of thing that should make you pull back, remind yourself this is supposed to be a fling, a summer story you get to laugh about later. but instead, your heart does this stupid little skip in your chest. “i’ll talk to my friends,” you say. “i’ll let you know.” “hit me up, girl,” he answers, backing away toward the street. “i’m always down.” you nod. “good night, subong.” “good night, pretty girl. sleep well.”

the second you get a hint of free time the next morning, you’re grabbing your phone, texting him.

hey, i can meet earlier today if you still want

my friends don’t mind

hell yeah

been waiting on u all day

subong it’s only 11am

tf that gotta do w anything

missed u since u left last night

you’re so silly

5pm work for you?

perfect

i’ll be lookin fine as hell just for u

that better be a promise

u r gonna see girl

what’s the plan?

cant say bby

just trust daddy🔥

EWWWWW

oh hell no

absolutely not

i’m literally blocking you rn

bro im playinggg😂😂

i let you call yourself thanos

but daddy??? you lost me there

u r funny girl

i like u

see u at 5 sexy😍

subong has the whole evening planned—or at least, he pretends he does, which is close enough. you don’t even get a real explanation when you meet up, just him saying, “trust me, baby. this ‘bout to be the best date of your life.” and somehow, you let him drag you onto a rental bike, even though you haven’t ridden one in years and definitely almost crash into a post within the first two minutes. he laughs so hard he almost falls off his own bike, cutting figure eights around you in the street, showing off, and yelling “you good, girl?” like you didn’t just almost die in front of a group of passing tourists. you flip him off, wobbling forward with as much dignity as you can muster, which is none. he just laughs harder, racing ahead, calling back over his shoulder for you to catch up, then something about “damn, girl, didn’t know i was ridin’ with a fucking beginner!” “shut up, you idiot!” he laughs, throwing his head back for a second like he’s never had more fun in his life. you spend the next hour like that—racing through the paths by the han river, dodging kids and couples, weaving too close to each other on purpose, getting more than a few dirty looks from serious bikers in full gear who clearly think you’re assholes. you don’t care. you don’t think you’ve ever cared less in your life, honestly—not when the sun’s bright and high, and the air’s hot but not enough to ruin the way the breeze feels when you pick up speed. but most importantly, not when subong’s laughing like that beside you. somewhere along the way, you stop for ice cream—him skidding to a halt so fast you almost plow straight into his back, then pointing at an ice cream truck like he’s discovered buried treasure.

subong’s already halfway to the window before you even hop off your bike properly, tossing a grin over his shoulder like you’re too slow to keep up. you go simple—vanilla cone. he goes straight for the most ridiculous neon blue popsicle he can find, the kind that stains your mouth for hours. the second he sees your cone, he groans loud enough that the guy in the truck gives him a side-eye. “who picks vanilla, bro?” he says, pulling a face like you just personally offended him. “all these options and you pick vanilla?” you snort, eyeing the monstrosity in his hand. “says the guy eating radioactive smurf ass.” he almost chokes laughing, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, bright blue already smeared along the corner of his lips. “this shit’s elite,” he counters, holding it up proudly. “you just got no taste.” you bump his arm with your elbow, smirking. “not true. i’m hanging out with you, aren’t i?” “yeah, baby,” he agrees. “lucky me.”

you keep riding after that, weaving through the crowds along the river, laughing whenever subong swerves way too close to you on purpose just to hear you curse at him under your breath. but eventually, you go back to the rental spot, where a couple of kids are stacking bikes back into neat little rows. subong pulls up first, hopping off with way more swagger than necessary like he just finished a triathlon. you drop your bike into the stand next to his, brushing the hair out of your face, still a little out of breath. “i’m starving,” he says, stretching his arms overhead until his shirt rides up just enough to flash the waistband of his boxers. it feels like he’s doing it on purpose… yeah, he definitely is. “you’re always starving,” you laugh. then, you follow him across the street toward a small convenience store. you end up picking out a random assortment of junk—kimbap, banana milk, two different types of chips you can’t read the names of—and subong loads up with way too many drinks and candy. when you’re back outside, the bags crinkling in your hands, the sun’s starting to dip low behind the buildings, turning the whole sky this beautiful mix of orange and pink. he leads you down a small side path off the main trail, one you probably wouldn’t have found if you were by yourself, until you reach a quiet patch by the river where the rocks slope down into the water. no one else is around, just the distant noise of traffic, the occasional splash of a fish somewhere you can’t see. you climb down carefully, finding a spot on the bigger rocks that’s flat enough to sit without busting your ass. subong drops down beside you, tossing the convenience store bag between you, his legs stretching out long in front of him, sneakers almost brushing the water. the river laps gently against the stones, the breeze cool and soft now that the sun’s finally starting to ease up. he hands you a can of some random drink, cracking his own open with a sharp hiss, and you both sit there for a minute, just sipping quietly, the world slowing down around you like someone turned the volume down on the whole city.

“what’s shit like where you from?” he asks, voice low, trying not to break the moment too hard. you glance over at him, surprised he’s asking. you shrug. “my town’s small. and boring as fuck most of the time—you’d hate it, i think. no nightlife.” he grins sideways at you. “yeah? i think it sounds peaceful.” you hum in agreement, sipping your drink. he’s quiet for a second, tapping his fingers against the rock beside him, before he says, “always wanted to get outta here. when i was a kid, i used to think, like… soon as i turn eighteen, i’m gone.” this time he’s not smiling, but his expression’s tender in a way you haven’t really seen yet. “but shit’s expensive, y’know?” he continues. “and you get stuck. gotta hustle just to stay afloat. then next thing you know, ten years passed and you’re still sitting in the same fucking place.” you don’t say anything. you want to tell him it’s not nothing, that getting stuck doesn’t mean he didn’t make it somewhere, that he’s still here, alive, and that’s what matters. but you don’t know how to say that without sounding like you’re pitting him. so you nudge his knee lightly with yours instead, and he glances at you, the corner of his mouth twitching up enough to let you know he got it. “anyway.” he clears his throat. “didn’t mean to turn this into a therapy session.” “i don’t mind.” he looks at you, eyes flickering over your face as if checking if you mean it. whatever he finds there must be enough, because he smiles. “what about you? what’s next for you, after this trip?” you exhale slowly, staring at the ripples moving across the water. you could lie. you could say i don’t know, and leave it at that. but something about the way he’s looking at you makes you want to tell him the truth. “back to real life, i guess. work, responsibilities… pretending like this summer didn’t make me wanna change everything.”

“i’m gonna miss you, you know.” you roll your eyes, smiling, unsure if you should believe him. “please,” you say. “you’re gonna have another girl by next week.” he scoffs, scandalized. “woah. disrespectful as fuck, baby.” “am i wrong though?” he shakes his head, grinning. “honestly? i’m not even tryna entertain nobody else right now.” you raise your eyebrows, not expecting that—and he catches the look. “ain’t no one as cute as you, señorita,” he says, voice dropping a bit. you snort, trying to play it off, but your face is already getting hot, and he knows it. “whatever,” you tsk, taking another sip of your drink. “you’ll forget about me in, like, two days.” “i won’t. i don’t really fuck with people like i fuck with you.” “you’re gonna make me cry,” you mutter, half-joking, and he smiles like he’s proud of himself for it. “good,” he says. “i’m tryna leave a mark, girl.” you shake your head again, giggling. and then, because you feel like maybe you owe him the truth too, you say, “i’m gonna miss you too, subong.” “you will?” “mhm.” no one’s ever said that to him. or at least not like that, so sincerely. “it’s crazy. feels like i’ve known you my whole fucking life,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck, messing up his already messy hair. you smile into your drink, because yeah, even if it sounds stupid, it does feel like that. “same.” “you can’t, like… i don’t know, man. stay a little longer?” you almost choke on your drink. “subong,” you say, laughing because it’s either laugh or cry, “you’re so desperate.” he groans, dramatic as hell. “yo, fuck off. i’m tryna be romantic here,” he mutters, cracking a grin a second later because he can’t even fake being mad at you. “i can’t,” you say finally. “even if i wanted to.” “yeah… i know.”

you stay picking at the snacks, trading sips from each other’s drinks, the conversation drifting from one topic to another. you talk about home—about your job, your friends, the little boring details you wouldn’t think anyone would care about, but somehow subong listens like it’s all fascinating, nodding along, asking silly questions just to keep you talking. and somewhere between one story and the next, he starts talking about his family, which you didn’t expect. he tells you about his mom, tough as hell, the kind of woman who could work two jobs back to back, still come home and cook dinner, make sure homework was done, and find the energy to yell at him for being an idiot when he needed it. he talks about how she used to fall asleep at the kitchen table sometimes, her head on her folded arms, and how he and his sister would tiptoe around the house like they were trying not to break her more than the world already had. he tells you about his grandma too, the real boss of the family, sharp-tongued and brutal in the way only old women can get away with—the kind of woman who’d curse you out for forgetting to take your shoes off but slip an extra twenty into your pocket when you weren’t looking. he laughs when he says it, but there’s a softness in the edges of his voice, like he knows he owes her more than he can probably ever repay. and he talks about his little sister—“smarter than all of us combined,” he says, pride clear. the kind of girl who kept her head down, did her work, kept her dreams close to her chest like she was scared someone would snatch them away. the kind of girl who’s gonna leave one day, and not just leave, but stay gone.

then, tossing it in as a side note, he says, “my dad’s a piece of shit, though. wasn’t around much. and when he was… kinda wish he wasn’t.” “mine’s not really around either. he wasn’t then and… he isn’t now. he’s got better shit to do, i guess.” he hums, knowing the shape of that feeling a little too well. “mine used to come back sometimes,” he says after a minute. “acting like nothing, showing up drunk and high, fucking shit up, then disappearing again.” you don’t say anything, just pick at the edge of the bag between you, tearing little pieces off. “used to get so fucking mad at him,” he continues, laughing under his breath, but it’s not a funny sound. “then one day i just… stopped waiting for him to be different.” you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, at the way he’s hunched now, elbows on his knees, can dangling between his fingers. “got older, learned how to throw a punch.” he huffs a breath out. “one night he came back real fucked up… started yelling, breakin’ shit… and i just lost it. dropped him cold on the floor—felt good for, like, five minutes,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “then it just felt fucking sad.” he pauses, staring out at the river. “he disappeared after that… gone for years. then he just… came back one day. and my mom… she let him back in, man. and i get it. she’s tired of fighting. but—shit, i don’t know. i can’t pretend like i’m cool with it. i love her but… fuck, sometimes i look at her and i just get fucking pissed, you know?”

you nod, pressing your shoulder against his. “i’m sorry about that.” he shrugs. “it’s okay, pretty girl.” “your mom’s lucky to have you. she probably knows you’ll always be there if something happens.” “yeah, i guess” he pauses briefly before clapping once. “alright, enough of thanos already. tell me about you, baby.” “well… my dad… he was never really mean or anything. just… not there. physically, sometimes. mentally, never. i used to think if i was better somehow—better at school, better at sports—he’d notice more,” you say, laughing a bit under your breath because it sounds so fucking dumb now. “but he didn’t.” “wasn’t you, baby. it’s never you.” you smile at him before leaning in and kissing his cheek, sweetly. “we turned out alright anyway.” he snorts, tilting his head to look at you better. “yeah, alright’s pushin’ it, girl. speak for yourself. you’re solid. more than most people who had it easy, probably.” “maybe,” you mutter. “sometimes it feels like i’m just faking it better than most.” “that’s all any of us do.”

eventually, when the rocks get too uncomfortable and your ass starts going numb, subong stands up with a grunt, reaching a hand down to pull you up after him. “c’mon,” he says, dragging you toward a patch of grass a little farther up where it’s dark. he drops down without any ceremony, arms behind his head, legs sprawled out like he’s trying to take up as much space as possible. he grins at you. “what, you scared of a little dirt, princess?” he teases, patting the spot next to him. you glare at him, toeing the ground suspiciously because there’s definitely bugs around, but he’s already making himself comfortable like he’s about to nap right there, and you know you’re not gonna win this one. “there’s probably ants.” “so what?” he scoffs, genuinely confused as to why that would even be a problem. you roll your eyes, but you finally lower yourself down next to him, sitting stiff and awkward at first m, your body about to reject the whole idea of nature. he snickers, then suddenly turns his head toward you, holding out his hand—palm up. “gimme your hand.” you squint at him, suspicious. “why?” he lets out this long, suffering sigh. “the fuck you mean why? i’m tryna hold your damn hand, girl, that’s why.” you snort, still not moving, because you’re stubborn like that. he waggles his fingers at you dramatically, eyebrows raised, daring you to keep being difficult. “c’mon,” he insists. “don’t leave me hanging, baby. i got feelings too, you know.” you huff a breath—slapping your hand into his palm like it’s a burden, even though you love it. his fingers lace through yours immediately, squeezing once.

you lay back fully then, grass a little damp under your back, the sky stretching wide above you, and subong’s thumb starts brushing lazy circles over the back of your hand. “what do you wanna do tomorrow?” he asks. “i don’t know. you’re the local here.” he hums like he’s thinking, but there’s something smug about it. “was thinking,” he starts, dragging it out, trying to sound casual, “maybe you could come see me perform.” “perform? again?” “mhm. got a little set tomorrow night. nothing big—just some bar gig. but it’s nicer than what i’m used to anyway. this time’s an actual rap night, i get to show off. not like the other day.” you smile at the way he says it, like he’s trying not to let himself get too excited. “i want you to come,” he adds after a second. “bring your friends too—drinks are cheap.” you raise an eyebrow. “you just want a fan club.” he grins, shameless. “fuck yeah, i want a fan club.” you chuckle, shaking your head. “but i’m serious. i want you there.”“what time is it?” “late… like midnight. place stays open till three. and after,” he says, voice picking up, cockier now, “we celebrate—you and me.” “celebrate what?” “celebrate me being a fucking star, baby.” you laugh under your breath. “you’re planning a lot of celebrating for someone who hasn’t even performed yet.” “confidence. gotta manifest that shit.” “i’ll be there.” his hand squeezes yours again. “good. wanna show you off a little too.”

he props himself up on one elbow, grinning down at you before he leans in and kisses you, a little too eager, making you laugh right into his mouth. you push your fingers into his hair, kissing him back, and subong hums against you, pleased. his mouth starts dragging lower, pressing hot, sloppy kisses along your jaw, down your neck, his hand already sneaking under the hem of your shirt with no damn shame. you shove at his shoulder. “subong,” you hiss, still giggling. “we can’t.” he pulls back enough to look at you. “why not?” “because,” you say, shoving him again for good measure, “someone could literally walk by. and i’m not getting arrested because you can’t keep it in your pants.” he lets out the loudest, most pathetic sigh you’ve ever heard, dragging his hand down his face like the world is just too cruel to him specifically. “shit,” he groans. “i didn’t even get started yet—i was being good, too.” “that was you being good?” you tease. “fuck yeah. you don’t even know, girl. if i wasn’t being good, i’d have you sitting on my face right now—wouldn’t even care if somebody walked by.” you choke on your own spit, smacking his chest while he just laughs, proud of himself for getting you this flustered. “maybe tomorrow,” you mutter, face heating up so bad you’re surprised the grass under you doesn’t catch fire. “wait, wait,” he says, sitting up, needing to double-check you didn’t just say what he thinks you said. “you serious right now?” you shrug, biting back a smile, feeling stupidly powerful all of a sudden. “depends,” you answer, stretching your arms over your head. “you better put on a good show.” “you can’t say shit like that to me, baby,” he whines. “i’m gonna be so fucking hard on that stage—gonna forget my own fucking lyrics.” you snort. “perform well. maybe you’ll get a reward.” “watch.” he taps his chest as if swearing a vow. “i’m finna be the best fucking rapper korea’s ever seen tomorrow night.”

and he does perform well. better than well, actually. he’s the last one up, closing out the night. and he owns that little bar like it’s the biggest stage in seoul. you watch from the corner with your friends, pressed near the back wall, and you’re not even trying to play it cool—you’re hyped, yelling, cheering louder than anyone else in the place. you don’t know half the lyrics (most of it’s in korean and fast as hell) but you can feel it in your chest, in the way the crowd reacts, in the sharp flow of his voice and the smirk that never leaves his face. your friends… have mixed opinions. one of them leans in halfway through and whispers, “okay, now i get it—he’s hot,” and another just grimaces, mouthing, what is he even saying? when the beat switches and he starts spitting faster. he finishes strong, breathless and sweaty, and the crowd actually cheers. you can tell by the way he soaks it in that it means something to him. he steps off the stage a minute later, still catching his breath, and heads straight for you. “so?” he asks when he reaches you, wiping sweat off his neck with the hem of his shirt. “did i kill it or what?” “you killed it,” you afirm, letting him have it. “i couldn’t understand half of it, but you looked hot doing it, so.” he laughs, tossing an arm around your shoulders. “that’s all i needed to hear, baby.” your palm brushes his back and it’s borderline damp. “jesus,” you mutter, nose wrinkling. “you’re soaked.” “and you tryna act like you’re all innocent, girl, but you’ve been lookin’ at me like you wanna lick it off.” you shove him, laughing. “shut up!” he leans in and kisses you, and you kiss him back, smiling against his mouth. your friends do not let it slide. “okayyyy,” one of them says, loud and dramatic. “that’s enough, please. we are still here.” subong pulls back to look over at them, grinning, not even a little sorry. “my bad,” he says. “i just—shit, have you seen her? i can’t help it. she’s so fucking bad, like damn.” oh my god, this man... “anyway, we celebratin’ or what? first round’s on me. i’m feeling generous.” he pats his chest.

the night keeps going long after the music stops. your friends are perched at the bar because the drinks keep coming, and subong doesn’t leave your side for more than a second. it’s late when he leans in and asks if you want to get out of there, and you nod before he even finishes the sentence. your friends wave you off, and you leave the bar behind with that hazy kind of warmth in your chest that only comes from knowing exactly where the night is headed. his apartment is… not what you expect. but hey… we don’t judge over here. when he lets you in, it’s clear he didn’t plan on bringing anyone home. the place is old. the hallway light flickers, the door sticks so bad he has to put his whole body into it just to shove it open, and when you step inside, you’re greeted by the smell of weed and whatever boy-stank has been marinating in this apartment all summer. “yo—okay—before you say anything,” subong starts, kicking a crumpled sock out of the way. “this isn’t what it usually looks like. swear to god, baby.” he shares it with two other guys, he tells you, but they’re out tonight. and as you walk in, he’s already moving shit around—swiping a hoodie off the floor, then trying to hide the bong by the windowsill, muttering shit under his breath like, “that’s not even mine—my roommates are fucking disgusting, man.” “sure,” you say, trying not to laugh. you find it kind of funny, actually—the way he’s scrambling, all flustered, trying to pretend like this place isn’t the bachelor cave of three adult men who have never once cleaned a baseboard in their lives. he won’t shut up. he never really does. he’s talking about his roommates, about how half the stuff laying around isn’t his, and how if you give him five minutes he’ll make it nice. you’re nodding, pretending to care, pretending you’re even listening, but the truth is you stopped hearing the words about three minutes ago. all you can focus on is the way his lips move when he talks and the way his voice drops whenever he says the word ‘baby’. so you’re standing there, thinking, if this man doesn’t touch me in the next ten seconds i’m gonna lose my fucking mind. and you do lose it at some point, kissing him mid sentence, because you’ve never wanted someone this badly, this fast and this fucking stupidly.

the first night subong kissed you was awful, but two nights ago under the bleachers, his fingers were very much not. so you figured sex with him would probably land somewhere in the middle: eager and cocky but clumsy, maybe a little too into it to be smooth. and honestly, you weren’t wrong. because the second he’s inside you, he doesn’t ease into it. he’s just there, deep, all at once—couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. he’s behind you, both hands gripping your hips so tight you’re gonna have fingerprints there tomorrow. and you’re gasping already, because the stretch is so much... but what really gets you—what makes your stomach clench and your mouth fall open around his name—is the sound he makes. needy. “fuck, baby—shit—fuck me—” he mutters, breath hot against the back of your neck. you arch your spine, pressing back into him because you need more, need him to fuck you. but his grip tightens immediately, yanking you back flush against him, his voice rough and frantic in your ear. “no, no, no. wait—wait, baby,” he hisses. “shit—give me—give me a moment.” and it’s not a joke. he sounds genuinely panicked, like he’s hanging on by a thread. one more push from you and he’s gonna cum and never recover from the humiliation. honestly, girl, that makes you feel so damn powerful… and since you love to make him suffer, you clench around him on purpose. subong groans, curses in his mother tongue, then smacks your ass so hard you jolt, just to make you behave. “don’t fucking do that, baby. you tryna make me nut in two minutes, huh? that what you want?” you laugh, breathless, forehead pressed into his mattress. he leans over you, chest to your back, one hand slipping under you to toy lazily with your clit, trying to buy time. maybe if he can make you finish first he’ll be able to catch his breath, pull it together and not embarrass himself completely. “subong,” you breathe. “please, i need you.” you try to rock back into him again. “please—” “fuck—gimme a second,” he whimpers, hand braced on the mattress, eyes squeezed shut. and then pulls out, fully, trying not to fucking explode.

the thing about subong is that he learns fast. he picks up on what you want, what you need, and how to give it to you. and he knows exactly how you want it now—how hungry you are for him, how you’re waiting to be filled again, deep and rough. he drags his hand down the curve of your ass after a beat, slow, and you can feel the head of his cock nudging between your thighs again—sliding his condom-wrapped tip up and down your folds. “fucking soaked for me,” he mutters, almost to himself. “jesus, baby. i could drown in this shit.” you whine, push back against him, but he grips your ass tighter, holding you there. “nah,” he says, voice. “you can wait a second. wanted to act all cocky—squeezing me on purpose—now look at you. fucking pathetic for it.” you turn your head, glare over your shoulder. “subong.” he raises an eyebrow, smug as hell. “what? you want it that bad?” “yes,” you snap. “shut up and fuck me. don’t make me wait, please.” he lets out a soft laugh. “damn,” he drawls, guiding the tip against you, teasing your entrance. “my girl talks real tough when she’s beggin’ to get filled.” and then he’s pounding into you, hips snapping hard and fast, chasing whatever fragile ego you cracked in half the second you laughed at him a few minutes ago. and it’s exactly what you needed. you moan, loud, grabbing the sheets, your whole body tensing from the stretch. subong keeps muttering under his breath like he’s trying to self-soothe, praying to every god he’s never believed in. “so tight, f-fuck—so wet, too—shit! what the fuck did i-i do to deserve this pussy, huh?” his thrusts are mean now, every snap of his hips sending your body forward on the mattress. “subong! shit—y-yes, yes, yes! fuck!” you choke out, knuckles white in the sheets. “don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—” “that’s it, baby—take it. you look so f-fucking pretty like this—gonna—haa, fuck!—gonna give you what you fucking asked for.” he wants to make sure that five days from now, five weeks, five months, you still remember the way it felt to have him inside you, fucking you stupid. “yes! yes, please—” you don’t even know what you’re saying anymore, all that comes out are high, broken sounds that make him groan, hips slamming into yours with a filthy slap that echoes around the room. “so fucking greedy for it,” he goes on. “been acting shy all week just to end up bent over begging for my cock like this.”

you whimper, too gone to argue, too full to think. you try to fuck back again, try to meet him halfway, but his hand is right there, locking you in place, controlling everything—the angle, the pace, the way your body moves. subong knows exactly what he’s doing. he’s hitting that spot with every thrust, grinding in deep. “s-subong,” you moan. “your dick’s so—mmmh—so f-fucking good—fuck!” “damn right it is, baby.” you feel his palm slide under your body, fingers slipping down, teasing over your clit in circles, and the whimper you let out makes him dizzy. he’s close again—you can feel it, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hips jerk forward too hard, too rough. but this time, you are too. “you close, baby?” he breathes, leaning down, pressing his lips to the side of your face. “feels like you are. so f-fucking tight, girl. fuck! you gonna—you gonna come all over my dick? yeah?” you nod, frantic, eyes wet with it, mouth open but no sound coming out—and he groans like he’s in pain. “c’mon,” he mutters. “give it to me, baby. wanna feel you c-cum on it.” you’re burning from the inside out—and when he pulls you back harder, dragging his cock deep, your whole body locks up—thighs shaking, fingers clawing at the sheets. you cum around him, a full-body convulsion, your moan ripping straight out of your throat, loud and desperate. it hits you hard, your cunt clenching so tight around subong that he stutters, hips jerking like he wasn’t expecting it to feel that fucking good. “fuck, fuck, fuck—yes, yes, b-baby, just like that—fuck! such a good fucking girl!” he pants, thrusts faltering, losing rhythm completely. “shit, i’m—a-ahh, ha—fuck, i-i’m gonna—” he doesn’t even finish the sentence. he slams in one last time and then he’s cumming, letting out the filthiest moan you’ve ever heard against your neck like he’s trying to bury the sound. he can’t believe how fast you pulled it out of him. he stays like that for a second, shaking, breathing hard, still buried deep inside you while both of you try to catch your breath.

the flight home feels longer than the one that brought you here. not because it actually is, but because your body’s tired and your brain’s fried and your heart’s doing that annoying thing where it gets too attached too fast and then expects everything not to hurt when it’s over. your friends are spread out around the plane, and you’ve got your forehead against the window, watching the clouds smear across the sky. wondering how five nights with subong managed to leave a mark that felt this deep. you keep thinking about last night—about the way his sheets felt under your back, the way his hands never stopped touching you even after he came, like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go. you stayed there longer than you should have, tangled up and almost asleep, skin sticking to skin in the most comfortable kind of silence. and when it was finally time to go, neither of you moved for a long time. he just kept holding you. you talked a little. he said the week flew by like someone hit fast-forward. you said it felt like longer, like you’d known him way before five days ago. he made a joke about how it felt like you’d been there for a month, said, “you’re gonna miss me like crazy, girl,” in that smug, playful tone you’d grown to like way too much. and you laughed, pushed his shoulder, told him, “you wish,” but the way your voice cracked at the end gave you away. “i will miss you, though,” he said eventually, honestly. “i will miss you too,” you said back, and it felt real in a way that scared you. because it was. all of it had been. way more real than you expected from a week-long trip. he walked you to the elevator in nothing but his boxers, hair a mess, hickeys already darkening his collarbones. you kissed him one last time, tenderly and way too long for a goodbye that was supposed to be casual. and now you’re here, 30,000 feet in the air, trying not to overthink every second you spent with him, every kiss, every joke, every stupid pet name, every look that felt like it meant more than it should’ve.

you tell yourself it’s over. it was just a summer thing. a story you’ll get to tell your friends again and again—the time you fell for a purple-haired rapper in seoul who called himself thanos, didn’t own a car, and lived like a frat boy but made you feel like the only girl in the world for five nights straight. and that’s fine. it’s enough. you don’t expect to hear from him again. your phone stays quiet after you land in your country… and you’re okay with that. you throw yourself back into your routine, catch up on sleep, unpack your suitcase... your friends keep talking about the trip, replaying the best nights out and the weird food and the worst hangovers, and you laugh along with them, nod at all the right parts, but mostly you’re just quiet. and then—a few days later—you post a selfie. you in soft natural light, the corner of your mouth tilted up. and exactly eight minutes after it goes up, your phone buzzes.

damn baby

u forgot all about thanos already

smiling n shit

you stare at it for a second, grinning and rolling your eyes.

it’s just a selfie, drama king

and that smile not for me??

thats crazy

who said it wasn’t?

i was thinking about you when i took it😚

careful girl

my ego bout to start floating

good

maybe it’ll float you all the way here so i don’t have to miss you anymore

say the word and im packing my shit rn baby💯

i’ll clear out a drawer and everything for you

gimme a pillow and a corner of the bed

dont need much

just u

ugh

why’d you have to say it like that

now i’m sad again :(

i miss u bad

this distance got me feeling weird as hell

i miss you too, idiot

cant believe i got used to seein u every day just to go back to fucking nothing

you’ll be fine

you probably got three other girls texting you rn anyway

yo what??

don’t piss me off rn baby

i’m literally sitting here thinking bout u n ur dumb lil laugh

dumb lil laugh is crazy😭

ur tits too🔥

oh!😀

n ur ass😍

okay pack it up💀

nah hold on

was saving the best for last

that fucking pussy

oh my god

how am i supposed to recover from that

so my pussy is the best part??

cool cool

not like i have a whole ass personality or anything

don’t worry tho

you won’t be seeing it again anyway

i hope you and your hand have a great life together❤️

no no wait

baby no

don’t say shit like that

i was joking girl

ok maybe not joking but like

obviously it’s not just that

i swear

subong😭 ik, i was joking too lmao

fuck off then

plssss

i was already planning how to win u back

win me back how

a rap song?

hell yeah

bars been writing themselves ever since u left

ooooh i became your muse ;)

been my muse since the moment i saw u in that club looking fine asf

shit aint left my head since

oh

yeah

don’t ‘oh’ me like that bro

i meant that shit

i know

u free now?

i ammm, why

let me call u señoritaaaa

wanna hear that sexy voice🔥

you spend the next three months talking daily to subong. you tell him everything—what you had for lunch, what your boss said in that tone you despise, the color of the sky every afternoon. you send photos of your walk to work, your room, your coffee order. he starts to learn the difference between your moods just by the way your texts sound—when you’re tired, when you’re bored, when you’re secretly pissed but don’t wanna say it. sometimes he replies instantly, flooding you with texts and voice notes that make you roll your eyes and laugh into your pillow. sometimes it takes hours, because it’s three in the morning where he is and he’s passed out with his phone on his chest, halfway through texting you back before sleep hit him like a truck. but he always replies. and from his side of the world, it’s not all that different. he walks around seoul with his earbuds in, your voice filling his head as you talk about things, and he listens like they’re the most important things he’s ever heard. he sends you pictures, too—him holding up a bag of chips, mirror selfies, pics of his food or the graffiti outside his house that changes every two weeks. then a blurry shot of the back of his hand holding a bottle of soju, captioned wish u were here señorita, a nighttime shot of the city skyline, a candid one of him lying in bed with his arm thrown over his eyes… there’s something intimate about all of it, even the dumbest ones. like he’s letting you see what no one else does.

calls happen in the in-between. early morning for one of you, late night for the other. you’re usually still in bed when he rings—eyes puffy, voice groggy as you mumble a raspy “hi” while fumbling around for your charger. on his side, it’s dark and quiet, and he’s usually propped against something—his bed, sometimes the floor of his apartment with his hoodie pulled over his head and his legs stretched out in front of him, trying not to sound as excited as he is to hear you again. the calls are always fun. you laugh until your stomach hurts and tease each other until your cheeks ache. and for a while, in those moments, it doesn’t even feel like you’re in different countries, it just feels like you’re next to each other. but in between the jokes and the mock-serious rants about whatever stupid thing happened that day… there are other moments. it starts one night with a simple question. “can i ask you something, baby?” it’s past midnight for you, and you’re lying on your stomach, about to fall asleep, but you hum back anyway. “how many people you been with?” your eyes blink open, brain stalling for a second. “what? like… dated?” “yeah,” he says, then adds after a beat, “and, you know... hooked up with.” you turn your head, staring at your pillow. “why?” “just curious,” he responds, but there’s a shift in his tone—like he’s trying to play it cool. “you don’t have to tell me if it’s weird.” “it’s not weird.” and you tell him. not in detail, not the whole history of every person you’ve ever fucked, but enough. he hums low under his breath after you’re done, letting the silence stretch out a little before he fills it with, “damn… alright.” and you smile, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “what, you jealous?” “nah,” he says, too quickly. then, softer: “maybe a little. not gonna lie.” you chuckle and he follows. “bet none of them made you laugh like i do, though.” “no,” you admit. “they didn’t.” you hear his exhale, the shift of fabric on the other end of the line, like he’s moving, maybe lying down too. “i haven’t… i haven’t really done this before,” he says eventually. “not like—like this. like… texting and calling and thinking about someone this much. i usually just…” subong trails off. “hook up and leave?” you finish for him, but it’s not mean. he laughs softly. “yeah. pretty much—but this shit’s different. like, you’re all up in my head, girl.” “i feel the same about you, subong.” “i swear—i’ve been going fucking insane not being able to touch you. i miss you so bad it’s making me crazy.” you hear him exhale through his nose. “i think about you all the time, like—fuck, man. i can’t even… you know…” “what?” there’s a bit of hesitation before he answers, “i can’t even jerk off without thinking of you.” “is that so?” “yeah…” “and what exactly do you think about?” he huffs a laugh. “what do you think?” “i don’t know, you tell me.”

you want to hear him say it. “i mean,” he says slowly, “i think of your voice. the way you sounded that night when i had my fingers in you—so fuckin’ needy—all those little whimpers, the way you kept grinding against my hand like you couldn’t wait… that shit’s been on repeat in my head, baby. shit… and the way—” he cuts himself off, laughs under his breath. “never mind.” “nope,” you shoot back immediately, “you can’t start and then stop like that. go on.” he groans. “you really gon’ make me say it?” “obviously.” he exhales sharp through his nose, then: “fuck, alright… the way you looked when we fucked, baby—jesus. turning your head to look at me while i fucking pounded into you, beggin’ for more even when your thighs were already shaking… best fucking pussy i’ve ever had, bro. i think about that shit every night. swear to god. got me jerking off like a fucking teenager again, just thinking about how wet you were for me.” you don’t say anything at first, mostly because you can’t. your whole body’s burning hot under the covers, phone pressed to your ear. “oh.” “right?” he murmurs. “now you’re thinkin’ about it too.” you try to play it off—“you’re so full of yourself”—but your voice is quieter now, and subong knows he’s got you. “not full of myself,” he drawls, all smug. “just got good memory, baby. and an even better imagination.” you let the silence stretch for a moment, because it’s not awkward—not between you two. if anything, it only makes the tension worse, tighter. “i bet you do.” you smile at the ceiling, heart racing. it’s a lot, this whole thing, but neither of you backs out. “you can say it,” you whisper, and it comes out needier than you meant. “say what you’d do if i was there.” you hear a shuffle, a low curse under his breath. “what?” “i mean… only if you want to.” “shit—yeah. yeah, i want to. okay… first? just rip that shirt off you to suck on those tits—they’re so fucking perfect.” your breath catches. he doesn’t stop. “then i’d make you ride my face. been thinking about that too much, you know? wanna feel you grind down on me, tellin’ me how close you are—fuck, i’d eat you out until you begged me to stop, baby.” you let out a quiet, shaky laugh, too turned on to hide it. “jesus christ, subong.” “yeah, yeah, something like that, but more breathless and between moans—” “subong! oh my god, shut up!” you cover your face with your free hand as you laugh harder, even though he can’t see you. subong laughs too. he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “i’m not playing,” he says. “you think i’m just talking shit, but i’ve had my hand down my pants this whole time. just… thinking about you.” there’s a pause, before his voice drops even lower. “fuck, you have no fucking idea what you do to me.” you don’t even try to pretend you’re unaffected. you shift under the covers, biting your lip, pressing your thighs together. “what? you’re—“ you clear your throat. “you’re touching yourself?” “fuck yeah. can’t help it, baby. you got me so fuckin’ worked up.” oh, okay. you lick your lips, your mouth suddenly dry.

the picture he painted with his words is vivid—his hand wrapped around his cock—and it's doing things to you. your body aches, your nipples hard and your clit throbbing. “ew, subong,” you whisper. what a fucking liar. “don’t act brand new, girl. i can damn near hear you dripping, don’t fucking play.” you snort at his words. but he’s right, you can feel the heat pooling between your thighs. “well… maybe i am dripping.” “huh?” he plays dumb, as if he didn’t really hear you. “i said… maybe i am dripping,” you repeat. “i can check for you, if you want,” you continue, voice all sweet and innocent. “you know… slide a hand… tell you how wet—” “yes,” he blurts immediately, not even letting you finish the sentence. you have to bite back a laugh. “yes, baby. tell thanos.” his voice sounds so fucking hot… you catch the way his breathing has turned ragged, each quiet sigh that escapes his lips betraying the fact that he’s quickened the pace of his strokes. you can't help but mirror his actions, your hand sliding down your body, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your panties, finding the slick heat between your legs. you're wet, so fucking wet… your fingers slip easily through your folds, finding that sweet spot that makes your hips buck. you let out a soft moan, not bothering to suppress it. let him hear. let him know what he's doing to you. subong’s dick throbs in his hand at the sound. “shit—baby?” “mmmh?” "tell me… tell me what you’re doing." "lying here." "that it?" "listening to you." subong clicks his tongue. “c'mon, baby, please. you're gonna make me do all the work?" you roll your eyes, a smile on your face. “i don’t need to tell you what i’m doing, you already know.” “i wanna hear you say it, señorita.” “hm… well, i—i'm... i'm touching myself," you whisper, your voice barely audible. you can practically feel his smirk through the phone, so you decide to tease him. "i'm so wet, subong... i can't stop thinking about you too." you’re pretty sure that wiped the smirk clean off his face, replaced it with something closer to pain—eyebrows furrowed and lips parted. his groan echoes through the phone, and you can't help but smile, biting your lip to keep from crying out as your fingers circle your clit, your body already craving release.

and just like that, you’re gone. your fingers keep moving without thought, without mercy, slipping through your slick folds and circling your clit in fast, desperate motions, and it’s obscene, really, how wet you are—how easy it is to get yourself off when his voice is in your head, in your ear, telling each other what you would do if you were in the same room right now. you arch against the sheets, eyes fluttering shut as your whole body starts to curl in on itself, all tight coils and trembling muscles, everything aching. “you sound so fuckin’ hot, baby—” he groans. “wish i could see you right now.” and that’s when you hear it—him, breathing hard, panting, and even whining under his breath as his fist pumps faster around his cock, the sound of it slick and filthy through the phone. you can picture it way too clearly—his brows drawn tight, back probably tense as hell as he strokes himself. holy mother of fucking god. you press harder. rub faster. your hips start rocking up against your hand, chasing that sharp pressure building low in your stomach. your body’s on fire, nipples hard and tingling, heart slamming against your chest like it’s trying to break free—completely swollen with need. you let out a soft, broken whimper. “fuck! subong—shit! fuck, i’m gonna—gonna cum—” on the other end, there’s a strangled noise, a gasp. “y-yeah, baby? fuck—do it. fucking cum for me.” your orgasm crashes through you, sudden and overwhelming enough to make you cry out as your body locks up, fingers still working through it even though everything feels too sensitive. your walls clench around nothing, and for a second it doesn’t even feel like you’re on the bed anymore—you’re fucking floating. you hear subong finish half a second later with that a wounded sound, breath catching and voice breaking around your name as he spills all over himself.

it doesn’t stop after that night. if anything, it starts happening more… neither of you knows how to fucking behave anymore, oh my fucking god. he texts you a photo one night, shirtless, sheets pushed down low to show the waistband of his boxers.

thinking bout u mama

you send back a photo of your bare shoulder and a flash of your bra strap.

thinking about you too ;)  

ten minutes later, your panties are on the floor and you’re trying to keep quiet while subong whispers, “show me, baby. show me that pretty fucking pussy,” over facetime, eyes heavy-lidded and greedy, lips parted like he can taste you through the screen. you set the phone against your pillow, camera angled enough for him to see your fingers sliding between your legs, like it’s not the sixth time this week that you’ve gotten off to the sound of his voice while you whimpered through the high, every inch of your skin sensitive and strung out from how badly you want him and how fucking unfair it is that he’s not there to touch you himself. he groans so loud you have to muffle your laugh in your palm. “such a fucking tease,” he mutters, jerking off just off-frame, only giving you the barest glimpse of his tattooed hand and the flex of his stomach. and you spread your legs wider for him, pressing two fingers inside—trying to give him a show he’ll never forget. you want to etch the memory into his chest until he can’t fuck anyone else without seeing you spread out and moaning his name between gasps.

those calls happen way to often, to the point where it can’t be healthy—fucking yourselves in sync almost everyday. and subong’s always running his mouth like it’s the only muscle he knows how to use. “you touching that pretty pussy for me, baby? hm? bet you can’t wait ‘til it’s my fucking dick instead of your fingers.” sometimes it’s just texts, which is somehow worse, because you’re in public, and your phone lights up with:

i could have u on ur knees rn

followed by:

u’d be so fucking obedient

mouth open

waitin for me

i’d cum down ur throat and make u thank me for it baby

fuck

this how much i want u

then a photo of his hand curled around his cock, tip red and glistening and so hard it makes your stomach twist, the unbearable proof that he does want you, indeed. a little too bad, perhaps. and you feel your pulse drop straight between your legs as you fumble to turn your screen brightness all the way down.

you feel so fucking pathetic for thinking this but… it’s kind of the best thing you’ve ever had. because, despite the distance, the different timezones, and the fact that your lives are still so wildly separate… this thing with subong starts to feel more real than anything else. which is both sweet and deeply fucked, considering the fact that you met him at a club on a night out in hongdae (a place with the worst reputation ever when it comes to korean men), and that your entire relationship exists inside your phone now, and that you haven’t breathed the same air since august. but you’ve carved out a little space in each other’s day just to be. to flirt, to talk, to tease, to miss… and yeah, to get off, too. but then again, it’s not just that. it’s the way he talks to you like you’re his, or the way he gets all sulky when you’re too busy to call to tell him about your day, because he misses you. honestly… what the fuck is going on between you two? you don’t know when it happened—maybe the night he fell asleep with his camera still on, mouth open and snoring so softly you didn’t even mute him because you thought it was sweet. or maybe when you started calling him ‘baby’ back—but at some point, this stopped being whatever-the-fuck and turned into a routine you can’t imagine dropping. something you’ve started organizing your entire day around like it’s just as necessary as food or sleep or breathing.

so, at around the four-month mark—when your fingers know the rhythm of his voice better than they know your pink vibrator’s settings, and you’ve started to memorize the chipped paint on his bedroom wall from how often you see it in the background of his calls—you start thinking: what if i go back? and when you make a comment about it to him and he says, dead serious, “i’d fucking love that, baby.” it’s not even a question after that. you look up flights that same night. you don’t tell him, but you know—you’re going. because he’s never once hinted at coming to see you. not because he doesn’t want to (you know he does, he’s said it in every possible way) but because over the past few months, you’ve learned that subong’s money situation is… well… bad. like, “my mom still sends me money every month so i don’t starve” bad. like, “i haven’t been to the dentist in two years and i think something’s wrong with my molar but i’ll just chew on the other side” bad. and it’s jarring, because when you first met him, he didn’t come across that way. but you see it now. how much of that was bravado, how much he fakes just to look like he’s got it under control, how much he hates needing help… but it doesn’t matter, you don’t care. you don’t need him to buy you things, you just need him to be there with you.

okay don’t freak out

i got the flights

i’m coming to korea next month :))

already talked to my boss, i get two weeks!

for a second he doesn't respond, and your stomach flips because you know he saw it. and then finally, your screen lights up:

what

u serious???

u r actually coming?

dont lie to me

stfu

u think u funny girl?

nah bro

pissing me off

subong😭

calm down

i’m not lying

look

you send him a picture of the confirmation email the airline sent you.

holyyyyy shiiit u r gonna be in my city again

in my bed😈

on my face🔥 👅

should i cancel?💀

acting like u dont wanna cum on my tongue girl

help

no help is coming bby

u gotta sit on ma face, take responsibility

LMAO

you’re not okay😭

please seek professional help

i will💯

right after i professionally help u cum every day for 2 weeks straight mama

subong.

damn okay

gonna show up at the airport w a sign n flowers n shit

plss you’re not doing any of that

no im not

but im actually gonna get a job baby

so i can take u on dates n buy u food

i wanna spoil u

cant have u flying all the way here just to sit in my depressing ass room eatin instant rice

tryna make u feel like a princess

i don’t care if we eat instant rice every night subong

i just wanna be with you :)

he does get a job. actually follows through, like he said he would, which surprises both of you if we’re being honest. he starts working as a delivery guy for some local food app, riding around on this beat-up scooter that barely runs unless he kicks it three times and curses it like it’s a demon—but still. it’s real work. and subong bitches about it constantly. tells you how cold his hands get at night, how the helmet messes up his hair, how his back is already fucked from carrying someone’s 12-piece chicken combo up five floors… but he does it. every day. even the ones where it’s raining and he’s soaked and grumbling through voice notes like, “i swear to fucking god, bro, if one more person orders jjajangmyeon and lives on a fucking mountain i’m fucking quitting, man.” and even with all that, even with the whining and the dramatics and the rants about tips and customers who “looked at me like i was fucking poor! that bald motherfucker! not even a ‘thank you’!”—you can tell he’s kind of proud. maybe not of the job itself, but of having one. of trying. of doing something that feels grown-up and grounded and like he’s earning something real for once. he tells you his mom’s proud, too. says it casually, like he’s trying not to make it a big deal, but his voice gets a little softer when he says it. “she smiled when i told her. haven’t seen her do that in a while.” and the thing is, up until then, subong hadn’t really realized how fucked things had gotten. he’d been so tunnel-visioned on making it as a rapper—so deep into the fantasy of maybe—that he never really stopped to look around. he knew he was broke, but he wore it like a joke, like something that made him cooler somehow. never really took stock of the fact that he was living in a room with mold blooming above his head and socks stuffed into the gap under the window because the cold kept leaking in at night. and it wasn’t until he started working that it hit him, just how far he’d let things slide. how much of his life was being held together by denial and a really fragile sense of ‘i’ll figure it out eventually.’ he hadn’t figured it out. like… c’mon now… he’s twenty-eight and still getting money from his mom like he’s seventeen. and if he hadn’t gotten this job, he might’ve kept floating like that forever. but now he has you, too. which, in itself, feels like a fucking miracle most days. even if he doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time, he knows he doesn’t want to lose whatever this is. doesn’t want to fuck it up. doesn’t want to look back and realize he had something good and let it rot in his hands.

you land in korea right after christmas and new year, just like you’d planned. and the second subong sees you, he yells your name and starts walking toward you with this bounce in his step like he’s physically holding himself back from sprinting. when you’re close enough, he grabs your bag and says, “c’mere. c’mere, señorita,” before leaning in to kiss you. you’d booked an airbnb because… duh. there was no way in hell you were spending two weeks at his place with two other guys you haven’t even met. and he didn’t even try to argue. the plan was for him to stay with you most nights, except when he had work. and day one? yeah, you don’t do anything but fuck. subong finally gets what he wanted. after months of running his mouth about it—whining like it was some kind of tragedy that it hadn’t happened yet—after all the dramatics, he finally, finally gets to have you ride his face.

at first, it feels ridiculous and a little too vulnerable. he’s flat on his back and you crawl over him, your knees bracketing his head, cunt dripping and right there. subong’s losing it already and you haven’t even fucking sat down yet. his hands are on your ass, squeezing it, pulling you in. he’ll die if he has to wait another second. “get the fuck down here,” he demands, breath already hot against your folds. “don’t fucking tease, baby. sit the fuck down. sit on my fucking face. come on.” so you do. you lower yourself slowly… just to hear that helpless fuck me noise and that sharp inhale through his teeth the second your pussy brushes his mouth. when you really settle in, grinding down, soaking his lips and tongue and chin with your mess, he groans, desperate. you start to move with steady pressure, hips rolling gently. subong whimpers. like actually. you glance down and his whole body’s tense, trying not to cum in his underwear again just from this. oh man, he’s so gone. tongue working over your clit, mouth wide, licking and sucking and moaning into you. and fuck—he’s good at it. you grab the headboard with one hand, and you ride. subong tries to say something, but it comes out as a moan, all muffled and needy, and you rock your hips a little harder in response. “shit—f-fuck, subong—you eat so good,” you breathe. “that’s it, baby—mmmmh—that’s my good boy.” his grip on your ass tightens, and then he groans so deep it rips through you. “you like that, huh?” you pant, voice rough. “you like being m-my good boy?” he nods, mouth still full of you, eyes begging. and it flips something in you. you start to ride him harder, chasing your own high, letting it take over. he’s taking it, all of it, trying to earn every word you’ve ever said to him. “o-ooh my—,” you gasp, head tipping back. “subong—shit—i’m s-so close—” he doubles down—licking faster. you cry out, hips jerking, your thighs starting to shake around his head. “oh my god, subong!—y-yes—yes, baby, don’t stop, you’re making me—fuck!—fuck, i’m—” you cum hard. your whole body goes taut, then collapses all at once. your thighs tremble, hands clutching at the headboard as you grind through it, riding the high out on his tongue, your breath catching in your throat as wave after wave crashes over you.

turns out, subong wasn’t lying. he does make you cum every single day for the two weeks you’re in korea. it’s insane how much you two fuck. but honestly… can anyone blame you? you don’t know when the next time will be. when the next flight, the next visit, the next anything will happen. and that thought—that quiet little shadow that slips in sometime around day five—just sits with you. because everything feels perfect and bright, but underneath all of it, something starts to ache when you look at the calendar and realize you’ve started counting backwards.

you try to focus on the good. subong introduces you to his friends, who are rowdy and weird and definitely give him shit the second he leaves to go pee. but they make space for you, switching to english every now and then without being asked. they ask about your trip, about what you’ve seen, what you want to do before you go. they’re nice. you meet his roommates too, eventually. one of them is clearly terrified of you. the type of guy who looks and acts like he’s never interacted with a woman in his entire life. the other asks if you’re staying long and winks. subong throws a slipper at him, cursing in korean and telling him off. you laugh, even though your face is warm, because you can tell by the way subong moves closer to you after, the way he wraps an arm around your waist, that he’s not interested in sharing you. not even a little.

then there’s the night you try weed with him. you don’t plan to, honestly—you don’t even know he smokes that until halfway through the week, when he says something about needing to ‘go clear his brain’ and comes back smelling… funny. you tilt your head, raise an eyebrow, and go, “really?” and he just grins. “what, baby?” you find out later he smokes pretty often. not out in the open, obviously—he’s not stupid, it’s illegal here—but at home, after work, when his head gets too loud. he offers to let you try, once, just to see if you like it. you say no at first. then maybe. and then you see the way he looks when he rolls one… and it’s over for you. he’s got his sleeves shoved up to his elbows, forearms on full display, veins popping, rings glinting… rolling the joint with this pretty little pout on his mouth. he lifts it to his lips while he looks at you. his eyes flick up, and you feel it hit you in the throat before you even understand why.

then his tongue comes out, wetting the edge of the paper while he holds eye contact, and your clit actually pulses. his lips drag across the paper, sealing it smooth, and a little smile starts to tug at his mouth. smug little fuck. and you know—you know—he’s doing it on purpose. you cough your lungs out the first time you inhale and subong laughs so hard he almost drops the joint. you call him a dick. and between the fourth and fifth hit, everything starts getting funny. you’re high, your lips feel numb and your chest feels floaty, and every single thing he says makes you laugh harder than before. at one point, you find yourself in the kitchen, perched on the counter, and subong is fucking you. his jeans aren’t even off all the way, just halfway down his thighs, enough to get inside you. you’re gripping the counter with one hand and his arm with the other, legs twitching, thighs already aching from the way he’s holding you open. you’re so high you can’t tell where his body ends and yours begins. everything feels hot. your moans keep stuttering into giggles, breathless little gasps that make him groan. “the fuck you laughing at,” he pants against your mouth, thrusting harder now, sweat sticking his forehead to yours. you try to say “you,” to piss him off, but it comes out like a whimper when you feel his cock dragging deeper inside you.

you do all the tourist shit, too. some of the places you visit, you’d actually planned to see the first time you came to korea months ago, with your friends. but you didn’t end up seeing half of them. either there wasn’t time, or the plans changed, or—if you’re being honest—you were too busy meeting up with subong. so now, this time around, you go. and he takes you, grumbling about tourists and how overpriced everything is, and “this place used to be so fucking cool before influencers ruined it, man,” but still. he’s kind of a great tour guide, you can tell he likes showing you around. there’s this quiet sort of pride in it. like yeah, this is his city, yeah, these are his streets, and yeah, you’re the baddie bitch he pulled. you visit namsan tower, take the cable car up while he complains about the crowd, the incline, and then grips the bar slightly too tight the second it moves, clutching his chest. you almost die laughing. you put a lock on the fence and subong writes his name next to yours in the absolute ugliest handwriting you’ve ever seen. you go to myeongdong and eat every fried thing in sight until you feel sick. he buys you a stuffed animal from a claw machine after three failed attempts and says, “easy win,” as if his entire soul wasn’t riding on the last try, making him swear under his breath in two languages. like he didn’t mutter “fucking rigged bullshit” while shoving more coins into the machine with a look in his eyes like he was going to physically fight the glass. but now it’s in your hands—a little bear with a small heart stitched to its chest—and he’s refusing to let you carry it. “you’re already holding the drinks. give it here.” “but i want to—” “he’s mine too, girl. i’m his father.” and then he tucks it under his arm like a baby and walks ahead.

you go to a photo booth at a mall. the seat’s tiny, obviously, but subong just sprawls into it, legs wide, taking up more space than physically possible. you hesitate, looking at the sliver of plastic next to him. “there’s literally no space,” you say. he smirks. pats his lap. “bring that ass over here, baby. c’mon. it’s thanos’ lucky day.” you snort before you sit, straddling one of his thighs. subong’s kinda excited. he messes with the little filter screen, starts choosing the backgrounds, says “pick somethin’ stupid, baby—no like stupider. wait no, do the sparkle one! yesss, that’s ugly as hell.” how is this man twenty-eight? you try to look normal in the first one. you fail so hard you almost choke. second shot—he pokes your cheek at the last second. third shot—you flip him off and he throws up some sort of hand sign (he thinks he’s sooo cool) and for the last one—he kisses you.

you drag him through the coex aquarium and take a hundred videos of the jellyfish. you stop at every tank like it’s the first one, filming the same slow, drifting movement over and over again, whispering things like “subong, look at this one!” he pretends to be bored. calls them ‘wet bugs.’ and while you’re busy pointing at the seahorses and gasping at the weird, squishy ones that look like aliens, he pulls out his phone and starts taking pictures of you. of your silhouette in front of the glowing tanks. you don’t even realize he’s doing it until he shows you one. just holds the phone out and says, “you look so sick in this, baby.” you take it, expecting something stupid, but it’s beautiful. you try to play it cool. say, “okay, photographer,” and hand it back. he smiles.

one day you go to lotte world too, and he hates it. he complains the whole time—about the screaming kids, about the rides—but he still stands in line with you for an hour to get on one. he’s especially moody that day. more than usual. and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why: you’re leaving soon. it’s one of your last full days in seoul, and the countdown is real now. you’re both ignoring it, but it’s there. as the sun starts bleeding orange into the clouds, he checks his phone and mutters “fuck, i gotta go soon.” because his shift starts in less than two hours. you take the train back together, like always. you sit next to each other, too tired to talk, your thigh pressed against his, his hand holding yours, and your head resting against his shoulder. and it’s in that moment that it hits you—holy fucking shit, you’re in love with subong. and you don’t know if he feels the same. you don’t know anything, actually. not even what this is—this thing between you.

you don’t bring it up until the next day. you wake up to the weight of his arm slung over your waist, and it takes you a second to register that he’s here—pressed so close you can feel the shape of his knees behind yours and the faint scrape of his knuckles against your stomach every time he exhales. you don’t remember him coming in. you must’ve knocked out before he even made it back from work. he shifts a little when you move, then that familiar groan—half-asleep, annoyed at the light, at the time—slips out of his mouth and suddenly you’re both awake, blinking into the soft blur of morning light. you get up first. subong follows like he always does, dragging his feet. he never wants to miss a morning with you. you make breakfast together. you sit on the counter while subong stand between your knees, his back facing you. your fingers trace along the ink of his tattoo while he sips his coffee and steals the last bite of your toast even though he hasn’t even finished his own. you shower after, and he won’t stop squeezing your ass even though you’re trying to rinse your conditioner out in peace. you tell him to knock it off, laughing, and he says “baby, i’m tryna start my day right,” and then you’re pinned to the tile with his fingers buried inside you, tongue between your legs, moaning into your cunt while you gasp and twitch against his mouth. you’re on your knees for him right after, choking on his cock while water spills down your back and his hands are in your hair, guiding you. and when it’s over subong wraps you in a towel so gently you forget how hard you just came.

afterwards, he throws on sweats and flops onto the couch. you crawl in after him, blanket over both of you, your legs across his lap and your head leaned back while he flips through shit on the tv. his hand starts moving over your shin, then your calf, dragging the edge of his knuckles along your skin. he stops on a variety show with bright graphics, double-checks that the subtitles are on for you, and tosses the remote somewhere across the cushions. you barely register what’s happening on the screen—something about a cooking competition, maybe—but he’s focused, or at least pretending to be. his hands keep working. he presses into your calf with his thumb, then shifts lower, wrapping his fingers around your ankle and rubbing slow circles into the arch of your foot, then back up again—his touch firm. you watch him for a second before saying, “baby.” he hums, not looking away from the screen. your toes press against his stomach. “subong.” his eyes flick down to you. “yeah, baby?” you shift a little under the blanket, pull your legs off his lap so you can sit up straighter—knees bent. and the second your body moves like that, he pauses, eyes narrowing slightly like he’s clocked the vibe shift. “can we—” you pause, clear your throat. “can we talk for a sec?” subong freezes. the words can we talk have never once led to anything good in his life. “talk,” he repeats, cautiously. “like…talk, talk?” “yeah. i just… i’ve been thinking.” “what you mean? thinking about what?” you can tell he’s panicking inside. you don’t know how to start. you don’t even know what part of it you’re trying to get to first. “i mean… i’m not seeing anyone else,” you say. “i haven’t been… since we started talking. and not like it’s some big deal or anything, i just—i don’t even want to. like, i don’t even think about it.” the minute the words leave your mouth, he looks a lot more relieved. “and i know we never really… talked about what this is,” you keep going, “but i’ve been out here for almost two weeks, and we’ve been calling and texting and facetiming for months, and i guess i just—” you pause again. breathe. “—i want to know what this is for you—” “nah. nah, see—what the fuck you talkin’ about right now,” he cuts in, all offended. “what is this for me? baby. you’re my fucking girl. like—since day one. what are we even—” “i just didn’t want to assume.” “you don’t gotta assume shit, baby. you’ve been mine.” “so… what? like… i’m your—i’m your girlfriend?” “fucking right you are. come here.”

he pulls you into his lap without hesitation, so fast you barely get the chance to react before his arms lock around your waist and starts kissing you—pressing obnoxiously loud kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, your collarbone, your neck. “my girlfriend out here making dumb questions thinkin’ she’s just some random girl i talk to—that’s crazy,” he says between kisses, voice muffled, mouth brushing your skin. you squeal, try to push him off, laughing too hard to breathe. “stop! subong—” “the fucking disrespect, bro” he grins, tightening his hold, kisses the side of your face again, “‘i want to know what this is for you,’” he mocks in a high pitched voice. “what you think, girl?” his hands tickle your side, until you’re twisting in his lap, giggling so hard your stomach hurts. “stop! i can’t—” “‘i didn’t want to assume’—assume what, baby? you think i let just anyone sit on my face and call me a good boy?” “subong!” he laughs, breath hot against your skin, and you can feel it now—how happy he is. how light. how fucking in it he’s always been.

the next few months are—against all odds and having the entire goddamn ocean between you—kind of perfect. you go home, and it sucks. obviously. you cry at the airport, your chest starts to cave in because your body doesn’t quite understand how to unstick itself from his yet. and subong pretends not to, but you catch him rubbing his eyes weirdly. life goes on. you tell your family about subong eventually, and they’re not completely on board at first. not because they don’t like him (they’ve never even met him) but because the whole thing sounds impossible. different countries, different lives… it makes them nervous, and they don’t hide that. but underneath the doubt, they’re happy for you. your friends, though… they’re all in. even the ones who were hesitant in the beginning have started to come around, because they see it now. they see how real it is, how happy you are. and it’s so sweet it makes you want to cry—to know that even though the relationship exists across an ocean, the people around you are still rooting for it to work.

life smiling at you, and you’re smiling back. you’re so, so happy. it feels like everything around you is finally starting to click and you aren’t constantly clawing your way through the week, you can actually breathe without apologizing for it. your head’s clearer, your chest feels lighter, you’re eating better, waking up well-rested… you feel better in your skin, too, more sure of yourself. maybe you’re not as impossible to love as you thought. even your boss gave you a raise last month, called you more ‘on it’ than ever before, and you almost laughed, because it’s not like you changed anything dramatic—you’ve just stopped wasting all your energy trying to feel okay. you are okay. better than okay. and it shows.

subong, on the other hand—he’s not happy. not because of you. you’re his peace and his favorite fucking person. but the rest? everything else? it’s a mess. he hates his job. he knows he’s lucky to have it, knows he was proud when he got it, knows it helped—he can pay rent now, buy groceries without asking his mom for help, take you on real dates when you visit—but that pride wore off fast. the hours drag, the streets are cold, his legs hurt all the time, and every time he clocks in, he feels like something inside him is cracking a little more. because this isn’t what he wants. this isn’t who he is. he was supposed to be doing music... supposed to be chasing something that made his blood move. but he pushed that part of himself so far back it barely makes noise anymore. it’s still there, though… buried under the tired, under the weight of pretending he’s okay when he’s not.

he says it one night, kind of out of nowhere. you’re on facetime, both of you horizontal in different beds. your voice’s tainted by exhaustion as you talk about your day. in the middle of your ramble, he lets out this little huff and says how he’d quit his job to be a broke rapper again, then proceeds to joke about how you’d break up with him if he did. smiles like it’s funny, with a little laugh at the end. you don’t laugh, though. instead, you sit up a little and say, “do it.” his smile falters. he stays quiet for a moment, then goes, “what?” “i mean—yeah. do it. quit your job, if that’s what you want. don’t give it up, subong. you’re good. and i know you don’t always see it, but i do. i do. and i want you to be happy, you know? if that means chasing music again… then fucking do it. and if you need anything—i mean it, baby—ask me. i’m not leaving you, i’m here for you. we’re together now, right? that’s what this is.” he doesn’t say much. he’s trying to wrap his head around the fact that you genuinely, without conditions, want him to be okay. that somehow, you’ve made the choice to see him as worth it, even on the days he can’t stand himself. he doesn’t know where to put that kind of grace, so he just nods. rubs a trembling hand over his mouth, trying to steady it, keep it from quivering and giving him away. and when you ask if he’s okay, he says, “yeah,” barely audible, eyes gone glassy in a way that betrays him instantly.

he quits his job two weeks later—pulls off the uniform and drops it in the trash like he’s shedding dead skin. texts you immediately after:

just quit

really?? omggg!!

how do you feel? :)

good💯

are you sure baby?

fuck yeah

better than ever

and for the first time in a long time, he means it. after that, he doesn’t fuck around. he works, pouring himself fully into the music. subong practices until his voice gets hoarse, rewrites verses at four in the morning, pulls strings with friends of friends who owe him favors from way back when, spends money he shouldn’t be spending on studio time and mixing. you see it happening in real time—the obsession, the tunnel vision, the way he lights up every time he thinks he’s nailed a line. he sends you the demo and then the mastered version. and one night, he uploads it to streaming. not even a month later, the song blows the fuck up. someone posts a clip of it on tiktok—this random girl lip-syncing to one of the more questionable lines, giggling—and people start clowning it immediately. the lyrics get memed. but eventually, something flips, like some invisible switch being hit in the collective brain of the internet, and suddenly the comments shift from ‘wtf is this bro’ to ‘wait ts lowkey eatsss’ and the lyrics that sounded dumb at first suddenly feel kinda… clever? he’s everywhere. you open your phone and there he is—on your feed, on your fyp. the memes don’t stop, but they’ve changed. no one’s laughing at him anymore, they’re laughing with him. they’re obsessed. subong’s so fucking happy. and you’re so fucking proud.

months go by and it just keeps getting bigger. the song opened the door and subong fucking sprinted through it. he releases a follow-up track a few weeks later, then another, and people eat them up like candy. the internet picks him up and carries him faster than either of you expected, which is amazing. the following months he’s busier, but he still texts you before he goes onstage, facetimes you the moment he’s free, and sends you voice notes and pictures of everything he does... but then the invitations start. first, it’s a launch party for someone else’s album, then an afterparty for a gig he didn’t even play at, then a private party for an influencer brand you’ve never heard of. and he goes, of course. he texts you, too, the whole time, telling you everything.

they got wagyu sliders n shit

these mfs be rich fr

miss u baby

someone asked who i’m texting

i said my girl

he said lucky

damn fucking right i am😍

this place got a whole ass chandelier in the bathroom

hi baby :) just woke up, i see you’re having fun

i think im a bit drunk

please be careful

im good baby, everyone’s nice

okayy :)

i have to leave for work in a few minutes

damn

that job rly snatching u away from thanos

gonna buy u an island someday baby

u wont have to worry bout work no more

n i’ll eat you out everyday

that’s so romantic, thank you

but for now i gotta get ready🙃

drink some water, please

and text me when you’re home safe

i’ll probably still be working when you get back

i’ll try to stay up

wanna hear how ur day goes

you won’t

but that’s okay! sleep if you need to❤️❤️

i wish u were here baby

i’d be showin u off so bad

my pretty girl

smilin all cute n stealing everyone’s attention

but you’re not there. you’re never there. you’re across the world, living a completely different life. and no matter how many texts he sends or calls he makes, that gap doesn’t shrink. if anything, it starts to grow. stretches like a crack down the center of something you thought was solid. because now, it’s not just distance—it’s dissonance. and it’s not that you don’t trust him. you do. it’s just that… fame changes things. and you can’t help but wonder how long you’ll stay interesting to someone whose world keeps getting bigger by the hour. how long you can keep up from so far away. how long until all the things that make you you—the mundanity, the simplicity, the slowness of your life—start to feel like dead weight to someone like him.

he calls one night, like always, right as you’re settling into bed and thinking about how weird it is that he still remembers to call, even when everything in his life feels like it’s speeding up fast. it’s morning for him, maybe early afternoon. sunlight spills across his bed, his voice’s all scratchy and bright in that way that tells you immediately: he had a good night. you’re in bed, barely awake, blinking into the dark with your phone pressed to your cheek as he launches straight into it, laughing, out of breath even though he’s just lying there. “yo, baby—you would’ve hated it. so many fake-ass people. but the place was mad bougie, i swear to god there was a real ass koi pond inside the fucking bar.” and then he’s off—telling you everything about last night. he sounds happy. like really, really happy. he tells you about the music, about the people, how everyone knew who he was. says it was probably the best night of his life so far. that hurts for some reason. and you want to be happy for him—you are—but there’s something in your chest tightening with every word, something quiet and mean and a little scared, because it’s never been clearer that you’re not there, and he’s starting to live a life that doesn’t involve you. and then he says it. “oh—shit, forgot the wildest part, baby. met this one dude—looked like he owns fucking a yacht. came up to me like, said he wants to manage me. and i was like bet. so now he’s my manager… well, i gotta sign up the contract and all that shit, but we arranged a meeting. and he gave me a pill too—no idea what the fuck it was, but fuck, baby, i was like… i don’t know, that shit hit.” what the fuck? he laughs as he says it, like it’s a joke. like it’s not a big deal... like you won’t care.

and for a moment, all the noise in your brain stops. you’re just lying there in the dark, blinking up at the ceiling, phone warm against your ear, suddenly freezing cold on the inside, listening to your boyfriend talk about taking some random-ass drug from a stranger like it’s a footnote in a funny story. and it’s not even that you didn’t expect something like this eventually… it’s just that hearing him say it, so casually, so proud, makes your stomach turn. and when you finally speak, your voice is quieter than you thought it’d be. “subong… that’s like… really bad.” and for the first time since the call started, he actually goes quiet—enough to let the silence stretch between you, like he’s trying to figure out how serious you are. he exhales sharply, not quite a laugh, but close enough to piss you off before he even opens his mouth. “baby, c’mon. it wasn’t like that. it’s not like i’m out here poppin’ mystery pills every damn night. it was just one time. it’s not that deep.” and maybe he really thinks that. but you can hear the part of him that’s panicking a little underneath, the part that knows exactly why you’re worried. you sit up in bed, your heart sinking as you try to stay calm and not sound like his mom or whatever else might make him shut down, but god it’s hard when he’s brushing off something that could’ve gone so wrong. “it’s not that deep?” you repeat, flatly. and already, you hate the way your voice sounds. “you didn’t even know what it was, subong.” he groans. “but i’m fine. nothing happened. i’m literally sitting here talking to you, girl, aren’t i?” “that’s not the fucking point.” “jesus christ—you’re making it sound like i fucking od’d.”

you don’t mean to snap. you’re trying to keep your cool—you were keeping it, even when your whole body went cold after he said it. but something about the way he’s laughing it off, like you’re overreacting, like he didn’t just tell you he took some random drug from a stranger… makes you angry. “you’re not some invincible asshole, subong.” your voice is shaking now, heat rising to your cheeks. “you didn’t even know what it was. and you still took it—you took something from someone you don’t know, at a party full of people who don’t give a fuck about you—even if you think they do—and now you’re bragging about it like it’s funny. it’s not. it’s not funny, okay? it’s fucking scary.” “here we fucking go.” he mutters. and just like that, you’re off the edge. “what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” “you acting like i fucking snorted coke off a stripper’s tit or some shit, man. it was one fucking pill. one. not even mine. i just wanted to feel good for one fucking night.” “you didn’t even know what it was, subong!” “so?” he snaps. “damn, what, now i need your permission to have a good time? what are you—my fucking mom?” “no, but apparently someone has to give a fuck about your life since you clearly don’t.” “talking like i ain’t fucking grown, like i ain’t out here doing this shit on my own! i’m older than you!” “don’t fucking scream at me, i can hear you just fine. and i’m trying to be there for you, but you make it so fucking hard when you act like this, subong.” “act like what, huh?” “like i’m the problem for caring.” he laughs again, but this time it’s cruel. you frown. “nah, you don’t care. you just hate not being here. that’s what this is really about, right?” “what?” “you heard me, girl.” the nerve he has…“fuck you,” you whisper. “no, no. say it with your chest, baby. c’mon. you wanna be mad so bad, don’t you? like that’s gonna make it easier—like that’s gonna make you less scared that i’m slipping away from you.” you blink. you didn’t just hear what you heard... right? “what the fuck did you just say?” he exhales hard through his nose. “you hate not being here, with me. so now you tryna control me.” “control you?” you scoff. “you always gotta have something to say when i’m out,” he continues, fast, like he’s trying to get it all out before he lets himself feel any of it. “every time i tell you about a party or who i saw or what i’m doing, you act weird.” “are you fucking serious?” “yeah.” “you really think i like this? you think i enjoy sitting here every night, wondering who you’re with, what you’re doing, if you’re safe? because that’s what i’ve been doing these past few months, by the way—worry. about your damn state and safety. so don’t even start. i just—listen… i don’t want to fight with you, subong. i really don’t. i just want you to be wise about the decisions you make. i want—i want you to be okay.”

he makes this low sound, like he doesn’t believe you. and you know then, none of what you’re saying is landing. “but you know what?” you continue, voice rising. “maybe it’s easier for you to pretend i’m some nagging bitch than admit that you’re scared, too. that maybe this is all too much too fast and you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.” “don’t put your shit on me, girl,” he bites. “maybe it’s too much for you! you were good with broke-ass me, but not now, when i’m getting attention. when people actually want me.” “i want you too, you dumb fuck!” you shout. “hey! don’t fucking call me that!” “let me speak—” “you think you can talk to me like that?! the fuck is this shit—” “let me speak!” “nah, fuck that! fuck that! you think i’m gonna let you disrespect me?!” “can you just listen to me—” “i don’t give a fuck what you tryna say when you start it off by calling me a dumbass—“ “jesus—subong, let me finish!” you hear him mutter a few words but he quiets down. “what i was trying to say is that i’ve only ever wanted you—” “yeah? then stop acting like you hate every single thing that comes with me blowing up! ‘cause that’s what it sound like.” “well maybe that’s what you wanna hear,” you spit, “so you can feel like the victim—like poor little subong with the girlfriend who doesn’t get it—” “fucking right you don’t!” “—even though she’s the one who told me to follow my dream! even though she’s been here since before the clout, before the…the fame, or whatever this is now—” “and you think that makes you fucking special?” that one. that one makes you go silent for a moment.

your voice drops, hoarse now. “say that again.” he doesn’t. “go on. say it again, subong.” he doesn’t say anything. just breathes hard into the phone. “fuck,” he mutters eventually. “you know i didn’t mean it like that.” you don’t answer. “c’mon, girl—don’t do that. don’t go all quiet on me now, like we didn’t just—like i don’t—” he stops himself, letting out a loud sigh. “you know you’re different. you know that.” and maybe he thinks that’ll fix it. but it doesn’t. your throat is tight, and your hand’s starting to shake, and you feel that stupid sting behind your eyes, and you hate that he’s still on the other end of the line because now he’s going to hear it. “i’m gonna hang up,” you say. he reacts fast, urgent. “what? baby, don’t—don’t do that. we’re just talking. we always talk like this, it’s not—” “i don’t wanna talk to you right now. i’m going to sleep, i’m tired… you have a good day.” and before he can respond, you hang up.

he calls. once, twice, then again—back to back. when you don’t answer, the texts start flooding in too. he’s apologizing (kind of) rambling through hurt pride, guilt and panic, but you don’t read them. you don’t pick up when he calls again either. you just turn your phone on silent, curl deeper under the blanket, and let the night swallow the noise. when you wake up hours later, the screen is full of missed calls and unread messages, his name everywhere.

u really hung up on me??

dont do that shit

answer

u know i didnt mean it like that baby

i was talkin out my ass

fuck

ik i fucked up alr

i say dumb shit when im mad u know that

but calling me that, bro??

really??

u gotta own what u said too

im not gonna sit here and eat shit like u didnt throw it too

dont fucking ignore me

pls baby text me back

im sorry

say somethin please

i didnt mean to hurt u baby

u were right

about the pill

the way i acted

i wont touch that shit again

i promise

im not losin u over that

bc i love you

n i mean it

you work it out, the same way you always do. you talk for hours when you wake up. and after the apologies, the guilt, the careful questions and the reassurances, after the part where he swears up and down he’s never doing that shit again, never taking anything from anyone without knowing what it is, never scaring you like that again—you tell him the thing you haven’t wanted to say out loud. that he was right. not about the fight, but about the way you’ve been acting lately. how you’ve been more irritated, more quick to get upset, more sensitive to things that used to roll off your back. how you’ve felt it happening—this thing under your skin, this heaviness that comes from constantly wondering if what you two have is going to survive everything that’s changing. the attention. the pressure. the people. because this new version of his life—this shiny, fast, spinning thing full of parties and people who want pieces of him—is starting to feel so far from the version that belonged to you. and it’s not his fault, you know that. but no matter how often he calls or sends you pictures or tries to remind you that you’re still his, it’s hard not to feel like the rest of the world is trying to pull him away anyway.

by the end of the year, just a few days short of what would’ve been your one-year mark, you move to seoul. no countdown this time, no return flight circling in the back of your head like a vulture. subong doesn’t even ask you to move in with him, he insists. tells you: “you’re stayin with me. where else would you go, baby? i already cleared out my closet, you better fill it up.” says it like it’s already settled, like this wasn’t something you were supposed to talk about first, as if there was never gonna be another option. and part of you hesitates because the idea of suddenly living together, full-time, is kinda scary. you’ve been long-distance for months, and planning this move for even longer. but planning something and doing it are two very different things. he’s gonna be your everyday. and that kind of closeness—while beautiful—is also terrifying. part of you thinks maybe you should wait, get your own place first, test the waters, do this the ‘smart’ way. but still, you say yes.

the apartment he’s in now is better. way better. he can finally afford to live alone (and there’s actual furniture this time and the heat works) and subong’s always talking about ‘our home’ like he’s lived there with you forever. he even has a car now, can you believe that? it’s insane how good things are. it almost makes you suspicious, like you’re waiting for someone to tap you on the shoulder and tell you none of it’s real. maybe you weren’t prepared for how fast it would all feel normal, how quickly your things would start mixing with his, how easily you’d get used to waking up in the same bed with his leg thrown over yours and his arm tucked under your head.

he’s busier than you thought he’d be, though. that’s the first thing you notice. there are meetings, rehearsals, video shoots, endless phone calls… you’re busy, too, but in a different way. your job transferred you when you moved, thankfully, but your schedule didn’t change, which means your days start when everyone else’s are winding down. one of the perks of remote work is that the mornings belong to you. but around six or seven in the evening, you work—hunched over your laptop with your headphones in and the city lights bleeding in through the curtains. sometimes subong’s home and sometimes he’s not, but either way, you work. it’s fucking hard sometimes. and lonely, albeit a loneliness you won’t admit, because you made this choice… you knew it wouldn’t be easy and you told yourself you could handle it, that you were brave, that you were doing something people only dream about—but sometimes the small things get to you anyway. the stares. the little barriers in language and culture that make you feel like a clown, like you’re always just slightly out of place and you’ll never quite blend in no matter how long you stay or how hard you try. some days you handle it fine and you’re proud of yourself for even trying. but some other days, it sinks in too deep. subong’s always there making you laugh, holding you when you cry and get frustrated over the smallest things. when you’re in your head and missing home and wondering if maybe you made a mistake… he’s there. and you remember why you came in the first place. for him.

but nothing stays good forever. it’s just the nature of things, the way joy always carries a quiet expiration date no one can see until the air starts to change. you’re tired and alone most days, and the silence of the apartment is starting to feel different than it did before, heavier somehow, less peaceful and more pointed, like a reminder of everything you gave up to be here. you thought things would change eventually, but after living there for six months, you realize they aren’t… and you’re not sure they will. subong’s still busy. it really starts to show—the way his presence starts to stretch thinner and thinner across your days. it makes sense that he’s pouring everything into his music, that he’s working harder than ever, saying yes to everything, because what if the offers stop coming? what if it all disappears? and you get that. but that doesn’t make it easier to sit in an apartment alone in a country that still doesn’t feel like home. and it’s not that you didn’t expect him to be busy. of course you did. you moved here knowing what his life was turning into. but now you spend more nights than you’d like to admit sitting at the little table by the window eating alone and avoiding glancing at the clock again, trying not to get mad before he even texts that he’s staying at the studio late again. trying not to feel pathetic for the way you still wait up sometimes, fully dressed, hoping he’ll walk through the door before you fall asleep.

the fights start small. you misread a text. he forgets to say hello when he comes back from the studio. he leaves his dishes in the sink again even though you asked him not to, even though he said he’d try. you ask if he’s coming home for dinner and he says “i’ll see,” and something about the vagueness gets under your skin more than it should. you both pretend things are fine even though you’re starting to keep score in your head. and it starts to show in the way you text each other, too. which is honestly where most of the fighting happens now.

miss u

how’s my girl’s day goin

hi baby :) good

i miss you too

are you coming home for dinner?

yeah

should be back around 8

yayyyyyy!

i’ve been craving pasta all day so i’ll make that

save me a big ass plate señorita

obviously ;)

thank u bby ❤️

what thank you? that’s worth at least 5 kisses😙

5 kisses? i’ll give u something better girl🔥

dummy

i’m holding you to that ;)

don’t be late!

but then 8 p.m rolls around:

just finished cooking🙂‍↕️

i’ll wait for you to get here

it smells insane btw

hurry up

are you close??

baby

i’m hungry

suboooongggg

helloooo

and 9 p.m:

fuck

baby im still at the studio

we r behind schedule

i cant leave yet

wdym you can’t leave yet

you said you’d be home around 8

i thought we’d be done by then

you could’ve told me

i’ve been waiting yk

sorry baby

i didnt wanna disappoint u

kept thinking we’d wrap in time

well

guess what

dont be like that girl

excuse me

i took my break early to cook

and i’ve been sitting here waiting for you for an hour

i didnt fuckin plan for shit to run late bro tf u on me about

whatever subong

i’m tired

eat when you get home or don’t

idgaf

then another day:

hi baby❤️

i’m so sorry to bother you rn

i went to the 7-eleven and then decided to walk a bit after and i kinda got turned around lol

don’t laugh💀

i thought i knew the way back but i think i took a wrong turn and i don’t know where i am now

i’m using maps but it’s taking me up this street and none of the lampposts are working, so i don’t really wanna walk through there

can you come get me maybe?🥲

pleaseee

what?

where u at bby??

i don’t know

somewhere near that cafe you took me to last week i think??

everything looks different at night

wait let me check

yeah, the cafe with the green logo

i didn’t realize how far i’d walked

there’s no one around

kinda creepy

tf u doing walking around by urself this late bby

needed some air

i finished work and the apartment was starting to feel like a box

sorry

are you gonna be long?

baby?

im still at the studio

been here all day

we just started recording again

oh

i thought you’d be home by now, it’s late

nah bby

we got ppl over too

shit’s stacked rn

okay then

nevermind

i’ll figure it out

i’ll walk a bit more and see if something looks familiar

u got the taxi app

take one

ik the apps i have on my phone!

i’m not stupid ty😊

yo wtf

???

tf u giving me an attitude for

i’m not giving you an attitude

i’m literally lost and it’s dark and i asked you for help

and you’re telling me to just take a fucking taxi

i’ll pay for it

there are no taxis at this hour, yk how hard it is to take one after 1am in seoul

i told u i was busy tonight

tf u want me to do, girl? teleport out the studio?

ha ha you’re soooo fucking funny subong

dont fucking piss me off

don’t fucking piss ME off

u r the one who chose to go out at fucking 1am for no reason??

how is that on me girl

yeah i chose to go out because i’ve been alone all day

and yesterday

and the day before that

and the one time i actually need you, you can’t even leave for ten fucking minutes

my bad for having work🙏🏼

fuck off dude

like genuinely

you’re not even listening to what i’m trying to say

i am

u r acting like idgaf when im here tryna finish work that pays our rent

as if i don’t pay my part of rent too💀💀 tf

wtf r u even saying rn

no one said u dont

why tf u twisting my words??

i’m not twisting anything

i’m trying to tell you how i feel

not that you care :)

u know i fucking do

tf is this even about now man

act like it then! :)))))

what u think i’ve been doing?

im at the studio every night building a future that includes u

n u crying cuz i cant drop everything to play chauffeur??

what u want from me bro

don’t call me bro

i’m your girlfriend

ye

n u always on my dick about shit

you’re a fucking asshole subong

and u r a fuckin brat

fuck you

nah fuck you bitch

it’s the first time he’s ever called you that. it’s not like you’ve never argued before, not like you’ve never said cruel shit in the heat of the moment, but that? that one word? bitch? from him? it feels like something splits open in your chest, and you hate how fast your hands start shaking and your face burns. and maybe that’s what pisses you off the most—how much it affects you, how much it stays. because it’s him, not a stranger, not someone on the street. it’s the same mouth that kisses you at night, the same person who calls you baby, the same fingers that loop into yours under the blanket when you’re snuggled up against him. you don’t answer after that. and when he starts texting again, you just stare at the lock screen and let it buzz against your leg until it stops. because you know it’s coming. the half-assed apology. the “i didn’t mean it like that” and “you know how i get when i’m mad, baby” and “you’re the only one who gets under my skin like this”—as if that’s supposed to be romantic. as if being hurt by him is some kind of proof that you matter.

you forgive him, you always do. because you love him. because it’s easier to fold into the version of him that comes after: the sorry one, the one who kisses your hands and says “i fucked up, baby. i know i fucked up. that’s not who i am, girl, you know me. please, baby… forgive me, i’ll do anything.” you try, you really fucking try… but the thing about words is that once they hit, they echo. they stretch out inside you, and suddenly everything sounds a little different. and it shows. not in the way you pull away, not in the silence or the tears into the pillow while his back is turned. no, you still kiss him. you still touch him. you still let him press up behind you at night and mumble filth against your neck with his hands under your shirt. you let him fuck you. but not the way he’s used to. now it’s you on top—dragging him down by the jaw, yanking his clothes off rough enough to make him grunt, pinning him back against the pillows. subong’s stronger, he could flip you over in a second if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. he loves that shit. he loves watching you take control with your thighs straddling his hips and your nails digging crescent moons into his chest, looking at him like you’re the one who gets to decide when he gets to breathe. you kiss him hard, bite his lip, make him open his mouth just to pull away and laugh when he chases yours.

one day you wrap your hand around his throat, and say “you think you deserve to be fucked by me? hm?” and he shakes his head immediately, lips parted, already twitching under you like you’ve got a hand wrapped around his soul instead. his cock’s hard and leaking and he hasn’t even been touched properly, hasn’t earned a single fucking thing. his voice barely comes out when he tries—just a raspy “no, baby.” “right. then why should i?” you ask as you grind down once, pressing your heat right against him, reminding him what he’s not getting yet. subong chokes on his own spit, holding himself back from doing something pathetic. and you just tilt your head, all sweet and cruel. “’cause—f-fuck, baby, ‘cause i’m sorry. i’m sorry, i know i was a piece of shit—i’ll be good. i swear i’ll be so fuckin’ good.” “you will?” you drag your nails down his chest, watching his abs jump under your touch. he nods frantically. “i-i’ll be your good boy. i promise, baby, just—fuck, please—” you cut him off with another slow roll of your hips, dragging your soaked cunt down the length of his cock, letting him feel how wet you are, how fucking turned on you are from seeing him like this. from hearing the desperation in his voice and watching him twitch and shake and beg for a pussy he hasn’t earned. “aww, and you think saying sorry makes you good, subongie?” you murmur, leaning down, lips brushing over his cheek, your hand slipping up to grab his jaw. you squeeze it hard, making him gasp. “you think one little apology’s enough to make me forget how you talked to me? you’re lucky i even let you get this close.”

subong’s eyes flutter, throat bobbing hard under your touch. he’s finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate, not with the feeling of your pussy hovering just above the tip of his dick, dripping all over him like the cruelest fucking tease alive. he shakes his head quick. “no,” he whispers. “no, baby, it’s not. i fucked up, i know, i know, i’ll do anything to make it up to you, i swear—” “anything? you want this pussy that bad?” “yes,” he whines. “then beg.” he does. fuck, he does immediately. like his life depends on it, giving up every ounce of pride just to get inside you. “please, baby, please. just—just let me feel you, i can’t—i can’t fucking take it. i need you, i need that fucking pussy. please—” you hum, slow and thoughtful, then shift—lifting your hips and sliding off him, dragging the wet heat of your body away. he lets out a little sound at the loss before your fingers wrap around his cock, stroking him once, still deciding how generous you want to be. his hips buck off the bed, his body unable to take the smallest kindness without trying to fuck into it. “pathetic,” you whisper, leaning down to bite his neck, dragging your teeth across his skin. “all that attitude and now look at you… begging like a fucking loser.” he moans, embarrassed, but it turns him on anyway. he’d let you spit in his mouth if you wanted to. “i’m not,” he breathes, but it’s a lie. you stroke him again, slower this time, almost languid, just to watch the way he twitches under your touch, to feel the heat of him, slick and straining in your hand, every inch of him aching with want. “you are,” you say. “whining over some pussy you haven’t earned. what happened to that mouth, huh? where’s all that talk now?” “i don’t—i didn’t mean it, girl—fuck—” his voice cracks halfway through and it’s almost funny, how you’re working him up with barely a flick of your wrist. you lean in close. “that’s my name when you’re begging?” you murmur. “‘girl’? try again.” “‘m s-sorry. baby. ‘m sorry,” he stammers. “i swear, i didn’t mean it, you know i didn’t—please, baby. just let me cum—ahh-ha fuck—please let me cum—” “already?” you laugh, low. “you haven’t even been inside me and you’re already there? just from my hand? that’s how easy you are now, subong?” he groans, hips jerking up again, losing the ability to stay still. “yes—fuck! yes, girl—i mean, baby. shit, you’re s-so fucking hot… i’m gonna cum if you don’t stop. please, let me—” “no,” you cut him off, tightening your grip. “you don’t cum ‘til i say so.”

you let go of him entirely for a second, watching him. your core aches from how wet you are, too, because seeing him like this—all that mouth reduced to desperate noise—it feeds something inside you. you crawl over him again, straddling his waist, the tip of his cock sliding through the mess between your thighs, and subong groans. “please. please, baby, let me in. i need you.” you shift your hips, letting the head of his cock nudge against your entrance, but you don’t give him anything else. “hm… i don’t know…” you murmur, tilting your head. “what were you sorry for again?” “f-for… for calling you that,” he says. “for what i said. i didn’t mean it, baby.” “for calling me what?” you press, and the slick glide of your folds drags against him. “say it.” his throat bobs. “for calling you a bitch. but you know i didn’t mean it… i was just pissed, baby.“ “mhm.” your hand goes to his purple hair, clutching a strand, yanking his head back until he’s staring up at the ceiling. “and? what else are you sorry for?” subong moans. “a-and for leaving you alone,” he answers fast, desperate. “for always being gone, for not coming home when i said i would.” you hum like you’re thinking it over. “now that’s a good boy.” you finally sink down on him. a broken moan rips out of his throat as your walls clamp tight around him, wrenching a curse straight from his lips. subong’s hands shoot up to grab your hips instinctively, but you slap one away. “no touching,” you snap.

you start to move. every drag of your pussy around him has his jaw clenched and his abs twitching, his whole body fighting not to fuck up into you, not to ruin it by cumming too fast. you know he’s close. you can feel him throbbing inside of you, pulsing between your gummy walls. your pace picks up with every whimper that leaves his throat. “y-you want to cum, baby?” he nods frantically, unable to even form words. “yeah? then make me.” you pant as you grind down harder, chasing that spot that makes you see stars, riding him with purpose, hungry for that high tightening in your belly. every deep, deliberate drag of him inside you making it harder to think, the way his cock stretches and fills you perfectly. subong doesn’t dare use his hands—not after you slapped one of them away—but his hips start moving on their own, small upward rolls that meet the motion of yours, fucking up into the rhythm you’re setting. you almost stop just to remind him who’s in charge… but it feels too fucking good. your thighs are trembling, your moans are slipping too easily from your lips and your head’s falling forward as you brace a hand on his chest. “fuck! subong—fuck—” he’s babbling under you. “you feel so fucking good, baby… this pussy’s so good—shit—mine, baby, you’re fucking mine.”

you keep going, riding him harder, the burn in your thighs completely ignored. and then your head drops, your rhythm stutters, and a broken moan rips from your throat as your orgasm tears through you, your cunt clenching around subong so tight you feel him sob under you. only then, when you’ve taken what you wanted, you tell him: “cum for me, baby.” and he does. his hips jerk up once, twice, sloppy and frantic, and he cums, spilling into you as he curses through it, breath catching on every filthy, desperate sound that slips out of his mouth. you ride it out slow, milking every drop of his until he’s boneless, flushed and soaked in sweat. you smile, watching the way his chest rises and falls and that dazed, fucked-out look on his face as he tries to blink himself back into the world.

subong’s a liar. always been and always will be. it’s not even that he’s proud of it, it’s just who he is: a boy who learned too early that bending the truth made things easier. it started when he was little, when he was six years old standing in front of a cracked window with wide eyes, saying “it wasn’t me, grandma, i think the neighbor kid did it.” and she’d believed him. kissed the top of his head and muttered about how other children were raised like animals these days while he nodded solemnly and wiped his muddy palms on the back of his shirt. it got worse when he figured out how easy it was. how it opened doors, got him out of shit and kept people on his side. he lied to his mom constantly. things like: “yeah, i studied.” … “yeah, i went straight to school.” … “no, mom, my friend’s the one who smokes, that’s why my hoodie smells.” but the lies got bigger when he realized that a well-timed excuse could soften her exhaustion, could keep her from yelling, from crying into the sink at night when she thought he was asleep. he told her he wasn’t hungry even when he was, told her school was fine when it wasn’t, told her he didn’t need anything even when his shoes had holes in them… because what was the point in making it harder? what good would the truth even do?

he lied to teachers, too. said he didn’t hear the assignment, that he forgot his books at home, that he had a cousin in the hospital and that’s why he didn’t show up to the exam. he never felt bad for it, not once. if they were dumb enough to believe it, he figured that was on them. he would even lie to the police—with his hands in his pockets and shoulders relaxed like he had nothing to hide, even when his backpack reeked of weed and his knuckles were skinned raw from something he definitely didn’t want to explain. and he lied to his friends all the time as well. about stupid shit, mostly. said he had hookups he didn’t, that he fucked people he hadn’t even met… told one friend their crush liked them back just to see what would happen, and another that someone had said shit behind their back when they hadn’t, just to stir things up. for fun. he lied about school, money, his past, his feelings (especially his feelings)… and nobody ever really pressed him about it, because he was good at it. he lied to everyone.

and you were no exception. subong had been lying to you too, for months now. it started before you moved to korea. one of the first times his manager offered him a little something, to keep the energy up, to keep the night going. subong said no at first. actually said it out loud, too, laughing a bit to dodge confrontation. told him you wouldn’t like it, and he was trying to be better. but the manager just laughed louder, clapped him on the back like he was some kind of child who didn’t know better, and said, “damn, she really got you by the balls, huh?” that stuck. didn’t matter how joking the tone was, or how quick the subject shifted after that. it dug into subong, like a splinter under the skin. “you gotta loosen the fuck up, man. you got all this shit coming your way—money, fans, freedom—and you tryna say no ‘cause of her? fuck that!” “she just doesn’t like when i do this kinda shit,” subong replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “i promised her i wouldn’t do it again.” “bro,” the guy lowered his voice like they were talking secrets. “then don’t tell her. what she don’t know won’t kill her. it’s not like you’re fucking cheating or something… c’mon, man. you’re grown. you gonna let some girl tell you how to live? you gon’ let her control you like that?” and subong didn’t want to be controlled. he hated that word, actually. the guy knew that. probably smelled it on him from the beginning. “just one,” the guy pushed, holding out the little orange pill between two fingers. “you had fun last time, didn’t you?”

subong took the pill. just like that. he doesn’t even remember when it hit. just that he was laughing harder, saying dumber shit, dancing with sweat dripping down his temples while the bass made his bones vibrate and his jaw feel loose. and after that, it just kept happening. once, twice, then again the next week, and then it wasn’t just when his manager offered. it became when someone had something. didn’t even matter who. after a while, even that didn’t feel like enough. sometimes the high didn’t hit quite right, or maybe he was building tolerance, or maybe he just liked the chase of something stronger, better, heavier. so he started trying new shit, too. but it wasn’t until that one tuesday when he found himself pacing his room with a glass of water in his hand, sweating like crazy, digging through drawers and bags and old jackets trying to find something because it had been over four days and his body felt like it was shutting down… that he realized this wasn’t just for fun anymore. he was looking for it. needing it. and he couldn’t even tell you, because he knew he’d lose you if he did.

he never wanted to call you when he was high. tried not to text either, unless he was sure he could pass for normal, and the time zone difference gave him enough of a buffer to make it easy. he’d tell you he was busy, tired, at the studio... and you always believed him, and he hated that. and even more than that, he hated how guilty it made him feel, because you trusted him like no one ever had before, and he couldn’t even fucking look you in the eye over facetime some days. he’d never felt that way after telling a lie. never felt his chest tighten like that nor had to shut his eyes after hanging up just to sit with the sour twist in his gut. with you it was like every small dishonesty stacked on top of the last, pressing heavier and heavier, until some nights, after the high wore off, he’d sit alone in his bathroom staring at his reflection and he hated what he saw. hated how easy it was to lie to you, and how hard it was to stop. he kept telling himself he’d quit soon, that he just needed a few more weeks... but that never happened.

if anything, it got worse. so much fucking worse. because once you moved in, he didn’t just have to lie, he had to live the lie. he thought, stupidly, that by the time you got there, he’d have gotten his shit together. that he’d be better and clean. but he was so fucking wrong. the withdrawals hit harder than he expected. the pressure did too. and suddenly he was in it deeper than before, but now with the added weight of hiding it from you. hiding it in front of you. so the only thing he could do to survive the guilt was to avoid it altogether. that’s why he started avoiding you. it’s what he’s been doing for months now. because what else can he do? admit it? tell you he’s been high half the time he’s kissed you lately? tell you that some nights he lies awake next to you, cock throbbing, too fucked in the head to even roll you over and fuck you like he wants to? please. he can’t do that. he won’t.

so he tries to make up for it the only way he knows how: by being the kind of boyfriend he thinks you deserve. or at least sounding like it. saying “i love you” over and over, whispering it against your bare shoulder before you even open your eyes in the morning. touching you when you pass by, pulling you into his lap when you’re both sitting on the couch, brushing his thumb along your cheek when you’re ranting about your day just to see you soften into his hand. he means it, too. it’s the one thing he doesn’t have to fake, because he loves you more than he’s ever loved anyone in his life, and maybe that’s why everything else feels so fucking unbearable—because every time he kisses you or comes home and wraps his arms around your waist and breathes you in like he’s been drowning without you, he knows he’s lying about everything else. and it fucking kills him, honestly. because you’re right there, every single day, showing up for a version of him that doesn’t even exist anymore. he tries to drown it out with love and sex. with worship. fucking you like you’re made of gold—telling you you’re beautiful every time you’re on top of him, tits bouncing, head thrown back. “gonna marry you,” he breathes. “gonna make you my wife, baby. wanna wake up to this pussy every day.” and you laugh, soft, before kissing him again.

subong knows what you like. knows exactly how to say the right things at the right time, how to pull you back in when you’re pulling away. when he feels you go quiet, when your touches grow shorter or your gaze lingers a second too long without a smile, he cranks it up like clockwork—presses closer, kisses your neck more, murmurs “i wasn’t fucking joking when i said i’m gonna marry you,” mouth hot against your skin. “gonna put a ring on your finger so fat you’ll have to work your thumb around it when you wash your hands, girl.” and it works, most of the time. sometimes, to his surprise, he even means it. sometimes he wants that future so bad it makes him sick because what the actual fuck... he’s never thought of marriage, not even once, in his whole life. but now he does—when you’re naked in front of him, biting your lip, making fun of him for being sappy while he’s already got your panties shoved to the side and you’re saying “then prove it, big boy.” and he does—up against the bathroom counter, your leg hiked up and his hand gripping the edge so hard it goes white. “gon’ get you pregnant one day,” he grits out into your shoulder, “fuck a ring, wanna see you f-fucking swollen and full of me, mama.” and you clench around him every time. maybe because it’s hot, or maybe because there’s something inside you that wants it too, even if you’d never say it out loud. and he sees that in your eyes and loses his fucking mind. “you want that? yeah? want thanos to fuck a baby into you?” and you’re moaning, back arching for him. he means it in those moments, every word, every filthy, unhinged promise he makes when he’s buried in you. because if you were pregnant, maybe you’d stay. maybe you wouldn’t leave if you found out the truth, you’d be tied to him forever. oh god… how sick is that? how fucked up is it, that the idea makes him feel better? makes the guilt hurt less? subong knows how wrong that is. how selfish and immature and backwards it all sounds, but it doesn’t stop the thought from coming anyway. he’s a fucking coward, that’s all he is.

but the truth always comes to the surface. part of him knew that. because it was obvious, wasn’t it? bound to happen eventually, especially once he started surrounding himself with people he shouldn’t have even looked twice at in club pentagon. it was easy to disappear there, easy to pretend he was someone else for a few hours, someone untouchable. and that’s exactly what he did. he met his plug there. older guy, always with a different girl on his lap. they called him kyungho, or just ‘hyung’ if they wanted to be polite, and he had a reputation for being reliable and completely fucking terrifying if you crossed him. there were always two or three men flanking him, shoulders squared like bodyguards. subong knew better than to get too close. even when kyungho was friendly—and he was, in that offhand, slippery kind of way that made it hard to tell whether he actually liked you or if you were just the night’s amusement—there was something about him that made subong’s skin crawl. but kyungho liked him. or at least that’s how it seemed, the way he always made space for him at the booth, arm flung over the backrest like they were boys who went way back, like subong belonged there among them. subong wasn’t sure if that meant he was in or just being tolerated, but either way, he sat. “you always show up right when the night gets interesting,” kyungho said one night, not even looking at him. then he cracked a grin. “you’re either lucky or real fucking bored.” kyungho didn’t wait for an answer. just reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a little baggie, dropped it into subong’s hand. “this one’s smoother,” he said. “go easy, unless you’re trying to see god tonight.” subong didn’t ask questions. he didn’t want to know where the stuff came from, didn’t care what it was either. he just muttered “thanks, man.” and nodded.

everything was fine, as long as he paid. except now, he owed them. subong hadn’t planned for this part. he’d been doing so fucking good, hadn’t he? lying well enough to keep you close, which was already a fucking miracle. but everything falls apart eventually, and for subong, it started with that fucking ring. after dating you for two years, he’d finally bought it—kept it in a drawer under his socks, some proof to himself that he was serious, that he was going to get better to be with you. it wasn’t a matter of money then, he was doing alright. the bookings were steady, the endorsements had started coming in, and he’d made it to the semifinals in rap battlegrounds, which meant the prize money was close enough to taste. everything was building toward something. and he’d bought the ring without thinking too hard about it, still high on the rush of maybe being good enough for once. he didn’t know when he’d give it to you. maybe months from now, maybe years. but he would, eventually.

the rap battlegrounds final came. he should’ve been ready—he was ready. he’d been rehearsing for weeks, killing it in every freestyle cypher he stepped into. but the closer it got, the more it started to eat at him. not the performance itself, but the stakes. he told himself he wouldn’t do it, that he’d go in clean, that he didn’t need anything. but nerves are a bitch. and the second he stepped backstage and felt his throat go dry and his hands shake no matter how many times he clenched them into fists, he knew he was fucked. so he took a pill to quiet everything down and be able to concentrate. except it didn’t quiet shit. it fogged it. made him slow, made his tongue feel heavy and made him forget the third verse of his own fucking song like a rookie. and just like that, it was over: he lost. and the prize money he was counting on? gone. just like that. poof.

for weeks, he’s a fucking ghost of himself. not publicly, though. but when the doors close, when it’s just you and him in that quiet apartment, he’s… hollow. you sit beside him and hold his face, run your fingers through his hair and kiss the corner of his temple while he cries with his teeth clenched and his chest shaking, and you tell him it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re proud of him no matter what, that he gave everything he had and you’re not going anywhere. and he cries harder. not just because he lost the tournament—though yeah, that was fucking humiliating. but no, that’s not why he cries into your lap while your hands stroke the back of his neck. he cries because he’s fucked. because he was counting on that money to pay kyungho. and subong’s been dodging his calls for days, each one a sharp pulse of dread in his head. he thought about selling the ring, but he didn’t. couldn’t. he opened the box once and stared at the way the light caught the stone and all he could think about was how it would look on your finger. how you’d reach for him with both hands and kiss him before whispering yes against his mouth. and how you’d smile, all happy and cute, when you told your friends and family—he’d figure something else out.

the days kept going, and you never noticed. to you, everything was fine. the sex had been good lately. too good, actually. he’d been insatiable for weeks now, rougher than usual—fucking you with his fingers shoved in your mouth to keep you quiet, even though the windows were open and you both knew the neighbors could hear—but also sweeter in the moments right after. you made lunch together: grilled cheese, kimchi jjigae, that fried rice he liked with too much sauce and barely any vegetables. and subong grabbed your ass when you reached for the bowls on the top shelf, grinning when you squealed. you watched movies on the couch, went out for dinner, went on walks where you’d hold his hand and swing it between you like kids, and he’d kiss your knuckles and call you pretty. he was a bit quieter than usual, sure. but you figured he was tired, or overworked, or just coming down from the crash of losing rap battlegrounds and all the energy he’d poured into it. you gave him space and avoided asking too many questions. you didn’t realize that was the worst thing you could’ve done.

one sunday morning, you’re sitting at the dining table in one of subong’s shirts and eating toast, scrolling on your phone and sipping lukewarm coffee. subong’s out running, something he’s started doing lately in the mornings, probably trying to shake the gnawing feeling in his chest that losing the rap tournament left behind, or maybe just chasing a little silence in his head that doesn’t sound like self-hatred. suddenly, there’s this violent banging on your front door. you jolt so hard your mug wobbles, coffee sloshing onto your thigh as you hear a group of men yelling right outside your apartment—slamming their palm or maybe even their fist against the door again and again, rattling it in its frame like they’re seconds from breaking it down. you don’t understand a word, the korean’s too fast, aggressive and slurred with rage, but the tone alone is enough to twist something tight in your gut. you don’t know what to do. part of you wants to scream back, part of you wants to hide, and part of you’s just whispering his name under your breath like “subong. subong. subong.” as if he’s gonna magically appear to protect you from whatever it is that those men want. you quickly pull out your phone.

subong

baby please answer me

a group of men’s banging on the door screaming in korean

idk who they are

they won’t stop

i’m scared

i didn’t call the police bc i don’t want them to hear me talking

please call them

send someone here

and don’t come home

they could be dangerous

just send someone please

idk what to do

they sound so angry

fuck

okay bby stay inside

dont open the door

omw

what??

no

no no

don’t come here subongie

please just call the cops

i cant call the cops

what?

wdym you can’t

its alr

they r my friends

friends??

what kind of friends are those

and why don’t i know about them?

not the point rn

wtf

subong explain this

now

i’m serious

you’re scaring me

this isn’t normal

need u to trust me baby

dont open that fucking door

you shouldn’t move. you know that. but your body doesn’t listen. something is wrong. you stare at your phone, at those last two texts from him before you start moving toward the door, your phone clutched in one hand just in case you need to dial someone. the banging has stopped (thank god) but you can still hear someone pacing outside, heavy boots against the hall’s floor. you press your eye to the peephole. three men. when your voice comes out it’s small and tentative. “who are you?” nothing. “what do you want?” they answer… in korean. you let out a frustrated sigh. “i don’t understand what you’re saying—” and that’s when one of them switches. the voice that comes through is rough and accented. “where’s thanos?” “what?” “choi subong,” he says. “we’re looking for him.” “why?” “just wanna talk.” right. because people who just wanna talk usually show up pounding on your door on a fucking sunday morning like a goddamn swat team. your hand tightens around your phone. “well, he’s not here,” you snap. “so either say what you came to say or fuck off.” the man laughs as if he’s dealing with a little kid playing guard dog. another voice joins in too, somewhere behind him, the cadence of it low and amused. “feisty,” the guy mutters through the door. “you’re his girl, huh? makes sense.” you don’t answer. your heart’s going so fucking fast it’s hard to breathe. “we don’t wanna hurt you,” he adds. “this isn’t about you, sweetheart. we just want what he owes.” “he doesn’t owe anyone shit,” you fire back. they’re quiet for a beat. then: “you sure about that?” and you realize he knows something you don’t. “what are you talking about?” another chuckle. it’s not kind. “your boyfriend owes us money,” he replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “lot of it.” “…for what?”

they exchange words in korean on the other side of the door before they decide to speak to you again. “pills.” “what kind of pills?” “do we really need to say?” you shake your head, laugh once, because that’s fucking ridiculous. “you’re wrong,” you snap, but it comes out weaker than you meant. “he doesn’t—subong doesn’t do that shit anymore.” “anymore?” the man echoes, amused. “then you do know.” you stay quiet so he continues, “he’s been getting supply from kyungho for almost a year now at club pentagon. pills, mostly… sometimes other stuff. he was good for it, at first—now he’s late.” you feel all the air in your body leave your lungs, your jaw tightening with the sudden warmth spreading in your face from anger. “you’re lying.” but deep down, you know… you know he isn’t. you feel so sick. “you didn’t know?” the guy says, all mock sympathy now. “shit.” you can tell he’s enjoying it—watching it all click into place behind a locked door. “what the fuck are you talking about,” you manage, but your voice wavers, already betrayed by the way your mind is dragging you down every memory, every weird excuse, every time subong came home late with red-rimmed eyes. the guy outside sighs, like he’s getting bored of your denial. “look, we just want what we’re owed. because we’ve been real fucking nice so far.” “how much?” “enough for us to be here.” you feel so fucking stupid. how could he lie to you for so long? “leave. just—leave. i don’t know where he is.” “we’ll be back,” he tells you, warning. “tell your boy to pick up his phone next time.” and then they’re gone.

you immediately walk to the bedroom, your hands moving before you even think of it, tearing through drawers and slamming them shut again when they turn up empty, muttering fuck under your breath. nothing in the nightstand, nothing in his coat pockets or the pockets of the jeans he left on the floor last night. your heart is hammering so hard it’s a wonder you don’t throw up right there on the carpet. the apartment isn’t big, but it feels endless all of a sudden—too many places where things could be hidden, too many corners where secrets could live. you start opening kitchen drawers next, rifling past silverware and receipts. nothing. you yank open the cabinet under the sink. cleaning supplies. trash bags. nothing. you’re not even thinking straight when you start on the closet—pulling clothes off hangers, tossing them over your shoulder, crawling halfway inside… when you see something wedged between a duffel bag and the wall. a shoebox. plain and black and stupidly suspicious now that you’re looking at it. you drag it out, breathing hard, hands shaking so bad you fumble the lid. and there it is. a small plastic bag—a few colorful pills, maybe four or five, rattling softly when you lift it.

you sit down right there on the floor, the shoebox slipping out of your hand and landing with a soft thud beside you. you don’t even know how long you stay there, hand frozen around the bag, feeling embarrassed as you stare at the proof that the men at your door weren’t lying. embarrased for being so in love with subong. because this whole time you were waking up next to him, laughing with him, moaning under him—you were also sleeping beside a liar. you press the heels of your hands into your eyes, as if that’ll make it stop, as if you can block out the sting or slow your heartbeat or undo the past year. but you can’t.

the front door opens so fast it hits the wall, rattling on its hinges, and subong’s voice cuts through the apartment before you even lift your head. “baby?” it’s that voice. the one that always used to make you feel safe. but now it feels foreign. “fuck, baby—where are you?” there’s panic in it, real panic. he probably thinks that something’s happened to you, that those guys hurt you, when the truth is sitting right here between your fingers, in its plastic cage. you hear him moving, fast, room to room, muttering curses under his breath as shit clatters to the floor. you can imagine it: the wild look in his eyes and that little tremble in his hands he tries so hard to hide. you can almost feel the moment he sees the living room, sees the drawers pulled out, the papers on the floor, the spilled coffee on the table, the overturned laundry basket… and then he’s sprinting again, calling your name louder now, almost begging. you’re still on the floor when he bursts into your bedroom, breathing hard, looking like he’s about to be sick until his eyes land on you. and when yours lift, you meet the expression that splits across his face. you don’t think you’ll ever forget it. the recognition. he doesn’t ask what you found, he doesn’t have to. he knows that box. he knows exactly what was inside. and you see it hit him all at once. “fuck,” he whispers, barely audible. when you don’t answer, he takes a step inside, tentative, and for a moment you think he might actually drop to his knees, just to be on your level. but he doesn’t. he just stands there, hands twitching at his sides. “it’s not—” he tries, but he doesn’t even finish the sentence. because what is it, really? what the fuck is it supposed to be, when you’re sitting on the floor with a bag of his pills in your lap and the knowledge that the man you love has been lying to your fucking face? what the fuck is he supposed to say? so he just stands there, shame written in every inch of him.

“go ahead,” you bite out, voice sharp and trembling, “finish the sentence.” he flinches. “no?” you scoff, dragging the back of your hand across your cheek even though it does nothing to stop the heat burning its way down. “then let me guess. it’s not what it looks like? it’s not yours? it’s not a big deal? pick one, subong. fucking pick one.” he shakes his head, takes a small step toward you. “baby, i just—please.” “don’t call me that.” his mouth snaps shut like you’ve slapped him. and you kind of wish you had. maybe then he’d look as hurt as you feel. “how long?” you ask, standing up slowly. “how long have you been using?” you already know the answer, but you want him to tell you. you want him to be honest for once. but instead: “why the fuck does it matter?” you can’t believe he still has the fucking audacity to say something like that, after everything. “are you serious? it matters because you’ve been lying to me! i don’t even fucking recognize you anymore!” he runs a hand down his face. “i didn’t want this! okay? i didn’t want you to find out like this. i was gonna fucking tell you—” “when?” you cut in. “when they kicked down the door and dragged you out in front of me? or were you gonna wait until you fucking overdosed?!” his mouth opens, but nothing comes out. of course. you’ve dragged the lie out into the daylight where it can’t be ignored and there’s no fucking escape hatch he can slip through now. “yeah,” you snap. “that’s what i fucking thought.” “i didn’t fucking mean for this to happen.” “oh, spare me the tragic little story, subong! you chose this! you fucking chose it!” his eyes flash. “i didn’t choose shit!” “you took the pills!” you scream, your whole body trembling now. “you bought them, hid them and lied to my fucking face! for months!” “yeah? well maybe i fucking had to! maybe if you weren’t always breathing down my fucking neck about everything i do—” he jabs his finger in your direction and you slap it away. “oh, sorry i love you!” you snarl. “sorry i trusted you! sorry i fucking worried for you every single day! how fucking stupid of me!”

you’re out of the room before he can finish another excuse, feet carrying you on instinct to the living room. subong follows—calling your name. but you don’t answer. don’t look at him when he stops behind you, breathing hard. “i was gonna stop,” he mutters, like it’s some kind of offering, some kind of band-aid for the fucking wound he ripped open. you scoff. “yeah?” “yeah. that’s why i didn’t say shit, okay?” you turn your head to glare at him. “you promised.” “i know.” “you promised me,” you repeat. “before i moved. you said you were done with that shit. you said you wouldn’t do it again.” “yeah, well, shit changed, didn’t it?!” he snaps, throwing his arms out. “i didn’t fucking want this. shit just got outta hand!” “got outta hand?” you laugh, disbelieving. “jesus, subong.” “what, you fucking perfect now?” he shoots back, voice rising. “you never lied about shit? never fucked up? never kept something to yourself ‘cause you knew how the other person would react?” “no, actually! i would never do this to you.” he just shakes his head, scoffing. “yeah? sure about that?” “don’t—don’t fucking twist this, subong! i would never lie to you about something this serious—” “the fuck you wouldn’t.” “i wouldn’t!” you shout, stepping closer, finger jabbing into his chest. “you know why? because i would’ve never done this in the first place! i wouldn’t have broken a promise i made to you! and i sure as hell wouldn’t have lied to you for who knows how fucking long!” “yeah, yeah, right. you’re a fucking saint, huh? miss flawless.” “what? that’s not—“ “i guess you’re some kind of fucking angel now—” “i didn’t say that!” “you don’t have to say it, it’s all over your fucking face!” “are you fucking kidding me?! i’ve been here, every night, waiting for you to come home—” “yeah, to bitch at me about every little thing—” “i was just trying—“ “to control me?” you huff, offended. “to help you, you fucking asshole! i’ve never—” “acting like you know what’s best for me, like you’re some goddamn savior!” “could you stop interrupting me?!” “you do the exact same shit, man!” “because you’re not listening to me! i fucking care about you, subong. that’s why—“ he interrupts again. “you’ve got a funny way of showing it! going through my fucking shit like a fucking cop—” “don’t do that.” “don’t do what?” “try to twist it—put this shit on me! i wouldn’t have gone through your shit if you hadn’t been hiding anything in the first place, genius!” “i’m not—you’re not fucking better than me, girl!” your mouth opens, but all you can manage is, “stop, okay? i never said i was. don’t turn this a competition—” “then stop looking at me like that!” “like what?!” “like i’m a fucking failure, that’s what,” he snaps. “like you pity me or some shit—waitin’ for me to fuck up so you can say ‘i told you so.’” “what are you even fucking saying? do you even hear yourself right now? i’ve done nothing but love you while you lied to my fucking face—and for what?! so you could bring that shit into our home?! so random men could show up banging on our door ready to fuck me up?!” “they weren’t gonna do shit—” “you don’t know that! you don’t fucking know that, subong! you don’t get to gamble with our fucking safety like that! they scared the fucking shit out of me, motherfucker!”

his face twists. “what the fuck did you just say to me?” you’re crying now, barely keeping yourself standing, but you don’t take it back. “you heard me,” you whisper. “you—you let them come to our fucking door. i thought—” your mouth clamps shut, shoulders heaving, “i thought they were gonna—i thought they were gonna get in here and—” you can’t even finish the sentence due to the lump that has formed in your throat. “i didn’t know they’d pull that shit, alright?” he shouts. “but you gave them a reason to! you gave them a fucking reason! you’re the one who owes them, the one who brought this into our life!” you sob, tears streaming freely now. “you’re so selfish… you only ever think about yourself. how long did you think you could keep doing this without it coming back around, huh?! how long before it got me hurt, too?!” “oh, get off your fucking high horse—” “no, fuck you!” you spit, so loud that it stuns him into silence for a moment. “you selfish, lying piece of shit! fuck you! i gave you everything—i fucking moved here for you! i changed my whole goddamn life for you, and all this time, you were out there getting high and playing gangster with a bunch of lowlife freaks while i sat at home thinking you were fucking working—” you can’t even see his expression properly anymore, your vision too blurred by tears, your voice cracking on every syllable, choking on the weight of every word coming out of your mouth. “—thinking you were tired or stressed or just—fuck, i don’t—i don’t know! i made up a thousand excuses for you. i fucking trusted you! i… i trusted you, subong.”

he opens his mouth, probably about to say something cruel to shove the blame back onto you, but you don’t let him. you step forward, eyes blazing. “everything makes sense now. i should’ve known. god, i should’ve known. i thought i was going crazy—thinking i was too clingy, too emotional, too needy! but it was you, subong. it was always you! you left me in a city that isn’t mine, with no one but you, and then you weren’t even fucking there! you left me here alone, every fucking day. while you were off getting high, choosing that shit over me! and i was here like a dumbass, waiting, worrying… do you have any idea how fucking alone i’ve felt since i got here? and now? now i find out you’ve been hiding fucking drugs in our apartment? getting involved with—i don’t even know! some psycho gang of criminals who showed up ready to kick the fucking door down?! you don’t fucking get it, do you? you put us in danger! you fucking asshole!”

whatever self-control he had left snaps, and you don’t even have time to react before your back hits the wall, the force of it rattling your teeth, his body right there in front of you, all chest and anger and spit flying from his mouth. “fuck you!” he yells, voice cracking with rage. “you think you can talk to me like that?! like you better than me?! fuck you, bitch! you don’t know shit about what i’ve been through!” your eyes widen, hands instinctively coming up between you and him. but he doesn’t touch you, just slams his palm into the wall right next to your head, so hard the picture frame beside you shakes. “subong—” your voice shakes with fear. “i never fucking asked you to move here, girl! you did that! you decided to drop your whole fucking life to be with me—” “subong, please.” “—and now what? now i’m the fucking problem?! huh? did i ruin your perfect little fantasy, baby? well, fuck that—welcome to the thanos’ world! i’ve always been this guy!“ his mouth keeps moving, hurling venom with every breath, eyes blown wide and frantic. he even starts talking in korean—things you don’t understand, but you know they’re mean. what a fucking coward. your voice cracks through, small and trembling. “you’re scaring me—” it’s so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it, but you say it again, louder this time. “stop! subong, you’re—you’re scaring me. please—” his body freezes. your arms are trembling, your chest is heaving, and your eyes—your perfect, pretty eyes—they’re wide with something subong never wanted to see pointed at him: fear. his hand drops from the wall and he takes a step back, then another, horror slowly crawling over his features as his brain catches up to what his body just did. “fuck,” he breathes, more to himself than to you. “shit. no. no, baby—fuck, no. i didn’t wanna—” you flinch again when he moves, just barely, but it’s enough to twist the knife in his chest. “i didn’t mean to scare you, i swear—baby, i swear. i just—fuck.” he runs a hand through his hair. “i would never—i would never hurt you, baby.”

you slide down the wall, chest caving in so tight it feels like someone’s kneeling on it. you can’t breathe. your hands claw at your throat and your sobs are coming in choked little bursts, your whole body shuddering from the inside out, and all you can hear is your own panicked gasps and the blood rushing behind your ears. your lungs won’t open, your throat won’t work, and your hands are shaking so bad you can’t even press them to your chest properly. “baby,” subong says, worried. “baby—fuck—what do i do?” your body curls forward and a broken sound slips out of you, desperate. “subong—” even though you’re terrified, your arms still reach for him. he drops to his knees the second he sees it. “fuck—shit, baby, hey, hey—” his arms wrap around you immediately. “you’re okay. you’re okay, i’m here—breathe for me, yeah?” he’s rambling now, a panicked whisper against your ear as he pulls you into his chest. your hands are clumsy, grabbing onto him. your fingers knot in the fabric of his shirt and you’re trembling so hard your teeth knock together, your shoulders jolting with every gasp. “i can’t—i—” your voice cuts off into another sob as your head drops against him. “i got you, baby. i got you,” he keeps saying, his grip tightening. “i’m so sorry. shit, i’m so sorry. please breathe, please—please, baby—” his own eyes start to water, while he kisses the side of your head and swears under his breath, over and over, cursing himself for letting it get this far. he’s scared too. of losing you. he can’t stop thinking about the look in your eyes, the fear that flashed there when he raised his voice, when he slammed his hand into the wall, when he lost control. it keeps replaying in his head, and he hates himself harder with every second that passes.

when your breath finally starts to slow, and your heart stops trying to jump out of your ribcage, you pull away. you get to your feet on shaky legs, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand. you don’t even look at him when you speak. “i’m done with this.” you don’t even realize how much it stuns him until you’re halfway to the bedroom and his voice comes from behind you. “the fuck does that mean?” you don’t answer. “wait— wait. baby—” he rushes after you, practically tripping over his own feet, hand reaching for your arm… but you quickly pull yourself free from his grip, turning around to look at him. “who are you?” he frowns. “what?” “who are you?” you repeat. “what do you mean—” “i don’t know you anymore. you’re not the guy i met—the one i fell in love with two summers ago.” your lip quivers, but you keep going. “that boy was kind. sweet. funny. he made me feel safe. he would’ve never—never—lost it on me like that. he’d never scream in my face. he’d never leave me alone for nights on end and come home high off his ass and lie about it.” your voice cracks but you keep pushing, even though it hurts. “and the worst part is… you don’t even see it, do you? you think this is still you. but it’s not. you let that shit change you, subong.”

he knows you’re right. the words don’t even surprise him, because they’re true. because he’s been thinking them every fucking night. subong knows what he’s become. he’s known it for a while now. but hearing it from you… it’s humiliating. “listen, i—” you don’t give him time to talk. you turn back around and walk into the bedroom, leave him standing there with that glassy look in his eyes. subong hears the drawer open first, then it’s the rustling of clothes, the clatter of a hanger falling, the hollow thud of the closet door swinging open and slamming back into the wall. for a second, he doesn’t get it—his mind still stuck back there in the living room, where you were crying and shaking and tearing into him. but then he hears the distinct sound of wheels dragging against the floor. the realization hits him. that’s your suitcase. the one you hadn’t touched since you first unpacked it a year ago. he stumbles toward the bedroom. “the fuck you doing?” it’s stupid, because he knows what you’re doing. you don’t answer. you’re too busy grabbing whatever your hands land on—shirts, charger, underwear, your earrings from the nightstand... “hey—hey, talk to me.” “there’s nothing else to say.” you don’t even look up. “what do you mean there’s nothing—are you seriously leaving me right now?” you pause for half a second, hands frozen over the tangled mess of your t-shirts, and that silence alone almost kills him. “yo—fuck, stop—what the fuck are you doing?”

he’s on you in two steps, eyes darting between your suitcase and your face. his hands are on your stuff before you can stop him—hand yanking a pair of jeans straight out of the suitcase. “you’re not fucking doing this.” “get off,” you snap, trying to push him away with your elbow, but he doesn’t budge. “man, fuck that,” he growls, already reaching for more, grabbing a handful of shirts. “you’re not fucking leaving me like this—” “stop it!” you slap at his hands, pushing him away, trying to grab your things faster than he can take them. “fuck off, subong!” you shout. “don’t touch my stuff!” “don’t fucking do this, then, girl! acting like you’re actually gonna fucking go!” he snaps. “yeah, because i am!” you keep throwing things into the suitcase and his fingers wrap tight around your wrists in an attempt to stop you. “look at me. just—fucking stop, okay?! stop packing for a fucking second and talk to me—” “let go of me!” you rip your hands away with a curse. without even thinking, he grabs the suitcase by the handle and flings it off the bed, everything tumbling out at your feet. “there,” he spits. “you gonna pack now, huh? go ahead. pack it off the fucking floor.” you stare at him, stunned, blinking through tears. “what the fuck is wrong with you?!” you scream, launching toward the pile. “what the fuck is wrong with me?!” “yes! yes—what the fuck is wrong with you?” “you’re the one trying to fucking leave! after all the shit we been through—fucking bitch.”

you freeze. your fingers curl around a balled-up shirt but you don’t move. your pulse thuds in your ears, all the heat in your face dropping down to your stomach. “don’t call me that,” you whisper, hands shaking as you grab at the scattered clothes on the floor. he scoffs. “what, you get to say whatever the fuck you want, but i can’t say shit back? fuck off, bitch—” “don’t fucking call me that!” you explode, standing up. “say it again, i fucking dare you—say it one more time and see what the fuck happens.” subong opens his mouth, defiant as ever, and you cut him off before he can get the word out. “fucking junkie,” you spit. his jaw clenches, and his eyes go dark. “the fuck did you just call me?” he steps forward and you flinch without meaning to, but you don’t back down. your chin stays lifted even as your fingers shake. “i said what i fucking said. you’re your dad’s fucking son after all, right? apple didn’t fall far at all! only difference is, your mom got stuck with him. i’m not gonna be that fucking stupid.” “you fucking bitch,” he snarls, stepping into your space without a single care. “you ain’t fucking shit, let me tell you that!“ you roll your eyes and ignore him, crouching down to zip up your suitcase. “fucking crazy—bringing my mom into this? my fucking dad?!” you grab the suitcase handle and start toward the door, but he blocks it. his hand jabs out, two fingers tapping hard against your temple like he’s trying to knock some kind of sense into you. “you’re not fucking special, alright? you’re not. get it through that pretty little fucking head of yours. i should’ve fucked one of those girls after the show i gave in busan—” your hand flies out, shoving his chest so hard he stumbles back a step. “don’t fucking touch me,” you snap. “don’t ever fucking touch me again. you disgust me.”

he sees it in your face. how the words cut deeper than anything else ever could. subong knows you’ve probably thought about it before—wondered if all those nights he came home late were because he was with someone else. he remembers the way you used to wait up for him, how your voice would turn smaller when you asked where he’d been, trying not to sound jealous. and now, saying that shit out loud—throwing those other girls in your face—he knows exactly what it does to you. and he wants it to hurt. “i could’ve been balls deep in a fan after every fucking show,” he continues. “could’ve been getting my dick sucked every fucking night, girl! they would’ve let me do whatever the fuck i wanted. would’ve saved me the fucking headache—“ “then go fucking do it! go get your dick sucked by every desperate fan who thinks you’re some kind of god—matter of fact, go ruin someone else’s fucking life for once! because i’m done.” you shoulder past him, yanking the bedroom door open with your free hand while dragging the suitcase behind you. you didn’t even get half your stuff, but you don’t care, you just need to get out. “yeah? fucking go, then!” he shouts after you, voice echoing down the hallway. “walk the fuck out that door, bitch! get the fuck outta my place!” you want to laugh at this point. at the way he’s calling it his place when he used to call it our home. isn’t he embarrassed? “you think i give a shit?!” he barks, following right on your heels now, his steps loud behind you. “go! go back to your fucking country and fuck off! i don’t fucking need you, girl! and don’t you fucking dare come back to me when you realize no one else is gonna put up with your bratty ass—” this time you can’t help it—you laugh. “as if i ever fucking would! you’re so pathetic.” subong’s desperate. he doesn’t want to lose you but he also doesn’t know how to stop that from happening. that’s why he says the worst things he can think of: “yeah? i’m gonna burn all your shit! every last thing you left in my closet!” as if that’ll to make you turn around and care. as if that’ll make you stay just to stop him. it’s selfish and stupid and he knows it won’t work, but he’s never been good at watching people leave nor letting go without dragging his own heart down with it. and he’s so, so disappointed and hurt by your indifference… “you hear me?! i’m gonna light it all the fuck up! don’t even think about coming back for it—” your hand’s already on the door when he screams that, fingers around the knob. you stand there for a second before you twist it, push the door open and let the stale hallway air hit your face. you glance back at subong over your shoulder, tears still streaking your cheeks, but your expression’s flat and empty now. “do whatever the fuck you want,” you mutter. “i don’t care.” and then you’re gone, the door swinging shut behind you.

the hotel is nice. the girl at the desk doesn’t ask questions when she sees your red eyes and the way your hand shakes when you pull your card out to pay. she just gives you the keycard and a weak smile right before you take the elevator up, in which you stand in silence, trying to soak in everything that has happened between you and subong. then you’re inside the room, thinking about the way he yanked your clothes out of your hands, about how he called you a brat, a bitch, how he looked at you when you said the word junkie, how he shoved his fucking fingers into your temple and slammed the wall inches away from your head. and you cry. you cry because you love him… you love him and you hate him too right now. and you think: how the fuck did i end up here. you used to know him. or you thought you did. and now it’s like every memory is gaslighting you. maybe you imagined the softness and he was always this cruel and you were just too in love to see it. now he’s proving your point in real time—not even an hour after you left, he’s already blowing up your phone with calls and texts, the same petty shit as always.

pick up the fucking phone

tf do u think u are girl

ignoring me

fucking coward

leaving me like this

after everything i’ve done for u

i don’t need u bitch

shoulda fucked someone else when i had the chance

leave me alone

and grow up

u r a selfish bitch

if you’re going to keep insulting me, at least expand your vocabulary!

it’s getting repetitive mf

shut the fuck up

always thinking u r so fuckin smart

istg im gonna fucking overdose

im gonna take all those fucking pills

if u dont answer the phone right tf now

im being fr

n give me my fucking shirt back

bet u r still wearin it rn

no, dw :)

it’s in the trash

yk what

hope it fuckin rots there

just like u

you spend a few days in the hotel, trying not to look at your phone too much. you haven’t told anyone what happened, but you’re already checking flights back, scrolling through the cheapest options to get the fuck out of here, wondering what the hell you’re even supposed to do next. your whole life here was built around him. and now? now you have nothing. subong is still being swallowed whole by whatever pride and rage cocktail he’s been nursing for the past year, and you refuse to speak to him like this. hell no. not when every word out of his mouth is sharpened into a knife and flung at you like it’s your fault he can’t stand the sight of his own reflection. it’s honestly insane, the way he tried to flip everything back on you. as if you hadn’t just caught him red-handed lying to your face, hiding shit, using, doing who knows what the fuck behind your back while you sat at home thinking you were too needy or just too much for him. the fucking audacity. but subong hasn’t given up. he’ll say he has—he’ll run his mouth like he always does, throw out every cruel sentence he can string together, try to convince you and himself that he doesn’t give a fuck. that he’s better off without you. but he’s not fooling anyone, least of all himself. he wants you. he misses you so bad it eats at him, makes his stomach twist and turn, and he’s too much of a coward to say it but it doesn’t make it any less true. he needs you. more than he’s ever needed anyone. he loves and adores you. he talks big, but he’s never had anyone like you. he’s not sure he’s ever lasted this long with someone before. hell, he’s not even sure he’s ever wanted to! you’re the first person who’s made him think about things like future and forever, he used to laugh at people who said they found ‘the one’, rolling his eyes like that shit was a fairytale. now look at him, swallowing all that back… let’s be for real, he even bought a fucking ring. a ring… subong… like what?

and now he can’t stop picturing your packed suitcase and your teary eyes and the way your voice wavered when you told him you were done. that’s all he sees, every time he blinks. he regrets every single fucking thing that came out of his mouth. and that’s saying something, because subong doesn’t usually regret shit. he can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t write... can’t even jerk off without thinking about you, and that pisses him off more than anything. he knows that if he doesn’t fix this, doesn’t get his shit together, doesn’t do something soon, you’re gonna be on the next flight out of korea and gone for good. and he can’t let that happen. he’s already ruined too much. so he starts moving, because time’s not on his side and every second that goes by feels like it’s dragging you farther and farther away from him. he’s racing the damn clock, fighting against the ticking sound. he needs money, fast. because his career’s in the fucking gutter, his rep is tanking, and he still owes kyungho more than he can count on both hands. he needs to come clean, clear the debt, make you feel safe again—not just with him, but around him, in the space you used to share. that’s the first step. and yet… how the hell is he supposed to make that kind of money in so little time?

he feels so fucking pathetic, slouched over his laptop at some godforsaken hour when even the drunks have gone to sleep, sitting there in the dark with nothing but the blue light burning into his face. he’s typing dumb things like how to make money fast in korea or side hustle ideas, like a teenager who’s maxed out his mom’s credit card and needs to fix it before she wakes up. except he’s not a teenager. he’s a grown-ass man, almost thirty-one already, sitting on a floor covered in dirty clothes and energy drink cans, shirt reeking of sweat and weed, hair greasy, trying to act like he’s got any fucking control left in his life. which he doesn’t. he watches hours of straight trash. clickbait garbage with thumbnails like ‘i made 1 MILLION won in 24 HOURS’ and ‘this changed my LIFE (no scam),’ and every single one of them leads to the same bullshit: a sketchy ass link to a survey that pays you two hundred won (if you’re lucky) and signs you up for spam emails. it’s humiliating. it’s so fucking humiliating. and yet he keeps clicking, because what else is there?

until he sees it. one night, when his brain is fried and his eyes are bloodshot—mg coin. it’s the first video he’s come across that doesn’t look like it was edited by a fourteen-year-old. no fast-talking, no neon thumbnails—just this one guy, smug, sitting in a sleek office and explaining things that subong can barely follow, but it doesn’t matter, because the guy sounds smart. really fucking smart, actually. one video turns into two, then seven, and by the time the sun starts bleeding through the window and his laptop battery’s down to 3%, subong’s fully indoctrinated. mg coin is talking about this new shit—dalmatian, whatever the fuck that means—and he’s saying it’s the next big thing. that now’s the time to invest. and subong? he’s got nothing else to lose. he’s already lost the love of his life, his dignity, and whatever tiny bit of peace he had left. what the fuck’s one more risk? fuck it. he pulls up his bank account, stares at the sad number left, and throws it all in. all of it. and then the unthinkable happens: it works. within a few days, he’s staring at his screen like it’s the second coming of christ. his balance doubled. which gives him enough to finally pay off kyungho and breathe without feeling like someone’s got a fist wrapped around his lungs. for the first time in a long ass while, he doesn’t feel like a complete fucking idiot.

the first step was paying kyungho back. good, he can check that out now. the second step—arguably harder—was texting you. subong waits another full week. not out of pride, but out of pure fear. fear that you won’t answer, or worse, that you will and it won’t be what he wants to hear. but eventually, after pacing the length of the apartment for over thirty minutes, he types it out:

im sorry

i mean it bby

paid everything off

n i been clean

swear on my fuckin life

i know i fucked up baby

but i fixed it

i love u

talk to me señorita

i miss u so fuckin bad

my girl

i didn’t mean to hurt u, u know that

but im gonna change for u

because i want u girl

i only want u

it’s u n me bby

always

please

told u i would make u my wife n i will

pls let me see u

one time

if u hate me after that i’ll fuck off forever

just one time pretty girl

please

god. you really tried not to reply. tried so hard. but the timing of it, the way your chest had already been aching with the weight of him right before his name lit up your screen, made you text him back faster than you meant to. you send him the hotel’s address.

here

but don’t try anything

you’re lucky i even agree to talk to you

because you don’t deserve it

after the way you treated me

u r right baby i dont deserve it

im sorry

sorry isn’t and won’t be enough, let me tell you that subong

i was about to buy a ticket back home

this apology should’ve come sooner

i know

but i didnt wanna come back to u empty handed

i been tryna fix my shit first

and three hours later, there’s a knock on the door. when you open it, he’s standing there, holding flowers—fresh ones, tied together with a ribbon. but it’s his face that gets you, the way his eyes go soft the second they meet yours. you thought you’d feel stronger seeing him again, but you hate how fast your chest fills up with that dumb aching love that refuses to fucking die, no matter how many times he’s stomped on it. subong starts talking the second the door shuts behind him, apologizing profusely. you let him talk, let him trip over himself, because it’s the first time you’ve seen him beg without ego. and suddenly he’s dropping down—knees hitting the hotel’s carpet with a soft thud. his arms wrap around your legs, his forehead presses against your thigh, and then it comes—those broken, shuddering breaths. oh, god... he’s fucking crying. “please,” he says, over and over against you. “please, baby. i’m sorry. i know i fucked up—i know i fucked up so fucking bad. please, i can’t lose you.” you don’t look at him, but your hand finds its way into his hair anyway, and you hate yourself for it. hate how your fingers start brushing through the soft purple strands, slow and shaky, hate how your other hand ends up cradling his cheek like you’re the one trying to comfort him now. you should tell him to get the fuck up and leave and go cry to someone else. but damn, you’d be lying if you said that watching him cry and beg to you like that doesn’t get to you a little. he looks so fucking good… clutching your legs, hands squeezing your left thigh, pressing his face against your hip…

you don’t know how it happens after that. just know that you end up on the bed, lying back against the pillows, your thighs spread open while he’s between them, still on his knees on the floor, mouth buried in you trying to make up for every awful thing he said with the way he licks. you should be telling him he can’t just do this and expect everything to be fine, but your hands are in his hair and your hips are lifting off the bed because your body’s already made its decision for you. subong latches onto your pussy, and he’s sloppy with it too—tongue everywhere, spit and slick all over his chin, both hands holding you down, knowing you’re gonna start squirming the second it gets too much, which you do, always, because subong eats you out so insanely good… and he groans against you like he’s the one getting off. it’s overwhelming—his tongue, his hands gripping your thighs, the fucking look in his eyes when he glances up at you through his lashes… he knows he doesn’t deserve any of this but he’s still gonna take it if you’ll let him. you cum fast, too. with a cry so loud you wouldn’t be surprised if someone calls reception. and he doesn’t stop until you’re grabbing at his hair, voice breaking, from how good it feels and how much you missed it—missed him. “still mine,” he mutters when he finally pulls away, hoarse. he swears he’ll fucking die if you don’t say yes. and god help you—“yes.” you whisper, completely out of breath. “yours.”

the thing about investing—and actually making money off it—is that it gets fucking addictive. especially for someone like subong, who’s always been wired for extremes, who doesn’t really know how to pace himself or think long-term most of the time. so yeah, the moment that first payout hit his account—double what he’d thrown in, just like mg coin said it would—it lit something up inside him. and now, with the high of having you back, and the low of whatever career collapse is brewing beneath him (because let’s be real, losing the battle fucked him, and no one’s calling anymore), he leans deeper into it. dalmatian coin becomes his obsession. he watches mg coin religiously—dude drops a new video and subong’s already clicking on it, nodding along, studying the man like he’s his long-lost big brother—even though, as far as you can tell, subong’s probably older. he trusts him blindly, like an idiot. like a kid. and you notice, of course. you live with him. the amount of money he’s getting is absurd, especially considering the fact that he hasn’t gotten a single call from his manager in ten whole days, hasn’t stepped foot on a stage in over a month, and keeps brushing it off like he doesn’t care. and you can’t help but wonder—how much is he fucking investing?

your concern’s been simmering for a while now… sitting there, in the pit of your stomach and growing heavier at the back of your mind. you’ve been swallowing it, biting your tongue, telling yourself it’s fine because he seems happy again and he’s been good. until one night, when he’s laying in bed with his phone in his hand and mg coin’s voice droning from the speakers like some kind of cult sermon, you say it out loud: “are you sure you know what you’re doing, subong?” he takes a slow drag from his vape, exhales, and tilts his head lazily in your direction. “what do you mean?” you’re by the closet, pulling on an oversized tee, before you sit down at the edge of the bed, facing him. “this crypto thing. you’re putting in more than you’re getting out, aren’t you?” he scoffs, like you just accused him of being bad in bed or something. “baby. you think i’d be makin’ this much money if i didn’t know what the fuck i was doing?” and there it is. that tone. defensive, making you feel stupid for even doubting him. you frown, exhaling through your nose as you shift a little closer to him on the bed, your voice gentler this time. “okay,” you say, carefully. “i’m not—i mean… just…” you glance at the phone still glowing beside him, mg coin’s pixelated face frozen mid-sentence. “just be smart about it, yeah?” “baby,” he says, reaching out to hook a hand around your wrist and tug you gently toward him, “i am being smart. i’ve been learning and doing my research. it’s okay.” you lean in, pressing your sweet lips blissfully against his in a small peck, even though the tension’s still sitting in your chest. “but i’m serious, subong. it’s not like we’ve got a safety net... you’re not performing, you don’t have steady income right now. if this goes south…” he cuts you off before you can finish, peppering kisses along your cheek and jaw. “it won’t, baby.” “you can’t know that.” he continues, kissing your neck before leaning his head on your shoulder, the weight of it warm. “you don’t have to worry, girl. i promise. thanos’ got this.” you nod slowly, but your hands are still curled a little too tight in your lap. “okay.”

‘thanos’ is stupid as fuck, to say the least. for one, your advice flies right over his head. he thinks, what would she know? she’s not the one watching all these videos. she’s worried because she doesn’t understand how this shit works. and he’s money-hungry, always has been—but can you blame him? he’s lived his whole life in straight up poverty, watching his mom beg loan sharks and pray rent wouldn’t go up. so now that he’s finally found a way to make money from the comfort of his couch, by just… clicking buttons? of course he’s gonna chase that shit like a starving dog. saying he’s investing all of his money would be a lie. right… because he’s not just investing his money. he’s investing yours too. your monthly rent payment is going straight into the crypto app, hand in hand with his, every single time. and it keeps working, always doubling. no exceptions. and that steady return finally gives him the excuse he’s been waiting for—the one thing he’s been wanting to do for months now: propose. you would’ve never expected to hear the words “would you marry me, baby?” coming out of his mouth for at least another five years. but there he is, on a random friday morning, down on one knee with a little ring box open in front of you. and you say yes before you even think. the word fiancée tastes strange in your mouth as he stands back up and kisses you, slipping the big fat ring he promised onto your finger.

but of course, subong’s liability strikes again not even three weeks later. he just doesn’t fucking learn, does he? he starts consuming again. little by little. easing his way back in, testing the waters—like he didn’t already almost drown last time. he gets on kyungho’s good side again, somehow, despite all the screaming and threats and close calls they shared when subong was neck-deep in debt. and if you were to ask him why the fuck he’s back on that shit, the answer would be as dumb as it is predictable: he doesn’t fucking know. but he does. oh, he fucking knows. he’s a junkie. like you once told him. he’s an addict who refuses to acknowledge it, refuses to name it, refuses to say it out loud. in his head, it’s anything but what it is: drug addiction. and he won’t ask for help. he won’t even bring it up. not the way his body starts to ache without it, the little voice in his head whispering on repeat: just take it. snort. lick. you’ll feel better. he’s weak. withdrawal always had the upper hand when it came to subong. it always wins. and he finds the dumbest, flimsiest excuses to justify himself to feel a little less guilty for doing this behind your back again, after he promised he wouldn’t. he’s caught in a loop. a loop of lies and guilt, of loving you so much he can’t bear to lose you… but still doing the one thing that already made you leave once.

so imagine his absolute terror when the cryptocurrency proved to be a hoax, and everyone who had invested in it, including himself, lost billions of won when dalmatian's inventors took the money and fled. subong sat there staring at his screen, refreshing the app every two seconds even though the balance wasn’t changing, wasn’t coming back, and wasn’t ever going to. first he felt confusion. then panic. then the realisation that everything he’d put in—his money, your money, your fucking rent—was gone. and all he could think was: how the fuck am i supposed to tell her? that was what made his hands start shaking. because it wasn’t just his fuckup. it was yours too, now. it was your life he’d gambled. your trust, your rent, your future… and you had no idea. on top of that—and the fact that everything would come crashing down the second the monthly payment bounced and you realized the rent hadn’t gone through—he also owed kyungho again. the moment dalmatian tanked, he thought about calling him, in an attempt to hold him over until he figured something out. and the second he thought it, he knew it wouldn’t work. last time, subong got lucky. this time’s different, because this is after he promised he’d never fuck him over again. and knowing kyungho, he wouldn’t be as merciful this time. subong’d always known this was where it was gonna end up, he wasn’t built for stability nor success. he was built to self-destruct.

it’s around 3 a.m. you’re cold, pulling the comforter tighter around you, but it’s not enough to warm you up. you turn over in bed, eyes still closed, scooting toward subong’s side in hopes of stealing a little of his body heat—stretching your arm out lazily, expecting the familiar weight of him sprawled across the sheets. but your hand touches nothing. his side is cold. you frown, still half-asleep, fingers patting around the mattress like maybe he’s just shifted out of reach, hiding somewhere under the blanket. but of course he’s not. you blink slowly, letting your eyes adjust to the dark. “subongie?” you call out, voice a little hoarse. no answer. with a soft groan, you sit up, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders as you climb out of bed. the floor’s cold under your feet and the apartment is quieter than usual. you shuffle to the light switch near the hallway and flick it on—but nothing changes. he’s not home. confused, you grab your phone from the nightstand and send him a quick text:

baby

where are you?

but when ten minutes go by and there’s still no sign of life from him, you decide to call. the number you have dialed is not available at present. please leave your message after the beep, says the robotic voice on the other end, flat and emotionless. your frown deepens as you call again—same outcome. your confusion slowly starts to shift into something heavier. panicked worry creeps up your spine as your brain starts running through a dozen different scenarios, each one worse than the last. what the fuck could subong be doing right now, while you’re sitting here on the couch with your heart in your throat? the first thing that crosses your mind is the same thing it’s always been—he’s being unfaithful. it’s not exactly new. that ugly, gut-rotting thought has circled your head for months, especially on the nights he’d disappear into the studio for hours. and it hasn’t changed, it’s still the first thing you think. is he with someone else? but then you shake your head. he wouldn’t be that fucking stupid. right? he wouldn’t throw all of this away just to fuck around. you’re not just dating anymore, you’re literally engaged. you have a ring on your finger. so you try to push that thought out. discard it—reluctantly and bitterly—trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. so there goes your second thought: maybe he’s using again. and you don’t even know which is worse. but what you do know is that you can’t stay here. you’re not gonna let whatever’s happening keep happening while you do nothing. you’re not gonna let him make a fool out of you for a second time.

you feel kind of stupid, honestly. standing outside club pentagon, shivering in your hoodie while you stare at the neon sign. it’s the only place you could think of. the only place that made sense. not because he told you, obviously, but because months ago, when those guys showed up knocking—no, banging—on your door, demanding money and scaring the shit out you, one of them mentioned this place. and it stuck. you’re not even sure this is the right club, though, but you’re still here, trying not to overthink how out of place you look, since everyone outside is in heels and tight clothes. still, when you approach the bouncer and explain—tell him you’re looking for your fiancée, show him your phone with the lockscreen photo of you and subong—he lets you in. “ah. thanos,” he nods. “he’s inside.” the confirmation makes your stomach drop and settle all at once. like, okay. at least he’s alive.

inside, the club is loud as fuck and everything’s flashing. you squint, trying to adjust as you push through the crowd like a baby deer on ice, getting shoved around from all sides by strangers who don’t even glance your way. he should be easy to spot, you think, heart pounding. not many people have purple hair. and he’s very tall. but even with that advantage, you don’t see him. you head toward the bar and approach the first guy behind the counter. “hey, sorry—” “i’m not bartending,” he says with a thick accent, without even looking up. you pause. read the name tag ‘namgyu’. “promoter. talk to him if you’re thirsty.” he adds, gesturing toward another guy without much interest. “no, i—i’m not here for a drink,” you say, pulling your phone out again and flipping it toward him. “have you seen this guy?” he looks. he recognizes him instantly, you can tell. his expression tightens, just for a second, brows furrowing slightly like he’s trying to figure out what this is. maybe why you’re here asking. maybe whether he should even answer. after a bit of coaxing, he sighs and gives in. “he went out the back a while ago. to smoke with friends.” your stomach drops. friends. right. you nod. “thanks.” your pulse is in your ears now. and as you push your way through the crowd again, one hand gripping your phone and the other shoving bodies aside, you already know—before you even reach the door—that something’s gone very, very wrong.

the cold bites at your skin again as you push the back door open and step outside, straight into the stillness of the alley. the air stings when you breathe it in. and nothing prepares you for what you see just a few feet away, at the very end of the alley, almost swallowed by the shadows—if it wasn’t for the sad little flickering streetlight barely hanging on, you might not have noticed him at all. subong. on the ground. you can’t really see his face—not his body, even—but you recognize the sneakers. they stick out just slightly from under a wall of bodies, a group of men surrounding him like fucking vultures. they’re stomping on him, over and over. one of them steps on his hand with his full weight, twisting his foot, testing how much pressure it takes to snap something, while another one drives his heel straight into subong’s ribs, again and again. there’s no hesitation in their movements, just pure, relentless violence. someone spits on him between kicks which makes another one laugh, this dry, joyless sound that scrapes down your back. and all you can really see is the way subong’s body jerks each time they land another blow, the way his legs twitch even though he’s already out cold. “subong,” you whisper, frozen in place, blood draining from your face all at once. your feet take off, each step heavier than the last, everything inside you tightening up. your chest starts to close in on itself, lungs shrinking with every breath until you can barely even get air in. “subong!” you scream this time. the first sob rips out of you without warning, panic settling in. you reach them fast, shoving the closest guy with everything you have. “get off him—what the fuck are you doing?!” they step back, amused. they were already done, and you showing up is just a mildly inconvenient. they say something you don’t understand but don’t need to—because whatever it is, it makes the others smirk as they start to walk away.

you see it then. his face. or what’s left of it. completely covered in blood, eyes swollen shut, skin split open in so many places you can’t even tell what’s dried and what’s fresh, what’s his real face and what’s just bruising and torn flesh layered on top of it. you drop to your knees without thinking, arms trembling as you lift his head from the concrete and pull it onto your lap, staining your clothes instantly, the warmth of his blood soaking through the fabric like ink. and you don’t even care, can’t bring yourself to care, because all you can think is this isn’t real, this can’t be fucking real, this can’t be happening. “subong,” you whisper, shaking him gently, your voice breaking. he doesn’t respond. not even a sound. his lips are parted slightly, but nothing comes out, and it’s the quiet that terrifies you the most. you start crying harder before leaning in closer, bringing your ear to his face, trying to listen for any hint of breath, anything at all, but it’s useless. you can’t hear anything. your ears are ringing and your heartbeat is pounding too loud to be sure. “no,” you whisper. “no, no, no, no.” your voice is shaking now, your mouth barely able to form the words. “baby, please—” you fumble for his wrist, grabbing at his arm with shaking fingers, pressing down where his pulse is supposed to be, where you hope it still is, but there’s nothing. nothing under your touch, just cold skin and the terrifying sense that you’re already too late. “subong!” you yell, like screaming might reach him wherever the fuck he’s drifted off to. “fuck—don’t fucking die on me, you idiot! please—just hold on, okay? please, don’t do this to me, don’t—” your eyes dart to his hand and that’s when you see his fingers. bent at unnatural angles, knuckles swollen and split, two of them so clearly broken it makes your stomach turn. they don’t even look like fingers anymore. and the sight of them, already starting to purple, makes your throat tighten even more. “help! someone help—please!” you reach for his neck next, your fingers slipping on his skin and pressing into the side where his pulse should be, and for a second you feel nothing… but then, there it is—the smallest flutter beneath your fingertips. the relief that hits you is so immediate you choke out a sob. your hands shake as you scramble for your phone, pulling it out with fingers soaked in red, the screen smudging immediately, slippery under your touch as you punch in the emergency number with all the desperation in the world and hit call. and while it rings, you look down at him and say, “stay with me, okay? i-i got you, i’m right here—you’re gonna be okay, baby.”

it’s been three days of subong being unconscious in the hospital when you find out the truth. you haven’t left his side. barely moved, really—just shifted from chair to chair. you’ve been watching the same slow drip of fluids into his arm for hours, watching machines beep and blink and stay steady while he does absolutely nothing, not a flinch, not a shift, not even the twitch of a finger. they’d stitched up most of his face and wrapped his hand so tightly you can’t see the fingers underneath. but he hasn’t opened his eyes. so when a nurse taps lightly on the doorframe and says billing would like to speak with you whenever you have a moment, you nod without really thinking about it, it’s probably just paperwork, something you can sign and walk away from. they lead you into a small office. the woman behind the desk is polite, middle-aged, tapping at her tablet when you walk in. you sit down across from her, and she gets right to the point. “are you a spouse or immediate family member?” “fiancée,” you answer. “okay,” she nods. “we’ve been trying to process the patient’s insurance but the information we had on file was incomplete, and there was no active policy under his name. sometimes these things lapse, or people forget to update their records. we see it a lot. we also tried the emergency contact, but the number doesn’t seem to be in service anymore.” you just stare at her. “normally in these cases we’d discuss payment options directly with the patient, but given his current condition…” she trails off, tilting her head gently, like she’s trying to be considerate. “are you aware of any prior hospital visits? or outstanding balances tied to his name?” you shake your head. “no, i—i don’t know. he never said anything.” “mmh.” she nods again, eyes glued to the tablet. “there’s no outstanding balance under his name,” she says, “no history of extended stays or billed treatment. but… there was one incident.” she scrolls, finds something, then stops tapping. the pause says enough. “it’s from about a month ago. not an official admission, more of a flagged intake. he came into the er alone, walked up to the desk and gave his name, said something about heart palpitations and chest pain. he wouldn’t give id, but they got his name down in triage.” “he—he what?” “the nurse on shift noted that he was visibly under the influence. possible opioids, though we can’t confirm—we didn’t get far enough for a tox screen. he refused treatment, got agitated when asked to sit down. started yelling. the staff tried to calm him, but he escalated quickly… so security was called and he was escorted out before we could assess him.” you’re in shock. you thought he was doing better. you believed he was doing better. and yet here it is, clear as day, handed to you by a stranger… the fucking proof that everything he swore to you was a lie. again. “there’s nothing else on record,” she adds gently. “but i thought you’d want to know.” you nod, unsure of what to say. “you’re listed as the emergency contact now, since you’re the one who brought him here. we updated the file.” “okay.”

you’re waiting for subong’s sister to arrive on the fourth day. she’s been living out of the country for the past year, based in atlanta for work, and the two of you have only met in person twice… but she was always kind to you. and when you called her that night, explaining haltingly through your tears what happened, the words unconscious and hospital tumbling out—she booked the next flight to seoul. she also promised to talk to their mom, which was a relief, because you’d tried, god knows you’d tried, but the language barrier between you and her made everything harder. to pass time while you wait for his sister to land, you leave the hospital room for the first time in hours, telling yourself you just need coffee. you feel too many things at once—anger, mostly. but also this deep, gnawing sadness. you’re mad at him, yes, at subong, for lying, for hiding, for doing all the shit he swore he wouldn’t do again. but you’re also mad at yourself, for being so blind. for trusting too easily. for loving him so much that you let it all slide, and now he’s lying here with a swollen face and broken bones and tubes coming out of his skin. you sigh through your nose, the sound sharp in the empty hallway as you make your way back to the room, clutching the vending machine coffee hoping it scalds some clarity into you. the chair squeaks in protest as you sit down again, your bones aching from the fourth sleepless night in a row, your back ready to file a complaint. you mutter under your breath, “these fucking chairs are gonna kill me,” and you’re mid eyeroll when his phone starts ringing on the nightstand beside the bed.

it’s the first sound that’s come from it in days, and it jolts you upright. you glance at the screen, and your first instinct is to let it go to voicemail, but something about it nags at you, so you end up reaching for it. you press answer and lift it to your ear. “hello?” you say, unsure, cradling the phone between your shoulder and your ear as you reach for the edge of the nightstand to steady yourself. there’s a voice on the other end immediately, polite, but it’s in korean. you blink, startled. “oh—sorry, um… i don’t… i don’t understand korean very well,” you mumble. “i’m—i’m subong’s fiancée.” there’s a pause, then the voice switches languages. “ah, miss, thank you for picking up,” they say, now in accented but clear english. “we’ve been trying to get in contact with mr. choi regarding a pending matter tied to his housing account. is this a good time to speak?” you glance at his motionless body in the bed. “he’s—he can’t come to the phone right now. he’s in the hospital.” “oh.” another pause. “i’m sorry to hear that. we don’t mean to intrude. it’s just—we’ve issued multiple notices regarding the delinquency on unit 302, but we haven’t been able to reach anyone. this is our last courtesy call before further action is taken.” what? “delinquency?” you echo dumbly, your voice cautious. “i—i don’t understand. i sent the rent money. i always do. i send it to him, and he’s supposed to… he’s the one who handles it because it’s under his name, but—” “i understand,” the person says gently. “we’re not authorized to go into too much detail with anyone not on the lease, but we do have records of the unit going unpaid for the past two months. there’s no automatic withdrawal on file, and the last successful rent payment was processed… let me check… mid-february.” you press the phone tighter to your ear. “what—are you sure? two months?” “yes. we’ve also flagged unusual financial activity linked to the bank account on file… repeated large withdrawals routed to external cryptocurrency platforms. unfortunately, at this point, the account is severely delinquent.” what the actual fuck? “thank you,” you manage. “thanks for calling, i… i need a second.” you hang up.

you’ve avoided doing this so far because it felt invasive. you told yourself that you’d respect his privacy, that you were above snooping, that he’d tell you everything when he woke up. but now? fuck that. you unlock his phone and swipe through the home screen, and there it is—the crypto investment app. you tap it and it loads painfully slow, as if the phone itself is reluctant to show you what you’re about to see. and then the number appears in aggressive, glowing red: -₩1,190,000,000. you blink. for a second you think you’re reading it wrong, that maybe the comma’s in the wrong place or the negative sign is a formatting error or some stupid bug, maybe an update broke the display. but then the rest of the interface fills in, the full dashboard sliding into view, and you see the red line charting the value of the account: a steep, violent drop. a billion. more than a billion. in debt. actual, contractual, inescapable fucking debt. you scroll. the app’s cheerful ux design makes it worse somehow, and in small gray text, a disclaimer bar you almost miss: ‘dalmatian coin has been delisted. trading permanently suspended. please consult your issuing financial institution for debt reconciliation.’ your hand clenches the phone tighter just as you find the transaction history. the first thing you notice is the consistency. it’s sickening, how routine it is—subong sat down every month, probably around the same time you were wiring him the money for rent, and opened this exact app like it was his job. the entries start small, from when you two had broken up. neat rows of numbers: ₩50,000, ₩120,000, ₩340,000, all spaced out like he was dipping his toe in. and then, without warning, the amounts spike. ₩3 million. ₩7.2 million. ₩12 million. the pattern’s still there, but now it’s frantic. an addict pressing the same button over and over. you keep scrolling, your thumb shaking but steady enough to keep going. there are dozens of entries. all of them marked with the same exchange ID, the same nauseating little dalmatian coin logo next to each transfer. then your rent—clear as fucking day. same amount you send every month, logged here like it was nothing. all of that, he was using it to gamble. without telling you.

your thumb hovers over the last transaction, the one that pushed the account into the red. the screen says it was processed successfully. and then the collapse. you almost laugh. it bubbles up in your throat but never makes it out, just sits there, acidic and mean, curling around your vocal cords. your hands are trembling now, in disgust and disbelief. you have no idea how long you sit there staring at the screen, but when you finally look up—at him, lying unconscious, bruised, stitched-up and impossibly still—it’s like you’re looking at a stranger. how could he? how dare he? you need to sit down. your legs are shaking, barely holding you up, and your vision goes blurry for a second under the nauseating, unbearable weight of the truth. what the fuck was he thinking? you sink into a chair, retracing everything in your mind—every time he brushed off your concern with a kiss like you were overthinking and he had it handled. how could he do this to you?

you’re tired of the lies, of the blind trust you keep giving him like it doesn’t cost you anything, of the way love has become synonymous with anxiety in your body. it wasn’t always like this. there was a time when loving subong felt like the easiest thing in the world… but now it just feels bitter and corrosive. you never noticed when it started to curdle—when sweetness became suspicion, when comfort turned into dread—but it’s there now, undeniable, clinging to every part of your life with him. you sit there, the phone still in your palm, and all you can think is that this love, whatever’s left of it, is sour. spoiled by every broken promise, every little thing he did behind your back, every time he looked you in the eye and chose to lie anyway. and the worst part is that you can’t even summon rage anymore, just this miserable resignation. you wanted to believe he’d changed, you needed to. but now all that belief feels like another kind of foolishness, like you were complicit in your own undoing. and maybe you were. perhaps that’s what love does, when it sours—it asks you to keep holding it, even as it poisons you.

the ring is beautiful. obscenely so. you hold it between your fingers, the metal cool against your skin. it’s mocking me, you think. it knows i swore i’d be his forever, when he slipped it on my hand that friday morning. you keep rolling it between your thumb and index finger, watching how the light catches on the stone, glinting. you haven’t put it back on and you’re not sure you ever will. his sister didn’t stay long the night before. barely an hour after she arrived, you told her what you’d found, the full rot of it, all that debt and deception and cowardice packed into numbers. she left without saying much, just mumbled something about going to their mother’s, about needing to fix this before it gets worse. but you know better. you know there is no fixing this. this isn’t a mistake, it’s a pattern. and you’re tired of pretending it isn’t.

he’s awake now. the nurses crowded him, checking vitals, adjusting lines, poking and prodding his body. they asked you to step out while they did their work, and you did, without argument. there’s no desperate need to stay by his side anymore, no aching urgency to be the first thing he sees when his eyes open, because you’ve already made your decision. when they allow you back inside, he lifts his head the second he sees you—sluggish, but the warmth is there, that familiar flicker in his eyes that used to undo you so easily. “hey, señorita,” he rasps. “you stayed.” “mmh.” you nod. that’s all you give him. just a nod, and the chair scraping softly as you pull it closer and sit. he doesn’t seem to notice it at first, how your presence no longer leans toward him like it used to. instead, you sit with your hands in your lap, folded neatly. subong smiles, probably thinking this is the part where you cry with relief or crawl into the bed beside him or at the very least, kiss him and whisper that it’s over now, that he’s safe, that everything’s going to be okay. but you don’t move. “how long?” he asks after a beat, blinking up at the ceiling before dragging his eyes back to you. “how long was i out?” “four days.” he whistles softly, or tries to—it comes out more like a wheeze. “shit. that long?” “yes.” he shifts slightly, winces at the pain. “did… did you call my mom?” “i tried to… then i called your sister. she came, but left yesterday to see your mom. she’ll be back.” his eyebrows pull slightly, and you can tell he’s trying to figure out what’s off, why your voice sounds different. “you okay, baby?” your eyes trace the bruises on his face before you ask, “are you?” and the way it comes out—almost rhetorical—makes something flicker in his expression. he’s starting to get it.

he clears his throat, shifts again, and you can see the way it costs him. “look, if this is about… i mean, if you figured it out, the reason they came after me, why it got that bad, it’s not—” he pauses, because the words are heavy in his mouth. “i wasn’t doing that shit regularly. i swear. just—it was getting hard to sleep, baby, and i didn’t want to worry you so, you know, i thought if i just—” “subong.” he stops, mid-ramble. his eyes search yours, desperate to find something soft in them—some familiar flash of tenderness, or even pity. but there’s nothing. “you don’t need to explain,” you say. “it won’t change anything.” he opens his mouth again anyway, because he doesn’t know how not to try, not when it’s you. “no, no, baby—you gotta believe me. i was gonna tell you, but i—” he sees it mid-sentence. his voice falters, crumbles into silence as his gaze drops to your hand. “wha—where’s your ring?” you glance down at your hand, where it used to sit. for a second, you almost lie. almost tell him it’s at home, that you took it off to shower and it’s safe somewhere. but you don’t. you just say, “off.” his face twists in disbelief. “off? what you mean ‘off’?” you shrug. “it didn’t make sense to wear it anymore.” he lets out this breath, something pitiful lodged in the back of his throat. “so that’s it?” he says, and there’s this sharp edge creeping into his voice now, brittle and defensive. “why? because i messed up again? because you found out before i could explain anything? jesus, baby—” you would slap him across the face right now if it wasn’t so bruised already. “when?” you ask, your voice almost gentle in its cruelty. “when were you going to tell me you were in fucking debt, subong?” shit. he freezes—the question catching him off guard completely. all you can hear is the steady beep of the heart monitor behind him, stubbornly unfazed by the absolute wreckage of the moment. “what?” he says, but he already knows what. “1.19 billion won,” you answer, enunciating each syllable. “and you didn’t just lose your own money… you used mine. every transfer i made for rent.” his face drains of whatever color it had left. you don’t know if it’s the shock, the shame, or the weight of getting caught.

but then there it is. that same infuriating, jerk attitude you’ve seen too many times before. the one that shows up whenever he feels small, cornered, like a child trying to puff out his chest and pretend he’s not the guilty one. “okay, and?” he scoffs, all false bravado, even from that goddamn hospital bed with his face torn up and a fucking iv sticking out of his arm. “you sent it to me, didn’t you? you wanted me to handle it. so why’re you going through my shit?” he mutters, like that’s the offense here. “what, you think you’re entitled to every fucking thing just ‘cause you sent me money?” you just stare at him, stunned. not because of what he said, but because of course that’s where he’d go. deflection, arrogance and pride. “are you serious? you lied to me, subong. again!” he shifts upright in the bed with a groan, eyes flaring. “i was tryna fix it, okay? for us. so we wouldn’t have to worry about shit anymore once we get married. i didn’t know th—” “you told me the bills were paid—” “i didn’t wanna stress you out,” he counters, eyes darting toward the blanket. “don’t say that like you were doing me a fucking favor. you didn’t want me to know because you knew exactly what the fuck you were doing.” “baby, c’mon—” “don’t,” you say, quick and clean, the word slicing through whatever lie he was about to conjure. “save it.”

you stand slowly, smoothing your hands down the front of your jeans. his voice turns softer, trying to course-correct. “you’re mad… i-i get it. but you’re not really gonna throw everything away over this, are you? i fucking love you, girl. you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. my fucking future wife and mother of my babies. please, we—we’ll get out of this. we could… i don’t know. i don’t know, but i promise—” you shake your head. he still doesn’t get it. “stop making fucking promises. i don’t believe you anymore… and i’m certainly not marrying you.” his jaw goes slack. “the fuck you mean you’re not—” “i mean i can’t do this anymore, subong,” you cut in, your tone unflinching. “i can’t keep loving someone who lies to me constantly. who uses me, drains me, breaks me, and isn’t even sorry.” “i am. i am sorry—i am, baby,” he insists, struggling to sit up straighter in the bed despite the groan it pulls from his body. “no, you’re not. you’re sorry you got caught. that’s not the same thing.” “you think i knew they were gonna fucking scam me? that i knew it was fake? they lied, not me. they took the money and ran. i’m the one who got fucked over here—” “no,” you snap, feeling the fury start to push past the exhaustion, slicing through the ache in your chest like glass through gauze. “you got fucked over because you’re a fucking idiot, subong.” his mouth opens, about to throw something back at you, but you don’t stop. “i told you to be careful. i told you to think before doing anything stupid—do you remember that? you didn’t listen! you never fucking listen. and now you want me to feel sorry for you? like this wasn’t your own fucking fault?” “i just wanted to give us a better life. i didn’t mean to—” “you never mean to! you never mean to hurt me. but you do it anyway, over and over. and then you sit there and act like it’s the universe conspiring against you, like you’re just the poor, misunderstood victim who can’t catch fucking a break.” you swallow hard. “but you made this mess. you did this. you.”

his eyes go wide when you reach into your pocket and pull out the ring. you hold it for a second in your palm. it means nothing now. just a pretty, glittering promise that never had a fucking chance. you hold it out to him. “take it.” he flinches. “what the fuck are you doing?” “what does it look like?” your voice is calm, and it makes him angrier. “i’m giving it back.” “no.” he shakes his head, the wires at his wrist pulling tight when he tries to push your hand down. “no, fuck that! i’m not taking it. you’re not—you can’t just leave because shit got hard—” “this isn’t just hard, subong. it’s toxic!” “i’m in a fucking hospital bed!” he snaps, like that’s the only context that matters. “you think i don’t know i fucked up? you think i don’t feel like shit already? and now you wanna leave? now?! what kind of fucking person does that?!” you clench your jaw. “what kind of person does that? you’re really asking? be so fucking for real!” he throws his arms out, desperate. “what? look at me, girl!” he gestures. “and you wanna fucking abandon me!“ “stop trying to make me feel guilty,” you hiss. “you’re the one who lied and stole, and gambled away the fucking roof over our heads.” “and you wanna fucking leave me after i almost died! that’s some next level heartless shit, bro!” “you almost died because of you,” you bite back. “because you chose to keep getting involved with those people.” “that’s not—” he starts, defensive, already gearing up to twist the narrative again. “i thought you were dead when i found you,” you continue. “do you even get what that means, subong? do you? i had to check your neck and wrist for a pulse, with your blood on my hands, and there was nothing. you weren’t breathing. your head was in my lap, and you were just… gone. and in that second, i swear to god, i thought i was gonna have to watch you die. and i was there, wondering who i’d have to call first—your family or a fucking funeral home! do you know what that does to someone?” you fight back tears. “to stand over the body of the person you love and think: this is it. this is how it fucking ends. and i know it’s gonna happen again. one day… one day it’ll be real, and you’ll be fucking dead for good. because you don’t care about your life, subong. so tell me… why the fuck should i?” he stares at you, breathing heavy, but there’s no apology in his eyes. just the selfish kind of panic that only cares about what he’s losing, not what he’s done. “you said you’d never leave me. you said—” “and you said you’d stop lying,” you snap. “that you’d never do drugs again. you said so many things, subong… so keep it.” you shove the ring into his hand, even as he fumbles to force it back into yours. “sell it, pawn it, melt it down and invest in another scam for all i fucking care. just don’t ever speak to me again. it’s over.”

subong, in all his deluded hope and terminal denial, convinced himself that it wasn’t really over. that after the heat of your anger wore off, you’d remember how much you loved him. he told himself it was just a matter of time, weeks at most. that you’d remember who you were to each other. and that no matter how bad it got, you’d still choose him. but reality hits hard the moment he tries to message you and realizes he’s been blocked. everywhere. and that’s when it sinks in—that you meant every single word. the rage that comes next is something new. he wants so badly to blame you and curse your name, call you heartless for how you left him when he needed you most. but no matter how hard he tries to twist the story, the truth keeps bleeding through. because even through the haze of anger and self-pity, he knows. he knows this is what happens when you treat the one person who gave a shit about you like he did. he knows you walked away because you had no choice, not because you stopped loving him, but because loving him had become impossible. and he hates you for that now, in the same exact way he still loves you. he hates that you’re right. that he’s every bit the coward and the liar you accused him of being.

he should’ve learned. everyone would expect that a man who nearly died in a back alley, would use that as a wake-up call, get clean and seek help to try to find his way back into something like dignity. but not him. no, every time subong says he’s ‘fixing it,’ what he really means is that he’s finding new ways to bury the damage deeper. he’s still taking pills, and now that he’s got nowhere to go—not after his mother shut the door in his face, and after losing you and the apartment—he crashes on friends’ couches. it’s never been clearer. he ruined it. all of it.

so after months of living in unrelenting misery, trapped in guilt and shame, with no hint of light at the end of the tunnel… subong’s mind starts circling darker and darker thoughts, until it lands, almost comfortingly, on the idea of ending everything once and for all. because really, who would miss him? who would cry for him? his mother won’t even speak to him, his sister’s too tired, and you… shit. he’s the only one missing people. missing you. missing himself. and every single day that goes by without hearing your voice the world feels colder. he’s tried to reach you through burner accounts, through friends, through songs you’ll never hear. but you’re gone. not just physically—though he knows, somehow, you went back to your country—but in the way that matters most. you’re out of his life. and you’re not coming back.

that’s why, one night, when the weight of it all finally sinks so deep he can’t shake it off… he walks to the han river. the same place where you spent one of your first nights together, laughing like idiots with convenience store snacks and nothing but stars overhead. now he’s alone. crying and high out of his mind as he starts climbing up onto the rail of the bridge. and as he stares down at the water, thinking of how quiet everything would be if he just fucking let go, a shadow falls over him. a man in a black suit. subong blinks, dazed. someone’s come to do the job for me, he thinks. he must be a debt collector. “yo, back the fuck off, man. i swear to god if you try anything—” but no. the man smiles, kindly, and says, “sir… do you have a minute?” “the fuck you want?” subong spits, voice slurring from both the cold and the chemicals still in his blood. “can’t you see i’m fucking busy, bro?” the man tilts his head, stepping a little closer. “would you like to play a game with me?” subong squints at him, trying to see if he’s hallucinating. “yo, are you deaf?” he snaps, the wind catching his voice. “i said fuck off, man. i’m not in the mood to buy your religion shit or whatever the fuck this is.” the guy reaches into his sleek black briefcase, as if they’re in some kind of business meeting instead of standing ten steps away from a very public suicide attempt. he pulls out two square pieces of paper—one red, one blue—and holds them out. “ddakji. play with me,” he says, “each time you win, i’ll give you 100,000 won.” subong scoffs, shoulders twitching with disbelief. “nah. fuck no. you think i’m stupid? you think i’m falling for that shit again? you got the wrong guy, man. i’m not gonna fucking—” subong’s words die in his throat when his eyes land on the banded bills packed tight inside the briefcase. he stares at the money, at the wind lifting the edge of one of the bills and making it flutter gently. “play with me,” the man repeats. “each time you win, i’ll give you 100,000 won.” subong laughs bitterly. “yeah? and what, you gonna fucking tax me if i lose?” the man’s smile widens a fraction. “if you lose… you pay me 100,000 won.” “what the—i’m fucking broke.” subong’s snaps, frustrated. “i don’t have shit to give you, man. what, you gonna take a kidney? my shoes? fuck off.” “you’ll find a way. people always do.” who the fuck is this dude? subong’s eyes flick down to the money again. he hasn’t seen that much cash in years. it’s probably more than he ever had even at the peak of his fake crypto high. he licks his lips, teeth grinding. “one round,” he mutters. “and i’m not paying shit if you cheat.” the man nods once, that same eerie, collected expression never slipping. “one round.”

can you guys tell i wrote half of this while sleep deprived and drowning in uni work?💀 anyway, this was so long i nearly gave up multiple times. i even had to cut a few scenes because it was getting way too long (and honestly, it still is). but i hope you enjoyed it!💗 (idk, but i feel like if you made it this far, we should kiss rn… just a thought)

regular taglist: @kaerasti49 @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @infinetlyforgotten @bettelaboure @scream-queen-25 @flwerangii @sherxoo @isssaaaa2111

this fic’s taglist: @thanosspills @loonybunny1

[miabebe]

My Girlfriend Faked Her Amnesia (Wen Junhui)

Reverse Trope Series Installment 4

It wasn’t always that life gave one the chance to hit reset, but now that Jun had gotten it, he didn’t have long before time ran out - 10 days to valentine's day which meant 10 chances to make his amnesiac girlfriend remember him again. But it wasn’t going to be a cakewalk - after all, how could one be reminded of the past if they were only pretending to forget?

Pairing - Wen Junhui x afab! Reader

Word Count- 29k

Genre - Heavy angst, romance, hurt comfort, mild humor and as usual, yes, smut - This piece is lowkey inspired by the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind!

Warnings - Car accident, mentions of blood, memory loss, hospital setting

A/n - Hello my loves! This is my bit for the Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab hosted by the wonderful @camandemstudios, my first ever collab! Please do also check out the stories by all the other writers - everyone has been working super hard on this! I hope you enjoy this piece and leave your thoughtsss :) To be added to the reverse tropes taglist, please comment under this post :)

Smut warnings - This is only the first half (12k) of the story and there is no smut in it yet. Warnings will be added for the second half!

The End: 27th December 2024 

"Careful!" 

You quickly swerved to the side of the road, the car screeching to a stop as the honking truck zoomed past you.

Fuck. Gripping the steering wheel tight, you let out a sigh of relief, your wandering thoughts returning to the present. That was close. 

The man beside you mumbled something under his breath as he unbuckled his seatbelt before alighting the car and opened your door, wordlessly asking you to get out.

You complied, allowing him to take over your role as the driver and quietly slid in the passenger seat.

Adjusting the mirror he glanced up and down the snow clad road before driving off into the darkness. Again, without saying a word. 

That's how things had been between the two of you for a while now. Silent. 

Some might say that after nearly 10 years of being together, the two of you didn't need words to communicate anymore, you just understood each other so well. But only you knew the reality - there was nothing left to say. Everything was at the edge of falling apart. 

You glanced down at your hands, fingers fidgeting. Yes it was cold but it was the emptiness that bothered you. 

Your boyfriend shot you a look before his hand hovered over the controls of the car. 

"Are you feeling cold?" 

See, he didn't understand. He never seemed to understand. And you were tired of explaining but a tiny voice in your head said to try just once more. 

"My mum was asking why there's no ring yet?" Caressing the fingers of your left hand, you looked up, far off at the skies where the morning sun still hadn't made its way up. 

“And what did you say?” 

You turned to him, not hiding the incredulous expression donning your face, “What am I supposed to say Jun?” He looked straight ahead, eyes more focused on the road than required. “How does one answer a question like this?” 

His Adam's apple bobbed with his gulp. “That....we’re not ready?” 

“And looking at us, who will buy that?” 

Jun kept quiet again, perhaps because he knew you were right.

The two of you had been together for the majority of your lives which meant your families, friends, colleagues all were a consistent witness of your relationship. Even over the last week, when you were spending Christmas with your family at the ski cabin, your sister wouldn’t stop talking about how you two were perfect for one another. She didn’t know that behind closed doors, in the privacy of your room, the two of you slept with your backs facing each other.

Jun sighed, noticing you were getting lost in your thoughts again. “Why do we have to justify ourselves to anyone anyways Y/n? This is our life-” 

“You’re right, there’s no need to justify anything to anyone. But you can tell me why, right?” You half turned towards him, leaning against the car door. “You and I can talk about why we’re nearing our thirties and still haven’t made any decision about getting married?” 

“Jesus, twenty five is not considered thirties Y/n." He rolled his eyes exasperated. "Besides, what does age have to do with marriage? Getting married should be something that we decide because we want to spend our lives with each other.”

You blinked at him. “Then do you not want to spend your life with-”

“I did not say that.” He glanced at you before quickly looking back at the road. “Of course, I do. Baby, you and I live together, we do everything together, we are as good as married-”

“So then a wedding would just be a formality right-”

“No, it would be a show!” You flinched a little as he raised his voice, annoyed. “It would be to show the world something, to prove to others that we are committed and will last through it all, as though signing a few documents is a guarantee of that.”

“Marriage isn’t just about that Jun. Do you have any idea how many things will become easier - buying a house, getting loans, so many logistics-”

He scoffed, shaking his head slowly. “That’s what marriage is to you? A practical, logical, legal binding?” 

Biting your lower lip you let out a deep breath. “If you think it should mean much more or that it should be made purely on emotions then what’s stopping you? Or do you not love me anymore-”

“Why would you say that?” He groaned, like he was tired of this conversation. “I do love you, more than anything. Which is why I want you to be able to focus on yourself without taking the burden of a marriage. I want you to fulfill all the dreams you have for your career, for your professional growth-”

“Jun, I can do all of that while being married too-”

“Marriage changes people! It changes priorities, it changes expectations-”

“So that’s what you’re afraid of? Expectations? Because I expect you to be a bit more responsible? To get your act together-”

“It won’t stop at that will it?” He sighed. “This is all our life is going to be - First it’ll be about dividing household chores, who’ll do dishes, who’ll take out the trash. Next it’ll be about finding the perfect house and having children-” 

“We’ve talked about this and you said you didn’t have a problem with having children Jun.” You snapped at him, triggered at his words. “I’m not getting any younger here-”

“And I’ve not grown up!” He slammed the wheel with his hand. “I do want to have kids someday but not now, not any time soon. I… I can barely look after myself, how am I going to look after a child? And if I’m incapable it will mean that you will have to carry the burden of it all - of raising the child, of me and of yourself and I don’t want that for you.”

You fell silent again, realising that the conversation was going just like it always did.

You would go on to insist that you were ready for whatever was to come and the time was right now, Jun would insist that he isn’t willing to let you take on so much and that marriage shouldn’t be about timing, it should be about wanting to be with each other. You would then claim he’s being too emotionally driven about this and he would claim that you were being too practical and the conversation would just be about the two of you justifying your point of views, reaching no conclusion. 

This is what happened every single time. This was what was going to happen again now. And frankly, you were tired of it. 

“When did we start wanting such different things?” You glanced at the road that disappeared into the darkness. The early morning light was not enough to illuminate the path ahead. “I thought…. we were perfect for each other, that we were meant to be. After nearly ten years, where did it all go wrong?”

You didn’t mean for it to sound hurtful, but Jun had always been the sensitive one.  

“Just because we’re not in the same frame of mind right now, doesn’t mean all the years we shared mean nothing.”

“But what does it mean?” You smiled sadly. “We aren’t growing, we aren’t able to help each other grow, what was the point of it all? Ten years and…. we achieved nothing.” 

It was like you were leaving arrow after arrow to pierce his heart - he knew you were the reasonable kind - always planning, always making lists, always marking milestones. Whatever you were saying now, had to be the result of a moment of frustration, not because you were questioning the love that you had for each other…. right? 

You weren’t regretting this, were you? 

He let out the breath he was holding. “Then maybe it would have been better if the last ten years didn’t happen at all.” 

Please say I’m wrong Y/n. Please say prove me wrong, please say we’re worth it. 

Although you were never really one to be driven by emotions, Jun always was. The one who never forgot anniversaries, the one who always tried to make every moment special, the one who always reminded you that you were not each other’s habits but each other’s love. Had things gone so far that the man who savoured every moment of being in love with you, thought it was better that you never met? 

“Is that what you really think?” You whispered, ignoring the feeling of something pricking the back of your eyes. 

Jun turned to you surprised. How could you even think that? Of course not-

“Careful!” 

Headlights beamed from right across, but this time, Jun’s quick swerve was not enough. 

As the car skidded wildly, with a sickening crunch it slammed into the side of the oncoming truck, the momentum sending it toppling over, rolling violently onto its roof with a screech of metal. As it came to a stop, the sun rose from above the clouds far away and steam rose from what was remaining of the crumpled vehicle. In the heavy stillness that followed, alongside the eerie whisper of the wind, streams of red mixed with the white of the snow. 

Your boyfriend’s hand extending towards you was the last thing you saw before everything went black. 

The Afterlife: 31st December 2024 

Pain. 

Unbearable pain. 

That's what was searing through his body, over and over again. Everywhere, in every inch…. Just pain. 

Perhaps because he hadn’t stopped running. 

Jun had been running in the forest for what seemed like forever. Where to? He had no idea. Where from? He didn’t know that either. 

All he knew was he was looking for something he had lost. Something clearly precious to him. Something he couldn’t live without. 

Yet ignorantly, he kept running. Until....

Jun.

Your voice echoed around him like a soft whisper. Finally stopping by the lake, he looked around, frantically trying to find you. 

It was then, across the frozen crystal clear waters he saw you - beautiful as ever, the only bright thing in the dark, daunting woods. 

He wanted to go to you, he wanted to be with you but the slippery ice didn’t let him take a step forward. 

Instead, you took a step back. 

Then another one. 

Then another. 

Jun continued to call out your name, trying to stop you from receding into the shadows but in vain. Slowly you disappeared into the darkness, the black of the woods engulfing you as Jun fell to his knees, the ice cracking under him. 

Shutting his eyes, he attempted to stop the pain but it only got worse. It was just pain, pain, pain. 

When he opened them, white flickering lights were strangely swaying above him. 

Blinking, Jun tried to see clearly but just then, the ice finally gave away, submerging him into the cold waters. 

As the icy waters of the lake dragged him down, Jun felt his eyes slowly shut again and your name was the last thing he remembered.

The Awakening: 27th January 2025 

The blur flickering light of the ceiling became clear as the rhythmic beeping of machines slowly pulled him from the depths of unconsciousness.

Head throbbing and body aching, an unsettling sense of disorientation washed over him, like he had been asleep for too long. Slowly raising himself on his elbows, Jun looked around, eyes finding the strange setting of a hospital room, the overwhelming smell of antiseptic finally hitting him. 

Shutting his eyes again, he tried to recollect what happened, how he ended up here……

“Y/n…” 

The argument. 

The crash.

The sight of your eyes fluttering shut as blood trickled down your face. 

“Fuck.” He mumbled, looking at all the tubes and wires attached to him, holding him back. Without an ounce of care, he tugged them off, triggering the loud alarms of the machines but before his feet even touched the cold tile of the floor, the doors flung open and a handful of people donning impeccably white coats spilled in, looking worried.

“Sir, please don’t-”

“Where’s Y/n?”

“You need to calm down, you’re not ok-”

He grabbed the collar of the man before him. “Don’t tell me to calm down. Where is Y/n?”

“We…” The doctor looked terrified. “Who is Y/n?”

Annoyed, Jun tugged on his shirt harder. “The car crash, there was a woman with me in the car, in the passenger seat, where is she?” 

“What woman?” The man stuttered, looking at his team confused. “You were brought to our hospital alone.” 

Shocked, Jun loosened his grip, allowing the doctor to quickly move back, putting himself at an arm’s distance. 

Alone?

“That’s not possible….” He muttered. “She was with me, she should be here…” 

“The accident happened in the countryside so you were taken to the nearest emergency care but your injuries were too severe so they shifted you here, to the city hospital.” The doctor looked at him slightly hesitating. “Maybe there was a woman with you, but she wasn’t brought here. Either her condition wasn’t serious enough or she didn’t….”

Eyes narrowing, Jun looked at the shivering man before him. “She didn’t, what?”

“S-she didn’t make it-”

“How dare you?” He spoke between gritted teeth, charging towards the doctor, only to be quickly held back by the nurses around him. “How dare you even suggest something like that-”

“Mr. Junhui, I was only stating the possibility-”

“What you’re saying is not possible-”

“Sir please, your heart rate is getting erratic-”

“I don’t care, I need to find her-”

“You can’t leave.”

“Stop me if you can.” Jun pulled himself free from the grip of those around him, leaving for the door, glaring at the crowd challengingly. 

Only one of them dared to step forward - a woman, one not wearing a doctor’s coat, looking at him with sympathy rather than fear. 

“Sir please….” She whispered softly, slowly approaching him, ignoring the worried looks of those around her. “I understand your worry and I’m so sorry for this but you need to calm down…. I have no other choice.” 

Jun frowned as she neared, maintaining a strong, unavoidable eye contact, the contents of her hands completely missing his vision. Before he could understand what was happening, there was a prick in his arm, hands reaching out to him and the flickering light blurred again as his eyes shut. 

28th January 2025

“Let me go.” 

The events from about 24 hours ago had repeated again. 

The fluttering lights, the machines, the wires, the tubes, the doctors - everything happened in the same sequence except there was one difference this time. When Jun tried to pull on the wires and swing his legs off the bed, he found all four of his limbs restrained. 

“Please.” He whispered. “I need to find Y/n.”

“Sir, there really was no woman brought along with you.” The woman’s eyes reflected the same sympathy they had since the day he had been wheeled in. “We got your records from the emergency center you were taken to.” 

Pulling out a bunch of papers from a file, she placed it on his lap. “There was a woman with you but she was discharged from there within a week.”

“A-a week?” Jun stuttered, looking around. “How long has it been since the accident?” 

“Almost…” She looked at the papers thoughtfully. “Almost a month. You’ve been unconscious all this while, you sustained a traumatic injury to your-”

“What about Y/n?” 

Stepping up and reading through the papers, the doctor from earlier spoke with his expertise. “She had a severe injury on her head too but she gained consciousness about a week after the accident and she…. just left.” 

“Just left?” It felt as though something cold was just dumped on his head. “Just left me?” 

“Mr. Jun, we’re not sure what exactly happened but….” The woman looked at him uncertainly. “The last few weeks that you were here, no woman has come to visit you. Y/n hasn’t been around.” 

Jun let out a shaky breath, “She probably didn’t know I was here. She… she must be looking for me, she must be so worried. I should go to her-” 

“You’re not well enough to leave.” The doctor spoke from behind the woman, worried even though Jun’s movements were restrained. “I wouldn’t suggest-” 

“I don’t want your suggestion. I want you to open these-” He tugged on the belts. “-so I can go.” 

Everyone exchanged looks, shifting in their places.

“Open them!” 

“Again, I’m sorry Mr. Jun.” The woman approached him slowly, an injection clearly visible in her hand this time. “This is for your good.” 

Once again, everything became blur before it all went dark. 

31st January 2025

“She didn’t pick the call.” The woman without a coat, who’s name Jun learnt was Mira, walked up to him. “Again.” 

Sighing, Jun looked outside the window. The streets were busy - cars were going up and down, people were walking about, some laughing, some stressed. But everything was moving, everyone was moving. Only his life had come to a standstill. 

“Do you remember anyone else’s number?” 

Jun shook his head. “Who even memorises numbers these days? Everything is stored on my phone-”

“-which broke in the accident.” She finished for him. 

“I only remember my girlfriend’s number because she forced me to remember it in case of emergencies like these.” He chuckled softly, walking up to the wall with the pictures of the two of you stuck all over. He ran his fingers over the picture of you hugging him from behind, head resting on his shoulder. “She was always so well prepared, always a step ahead….. except now.”

When Jun woke up 3 days ago, Mira had been there to tell him you were nowhere to be found. She had looked for you at home, which had been abandoned for over a month, at the library where you often worked on your projects, at the stores where you preferred to shop, at the park where you jogged every morning. You were nowhere. 

Your family was nowhere to be seen either - the house was locked and the neighbours claimed they had gone somewhere overseas. There was no trace of you at all - it was like you had vanished into thin air, like you were just a mirage, a dream. 

“I wish I could help Jun.” Mira walked up to him, placing her hand on his shoulder, looking around his apartment. “I’m sorry the only thing I could assist you with is getting you back home. But I had someone clean up the place so it should be more habitable now.” 

“Thank you Mira, for everything.” He muttered, slowly moving her arm away, tearing his eyes away from the photographs. “I’m sorry, I… I think I should….. shower, I smell like the hospital.” 

She nodded as Jun disappeared into the washroom, wordlessly asking her to leave. Grabbing her bag, she shot him one last sad look as she hesitatingly made her way out. 

Standing before the mirror, Jun sighed at his reflection - he had never seen himself look this lifeless. Wincing in pain, he removed his shirt slowly, pulling it over his head - almost healed gashes and wounds were littered all over his torso. 

The memory of an injured you flashed behind his shut eyes.

“Where are you Y/n?” He whispered, trying not to let his voice shake. “Come back to me.” 

Jun glanced at the small coffee shop across the road, one he had never seen before, the hanging sign board slowly swaying in the cold wind - Lonely Hearts Cafe. 

So many things had changed over the last month. He, who was the biggest homebody known to mankind, could not bear to stay in his house for another minute. Not where every inch of it was filled with the essence of you, where everything was a reminder of you. A part of him was relieved that there were pictures and traces of you were everywhere - that meant you were real, not a figment of his imagination…. but that also made your absence hurt more. 

He had spent the last few hours wandering the streets mindlessly, trying not to let everything outside the haven the two of you built together remind him of you too. 

But there you were, in your favourite pizza shop on the corner of the street, munching on a slice. Just as he approached, shocked and frantic, you disappeared, like you were never there. And then he saw you again, at the hairdressers this time, getting just the ends trimmed, like always. And then you were by the butchers, petting that little dog you adored. And then by the lake, glancing at the frozen waters, vanishing as usual when he approached to stand by you. Even though you weren’t really around, his eyes found the memories of you everywhere - it was like he didn’t know a life without you. 

There was no life without you.  

The cafe he was currently staring at was perhaps the only place that Jun knew he wouldn’t see you. It looked new, like a business that had just freshly found itself in this vicinity but something about it was also whimsical and fairytale-like, as though it was someone’s old dream came true. Jun had never been a coffee kinda guy - Chinese tea was usually his go-to beverage so it didn’t make sense why he felt this strange urge to go in. Maybe because he knew he wouldn’t be haunted by your absence there.

At first, he took a step ahead, attempting to go towards it but he was unable to take another - he didn’t want to not see you. Even though it hurt, he’d rather see the memories of you everywhere than familiarise himself with a life without you. 

So shaking his head, he turned away, heading back home, going back to everything that reminded him of you when…… something caught his eye. 

At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him again because there was no way…. 

Inching closer, ignoring the oncoming traffic and the screaming drivers, he crossed the road, standing right before the large glass windows of the shop. Slowly raising his hand, he wiped the condensation off the frosted glass, catching a clear sight of what was inside. 

You. 

There you were, walking about in a little checkered apron, placing cups of coffee on the table as you flashed your bright smile at those who were seated. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jun turned around, fists tightened painfully. You’ll disappear again, just like all those times before, you’ll disappear again, he was just imagining this, projecting his innermost desire. You weren’t really here….right? 

But the sound of your laughter told him he was wrong. Quickly turning back, he caught sight of you again, making your way to the counter, putting cash into a large glass jar on the wooden shelf. 

As though in a trance, Jun walked over to the door and pushed it open, eyes not leaving you as you laughed and scribbled something down on a notepad before walking to the tables with a bounce in your strut he had never seen before. 

Just as your name found itself on the tip of his tongue, you stopped your tracks and turned around, eyes finding him walking in, lips curling with a wide smile. 

“Hi sir, welcome to Lonely Hearts Cafe.” Clutching the notepad to your chest, you beamed at him. “Do you want to take a seat or get a drink to go?” 

“Y/n…” He whispered, barely able to hear himself, taking a small step ahead.

“Oh I almost forgot,” You softly smacked your head. “If you’re interested, we’re having a small valentines special event, for singles. Any two people who get the exact same drink will be paired to sit at the same table. It’s kind of a ‘if your tastes match, maybe you guys will too’ sort of concept?” 

Given he was staring at you with a vacant expression, you blinked at him like you weren’t quite sure if he understood. 

Jun didn’t understand. Why were you behaving like he was a stranger? Like you didn’t know him. 

Maybe…. this wasn’t you.

“So…” Tucking your loose fringes behind your ear, you tried searching his face for an answer. “What would you like?” 

Jun’s eyes flickered to the healing gash on your forehead, the night of the accident, flashing in his mind again. 

It was you. There was no doubt it was you. 

And so without a second thought, Jun took two big strides, pulling you towards him, wrapping his arms around you tightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Excuse me?! Sir-”

“Where have you been?” He muttered, not realising you were struggling to break free from his grip. “I’ve been looking for you-”

“Get off me!” Using all your strength, you pushed him off you, causing the man to take a few staggering steps back, shocked. 

All heads in the cafe turned towards the two of you, a strange silence descending upon the room before hushed whispers broke out. Flashing a fake smile at everyone, you quickly grabbed Jun by his wrist, leading him out of the cafe, shutting the door behind you. 

“What the hell was that?” You glared at him. “Sir, I don’t know who you think you are, but that was unacceptable.” 

Jun blinked at you confused. “I thought….I thought-” 

“I don’t care what you thought.” You crossed your arms looking stern, all the warmth from earlier having left your being. “If I ever see you in my cafe again, I swear to god I will call the cops.”

“You…” Jun looked at you incredulously. “You’ll call the cops on me?” 

“Most definitely.” 

It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. Why would you call the cops on him? Were you mad at him about something?

Jun’s racked his mind, trying to think of the last conversation the two of you had. The night of the accident. He couldn’t remember all too well, but the image of you glancing at your empty ring finger flashed in his mind. 

“Is this about….getting married?” You frowned as Jun ran his hands through his hair. “If it really means this much to you then, fine, let’s get married. I just wanted it to be-”

“Married?” You looked at him like you couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Why on Earth would I marry you? I don’t even know you-”

“Jun!” 

At the sound of his name, Jun turned around, only to find himself being slammed into the familiar chest of a tall, lanky man. The fragrance of expensive perfume immediately told him who it was - His best friend Minghao. As Jun tried to break free from his friend’s untimely interruption, Minghao held him tight, whispering in his ear. 

“Don’t say a word.” 

“Mr. Xu.” You glanced at the intertwined figures of both men, eyebrows furrowed. “You know this man?” 

“Y/n.” Breaking free, Minghao threw his arm around Jun, flashing a hard smile. “This is Jun, he’s a dear friend. Sorry if he said anything or got out of line - he was just discharged from the hospital after a big accident, he’s a bit disoriented.” 

“Oh.” You looked at him up and down as though it all made sense and you were unable to decide whether to feel sympathetic or stand your ground. “Mr. Jun, I’m sorry you went through all that but whatever you did, that was not appropriate at all.” 

“Y/n what-”

“Yes of course.” Minghao squeezed Jun’s shoulder, shutting him up. “He won’t be troubling you again.” 

“If you really do need a cup of coffee, there are a lot more shops down the street that I’m sure will suit your taste.” You took a step back, reaching for the door again, expression unreadable. “Please don’t come back to me.” 

With that you pushed the door open and disappeared into the cafe allowing Minghao to finally let go of his friend who turned to him, beyond confused. 

“What…. What was that?” He pointed at you, waiting the tables again inside, like nothing happened. Like he didn’t exist. 

“Jun…” Minghao let out a shaky breath, looking carefully at his friend. “Let’s go home, I’ll explain everything.”

“No.” Shaking his head frantically, he reached for the door again. “I’m not going anywhere without Y/n.” 

Moving quickly, Minghao put himself in between, blocking the way. 

“Please.” He held his hand out. “Y/n, she…. she won’t come with you.”

Jun looked at him incredulously. “Why not?” 

“Because she doesn’t remember….” Minghao spoke slowly, watching his friend’s face carefully. “She doesn’t remember you.” 

The throbbing pain was back. 

Actually, it never left. The pain was always there, it was him who had suppressed it under everything else. But with the revelation of things, it became unhinged, freely coursing in his being, hurting everywhere. 

Minghao poured Jun another cup of tea as the two men sat at the dining table, the latter still clutching a photo of you, trying to make sense of all that he was told. 

“She….she doesn’t remember me at all?” He frowned, still confused. “Because of…. you?” 

“Because she doesn’t want to.” Minghao corrected his friend, yet again. “Jun, it was her choice to do the procedure.”

The procedure. 

Minghao had spoken all about it in great detail for the last half an hour. It all went over his head though, Jun didn’t register a single piece of the information thrown at him except one thing - the procedure was to remove memories. 

Yes apparently that was a thing. A new initiative by Minghao’s company - a simple medical procedure in which one could choose to erase their memories of a certain period of time. A process straight out of the sci-fi books - one so ridiculous, Jun would have never believed it if it weren’t coming out of his best friend's mouth. 

That his girlfriend had gotten all her memories of him wiped from her mind. 

“It makes no sense.” Jun shook his head. “Why would she want to forget me? Why would she choose to…”

Minghao looked at his friend staring at your photo sadly. He had always known Jun to be someone full of life - he was ambitious, passionate and always bursting with energy. But now he looked like the whole world had come crashing around him. 

“I’m sorry Jun.” Minghao could feel the guilt eating him on the inside. “All of it happened in my company, right under my nose but I had no idea Y/n had gotten it done till it was all over. Maybe if I had reached the clinic just a little earlier, I could have stopped them from injecting the serum-”

“No Hao, whether you could stop her or not, it won’t change the fact that Y/n wanted to….” Jun swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “She didn’t want to just leave me or walk away from this relationship, she wanted to erase its entire existence from her life. To pretend like it never happened. But why…”

“I wish I knew Jun.” Minghao shook his head softly. “All I know is that this choice mustn't have been easy for her - to forget you she had to have the last 10 years of her life removed. That’s how far she was willing to go to…”

Minghao's words rang in his ears. 

10 years….

Maybe it would have been better if the last ten years didn’t happen at all.

The night of the accident…. that's what he had said. 

Oh god, was that why you….

What had he done? 

“Jun?” Minghao snapped his fingers before his friend's face. “Where are you lost-”

“This was a mistake.” Jun shook his head. “This was all a horrible misunderstanding. I didn’t mean…”

“Mean what?” 

Jun couldn’t even recall why he had said that. It was like his brain was suppressing the stupidity from recurring. 

“I need to talk to her. I need to fix this.”

“How exactly-”

“I’ll marry her, right this instant if that’s what it takes-”

“Jun no-”

“Hao, yes.” He turned to his friend, determined. “I can fix it. I can talk to her and sort this out. Just help me put her memories back again-”

“That’s not-”

“-and I’ll make her see how much I love her-” 

“Jun, that's not possible.” Minghao raised his voice, interrupting his friend’s rant. “Dealing with memories isn’t child’s play. It's one thing to remove them, but to restore them? That’s impossible.”

It felt like everything around was shattering. “You mean she won't ever….”

Minghao shook his head, delivering the final blow. “She won't… ever.” 

Jun stared at the photo in his hand. 

Minghao, who had insisted on staying the night, had hit the shower, his tea sitting cold in its cup. 

Cold draft was blowing in through the open kitchen window. The tips of his fingers were frozen but they were not colder than the thing wrapping around his heart, eating it away.  

Minghao’s last words as he was lingering by the door rang in his ears. 

“Y/n chose to forget you Jun, she chose to restart her life. Maybe it’s best that you do too.” 

Restart his life? Pretend like you didn’t exist and move on? How on Earth was he supposed to do that? 

He glanced at the room around him - at the pictures of you on the walls, at the vase you brought back from your trip to spain, at the coasters you always made sure to use, at the rug you specifically had made to match the couch, at every single thing in his life that was a testament of you. How was he supposed to forget all of it? 

But the truth was, you had forgotten it all. You had walked out of his life, your home and everything the two of you had built together over the last 10 years. None of this around him meant anything to you anymore. 

You had built a new world for yourself, one which Jun had reached, lost in his thoughts. The cafe, the coffee, the customers, the infectious smile on your face, the little bounce in strut, the way your hair fell over your shoulder as you’d turn - you had built something that had no trace of him but more importantly, you looked so happy. Jun couldn’t remember the last time he saw you smile this wide, or even laugh at something stupid. The winter was harsh on the city outside but everything around you seemed so warm. 

Maybe Minghao was right. Maybe it was best that he forgot it all too. 

1st February 2025 

“Where do I put this?” 

Jun turned to Mira who was holding up a bunch of books in her arms. 

“They're all cookbooks, but I'm not sure whether to put it in the box with her law books or in the one with magazines.”

“We can just leave these out.” Taking them from here, Jun walked into the kitchen. “We don't have to put away everything.” 

Sighing Mira followed him. “Jun, boss said everything. Everything that belongs to her, everything that reminds you of her.” 

Jun stared at the books in his hands. Two hours ago, he was sprawled on the couch half asleep, your scarf wrapped around his hand, a frame with your photo in his arms. Much to his annoyance, the consistent ringing of the bell forced him to drag himself to the door and standing on the other side was Mira. 

Jun didn't think he would ever have any reason to see her again but apparently, Mira wasn't just a random hospital staff who helped him - she was in fact Minghao's employee, a psychiatrist who worked in his Memory Wipe project and was asked by him to look after Jun till he came around, as a favour. That day when she left the apartment, she had immediately told Minghao about all that happened - that's how he found his friend declaring he was ready to marry you in front of the coffee shop. Mira though, had no idea about you or that you had your memories wiped - she only found out when Minghao, who left early in the morning for a meeting, sent her over to Jun’s house with a new phone and a contract. A contract to obliterate the last 10 years of his memories. 

“You want me to erase her existence?” Jun furiously muttered into the phone. “How did you even think-” 

“Will you be able to survive with her memories?” Even though he couldn't see his face, Jun knew Minghao was donning a sorry expression. “It'll kill slowly you, Jun. Not being able to be with her, not being able to forget her, not being able to move on. If I had to name something worse than hell, this is it.”

For long after the call ended, Jun stared at the contact papers on the coffee table, his mind disturbed. As much as he didn't want to distance himself from you, could he really live with the fact that you'll never be his again? It had been barely 2 days since he was awake and he was already at the verge of losing his mind. Maybe it was better he too forgot it all. 

But it also pained him to think that if both of you forgot everything, then there was no one who truly knew the kind of pure and unwavering love the two of you shared over the last ten years. At least for the sake of those, he had to stay strong, he had to live with this. But could he really? 

And it was thoughts like this that had him rooted to his chair for over an hour. 

“You don't have to decide now.” Mira interrupted his cycle of thought, tired of watching his unmoving figure. “The procedure is simple. I already have the 10 year formula ready in your name. All you have to do is just come by the centre when you're ready - one injection and it'll be done.” 

As much as Jun was grateful for the time, there was one thing Minghao wanted him to do immediately - clear the apartment of anything and everything that belonged to you. That's what the two of them were in the middle of right now as Mira glanced at the cookbooks in his hands. 

“Jun, whether or not you want to get the Memory Wipe, you need to get rid of all these things. You won't ever move on otherwise-” 

“They're cookbooks.” Jun rolled his eyes, placing them on the shelf of the kitchen. “Has it not occurred to you that I might use these myself?”

Mira stared at him like she didn't believe him but Jun ignored her. There was no way he was going to get rid of every last bit of you. What would be left of him then? 

All your clothes were packed and stashed in the store room, all the pictures of the two of you were taken down, your books, your things, everything was sealed and locked away. Except a few that Jun refused to let go - the lavender cream you used every night, the harmonica you loved to play, the cookbooks you swore would make you a better chef than him. Jun didn't have the heart to walk away from all of it just yet. 

Giving up, Mira began walking away. “I'm going to put her shoes away.” 

“Wait.” Aligning the books hurriedly, Jun quickly ran over to the closet. “Maybe just leave those heels.” 

Mira looked exasperated. “What use could you possibly have of women's footwear?”

Nothing. Jun just loved those black stilettos you wore to work - the sound of them against the wooden flooring was what told him you were home everyday. 

“Jun, this whole thing isn't just about you getting over Y/n. If you plan to do the Memory Wipe, you especially need to do this” Mira stood up sighing. “Imagine losing 10 years of your life and coming home and finding a woman's things all over. You won't remember her, you won't know what happened, you won't have any answers, it'll drive you mad. Please, listen to me, you need to get rid of it all.”

Jun turned away, peeling his eyes from the closet as Mira put the last of your footwear in the boxes, looking at him sadly. 

“How did Minghao even design this procedure?” Jun glanced at the contact papers fluttering on the table. “I knew he was indulging in some biomedical R&D, I had no idea it was this intense.” 

Mira chuckled. “Biomedical R&D barely covers the scope of what he does. Let's just say the Xu enterprises dabble in a lot of things and the Memory Wipe is their latest project. Actually its just undergoing it's last clinical trial - it’s not even advertised or available for the public.” 

“How did Y/n get to know about it then?” Jun frowned like it didn't make sense. “Minghao never talks business with me and I'm sure he's never mentioned it to her either. Then…”

“There were a bunch of lawyers involved in the legal aspects of the clinical trials.” Mira confessed, shrugging. “Maybe she heard from someone in the fraternity.” 

“Funny.” Jun smiled sadly. “Y/n has never been one for office gossip. She just liked to get her work done and head straight back home. It was always about efficiency and not wasting time.”

Mira smiled. “That's an admirable work ethic.” 

“Right? I wish I had that.” Jun glanced out of the window at the snow tumbling out of the sky. “Maybe she wouldn't have had to work so hard if I did.”

“What do you mean?” 

Jun glanced at Mira who had joined him, before continuing to stare out. 

“Y/n always believed in working hard. For her, a job was simply a means to make money. She didn't associate it with dreams or passion, it was just… survival? Me on the other hand, ever since I was a child, all I wanted to do was be an actor. I spent the last, god knows how many years, chasing that dream, picturing myself before the cameras, walking down red carpets. If I look back at my life, all I see are auditions and rejections and more rejections.” 

“It's not wrong to want to live your dream.” 

“No it's not but I don't know how right it is to live with your head in the clouds. Y/n always had her feet on the ground - that was the only reason we survived through it all.” 

“So your story is the ‘opposites attract’ kind?” 

“I guess.” Jun laughed softly. “We were polar opposites actually. She hates talking, I'm always chatting away. She's a mess, I'm neat. She hates doing household chores, I love doing them. Even in food, she loves sweet things, I like them spicy. Our preferences in anything, be it music or movies or where to go or what to wear, they were always so different but I guess….that's what made things fun. Sometimes she'd adjust for me, sometimes me for her, and though things weren't going our way, we were happy because we were making each other happy.” 

“Wow.” Mira let out a breath. “I always thought being in love with someone entirely from me would be difficult to handle.”

“If I'm being honest, there were times it did get difficult.” Jun wiped the condensation off the window with his hand, catching sight of your cafe across the street. “Y/n lived life like it was a checklist. Graduating high school at 18, then law school at 23, first job at 24, marriage at 25, three kids by the time she's 30, retired by 55, starting an organic farm business at 57 and then dying whenever - she had her whole life planned. Me on the other hand, I… live in the moment, go where life takes me. Everything around us is so uncertain, think about the accident”

Jun’s voice shook as fragments of it flashed in his head.

“We could have died, life as we know could have ended, so what's the point in deciding everything so prematurely? I take life by the day, I enjoy every moment - one day I'm doing martial arts classes for kids, one day I'm teaching old women some Chinese dishes, one day I'm doing a modelling contract. End of the day, I still make money to feed myself and pay my bills, I just don't go to bed having the next 10 years of my life planned and somehow….. I think that's what drove us apart. That's why she…” Jun let out a deep breath. “That's why she decided to start afresh. Her practicality and my emotional disposition just… didn't find any middle ground.” 

Mira softly placed her hand on Jun's shoulder, caressing it with her thumb. Clearing his throat, he took a step back, tearing his eyes away from the coffee house. 

“We should probably continue with the packing.” 

Mira nodded as she followed him, the two of them sorting things silently this time. Normally Jun wouldn't ever let go of a chance to talk about you, but now, given he had to speak about you in past tense, Jun couldn't bring himself to talk about you over and over again. Minghao was right, it was all just getting harder and harder.

And so, the next few hours were navigated in mostly silence and occasional questions. By the time the sun had begun to set, the two of them were done - all of your things had been neatly packed and put in the store room, the door locked, keys stashed in Mira's pocket for safe keeping. A couple of things had been piled by the door to be thrown out, Jun's take out dinner had arrived and Mira was lingering by the door, ready to leave. Yet the contract papers were sitting on the table, like an elephant in the room. Unable to hold herself back anymore, Mira sighed. 

“Jun, I know Minghao left the choice to you but as a professional and as someone who cares about you, I think it's best you…. " She gulped. "sign the contract. I've seen some couples after the clinical trials, trust me, you don't want to live this weight-” 

“Mira,” Jun’s voice left him between gritted teeth. “It's been barely 2 days since I got to know about what Y/n did. I haven't even decided if I am to be sad or angry or stay or move on.” He shut his eyes, running his hands through his hair. “The only reason I agreed to keep her things away or allowed someone else to even touch them was because one, I trust Minghao more than anything and two, if I really want to, I know I'm strong enough to break the door of that storeroom and get everything back. But what you're asking of me, is a permanent change. Please just…. Let me think things through at my pace.” 

Mira blinked at him, her hand on the handle of the door, unmoving. 

“Thank you for your help yet again Mira, but I think it's time you go.” 

And before the apology even left her mouth as she stepped out, Jun shut the door behind her, leaning against it.  

He just needed some time. That’s all.

Or at least that's what he thought but in just a few hours, he realised he didn't. 

Yesterday was perhaps bearable because Minghao, although he didn't speak much, was there in the house. Today though, heating up his food all alone, sitting at the table by himself, walking around his house in the dimness of the night lights, staring at the empty walls and empty shelves - it was all too much. Jun couldn't bring himself to go another day like this, forget the rest of his life. 

Taking a deep breath he sat on the couch, pulling the papers towards himself, then pen in his hand shaking. 

He wasn't strong enough for this - he couldn't go on without you. 

Finally making up his mind, he gripped the pen tight and signed the contract. There was no other way. 

But the universe said otherwise. 

If Jun had just turned around and gone to his room, things would've gone down very differently. Maybe if he decided to sleep instead of clearing the dishes and throwing the trash, he would've never thought about clearing all the boxes that Mira left by the door. Maybe then he wouldn't have come across that box. 

At first glance when he opened it, it seemed like odd bits of trash - there were pieces of paper, little trinkets, bills and what not. He was just about to throw it when his eye caught the familiar logo on one of the bills - the Lovers Cavern. The first Michelin star restaurant that Jun had taken you to on a date. Frowning, he ran his fingers through the contents of the box, recognising them one by one. Carnival and movie tickets, the crinkled wrapper of the ice cream he loves, the magnets from your first road trip together, the dried corsage from your first dance together…. everything was a thoughtful piece of the time the two of you spent together. 

You had been carefully saving them over the last 10 years. 

Jun stared at it wordlessly, lost in thought. He had never taken you as one for sentimentality. Hell you didn't even like taking photos or recording videos of your time together, he was always the one who had to pull you in, forcing you to smile. He had always assumed those small moments meant nothing to you but this box told him a different story - you had been treasuring them all these years in your own way. This relationship wasn’t just part of a checklist, you had been emotionally invested in it since the beginning, since 10 years. 

Jun could only imagine how much his words must have hurt you that day…. Clearly enough to make you take such a big step. You didn't walk away because you wanted to. You walked away because of him. His words made you…. it was his fault. 

Walking over to the window, Jun glanced at your cafe, watching as you stepped out with a couple of bags in your hands, turning off the lights and locking the door. As you balanced your things in your hands, waving for a cab, Jun slowly realised….. Minghao was wrong. 

His only options weren't to either live with your memories alone or forget you and move on. There was a third one. One that Jun was about to choose. 

He was going to get you back. He had done it once and he could do it again. 

Jun was going to make you fall in love with him all over again. 

2nd February 2025 

Rubbing the back of your sore neck, you sat down at the benches outside the cafe, enjoying the cold. 

One might think you were stupid for sitting in the snow clad street in just a small dress and an apron but the heat of the coffee was getting unbearable. Sipping on your own coffee, you glanced at the hustle and bustle down the street. Everyone looked so busy, like they were navigating life with a purpose. This coffee shop had always been your purpose, the dream you had been living for almost a month now yet something felt unfulfilled. Something was missing. Before you could figure out what, a voice broke you out of your reverie. 

“Is the same drink, same table offer still going on?” 

Raising your head, you let your eyes find the man who interrupted the few minutes of your me-time.

“Mr. Wen Junhui.” You cleared your throat, letting the annoyance show on your face. “I believe I had asked you not to enter my shop?”

“You did.” Jun nodded, sitting down beside you, a few feet away. “And I did not enter your shop - technically I'm outside.” 

You glared at him, eyes narrowed. 

“Well since you're such an ardent follower of what I say, you shouldn't be sitting with me either because-”

“Because I need to have the same drink as you, right?” Jun cocked his head at you, raising his cup. “And I do.” 

“There's no way.” You chuckled, taking a sip. “I can assure you, you don't.” 

“Correct me if I'm wrong,” Jun took a sip, smiling to himself because he knew he was not wrong. No one knew you better than him. “But I think that's a caramel macchiato with hazelnut cream.”

Lips slightly parted in surprise, you stared at him. 

“M-maybe.” You muttered, taking a sip yourself. “But I still don’t think it’s the exact same-”

“Yeah, it might not be exact.” Jun shrugged nonchalantly. “Not like I’m lactose intolerant or anything but I felt like taking it with oat milk today.” 

The cup nearly slipped from your hand. You were lactose intolerant. You always took your coffee with oat milk. 

Choosing not to tell him that, you simply continued to stare at the busy crowd. Jun let out an inward sigh of relief knowing he had earned the place to sit next to you. 

“Y/n…” Clearing his throat, he corrected himself. Baby steps Jun. “Ms. Y/n I uh actually wanted to apologise about that day.”

You turned to him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. 

“I had actually just gotten out of the hospital that day and I don’t think the anesthesia wore off completely so I was apparently just going around and…. proposing marriage to various women.” 

You raised your eyebrows like you didn’t believe him. 

“It’s true, I spent the whole day today saying sorry to every business owner on this street…. And drinking the same coffee order as them. I think I’m going to have a tough time in the bathroom tomorrow….” 

Scoffing, you turned away from him and if Jun didn’t know you better, he wouldn’t have known you were hiding a tiny smile. 

“Again I’m really Ms. Y/n, I wish that didn’t happen and that we could have a fresh start. I was really looking forward to having coffee here.” 

Letting out a deep resigned breath, you stood up, chugging the last of your drink. Tossing the cup in the bin, you turned to him, clasping your hands before you politely, giving him a small smile. 

“Mr. Wen Junhui, welcome to Lonely Hearts cafe. We’re a small business that opened just a month ago so we’ve got some really good deals on coffee and cake. We even have a Valentine’s day event - you get to share a table with the person who has the same drink as you. I hope we see you around.” 

Returning your smile, Jun got up, giving a small shrug. “That Valentine’s day event is interesting - I would love to… be seen around.” He chuckled, holding his hand out. “It’s nice knowing you Ms. Y/n.” 

Glancing at his outstretched hand, you slowly took it, wrapping your fingers around it. Somehow on the cold winter day, there was a strange warmth radiating between the two of you. 

“It’s nice getting to know you too Mr. Jun.” 

3rd February 2025 

“You know, you don’t look like someone who enjoys coffee.” 

Jun turned at the sound of your voice, finding you right beside the door he just walked in. You had a tray in your hands and an amused smile on your face. 

“What makes you say that?” 

“The face you made yesterday?” You laughed as you walked in, Jun following behind you. “I’ve never seen someone look so disgusted while drinking coffee.” 

Jun suppressed a smile as he leaned against the counter. “Oh so you were watching me.” 

Rolling your eyes, you walked towards the machines. “I happened to see.” 

“The one yesterday was just too sweet.” He shuddered, recalling the taste. “My taste buds were dying.” 

“Well obviously it was sweet, it’s caramel.” You pulled out a piece of cake, putting it on the counter as a waitress walked over, taking it. “Did you expect it to taste like Malatang?” 

Oh Jun would love some Malatang right now. 

“No, but something told me your coffee would taste much better than that one.” 

You chuckled, pulling up a cup. “Is that going to be your order for today?’ 

“Nope.” Jun shook his head. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.” 

“What I’m having?” You frowned, confused. 

“How else will I be able to share a table with you?” 

Jun could tell you were holding back a smile. “And why would you want to do that?” 

“I thought coffee with a side of conversation would be nice.” 

“I’m working.” 

“I’ll wait.”

“I only get off at 5.” 

“I’ll wait.” 

“And then I need to head straight home.” 

“I just need 10 minutes.” 

You raised your eyebrows like you were trying to figure out what his intentions were. Meanwhile, he looked at you determined, like he’ll wait for a lifetime, if that’s what it took. Sighing you pulled out a piece of cake and set it before him. Then changing your mind, you quickly swapped it for a couple of lemon biscuits and slid it to him. 

“They’re on the house.” 

And with that you tightened your apron and walked away, leaving Jun staring at his favourite biscuits on the counter. 

“Do you need any help?” 

You looked up from the table you were cleaning at Jun who was still here, his coat discarded, cheeks flushed red and eyes tired. 

“I have staff Mr. Jun.”

“She left.” He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Told me to inform you.” 

“Huh.” You frowned. “She always stays till I close for the extra ten I hand her every day.” 

Jun remained silent, looking away.

“You paid her.” 

“I was just helping her go home fast.”

Sighing, you straightened yourself, crossing your arms. “Okay what is it, what do you want?” 

“I told you, a conversation.”

“Well that’s what we’re having right?” 

“Right…” Jun cleared his throat, unsure how to frame his sentences while you continued to look at him expectantly. When he didn’t say anything, you rolled your eyes and continued cleaning up. 

“I was thinking…” You held out the tray, making him quickly free his hands to hold it as you began stacking plates and cutlery on it. “You’re a woman.”

“Are you doubting it?” Frowning, you walked over to the trash can, Jun right behind, struggling to balance everything. 

“No! I mean I wasn’t thinking if you were a woman, more like I was thinking since you’re a woman and I’m a man….” 

Jun trailed off completely lost about where he was going with this till you relieved him of the weight in his arms, placing the tray in the sink. 

“Mr. Jun,” You untied your apron, tucking it on the rod of the drawer. “You only have 10 minutes.” 

“Okay okay.” Jun recomposed himself, watching you pack up your things for the night.  Looks like he just had to get straight to the point. “Yes I have 10 minutes right now, but my worry is, we only have 10 days.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“It's Valentine's in 10 days….” Jun muttered below his breath trying to gauge your reaction. 

“Are you…” You narrowed your eyes at him unsure. “Is this your way of asking me out?” 

“No god,” Jun groaned, running his hands through his hair. “I swear I planned it so much better in my head-”

“Don’t.” 

And with that one word, you crushed everything. All the hope, the longing, the yearning.  

“Look Mr. Jun, normally I wouldn't go into the details but I don't want you to think I'm blowing you off but about a month ago, I got a Memory Wipe. I lost the last ten years of my life and I’m still trying to come to terms with how much things have changed.... I’m just not ready for any kind of commitment.”

“But….” Jun blinked at you confused. “You smiled…”

“Sorry?” 

“Yesterday and today…. I thought, you might also…” 

“Mr. Jun.” You sighed, donning your jacket, zipping up. “You’re a good looking man, you’re sweet and I can tell you’d be a good conversation but I didn’t mean for it to be more than that. I just assumed it would be some harmless flirting.” 

“I don’t want it to just be harmless flirting.” Jun shook his head. “I want something more. I like you and I want to-” 

“Like me, why?” You looked at him confused, grabbing your bags. “We’ve barely spoken more than 5 sentences to each other.”

We’ve been in love for more than 10 years Y/n. 

“I can’t explain it, it just…. feels right.” 

“Well I can’t function based on your whims and feelings, can I?” 

Jun stood frozen as you turned off the lights and opened the door, stepping out. Grabbing his jacket he followed you, watching you lost in thought as you locked the door before you turned to him. 

“Look, you seem like a nice guy and I’m sure you’ll find someone. It just can’t be me, I’m not in the space for it.” Adjusting the bags in your hands, you shot him an apologetic look.  “I’m sorry Mr. Jun.”

And with that you walked away, your figure moving further and getting smaller as cold winds returned to the city. For some stupid reason, Jun hadn’t anticipated this - he didn’t think about the possibility of you rejecting his advances. He just assumed the two of you would fall into the comfortable pattern of dating each other and everything would slowly return to normal. Your disappearing self was telling him otherwise….

No. 

Jun couldn’t allow this to happen. He couldn’t lose this chance.

“Wait!” Pulling his jacket over his shivering body, he ran to you, half tripping on the way. “Wait, please.” 

And you did, looking at his panting, coughing self standing in your way, trying to catch his breath. Searching your bags, you handed him a bottle of water but Jun ignored it, looking at you questioningly. 

“If whatever happened to you a month ago, didn’t happen, would you agree to go out on a date with a guy like me?” 

“I….” You looked around confused. “I don’t know.” 

“Do you have any other reason not to give us… to give me a shot?” Crossing his fingers, Jun tucked his hands in his pocket. “Any other reason to say no?” 

“Not really, no.” 

Bingo. 

“I’m sure the aftermath of the Memory Wipe hasn't been easy but life won’t stop just because you want things to pause.” Gulping he looked at you expectantly. “Look Y/n I too am in a space where things are difficult where I want to hit rewind, but I realised maybe it’s better to hit restart and I want to try that with you.” 

“Jun I…” 

“Here’s my suggestion, just hear me out.” He clasped his hands, ignoring the cold drafts. “Give me 10 days, just 10 days to change your mind about us. I know I can do it, I know I can make you see I’m worth it, that we’re worth it.” 

“You’re really not going to take no for an answer are you?” 

Jun shook his head, his face falling. “No I…. I don’t want to force you. I was just suggesting-”

“What if I’m not convinced in 10 days?” You sighed, looking at him unsure. “Will you leave the idea of ‘us’ behind and not pursue me anymore?" 

“It won’t come to that-” 

“If it does.” 

“If it does,” Jun took a deep breath. “Then you’ll never see me again. I promise.” 

And with that you went silent, like you were considering it. Jun prayed to all possible forces in the universe - please say yes, please say yes, please say yes. 

“Okay.” You agreed, slowly nodding your head. “You have 10 days. If I’m not convinced, then on the 10th day,  we’re done and we’re never seeing each other again, deal?” 

Smiling on the inside, Jun ignored the little victory lap his head was doing. “Deal.” 

“And you’re sure this will work?” 

Phone against his ear, Jun nodded confidently.

“Positive.”

“What if you’re just setting yourself up for heartbreak again?”

“I’m not.” Jun rolled his eyes. “I know I can get her back. This time I’ll be better-” 

“Haven’t you noticed?” Minghao voice was filled with caution. “She’s somehow not the same. The Y/n you knew was a hard core, cut throat lawyer. This Y/n is a barista who sells coffee and the idea of love.” 

Jun hummed in thought. “Maybe. But deep down, she’s still my Y/n and I’m her Jun. I know her better than anyone else, I can do this-”

“And if you can’t?” 

“Then I’ll live with it. But I can’t let her go without trying.” 

“And what if it still doesn’t work?” 

“I don’t want to consider that possibility.” 

“Jun be realistic. How on Earth do you plan on convincing a woman who thinks you’re a complete stranger, is struggling with her amnesia, and more importantly doesn’t want any commitment, to date you?” 

Jun sank into his couch, staring at the ceiling.  

“I have no idea.” He confessed.

“Exactly, what if things get worse for you-”

“Can you just for once be a tad bit more positive?” Jun sighed. “Look at the bright side of things. Like for example, Y/n knew I didn’t like coffee-”

“-you make the most disgusting face known to mankind when you drink it, anyone would know-”

“-and she knew I like malatang-”

“-you’re Chinese Jun. I think that was a safe guess-”

“-and she knew lemon biscuits were my favourite dessert.” 

This time Minghao went silent. 

“Nothing snarky to say?” 

When Minghao continued to keep quiet, Jun frowned, sitting up. 

“Hao do you think she… remembered?” 

“That’s not possible....” 

"You don't sound as sure as last time." Jun noted.

Minghao let out a deep breath, like he was frustrated. “Theoretically, a memory restoration is not possible but hearing you I.... I can't tell for sure - we're also still not done with the clinical trials so I cannot exactly negate the possibility."

"So,,," Jun's eyes widened. "You're saying there is a chance she might remember everything?"

"A really really small chance.....” Minghao emphasised. "Or it could just be that since Y/n has known you for ten odd years, some her actions are just reflexive - ingrained in her subconscious after years of habit." 

"But you're saying there's a small chance she might remember me again?"

Minghao sighed. Clearly, his friend wanted to just hear one thing.

"Yes. Perhaps if she's repeatedly exposed to you or to something of her past, she might remember certain things again-"

"Enough to make her want to come back to me?"

"I cannot promise that-"

"But I can try." Jun whispered, the cogwheels in his mind turning. "I have to try and Hao, I think I know exactly how."

"How-"

Cutting the call Jun tossed his phone aside and quickly grabbed the box he had stashed below the tea table, opening it. He ran his fingers again through all the memories you had saved, a small smile forming on his face.

Jun had 10 days to win you back - that meant he had 10 chances to remind you of all the good days the two of you shared. 10 memories he could recreate, ones that you yourself had stored in this very box. 10 ways he could prove 'us'..... was truly worth it.

And just like that, Wen Junhui knew exactly how to make you fall in love with him all over again. 

You stared at the photo hanging on your wall, arms crossed, eyes slightly damp.

You look so happy,....he looks so happy. 

Just like he did when you agreed to give him 10 days to woo you. 

Sighing you tore your eyes away and stared at the ground, blinking the tears away. 

“Just 10 days," You whispered, voice shaking. "….. and all of this will be over.” 

A/n - This fic is tbh very long and overwhelming so I thought its best to have it out in parts? I hope you enjoyed this part and stay tuned for the next too! Thoughts in comments and reblogs are very much appreciated my loves <3

[moonstruckme]

Hey Mae, you wrote a Spencer smut blurb a while ago about him helping reader speak up in the bedroom and at the end it mentions him using his handcuffs on reader. Just wondering if you would write a followup to that heheh 🌚

Thank you for requesting babe ;)

cw: smut mdni, bondage, slighttttt dom spencer but not really it's a collaborative effort haha

Spencer Reid x afab!reader ♡ 652 words

You make an involuntary whimpering sound. 

Spencer lifts his head to look at you. “You okay?” 

“Y…yeah.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Very sure.” 

Your boyfriend’s look softens. “Okay. Try not to sound so distressed, please? It makes me think you’re not having fun.” 

“Sorry.” You want to tell him that you’re not having fun, but you are, really. The bite of metal into your wrists is a welcome, if frustrating, restraint. 

“You don’t have to be sorry, sweetheart,” Spencer assures you, voice turning slow as he lowers his lips back to your shoulder. The brush of his knuckles against your inner thigh is enough to make another whimper rise in your throat. 

The handcuffs were your idea. You don’t think bringing work into the bedroom would have ever crossed Spencer’s mind, but your stomach had flipped excitedly when he’d locked them over your wrists. He was careful not to make them too tight, told you to say something if they started to rub your skin wrong, but you sort of enjoy the pressure of them each time you tug against the bed frame. 

Spencer’s curiosity is just as fervid in the bedroom as it is out. He takes his time with you, cataloguing each movement and sound. Your breath hitches, and he tilts his head, an academic. Scientific fingers explore every curve and bend. 

You’re seeping arousal from between your folds before he even gets there. 

“Spence,” you plead.

“Hm?” 

“Can you just—” You can’t say it. You know Spencer appreciates plain language, but you can’t make yourself. You push your hips up, hoping he gets the hint. 

He does. He smiles, the asshole. “Can you be patient? I’m getting there.” 

“Today?” 

“Okay, fine.” Spencer laughs as he pushes two fingers into you, their path slick and easy. You gasp in surprise. “Is this what you want?” 

“Please.” 

“I told you I was getting to it.” His voice gentles. He touches his lips to the side of your throat, fingers moving slowly in and out of you. Curling. Gently, so gently. “You know you do better when we build up to it.” 

You almost miss the days when Spencer was still shy around you. When sex made him nervous, when he didn’t know your body quite so well or feel so confident in how to make you tick. 

He’s right, of course. 

“I’m—ahh…”

“Yeah, I know.” Spencer kisses the flat of your chest. Doubtless feeling your erratic heartbeat. “You never like it when it’s happening, but you’re happy afterward. You’ll thank me.” 

It’s not violent, your undoing; Spencer takes you apart gently, with careful fingers, and then swallows the cry that escapes you like it’s his favorite flavor. 

Your wrists are lined with agitated circlets when he pushes into you. You’re well worked open by then. Time is lost to you. You gasp and roll your hips, desperate to grab him, your fists curling around nothing. 

“Hey.” Spencer’s thumb presses over your pulse, a barrier between you and the cuff. “Relax. Be careful with yourself.” 

His lips are parted, pupils blown but eyes soft with concern. You love him. It’s not the first time you’ve thought it, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve said it, but suddenly you feel it achingly, urgently, tearily. You love him you love him you love him. 

“Come here,” you beg him in as nice a voice as you can. 

Spencer listens, because he always listens to you, really, even when you’re all tied up and helpless and probably a little delirious. His mouth covers yours with reassuring warmth. 

“Still okay?” he asks, just to be sure. 

“Yes.” You press towards him, kissing his chin, his jaw, his sweaty cupid’s bow. “Oh my god, yes.” 

“Okay.” Spencer links his fingers through yours. Pushing you back, but staying close to you. You shudder at the contact. “We’re okay.” 

“Just stay here, please.” 

“Where do you think I would go?” 

[monstacheol]

𝓓𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂'𝓼 𝓗𝓸𝓶𝓮

❀Pairing: C.SC x afab! reader

❀Summary: When your husband goes on a two-week business trip, you are left alone in the comfort of your shared home until your heat hit unexpectedly. With Cheol away, you have to break this heat soon before he comes back. Turns out….he came back sooner than you thought.

❀WC: 4.3K (Originally supposed to be 2K words but I wrote too much.)

❀Warning: Dom! Alpha Seungcheol, Sub! Omega Reader, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (stay safe everyone), mild dirty talk, breeding, mention of a baby, pet name: (y/n): baby, princess, sweet girl; Cheol: cheol, daddy( a few time) (I'm missing out a lot. Let me know and I'll add more.)

❀Taglist: @kyeomiis @onlywonwoorideul @scoupsieee @jimintopiaaaa @gyuguys @rissepuffs04 @yawnozone

❀Notes: It has been a while since I wrote smut, especially an omegaverse one, so I don't know if this is good. I worked hard on it the best I could. Please bear with me. I am rusty and my writing style has changed. It is also proofread and edited. I edited it the best I could. So if there is any minor grammar error, I'm so sorry. If this is any good, I'll write the next prompt I had in mind. One of two or three that I have before school starts for me. So I hope you enjoy it and if it's awful (I think it is but that's my opinion because I was stressing about it for weeks), I'm so sorry and I hope to improve soon. Please comment, like, reblog for support.

You were curled up on the bed, panting, hot, and wearing nothing but your husband's t-shirt and your fingers stuffed inside as you were surrounded by your husband's clothes in your lovely nest. Your mind was lost in a daze as you could smell his scent flowing around you, leading you to fuck yourself in bliss. You could feel the coil in your stomach tighten as you imagined his hands on your body, his voice in your ear, and his breath on your skin. You moan softly, feeling the intensity building up inside you. The fantasy of him being there with you pushed you over the edge, bringing you to a shuddering climax that left you breathless. But you didn't stop. You couldn't stop. You kept pumping yourself, imagining how he would do it.

How did we come to get to this point? How did this even happen? Well…

"Two weeks," you question.

Your husband nods his head as he adds, "Yes, two weeks."

A two-week business trip alone here in your home. You knew that your husband would be taking an upcoming business trip, but you didn't know it would be this long. You anticipated a few days at most, not the entire two weeks. The thought of being alone in the house for that long makes you feel a bit anxious and lonely as you pout.

"I know that look. You're pouting," Seungcheol said with a teasing smile.

In denial, you softly argue, "I'm not pouting; I'm just... not used to you being away for so long," you reply, trying to mask your disappointment. Seungcheol chuckles, knowing how much you will miss him. He then wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close. As I breathed in his scent of cherry and sandalwood, "It will be alright. I promise to call you every day and make it up to you when I get back," he reassured you, kissing your forehead.

You knew he was right, but what to do in a house by yourself? You and your husband have always been together. You were first college sweethearts, meeting each other through a mutual friend. Then, the moment you both graduated, he gave the sweetest proposal, and you've been inseparable ever since. But after three years of marriage, this will be the longest he has ever been away. You can't help but feel anxious about being apart for so long, but you have to make the most of it. Maybe you can hang out with your friends more often, or take Kkuma to that park she likes to go to. Perhaps you can finally finish that project you've been putting off. The possibilities are endless. He finished packing his luggage for this journey, and after he was done, you both walked to the door. You could hear tiny steps coming behind you as Kkuma followed closely. You both stopped at the entrance doorway as Kkuma sat there below your feet, looking up with those big eyes. Your husband kneeled down to pet her and show her lots of affection.

"Kkuma. Be a good girl, princess, while Daddy is away. Make sure to look out and take care of Mommy," Seungcheol cooed as he ruffled her hair, trying not to ruin the cute pink bow he placed on her head. He stood up from his kneeling position, and he turned to you, still pouting.

"You promise to call," you assert, looking up at him. Seungcheol smiled down at you, his eyes filled with love and reassurance. "Of course, I promise," he replied before kissing you.

"Don't worry, I will be back before you know it," Seungcheol assured you with a smile, grabbing your face and pecking your lips.

That was nine days ago. And now, here you are, sitting on your shared bed, surrounded by his clothes. In heat. Trying to relieve yourself before your husband returns. The first day without him was fine. You got your daily message from him, telling you how he misses you and sending you pictures, and you always responded. You even get to spend time with your friends. The second day went without a hitch as well. Then the third, then the fourth. But on the fifth day, you felt off. You sensed that something wasn't right. You felt tired. You didn't feel like yourself. You care less about eating or drinking and more about just lying down and resting. You tried to shake off the feeling, but it persisted. It was then that you realized that, you were about to go in heat. You didn't think it would happen so soon and on the day that your husband was gone. You gasp as your fingers pump inside you vigorously, the pleasure building as you give in to your body's desires. You came so many times, leaving the bed and your panties soaked with your release, but it wasn't enough. You need more. You crave for him. You need his touch. You need him.

"Cheolie," you whimper.

"Y/N," you heard.

You froze as you heard the voice you didn't expect to hear. You look up to see your husband staring there, wearing only casual clothes with a surprise on his face.

"C-Cheol. "W-What are you?"

"You're in heat, aren't you?" Seuncheol asked.

You didn't say anything, but your silence said it all for him. "My poor baby," he said as he stepped closer to you. He climbed into the bed toward you, his hand reaching out to gently touch your face.

"Left alone, all hot and bothered. Missing your Alpha so much that you made a nest out of all of his clothes. So much that you have to finger yourself just to feel a little relief. It must hurt, doesn't it?" Seungcheol said as his hand brushed through your hair.

Tears trickled down your cheeks as you nodded. "It hurts so much, Daddy," you said as you reached out, clutching his shirt. "P-Please," you begged.

Seungcheol shushed you gently, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. "It's okay, baby girl. I'm here now, baby. Daddy's home. Daddy will take care of you," he whispered soothingly, kissing your head.

You buried your face in his chest, inhaling his scent, making your head spin. He pulled away to drape kisses across your face until they finally landed on your soft lips. You melted into the kiss as it became passionate and intense, completely losing yourself in the moment. You wrap your arm around him as he deepens the kiss, laying you down on the bed. The kiss became electrifying. His hands traced the curves of your body, causing you to gasp in pleasure, allowing his tongue to explore every inch of your mouth. His lips then traveled from your jaw to your neck. You couldn't help but lose yourself in the passion of his touch.

"My sweet girl," Seungcheol murmurs into your neck as he inhales your scent. Your sweet scent of (whatever scent you want it to be). He groans softly, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You were going crazy. Him. His touch. His scent was intoxicating. It was enough to make you go wild. You never wanted it to end.

"I've missed you so much," he murmurs, his voice filled with longing. His lips attacked your neck, kissing, biting, and sucking, which you were certain would leave a mark. You uttered a soft gasp, feeling a rush of desire and anticipation coursing through your body. His hands gripped your waist tightly, pulling you even more.

"Miss you so much that I came back early to surprise my darling wife, and what do I see? You in heat, wearing my shirt, fingers inside that pretty pussy of yours, smelling so irresistible." He presses his lips against your neck, leaving a trail of kisses down your collarbone. He grabs h̶i̶s̶ your shirt, pulling it over your head, revealing your naked body underneath, just for him. "It's enough to send me into a rut," he whispers huskily.

His words made your pussy clench. God, do you need him? You reach out for him, grabbing his shirt. "Cheollie. Your shirt," you whine.

Seungcheol faintly chuckles. "What? What do you want?" he teasingly asks. You grab his shirt and pull on it. "I want it off," you whisper, your voice filled with desire.

Seungcheol obliged, removing his shirt and throwing the piece of clothing on the floor, not caring where it landed, revealing his well-toned chest and toned abs. Was this man gorgeous or what? You couldn't resist running your hands over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin.

"Like what you see, baby?" Seungcheol asked with a smirk, his eyes full of mischief.

You nodded eagerly, unable to tear your gaze away from him as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours, and you couldn't resist kissing him back. The kiss deepened.

His large hands cup your breasts, massaging them with care, and then he leans down to attach his lips to one of your nipples as he toys with the other. You arch your back in response, a soft moan escaping your lips as his touch sends shivers down your spine. He continues to suck and bite your sensitive flesh, making you squirm with pleasure as he repeats it to others.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him close and feeling his cock pressing against the front of his pants, hard and ready for you. You gasped as you felt the fiction of him grinding against you. "Cheol," you whimper.

He looked up at you with a smirk. "Patient baby," he whispered before teasefully biting your nipple. You pouted. You want more. You need his lips. You need more. You need to feel him inside you. He releases your swollen nipple with a 'pop' before trailing kisses down your stomach to the waistband of your panties. You knew you were going to get exactly what you wanted. He hooked his finger on the waistband of your panties, pulling down slowly until they were completely off, revealing your wet core. You could hear a sudden, small curse fall from his lips as he saw how wet you were.

"Baby, you're dripping so much," Seungcheol murmured. You gasped as his fingers traced the outer edges of your folds. "How many times did you cum?" he whispered, his voice husky with desire. You felt a surge of arousal at his words, your body responding eagerly to his touch. "So many," you admitted breathlessly.

Seungcheol softly chuckled at your cuteness. He lightly blew on your wet heat, causing you to shiver and whine. He then grabbed your thighs to place them on his shoulder, placing kisses along your inner thighs and making you shiver with anticipation. "Then allow me to make you cum some more," he whispered seductively as he trailed his lips up towards your core.

His tongue dips between your slick folds, eliciting a moan from your lips. "You taste so sweet," he growled before diving back in with fervor. The intensity of his actions sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, making you arch your back in ecstasy. His tongue traced from your dripping hole to your clit, as he sucked on the sensitive bud, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Your hands grip his hair as he continues to expertly work his magic. "Please don't stop," you beg, desperate to reach the peak of ecstasy.

"Feels good," he murmurs. "So good," you whisper, feeling the tension building within you. He groaned against your core, the vibrations adding to the overwhelming sensation. If there's one thing that Seungcheol loves the most, it's pleasing you until you're a quivering mess of pleasure and desire. He could eat you all day if you let him. The way he makes you feel is unlike anything you've ever felt before, and you never want it to end. Seungcheol's skilled tongue continued to work its magic; you could hear the knot in your stomach tighten. You were close.

"I'm close," you gasp, your body trembling with anticipation as he brings you to the brink of release. He muttered, not even letting up, "Let go, baby."

His voice was low and husky, and his words sent a shiver down your spine as you finally let go, the intensity of your release washing over you in waves of pleasure. Seungcheol continued to please you, drinking everything you had to offer, his skilled tongue never faltering in its movements. As you came down from your high, he leaned up to your lips to kiss you, tasting yourself on his tongue. He pulled away for a moment to pull on the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, revealing his hard, throbbing length. Your mouth watered as he wrapped his hand around his cock and slowly stroked it. "You want it?" he asked, his voice husky.

You nod eagerly. "Beg for it," Seungcheol growls.

"P-please. Cheol," you begged, your voice filled with need and desperation.

"Please, what?" he titillated, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "Please put it in, Daddy. I want to feel you. I want you inside me so bad. I want you to knot me up. I want you to fill me up completely with your cum," you whimpered. Your body ached for his touch, aching to be filled with pleasure.

"You want Alpha to cum inside? Want me to fill you up? Give you my knot. Fill you up so deep with cum until you are swollen with my babies? You want that, don't you?" He whispered seductively, his voice low and husky. You nodded eagerly. Just the thought of him breeding you and filling you with his cum just sent shivers down your spine. You want it so badly right now.

"Please, Alpha," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. The anticipation of feeling him inside you was almost unbearable. "What a good girl, asking so politely," he compliments.

His hands roamed over your body, teasing and tantalizing you as he positioned himself between your legs. With a smirk, he leaned in close and whispered, "I'll give you everything you want, my sweet Omega."

With a low growl, he slowly pushed inside you, making you gasp and arch your back in pleasure. He groans as the feel of your tightness envelopes him. "Fuck, you're so tight, princess," he murmurs.

As he began to move in a slow and steady rhythm, you felt every inch of him pulsating within you, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. The sight below Seungcheol was so mesmerizing. Just seeing you writhing beneath him, your eyes fluttering and your lips parting in silent ecstasy, was enough to drive him wild with desire.

With each thrust, he could feel your body responding eagerly to his touch, igniting a fire within him that only grew stronger with each passing moment. His thrust began to pick up speed as your moans grew louder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room with an intoxicating rhythm. "Alpha," you moan. Your voice is filled with desire and need. You are in ecstasy right now.

Seungcheol's name on your lips only fueled his passion further, pushing him to give you everything you craved. As he continued to move inside you, the intensity of your connection soared to unforseen levels, rendering both of you breathless and lost in the moment. The two of you were intoxicated by each other.

He lifts your legs to place them on his shoulder, deepening the penetration and intensifying the pleasure. The change in angle allowed him to hit all the right spots. "T-There," you utter. "There?" he reiterates, his voice husky with desire. "Yes, right there," you moan as he hits that sweet spot inside you, making your body tremble with pleasure. He chuckles slightly as he repeatedly hits that spot, causing you to lose control of your senses. Your hands grip the sheets tightly as your hips move in perfect sync with his thrusts, the sensation becoming more intense with each movement. The way your moan was mixed with the squelching sound of your wet cunt was music to his ears.

He paused his movement to pull out, leaving you to whimper in protest. He lifts you up and changes positions. His back presses against the headboard, and you now sitting on his lap. Holding your body in place, he lines his cock up with your entrance and slowly enters you again, filling you. Your body takes over, and you ride him with wild abandon, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. "That's it. Good girl," he mutters as his eyes roll back, biting his lips.

Your moan mingles with his groans, creating a symphony of pleasure that echoes through the air, heightening the intensity of the moment. His hips thrust upward, meeting yours in the middle, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts deeper and harder. "Alpha," you whine.

With his half-lid eyes, he saw the pure ecstasy on your face. Drinking in your fuck-out expression and my god, you look beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. There were so many words he could use to call you right now. But right now, at this moment, you were the most exquisite sight he had ever seen. You were everything that he had dreamed of, and so much more. And he could fall in love with you again and again and again.

Your bounces become more urgent, and your breath comes in short gasps. "So good. So deep," you whisper breathlessly. "You like that. You like your Alpha cock deep inside you, don't you?" His words send a shiver down your spine as you nod eagerly, unable to form a coherent response. His eyes lock with yours. He leans in to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, swallowing your moans and whimpers as he continues to move inside you with a relentless rhythm. The kiss deepens as his hands grip your hips, pulling you closer to him.

Seungcheol's hand reaches between your bodies as his thumb finds its way to your clit, rubbing small circles that push you closer to the edge. You moan at his touch. Pulling away from the kiss, your gaze is locked on his half-lidded gaze, a gaze full of desire and intensity. You felt the coils in your stomach tighten as the pleasure built, and your body was on the brink of ecstasy. You were close, and he knew it. His lips twitch into an amusing smirk, the corners crinkling with amusement. "That's my girl. Such a good girl for me, riding me so beautifully. Are you close, baby," he whispers huskily.

"I'm close. So close, Cheol," you gasp out as your climax approaches. Seungcheol's movements become more urgent as he whispers in your ear, "Let go for me, princess. Let me feel you come apart around me."

As you cry out his name and finally reach your peak, "That's it, baby. Let's go. You're so beautiful when you cum," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire, as you ride out the waves of pleasure crashing over you. Your body trembles in his arms. Your cunt clenches around him as he continues to move inside you, prolonging your ecstasy. "Fuck!"

Seungcheol groans at the feel of your walls pulsating around him. Seungcheol holds your body close, flipping you back into your previous position, laying you on your back. His hand grips your hips tightly as he pounds into you relentlessly, his own desire evident in his intense gaze. You arch your back in response, reacting to his movements with equal fervor, surrendering completely to the pleasure he bestows on you. The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, mixed with your moans and his grunts. Seungcheol's pace became more erratic as he chased his own release, his movements becoming more desperate and erratic.

"Fuck. Are you ready for Alpha knot?" he growls, his voice low and husky with need. You nod eagerly, your body trembling with anticipation as he finally locks you in place with a deep, primal thrust. His knot thickens and swells, filling you as you cry out in ecstasy. In that moment, you are overwhelmed by the feeling of being claimed by your Alpha, and you can't help but surrender to the primal pleasure coursing through you. His primal growl, his fast, aggressive pace, and the feel of his knot locking inside you send you over the edge, bringing you closer to another orgasm. His breath ragged against your ear as you clung to him desperately.

"C-Cheol," you begged, your voice filled with desperation and desire. You feel his body tense up as he releases it inside you, filling you with his warmth. The sensation of his release triggers your own, sending you both into a state of blissful ecstasy. You cling to him desperately, lost in the overwhelming pleasure of being claimed by your Alpha. Your bodies were entwined in a tangled mess of limbs and heavy breathing, totally exhausted by the raw intensity. The room is filled with the scent of sweat and sex.

Seungcheol waited for his knot to swell down before he could pull out and collapse next to you, completely depleted. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close in a tender embrace. Pushing your hair to the side. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. His hand caresses your waist gently. You nodded. "I'm fine."

Seungcheol smiled, relieved to hear your response. He placed a kiss on your forehead. You were so happy to see him. If this was ever a dream, you never wanted to wake up. Your husband is home. Early... Wait. Why is he back here so early?

"Wait. You came back so early. I thought-."

"Ah," Seungcheol interrupted. "We ended up finishing up early, and instead of me staying for the next few days, I decided to go home. I wanted to call you to let you know, but I wanted to surprise you. Turns out you surprised me," he chuckled.

Oh, so that's why. You didn't expect him to come back early, nor were you expecting your heat to come either. But you were glad. "Welcome back home. I'm glad you're back," you replied, grateful for his presence. Seungcheol thanked you, pressing a sweet kiss on your lips.

"I'm glad too. I felt awful leaving you here on your own without anyone. So I was thinking, " Seungcheol started. Your eyes turn to him, curious about what he is going to say next. His hand grabs your hand, twirling around your wedding band on your finger before he places a kiss on the back of your hand. He looked into your eyes and finally said what he wanted to say.

"I was thinking, and I know we have talked about this so much, but why don't we start trying for a baby? I think we are ready to take that big step," he said, looking at you with a hopeful expression.

His sudden suggestion stunned you. A baby. A baby with Seungcheol. This. This was a huge decision. And you know you both talked about it during your marriage and said that you both would give it some thought. But now, faced with the reality, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the weight of such a life-changing decision. You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts, before responding to Seungcheol's proposal.

"Now before you answer, if you don't want to, I won't force you, and I will wait as long as you want. Whatever you decide, I will respect it. But just know that I love you so much, and I want to take that next step with you in our marriage. I want to be the father of our children. Plus, I think Kkuma will love having siblings to play with," he added.

You giggled at his last response. Deep down, you knew that you had always dreamed of starting a family with him. From the moment you said, 'I do', you knew he was the one you wanted to share your life with and raise a family with. And this. This new chapter of having a baby together would be the perfect step. "I love you too, and I can't imagine a future without you by my side," you finally said, feeling the weight of his words sink in. "Let's start planning for our family together," you joyfully say.

Seungcheol smiled back at you, his eyes shining with joy as he held your cheek, placed a gentle kiss on your lips, and then placed a few more. He smiled softly at you, looking into your eyes, before flipping you over on your stomach on all fours, causing you to squeal. "C-Cheol," you say.

"What? You didn't think this was over?" Seungcheol responded with a mischievous smile. You could feel his lips tracing kisses across your back. His lips trace up your back, making you shiver, and you cry out in protest.

"B-But. Shouldn't we take a break? You just returned from your trip," you mentioned between breaths.

Seungcheol just chuckled and disregardingly ignored what you had just said. His hands roam your body as he leans over, his chest pressing against your back.

"We both know your heat doesn't end there. If we want that baby, we need to keep going. I did promise I would make it up to you, and I intend to keep my word," he whispered, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

His hand grabs your face, turning you to look at him with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"We got all night, baby, and I want… No, I NEED to make sure you're nice, full, and swollen with my baby. And Daddy will make sure that happens," Seungcheol whispered with a devilish grin.

You softly moan in response, feeling a rush of desire and anticipation. Seungcheol's lips curled into a knowing smile before he pressed them against yours, sealing the unspoken agreement between you. It was then that you realized that the night was far from over.

[ryebread0605]

Humbly begging on hands and knees for Ruggie with a taller female reader who laughs openly and isn't afraid to put the boys in their place when they step out of line. Say what you will but I completely head cannon that the beastmen act at least a little like their animal counterparts and I just KNOW he'd go feral with a strong female partner. (Since hyenas live off of a matriarchal society) I'd like it to be smut but I understand if you get more ideas writing it as fluff, lol.

First of all, incredible username. Second, YES I AM TOTALLY ON BOARD WITH THAT HC! Now I do hope you are ok that I made Ruggie trans as I personally hc him to be trans. With that out of the way, enjoy your smut my dear reader!

“- And if I have to tell you guys again I swear to the Sevens I will lose it!” The growl in your voice made even Leona’s hair stand on edge as you glared at the guys who had stupidly decided you must be an easy target, being the only girl in NRC. Yeah, that didn’t exactly go as planned for them, not when they realized not only how tall you were but also how strong you were. Only one of them wasn’t tensed up like the rest.

The hyena beastman simply stared in awe at you. Tail wagging rapidly, ears perked up, and a dumb smile on his face.

In that moment he knew he had to be yours. 

After weeks and weeks of bringing you items that he thought of as high value whenever he would… *borrow*… from the dumpsters, you finally realized the small hyena was attempting (rather poorly but still adorably) to court you. And when you told him, with a laugh that sent his little heart soaring, that you loved him too? Oh Sevens his tail almost broke from how fast it was wagging.

He adored seeing you snap at others when they stepped out of line, always feeling a surge of happiness at your displays of dominance as it solidified for him that he chose the right partner.

And yet, you never snapped at him. 

Even now, as he lays on his stomach with his hips propped up and a paddle hitting his bare ass, you still coo and praise him for ‘handling it so well’ and ‘making such cute noises’. He adores the way you make his mind melt, letting him be a complete submissive mess for you as his tongue lolls out of his mouth. 

“There we go, such a good boy~ being so loud for me, letting everyone know exactly who you belong to~” you cooed into his ear as you thrust your strap deeper into his leaking cunt that just pulled you in more. His moans were like heaven to you, the boy having no problem being loud with his occasional cackles added. 

“Yes~ I’m a good boy~ your good boy~!” His tail was wagging fast as you continued to thrust fast and hard into him, each shove hitting his g spot over and over as your index finger rubbed at his sensitive clit. He had lost count of how many times he had cum, and yet he didn’t feel the smallest bit exhausted yet. His stamina was incredible for someone his size and it only made you even more lustful to break him. 

It didn’t take much longer for all semblance of actual words to leave his mind, the only thing he was able to focus on was the overwhelming pleasure coursing through his system as he came around your strap for the nth time that night. He didn’t care if anyone gave him dirty looks the next day, all he cared about was being dominated by his big strong girlfriend and nothing else mattered. 

You smiled softly as you pulled out of the now worn out boy, tucking his messy hair behind his ear and kissing his cheek gently as you praised him for how good he had been for you. Despite his exhausted state, his tail still continued to wag as you cleaned him up and lay beside him. With his head on your chest, it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, knowing his perfect mate would protect him from anything that could ever harm him. 

[riki-dazed]

Best friends can kiss, right? -- PART 1

3:00 AM -- Finding Hope · part 2 · fluff · wc: 792

"I'm so tired," You sigh, watching Riki search for another song on the computer that he's currently sat in front of.

The both of you had spent the last couple of hours together in his personal studio, turning the tight space into a full blown karaoke room. All that you hoped for tonight was that no one would come knocking at the door, considering that Riki already had to sneak you into the company building.

Your body falls backwards against your sofa, yes, your sofa. The tiny, barely-seats-two one that Riki had cramped into the corner of his studio, just so you'd have somewhere to sit, or sleep on, when you'd visit him. You loved that about your best friend the most, his overly thoughtful and sweet nature. To Riki, your comfort and happiness has always been at the top of his priorities list.

Your gaze stays on Riki as you watch him scroll through one of his spotify playlists, your head resting on your arms in which are slumped over an armrest. Eliciting a hum of approval, he finally decides on a song after a few moments. The slow, soft melody that engulfs the space causes your eyes to flutter closed. It was a familiar sound, one of your favorites. You hear your best friend humming along to the tune, the sound of his soft tone further pushing you into a sleepy trace. It's about time the both of you finally took a second to calm down, to breathe.

Baby, it's three AM, had you on my mind...

"Here," A deep voice cuts you out of your trance, you blink your eyes open, "Lean on me, it's comfier,"

You glance over your shoulder towards the direction where the voice was coming from, suddenly finding Riki's body sat beside yours on the little sofa. You give him a small smile as you pick yourself up and off the uncomfortable armrest, you nuzzle yourself into his side. His body's warm, the fabric of his hoodie soft against the skin on your face.

He smells good, too.

"We should probably go home soon," You murmur against him, your eyes closing shut yet again. Who knows what the time must be, though, you're too comfortable and cozy to even care about it at the moment.

"Later," The boy beside you replies, his voice barely above a whisper as his hand snakes its way around to the side of your waist. He pulls you into him.

You nestle closer into Riki, enjoying the warmth of his embrace, and the comfort of his presence. Every other irrelevant thought within your mind fades away as you focus on the soft music playing through the speakers. The feeling of contentment envelops the both of you.

Cause baby, if I find a way, I'm sure of it, this love won't stray...

"..just give me a chance to say I love you, and I need you, now are you here to stay," Riki sings along quietly, his deep voice is as soft and as smooth as a cloud.

Despite the late hour, you have nowhere else that you would rather be than right here.

Wanting you more and more, I can't help but think of what we could be...

Without a single thought behind your actions, the lyrics suddenly cause you to lift your head off him. As you meet Riki's gaze, you find yourself getting lost within his sharp eyes, seeing a reflection of the emotions swirling within your own chest. Neither of you exchange a single word, yet a silent understanding engulfs the space between the both of your bodies, a mutual recognition of something unspoken, yet deeply felt. You feel the weight of the lyrics echoe within your mind, and stomach, in the form of a hundred butterflies.

As you continue to scan your best friend's face, you see a vulnerability in his expression. It's as if he's laying bare his soul before you, offering you a glimpse into his unspoken feelings.

"This feels dangerously intimate," You murmur out of the blue, the sudden seriousness had caused you to almost start feeling awkward. You and Riki were barely ever a serious pair when together, you needed to lighten the mood somehow..

Riki can't help but shake his head over your sudden remark, he lets a chuckle escape his lips. You smile at his heartwarming reaction, yet you can't shake the feeling that had just engulfed you moments prior.

You can't help but realize that perhaps the both of you had been dancing around the edges of something more profound than mere friendship.

"Best friends can kiss, right?"

Your eyes grow wide as Riki catches you completely off guard with his sudden question, your smile drops off your face.

...

Copyright © 2024 riki-dazed. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED | Do NOT edit, copy, translate or repost any of my work without permission.

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green, part 30

masterpost

It was easy to see why a super hero powered on the sun was from Kansas. Danny had spent more time outside over the last few days than he had in years. Miss Martha had started joking that Danny was turning into a lizard by the way he had taken to lounging on any warm surface if things were still for more than a minute. He couldn’t really deny it either; his favorite spot was the metal roof of the barn.

“Brother!” Damian called from somewhere down below.

“I’m up here!” Danny shouted back.

“Yes, of course you are,” Damian said, the words more a grumbled aside than anything.

(Danny thought that Damian was a little sulky about not being able to fly like him and Jon could.)

(But Damian was way better with the animals, so.)

A little bit later the doors on the hay loft opened, followed the sounds of Damian climbing up onto the roof. Danny stayed right where he was and waited for Damian to settle next to him.

“What are you even looking at?”

“The clouds,” Danny said with a little shrug and wave towards the distant thunderheads.

“Why?” Damian said, as incredulous sounding as he ever let himself be.

“Because it’s fun to see things in them.”

“…is this a ghost thing or have you fallen off the roof and hit your head?”

Danny laughed.

Damian scowled.

“Nope. It’s just, like that one there, to the right of the really big one,” Danny pointed. “It looks like stegosaurus.”

“…right, so you have fallen off the roof and hit your head.”

“Hey guys!” Jon chirped as he floated up over the edge of the roof. “What are you doing?”

“Cloud gazing,” Danny said at the same time as Damian said, “Engaging in delusions.”

“Oh sweet,” Jon said and sat down between Danny and Damian. He always seemed to like that, to wedge himself between the two of them so that he was touching both of them. “Oh, that one is totally a boa constrictor who ate an elephant.”

Damian turned to give Jon such a look of being done that Danny dissolved into laughter again. Danny didn’t think Jon got why he was laughing, but that never stopped Jon from joining in. The sounds of their trailing giggles were a distinct contrast to Damian’s long suffering sigh.

“Why do you enjoy being up here so much?” Damian asked, eventually. He didn’t lay down like Danny and Jon but leaned forward onto his knees.

Danny hummed back in question.

“Both of you can fly. You can be so much higher than this roof with ease,” Damian said, “so why do you enjoying being up on a roof like this?”

“Oh, well, it’s like you being up on the Manor roof, isn’t it?” Danny asked after a moment.

“I can’t fly, Brother,” Damian said as if Danny had stupidly forgotten that.

“Duh, but you swing. You can’t fly but you can fly. It’s some of the same reasons you like to be on the Manor roof even though you can be up on top of skyscrapers,” Danny said. “The Manor roof is somewhere safe.”

After a moment, Damian gave a little noise of understanding.

“And also,” Danny continued, “I miss the sun. I didn’t get to see it for so long that I think I’m still making up lost time. The sun here is closer to the type of sun I used to remember. It’s different in Gotham with the clouds and smog and ocean.”

“You can always come here!” Jon said. “Ma and Pa both like you so they wouldn’t mind. Like, if you need sun like this, you can come here.”

“I can’t just show up here,” Danny said, even though the offer made him smile.

“Sure you can! Seriously, they love you already. I can totally tell because of what they got you for your birthday.”

“My what?” Danny asked. It wasn’t his birthday, his birthday was in—oh. His new birthday. Annalise’s death day.

“Wonderful job, Jon,” Damian bit, more harshly than Danny thought was really fair. “The party was supposed to be a surprise.”

“I never said there was a party!” Jon argued. “You’re who just gave that away!”

“Birthday presents, or so I have learned, necessitate a birthday party where family is involved.” Damian said.

Danny thought it said more that Damian had to learn that fact.

Jon huffed. “Ma and Pa aren’t Danny’s family! Though, like, okay, they would have totally adopted Danny if Bruce hadn’t so that might not be the best argument ever.”

“How about I just pretend that neither of you mentioned a present or party or anything,” Danny said, hoping to cut off any arguments. Even though Danny secretly thought that they enjoyed arguing with each other, when Damian and Jon got going they really go going. It was getting late enough that Danny wanted to head it off before the argument was the rest of the night.

Jon snapped his mouth closed before cautiously saying, “That would be easiest.”

“Tt. Fine, that will work,” Damian said.

Danny nodded definitively. “Good. Now come on, Dami, tell us what one of the clouds look like.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“N—”

“Come on, Dami,” Jon urged.

“Just one,” Danny bargained.

“One cloud,” Damian agreed after a ridiculously long pause. After an even longer pause he pointed to a cloud with the tiniest of smirks and said, “That one there looks like a cloud.”

Jon and Danny both booed so loudly Clark came out into the porch to see what was going on.

(There may have been a cow tipping incident early on in the visit that Danny blamed Jon for.)

(Mostly.)

---

AN: Big time skip this chapter! But it gets us to the last parts we need to cover~ This = the first part of chapter 19. I think we will have a short epilogue after this chapter.

[ghostlyferrettarot]

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💋Masterlist💋 💋Masterlist 2💋

🎀🛼🫶🏻🌸🛍️Pile 1: Chloe

Hi Pile 1! I feel like you're probably someone who always sees the glass half full, even when things aren't going as expected. You're someone who brightens other people's days with your positive energy and your bright outlook on the world. Like Chloe, your personality reflects a warm light; there's a softness in you. You have a natural way of making others feel good because your enthusiasm is genuine, and it shows. I feel like sometimes your dreams may seem a little too big or unattainable, but that doesn't hold you back. You know that, with determination and a positive attitude, you can achieve whatever you set your mind to. Even when you face difficulties, you never lose hope that everything will get better. That belief that things will turn out okay is one of your greatest strengths. You're the kind of person who can make others see the good in any situation, and nothing stops you when you set your mind to something. Falling doesn't define you; You're always ready to get up and keep going with a smile <3.

You're that friend who always has words of encouragement, who encourages you to keep fighting, and who reminds you that good things are yet to come. If you ever feel a little lost or stuck in a rut, just take a moment to think about what you're truly passionate about, because you know that what you dream is possible, and you always have the strength to keep going.

🎀🛼🫶🏻🌸🛍️Pile 2: Jade

Hi pile 2! I LOVE YOUR ENERGY btw, you're the kind of person who isn't afraid to be authentic, even if it means standing out from others. You're always looking for new ways to express yourself, whether it's through your style (which can be pretty amazing btw, fashion icon), your projects, or even the conversations you have. You don't settle for what's "normal"; you like to push the boundaries, break boundaries, and do things your way. That's something that makes you incredibly special. You're very independent and don't easily get swayed by what others think. You know what you like, and when you're passionate about something, you go for it without hesitation. While some people may see that as bold or even a bit risky, you aren't afraid to be brave. In fact, you enjoy it. You love exploring new horizons and don't mind if you don't fit into traditional molds. Being different is part of what makes you so authentic. Sometimes, the people around you don't fully understand your way of thinking, but that doesn't stop you. You have a unique outlook on life, and that perspective is something others can admire, even if they don't always fully understand it. At the end of the day, what really matters is that you're true to yourself, and that's something that sets you apart. Your creativity and energy are contagious, and people lucky enough to know you know that when you're around, the world looks a little brighter.

🎀🛼🫶🏻🌸🛍️Pile 3: Sasha

Hi, Pile 3! You're someone with very strong energy, like the energy is insane as I channel your messages. You're that person who isn't afraid to be authentic and challenge the norms when necessary. Life has never seemed like a straight and easy path to you; you love taking control and deciding for yourself, even if it means going against what others expect of you. You're a person with character, and it shows in everything you do. You have a strong sense of justice and know what's right. If something doesn't seem fair to you, you speak up, you fight, and you make sure things change. You don't mind standing up for what's right, even if it means being in the eye of the storm. You have an incredible ability to stand firm in what you believe in, and that makes you a natural leader, someone who knows how to make difficult decisions without hesitation. Sometimes people may not understand why you make certain choices, or they may feel threatened by your confidence. But you, like Sasha, know that you can't please everyone, and you don't try. You know that the people who truly matter will respect your honesty and determination, even if they don't always agree with you. What a boss you are, pile 3!

You're the kind of person who pushes your friends to be better, to take risks, and to never settle for what's easy. What makes you special is your ability to be true to yourself, to fight for what you believe in, and to be a leader who inspires more than just guides. People follow you because they know you're someone they can trust, someone who will never give up, no matter what.

🎀🛼🫶🏻🌸🛍️Thank you for reading and let me know if it resonated!🎀🛼🫶🏻🌸🛍️