summary: being in a group of friends with thanos, se-mi and nam-gyu. the four of you always did things together. it’s no surprise that you're thanos' favorite in the group, you're the complete opposite of him and you're so innocent, to him it was nothing but a huge turn on.
warnings: swearing, smoking, vaping, kissing, touching, smut, sex, being drunk, thanos being a pervert
comments: thanos having a innocence kink, reader has blonde hair and wears a lot of pink, reader has a belly button piercing, au with no games, innocent and naive reader, thanos being a pervert
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summary: you wake up at thanos’ place after a messy night, feeling confused and hurt because he acts like nothing happened. You leave, but later realize he stole your phone. at uni, he shows up to give it back, and you call him out for messing with you. he doesn’t really answer, and it just makes everything more confusing.
a/n: i’ve had this in my drafts for weeks and i didn’t realize it was already finished
Morning came slowly, painfully.
Your head was pounding before your eyes even opened, a dull, relentless ache that throbbed behind your temples. Your mouth felt dry, your body heavy, like it didn’t quite belong to you yet.
For a few seconds, you just lay there, breathing shallowly, trying to piece together where you were.
The sheets felt unfamiliar.
Too soft.
Too… not yours.
Your brows furrowed slightly, confusion creeping in before panic had the chance to follow. You shifted a little, the fabric around you moving with you, oversized… warm.
Not your clothes either.
Your eyes fluttered open.
The room was dim, curtains half-drawn, soft morning light slipping through in thin lines across the floor. It took a moment for your vision to focus, everything slightly blurred at the edges.
And then-
You saw him.
Thanos was already awake.
He was sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows resting loosely on his knees, a mug in his hand. There was a cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling lazily upward, and his eyes…
His eyes were already on you.
Watching.
Like he’d been waiting.
Your stomach dropped instantly.
Everything came rushing back all at once. The bar. The vodka. Him. His voice. His hands. Being carried. The way you gave in even when you didn’t want to.
A sharp wave of emotion hit your chest so suddenly it almost knocked the breath out of you.
You froze.
Completely still.
For a second, neither of you spoke.
Then he tilted his head slightly, taking a slow drag before exhaling. “Morning, angel.”
His voice was calm. Too calm.
Like last night hadn’t happened.
Like nothing ever happened.
Your fingers tightened slightly in the fabric of the hoodie you were wearing, pulling it closer around yourself instinctively. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat felt tight, like the words were stuck somewhere deep and refused to come out.
He watched you for another second, then reached behind him, grabbing something from the nightstand.
A glass.
He held it out toward you without looking away. “Drink.”
Your eyes flickered down to it.
You hesitated.
Of course you did.
Everything in you felt unsure. Off balance. Like one wrong move would make everything worse.
“…I’m not-“ your voice came out small, rough from sleep and alcohol. You swallowed, trying again, quieter this time. “I’m not thirsty.”
It wasn’t even true.
But it was easier than taking something from him.
His jaw shifted slightly, but he didn’t push the glass closer. Instead, he set it down on the nightstand beside you with a quiet clink.
“Suit yourself.”
Silence filled the room again.
Heavy. Awkward. Suffocating.
You pushed yourself up slowly, your body protesting, head spinning just enough to make you pause halfway. The blanket slipped down slightly, and you immediately pulled the hoodie tighter around yourself again, like it could shield you from him.
From everything.
Your eyes stayed down.
You couldn’t look at him.
Not yet.
Not when everything still felt so raw.
“I…” Your fingers twisted in the sleeve, small and nervous. You hated how your voice sounded. Weak. “Why… why am I here?”
The question came out softer than you meant it to. Almost like you were afraid of the answer.
He let out a quiet breath through his nose, tapping ash into the tray beside him.
“You don’t remember?” he asked, glancing at you.
You shook your head slightly. Not fully. Just enough.
His gaze lingered on you for a second longer than necessary, then he leaned back a little, resting his weight on his hands.
“You were wasted,” he said simply. “Could barely stand. Thought you were gonna faceplant outside.”
There was a hint of something in his tone. Not quite concern. Not quite amusement.
Something in between.
Your chest tightened.
Of course.
Of course he had to see you like that too.
Embarrassment burned under your skin, mixing with the hurt that never really left.
“I didn’t ask you to bring me here,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.
He huffed out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Yeah, you kinda weren’t in a position to ask anything.”
That stung more than it should have.
Your lips pressed together, your eyes still fixed somewhere on the blanket. You could feel it building again. That tight, aching feeling in your chest.
The same one from before.
The same one he caused.
“You always…” you started, then stopped.
Your voice faltered.
You hated this. Hated how hard it was to just say things around him. How your thoughts got tangled, how your words came out smaller than they felt.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
His gaze sharpened slightly. “Always what?”
You shook your head quickly. “Nothing.”
“Don’t do that,” he said, more firmly this time.
Your shoulders tensed.
There it was again. That pressure. That way he pulled things out of you even when you didn’t want him to.
“I just…” you tried again, your voice trembling now despite your effort to steady it. “I don’t understand why you keep doing this.”
That made him go still.
You finally looked up at him.
Your eyes were glossy, your expression soft but clearly overwhelmed, like everything you’d been holding in was right there at the surface.
“You said all that stuff,” you whispered. “You made it really clear what I was to you.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“And then you just… show up,” your voice cracked a little, and you looked down again quickly, embarrassed. “And you take care of me like it’s nothing. Like I didn’t just-“
Your breath hitched.
“Like you didn’t just hurt me.”
The words hung in the air.
Quiet.
Fragile.
Real.
For once, he didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t smirk.
Didn’t deflect.
You wiped quickly under your eye with your sleeve, like you didn’t want him to see anything.
“I don’t get it,” you said again, softer this time. “I don’t get you.”
Silence settled between you again.
But this time, it felt different.
He looked at you, really looked at you, his expression unreadable, cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.
And for the first time since you woke up…
He didn’t have an immediate answer.
Your chest still felt tight after your words settled into the silence, like the air hadn’t quite returned to your lungs yet.
He didn’t answer.
Of course he didn’t.
That almost made it worse.
Your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of the hoodie, and before you could overthink it, before you could stop yourself, you pushed the blanket off your legs.
“I’m leaving,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him.
You didn’t wait for permission.
Didn’t look at him.
You just… moved.
Slowly at first, your body still heavy, your head still slightly spinning as your feet touched the floor. The cold ground sent a small shock through you, grounding you just enough to keep going.
The hoodie suddenly felt too much.
Too him.
Too close.
Your fingers hooked under the hem, and you pulled it off quickly, like it burned. You folded in on yourself for a second after, arms instinctively crossing over your chest, suddenly very aware of how little you were wearing underneath.
You didn’t look at him.
You couldn’t.
You just turned, scanning the room quickly, your movements small, uncertain.
Your bag.
Where was your bag?
Your heart started picking up again, anxiety creeping in under your skin.
It wasn’t on the chair.
Not by the bed.
Not on the floor.
Your breathing got a little uneven as you stepped toward the door, peeking out into the rest of the apartment. Everything felt too quiet again, too unfamiliar, like you didn’t belong here at all.
“I-” your voice came out soft, strained. You swallowed, trying again. “My bag… I need my bag.”
Still not looking at him.
Still avoiding him like if you met his eyes, you might crumble all over again.
You stepped further out into the hallway, your movements a little rushed now despite the lingering dizziness, checking near the couch, the small table, anywhere your blurry memory might have left it.
Nothing.
Your hands trembled slightly at your sides.
“I just… I wanna go home,” you whispered, barely audible, more to yourself than anything.
Your throat tightened again, that familiar sting behind your eyes threatening to come back, and you quickly wiped at your face with the back of your hand, frustrated at yourself for even reacting like this.
Why did he still affect you this much?
Why did you let him?
You took another step forward, determined to find your things and leave before you broke down completely… and you felt him before you saw him.
Close.
Too close.
Right behind you.
You jumped slightly.
It was small, barely more than a startled flinch, but your whole body reacted at once, shoulders tightening, breath catching as you turned your head just enough to realize how close he was standing behind you.
Thanos had always known how to fill a space without even trying. It was worse now, in the quiet of his apartment, with your nerves already stretched so thin they felt ready to snap. His presence pressed against your skin before he even touched you, warm and familiar and horrible all at once.
“Relax,” he said, voice low, almost bored.
You hated that voice.
Hated how it still did something to you.
You took a quick step away, arms still crossed over yourself, avoiding his eyes. “Don’t do that.”
He leaned one shoulder against the wall, cigarette balanced between his fingers like this was any other morning, like you weren’t half dressed and shaky and trying not to cry in front of him again. “Do what?”
Your jaw tightened. “Sneak up on me.”
A humorless smile touched his mouth. “Wasn’t sneaking. You were too busy panicking.”
That made something twist sharply in your chest. Not because he was wrong, but because he said it like it was obvious. Like the sight of you unraveling in front of him was just another thing to comment on.
You looked around the apartment again, more frantically now. Your bag had to be here somewhere. You remembered having it at the store. At the bar too, you thought. Maybe. The whole night was still blurred around the edges, broken up into flashes of cold pavement, bright liquor bottles, his voice in your ear.
Then you saw it.
Near the kitchen counter, half hidden behind one of the stools.
You didn’t say anything. You just moved toward it quickly, snatching it up with both hands like it might disappear if you waited too long.
“There,” he said from behind you. “See? Not that hard.”
You ignored him.
The zipper was half open, but you didn’t check inside. You didn’t want to stand there one second longer than necessary. Didn’t want to keep breathing his air, smelling his smoke, feeling his eyes on you while you gathered yourself like some pathetic thing he’d picked up and set back down again.
You pulled the bag against your chest and headed for the door.
“Leaving without coffee?” he asked.
You stopped with your hand on the handle.
His tone was light, but it landed wrong. Everything he said landed wrong now. It all sounded like a joke you weren’t in on, something sharp hidden under the smoothness.
You swallowed hard. “I said I wanted to go home.”
For the first time since you woke up, there was no amusement on his face. He just watched you, expression unreadable, smoke rising slowly between you.
Then he gave a short nod. “Fine.”
That should have made it easier.
It didn’t.
You opened the door and stepped into the hallway, pulse beating too fast in your throat. The second the apartment door shut behind you, you finally let yourself breathe, but even then it didn’t feel like enough. The air outside was colder, thinner, and your eyes burned with that awful pressure you’d been trying to hold back.
You made it down the stairs before the first tear slipped free.
By the time you were outside, the morning air bit at your skin, raising goosebumps over your bare legs. You clutched your bag tighter and kept walking anyway, head down, hair a mess, face hot with humiliation.
Anyone who passed probably stared.
You didn’t care.
Or maybe you cared too much.
The walk home felt twice as long as it should have, and every step made the ache in your head throb harder. You could still smell him on the hoodie he’d made you wear, except now it was gone, left in that apartment along with every bit of dignity you felt like you had left.
By the time you got back to your place, your body was exhausted in that sick, shaky way that comes after crying too much and sleeping too little. You locked the door behind you and leaned against it for a second, closing your eyes.
Home.
You were home.
So why did you still feel like you couldn’t breathe?
You set your bag on the counter, kicked off your shoes, and stumbled to the bathroom. The girl in the mirror looked awful. Mascara smudged under your eyes. Hair tangled. Lips dry. Your expression hollow and puffy, like you’d been crying for days.
Maybe you had.
You turned on the shower and stood under the water longer than necessary, letting it run hot over your shoulders until your skin turned pink. You tried not to think. Tried not to replay the way he looked at you when you asked why he kept doing this. Tried not to hear his voice in your head.
It didn’t work.
Nothing worked.
When you finally got out, you changed into the softest clothes you could find and dropped onto your bed, curling up under the blanket like if you made yourself small enough the whole world would leave you alone.
At some point, you remembered your phone.
You needed to text Se-mi. Needed to tell someone you were okay. Needed some kind of anchor that wasn’t him.
You reached into your bag.
Wallet.
Lip balm.
Keys.
Receipt.
You frowned and dug deeper, pushing aside crumpled tissues and a pen and some loose coins.
Nothing.
You checked the outer pocket.
Then the small zipper inside.
Then the lining, as if somehow your phone had slipped into a hidden fold that didn’t exist.
Nothing.
Your stomach dropped so hard it made you feel sick.
No.
No, no, no.
You emptied the whole bag onto the bed with shaking hands, heart hammering. Everything spilled out in a messy pile, but your phone wasn’t there.
A cold wave of realization crept over you.
He took it.
For a second you just sat there, staring at the scattered contents of your bag, your mind too stunned to catch up.
Then your face burned with fresh humiliation.
Of course he did.
Of course.
The idea of him noticing it, keeping it, deciding not to say anything when you left. Deciding to let you go all the way home without it. Deciding you would have to come back.
Something hot and miserable twisted in your chest.
It felt deliberate.
Cruel.
Like a game.
A game only he knew the rules to.
You stood up too quickly and had to steady yourself against the desk. Your first instinct was to go back, to march right over there and get it and be done with him. But the thought of standing in front of his door again, of looking at him again, of knowing he’d see exactly why you came back, made your throat close.
You couldn’t do it.
You just couldn’t.
So instead you borrowed your tablet, logged into your university portal, and sent yourself emergency emails with the few codes and passwords you might need. You used your laptop for the rest. It was clumsy and frustrating and humiliating, but it was better than walking back into his apartment like he knew you would.
Then you shut the laptop.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
The next morning at university, you still felt wrung out.
You moved through the campus like a ghost, hugging your bag close, avoiding eye contact, trying to focus on anything except the emptiness in your pocket where your phone should have been. Every little inconvenience made the humiliation sting more. You had to ask someone else for the time. You couldn’t check your messages. You couldn’t disappear into your screen while waiting outside class. You just had to exist in the open, awkward and exposed.
Se-mi wasn’t there yet.
You stood near the building entrance with your coffee, staring at the ground and trying not to think about the fact that he might text again somewhere you couldn’t see. Your stomach had been knotted all morning, partly from nerves, partly from too little sleep, partly from the ugly little fear that had lodged in your chest since last night.
Because you knew him.
And knowing him meant knowing he wasn’t finished.
But when a shadow fell across the pavement in front of you, your heart already knew.
You looked up slowly.
Thanos stood a few feet away, he looked maddeningly casual, like showing up at your university was the most natural thing in the world.
Like this was normal.
Like he had every right.
Your stomach lurched.
For one horrible second, you couldn’t move.
Around you, students kept walking, talking, laughing, barely paying attention. A few glanced over, curiosity flickering across their faces. That made it worse. The fact that he brought this into your world, into the place that was supposed to be yours and not his, felt violating in a way you couldn’t even explain.
He walked toward you slowly.
You took a step back before you could stop yourself.
That made his mouth twitch, not quite a smile. “Easy.”
Your face burned. “What are you doing here?”
He stopped in front of you, close enough that you could smell smoke clinging faintly to his clothes beneath the cold air. Then he reached into his pocket and held up your phone between two fingers.
“There it is,” he said. “Thought you might want this.”
For a second you just stared at it.
Then at him.
Then back at the phone.
Your hand closed tighter around your coffee cup instead of reaching for it.
“You took it,” you said quietly.
He tilted his head. “You left it.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
His gaze stayed on you, calm and infuriating. “Could’ve come back for it.”
Your breath caught.
There it was.
The confirmation.
He had known.
He had done it on purpose.
Maybe not taking it in the first place. Maybe. But once he noticed, once he realized what it meant, he kept it. Held onto it. Waited to see what you would do.
Your eyes stung, and you hated that they did. Hated that it still happened so easily around him. You looked down quickly, jaw trembling before you forced it still.
“I wasn’t coming back there.”
Something changed in his expression at that. Not much, just a slight narrowing of his eyes, like he was filing the words away somewhere.
Then he stepped closer and gently caught the coffee cup from your hand before it could spill. You hadn’t even realized how hard you were shaking.
“Take the phone,” he said.
You didn’t move.
He exhaled through his nose, impatient now, and took your wrist lightly, pressing the phone into your palm himself. His fingers lingered for half a second too long before he let go.
The contact sent a stupid, traitorous pulse through your chest.
You hated yourself for it.
“You can’t just show up here,” you whispered.
He gave you a look like the idea amused him. “Looks like I just did.”
Your lips parted, then shut again. There were so many things you wanted to say. That he was cruel. That he was selfish. That he kept finding ways to wedge himself back into you just when you were trying to survive him. But the words tangled somewhere between your heart and your throat, caught on old fear and softness and that awful instinct to make yourself small when he turned his attention fully on you.
He noticed that too.
Of course he did.
His expression shifted, becoming a little sharper, a little quieter. “What?”
You shook your head.
His jaw tightened. “Use your words.”
That shouldn’t have made your eyes fill, but it did.
You looked away fast, embarrassed, clutching the phone in one hand and the strap of your bag in the other. “I don’t like this.”
He was silent for a second.
Then, “Like what?”
Your voice came out small, but steady enough. “You messing with me.”
For once, that actually made him pause.
The noise of campus blurred around you. A group of students passed behind him, laughing at something, completely unaware that your whole body felt strung tight enough to break.
“You think that’s what this is?” he asked.
You looked up then, because the question annoyed you enough to cut through the hurt for half a second. “What else would you call it?”
His eyes held yours.
Too dark. Too intent.
A muscle in his jaw moved. “You left your phone.”
“You could’ve told me before I left.”
“You were running.”
The answer came too fast.
Too blunt.
You flinched at the truth of it.
He stepped closer again, lowering his voice. “What did you want me to do? Chase you down the street while you cried?”
Your face burned hot. “I wasn’t crying.”
He didn’t say anything.
Didn’t have to.
The silence was worse than if he laughed.
You swallowed hard, then took a careful step back, putting a little space between you. “You should’ve just left it outside my door.”
A beat passed.
Then another.
When he finally spoke, his voice had flattened. “Right.”
You hated that tone. It made it sound like you were being unreasonable, like you were asking too much from someone who had already done you some favor.
He glanced at the building behind you, then back at your face. “You got it now.”
That should have been the end of it.
But he stayed.
And some awful part of you stayed too, rooted to the spot by years of instinct that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with him.
You could feel people noticing now. Not openly, not enough to step in, but enough to make your skin prickle.
He saw that too.
“Come here,” he said quietly.
Your eyes widened. “No.”
His gaze flicked over your face, taking in the strain there, the way you were trying to hold yourself together in public. Something unreadable moved in his expression.
Then he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
The gentleness of it nearly undid you.
You froze, breath caught, anger and sadness and that cursed softness crashing together so hard it made your chest ache.
“Don’t,” you whispered.
His hand lingered near your cheek for a second, then dropped.
“Then stop looking at me like that.”
Your brows pulled together. “Like what?”
“Like I’m the only thing inside your head.”
The words hit too close.
You looked away immediately.
He gave a low, humorless laugh. “Yeah.”
Your fingers tightened around your phone. “You don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you know me.” Your voice shook now despite your effort to keep it even. “Act like you get to show up when you want and say whatever you want and touch me whenever you feel like it.” Your throat tightened around the next words, but you forced them out anyway. “You don’t get to keep hurting me and then acting like I’m the one being dramatic.”
That landed.
You could tell by the way his expression went still.
No smirk.
No easy comeback.
Just stillness.
It should have satisfied you. Instead it only made your eyes sting harder.
You looked down at your phone, thumb brushing the edge of it. “I didn’t come back because I couldn’t.”
His voice, when it came, was quieter. “Couldn’t?”
You nodded once, staring at the pavement. “I couldn’t walk into that place again.” Your mouth trembled, and you pressed your lips together hard before going on. “Not when I knew you’d be there.”
The silence after that stretched long enough to make you regret saying it.
Then a shadow fell over your shoes.
When you looked up, he was closer again, but there was something different in his face now. Something more tired than cruel.
“You think I wanted to see you like that?” he asked.
You gave a tiny, disbelieving laugh. “I don’t know what you want.”
He looked at you for a second like he might answer.
Like he might finally say something real.
Something about that almost made it worse.
The fact that cruelty and care could live side by side in him so easily. That he could make you feel humiliated and looked after in the same breath. That he kept handing you little pieces of tenderness with blood on them.
Your fingers closed slowly around the cable.
“Why are you like this?” you whispered.
That finally made him smile, but it wasn’t a nice smile. It was tired and crooked and touched with something darker. “You keep asking questions you won’t like the answers to.”
You swallowed.
His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth, then lifted again. “Go to class.”
The suddenness of it caught you off guard.
“What?”
“I said go.” His tone was flat now, final. “Before you miss it standing out here with me.”
You blinked at him, still too stunned to move.
He took a step back, putting his helmet on. Then he looked at you one more time, visor still lifted, eyes unreadable.
“You look like shit, angel.”
Your mouth fell open in hurt disbelief.
You stood there frozen, phone clenched in your hand, watching him leave like your body didn’t know whether to run after him or collapse.
Then he was gone.
And you were still standing there in the cold, heart beating too hard, eyes burning, feeling like you’d just survived something invisible.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
Se-mi found you like that ten minutes later outside the lecture hall, staring at your phone like it had personally betrayed you.
She slowed the second she saw your face. “What happened?”
You looked up too fast, slipping the phone into your bag on instinct.
“Nothing.”
Her expression turned instantly skeptical. “That’s the face you make when it’s definitely not nothing.”
You tried for a smile and failed miserably. “I just had a weird morning.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Was it him?”
The question made your stomach twist.
You didn’t answer fast enough.
Se-mi closed her eyes for a second like she was counting to ten in her head. “Oh my god.”
“It’s not-“
“It is.”
You hugged your arms around yourself, suddenly cold all over again. “He just came to bring back my phone.”
“Your phone?”
You nodded.
She stared. “Why did he have your phone?”
You looked away.
That was answer enough.
Se-mi muttered something under her breath that sounded deeply unfriendly, then stepped closer. “Listen to me. Whatever he’s doing, whatever game this is, you need to stop letting him pull you into it.”
Your eyes stung again because you knew she was right.
That was the worst part.
You knew she was right and still, if he texted, some part of you would look.
If he showed up, some part of you would freeze.
If he touched you, some part of you would remember all the reasons you fell apart over him in the first place.
“I’m trying,” you said quietly.
Se-mi’s face softened.
She touched your arm gently. “I know.”
You nodded, but it didn’t help.
Because later, sitting in class with the lecture droning on at the front of the room, the professor kept talking like normal. Around you, pens scratched paper. Someone coughed. A chair squeaked.
Life kept going.
But inside you, something was still caught on the image of him standing outside your university with your phone in his hand, like he had every right to be there.
Like he could break your heart and then stroll into your life anyway.
if they get their happy ending, I'm gonna need thanos to suffer a little for what a pos he's been to the reader like,, the reader trying to move on and thanos having major jealousy and realising what he's lost 🙏 that man does NOT deserve her right now
also HIIIII WELCOME BACK 🩷🩷🩷
thank youuuu, it’s really good to be back🫶🏻
oh trust me he will suffer🫣
he absolutely does not deserve her and he’s gonna realize how amazing reader has been to him👀
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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summary: after confronting thanos and realizing what you had meant far less to him than it did to you, you spiral. drunk and vulnerable, you wander into a bar, only to find he’s been watching and follows you there. he takes you to his place, caring for you physically while remaining emotionally distant.
a/n: i promised to be active and then i disappeared for 5 months💀 sorry guys😩
The walk to his apartment felt longer than it should have. The air felt too heavy, your mind replaying all the things Se-mi had said. Mi-na. Dropped out. He never mentioned her again.
By the time you got there, it took you two tries to get the key right. The apartment was quiet, the lights on low. You closed your eyes for a second, taking a deep breath, then walked inside.
You heard footsteps, then the door opened, and Thanos stepped out, a slight smirk on his face.
In any other moment, the sight of him would have been enough to drown out everything else, all the thoughts circling like vultures. But not tonight. Tonight, your heart was too heavy.
He tilted his head, noticing the tension in your posture. "You okay?" His voice was softer now, that usual edge of amusement gone.
You didn't answer right away. Instead, you just looked at him, really looked at him… like you were trying to find the boy Se-mi described. The quiet one who remembered birthdays, who walked people home in the rain.
"Who's Mi-na?" you asked finally, voice quiet but steady.
His expression froze for half a second, just long enough for your stomach to drop. Then his smirk returned, lazy, effortless. "Old friend. Why?"
You clenched your hands into fists at your sides. "Did you ever tell her she was imagining things?"
The smirk slipped. His jaw tensed. "Who told you that?"
"Does it matter?" Your voice cracked. "Is it true?"
He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his damp hair. "Look, whatever Se-mi said-“
"No." You cut him off, stepping closer. "I want to hear it from you. Did you hurt her?"
Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. His expression darkened, his voice dropping low. "I don't owe you an explanation about my past."
"That's not an answer."
He let out a bitter laugh. "Fine. Yeah, I did. And yeah, I didn’t handle it well. Happy?"
The words hit like a punch. You swallowed hard, your chest tight. "Did you ever care about her?"
His gaze flickered away for a fraction of a second… just long enough to make your stomach twist. "It was casual."
Casual. The word tasted like ash in your mouth.
You took a shaky breath, forcing the next question out before you could stop yourself. "Am I just casual too?"
His eyes snapped back to yours, his jaw tightening. "You know you're not."
"Do I?" Your voice broke. "Because you never say it."
He took a step closer, his hand reaching for yours, but you pulled away. His expression darkened. "What do you want from me, huh? Words? You want me to fucking beg?"
"I want you to stop lying!" you shouted, the words tearing out of you before you could stop them.
His expression hardened. "I never lied to you."
"You just never told me the truth."
The silence that followed was deafening. You stared at him, your heart still hammering in your chest. He returned your gaze with a hard one of his own, his jaw clenched, expression guarded. The distance between you felt like a chasm, too wide and dark to bridge.
Finally, when he spoke, his voice was sharp. "Are you done with the interrogation?"
You flinched, the coldness in his words more painful than a slap. "Is that all you have to say?" you whispered.
He scoffed, running a hand through his wet hair again, looking away. "What the hell do you want me to say? That I'm sorry I had a past with someone before I met you?"
“That's not the point, and you know it," you fired back, your own anger flaring. “It's the fact that you never even mentioned her. You acted like she didn't even exist."
He exhaled through his nose, eyes narrowing. "Because she doesn't matter to me. Not anymore."
The words were like a dagger to your heart. "And I do?" you asked, hating the desperation in your voice.
He didn't answer right away. When he finally spoke, his tone was flat. "You know you do."
The confirmation felt hollow, like it was more about the ego than the sentiment. You clenched your fists tighter, frustration and hurt mixing into a bitter cocktail. "Do I? Because sometimes it feels like I'm just another distraction."
His expression darkened again. "Is this your way of asking if I'm screwing other people?" His words were sharp, edged with irritation.
Your jaw went tight, anger rising up in you. "Would you tell me the truth if I asked?"
He gave a bitter laugh. "You don't want the truth," he said, voice low. "You want me to say what's gonna make you feel better."
"I want you to say what's true," you countered, your voice rising. "Not some bullshit, sugarcoated version that doesn't mean anything."
He took a step closer, his gaze intense. "And if you don't like the truth?"
Your heart was pounding in your chest, but you held his stare. "Then I'll deal with it. But at least I'll know where I stand."
Here's a more dynamic rewrite of that confrontation… same tension, sharper edge.
His expression darkened, jaw ticking as he exhaled smoke through his nose. He tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he hadn’t bothered solving yet.
"Other people?" He chuckled, low and humorless. "Yeah. Sometimes."
Your breath hitched despite yourself.
He stepped closer, invading your space, his fingers brushing your hip, casual, like he wasn’t gutting you. "But you already knew that." His thumb pressed into the dip of your waist, a mockery of tenderness. "Or did you think I was gonna play faithful while you were out here drawing hearts in your notebook?"
His grin was sharp, all teeth. "Cute."
The word dripped with condescension.
Then his voice dropped, rough against your ear. "But don’t act shocked, baby. You wanted me like this."
Your palm cracks across his cheek before you can stop yourself. "Fuck you.”
His head snapping to the side from the blow, expression hardening instantly. "Watch it," he warned, voice low.
Your hand stung viciously but you ignored it, anger and hurt burning like bile in your throat. "Or what?"
He looked at you, eyes cold and assessing. "You really wanna test me right now?"
His fingers twitched at his sides before curling into fists, not threatening you, but restraining himself. The air between you crackled with something dangerous, like gasoline fumes waiting for a spark.
"Test you?" Your voice shook with adrenaline, throat tight. "You don’t get to act like I’m the one out of line here."
He exhaled sharply through his nose, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. A pause. Then, to your surprise, he laughed—harsh, almost amused. "Jesus.” You’re really gonna stand there acting like you didn’t know exactly what you signed up for?"
He stepped closer again, deliberate, crowding you against the wall. His voice dropped, taunting. "Tell me, did you actually think you were special?"
The words landed like a knife between your ribs.
Tears welled up despite your best efforts, your lip trembling uncontrollably as you looked up at him. "You made me think I was," you whispered, voice cracking on the last word.
Something flickered in his eyes, too fast to name, before his smirk returned, colder than before. "That's on you, baby." He reached out, thumb swiping roughly under your eye to catch a tear before it could fall. "Should've known better."
His touch burned, equal parts cruel and tender.
You wiped your face on your sleeve, lifting your chin in false defiance. "Yeah. I should have.”
He grabbed your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him. "Oh, princess. You were never not gonna end up here." His thumb traced the line of your throat, too intimate and too mocking at once. "And you sure as hell ain’t gonna break me."
One more wipe of your face and you stepped back, voice icy. "Good luck finding another person to play this game with."
The door slammed behind you before he could respond.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
That evening you spend in bed, crying your eyes out. You didn't leave, you barely ate.
You felt pathetic for letting someone like him have this effect on you. He never promised anything to begin with.
But he still made it feel real.
The days that followed were a blur. You barely left your bed, drowning in self-doubt and anger. Every thought of him left a bitter taste in your mouth, mingling with a loneliness so intense it felt like a physical weight.
Sleep eluded you, so you lay awake, staring at the ceiling and replaying every word, every touch, every broken promise.
The silence of your empty apartment only amplified the ache in your chest. You tried to distract yourself with TV shows, books, anything to drown out the noise in your head. But his face haunted every frame, every page, taunting you with his indifference.
You'd check your phone too many times, half expecting a text, an apology, some sign that he cared. But your inbox stayed stubbornly empty. And each time that realization slapped you fresh in the face, a new wave of hurt crashing over you.
Nights were the worst. Alone in the dark, the sound of your own breathing only emphasized the gaping emptiness beside you. You tried everything, earplugs, music, leaving the lights on. Nothing could fill the void he left.
You forced yourself out of bed, telling yourself it would only be for a minute. Just enough to breathe. So you grabbed your keys and went to the grocery store.
The walk there felt endless. Cold air against your skin, your feet moving on autopilot while your mind stayed somewhere else entirely. Every step felt heavy, like you were dragging the weight of everything you didn’t want to think about behind you. Cars passed, people walked by, life kept going, and you just followed the pavement until the automatic doors slid open.
Inside, the fluorescent lights hit you immediately. Too bright. Too harsh. The hum of refrigerators, the beeping scanners, the quiet chatter all blurred together until it felt overwhelming. You grabbed a basket and wandered without direction, drifting from aisle to aisle. Your hands reached for things without thought. Chips. Ice cream. Candy. Whatever looked soft, sweet, distracting. Whatever promised comfort without asking questions.
By the time you reached the liquor section, your arms felt heavy and your chest felt empty. You stopped in front of the shelves, staring at the bottles lined up neatly, their glass reflecting the light back at you. For a moment, you just stood there. Then you reached out, wrapped your fingers around the biggest bottle of vodka you could find, dropped it into your basket, and headed for the checkout.
You walked back home with the bottle already in your hand, twisting the cap open and taking a long drink as you went. The vodka burned on the way down, but it dulled the edges, made everything feel a little farther away.
Halfway down the street, a bar caught your eye. Warm yellow light spilled from its windows onto the pavement, soft and inviting. Through the glass you could hear muted laughter and low music drifting into the cold night air.
You took another swig from the bottle. The ache in your chest softened just enough to make bad ideas feel manageable. You told yourself to keep walking, that this was a mistake, that you should just go home. But your feet slowed anyway.
Before you could stop yourself, you were pushing the door open and stepping inside.
what it was, only realizing how strong it was once the alcohol hit your tongue. You were already a little too far gone, warm and hazy, your thoughts slowed and sloppy.
That was when someone sat down beside you.
You felt it before you saw him. The shift of weight. The presence. Your body tensed instinctively as you turned your head and found a face you knew far too well.
Thanos.
Your stomach dropped.
He had found you. Somehow, he always did.
He slid onto the barstool like he belonged there, close enough that you could smell his cologne mixed with smoke and alcohol. The shock sent a sharp jolt through you, cutting straight through the buzz.
“Well, look who it is,” he said, his voice easy, almost entertained. He waved the bartender over and ordered a drink without even looking at you. Then he finally turned his head, eyes flicking over your face with something unreadable in them.
“Out drowning your sorrows, baby?”
You were too drunk to form a proper response, your vision already swimming as you gripped the glass in front of you. Your words slurred when you finally tried- “Wha’... what’re you doin’ here?” He just smirked, like he’d been waiting for this moment all week.
Little did you know, he’d never stopped watching.
Your location was still live on his phone, pinned under the name angel (don’t let her vanish)… a joke to him at first, then something darker. He’d seen the grocery store trip. Watched your slow walk home. Followed your stumble into the bar like a predator circling wounded prey.
And now? Now he was here, close enough to smell your vanilla perfume mixing with cheap vodka, and his voice dropped low, dangerous.
“Miss me?”
His question cut through the fog in your brain, jolting another wave of emotions to the surface.
Anger, hurt, desperation.
You fumbled to set your drink back down, gripping the edge of the counter to steady yourself. Your words were just as shaky. "Like hell."
He had the audacity to laugh at that, a low, gravelly sound that set your teeth on edge. "Deny it all you want, baby. We both know you're a mess without me."
Your jaw clenched, hating that he was right. But you refused to show it. Wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"Screw you," you muttered, lifting your glass again.
He shifted closer, invading your already limited personal space. His voice was a low taunt, his breath warm against your ear. "You already did, sweetness."
Your hand froze halfway to your mouth, his words a cruel reminder of every whispered secret and gasped plea of ecstasy he'd pulled from you. Heat rose to your cheeks despite yourself, frustration mixing with lingering desire.
"Shut up." Your voice was thick. "I'm just trying to drink in peace."
His smirk widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly. He was enjoying this. Enjoying the way you were trying so hard to act detached when your body still yearned for his touch.
His hand reached out, calloused fingertips brushing the bare skin of your arm, just above the elbow.
"You always were a terrible liar." His thumb traced a slow, lazy circle on your sensitized flesh.
The alcohol had dulled your senses completely by now, your thoughts swimming in an alcoholic haze. You swayed on your barstool, eyes bleary and body unsteady.
Then you felt a strong arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you off the stool. Your head fell back against his chest, his warmth seeping through the fabric of his shirt.
You mumbled something incoherent, the world spinning and tilting. His grip tightened, his voice a low rumble against your ear.
"Easy, angel."
He steadied you with little effort, his arm like a steel band around your waist. You were so drunk you were practically dead weight, but he held you easily, his hand possessive and certain on your hip.
"You're a mess." His voice was a low, amused murmur. "Who let you drink this much, huh?"
Your legs gave out completely, knees buckling as the world spun violently. Before you could collapse, his arms slid under you, one behind your back, the other under your thighs, and just like that, he lifted you into his arms.
You let out a soft whimper, instinctively clinging to him despite everything. The movement brought your face close to his chest, he smelled like smoke and something faintly sweet, cannabis and old cologne.
"Put me down," you mumbled weakly into his shirt… but it came out slurred and unconvincing.
He chuckled darkly. "Yeah? And let you pass out on the sidewalk?" His grip tightened slightly as he adjusted you in his hold. "Nah. You’re too pretty for that."
Without another word, he carried you through the bar exit and into the quiet of the night, your body limp in his arms, heart betraying your mind by beating wildly against your ribs.
You slipped into unconsciousness halfway down the street, your head lolling against his shoulder, breaths slow and even. He didn’t stop, he just kept walking, carrying you through the dimly lit streets like you weighed nothing at all.
Back at his place, he kicked the door shut behind him and carried you straight to the bedroom. He laid you down on his bed.
One by one, he tugged off your shoes, tossing them aside before reaching for his oversized black hoodie from the chair. He slipped it over your shoulders, it swallowing you whole, and pulled it down over your trembling frame.
Then he tucked you in, adjusting the blanket around your chin. For a moment, he just stood there, watching you breathe.
His thumb brushed a stray strand of hair from your face.
"Stupid," he murmured, soft enough that only silence heard him, before turning off the light and collapsing onto the floor beside the bed with nothing but a cigarette and regret for company.
summary: after your ‘relationship’ with thanos comes out, se-mi warns you he’ll hurt you like he did someone before. when you confront her, she admits she stays friends with him because she still hopes he’ll change, and that, deep down, you’re hoping for the same.
warnings: sexual content, swearing, alcohol use
a/n: omg i’m so sorry that i haven’t posted in almost two months😔 i’ll try to be way more active and i hope you like this chapter🩷
It had only been a few days since everything came out, since Se-mi’s sharp, steady voice cut through the lies you’d been stacking like cards, and Nam-gyu’s smirk finally turned into something that felt like confirmation instead of curiosity. The truth was out now, floating between the four of you like smoke that wouldn’t clear, and you’d been moving through each day as if you were breathing it in.
The air felt different everywhere you went. Every hallway, every group message, every shared glance. You weren’t hiding anymore, not technically, but somehow that made it worse. The weight of being seen felt heavier than the secret itself.
So when Se-mi texted about going out, her message clipped and simple, We’re going to the club tonight. You should come. You almost didn’t answer. It felt like a trap, or maybe a test, one you weren’t sure you were ready to take. But Thanos had already seen the message light up your phone. He’d looked at you with that lazy grin, his voice low as he said, “Guess you’re coming then.”
That was how you ended up here, in the backseat of Nam-gyu’s car, the city lights smearing across the tinted windows as the music thumped low through the speakers. Se-mi sat in the passenger seat, her elbow resting against the window, eyes fixed straight ahead, the soft glow from her phone lighting her face in cold flashes. She hadn’t said much since you all got in. Nam-gyu was driving, humming along to the beat, the corner of his mouth tilted in that perpetual smirk that always looked like he knew something he shouldn’t.
And then there was Thanos.
Sitting beside you in the back, legs spread comfortably, his arm draped across the top of the seat like he owned the space, like he owned you, too. The faint smell of his cologne clung to the air between you, sharp and warm, and it made your pulse trip every time he shifted closer. He hadn’t said much either, but he didn’t need to. Every movement, every glance was a word in its own language.
The car hit a red light, slowing to a stop, and that was when you felt his fingers graze your thigh, light at first, just a teasing brush. You froze, eyes snapping to him. He was already watching you, his expression unreadable except for the small, knowing curl of his mouth.
“What are you doing?” you whispered, your voice barely audible under the music.
He leaned in a little, his breath warm against your ear. “Relax, angel. Just missed you.”
Your heart tripped, and you looked forward quickly, eyes flicking toward Se-mi, who was still scrolling through her phone like she hadn’t heard him. But you knew she had. Her jaw was set, her shoulders just a little too still. You could feel the tension hanging thick in the air, threaded through the hum of the engine.
Thanos didn’t care. If anything, that made him bolder. His fingers slid a little higher on your thigh, not enough to be obvious, but enough to make you draw in a shaky breath. “Stop,” you murmured, even though you didn’t sound convincing.
He smirked, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “You don’t want me to.”
You turned to glare at him, but the look in his eyes, that lazy, confident glint, made your stomach twist in ways that made it impossible to hold your ground. “Thanos,” you hissed quietly, your fingers gripping the edge of your skirt, “they’re right there.”
He tilted his head, his voice soft and amused. “Then be quiet.”
Your pulse jumped hard enough that you felt it in your throat. He leaned in closer, his nose brushing the edge of your hair, the scent of his cologne filling the space between you. You could feel his breath against your cheek, the way he was barely touching you but somehow still managing to pull you in completely.
You tried to look anywhere else, the window, the passing lights, the reflection of Se-mi’s face in the glass, but his hand caught your chin gently, turning your head back toward him. “You’re acting shy again,” he murmured, that small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You weren’t shy last week.”
Your cheeks burned instantly, the memory flashing uninvited, his breath against your skin, your hands tangled in his hair, the quiet sound he made when you whispered his name. You swallowed hard, your voice unsteady when you said, “That’s different.”
“How?” he asked, the single word low and lazy but threaded with challenge. “We’re still just us.”
He was close enough now that your knees brushed, your heart beating so fast it felt like it might give you away. You opened your mouth to tell him to stop again, but he leaned in before you could, his lips brushing yours in the lightest, most deliberate way possible, just enough to steal your breath.
You froze. The kiss wasn’t deep, not yet. It was barely a kiss at all, more like a question. But the question made your stomach twist and your thoughts scatter all at once. You didn’t mean to lean into it, but you did, your lips parting just slightly, and that was all the answer he needed. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until the kiss turned real.
It was slow at first, soft, like he was taking his time reminding you who you were when you were with him. Then it deepened, the kind of kiss that blurred out the sound of the music, the traffic, the people in the front seats. For a second, it was just the warmth of his mouth against yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles at the base of your neck, the taste of beer still faint on his lips.
When you finally pulled back, breathless, you couldn’t even bring yourself to look forward right away. You already knew what you’d see. Still, curiosity won, and when your gaze flicked toward the front seat, Se-mi was staring straight ahead, jaw tight, her phone now forgotten in her lap. Nam-gyu’s smirk was faintly visible in the rearview mirror, like this was exactly the kind of chaos he’d been expecting.
Thanos didn’t care. He leaned back in his seat, arm stretched behind you again, his voice low and amused. “You taste like guilt,” he murmured, the smirk still playing on his lips. “Still sweet, though.”
You turned to glare at him, your face burning. “You’re impossible.”
He chuckled quietly, his hand brushing your jaw again just because he could. “And you’re bad at pretending you don’t like it.”
You wanted to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. You just crossed your arms and turned toward the window, pretending to focus on the city sliding past, even though your reflection looked flushed and guilty and still a little dizzy. You could feel Se-mi’s silence from the front seat like a wall between you, her sigh quiet but unmistakable when the car slowed at another red light.
She didn’t turn around, didn’t say anything, but her voice carried enough frost to make your stomach twist. “If you two are going to do that all night,” she said flatly, “maybe get a room instead.”
You felt your cheeks flare hotter, your mouth opening before you could stop yourself. “We weren’t-“
But Thanos interrupted, his tone lazy, unbothered. “We’ll keep it down.”
Se-mi let out another sharp exhale through her nose, muttering something under her breath that sounded like, “Unbelievable,” before turning back toward the window. The rest of the ride sank into an uneasy quiet, the kind that hummed with things unsaid. The only sound left was the low thump of the bass through the speakers and the faint scrape of Thanos’ thumb tracing patterns against your knee, his touch light but deliberate, reminding you he was still there, still winning, even in silence.
When the neon glow of the club came into view, you caught your reflection one last time in the glass, hair slightly mussed, lips still flushed, eyes uncertain. You weren’t sure what you were walking into tonight, or what version of yourself would walk back out, but as Thanos leaned close and murmured, “You look good, angel,” his voice low enough only for you to hear, you knew exactly what you were walking toward.
And despite everything, Se-mi’s silence, Nam-gyu’s smirk, the guilt that still clung to your ribs, you couldn’t make yourself pull away.
Not yet.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
The bass from the club was already leaking into the street by the time you stepped out of the car, the heavy rhythm pulsing through the ground like a heartbeat you couldn’t escape. Neon light bled across the pavement — red, blue, purple, catching on Thanos’ jaw as he leaned against the hood for a moment, watching you with that familiar half-smile that made your pulse stutter even when you didn’t want it to.
Nam-gyu had gone ahead to skip the line, already waving at someone near the entrance. Se-mi lingered a few steps away, arms crossed, eyes fixed on her phone but not really reading. The night air was warm but sharp, the kind that stuck to your skin and carried the smell of smoke and perfume.
When Thanos finally pushed off the car and came toward you, his hand brushed the small of your back like it belonged there. “You okay?” he asked softly, though the smirk was still in his voice.
You nodded, even though your heart hadn’t slowed since the ride. “Yeah. Just… loud.”
He leaned close enough for his breath to hit your ear. “Good. Means you won’t have to think too much.”
The words sank deep, heavy and warm. Before you could respond, he slipped his hand into yours and pulled you inside.
The club swallowed you whole. The music was thick, bass heavy, pulsing through the walls, vibrating in your ribs. The lights moved in sharp flashes that made everything feel half-real, like you were living inside someone else’s heartbeat.
Thanos’ hand never left you as he guided you through the crowd, his fingers curling around yours like a quiet claim. You could feel the stares, half curiosity, half recognition, people who knew him, knew his name, maybe even knew the kind of stories that followed him around like perfume.
When you finally reached the booth Nam-gyu had claimed, Se-mi was already sitting there with a drink in hand, her expression unreadable. She glanced up as you slid in next to Thanos, her gaze flicking between you two before she looked away again. The silence between her and him was loud enough to hear over the music.
Nam-gyu passed around drinks with his usual grin. “To secrets that never stay secret,” he joked, his tone too casual to be harmless.
Se-mi shot him a sharp look. “Don’t start.”
Thanos chuckled low beside you, resting his arm along the back of the booth, his fingers grazing the back of your neck. “He’s just saying what everyone’s already thinking.”
You froze for a second, then took a sip of your drink just to have something to do. The liquid burned, sharp and warm, but it didn’t do much to calm the heat creeping up your neck.
As the night blurred on, the music seemed to sink deeper into your skin. People danced, laughed, shouted over the noise. The booth filled with flashes of movement and the clink of glasses. Se-mi had relaxed a little, at least on the surface, but you could still feel her eyes on you every time Thanos leaned closer, every time his hand drifted too far down your thigh.
It started slow.
You were sitting side by side, shoulders touching, and then he tugged lightly at your wrist until you turned toward him. “Come here,” he said softly, but his voice carried a weight that left no room for no.
You hesitated, glancing toward Se-mi, her lips pressed in a thin line, her gaze flicking between you and the untouched drink in her hand, but Thanos didn’t wait. He shifted slightly, pulling you closer until you were half on his lap, your knees brushing his, your back against his chest.
You heard Se-mi exhale sharply, muttering something that got lost under the music, but her disapproval was clear in the way she looked away and finished her drink in one swallow.
“Relax,” Thanos murmured against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re acting like I dragged you here.”
You wanted to say something, to push him off, to tell him to stop making everything worse, but the way his hand slid to your waist made the words catch in your throat. He smelled like smoke and something sweet, something that made your head swim.
He leaned closer, his lips brushing the side of your neck, soft enough to make your chest tighten. “You look better when you’re not trying so hard to disappear.”
You didn’t realize your eyes were closed until you heard Se-mi’s voice cut through the music, sharp and dry.
“Can you two not?”
You froze. Thanos didn’t move right away; he just smirked against your skin, his voice low enough that only you heard. “Jealous, maybe?”
“Try disgusted,” she snapped, grabbing her bag from the seat. “You’re making a show of it.”
Thanos leaned back, letting out a short, amused laugh that made your stomach twist. “We’re just sitting.”
“Yeah,” she said flatly, standing up. “Keep telling yourself that.” She glanced at you then, and something in her expression, disappointment, maybe hurt, made your throat close up. “I’m getting another drink.”
She walked off before you could say anything.
Thanos didn’t look bothered at all. His hand stayed on your waist, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your side. “Don’t worry about her,” he said. “She’ll get over it.”
But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something inside you had shifted, the air too thick, the lights too bright, every beat of the music pressing against your chest until you felt like you couldn’t breathe.
You slid off his lap before he could stop you. “I’m getting some air,” you said quickly, your voice smaller than you meant.
He tilted his head, watching you with that unreadable look. “Want me to come?”
You shook your head. “No. I’ll be fine.”
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
Outside, the night felt colder than before. The thump of the music faded behind the walls, replaced by the distant hum of traffic and the soft buzz of the neon sign above the door. You leaned against the railing, letting the air cool your skin, the city spinning lazily in front of you.
For the first time all night, you felt the quiet hit, the noise you’d been drowning in finally catching up with you. You could still feel his hands on your skin, the echo of Se-mi’s voice, the weight of being seen. It was too much, too tangled, and for a moment you just wanted to disappear.
“Hey,” a voice said behind you, too close.
You turned to see two guys standing near the entrance, both of them holding drinks, their eyes sharp with the kind of confidence that wasn’t harmless. One of them smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Didn’t expect someone like you to be out here alone.”
You straightened, forcing a small, polite smile. “I’m just getting some air.”
“Air’s better inside,” the other one said, stepping closer. “You here with someone?”
You nodded, hoping that would be enough. “Yeah.”
They didn’t back off. The first one took another step, his voice dropping low. “Your boyfriend’s not doing a great job if he left you out here by yourself.”
“I’m fine,” you said quickly, your hand tightening on your phone.
He grinned, eyes flicking over you like he was taking inventory. “Didn’t say you weren’t. Just saying… you could do better.”
Something in your stomach twisted. You took a small step back, but your shoulder brushed the cold metal of the railing. The second guy leaned in slightly, his breath carrying the sharp smell of alcohol. “You look nervous. Don’t worry, we’re nice.”
You were about to tell them to back off when a shadow moved in the doorway. Thanos.
He didn’t say anything at first, just walked over, slow and steady, his eyes fixed on the two guys like he was already bored of them. The air shifted instantly. The one closest to you took half a step back, his smirk faltering.
“She said she’s fine,” Thanos said finally, his tone quiet but edged with steel. “So why are you still standing here?”
The first guy scoffed, trying to recover his bravado. “Just talking. Didn’t realize she was taken.”
Thanos’ jaw flexed, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Now you do.”
The silence that followed was heavy, taut. The two guys glanced at each other before muttering something under their breath and moving back toward the door. You watched them go, your pulse still pounding, your hands slightly shaking even though you tried to hide it.
Thanos turned to you then, his expression softening just a little. “You okay?”
You nodded, though it wasn’t entirely true. “Yeah. Just… needed some space.”
He stepped closer, his hand brushing yours, grounding but gentle this time. “You don’t have to run off when things get messy.”
“I wasn’t running,” you said quietly. “I just- needed to breathe.”
He studied you for a moment, his eyes scanning your face like he was searching for something he couldn’t name. Then he let out a small breath, his voice dropping low. “You make it hard to stay mad at you, you know that?”
You looked away, the city lights blurring around the edges of your vision. “You’re mad?”
He smirked faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not really. Just… wish you’d stay.”
He stepped closer, his hand finding its way to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing along your jaw as he tilted your face up to his. “You look better under lights,” he murmured. “Especially when you’re trying not to blush.”
And before you could think of a reason to stop him, he kissed you again, softer this time, slower, the noise of the club fading behind you. The air smelled like rain and smoke, and his fingers slid into your hair, holding you there as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.
When you finally pulled away, your heart was still racing, but the sharpness in your chest had dulled. You didn’t know what this was, if it was care, or control, or something tangled between the two, but as he looked down at you with that half-smile, his thumb tracing your lower lip, you knew you weren’t ready to walk away yet.
Not tonight.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
The night blurred into something you didn’t want to name. The walk back with Thanos had been quiet, heavy with the kind of electricity that always pulled you toward him no matter how many reasons you had to resist. His hand found yours, his touch certain in that way that made your pulse stutter. You didn’t need words; you already knew where it was going.
By the time morning came, the air in his apartment was still thick with it, heat, breath, skin, and the quiet that always followed when everything that was unsaid finally collapsed into silence. He’d fallen asleep beside you, his arm thrown lazily over your waist, the faint scent of smoke still clinging to his hair.
But lying there, staring at the ceiling as dawn slipped through the blinds, you felt the wrong kind of weight pressing down. The kind that didn’t come from his body, but from the thought of what waited outside.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
At university, the next day felt colder somehow. The hallways were full, laughter spilling from one classroom to another, but everything around you felt muted.
Se-mi barely looked at you when you walked in. She sat two rows ahead, her hair tied up, scribbling notes without once glancing back. Even when you tried, a small smile, a quiet “morning” she didn’t turn.
It shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. But it did.
Thanos, on the other hand, was the same as always. Laid back, confident, leaning against the wall outside the lecture hall with a lazy smirk that sent a flutter straight through you every time you caught his eye. You wanted to match his calm, pretend nothing had changed, but you couldn’t ignore the way Se-mi’s silence followed you like a shadow.
By the afternoon, you’d stopped trying. You sat through class with your jaw clenched, pretending not to care. Pretending her distance didn’t hurt more than it should. But when you saw her walk past you after lecture, her bag slung over her shoulder, eyes fixed ahead, mouth set tight, something in you snapped.
You followed her.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
The walk to her apartment felt longer than it should have, the city loud and bright around you while your thoughts tangled into something restless. By the time she opened the door, you were still buzzing with a mix of anger and guilt you couldn’t untangle.
She looked surprised at first. Then wary. “What are you doing here?”
You brushed past her without answering, dropping your bag by the couch. “You’ve been ignoring me all day.”
Her expression didn’t change. “I’ve been busy.”
“That’s bullshit,” you snapped, the word sharper than you meant. “You’ve been acting like I don’t exist. What’s your problem, Se-mi? You wanted the truth, I gave it to you. What more do you want?”
She sighed, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. “I didn’t want you to prove me right.”
You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. “You think I don’t know what’s happening? You and Thanos. Again. You’re not even trying to hide it anymore.”
You swallowed hard, heat rising in your chest. “So what if I’m not? It’s my choice.”
“Yeah,” she said quietly, “it is. And I’m not judging you for that. I’m just trying to keep you from getting wrecked the way the last girl did.”
The words hit like a sudden chill. You stared at her. “What last girl?”
She hesitated, like she was debating whether to say it at all. Then she pushed off the wall, walking past you to the kitchen counter, grabbing a bottle of water just to have something to do with her hands.
“Her name was Mi-na,” she said finally. “Third year. She used to hang out with us sometimes, before you started coming around. She was smart. Funny. One of those people everyone liked without trying too hard. Thanos got close to her fast. Too fast. And she thought it meant something.”
Your stomach turned. “What happened?”
Se-mi looked down at the cap in her hands, twisting it slowly. “He got bored. That’s what happened. One day they were inseparable, the next he was flirting with other girls in front of her like it was nothing. When she tried to talk to him about it, he told her she was imagining things.”
You felt your throat tighten. “That doesn’t mean-“
“She dropped out halfway through the semester,” Se-mi said, cutting you off. Her voice was calm, but the edge underneath it was sharp. “Said she needed space. Everyone knew why. He never mentioned her again. Not once.”
You stood there, the words sinking in like stones.
Se-mi finally looked up, her eyes meeting yours. “You think he’s different with you because he calls you angel? Because he lets you stay the night? He does this, every time. He makes people think they’re the exception, and then he moves on when it stops being fun.”
You shook your head, but your voice didn’t come out steady. “You don’t know him like I do.”
Her laugh was soft, almost sad. “That’s exactly what Mi-na said.”
Silence stretched between you. You wanted to argue, to defend him, to tell her that what you had was different, that the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, couldn’t possibly be the same thing he’d done before. But every word that formed in your head felt flimsy, already collapsing under the weight of her gaze.
Finally, you whispered, “Why are you telling me this?”
Se-mi exhaled, her voice dropping lower. “Because I don’t want to watch you fall apart the way she did. Because even after everything, I still care about you.”
Your throat burned. You looked away, staring at the floor until your vision blurred. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing?”
“I think you want to believe you can fix him,” she said softly. “And you can’t.”
The quiet that followed was heavy, stretching between the two of you until it started to hurt.
You turned toward the door, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe you’re wrong.”
She didn’t stop you when you left.
Outside, the night air hit cold against your skin, and the city felt too big, too bright, like it was swallowing you whole. You walked without knowing where you were going, replaying every word she’d said until they blurred together in your head.
Mi-na. Dropped out. He never mentioned her again.
You told yourself it wasn’t the same, that he looked at you differently, that what you had wasn’t just a pattern repeating itself. But deep down, something small and sharp twisted in your chest, whispering that maybe Se-mi wasn’t wrong at all.
And for the first time since this whole thing began, you weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer.
You didn’t get far. The hallway outside Se-mi’s door was dim, humming with the low buzz of the fluorescent light overhead, and you stopped halfway down the stairs because your chest wouldn’t stop tightening. Her words were still echoing in your head, circling until they blurred together. Mi-na. Dropped out. He never mentioned her again.
You turned back before you could talk yourself out of it.
She was still in the doorway when you knocked again, the same tired look in her eyes. “What now?”
You hesitated for a second, then said the only thing that came to mind. “If he’s so bad,” you asked quietly, “why are you still friends with him?”
The question hung between you, sharper than you expected. Se-mi blinked, caught off guard, her hand still on the doorframe. “That’s not-“ she started, but stopped. Her shoulders dropped slightly. “That’s not a simple answer.”
“Try me,” you said, crossing your arms even though your voice trembled.
She sighed and opened the door wider. “Fine. Come in before the neighbors hear.”
You stepped back into the apartment. The light from the kitchen was dim now, the air thick with the faint scent of coffee and something sweet that had gone cold hours ago. You stood by the counter while she sank into the couch, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor like she was picking through old memories.
“I’ve known Thanos since high school,” she said finally, her voice low. “Before the tattoos, before the attitude. He used to be quiet, believe it or not. He was the kind of person who didn’t talk unless he had to, but when he did, you listened. And when he cared about someone, he’d do anything for them.”
You frowned. “That doesn’t sound like the guy you just described.”
“It’s not,” she said simply. “Something changed. After his dad started getting worse, after his sister left. He built walls, pushed everyone away, and the only way he knew how to keep people close was by controlling them. By being the one to decide when things started and ended.”
You were quiet, her words sinking in slower this time.
“I tried to stay friends because I kept thinking the old version of him was still in there somewhere,” she continued. “And sometimes, when he lets his guard down, I see flashes of that person again. The kid who helped me study, who walked me home when it rained, who remembered my birthday before anyone else.”
She looked up then, her gaze meeting yours, tired but honest. “That’s why. Because I keep hoping he’ll stop punishing everyone for what other people did to him.”
You swallowed hard. “And what if he doesn’t?”
She leaned back, exhaling slowly. “Then at least I’ll know I tried. But you-“ her voice softened, “you don’t owe him that history. You only know the version of him that came after everything broke. And that version… doesn’t know how to stop hurting people, even when he doesn’t mean to.”
You looked down at your hands, the ache in your chest twisting deeper. “He doesn’t hurt me.”
She didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly: “Not yet.”
The room fell still. Outside, the city lights flickered through the window, painting your reflections across the glass. You could see both of you there, her steady, grounded; you, small and uncertain, two versions of truth staring at each other without knowing which one would win.
Finally, Se-mi’s voice broke the quiet again, softer now. “You asked why I’m still his friend. Maybe it’s the same reason you can’t stay away from him. Because sometimes, even when you know better, you want to believe people can change.”
You didn’t have an answer. You just stood there, her words sinking into the space between you, heavy and painfully true.
When you left this time, she didn’t try to stop you, but as the door clicked shut behind you, her final words lingered in your head like a heartbeat you couldn’t silence.
You want to believe he can change.
And even as you walked through the quiet streets toward Thanos’s apartment, you realized that was exactly what scared you most, because deep down, you still did.
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warning/this contains: 18+, female reader, roommate!subong au, random text messages, some typos probably, nsfw themes, sexting, explicit language, petty banter (the usual), fwb dynamic, team thanos minus semi my queen (i’m sorry), subong being nosey, hints at subong’s rising fame, a bit of angst, a bit of fluff, subong being a horny mf and reader being a drama queen, nothing new.
a/n: i hope you guys are catching on to the little plot going on here ;)
summary: guilt pushes you to finally confess to se-mi, who warns he’ll never feel the same. afraid she’s right, you go out of your way to keep his attention, making him food and staying close until you’re sure he’s happy with you… for now.
warnings: sexual content, swearing, alcohol use
a/n: this chapter is a little longer so enjoy😚
The sun was already low when Se-mi dropped by your apartment without warning. She claimed she was “just in the neighborhood,” holding a small paper bag from the bakery two blocks over, the smell of sweet bread curling out into the hall as she stepped inside. You didn’t think much of it at first, she’d done this plenty of times before, showing up to hang out, eat something sugary, and scroll through TikTok on your bed until she decided she was bored.
But today felt… different.
From the moment she slipped her shoes off, there was something about the way she looked at you, a tiny flicker in her eyes, too sharp for casual. She let you take the bag and wander into the kitchen, but she followed slower than usual, her gaze scanning your small space like she was taking inventory.
“You’re up early,” you said lightly, setting the bag down and pulling out the two pastries.
She gave a small shrug, dropping her bag on the counter. “Felt like getting out for a bit. Place was too quiet.”
You hummed, tearing one pastry in half and handing her a piece. She took it, but didn’t bite right away. She was still watching you.
It started subtle. Questions that could almost pass as normal.
“Did you do anything last night?”
“No, just stayed in.”
“With who?” she asked it so casually that it almost slipped right past you.
You blinked. “Uh… just me,” you said, a little too quick.
“Mhm.” She finally took a bite, eyes on you over the pastry.
The conversation drifted for a while, or at least, she let it drift. She scrolled on her phone while you cleaned up a plate, but every time you glanced at her, you caught her looking at you, like she was waiting for something.
It wasn’t until you were sitting on the couch, both of you side by side but angled toward each other, that she finally tipped her hand.
“So…” she began, her voice light but her gaze too steady. “You and Thanos.”
Your chest tightened before you could stop it. “What about him?”
She smiled, not the usual bubbly grin, but something thinner, testing. “You’ve been hanging out a lot lately.”
You forced a shrug. “We’re in the same friend group. We’re always around each other.”
“Yeah, but…” she trailed off, pretending to focus on her phone, then looking back up. “It’s different now.”
You frowned. “Different how?”
Se-mi set her phone down on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch, crossing her arms. “The other night, at Nam-gyu’s place… you two were sitting awfully close.”
You felt your pulse jump. “We were just sitting.”
“Right.” Her tone was skeptical, but she didn’t push, not yet. “And the chip thing?”
You froze for a second too long. “It was a joke,” you said finally, trying to sound bored. “You know how he is.”
“I know how he is with other people,” she said, and this time her voice sharpened just slightly. “But you… you didn’t tell him to stop.”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out right away. You were scrambling for something, anything, that wouldn’t sound like you were lying.
“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” you said eventually.
She tilted her head. “No? You looked… I don’t know. Flustered. Like it wasn’t the first time.”
Her words hit a little too close, and you felt the heat rise in your cheeks before you could control it. She noticed. Of course she noticed.
“Are you sleeping with him?”
The bluntness made your stomach drop. “What? No! We’re not-“
“Don’t lie to me,” she said, cutting you off. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm, like she’d already made up her mind. “Nam-gyu thinks you are. He told me.”
Your head snapped toward her. “He told you what?”
“That you two have been sneaking around.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, eyes locked on yours. “And honestly… the way you acted the other night? I’m starting to think he’s right.”
You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. “Se-mi, we’re not-“
“You’re blushing right now,” she said, almost triumphant, like she’d caught you red-handed. “And you can’t even look me in the eye.”
You stared down at your lap, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweats. You could feel her gaze drilling into the side of your face, waiting for you to crack.
“Even if we were…” The words slipped out before you could stop them, quiet and unsteady. “…Why would it matter?”
She blinked, surprised you’d said anything at all. “Because I know you. And I know him. And I don’t want to watch you get hurt because you’re too shy to tell him no.”
You bit your lip, keeping your eyes on your hands. “It’s not like that.”
“Then tell me what it’s like.”
You stayed silent, the air between you thick and heavy. She sighed, sitting back again. “You don’t have to tell me everything, fine. But if he’s messing with you, I’m gonna find out.”
Her voice softened after a beat. “Just… be careful, okay?”
You nodded, still not looking up. “Okay.”
But when she left an hour later, you knew she didn’t believe you. And the worst part was… you weren’t sure you wanted her to stop looking.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
When the door clicked shut behind her, the apartment felt heavier, like she had left something behind that wasn’t physical at all. You stood there for a moment in the quiet, staring at the half-empty paper bag on the counter, the smell of sweet bread now almost nauseating in the stillness. Her words wouldn’t stop replaying, looping over and over in your head until they started to sound like they weren’t hers anymore, but your own thoughts wearing her voice. Are you sleeping with him? You’re blushing. You can’t even look me in the eye. Nam-gyu thinks you are.
You pressed your palms to the counter, head bowed, trying to shake the heat in your face. It didn’t matter how much you told yourself you hadn’t given her a real answer, the silence had done the talking for you. The worst part was that she had looked almost disappointed when you didn’t deny it harder, like she had been hoping you’d fight for the version of yourself she thought she knew. And maybe she was right to be disappointed.
You had been careful. At least you thought you had. Thanos had his moments, leaning in too close, those small touches, the way his voice would drop just for you, but it was never in front of anyone who would look too closely. At least not until Nam-gyu started looking. And now Se-mi was looking too, her eyes sharper than you’d given her credit for.
The walls of the apartment seemed smaller suddenly, like the air was pressing in. You grabbed the untouched pastry and put it in the fridge without thinking, more to give your hands something to do than because you’d actually eat it later. You wanted to text him. You wanted to tell him what she had said, maybe even laugh it off so it didn’t sit so heavy in your chest, but the idea of starting that conversation made your stomach twist.
He would make a joke out of it. He’d lean in, smirking, and say something like, Guess we’re not that subtle after all. And you weren’t sure if you’d be able to meet his eyes when he did.
The hours stretched slow and shapeless after that. You tried reading. You tried watching something. Nothing stuck. Every sound outside the door made you think it might be her again, ready to keep pushing. But it wasn’t. It was quiet, too quiet, until your phone buzzed near seven with a message that made your breath catch.
Su-bong
You free?
Just two words, casual on the surface, but you stared at them like they were a lit match. You didn’t answer right away. You sat on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering.
You thought about Se-mi’s face, the doubt in her voice, the sharp satisfaction when she saw you falter. You thought about Nam-gyu, leaning back in his chair with that knowing smirk, as if he had already decided your story for you. And then you thought about last night, the warmth of his hand closing around yours, the weight of his arm when you fell asleep against him, the quiet way he’d just stayed there.
By the time you typed back Yeah, your pulse was already picking up.
The walk to his apartment felt shorter than it should have, like your feet already knew the way too well. The air was warm with the last traces of daylight, the sky fading into that deep blue that meant night wasn’t far. You didn’t even have to knock when you reached his door, it was already unlocked, as if he’d been waiting. You stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of his place, that mix of cologne, laundry detergent, and something you couldn’t name but had already started associating with him. The music was low in the background, something lazy and rhythmic, and he was leaning against the counter in the kitchen when you walked in, one hand in the pocket of his sweatpants, the other holding his phone.
“Hey,” he said, voice casual, but his eyes flicked over you quickly, as if taking inventory. He didn’t move right away, just let you drop your bag on the couch before he nodded toward the fridge. “Sit down. I’ll get you something to drink.” You did as he said, settling into one of the bar stools by the counter, trying to ignore the small twist of nerves in your stomach.
He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with Coke, the carbonation fizzing loud in the quiet room. “Here,” he said, sliding it toward you with that careless ease that made it look like he’d done this a hundred times. Then he reached back into the fridge, pulling out a beer for himself. The cap came off with a sharp twist, and he took a sip without looking at you, his eyes somewhere on the counter before finally flicking back to your face.
You must have been staring too long at nothing because he set the bottle down and tilted his head, studying you with that slow, deliberate focus that always made you feel like you’d been caught doing something. “What’s wrong, angel?”
The nickname rolled off his tongue like he’d been saving it for just the right moment, soft enough to sound almost sweet, but heavy enough that you felt it settle low in your chest. You looked away too quickly, your fingers curling around the cold glass, condensation dampening your skin. “Nothing,” you said, though it came out too fast, too thin.
He didn’t buy it. You could tell by the way he leaned forward, resting one elbow on the counter, his beer dangling lazily from his fingers as his eyes stayed locked on you. “Doesn’t look like nothing.” His voice was quieter now, not teasing, not yet, but probing, the way he did when he wanted to see what would make you squirm.
You took a slow sip of your drink just to give yourself something to do, but his gaze didn’t waver. It was like he could see the weight of Se-mi’s words still hanging in your head, the way they’d been looping all afternoon until they’d sunk deep enough to feel permanent. You didn’t know how to explain that without opening a door you weren’t sure you wanted to open, not with him looking at you like that.
Still, something about the way he was watching, patient, almost, made your voice come out softer than you meant. “Just… thinking.”
“About what?” The question was low, steady, like he wasn’t going to let you off with half an answer.
You hesitated, your nails tapping lightly against the glass. “Doesn’t matter.”
He gave a slow, almost amused exhale, the kind that made your stomach twist even when you didn’t know why. “If it’s on your mind enough to make you look like that, it matters.” He took another sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving you over the rim. Then he set it down again, leaning just slightly closer, his forearm resting on the counter now. “Tell me.”
Your chest felt tight. The Coke in your hand had already lost some of its fizz, and the faint sound of the music in the background only made the quiet between you feel louder. You wanted to say something honest, but you weren’t sure if you were ready for the way he’d react, whether he’d laugh, brush it off, or press harder until you admitted more than you meant to.
Instead, you forced a small shrug, eyes flicking to the side. “It’s nothing serious.”
He hummed, the sound low in his throat, and for a moment he didn’t push. But then his hand slid over the counter, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing yours where they rested against the glass. The touch was light, almost casual, but it stole your breath anyway. “You know you’re terrible at lying to me, right?”
Your eyes snapped back to his, and the faint smirk playing at his mouth told you he’d seen exactly what he wanted in your reaction. He didn’t call you out again. He didn’t have to. He just picked up his beer, leaning back in his chair, the corner of his mouth still curved like he already knew everything you weren’t saying. And maybe, in that moment, he did.
You stared at the way his thumb traced the label on his beer, the lazy rhythm almost hypnotic. The words sat in your throat for a few beats too long, heavy and awkward, but you pushed them out before you could second-guess yourself. “Did you… tell Nam-gyu about us?”
His eyes flicked up immediately, sharp for just a second before the usual calm slid back into place. “About us?” he repeated, like he was tasting the word, like he wanted to see you squirm over saying it out loud.
You swallowed and nodded, even though your pulse was doing that uneven thing again. “He’s suspicious. So is Se-mi. She came over today and straight up asked me if we were…” You trailed off, not able to make yourself say it.
His smirk was faint, but it was there, curling slow at the corner of his mouth. “And what’d you tell her?”
You gripped your glass tighter, cold condensation slipping between your fingers. “I lied. Told her no.” The words felt flat, defensive, like you were trying to convince yourself it was the smart thing to do. “She didn’t believe me, though. Not really.”
He leaned back slightly in his chair, the bottle dangling from his fingertips, studying you like you’d just said something interesting. “So now they’re both watching,” he said, almost to himself, like it was a puzzle he was already enjoying too much.
You didn’t answer. You just took another sip of Coke, the fizz gone, your eyes fixed on the counter because looking at him felt too much like handing him the truth. But you could still feel him smiling, and that smile said he didn’t mind the suspicion at all. In fact, he might have liked it.
You let the silence stretch for a while, the low hum of the music filling the space between sips of your drink. But the question kept circling in your head, bumping into all the little moments you’d been avoiding. You set your glass down and looked at him, really looked at him this time. “Why are we actually not telling them?”
His brow lifted slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to ask. You pressed on before you could lose your nerve. “It’s just… the fact that we can never tell them didn’t even cross my mind until today. I’m so used to the sneaking around it feels normal now. Like it’s just… how it is.”
He leaned back in his chair, beer resting against his knee, watching you with that unreadable expression he got whenever you brushed too close to something real. “You’re saying you wanna tell them?”
You shook your head quickly, almost too quickly. “No. I’m just… wondering why. We never really decided. We just… don’t.”
A slow smirk pulled at his mouth, but there was something behind it you couldn’t place. “Maybe I like it this way,” he said finally, voice low, almost casual. “No one asking questions. No one trying to get in the middle. Just you and me.”
The way he said it made your chest tighten, not because it was sweet, it wasn’t, but because it was true. And maybe, somewhere deep down, you liked it this way too.
You stared at the rim of your glass for a long moment, your fingers tracing the damp edge without thinking. “You are Se-mi’s friend, though,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “She’s the one who introduced me to you. It feels wrong lying to her like this.”
His gaze didn’t waver. If anything, it sharpened just slightly, like you’d said something he was already prepared for. “Wrong how?”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “She trusts me. And I keep looking her in the eye, acting like nothing’s going on, when there is. It’s… I don’t know. It’s different lying to Nam-gyu. But her? It’s like…” You trailed off, your chest feeling heavier the more you tried to explain. “It’s like I’m taking advantage of the fact she doesn’t see it.”
He took a slow sip of his beer, his eyes still locked on you over the rim. “You think she’d be mad?”
You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Maybe not just mad, hurt. Like I went behind her back.”
For a second, he didn’t say anything. Then, in that low, steady way of his, he asked, “Would it change anything if she knew?”
You weren’t sure if he meant between you and him or between you and her. And you weren’t sure you wanted to find out.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
The next few days at university passed in a blur of hallways and lecture rooms, but you felt every step of them like you were walking with a weight strapped to your chest. You hadn’t planned on avoiding Se-mi exactly, not at first, but it happened anyway. You started leaving for class a few minutes earlier or later than usual, taking side hallways, ducking into the library when you spotted her across the courtyard.
It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see her. You just… didn’t want to have to talk. Not about that night, not about Thanos, not about the way Nam-gyu’s smirk seemed to have lodged itself in the back of your mind. You were scared of her reaction, scared of the disappointment you’d see in her face, the sharp edge her voice would get if you confirmed what she already suspected. But you also didn’t want to lie to her again. The thought of it made your stomach twist every time.
So you kept your head down. You answered her texts slower than usual, saying you were busy or tired or stuck in the library. When you did run into her by accident, at the vending machines, in the hallway after lecture, you smiled like nothing was wrong, but it felt stiff, like it didn’t reach your eyes. You could tell she noticed, even if she didn’t say anything. Her gaze lingered a little too long, like she was filing it away for later.
Every time your phone buzzed, you half expected it to be her calling you out, telling you to just spit it out already. But it never was. And somehow, that was worse, because the longer it went unsaid, the more it grew in your head, and the more you weren’t sure which would be harder: her knowing the truth… or you having to tell it.
When the first group hangout rolled around that week, you stared at the message in the group chat for a solid ten minutes before you typed anything. They were meeting at Nam-gyu’s place again, same as always, which meant both him and Se-mi would be there. Just the thought of it made your stomach knot.
You could picture it too easily: Nam-gyu watching you the way he had that night, his smirk carrying too much meaning, waiting for you to slip. Se-mi sitting across from you, maybe quieter than usual, maybe not, but her eyes steady and searching for cracks. It wasn’t just the fear of what they’d say, it was knowing that both of them would be looking for something now, even if they didn’t say it out loud.
So you sent the safest excuse you could think of. Not feeling well tonight. Think I’m coming down with something. The lie came easier than you wanted it to. A couple of quick replies popped up, the standard “feel better” messages, but you could almost feel Se-mi’s pause through the phone. No teasing, no offer to bring you something. Just read and left alone.
When the next hangout came a few days later, you did the same. Another still sick text, another round of polite responses. You imagined them laughing in the same spots on the couch, maybe even talking about you when you weren’t there. And the worst part was… you weren’t sure which one of them you were more afraid of facing.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
It was late, the kind of late where the streets outside your window were quiet and the only light in your apartment came from the dull glow of the lamp in the corner. You sat on the floor with your back against the couch, an open bottle on the coffee table beside you, the glass in your hand already not your first. The warmth in your chest wasn’t just from the alcohol, it was the pressure you’d been carrying for days, weeks, maybe longer. Every time you saw Se-mi’s name on your phone, every time you thought about her face if she found out from someone else, it twisted deeper. You were tired of dodging her, tired of excuses, tired of feeling like you were one breath away from being caught.
By the time you stood up, you weren’t sure if it was the buzz or the guilt making you move, but it didn’t matter. You slipped on your jacket, grabbed your keys, and walked out into the night. The air was cool enough to sting, the short walk to her place stretching longer than usual in your head. You almost turned back twice, but your feet kept going.
When she opened the door, she was in sweats and an oversized t-shirt, hair pulled back, no makeup. “It’s almost midnight,” she said, brows pulling together, but she stepped aside and let you in without hesitation. You kicked off your shoes and followed her into the living room, the TV paused mid-episode.
“You okay?” she asked, settling onto the couch. You didn’t sit right away. You stood there for a second, hands stuffed into your jacket pockets, before finally moving to the edge of the couch.
“I can’t keep lying to you,” you said, your voice a little rougher than you intended. Her head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to tell you she already had a guess where this was going.
“About what?”
You took a breath, your fingers tightening on your knees. “About me and Thanos.” The words came out faster than you meant, like ripping off a bandage. “What Nam-gyu said… it’s true. We’ve been… seeing each other. For a while.”
She didn’t speak right away. Her eyes stayed on yours, steady but unreadable, and in the silence you could hear your pulse in your ears. Finally, she leaned back slowly, crossing her arms. “How long?”
“Since… before the semester started.” Your voice was smaller now. “I didn’t mean for it to be a secret this long. I just… I didn’t know how to tell you. And I didn’t want you to think I-“ You stopped, swallowing. “I know he’s your friend. I know you introduced us. And I know this probably feels…” You trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
She was quiet for another long moment, eyes still locked on you. Then she sighed, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “You should’ve told me,” she said finally, and her voice was softer than you expected. “I don’t care that it’s him. I care that you lied.”
You dropped your gaze to your hands. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“I believe you,” she said, but her tone made it clear that believing you didn’t erase the sting. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. Right now… you should go home and sober up.”
You nodded, standing slowly, the weight in your chest still there but a little different now. Lighter in some ways, heavier in others. And as you left her apartment, you knew this wasn’t the end of the conversation, just the start of whatever would come next.
The next morning came too bright and too loud, even though your curtains were drawn and the apartment was quiet. Your head throbbed with that dull, stubborn ache that only came from drinking just enough to regret it, and your mouth felt dry no matter how much water you’d sipped since you woke up. You were curled on the couch in an oversized hoodie, blanket thrown over your legs, when a soft knock sounded at the door.
You already knew it was her. Something about the way it was just two short knocks, no pause, no follow-up, made your stomach tighten before you even stood up. You opened the door to find Se-mi standing there, coffee in one hand, her hair still damp from a shower. She didn’t wait for an invitation, just brushed past you into the apartment like she’d done a hundred times before.
“You look like shit,” she said, dropping the coffee on the table in front of you.
“Thanks,” you muttered, sinking back onto the couch. You pulled the blanket up higher, as if it could shield you from what was coming.
She sat across from you, elbows on her knees, her gaze steady. “So. Last night you showed up at my place and dropped half a truth bomb. I’m here for the rest.”
You pressed your palms against your face for a second before letting them fall into your lap. “We’re… hooking up,” you said finally, the words tasting strange in your mouth now that they were out in the open. “I don’t even know what we are exactly. We never talk about it. It just… happens. And it’s been happening for a while.”
Her expression didn’t change much, but her eyes flickered, like she was processing each word before deciding how to feel about it. You kept going before you lost your nerve. “I felt so bad lying to you. Every time I saw you, I wanted to tell you, but I was scared of how you’d react. And Nam-gyu already knew, or at least suspected, and I didn’t want it to be some kind of thing that everyone was whispering about.”
“You could’ve just told me from the start,” she said quietly.
“I know,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “I’m sorry. I thought I was protecting something, maybe me, maybe him, maybe both of us. But all I did was make it worse.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. She just watched you, and you could feel every ounce of history between you in that silence, all the years of telling each other everything, and the sharp weight of this one thing you’d kept back. Finally, she sighed, leaning back in her seat.
“I don’t like that you lied. But I’m glad you told me now. Just… don’t make me drag things out of you again, okay?”
You nodded, clutching the coffee she’d brought you like it was a lifeline. “Okay.”
It didn’t erase the guilt, but it felt like the first step out from under it.
She leaned back into the armchair, crossing one leg over the other, her fingers drumming lightly against her knee as she studied you. The silence stretched long enough that you started to fidget with the sleeve of your hoodie, waiting for whatever came next. When she finally spoke, her voice wasn’t sharp, but it carried that weighty mix of curiosity and knowing that always made you feel exposed.
“Didn’t you maybe keep it a secret because you already knew what I was gonna say?” She tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing just enough to press the point. “Like… you knew I’d tell you he’s bad for you. That you shouldn’t be doing this.”
The words landed heavier than you expected, like she’d just cracked open the exact thought you hadn’t wanted to touch. You froze for a second, your breath catching before you could pull together an answer.
“I…” You rubbed at the back of your neck, looking anywhere but at her. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably.” The admission felt strange, like it was loosening something in your chest and tightening it at the same time. “I guess I didn’t want to hear it. If you said it, then it would make it real. And I didn’t want to… stop.”
Her gaze didn’t soften, but it didn’t harden either. “So you chose to lie instead.”
You swallowed, the lump in your throat almost painful. “Yeah. I guess I did.” You hesitated, forcing yourself to meet her eyes now. “It’s not that I don’t value what you say. I do. It’s just… with him, I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. And if you’d told me to end it, I think a part of me already knew I wouldn’t listen.”
She let out a slow exhale, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “That’s exactly why I would’ve told you not to get involved. Because I know you. You don’t just ‘hook up’ with someone and keep it detached. You get pulled in. And Thanos? He’s the kind of person who likes pulling people in, but doesn’t stick around to hold them there.”
Her words cut deeper than she probably meant them to, not because they were cruel but because they carried that sting of truth you couldn’t ignore. You wanted to tell her she was wrong, that you knew what you were doing, but you couldn’t get the words out. Not honestly.
Instead, you sat there in the quiet, her gaze fixed on you, your mind replaying every moment with him, every teasing smirk, every time he’d leaned in too close, every touch that lingered just long enough to keep you guessing. And you knew she could see it all in your face without you having to say a word.
She shifted in her seat, leaning back again, the coffee cup she’d been holding now forgotten on the table. “How did this even begin in the first place?” she asked, her voice careful but not exactly gentle, like she wanted the full truth without you skirting around it.
You let out a breath, slumping further into the couch. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice quieter than before. “He was just… there. Suddenly. Noticing me when he never really had before. At first it was just small things, teasing me, sitting closer than he needed to, making little comments. Then he started calling me cute. Telling me I looked good. And one night, out of nowhere, he just asked if I wanted to make out. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.”
She didn’t interrupt, so you kept going. “After that, it just… kept happening. The flirting, the touching, the late nights. It was like he knew exactly what to say to make me blush, exactly when to lean in, exactly how to make it feel like it was only ever about me in that moment.”
Her expression stayed steady, but her eyes stayed locked on yours, tracking every word. Then she tilted her head slightly, and her voice dropped just enough to make your chest tighten. “You were a virgin. Did you two…?”
The pause that followed your silence was answer enough. You felt your cheeks heat, your gaze dropping to the blanket pooled in your lap. “Yeah,” you said finally, barely more than a whisper.
She didn’t gasp, didn’t widen her eyes, didn’t even look shocked. Instead, she nodded slowly, almost like she’d been expecting you to say it. “I figured,” she said, her tone calm but not without weight. “The way you’ve been acting around him lately… it wasn’t just casual.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure if the lack of surprise made you feel relieved or more exposed. “I wasn’t planning on it happening like that,” you said quietly. “But it did. And now it’s just… complicated.”
Se-mi leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees again, her eyes still locked on yours. “Complicated’s one word for it,” she murmured. “But I think we both know it’s more than that.”
You didn’t argue. You couldn’t. Because the truth was, she was right, and she’d probably known it before you’d even walked through her door last night.
You sat there with your fingers twisted in the blanket, the weight of the conversation pressing harder with every second she kept watching you. Finally, you let the words out before you could swallow them back down. “I really like him,” you said, the confession soft but steady, like you’d been carrying it too long to hide anymore.
Her eyes softened, but not in the way that meant she agreed. She leaned back in the chair, letting out a slow sigh through her nose. “I don’t want to make you upset,” she said carefully, “but I know Thanos. And this… whatever you’re feeling? It’s not the same for him.”
The words stung in the exact way you’d expected them to, but you didn’t look away. “You don’t know that,” you tried, though your voice didn’t have the strength you wanted it to.
“I do,” she said gently, but with the kind of certainty that came from experience. “He’s not the type to get serious. He likes the attention, the game, the chase, but when it stops being exciting for him, he moves on. I’ve seen him do it more times than I can count.” She hesitated, watching the way your expression shifted even though you tried to keep it still. “I’m not saying he doesn’t like you. I’m saying he doesn’t like you the way you like him. And I don’t want you getting hurt because you’re hoping he will.”
You felt that ache build in your chest, the one that came from hearing something you didn’t want to be true but couldn’t fully disprove. “I know what you’re saying,” you murmured, your voice small. “I just… don’t know how to stop.”
Se-mi leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees, her gaze steady and unflinching. “That’s what scares me.”
You tightened the blanket around yourself, eyes fixed on some point on the floor instead of her. “He’s sweet to me… sometimes,” you said, almost like you were reminding yourself as much as telling her. “It’s not just teasing or… whatever. He’s nice when he wants to be. He listens sometimes. He stays. And I’ve been with him for weeks and weeks now. If he was bored, he would’ve dropped me sooner… right?”
Your voice wavered at the end, the question hanging in the air like you already knew you didn’t want the answer.
Se-mi didn’t respond right away. She leaned back, folding her arms, her expression unreadable but her silence heavy. When she finally spoke, her tone was careful, but there was no mistaking the weight behind it. “Or maybe he’s keeping you around because you’re still new enough to keep him interested. Thanos doesn’t get bored on a schedule, it’s when he feels like he’s gotten everything there is to get.”
You flinched at that, your fingers gripping the blanket tighter. “You make it sound like I’m just… something for him to get over.”
“I’m telling you what I’ve seen,” she said gently, but with a firmness you couldn’t ignore. “And I know that’s not what you want to hear. But it’s better you hear it now than when he decides he’s done.”
The lump in your throat made it hard to speak, and you didn’t trust your voice not to crack. You just nodded slightly, though the doubt still pressed against the edges of your thoughts, trying to convince you she was wrong.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
The next time you saw him, Se-mi’s words were still lodged in your head like splinters, every one of them digging deeper the closer you got to his apartment. You told yourself you weren’t acting different, but your chest felt tight, your pulse a little too quick. All you could think about was her warning, that he could lose interest any second, that you’d only been interesting to him because you were still new. The idea of him deciding he’d had enough and just… letting go of you without a thought made something cold settle in your stomach.
When he opened the door, the familiar smell of his place wrapped around you instantly, warm and lived-in, tinged with faint cologne. He barely glanced up from his headset, already in the middle of a game, calling something into the mic with that low, focused tone he used when he was losing himself in it. Normally, you’d drop your bag and settle somewhere nearby, waiting for him to finish. This time, you didn’t wait.
You walked straight over to where he sat in his gaming chair, the light from the screen flashing across his face. Without saying anything, you swung a leg over and settled onto his lap, straddling him. His body went still under you, the faint creak of the chair loud in the small space.
One of his hands instinctively moved to your waist, steadying you, but his eyes stayed on the screen for a moment longer. “What are you doing, angel?” he asked, voice low but edged with amusement.
“Nothing,” you murmured, leaning in so your chest pressed against his, your arms looping loosely around his neck. You tilted your head, watching his profile, waiting for him to look at you. “Just… wanted your attention.”
That made him pause. He glanced away from the game long enough to study your face, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “You’ve got it.”
It should’ve been enough, but you couldn’t shake the need clawing at you, the need to remind him you were worth keeping, to make sure he wasn’t already pulling away. You leaned closer, your lips brushing his jaw, your fingers sliding into his hair. He shifted in the chair, one hand still on the mouse, the other gripping your hip a little tighter now.
“You’re clingy today,” he murmured, not sounding annoyed so much as curious.
“Maybe,” you said, the word soft against his skin. But in your head, it wasn’t about being clingy. It was about making sure he didn’t forget. Making sure he still wanted you here. And if throwing yourself into his lap in the middle of his game was what it took to keep his attention, then that was exactly where you were going to stay.
You stayed there on his lap, leaning into him like you had no plans of moving, the faint hum of his headset still crackling with the voices of his teammates. But your focus was all on him, your eyes scanning his face like you were memorizing every line, every flicker of expression. “You look good today,” you said softly, and even though it came out casual, there was more in the way you said it, like you needed him to hear it, to feel it, to remember it.
His lips curved into that small, knowing smirk, his eyes cutting toward you for just a second before flicking back to the game. “Do I now?” he murmured, the words more teasing than questioning.
“Yeah,” you said without hesitation. Your fingers toyed lightly with the hair at the back of his neck, the gesture slow and absent, like you were trying to keep him tethered to you. “How was your day?”
He gave a faint shrug, still half-focused on the match but answering anyway. “Same as usual. Worked out this morning, ran some errands, came back here. Nothing special.”
You hummed softly, letting the quiet hang for a moment before adding, “You want me to make you something to eat?” The question came out easy, but it carried a certain softness, the kind you used when you wanted him to know you were thinking about him, looking after him in a way no one else did.
That earned you another glance, longer this time, his eyes scanning your face like he was deciding whether to tease you for it or just take the offer. “You’re full of surprises today, angel,” he said, his tone warm with that slow amusement.
You smiled faintly, brushing your thumb over his jaw. “I just want to take care of you.”
He didn’t answer right away, but the way his hand on your hip tightened just slightly told you he heard every word. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to make him keep you right where you were.
You leaned in and pressed a big, lingering kiss to his cheek, the kind that made a faint heat rise there even if he didn’t comment on it. “Mm,” he hummed under his breath, eyes still on the screen but the corner of his mouth curling like he couldn’t help it. You slid off his lap slowly, your hands brushing over his shoulders as you stepped away, and made your way toward the kitchen.
The cabinets and fridge were familiar enough by now that you didn’t have to think much as you started opening them, scanning through for something to put together. You pulled open the lower cupboard and spotted a familiar stack of instant ramen packs, the bright packaging practically calling your name. A quick check of the fridge revealed some vegetables, bok choy, scallions, a stray carrot, and a bit of leftover marinated beef from what looked like takeout.
Glancing over your shoulder, you raised your voice just enough for him to hear over whatever his teammates were shouting. “I see ramen… you want me to make some with vegetables and meat? Just how you like it?”
He didn’t turn around right away, but you caught the faint smirk in his profile, his voice warm and low when he answered, “Yeah, angel. You know I can’t say no to that.”
You smiled to yourself, already pulling out a pot and filling it with water, the steady hum of the stove coming to life beneath your hands. As you chopped the vegetables and set the beef aside, you could still feel the faint warmth on your lips from where you’d kissed his cheek, a quiet, stubborn reminder that you were here, taking care of him, making yourself hard to let go of.
While the ramen simmered, the vegetables softening in the broth and the beef giving off a rich, savory scent, you opened the fridge and grabbed a cold beer. The bottle felt icy against your palm, condensation already starting to bead on the surface. You set it on the counter for a moment while you finished plating, deep bowls filled with steaming noodles, bright vegetables, and tender slices of meat arranged just the way you knew he liked it.
You carried the bowls to the coffee table first, setting them down carefully so the steam curled up between you and the glow from his monitor. Then you picked up the beer, twisting the cap loose as you walked over to him. He’d just leaned back in his chair, the game apparently over, his headset hanging around his neck.
“Here,” you said, holding the bottle out to him. “Cold.”
He took it from you with a faint smirk, his fingers brushing yours on purpose. “You’re spoiling me.”
“Maybe,” you said with a small shrug, already stepping back toward the table. “Come eat before it gets cold.”
When he joined you a moment later, settling onto the couch with the beer in one hand and the bowl in the other, you couldn’t help feeling a little lighter. He didn’t have to say anything, didn’t have to thank you out loud, the way he dug in without hesitation, the way his knee brushed yours under the table, was enough to tell you he noticed. And right now, that was all you needed.
When he was done eating, you picked up his empty bowl along with yours and carried them into the kitchen. The sink filled quickly with the soft clink of dishes, but instead of heading straight back to him, you started poking through his cabinets again. The craving for something sweet hit you almost out of nowhere, or maybe it was just that you wanted an excuse to do a little more for him.
You checked the shelves, the fridge, even the freezer. Nothing. No cookies, no ice cream, not even a forgotten candy bar shoved in the back of a drawer. “You seriously don’t have anything?” you called over your shoulder, half-laughing.
“Not really a dessert guy,” he said from the couch, his voice carrying that lazy ease that always made it hard to tell if he was joking.
You glanced toward the door, brushing your hands on your thighs. “You want me to run out and grab something? I could-“
“Wait,” he cut in, his tone shifting just enough to make you pause. “Come here for a second.”
Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten a little. You wiped your hands quickly on a dish towel and walked back into the living room, your eyes flicking to his face. He’d set the beer down on the table and was leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees, looking at you in a way that felt too focused.
“What’s going on?” he asked, not accusing, but searching, like he’d been noticing the way you’d been moving around him all night, the way you’d been filling every second with something to do. His eyes stayed on yours, steady and unblinking, as if he wasn’t going to let you brush it off.
You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your hoodie. “Nothing,” you said, shaking your head lightly. “I just… want to make you happy.”
For a moment, he just watched you, his mouth twitching into the faintest smirk. Then he leaned back in the couch, his voice low but certain. “Come here.”
You stepped closer, and before you could ask what he was doing, his hands slid to your hips and pulled you down onto his lap. The move was easy for him, like you’d been there a hundred times before, and you didn’t resist. You settled against him, your knees on either side of his thighs, the warmth of his body seeping through your clothes.
He didn’t say anything else at first, just tilted his head and pressed his lips to the side of your neck. The kiss was slow, deliberate, his mouth brushing your skin in a way that made your breath catch. One hand stayed firm on your waist while the other trailed up your back, holding you close.
You couldn’t stop the small smile that crept over your face, your eyes lowering as you let yourself sink into the moment. It was quiet except for the faint sound of his breathing against your neck, the kind of closeness that felt heavy but comfortable all at once. And sitting there, feeling the lazy drag of his lips against your skin, you couldn’t help thinking that maybe, at least right now, you’d done exactly what you set out to do. You’d made him happy with you.
he always has something planned, always know how to entertain you when needed
randomly brings you flowers, not some pricey bouquets but wild flowers he found on his way
I saw these flowers and they reminded me of you.
he looks so proud of himself when he's handing you those, a grin plastered on his face
dare to look unpleased and he immediately looks likee a sad puppy, hand lowering slightly, his eyes flickering to the flowers as if he's trying to understand what you don't like
not a good cook and refuse to assume it
sometimes you come back home and there's smoke and the smell of burnt
you imagine the worse until you see thanos with a rag and a burnt pan running around the kitchen
I swear I don't know what happened! one minute ago those fucking onions attack my eyes and the next one they are setting themselves on fire!
despite forbidding him to go near the stove, he always peeks behind your shoulder while you cook, trying to figure out what he did wrong
eventually he accepts the fact that he isn't the next Gordon Ramsay and sticks to instant ramen (the only food he can make)
big fan of cuddles from the back, his hands wrapping around your waist while he presses his chest against your back
thanos likes to rest his chin on your head/shoulder whenever he can, even if it annoys you
definitely the big spoon
only times when you get to be the big spoon is when he takes a nap and you lay down beside him
drooler and snoorer
which is ironic cause thanos cannot sleep in a noisy environement
don't worry, give him a little push and he will stop snoring... for about 5 minutes
absolutely hates to wake up early
protests and whines if you dare to get up or worse, wake him up before 9-10am
is the type to pull you back into the covers to get a few more cuddles
"come on... don't leave just yet. you really want to leave me cold and alone?
thanos loves when you play with his hair/fingers
nudges you like a cat until he gets what he want
always ask you to paint his nails because 'you do it better than him and paying for a professionnal is dumb'
100% into getting matching pyjama pants
not the basic red and black ones, no, we are talking about pyjama pants with silly prints or the iconic hello kitty ones
he wears them so often that sometimes he forgets to change them when he goes out
which of course earns him teasing from nam-gyu
is jealous, but not too much
thanos is confident and self-assured so he trust that you won't leave him for another
if a guy is especially flirty with you, he won't hesitate to diss him in one of his songs
speaking of songs
he often creates small raps for you (which are equally or even more embarrassing than the one he did for Mi-na)
if you are sad, he sees it as his job to make you laugh
dumb dad jokes, ridiculous songs, weird use of english in his sentences, funny stories, weird dance moves... he has never-ending ways to make you forget your sadness
neck kisses lover, whetever to receive or give
likes to give you small nibbles between kisses, just enough to leave you gasping
on your period, he's even more clueless than for cooking
the type to bring you pads AND wings instead of pads with wings and then looks totally lost when you burst out laughing
"what's so funny?! you asked for pads with wings so I got you pads and wings! see, i even got the spicy ones, your favorites.
once he read that women like to eat chocolate when on their period and since then, he always come home with a bag full of it
thanos runs to nam-gyu's place when your mood swings reach their peak
- dude, she can't be that scary. just stand up for yourself
- nam-gyu, one day you will realize that sometimes men have to choose their battles. this one ain't for me
nsfw
tease, tease, TEASE
sorry, did I mention that he is a tease?
100% makes you edge until you cry and beg for him to let you cum
what did i tell you, mhm? you have to ask for it, baby. with words, like a big girl
he can't help it, he loves to see you break under his touch, your eyes rolling back as he fucks you dumb
has a high libido but can survives if his partner hasn't
alternates between vanilla sex and spicy sex
sometimes he likes to take things easy and stick to traditionnal sex
but sometimes he likes to bring it to the next level
buys you sexy lingerie and expect you to put it on immediately
thanos loves to use toys on you
vibrator on your clit while you suck him off? yes! fucking you with a dildo until you beg for his cock? good lord yes please
he's a boob guy
that motherfucker can suck on them for hours like a goddamn leech and still not have enough
loves to watch them bounce and move at each thrust of his cock into your warm pussy
prefer to receive oral rather than give oral
he can't help but grab the back fo your head and use your mouth as his personnal cumdumpster
despite prefering to receive oral, he's always willing to give you a cunnilingus
he drags his tongue along your wet fold before the tip of his tongue nudge your clit, making lazily circle around it
thanos loves the taste of your cum, it has such an unique taste
licks his fingers after stretching you out and hums out of delight
fuckkk, so delicious f'me baby. all of this just for myself
his pace is usually fast and deep as he makes sure to hit the deepest spots
g-spot? you thought it was a myth until he bumped that place with his fingers, an eletric shock running up your spine
you don't know how he does that, but he always knows what part to hit to drive you crazy
thanos knows your sweet spots by heart and knows how to use them perfectly like biting your neck while pistonning his dick in and out of you or nibbling on your ear while he teases your slick slit
enjoys quickies from time to time but prefers to have all the time he wants
maybe you have a quick fuck in his dressing room right before one of his shows ;)
he isn't brutally mean nor degrading during sex but he can call you a slut or spank your ass if you misbehave
don't be a brat now. show me what good little slut you are for me
that man needs you to be loud, both vocally and bodily
he wants to hear you moan out loud each time your bodies connect and feel your gummy walls clench frantically around his shaft when he empties his balls inside you
he's the type to talk non-stop during sex and go quiet when he's about to cum, a simple low and deep grunt leaving his lips when he reaches his orgasm
aftercare is messy but gentle as you are both lightheaded after the intense lovemaking
he makes sure you are not hurt, clean you up (in the shower or simply with a wet cloth depending on your level of tiredness), offers you a glass of water and cuddle you afterwards until you fall asleep
summary: during a group hangout, thanos teases you in ways that make nam-gyu suspicious. later, he shares his suspicions with se-mi, leaving her doubtful but curious.
warnings: sexual content, alcohol, swearing
a/n: it’s been a while for this story😩
The apartment was warm and lazily lit, one of those quiet nights that started with no real plan and too many snacks. Nam-gyu had thrown open his windows to let in the city breeze, but the air inside still clung heavy with warmth and the low thrum of music pulsing from the speaker in the corner. You were seated on the left end of the couch, knees tucked up, arms loosely around them, trying to look casual even though your entire body was on alert. Thanos had taken the space next to you, like always, long legs stretched out and an arm draped along the top of the couch behind your head, not quite touching you but close enough that it made you nervous. You could feel him watching you out of the corner of his eye, like he was waiting for you to flinch or crack or lean in, he loved to test the line. Nam-gyu was sprawled out on the rug in front of the TV, back against the coffee table, one beer deep and flipping through something on his phone. Se-mi was in her usual place, legs criss-crossed at the far corner of the couch, phone in hand, laughing every few minutes at her messages.
The conversation was lazy and disconnected, jokes drifting in and out, nobody really paying attention, until Nam-gyu got bored and came back from the kitchen with a bottle of soju and a row of mismatched shot glasses he found in the cabinet. “Alright, we’re not doing this sober,” he said, setting them down with a grin and pouring generously. You hesitated for a second before Thanos leaned over you to reach for a glass, his chest brushing your arm, his breath soft against your neck. “Don’t tell me you’re scared,” he murmured low enough that only you could hear. You blinked, caught off guard by how close he was, and managed a quiet, “…I’m not,” before taking the glass. He watched you drink it with that familiar look, the one that said he was enjoying this way too much.
The game didn’t last long. None of you had the attention span for it, but the drinks kept coming, and so did the teasing. Thanos kept leaning too close, whispering things under his breath you couldn’t even respond to, bumping your knee with his, brushing his fingers over the side of your hand just to watch you pretend not to react. You tried to focus on Se-mi’s story about her professor tripping in the hallway, but it was hard when Thanos was draped beside you like gravity didn’t apply to him and all his attention was aimed solely at getting under your skin. You muttered quiet things now and then, little “shut up”s or “you’re so annoying” when he leaned too close or grazed your leg, but it only made him smirk wider. He loved when you pushed back, even if it was soft. Maybe especially when it was soft.
You reached for a chip, your fingers slipping slightly, and one fell, of course, landing right on your chest, near the dip of your sweater. Your hand froze halfway to grab it, but he was faster. He leaned in suddenly, mouth brushing the fabric, and plucked it up with his lips, his head dipping so close to your skin you forgot how to breathe. You sucked in a breath, the sound barely escaping you. “Thanos,” you whispered sharply, a quiet scolding edge in your voice, your cheeks flushing instantly.
Se-mi burst into laughter, completely oblivious, tossing a throw pillow at him. “You’re disgusting,” she said through a grin, not thinking anything of it. But Nam-gyu… he turned his head a little too slowly. His eyes flicked from Thanos to you and back again, and he didn’t laugh like the others. He smirked, yes, but there was a different weight behind it. He leaned back onto one elbow, still watching, his face unreadable but his silence saying more than anything. Something had clicked. He didn’t say it out loud, he wouldn’t, not yet… but the way he kept glancing over, the sharp amusement behind his eyes, told you he had clocked the tension. Or at least the possibility of something. You looked down, cheeks still warm, brushing invisible crumbs off your sweater, trying not to make eye contact with either of them.
Thanos, of course, didn’t care. Or maybe he cared too much and pretended not to. He leaned back against the couch like nothing had happened, throwing one arm behind your head again, this time letting his fingers just barely graze the top of your shoulder. You stiffened, then exhaled quietly. “You’re such an idiot,” you muttered under your breath. “Mmh,” he hummed. “But you’re still sitting next to me.” He didn’t even look at you when he said it. He just smirked into the air, his fingers drumming against the back of the couch slowly, lazily.
Hours passed like that. Se-mi fell asleep curled up on one end of the couch with a blanket tossed over her. Nam-gyu stayed quiet for the most part, but he watched more now. Every time Thanos reached for something and “accidentally” brushed your hand, or every time you shrunk slightly when Thanos whispered something low and smug against your ear, Nam-gyu didn’t miss it. He didn’t say anything, but you could feel it. The way he kept looking at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle. He said he was tired around three in the morning and disappeared into his room without another word, but the glance he gave you before he left was too knowing.
It was just the two of you now. Se-mi was snoring quietly under her blanket, the playlist still looping softly in the background. Thanos shifted beside you, stretching his legs out fully until they nudged yours. “You okay?” he asked, voice quieter now, not teasing. You nodded once, staring at the dark TV screen. “…Yeah.” He looked at you for a moment, and then leaned in, so close his voice was right by your ear. “You didn’t stop me,” he murmured, not smug this time, just curious. You turned your head toward him, your breath catching. “…I didn’t know how,” you whispered, honest and small and a little tired.
He didn’t answer, just watched you for a moment longer before his fingers trailed down to your hand and laced through your fingers like it was the easiest thing in the world. You let him. Because you were tired, and warm, and maybe stupid. But it felt good. It felt familiar. Like you didn’t want him to stop. He didn’t kiss you, didn’t say anything else. Just stayed like that beside you, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, and eventually, without meaning to, you fell asleep with your head against his shoulder.
The next morning came too bright. You blinked awake to the sound of someone shifting in the kitchen and found yourself still curled against him, Thanos dozing with his arm around you, his breath steady and calm. You sat up quickly, heart racing, just as Nam-gyu walked back into the room holding a mug of coffee. He stopped for a second, eyes catching the scene before you could untangle yourself fully, and raised one brow without a word.
He sipped his coffee slowly, eyes locked with yours. “Sleep well?” he asked, voice easy but laced with something unreadable.
You nodded stiffly, pulling the blanket around your lap. “Yeah.”
“Cool.” He sat down across from you with his coffee and turned on the TV without another word. But his eyes flicked toward Thanos once more, and the smirk that played at the edge of his mouth didn’t fade for the rest of the morning.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
Se-mi wasn’t expecting to run into Nam-gyu that afternoon. It was one of those rare quiet days where she had no classes and decided to go grab something sweet to reward herself for existing. She was scrolling her phone as she stepped into the small, cozy café on the corner, a local spot with yellow lights, plants hanging from the ceiling, and the smell of espresso thick in the air. She was halfway to the counter when a familiar voice, smooth and lazy as always, made her glance up.
“Well, well… look who decided to join the land of the living.”
Nam-gyu was leaning casually against the wall near the menu, hoodie zipped halfway. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed, as usual, but he wore that trademark smirk that always made him look like he was either amused by the world or about to start trouble.
Se-mi sighed, tugging her earbuds out. “Wow. Can’t even get a coffee in peace without running into you.”
“Please,” he said, pushing off the wall to follow her toward the counter. “You love me. I bring excitement to your otherwise boring life.”
“You bring noise,” she muttered, ordering her drink.
By the time they both had drinks in hand, they ended up taking the small table by the window. Nam-gyu sprawled in the chair opposite her like he owned the place, one ankle resting over his knee, sipping his iced coffee like it was the middle of summer. For the first few minutes, the conversation was casual just her classes, mutual friends, campus gossip. She made a joke about one of her professors tripping in the hall that made him snort into his drink, and for a while, it felt like any other random encounter.
But she noticed he was watching her too much, leaning back in his chair like he was sitting on a secret he was itching to drop. He finally tilted his head, that smirk stretching a little wider. “So… you free later?”
Se-mi raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Just wondering if you’re hanging with your bestie again,” he said casually, swirling his straw in the melting ice. “You two are practically glued together these days. Or, I don’t know… maybe she’s been busy with other things.”
The way he said it made her pause. “…Other things?”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table now, lowering his voice slightly even though the café wasn’t that busy. “You really haven’t noticed anything? With her? And Thanos?”
Nam-gyu gave a low chuckle and leaned back again, eyes sharp now even under the lazy posture. “They’re definitely fucking.”
The bluntness of it hit her like a slap. She choked a little on her drink, glaring at him. “Excuse me?!”
He just grinned, unbothered. “Come on, Se-mi. I’m not blind. The other night at my place? He couldn’t keep his hands off her. He was all over her, little touches, leaning in close, whispering things to make her blush. And she didn’t even tell him to back off. She just froze up like she’s already used to him being all over her.” He swirled his straw lazily, eyes glinting. “And the chip? He ate a chip off her chest. With his mouth. It’s typical Thanos behavior, but it’s about the way she reacted to it”
Se-mi’s face burned, and she shook her head immediately. “No. No way. She’s a virgin. I would know. She would tell me if she lost it. We tell each other everything like that.”
Nam-gyu’s smirk deepened, his voice dripping with amusement. “Yeah? Maybe before. But people start keeping secrets once they’ve got something they really don’t wanna share. You think she’s gonna run to you and say, ‘Hey, I let Thanos have me’? Not when she knows what you’d say. She’s keeping it to herself because she likes it too much.”
Se-mi glared, gripping her cup tighter. “…You’re being ridiculous. She’s not like that. She’s shy. She wouldn’t-“
“She wouldn’t?” he cut in smoothly. “She already is. You saw her face that night. You saw the way she looked at him and the way she couldn’t even look at anyone else when he touched her. That’s not new. That’s comfort. That’s a girl who’s already been sneaking around with him for a while.”
Se-mi faltered, her mouth opening and closing without a word. Images from that night flickered in her head, the blush on your cheeks, the way your voice went small when you muttered at Thanos, the silent tension that hung in the room whenever he leaned close. It had seemed like his usual shamelessness at first, but now she wondered. “…If she was sneaking around, I’d notice something,” she said finally, softer. “We hang out all the time.”
Nam-gyu leaned in slightly, voice low and certain. “You wouldn’t. Not unless you were looking for it. And trust me, I’ve seen this a million times. The way he was touching her? The way she just sat there, letting him? That’s not some one-off crush. They’ve been doing this for weeks. Maybe months. They’re probably sneaking around whenever they can. And if they’re not already fucking…” He paused, his grin turning sharp. “…they will be. Soon. She’s already his.”
Se-mi’s stomach twisted, and she hated the way doubt crept in despite herself. She wanted to argue again, to insist you would tell her anything that serious, but Nam-gyu’s smug certainty stuck under her skin like a splinter. She sipped her drink in silence, trying to think of all the little moments she’d brushed off, and suddenly they felt heavier.
Nam-gyu leaned back, satisfied, his grin lazy and cruel in the way only someone like him could pull off. “Watch her next time. Watch the way she reacts to him. You’ll see what I mean. They think they’re being subtle, but they’re not. Not to me. And now? Not to you either.”
summary: after late-night sexting with your best friend, everything changes. the bond you thought was purely platonic starts to feel deeper. were these feelings always there, hidden beneath the surface? or did something just… click? is this the start of something real, or the beginning of a mistake that could ruin everything?
warnings: aged up female reader (they’re both in their late twenties) (MDNI), smut (masturbation, fingering, public sex, p in v, oral sex (f and m), sexting, edging, praising, unprotected sex (don’t be silly)) semi and minsu are victims of the reader’s and subong’s freakiness, angst (name calling, miscommunication, pushing, throwing things, lying, deception, fear of commitment, reader refuses to help him at some point, slapping, slutshame remarks), overuse of the words ‘fuck’ and ‘fucking’ (lmaoo), subong should be a warning himself, fwb dynamic, reader uses someone to forget subong, drug use and addiction.
a/n: i’ve never ever written anything here on tumblr before, so i don’t really know what i’m doing, help. also, english isn’t my first language, so mistakes should be present!! lowercase is intentional. this is an au with no games. text messages are in different colors (orange for the reader, purple for subong). the reader’s dialogue is in bold. mind you, this is LOOOONG (it’s a whole fic)
songs that inspired me to write this: friends — chase atlantic || back to friends — sombr || heartbeat — childish gambino || casual — chappell roan
this fic was also inspired by @jedisupernova ‘s writing, check out her page and fics!!! (they’re soooo good)
you’re still thinking about what that guy said. it wasn’t even a big deal, not really. just some random jerk at the club who’d had a few too many drinks and decided to share his unfiltered thoughts about your body. “you’re not really my type,” he’d said, like you’d asked. then he’d laughed and added, “not many guys would go for that.”
it shouldn’t bother you. you know it shouldn’t. but now, a few nights later, it’s stuck in your head, looping like a song you can’t turn off. so, lying in bed, scrolling aimlessly, you do what you always do when something’s bugging you—you text him. your best friend.
subong. are you awake?
yes ma’am. why?
i got a random question. but like, it’s not that deep
???
do you think i’m attractive?
you fire it off without overthinking, like it’s no big deal. it’s not weird to ask your best friend something like this. right?
it takes him a few minutes to reply.
what kind of question is that?
just answer
i’m too high for this shit, bro
you’re not high🙄 liar
i wish i were
omfg can you just say yes or no? please? but be honest, i promise i won’t get mad
yeah, i think u are
really?
sure thinggg, u’re hot mama
dude quit playing, i’m being serious over here
i’m not fucking playing
okay you think i’m attractive but like… what kind of attractive? cute attractive? like awwww. or i’d-fuck-you-raw attractive?
what are we even talking about
why can’t you just answer?😭
what is this for?
for my knowledge
tf is that supposed to mean?
you stare at the screen, mentally deciding whether you should tell him about what happened or not. you hadn’t told him before, not wanting to give it more attention. but this time, you decide to.
ugh, remember i went clubbing the other day? well this dude was being an asshole to me and he said some stuff and i can’t stop thinking about it so just be fucking honest and answer my question
some stuff? what stuff?
he said, and i quote ‘not many guys would go for that’. ‘that’ is me, btw💀
who tf is this dude?
bruh idk, some random guy, it doesn’t matter
it does?
are you gonna answer my question or no?
yeah. i think u r both kinds.
good, good, you think to yourself. his reply makes you relax a little, the knot in your stomach loosening. he thinks you’re attractive. of course he does—he’s your best friend, and best friends are supposed to hype you up.
for a moment, you stare at your phone, chewing on your bottom lip. you know you should leave it there, let it go. but something keeps tugging at you.
so, hypothetically, would you… yk, with me?
the second you hit send, panic sets in. your pulse skyrockets, and you almost want to throw your phone across the room. why did you do that? why couldn’t you just shut up? but you don’t have time to spiral, because the dots appear almost immediately.
are u serious?
and you freeze. your fingers hover over the screen, but you can’t bring yourself to type anything back. what kind of answer is that?
alr, imma be honest. yeah i would
your heart stops. you blink at the message, reading it again and again, like the words might change if you look long enough. you weren’t prepared for this.
subong’s typing…
would u? with me?
you want to lie, to brush it off, but your fingers move before your brain can stop them.
maybe
the dots pop up again. then disappear. then pop up again.
maybe?? that means yes. cmon i’m hot as hell, baby, u know it. u’ve probably touched yourself thinking about me at least once
wtf bro you’re giving me the biggest ick rn 💀
but have u?
and you? i bet you jerk off to my insta photos, perv. don’t even start lmaoo
can’t help it when u look that good💯
you stare at his message, your mind scrambling to process it. you feel your breath catch in your throat. the shock should be overwhelming, but instead, you feel a strange warmth spread through you.
you didn’t expect this. the idea that he’s been thinking about you like that… it sends a shiver down your spine. you should probably tell him to stop, tell him it’s too much, but instead, you feel yourself leaning in, pulled toward this conversation in a way you didn’t think you would be.
i may or may not have done the same with your insta pics
i knew itttt señorita 🙏🏼
shut up
how many times?
why do you wanna know?🤨
i answered ur stupid ass questions, now u answer mine
maybe like idk, two?
no fucking way, just two????????
you think it’s not enough or what???? how many times have you done it?
more than u wanna know
how bad are we talking?
so bad i’ve lost count. u really want me to get into details?
maybe i do
bro, let’s just say that everytime u post i’m over here fighting a battle
you do realize i’m your bestfriend right?
yeah, so?
so aren’t there any girls to jerk off to instead of me???
yeah but they don’t make me as hard
you stare at the screen, your heart pounding, your legs squeezing together instinctively. what the hell is happening right now? and then another message comes through.
even saying this shit is getting me worked up
what???😭 you’re hard??
yeah bro, what's a guy supposed to do when his best friend asks if he would fuck her?
it was hypothetical
hypothetically speaking, if a guy was attracted to his best friend, he'd probably be rock fucking hard right now. so yeah, i'm fucking hard, girl
your stomach flips at the bluntness of his words. you can feel the blood rushing to your face as you stare at the message.
too much info, subong
nahhh, u asked. u wanted details, so here they are
okay… should i leave you to it?
fuck no
damn alr, suffer then🙄
could u help me out?
help you out?????????????
with a pic of u or smth
boy whatttttttttt
what?
i’m not sending you fucking nudes wtf 💀💀
no one asked for that, stupid. just a pic of u
just a pic of you. the request feels so simple. he’s your bestfriend—it’s not that big of a deal, right? especially after everything you’ve both just confessed to each other.
your eyes flick toward the mirror in your room. you’re in your pajamas. no bra. you know how it looks. it’s the kind of thing you wouldn’t think twice about wearing around him in person, but now, with this conversation, it feels different. your legs carry you to the mirror almost on autopilot. you pick up your phone and angle it toward your reflection. you shouldn’t even be entertaining this. but instead, you snap the picture. you stare at it for a moment, biting your lip. it’s not explicit—it’s just you. but still… you know exactly how he’ll see it.
your thumb hovers over the send button, hesitation gripping you. a hundred reasons not to do this race through your head, but one single thought drowns them all out: you want to know how he’ll react. before you can second-guess yourself, you hit send. the moment it delivers, your stomach drops, a mix of adrenaline and regret washing over you. you sit down on the edge of your bed, staring at the screen, waiting for his response, your heart pounding louder with every passing second.
hoooooooooly shitttttttttt
it’s just a pic
yeah, a pic of u looking like that
im just in my pajamas
and i’m hornier now, if that’s even possible
subong you can’t just say stuff like that
why not? we always tell each other everything
i should’ve thrown on a hoodie
i’d still be thinking of what’s underneath
well, glad i could help your horny ass🫡 enjoy or whatever
subong’s typing…
subong’s online
subong’s typing…
subong’s online
you watch the dots—flickering like they're mocking you. you can't help but wonder what he's typing—or if he's second-guessing whatever bold thing he's about to say. but then, they disappear. nothing. you frown, staring at the screen, waiting a few more seconds. still nothing. you realize exactly what he's probably doing. you bite your lip, heat creeping up your neck as the image forms in your mind: him, sitting there, hand wrapped around his dick, staring at the picture you sent.
you feel like you need to do something—anything—to distract yourself. you toss your phone onto the bed and reach for the remote, flipping on a random tv show. you let the noise fill the silence, but your mind keeps drifting back to him. it's a few minutes later when your phone dings. the sound cuts through the room like a knife, and you hesitate for a moment, staring at the screen, before finally reaching for it.
it's him. he sent a picture.
these are my pajamas. now we’re even, baby
him, standing in front of the mirror, shirtless and wearing only a pair of tight black briefs. the way he's posing is so over the top... he's trying way too hard. his expression is almost comical, like he's not really sure if he's pulling it off but is hoping you'll think he is. you can't help it—you stifle a laugh. but then your eyes drop, and that laughter dies in your throat. the bulge is so obvious, pushing against the fabric in a way that's impossible to ignore. it's not just visible, it's big. big enough that your pulse spikes, and you forget to breathe for a second. that laughter you were holding back? gone. you glance back at his goofy grin in the mirror, but it's no longer funny. shit. you’re wet.
you don't even know how it happens. one moment, you're staring at his picture, then a teasing comment here, a bold reply there—and before you know it, you're lying on your bed, your phone clutched in one hand and your other slipping between your thighs, pressed against the growing ache he's stoked with every message. you've never gone this far with him before—always ignoring his obvious flirting. but you can’t stop now. and he isn’t shy about it either, telling you with detail everything he would do to you.
u'd look soooo fucking good begging under me, baby
and what if i don’t?
then i'd make u
mhmmm, how?
fuck, i’d bury my face between those thighs and eat u out until u can’t take it anymore
a soft gasp escapes your lips as you read, your body reacting to the vivid images his words paint in your mind. you know you shouldn't be doing this—not with him—but the way he's describing everything makes you forget about all the reasons why. you’re far past the point of feeling shy too. you bite your lip, barely believing yourself as you hit send.
i wish you could feel how wet i am just thinking about you fucking me from behind
god damn girl, i’d stretch that pussy so good my dick is the only thing u’d think about for weeks
and then, it's not just texting anymore—you're sending pictures, even though you swore you wouldn't. the first one is a close-up of your fingers, glistening with your juices. his reply comes almost instantly, not as a text but as a voice message. “shit, baby, you're f-fucking killing me... mhmm... look at that. you're so fucking wet f’me, I can almost taste it through the screen... fuck...” his voice is low and rough, broken by soft, shaky breaths. you can hear him stroking himself, moans slipping out between words. you're losing your damn mind over it, replaying the voice message again and again—fingers curling inside of you as you push them in and out, wishing it were his fingers instead of yours.
he sends a pic too. this time, he leaves nothing to the imagination. it’s a selfie, his face barely visible at the corner. the center of attention is his hard dick, hand wrapped around it, tip leaking precum. and the only thing that comes to your mind right there and then is just how badly you want to take him in your mouth.
one picture leads to another, the messages growing dirtier with every exchange. his words are filthy, his photos even filthier, and the way he talks about your body—what he'd do to it, what he's imagining—fucking hell. your breathing quickens, your body burning with need, and before you know it, that familiar tension starts to coil low in your stomach.
shit, subong… i’m close
u’re gonna cum for me? cmon pretty girl, let me hear you
you hit record just as your orgasm crashes over you, moaning his name loudly as you cum on your fingers. after a few minutes, he sends a voice message back “you sound so fucking good… shit, look what you’ve done t-to me… mmm… fuck, fuck, fuck… i’m gonna cum thinking about fucking you, baby. i’m gonna cum thinking about you making those… s-sounds while i fucking pound into you.”
the next few days are a blur. he hasn’t texted, and you haven’t either. but no matter what you do, you can’t stop thinking about what happened. no matter how hard you try to shake it off, it’s there. his voice, the way he sounded saying your name, the damn nudes, the way your heart raced as you typed those things to him.
you don’t know how to feel about it. on one hand, you can’t deny how much you wanted it in the moment. but now? now you’re not sure. did you cross a line? did he? part of you regrets it, wishes you could just rewind and stop yourself before things spiraled. but another part—one you’re trying to ignore—remembers how good it felt, how right it seemed in the moment.
and then there’s the friendship. years of it. he’s been your best friend for a few years now. he knows things about you no one else does and he’s seen you at your absolute worst. like that night you showed up at his door after a horrible breakup. mascara streaked down your cheeks, and he didn’t say a word—just handed you a blanket, put on your favorite movie, and sat there with you until you fell asleep on his shoulder.
but it wasn’t always serious. like the time he tried rapping one of his freestyles for you, all cocky, and you laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe. or like the time you tripped over absolutely nothing at the mall, and he laughed so hard he cried, then spent weeks reenacting it whenever you were around. or when he clogged your toilet and tried to fix it himself instead of just telling you. or when he picked a fight with some guy at a club because the guy bumped into you and didn’t apologize. he got all puffed up and said, “you got a problem, man?” like he was some kind of action movie hero. but the guy was huge, like, rugby player huge, and before you could drag subong away, he swung and missed, and the dude took him down in one hit. he spent the rest of the night with a bloody nose and ice pressed to his face, grumbling, “he got lucky.” you still remind him of how he ‘lost a fight in one punch,’ and it always makes him groan.
you’ve got a thousand stupid inside jokes that no one else would understand, like how you always text each other ‘don’t die’ instead of ‘goodnight’ because of some dumb horror movie you watched together. or the fact that he nicknamed you ‘señorita’ when you said you wanted to visit spain one day.
he’s a walking disaster, an endless source of secondhand embarrassment, and somehow, that’s what makes subong… subong. being around him has always felt easy, like slipping into your favorite hoodie—comfortable, familiar, safe.
but friends don’t do… that. what if it’s never the same again? you’ve always been comfortable with him, never overthinking what you said or did around him. now, you can’t imagine looking him in the eye without thinking about what you two did together. you keep telling yourself that things will go back to normal, but deep down, you’re scared they won’t. because you’re not sure you can go back—not after knowing what it felt like to be wanted by him in that way. not after letting yourself want him back.
one day, out of the blue, he texts you like nothing happened. just casually, like you didn't have your hand between your thighs while listening to him moan your name a few nights ago.
yoooo, wanna hop on call and play videogames? i’m bored
at first, you stare at the text, because... what does this mean? is this his way of brushing it under the rug? of pretending nothing ever happened? still, you say yes. because what else can you do? you hop into the call, and there he is—joking, laughing, completely normal. like the two of you didn't cross every possible line. he's so good at acting like nothing's changed, it almost convinces you. you match his energy, responding with the same casual ease. maybe this is fine. maybe you're fine.
then the group chat lights up a few days later: a cinema meet-up. everyone's throwing out ideas for what movie to watch, talking about snacks, debating over showtimes. he's there, throwing in jokes about popcorn sizes and his infamous sweet tooth, and you're sitting there trying to decide if you can handle seeing him face to face. you hesitate, debating if you should just make up an excuse not to go. but then he replies to the chat, tagging you specifically.
u better be there señorita
i will🙃
the day arrives faster than you’d like, and before you know it, you’re standing outside the cinema, stomach flipping as you spot namgyu, minsu, gyeongsu, and semi waving at you. you force a smile and walk over, doing your best to focus on their chatter and ignore the nerves crawling up your spine. but then you see him—subong, leaning against the wall, vape in hand. and when his eyes land on you, he smirks. he knows damn well. he knows exactly what you’re thinking, and he’s not going to make this easy for you. “finally,” he says when you’re close enough. “i was starting to doubt you’d come.” “why wouldn’t i?” you reply. he shrugs, taking a puff from his vape “thought you might’ve had better things to do.” the way he says it feels loaded, but he doesn’t give you time to respond, turning his attention to namgyu instead.
when it’s time to head into the cinema, you try to position yourself far from him, making a beeline for a seat between minsu and semi. you settle in, thinking you’re safe, but of course, subong has other plans. “yo, minsu, my boy,” he says as he walks down the aisle, stopping directly in front of you. “mind scooting over? i’ll sit here.” “uh, sure,” minsu says, shifting down without hesitation. you open your mouth to object, but before you can say anything, subong is sliding into the seat next to you, drink in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other. “hope you don’t mind,” he murmurs, leaning a little closer than necessary. you grit your teeth, keeping your gaze locked on the screen as the previews start. “not at all,” you mutter under your breath.
you think that’s it. but, of course, it doesn’t end there. he shifts in his seat, his arm brushing against yours every now and then, like he’s waiting for you to react. you swear you catch him smirking out of the corner of your eye multiple times. you try to focus on the movie, but it’s impossible when his presence is so loud. every little movement, every tiny glance, has your nerves on edge. and he knows it.
then, you feel it. his hand—light at first— rests on your bare thigh, the heat of his palm sending a jolt through you. you freeze, your breath catching in your throat. what the hell is he doing? his fingers trace a soft line along your skin, caressing just above your knee. you stay still, unsure of what to do, but your body betrays you, not pulling away.
his touch grows bolder, creeping higher up your leg, slipping under your skirt. you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. he's still watching the movie, acting like nothing is happening, like his hand isn't inches away from your clothed pussy. “what are you doing?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper. he turns his head toward you, looking innocent, like he's just minding his own business. “nothing.” “subong—” “i'll stop if you want me to.” you don't answer, torn between wanting to push him away and not wanting him to stop at all. “do you want me to stop? be honest,” he says, still waiting for your response. “no,” you reply, looking away with embarrassment. he chuckles softly—hand rubbing the inside of your thigh.
you drape the thin jacket you brought over your legs, a flimsy attempt to shield his hand from semi’s view. every nerve in your body screams that you shouldn’t be letting this happen, but you don’t stop him. he spreads your legs with his hand for better access, and soon you feel two of his fingers pressing against your clit over the fabric of your panties. your breath hitches, and you try not to move—not even a sound escapes you—but your lips part at the feeling of his touch. he moves them slow—too slow—in a way that has you shifting against him, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more. and he gives it to you. his hand slips beneath your soaked underwear, and a low chuckle leaves him when he feels just how wet you are.
subong knows what he is doing. he rubs your clit in circles, gently but with enough pressure to have you biting your bottom lip. and god, his fingers feel so much better than you ever imagined. when he quickens the pace, a soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and you quickly slap a hand over your mouth, pretending to be focused on the screen. but the rapid rise and fall of your chest betrays your so-called calm. before you can collect yourself, semi leans in. “are you okay?” “mhm,” you nod quickly, forcing a smile. “yeah, don't worry, i—” your words falter when his fingers move faster. you bite your lip, trying to hold it together, but he's clearly enjoying watching you struggle. “i-i'm fine,” you manage to stutter. semi raises an eyebrow. “you sure?” “yeah,” you nod. “alright,” semi says before shrugging and turning her attention back to the screen.
you let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through you. your head snaps toward subong, eyes narrowing in a glare that’s meant to convey exactly how ridiculous he’s being right now. you dig your nails into his wrist, “are you crazy?” but he only pauses for a second, leaning in close enough to whisper, “relax, girl. no one noticed.” the audacity of him sends heat rushing to your face. but he doesn’t back down, his fingers resuming their slow, torturous movements. and just as you’re about to reach your orgasm… he stops. your body jerks in frustration, and you whip your head toward him, confused. his smirk only deepens as he pulls his hand from under your skirt, bringing his fingers to his lips and licking them clean. “what the fuck?” you whisper, a soft groan escaping at the loss of his touch. “what?” he whispers back, feigning innocence. “you know what.” “i don't. you'll have to spell it out for me.” “subong—” “tell me what you want.” the frustration wells up in your chest. to him, this is probably hilarious—you being so desperate. but for you? it's humiliating. pathetic. begging your best friend for something like this. still, the need outweighs your pride. you lean in, your lips almost brushing his ear, “i wanna... i wanna cum. please, make me cum.” “yeah? be fucking quiet, then.”
his fingers slip back under your skirt. your breath catches, and you press your lips together, your body already trembling from how close you were before—gripping the armrest, barely able to keep still. every nerve in your body feels like it's on fire, and when his fingers circle just right, you're done. the release hits hard, and you muffle your moans by biting down on your lip so hard it stings.
the days after are... strange. again. no texting, no acknowledgment, no teasing, nothing. it's like it never happened. and when he does text again, it's so casual it throws you off. he sends a random picture, a meme he has found on instagram.
this shit is so funny bro loooololol
i fear your humor is broken😐
naahhh u just don’t get ittt babyy
you reply like everything's fine because, well, isn't it? you don’t even know at this point.
another day, he messages the group chat:
pentagon this weekend?🔥
the replies come fast. namgyu’s working that night. semi has plans with her girlfriend. gyeongsu says he’s too exhausted for it. minsu doesn’t even reply. everyone has an excuse, and eventually, the chat goes dead. then, a private message from subong popps up.
wbu? still down to go?
you and subong had gone clubbing together hundreds of times. hell, most nights it was just the two of you, dancing until your legs gave out, taking blurry selfies, and laughing over cheap drinks. it was normal. so, you type:
yeah, sureee
bet. see u saturday, señorita
when the night comes, your phone buzzes as you’re double-checking your look in the mirror.
outside
outsideeee
outsideeeeeeeee
hellooooooooooooooooooo
one minute, let me grab my jacket
i’m freezing man
one minute my ass
patience is a virtue ❤️
cmooooooooon
u knitting the jacket or what
girl i just hit retirement age waiting for u
you’re so dramatic
and u r so slow, balance baby
you grab your jacket and head out, the bass from his car already thudding through the air when you step outside. you see him leaning against the passenger door, dressed in his usual baggy style—a loose graphic tee, cargo pants, and sneakers that probably cost more than your entire outfit (the only damn thing he saves up for…)—vape dangling lazily from his fingers. when he sees you, his eyes trail over you for a second too long. “you’re overdressed,” he teases with a smile. “you’re underdressed,” you shoot back.
the drive to club pentagon is easy, filled with a mix of rap tracks and subong’s singing. when you finally pull up, the line’s already stretching down the block, but subong doesn’t even blink. “namgyu’s working, right?” he asks, sliding out of the car. you nod. “yeah, he’ll let us in.” inside, the music is already pulsing, bass heavy enough to shake the floors. subong grabs your wrist. “drinks first?” “obviously,” you answer. you follow subong to the bar, the pounding music buzzing in your ears. “what are we starting with?” he asks, leaning against the bar. “shots,” you say, already reaching into your bag. he raises an eyebrow. “you’re paying?” “you’re broke,” you remind him, rolling your eyes before ordering four shots of tequila. when the glasses arrive, he grabs two and hands you one. “guess i’ll owe you,” he says, clinking his glass against yours. “you already do,” you reply, downing the first shot without hesitation. the familiar burn of tequila trails down your throat, and you chase it with a quick breath.
you can feel his eyes on you as you throw back the second shot. you don’t meet his gaze, but you can feel it—the weight of it, the way it makes your stomach flutter. shaking it off, you slam your glass on the counter and signal for one more round. “last one,” you say, mostly to yourself, pulling out more cash. he doesn’t argue, just picks up his shot, watching you as you pick up yours. you both toss back the final shot, and the alcohol is just enough to loosen the knot in your chest. but the way his gaze lingers as he sets his glass down makes it tighten again. “dancing?” you ask. he nods. you push through the crowd till you find a spot on the dance floor. the techno track thuds through your chest as you sway to the rhythm. subong moves with you, not particularly in sync with the beat, but in his own way that somehow works. every now and then, his eyes catch yours, and you have to force yourself to look away.
the music builds, and you let yourself get lost in it, the alcohol buzzing through your veins and the tension from earlier slowly dissolving into the haze of the moment. after a while, he stops moving and pulls his phone from his pocket. you glance at him, curious, as he squints at the screen. whatever he sees makes him smile faintly before he shoves the phone back into his pocket. “i need to hit the bathroom!” he says, leaning close so you can hear. you blink at him, confused. “right now?” he nods, gesturing for you to follow. you don’t argue—it’s not exactly safe to hang around the dance floor by yourself. reluctantly, you let him lead you off the floor.
he disappears into the men’s room, leaving you standing against the wall, arms crossed. you tap your foot, watching drunk strangers stumble past. a few minutes later, the door swings open, and subong walks out, a small smirk playing on his lips. “what took you so long?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. instead of answering, he holds up a small plastic bag between his fingers. your stomach flips when you see the little colorful pills inside. “what the hell is that?” you ask, but you already know. he grins, tilting his head. “new stuff.” your brows furrow. “what?” “my plug got these,” he says, holding up the bag slightly. “said they hit different. figured i’d try.” he slides one pill between his fingers, studying it like it’s no big deal. then he brings it to his mouth, about to toss it back. “wait,” you say, grabbing his wrist. he scoffs. “what? you want it instead?” you glare at him. “no, subong. what are you even doing? you don’t need that!” he rolls his eyes, freeing his wrist from your grip. “come on, it’s nothing. we’ve had worse.” “worse?” you scoff. “you’re really gonna compare getting blackout drunk and smoking pot to this?” “you’re fucking overthinking it. it’s just one pill. just tonight. trust me.” he says.
you glance at the bag again, at the little pills that seem so harmless yet scream bad idea. “subong…” you start, but your voice trails off. “look,” he cuts in, his voice softer now. “we’re having a good fucking time, yeah? it’ll be just this once, okay? i promise.” “okay,” you say suddenly, lifting your chin. “but if you do one, i’ll do one.” his smirk falters for half a second. “no.” you frown. “what do you mean, no?” “i mean no. you’re not taking one.” “but you can?” you challenge, crossing your arms.“yeah.” you scoff. “that’s bullshit.” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “this isn’t your thing, señorita.” “since when it’s yours?” you snap. “if you’re gonna do it, then so am i.”
he looks at you, really looks at you. then, with an exasperated groan, he reaches into the bag. “fucking stubborn,” he mutters, pulling out another pill. “just this once.” he holds it delicately between his fingers before stepping closer. “open up,” he says, his voice dropping a notch. you hesitate for a second but eventually part your lips, sticking out your tongue. he places the pill gently on it. “there you go,” he says, stepping back and popping his own pill. you swallow it quickly, trying not to think about what you’ve just decided to do.
you move back onto the dance floor, the pill's effects creeping in like a warm wave washing over you. the flashing lights seem brighter now and everything blurs together—colors, sounds, the heat of the crowd—but it feels good. better than it should. your limbs feel lighter, like you're floating, and the energy buzzing inside you pushes you to move. subong is right there beside you, dancing with his hand raised, and you can't stop staring at him. his messy hair sticks to his forehead, sweat glistening on his tanned skin.
before you know it, your arms are around his neck, pulling him in like it’s the only thing keeping you steady. his eyes burn into yours for half a second, like he’s daring you to close the distance. then his hands are on your waist, rough fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, and he drags you closer until you’re pressed against him. the music is pounding, but it feels distant—like the only rhythm you can hear now is the way your bodies move together, hips rolling in time, every brush of his skin against yours making you burn.
his breath fans across your lips, hot and tasting of tequila and something bitter—maybe the pill he took earlier—and it makes your head spin. then your mouth crashes into his. there’s nothing soft about it. it’s messy and sloppy, urgent—like you’re both too far gone to think about anything but this. his lips part against yours immediately, and your tongues meet in a dizzying clash of heat and need. his hands slide up your back, fingers threading into your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth.
you tilt your head, chasing the kiss even deeper. you feel the sharp graze of his teeth against your bottom lip, a bite that makes you whimper before he soothes it with his tongue. the sound you make pushes him further—he groans into your mouth, his other hand gripping your jaw, tilting your face exactly how he wants it.
you’re not sure where the desperation is coming from, but it feels like if he stops touching you, you’ll shatter. your fingers clutch at his shirt, twisting the fabric as you grind just a little closer, a little harder. he’s breathing just as heavy as you are, lips red and swollen from kissing you like he never wants to stop.
you’ve kissed people before but nothing’s ever felt like this. nothing’s ever felt this fucking good. the two of you stumble out of the club. your legs feel like jelly as you hold onto subong, and his arm wraps around your waist to steady you. his car is parked a few streets over, tucked away in a dark, hidden corner under some trees. “thank god for this spot,” he mutters as he unlocks the doors.
you barely make it into the backseat before he’s on you again—his lips crashing into yours like he’s been waiting for this forever. his hands are all over you, rough and desperate, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. but you’re not going anywhere. his fingers dig into your thighs as he pulls you into his lap, and the second you straddle him, you feel it—hard and thick, pressing right against the heat between your legs. a soft gasp slips out of you, but he swallows it with another kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. fuck, he’s good.
your hands tangle in his hair, pulling as your hips start to move, grinding down on him. his grip tightens immediately, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he guides your movements, rocking you against him harder. the friction creates a delicious, aching pressure that makes you whimper against his lips. “fuck,” he breathes, breaking the kiss just long enough to let his head fall back against the seat. his fingers squeeze your ass, dragging you down against him rougher. “keep doing that.” so you do. you roll your hips, slow at first, letting yourself feel everything. you’re already soaked, already throbbing for more, and from the way his hands are gripping you, the way his breathing is getting heavier, you know he feels it too. “i need to eat you out,” he says, trailing kisses down your neck. “want you to cum on my tongue.” you do exactly what he wants—legs spread wide, thighs trembling as his head dips between them. his breath is hot against your soaked pussy, teasing, before his tongue finally makes contact—slow at first, a long, deliberate lick from your entrance to your clit that makes your whole body jolt.
you gasp at the feeling, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging hard, but it only makes him groan against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure straight through you. he doesn’t hold back. he devours you, eating you out like a man starved, his tongue flicking against your clit before he sucks it into his mouth. and when two of his fingers slip inside you, curling deep, pressing against that perfect spot, you swear you see stars. “you taste so fucking good,” he groans against you, his lips slick with your arousal before he flattens his tongue and laps up every drop. the way he’s working you—his mouth, his fingers, the filthy sounds coming from between your legs—it’s too much, too good, and your whole body is trembling, hips rolling against his face, chasing more. “shit—subong!” your voice breaks as the pleasure crashes over you all at once. your thighs clamp around his head, your body arching off the seat as you cum hard against his mouth. but he doesn’t stop—his tongue keeps moving, drinking you in, dragging out your release until you’re shaking.
when he comes back up to kiss you—chin shining with the evidence of your release— your hand instinctively moves to rub him through his pants, the hard outline of his dick impossible to miss. he hisses at the contact, his hips bucking eagerly against your touch. “you got a condom?” you ask. he pauses. “yeah, hold on.” reluctantly, he pulls away and starts patting his pockets. his brows furrow in concentration as he checks one side, then the other. finally, with a relieved grin, he pulls a condom out and holds it up. “got it,” he says before kissing the wrapper, making you chuckle.
he looks so fucking hot as he rolls the condom onto his cock, his chest rising and falling with anticipation. but nothing gets him off more than watching you climb back onto his lap, your soaked folds teasing the head of his dick as you line yourself up. his breath stutters, his hands gripping your thighs, barely holding himself back. “fuck, you’re so wet,” he says, voice tight with restraint. then, slowly you sink down onto him. inch by inch, he stretches you open, filling you up until there’s no space left between your bodies. “shit,” he hisses, watching as your slick coats him, making every movement easy, effortless—like your body was made to take him. and when you start moving, lifting your hips before sliding back down, a broken moan escapes his lips. “fuck, baby,” he breathes, hands roaming up your back, gripping your ass, anything to ground himself as you ride him. “you feel so f-fucking good—look at you, taking me so… mmm… so fucking well.” his voice is needy, and when you slam down harder, his hips jerk up to meet yours, pushing even deeper. “oh my—fuck, subong!” you cry out, your walls clenching around him so tight it makes his whole body tense beneath you.
he almost fucking loses it the second he feels you clench around him, his face twisting in pleasure, jaw going slack. his hands grip your hips, guiding you—faster, rougher—eyes locked on where your bodies meet, watching his cock disappear inside you over and over again. he forces himself to meet your gaze, even though his eyes keep threatening to roll back. “fuck, if i’d known how fucking good this pussy is… i would’ve f-fucked you sooner.” he moans as you move faster, bouncing on his cock—every thrust making obscene, slick sounds that only turn him on more. his eyes drop to your tits, bouncing perfectly in time with your movements, and fuck, he can’t decide what he wants more—to keep watching you ride him like this or to flip you over and ruin you.
but then you tighten around him, your rhythm stuttering as you throw your head back, moaning so loud he swears the whole damn neighborhood can hear you. “fuck— i’m gonna—! i-i’m gonna cum!” you cry out, your whole body trembling, thighs shaking as you cum around his cock. and that’s it. that’s all it takes to break him. “shit—ngh!” his body jerks beneath you, his abs tensing as he spills into the condom, his head falling back, mouth open.
his hands are still gripping you, holding you down against him as he rides out every last pulse of his release, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. and fuck—you’re still wrapped around him, warm and wet and perfect. you end up laughing for a solid twenty minutes after that, still too high to fully process what the fuck just happened between you two. but even in your haze, every single detail stays with you the next day.
fucking your best friend while high as fuck one night might’ve been an accident. but then it happens again. and again. and again. and you can’t call it an accident anymore.
it happens everywhere.
in his car, where the windows are always fogged up, your moans echoing in the tight space. in your apartment, where he barely gets the door shut before he’s got you pinned against it, hands rough and greedy, yanking your clothes off like he’s been waiting all fucking day for this. sometimes he doesn’t even make it past the kitchen—he just lifts you onto the counter, knocking over whatever’s in his way, too impatient to care as his mouth moves down your neck. in his bed, where the sheets are always a mess, tangled from how hard he fucks you into the mattress, his hands gripping your wrists, pinning them above your head. even in a club bathroom, right after he gives a show, still high off the energy, sweat dripping down his temple. you’re barely inside before he’s got you bent over the sink, hiking your dress up, shoving your panties to the side, fucking into you so deep you have to bite your hand to keep from screaming his name.
wherever. the second you’re alone, it’s happening. it becomes a thing. a need.
you always figured subong would fuck good. he never shut up about the girls he’s been with, the shit he’s done, bragging like he was the best lay any of them ever had. and every time he talked about it, you’d feel heat pool between your thighs, wondering if he was really that good or just full of shit.
now you knew. and fuck, he wasn’t lying.
he’s rough and passionate—the kind of lover who takes without hesitation but gives just as much, maybe even more. he loves watching you squirm, loves the way your body responds to him like it was made for this. like it needs this. his fingers trail down your skin, barely touching, making you shiver before he finally gives you what you want. and fuck, he lives for it—the way you gasp when he finally presses his mouth between your legs, the way your back arches when he fills you up, stretching you wide, making you take every inch.
some days, he drags it out, torturing you with slow touches, lazy kisses, making you beg before he finally gives in. he’ll tease you until you’re trembling, hands gripping at him desperately, “please, subong… need you so bad.” and then, maybe then, he’ll give you what you’re begging for. other days? he doesn’t bother waiting. before you can say a word, he’s got you pinned to the mattress, yanking your legs apart, pressing himself against you, making you feel just how hard he is. “been thinking about this all fucking day.” then he’s inside you, fucking you like he’s been starving for it.
it’s been months now—this thing between you and subong. but you don’t talk about it. not once. there’s no late-night confessions, no whispered ‘what are we?’ between tangled sheets. he doesn’t ask who else you’re seeing, and you sure as hell don’t ask him. but the uncertainty lingers. because he’s still your best friend. you still laugh at his dumb ass jokes, roll your eyes when he’s being his cocky self, and feel that weird, warm twist in your stomach when you catch him watching you from across the room.
and yet, there are a bunch of little things that scream something more. like that time you sat on his rumpled bed while he was writing a song, and you helped him hammer out stupid-ass verses—even when he swore they’d never work. you teased him for his cheesy lines and then watched his face light up like he’d just discovered a new fucking world. hell, he even calls you his muse sometimes, and you hate how damn proud that makes you feel.
or that stormy night. the rain was lashing against the windows, and you two were locked in his tiny studio apartment. one minute you were laughing, taking silly pictures of him with a digital camera while he smoked, and the next, he had your face pressed against the wooden table as he fucked you from behind—your ass cheeks burning from his vigorous spanking. after, he pulled you close, running his fingers through your hair as if trying to memorize every inch of you.
that one night he showed up at your door at 2 a.m., high off his ass, slurring your name with that cocky grin, his knuckles tapping too fast against the wood. “couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled, leaning against the doorframe. “fucking missed you.” you should’ve told him to fuck off, should’ve rolled your eyes and slammed the door in his face because he promised he wouldn’t do that shit again. instead, you let him in, let him collapse onto your bed with a heavy sigh, pulling you down with him. his arms caged you in, the scent of his cheap cologne filling your senses.
then there was the time you caught him staring at you while you were getting ready. you were fixing your hair in his mirror, wearing nothing but his oversized t-shirt, and when you turned around, he was just standing there—arms crossed. “what?” you asked, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. he just shook his head, smirking a little. “nothing,” he said. “you just—you look good in my clothes, mama.”
and when you called him crying after a shitty day at work, voice shaking so bad he could barely understand you. you didn’t even have to ask—he just showed up, no questions. drove way too fucking fast to get to you, and pulled you into his chest so tight it felt like he was trying to hold you together. “who do i need to punch?” he asked, half-joking, half-dead serious. and you laughed, even through your tears, because that was him—always trying to make you smile. he let you cry into his hoodie, let you hold onto him like a fucking lifeline, and then, when you finally calmed down, he kissed your forehead like it was second nature. “you’re okay, baby” he murmured. “i got you.” he always had you.
or the night he took you to some shitty underground concert, knowing damn well you didn’t even like the band. “it’s not about the music,” he told you, grinning like an idiot. “it’s about the experience.” you rolled your eyes, but you still let him pull you into the crowd, still let him wrap an arm around you when the pit got too wild, still let him hold your hand. afterward, sweaty and breathless, you sat on the curb outside, sharing a cigarette while he rambled about how sick the show was. “you should play up there one day,” you told him, nudging his shoulder. “your songs have gotten better.” “you think?” “yeah. you’re good, bong-bong.” the nickname made him laugh. a week later, he showed you something he wrote. something raw and messy and fucking beautiful. he let you hear a part of him no one else ever did.
you even helped him rebrand himself. it started with him pacing his room, muttering to himself, stopping every few seconds like he was about to say something, then changing his mind. eventually, you sighed, rolling onto your stomach while watching him from his bed. “are you having a breakdown or just being dramatic?” he ignored you, still pacing. and then, out of nowhere, he stopped. snapped his fingers. looked at you like he just discovered the secret to life itself. “i’m gonna dye my hair purple.” you stared at him for a long second, waiting for him to laugh or tell you he was joking. but he just stood there, completely serious, shoulders squared like he was about to go to war.
within twenty minutes, you were in his bathroom, gloves on, a box of purple dye sitting between you. you didn’t even ask how he got it so fast. knowing him, he’d probably been sitting on this idea for weeks, just waiting for the right moment to drag you into it. he sat on the closed toilet lid, legs spread, while you stood over him, parting his hair and working the dye through. up close, he looked smug as hell, like he knew he was onto something. the whole rap game was about standing out, and he was done waiting for people to notice him.
the name ‘thanos’ caught on faster than you expected. at first, it was a joke—you called him that to be annoying, and then he used it in a song, and suddenly, people were saying it back to him. dms started piling up. more people started listening. before you knew it, subong wasn’t just some guy making music in his bedroom—he was thanos. and, of course, he acted like he knew it was gonna work all along.
and fuck, the time he brought you home to meet his family. his mom fussed over you like you were the perfect daughter-in-law, laying on your favorite dish and insisting you have seconds. then, saying, “he talks about you a lot”, making subong choke on his food while his sister goaded him about how he treats you like his damn girlfriend. you felt so out-of-place and yet so damn loved by the way he proudly introduced you to everyone, as if you were the missing piece in his fucked-up puzzle. he even opened up to you about his dad—how he never gave a shit about him, never looked at him unless it was to point out everything he did wrong. maybe that was why he kept stealing glances at you like he was trying to make sense of it—of being wanted, of being next to someone who actually cared.
and later that night, when you were both lying on his couch, full and sleepy, he nudged your knee with his. “thanks for coming, señorita,” he mumbled, eyes half-lidded. “they liked you.” you turned your head to look at him, saying, “of course they did. i’m fucking amazing.” he smirked, but it faded quick, his gaze lingering on you a little too long. “yeah,” he murmured. “you are.”
nights that weren’t about sex at all. the ones where he just wanted you close, his hands resting on your back, his lips pressed to your shoulder, his voice low and sleepy in the dark. “you’re warm,” he’d mumble, pulling you closer. “don’t leave.” “i work tomorrow, baby,” you’d say. “i’ll drive you… stay with me,” he’d always replied.
and you did. every single time.
and there were the nights he fucked you like he meant it. not just like you were some girl he was hooking up with, but like you were the only one who had ever mattered. like he was trying to prove something with every touch, every kiss, every time he pressed his sweaty forehead to yours and whispered your name like a prayer.
like he loved you. but he never said it. and neither did you.
so instead, you settled for the quiet moments—for the way he always pulled you into his lap at parties, his hands resting lazily on your thighs; for the way he let you pick the music when you drove anywhere, even though he always bitched about your taste; for the way he let you steal his fries, let you doodle on his lyrics notebook, let you wear his hoodies even when you didn’t ask; for the way he texted you ‘good morning, baby❤️,’ and it made you smile for no damn reason; for the way you woke up to find him still asleep beside you, hair a damn mess on the pillow, and traced lazy circles on his chest while he mumbled some half-remembered melody. for the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching.
you can’t help but hope that one day you’ll both just say the damn words and finally admit that all these little moments mean something. you hope that maybe, just maybe, one day you’ll stop wondering if you’re more than just friends with benefits.
are u busy?
no, why?
good, i’ll be there in 10
i’m on my period
who gives a shitttt, i sure as hell don’t, mama
subong.
yeah?🙏🏼
not in the mood❤️
oh
alr cool👍🏼💯
can i still come over tho? we could watch a movie or something
yeah okayyy, bring snacks (or else i won’t let you in)
i’m the only snack u need, girl
you don’t expect him to show up with anything, but when you open the door, subong’s standing there, hands full—one holding a plastic bag, the other gripping a bottle of soda. “what’s all this?” you ask, raising a brow. he steps inside without waiting for an invite, kicking off his shoes. “you said ‘bring snacks’, didn’t you?” he says, dropping the bag onto your coffee table. “figured you’d want something sweet.” you peek inside—chocolate bars, a pack of strawberry pocky, even a container of sliced fruit. your chest tightens at the thought of him actually remembering the little things you like.“what, no painkillers?” you tease, flopping onto the couch. he scoffs, collapsing next to you, way too comfortable in your space. “what do i look like, a pharmacy?”
you give him a knowing look, and his lips twitch, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. grabbing the remote, you ask, “so, what are we watching?” “something i won’t fall asleep to,” he says, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. “which means no boring indie shit.” you nudge his thigh with your foot. “first of all, my movie taste is elite. second, if you fall asleep, i’m taking pictures.” he grins, lazy and cocky. “yeah? what will you use them for?” heat rushes to your face, and you smack his arm without thinking. “shut up.”
the movie plays, and for a while, it’s normal. easy. you snack on the pocky while subong steals pieces of fruit from the container, acting like he’s doing you a favor by eating the ones you don’t like. he stretches out on the couch, legs spread, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. goddamn.
it's barely been a few minutes when you find yourself on your knees in front of the couch, his strong hand fisting in your hair as you hungrily suck his dick like your life depends on it. you couldn’t help it. he just looked too fucking good. you take him deep, your nose pressing against his abs, gagging slightly but refusing to back off. he lets out a groan as you take him, the head of his dick hitting the back of your throat. His hand tightens in your hair, guiding your head up and down. “fuck, just like that baby... show me how much you love this dick.” his hips thrust forward, making you gag slightly. “you're so f-fucking good for me... mmm such a pretty little mouth, choking on my cock.”
drool slips down your chin as you struggle to breathe but maintain eye contact, wanting him to see how much you love taking him in your mouth. the wet, obscene sounds of you slurping and gagging fill the room. he watches you intently, pupils blown wide with lust, his dick throbbing against your tongue. moaning around him, the vibrations make his thighs quake. "shit... you’re gonna make me fucking c-cum," he breathes out. “you gonna… you gonna let me cum in that s-sweet mouth of yours, hm?” “mhmm,” you purr around his length, looking up at him with hooded eyes. you double your efforts, sucking him hard and fast, your hand pumping what you can’t reach. he holds your head in place as he comes, making you to swallow every last drop. you take a moment to catch your breath, wiping your mouth before sitting back up.
the bathroom lights hum to life as you rinse your mouth and splash cool water on your face, trying to shake off the heat thrumming through you. you press your palms against the sink, inhaling deep in an attempt to look less flustered. the movie’s still on when you come back. you get comfortable, leaning into subong just slightly. he doesn’t say anything, just lifts his arm and lets you settle in against his side. the warmth of him seeps into you, and you rest your head on his shoulder. subong smiles at you before kissing your forehead, something that shouldn’t mean anything but somehow does.
you shift slightly, but he just pulls you in closer, his body solid and warm against yours. your heart stutters in your chest, and the thought of what you are—what you actually mean to him—becomes impossible to ignore. the longer you sit there, the harder it is to pretend this is normal. your heart is beating too fast, your mind racing with thoughts you’ve been shoving down for months. finally, you tilt your head to glance up. “subong,” you start, your voice quieter than you mean it to be. he hums, eyes still on the screen, but you can tell he’s listening. you swallow, suddenly nervous. “what… what are we doing?” that gets his attention. “what do you mean?” you sit up a little, putting some space between you—enough to see him clearly. “this. us. it’s been months, and we’ve never talked about it.” “what’s there to talk?” “i mean, is this just sex to you?”
he doesn’t answer right away. his jaw tenses, his eyes flicking away for a second like he’s weighing his words. “does it feel like just sex to you?” he finally asks. your chest tightens. “no.” his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to admit it so easily. like maybe he’s been trying to convince himself of something different. “right. it’s not just sex, we’re friends, too,” he says. “then why are we acting like this?” you push. he rubs a hand over his face. “i don’t know.” he leans forward, elbows on his knees. the silence stretches thick between you, but you refuse to let it suffocate you. you need to know. “what do you want this to be?”
subong exhales hard, dragging a hand through his hair. he looks frustrated, like he doesn’t even want to have this conversation. like you’re ruining something by asking. “why do we have to call it something?” he says finally, and your stomach twists. you blink, sitting up a little. “because it’s been months, subong. because we’re not—we’re not just fucking and then going our separate ways. because we’re sitting here, cuddling, watching a damn movie, and it feels like more.” his jaw clenches, his fingers tightening around his knee. “it doesn’t have to mean anything.” that stings. worse than you were expecting. you swallow around the lump forming in your throat. “it does to me.” his face twists, like he hates hearing that. “shit, don’t fucking do this,” he mutters, shaking his head. “why can’t we just keep things the way they are?” “because i’m tired of pretending this is casual when it’s not,” you snap, your voice cracking. “not for me, at least.”
he squeezes his eyes shut for a second, like he’s trying to hold something back. when he looks at you again, his expression is unreadable, but his next words hit like a punch to the gut. “then maybe you shouldn’t have let it get this fucking far.” you feel like the air has been sucked out of the room. “what?” “i never promised you shit.” the words cut deep, sharper than anything he’s ever said to you before. you open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. because he’s right. he never did. but the way he touched you, the way he held you after—none of that felt like nothing. you shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your voice steady. “are you fucking kidding me?”
he hesitates for a second too long. and that’s all you need to know. you force yourself to nod, pressing your lips together. “okay.” his brows furrow, like he wasn’t expecting you to take it like that, but you don’t give him the chance to say anything else. you grab the remote, press stop on the movie, and push yourself off the couch. “you should go.” “are you fucking serious?” you cross your arms over your chest, fighting to keep your composure. “yeah, i’m serious. get the fuck out.” “we have one fucking shitty conversation, and now you don’t want me here?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “what the fuck do you want from me, subong?” your voice shakes, and you can feel it crack, but you force it out. “sit here and pretend like i didn’t just fucking tell you how i feel? pretend i’m not fucking hurt because you—” you stop yourself, biting your lip so hard it almost bleeds. his jaw clenches. “what?” you let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. “because you don’t fucking care.” “i never said i don’t care.” “you might as well have,” you snap, voice breaking with frustration. “you just don’t give a shit enough to do anything about it.” he presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek, breathing hard through his nose. “just because i care doesn’t mean we have to slap a fucking label on it!” “and i just have to be okay with that?!” you snap, your voice rising. “i have to sit here like a dumbass and pretend this is fine when it’s not?”
he throws his hands up, his face twisting in frustration. “for fuck’s sake, why do you have to make everything so fucking difficult?” “difficult?!” you let out a humorless laugh. “you’re the one acting like a fucking idiot, subong! you want to fuck me, cuddle me, act like i’m your fucking girlfriend, but the second i ask you to be honest about what this is, suddenly i’m the problem?! you even introduced me to your damn family!” he freezes for half a second when the words leave your mouth, then he stands up, jabbing a finger in your face. “what the fuck did you just call me?!” you swat his hand away, your glare burning into him. “don’t fucking point at me like that!” his jaw tightens, and his nostrils flare like he’s barely keeping himself from snapping. “you wanna talk about being a fucking idiot?! look in the fucking mirror!” he spits. “you’re the one acting like some needy little bitch because i won’t say what you wanna hear.” “fuck you, subong!” you don’t say anything else. you just turn on your heel and walk out of the living room, heading straight for the kitchen. your hands are shaking, your chest tight, and you just need to put some distance between you and him before you completely fall apart. behind you, you hear him scoff. “seriously? you’re just gonna walk away mid-fucking-conversation?”
you grip the edge of the counter, squeezing your eyes shut. maybe if you stay quiet, he’ll take the fucking hint and leave. but of course, he doesn’t. you hear his footsteps as he follows you in. “you always do this shit,” he mutters, his voice dripping with irritation. “running off the second things don’t go your way.” you whirl around, your eyes burning. “what should i do, then? hm? get on my knees and suck your fucking dick again?!” he clenches his fists at his sides, his mouth opening like he’s about to argue—but then he hesitates. because the truth is, you do mean something to him. he just doesn’t know how to fucking deal with it. subong has never done this before—never been in something that wasn’t just fucking around, never had to deal with real feelings, real expectations. and the idea of fucking it up? it scares the shit out of him. but instead of admitting that, instead of being honest for once in his life, he just does what he does best—pushes, lashes out. it seems easier than dealing with what he feels when he’s around you.
“why do you care so fucking much about not calling it something?” you ask, your voice softer now. “if we’re not seeing other people, if we’re always together, if you do care about me, then why?” his throat bobs as he swallows hard. and then—because he’s a fucking coward—he lies. “who says i’m not seeing other people?” you freeze. his face is unreadable, but you can see the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he already regrets saying it. “you’re lying.” your voice is quiet. he just shrugs, “i’ve been seeing this girl.” “who?” you raise your voice, taking a step closer as tears start falling down your face. “who?!” “i’m not fucking telling you!” “are you serious?! aren’t we supposed to be friends too?! we used to tell each other everything!”
his eyes flick to yours, and for a second—just a second—something flashes in them. something like guilt. but then he shuts it down, scoffing as he shakes his head. you continue, “but we’re not even friends anymore, are we?” “don’t say that.” “why not? it’s true, isn’t it? friends don’t do what we do,” you wipe at your face, even though the tears won’t stop fucking falling. he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, pressing it against the inside of his cheek like he’s trying to hold something back. but then he just shrugs again, voice flat. “guess we’re not fucking friends either, then.”
your vision blurs as you cry, no matter how hard you try to keep it together. “get the fuck out, subong.” your voice breaks on the last word, and you hate how fucking weak you sound, how pathetic. and the second the first real sob rips out of your throat, something in him shifts. “fuck. no, i—” he exhales, raking a hand through his hair, his voice softer now, like he’s realizing he went too far. “i didn’t mean it. i’m sorry—i’m sorry, baby.” “don’t fucking call me that!” “you gotta listen to me!” you shake your head, taking a step back, your whole body trembling. “no. i’m done listening to your fucking bullshit.” “baby, please.” his voice cracks, and his hands reach for you—hesitant, like he doesn’t know if you’ll let him touch you. “please.” you slap them away instantly. “don’t fucking touch me.” “you’re really just gonna shut me out like this?!” “you shut me out first!” “i fucking care about you!” “not enough!” his breath catches in his throat, and for a second, he just stares at you. “you’re being fucking dramatic.” “get the fuck out of my house, subong.” “why are you being such a fucking—” “say it.” your voice is a challenge, daring him to go there. he doesn’t hesitate. “bitch. a fucking bitch. you—you’re acting like a bitch.”
you’ve had enough. without thinking, you shove him—hard. he stumbles back a step, caught off guard, but you don't stop. you shove him again, your palms flat against his chest. “you’re a fucking asshole! fuck you! get out! get the fuck out!” his jaw tightens, like he wants to argue, like he wants to throw something else back at you, but you're already stepping forward again, grabbing his arm and shoving him toward the front door. subong wrenches his arm away, but you don't let it stop you. you push him again, shoving him past the threshold. but he’s not moving, so you grab the nearest thing—his damn sneakers—and chuck them at him, one after the other. the first one bounces off his chest, the second one catches him square in the shoulder. “what the fuck, man?!” subong barks, flinching back, his face twisting in irritation. he barely catches the second shoe before it can hit the ground. “you’re a crazy bitch!”
“fuck off!” your voice cracks again, but you don’t care. you’re already stepping forward, already reaching for the door—and you slam it in his face. the sound echoing through the room. for a moment, silence. a long, awful pause where your breath hitches, where your chest tightens so much it feels like you’re suffocating. then—“open the door. c’mon, open—open the fucking door!” he slams his fist against the wood. “stop being so fucking childish!” “you’re calling me childish?! grow up, subong! you’re twenty six, you don’t know what you want and you still dress like a fucking kid!” he bangs the door. “you’re one to talk, girl! always dressed like a damn slut!”
you squeeze your eyes shut and stumble to your room until your knees hit the bed, and then you’re collapsing onto it. the first sob breaks out of you before you can stop it, and then another, and another. you curl into yourself, pulling the blanket over your head, pressing your hands against your ears. but it doesn’t block him out. “fucking talk to me!” another bang. you hear the doorknob rattle. “baby, please! i’m sorry, okay?! c’mon, don’t do this! we’re fucking friends!” your voice is muffled when it finally comes, thick with tears, but loud enough for him to hear you. “go away!” “not fucking happening! open the damn door!” “go away or i’m calling the fucking cops, motherfucker!” that seems to work. you curl tighter, press your face into the pillow, and sob until the sound of his fists against the door fades away. he did this. he made you feel this way. and he fucking hates himself for it. but it’s too late.
the next few days are absolute shit. you barely leave your bed at first. your body feels too heavy, your chest too tight, your eyes too sore from crying. when you do finally move, it’s only to go through the motions—brushing your teeth, pulling on the same oversized hoodie, forcing down a few bites of food even when everything tastes like nothing, and going to work. you don’t check your phone at first. you can’t. but eventually, the screen lights up, and you don’t have to look to know who it is. subong. you let it ring. he calls again. and again. when it finally stops, the texts start.
pick up the fucking phone
cmon baby please
i fucking miss u
don’t do this shit to me
u make me so fucking angry
bro istfg
please
you turn the phone face down. but he doesn’t stop. every time you glance at your screen, his name is there.
i know u r reading these
don’t fucking ignore me bro
at least tell me u r okay
minsu asked why u didn’t come with us today
just fucking answer
is it that hard?
years and years of friendship man and u throw it all away like that?
u r fucking selfish
i hope u know that
the texts keep coming. always at random times. but the worst ones come at night. one day, at 4:12 a.m., your phone buzzes against your nightstand. you try to ignore it, try to pretend you’re asleep, but something tells you to look.
im highhg as fuvckk bro
look whatu vdone to me
fukcing bittvhhh
its urA fault
i mis uu
u r myybhaby❤️❤️❤️❤️
its fucking 4am. i wake up at 6 to go to work, stfu and leave me alone
can i cone over? plewaasse
answer bitchj
fuck you, subong. i don’t want to see you again
come bsck
i loveyouy
you block him, roll over, and squeeze your eyes shut. but sleep doesn’t come easy. not when the last words he sent are still glowing behind your eyelids, burning into your brain.
blocking him should have brought peace. should have been the final step, the clean break. but it doesn’t feel like that. instead, it feels like holding your breath underwater, waiting to resurface, except there’s no hand to pull you up this time. the first few days, you keep checking your phone out of habit. unlocking it without thinking. but there’s nothing. you still reach for him in small ways—almost texting him when something funny happens, almost turning to tell him about your day. but you can’t do that. you won’t do that. so you keep yourself busy. you pick up a book, let your eyes scan the words without really absorbing them. go on long walks, let the cold air bite at your skin, hoping it shocks you out of your thoughts. start journaling, writing down everything except his name, except the way your chest still feels hollow. you even try new things—take a yoga class with a friend, bake cookies at 2 a.m., cut your hair just to feel something different. but memories of him are stitched into the fabric of your life.
you hear his voice on the radio sometimes now, when they play a song of his that went viral. see him in the reflection of dark car windows, like he’s just a step behind you. hear a joke and immediately think about how he’d laugh, head thrown back, eyes crinkling at the edges. you tell yourself that eventually, you’ll forget. but some nights, you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he’s staring at his too. if he’s thinking about you. and the ache doesn’t go away.
your phone rings one night, when you’re already in bed. you almost don’t answer, but when you see semi’s name flash across the screen, you pick up. “hello?” your voice is groggy, tired. “hey,” semi says. “sorry, did i wake you?” “no,” you lie. “what’s up?” there’s a pause. hesitation. then, “it’s subong.” your stomach drops. “we’re worried about him.” she rushes the words out, like she’s been holding them in for too long. “he’s been acting weird lately—worse than usual.” you close your eyes, already knowing where this is going. already knowing what she’s about to say before she even says it. “he’s been taking those pills,” she continues. “the ones he used to mess with sometimes, but now he’s on them all the time. it’s like he’s not even—shit. he was out,” she says, frantic. “namgyu couldn’t wake him up at first, it was fucking bad, dude. and now he’s still high as hell, barely making sense, and he keeps—” she hesitates. you frown. “he keeps what?” “he keeps mumbling your name.” you feel like you’ve been punched in the chest. you press your fingers to your temple, trying to stop the pounding in your head. “fuck.” “he’s not okay,” she says. “he’s barely sleeping, barely eating. he looks like shit. well, he always does, but you know what i mean. and when he does talk, it’s like he’s—like he’s not there.”
you take a shaky breath. you shouldn’t care. you don’t care. he’s not your problem anymore. but your stomach still twists at the thought of him like that. “maybe you could talk to him?” semi says, hopeful. “when he feels better. i think he’d listen to you. gyeongsu is gonna take us to the hospital in a few minutes, maybe you could come too? we’ll pick you up. we’re at namgyu’s apartment, we had to take him—” “we’re not friends anymore, semi,” you cut off, swallowing down the lump in your throat. silence. “what?” she says. “what do you mean?” “he hasn’t told you?” “told us what?” “it doesn’t matter,” you say finally, letting out a heavy sigh. “i can’t help him.” “but—” “i can’t, semi.” the words come out sharper than you mean them to. she falls quiet. after a long moment, she sighs. “alright, okay,” she says, voice heavy with disappointment. “i just… i didn’t know.”
and even though you tell yourself it’s not your problem, even though you tell yourself you did the right thing—you don’t sleep that night. maybe you’re the most horrible person ever. for not helping him. that’s what you think to yourself as the days go by. you don’t go to see him. you don’t text semi back. you tell yourself that there’s nothing you could have done, that he made his choices, that you’re not responsible for saving him. but the guilt sticks to your ribs.
you keep moving forward. and then, somewhere along the way, you meet him. he’s nothing like subong. not really. but sometimes, in the way he leans back in his chair, in the way he runs his fingers through his hair, in the way he laughs when he’s had one too many drinks—he almost is. (he even likes rap!) and maybe that’s why you let him take you out. why you let him kiss you. why you let him press his hands against your skin and pretend it feels right. it doesn’t. but you let it happen anyway. because it’s easier. because when you close your eyes, you can almost pretend it’s subong. it’s fucked up. you know it’s fucked up. but you tell yourself it’s fine. that it doesn’t matter. that this is what moving on is supposed to look like. but it’s not fair. you know you shouldn’t be doing this. and when he asks what’s wrong, why you get quiet sometimes, why you look at him like you’re seeing someone else—you just smile. shake your head. press a kiss to his lips and hope he never realizes that you don’t mean it. hope he never realizes that no matter how hard you try—subong is still the only one you see.
he invites you to a show one night, says it’ll be fun. you don’t really know much about it—just that it’s some rap battle tournament called ‘rap battlegrounds’—but you’re bored, and it’s something to do. you don’t ask too many questions because, honestly, you don’t care that much. he picks you up, and you follow him through the neon-lit streets to a club you’ve never seen before, the bass already thumping from inside. he leads you through the crowd to a small corner of the club. it’s dark, gritty, with exposed brick walls and dim, flickering lights that barely cut through the haze of smoke hanging in the air. the floor is sticky. it’s the kind of place you usually avoid, but tonight, you let it slide.
you're barely paying attention, your eyes drifting over the crowd, the noise just background filler. the battles blur together, the hype not really doing anything for you. you're zoning out, tapping your foot to the rhythm of the beat, hoping this night will pass quickly—regretting all your life choices when he wraps his arm around your shoulders. when suddenly, a voice crackles through the mic, cutting through the noise. “yo, yo, yo, we got a real one up next! fresh off that new heat, straight killin’ the game—make some noise for ‘thanos’!” you freeze, snapping your head to the stage as the crowd cheers. “…and he’s goin’ up against the beast, the local legend, the one and only jace ‘the hammer!’”
there’s no way. you blink, trying to process it, but everything’s too dark, shadows everywhere, making you second-guess yourself. but then, you hear it—his voice. your stomach sinks. this is real. subong is here. for a second, you think you might pass out. he’s standing there, center stage, all cocky confidence, rapping like he owns the room. you wish you could ignore it, wish you could pretend he’s just another guy on stage, but he isn’t. and you can’t. and then it happens. his eyes sweep across the crowd, like he’s eating up the attention, and then they land on you. he freezes. just for a second—just long enough for his flow to falter, the words dying on his tongue. the beat keeps going, but he doesn’t, and the guy he’s battling jumps in, taking advantage of the opening. subong blinks, shakes his head, tries to recover—but it’s too late. he’s lost the rhythm, lost the momentum, and the battle ends with subong’s opponent eating up the win. the crowd erupts, but subong doesn’t hear any of it. he stands there for a second, chest rising and falling like he can’t believe it—like he can’t believe he actually lost. then, without another word, he shoves the mic into someone’s hand and disappears behind the stage.
someone else takes the spotlight almost immediately, the next rappers stepping up, music booming through the speakers again. you turn to the guy beside you, grabbing his wrist. “i wanna leave.” he frowns. “what? why?” you glance toward the side of the stage, your stomach twisting. subong won’t just leave it alone—you know him. “i’m just—i’m kinda tired.” the nervousness in your voice alarms him. “are you okay? what’s wrong?” “nothing. i just don’t wanna be here right now.” he studies you, and you can tell the exact moment he realizes how tense you are, how your shoulders are stiff, how you haven’t stopped glancing over your shoulder. his expression softens, just a little. “hey,” he says, voice quieter now. “it’s okay. i’ll take you home.” “yeah?” “of course.” you don’t move when he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. and it feels like… nothing. just lips on lips, a fleeting warmth that barely registers. your chest feels tight, like you need to shake something off, drown something out. so you kiss him back, harder this time, pressing in, searching for something. maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s the way seeing subong on that stage messed with your head, knocked you off center. maybe you just want to prove to yourself that you can feel that rush with someone else. but you don’t. no matter how deep the kiss goes, no matter how much you try to lose yourself in it, there’s nothing there.
and just a second later, he’s ripped away from you—shoved back so hard he stumbles, nearly knocking into the bar behind him. and when you look up, you already know. subong stands there, shoulders tense, and his eyes locked on you. “what the fuck are you doing?!” “me?! what the fuck are you doing, subong?!” the guy composes himself and goes back next to you with a strained expression, one of his hands caressing his side. “what’s your problem, man?!” “who the fuck is this?” subong demands, his eyes never leaving yours. you exhale sharply. “just leave me alone.” disbelief flashes across his face like you’ve just insulted him. “nah, what the fuck is this?” he gestures vaguely between you and the guy. “this who you’re with now?” the guy straightens up. “is there a problem?” subong laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “yeah, there’s a fucking problem. who the fuck are you?” “just go, subong.” you cut in quickly. “no. i’m not fucking leaving.”
the guy beside you steps in, placing himself between you and subong. “you know this asshole?” he asks you. you sigh, “he’s… we used to be friends,” you reply. “yeah, and i’ve probably fucked her more times than you have, bro,” subong adds, a smirk on his face. “don’t listen to him,” you tell the guy before redirecting your attention to subong. “you’re being more than ridiculous right now. stop it. leave us alone.” he just stares, like he didn’t even hear you. like you didn’t just tell him to fuck off. “ridiculous?” he repeats, like the word itself it’s funny to him. “you wanna know what’s fucking ridiculous? you showing up here with—” he finally looks at the guy, eyes dragging over him like he’s barely worth acknowledging “—this.” “enough! i said… leave us alone.” “no, we need need to talk.” “she told you to leave, man.” the guy interrupts. wrong move. subong’s lips curl into something mean. “and who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” he sizes him up, scoffing. the guy doesn’t back down. he squares his shoulders, keeping himself between you and subong like he actually thinks that’ll stop him. subong steps closer, just enough to invade his space. you step forward, grabbing the guy’s arm. “seriously, let’s just go—”
subong’s hand shoots out, grabbing his collar. the guy shoves him back instantly, and that’s all it takes. subong’s always been quick to anger, and now he’s pissed. “relax,” the guy says, lifting his hands like he’s trying to de-escalate, but subong’s past that. “relax? you want me to relax when you’re out here kissing my girl?” the guy exhales through his nose. “you wanna fight me over her that bad?” he shakes his head. “man, you already lost once tonight.” subong’s expression shifts in an instant. his shoulders go tense, his nostrils flare, and his jaw locks so tight you swear you can hear his teeth grind. he snaps, swinging first. it’s fast, a punch aimed straight for the guy’s jaw, but he dodges, stepping back just in time. the guy doesn’t waste time. he drives forward, ramming his shoulder into subong’s chest, sending him stumbling back. for a second, you think it might end there—but of course, it doesn’t. subong recovers quick, too quick. he surges forward, grabbing the guy’s shirt and yanking him down just to throw a knee into his ribs. the guy grunts, shoving him off, and then they’re both swinging. fists connect, curses fly, and you can barely keep up. the guy tries to hold his own, landing a few hits, but subong barely flinches. he’s fueled by something else, and he’s not stopping. one punch lands hard against the guy’s cheek, snapping his head to the side. another follows, a brutal hit to his jaw that makes him stumble. then another. and another. the guy grunts, arms coming up to shield himself, but subong doesn’t let up. he grabs the front of his shirt, yanking him forward just to slam his fist into his face again.
blood splatters. and that’s when you snap out of it. “subong, stop!” he doesn’t hear you. “subong!” he pulls back for another hit, and you move before you even think. you grab him by his shirt, using all your strength to shove him back. he stumbles, losing his grip on the guy, his eyes wild when they snap to yours. “what the fuck is wrong with you?!” you scream, chest heaving. subong’s nostrils flare, hands still clenched into fists like he’s seconds away from going back for more. the guy groans, wiping blood from his face. “you broke my fucking nose, man! you’re insane!” he yells. “shut the fuck up,” subong spits, but before he can go at him again, you shove him harder. “leave him alone!” his breathing is heavy, his eyes dark, burning into yours. for a second, you think he might listen, that the fight might finally be over. but then, in one swift movement, he grabs your wrist. “what are you—” you barely get the words out before he pulls you with him, dragging you through the crowd, past the stage. “let go of me!” you struggle against his grip, but he doesn’t stop. people turn to look, but no one moves to intervene. they just watch. before you know it, you’re backstage, away from the lights, away from the eyes—trapped in a space that feels too small.
subong finally stops, shoving you back against the wall. you barely have a second to catch your breath before you’re shoving him off. “what the fuck is wrong with you?! what the fuck was all of that about?! huh?!” you slam your hands against his chest, but he barely moves. his jaw clenches, and when he speaks, his voice is rough. “what the fuck is wrong with me?! you’re really asking me that?! when you’re the one out there acting like a desperate fucking slut?!” your head jerks back, a bitter laugh ripping from your throat. “are you fucking serious right now?! you just beat the shit out of him, and you’re mad at me?! for what?! for moving the fuck on?!” “yeah, i fucking am!” he snaps. before you can react, he steps in, closing the space between you in an instant. his hands come up, slamming against the wall on either side of your head. your whole body tenses. he’s seething, breath ragged and reeking of cheap liquor and god knows what else. “why?!” “because you’re mine!” “yours?! fuck off!” you shove at him again, hard. “and take a goddamn shower while you’re at it. you smell like a fucking alleyway.”
his nostrils flare. “yeah? well, you smell like a cheap whore.” rage flares hot in your chest. “right, because you’d fucking know, wouldn’t you?” you sneer. his head tilts, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “at least i don’t pretend to have fucking standards. what’s his name, huh?” your stomach turns, but you don’t let it show. instead, you smile. “why? you jealous? go cry about it, asshole.” he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “you know he’s just using you, right? you’re nothing but a warm hole to him.” your hand flies up before you can think better of it, shoving his face away. “yeah. like that wasn’t exactly what i was to you too, motherfucker.” he stumbles back a step, running a hand over his jaw. “we never talked about what the fuck we wanted, or what we expected from each other. so don’t—don’t—” “that’s what you tell yourself? that you didn’t lead me on? that you didn’t fuck with my head for months?!” you cut him off. “you’re a fucking coward, subong. too fucking scared to admit you wanted me, but the second i move on, suddenly you give a shit?” “move on? to who? that fucking loser? you think he actually gives a shit about you?” “and you do?” “you can’t just act like we never fucking happened!” “we didn’t happen, that’s the thing!” you shoot back. “you didn’t want to be with me like that,” your voice wavers, but you force yourself to hold your ground. “so you don’t get to fucking act like this. you don’t get to be jealous, you don’t get to start fights over me, and you sure as hell don’t get to drag me back here like you own me.”
his throat bobs as he swallows. he looks away for a second, like if he doesn’t meet your eyes, this won’t sting as much. like he can pretend this isn’t hitting him the way it is. his fingers twitch at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching like he’s trying to hold onto something—maybe the last shred of whatever this used to be. his breath comes sharp through his nose, the kind that’s meant to steady him but doesn’t do a damn thing. “i didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters, voice rough around the edges. “i don’t—i don’t own you.” but there’s something bitter in the way he says it, like he hates that it’s true. like he hates that he ever let it get to this point. you’re not his anymore. you never were, really. “then stop acting like it! don’t try to ruin everything just because you can’t handle the fact that i moved the fuck on!” for a second, he doesn’t say anything. his eyes flick over your face, tongue running over his teeth like he’s trying to stop himself from saying something worse. but then— “if you had, you wouldn’t have let that motherfucker shove his tongue down your throat right in front of me.” you scoff. “you think i did that on purpose?” he steps in, too close, and you instinctively take a step back. “fuck yeah, you did. you wanted me to see it. you wanted to fucking piss me off.” “you piss yourself off, subong! newsflash! not everything is about you! get over yourself.” “get over myself? you made me look like a fucking idiot out there!” “what the fuck are you talking about?” his eyes flash. “you made me lose the fucking battle, man!” you blink, caught off guard for half a second, then roll your eyes. “first of all, i’m not a man. second of all, don’t blame that shit on me.” “right. it’s never your fucking fault, huh?” he shakes his head. “you just get to do whatever the fuck you want and act like it doesn’t affect me.” you throw your hands up. “if you weren’t such a fucking asshole, maybe this wouldn’t have happened!” “yeah?!” “yeah!”
and then there’s silence. thick, heavy silence. his breathing is still ragged, his hands still curled into fists at his sides. your heart is pounding, your own fists clenched just as tight. then subong scoffs, shaking his head. “you’re so fucking full of shit.” “excuse me?” “you wanna talk about me being an asshole when you’ve been ignoring me for months? like i didn’t fucking exist.” the pain in his voice is evident and it catches you off guard. “i wasn’t—i didn’t ignore you. i was trying to heal. you’re seriously throwing that in my face right now?” “yeah, i am. don’t act like you’re the only one who got hurt.” “don’t do that.” “do what? tell the truth? you fucking blocked me, girl!” “no! don’t—don’t twist shit around just to make yourself feel better,” you snap. “you know exactly why i did it. don’t act like you’re the fucking victim.” “who is it then? you?” he scoffs. “oh, eat shit, subong! you never fucking came to see me!” you throw your arms out, exasperated. “not once! you could’ve fixed this, but you didn’t.” his jaw clenches, but he doesn’t look away. “you think i didn’t want to?” “i don’t know what the fuck you wanted!” your voice cracks, but you don’t care. “i called! and texted you every single fucking day!” “and you think that’s enough?! after everything?!” "i almost fucking overdosed!" he yells. "i was at my fucking lowest, and you—" he lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "you weren't there." you shake your head, anger bubbling in your chest. "don't put that on me, subong. you did that to yourself," you snap, voice sharp. "don't fucking guilt trip me with that." "are you serious?" “what do you want me to say? did you expect me to just forget everything and come back to you like nothing happened? you promised me—how many times?—that you weren’t gonna do that shit anymore, and here we are! and not only are you trying to make me feel like a fucking piece of shit for it, but you’re also acting like this—all of this—is my fault? when you were the one who decided i wasn’t good enough to be anything more than a fuck buddy?”
his expression falters—just a flash of something almost guilty—but then he scoffs, masking it with anger. “you’re really trying to act like you didn’t fucking replace me the second i was gone?” “replace you?” you repeat, incredulous. “you can’t be serious right now. i wasn’t the one fucking other people when we were…. whatever we were!” he freezes, his face draining of color for a split second. “don’t bring that shit up.” “oh, I’ll bring it up, alright. because you can’t say that shit to me when you were too busy screwing around while i was waiting for you to call me your fucking girlfriend.” he opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, a group of people walk past, glancing over at the scene. a couple of them whisper, eyes flicking nervously from you to subong. his face hardens, irritation flashing across his features, and without warning, he grabs your wrist. “what the fuck are you looking at?” he snaps at them. the group quickly averts their gazes, pretending they weren’t just watching him. he yanks you away and you struggle for a moment, trying to free yourself from his grip, but he doesn’t let go. you’re too caught up in the heat of the moment to really think about where he’s taking you. before you know it, you’re being shoved through a door into a dimly lit room backstage, the door slamming shut behind him with a force that echoes in the silence. the room is small, cluttered with his belongings—bags, jackets, and scattered items. a mirror with round vanity lights casts a dull glow over the space, reflecting the mess on the counter: a half-empty water bottle, energy drink cans, his vape, a lighter, a bunch of candy wrappers and a few crumpled papers.
“you need to stop doing that!” you snap. “dragging me around like i’m—i don’t know—like i’m some puppet!” he ignores your words. “listen,” he says, “i tried to make it right, okay? i did.” “calling me? texting me?” you scoff, disbelief laced in your voice. “that’s what you think making it right looks like? all you ever did was send bullshit messages—half insults, half nothing at all.” you shake your head. “if you actually meant it, you would’ve come to me. you know where i live, where i work—you had every chance to show up, to prove that you actually gave a damn. but you didn’t.” his voice shakes now. “i thought… i thought you didn’t fucking need me anymore! i thought you’d be better off without me!” “better off without you?! that’s the dumbest excuse i’ve ever heard!” before you can stop yourself, you shove him, hard enough that he stumbles back a step. “you were my fucking best friend, you idiot!” your voice cracks as a tear rolls down your cheek, and you have to look away. “and i…” the words tangle in your throat. you swallow hard, forcing them out. “i fucking loved you.”
the words hit him like a fist to the gut. he swallows, his throat suddenly dry. because he knows. he knows exactly how that feels. he’s loved you too—probably longer than he even realized. but he’s never said it. not properly. not in a way that mattered anyway. and now? now it sounds like it’s too fucking late. “loved,” he repeats. “past tense?” you don’t answer. “you don’t—you don’t love me anymore?” the words slip out before he can stop them, and he hates how pathetic they sound, how fucking vulnerable they make him. “subong i—i’m sorry, i can’t… i can’t do this,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “answer me,” he presses, stepping closer, his pulse thundering in his ears. “please.” “i’m not talking about this,” you say firmly, reaching for the door. but he moves faster, pressing his hand against it, keeping you trapped in the small room with him. you squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling sharply. “i don’t want to see you again, subong.” “i do.” “well, i don’t.” “why not?” “because it fucking hurts!” the words barely leave your lips before the weight of everything crashes down on you all at once. “it… it hurts.” your throat burns, and suddenly, you can’t hold it back anymore. a choked sob rips through you, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crying.
subong’s eyes widen for half a second, like he doesn’t know what to do with the sight of you breaking down in front of him. but then, without hesitation, he reaches for you. “i know,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. “i know, baby.” the warmth of him, the familiarity, the way he holds you…it all feels too fucking good. too safe. too much like home. you sob into his shirt, fists clutching at the fabric, body shaking as months’ worth of pain and anger pour out of you. he holds you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other resting firm against your waist. “i’m sorry,” he breathes.
you suck in a sharp breath, realization slamming into you. and just like that, the warmth turns suffocating. “no,” you whisper, pushing against his chest. he stiffens. “what—” “get off me.” he hesitates, grip loosening slightly, but you shove harder, forcing space between you. “fuck, subong, what the hell am i doing?” he looks at you, confused, almost dazed, like he doesn’t understand why you’re suddenly pulling away. “baby—” “don’t call me that,” you cut him off. “i can’t—i can’t do this with you.” his jaw tightens. “you don’t mean that. you know you don’t.” “i do! because you fucking broke me!” you yell, hands trembling. “and i hate that you still make me feel like this!” you pause, trying to catch your breath, wiping at your face furiously. you hate the way the tears cling to your skin. you hate even more that he’s standing there, watching you cry. you force yourself to steady your voice. “i’m leaving.” “no, you’re not.” he’s there—blocking the door. you let out a frustrated breath, shoving at him again, but he doesn’t move an inch. “subong, move.” nothing. he doesn’t even blink. “is he your boyfriend?” the question throws you off balance. your brows furrow, and for a moment, the anger is eclipsed by confusion. “what?” “that guy. is he your boyfriend?” you exhale sharply, shaking your head as you glare at him. “jesus christ, subong, really?” “is he?” “it’s none of your business,” the words are clipped, laced with venom. his eyes darken. “none of my—?” he drags a hand through his hair, like he’s barely keeping himself together. for a second, it looks like he might actually lose it. “seriously? you can’t even say no?” “why does it matter?!” you snap. “it fucking matters to me!” your heart pounds. you don’t know why it’s so hard to answer, why the words feel like they’re lodged in your throat. his patience wears thin. “fucking hell, just—” “no!” you cut him off. “he’s not my boyfriend, okay?!” you shake your head. “did you fuck him?” “are you serious right now?” “answer the fucking question,” he demands, stepping closer. you scoff, shaking your head. “you’re actually insane.” “fucking answer!” “yes!” the word rips out of you before you can stop it. “yeah, i did. happy now?”
for a moment, he doesn’t react. he just stares at you, like the air has been knocked from his lungs. his jaw clenches, his nostrils flare. but nothing can stop the thought from sinking its claws into him—someone else touching you, having you, getting what he let slip through his fingers. it makes him sick. and it’s his own damn fault. he knows he has no right to be angry. no right to feel this way. but the jealousy curdles in his stomach, and before he can stop himself, the words tear from his mouth like a whip. “you’re a fucking whore.” the second he says it, he hates himself for it. but he doesn’t take it back. your fury is instant, white-hot.“fuck you! don’t call me that!” “i’ll call you whatever the fuck i want!” he snaps. he needs to hurt you, to make you feel even a fraction of what he’s feeling. “you really don’t see how fucking pathetic that is? spreading your legs for some guy who doesn’t even matter?” the words taste like acid in his mouth, but he spits them out anyway. he doesn’t know how else to deal with the anger, the self-hatred he feels. it’s easier to take it out on you than to admit the truth—that he ruined everything, that he’s the reason you were with someone else.
your vision goes red. before you can think, before you can stop yourself, your hand swings up and smacks across his face. his head jerks to the side from the impact, and for a moment, everything is dead silent except for the sharp sound of your ragged breathing. then, slowly, he turns back to you, his jaw tightening, his tongue running over the inside of his cheek like he’s tasting the sting of your palm. “did you just hit me?” his voice is low. oh, he’s angry. “yeah, i fucking did,” you say, your hands trembling. “because you’re a fucking piece of shit!” “you’ve got some fucking nerve!” he seethes, shoving your forehead with two of his fingers, forcing your head back slightly. you slap his hand away, your own anger doubling at the touch. “do that again, and i’ll break your fucking fingers, motherfucker,” you warn. “you just slapped me!” “and you called me a whore twice, subong! i wonder how the fuck i was ever friends with you! you’re a hypocrite!” he steps closer, jabbing a finger in your face. “don’t fucking talk to me like that!” “and i told you many times not to fucking point your finger at me!” you yell, shoving his hand away harder this time. so hard his arm jerks back. “who the fuck do you think you are?! you can’t fucking judge me when you’re the one who—”
his patience snaps. he grabs a nearby chair and hurls it at the wall. it hits with a loud crack, rattling from the impact before toppling over. you flinch, but you don't back down. “real fucking mature.” “you don’t fucking get it.” “why do you even care, huh? you have plenty of other girls to fuck, don’t you?” you spit. “so why the fuck does it matter who i’m with? why is it a problem when you do the exact same shit?” he doesn’t say anything. fine. you’re done here. you reach for the door again, shoving past him. “i’m leaving—” “i lied.” his voice stops you cold. slowly, you turn back, brows furrowing. “what?” he swallows hard. “i lied about it. there was never another girl.” you stare at him in disbelief. “i just—i said that shit to piss you off. to make you hate me. but i never—” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “i never touched anyone else when i was with you.”
your mind spins, struggling to piece together what he’s saying. he’s lying again. he has to be. “you expect me to believe that?” your voice is defensive. “i don’t give a fuck if you believe me,” he snaps back. “it’s the truth.” your throat tightens. there’s something in his eyes, something desperate, something you’re not used to seeing. “why?” he hesitates. his lips part, then press into a thin line. “because i—” he exhales sharply, looking away for a moment before forcing himself to look at you again. “because i love you. i’ve—” “don’t fucking lie to me, subong.” frustration flashes across his face. “i’m not lying, okay?! i’ve—” “sure as hell you aren’t.” “jesus—can i fucking talk?!” you huff, arms crossing tightly over your chest. your jaw aches from how hard you’re clenching it. but you don’t interrupt again. you let him speak. “i’ve loved you for so fucking long, and it scared the shit out of me. you were my best friend and i didn’t—i didn’t know how to do it. how to be with you without fucking it all up.” you shake your head, gripping your arms tighter. “you can’t just say this shit and think it fixes everything,” you whisper, voice trembling. “you loved me, and you never told me. you preferred this… this shit between us rather than just… being fucking honest. you—” your breath shudders and you stop to breathe for a moment. “you’re confusing me, subong.”
he sighs. you can see it in his eyes—the regret, the pain, the anger at himself. then, he steps closer. his hands find your face, fingers gentle as they cup your cheeks. his thumbs move carefully, wiping away the tears you hadn’t even realized were still falling. his touch is soft—so fucking soft it almost breaks you. you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing against the lump in your throat. you shouldn’t let him do this. shouldn’t let him hold you like this, shouldn’t let yourself sink into the warmth of his hands. but you do. because it’s him. “i’m sorry, baby” he murmurs, his breath warm against your face. “fuck, i’m so sorry.” his voice is lower now, and when you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you—his brows furrowed. “i didn’t mean to hurt you,” he continues, his hands steady on your face. “i swear to god, i didn’t.” “but you did.” “i know,” he whispers. “i was a fucking idiot.” his thumbs still trace slow paths along your skin, like he’s trying to ground himself in the feel of you. you try to look away, but he won’t let you. his grip isn’t forceful, but it’s firm—just enough to keep you there. “i can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his brows furrowing deeper, like it physically hurts him to admit it. “no matter what i do—it’s always you.” “don’t—” “it’s the truth,” he cuts in, his hands sliding down to your jaw, his fingers just barely brushing your neck. “i wake up thinking about you. i fall asleep thinking about you. every fucking song i write is about you. every stupid little thing reminds me of you.” you shake your head, blinking back tears. “stop it.” “i can’t,” he breathes. “i don’t know how.”
he leans in slightly, his lips barely an inch from yours. “tell me you don’t feel the same, and i’ll go.” your heart pounds so hard it hurts. he’s so close… and the way he’s looking at you, like he’s daring you to push him away, makes something snap inside you. before he can say another word, you grab his shirt and yank him down, crashing your lips against his. subong freezes for half a second, like he wasn’t expecting it, but then he groans into your mouth, his hands gripping at your waist as he kisses you back just as hard. he barely gives you a second to breathe before he’s backing you up, walking you straight into the wall. the impact makes a sharp gasp escape you, but he swallows it down, one hand threading into your hair, tilting your head back as his mouth moves against yours.
then it happens—your breath catches, and before you can stop it, a tear slips down your cheek. he stops. his lips hover just over yours, his chest rising and falling against you, and he pulls back just enough to look at you. “are you okay?” you don’t answer. instead, you pull him back in, your fingers curling around the back of his neck. you kiss him harder, and he lets you—lets you take what you need, lets you pour everything you can’t say into this. his fingers tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to pull your head back before pressing his forehead to yours. “tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs, breath hot against your lips. in a broken whisper, you finally say it. “i need you.” he’s been waiting to hear that. for months, it’s been the only thing on his mind—you. every time he got high, every time he tried to flirt with someone else, every time he told himself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter. but it was all a lie. because you did. you always did. and now you’re here, in his arms, needing him. and he’s so fucking mad at himself for wasting all this time, for pushing you away, for pretending he didn’t want this when you’ve been the only thing he’s wanted.
that’s all it takes. he’s on you in an instant, his hands gripping your waist as his mouth crashes against yours. he walks with you, never breaking the kiss, his fingers pressing into your sides, guiding you until your legs bump against the edge of a small table. before you can steady yourself, his hands move to your hips, helping you up until you’re perched on top of it. his lips leave yours, dragging along your jaw and your neck. one hand slides up, fingers curving over your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt. the touch alone makes a soft moan slip past your lips. he swallows the sound with another kiss, deep and greedy, before tugging your shirt up, his palms skimming your skin as he pulls it over your head. his other hand moves with purpose, working the clasp of your bra. the second it falls away, his mouth is on you. you gasp when his tongue flicks over your nipple, your head falling back as pleasure shoots through you. “gonna make you feel good, baby,” he promises, his breath hot on your skin as he switches to your other breast, his teeth grazing your nipple just enough to make you squirm. his free hand slides down your stomach, unbuttoning your pants with practiced ease before slipping between your thighs. you spread them instinctively, your breath hitching when his fingers brush against the damp fabric of your panties. “you’re so wet for me already,” he says, pulling back to look at you, his eyes dark with hunger.
subong takes his time peeling your pants off, pressing soft kisses to your thighs, your knees, your ankles. once they’re gone, he hooks his fingers into your panties, dragging them down at the same agonizing pace, his lips following their path. he tosses them aside without a second thought. then he’s on his knees, hands spreading your thighs wider as the cool air hits your skin, making you shiver. “let me show you how sorry i am, yeah?” you nod slowly in response. subong leans in, his breath hot against you, and you bite your lip, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach. and then his tongue is on you, licking a long stripe up your center, parting your delicate folds, exploring your wetness. you gasp when it finds your clit, your hands flying to his purple hair as his tongue swirls around it in slow circles. “f-fuck, yeah, right there,” you whimper, and he hums against you in approval.
he focuses all his attention on it, flicking his tongue over the sensitive nub before sucking it gently into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing out as he applies gentle pressure. you feel one of his fingers slide inside you, then two, curling them upwards and hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back. his tongue never leaves your clit, licking and sucking in perfect rhythm with his fingers, and you can feel that familiar pressure building in your lower stomach. your hand travels to the side of his face, your thumb caressing his cheek as he works you. moans grow louder, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face. “subong—” you try to speak, but the words die in your throat—the pleasure too strong. he smirks, feeling you tightening around his fingers. “that’s it, baby” his voice is muffled against you. “cum for me.” and you do, your back arching, knuckles white from gripping the side of the table, a cry tearing from your throat as you fall apart. his mouth never stops, drawing every last wave of pleasure from you until you’re boneless, panting.
you try to catch your breath as he stands, pulling you into him, his mouth claiming yours again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. your fingers tremble slightly as they find the hem of his shirt, slipping beneath the fabric. he shudders under your touch, muscles tensing before he exhales, letting you lift the shirt over his head. it falls somewhere behind him as your hands roam his chest. this isn’t like before. like the other times you’ve had sex. there’s something different in the way his fingers brush your skin, in the way he watches you like he’s afraid to blink, afraid to miss a second of this. you reach for his waistband, tugging at it, and he lets you, his breathing uneven as he watches your hands work him free. his pants and boxers slip to the floor, and he steps out of them, never once breaking contact.
“do you… do you have a condom?” you ask quietly. he stills, his hands resting on your hips as he looks at you. his brows pull together slightly. “no,” he admits, then asks, “do you?” you shake your head. “no.” “shit,” he exhales, his forehead falling to your shoulder. you can tell he’s frustrated—not at you, but at the situation. “it’s… it’s okay. we don’t need one,” you add softly. his head snaps back up. “you sure?” he asks, and you nod. “i want to feel you.” your words are the confirmation he needs. he grabs your thighs before pulling you closer to the edge of the table, spreading them apart to find room between them. his raw tip presses against your clit and you take a deep breath when he starts grinding against you, his stiff dick sliding across your wet slit. you both moan at the feeling, but nothing compares to the gasp that escapes both of your lips the moment he slides inside of you.
he’s slow at first, letting you adjust to the feeling, his hands holding you in place as he sinks in deeper, stretching you around him. you try to steady yourself, holding onto the side of the table with one of your hands again. his breath is uneven, and each slow, measured thrust makes you ache for more. but then his pace shifts. his grip tightens, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls back and thrusts in harder and faster. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the space between you, mixed with your breathless moans and his ragged groans. when you meet his gaze, his brows are furrowed, his lips parted. you can see it all written on his face: how much he’s wanted this, how long he’s been waiting, how badly he’s yearned for you. he looks like he’s barely holding himself together, like he’s afraid he won’t last because you feel too fucking good. “fuck,” he grits out, voice strained, his fingers flexing against your hips. “i missed you s-so fucking much…” his words cut off in a groan, his head dropping forward, forehead pressing to yours as he fucks you like he’s trying to make up for all the lost time. “i missed this… mmm… missed this pretty pussy of y-yours.” he drives into you harder, like he’s trying to claim you, like he’s trying to erase every trace of anyone else who’s ever touched you—muttering curses under his breath like he’s punishing himself as much as he’s fucking you. your nails scrape down his back, leaving red streaks in their wake, and he groans at the sting, at the way you cling to him. “fuck, baby—” he gasps, voice rough. “was he better than me? tell me,” he demands, his thrusts turning brutal, each one punctuating his words. “did he—did he fuck you like this? mmh? shit… did he make you cum like i-i do?” there’s anger in his voice. not at you—at himself. for waiting too long, for not telling you the truth when he had the chance, for letting someone else have you. you shake your head in response. his hand grips your chin, forcing you to look at him. “answer me.” “n-no!” you whimper “he… he didn’t, baby. only you—mmph!—only you make me f-feel this good.”
his grip on your chin tightens for a second before he releases you, his hand sliding down to wrap around your throat instead. not squeezing, just holding—just feeling you. his pace doesn’t slow, if anything, it gets rougher, like your answer wasn’t enough to satisfy the anger. “that’s right,” he grits out, sweat slicking his skin. “he could never…he could never fuck you like this.” his other hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise as he slams into you, making you cry out. you hold onto him, and he loves it—loves feeling you claim him the way he’s claiming you now. and fuck, he needs this, needs to remind himself that you’re here, wrapped around him—that you’re his. “look,” he mutters, commanding. “look how fucking g-good you’re taking me.” your breath hitches as your eyes drop, and fuck—seeing it is different. watching the way his dick disappears inside you, the way your body clenches around him, the way he’s completely buried in you, over and over again… “see that?” he pants. “you were made for me. this was fucking made for me.” his hand moves again, sliding between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, precise circles. “shit—subong!” you let out a broken moan. “y-yeah… fuck, yeah, just like that!” a whimper slips from your lips when subong fists your hair, tugging your head back up until your eyes meet his again. “say it,” he practically pleads. “say that you're mine.” “i-i'm yours!" you gasp, your voice shaking, your whole body trembling from the intensity of him. “i'm fucking yours…mmm… always been.” “i’m yours too, baby.”
his thrusts grow frantic and his breath comes in harsh, uneven bursts. all he can hear is the sound of his name falling from your lips in desperate, breathless moans. he swears he’s never heard something as beautiful. you can tell he is close, holding you in place as he leans over you, his forehead pressing against yours. your body tenses, your gummy walls clenching around him, his fingers still pressed on your clit as he pounds into you, making it impossible for you to hold back. your body tenses, and your free hand clings to the back of his neck with desperation as you kiss him, trying to muffle your whimpering. “gonna cum for me, b-baby?” he whispers, pulling away for a moment. “gonna—mmh! gonna cum on my cock?” you can’t even nod. his words are like a spark, and you can’t hold it back anymore. your body snaps, the pleasure flooding you. “subong!” you cry out, legs shaking. he watches you, his name on your lips, and the sight of you completely undone drives him to the edge. with a final, deep thrust, he follows you, quickly pulling out, his release spilling into your lower stomach. his face contorts, a strangled gasp escaping him as he rides out his own climax. he stays there for a moment, his body pressed against yours, both of you breathing heavily, sweat-slicked skin sticking together. “i love you,” you whisper, hands running through his messy hair. “i love you too, señorita,” he smirks, his hand cupping your cheek before leaning in to give you a small peck on the lips. “i missed you.”
subong is a good boyfriend. or at least he tries to be. he still messes up sometimes, still says things without thinking, still gets into fights he shouldn’t, but he’s trying. you see it in the way he waits for you after work, hands shoved into his pockets like he’s trying to play it cool, but you know he’s been standing there for a while. in the way he walks on the outside of the sidewalk, even though you never asked him to. you see it in the way he always grabs an extra drink when he stops by the convenience store, handing it to you without a word, like he just knew you’d want one. in the way he texts you did you eat? before he even says hello. in the way he always grumbles about carrying your bag when it looks too heavy, but takes it anyway. in the way he lets you steal his hoodies, rolling his eyes when you show up wearing one but never actually asking for it back. you see it in the way he lets you mess with his hair, even when he pretends to hate it. in the way he looks at you, like he still can’t believe you’re his. in the way he says your name, soft around the edges. in the way he tells you he loves you—not just with words, but in a hundred different ways, every single day.
there’s no confusion anymore. no second-guessing, no wondering where you stand with each other. he wants you, and he’s not afraid to say it. he tells you all the time, in every way he knows how. sometimes it’s casual, like when he looks at you in the middle of a conversation, something soft in his eyes, and says, “you know i love you, right?” like he just needs you to know. and then there are times when he’s shameless about it. like the time he made it his entire mission to embarrass you in front of both of your friends, throwing an arm around your shoulders and grinning as he declared, “isn’t my girlfriend the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen? no offense to you, semi.” there’s a beat of silence before half of them go “what?!” while the others just exchange knowing looks. “wait—dude, since when?!” namgyu asks. “oh, come on,” semi scoffs, rolling her eyes. “like we didn’t all see this coming.” subong just smirks, pulling you a little closer, dropping a kiss to your cheek. he’s here, and he’s yours, and he makes sure you know it.
you’re still best friends. you still laugh until your stomach hurts, still steal food off each other’s plates, still shove at each other like you’re kids. except now he kisses you after. or before. or sometimes instead of shoving you back. he’s still stubborn, still gets on your nerves more than anyone else. he’s not perfect, but he never pretends to be. and maybe that’s what makes it feel so easy. there’s nothing to prove, nothing to question. just the two of you, exactly as you are, exactly as you’ve always been. just you and him.
if you’ve read this far, i love you, let’s get married pookie ong
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Summary: Thanos was your brother's best friend when you were younger and now you're meeting again in the games. You choose Thanos as your partner in the marbles game.
Warnings: It's the marbles game. You KNOW what to expect.
A/N: I genuinely still don't understand the rules of this game so i'm not describing them play it in any detail either lmao (but they play it while they chat ok).
☆☆☆
"What do you say, señorita?" Thanos asked, appearing next to you and putting his arm around your shoulder. "Wanna be my partner for this game?"
"And why should i?"
"C'mon, we make such a great team," Thanos insisted, pulling you harder against his side.
You narrowed your eyes. "I think i prefer someone else. Play with Nam-gyu."
"But i wanna play with you," Thanos whined like a little kid not getting what he wanted.
You let out a sigh and rolled your eyes. "Fine, whatever."
When you heard the rules and the outcome of the game right before it was about to start, your heart stopped for a moment and you suddenly forgot to breathe.
The game was played in pairs, just you and Thanos, but only one of you was going to live and move on to the next game. Either you or Thanos had to die.
You made eye contact with Thanos but couldn't tell what he was exactly thinking by the expression on his face. One thing you knew at least was that he didn't seem happy about it at all, no. More like shocked, might have been even terrified.
"Well, i definitely didn't expect it to be like this," you chuckled, trying to keep the situation light and less serious than it actually was. "You or me, huh?"
Thanos had had quite a good time during the games, in his own sick way and being under the influence of drugs, but suddenly the games weren't so fun anymore. This time he was completely sober too; he needed to be sober every time he was around you.
Thanos looked around the area, seeing the shock and misery on other people's faces too, those few he could see. Nobody had expected anything like this to happen. Thanos looked towards one of the guards.
"Hey, is this a fucking joke?" he shouted, growing angry.
You slapped him on the chest. "Shut up, that's not going to help."
Thanos took a deep breath and rubbed his face. This could not be happening right now.
"Let's just play, shall we?" you suggested, trying to ignore the inevitable that was mere minutes away from you – the death of either you or Thanos.
Neither of you knew what to say for the first five minutes or so as you started to play the game, sitting on the ground in front of each other cross-legged. The silence between the two of you was the most awkward than you had ever experienced.
"Now that one of us is going to die, i need to admit something to you," you said, breaking the thick and suffocating silence. You had to say something, anything, to break the ice. You couldn't spend these last minutes like this and you definitely needed to talk about something else than anything related to these games you were in. Forget for a moment that all of this was your current reality.
Thanos furrowed his eyebrows, confused what it could be.
"I was the one to leave that fake love letter into your locker on a Valentine's day just to tease you," you admitted. "I just framed the other kid in class to be the guilty one."
"I knew you had something to do with it! It reminded way too much like your handwriting," Thanos said. Or maybe he just imagined that it resembled your handwriting since a part of him wished it would have been written by you. "How did you even come up with that in the first place?"
"We were just pranking you with my friends. It was my friend's idea," you explained. "Any confessions you want to make?" A smirk spread on your face as you looked into his eyes. "Now's the time to embarrass yourself since the other is going to take them to the grave anyway soon."
"Well," Thanos sighed, trying to think. "When we were 14 years old, i was the one to write note which would help me cheat in the math exam and let you get the blame for it."
"I already knew that."
"You did?"
"It was pretty obvious. Besides, i heard you talking about it with my brother," you stated.
"You're not mad, huh?'' he asked, raising his eyebrows. He had been prepared for you to get upset since you were proud of your schoolwork earned with many sleepless nights. At least that's what it had seemed like to Thanos.
"Nah, i was cheating on that exam too anyway," you admitted and shrugged.
"Damn, and i thought you were such a perfect hardworking student," Thanos smirked.
"I have flaws too," you pointed out. "So, give me the next one."
"It's your turn," he resisted.
"That doesn't count because i was already aware of it," you argued. "So, another one."
"Fine," Thanos sighed. "Well. One time when i was staying the night at your house with your brother, i might have stolen your bra from your room."
"You what?" you shrieked, eyes widening. You threw one of your marbles on his face, managing to hit him right under his left eye, making him flinch.
"Hey, i was a horny 15 year old guy and you were going through puberty very fast," Thanos tried to reason, throwing the marble back to you, making it land on your lap. "It was laying on the floor like you were even trying to make me notice it."
"How many times did i tell you to stay out of my room?" you groaned. "I did not leave it there on purpose for you!"
"I returned it after a day or two though!" Thanos defended himself, afraid you were going to throw another marble at him and this time actually hit his eye.
"You're unbearable," you muttered.
Thanos always found it amusing when he could get you mad, he had loved teasing you since day one of meeting you. Even right now he found it hard to keep a smile from rising on his face when you were all heated up.
"Fine, i guess i have to admit that i once took your bag of weed from your bag when we were 17," you admitted.
"That was you?" Thanos asked, now being the one to raise his voice at you. "I was looking everywhere for it!"
"We had a girl's night and needed some entertainment." You shrugged like it was no big deal but clearly for Thanos it definitely was a big deal.
"I payed a lot of money for that, you know," Thanos argued, for a moment looking all upset which made you chuckle.
You and Thanos told a few more confessions, making each other both laugh and turn shocked. Then, one thing popped into your mind what you had never dared to tell anyone else than your best friend.
"You know what's a little silly though," you started, suddenly turning a little shy.
"Hm?"
"I used to have a little crush on you when we were kids," you admitted.
Thanos raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised. "What, really?"
"Yeah, i know it's dumb," you chuckled. "I just thought you were, hm, cute and cool and it was so exciting to have a crush on 'my brother's best friend' because that felt so forbidden, ya know?" You played with the marbles in your hand, twirling them between your fingers. "Not that i'd have ever done anything about it, even if i had gotten the chance."
I had a crush on you too, was what Thanos would have wanted to say. He did like you, but he had decided to hide it from you and everyone else. Of course he wasn't allowed to lay even a finger on you – your brother was always extremely strict that Thanos had to keep his hands away from his dear little sister. So he did and only kept teasing you and watched you from the distance when you thought he wasn't looking into your way.
"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist the mighty Thanos," he joked instead, straightening his back to appear taller.
You rolled your eyes. "I liked Su-bong, not Thanos."
He went silent for a moment, examining your face for a moment while being in his own thoughts. During these games and these past few days, Thanos hadn't truly stopped to properly look at your face with more detail. Stopped to realize how beautiful you had actually grown up to be. Well, you had always been pretty, very pretty, but now, even without makeup, you were gorgeous, all grown up. No trace of that moody teenager and his best friend's sister Thanos knew you as.
"What?" you asked, starting to feel unease under his intense stare.
"Nothing," he chuckled and looked away, continuing the game.
"Well, your turn," you urged.
Thanos gave it a proper thought, choosing what to confess – there were still a lot left now that Thanos started to actually think about it, and he wouldn't have enough time to go through all of them. Some of them smaller and more innocent things while some of them were much more deeper and personal which Thanos had a hard time to admit to you, even now in your last moments.
"When you and my family went for the skiing trip together when we were 16, i was assigned the same room as you to spend the few nights in," he explained. "I changed it last minute because i could see that your brother didn't like the idea of me staying alone with you for a very long time, even if it was just for the night."
"Why would he care?"
"He could tell i found you attractive and i guess he was afraid i'd make a move on you and end up hurting you," he explained and shrugged.
You could feel your cheeks warm up a little. "You thought i was attractive?"
Not just thought – think.
"Like every other guy in our class," he stated. "You have no idea how many dudes actually thirsted over you behind your back."
"Shut up, they did not," you laughed, feeling your cheeks turn pink.
"Oh they definitely did," Thanos confirmed, completely serious.
This was probably the first time you had properly had conversation with Thanos, just the two of you, and had genuinely a good time. Before he used to just tease you and didn't stay alone with you for a very long time. You liked this, feeling like he was now a different person compared to before. Well, back then he had been just a stupid teenager, now he was an adult. Although, you had seen him play these games, not taking them as seriously as the others, and could still see some of that young boy you knew years ago.
You would have wanted continue this for the rest of the day, but sooner than you expected, the time of the game ran out. You hadn't even realized how much time had passed and how it had suddenly ran out, just like that.
In the end, you were the one to lose the game.
You lost. You. Fucking. Lost.
"Well," you sighed and forced a wide smile on your face, trying to fight tears from filling up your eyes. You let out a nervous chuckle and tried to hide the fact from Thanos that you were, in fact, absolutely fucking terrified of what was going to come next. "This is it, i suppose."
You looked directly into Thanos' eyes, seeing them starting to glimmer from tears as well.
Thanos felt his throat tighten, like someone was choking him, and his stomach being filled with bricks. His heart was heavy, like it was turned into a stone. He couldn't believe this was happening.
"Y/N," Thanos mumbled, not knowing what to say. He could tell your smile was fake. Tell that you were so, so scared just by the look in your eyes. The tears that were about to run down your cheeks but you wanted to act strong and pretend that it was alright.
Thanos wanted to hug you. Pull you against him and squeeze you so hard your bones would be crushed and you wouldn't be able to breathe. Feel every part of you with his hands and try to remember your smell. Never let go. But he couldn't get his body to move.
"What, don't tell me you're going to start crying over me?" you joked to lighten up the situation but Thanos found nothing funny about that right now.
He clenched his jaw, not able to believe that this was actually real right now. That this was all over between you and him. Thanos had gotten used to you always being there, somewhere on the side, but now you were going to be ripped away from him. Even if you hadn't been a part of his actual life, you had been there somewhere, existing and living your life.
"It's okay, Su-bong," you whispered, taking a step closer to him and turning more serious now. You took his hands in yours, realizing how they had started to shake, and softly brushed his knuckles with your finger. "One of us has to die, right?"
You using his real name was like another twist in his heart. He didn't hear it often anymore and when he did, it felt so much more personal. You never called him Thanos, but now he'd never hear you call him by either of the names anymore.
"It's okay?" Thanos scoffed. "It's not fucking okay."
"Just, do me a favor if you get out of here?" you asked.
"A favor?"
"Can you... can you go and tell my mum and my brother that i've passed away," you pleaded. "I don't want them to think that i cut them out of my life on purpose. That i didn't care about them anymore."
Thanos didn't say anything back, the words were stuck in his throat like they were nailed there. All he could do was to nod. He would do anything you asked him to do. However, he had no idea how he would able to tell the news to them. That the daughter and the sister had died and they could never even see your body anymore.
Thanos had never, ever hugged you but right now, he had to. Had to embrace you one last time.
But a guard stepped between you and Thanos just before Thanos managed to pull you into a hug, separating you from each other.
"Time's up," the guard ordered behind the mask.
"Please, just one more second and –" you insisted but was interrupted.
"I said, time's up," the guard repeated a little louder and pressed the tip of the rifle against Thanos' shoulder, making him take a few steps back.
You swallowed, taking more distance to Thanos but still facing him. Tears had started to stream down your cheeks without you even noticing.
Thanos wanted to run towards you and wrap his arms around you, right now not caring if he got shot as well. Maybe that was a good way to go. You and him together, that would have been easier. Saved the pain of losing someone that would only get worse and worse as the time passed.
But he didn't do that. He stood there still, not moving a muscle, not believing that this was real. This was all a dream, right? No, this was a nightmare. Wait, surely this was just a hallucination from the drugs. This wasn't real, of course it wasn't. It couldn't be.
You were standing there with a smile on your face and cheeks wet from tears, looking Thanos directly into his eyes while having the rifle pointed at your head.
"I'm glad that i got to spend my final moments with you, Su-bong," you said with that sweet smile that always made Thanos' heart skip a beat. "You've always been a pain in the ass but i'm glad the last face i see before i die is yours."
The gunshot was louder than Thanos first expected, making him flinch and even almost jump in the air. He was meant to turn around so he wouldn't see your dead body lying on the ground but his feet were glued on their places and body too stiff to be able to move. Blood was pouring out of the hole in your head, eyes staring ahead lifelessly.
Player 163, eliminated.
☆☆☆
When the players were sent back to the dorm, Thanos didn't say another word. Nam-gyu tried to talk to him but Thanos just ignored him, not paying any attention to him at all.
The dorm was much more quiet than usual in general; people had lost their loved ones, having chosen their friend to play with.
And he had lost you. He had let you die to save his own life. He could have sacrificed himself and let you live; you would have had a lot brighter future ahead of you than Thanos would ever have.
Thanos got up and marched towards the bathroom.
He leaned against the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. Looked into his own eyes. That reflection was the last thing you saw before you were killed. He was the reason you were dead, the reason why the guard shot you in the head. You were now dead because he was a fucking coward.
Anger and fury filled Thanos so much that he felt like he was going to explode. He punched the mirror with his fist so hard that it cracked in pieces. There was blood on his knuckles now, but he didn't care about the pain. Hell, he'd take all the pain possible if it meant you'd come back.
What a fucking idiot he was, being so selfish to let you die. Choosing his own life over yours.
"I'm sorry," Thanos whispered, squeezing the edge of the sink with his hands so hard his knuckles turned white under the blood. "I'm so, so fucking sorry."
He should have let you win, he should have lost on purpose. Why did he have to be so selfish? You deserved to live more than him. You were supposed to go home and live your life, not Thanos.
Suddenly, someone walked out of one of the stalls, looking at Thanos all shocked.
"Um, this is the girls' bathroom," the player 222 quietly said, feeling even a little scared of all the noise of cursing and breaking the mirror.
Thanos just looked at her for a moment, realizing his mistake, and left the bathroom without another word. He walked to your bed and sat on the edge of the mattress which you had slept on for the past few nights here.
Then, Thanos saw something peeking under the pillow. He leaned over to pick it up, recognizing it to be the hairpin you always had in your hair. He brought it closer to his face, examining it with more detail. This was the only memory of you that Thanos had. The only item which showed that you had once been here, that you had been real. That you had participated the games along with Thanos.
He opened the cross that was hanging from his neck and put the hairpin there among the remaining pills. He needed to have a part of you with him, even if it was just a simple fucking hairpin.
If he got another chance and could do things differently, he would change so, so many things. He would let you know how he felt about you, even if your brother would have beat him up for that and told him to stay away from you. He would have hugged you. Hell, maybe even kiss you.
But most of all, he would have chosen another player as his partner to play with those stupid marbles.
But of course there was no going back anymore.
Thanos didn't remember when was the last time he had properly cried but that night he burst out crying while everyone else was asleep around him, forcing him to muffle the sobs into his hand.
He wanted you there to comfort him, to rub his back and tell him it was all going to be okay. That he was going to live through this. That he'd be alright. That this pain inside him was going to go away at some point.
Just a moment ago you had laughed together about the memories you had of each other but now Thanos could never do it again. He wanted to make more memories with you.
Why did he have to realize how big part of his heart you actually were when you were already gone? He tried to imagine your face in his mind, looking at him with a wide smile, but the image quickly turned back to your dead body lying on the ground, no matter how hard Thanos tried to brush that sight away from his mind.
He didn't want to play this game anymore. Now he wanted to go back home more than anything else.
a/n: How I think my two favorite men would treat you during a threesome
~♡ They had to give you a pill from Thanos’ necklace for you to finally agree to it
~♡ To what? A threesome of course!
~♡ They’d be like sugar and spice — you can guess who is which.
~♡ You had a sort of friends-with-benefits situationship with Thanos, the two of you hooking up a couple times.
~♡ Your relationship with Namgyu was a bit different, the two of you having sex once at the club, with you hardly remembering it the next morning. Namgyu had been dying to fuck you again ever since that night.
~♡ Well of course the subject of you had come up between the two men, and then the subject of fucking you.
~♡ “Trust me, she’ll agree to it.” Thanos smirked. “We’ll just have to get ‘er a little fucked up beforehand.”
~♡ So there you were, invited for a “movie night” over at Thanos’ place, sandwiched between Thanos and Namgyu on his old beaten up couch
~♡ They were both usually close to you, their knees rubbing against yours, Thanos with his big hand splayed out on your thigh rubbing the soft skin in circles. Namgyu with his arm around the back of your neck, petting your hair.
~♡ You’d be lying if you said the close physical contact between these two attractive men (that you’ve also previously hooked up with) wasn’t turning you on
~♡ Then Thanos popped open his cross necklace, dumping one of the colorful pills in his hand. He pretended to survey it as he spoke up over the movie. “You’ve never had one of these, huh?”
“Mm? I guess not.” You responded half paying attention to him.
~♡ He placed a bright red one on his tongue, sticking it out of his mouth for you to see. Slowly your attention was drawn to him instead of the screen.
~♡ Especially when he pulled you in with a firm hand on the back of your neck, smashing his mouth onto yours and pushing the pill into your mouth while you moaned.
~♡ You were embarrassed, face flushing pink knowing that there was another person literally a foot away watching. “B-but, Namgyu’s here—“
~♡ Namgyu cut you off quickly by pulling your face in the other direction and covering your mouth with his, his kiss fiery and forceful, shoving his tongue down your throat to keep you quiet.
~♡ Thanos chuckled darkly at the scene, watching while Namgyu tongue-fucked you and slid a ringed hand up to your throat to give it a squeeze. You whimpered quietly into his mouth.
~♡ That’s how you ended up spitroasted like a pig on their two cocks, knees getting rug burn on Thanos’ crappy carpet as both men used you for their own pleasure.
~♡ Thanos had his head tipped up toward the ceiling, hand petting your hair as you gulped his dick down your throat. Praises fell like a stream from his mouth, nonstop telling you how good your tongue felt, how soft and plush your lips were.
~♡ Namgyu, on the other hand…
~♡ Namgyu fucked you from behind like he had something to prove. He spanked you, just to see the red mark of his hand imprinted on your skin. He gripped the fat of your hips with his nails, biting into your flesh on purpose just to hurt you. He degraded you nonstop, calling you a whore and telling you how useless and disgusting you were for letting them do this to you.
~♡ His hips drove forward into you relentlessly, cock spearing through your tight walls over and over. Every time he met your jiggling ass you were jolted forward, forced to deepthroat Thanos and gagging as his mushroom cock head hit the back of your throat.
~♡ “Gah damn…” Thanos bit his lip and pulled all your hair back into a makeshift ponytail, gripping it in his fist.
~♡ The experience was making your head spin, receiving soft groaning praises from Thanos made you feel all warm, only to be abruptly ripped away by Namgyu’s mean comments and harsh slaps to your ass and tits. It was insane levels of whiplash.
~♡ “Shit man, i needa turn on that side. Needa’ feel that heavenly pussy.” As much as Thanos wanted to cum in your mouth and watch you swallow it like the good girl he knew you were, he’d rather do it deep inside your womb.
~♡ “Pussy ain’t even that good bro. She’s so loose, probably from letting hundreds of guys like us fuck her.” Namgyu grunted as he continued his assault on your poor cunt.
~♡ The way they talked as if you weren’t there had you clenching down hard and cumming on Namgyu’s dick. He made fun of you for that, of course.
~♡ “Duuude lookat’er…like she’s possessed.” Your eyes were rolling into the back of your head as you spasmed and choked on them. You were so full…
~♡ They did end up switching eventually, and the stark contrast was more than you could’ve anticipated.
~♡ Thanos railed you from behind, two painted fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit and heightening your pleasure. All the while he rambled nonsense praises of your perfect, tight, angelic, pussy. His pierced cock hit different areas of your pussy that Namgyu’s didn’t, the cold metal ball on the tip of his dick kissing that spongy spot inside you over and over. You would’ve screamed if your mouth wasn’t completely full.
~♡ Being face-to-face with Namgyu was intimidating, to say the least. He looked down at you with dark eyes, his lip curling in disgust as you gagged on him and drool spilled out of your mouth and down your bare breasts like a waterfall. With his forefinger and thumb he pinched your nose shut, laughing dryly as your eyes rolled into your head at the lack of oxygen. He pulled out, letting you catch your breath for hardly a second, before shoving his veiny cock all the way back inside, making you gag and cough. His balls slapped your chin and your nose buried itself in his coarse happy-trail. He did this over and over, until your mascara was running down your cheeks.
~♡ By the end of the night you were completely wrecked. Not a single hole of yours went unfilled, it felt like you were leaking their cum from everywhere.
~♡ Your body lay limp on the carpet, panting and exhausted.
~♡ You barely registered the words coming out of Thanos’ mouth, or the camera flash of him taking a photo of your double creampied pussy.
~♡ Namgyu had to get one too, for memory’s sake and also for later this week when he came home from his night shift horny. You felt his fingers spread your ass cheeks apart to get a better look as he let out a low whistle at the sight. You whimpered softly, the sound muffled partly by the carpet fibers.
~♡ You think Namgyu must’ve left right after that, not wanting to initiate any form of aftercare. Because the next thing you know you’re waking up on the couch with a blanket over you. Thanos is there, sitting by your feet lazily taking a drag of his vape and watching a random show.
~♡ He let you crash on his couch for the night, definitely just out of the kindness of his heart. Not because he could steal a few sloppy kisses and cop a feel of your tits under the blanket while you whine, telling him you’re trying to sleep, of course.
