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Yandere Yakuza
When your brother gets himself deep into debt, one yakuza is surprisingly willing to help you get him out. Word Count: 4.3k
When your brother asks you to visit him in Tokyo, something about his voice makes your big sister instincts buzz.
He's great at putting on a show, but there's a twinge of nervousness to him that you've seldom heard before.
You spend your first week in the city with your hackles raised, trying and failing to figure out what he's hiding from you. And you might never have figured it out.
But then he showed up.
Yandere! Yakuza who kicks open your brother's door at three in the morning, a cigarette in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.
You scramble out of bed, convinced you're about to be murdered. And it's only your brother's hand hastily slapped over your mouth that keeps you from screaming bloody murder.
"Relax, I know these guys."
Despite his words, your brother doesn't look relaxed at all. His eyes dart around the room and he balls his fists into his jeans. It's a habit he hasn't broken since childhood and before you know it, you're stepping between him and a dangerously scarred yakuza.
Your Japanese is beyond rudimentary and your course didn't exactly cover how to have conversations with members of an organised crime family, but you tilt your chin back and try to keep your voice steady.
"Naze anata ga koko ni iru no ka? [why are you here?]"
Yandere! Yakuza who shamelessly leers at your tiny summer pyjamas. He pulls at his cigarette and when he speaks, his English is heavy with an accent.
"Came to collect what he owes us."
Of all the possible answers he could have given you, that was one you don't expect in the slightest. You turn to your brother and the way he avoids your eyes is answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? Didn't you teach him better?
Yandere! Yakuza who came prepared to smash furniture and rough up a stubborn debtor suddenly finds himself at the mercy of your glare. You're at least a foot or two shorter than him and somehow it feels like he's the one being overpowered.
"How much does he owe?"
"Sis really I can-"
Yandere! Yakuza who scoffs and names a number much, much larger than you expected. It takes every ounce of will power not to scream at your brother right then and there. How could he get himself into such a mess? He's barely been here more than six months!
Yandere! Yakuza who watches the emotions flicker across your face and has to admire the way you fight them back. The only sign of your fear is a slight tremble in your hand.
"How much do you need tonight?"
The amount he names is just about everything you have in savings. You bite your lip. One look at him tells you everything you need to know. This isn't some small time crook. The pin on his suit jacket is clear as day, even to a foreigner like you.
You pull your coat over your pyjamas and grab your handbag.
"Let's go then."
When you step out into the hall, you're met with two other Yakuza. How didn't you notice them?
You meet their eyes, trying your absolute hardest to seem unruffled. Predators get violent when they sense fear, right? So don't like them catch that smell on you, no matter how fast your heart is racing.
The night air nips at your skin as you head to the nearest ATM.
"Sis it isn't that bad, I swear -"
"We'll talk about it later, ok?"
Yandere! Yakuza who walks close behind you. You can catch the smell of his cologne - something woody and pleasantly sharp.
When you slip your card into the ATM, he leans against the wall next to you and pulls out another cigarette. He watches you while he lights it, the flame throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief.
"You got a boyfriend?"
You're genuinely surprised. Your relationship status isn't exactly on your list of things dangerous criminals should be concerned about.
"No. I don't."
He let's the smoke curl up between his teeth.
"Good. Pretty girl like you shouldn't bother with relationships."
"Why not?"
The ATM spits out your cash before he can answer.
He doesn't take the money immediately. Instead, he let's his eyes roam down your body, like he can still see what's underneath your bulky coat.
"You're never gonna pay it off at this rate."
"You're offering me advice? Didn't think that was part of your job."
"Sōde wa arimasen [it isn't]. But what kind of man would I be if I didn't help you out?"
He digs in his inner pocket and you catch a glimpse of the gun holstered under his jacket.
He pulls out a business card and scribbles something at the back of it.
"He hasn't told you, but we've got his passport. He can't leave until he's settled what he owes."
You suck in a sharp breath at that. How much worse could this situation get?
He holds out the card. "Come work for us and maybe we can work out a better deal, yeah?"
You scoff. "Does that deal involve selling my organs?"
He smiles a little at that. "Īe - no. It's easy work. Come by tomorrow and see for yourself."
You look down at the card and the hand offering it. His tattoos peak out of his sleeve, blue-black and twisting in patterns you can't recognise. Better to not offend a gangster, right?
You take the card.
"Iiko [good girl]."
He turns to go, his baseball bat slung over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow hanī [honey]."
He's barely out of sight before you're grabbing your brother's ear and dragging him back to the apartment.
You spend the rest of the night talking to - or more accurately, interrogating - your brother.
"Gambling? What the hell where you thinking?"
"I was drunk, okay?"
You hiss and rub at your temples. And the worst part? The yakuza was right. You can't pay it off. Not without a very well paying job.
His card glares at you from the kitchen table. An easy job, huh?
The address on the card leads you to a hostess club in the middle of the Red Light District.
He isn't going to kidnap you in the middle of the day in the middle of the city, right? Slightly comforted, you make your way into the club.
It's cool and dark, lit by colorful lamps more than anything. You show the card to the bartender and a few minutes later your yakuza is sitting across from you and ordering you both drinks.
Yandere! Yakuza who wears a suit in the slouched, lazy way of a school delinquent. Shirt unbuttoned so you can see the edge his tattoos and the gold chain gleaming at his neck.
He gestures at the bar and the room around you, his cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers. "The Family owns this place. And my kyodai manages it."
He studies you while he smokes, eyes dipping to your chest and lingering. "You can work as a hostess here. Make good money and we'll take a cut of it to pay off what your brother owes."
You take a sip of your drink to avoid answering him. The sake leaves a tingle on your lips.
"But I'm not exactly fluent in Japanese. How am I supposed to entertain customers?"
He grins wolfishly at you. "Just wear something tight and you won't have to talk at all."
"Perv," you mutter into your drink.
On the surface, you can't see anything wrong with his offer. It makes perfect sense - the club gets a new girl they barely have to pay and your brother's creditors don't need to keep tracking him down.
But he's a yakuza and you'd be a fool to trust him.
"Fine. I'll work here, try my hardest to learn Japanese and sell drinks."
You hold his gaze. "But I'm gone the second I think you're being shady. Got it?"
Yandere! Yakuza who smiles like he's won the lottery. "Wakatta [got it]."
When you show up later that evening, he's your first customer. He orders you a bottle of champagne and keeps topping up your glass without ever touching his own.
A few drinks in you manage to finally loosen up enough to hold a conversation. He asks you endless questions - about your childhood, your hobbies, the movies you've been watching.
But in return, he dodges any question you throw at him. "Don't ask about my family." "My childhood was boring. You don't want to hear about it." "Hobbies? Does puss-"
"No."
"Then no."
He's surprisingly fun to talk to. And when he gets a call and has to leave you, there's a pang of disappointment that you can't quite mask.
He grins and flicks your forehead. "Don't miss me too much."
When you pick up the bill, you realise he left you a hefty tip. You stare at it and then at his retreating back. Just what is his angle?
Yandere! Yakuza who's back the next day and the one after that. He sprawls in the booth like a spoiled prince, his arms thrown across the headrest and his legs spread.
"Let me teach you Japanese."
You perk up. A native teacher would be so much easier to learn from compared to the dense textbooks you've tried using.
"Repeat after me. Onegaishimasu. It means 'please'."
You try and imitate his intonation. He walks you through a few more common phrases with moderate success.
"Need to work on your accent, but that was decent. Ready to try something longer? Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne [I think you're very handsome]."
"Anato wa...wa totemo hansam... hansamudesu ne."
He smirks at you over the rim of his glass. He seems immensely pleased.
"What does it mean?"
"Just another way to... greet someone. Kinda tricky though, so you should just use it on me."
He spends the rest of the day explaining kanji and grammar. You take notes on the back of a receipt and promise to rewrite them when you get home.
Your shift is practically over when he finally stands to leave.
"Say goodbye like I taught you."
"Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne."
He grins at you again, his voice a bit sweeter when he replies. "Anata mo totemo kireidesu ne [you're pretty too]."
You tilt your head, struggling to understand. You don't recognise the phrase, but he's gone before you can ask what it means.
Yandere! Yakuza who requests you almost everyday. Until the house mother snaps at him to give it a rest, there are other clients who want to talk to you.
He scoffs and throws back his drink, Adam's apple bobbing like he's swallowing down his anger too.
"If they want to talk to her so bad, they should get here earlier. Watashitachiha kono basho o shoyū shite imasu [we own this place]. So go and get me my girl."
When you finally make it to his table, he's back to being all smiles. The only person who notices his jealousy is the house mother and she's far too busy to mention it.
"My head is killing me. Give me a massage please?"
He flops down into your lap before you can say no.
You sigh and run your fingers through his hair, trying to remember where the pressure points are.
Yandere! Yakuza who practically purrs at your touch. When you lift a hand away to take a sip of your water, he barely waits for you to swallow before he's dragging it back.
There's something very strange about having a deadly gangster in your lap. With his eyes closed, you can almost forget just how much he scared you when you first met. Can forget how he still scares you.
He opens his eyes and catches you studying him. He reaches up and catches your hand as you draw away from him. His touch is gentle, softer than you would expect from looking at him.
"Go on a date with me."
You aren't sure if it's an offer or a command. There's something so intimate about the way he looks at you, the club lights carving hollows into his cheeks, eyes dark and sweet.
And God help you, he's so close. Only the thin fabric of your stockings between his skin and yours.
"Okay."
His lips quirk into a half smile, boyishly handsome.
"Good. You'll like it."
By the next evening, you're already regretting your decision. What kind of idiot goes on a date with a yakuza? You blame the alcohol and the closeness of his body and your stupid, stupid hormones for getting you into this.
But when he picks you up, you find yourself smiling. He actually knocks on the apartment door this time and you open it with the full intention of teasing him.
"My brother's landlord-"
Your words die in your throat. You always knew he was handsome but the man waiting for you takes your breath away.
His hair is slicked away from his face and a sparkling cross dangles from one ear. His lazy suits are gone, replaced with a suit that's pressed and tailored. Hell, even his shirt is buttoned up properly.
He looks good. Dangerously good.
He takes you in, eyes lingering at your curves. You swallow and try not to blush. You do your hair and makeup everyday for the club and he's seen you in this dress before, but he looks at you like it's all new to him, like he wants to drink in every inch of you.
You somehow manage to find your voice and it has none of its usual bite. "You look good. Really good."
He smoothes a hand over his hair self consciously. "Arigatō. Shall we go?"
He offers you his arm and you take it, your heart thundering. He opens the car door for you and helps you in like a proper gentleman. You catch a whiff of his cologne - the same woodsy scent from the night you met.
He takes you to a skyscraper restaurant and sits down right next to the window. The city is a sparkling sprawl at your feet.
"I didn't think you'd be into a place like this," you say.
"What? You think I don't got class?" He grins and points his fork at you, "I've got the best damn taste in this whole city."
"Explains why you asked me out then."
"Obviously." He leans forward. "Only the best for my girl, yeah?"
"I'm your girl? Since when?"
"Since..." He makes a show of checking his watch. "Since the night I met you. You just didn't know it yet."
Ah, now that's one way to make a girl fall for you. And despite your better sense, you feel yourself falling.
You can still taste the lingering sweetness of dessert when he walks you back to his car. His leans against the car door and loops his arms around your waist.
"You had fun tonight?"
"Yes. More than I expected honestly."
He pulls you closer to him, softly enough that you can step back at any point. You don't.
"Gonna give me a kiss to say thank you? It's a very important part of our culture."
You clasp your hands together behind his neck.
"You liar."
He grins that boyish half smile of his. "Can't blame a guy for trying."
He doesn't feel like a gangster or a creditor or a customer. In that moment he feels like just a man - someone strong and handsome that you desperately want to kiss.
Your gaze flickers down to his lips and then back to his eyes. You pull gently at his neck and his head dips lower. You stay like that for a moment, lips almost touching. Too nervous to make the final move.
His hands move to cradle your waist and he closes the gap between you.
You pull him closer, your hands slipping from his neck to his jaw. His stubble scrapes your palm and makes your whole body tingle. He tastes of wine and sugar.
When you finally pull away, you draw your thumb across his lower lip. His eyes are half lidded and when he moves, it's with a sluggish reluctance. Like he doesn't want to let go of you.
He keeps one hand on your waist and draws out a stack of cash with the other. When he speaks, his voice is husky.
"How much for tonight?"
"What?"
His draws his hand up your waist to rest against your sternum. Like he wants to dig his hand into your heart.
"How much to take you home?"
A bucket of cold water would have been less shocking. You pull away from him, your mind racing.
God, why are you such an idiot? Of course he only wants to fuck you. He's just a thug, what did you expect?
And worse, you feel like a small part of your heart is breaking. Why be so sweet to you, why go out of his way to spend time with you, if all he wants is a one night stand?
"Are you serious?"
"Obviously. How much do you charge?"
You act without thinking and slap him right across his face.
The sound of it is terribly sharp in the open quite of the parking lot. It leaves your palm stinging. You freeze, terrified of what you've just done.
He doesn't move, his head turned to the side from the force of your slap. Slowly, he touches his fingers to his cheek. His expression is unreadable.
Oh, you're so dead. You just hit a yakuza. A guy who probably breaks faces everyday, who has who knows how many felonies to his name.
Your first instinct is to apologise, say you weren't thinking and that you're so so sorry. You lift your chin and squash down that part of you.
"I'm not for sale."
The quiet stretches out, tense and dangerous. He turns away and opens the car door for you. He doesn't meet your eyes.
"I understand now. Gomen'nasai [I'm sorry]."
The drive home is terribly quiet. You keep expecting him to lash out - hit you or humiliate you for daring to slap him like that.
He doesn't. He just keeps eyes on the road.
When you reach your building, he follows you to the door and rests his hand on the frame above your head. You can feel him behind you, close enough for his breath to tickle the back of your neck.
"I can't buy you."
"No."
"But I want you."
You pull in a shuddering breath. "Earn it."
You shut the door without turning back.
He doesn't show up at the club for the next week. At first you're on edge - what if he gets you fired? Or worse, does something to your brother?
But your boss doesn't mention anything and your brother keeps coming home in one piece. Slowly, you relax. Tell yourself that he's done with you now that you won't give him what he wants. You try and ignore the way it hurts.
When he does finally show up, he's dangerously tipsy. He yanks you out of your booth in the middle of a date and leaves the house mother to bow and apologise to the customer.
You try not to make a scene as he pulls you along behind him. But you look about desperately for any of the other yakuza. Where the hell are they when you need them?
Finally, he drops you in a booth in the corner of the club and collapses across from you. His hair is messier than you've ever seen it and there's a feverish wildness in the way he looks at you.
"Fine. I'm here. Let me earn your love."
You rub your arm and scowl at him. "Your idea of winning me over is to leave a huge bruise on my arm?"
He runs his hands through his hair. "Hell, I don't know. I've never had to win a girl over before."
"Yeah right. I've seen the girls you go out with. There's no shortage of women in your life."
He looks you in the eye. "Bought and paid for." He gestures at the table and at you. "Not like this. Not like you."
That gives you pause. It makes sense. Gangsters don't exactly have the time to go on Sunday morning brunch dates or meet the family.
"So why not just pay someone else?"
You don't say it out loud but the rest of your question is clear. Why me?
"I...I don't want to. Setsumei suru no wa totemo muzukashīdesu [It's so hard to explain]. But I don't want anyone else."
A confession from a yakuza was not at all on your list on fun and lighthearted tourist activities. You're not entirely sure how to deal with it.
Your sense is screaming at you to be smart. And when is dating a criminal ever smart? You're supposed to get yourself and your brother away from the underworld, not get roped deeper in. And what happens if you want to break up? When has a man with a gun and too many scars ever taken a heartbreak well?
And yet...
You want him. Stupidly, against all sense, you want to be with him. He's dangerous. He probably only wants to fuck you. He has too much power over your life. He might never let you leave him.
And still you want him.
You take a deep breath. "Come over tonight and I'll cook you something. And if my cooking doesn't change your mind then... then we can talk about it."
He smiles at you and the wild look in his eye seems to finally dim.
"Anata ga watashi o oidasou to shite mo dekinakatta [Baby, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried]."
You weren't lying when you said you were a terrible cook. When he finally arrives, the rice is somehow both burnt and slightly undercooked and your curry is severely under-salted.
You scrunch your nose when you take a bite. "This is awful."
"You cooked it." He takes another bite. "And I hate to say it, but I've had worse."
You push your bowl away and mutter, "I didn't think rice could be so complicated. I followed the instructions and everything."
He takes another bite. "I can make decent rice. And udon."
"So between the two of us, there's only one good cook? Shameful."
He adds some salt to his bowl. "Neither of us ever has the time to cook anyway, so I don't know why you're surprised."
You shake your head and watch him. He's halfway through your abysmal culinary concoction and somehow not green in the face.
"You never talk about yourself," you tell him.
He avoids your eyes. "I'm not that interesting."
"But I am?"
"Yes." There's a quiet fierceness to his answer that makes your heart stutter.
"Tell me a secret about yourself."
It's his turn to study you. "A secret."
"That's what I said."
He considers you for a long moment before reaching up and undoing his shirt buttons. He turns his back to you and let's his shirt fall away.
You gasp. His tattoo covers his entire back. It's every bit as intricate as you suspected - there's lotus flowers between his shoulder blades and a spider inked below his ribcage.
But it's the snake that takes up most of the space. It curls and unwinds across his back, every scale painstakingly inked. It's hissing mouth rests on his shoulder blade, opposite his heart.
He flinches when you touch him, but doesn't ask you to stop. You run your fingertips up his back, tracing the snakes coiling body.
"It's incredible."
He doesn't answer you. Eventually your fingers come to rest on his neck.
He reaches back and takes hold of your wrist. He draws it forward and tilts his head to press a kiss against your pulse. You wonder if he can feel the way your heart jumps when he touches you.
"Do you want to know the real secret? I go home at night and lie awake thinking about you."
You lean forward and rest your forehead against his bare back. "What do you think about?"
He inhales sharply. "Your voice... your lips... your body."
You laugh a little and your warm breath on his skin makes him shiver. "You're shameless."
"Mattaku hajishirazuna [totally shameless]."
You tilt his head towards you and kiss his cheek.
You can feel him smile against your lips. When you pull away, he turns to you and cups your jaw.
Your Japanese has gotten better, but you don't understand what he whispers before he kisses you.
"Watashi Kazu anata ni koiwoshiteiru, soshite watashi wa tomaranai [I'm falling in love with you and I can't stop]."
He presses his lips against yours, so much hungrier this time. His hand slips from your cheek to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.
"My girl, my pretty girl. Hanaretakute mo hanare rarenakatta [I couldn't let you go even if I wanted to]."
He presses hot kisses against your throat. His grip on your neck almost painfully tight.
"Hitsuyōniōjite, anata no kyōdai ni wa nan-nen mo shakkin o showa seru koto ni narudeshou [gonna keep your brother in debt for years if I have to]."
The rest of his sentence is little more than a growl. "Nanrakano hōhō de anata ni watashi o aishite morau tsumoridesu [gonna make you love me back one way or another]."
The one downside of courting a yakuza is not understanding everything he says. But maybe it's safer that way.
#yandere#yandere imagines#yandere x reader#yandere drabbles#yandere scenarios#reader insert#x reader#yandere oc#male yandere#yandere oc x you#Yandere yakuza
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✮ sylus x fem!reader
contents: fluff and sweetness. pre-relationship. more than friends but less than lovers trope. many shared little moments with sylus that make it special 🤍
⭒ It becomes second nature for Sylus to carry your purse on his shoulder when you both have an outing and he follows you around like an obedient puppy as you shop from one clothing rack to another. Sometimes he gets distracted on his phone whilst glancing up at you every now and then that he doesn’t realize you both are in the men’s section. A rather adorable pondering expression on your face as you hold a shirt up to his chest. “I think this would suit you nicely.” No second opinion is needed and he collects the item from you for purchasing because if you say so then he believes it.
⭒ When Sylus somehow finds himself a passenger because maybe you wanted to test drive his car that easily has 1600hp—he’s thoroughly amused as you feel out the dynamics of the vehicle. More so when you accidentally step on the brakes a little too hard, as you are unfamiliar with the sensitivity of the pedals. In a show of panic, you throw your arm across his chest to brace for the sudden jolt which earns you a teasing remark followed by a playful quip back at him. However, there’s a subtle smile on his lips as you continue down the road because your first instinct is to save him.
⭒ You and Sylus have a casual routine with Friday nights being reserved for the both of you. When you’d normally grab takeout during the busy working week, you opt for a simple home-cooked meal to unwind and enjoy a leisurely evening. Before you can even register the force of habit, you’re pulling out two plates to set the table and like clockwork Sylus appears at your apartment door. A little bag of your favorite pastries to finish off the meal with something sweet because he learned you couldn’t go without it. Funny how he knows these things about you, and how you knew to grab his favorite cheese pancakes on the way home for appetizers.
⭒ The crow twins deliver you something on behalf of Sylus and he receives a little treat from you every other time this happens. You’d pack a small box of savory/sweet baked goods that you made earlier in the day to return his thoughtful gesture. However, at your words Luke and Kieran assumed a surprise wouldn’t be missed if their boss doesn’t know about it. Fast forward to those two apologetic boys surrounded by a swirling red and kneeling before their boss under his menacing stare because those cream puffs should've been handed to him directly. After hearing about this, you made certain to pack enough for the three of them next time.
⭒ Napping at someone else’s home other than your own feels like uncharted territory because sleeping anywhere but your warm and familiar bed places you in a vulnerable position. Even though Sylus has given you permission to make yourself comfortable at his estate several times, the safest place you feel is beside him with your head lulling against his shoulder when you’re running on a few hours of sleep. He’s the picture of comfort with a fleeting kiss to your head and draping his coat over you, and he may even find his cheek pressed against you to catch some shut-eye himself.
⭒ There’s something to be said about Sylus being led by you—he secretly loves surrendering himself to your every whim and that includes you tugging him by the hand and steering him toward the direction of cute ducklings paddle their way into the waters with a splash. Your elated reaction and innocent sparkle is all very endearing to him and he takes a moment to savor it before shifting his gaze to the small animals. “Now, aren’t you glad we decided to have this stroll after all?” You offer him your response and his heart warms when he realizes that you still haven’t let go of his hand.
#ᨳ ₊˚ 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐩.𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬#sylus#sylus x reader#sylus x you#sylus x y/n#sylus lads#sylus fluff#sylus l&ds#l&ds sylus#lnds sylus#sylus lnd#lads sylus#love and deepspace#love and deepspace x reader
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The Offer—Salesman x Fem!Reader
summary— After an encounter with the mysterious and dangerously charming salesman, you find yourself drawn to him and what begins as a simple game quickly escalates when he offers you a deal outside the Squid Game. based on this request.
warnings— sugar baby undertones, praise kink, fingering, oral(f!receiving), body worship, ass slapping, choking, unprotected sex, creampie.
The subway station felt like a dull hum in the background as you sat on a hard bench, looking at your phone. The notification from your bank app stared back at you, a harsh reminder of your poor spending choices. Shopping sprees, credit card bills, and an insurmountable amount of student loan debt weighed on you. You sighed, barely noticing the man who had taken a seat next to you until he cleared his throat.
“Rough day?” a deep, smooth voice said.
You glanced up, and your breath caught in your throat. The man was striking, his tailored suit fit perfectly, his features sharp and symmetrical, with a mischievous glint in his eyes that sent a spark of unease and intrigue down your spine.
“Uh, yeah, you could say that,” you muttered, looking away as you grew flustered.
He chuckled softly. “Well, I can help,” he said, pulling out a neat red envelope from his briefcase. “How about a game?”
“A game?” You frowned, wary but unable to deny the curiosity bubbling inside you.
He opened the envelope, revealing a stack of blue and red tiles. “Ddakji,” he explained, holding up one of the tiles. “We take turns throwing the tile to flip the other. You win, you get 100,000 won each time. You lose,” his smile widened. “I get to slap you.”
Your stomach churned at the proposal, but the thought of cash was too enticing to ignore. “Whatever,” you said, your voice shaky but firm.
The first few rounds were a blur. He was calm, composed, and terrifyingly skilled. You, on the other hand, had no idea what you were doing, your tile landing uselessly each time.
“Not your game, is it?” he teased after you failed again.
“Nah,” you replied.
He leaned closer, and you smelled his cologne, subtle but intoxicating. Instead of raising his hand to deliver the promised slap, he surprised you by tucking the envelope into your hands.
“Here,” he said, his voice low and warm. “Take my card instead.”
You blinked, staring at the card he offered. It was embossed with a phone number and a strange symbol. “What’s this?”
“For something bigger than a subway game,” he replied. His hand lingered for a moment on yours as he added, “How about I come over, and we talk a bit more? About the game, the prize, and— possibilities.”
Your heart raced as you nodded.
You led him to your apartment, your nerves heightened by his presence. He seemed so calm and confident, while you felt like a mess. Inside, he leaned against your kitchen counter, his jacket now draped over the back of a chair.
“You’re nervous,” he said, his lips curving into a small smile.
“Not nervous,” you lied, but your trembling hands gave you away.
He chuckled, taking a step closer. “You’re interesting. Most people I approach don’t look at me the way you do.”
“And how’s that?” you asked, swallowing hard.
“Like you’re trying to figure me out,” he said, his voice sending a shiver through you.
“Maybe I am,” you admitted, clutching the card tightly.
“Good,” he murmured. “Keep that curiosity. It might take you further than you think.”
You weren’t sure if it was a warning or what, but you couldn’t deny the way his presence filled the room, leaving you breathless and wanting to know more.
“You’ve got a fire in you. I like that.” His voice softened as he added, “But you don’t need to play any games to fix your problems.”
Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I could take care of you,” he said simply. He stepped even closer, the space between you closing to almost nothing. “You wouldn’t have to worry about loans, bills—anything. We could come to an arrangement.”
You blinked up at him, your heart racing. “An arrangement?”
“You’d be surprised what I’m capable of.” He reached out, brushing a stray hair from your face, his fingers lingering near your jaw. “I can take care of you in more ways than one.”
The way he said it sent heat through you. His gaze dipped to your lips again, and you found yourself leaning into his presence without even realizing it. “I’m down for that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower. He tilted his head, his face now inches from yours. “Because I think you’ve needed someone to take care of you for a long time.”
Before you could respond, his lips captured yours, unhurried, testing the waters. The kiss deepened quickly, fueled by what had been building between you since he first approached you.
His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as his tongue teased yours, earning a soft gasp. He took the opportunity to lift you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, his hands warm and steady against your ass.
“You’re something else,” he said against your lips, his breath hot as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. His thumb brushed over your cheek, and for a moment, the intensity softened into something almost tender.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips.
He chuckled, his forehead resting against yours. “This could be the start of something very interesting.”
And boy, you couldn’t help but agree. The kiss reignited, deeper and hotter than before. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him on the counter. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the faint aroma of something warm and spicy made your head swim.
“You smell incredible,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough. He pressed his nose to the curve of your neck, inhaling deeply as his lips ghosted over your skin. “Too good, really. Makes me wonder if you’re even real.”
Heat spread through your cheeks, but his words lit something inside you. “I think you’re the one who’s too good to be real,” you teased back.
“Flattery, huh? I like that. But don’t think for a second I don’t see through you.” His hand slid up your thigh, his touch warm. “You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?”
You opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you with another kiss, his teeth gently tugging at your bottom lip before pulling back to study your reaction. “No need to lie, sweetheart. I know.”
His hand ventured lower, fingers brushing over the fabric of your skirt, and he hesitated, his eyes meeting yours. “Is this okay?” he asked softly, his tone serious, despite the fire burning in his gaze.
Instead of answering, you bucked your hips into his touch instinctively, a soft gasp escaping your lips. The corner of his mouth lifted in approval. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered.
His fingers worked, finding your dripping pussy and working their magic, skilled and precise. You couldn’t help but arch into him, your head falling back against the cabinet. “Look at me,” he commanded gently, one hand cupping your jaw to bring your gaze back to his. “I want to see those pretty eyes.”
You obeyed, locking eyes with him as his fingers thrusting inside you intensified, his thumb brushing over your cheek when you whimpered softly. “That’s it,” he said, “You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”
You couldn’t form words, only nodding as waves of pleasure rolled through you. His digits curled expertly inside you, thrusting against that spongy spot that made your breath catch and your pussy throb. You thrashed and moaned, feeling practically possessed by pleasure. God, you really did need this. He probably thought you were a desperate slut. His thumb tilted your chin up slightly. “Say it,” he murmured, his tone coaxing. “Tell me.”
“Yes,” you managed, your voice shaky. “Yes, I’m—I’m your good girl.”
His grin widened. “That’s my girl.”
Your hand gripped his muscular bicep as he stared down at you, the moment so intimate. Eyes locked on yours, two finger buried inside your pussy and a thumb rubbing your clit, giving you more pleasure your little fingers could ever manage to. Saving money had prevented you from even thinking of buying a vibrator. Soft moans left your lips as he rubbed rough circles on your bundle of nerves, your pussy clenching around nothing before he plunged his fingers back inside you. He thrusted roughly and you couldn’t help but clamp around him.
When the tension inside you reached its peak, he leaned closer, his lips grazing your ear. “Cum for me. Right here, right now. I want to see you fucking cum.”
And you did, trembling against him as his fingers pushed you over the edge, your breaths coming out in stuttering gasps. His praises washed over you as he held you steady, his grip comforting.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Absolutely beautiful.”
You stayed like that for a moment, letting the quiet hum of the room wrap around you as you caught your breath.
The heat between you both heightened as his lips trailed down your neck softly. His hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you closer on the counter. He paused, meeting your gaze with a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine.
“You’re addictive,” he murmured, voice rich and low. “I want to taste every part of you.”
Your breath hitched as he dropped to his knees, his hands steady on your thighs. “Can I taste you?” he asked, his tone sincere despite the hunger in his eyes.
You nodded, words escaping you entirely. His smirk deepened as he guided your legs apart, his lips brushing your inner thigh. “You’re so perfect,” he whispered, his voice soft. “And all mine.”
His tongue explored every inch of you, licking from your pelvis, then down to your clit. His focus on your clit, slurping and flicking it made your toes curl and your legs clamp around his head. He chuckled deeply, the sound sending vibrations through your body and he pried your legs open, continuing his feast.
“I’ve never seen anyone as stunning as you,” he said. “Let me take care of you.”
Each kiss on your clit and touch over your thighs sent sparks through you, and you couldn’t help the soft moans escaping your lips. He looked up, his eyes dark. “I want to hear you,” he murmured, his voice almost a growl. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear how good it feels.”
You moaned loudly, your voice trembling with emotion. “That’s my good girl,” he said. “So beautiful, my perfect girl.”
As he continued to worship you, every lick and word worked together, unraveling you completely. When you finally came, trembling with his mouth on your pussy, he held your gaze, his expression softening as he spoke.
“You’re incredible,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your clit. “Don’t forget that.”
When you came down from your high, he stood, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re everything I need,” he said softly, his forehead resting against yours.
His hands gripped your hips as he lifted you slightly, settling you more securely on the counter. The warmth of his hard cock pressed against your pussy sent shivers down your spine, but his lips found yours again, slow and tender.
“Relax,” he murmured, “I’ve got you, baby.”
You exhaled shakily as he freed his hard cock moving closer. He dragged the thick, leaking tip along your folds before slowly inching inside your tight pussy. His forehead rested against yours for a brief moment, giving you time to adjust to his size. His hands were steady on your waist, his thrusts careful and slow. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft, his eyes searching yours.
“Yes,” you whispered, and he smiled.
“Good,” he said, his lips capturing yours again, deeper this time. “I’ll take care of you, always.”
The praise flowed from him effortlessly as he began pounding into you. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured against your neck, his lips trailing kisses along your skin. “So good for me. Taking my cock so well.”
Your hands tangled in his dark hair as you tilted your head back. His pace shifted, repeatedly slamming against the sweet spot inside you and his lips found yours once more. “Cum on my cock,” he said, his forehead pressed to yours. “I’ve got you. Just cum for me.”
You gripped his bicep, your pussy responding to his words as your juices soaked his cock inside you. He held you steady, his praises unrelenting. “That’s it,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to your temple. “You’re incredible, such a good girl for me.”
The moment lingered, but you didn’t let it fade completely. Instead, your shaky hands found his, as he helped you off the counter and his lips captured yours again. You guided him toward your bedroom, the two of you stumbling slightly as you moved.
“You’re mine,” he murmured between kisses, his words muffled but filled with conviction. “No one else gets you like this.”
The bedroom door swung open, and he didn’t hesitate, his hands finding your waist again as he backed you toward the bed. “You’re so fucking sexy,” he muttered in awe.
You moved onto your hands and knees, adjusting until your back arched perfectly, drawing a low hum of approval from him.
“There we go,” he said, his hand smoothing over the curve of your spine before resting on your hip. “Just like that, absolutely perfect.”
A sharp, playful slap landed on your ass, making you jolt slightly, and he chuckled. “Couldn’t resist,” he teased, his hand soothing over the spot. “You look too good like this.”
He held onto your waist as his cock rested against your pussy. “You’ve got such a gorgeous body,” he murmured, his voice dropping as his hands roamed gently over your ass. “You don’t even realize how stunning you are, do you?”
You felt his gaze on you lingering, as you wiggled onto his cock, “That’s it, bring that ass back just like that for me. You’re so perfect.”
You met his thrusts as he rolled his hips, his cock disappearing inside your pussy. Each time he bottomed out, his cock was covered in your cream.
“Fuck, you’re really enjoying this baby,” he hummed, staring at how wet you got his shaft.
He held you steady, his hands molding to your curves, his cock brushing against your cervix with each thrust, his voice warm as he leaned closer. “You’re incredible,” he said, his breath brushing against your ear. “Every single part of you fucking especially this.” He squeezed your ass gently, his admiration clear.
He placed a soft kiss on the back of your shoulder before wrapping his hand around your neck to bring you closer so you were arching off him. His pace quickened, each thrust deep, as he held you by your neck securely in place. You arched deeper instinctively, your back pressing against his chest, and his breath warmed your ear.
“Let me hear you,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. “Cum for me.”
Your breaths quickened, and you couldn't help the loud moan that escaped you just as he requested. His grip was firm and his words spilled effortlessly, “That’s my good girl. You’re incredible.”
As everything built to a crescendo, you felt yourself shudder. His hand on your throat tightened slightly, steadying you through the moment. The world around you faded, leaving only his cock moving inside you, anchoring you. You were still squirting as he pounded into you and soon, you felt his sticky cum coat your walls.
When it was over, he pulled you close, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re breathtaking,” he said softly before retreating, leaving you to catch your breath.
Moments later, he appeared with a damp cloth, cleaning you up with a care that seemed to contradict his character. He set it aside, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk that was entirely too charming.
“So,” he said casually, folding his arms, “about those bank account details.”
You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift in tone. He grinned, the shine in his eyes unmistakable.
“Relax,” he added with a soft chuckle, leaning down to brush a lock of hair from your face. “I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”
#salesman x reader#the salesman#the salesman x reader#the salesman smut#the salesman squid game#salesman smut#squid game smut#squid game fanfic#squid games#squid game netflix#squid game#squid game x reader#squid game season 2#squid game fic#squid game salesman#salesman squid game#gong yoo#gong yoo x reader#squid game s2#squid game 2#netflix squid game#squid game imagine#squid game x you#squid game x y/n#squid games x reader#smut#x black reader#black reader#squid game fanart#squid game spoilers
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continued adventures of omegaverse!141
previous
an: the idea of separate task force and pack comes directly from @dragonnarrative-writes and their amazing 'Autumn Embers' series
You leave breakfast feeling both lighter and heavier. An invitation to join the 141 is a dream come true, and the idea that someone other than Captain Price was speaking favorably about your skills is intoxicating. You only know the members of the 141 by reputation, so you don't know who'd seen you on the shooting range. You wish you knew so you could properly thank them.
When he'd made the offer, Price said he'd like to speak to you more formally at 1600. You've never been anything but basic infantry, so you wonder what needs to happen to ensure your transfer into the 141. To keep yourself circling around things you can't control, you focus on leading your squad through basic land nav maneuvers.
After land nav and lunch, it's sparring and workouts in the gym. The room is busier than you like, especially as you aren't here for yourself. The constant eyes on you and your squad throw them off, but you use it to remind them all how important it is to focus despite the pressure. It certainly isn't an active battlefield, but the fight - flight - freeze reaction can help train them out of that headspace.
When it's finally time to meet Price, you dismiss your squad for the day and head to the base office complex. He told you where to find him, and you're knocking at the door a few minutes early.
"Punctual," he rumbles when he opens the door. "'s a good sign." He gestures you into his office and you notice it's spartan nature. There are only a few items in the wall: mostly awards and commendations. There's a single photo frame on the desk but positioned so only Price, or someone on his side of the desk, can see it. You wonder what it is. It must be special to be one of the few personal items in the room.
The space is dominated by a large walnut desk meant to intimidate. As if his leading 141 isn't enough. As though being an alpha, and a large one at that, wasn't already nerve-wracking for anyone sitting across from him.
He must know how the optics of the space works because he comes and sits in the chair left open next to you. He has a thin folder in his hand as he sits.
"I wanna clear the air 'bout something first. I'm sure ya know the 141's an elite task force. But we're also a pack. I know lots 'a military packs form 'cause 'a proximity: always stationed tahgether or 'round one another all the time without really bein' compatible. But that ain't us. We're compatible as a task force an' a pack. But, and I wanna stress this, being pack ain't necessary to be on the task force. Task force wan's yer skill. 'owever, if ya do join the task force, we've already decided we're open at courtin' ya, if yer open ta bein' courted."
You reel, feeling like the ground has opened underneath you. Price must notice the panic in your eyes because he forges on.
"What I got 'ere," he lifts the slim folder, " is transfer orders. Effective immediately, or as immediately as I submit 'em. They've already got my signature. Once ya sign, if yer interested in bein' on the 141, ya'd train wi' us, run drills an' simulations wi' us. Like squads, we eat tahgether an' have the same R&R. Only thing ya wouldn' do is move inta the barracks wi' us. Not unless ya decided ya wanted to be part 'a the pack. Ya'd still work wi' recruits, but ya wouldn' 'ave a specific squad."
"Wait," you interrupt, "what happens to my soldiers then, if I don't have a squad?"
Price smiles wide at that. "Lookin' out fer 'em's good. Important to the unity of the task force ta look out fer one another. But no task force sergeant has their own squad 'cause we could be sent out at any time. Tha' lack 'a consistency would be worse fer 'em. So, yeah, someone'd take yer squad."
He watches you contemplate all it would mean to become part of his task force. It's a lot, and he hopes you're still up for the challenge, because the more time he spends with you, the more he wants you on the task force and in his pack.
You finally shake off the fog in your head and ask Price for some time to think about it before fully committing. "An' I'm sorry, sir. Because I know I said yes just this morning, but I never thought I'd lose my squad." You pause for a moment before quietly adding, "An' I never imagined the offer included being part of a pack."
He catches your eye and reminds you, "Ya'd only be pack if ya wanted to be. And we'd court ya the right way. If ya wanted."
In the end he gives you the folder and says there's no official deadline for the offer, but he would appreciate a firm answer - either with signed or voided papers - within two days.
You nod, already thinking through who you wanted to consult about this when Price pulls you from your thoughts again.
"Can I make one small request?" he asks politely.
You nod, adding, "If it's reasonable, sir, absolutely."
He gifts you another smile as he leans forward and says, "Join us in the mess tonight? I'd like to officially introduce you to the lads before you make your decision."
next
#cod#poly!141#poly!141 x reader#tf 141#tf 141 x reader#omegaverse#omegaverse 141#omegaverse tf 141#a/b/o#a/b/o 141#a/b/o tf 141#john price#kyle garrick#johnny mactavish#simon riley#nerdygirl says
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hi so I love shadow and imagine:
During a fight (anywhere really) Shadow lands on the ground while pursuing Sonic (or whomever). Everything is covered in debris from broken walls, cars, you name it. Most civilians have already escaped or at least gotten to safety, the unfortunate ones lying injured in the streets and being tended to by others.
He’s scanning his surroundings when he hears groaning coming from beneath him. A large piece of rubble in front of him has begun moving. He hesitates before pulling it off and finding — you.
The first time Shadow met you, you’d been sitting at in a diner, head in hand as you looked out the window in a bored fashion while subconsciously listening to whatever your folks were so vividly chatting about. He’d seen you through the thick window glass, eyeing you with a frown as he waited for the Robotnik’s cue.
When your eyes fell upon him, you had been taken back before smiling. His grim face and serious demeanour made you laugh. You picked up two cut tomato pieces from your salad and held it in front of your eyes. Shadow raised a brow but remained, watching you. With a grin, you picked up two of the carrot sticks, stuffing them into your mouth like a paid of orange vampire teeth, fulfilling your masterpiece. The hedgehog continued to perceive you, and although it was practically invisible, the corner of his mouth subconsciously turned up.
Suddenly images of her flashed before his inner eye, with her black marker and sparkling eyes and for a second he could feel cold water stick to his fur. Dread filled him as he images washed over to her lifeless body. But before he could act or say anything, the cue arrived and Shadow was back on track. He hesitated, glancing back at your now worried face before shaking it off and disappearing.
And now, here you are, covered in dirt and scratches, blood pooling from a cut on your forehead. Your eyes are wide as you glance up at him anxiously, propping yourself up on your lower arms. Shadow is shocked to find you here. You’re clearly not a G.U.N. agent nor any kind of trained soldier, but rather a simple terrified civilian.
And as you lay there, tearing up and aching, Shadow notices something. He notices her. The longer his eyes remain on you, the stronger his need to protect you forms. Despite barely knowing you, he can sense her when he looks at you. He kneels down next to you, ignoring your fearful expression and carefully brushes the hair out of your face, seemingly getting a good look at the aforementioned wound. His scowl deepens.
He lost her once, he’ll make sure he won’t loose her again.
#sonic#sonic x reader#sonic fandom#sonic the hedgehog#sonic fanart#sonic movie 3#sonic 3#sth#sonic the hedgehog x reader#shadow#shadow the hedgehog#shadow the ultimate lifeform#shadow the hedgehog x reader#shadow x reader#x reader#imagine
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#POUNDT0WN (2 death) ?!
—#info. thinking about dubcon scenarios. . . ; chuuya, dazai (sep)
—#warnings. x fem!reader | nsfw content (mdni) | not edited | dubcon, sex virus (dazai), chocolate aphrodisiacs (chuuya), no protection/rawing, p->v, mean dom charas x sub reader (woohoo!), heavy degradation, humiliation, a bunch of positions i won't go over, marathon sex, multiple rounds, multiple orgasms, and whatnot.
—#love, may. i was absolutely geeked while writing this. ehuhu iykm by my writing, hiiii.... i am baaack.... 💦 im posting thid then crsshing outttt!! PSADJDNS!!!@ on a side note, i need to start following other blogs again to reconnect to ppl 😭 i just don't know who's opened to be bothered atm
—#streaming. pound town 2 😝
⁰⁰¹DAZAI—sex virus
" 'Donna.." Dazai whispers behind you, arms supporting him as he rocked his body rhythmically. "Yeah?" You look behind, stopping in your tracks to sway with him. He grins, stepping aside to waddle around you—now standing in front of him was your confused figure. "Lookie here," he holds up a thermometer he stole from Yosano's clinic, "and open your mouth".
You look at him weirdly, but do as he says nevertheless. He padded the tip onto your tongue, waiting for the reading to be finished. the screen blinks once, twice—"Aw damn, you're not sick..." He mutters quietly.
"Has anyone seen Dazai?" You hear Yosanos' muffled question through the door you were currently pressed against. Loud murmurs echo down the corridor, and up the office area where most of the agency lounged at. "Uh oh.." Dazai's voice, breathy and quiet, peers above you. His thumb massages your waist, the languid action nearly made you sob as he held you still. "Did'ya hear that? She's looking for us."
Us, implying him only. His cock rocks slowly, your arousal seeping everywhere onto the floor as he moves. Your lips part, close to letting loose noise that'll get you two caught. His hand was quick to cover your mouth, "Nah-uh..! Keep quiet or she'll find us". He peeped, his voice balanced the edge of urgency and collective coolness. His body was hot—almost feverish to an extent.
As the chatter got louder, the laughter of a certain someone's snicker was enough to tell you; they knew. Or at least he did.
"Osam- uhnn..!" Tou moan through your teeth, his cock piercing your insides with a sharp annotation of silence. Dazai uses his free hand to pat your stomach, the gesture endearing and humiliating at the same time. "Your noises are like the tune of a birds song my dear. Unfortunately we need to stay silent before the teachers' pet snitches' to our lovely school nurse." He says while punching his cock up your gut.
Your body stiffens under his hold, your hips lifting itself to meet him as you fell limp to his mercy. "Do you hear yourself?" He chuckles to himself, "squealin' so cute! What's next? A waterfall?" Like the prophet next door, your cunt convulses—pussy gushing out your orgasm as you cum. The slick that puddles beneath you and Dazai pings another cord inside him. You were sure his cum was starting to foam up with how relentless he was behaving, using his cock to plug everything in while he whisks your insides to batter.
"C-can't!" Your eyes roll back, "Osaamu..! Mhnn--! I - I just came!!" You damn near screamed from the chambers of the enclosed bathroom. He expressed a sad smile that you can feel, the chitter of the air frowns upon your panic. "Okay." He says solemnly. Unexpected and uncharacteristic of him to just agree with whatever you say.
There always had to be a condition that benefited him, and you had yet to find out what he was planning on the spot. Instead of letting you dwell on that thought any further, Razai strokes your walls with long, slow thrusts. "Could've sworn he was just standing near utility." Yosanos' mutter brings you back some lucidity with the click of her heels.
Before you could react appropriately, your body jolts down, impaling yourself further onto his cock. "Oh fuck -!" Dazai curses in your ear, his breath ragged and sloppy. His hands catch you, stabilizing the two of you while his thrusts felt like never-ending. "Keep still." He barked into your ear. " 'M sorryy..!" You hiccup an apology. Dazai didn't need you ruining his initial plan, but...
"Oh doctor, doctorrr!" He sang, knocking the door to alert Yosano. Your eyes went wide—what the fuck was he doing!? Your palm reaches your mouth as the sound of her heels near the bathroom. "Dazai?" She calls from the other side, another knock echoing a gentle lullaby into your ear. "Oh! Yosano!" He pants out loud, giving himself away.
You spun your head in a hurry, a glare etching its way onto your fucked out face. Don't make a sound, he mouths, a sly grin eating you up.
"Dazai? – Oh my gosh..." Yosano groans once she realizes his little predicament. "You're not supposed to be here, Dazai – you're fucking sick! go home!"
"But Yosano-kun..!" Dazai damn near whines into the small cracks that allow air to flow. "As you know, I—oh— am a little occupied."
"Doing what? Fucking your hand? Get out and go home." She sighs, "Thank goodness you haven't caught [Name] yet.." A mutter made way, a giggle from Dazai confirming her belief. "You're right! Wouldn't know what I'd do with [Name] around. Probably fuck her cute cunt like this."
His hips snap forward, your eyes bulging just as big as your stomach. "Mhnn - hmpp..!!" A muffled cry escapes before you can stop it. "Shshh.. No noise, remember?" He dumbifies his wording, acting as if you were an idiot who forgot they were dead. His cock buried itself deep inside, your walls molding it to the base like a silicone wrap.
"Dirty talking your hand isn't gonna help you, fyi." She mumbles.
Your eyebrows are pinched together, proof of your will trying its damn hardest not to blow it. "Aye ma'am.." He says in a scathing tone, his grip on the door slipping as he bundles your flesh in the other. By now, the whole frame was trembling with immense force, it forced Yosano to back up a bit. "Can you not break the agencys' door? Unless you're alright with it being taken out of your pay."
Your breath became ragged, heavy, deep heaving took over your circulation as your body shook from your anticipated orgasm. "Os-ah-Osamu..! G-gonna—Eeen!!" A particularly harsh thrust came into contact with your bundle of nerves, starting a chain reaction of your weary fears.
Dazai's fingers collide with your lips, stretching them open, restricting your jaw movement as you let out a blood curdling scream that rivals a piglets' cry. Dazai huddled your body close to him, a bite to your shoulder indicating his own orgasm threatening to lodge itself inside you even more. "Ghmnm—[Nameee], you feel amaziiing..!" He gurgles a combination of choice words like he didn't just thoroughly humiliate you in front of your coworker a few seconds ago.
What came next wasn't a surprise to you, Yosano, or anyone else standing outside with her for the matter.
Couple of thrusts later, and he's emptying his load into the canister with no regard to your puffy, stuffed cunt. A squeal escapes your throat as your cunt clenched with vigor, milking him for all he's worth while white heavy spurts join the puddle below. He pants right above your shoulder, catching his breath.
He falls back slowly, lifting his weight off your shaking figure. "You okay?" He asks, helping your exhausted body stabilize on its feet. You grumble, "Tired. hot.. and–wait."
Your head did a whole spin, the cheeky smile your boyfriend always wore whenever he got caught doing something a toddler would do, was present. "Sorry..."
"Osamu," You pressed him for information. He says nothing.
You felt your eyebrow twitch in annoyance; of course he fucking did. His arms tightened around you, a malicious smirk coming forth. "Since we're both very sickly and in need of sex-induced release – how 'bout we–".
Large, rounded bangs pounded the door, "Get the hell out you two! Gross!" Yosano shouts from the other side, her heels clacking away as she mutters something about; 'This is what that virus does to a person or two, Atsushi'.
⁰⁰²𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀—endurance training
A box was dropped in front of you; heart shaped with a beautiful red bow tied to the side. "What's this for?" You quiz, untying the lace and lifting the lid. The milky chocolate laid bare in each hole, about six total. "For you to keep up," He shrugs nonchalantly, toneless as he picks two up and held it to your lips.
Smack—smack, smack, "Chuuya..ah—c-can't..!"
"Don't give me that crap." Chuuya grits his teeth, an arm holding you up with ease while the other delivers a harsh blow to your ass. "I gave you two—no, insisted on two," He tugs you down harshly, impaling you on his cock more. A choked moan feverishly escapes your throat as your body was being pinned and mercilessly used like an artifical, doll-like fleshlight. "But—" His voice was heavy, uncaring of his harsh words, "What did you say?" Chuuya's voice was condescending, an exact mimic of your previous mockery that was far too late to retract now.
"What—" smack "—d'you—" smack "—say?" Two consecutive harsh thrusts brought you back to reality. "I- ah- I- s-said.." His thrusts never slowed, a harsh reminder that you got yourself into this mess. "Said what?" Another slap to your ass. By now you were sure your bum was as red as the chimney downstairs—puffy and sure to loosen up the more it's used. "Said..!–T-that I can h-handle..! You—ohnnn!!" A cry, that echoed nothing. feeling pity for your struggle, Chuuya paces himself, allowing you to catch your breath while still maintaining a light tempo that has you dancing on the edge.
"Can you?" He sneers, his stupid smirk doubling down as one grand tease. Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid—! "Don't look at me like that." Chuuya laughs, catching your lips in a kiss. His own caught your whines in a net of darkness, swallowing them like a whale-shark eating plankton. "Fuck," He mumbles—staring adoringly at the way your tears paint your face, "Hot as hell, aren't ya' babe?" He pushes you both off the wall, stumbling back a bit from the instability.
Sinking to his knees with you in tow, you're seated gracefully on his lap—cockwarming him. Your back meets the wall again, the cool area turning warmer as you're pushed and squished against it, Chuuya's body trapping you with room to barely breathe. His arms cage you in, rocking his hips back and forth to simulate friction. "Chuuu—ah! Please—" You beg, his humiliation ritual going as far to bring tears to your pretty eyes. He hums expectantly, using two fingers to lift your head up by your chin—kissing them away like the tooth fairy excitedly placing silver coins under a childs' pillow.
His grinding comes to a stop as he takes your hand in his, lips meeting your knuckles. "Want me to stop?" He intertwined yours with his, "We don't have to do this sweetheart." He coddled, docile, and firm in standing by your decision. Chuuya knew he could be a bit much sometimes—specifically during sex—but he knew you inside out, even your limits and how much he can take from you. You wipe your own tears, determined to see this challenge through, "No...give me another one—" Fuck it to hell. you desired to keep up, match his tempo, and force him into the same overstimulating orgasm that keeps you on your toes when his cock bumps that sensitive nerve in you.
His eyes widen, radiant eyes eager to follow suit in your new adventurous game. But...yet again, you were just sobbing into his chest—Chuuya! Chuuya! I can't handle it! How was he supposed to put his poor baby through hell again when he just brought you out of it? Well, the answer may surprise him, and boy did it shock the hell out of him.
You start humping, stumping Chuuya for a moment for you to push him down and pin his arms to the side of his head. Crawling above his entire torso, your arms were barely long enough to reach the small round table holding the box of aphrodisiacs hostage. In all your glory, Chuuya finds your little stunt remarkable for someone as unathletic as you were—giving your theatrics a mediocre rating though.
You swallow another, barely chewed and still practically in solid condition. Its' effect was slow to start, allowing Chuuya to reposition his hands onto you, his cock sliding in between your thighs. "Wow, that was spectacular babe," he jokes, "teach me how to do shit like that. I wanna be a gymnast too."
"Shut up." The imaginary holes your glare dug out was almost visible to him. He pats your hip, all apologetic like he meant it. His touch sent cold shivers in waves through your body—goosebumps evident from the way his hand felt cooler than your body. "Hmm.. oh what's this?" His cock teased your entrance, rubbing himself in the warmth of your thighs. His tip was beading precum, white oozing just a bit to get you sticky.
"Do you know what you do to me?" He pumps his cock back a few times before spreading your legs wide and plunging his head deeeep into your pussy. "Gggouuuhhh—!" Your whole head flew backwards, landing softly onto his shoulder.
"Chu—ah—uya! My, I'm—!" Your body was on fire, the intensity of the sudden rush threw you into a loop. You couldn't stop yourself from cumming the moment he thrusted inside, it was euphoric, even as he was chasing his own high in discount to your sensitive body. He's quick to switch out his hands for his arms, launching his feet to give him slight momentum. Chuuya has you on your stomach, getting a close grip to your scalp as he yanked your head up, tears jittering down your face from the nonstop pleasure. Your lips are captured into another kiss, the residue of the chocolate on your teeth taking flight. He memos a small note at the back of his mind, the subtle flavor of the chocolate, after breaking the kiss.
The flaming pit in his abdomen has grown stronger, hotter—despite the quick motion. For the first time throughout your entire session, Chuuya quietly moans into your neck, his breath fanning an area that was more prone to sensitivity than others—coincidentally overlapping with yours, more loudly.
Jesus; Chuuya felt like your cunt was threatening him with extortion. Every jab his cock made, churned your stomach inside out, the once tight wedge he had to prep was fully turned into a broken dam that was rummaged through. There was a twitch. And another, then another— "Shiiit—hold on, I- I'm alsooo—ghnn..!" His groan was gruff, thin but still hold the weight of an undertone whine. You felt wrung up, his arms wrapped around your entire waist, hugging you closer.
Chuuya's body felt just as hot, if not more, than yours by this point. A smooth, creamy glaze bursts your thought bubble, all rational action is snubbed as soon as he pulls out, "Chuuyyaa!!" You cried. He was nasty, finishing himself off in between your thighs rather than together. "Nonono!!—Pleeease!!" Your sobs sound like the cruel one to him. Tacky, always crying to get whatever you wanted—how manipulative you could be to him, should he deny you any princess care.
"One sec, darl'." He continues, pausing every now and then to check up on you. His cheeks were so red, damn was he feeling the effects now, preventing him from toying with your screaming sex any longer. "Ugh—! Oh, [Name]—Sweetheart, you kn—oghn—ow—Haa..Fuck!!" He slides his dick in between your thighs one last time, "You drive me absolutely—In—mgh!—sane..!" And that was his breaking point. As your pussy gaps around nothing while you arch your back, Chuuya positioned his cock to your entrance, and pistoned upwards, his cum filling the scene of the crime he left to rot in the woods.
Only this time, you managed to keep up.
GASPPPP—i am so sad. i lost the ability to write for more than 2 charas 😭😭💔
erm. here was supposed to be oda's little part :'D ദ്ദി! was also gonna write a section for fyodor + nikolai but i just couldn't .... gonna have to update my lil req part to be "2 charas max"
💀i have gone from fic pumper to having dead fingers. the quality of my writing went down significantly a lot..
#★ saintmay#rbs + comments appreciated ....#dazai x reader#dazai x you#dazai x y/n#chuuya x reader#chuuya x you#chuuya x y/n#dazai smut#chuuya smut#bsd smut#bsd x reader#bsd x you#bsd x y/n
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Hi! I live in that future. Allow me to explain.
For the uninitiated, this baby right here is a so called 3D printer, which works by melting and extruding the plastic wire above, stratifying layers of it into whichever shape your heart desires*.
(*Shapes that cannot be obtained by stratifying layers may require printing supports and/or additional engineering work. Consult your local product designer.)
My town has this beautiful place that gives you free reign with 'em for a couple of tenners a year, and while you technically can't just be printing on their filament always all the time they are spectacularly lax with it. (Look into your local libraries, you may be as lucky too!)
And buddy/buddyette, it's a life changer. Let me tell you, we spend a phenomenal amount of time and money getting stupid little plastic items for so much more money than they're worth when we could just print what we need at next to no cost. Clothespins, containers, trays, phone stands, cable organizers, tape dispensers, mechanical pencils, toilet paper hangers, coat racks, the list could go on infinitely even within the confines of what you can find free models in spades of, online (on sites like printables or cults3D).
And the moment you have some 3D modeling skills? Ohoho it's OVER. All those stupid little plastic piece breakages that cost you 40 bones because the spare is only sold as an assembly, is just that overpriced because what else ya gonna do, can only be found in a continent that isn't yours or can't be sourced altogether so just buy a new, maybe worse product? NO MORE! Working around whatever awkward item size you could find? NO MORE! Everything built to spec, to order, in house, for pennies.
Or for nothing at all, since you can just turn old plastic bottles into filament!
3D printers: the future! Here! And pretty cheap to boot! They can be found in the low hundreds! Stack together all your spending on overpriced plastic and in a year it'll have paid for itself three times over!
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nye party blurb i forgot to post... whoops!
cw: smut, fem!reader, rough sex, teasing, spit play, unprotected p in v sex, alcohol consumption, i was watching euphoria and took inspo from nate 'n cassie in s2e1, (not proofread!!!)
you sat on the curb of a gas station, eating a donut as you self-wallowed on new year's eve, terrific. you stared at the ground, thinking of how the fuck you were going to get home when a pair of shoes appeared next to you. "'sup y/n," a deep male voice said, a familiar one. you look up at them with a frown as rafe nodded his head, handing you a beer. "need somethin' to wash that down?" you extend your hand, grabbing the bottle. one more drink wouldn't hurt. "hi, thanks." your voice is muffled by the food in your mouth as you take a sip from the bottle, swallowing the remnants of your snack. "what are you doin' tonight?" rafe asked casually, but you stare at him questioningly for a second/you could tell he wanted something. you and rafe cameron do not 'casually talk'. matter of fact, you don't even remember the last time he even looked at you. so for him to now be offering you beer and asking questions, this was weird. "i was s'posed to go to this party with my friend, but we got into this big fight." you let out a quiet sigh, your eyes wandering at the damp ground again. "so now i'm here." rafe studied you. he saw your drunk and forlorn behavior and he knew he couldn't just leave you here. he clenched his jaw, digging into the pocket of his pants and grabbing his keys. "why don't i give you a ride?"
the roaring music from outside the bathroom trumped your sweet moans as rafe's fingers lodged down your throat as he thrusts into you, saliva coating them up to his rough knuckles. your head thumped against the wooden door with every push of his hips. trying to get support, your hands find their way to his broad shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh. rafe kissed and licked every inch of your collarbone and next, fluttering subtle hickey's on you that you wouldn't notice until later. "what a slut," rafe whispered in your ear, taunting you. " y' can't help yourself, can you?" he took his fingers out, bringing them down to your clit. he pressed them down on your already soaking cunt, rubbing it in circles at a gruelingly slow pace. you threw your head back, unable to give a coherent response. "answer me." you nodded your head, your moans cutting off with every thrust rafe gave. "m-mhm!" he looked down, seeing you take all of his length as he smiled. he grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look down at it too. "see how good you take me, baby? yeah, makes you feel good, doesn't it?" his sexual and playful banter took you over the edge as you felt the pleasure from both rafe's cock and fingers hit you. your hold on his shoulders tightened, your orgasm approaching soon. "g'na cum for me?" he asked, feeling his also coming. you bit your lip, trying to suppress your noises as you came. it hit so overwhelmingly hard as rafe pushed his cock into your cunt a few more times, his hips stuttering and releasing inside of you. rafe could feel your release and spit on his fingers as he looked at you, bringing his hand up again and putting them in his mouth.
"don't tell my sister about us."
#୨♡୧— cathi's diary#rafe smut#rafe imagine#rafe x reader smut#rafe x reader#rafe fic#rafe cameron#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#outerbanks rafe#rafe fanfiction#outer banks#robotsa#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron outer banks#obx#obx fanfiction#obx fic#rafe cameron obx#obx season 4#obx x reader#smut#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron x kook!reader#rafe cameron x y/n
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☆ i'm yours (luigi mangione x reader)
☆ word count: 2.4k
☆ warnings: slightly toxic, smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink, not really proofread
☆ after taking a break from each other, you decide you should make it permanent. you invite luigi over to break up with him but he's got something else in mind.
luigi was so wrong for you, but you couldn't get enough of him. even after you'd broken up and gotten back together time and time again, you'd always end up back with him. this time was different though. you'd found someone to take your mind off of luigi, someone who made you feel so good about yourself. you were finally ready to let him go.
sitting on the couch in your living room, you pick up your phone and call luigi. he picks up after the first ring.
“hey what’s up,” he says, aiming to sound nonchalant but miserably falling short. he sounded like he'd been longing to hear you so badly.
“hey lu,” you say, feeling a pang of intense guilt. he has absolutely no idea what’s coming next.
“i’ve been meaning to uh-” you begin to say, before realizing you just don't have the heart to break up with him over the phone.
"why don't you come over tonight?" you suggest, your voice softer now, as if you’re bracing yourself for the weight of the words. "there’s something i’ve been meaning to talk to you about”
“uh yeah, i can probably be over in about an hour”
you nod, even though he can't see you. your fingers grip the phone a little tighter, and you press your lips together, trying to steady your breathing.
"okay, yea. i'll be here," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.
the call ends before you can say anything else, and the sudden silence in the room feels almost suffocating. you stare at the screen of your phone, the echo of luigi’s voice still lingering in your ears. an hour.
you sit there for a moment, trying to gather yourself. you fidget with the hem of your sweater anxiously. the weight of what you’re about to do presses down on you, and you wonder if you’re making a mistake. but deep down, you know this is the right thing. you’ve been holding on for too long, and it’s time to let go.
the clock on the wall ticks louder than usual as the minutes slip by, each one pulling you closer to the moment when you’ll have to look him in the eyes and finally say the words. the words you’ve been avoiding, the ones that will end everything.
you stand up, pacing the small space of your living room bathed in the amber glow of the sunset shining through your window. you're not sure what to do with your hands, or your mind for that matter. the thought of luigi showing up here, of seeing him and feeling that familiar pull, makes your stomach twist. it’s always been like this—he’s always been like this. he’ll look at you with those wide brown eyes, and you’ll almost forget why you need to let go.
but you can’t forget. not this time.
the doorbell rings, pulling you back to reality. your heart skips a beat as you take a deep breath, walking toward the door. you hesitate for a moment before pulling it open, the sight of him standing there in a navy sweater and baggy jeans, his dark curls slightly disheveled, still somehow perfect in his own way—makes everything inside you ache.
"hey," he says softly, his voice carrying that familiar warmth, but there's something different now. he doesn’t know it yet, but things are about to change forever.
you open the door wider, stepping aside to let him in. "come on in."
as he steps over the threshold, you brace yourself. this is it.
before you can open your mouth, his hand finds its way beneath your chin, slightly tilting your head upwards as he plants his lips onto yours. you melt into the kiss, placing your hands against his chest as he pulls you closer, and for a moment, you forget everything. the warmth of his touch, the familiar scent of his cologne, the way his body fits perfectly against yours—it all comes rushing back, threatening to sweep away your resolve.
but then you remember why he's here, why you called him over. with a sharp intake of breath, you pull away, gently pushing against his chest. luigi looks at you, confused.
"what's wrong?" he asks, his hand still lingering on your waist.
you step back, creating some distance between you. the space feels charged, heavy with unspoken words.
"lu, we need to talk," you say, your voice steadier than you feel.
his thick eyebrows furrow, and you can see the concern etched across his face. "okay," he says slowly, following you as you lead him to the couch.
you sit down, leaving a little space between the two of you, and you just let it all out.
“i don't think this is gonna work for us anymore. i’ve been talking to someone else and i've kinda just had some realizations about us and i think we've outgrown this.”
its impossible to read his face as you continue speaking.
“i care a lot about you and i'd love to stay friends, maybe even-”
before you can finish he interrupts you with a soft chuckle.
“you think you're gonna sit me down and kick me to the curb? yea, that’s just not how tonight's gonna go.”
you feel a chill run down your spine at his words, his tone shifting from the warmth you're used to into something colder. your heart begins to race as you realize this isn't going the way you planned.
"luigi, please," you start, but he cuts you off again.
"no, you listen to me," he says, leaning in closer. his eyes, usually so soft and inviting, now hold a glint that makes you want to shrink away. "we've been through this before. you think you want to leave, but you always come back. always."
you shake your head, trying to find your voice. "this time is different. i've changed, we’ve changed"
"changed?" luigi scoffs, his hand suddenly gripping your arm. "you haven't changed. you're still the same person who needs me, who loves me. you're just confused right now. you know you fucking love me.”
your gaze shifts to his lips, pressed into a hard line, and then to his strong jawline.
you want so badly to tell him he's wrong, but he's not. you still love him, and as he's sitting on your couch next to you and as you look at his handsome face, you know exactly why you chose him.
you feel your resolve weakening, your carefully planned words crumbling under the intensity of his gaze. luigi's grip on your arm loosens slightly, his thumb now tracing small circles on your skin. the familiar touch sends shivers through you.
"i..." you start, but the words catch in your throat. you want to tell him he's wrong, that you've moved on, but the lie won't come.
luigi leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "tell me you don't love me," he whispers, his lips barely grazing your ear. "look me in the eyes and tell me you don't want this."
you turn to face him, your noses almost touching. his brown eyes are full of anger, hurt, and desire. you open your mouth to speak, to end this once and for all, but no sound comes out.
instead, you find yourself leaning into him, your lips meeting his in a desperate, passionate kiss. your hands tangle in his curls as he pulls you closer, erasing any remaining space between you. the familiar electricity of his touch ignites something within you, and for a moment, all your doubts and reservations melt away.
but as quickly as it began, reality comes crashing back. you break away, gasping for air, your mind reeling. "no," you whisper, more to yourself than to him. "no, we can't do this."
luigi's eyes flash with a mix of triumph and frustration. "we already are," he says, his voice low and intense. "you can't deny what's between us. you never could."
he places his hand behind your neck and pulls you close again, his lips brushing yours. you melt into him. god, you missed him so much, his touch, his voice, his body. with every movement of his lips, every stroke of his hand, he was righting his wrongs. his hand trails up your thigh, pushing up your skirt.
the way he touches you feels so nice, and your body responds against your will. his fingers trace patterns on your skin, sending shivers through you. as his hand snakes higher up your leg, you feel an aching need for him.
he breaks the kiss as he gently pulls you onto his lap, his hands planted firmly on your thighs as he places kisses along your jawline and down your neck.
“you’re so perfect for me.” he says, barely a whisper.
“and i know i’m perfect for you too,” he continues, his eyes scanning your face as he says it. he looks so beautiful like this. the golden light of the sunset bathing him in an amber glow, shining through his curls and making his dark brown eyes shimmer.
he finds the hem of your sweater and slowly slips underneath. he runs his large hands across your bare skin skin.
as he begins to lift your sweater, the realization of what's happening hits you, and you place your hands on his chest, prepared to push away from him, but you can't. you hate that he feels so good. you hate that you want him so badly.
you lean forward and kiss him, hard. luigi moans against your lips, and you can feel his erection straining against his jeans.
you break the kiss and begin to lift his sweater, running your free hand over his abs, eager to feel his bare skin against yours. he helps you get his sweater off, and then reaches for your sweater. in one swift movement, he pulls it off, tossing it aside. he pauses, his gaze raking over your exposed skin, before leaning in and planting a kiss on your collarbone.
he cups your breast and starts sucking on it. you bite your lip, trying not to moan.
he stops and looks up at you, his eyes burning with desire.
"god, i've missed this," he breathes.
"i missed you" you admit breathlessly.
you run your fingers through his soft, dark curls, the smell of his cologne intoxicating you as you move yourself back and forth slowly, rubbing yourself along his leg. the thin fabric of your underwear begins to dampen, and the friction only heightens your desire.
you lean in and kiss him, the taste of his tongue in your mouth making you shudder with pleasure. he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer, the feel of his skin against yours is unreal.
luigi slides his hands up and down your thighs as his mouth finds the delicate skin on the side of your neck.
"look at you, so fucking impatient. riding my leg to get yourself off" he says against your skin.
"he's not fucking you right, is he?" he whispers, his hand creeping under your skirt and finding the wet spot in your panties.
"no," you admit.
"that's too bad," he says, sliding his fingers under the edge of your panties and brushing them against your clit.
you gasp at his touch, grinding yourself against him.
your hips buck at the contact, and you let out a small moan.
"you're fucking soaked for me," he breathes, slipping a finger inside of you.
"luigi, please," you beg, grinding against his hand.
he adds a second finger, and you moan, arching your back and pressing yourself against him.
"god, look at you," he whispers, his voice thick with lust.
"i know he doesn't make you fuckin' sound like this" he says, more intensely this time.
"please luigi, just fuck me."
"not yet." he says, continuing to finger you and using his thumb to rub circles on your clit.
"lu," you whine, squirming and bucking your hips.
"so fuckin' needy," he says, a smirk spreading across his face.
you whimper, biting your lip and grabbing his shoulder, desperately clinging to him.
he keeps working his fingers, and you can feel your orgasm building. you can barely breathe, the feeling of his fingers inside you is so intense.
"fuck, lu," you pant, your nails digging into his skin.
he speeds up his pace, and you can feel your orgasm approaching.
"lu, i'm so fucking close," you say, the words slightly catching in your throat as he sends you over the edge.
you cry out, the sensation overwhelming you. he holds you close, kissing you as you ride out the waves of pleasure.
you rest your head on his shoulder, panting and trying to catch your breath.
"i'm not fuckin' done with you yet." luigi says, gently pushing you off his lap and back onto the couch.
he stands up, and you watch as he unbuckles his belt, pulls off his jeans and boxers, freeing his thick cock. you lick your lips, taking in the sight of him.
he sits back down, and you crawl onto his lap, straddling him. he takes himself in his hand, stroking his length and guiding himself inside of you.
"oh god," you moan, feeling him stretch you.
"that's right," he breathes, his voice low and husky.
he begins to thrust into you, and the feeling is incredible. you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in his hair and breathing in his scent.
"fuck," he groans, his hands gripping your hips as he pulls you onto him.
you feel the pressure building again, the heat in the pit of your stomach growing with each thrust.
"lu," you whimper, the sensation almost too much to bear.
"tell me," he says, his voice strained. "tell me how much you fucking miss this."
"i miss this so much," you say, your breath ragged.
"tell me," he pants, his rhythm getting faster and more erratic. "tell me you want this, tell me you need this."
"i need this, lu, fuck, i need you," you moan, the heat in your stomach growing.
"say it," he demands, his voice tight and strained.
"i'm yours, lu, i'm fucking yours," you cry, the pressure becoming unbearable.
he moves mercilessly, and with every thrust you feel him stretching you out, your slick spreading up and down his cock. he grabs your ass firmly with both hands, moving you up and down roughly, the lewd sound of skin on skin filling the room.
"where do you want it, baby?"
"fuck, please cum in me" you beg, your legs wrapping around his torso as he continues using you, roughly gripping your ass as he fucks you.
"good fuckin' girl. want me to fuck a baby into you, huh?" he says breathlessly. luigi groans deeply, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts up into you one final time. you feel him pulsing inside you as he finishes, filling you with his warmth. you come undone, the intensity of the orgasm tearing through you.
he buries his face in your neck, his breath hot on your skin as he releases inside you. you both sit there, breathing heavily, holding onto each other.
he lifts his head and gazes into your eyes, a smile playing at his lips.
"i guess this means i'm not getting rid of you, huh?"
#luigi mangione smut#luigi mangione x reader#luigi mangione#luigi mangione x yn#luigi mangione fanfic#free luigi#real person fiction#uhc shooter#uhc assassin#deny defend depose#free my baby daddy
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Breathe
Kang Noeul x FemReader
Warning(s): Smut, fingering, slight overstimulation, Sub! Femreader
Word Count: 2.9K
-
You take a seat on the cold subway station bench to rest and wait for the next ride. You lean your head back against the stone wall. You’re at ease for a moment. Until the buzz of a notification on your phone makes your heart race. You knew what the message was even before looking at it. Reaching into your pockets, you pull out your phone. Your eyes read over the text quickly.
‘Your card has been declined due to insufficient funds’
A deep sigh escapes your mouth. You close your eyes while gripping your phone. An anxious bubble forms in your stomach.
How much longer will you stay in debt? It seems like no matter how much you work, you can never escape it. Rent… tax… food… everything has been sucking your wallet dry. Money has started to make you question your purpose in life. Is there a point in living if you’re working so hard yet still deep in debt?
You shove your phone back into your pockets in an attempt to ignore the message. You do not need the reminder right now. Your phone buzzes a few more times, but you ignore it. All you want is to go home and rest from a busy day.
From your peripheral vision, you see a figure getting closer to you. A person takes a seat next to you. You take a quick glance out of curiosity. It’s a man in a suit holding a briefcase. He looks harmless enough. You decide to ignore his presence and continue staring ahead.
“Do you want to play a game?”
-
You feel a pressure dig into your lower hip. It felt like the tip of a cold metal. You try to turn your head to look, but the pressure deepens, making you wince. Another feeling touches your lower back, but this time it’s much softer.
“Keep moving faster,” A deep robotic voice orders you from behind. You quickly realize it’s the voice of the pink guards. The guard's hand leaves your lower back and jerks the tip of the gun into your body again. You force yourself to take a step forward. The guard follows closely behind as you walk at a quick pace. You feel nervous, wondering where the pink guard is taking you. Anything could happen in a place like this.
“Turn left,” The voice orders again. You obey and take a turn which leads you to a hallway with multiple red doors side by side.
“Go to door eleven,”
You quietly nod your head and make your way to the door. Nervously licking your lips as you reach for the door handle. You turn the knob and gently swing the doors open. You quickly notice a small bed, but before you can examine more you are suddenly shoved into the room. You catch yourself on the table and turn your body to face the guard. Your hand clenches the edge of the table. Chest moving up and down anxiously. You don’t dare to say anything or make a move. The guard stands still for a little while and you are unsure where they are looking.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Guard 011 assures. You furrow your eyebrows, still unsure and worried. The guard sighs and begins to remove their mask. They swiftly toss the mask to the side and you make eye contact. You immediately recognize her eyes.
“N-Noeul?” You let out a gasp. She doesn’t respond but instead continues to take off the second head mask. She drops it at her feet. Her hair bangs are a little messy and sweaty. She runs her fingers through her hair while letting out a soft sigh of relief. Her eyes are tired and lack emotion.
“What are you doing here?” She questions. The tone of her voice shows genuine curiosity. Silence coats the air as you try to find an excuse. An embarrassing blush forms on your cheeks. You avert her stare by looking at the bed. You hear her let out a sigh in frustration before she gets closer to you. Her glove fingers touch the edge of your chin. She grips and forces you to look at her.
“I’m talking to you,” She reminds.
“I… I’m in deep debt…” You confess. She furrows her eyebrows as she examines your face. You look pitiful and small under her gaze. She lets out a tsk sound of disapproval and disappointment. You feel your heart drop to your stomach. Disappointing her was the last thing you wanted to do. You quickly reach out to touch her arm. She glances down to see your fingers wrap around her bicep.
“I swear just two games and I will be able to pay off my debt,” You explain with a light laugh. Her tired eyes look back up and you gulp. She wasn’t in the mood to play around. She walks past you without spearing you a second glance. She plops onto the bed and leans her body back. Her legs are spread apart as she stares at you with tired eyes. She starts taking off her gloves and tosses them aimlessly to the side.
“You ignored my texts,” She grumbles. You suddenly remember your phone buzzing multiple times last night.
“Oh! That…I didn’t realize it was you,” You awkwardly laugh. An attempt to lighten the mood. Noeul continues not to smile. She tilts her head to the side. She decides to accept your excuse.
“You’re stupid for putting yourself in this position,” She sighs, going back to the topic. You bite your bottom lip in shame. You look down onto the ground and play with the bottom of your heel. There is a moment of silence again.
“…Are you not afraid of death?” She puzzles. You jerk your head up to look at her with wide eyes. She brings one of her hands to massage her thigh. She focuses on circling her fingers against her tense muscles rather than you. You feel a slight blush forming on your cheeks as you look at her position.
“You realize you’re helping kill people,” You whisper. She stops massaging her thighs and lets out a dry chuckle. She leans back again and lifts her head.
“I’m just doing what I’m asked to do,” She states, staring at you up and down slowly. You grip your fist and force yourself to look away. You’re lost for words.
“Come here,” Noeul calls. The air is dense and you feel butterflies in your stomach. Your legs refuse to move. She lets out a soft giggle and runs her fingers through her hair.
“You would rather die than listen to me,” She assumes. Your heart quickens and you shake your head no. Was that a warning? You feel a rush of adrenaline and fear. You immediately walk over and kneel against the floor by her legs.
“No, that's not true. Please don’t think that,” You beg, placing your hands on her thighs. Her emotionless face peers down at you. She enjoys the scene of you kneeling and begging before her. She brings her hands up to gently brush your hair. You feel a shiver run down your spine when you realize her fingers are the ones pressing the trigger. Life and death rest upon her hand, yet here it is brushing your hair. Noeul could easily kill you at this spot, but you feel a wave of pride when you know she wouldn’t.
You lean your head down to rest against her thighs. She continues to slowly brush your hair. You allow yourself to rest your eyes and get comfortable. But that only lasts for about three minutes before Noeul gets bored. Her fingers begin to grip your head and force you to look up. You wince a little in pain. Her heavy-lidded eyes gaze at your eyes and then to your lips.
It’s a little sick and twisted that you also feel a little turned on in this situation. Risk has been a key factor here. A case of physiological reasoning arises. Someone who loves danger often takes risks. These trigger the brain to release adrenaline and other hormones, which leads to a state of excitement and euphoria.
You look up at her, your cheeks turning pink. She slowly leans down to capture your lips. You shut your eyes and feel her soft plump lips press against yours. Her fingers let go of your hair and move down to your neck. Your lips move slowly against her. As if to cherish every second.
You tilt your head, brushing your nose against hers. The kiss deepens and you let out a soft pant. You start to get up from your position and place your knees between the slot of her thighs. The angle has switched. You are now leaning down to capture her lips. You bring your hands up to cup her face. Your thumb swipes against her cheeks. Her hands naturally wrap around your hips, pulling you closer. Her wet lips slide easily against yours. She digs her fingers into your hip and you let out a soft pant. She pulls away from the kiss first to catch her breath.
“Take off your clothes,” She orders as she leans back again. You get off the bed and shyly touch the hem of the green sweater. She watches closely and you feel nervous under her gaze. You start to lift the sweater over your head and swiftly take the sweatpants off. Then you start taking off your undergarments. The cold air prickles your skin. Noeul slightly bites her bottom lip before tapping her thighs.
“Come on top,” She orders. You obey and slowly place yourself beside her thighs. Your knees are spread and your chest faces her. She slowly drags her fingers against your lower back before wrapping them on your chest. She cups it and squeezes it.
“Cute,” She whispers. She tilts forward to lick your nipple. She swirls her tongue against the skin around the nipple and then back to sucking. You sigh and place your hands on her lower head. As she continues to suck and bite your boobs, she looks up. Her pupils are blown out. You smile and gently massage her head. You look at her between your lashes to watch her tongue brush against your nipple. Your stomach clenches and you moan. She shuts her eyes and sucks hard before letting go with a loud plop sound. She removes one hand from your chest and down to your stomach. She drags her fingers down your lower stomach and you bite your lip.
She looks up again with her tired eyes. She waits for permission in which you let out a soft ‘yes’ moan. Her middle finger starts to rub the outside of your folds. The corner of her lips curled into a smirk. You’re more wet than she imagined. Her fingers move towards your clit and she circles it slowly. Your core leaks out a little more. She collects and coats your juices with her middle finger. Once she is satisfied with how wet you’ve become, she presses onto your clit. You let out a soft moan and jerk your hips into her hands. She continues to circle your clit over and over. She returns to biting your chest, leaving red marks on the soft skin.
She lets you move your hips against her finger. Your clit brushes her middle and ring finger. You let out a choking moan as the pleasure begins to build. Your wet clit slides easily. In the midst of you grinding her hand, her fingers accidentally slip into your core. You gasp and grip onto her shoulders. Pausing to catch your breath. The feeling of her fingers filling your hole felt too good.
“Why’d you stop,” She challenges. Her two fingers rest at the tip of your core. You bite your lips as you sit back down onto her fingers. You let out a moan at the feeling of her filling you up. You start to slowly move again. She feels your hot core sliding up and down her digits. She gets drunk off the sight of you.
“Feels so good unnie,” You moan into her ears. Her eyes darken and she bites her lips. She wraps her free hand around your waist.
“Hold on to me tighter,” She grunts. Before you can fully hold on, she starts moving her fingers at a quicker pace. You cry out and clench onto her. She snaps her wrist and deepens her finger in you. You choke out a cuss and she smiles. Wetness starts to coat down to her knuckles. Your hot gummy walls welcome her fingers so well. Your hair starts to stick onto your sweaty forehead. She bites down on your chest and curls her finger in you. You shut your eyes and continue chasing your high. Her fingers press into your walls over and over. She can feel you starting to clench. She loves the feeling of your wet cunt. She jerks her hand more aggressively. The tips of her fingers abuse your wall at a quick pace. You tilt your head back and let out a high-pitched cry. Your lower stomach can feel a strong orgasm coming ahead. After a few more strong thrusts, you come over her fingers. She moves her fingers to help you ride out your high. You grip her shoulders to signal her to stop moving. She pauses but keeps her fingers in you as you catch your breath. She kisses your shoulders and then towards your neck. You let out a soft hum. She leaves back to analyze your features.
You shiver and shake as she takes her fingers out of you. Your chest is moving up and down. She brings her fingers to her mouth and slowly licks them. Your juice coats her tongue and she moans. She needs more of you.
“Lay down,”
You widen your eyes, you don’t know if you can handle another round. Your core is still pulsing. She gently pushes you off her thighs. You take a seat on the bed. She starts taking off the pinkish-red suit. You gulp at her body figure. Her stomach is toned and she has slight muscles on her biceps. She slips off her underwear. You see a wet spot on her panties. She holds her panties in her hands. She walks and gives you a kiss. As she continues to kiss you, she gently pushes you down onto the bed. You can feel her core brush against yours. You moan into her mouth. She pulls away from the kiss and gets onto the bed. She spreads your legs and angles herself between you. You blush at the realization of what she’s about to do.
She lowers herself till her core touches yours. Your wet and slippery core slides easily against her. She moans and jerks her hips faster, chasing for her own high. Her pace is brutal considering you just came not long ago. You moan loudly as her folds grind against your clit.
“The walls are thin,” She warns. You couldn’t hear her clear from the buzz in your ear. All you could focus on was the way her hips thrust into you. You cuss loudly and she stops moving. She takes the panties from her hand and shoves it into your mouth. You can taste the faint salty and sweet taste of the cotton. Your moans become quieter.
She starts moving her hips again but in a quicker manner. All the build-up stress she has been holding needs to be released. You’re the perfect solution. Wetness starts to spread down to your thighs. You hear her low grunts and moans. In the moment, you look at her. Her mouth is open slightly to release soft moans. Her hips snap against you over and over. Your core grinds against her clit at the right spot. She bites her lips and tilts her head back. She feels her high coming closer. Sweat starts to form on her forehead and collarbone. She grabs onto your thighs, nails digging into the soft skin. You try to speak, but the panties in your mouth muffle you. You attempt to tap her to slow down, but all that does is make her smirk and go faster. The bed moves and squeaks at each thrust. You shut your eyes and bite down on her panties. After a few more, she chokes out a moan and comes onto your core. She jerks her hips lazily to help you reach your high as well. You come shortly after. It hits you stronger than you expected. She watches you with heavy eyes. You’re gasping for air and your body is shaking.
“Breathe,” She cooes. She removes herself from between your legs. She leans over and brushes your sweaty hair from your forehead. She kisses the top of your head. She pulls her panties out of your mouth and drops them onto the ground. You rest your head on the soft plush of her thighs. She watches closely to your chest moving up and down slower.
“Don’t die out there,” She warns. You slowly nod your head and feel the sleepiness kicking in. You knew the risk you were taking when you entered the game. She cares for you though she never expresses it through her face. She allows you to take a short nap as she stares at the gun resting on the wall. Her fingers brush your hair in slow streaks. She holds the power of your life in her hands. She is not going to allow your last breath to be from a game. She'll break the rules to let you live if she has to.
#her character is so cool#I want her so bad..#guard 011#kang noeul x reader#squid game#squid game smut#kang no eul#kang noeul x you#squid game 2#squid game season 2#squid game x reader#squid game x you#guard 011 x reader#squid game fanfic#kang no eul x reader#female reader#x reader#fanfic#reader insert#squid game imagines#lgbt#x female reader
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This cultural mechanism of denying humanity of certain individuals (most often villains) has a name. Rene Girard wrote about it in his book called The Scapegoat. I tried finding ANY reblog of this post which actually mentions this, but despite scrolling through at least half of reblogs, I couldn't find it, which means even if someone did point it out then it still went pretty much unnoticed.
We all know who or what a scapegoat is. It's that thing or that person, the root of evil, the source of chaos, the troublemaker, the trickster disrupting the long established safety and order (which is, ofc, the ultimate good). If you only get rid of the problematic individual, everything will be okay again. That's how it works. But there's a problem with it. There's never one scapegoat. After one comes another, and another, and another, till you get hundreds and thousands of them and you can't fit them in one neat grave or prison anymore. They keep coming and there will be more and more of them, this will never stop, because it's a cycle. A cycle of violence. If you really want for "things to be okay", you need to break that cycle, instead of finding YET another scapegoat, yet another villain to bury for all of our sins. By sacrficing another villain, another victim, another scapegoat on the altar of society, you only support the cycle to keep on going.
Yes, you heard me right. Villains are scapegoats. But victims ARE scapegoats as well. Anyone we forcefully silence and refuse to give agency to is the scapegoat. The homeless, the LGBT, the mentally different, any disabled people etc. Anyone who fits into a very broad category of "otherness". But here's the catch. Because this category is so broad it's very easy to become that "other". That's why people are willing to go to extreme lengths just to make sure no one sees them as "other". They will deny their disabilities, they will deny they're not like those "others", they will even deny their own struggles, just to fit into the safe mold of "normal". And if you silence yourself just because you're afraid you might be the next one victimized or villainized, you're also a scapegoat, btw. Your inner life and self-consistency is the sacrifice on the altar of society that doesn't care if you actually have a heart. All it cares about is for you to make sure you're "normal", which has a very murky definition too. Who's normal? The one who acts like the majority of others? The one who has the applause? (applause can be shortlived and depends on trends, it's dangerous, you're dancing on the edge). Every time we see someone as the "other" we judge, we're scapegoating them. Yes, all of us, by succumbing to our fear of being judged, contribute to this mechanism. Otherwise the seams of the society might fall apart and we can all turn against each other, we can rip apart the system, they warn us of anarchy, you might get killed in the middle of the street, there will be no police to guard the order, no prisons to keep the bad eggs away from you. Stay quiet, endure, it's for the safety of all of us.
No one should have to carry that weight of the whole world on their own shoulders. Not like this. But we do, every single day.
We're all capable of being bad people and often are. But we also all want to believe we're good. People think if someone didn't get love there's a reason of why they didn't receive it. That belief didn't come out of nowhere. It's internalized violence and judgemental mentality. You prefer to doom someone else as long as it saves yourself from being doomed. You're not only hurting others with it, but YOURSELF as well in the process. You get rid of your true empathy for others, you decide whose pain or suffering is the one "worthy" of acceptance and which is not and needs to be condemned. You can't afford that empathy for anyone else than you after a while, after all you live in constant, silent fear of "being next" if you just stop for a moment and look too long at the scapegoats buried around you. And what you fail to see is that you're also a scapegoat. If we all accept each other and ourselves as "others", if we're all just different people and no one is normal anymore, will this finally break the cycle?
You want to feel like a good person? Of course, we all do. But you can't achieve that if you're too afraid to look into the abyss/mirror and realize you also do bad things. You also need to redeem yourself. You can do better, but it's not easy. You know what's easy instead? Finding a scapegoat and blaming them for their own misery. Literally requires no work, the world will applause you and all you need to do is repeat same words after others. The mechanism works like a perpetuum mobile at this point, it will mostly do this job for you. Just take a stand, deem the villains, blame the victims, ignore the struggles and pain of others.
But here's the catch. If you're too cold, you're also gonna be judged and called a psychopath. That's also a no-no, you're becoming the unacceptable "other" again. You have to show, in specific, allowed circumenstances, that you feel sorry for others. That you know how to choose the "right" side. That you understand "good" needs sacrfices and sometimes you're even expected to cry for them. And if you see those sacrfices as not-human "others", it's easier to accept it all.
Many people claim how scary it is to face certain truths, like "victims can turn into villains too", but the real truth no one wants to face is actually this: we allowed this to happen. We allowed the villains to be formed, all of us. Every time we engage in judgemental actions, every time we police someone dealing with their pain "in wrong way", every time we call someone "born evil". Every time we point a finger and call someone a villain, a victim, a barbarian, the other. By doing that we trap them in endless world of pain and suffering and abuse. They also want to be out of that cycle, but we keep trapping them, by silencing them and adding our own narrative on top. They suffer for our sins. Because they're our scapegoat, the sacrifice we made to keep on going, thinking how good this world is and how much worse it could have been, just look in the right places. Just don't look at the scapegoats too long. They corrupt. Maybe their otherness is even contagious, so stay as far away from them as possible.
You're allowed to be mad about this, btw. Anger is a neccessary emotion, it points at injustice done to you. But the society wants you to throw that emotion away and supress it, so you're tamed and silenced. It might even create a "safe space" to vent it out, by encouragig you into physical activities or taking part in some entertainment, so you can lose your steam in a way that doesn't challenge the system. It's a distraction. (the point here isn't to condemn sport or popculture btw, it just serves as an example, ok?)
All societies work like this. We're all trapped in endless cycle of violence. We bury endless scapegoats under our communities, they become our foundations. After all, nothing unites different people better than finding a common villain, it's us (the good) vs them (the evil). Wait, did I just say "different people"? But we're supposed to be all the same! No, that's a myth. We were all always different. We just have to choose who is "more different than others", so we can unite ourselves against them.
You know what that reminds me of? "We're all equal. But some are more equal than others". Animal farm was about power structures. By accepting easy scapegoats, by abiding to this mechanism, we support the power system that oppresses us. Think about it. Our civilisation is build on this and it would not thrive the way it did without the scapegoats.
And all of you blaming christianity for this instead, you need to understand one thing. What Jesus taught was actually the reverse of scapegoating. “Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her”. This is literally Jesus telling people "you all have sinned, so why are you judging them if you don't judge yourself?". What you all mean by christian/puritanist beliefs is how christianity got distorted and institutionalized into a power abusing system called religion. Swallowed up by what it tried to fight against. Always identify the actual source of abuse, instead of doing more scapegoating. I'm in no way inclined to defend christianity (not in the form it exists now), but also if we keep on muddling the truth we will always make the same mistake, so, always dig deeper to avoid it. Thank you.
not to post even more Villains Discourse on main but it really bugs me how people read giving villains tragic backstories as inherently excusing their actions and/or demonizing trauma survivors.
the actual message of Tragic Villains is (almost) always “people who are never taught or given any healthy, constructive outlets for their emotions will often find unhealthy, destructive outlets.” it’s that people who are traumatized and never learn how to cope with that trauma can become a danger to themselves and others. the message isn’t “trauma makes you evil!!!!” or “genocide is okay if you’ve been sad before!!!!” it’s “people need compassion and help to recover from trauma instead of becoming increasingly angry and harming themselves and others in the process.”
this site takes an alarmingly behaviorist and punitive approach to everything and it’s literally the most annoying thing. y’all have this concept that “if we just punish people hard enough, if we just scare them enough, if we just make them feel guilty enough.” that people just Do Bad Things Because They Do Bad Things, I Guess, and Because We Didn’t Threaten Them And Shame Them Enough. but humans are an innately social species. at our very core, we need compassion and kindness. we need healthy relationships with other humans.
you can keep looking at traumatized villains and being like “haha this dumb pathetic sadboi thinks murder is okay because his parents died” but as a survivor myself, unaddressed/untreated trauma absolutely can make you ragey and destructive. i was lucky enough to have support and eventually get the treatment i needed. but it’s not hard at all for me to imagine how, if that hadn’t been the case, that could’ve been me. obviously not on a movie-villain scale like murder or war crimes, but it’s so irritating as someone whose trauma has always manifested as anger to watch people on this site be like “this is just bad writing!!! real survivors/good survivors don’t end up like that the writers just hate survivors and want the audience to condone murder!”
#I have more thoughts about redemption boundaries consent prisons and power in general#but I just wanted people to know about the scapegoat mechanism and the cycle of violence so this post will have to do without#just please we have to understand one distinction here: just because someone hurt us doesn't mean we have to excuse that person#you need to draw that boundary but you can do that without scapegoating#and you don't actually have to forgive anyone#we don't have to constantly scapegoat someone in fear of not being scapegoated ourselves#we can understand someone did a bad thing because they were coping in bad way#and at the same time not villainize them and condemn them and deny them humanity and silence them#yet we're allowed to not want them anywhere near us at the same time#this can coexist. that's what boundaries are for!#scapegoat#cycle of violence#rene girard#power structures#anthropology#anthropology of otherness#philosophy#sounds like controversial conspiracy theory post? I'm not actually sorry for this#I'm used to the fact that lots of philosophical subjects sound like conspiracy to people lol#I could write whole thesis about scapegoating in cultures#there is just so much material and angles to it#all I did here was explain the very basic mechanism of the cycle of violence and how it feeds on itself#it's just the tip of the iceberg#I couldn't even touch on how the scapegoats get dehumanized for the sake of the system#yes victims are dehumanized as well which is why people try to change the discourse and use words like “survivor” instead of “victim”#to reclaim the human status back
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triple-dog dare | lsm
“Bambi.”
The sternness of his tone surprised both of you, so much so that when you snapped to look at him, both of you froze. Your moon-sized eyes were further proof that your childhood nickname still rings true to date, although your being the deer made him the oncoming car in this scenario.
He didn’t love that analogy.
Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:
“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”
pairing: lee seokmin x reader summary: when you're left off the guest list to seokmin's parent's thirtieth anniversary party, you're content to keep your questions to yourself and stay home. seokmin, on the other hand, is not content. in fact, he pulls the one card he knows will always win. au: childhood best friends to lovers genre: fluff, angst, smut type: one-shot rating: 18+ only. minors do not have my consent to interact. wc: 13k cw: pov switches, complicated sibling dynamics (seokmin’s), there is in fact one (1) bed, halmonis gone wild, stupid childhood nicknames, fingering (v), oral sex (m receiving), multiple orgasms, implied penetrative sex (p in v). reader notes: afab, uses she/her pronouns, wears a dress/heels to the party, is implicitly an only child. the setting is intentionally ambiguous, so she's not implicitly korean and/or asian. there are no descriptions of body shape/size, complexion, etc. a/n: thank you to the incomparable @daechwitatamic for beta-ing this! it's been a long damn time since i've written anything, so this might not have seen the light of day without jo, the hype-man. on that note, i suck at summaries; just read the fic, lmao. svt masterlist. svt permanent taglist. multi permanent taglist.
For being the walking disaster that he is, there have been shockingly few moments in Lee Seokmin’s life where he’s needed to shove his oversized foot into his oversized mouth.
Prior to the incident at your apartment, the last time he’d embarrassed himself like this was when he’d asked his oldest sister, Soyeon, in earnest whether or not she was pregnant, only to learn that she was just bloated; and he’s just an ass.
To your credit, you’re far from cruel when he slips up, but that almost makes it worse. You visibly deflate when he asks his well-intentioned but ill-fated question, rather than letting him have it the way his two siblings would have done.
The day in question went like this:
He asked, “Did you reserve your room yet for the 31st? If not, we can double up. It’ll be a lot cheaper.”
And you blinked, stunned like you’d been slapped. “Have I what?”
It dawned on you both at that moment that, for whatever reason, his parents’ thirtieth anniversary party was in fact news to you. Two things then happened at once: you tried to hide your surprise and the twinge of pain that comes with being excluded; and he racked his stupid brain to find any explanation for why you had to feel either one of those things.
The best option he found was to gently toss his middle sister, Seonmi, under the metaphorical bus.
“Seonmi’s been working on something special for them. You know how she gets,” he waved dismissively. “So obsessed with finding the perfect napkins — ” He wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “— and creating custom cocktails, that she misses the forest for the trees.”
You didn’t look convinced. Likewise, you didn’t look any less uncomfortable.
Fuck.
“I’m sure it was an honest mistake.” To drive his point home, he reached from his spot on your couch to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. “I have a plus-one, so it’s not like it’ll be a logistical problem. You belong there as much as we do.”
And he meant it, wholeheartedly.
All his life, the running joke has been that Soonyi and Minseok Lee have four kids: two biological daughters, a younger son, and his otherwise unrelated twin, who spent more time sleeping on his top bunk than in her own home next door.
The way he saw it — and the way he’s sure his parents would see it — is that no family gathering is complete without you. That’s a hill he’d die on if need be.
You shifted in your seat, which caused his hand to slip off your knee, whether or not you meant for it to happen. Glancing uneasily out your window, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth, mumbling, “I don’t know…”
Seokmin frowned. You didn’t see it, though, and therefore weren’t moved by it. Instead, you cycled through your anxious thoughts at high velocity. If he was still touching you, he’d be worried that your sparking brain might catch him on fire.
“What if it’s not a mistake? I mean, what if it’s a couples thing?”
He couldn’t even classify these questions as rhetorical because he wasn’t meant to hear them in the first place. Though you asked out loud, each one of them was for your ears only. From his half of the couch — miles away — his frown deepened, unbeknownst to you.
“You know, Seonmi follows me on Instagram; she’d know that Kai and I broke up a few months ago. Maybe she doesn’t want me to feel awkward? Even if I went, and I didn’t feel weird about that, her expecting it to be weird might make it weird, right?”
Fuck.
You’d spiral all day if Seokmin didn’t stop you. As much as he loves how thoughtful you are, he knows better than most that you have a tendency to take it too far, inflicting that relentless consideration on yourself until it wounds.
“Bambi.”
The sternness of his tone surprised both of you, so much so that when you snapped to look at him, both of you froze. Your moon-sized eyes were further proof that your childhood nickname still rings true to date, although your being the deer made him the oncoming car in this scenario.
He didn’t love that analogy.
Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:
“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”
Begrudgingly, you’d conceded, just like Seokmin hoped you would. You sat with him while he figured out travel plans to the mountain resort, helped him visualize what the hell he needed to wear to an event like this. When the time came, you sent him half the cost for the room he booked, even though he repeatedly insisted that you didn’t need to chip in.
Now, that unsolicited sum sits untouched in his Venmo balance. You sit next to him on the night train out of town.
Sit, he thinks, is a bit of an understatement. You’re barely upright, so exhausted from your work day that his shoulder and side are bearing most of your weight. His arm went from tingling to numb an hour ago, but Seokmin doesn’t mind. There isn’t a burden he wouldn’t carry for you, up to and including you yourself.
Besides, he’s not worse off for being left to his own devices. In fact, he keeps himself thoroughly entertained by taking selfies of the pair of you. The aftermath will stay securely in his camera roll — largely because you’d kill him if you saw how squishy your face is, pressed against his coat, or how your little pout trembles slightly, almost as if you’re trying to talk through your sleep — but he still finds it worth the risk. This mochi-cheeked version of you is one of his favorites.
When Seokmin has amassed enough silly photos to comprise a dossier, he tucks his phone back into his pocket with a self-satisfied smile. You’re still out cold, so you don’t stir at his subtle movements or the sound of the concession trolley rattling your way down the aisle.
The girl manning said trolley is significantly outweighed by the thing itself. She hardly looks old enough to have graduated high school, he figures, and he can’t imagine how it is that she’s working at this hour — or how she got stuck doing this job, when it takes all she’s got to maneuver the giant metal contraption through all the train cars.
“Anything, sir?” She asks politely, albeit slightly out-of-breath.
Even though she’s speaking to him, her gaze is directed squarely at his hat, leading him to believe that she may also be too shy for her job. Nonetheless, it’s been two entire hours since his dinner, and he’s on the brink of starving to death, so he coughs up a few bills in exchange for several different snacks.
She could do him the kindness of assuming his massive pile of food is for sharing, but she doesn’t. She gestures to you and whispers, “Anything for your —?”
Seokmin intercepts the question, knowing exactly where it’s headed: in the same direction as the million others like it that he’s heard over the years.
“— parole officer?” He supplies with a smile, “No, this nap is fueled by a lot of crab rangoon. She’ll be out for the duration, I fear.”
Both halves of his response seem to stun her, which means he has to cover his inevitable laugh with a fake cough.
This bit of yours will truly never get old, although the implications that prompt it did a long time ago. It was a stroke of genius on your part, dodging inaccurate references to your relationship status by offering up something too absurd to converse around.
“You two make such a cute couple,” an Uber driver once told you.
“He’s not in a relationship,” you’d politely corrected him. “He’s in witness protection. I’m duty-bound to keep him and his identity safe.”
The silence turns awkward, so Seokmin thanks the girl and gives her a smile he hopes says, “you’re allowed to run away from me now; I won’t take it personally.” She bows her head a little too eagerly, then skitters off with a grimace, like she pulled something in her neck.
Alone again with you, he wiggles gently upright in his seat so that you can rest more comfortably against his pectoral, rather than his shoulder bone. Even though you’re still asleep, Seokmin swears he hears a quiet mmpfh, as if you’re expressing gratitude. He bites his lips to keep from smiling, knowing that smiling in your proximity is one step away from laughter: the only thing you’ve never been able to sleep through.
Instead of giving into the urge, he murmurs, “You should get paid royalties whenever we use that joke. Being as smart as you are should pay off.”
Now, he knows he’s not simply hearing things because you’re just barely loud enough to overcome your own mumbling.
“Agreed,” you sigh on an exhale before slipping to sleep off again.
“Well?”
There are two beats between his first question and his next: the unfilled gap you’ve left in the conversation and the cab’s trunk shutting firmly. “‘s that cool with you?”
Seokmin stares at you, staring at him. His expression is soft, like your lack of responsiveness is something to be fond of, rather than annoyed by. It’s unexpectant, too, leaving the door wide open.
You blink. “Sorry — I — What did you say?”
Hitting him when he least expects it, you shift your suitcase from your dominant hand so you can gesture properly to the bright, poorly crocheted bucket hat flopping over his forehead. “It’s a bit hard to hear you. That hat is so loud.”
His quizzically raised eyebrows drop in an instant. Likewise, that airy smile of his flattens into a straight line.
Bullseye.
“Is it me that you hate?” He asks, tone dead serious as he points his finger towards his own chest. “Or is it the very concept of whimsy?”
You’re too busy biting back a grin to protest when, without being asked, Seokmin reaches out and takes the handle of your suitcase into his own hand, as well as the garment bag you’d draped over your arm. Before turning away to abscond with both sets of luggage in addition to his own, he shoots you an incredulous look. It dissolves entirely before his face even disappears from view.
“This is an objectively delightful hat,” he mutters, nonetheless, in furtherance of the bit.
He spots a member of hotel staff standing on the sidewalk directly outside the hotel’s double doors and pleads his case to them. “She made me this hat, you know,” he announces, gesturing back to you with a nod.
The valet’s uniform hat casts a shadow under the lamplight, but it doesn’t do enough to hide the expression on their face. It is abundantly clear — even in the dark — that they didn’t hear a single word Seokmin said before he offered up that bit of trivia, seemingly apropos of nothing. They muster up a customer-service smile that doesn’t reach their eyes and tell him it’s a wonderful hat. Meanwhile, you roll your eyes from behind because nothing either of them just said is true.
That hat is the byproduct of delusions of grandeur and innumerable skeins of color-conflicting yarn. You made it for yourself, believing that you were the kind of cute and kitschy person who could pull it off; and inconsolable weeping Christ, were you wrong. It was — no, is — your greatest fiber arts failure.
Frankenstein’s floral monster would be in a secondhand shop somewhere if you’d had any say in the matter. It isn’t because you didn’t. Seokmin “rescued” it from the “to donate” pile on your bedroom floor. Since then, he’s worn it at every — public — opportunity, season be damned.
Admittedly, he’s exactly the kind of cute and kitschy person who can pull it off, but you’ve decided out of sheer pettiness to keep that appraisal to yourself.
You take your time catching up to him, both because his long legs make it hard to keep pace; and because the room is reserved under his name. After all, he’s the welcomed guest, not the reluctant party-crasher. The receptionist is already handing him a white keycard when you finally reach the desk. Seokmin holds it up between his index and middle fingers, closed-eye grin sparkling in a matching shade of ivory.
Though the journey up to your shared room is long, the real trip is being confined to an elevator with mirrors for walls.
No matter how hard you try to avert your eyes, you manage to keep finding some new, horrible angle of your stale, post-train state. It’s torture. Three versions of you stare back with deep, dark undereye circles; and all you can think about is how dull your complexion is — especially in comparison to Seokmin, who may as well be bioluminescent with the way he glows from the inside out.
It’s joy, you know, his primary state of being and something he radiates like no other. He’s happy to be here, happy that you’re here, and happy to be happy. Whether or not he means it to be, it’s infectious. Now, you feel yourself starting to smile, too.
Despite your quiet observation, you must have missed him looking at you. Seemingly out of nowhere, he carefully sets down your belongings, raises his now-empty hand, and cups the right side of your jaw. Unaware that you’ve frozen solid, he swipes his thumb carefully over your cheek, tilting his own head to the side and frowning.
“I got you bad, huh?”
You blink.
“The zipper on my coat,” he explains, laughing. “Looks like it took a bite out of you when you used me as a pillow on the train.”
For reasons you can’t possibly explain, the only word to roll off your tongue is a sheepish, “Sorry.”
For a second, Seokmin is just as confused as you are about whether you’re needlessly apologizing to him or his coat. He chuckles quietly at how easily distracted you both are, then he gets back to the point: “Does it hurt?”
“No.”
Your response comes unnaturally quick. Your pulse does, too, when you finally make eye contact with him. After clearing your throat, you give him a half-hearted smile, ignoring whatever medical event you seem to be experiencing. “I didn’t know it was there until now.”
He hums in acknowledgment, then rescinds his hand. You watch in silence while he re-encumbers himself with your luggage and turns back to face the elevator doors, which open almost immediately.
Seokmin steps out easily, like the weight of your respective burdens doesn’t mean a thing. “I’d say this way, please, but I’ve already forgotten the room number,” he admits with a sheepish laugh. “The keycard’s in my pocket.”
You take his cue and reach into the front, right pocket of his coat for the keycard. As soon as you see the room number, you snort.
“You booked room number 218 because that’s your birthday, and then… what? You forgot your own birthday?”
“I’m deeply flawed.” He sighs, put-upon. “Now, let’s go, Bambi. It feels like you packed a week’s worth of bricks.”
There’s no time to point out that you never asked him to carry your suitcase or bag for you in the first place. Likewise, there’s no opportunity to ask exactly how many bricks is a week’s worth. He’s on the move again before you can blink, energy evident in each step regardless of how late it is.
Once again, you follow Seokmin’s lead. Despite the signage, which is clearly visible on the wall, he walks confidently in the wrong direction, prompting you to grab him gently by the elbow and steer him the opposite way. His smile doesn’t falter; he plays it off as if he was just testing how closely you’re paying attention.
It takes several turns down several additional hallways before the pair of you reach your target. When you come to room 218, you tap the keycard against the reader, causing the lock to click open. You turn the handle, push the door open into the room, and step awkwardly out of the way so your personal bellhop can get by.
“This is what I was trying to tell you when you so viciously insulted my favorite accessory.” Seokmin nods his head towards the center of the room. “All of the rooms Seonmi included in the reservation block have a king-sized bed — singular. The rooms outside the block are criminally overpriced for ski season.”
It’s far from the first time you’ve doubled up, so you shrug. “Just like old times, right? Like, when you thought your house was haunted, and you forced your way into the top bunk with me?”
“First of all,” he says as he sets both of your suitcases down and places one hand on his hip, the other pointing at you. “We were six.”
After locking the door behind you, you toe off your shoes, smirking at him from over your shoulder. “What’s your second point?”
“It was haunted —” He insists. Then his stern expression melts into something smug, the way it always does when he’s about to blatantly rewrite history. “— and you asked me to come up there because you were scared.”
A laugh slips out of you automatically, but you selflessly decide to let him have this. Crossing to him, you pat him on the bicep, patronizingly simpering all the while, “You are the brave one.”
Even though you’re both cowards, and he knows it, he pockets this little victory with a pleased hum and a grin.
Turning away from him, you make a beeline for the closet area near the door. There, you shuck off your coat and hang it up, out of the way. While you do, Seokmin passes you both your garment bag and his. From there, the pair of you work in efficient silence: you, pulling your respective formal wear from their bags and smoothing out any wrinkles; him, tucking away your extensive collection of toiletries in the bathroom.
When everything is in its place, you turn back around and notice for the first time how beautiful the room actually is. Though the shades of the floor-to-ceiling windows are almost completely drawn, the snow-covered mountains are at least partially visible through the gap in fabric. If you had the time, you’d spend all day tomorrow sitting on the forest green, velvet chaise directly in front of the window, staring at frosty peaks so massive, they feel close enough to touch.
To your right, an electric fireplace heats the room, while a portrait-framed television hovers on the wall above the mantle, flipping through famous artworks as a screensaver. In between flashes of Van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms and Klimt’s The Kiss, you catch a glimpse of Seokmin’s smile reflecting on the black screen.
Awestruck, you turn to him and sigh, “Don’t let me get used to this.”
He jerks his thumb to his right, gesturing towards the bathroom. “Don’t judge me if I steal one of the bathrobes. They’re probably more expensive than half the shit in my apartment.”
“I won’t, but they’ll bill you for it when they figure it out,” you warn him. “On that note, do you need to shower or anything before I start my skincare side quest?”
Seokmin shakes his head, causing the crocheted abomination to flop. “All yours. My hair’ll get weird if I don’t deal with it tomorrow before we head out.”
And with that mental image of his insurmountable cowlick, you quickly grab your pajamas and shuffle off towards the bathroom.
The first few seconds after you close the door are spent gawking at the insanely intricate, geometric tile pattern in the walk-in shower. Thinking of how much time it must’ve taken to lay each one of them, you set to work on your own tedious task: your ten-step regimen of cleansers, toners, serums, and moisturizers. Seokmin says otherwise, but you don’t think any of them truly make a difference. As stupid as you know it is, the routine itself is therapeutic, even if your skin is no more bouncy and glowy than it was before.
When it’s all said and done, you emerge from the bathroom to find your best friend stretched out on the half of the bed nearest the door with his eyes fixed on his phone screen. It’s the side of the room he always chooses, claiming that it’s to protect you from any intruders, but you know the truth: he’s too much of a freeze baby to sleep near the window, and he knows you like it cold.
“Feeling refreshed?” He mumbles to the best of his ability; his sweatshirt hood is pulled up and drawn so tightly that it squishes his cheeks and chin, restricting his movement.
Chuckling quietly as you go, you pad over to your half of the bed and slip under the comforter. Like a moth to a flame, the other occupant sends his last text, tosses his phone to the side, and scoots closer to you, eager to siphon whatever extra body heat he can. His head winds up on your shoulder, while your cheek rests against the top of his head.
“Before you tell me that I look it, I’d encourage you to stare long into the abyss that is my under-eye circles.”
When he laughs, it’s merely a puff of air from his nose. “You never look as tired as you feel,” he says distractedly, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “Pretty miraculous, given how little sleep you get.”
That comment warms you up so thoroughly, you wonder if he can feel it. Then, you wonder if that was the point. You intend to tease him for that, but then it dawns on you how fidgety he’s being. It’s rare for him.
“You okay, Thumper?”
It feels silly, using that nickname after so long. Your clumsiness stuck around for the ride, continuing Bambi into perpetuity; but he grew out of his companion name when he hit puberty, and his giant feet were suddenly proportional to the rest of him.
He’s certainly no bunny, nor is he a child, but the low ebb of anxiety rolling off of him reminds you of the scared little neighbor boy you used to know. It fits, even if it is silly.
At first, Seokmin begins his explanation without peeling his gaze off his restless fingers. “Apparently, Seungcheol and Mingyu are in town.” Then, his eyes slowly lift up to find you peering down at him. “They want to meet up to go snowboarding before we leave.”
Ah.
There it is: the top-secret look in his eye that only you can decipher. The one he’s been practicing for years, at your insistence, for moments like this, when he needs to be talked into something. When he needs to be brave and avoid missing out on something he’d love, solely because it freaks him out.
You respond the same way you always have; the way you once pinky-promised you always would: “I triple-dog dare you.”
He sighs deeply, neither fully resigned nor relieved, but then he nods. His head knocks slightly against your shoulder as he does. “I’ll do it.”
And that’s that; it’s settled.
Or so you think.
A beat passes in silence, until Seokmin suddenly pipes up again, “But you’re going to have to hold my hand on the chair lift, or I’ll pass out and fall to my death.”
“Deal.”
You grab his hand now in consideration of your promise and scratch affectionately at his palm. Surprisingly, his thoughts haven’t made him clammy. His skin is even softer than usual, likely due to the expensive hotel lotion he’s undoubtedly now harboring in his suitcase. Tongue firmly in cheek, you look at him sideways.
“Just — leave the hat in your suitcase, okay? The snow will be blinding enough.”
Seokmin’s been dressed and ready for at least thirty minutes, but you’re still standing exactly where you have been for the last forty-five. Face pinched, you turn this way and that in front of the mirror, smoothing fabric that’s already wrinkle-free, apparently for the hell of it.
“I’m oh-for-three.” Your exasperated sigh is punctuated by your bare, right foot stomping on the carpet. It doesn’t make the impact you likely hope it will, at least sonically. It does, however, speak volumes about how close to the ledge you are.
“All of them looked good,” he says earnestly. “I think this one is my favorite, though, if that means anything.”
Apparently, this is the wrong answer. Your wild-eyed gaze lifts from your own reflection until you’re staring him dead in the eye through the mirror.
“Why did I even pack this?” You ask, “Do you see this?”
Suddenly, you lift a manicured hand to point at your neckline, from which he’d admittedly been averting his eyes. “This is too much cleavage for a family function, isn’t it?”
As quickly as you glanced at him in the first place, you go right back to fussing with your dress, thankfully missing the way he swallows thickly.
Fuck, now he’s staring — but you’re the one that made him look in the first place — and he can feel heat rising to ears, a dead giveaway. His sudden silence does enough to communicate his struggle. He has no idea how to respond without vaulting over the boundaries of your friendship.
Is it hot in here?
Deciding to rely on his usual tactic, he jokes his way out.
“If you think I’ll ever side against tiddie…” He forces a grimace, shaking his head gravely. “Then you really don’t know me at all.”
You laugh loudly, and whatever one-sided tension filled the room snaps like a twig. Better still, the smile you give him stays on your face while you reassess your dress. Seokmin takes it as a personal victory that you commit to his choice, rather than cycle back through your options for the second time.
While this means that you’ll both be able to hit the open bar sooner rather than later, the biggest upside is that he no longer has to keep excusing himself to the bathroom so you can change again, and again, and again.
You finish up quickly, tossing on jewelry, and then turn to him. His shoulder keeps you steady while you slip into your devilishly high heels. Seokmin pays them little mind now, however; his attention is drawn to the accessories you’ve chosen. Sure, they match perfectly with the rest of your outfit, but that’s not what strikes him. It’s the fact that everything you’ve picked was gifted to you by his parents at one point or another.
Unable to stop himself, he reaches out and gently taps on one of your dangling earrings. “Eighteenth birthday,” he muses to himself.
Then, both his gaze and his hand lower to your necklace. He skims his fingertip along the delicate, gold chain, inadvertently making you freeze up. “Christmas 2019?”
You shake your head slightly, though it barely counts as movement.
“Ah,” Seokmin corrects himself. “2020.”
Sensing that he’s somehow made you uncomfortable, he reels himself back in and clears his throat. “Shall we?” He asks, furnishing you with a bent arm to loop yours through.
You take his cue, link your arm to his, and sigh, “I suppose we shall.”
The walk to the elevator is quiet, in that neither one of you says a thing. Seokmin can hear the gears in your head turning, though, without any conversation to drown them out.
You step inside that glorified, mirrored box; and for a few minutes, he lets you work through the thing he knows ruined your sleep last night. That is, until he hears your breathing come a little quicker than usual.
“Hey.”
It was supposed to be a jumping off point. He was going to go from there and reiterate that you belong here with him. The plan was to reassure you for as long as it takes to get you to believe it, but you look up at him almost helplessly, and his Etch-a-Sketch brain is wiped clean in an instant.
The very best he can do is smile and offer a single word: “Hi.”
“Hi,” you whisper back, eyes twinkling.
Your plagued frown curves slightly back in the right direction. The creeping shroud of doom lightens, if only a little bit.
“That’ll do, pig.” You swat his arm, but he says it again, emphatically, “That’ll do.”
Halfway through you scolding him for quoting Babe at a time like this, the elevator door reopens, ready to regurgitate the pair of you out onto the ballroom level.
Unlike the lobby, which sits only one floor below, this floor looks like it was ripped straight from the pages of a fantasy novel. Everywhere he turns, there’s something new — and vaguely elven — to look at. Fairy lights hang in perfectly spaced arches from the lofted ceiling, delicately illuminating the exposed, wooden beams above. The chandeliers — plural — are crafted out of antlers of some kind, cutting between rugged and highly refined.
As stunning as it all is, Seokmin’s mind snags on a single conclusion. You’re the one who voices it, though, much to his surprise.
“This is the most Seonmi thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” you whisper to him, all without taking your eyes off the extravagance in front of you. “Is this a dress rehearsal for her wedding next year?”
He bites down on his lips hard to keep his laughter to himself. Of course, you’re dead on. Nothing about this space feels like his parents, who are supposed to be the sole focus of this entire event. He already found it odd that they agreed to such a big to-do in the first place — especially when it would require their loved ones to go out of their way, literally and financially — but this is….
“Am I being petty, or is this kind of… selfish?”
Petty, no.
Psychic? Probably.
“You’re right, and you should say it.” Seokmin nods and withdraws his arm from yours so that he can drape it properly around your shoulder. “This way to the beer, please. We’ll need it.”
Merely four steps in the direction to the bar, and a screech rings out from somewhere neither of you can locate. In fact, Seokmin’s head is turned the opposite way when someone launches themself at you, damn near ripping you from his hold.
“Oh, my god! I knew you’d come!”
Soyeon’s relief in seeing you is palpable. Seokmin can practically feel his bones being crushed as she hugs you tight, swaying from side to side. He catches a glimpse of your expression, which barely peeks through the curtain of his oldest sister’s hair; you’re far happier now than you were in the elevator.
His sister kisses the side of your head. “I missed you so fucking much. I love my residency program, but I hate how far away it keeps me.”
A solid minute passes by like this. When it starts to get unbearable, Seokmin clears his throat, hoping to remind his sister that she hasn’t seen him in months, either; and he’s also standing right here.
Instead of greeting him, Soyeon shoots you a wry smile. “Who is he today? A fugitive you’re harboring?”
In tandem, the two of you appraise him with thoughtfully narrowed eyes. See, this he didn’t miss: being both of his sisters’ least favorite younger sibling.
“Oh, no, though I can see why you think that.” You shake your head, then reach out to pat his shoulder patronizingly. “If anyone asks, this is a foreign diplomat, and I’m the interpreter he can’t understand a word without. Best not say hi to him; he won’t know what you’re saying.”
Soyeon nods, though Seokmin wonders if she truly gets what you’re trying to achieve. Not quite, he realizes a moment later. Instead, she covers his chin with her hand so she can squeeze both his cheeks at once.
“He’s adorable,” she coos. “Doesn’t look old enough or mature enough for diplomacy, though.”
Seokmin rolls his eyes. “Well, we can’t all be doctors, can we?”
Again, in tandem, all eyes on him widen with feigned shock. Between overlapping gasps of “he does understand!” and “someone’s been studying!”, he shakes off his sister’s touch and scowls.
“If you’re going to keep bullying me, can you at least do it at the bar? That way, I can numb my suffering with booze.”
At this, Soyeon drops the charade and pulls him into a hug like a vice grip. She holds him so tightly that his vision starts to get spotty. It’s not until he gently pats her back, begging for air, that she lets him go.
“I missed you too, Thumper,” she swears, prompting you to snicker.
Now, he’s annoyed for a completely different reason — one that makes even less sense to him. That nickname hasn’t bothered him in the last decade, so it shouldn’t now. Then again, the only person who’s called him Thumper since middle school is you.
The rules are different for you, if they exist at all.
“And I promise to catch up with you later, but I’ve got five thousand questions for Bambi, and the answers aren’t half as juicy with you around.”
Just like that, his plus-one is subtracted.
As much as you love Soyeon, she’s no Seokmin. With him, talking is easy; he never rushes to fill silences, doesn’t steer the conversation with a white-knuckled grip.
On the contrary, his oldest sister comes forward with a pickaxe, smashing through small talk while she mines for the wild stories she thinks she’s missed out on since moving away.
You don’t blame her, really. If you spent all your hours in a hospital, only sleeping in the lulls between other people’s trauma, you’d probably become just as intense — the human equivalent of a cracked-open fire hydrant — in the search for closeness, too.
In the thirty minutes you sit with her, you brief her on all the cliffhangers you’d left her with the last time you saw her.
Yes, you’re still stuck with your lease in the same apartment; and the old lady next door still regularly sets off the building’s fire alarm by accident.
No, you decided not to stay with Kai and haven’t spoken since the breakup; he needed more of your time and energy than you wanted to sacrifice for him.
No, Seokmin still hasn’t gone out with anyone that you know of in months. In fact, it’s been so long since either of you have touched on this topic, especially compared to how little time he and the last girl were together, that you can’t even remember her name.
Beyond that first, limited fact, you keep your mouth shut about the rest. It’s not your business to share; and it wouldn’t kill her to ask Seokmin about himself for once.
The longer you spend with her, the more frustrated you find yourself getting, although you keep this fact to yourself, too. Soyeon and Seonmi have both spent their lives fussing about Seokmin, talking about him like he’s some helpless baby, without doing much to get to know him.
That’s it.
If you were at all confident that Soyeon would take the initiative, you’d let her find all of this out on her own. She won’t, you know, but maybe it’ll sink in if she hears it from you.
“Seokmin’s doing really well, now that you mention it,” you offer, though she barely mentioned him in the first place. “He got promoted last month; he’s now lead architect on that massive commercial lot downtown. Apparently, it’s still a secret, whatever it is they’re putting there. Must be something special.”
Seokmin is something special, you all but yell inside your head.
Soyeon’s eyes brighten.
Nobody loves secrets quite like she does. You wait for the barrage, anticipating all the questions to which you’ll have to respond with “seriously, I don’t know,” but they don’t come.
Instead, she puts her drink back on its coaster, reaches out, and squeezes your wrist with her slightly chilled hand. “I’m grateful that he’s always had you, Bambi. If he didn’t, I don’t know if he’d lean in to opportunities like that.”
The look on her face tells you she means it. Maybe that’s what makes your stomach sour: that she can sit there, hearing of Seokmin’s accomplishments, and still find a way not to credit him for them.
Anger ignites inside of you. The flames lick up your esophagus, ready to explode, and you suck in a breath with every intention of letting her burn.
But then an arm slinks around your waist. Seokmin’s head bumps slightly against yours until you’re cheek to cheek.
“I hope I’m interrupting something.”
For a second, you think his slight tipsiness caused him to misspeak. Tilting your head to the side the best you can, you look at him out of the corner of your eye and catch his very subtle wink.
Soyeon opens her mouth, but Seokmin makes his wish a reality.
“Sorry, sis,” Seokmin says, entirely unapologetically. “I just found out that the band takes requests; and I’ll be goddamned if Bambi and I don’t show you clowns the meaning of dance.”
It takes no encouragement whatsoever for you to slip off your stool, get to your feet, and inch your way closer to his side. Then, like a starting gun was fired, the two of you bolt clumsily away from the bar, with you shouting “sorry!” over your shoulder as you go.
Your heels skid against the dance floor when you finally reach it, but Seokmin steadies you before you can eat shit in front of god and everyone.
“You’re way too expressive, you know that?” The fact that he’s out-of-breath doesn’t keep him from laughing. “I could’ve seen that grumpy turtle face of yours from space.”
Unintentionally, you prove his point, drawing your eyebrows together and frowning. “I do not —”
“— Also, I lied,” he interrupts yet again.
This, coupled with the everything else going on, leaves you too stunned to speak.
“This band is all trot, all the time. They don’t take requests — trust me, I tried — but if you stay here with me long enough, we can kill two birds with one stone.”
Seokmin doesn’t wait for you to answer because he knows it’s a yes. He doesn’t wait for you to assume your position, either, and instead holds your left hand in his right before placing your right on his left shoulder. This close, you feel the urge to tell him how handsome he looks with his hair parted off his forehead. You don’t, however.
The music swells behind you. Seokmin leads, and you follow, swaying slowly and moving across the floor.
“Two birds?” You remember to ask, one eyebrow arched.
His right arm lifts. “Spin,” he whispers. You step under his arm, then twirl. While you’re facing the opposite direction, he continues, “There. Do you see it?”
“Oh, my god.”
You do.
The bar stool you were just occupying is now filled by Seokmin’s great-uncle, Hajoon, while his new and much younger girlfriend, Yunhee, hovers near his shoulder. Even from this distance, you can see the look of abject distress on Soyeon’s face, totally unhidden by her attempt to seem engaged.
You return to your position in front of Seokmin, your hand accidentally landing on his bicep, rather than his shoulder. Flustered by the deceptive bulk there, you immediately scoot your palm back to where it belongs.
He leans in so that only you can hear him. It doesn’t feel necessary at all, given how loud the band’s horn section is, but you don’t recoil this time.
“They had me trapped over by the appetizers,” he explains, low voice making you shiver involuntarily. “Every time he started a story with when I was your age, I wanted to point out that Yunhee hadn’t been born yet.”
You can’t help the laugh that erupts out of you and therefore can’t pull your head away from Seokmin’s ear in time to save him. Instead of wincing or complaining, he looks at you and breaks into laughter of his own as soon as your eyes meet. The effect doubles, and before you know it, both of you are teary-eyed.
“How the hell did you get away from him?”
It’s a feat you've never once managed. Uncle Hajoon’s inability to read a room is equal parts due to his horrible hearing and his tendency to never stop talking. Even if he did leave space in the conversation for you to excuse yourself, you’d never successfully get the message across.
Seokmin lifts his arm again but not for you. He takes his leave to spin himself, simpering as he goes, “That’s where Yunhee came in handy, actually. I didn’t know she had it in her, but she’s not as much of a dud as we initially thought.”
“Oh?”
“She told him that I should be able to dance with my girlfriend, and he shouldn’t keep me any longer.” He shrugs. “It didn’t seem like the time to correct her.”
All the heat in your body goes straight to your cheeks. Nonetheless, you attribute it to the dancing and choke out, “No royalties for me, then.”
“Not this time.” Seokmin shakes his head. “I said that Soyeon was trying to catch up with everyone and would love to hear his stories.”
You bite back a grin. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”
“Maybe.” He smiles with every single one of his teeth. “But you’re free.”
“Surprisingly so. I haven’t felt the Eye of Sauron on me at all yet.” Just in case your statement serves as a jinx, you glance around the room for Seonmi. The tension you’ve been keeping in each one of your muscles slackens when, once again, your radar is blip-free.
“Dinner was supposed to start ten minutes ago. If I had to guess, she’s either leaving a scathing Yelp review or personally waterboarding the chef as we speak.”
“Both at the same time,” you counter, earning a wry smile. “She inherited your mom’s self-assuredness. If she believes she can, she will.”
After the pair of you dance through two more songs, the band breaks, and the hotel’s battalion of waiters come in, bearing domed, silver trays. Seokmin takes off in a hurry for your assigned table in the far corner of the ballroom, so famished that he barely remembers to tug you along behind him.
Through the meal and all its complimentary wine pairings, you do your best to focus on the conversation. Seokmin introduced you to the few people sitting with you that you haven’t had the occasion to meet yet. While he does what comes naturally to him, charming them with ease, you struggle for the first time to pay attention to him.
A few tables over, Seonmi sits down with her fiancé, joining the company of her parents; Soyeon and her date are there, too, leaving Seokmin out by design. Like an insane person, you can only watch her, rather than Seokmin’s blatant theft of bites from your plate. She laughs at whatever jokes her mother cracks, but you’d recognize that look of veiled angst anywhere. She isn’t happy, you realize. You can’t avoid the feeling that you’re the reason why she isn’t.
Time passes, somehow too quickly and too slowly. The plates are emptied, then cleared away by the wait staff — except for your half-empty glass, which is your third. Much like the other guests at your table, the joyful buzz you’d been feeling so far leaves, too.
All that’s left is you, Seokmin, and that ominous, storm cloud you can’t seem to shake.
“You’ll probably feel better if you talk to her.”
He’s always more observant than you give him credit for. You snap out of your zoned-out stare across the room in order to look at him. You frown. “I doubt it. She already looks pissed. Me parading my presence here despite her isn’t going to help anything.”
“Bambi,” Seokmin sighs, not impatient but gentle. “She’s not exactly warm, but she has always liked you. There’s literally no reason why she wouldn’t be happy to see you —”
You open your mouth to argue.
“— that happened over twenty years ago, and you really need to stop feeling guilty about it —”
You close your mouth, cross your arms self-consciously, and sink in your seat. Despite yourself, you glance over at him and catch the way he’s looking at you. He doesn’t need to say the words out loud for you to hear them.
It’s either the unspoken dare, his reassuring, soft-eyed smile, or all the blasted merlot that does you in. You’re not sure which of the three was the coup de grâce, and as you slink off towards her table, you realize it doesn’t matter. For one reason or another, you’ve decided that fear isn’t going to get the better of you this time.
Seonmi somehow senses you coming. Even without the band underscoring your movement, your timid steps across the mahogany parquet should’ve been impossible for anyone to pick up on.
Must be an older sister thing, you think, being doomed to keep a perpetual eye on others.
She doesn’t say anything when you slip into the chair next to her, which doesn’t bode well but isn’t a deal breaker, in and of itself. The important thing is that she doesn’t get up to leave. You tell yourself that this is a good sign. The knot in your stomach begs to differ, however.
Say something.
Say anything.
“Everything’s… lovely, Seonmi, seriously.” You gesture around you, smiling, but she only gives you a cursory look. “You’ve really outdone yourself with this one.”
Seonmi takes a sip of her cocktail — something bitter, the petty voice in your head assumes — and lets the corner of her mouth rise slightly. If it’s the closest thing you’ll get to a smile, you’ll take it. She hasn’t granted you a proper one in the decades since you got gum in her favorite Barbie’s hair.
“Thanks, kid,” she sighs, setting the drink back down on her personalized, cardboard coaster.
You can’t remember the last time she called you “Bambi”, let alone your real name. Just like Seokmin, you’ve always been a child to her. Apparently, you always will be, no matter what you do.
Her grip around the glass remains rigid, not unlike her overall posture. Condensation weeps under and around her manicured fingers, uninhibited. You watch those droplets soak through the coaster’s design, darkening her parents’ initials and wedding date, while you mull over whose turn it is to talk.
Ultimately, as is usually the case, Seonmi makes this decision for you. Without so much as a glance at you out of the corner of her eye, she muses, “It was a lot of work, getting all the details ironed out.”
You pick up on the subtext immediately. One of those details would’ve been the guest list; another, the invitations. Seokmin assumed it was all an accident and said as much to you no fewer than a hundred times, but this little comment from his sister blows his assurances to smithereens.
Your exclusion wasn’t an accident at all.
Suddenly, somehow, the room is twenty degrees colder. You shoot a panicked glance over to where Seokmin was just sitting, wanting nothing more than to slink back to his warmth with your tail between your legs; but he’s not where you left him. In fact, he’s nowhere to be found.
Fuck.
“Ah,” is the best you can do.
And then the two of you sit awkwardly in silence while the seconds age in dog years.
You should’ve brought a drink over with you so you’d have something to do with your hands. Or your phone — except you left it on its charger, you idiot — or a time machine, so you can revoke your bullshit decision to walk over here in the first —
“He deserves that, don’t you think?”
The combined suddenness of her voice and the switch in topics makes you jolt ever so slightly. You try to pass it off, to pretend that you’re simply adjusting the skirt of your dress, but your efforts go unnoticed. Seonmi is too busy pointing casually ahead, drawing your focus to the center of the dance floor.
Like absolutely no one else is watching, Mr. Lee twirls around his laughing wife, his heart-shaped smile beaming so brightly that it almost hurts your eyes. The love of his life has to hold one of her hands over her mouth to keep her laughter from bursting out; the other hand is raised with the rest of that arm, allowing her husband to spin himself underneath. When he’s halfway through, she surprises him, drops her arm down, and embraces him fully, giggling all the while.
It almost makes you tear up — Mr. Lee’s unabashed, silly love, and how much it reminds you of his spitting-image of a son; the way Seokmin’s mother’s eyes sparkle in the same blissful, radiant way his do. Maybe the same can’t be said for his older sisters, but it’s abundantly clear where Seokmin came from. It’s even clearer where he should end up.
“Yes,” you breathe, and it almost sounds like a laugh because of course, he does. Before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Is that really a question?”
No, you realize too late, it’s bait.
Without batting an eye, she counters, “Is it really so hard for you to let him have that?”
Seonmi turns her head to look you dead in the eye. Confusingly, despite her words, there’s nothing in her tone or gaze that reads like malice. If anything, the slight furrow of her brow shouts concern.
Your mind is spinning too fast to keep up with. Whatever her next move is, you’re too dizzy now to see it coming and too disoriented to follow it. With the knot in your stomach tightening further, you stammer, “Is — what?”
“God,” Seonmi drops her face into her hands. “You don’t get it, do you?”
A fish on dry land, all you seem to know how to do is open and close your mouth. You may not be literally flailing, but with the state your mind is in, you may as well start.
“Seokmin loves love.”
She says each of these words slowly, like she’s trying to hammer each nail through a thick skull.
“It’s the one thing he’s wanted most since he was a kid, yet I can count on one hand the number of short-term relationships he’s been in. He doesn’t ever bring anyone home to meet us; he doesn’t bring anyone to weddings, or parties, or holidays; he just brings you.”
Of course, you’ve been right there through all of his situationships. He’s always scant on details when they end — and you’ve never pressed for any — but you know better than anyone that nothing has stuck long-term.
You’ve never thought about how odd this really is, but with Seonmi spelling it out for you now, you can’t come up with a single, good reason why someone as objectively incredible as Seokmin can’t make these things work — or why, even as you rack your brain, the only constant you can find in his life is you.
She glares now, as if she’s daring you to speak; as if you’ve got anything she’d deem worth adding. The bulldozer revs up again, whether you’re ready or not: “You’ve always been the only person he saves space for, whether or not there’s a place for you, and he has no room left in his life for someone to love him like that —”
Seonmi points again to her parents, who are circling slowly on the dance floor, talking softly to one another.
“So, what is it? Do you truly not see what he’s missing, or are you choosing not to because you like his attention?”
Your eyes burn with tears, but you can’t let them fall, and you can’t wrap your head around why that is.
Who are you hiding them from: Seonmi or yourself?
The longer she stares at you, the muddier it gets. You don’t want her to be right. You don’t want to be the kind of person she’s describing; but there’s something awful whispering in the back of your mind, saying that you might be.
You’ve left every relationship you’ve been in, telling everyone who asks in the aftermath that you like being on your own better. But that’s bullshit. It’s not your own company that you keep when you’re single; it Seokmin’s.
He makes sure that you never spend a day feeling alone, that he’s always available over the phone in the rare times he’s not physically with you. As his best friend, he treats you better than every single one of your exes ever has. Like you’re worth more than anyone else will credit you.
What kind of friend are you if you feel relieved whenever his relationships expire?
Seonmi’s hand drops, landing half-heartedly clenched on the tabletop. Just the same, her voice drops until it’s almost a whisper.
“I am begging you,” she pleads, eyes narrowing desperately as they search yours. “If you don’t want him, someone else will. Please just — get the hell out of their way.”
By the time you reach the elevator, all you’re left with is a blur. You’ve already forgotten how the conversation ended, or which one of you was the first to get up. If she said anything else to you, it was drowned out by your own hammering pulse and a looping chorus of voices validating your biggest fear, stating in no uncertain terms that you don’t belong.
You’re shaking when you reach your floor. Heels clicking under unsteady footsteps, you make for room 218; and as you go, you shove your hand into the well-concealed pocket of your dress for the keycard Seokmin forgot to grab himself on the way out earlier.
He’s certainly not in the room when you finally step inside, although you have no clue where he’s gone. It’s for the best. The door closes behind you, and with no one to see it happen, you burst into tears.
All rational thought flies out the window, shaken off by the tornado of utter confusion tearing through your brain. You grab your suitcase, needing nothing more than to be anywhere else, and begin haphazardly throwing your things back inside of it.
Why did you still come with him, knowing it wouldn’t end well? It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve told him no; he would’ve listened if you truly meant it.
If you didn’t mean it when you initially tried to squirrel your way out of this, why not? Was it just your friend asking sincerely that won you over without a fight; or was it because you knew, deep down, it’d hurt to see him bring someone else?
Why would it hurt?
The answer to that will crack the foundation of everything the two of you have built, but only if you admit it to yourself. It can’t threaten you if you don’t say it out loud, don’t make it real.
So, you won’t.
You’ll bury it deeply enough to forget about, repour the concrete, and tiptoe through the rest of your life with your best friend still at your side.
That is, if your friendship survives the weekend — rather, your sudden departure from it — at all.
“Halmoni, it’s time to go back to your hotel, okay?”
He coos this, as if he’s pleading with a toddler at bedtime, because that’s exactly what it feels like to wrangle the drunk, 80-year-old clinging to his arm.
Physically, she needs to hold onto Seokmin to keep herself steady. Mentally, she’s ready to run and has made several attempts to do just that when she thinks his guard is down. It’s no wonder the hotel staff cornered him and begged him for help; she’s too wily for those who don’t know her.
The manager had at least done him the courtesy of hailing a cab. It sits out front, warm and waiting, while he shepherds his grandmother through the lobby.
“— and another thing!” She slurs.
There is never not another thing. She shouldn’t bother concluding her sentences in the first place; she’s never done talking.
“I told your sister — I said, Sunny —”
Seonmi, he dares to presume, although he doesn’t dare to correct her.
“— you can’t have stuff like this —” She gestures animatedly, albeit vaguely around her. “— in places like this and expect retirees to pay for it! I said — oh, what did I say? — Ah, I said, ‘find me the cheapest motel in the area, or I’ll be staying in your room with you’ —”
Her kitten heels hit the brick outside with an angry thwump.
Seokmin can’t help himself. “She didn’t go for that?”
“No!” His grandmother squawks.
The driver sees the ball of a woman wobbling his way and quickly exits the cab, skirts around it, and flings the back door open for her.
“I can’t imagine why, halmoni,” he lies through his teeth, which shine down on her in his best, least sincere smile. “You’re a blast in a glass.”
She roars with laughter, even while two grown adults work together to pour her into the backseat without bumping her head on the doorframe. “Glast in a blass!”
“Exactly. Can you —?”
He gives up before he finishes voicing his request; it’s no use. Instead, he bends down to hug her and finagles the buckle of her seatbelt while she’s too distracted to fight him off. That click is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, after the clunk of the door shutting her in.
By the time Seokmin turns to the cab driver, his grandmother is fully slumped in her seat, pilled peacoat rising and falling with every wine-laced breath.
“I am so sorry.” He sighs, which devolves into a sheepish laugh, and fishes all of the cash out of his pocket. No tip could possibly cover the emotional toll of this ordeal, so he does his best and gives the driver everything he has.
The driver’s eyes widen. Seokmin gets the impression that he doesn’t quite understand the task he’s undertaking.
Poor bastard.
Seokmin continues, “My grandfather is at the inn already; he didn’t feel well enough to come here, but he’ll be ready to get her inside once you drop her off.”
“Sounds easy enough.” The driver smiles and holds out his hand to shake.
Seokmin reciprocates, and he declines to explain just how wrong that assessment is. He thanks the man and chirps a quick goodbye to his grandmother before rushing back inside.
Walking into the ballroom, he hopes to find you and Seonmi laughing about whatever misunderstanding had gotten in your way before. At the very least, he expects you to still be sitting next to each other at the same table. That would be good enough, he thinks; he could assist in repairing the situation from there.
The problem, it seems, is beyond his help. Neither one of you occupies the same table. If his quick scan tells him anything, you’re not even in the same room.
No matter which way he turns, he can’t spot you. His sister, on the other hand, is near the far corner, having what looks like a nightmarish conversation with their parents. There are approximately five billion things Seokmin would rather do than get in the middle of that, but you don’t have your phone on you, and he has no other way to find out where you went.
Above the heads of the two women, Seokmin’s father catches sight of his approach. They lock eyes; there’s something insane in his father’s gaze. The older man shakes his head, mouthing “no.”
Seokmin stops short, raises his hands with the palms up to get across his confusion, and mouths back, “Bambi?”
In response, his father extends a single finger and points upwards. He then makes a shooing motion with his hand. His wife and daughter are so engrossed in their argument that neither of them catches the pantomime or Seokmin’s quick exit, back the way he came.
On the elevator ride upstairs, Seokmin worries. The most likely explanation is that you went to find your phone so that you could find him – but you haven’t texted or called him in the time he’s been looking for you, so he supposes it isn’t likely after all.
Maybe, he thinks, the wine caught up to you. You’re not as strong a drinker as you think you are. While he walks down the hallway to room 218, he steels himself. Even though you both hate it, he’s ready to hold your hair if he walks in and finds you with your head in the toilet. That dress looks too good on you not to be expensive; he’d rather talk you out of your embarrassment tomorrow than have you shell out for dry-cleaning.
You didn’t deadbolt the door behind you, which strikes him as odd. In fact, you didn’t even close it properly; it isn’t latched. All he has to do is tap on it for the door to open.
“Bambi?” He calls out before stepping inside entirely, thinking it’s only decent to confirm in advance that he’s not an intruder. “Sorry for disappearing. I had to pour my grandmother into a cab – it was exactly as awful as it sounds.”
The faint rustling sound he hears isn’t coming from the bathroom, which is both dark and unoccupied. Part of him wants to take this as a good sign, but the rest of him wonders if he’s walking in on a burglary. That flicker of fear is followed by a stupid sense of validation:
You always laugh at him when he cites this as his reason for choosing the bed closest to the door; you claim it’s statistically unlikely. Finally being able to say “I told you so” after a robbery wouldn’t make either of your belongings magically reappear, of course. That said, it might make him feel a little better.
But the figure rooting through your suitcase isn’t a bandit at all. It’s you with your coat on.
“Um,” he starts, unintentionally startling you. “What is….”
His question peters out when you look up at him. There are broken mascara tracks down your cheeks, as if you tried to wipe them off without actually looking at them. Above them, your wide eyes are wet, like you’re seconds away from crying all over again. Even worse, you’re trembling.
Seokmin’s only instinct is to reach for you. Before he can wrap his arms around you, you jerk away from him. “Please don’t.”
So, he stops, though he doesn’t understand why. This is quite literally the only time in your life that you’ve pushed him away.
“What’s going on?” Ideally, he’d project calm at a time like this. He just sounds desperate. “What happened with Seonmi?”
“She — um, she didn’t — It wasn’t that bad; I’m just… You know how sensitive I get when I drink wine.”
Like a switch flips, a half-hearted smile takes over the bottom half of your face. It’s not real; if it was, your eyes would light up and crinkle at the corners. Whatever that look is, it’s bullshit.
Seokmin gestures to your suitcase, where everything you brought with you has been unceremoniously shoved. “Sensitive enough to, what, run away? No. I’m not buying it. She said something — or did something — to make you this upset. Bambi, what happened?”
His urgency is selfish, he knows it. Seonmi’s always been way too intuitive for her own good. There’s no way she hasn’t noticed the way he looks at you when you aren’t looking; how god-awful he is at acting platonic.
He tries — has been trying, for a long time now — to shake these feelings off because he knows you’re not emotionally available. Because he knows who he’s supposed to be for you, and how devastating it would be if he threw your friendship away.
That devastation is right in front of him now; and it’ll push you out of his life forever if he doesn’t shut it down. He has to get in front of it.
You strike first, though. “Seokmin, why didn’t you bring anyone else?”
There are two ways for him to interpret that question: with the emphasis on anyone, meaning not you; or as an escape route. For your sake, he chooses the latter.
“She gave me a plus-one, not a plus-two,” he says softly.
Despite his tone, it must hit you like a punch. You nod curtly, once. “Got it. Basic math. Thanks, Seokmin; that was never my strongest subject.”
Foot, meet mouth.
You immediately set back to work, reaching for the lid of your suitcase to close and zip. Before he thinks once, let alone twice, his hand darts out and flattens against the mesh inner pocket on the top, preventing you from doing so.
“No.” He shakes his head firmly. “Not happening.”
You don’t scowl at him the way he expects, nor do you even stop to look at him. It’s far worse than that; your eyes start swimming, focused helplessly on your suitcase.
When you speak, your voice cracks. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place. I knew that this invitation shit wasn’t an accident; I knew I wasn’t welcome to —”
“— You came anyway.” Seokmin doesn’t mean to snap at you, but the point is moot. Softening at the edges, he quickly continues, “And I’m glad that you did because I don’t want to be here with ‘anyone else’.”
It’s not the whole truth, so it may as well be a lie. You know him too well for him to get away with it; it was stupid of him to try. Your head turns, and the slight narrow of your eyes says it all.
I triple-dog dare you to tell me the truth.
This fork in the road has two dead ends. His only options are to do just that or double down and lie straight to your face, while you see straight through him. Either option pulls the pin, he figures, so it’s no longer a question of who gets hurt; it’s who gets hurt worse.
Seokmin jumps on the grenade.
“I don’t want to be with anyone else!”
It comes out too loudly, startling you. In a way, it’s angry, too. He wishes could project that anger onto Seonmi for starting shit, as usual, but the person he’s maddest at is himself for putting you both in this position.
For the first time ever, he can’t decipher the expression on your face. He’d shove his foot into his mouth to try and keep himself quiet, but his adrenaline is firing on all cylinders, and he can’t seem to stop shouting.
“And I’m really fucking sorry to say it because I know you don’t want to hear it, not from me or anyone else. So, you can leave, alright? I’m not going to stop you.”
The force of the surprise almost knocks the air out of him, so quick that Seokmin can’t process what’s happening until his back is flush to the wall behind him — until your hands, flat against his white button-up, curl to grip the fabric, and you kiss him so hard that he sees stars.
You’re surprised too, it seems. When you pull away, chest heaving, you freeze in the same way he does. Eyes searching the other’s, unsure of what to do now that twenty-plus years’ worth of boundaries have been blown to bits.
You whisper, “Are you still sorry?”
Of the five million feelings swelling inside of him — fear, kind of; joy, yes; fucked up by your blown-out pupils, definitely — regret isn’t one of them.
Actually…
He cups your face in his hands like water from a spring, drinks down the sight of you in this new and perfect light. “I’m only sorry that it took me this long to tell you,” he confesses before kissing you back twice as hard.
You’d ask Seokmin to pinch you and prove to you that you’re not dreaming, but the fear you feel at the thought of waking up is too overwhelming.
Even if it wasn’t, he can’t help you, can he?
His hands are far too busy.
Your pretty dress is long gone now, having been shucked off and tossed somewhere out of sight. In its place, it’s Seokmin’s body that now drapes over yours, warm in touch and tone, like molten gold.
His middle and marriage fingers curl inside you, working you up again; and all you can do is cling desperately to his hair, whimper, and wait for the fall.
“I take back what I said earlier,” he murmurs between nips and kisses at your neck.
You can’t ask him to elaborate. You’re too close to careening over the edge for the second time tonight; too busy babbling fucking nonsense.
His simper against your throat reverberates all the way down, lights up your every nerve in tandem like a switchboard. “Only an idiot would tell you to be less expressive.”
The pad of his thumb swirls over your clit; its movement synchronizes with his middle finger inside of you, targeting your weak spot. He presses down on that spongy patch of nerves, and your hips buck involuntarily, a hallmark of your body begging for you while your words fail.
“You were right, though.”
You summon all your concentration. “I’m always right,” you counter. Seokmin pulls his mouth away from the underside of your jaw just to look at you pointedly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
He picks up the pace of his ministrations, pulling no punches. You’re teetering on the ledge with no real ability to lift your own neck; your head crashes back against the pillow as you wail, clenching and gushing around his fingers.
“I do know how sensitive you get,” he snickers before slipping his fingers from you and sweeping down to kiss you sweetly.
The ringing in your ears has barely subsided, but you’ve decided not to take anymore of his teasing laying down. Slipping your fingers from his hair, you move your hands to his shoulders; and with whatever muscle control you still maintain, you flip him off of you, onto his back.
“How long —”
You climb over his lap and straddle him, placing your palms flat against his chest. It’s as much a show of dominance as it is a carefully disguised trick for balance.
“— have you been waiting to say that?”
Caught red handed, Seokmin shoots you that trademark, heart-shaped smile. His cheeks were already flushed from the effort he just expended on you; that perfect pink only deepens when he blushes and laughs, “What, you think I can’t come up with killer lines in the heat of the moment?”
You scratch your nails gently down the lines of his abdominal muscles. “Nope,” you purr.
Sitting up on his elbows, Seokmin tilts his head to the side and narrows his dark eyes at you. You’re nowhere near used to seeing him look at you like this, like you’re something to be devoured. The feeling of being wanted so badly makes your stomach flip.
“Give me some credit, won’t you?” He asks, voice low. “You’re a knockout; you’re naked in front of me for the first time; and it’s a miracle I can talk at all when I feel this concussed.”
When you lean in, he licks his lips expectantly. You’re close enough to kiss him, of course, but you stop a few millimeters shy of your mark and watch him fight the urge to pout. His eyes search yours, almost pleadingly.
“Is that why you’re still not naked?”
Seokmin’s next move is to reach for the black briefs he’s still got on, but you stop him, encircling each of his wrists with your hands.
“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut with a patronizing shake of your head. “You’re fired. I’m in control now.”
If the little sigh he lets out is any indication, he is very much on board with your self-promotion.
He takes your cue and reels himself in, allowing you to move further down his body, your fingertips hooking under his elastic waistband and tugging as you go. When his length finally springs free, you duck your head to take him into your mouth, beyond eager to feel his weight on your tongue.
“Oh, my god,” he groans, eyelids fluttering, while you swirl your tongue around his head. “Feels s-so —”
The rest of his sentence gets stuck in his throat; you take what you can of him down your own throat, working whatever remains with your hand.
Seokmin wants so badly to watch, you know he does, but he’s sensitive, too. His head tips back, eyes closed and mouth hanging open.
It’s messy, the spit dribbling down your chin and the sound brought forth by the suction of your mouth around him. The obscenity of it all spurs you on. Nothing inspires you quite like Seokmin’s breathy whines and low moans, though. Above all else, it’s his reaction to you that slicks the inside of your thighs.
You’d give him the ending he deserves, right down the back of your throat, but you feel his fingertips graze your shoulder, beckoning you to look up at him.
Voice rough, he pleads, “Come here.”
With his steadying hands on you, you move back into your original position with your bent knees on either side of him. You immediately spot the indent his teeth have left on his lower lip, which is now slightly swollen. Delicately, you brush your thumb over the mark. “Oh, you’re a goner.”
Seokmin looks at you pointedly. Though you tease, you’re even worse off: drunk on the taste of him, as much as the sight of him underneath you, wanting you just as badly.
“Alright, alright,” you concede. “I am, too.”
The hand you use to wave dismissively at him then reaches down between your thighs, fingers wrapping around his cock and lining it up with your entrance.
“But I’m taking you down with me.”
And you do.
So thoroughly that you barely recall him staggering off to the bathroom when all is said and done, the wash cloth he returns with to clean you up, or the way you slump into his waiting arms before promptly falling asleep.
You sleep so soundly, in fact, that you don’t stir when the sun blares through the open curtains. Likewise, when Seokmin carefully maneuvers himself out of the tangle of your limbs and places your head on a real pillow instead, you’re none the wiser.
What finally gets to you is the clatter of the expensive, hotel-issued shampoo clattering against the floor of the shower, echoing off the tile like a sonic boom. You sit bolt upright in bed, staring bleary-eyed in the direction of the bathroom.
As if on cue, Seokmin pokes his head out of the doorway to see if you managed to sleep through the noise. Damp hair splays over his forehead, hanging just as loosely as his lazily-knotted bathrobe. If you weren’t still too sleepy to function, you’d love nothing more than to grab him by that tie and drag him back to bed.
“Shit. I’m sorry, Bambi,” he coos, though his mouth is full of both toothpaste and a toothbrush in a distinctly greener shade of blue than usual.
You merely point at his mouth with a half-powered look of distress, otherwise unable to put your suspicion into words. He doesn’t get it; he glances down at his chest, looking for what he assumes is a stray glob of paste.
When you finally do speak, it’s a prayer: “Please tell me that’s not mine.”
Seokmin blinks at you, then down his nose at the toothbrush he’s using. He cocks his head to the side, opens his mouth to assure you it isn’t, and finally, when the realization makes his eyes widen, he groans.
You wail, “Noooooo!”
Memories of your last trip together clash before your mind — specifically, attempting to navigate a drug store in a foreign language while you shopped for the replacement toothbrush Seokmin is currently holding.
Ears bright red with embarrassment, he ducks back into the bathroom. Immediately, you hear a rush of water from the tap, which nearly drowns out his feeble cry of “I’m sorry!”
“I know it’s an honest mistake, but how do you make it twice?”
You collapse back onto the pillows and bury your face in your palms; and you stay that way, even when you hear him padding softly over to you. The mattress shifts under his weight as he makes his way, one knee at a time, until you feel him looming over you. His hands reach out and gently pull yours from your face.
Before you can get any ideas, Seokmin flattens himself on top of you; a weighted blanket, smelling like vanilla and spearmint. He folds his arms across your chest and props his chin up on the top of his right wrist, bright eyes sparkling as he peers up at you.
Suddenly, you find it very difficult to be annoyed with him. The worst part is that none of this is by design. He always just looks at you this way, not to get out of trouble but because you’re you.
Your hand reaches out of its own accord and brushes the remaining damp strands off his forehead. When your touch lingers, Seokmin leans into it, warming your palm with his cheek.
“Hey,” you say, after failing to come up with anything better.
He beams. “Hi.”
“Why are we awake at this hour?”
That smile of his evaporates slowly, giving way to a grimace you’ve seen before. “Seungcheol and Mingyu want to meet up at the ski lodge before the post-brunch crowd gets there,” he explains. “And I told my parents we’d get breakfast with them first, since yesterday was… well, mostly a disaster.”
“And it will conveniently provide you with time to think of a way out of snowboarding?” You chuckle quietly and pat his cheek.
Seokmin shakes his head firmly, then stretches his neck enough to kiss you.
“No,” he mumbles defiantly against your lips. “I never back down from a triple-dog dare.”
#dokyeom#lee seokmin#dk#svt#dokyeom x reader#seokmin x reader#dk x reader#svt x reader#dokyeom fluff#dokyeom angst#dokyeom smut#dokyeom imagines#dokyeom scenarios#dokyeom fic#dokyeom fanfic#svt imagines#svt scenarios#svt smut#svt fanfic#svt fic#kvanity#re: triple dog dare#i hate tagging shit for people with multiple name variations oh my god#i give up
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I saw someone refer to Steter as a comedy relief duo earlier and it just completely sent me, because that's just... so far from what Steter is, in canon?
As I'm currently rewatching the show, it has shot up into being my favorite ship on the show because of the gravitas it has.
It's a ship that highlights Stiles' fearlessness in such intriguing ways, in canon. From the boy who yelled at a feral Alpha in the school, to their first face to face meeting at the school, when Peter recognizes him, knows him, acknowledges him ("You must be Stiles", as though Stiles' reputation as the one who figures things out proceeds him, as he is the first one to put together that Peter is the Alpha).
There's nothing comedic about the scene on the lacrosse field, when Stiles is kneelng beside Lydia's unconscious form and Peter... for reasons beyond comprehension... decides to curl his claws beneath Stiles' chin and guide him up. Not grab him by the arm and haul him up, not command him, not demand.
This is... sensual, filled with tension, and I don't even necessarily mean the sexual tension (even though the imagery of Stiles kneeling before Peter and Peter grasping his chin is something that I find hard to not see a sexual read on).
Peter kidnaps Stiles into the parking garage to force the boy to track down Derek and, sure, the "His username is Allison? His password is also Allison?" - "Still want him in your pack?" is absolutely iconic and is comedic... how do you boil that entire exchange down to "comedy relief"?
The way Peter offers Stiles the bite - Peter, who so far, only took whatever he wanted, never asked or offered - and doesn't force when Stiles says "No". Even the way Peter catches Stiles on the lie is a moment of tension and revelation on Stiles' part. The way Peter acknowledges Stiles as the clever one.
The season 1 finale? When Stiles sets the survivor of a horrific house fire on fire? Absolute riot, huh. It's vicious, it's cruel - it's everything.
And when Peter is resurrected? Sure, Stiles sarcastically asks if someone can kill him again and sure, Peter snarks about living in a cave system. But even in that episode, these brief comedic moments are absolutely overshadowed by the way Peter and Stiles work together, figure out what the vault is made of, then call Scott to warn him and Derek, by finishing each other's sentences. Two brilliant minds working together, on the same wavelength.
The next time they interact is when Peter tells Stiles about Paige, explains what the blue eyes mean. It's one of the more heavy and serious moments in the season, aside from all the death scenes. It's a big lore drop and character background on both Peter and Derek. And it's Stiles this information is shared with. It's a serious moment and even as Peter tells it all, Stiles doesn't trust, sees past the silver tongue and that too is part of the appeal.
When Peter and Stiles work together to save Cora's life in the hospital, while the Alpha Pack is hunting them down? Blind trust. Stiles asks Peter to help him and Peter doesn't even ask, much less quip, he just follows Stiles' lead and they work together.
Now, I'll admit, I haven't seen seasons 3B through 6 in six years and hey, maybe they'll be a real Abbott and Costello in season 4 and I'm just not remembering it, but damn it all to hell if the first half of the show doesn't present them as two clever minds challenging each other, with a growth from terror and pain to respect and teamwork.
I understand and respect not liking a ship, but I am genuinely baffled when people deliberately misinterpret a canon to suit their needs. Always makes me wonder what alternate reality's version of the show they were watching, surely not the same as me.
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it's true and I say this as an avid binge-watcher who in the stone age had to look up transcripts of episodes because I couldn't wait THREE ENTIRE DAYS OF MY LIFE FOR NETFLIX TO MAIL ME THE NEXT DVD
Seasons of TV released as one fat drop of 8-12 1-1.5hr episodes, literally being told THIS IS FOR YOU TO BINGE IN ONE INSANE SITTING is the exact definition of my dreams and desires.
......why are they no good??
I can definitely think of exceptions, but "both of them have too much time and not enough time for the characters to struggle and grow and change," as it's well-put above, does seem to be the rule more and more. But what does that phrase really mean??
I saw something recently weighing in on this and saying series in particular seem to think every single thing depicted on screen has to move the story forward, possibly because everything is angled to encourage "binging". It's funny because that sounds like it should do the opposite of making the story feel ponderous and pointless!! So what's going on?
Maybe it's because Real Life™ isn't constantly moving towards one plot resolution, so the more you write a story where that's true, the more impossible true immersion for the viewer becomes?
But also I think actively designing a series to be compulsively watched in one or two massive sittings is hurting them as stories. Maybe it's because bingeing, especially as it's understood in other contexts, is not about enjoying something massively good, at least not after the initial part.
We all know this, right? You don't binge on something because it's just sooooo good. Are there people out there who have never done any kind of binge? Maybe so, so I'll tell you because I surely have: it's inertia. A really scary kind, to be honest, that feels, after a while of getting acclimated to nonstop-consuming the thing, like an absolute involuntary need. Because the second I stop eating the family sized bag of chips, stop taking another drink, stop lighting another smoke, reality will come rushing back in place of the comfort-stimulus. And in reality I am not experiencing joy or even pleasure, I am experiencing the kind of existential horror you get when you try to convince yourself you don't actually have to deal with your own mind. This 100% applies to letting the next episode autoplay after 5 hours of watching one story unfold.
Sorry I got kinda dark there, but the point I'm trying to illustrate is that I don't think you NEED a GOOD PRODUCT in order to get people to binge. And, well, that shows more and more with this "content" streaming services are releasing.
True Blood was a hot mess in so many ways and my mental health sure as shit was too but holy shit watching that obsessively years back was so FUN. That show and other story-loves of mine feel different from stuff getting released in full-season streaming dumps right now, and I don't think it's quality of writing or acting or effects or anything else making the difference as much as whether a show seems to genuinely LIKE itself, or whether it's counting on you finding it preferable enough to reality to let the next episode play and thus get good stats.
we need 15-20 episode seasons again these limited series have the worst pacing in the world and none of the character decisions hold any weight
#i just think it's so funny that someone can say their hobby is binge-watching series because of how much that doesn't apply to other things?#“I just love bingeing on vodka lol it's all I do on my days off”#“my guilty pleasure is...binge eating 🤭”#I get that it's not the exact same thing#tv is not meth#i got a little distracted ranting but my point remains#there's not enough pressure to make something the creators actually fucking LIKE in this era of the cursed term 'content'#back in the days of 90 min movies and long seasons of 20-min eps#I think we got to have STORY OH SHIT PLOT EVENTS on the one hand#and 'I'M OBSESSED WITH THESE CHARACTERS sometimes they do Plot but sometimes they have parent-teacher conference day' on the other#and it was ...gooder?#more enjoyabler?#tell me your thoughts on the off chance you made it to the end of this lmao
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family ties (one-shot)
jude x alexander-arnold!reader
summary : in which the world learns about the alexander-arnold sister's relationship with jude at the same time as trent
btw this is a repost from my old blog!
ynalexanderarnold
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ynalexanderarnold vacation week!
tagged : judebellingham
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judebellingham forcing me to work out on vacation smh
judebellingham sexy gyall
ynalexanderarnold sexy laddd
trentarnold66 what
ynalexenderarnold 😁😁
trentarnold66 that's where u went u fucker
user274 why are we acting like this is normal?
user729 they took hard launching too seriously
usr2837 couple we didn't know we needed frl
user738 HELP NOT TRENT FINDING IT OUT IN A INSTA POST
messages
trent
tell me i jst hallucinated your post pls
you
mom taught me not to lie sadly
trent
fucking jude? 🤣
he's gonna break your heart
you
considering he hasn't done anything like that in the past year, i doubt it
trent
past year? wtf
and u didn't tell me because...?
you
look at how you're reacting nd u got ur answer
trent
you're my sis, im just looking out for you
you
im grown, jude is your friend, we love eachother
that's all you need to know
judy 🤠💕
sooo what did he say
mine 💞
he might kill you next time he sees u but dw ab it
judy 🤠💕
YOU TOLD ME HE WAS GONNA BE FINE W IT
mine 💞
nd i lied obv
judy 🤠💕
can i post you tho 😕
mine 💞
nothing too scandalous and he MIGHT not chop off ur dick
judy 🤠💕
aw you wouldn't like that very much
mine 💞
wouldnt mind
judy 🤠💕
not what u said last night 🤣
mine 💞
can't believe my bf has the same punchlines as an 8th grader 😞😞
judebellingham
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judebellingham relax
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ynalexanderarnold my man
judebellingham mine
ynalexanderarnold ur dick's ab to get chopped off
trentarnold66 yeah it is
judebellingham hey trent my brother 😁
trentarnold66 no.
noahohio bold moves brother 🤣
user274 they are so hot
user738 trent is probably puking rn
jobebellingham hey yn
ynalexanderarnold hey jobeee
judebellingham gtfo 😒
messages
trent
try your usual bullshit w my sister i swear
jude
im rlly serious ab her mate, i wouldn't do that
trent
yh good not too serious tho
jude
don't worry i won't make u an uncle anytime soon
trent
shut up you're not helping your case
jude
sorry 😞
few months after
ynalexanderarnold
liked by trentarnold66, judebellingham and 3,283,273
ynalexanderarnold baecation except trent and jobe ruined it
tagged : judebellingham, trentarnold66, jobebellingham
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judebellingham baecation but they took bae away from me
ynalexanderarnold we'll never get a good baecation atp
trentarnold66 it's better like that
trentarnold66 im always here watching 🦇
ynalexanderarnold ok batman
jobebellingham aw i had such a great time w u too
ynalexanderarnold don't worry you're not the bad one here, trent is
judebellingham i swear trent is starting to accept me
trentarnold66 im not
user274 trent and jobe, professional cockblockers
judebellingham posted a story
liked by ynalexanderarnold and 15,299 others
replied to your story
↳
trentarnold66
we're not in laws
judebellingham
we're family i know ❤️❤️
trentarnold66
gtfo
judebellingham
love u too mate
#jude bellingham x reader#jude bellingham#trent alexander arnold#jude bellingham imagine#jb5#jude bellingham fanfic#jude bellingham smau
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Seong Gi-hun (player 456) x player!reaader headcanons (season 2)
Author's Note: I woke up with notes on my other Gi-hun post and watched season 2, got hooked again, and decided to write this. I hope you'll enjoy it! Click here for a masterlist because there's more to come.
- The innocence from the first game is lost once and for all. He's unintentionally less approachable now, always stoic, always tense. After the first game, some thought he was either crazy or suspicious. Your gratitude for his help during the first game surpassed any way you pictured him before. So you decide to keep an eye on him.
- Gi-hun is too focused on the game system and guards to notice you studying him from time to time. He's both amazed and worried about how different the players are from the first time he was there. But if there's one thing that remains the same, it's the sudden greed when the prize is getting higher with each elimination.
- But he doesn't see that in you. After the first game, you understood the gravity of the situation and forgot about the money. The moment the piggy fills with money and everyone is in awe except for him, you look around and your eyes lock with his. He finally notices you then and there. Why? Because you're the only one not looking at the money anymore.
- The second time he will notice you is when you won't eat well because of all the stress and shock. Gi-Hun silently approaches you, sits next to you, and calmly explains how you must eat to have energy for the next game. Despite his stoic tone, you can see worry in his eyes.
- During one night, when he is the only one awake to watch around, you join him in silence. That's when you start opening up to him more. He wasn't expecting it at all.
- He will never judge your reasoning for entering this wicked game. Gi-hun will just listen and try to show understanding.
- Since then, you stayed close to him. He didn't mind it at all. Plus, his mind was already busy with plans and possibilities to save as many as he could.
- You'd think that he might've developed trust issues but his heart didn't allow that. Not when he got attached so fast. You were always there to support him or help him find the right words to convince other players to stop the game from continuing. Slowly, you become something like his confidant even if he forced himself to be cautious around other players.
- When he opens up to you, he opens up about his experience first. He's done it before, telling people what he went through with this damned game but no one asked him how he feels after everything, except for you. He's stunned. It feels like you somehow made your way inside and he's powerless, he can't do anything about it,
- His hands twitch and his body tenses every time you risk getting hurt. He's not even aware of how ready he is to rush to you and help if you need it. But the others are aware. Some will notice how you two simply gravitate closer to each other. Watch out for a jealous-looking Hwang In-ho (player 001).
- Seon-Nyeo (player 044) talked to you two about how you are doomed because of a curse and other scary spiritual details, the way she does with everyone. Gi-hun was unfazed but his eyes softened when he saw you a little bit worried and disturbed. He comforted you, put a hand on your shoulder, and gave it a reassuring squeeze with a half smile (it's still hard for him to smile again, but he'll do it for you).
- He promises you that he'll get you safe out of there, every day and every night.
- Whatever you two will have, he will insist on being kept secret so you won't be in any additional danger because of him.
#squid game#squidgame#seong gi hun#player 456#seong gi hun x reader#squid game fanfic#squid game x reader#squid game x y/n#squid game x you#player 456 x reader#squid game fic#squid game headcanons
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