#I think the only one that gets a pass is the new one...

[the-offside-rule]

Joe Burrow (Cinccinati Bengals) - Game Day and Grammys

Requested: no but someone asked about NFL imagines and the Pro Bowl and Grammys were on so how could I miss this opportunity?

Prompt: Joe Burrow x singer!girlfriend

Warnings: none other than it being long and full of fluff

Y/n sat in the plush chair of her hotel suite, a stylist curling sections of her hair while another dabbed powder on her already flawless face. The room buzzed with quiet excitement—her team murmuring about last-minute dress fittings, run-throughs, and camera angles. After all, tonight was the biggest night of her career. Five Grammy nominations. Five.

But her attention? Completely divided. On the sleek flatscreen across the room, the Pro Bowl was in full swing. Her boyfriend, Joe Burrow, was out there, tossing passes and leading drives while she got glammed up for music’s biggest stage. She’d wished she could be there, but the Grammys and the game fell on the same night, and there was no way to be in two places at once.

Her phone vibrated in her lap. Another text from Joe.

Joe: This is so much fun. Wish you were here

She grinned, typing back quickly.

Y/n: Wish I was too. But you better be focused, Burrow. No interceptions.

Another buzz.

Joe: No INTs. Just vibes. Also… scored a touchdown. No big deal.

Y/n let out a laugh, her lips quirking as she typed her reply.

Y/n: A touchdown?? Damn, you haven’t scored one of those in a while.

Her stylist stifled a giggle behind her. "Good news?" She smirked. "Joe just ran one in himself." Her phone buzzed again.

Joe: Wow. The slander.

Joe: But fair.

Joe: Good luck tonight, superstar.

Joe: Ja'Marr said if you win two tonight, that makes it 9 grammys you have ever won

Joe: And guess what my number is?

Y/n chuckled at the coincidence. No matter where they were, no matter what they were doing, they were always supporting each other.

Y/n: Alright, QB1. Ill get the Grammy's you worry about not getting tagged.

With one last glance at the game, she turned back to the mirror, ready to take on her own championship night.

The flashbulbs were blinding as Y/n posed on the red carpet, her dress hugging her perfectly while she effortlessly smiled at the cameras. The energy was electric; reporters calling out her name, fans screaming behind the barricades. She was used to this, but tonight felt different. Bigger.

As she moved down the carpet, she began her interviews, each asking the same old question that she had rehearsed about a million times. How does it feel to be nominated 5 times? She had been nominated for Album of the Year, Song of the Year, Record of the Year, Pop Vocal Album and Music Video of the Year. She had been to the grammys before but she had only ever been nominated twice each year. Granted, she did win them, racking up an astonishing 7 grammys in just 4 years, but her once edgey music had shifted to softer love songs, all thanks to a certain quarter back.

She smiled as she moved on down the carpet to her last interviewer, a little kid who she had seen on tik tok time and time again. "Oh my gosh, hello!" She smiled as she did her best to get down onto the kid's level. Her calf were killing her from the heels standing, nevermind squatting down. "You look beautiful. I love the dress." She said. "Thank you! And you look so beautiful too." The child replied. "I have a few questions for you if thats okay?"

"Of course! I would love to hear them." Y/n said warmly as she held her own microphone. "So, obviously this is your record for the most amount of Gammys that you have been nominated for. If you could go back in time and tell your younger self that this would be happening, what would you say?" Finally a way to answer the question of how she felt about being nominated that didn't involve her rehearsed answer. "I think I would tell my younger self to keep going, to believe in myself and don't put the guitar down because it's gotten me this far." Y/n replied. "Your album Nine Sunday Mornings was a very abrupt change in your music. It was more edgey and angsty the last time you were here-" Y/n laughed at the very blunt question. "Why do you think this change happened or is it because you just got bored of that genre?" Now that was a good question.

"I mean, as you said it was a big change. I mean any love song I wrote before was scrapped because I thought it was too sappy so I stuck to breakup songs or rage songs. I think the change came in meeting Joe. From the songs right down to the title it's all him. I remember the very night I met him I stayed up nearly all night writing about the like 5 minute encounter we had and now it's nominated tonight so. I have to give credit where credit is due." She answered. "Have you been keeping up with the Pro Bowl?" Y/n laughed, adjusting the Grammy-branded microphone in her hand. "Of course! I have it on in my hotel room. Joe keeps texting me updates, so I think I might have a better play-by-play than some of the commentators."

Her manager tapped her shoulder to tell her to make her way inside, so she bid the mini-reporter farewell and walked in to the packed venue.

Once inside, Y/n glanced around, trying to spot her team. The Grammys were always a production, but tonight, the room felt even bigger. Row after row of tables and glowing stage lights. She turned in circles, scanning the room. Where were they? Her manager, her producer, anyone?

"Y/n?"

She spun around to see Jack approaching, looking as effortlessly cool as ever. "Hey, are you okay?" She let out a slightly embarrassed laugh. "Yeah, I just… I can’t find my seat. I have no idea where my team is." Before Jack could respond, a familiar voice chimed in.

"She can sit with us!"

Y/n turned to see Taylor Swift standing a few feet away, a warm smile on her face. Taylor, dressed in an elegant yet edgy ensemble, motioned toward her table. "If you don’t mind sitting with us, of course." Y/n hesitated for a second. She didn’t want to intrude- Taylor was with her own crew, and this was a huge night for her, too. "Are you sure?" She asked cautiously.

"Of course! Come on." Taylor said, looping an arm around her gently as they started walking toward the table. "Besides, we have a lot to talk about. I can't believe this is the first time we're meeting." Y/n chuckled, relaxing a little as she took a seat beside her. "Are you going to the Super Bowl?" Taylor asked after a moment.

Y/n shook her head. "No, I’ve never actually been. I told myself I wouldn’t go until Joe is the one playing in it." Taylor’s brows lifted in amusement. "Oh that is goals."

"Plus, I’m heading to his family’s house to watch it with them." She added. "I think it’ll be more special that way." Taylor smiled knowingly. "There’s nothing like watching a game with the people who love him most. Honestly, I think you guys are gonna be there next year." Y/n nodded, already picturing herself in the Burrow family’s living room, wearing one of Joe’s sweatshirts, surrounded by his parents and siblings. It felt right. "Honestly, I don't wanna be too picky but I want a Bengals and 49ers Superbowl. That would cure the world, I think."

"That would be a good one."

Just then, the lights dimmed, signaling the start of the show. Y/n took a deep breath, ready to take on the night—Grammys, football updates, and all.

Joe stretched his arms over his head as he stepped into the hotel lobby, still buzzing from the Pro Bowl. The game had been fun, a rare chance to play a little looser, joke around with the guys, and even run in a touchdown himself—something Y/n was sure to remind him about later. His teammates followed behind him, still hyped up from the day. "Alright." Ja’Marr announced, clapping his hands. "Let’s turn on the Grammys. Gotta see Y/n win some trophies since Joe isn’t bringing any silverwear home."

Joe grinned as he nudged Ja'Marr for that dig, leading the way to the suite where they all piled onto the couches, flipping the TV on just in time to catch the ceremony in full swing. The room filled with snacks, drinks, and casual conversation, but anytime Y/n appeared on the screen, the guys would nudge Joe, who was watching intently, phone in hand, ready to text her.

Then came Best Pop-Vocal Album of the Year.

Joe sat forward, hands clasped as they listed the nominees. He knew how much work Y/n had put into this album—how many late nights, how many times she’d called him exhausted but excited, how much of her heart was poured into every track.

"And the Grammy goes to…"

Not her.

Joe exhaled, lips pressing together as he watched her smile and clap for the winner. She was graceful as ever, but he knew her well enough to see the flicker of disappointment in her eyes. "She said she was gonna be surprised if she got that one. She like, knew Sabrina was winning that hands down."

Then came Record of the Year.

Not her again.

"She got robbed." Russell Wilson muttered. "Bro, you're gonna be the first one singing Not Like Us at the halftime show next weekend." Lamar Jackson replied. "She's in like the toughest categories." James Cook added. Joe didn’t say anything, just shook his head. He hated seeing her not get what she deserved, but he knew Y/n. Knew she’d keep smiling, keep pushing forward. And damn it, he’d keep cheering her on, just like she always did for him.

It didn't matter. 2 down, 3 to go. Music Video of the Year.

Joe sat up straight. He knew this one mattered to her, too. Her video had been a passion project, something she’d fought to bring to life exactly the way she envisioned it. The competition was stacked—the other nominees had incredible visuals, and any of them could take it. Y/n sat at her table, her hands clasped in her lap, holding her breath. Joe could practically feel her nerves through the screen.

"She’s got this." He murmured. "She’s got this, she’s got this, she’s got this, come on, baby."

The presenter opened the envelope.

"And the Grammy goes to… Y/n Y/l/n!"

Y/n gasped, letting out the breath she’d been holding. Taylor pulled her into a tight hug as the entire table erupted into cheers. Joe leapt off the couch, throwing his hands in the air. "Let's go! Yes! Wooh!" The suite exploded with excitement- Ja’Marr was shouting, some of the guys were recording Joe’s reaction, and others were laughing as Joe jumped up, singing along to the snippet of Y/n’s song that played as she made her way to the stage.

On the screen, Y/n’s smile was blinding, eyes slightly glossy as she accepted her award. Joe grinned, pride swelling in his chest. She’d done it. Just like she always did. "Oh my god, wow." She began. "I’ll be honest, I did not expect Music Video of the Year. There had been some amazing Music Videos so I just wanted to congratulate my fellow nominees and their directors." Joe clapped as he listened to her. "I want to thank my team, the fans, my family and all of you who voted for the video. My boyfriend Joe of course, who may or may not be still playing his game of tag football but I'm gonna thank him anyway." His face grew red. "I think that's all I have to say to be honest. Maybe I'll see you up here again pretty soon."

Joe lounged back on the couch, finally feeling like he could relax a little after all the emotional whiplash of the night ao far and he was still buzzing from it. "She’s performing next." Ja’Marr pointed out, nodding toward the TV. Joe sat up again, straightening his hoodie as the camera panned to the stage. The lights dimmed, and then—there she was.

His girl.

Y/n stood center stage, bathed in golden light, singing a balld version of her nominated song. She wore the most stunning outfit—a gold sparkling, elegant number that hugged her perfectly. She looked ethereal. "Jesus Christ." Joe muttered under his breath before saying a little louder, "Her outfit is so pretty." Some of the guys laughed. "Yeah, it is." Ja'Marr teased with a smirk. "You good over there, Burrow?" Russell asked, causing all the other guys to take notice of his blushing face and tease him further.

Joe just waved them off, eyes locked on the screen. Then, just as the song picked up, she reached down, grabbed the edges of her outfit, and-

Riiiipppp

The elegant gown was gone, revealing a bold, dazzling second outfit underneath—sleek, fun, and perfect for dancing. "Oh my God." Joe groaned, immediately hiding his face in his hands as the entire room exploded. The guys were shouting, laughing, some recording his reaction as they all clapped and cheered. "Ayyy! Okay, Y/n!" Ja'Marr called.

Joe shook his head, chuckling as his ears burned. He peeked through his fingers just in time to see her seamlessly transition into the next part of the performance, moving with ease, completely in her element. She was dancing, smiling, engaging the crowd like she was born for this moment. "I didn't know she could move like that! Damn!" Trey said.

Joe dropped his hands, watching as Y/n held the mic out, getting the entire crowd to sing along with her. She looked so happy, completely in control of the stage, like she was having the time of her life. Joe smiled. His teammates might have been teasing him, but he didn’t care. He was just so damn proud of her. As the song ended,she looked aroukd for the camera that would be zooming in on her. She spotted it and winked, before blowing a kiss right to it. Joe reached for the imaginaru kiss and put it to his heart as the guys teased him even further for it.

Joe sat back against the couch, his arm draped over the back as the next category came up—Song of the Year.

"Alright, this one’s huge." Ja’Marr said, leaning forward. Joe nodded, eyes locked on the screen. Y/n had poured everything into this song and she loved it the most for reason unknown to him, and even though she’d already won Music Video of the Year, he wanted this for her. Badly.

The nominees were stacked— some of the biggest songs of the year, including Y/n’s. The room quieted as the presenter opened the envelope.

"nd the Grammy goes to… Kendrick Lamar, Not Like Us!"

Joe exhaled, shaking his head, but before he could react, he spotted Y/n on screen, grinning and dancing along to the snippet of Not Like Us that played through the venue speakers. Joe burst out laughing. "She doesn’t seem too bothered." Trey snickered. "Bro, she looks kinda tipsy."

The whole room chuckled as they watched Y/n dancing up out of her seat singing along as Kendrick made his way to the stage. She was still clapping and smiling, showing nothing but love for the win, and Joe couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly cool she was about it. "She’s just vibin'." Joe said with a smirk, shaking his head.

And then finally came Album of the Year.

Her final nomination.

Joe sat up one last time, his heart pounding a little harder. He could see Y/n on screen, hands clasped together, her lips pressed tight as she waited. The tension in the room was thick, even through the television.

The presenter opened the envelope.

"And the Grammy goes to… Y/n Y/l/n, Nine Sunday Mornings!"

She didn’t move.

She didn’t react at first—just sat there, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Joe felt like the air had been sucked out of the room before he erupted. "Yes! Let's go baby!" He jumped up again, fists in the air as his teammates laughed, recording his reaction for the second time that night. "That’s my girl! That’s my girl!" He cheered, pacing the room as the suite filled with whoops and applause.

Back on the screen, Y/n finally stood, still in complete shock. As she made her way up to the stage, she kept shaking her head, her mouth open as if she still couldn’t believe it. She took the award in her hands, staring down at it, blinking before looking around. The crowd chuckled. She looked up at the mic, then back at the award. "What?" She squeaked.

Laughter rippled through the audience. Joe grinned, shaking his head. He could practically hear her thoughts—How? Against all those incredible albums? She took a deep breath, exhaling sharply, still looking down at the trophy. "I—I don’t even know what to say, honestly I'm a little drunk so-" Joe smiled proudly, watching her collect herself and begin her speech. She had done it. Two Grammys in one night. And even though he wasn’t there in person, he cheered for her just as loudly as she did for him on Sundays.

"I want to thank the incredible Jack Antanoff for helping me produce this album first and foremost, my team also. But there is one person in particular who I will ramble on about because he was the inspiration for every single song I wrote since the 9th of December 2023, when we first met." Joe felt his eyes watering upon hearing it. He didn’t lile seeing her cry, it often meant he would cry too. "The album itself is a hommage to the fact that it took just nine sunday mornings for us to decide we wanted to become a couple and honestly, those 9 Sunday mornings were the best I could have ever lived through because I got to fall in love with the love of my life." Joe wiped his eyes, lookong down as Ja'Marr patted his back in support. "Joe, wherever you are, I wanted you to know that this award is for you, you can put it right next to the Heisman and my other 8 Grammy's."

Joe chuckled lightly as her little dig. "And just in case this wasnt a clincidence enough already- I'm going to shout out Ja'Marr Chase for this information- this is my ninth Grammy, and its for Cinccinati's number 9." The microphone cut out, singalling that her time for speaking was up. She mouthed a very animated 'I love you' to the camera before smiling and heading off the stage.

As soon as Y/n sat back down at her table, she reached for her phone. Her hands were slightly shaking—part adrenaline, part sheer excitement. The night had been a whirlwind, and there was only one person she needed to talk to right now. She hit Joe’s contact, pressing the phone to her ear as the Grammys continued around her. The line barely rang once before he picked up.

"Baby!" She let out a breathless laugh. "Joe!"

"Oh my God!" He said, and she could hear the pure excitement in his voice. "You were insane. I mean first of all, two Grammys? And then that performance? What was that outfit change? You’re trying to kill me?" Y/n giggled, running a hand through her hair. "Did you like it?"

"Like it? Babe, I almost had a heart attack. These guys aren't gonna let me live it down." She laughed again, picturing Joe hiding his face in his hands while all his guys teased him. "I was just thinking about you the whole time." She admitted, voice a little softer now. "I figured you were watching."

"Of course I was watching." He said immediately. "Are you kidding? We had the Grammys on as soon as we got back. I was cheering for you all night." Y/n smiled, glancing down at her awards sitting in front of her. "It still doesn’t feel real. I mean…Album of the Year? What?"

"You earned that, Y/n. No one deserved it more." She bit her lip, warmth spreading through her chest. "I mean, Billie should have won it." She replied. "Oh my God, I'm gonna cry again."

"No, don't cry." He said quickly. "Not unless it’s happy tears." She laughed, leaning back in her chair. "How was the Pro Bowl? I feel like I barely got to ask you." Joe chuckled. "It was fun. I mean we lost, but it was fun."

"What was the score?" She asked. "Like 76 to 63 or somethin' like that?" He looked around for nods of approval. "Did I mention I scored?" Y/n chuckled. "Yeah and as I said before I haven’t seen you do that in a while."

"Okay, woah." He deadpanned, and she could hear his teammates laughing in the background. "I’m kidding." She teased. "I’m proud of you."

"I'm proud of you too, baby." Y/n exhaled, her whole body finally starting to relax after the chaos of the night. "I just wish you were here."

"Yeah, I know." Joe said softly. "But I’ll see you tomorrow. And then we can celebrate properly." She grinned. "Deal."

"I love you, Baby."

"Love you too, Shiesty "

As she hung up, she clutched her phone to her chest, still smiling. It had been a night to remember— and she couldn’t wait to get home to him.

[lovecla]

FAVORITE KIND OF NIGHT ; HUGHES, SLAFKOVSKÝ

PAIR jack hughes x fem!reader, quinn hughes x fem!reader, juraj slafkovský x fem!reader, ex-cole caufield x fem!reader

SUMMARY when you found out your boyfriend of two years had been cheating on you the entire time, you do what every girl does when they get cheated on: you fuck his best friends.

WORD COUNT 5,5k

WARNINGS taboo content, cheating, foursome (f/m/m/m), p in v, unprotected sex, degradation, mention of stomach bulge, creampie, double p in v, rough sex, manhandling, dirty talk, humiliation, subspace, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), gagging, dacryphilia, brief aftercare.

FROM ME TO YOU my loves, listen to your clara very carefully: if you do not agree with ANY of what’s written here, please consider not reading. this is just a silly idea i had a few days ago and i wanted to write about it. i have zero intentions of offending anyone: this is pure fiction! none of this is real! anyways, thank you @cyberhughes for listening to my naughty thoughts about this plot and for having my back. love you juni baby, this one’s for you <3 and for those who are still here, have a nice reading!

𖧷

on that lonely night, said it wouldn't be love

but we felt the rush (fell in love)

it made us believe it was only us

THE THING about being a hockey girlfriend is that you will, most certainly, get cheated on.

When you first heard that, you thought it was just bullshit— not all men are the same and all of that. Some people were just unfortunate to have shitty boyfriends, but not you.

Or at least that’s what you thought before watching a viral video of your boyfriend of two years kissing three different girls at a party.

The video was blurry, and maybe if you were a little bit more naive, you wouldn’t have noticed that the man eating those girls’ lips was, in fact, Cole Caufield, the man you swore to be the love of your life.

“Maybe it’s not him, Y/n,” your friend said, voice soft and gentle, as she put your phone down and locked it. “Cole wouldn’t do that… right?”

Right, you want to say. Of course he wouldn’t do that.

But you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to lie and betray your own trust. You sat there, on your couch, thinking about what you were going to do.

Your relationship was public, Cole had already posted pictures of you several times over the years, but now, so was the fact that he cheated on you with not just one girl, but with two more.

Now, everyone knows that you got cheated on, and that you weren’t an exception to the Hockey rule.

“‘s okay,” you sniff, cleaning your nose with your sweater’s sleeve. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t, really, but what else could you do?

Truth is, even though you love— loved?— Cole a lot, you had been feeling a little bit weird. Cole didn’t seek you anymore, he didn’t look at you the same way he used to do when you first started dating.

You thought it was just the fact that he was tired and feeling responsible for his team’s recklessness, but clearly, it wasn’t just that.

Days passed after the terrible, awful video, and even though you hadn’t spoken to Cole in probably two weeks— he was away and you couldn’t bring yourself to answer his texts—, you wanted to break things up with him in person.

“Why would you do that?” Your friend asked over the phone, and you sighed.

“Because I’m better than he is,” you say. “And because I need to get closure.”

“I guess you’re right,” she sighs, and then she’s quiet for a few seconds. But, “I need to tell you something.”

“What?” You ask, rolling to your side. “What is it?”

“There’s going to be a party at Zegras’ place tonight,” she says. “Heard Cole shit ass is going.”

“Who told you that?”

“I was talking to one of his new buddies, and he invited me to the party. Said I could go if I kept my mouth shut to you,” she scoffed. “I thought about telling him to hell and then telling him to fuck himself but I thought it might be more useful to pretend I wasn’t going to tell you anything and then tell you everything.”

You chuckled. “Yeah. We’re going, then?”

“We so are going,” she giggles. “I’ll bring the eggs.”

“I’ll bring the flour.”

𖧷

THE PARTY looked more like a frat party than anything, which lowkey disgusted you.

You knew the majority of the players were young and still in their teenager mindset, but whenever you went to a party, it usually had more decorum than whatever this was.

The music was so loud you couldn’t hear your friend talking next to you. People were grinding against each other like they were in heat and ready to fuck in front of everyone, and the room had a strong smell of marijuana and cheap beer.

You rolled your eyes but focused on your reason to be there: find Cole, break up with him and maybe even embarrass him in front of all of his friends.

You tried to warn your friend about where you were going, but since the music was too loud, you just signaled to the door on your right. She nodded, and you moved around the room, feeling with your feet the way the floor shook with the song’s thrumming.

Fortunately, you didn’t have to walk much. Cole’s stupid ass seemed to have forgotten to close his room’s door, and now you were staring at the 5’8” man you thought was going to be the father of your kids, kissing another girl.

“So, this looks really fun, huh?” You said, closing the room’s door, and suddenly, all of the eyes were on you. Cole’s included.

“Y-Y/n, what,” he stutters, removing the girl from his lap and getting up. “What are you doing here, baby?”

“No, what are you doing here?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, feeling yourself start to burn with anger. “Weren’t you supposed to be in New York?”

“No, you see—”

“Is your name New York, sweetie?” You ask the girl who was previously kissing him, who looks like a scared, little kitten. Little does she know you’re not going after her— you couldn't care less about her. “Uh, I guess not.”

There were at least eight other people in the room, sitting there and goofing around. But now, all of them looked like they would pay a hundred thousand bucks not to be in Cole’s shoes.

“Y/n—” he tries again, reaching for your arm.

You step back, flinching away from his touch. “Don’t fucking touch me, Cole. You’re fucking sick. I hope y’all have fun,” you hiss, turning around and heading towards the room’s door again. You look over your shoulder, watching Cole’s sorrowful face. “Enjoy as much as you can, darling. I know his dick won’t make you happy.”

You leave the room with fast steps, not before hearing Cole’s so-called friends laugh out loud with your words. You could feel yourself burning with anger, which made you happy. You thought you were going to feel destroyed, sad and depressed when you confronted him about the fact that he cheated on you regularly.

But after seeing his pathetic expression and actions, you realised you weren’t the one who should be feeling that way.

Your legs were moving on their own, and when you noticed, you were on the second floor, barging in another room, opening its door with full strength.

Only to blush even more, this time not with anger, no.

“Oh, hey there, Y/n. Where’s the fire?”

Jack’s sarcastic tone made you hold the door’s handle tighter, and when you looked around, you felt like a fish out of its tank.

The room was poorly lit, only the yellow light from the lamps reflected on the dark walls of the room, making the environment seem more intimate than it really was.

There were sofas along the room, and low music was playing, probably coming from one of the cell phones.

Because not only Jack Hughes was there, but his oldest brother, Quinn and Juraj Slafkovský.

You didn’t even know Quinn and Jack got along with Slaf, yet there they were, sitting and chatting with each other like they weren’t all rivals during the weekdays.

They laughed with Jack’s little remark before Quinn said: “You can come in, we don’t bite.”

“Unless you want to.” Juraj was the one who said this, to your ultimate surprise, and you rolled your eyes, doing as they said and getting in, closing the door behind you.

“Dude, come on,” Jack laughs. “She has a boyfriend.”

“Not anymore,” you say, for the first time since you opened the door. You eyed the drink cart in the corner of the room, taking full steps towards it and opening the first bottle you say. Whiskey. Great. “I just broke up with Cole, actually.”

There was a second of silence before you heard some clapping behind you, which made you turn around and stare at the grown men sitting across the room.

“What’s this clapping for?” You ask.

“It was about time, Y/n, what the hell,” Juraj says. “Guy’s been cheating on you for months.”

“And you guys didn’t think of, I don’t know, maybe give me a heads up?” You ask, sarcasm pouring out of your mouth while you pour the alcoholic drink in the glass sitting on the wooden surface. Then, you walk until you’re sitting beside Quinn and Juraj. “Would’ve been nice.”

“Sorry,” Quinn says, poking your shoulder. “In my defense, I wasn’t around enough to know he was cheating.”

“In my defense,” Jack starts. “I don’t like him.”

“In my defense,” Juraj finishes, opening his legs and resting his arms behind his head. “I couldn’t do it, because I would’ve been called a homewrecker.”

You almost choked on your drink. “What?!”

“You know I’ve been wanting to fuck you for ages now,” he sighs, like he’s tired of saying that; like he’s been saying that for a long time now. “But you can’t exactly fuck your homie’s girlfriend, can you?”

“Word.” Jack says, leaning forward to fist bumping Juraj. Quinn only chuckles and you can’t believe your eyes.

You’ve known all of them for basically the same amount of time, and you liked them a lot. Jack was a little, teasing shit, way too different from Quinn, but he was funny and so were his brothers— hanging out with them was always fun.

Quinn was private but sweet, probably one of your favorite people in the league. His soft spoken demeanor had made its way into your heart and was now stuck there, for the rest of your life, probably.

And Juraj was an old friend, someone you knew even before you started dating Cole— he was the reason you and Cole got together in the first place.

So hearing that one of your closest friends wants to have sex with you is weird, especially because he had just confessed that in front of two other men.

You stare at them, incredulous. “What are you even talking about?”

“Come on, Y/n, you can’t be this oblivious,” Jack grunts, and you tilt your head, confused. “You didn’t notice the way he looks at you?”

“Fuck you, Hughes,” Slaf curses, giving him the middle finger. “Like you’re one to talk. Everyone knows you’re head over heels for her and you know which head I’m talking about.”

Quinn laughs like what Slaf said had been the funniest thing he’d heard in a while, while Jack simply shrugs and looks at you with expectant eyes.

“You are all drunk. That’s the only explanation I can find,” you say, still choosing not to see what is right in front of you. “And I’m about to be the next one.”

You took just one sip before Quinn wrapped his hand around your glass and took it out of your hands. You were about to complain and ask him what happened when he shook his head, clicking his tongue. “We are not drunk, Y/n. And we don’t want you to be.”

“What? Why not?” You ask. “I promise I’m not that type of person who talks about their love life when they’re drunk. I might talk about Tik Tok memes, though.”

“That’s worse than talking about your shit ass love life,” Jack murmurs and you turn around to look at him with angry eyes. “What?” He asks, grinning, with his hands in the air.

“It’s not my fault I can’t find the right guys,” you sigh, resting your head on Quinn’s shoulder like you’re used to doing. “Why do men suck?”

“Not all of them do, sweets.” Quinn says, placing his hand on your naked thigh, making you blush faintly.

“We don’t.” Juraj murmurs beside you, and you hum.

“Well,” you say, measuring your words. “Unfortunately, I can’t have any of you. So, yeah, I still have the same problem.”

“Who said you can’t have any of us?” Juraj says, and you lift your head, furrowing your eyebrows at him. “Or even better, all of us.”

There’s a beat of silence. The room is suddenly too warm for you, and even if you’re just wearing a skirt and a crop top, you still feel yourself starting to get sweaty.

The song is still playing, an unknown melody reverberating through the room, and what once felt big and spacious suffocates you now.

“You guys. You can’t be serious… right?” You ask, looking at each and every single one of them in the eye.

Jack is the first one to break the silence. “Come on, Y/n. Haven’t you ever thought about us like that?”

You can feel their eyes on you as you think of what to answer. You can’t say you haven’t— that would be a lie. You were loyal to Cole and you loved him, but you weren’t blind.

And now that you’re really thinking, these guys hadn’t been particularly sleek either; Jack with his obsession with calling you pet names, Quinn finding any and every excuse to touch you whenever you were in the same room and Juraj eye-fucking you from afar while you cuddled with his teammate.

So yeah, you have wondered about it before, but it all sounded so insane you didn’t think about it twice. The odds of all four of them liking you were pretty low, so why bother fooling yourself with these kinds of thoughts?

But now, you were sitting in the same room as them, with Juraj’s arm touching yours, Quinn’s hand running up and down your leg, and Jack’s eyes on you, like you were a prey or something similar.

“We can’t do that,” you whisper, trying your hardest to hold onto that single piece of sanity and morals you still had. “You guys are insane. Jack, Quinn’s your brother.” You reason, expecting to knock some sense into them.

Quinn squeezes your thigh slightly. “It wouldn’t be our first time.”

“Besides, it’s fine because we’re not going to fuck each other,” Jack says, like he’s telling you the sky’s blue. “I’m going to fuck you.”

“We are going to fuck you,” Juraj corrects, and you close your eyes, holding your hands together on your lap, trying to keep them still. “What do you say, chéri?” He asks, getting dangerously close to your neck, his strong, masculine scent making your head spin. His lips briefly touch your neck, the contact so light you wouldn’t feel it if you weren’t hyper aware of your surroundings.

Quinn’s warm, big hand is moving up, up and up, and that startles you.

You get up, panting as hard as if you had ran an entire marathon, and you stand in the middle of the room, surrounded by them. By your friends who had just asked to fuck you.

“I can’t— I can’t do this,” you whisper. “What about Cole, what about—”

“Sweetheart, Cole is probably balls deep inside someone else right now,” Quinn replies, and the others hum in agreement. “If you don’t want it because you don’t want to, it’s fine, you know we’d never force you. But,” he spreads his thighs, the outline of his cock is visible and right there for you to see. You gulp, not sure of what to do. “If you don’t want to do it because you still believe Cole deserves your kindness, then I have to say—”

“You’re being dumb,” Juraj finishes Quinn’s sentence, smirking. “You’ll be crying over one small cock when you have three waiting for you. It’s your pick, really.”

Your head is spinning and you feel aware of your body, which is something you hate. You can feel your arms and legs starting to give in, and to your absolute horror and panic, you can feel your underwear start to get sticky.

You walk towards the door, ready to leave, ready to put this night behind and pretend this was all a fever dream, and never think about this again. But, as you grab the handle, you know you won’t be able to forget this, not even if you wanted to.

So, you stop being a hypocrite, and grab the door’s key, locking the door once, and then twice, before exhaling and turning around again.

All three of them are staring at you, with the same expression; lust. It’s sinful and you are certain that you’re going to hell for this, but as you start to get undressed, right there, in the middle of the room, for all of them to see, you can’t help but feel like what you’re doing is nothing but right.

You remove your crop top, pulling the fabric over your head and dropping it on the floor, shivering slightly when the cold breeze hits your naked skin. You do the same with your skirt, letting it fall around your feet like a river, leaving you standing with only your bra and lace underwear in front of them.

“Fuck.” You hear one of them say, you’re not sure who, the word nothing but a whisper.

Juraj is the first one to get up, and get his hands on you. He’s rough, hungry and not careful at all, something you’re not used to but like it anyway.

His lips are on yours almost instantly, and his hands are holding you down while he licks and sucks your mouth. He tastes like some kind of candy you’ve had before, and your brain is screaming that what you’re doing is wrong, so wrong and that you literally just broke up with your boyfriend of two years not even thirty minutes ago but you can’t stop.

It’s maddening, it’s addictive and you want more.

It gets worse when you feel another pair of hands on your back, unclamping your bra. You hear a soft tud, which you can only assume is your bralette hitting the floor. Then, there are hands squeezing your tits, hands almost as rough as Slaf’s, and it has you moaning inside his mouth.

“So fucking soft,” you hear Jack say behind you as he gets closer, his hard dick poking your ass over your underwear. “Tits so fucking soft for us, baby.”

And he pinches both of your nipples, making you whimper loud and separate your lips from Juraj’s. There’s a saliva string connecting both of you and it makes you feel nasty.

He gives you a brief peck before gently slapping your thighs twice, silently asking you to remove your underwear, which you promptly do. You slide your lace panties over your legs, shyly throwing them away from you.

It’s only then that you notice Quinn staring at you from the couch, half naked with his dick out of his boxers— the thought of him getting off only by watching you makes you squeeze your thighs together, to stop your hole from clenching around nothing.

“Let’s get you wet and ready, alright?” Juraj says, manhandling you around like you were just a toy for him to break, until your back touched the cold, wooden surface of the table sitting in the middle of the dark room. You arch your back, pouting with the coldness and Slaf coos at you. “I’m sorry there isn’t anything more comfortable than this.”

“Like she cares about comfort,” Quinn snorts. “The only thing she’s worried about it’s whether she’s taking one or two cocks in that greedy pussy of hers.”

The humiliation Quinn’s words bring you is almost unbearable, yet it has you dripping anyway. Their laughs, the way they’re all staring at you like some piece of meat makes you feel hot all over.

Juraj lays you down carefully, only to spread your legs open with the same roughness he used before, when his lips were on yours. You yelped, feeling exposed and embarrassed— your bare, glistening pussy was on display for all three of them to see.

“Holy shit,” you hear someone say, Juraj maybe, and you cringe, hiding your face with your hands. “She’s perfect.”

“We’ll see about that,” you hear Jack say behind you and you remove your hands from your face. Suddenly, he’s sliding his pants down, his dick touching his covered abs as wraps his fist around his length, slowly jerking off in front of you.

You’re watching it in awe, even as you stare at him upside down, since your head is hanging off the table’s edge. He smirks down at you at the same time Juraj licks your clenching hole, making you moan for the first time, loud and involuntary.

“Ah.”

“Shit,” you hear Slaf say. “Pussy so fucking wet and sweet. Y/n, you’ll drive me crazy.”

You don’t answer; not because you don’t want to but because Jack places his hands on both sides of your cheeks, squeezing them together until your mouth forms the perfect O and he can slide his entire dick inside it.

He moans noisily as you gag on his long dick. It’s an unexpected feeling, to have your throat fucked like this— Cole wasn’t a big fan of messy, rough blowjobs— but fuck if it doesn’t get you wetter.

Juraj is still working hard on your pussy, licking your folds and throbbing clit, eating it with a loud slurp, the sound of your wetness making you close your eyes with pleasure and shame.

“Your mouth feels so good, pretty,” Jack moans behind you, still holding your head in place while he drags his dick through your throat. Your eyes are wet with unshed tears and you feel your mouth so full it is starting to hurt. “Almost as tight as a pussy.”

It’s overwhelming to try to manage the feeling of Juraj’s tongue and Jack’s cock on you. You feel warm, your hands are gripping the table like your life depends on it, and you can feel yourself start to slip more and more.

“She’s wet enough already,” Quinn states, and the fact that he’s referring to you like you’re not even there makes you whimper loudly around Jack’s cock.

Next thing you know, you’re being manhandled again; Jack’s rough hands leave your cheeks to hold your waist instead, taking you to the nearest couch and laying down with you on top of him.

You’re facing him, those blue eyes never leaving yours. “Y/n,” he starts, his tone gentle for the first time that night. You hum, adjusting yourself on top of him, until you have both of your legs on each side of his body, almost on fours on top of him, highly aware that Quinn and Slaf could see everything. “We are going to be rough.”

“I know,” you whisper.

“I’m not asking for permission, baby, do you understand that?” He talks to you like one would do to a child, using a tone so soft it could put you to sleep, if it were any other situation. You bite your lips, feeling Slaf’s long fingers sliding up and down your pussy, rubbing circles on your swollen clit while Jack speaks. “We are going to be rough. Tonight, you’re nothing but a toy for us to play with, alright? A hole for us to fuck.”

You nod, closing your eyes momentarily as Juraj pinches your clit, hard. He tugs it and it feels like he just placed a clothespin on you. It hurts so. Good.

“I need your words, baby.”

“I u-understand that,” you sob, hot tears running freely down your face as you continue to speak. “I w-want it.”

Jack chuckles, touching your face with care. “It would be so nice if we actually cared about what you want, huh?”

You bit your lip again, suppressing a loud moan. It would be even more embarrassing if they realized how wet you got every time they were mean towards you.

“Bitch gets wetter and wetter every time you say shit like that, Hughes,” Juraj says, and your entire face burns with shame, as you hide it in the crock of Jack’s neck. “Come see this shit, Quinn.”

You tremble as you hear a pair of steps echoing through the room, and without warning, you feel your hips getting lifted, just slightly, at the same time you feel two fingers being inserted inside deeply in your pussy.

You whine loudly, not even feeling pain with how wet you were. His fingers were moving around like you were nothing but a sex doll, making you hold Jack’s arm to steady yourself.

“Look at this tight, little thing,” Juraj says, twirling his fingers around, scissoring them inside you. “Merde. She’s milking my fucking fingers, bro.”

“I can see that,” Quinn hums. “Pussy so fucking greedy she’s taking you without complaints.”

You were about to moan again when Juraj removed his fingers from you, leaving you clenching around nothing, once again. “Let’s start, then.”

After that, it’s hard to tell what really happened. You were thrown around, and suddenly, Slaf was laying under you, Quinn was standing beside you and you assumed Jack was behind you.

You could feel one of them poking their cock through your slit, gathering all your wetness to use as lube. Then, he slowly started to insert it, the stretch making you whimper inside Slaf’s mouth, as he bruised your lips roughly again.

Jack had barely given you time to adjust to his length when you felt Juraj’s tip poking at your entrance too. You gasped inside his mouth, feeling his dick joining Jack’s inside you and.

Oh.

“Fuck, Y/n.”

You opened your eyes, glistening with tears, and stared at Quinn standing beside you, who was looking at you with fond eyes. He chuckles while staring down at you, taking his dick out again and grabbing it with his right hand, running the tip over your mouth.

The salty taste of his precum painting your lips white distracted you momentarily from the fact that Juraj was still trying to put his dick inside you, accompanying Jack’s.

But it wasn’t enough, of course— even if Juraj's thick, long fingers had stretched you, it didn’t compare to having both of their cocks inside you, together.

“Oh,” you heard Quinn coo. “She’s crying. Maybe she can’t take it?”

You shook your head immediately, not even acknowledging how desperate you looked. Quinn put his thumb inside your mouth at the same time Juraj completely bottomed out inside you, making you scream around the brunette’s finger.

“Sh, sh,” Juraj mumbled under you. “Take it, hm?”

The stretch hurt, yet you couldn’t ask them to stop— you felt so full and you swear you can feel them rearranging your guts, reaching so deep inside your body that if you were to look, you’d probably see a bulge in your stomach.

“Holy shit, man,” Jack moaned, dragging his dick slowly until only the tip was in, so that he could slam it back into you again. “She’s so fucking tight.”

“Move, Hughes.” Juraj hissed under you, and after that, everything fell into a pure state of lust.

Jack and Juraj slammed their cocks inside you rhythmically, like they were dancing a well rehearsed dance. Your body jolted forward as they pounded inside you, rough hands— you didn’t know who's— holding you by your waist and pulling your hair at the same time.

Quinn, who had just been jerking his cock while looking at you, decides to take the opportunity and shove his dick inside you, making you gag around his thick length.

“Shit, Y/n,” he moans, throwing his head back. “I’m going to wreck your mouth like they’re doing with your pussy.”

And he wasn’t lying. He tilted your head to the side and thrust his dick deep inside your mouth, until your nose touched his crotch area. You gagged, still not used to the reckless act, but you were far too gone to complain.

The room smelled like sex, lust and sin. The dark walls watched as you laid on top of Juraj’s much bigger body while you took their cocks in two of your holes, with your pupils blown and wide. Your face was destroyed, it didn’t need to be a genius to realize that; your mascara had smudged under your eyes and the tears had spread the black ink almost everywhere.

Your legs hurt, and so did your jaw, but the pleasure was bigger than any pain. You had never felt this dirty, this raw before, but you feared that after this night, you wouldn’t ever be the same; nothing besides them would ever be enough.

“She feels so good,” Jack says, voice filled with need. “She was born for this.”

“Fuck, you’re right,” Juraj says, kissing your neck while you gagged around Quinn’s dick. “Born to take cock inside her tiny pussy.”

After that, you keep slipping and slipping. You come on their dicks at least twice, falling apart each time you feel your wetness coating their dicks.

Your throat is raw, your jaw is hurting, but Quinn is close to his climax, like his brother and Slaf.

Jack and Slaf are the first to come, both painting your walls white with their seed. It’s maddening, your belly feels full of them, but you don’t have time to acknowledge that properly, not when Quinn is also coming deep inside your throat.

You lay limp on top of Slaf’s broad chest, closing your eyes, tired.

But—

“Y/n, hey,” you hear Quinn calling, and you open your eyes, just barely. “Can you stand up, just for a bit?”

“Don’t let it go to waste, baby,” Juraj warns you, and you keep clenching even after they remove their dicks. It’s hard, you feel so open you should be disgusted at yourself but you still try to do as they said.

You feel a pair of hands lifting you, and you sigh, exhausted. They manhandled you until you were laying on top of the couch, head resting on your arms. A rough pair of hands— Jack’s— spread your legs open, leaving you exposed once again.

“Go on,” he commands, and you let it go, feeling their sticky cum pour out of your used, gaping pussy. You sob, feeling dirty.

“Jesus fuck.”

“I think I’m hard again.”

“Lowkey, yeah.”

You collapse on the couch once you feel like there’s nothing left, blacking out as soon as your head hits the leather.

𖧷

YOU WOKE up with a light touch on your cheek.

It takes a while for you to manage to open your eyes, but when you do, you thank whoever decided to put a yellow, warm lighting in that room.

“Hi.”

Jack’s voice brings you back to the present, and you lift your head, only then realising that you were in his lap, fully clothed— with clothes that weren’t yours— and covered with something heavy that felt like a blanket.

You frowned.

“What… what happened?” You ask, looking around. There was Juraj, who was placing a few takeout bags on the table, and Quinn, who was holding an old piece of cloth. “Oh my God.”

It was real. You fucked Jack, Juraj and Quinn.

“Oh my God,” you groan, hiding your face in Jack’s chest.

“I hope these exclamations of yours are because you’re wearing Zegras’ hideous clothes and not because you realized you fucked the three of us.” Jack says, sarcasm taking over his face.

“Why would we do that,” you mumble. “Gosh. That’s wrong in so many ways, I can’t even begin to—”

“Y/n,” Quinn calls you, dropping the cloth on the table— the same table Juraj had eaten you out on— and walking towards you, lifting your chin with two of his fingers. “Did you enjoy it?”

“I— Well— We—” you stumbled over your words, not sure of what to say.

He applies pressure on your chin, sapphire eyes squinting at you. “Answer me, sweetheart.”

“I—” you sighed. “Yeah. I did.”

He smiled.

“Then we’re fine.” It’s all he says, before pecking your lips, briefly. It was your first time kissing him and you secretly didn’t want it to be the last.

“We liked it too,” Jack says once his brother lets you go. He winks at you, smirking. “I’ll never forget the sight of you full with my—”

You put your hand over his mouth, red as an apple. “Okay, alright, shut up.”

He chuckles, taking your hand away and kissing you, exploring your mouth with his tongue, just like his brother had done, barely two minutes ago.

“You guys are no fun,” you hear Slaf’s voice. “In my opinion, we should just keep doing this.”

“No,” you say. “This was a one time thing. We can’t keep fucking each other like this.”

“As I said, no fun.”

“She’ll change her mind in a few days, I just know it.” Jack says under you and you roll your eyes at his cockiness.

“I’m too tired to argue with you,” you say. “I smell Chinese food. Can we eat?”

“Yeah, we should probably do that,” Quinn says, nodding. “It’s late already. Let’s eat and take Y/n home.”

Juraj and Jack agree with just a few more complaints, and while you watch them take turns to feed you, you realize, with shame, that Jack was wrong about one thing.

It wouldn’t take a few days for you to change your mind.

You had already done it.

NHL MASTERLIST.

JACK HUGHES MASTERLIST.

QUINN HUGHES MASTERLIST.

[alkit832]

Exactly, dudes. Like, some people just aren't seeing the game here.

Like, they're clearly using trans folk as a scape goat and as a starting place for deconstructing literally ANY rights gained in the past over one hundred years, go after the currently vulnerable, then once they're gone, go to the new vulnerable. Trans folk are on the fringe of societal acceptance, after us, then it's bi people and ace people for being "indecisive" or "just a late bloomer" respectively, and then after them it's gays and lesbians, then black folk(although maybe they'll go after black folk before gay folk? It's a toss up assuming they're going reverse chronological since if you want to start at Stonewall and the passing of the Civil Rights Act respectively then they were both about the same time.), and then jews because by then they won't be "white enough" for them, then women, then, finally, poor people because let's be honest, all of this is in service of a class war where they want to take things back to when you had to own land to vote and could use slave labor.

They HAVE to do it like this to keep power. There NEEDS to be an enemy for them to rally because of. Why do you think Hitler went after communists and Roma alongside jews? You go after every marginalized group until only the group you're a part of remains... And then you go after people for smaller things, lest the entire system collapse from not having a concrete enemy, y'know? Like, the game is SO damned obvious, I don't see why some people can't see it.

Hells, whenever I hear someone say "oh, well you need to be like, reaching across the isle or whatever and make them understand" I'm half tempted to say "and do what? Get close to the knife weilding maniac that wants me dead?" Gods, I swear, some people just don't get it because it isn't their neck on the line. Cishet white folk really need to wrap their heads around this shit, and soon, because otherwise there's going be a lot of blood, and trust me, it won't just be marginalized folks blood.

gotta be honest with you, i'm not too sure about this thing ppl say of "conservatives" being irrationally opposed to "trans people just existing" or whatever. i guess controversial take but no they actually have very concrete reasons to oppose bodily autonomy and the destabilization of sexual roles we represent considering their views on sex/gender and social reproduction overall actually. obviously we must oppose those views as they are 1. wrong and 2. oppressive but like. it's not like they just chose a random minority to hate. i mean otherwise why do you think it's specifically us.

[guzhufuren]

do you have a post for wlw shows in specific? i dont mind just going through your main masterlist if not

as well, do you have any wlw shows w transfem leads? that one might be asking for too much, lol.

i don't have an asian wlw list yet, but i will make one here for you bun! i will only be including shows that pass my personal minimum standard for dramas. all shows are sorted in a recommended watching order

WLW

1. She Loves to Cook and She Loves to Eat neighbours; self-discovery; food; comfort watch

Nomoto loves to cook, but tends to make too much food and has no one to share it with. Luckily for her, turns out her neighbor Kasuga has a big enough appetite for the both of them.

No international streaming available, translated to english by Furritsubs, S1 & S2, watching instructions provided, consider supporting the translator on kofi.

2. The Loyal Pin period drama; princess/noble lady; childhood friends to lovers; forbidden romance

A love story set in 1950s Thailand, about naughty but charming Princess Anilaphat and prim but kind Lady Pin, who are close friends and have grown up together.

YouTube

3. Uranus2324 movie; sci-fi; astronaut/diver

Story of Lin, an astronaut who is about to embark in a remarkable space mission and Kath, a passionate free diver who is willing to defy the limits of time and space just to meet with her lover over and over again.

Netflix of South Asian countries (can be accessed with VPN)

4. Petrichor crime; investigation; cop/forensic doctor

Lieutenant Tul, a rookie officer and Dr Cherran, a physician from the Institute of Forensic Sciences, become reluctant partners.

iQIYI

5. 23.5 high school setting; secret admirer

Ongsa moves to a new school and meets Sun, a cute popular girl who she immediately falls for. However, she decides to approach Sun in instagram dms under the pseudonym Earth, leading Sun to believe she's talking to a guy. But Ongsa does not want to lose the opportunity to talk to Sun, so she decides to keep the fact that she is a girl a secret and continue talking as Earth.

YouTube

6. Ayaka Is In Love With Hiroko office setting; comedy; misunderstanding

Ayaka, a young office worker, is madly in love with her senior team leader, Hiroko. As Ayaka tries to make her attraction known, Hiroko consistently misreads the situation, thinking that Ayaka is a straight girl.

GagaOOLala

7. Soul Sisters period drama; wuxia; crossdressing; arranged marriage

Gu Jinyu has disguised herself as a man since childhood. While undercover, she is kidnapped by Bai Yunxi, the sweet but clumsy heiress, and forced into a marriage. The two form an unexpected partnership to save the failing stronghold, facing rival plots, enemies, and challenges.

iQIYI. *Because of chinese laws demanding censorship of queerness, the romance is censored and toned down to sapphic homoerotism for the show to be able to be broadcast. Nevertheless it's pretty obviously meant to be a romance.

8. Couple of Mirrors period drama; socialite/assassin

You Yi is a kind-hearted socialite and a successful author. Her perfect life is turned upside-down when she discovers a betrayal by the two most trusted people in her life. With no one left to turn to, she finds refuge in the friendship and support of Yan Wei, a lonely female killer disguised as the owner of a photo studio. YouTube. the show doesn’t have a happy ending, but it can be a happy ending for you if you stop watching at episode 12 timestamp 28:02. *Adapted from an explicitly queer novel, the show is undeniably and obviously queer, but nevertheless the queer romance part is censored.

9. Affair childhood friends to lovers; love triangle

A girl's life is upended by family bankruptcy. Her best friend becomes a source of comfort. They get separated, but years later they reunite, reigniting old memories and feelings amidst changed circumstances.

YouTube & iQIYI

10. Us love triangle

Dokrak crosses paths with an older dentistry student Pam during her coffee shop shift and gradually develops a crush. When her brother Kawi meets Pam, he falls for her at first sight. Kawi turns to Dokrak, asking her to play matchmaker and Dokrak agrees.

YouTube

11. The Secret of Us exes to lovers

Dr. Fahlada guards her heart due to a past love, rendering her unable to open up again. Her situation becomes complicated when she has to work with Earn, her ex girlfriend, who has come to work with her at the hospital.

Netflix & Ch3+

12. Pluto twins; blind character

Twins Ob-oom and Ai-oon are worlds apart until Ob-oom's wedding, when she tasks Ai-oon with breaking up her affair with May. A tragic turn leaves the newlywed comatose, and Ai-oon must carry out the request, only to find May is blind. And fall in love with her.

YouTube

13. Reverse 4 You superpowers

One sister foretells the future, and the other controls time. When a promised love seems doomed to tragedy, the pair sets out to change fate itself.

Netflix

14. She Makes My Heart Flutter bar setting; niece and aunt dynamic

The extroverted Gang Seol is hired by her aunt Jung at her only-women bar. Even though they are both lesbians, they seem to be worlds apart and have very different love stories.

YouTube

15. Sleep With Me radio; disabled character in a wheelchair

A science textbook writer with a sleep disorder meets a wheelchair-using radio host who runs the midnight shift. This chance encounter at the radio station quickly sparks their interest in each other.

GagaOOLala

16. GAP The Series office setting; boss/employee; class difference

Long after Sam first came to Mon's rescue when they were kids, Sam is unambiguously Mon's idol. In order to be near Sam, Mon gets a job working under her. When they finally meet again at the office, Mon is surprised by Sam’s icy exterior, so different from the image she'd had of her. Mon and Sam aren't just different in demeanour; they stand apart in class and age.

YouTube

17. Lucky My Love office setting

In the pursuit of love, Nabdao has been doing everything. She has got her fortune read. She's gone on a string of blind dates. Unfortunately, no one seems to be on the same page as her. She starts to think that perhaps her gorgeous and caring boss Pheem could be the one for her. Then Vela, her new team leader, comes into the picture and shakes things up with her observant and affectionate care.

YouTube

18. Show Me Love beauty pageants

Meena moves to Bangkok to achieve her singing dreams. She chances across Cherine who asks Meena to join her in a beauty pageant. The girls' journey for the crown begins and a romance between them sparks.

YouTube

19. My Marvellous Dream Is You magical dreams; actress/personal stylist

Dawan's father abandons their family to elope with a neighbor girl's father. Turns out this is Kimhan, who Dawan has been seeing in her strange yet lovely dreams for years. While they become friends in reality, Dawan hides her deeper feelings, as in her dreams their bond goes far beyond friendship. She never realizes that Kimhan shares the same dreams.

YouTube

20. Unlock Your Love

Rain locked up her heart after getting disappointed in her past relationship. However, things turn around when Love enters her life. They embark on a journey to “unlock their love.”

YouTube

21. Love Bully barwoman/heiress; obstacles

Irene and Night meet at the bar Night works in the night Irene returns from overseas, and hit it off instantly. However, their passionate relationship is threatened by meddling people who want to ruin it.

YouTube

Various chinese WLW mini web-dramas.

Various chinese WLW short films.

WLW as side couples:

1. Wedding Plan mlm wedding planner/groom; lavender marriage

Nuea is a professional wedding planner. Sailom happens to be the perfect man for Nuea based on his visual considerations for a man. But the universe has an unimaginable sense of humor as Sailom and his fiance Yiwa turn out to be Nuea's new clients.

Uncut 18+ on iQIYI or cut on Youtube & iQIYI (special episode), girls don't have high heat scenes here so you can just watch Youtube version for them

2. Love Sea mlm rich big city writer/countryside diver; class difference; wlw personal assistant/celebrity

Tongrak is a writer of popular romance novels. After travelling to countryside in search of inspiration, he chances to meet an irritating southern man Mahasamut. When they end up in bed together, however, Tongrak finds himself hooked. Tongrak has a secretary Mook and a popular actress best friend Vi. Vi enjoys ordering Mook around as if she was her own assistant.

Uncut 18+ on iQIYI or cut on Youtube

With smaller screentime there are wlw side couples in shows: Bad Buddy, I Feel You Linger In The Air (this one has period typical homophobia and assault though, so careful).

Bigger list of asian GL shows: link [tumblr post].

Transfeminine representation in asian QLs:

1. 23.5

Secondary couple are a pair of teachers, both of them trans women played by trans women. For now this is the only show that has a sapphic trans plotline, even though small.

YouTube

2. 3 Will Be Free polyamorous trio; on the run; mafia

After an unexpected event that involves sex work and mafia gangs, three individuals find themselves on-the-run together as they attempt to escape death. Important secondary character is a trans woman played by a trans female actress. Has a trans storyline in the show (the girl gets male romantic partners). Trigger warning for transphobia. YouTube

3. Secret Crush On You “nerd”/popular guy; queer friend group; university setting

A nerdy young man Toh fell in love with a popular third-year senior. Because his dream is so far from reach, observing is the only thing he could do. Toh has a queer friend group, one of them is a transfeminine/3rd gender/kathoey character Daisy. Can be a bit jarring for a western person at first, but her story is very lovely if you give this girl a chance (also gets male romantic partner).

YouTube

Noticeable small appearances of trans female characters: The Sign (the actress Yoshi was the 2019 winner of Thailand's biggest trans beauty pageant, YouTube), Not Me (YouTube), You're My Sky (Viki), KinnPorsche (iQIYI).

Sadly we aren't at a point where Thailand makes shows with trans people as leads yet, even though I so badly wish it was already a thing. But trans women and kathoey generally have supporting roles in BL and GL shows very often, so you can see them a lot in stuff! It's the transmascs who never ever appear here!

Queer shows directed by trans women and transfem people:

Anucha Boonyawatana is a trans woman and the director of Not Me, mlm show about anarchist freedom fighters (YouTube).

Golf Tanwarin is a nonbinary director and the first openly transgender person to have been elected as a member of parliament in Thailand. They were the one who submitted the thai marriage equality bill to parliament, which since then has been approved in 2024 and came in legal force 2 weeks ago. Their directing works: Love Bully (wlw, listed above), The Eclipse (mlm show about repressed boys in a corrupted school system, YouTube), Wandee Goodday (mlm boxer/doctor romcom, Viki).

Just in case, adding shows where I personally enjoyed headcanoning characters as transgirls or enby transfems sometimes:

1. Meet You At The Blossom

Romantic interest is wearing female clothes and makeup for disguise in the first episodes, and despite not passing well no one questions that this is a woman. The character is happily called "wife" by the lead character until the end of the show.

YouTube & GagaOOLala & Viki & iQIYI

2. The Sign

Main character used to be a female snake princess in his past reincarnation. Sometimes played by a female actress, sometimes by a male actor, but always referred to as a princess and wearing period thai female clothes. It's also possible to headcanon the character as a transmasc here though, it's really neat.

YouTube

Many of all these shows are free on YouTube, in other cases I recommend paying for subscriptions to show appreciation and support of content in order to get more of it in the future, but if you can't or don't want to, you can watch online on KissKH or get files from MkvDrama!

Blogs you can follow to get updates and posts specifically about asian GLs: @girlsloveupdates @glgifs

[freakattack]

Favorite obscure Mario characters?

GLOM

The light of my fucking life. As a lifelong koopalinghead and specifically iggyhead i slurped up the Nintendo Adventure Books like a slug slurps slime and obviously a connoisseur of my caliber would immediately latch onto this thing. It's a cloning machine Iggy made that turns sand into clones but more importantly it is a 15 ft tall clanking clunking contraption with googly eyes (to see what it's cloning, natch), a stack of CRT monitors that each display a different horror B-movie at all times, and a constant trail of slime oozing from its tank treads. If this is not your favorite Mario character of all time then you're an idiot.

2. DOUGHNUTEER

I might be the only person who cares about doughnuteer and I couldn't tell you why. Actually I can, it's because he reminds me of a little shrew

And I like doughnuts.

3. PIRANHA SUE

In addition to the Nintendo Adventure Books i also lapped up the corresponding Nintendo Comics System, which followed a similar continuity in the absence of more official sources of mario lore. I never appreciated piranha sue as much as I should have in my youth but after revisiting these comics a couple years ago i can safely say that she is the greatest bootleg piranha plant I have ever met and it is an honor to witness her evil human teeth. I want her in mario baseball.

4. HERMAN SMIRCH

Herman smirch is a terrible person and character but I am transfixed by his awfulness and so he is here. Growing up the Game Boy Comic was like the evil counterpart to the Nintendo Comics System, but now that I'm grown up and evil myself I can truly appreciate the depths of its depravity. The gist of Herman Smirch is that he is a shitty loser republican from new jersey who obtains a game boy that, through the will of Tatanga (who lives in the game boy), manipulates him into committing increasingly violent crimes until he has embroiled himself in an international military conflict. The game boy comic was supposed to make people want to buy the game boy but in practice placed it center stage in a slow burn of this already terrible man's spiral into insanity. What a yarn. I have shown a highlights reel of herman's wacky antics here but if you're too lazy to click that link then I at least want you to see this:

5. FRACKTAIL

Fracktail is comparatively not obscure at all but I don't care it's my list I'll cry if I want to. If I put fracktail here then I would technically be justified in also putting other mario rpg all-stars like Bowyer and TEC-XX and Valentina but I won't go that far, Fracktail can be here on their behalf. Anyway, the first time I saw this thing I screamed, because I thought I was going to have to fight it, and then it was friendly and then I loved it forever. And then a stupid bastardly clown came and destroyed everything and ruined my life but this isn't about him. I love you Fracktail and I wish you were still here. You didn't deserve that

6. HAL 9001

Moving on

7. WOOSTER

Before Toadsworth, there was Wooster. The original long-suffering butler to the Toadstools, Wooster was a Nintendo Comics System Special who presumably passed alongside the Mushroom King he served. There isn't much to say about his character beyond the typical trappings of Beleagured Butler, but there is one thing that makes him interesting to think about and that is the comic called "Wooster Quit". In "Wooster Quit", every Mario character is FLABBERGASTED because Wooster Quit, and they can't imagine a life without Wooster. So the whole comic is about everybody trying to get Wooster back and of course Wooster comes back and the status quo is restored. But the premise of casting this mario OC as an essential player in these characters' lives is funny to me in a meta sense because we very much do live a life without Wooster. We are living in a post-Wooster world. It just goes to show that no matter how obscure you are, you are important to someone. Even if that someone is me.

8. ROACHIE

Roachie is the cockroach living in Wario's brain. One morning, she crawled up his nose, which Wario was horrified by but not for the reason you might think: "Is little roachie gone for good?!?!!?" As a devout cockroach appreciator, I was touched by Wario's genuine concern for God's most darling creature. Fortunately, little roachie was not indeed gone for good, because that very night, Wario heard her walking around inside his skull. Yippie! Hooray! We can only hope that she is living a nice life up there to this day. Hope is all we have.

9. BRAWL DOLL

This will come as no surprise to those who know me, but if you don't know me: fellas, I fucking love ventriloquist dolls. Charlie mccarthy was my idol growing up. I'll never be half the dummy he was. So a wario-branded wooden doll is basically my ant bait. Brawl Doll is what Geno could have been if Square wasn't full of squares.

10. THE BEETLES 'R' US SNIFIT

They put me in a mario game

[atiyasnake]

As predicted, I wrote some more (1,143 more words). TW for mentions of blood and vomiting.

~~

On The television Gotham watched as the Joker smiled with glee at this ‘supposed Wayne’. It was hard to believe considering how many black-haired and blue-eyed children there were. Either way, it was with waited breath that they watched what was about to happen to the Joker's latest victim. 

When the Joker finally released the kid’s face he pranced around on the screen before reaching off to the side to grab something.  A modified gas makes came into view. A crude drawing with red and white paint of a familiar smile was on the front. 

With resignation, they watched as the Joker roughly put it on the boy’s face. 

__________

The mask was tight. It dug into Danny’s skin and pulled at his hair from the straps the Joker roughly pulled over his head. In comparison, it wasn’t as bad as what he had grown used to. Still, he wanted to rip the damn thing off.  

Instead, a hand gripped his hair and yanked, showing his face again to the camera. The Joker hummed before caressing his hair and then clapping with a laugh. 

“Now! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you a front-row seat to a new treat I’ve made with my dear dear friends,” the Joker said as he showboated in front of the camera while a couple of men stood off the side. 

He was getting tired of this shit. He didn’t want to be anyone’s show pony, he had enough of it with Vlad. 

The Joker kept talking with little chuckles in between, and with each one Danny clenched his jaw more and more. 

“Now let the show begin!”

Suddenly, there was a hissing sound from the mask and reflexively Danny tried to hold his breath. He had heard about the different gases in Gotham before in short mentions in the news. He’d rather not test anything. He had enough experience with all sorts of ‘concoctions’ and their ‘interesting effects’.

Though, as expected, whether it be scientists or rogues in Gotham they didn’t like to see him be stubborn. So with a snap of the Joker’s fingers, a swift punch was delivered into his gut and Danny couldn't help but gasp and try to take another breath.

A sickly sweet and rotten smell filled his nose, making him gag which only made it worse. 

At first, it didn’t do anything, but slowly his chest began to hurt and there was a warmth inside. The Joker laughed, monologuing to the camera and the warmth began to burn. 

Danny had already been hurting. He’s been continuously hurting for far longer than he’d care to think about. He knew the routine. He knew how this went. 

Stay quiet. 

Keep still. 

It’ll pass. 

He tried to keep telling himself this when the echoes of screams started. 

Danny didn’t know how much time passed as he just kept still. The fire was burning underneath his skin and he could feel it leaking out of his nose and mouth. There were still men around and the red dot of a camera looking towards him. He kept quiet and a bigger hand grabbed his hair, pulling it enough to make his neck strain as he was still tied down to the chair. 

Then suddenly shadows rained down with shattering glass and all hell broke loose. 

The hand retreated but another pulled his chair down and he fell to his side, his head knocking into the ground. Another point where fire leaked out while the mask dug into his cheek. He could only watch around him. 

There was yelling and laughter. The sound of crackling of electricity sent phantom spasms down his limbs as the echo of screams reached a higher pitch. 

There were so many shadows moving around. The grunting sound of bodies surrounded him.

At some point, he felt the restraints fall away but still, he didn’t move. 

Be still. Be still. Be still. Be still bestill bestill bestillbestill bestillbestillbestill. 

Except a hand was reaching for his face. 

The mask straps tugged at his hair as it was slipped off. It no longer dug into his face. The gas was taken away. Except whenever they take away the mask it's for something worse. They lure you into a false sense of relief only to rip it away. So he did what he always did. 

He got his mouth on the closest hand near his face and he bit down.

They hated when he did that in the lab. They’d scream for ‘it’ to let go. He never let go unless they made him. 

Danny knew how this went. He clenched his jaw shut harder and felt something begin to give beneath his teeth. He couldn’t taste whatever it was given his mouth full of his own burning blood. He still didn’t let go. 

He could barely see past it all but he would not let go. He couldn’t, he was burning inside and out and the screams were pulling at him. Hands were reaching out to him but then there was an explosion and they were blown back. 

His body rolled and he caught himself hitting something before scrambling onto all fours. Fire was licking at his throat and he couldn’t stop it from coming up. He hacked and coughed as something wet and hot filled his mouth. The taste of iron and the sight of red on his skin were far too familiar. 

It was ironic. This weird ‘concoction’ seemed to make him bleed just like the lab did. Just when Danny thought he finally got away. He chuckled. 

Light and shadows danced off to the side. Two of them looked like they had pointy ears and one of those looked like it had wings. They moved swiftly and gracefully around each other, never straying too far as if they were bound back together by some unseen force. 

Huh. 

The light caught on something and Danny found himself looking at the camera, its red light still lit. His limbs shook as he grabbed the camera, it was surprisingly high quality and he couldn't help but laugh lightly. Still, the button to turn it off was the same.  Someone was running towards him and he threw the camera chuckling again when it hit their head and they dropped though he had to stop when he coughed up more blood that burned. 

It hurt.

The room wouldn’t stop shifting as the colors warped around him with stains of black. His chest was in agony and pressing his head against the floor and curling up wouldn’t stop it. The whispers and screams were coming back again, reaching out to grab a hold. His throat kept spasming with each cough that wouldn’t let him get rid of the taste of iron. 

He couldn't do anything but let the agony and darkness take hold. 

Be still. Be quiet. 

It’ll pass.

Shrodinger's BatCat Child

DP x DC Prompt

When Selina was pregnant with her's and Bruce's child, she was thinking of settling down and raising the child. But when she had given birth to the boy, someone had broken into the hospital and stolen not only her baby but also other babies had been taken from the hospital. She tried to find out who took her baby boy but couldn't find the perpetrator.

Heartbroken at the loss of her baby, Selina masks her grief with being Catwoman. She doesn't tell Bruce about their baby boy, even after the new boy that goes under the Bats wing. She does treat each new Robin as if they were her own son. She talks to Harley about what had happened when Damian comes into the fold, where she then reveals that she had a baby with Bruce to the man and what happened to their baby after a few sessions with Harley.

Danny is on the run from Amity, from the Fentons, from the GIW, and from Vlad. The Fentons found out about him being Phantom and attacked him. They then teamed up with the GIW to hunt him down. He doesn't want to go to Vlad, as the Fruitloop is slowly becoming more and more crazy to get him to become his son and slowly focusing less and less on Maddie.

He heads to Gotham, as the city spirit, when she was chosen to be part of his court because of her knowledge and power, had told him that he was one of hers, a child born in Gotham to a woman that wasn't Maddie, Catwoman, and that's also how he found out that he's the son of Batman as well, because Lady Gotham gave him that answer as well, but she didn't tell him their real names. He just hopes that his mom and dad will be happy to learn that their son is still (mostly) alive and on his way to them.

And then Danny is caught by the Joker. He couldn't put up that much of a fight as he used up a lot of Ectoplasm escaping the lab he was in. Tucker's family moved away during middle school, and so did Sam's family when the start of high school came, Jazz had returned from college to help him escape the lab he was held in, but had to go back if she wanted to keep the scholarship.

The Batfam was having a family day out in Gotham. Bruce and Selina were engaged and wanted to bond as a family. Then Joker began broadcasting across Gotham.

"Hello Gotham! Today, I have a special guest with me"

The camera panned to a boy tied up in a chair, head hanging low.

"Brucie Boy seems to have forgotten to mention that he has another brat to call his own, so I took it upon myself to inform you all about him!"

When Joker grabbed the face of the boy and showed it to the camera, the entire Batfam tensed. Because the boys face had the features of both Bruce and Selina, the cuts, bruises, and blood on the boys face couldn't hide that fact, and now they need to find the boy to save him from what Joker has planned for their son.

[paddockletters]

study session | charles leclerc

summary: charles misses you (not that he’d admit it), but when studying keeps you too distracted, he finds a way to steal your attention. request: yessss! thank you hope y’all like it

Charles has always been needy when it comes to you. He won’t admit it, of course, but the evidence is clear.

Like now—where he’s supposedly at your apartment to “keep you company” while you study, but in reality, he’s just here to be a menace.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, textbooks and notes spread around you, highlighter tucked between your fingers as you try to focus. Charles, meanwhile, is sprawled across your bed, bored out of his mind.

"Are you done yet?"

You don’t even look up. "No, Charles."

A beat of silence.

"How about now?"

You sigh, highlighting another sentence. "No."

Another pause. Then, he groans dramatically. "This is torture. I came all this way just to be ignored?"

"You came here on your own," you remind him, flipping a page.

"You should be grateful,” he mutters. “Most people would kill for my presence.”

"Lucky me." You snort.

You don’t have to look up to know he’s pouting. And then—silence.

Suspicious silence.

You finally glance up, only to choke on air.

Charles is standing in the middle of your room, pulling his shirt over his head.

“Go on, doctor,” Charles smirks, stretching as he leans back on his hands. "Start your examination."

You refuse to look at him. Absolutely not. You have textbooks to read, notes to review, an exam to pass.

“Charles,” you grit through clenched teeth, gripping your pen just a little too hard. “Put your shirt back on.”

“What?” He blinks, feigning innocence. "You need a realistic study session, no?"

You groan, slamming your textbook shut and covering your face with it. “You’re impossible.”

Charles just laughs and that makes your stomach flip. He’s doing this on purpose.

You peek over your book, only to find him watching you, amused. His entire posture is relaxed, like he has all the time in the world to mess with you. And he does—he always does this when he’s bored, finding new ways to distract you, tease you, get under your skin.

“So where’s my most important bone?” he teases, tilting his head as if he’s actually being helpful.

Your brain malfunctions.

“W-What?”

“My most important bone,” Charles repeats, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I assume you know where it is, no?”

Your eyes widen, and Charles’ smirk only grows as he watches your mind go straight to hell.

“You are—” you huff, trying to shove him away, but he catches your wrist, grinning.

“Careful, doctor.” He tuts playfully. “You wouldn’t want to hurt your patient, would you?”

Your patience is hanging by a thread.

“You are not my patient,” you mutter.

Charles hums, pretending to think. “But I could be. Imagine, I come in with an injury, and you have to take care of me. You’d be so gentle, no?”

You swallow hard. “You’re so annoying.”

Charles leans in way too close, looking entirely too smug for someone who’s supposed to be helping you study. “I just like being a good student. Ask me anything.”

You sigh. “Fine. What’s the largest bone in the body?”

Charles opens his mouth, then closes it. “Uhhhh—”

You smirk. “You don’t know, do you?”

“I do,” he says defensively. “It’s… the leg one.”

You roll your eyes. “The femur, dumbass.”

Charles gasps dramatically. “You’re such a mean doctor.”

“I’d be a lot nicer if you actually let me study.”

Charles grins, but before he can retort, your phone vibrates with a text.

You glance at Charles, only to find him reading over your shoulder, his eyes narrowing at the texts.

“Who’s texting you?” he asks, far too casual.

You lock your phone. “No one.”

Charles squints at you. “No one?”

“No one,” you repeat firmly.

A pause. Then—

“Is it that med student you always talk about?”

Your head snaps up. “What?”

“That guy,” Charles says, crossing his arms. “The one you’re always studying with.”

You blink. “You mean Liam?”

“Oh, so his name is Liam.”

“Charles,” you say slowly, biting back a laugh. “Are you jealous?”

Charles scoffs. “No.”

You grin. “You totally are.”

“I’m not,” he insists, jaw clenching.

You lean in slightly, smirking. “Charles, you’re jealous.”

Charles avoids your gaze, muttering something in French under his breath. He’s 100% jealous.

You tilt your head playfully. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I don’t even like Liam like that?”

Charles perks up immediately. “You don’t?”

“No,” you laugh.

Charles nods once, clearly pleased. Then, without missing a beat—

“So I’m your favorite?”

You stare. “That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant.”

“Oh my God.”

He grins. “Just admit it, doctor. I’m your favorite patient.”

You groan, shoving him off the bed.

Charles lands with a thud, laughing as he sprawls out on your bedroom floor like he doesn’t have a care in the world. You, however, are one exasperated breath away from throwing your textbook at his stupidly perfect face.

“I’m trying to study,” you remind him, pointing at your notes as if that’ll make him take you seriously.

Charles, still lying on your floor, stretches his arms above his head, shamelessly showing off the definition in his abs. “And I’m trying to help.”

“You’re being a menace.” You roll your eyes, refusing to look.

“I like that you think I’m distracting.” He smirks.

You groan. “You’re insufferable.”

Charles props himself up on his elbows, watching you. “Come on, just admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That I’m your favorite.”

You don’t answer.

Because the problem isn’t that he’s wrong.

The problem is that he’s absolutely right.

Charles has been your favorite for a long, long time. But admitting that? Giving him the satisfaction? Not happening.

“I’m not answering that,” you mumble, flipping through your notes as if your entire body isn’t burning up from his gaze.

Charles smirks, sensing your hesitation.

“Okay,” he says, getting up and stretching once more—because apparently, he needs to remind you how ridiculously good-looking he is. Then, before you can react, he plops down beside you again, way too close, his bare shoulder brushing yours.

Your breath catches.

“Let’s do a test,” Charles says suddenly, his voice dipping slightly.

You blink. “What?”

“A test,” he repeats, his eyes glinting with something dangerous, something that makes your heart speed up. “I’ll quiz you. If you get it wrong, you admit I’m your favorite.”

You narrow your eyes. “And if I get it right?”

Charles smirks. “Then I’ll put my shirt back on.”

Your mouth opens, then closes. It’s a trap.

Because either way, you lose.

Still, your competitive streak won’t let you back down. “Fine.”

Charles grins, shifting even closer. “Alright, doctor,” he muses. “What’s the smallest bone in the human body?”

You exhale sharply, relieved. He chose an easy one.

“The stapes,” you answer confidently.

Charles tilts his head, eyes flickering with amusement. “And where is it?”

“In the middle ear.”

“Are you sure?”

You give him a pointed look. “Yes, Charles. I’m sure.”

He laughs, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. You win this round.”

You smirk. “Shirt. On. Now.”

Charles grabs his shirt… but doesn’t move to put it on. Instead, he leans in, his voice dropping into something softer, something dangerous.

“Last chance,” he murmurs. “Are you sure you don’t want to lose?”

Your brain short-circuits.

Your entire body betrays you—the way your breath hitches, the way your fingers tighten around your notes, the way you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from his mouth.

And Charles? He sees it all.

He knows.

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to look back at your textbook. “I think we’re done here.”

Charles chuckles, finally pulling his shirt over his head. “For now.”

He leans back on your bed, clearly satisfied with himself.

And you?

You pretend like you’re not thinking about his lips.

[andhumanslovedstories]

Something I've been thinking about in regards to the difficulty of writing about my job in the healthcare profession is that there's very different conversations happening at the same time. The first is that this is a job that gives us a lot of power over vulnerable people that is easy to abuse and easier to be passive about. The second is that people will never not bitch about their jobs.

What if a customer service job was high-stakes? That's nursing. It's not the only part of nursing, but cmon, anyone who has worked a public-facing job knows how some people can be. Hospitals are full of people having the worst days of their lives while also being tired, hungry, lonely, and bored.

Plus, it's not just the general population you're dealing with. Hospitals have a disproportionate amount of very difficult people. To draw some examples from my own direct experience: the dementia patient had become too violent to stay at home (unfortunately common), infected chronic wound guy who is so racist that his facility will not take him back, confused patient who screams unceasingly 24 hours a day until she passes out, sexually inappropriate guy who needs two caregivers at all time, another racist patient but this time they're also sexist, banned from multiple shelters for assaulting the staff, etc. Or what might be the most common: person who is too sick to go home alone but no one they know will agree to take care of them. Like, have any of you cut off horrible relatives or abusive partners? People who were in whatever way unacceptable to be around? Would you like to take care of them? And you KNOW they're also not doing any of the stuff that would help them heal so it seems like they will never leave.

I think the gap between healthcare as a Duty versus as a Job contributes to hostile conversations. When you're complaining about your Job ("that moment when you let a call light ring for a while in the hopes someone else answers this time because that patient is annoying as hell"), it's frustrating to get a response that solely looks at the situation through the lens of a Duty ("all patients deserve the same level of care and shouldn’t be ignored.") And it's also frustrating to have these legitimate criticisms ignored or disputed because people are like "it's not that serious, calm down, let nurses vent." And it’s also frustrating to feel so intensely monitored in your free time because of your job. And it’s also frustrating to see people in their free time display qualities that seem like they would have big, negative impacts on their job.

Thinking on this topic, I keep coming back to this one memory. There was a time when I responded to a Code Blue (cardiac arrest, guy’s heart has fully stopped) and was the fifteenth or so person to arrive. The room's full of critical care nurses, I'm not the direct care nurse, the rest of the floor is quiet. So basically, I'm useless to the emergency situation. I ran into a coworker who also responded to the code. I hadn't seen her in a minute, so we caught up. She showed me the new stickers on her water bottle. I don’t remember the exact sticker, but I believe it was a nacho-based pun. It was a pleasant chat.

Meanwhile during this entire conversation, within eyesight of where we are because we’re waiting around to see if we’re needed, people are trying to bring a patient back from the dead. What was happening in that room is life-or-death--to the patient. For me, it was an interlude during a forgettable shift. I only remember that code because the discrepancy between what I was experiencing and what the patient was experiencing was so stark. I don't even remember if the patient survived or not.

None of the patient’s family was there. If they had been, we would have removed ourselves further or not talked so casually. Probably. But if the spouse was there, it would be so insanely insensitive if we tried to include the patient's spouse in our chat about fun stickers. If me and that nurse had been casually in a different hallway chatting, it would be very abrupt for the patient's spouse to walk into our conversation and explain how the patient's death would be so hard on the kids. One of these examples is way more sympathetic and understandable than the other. And I want that spouse to feel comfortable coming up to me and discussing that! That’s part of my job! But also, you can get why that would be a distressing interruption to a moment of downtime.

In both cases, the people in the conversation couldn't be further apart in tone and investment. Neither of us are being bad people. We just should not be talking to each other. And the nature of the Internet and public posting is sometimes talking about my job feels like it's me, my coworker, the spouse, and the revived but severely affected patient in single group chat.

[sukunasluvrr]

DILF!kuna who was the father of your teen daughters friend. Uraume was a timid person around others but visibly good raised by the older and rather intimidating guy

DILF!kuna who didn’t make much conversation whenever you picked up your daughter from his place after sleepovers, the simple “hi, I’m here to pick up my kid” and him calling uraume over to let them know and simply saying your goodbyes was all it ever was. Nobody could deny Sukuna looked good. God, his voice alone was enough to make your thighs squeeze together in silence and whenever his muscles flexes you swore he did it on purpose to taunt you, especially when he walked around without a shirt at home- of course only when your kid wasn’t around.

DILF!kuna who one day reached out to you privately, which kind of surprised you and at the same time made you think something bad happened, only for him to ask you out on a date the next time your kids had a sleepover at his place. Who would pass up that chance tho?

DILF!kuna who turns out to be a really sweet man, sure he looks big and scary but he ended up paying for your meal and was acting cocky yet kind to you the whole night. He does know how to treat his women after all.

DILF!kuna who ended up fucking you in the backseats of his car because he was too impatient to get back to your place, pressing you face down ass up into the leather seats and thrusting into from behind, leaving you a babbling mess with drool leaving your lips in a way you barely noticed until he called it out

“Awww look at you!! Already cockdrunk, hm? Seems like you never got it this good then”

And to prove his point, he only pushed deeper into you, leaning down and his hand snaking around to give your clit a few swirls, wanting to feel you tighten and loosen up around his thick girth with each flick of his finger

“How about I give you a baby hm? You want that? Be all swollen because of me? Become a mom for a second time, sweet thing??”

You could barely register his words, the only thing you could hear were the words ‘give you a baby’ and ‘sweet thing’ and god his dick was cruel. Repeatedly hitting your g-spot and making you leak fluids down your slick, stretched hole and smear all over your skin and his balls

“Mfff, y-yes!!!”

He actually laughed at your response. Laughed at how dazed you sounded

“That’s it. Give you a bunch of brats, hm? Bet you’ll look good, saw the- Fuck. Saw some pics of you pregnant”

You didn’t know where he saw them, figuring he saw them on your moms Facebook page, which only left you to wonder how he knew your moms name. But that’s a concern for later, his pace becoming more relentless the more he felt your cunt squeeze around him, not caring how much the car was shaking, not caring if they’d get fined with a ticket, all he could care about was your sweet pussy gripping his dick like a vice. His free hand grabbing a hold of your ass cheek to spread it a little so he could try and slide even deeper into you, his sack making contact with your clit which made a gasp leave your lips, mixed with more moans of your pleasure. His own groans were lingering around the cramped space, praising you and sweet talking you while his dick was ruining your insides for any other man, making sure your inner walls moulded to his hefty girth and make it impossible for any other man to pleasure you like he did. You didn’t know if you were whimpering from the stretch that came with the new angle, or the way his thumb was wiping over your asshole

“I feel like every part of you is cute… god- even your little hole here is tempting”

And he had half the mind to slip his thumb in, but he didn’t. Focusing his movement inside your cunt and the hand that was still on your clit, giving mean circles over it that had your back arching further and thighs twitching

“I need you to cum for me sweet thing, make me proud eh”

And like a slut you did… moaning his name as you came messily around his dick, he had a shit eating grin on his face as he gave a a few more pumps of his hips before he let out a sound that almost sounded like a whimper, ending up cumming deep inside your cunny and groaning in satisfaction as he felt himself fill you up with his seed. Seeming lost in his own world while he kept himself quiet but not pulling out just yet, leaning down against and burying his face in the crook of your neck and kissing over your sweaty skin, the older man being almost completely able to wrap around you

“Mhm… how about you move in with me? Brats would love it I bet”

[yungistiny]

camgirl ═ chapter three

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter three: beautiful mess

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summary: mingi just really needs some cash and he was told all he had to do was hold a camera. simple enough. he just didn’t anticipate the type of content he’d be helping to create

warning: emo mingi, stoner mingi, switch mingi, switch reader, mingi is hung, creampie, unprotected sex, choking, spanking, masturbation, rough sex, degradation, size kink, spitting, deep throating

pairing: mingi x afab/reader

genre: smut, angst, drama, romance

word count: 5.2k

chapter one

chapter two

chapter four coming soon

masterlist

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Wooyoung let himself inside y/n house with the spare key she had given him. Rain poured outside as he kicked his shoes off, dragging his feet into the living room where his best friend sat on the couch, Gladiolus, the giant cat perched on the back of it.

Y/N glanced up at Wooyoung from where she sat with her favorite hot pink grinder in her hand. “Did you get any?” She arched a brow at him. Wooyoung grinned, pulling the neon green baggy from his hoodie pocket.

“Come on, you took all day!” Y/N had been waiting for Wooyoung for hours, it was Wednesday, his off day, and he always went to see her on his off days. Always bringing her some of Johnny’s best stuff.

“I had to wait for Johnny to get back forever.” Wooyoung pouted. It’s not his fault Johnny had to go pick up some new stuff from the main man. Kim Hongjoong was not the dealer to piss off so Johnny certainly wasn’t going to keep him waiting.

Y/N rolled the sleeves of her old oversized black Fall Out Boy shirt up, grabbing the black rolling tray off the glass coffee table. Wooyoung grabbed the tv remote as she started to roll a blunt, waiting for the tv to connect to the wifi before going to netflix.

Y/N grinded up a couple of buds, rolling them up into the blueberry wrap in her hands, tongue darting out to lick and seal it. “You sent Mingi to me on purpose, didn’t you?”

Wooyoung smirked, finding some horror movie to turn on. He knew y/n would realize the second she layed eyes on Mingi, that Wooyoung purposely chose him for a reason. That reason being, Mingi was exactly her type. “I didn’t see you complaining last night.”

Y/N lit and took a long hit from the blunt before passing it to Wooyoung. “You even named him.” He giggled. “Like a puppy.”

“Shut up!” Y/N shoved him, face flushed. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Mingi since she met him. It hasn’t even been a full 24 hours yet. 23 and 45 minutes to be exact.

She had texted him last night, asking him if he’s been tested recently, both of them sending each other a pic of proof. She even mentioned how she was on birth control.

Y/N only wanted to take Mingi one way and the thought alone had her needing Friday to hurry up and get there.

“My friends are having a party tonight,” Wooyoung hit the blunt, the smoke exhaling slowly out of his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick at his lip ring. “San’s gonna be there and I want a round two.” He grinned causing y/n to roll her eyes at him.

She hadn’t met this San guy yet but Wooyoung never shut up about him, especially after they had hooked up like a month ago at……

“Wait a minute…” She remembers now, she had thought Mingi’s name was familiar to her when Wooyoung had texted her about him helping her. “It was Mingi’s birthday where the two of you hooked up!”

“Yeah, I told you that.” Wooyoung shrugged hitting the blunt again as y/n was now distracted. “So…. San is his roommate?” She also remembers Wooyoung mentioning something about it when he had practically skipped into her house the day after all giddy.

“Best friend actually and also, yes.” Wooyoung cursed, hissing like a cat when he dropped a fiery ash on his pants, smacking at it. “Will Mingi be there?” Y/N hoped she didn’t sound that interested but clearly she did from the way Wooyoung smirked at her knowingly. “Mingi never misses a party.”

Y/N grabbed the blunt back from him, heart racing at the thought of seeing Mingi outside of… well, what he was helping her with. “We should go.”

Wooyoung giggled. “Of course we should!”

What he failed to mention however was that the friend throwing a party was Mingi.

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“Hoshi and Dk just got here and they’ve already almost caught the bathroom trash on fire.” San sounded exasperated after getting back from locking Byeol up in his bedroom.

Mingi snorted from where he was pouring himself and Jaehyun shots of soju. “It’s not funny.” San huffed as he shoved past an already drunk Boo Seungkwan who was busy singing loudly over the song blasting from the tv, the remote working as a microphone.

“Put that down!” San pointed a finger at Hoshi who had picked up a stool from the small kitchen island, holding it over his head as loud knocking banged at the front door of the apartment. He walked over, shaking his head at the chaos of their friends and opening the door, face flushing red at the sight of Wooyoung.

“Sannie!” Wooyoung beamed at him, throwing his arms around him dramatically. San caught him, gaze now catching sight of the girl behind Wooyoung. “Hi.” He greeted her politely, never having met her before. She was dressed in ripped skinny jeans, black converse, the black lacy bralette visible under the sheer black shirt and cropped dark red leather jacket.

“Y/N, this is San!” Wooyoung pulled away from him, reaching back and grabbing y/n hand, pulling her with him inside the apartment. “Here,” San helped her out of her jacket, hanging it up in the small closet beside the door.

Y/N thanked him, removing her shoes, eying the apartment, taking in the scent of strawberry coming from the pink candle lit on the coffee table in the open living room where Seungkwan was singing along with a girl she didn’t know.

“Y/N…” Seungkwan froze when he saw her, blushing and fidgeting. “I…. I didn’t know you would be here.” Last time he saw her he had dropped her camera, stuttering and hard in his pants before she could even get started on her stream.

“Hi,” the other girl waved at her, flaming red hair up in two pigtails. “I’m Yuqi, it’s nice to finally have another girl around these idiots.”

“Hey!” San pouted causing Yuqi to roll her eyes. “Except you San.” San beamed at her then, looking proud he wasn’t considered a complete and total idiot like the rest of his friends. “Trust me I’d much rather be down the hall in my room right now.”

“Wait..” y/n furrowed her brows. “this is your apartment?” San was Mingi’s roommate which meant this was where Mingi lived, not just some party he’d might be at.

San nodded at her as Wooyoung started trailing his hand up his arm. “You didn’t tell me that.” She gave a pointed look at Wooyoung who shrugged. “Must of slipped my mind.”

“Oh, hello,” Hoshi slid up in front of y/n seemingly out of nowhere. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he grinned at her, his platinum blonde hair standing out. “I’m Hoshi.”

“And I’m DK!” Seokmin appeared beside Hoshi, smirking. “We’re like a two for one special.”

Seungkwan snorted and Yuqi had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. Hoshi glared at his best friend as y/n smirked at them, the same smirk she’d given her viewers. “Not in this lifetime.”

Wooyoung cackled and San had to bite his bottom lip to retain himself from laughing. “Y/N, you want a drink?” He motioned for her to follow him towards the kitchen, leaving a now annoyed Hoshi behind to smack his best friend in the back of the head. “Why the hell would you say that?”

Mingi had his head thrown back, downing a shot of everclear, Choi Jongho and Mark Lee’s idea. The alcohol burned, his eyes closing shut and a cough leaving him. “Fuck…” he blinked his eyes back open, shaking his head.

“San,” he smirked when he saw him appear. “Take a shot,” he grinned, his best friend was a light weight. “I want to see how red your face can get.”

San glared at him, pushing Mark out of the way a little to reach the fridge. “We have a little mix of everything..” San gestured for y/n to look in the fridge and choose herself something cold to drink.

Mingi froze. His eyes following her, taking in every inch of her. She certainly looked different without all the pink. His gaze lingered at the exposed skin under the sheer black long sleeved shirt. The lacy bralette so tempting, his fingers itching to grip the black silky choker around her neck. “What are you doing here?”

“You two know each other?” San looked between them, the tension suddenly thick, heavy and hot. “Holy shit!” Jaehyun sort of whispered, semi shouted. Jongho and Mark stared at her, gulping, mouths slightly open because they all knew, well except San apparently, who y/n was.

Y/N smirked at Mingi, arching a brow at him as Wooyoung interrupted them. “She’s my friend Mingi’s working with.”

Jaehyun choked beside Mingi on his own shot of everclear. Oh, Mingi was certainly working with her.

“Oh,” San looked from Wooyoung and around everyone else in the kitchen. He had a feeling there was something he was missing. Like an inside joke he wasn’t apart of. “Please don’t fire him.”

San was a nice guy, a genuinely nice guy and y/n gave him a genuine smile in return. “Hi, y/n!” Jaehyun, Mark and Jongho all greeted her in unison causing Mingi to glare at them.

Mingi had learned quickly after his friends had arrived that all three of them plus seungkwan were failed cameramen for y/n. There was a part of Mingi that didn’t like the thought of his friends being with her, even if they had only held a camera for a short while.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about y/n all day. It was starting to drive him crazy. It’s why he had called his friends to all come over, he needed a distraction.

Now, here she was, in his apartment invading all his walls he was trying to put up which is crazy considering he’d only met her just the day before.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Mingi never got attached. He didn’t do relationships and dating. Not that he was getting attached to y/n or anything.

He was avoiding her the rest of the night and he had no idea why. At one point he had to clench his jaw and grab another bottle of soju when both Hoshi and Seokmin kept flirting with her.

Mingi needed a blunt, and not the sharing kind either. He slipped off, disappearing into his room. He slid his glasses off, placing them on his bedside table, the only light in the room coming from the red shaded lamp that sat there too.

His door left open like usual as he grabbed his stash out from under his mattress. Long fingers rolling the blunt expertly, darting his tongue out to lick and seal it.

The first exhale mixed with the alcohol in his system was already relaxing him. The second hit exhaled through his nose as he got comfortable on his bed, sitting back against the black headboard, eyes closed.

The third hit had him choking when a voice interrupted his daze.

“Are you avoiding me?” Y/N stood in the doorway of his room after asking San and using the bathroom. Mingi’s room was right across the hall, door open and he looked very enticing, very tempting the way he relaxed in his bed, blunt in hand, the scent of the weed mixing with his own.

“I’m not…” Mingi had to catch his breath from the smoke catching in his lungs. “avoiding you.” He was such a fucking liar and the way y/n arched a brow at him, lips tugging into a slight amused smirk, he knew she knew he was lying.

Y/N should definitely just get back to where everyone else was, being alone with Mingi, no camera, no one watching, was dangerous for her. He was everything she was attracted to and everything she tried to avoid.

“You want a hit?” Mingi let the words leave him before he could think. And y/n responded just as quickly before she could stop herself. “Sure.”

Y/N stepped into his room, eying the shadowed corners and the dark gray painted walls. A black record player sat atop a dark mahogany dresser. A black three tier shelf was perched on the wall with records.

A light gray ipad in a clear case sat on a small wooden desk in the corner along with a stereo and an orange tinted glass bong. A small bookshelf made out of the same dark mahogany as his dresser held mangas, some weathered at the creases indicating that Mingi loved them most.

Mingi himself watched her as she observed his sanctuary as he liked to call it before she crawled onto his bed, the black comforter pulling and twisting with her movement. He swore she did it on purpose.

Y/N got herself comfortable next to him, sitting against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of herself as she took in the gray sweatpants he wore. They left little to the imagination as her gaze lingered farther down.

“You sure you want everyone to see how much of a mess I’ll make you?”

His words had been playing in her head since he said it to her.

She knew he had to be big, he was tall, his hands were huge, his shoulders broad under his baggy shirts. And y/n didn’t know if he just wasn’t wearing any underwear or if he really was just big enough to be noticeable in sweats. It was probably both.

Mingi offered her the blunt, his black painted nails already chipping again. His hand brushed hers and he realized the last time he touched her had been when his fingers were buried inside of her.

He watched her, eyes not able to look away from her as she brought the blunt to her lips. Fuck! Why was this turning him on? He tried to shift his focus on the music echoing from the living room where now it was Hoshi and Jongho singing.

“You look different.” Mingi didn’t mean to say that out loud, he had just been thinking about it a lot though since he first saw her in the kitchen earlier.

Y/N passed the blunt back to Mingi, noticing the way he didn’t look at her, head leaned back against the headboard, eyes closed as he hit the blunt.

“What?” She arched a brow at him, accepting the pass of the blunt back to her. “Did you think I dressed head to toe in pink everyday?”

Y/N hated how attractive he was, especially the way he opened his eyes, side eyeing her. Mingi’s voice had dropped an octave deeper due to the high he was now on and y/n really hated the way it made her slightly clench her thighs together.

“Your house has pink everywhere.” Mingi argued causing y/n to roll her eyes as she handed him the blunt back. “I like pink, it’s my favorite color. It also helps people not to recognize me easily when I look the exact opposite offscreen.”

Mingi faced her then, letting his eyes travel from her eyes that were outlined with the darkest black eyeliner to the valley of her breast he could see displayed in the bralette under the sheer shirt.

Y/N felt her breath hitch when his finger dipped between her skin and the black choker around her neck, curving his index finger to tug at the choker a little, it tightening with his intrusion. “You should wear this Friday.”

Mingi was losing himself, it felt like he was under some kind of spell around her. He took another hit of the blunt, holding it back out to her and smirking when she froze for a second, she really wanted him to pull at her choker again.

Y/N grabbed the blunt, it was pretty much gone, and took a long last hit, the smoke filling her lungs as Mingi pouted. “You finished it.” He always liked to get the last hit.

Mingi sat up abruptly when y/n crawled into his lap, straddling him, the blunt now burnt out and placed on his rolling tray on his bedside table. “What are you doing?” His hands instantly went to her hips, gripping them and stifling a moan when her ass practically grinded against him.

Now he really wished he would have worn some underwear under the sweatpants he had on because he was sure there was no way she wasn’t feeling his length, the hardness of him against her.

And she certainly did feel it, certainly big like she had suspected. Y/N gripped Mingi’s chin, moving her face closer, lips brushing his.

Mingi realized what she was doing, opening his mouth a little to allow her to blow the smoke she had kept locked in her own and fuck did he get harder.

“Mingi? Have you seen…” San gasped, avoiding his eyes from them. Why did Mingi never shut his damn door? “Y/N, Seungkwan and Yuqi are looking for you, wondering if they can catch a ride with you back to your side of the city.”

Mingi could slap the shit out of his best friend in that moment. “Sure.” Y/N voice sounded so much like it had the day before on the livestream, all breathy, full of lust and Mingi felt his dick twitch.

Y/N crawled out of his lap, sliding off his bed, smiling at San and turning to smirk back at Mingi. “I’ll see you Friday.”

San watched y/n walk back up the hall and into the living room, turning his amused and slightly exasperated gaze back onto his best friend. “I thought I told you not to sleep with her?”

Mingi groaned, his dick aching in his sweats. “I haven’t.” He sighed, a small lopsided smile pulling at his lips.

“Yet.”

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By the time Friday had arrived both Mingi and Y/N were so sexually frustrated that they both woke up in a bad mood.

First, Thursday, Mingi’s dad pissed him off. He had found out that Mingi’s mom sent him money, money he sent back mind you!

Then he had to do the one thing that really pissed Mingi off. Compare him to his older brother.

”You’re 25 years old Mingi. By the time your brother was your age he was already married and helping me run the restaurant.”

Mingi was not his older brother and never would be. And he hated when someone compared them. Don’t get him wrong, he loves his older brother but he had been compared to him his entire life.

Second, Thursday, Y/N step mother decided to visit her. Of course, like always, her step mother had to scold and berate her over every little thing.

“I swear, this is your father’s fault! He spoiled you too much, him and your grandmother. Every choice you make is in poor taste. Always dressed so dreary, not even trying to settle down! You’re 25 years old, don’t you think it’s time to grow up?”

By the time it was time for them to meet up, Mingi was running late, sleeping half the day away and then waking up to jump into the shower. He didn’t even have time to get high before leaving, no time to relax his irritation.

Y/N was growing irritated with Mingi now, huffing when he was becoming well of half an hour late. She started to think that maybe he had changed his mind, perhaps he wouldn’t show up at all?

But of course he showed up. Mingi needed to lose himself, cloud his mind and y/n was the perfect distraction. “You’re late.” Y/N had her arms folded across her chest that was covered by an oversized vintage Metallica shirt. Her voice having a bite to it that only turned Mingi on.

“Well let’s get started then.” He kicked his shoes off, pulling his oversized black Diesel hoodie off, tossing it onto her couch where her cat decided to curl up into it.

Y/N gaze lingered on his arms and the way the black tank top fit him, ascentiuating his waist. And y/n could have sworn he had the sluttiest waist she’s ever seen on a man.

Mingi followed her up to her room, smirking when he noticed she had worn the choker just like he had made sure to wear those gray sweatpants he noticed she liked.

Being in her room made Mingi realize what was going to happen and fuck did he need it. He could feel himself growing harder just thinking about being in her mouth.

“You can sit the camera up over there.” Y/N gestured towards a stand that was angled towards her bed.

Mingi waited for y/n to finishing getting ready, his eyes not leaving her once as she pulled her underwear down her legs, this time a black lacy pair.

His gaze was so dark, filled with so much need and lust it was suffocating as he watched her grab the same little pink vibrator she had used the last time. Mingi knew the second she had him in her mouth he was gonna lose it.

There’s no way he was gonna be able to just let her suck his dick and then go home. Mingi felt like he was on a high when he was around her. Getting that same euphoric haze he got after smoking weed or eating a handful of edibles.

He felt like he was on autopilot turning the camera on, getting the stream started, anxious to have her already and didn’t give a shit how many watched.

Y/N greeted the viewers, that sweet, innocent smile on her face. Fuck, Mingi wanted to ruin her. He wanted to mark her. He wanted to feel her so good she’d be drunk on him for days.

Mingi watched her, easing closer towards her with the camera, his gaze not leaving her breasts hidden behind the black lacy bra she had on.

“Spike?”

Mingi blinked, meeting her gaze and realizing she had been talking to him amidst his daze. “What?” His voice was deep, unrecognizable to his own ears.

Y/N had to keep from glaring at him. He had been distracted the entire time, like her words were going through one ear and out the other. “Are you joining me or not?” There was a bite to her voice again and Mingi seemed to snap out of his daze.

Y/N watched him take the camera over to the stand, moving it closer towards the bed and angling, zooming in slightly.

She felt some of her irritation leave her when Mingi pulled his black tank top off, tossing it in the computer chair. He was so toned, his abs perfectly outlined, a light happy trail from his belly button disappeared under the waistband of his sweats.

Mingi didn’t even try hiding his face, he didn’t care who saw him. He actually felt a bit of adrenaline at all those watching would see him have her.

Y/N felt her heart start racing when Mingi kneeled on the bed in front of her, still towering over her as he slipped two of his fingers under her choker, pulling her towards him.

“You know…” Mingi tugged at the choker and used his other hand to grip her chin, thumb brushing her bottom lip. “I don’t think you can fit me in there.”

Y/N clenched her thighs together, forgetting about the stream as soon he touched her. A moan escaped her when the little pink vibrator started, the viewers already sending in, ready for them to get started.

“First…” Mingi pulled both his hands back, fingers tracing the straps of her bra before sneaking around and unhooking it expertly. He wanted to dive in, take his time for both of her perfect fucking tits but right now he was needy.

He smirked at the dazed look in y/n eyes, her hand reaching for the waistband of his sweats. He wasn’t the only needy one. Her breathy words that came tumbling from her lips made Mingi lose it. “Please fuck my face.”

Mingi stepped off the bed, standing right at the foot of it and held y/n gaze as he pulled his sweats down, pooling at his feet. He was big, y/n felt herself clenching around nothing, aching suddenly, aching to know what it would feel for him to stretch her. To fill her.

Y/N slid across the bed to him, the vibrator suddenly pulsing faster as she laid down before him on her stomach and elbows, looking up at him, face level with his hard dick.

Mingi tangled a hand into her hair, pulling her head back further. “Open your mouth.” His voice was deep and dominant. She did as he told her to in an embarrassing quickness. Instantly doing as he commanded.

She blinked, gasping, when he spit down into her mouth. “Show me.” Mingi tugged at her hair and y/n moaned, holding her tongue out where his spit was.

“I’m gonna make sure you fit every single inch,” he gripped himself in his free hand. “and I’m not gonna stop until you feel me…” he let his grip in her hair go, trailing his fingers to the back of her neck inching up to where the back of her throat would be. “right here.”

Y/N wasted no more time with his slight teasing, tongue darting out to lick up the length of him, tracing the veins of his dick like she was trying to paint a masterpiece.

“Fuck.” Mingi once again gripped her hair, tugging it a little harsher then before, his dick twitching, precum leaking from the tip which y/n licked clean. “Stop teasing.”

Y/N reached out, gripping at his thighs to brace herself as she brought his tip into her mouth, sucking and lapping at it with her tongue. A guttural moan left Mingi as he now tangled both his hands into her hair, gripping tightly as he pulled her head back. “Remember what I told you when you asked for this?”

“You sure you want everyone to see how much of a mess I’ll make you?”

Of course y/n remembered! She couldn’t get his teasing words out of her head. “Then make a fucking mess out of me.” She snapped at him, bratty and impatient. Mingi groaned, his dick twitching and bobbing at her chin. Well, if that’s what she wants….

She gagged as soon as he thrusted himself into her mouth, his tip pushing past her gag reflex, tapping the back of her throat and y/n had to take a moment to breathe through her nose, his dick heavy on her tongue, filling her mouth and throat full.

Mingi swore right then and there he’d never again see anything better then y/n choking on him. “Look at you, Princess….” Y/n felt the vibrator hit the highest pulse, sending her into a moaning mess around him, tears pooling into her eyes by the stretch of him. “are you struggling?”

He was teasing her now, pulling his length almost all the way back out of her mouth only to thrust it back in.

Mingi was a fucking menace and y/n had never been more turned on.

He allowed her a little time, a few more thrusts and strokes to adjust to him before Mingi started a fast pace, dick buried as far in her throat as it could go, her nose meeting his pelvis every time, spit drooling out the creases of her mouth. The most sinful and lewd noises echoing from the constant gag and Mingi’s deep moans.

Y/N felt herself close, the vibrator and Mingi’s moans about to send her over the edge and her poor aching clit hadn’t even been touched yet.

Mingi bit his bottom lip, looking down at her as he continued to do what she wanted and fuck her face. He was also doing what he said and was making a complete mess out of her.

It was taking everything in him to not pull his dick out of her mouth, spread her out on her bed and sink himself all the way inside her, as far as he could go. As far as she could take him.

Y/N gasped, breathing deeply and panting when Mingi pulled her head back, his dick popping from her mouth. He untangled his hands from her hair, pulling her up to her knees by her choker.

And then he was kissing her, tasting himself on her, both of them moaning into each other.“Can I fuck you?” Mingi was practically begging, his forehead resting down against her own as he pulled back from her lips.

Y/N hadn’t planned on it, not yet, but fuck she needed him. She smirked, loving the way he gripped at her choker tighter. “Do you want to ruin me, Mingi?”

She spoke just loud enough that he could hear, so those watching wouldn’t hear. Mingi didn’t answer her, crashing his lips back to her own and wrapping his arms around her.

Hands gripped her thighs, Mingi spreading her legs open, breaking the kiss and stared down at her. She was the most beautiful mess he’d ever seen.

Y/N let out a whimper as he removed the vibrator from her, dropping it onto the bed. Mingi slid one hand up her body, wrapping it around her throat as he used his other to guide himself into her soaked and aching pussy.

She was tight, so tight Mingi was fucking whimpering. Y/N choked back a sob when he thrusted, filling her and bottoming out.

It was only painful for a split second, Mingi pausing, freezing his movements to let her adjust to him, his length and width stretching her but as soon as he started to move, the most intoxicating moan Mingi had ever heard left her.

His grip on her throat tightened only slightly as his other hand moved to grab her leg, gripping at her ankle as he brought it up to rest over his shoulder.

Y/N eyes, pupils blown, caught sight of his cross pendant chain dangling above her and Mingi literally growled when she arched up, pulling the cross pendant into her mouth with her teeth.

“You’re so fucking dirty.” Mingi grinned, his thrust fast, hard and making y/n a moaning, crying mess. “Pussy fucking perfect…” he pulled all the way out, a white ring of cream coating his length as his tip brushed her clit. “And all these people watching get to see me make it mine.”

“MINGI…” y/n couldn’t help the loud slip of his name, it escaping her in the loudest cry she’d ever heard come from herself.

Mingi was pounding into her now, letting his grip on her throat go to bring his hand down to pull her other leg up, both now draped over his shoulders.

Y/N was coming the second one of his hands reached down and his thumb started rubbing her clit. Her orgasm hit her with shaking legs, clenching Mingi’s dick tightly as she squirted with every last sloppy thrust of his own before he too came, filling her up and collapsing against her, panting.

Mingi knew he was fucked now. He was already addicted. On a high that was nothing but her and there was no way he was gonna be able to let it go.

He was so fucked.

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permanent tag list: @straycat420 @dejatiny @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @hannahlilibet411 @dawn-iscozy @winxmia @milkfromacow @pearltinyy @wooyoungsbrat @seonghwasslytherin

[kabr0ztrousers]

Bull hybrid cowboy x chubby fem reader. He runs a little ranch all by himself no one for miles and her car just so happens to break down near his road. He offers her a ride into town but ends up kidnapping her. Would love it if he ties her up and shows her all the reasons why she should stay with him.

Hmm... Now do I write another hucow scene or don't I? Only kidding, you all know where this is going.

Kabr0z Writes Episode 34: Free Range

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: kidnap; dubcon; noncon; lactation; impregnation;

A/N: Thanks again for the steady stream of requests, you lot! Remember if you want to see something, want me to revisit a kink or scenario I've done before, or have a totally new idea, let me know and it'll probably happen!

######################################

You loved that little shitbox of a car, mid 2000's spec, old enough to drink and still going strong. Up until about 5 miles back. You were on a tiny country road in the middle of the night, cruising at 60, when you heard an almighty bang followed by a jangling noise. Your revs went through the roof for a moment before you started to coast. By the time you stopped and inspected the damage you'd already figured out what happened. The jaunty angle of the gearstick and the lack of any resistance on it meant your gears were probably strewn across several hundred metres of road. At least your engine still worked so you had light, heat, and BBC 2.

You didn't, however have any phone signal.

So you sat in the layby in your car, idling the engine to keep the battery running and listening to the 80s. Sleeping in a running car seems like something that's probably illegal, but you figured if the police found you, they could probably give you a tow to go with the fine. Hopefully you'd make it to morning and then walk however far the nearest town is to call your insurance.

A horn behind you shocked you out of your thoughts. You looked around as a rugged 4x4 pulled level with you. A window rolled down and the driver motioned for you to do the same.

He was a bull hybrid, horns wreathing his head, a thick gold ring adorning his nose. "Need a tow?"

"Yeah, I think my gearbox is fucked" you smiled at him

"That'll do it for you, I can get you to town if you want, climb in"

You got out of your car and into his, grateful for the save. He hooked a rope from his car to yours and pulled away, your stricken vehicle in tow.

You didn't think anything of the route he took, country lanes are far too narrow to turn around in, especially in a big vehicle like this one, but you'd been travelling for a while. It's not like he wasn't charming, softly spoken with just a hint of an accent, apparently he had a herd of dairy cattle that he pastured around the area, and you were being regaled about the trade. The radio in the car gently playing some tiny local station or other, predominantly focusing on spinning old records and talking about the weather.

Suspicion set in when you turned off the road, he was taking you up a gravel track in the pitch-dark. He seemed to know the area pretty well but you figured that to get to civilization, you should probably be following the asphalt rather than abandoning it.

He pulled up at a house and turned off the engine, shoving the keys into his pocket "Come on, let's get inside"

You got out and bolted away from the house. You're not stupid enough to follow him in, you'd only just met!

He was faster than you. You'd barely made it twenty yards when you were tackled to the ground. The bull huffed as he tied your ankles together and hefted you over his shoulder. You hit and struggled against him, but he only chuckled at your assault. "Spirited, aren't you?" He opened his door and carried you over the threshold "You'll do fine here"

He put you down onto a plush sofa and sat in a chair opposite to you. Minutes passed in silence, you sullenly staring at him, him eyeing you up like a cut of meat.

"What will you do with me?" You spat at him

"Honestly, I'm not sure. You seemed like a soft townie when I picked you up. I'd thought maybe let you call for a tow, give you a coffee, and maybe a roll in the hay." He was still staring at you

"But?" You felt like there was a but coming

"But, you're not badly built, and you're not such a pushover. Now I'm deciding if I want a wife or not"

You recoiled at his comment "If you think I'm marrying you, you can fuck off!"

He shrugged and got up "Plan B then. With hips and tits like those you'll be a good fit"

He lifted you into a seated position and tore off your top, baring your chest and the rolls of your tummy. He grabbed one of your tits and hefted it "Natural, very good"

If looks could kill, you would've atomised him. As it was he merely met your gaze as he roughly inspected you.

"I was right, you'll do excellently" He picked you up again and swung you over his shoulder before carrying you outside. He crossed a field, not caring about your yelling and screaming for help. He knew nobody was around for miles, even if someone heard you they wouldn't be able to help you. He pushed open a barn door and carried you in, putting you down on a pile of straw "I'll see you tomorrow"

He left you there. The ropes were tied tightly around your ankles. You struggled against them until your fingers went numb to no avail. The other occupants of the barn stirred with your struggling. Your eyes were adjusting to the gloom, you could just about make them out.

They were other women. Some cow hybrids, some not. All of them plump, many pregnant. They looked at you with big doe eyes, curiosity on their faces as they regarded you.

The first one put her arms around you in a hug, then another and another until you were smothered in a dozen round women, their full breasts pressing against you as they started to doze off on you. Stuck there in the centre of the cuddle pile, you couldn't help your eyelids getting heavy, your head cushioned against a plush belly as sleep claimed you too.

You woke with the dawn. The other women mooing eagerly and dispersing around the barn. The bull man from last night opened the door and stepped in. He looked over at you before settling to work. One by one he attached milking cups to the other women, who each settled down contentedly as the machines pumped them, the milk being drawn into tanks at one end of the barn.

Finally he got to you.

"Enjoy your night?"

You spat at him. He laughed.

"Damn, I wish you'd reconsider being my wife. As it is, I can still put a calf in you." He lifted you and carried you to a fence, tying your arms to it before cutting your ankles free.

Your tits swung below you as he pulled your hips up and hiked your skirt up. He tore a hole in your tights, revealing your pussy. You screamed as he started to lick you, his thick tongue penetrating you already as he fingered your clit. You felt your skin flush as your body responded to him, getting wet and ready for him. His licking and stroking was drawing you in, until you quivered with a tearful orgasm.

You felt him straighten up behind you. He lay his cock on your back and you shivered with the length of it before he pulled back and started to ease the tip in, crooning as he went "You're doing great, girl, just a little more, a little more"

The sound of his voice was making you wetter than his tongue did. You whimpered from the fullness from his cock pushing slowly into you, stretching you out. Your hips were pushing back against him, sending waves of motion up your body. He started to push harder, move faster. Your whimpers turned to blissful sobs and whines as you sped towards your next orgasm, the length and girth of him getting you off all by itself. When he squeezed your hips it was too much. Your body tried to push back, but it didn't need to. He could feel your impending orgasm and hilted himself in you, tiny thrusts slapping his balls against your clit and driving you over the edge. He started to throb and pulse in you as your cunt clenched around him. His thrusts were fast and deep, he was close and wasn't going to cum anywhere but inside you. His pounding on your cervix was getting to you, as was his gripping your waist and your hips, and the jolting swaying of your tits. He pushed a hand between your legs and circled his fingers over your clit. You came again. This time he joined in. Your moans and grunts mingled as the other women watched you, still mooing in euphoria from being attached to the pumps.

He stayed inside you, his cock still giving occasional pumps of cum. His huge hands tracing patterns on your back and rubbing your aching muscles. Then he pulled out, and you heard a spatter of his cum fall out of you and onto the straw below. He cut your arms free and helped you off the railings, laying you on the straw.

"I treat my ladies well, you'll see"

A month has passed since you joined the herd. You spend your mornings hooked up to the milking machines, your afternoons lounging in the fields munching clover and enjoying the company of your new friends, then in the evenings Aaron, as you leaned his name, would often visit you and put another load in you. You're already late on your period, you just haven't told him yet.

Yeah, you're giving up some freedoms, and you're pretty sure you're getting dumber

But it sure beats your old job

###################################

Postscript: A bit of an experiment in trying to split the difference between "awful human farm" and not being overly horrible to the POV character. Hopefully it hits the mark nicely. Who knows, I may do a continuation or a "what if" where it goes into fluffy marital sex between Aaron and Fem!Reader...

At any rate, this is your periodic reminder that my ask box and DMs are always open, and to not hold back on your requests! I'm not in the habit of airing anyone's dirty laundry so if you do cross some unforeseen line the worst you'll get is a no

[01zfan]

contact pt. 2

ex!shotaro x ex!reader | 10.6k words

the part two literally two people asked for. i can't help that i can't get shotaro out of my mind especially THIS shotaro.

contains: breaking up, exes with benefits, miscommunication, mushy gushy stuff, and comfort from not busy diners and soup-and-sandwich specials

contact: part 1 | part 2

You didn’t meet Shotaro on purpose. 

You met him on an impromptu journey of self discovery that lead you to the diner off campus. You thought you’d devise a plan to become a person that put themselves out there in the comfort of the place you went to nearly every day. Craft yourself a new personality over the best soup-and-sandwich lunch special the town had to offer, one of the few places that was so uninhabited you often got the entire place to yourself. 

The closest thing you had to a friend was Giselle, the part time server that had mainly night classes. Your opposing schedules made it so you could never really hang out, but you admittedly preferred it that way. You two had an unspoken acknowledgement of the fact that your lives were total opposites. On Giselle’s Instagram you found out that she was involved in nightlife and other things beyond your single dorm. On your Instagram she found out you were never going to go to a party even if you seemed to really consider an invitation. 

You liked the relationship you had with her currently, small doses of you in the form of sitting at your table between stretches of dead periods in the diner or when she was on break. That was probably the manifestation of another problem you had, but that was neither here nor there. What mattered was that you had uncharacteristically built such a rapport with someone to the point that they knew your name, what spot in the diner you liked, and what you were going to order. 

Giselle brought you your food and sat across from you in the booth seat. She messed with the end of her high ponytail. Being friends with Giselle was easy. She didn’t hide anything, you didn’t know if she even knew how to. When you started at her blonde roots down to the cotton candy pink hair carding through her fingers you wanted to ask if it was damaged. When she sighed heavily you knew something was wrong. A perfect opening for conversation, so you didn’t have to force her to sit in silence with you.

“Long day?” You asked.

“Long week.” She answered.

“It’s only Tuesday.” You said.

“Tell me about it.” Giselle sighed again, putting her head in one hand as her other continued messing with her hair. You turned your plate towards her, offering the other half of your cranberry chicken sandwich. Giselle reached forward and dug her fingernails into one half to tear it into two pieces. She took the smaller portion. “I can’t wait for this week to be over.”

You nodded your head knowingly. If anyone had the right to be tired, it was Giselle. Between her involvement on campus, her work schedule, and her nightlife you didn’t know how she did it all. 

“When are you off work?” You asked.

“In like twenty minutes. But,” Giselle brought her hands to her eyes and rubbed them profusely. “Shotaro is coming so we can talk about. Something.” She said.

Giselle had the habit of thinking you knew the same people she did. More often than not she would mention someone’s name in passing, each time you would have to remind your friend you very much did not know who the person was. So when Giselle mentioned Shotaro, the one who was in her financial analyst class, you still shook your head.

“I’ve never met him.” You said.

Before Giselle could tell you an unimportant fact as if that would jog your memory, the tiny bell above the front door went off. Giselle turned around before you could peer over her shoulder to see who came in. She checked her watch, turning the loose band on her wrist so she could see the time.

“You’re early.” She chided.

“Had to get here before you left like last time.” He said.

Shotaro’s hand went to Giselle’s shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. You didn’t even get a chance to assume that they were together before he was already looking to you with curiosity. You don’t know why it made the hairs on the back of your neck raise, but you’d come to find out that being at the receiving end of Shotaro’s attention would always make you feel that way.

You didn’t meet Shotaro on purpose. 

Giselle always made sure to emphasize that when she told the story of how she brought you two together. She became your self-appointed love guru and wing woman when she told Shotaro about you like you weren’t sitting right in front of them. She patted herself on the back for keeping the conversation going when you would get nervous and stop talking. She always bragged about how she was able to set up a date between her two friends right before the dinner rush at her work.

Because you met Shotaro through Giselle, and you met in the diner you always came to, he became the de facto third person in previous duo with Giselle. Purely on technicality, and it made sense because the two ran in the same massive social circle, and the diner was one of the few places you ventured to in your small bubble. So more than Giselle saw Shotaro through mutual friends and school mixers and non-school parties she saw him with you, shoulders touching as he whispered playfully in your ear or leaned over to show you something on his phone. 

Seeing you two together was such a common occurrence that when you showed up to the diner without him in tow, she knew something was off. When you stayed focused on your food instead of looking up at her, Giselle tried her best to be neutral.

“Where’s Shotaro?” With her eyebrows raised she leaned down to try and get you at eye level with her. “Haven’t seen him in awhile.” She said.

Her hesitancy made you think she already knew the answer. Still you focused on your food and not her, looking directly at your caprese sandwich.

“We broke up.” You answered simply.

Giselle’s eyes went wide. You were so silent it was almost overshadowed by the rest of the chatter in the diner, and you provided no other explanation. You just continued to eat your food, looking at the your plate instead of your worried friend.

“Woah.” When you only nodded in acknowledgment you felt the overwhelming concern come from your friend as she simultaneously tried to mask it. You cleared your throat and pushed your food around your plate as Giselle sputtered in front of you. “What happened? Are you okay?” She asked.

Only then were you able to look up from your food. You looked right past her to watch a couple walk by your booth to be seated. You nodded, turning your focus to the bell above the front entrance past Giselle.

“I am.” You answered. 

When you had nothing else to stare at, you went back to your plate. You messed with the edge, feeling the need to prove yourself more than the need to eat.

“I broke up with him. In case you didn’t know.” You added.

You could argue that Giselle’s shocked reaction was part of the reason you called it off.

“What happened? I thought everything was going well between you guys.” She said.

There were no secrets you were keeping from her about your relationship with Shotaro, if anything you were keeping how good you had it hidden away. There was no one else in your life that was so willing to put their lifestyle on hold for you. No one who wanted to give up their weekends outside to be inside up with you, no one that was as patient or caring or warm and gentle. No one was considerate of your heart to never break it, even if you were ill-matched.

But there was the overwhelming burden that started becoming unbearable when you realized you were pulling Shotaro further and further away from his life. You had no right to keep him inside, to stop him from enjoying his youth. 

You didn’t even know that it was weighing on you so heavily until you dropped the bombshell. Randomly on a Friday night, right when Netflix asked if you were still watching and Shotaro’s phone lit up with another message from his friend asking where he was at.

“I think we should break up.” You said casually.

“Sure babe.” You could feel Shotaro’s chest vibrate against your back as he silenced his phone. 

When you didn’t reply and when you didn’t press Yes, I’m still watching his demeanor completely changed. He froze behind you, peering over your shoulder to try and get a good look at your face.

“Wait, you’re serious?” He asked.

When you still didn’t respond Shotaro got up from his spot behind you completely. You both sat up your feet dangling over the edge of the sofa as he looked at you confused. Too many times you felt like you were trying to play catch up with Shotaro. You had to constantly learn his new friends names and the birthdays and the hangouts and the parties and the cool restaurants you had no idea about. You felt sick satisfaction seeing him try to catch up to you for once. 

When your words finally settled and Netflix went back to the homepage he let out a slow breath.

“Can I ask why?” 

You felt yourself grasping at straws as you tried to find the reason. He was with you on a Friday night instead of going out to the party his friends spent a week telling him about. They were still holding out hope, not knowing that the thing indirectly keeping him in was you. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer him, that you were somehow yearning for something you couldn’t explain when you were doing fine on your own for so long. You only shook your head and repeated the sentiment.

“I just think we should break up.”

“I want to know why.” Shotaro pinched the bridge of his nose. He was always so patient with you. 

Not having an answer made everything worse. Walking out without saying a word was arguably even worse. You did both while Shotaro followed you around his apartment, trying to get you to talk to him.

Even the morning after the funeral you didn’t have an answer. Your body woke up in Shotaro’s bed before your mind did, surging yourself forward like you were in a nightmare. 

For a moment you panicked, blindly reaching for your phone that wasn’t there as you took in your environment. When you saw the familiar curtains and relief sunk in. But then when you really realized where you were, you panicked again.

“Good morning.”

Shotaro’s shirt was on your body, you were on his bed underneath the comforter he bought because he knew you always ran cold. He spoke to you slowly, looking at you from his desk. He eyed you from his office chair like you were unpredictable. He must’ve been right in some way, because being underneath his gaze made you want to bolt out his apartment through the window and lunge at him from your spot across the room. You tried to feign calmness, stretching like you didn’t just wake yourself up violently from your sleep. You rubbed your eyes and forced a yawn, trying hard to not look Shotaro in the face.

He picked at the bottom of his shirt, the one you were wearing last night before everything transpired between the two of you.

“Should we talk about last night?” He asked.

The way he asked it told you he already knew your answer. You still shook your head, looking down at the indent you were making on his mattress.

“Probably not.” You said quietly.

“Are you going to stay for breakfast?” He asked.

Same helpless infliction in his voice when he asked the first question. You shook your head the same, eyes on your pile of clothes neatly folded next to him.

“Probably not.” You repeated.

Shotaro nodded slowly. He knew you entirely too well. He turned away from you in his chair to face the dimly lit screen of his laptop. He started writing in his journal and typing, while you brought your legs closer and closer to your body. His room seemed a little colder, the floor was freezing underneath your feet when you slid off his bed. You padded around his room heel to toe, like you were trying your hardest to not make your presence known. But Shotaro always noticed, he always looked out for you in a way that made you panic. That’s why instead of continuing to ignore you for your sake he stopped typing on his computer when you reached forward to grab your neatly folded dress. 

“You can borrow my clothes.” Shotaro said.

You nodded silently before fully grabbing your dress. You didn’t know if Shotaro wasn’t looking at you as some sort of punishment for you avoiding to look at him but you admittedly felt grateful. The way he didn’t follow you through the space made it that much easier to leave without looking back.

There was three days of radio silence before either of you reached out. 

You fully intended to wait for Shotaro to tell you to bring back his clothes, or wait for a time in your schedule during the day to return his belongings. But after you called your mother and she guilt tripped you for leaving the wake without introducing Shotaro to all of your extended family you felt shitty. Then you went and bombed your exam that you were too emotionally drained to study for. Then it got unbelievably gloomy after your last class when you forgot your keys to your dorm. You sat in the lobby of your building, waiting for RA to come back from dinner so you could actually access your room. You felt that same sinking feeling you did outside of your mother’s house when you called Shotaro that night. You felt the same sense of overwhelming wrong that you just needed something to go right, or to completely top off the terrible day you were having by being rejected by him. 

You sat in the vinyl chair as you thought about your options. You leaned back in the seat and replayed the awful day you had. Your mother calling you rude for leaving the wake early. Your teacher recommending you to come by for tutoring. Realizing when you turned your locked door that your key was waiting on the other side. Your day made you reckless, you nearly slammed your fingers on the glass screen of your phone as you typed in Shotaro’s memorized number.

hey

can i come over?

it’s ok if you say no.

You waited in the lobby of your building, watching people come in and out. You envied those who had their keys ready to go in their hands, and the ones that seemed to have their lives together.

taro: what are you coming over here to do?

nothing

only going to stay an hour

taro: doors unlocked.

When you went over to Shotaro’s house a second time, there was less talking. Once you came through his door, Shotaro quickly filled in the unsaid gaps of your impromptu visit.

You take partial blame for the way you framed your text. Telling Shotaro you were staying only an hour made it seem like your visit was a hookup, squeezed into your very busy schedule. You didn’t get the chance to tell him you were waiting for your RA to unlock your door as you two stumbled through his apartment. 

Shotaro had his hands on your face as you blindly navigated the space, his lips on yours were bruising and almost rough as your legs hit the back of his couch. When you almost fell he pulled you tightly against his body, pulling a gasp from your already depleted lungs. You breathed hot air into his mouth, and drew the breath he was trying to take in through your nose. Still no words were said as you trusted him to guide you completely, your only job was to impatiently push open the door to his bedroom when he pressed you against it.

Instead of kissing you down to his bed gently like he had done all those times before, Shotaro turned you around. Before you could catch your breath he bent you over, the side of your face pressing into his mattress while your feet were still planted on the ground. The new position and Shotaro’s strength made you croak out a choked gasp.

Before you broke his heart, he was never like this with you. He never went straight to devouring you like he was now. He never put a strong hand on the back of your head, pressing it further into the mattress as his other hand felt you up. With widened eyes you tried looking behind you, but anytime your head moved out of place Shotaro would push it slightly harder into the mattress.

“Is this okay?” He applied the lightest of pressure behind his hand again and you drew in a breath. Your fingers started helplessly messing with the stitching of his bed. Shotaro’s hand that wasn’t palming on the back of your head grabbed your ass. “Is this okay?” He repeated.

Something about speaking seemed entirely too much. The small sounds you made during sex was always an indication to Shotaro that you liked what he was doing, that you wanted him to continue. Like your labored breath and the way you were gripping his sheets for dear life wasn't a big enough sign, you nodded your head against Shotaro’s palm and preened your ass backwards. But silence wasn’t enough. You felt Shotaro’s front press to your back, his body temperature making you sweat even more. You writhed underneath him, pressing your back further against his front.

“Use your words.” You could hear the sternness in his voice as his hand left your ass. “Communication is important.”

The second part of his sentence was quieter than the first. It also left something in the air between the two of you, something that had to be cleared by you swallowing your nerves and getting the courage to speak.

“Yes,” You breathed out. “It’s okay.”

Your dynamic in bed changed that night. Shotaro was no longer the sweet doting boyfriend but the energetic fuck buddy that was seemingly on a mission to bring you to tears. With a hand on the back of your head and his handprint swelling on your ass he kept you there for what seemed like an eternity. No sweet coos, no kisses on the lips. What was supposed to be an hour stretched to four as Shotaro bit your shoulder and grunted into your ear, asking you over and over again if this was why you came over. By the end of the night you were saying yes and more until your voice was raw.

You convinced yourself that this was another reason why you two had to break up. The way Shotaro fucked you now seemed to be the way he preferred. Throwing you around, pushing your body into positions he wanted. He needed someone to fuck rather than being the gentle and patient one throughout your relationship. He must’ve been holding back for your sake, and judging by the way he wore condoms and was constantly trying new things on you, you assumed other girls around campus were getting the same treatment. You convinced yourself that he wanted to try new things on you so he was ready for the countless girls that were probably waiting for him to be on the market again.

You forced yourself to be indifferent. When he would fuck you on the couch like you were just some hookup instead of carrying you to bed, you convinced yourself that it was just sex, and sex could be had anywhere. Anytime jealousy tried to consume you at the thought of Shotaro being with other girls, you told yourself that he didn’t deserve to be tied down by you. You were happy to be his willing guinea pig, even if the thought of him scrolling on Hinge or Tinder made your heart drop. Letting yourself be used was the least you could do after not even giving him an answer as to why you two had broken up in the first place.

Shotaro became accustomed to your arrangement quickly. After getting the confirmation to his question I’m guessing you want this to be a secret, right? he never asked again. He never asked if you were going on dates (you knew he already knew the answer) or if you were going out for the weekend (once again, you knew he knew the answer). You didn't ask him if he was seeing other people (you didn't want to know the answer) or if he started going out on the weekends again (you hoped the answer was yes, but you hadn't seen him on any of Giselle's Instagram stories and you two seemed to meet up on Friday and Saturday nights more than any other day of the week).

Outside of the space in his apartment you two were still broken up. Giselle was able to successfully drag you to Anton and Sungchan's place for the monthly movie night after telling you how much everyone missed you. On the big gray sofa you found yourself in the middle of tension. Quiet glances towards you and Giselle who was desperately trying to distract you from the quiet glances and the silence that surrounded Shotaro. You knew that your place in the friend group was linked to Shotaro, and your relationship was hailed as the one that was going to make it. There was a tension that came with everyone choosing their side in the "divorce" (Giselle on your side and everyone else on Shotaro's. Once again, you don't fault anyone, and you denied any well wishes or condolences people sent to your inbox).

Just when the nerves were were becoming too much and Giselle left the sofa to go to the bathroom, Shotaro came up to you. He sat next to you on the large sofa, leaving just enough room for one person to fit in between the two of you. He smiled at you and you smiled back. How was he not thinking about the position he had you in hours prior? How was he not showing any signs of mental distress when you felt like you were about to explode?

“How are things?” He asked, just loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. He wasn’t being coy, Shotaro was genuine as he kept space between the two of you. You had to dig your nails into your thigh to stop you from closing the distance. Being here was cruel really. Putting yourself in this position was self-torture. You could feel everyone staring at you, the rest of the noise in the apartment fizzled away as everyone continued staring at you two.

“They’re great. Things are great.”

Shotaro smiled and settled into the couch, then as if on cue everyone else started flocking to the living room. People got comfortable on the floor and the sofa. Shotaro made extra room for Sungchan to fill the space between the two of you, and Giselle sat on the other side of you.

You would’ve loved to watch the movie the same as everyone else. When Shotaro’s friends would laugh along to the dialogue, or whisper before being obnoxiously shushed you were too busy staring at Shotaro. The changing scenes of the movie made him too visible to you, He was lit perfectly, and the darkness in the room provided you with just enough coverage to take your peaks. 

You spent way too long trying to figure him out. You didn’t know what was happening during the movie or what it was about. You were too busy thinking about all the other movie nights when he’d be stuck to your side like glue, a hand permanently touching your thigh or holding your hand. 

Now he wouldn’t even look at you. He stayed trained on the movie, only looking away to scold someone for talking or to reach forward and grab the snacks on the coffee table. He didn’t look over to you when you would laugh, or when Sungchan would look between the two of you from the sides of his eye. Shotaro didn’t give you anything, even when Sungchan inevitably drifted off to sleep right before the final act. 

No one would’ve noticed if he even looked at you from the corner of his eye. If he just turned his head towards you when he was laughing. From your side of the couch it really did seem like nothing was happening between the two of you. You were going over everything since the funeral. When you ghosted him for three days to show back up under false pretenses. Last week when you showed up in the middle of the night unannounced. Meeting up with him after you went to the diner. You had to make sure you weren’t dreaming. You had to make everything was real, if he just looked at you the way he always used to you’d know this was real. 

But Shotaro didn’t look. He only shifted in his spot on the couch when your fingers dipped underneath the collar of your shirt to run over that splotch of skin by your collarbone that Shotaro sucked raw. He only stretched his arm along the top part of the couch over Sungchan’s slouched body to bring his hand behind your head. 

And you said nothing. You only leaned deeper into the couch as slowly as possible so your head could rest in his hand. You only stayed pressed uncomfortably against the couch so Shotaro’s fingers could massage your scalp. 

After the movie you made sure to leave first. You were thinking about the secret display of affection as you narrowly avoided drinks and a talk about the movie by leaving the same time Giselle did. Shotaro had the same excuse, talking about a shift at work that didn’t exist. After he said he was leaving, everyone else followed suit. If anyone thought it was weird that you two were leaving at the same time, they didn’t let it be known. Shotaro’s friends only bid you a goodnight and safe travels as you scurried out of the apartment while he still gathered his things. 

“You left in such a hurry I thought you actually had something going on tomorrow.” Shotaro said when he opened his door to you.

“It wasn’t a complete lie.” You reason.

Shotaro closes and locks his front door behind you and leans against the door. He gestures towards your overnight bag hanging off your shoulder. You shake your head and bring the strap closer to your body.

“What do you mean?” He asks.

You almost tell Shotaro that you have plans to study in the diner tomorrow. Breaking up with him forced you to bear through your weekly study dates alone. Putting your backpack in the place Shotaro always sat barely helped. You had also heard through the Giselle grapevine that he created his own study group and they occupied the biggest table in the library on Saturdays. You don’t understand how he could bare being around so many people while trying to get work done. But he also used to tell you he couldn’t understand why you liked being alone so much. 

“Nothing.” You said, shaking your head.

He didn’t press it any further. He stopped trying to coerce information out of you a long time ago. If Shotaro tried asking a question he let you avoid it the first time you deflected. He would only lift his shoulders and let them fall, mimicking the nonchalant attitude you tried to exude. 

He made it hard for you to feign indifference when he backed away from his door, giving you just enough space to walk through.

Shotaro started making you lead him through his apartment recently. After he’d walk behind you to turn the deadbolt lock he would just stay there. Shotaro would look at you from behind, and you didn’t dare to look over your shoulder at him. Being still behind you forced you to step further and further into his place unless you wanted to stand in the entryway all night. You took off your shoes and took your first step in, and Shotaro mirrored your step.

The shreds of dominance that Shotaro gave you made everything even more confusing. The suspension of control was supposed to be the appeal and the reason you were here. When life was too stressful or demanding you would come here to give the authority of your life in someone else’s hands. You came here to not worry about anything, but it was hard to keep your brain off when you had to make decisions to actively avoid an awkward atmosphere. Shotaro making you walk into his apartment instead of pulling you in forced you to make a decision with each foot you decided to put in front of the other. 

The responsibility made it feel like you were walking on a tightrope. You didn’t know if the next step would be the wrong one, if he would scold you for walking towards the couch instead of his bedroom. But Shotaro’s silence gave you nothing. You had to make sure each step was confident, even if having the ball in your court made your heart drop. Shotaro didn’t stop you when you walked past the couch in his living room, or when you gently twisted the handle to his bedroom. He let you lead him all the way to his bed, where he looked unsuspecting and you felt like you were going to explode.

“Did you like the movie?” You asked.

Shotaro nodded his head. He gently guided your purse off of your shoulder and set it on his computer chair.

“Did you enjoy it?” He asked.

You truthfully couldn’t remember what the movie was about. Each time you tried to recall what was on the screen your mind only went to Shotaro’s hand inconspicuously massaging your scalp. You had your eyes on him more than you did the movie. Still you nodded your head, trying to find a proper segway to the reason you came here tonight. Shotaro again was no help. He stood next to his bed in front of you. His hands didn’t even cross the space to touch you first. You had to be the one to make the first move again, taking a step forward until you could press the palms of your hand to his shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

Lately you’ve been thinking about your mom telling you about that shell you were stuck in when she called you after the wake. You came out of your shell in front of the person who knew you best you felt like you regressed to something even worse than before. When you were asked what’s wrong, you used to answer with contention or shrug it away. Now, when Shotaro asked that question and brought his hands to your arms you felt tears prickle your vision. You couldn’t say it even if you could put it into words. You just lightly pushed at his shoulders, until he got the hint and started lowering his body.

Shotaro let you push him down until he sat on the edge of his bed. With you looking down at the crown of his head, it was manageable. The overbearing heat spreading across your body from embarrassment and an incoming cry turned to confidence, for a second you believed you had an upper hand in the situation of what’s wrong. 

You brought your hand to rest on the top of Shotaro’s head, trying to touch him the same way he did in Anton’s apartment. You weren’t caressing him lovingly, you weren’t offering the affection you swore your arrangement was supposed to be void of now. You were simply testing the waters. Running your hands through his hair was foreplay, nothing more, nothing less. When Shotaro preened into your hand the same way you did on the couch, he was simply returning the favor. 

When you felt him beginning to look up, the exhilaration shifted to nerves and before he could even make eye contact with you, you were already going down to your knees. His hands gripped the edge of the bed a little tighter. You hesitated the same time he did before he spread his legs wider. Regardless you kneeled on the hard cold ground, slotting yourself between his legs. 

Instead of touching his head, your hands rested heavy on his thighs. Shotaro spread himself further to give you more room, and you felt the air in the room shift. You continued rubbing your hands up and down his thighs, looking at the bulge in his pants instead of him. Being in this position was already enough torture. You prayed that Shotaro would give you a break this one time, that he would just tend to your silent cues of what you wanted to do. But his hand went from the edge of the bed to your chin, and you felt his fingers apply the smallest amount of force to tilt your head upwards.

Looking up at him had the opposite effect on you. Everything in you shriveled up when he held such intense eye contact.

“Tell me what you want.” He said.

Don’t read too much into it. Don’t acknowledge the somber look in his eyes or the pang in your chest. Just reach forward until your hands touch the belt of his pants.

“Can I—” He refused to let you off easy. He only raised his eyebrows, forcing the rest of your sentence from your dry throat. “I want to suck your dick.” You asked.

You don’t know how Shotaro said yes after the words tumbled so awkwardly from your lips. When your lack of sex appeal made you cringe, it made Shotaro’s hands undo his belt quickly. The buckle knocked against his hand but Shotaro didn't show any sign of pain. He set the belt next to him and you watched his hand go to the button on his pants next. Your hands waited for him to stop doing the work, and you took the time to compose yourself from going over the way you asked to suck his dick a million times. You tried to be in the moment for him, because you spent so much of your actual relationship doing everything but that. You shuffled on your knees, and moved your hands to work his pants the rest of the way when they got to his mid thigh.

While you pulled his pants down the rest of the way, Shotaro started palming himself over his briefs. The same ring you gifted him—the only one he seemed to wear these days—stared at you as he touched himself. You pressed your nails into his thigh, letting out a shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding. He let out a breath too, and you pulled away from the sight to look at his face. Shotaro was already looking at you—but maybe he never looked away to begin with—as his head lulled to the side.

“You see what you still do to me?” He sighed.

If lust wasn’t actively replacing all of your sane thoughts, you would’ve asked Shotaro what he meant by emphasizing the word. You could only swallow a mouth full of spit and nod your head.

“I see it.” You looked back down to his hand. He stopped palming himself to grip it over the fabric of his underwear to really let you see. His dick twitched in his hand when his other cupped your chin. Your nails scraped Shotaro’s waist when they went underneath the elastic of his briefs, and he raised his hips from the bed to let you pull them down.

His dick sprung straight up before you could even get his underwear down to his ankles, and it continued to twitch as he gently pumped himself. Shotaro forced you to take it slow, you matched his pace of fully undressing him as you felt the nerves over your body. Shotaro only took his hands off himself and your face to take off his shirt. 

When his briefs were beside you, your hand reached forward to grab him. He was hard and already wet in your hands. When the nerves became too much Shotaro leaned back slightly on the bed. You stayed focused on his dick as Shotaro adjusted himself on the edge of his bed. Again you felt his fingers scratch against your scalp, but they didn’t push. Just having him touch you made the courage come back. You inched closer and Shotaro poked out his tongue to wet his lips.

“You got it.” He assured.

You nodded to Shotaro again before bringing him closer to your mouth. You licked the underside of his tip first, a flat tongue against him as he sighed above you again. When you took him all the way to the back of your throat Shotaro’s hand tightened, trying to pull your head back. He always did that, trying to always stop you from gagging or getting ahead of yourself. Feeling Shotaro still handle you like you were made of glass made you take him just as deep again. 

“Fuck.” Shotaro whispered. 

Hearing him curse underneath his breath made you feel like you were doing something right. His grip on you loosened and you took him deep again, and when you gagged he didn’t pull you back. He only spread his legs a little further apart and you scooted closer, ignoring the pain in your knees from the hardwood floor. But Shotaro pulling you off of him paled in comparison to his hands clasping over yours that were pressed to his thighs. 

When his thumbs started gently caressing your hands, you needed more. Maybe if he fucked your mouth it’d get rid of the tender feeling in the air. If he fisted your hair instead of moving to cup your cheeks it would be easier. If he told you that he knows you could suck dick better than that instead of cooing at you and telling you everything felt so good you’d be less distracted. Even when you purposefully lose your rhythm and grazed your teeth along a vein his hands didn’t guide you. He only sucked air through his teeth when you gagged again after taking too much.

“Slow down baby.” Shotaro says gently.

His hands cupped your cheek to prevent you from taking him so deep. You don’t even know if your attempts are even bringing him close to the edge, or if this is more for your benefit that his. There had been too many times you looked up to see Shotaro staring at you, more enveloped in you than what you were doing to him. Back then you were satisfied with his focus on you, but now you just wanted his head to lull to the side in bliss. You wanted to hear him curse because of how well you were taking him, and hear his toes crack and feel his thighs shake.

You can’t take it when you take a brave glance upwards to see him looking down at you. His eyes are locked on the same spot his thumb rubs over on your cheeks, then your earlobe that he lightly pinches with his fingers.

“So pretty.” His hand moves to your hair, massaging your scalp the same way he did during the movie. When Shotaro finally catches your eye before you go back down, his hand on your face becomes a little rougher. He doesn’t stop you from taking him to the back of your throat again. “Have you always been this good at sucking dick?”

You nod when you feel his tip heavy on your tongue. Even though it feels like his words are solely for your benefit they play in the back of your head to stop you from gagging and letting more spit dribble from the corner of your lips. Shotaro hums when he sees your resolve, and you blink your watery eyes. 

“All for me, huh?” 

You nod with his dick in your mouth. When you looked up again Shotaro finally had his head tilted back. He let his leg lose it’s bend and found a new angle to slowly thrust into your mouth. You accommodated to him immediately, ducking your head lower to meet his hips. You felt Shotaro’s hand loosen on your head to wipe the drool seeping from the corner of your mouth. He went back to looking at you now, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Even though your pace remained the same, he sounds significantly more lost than before. You hadn’t even gotten to the part where you were supposed to gently rubbing the sensitive inside of his legs to get him even more bothered. But when you nod your head Shotaro moans again, and before you can take keep going he lifts your head off of him. 

You’re still blinking away the tears in your eyes and breaking the line of spit with your tongue when Shotaro starts pulling you up. You can’t stop yourself from pouting at not finishing the job as you were getting the hang of it and he was so visibly close. His dick was red and angry when he pulled you up, slapping against his stomach before going back to being upright. You can’t even tend to him before he brings you up to eye level. You’re still attempting to blink away tears when he grabs you by your chin and pulls you in.

When Shotaro’s soft bitten lips press to yours, you realize how long it’s been. Even though he put such an emphasis on how important communication was in your new arrangement, there was plenty that was left unsaid. No talking about why you broke up, no talking about why you came back, and no kissing. You two came to the silent agreement that kissing made everything too real, it was too intimate for the arrangement you currently had. Pressing your lips to his was too reminiscent of the kisses you shared before you broke up with him. He pressed into you the same way, and tilted his head before letting his tongue push into your mouth. You reacted the same way too, parting your lips and letting your tongue press against his.

You two were like that for awhile. Like no time had passed or like you two were doing it for the first time again. Shotaro worked extra hard in the moments you came to your senses. Feeling him pull you deeper made you forget everything. This wasn’t a bad idea when he pulled you by your waist onto the bed with him, and it wasn’t a bad idea that he was maneuvering your body to be underneath his. 

When Shotaro pulled away you followed after him. Your lips were still parted, your tongue in the same place he left it when your eyes fluttered open again. He was already looking at you, your glossy spit was still smeared across his lips when he smiled at you. You were too busy trying to hide the look of surprise on your face to do anything else. He rubbed his fingers over your expression before you could change it. You were trapped underneath his body and his soft gaze that was so much harder to bare than the hunger he had in his eyes earlier. He looks away from you when he reaches to his nightstand, pulling a condom from the top drawer.

“I don’t know how you still do this to me.” He said quietly.

There’s that still again. It’s persistent, it’s emphasized each time it leaves his lips. Shotaro kisses your lips again before you can ask him about it. He gently pushes your pants down your legs and you quick them off until you hear them hit the floor. You wrap your legs around his waist quickly, falling into the normal operations of the past two months. But instead of Shotaro bringing his hands to restrict both of your wrists he intertwines his fingers with yours.

Your hand hesitates, fingers sticking out straight between his. Shotaro looks at your rigid hand then to your eyes.

“I just need you.” He’s sincere. His voice almost breaks when he pulses his grip on your hand. The way he looks down at you makes you ignore everything else until you’re nodding your head to his request. Shotaro’s lips curl into a smile and his thumb rubs at your cheek. “In the way we used to do it. Please.” He begs like nothing happened between the two of you. You clasp your hand around his like it's another Friday night of you holding him captive in his room instead of letting him enjoy his youth.

“Okay.” You should feel terrible for doing this.

He doesn’t take off his ring to slip it into your mouth. He kisses you again as his hand drags down your body. Shotaro is the one who guides your legs around his waist as he situates himself between. He’s teasing when he rubs his tip across your clit, it causes both of you to moan into eachothers mouths. 

As Shotaro slides in, he holds your hand tight. You feel it being pressed into the mattress beside your head before he slowly rocks into you. Both of you are careful, knowing you’re liable to say something you definitely shouldn’t. But the way he slides back in feels like the first time, and when he goes to your neck to let out a sigh of relief you feel it.

“It’s like no time has passed.” Shotaro’s voice is barely held together, like he’s one step away from moaning directly in your ear. He pulls away from your neck to look at you. You close your eyes fast, but you’ve been in this position enough to know. The scene is painted perfectly in your mind, and you can feel his breath fan your cheek as he continues to talk. “Like that night never happened.” He says.

This isn’t dirty talk. This isn’t him telling you that you’re tight or wet, or that you sound so pretty. You should tell him that this is going to far, but it feels too good. You’re already feeling that knot in the pit of your stomach. The closeness and feeling Shotaro’s heart beat against your chest is making everything feel too intense. 

You’re not ready to rebuff his advances. There were many things you could’ve said back to him in this moment. He was giving you an opportunity to say something back without having to even look at him. With his face buried in the crook of your neck and his hand holding yours tightly to show support, Shotaro was opening the door wide for you. You were silent, he pulled his hips back and pushed back into you until a strained moan fell from your lips.

“Do you miss me?” He continued.

He was desperate. He ground his hips against yours and you could feel him in your stomach. You arched you back off the bed again, nodding pitifully, holding his hand so tight you thought you’d break it.

“I miss you, Taro.” You say immediately.

“Don’t leave this time.” He said.

Before you could say anything else, Shotaro hooked your leg in his arm to open you up more. You were compensating the deeper spot he was hitting by digging your nails into whatever you could. His face pressed into the side of yours made it impossible to focus on anything else but him. He was looking down at you, biting his lip trying to hold on just long enough to hear your response.

You shouldn’t have opened your eyes. You should’ve kept them screwed shut until you came. You could blame everything on being theatrics of getting you to finish, but when you opened your eyes and saw how sincere Shotaro looked, it was impossible. You were the only thing he was looking at, so locked into your facial expressions like this was about you instead of him. There was no use in hiding your moans, or how close you already were to your orgasm. You just held him tight so he’d do the same to you, pushing your hips upwards to meet his movements.

There’s no words. Just the two of you moaning, making the bed creak, and holding on so tight. When you’re already on the verge Shotaro is right there, hanging his head low to whisper into your ear.

“I’m close.” He says.

“Me too.” You say back.

Like you two were still a couple, you came together. Shotaro always said it was romantic, so you made a point after you broke up to always cum before or after him. But this time it wasn’t on purpose and unavoidable when he sped his hips up. You were moaning into his ear and then crying, pulling him closer as your legs wrapped around his waist. Shotaro was rutting into you then he stopped, hand on your waist holding you in place. He grunted like he was really cumming inside of you, holding you in place while he panted in your ear. This was too real, too reminiscent of how it was before you ended things. He even stayed on top of you for a beat, coming back to Earth as he realized the both of you went too far.

Shotaro rolled off of your sweaty body to lay on the bed next to you. You stared at the ceiling as you caught your breath. This was definitely worse than the night of the funeral. Then you could blame it on the fresh emotion of breaking up with your ex and the overwhelming presence of your mother. But having intimate sex after pretending you two were solely here to fuck was worse. Significantly worse when Shotaro couldn’t even find the words to cut through the silence. The two of you just stared at the ceiling, hands that were just holding eachother looking for something else to hang onto.

You could barely bring yourself to look out the corner of your eye to Shotaro. He was matching your breathing, one hand resting on his chest while the other pushed sweaty bangs from his face.

“My mom asked about you.” You say.

Shotaro turned to face you and you averted your eyes back to the ceiling. He’s silent for a moment, tapping on his chest like he’s trying to find the words.

“Terrible thing to say after we had sex.” Shotaro laughs to the ceiling. “But what’d you tell her?” He asked after a beat of silence.

“That you’re doing well.” You answered.

You told yourself Shotaro’s heavy sigh was because he was still trying to catch his breath. He got up from laying on the bed and sat on the edge, his back facing you. He didn’t say anything else when he ran his hands through his hair again.

“Why would you tell her that?” He asked.

You got up after him, looking at the back of his his head. 

“Because you are doing well.” You answered.

Shotaro turned back to face you. His eyebrows were knit together and he tilted his head to the side. You should be looking at the ceiling light.

“How would you know that?”

You really should be looking at the ceiling light. Because Shotaro keeps his eyes on you and looks upset, you can’t bring yourself to look away. You’re gormless, mouth agape while he fully turns to face you.

“I mean. You haven’t had an actual conversation with me since you broke up with me.” He reaches to the ground and pulls his shirt over his head. You should be getting dressed too. What you came here for is done, but you’re still in the center of the bed. “The only time we actually speak is when we are having sex.” He adds.

Shotaro gets up from the bed and pulls his sweats up his legs. You start looking for your own clothes, they have to be somewhere near your body. You know your bag is still on Shotaro’s computer chair, the S charm he bought you still hanging off the bag.

“I thought you preferred for it to be like this?” You said.

“You think I want the person who broke up my heart to come over just for sex and then just pretend I don’t exist?” 

Shotaro’s bewildered expression makes you turn and face him. There’s no hiding the pain on his face, the confusion in his expressive hands. You have nothing to say.

“Why would I want the girl that broke my heart to come over just to break it again and again and—”

“I didn’t break your heart.” You say quietly.

Shotaro has to force eye contact between the two of you by propping himself up on his elbows. He looks at you confused and angry.

“How can you tell me that? You broke up with me and wouldn’t even tell me why. Then you call me outside your mom’s house after a funeral and it seems like you miss me and you need me but then after it’s like you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” You say quickly.

“Then tell me why we broke up.” The anger fizzled out somewhere. Shotaro is on the bed, looking at you. He’s so desperate, his hand reaches out and grabs yours to hold it tight. He shakes your hand when you don’t answer, and you can see that heartbreak he was talking about earlier. You find your clothes fast, locking onto them before pulling your hand out of his. “Please.” He begs.

“I don’t think we should sleep together anymore.” You say.

Before Shotaro can say a single thing you’re getting dressed. He follows you wordlessly around his place just like the first time. Anything he says falls on deaf ears. The only resistance was when he stood in front of his computer chair, stopping you from grabbing your bag. But after a moment he handed it to you, and you were gone.

November was colder than you thought it would be. You had to bring your jacket close to your body to try and preserve some warmth. Leaving Shotaro’s apartment even after he was calling for you made you forget that nights were cold. You were aimless suddenly when you made it out of his apartment complex. You should’ve shuffled home in the cold to spend another night alone, coming to terms with the fact that your relationship was over. But the other way like a honing beacon the lights inside of the diner were still on. It wasn’t that late after all, and Giselle was working. There was the soup and sandwich special and still the chance to reinvent yourself. So you shuffled across the gravel and then the grass and then the intersection to the warm yellow lights. The cream of mushroom soup and reuben sandwich special etched on the a-frame outside was like a honing beacon. 

You opened the glass door to an empty diner. Giselle sat behind the hostess stand, on her phone until the overhead bell chimed. She grabbed menus and prepared her customer service voice before she looked up and realized it was you. 

“Here kinda late?” Giselle asked.

The door slammed closed because of the wind behind you. Giselle said a fact, you were never here past the midday lunch special. You never came to the diner outside your window, you never really left your dorms this late into the night either. 

“I was wanting some soup.” You say.

Giselle said nothing else as she guided you to your designated booth. The cup of water and her hand lingering on your shoulder was some form of silent support, and she was heading to the kitchen instead of sitting down with you.

You were watching the rim of your glass and people filtering in and out of the diner. There were barely any people, there was never any people. Only stragglers, people studying late tucked into the corners near the outlets. People sitting at the bar drinking coffee even though it’s nighttime. A completely different crowd than what you’re used to. Being surrounded by people means you’re not alone, and that’s a feeling that’s been eating at you more than usual. So you people watch. You look at the workers behind the counter and the glimpses of Giselle’s pink hair you see behind the swinging door. You hear the bell above the door ring while you’re looking at the back of someone, trying to read their dimmed computer screen.

“I figured you’d be here.”

When you turned around Shotaro was standing next to the booth, dressed in a long coat. He was wearing his slides and socks, something thrown together. It was obvious he wasn’t concerned with dressing for the weather or for style as much as he was concerned finding you. He was still wearing his sweats and sleep shirt and out of breath as he motioned to the other side of the booth.

“Can I sit?” He asked.

You nodded and Shotaro slid in. He took off his coat, shivering from the incoming draft as he settled into the seat. You tried to seem as calm as he did, mirroring his look around the cafe.

“This is where Giselle introduced me to you.” He says.

“This is where you came to talk to Giselle about that project and I just happened to be here.”

You’re playing with the straw in your cup when Shotaro shakes his head. He laughs to himself and looks at the table, running his hand over the top before putting it underneath.

“I used to sit in that back corner over there.” Shotaro points to the part of the diner you’ve never looked at. Someone occupies the space there now, sitting in an stool hunched over as they type away on their computer. You preferred booth seats over stools, so you never paid attention to that side. You’re stuck on the person you’re looking at, not even turning when Shotaro starts speaking again. “You used to come in here so often and order the soup and sandwich special.” He says.

You try your hardest to remember the times you’ve looked over your shoulder. Trying to remember the other table Giselle would always sit at before she started sitting at yours. You try to remember her friend she would mention on occasion, each time you’d tell her you didn’t know him.

“I had to beg Giselle to introduce me to you. She said you wouldn’t like me almost a million times.” He laughs and you see his hand go back up to mess with his eyebrow. A nervous tick that Shotaro always forgot was a nervous tick until he noticed your eyes staring at his hands. “I insisted I just needed her to introduce me to you and I could handle it. But I got so nervous she had to do all the talking for me.” He says.

Finally you turn back to Shotaro. You have to blink to see him clearly. 

“Why are you here right now?” You ask. 

Your voice is quiet, and so close to breaking. Shotaro leans closer, experimentally reaching his hand across the table. You shouldn’t grab it, you really shouldn’t grab it. But his palm facing upwards looks so comforting and you haven’t touched him outside the context of the bedroom in so long it feels like the first time. You let his hand completely clasp over yours and you look at him the same way he looks back at you.

“You haven’t talked to me. I just want to know why.” He says, just as quiet.

You don’t know why you’ve kept it a secret for this long. You couldn’t come to terms that you broke up with him for a ridiculous reason, or that you were in the wrong. You would’ve thought that he’d move on by now, and those girls you convinced yourself he was seeing would’ve cleared his mind. But he looked tortured for the first time in his life. His eyes were pleading and he was wearing the clothes he wears to bed in public. Withholding the reason why you two broke up was the thing that kept him here. You were trapping him again, unknowingly leveraging a breakup with sex. 

“I didn’t want to stop you from living your life.” You look down at his hand, still holding yours tight. “You stopped going out because of me and you stopped seeing your friends too.” You said.

When Shotaro scoffs you look up at him. He’s shaking his head like he can’t believe it, holding your hand tighter.

“Who says I stopped going out because of you? Maybe I just got tired of going out.” His other hand is on top of the table, motioning towards something. “I’ve been going out for as long as I can remember.” He says.

“What about your friends?” You ask.

“What about my friends? I see them everyday.” He says.

When you start shaking your head, Shotaro leans close, until the edge of the table stops him.

“I stay in with you because I want to. I still see my friends, and I still live my life.” His other hand wraps around yours. “I want to live a life with you in it. Come out with me, or we can find a new place together if you don’t want to be holed up inside. But I don’t see the harm in doing that on a Friday instead of going to a club I’ve been at a million times.” 

When you try to open your mouth to speak, you can’t get the words out. When tear wells in your eyes then rolls down your cheek you have to look outside, anywhere but at Shotaro. You can’t escape him when you see his reflection in the glass window, or when he looks at you even in the reflection. Your other hand wipes away your tears, laying flat on the table.

“I meant it when I said I miss you. I miss you. So much. I should’ve told you how sorry I was the night of the funeral.” You say to the glass.

You see Shotaro nod in the reflection. 

“I missed you too. I prefer this instead. Communication is important.” He smiles.

You smile too, turning back towards him. You wipe away more of your tears, fighting that lump in the back of your throat. 

“Next time we break up though, please kill me instead. My heart can’t take losing contact with you again.” Shotaro says.

Before you can ask him the question you already know the answer to—the burning question of if you’re back together—Giselle comes around from the back of house with two sandwiches. She talks about how she’s the matchmaker and how sick you two make her until the diner closes.

[bambisnc]

          . . SYNC-LOVE

° ˖ ➴ i don't wanna play this stupid love game.

### . STARRING ⌢ OT4 ⋆ crack. fluff. + 0.8k // dating as a bet trope + slight implied angst + intentional lowercase ˖ ✧

🗨️ .. ⌞ XOXO ⌝ kep1ers discography is so fire dude + [m.list]

౨ৎ ˖ 유지민 — ❪ YU JIMIN ❫  

to be fair, karina is too level headed to be inherently okay playing with someone’s feelings and potentially hurting them really bad just “for funsies.” so she’d really need some good manipulation to convince her. but once she commits, you just know she’d go all out.

would do it in such a flawless way too; her strategy would first and foremost involve befriending you to gain your trust. only after she knows there’s no way you’d refuse her, would she start dropping hints of her being romantically “interested” in you.

there’s no room for error in her plan, after all. but then, she ends up getting too invested in you and your eyes, your smile, your flustered little giggles whenever she acts a little too bold.

there’s an actual moment where she can physically feel her entire being go, “oh, fuck.” and suddenly, she’s in too deep.

nothing she could do now would be able to justify her actions. while rina’s stewing, wondering if there’s anything, anything at all that she can do to protect you, one of her scumbag friends who urged her towards the bet probably beats her to it, letting info about it slip mid conversation. cue angst of the highest quality.

          ⋅ ˚ ଳ ₊ ‧ others utc

౨ৎ ˖ うちながえり — ❪ UCHINAGA AERI ❫  

when faced with the idea of the bet, giselle’s actions would solely depend on what’s at stake. only if the money or other perks offered are something she really can’t pass up on will she even consider agreeing.

if not, of course, it’s a flat out refusal. but (for the sake of plot) assuming she does agree to it, she’s being straight up with you from the get go. approaches you one day, and tells you all about the bet as diplomatically as she can.

my girl really don’t gaf, she’ll ask you to split profits for fake dating her for a couple months. even if by the end of it you don't end up dating, you'll at least have a new partner in crime so it's really a win win! ⋆

if you do end up catching feelings, she'll make so many references to your origin story, everyone around you would be sick of it. would call you the bonnie to her clyde ><

౨ৎ ˖ 김민정 — ❪ KIM MINJEONG ❫  

i’m thinking idiots to lovers, 10k, slow burn.

99% chance that her friends only said it because she's been crushing on you for a while now but refused to admit it. and for the bet, winter really tries hard. like, she really does. but her method of doing it is just … so odd that you’re just left confused about what’s going on. asks you out on a complete whim (like maybe 1 minute after agreeing to the bet), but she’s quite clumsy – embarrassed, even, about it.

she's totally unsure of how exactly to go about it – it’s rather endearing, really. so you end up saying yes. mostly only because she’s cute. and then she drags you on a couple awkward dates with her after which she decides to come clean because she feels too bad (also her heart can't really take how you're so ... perfect with her).

but lmfao by that time you've probably grown super fond of her so you just kiss her cheek and ask her if you can take her out on an actual, proper date. to make up for the whole bet thing, of course. no other reason! <3 

౨ৎ ˖ 宁艺卓 — ❪ NING YIZHUO ❫  

similar to winter, she tries her hardest (for the plot ><) and honestly it might have had the potential to work as well as karina’s save for the fact that her reputation ended up being her downfall.

she’s known for being goofy, funny and silly so you don’t really take it seriously when she pulls up with a whole ass bouquet, chocolates, love letters – any big romantic gesture, you name it, ready to serenade you. hence, the entire process of you actually agreeing to date her ends up being just so, so drawn out.

by the end of it you do somewhat catch feelings for real but ningning would be so shocked that at first she'd withdraw from you completely. ghost you for a little before you corner her against a wall or something and demand an explanation. at which point she'd realize that ... you're actually so cute like this? and ... why is her heart beating so fast right now? the judge's ruling is an obligatory happy ending with her impulsively kissing you to stop your rants about how she's such a hypocrite to chase after you and then run away the second you reciprocated.

handsomely bribes her friends to never bring up the bet because she can't afford losing you. <3 (you probably alr know though. she ain't discreet.)

𐙚 . regulars : none yet! ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[jedisupernova]

reuniting with seong gihun

notes minors dni contains fem aged up reader (same age is gihun), always written with plus size reader in mind as i am myself but truly anyone can read, takes place in the midst of his pursuit of finding the salesman, ANGST (self deprecation, selfishness, mentions of hardships, death, failed relationships, suppressed emotions, mentions of infertility, includes arguments; this does not have a happy ending), dynamic between reader and gihun is childhood friends who reconnect in later adulthood, some made up lore to build said dynamic, mentions of nightmares, violence, smoking, sickness, slow burn maybe? i'm trying something new, and smut (mutual masturbation) after trusting someone for the first time in a long time mends part of his soul, but for how long, and at what cost?

requested? no, this is an original idea! i can't be normal about anything and how underrated he is in his own show is diabolical. anyway this one is long. please request something if you'd like or stop by the ask box or dms to say hello! i love a man with big brown eyes whose real good at looking sad. enjoy!

you always looked forward to every other saturday because it meant you had the day off. you took this time to sleep in before heading to nearby markets for your weekly grocery run. it was right after lunch time that you were perusing coriander so fresh you could still see water droplets on its leaves. just before you were to ask the older woman who ran the stand for the price, a familiar face swept past your peripheral vision.

you looked over your shoulder, seeing a man dressed in an unzipped jacket and talking rather quickly into his phone. he looked around the street corner like he was lost, a passing car letting you hear only fragments of what he was saying: "—station? which one?" you were about to return to your business when he faced in the direction of your gaze entirely. you hadn't seen that face in years . . .

he hung up the call, now typing with fervour. without thinking, you started walking: "gihun? seong gihun?" your voice was soft, approaching him with an air of caution you couldn't explain. he looked up, face tense with something beyond stress. "yes?" "it's me." you said your name. "we—we went to grade school together? my ... my parents owned a shop just down the street from your mother's." why did every syllable feel more embarrassing than the last, and why did your voice get quieter with every word? you were certain that you were looking at the gihun you grew up with—who could forget those distinctly emotive brown eyes, or those ears that stuck out and were made fodder for incessant teasing from your classmates? but gihun's expression didn't move an inch, his eyebrows knitted together in the slightest of confusion. but it was merely momentary, because when you were uttering apologies, his eyes widened with belated realization. "yes," he thought aloud, his tone was still oddly serious. "i taught you how to tie your shoes."

your expression blossomed into utter elation, lips separated in shock. he so casually swept the dust off of a shelf of memories you forgot even existed, making you mentally regress to that afternoon during p.e. who knows how many years ago. "y-yes!" you nodded. "i wore velcro shoes until i was eleven!" another memory came to the forefront: "we used to trade cassettes during lunch! we argued so much over the british ones. who was it again? david bowie and—" "—duran duran." said gihun. "duran duran!" you repeated, beaming. "oh my ... when was the last time i listened to them." you pondered aloud.

warmth crept onto your cheeks, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth: "i remember you and sangwoo styling your hair like theirs." a breath left his lips, chest tightening, his eyes betraying him as they quivered in abrupt grief. "you wore so much hair gel it blinded me in study hall. i wonder where sangwoo is now. i haven't heard much since he graduated from snu. are you still friends today?"

your question was objectively harmless. there was absolutely no way for you to have the faintest clue of the atrocities gihun's been forced to witness; the painful guilt he carries; the nightmares that carve the abysses underneath his eyes; the debilitating anxiety that fills his head with endless noise even in the eerie quiet of his deserted motel. he nods, forcing a tight, small grin. "we did stay friends." he says bravely, his eyes looking more familiar than ever.

the genuine smile you give in return was added to his self-anointed list of reasons why, at the end of his life, he would not die a peaceful death. it was another thing he would laboriously mewl over in the afterlife, looking up at the rest of the world, shackled to the deepest, darkest pits of eternal regret.

"that's good to hear." you say. "how're you doing, hm? you've cleaned up well from when we were in our twenties." you quipped playfully. through the scattered shells of his soul littered throughout his body, his innocent self was still somewhere in there, because he subconsciously looked for an out to ease his internal tension, letting out a chuckle at your remark. those vibrations in his chest felt foreign after these past two years, but that murky remnant of his past self welcomed the change, no matter how minute it was. "i've been better." he responded.

"yeah?" you asked. "if it makes you feel better, i'm glad i ran late today. because i got to see an old friend after a long time." gihun glanced at either of your hands—no ring. "have you met anyone?" he asked. you nodded, understanding what he meant. "i did." you say. "he left me when the doctor told us i couldn't carry." your eyes widened, unsure of why you were suddenly so honest. "i don't know why i just—" "i'm so sorry." gihun cut you off. his hardened expression turned shocked, even appalled. you recouped, wanting to look past this: "it's okay." you shake your head, metaphorically dodging the memories of your marriage counselor telling you to not 'to deny your own personal wounds as it'll seep into the companionship.' "it was a long time ago, gihun. how about you? did you meet someone?" he nodded, sympathy glistening across his retinas. "we separated shortly after our daughter was born."

"seong gihun, a father?" you grinned. "anything's possible." the ringing of his phone diverted both his and yours attention away. "i'm sorry for keeping you. you looked like you were in the middle of something—" "no, no. it's fine," gihun shook his head. "here, give me your number. i'll call you." he didn't know why he did it. he failed to stop himself declining the phone call from the loan shark he hired to head the search for the salesman, let alone handing you his phone to type your number in. was the impulsiveness of his past self also crystallized, emerging at this very moment? his discreet vow to blend into the shadows seemed to have crumbled in these past five minutes, giving in to his complex feelings: your sweet demeanor made him feel like a normal human being, and he wanted more of it. for the first time in a long time, seeing someone from his past didn't end in complete anguish. or perhaps it was the gleam of sadness that washed over your eyes as you spoke of your ex-husband, inflating his subconscious savior complex. even so, after you exchanged polite goodbyes, walking off in different directions, he mentally kicked himself for compromising your safety concurrent with unabashed intention of calling you that very evening. through any stage of his life, through the gambling and the scheming, it seemed selfishness remained his kryptonite.

for you, it was a hell of a lot to take in. at some point, it felt as if a prank was being played on you. it was one thing to offer sincere condolences for his late mother, or be sorry that his daughter lived so far away. but ... children's games that ended in murder? masked guards with triangles, circles, and squares hiding their faces? a handsome, well-groomed man that tenderized his face over a game of ddakji, in the middle of a train station? sure, you would miss a lot of someone's life after not seeing them for nearly three decades. but ... but this? it was properly outlandish. crazy, even. but over that hushed dinner, sat in a corner booth, the scent of sizzling samgyeopsal on the grill increasingly nauseating, it was too detailed to be a lie. he pleaded nonverbally for you to believe him—through the desperate glossiness of his eyes. you affirmed your belief in the same wordless manner, visibly nodding. you almost threw up when he handed you a business card, the three aforementioned shapes on one side, a random assortment of numbers on the back.

gihun brought you to his motel that same night, barren and lifeless besides white noise of the warm-toned, aged ambient lighting on the first floor and the tinkering of various ceiling fans with rusted hinges. you took in the six monitors mounted on the wall in front of his bed, equipped with live block-to-block security camera footage of his immediate surroundings, the metro transit map tabbed meticulously, and the calendar with past dates crossed out in thick red marker, pages of months previous mixed with takeout containers lodged in the corner trash bin. you quietly followed him upstairs, seeing his hidden stash of weaponry as he explained his recruitment of underground crime groups he's known since his gambling days. you didn't utter a word, not even when you lastly saw the mountain of cash stacked on a random bed in a random room. it stared at you as you did it—blankly.

he broke the silence. "this is where i've been these last three years." he said. he turned to look at you. "i ... i understand that it's a lot." his voice grew quieter. he swallowed, feeling shame brewing in his chest. "i just—i just felt like telling you. i don't know why. i understand if you don't want to know me—" "—i want to help." you said. his eyes widened. "what?" "i want to help you, gihun." you looked at him. he was bewildered. he shook his head, dumbfounded. "no, i think you misunderstood—" "—i did?" you cut him off. "you brought me here because i believe your story, didn't you? what did you expect then, exactly? for me to take my conviction away, like you say those masked soldiers did to those people who didn't stand still enough, or broke their dalgona? you tell me all of these crazy stories, your pain is so visceral that it makes me nauseous with guilt, and you want me to walk away? huh? what is it, then? what did you want!?" you hadn't anticipated your voice to rise, but were yelling by the end, your irritation stuffing the room.

he took your verbal berating silently, avoiding eye contact and shoulders lowering. "i don't ..." his voice trailed. "i don't want you to get hurt." "you gave up the right to protect me when you gave the impression sangwoo was still alive." you spoke firmly, voice now leveled. a breath of defeat slipped through his teeth. "you should've never called me." you said. "you should've done what everyone does: offer to get lunch to be polite, but never actually do anything. you shouldn't've called. i shouldn't've answered. i shouldn't've have shown up tonight, and i should've walked away the moment you started talking. you've given me no choice but to stay."

the silence was deafening. he looked up upon hearing the skid of your shoes against the floor, coming face to face with your softened expression. it was strangely disarming, feeling goosebumps travel up his spine."you were rid of me for thirty years. it's only right we make up for lost time." you said. his gaze didn't falter. it was his turn to affirm his belief of your wordless plea. he nodded, "okay."

you stopped by the motel in the early morning before work, listening to him comb through whatever new strategy he was going to run by his men that day ("what do you think? does this sound efficient?") and in exchange for making you miss your train, he drove you to work before parking at his usual spot. his guilt of bringing you into all of this felt stronger some days than others, showing in your not hearing from him for a couple days at a time. until you squashed that like a bug, dialing him in the middle of your lunch break: "... hello?" "why haven't you called me?" "i ... i've been busy." "you don't have time for a one minute phone call? thirty seconds?" "no, no. that's not what i meant—" "—i'm coming to the motel tonight."

and like clockwork, at nine pm, you showed up on the security camera. his phone vibrated: I am outside. when he unlocked the door, you walked past him without uttering a word, b-lining to his room. he did not immediately follow, purposefully hovering at the entrance after locking it back up securely. he walked with a lowered head, peering into the doorway some moments later. he was taken aback by the sight of you unloading your tote bag, nose tickled with the scent of freshly brewed stew, steaming rice, and side dishes. "i've brought tupperware. you're not eating takeout anymore." you don't look at him, hanging your bag on the back of a chair after fishing out utensils, sitting down with a small huff.

you looked at him. "are you not joining me?" gihun walked into the room, but fell short of sitting down at the table. "how long ... how long have you been cooking?" he felt stupid for asking the question, but the gesture left his mind blank. he felt atomically undeserving. "i got off work early." you responded curtly, plating your food. gihun didn't say anything, making you look up at him again. "it's going to get cold, gihun." your softened tone gave you what you wanted, watching him sit down across from you with muted satisfaction. you ate together in silence, nothing but the gentle clattering of plates and a quiet "thank you" when passing dishes rivaling the white noise of the air conditioning.

"from now on," you started, bringing your bowl to your lips, finishing off the last of your serving of stew. "you will update me everyday. i will bring food for us. if you forget about me, i will haunt you in the afterlife." "understood." he muttered, avoiding eye contact, pretending to look for a piece of meat in his stew, ignoring the one showing itself plainly on the left side of his bowl. his bottom lip quivered; he tightened his mouth. his arms started feeling weak; he inhaled sharply through his nose, tapping his foot under the table. but then a ragged breath rattled out of his diaphragm, his shoulders shuddered, and his vision went blurry; he was a goner. he sobbed into his hand. it sounded a lot like a coughing fit, so you initially thought the food hadn't gone down smoothly. but his defeated, muffled mewls into his palm and sunken shoulders said otherwise, sending you to your feet.

gihun instinctually turned towards the feeling of your hand on his shoulder, crying into your stomach. his hands pulled at your jacket, making you stumble, but you caught yourself. "f-forgive me, please. i won't be able to live with myself. i haven't been able live with myself for a long time." you looked down at the top of his head, unsure of what to do. you brushed his hair back with your fingers—not sure if it was crossing a boundary, but it felt wrong to just stand there—he only cried harder, arms wrapping around your waist, holding you so tightly as if you were a lifeline. "you—you make me feel normal." he said, breathing in short gasps. "after all the sins i've committed, you've—you've shown me atonement is possible." he lifts his head, eyes reddened, cheeks wet. the imagery of the moment was almost religious; if you listened closely, a distant artist began hammering at a marble slab. "b-but i'm not deserving of mercy." he shook his head, his hands coming together, visibly pleading. "leave me. i've hurt too many people. i can't hurt you next."

you wiped his tears. "you already hurt me when you didn't call." you said. "you already hurt me when you pretended sangwoo was alive and well." you reminded gihun, his head sinking in shame. your hand traced his jaw, lifting his head to look up at you. "you don't get to hurt me again by acting like you're alone in this." your voice faltered to a whisper. gihun's fingers ghosted over your wrist. "listen to me—" "—no, you listen to me." you cleared your throat. "we met that saturday for a reason. you let me in tonight for a reason. we're sharing a meal for a reason. stop lying to yourself." you said. "i can handle myself. i've been through a lot. i don't know how many sins you've committed, but even the devil gets a second chance. you should know, you've looked down the barrel of his gun."

gihun tsked. "save your prayers, gihun. just let me have the peace of knowing i'm helping a friend." he sucked in a shaky breath, sinking his face into his hands. "what have i done?" he whispered. "no one deserves to be alone as long as we both have." you retort. silence fills the room, making way for the words to settle into his psyche. goosebumps arise along his spine at the return of your fingers brushing his hair back. you take a step forward, his forehead brushing against the same place he wept on seconds before. "the least i could do is stay," you spoke quietly as if someone would overhear, even if you two were alone. "even if it's for a little while." as embarrassing and hypocritical as it felt to him, gihun gradually wrapped his arms around your waist. his touch hovered, however, only for you to pull him in, letting him know it was okay.

he got the message. his eyes closed, a long breath escaping his lips. you would've missed what he said if you weren't listening closely: "please do." he said, voice low, tone weakened. "please stay the night. there's—there's a room close to mine. down the hall." "i will." you assure without hesitation."what're friends for, hm?" you grinned. gihun let go. "i'll go—" he cleared his throat, voice gravely. "i'll go wash my face." he gestured to the bathroom behind you, rising from his seat. you returned to yours, "when you come back, have more food. you look sunken in." "i will." he muttered.

gihun closed the sliding door, inhaling through his nostrils, wiping a rogue tear with his knuckles. before he turned on the water, he looked over his shoulder, peering through the translucent palm tree imprint adorning the bathroom door. he caught a glimpse of you re-plating his food, leaned over the table, carefully pouring more stew; a hefty pile of rice on his plate; the side dishes pushed towards his seat. his bottom lip quivered, quickly looking away and tugging the right knob, the faucet pouring. the water ran and ran, but his eyes were stuck on his reflection in the mirror. he felt nauseated by the sight of his glossy eyes, deepened frown lines, and pathetic expression: worthless, contradictory, complacent.

seeing himself felt revolting. not even a mother could love this face after all i've done. he thought to himself. how would he know? he found his mother lifeless on the floor when he came home, eternally impairing her with the gripping chokehold of disappointment routinely tightened by her deadbeat son throughout the last years of her life. what would she think of her son now, a secluded loner who lives off of blood money, whom watched his best friend die right before his eyes, hired criminals to do his bidding to further involve himself in a fight that feels too big, and on top of all that has looped in an innocent woman into all of this? and for what, comfort? a semblance of peace? gihun splashed his face haphazardly, drying off with a towel hastily. he turned the faucet off, staring at himself again: "own the consequence." he whispered to himself. "it's all your fault."

you stayed at the motel even if it was against your better judgment, such as having work earlier than usual. gihun stirred awake at the rustling outside of his closed and locked door, reaching over and squinting at his phone screen: 5:37 AM. his senses clouded by exhaustion, he didn't realize just how quickly he recognized your footsteps, climbing out of bed without a second thought. his voice startled you, even if it was quiet: "what're you doing up so early?" he asked. "you don't have work for almost three hours." "i go in earlier today," you weren't sure why you were whispering anymore. "and i forgot something at home. i'm sorry for waking you up, gihun. go back to bed." he left the doorway, coming back with his jacket and shoes on, keys in his pocket. "let's go. i'll take you home, then to work." "no!" you protested, shaking your head and waving your hand. "i've caused enough trouble waking you up." "i'm already here," he said, taking your purse and carrying it in his right hand, his left gently ushering you alongside him. "let's go. you'll be late."

you shared cigarettes after dinner, the emptied tupperware long forgotten on the small table some feet away. you blew the smoke out the window, watching it disappear into the night. the click of gihun's lighter caught your attention, gaze lingering whilst he inhaled. you smirked to yourself: "i kicked this habit right before i started trying for a family." you said, bringing the cigarette between your lips. "i guess you're as bad an influence you say to be." you quipped, exhaling. "high school gihun would ask if he looked cool doing it." he muttered, holding his between his lips, putting the lighter back in his pocket. "he would. and i'd tell him he does." you affirmed with a nod, flicking ash into the tray lining the windowsill. "he would also ask for you to not tell his mom, even though he stole those cigarettes from her shop. then, two days later, he'd ask you for one." you chuckled, leaning towards the window and blowing. gihun shook his head, "what an annoying kid." "funny." you corrected him. "you were funny. aware, but also clueless. caring, too."

"i was shameless." he murmured lowly, blowing his smoke. you tsked un-approvingly, "stop being so brooding. now that's annoying." he looked at you as if you detested his entire family lineage, eyes widened in an expression fit for schoolyard bickering. "i'm not being annoying, i'm being real! hey—" he said, pointing his cigarette at you. "you're the one being annoying, just going against whatever i say! you've been doing this so much lately! on wednesday, when i offered to buy dinner because you've been working so late these days, and you said to me 'hey gihun, i have fifteen more years until i'm eligible for elderly welfare. i can cook just fine.' you could've just said either yes or no!" he waved his hand to accentuate his point, continuing: "and last week when you told me five times to stop wearing the same three shirts on rotation, and i told you i have more than that but there's no need because i sit in a car all day, and you said 'you're more dedicated to an outfit than the president is to the oath of office.' where do you even get this stuff?" he questioned, bewildered, pointing his cig to his temple. you nearly drew blood from your lip from attempting to contain your laughter. "and i wasn't stealing from my mom when i was that young! at least be honest about that." hearing him accentuate his vowels in the midst of his frustrated rant—a habit he's seemingly had his entire life—made your face feel warmer than before, a wide smile appearing whilst laughter finally rang out of you; you'd unpack the former later.

"okay, okay." you nodded, your free hand coming to rest on his arm as a way of both giving in and telling him to calm down. "was it my mom you stole from, then?" you joked, unable to hold your laughter at the look on his face. "you can tell me, gihun. i'm sure the statute of limitations is up by now for theft." "you're impossible." he muttered, shaking his head, bringing his cigarette to his lips. "hey. hey," you said, arm traveling up to his bicep, "i'm just kidding. i know you didn't steal." he stayed silent until he couldn't. "jungbae used to take his father's cigarettes. that's what i smoked." "okay, okay. i believe you, no need to be emotional." you said that on purpose, an upside down grin molding your face at his expression, suppressed laughter clouding your lungs. "how am i emotional for just telling the truth! hey, you can't just lay the bait and expect me not to take it!" "are you really this unable to take a joke?" you questioned. "wow, gihun. you take our role as elders more seriously than anyone our age." you remarked with faux indignity, hiding your grin behind your hand, inhaling. "impossible." he muttered to himself, turning away from you to face the window. your hand fell to your side, glancing at his cigarette between his lips before gazing out the window yourself.

silence washed over the room. after a few minutes, you put out your cigarette in the ash tray. you cleared your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. "i know it's hard, but lighten up." you began. "we just had a good meal. our shit will pass smoothly in the morning." gihun turned his head, looking at you with those routinely emotive brown eyes, too capacious for his own good, gaping at you. you thought you knew what he was going to say, but he scoffed, looking back out the window, a hint of a chuckle leaving his diaphragm, a ghost of a smile on his face. "poop jokes? at our age?" he shook his head, inhaling. upon his exhale, he struck gold: "you're so full of shit." both of you turned to each other with widened eyes, an open smile of surprise on your face: "a pun!" you called out, pointing at his chest. "you just said a pun!" "i'm not inept." he said. "of course not." you agreed. "just stubborn." you grinned, hearing him scoff.

"you may not be the seong gihun i remember entirely," you said, watching him extinguish his cigarette. "but you're certainly a seong gihun that'll be hard to forget." your words weigh unexpectedly heavily, suddenly bringing up the inevitable next step when gihun confronts the salesman. it's long been established as you two have talked about it before, albeit more hesitantly these days, even if it didn't start that way. in the beginning, it was treated with zero sugarcoating; basic fact; common sense—he's going back in there and no one can stop him. however, over these last few months, it's not as if the end goal has changed, but its honest, unforgiving nature has become increasingly visceral. it lingers in the air like an unwanted draft, but you're scared shitless to get up to close the window, fearing something bad might happen if you leave your bed. it was overtly irrational, a perfect concoction of contradiction and avoidance; even at your big age. it made you feel sixteen again, narrowly evading your crush in the busy school corridor, but stealing every possible glance during your shared class. wait . . . hold on . . . did you just use the word . . .

"i don't plan on forgetting you." gihun cut your inner monologue off. you were taken aback. his gaze is unrelenting, even if his eyes give away his own surprise at his words. your mouth moved, but no sound followed. your mind was completely and utterly blank. gihun felt it too, considering you always had something to say at any given time. that's how you made your way back into his life; upended his routine; granted him a better sleeping schedule; made a technicolor life seem possible again; filled his aura with something other than regret and disdain. his life felt—even if it was only momentary—not like it was unfolding to the beat of a ticking metronome, but in peaceful silence, like now. there was no room for hurtful memories, intrusively incessant conflicting feelings born out of his festering trauma, or the hefty responsibility to avenge those lost that he attributes to his own faults. there was room for only you. you.

gihun turned away, flustered. he suddenly wished he never put his cigarette out, yearning for the scent of nicotine to distract him from the discomfort he felt now—a feeling he was sure you shared, too. "i'm sorry." he muttered, so quiet it nearly blended in with the noise of the air conditioning kicking in. you stepped forward, locking your arm with his. he turned his head, glancing at you when you laid your temple against his bicep. he feels one of your hands gingerly rub his arm, saying something neither of you had the guts to verbally. his posture was stiff, unsure of what to do, but he didn't think for an iota of a second to step away or nudge you off. he felt something inside him begin to thaw, or maybe it slowly had been this entire time. "tonight is the first time i've heard you laugh since we met again." you spoke. your tone was so hushed it made gihun feel as if you were the last two people on all of earth. you two stood in silence, looking out the same window; listening to the distant cares drive by; the meow of a stray cat; the air conditioning shutting off. too afraid to move his gaze—and frightened by how hot his face felt—gihun slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket, slipping it into yours. it took him a moment to mount the courage to intertwine your fingers, and another to lay his temple against the top of your head.

something shifted after that night. how could it not? your apartment collected dust with how you practically lived at the motel, other than to cook. gihun awoke before you did on days you had work earlier, intentionally setting this alarm no matter the time he fell asleep the night before. you stayed in his car a little longer than usual when he dropped you off, really pushing that five minute grace period you have to clock in on time, even if those extra few minutes were spent in flustered silence or repeatedly glancing at how close your hands were on the center console. every time you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, you hoped it was him; elated if it was indeed his name in your messages, and an eye roll if it was an email or the news. gihun found himself sitting up in his seat when your text came through midday (Going on lunch in 15 min), uncomfortably tugging at the collar of his shirt. he cleared his throat when you sent your usual follow up (Free now), staring at the call button next to your contact name. what am i going to say? he thought to himself, only to realize how ridiculous he sounded. gihun pressed the button hastily, bringing the phone to his ear with an irritated huff. since when did i become sixteen again?

on the evenings where you're running late for dinner, gihun is in your room at the motel, tidying it. he didn't want to face the fact that he lingered in your space because it was precisely that: yours—or in more truthful words, he just really missed you. it was where your energy remained a constant, even through the poorly-lit space and stuffy air. it felt irrational to miss someone he would see in a matter of hours, but he could not help it. he distracted himself with fixing the folded corner of the thin duvet; smoothening a stubborn wrinkle on a pillow case; replacing a faulty lightbulb; cracking the window open just enough if it was particularly humid that day. if you still hadn't arrived afterward, gihun sat on the edge of your finely made bed, waiting idly. he sped down the hall upon reading I'm outside, hushing your flurry of apologies with a gentle "it's okay. i only just came home, too."

gihun was no stranger to nightmares. he had them often, tossing and turning in bed, waking up in a cold sweat or with a prolonged headache that followed him into the day. over time, he got better at lulling himself back to sleep, harnessing the mantra of it's not real as best he could. but one night . . . it was too tangible, tactile, even. filled with villains of his past, ghosts of mistakes, ominous reminders of the uncertain future. he knew he was in a dream, but his subconscious was at war with his conscious efforts to wake up—throwing him in a very frightening limbo. he awoke with a sharp gasp, his body riddled with sweat and coughing abhorrently, throat heinously dry. this was the most severe dream he's had in a while. gihun tried to ground himself by whatever means his mangled mind could think of: steadying his breath, feeling the fraying blanket with his fingertips, trying to remember that mantra ... but his senses felt electrified, the visceral fear of the nightmare still fresh.

his eyes shot open when he heard a knock at his door. he stilled, unsure whether he'd imagined it. some of his rationale had returned, but not entirely, because when there was another knock, he quickly got out of bed, grabbing the gun on his nightside table. that dream really must have done a number on him, because he didn't look at his monitors and moved based on assumption—halting upon hearing "gihun?" your voice laced with concern yet gentle, ear pressed against the door. you knocked again. "gihun? are you awake?" you asked. "is everything okay in there?" his shoulders sunk in relief. have i lost my mind? he thought to himself. he put the gun back, momentarily deferring his disgust over his rash actions, cracking open the door.

he swallowed, hiding his grimace at his still aching throat with a quick swipe of his forehead. "good evening." he said rather monotone, trying to mask as light-spirited but executing it meekly. "i'm okay. i had a bad dream." "i heard you—" you gestured down the hall. "i heard you from my room, gihun. you sounded like you were in pain. i was worried that, that—" "—i'm fine." he nodded, trying to assure you. before you rebutted, he asked "what time is it?" whilst rubbing his eyes. "two in the morning." you answered hurriedly. "look, gihun. you're drenched in sweat and you're breathing so hard. i know this wasn't some ordinary dream." you say. "was it ... was it about them? the men in masks, the games?" gihun's hesitant pause was your answer. "i'm okay." he said again. "i'm sorry for waking you up. go back to bed." you tsked. "still so stubborn, even when he's sleepy." you eyed him, seeing his glistening face. "okay," you gave in. "i'm down the hall if you need me." a pause. "you're not alone in this." you reminded him, walking away and returning to your room. his gaze lingered in your general direction for a moment before closing his door.

he tried to fall asleep, but found himself stuck, only able to stare at the ceiling. gihun's mind ran a million miles an hour, feeling short of breath if he focused on that for more than ten seconds. he looked at his phone for the fifth time in three minutes: 2:47 AM. sleep felt nowhere in sight. his sweat had mostly subsided, heartbeat leveled, but his mind remained riddled. if he closed his eyes, they would open right back up. your proposition played in his head like a broken record, but like anyone his age, his pride stood in the way. it's not only that he didn't want to seem weak or have an insecure grip on self-sufficiency, but also seeking comfort still felt foreign to him. it was another symptom of circumstance, both of the past three years and the last four months. gihun felt undeserving, foolish for pursuing such a thing when he's so close to throwing himself back into a world running on nothing but adrenaline and fear.

gihun laid on his left side with a stern huff, closing his eyes, trying so desperately to feel that lilting tug of sleep, even if he had to pretend. he did all of this to protect you and himself. to protect the inevitable, to crystallize his oath of taking down those bastards once and for all. but when he looked at his phone, seeing it was now 3:16 AM, he suddenly felt thirty-five again: coming home horrendously late after another taxing day at the factory, muscles weak and his will even more so. his wife wasn't home, having been at her relative's house the past few days after an argument they had. he laid atop the bed the best his sore muscles allowed; he hadn't enough strength to shower or even feed himself. he got up less than four hours later, freshening up as best he could in an eerily silent house, ignoring the grumble of his stomach as he boarded the public bus.

it was one of his loneliest moments. he didn't know why he thought of that specifically, considering the divorce, custody battle, and moving back in with his mother was a different low point entirely. his eyes opened to the darkness. the silence felt similar, the shame even more so . . . gihun got up, taking his pillow and blanket with him. he knocked twice, pressing his ear against the door, only for it to creak open. it must have been left open. he stepped inside, closing and locking it behind him. the layout of your room was the same as his, so he had no problem navigating the dark room. he quickly laid his pillow on the floor next to your bed, closing his eyes after unfolding his blanket. you were awake, overhearing his shuffling into the room. "gihun?" he gasped: "you scared me." he whispered back, hand on his chest. "why are you on the floor?" you asked. silence lingered. "i wasn't—i wasn't sure if it would be okay." "get on the bed, gihun." unbeknownst to him, you were awake for the past hour and some change waiting; having moved purposefully to lay on one side of the bed.

your face felt warm, eyes squeezing shut and nestling into your pillow when you felt the weight of the bed dip behind you. even though your backs faced each other, you thanked the universe that no lights were on in the room. gihun laid as far on his side of the bed as he could; not enough to warrant worry that he would fall off, but enough to thwart his fastening heartbeat he felt come increasingly close to his throat. or so he thought, because he stuttered with his next words: "you—you left your door open. don't ... don't do that. someone might come in." a beat. "you did." was all you said. barely ten minutes later, both of you succumbed to the white nose of the air vent, gihun's quiet snores and your steady breaths filling the room.

a week later, you walked into your apartment, setting bags of fresh groceries down on the kitchen counter. you heard your text tone go off in the midst of searching your cabinets for the usual pots and pans you used to cook—a piercing rattle reverberating through the immediate space when you dropped a small pot onto the stove, reading the text from gihun: 1 do not come. you stared at the text in horror, inner monologue clustered and borderline indecipherable—did he find him? how? when—yesterday it was another dead end—and lunch was smooth, too—how could have things changed so quickly? where is he—do not come? is he at there, at the motel? he sent this seven minutes—did he confront him there? how did he even find him there? how did he even— how did he even get inside? your eyes flickered back to the 1—a code you two established the night you took your wordless oath to help him in his endeavor ("it's quick to type. the 'one' we're looking for, the 'one' chance we have.") gihun sent the other three words to deter your stubbornness under the glimmer of the neon pink motel sign he didn't turn on himself, further punctuating the sentiment of imminent danger.

"how ... how long do i wait for?" you whispered to yourself. you paced back and forth, gnawing at whatever skin was left on your lips, moving to your nails after they felt raw. you didn't process your stomach rumbling more time went by; another hour passing on the clock, nor did you pay mind to how your loafers continuously pinched the back of your ankles, too occupied to remember to take them off. your phone rang close to midnight. gihun hadn't realized how quickly you picked up his call: "gihun!? what happened? is everything okay? are you okay?" "i'm safe." he said. "i am okay." he let out a breath, hearing yours on your side of the line. he began to explain: "we found him an hour after lunch. we tailed and tried to corner him, but he was too quick. one of my men are dead, and he used to other to find me at the motel." "n-no." you said weakly, shaking your head, horrified. "he was in my room." gihun continued. "he challenged me to a game of russian roulette. i won. he's dead."

you hadn't the faintest clue what that game was. but that did not matter. "d-dead? just—just like that?" your voice was quiet, eyes glossy. "after searching for these three years, he's gone just like that?" these people were so fucking odd. no matter how many times you reeled over the details, anecdotes, of whatever you learned, their ominous nature left you with an uneasy stomach; an urge to look over your shoulder at any given moment. it was consuming you these last six months. you couldn't imagine how it's been for him for the past few years. gihun nodded, despite you not being able to see. "yes." he affirmed. "he gave me what i needed. there's a card with a date and address for a halloween party, i think, since i searched it up and saw its a club. that's where the leader of the games will be. we've started planning what we're going to do—" "—that's—that's two weeks from now." you thought aloud. "yes." said gihun, nodding again. here came the part of the conversation he'd been avoiding: "i need you to ... i need you to stay at your apartment. just for tonight." you were deeply offended. "what? are you crazy?" you retorted, furrowing your eyebrows. "absolutely not. you listen to me, i'm coming—" "—no, listen to me." he cut you off. "it's a mess at the motel. i can't—" he huffed, shoulders sinking a little. "i can't do that to you."

you understood what he meant. "okay." you sounded hurt, but agreeable. you leaned on the kitchen counter, elbow rustling against the grocery bags. "okay." you repeated, running your hand over your face, clearing your throat afterward. you realized this wasn't gihun acting as if he was alone in his endeavor, but asking nonverbally for your belief in him. "i'll stay here. i trust you." "thank you." he responded in a whisper, overcome by a hefty wave of relief. "just for tonight. i promise." he specified once again. "i know." you said. a moment of silence washes over before gihun speaks. "i'll take you to work tomorrow." he said gently. "do you go in at nine?" "seven." you correct. you look over your shoulder, seeing it was nearing one in the morning on the oven clock. "i didn't realize how late it was. i haven't even showered yet." "me neither." he responded, glancing at the time on his car's dashboard. "i'll be at your building at half six. is that okay?" you nodded, despite his not being able to see. "yes, that's okay."

silence washed over the call. "thank you for trusting me." he said. "thank you for trusting me too. goodnight, gihun." "goodnight." he quickly hung up the call, tossing his phone onto the empty passenger's seat. a shaky breath left his lips as his eyes watered, fingers harshly rubbing his closed eyelids. "fuck." he muttered under his breath. when his vision cleared, he turned his head, looking out his car window to your apartment building. he stared and stared, eyes flittering up and down the various floors, trying to spot yours with any hint; a lamp turned off, a curtain closed, anything. some part of him wanted to stay in his spot until he was to pick you up, and another irrationally hoped you'd walk out of the building, like a lovesick teenager who's lost all reason. but eventually, gihun's hand reached for the gear, putting the car in drive, gradually pushing down on the peddle.

those two weeks were a stilled, prolonged goodbye. your face and muscles felt heavy as if you were already in mourning, but your brain remained defiant. he's too stubborn to let those people kill him. you told yourself, pouring creamer into your coffee at work. he's not stupid enough to die. the later half of october rolled out. with each passing day, you slowly lost the strength to cross out the dates on the calendar in his room. gihun would be a fool to not see the growing cynicism that deepened your eye bags, the perpetual frown on your face during dinner, or the avoidance of eye contact. you woke up too easily these days, gihun often hearing your shower head long before your alarm went off. he wasn't sure if you even set an alarm anymore, but it was enough to deduce you weren't getting much sleep. what was once a witty back-and-forth when reviewing the day's plans for his recruits, became a subdued, one-sided conversation where you looked at the whiteboard with an unreadable expression, offering a monotone "sounds good" in the end. as halloween drew closer, your midday texts lessened. gihun reached out—Are you going on lunch soon?—only to come to terms with his hurt upon reading your response: Busy day. I'll see you at dinner. your eyes watered, bottom lip quivering when he texted back: Okay. No problem. you clicked your phone off, turning it face down. you pushed away your half-eaten lunch, losing your appetite. a ragged breath left your diaphragm, tears threatening to leave your waterline. no one else was in the break room, so the consequences of suppressing your emotions thankfully beared no audience. but you felt exposed nonetheless, confronted by the fact that you couldn't bear to lose gihun, but you had no choice.

the motel was eerily silent the night before halloween. the plan was concrete, reviewed ad nauseam over the last couple of weeks. dinner had wrapped a few hours prior, the tupperware packed away in your tote bag hanging on the back of a lounge chair in your room. you didn't dare look at gihun. in fact, your eyes stayed down the entire time, speaking minimally other than to ask to pass a side dish, or offer him more rice. your quivering lips were hidden well behind your utensils, or taking a drink of water. gihun was just as quiet. not passive, but quiet. he didn't muster the courage to say anything. he might not be the most gifted in expressing his emotions, but he was aware enough to read the room and know it wasn't the best time to bring up the inevitable. he knew he couldn't leave you alone. he couldn't, not without saying something.

so there he was, some time past eleven pm, knocking on your door frame. "are you awake?" he asked gently, even if your nightside lamps were on, apparent that you weren't asleep. you peeked over your shoulder. "yes." you answered, returning your temple to your pillow. gihun walked into the room, back facing you as he sat on the edge of your bed. he had enough gall to keep you in his peripheral vision, but fell short of looking at you directly. "what did i tell you about leaving your door open, hm?" he asked, trying to sound sharp, but succumbing to tenderness. "anyone can walk in." "you aren't just anyone, gihun." you said oh so delicately, enough to have him turn his head completely, eyebrows turned up sympathetically. you saw his eyes on you in your periphery, but avoided his gaze, keeping yours on your palm running back and forth along a small spot of the thin duvet.

"i—" gihun reached into his pocket. "i made you a key for the motel." he leaned over to his right, setting it down on your nightside table. "if you ever need anything," he glanced in your direction, the strength to look at you fleeting. "take as much as you want. you know where the room is." you didn't say a word. your palm stilled. his gaze fell to the duvet, too, his hand gliding across the wrinkles. "like i said before," his voice was low. "i don't plan on forgetting you—" "—gihun, stop." you interrupted. "i don't have the strength for this."

silence. he tries again: "i'll come back." he spoke warily. "i'm going to come back." "please." your voice fell to a whisper. "i can't take it." your chin hovered above your chest from the length you went to avoid his eyes. you felt fragile as porcelain, every single utterance of this conversation chipping away at you without remorse. gihun doesn't try again, internally frustrated with how easily he felt defeated. silence wins again, but not for long. he continues tracing the duvet's wrinkles, inching towards to your hand with every swipe. his hand comes closer and closer, until he slows. you watched his fingers gradually hold yours. gihun doesn't apply pressure, but he stays there. he keeps them in his grip when he moves to lay on his side, facing you. "at least look at me." he whispered, pleading. "i can't." you sounded so defeated. his eyes glistened, gripping your fingers properly now. "i can't regret my decision now. not when i'm so close." his eyes shined under the warm-toned light of your lamp. "don't make me regret my decision. please."

your head rose, meeting his eyes. he looked his most familiar: a deep somberness etched in the crevices of his face, his eyes perhaps the most poetic of all. they looked so soft, so gentle; as if a look of malice could never come close to tainting them. he could try his damn hardest, feel the most visceral of anger, but he could never look truly dissatisfied, forever unable to mask his true desire for comfort. for love. a small grin tugged at gihun's lips. "there you are. i missed you." he was barely audible, almost as if he mouthed the words. without thinking, he moved his head onto the pillow, not realising how close you two were until it was too late. it was like a strange instinct, the way he leaned in. he couldn't stop himself; not when the quietest of gasps escaped between your teeth, or his heart thumping so harshly his chest felt it was going to burst, or when his lips hovered admittedly awkwardly above yours. the kiss was light, almost nonexistent, until gihun leaned forward a little more. the tip of his nose brushed past yours, bringing his lips against yours wholly. his nose lightly dipped into your cheek when he kissed you again. before you could show any semblance of reciprocity, gihun abruptly pulled away.

"i'm sorry." he said. "i shouldn't have ... i shouldn't have done that. i'm sorry—" "—it's okay." you shook your head, panicking slightly. you slipped your fingers out of his grip, using them to make him look at you. "come here." you say. he follows, molding his lips with yours once again. the kiss was one of fervor; relocating misplaced frustration into that of palpable yearning; two souls who came together by chance after decades past; an atomic understanding of each other's pain, yet accepting you'll never truly know what's its like to live the other's life; a long-awaited embrace of the unknown, succumbing to the desire—no, the need to be loved.

gihun's lips felt soft, contrasting with his stubble rubbing against your chin and upper lip. it made you pull him closer, his head tilting to the side to deepen the kiss, eyebrows turning upward at the sound of your muffled whimper. your hand left his face, taking his hand and laying his palm atop your clothed breast. he took the hint, kneading it with just the right amount of firmness, but not without moaning lowly into your mouth. his pointer and middle fingers pulled the collar of your sweater down, breaking the kiss mind-numbingly slowly before trailing down to your neck, past your double chin, settling on the faint stretch marks adorning your shoulder. your eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, an encouraging hand in his hair as your chest nearly collided with his, back arched in bliss.

you brought yourself back down to earth, hand reaching past his chest, undoing his belt. you scrambled to undo the button and zipper, escaping into his briefs. gihun let out a guttural moan into your warm skin, embarrassingly (to him) hard in your hand, breathing hard through your slow strokes. "h—h-ha ... h—ngh!" he tried to contain himself by peppering kisses onto your skin, but ended up bucking his hips up into your soft palm. you fastened your pace, fingers wrapped securely around his girthy cock, his precum wetting your hand. gihun shuddered, mouth agape and face burrowed into your clothed chest, fingers limp on your shoulder. you bit your bottom lip as you continued your ministrations, thighs rubbing together for any sort of friction. a whimper rattled out of his diaphragm when you began pumping only his tip. "i'm g-gonna pass out!" he whined. he gasped sharply when he felt something stir in his abdomen. "n-no, no—w-wait!" he suddenly moved, laying his head next to yours on the pillow. "w-wait! s-stop! i'm—" his body reacted before he did. gihun's nose brushed against your cheek, his mewls and grunts making your eyebrows knit together in a fit of awe and sexual drive you hadn't felt in years. hot spurts of cum coated his briefs and your inner wrist. you gradually came to a halt, overhearing his labored breathing.

you leaned in, softly reconnecting your lips. even in his clouded haze, gihun kissed back with intent. his hand found the hem of your pants, leaning closer to you, your free hand holding his cheek, deepening the kiss. you turned your head towards the ceiling with a sharp inhale, effectively breaking the kiss, however, when his fingers dipped between your folds. goosebumps arose on your arms underneath your sleeves, a soft hiss brewing between your teeth. "your hand is cold." you whispered. his nose pushed against your cheek, lips pressing chaste kisses onto your supple skin. "i'm sorry." he said. "i can ... i can stop." "no, it's okay. it's okay." you say breathily, closing your thighs around his wrist. gihun's jaw dropped at the sight."it'll warm up. just—just keep going." you tell him. "fuck!" his voice fought so hard to stay quiet, coming out hoarse.

your eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed. it was only every few swirls of his finger did a small gasp leave your slightly swollen lips, feeling him come closer to your clit than before. gihun was so fucking close to where you needed him to be, but not quite there. his unintentional teasing concocted the subtle yet apparent slosh of your wetness as your puffy lips encased his middle finger. you arched your back a little, hoping it would slip him into place, but to no avail. you reached for his head, fingers slipping into his hair. "gihun," you swallowed, mouth dry. "a little h-higher." "where? here?" his cock was hardening in your hand again, blurring his logic, trailing kisses up to your temple in his misunderstanding. "your hand, gihun. your f-finger." "right, right." he quickly realized. "i'm sorry."

the pad of his middle finger inched higher. the light of heaven was now in your sight. you opened your legs to allow just enough room for his wrist to fulfill your next request: "a l-little deeper, gihun. a little—f-fuck!" your gasp echoed off the walls. your hand left his hair, coming to cover your mouth, eyes barely open to look down at his hand in your pants. your wetness was blatant, the sticky sound making his cock stiffen and your vision blur. "g-gihun!" you whimpered, feeling him rubbing unrelentingly your sweet bundle of nerves. every swipe tightened the muscles of your inner thighs, toes curling in your socks. "k-keep going! keep going!" you pleaded helplessly, voice stuck at a whisper.

gihun pressed his forehead against your temple, eyes cast below with no intent of looking away. "f-fuck." he muttered under his breath, mouth agape at how he worked you. his mind became mush, marveling over your warmth and intoxicating softness. "please." he muttered to himself, squeezing his eyes shut at the thought of how you would feel wrapped around him. his shame made him feel juvenile, embarrassed by how his thoughts were as sexually erratic when he was 21 to his now 51, but not enough to stop him from grinding his cock into your loosened grip. "p-please," he whispered to himself. "god almighty—hngh!"

you began pumping him again, your other hand going back into his hair, turning your head and kissing his lips. it was one of newfound hunger; quick yet deep; quiet but stuttered through moans and hushed whimpers. suddenly, a knot formed in your abdomen, threatening to unravel. you broke the kiss. "i'm close." your tone was so vulnerable, like you would trust him with the world. gihun opened his eyes, taking in how beautiful you looked under the lamplight, the sheerest coat of sweat glimmering off your skin. "are—ngh!—a-are you?" you asked. he felt your breath brush against his cheeks, his forehead atop yours, nodding. "y-yes. we can finish together. c'mon." he kissed your cheek and your temple. "o-okay," you said breathily, head turning towards the ceiling, feeling his lips rest against your skin. "i trust you."

before gihun could register it, you unraveled. your moans were so delicate, so gentle, descending into shudders rattling out of your chest; back arching, eyebrows turned upward in ecstasy. "i—i!" you whimpered, the feeling of his finger continuously circling your clit through your unimaginable orgasm making your sinuses loosen, tears prickling even in your tightly shut eyes. "yes! yes! y-yes!" you chanted like a prayer, pumping him whilst you rode out your high. gihun was an incoherent mess through his second orgasm, his sweaty forehead sticking to your cheek, spilling onto your wrist in finality. he felt depleted of all energy, dizzy for those first few moments whilst you laid beside each other in your respective post-orgasmic hazes, your joint-labored breathing outdoing the room's air conditioning unit.

his hand slowly pulled out of your pants, yours slipping from his briefs when he turned to lay on his back. gihun's eyes closed, lulling his heartbeat with every deep breath he took. even though your body had stilled—eyes closed, tongue running over your dried lips; trying to bring yourself back down—something stirred inside of you. your body had its release, but your heartbeat fastened for a reason you did not want to acknowledge. in fact, there could not have been a worse time than now. you hastily wiped the tear that had fallen during your orgasm, your face contorting into a near sob, almost giving in to the reality that you convinced yourself you've long accepted. but you loathed it so much, so viscerally that your temples vibrated with anger; resentment; vitriol, even. all those missed phone calls, lying texts, quiet dinners, avoidant conversations . . . now here you were, suffering the consequences the night before he's set to leave.

am i really going to cry after an orgasm? really? you thought to yourself. you knew it wasn't the truth, but you were internally fighting tooth and nail to not yield to the suffocating devastation consuming your lungs like smoke at the moment; breath stuttering through your nostrils, chest convulsing whilst you held back the tears. but then, you felt his hand ghost past yours when he fixed his posture in bed. all hell broke loose.

gihun's eyes widened when he heard you cry. his hand did not hesitate to ride up your arm; a firm, yet gentle tug at your shoulder in an attempt for your attention. "hey," he spoke softly. "what happened? is everything okay?" you cried even harder, bringing your hand to your mouth. gihun's knuckles wiped what he could reach, turning on his side to face you. his big brown eyes looked to you with the same devastation your body was currently expelling. "was it something i did?" he whispered tragically. he was afraid he overstepped a boundary tonight, the intensity of it all hitting you suddenly. but that couldn't be farther from the truth. if only you could stop crying to tell him.

you turned to look at him, pawing weakly at his chest to somehow ground yourself enough to speak. the attempt proved to be worthless, the warmth of your tears lulling you into a state of incoherence. gihun's hands came up, holding either side of your face. "what is it?" his voice was low, laced with concern and perpetual shame. "what happened, hm? you can tell me." he encouraged, fingers wiping your fresh tears, palm softly encasing your cheek afterward. "i can't stand to see you like this. please, tell me."

"i-i'm so sorry i've been so distant!" you exclaimed, your tears added an unintended tone of urgency. you looked into his eyes, shaking your head. "i'm so sorry i've b-been so mean!" "no—" gihun dismissed gently, pulling you into his chest. he wrapped his arms around you; one hand smoothening your hair, the other holding onto your hip. "it's okay. you have nothing to apologize for." he meant every word. gihun never once questioned why you acted the way you did. he's anticipated this from the moment he asked for your number that early afternoon several months ago. out of all the unpredictable variables that have unfairly cast themselves into the trajectory of his life, he could always count on his selfishness to rear its ugly face in the end. whether it be debt, addiction, or hurting the ones he loved—he bears the consequence. but some part of this makes it feel worth it, as murky as it is. "it's okay. it's okay." he hushed your cries. gihun kissed your temple tenderly. "there is nothing to be forgiven." he told you when your tears subsided, holding onto you even tighter. "you haven't done anything wrong."

after a while, you slowly sat up. gihun too, albeit cautiously, watching you wipe underneath your eyes with the back of your hand. you let out a long breath, lifting your head to meet his gaze. "i've always been such an ugly crier." you muttered. gihun exhaled through his nose, grinning. "i can never predict what's going to come out of your mouth next. no matter how hard i try." you grew flustered, an upside down grin tugging at your lips. "you missed thirty years of my life." you said. "of course you'd be a little lost."

gihun couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. comfortable silence washed over the room. your palm began to swipe back and forth on the duvet again, but your eyes were on him. avoidance wasn't in the realm of possibility anymore. it hurt, but you felt ready. "you can't die, gihun." you spoke, voice quiet, as if volume would shatter the sanctity of your oath. you looked at him as if you were the only two beings on the entire earth. "i have more food to make." his gaze did not waver. "i won't." he responded, equally gentle. "i have more to eat."

two days later, you unlocked the door, stepping into your apartment. you kicked your shoes off without a moment's hesitation, setting your purse down on the kitchen counter. the rustle of the plastic bag in your hand almost overshadowed the vibration in your pocket. fishing your phone out, you rolled your eyes at the work email notification. something regarding an ongoing project, or an upcoming meeting—you could have cared less. "it's nine fucking pm. are they this incompetent?" you muttered as you walked to the living room, clicking your phone off and setting it down on the coffee table.

the plastic bag, surprisingly, was not filled with fresh vegetables and your other go-to ingredients, but takeout. you untied the knot, opening the styrofoam containers filled with freshly-cooked fried chicken and tteokbokki, respectively. "shit," you said to yourself, getting up from the couch and scurrying to the fridge, bringing back a can of sprite to accompany the meal. you ignored the cabinet housing your tupperware, not even permitting your oven, which stored your pots and pans, in your peripheral vision. for now, and for your sanity, they were dead to you.

you ate your meal in silence. the crunch of the chicken, chewiness of the rice cake, and the fizzing of your soda kept you company. your phone lit up with emails, the news, reminders to pay bills, your paycheck hitting your bank account; you didn't waver. you did what you vowed to do for the next days, weeks, or maybe the next thirty years: waiting. for something. anything.

honey's taglist! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა: @gongyoosgf @infinetlyforgotten

[kumkaniudaku]

Just For You

Summary: Terry and Patrice give each other lasting nicknames.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: None

"Terrence and Patrice, you're married. Any objections?" 

None from Terry. A few from Patrice, but what was new? She always had objections. Ms. Cole answered each of her star pupil's questions in extreme detail before sending the pair home as a fictional married couple exploring the semester's section on personal finance. 

It was Terry's idea for them to work together on the weekend at his house, citing weekday football practices as too much of a hindrance to after-school instructional time. His sophomore year came with another growth spurt to a towering 6'1", and he couldn't let the new length or extra muscle go to waste. The fight for starting receiver had only just begun. 

Patrice hated falling behind. The thought of letting days pass without tracking toward their project's completion ate away at her. She allowed Terry to have his way, but under one condition: they'd work all morning on Saturday to knock things out in one day.

He scrunched his face and ran a hand over his haircut. "Patrice, that's a lot. We can't stretch it to two days?" He thought again for a better solution when she started to open her mouth with a rebuttal. "What if we talked on the phone and finished up Sunday night! Then you only have to leave home once!" 

"Take it or leave it, Terrence. One day or a little bit every day after your practice." 

With Saturday morning SportsCenter's top five clips playing on the television while they sat beside each other, their feet and legs jutting out from beneath his mother's coffee table, it was clear he'd taken the offer with a few concessions. Highlights stayed on during homework. 

Patrice sat still and quiet while she watched Terry twirl a pencil between his fingers and squint at the instructions on their project syllabus. Late morning sunlight streaming through the living room window brought out the honey color in his eyes, her favorite part of the blue-green pieces of art she pretended not to sneak glances at when they spent time together. His brows furrowed to create little ripples at the center of his forehead. Three. She always counted them when he made his focused face. 

If anyone didn't know him, he'd look like an intimidating man at least five years his senior. But Patrice knew Terry was mostly a gentle giant. He spoke softly as if the sound of his own voice was scary, opened doors, laughed on occasion, and remained polite day to day. Compared to the other boys in his grade, Terry was a saint—a saint slowly creeping his way into Patrice's day-to-day thoughts. 

Terry's shoulder brushed against Patrice's as he shifted on the floor, making her shuffle further away to avoid the goosebumps populating her forearm. Terry glanced over, concern replacing the focus in his eyes. "You okay? Did I hit you?" 

"No, I just didn't wanna be so deep in your space." Partially true. The why was her secret to keep. 

Terry shrugged. "It's cool. You're not bothering me." She never was. If he were honest, Terry wished she would bother him more. Come over more, show up to more games, and stay on the phone a little later when he called under the guise of missing notes from class, knowing the only thing he missed was her voice. He scooched closer to her, leaving a sliver of space between them. "So, I think you're the breadwinner in this scenario. Sixty-thousand a year ain't half bad. You must be a professor or something. Talkin' them students' heads off, I'm sure." 

"Shut up," Patrice laughed as she elbowed his side. "You aren't far behind! Your $45k gets us to a combined $105k. That's more money than I've ever seen." 

Her compliment of his pretend income pulled a closed-mouth smile from Terry. "Yeah, well, how do we spend it? Says here we need to budget our combined monthly income between bills, discretionary spending, and savings." Quick mental math helped him tally their post-tax income. "That's $3,204 bi-weekly. Just under $7000 a month. I think we can handle that." 

"Let's start with housing and work from there?" 

"I'm following your lead." 

One hour of hard work and bickering netted the play couple one outcome they could agree on. Terry thought it'd be best for them to choose a modest three-bedroom dwelling with a low mortgage to fit their housing needs and free up funds for two cars. Though Patrice wanted a bigger backyard for her garden, she relented when her mate pointed out she'd get the better car and a summer vacation if they were wise with their monthly spending. One night out a week, $500 a month in "fun funds," and a strict savings schedule left them more than enough money in their reserve to consider children in their plan. 

Brain fog stemming from a quietly growling belly made Patrice stretch her arms high about her head and whine. "Can we take a break? I'm a little hungry." 

"I can make you something!" Hearing the extra eagerness in his own voice felt like a punch to the throat for Terry. Embarrassment had him scaling back to save face. "It's just a PB&J. You don't want me using the stove. Or you can wait 'til my mom gets home. She usually does crawfish on the weekends."

"Shoot, let's do both! I've never had crawfish before."

Not ever having crawfish was a cardinal sin in Terry's household. If his parents found out Patrice had been living a life without experiencing their family specialty, she'd be forced to camp out until every piece of corn, sausage, potato, and crustacean was consumed. Terry logged the reference in the back of his mind for later use as he made his way into the kitchen. 

While Terry focused on the even spreads of peanut butter and jelly on his mama's "good" bread, Patrice took her time mosying around the large living room to acquaint herself with her surroundings. 

Expensive trinkets and books she'd never read lined the cubby spaces on one side of their large wooden entertainment center. On the other, family photos told the Richmond family's story. At the top, Mr. and Mrs. Richmond posed in formal attire with big smiles to celebrate what Patrice assumed was their wedding day. Another shelf featured photos of twin girls with encased baby booties in the middle. She smiled at their big afro puffs and chocolate-covered faces while they enjoyed dessert at Disney World. Then, she spotted it. Perched on a stack of photo albums, a little boy decked in Spider-Man gear from head to toe stretched himself in the hero's signature squat. But those eyes were unmistakable. Little Terrence was clearly on a mission to save the world. Or his backyard, at the very least. 

In awe of how cute Terry looked as a kid playing make-believe, Patrice reached out to grab the frame for a closer look. That was him, alright. Terry still had the same toothy grin that crinkled his nose at the bridge and made his eyes close from the rise of his cheeks. Ears too big for his body stood out even more than they did ten years later. He may have been smaller in stature and much more upbeat than the brooding teenager in the other room, but after a year of friendship and a little secret pining, she could recognize him anywhere. 

Immersion disarmed Patrice's senses, giving Terry ample space and opportunity to sneak up on her. "That's funny?" His voice cut through the silence, making Patrice jump and turn to catch the sly smile on his face. "That was my fifth birthday. I can't remember why I didn't get a party, but I guess I still had fun that day." 

"It's cute," Patrice complimented. "I didn't know they made masks for little kids with adult-sized heads." 

Payback from her jab tasted perfectly sweet on her tongue, like her Nana's homemade apple pie. Patrice watched Terry roll his eyes and shake his head before pulling the glass photo frame from her hands and placing it back in its rightful spot. 

He pretended to laugh along before kissing his teeth. "Come get this sandwich before I change my mind, girl." 

Terry would never change his mind, no matter how hard he tried to pretend or fight back the smile revealing his top row of teeth. Patrice had a free license to pick with him, and, on occasion, he'd join in to further solidify their friendship. 

Lighthearted rounds of the dozens meandered into winding conversions dominated by Patrice's favorite secret chatterbox. He ran through team drama a mile a minute, only taking breaks to chew and ask her intentions for the remaining pretzels on her plate. She granted him permission to clean up her portion and his if it meant he'd keep talking. 

"So, you like orange?" His abrupt change in subject turned Patrice's passive listening into active confusion. He pointed at the scrunchie on her wrist to clarify. "The color, I mean. I noticed you wear it all the time. I was just wondering if it's your favorite." 

Patrice fiddled with the ponytail holder, looking for anything to keep her from making eye contact with Terry. Knowing she was being watched excited and terrified her with equal intensity. "Um, yeah. It is." 

"How come?" 

"I don't know, really. I think because of how the sky turns orange when the sun's going down in the summertime. That's always been pretty to me." Terry committed the information to memory with a quick head nod, letting awkward silence scream into Patrice's ear until she forced out a follow-up question. "What about you? What's your favorite color?" 

Terry thought for a moment. "Blue, mostly. But like Carolina blue. If you get too dark, it's like the Patriots, and I hate the Patriots." 

"Dang. Soooo, no tickets to see Tom Brady for our fun money, huh?" 

"Well, I ain't say all that!" 

Stomach-busting laughter derailed all thoughts of returning to the second half of their assignment. Instead, they chose to take a nose dive into each other's likes, dislikes, and anything in between. Terry had to know Patrice's birthday for…research purposes. 

She scribbled the date on his mother's wall calendar. "April 23rd, remember? Shakespeare's birthday!" 

Fitting. Terry stored the date away in the section of his brain reserved for important things like stats and Lil Wayne lyrics for good this time. 

"What's your favorite food?" 

"My maman's étoufée," Terry answered, whistling from the memory of last Thanksgiving. "I can't wait to go visit next month!" 

How Patrice wished to visit with him and experience even the smallest taste of the dish, brightening his smile more than she'd ever seen before. 

Back and forth they went while time morphed into more of an abstract concept than a rule governing the physical world. Terry's favorite film? Remember the Titans. An obvious answer for obvious reasons, but Patrice loved to hear his explanation anyway. Patrice's plans for her future career? A teacher, high school English more specifically. And, if she found the time, she'd get her PhD and teach other teachers how to teach one day. Her commitment to learning and school was admittedly odd to Terry, but still, he found her passion for it magnetic. 

In their own world, Patrice and Terry were free to be themselves in every imperfect way. Nothing was too nerdy or too weird to discuss. And, if it got close, they knew to keep each other's secrets. 

Gathering plates for cleanup, Terry rattled off his umpteenth question. "What's your middle name? Wait! Can I guess?" Patrice smiled and pushed for him to take his best shot. "You look like a Nicole." 

"No way! How'd you guess that?" 

"Every Black girl's middle name is Nicole. Or Marie. It was a 50/50 chance." 

"It was a 50/50 chance," Patrice mocked before kissing her teeth. "What's yours? Michael?" 

Terry smirked at her attempt to get him back. "Nope. It's James. Me and my dad have the same one." 

"I guess that's kinda cool." Curiosity turning the wheels in Patrice's head robbed her of seeing Terry trying to hide his smile and reddening ears from her view. "Do people ever call you TJ, or is it always Terrence or Terry?" 

Hardly anyone called him Terrence. His full first name was his mother's go-to when he was in trouble. In school, teachers faithfully called him what existed on the roll sheet. But, those closest to his heart knew him as Terry and nothing else. The divide between Terrence and Terry was his way of telling friends from foes. TJ, though, was new and interesting.

Thinking for a couple of seconds yielded no results. "Nah, I don't think so. You can have dibs if I give you one." 

Decisions decisions. Alternate names gifted by little boys never went well for Patrice. Four Eyes, Girl Urkel, and Stilts still haunted her well past elementary and middle school. The potential fallout from another botched nicknaming debacle wouldn't deter her from having something special between them.

"Fine," Patrice relented, grumbling enough to pull a laugh from Terry. "But nothing about my physical appearance. Or food-related. Or downright mean. Or Pat. I hate Pat." 

Her heavy southern twang exaggerated all of her demands, eliciting a laugh from Terry as he shook his head. "You know, usually, people don't get that much say in their nicknames. It's kinda the whole point." 

"Yeah, well, this ain't one of them time, so tread lightly." 

Terry lifted his hands in surrender, not wanting to squander his opportunity to deepen their connections. If rules existed around what he could and could not call her, so be it. "What about…P," he prosed after a few seconds. "Short and simple." 

"And unfortunately already taken by my mama. Try again." 

"Patty? Like LaBelle. Y'all both kinda mean but in a cool, old lady way." 

Patrice's annoyed eye roll sharply contrasted with Terry's impish grin. Payback was officially his again. 

"Terry, I swear! Be serious!" 

Relenting, he tossed out another option. "Okay, okay," he laughed. "For real this time. How does Treece sound? Just the second part of your name." Terry watched her mull over the idea, his smile growing when she offered no immediate rebuttal. He nudged her shoulder and smiled when she forced a sour expression. "Nah, you like it! Treece! Treecey! Big Treece!" 

Listening to Terry rattle off variations of her newly minted nickname, the sound from his lips sounding like her mother asking who wants a second helping of ice cream or Usher singing to her and her alone through her radio's speakers. 

"You know we sound like twins now, right? TJ and Treece?" 

"That's what we should name the kids." 

Missing context caused an invisible record to scratch, forcing Terry to quickly correct himself. Kids? They'd just reached good friend status. Patrice opened her mouth to question Terry, but he beat her to the punch with an explanation. 

He emphatically waved his hands in front of him, trying to sweep the misstep into the ether. "For the project! I meant kids for the project!" 

"Right!" The project. Duh. Patrice tried to recover cooly from what she was sure looked like utter panic with a dash of hopefulness on her face. "The kids from the project. Which –" 

"We should get back to. It's gettin' late. Unless you stayin' for crawfish tonight?" 

Dancing eyebrows and an irresistible grin slowly turned a firm no into a maybe before Patrice could stop her lips from moving. 

She sighed, giving in to the barely there push of peer pressure. "I'll call and ask my mom," she grumbled. "Is the phone in the living room, TJ?" 

"By the couch, Treece." 

Special names reserved for private use added another layer to a friendship blossoming by the day. Terry stood in the kitchen for a second longer to try out Patrice's new moniker alone, flexing different inflections and how it sounded next to his. Treece and Terry. Terry and Treece. Treece Ellis. Treece Richmond.

The last one earned a few repeats until Patrice's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. 

"No luck on crawfish, TJ! I've got to leave to babysit my brother tonight!" she hollered from the other room. “Come on so we can finish! We gotta get one of these kids on paper and budget for their Spider-Man birthday party!" 

Terry chuckled and shook his head. She'd never let him live that down. "Alright. I'm coming. You're a real demanding wife, you know that?" he shouted back with a smile.

Treece Richmond. He could get used to that one.

—————-

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[evie-lyn]

I came up with this idea for a story last night, little Danny Phantom goes to the DC universe and meets the Batfamily, and is possibly adopted? Well, not really.

This is how it begins, Sam and Tucker along with the rest of the passersby of Amity Park have just seen the ghost known as Skullker flying over the streets, and they panic. That this ghost is free is not the worrying part that upsets them, but what he is carrying in his arms, which is clearly a childish and smiling version of Danny Phantom who does not seem to understand the danger he is in the hands of the hunter. Unfortunately they turn invisible and disappear before Sam and Tucker can think of how to stop them.

So what happened?

Simple, the Fentons were testing a new weapon that was supposed to shoot rays, but in reality it shoots green slime that they don't know what it does, and that slime hit Danny, who was worried at first because he didn't know the effects of the weapon, but after five hours without any changes He forgot about the incident, and went out to patrol the streets of the City. There he encountered Skullker, and starting to chase and try to hunt the other for sport, is good practice for both of them now that they get along better and aren't actively wanting to take down the other.

Well, mid-hunt and mid-flight, Skullker sees a green halo pass by Danny and manages to catch him in time before he crashes to the ground only to hold in his arms a small version of Phantom who barely knows his name and where he is. Knowing that this is not normal, the hunter decides to seek help, he knows about the guardian of time and his role as mentor to the boy, a boy who turns out to be the new ghost king and although Skullker is not really interested in who the king is and what he does, even he knows that this is a big problem, and he proves it when the knight under the king's orders appeared in front of them worried about the state of the young monarch. They both take Danny to the guardian who, after a small checkup, assures them that Danny is fine, that the reason for his condition is the hit of a defective weapon created to weaken ghosts, and with Danny being a halfa but his true form being that of the ghost king, the attack Instead of weakening him, it warped the ectoplasm in his body back to its primary form, which in turn and unexpectedly affected his physical appearance and mental state.

Fortunately it is temporary, and will last until the affected ectoplasm is renewed, which in the human world will take longer and be more uncomfortable and tedious for Danny, and since he has to be cared for now that he is essentially a ghost baby, it It's better for Danny to stay in the ghost zone. With Clockwork unfit for the job and Fright Night unable to do it alone, it's up to Skullker and the rest of the ghosts to take care of Danny. Surprisingly, no one is against it, most of the inhabitants of the ghost zone are on good terms with Danny, or at least tolerate him and do not hate him, and many of them recognize his position as King, so they have no problems in be his babysitters. (Some of them with the idea of ​​molding the young mind of the ghost king and planting ideas that are convenient with their own interests for when Danny takes the throne.)

Do they do a good job as babysitters? Yes and no. It mostly helped that Danny is not difficult to care for, to entertain, it's mostly obedient, and well, adorable, and that he was so interested in getting to know everyone, but ghosts, apart from preventing him from suffering permanent damage, are not the most responsible and safe when It's about taking care of a small child. The good thing is that Danny, who still maintains his powers and transformation into a ghost, is having a wonderful time, and the ghosts are appreciating and forming bonds with their king (whom they all quickly and unanimously establish that they love more than anything. and they will protect him at all costs).

Danny enjoys playing with the ghosts, listening to their stories, learning their skills, such as using each and every one of Skullker's hunting weapons, Fright Night's sword, Ember's guitar after he showed interest in her music, eating the food that the lunch lady prepared especially for him, getting into mischief with her daughter and Young blood and generally just enjoying his time in the ghost zone with the other ghosts.

A couple of human weeks of extreme peace and fun pass in the ghost zone, until as expected, something unexpected and problematic happens. It's Fright Night's turn to be babysitter when Danny asks him to go explore what will be his castle when he is king, and although currently his king is no more than 4 years old in mortal age, Danny is still his king and he as his most loyal servant, he grants him wish. Now, we said that Danny is not a complicated child, but he is impulsive, has little to no sense of self-preservation, and is too curious for his own good, and it took Fright Night taking his eyes off of Danny for two seconds for the boy to walk away and begin exploring the castle on his own, finding a pond of glowing green water in one of the rooms downstairs, where Danny got too close to the edge of rock with strange writings that he couldn't understand and that began to vibrate when he touched them, leaned too close to take a closer look at what inside the water he can distinguish as a rock ceiling that is not that of the room, and inevitably his hand resting on the edge slipped and Danny fell into the pond before the horrified look of Fright Night who had finally given his whereabouts, only to see him disappear into the waters and thus vanish from the ghost zone.

Danny almost immediately resurfaces from the waters of the pond, coughing and moving his arms and legs frantically to avoid drowning, but stops when he realizes that the pond is not deep and that when he stops, the water barely reaches his waist, so he stands up. He calms down and begins to walk towards the edge only to hear gasps of surprise and a couple of grunts from above and when he looks up he finds 5 individuals in uniforms and masks watching him in various states of shock, horror and caution. Danny quickly knows that he is no longer in his castle and that he doesn't know these masked people and that he doesn't know their intentions, and despite that Danny is not afraid, he is confused but not scared, and soon his confusion turns to curiosity, and being the friendly and gentle little ghost he's always been, Danny smiles at them.

Danny: Hi! I'm Danny Phantom, and who are you?

Batman and his team were informed by magic users about the discovery of a Lazarus Pit in Illinois Michigan, in a cave under a cemetery. But that's not all, they were also informed of an alarming change in the axis of this plane that according to magic users cannot mean anything good.

They immediately set out to investigate this phenomenon, hoping that it is a false alarm and thus be able to appease the magic users and the paranoia that they all share, and if so, protect the place to prevent the wrong people from approaching. Hood is restless the closer they get to the place and when they reach their destination he is shaking slightly, so imagine their surprise when they actually find themselves with a new Lazarus pit that they had no prior knowledge of and they do not know if anyone has already used it, and they are even more surprised when they see a small boy with white hair and a black and white suit rise from the waters, approach the edge of the pit, look at them with the greenest eyes they have ever seen and with the most adorable and innocent smile in the world simply greet them.

Everyone freezes, Batman takes a defensive and suspicious stance, Hood takes a step back with his eyes open and glued to the boy's figure, Danny, while internally going into a panic attack, Red Robin remains alert but leaning slightly to see better, and Robin imitates his father although there is a slight touch of curiosity in his expression that cannot be hidden. No one moves for a long time, unsure of how to proceed.

The boy tilts his head at their lack of response to his greeting, looking confused, but soon he smiles again and with the ease of a feather rising in the wind he flies over the pit until he is in front of Robin with a particular emotion in his eyes, everyone prepares for the worst.

Danny: Tag, you're it!

He says touching Damian's forehead and just as if it were the most normal thing in the world he flies over their heads and towards the entrance of the cave while laughing. The five slowly turn toward the exit, listening to the infant's laughter and his excited cries for Robin to come after him.

Hood: ... What The Actual Fuck?