#IS THE UNIVERSE FUCKING AROUND WITH ME WHAT THE FUCK

[lloyd-the-green-gremlin]

Throwback to when i went to @ukmukfukkfanzinfeszt-blog (holy shit theyre on Tumblr!) in Budapest, and i struggled to find anything under 1000 Ft there was one booth where you could "thrift" zines for 500 Ft ,that was pretty cool (for comperason, 1 euro is around 360-380 Ft).

Almost the whole bottom floor was bookshops and people from other countries. The average price for a little zine was 15 - 20 Euros. 15!! There was also a shit ton of people from the local art universities trying to sell their stuff for wayyyy too much, and flooding everything with, what it looked like, schoolwork assignents (MOME how i hate you)

When u tried to trade my own zines, they said "they only do that on the last day". (never did they show this on their social media, bc why would you ever go there if not buy buy buy, right?) I presume they would trade what they wanted after they sold all they could. 3 very nice venders did trade me, and later i brought stuff from them, but still.

It was so gentrified, especially from a place and event that prides itself on being "Anarchist and community fuelled".

The zine community is so shitty nowadays, this shit isnt even a western problem anymore (Tho Budapest is prettyyyy westernised compared to any other part of the country)

The love for zine making is gone, the only thing left is profit. They cosplay the indie, diy aesthetics, but in truth its all gentrified, expensive, officially published stuff. Pissed me the hell of, and honestly made me want to not go to any zinefest in the future.

Anyways, make zines, share and trade them, and fuck paywalls!

the whole point of a zine is that it's cheap to produce, amateur and homemade. if you're being asked to apply to participate in a print project, it is not a zine. if the final product is being printed and bound professionally, it is not a zine. if you are being asked to enter into any kind of licensing agreement more complex than "my work can be reproduced as part of this publication" it is not a zine. nine times put of ten if the final product costs more than $5 you have left zine country. im so serious about this.

[ghost-proofbaby]

thinking about Eddie being so eager to kiss you all the time and he just gets a little too excited sometimes a little too rough and you bump into something and he cradles you while you giggle cause he can't stop smiling into his kisses

And sure maybe it's a little awkward and teeth knock against each other and he catches your lip in his teeth a little too hard but it's okay cause you're deliriously happy

And it's not about getting to the sex (not all the time anyways) but he's just so happy to have found a safe place to land and he's enthusiastic that he found someone who wants to kiss him just as much as he wants to kiss you

And this time he's not too much and his feelings aren't too big and he doesn't need to tone it down cause you're his person and he's yours

Okay bye ily

mouse. mouse get the fuck back here. MOUSE DONT LEAVE ME LIKE THIS

he's just so happy to have a safe place to land and this time he's not too much and his feelings aren't too big were daggers straight to my heart you come back here right now before i actually bleed out from needing this man so badly.

no but thats exactly it. eddie has spent so long jumping and toeing that line of either trying to cram himself into this bite-sized shape for the ones around him, and just exploding and pretending he doesn't give a fuck that he will never fit into anyone's cup of tea so he'll just make himself even larger, that when you enter his life he just doesnt know what to do about it.

because he starts with his regular tricks of being so over the top, so unbearable, and all you're doing is laughing and entertaining his antics. even playing along at times. and so he retracts a little, turning back into a quiet boy who will shrivel up until he's invisible or easy to love (whichever comes first). but then that doesn't work - and to be truthful, he doesn't even know what his mind's end goal is here because why is he trying to push you away so desperately? - and he's just at a loss. you want him on the thundering days, where he makes his grey clouds everyone's problem and all his lightning is blinding and sporadic. you want him on the quiet days, where the downpour is no longer a roar but a soft drizzle, a bit more silent and a bit more bearable but still there. and he can't tell if it's a joke - he can't decipher if your kisses amidst his rambles are sincere, if you're actually smiling at his jokes because you like him or you're too polite to break his heart. he can't see through those gentle hands you use to caress back his wild hair to be sure that the softest of touches are really just you, or some strange gloves of care that you're only simply wearing for now.

and then one morning, he wakes up, and you're still there, awake before he is and just watching him with so much love. feather-light fingers taking their time tracing over his tattoo on his chest and arms, not noticing he's awake yet as you smile so serenely at him. you're looking at him in a way that he's never really gotten to experience so vulnerably before - like he isn't a nuisance, isn't a mistake. like the universe has so intentionally dropped him into your palms, and you're so aware of how delicate he can be below the surface. and he just breaks.

"i love you"

he'd blurt it out, the first time he's ever said those words to you. it almost feels like the first time he's said those words, period.

he's said them to wayne, in their own way, both a bit stiff in expressing affection and skirting around those words whenever they can for a simply ruffle of hair or unexpected side hugs. he'd said them to his mom, a young boy with shining eyes despite it all, looking at her like she was the world because she was his world.

and... well. that's it. he can count the number of times he's said those words on one hand, and now he's said them to you, and all he can hope is you handle them with as much care as you've handled him.

he hopes you can feel the weight of his heart pressing down on them.

and he thinks you do, when you startle a little, looking up to his lips where those rough words had just fallen from in a cracking tone, and you take your time in awarding him with a smile that could save lives. cure cancer, cure sadness, cure the end of the world even. every cliche possible.

"yeah?" you'd whisper back, and his heart skips a beat, terrified that the next words you say won't be what he needs to hear so desperately. but they are. because of course they are. you wouldn't have been watching him sleep in that way if they hadn't been on the tip of your tongue, "i love you."

not a crash landing, but a soft-padded decent. a slow fall with a cushion to prevent broken bones and more invisible scars.

he kisses you then the way he was going to kiss you every day going forward: pushing forward recklessly, teeth and noses bumping a little, smiles making it nearly impossible. he kisses you like he's coming home after a long day, because he is.

he's home. no boxes in sight to fit into, no cups that'll overflow from all the fizzling feelings pouring out of his chest. you've got him, and he's got you.

[mizusbabygirl]

double double ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

player 380 (se-mi) x fem reader AND guard 011 (kang no-eul) x fem reader ────୨ৎ──── cw: no-eul and se-mi both have a g!p (girl penis), threesome, creampie, unprotected sex, blowjob, masturbation, sexting??, some fluff bc why not

i’m incredibly sorry for not posting a lot anymore. i’ve just been really busy lately but i’ll still take requests because yes, i need more ideas 🙏🙏.

you dip your fingers deep inside your vagina, your fingers trace around your wetness, the pink flesh inside your pussy. soft moans escape from your mouth as you struggle to reach over to grab your phone with your unoccupied hand to record yourself fingering and playing with your pussy and send it to the girl who you’ve been crushing on since high school.

this love interest of yours has also had feelings for you but you two have never dated since your former classmates didn’t like the idea of same-sex relationships.

but now that you’ve graduated and you finally feel confident enough to do whatever the fuck you wanted, you finally found the chance to have contact with that girl again.

se-mi was her name, wasn’t it?

you thought to yourself as you tapped on the record button on your phone and continued pumping your fingers in and out of your pussy. you made a few fake moans to make it seem more lewd than it already was. you found yourself spreading your folds with your fingers, playing around with your clit and teasing yourself until you eventually came.

what if she forgot about me and found someone else?

you thought again as you saved the video into your camera and tossed your phone aside as you made your way to the bathroom to clean yourself up.

she couldn’t possibly… she basically promised that she would give me the world back then.

you went back to your room and picked up your phone, starring at the “who’s this” message from her. you let out a big sigh and started typing away, explaining who you were, hoping she hasn’t forgotten about you.

“se-mi, you seriously don’t remember me?”

read

your head falls back against the couch’s backrest, feeling your phone drop out of your hands. your eyes become teary realizing that se-mi didn’t want anything to do with you anymore.

2 months later

it was the day before valentine’s day and you were in your room snacking on chocolate bars and scrolling through instagram, seeing all your friends post their partners. you felt happy for them but you were tired of being single and alone. suddenly, you see a notification and to your surprise, it was se-mi.

a smile grew on your face as you immediately opened her message.

“hey, let’s talk”

seeing that message made you giggle, you finally thought the universe granted your wish and that you were finally going to be happy.

just as you were typing, an incoming call popped up on your screen.

it was her.

as you were calling with her, your brain flooded with memories that you shared with her back in high school. you felt like you were finally at peace for once. you felt like you finally have gotten what you’ve wanted.

after the call, you both agreed to go on a date at a local restaurant the next day for valentine’s day.

“my pretty girl, i’m sorry i haven’t answered you for so long, nonetheless, i’m also sorry i never even tried getting in contact with you again after we graduated,” se-mi said as she held your hand tightly as the two of you walked out of the restaurant.

you stopped and watched her reach for something in her bag, she pulls out a letter along with a small gift box.

“it might not be much, but this sure is given to you by me with lots of love. happy valentine’s day,” se-mi said as she handed the gift and the letter.

you held the small box in your hands. curiously, you open the box carefully and find a small pink beaded bracelet. it was the bracelet she wanted to give you back in high school.

“se-mi, how did you manage to keep it for all these years? you really haven’t forgotten about me haven’t you?” you smiled.

“no. in fact, i’ve always dreamed about the day we could finally start dating and perhaps start a future together soon,” se-mi said and pressed a kiss on your forehead.

you starred into her deep dark brown eyes, her gaze looking soft and full of love that made you want to pull her into a kiss.

you missed the feeling of her soft lips meeting yours, her tongue entering your mouth, her taste, her soft whines. but here you are, experiencing that all over again.

you found yourself under her, her body pressed against yours, on top of you on your bed. both of you felt hungry for each other and the fabric of your clothes began to feel uncomfortable as if you were urging to take them off to feel her bare skin against yours.

“baby, before i take my clothes off,” she hesitated as she broke the hot make out session between the two of you, “i want to share a secret of mine to you”. se-mi rolls off the bed and unbuckles her belt. you tilt your head, you curiously wonder what type of secret she was hiding from you.

just as you began unbuttoning your shirt, she unzips her pants and pulls them down, revealing her grey boxers.

“you wearing boxers is your biggest secret?” you giggled but your smile eventually faded away as soon as you saw a bulge. your eyes widened as she pulled them down.

she has a dick..? it definitely looks real but it looks bigger than average…

you felt your pussy getting wet at the sight of her dick becoming hardened. so you immediately undress yourself, leaving yourself only wearing a pair of pink panties that will soon be torn apart by the hands of se-mi.

“se-mi…” you whined as her tip teased your clothed pussy. “you know.. it would’ve been funny if i told you about this back then so that way i could be pounding your pussy all day everyday in the school bathrooms,” se-mi giggled as she spread your thighs.

“oh baby..!” you moan out loudly as se-mi reaches over and rips open your panties, revealing your tight pussy covered in its own juices. you lick your lips at the feeling of her hard member about to enter your tight pussy.

se-mi rubs her tip around your slick, making you whine and feel frustrated since she kept edging you.

oh but how much she loves watching you whine and get all fuzzy when she teases you…

just before you could stick it in yourself, you feel her push her dick inside you, causing you to scream. “oh fuck.. never knew it was that fucking huge!” you let out a loud moan as she started thrusting inside of your baby maker slowly, but hard.

you could see the satisfaction se-mi had on her face and she looked fucking proud having her new girlfriend act like a slut for her dick. she watched you crave for it, savour it, watched your pussy devour it whole.

“you know,” she spoke up, her voice sounding quite raspy, “there was this girl that went to the same school as us and she also had a dick like me”. her thrusts accelerated but her main goal was to beat your cervix deep and hard, no matter the pace.

“her name?” you spoke in between moans. “kang.. hmm i don’t remember…” se-mi answered, her thrusts creating wet slapping sounds that mixed perfectly with her moans and yours.

“well for now.. it doesn’t matter, doll,” se-mi’s voice became gentle as she was about to cum. “oh fuck!” se-mi yelled out as she gave you a creampie, her hot cum filling up your womb.

you squirm around the bed feeling her hot load mixing around in your womb. “se-mi..” you moan, her body collapsing on top of yours. “her name was kang no-eul,” se-mi whispered into your ear.

2 months later, you and se-mi were constantly getting into arguments, meaning your relationship with her wasn’t working out how you wanted it to. but what she doesn’t know was that you recently started talking with no-eul.

yeah, you’re an asshole for that…

but are you really one? besides, se-mi wasn’t fulfilling any of your needs, not even the bare minimum. so what does she expect? does she expect you to still stay with her even though your relationship with her is in the ruins?

you don’t remember much about no-eul. all you remember from her is how she used to get in trouble at school a lot and how she constantly dated many girls at once. you never liked no-eul since you thought she was a jerk and an asshole. but you came to think about how she could probably have matured by now and how she could probably be better than se-mi.

the air felt warm, the flowers outside went from being small buds to beautiful colourful flowers with petals of all shapes and sizes. it was may and you recently have broken up with se-mi since you found no-eul now, and you realized how much better she is than se-mi.

you and no-eul weren’t dating yet but today the two of you decided to go to the mall as a small date. no-eul had a thing for constantly touching your thighs, hugging you, caressing you, even in public. you never minded it though, in fact, you loved it.

as the day was ending, no-eul had to go home but you didn’t have a lift so you went in her car. the ride home wasn’t awkward at all since the two of you were listening to songs on the radio that the both of you enjoyed.

“don’t you want to stay at my house for the night instead?” no-eul suggested as she parked outside of your home. you shaked her head, rejecting her offer since you weren’t comfortable enough yet. but as a way to build comfortability with her, you leaned in and gave her a peck on her cheek. “i’ll see you later, i promise,” you said as you gave her another kiss on her cheek and then you got off the vehicle.

that night, your feelings for her began to grow and so they did as the week went by.

“fucking brat,” no-eul grunted as she pushed your head against the bathroom stall the two of you were having sex in. your back was arched and you were bent over, taking her dick inside you. she pumped her dick in and out of your pussy and asshole.

she was so fucking advanced at this…

anyone who entered the bathroom could hear the moans and fast slapping sounds coming from the stall the two of you were in.

“fucking tempting me all day with you wearing a skirt and you only wore a pair of panties with a hole in them underneath, fucking pervert,” no-eul said as she put her finger inside your mouth as she kept thrusting inside your pussy. “don’t pull out,” you spoke up, your saliva coating her fingers as she put another one in. “you want me to breed you?” she asked using a sarcastic tone. you nodded. “you seriously want my cum dripping out of your pussy in front of everyone? have fucking morals,” she asked again, thrusting in slowly but hard, clearly giving signs that she was about to bust a nut inside of you.

“oh but how could i ever want to pull out? your gummy cervix feels so stretchy and warm,” she giggled as small spurts of her seed spurted inside of you. she gave her last thrust and pushed her dick inside of you, as deep as possible as her cum filled your cunt. it didn’t have much difference to se-mi’s cum. but you could tell se-mi’s was much more watery and no-eul’s was thick and sticky.

she pulled out, a string of her cum connected between her tip and your pussy. you turned around and adjusted your skirt and put your panties back on quick, not having enough time to wipe off her cum from your thighs and pussy.

“let’s go to my house at this point.. you’re going to feel uncomfortable all day if you walk around like this,” she said, giving you a kiss on your lips.

just as soon as you entered her home and she shut the door behind y’all, she unzipped her pants, bent you over, lifted your skirt, pulled down your panties and began fucking you relentlessly again. “take off your clothes please, oh fuck, i want to see your tits and everything,” no-eul said, her voice reeking with lust.

she threw you onto a nearby couch, you quickly took off your skirt and unhooked your bra, and took off the rest of your clothes.

she threw herself onto you, her tits pressing against yours, she gave you sloppy wet kisses on your lips. her nipples became hardened and turned into a bright pink color as she entered you again. this time, it slipped inside of you perfectly since her dick was covered in her own pre-cum and your pussy had her left over cum still dripping out of you. “you’re so hot, mommy,” you whimpered as she threw your leg over her shoulder and felt her jack hammering inside of you, beads of sweat coating her forehead. “mommy, eh?” she giggled, clearly feeling aroused by the pet name you gave her.

“come on baby, i want you on your hands and knees now, and don’t forget to arch that back,” she ordered as she randomly pulled out and saw you follow her order. instead, the upper part of your body laid on the couch making it better for you to arch your back as much as possible.

she slipped it in again, she gave your ass a sharp slap. her hands gripped onto your sides, thrusting in deep and fast.

“your ex.. se-mi.. wants to see you again,”

later that evening

you were laying next to no-eul, cuddling with her until you heard your phone ringing. you reach over to pick it up and took a look at the phone number that was calling.

it was se-mi.

“no-eul, you were right!”

“pick it up then, let’s see what she has to say,”

you answer the phone, and hear se-mi’s voice. you haven’t heard her voice since the day you broke up with her.

“i’m outside of no-eul’s but you can tell me to leave,”

“no, no, it’s fine—i’ll go unlock the door for you,”

“great, thanks,”

“before you hang up, why’re you wanting to see me again?”

“we’ll talk about it when you let me in,”

you hung up the call then turned to look at no-eul, who was listening to the entire conversation. “i’m not stopping you,” no-eul said. “but she’s my ex—aren’t you worried she might want to get back with me,” you added.

“and is that my problem? besides, you know who’s better,” she said then reached over to caress your cheek. you sighed, “fine”.

you opened the door and saw se-mi standing in the doorway. before you could at least say hi to her, she walked right past you and went directly towards no-eul.

could it be that no-eul asked se-mi to come over?

“slow down! fuck!” you yelled out as se-mi bounced you up and down onto no-eul’s dick.

here you are, having a fucking threesome with your ex and your current girlfriend.

“your pussy really loosened up after getting with no-eul, didn’t it?” se-mi giggled, her hands lifted your body up and down onto no-eul faster and faster until you couldn’t take it anymore. “too bad you can’t see how pretty she looks right now, bouncing up and down on you, no-eul,” she teased.

no-eul scoffed, rolled her eyes and said, “and too bad you couldn’t be a good girlfriend for her so she had to run to me.”

se-mi furrowed her eyebrows and stopped what she was doing. you got off of no-eul’s lap then watched se-mi push you onto the bed. you laid on your stomach and felt se-mi grip onto your hips and pulled you towards her. “se-mi.. i missed you,” you uttered. se-mi, with a smirk on her face, began to fuck your pussy from behind relentlessly. she didn’t care about starting off slow or gentle, she went fast and rough, her tip hitting the end of your cervix with each pound.

“no-eul, don’t you want to join?” you asked. no-eul got in front of you, pulling your hair, making your head lift up to look at her. “of course i do,” she said. “open your mouth, baby,” no-eul ordered as you opened your mouth slightly.

“good girl,”

no-eul slipped her dick inside of your mouth while se-mi continued pounding you from behind.

this would make a great porno, wouldn’t it? the title for it could be double double.

too bad no-eul was actually fucking other girls whilst the two of you were dating. she never matured.

se-mi was really the one for you. afterall, despite the ups and downs, she always stayed loyal and she knew your heart only belonged to her.

[theodorenmyth]

Little Loveboy

Pairings; Mattheo Riddle x GN!reader

Summary: Mattheo Riddle has been hopelessly in love with you since third year, but he refuses to admit it. He dates around, flirts with random girls, and scoffs whenever his friends bring you up—but he just can't shake his feelings. His jealousy is uncontrollable, and his friends never let him hear the end of it. Eventually, even professors start teasing him, much to his dismay.

A/n : starting from today to the 16th of February, I'm gonna make Valentine themed fanfics so no angst.

Warnings ; none

Word count ; 900+

Mattheo Riddle was, as Theodore put it, fucking doomed.

He had been doomed since third year, when he first saw you absolutely wreck the entire class during a debate with Snape about the properties of Amortentia. The way your eyes gleamed with passion, the way you sat so effortlessly confident, the way you were just so fucking smart—it made his heart do something weird. Like it wanted to jump out of his chest and roll across the floor.

And that? That wasn’t normal.

So, obviously, he did the only logical thing—he ignored it. For years.

Instead of admitting that he found you painfully attractive, he spent his time flirting with girls, dating left and right, pretending like he wasn’t being driven up the wall whenever you smiled at someone else.

But the problem with having a hopelessly obvious crush was that Mattheo’s friends were absolute menaces.

“You’re staring again, Little Loveboy,” Pansy sang, flicking his forehead.

“I’m not staring,” Mattheo grumbled, leaning back in his chair, definitely not still looking at you.

“Right,” Blaise drawled, looking over at where you were sitting by the window, absorbed in a book. “That’s why you’ve been looking at Y/N for the past—what? Fifteen minutes?”

“I don’t like him,” Mattheo snapped, but the moment he said it, he glanced at you again.

And just like that, Theodore fucking grinned.

“Oh, mate,” Theo laughed, shaking his head. “You are so gone.”

Draco, sitting beside him, smirked. “It’s honestly embarrassing at this point.”

“You know what’s embarrassing?” Mattheo scoffed. “The fact that you all have nothing better to do than bother me.”

“You make it too easy,” Lorenzo snickered. “Little Loveboy.”

“I will throw you out the fucking window.”

And then, as if the universe hated Mattheo, you looked up from your book. Your eyes met his for half a second, and you smiled at him—a simple, small thing, but oh my fucking God.

Mattheo nearly choked on his own tongue.

His friends exploded into laughter.

“Oh, he’s red!” Pansy gasped. “He’s actually blushing!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mattheo hissed, yanking his hood over his face.

But the teasing didn’t stop there.

No, it got worse.

Because apparently, his suffering was entertainment to not only his friends, but also his professors.

During one particularly terrible Potions class, Mattheo had spent a good portion of the lesson staring at you. Not that he noticed. It just kept happening..

And Snape, ever the observant bastard, took full advantage of this.

“Mr. Riddle,” Snape drawled, interrupting the entire class, “perhaps you would find this lesson more engaging if you spent less time gazing longingly at Mr. Y/L/N and more time focusing on the assignment?”

The entire class turned to look at him.

Mattheo’s jaw dropped.

Even you looked over, blinking in surprise.

“Oh, fuck me,” Mattheo muttered under his breath as his friends burst out laughing.

“Bloody hell,” Draco wheezed, gripping the edge of the table. “Even Snape’s in on it.”

“I hate all of you,” Mattheo gritted out, slamming his book shut.

Snape smirked. “Detention, Riddle.”

Mattheo groaned.

But it didn’t stop there.

Because McGonagall got involved too.

During Transfiguration, Mattheo had, once again, found himself subconsciously staring at you instead of his assignment.

He was trying—he really was—but you had this habit of biting your lip when you were focused, and it was distracting as fuck.

“Mr. Riddle,” McGonagall said, sighing dramatically, “if you’re quite done swooning over Mr. Y/L/N, perhaps you’d like to contribute to the class?”

The Gryffindors howled with laughter.

Mattheo buried his face in his hands. “I’m actually going to die.”

And, of course, the final nail in the coffin was Hagrid.

It was during Care of Magical Creatures. You were partnered with some random Ravenclaw—too close, too friendly, and Mattheo hated it.

He stood there, arms crossed, glowering at the poor guy.

“Merlin, that’s a death stare if I’ve ever seen one,” Theo muttered.

And then, loudly, Hagrid chuckled, “Oh, don’t be jealous, Mattheo, ‘s not like Y/N’s runnin’ off to marry ‘im.”

You turned to look at Mattheo.

Mattheo, absolutely horrified, turned and ran into the fucking woods.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

After that, Mattheo’s denial crumbled like a cheap pastry.

He liked you. He liked you so much it physically hurt.

And after weeks of torment, he finally decided—fuck it.

So, he found you sitting by the Black Lake one afternoon, reading as always, and he sat down beside you.

You glanced up, surprised. “Hey, Mattheo.”

Mattheo almost short-circuited.

Your voice. Your fucking voice.

“Hey,” he muttered, trying to act casual, even though his entire body was buzzing with nerves. “So. Uh. I—uh.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “You okay?”

Mattheo exhaled sharply. Just do it, Riddle.

“I like you, okay?” he blurted out.

You blinked. “You—what?”

Mattheo groaned. “I like you. I’ve liked you since third year. I tried to ignore it, but—Merlin, you’re just so fucking cute and smart and perfect and I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your face slowly turned red.

“Oh,” you said.

Mattheo stared at you, heart pounding. “Oh?”

And then, after several painfully long seconds, you smiled.

Smiled.

“That’s funny,” you murmured, “because I’ve liked you since third year, too.”

Mattheo’s brain broke.

“…You’re kidding.”

You shook your head, biting your lip to suppress a laugh.

And then, without thinking, Mattheo grabbed your face and kissed you.

The moment your lips met, his entire world tilted.

You kissed him back, smiling against his lips, and everything felt right.

When you finally pulled away, Mattheo was breathless, staring at you like you hung the bloody moon.

“Little Loveboy,” you teased.

Mattheo groaned. “Not you, too.”

You just laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder.

And for once, Mattheo didn’t deny it.

[bbyg4rl]

reader getting all hot and bothered watching jj fix her car

thank you for fixing my car JJ

cw: jj x reader, no established relationship, oral (m receiving) !

summary: you thank jj for fixing your car.

a/n: this was supposed to be a small blurb but i got carried away lol hope you like this anon ♡

"you should let me take care of your car more" JJ speaks out from where he was hunched over your car's open hood. You had been watching him for fifteen minutes now. Fifteen minutes of the best view in obx. Fifteen minutes of grunts and pants and back and abs and arms. What a view.

You were sure the oil from your car ruining jj's shirt was just the universe blessing you. It's not everyday you can sit and watch a shirtless jj work.

"all done dumbass" he says pushing the hood of your car down with a loud grunt. Your eyes refuse to leave the sight of his arms as the muscles flex.

"Oh wow" you whisper to yourself, taking mental polaroids of every movement he makes.

Not a word leaves your mouth when he faces you. Your pussy's doing the talking now.

You can't help but rub your thighs together when he shoots you a shit eating grin all covered in grease and oil.

And of course he notices the affect he's having on you. He was enjoying this too.

Why else would a two minute fix take fifteen minutes? Why else would a perfectly fine oil sump shoot oil all of a sudden? That too only on his shirt?

Seeing you all worked up over had him worked up. He had his eyes on you the whole time. He'd seen every lip bite, every clench of your thighs, every flutter of your stomach- he was feeling everything you were feeling.

It took a special kind of control for him not to take you right there. To resist dirtying you with his greasy hands and bathe you in engine oil as he bent you over the hood and slid in and out of you.

He walked over to you slowly, his greasy hands now on your knees. "No 'thank you JJ'?"

"Thank you JJ" You say to him softly, voice on the verge of whimpers. You knew that he knew what you were feeling.

He takes a step back and points to himself. "Look at me baby- a small thank you isnt gonna cut it now is it?"

He takes your hand and pulls you off your seat. Your knees felt like jelly as he led you to the back seat of your car. He opened the door and you slid into the seat, earning a chuckle from him. He slides in after you and closes the door.

"Thank you for fixing my car JJ" you giggle out as your hands reach the hem of his shorts, He groans when you palm his crotch a few times before pulling them down.

You're quickly met with his cock, standing proud in front of your face. You wrap your arms around him and give him a few slow strokes. It's only fair he deserved to feel good after all the hard work he had just done.

He pulls your hair into a makeshift ponytail with his hand and tugs you lower, silently ordering you to open up. And you gladly did. He pushed your face lower and lower as his dick twitched in your throat.

He held you down for a few more moments before using his grip on your hair to bob your head up and down on him. He hit the back of your throat with every rutt of his dick against you. Your mascara ran down your cheeks as he continued to fuck your mouth with his cock.

He pulls you off when hes satisfied with how much mascara is smeared on your face. He taps your cheek a few times- his silent code for please me.

You take his signal and reach out to stroke him, wrapping your mouth around his pink tip, You slowly suck as you tighten your hands around his shaft, twisting them around his girth, alternating between small kitten licks on his tip and long licks on the veins on his underside.

It didnt take long for him to reach his climax. He let out small whimpers as he paints your face with his cum.

"Thank you for fixing my car JJ" you say again as you lap up at the sticky liquid around your lips.

check out my other works ! masterlist

[ranfordgallus]

I can't believe i made a whole ass species lore just for a wild kratts oc my god i never thought it could come this way but..thats the fun of it i guess LMAOO

Anyways..

Meet the Sickle-horned Equdore, a species of antelope found in the northern part of Kazakhstan where forests lie. Where their ancestors, the bluebuck, migrated from the south coast of africa to central asia.

The word Equdore (pronounced "eqoodor") means equine-like antelope, due to their appearance being similar to those of modern day horses though due to their two hooved they are not considered in the equus family.

The sexual dymorphism of the Sickle-horned Equdores are somewhat similar to those of deers or mooses, the male being bigger and more patterned with bigger horns. However not all male Sickle-horns have big horns, some have smaller horns usually from too much stress of poor diet during development of the horns growing, female Sickle-horns prefer those with bigger horns to show their health and potential. Male Sickle-horns are the only sex with the distinctive sickle shaped horns, hence their name.

Female Sickle-horned Equdores are slightly smaller than the male by a foot, however just because they are smaller than the males, does not mean they are small compared by a human, standing 8 feet tall. Female Sickle-horns have more curved horns that doesn't resemble an actual sickle, while the male horns of the Sickle-horned Equdore are shaped for both protection and attraction, female horns are only used for protection.

The social behavior of them are also similar to wild horses or chickens. One alpha male (fuck..i can't take that phrase seriously due to THOSE alpha male dudes you see in instagram reels or in podcasts..) and a herd, usually 8 to 15 females, the male provides safety and food by communicating that theres an abundance of food, if the male..example, finds a fruit tree, he will call the herd and let them eat first by helping to kick the tree so the fruits could fall down, easier to pick on, and the male will eat after a few have eaten already.

The unique part of the Sickle-horned Equdore is each pattern from each individual species are different, so they have their own set of pattern only own by those who bear it, making them easy to distinguish from others. And their fur is blue in colour, while not very blue, if you colorpicked their fur the color is more the blue area even though it looks more purple. Blue pigment is very- almost impossible in mammals, some "blue" furred mammals are usually more grey.

I also even made what the creature power suits of the species, both sex, though the powersuits are still a big smaller compared to the actual animal, they still stand around 7-8 feet. Poor chris, he's more teal and blue than his usual green colour, like the blue heron episode...

So what are the Sickle-horned Equdores known for other than their sickle-shaped horns and their blue fur?

They are famous for the creation of the mythical greek animal, the unicorn. When greek adventurers went to central asia, they discovered the rarest mutation of the Sickle-horns, the mutation that made them have a singular horn, while in real life unicorns were from the misinterpertation of rhinos, in my Wild Kratts universe, the unicorn mythology came from this species but historians theoried that it came from rhinoceros because they haven't found or rediscovered the species that created the famous fantasy animal in the first place.

This mutation is REALLY REALLY rare, less than 2 percent have this mutation that caused them to have a singular horn.

(Picture of Aoife and Einhorn. Oc on the left (Aoife) belongs to @martincrushcameback while Einhorn belongs to me.)

The burden of having such a unique birth defect is that you have a low chance of surviving or creating a herd of their own, female Sickle-horns with this condition are less likely to find a mate or a group to be accepted in, while males have a hard time to create their own herd, and their singular horn couldn't fight a male who already has a herd and they can't stand a chance, because whos more likely to win? A highly skilled person with two swords or the one that only has one and is average skilled?

One horns are so rare that records say only one was found, though many scientist disaproved the one horned as "not real" thinking the photo was painted to look like it had one horn, since they didn't believe that unicorns existed..lol

And Sickle-horned Equdores were once highly poached and hunted during the mongol empire, the people tried domesticating them so they could use them as a source of transportation for the extremely wealthy and war for the mightiest soldiers, unfortunately the domestication was a fail, so instead, they hunted them for their beautiful coat and horns for decor for the rich and those in power. So much that they reduced their population from a million to only 200 thousand left today. Their population is growing at a steady pace due to orginizations to protect these endangered animals. Fun fact, the Sickle-horned was rediscovered very early in the 1970's, historians found remnants of Sickle-horn hide and horns thinking these creatures are long extinct back in the 1900's.

Sooo..yeah, thats all i got for the species of Einhorn and Aoife..guuuhhh so much research..

Also, Equdore is a genus of antelope, meaning, like the big cat family including jaguars, tigers, lions and such, is their own family branch of the antelope family..MEANING...that there are other Equdore species not only existing to the Sickle-horned!

Also just to make sure Equdore is a fictional animal, there is no such genus of antelope called an Equdore..bah..

[holylulusworld]

Not my Logan (1)

Summary: Problems with the Multiverse suck. Even more when it brings someone back who has been long gone.

Pairing: Worst Wolverine x Immortal!Reader, Deadpool x Reader (platonic or not. You know him.)

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of loss of loved ones, grief, cocky reader, Deadpool being a pain in the ass, violence, mentions of killings, multiverse chaos, world building

A/N: For my story, all X-Men died, except for the reader. She lives in the same universe as Deadpool from DP & Wolverine. I don’t follow canon. Live with it.

Square filled for the Wolverine bingo @buck-star created for me: Square 1: Claws

“WADE! Wade Wilson! Stop right there!” You growl, ready to shoot the bastard breaking into your property. Well, technically it’s not your property. Or it is. Charles left it to you in his will. Not because you were his favorite X-Men, but because you are the last one standing.

You huff before jumping out of the window. Wade would’ve loved to stop and admire your superhero landing, but he’s busy chasing after a very pissed Wolverine.

“Wolvie, stop! She won’t understand! Fuck. Shit. I said, Stop!” Wade takes off his mask. He wheezes because all he did all day was chase after the worst Wolverine. Logan’s words, not his. “HEY! I didn’t tell you about her for you to run off. We still have a job to do!”

“WADE WILSON!” You start to run, seeing Wade kneel on the ground. He still tries to catch his breath as you storm toward him. “I’d kill you but watching you grow legs and arms is disgusting!”

Instead of decapitating his head or stabbing Wade, you slap the back of his head.

“Ouch, Y/N.” He complains loudly. Wade got stabbed and shot; he lost body parts but whines like a baby when you slap him.

“What are you doing here? No one is allowed to come here any longer. You know that.” You sniff when he slowly gets up. “Not since…”

“I get it, I get it!” Wade raises his hands in surrender before turning around to face you. His face is a mess as always, but you can’t help but smile, seeing a familiar face. If you’re honest, he’s the only friend (if you want to call the cocky motherfucker a friend) you’ve got left. “Extinction is hard.”

“What did you say?” You slap him across the face, earning another whine. “You are an insensitive asshole.”

“Sweetheart, we both know you would have outlived all of them, no matter what. It just happened a little earlier this way.” Wade shrugs before putting his mask back on.

You run one hand down your face and huff. “What do you want, Wade? Is the world on fire, or did you lose a ball again?”

“No jokes about a man’s balls,” he points a gloved finger at you. “But yes, the world is ending once again. Or not. I mean… It depends.” Wade babbles as you put your hands on your hips.

“What did you do? I bet you messed with the timeline again, huh?” you snap at Wade. “Because that worked out so well last time. I told you to not fuck with timelines and shit. The dead shouldn’t come back.”

“Oh, about that,” Wade nervously chuckles. “I swear I didn’t resurrect anyone, but…uh…you see. Maybe, and I’m not saying it happened. But maybe I was hopping through different universes to find an anchor to save our universe from destruction.”

“Wade.” You close your eyes and inhale sharply. “Whom did you bring here, and do I have to kill them?”

“No, no! You cannot kill him,” Wade hastily says. “I came here for a short break. You see, bad guys are after our cute asses, and this is the safest place I know.”

“Christ on a cracker, WADE!” You kick his shin. “I’ve been out of this business for years.” You dip your head, hearing someone sneak closer. “Why would you bring anyone here? This is a lost place. Dead and forgotten. Just like me and the rest of the X-Men. Just like—”

Twirling around, you ready yourself to attack the person sneaking toward you and Wade.

Your body goes stiff, and you whimper, facing the man you lost so many years ago.

“No…” You step back and shake your head. “No…no. Wade. Out of all the people you could bring here…you do this to me?!”

“I swear, if I had a choice, I’d never do this to you. But—” Wade sighs and points at the worst Logan, he brought to your universe. “He wouldn’t believe me. Logan said you must be dead here too.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I cannot die. I am…immortal. My Wolverine would know that.”

The man, looking so much like your one true love, dips his head. He has the same body, the same eyes, and the same claws. Hell, he even wears the same fucking suit. But he’s not your Logan. He’ll never be your Logan.

“Go away. Both of you. Whatever will happen to this universe is not my problem. Maybe I can finally rest then too.”

You turn around to walk away, leaving Wade and Logan’s clone behind.

“Wait, Y/N!” Wade jogs after you. “I know you’re angry, but I couldn’t stop him. If there’s only a tiny piece of the undefeatable Y/N still inside of you, help us. Help me save my friends and this world.”

“Your friends,” you say, your heart heavy with sadness and grief. You glance at the photo Wade shows you, swallowing thickly.

“If there was a way to save your friends, you’d do anything, right?” Wade presses on. Even though he knows it’s a low blow, he cannot shelter you or your feelings. You’re his only chance to convince Logan to help him and get his clones off his back. “Please help me…”

“What the fuck is that?” You dip your head to look at the ugliest dog you have ever seen. “Uh—is that thing even alive?” Crouching down, you poke the dog’s nose with your index finger. “Who did this to you, little pug?”

“I think he was born this way?” Wade chuckles while picking the dog up. “And he’s not ugly. Dogpool is the sweetest.”

“Y/N. How?” Logan finally found his voice. He steps closer to you and Wade, not looking you in the eyes. “Why did you do it?!” He yells before jumping at you.

Logan tackles you to the ground to ram his claws into your sides. He growls like an animal, stabbing you again and again.

“What’s his problem?” You laugh as Logan tries to kill you. His claws dig deep into your flesh, but it doesn’t do much damage.

“Uh—from what I heard, you killed his people because he didn’t love you or shit?” Wade shrugs before letting the dog lick his face.

“YOU!” Logan growls. He slides his claws back in to slam his fists into the ground. Again, and again, and again. You can hear bones crack and flesh tear. “Why don’t you die?”

Logan looks at you, shaking his head. “You’re not her…”

“I assume in your world, I was mortal,” you sit up and push Logan away. While you slowly get up, he watches you with tears in his eyes. “In this world, my Logan would’ve cut your head off for touching me.”

“After we introduced ourselves, we should talk about the guys wanting to end this world. Come on, sweetheart. You know you want to help your Deadpool.”

“You’re annoying as fuck,” you huff while rubbing dirt off your ass. “If you keep that thing in line.” You jerk your head toward Logan kneeling on the ground. “We can talk.”

“She’s not her…” Logan repeats. “Not her…”

“You sound like a broken record,” you say and slap the back of Logan’s head. “And for the record, you’re not my Logan either…”

Tags in reblog.

[newtonsheffield]

Kate saying rebellious uterus immediately planted an idea in my head: after Charlotte she makes Anthony get a vasectomy bc birth control is a joke with them and she’s satisfied with her lot, but Anthony is criminally fertile. he is a very rare case of it growing back on its own and thats Mary’s origin story.

Mary is perfection, Kate is convinced the universe is trying to make her Violet 2.0. Dare I say, Kate plus 8

Kate with her head in her hands while Anthony sits in a daze clutching a pregnancy test.

“I… literally don’t know why I thought a vasectomy would stop you?”

“I am honestly scared of what I’m growing in there.” Anthony swallowed. “I would like to say: Your eggs do share part of the blame.”

“I think they just get confused by you!”

“You’re happy right? We don’t have to-“

“Of course I’m happy.” Kate sighed, “I love our kids. I’m just in fucking shock.”

Anthony wrapped his arm around her, “I’m happy too. So happy.”

Kate shifted away from him, “Don’t take this the wrong way, Babe. I’m just scared if you touch me right now it’ll be twins or something. I don’t know how it works with you and I’m already going to need to get a seven seat car, I don’t want to push it.”

[pursued-by-the-squid]

viii. check your footing

pairing: gi-hun x gn!reader x in-ho

word count: 13.9k

ao3 | masterlist

That could have been you. It should have been you. You glance over up Gi-hun as he shuffles inside the player room just ahead, his head and shoulders hanging unbearably low. You almost wish it had been you.

Fuck, that’s a lie, no you don’t. You’re so relieved to be alive that it clouds your vision and chokes your lungs. You want to drop onto your knees and praise the universe for allowing you to live. But then you remember how desperate you’d been to save Jun-hee’s life and the life of her child, the way you’d looked up at Gi-hun and told him without words that you were terrified to leave him because it might mean you’d die alone, without him. Jung-bae only left because of you.

You killed him. It’s your fault he’s dead.

You can’t help feeling like you’ve killed Gi-hun too. The man you see now is unlike anyone you’ve ever known before. Despair clings to him like a second skin. Every time you think he’s finally stopped crying, his shoulders ripple and he doubles over with another sob. He is shattered beyond belief and you don’t blame him for that, you never could, but you still feel like every gut-wrenching gasp and every tear is only there because you were selfish enough to put your life and the life of a stranger before Jung-bae’s.

No one speaks. What can they say? Any apologies or sympathies for Gi-hun’s sorrow will only come out hollow, a nicety without any real value because none of you knew Jung-bae like he does. Did. Because he’s dead. Oh God.

Young-il takes a seat immediately next to you, his leg pressed against yours with a shock of warmth. You can feel how heavy his gaze is without even looking at him, can feel him studying you and you don’t even know why. You don’t have the heart to ask.

Several long minutes go by. “Why don’t you go to him?” he murmurs.

A quick glance in Gi-hun’s direction tells you exactly why you shouldn’t. He’s huddled up against the nearest stable surface with a hand over his eyes as he cries, his body curling in on itself until he looks more like a child than the man you know. It’s heartbreaking. And it’s your fault.

Because I killed him, you think. Because it should’ve been me. Why would he want to even speak to me after what I’ve done?

You shake your head. “I don’t think it would help.”

“Don’t you?” Young-il rests a hand on your knee. “You’re his friend, [___]. Maybe he needs you.”

Guilt streaks across your soul and you wrench your leg away from him with a grimace. “I’m the reason he’s dead,” you growl, your voice rasping as you drop it as low it will go. “I-I can’t–.”

Sorrow wells up inside you until you’re choking on it. You were too shocked to cry before, too busy trying to keep Gi-hun from dragging the entire team across the arena or getting a gun to the head for disobeying orders to worry about crying. But now with the freedom of space and time, your guilt is bubbling over and threatening to spill down your cheeks.

There’s a beat of silence where you’re struggling to maintain your composure and Young-il just… sits there. His hand hovers uncertainly between you. Maybe he’s realizing you’re right, that you are the reason for Jung-bae’s death. Maybe he’s regretting now the choice to ever befriend you, just like you’re sure that Gi-hun is.

And then, finally, he’s wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into a side embrace. “It wasn’t your fault,” he hums.

“It was.”

“It wasn’t.” He squeezes his arm a little tighter. “Jung-bae-ssi made his choice. He chose to find another team and… his team lost. It’s unfortunate, yes, but it isn’t your fault.”

You suppose that’s his way of trying to comfort you – find the logic in the situation and accept it – but it doesn’t work for you like it does for him. Because you can still see the shape of Jung-bae’s body on the floor. You can still see his blood. You can still hear Gi-hun screaming in the back of your mind.

You sniffle lightly into your hands. “Then why do I feel like it is?”

He’ll tell you something poetic and charming, you think, about how you’re a kind soul who cares too deeply. That’s what anyone else would say were they in his shoes. Whether he genuinely believes that or not, though, you have no real idea because Young-il decides instead to curve his hand over the shell of your ear, brushing some of your hair away from your face.

“Give Gi-hun-ssi the space to mourn, hm?” You’re so stunned by the gentle lilt of his voice and the vulnerability of the gesture that you can hardly breathe. “He’ll come to you when he’s ready.”

His tenderness leaves you fluttering amid the swirling maelstrom of your emotions. It feels so out of place, so inherently wrong, to accept a kind word and gentle touch after all the death you’ve witnessed. Where was Jung-bae’s tenderness? Where was the mercy he deserved and what makes you worthy enough to live in his place?

You aren’t even afforded the chance to antagonize yourself on the matter further because the doors at the front of the room suddenly open, revealing several of the pink soldiers. 255 of the original 457 players remain, as reflected on the scoreboard above. More money is added to the pig’s belly – 20.1 billion won now and nearly 79 million won per person. The amount is staggering in your mind, even after years of receiving Gi-hun’s financial boons.

Yet so many players are unhappy with these results. It’s too little bloodshed, they complain, and not enough money. How are they meant to pay off their debts with such a small amount? How are they meant to survive in the cold, cruel world outside these games with only 79 million won?

Standing tall and unwavering beneath the scoreboard, Square Mask surveys the room. Cold and detached. “I completely understand your disappointment,” he says cooly. You wonder if he feels anything under that mask, if he feels any sympathy for the people he’s helped to slaughter or if he’s truly as soulless as he appears. “However, we always keep the door open for you to pursue new opportunities. You will now take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not.”

Chatter starts among the players as they lean in and whisper to one another. You can see the greed in their eyes.

“Whether to continue the games for a bigger prize or to stop here is entirely your choice. Please feel free to exercise your right to choose in a democratic manner.”

Gi-hun is still shaking. His sobs have quieted until they’re nothing more than sharp inhalations, quickening and slowing unpredictably. It breaks your heart all over again. How can they force him to endure another tedious round of voting when he hasn’t even had the chance to recover from the shock of Jung-bae’s death? A single look is all it takes to tell you that the man can hardly stand on his own feet.

“Ah, Y-Young-il-ssi?” The sound of Dae-ho’s voice draws you from your thoughts. He’s approached the stair that you and Young-il are both perched upon, with his hands drawn together over his stomach as he fidgets. He nods his head politely. “Are you going to vote O again, sir?”

What remains of your little team – just you and Jun-hee now that Jung-bae is… – shifts its attention to Young-il, each of you curious to see his response. He’d said it was his business that was in trouble. Is he as desperate as the rest of these players? Is he willing to stay for another game even now?

He presses a hand flat over his breast where the blue O patch sits and he grimaces. “Don’t worry,” he sighs, “I want to stop here.”

And it’s such a relief to hear. If he were to choose to vote O again, the betrayal would be too much for you to bear. “We’re all agreed, then?” You glance between the four of you without drawing any further attention to Gi-hun. You think that Young-il might be right, space may be exactly what he needs right now.

Jun-hee nods with a hand rubbing over the swell of her belly. Dae-ho looks from her to you, his expression sweet but tinted with grief. And finally Young-il, his mouth drawn tight as he watches you.

“For Jung-bae, then?”

Dae-ho sticks out his hand, palm down. “For Jung-bae,” he agrees. Your hand claps softly atop Dae-ho’s, followed immediately by Jun-hee and a slightly hesitant Young-il. “Victory at all costs,” he murmurs, and it’s far from the battle cry it had once been on the rainbow track.

Victory. You’re not sure if that’s even possible anymore, but you have to try. For Jung-bae and Gi-hun, you must.

Last time, the vote had been considerably close. Young-il had been the one to tip the scales, but there had still been a decent chance of you and Gi-hun returning home. This time, there is no such chance. With so many players distraught over the low amount of money they’ll receive, a lot of them are opting to vote O. Vote after vote rolls in and the number for the O’s ticks higher and higher.

You keep expecting Gi-hun to do something, say something. He’d been so full of fire just yesterday. He had pleaded and shouted and explained until a soldier was forced to ram their gun into the back of his head just to shut him up. But there is no such fire tonight. You look into his eyes and find that nothing looks back. Even after his tears have dried, Gi-hun’s eyes are glassy and distant.

If he won’t speak up, then who will?

You catch Young-il’s gaze from across the room. Being the first to cast his vote has placed him in the very center of the allotted X space, which feels an entire galaxy away from you right now. You want desperately for someone to lean on, someone to make you feel safe amid the unknown and the chaos and the death, and putting that burden onto Gi-hun is simply inconceivable.

Have hope, you imagine him saying, though really you can’t be sure if that’s what he’s thinking or not. Maybe he’s laughing at you and your desperation for hope. Maybe he’s already accepted his fate, as Gi-hun seems to.

You don’t want to accept it, though. You’re not ready for another game, another opportunity to lose Gi-hun or your own life or even Young-il. And what of Dae-ho and Jun-hee? Hyun-ju? The sweet mother and her son? What will happen to all of them if another game is played and the odds aren’t in their favor? How many Jung-bae’s can you stomach before you lose yourself to the horror of it all?

“Gi-hun?” You take the seat beside him, careful to leave enough room between your bodies in case he feels overwhelmed by your presence. But you have to try. “Gi-hun, shouldn’t we do something?”

The next player is called up, Player 100, and you glance away from Gi-hun only long enough to cast a scowl in 100’s direction. He can’t see it, of course, but it’s the principal of the thing. The O vote ticks up by one.

Gi-hun is uncharacteristically silent. He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t move. You’re not even sure if he’s breathing, actually. He just sits there like a corpse that’s been arranged to look slightly alive. An ancient memory of the ddakji businessman sprawled out on Gi-hun’s chair, the very chair you’d sat in a hundred times until that night, comes to mind and you try not to hurl.

You place a hand on his arm, if only to prove to yourself that he’s still alive. “Gi-hun, I… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to-.” There’s a lump in your throat that won’t go down and it keeps choking you every time you speak more than a few words. “Please. We have to do something. I don’t want anyone else to die here.” I don’t want you to die. I don’t want to lose you.

There’s a moment where you think he might be moved to act because he blinks, and his eyes settle on you, and you think you see a moment of clarity peering out from behind the mist of his agony. But it’s only a passing thing.

“Player 120.”

Hyun-ju. You find yourself peering over the heads of other players to watch her cast her vote, hoping that someone as kind as her might finally be moved to act sensibly. She lingers before the podium, like so many before her, before finally voting 0 and you wonder what it is specifically that gives her pause. What is she facing in the real world that makes her think she has to endanger her life and yours just to survive?

It’s the money, you realize. Everyone here needs money but they’re so adamant that 79 million won each isn’t enough to live with. But what if… what if there was a way to add more money to the pot without anyone dying?

Player 124 is called forth – Thanos’ accomplice from last night’s fight. He has no qualms about voting to stay, which you suppose shouldn’t surprise you, but it’s what he does after the vote that does. He lingers near the podium and watches as Player 125 approaches. Player 125 who, if you’d seen correctly, bears an X patch. Player 125 who hesitates over his choices, who turns to see 124 staring at him through mock-binoculars. Player 125 who votes O with shaking hands and a shameful expression.

People are being coerced, whether they need the money or not, because the desperate players are just that desperate. So what if you eliminated that need? What if you contributed more money to the pot and convinced even a single player that voting O isn’t necessary to be saved?

Once last glance at Gi-hun’s sunken, tear-stained cheeks is enough to give you the courage you need. You stand so quickly that it nearly throws you off balance. As you push your way through the crowd, you try not to think of all those eyes – hundreds and hundreds of them – staring you down, judging you, praying for your downfall so that they might prosper. You try to think only of Jung-bae and the already festering wound his death has left behind.

Your feet have hardly touched the bottom step when Young-il suddenly bursts from the crowd of X voters with a shout. “Are you all out of your minds?” The red and blue lights cast him in a soft violet hue, entirely at odds with the incredulous despair that ravages his voice. “You still want to keep going after watching all those people die? Who's to say you won't die in the next game?”

For a long, long moment, you simply watch him. You’re almost transfixed. There’s something about him that’s catching you off-guard, something a little too similar to Gi-hun and still so entirely Young-il that gives you pause. Was Jung-bae’s death really enough to move him this deeply? To change his entire mindset?

He gestures angrily to the undecided voters you stand among. “We have to stop. We'll all die if we keep going! Come to your senses and leave with that money. You've got to survive first, or there won't be a next step.”

Player 100 breaks from his group and your immediate reaction is to gag because you hate him. You hate the way he spoke to Gi-hun before the game. You hate the way he holds all life in contempt except his own. You hate his pompous attitude and his stupid hair, and you hate the way that he looks at Young-il like he’s not even worth the air he breathes. “What do you think we can do with a mere 79 million?” he questions. “I don't know how much you owe, but for most people here that doesn't even cover 10% of their debt. Am I right?”

It's the overwhelming cry of agreement that has you finally daring to be bold, to raise your voice above the cacophony. For Gi-hun. For Jung-bae! “What if you had more than 79 million?” And this time, you’re sure most or all 255 sets of eyes are focused on you and only you. Player 100 and Young-il both look at you as if you’ve grown a second head. “Gi-hun and I… Player 456, I mean. Neither of us needs the money. We’d both be willing to forfeit our share and contribute it to the total if the rest of the players all vote X.”

Both his worth and yours would total to 200 million won. You’re not sure how much that would add to each player’s take home amount, but it has to be worth something, doesn’t it?

More players stop and look at you, while others start whispering to their neighbors. More and more eyes swivel and land on you, pinning you in place until you start to feel like a bug caught beneath a microscope. They’re pulling your legs off one by one, trying to see what interesting things you’ll do when the pain becomes too much.

Young-il is on you in an instant, grabbing you by the arm and yanking you to him so no one else can hear. “What are you doing?” he whispers, though there’s nothing soft about it. He’s all harsh lines and rippling confusion.

Isn’t it obvious? “I’m trying to save people.”

But before he can question you further, 100 interjects, drawing the focus back to him as he continues spouting greedy, inhumane nonsense. “Your money isn’t enough,” he sneers. “I have 10 billion in debt! What can you give me to take care of it, huh?”

Young-il’s teeth glisten in the violet-red light. “Step back,” he utters, his hand still tightly squeezed around your bicep.

“Young-il-nim.” You press a hand to his chest to calm him. Because you need to do this, you need to try. If Gi-hun can’t fight anymore, then who else will stand up for him? “It’s alright.”

“[___]–”

“I don’t have 10 billion won just lying around to give you, sir,” you explain to 100. He stands nearby with his chest puffed out and his mouth wrinkled into a frown, thoroughly unimpressed. “But I do have 2 billion won that I would be willing to share with everyone here. If the rest of us all vote X.”

“If you have so much money, then what are you here for? Are you a spy sent from the people who run this place, huh? Like your friend?”

Rage the likes you’ve never known before floods your system. How dare he drag Gi-hun into this after the way he treated him today. “It doesn’t matter why I have that money; it’s mine to do with as I please.”

A slightly younger player hanging just behind 100 smirks, though you can’t see his number clearly. “Trying to help your boyfriend?” he snorts, and several of his assorted cronies snicker in tandem.

“I’m trying to save innocent lives, but I wouldn’t expect a sick motherfucker like you to understand the concept.” And before 100 or his friend can retort further or press you for more answers you aren’t able to give, you turn your attention to the undecided players. Young-il’s hand falls away almost without notice. “I’m willing to forfeit all the money I’m worth in these games, plus my two billion, if all of you will vote X.”

The players devolve into scattered murmurs that ripple through the crowd, “two billion?” and “that’s at least seven million more a person” being the loudest and most distinct among them. Already you can tell that the shift in numbers has started to convince a few people. For players like 100, you know it won’t be enough, but you hope that for others it will be the push that they need to vote appropriately. No more people should have to die, not for something as soulless and brutal as cold, hard cash.

“Player 457.” Square Mask is staring at you from behind the podium. While several other players, including 100, have already taken to arguing in favor of an O vote, you can suddenly feel the weight of hidden eyes settling on your skin. “You are disrupting the democratic process of this vote.”

“Me?!” What about the others? What about Young-il and 100?

You’re already starting to gesture to the other players when you spot one of the guards at the far end of the room lift his gun. The pink suit and black mask cut easily through the crowd, quieting all dissenting voices until there is only silence, the sound of your labored, frantic breathing, and your feet slapping on the floor as you pinwheel backward.

“As was established during the previous vote, interruptions in each player’s right to express themselves democratically will not be tolerated.” You find yourself stumbling over other people’s feet and slamming into unknown bodies in your desperation to back away before the soldier can advance any further. “All requests to forfeit the Games will result in instant disqualification.”

So, death. They’re gonna shoot you because you tried to forfeit. Why the fuck didn’t you think of that before you went and opened your big mouth?

“I take it back, I take it back!” You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for a bullet that never comes.

The gun never fires, but even if it had, it would’ve had to go through both Young-il and Gi-hun to reach you. Young-il, you realize after several moments of terrifying silence, has stepped into the guard’s path. And Gi-hun… You’d thought he was still barricading himself in the far corner, drowning in his sorrows, but he isn’t. He’s here, standing as tall as his weary body can withstand as he shoulders his way directly in front of you.

He doesn’t move. The voting continues, albeit dotted with various attempted chants to play one more game, but Gi-hun remains steadfast. His shoulders quiver, but he stays. Players shove into you as they pass or they grant you a scowl when their number is called, yet Gi-hun is there, unfaltering and strong even in the rising defeat that marks itself on the scoreboard.

Your vote and his don’t even matter by the end. The O team is at least 20 votes ahead of you. You lost, and it feels like Jung-bae’s dying all over again.

You should’ve done more. There should have been some other way to change minds and win people over to your side, but you’d seen the barrel of the pink soldier’s gun and had cowered behind the first solid thing you could shield yourself with. You’d let them beat you down. It’s just that being brave is so much easier when you’re not staring down the very weapon that could end your life. Being brave is a bolder inclination when the moment has passed and all that’s left to do is torture yourself over what-if’s.

“That was very foolish of you.”

You and Gi-hun turn in tandem toward Young-il’s voice. The disappointment you hear creeping into the edges of his condemnation feels like a slap in the face. “I was trying to do the right thing,” you explain, though you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes when you do.

“And instead, you’ve put a target on your back.”

That hadn’t been your intention. It hadn’t even been a possibility in your mind. “I’m sorry, I… I was just trying to do what I thought Gi-hun would do.” And why does it feel like such an embarrassing thing to admit? “That’s why he’s here. To save people, so I thought–”

There’s a muscle along the bottom ridge of Young-il’s jaw that clenches before he speaks. “Gi-hun-ssi has played these Games before, [___]. You haven’t. And you very nearly got yourself shot because of it.”

Is that why he’s so upset? Because he’d felt the need to step in the path of a potential bullet in the hopes of protecting you? Because he’d risked his life for yours and he wishes now that he hadn’t?

Perhaps Young-il has a touch of telepathy about him, or perhaps you’re the most emotionally transparent person on the planet, but either way, Young-il seems to realize that you’re confused and wounded by his sudden flash of frustration. He seems to wrestle with himself for a bit before finally relenting, allowing his restraint to drift away with a heavy exhalation before he finally decides to approach you.

“What you did was admirable,” he admits, and he takes one of your hands as he does. “Foolish, yes, but admirable, and I don’t fault you for it. But it was also reckless.”

On that, you suppose you can agree. “I know.”

Young-il sighs again, lighter this time, but his body is still tense. “You aren’t a hero, [___]. That isn’t what you need to be.”

Gi-hun still lingers somewhere behind you, frozen in the same place he’d stood when you had cast your vote. Does he feel the same, you wonder, or does he wish you’d made a more decisive stand? Do your actions, however reckless and foolish they might have been, make up for Jung-bae’s death, or were they pointless from the start?

He lowers his voice suddenly and when you blink, Young-il is leaning in so his forehead nearly brushes against yours. “We have a Seong Gi-hun already,” he breathes, and is it your imagination, or does this feel more intimate than every moment shared with him over the past few years? “We don’t need another.”

Dinner has long since ended by the time Dae-ho and Young-il decide to depart for a bathroom break. You’re not comfortable leaving Gi-hun on his own and Jun-hee seems more inclined to curl up in her bed for a bit, rather than sit and stew in the awkward silence that Gi-hun carries with him, so it’s just the two of you now. It’s both familiar and foreign.

Mealtimes have always been special for you, at least when it comes to him. All those corner store stops, all the ramyeon cups stacked high in his trash bin and the take-out containers in the firing range, they’ve always meant security for you. They’ve always meant Gi-hun.

But it doesn’t feel like that anymore. Now, mealtime feels uncomfortable and sickening. It doesn’t help that the soldiers aren’t giving any of you enough food, and it doesn’t help that when you twist your feet just right, you catch a glimpse of blood on your soles and your appetite is gutted.

“You really should eat something,” you say, even though you know there’s no point. Gi-hun’s too far gone to do much of anything right now. Still, you have to at least try. A gentle prod against his shoulder draws his attention just long enough to display the remainder of your dinner. “Here. I saved some of mine, in case you get hungry later.”

You know you’re going to be hungry yourself later tonight, but you’re more worried about him. He’s mourning. He deserves something good to eat so that at least a part of him isn’t in constant agony. But there’s nothing. No “you’re wasting your time”, no “go fuck yourself”, not even a “I wish it had been you instead”. Not a single word.

Isn’t he angry? Doesn’t he want to hit you or something? You almost wish he would because surely enduring his rage would be less painful than staring into the empty, sunken eyes of the husk he’s become.

“Gi-hun, please. Talk to me?”

It feels like the birth, life, and death of galaxies takes place in the time it takes him to respond. His lips part – chapped, swollen, and indented where his teeth have worried at the same spot for too long – and he sighs. “What would you like me to say?”

And suddenly, you’re leaning in faster than you can stop yourself, your fingers curling loosely over his wrist so he can’t escape you. “Anything. Anything you want, it doesn’t matter.”

“He was my friend.”

You nod lightly. I know, you want to say. I wanted to know him better. But you know you shouldn’t. It wouldn’t feel right because this isn’t about you or your feelings, this is about him. This is about trying to fix something so irreparably damaged that you don’t actually know if anything you’re doing is a help or a hindrance.

Gi-hun pulls his hand away. “There’s nothing else to say.”

“Gi-hun.” He looks like a stranger when the lights hit his face. Even the way he stands has changed; he’s stiffer, less fluid, his movements sharp and jagged. But that’s not what worries you – it’s the fact that he’s trying to leave. “Gi-hun?”

The steps creak lightly beneath and behind you. You reach out as you stumble to your feet, eager to bring him back from the metaphorical edge, but are almost immediately cut off. “Hey, 457!”

You don’t recognize the voice and they clearly don’t know who you are, so you decide right then and there that you don’t care who it is. Gi-hun is more important. It would just be nice if he wasn’t trying to run away from you right now.

“Gi-hun, wait.” You nearly trip over your own foot trying to run up the steps after him. “Gi-hun!”

Footsteps fall heavy on the stairs behind you, followed by a hand on your elbow, and you whirl around with a glare. “Can I help you?” For once, you don’t give a single shit if you sound rude.

Player 124 stands on the step just below yours. “You’re the one with the two billion, aren’t you?”

God, seriously? You’re in the middle of trying to chase after your best friend to make sure he doesn’t do something reckless and this guy’s worrying about fucking money? You roll your eyes and you don’t bother to hide it. Fuck this guy and fuck every other player in here who bears the same poisonous O patch on their chests.

“The offer’s not on the table anymore, sorry.”

He yanks hard where he’s gripping your elbow when you attempt to free yourself and steers you around so you’re stumbling down to his level. At first, you think he’s just trying to detain you. Intimidate you, probably. Quite frankly, you don’t give a shit about that either. You’re not above throwing a smack or two after the day you’ve had. But when you try to tear yourself away, you find yourself backing into something tall, broad, and solid. The overwhelming scent of sweat and two or three-day old cologne floods your senses until you nearly choke.

“Woah, hey, where d’you think you’re going, man?”

Because of course. It isn’t bad enough that Jung-bae is dead and Gi-hun is utterly unrecognizable in his grief, oh no. No, you just had to go and open your stupid mouth, didn’t you? Had to go and say something idiotic like “I’ll give everyone free money if you let me go home”. You don’t even have the right to be surprised anymore.

The smile you force onto your face is more grimace than anything else, but again – you don’t really care. You’re not in the mood and you don’t have the time for this. “Thanos, right?”

A shock of purple hair comes into view as he steps out from behind you, grinning ear to ear. “The one and only.”

“Look guys, I’m not interested in… whatever this is. Your vote won, so I’m not feeling very generous anymore.”

But Thanos only shakes his head. “Oh, no, no, no, man, that’s not it at all!” He brushes you off like it’s nothing, like he doesn’t take you seriously – and he probably doesn’t, but that suits you just fine because you can’t take him seriously either. “We just want in on your little industry, or whatever the fuck.”

“I…” Industry? What, he thinks you run some kind of underground criminal empire? “What are you talking about?”

There’s a flash of color on his nails when he flutters his fingers at you, each one a perfect match for the fucking infinity stones. What a fucking joke. “You know, however you got that two billion.” He wiggles his eyebrows when he leans in to get a closer look at you. “You running a drug ring or something? Because I know a thing or two about that.”

You’re so massively dumbfounded by the accusation that it takes you several very long, very agonizing seconds to find your voice again. “What about me makes you think I run a fucking drug ring?”

“I dunno,” he drawls in a lazy attempt at English, “maybe ‘cause of all that money you were bragging about.”

“I wasn’t bragging–”

“Sure sounded like it to me.” Thanos snaps his fingers and 124 suddenly appears, nearly scaring the crap out of you. You’d kind of forgotten about him. “Nam-su–”

“Nam-gyu,” he corrects with a heavy roll of his eyes.

Thanos just rolls his eyes back, crinkling his mouth until he looks more like a toddler throwing faces across the playground than a grown man. “I said that, man,” he tsks. “Whatever. Nam-gyu, don’t you think 457 was bragging about having a fuckton of money?”

124 – Nam-gyu – juts his chin in your direction, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Yeah, I do. And I think you’re just being greedy now ‘cause you’re pissed you’re not going home yet.”

A dozen different retorts flash through your mind, ranging between “what are you gonna do about it?” and a more level-headed, albeit entirely sarcastic, “let me give you my number and we’ll talk if we all survive this”. You’re debating which one is least likely to get you beaten and bloodied and none of them are particularly encouraging when Nam-gyu suddenly smacks the back of his hand on Thanos’ chest.

“Uh, hey, isn’t that–?”

Thanos suddenly straightens as his eyes shift nervously over some unknown point behind you. His throat bobs noticeably. “Time to go.” To you, he purses his lips, nods, and then he and Nam-gyu are hurrying off like rats scattering in the dark. You don’t fully understand why until you see Young-il.

“Those two bothering you?” he asks. You can hear the unspoken implication, can read it in his face – if there’s a problem, he’ll fix it himself.

You duck your head, smiling just a bit and pretending that you are very much not flushing at his attentiveness. Because Young-il is nothing more than a good friend with a desire to keep you safe and reading into that any further is not only stupid, but entirely inappropriate. For multiple reasons.

“No,” you finally answer, “it’s alright. I’m fine.”

If the touch of his hand at your shoulder causes you to still, or the brush of his knuckles over the curve of your wrist, or the gentle hum of his breath does anything to make you fluster or stare or linger in a way entirely unlike yourself for the rest of the evening, then that’s your own business. You can only hope that no one else, and certainly not Gi-hun, notices it.

The torn-open plastic wrapper and scattered crumbs of bread are nothing compared to the usual offerings left at a funeral, but this is hardly a normal funeral. He supposes that he ought to be moved by it. In a place where people turn on one another like animals and food is scarce, Gi-hun knows that he should be grateful for a moment of peace to remember his last surviving friend. He should be grateful that you sacrificed part of your own meal (if a single round of bread can even be called that) for it. He should be grateful for you because if you hadn’t suggested a vigil, he would have been too lost in his grief to even consider it.

But all Gi-hun can feel is the merciless nothing that consumes him.

He’s vaguely aware of the others shuffling into their beds behind him. Each of them has chosen to believe him and listen to him, and for that he’s thankful. At least he can try to save another few lives. The only question is for how long, if the attempt is even worth trying anymore.

There’s the sound of feet then, and he sits up a little straighter because in that moment, Jung-bae is still alive and they’re back in Ssangmun-dong, sharing a glass of soju. And then he catches your scent and the shape of your silhouette, and reality comes crumbling down all around him. He tries not to be disappointed. He also tries not to feel guilty for being disappointed, but he fails at both. In the end, all he can do is hang his head in remorse.

“Hey,” you say softly.

You’ve been cagey around him since Jung-bae’s death. It’s only been a few hours, but the difference is blatant – your touches are hesitant and dramatically decreased, your body closed off from him, and even your voice sounds different. An attempt at kindness, he thinks. Then why does it grate him so?

Gi-hun doesn’t acknowledge you beyond the gentle huff of an exhalation. You seem to take that as all the permission you need. “You don’t have to take the first watch if you don’t want to. I don’t mind.”

He resigns himself to the fact that a conversation will apparently be necessary. “I’m not tired,” he tells you, drawing his legs to his chest so he can wrap his arms around them. It’s easier to ride each wave of sorrow when he’s compressed into something small like this, when the world can’t reach him.

“Me neither.” Your leg is bouncing – a nervous tick he’s not sure you’re even aware of. “I just thought I’d offer. If it would help.”

The only thing that would help him now is a gun in his hands and the Captain on his knees so he can shoot him through the skull. So he can tear this island down with his bare hands, brick by brick, until there’s nothing left. Only he lost the chance to do so two days ago when the tracker was ripped from his jaw and you were abducted, forced to play these Games simply because your very presence is a constant stab through his heart.

He'll find a way. If it kills him, he’ll find a way to exact the revenge he needs. For Sang-woo, for Jung-bae, and for all the ways you’ve died and been reborn since the Games have started.

Gi-hun takes a deep breath to open up his ribcage and release the tension that’s been coiling in his chest for the past hour. “Get some rest,” he says, and his tongue feels heavy when he does. “You need it.”

A month ago, you might have fought him on it and demanded he get some rest too. Maybe you would have looked at him in that special way, where the light catches your eyes and you smile differently and it leaves him feeling flayed apart, and he might have at last relented. A week ago, he might have asked you to stay the night – so he could keep you close, keep you safe – and you might have even said yes, and Gi-hun would’ve spent the entire night dreaming of possibilities and open-mouthed kisses, and he still would have gone to the club to meet the Captain because at least he would’ve died remembering you.

This time, there is no fight. This time there’s just quiet deference and a weary heart too bruised to beat any longer.

He glares at the crumpled piece of plastic on the step and the pathetic smattering of crumbs that serve as an offering to Jung-bae’s spirit, and he vows never to rest until the game runners and the Captain get exactly what they deserve.

Young-il greets you when you retreat. The lights have gone out by now, shrouding the entire room in darkness bar the glowing X and O on the floor, so he couldn’t turn and watch the interaction even if he wanted to. He doesn’t, of course. What you do in your own time with your own friends is none of his concern. Not even if your friend is rubbing a soothing hand into your shoulder. Not even if your friend is making you laugh. Not even if your friend is… Wait, he’s not urging you to join him, is he? Gi-hun’s misunderstanding him, surely.

He forces as much air into his lungs as he can, holding it in and suppressing the thundering beat of his pulse so he can hear better.

“I don’t want to …,” you whisper sweetly.

Young-il’s voice is similarly softened. “… insist.”

This is pointless. It doesn’t matter how quiet he is, he won’t be able to hear a thing, and since when does it matter? Why is this what he’s choosing to focus on? Where is his rage? Where is his hatred and his fight? Is he truly so fickle that his plans turn to dust the moment you elect to share a bed with another man who, might he remind himself, is married?

Jung-bae is dead, just like Sang-woo. He needs to plan. He needs to organize.

Gi-hun squeezes his eyes shut until they hurt and that, at last, is enough to snap him out of his strange reverie. The Games cannot continue like this. The voting is going horribly and the O players are winning by a higher majority each time, which means that when tomorrow comes and more X players die, the chances of returning home will be almost zero. Not even your naively offered 2 billion won will be enough to change the hearts and minds of the O players who remain.

Your 2 billion… He’d given it to you because he thought he was dying, because he wanted to ensure that you would be able to take care of yourself in his absence. The money is yours now with no strings attached, but he can’t help feeling frustrated that you would be so quick to relinquish it. And for people like these? Drug addicts and dirty tradesmen, gangsters, loan sharks, gamblers.

He feels his own fingernails digging into his palms.

The gambler who had first accepted a smack from the ddakji recruiter and the gambler who stands watch now feel like two very different people. Gi-hun sometimes wonders if he isn’t just a spirit left to wander the Earth in a foreign body, traveling aimlessly, fighting against the ongoing tide of hopelessness and violence that haunts him. He wonders if that’s what Jung-bae saw before he died.

He wonders a lot of things, really. He wonders how things might have gone if Jung-bae had stayed and you had gone. Would you have ended up on the same team? And the pregnant girl – what if she had never asked for help? What if you had never offered? Would his oldest and dearest friend still be alive? Would you be dead in his place?

What if he had never stopped to help you in the first place? Where might your life have led you? Jung-bae might still be alive, or perhaps he would have come to the Games anyway – he supposes he doesn’t know the full extent of Jung-bae’s financial problems and that’s his own fault. He never stuck around to ask. He didn’t want him to know.

He sighs and tilts his head to gaze at the empty space on his left. It’s difficult to articulate why, but he can’t help feeling like Jung-bae ought to be sitting there. They would talk, he thinks, and Gi-hun would try not to engage because he doesn’t want to be distracted, but Jung-bae would insist. And they’d probably laugh over something stupid, or share a tense moment remembering the past, and Gi-hun would remember what it felt like to have a friend who knows you inside and out. He supposes he’ll never know that feeling for the rest of his life, though he’s not certain it matters. He doesn’t expect to live much longer anyway.

If he tries very hard, Gi-hun thinks he can imagine Jung-bae’s face – not the face of a dead man, but of a living soul who always smiles and sometimes drinks too much. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Gi-hun-a, he might have said (though he isn’t entirely sure he’s gotten the inflection right). We’ll grab a soju when this is all done, huh? Just like old times.

Maybe he’ll ask you do it for him. Jung-bae liked you, from what little time he had to acquaint himself, and you clearly feel some amount of affection for him on behalf of their friendship. He stares, misty eyed, at the crinkled plastic wrap and breadcrumbs and he smiles. You’d be more than eager to drink a glass of soju in his honor. That’s one of the things he admires about you – your heart.

It keeps him going long into the night. When his eyelids are finally too tired to stay open, Gi-hun drags himself onto the nearest mattress. If he sees you half weaseled under the nearest bed frame and half exposed, he doesn’t think much of it. If he sees your arms folded under your chin and your face pressed into Young-il’s shoulder, he doesn’t dwell on it. He can’t. It doesn’t matter, he reminds himself.

But if he happens to nudge Young-il awake and ask him to take the next shift, then that’s entirely on purpose and Gi-hun isn’t afraid to admit that to himself. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t wake or stir you except to help maneuver you out of Young-il’s way so the other man can keep watch. You moan softly in your sleep, your face all scrunched up, but quickly fall back into your heavy slumber, and Gi-hun watches. He commits the shape of you to memory.

He's already lost Jung-bae and he’s already lost himself, but he refuses to lose you as well. Not the Captain, not the Games, and not even Young-il can take you from him, of that he is absolutely certain.

The set design is pretty, you suppose – whites and pastels, carousel horses atop a raised platform, and elegant curtains that rise up to the ceiling – but that’s all it is. It’s a design. It isn’t real. It’s a death arena made to look pretty and quaint, accompanied with charming music and a charming announcer, but it’s a death arena all the same.

“Welcome to your third game. The game you will be playing is Mingle. Let me repeat: the game you will be playing is Mingle.”

You glance sideways at Dae-ho, who’s already starting to fidget. “What is it?”

“I think I remember playing this in school,” he frowns. “We’d form groups by hugging each other.”

The announcer seems to further the idea, following Dae-ho’s musings with a more intricate explanation. “When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate and you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds.”

A secondary look around fills you with more despair than hope. “This place is massive,” you say, more to yourself, but the rest of the team manages to catch it.

Dae-ho nods in agreement, but he doesn’t look as defeated as you feel. A little nervous, maybe, if the shaking hands he lays on Jun-hee’s shoulders are anything to go by, but still somewhat hopeful. “I believe in us. We all made it through the race, didn’t we?”

Not all of us.

“We just need a strategy,” he continues, surging forward with all the bravado you’ve come to expect from him. His fist shakes eagerly in Young-il and Gi-hun’s general direction. “What do you think? How should we play this?”

The most obvious answer is given first – a five person group won’t require anything more than to run as fast as you possibly can. That, at least, is a relief and you really hope they call five before anything else. Anything larger than that, everyone will work to find another player. Your eyes scan the crowd in search of the familiar 120 on the back of Hyun-ju’s jacket. Maybe you can snag her if you need to.

“No matter what happens,” Young-il says, “don't panic. Let's stay calm. Let's trust each other. We'll all make it out together.” You admire his tenacity and his ability to remain calm even now, before the game has even started.

He extends one arm into the center of the group, palm down. “Here.”

Your hand falls easily atop his, your fingers splaying out as they unconsciously seek the warmth of his skin. Dae-ho comes next, then Jun-hee, and finally Gi-hun. You choose to pretend that Jung-bae is with you all in spirit, too, piling his hand atop his friend’s. His memory lives on in the battle cry that Dae-ho exclaims at the top of his lungs: “Victory at all costs!”

There is a final request from the announcer that each player relocate to the platform, then a flashing of the lights, and then the entire world is turning. You’re nearly jolted off balance, but are caught by a strong hand and a quietly encouraging nod from the player to your left – Hyun-ju! You go to thank her, but find your voice immediately drowned out by the sound of singing as the world keeps spinning.

“Round and round we go! Round and round we go!”

Dread blossoms in the pit of your stomach. Not only are you already feeling lightheaded from the turning of the platform, but the sound of children singing gleefully while you’re dragged to your potential demise is enough to make you actually sick. Rainbow colored doors glide past, round and round, and you have to reach out for Hyun-ju’s arm to keep yourself steady.

The announcer had said to listen for a number. Is the number somewhere in the song? Do you have to listen for it and then run? Will the platform stop? What happens if you fall? It’s too many questions and too much uncertainty. What if this, what if that? How? Why? When?

“Round and round we–.”

The platform grates to a halt and the lights flash out. The announcer’s voice crackles somewhere overhead. “Nine.”

Nine. Nine people? Oh shit, holy shit.

You grab blindly at Hyun-ju’s wrist. “We have five!” you shout over the sudden, raging chaos.

She nods frantically with a flash of her other hand in your face – her fingers are interlocked with another player’s, a young girl who looks about as scared as you feel. “Four!” she calls back. She looks over your shoulder, presumably at Gi-hun and the others. “We have four!”

“That’s nine!” you hear Young-il say. “Everybody run!”

Hyun-ju’s fast. Like, really fast. She practically drags the other girl off the platform, but you’re close behind, following her blindly, desperately, your arms and legs pumping. You’re vaguely aware of Gi-hun shouting directions; “green door!” is really the only thing you hear before you, Hyun-ju, and her friend are all slamming into the wall and scrambling for the handle.

Someone’s shoving at your shoulder. Someone else is urging you to “go, go, go!”. There’s a blur of limbs and concrete and teal green tracksuits, and Hyun-ju rams into the far wall, and somebody’s feet get caught under yours, and then you’re dropping to the floor with a shout as people trip all over you. You curl in on yourself so all your vital organs are protected, your arms thrown over your head, and people are wheezing and whispering, and you can still hear others on the outside as they scream and slam their doors shut, and it’s awful.

“[___].” Your hands are gently pried away from your face to reveal Gi-hun as he bends over you, his face drawn tight with worry. “Come on,” he urges softly.

You go willingly, happily, into his arms and are soon back on your feet, though your legs are about as wobbly as a bowl of ramyeon noodles. He still has a hand on your shoulder when you hear the first round of gunfire. The entire room goes quiet.

You’d figured it would be this way. You’d figured that not finding a room in time would be a death sentence, but it’s a different feeling to actually see it happen, to know that you fought for your own life just a little bit harder than someone else and because of that, they’re being executed.

You think of Jung-bae. You slap a hand over your mouth to keep from doing something stupid like screaming.

Someone gets shot directly in front of your door. You know not only because the sound is loud enough to make your ears hurt, but because Gi-hun’s entire body jolts as if he’s just been electrocuted. Did he have to witness things like this the last time, too? Was he locked inside a room and forced to watch while innocent people were slaughtered?

You reach for him on instinct while your own thoughts begin bubbling up within your chest, choking you to the point of desperation, but your hand never finds its mark. Young-il is there quite suddenly, his fingers closing around your wrist as he steps into your path. “Give him space,” he murmurs, as if his wisdom is a kindness he’s imparting to you.

“But–”

His voice drops a bit. “He needs it.” And before you can protest further, Young-il gathers you into his arms and presses his chin atop your head. “It’s alright, [___]. It’s alright.”

The shooting has long since ended by now, but something even worse has taken its place: the beeping of a forklift, the sound of caskets being unloaded and filled with bodies, the slick wetness of boots on fresh blood. It’s worse now than it was yesterday, somehow. Not being able to see makes the suspense weigh heavier on you, it encourages your imagination to run wild.

If you aren’t fast enough next time, that’s going to be you. You’re going to get a hole in your brain and you’re going to be packed up like a sardine in a can, carted away to be disposed of and forgotten about. Young-il hushes your weak little cries with a hand at the back of your head, and you freeze. What if he gets shot? What if something happens and you get separated? What about Gi-hun? And oh God, what about Jun-hee? If she dies, then her baby…

It hits you the moment you step outside. The blood. You don’t even know how many players were killed, you were too busy trying not to dissolve into a huddled, trembling mass of uselessness in Young-il’s arm, but you see at least a dozen separate pools of blood dotting the floor and platform. You know because you step in one almost right away. It’s wet underfoot, no different from stepping in a puddle of water after a rainstorm, but you know the difference. You know what it means.

You can’t let that become you. You can’t let it become any of your friends.

The platform jolts to one side as the music starts up again. “Round and round we go! Round and round we go!”

You can feel the blood squishing under your weight whenever you move. You can feel your knees locking. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears and feel the pulse in your fingertips. You can see each and every bloodstain marking the spot where another person has died so that you might live.

The song cuts off with a clear, concise, “Five”, and then the world narrows to only a single point – freedom.

“Three.”

He’d known the number even before it was announced, of course, but knowing cannot override instinct and his first instinct is to grab you by the collar and drag you into the nearest room. He wouldn’t even need to grab hold of Gi-hun; he already knows that man would follow you to the ends of the Earth and back. Yes, he knows.

But that isn’t what Gi-hun has in mind. “[___], Dae-ho, Jun-hee! Go!” he commands.

Dae-ho and Jun-hee acquiesce without a fight, each of them scrambling to grab one of your hands and pull you to safety, but you recoil before they can even touch you. “No!” You whirl on Gi-hun with a fire blazing in your eyes, bright and brilliant, and for a moment, In-ho finds himself adrift in an endless sea. “I’m not leaving you!”

He should have anticipated your obstinance, perhaps, but it had slipped his mind amid the chaos and the chaotic uncertainty of life versus death. “We don’t have time for this!” he shouts. The clock is counting down too quickly and now the entire team is at risk because you are too stubborn to abandon either of them. In-ho looks to Dae-ho, looks to Jun-hee and the baby growing in her belly, and he feels an uncomfortable prickle of uncertainty. “Both of you, go! Find a third!”

He doesn’t pause long enough to think about whether or not they will survive. “Run!” he bellows, and he propels you forward with a shove, pointing to one of the remaining open doors. He doesn’t wonder about Jun-hee. He doesn’t wonder about her baby. And he doesn’t think of his wife, not in the slightest. All he does is run.

Sharp eyes catalog the remaining players scrambling for life, then the timer counting down. 19 seconds. A trio of men goes tripping over themselves in an effort to push themselves into one of the open doors, the very door In-ho had chosen. It’s the nearest one and one of the last ones still open. Anger flares within his stomach at the audacity of these filthy, greedy trash heaps to take what belongs to him, to think that they could possibly beat him at his own game.

Abandoning you to Gi-hun’s capabilities is not something that worries him. Surging forward and slamming his body into these three players does not worry him either. If one of them escapes into your room, he could live with that. If he gets himself caught and Young-il ‘killed’, he could live with that too. But he cannot risk you, or even Gi-hun, dying because all his plans hinge upon your shared survival. Gi-hun will not die here today and neither will you. Later, perhaps, but not today. Not now.

“Young-il!” he hears you screaming, but he pays it no mind.

He slams his fist into one player’s face, then a brutal kick to another player’s groin.

“Young-il-ssi!”

A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. So, he’s managed to coax Gi-hun into trusting him, has he? Into caring for him? He body slams the third player with a growl before finally choosing to turn and run. The door flies open without him even touching it, and it slams shut behind him at Gi-hun’s insistence.

You’re on him in an instant, your arms wrapping around his neck as you breathe heavily into his ear, your chest heaving and your body pressed so firmly against his that In-ho is sensorily overwhelmed. A memory of your body pressed similarly to his from last night flickers to life in the forefront of his mind and his mouth goes dry.

“Don’t do that again,” you murmur through trembling lips.

Six mattresses in rows of three maneuvered beneath the canopy of bed frames, but only four of them in use. He had seen it on your face as clear as day – the two vacant beds bothered you. After all, one of them belonged to a dead man and the other belonged to a man you no longer recognized. In-ho knew he could fix that for you, or that he could at least distract you from it.

“Here,” he prompted with a palm flat on the mattress next to his.

“Oh, no, that’s alright.” You waved him off as politely as you could, but it did nothing to hide either your surprise or your blatant interest. “I don’t want to crowd you.”

And In-ho had smiled at you without a single hint of his true motives. “I insist.” Just a friend seeking to comfort a friend.

He hadn’t anticipated that keeping you close would make his blood boil and his body flush. It had been another chess piece carefully moved into the most advantageous position, another attempt to worm his way into the bloody gash that Gi-hun’s rejections and absence had carved into your heart, and yet it had left him feeling exposed and restless in an entirely foreign way.

His hands press firmly against your hips as he guides you away. Holding you at arms’ distance allows him the control he seeks, but it also lays bare the most embarrassing weakness he has ever encountered in the last nine years. He uses the blaring of the final few seconds as a distraction, carefully turning you away from the heat straining against his tracksuit pants so you’re none the wiser.

You wander towards Gi-hun, which In-ho can only consider to be a small mercy given the circumstances. “Do you see them?” There is a noticeable edge to your voice as you try pressing in beside him to peer out the window. “Jun-hee? Dae-ho?”

Gi-hun shakes his head, only to bodily flinch and recoil when the shooting starts. You cower like a frightened child with your eyes squeezed shut while Gi-hun remains frozen at the door, his gaze caught on the nameless bodies dropping to the ground. Punishing himself as he has the previous two rounds, impaling himself on a rusted old blade that has killed dozens before him and will likely kill hundreds more after. Doesn’t he ever grow tired of playing the sanctimonious victim?

“Oh God.” In-ho’s eyes flicker back to where you’ve braced yourself against the door, your legs shaking and your eyelids watery as you start to slide to the floor. “Oh God, I killed them, didn’t I?”

Perhaps you did. It would be intriguing, not to mention convenient, if you had because for all your compassion and eagerness to follow in Gi-hun’s footsteps, this round had been the one to break you. Or rather, the lingering memory of Jung-bae’s death and the possibility of losing your dearest friends in a similar fashion had urged you to place his and Gi-hun’s lives before the lives of anyone else. Fear has finally turned you selfish.

You collapse into a pile of limbs and shuddering, breathy noises that go straight to his gut, and suddenly, In-ho is struggling to keep his feet firmly planted in the present.

Sleep had taken its time coming for you. In-ho had offered what kindness he had – a comforting hand resting near your pillow, a soothing phrase, a fleeting smile – and had watched you until you finally drifted off. The camera he’d studied you through on your first night simply could not compare to the physical reality of sharing your breath or feeling your warmth soak into the mattress.

Is this what Gi-hun had witnessed the first night he brought you to his motel?

Grief cannot haunt you in your sleep, he’d soon discovered. Your expression lightened gradually – a twitching eyebrow here or a sigh there – until your entire body was pliant, entirely freed of the horror and shame you’d been clinging to. In-ho was surprised to find himself entranced once more, almost inexplicably so.

And then you’d moved. A subtle shift in your subconscious had urged a small sound from your lips, followed by the rustling of your blanket, and In-ho was left reeling from the weight of your arm pressing against his. It shouldn’t have affected him. Since you met, he’d been forced onto the receiving end of your affections more times than he could count and it had never bothered him before. It was simply the cost of his game, and a remarkably low one, at that.

This is different, he’d realized.

It takes him a moment to regain his bearings and, in that time, he catalogues Gi-hun’s reluctance and self-imposed distance and your trembling desire to be comforted. Both of you suffer from the same failure to hide your emotions in any meaningful way. He takes it as an opportunity, another freshly opened wound for him to press his infection into.

“It’s alright,” he assures you as he lowers himself into a crouch.

Bleary, tearful eyes gaze up at him in desperation. Another bolt of electricity lances through him, stealing his breath, his tongue, and every carefully laid plan until he is nothing more than a blank slate. It’s terrifying. It’s disgusting. He wants to wrap his hands around your throat and throttle you for daring to weaken him so thoroughly, and at the same time, he wants to slam Gi-hun’s skull into the concrete and bash him bloody for destroying his Games, his equalizer.

In-ho studies you for several impossibly long moments before he finally understands. He settles into the small space left between your body and the side wall and curls an arm around your shoulder to draw you close. He feels that same spark inside his chest, that same heat pooling beneath his stomach – the same things he’d felt last night when you mumbled incoherent dreams into his ear and curled into his chest like it’s what you were born to do.

It wasn’t the Games that made Gi-hun his equal. It wasn’t the 45.6 billion won or the innumerable deaths or the trauma that carved itself into both their souls. It was you.

You’ve all survived. You’re not sure how exactly because you were absolutely terrified that you’d lost Jun-hee and Dae-ho in the last round, but they made it and so have you. You would be overjoyed if your sanity wasn’t currently tearing itself apart at the seams. All this running, all the stress and the fear, it’s making your body overheat and your heart race, and the spinning platform is no help either. You tear wildly at the zip of your jacket and start whipping it back and forth, desperate for a moment of relief. Or some water. God, you would kill for some water right now.

“What do you think the next round will be?” you hear Dae-ho ask.

The numbers have been steadily counting down, so your first thought is to guess something small like one or two. Either option would be absolutely devastating because there are still so many players left alive and only 50 rooms to fit them into. But what if it’s a higher number? The Captain, or whoever it is that may have chosen these numbers, might be trying to lull everyone into a false sense of security, make them all plan for a smaller number only to be stuck in the chaos when the number ends up being something insane like 15.

“Everyone pick a partner,” Young-il suggests after several moments. He’s close enough that you can hear him clearly over the music. “If the number is higher, we stick together, and if not–”

The announcer’s voice cuts through it all, sharp and hot like a freshly forged blade. “Two.”

Everything happens in the blink of an eye, yet takes an eternity to live through. Young-il grabs your sleeve and drags you to the edge of the platform as he runs. Your legs are like gelatin, wobbly and uncertain, but there is still determination in your bones and life in your lungs. You’re not going to die here. You are not going to die here!

Another player trips and falls on your left. Someone screams on your right. You keep running. Young-il’s already picked out a door, his arms pumping furiously as he powers forward. He’s shouting too, you think, but it’s swallowed up by the surrounding chaos. Doesn’t matter. Just keep running. Don’t stop. You’re going to survive this.

There’s a flash of movement in the corner of your eye and you turn just in time to see someone with a 400-something number emblazoned on their chest reaching for you. They snag the corner of your jacket, pulling you back, but you’re faster, stronger, you have to be, because you have to live. One arm jerks free of the jacket, then the other, and then you’re tripping over your feet and tumbling through pools of half-dried blood. It smears over your palms, gets into the creases of your elbows, wets the ends of your hair as you skid to a halt.

“Get up!”

You’re already scrambling to your feet. Young-il is screaming so hard that his throat looks misshapen. The 400-something who tripped you is already yanking open the door of the room meant for you and Young-il.

You’re going to die.

Another player tries to run inside and you think for a moment that Young-il might just leave you both to your own devices and take that second spot for himself. You can see the ugly glint in his eye, the same one you know is in yours, that gut-deep, selfish desire to keep living no matter the cost. You run faster than you ever have before. He grabs the other player and throws him to the ground. Your hands slam into the doorframe.

There’s still someone inside. Oh God, there’s still someone in here, and you know what happens when there’s one too many people inside a room. The evidence of it is painted on the walls.

“Get out!” you scream.

The man shakes his head frantically as he crowds himself into the farthest corner. For a moment, it’s you who considers betrayal. You could slam the door shut and lock 400-something’s friend and Young-il outside, and you would be saved. You’d be condemning him to death, but you would live and isn’t that more important?

The timer near the ceiling flashes a gruesome 00:15, accompanied by the intercom, and you hear the door slam shut behind you. Is that it, did you make it?

Young-il’s shoulder bumps into yours and you feel a wave of disappointment. Coward. You’re glad that he’s alive, but if one of you doesn’t leave right now, then you’re all going to die! Murderer.

“Get out!” you scream again, this time lunging forward to grab the man by the arm and shove him in the direction of the door. “Go!”

His friend slams into him just as the door swings open. Young-il surges forward then, landing a punch on 400-something’s jaw that drops him to the floor. Just outside the door. His legs are kicked aside, the door slammed shut, and the lock clicks in place.

00:00

But there’s still three people locked in a two-person room, and that means you’re dead. No. It can’t end like this. You’re not ready. You don’t want to die, you’re not ready to die!

You’re halfway to the door, hoping against hope that if you wiggle the handle hard enough, the lock will give way and you can shove that man into the path of the firing squad, and you can live. Almost at the door, your gaze locked on the face of the man you’ve betrayed as he peers at you through the cut-out, begging to be saved. Hand on the door, pulling with all your strength when you know that it’s futile.

A round of bullets fires. The door jerks on its hinges as Player 400-something sags against it, then slumps to floor, dead. He’s dead. He’s dead and you’re the reason he’s dead, and the guard that shot him is looking at you through the cut-out, his gun still raised.

“No!” you screech.

You drop to your knees, hands on your head as if an extra layer of flesh will spare your skull from being blown wide open, but it’s not just the ground that meets you. Bones crack against hard cement, a wet slap following when your bloodied hands fly out to brace yourself, and the face of the player whose life you’d decided was worth less than yours is tilted unnaturally against the ground a few feet away. His neck bends in a way it shouldn’t. His body is slumped over as if he’s just been tossed aside like garbage. Unblinking. Unmoving.

Dead.

…

Dead?

You sit up, confused. You didn’t hear another round of gunshots. He’s not bleeding and you are still alive, so how is he dead? Why is he dead?

You find the answer sitting with his back against the wall, chest heaving, his eyes pitch-black and endless. The other man’s legs are still caught awkwardly between Young-il’s, almost as if… but no, that can’t be right. He wouldn’t be able to do something like that. Shouldn’t. Couldn’t.

You ask the only question you can find the strength to vocalize. “Is he…?”

Young-il nods with a heavy sigh. His legs are spread and bent at the knee, his elbows braced against his thighs, and his eyes… Deeper and darker than the blackest hole in the farthest reaches of the universe. You look at him, fresh off the murder of another man and utterly unremorseful, and you feel like you’re gazing into the galaxy itself – vast and terrifying and brutal.

There’s a knock at your door, then the flash of a black mesh mask, and you push yourself back into the nearest corner, folding in on yourself until you’re as small as physically possible. “No, don’t, he’s dead! He’s dead!” you cry. “There’s only two of us!”

The guard remains quiet, perhaps waiting for the order from his superior to gun you down like the selfish, cowardly, murdering bastard you are. Young-il nods almost imperceptibly and then, just like that, the guard is gone. And you’re alive. And you suddenly feel like you’re standing on the edge of a precipice with no way down except to jump.

“[___].”

You catch him trying to touch you from the corner of your eye and you recoil as if he were the one with the gun, not the guard. “Don’t touch me,” you gasp. You don’t deserve to be touched. You don’t deserve anything gentle.

It’s clear he doesn’t appreciate your bluntness. His fingers coil around empty air and his face turns hard as it morphs into something cold and distant. The mask of a killer, maybe, because he’s just as bad as you are, isn’t he? He killed that man with his bare hands. And you… you almost locked him out of the room because you wanted to survive so badly.

“I’m sorry,” you weep, your eyes unseeing and stinging as your tears finally overflow. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…” To what, almost sacrifice him for your own good? To be so weak and pathetic that you couldn’t even shove that man out of the room yourself? “It’s my fault.”

That’s the only thing that makes sense, really. Jung-bae died because of you. Jun-hee and Dae-ho almost died because of you. And now Young-il. Now the dead man between his legs and the other one just outside the door. You did this.

The room is horrifyingly quiet for a long while, but when Young-il finally speaks, you find that he sounds like a total stranger. His voice is raw and agonizing. “What are you talking about?”

Your eyes flicker briefly over his face before focusing again on the body before you. You can’t seem to look away. “I should’ve pushed him out,” you whimper. If you had, maybe Young-il wouldn’t have his blood on his hands.

“What?”

He sounds so incredulous, it’s ridiculous. What part of this isn’t he understanding?

“I should’ve pushed him out!” you exclaim. “I was too scared and I wasn’t thinking. I-I just wanted to live and I almost…” I almost killed you.

Metal scrapes against concrete somewhere beyond the door as stacks of caskets are lowered to the ground. Young-il pushes himself onto one knee, his hands hovering non-threateningly around his waist as he studies you, watching you like a scientist might watch a cornered animal. The metaphor is surprisingly apt considering it was in your power to kill him only moments ago.

“[___],” he starts slowly, “take a breath.”

You know he wants to come closer. You know he wants to understand. “No.” You shake your head firmly. “Don’t.”

He pauses. “You’re afraid of me.”

What? “No.” It feels as if all the air has been punched out of you. “Why would I…? Y-You didn’t – I mean, it’s not…”

Young-il creeps forward until he’s close enough to touch you, and this time you don’t stop him. A murderer you both may be, but he is still your friend and you crave the normalcy of a friend right now more than you hate yourself.

His knuckles brush lightly over the back of your hand. “Explain,” he prompts, not unkindly or harshly, but with the gentle confusion of someone with no desire to judge or deride.

“I don’t want you to hate me,” you sob.

“I don’t.”

He’s still not understanding. “But you will.”

The door unlocks before you’re forced to reveal anything more, thank God. Small mercies. You accept Young-il’s offer to help you stand, but you don’t allow yourself to linger in his grasp. You have to get out of this room before you lose it.

“[___]!” Gi-hun’s face falls the instant he lays his eyes on you. You’re not sure where he appeared from so quickly, but you suppose it doesn’t matter when his hands trace wordlessly over your arms, over the blood, the blood, so much blood, and he ducks down to try and catch your eyes. “What happened?”

You’d been so focused on surviving that it hadn’t even occurred to you that his own life had been on the line as well. It hadn’t occurred to you that your dearest friend might actually be dead until you were being ushered out of that room and forced to confront the outside world.

Your brain feels kind of fuzzy right now, so you’re cautious when you shake your head. “’s not mine. I fell.” You’d lost your jacket, too. Is that why you suddenly feel so cold? You’re not sure.

Gi-hun is quick to draw you in, and you’re thankful for the sudden proximity because he’s really the only thing you’re sure of right now. You’re guided back to the platform. The world is off-kilter and strange to you, but you’re the only thing that’s changed. Well, you and Young-il. The two murderers.

You rotate your shoulder so Gi-hun’s hand slips away. You don’t want him to touch you either.

“Clapping our hands together! Singing along as well! La lala lala lala la la la la!”

“Six.”

You’re not sure how it happens. You had meant to grab Gi-hun or Young-il’s hand once the speaker announced the next number, but then the number had been too large to accommodate everyone and there were so many voices layered over each other that you couldn’t hear much of anything. And then you were running, only to realize that it was Dae-ho holding on to you, not Young-il. Not Gi-hun.

It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. Just run. Because you keep thinking about what happened the last time you hesitated and you don’t want to do that again. You can’t watch someone else die because of you.

The first room is already full, and you think you catch a glimpse of Player 100 in there, but Dae-ho pulls you away before you can get a proper look. He’s half dragging, half pushing, guiding you several doors down where Hyun-ju stands with her arms flailing. The mother and son go first, then Dae-ho, then you, until you’re all huddled in the far end of the room, panting.

“Young-mi-a.” You look up to see Hyun-ju at the door, her eyes frantic and wide. “Where’s Young-mi-a?”

A small, timid voice just outside cries out. “Unnie!”

Hyun-ju turns so fast, she’s practically a blur. She bolts past the door as the timer begins to count down, just three seconds from zero, only to be brutally shoved backwards as another player comes rushing in. He slams the door shut just in time for the lock to click into place while Hyun-ju crashes directly into you.

“Unnie!”

A face appears in the window – a pair of eyes and the tip of a nose, shaded by dark bangs. Young-mi. The younger girl on Hyun-ju’s team. The one with the sweet eyes who always seems to be trailing after her. All this time, you never knew her name. Now it doesn’t even matter.

She’s slamming her fists against the door, screaming Young-mi’s name, and it’s all too familiar because the way Hyun-ju screams reminds you too much of Gi-hun. The way Young-mi’s body slowly slides down the door reminds you too much of the man you helped to kill.

She screams and tears at the door until the shooting stops, and then she turns on the new player – 333 – with a snarl. Her fingers curl around the collar of his jacket, chipped black polish digging into the fabric. “It's your fault!”

333 practically spits at her. “Don't kid yourself. If I hadn't come in, you'd be dead too.”

“No!” she screams, and you’ve never seen someone so contorted with rage. Not even Gi-hun. “It's your fault! I could have saved her!”

“There was no time!” 333 grabs her by the wrists and pulls until he’s free, then shoves her hands aside. He has no care for the sorrow that carves itself into Hyun-ju’s face and shatters her spirit. He isn’t even being gentle about it. “The moment you went out to save her, you'd have died along with everyone else here for not having enough people!”

He turns on the rest of you then with a shout, even as Hyun-ju cowers in the corner, shaking and sobbing. “I saved your lives! All of you!”

No one says a thing because what is there to say? That you’re glad you’re alive and it’s a real shame that Young-mi is dead? That he’s right? That he’s wrong?

“Isn't that right?” he demands. “Am I wrong?! Well, say something!”

You don’t have anything to say. 333 did what you might have done and Young-mi paid the price for it. There is no consolation, no candied words to soothe a broken heart. There’s no way to turn back the clock and bring her back to life. But, you think, there is the chance to atone for your almost-mistake by offering Hyun-ju the kindness she needs.

You shoulder past 333 without sparing him even a passing glance and you throw your arms around her quivering shoulders. She falls into you without pause, sobbing into your shirt as you lightly pat her on the back.

It’s not okay. It’s not right. You can’t bring Young-mi back and you can’t fix this, but in this moment at least you’re not a monster. At least you’re not the killer this time.

[skhv67]

rivals to lovers – dae-ho x fem!reader

a/n: its high key one-sided because dae-ho is a sweetheart. fluff, tiniest bit of angst, smut. (PLEASE ONLY +18)

tw: written at 6am 😔🤙 probably ooc

wc: 2.364

SUMMARY: you and dae-ho are academic rivals… of at least that’s what you thought.

• You two have known each other since the first year of university. You couldn’t forget because the very first day of college he corrected you when you were answering your teacher’s question.

• You glared at him with a sour expression, but he was just looking at you with a soft smile and he even nodded at you as if he had done you a favor.

• Despite literally nobody else caring about this interaction, it didn’t leave your mind. In fact, from that moment you’d hyperfocus every time he’d speak up in class.

• Poor thing will probably think you’re looking at him with good intentions, that when you avoided eye contact or went quiet around him was because he made you nervous.

• You actually thought his interventions were pretentious and the little smiles he flashed at you when he ‘helped you out’ were just a subtle way to mock you without looking like a twat.

• When you two were paired during the third year to do the most important project of your sociology class you wanted to end it all there and then.

• The first few times you had to hang out outside college were awkward. You were defensive when he brought up -seemingly- better points than you and you didn’t reply to any of his attempts at being friendly and funny.

• All he got from you were sighs, frowns and a cold shoulder, which confused him because until then he just thought you were just shy.

• He had to ask his older sisters for advice.

• BONK! This woman hates you, you really thought she was into you?

• What a bummer.

• The next times you had to hang out were a bit more awkward, because he was trying even HARDER to make you stop disliking him. Spoiler: it was doing the opposite.

• You weren’t blind to the way every girl in your year swooned over him. He was charming and attractive, he got good grades, he was also helpful and kind… But you couldn’t help but think it was all disingenuous. His help felt like a knife, like he was poking at your insecurities just to feel superior when he lent you a hand.

• The day he was trying to schedule a day for you two to meet up to finish up the project you were especially sensitive and unfortunately one of his jokes to ease the nerves he felt around you didn’t land as he was hoping to.

• ‘’Can you leave me the fuck alone? I’m not interested in being your friend, I can’t wait for this to be over to not have to talk to you anymore!’’

• Ouch.

• After that he only sent you a message with the time and the café you were going to meet to finish the project. No stickers, no emojis nor smiley faces. You wanted to celebrate your triumph but the way your heart started racing nervously confused you.

• The days until the meet up were weird, he wouldn’t attempt to talk to you in class, if he had to interact with you it was brief and distant, and he looked away if your eyes ever connected.

• Your mind was screaming with pride that you were right all along, and all his kindness was just a cover up. This newfound coldness was how he truly was once you called on his bullshit.

• Your heart, however, felt quite the opposite. You were fighting for your life to not text him a polite apology for the embarrassing outburst you had.

• The day came and when you arrive at the café you notice him barely sparing you a glance before looking back down at his laptop.

• The meet up was shorter than usual. And awkward.

• The silence he usually filled with corny jokes felt heavy and you were too embarrassed to admit to yourself that you kind of missed seeing his smile.

• As you finished the conclusion, he thanked you politely for your work and didn’t waste any time getting ready to leave.

• Despite your deepest need to say something, you took all your things and left the café after him.

• Or attempted.

• You let the heaviest sigh seeing the rain pouring in front of your umbrella-less self. You contemplate texting any of your siblings to come get you instead of doing the ten-minute long walk to the bus stop without even a hood to protect yourself.

• Not too long passes until you notice a figure stopping in front of you.

• Now you truly wanted to end it all.

• Dae-ho looks at you with hesitance, not too confident in offering you his umbrella to shield you from the rain.

• ‘’Where’s your car?’’ he subtly looked at your trembling hands, knuckles red from the cold.

• ‘’I’m taking the bus’’ you whispered.

• Yeah, you’re crazy if you think this man is gonna let you walk to the bus stop, let alone wait in the cold until the bus arrives.

• He nodded towards the parking lot silently indicating you to come with him.

• Well, you also don’t want to die from hypothermia, so what other choice do you have.

• Squishing yourself next to him to fit under his umbrella, you felt the warmth of his body and his perfume overwhelm your senses. Was he ever this annoyingly attractive or were you losing your mind?

• If the walk under his umbrella was bad the car ride was even WORSE.

• The silence was so heavy and uncomfortable, he looked at you from the corner of his eye to check if you were in the mood to hear him talk. Much to his surprise he saw your tense form clenching your fists and looking in front of you in an almost robotic way.

• You noticed him looking at you, because naturally he wasn't as subtle has he thought he was.

• "Should I check your pulse? You're scaring me"

• You blinked at him and then let out a little giggle.

• Okay now HE was tripping because why did his heart skip a beat at the sound. He even dared to stare at you (for more than three seconds, a record that week) and he felt his face heat up at the sight of your little smile. Dae-ho never realized that he had never seen your smile before. You had never laughed at anything he's said no matter how hard he had tried and you hadn't granted him the pleasure to see what he confirmed just then to be the most beautiful smile he had ever laid his eyes on.

• The tension he had been keeping in all week finally left his body and he kept making light jokes testing the waters. Once he saw you were at ease he let his personality shine again.

• The ride to your house was painfully short, and it pained you to admit that you could see why all your classmates would die to get a chance with him.

• It was hard to admit that maybe you were wrong and he had always been as sweet as he seemed.

• The following week he's literally glued to you.

• You made the decision of laughing at something he said once and now this man is in love with you, congratulations.

• He doesn't even try to hide his excitement everytime he sees you and as time passes he even teases the idea of going on a date. You're also lucky enough to hear some of his corny pick up lines.

• You two go to a café date (well it wasn't officially a date, but it was in his mind).

• There he tells you about his family. Him growing up with four older sisters made everything make sense to you and your heart broke when he said was disappointed that he decided being a nurse instead of studying law or medicine.

• You also tell him about you aspirations and your passion for the field and he's looking at you enthralled hanging on every word that came out of your lips.

• Talking about that, at some point while you're complaining about thing #130 today he finds himself lost in you lips. He traces the shape with his eyes and imagines parting them with his tongue He wonders about the taste of your lip balm and if they're as soft as they look right now.

• You'd think he'd be a bit more confident being caught doing this considering he was being quite obvious about it but the second he sees you looking at him he panics like crazy.

• You laugh it off and as the gentleman he is he gets you home safe and sound.

• That summer he decides he's going to officially make a move.

• (he doesn't)

• Summer made you inseparable and you couldn't understand how many years you've wasted hating him undeservingly.

• This time you were both hanging out in your room. You two had made a habit out of watching a movie once a week and would play rock, papers, scissor to see who would host and pay for the take out.

• Tonight you had lost and unfortunately for you he got to choose the film as well.

• The only good part of this was seeing him being an absolute nerd about it when you tried to argue about the plot holes of the movie.

• He was passionately exposing his points for you and you couldn't hear a single thing he was saying, too busy getting slowly closer to him.

• He had been so busy trying to prove his point that he doesn't notice your pretty eyes right in front of him and your noses practically brushing.

• It wasn't until he felt your hot breath against your lips that he came back down to reality. He froze in his seat and looked at you wide eyed.

• For a moment you think you might've even misunderstood every single interaction you two have had until now so you were about to turn away until he finally decided to react and grabbed your arm.

• The grip was firm but gentle, letting you know that you weren't getting away from him anytime soon. He looked at you doe eyed and used his free hand to bring you closer to him making you straddle him.

• "Can you fucking kiss me already?"

• He wastes no time connecting your lips and he lets out a breath he had been holding for what felt like ages.

• He finally got to slide his tongue against your bottom lip, savoring a slight taste of cherry. He smiled into the kiss, finally confirming his suspicions.

• A whine left his lips when you yanked his hair back roughly to get better access to his neck, to which he did not add any resistance.

• It only takes a few wet kisses down the column of his throat and a breathy "pretty boy" for him to get hard underneath you.

• Your jaw clenches when he starts rocking your hips back and forth over his hard on to relieve himself while he looked at you almost sorry to be manhandling you like that.

• As much as you enjoy him taking the initiative, you quickly take over and start grinding the bulge on his pants, feeling yourself pulsing against your panties at the friction.

• His needy eyes look at the scene before him taking in all the noises that came out of your mouth.

• A shaky breath leaves his soft lips when you sink your hand into his pants to palm him over his boxers.

• "Please"

• A smug smile creeps into your face when he finally gave you the sign you've been waiting for.

• Hurriedly you both take off each other's clothes while still placing messy kisses wherever you could.

• He looked down at your pussy with a nasty look of hunger you didn't expect of him and you knew then that if you hadn't stopped him there he would've placed you in your desk and devoured you whole in a second.

• "Another time, please, I need you" you beg in his ear before gently biting his earlobe.

• He nods profusely as he started stroking his flushed length in his hand to spread the slick of his tip along his dick.

• He holds you over him and drops you slowly on his length, chest heaving and long locks sticking to his face, framing it so perfectly.

• You clench around him as you reach the base and he mumbles a soft "fuck" under his breath. You press a needy kiss against his lips and nibble at his bottom lip.

• He starts sinking you down his dick with an indescribable urge, and you quickly start riding him as fast as your stamina let you.

• Even if you get tired don't worry because this man is already holding your hips and meeting you halfway.

• Your moans start turning into cries and his pace speeds up as soon as he realizes you're close.

• "C'mon, come for me baby" he grunted against your lips.

• With that you start trembling against his thighs and let go. You keep riding him through your climax and he soon enough comes too holding you impossibly closer to him.

• He held you in his hands while you came down from your high and placed you gently in your bed to proceed cleaning you up.

• Your face when you see both of you through the mirror (and the disgusted little "sticky" you mumbled at the sight of your glistening skin) convinced him to take you both to take a bath instead.

• "Hope this doesn't make you think I like you or something though" you looked at him through your lashes with a smirk on your reddened lips.

• "Sure" he laughed it off.

[mxtantrights]

Beggin' on my knees, baby won't you please

paring: Johnny Storm x fem!reader a/n: okayyyy so like I watched the trailer like everyone else and remembered how much of a crush I had on the human torch. and I would say that while writing this I could envision both the new and old castings so you can read it as who you want! I might come back to this with another piece or two. (I write with a black reader in mind but this piece doesn't specify race, only gender)

Johnny Storm has stopped at almost nothing to get you to go on a date with him. He's persistent, he's flirty, and most dangerously he's not too far off from his goal.

You had been Sue's intern since you took her class a couple of years ago at the university. She had seen in you what she knew she had in herself when she was a student. The grit, the knowledge and the courage to ask why.

She took you under her wing fairly quickly. You found her to be more of a friend than a boss. She always listened to your ideas, though she never played favorites. And she valued your input on important things.

Such as the specs for the flight she, Reed, Ben, and Johnny would be on in the coming months.

You don't really have time to be going on dates with anyone, let alone with Johnny, when you were going to be sending him along with the others into space. It kept you up at night sometimes. If your calculations were triple checked. If you had tested every hypothetical.

That is why for the past week you've been avoiding Johnny. If you see him in the caf, you go the other way and get lunch from outside. If you see him hanging around your lab you wait him out. You're quick to leave with the other workers so he won't offer you a ride.

It's been going well.

Up until now.

You manage to take another peek into the lab. The glass window that appears across from your desk. And there he is. He's sitting in your rolling chair, waiting for you. He's playing with some sort of pen. rolling it between his fingers.

If you avoided him now, he would know for sure. And you have to get to work on a quick fix on confirming the materials needed for the rocket's fins.

With about as much confidence as a cactus in a ballon party. You roll your shoulders back and tug down the white coat that shrouds you. Then you walk over to the door.

As if he's got a heightened sense, he looks up at you as you step through the threshold. You duck your head down and walk over to him. On his face is a growing smirk.

He leans back in the chair, leaning a bit, meaning he totally un-stabilized it. You'll have to re-stabilize it once he's gone.

"Where've you been?" he asks.

You huff a bit at that. As you make it over to your desk you see that's he's rearranged some stuff. You make to move past him but he just rolls with you.

"Johnny, I've been around." you answer finally.

"I know, but just not around me. Which is a same." he pouts.

You chortle, "Oh my god. You can't be serious with that one."

"About as serious as you avoiding me, Specs." he says.

You rolls your eyes. There goes that nickname. To this day you still don't understand why he calls you that. You don't wear your glasses all the time. So what gives?

"I'm just trying to get everything right, Johnny. You are going to space in a few months." you explain.

Johnny opens his legs wider and rolls the chair closer to you. At this angle he's looking right up at you. It's warm and fucking dizzying and you have to remind yourself that even though it feels like the two of you are the only ones in the lab, there are other people here. Your coworkers. His coworkers.

Sue's coworkers.

"I know, but I miss seeing my favorite girl." he admits.

And it shouldn't like it does when he says it. Like he's sharing a secret with you in the middle of the night. Like he's telling you something that is treasured and safe. If only you could tell your stomach that.

"I want you to get to and from space safety, Johnny. If I hang out with you I'll worry myself about it." you confess.

Johnny nods his head, "Okay give me a day then."

"A day for what?" you ask.

"A day where that stress is less. A day where you don't itch to be sitting at this desk and working out things in that beautiful mind of yours." he continues.

The truth is there is no day that is less stressful for you. At several points in each day since this project was announced and your name was attached, you've felt the stress of it. While cooking dinner at home. While doing laundry. While trying to get sleep so that you could get to work.

It's always there.

It's going to be there until the crew comes home from space.

You can't let Johnny know that. He has his own things to worry about. You would hate to add to his plate.

"Sunday." you answer simply.

He nods his head again. And with a smile he gets up from his seat in your chair. It's slow and agonizing how he seems to go from looking up at you to being eye level with you. His gaze never leaving yours as he does.

"I'll see you Sunday." he adds.

[nameless-jamie]

Hi, I love your writing and I love that you post so frequently! Could you wrote a fic based on the scene in the finally in which Rupert tells West Ham's coqch to take Jamie out? Could be a separate story (maybe Y/N is Richmond's lawyer) and she finds out and wants to finish Rupert? Or in the P/A universe and Jamie teases her about being protective and caring about him after she stands up to Rupert?

Thanks!

Red Card

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, suggestive scenes, angry Y/N, sexist joke from Rupert

A/N: I hope it's okay that I used your request for a Jamie Tartt x PA ff, I thought it fit so well. Thank you for the idea!

The energy in Nelson Road was electric. The stands were packed with Richmond fans, their chants echoing through the stadium as the team prepared for one of their toughest matches yet. The anticipation was palpable, the tension thick in the air, but none of it compared to the storm brewing inside her the moment she overheard Rupert Mannion’s words.

Y/N wasn’t even supposed to be standing on the sidelines during the match—technically, her job as Jamie Tartt’s personal assistant didn’t require her to be this close to the action. But after years of working with Jamie, she’d become part of Richmond’s inner circle, always hovering near the dugout with Roy, Beard, and Ted, ready to handle whatever ridiculous emergency Jamie threw at her.

But tonight? Tonight, she was glad she was there.

Because she overheard everything.

Standing just a few feet from West Ham’s technical area, she had no choice but to hear Rupert fucking Mannion—West Ham’s owner, snake, all-around waste of oxygen—lean toward his coach and murmur,

"Take Tartt out."

She had frozen, fingers tightening around the clipboard she had been holding.

"Hard. Do whatever it takes."

It was quiet. Calculated. Cruel.

Rupert’s voice was as smooth as it was poisonous, a quiet command given to West Ham’s coach, the kind of thing meant to be whispered in dark corners and carried out with no one the wiser. But she had heard it, and once she had, there was no way in hell she was going to let it slide.

It made something snap inside her.

Without thinking, she stormed across the grass, ignoring Roy’s “Oi, what the fuck are you doin’?” and Beard’s sharp “Y/N—don’t—”

She was already moving.

Marching straight up to him.

“Mister Mannion,” she said, voice saccharine-sweet with rage.

Rupert barely glanced at her. “Ah, Miss Y/L/N. Didn’t realize Jamie let his little assistant wander around unsupervised.”

She clenched her jaw. “I heard what you just said about Jamie.”

Rupert smirked. “Did you?”

“You told your coach to injure him.” Her voice was pure steel.

Rupert sighed, as if she were boring him. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Football is a physical sport.” He tilted his head, looking her over like she was some insignificant little thing he could swat away. “Though, I suppose you’d know all about being handled roughly. What’s Jamie got you doing these days? Fetching his water? Maybe warming his bed?”

Y/N lunged.

Her vision went red as she launched herself at him, fully prepared to end him right then and there.

Before she could so much as grab the smug bastard, two line refs yanked her back.

“Let me go—” she growled, twisting in their grip.

Roy and Ted were already jogging toward her, Roy looking absolutely thrilled and Ted looking like he was suppressing laughter.

One of the refs shook his head. “Sorry, miss, but you’re outta here.”

She stood beside Roy and Ted on the touchline, fuming, while the referee held up the red card like she was some kind of violent offender.

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” Ted said, ever the peacemaker. “Now, I don’t wanna tell ya how to do your job, sir, but surely we can all agree that giving someone a red card when they aren’t technically a player is a little… excessive?”

“It’s the rules,” the ref said flatly.

“She doesn’t even play, mate!” Roy barked. “You can’t send her off!”

The ref shrugged. “Rules are rules.”

Roy, arms crossed, scowled so hard he looked ready to combust. “It’s a stupid fucking rule.”

“Stupid or not, she has to leave,” the ref insisted.

Y/N threw her arms in the air. “Oh, come on! I didn’t even do anything.”

The linesman coughed. “You tried to assault West Ham’s owner.”

“Tried being the keyword,” she snapped. “If you lot hadn’t held me back, I’d have succeeded.”

Rupert, still standing smugly nearby, let out a low chuckle. “My, my,” he said, voice dripping with condescension. “I didn’t realize Jamie’s assistant was so… passionate about her job.”

Y/N whirled back toward Rupert. “You’re a disgusting, pathetic excuse for a man,” she seethed.

Rupert only chuckled, waving his fingers at her like she was some little girl throwing a tantrum. “Run along now.”

The rage inside her burned.

“If anyone on West Ham lays a hand on Jamie, I swear to God, I will—”

Rupert tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “It looks an awful lot like you’re getting rather—” his lips curled into a smirk, “—emotionally involved with your client.”

The audacity of this man.

She felt the anger boiling in her chest, sharp and blinding, but before she could lunge, two line refs grabbed her arms, holding her back.

“Ohhh, I hate you,” she seethed.

Rupert just smiled, infuriatingly unbothered. “Careful now, boys. Wouldn’t want Jamie’s newest toy to get too scratched up before he inevitably trades her in for someone better.”

That was it. That was her breaking point.

She surged forward, only for the refs to tighten their grip, dragging her back toward the tunnel.

“LET ME AT HIM,” she yelled, legs kicking uselessly as she was forcibly removed.

“Jesus Christ,” Roy muttered, but there was unmistakable approval in his tone.

Ted just sighed. “Well, that went about as well as we could’ve hoped.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the way he dismissed her or the fact that she couldn’t do a damn thing about it, but she let the refs drag her off, still spitting curses as Roy followed them, arguing the whole way.

Jamie, standing on the pitch, barely caught the end of it—just enough to see his PA being forcibly escorted out, Roy yelling at the ref, and Y/N looking ready to kill someone.

He frowned. “What the fuck?”

Isaac, jogging up beside him, snorted. “Mate, Y/N just got a red card. She got sent off.”

“Right. And… why?” Jamie blinked. “She ain’t even a player.”

“Yeah, well, she’s got more fight in her than half of us,” Isaac muttered.

Sam, ever the optimist, said, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explana—”

“—Apparently she tried to murder Mr. Mannion,” Colin interrupted.

Jamie’s eyes widened. “Oh, fuckin' hell.”

Jamie found her in the locker room after the game, sitting on one of the benches with her arms crossed, scowling at the floor.

She barely glanced up as he walked in.

He leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, smirking. “So.”

She huffed. “So.”

He tilted his head. “Wanna tell me why my personal assistant got sent off the pitch? ’Cause, I gotta say, love, that’s a new one—even for you.”

Y/N exhaled sharply. “Rupert told his coach to target you. To hurt you.”

Jamie felt something twist in his stomach. He wasn’t surprised—not really—but hearing it from her, hearing how angry she was about it…

It did something to him.

Before he could respond, she turned to face him fully, eyes blazing. “And then that prick had the audacity to say some sexist bullshit about me, and I—” She clenched her fists. “I snapped.”

Jamie smirked. “You snapped.”

“Yes.”

“And got dragged off the pitch.”

“Yes.”

“And got a red card even though you don’t play football.”

She groaned, rubbing her face. “Yes.”

Jamie couldn’t help it—he laughed.

Y/N shot him a glare. “Jamie.”

“Nah, nah, I’m just—” He shook his head, grinning. “You got sent off tryin’ to protect me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“Oh, it’s definitely a thing.” A really sexy thing. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Admit it. You care about me.”

She scoffed. “Of course, I care about you. You’re my job.”

Jamie smirked. “And?”

“And nothing.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

Jamie leaned in, voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “You sure sure?”

Y/N shoved him. “Shut up, Jamie.”

He laughed, stepping back. “Alright, alright.” He crossed his arms, eyes still bright with amusement. “But just so you know—next time, if you’re gonna get sent off, at least make it worth it.”

She huffed. “Oh, trust me. Next time, I’m throwing a punch.”

Jamie grinned. “Now that, love, I’d pay to see.”

And even though he teased her for it—because of course he would—he couldn’t help but feel something warm settle in his chest.

Because she had fought for him.

[aesthetic-rxssxs]

Universe: Haikyuu Troupe: Academic Rivals 2nd Person Of View Warnings: Smut Words: 6556

"Short Skirt And An Even Shorter Fuse."

Tsukishima and you. The top of your classes and constantly fighting for the title of number one. He was older by one year, but you were in the same grade being that you had skipped a grade.

What you had thought was going to be a smooth and drama-free High School life, turned into more.

From snide remarks and jabs between you two, there was no room for smooth or drama-free. Pretty much the opposite if we're honest.

It got to the point where you'd deliberately cheer for everybody but Tsukishima on the Volleyball team at their games. Making sure to flip him off or stick your tongue out childishly.

Tsukishima would return it with a scowl or a roll of his eyes. He always prided himself on being good at things without trying. So, there was no way in hell he'd try now just to prove he was good to a nameless nobody he didn't even know that well. Right...?

Wrong. He did. Despite his best efforts to not let you get to him, you always managed to. It was to the point where even his team noticed.

Coach Ukai even provided you with snacks from his convenience store just so you could motivate him to stop being so half-assed. And who were you to deny free food?

One day, you decided to take a new approach and instead cheer for the opposing team. Now, that got Tsukishima's attention.

That day, he had put in more effort than he had before. It surprised everyone. Even you.

They had won by a landslide and you'd think he'd be all smug—but no. He surprised everyone once again by storming off the second the whistle blew. Grappling onto your arm and dragging you out.

He took you to the girl's locker room and shoved you against the wall. His arms were on either side of your head while his eyes were as intense as you'd ever seen them. "What the hell was that?"

"Huh? What the hell was what?" You shook off the initial surprise with a scoff and crossed your arms defensively.

"Don't bullshit me. Why were you cheering for them?" He narrowed his eyes at you, his jaw ticked with tension.

"Because I wanted to. Why else?" You snarked back, clearly annoyed with his new way of annoying you—asking too many questions.

"No, you did it to piss me off. Well, guess what? Congratulations. You've officially pissed me off," He leaned down, his tall stature never intimidating before, suddenly switched to down-right terrifying at this moment.

"So what if I did?" You narrowed your eyes back at him, creating a false face of annoyance and nonchalance.

"So? So?" He scoffed in disbelief. "So, it pissed me the fuck off and now you have to deal with the consequences.”

"Consequences?" You swallowed nervously. Not once had he shown this type of behavior to you. It was new and oddly attractive.

"Yup. Consequences." He breathed against your neck as he leaned his forehead right next to you against the wall. His hands clenched against the wall before his head tilted slightly to glance at you.

Your breath hitched and he was too far gone to mock you. Too tempted to waste time. Instead, he gripped the back of your neck and tugged you in for a rough kiss.

His other hand gripped your hip, tugging you closer as he kissed you eagerly. You were too shocked to do anything but melt into the kiss. Kissing back, you parted your lips.

That was all it took for him to strip off your shirt and tug you over to the showers, stripping his own clothes as he did.

Everything was a blur after that. From the last piece of clothing shed to the squeak of the shower's knob as it turned on, surrounding you with warm water, and to the sounds of skin on skin and the panting noises that came along with it.

Your back against the cold wall as Tsukishima held you up, panting and grunting in your ear as he rolled his hips. His arms tightened around your lower back as he held you up.

The feeling of his dick running along your walls as he fucked out all of the tension and unresolved feelings you two had over the past year, to the feeling of his lips and hands all over your body.

That was the start. The start of your hookups. The random texts and the blissful feelings ignited.

So, as you're at a party, in some skimpy short skirt your friend made you wear, Tsukishima couldn't stop checking you out.

He wasn't the only one, and that knowledge only made his jaw clench and a feeling enter the pit of his stomach. A feeling that can only be described as one thing—jealousy.

His eyes trailed over your body, noting everything on display. From your tits to the pretty pink panties that peeked out every time you bent over to pick up a drink.

You had always been one to be on the less social side. So, seeing you in an outfit like this was a surprise. One he didn't think he'd find himself loving and hating at the same time.

He could already picture it. Him, bending you over against some random piece of furniture in some random room as he slips your panties down your legs before he thrusts into you in one swift motion when he finally gets to tug down his boxers and pants.

Making sure to keep your skirt on so he can mock and tease you for it. Calling it 'a perfect slut's invitation'. He would pick up your panties and dangle them in front of your face, not moving an inch as he does.

Adding that he'll but your next pair with his name embroidered onto it for good measure. To make sure his perfect slut stays his perfect slut.

He could already feel the possessive need to drag you out of the center of the party and up into a random room upstairs to play out his fantasies.

The need trickled up his body until his feet started to move on their own.

In one swift motion, he gripped your arm—just like he did the first day your hookups first started—and dragged you upstairs without a care of who might've saw.

He slammed the door shut and locked it, picking you up under your armpits before throwing you onto the bed.

He crawled over you, trailing his hand down your waist. He reached your skirt and snapped the waistband of it, causing you to gasp and bite your lip.

He clicked his tongue at the movement and tugged your lip down. "Now what did I say about biting that pretty lip, hm?"

Your face flushed at his taunting before you reluctantly recited the words he'd basically engrained in your mind. "That it's your job..."

He smirked smugly, running his hand up and down your waist approvingly. "That's right. And why do you think I brought you up here?"

"Uh, I don't know," You mumbled, forcing yourself not to bite your lip. No matter how tempting it was.

He scoffed, squeezing your thigh as his hand trailed up, hitching it onto his waist, "Don't play coy with me, slut. We both know this skirt is so short you flash your ass by bending over."

He let out a harsh chuckle, "I should know. I saw those pretty pink panties you love so much the second you reached down for a beer."

Your lips parted in shock, your face flushed and your hands gripping the hem of your skirt tightly, willing them to magically grow longer in size.

"Trying to catch someone's attention?" He taunted as he slipped his hand up your thigh slowly, dangerously close to slipping up under your skirt.

You shook your head immediately, "N-no."

"Then why wear this, huh?" He leaned down to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He closed his eyes, inhaling that sweet perfume you always wore.

The same one that now stains his sheets for days on end every time you come over.

"My friends made me..." You responded, gulping. You tried not to let his closeness affect you but it never really works in the end.

"Do you always listen to your friends?" He kissed along your neck, nipping every now and then. "Would you jump off of a cliff if they told you to?"

"No," You scoff out in disbelief to which he leans back and grips your jaw. "Watch your tone, sweetheart. I'm not the one flashing everyone, now am I?"

You pout, annoyed. But then you feel a striking sensation between your legs at the implication that he's jealous. And not just jealous, but possessive too.

"Not denying it, huh?" He chuckled and teased your nipples through your shirt. The movement was easy due to you not wearing a bra.

You gasped at the sensation, your head dizzy with pleasure. Your mind already turning to mush as you whimpered out, "Please don't stop, Tsuki..."

He smirked and stopped his movements. "What was that?"

Your lips formed into another pout, knowing he wouldn't continue until you stroked his ego with some begging. "Please, keep touching me..."

He hummed in acknowledgment, thumb rubbing against your ribcage, "Keep touching you where?"

"My breasts," You admitted, finding yourself still able to blush. Even after the many nights you've spent tangled in each other's sheets.

"Good girl," He purred out before tugging your shirt up, kissing up your stomach, leaving your breathing growing in huffs. He reached your breasts and sucked hickeys along them, marking you as his.

He relished in every moan and whimper you let out. Loving the way you gripped his hair when he swirled his tongue around your nipples.

"Of course you'd love some attention to your breasts, you slut," He chuckled and suckled around the perked bud. When he glanced up and saw you about to retort, he used his free hand to tweak your other nipple.

As he saw your lips part and your eyes squeezed shut, he knew his mission succeeded. A prominent smirk settled on his lips as he had gotten what he wanted. Your compliance.

No matter how many times you'd told yourself you'd never let anyone degrade you, he made it seem so enticing. Much to the point you ended up looking forward to it with every interaction you two had.

Even now as he degraded every little response you had to his teasing touches, it couldn't help but make you throb even more.

"That's a good girl," He cooed as he trailed his hands down your waist, caressing every part of you he could. His hands trail down to your hips, caressing them as he practically makes out with your breasts.

Your leg shifts to rest on his back, leg curving to rest your foot on his back where you rub up and down in appreciation to his attention.

He smirks, moving his hand up and under your skirt, teasing the waistband, and pecking your breasts before he kisses down.

He moves your leg up on his shoulder the lower he gets, kissing all the way down to your waistband. "Well if it isn't the one thing that had me throbbing this whole damn party..."

He lets out a husked chuckle when your breath hitches, trailing his finger along the waistband. "How cute."

You whine out, "Stop being so mean..."

"Mean? Mean?" He laughs in disbelief before he pinches the fabric, "Now, these are mean. Making me wanna tilt it up and fuck you in front of everyone. You're playing coy, sweetheart."

"I'm not playing anything," You whined out in protest before he tugged and let go, causing it to snap against your skin.

He grins up at you in a way that makes you think he'd be the perfect Cheshire cat in a play. "Oh, come on. I know you enjoy a little pain. You're my precious little masochist."

You huff, cheeks flushing as your whole body feels hot. You wish you could protest, but you knew it'd be futile. Let's face it, you are his little masochist.

"Ah, so you don't deny it, huh?" He moves his hands down and lifts your skirt up. "I knew my girl wouldn't."

His girl. Something he found himself saying more frequently. He couldn't help it. Especially when you give the best reactions. Like now, for example.

You were tilting your head back, swollen lips parted into a moan as he bit your thigh to emphasize your arousal to pain.

It worked perfectly, he had the perfect view of your panties and watched as a wet patch started to form. He grinned devilishly before he leaned down and poked his nose into your panties.

He relished in your surprised yelp, hips trying to move away but stopped by his nails digging into your thighs, pulling you back.

"Not so fast, pretty girl."

You swallowed hard, hands clenched together at your sides as he grinned, lips brushing against the fabric as he did. Which only serves to make your body tingle with pleasure.

He gave a nice open-mouthed kiss right on top of the wet patch, making your heart race.

"T-Tsukishima?" You trailed off before you yelped. His teeth nipped at your panties, slowly tugging them off, hands trailing up to follow the movements of your panties before he threw them to the side.

"H-hey!" You protested before he pinched your thigh, making you wince and instinctively look down.

"Don't worry, honey. I'll buy you a new pair." He rubbed your thigh before casually adding, "With my name embroidered onto them."

Your eyes widened in surprise but before you could ask him to explain further, his mouth is on your clit as a distraction. That instantly makes your brows tug together and your eyes roll back in a strung-out moan.

He nibbles gently, making your moan grow in pitch. He pulls back and kisses your swollen clit sweetly, looking up at you with a knowing smirk.

Your face is flushed and your eyes are half-lidded as you look down at him with a half-assed glare. Lips forming into a pout, "No fair..."

He chuckles, "Are you seriously complaining right now, sweetheart?"

You shake your head reluctantly and he takes that as a no. His hand rubs your thighs up and down, loving the sight of you laid out with your legs on his shoulders.

He makes a point to kiss up your thighs until he reaches where you want him most. He looks up and you nod in encouragement.

He dives in, licking a nice long stripe up along your slit, ripping another moan out of you. He continues, this time flattening his tongue and trailing his tongue up, making you shudder.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to control your noises but find that entirely impossible once he slips a finger in.

You choke on a gasp and your gummy walls clamp down on his finger in reaction. He hums in satisfaction and wraps his lips around your clit, suckling.

You whimper, legs trying to clamp around him but failing when he pinched your thigh with his free hand, making you stop.

You gulp when he slips another finger in, pumping them in and out before he pulls off your clit and pecks it. “You’re making such sweet noises for me.”

You whimper, the compliment making you blush even more.

“Please, Tsukishima…” You gasped, trying to think about anything but his relentless movements with his fingers. “I-I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” He taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance and confidence. He didn’t stop moving, finger-fucking you steadily while gently sucking on your swollen clit, making you writhe helplessly beneath him. “Can’t take it? Or can’t handle the fact that I’m the one making you feel this way?"

You swallowed, trying to find the right words but failing as your mind grows blank the more he touches you.

“How cute,” He cooed, borderlining on mocking. “You can’t even speak properly anymore. Just a pretty little mess for me, huh?”

“God, yes—just like that," You whined, not even hearing his previous comment when his fingers curled to hit that spongey spot that made your mind go blank.

“Look at you. So small, so needy. I could ruin you, you know. Make you want it so bad you wouldn’t know how to function without my fingers inside you.”

“Please,” You whimpered again, desperation creeping up to an almost embarrassing point. “I’m so close...”

“Close to what?” he challenged playfully, pulling his fingers out for just a second before plunging them right back in, mixing pleasure with just the right amount of edge.

“Tsuki!” You choked on a moan, trying to keep your dignity but finding it hard when he was teetering you to the edge of bliss. “Stop—stop teasing me!”

A devilish smirk crossed his lips, one you saw him make plenty of times in situations like this, “What’s the fun in making it easy for you?”

“I… I—” You stuttered, mind foggy from the overwhelming feeling of pleasure and his relentless teasing. You clutched the sheets, knuckles white as you tried to ground yourself.

“That’s it, let go for me,” He encouraged, suckling harder on your clit. With a gasp, you felt the tension snap, and your entire body tensed up as pleasure surged through you.

“Good girl,” He murmured

“See,” He whispered with a teasing tone, licking his lips. “I told you I could ruin you, and no one else would even come close.”

“You’re insufferable.” You grumble out, not able to refute his evident-backed statement. You sat up on your elbows, looking down at him. The lower half of his face is glistening and it makes you flush.

He smirks at your comment, knowing it's a weak attempt to get back at him for his arrogant remarks. "You're just realizing that now?" He teases, his voice low and husky as he pulls his fingers out of you slowly, making you whimper at the loss.

He smirks at your reaction, loving the flustered expression that overtakes you. He crawls up over you until he's face-to-face with you. His face with a mischievous grin, bordering on a smirk.

"Look at that face... completely spent from just my fingers." The arrogant smirk still plays on his lips as he brings his fingers to his mouth, slowly sucking them clean.

"I bet you'd say anything right now just to have something else inside you." His voice drops further, becoming almost seductive.

You swallowed. He leans down and nuzzles his glistening nose against yours, face tilted in a way that lets him kiss the corner of your mouth.

"Would you rather my tongue? Or maybe..." He pauses, intentionally teasing you further. "...my cock? You're dripping wet and whimpering my name so nicely, maybe you're not so proud anymore, hmm?"

His dark eyes fixate on you with a mix of satisfaction and further intent. It was a look that you see just before he decides to fuck you.

"I can see it in your eyes, you want me to fuck you senseless. Beg for it." He commands, voice low and demanding.

He leans down, lips brushing against your ear. "Beg me to fill you up and I'll give you exactly what you need."

"God..." You moaned softly, your hips bucking slightly as you try to get friction anywhere. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and lust as you swallow thickly.

"Please..." You whimper, almost inaudible. You try again, louder this time, "Tsukishima..."

A smug grin spreads across his face, satisfied with himself for breaking your determination so easily. He leans down, catching your bottom lip between his teeth.

"See? I knew you could beg properly when you wanted something bad enough." His hand slipped between your thighs again, thumb brushing against your soaked folds.

"You want this?" He asks mockingly, moving his finger up slowly to brush feather-light over your clit.

"You want me to fill you up and make you forget everything else?" He adds, adding pressure. He can feel the way your breath quickens, hips slightly rocking as soft moans spill out of your swollen lips.

You choke on a gasp, nodding. His eyes boring into your foggy ones, eyes welling up.

He chuckles darkly, amused by your desperate attempts to draw him closer. With a swift movement, he removes his fingers, leaving you aching and whimpering.

"Greedy girl," He murmurs against your lips, reaching down to his belt, and unbuckling it. He licks his lips, the movement making you feel the whisper of his tongue grazing your lips.

Once he unlatches the metal, he unbuttons and drags the zipper down his pants. He tugs his boxers off just enough for his erection to slap against his abdomen.

He laughs at the way your mouth grows slack-jawed. He always loved the way your face morphed when you see his cock.

He tilts your head and gives you a quick slow kiss, body arching slightly as his erection squeezes in between your bodies. The feeling of him pressed against you making you moan into the kiss.

He pulled back, pecking your lips before he spoke. "Last chance to beg, princess. Should I fuck you or leave you like this? I think you deserve it for wearing such a short skirt."

His self-control is barely hanging on as he rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily from anticipation. "Because I don't know if I can wait for you to answer, baby..."

His hips nudge forward slightly, letting you feel his thickness and the cool metal of his belt against your thigh. He grins when he hears your breath hitch, your body shuddering at the contrast of the cool metal to your heated body.

A smug grin plays on his lips as he teases you, pressing just the tip of his cock against your entrance without actually entering.

"You're so fucking wet, I could slide in so easily... Should I?" He leans down, catching your lip between his teeth again.

"Please...?" You whimper as you swallow down your pride, clit pulsing as he teases you. His self-control snaps at the desperate plea you made against his lips, one hand gripping your hip while the other guides himself inside you slowly.

"Oh fuck..." He whispers, voice thick with pleasure as he stretches you. "You were right to beg, baby..."

He begins to move, thrusting into you with a steady rhythm, making your body arch. His hand finds your breast, squeezing and kneading it as he picks up the pace.

"You feel so fucking good," He groans, burying his face in your neck, breathing ragged. "I could fuck you all night..."

He pulls out of you suddenly, his cock slick with your juices, making you whine out in protest. He stands up, towering over you as he grips your ankle and drags you to the edge of the bed.

"On your knees, princess. You know how I like it," He orders, his voice cold and commanding. "I'm not done with you yet."

You quickly get on your knees on the bed, your ass high in the air, waiting. Your cheeks are flushed, your hair disheveled, and you're covered in a thin a layer of sweat.

He takes one look at you and almost looses control again. He spreads your thighs wider with his hands. "Atta' girl."

"God damn..." He mutters, watching your soaking wet pussy spread open for him. He spreads your cheeks further apart, lining his tip against your entrance again, and pushes in hard and deep, making you cry out and grip the sheets tightly.

He finds your hips again, his thumb spreading you wider while you can do nothing but moan and whimper.

"Fuck, you're taking me so well... such a good girl, aren't you?” He increases his pace, each thrust hitting deeper, slapping against your ass. You choke on a moan, clenching with every thrust.

One hand moves to grab your hair, tilting your head back and making you arch. "Who owns this perfect little pussy? Who fucks it every other day and eats it out the other days, hm?"

"Y-you..." You gurgled out, drool pooling in your mouth before it spilled onto the poor unsuspecting host's sheets.

"Fucking right it's me." He snarls possessively, his hips snapping forward and back, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

His other hand moves to play with your clit, pinching and rolling it between his fingers. You squeal, the harsh treatment making you squirm and writhe in pleasure. "F-fuck...Tsuki..."

He chuckles darkly at your desperate cries, feeling the smug satisfaction of owning your pleasure so completely.

"Ngh," He slurred slightly. "Scream my fucking name then," He demands, rubbing your clit faster, harder. Aiming to drive you wild.

"Let everyone at this stupid party fucking hear who wrecks this tight cunt. My cunt."

His cunt. And there's no way you'd ever deny him that. Not when he fucks you so good you forget until the beautiful aching settles in your foggy brain when you wake up the next morning.

You whimper and grab the sheets as each thrust makes your body coil forward. Your breathing heavy, panting like a dog.

He grins wickedly and leans down over you, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as his hips slam forward in rapid succession, his thick length massaging that perfect spot inside you.

His actions only serve to make you cry out louder, moans and whimpers impossible to hold back. His fingers are a blur on your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come on, princess."

You gasp out desperately, shaking your head as you croak out, "S' too much... always too much..." You whine, body shaking with pleasure as his hips never falter.

"Too much of what?" He growls, breathing ragged. His smirk is present as his warm breath washes over your shoulder. He continues to pound into you mercilessly, his fingers working your swollen bud furiously.

"Too much of my thick cock stretching you out?" He chuckles cruelly, punctuating each question with a hard thrust. Making you thrust forward with his harsh thrusts, whimpering and puffing out breaths.

You claw at the sheets, the pool of drool underneath your mouth making the experience all the more surreal.

His free hand wraps around your throat from behind, tilting your head back further as he continues his brutal pace. He wipes the drool off the corner of your lips.

"Answer me, princess. Is this cock too much for your needy little cunt?" His fingers move faster on your clit, bringing you dangerously close to orgasm.

You can't form words, too choked up on your sobs and hiccups to properly respond. Moans and whimpers are the only things you're able to make.

With a wicked smirk, he tightens his grip around your throat slightly, silencing your desperate noises.

"I'll take that as a yes," He chuckles darkly, his relentless pace making the bed creak ominously. The squelching noises of you sucking him in on par.

You mewl, arching as he hits that spot inside that makes everything not register. Nothing but the overwhelming pleasure that makes your body tingle.

He lets out a satisfied grunt, feeling your inner walls start to convulse around his length. "Fuck… you’re so fucking tight," He groans his fingers moving in frantic circles on your clit as he chokes you gently.

"You think I can make you cum harder than all those other times I've fucked you nice and snug?" He chuckles tauntingly, kissing your temple.

You gasp and lean into his touches, body lolling back and slacking as you clench uncontrollably, body on the verge of euphoria. Moans and desperate pleas coming out in croaks.

He smirks in satisfaction as he feels your walls flutter desperately around his throbbing cock. His fingers continue their relentless assault on your clit, your orgasm hovering tantalizingly close.

"That's it, clench tighter for me, princess. Milk my cock like you've never had anything better. Which we both know you haven't..." He teases, nibbling on the shell of your ear.

You whimper and clench, clit pulsing beneath his skilled fingers, body aching and sweaty as it takes every punishing thrust of his.

He watches your body writhe and tense, your moans getting louder and more desperate. His teeth sink into your neck possesively, making you yelp.

"You know what would make this even better?" He rasps darkly into your ear, and his finger moves faster, pressing down harder on your little bud.

You pant, gulping before you manage to respond. Croaking out a small, "What?"

"If I wrapped my arms around your waist, and pulled you even closer, making it hurt a little more but feel even better," He growls, his powerful arms wrapping around your midsection.

He pulls you back, his chest to your back so that his mushroom-shaped tip hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars.

You whine and convulse, your body shuddering at the feeling of his arm squeezing you. The pressure makes you feel his cock pound into you even more. You croak, "F-fuck...!"

"That's right, princess. Take my cock like a good slut. You're squeezing me so perfectly I might actually cum before you," He punctuates each word with another brutal thrust.

He maintains his punishing pace against that sensitive spot deep inside you, panting, "Or maybe I'll just edge you..."

“Tsuki, Tsuki, Tsuki, Tsuki...!" You let out a dragged-out moan in a mantra. Pleading for him to continue or to stop, you don't know. All you know is that he's fucking your gummy walls just right.

Groaning in arousal at your desperate moan of his name, he leans in to nip sharply at your ear.

"Fuck, you sound so pretty begging for me," He rasps, his hips maintaining that brutal pace. The wet sounds of flesh smacking against flesh fill the air.

"Can...can't take it, Kei, baby..." You sniffled, chirping out a whimper. "Gonna—gonna cum."

He smirks darkly, knowing he's making you go crazy with pleasure. His hand on your hip tightens, pulling you back onto his cock as he pistons into you relentlessly.

"That's it, princess. Cum for me. Remind me of why I keep your pretty little cunt around..." He encourages into your ear, pinching your clit.

You throw your head back and buck, cumming around him on instinct. You sob and spasm, your body squirming as he fucked you through your orgasm. You whisper his name out in a mantra, vision blurry.

His eyes roll back in ecstasy as he feels your tight little cunt milking his cock for all it's worth.

He grunts and pounds into you a few more times before finally stilling, his cock throbbing inside you as he unloads a massive load of his seed deep into your womb.

Your eyes widen and you claw at his arm, your voice slurring, "N-no... can't cum in me," You hiccup, "Not on... birth control...."

He freees at your words, his mind hazy from the intense high of his orgasm. For a moment, he just stays still, buried deep inside you as he processes your words.

Then, he pulls out, his softening cock slipping out of your used hole with a wet plop! You fall down onto your front, shaking and panting as you try to calm down.

Your body clenches from the after-effects of your intense orgasm, making his and your shared cum spill out from your position on your front with your ass up.

He watches your body wracked with aftershocks, his seed mixed with your fluids trickling down your inner thighs. His jaw tightens.

"Damn," He mutters softly to himself, his eyes fixated on your spread thighs and your puffy, well-used little cunt.

You pant, looking back at him from over your shoulder. Your eyes are half-lidded and red from your previous sobbing.

"I'm sorry, princess," He murmurs softly, reaching out to gently stroke your cheek. He leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. "I didn't mean to cum inside you. I'll make sure to pull out next time, okay?"

You swallow, not used to his sweet demeanor but finding yourself not complaining in the slightest. You hum against his lips in acknowledgment, "Okay.."

He smiles softly, ruffling your hair before pulling back. He watches your body, your back glistening with sweat and your thighs sticky with their mixed fluids.

He swallows hard, his Adams apple bobbing and his eyes flicking to your round bottom. He bites his lip, eyes darkening again. "Baby?"

"Yeah...?" I croak out.

"Can I...?" He hesitated, his fingers trailing along your curves possesively. "Can I check if any of it went in?" He asks softly, his fingers splaying out on your bottom possessively.

"Just to make sure none got in..." You nod, giving him permission to check with a mumble, "I s'ppose so..."

He nods, his fingers spreading your bottom apart gently. He leans down, his face inches from your used hole. He blows gently, making you shiver, before pressing his mouth to your aching entrance.

He licks gently, cleaning you up and checking for any of his seed that may have gotten inside. You whimper and grasp the sheets, his check-up making you squirm.

He hums softly, his tongue delving inside you to make sure none of his cum got in. He pulls back after a moment, satisfied that he got it all out.

He presses a soft open-mouthed kiss to your hole before standing up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and tilting your skirt back down.

You pant and look over your shoulder, breathing ragged. "Are we done...? Can I...Can I get up..?"

"Mmh," He answers softly, watching you closely. He's half hard again from how needy and sensitive you look. "You can get up," He adds, his eyes flicking down to your thighs again.

You nod and roll onto your back, slowly sitting up, your body feeling sore and achy.

"Easy there..." He moves closer, catching your waist as you sit up unsteadily. His eyes darken slightly as he notices fresh tears welling up in those beautiful eyes.

"Are you okay?" His touch is surprisingly gentle now, all business-like dominance forgotten. "Did I... hurt you?"

"No," You let out a choked laugh and sniffle, "Just the overwhelming pleasure, you know?"

He blinks, momentarily stunned by your response. Then slowly, a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

"Overwhelming pleasure, huh?" He leans in closer, his breath tickling your ear. "Well, princess, that's called being fucked properly. But that’s no news to you, is it?”

You scoff, but your lip twitches up into a grin. You stand up and reach for your clothes that he had thrown to the side prior. He watches you dress, his eyes roaming over your figure appreciatively.

He can't help but notice the way you wince slightly as you pull your pink panties up. He stands up slowly, buttoning his shirt back up, "Where are you going?"

"Well, I can't exactly stay at this party all wobbly-legged. I'm a total mess. I'm not trying to have the walk of shame and parade around. I'm going home." You go to the nearby mirror and fix your appearance.

He nods, understanding. He moves to stand beside you in front of the mirror, his reflection staring back at you.

He runs a hand through his messy blonde hair, looking a bit worn out from the late night and the intense fuck session. "Alright, I'll walk you home."

You smile crookedly, "Thanks."

His reflection smirks softly back at you, watching you try to tame your wild hair. He noticed how you wince slightly as you put on your heels. His jaw tightens slightly.

"Are you sore?" He asks softly, his voice lower than usual. You turn around to look at him once you're satisfied with how you look.

"You know I am." You peck his cheek and grab your purse before heading to the door and opening it. "You coming?"

He follows you out of the room, his eyes on your swaying hips. He catches up to you easily, his long legs eating up the distance. He places a hand on the small of your back as you walk down the hallway, guiding you gently. "I'll make sure you get home safe."

"That's not what I'm worried about. I just hope nobody can smell the sex on us. I do not want to be known as the chick who hooks up at some random parties." Your nose scrunched up at the mere idea.

He chuckles softly, his hand tightening on your waist possessively as he guides you through the crowded party. He can feel eyes on you, wondering where you disappeared and who you disappeared with.

He can already imagine the whispers and rumors spreading like wildfire tomorrow. Especially considering how you two are known as academic rivals—enemies.

You lean onto him, trying to mask the wobble in your step as you head out of the party. He wraps an arm around your waist in response, pulling you closer to him to steady you.

He can feel the curious stares and whispers following you two out of the party. He ignores them, focusing on getting you home safely before the rumors start to spread on the internet.

You follow his steps. His stride is steady and sure, guiding you down the dark streets leading away from the party. The crisp night air hits your faces, covering you both up slightly.

He steals glances at you every few seconds, noticing how you're trying to walk normally despite everything. "Stop pretending like you're not limping."

You huff, pouting. "M’ not pretending... I'd just rather not put any unnecessary strain.."

He arches an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he glances down at your determined yet pained strides.

In one swift movement, he scoops you up bridal-style, ignoring your startled gasp. "Like hell you're walking any further. I'm carrying you."

"What the hell, Tsukishima?!" You yelped, holding onto him tightly in fear of falling. He just smirks, his arms tightening around you to keep you secure as he continues walking.

He ignores your outburst, knowing damn well you wouldn't be able to walk much further anyway. His long strides eat up the distance, bringing you closer to your home with each step.

You huff and instead let your head fall back, watching the scenery upside-down while he carries you to your house. He finds the whole situation amusing, carrying his academic rival and casual hook-up like a bride.

He can't help but chuckle softly to himself as he walks, the upside-down view of your face making him smirk wider.

He reaches your house sooner than expected, his long legs covering the distance quickly. You lift your head up, your head spinning from whiplash before you rest your head on his shoulder.

He sets you down gently in front of your door, his arms wrapping around your waist to keep you upright. He fishes your keys out of your pocket, unlocking the door swiftly.

He steps inside, carrying you again once he's inside, kicking the door shut behind him. "Shh...! My parents will hear you," You whisper shout at him.

"Then stop squirming, "He mutters softly, his hands on your ass to keep you still as he carries you up the stairs.

He freezes suddenly, hearing your parents' TV on downstairs. He swallows, trying to be quieter. "Your room?"

You nod and he carries you to your room, being as quiet as possible. He sets you down on your bed gently, looking around to make sure everything is in order.

Satisfied, he turns back to you, kneeling down to remove your heels. "Stay put," He orders softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

You nod, head bobbing and your eyes droop as the night finally catching up to you. He watches your eyelids flutter heavily, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he realizes just how drunk you actually are.

Finishing with your heels, he gently tucks your blanket around you, ensuring you're comfortable before standing up quietly. "Sleep it off, idiot."

You place your hand on his before he leaves, murmuring out a soft, "Be careful on your way out."

Tsukishima pauses, glancing down at your hand on his with a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Momentarily taken aback by your sudden concern, a softness brushed across his usually stern features.

With a brief nod, he squeezes your hand lightly. "I can handle myself."

You smile softly before you let go of his hand and slowly succumb to sleep. He watches your breathing even out, a rare gentle expression softening his angular features.

With a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, he turns and exits your room silently, closing the door with barely a sound.

Masterlist. Masterlist.haikyuu

February 9, 2025. PST: 7:40 PM.

[justatypicalwizard]

Meta-isekai | K. Bakugo ✧ Act I Scene I

-`♡´- In which Bakugo gets isekaied into a shoyo romance. -`♡´-

Peak stupidity ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Act I 𓆩⚝𓆪

Scene I: What the fucking fuck?

𖹭 Katsuki woke up but not in his dorm room, rather in something that resembled his bedroom at home.

𖹭 What the fuck? He thought as he threw his legs over the bedsheets and stood up. Something was off. Was he stuck in a quirk?

𖹭 On his desk sat a fat black cat. Katsuki didn’t own a can so the sight of the animal caught him off guard.

𖹭 ‘’What the fuck?” He said out loud.

‘’Why are you cursing at me first thing in the morning?” The cat answered.

Katsuki’s hand shot in the air, straight into the cat's fluffy face. He gathered his strength and… nothing happened. Not even a spark from his palm.

‘’You’re acting weird.” The cat hummed and started licking its butt.

With eyes wide open Katsuki headed back towards the bed, hopped inside and curled under the sheets trying to cope with what was happening. This must be some kind of a quirk and he’s in danger now. The fight is happening around him but he doesn’t hear or feel anything because he’s under some sort of illusion. How can he get out?

‘’Going back to bed is not like you. Come on, we have stuff to do.” The cat persisted as it jumped on the bed sheets. ‘’Wait.’’ It zeroed in on Katsuki’s face, nearing him gently, paw after paw. ‘’You’re not my Katsuki.”

𖹭 Katsuki wanted to grab the cat to pin it in place but it slipped out of his fingers leaving only a few black hairs in the place he the blonde tried to grab him. Katsuki started to shout and jumped out of the bed trying to get close to the poor animal. This evoked a deafening hiss as the cat started to flee.

𖹭 The door slammed open and his angry mum entered the room. ‘’What the heck are you doing? Get ready for school, brat.” She shouted even louder than the cat and slammed the door back closed hard enough to make the walls shake.

𖹭 But Katsuki didn’t live with his mother anymore.

𖹭 ‘’Can you please stop trying to kill me? I see that something is wrong and I’m trying to work it out too!” The cat hid on the wardrobe. ‘’I told you, you’re not my Katsuki, what have you done with him?”

‘’How the hell am I not that Katsuki? There’s only one Katsuki and It’s me!”

‘’Nuh-uh.” The cat, very slowly, neared the crease of the wardrobe and jumped down. It sniffed the air next to where Katsuki was standing all the while observing the man. ‘’You’re from a different world.” It stated matter-of-factly. 

Katsuki wanted to start chasing the creature again for making him an idiot but the can was smarter this time.

‘’I know it sounds stupid but look around you! Is this your room?” This made his stop. ‘’Do you have a talking cat in your universe? And why are you trying to intimidate me with your open palm? Stop sticking it my way!” Shit, Katsuki’s done it instinctively.

‘’Listen, something is off and you are not the right Katsuki, not my Katsuki. You’re Not-Katsuki. I don’t know why this happened, I’ll try to find out though. Still you’re stuck with me here for a while so I night as well tell you my name.”

The cat hopped back on the desk, back bathing in the morning sun that made its fur shine in a weird pinkish manner.

‘’My name’s Black Cat and I’m your magical companion.” It bowed its head. ‘’My mission is, and has been for some time now, to help you achieve friendship and love. I’m like your Fairy Godmother. For the last year and a half I have been trying to help you and well it went…” Suddenly the cat went silent. 

‘’It went what?”

‘’Let’s just say I had more diligent love-students under my paws for the last eternity or so.” To which Katsuki could only blink a few times because he never thought he would hear such a sentence in his life. ‘’Whatever place you came from, good news is, I can send you back.”

‘’Thank god, do it now.”

“The problem is-” The blonde groaned and the cat hissed. “Listen to me brat! The problem is making you travel to a parallel dimension will cost an immense amount of power, and I don’t have such a reserve right now!”

‘’Then focus or some shit.”

“It’s not like that. My power comes from you, you and your friendships and loves.”

“What do you want me to do!” Katsuki’s voice was getting alarmingly loud again.

‘’Shut it unless you want your mum to come in again and see you talking to an empty desk. Only you can see me, dummy.” The cat stuck out its small tongue. “What you have to do is find friendship and love big enough to gather tons of energy for me.”

“I’m not buying that shit.”

“Just, listen to me please. I want my Katsuki back. Besides you don’t know whether my Katsuki isn’t in your place now. What world do you come from?”

𖹭 Suddenly, Katsuki imagined a random guy, version of himself or whatever, with not idea what a quirk is, standing in his shoes. This could cost him all the hard work he’d put in over the years to become a hero. Heck, that guy could kill someone by accident if he never used his quirk.

𖹭 “I need to go back. Me, I mean him, everyone else, fuck it this is a piece of shit situation.”

Katsuki started to pace the room with the cat observing him carefully.

‘’What? My Katsuki is going to kill someone in your world?”

‘’I have a quirk - a superpower where I can create explosions out of my hands. It took me years to get rid of the reflex of exploding something anytime I got irritated. How do you think a version of me that never experienced this quirk will react?”

“Oh shit. We need to get you back quickly.”

“Mhm.” Katsuki nodded.

“Okay, listen. I know how we can pool enough energy for me to send you back.”

“I’m listening.”

The cat straightened and crossed his hands as if he was a human.

“For the last year and a half I’ve been trying to help my Katsuki by creating some meaningful friendships and confessing love to his crush. It did go somewhere, at least on the friends part, but not enough for me to ascend (so essentially leave him). If you could, in a short period of time, achieve what he couldn’t in over a year, we might be able to gather a lot of power that would not run away if you’re quick.”

“So, make friends and get a girl.”

“Essentially.”

“You’re lucky I’m good at winning.” Katsuki smirked.

“Well, it would be a win-win-win honestly. You’d go back to your world. My Katsuki would come back here straight into his dream-come-true and I could finally leave him.”

“You don’t seem to like him/me.”

“I’m more on the lazy side while my Katsuki was a handful.” The cat lied down showing its belly. “But there’s one thing I must warn you about. I am tied to my Katsuki, not you. As my Katsuki is somewhere in your hand-explosion world he can no longer make wishes and dreams about this reality. What this means is that if you fail to make his highschool dreams come true you’ll most probably be stuck in this world forever. Stuck with me at that because I can only leave you if you’re happy enough or dead. You have only one shot at this. Also, if it’ll take you too long to make all the wishes come true I won’t be able to gather enough power at one time to blast you back home.

Are you still in?”

Katsuki neared the desk which made the cat stumble onto its side. The morning sun made the blonde’s eyes glint with irritation but a smirk was plastered on his face. Crossing his arms on his chest he looked down on the cat.

“I already told you I always fucking win.”

“Please never tell me about your homeworld. I don’t want to know what mended you into this shape.”

[sinisterexaggerator]

Askin' for trouble.

Cad Bane x Fem!Reader

Summary: Stupid, and sloppy. That's what he had called you. That's not to say he's wrong, but challenging Cad Bane is just asking for trouble. He'll teach you a lesson in listening, one way or another.

Warnings: NSFW/18+ for: Blood, injury, distress, roughhousing, physical violence, "brat taming," cursing, PiV sex, alien genitalia, and bloodsoaked kissing.

Word count: 3.2k

Notes: Cad Bane is an asshole, but you already knew that. I know Bane hardly does numbers anymore, but if you like it, please reblog! Otherwise this shit ain't gettin' seen. Happy reading! This one is for @deepbluespace4. ;D

------

Sloppy.

Your trembling fingers rifled through your pack, droplets of your own dark blood cascading from the open wound marring your flesh. The bastard had cut straight through your armorweave, leaving a ten-centimeter-long gash in your side.

You should have seen it coming, there was no doubt he had. You would be the laughingstock of the entire hunting party, though you had no time to worry about such things. Flinging your belongings left and right, you urgently searched for the implement that would save your life, yet it was nowhere to be found.

"Fuck!" You cursed the universe as loose credits spilled onto the dingy tiles of the refresher floor. Your comlink joined them, along with your spare rations. You needed to calm yourself, staunch the flow of crimson pouring from you like wine. Your vision blurred as you teetered before the broken mirror adjacent, hardly able to recognize your own reflection through the uneven streaks of dirt and grime, so wan was the color of your skin.

It was obvious your heart was beating faster to try to compensate for the drop in pressure; you felt the onset of nausea, dizziness, and knew that soon it would be too late. You were becoming weaker by the second, though perhaps you would be able to endure death better than facing your colleagues, yet it seemed fate had other plans.

Footsteps, the jingle of spurs in the hall—it caused your saliva to all but evaporate, your mouth as hot and dry as the atmosphere of Jakku. A shadow crept along the slit in the door; you held your breath. 

All was silent; you prayed it had been your imagination, your subconscious conjuring hallucinations in its fatigued state, though your hopes were dashed as a bright light met your eyes, revealing to you the figure of a man in a wide-brimmed hat.

Stupid, and sloppy. That’s what he had called you.

The door shut closed behind him.

“What the hells do you want?” you hissed, quickly turning back to the task at hand. If you could only ignore him, his hulking presence in that damnable mirror, then maybe the skeeze would leave you be.

The chink of metal and the stretch of leather said otherwise.

“Lookin’ fer dhis?” the Duros asked, his tone laced with undue arrogance. You spun around too quickly and nearly lost your balance. A smirk tugged at the corner of his scarred and weathered lips, Bane’s boot having placed itself on top of something, rolling it along underfoot.

With just enough force, just the right amount of weight being redistributed, the case would crack, destroying that precious thing you sought so desperately—your fucking stimpak.

“Give that to me!” you demanded, rushing forward despite feeling ill, paying no heed to courtesies or your rapid blood loss. Bane placed a finger to the center of your forehead and gave a simple push. It was all it took to send you careening backward, forcing you to plow into the edge of the ceramic sink.

“Tsk, tsk. Where’s dhem manners, hm?”

If looks could kill, surely the Duros would be dead. All you received in return was a grin so nefarious it made what blood you had left boil in your veins.

“Bane … I don’t have time for this,” you seethed, your grip slipping, your unoccupied hand being utilized as a makeshift bandage, yet that stubborn rivulet of red refused to wane.

“No time fer manners?” he asked mockingly. You heard something shift; you looked down to see the sole of his boot pressing just a little bit more firmly.

“Asshole!” you screeched, diving clumsily once more for that item you so sorely needed, more valuable to you than money. This time, you received a kick to your chin as your head whipped back, causing your body to tumble heavily onto bits of broken pourstone.

“Only asshole here’s ye, fer dhat shit ye pulled,” Bane groused, his voice deepening in righteous anger. The Duros was the leader of your entourage; you had been given a chance to work alongside him, a galaxy-renowned bounty hunter, yet you had karked it up like some unadept, some novice not worth their weight in salt.

But it wasn’t your fault! The men you had been pursuing had been too fast! Their skills were matched only by those others on your team. Yet all in your company had claimed their prize—your quarry had been the only one to get away scot-free.

You had not expected him to use a sonic detonator at the last possible second; Bane had conveniently told you to, “cover your ears.” Then, you blindly shot into the crowd, taking down some random bystander. Fortunately, you would not be charged by any such entity that passed for law enforcement on this planet. It was a living, breathing, Rogue’s gallery.

In other words, your conscience was clear.

“S’what ye get fer naht listenin’,” Bane sneered, breaking your train of thought. Already you had proven him to be right, having nearly missed his last scathing remark.

Bane bent down, plucking the small syringe up from off the ground, causing a wave of panic to weasel its way in. “Ye want it? Beg fer it,” he snickered, twirling the delicate vial of medicine between his fingers as if it was a blaster to be holstered. You felt yourself turning red with rage, yet what could you do?

Die. You could die.

“Please,” you grated between clenched teeth, digging your fingers into your lap to keep from screaming, to keep from biting down on your own tongue. Hate filled your heart, and Bane could see it, smell it—it only made him worse. It only made him want to continue to provoke you.

“Hm,” he pondered aloud, tapping the edge of the syringe against his thigh as if contemplating something weighty, “don’t think ye meant it—try again.”

You felt inclined to pull your weapon, to shoot him right where he stood, but you were far too intelligent for that—he was too quick for you. He was the best of your kind, no matter that he was the worst in every other way conceivable. Nonetheless, you wouldn’t stand a chance in hell against him. The idea was forfeit from the start.

You inhaled deeply and with purpose; you attempted to placate your frayed nerves. This might be the most difficult thing you would ever have to do, suppressing your very nature; burying that part of you that was so obstinate.

Finally, in your most gentle, even tone, you asked, “please, Bane? Please, help me.”

“Good girl.”

You felt the pause; it hung in the air, like a question that was left unanswered—what did he just say?

Before you could ponder on it further, you were yanked unceremoniously up off the floor by the collar of your vest. You cried out in shock, though now you would cry out for another reason—Bane had jabbed the needle point of your stimpak directly into your gaping wound.

The Duros’ thumb pushed down to inject both bacta and painkillers simultaneously, causing a wave of relief to overtake you as you became putty in his hands. You moaned in near ecstasy, your misery having been mitigated as if the hand of God had touched you, imparting to your addled gray matter sweet, unadulterated bliss.

“Thank you,” you whispered. Bane studied you, keeping you aloft and hanging off the floor. Your toes barely brushed solid ground. So tall was he that, even raised up by his hand, he towered over you, searing red eyes staring into your soul.

The gears of his incisive mind were turning; your scent, this close, was enticing. Your sudden vulnerability ignited a fire within him, poking at his predatory instincts.

And you—you inexplicably thought he smelled so good. That scowling face didn’t seem so scary anymore. He had always been decent toward you; he had not let you bleed dry. He was in charge here, after all. You were a brat, and a tool to be used to accomplish those goals set out for him by his employer, only ever promised a cut of the profits.

“How easy,” he rasped, pinning you to the wall. Whether he meant you offering up your gratitude, or the effort it would take to snuff you out like a candle remained to be seen, the Duros letting go so quickly that you fell like a sack of potatoes, nearly busting your ass on the hard surface below.

You ignored all of this, his poor treatment of your person, pointing out something you would not allow him to overlook—you were still alive. “I knew you wouldn’t let me die.”

With a curious tip of his hat and head, Bane dropped the dispenser, now emptied of its contents. He stared at the red, viscous substance that coated his hand from where he had touched you, as if deciding on his next course of action without a single hint as to what it might be.

“Dhat right?” Blue fingers rose to his mouth, a pink tongue creeping from between parted lips, tasting that which lingered on his scales. He would revel in the tart, pungent flavor; the texture; the feel of your warm, human blood—it called to him, that inborn part of him. The innate desire that drove him to hunt not just for credits, but for food.

You gazed up with heavy-lidded eyes, canting your neck, watching him in both awe and fascination, wholly aware that you were presently level with his groin. He observed you from a height that seemed impossible, two digits disappearing into his open maw as he licked them clean; you felt your cunt clench as you rose to sit up on your knees.

You had no control, pushing your face into black denim, your nose grazing the soft mound of flesh that resided there, just behind the fabric. You felt sleepy, serene, and ineffably aroused. What was that smell? That delightful scent?  

You desired to taste him as he had tasted you.

“Bane,” you breathed, “Cad. Bane.” The hunter flashed his teeth in a predaceous snarl, yet he was silent, entranced by your bold move. You took this as an invitation to keep going, your own teeth pinching closed around the zipper of his trousers, pulling it down, forcing him to abide by your lecherous game.

If you were playing, he was not. Within an instant, Bane had you by the hair. He thrust you backwards. You gasped and he held on. His other hand unfastened the holster at his waist, then worked on his top button until all was revealed—another layer, this one the blackest of blacks.

You took over then, shoving the seam aside; dual cocks slid from between woven folds, pushing into your mouth. You nearly choked in surprise, never having thought about what might exist beneath his skintight pants, not once admitting your attraction to him, even to yourself.

You moaned at the tang of his slick, at the thickness that invaded you down to the deepest recess your throat could offer. You inhaled through your nose as you sucked gingerly, your human lips stretching to accommodate his girths.

Just as soon as it had begun, he pulled free, leaving your mouth open and your eyes wide. He hauled you up, this time by your damaged armor, cerulean digits cinching as he silently commanded you to look him in his stark red eyes.

“What do ye want,” he harshly asked, strengthening his hold. You were hypnotized by his cold stare, the brightness of twin suns that gazed back at you from a sea of cobalt blue.

“I—” Your words caught; you could think of nothing else, admiring him down to the smallest detail; down to each of his femoral pores; the faintest trace of a faded scar.

“Say it,” he hissed; you could smell his breath, sweet with a hint of cheroot, a tinge of whiskey.

“You,” you claimed, voice hushed, your breath unsteady in your lungs. Your heart pounded ferociously in your chest, not doing you any favors, yet that feeling of delirium and ecstasy remained.

“Damn right.”

Bane’s cocks coiled around each other like mating serpents, conjoining together to form a single thick, tentacular phallus. Your pants were torn from off your waist, pushed down without care, the Duros pulling you to him as he broached your sex, incrementally sliding up, up, farther and farther into the tight abyss of your wet loins.

Every sound you made for him was like music to the ears, your little mewls of pleasure, your feeble cries of pain—pain that felt so good.

“Cad,” you whimpered as you fell against him; he hoisted you up onto the sink and lifted your thighs with his forearms, dragging you forward, forcing you to entwine yourself around his waif-thin waist.

You wasted no time in enveloping him with your legs, your explorative hands running the course of his slender chest, fingers daring to claw against black thermoguard, to tug at the metallic breathing tubes fixated to his cheeks.

“Again,” he growled into your ear, the sensation of Bane’s sharp cuspids skimming your earlobe nearly driving you over the brink. He pumped his narrow hips, slow at first, picking up speed with every ragged breath. His strokes were long, deep, and exacting, his unbelievably large hands cupping the round of your ass as he massaged your G-spot, pushing forward with only half his might.

He wanted to hear his name, though you were frustrated, pawing at the accursed body glove that housed him, every speck of his blue flesh but his fingertips and the flat of his face denied to you so cruelly.

“Bane,” you murmured, feathering kisses along his throat, his chiseled jawline, until you met his mouth—that’s where he put an end to it.

“Keep talkin,” he instructed, refusing to indulge you, refusing to give you any part of himself that would prove to be too intimate.

You persisted.

“Kiss me.” The curve of your palms clasped either side of a frown. Your lips returned in earnest, pushing into his. Bane pushed back, keen canines grazing your lips and chin, piercing your skin, the bottom tier of your mouth left to bleed as he pulled back.

“Don’t stop,” you implored, trailing your tongue over the red stain that remained, licking your own blood straight off his teeth.

Bane rumbled a fearsome sound, its echoes rising from the pit of his throat, the Duros ramming you once for good measure so that you reflexively gasped, though your embrace only became more snug, more secure. You dug your heels in, having crossed your ankles, your body lifting as you enthusiastically offered yourself up.

“Still angry?” you taunted. You were flirting with death itself; Bane slipped a hand down toward the ache in your side. Your injury would not fully heal without proper medical attention, the hunter pressing two fingers directly into your novel wound.

You yelled out; Bane moved those fingers to your mouth. You gagged, and he rolled his hips as you slapped at his chest, the Duros honking a dry, vicious laugh.  

“Shut you right up,” he pointed out. You were furious again. You bit down. You dared to attempt to maim him, his quickdraw would suffer, you would suffer.

TWHAP.

You received a backhanded slap; you opened your mouth to protest. He withdrew his fingers, though that well placed smack had been rightfully deserved.

“Biiitch,” he sizzed, pinching your cheeks so hard they would most assuredly bruise. His eyes flashed in warning, his quirled cocks pressing rudely against your cervix.

“Fuck off!” You beat him with your fists, though Bane knew just how to tame you, how to break your tenacious spirit, shoving the pink point of his tongue squarely into your pugnacious, irritating trap.

You settled; your hands ceased their futile drumming against his ribs. Bane grabbed a breast, slid that offending hand between your legs, those bitten fingers amid your labia. He caressed your clit; you hummed around his tongue; you squeezed his pricks with the muscles of your pelvic floor, the Duros groaning into your eager, ardent mouth.

It was like something from a fantasy that no one dares to dream, so alien, so different.

And he had spread you apart, the crests of his cocks hitting all the right spots, feeling like the writhing of a snake inside you at the best of times, that ball of heat in your belly intensifying until the point you knew it would explode, causing stars to rupture in your eyes.

The clink of a belt buckle against porcelain, the creak of Nashtah hide, and the high-pitched, girlish cry of a woman echoed off the walls. Out there, somewhere, patrons of a dark and dreary cantina were fated to listen, though most talked over it. The music played louder; the bartender turned a blind eye, for Cad Bane had gone inside.

It was as if your previous desire had been naught but child’s play. Your cunt was soaked. His rhythm was impeccable, the circular motions of his fingers between your legs utterly precise. You crooned for him; he bit down on your bottom lip. You flinched, but were overcome with pleasure. The pain added something beautiful, something you could not quite express.

“Yes,” you breathed. It became your mantra. Bane did not relent; he would not cease, even as a fresh wellspring of blood dribbled down your chin.

A grunt for every pump, a duet, a cacophony of foreign noises. You felt overwhelmed, but all you could think to do or say was: “Oh, Cad.”

The Duros came; the feeling of him filling you triggers your own orgasm. You feed a moan into his fang-filled mouth; you frantically overtake his tongue again. His hand gropes and fondles your breast; his fingers titillate your clit until you spasm, cajoling him to stop.

Then, it’s over. He’s vacated you quicker than you have time to blink. He shakes himself, adjusts his genitalia, zips his fly, and retrieves his blasters from off the floor.

Your mind is a whirlwind of thought, yet you feel so at peace. Your entire world is upended as Bane locks his gargantuan hand around your fragile neck, his thumb long enough to brush across your lips, wiping away more of your red blood.

“Next time, ye take orders as well as ye take dick,” the gunslinger says. He shoves you back; you fall bottom first into the basin of the sink, Bane pulling a hand-rolled cigarra from out the pocket of his coat.

You are bereft of breath as his duster whorls behind him; you watch as he ignites the end, tossing the sparkstick onto the floor. He leaves a plume of smoke in his wake, not bothering to close the door on his way out.

You search your feelings as the eyes of others peruse your half-naked form. This place is a shithole, a dive. You have laid claim to the only refresher for over an hour now. Curiosity demands an answer, yet no one dares to question Bane.

Dog whistles ensue, laughter, someone calls you indecent, another a slut, yet nothing bothers you; nothing can jar you, or make you forget what has just transpired, the salacious act still so fresh in your mind’s eye.

Besides, you have already made up your mind. Nothing could persuade you otherwise. You cannot wait to serve once more at Cad Bane's side.

-----

Masterlist

Cad Bane Masterlist

[zosan-secondchances]

The Pirate King of the North: The Tale of The Bird and The Fox

Main Themes: Villain Sanji, Alternate Universe, Zosan Ship

Warning: Long post ahead and some One Piece spoilers. Contains strong language.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17

Doflamingo

That fuckin’ asshole!!! Stop them!!!

The crew on board the Numancia Flamingo scuffle about to lower their ship's sail further, attempting to catch up to a particularly fast snail just smaller than their own ship jetting ahead of them. Men at the helm angle the vessel, preparing themselves for the inevitable full frontal assault.

A tall man with long brown hair and blue eyes runs up to Doflamingo, hugging the railing of the ship desperately to stop himself from falling off the speeding ship travelling through rough waters.

Diamante

Doflamingo, there’s no chance! They’re way too fast for us!

Doflamingo

It’s a fuckin’ snail! How is it faster?!

Looking over at the highest point of the snail's shell, he sees a man with long locks of hair stand up straight. He growls angrily at the blonde’s devilish smile across his face.

Doflamingo

I swear to god, I’m going to wipe that shit-eating grin off the face of this world!!!

The blonde man laughs at his reaction and pokes his tongue out. He procures something out of his pocket and holds up the item in his hand, tossing it up and down playfully, taunting him in a challenging way.

Doflamingo spits at the sight of his desired Devil Fruit in someone’s hands. He turns his glare towards Diamante.

Doflamingo

I don’t care how, but I want that fucker dead!

The Numancia Flamingo manages to gain enough speed to sail alongside the fast snail. Doflamingo soon notices, however, that it’s not that their ship had gained speed, it’s the snail that had slowed down to pull up alongside them.

Doflamingo yells at his men to attack. His crew begins a barrage of cannonfire, aimed at the bulk of the snail’s shell. As the projectiles fly in the air, flashes of pink and red fly between the vessels. The cannonballs suddenly vanish without a trace.

Doflamingo

What the ever living fuck was that?! You call that an attack?! Keep firing!!!

His men panic and continue their cannonfire as ordered by their enraged captain.

Diamante

Young master!!! There’s no use! Something–someone keeps knocking them out in the air!

The blonde man reappears on the side of the snail’s shell, holding onto the ropes that are securely attached to it. He calls out to Doflamingo in a cheerful melody.

Sanji

Dooooffy~!

Doflamingo grits his teeth in irritation and runs towards the side of his own ship to face the man directly. He watches beams of pink and red continue their flight between their ships, somehow making their cannonballs disappear before they reach the snail.

Sanji brings out the Devil’s Fruit once more, twirling it at the tip of his index finger playfully.

Sanji

So…you come here often, love? What brings you to this part of the New World on this fine day?

Doflamingo

Mr. Prince! That’s not yours to take!

Sanji

Nah-uh! It was in our territory, hence it’s ours!

Doflamingo

You STOLE it from me, motherfucker! It’s rightfully mine!

And since when is this your territory?!

Sanji

Since we moved our fortress nearby!

Doflamingo

Your idea of expansion is a fuckin’ joke! Give it up or we will board your ship!!!

Sanji hooks his leg around the rope to keep himself tethered against the side of the snail’s shell. He runs his fingers along his jaw, thinking deep thoughts, while he continues to play with the Devil Fruit with his other hand.

Sanji

You’re so angry! Relax a bit, will you

Here’s the thing, Doffy, you are in our territory. You’re trespassing, speeding, threatening a fellow king and his subordinates, and now you’re attempting to steal from me? The gall!

Doflamingo

Don’t call me that! I barely know you!

Sanji

So? Let’s get to know one another then!

Would you be up for a candlelit dinner or are you a fuck-and-go kind of guy?

Doflamingo angrily slams his fists against the railing of his ship and turns to Diamante and his men.

Doflamingo

Board them!

Diamante

How can we make it over there when our cannonfire can’t even–

Doflamingo

I don’t care!!! Do it!

Diamante yells at their crew and stomps away to help them.

Sanji

Making real clumsy decisions there, my friend! I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You should be more carefu–!

At that, the Devil Fruit slips off his fingers. The blonde scrambles to catch it but it repeatedly slips from his grasp so he juggles it in the air clumsily before it finally falls off. Sanji tips himself backwards while keeping his legs hooked around the ropes to catch it in time with both hands.

Sanji

Whoops! That would have been bad, wouldn’t it?

Doflamingo

Fucker!!! Don’t you dare lose it!

Sanji pulls himself up and tosses the fruit up and down in his hand again.

Sanji

You are absolutely correct, Doffy!

…I should just eat it.

Sanji opens his mouth and teasingly holds the fruit between his teeth.

Doflamingo

NO!!!

They hear cries of help as Doflamingo’s men attempt to swing from the Numancia Flamingo over to the speedy snail. Out of nowhere, zaps of blue electricity shock the crew midair. They fall into the open water like rain between their ships.

A blue-headed man reveals himself from the other side of the snail then stands mightily on top of its shell. He crosses his arms, as if to declare that Doflamingo’s attempts are of no use.

Sanji

Mmphf Pmmmff Mmmffphf!

Doflamingo

Wh–What?!

Sanji spits out the undamaged fruit into his hand and throws Doflamingo a wide grin.

Sanji

I said that’s quite a moronic move, especially for you! I think they’re still alive though if you want to get your crew back!

Doflamingo

What the hell do you want from me, Mr. Prince?! What would it take for you to hand that over?!?

Sanji

I told you! I want a date!

Doflamingo feels the veins in his forehead pop. He then notices that the snail begins to slow down but the Numancia Flamingo continues to speed through the waters.

Sanji

Hey Doffy! Who’s driving?!

Doflamingo

…Eh?

Diamante runs up to Doflamingo once more, out of breath.

Diamante

Master… our men…

Doflamingo looks around and notices that there is no one else on deck except for him and his first mate. His eye twitches frustratingly at the sight. As if that's not troublesome enough, he hears sounds of footsteps from the lower levels. When he turns to see who it is, a man with green slicked back hair emerges from below deck, gripping two of his crew members by their heads with his massive hands as they cry for help. The green-headed man tosses them off the side of the ship casually, claps his hands clean and crosses his arms, looking bored.

Doflamingo

Who the fuck are you?!

Yonji

You might want to watch out where you’re going.

Doflamingo

Huh?

Diamante

Young master–!

The entirety of the ship suddenly surges forwards as the Numancia Flamingo beaches itself above a spiky rock formation at full speed. Doflamingo and Diamante get thrown backwards and they both land roughly against the far end of the ship. Debris from the front flies over and rains down on them.

The two groan at the sudden stop and take a moment to recover. When they look up, the green-headed man has already vanished from where he was standing.

Germa’s snail slows to a stop behind their beached ship. The blonde is now sitting on top of its shell while leaning his back against the blue-haired man who brings out a bamboo rod and begins fishing on the far side.

Sanji waves at the two remaining men on board the crashed ship.

Sanji

Hey! Need help, love?

Doflamingo and Diamante push debris off their bodies and struggle to stand. Doflamingo limps towards the back of the ship and throws Sanji a middle finger.

Sanji

Now why on earth did you crash your ship into this very stupidly large, hard-to-miss rock formation?

Doflamingo

You did this!

Sanji

It's not my fault that you're not paying attention!

Doflamingo

Fuck off already!

Sanji

Wait, I thought you're after me? Don't you want your Devil Fruit back? And now you want me to fuck off? Make up your mind, man!

Doflamingo

Ack–!

Sanji

So is that a no to help? We can tow your ship while you ride on the shell with us.

Well…whatever’s left of your ship anyway.

Doflamingo

I swear when I get my hands on you, I'm goanna–

Sanji

Hey! I'm trying to be nice here!

I’m being nice, aren’t I, Commander?

The blue haired man taps his chin thoughtfully.

Niji

In your weird unusual way–yeah, sure.

Sanji

See? Come on, I’ll give you our first catch of the day! Nice, fresh and juicy! Maybe I’ll even cook it for you if you’re well behaved.

Doflamingo

Shut up, just–SHUT UP! Give me back my Devil Fruit!

Sanji claps his hands together, happily smiling.

Sanji

A fruit salad sounds wonderful! Do you think that’s been done before? A Devil Fruit salad?

One more question, do you need to eat the whole thing or can we go halfsies? What if you eat two halves? Would you get two abilities?

Wait, that's three questions.

Doflamingo snaps at the blonde’s annoyingly arrogant attitude and takes several steps backwards. He sprints towards the edge of his broken ship at full speed then jumps off at the very end.

Sanji jumps side to side, warming himself up. He speaks under his breath.

Sanji

Here we go, come on.

Niji

Do you want our help on this?

Sanji

No, thank you. I need to speak to him privately.

Niji sighs in boredom and reels in his fishing line to recast it further out in the water.

Niji

You might want to tell that to Pink.

Sanji

Pink? Where?

Doflamingo pulls his fists, intending to deliver a powerful blow towards Sanji. As he closes in midair, the blonde simply eyes him and gives him a devilish smirk. His intrusive thoughts immediately think what that mouth would look like with his–

Before his fist meets the blonde's face, he sees a flash of pink in front of him as a girl with a butterfly-shaped cape suddenly puts herself between him and the blonde. She twirls rapidly, swinging her knee into his stomach, sending him hurling into the shallow stony waters down below.

Doflamingo lands with a loud grunt as the spiky rocks underneath him damage his back. He coughs out blood and he lays there still with his body partly submerged in the water.

The pink haired girl lands on top of him, smashing the rocks on both sides of his head. She straightens up, looming over him with a dangerous glare.

She raises a fist to deliver him a final blow. Doflamingo grits his teeth, readying himself for the inevitable pain.

Sanji

Stop!

The girl stops her punch just inches away from Doflamingo's face. Sanji jumps off from the snail’s shell and approaches them slowly. As he closes in, the girl steps aside to make way and faces him.

Reiju

But I was in the middle of a game with Red…. I'm one point away from winning.

Sanji

Oh? What's the prize?

Reiju

A favour or two. It depends on the gap between the points.

Sanji

Can I join?

Ichiji

No, it would be an unfair fight.

At the corner of his eyes, Doflamingo sees another person with red hair land on top of the snail's shell. He takes a moment to turn away from them in order to hide his eyes, and clean his sunglasses with his cape before resting it on his face again. The blonde yells at him to be heard.

Sanji

How the hell would it be unfair?! Don't you need at least a third player to play judge?

Reiju and Ichiji

Because you cheat!

Ichiji

Besides, Blue’s far more dependable keeping track of the score.

Reiju

I agree.

Sanji

But–

Reiju

Oh, don't be such a baby. Blue’s been keeping an eye on us since you're far too distracted playing with your horndog.

Sanji

My…what?

Niji silently nods in agreement from where he sat, causing Sanji to slap his own cheek, taking offense at the whole idea of being left out.

Ichiji finally settles down next to the grumbling blue haired one who is still fishing.

Ichiji

Caught anything yet?

Niji

No… Cosette’s going to kill me.

Ichiji

Forget it. We’ll just buy some on our way back. She won’t know the difference.

Niji

It’s not the same!

Reiju

Let it go, Red. He won't listen if he's at the mercy of our head chef.

Ichiji smirks and ruffles Niji's head, messing up the fringe of his hair that was neatly sticking out of his metal helmet.

Niji

Stop it!

Ichiji

If you don't ask her out, I will. And if I fail–which you know I rarely do–I'll get Green in on the action.

Niji

Don't you fuckin' dare.

Doflamingo

Mr. Prince, you know that I'm still here right?

Sanji

O–oh, whoops!

Commander, could you give us a moment alone please?

The pink girl hums softly as a reply and gracefully walks off to join the two men waiting idly on the shell.

Reiju

Commander Blue, there really is no use. You can buy live ones from the market nowadays. We’ll just kill them closer to home to make it look like you caught them yourself. Or better yet–we can start our own fish farm if we can get one that’s bearing eggs.

Niji

Leave me alone and let me do this!

…Tell me about that fish farm though.

Diamante

Young master!!!

Grateful for the distraction, Doflamingo lifts his head with difficulty and sees that his first mate is wrapped in chains, held firmly by the green headed man back on his ship.

Yonji

Hey King, what do you want to do with this one? He told me they're collecting Devil Fruits but won't say why.

Sanji

Lock him up. We won't be long.

Diamante thrashes about, trying to break out of his restraints until the green head delivers a swift chop at the back of his neck which renders him unconscious immediately. He lifts him effortlessly over his shoulders and disappears behind the wreckage of his ship.

Sanji

Commanders, can I please get you to look around and retrieve those Devil Fruits from their ship?

Doflamingo

No…!

Niji

But I haven't caught anything yet!

Reiju

I literally just sat down….

Ichiji

I'll do it…I guess.

Sanji

Thank you kindly!

The red headed man lazily launches off the snail and disappears where the green man had gone somewhere in the ruins of the Numancia Flamingo.

Doflamingo attempts to sit up with his heavily bruised body. When his arms give, he falls back onto the rocky waters with a loud splash. The water up his nose and blood behind his throat causes another round of coughing fits.

He hears light splashes next to his head and sees Sanji sit down next to him, stretching his legs into the water. The blonde shuffles a hand into his breast pocket and fishes out a clean and dry handkerchief. He stretches his arm out, offering him the piece of fabric.

Sanji

Sorry about that. I like watching my siblings get along. It's not often we all take on the same mission.

Doflamingo

I hate you all so much.

Sanji

I know.

Doflamingo snatches the handkerchief off his hand and begins to clean the blood off his face. Afterwards, he discards it by tossing it over his shoulders.

Doflamingo

Why did you do this? We're just trying to get home.

Sanji pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it.

Sanji

Because you've been a bad, bad boy, Doffy.

Doflamingo

…Seriously?

Sanji

And you get this really cute reaction! Your face gets all scowly and angry. And those veins on your forehead really come out, like your head’s about to pop.

Doflamingo groans and rolls himself onto his elbows. As he pushes himself up, he looks up at the state of his ship and frowns.

Doflamingo

My men?

Sanji

All accounted for. Don't worry.

Doflamingo

You didn't kill any of them?

Sanji

Now where's the fun in that?

Sanji crosses his legs, watching the other man struggle to sit up. He steals a glance at the back of his shirt all torn up and his skin is covered in bruises from Reiju's attack.

Doflamingo

Give it back…

Sanji

You're going to need to be more specific than that.

Doflamingo

More speci–? My fruit! I want my Devil Fruit back!!! Like I keep saying a million times over. What else could it be?

Sanji holds up his enclosed hand and begins stating other things out loud while counting with his fingers.

Sanji

A billion Beri, that one white feather coat you like so much, condensed Seastones, a couple of expensive-looking family heirlooms back when you were a Celestial Dragon–

Doflamingo

Wait, wait, wait, wait–how much have you stolen from me?!

And why did you take my coat…?

Sanji

Only whenever you enter our side of the waters. Take it as your payment for our toll.

And…I was feeling cold and your coat just looked warm and snug.

Oh uh…just so you know, it's pink now. I tried to wash it but someone accidentally put in his red flashy underwear with it and… well….

Doflamingo’s brow twitches angrily as he feels his temperature rise.

Sanji

AHA! That! There’s that look that I love so much!

It's…dry clean only though…isn't it? Sorry.

Doflamingo

You… little piece of shit….

Sanji chuckles, ignoring the man’s angered state.

Above them, they hear a couple of splashes as the red and green haired commanders jump off the ship and land nearby. They transport large partly opened chests that contain Doflamingo's hard earned Devil Fruits from the Numancia Flamingo back to their snail ship.

Sanji

Well done, guys! Just haul them somewhere in the back.

Doflamingo

HEY! Those are mine!

Sanji

Now, now…what on earth are you planning to do with them…hmm?

Doflamingo growls and attempts to stand. Before he can push himself up, Sanji points a sharp and dangerous dagger across his throat. He stills and gulps down nervously.

Sanji

We’re still talking. Sit.

Doflamingo grits his teeth and does as he says. Feeling helpless, he crosses his arms and waits for Sanji to speak.

Sanji

Good boy.

Doflamingo

You want to talk, Mr. Prince? So talk.

Sanji pulls the dagger away and returns to sheathe it back behind his belt. Satisfied with his answer, he offers Doflamingo his cigarette.

Doflamingo cocks an eyebrow at him and takes it. He takes a long drag and exhales, trying to get himself to relax and collect himself more calmly.

Sanji

I need your help.

Doflamingo

Fuck off.

Sanji

Hear me out.

Doflamingo waves his hand that's holding the cigarette, gesturing for Sanji to keep talking.

Sanji

I need a temporary alliance again. There are things that I need to do, and I know you need something from me–several things, in fact.

Doflamingo

You mean like the Devil Fruit that’s in your pocket right now? And those other fruits that you just took from my ship?

Sanji

Among other things.

Doflamingo laughs out loud from the absurdity of Sanji’s proposal. The blonde simply smiles at his reaction and waits for him to calm down and respond.

Doflamingo

You’re barking mad if you think I’d agree to another alliance with you.

Sanji

You still think that I owe you for helping me kill my own father?

Doflamingo

Yes. And…

Doflamingo gestures to the crumbling ruins of the Numancia Flamingo behind him. Coincidentally, the largest mast collapses in itself and falls loudly to the side. The rest of the ship follows as the hull gets snapped in half and the keel practically explodes from the stress of the ruined wreckage. Slowly, one of the halves of the hull sinks into the depths of the sea.

Sanji

Again, not my fault that you didn't pay attention. I'm not the one who sent all your men to swing over and come on board. We had to defend ourselves!

Oh, don't give me that look. Quit being such a baby. It's not a good image of you. I’ll build you a new ship. It’ll be shinier! And more pink! Bird head and all!

Doflamingo

With the money you stole from me….

Sanji

Hey! How I acquired that two billion Beri is not important.

Also I know that you don’t have enough proof. My commanders are really good at covering up fingerprints and any form of evidence.

Doflamingo

You just admitted to it!!! And didn’t you say that you stole one billion…? Why is the number climbing up?

Sanji

Guilty until proven. You barely even noticed three billion Berri missing from your treasury so clearly you don’t need so much gold. Look–

Doflamingo slaps his forehead from the whole ridiculousness of the situation.

Sanji

I need to attend the Levely. And I know you have been extended an invitation for the next one.

Doflamingo grins. He laughs his deep maniacal laugh.

Doflamingo

What’s wrong? Are you offended that you didn’t get an invitation to the party? 

Of course you didn't get one. You're a new king. They don't just let anyone in. It's taken years for me to properly be seen as one. Meanwhile…

All you’ve done so far in your rulership is to tear down your father’s legacy that he and your ancestors worked so hard to build. He used to take part in it. And now they're wondering what the hell you're doing to everything he owned.

Sanji

I stand by the decisions I have made and I have no regrets doing so. But…I need to be there this year. It is imperative that I attend.

Doflamingo

So what you’re saying is that you’d do anything for me to help you attend the Levely…. That I can ask you for whatever I want and you have no choice but to do as you’re told?

It was Sanji’s turn to laugh out loud. Doflamingo loses his smile at that.

Sanji

Oh no, dear. Far from that. Sure, I’m happy to discuss the terms and conditions with you for a fair exchange. I do admit that you’re my first most preferred choice though. But I’d be a fool if I don’t have any other options to turn to.

Doflamingo raises a curious brow at that.

Doflamingo

I'm your first choice? Why?

Sanji gives him a wide grin. He stands.

Sanji

So I can do this….

Slowly, Sanji lifts up a leg and straddles himself on Doflamingo’s lap. He spreads his hands out, gliding them from the tips of his shoulders to the wide of his neck.

Doflamingo makes a growling noise from the back of his throat and grips the blonde's waist, pulling him close.

Doflamingo

And you think this is enough? With everything you owe me.

Sanji

Please, you're the one who owes me. Killing Germa’s previous ruler also benefited you, Warlord.

Sanji slides his hands up to cup Doflamingo's face. He pulls him to lightly touch his nose on his, teasing him.

Doflamingo

How did you know…?

Sanji

Let's just say that I have my sources….

Sanji grinds himself over Doflamingo's erect cock, earning him a soft moan in return. Slowly, he turns his head gently to the side to face the horizon beyond them.

Sanji

And…I did escort you home. With all my commanders in tow.

Doflamingo sees small shapes in the water making splashes towards a large familiar island in the distance. When he squints his eyes, he can see his men floating on lifesavers swimming towards the shores of Dressrosa.

Doflamingo

Oh, for fuck's sake…. We were that close to home?! You said we're in your territory!

Sanji chuckles and pushes himself off the man. He walks towards the edge of the rocky surface and watches the events on the distant island.

Sanji

I am serious about that date though.

And… you know how much I'm worth.

He turns and throws Doflamingo a den-den mushi. The man catches it with a single open palmed hand.

Sanji

As for the Levely…think about what you may need from me. You've told me before that you wanted a more permanent alliance, so let's talk. Call me when you're ready.

Or you know…just for fun.

At that, Sanji walks off to return to his snail ship.

Doflamingo

Wait.

The blonde stops in his tracks and looks over his shoulder.

Doflamingo

I think I may have a way for you to get in…but you may not like it.

What are you doing tonight?

Sanji gives him a smirk.

Sanji

Oh, you know. Probably the usual stuff. Scheming. Plundering. Expanding.

I'm curious to hear as to what your plan is, Doffy. It sounds like you already took this into consideration.

Doflamingo

Want to come by and… talk? Usual time and place.

Sanji

…Talk, huh? Sure.

But you're not allowed to touch yourself until I get there.

Doflamingo

Deal.

Sanji

Oh…one last thing.

How did me and my…commanders go today? Do you think we work well together?

Doflamingo

Well enough. You're too…comfortable with each other. Too cuddly and domestic.

Sanji

No, we’re not! We’re the opposite of that! We hate each other!

Doflamingo cocks an unimpressed eyebrow at him and gestures a hand towards the now wrestling red, blue and green commanders as they try to fight for the one fishing rod they have, demanding that they each want to take a turn to show Blue “how it’s done”, while the pink one tries to pry them all apart atop the snail’s shell.

The blonde pauses then begins to laugh, walking towards them. When he nears the edge of the rocky terrain, he turns his gaze to him one last time.

Sanji

Maybe they just hate me then.

Doflamingo

If you want my advice?

Sanji

I don't think I do.

Doflamingo 

Kill them. Before you get too attached. Having siblings while running a kingdom can get...complicated.

Sanji

You're mad. But…I'll keep that in mind if they give me a reason to.

Sanji winks at him, sending shivers down his spine. The blonde gives his commanders a wave, signalling them to start up the snail as he jumps on board.

Niji

Did I hear that right? That you'll kill us if we give you a reason to?

Sanji

Hey, I think you have a bite!

Niji

ACK–!

Yonji

For the record…we all heard it. It came from your horndog.

Doflamingo

What–?! Stop calling me his horndog! My name is Donquixote Doflamingo!!!

He watches the Germa vessel with all its passengers depart. They all bid him farewell in order of age.

Vinsmokes

Bye, Do–Donqui... uh… Duffy!!

Until next time, Mr. Don!

See you, loser!

Don't forget our date later, Doffy~!

Later, bird for brains!

Doflamingo

Close, but not quite.

Getting there but say the whole thing next time!

That's even worse.

I won't, Mr. Prince!

See you, Winch-for-arms.

Yonji

Not an insult, but alright!

Doflamingo can't help but smile to himself, feeling the start of an attachment to the blonde and his armada of a family. After a few moments, he sighs exasperatedly and stands on his feet.

Diamante

Young m–master…

Doflamingo looks up and sees his first mate poking his head out from the unsunk side of the wrecked ship, still coiled around in chains.

Diamante

What the hell was that all about?

Did you at least get your Devil Fruit back?

Doflamingo

…A practice run. Mr. Prince needed an assessment of his performance with his commanders so I gave it to him.

And no…I didn't get the fruit back but apparently I got a date so….

Diamante lets out a defeated sigh.

Diamante

So…what now? How are we supposed to get home?

Doflamingo

We swim.

—

Law swipes his sword upwards, clipping strands of hair from the blonde's fringe.

Sanji ducks down at the last second. A nervous sweat drops from the side of his brow as he takes several steps back.

Sanji

Getting better, Traffy. But I still need to see more of that footwork. You leave your left too open.

Law

Hmph.

Sanji

How are you feeling?

Law

I could eat….

Sanji

Yeah, alright.

Law

You're not going to insist that we keep going?

Sanji

I'm not a monster. No one starves under my watch.

Law sheaths his sword and hums in acknowledgement.

Law

So…

Sanji begins circling around him, occasionally picking up small pebbles from the ground.

Sanji

So what?

Law

How was your uh… date… with Doflamingo?

Sanji

Good.

Law

Just…good?

Sanji

Since you insisted on the details…

We had a good talk then fucked for two days straight–no…three? Something like that. We eventually needed to eat and Niji came by several times to see if I'm ready to go home.

Law

Please spare me the colourful details….

Sanji

Hey! You asked.

Law

I was asking about what happened afterwards and the Levely! Did you get what you needed from it?

Sanji

You can say that…

With a flick of his wrists, Sanji sends the pebbles in his hands to fly towards Law who grabs one end of his coat and pulls it up to his head, blocking them before they hit him.

Law

Stop that!

Sanji

What? It was one last test to see how much you've improved and if you were paying attention!

To answer your question, let's just say we both got what we wanted. It’s…when we formed a more permanent alliance and….

Law

He ate the Devil Fruit?

Sanji nods.

Sanji

Yes. The very one that he's after.

We cut it up and–

Law

Are you about to paint me a picture?

Sanji

Then I put it all over my–

Law

Please, don't.

Sanji

…Then he–

Law

Mr. Prince-ya!

Sanji

What? Talking about it helps!

Law nurses the bridge of his nose with his fingers, trying to ease the now increasing headache from having to listen to Sanji's many back stories.

Sanji takes the opportunity to flick him one last pebble but Law redirects it away from him by raising his sheathed sword slightly so it bounces off its handle.

Law

Will you quit it?!

Sanji

I promise that's the last one. Great progress today, Traffy. That'll have to do…for now.

Law

I haven't even beaten you yet….

Sanji

I know. Let's resume training after the festival.

And…please don't call me by name in public. You'll get in trouble.

Sanji pockets his hands and proceeds to walk through the path towards town. Law follows him closely behind.

Law

Why me and not you?

Sanji takes a deep breath, and looks up at the silhouette of the tree canopy against the starry sky.

Sanji

Anyone who knows my identity becomes a target from the Marines…. I can't have that with the Marimo. I was hoping that it would be secret from you for a while longer. They're relentless, and they'd do anything to learn more about me.

Law

Is…that why you haven't told him? Because he could potentially lose his Warlord status?

The blonde chuckles.

Sanji

Even if they did question him, he wouldn't know…it's the safest bet. He didn't even bother asking me about it. Can you believe it? Two decades and not one question. He just does what he's told as long as there's a fight in it so he can get better than Mihawk.

So bloody adorable…. I could squish his face. And…other things.

Law

You're trying to shield him from the Marines…the very organisation who he's working for.

Sanji

If you want to put it that way….

Law

And…I already have a bounty. The Marines are after me no matter what. As for my crew….

Sanji

I lost it in a bet.

Law looks at him in astonishment and disbelief.

Sanji

Bepo has a surprisingly good poker face, okay?! He gets all sparkly and cute with those…big teary bear eyes….

If the Marines somehow find out how much you and your crew know about me, your bounty will either increase or they'll want you only “Alive”. Both, if you piss off the wrong officer.

Law

I guess my crew has done well so far…. I had no idea that they knew.

Sanji

So…whose tongue slipped?

Law

Does it matter?

But honestly? …It was all of them, if you can believe it. I think they found your last stash of pre-made cocktails.

Sanji

Hah!

Law

And…Doflamingo?

Sanji

He begged for it so he could call my name in bed.

Law

Ugh…

Sanji

What? This is why I don't skip details on my dates! That's where the intimate details surface. I was younger and didn't realise how much it could have impacted his life…. Sometimes I do wonder if he's gotten in trouble because of it. Unless he's that good at hiding things for me….

Want to hear how it happened? It was the second time we got together. He–

Law

Please, please keep it to yourself. I really don't want the image stuck in my head of my arch nemesis doing the unmentionable.

Sanji

Are you sure? It's a good story!

Law

I'm good, thanks.

…You don't have any more feelings for him, right?

Sanji opens his mouth to say something immediately. After a few moments, he finds that he's unable to answer the question.

Law

Seriously?

After all this time? With everything he's done to you?

Sanji

Can you blame me? He's the one who got the Marines and Admirals off our backs after Sabaody. Even after finding out that I'm travelling with you.

That takes guts. And a manic amount of dedication. It's not easy to ignore his efforts.

The doctor frowns at that. He keeps his gaze straight, thinking deeply about the situation at hand.

Law

I didn't realise that he's responsible for putting out fires. I thought we'd run into more trouble by now…. The papers seem to be the only issue left.

Sanji

Morgans is my problem. I'll…have to pay him a kind visit next time I'm able to.

As for the Marines’ involvement… Doflamingo is the only one who has the connections to do what he did. I don't even know if any other Warlord has the same pull with the navy other than a former Celestial Dragon.

Law keeps quiet at that, wondering what things would be like if Corazon was still alive and how he'd personally handle incidents if it's him that's in trouble from the Marines.

He suddenly stops in his tracks and shoots a glare towards a cluster of tall bushes. Sanji takes a step behind him, studying his reaction. He purposely drops his guard to give the doctor an opportunity to prove himself.

Sanji

Talk to me, Traffy. What do you see? What do you feel?

Law

I feel…odd. Like…my instincts are telling me to fight or flee….

Right now it's…both? Like I have to stand my ground. It…my body wants to find out more.

Sanji hovers a hand over Law's shoulder and gently clasps it. He gives him a gentle shake.

Sanji

Try to relax. Don't fight it. Let that instinct guide your senses. Just go with the flow.

Whatever's behind that bush might not want you to see it just yet. But that's the next step. You need to feel around it to identify it. Sort of like deducing through the process of elimination.

So tell me… what do you see?

Law

Ugh… that just makes it a bit more complicated but I think I get the idea.

I see… a very grumpy… very angry… is that… a ball of… grass?

A familiar green-headed swordsman emerges from behind the bushes, stumbling forwards and lands face first into the ground. His hair and clothes are disheveled and filthy from the jungle.

Sanji

Close. It's a Marimo!

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"The Other Side" Hazbin Hotel cover is stuck in my head as I drew the cover ❤️