#and how do i explain that to people who haven’t lost someone like this?

[pawsandreflect]

i just want sleep

[pinkthick]

Humiliating, isn’t it?

Pairing: The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: “You could pay all your debts with this,” he said, his voice soft, almost enticing. His gaze shifted to you, sharp and calculating. “But it’s not free.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “What do you mean?”

A/N: This is probably wayyy out of his character, but I haven’t watched season 2 yet (I don’t have Netflix 😭) and just saw an edit with him on tiktok and suddenly my obsession with him came back from 2021. So there are no spoilers!!!

Warnings: blowjob (m receiving), cum swallowing

If you’re not 18 DNI BECAUSE I WILL HAUNT YOUR DREAMS🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

The metro station was cold, the flickering overhead lights casting dim shadows on the walls. Your steps echoed faintly as you trudged forward, your head bowed to avoid the stares of passersby. You could feel their judgment, their pity, their disgust. You didn’t blame them—you looked like hell. Blood crusted your upper lip, the remnants of a nosebleed from earlier when some thug decided to teach you a lesson about unpaid debts. Your cheek stung, swelling just beginning to bloom.

You winced as you adjusted the strap of your worn-out bag. Your ribs ached, a dull, persistent throb that reminded you how low you’d sunk. Debt was a beast that refused to loosen its grip. It clung to you, suffocated you, and drove you into situations you’d never imagined.

As you shuffled down the platform, you barely registered the man who bumped into you until you staggered back, your body colliding with the wall. “Sorry—I didn’t watch where I was going,” he said, his tone oddly pleasant.

You blinked up at him, taking in his immaculate gray suit and perfectly combed hair. His smile was disarming, polite but sharp, like the edge of a blade.

“It’s quite alright,” you muttered, instinctively brushing yourself off despite already looking like a wreck. The man didn’t move on, though. Instead, he studied you, his gaze lingering on the dried blood and the faint bruise forming beneath your eye.

“Rough day?” he asked, a trace of amusement in his voice.

You gave a humorless laugh. “Something like that.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief, offering it to you. You hesitated before taking it, dabbing at your nose. The fabric was smooth, expensive, and it felt wrong to smear your blood on something so pristine.

“I have a game,” the man said suddenly, his voice lowering as if he were sharing a secret. “Would you like to play?”

The fuck?

You frowned. “A game?”

He nodded, his smile widening. “It’s simple. You could win money—enough to change your life.”

Your skepticism must have been obvious because he chuckled, a soft, almost paternal sound. “It’s harmless, I assure you. You look like someone who could use a bit of good fortune.”

You thought of your debts, the people breathing down your neck, the empty fridge in your apartment. Against your better judgment, you found yourself asking, “What’s the game?”

He gestured to a nearby bench, and you followed him, still wary. From his briefcase, he pulled out a folded board and a stack of rectangular tiles, explaining the rules of ddakji. It sounded simple enough: flip the opponent’s tile using your own. He placed a stack of cash on the bench beside him, its presence tantalizing.

You played your first round and lost. The second and third rounds went the same way. You were terrible at this game.

When you finally admitted you had no money to bet, his expression didn’t change. “Usually, I slap people when they lose,” he said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “But…” He gestured to your bruised face. “It seems someone’s already beaten me to it.”

The absurdity of the statement caught you off guard, and you let out a startled laugh. “That’s generous of you.”

He smirked. “I do have a heart.”

With no stakes involved, you continued playing. You lost repeatedly, the man’s skill far outstripping your own. He never seemed frustrated, though. If anything, he looked amused by your determination. Eventually, your bruises began to throb, and exhaustion seeped into your bones. You tossed the tile onto the bench, letting out a defeated sigh.

“I give up,” you said, slumping back. “I’m not winning this.”

He tilted his head, considering you. “Pity. You were just starting to improve.”

“Sure,” you muttered, wiping your hands on your jeans. “So, what now?”

He placed the briefcase on the bench between you, opening it to reveal neat stacks of bills. Your breath caught in your throat. It was more money than you’d ever seen in your life, more than enough to pay off your debts and start over.

“You could pay all your debts with this,” he said, his voice soft, almost enticing. His gaze shifted to you, sharp and calculating. “But it’s not free.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “What do you mean?”

He closed the briefcase with a decisive snap, leaning in slightly. “I’ll give this to you if you… do something for me.”

Your stomach churned at the way his eyes lingered on you, his meaning crystal clear. Heat flooded your face, a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “What kind of something?” you asked, though you already knew.

His smile didn’t waver. “Let’s not pretend we’re strangers to desperation. You’ve been beaten down by the world, haven’t you? Cast aside, forgotten. This,” he gestured to the briefcase, “could be your ticket out.”

Your fists clenched, your nails digging into your palms. “You think I’m going to sell myself for money?”

He shrugged, unbothered by your indignation. “You’ve already sold your time, your dignity, your safety—haven’t you? What’s the difference?”

The words stung because they weren’t entirely untrue. Still, you shook your head, your pride warring with your desperation. “I’m not doing that.”

He leaned back, crossing his legs with an air of nonchalance. “Your choice, of course. But think about it. How long before your debtors come back? Before the beatings get worse? How long can you keep scraping by?”

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. You stared at the briefcase, the money practically taunting you. Your mind raced, weighing the humiliation against the potential freedom.

“I… I can’t,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

He studied you for a long moment, his smile fading slightly. Then, to your surprise, he stood, gathering the game pieces and tucking them back into his briefcase. “Well,” he said, straightening his tie, “it was worth a shot.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how easily he let it go. “That’s it?”

He chuckled, the sound low and almost fond. “I’m not a monster. I made an offer; you declined. Simple as that.”

As he turned to leave, something in you stirred—a mix of relief and regret. “Wait,” you called out, your voice trembling.

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Yes?”

You hesitated, the weight of your situation crushing down on you. “Why me?” you asked, desperate to understand why this stranger had singled you out.

His smile returned, enigmatic and unsettling. “Because you’re interesting. And because I see potential in you.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small card and placing it on the bench. “If you ever change your mind, give me a call.”

Before you could respond, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the card. You stared at it, the black lettering stark against the white background.

For a long time, you sat there, the sound of the metro fading into the background. The man’s words echoed in your mind, intertwining with your fear, your pride, and your unrelenting desperation.

And the card remained in your pocket.

—

You stared at the card for what felt like hours that night. The weight of its potential pressed heavily on your chest. In a world where every door seemed to slam in your face, this was the first one to open—albeit under circumstances you couldn’t fully comprehend.

The next day, after another call from a creditor threatening you with more violence, you finally gave in. Your pride was already battered, and your options had all but evaporated. With shaking hands, you picked up your phone and dialed the number on the card.

A smooth, professional voice answered. “Hello?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “I… I got this card from someone at the metro. I’d like to… take them up on their offer.”

There was a pause, then the faint sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard. “Ah, yes. We’ve been expecting your call. An address will be sent to your phone shortly. Be there within the hour.”

The line went dead before you could say anything else. Moments later, a text arrived, and you stared at the address. It wasn’t anywhere familiar to you, but the name of the street was in one of the wealthiest areas of the city. Hesitation gripped you again, but the bruises on your face and the weight of your debts pushed you forward.

The cab dropped you off at the gates of a sprawling villa. The sheer size of it was intimidating—tall wrought iron gates, a long driveway lined with meticulously trimmed hedges, and a house that looked more like a palace than a home. You adjusted your jacket, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you looked.

Before you could press the buzzer, the gates swung open as if you were expected. You walked up the driveway, each step feeling heavier than the last. When you reached the front door, it opened before you could knock.

A tall man stood there, dressed in a sleek black suit. His expression was blank, professional but cold. “Welcome,” he said, stepping aside to let you in. The foyer was just as luxurious as the exterior—marble floors, chandeliers, and artwork that probably cost more than your entire life’s earnings.

“Next time, a car will pick you up,” the man said, his tone brisk.

“Next time?” you echoed, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Before he could respond, the familiar voice of the salesman cut through the air. “Sorry, he’s—doesn’t matter. Just come on in.” He appeared at the top of a sweeping staircase, his ever-present smile intact. He looked even more polished than before, his posture relaxed.

You hesitated but eventually followed the man into what appeared to be a sitting room. The furniture was sleek and modern, the walls lined with bookshelves and abstract paintings. He gestured for you to sit, but you remained standing, your nerves making it impossible to relax.

“Drink?” he offered, motioning to a decanter of amber liquid on a nearby table.

“No, thank you,” you said quickly, your voice tight.

He tilted his head, his smile softening. “Suit yourself. I see your bruise is healing nicely.”

You instinctively touched your cheek, still tender from the beating. “Can we just… get to the point? What do you want me to do?”

The salesman’s smile widened slightly, and he leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Straight to business. I like that.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze uncomfortably intense. “What I want is very simple. And, let me assure you, the reward will far outweigh the discomfort.”

You shifted uneasily, his words setting off alarm bells in your mind.

His smile took on a sharper edge. “I want you to use that mouth of yours for something other than talking.”

The room seemed to tilt, your stomach dropping like a stone. You stared at him, your mind racing to comprehend what he’d just said. “You’re kidding,” you said, your voice trembling.

“I never kid about business,” he replied smoothly. “You’ve seen the briefcase. You know what’s at stake.”

Your hands balled into fists at your sides. “You want me to—”

“To prove how much you want to change your life,” he interrupted, his tone calm but firm. “To show me that you’re willing to do whatever it takes.”

You took a step back, your legs bumping into the edge of a chair. “This… this is humiliating.”

“Is it?” he asked, his gaze never leaving yours. “You’ve already been beaten and left with nothing. What’s one more compromise?”

His words were like needles, each one poking at the fragile walls of your pride. He stood, closing the distance between you. “I’m offering you freedom,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “All you have to do is take it.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as sandpaper. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to leave, to walk out of this villa and never look back. But the image of that briefcase, the promise of a life free from fear and debt, rooted you in place.

“I…” Your voice cracked, the weight of the moment crushing you.

The salesman tilted his head, his smile softening ever so slightly. “Think of it this way,” he said. “This is the last time you’ll ever have to beg, to endure, to scrape by. After this, the world opens up to you.”

He stepped back, giving you space but keeping his piercing gaze locked on you. “But it’s your choice,” he added. “It always has been.”

“I—okay,” you murmured, barely audible.

His smile widened, not in mockery but in something resembling satisfaction. “Atta girl.”

The words hung in the air, and you immediately dropped to your knees, ready to get this over with. But his hand shot out, stopping you mid-motion. His touch was firm but not forceful, his fingers curling gently around your forearm.

“Not so fast,” he said, his tone light, almost teasing. “Let’s get you a bit comfortable first.”

You looked up at him, confusion etched across your face. “Comfortable?” you echoed.

He patted his lap, a small gesture that carried so much weight. “Don’t you want to loosen up a bit?”

“I—” The protest was on the tip of your tongue, but you stopped yourself. He tilted his head, his sharp gaze pinning you in place.

“Come on,” he coaxed, his voice soft but insistent.

After a long moment of hesitation, you stood and awkwardly settled onto his lap. The action felt unnatural, foreign. You perched on his thighs stiffly, your hands clenched in your lap, your body tense like a coiled spring.

He didn’t seem bothered by your discomfort. Instead, he rested his hands lightly on your waist, his touch careful and deliberate. His thumbs began to trace small, lazy patterns into the fabric of your shirt, the motion strangely soothing despite the situation.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady. The words were meant to reassure, but they only made your pulse race faster.

You nodded, unable to bring yourself to speak. The air between you was thick with tension, the kind that made your skin prickle. You tried to focus on the patterns he was drawing, on the steady rhythm of his breathing, anything to distract yourself from the heat radiating off his body—or the unmistakable hardness pressing against you.

You froze, your entire body going rigid. He noticed, of course, but he didn’t comment. Instead, his hands stayed where they were, his thumbs continuing their soothing motions.

“You’re thinking too much,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. His breath ghosted over your temple, warm and inviting. “Just breathe.”

Easier said than done. You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. He shifted slightly, and your hands instinctively reached out, grasping his shoulders for balance. The movement brought you closer to him, your faces mere inches apart.

His eyes searched yours, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he leaned in, giving you every opportunity to pull away. When you didn’t, his lips brushed against yours, tentative and soft.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The kiss was gentle, almost hesitant, as if he were testing the waters. His hands stayed on your waist, their grip light, giving you space to move away if you wanted to.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you sat there, motionless, letting him lead. When he realized you weren’t responding, he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “Relax,” he murmured, his tone patient.

Tentatively, you leaned forward, your lips meeting his. The kiss was awkward at first, your movements hesitant and unsure. But he didn’t rush you. He let you take the lead, his hands remaining steady on your waist.

As you grew more comfortable, the kiss deepened, your initial hesitation fading away. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his suit jacket, grounding yourself as you tilted your head, pressing closer.

That’s when he took over.

His hands slid up your back, pulling you flush against him as he angled his head, deepening the kiss. The shift was subtle but deliberate, his lips moving against yours with a confidence that left you breathless. His tongue brushed against your bottom lip, a gentle request rather than a demand, and you parted your lips without thinking.

The kiss turned hungry, his movements more assertive but never forceful. His hands roamed cautiously, never straying too far, their warmth seeping through your clothes. Your senses were overwhelmed—the taste of him, the scent of his cologne, the steady strength of his hands.

You didn’t know when it happened, but your tension melted away, replaced by a strange sense of surrender. It wasn’t defeat—it was something else, something you couldn’t quite name. Your hands slid up his chest, your fingers brushing against the collar of his shirt as you leaned into him.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were breathless, your chest rising and falling rapidly. His forehead rested against yours, his hands still on your waist, anchoring you in place.

“See?” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Not so bad.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you simply nodded. The reality of what just happened began to sink in, but before panic could take hold, he shifted again, his hands steadying you as he leaned back slightly.

“Take your time,” he said, his tone soft. “We’re not in a rush.”

You weren’t sure if it was the weight of his gaze, the steady way he held you, or the way his fingers brushed against you as if he knew exactly where your boundaries were but was waiting for you to decide whether they mattered.

He reached up slowly, his movements deliberate, and his hand brushed against your face before moving to your hair. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he pulled the tie from your hair. Your hair tumbled loose over your shoulders, and he twirled the hair tie around his fingers, his smile never faltering.

“You’ve sucked dick before, right?” he asked, his voice smooth, casual.

Your heart stopped, then resumed at a faster pace. You blinked, your cheeks flushing hot. “I—of course I did!” you replied defensively, the words tumbling out before you could think them through.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Of course you did,” he murmured, his voice dropping as his gaze lingered on your face. “How could someone resist a pretty face like yours?”

The compliment sent an unexpected jolt through you, but you weren’t given time to process it. He gently took your hands in his, his touch light but firm, and began guiding them behind your back. You stiffened instinctively, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Relax,” he said, his tone calm and soothing, as though he were coaxing you out of a tense state. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

You hesitated but allowed him to move your arms behind you, his grip steady and unthreatening. The hair tie you hadn’t noticed still in his hand came into view as he looped it around your wrists. The act was careful, the tie snug enough to hold your hands together but not tight enough to hurt.

“There,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against your skin as he adjusted the knot. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold your hair for you.”

You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat. He reached up, threading his fingers through your hair with the same slow, deliberate care he’d shown with your hands. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you hated how your body seemed to respond to him against your will.

“See?” he said, his voice low and steady. “No reason to be nervous.”

Nervous was an understatement. Your mind raced, trying to keep up with the situation. Everything about him was a contradiction—his words soft but commanding, his actions careful yet deliberate. It left you off balance, unsure of where you stood or what would happen next.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Down on your knees.”

You blinked, hesitating for a moment as the weight of his words sank in. Your body froze, torn between instinct and the promise of what you came here for. You must have looked as dumbfounded as you felt because his lips curved into that same infuriatingly knowing smile.

But then you remembered the briefcase—you couldn’t afford to hesitate, not now. Steeling yourself, you swallowed hard and did as he said, sinking onto the plush carpet beneath you.

He watched you with a calm, calculating expression, his fingers still lightly twirling the tie binding your wrists. When your knees touched the floor, he adjusted his posture, leaning forward slightly.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the words slipping from his lips in a tone that felt both patronizing and oddly reassuring. His hand left you entirely, moving to undo his belt. The sound of the buckle snapping open echoed faintly in the room, and you bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to remain still.

He slid the belt free and dropped it to the side, his gaze never leaving yours. His movements were slow as he unbuttoned his pants and let them pool around his ankles. Then came the boxers, and as he stepped out of them, his confidence radiated like a tangible force.

He looked down at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Think you can handle it?” he asked, his voice dripping with challenge.

You scoffed, narrowing your eyes despite the heat rising in your cheeks. “I’ve had bigger,” you shot back.

That earned a low chuckle from him, the sound rich and amused. He crouched slightly, bringing his face closer to yours as his hand reached out, cupping your jaw firmly but gently. His thumb brushed along your chin as he tilted your face upward. “Open up,” he said, his tone soft but leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, your thoughts warring with one another. But then your resolve hardened.

You obeyed, parting your lips just enough to feel vulnerable.

The corners of his mouth quirked upward again, and his hand slid to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair with practiced ease. “I’ll let you take the lead,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, “at least for now.”

His other hand rested lightly on your shoulder as he guided you closer, his movements careful.

With a deep breath, you adjusted, leaning in more and licking the tip. He groaned softly, the sound low and guttural. His other hand trailed from your shoulder to your neck, his thumb brushing against your pulse point in a way that sent a shiver through you. His cock was heavy on your tongue, and your mind blurred as he thrust himself further and further into your mouth—and you appreciated the slowness with which he did it—until he was fully inside. The rhythm was slow at first. Small bobbing of your head that was just enough to pull soft groans of from his lips.

You pulled back slightly and swirled your tongue around the tip, pleasantly surprising him enough to earn yourself a sharp tug at your hair and a guttural moan that sent a shiver down your spine and a sudden awareness of the need between your legs.

“My… it’s like you were made for this…” he tugged gently on your hair again, signaling for you to pause, you pulled back slightly, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. His thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch light but grounding.

“Good girl,” he said again, his voice softer now, almost approving. He leaned down slightly, his hand cupping your face as he tilted your chin upward. “Messy, though…” he muttered, wiping a bit of drool escaping your open mouth. His hand moved from your chin to your hair again, smoothing the strands back as he studied your face with that same intense gaze.

“Let’s see how far you can go,” he murmured, his tone calm but laced with challenge.

And he fucking shoved you down on his cock.

You froze for a second, overwhelmed by the situation, but his voice cut through the haze.

“Don’t stop now,” he said, his tone still calm but laced with something sharper, something that made your heart race. “You want the money, don’t you?”

Your jaw tightened involuntarily, and he noticed. His smirk deepened as he adjusted his grip in your hair, guiding you with more force than before. It wasn’t painful, but it was clear he wasn’t asking for permission anymore. He was almost guiding your head at this point, fucking into your warm mouth with soft grunts as the hand with a grip on your hair directed you towards him in perfect timing. Your jaw was starting to ache and you could barely notice it with your thoughts suddenly one-track-minded. You were alternating torturously between sucking and lapping at his dick. He pulled out, and then fucked back in roughly, and oh, he knew this would be good—but not this good.

His hand in your hair tightened, and the calm, collected demeanor he had shown earlier began to crack ever so slightly. His breaths were heavier, his eyes darker, and the faint quirk of his lips had transformed into something far less controlled.

His need was pressing against the edges of his control. Your breath hitched as you tried to keep up, the pace leaving you off balance.

You pulled back instinctively, your body reacting to the overwhelming sensation, but his grip on your hair tightened, keeping you in place. “No,” he murmured, his voice low but firm. “Not yet. Breathe through your nose. Come on—work for it.”

The command sent a shiver down your spine, equal parts thrilling and intimidating. You tried to steady your breathing, inhaling deeply through your nose as he’d instructed. Your jaw relaxed as best as it could, though every muscle in your body felt tense.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice breaking slightly at the edges, the first real crack in his composure. His free hand braced against the back of the couch he was sitting on, his knuckles whitening as he gripped it tightly.

You glanced up at him through your lashes, trying to focus despite your racing pulse. His eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, the intensity in them made your breath catch. He was watching you so closely, as if every movement, every reaction, was feeding something deep within him.

“God,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, his head tilting back slightly as his grip in your hair eased momentarily. “You have no idea how good you look like this. Believe me—you could’ve gotten out of your debts a long time ago.” The sounds are indescribable, dirty and wet and so fucking hot as he continues to thrust into your mouth.

“Your throat,” he chokes out. He splays one hand over your throat and starts to fuck up into you at a different angle. “I can fucking see myself in you, fuck—“ There was a rawness to his movements now, a lack of the careful control that had defined him earlier. “Just a little more” he murmured, his voice roughened by something you couldn’t quite place. You could hear his breathing quicken, could feel the faint tremor in his grip as he pulled you closer still. His dominance over the situation was undeniable, but there was a vulnerability in the way his body reacted, a need that felt almost desperate.

When you hesitated again, instinctively pulling back just a fraction to catch your breath, his hand tightened slightly in your hair, holding you in place. “No,” he said sharply “stay fucking still.”

You wanted to punch his face. But you did your best to keep up—still thinking about the money—your breath hitching as he guided you, his need evident in the way he moved.

His groans grew louder, more frequent, and his grip in your hair tightened again as he edged closer to the brink. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tensed and his movements became more erratic. He was losing control, and the realization sent a strange thrill through you.

His orgasm washed over him and his body went still for a moment, his grip in your hair almost bruising as he held you in place. The sound he made was low and guttural, a noise that seemed to reverberate through the room. You froze as he held you there, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Your throat burned, your body tensing as you fought the instinct to pull away as his fucking cum filled your mouth. He didn’t let you, his hand in your hair keeping you firmly in place as he muttered something under his breath—words you couldn’t quite make out over the pounding in your ears.

When he finally released you, it was abrupt, his hand loosening in your hair as he leaned back, his chest heaving. You gasped for air, your breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts as you tried to steady yourself and then started to cough. Your body felt heavy, your limbs trembling as you sat back on your heels, looking up at him with wide eyes.

He met your gaze, his expression softening as he took in your disheveled appearance. “You did well,” he said, his voice low and rough. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with surprising gentleness. “Better than I expected.” And then he took the hair tie off your hands.

You didn’t respond, still trying to catch your breath as you processed what had just happened. The room felt stifling, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you as you struggled to compose yourself. You just managed to smear his cum on your face.

His smirk returned, though it was softer now. “I knew you had it in you,” he said, his hand trailing down to cup your chin again. His thumb brushed against your jaw, and his smile widened slightly. “But you’ve got to learn to pace yourself.”

You glared at him faintly, though the effect was ruined by the flush in your cheeks and the way your body still trembled. “Maybe you should pace yourself,” you shot back, your voice hoarse.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Fair enough,” he said, his hand falling away from your face as he leaned back, his posture relaxing for the first time since you’d arrived. He looked down at you for a moment longer before reaching for his discarded boxers, slipping them back on with a casual grace.

“Go clean yourself up,” he said, gesturing toward a door off to the side. “The bathroom’s through there.”

You hesitated for a moment, your body still tense, before nodding and pushing yourself to your feet. Your legs felt unsteady beneath you, and you had to grip the edge of a nearby chair to keep your balance. He watched you with an amused expression, his smirk widening as you stumbled toward the bathroom.

When you closed the door behind you, you leaned against it for a moment, letting out a shaky breath. Your reflection in the mirror caught your eye, and you winced at the sight of your flushed cheeks and disheveled hair. You looked like a mess, and you weren’t sure how you felt about that.

As you splashed water on your face, trying to steady your nerves, you were almost on the verge of crying. It’s disgusting—it’s disgusting that you’re wiping his cum off your face and out of your mouth.

When you finally stepped back into the room, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his expression unreadable as he watched you. The briefcase was sitting on the nightstand beside him, and he gestured toward it with a lazy wave of his hand.

“Your reward,” he said simply, his smirk returning. “You’ve earned it.”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering between him and the briefcase. “That’s it?” you asked, your voice still hoarse.

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Unless you’re looking for another round,” he said, his tone teasing.

You rolled your eyes, stepping forward to grab the briefcase. The weight of it felt solid in your hands, a tangible reminder of why you’d agreed to this in the first place. “I’ll pass,” you muttered, turning toward the door.

As you reached for the handle, his voice stopped you. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

You glanced back at him, your heart pounding in your chest as you met his gaze. His smirk was still in place, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something darker. You didn’t respond, pulling the door open and stepping out into the hallway.

The air outside felt cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the room you’d just left. You took a deep breath, the weight of the briefcase grounding you as you made your way down the hall and out of the villa.

[nope-body]

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[spenceragnewfics]

f!reader losing virginity to spencer ? maybe as "just friends" to help her "get it out of the way" but they really like each other.

So...this was supposed to come out on Spencer's birthday but work and life got in the way...sorry.

WE’RE JUST FRIENDS? | Spencer Agnew x F!Reader | 18+ MINORS DNI

(also, yes the girl in the photo has a certain skin color but it's not indicative of the reader. I try to make these open to everyone as possible.)

TW: Smut, oral (f! receiving), fingering, cursing, two idiots in love

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

DESCRIPTION: You have told you're best friend Spencer everything...well except two things. You're in love with him and you're still a virgin. Two things you never plan to tell him...until you do.

She never understood why people couldn’t just be friends. Opposite genders can be friends and not have any romantic feelings. Is it kind of hypocritical coming from her…yeah, but not totally. 

You see, Y/N has feelings for her best friend since college but is purely platonic with all her other male friends; Chanse, Shayne, Tommy, Ian, Anthony, and all the other guys at Smosh. She knows the main reason she’s attracted to Spencer and has been for years, he’s himself. It’s hard to explain unless you know Spencer but what made her fall for him…is him.

It’s not like her feelings are so intense she couldn’t date anyone else, in fact, she’s dated a couple of guys but they haven’t lasted for vastly different reasons. One thing has been one of the constant reasons for the break up, you don’t want to sleep with them.

She doesn't know why, but she has yet to date anyone who has made her feel comfortable enough to lose her virginity to, not wanting to regret it later on. That’s something she hasn’t told anyone, not even Spencer because she doesn't know how to explain why she hasn't yet. It’s something she never thought she would tell him until one night of drinks, pizza, and gaming. A semi-regular night for the two of them, especially after a long shoot week.

It was barely midnight, the two of them had been hanging out for like four hours at this point just talking, eating, and trying to beat the other at Mario Kart or play duos on Fortnite.

The night had gotten away from them after an epic Battle Royale about an hour ago where they celebrated with an extra drink and chatting. Like everything, somehow they got onto the topic of dating, both of them being single for almost, or over in Spencer's case, a year. That then delved into talking about more intimate stuff, “Honestly, I’m so fucking happy that I lost my virginity in high school. I could not imagine still being a virgin now. Too much pressure.” He quips after he makes a joke about the movie 40-year-old Virgin.

Y/N looks at him confused and lowkey, panicking, “Why do you say that? I don’t think it’d be that bad.” She confesses, sipping more of her drink. “Dude, when you’re in high school or college it’s all just part of the experience. You barely have dated anyone so there isn’t much pressure. Now though, fuck dude!” He says, rubbing his face in frustration at the thought and she looks down.

“There would be so much pressure at this point. You’ve dated so many people and at this point, it’s probably just you being in your head.”

“Or you’re scared to give it away and regret it. Guys losing their virginity is a lot more different than girls. You have to remember that, Spence. A lot more at stake too.” She looks at him, trying to show a stoic face but Spencer isn’t buying it.

Y/N is always someone who tries to show both sides of the coin but is usually more silly about it. Now, she’s being very serious and trying to act stoic, like she’s hiding something. It’s not something he wouldn’t have noticed unless they had been friends this long.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to strike a nerve. I know you’re all about being things neutral but this seems like a bit more than usual. What’s up?” She looks at him confused, trying not to get embarrassed and say something she doesn’t want to. “Nothing, I just think that sometimes this whole thing is oversimplified.” He raises an eyebrow, “You’re acting like you’re still…” He trails off when she looks down and squeezes her eyes shut.

“Oh my god! Y/N! What the fuck! I thought you and-”

“We were but I changed my mind. Every time I thought about possibly losing it to him I felt nothing but dread. Same thing with the other guys. I don’t want to regret it.” She plays with her fingers, not wanting to look him in the eye.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She looks at him shocked, “Why would I need to tell you? It’s personal but also how the hell do I bring that up?” She says before speaking in a silly voice, “Oh, Spencer, I gotta tell ya, buddy. I’m a virgin because I get major anxiety and overthink it to where I just haven’t done it.” She does a silly laugh that sounds a lot like Goofy.

“Okay, I get it. This is a sensitive topic, I’m sorry.” He apologizes, looking at her sadly and she feels her heart pinch. “It’s not that. I just…I want to. I want to so badly but I just get so anxious and overthink everything. Sometimes I think that it’d be easier to find someone to hook up with or just get an escort or something.” She looks at him, “Or someone I have been friends with forever basically and I trust more than anything.”

Spencer looks at her confused until she raises a brow and he gets the message, “Oh, you mean me? Really?” She nods, playing with her fingers again as she gets nervous. “Yeah, I mean. I know I wouldn’t regret it with you because you’re my best friend. I don’t think there is a guy I trust more than you.” She confesses, making his face light up.

“I would be honored. Holy shit, you won’t regret this. I promise.” He says, sounding like an excited young kid who just got picked first for baseball. She giggles at his silly antics before letting out a shocked yelp when he pulls her close. “So, are you more dominant or submissive or…” She shrugs her shoulders. Spencer shrugs his as well before putting his hand on her cheek, pulling her in gently before connecting their lips.

She puts her hand on his as her other moves into his hair. He sighs into the kiss as her nails scratch at his scalp, sending chills down his spine. Gently, he lays her down on the couch as his lips move to cheek then to her jaw, and landing lastly on her neck.

He feels his pants tighten as she lets out soft sighs from his lips on her sensitive neck. His tongue licks a long stripe along it before he sucks on her pulse point. Her hand pulls at his hair in response as she mutters out his name softly, the sound making him harder by the second.

Unknown to Y/N, Spencer was slowly coming to the realization of his own feelings for her. What he would always brush off as anxiety of her dating someone new and unknown to him has turned out to be jealously. Jealous that these random guys would take you out and not him. He finally has his chance to test the waters…well test a little more than the waters.

His lips continue to work on her neck but stop when she starts to giggle. “What, what’s so funny?” He asks, moving back a little and chuckling himself. “Your beard tickles a bit. I like it though.” She’s coy about her words, he smiles at her shyness before going back to kissing her neck as she giggles again.

This is nothing he’s felt before. The other girls he had dated and slept with were all serious about sex. They didn’t want or think that sex could be playful and fun but in this moment Spencer feels his heart soar. He’s pulled out of his trance as she tries to pull off his t-shirt, he helps her take the article of clothing off before slipping his hands under her shirt.

He holds back a moan just at the feeling of her lace bra, not even seeing it in person. She giggles before slipping the shirt over her head and swears his eyes are popping out of his head. “I knew you had awesome tits, but holy fuck!” He groans as he puts his face between them.

His warm breath fans over them, sending chills down her body before his warm tongue licks her lace-covered nipple. She bites her lip as he does the same to the other before pulling her bra down to expose the flesh fully.

A strangled moan falls from her lips when he wraps his around her right nipple. His thumb and forefinger play with her left, rolling and gently tugging it. She feels herself getting wetter with each tug as her hands tangle in his hair. He continues to stimulate her nipples for a while before moving down with open mouth kisses.

“Spence, you don’t have to-”

“I want you, now sit back relax and enjoy the show.” He jokes with his sassy smirk before kissing her plush thighs. She sighs comfortably at the feeling before laughing when he playfully bites her thigh. “Sorry, you just tasted too good not to have a bite.”

Her eyes stay on him as his beard tickles her thigh before he moves to be face-first with her pussy. His finger come up to spread her lips as she feels her cheeks heat up, not used to having someone see so much of her. Her thighs start to close but Spencer stops them before they can. “Don’t hide yourself. You’re beautiful.” He assures her as he licks a long strip up her slit.

The new feeling makes her eyes roll as she breathes shakily. He continues to give long licks before moving to suck on her clit. “Holy fuck!” She moans, her hands quickly finding a place in his hair as she relishes in the new feeling.

She had used vibrators and other toys but nothing had felt like this before. His tongue swirls around her clit a few times before sucking again. He moves a finger to her entrance, “I’m going to put a finger in. It might feel weird at first.” She nods, moving a hand down to his arm. She releases a breath at the uncomfortable feeling, her hand squeezes his arm.

“Are you okay?” He asks his finger fully inside. “Yeah, just feels… different.” She confesses as she starts to feel embarrassed. “It’ll feel better in a bit, just gotta get you warmed up a bit.” His finger thrusts in and out for a moment before he adds a second. She moans softly when adds a second and whimpers as they move. “Is it feeling better?” He asks, she responds with a sweet moan that makes his cheeks heat up.

His fingers continue going in and out, stretching her out slightly. His fingers graze the spongy spot inside her, “Oh my, do that again! Please.” She begs. The feeling made her see stars, who is Spencer not to please? His finger rubs the spongy spot as she starts to feel herself get close.

“Yes, yes, just like that-Fuck!” She screams when his lips wrap around her clit again. He licks and sucks intermittently while still playing with her G-spot as she screams his name. “Spencer! Fuck! I’m gonna cum!” She yells as the knot in her stomach snaps.

He licks and sucks her clean before sitting up. Pulling off his hoodie and pants. He aligns himself with her leaking hole, “This will probably hurt, but it’ll subside. I promise.” She nods as he slowly pushes in.

While the tight feeling makes him moan loudly, having been a while since he slept with anyone, Y/N bites her lip, the feeling being intruding and uncomfortable. Noticing her discomfort, he leans down and kisses her sweetly, trying to distract her as he continues to sink in.

Spencer is just a bit above average in length but more girthy than most. The stretch is something Y/N will come to love but for the first time, it’s a different feeling than anything she’s ever felt. Her face unconsciously skews in a bit of pain when he’s fully inside.

Leaning down, he locks their lips. His hips are still as he gives her time to adjust, the feeling of her wrapped around him is making it hard to keep still though. Her hands tangle in his hair once again and gently pull when she’s adjusted, giving them the okay to move.

His thrusts start out slow, letting her body adjust to the new sensations and the starting pain slowly melts away. He intertwines their fingers as he thrusts at the same pace. The gesture is small but is enough to make her feel safe and loved by the man on top of her.

It takes about a minute before Y/N starts to moan, “Faster, please Spencer.” She begs needing to feel more. It takes everything in him not to smirk as his hips pick up speed. “Oh god.” She moans, wrapping her legs around his waist to keep him close.

Spencer keeps a steady fast pace, his tip hitting her G-Spot as he moves his hips a little. The only sounds in the room are skin-on-skin, moans, and heavy breathing. The two are eye-locked, watching the other’s face and expressions.

“Shit, I’m close.” Y/N moans, feeling the familiar knot forming. “Me too, shit,” Spencer groans as his hand moves to rub her clit. “Fuck, Spencer!” She practically screams with the added sensation.

“Cum for me, Y/N. Please cum all over me.” He moans, his thrusts getting sporadic.  She screams his name as the knot bursts in her stomach and she cums on his dick. He groans as she clenches around him, making it hard for him to not cum inside her. He continues to thrust through her high before he starts to breathe very heavily.

“Where do you want me to cum?” He struggles to get out, feeling very close. “I don’t care.” She says, her voice very breathy. He pulls out and only strokes himself a few times before he cums on her chest.

Coming down from his high, the two look at each other and then laugh. “Oh my god, that was amazing. How the hell are you still single?” She jokes as he lays on top of her. “Just haven’t found the right one yet.” He says, his eyes looking at her softly as she runs a hand through his hair.

“Maybe you just haven’t been looking in the right places.” She smiles at him and he leans in, “Or maybe I just have been overlooking a certain someone.” he says before kissing her.

[snowluvvie]

₊˚⊹ ♡ . mutt!rafe cameron

MINORS DNI. | warnings — possessive behavior, toxic relationship, smut, oral (f. receiving), violence, blood, codependency, biting

mutt Rafe, who shows up on your front step with his hand in his mouth, chewing furiously at his fingernails, head hung because he had nowhere else to go

mutt Rafe, who offers to sleep on the couch in the most insincere, unconvincing tone of voice you’ve ever heard, and makes zero effort to hide his grin when you tell him he can just sleep in the bed

mutt Rafe who suddenly feels entitled to every inch of your house and everything you own just because you let him in. he eats whatever he wants out of your fridge, walks around shirtless, gets water all over your bathroom floor from shaking his hair out after he showers. you try to remind him that he’s a guest, but Rafe is too busy acting like it’s all his territory now

speaking of territory. you’re his and he won’t hear anything otherwise. he’s glued to you all the time when you guys are out—he doesn’t wanna do “his own thing” so he doesn’t see why you have to. why can’t he just be next to you all the time?

arm slung around your waist or over your shoulders, a cute back hug that turns into his bicep encircling your throat and squishing your cheeks together. he laughs like it’s a cute little show of affection, but you see the way his eyes dart around like he’s making sure other people see

bites you during sex, he can’t even help it. he gets so lost in rutting into you and proving he can make you cum harder than anyone else, when you’re in mating press with your legs over your head and he leans down to press open-mouthed kisses to your calves as he’s fucking you, they quickly turn into harsh bites that leave imprints that everyone will see tomorrow

when he’s about to go down to you, and he’s teasing you because of how much he loves to hear you beg, pressing kisses and licking stripes up your inner thigh, he also sneaks in a harsh bite. your thighs are so soft and inviting, how could he not? the way your back arches when you cry out in pain makes him so hard he gets dizzy

mutt Rafe whose bite pattern you’ve seen etched into your soft skin so often you could practically draw it from memory

mutt Rafe who sees a random guy bump into you and not say sorry at a decently crowded party and is immediately laying into him, dragging him outside by the back of his neck, kicking him until he’s crying. when you get outside and he hears you say “Rafe” in that stern voice, he stops immediately and leaves the guy on the ground to follow you as you leave

head hanging because he can tell you’re disappointed in him but he can’t figure out why. “I did it for you!” he’s following behind you and waving his hands around as he emphatically explains that “you don’t understand! I was protecting you, it was for you!”

if someone tries to hurt you, he has to put them down! that’s what you do when you love someone! you make the world a safer place for them, right? he assumes you just don’t understand what he’s saying, because he knows he’s right

you haven’t talked to him and you’re getting into bed in your cute little PJs, he looms in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, waiting. you roll your eyes and gesture for him to join you and he immediately clambers to get into bed next to you

you had planned on staying mad but when you feel his warm, hard body pushed up against you, his mouth against your cheek as he’s mouthing “don’t be mad” into your skin, your resolve shatters and you’re making out with him breathily. He keeps saying that—“c’mon, don’t be mad” through gasps and grunts the whole time he’s fucking you

mutt Rafe who eats more meat that anyone you’ve ever met in your life, yammering on about protein and iron intake. you don’t complain, though, when he brings home pounds of steak and cooks them for both of you

mutt Rafe who presents you with the most perfect medium rare steak, placing the plate down gently in your lap before he sits down next to you and subtly watches your face as you eat to make sure you like it

asks casually “was it good?” every time. so casually, putting on an oscar-winning performance of not caring, though when you hum “mm-hm” and say thank you with those eyes looking up at him, he gets a big dumb smile on his face as he takes both your plates to the kitchen

mutt Rafe who sulks around the house when you’re too busy to fuck him, which is made ten times more irritating by the fact that he always wants to fuck you and can’t seem to wrap his head around why you can’t be fucking twenty-four-seven

mutt Rafe who has zero concept of boundaries or personal time and doesn’t see why he can’t be with you whenever he wants? he feels entitled to your alone time, doesn’t see why you need it

mutt Rafe who slips into the shower with you so quietly you didn’t even know he was there until you see him, you screech at the top of your lungs and he laughs and has to catch you so you don’t slip and bust your head

he ignores your indignant fussing in favor of burying his face in your neck, and you’ve barely gotten in a single word before he has you pressed flush against the wall and has already buried himself inside of you with a low, satisfied moan

mutt Rafe who won’t get off of you, ever

mutt Rafe who pulls you onto his chest and squishes you into the crook of his armpit and is so, so warm and smells like leather polish and cologne and something else distinctly him

mutt Rafe who lays his head across your lap and stretches his shirtless body out across the whole couch. just to be annoying, at first, to get in your personal space and on your nerves, but his eyes drag shut when you start carding your fingers through his hair

mutt Rafe who gets frustrated when you won’t pay attention to him, if you’re laying in bed and reading or scrolling on your phone, he’ll stand at the end of the bed and yank on your legs, pull you down the bed and bite your feet and your calves as you screech with laughter and try to kick him

mutt Rafe who teaches you how to ride his dirt bike with hands guiding yours on the handbars and gripping your hips to guide your sitting position

when you take a tumble and bust your lip on the ground, blood running down your chin, he scoops you up off the ground like you weigh as much as a leaf. he squishes your face in his hand and gives you a sympathetic frown, telling you that “you’ll get it next time, yeah? takes practice.” he swipes some of the blood off your chin with his thumb and pops it in his mouth, like he wiped a little smudge of food off your face, and not your own blood

mutt Rafe who carries you home and leaves his dirt bike behind, and tells you you’re still the prettiest thing he’s ever seen even when your smile is stained with red

mutt Rafe who needs your reassurance that you’re proud of him, that he’s doing well, that he’s taking care of things, that he’s taking care of you. his eyes glaze over when you tell him you’re glad he’s around, he’s doing such a good job. he nods dumbly, head empty aside from the warm glow at your praise

mutt Rafe who watches you with intense eyes as you wrap a bandage around his knuckles. he decked someone for being mean to you again, so hard he almost broke his own hand and definitely broke the other guy’s nose

this time, you didn’t reprimand him. he’s trying to gauge your reaction, figure out what you’re thinking, but you’re keeping it tamped down because weirdly, you liked it a little this time. what does that say about you?

mutt Rafe who becomes junkyard guard dog Rafe—mean and singleminded and covered in blood—if you aren’t careful how you talk to him

[imnotditzy]

Captain Marvel doesn’t know what a normal death is

(TW: mentions of death, brief mentions of murder gang violence)

No but really if you ask a street rat, literal living lighting, a bunch of ancient immortal people and a really wise king from a bajillion years ago, why would a reasonable answer be an option?

Like Billy thinks that if you’re 60 one of your feet are in the grave. Why? Because that was the life expectancy in the 50s. He's also homeless so he’s already more exposed to crime anyway, I wouldn’t doubt he thinks death by “minding someone else’s business” is common enough to be recorded as such in its own category and not murder. Also, he literally fights supervillains who try to kill him everyday? His view is skewed so much, that the damage might be irreversible. 😭

Moving on, Marvel is literally sentient magic. They can’t die, and if they can it’s not a thing that’s very easy to come by. The amount of work it takes to even do the equivalent of a paper cut is excessive, the concept of them dying would take a lot to set in. And they are a lost cause when it comes to knowing what a normal death is. The only “normal” deaths they’ve really paid attention to are the deaths of the Champions…and none of them had anything close to a normal death. (One of them literally gets hacked in two 💀)

The acronym; do I even have to explain? All of them besides Solomon, Heracles and Achilles literally haven’t died. And literally no hero in Greek mythology dies normally. Solomon is the only one who’s died of natural and normal causes, but he was alive in the BCE. That is a long time ago.

Now, Combine all of them together and what do you get? Captain Marvel: someone who does not have a correct interpretation of typical death!

This would probably concern others around them. Especially the JL, because I feel like Captain would mention this randomly.

—

(Green Lantern [Hal] and Captain Marvel were sent to investigate a crime scene together and they stumble upon the body.)

Captain Marvel: Aw…seems like their time came. (Captain’s got a sympathetic but large smile.)

Green Lantern (looking down at the stabbed body): Um, Cap?

Captain: It’s a shame. But I guess nothing could be done…

Lantern: Captain, they were stabbed???

Captain: Oh, I know. Happens to the best of people, right?

Lantern: Uh —No? Captain this is…worrying??

Captain: They’re in a better place now. Maybe.. ☺️

—

(They’re now back at the watchtower for a debrief, but it somehow turned into Batman questioning Captain Marvel.)

Batman: Captain can you explain why the body was not concerning to you?

(Batman’s staring at Captain intensely.)

Captain (confused smiling): …because there was nothing to worry about?

Batman (raising an eyebrow): Why?

Captain (hesitant): Because there’s probably not a serial killer or whatever running around? They killed an insider, it was gang violence.

Batman: How were you sure?

(Captain looks up to the side like their remembering before shrugging)

Captain: …Oh, I’ve seen similar bodies like that before.

—

(This occurrence is reason #5738 on why Captain Marvel cannot interact with civilians. But in Captain’s defense, how was Billy supposed to know lifespans updated?)

Captain Marvel (pointing at an “old” lady): Oh, she’s 62?

Citizen: Yeah?

Captain (sympathetic): Oh. It’s good she’s still on her feet though.

Citizen: What?

Captain: She’s thriving for her age, right?

Citizen: C—Captain Marvel, she’s 60 not 99. She just retired.

Captain (confused): Really? Why would they have her working so long if she’s nearing the end? (The lady turns around with this expression on her face: 😟)

Citizen: Because she wanted to?? Captain are you ageist?

Captain (never heard that word a day in his life): Uh, I don’t think so? What does that even mean??

(The media later somehow gets ahold of the footage and it becomes such a scandal it reaches the JL; Captain Marvel is then forced to have a public statement. At the giant press conference, Mary and Freddy are there standing next to him and laughing.)

Captain Marvel (whispering): Shut up, it’s not like you thought any different.

Miss Marvel (also whispering): Yeah but we’re not stupid enough to say it to their face, Captain.

Captain Marvel (still whispering): It’s not like you guys would have any less scandals than I do if you were in the media as much as I am.

Reporter (impatiently): Ahem. Marvels?

(Both siblings look like deer in headlights while Freddy laughs at them. They both apologize in unison.)

(Captain then clears their throat, they look like they’re dreading this.)

Captain Marvel: I am terribly sorry for what I said about [62yo citizen]. I hadn’t intended to be rude, but I seemed as such because I had a gap in my…

Solomon (telling him what to say): …Knowledge. I was under the assumption that the average lifespan wasn’t much longer than a person’s 60s…

Captain (repeating what Solomon’s saying): I now know that, while once true, that information is outdated.

(Billy went on for three more minutes, only stopping because the DTC got too bored and people were starting to give him funny looks.)

[berfgrimm]

power hungry animals :: choi su-bong x reader

pairing: choi su-bong (thanos) x f!reader

warnings: drug use, swearing, death/violence, dirty talking, groping, angst, fluff, and i think that’s it?

note: this was a request and i hope it is what you’re looking for. it’s just shy of 9k words, which I haven’t done in a very long time. i truly appreciate you requesting this and helping me shake more of the cobwebs off of my brain. thank you all for reading and requesting and being so incredibly nice. enjoy!

———————

You know Su-bong won’t be happy when he sees you. That beautiful, bright smile of his has long been absent from most of your interactions since the crypto catastrophe. But in this moment? Trapped in a seemingly endless building with more strangers than you can count, prepared to compete for money? You venture to guess that his reaction won’t be a positive one.

In all fairness, you didn’t know that he had joined this game as well. You’d overheard someone at a train station talking about the game, and the idea popped in your head — Su-bong always does everything he can for you, maybe you could return the favor for him. How were you supposed to know that he would have the exact same plan in mind?

You first spot him when he is at the head of the group, complaining loudly about his limited edition shoes. It’s the most on-brand you’ve seen him, and you have to stifle a laugh as you listen to him whine. Part of you wants to approach him and tease him about his inflated ego, but you don’t know that you’re quite prepared for the conversation that will follow yet.

The guards in pink explain that the group will need to sign consent forms to play the games. It seems odd given the kind of games you expect to play, yet you brush off your concerns. You fall into line but slowly push your way through the crowd to get closer to Su-bong. You figure the best way to get his attention is casually, as if you didn’t see him first, so you keep your distance for a while to work on your surprised reaction.

You remain as aloof as you can, knowing that he’s only a few people away from you at this point and he’ll likely notice you any minute. Sure enough, you hear him call your name. You scrunch your face in confusion, as if to say ‘who would be calling my name in a place like this?’. Looking around at everything in the room before you land on him, you widen your eyes in surprise, feigning shock.

“Su-bong?” you ask, hoping you sound believably shocked to see him. He pushes his way through the crowd to get to you, his face between a scowl and confusion. “What are you doing here?” you ask, innocently.

“I’m here to get back the money I lost,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to help,” you say, your confidence faltering as you notice that people are beginning to stare. “I didn’t know you’d be here, too. I was going to win it to surprise you.”

“What, you don’t think I could earn back the money myself?” he asks, incredulously. “You think I’m some sort of idiot who can’t take care of myself?”

“Su-bong, I never said that,” you reply, voice firm but speaking quieter in an effort to get him to lower his voice as well. “I wanted to help, like I said.”

“I didn’t ask for your help!” he snaps. “I’m not a child. I’ll fix my own problems. You’re not signing that form.”

“Yes, I am,” you say, with a chuckle.

“No, you aren’t,” he says, his tone firm. He doesn’t normally use such a demanding voice with you unless he’s looking to be more playful. You feel a small flutter in your stomach and you blush slightly, lowering your gaze to compose yourself before you respond.

“How do you plan to stop me?” you answer, looking into his eyes again. You’re surprised to see an amused look on his face when you first lock eyes with him, but it quickly fades into frustration at your words. He lets out a huff, and you half expect him to stomp his foot in childish protest, but instead he curses under his breath and turns away from you.

As you watch him storm away, back to his line, you drop your shoulders. Out of all of the ways you could have imagined that conversation going, that one never would have crossed your mind. You quickly glance at the others around you, finding their eyes still on you. It brings a flush of embarrassment to your cheeks that they overheard the conversation that you had with your boyfriend, so you drop your gaze to the ground and await your turn to sign your form.

You know that he’s irritated. You can hear him griping about the streamer that ‘tricked him’ into his crypto investment, along with all of the empty threats of retribution. Of course the streamer in question is also here which confirms what you heard about him losing his money along with everyone else who invested in the doomed cryptocurrency. You have to turn away as you hear him confront the streamer, Myung-gi, knowing that even though he’s amped up, he won’t do anything too crazy. Still, you don’t want to watch.

The guards usher the group out of the dorm and down a hallway into a pastel maze that appears to stretch on forever. You follow along with the crowd, hearing Su-bong somewhere nearby, chatting obnoxiously with one of his new friends. You’re quickly brought to an open area where the group is directed to break off into smaller bunches, and file in to have their pictures taken. You note where Su-bong is, and choose the line that is beside his, still trying to keep your attention on him. By this point, he’s being flocked by a dozen people calling out his stage name, practically prepared to bow to him.

As much as you try to ignore the conversation, you can’t help but overhear them beg for selfies. You watch them pile into the photo booth with him to be photographed, and it makes you roll your eyes. Much to your surprise, Su-bong spares you a fleeting, displeased look before he scans the crowd as if in search of someone in particular.

“Hey!” he calls out to someone. You follow his gaze to see the woman he’s speaking to; a girl you’d overheard complaining about the style of clothing they’d forced you all to wear. “I don’t mind having another person,” he continues. “Come on.” He gestures for her to join the group but she brushes him off, which causes you to laugh. Su-bong is unbothered until he looks at your amusement at the situation, which causes another scowl to spread over his face.

The guards hurry the fawning spectators away from Su-bong, explaining that they’ll need to take individual pictures, so you quickly tune out, focusing on your line. You wait your turn to get your photo taken, before following the group through the maze. The walk drags on for longer than you expect, and the duration of the journey is filled with the sounds of Su-bong — well Thanos now — chatting furiously with his friend, player 124. Having a hype-man like this always exacerbates things, sending him spiraling into Thanos territory.

Walking into the playground-esque field, you keep some distance from Su-bong, not wanting another interaction like before. However, you still search for him in the crowd, spotting him slinking up behind the woman from earlier, a smug grin gracing his lips. You don’t immediately realize that you’re frowning as you watch him continue to flirt, a twisting in the pit of your stomach making it impossible to look away. You hate when he gets like this.

There exists two versions of your boyfriend, and one of them is tied to his stage persona. You didn’t enjoy when that version would show itself, though generally it didn’t involve him openly hitting on other women in front of you. He saves this version for the fans to boost the image, and he never lets the full ego bleed over into your personal lives.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you let out a sigh, watching the woman rebuff his advances even as he tries his best to freestyle for her. That’s generally something he saves for you — spitting verses about whatever menial task you’re doing or about how he loves to look at you. He loved to do it to make you laugh, or other times to make you blush. This is how you know that he’s doing this to upset you; at least you can take solace in the fact that she’s not falling for it.

It doesn’t work on everybody, you think with a shrug.

You notice everyone’s attention focusing at the far end of the yard, so you look as well, finding an enormous statue of a girl staring down the group. It was unnerving to say the least, but still, you wander into the yard to find out what is in store. As you wait, you spare another glance towards Su-bong to find him still chatting to the girl from before. You’re tempted to storm over to him and give him a piece of your mind, but before you’re able to, a man pushes his way to the front for the group and shouts for attention.

The man appears frantic, ranting about how people are going to get killed if they play the games. You look around, gauging if anyone believes him — the room appears mixed, some people showing signs of fear but others brushing off his warning. His words make you feel anxious, whether they’re true or not, and briefly you wish you were nearer to Su-bong so you could feel calmer, but you have to remind yourself that you’re still annoyed with him.

Once the game starts, everyone heeds the words of the man in front of them, staying perfectly still during each call of ‘red light’. You try to take yourself out of the moment, worried that if you focus too much, you’ll start to tremble. The booming voice of the man, player 456, echoes, making sure everyone follows orders exactly.

Suddenly, a pop rings through the air, reverberating off of the walls. You’re tempted to look to the sound, but you opt to stay still instead, focused on winning. Silence is still surrounding you, until the screaming begins, and a round of pops echo through the air. Are those gunshots?

On the ‘green light’, you glance in the direction of all the noise and see several bodies on the ground, specifically the woman Su-bong had been flirting with. Your boyfriend stands surrounded by bodies, fumbling with the cross he loves to keep his pills in. He makes eye contact with you, and you can see the panic in his eyes even across the yard. You take a few frantic steps in his direction, prepared to run towards him, but the call of ‘red light’ stops you both.

The time between the call of ‘red light’ and ‘green light’ feels like it stretches on for eternity. You and Su-bong stare at each other across the sea of people, desperate to reach one another. As soon as you’re able to move, you sprint towards him, not caring about running into other people on the way.

When you’re about to reach him, mere feet away, you skid to a halt at the call of ‘red light’. Su-bong is frozen with his arms outstretched towards you, waiting for the next call to move. In his eyes, you see a dozen different emotions. You have been with him long enough to read every single one of them clearly, especially the look of apology that you hope he knows you accept.

Finally, you’re able to move and you all but collapse into Su-bong’s arms, holding him firmly to you. He turns his back to the statue at the end of the yard, keeping you in front of him with your face pressed to his chest. Just in time for the call of ‘red light’.

“Stay close,” he mutters, voice shaking. “Do not lose sight of me. If we hold hands, it might slow us down.”

“Mhm,” you agree, feeling him trembling in your arms. “You didn’t take one of those pills, did you?” His lack of response tells you everything you need to know: he’ll be out of his mind within a few minutes.

“Just stay close,” he repeats.

The next several minutes seem to drag on forever. You follow the instructions of player 456, falling into lines with other people to stay undetected. You remain directly behind Su-bong as best as you can, but he seems to forget that you’re meant to be following him. He moves fast and even leaps in the air, as if overjoyed with his experience. You blame the pills.

When you’re frozen during one call, you swear you see Su-bong shove the person in front of him, sending them tumbling into two others before they all fall to the ground. You tense up as gunshots ring out, and blood splatters over your pants and shoes. Thankfully, the finish line is in sight, and it only takes one more call of ‘green light’ to have you and Su-bong crossing together.

He pulls you close to hug you, but the hug feels odd. He doesn’t hug you as though you’ve both just been through a life threatening situation together. He doesn’t hug you as though people are still actively being murdered in front of you. He hugs you like you won a team trivia contest, like you were friends on a night out. At that moment, it’s just a game to him. Those fucking pills.

Once the game ends and you’re all escorted back to the dormitory, everyone sits in silence, traumatized. Somewhere in the trek back to the dorm, you lost track of Su-bong but you find his purple hair quickly in the crowd, where he sits with player 124, both of them chatting quietly to one another.

A buzz rings from the speakers, light being restored and the doors open to reveal the guards entering. The main guard from earlier in the day, with a square printed on his mask, explains that ninety-one people were ‘eliminated’ in the first game. Your stomach lurches at the thought, and you have to fight not to vomit. Closing your eyes, you hear an older woman begin to plead with the guards to spare her life, and she is quickly joined by a symphony of other voices begging for the same.

Until player 456 steps forward to demand a vote. The guards oblige but not before revealing the total amount earned from the first game. The others quickly become entranced by the glow of the piggy bank, watching the money continue to fall until the total is revealed — everyone would get twenty-four million each. It’s not a small number by any means, but it barely puts a dent in the staggering 1.9 billion won debt that Su-bong has. You sigh, burying your face in your hands; this game was for nothing.

The vote begins and you wait for your number to be called, knowing that you will be up to vote before Su-bong. With your eyes trained on your feet, you focus on the blood splatter on your shoe that you want so desperately to disappear. There's no reason for you to press the ‘O’. You’d rather be at home with Su-bong, cuddling on the sofa, watching television. Drowning in debt, but in love.

Su-bong has not spoken to you since the game ended. Part of you wants to take it personally that he abandoned you after the game but the other part wants to fight him in the middle of the room for everyone to see. You stand in a crowd of strangers feeling more alone than you have in a long time. But as if he reads your thoughts, Su-bong finally comes bounding through the crowd towards you.

“There you are!” he exclaims, placing his free hand on your shoulder. “I thought I lost you out there.” You shove him away from you and watch the numbers change on the screen above the voting podium. “What’s wrong, babe?” he inquires, cocking his head to the side to get your attention.

“I can’t stand you when you’re on this shit,” you mutter, avoiding eye contact with him. “This is serious and you’re acting like it’s a a fucking joke.”

“It’s a children’s game!” he laughs. You roll your eyes in response, forcing yourself through the crowd to get away from Su-bong, desperate to avoid more conversation, but he follows behind you. “How are you going to vote?” he asks quietly, slipping behind you.

“Are you kidding me?” you ask, glaring at him over your shoulder. “I’m voting to leave. This is insanity.” Su-bong looks confused, so you continue. “I’d hope that even with that stupid pill in your system,” you begin. “You’d have enough sense in your head to realize that we’re in danger.”

“What’s life without danger?” he laughs.

“I can’t handle this right now,” you sigh. “Please leave me alone, Thanos.”

You know you shouldn’t have said it. You never called him that, you swore you wouldn’t. The same way he swore he would never be that guy towards you, the egomaniacal, vapid, smug Thanos. Sure, there are times where the residual effects of his alter-ego turns him into a possessive and sometimes dominant version of himself, and as much as you are embarrassed to admit it, you really enjoy it. But that is something generally done in the privacy of your own home, meant for fun. Not this. You immediately want to take back the name-calling, but you both know he pushed too far.

“Okay,” he replies, softly, moving back through the crowd to join player 124 again.

The numbers on both sides continue to rack up until your number is called. You lift your head and catch everyone’s eyes on you, waiting for you to cast your vote. The crowd splits so you can make your way through, and you hear Su-bong whisper your name sharply, trying to get your attention. Instead of looking, you ignore him, walking directly to the podium at the front of the room.

You stare down at the buttons, your mind set on pressing the ‘X’, yet you still find it hard to bring yourself to do it. You want to see your boyfriend happy again, but you know that even with your winnings combined, you won’t have enough to pay his debt. Still, you don’t want to watch him be murdered in the name of financial gain.

As your hand presses down on the red ‘X’, a buzz echoes through the room and a red light illuminates your face. There’s a murmur through the crowd that you ignore, accepting the velcro ‘X’ to affix to your jacket. You don’t bother looking at Su-bong as you join your group of voters, knowing there will be nothing to say to him.

Only a handful of other people vote before Su-bong, who is nearly giddy when he stomps forward to slam his hand onto the blue ‘O’ without hesitation. You drop your head, gaze on the floor as you struggle not to break down into tears. In the back of your mind, you know you can hear player 456 going into another tirade, but you’re unable to focus on what he says.

Until you hear Su-bong’s voice once again cut through the noise, you didn’t realize an argument had broken out between the groups. Su-bong breezes past you, heading straight for player 456.

“If you really won, that’s better for us,” he says. “You can give us tips on how to beat the games.” You sigh, closing your eyes, feeling as though you’re on the verge of blacking out from how overwhelming and surreal this moment is. You crouch down to the ground, clenching your head between your hands, trying desperately to keep your composure as the crowd starts to cheer.

We’re going to die here, you think.

———————

Dejected and scared, you stare in disbelief at the numbers on the board. You’re trapped here for another game by one vote. If your boyfriend had stuck with you and realized how dangerous this game was, you would be on your way home in no time, almost fifty million won richer.

Your legs feel as though they’re made of concrete, dragging along with your tired body as you wait in line to receive food. Just as you you have your food and get settled on your bed to eat, a scuffle breaks out nearby. You look up just in time to see Su-bong land a punch across Myung-gi’s face, then stomp on him while he’s on the ground. You jump to your feet, leaving your food on the bed as you start to walk closer. Suddenly, player 001 interrupts to stop the fight, and you feel a moment of gratitude to the man who is also responsible for you still being in this game. That is until the man grabs Su-bong by the throat.

Player 124 rushes to help but is quickly thwarted by 001. The rage is once again on Su-bong when 001 delivers several punches, before rendering him to the group by wrenching his arm. You clamber down the steps to head over quickly, when you notice Su-bong still on the ground with 001 above him, holding him by his throat and fist cocked back, prepared to punch.

“Hey!” you exclaim, dashing over to break it up. “He said he’s sorry! Let him go!”

You shove at 001’s shoulders, desperate to get him away from Su-bong before he causes irreversible damage. When the other man peers up, gauging the pleading look you give him, he releases your boyfriend and stands upright again. You ignore the claps and cheers from the other players, opting to crouch at Su-bong’s side to check on him.

“Are you okay?” you ask, softly, attempting to cup his jaw to tilt his head towards you. However, he pushes you away, albeit somewhat gentle, and he scrambles to his feet to return to his bunk. You can only sigh, knowing that he is likely embarrassed over the altercation, so you return to your bed to get your food, before you decide to offer the olive branch.

When you reach Su-bong’s bed, you glance around to get a good view of how secluded it was. You momentarily search for a small joke to make to cut through the palpable tension, but you brush off the idea when you see him avoiding eye contact with you.

“Did you eat?” you ask, taking a step closer to his bed. “It’s not as good as your mom’s food, but it’s okay.” With a frown still on his face, he spares you a glance before he shrugs in response. “You’re actually going to be mad at me right now?” you pushed. “You? The one who flirted with a girl just to get back at me for trying to help you?”

“I wasn’t—”

“You voted to stay, Su-bong.”

“I thought I was ‘Thanos’,” he retorts with a sarcastic tone, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

“You’ve certainly been acting like it,” you answer. He scoffs, rolling his eyes, shifting his weight so he can turn his attention away from you.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Su-bong mutters.

“You shouldn’t have, either.”

“It doesn’t matter about me,” he dismisses. You narrow your eyes and tilt your head to try to catch his gaze but he avoids it. You toss your remaining food items on the bed and move to crouch down in front of him. The scowl that he tries to maintain falters into something more forlorn, but he still refuses to lock eyes with yours. Your heart sinks as you begin to realize what he means.

“You matter a lot to me,” you whisper. “More than anyone or anything else, as a matter of fact.” He shrugs, so you keep going. “You always think it’s you against the world, especially since this crypto bullshit happened,” you continue, placing your hands on his thighs to lean in closer. “It’s me and you, Su-bong. Your problems are my problems. I’m not here because I think you can’t solve your own problems. I’m here because I love you and I would do anything for you. And this is my problem too.”

Finally, Su-bong looks at you; his appearance manages to be distraught and enamored simultaneously, causing your heart to skip a beat. One of his hands cups your cheek and pulls you towards him, pressing his forehead to yours. Both of you stay silent for a few moments until you finally have to speak.

“You have blood on your face,” you whisper. “I think it’s that girl’s.”

“I’d rather have you on my face,” he teases. You shove him away from you, stifling a laugh while also feeling yourself blush at his innuendo.

“That’s not funny, Su-bong,” you say, firmly, struggling to keep the smirk off of your face. You reach towards the end of the bed, grabbing your bottle of water and twisting the cap off.

“Why’d you laugh at it, then?” he asks, watching you pour a small amount of water onto the end of his jacket to use it to wipe his face. “You think I’m funny.”

“I think you’re annoying,” you reply, raising your eyebrows with a chuckle as you finish cleaning his face.

“You think I’m sexy,” he teases, tilting his head to the side, trying to look into your eyes.

“Well, you are my boyfriend, so that would make sense.”

“I saw the look on your face earlier,” he pushes. “When I did the thing you love. Telling you what to do…” Your cheeks flush at his words, and you continue to wipe at his face even though all the blood is gone — you can’t look him in the eyes. “I know you want to pretend you don’t like it,” Su-bong goes on. “But I know everything about you, babe. I think you like it when you get to be my good girl.”

“And I think we’re trapped in a place that we may never leave,” you reply, hurriedly, to avoid him saying anything else to mess with your head. “I’m scared and I don’t know what to do. So, I think we should focus on getting out of here. We can worry about everything else after.” Su-bong lets out a small laugh that turns into a sigh.

“Don't worry,” he nods. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“You sure?” you ask, tugging slightly on the blue ‘O’ patch affixed to his jacket.

“Positive,” he answers, leaning in to give you a soft kiss on the lips. “I’ll always take care of you, babe.”

———————

In a part of your mind, you want to believe that Su-bong will change his mind about continuing the games. You’d love to think that he’ll run up to the podium and slam his fist onto the red ‘X’. But you also know that he’s impulsive and impressionable, especially when being hyped up by yes-men, much like player 124. As much as you’d like to keep him away from the others while you ride out the next game, you’re disappointed when you file into the second game to be told that you’ll need to separate into groups of five.

Of course Su-bong immediately grabs your hand, but, much to your dismay, he also drags along player 124 (whose name you found out is Nam-gyu). He brings both of you with him as he searches for another friend named Gyeong-su. When you finally find him, and see that he has acquired a friend named Min-su, you feel a level of unease that is concerning. You don’t trust the rest of your group to keep Su-bong on the right path.

“Do you think you can spin the top?” Su-bong asks, keeping his voice low to not be heard by the others around him. He’s standing directly behind you, his hand placed on your lower back to keep close.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, watching the group that is currently participating in the game. “I was never very good at it.”

“I plan to do jegichagi,” he says. “I’m really good at it.” You roll your eyes at the smugness in his tone, but when he pinches your side playfully, you giggle in response. “I think you should do the top,” he goes on. “That way you can be next to me.”

“I’m not going to pick that one just so I can stand next to you, Su-bong. That’s silly, I should be on the one I’m most confident about.”

“I’d rather have you next to me,” he insists. “Just in case.” His voice lowers for the last sentence, and you quickly catch his meaning — in the event that it would be your last moments together.

“Okay,” you nod, craning your neck so you can peer into his eyes. “I can try.” He gives a curt not in response, pulling you closer to him as you both focus on the game again.

During the excitement of several teams doing well in the game, you manage to accidentally separate from Su-bong for a few moments. Unfortunately, when you link with him again, as he talks with Nam-gyu, he’s acting noticeably different. You glance back and forth between the two men, finally focusing on your boyfriend who laughs at the stern look on your face.

“Are you kidding me?” you snap, planting both hands against his chest and shoving him hard enough for him to take a stumbled step backwards.

“Babe, what is it?” he laughs, placing his hand to his chest to feign an injury.

Every fiber of your being makes you want to punch him right there in front of everyone. You’re completely incensed that he would take another pill after the conversation you had the day before. Instead, you separate yourself from him, standing at the end of your group, next to Min-su.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Su-bong calls out, but you ignore him.

It’s a struggle not to cry. Watching your boyfriend spiral out of control during the most serious situation either of you have ever been in, you feel powerless. No matter how much you try to keep him focused, he does everything he can to do the exact opposite. You stare at a spot on the wall, trying to wish yourself into any other place in the world than right here, right now.

You picture your favorite day with Su-bong, before he took on the Thanos pseudonym. His hair was pink then — damn, you loved his pink hair. He had an important gig that night at a club that you both frequented, and he was nervous. You spent the whole morning in bed together, kissing and touching, sharing your deepest secrets with one another. The gig that night was the best performance he’d ever given, and was what launched his career. That day, you decided you’d spend the rest of your life with him if he’d let you. You never realized how brief that time could be.

The sound of gunfire brings your daydream to a screeching halt, pulling you back to reality to see both teams have been executed. You bury your face in your hands letting out a quiet sob.

“It’s our turn, babe.” Su-bong’s voice rings in your ears, and you lift your head to see the other members of your team standing around you, waiting. “Come on,” Su-bong says, holding out his hand for you to take hold of.

“I don’t think I can do this,” you rasp, teams brimming your eyes. “Baby, I’m so scared.” Su-bong’s face drops and he quickly crouches in front of you, holding your shoulders.

“Me too,” he says, quietly. “But we can get through this. I promise.” You become transfixed on his eyes, looking past the blown pupils to really try to read him. You can see the fear and the worry, but also you find the honesty of the man that you love with your whole heart. “Let’s go,” he nods, taking your hand and pulling you along with him to start the game.

———————

Traumatized doesn’t begin to cover your current state. You have no idea how the five of you managed to pass the game, given how scared you were and how delirious Su-bong was. It was a miracle.

Now, your group has returned with the successful groups to the dormitory, where you and Su-bong have excused yourselves from the others. You chose to sit on his bed as the bunk is more secluded from the others, affording you some privacy. Su-bong sits at the head of the bed with his back against the wall. You have chosen to sit between his spread legs, resting your back against his chest. Your hope was to let the sound of his breathing and the calm beat of his heart soothe you, as it normally did when you fell asleep together, but both are too erratic for you to derive any serenity from.

“I told you we would get through it,” his deep voice rumbles through his chest, the sound so smooth when it hits your ear.

“For now,” you reply, placing your hands on his knees, gently fisting the material of his pants to calm your nerves. “What happens if they vote to stay again?”

“Then we keep going,” he says, breezily. “That’s all we can do.” His breath tickles your neck as he lets out a sigh before placing a soft kiss just above the collar of your shirt. You tilt your head to the opposite side to give him room as he trails kisses slowly towards your ear. Once you feel his teeth graze your earlobe, you hum tenderly, giving his head a gentle shove away with your own.

“What are you doing?” you ask. “We can’t do this here, I told you that.”

“I haven’t been able to touch you in days,” he whispers. “All of this stress has been making me feel out of control. I need to remember what you feel like.” Su-bong’s hands slip around your body, cupping your breasts and pulling your body back against him firmly. “I love you so much,” he rasps, fingers massaging your chest as you squirm against him. “What would I do without you?”

“You’d probably be dead,” you breathe. Su-bong laughs, slipping one of his hands higher to wrap his fingers around your throat. He urges your head back onto your shoulder and tightens his fingers around your neck. “I’d miss your mouth the most,” you say, looking up to him and blinking slowly. “And your hands.”

“Didn’t you just say we can’t do this here?” Su-bong asks with a laugh in his chest. “But you want to tease me?” He keeps his hand on your throat, but slides the other hand between your thighs to carefully pry them apart. “What am I allowed to do then?” Su-bong asks. “Can I touch you here? You love my hands and my mouth so much…if you promise to be quiet, I can show you how much my fingers and tongue love you, too.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you breathe, as he teases you through the fabric of your pants. “Not…not here.”

“Where?” he asks, desperation in his voice, moving his hand to squeeze your thigh now.

“Not in this place,” you clarify, closing your eyes. “The sooner we’re out of here, the better. Back to our bed where you can see what you’ve been missing.”

“Are you trying to persuade me to vote how you want by promising me a taste of what’s already mine?”

Su-bong’s voice is deeper now, sending your head reeling & your breath stuttering. This is the ego that you love from him, that small taste of Thanos that drives you crazy. You’re temporarily stunned, lost in the sensations his voice and touch give you, but you quickly become aware of where you are. Your eyes open, and you can hear the noises of the dozens of people in the dorm with you.

“Su-bong, please,” you insist, tugging his hands away from you. “This place is filled with death, I don’t feel right doing this here. I can’t.” You begin to push yourself away from him, an effort to sit at the end of the bed, but he stops you, wrapping both arms around your midsection to keep you against him.

“I’ll behave,” he sighs. “I’m sorry.” You cuddle against him, closing your eyes and getting comfortable, feeling finally how exhausted your body really has become.

You fall asleep thinking of when you met Su-bong. Your friend dragged you to a club to see a DJ they had a crush on. It wasn’t necessarily your kind of scene, and you found the DJ to be subpar, until he introduced his MC. When Su-bong walked onto the stage, the crowd cheered, and you could understand why. Beyond his stage presence and verses, he was easily the most attractive man you’d ever seen. It was impossible to take your eyes off of him with his blue hair, sweat soaked and from the stage lights. You could barely contain your excitement when his eyes locked with yours and he smiled knowingly. After his set, he approached you first to buy you a drink, and the rest is history.

You don’t know how much time has passed before you’re being woken up to the sound of the Square guard’s voice booming through the dormitory. When you open your eyes, you find that you’re alone in Su-bong’s bed, and he’s nowhere to be found. With a sigh, you climb from the bed and head out to join the others just in time to watch the piggy bank get filled with more money.

You scan the crowd in search of your boyfriend, finding that he rejoined your team from the game. Maneuvering through the sea of people, you reach Su-bong, grasping his forearm to get his attention. Unfortunately, he’s transfixed on the glowing pig above your heads, watching the stack of money grow larger and larger.

“Su-bong,” you warn. “Don’t let it distract you.”

“I know,” he mumbles, still refusing to take his eyes off of the bank until it stops. “It was only one hundred and ten people.”

“Only?” you say. “How can you say that? Those are people’s lives you’re talking about.”

“But what about my life? Our life? Even combined, it’s barely above one hundred and fifty million won. We’re not even close to being out of debt.”

“We’ll figure something else out,” you plead. “It’s not worth losing our lives over.” Su-bong sighs deeply, nodding his head at your words. You hope you got through to him.

As everyone lines up for the next vote, Su-bong holds your hand, keeping you close to him. You both watch as the other players vote one at a time, the numbers staying relatively tight together. You notice that several people change their votes, which gives you hope for a positive outcome this time.

Much to your surprise, player 001 interrupts the vote this time, trying to reason with the group still waiting to vote. Several other players who are in favor of continuing speak up as well until they whip the crowd into a frenzy. Briefly, you feel Su-bong tense at your side, as if he is fighting the urge to cheer along with the other ‘O’ voters, but he stays silent.

When Su-bong’s number is called, he walks slowly to the podium and stares down at the two buttons. Your heart pounds in your chest, genuine concern flowing through you as you’re unsure of how he will vote. You clasp your hands together, as if to plead to anyone who will listen for your boyfriend to do the right thing. When the buzz rings out and the number on the ‘X’ side changes, you feel a wave of relief wash over you, tears almost falling from your eyes. Finally.

You don’t take your eyes off of your boyfriend as he changes out his velcro patch to the ‘X’. When he turns again, he finds you immediately, nodding his head with a small grin on his lips. Thankfully, you don’t have to wait long for your number to be called so you can join him on the ‘X’ side. You do not hesitate for a moment, slamming down the ‘X’ button and turning quickly to run towards him.

“Thank you,” you breathe, as he pulls you into a tight hug.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says, turning you around so you can see the display screen. “They’re the ones you have to worry about.”

As you both stand silently, you watch the numbers grow, and feel less confident with each passing second. The numbers for those voting to stay are creeping higher and higher, and you curse player 100 for riling up the group. By the time player 456 reaches the podium, all of the joy you just gained has drained from your body — you have to stay for another game.

You move like a zombie, collecting your dinner from the guards, and making your way to Su-bong’s bed again. He’s close behind you, neither of you speaking as you contemplate what could happen next. You eat in silence as well, scared and tired all at once.

The rest of the day passes in a strange blur. At some point, just before the chime begins to play to indicate lights out, Su-bong collects your mattress from your bunk and sets it on the floor beside his bed.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he says. “You can have my bed.”

“No, that’s okay. The floor is fine with me.”

“No—”

“Hey,” you cut him off, standing in front of him and taking him by the hips to pull him in. He laughs, that wide smile you love to see appearing across his face. “I’d rather sleep on the floor,” you continue. “I promise I’m fine.”

“Okay,” he nods, grasping the sides of your head in both hands and taking you in for a gentle kiss. “I’m sorry,” he mutters against your lips. “I know it’s my fault that we’re both here. I’ll do what I can to fix this.”

Su-bong sleeps at the edge of his bed, his arm hanging off of the bunk to hold your hand. When he falls asleep and his grip loosens, you unlace your fingers from his, gently tracing the rings on his index and pinky fingers. You think about how he rarely takes them off at the end of the day, as if they’re an extension of him. When you’re in bed together at your home, and he touches you for the first time, the metal feels ice cold and you wonder if he plans it like that just to see the way the goosebumps spread across your skin. The truth is you always get goosebumps from his touch, rings or no rings.

You wake the following morning to find Su-bong sitting on the edge of his bed with his cross pendant in the palm of his hand. You sit up quickly, snapping the lid closed and wrapping your fingers around it, prepared to yank it from his neck.

“Wait!” he exclaims, grasping your wrist. “I wasn’t going to take one…not yet.” You stare at him imploringly, waiting for him to continue. “If I focus on what’s happening,” he begins, carefully choosing his words. “I think I’ll mess up. I can’t mess up.”

“I’m here with you, Su-bong. We won’t mess up.” He stares into your eyes but this time he takes in your whole face as if he’s memorizing it. For a moment, he looks scared; his breath coming in harder pants and his eyebrows furrowing — he’s panicking. “Hey,” you say, snapping him from his trance. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he nods, tucking the cross into his jacket. “I’m here. I was just…nevermind. Let’s go.” He holds his hand out towards you, helping you to your feet as you both join the group of other players preparing for the next game.

When you walk into the expansive, rainbow painted room, you don’t immediately notice the turntable in the center, too fixated on why there are so many doors. The female voice rattles through the speakers to explain you will be playing Mingle, and you tighten your grip on Su-bong’s hand to pull him close.

“If we have to run to these rooms, it’s going to be chaos,” you say, carefully stepping onto the table at the center of the room.

“I won’t let you go,” Su-bong promises, as the playful tune begins to play through the speakers and the table begins to rotate.

The sound of the other players panting nervously radiates around you and your own nerves begin to take hold. You are once again on the verge of blacking out until the table stops suddenly.

“Ten!”

Su-bong pulls you along with him as he locates your team from the previous day, who have already grabbed five additional people. All ten of you dash towards an open room, desperate to get there before anyone else. You shove your boyfriend into the room first and ensure that the others slip in with you, before slamming the door shut. The lock engages and immediately gunfire rings out from the main room.

“Shit,” you mutter, covering your ears to avoid hearing the screams. Su-bong wraps his arms around your body, pulling you snug against his chest.

“It’s okay,” he assures you. “You’re safe.”

When you are released from the room, the first thing you see are the sporadic pools of blood from the ‘eliminated’ players. Swallowing hard to keep from becoming sick, you carefully avoid stepping in any blood, stepping back onto the platform awaiting your boyfriend, who you assumed was directly behind you.

Much to your dismay, you spot Su-bong hanging back with Nam-gyu, talking quietly as they slowly walk to the platform. He pulls the cross from his jacket and opens it, pausing to look around for anyone who might be watching. When his gaze falls on you, all you are able to do is look away from him, knowing that his impulsive nature and his anxiety are in the driver seat. All you can do is hang on.

“Babe,” he calls out, hurrying toward the platform and stepping up beside you just as it begins to spin again. “I can’t—”

“Don’t tell me about it,” you say, quickly. “If you took one or you didn’t, I don’t want to hear it. If it helps you focus, or whatever, it doesn’t matter. Just stay with me and get us both out of here alive.” He nods in response, taking your hand again as you wait for the platform to stop spinning.

“Four!”

“Three!”

“Six!”

Each number called gives you another knot in your stomach and more aches in your body from scrambling to get into a room with the right number of people. By now, you feel as though more than half of your fellow players have been eliminated, as the platform is far more spacious. Along with that, the room is virtually covered in the blood of those same players who weren’t fast enough. From running through the puddles, the soles of your shoes are stained red and a brassy scent hangs heavy in the air.

When the voice over the speaker announces the final round, you breathe a sigh of relief but still feel tense. Looking at the count of how many people are left along with the number of rooms available, you know that you will have to move fast to secure a room. You take Su-bong’s hand, preparing as the platform rotates for a final time.

“Two!”

You set your eyes on room 40, with its magenta colored door. With a firm grip on your boyfriend’s hand, you take off towards the door, yanking him along with you. You avoid the blood as much as you can, but suddenly lose your footing and begin to fall. Su-bong catches you by your hips and rights you again.

“Room 40!” you call out, pointing ahead of you. He takes off towards the door as you notice two other players making their way to the door as well. Just before they reach the handle, Su-bong plants a kick directly in the man’s chest, sending him and his partner stumbling to the ground.

“Come on!” Su-bong yells, and he waves you over.

Part of you is horrified at his action but you know that you both need to survive. You scramble towards him, and he hurriedly wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into the room and slamming the door shut behind you. Still holding you close, he braces the door shut with your bodies, ignoring the sounds of the other couple desperate to get in.

“Don’t listen,” Su-bong mutters, as the lock engages on the door. He keeps you in his arms, walking you away from the door to the corner of the room, where he lowers you both to the floor. You curl into his chest, covering your head as he holds his arm around your shoulders. “It’s okay,” he says, as the gunfire and screaming begins. “I’m here.”

When the room is finally silent again, you lift your head to look at your boyfriend, tears brimming your eyes. He smiles softly at you, his fingertips tenderly stroking your cheek. He uses his free hand to pull his cross necklace from his jacket holding it out to you.

“I didn’t take any,” he whispers, nodding his head towards the cross. “I gave all of them to Nam-gyu.” Your eyes shift from his face to the cross, cautiously opening the lid to find it empty. “I told you I’d keep you safe,” he breathes. “Didn’t I?”

———————

356,000,000. The number didn’t even sound real. With both of your winnings combined, you’d be able to make a sizable impact on the debt. You keep as close to Su-bong as you can as you await the call of your number. Already, the vote appears to be shifting in favor of leaving, but you don’t yet get your heart set on it. Not just yet.

The numbers tick back and forth several times before it’s your turn to vote. You give Su-bong a quick peck on the cheek before you make your way to the podium, quickly slamming your hand down on the ‘X’ button. The chorus of boos and cheers ring out, but you ignore both, making your way to the ‘X’ side to wait for Su-bong.

There’s a fleeting worry in your mind that he may change his mind after seeing the money added to the piggy bank, but something about the look in his eyes when you were in the final round of Mingle — he’s scared. As soon as Su-bong’s number is called, you train your eyes on him, taking in every move he makes as he marches towards the podium.

You get side tracked thinking about the way he walks. His movement is distinctly his own — he moves with rhythm when he has a purpose, but sometimes his movement is stiffer, as if he’s trying to blend in. This walk, almost a strut, is determined and you know you have no reason to worry about what his decision will be when he reaches the podium.

The buzz of the ‘X’ rings loud and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The cacophony of cheers and boos fills the silence while Su-bong trudges towards you with a small smirk on his lips. You immediately pull him into your arms, hugging him and never wanting to let go. He holds his hand to the back of your head, pulling you closer to him to kiss the top of your head.

“We’re almost home,” he whispers, finally letting you go.

You maintain your glee as you watch the numbers on the screen change over and over until the score is tied. The final voter is player 001, someone you don’t particularly trust. You notice him lock eyes with player 456 briefly, his face unchanging, before he walks to the podium.

You close your eyes, unable to watch what selection he will make. Su-bong grasps your hand, holding it to his chest; you can feel his heart practically pounding against his ribcage. He mutters something under his breath, likely a plea for this man to make the right decision.

Time stands still as everyone awaits the moment that will determine your fates. Your head feels like it could spin off of your shoulders at any moment, your breaths coming faster and faster until—

A buzz and the overwhelming cheers from the other ‘X’ voters. You open your eyes, staring up at the screen that reads 51-49. Su-bong wraps his arms around your waist, hoisting you into the air in celebration. You both scream and cheer, tears finally breaking the seal and falling from your eyes. You can’t believe it.

Su-bong spins you both in a circle, before setting you down, finally kissing you deeply. You clench his jacket firmly, never wanting to lose the feeling you have right now.

“They sound upset,” Su-bong chuckles, nodding towards the group that voted to stay.

“I don’t care,” you respond. “Let them stay and tear each other apart if they want. We’re getting the fuck out of here. And I know the first thing I want us to do.”

“Please tell me,” he replies, mirroring your playful grin.

“Dye your hair pink again,” you say. “We should retire Thanos. I think he’s served his purpose.”

“Hmmm,” Su-bong hums thoughtfully, giving you a suggestive smirk. “I don’t think he should go away yet. He may still have some work to do for his good girl.”

[admirationandromantics]

Stress-reliever

Okay, so another request! I really like this one, and I had a lot of fun writing it too. Sorry it took so long, but I try to work at an acceptable pace. Anyways, this story is about reader having an assignment and being hella stressed because she can't understand anything. Josh, her friend, comes over because she doesn't answer any of his texts or calls and gets worried about how hard she's pushing herself. And he knows the best way for her to relax...

Word count: 3k (Unedited)

I let out a silent scream, slamming my fist into the book. Goodness sake, why was this so difficult? I look at my word count, and it’s nowhere near finished. I don’t even have a good point I’m writing about. Everything I’ve written before this has been great, or at least good. This was the exception. I don’t understand the lectures, I don’t understand the book, I don’t understand anything. No shit my essay would be trash. 

My phone start plinging, but I ignore it. I have to get this. Maybe I’ll read the chapter one more time. I’ve lost count on how many times I’ve already read it, but I don’t have anything better going for me. I tried youtube videos, getting someone to explain it to me, reading, writing, everything. This was stressing me out, and the deadline is in one week. I don’t have good sources, or backups. I can’t change the theme. 

The phone rings again, but this time, I put it on silent. I have to get this, I need to understand it. Maybe I need a breather? But I don’t have time. I stand up and walk to the window. I can at least get some fresh air inside, I deserve that. I click the lock, pulling the window open. The fresh winter breeze flows into my room, shuffling my papers and pulling my hair. The outside arena has been filled with water, making a large skating rink. A bunch of people are skating, some with families, some while holding hands. They’re probably all finished with tests, exams and deadlines. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the ice cold air. A shiver runs through me, and I take it as a sign to sit down again. This essay isn’t going to write itself. I correct my papers and open the book in the right chapter again. Just keep reading, just keep reading. I’ll get there eventually. 

***

A loud knock is heard on my door, pulling me out of my trance. I’ve written how much? 4 sentences? At this pace, I’ll have to pull all-nighters all week. Someone knocks on the door again, and I check the time. It’s late, not too late, but who would be here at this time? I get up from the desk, walking to the door and unlocking it. Outside in the hall, Josh is standing with his stupidly cute smile and a plastic bag. 

“Josh” I sigh weakly, hugging him while putting all my weight on him. I’m so tired, so stressed and sick of my studies. 

“You look horrible” he whispers back, hands going around me to stop me from falling on the floor. 

“Thank you, I appreciate it” 

“Have you been outside today?” 

I look up at him, giving a guilty smile. He sees right through me and rolls his eyes. I let go, opening the door wider to let him in. 

“Brough you take-out, figured you were too obsessed with whatever you’re doing that you haven’t eaten”

“You’re an angel” 

“I know” he smiles, putting the bag down and pulling off his jacket. He goes to sit in my desk chair, glancing over all my notes. 

“Hard stuff” he grabs a paper, reading quickly over the highlighted lines. I turn to the food, taking out the different boxes. Chinese food, how sweet of him. 

“I’ve never been this stressed in my entire life” I complain, my neck sore and eyes tired. I grab a roll, eating it quickly. I’m apparently very hungry too. 

“You know, I actually wrote about how stress affects-” 

“Stop!” 

“What?”

“I don’t want to hear about how it’ll kill me, you psychology majors are insane with your theories” 

“It’s not a theory”

“Do you really think knowing this will help me or stress me out more”

“Yeah, you’re right” 

I take another roll, sitting down on the bed and eating it. 

“You know, you could do something more stress-relieving…”

He’s smiling, but I don’t know why. I don’t have time to do anything else right now. But, if it worked, I’d probably understand and write much faster. The offer is tempting. 

“Like what?”

“Well, according to your stress-patterns you-”

“Don’t psycho-analyze me” I threaten, pointing a finger at him, my hand now empty again. He puts his hands up, smirking. That stupid smirk. 

“Fine, okay. Let’s think of normal things then… taking a hot bath”

“I showered this morning” 

“It’s not to get clean, it’s to relax” 

“No, next” 

He shrugs, shaking his head in disbelief. I know I’m difficult, but he’s still here, so I haven’t cracked him yet. 

“Go for a walk?”

I laugh at him. No way I’m going somewhere, and when inspiration strikes I’m not there to take advantage of it. It might hit when I’m 20 minutes from home, and when I get back, it’ll be dead. 

“How about I put it this way Josh… I’m NOT leaving my room” 

He thinks hard, trying to come up with something. I subtle darkness coats his eyes as he looks up at me again, and I smile, intrigued by what he’s come up with. 

“I can only think of one more thing” 

“And that is?” 

He opens his mouth, but stops himself and snickers. I’m left in the dark. 

“Nah, you probably wouldn’t want to” 

I look around confused, throwing my hands out. I’m literally open to anything as long as I can relax a bit. 

“Oh, please tell me, I’m desperate” I whine jokingly, making him laugh. 

“Oh really? How desperate?” 

“Incredibly desperate, I’ll do anything” 

“Anything?” he asks, and I can already sense that I’ll regret saying it. He leans forward, loving that he knows about this secret thing which I don’t. God, he’s a prick. 

“Yes, now tell me” I urge, my curiosity overwhelming. 

“Fine, okay” he leans back on the chair, looking me up and down. “I mean, I could help you relax a bit” 

“With what?” 

“Jesus Christ” 

“Will you just tell me Josh?” 

He stands up, making his way over and cornering me with his arms. Oh. Ooooh… I heat up just from the thought, getting wetter by the second as I think about all the erotic possibilities of this encounter. 

That’s what he meant. I almost feel stupid for not getting it at first. But I have to remember that we’re friends, and this is a very intimate act. Would I really want to jeopardise our friendship for an essay? I already feel my body betraying me, heart racing quicker than my thoughts. 

My body gets the better of me, and I lean into him, capturing his lips and throwing my arms around him. He doesn’t waste time, returning the favour and leaning over me, pushing me back on the bed. Hand goes to my thigh, lifting my leg up. He places himself in between them, staying over me with the help of his other hand. A tight squeeze over my knee makes me gasp, and he uses the opportunity to put his tongue in my mouth. He explores all of me, touching in all the right places, occasionally rubbing where he senses I feel weaker. I pour all my tension into him, another form of it building up in my stomach, begging to be satisfied. 

“Josh…” 

He doesn’t stop, mouth instead moving to my neck as he kisses and sucks. 

“Tell me if you want to stop” he whispers against my skin. I don’t want to stop. I’ve wanted this for a long time, and using my stress as an excuse? I don’t know what will happen after this, but I do know that I want to fuck him. For as long as possible. 

He hits my spot under my jaw, making a loud involuntary moan escape my lips. I feel him smirk against my skin before biting down. My hand immediately flies to my mouth. It would not be good for me if the other people in the nearby dorms heard me. 

“I want to hear you” He’s quick to take hold of my hand, trapping it over my head, pressing my whole body down on the mattress. God he’s hot, I’ve never seen this side of him. I always thought he was ‘just talk no action’, but apparently I was wrong. 

“Fuck” I whimper, feeling messy and needy for him. He knew what he was doing, and it was working a little too well. 

“All my calls, all my texts, everything left unanswered…” 

“I was studying” I breathe out, voice high on ecstasy. His knee goes between my legs, and I lean against him, letting myself grind down on his leg. 

“Was it not just a trick to get me here? Don’t think for one second I haven’t seen those glances you give me when you think I’m not watching” 

“Josh…” 

“Don’t worry, when I’m finished with you, you wouldn’t  have to be so secretive anymore” 

He grabs the hem of my sweater, making me sit up a bit to drag it off. I’ve been home alone all day, so a bra was not necessary, leaving me half naked, the cold winter air from the window making my nipples hard. 

“Oh lord…” 

“Not gonna even the playing field?” I tease, tugging at his shirt. He laughs and unbuttons it, undressing quickly and throwing the garment on the floor. He does the same with his belt, dragging it off his jeans and leaving it on the floor. I feel a tug on the bottom of my pants, and he drags them off with ease, leaving me only in my panties. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful” he comments, laying himself on top of me again and capturing my lips on his. I feel around his upper body, gracing each curve and muscle. My hands wander to his back, pulling him closer, making him lay more of his weight on me. The kisses get wetter and sloppier as we keep going, my pulse going faster than ever before. I pull away a little, needing to take a breath. He uses the opportunity to work on my chest, kissing down my collar and groping my chest. His mouth keeps sucking, leaving dark marks all over my upper body. 

“Josh, please” I whimper, feeling the need overcome me. This is too much, I need him down there, fucking me senseless, just as I’ve always wished for. 

“I love hearing my name coming out of those pretty lips of yours” 

He moves lower, kissing the inside of my thighs and stroking my folds over the soaked fabric. 

“You’ve been wanting this for a long time haven’t you?”

I take a couple of deep breaths before answering, my body dysfunctional from all the waiting and different types of simulations. 

“Y-yes I have” 

“And you finally got what you wanted”

“Please” 

He raises his head, looking up at me. That stupid smirk is still plastered on his face as he’s come face to face with the reactions he gets out of me. 

“Say it again” There’s no use fighting him, my body begging to be touched. 

“Please” 

“Again” 

“Josh, please” 

“As you wish” 

His head goes down again, biting and licking my thigh as his fingers slowly drags my underwear off. It falls off my feet, and his tongue takes a long lick over my folds. My immediate reaction is to close my legs, but his hands stop me, holding both of them in their place. He takes a chance, one of his hands moving to my heat, stroking over the wet area. 

“You’re already so ready for me” 

His tongue finds its way to my clit, licking soft circles as one of his fingers moves inside me, curling upwards. My legs jolt again, but he doesn’t mind, instead keeps pumping his finger and getting me off with his tongue. I feel my edge come closer, and I try to hold it, not wanting to come so incredibly fast. 

“I know you’re holding back dear” 

I try to come with a reply, but it leaves my lips as incoherent erotic melodies, going in tact with his rhythm. He takes out his hand, relieving some of the pressure which is begging to be let out. I try to steady my breathing, but am interrupted as he puts another finger in, filling me even more up. His tongue applies more pressure than before, and I can’t control myself as I come all over him, spilling my juices down his fingers and lips. 

I take deep breaths, ecstasy washing over while throwing my head back. Fuck he’s good. I feel my legs twitch from all the action, pent up stress and energy leaving my body as the high lowers. 

I hear something hitting the floor, and look up to find him standing in front of me. Naked. Big. Holy shit, how am I supposed to take that. 

“You look scared” he smiles, going on top of me once again, giving me sweet kisses. I taste myself on him, but the passionate nature of it is almost… romantic. 

“Just, surprised” I manage to breathe out. 

“Oh, you haven’t seen nothing yet” he teases, giving me another passionate kiss. His dick graces over my folds, coating itself in my last high. His hand goes down to adjust himself, but before he inserts himself, he looks down at my flushed face, waiting for something. 

“You want this?” 

“Yes I fucking want this, Josh please” 

He doesn’t need to hear anything else, slowly inserting himself in me. I throw my head back, feeling him fill me up, widening my walls. He groans as he keeps going, letting out a deep breath as he’s all in. He waits a couple of seconds, still holding himself up over me. 

“Fuck, you feel so good” he exclaims, cheeks red and breath heavy. 

“Please keep going” I urge him, and he starts moving. Slowly going out and slamming deep into me again. It takes a couple of pushes for him to get his rhythm back. The room fills with both our moans, and I pull him down, killing some of them on our lips. 

He takes hold of my thigh, pulling my whole leg up, letting himself deeper inside. My nails scratch his back as he keeps going, both of our orgasms building up. I hold on to him, chest against chest, his pelvis rubbing against me as he slams himself in and out. 

“Let me ride you” I whisper, and he stops for a bit, taken aback by my request. 

“You sure?” 

“Get on your back” I breathe out, trying to sound stern. My tone fails me, and I just sound desperate instead, but I don’t mind. I want him, I need him. He obliges, laying down on his back. I move on top of him, and he looks up at me, mouth agape and eyes blank. He’s so turned on, so hard and so desperate. Probably as needy as me. I steady myself, lowering my body onto him, letting him inside. I bit my lip to stop my noises, feeling him go deeper than before. 

I watch his face, cheeks still pink and skin shiny. His mouth keeps opening, letting out the most vulnerable sound I’ve ever heard from him. 

“And I thought you looked good on top” I start, feeling a smirk find its way to my lips. “Turns out you’re even better under me” 

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me come” he whimpers, grabbing hold of my thigh, bouncing me up and down on him. 

“That’s the goal” I lean down, kissing his collar and neck while still bouncing my ass on him. 

“You’re so incredibly hot” 

His grip tightens, probably leaving red marks which’ll last for days. I feel my core building up, getting awfully hot and tight. 

“Josh, I’m going t-”

“Do it, do it” 

I can’t hold myself, coming all over his cock, tightening around him. I give a cry, body sweaty and hot as I try to keep the rhythm going. The pain starts getting to me, the cause of overstimulation and exhaustion. He notices, and uses his hips and arms to turn us around. 

I slam back into the maddress, my breath being knocked out of me. I don’t get time to regain it as Josh ups his pace, slamming into me harder and faster. I grip the sheets, trying to stay grounded as I feel my whole body rocking back and forth. He leans forward, intertwining my hand in his, while still keeping up the pace. I grip his hand hard, tension building up again as he uses the other to rub my clit. 

“I love you like this, all fucked out” he whispers, making me tighter. I wince as I come another time, pain and pleasure shooting through me. I’ve lost feeling in my legs, letting them hang weakly around his waist. He grunts and moans, burying himself in me as he reaches his orgasm. I feel him twitch inside me, sloppily pulling out as he collapses beside me. His hand goes to my chin, turning my head towards him before leaning forward for a kiss. I let him, sinking into the small action. 

“Still stressed?”

“More exhausted, but no, I’m not stressed” I explain, slowly regaining control of my pulse. 

“Need a power-nap?” I nod, and he walks to the bathroom, coming back with a warm wet cloth and cleaning me up. We both drag ourselves to the top of the bed, getting under the covers and relaxing. I lean into him, feeling his body sink down. 

I think about the essay, everything I could’ve done in the time we fucked. The theme is hard, and the texts are difficult, but… Shit!

“Omg” I exclaim, sitting up. 

“What, is something wrong?” he asks, looking up at me with concern. I stand up, walk to the desk and grab my computer before laying down with him on the bed again. 

“I suddenly understood this one passage” I exclaim, not feeling that tired anymore. I actually understood something! Finally! 

I open the computer, and start typing on the related paragraph. This was gonna be good, I could finally get the parallel I wanted, and compare it to the subtext. 

“Well, I’ll be laying right here if you need me again” he makes himself comfortable, kissing my chin and letting his fingers rub soft circles on my arm. 

[chukeis]

The quiet hum of Kei’s apartment always made Yn feel at ease. She lounged on the couch, her feet tucked beneath her, lazily scrolling through Kei’s phone. He didn’t mind he never had. They were open with each other like that. She would often scroll through his camera roll, teasing him about random pictures he’d taken everything from sunsets to candid shots of her that she didn’t even know existed.

Kei was at his desk, typing something on his laptop, completely absorbed in his work. Yn giggled to herself as she came across a series of goofy selfies he’d taken while she wasn’t looking. She made a mental note to tease him about them later.

But then she stumbled upon those pictures. Her fingers froze.

They were pictures of them intimate, raw, moments that were meant to stay between the sheets and their memories. They’d taken them during one of their more passionate nights together, just for fun, a playful exchange at the time. Yn had completely forgotten about them, assuming Kei had deleted them after their little joke.

But here they were, still saved on his phone.

“Kei?” Yn’s voice was a mix of surprise and slight panic. “You still have these?”

“Hmm?” Kei didn’t even look up from his laptop, too engrossed in whatever he was typing.

Yn held up his phone, waving it in his direction. “The photos. You know, those photos. The ones we took a while back?”

He finally glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah. Why?”

Her eyes widened, and she stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “What do you mean, why? Why haven’t you deleted them yet? What if they accidentally spread or someone saw them?”

Kei chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. “Relax. They’re not going anywhere. It’s not like I’m sharing them around.”

“Still,” Yn pressed, her voice rising slightly. “It’s risky. What if someone gets a hold of your phone? You can’t just keep those kind of pictures lying around!”

Kei leaned forward, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Nah, I like having them around.” He paused for dramatic effect, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I still use them sometimes, you know… when you’re not here.”

Yn’s face immediately flushed, and she smacked his arm with the nearest pillow. “Kei!”

He laughed, his deep voice filling the room. “What? It’s true. You’re not always around, and I’ve got to… handle things on my own sometimes.”

“You’re disgusting!” she squealed, covering her face with her hands, but she couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. As much as she wanted to be mad, Kei’s nonchalant honesty and teasing always managed to disarm her.

“Disgusting, huh?” Kei smirked, standing up and walking over to her. He plucked his phone from her hand with ease, sitting down beside her. “You didn’t seem to think that when we were taking those photos.”

Yn narrowed her eyes at him, her face still flushed. “That’s different! We were in the moment, and I thought you’d delete them after.”

“Why would I do that?” Kei said with a playful shrug. “I like having a reminder of how lucky I am. Plus, I kind of want to show people who you belong to. It’d save me the trouble of explaining.”

Yn’s jaw dropped in mock horror. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He grinned, enjoying the reaction. “Maybe I would.”

Before he could say another word, Yn swung the pillow at him again, hitting him square in the chest. “Kei! That’s so gross!” she laughed, though her heart fluttered a little at the thought of Kei’s possessive side coming out in such a teasing way.

He chuckled, catching the pillow mid-swing and pulling her close. “I’m kidding, Yn. I’d never share them. They’re just for me. Just for us.” His tone shifted slightly, a hint of sincerity breaking through the playful façade.

Yn looked up at him, her mock anger fading as she saw the serious look in his eyes. “You better not, Tsukki,” she said softly, using his nickname to let him know she was only half-serious. “But seriously, you should probably delete them. I mean, for safety.”

Kei sighed dramatically, leaning his head back against the couch. “Fine, fine. I’ll delete them. But I’m keeping at least one. For… personal use.” He gave her a cheeky smile, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, resting her head on his shoulder.

“And yet, you love me,” Kei teased, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her closer.

Yn rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it, leaning into him with a content sigh. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t let me catch you looking at those again, or you’re in for another pillow to the face.”

Kei grinned. “Deal.

(Thanks for reading lmaooooo) 😭

[lucky-clover-gazette]

(for the request thing) sometimes i wonder how Volo would feel/react if someone (like arceus’s chosen 👀) took a blow for him from a wild Pokemon or another person. From his perspective, Volo doesn’t have anyone in Hisui that cares about his wellbeing, and the game alludes to him having a troubled and lonely past, and with him having planned on erasing all life in Hisui in pursuit of his desires, would he feel guilt if someone showed him a level of care that would make them sacrifice their safety for his, when he was ready to potentially sacrifice them for his own sake when it came to Arceus?

(also wanna say ive loved your fics on Ao3, so talented <3)

(also on ao3)

You really prefer not to die in front of other people.

The edges of your vision darken as you shove Volo aside, taking the full force of the Alpha Vespiqueen’s attack. You manage the subdue your attacker with a well-aimed sticky glob and ultra ball, but not before suffering an undoubtedly fatal blow.

The consummate merchant comes to you at once, leaning over your fallen body with an oddly indecipherable expression. Usually Volo is abundantly obvious with his feelings, whether he’s passionately rambling about ruins or earnestly praising your efforts as the hero of Hisui. But the man you see now, as your vision begins to blur, simply stares.

“Caught it,” you brag.

His grey eyes widen slightly. You haven’t shared this with him, but you’ve always found them rather beautiful.

“You shouldn’t have…”

“Saved you?” you ask with a dry chuckle. “That’s why I’m here, remember?”

Volo furrows his brow. Reaches out to touch you, then pulls his hand back.

“I sincerely apologize,” he tells you, bowing his head. “If you are to perish in these circumstances, you deserve to know—”

You die and can’t hear the rest.

And then you open your eyes.

You stand on your feet now, in the last place you felt safe before the Pokémon’s attack. Volo still kneels in the distance, seemingly unaware that your body has been replaced by a fallen satchel containing your entire supply of ultraballs, a fire stone, and exactly four medicinal leeks.

You frown. This is going to be awkward.

“Hey, buddy,” you say, coming up carefully behind him. Volo’s back goes rigid at the sound of your voice, his head turning around at once.

“You—you!!”

You rub the back of your neck, sheepish. “Surprise?”

“You died!” Volo exclaims with an accusatory finger-point. “I just saw—” His head swivels to the satchel on the ground, then he turns back to you. “How?”

You sigh and sit down beside him. “Chosen One perk. I die, Arceus says my work isn’t finished yet, I get another shot. It happened for the first time when I fought Lord Kleavor. I had no idea what I was doing, and it took like a dozen tries before I got good.”

Volo looks horrified. “You’ve died a dozen times?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why—”

“My death count’s definitely in the triple digits now. Lord Arcanine was ten times worse than Kleavor, because of all the fire and bullshit arena. At least Lady Liligant was a total pushover.”

“Did it not hurt?” demands Volo, his face growing noticeably pale.

“Oh, it totally hurt,” you admit. “But somebody’s got to deal with it, and I’m the only one around here who’s been made invulnerable by God.”

Volo looks as if he’s been slapped. You suppose that’s fair, considering the shock of witnessing your death and resurrection. But to you, this really is just another Tuesday.

“I know it’s disturbing,” you sigh, putting a hand on his shoulder. His muscles are tense. “That’s why I try my best to make sure people aren’t around to see it. Just easier that way, you know?”

Volo wears another unreadable expression.

“Sucks to lose a satchel, though,” you say, lightly. “Thanks for keeping an eye on it. Without witnesses, I usually lose some of my stuff. Never the plates, though, don’t worry.”

He still looks lost in his thoughts, which is no good. You don’t know how to explain that this happens all the time, for much less important reasons than protecting your favorite person on Hisui. The pain is a small price to pay for his safety, and you’d readily pay it again.

“I thought you died,” Volo eventually says. “Saving my life.”

You elbow him playfully. “I guess Arceus is looking out for you too.”

His expression darkens. “No.”

“No?”

He looks you dead in the eyes, with a different sort of intensity than you’ve come to expect from the eccentric wanderer. “Under an unjust god, endless life is endless pain. Do you truly wish that for yourself? For the world?”

Distantly, you wonder what exactly Volo had thought you deserved to know before your presumed demise. You have a feeling he’s not going to tell you now.

You offer him a hand. “Well, unless you’ve got a better god laying around somewhere, I think we’re stuck with what we’ve got.” And I like what I’ve got, you absolutely do not tell the merchant. I like that I’m here with you.

Volo still seems distracted, but he takes your hand anyway. “Right,” he mutters, and then smiles. “We live to fight another day.”

You rub your thumb against the side of his hand. “And maybe someday, we won’t have to fight. We’ll have everything we need.”

You can picture it, with him. You wonder, maybe foolishly, if he might feel the same way.

Supporting you is actually an investment in my own fortunes, Volo had told you once.

You would protect him regardless of your personal relationship, of course. Just as you protect the rest of this world. You want things to be better, for everyone, and intend to use your god-given powers to ensure that your dream becomes reality.

Volo nods, his sharp gaze fixed on your joined hands. A chill runs down your spine as he squeezes.

“Yes,” he agrees. “Someday.”

You smile softly.

“I think I can live with that.”

[gloriousburden]

(No disrespect intended towards OP whatsoever ‼️)

If you read any of my posts about Loki, let it be this one. I feel this is the best and most coherent I’ve been able to explain why I dislike the series so much.

Found this from a post analyzing Loki’s costuming throughout the MCU and it’s just… really depressing to me. Got me thinking.

(OP is speaking in favor of the series btw)

He had all freedoms taken away from him. Even the most basic such as dressing himself. He couldn’t even express himself stylistically/through his clothing.

‘He is forced to wear the same clothing as his captor.’

They’re aware.

Love and connection can change others, but this is him changing himself in order to receive that “love” and “connection.” (You guys already know how I feel about his “relationships” in the series, but let’s just go with it for now.)

Loki has never been loved or accepted for who he is, and instead of the series uplifting/proudly presenting those traits of his that haven’t been loved by others, they have him abandon those traits instead. You can only be loved or accepted if you change every aspect of who you are. You can only be included if you strip yourself of who you are. That’s the message the series/his characterization in the series sends. It doesn’t send a message of acceptance, and friendship. He couldn’t even be accepted “despite” who he is. How is him changing who he is to feel a sense of belonging acceptance?

(And I don’t even mean traits such as his coldness or harshness. No, I mean everything from his own way of speaking, his intelligence, his ability to stick up for himself, his ambition, his mischievousness, just… all of it. He lost even the non “difficult” traits.)

He wasn’t worthy of being loved as is. He had to conform in every way. From the way he expresses himself, all the way to his mannerisms. Consciously, and subconsciously. He rejected pieces of himself, to become like those around him.

I understand why the writers did this as they are ignorant and the series was never meant to be about Loki or about uplifting him, but to have “fans” accept this… Loki, I’m sorry they couldn’t love you for who you were. I know he’s not real, but it makes me emotional that the characters around him didn’t accept him for who he was, nor do his “fans.”

Ignorant “fan” talk aside, the writers in the first place didn’t understand that one of the reasons we love Loki is because he wasn’t loved for who he is. No one who truly loved him, wanted him to change and conform to other’s ideals. I understand that Loki needed to be dumbed down and stripped of everything that made him himself in order for the series to work, but no one wanted this.

To make the god of mischief, someone who’s chaotic in nature, conform to order… ooh, it is so irritating.

And this is one of the reasons I dislike the motives behind the costuming in the series. It’s not because I hate Tom Hiddleston and don’t respect his choices, or because the costuming is ugly (it is, but that’s not what I’m here to talk about), it’s because I hate what these choices represent. I hate the fact that people feel that they need to change every aspect of who they are in order to be loved, when there is always someone who will love you for who you are. I hate that it’s encouraged, and seen as acceptance when it’s nothing of the sort.

‘The new costuming shows humility’, as if Loki was ever allowed to be anything but humbled in the first place. As if he were allowed to be above anyone in the first place. As if he was able to be celebrated in the first place. Those “bad” traits, were never accepted. They don’t realize that just because Loki was the villain of the Avengers, it doesn’t mean he walked out successfully.

He was humbled just like in every movie he’s been in. Whether that’s him being rejected by Odin, disrespected by The Warrior’s Three + Sif, humbled by Thor ‘Know your place, brother’, tortured by Thanos, defeated by The Avengers, left to rot in a cell in the dungeons of the Palace he grew up in and was raised as Royalty in, denied the ability to say goodbye to his own mother after her death, threatened by people who were once his friends… You know I can go on forever.

I don’t think there’s been a moment where Loki was allowed to feel better than anyone else without immediately being shut down, denied, humbled, dehumanized, or humiliated.

So for that all to happen to him about a thousand times more in a series that was meant to uplift him… it just sucks. ‘Healthy self-worth and self- love’ he was stripped of who he was and constantly belittled, and did not stick up for himself. He just accepted everything that was said about him, and he accepted the disrespect. I don’t see how that is him having healthy self worth. He was treated horribly by those around them and instead of attempting to stick up for himself like in the previous projects he’s been in, he just accepted it. As if he felt he deserved it. He has less self worth/self love than he’s ever had.

He never got uplifted or praised or accepted or anything besides gaining new physical abilities and a new title. He’s been given a position he’s never wanted, because Loki’s always sacrificing himself. He’s always sacrificing himself the better of other characters, and other MCU plot lines. It’s what the MCU does when they get bored, or need to start a new plot.

I don’t want to see Loki be humbled. He already has been in everything he’s been in. He’s already been humiliated and made the laughingstock. I want to see him uplifted. I want to see him proud of who he is. I want to see him accepted.

I want him to realize he can be happy, even if he doesn’t belong or fit in. He can be loved for who he is.

The series did nothing of the sort, and I don’t know how people can be so unaware of that. Or if they are aware of it, I don’t know how they can accept it.

It’s not even the bare minimum “I accept you despite your flaws” no, it’s “I sort of accept you now that you’ve sacrificed yourself for me and changed every aspect of who you are, but I still do not like you as a person and I still won’t give you even the most basic respect.”

I want better for him. Not more humbling that he accepts without any complaints.

Loki I’ll always love you for who you are

[hannieehaee]

just saw ur orange peel hcs and it made me think about how the members would react to the ketchup on counter trend (i find the trend to be incredibly sad tbh)

in particular, i can just see cheol, mingyu, shua and dk be like ????? what kind of people have u been w in the past babe? are u okay?

haven’t thought about the other members and their reactions to it tho

ketchup on counter trend

content: established relationship, cleaning, fluff, crack, etc.

wc: 701

a/n: i'm ngl i have no idea what this trend is lol i dont have tiktok but i tried looking it up and i think maybe i found it?? if i got it wrong pls let me know<3

masterlist

seungcheol -

confused at you and refusing to clean it up until you explain why you'd make a mess on purpose. not mad but just very lost. when you explained it, his innate need to be the best boyfriend would make him wanna clean it up for you and even wipe the whole counter if necessary to prove what a great boyfriend he was.

jeonghan -

he has no concept of current trends so you'd have to explain it to him before he agreed to clean it up. would still say no afterwards just to annoy you and bc it was technically your own mess. would still kiss your pout right off your face afterwards, proving himself to be a sweet yet annoying boyfriend.

joshua -

would ask why you keep on testing him like this when you already know he's the perfect boyfriend!! he'd clean it up with no issue but would jokingly side eye you about it.

jun -

he'd immediately assume it was some sort of challenge since this was kind of a dumb thing to do for no reason. just to prove himself to be the perfect boyfriend, he'd clean it up without letting you know that he knew he was being tested. would maybe jokingly bite you in defiance afterwards due to the silliness of it all (idk i see him as someone who bites lovingly OK its my headcanon)

soonyoung -

he's chronically online so he already knew what you were doing so he'd just giggle and convince you to help him clean it up, since he knew he'd make it an even bigger mess if he did it on his own.

wonwoo -

rolls his eyes (lovingly) at you and stops whatever he's doing to go clean up your mess. he's really clean so it'd take him under a minute and then he'd place the ketchup out of your reach so you couldnt do it again. would even straight up as you if there were any other proofs of love he needed to get through or if you were ready to sit on his lap while he played video games again.

jihoon -

yet another member who'd just be confused at why you'd do that. but he kinda enjoys cleaning anyway, so he'd just clean it up for you. wouldnt ask since he'd just assume it was yet another test of love you found on tiktok. he'd have a hard time not smearing the mess further but would get the job done easily enough.

seokmin -

he wouldnt even think twice before cleaning it up, apparently automatically coded to do any and every little task for you with no question. he'd only realize what happened til after he had cleaned it up, leading him to ask why you spilled ketchup on purpose. when you explained, he'd just jokingly scold you about it.

mingyu -

he'd be confused for a second, turning his head to the side like a confused puppy before cleaning up without further question. would have no issue cleaning it up perfectly on his first try.

minghao -

he knew what the challenge was and would chuckle at how silly it was for you to try and test him on it. would clean it up perfectly just to prove a point that 1. he was the perfect boyfriend and 2. he was competent enough to clean up whenever necessary.

seungkwan -

even if he knew you were just testing him for a lil challenge, he'd lightheartedly scold you for it and go into full mom mode and clean it up as he scolded you for it. he'd kinda have some type of cuteness aggression towards you afterwards, claiming you frustrated him but in a good way.

vernon -

would react to it by asking you why you'd make a mess on purpose? wouldn't get angry about it, just extremely confused. wouldnt wanna clean it up though since you'd caused the mess so he'd settle for a compromise in which he'd help you as long as you explained yourself.

chan -

he'd be confused but the moment you gave him an expectant look and asked him to please clean it up for you, he'd do it without question lol. he'd just want some praise in return.

[saphronethaleph]

Frontstab

“This is… I recognize this,” Rey said, looking at the hilt of the weapon. “This is a Sith dagger.”

“A dagger used by the Sith?” Finn asked.

“No,” Rey replied. “Not at all. Why would a Sith want a dagger?”

“...to… stab people?” Finn guessed. “Help me out here, Poe. That’s something that happens with daggers, right?”

“I’m more someone who uses laser cannons,” Poe replied. “But that sounds like something you do with a dagger… though I guess a Sith would have a lightsaber.”

He glanced at Rey. “How about you explain?”

“It’s a Sith dagger,” Rey explained, picking it up. “It’s an ancient Jedi tool.”

“...no, you lost me again,” Finn said. “Try again, this time more slowly.”

Rey nodded, waving the dagger around. “It’s a tool that’s used by Jedi,” she said. “So they can kill Sith.”

“And it’s… a Sith dagger,” Poe said, warily. “Yeah, this is making sense.”

“It’s called a Sith dagger because it’s for a Sith,” Rey told them.

Two blank looks faced her.

“How about you remember that some of us haven’t been reading ancient Jedi books,” Finn suggested. “What’s it for?”

“All right,” Rey said. “So… part of being a Sith, specifically, is part of being a cult. It’s the belief in the Sith way. And part of that idea is that to corrupt and make a Jedi fall to the Dark Side is a sweet revenge – in fact, it’s something they would often try to actively seek out. They’d prefer to be victorious, but corrupting a powerful Jedi to ensure the cause lived on would often be worth their lives.”

Poe made a face.

“Why does anyone ever join up?” he asked.

“Force influence, brainwashing, the uniforms?” Finn guessed. “I know it’s pretty easy to think everything makes sense when you’re in the middle of something.”

“Right, right,” Poe realized. “Sorry, bud… so that’s the Sith, but, what about the dagger?”

“I’m getting there,” Rey replied. “So a common thing the Sith would do is that, if disarmed or caught in a difficult situation, they’d make a point of how they were unarmed. Helpless. And that killing them would be killing an unarmed, helpless foe, and therefore a Dark side act. Something that would inevitably corrupt the doer.”

She flipped the dagger into the air, catching it. “So. It’s a Sith dagger. A dagger that a Jedi would throw to a Sith, making them no longer unarmed – and engraved with Sith runes, so that the Sith might be distracted by trying to translate the runes on the blade. You know. When the Jedi killed them.”

“Sounds pretty grim to me,” Finn muttered.

“Hey, light side doesn’t have to mean stupid,” Poe countered. “What do the runes say, anyway?”

“Don’t try to rules-lawyer a force of nature, idiot,” Rey answered. “Or, at least, that’s what the books say the runes were on a traditional dagger.”

She shrugged, pocketing it. “We might need this if I run into Palpatine.”

(A friend suggested this interpretation of "Sith dagger")

[terrence-silver]

would you write something about reader who has baby fever but isn’t dating Terry, she works very closely with him, and he starts picking up how much she wants to have a baby

Fringe Benefits

Terry Silver x Reader

—

Each of his future employees got this questionnaire.

It was standard procedure, they said.

Basic inquiries, you supposed. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing you haven’t encountered before. Qualifications. Education level. Past recommendations. Experience level. Why you wanted to work here in particular. Why you considered yourself a reliable member of a team — specifically his team. Your devotion. Devotion, you thought. What did that even mean exactly? Your marital status. Family. Children. Whether you planned any. What you brought to Cobra Kai. To Cobra Kai’s table, that is. What you could offer. The memory of circling each response on the interview application still lingered in your mind like a hazy fog, more so when you sat opposite of him, separated by a black, sleek work desk, immaculately organized and entirely minimalist to a pristine level; something both disorienting and weirdly comforting about the basic aesthetic layout of the dojo gym grounds and the offices adjoined to it, all blue and red neons, creating a vaguely purple sense of womb-like dimness — Terry Silver’s eyes carefully assessing your application paper right before his gaze shot back up at you, speaking with immaculate distinction, yet with ease, like he wasn’t in a hurry whatsoever. You were merely after the job of a junior intern — a starting position; someone who handles basic paperwork, greets people at the registry, makes themselves useful wherever and however is required of them, still, everything felt like you were aiming after the most important position in the world. Perhaps due to the fact there was nobody here and the place felt liminal. Intense. Like you were given every bit of attention contained in the universe by a single person.

-"Most employers —"-

He begins.

 -"They’d consider the responses you circled a professional shortcoming."- 

He points his nose at the document next to his tidily clasped hands. You gulp.

-"Reason enough not to give you a job. Hire someone else instead."-

He explains maintaining near unblinking eye contact and part of you, that anxious bit coiling around in your belly was convinced this was a lost cause; he was about to gently tell you you’re not getting the job but that he nonetheless wishes you all the luck elsewhere. The deep sinking of your stomach interrupted only by the sudden tenderness in his features overcast by a crimson shadow of a halogen ceiling pipe above head; not an expression of pity, but one of possibility. His brows shoot up. This wasn’t standard procedure anymore, to your knowledge. The actual owner of a company conducting interviews so personally. One on one. Usually, it was a manager's manager. A secretary. Someone almost random in the hierarchy of things, giving off the basic impression that these job openings were merely formal and that the empty spots were long since filled and that everyone who came along to these interviews was going to be rejected anyway and they didn’t really care who does the rejecting so long the impression is given they’re actively searching for new staff. But, this guy? His personal investment in this almost daunted you. Was this some sort of marketing trick for his newly opening dojos? To make him seem relatable? Approachable? Humble enough to do this himself?

 -"But, me? Cobra Kai?"- 

Terry Silver’s stare flickers with delight.

-"I actually see it as a perk!"- 

He smiles with a weird innocence, momentarily distracting you from the fact you still had no clue what part of your application elicited such a positive surprise in him. You supposed you just had to go ahead and ask. Something about him instilled a sense of amicable disposition in you.

-"What do you mean, sir?"-

Before the question even passes over the threshold of your mouth, his index finger extends forward, landing precisely on the circled answer about whether or not you plan on getting pregnant any time soon. Your eyes meet. -"Kids."- He’s suddenly serious, chewing that word like it was a morsel intended to be juiced. -”You want them.”- He adds flatly and you weren’t certain if it was an accusation, praise, a mere statement or something he wanted you to further explain yourself on. His finger holds your circled answer hostage, refusing to move from the paper’s surface. Holding it there so long you had ample time to notice the sapphire pinkie ring finger on his hand. -"Says it right here."- He further assesses and once again, it was so hard to read him. His meaning. If he was pleased by this or not. You choose the best policy to appease him regardless of his mood; by being centrist and entirely politically correct. Trying to say everything and nothing. You really needed this job. You didn’t want to flunk it just because your circled an application answer that implied that maybe, perhaps, just maybe, you’d have kids. -"Well, one day, yes. Sure. Not right now, but I’m leaving my options open for anything. Everything."- You shrug, going for honesty of the most inoffensive kind. He actually flashes you a smile full of teeth. His whole face smiling with him in a net of wrinkles. It hits you then that in spite of his age, he was quite handsome. In fact, his age enhanced him. Made him seem warm. Paternal. Well lived. -"Good."- He coos at you, content. -"Because we’re all about devotion here. Dedication. Working with young people. Investing in the future."- There it was. That slightly baffling word again. Devotion. You say nothing. Choosing to listen instead. Avoid weakening your chances here. The fringe benefits were quite stellar from what you’ve discovered. Amazing healthcare, for one. -"And someone who sees a major plus in having kids of their own? That’s exactly the type of people we need. Means they’re built from the right kind of stuff."- A flash of determination overtakes his features and for a moment, you see him grit his teeth. -"I see."- You fill the gap between dialogues with a filler line and he chuckles, somewhat amused, catching you doing it. This place. Disorienting in spite of the AC unit nowhere to be seen, yet you could feel the cool air blowing in from somewhere from within this state-of-the-art, hypermodern setting where every utility seemed tactically hidden.

-"Don’t you wanna know what kind of stuff the right kind is?"- 

You catch a hint of teasing in his tone and you find yourself slightly embarrassed, nodding wordlessly.

Felt like a child examined in class.

-"The type who’s prepared to dedicate their life to something greater than themselves. A belief. A creed. A legacy."- 

He enlightens you.

You could guess what the dojo’s philosophy more or less was in vague terms — it was a dojo, after all and the man in front of you was a triple black belt Sensei in his own right and a Vietnam war vet from what you’ve heard, but you weren’t here to lay down life and limb to larp The Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon with anyone. You just wanted to do paperwork for a decent salary with your employer imbued with the knowledge, that hey, he might have to organize paid maternity leave for you and find a replacement for you in case that ever actually happens. Figuratively, of course. You maintain a serious composure, feeling something you weren’t supposed to feel; scared. Curious. Interested. The fervor with which he spoke? You cross your legs underneath the table and you could swear, for the briefest of moments, Terry Silver’s eyelids flutter down, towards your seat, catching you do it. -"I’m not that impassioned, Mr. Silver. I’m sorry. I just don’t mind the idea of having children one day, in the near or distant future, when all the puzzle pieces fall into their place, if all the puzzle pieces fall into their place, and I’m willing to be transparent enough about it within the context of a work place environment so no surprises happen, is all. I’m not raising the next Spartan army, though. Hope that isn’t a disappointing answer."- You find yourself shrugging once more, this time on instinct, keeping calm, wondering why on earth you were justifying yourself so badly anyway. Sure, you did a basic Google search on this place. And on him. Terry Silver didn’t have any children of his own in the first place. No marriages under his belt either. You almost expected bigwigs like him to have several of each. You weren’t judging, you just felt it was peculiar. He was more than good looking too. So, why was this such a huge topic, anyway? Was this even allowed? He kept the questions about your qualifications to a minimal and then — he laughs, apparently delighted by your response.

 -"Oh, not at all!"- 

He shakes his head, blue eyes practically shimmering.

This felt like one of those weird dreams people tended to have; the type that were almost entirely inexplicable.

-"Cobra Kai isn’t going to let you go or terminate your contract or penalize you if anything unexpected happens. Not my policy. We take care of our own."- 

The tension in your back drops hearing that, almost as if a certain weight was lifted from them.

For a man, Terry Silver was as understanding about maternity as a woman would be.

And then he cocks his head to the side.

-"Wouldn’t be very fair play and Spartan if we didn’t, would it?"-

Clearly, your comment entertained him enough for him to repeat it back to you, producing a new piece of document from a drawer and setting it down in front of you alongside a sleek, perfectly jet black pen. Everything here was black. His suit. His desk. His walls. His floors. His ceilings. You weren’t certain if there were any windows. Difficult to tell. Amidst all that neon lit darkness, the pristine white paper stands out, almost burning. A white block of ice. Matching his pale face and gray hair, briefly resembling a clay death mask. -"Just one last form to fill. Right here. Some final questions and you’re as good as set. Monday sound good?"- His finger points once again, down the dotted line, spilling out information so fast that it took you a second to register the fact he was effectively letting you know you got the job while you were too busy looking at what his finger was showing you on yet another questionnaire, your eyes falling on the first of many inquires. One in particular catching your notice, causing your breath to hitch.

- DO YOU TAKE BIRTH CONTROL?

—

You weren’t certain how you ended up in Terry Silver’s bed.3

All you knew is that you wanted to.

It was so easy.

Too easy.

It began with a deep yearning; observing a class for students between ages 3-5 five taking their first steps in Kata on the studio’s mat and Terry doing circles around the dojo, assessing their stances, their movements, how they held their tiny arms, their tiny bodies, the enthusiasm in their eyes. His voice was in your ear once he did a full spin throughout the length of his own domain, encompassing everything like a satellite, keen eyes missing nothing, finding himself next to you and your place at the counter, checking filled application forms and the schedule of classes, while fists punched through the air in unison. Exactly thirty two young students working like perfectly tuned clock work. Funny how kids that small could achieve such discipline. Your heart almost ached. -"Natural, raw talent. Gotta start when they’re young."- He chuckles from next to you, observing his handiwork from a relative distance, giving his small acolytes time to spread out. -"Don’t you just get emotional watching them train?"- His eyes dazzle your way, accompanied by a smile and something within your twists as you nod wordlessly, keeping your attention on your folders and files, suppressing the voice inside of you.

 Yeah, wish I had my own, it says.

The months that ensue get harder. It was always the opposite for everyone else, you supposed. The more time they spend at a place of employment, the more the novelty wore off and things tended to settle into their place, but you? You grow restless, leaving the toilet having recovered from an unbidden fit of tears during your lunch break, possibly the second such concealed outburst within just one work week alone, finding no particular reason as to why it happened. Why it kept happening. Nobody was unkind to you here. Quite the contrary. Everyone was like a newfound friend or family, but maybe that’s what made things so difficult; the fact that when you went home every evening, you’d find yourself all alone with nobody to care for. You didn’t even have time to tend to a pet. A cat. A dog. And this wouldn’t be the only occasion he’s cornered you on the topic either. Terry Silver had this uncanny ability to decipher you as upset regardless how craftily you sought to hide it and continue with your work. -"I know what bothers you and I can help."- He corners you in the empty foyer. One thing you learned about him with certainty that he had this habit of invading people's personal spaces. Invading your personal space. Standing too close. The most baffling thing, though --- how much you didn't mind, even as you kept your head bent, gaze averted. You didn't want him to see how obvious it was that you cried even though were certain he guessed.

In spite of that, you fail to recoil once his hand lands on your stomach.

He's done this before. You've let him.

-"Fill the gap right there."-

He whispers and it sends a shiver down your spine.

He came with a proposition a few weeks ago and suddenly, all those peculiar inquires on the job interview questionnaire started to make an awful lot of sense. Too much, in fact. He wasn't just being nosy and scoping out whether or not you'd get impromptu pregnant and leave your own spot vacant for God knows how long. No. It was infinitely more than that. He told you that if you had an itch, he was lending himself available to scratch it. You still haven't given him a yes or no answer on the topic, though and by the looks of it, the devil has come to collect his dues. -"I’m sorry, Mr. Silver, I —"- You stutter, going for avoidance, trying to wiggle out from the closeness of his proximity, but his arm comes up leaning against the wall, cutting your way off.   Already, in your mind, you could see tangled limbs, a spine bending forward and his fingers travelling up your back. Instead, you get a voice. His. You inhale sharply once his thumb came up, caressing the outline of your cheek, the slightest remnant of moisture dabbed again by his lingering touch. You weren't sure how to label your relationship with him. Terry had yet another uncanny gift. The ability to make himself disconcertingly close to someone with little to no effort. You've been fucking the man for three months now and god knows why. Why you craved it. Why it felt right. Confusing, but right. Letting your boss hit it raw? What do you even call that? Stupidity? Desire? Falling in love? Being manipulated? -"Ambition requires it’s sacrifices, doesn’t it? Even small, day-to-day ambitions. The ambitions of a Junior Intern. The sacrifice being family. The fact that I can tell there’s no place you’d rather be right now than at home with someone."- His touch touches your earlobe and you close your eyes.

You haven't been doing good lately.

He caught on.

Thing was, you weren't a girl anymore.

You were still young but you were entering that stage in life were every year mattered more and more. Your contract with Cobra Kai alone was one for two years and you imagined it expiring and you once again having nothing. Going home and finding your apartment empty. Would you have time to build something for yourself? Build anything at all? Instead, Terry Silver's arms were right there. Warm. Inviting. So hard to resist. Bearing the promise of everything you that seemed so close, yet so far out of reach.

-"You want me."-

He coos tenderly. You resist, shaking your head, refusing to open your eyes.

-"No."-

-"You want me."-

He repeats himself with more vigor. More conviction.

No. No. No!

-"This is crazy! I don’t wanna get knocked up at work by my boss who’s twenty years my senior!"-

Instinctively, your hands come up feebly, attempting to serve as a shield between your own body and his, only to get caught and trapped by his grip, fingers grabbing wrists, pulling you closer to him. His smile is shark-like. Sharp. -"Thirty."- He corrects with ease, seeming proud of himself. -"Thirty years your senior."- You didn't know what to say to that. Somehow, it made things worse. The guts inside of your belly tighten with ache. You feel it vibrate between your legs. It was hormones. All hormones, you tell yourself. Hormones had the habit of being senseless and dumb like that. Terry Silver was the one giving you your salary, he was old enough to be your grandfather and he was offering to get you pregnant. For your sake, as he claimed. For his own too. You wanted the same things, he explained. So, why not complete each other's long-standing yearnings? Wasn't that what loyalty was all about? What better foundation for an alliance? A relationship, he asked? Suddenly, he lifts his arm, freeing you. -"And why not? You can leave any time. You still haven't."- His eyes flare up with the light of challenge. You were being taunted and tested and you realized as much, finding your body growing stiff, legs refusing to move. So, why didn't you leave? This was technically sexual harassment at the workplace. Yet, you reveled in it. Consented to it. His offer was tantalizing, the way a cup of fresh spring water was to the someone dying of thirst. Your lips part. The thought of having someone completely your own. Cradling them in your arms. Was that so bad? Instead of your belly, the palm of his hand travels lower, cupping you between your legs. -"It would make you happy and you know it."- He murmurs and you didn't have the strength to fight it. You let him continue. He squeezes you ever so lightly, until you felt an internal pressure tickle you from the inside. The type that craved to be filled. -"And I told you the very first day you walked into my office. In Cobra Kai, we’re all about devotion. Taking care of of our own."- He reminds and you lean your head back, allowing yourself to enjoy the sensation, feeling the back of your neck comfortably hit the wall.

-"I didn’t think you’d be so literal!"-

You mutter, breathlessly, letting him do his special magic.

Rubbing you through the material of your trousers.

His cock in his other free hand, pulled out of the thick, black material of his Gi.

-"I’m always literal."-

He clarifies.

You knew as much now.

Knew well enough to take him seriously.

More seriously than anyone before.

You wanted him. Wanted him to knock you up. Crude, but truthful.

-"Let me help you."- He groans, unzipping your trousers, only to spread your legs, slither his hands behind you and grab you by your ass, lifting you up against the wall, fingers digging into tender flesh with bruising ardor. You moan and yelp. Maybe it was you being touch starved, starved for love, in need of sex, missing companionship, but the fact you were about to impale yourself on his cock in the middle of the corridor seemed of little consequence. It was a Friday evening. Past working hours. -"Let me fix everything. All you have to do is be willing to receive it. Receive me."- Terry speaks against your open mouth and you mumble into his, already seeing the future unfold. Feeling it on his breath. The warmth of his tongue. -"I'm willing."- You babble, eyes half-lidded, fumbling with the elastic lace trim of your undergarment, lowering it, giving him entry, feeling yourself wet. -"What was that?"- He teases, tone beaming seriousness, asking you repeat yourself. You do. Anything. You'd do anything. Funny how quickly a person could go from being level-headed and logical to throwing all caution to the wind, you thought. -"I'm willing to receive it."- You almost plead. He pulls back. Momentarily, the warm haze he emanated was lost and you find craving it. Craving it back like nothing you've ever craved before. You could see it so clearly now. His hand tracing the outline of your swollen belly, smiling down at you and unwittingly, your mouth moves with a will of its own. -"Sir."- Terry instructs, unblinking, his cock stroking itself against the lips of your cunt. -"Sir."- You eagerly mimic his words, ready to devour the very air you shared, the distance between you nonexistent. -"You know how some schmucks out there claim they know the exact moment of conception?"- Terry chuckles in between wet kisses, his tip finding it's way between your Labia guided by his hand. You're sloppy, loose and ready for him. -"Well, I always thought that's a load of crap."- He adds, grunting once he nestles himself inside of you, driving you further up the wall, your legs flying up, on either side of his shoulders, held by one free arm. It was astounding how he could expertly hold his balance and your own too and not falter.

He picks up his pace and for once, you smile.

Never in a million years would you think Cobra Kai's workplace contractual fringe benefits would involve this.

-"I just plan to fuck you until I see some tangible results."-

He seethes and now there was a plan you could agree with.

[hannahssimblr]

Beginning // Prev // Next

Hi Evie! 

God, I’m so sorry it’s been so long. Life is chaotic. I’m doing stuff all the time and I really haven’t had a minute. 

College is great. It’s intense. It’s so different to what I expected, although now that I’m saying it, I’m not sure what I expected at all. I’m not sure that I really thought about what it was going to be like. 

There’s art, obviously, a lot of it, and all of the time. We have drawing classes and painting classes, classes about composition, sculpture, art history and theory, and other stuff too that I can’t even recall off the top of my head. We were on a trip last week, out across the city drawing buildings and things like that, and it’s given me this new appreciation for how interesting Berlin really is. I’m learning about all of this history, and then recording it on the page by drawing it. I can’t really overstate how amazing it is to be surrounded by so many people who love art the same way that I do, and I’m thinking about you when I’m living my life like this, about how much you’re going to love it when you’re finally free from Tullamore, and you can go to art college. You’re going to have the best years of your life, so don’t worry about all that’s going on at school right now, and with Kelly and whatever. Things are going to get so much better. 

I go out a lot these days. Drinking, yes, but it’s not really like the way that we used to party and drink in Dublin at all. It’s so much more vibrant and fun, and there are all of these amazing bars and clubs with different themes. I got out with my friends like, three or four times a week, and sometimes I don’t even drink, I just dance, and that’s enough. I meet plenty of interesting people when I’m out, too. There’s always someone new to get to know. 

We did go to this club last week, though, it’s famous. Berghain. Jonas and some of the others like techno, which I’m not sure about yet, and sometimes they go there to dance. It’s open a few days a week, and you can go literally any time of the day, which is crazy. I mean, you can go in at seven in the morning if you want to, and you can get lost in there for three days. Jonas told me all these stories about the kinds of things you can do and… I don’t know if I want to repeat it. I honestly feel like you wouldn’t want to know. 

I mentioned we went, but really, they went. As in, some of our friends. Not me. Apparently, the bouncers are really strict about who goes inside. Jonas explained something about needing to have the right “vibe”, which sounds insane, but anyway. I have the wrong “vibe”, because the bouncers saw me and my friend Elias in the queue and they yelled “No!” at us from, like, a twenty metre distance, haha. It’s fine. We went to another club instead, and we had fun and met some more cool people, so I can’t complain. 

I also can’t say I’m not curious about what it’s like to get into Berghain… Maybe one day. If I do, you’ll be the first to know, and I’ll share all the crazy details when I’ve experienced it. I think the day I get in is the day I can say I’m a real Berliner. 

It’s Halloween soon, and I’ve recently learned that they don’t celebrate it here. Can you believe it? I hope you’ll be doing something fun, at least, to make up for my loss. Send me a picture of your costume if you are! I have a feeling you’ll come up with something dead creative, because you’re good with your hands. I think I remember seeing a picture of you dressed as a bee on your Facebook? Am I mixing you up with someone else? I don’t think so. It was so cool. 

Shane is coming to visit next weekend. Did he tell you that? It’s half term, or reading week, or whatever they call it now. I would have mentioned it to you before, but he’s coming with some college friends on a boys trip. I didn’t think you’d be up for coming. I think they’ve booked this dingy hostel somewhere, and I just can’t imagine it being your thing. Especially with you still being seventeen and all of that, it’s like, you wouldn’t be allowed in to any of the clubs and bars. You should come in the spring, though! That’d be fun. Maybe if you wanted to plan a trip for your 18th?

I feel like I just spewed a load of information on you there, sorry. I should have emailed you earlier, but I’ve had this project due, and when I’m not socialising I’m working on it.

Hope you’re taking care of yourself!

Jude x

[moonologyy]

The expression of love given to you. 

warnings; none . just fluff .

If there’s one thing Gabi will admit, she isn’t as observant as Falco.

She’ll admit that wholeheartedly, along with her obliviousness, when it comes to the expression of love. Yet, it happened to her when Falco desired to get married to her and have a prolonged, happy life, confessing his feelings in the midst of a war despite the anguish and sorrow that surrounded them. It was honestly embarrassing to hear Falco explain the concept of it, but she sees it. The idea of love revolves around her. The affection between her family, the love Annie has, pining over Armin as they haven’t made their relationship official, and the love that friends share with each other.

When Gabi visits Levi's teashop a few streets away, she discovers another individual seating near the shop's window. You were unknown in her eyes and quite pretty, particularly with the rays of sunlight emphasizing and radiating among all of your features. Gabi was prepared to hurry into the teashop seconds before she caught sight of Levi's gaze of tenderness, love, and molten gold pouring affection into his eyes towards you. Her steps faltered, coming close to the store, but far enough for Levi to not notice her figure standing around the streets.

You grasped his whole attention on yourself, like you both were the only ones in the entire world, focusing only each other. Nothing else. 

Her jaw drops, pausing in her stead as people ignore her figure, walking past her to their destination. 

In the same way, she felt like the universe paused for her, focusing on the two figures that were conversing with each other. Even from watching afar, Gabi notes the hint of redness on Levi’s cheeks on his scarred face. Gabi felt like she was opening one of those romance novels that women were geeking about in their little tea party. It was abnormal for Gabi to see the proclaimed ‘Humanity’s Strongest’ from Paradis, radiating coldness, and a wall of titanium that couldn’t be broken down, but she doesn’t see that at all. 

Something about watching them both was heart-warming to see. That the man who obviously seems to have lost everything in life has someone that walked into his life, brightening his life. Gabi observes the way you throw your head back in laughter, for something Levi had said, giving you a hint of a small smile from the corner of his lips. 

Gabi came to the conclusion that this established relationship between you and Mr. Levi must’ve been ongoing for a long while.

Then a hand settled on her shoulder, startling her with a yelp, turning to face the familiar blonde. “Gabi! What’re you doing standing around?” Falco laughs from startling her before apologizing. “Uh, it’s just… Do you perhaps want to grab something to eat before we see Mr. Levi?” Gabi speaks without thinking of the context it may come behind, wanting to leave you and Levi alone for a bit, having the blonde and herself overcome with redness. “I-uh,” he stuttered. “Sure?” Falco agrees unsurely with a crack in his voice, having Gabi nervously grasp onto his arm to the opposite direction of the teashop, having no idea where to go to eat.

Gabi didn't bother glancing back, but if she did, she'd notice two pairs of eyes trailing them. You were grinning at them, entertained at how clumsily they were acting with one another, vanishing from your perspective as the gentleman standing behind you sighed in contentment, knowing Gabi must have been watching them and making the choice to leave them alone.

“Hey, you don’t mind if I stick around do you?” You asked, “your little helpers seem to have gone on a little date.” You joked to yourself, waiting for Levi’s response as he felt a flush of heat rush the back of his neck, seeing the pretty smile you give him. 

“Just don’t make a mess in my shop.” 

“You know I don’t leave a mess!”

“At your house, you do.”