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prentissluvr · 6 months ago

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something about being close — sam winchester

pairing : s.2!sam winchester x gn!reader, featuring platonic dean ➖⟢ genre : angst, fluff, ➖⟢ cw : sam and reader are lovingly mean to each other, bad insults (weird, stupid, lame), bad jokes, swearing, canon typical violence and ghosts, arguing, so much kissing, could be ooc but idc, edited but most likely still contains a few mistakes, single usage of y/n ➖⟢ wc : 9.5K summary : sam is acting weird, and when it puts people in danger, you can't let it slide (despite the fact that you're totally in love with him).

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

“hey, check this out,” sam calls to you and dean, not bothering to look up from his computer screen. “think we found our violent spirit.” you part from your own research without a single qualm, resting a hand on the back of sam’s chair as he leans back for you and dean to get a better look. “marissa hancock. she was a student at the college, died a violent death there, just like we thought. it’s thought that the janitor impaled her with his mop while he was working in her dorm hall, but he was never put away for lack of evidence.”

“explains the janitor kabob,” dean quips, already headed to shrug on his jacket.

“easy solve,” you admit. it only took a solid half hour of searching through records to find the right murder. “but why’s she killing now? she’s had, what?” you lean further over sam’s shoulder to inspect the record, “fifty some years to be killing janitors, why start now?”

“dunno,” sam shrugs, and you can feel his shoulder brush against you, reminding you how close he is. doing your best to stay casual and maybe not stare longingly at his pretty face from this close up, you straighten your back and go to grab your own jacket as sam types away on his keyboard. “looks like her original murderer died two weeks ago.”

“right when the killings started,” dean finishes. “alright, let’s go. you got where she’s buried, sam?”

“yep,” he stands, shutting his laptop. “saint mercy cemetery, not too far.”

“hm,” you laugh out, “second saint mercy cemetery this month. people need to get more creative,” you note as you exit the motel room and head down the short hallway to get to the impala.

“and what would you name a cemetery?” dean asks, ready to catch you off guard or tease you for anything he can get his hands on.

“i should have thought of a clever answer before saying that,” you admit, “but i do wish it were socially acceptable to call them dead people neighborhoods.”

“that’s lame,” sam grins, throwing his arm around your shoulders for just about two seconds before he has to let go to get through the small doorway and outside.

“c’mon,” you complain, “i know it’s kind of lame, and definitely insensitive, but imagine someone just asked you where you’re headed after work and you get to tell them you’re going to the dead people neighborhood. cemetery’s no fun, at least dead people neighborhood is accurate.” you close the back door of the car behind you as you settle in to punctuate your point.

“you’re weird,” sam teases in a matter-of-fact tone, not even looking back from the passenger's seat to see the sneer on your face.

“no, you’re weird,” you fire back.

“alright, kids,” dean interrupts, “enough bickering like we’re four, we’ve got a job to do,” he snickers as he backs the car up.

“okay, dean,” you and sam chime, voices full of mocking and almost totally in sync. dean rolls his eyes hard, because it’s just one of those days where the two of you can’t stop feeding into the antics of the other, regressing the combined mental age of the three of you by at least twenty years.

having known the brothers since you were kids through bobby, and starting to hunt with them about a year and a half ago, you’ve certainly grown close with the both of them. but a little closer in age, you and sam are nothing but two peas in a pod. and much to dean’s chagrin, that means it only takes a split second for the two of you to switch things up and turn against him when he tries to break up your banter. it’s pretty much all loving argumentation, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying as all hell for whoever has to witness it.

“and for the record, i like dead people neighborhood,” dean offers, ignoring your moment of synchronicity with sam.

“yes!” you celebrate, reaching around the seat in front of you to lightly hit sam’s shoulder. “you’re the lame one, you’re no fun.”

he scoffs, mumbling something to himself about how, “of course dean likes dead people neighborhood. it’s stupid.”

you resist the urge to tell him that he’s stupid, and instead follow dean’s direction to focus on the case.

“hold on, dean. you should drop me off on campus first, one of us should make sure another janitor doesn’t fall on his mop handle before we can burn the bones,” you suggest.

“no.”

your brow furrows at how fast sam shuts you down, his serious tone a harsh contrast to his practically whiny mumble moments before. you glance at dean to see that he’s got his own eyebrows raised in confusion.

“what’d’you mean, ‘no’?” you question.

“i mean,” he clears his throat as if he’s just realized his strong denial was awkward, “that that could be dangerous alone, so i’ll go and you can stick with dean.”

you send a bewildered look to dean, one he doesn’t catch trying to pay attention to the street name up ahead. “i’m sorry, are you suggesting i can’t handle a measly ghost?” mostly you’re confused by sam’s words, but you can’t help letting a bit of offense slip into your voice.

“n-no, no that’s not what i’m saying,” he fumbles, trying to fix what he said, “i meant– i meant it would be safer for anyone not to go alone. so– so i’ll go with you and dean can stick with burning the body.”

it’s a clumsy, bad save that’s entirely unconvincing.

“you’re seriously gonna stick me with grave digging duty?” dean grunts, “y/n’s right, it’s just one ghost, we don’t need two of us to deal with it. digging up a grave is arguably harder.”

“exactly,” you reason, “which is why i should go scope out the dorm hall, and you should go with dean to the dead people neighborhood.”

“she’s buried in a family mausoleum,” counters sam, “her grave doesn’t need to be dug up, which means it’s a one person job, and since there could be an actual violent ghost in the dorm, two people should go. and don’t try to make dead people neighborhood a thing, at the very least it’s too long, not to mention it’s not funny.”

despite the fact that he’s teasing you, you’re glad to hear something normal come out of his mouth. his hesitancy to let you take on the ghost is odd, especially considering the ghost might not show up at all. it’s not like he’s never been protective of you, it’s in both his and certainly dean’s nature. but he knows full well that you are completely capable of handling one violent ghost, and he’s been weird like this for the past two weeks.

you laugh when you admit, “it wasn’t quite as good in context as i thought it would be, but it wasn’t that bad, i’m just tryna to stick with my bit,” you defend, “and fine, two people at the dorms, one on dead person arson.”

“are you serious?” sam laughs, halfheartedly tossing his head back to give you a judgemental look through the corner of his eye.

“dead serious, pun absolutely intended,” you let out a full laugh at the strangled sigh he lets out. oh how you love to rile him up with bad jokes. “you’re too easy, sam. for that, i’m sticking you on grave duty. dean and i will handle the dorm.”

“you should be on grave duty, for all the bad jokes today,” he argues.

dean practically growls in annoyance, “how about i go on grave duty, so i can get away from your annoying asses.” it’s not a suggestion, and the both of you huff out a sigh, but don’t argue.

dean drops you off a little ways from the dorm hall for you to grab a shotgun and salt rounds with less of a chance of being seen. you leave the other shotgun for dean just in case, bothered that yours is still broken from the last hunt. there hadn’t been enough time to fix it yet. so, you grab an iron rod, hoping to use that before any guns on a college campus. it’d be a sticky situation to get out of, being caught with shotguns in a dorm, and at the very least incredibly inconvenient to scare the hell out of a bunch of college aged kids at eleven pm. sam sticks the shotgun under his jacket, generally hiding it from the view of anyone not looking too closely.

walking a few minutes, you find the right dorm hall and sam hands the gun off to you to pull out his lock pick. but, glancing behind you, you shove the gun back into his hands and yank him into you.

“the hell?” he resists for a split second before you quickly interrupt him.

“shut up! hide the gun and act like you’re piss drunk. someone’s coming,” you hiss. in a swift movement, he tucks the gun back under his jacket as you shimmy the iron rod into your sleeve, then he swings his free arm around you, practically dropping half of his weight on you. “dude,” you complain, before falling into character. “sammy, come on!” you whine loudly. “i can’t reach my id with you like this,” you pretend to feel around for something in your back pocket while keeping him standing, and he immediately picks up on what you’re trying to do. he stumbles forward so that you have to use both hands to keep him upright, and you curse at your false struggle. “help me out here, sammy, will you?” you try to make your voice sound overly desperate, maybe a little innocent too, “why don’t you lean against the wall so we can get inside,” you beg, trusting sam to play his part well.

“nooo,” he slurs, dragging the word out in a whiny pitch, “don’t wanna.” he turns into you and haphazardly wraps his lanky arm all the way around your form, tugging you to him and nearly knocking the both of you over. you feel heat rush to your cheeks at this and desperately remind yourself that he’s only pressing his face into your neck so that he can get a look at the person approaching and keep the shotgun well hidden from view.

you see the girl out of the corner of your eye, young and clearly a student headed for the dorm.

“oh, thank god!” you exclaim, “hey, i’m so sorry to bother you, but do you think you could open the door for us?” you ask as sweetly as you can, pulling your eyebrows together to gain sympathy, before adding on a humorous tone, “my boyfriend is stupid drunk and i can’t get us inside.” you can feel sam stiffen for a split second at your words, and you yourself wonder if you should have just gone the “friend” route for the sake of your own sanity. you’re going to want to keep calling sam your boyfriend, over and over again.

“oh my god, of course,” she laughs goodnaturedly, and you thank the lord she’s laid back, rather than some uptight rule follower ready to report you to administration. she swipes her id and holds the door open for you, and as you struggle into the building, you think that sam is making this harder for you than it has to be. but there’s absolutely no denying you love the way it feels to just have him all over you, even for the sake of illegally entering a building with a gun.

“thank you so much,” your voice is one big sigh of relief, slightly muffled by the fabric of sam’s jacket.

“yeah, don’t worry about it,” she smiles, “you two are super cute, by the way,” she compliments before turning towards the stairs and waving a kind goodbye.

you do your best to not stumble over your words as you thank her, heat once again rising to your face, and you’re sure that sam can feel the warmth of your neck. body stiff, you turn and head down the hallway in the opposite direction, sam still clinging to you until it’s clear.

“alright, get off, you big dork,” you snort, gently pushing him away and doing your best to regain your composure to proceed as if you don’t have a massive crush on him. “did ya have to make it so hard for me?”

he shrugs with a sly grin, “had to make it convincing, didn’t i? besides, it was your idea, you don’t get to complain.”

you stick your tongue out at him and he raises his eyebrows as if to say, “really?”

“she was really nice,” you note, voice almost wistful in a way that sam easily picks up on. about a year into hunting with the brothers and dean was off buying food, you and sam had collapsed onto a motel bed together as you had many times before by then, both exhausted after a long case. that night, as you spoke in tired, hushed tones, with no need for anyone but the other to hear your words, you had somehow ended up with your head resting on his biceps and one of his legs swung over yours.

that’s the night you told him you were jealous that he got to go to college, even if it wasn’t for long. you’d told him how you liked the idea of that life, even if you had to return to hunting after it was over. you wanted friends your age, to learn, go to stupid parties and have a college partner. you knew the experience wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies, but you wanted it anyway. he’d said, sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than hunting in his opinion. he wanted you to have that. once this was all over, and you both got justice for your families, he’d help you apply, make sure you got in somewhere, maybe even go with you. a hush fell over the room and he knew you weren’t convinced.

“yeah, she was,” he says, his own voice a touch more gentle than moments ago. “we were lucky.” he doesn’t want to tell you that most college kids would be at least cool enough to let you inside, maybe not as friendly as her, but that it’s true you’d like it here. he doesn’t want to remind you of what you can’t have.

a silence falls over the two of you, punctuated only by the shuffling of your feet or the rustle of clothes. it’s comfortable and easy because you’ve done it a million times before. you don’t have to say anything to agree that you’ll head to the basement where the original murder occured. the both of you stay quiet and light on your feet, sam always peering around corners before rounding them.

in the basement he stops you with a simple finger to his lips. he leans in close to whisper as quietly as he can, “janitor’s here.”

you resist the urge to call said janitor an idiot, because who the hell is going to be cleaning an area in which three of your coworkers have mysteriously died in the past two weeks, but you just nod instead, taking in the way that sam’s eyes look under the dim light.

“wanna wait around til dean calls or warn him?” you ask, equally as quiet. he turns his head to look back around the corner before continuing.

“well, we should warn him, but we can’t use the drunk ruse on an employee. he probably has a radio scanner on him, might even be connected to campus security,” he points out.

“fbi?”

“we look too much like college kids right now,” he reasons.

“right,” you agree, “well then, stupid college kids trying to see a murder scene? we’ll link arms and you can hide the gun behind your back. just so we’re near him til dean burns the bones. hopefully nothing’ll even happen.” it’s as if you jinxed it all in that moment, as the lights immediately begin to flicker, the buzz of electricity filling your ears and a sudden chill filling the air. “nevermind,” you curse, flicking the iron rod back into your hand and barging around the corner, only a hair behind sam.

“way to jinx it,” he grunts.

you just scoff and beg him, “just try not to use the gun.” this time neither of you attempt to hide your presence as your shoes pound against the tile floor.

“no promises,” sam says, the gun up and loaded in front of him.

“what the hell?” the janitor barely has the time to exclaim before he’s thrown against the wall.

“i got it,” you warn sam, eager to avoid gunshots and sprinting full speed towards the apparition, iron rod in front of you. you throw all your weight into reaching the ghost of the young girl before she can flicker out of reach. the iron in your hand makes contact, and she evaporates for the time being. unfortunately for you, your momentum keeps you going, through the space the ghost just occupied and straight into the section of the floor slick with soapy water. with no time to gain any semblance of your balance, you slip and come crashing to the ground. your back hits the floor and the wind gets knocked out of your lungs in the same moment that the iron skitters out of your hand.

you struggle a bit to sit up due to the wetness underneath you, gasping slightly and letting curses fall from your mouth the moment you can speak again.

in a split second reaction, sam shouts your name, his voice inappropriately taught and worried for such a silly accident. he’s by your side in an instant, strong hands pulling you up and his anxious voice asking if you’re alright. you wave him off easily, unconcerned for yourself.

“help him,” you urge, “i’m fine.” but he doesn’t back off nearly as easily as you’d think.

“are you sure, did you hit your head? you couldn’t breathe for a second there,” his hands stay glued to you as he rattles off his concerns, ones that you find utterly unnecessary and unhelpful considering the fact that you’re fine, and the ghost could reappear any second. his strong grip keeps you from bending down to scoop up the iron rod, but you have to wrench yourself away from him when you hear a strangled cry come from the janitor. he whirls around with you to see the ghost with her hands around the janitor’s neck, crushing him against the wall as his feet dangle just above the floor. the iron rod is back in your hand in an instant, but sam’s shotgun lays abandoned on the floor a few feet away.

he dives for the weapon, but with a flick of the ghost’s hand, he’s knocked against the wall with a noise so loud it hurts to hear. before she can pay you attention, you fling the iron towards her, vaporizing her once more. the iron clatters to the ground as the janitor collapses to his knees. you rush towards him, pulling him away from the wall before tugging a container of salt from your jacket’s inside pockets. apologetically, you haul the poor man to his feet, throwing a quick look over your shoulder at sam. he’s groaning painfully, but already moving to get back up.

knowing he’s easily survived worse, you turn your attention back to the janitor, who’s sputtering out confused and incoherent questions about what in the goddamn hell is happening.

“just stay there,” you urge him, too pressed for time to add adequate sympathy to your tone. “stay in the circle and she can’t get you.” with practiced ease, you shake the salt onto the ground with barely enough to make a small, solid ring around the man.

you scoop up the gun from the ground, then turn to help sam onto his feet. “we’re gonna have to tough this out til dean gets done,” is all you say when you place the weapon into his hands, despite the urge to ask what the hell is wrong with him and why he’s so off his game. you turn to grab your own weapon, but it seems the ghost is reappearing faster and faster. this time, you’re the one who gets tossed into the wall, but you stay pressed against the cold surface as a mop flies to meet you, the long handle pushing against your throat and cutting off your air supply. you take in a strangled gasp, hands clawing at the old wooden handle and giving yourself a few splinters that you couldn’t care less about in the moment. of course, it doesn’t budge.

the second you’re flattened against the wall, sam shouts your name again, this time with his gun in the air, swinging around to get a shot at the ghost. but before he can react, it flies out of his hand and she reappears right in front of him, pushing him against the wall across from you.

he struggles against her wildly, his hand itching to get free of her hold to reach the hidden iron knife in his pocket. but before he can get there, her grip weakens and she lets out a strangled scream as she bursts into flames. the flames climb up her old fashioned pencil skirt and swallow up the bloody wound in her abdomen. her grip on you and sam falters as she burns away, then dissolves completely as the last of her ashes fade out into the musty basement air.

you drop to your knees, coughing and gasping for breath as the sound of the mop clattering to the floor echoes through the hallway. sam’s saying your name, half through a cough and his voice still so worried as he stumbles towards you. then he’s on his knees too and his hands are sturdy on your shoulders.

“‘m fine,” you rasp out, hand reaching for his bicep to ground you to something solid and steady. he stays right there, completely ignoring the poor man who’s still practically frozen in fear in the tiny circle of salt and the ringing of his phone. one of his hands slips around you to rub soothing strokes up and down your back and it brings you even closer to him, your forehead dipping to rest on his shoulder. you feel silly for how much he’s fussing over you, but you can’t quite scold or question him until you’ve caught your breath. clearly something is bothering him (and you want him so bad), so you let him hold you close.

“are you hurt anywhere?” he finally asks once he feels your breathing even out under his touch.

you pull away from him gently, shaking your head before verbally confirming, “no, i’m alright sam. nothing more than your typical bumps and bruises.” your voice is a touch raspy from the pressure on your throat, but it’s nothing that won’t go away with some water and rest, maybe some tea if really necessary.

his hands stay on you as he stands. “are you sure?” he asks, and you can’t figure out why on earth, heaven, or hell he’s so overly concerned about you. frankly, it’s starting to worry you. and definitely annoy you. all the sudden he’s acting like you’re fragile, like you can’t take care of yourself. things which he should know for a fact aren’t true.

he lets you slip away from his hold as you swoop down to pick up your lost weapons and face the poor janitor.

“sorry about that all. you can step out of the salt now.” he looks at you as if he can’t be sure, and your tone softens a bit. he’s young, probably just a college kid himself. “she’s really gone this time, i promise. you won’t ever have to worry about her again. though, i wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to look for a different job.”

he nods and thanks you, and you tell him to repay the favor by not mentioning you and sam. then, at a pace you certainly can’t blame him for, he scurries away.

“c’mon,” you nod to sam, “we should get out of here. you should also call dean back. he’s probably worried you didn’t answer.” with that, you turn back in the direction of the stairs without looking back at sam, rolling your eyes when your own cell ring. you pick up with a, “we’re fine, dean,” before he can even ask why the hell it took you so long to answer him. he lets out a sigh, half relieved, half annoyed.

“what took ya so long?” he asks anyway.

“had a few bumps in the road since little miss janitor-killer showed up, but we’re fine. neither of us are hurt. would’ya pick us up in the same spot you left us?”

“yeah, ‘course. already on my way, see you crazy kids in five.” with that, he hangs up and you don’t have to glance over your shoulder to feel sam following behind. it’s all just the familiarity of his footsteps, the sound they make, and the pace at which he walks. it’s the particular rustle of his favorite jacket, soft and scratchy sounding all at once. it’s the feeling of his tall figure, his broad chest so close behind you that he’d run right into you if you stopped even for a moment. you debate whether to ask him what the hell is up now or at the motel. for now, the priority is getting out unnoticed, so you clench your jaw a bit and continue in silence because you’re beginning to feel a little angry with him. you think he can feel it, so he stays quiet too, all the way out the dorm and down the street to wait for dean.

it’s not uncommon to be quieter after a hunt is finished because you’re all usually tired and more often than not achey from some toss around or another. but sam can tell there’s something else bothering you tonight. from the way you tilt your shoulder away from him, the distance so nearly imperceptible that only he would notice, he’s willing to bet that he’s that something. and though he doesn’t want to admit it, he thinks he knows why. he just won’t be the first one to say something about it because he’s stubborn, a little prideful, and most of all, too afraid to explain why he’s acting this way.

even so, he just can’t help himself. he hovers near, so near that once you’re settled by the side of the road, you can feel him without actually touching him. you’re tempted to nudge him away, just because of how overprotective he’s acting. you’re also tempted to lean back into his chest because somehow you know his hands wouldn’t waste a second in gathering you up and keeping you closer than ever before. it starts to rain a little bit, soft and almost unnoticable if it weren’t for the new chill in the air. for a moment, you can feel one hand hover over your waist, just for a second before there’s a light swish of fabric when it falls back to his side. you wonder if he’s worried about you getting too cold.

you hear dean before you see him, the rumble of the impala coming into earshot moments before its headlights appear around the corner. the car slows as it nears you, pulling to the side of the road with the front windows down and some classic rock guitar riff filtering into your ears. the music’s quieter than you know it was just moments ago from when dean was alone. he greets you two with a simple, “hey,” once he’s fully stopped and you place your hand out, palm up and wordlessly asking for sam to hand you the rifle to put in the trunk.

“i got it,” he says, not waiting for you to argue when he takes the iron from the loose grip of your fist and makes his way to the trunk. you slide into the back seat behind the passengers side and return dean’s greeting.

he twists in his seat to watch you as you close your eyes and massage your shoulder with a wince. it’s beginning to become more sore, just like all the rest of your body.

“you okay?” he asks, voice full of his normal gruffness that tells you cares enough to ask but knows not to be too worried.

you open your eyes back up to give him a nod. “‘m fine. just the usual ghost beat down. y’know, bumps and bruises.”

“mm, sure do,” he agrees, “so what? dearly departed marissa thought you were janitors?” he asks skeptically. you hear the slam of the trunk, and moments later sam’s settling into his seat in front of you.

“no,” you scoff, “some idiot kid was actually cleaning down there. told ‘im to get a new job,” you snort humorlessly.

“well, i’ll say,” dean raises his eyebrows in agreement before twisting back to face the wheel. he sneaks a look between you and sam before switching the car out of park and getting back on the road. for a few minutes, all you hear is the muted music, the constant roll of the engine, the light patter of rain on the metal roof, and the road under the tires. then dean switches off the music. “anything happen back there that i should know about?” he ventures.

“no,” sam answers casually, “nothing, just the usual.” you don’t even answer. you just can’t figure out if you should involve dean, tell him how sam was unthinking and almost entirely uncaring about the innocent civilian involved, all because he was so worried about you.

“alright,” dean concedes, glancing at you through the rearview mirror and sounding entirely unconvinced. he doesn’t turn the music back on, just lets the silence reign, so you close your tired eyes and lean your head against the cold glass of the window. you’ve fallen asleep in the back of the impala countless times before, but your drowsiness doesn’t take over this time in favor of letting your mind wander over what to say to sam. you can’t just let it be, and tonight is certainly the worst it’s gotten. plus, it’s an easy habit for you to wait for sleep when you’re already so close to the motel.

when dean pulls into the parking lot, he doesn’t turn off the engine. “gonna grab some grub. i’ll be back in a bit with the usual.”

“grab me something for dessert, will ya? ‘m craving something sweet,” you request, leaning towards the driver’s seat.

“sure thing,” he nods, and you slide out of the car and close the door after a thank you and tired smile. “anything for you, sammy?” you hear him ask.

“i’m good, just the regular,” sam responds as he exits the car. you unlock the motel door, and he’s inside the room just a moment later, closing and locking the entrance behind him. you stand facing away from him at the shitty table, your jacket already strewn across the back of a chair. you can hear him behind you, going through his routine movements. he’s taking off his jacket, setting it down on the edge of the bed. then he’s pulling comfier clothes out from his pack.

“you wanna shower first?” he offers, breaking the silence of the room. you can feel his gaze on your back.

“sure,” you swallow, “thanks,” you say without any sort of edge to your voice.

“‘f course,” he says, and he means that. his eyes follow you as you pull out your own change of clothes, just a tshirt and sweats, and make your way to the dingy bathroom. you’re tired, so you’re quick with it, but the water’s already lukewarm by the time you’re done. you dry off and dress quick, eager to lay in bed.

and yet, when sam takes your place in the bathroom and the sounds of the shower start up again, you sit at the table instead, picking out a few splinters in your hands before folding your arms and resting your head against them. you stay that way, even when you hear the water turn off, the bathroom door open, his heavy footfalls that are only heavy because he’s so tall and not for lack of gentleness, then the scraping of the chair across from you. he doesn’t even say a thing, just looks at the top of your head and the tip of your nose. the shape of your hands, the point of your elbows, and the curve of your back.

with a deep breath and some pain in your neck, you lift your head. you look back at him and slump your chin into your palm.

“i’m upset with you,” you state.

he frowns. even his frown is pretty. “i know,” he sighs.

“so? why are you acting like this?” your voice is tired, but you still manage to infuse accusation into your tone, “sam, why are you suddenly acting like i can’t take care of myself out there? you’ve been weird for nearly two weeks now, and i don’t like it. i don’t like this.”

sam doesn’t know how to respond. he’s used to being yelled at, shouted at, angry at. he’s used to yelling and shouting and getting angry back. and though he’s certainly fought with you before, he’s still not used to the level tone and the way you say each word so slow, like you’re not actually arguing. just upset and rightfully a little angry, like you just want to understand.

sure, he can hear the plain anger in your voice. you’re not trying to hide it. but you’re not yelling. how’s he supposed to use the heat of the moment to shout back, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” or “i’m just trying to help,” when there is no heat in the moment? instead, he’s embarrassed and the only answer he can come up with, the only one that he can mean if he answers in that same, level tone you’re using is, one he’s having too much trouble saying aloud. any other answer would just be too wrong like that. or maybe if you were shouting, he’d tell you the truth, because he could yell it out, loud and rash without thinking about it. if he says it now, it’s not because he just let it slip. if he says it now, there’s no way to take it back, to get around everything threatening to bubble over the surface like forgotten water on a heated stove.

“i don’t think that you can’t take care of yourself. i know you can,” is all he says, because it’s true and it skirts around the real questions. his voice is rough, halfway between pleading and holding back from the anger he doesn’t yet know how to control. you heave a sigh.

“so why, sam? why?” you let the heavy question stew for a moment, then go on when he doesn’t even meet your gaze, “or, i don’t know, if you’re not gonna tell me, just promise me you’ll stop?”

he clenches his jaw because he knows he can’t. he just wishes you would shout. then, he’d tell you. he can imagine the words coming out of his mouth, but only if they’re loud, only if you’ve pressured him to do it. he realizes that’s probably fucked up. but the other way is too vulnerable, too vast of a leap to take to when he’s just not sure.

“sam,” you press, “you don’t have to worry about me, i swear. i don’t understand what’s got you like this, but it’s getting in the way of you being able to do your job right. that kid could have died because all you could do was worry about me,” that’s when you begin you raise your voice, just a little. because that’s what’s making you most upset about this. you hate it ‘cause you feel like he’s doubting your abilities as a hunter, but you hate it even more because it’s making him disregard the safety of others and of himself, for you. “sam, i only slipped. sure i got the wind knocked out of me, but you dropped your gun for that? frankly, that was stupid. and the poor kid was being choked, and if i hadn’t been lucky enough to throw the iron before she could react, he could have died. i need you to understand that. i need you to understand that i can do this job, that i’m strong enough, and that if you don’t trust me with that? people could die. and i’m not about to let that happen. so either you tell me what’s up and we figure it out, or you stop and i pay you the huge favor of just dropping the whole thing, okay?”

suddenly he looks all sad. “i do trust you,” he says, voice all sincerity and nothing more.

you close your eyes for a moment, half in frustration and half because you could really use some shut eye right about now. “that’s not– well, it is. it is part of the point. but i need an answer from you, i need you to tell me you won’t let whatever this is put somebody else in danger.”

he clenches his jaw. he’s still stuck. you still haven’t shouted.

“just spit it out. i can practically see something rolling around on the tip of your tongue. just say it, sam.”

there’s an edge to your voice, so maybe he can.

“i can’t lose you.”

there it is. it’s said with an edge, too, like he wanted to shout it but couldn’t. it’s said rough and a little bit angry and full of this undying faithfulness and yes, love.

but you still don't quite understand it, so it makes you sigh. it makes your eyes soften a bit and it makes you a little angrier than before. it makes you want him to mean that with all his chest and it makes you want to shake him hard until he comes to his senses.

“that’s always been a danger, ever since we met. you know that,” your voice is something so oddly gentle in its frustration, “sammy, you’re my best friend, and i can’t lose you either. hell, i don’t think the words “best friend” even begin to cover the depth of how much i care about you. but we’ll both be safer if we trust each other, if we trust in both of our abilities to keep ourselves and the other safe. tell me that you understand that.”

it takes him a minute to speak again, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he searches for what to say. “two weeks ago,” is all he manages at first. you try to think back to it, and it immediately dawns on you. “i couldn’t prote–”

“sammy, no,” you interrupt, “that wasn’t your fault, okay? i know this doesn’t help to say, but we can’t always protect each other perfectly, to the extent we really want. i’d do anything for you, sammy, you know that.” after that there’s supposed to be a “but” where you explain to him that you can’t let that get in the way of your thinking straight and keeping everyone safe. instead, those last words just hang, suspended and weighty in the air.

“but you could’ve been killed,” the way he says your name is almost desperate. “it was dean that saved you. i was there and i couldn’t even help. what if next time, dean isn’t there? what if–,” his voice breaks, and he effectively cuts himself off from finishing the sentence. you know what he was trying to say.

any answer you give to that, you know isn’t enough. “but i wasn’t killed, sam. i’m here. i’m right here and i’m alive and i’m well and i don’t want to spend all my time worrying about you worrying about me. not like this.” you let that sit for a moment or two, and though his eyebrows are still all sad and pinched together, you think you’re starting to get through to him.

“but i can’t lose you,” he repeats stubbornly.

“sam,” you’re practically begging at this point, frustration creeping back into your voice, “the best way for you to keep me safe from ghosts and monsters and everything else is to take care of the problem, efficiently and effectively, like we always do. if there’s no monster, it can’t hurt me. but if you drop your weapon just because i slipped on soapy floors and lost my breath for a second? then it’s not just you and whatever innocent bystander around who’s more vulnerable now, it’s me too. so if that’s what it’s gonna take for me to convince you to stop fussing over me, then, please, think about it like that.”

sam is smart. he loves logic and reason, and you’ve handed him just that. but even more than that, he loves you. in the end, that trumps all.

“but i love you.”

he says it like a plea. like he didn’t mean to say it at all but it was the only thing running through his mind, and therefore, the only thing running off his tongue.

“sammy,” you breathe out, and then it’s like there’s no more air for you to breathe back in. that sweet nickname of his coming out of your mouth, resting on your tongue before tumbling into the air, is half like a drug to him, half like a bitter wind to sober him up quick.

“i– i only meant that i–,” he meant just that and now it’s said and now he’s never going to take it back, even if you hate him for it. “i meant that,” he says it firm and true this time, “i love you, so i can’t lose you.”

the way he looks at you, right into your eyes like they’re the prettiest things he’s ever seen, like you’re the best thing he’s ever had, oh, it has you hooked like bait has a fish who bit down too hard. it has you praying he never looks at anybody else like that again. it has you rising out of your seat and it’s pulling you across the small, wobbly table. he’s wedged into the grooves of your heart, so deep it could kill you to pull him out, so you follow the tug and he leans in too so the line isn’t so taught, so that it’s easy and comfortable and beautiful to reach his lips.

his hands are like a net that catches you up in big, lovely swaths. they travel from your own hands, that lean against the table to keep your lips pressed to his, up to your elbows and then he knows he can never get enough. so he pushes up out of his own seat, drags his hands further up your arms until they can wrap around your biceps and push you up. not for a moment does he let his lips leave yours as he stands and pulls the both of you away from the table until he can bring you close, right into his wide, warm chest. then his hands can roam, gentle over your sensitive back, up to your neck then the back of your head to push your face into his. the other hand gets to go from your waist to your hips, or dip to the small of your back and press you flush to him.

you can only get away from him for a second, just enough time to whisper, “i love you, too,” before he swallows you back up. you melt right into him, and he loves it so much, but he feels how tired you are and he remembers he is too. so he only kisses you for a minute longer before letting your head rest on his shoulder. without any reservation, he presses a long kiss to your temple and you sigh a sweet sigh into his worn out tshirt.

unwilling to let go, he waddles with you, all bundled up into his arms, to the edge of the bed. without warning, he collapses into it, taking you right down with him and pulling out a little shriek from your mouth that he finds to be nothing short of endearing. he laughs, a belly laugh that you can feel the vibrations of as it moves up into his chest and out of those pretty lips of his. with some struggle to readjust yourself, you press a sweet peck to those lips. another easy i love you.

then you collapse back into his hold and the low quality plush of the motel bed. “now promise me you’ll pull yourself together next time we get a case?” this time your ask is so much more lighthearted, sweeter because it’s mumbled into the skin of his arm. you mean it just as much, but you can’t help the fact that you feel like you’re floating, “now i really, really can’t have you getting us in trouble. i’ll need to be able to kiss you at any given moment, so you have to promise me that you’ll trust me to take care of myself. because it works, and you know it. it’s the safest way. for both of us.”

the sigh he heaves can be felt through practically your whole body. it’s heavier than you wish it’d be, but he relaxes against you just a bit more. “i know,” he relents, “i’ll do my best, okay?”

“thank you,” you breathe out, too relieved to care that he couldn’t quite promise. you know this all means he’ll just be more protective of you, but you can say the same for yourself. now that you’ve kissed him and he’s told you he loves you and you’ve said it back, right against his lips, you’ll worry about him extra. but the both of you know the best ways to keep each other alive, and that has to be enough for you. you allow yourself to snuggle closer into him before joking, “d’you think dean’s ever gonna come back?”

you feel sam’s quiet laugh more than you hear it. “yeah, he really did us a favor with that one, didn’t he?” you can hear the smile in his voice before he remembers himself, “do not tell him i said that.” having you in his arms like this has got him a little giddy, saying things aloud that he normally wouldn’t.

letting out a laugh of your own, you promise, “i won’t. but i’m starting to get hungry. maybe we should call him and tell him the coast is clear, we didn’t tear the room to shreds or anything like that.”

sam chuckles again, and you decide very quickly that you like the way it feels for him to laugh with you so close. neither of you move, not to get a phone to call dean or to stop yourselves from growing drowsy. not for anything.

you’re half asleep when you hear the familiar sound of the impala’s engine near the room. it turns off, then comes the sound of its front door being open and shut. just because you’re hungry and it spells the arrival of food, you force your eyes open and let out a groan when you wiggle your arms out of sam’s hold to stretch. the way his hands shift to your waist as you do so has you a bit flustered and you wonder if you’re supposed to pretend in front of dean that you haven’t spent the last half hour kissing and cuddling. but sam doesn't seem to care, because he just sits up when the door’s lock clicks, one hand by your head to hold him up, the other still settled decidedly on your waist. so you decide not to care either, and turn your head around to accidentally grin at dean when he peeks his head through the door. you had meant to look casual, but the second someone else becomes a witness to the fact that you’re laying together like this, you’re beaming.

dean visibly relaxes when he takes in the sight, pushing the door all the way open to walk in, then lock the door back up behind him.

“hey, there,” is all he says, shooting the both of you a look that says, really, you’re just gonna keep sitting there like that in front of me? it’s not that bad, but he’s allowed to tease because he just turned a twenty minute food trip into an hour purely for yours and sam’s sake. you clear your throat awkwardly, and only when you sit up does sam’s hand fall away from you.

you pad over to the table as dean places the paper bag of fast food on the surface. he drags over an extra mismatched chair and sam follows close behind you, pulling the remaining chair to sit beside you. as you begin to pull food out from the bag, now clearly gone cold to the touch, dean sits down, complaining that they didn’t have pie, so he bought you two cookies for dessert instead.

“well, thank you for the food anyways,” you smile, hoping he picks up on the fact that you’re thanking him for the other thing too, “damn shame there was no pie, though,” you say, more for his sake than yours. you wonder why he didn’t just pick some up from somewhere else since he was gone so long.

“mhmm, and don’t sweat about the pie. just got a slice somewhere else,” he shrugs, “ate it in the car, there was only one slice left and i didn’t want you to feel like you were missing out,” he explains with that familiar teasing edge which makes you think he indeed caught onto the double meaning of your thanks. you let out a small huff of laughter before tearing into the food, only now realizing just how hungry you are. you’d felt it creep up on you on the car ride back, smiled at the mention of food from dean, even stupidly thought about it during a quiet moment in the argument with sam. but the second your lips found his, that was the only hunger you’d felt. to keep kissing him, to keep him close, keep him loving you. only when you settled all the way into his arms, sure that you’d be able to satiate that hunger again, could your body remember you hadn’t eaten since early this afternoon.

the three of you eating like this, late at night and without much conversation, is common and comfortable. dean is on what you assume to be his second burger, because there’s no way he’d have just sat in the car, probably parked in a random lot and wondering how long he should be gone, and just waited to eat an extra-bacon burger until he came back. sam’s nearly the same as always, too, but tonight he sits so close that his forearm brushes against yours. you bump elbows or knees every so often, and the side of his socked foot is pressed against yours the entire time.

you sigh, content with the nearness of him that’s so much more complete and full than it was just hours ago. now, there’s no need to hover. now, you can just swoop in and land, take what you want, give what the other needs.

dean makes no teasing comments, but you can feel the way he’s been examining, reading the two of you. you’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something aloud, but you know that he knows the two of you so well that he understands almost exactly what must’ve happened while he was gone. maybe he’s not teasing because this is the outcome he wanted to come back to. he probably knows better than the both of you how you were crushing, pining even, over the other.

he takes his turn in the shower when he finishes his food, and you and sam begin to clean up a few minutes later. once all the trash is crumbled up and tossed away, you go around and turn off all the lights but a single bedside lamp. as you turn away from clicking off the lamp in the corner of the room, sam’s right there in front of you. you don’t have the time to be startled by him sneaking up on you, he’s so quick to cup your face with his hands and slot his lips against yours. he lingers a long moment before pulling apart just enough to rest his forehead on yours.

“gonna kiss you forever,” he whispers, and you realize you’ve turned this giant man into a complete and utter sap.

“you better.” your grin is wide and real and he can almost feel your lips moving, he’s so close. just as you’re ready to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him hard, the steady white noise of the shower shuts off. you sigh and laugh a little, leaning in to steal one more chaste kiss before brushing past him. but he turns with you, hands still warm on your cheeks and not letting go until he’s kissed you once more.

when dean’s gone from the bathroom, sam follows you in to brush his teeth with you. you’ve done so plenty of times, but tonight, sam gets to loop his free arm around your waist and pull you into him, rather than stand shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space. he gets to make you giggle through toothpaste when he does so, and you get to switch your toothbrush to your other hand and wrap your own arm around his waist, too. he gets to make you laugh dangerously harder when he tightens his hold on you to prevent you from bending and spitting into the sink when you’re done. you try to hold back the laughter with your mouth full of toothpaste, then he’s the one laughing around his toothbrush because there’s white, foamy spit rolling down your chin from the corner of your mouth and threatening to drip to your dark-colored tshirt. of course, he lets you spit and rinse your mouth, relishing in the continued sound of your laughter.

“you asshole! almost ruined my shirt til the next time we make a laundry stop!” you take revenge as he rinses out his own mouth, splashing the running water onto his face as he swishes water around in his mouth.

he spits the water out in surprise and sputters an indignant, “hey!” before he bursts into laughter again.

you’re both giddy, high off of kissing each other, and silly from the exhaustion of a hunt, so he tugs you into him by your hips and keeps laughing into the crook of your neck. you wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers up through his soft, newly washed hair. you kiss the closest thing you can reach and he melts right into your arms.

it’s only when you yawn that he pulls away from you. “we should get to bed, huh?”

you nod and twist towards the door, peeking through it to see dean sleeping in his bed, his still form highlighted by the warm light of the cheap lamp. taking sam’s hand with a shy smile, you lead him to the other bed, turning off the last light and climbing under the covers with him not far behind. he loops his arm under your head, then the other over your waist to splay his hand flat across the small of your back. the way he does it is exactly the way you wished he would, as if he’s thought about holding you like this every night you share a bed, just as you had. with a final glance towards dean, he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

you try to stifle the giggle that the soft, ticklish contact of his lips wants to pull from your chest, praying that dean is really as asleep as he looks. the both of you stiffen a bit when you hear dean’s blankets rustling, but you let out another breathy, quiet laugh when it goes silent again.

sam’s about to kiss you all over again when dean’s voice rings out into the hush of the night, startling you both.

“no shenanigans while i’m asleep, lovebirds,” he grunts.

that brings more laughter out of your lips and a rush of heat to your face that you’re sure sam feels, too. he just groans in annoyance at his brother, because of course dean had to get in at least one borderline dirty comment. neither of you really answer as dean shifts around in his bed again, likely turning his back to you and mumbling something mostly unintelligible.

the only word you can catch is “finally.”

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pirateprincessblog · 4 months ago

Text

cosmos

18+ nsfw content ahead, approach with caution. if a minor, I ask you to not interact.

🌌𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: centuries ago, humans detected a signal from an asteroid with a collision probability of 1-in-1,200. unwilling to gamble with humanity's future, they decided to evacuate. thus, kang yeosang finds himself aboard a spaceship, nestled in a sleeping pod among thousands of other slumbering passengers. the destination appears distant, and everyone remains asleep. just why is the young man awake then? ☄️𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: kang yeosang x f!reader ☄️𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 17.7k ☄️𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, space travelers, space themes, plot twist, smut with plot ☄️𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: masturbation, voyeurism, praise kink, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, fingering, choking, hair pulling, oral (both receiving), multiple orgasms, biting, marking ☄️𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: Interstellar Main Theme (extended version)

🌠𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing, light violence, existential crisis (me lol), depressing themes, mentions of death, slight blo0d (like two drops), mentions of substances 🌠𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: inspired by passengers (2016), i absolutely adore space, i am so in love with it, to the point it scares me how beautiful, enormous and unpredictable it is. i gave my all to this fic, kinda put myself in it, so please do not hesitate to leave a feedback <3 each word means the world to me!

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

"calculating remaining travel time... xjlsdja23ky324xii... updated."

"come on, you piece of shit."

"updated estimated time to reach proxima centauri b is nine hundred and twenty eight years, six days and seven minutes."

"fuck!" the man hits the screen with his fist, but the numbers don't budge. "what the fuck?!"

if the man's relatives and friends were awake around him at this moment, they would've been shocked. kang yeosang never swore, nor did he ever strike anyone or anything. him losing his temper is something that only ever happened once, at the entrance of the very ship he stands in. the captain wanted to separate his mother from his family, claiming there is no space for her and that they have reached the traveler limit. she is the last to board, they said, you'll wait for the next one. yeosang stepped down, letting his mother take his space, and said his tearful goodbyes before clearing the way for the captain and the stewards to close the doors.

however, they did not. instead, they waved their hand towards a group of people, keeping the door open for them. yeosang watched with his jaw dropped as a family of five rushed to the doors, dragging their designer luggage, wheels scratching the uneven concrete floor and making the man's ears bleed. blood boils inside his body, and his mother noticed the popped vein on his forehead from the window. before she can make it to the door to stop him, yeosang throws himself at the captain, hate, cussing and violence taking over his body.

once the stewards separated them and his mother's face appeared in front of him, he realized his mistake. the older man seized the woman by her elbow, then shoves her down the silver stairs. the sound of groans and thumps still echo in yeosang's ears, accompanied by the distant rumble of the luggage wheels that had triggered his reaction.

"you want to get on the ship so bad? go!"

he is forced inside the ship, and moved away from the doors so they can close them. through the window, he looks at his tearful and hurt mother through his own blurry eyes, heart ripping apart at the sight. i'll be fine, she keeps mouthing, forcing a smile.

they say the next ship will be ready soon, but after this, how can he trust anyone? besides, the ship could be ready next week, or next year. the danger is inching closer with each day that passes, increasing in speed and destroying everything in its path, until it eventually collides with the green planet, destroying both in the process. if they survive the impact, they will die of starvation. yeosang's heart clenches at the thought. he didn't want his mother to await certain death on this planet. he didn't want her to eat dust and dig for food in the ashes of those who stayed, willingly or forcefully.

but that might just be the price for his actions. yeosang sobs against the window, clawing at it. his lungs hurt, a new realization hitting him with each second that passes and sending him into another fit of wailing. a soft smile on her face is the last thing the man sees before he is pulled away from the window. he recognizes his sister's voice comforting him, even though she is in as much pain as him.

now, yeosang stands before the screen, its numbers blurred by fresh tears of sadness and anger. he walks over to his sleeping pod, eyes examining it and brain struggling to understand what went wrong. he lays inside once again, then closes the glass door. the white sheets are still warm and as uncomfortable as the first time he laid there. nothing changes, no sound is heard, no matter how long he lays there. he isn't stupid, he knows that the buttons on the outer shell need to be pressed in order for him to go into hibernation again. but maybe, just maybe, a miracle happens.

an hour, a nap, and no miracles later, yeosang is awake again. he sighs, chest swelling with sadness and pain once more. not only did he abandon his mother, but he is going to face his end alone too. the blonde man glances at the nearby pods; his sister, grandfather, and a few family friends all peacefully awaiting the end of the long voyage. hundreds of pods are lined up in the room, each person inside it dressed the same, stripped of any makeup, piercings, and earthly clothes, instead dressed in simple white silk sleepwear. from the richest to the poorest, they all share the same fate now; a plain sleeping pod, with no designer marks or gold pleating, barefoot, barefaced, and a desire to keep living. he is so close to them, yet so far. surrounded, but isolated.

until he hears a crash outside the hibernation room.

his bare feet tap against the cold white tiles as he follows the echo of the noise, heart thumping with fear and hope. is he not alone?

yeosang finally exits the hibernation room, eyes failing to catch an empty pod near the exit. he finds himself standing in the middle of what looked like a lobby. the pale colour of the walls hurt his eyes, along with a big number of white led lights scattered on the ceiling. on the first glance, it looked simple. once yeosang's eyes got used to the light, he noticed a great willow tree in the middle of the room. it is surrounded by a few wooden benches, all facing it. a long table follows the curved walls, decorated with plants of all sorts, protected by glass.

he does not speak just yet, instead he further examines the room. all the windows are shut, and yeosang doesn't think to approach one and remove the shade. he continues the path through the door closest to the one of the hibernation room, not knowing what to hope for. is he alone, or is he not? both possibilities are equally terrifying. if yes, what was the noise? if not, what could he expect from the person that was also awake for some reason?

yeosang seems to have entered a tube that served as a hallway, the walls curved and decorated with thin led stripes. yeosang's eyes shine under the lights, like a baby's on their first christmas. the hallway leads him into a somewhat warmer decorated room, soft yellow lights a contrast to the previous strong white ones. he raises an eyebrow as he takes in the space. it looks like a restaurant, with a bar fully stocked. there aren't many tables, all of them made to fit up to four people.

they are simply decorated, with a single electric candle in the middle. the chairs are all neatly tucked in, except one. the man carefully approaches the table, fingers hesitantly grazing the plush backrest. it is a deep green colour, the velvet material soft under yeosang's fingertips. the seat itself has an imprint, and yeosang's heart seems to stop for a moment. he raises his head abruptly, and his eyes lock with another pair.

he steps back, breath caught in his throat. the figure gasps too, eyes widening, before her legs carry her outside the restaurant and into another room. the man stays still, unsure if he should follow. what if it is a trap? for his misbehaviour? what should he do anyway? hide around the ship until the end of his life? could be tricky, but the ship is enormous. with an equally enormous luck, he might just make it.

his eyes catch a few items on the table; an opened book, a marker, cup of brown liquid and a broken necklace. on the floor is a shattered glass, probably the crash he heard. he takes the book in his hands, making sure to remember the page before closing it to view the title. it looks like a steamy romance, and when he goes through a few pages, he has to set it down before his attention shifts to something else.

"good evening, sir. ready to order?"

yeosang jumps, dropping the just acquired blue marker on the table. the voice is robotic, yet the face is human. it is an older man, with wheels instead of feet. his hands look human too, holding a tray with a single glass of water on it. it is when yeosang takes a sip that he realizes just how parched he was. he downs the glass, a few drops escaping and rolling down his chin and neck.

"what are you?" he finally speaks.

"i am a human made robot, created to be at your service during your stay at the ship. would you like to sit and take a look at the menu?"

yeosang sits down on the other chair, curiosity taking over him. shortly after, a thin menu is handed to him. it has a few usual choices, and a few more fancy ones. his stomach grumbles as he reads the ingredients of a certain dish, mouth almost watering when he sees the picture of it on the next page. but he has other things to worry about.

"made for our service, right?"

"indeed, sir."

"then, can you activate my pod again?"

"oh, sorry sir. that is beyond my program."

the blonde haired man sighs, dropping the menu on the table. he intertwines his fingers and rests his elbows on the edge of the table, his chin on top of his hands. he looks at the robot's smiley face, and then scoffs.

"it's just a few buttons."

"i'm sorry sir, but-"

"you're programmed to make dozens of cocktails, but not to press a few buttons?" he raises his voice, annoyed with the situation.

"it is dangerous, sir. i cannot just press any buttons, there is a whole procedure. your pod might implode, and you might endanger other pods, even the ship itself."

"bullshit."

"perhaps the young lady can help."

yeosang follows the robot's gaze, and his eyes lock with those from moments ago again. a female figure stands at the doors where she once disappeared, with no emotion on her face. at first, yeosang thinks that it is another robot. but all of her seems human enough.

"i'll be at the bar if you need me." with that, the robot slides behind the bar, busying himself with cleaning.

the girl approaches, carefully. when she reaches her once abandoned table, she slowly smiles. the look on the man's face makes her smile fade quickly, pure anger written all over his features.

"you." he says through gritted teeth.

"uh... hi. my name is-" she holds her hand out as a greeting, ignoring the sudden hostile demeanor.

"i don't want to know your fucking name."

"w-what?"

yeosang replays the image of the captain pushing him out of the way, only to invite a whole family inside after he said there is no more space left. he saw you, carrying that foolish designer bag over your shoulder, the weight of it pulling your body to the side. he remembers locking eyes with you for a split second, just before he went berserk on the captain. you looked like you hadn't worked a single day in your life, and like your world was only flowers and waterfalls.

"you're holding me accountable for your mom, aren't you?"

"do not talk about my mother."

"you know, before assuming something, you should try thinking a bit harder. how do you-"

"i don't have to- no, i don't want to think harder. you rich bastards waltz in here like it's nothing while us poor people have to scrape every corner of our house for the last penny to get a chance for a ticket." he stands from the chair abruptly, making it fall on the floor and you flinch.

tears gather in your eyes, and you feel frustrated that you cannot control it. why do you always have to cry, no matter the emotion? who cries from anger, for god's sake?

"oh, no no. you do not get to cry. that is my mother that stayed down there, and-"

"you think i just waltzed in here? just like that? you think i didn't pay for my own goddamn ticket? you think they let us in just because of our status and wealth?"

"you paid for your ticket? who told you that, your daddy?"

you stay silent for a moment, before confirming. yeosang laughs sarcastically, offending you even more.

"right." he scoffs.

"you think he would lie to me?"

"did you see the tickets? do you know what they look like? how much they cost? where they're taking us? do you even know where you are going? tell me any of these things, and i'll believe you."

you sit down, staring at the broken necklace. you did not know any of those things. you did ask your father to show you the tickets multiple times, you were excited. but he delayed it, even at the entrance, he didn't have to show it to the captain.

"that's what i thought."

"but... why would they let us board?"

"because your daddy is an important minister. you should try thinking a bit harder." he repeats your sentence from earlier.

you sit still, anger stirring inside of you. anger no longer directed at the gorgeous man, but at your family. your father specifically. the stranger picks up the chair, then sits on it. he sighs, shoving his face in his hands.

"what happened to your pod?" he asks, not yet looking at you.

"i don't know. i suddenly woke up, couldn't breathe, and had to break the glass to get out. next thing i know, it had smoke coming out of it so i pressed a bunch of buttons until the thing shut down completely. what about yours?"

yeosang removed his hands from his face, finally looking at you properly. he feels his ears and cheeks warm up, noticing just how beautiful you are. he looks at your book instead, unable to maintain eye-contact.

"no difficulty with breathing as far as i remember. i woke up like i did on earth every day, and it felt natural too. the lid was open, no smoke or cracks. the digital board seemed normal, the vitals still showing up until i had to rip the cables from my wrists." yeosang looks down on his hands, remembering how gently he yanked those tubes from his flesh. "then i was confused as to why i was the only one awake. i went to the main screen in the hibernation room, might've hit it, and then heard a crash. you, assuming?"

"yeah. i knocked it over while trying to fix the stupid necklace."

yeosang nods, eyeing the necklace that now rests in your fingers. it has a simple butterfly pendant, and yeosang fights the urge to ask if it holds any meaning.

"how long have you been awake?"

"about three weeks."

"it doesn't sound like a lot, but when you're alone, assuming it feels like three months?"

you laugh, "more like three years."

"have you tried sending a message back to earth?"

you frown, remembering all the video and voice messages you have sent the first day you woke up and met your new fate. you abused the poor system, sending a tearful plea for help almost every hour.

"i have."

"and?"

"it takes approximately nineteen years for them to receive it, and more than nineteen for me to receive the reply, depends on the speed we are moving at. in that time, the asteroid is expected to strike. they'll have it worse than i do, so i am at least grateful that i get to live to an old age. hopefully."

silence envelops both of you for a while. he seems to be thinking, eyes squinted and nose scrunched cutely.

"do you think... you can try activating my pod again?"

he sees your smile fade. must be horrible to be all alone, especially knowing that you won't reach the set destination. nine hundred years is a long time after all. barely any human lives past a hundred.

"i can try."

yeosang beams, excitedly standing up. he misses the way your eyes become glossy again, tears threatening to spill any moment. you trail behind him, using the chance to examine him. he is taller than you, with soft blonde hair that falls over his almond eyes, and bright skin. he looks like a prince, more beautiful than any man you've been with or had a crush on. he looks over his shoulder, checking to see if you're following him. his eyes are a warm chestnut brown, and his lips a pretty pink shade. you're jealous of his cheekbones and lashes.

soon enough you stand in front of his hibernation pod, the lid opened and the sheets inviting, no matter how uncomfortable.

"right, then. lay down." you say with a heavy heart.

he wastes no time, laying in the pod with his eyes closed and rolling up his sleeves. you take the discarded tubes, poking the tiny needles back below his wounded flesh and taping them back together. he closes his eyes, and his lips twitch in a smile. you bite the inside of your cheek, wishing for nothing more than for all of this to fail.

you're horrible, yes. but if you have to spend another day alone here, you might just toss yourself out in space without a suit on and die. robots are a good company only for a limited amount of time, before their answers start becoming repetitive and predictable.

"you never told me your name." you mumble, getting ready to close the clear lid.

"yeosang." he says, opening one eye to look at you. "yours?"

"y/n."

"beautiful." he compliments.

"bye, yeosang. i hope a better life awaits you." you say before your voice starts cracking, and a tear escapes your eye.

"bye, y/n." the man says his final words before closing his eyes again and relaxing.

you close the lid, then make sure his vitals are showing on the tiny screen. once everything seems ready, you follow the steps on the screen, pushing the buttons in the right order, until it asks for an authorization code.

"shit."

he seems to hear it, because he opens his eyes to look at you with his eyebrow raised. "what?"

"uh, i'll be right back. i just need the authorization code."

"oh. alright, i hope you find it."

"it should be on the main screen."

after a long time of fooling around on the screen, you do not find the code. if you were to start guessing, you wouldn't know where to start. the keypad offers both numbers and letters, and it could be any combination.

"yeosang?"

"yes?"

"i'm so sorry, but... i couldn't find the code."

yeosang's world shatters once again. it seemed way too easy anyway.

"help me out."

a week later, you still find the man in the same spot. he sleeps in his hibernation pod, and when he doesn't, he sits on the floor beside it and stares at the ceiling. the glass of water you had brought him last night, just like every other night, was empty beside it. it makes you feel relieved that he drank. you don't want him to die like this. you aren't sure how you would handle that, both emotionally and physically.

"yeosang?"

you call, hoping to convince him to come outside today.

"want a tour of the ship? you haven't seen anything yet. besides, don't you have to piss from all this water?"

"thanks for reminding me. my kidneys will kill me." he groans. "which way?"

you lead him out the hibernation room and into the lobby again, only this time you take a different path. there is a door near the restaurant hallway, and you playfully open it up for him.

"my lord."

he rolls his eyes, not yet in the mood for jokes. you lean your head against the locked door, hearing a soft sniff from inside.

"the sooner you accept it, the better it will be for you. i promise."

"you say it like it's easy."

"it's not. i still cry myself to sleep. but i like to pretend that i own the ship, and that all of those people in those pods are my peasants who are coming to serve me on my new planet."

you hear a faint chuckle, and your heart feels lighter.

"besides, once i show you everything, you'll see just how irrelevant our lives are compared to the whole universe. it's beautiful, yeosang."

"you can see outside?"

"yes. i'll take you to the cockpit, if you promise to have a proper breakfast."

you hear water running, and you assume he is washing his hands. "how do you know it's morning? isn't it always dark out there?"

"funnily enough, my digital watch still works. the battery did not run out yet. currently, it is ten in the morning on earth. i even let you sleep in! how generous of me."

he opens the door, causing you to stumble forward into him. he catches you before your head can hit his chest, and it is then that you realize just how big his hands are. you smile awkwardly, stepping back.

"let's go."

yeosang chooses a simple breakfast; cereal and a banana. you order your usual, the blueberry muffin and chocolate milk having you in a chokehold since the first day you woke up. you feel like a peasant who was allowed into his lord's house, eating like a starved farmer while yeosang eats like a sophisticated prince. he taps the napkin on the corners of his mouth every few moments, doesn't graze the spoon against the bowl and doesn't slurp the milk. you, on the other hand, have made a mess not only on the table, but on your lap and floor as well.

"so, uh..." he trails, moving the emptied bowl aside and reaching for the yellow fruit, "what's the plan?"

"are we talking short term or long term?" you also finish the muffin and set the paper wrap aside.

"let's stick to short for now."

"i thought i'd give you a tour of the ship. find you a room, spare clothes and such. the ship is like a city floating through space. my childhood town didn't have this many things to do."

the man laughs lightly, fidgeting with the banana. he doesn't peel it yet, his thoughts so intense they're almost audible. you call his name, once, twice. he doesn't respond. hesitantly, you reach over to put your hand over his. he ceases his fidgeting, his gaze locking with yours. the whites of his eyes are red and glossy again, and being the sensitive person you are, your eyes start burning too. you let out a shaky sigh, trying your hardest not to break down in front of him. he avoids your gaze again, seeing what he did to you.

"i'm going to sound mean and horrible. i know you might have a spark of hope left, and i want to tell you that you should get rid of it right away. hope will only worsen your pain. there is nothing we can do, yeosang. we can't turn the ship around, we are already years away. we will make it just in time for us to die of old age. we can't wake up any of the crew or loved ones, who would put them to sleep again? one of us would have to stay back again. and if you're thinking of the worst... well, i can't stop you there. i'll try, but the ship is huge. i won't be able to keep up with you if you do decide to take that step."

the blonde man sniffles, wiping his cheeks with the back of his free hand. his other one still subconsciously holds onto yours, thumb lightly caressing your skin and comforting you.

"if you, however, do decide... please let me know. so i can prepare to be alone again." your voice trembles, and tears finally set themselves free.

yeosang squeezes your hand, then put his other one over it and keeping it warm. he just now realizes how hard you also have it. he feels selfish, dumping all his sadness on you and not thinking about your feelings at all. you are a stranger, but if you are going to live on the ship with him, might as well try and make friends with you. otherwise, it would be awkward to coexist together.

"so, the cockpit?"

"woah, take me to dinner first."

as you help ryan, the robot you both named, clean up the table, yeosang takes the time to examine the bar.

"so he makes all the food too?"

"there's a couple machines back there, not humanoid though. enough to know a medium rare steak and fries. you'll need all the protein you can get."

he hums, then gets out of the way so that ryan can get the dishes cleaned. you wait near the table, not rushing him yet. he needs time, as much as you still need it. but one of you needs to be the tough one, or you won't last. as soon as he makes his overthinking face, you are quick to grab his elbow and drag him with you.

"there's more to the ship than the bar and the lobby."

when back in the said lobby, you release his elbow and continue down a different path. the short, tube-like hallway is the same as the one before, this time leading into a different room.

"this is the storage. spare clothes, towels, hygiene supplies and such can be found here. further down, see that door? those are the showers. but there is a shower in each of the vip rooms. you can pick whichever room you want when we get there."

"sounds nice."

you show him the gym and the small terrarium, before continuing through the main door of the lobby. yeosang watches in awe as you take out a silver card from the pocket of your sleepwear top and scan it.

"where did you get that?"

"found it in the hibernation room when i woke up. it was locked in a little glass box, it said something like break in case of emergency. seemed emergency enough for me. sadly, it did not have any codes to operate the pods."

the circular door opens smoothly in a spiral, opening a whole new hallway. this one isn't like the previous ones. it is wide, and it rotates around its axis. and it doesn't have a floor. it is simply a tube. the door closes behind you when you step over threshold, and yeosang flinches.

"uh..."

"trust me. take my hand."

everything yeosang does recently is with hesitation. and you understand him, truly. but at least he has someone to guide him. you had nobody. once his hand slides into yours, you don't give him time to ask anything before jumping inside the tube. his heavy body floats in the air, following after you. you can't help the smile that spreads on your lips when yeosang looks up. his jaw is dropped, and his eyes shine orange under the sunlight.

he is speechless, face pressed against the rotating glass like a child against a store window. you swim over to him, also pressing your nose against the cold glass. he is witnessing the first sunset on a different planet, and his heart flutters at the sight.

"it is..." he starts, but doesn't finish.

"i know. there's no word for it, is there?"

"not really, no. beautiful? glorious? breathtaking? none of it seems enough to describe it. it is... strange. different. scary."

you hum, looking down at the dense clouds of the yellow planet. "our earth is so much more beautiful, though. couldn't live on such a dull planet."

"do you think anyone lives down there?"

you shrug, not having thought about it.

"do you think anyone lives on the planet where we are headed? just how advanced is our science and astronomy? for all we know, we could get crushed by a single step from some giant as soon as we land. then all of this was for nothing."

it is the first time you hear him talk more, and you don't dare interrupt him. he has a lovely voice, a deep tone with a soft lisp. you smile to yourself, wondering if anyone pointed that cute trait out to him.

"i guess it doesn't matter for the two of us anyway. not like we are going to live to see it."

"such a ray of sunshine, aren't you?"

he chuckles, sparing you a single glance before flying off to the other side. the planet is enormous, even with the distance the ship keeps with it. their home star seems tiny, but you know that it is just very far away. it might be stronger and way bigger than the sun you know.

"how fun would it be if a fleet came rushing to the ship and they imprisoned us? made us work for them and all?"

"yeosang!"

almost half an hour later, you had to peel yeosang from the windows that were now full of face and finger prints. he whines, but doesn't have much power over his body like you do. you learned to navigate the zero gravity spaces, while he is just getting used to them. you effortlessly pull him through the tube, taking one last glance at the yellow giant below the ship before landing on a floor again. he doesn't succeed, instead landing on his hands and almost his face. the door closes behind you, and smoke fills the small hallway.

"pressure stabilized. you may proceed."

"thank you!" you yell, skipping towards the new doors.

"they can... hear you?"

"huh? oh, no they can't. that's just the automatic system. but it is a habit of mine, to talk to these machines. i had to speak somehow, or to something, otherwise i would've lost it."

"understandable."

using the card, you open another door. each time you do, you are amazed at the mechanics. everything is very futuristic, and no door opens with a doorknob. they are either sensor or card activated, and they always open unusually. from those that spirally open, to those that slide up or down. you love the noises they make when they do so.

"these are the vip rooms. we still have to figure out how we will use the card, since there is only one and you need it to move around. i can unlock the room you want so you don't have to look for me every time you want to go to your room, but that's all the card can unlock. i'll check with ryan if we can duplicate it for other doors."

"he was incapable of pushing a few buttons, think he can replicate a whole card?"

"doesn't hurt to try. anyway, pick a room!" you hand him the card, motioning to the sensors near the doors. "feel free to check out each one of them."

he wants to take the first one, without exploring the rest. but you pressure him into seeing others, claiming there might be better ones. truth is, you've claimed the best one for yourself. but he doesn't need to know that.

"oh, wow." he breathes out, entering the last room at the far end.

it has a simple white bed, already made with pillows and sheets, a desk and a few shelves above it. it has a door that leads to his own bathroom, and a small dresser. a circular window just above the bed takes yeosang's attention again. he smiles, then turns towards you.

"this one."

"you sure?"

"positive. i'd love to wake up to that view every morning."

"then, it is settled. you have your own bathroom and shower, so you won't have to go out all the way back to the lobby. there's also a minibar, it gets restocked once every two weeks for now. but i found a way to change it. it's just a few drinks and snacks."

he nods, still taking in the room.

"anyways, i'd like to call it a day. the cockpit will have to wait. you should refresh yourself, there is towels in the drawers under the bed and spare clothes in the dresser. it's only sleepwear, but fresh. the dirty clothes go in that bin by the door, it gets automatically dumped in the washing machine in the storage room every morning."

"wow, you've really done some exploring."

"guess i have. have fun. i'll unlock the room, then i'll be right across the hall if you need me."

"thank you, y/n."

a few days later, a knock wakes you up. you glance at the watch, and seeing that it is three in the morning, you groan.

"yes?"

"are you awake?"

"now i am."

"sorry."

you stay silent, waiting for him to continue. but he doesn't. you hear shuffling outside the door, then footsteps. you roll your eyes before dragging your body out of the comfortable bed. you open the door, only to find him very much awake and dressed in fresh clothes, on his way back to his room.

"what is it?"

"what's the time?" he turns around at your voice.

"three in the morning."

"oh."

you stare at each other in silence for a few moments. you raise an eyebrow, amused with his behaviour. "well?"

"right. i was bored. i don't know what to do. i can't sleep."

"then... go to the gym?"

"i forgot how to get there. is there anything else to do? where did you get that book you were reading?"

"ah, the library"

"there's a library?!"

"um, yes. not many books, though. mostly classics, only a small young adult and fantasy section. a few comics here and there. it is on the other side of the ship, though. want to borrow mine until tomorrow?"

his cheeks flush at the sight of the book, remembering the themes of it. a little reading can't hurt. besides, he hasn't had any activity in a while. not with himself either.

"sure."

"want to hang here while you read? if you start feeling sleepy you can just sleep in that other bed." you offer, gesturing towards the bed across the one you have occupied.

"sure, if you don't mind."

"make yourself comfy. the minibar is still stocked, feel free to take anything."

it doesn't take long for you to jump back into bed, warming it up and scrunching the pillow beneath your head. it is just not high enough. with your head turned towards the window, you can see yeosang's reflection. he sits cutely on the bed, back pressed against the slightly curved wall and knees pressed to his chest. his blonde locks fall over his eyes, and he blows upwards every now and then to remove them. you smile to yourself before dozing off.

the second time you are woken up, it is by soft whimpers coming from behind you. a wave of heat washes over your body, seeing the reflection in the window. yeosang lays on the bed, the book halfway finished but discarded on the floor next to the bed. he bucks his hips into his hand, which is wrapped around his pretty pink cock. the veins on his hands are bulging, like the ones on his cock, and you have to fight every urge in you to not jump on him.

you shiver at his moans, getting louder and more... pathetic. carefully, your hand slides from under the pillow and under the blanket, reaching the heat between your legs. he chokes on his own moans, gasping and whining more as he works his way to an orgasm. your other hand sits on your mouth, stopping any noise from escaping. you don't tease yourself, there is no need. you are wet enough for your fingers to slide inside of you easily, and you immediately start pumping.

light squelching is heard in the small room, and you are not sure if it is him or you. either way, the noises are driving you insane, and you hate that you cannot quicken your pace.

yeosang is a gorgeous man, and you found yourself having a crush on him the moment you saw him. but you never thought of him this way. he was just too sweet and innocent looking. now? seeing his veiny hands work on himself, pretty lips creating noises you didn't know men could make, cheeks flushed and hair sticking to his face and neck, you might just be in trouble.

"fuck-" he whispers, hips becoming sloppier with each thrust.

you use the last few moments of his lack of attention before his orgasm to speed up your fingers, inching yourself closer and closer, until a wave of pleasure washes over you and blurs your vision for a moment. you bite into your hand, legs squeezing shut from the intense pleasure. you did touch yourself occasionally during these few weeks, but nothing was as strong and intense as this. and none of it was because of yeosang.

you realize you missed his orgasm, and can't help but frown. you would've loved to see it. his pretty eyes rolling back, and his breathing getting shallow as he loses himself to pleasure. he has already composed himself while you were still getting down from your high. he stands up, puts the book on the nightstand near your bed, then makes his way back to your bathroom.

by the time he comes back, you are already asleep from exhaustion.

"tell me about yourself." he says the next morning.

"ask away." you respond, already out of breath.

the treadmill was never your friend. yeosang had joined you right after you warmed up, and you were the one blushing this time. every time you look at him, you see his sweaty face from last night. not a sight to complain about, but you could've done without it.

"i don't know. favorite colour? movie? song? are there such things on the ship?"

"there is a selection of songs. a couple from each period, as samples to show if there is anyone where we are going. well, they. and a few movies, i think. also some popular ones from each period. they have game of thrones, too."

"ah, i never watched it."

"really? i started it on the ship. didn't know what else to do. i am not watching the godfather or star wars again. so far it seems good. jon snow is to die for."

yeosang looks at you, confused. "i don't know who that is."

"if you want to watch with me, i'll show you. i haven't shown you the theater yet anyway."

you stop the treadmill, jumping off it and sitting on the floor for a moment. your legs burn, but it is satisfying discomfort. you wait for yeosang to dismount the stationery bicycle, not looking at his bottom whatsoever. not fair how it is better shaped than yours. he is speaking to you, but you are busy admiring his body. he always hides under the loose sleepwear, this is the first time you see him properly. he wears a tight athletic fit, showing off his broad shoulders and thin waist.

"is that okay?"

"what?" you accidentally yell, then slap your hand over your mouth.

he laughs, running his fingers through his damp hair and glancing at you over his shoulder. "i asked if you want to have dinner? i know we usually skip it from lack of moving during the day, but i am going to be here for a while. i'm going to need some food before bed."

"of course. i was thinking the same. any dress code?" you joke.

"i mean, you can dress fancy. why not? who's stopping us?"

"what, are you going to wear, like, a tuxedo or something?"

"i'll figure something out." he gets off the bicycle, sending you a playful wink.

you find yourself blushing under his gaze, but you do not look away. he is just too mesmerizing to look at. where has this man been hiding down on earth?

"need help getting up?"

"uh, i think i might skip the bike. my legs are too shaky. i'll stay on the floor for a while."

"you'll catch a cold. come here."

without a warning, his hands position themselves on your waist, and so effortlessly pick your aching body up. you hold onto his shoulders, flabbergasted. there is no motive, other than being helpful, but you can't help the sudden rush you feel between your legs. imagining him manhandling you, throwing you around as he likes, wrapping his hand around your neck as you struggle to breathe and beg him for more.

"i'll help you." he sets you down on the yoga mat, then gently pushes you to lay down. "you have to warm up more and stretch yourself."

"if i start warming myself up more, i won't have the energy for a proper exercise."

"come on, don't be dramatic. i'll show you now, alright?"

"fine."

you lay back, eyes looking up at the open ceiling. millions of white and yellow dots glimmer all across the dark void. yeosang's hands slide from your waist to your leg, gently rubbing the thigh. he puts light pressure on it, and it only increases the muscle pain. but you trust him, so you let him continue. he does the same to your other thigh, and repeats the process with your calves. he then sets his hands on your ankles, slowly pushing your feet across the mat until your knees are propped up. he doesn't stop there, picking your ankles off the floor and slowly pressing your knees to your chest.

"oh, fuck me." you gasp in pain, shutting your eyes and reaching for something to hold onto.

your fingers can't grasp the tight fabric of the athletic shirt, so you resort for digging your nails into his shoulders. he holds you in that position for a few moments, then slowly releases and straightens your legs out again. then again, and again, until you are sweating with pain.

"you're doing good," he hushes, "just a bit more. you can handle it for me, can't you?"

"i guess, yeah."

"good girl."

before you can respond with anything other than a grunt, yeosang presses your knees against your chest one more time, this time leaning his body against you. his body is firm, and big. he hovers over you, his crotch dangerously close to yours. if you moved just a few inches, you'd be grinding on him. he stays still for a moment, not breaking eye contact as he causes delicious pain, and you can't help but think about other ways he could stretch you.

"does it hurt?" he whispers.

"a little." you respond with an equal quiet voice.

"i'll get you used to it, don't worry."

it doesn't feel like he is talking about the warmup anymore. but you decide not to risk it. he could really mean it in an innocent and helpful manner, and you would be the lust driven fool who has ruined the only friendship you are going to have in your life. you remove your hands from his shoulders, then gently press them against his chest to push him away. he doesn't budge, but takes the message and moves himself. he is so much stronger than he looks, and it drives you crazy. such an angelic face, with such a sculpted body.

"i think i'll finish early today. if i continue, i won't have the strength to even dress for the dinner, let alone reach the restaurant."

"alright, then. eight tonight?"

"sounds good. got your card?"

he retrieves the shiny item from his back pocket and flashes it your way. "right here."

"great. i'll see you tonight, then. with my fancy clothes." you laugh, picking up the items you have scattered around the gym.

"ditto."

you raid the storage room, looking for anything that is not gym clothes or sleepwear. roaming around the ship, you find the luggage room. hundreds of bags, all full to the brim. you're sure they won't mind if you borrow something. not your fault your father made you pack simple childish clothes and only a handful of makeup.

eight o'clock rolls around quickly, and you may or may not be running late. your room is a mess, makeup scattered all over the desk and nightstand, and clothes piling up on the bed. you do not know what you've pulled from what bag. it's not like you'll be alive to hear them confront you anyway. you had heard yeosang's door shut ten minutes ago, and no matter how much you rush, it seems that everything is working against you. your hair was frizzier than ever, and you hated having it any other way than down. tonight, however, you do not wish to look like you just woke up and forgot about the dinner. you resort for a simple hairclip, pulling out a few strands of hair to frame your face. finally, you feel decent enough to leave the room.

yeosang hears the clicking of shoes, then stands up. his jaw drops at the sight, and he almost forgets to talk. he hasn't seen you with your hair up, ever, not in the gym either. you had some sort of a loose braid, but loose and messy enough to look how you normally do your hair. your face is exposed completely, along with your neck. yeosang was never one to gawk at a woman, but the way the deep red colour of the evening gown complimented your skin and the fabric hugged your curves had him stuttering. your lips had a red tint, with a hint of glitter, both matching the dress. the dress sparkles under the lights as you walk over to him, like the stars yeosang looks at all day and night.

"don't you look handsome." you smile.

he wears a loose, slightly see through black shirt, with nothing underneath. your mouth waters at the sight of the outline of his chest and abs. you so desperately want to run your nails down his torso. he also wears black slacks, and polished black shoes. his hair is tamed, falling in soft blonde locks around his face and showing his eyes properly.

"you look... uh-" his gaze roams your body, up and down multiple times. it lingers on your lace up heels, and if you looked at him for just a bit longer, you would see the way he gulped and licked his lips. "you look dashing."

"thank you, yeosang. you're very sweet."

he pulls out the chair for you, and that simple act already gives you butterflies. as you sit and look at the menu, as if it's your first time seeing it, you can't help but think whether this is a date. you fear to ask. two people looking good and sitting down for dinner doesn't always mean a date, right? even when they keep blushing at each other every few moments?

"are those your clothes?" you ask, chewing on the appetizer.

"no, actually. borrowed them from some guy named seonghwa, i think it said on the bag. he has good taste. i might borrow more things from him once in a while. what about you? that dress has to be yours, it looks like it was made for you."

"i borrowed it from some lady. seems that she only took evening gowns with her. from all of this, only the hair clip is mine."

yeosang nods, shoving a bruschetta in his mouth. "you look pweffy wif your hair up."

"what?" you laugh, taking the last appetizer from the sharing plate.

"i said..." he swallows, "you look pretty with your hair up. you should wear it like that more often."

"will do, sir."

two hours of eating, conversing and laughing later, you drag yeosang from his seat to dance. it has to be the prosecco speaking, because you would never ask him such a thing sober. especially because you can't dance.

"there is no music," he stands in front of you, hands resting on your waist.

he is slightly tipsy, but the sober one between the two of you. you wrap your hands around his neck, and call ryan.

"yes, miss?"

"put on some music, please."

"right away, miss. do you wish for anything specific?"

"play something by elvis."

even though you claim you can't dance, your body moves itself to the soft rhythm of the music. you sway your hips and move your feet to match the blonde man. both of you still have hands firmly planted on the others body, and eyes locked with each other. this time, neither of you look away. something about this moment is so beautiful, and so sad. you have each other, but are alone. you try to make the best out of the situation, but both of you are terrified. you have only learned to mask it well so you can keep each other strong.

but tonight, neither of you holds back tears. you let them freely spill, feeling vulnerable in each others arms. you tremble under his touch, afraid to let go. his thumb grazes your cheek, wiping the new tears away and caressing your skin in the process. this time, it is his turn to comfort you. he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a hug while still swaying to the rhythm of the music. his head rests in the crook of your neck, nose nuzzling against your exposed skin. you have your head buried into his chest, while your hands rest on his back and fingers scrunch the light material of the shirt.

"you smell nice." he compliments softly.

you scoff through tears. "it's a new shampoo."

"macadamia?"

"yeah. was feeling like autumn today."

"i like it. better than my old spice supply."

it feels comforting to silently cry into his chest. after being the one comforting him and staying strong for a long time, it is his turn to cheer you up. he holds your face in his hands, thumbs relentlessly wiping tears away.

"as beautiful as you look even when you cry, i'll have to interrupt with a fun discovery i've made a few days ago."

your cheeks heat up at the compliment. nobody has ever told you anything like that. even at your lowest, he makes you feel pretty.

"a discovery?"

"yeah. i saved it for tonight. come with me." the brown eyed man smiles at you before offering his hand for you to take.

"but slow down, these heels are quite uncomfortable." you accept his warm hand, taking it like you were made for it.

he stays still for a few moments, gaze locked on the black platform heels. a squeal leaves your lips when yeosang takes your body in his hands, carrying you bridal style. you hold onto his neck, and press your head against his shoulder for support.

"wait, the card! i left it on the table."

yeosang makes his way back to the table, then lowers you enough for you to grab the card. you playfully put it between your teeth, then wrap your arms around his neck again. as he walks, you nearly drift off on his shoulder. the soft clicking of his shoes against the floor, his scent, and his occasional humming gives you a sense of serenity. he smells of vanilla and bourbon, and it is a big refreshment from all the ocean breezes and sport rushes. seeing him order the glass of bourbon made your stomach flutter, as you were used to men only ordering beer or a rum-coke. he took small sips of it, a complete opposite to you who finished two glasses before getting to desert. the third one we shall not mention.

you feel him stop, and you open your eyes. you look at a door you've never seen before. looking around, you notice lockers lined up on the wall and a screen hanging in the middle of the room.

"i'll put you down now."

he sits you on the bench under the screen, then crouches in front of you and reaches for the card still nestled between your teeth. you move your head away, sitting on your hands. he scoffs, then reaches again. but you are stubborn. you move your head away once again, causing him to sigh and rest his hands on your knees for support.

"can i have the card please?"

you finally lean in, getting to his eye level. his eyes watch your lips sparkle, just like the card that is stuck between them. the tips of his ears become hot again, and he is glad that his hair is covering them today.

finally getting the hint, the man sighs, playing annoyed. he leans in, hands squeezing your knees, before he takes the other end of the card in his teeth. you almost giggle out loud, not actually expecting him to do that. he takes his sweet time retrieving it, slowly pulling it from your mouth and keeping his gaze locked with yours. you finally let go, accidentally leaving a red lip stain on your side of it.

he then transfers it to his hand, while using his other one to poke your forehead. "you really are something."

"that's right, poke the weak."

"you're going to have to take your heels off for this."

you groan, throwing your head back dramatically. "do i have to?"

"why, too lazy?"

"maybe."

yeosang rolls his eyes, then takes your leg and places it over his lap. his fingers place the card back between his teeth, this time the side with your lipstick on it. something about the whole situation is insanely intimate, and you might beg him to just chain you up on the side of the ship so you don't do anything. he begins untying the laces of the heel, making sure to graze your skin accidentally with his knuckles. you feel his warm breath on your skin, and can't help but squeeze your thighs together. it is only then you realize that he can see up your dress. but he chooses not to.

"you do it so naturally. do you usually take girl's heels off?"

a pinch to your thigh causes you to jump and yelp, and you use your other leg to gently bump his shoulder with the tip of the heel. he doesn't react, only smirking to himself while still looking down and working on the halfway undone lace. you repeat the action, feeling mischievous and set on seeing what he'll do. on the third bump, yeosang grabs your ankle, yanking it forward along with your body and looks up at you.

your legs are now slightly spread, and he can easily look if he wanted to. but he still doesn't. his eyes stay locked with yours, no longer a playful glint in them. his pupils are dilated, causing his eyes to appear darker than usual. a gulp goes down your throat painfully slow, realization hitting you. he might not like this type of teasing and joking, and you might've pushed it too far. after all, he is trying to do a nice thing for you here. he is crouching on the ground for you, for god's sake.

"stay still." he almost growls, voice low and stern.

you nod, your eyes falling down on the leg in his lap. then, you notice the bulge in his pants. he might not be as angry as you thought after all. you stifle a smirk and decide to sit still and make it easier for him.

the man finally takes off one of your heels, and when you want to set your bare foot on the floor, he keeps it still in his lap. the tiles are cold, he says. he works on the other one, taking his sweet time while you admire the room.

you wonder what it is, and where he is taking you. the room gently sways in your eyes, or it might just be you. whatever it is, you trust him.

"feeling better?" he rubs your red and bruised soles. as comforting as it feels, you have to remove them before you drip through your dress and on the bench.

no man was ever this gentle and caring with you. yeosang doesn't even have that kind of relationship with you, and he is already way ahead of all the men you've ever been with. you might've just hit the jackpot with him. spending your life on this ship alone with him doesn't seem like the worst way to live.

"yes, better. thank you, yeosang. you're very sweet. who taught you how to be a gentleman?"

"my sister. that dumbass." he scoffs.

he then proceeds describing how he learned from her horrible boyfriends. they were always selfish, and she always felt alone even when she was in a relationship. she mostly felt used, ignored, and a second choice. yeosang would witness them coming home, doing the deed, then leaving because they had plans with the boys. she cried often, and even though she always slammed the door in yeosang's face whenever he wanted to comfort her, she was grateful that he won't grow up to be like them.

"your sister sounds nice. i've only had asshole brothers."

"well, none of them are in our way now. my sister won't suffer for another nine hundred years, and you won't see your asshole brothers for the rest of your life."

you continue rambling about how strict your father always was, how your mother only listened and rarely ever defended you against his accusations and your brothers' bullying, and how you had to hide every relationship and never got to enjoy them properly. although, now that you think about it, you had the same experience as his sister. you are glad not to be stuck with someone like them.

"now, wear this for me. there's a changing room right there. and don't ask. i promise, it will be worth it."

you feel like a child after coming out of the dressing room, standing up when he tells you, turning around and facing a certain direction. you both wear tight black clothes, and he checks the screen every now and then. once he makes sure that you are wearing the clothes properly, he opens one of the lockers.

"no." your jaw drops in disbelief.

"yes." he says, happily pulling out an astronaut suit.

"yeosang, that- is that safe? i mean, you're not thinking about leaving the ship, are you? this is just dress up, isn't it?" you ramble.

"it is perfectly safe. you told me once to trust you. now, it's your turn to trust me. why do you get to show me the cool stuff around here, but i don't get to do that for you?"

"yes, but... this is outside the ship. it's open space!"

yeosang helps you put the suit on, despite your ranting. you hold onto his shoulders while you put your legs in the boot part of the suit, then your arms until yeosang zips it up. it feels like you already have dozens of layers on you. he stifles a chuckle, and you squint at him.

"what is it?"

"you look like a penguin."

"yeah, well, so do you."

"i know. you just look cute."

he turns around to grab the gloves and helmet, leaving you to blush by yourself while he finishes zipping himself up. he brought back the fear you had forgotten about; fear of the unknown and stranded. at least if something happens, you are not alone.

"head up." you do so, and he connects an oxygen and communication system to the suit, then rolls up the collar of the undersuit so that it protects your neck and head, leaving only your face visible. "good girl."

"you need to stop saying that." you blurt out.

"and you need to stop teasing me every few minutes. there is only so much i can take."

"you're the one to talk! you always-"

"hey." his hand grabs your jaw, turning your head to look at him and stopping your complaining. "behave. or else."

"or else...?" you whisper, the prosecco still pulling the worst in you.

he leans in, noses almost touching and lips close enough to feel his warmth on yours. he looks into your eyes, then down at your lips, still holding your jaw in his hand. "or else i might just have to tame you somehow."

you gulp audibly. he smirks at that, then lets go of you and proceeds to put your helmet on. you feel frustrated. he is playing your game, and he is winning. you are supposed to make him blush and stutter, not the other way around.

"there, all fixed. can you breathe?"

"yes."

"can you hear me?"

"duh."

"through the system, dummy." he laughs, tapping on the wire that connects inside the suit.

"ah, yes. i can."

"good. i hope you don't have to pee."

"don't remind me of that! i had half a bottle of prosecco and am wearing like a hundred layers."

"good. no more pee talk. let's do this."

yeosang slides the card on the door, and enters the small space. when it closes, the space fills with smoke and lots of lights start going off and on.

"pressure stabilized."

"thank you!" he yells, playful smile dancing on his lips.

with a frown, you hit his arm for mocking you. he gently nudges you, as if pushing you away. you both know that if he wanted to, he could've pushed you way harder. and it makes you a little horny.

just in time, yeosang slides the card near the other door, then puts the card safely in the suit pocket and zips it. the round door opens, sliding up and revealing the dark void. instinctively, you grab his hand with two of yours. clinging to him like a sloth, you stand on the edge of the spaceship and look down. it strange that when you step over the threshold, no gravity will pull you down.

"wait!" you stop him before he steps over. "have you done this already?"

"uh... yes? i mean, i didn't go far or stay long. i think i hung for a few seconds from that handle and rushed back in. was scared shitless, honestly."

"you fool!" you hit him again, multiple times.

"ow! hey, what, what?!"

"you went to test it alone? you could've- you could've injured yourself! or worse! something could've gone wrong, and i would be all alone again!"

"you didn't think i'd bring you here before seeing if it's safe, did you? what if only one of us survived, the other would have to live with that guilt until the end of their life." he explains, holding you by your shoulders and gently shaking you as he speaks. "i know we've known each other only for a little over a month now, but i'd never do that to you. we only have each other, and i'd never do anything to leave you alone on this thing. i promise."

"promise?" your bottom lip quivers.

he sighs, closing his eyes and leaning his helmet against yours, as if leaning his forehead. "i promise."

"i believe you."

"good. otherwise, this would be a very bad idea."

with that, he pulls you over the edge, holding onto the handle on the outer surface of the ship. you squeal, legs wiggling in the unknown and arms firmly wrapped around his free one. he holds you close, not yet moving until he is sure that everything looks fine.

"i'll let go now, alright?"

"what if we drift away?"

"we won't, i tied us up to the ship. we can get back whenever we want."

you give yeosang only a few minutes of silence, before bombarding him with questions again. he answers every single one he knows, assuring you that he has everything under control. using the moment when you are focused on something on your space suit, he slowly lets go of the handle. as soon as you feel yourself drifting away, you glue yourself to his side, even going so far to wrap your legs around his.

"y/n, you'll have to let me go. i can't move like this."

"i'm scared."

"you want to go back?"

"no."

"then," he peels you away from himself, instead holding your hand properly in his. "let go."

you now float in the void, holding his hand and admiring the ship from the outside.

"you're looking the wrong way, doll. turn around."

due to the strange and spine-chilling situation you are in, you miss his little nickname directed at you. with his help, you slowly turn your back to the ship, and focus on the newfound space.

"look, down there." he points to the side.

"oh my god!" you exclaim, fear and excitement mixing inside of you. "what is that?!"

it is a bright, giant cloud of shiny dust. it has a light pink hue and a faded purple in the center.

"it's a nebula." he simply says.

"aren't they more colorful? i mean... that's just looks like a space cloud. it's nothing like the photos they send to us."

"ah, those images are taken with long exposure to capture all the lights, and edited later. our eyes cannot process all of those colours, so they sometimes add them on later."

"oh. well, nevertheless, it is stunning. it looks so glorious. i want to touch it."

"no, y/n, you can't touch the remains of a dead star."

"but why not?" you play along, acting like the spoiled child.

both of you laugh, holding onto each other and staring at the beauty of this frightening place.

"how did they calculate the trajectory? what if they missed some asteroid or something?"

"please don't talk about asteroids while we pathetically hang from a space ship in the void. i beg."

"sorry," you smile sheepishly.

"had enough? want to go back?" he asks, checking on your suit.

"not yet."

"want to go a bit furth-"

a snap interrupts him, coming from the ship. before you can look that way, yeosang pushes you away from him just in time, and you scream. a white object passes between the two of you, close enough to hit you. another snap is heard, then another. you finally look at the ship, right before more objects start flying at you. one of the smaller debris hits you, right in the helmet, sending your body further away. a few moments of silence pass, both you and yeosang going through shock. until you hear slight wheezing, and feel cool air on your face.

one of the boards on the surface on the ship must've come loose and broke into pieces. you gasp, body and soul reaching for the man now far away from you.

"i'm coming!" he man yells, panicked. but the communication starts glitching. it cuts off his words, and soon enough, you can't hear him anymore.

the air becomes harder to breathe, and lack of oxygen could kill you, if fear doesn't do it first. your vision becomes spotty, and yeosang's figure slowly starts blending in with the nebula behind him. you try covering the crack with your hand, and it helps for a short amount of time. you accidentally apply more pressure on it, causing the helmet to further break and wheezing intensify. the system begins to go crazy, sending you signals and urging you to get back on the ship. dozens of beeping noises, red lights and whatnot going off in your suit, yet all you can focus on is yeosang's failed attempts to reach you.

"yeosang..." you call, hoping he might answer.

but he doesn't, instead working with his arms and legs to get to you.

"keep... eyes... open... please..." his voice echoes inside the helmet, broken and mixed with robotic sounds. "take... hand... try... reach..."

"i can't," you breathe out, eyes closing. it is the last thing he hears from you.

"no!"

your vision blackens, and you stop the squirming, instead letting your body in the control of the cosmos. maybe that's how it was supposed to be from the beginning. no escaping doomsday, no ships, no wandering in the void, no claiming other planets. maybe humans were supposed to be the ones with limited knowledge. they weren't meant to go this far. or maybe the human race is simply that insignificant, compared to everything else. just a small, useless percent among the stars. the universe will stand, and continue being terrifyingly beautiful and endless, with or without us.

it feels like the right way to go. a punishment, for escaping your fate and leaving others to die a terrible death.

"i'm sorry, i'm so sorry, god i'm so sorry."

you couldn't have known, yeosang.

"i should've known, i should've stayed inside."

there was no way for you to know, yeosang.

"i should've died the first time i went, so you know not to do that."

don't speak such things, yeosang. maybe it was meant to be this way from the beginning.

"you don't deserve this, i do."

if you knew what i did, you would know that nobody deserves this like i do.

"please don't die on me, please. what do i do without you?"

you'll make it. you'll just have to do what i did. but you'll hate yourself for the rest of your life.

"none of it makes sense without you."

you'll hate yourself every time you look at their face. like i hate myself when i look at you.

"i- i think i love you. i don't think i'll make it without you."

i wish i could say it back without the guilt eating up my heart. i wish i could say all of this out loud to you, and not in my head. and yes, you will make it, yeosang.

kang yeosang hasn't eaten in days. the restaurant remains empty, as does the gym, and the discovered library, although with a few empty shelves. he sits on the cold floor of the emergency room, books scattered around him and one nestled in his hand.

"it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. however little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters." he reads, voice raspy and tired.

there is a pile to his right, and a smaller one to his left. he reads from morning to night, even though the stars and moons do not show it. he sits there, reading page after page, all to you who lay on the bed in the middle. he lowers the book after a while, glancing at your sleeping body.

"you know, if you've already read pride & prejudice, i can skip it. now that i think of it, you might've already read everything i read to you these days. sorry. must be torture."

already used to not getting replies from you, he sets the book down with a sigh. he folds the corner of the page, marking where he stopped reading. if you were awake, a poke to his forehead would be guaranteed, if not worse. he laughs, remembering the first time you discovered he did that.

"i'm sorry, are you ill? what the hell are you doing to my books?!"

"first of all, they're not yours. second, it's just a book. and third, to answer your question: i'm folding the corner."

"my lord, i have just lost all my respect for you. please exit my chambers."

"gosh, stop reading game of thrones already. if i get called lord one more time, i'm jumping into the nearest black hole."

"i am the queen of the ship, i do as i wish."

"and what does that make me?"

"you can be my queen hand."

"not your king consort?"

"ha! you wish. your house and blood is no match for mine, yeosang of house kang."

"whatever you say, your grace."

yeosang had forgotten about his own room. he hung out with you all day, and slept in the bed opposite to yours. for the first time in a while, he didn't think about what's outside, and what fate awaits him. he enjoyed the moment, enjoyed making you laugh and pissed. he loved how you could switch from giggly to angry in a split second, only from him tickling you too much.

now? he can tickle you as much as he wants, but you won't budge. you breathe, but you don't show any other signs of consciousness. he has raided every room there is, looking for any medical help in any form. he asked ryan, though he should've known better than that. i am not programmed for that kind of procedure, sir. yeosang already knew that sentence before it was said. it took everything in him to not smack the robot, but he heard your voice in the back of his head, defending the soulless thing.

he stands up, setting the book aside on the pile that is waiting to be read. he approaches the circular table, where he has laid you, stripped you of the heavy spacesuit and only left the first layer of tight clothes, then covered you with a light blanket. he managed to connect a few tubes to your body, following the instructions on the screen above the table. he can now see your vitals, he just doesn't know what to do with it. he relies on the ai, hoping it is right.

"if you do not wake up soon, my queen, i will take your throne," he jokes, tapping a damp cloth on your forehead. "then what will you do?"

he unbuttons his silk sleep shirt and stays in his white tank top, suddenly feeling hot inside the room. he folds it on the table next to your head, and pushes the hair out of your face. the system beeps above his head, showing increased heartrate. he looks down at you, searching for any sign of consciousness other than breathing.

"can you hear me?"

your heartrate goes back to normal, dimming yeosang's hope. he finishes wiping the sweat off your forehead and neck, then gently squeezes your hand before sitting back on the floor and resuming his reading.

when he wakes up, he finds himself in his own room. how he got there, he could not recall. but he left your side, after he promised himself to not do that ever again. almost jumping out of bed, the man dashes down the halls, the shiny card in his hand still holding your lipstick stain as he presses it against the various door sensors. he reaches the emergency room in record time, and his heart almost stops. you aren't there.

the tubes once attached to your body now lie on the floor, and the blanket is neatly folded on the table. his sleep shirt is gone, along with the book he wasn't done reading to you. hands hurriedly rubbing his eyes, yeosang fails to process what happened. he rushes through the rest of the ship, searching every nook and cranny in hopes of seeing your face. even going to the place he has been avoiding for the past few days. the spacesuits and helmets still lay on the floor, forgotten. the cracked one delivers a pang to the blonde man's heart, a painful reminder of his careless acts and their consequences.

hopeless, he reaches one final spot. the cockpit.

he had promised you not to go there without you, and the other way around. both of you were waiting for a perfect opportunity, when both of you are sober and wide awake. that never happened.

yeosang breaks his promise, holding the card to the sensor. the doors slide open, revealing the long awaited cockpit. two tall chairs stand side by side, separated by a narrow control panel. in front of the chairs is a wider and more detailed control panel. and above it all, a panoramic window. the ship is flying through a nebula, its vivid colours taking yeosang aback. bright shades of orange, yellow and blue envelop the ship, reflecting in yeosang's wide eyes.

"you said that the colours are edited on photos. how dare you lie to your queen?"

the man steps back, recognizing your voice.

"y/n?"

"yes?" one of the chairs turns around, and you sit in it. with a smile on your lips, the lost book in your hand, and his sleep shirt hanging from your body. but all he sees is your face.

he exhales, relief washing over his body like never before. not able to control himself, he rushes towards you, picking you up from the chair and enveloping you in his arms. the book falls to the floor, your arms flying to return the hug. it never felt as right as now.

"gosh, how did you get here by yourself? are you hurt?" he sets you on the floor, cupping your face in his big palms. "are you alright?"

"i'm fine. a little dizzy."

"i thought i lost you."

not able to stop himself, yeosang presses his lips against your forehead. he stays there, inhaling your scent and listening to your breathing. your hands slide down from his neck and find their place on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm. it beats fast, almost matching yours. he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours properly this time, not through a helmet.

"how dare you leave me alone?"

"is that a way to speak to your queen?"

he chuckles at your jokes, even in such moments. he should get used to it by now. his thumbs rub your cheekbones, soothing you and making whatever worry you had left perish. you can't help the tears that prickle your eyes when you look at him. his are as red and glossy, and it takes you over the edge.

you climb on your toes, properly reaching his face. his heart beats faster under your palm, as if threatening to jump out. slowly, and with a bit of hesitation, you press your lips against his. it is a mere two second kiss, before you pull away. you search his face for any emotions; disapproval, disgust, discomfort. yet none of those are present.

he has his eyes shut, still taking in the kiss. you want to pull away, to give him space. but his hands slide down to your waist, pressing your body against his. he leans in again, capturing your lips with his. his kiss is an opposite to yours: confident and sure. he pecks your lips once, twice, again and again, until you finally relax in his arms and let your hands roam his body. fingers finding comfort in his blonde locks, and body pressed firmly against his, you kiss him like it's your last.

his grip intensifies, his fingers buried into your sides as yours gently pull on his hair. he picks you up, only to set you back into the chair you've been sitting in all this time. he easily finds the button to lower the backrest and turn it into a temporary bed, then climbs on it with you. his lips are hungry for yours, and even though you could use a moment of breathing, you do not stop him. allowing yourself another moment of bravery, you gently lick his bottom lip, asking to deepen the kiss. and the man listens. he opens his lips, tongue in search for yours while your hands play with the collar of his tank top on his back. you slide one hand underneath, feeling his hot skin on yours.

gently, yeosang grazes your tongue with his, and you taste salty liquid on his lips. tears fall down both your faces, drops rolling down your cheeks and mixing in your mouths with the kiss. it is emotional, passionate, and intimate in every way. he pulls away for a split second, only to take a breath and look at you.

his chest rises and falls heavily, and his lips are plump and a deep pink. his hair is ruffled, your doing. he already looks breathtaking.

"is that... my sleep shirt?" he finally notices.

"oh, yeah. i was feeling a bit chilly, i borrowed it. want it back?"

"no, you can- oh."

you sit up, enough to let the white silk material slide off your skin and pool on the chair. you had stripped yourself from the tight undergarments yeosang had left you in, instead wearing a white bralette and matching lace panties. from the size of his sleep shirt, he didn't even notice that you weren't wearing the short bottoms you usually do.

the white has never complimented your skin as beautifully as today, right in this moment. yeosang can't help but remove your hair from your chest and neck, letting it fall back and exposing your body to him. you let him, taking your time in examining him as well. he runs his knuckles down your wet cheek, wiping the tears that decorate your face, and continues down your neck. his forefinger takes the lead, caressing your collarbones and making a path between your breasts.

you take his hand, guiding it to the outline of your panties. his breath seems to stop for a moment, but a gentle smile on your lips assures him that everything is alright. he groans, slamming his lips back on yours, this time sloppier and rougher. noses brushing against each other, teeth clashing, and hands hurriedly getting rid of clothes, it is all you've needed all this time.

him, all of him.

a thin layer of sweat coats his body, making his pale skin shine under the lights of the nebula. he peppers kisses along your jawline, down your neck, and settles on your collarbones.

"my queen," he whispers, then runs his tongue along your collarbone.

your fingers play with his damp locks, gently pushing his head towards you and inhaling his scent. he seems to have a fixation on the certain part of your body, because he can't help but mark it with purple spots. you hiss at the sweet pain, and yeosang is quick to lick your fresh wounds, as if apologizing for what he did.

he lingers around the area a bit more, switching between the crook of your neck and the collarbones, until he finally dips his head down to your breasts. a shiver runs down your spine when he cups them, giving them a gentle squeeze before kissing all over them. you tremble under his touch, hips desperately searching his for friction. but he lowers your body back on the chair, limiting your moves.

you forget just how strong he is, and him holding your body in place with a single hand reminds you how much he works on himself, even when his life has completely changed. a gasp escapes your lips as you feel the tip of his hot tongue circling your tense nipple. he catches it between his lips, gently sucking it while his other hand travels down your body. his short nails graze your skin, and you've never felt this sensitive in your life.

he pays attention to every inch of your body, showering it with love and passion, marking your skin as he goes and making you his in every way.

"yeosang-" you choke out, feeling him bite your lower stomach.

"yes?"

"please," you beg, running your nails down his bulk arms and shoulders.

"patience, love. you'll get where you want to. what's the rush? we have our own eternity."

the way he speaks in a hoarse voice has you seeing imaginary stars beside the real ones out the window. he pulls away from your body, just enough to plant a kiss on your damp forehead. he pulls you in for a kiss again, sighs of pleasure leaving both your mouths as you kiss and feel each other. his bare body finally leans against yours completely, and you instinctively spread your legs. his arm hooks under your knee, bending it over and caressing your thigh in the process.

"you're everything i've ever wished for." he whispers between kisses. "i just failed to see it. it took me losing you to understand that."

"yeosang..." his name rolls of your lips so sweetly in a light moan.

"i'm so sorry for what i did."

"don't apologize."

"i will. you almost died because of me."

"don't speak of that now," you hush him with another kiss.

he listens, putting his other hand on your other leg and gently spreading them. he falls to his knees, hands still firmly planted on your thighs. you try pushing them together, instinctively, but you should've known better than that. they stay in place under his grip, exposing your glistening core to his hungry eyes. it's almost like he can see the colorful dust cloud down there, the layer of arousal mimicking his sweat and reflecting the blue of the sky.

yeosang isn't in a rush, unlike you. your hand pathetically grips his hair, pushing his head towards your pulsating and burning core. he chuckles between your legs, cool air hitting your clit from the proximity.

"please?"

"what do you beg for, pretty?"

"don't tease me, i've waited long enough. please, yeosang."

"oh, but i've waited long too. and now that i am here, i want to take my sweet time. i want to devour you, feel all of you, to mould you so that you fit perfectly in my hands. i want to make love to you among the stars, and i want to make you feel like a real queen of the skies."

it's like he fell out of a book. he knows all the right words, all the right gestures, and all the right touches. his tongue dips between your folds, plush lips following and lazily caressing your clit. your fingers tighten their grip in his hair, and your other hand digs its nails into his shoulder for support. settling for soft and gentle licks, yeosang truly takes his time with you. he makes out with your folds, as if they're your real lips, sucking on them, grazing them with his teeth and kissing along your clit. you squirm under his painfully slow moves, grinding your hips on his face in hopes of getting more friction.

tired of your disobedience and impatience, yeosang places your legs over his shoulders, burying his head further into your core and switching to rougher moves. lewd noises escape your lips, and you do not try to conceal them. he should know what effect he has on you.

he slurps up your nectar, coating his lips in shiny fluid and enjoys your core essence. he eats you like a starved man, not bothering to take a proper breath. he sucks harshly on your clit, drawing moans and gasps from you. when he pulls away, his cheeks are flushed, and his lips plump and glistening with your arousal. a thin string of saliva connects his mouth to your core, and you almost black out at the sight. you pull him by his hair, crashing your lips on his again. you taste yourself on his tongue, and even though you never liked reading about it or seeing it, it is something that you were truly missing out on.

you nudge him, asking him to switch positions. he smiles into the kiss, but turns you over so effortlessly. he is now the one laying down, and you are the one to break the kiss and get on your knees. you see him clearly for the first time. you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine, by taking it slow and teasing him. you kiss his thighs, ignore his aching area, and continue kissing his lower stomach. he can't help but reach for your hair, softly caressing it as you try your hardest to hold back, but seeing that he doesn't mind the delay, but rather enjoys it, you stop the teasing.

your tongue doesn't hesitate to lick a stripe up his hardened cock, circling around his tip and collecting the precum. he hums with pleasure, but doesn't close his eyes. he wouldn't miss this for anything. you take his red tip between your lips, slowly pushing until you almost touch his stomach. he twitches inside your hot mouth, the tip caressing the back of your throat and making your eyes tear up. finally, crying for a different reason.

unlike you, he doesn't buck his hips to speed up your moves. he is perfectly obedient, petting your head and muttering words of praise.

"that's a good girl," he whispers.

you bob your head up and down, testing the waters. he only sighs and hums, not yet moaning. your impatience wins again, your body eager to extract more dramatic sounds from him. you pull away from him, but not without a teasing kiss to his tip, before climbing into his lap.

"how do you want it, my queen?" he cups your face, and you're quick to nuzzle your cheek against his warm palm.

"i want it just like this. me on top."

"oh? didn't take you for one to be on top."

"i'll surprise you with so many things, kang yeosang. you just wait."

"that's my girl."

driven by pure lust and euphoria, you do not care about protection, or the aftermath. you simply raise your hips and align his cock with your clenching hole, then slide down on it. he slides in, inch by inch, deliciously stretching you and filling you to the brim. when you finally sit on it, both of you moan out, hands reaching for each other. his hands help you roll your hips, while your hands feel his torso and chest. you move, slowly, just the way he likes it.

the moans and sighs leaving his lips are the prettiest sounds you've ever heard. you stay silent, wanting to hear more of him. his eyes are fixed at the point where both of you are connected, pupils dilated as he watches your wet hole swallow him whole. the room is filled with squelching noises, the creaking of the chair, passionate kissing here and there, and neverending exclamations of pleasure.

you find yourself whining for release pretty quickly, the buildup already more intense than any of your previous orgasms. yeosang seems to be reaching his end as well, seeing his head hanging from the chair and exposing his pretty neck to you. you can't help but snake your hands up his torso, fingers finding the key pressure on his neck and gently pressing. he chokes out with surprise, sending you a single glance of pure ecstasy before letting his head fall back again.

the dried tears on his glowing face look majestic, along with his eyes rolled back and his hair a mess. he looks glorious under you, especially as his moans get more high pitched and needy. you feel yourself becoming tired, but you love the position too much to change.

"come on, love. fuck yourself dumb on my cock."

such vulgar words from such an angelic face make your insides quiver. it gives you a boost of energy, and you quicken your pace and bounce just like he told you to. he doesn't break eye contact with you, nor does he let you do all the work. his hips meet yours, reaching deeper inside and making you finally moan out loud. he sits up straight, pulling you close to him and holding your body in place so he can collide his hips with yours quicker and with more accuracy. you are a drooling mess, forehead pressed against his as you shamelessly moan into his lips.

"come on, angel. milk me dry like the good girl you are."

your walls squeeze around him, moans becoming whines and mewls.

"fuck, love- i'm going to fill you up-" he grunts, lips desperately chasing yours.

but both of you are too lust driven to kiss properly, so you settle for moaning into each others mouth and bite each others lips, all while chasing the sweet pleasure.

"my love..." he moans.

"yes-" you choke out, feeling the buildup getting ready to errupt.

"my fate..." he grabs your face, forcing you to look into his eyes.

"yeosang-" you sob, pathetically grinding your hips on his.

"my queen of cosmos."

the orgasm tears through you, erupting in your lower stomach and spreading to the edges of your body. warm liquid shoots inside you, and yeosang keeps rocking his hips to the point where he has your eyes rolled back and jaw dropped, no sound exiting your mouth. your nails leave marks on his back, shoulder and neck, just like your lips do on his. you bite down on his bottom lip, accidentally making it bleed. he hisses at the pain, but doesn't forget to help you ride out your orgasm. your moans bounce off the walls of the cockpit, filling yeosang's ears like heavenly music.

the man doesn't seem to get enough of you, because he lays you on your back and slides back inside you. you don't protest, instead relaxing your body and throwing you head back, much like he did. you let him praise you, use you, worship you. you could never handle more than one orgasm, yet kang yeosang has you moaning on the third one already. by the fourth one, you feel like you're drunk or on some kind of substances.

the vivid colours of the nebula never stop, dancing with each other and illuminating your bodies. yeosang kisses you, over and over, whispering sweet things into your ear and asking if you're good. you don't reply with words, but with a kiss to his forehead, nose, lips, whatever you could.

yeosang makes love to you until the ship swims out of the dust cloud, revealing the void littered with millions of glimmering dots once again. you've stopped counting after five, and let yourself go in his arms. maybe this was your fate after all.

or maybe you were kept alive just to confess to your wrongdoings to the man that has proclaimed his love to you. maybe your punishment is his kindness towards you, when you know you don't deserve it.

"i love you."

"i love you too, yeosang." you say it back, guilt still eating up your heart like the first time he said it, unaware that you could hear him.

the blonde haired man didn't have to try hard to get used to waking up beside you. it was his favorite part of the day for months now: waking up to your kisses, or the other way around. having breakfast together, going to the gym, then showering together. perhaps it was repetitive, but to yeosang, it was everything.

today, however, he woke up way before you. he has raided the luggage room, and created a mess until he found what he was looking for. you did your usual routines alone today, with yeosang busying himself with something else all day.

"i'd like to finish that book today, if you don't mind? i'll see you for dinner tonight."

"alright then. i'll miss you." you pout.

"i'll see you in a few hours, darling. fancy dress code?"

"sure! we haven't done that in a while. i can't wait."

and that's how yeosang found himself in the restaurant, spending two hours decorating the place with ryan's help.

"is the rose too much, ryan?"

"depends on the occasion, sir."

"let's say... proposal."

"i believe it is too little, sir."

"yeah, well, unless you can shit out a rose right here, i don't have much choice. i stole this one from the little terrarium in the lobby."

ryan doesn't respond, in his true robot style. yeosang sighs, lighting the candle on the table. you should be here any minute now.

"maybe i should've done it in the big terrarium." he overthinks.

"if i may, sir, the hibernation room would also be a meaningful place."

yeosang raises an eyebrow, amused. "hibernation room?"

"it's what started your new fate."

"ah, the broken pods. i guess i have to visit the engineers on board once, to thank them for that malfunction."

"oh, no need sir. you can thank miss y/n."

yeosang stops arranging the cutlery, looking at the humanoid robot. "what do you mean?"

"well, she is the one behind the malfunction. at least behind yours. so she is the one to thank."

"what?"

"oh, i thought you knew. apologies sir-"

"explain." he walks towards ryan, brows furrowed and hand fidgeting with the jewelry box in his pocket.

"i really shouldn't, sir. apologies, i-"

"you'll tell me," yeosang reaches for a glass of water, ready to pour it over the machine, "right. fucking. now."

"her pod was the only one that malfunctioned. yours was perfectly fine, sir. miss was lonely, and sad. she spent a whole week looking for a perfect match, and found you. she opened your lid, and rushed back to her room."

a crash, similar to the one on the very first day he woke up, echoes through the restaurant. yeosang turns around, finding your startled face looking at him and a broken bottle of wine by your feet.

you don't dare move, afraid of what he'll do. you have no excuse. and no shame.

he slowly steps towards you, causing you to step back. unlike the first day, his face doesn't give away anger. he is calm, and it scares you more. you wish he'd yell, push, throw. yet he doesn't, simply walking into your direction and stopping right in front of you, separated by a broken bottle. he steps in dark red liquid, the ruined shoes being the last thing on his mind.

"yeosang-" you whimper, his still face torturing you.

"don't."

"b-but-"

"do. not."

"you have to understand- i- i was just-"

his hand wraps around your neck, putting light pressure on it. "you took everything from me."

"yeosang, please."

"you do not get to cry. you do not get to feel my pity. you do not get to feel my mercy."

"please, understand me!"

"no!" he drops you on the floor. "i won't fucking understand you! i'd never do such a cruel thing to someone! have you felt no shame every time you looked at me? kissed me? comforted me when i cried about it?!"

pieces of glass tear your palms as you try to stand up, but fail. you sob on the floor, chest hurting from intensity. the glass shards dig into your thighs, and your dress soaks up the wine. you wipe your cheeks with your bloodied hand, accidentally smearing a few red drops on your face.

"here." he throws something in front of you before storming off.

you wail on the floor for what seems like hours. with your knees pressed to your chest, and your head resting on top of your knees, you cry. your dress is soaked with alcohol, tears and snot. you have no dignity left at this point. once you finally start calming down, you notice the plush box that lays discarded on the floor.

it reveals a stunning ring, with a simple stone in the middle. it looks like it was overgrown by vines, and is a rose gold colour. guess you can add it to the box with the broken necklace now. another relationship broken because of you.

days are longer than ever, with you waking up alone and eating alone. that is all you do, besides an occasional visit to the terrarium. when you hear his doors open, you do not dare exit your room until you hear them close. with each day you wake up, you love him more. your body aches for his, and soul yearns for his. maybe if you told him right away in the beginning, this wouldn't have happened. maybe he would've accepted it, he would have more time to understand.

you're a crying mess, from morning to night, until you pass out of exhaustion.

today, you woke up with a hoarse voice and painful chest. you desperately needed to get out the room, no matter if you heard yeosang's door or not. you might faint if you don't leave.

you limp through the hallways, holding onto the walls. you make it all the way until the rotating tube. why was there no other way to get to the other side?

you sit at the edge, head leaning against the stationary wall and legs hanging above the space. you watch the tube rotate, not brave enough to jump in today. but if you don't make it to the terrarium, you might stay here forever.

the doors open behind you, the familiar voice of the system echoing through the tube. you gulp, his scent enveloping you. you expect him to walk away, or simply jump in the zero gravity space and continue his path. but he holds out his hand for you to take.

you look up at him, eyes tired and bloodshot red. he spares you a single glance, before furrowing his eyebrows and looking away. your hand slides into his, as if made with his measurements in mind. he pulls you up slowly, then presses your body close to his. it is as if you were never separated. his vanilla scent fills up your nostrils, and soft breathing soothes you. you hold onto him, like you did when he took you space walking.

he moves through the tube effortlessly, stopping for a while to gaze at the planets below. they are as breathtaking as the previous ones, and the ones to come. yeosang never ceases to be amazed by the beauty of the universe.

upon reaching the other side, you clutch onto him, knowing that this is going to be a rare occasion now. maybe it was just you, but his breath hitches, as if he wants to say something. no sound leaves his pretty lips, not even when you land in the hallway and he helps you find your balance.

"thank you." you whisper.

he stays by your side, eyeing you up and down. "are you alright?"

"uh, yeah. aside from... you know."

he presses the back of his head against your forehead to feel your temperature. "you're a little hot."

a smile creeps on your lips, and you are desperate to make a joke. typical you, making jokes in situations that are serious.

"go on, say it." he sighs, his lips curving up as well.

"no, the moment is gone now."

"want me to repeat it?"

you roll your eyes, then become serious again. he stares at you, an unexplainable emotion on his face. disgust? maybe.

"where are you headed? you should lay down if you're feeling sick."

"terrarium. i need... fresh air."

"i was headed there too."

"oh. sorry, i'll just go somewhere else." you start turning around, and he grabs you by your elbow.

"you don't have to. come here."

before you can protest, yeosang picks you up in his arms, carrying you bridal style once again. while he is focused on the path, you take the time to admire him. he is beautiful. his eyes also seem to be a reddish pink shade, and he has slight bags under his eyes. but before a hope sparks inside your heart, you remind yourself that he does not weep after you. he does it after his family, and after his changed fate.

after the life you stole from him.

"i can hear you thinking."

"sorry."

"stop apologizing."

"okay, sorry."

he looks down at you, amused. "you haven't changed a bit."

"uh... sorry?"

for his own sake, he decides to ignore you. when reaching the terrarium, he sets you down on one of the swings. your head feels lighter already, but your voice stays the same. you aren't used to being this silent, despite being alone for almost a month. you steady yourself, holding onto the chains that hold the plank you call a swing. yeosang stands behind it, putting his hands over yours and gently beginning to push it.

"i understand." he starts.

"you don't have to-"

"no, let me." and you do let him. he lightly pushes you on the swing, taking his time to form sentences. "while you were passed out... i wished for nothing more than for you to wake up. if you didn't, i'd probably do as you did. humans aren't made to live alone, and i never believed it. until i got in this situation. thus, i understand. what i did not understand though, why me? hundreds of men and women in those pods, and you chose me. what made me stick out? what made you come over and open the lid? it's not like there are any personality traits written anywhere. i could've been a douchebag, and you wouldn't have known. then what? would you have gotten rid of me? locked me somewhere?"

"you were simply... angelic." you don't have to think long to give him an answer. you did the thinking before opening his pod.

"angelic?"

"you had this beautiful face, serenity painted on it. true, i did not know anything about you. you could've been short tempered, violent, or worse. after all, i'm a girl. alone, with no protection. yet i took my chances. and you turned out to be perfect. i fell in love with every part of you; with your soul, brain, body. you were my dream partner."

he is speechless. for the first time ever you speak openly about it, and you do not stutter.

"and i wanted to be your dream partner. i tried my hardest to be perfect, but my previous doings kept coming back and haunting me. that night... i wanted to tell you. i truly did. but that stupid robot beat me to it. i mean, seriously, he can't push a few buttons but he can gossip?"

yeosang snorts, then nods in agreement.

"i'm sorry."

"what?" you whip your head around to look at him. "no, i'm the one who should be apologizing. you did nothing wrong!"

"i've been thinking. i apologize for what happened on the space walk. and i apologize for getting violent with you. i just felt... cheated. and stolen from. i felt betrayed. and all that by the person i love with all my being."

"but, yeosang-"

"look, y/n." he walks around the swing and crouches in front of you, stopping your swinging. his hands rest on your knees, thumbs absentmindedly rubbing your skin. "for all we know, they could all be headed to a different type of destruction. maybe they miscalculated. maybe the planet already has life on it, and they see humans as threat. they won't hesitate to exterminate them in order to protect their planet. or maybe it is a higher, more advanced civilization. i don't know about you, but i'd rather live my life on a sized down earth than live to see my own species die out or become slaves to someone else. so, in a way, thank you. for saving me."

"oh, yeosang." you exhale, falling on your knees and into his arms. "i love you. i love you so much."

"i love you too, princess. say..."

"yes?" you pull away, wiping your upcoming tears so they don't fall.

"can you give me my ring back so i can propose? but please act surprised."

you laugh, and he laughs with you. you pull it out from your pocket, and he looks at you with a wider smile.

"i can't believe you had it right here."

"had what?" you shove it into his hand.

"what do you mean? the ri- oh. right." he catches on.

you stand up, pretending to look at the plants while he shuffles behind you. he clears his throat after a while, making you turn around. you fake a shocked expression, putting your hand over your open mouth after seeing him on his knee. the box is opened, and the ring is as beautiful as the first time you saw it.

"will you marry me, my queen of cosmos? and rule the cosmos with me by your side?"

"i will, my queen hand."

🌠 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: first of all, omg a happy ending?? is this a first for barbz? i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it :)

🌠 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐚𝐥/𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬)

@kodzukein @woomyteez @mulletdaddyjayjo @bae4choi @haatohwa @marvelahsobx @jxhnnyfav @angellluh @jjaemasung @oddracha @devastateed

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peachsayshi · 5 months ago

Text

₊ ⊹ . ݁ MILLION DOLLAR BABY ₊ ⊹ .

(sex worker!suguru geto x rich girl!reader)

⊹ tags: suguru geto x female reader; nanami kento x satoru; sukuna is reader's ex; character mentions: yuki, mei mei, shoko, toji; alludes to dd/lg relationship (very very mildly) with sukuna; a mix of angst/smut/fluff; domestic; non curse au; reader was in a toxic relationship; reader has daddy issues a bit lol; mentions of troubled past; mentions of death (parental)

:about: you grew up in a supremely wealthy household, but that came with a price. you’ve never had control over your own life, and now your father is set to marry you off. luckily, there's someone else who captures your heart. what does it matter that you pay him for his company?

:note: hi, everyone! this story is finally here, and it's one that's taken me forever to work but I actually loved this piece. I haven't been excited about something I've written in a while. I hope it lives up to all your expectations. comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3 - this fic is one shot, and I am willing to explore stories with the side characters. I'll happily answer any lore questions regarding sex worker geto x rich girl reader, but there will not be a part two or more parts of their story. It is a standalone.

wc: 14K+

The ceiling is covered with hanging irises, each one carefully handcrafted in paper. Edison bulbs dip down from between in staggering heights, illuminating the bar around you in warm light. It’s crowded tonight, clinking glasses and roaring laugher bouncing off the walls and clashing against the bass coming through the speakers. You scan the crowd, anticipation making your stomach flutter, but it quickly eases when you spot a head of golden hair among the audience.

Nanami is at the bar, looking dapper as usual in a chocolate brown suit offset by a cream colored shirt. He’s drinking a whiskey when you approach him, the amber liquid mirroring the touch of bronze on his cheekbones. You sling your designer purse off your shoulder (the latest splurge of the week) and slide into the seat right next to him.

“And how was your vacation?” you ask, greeting him with a question and noticing his mouth draw into a firm line.

“Let’s not talk about it,” he insists, his eyes a little sad which only makes your stomach ache at the sight.

He’s your closest friend - the only real friend you have. Kento Nanami doesn’t carry two faces. He sticks to the one that he has. As one of the top investors in the country, he made a name by keeping the rich wealthy. He loathes his job and the pressures surrounding it - a walking hypocrite for despising the life that lines his pockets.

He can’t find an escape no matter how hard he tries.

And that's why you’re both two peas in a pod.

He does, however, like you - not because of your background, but because you don’t try to be something that you are not as well. In a world where you are surrounded by parasites, Kento proved to be a nearly extinct butterfly, quietly fluttering by your side as you both drift across the harsh jungle around you.

You concede, knowing better than to push his buttons. “Okay, I guess we aren’t talking about it…”

“Tell me something else. Do you ever know how to walk into the room and not be the center of attention?”

You smirk as he calls the waiter over. Your presence easing the twinge of disdain on his face.

“What are you trying to say, hmm?”

“You look nice tonight. New dress?”

“New dress, new bag, new nails...” you list off, showing off each expensive purchase as you check them off your list.

Nanami shakes his head playfully before ordering your usual once the bartender approaches. He angles his body towards you and breathes out a heavy sigh.

“How are you?” He asks, genuine concern masking his face.

Your shoulders drop. “I don’t want to talk about it…”

His expression softens, one hand moving to touch your thigh exposed by the slit of your dress.

“When do you meet Naoya?”

He’s the only other person who knows about the pending engagement. The only person who offered you a way out by proposing instead. Despite his stance within the social community, you know that it’s not an offer that you can easily accept.

Kento wasn’t bred into this world, and that makes all the difference.

Your father would never accept a man from such a humble background. Especially not one whose offer wouldn't benefit him by any means.

“A few weeks from now,” you reply, eyes shifting to the bartender who passes your drink towards you. “He’s given my father specifications on how I should be presented…”

Your friend scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Pardon my vulgarity but he just sounds like the kind of guy who wants to swing his dick around. I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up tonight…”

The opening of the Ayame Lounge & Bar was invite only, exclusive to socialites and the elite. You know that Naoya must have received an invitation, everyone from the Zen’in family was here in attendance including the infamous outcast Toji.

“He wouldn’t be caught dead here,” you inform, picking up your beverage and taking a small sip. “Naoya likes to uphold “tradition” but we all know it’s just a facade.”

Kento’s thumb strokes your skin tenderly, worry ingrained in his gentle eyes.

The two of you spend the night talking, catching up on the little things since his return from a two week vacation in Malaysia. He keeps the conversation light, telling you about his fantastic accommodation and all the food that he ate while he was away. In between you find yourself glancing over his shoulder, your eye on the crowd taking in the people around you.

That’s when you spot him, standing just a few feet away, looking like a demigod among mere aristocrats. His hair is pulled back into a neat bun, a layer of his bangs kissing his forehead. His face is serious, jaw tight and eyes sharp as he focuses on his white haired counterpart. The black tee hugs his torso, his neat slacks cinched by the waist with a leather belt. You can’t help but bite your bottom lip, your mind drifting away from the conversation at hand.

Your friend notices, of course. Kento is so tuned in to everything around him that he almost can’t help himself. He glances over his shoulder to see what caught your attention, only to instantly turn back around and stare at the whiskey glass on the table.

The tips of his ears burn red.

You register the response, knowing exactly what struck him to react in that way.

Satoru Gojo - former porn star, turned model, turned mega influencer. With a follower count in the hundreds of millions, he is the world’s hottest it boy. Nobody can deny his sheer beauty - whenever he walks into a room, he manages to steal a glance from every single person within his vicinity. Due to a rare genetic condition, his sapphire blue eyes and frosty white hair earned him the title of “The Prince”, and the people were desperate to share a place by his side.

Suguru and Satoru were also the best of friends, a fact that Suguru revealed to you one night in bed. The two of them met on set, back when Satoru was still doing adult films. At the time, Suguru was just a camera man and it was Satoru who told him he could increase his earnings if he just performed instead.

You remember telling Suguru: “it’s crazy how quickly his life changed”

“Some people are just lucky,” he responded, though you easily picked up the bitterness laced in his words.

What most people don’t know is that Satoru Gojo is also involved with the man seated right next to you. You stumbled upon Nanami’s secret affair by accident when the two of you attended a resort opening by hotel heiress, Yuki Tsukumo. Everyone was invited to stay overnight for the weekend, and the morning after your first night there, you walked over towards Nanami’s room to grab some breakfast. He greeted you in a grey robe with his hair tousled, with hickeys trailing the side of his neck. You quirked a brow in his direction, your mouth forming into a blatant circle when you found Satoru Gojo fast asleep on his bed right behind him.

The man in question looks away from Suguru towards you and Kento. His brows lifting in surprise when he spots your golden haired friend, but your eyes rest on Suguru who gestures that he will catch Satoru around.

They both walk in opposite directions.

You take a sip of your drink, your eyes shifting to Nanami.

“You’ve got about five seconds to figure out what you want to say because Satoru is walking over here as we speak,” you inform.

He exhales and straightens his back, his guard entirely up.

You smile at Satoru when he approaches you, his pearly whites radiant as always.

“Hi!” He says casually, though you can hear a touch of apprehension in his voice. “Mind if I cut in?”

“Not at all!” you respond, “Can I get you a refill?”

His cheeks blush a subtle shade of pink, the tiny gesture making you understand how easily it is to fawn over such a beautiful face. “It’s just soda, but sure”

“Not drinking tonight?” You continue, glancing between him and Nanami as you wait for your friend to interject.

“Actually, I’m three years sober,” he explains.

“Good for you!” You cheer honestly, before turning to the bartender and ordering him another soda.

From your peripheral vision you see him inch closer towards your friend.

“I haven’t heard from you in a while,” he states, though his voice comes across as a little small.

“I’ve been busy,” Nanami curtly replies, and your brows furrow at his unusual tone.

“Too busy to even say hi?” Satoru continues, his voice low enough that only the three of you can hear each other.

“Aren’t you here with a date?” Nanami chides, glancing up at him with a mocking eye.

“Utahime isn’t my date, we both got invited together by our agency…” Satoru answers through gritted teeth. “Besides, I was hoping to spend time with you. I haven’t heard from you since Kuantan…”

Nanami’s face burns an even brighter shade of crimson, the intimacy of Satoru’s comment flaring his humiliation.

“Come on,” the white haired prince teases, attempting to ease the discomfort. “Don’t be such a grump. Let’s go outside. Get a little fresh air.”

You can see that people are starting to stare at the three of you.

Wherever Satoru goes, eyes follow him.

While he may be immune to the attention, you can clearly see that Nanami is not.

“No, thank you.”

“What? You going to make me beg?” Satoru presses cheekily, but there is a twinge of desperation in his voice.

“Begging is not difficult for somebody like you,” Nanami bites, and you can’t help but glare at him in shock.

“Kento!” you chastise, but the look on his face speaks volumes.

Regret.

Instantaneous Regret.

In front of him is a visible hurt that breaks Satoru’s face, like paint slowly chipping away. His eyes gloss over, and he anxiously rubs his hand over the back of his undercut before excusing himself and turning on his heel.

Nanami covers his face with his palm, while you can only stare at him in disbelief.

“How can you say that to him? I thought you liked him!” You whisper.

“I-I didn’t mean to-”

“You act like you’re ashamed of him whenever he’s around you…”

Nanami avoids your eye, “How do you think this makes me look? I can’t have people seeing us together. I don’t want the world to swallow me up just because he prefers being gawked at by everyone around him”

“That’s his job - it’s how he earns a living. I can’t believe you would degrade him over it,” you shake your head, unaware of where your sudden defenses are coming from.

“I know that…”

“Is that why you don’t want to talk about your trip? Did something happen?”

The man grows quiet, a sigh escaping him.

“I broke up with him”

“You what?” You gasp.

“It'll never work. Our lives are too different”

“You didn’t even give him a chance, Ken. He likes you. He really, really likes you.”

“What chance is there to give? My life would come apart because of him. He would never be truly mine. I would have to share him with the rest of the world day in and day out. And the worst part is that…what should be intimate between us will never be ours either. Do you know that he’s still the highest streamed porn star in the world-”

“He’s just a person. A person like me and you. Neither one of us chose this life. I didn’t ask to be born into my family, and you weren’t asked to save yours from debt. Yet, here we are. Existing in a world that we had to carve out for ourselves. Don’t you think the same applies to him?”

You take another sip of your drink, your cheeks warming with anger at your friend’s condescending tone towards Satoru.

Although, you find your reasons for defending him to be far more self serving.

“So what if he sells his body? That’s his choice to make. Does it change anything else about him? Does it change his feelings for you?” You lecture, “I can’t believe that you be this ungrateful over skewed morals. If you both care about each other, there is no reason why you can’t be together. Take it from somebody who’ll probably never get the chance. This isn’t something you want to simply let go of, Kento. You’ll regret this decision for the rest of your life.”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Nanami downs his whiskey and excuses himself then, your words stinging the microscopic cuts on his heart. You find yourself a little flustered after watching him walk away, unsure of where that outburst even came from.

The eyes surrounding you look away.

You know you’ve given everyone within your peripheral area a story to gossip about. One that would be twisted and chewed until there is no morsel of truth left in it.

Your drink gives you enough liquid courage to socialize and face the music instead.

You steer your way through the crowd hoping to find one person in particular, but instead you are caught among the net of cliques, old faces, and fake friends. You manage to bypass any pointed questions, passing through each conversation with a forced grin and entertaining the discussions at hand with fluffy anecdotes and petty rumours.

When you walk away, you know full well that there will be whispers behind your back.

That’s the give and take about this world. Everyone is a vulture secretly waiting to witness the rise and fall of those around them. It’s a vicious circle, which is why nobody ever reveals their true hand in the process.

You glance around the room, honing in on the handsome dark haired boy you’ve grown entirely too attached too except you spot someone else in between who makes your spine seize.

Your toes curl in your pointed heels.

Your heart stutters unsteadily.

Blushed strands, a wolfish grin, and a broad build - Sukuna always takes up far more room than he needs.

You personally believe it’s because his ego is so massive it requires that extra space.

You haven’t seen the man in five years, not after the messy relationship that that followed your even messier break up.

You should have known better than to get involved with him while still so young.

You remember that version of you. When you first met Sukuna, you were a small rabbit who had accidentally hopped its way into a lone wolf’s den. Twenty one and just embracing the glitz and glamor of the world around you. The man was charming, flirtatious and most of all dangerous. You couldn’t help but return to his lair, especially when he would take the time and effort to approach you at every function, party and gathering that you attended. When you think about your relationship with Sukuna, it fills you with shame until you can only drown in it. There is a reason why you’ve kept it a secret for so long. Even staring at him right now, the dishonor hangs on your shoulder like a weighted sin that you’re burdened to carry for the rest of your life. Every time it hits, the memories play like a movie on hyper speed.

How often you allowed him to spill his seed all over your body. How often he brought you to tears with his tongue between your legs. How often you would moan the words “daddy” over and over again while riding him. How often you let him manipulate your heart. How often you let him convince you that you were happy.

That twisted relationship was testament to how broken you were.

You didn’t even know about his wife who lived in Kyoto until it was far too late.

Your instinct tells you to turn on your heel and walk in the other direction, but you catch Suguru just up ahead in the crowd and your courage outweighs your hesitation.

You manage to stride past Sukuna, a darting feline scurrying towards the safety of a shadow. Your hammering heart steadies itself when the trail of his strong cologne is a safe distance behind you. You nervously clutch onto the strap of your purse, exhaling a quick breath before marching up to Suguru.

You tap his shoulder twice.

He spins around, eyes lifting as a smile spreads across his handsome face.

Like a full moon on a clear night sky.

“Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise.”

“I sure hope so,” you remark, biting your bottom lip playfully as you glance at your own feet.

Suguru chuckles, taking a step closer. “It is.”

You glance up at him from underneath your lashes, your heart vibrating with pure excitement. You think it’s silly to have such a schoolgirl infatuation over him, especially since you understood the terms that surrounding your relationship.

You pay him for his company.

You aren’t supposed to have a crush on man who you employ to have to sex with you.

Yet, your gut tells you otherwise. Convinces you that the softness in which he speaks is reserved only for you.

“Are you here with anyone?” You ask a little breathlessly, hoping that you weren’t interrupting him working.

Suguru shakes his head.

“Satoru invited me,” he clarifies, and it’s an answer that only makes you giddy.

“Oh!” You squeak, “well that’s nice. It’s a really exclusive party, make sure you to take it in…”

His eyes blatantly fall over you, cascading down your body like ink dripping over a canvas.

Your cheeks warm.

He’s not even hiding that he’s checking you out, and it triggers the wild desire within you.

“Are you here alone?” He questions.

You nod your head, knowing full well that Kento is probably in the midst of a heated conversation with his distraught lover and won’t be returning anytime soon.

“Why don’t you join us then?” He adds, cocking his head to point at the table behind him.

You glance over his shoulder, barely recognizing the crowd.

A fact that seems ideal to you.

“I’d love to,” you say with a pretty smile, all the while Suguru’s eyes continue sparkling.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The last time you saw Suguru was a few weeks ago, where your heavy heart spilled the news of your pending engagement.

“An arranged marriage, huh?” he whispered in the dark, his sharp eyes dipping to your naked chest while his delicate fingers carefully pushed the bedsheet further down to your hips.

You inched a little closer into his frame, soaking in the outlines of his chiseled torso and bringing one finger to trace little shapes on his broad shoulder.

Your brows furrowed with annoyance, “yeah, ever heard of the Zen’in family?”

Suguru scoffed, breaking character for only a second but it’s something that you’ve caught him doing more recently. He doesn’t hold his reactions around you as tightly as he used to. The front of this alter ego that he created faltering, which is probably why you find yourself drawn to the person existing underneath the mask of the seducer.

You sigh before continuing your explanation, “my father thinks Naoya Zen’in is a perfect match for me.”

An uneasy expression flickered across Suguru’s face, but he suppresses it before allowing it to linger.

You lifted yourself up onto your elbow and rest your cheek on your palm. “What is it?”

Suguru mirrors your position, his large hand gliding back and forth over the slope of your hips and waistline which sent goosebumps all over your body. “I’ve heard that Naoya…” Suguru stated, pinching the pads of his fingers lightly against your flesh before leaning forward to kiss the crease between your brows, “can be a handful to deal with…”

You thread your fingers around his neck, your lips finding his jaw where you return a kiss. “And who told you that?” you murmured as the weight of Suguru’s body rolls on top of yours.

You were staring at his devastatingly handsome face from below. The longer you spent time with him the more you began to wonder about his circumstances and a reoccurring thought crossed your mind once more.

Suguru could truly be anything he wanted, but instead he was here making a killing off of fucking lonely women and porn videos.

You don’t judge his choices, but you couldn't help but feel puzzled by the situation especially when you knew the trajectory of his best friend’s career path.

One photo shoot at a mid-level fashion brand skyrocketed Satoru Gojo’s career and made him a household name. Yet, Suguru Geto was a taboo that was whispered behind closed doors.

“I have a client who likes to gossip,” he admitted.

That’s all you got because Suguru kept everything else about his clients confidential. You shivered when his mouth met your neck, his lips sucking along the tender skin that sent goosebumps all over your chest, but there’s an ache in your heart when you consider that if it wasn’t for the signed cheque in your purse, he wouldn’t even be here in the first place.

Not a single man you’ve met in the world compared to Suguru. You’ve never known how sweet lovemaking can be until he fucked you for the time. Not only was he beautiful beyond comprehension, but he was charming and extremely smart. You found yourself enjoying his company beyond physical purposes, and conversations with him turned out to be one of your favorite ways to pass time.

“Think we’ll still get together when you’re a missus?” he teased, his lips trailing lower to your collar bones and hovering just a above your breasts.

The thought of you getting married only made you sick.

“Do you peg me as a terrible wife? a woman who would happily cheat on her husband?” you questioned, your voice trembling when Suguru circled his lips around your hard nipple.

He hummed, drawing out a whimper when he nipped at the bud lightly, his tongue gliding over the hardened nub.

“No,” he answered, his voice dropping an octave and your mind swirled when you contemplate if that strange tone is actually jealousy. He rested his chin on your chest, his inky hair framing his face in a waterfall of obsidian. “I do, however, peg Naoya as a terrible husband.”

You sank your fingers into his locks, “it doesn’t matter who my father chooses. All these men are the same. Naoya is no worse than the rest. I’m trapped regardless…”

It was the first time you allowed yourself to think about Sukuna when in bed with Suguru. The first time you thought about the last four years and the many men who tried to weasel their way into your heart just for the sake of obtaining status. The discomfort is written plainly on your face. Suguru doesn’t know that seeking him out was your way of taking matters into your own hands, even in just the smallest way.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he responded sincerely, the kindness in his voice the reason why your eyes prick with tears.

You sniffled, using your free hand to wipe away a rogue droplet that freely falls down your cheek. Suguru adjusted his position so he was lying by your side. He didn't say anything but draws you into his chest for a hug, enveloping you in his warmth. You tried hard not to consider the reality of the situation, and accept the gesture freely as you cuddle him.

But the moment of peace is interrupted by a loud vibration. You and Suguru both perked up to stare at his phone buzzing on the side table.

Your heart sank.

Another client.

Suguru reached his arm around to grab the phone, and you closed your eyes to inhale his natural scent, trying to soak him in for as long as you can before he leaves you like he’s done many times before.

To your surprise he simply switched it off, before proceeding to wrap his arm back around you to return to his position.

“You sure you don’t need to take that?” you mumbled, trying to play off your disappointment as casually as possible.

“I’m booked out for the rest of the evening,” he answered nonchalantly, “there’s no reason to respond.”

A tickle in your belly sent sparks all over your skin. “but your cheque only covers the hours we agreed on…”

Two fingers touched the underside of your chin, and Suguru tilted your head up so you were both face to face again. “Don’t worry about it,” he consoled, his thumb lightly outlining your bottom lip, “this is on the house.”

What bliss it was to fall asleep in his arms that night. You recall waking up right before dawn to find him in deep slumber, his strong arm draped protectively across your body with the heat cocooning you from the rest of the world.

Disappointment shattered you the next morning, when you were greeted by the sun and an empty bed.

You’re not sure when Suguru had snuck out, but you were puzzled to find that your cheque was still tucked away safely in your purse.

It was the first time he walked away without any payment.

You still vividly remember his reaction when he met you just a little over a year ago.

“You’re young,” he blurted, his eyes widening with confusion.

“We’re around the same age,” you replied defensively, already feeling insecure for having hired him after spending weeks watching his videos. You didn’t even know about his house calls until you heard it from a source within your social circle. "Is this how you greet all your clients?”

Suguru raised his brow in contemplation, “my other clients don’t look like you…”

Over time you learned that he catered to a specific demographic: older divorcees and cheating housewives.

The person you might turn into years from now if this marriage goes through.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

After that night you told yourself that you would schedule another meeting with Suguru to compensate him for his last session.

Right now, all you can think about is your heart hammering when Suguru subtly interlaces his fingers with your own, and leads you through the crowd until you both find a safe spot on the corner of the lounge chair. His group is far too engrossed in their own conversations to notice you both, drunk on the buzzing night and enjoying the many amenities of this exclusive party.

“You look nice,” you compliment, catching Suguru’s attention while trying to ignoring his knees bumping against yours.

“As do you,” he replies, his voice smoother than velvet. “But you don’t need me to tell you that you’re gorgeous.”

Oh but I do, you think, masking your excitement with a giggle and casual roll of your eyes. I could hear you tell me that forever.

Suguru shyly looks down at his lap, hiding his own smile.

It’s strange, you think, how the two of you are talking. Like this man hasn’t been inside you multiple times and made you cum until you can’t think straight. Like he doesn’t know your body in the most intimate sense.

Like you don’t fund a decent chunk of his salary.

“Are you enjoying the party?”

Suguru shrugs, “It’s not too bad. Though, I’m not one for big crowds if I am being completely honest...”

“Makes sense. I don’ get a kick out of it as much as I used to.”

Suguru angles his body to face you, giving you his full attention. “Why’s that?”

You sigh, your hands suddenly feeling empty without a drink. You sling your purse off your shoulder and place it between you both, before proceeding to fiddle with the fabric of your dress instead.

You can lie, but you don’t know how.

Well, you don’t know how to lie with him.

Something about starting this contract with Suguru unveiled a level of vulnerability in you that you can’t seem to hide. The first night you both spent together you were a nervous wreck, stumbling and bumbling over words trying to find excuse after excuse as to why a woman of your age would even hire him. By your third appointment, you asked if he could be slow and gentle with you, the emotional scars of your previous relationship a stinging wound. You were desperate for tenderness, and Suguru obliged with your request. By the end you found yourself reaching your climax with tears in your eyes.

If you were to list out more moments like this, you would simply go on and on.

You can’t hide your truth with Suguru when it was the first thing you’ve ever shown him.

“Because it’s a constant reminder that I can be in a room full of people I know and still feel incredibly alone…” you mumble, your gaze catching his.

His hand finds your thighs, the warmth of his large palm burning through the fabric of your dress.

“You’re not alone tonight, sweetheart,” he reassures.

“You don’t have to be so nice…” you insist, suddenly self conscious over his flattery. The same sweetness he bestows upon you when you’re both locked away in a hotel room somewhere, but you didn’t sign off on any bonus transactions tonight.

He squeezes your thigh and tilts his head. “But I like being nice to you”

He says it so matter of factly it almost makes you faint.

Your brows upturn with confusion. “Why?”

His touch expands upward, grazing over the curve of your thigh, bunching the material of your dress between his fingers. He leans closer, the scent of bergamot wafting up your nose and kissing your neck.

“Look there,” he states, and you follow the line of his gaze.

“That woman has been married for fifteen years and her husband never got her off once. And that woman…” he continues, shifting his eyes from body to body, “has a birth mark just above her hip bone. And at the table right behind us,”

When you turn your face you accidentally bump into the tip of his nose.

“...are two sisters who pretend they get along well but are currently in a massive fight over their inheritance”

Your stomach coils with jealousy. “Acquaintances of yours?”

Suguru leans back slightly, giving you both room to breathe.

“Yes, clients…” he confirms, “there’s a few of them here tonight, but you’re the only one who acknowledges me. I’m just a dirty little secret to the rest.”

Your envy dwindles into sympathy, and you can’t help but let the question slip.

“How does that make you feel?”

There’s a twitch in Suguru’s jaw, a hint of scarred pride. You know he has plenty of it, he just hides it well.

The man shrugs, averting his sharp gaze as he downs the rest of his drink. “It is what it is”

Oh, but that response doesn’t nothing to help your heart, the muscle practically screaming at your brain to do so something and make him feel better.

Mindlessly, you loop both arms around his bicep, casually resting your chin on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way...”

You’re not sure why you’re apologizing, but you’re hoping it’ll mean something to him. He turns to face you, and if he inched a little closer he could probably kiss you.

“You are an enigma to me”

“In what way?”

He brushes his lips past your own, making you catch your breath for a moment. His mouth trails its way up to your ear, and he whispers a sentence that sends goosebumps running all over your body.

“In the way that how a woman like you can fit in a life like this”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The night carries on, the pulse of hedonism sending reverberations across the establishment. The crowd grows larger, the air a potion of liquor, expensive cologne, sweat and pleasure. The lights dim, inducing everyone into the trance of the ambience set around them, allowing them to indulge and consume. Your conversation with Suguru feels like minutes, but two whole hours pass with the both you concealed from the crowd. You’re almost mesmerized by him when he talks, cast under an entirely different spell that seems to effect nobody else. His touches turn more intimate the longer you speak, with Suguru securing his arm around your waist and leaning back against the chair as he keeps you tucked into his frame.

That’s another thing you started noticing - how this man likes to hold you.

He even did it when you were in bed together last.

And the time before that.

And the time before that-

If you weren’t surrounded by so many eyes you would simply curl into him, but you find yourself restraining while thinking of what excuse might work to get you both out of here because you just want to be alone with him.

“Can I get you a drink?” Suguru offers, a wave of disappointment rolling into you as he untangles himself slowly.

“Just some water...”

Suguru kisses the inside of your wrist with the reassurance that he’ll be right back, but the public display only makes your cheeks bloom with endearment.

“Got it”

When he stands up and walks away is when you notice how the crowd around you has dispersed. Most of Suguru’s party were gone - standing either by the bar or caught in the middle of the dance floor. You can see that there were a few shifty eyes staring at you, and a lump forms in your throat when you realize that by allowing yourself to melt into Suguru it meant that you revealed your weakness to the rest of the wild.

You take a second to readjust - fixing the hem of your dress before pulling out your pocket mirror and reapplying your lipstick. You fight off any anxious thoughts, sticking a big metaphorical middle finger to whoever was watching you with any hint of judgement.

Your care for Suguru outweighed their own by tons.

You just didn’t know how far you had let your guard down until a strange shadow veils over you.

“Red still looks good on you.”

Your heart doesn’t sink, it seizes, collapses into itself when you drop the mirror in your hand. His dark chuckle makes your spine tingle with unease. Sukuna kneels to pick up your mirror, his devilish smiling greeting you as you swallow the lump in your throat.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” He teases, huffing out another laugh when you snatch the pocket mirror from his hand and quickly throw your things back into your purse.

“I have to go.”

You bolt onto your feet, only to pause when his contact scorches your forearm.

“What’s the rush? I’m just saying hi.”

You shrug him off aggressively, eyes violent and full of fury.

“I don’t want to say hi to you. As a matter of fact, I hope that we never have to speak again.”

“C’mon doll, don’t be like that. It’s water under the bridge…”

His nonchalance enrages in you ways that you can’t describe, but rather than make a scene you smoothly shove him aside before uttering “asshole” and storming off towards the bar.

Your frantic eyes search for your solace, of the man who can suture any wound that’s in desperate need of healing. You spot him from behind, noticing that he is speaking to a friend, his shoulder leaning on the bar as he patiently waits to pick up the drinks like he promised. Refusing to look back because you know Sukuna is probably on your trail, you breathe out your apprehension to compose yourself and keep one hand securely on your purse before steadily making your way towards to Suguru.

You hear the two of them as you draw closer, unintentionally eavesdropping on the conversation at hand.

“Who’s the chick?” his friend asks.

“A friend.” Suguru replies.

“Which friend?” they press.

“None of your business…”

“Ah, one of your desperate clients I’m guessing?”

You cease before making your presence known.

Stunned; your face boiling with embarrassment.

“Shut up.”

“It’s so obvious, Suguru-” his friend scoffs, “she’s practically crawling on your lap. It’s fucking pathetic, don’t you think?”

Pathetic?

The word splits you into half.

Is that how Suguru sees you?

Is that how everyone else does to?

Something clicks then, every memory and act of kindness tainted with the thought the man was simply pitying you. That the root of his good-hearted nature was merely sympathy towards a sad, broken little rich girl.

Suguru picks up the drink, mumbling a “fuck off” before turning on his heel only to find you standing there stupefied by his friend’s demeaning commentary. Only an idiot would assume that you probably didn’t hear a thing, but Suguru is far smarter than that. Whatever trace of the mask he’s been wearing dissipates then, and you see the genuine concern on his face. He parts his lips but you’re too wounded for an explanation, and you instantly dash past both of them, excusing yourself politely before speed walking your way towards the exit.

You can hear him call out your name, but there is no way you would let that man see you crying after what was just said.

Of course he doesn’t like me, you self-consciously deliberate, I pay him to fuck me.

I pay him to fucking like me.

A sob leaves you, and you cover your mouth with the back of your hand as you rush past the bouncer and dart out the front door, leaving a crowd of people staring at you with confusion. All of them hoping to make their way inside.

“Must be drunk,” one person says, while another screams at the bouncer “hey, can you let us in?! Someone just left!”

You strut down the street, desperately trying to maintain your balance as you dab your eyes lest your tears ruin your make up. You hear someone call out your name, half hopeful that it might Suguru but when you glance over your shoulder all you see is the dreadful sight of your ex-boyfriend.

You keep walking. “Don’t follow me.”

Sukuna is quick to catch up, practically jogging down the street and you curse your choice in footwear for slowing you down.

“Then don’t keep running away.”

You halt, the man nearly colliding into you from behind.

“What?!” you spit out as you glare up at him. “What do you want from me?”

Sukuna arches his brow, the smell of whiskey sticking to him. “The fuck got you so worked up?”

You wipe away any leftover tears, your indignation towards this man overriding all other emotions.

“None of your fucking business…”

Sukuna reaches for your elbow, “Let’s not be testy. My car is in front of the bar. Let me take you home.”

You already caught that eye sore of a ridiculously expensive sports car when you stepped out of club. “I’d rather walk home barefoot on a bed of hot coals then go anywhere with you.”

“Don’t be like that, kitten…”

“Don’t,” you snapped, “call me that.”

“You know I still nothing but love for you, right?” He slurs mildly, “Let me take you back to my place and we can talk-”

His thumb grazes your elbow gently. Once upon a time you actually believed that his affection was real, but you’re older and wiser to know the truth now. “You miss my pussy,” you crudely admonish, “you don’t give a fuck about me.”

He pinches your elbow with mild irritation. “Why don’t you tuck those claws back. I’m trying to have a fucking conversation.”

“If a conversation is what you want, then speak to your fucking wife-” you hiss, striking a cord that makes Sukuna furrow his brows which brings you an odd sense of satisfaction.

His face falls.

You huff with approval.

“What?” your mock, “cat got your tongue?”

“Is everything alright?”

You and Sukuna both halt, your heads twisting to face whoever spoke with Sukuna letting go of you faster than you can even blink. You only catch a tiny glimpse of his fear, the terror that somebody caught him in the act.

Thankfully, it was only Suguru.

Your body hums with relief.

One hand is in his pocket, the other keeping a helmet tucked under his wing. His stance is relaxed but his irises are piercing daggers sinking into Sukuna’s skull.

“Everything’s fine-” Sukuna insists.

“Suguru,” you call out at the same time, instantly going to him and finding your place by his side.

The word pathetic hammers in the back of your mind but you need deal with one problem at a time, and right now you don’t care about looking desperate if it means escaping the shackles of Ryomen Sukuna.

Suguru’s eyes don’t leave your ex-lover, but he inches closer towards you to assert his ground.

Sukuna frowns, the expression on his face all too familiar.

You clutch Suguru’s sleeve, “Nothing to fret over. Do you mind taking me home?”

He turns to face you, a mixture of worry with a flare of anger on that handsome face.

“Yeah, I’ll take you home.”

“Tsk,” Sukuna grumbles with frustration, “Don’t cheapen yourself by fucking off with some whore…”

A static shock trickles each point of the triangle where you all stand. The hair on the back of your neck stands upright, your attention moving to Suguru whose entire face darkens with a fury that you’ve never seen before. He steps forward, his helmet dropping to his hand like he’s ready to wield it as a weapon, and the target is the spot on Sukuna’s skull that he’s been carefully observing. Your vision goes white imagining the outcome of this blow out, and you can practically hear the crack of the impact if Suguru follows through.

Despite how much he deserved it, you know just how powerful Sukuna is.

He would ruin Suguru without any remorse.

“Suguru,” you beg, stepping forward and clutching onto his shirt as you reel him away from the man before you.

His nostrils flare, the intoxicating poison of wrath swirling in his irises which quickly diffuses upon finding you.

“Take me home?” You softly repeat, earnest and sincere, all the while erasing Sukuna from your presence entirely.

It only takes a few seconds for Suguru to register your request, but he complies by reaching for your hand and knotting his fingers between your own. He grips it protectively, eyes looking straight ahead as he leads you down the street and far away from the chaos behind you.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The patter of your feet colliding onto the concrete surface echoes around you. A part of you is embarrassed, the other ashamed, a third grateful while a fourth shivers anxiously. You’re thankful that Suguru is at least allowing the silence to linger because it’s giving you a chance to settle from the roller coaster of emotions you just experienced. You try not to think about the pressure of his grip, or how the length of his fingers are wrapped securely around yours and instead piece together some semblance of an explanation worthy for him to listen to.

You eventually decide that you’ll just grab a cab back to your place. That you’ll thank Suguru for playing the role of rescuer, and hand off the cheque that you’ve been holding onto. You won’t be a burden, bother him any longer or a do anything else to force his empathy.

Suguru pauses in front of a jet black motorbike. The color itself blending into the darkness around you. You clear your throat ready to make your declaration, but you’re silenced when you feel the weight of his helmet press against your palms.

“Wear this,” he commands. “I’ll take you to my place.”

Your mouth goes slack, your practiced words shrinking to the back of your throat.

His place.

“Your place?” You find yourself whispering your thoughts out loud.

Suguru reaches for the handle of his bike, tapping his index finger against it, his back facing you. “If you want.”

He hops on before searching you for an answer. The look animates you back to reality and you nod your head before swiftly putting on the helmet. You find your place behind him, taking a second longer to adjust in your dress. You knot your arms around his waist, your eyes noting his exposed head.

“You don’t have a helmet.” You point out.

“I don’t live that far,” he answers back, “besides, I didn’t think I’d be traveling with precious cargo.”

He taps his palm over your clasped hands. “Hold tight for me, alright?”

You nod your head, covering your face with the shield visor before resting your cheek against his back.

Suguru takes off.

The wind whips against your bare arms, the pressure sweeping between your legs as Suguru swerves between each lane. The city blurs into vivid colors, only resurfacing when you come to an immediate halt at the traffic light. The adrenaline courses through your veins, the exhilarating sensation a thrill that you’ve never experienced before. Unfortunately, the journey was short lived and within twenty minutes you find yourself coming to a halt in an underground parking lot.

Suguru parks the bike, hopping off before reaching his hand out to assist you.

Your legs felt like jelly when it hits the surface, and you tumble on your own footing as Suguru reaches his other hand out to steady you by holding your waist.

“You okay? Was I going to fast?”

You take off the helmet, attempting to make yourself look somewhat presentable.

“No, no” you answer a little breathless, “that…that was actually kind of fun…”

“First time?”

You nod your head.

Suguru hums.

He takes the helmet away from you and directs you straight to the entrance of his apartment building. He pulls out an electronic key, and presses it against the elevator door. The elevator pings, the panels sliding open as you both step inside. Suguru clicks the button to his floor and you both stand on opposite sides watching the numbers go up.

Suguru lived in a newer development, you could tell when you walked through the hallway as he stands in front of his apartment door, and uses the same key to grant you both entrance.

As you enter the hallway, you’re greeted by a wall with mounted iron hooks. There’s five to be exact, each one holding a different helmet with one space empty. Suguru fits the helmet back onto the vacant spot, before glancing over his shoulder and finding you still by the door struggling to take off your heels.

He returns and kneels before you. His hands carefully moving your fingers away.

“Let me help with that”

“You don’t have to-” but you’re interrupted with him patting his thigh in gesture.

You bite your bottom lip and place one foot against him, careful not to dig your heel into him.

He delicately unravels the straps around your ankle and slips of the heel with a brush to the back of your calf, making the muscle twitch.

“Other foot,” he instructs, then repeats.

After placing your shoes neatly by the door, he stands up and reaches for your hand once more. “This way”

You take it warmly, and follow him while trying your best not to acknowledge the noticeable height difference with you two standing side by side.

You never paid much attention to it before, you didn't have too really considering you both spent most of your time together in parallel positions.

Suguru leads you into the living room, and a small gasp escapes you when you are met with floor to ceiling windows. The horizon is of the city skyline, but it’s half blocked by a decent size balcony which is covered in greenery. The scene contrasts the inside of Suguru’s apartment, which is more minimal. To your right is a small dining nook, the light above an accent piece that added some detail to the decor. To your left is a small furniture set, the sage green fabric making you avert your gaze with shame because your recognized that very same couch in most of Suguru’s videos.

You find yourself quickly staring at your feet.

“Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Tea?”

“Tea would be great,” you answer back, returning to look directly at him from underneath your lashes. “Do you have anything herbal?”

“Mhmm.”

You follow him into the kitchen and realize that the man keeps his place meticulously clean. The back counter is what catches your attention the most. Suguru has a full serviced at home barista station set up for his own convenience. You pick out the coffee grinder, espresso machine, assortment of tea pots, jars of fresh leaves and coffee bags all neatly organized.

Suguru pulls out one jar with a hand written label that reads "lemon balm and chamomile".

You slip off your purse and place it on the counter behind him. “Did you make all these yourself?”

“My parents used to run a tea shop in Hokkaido,” he answers back.

“A tea shop?” You squeak, a little too excited from the morsel of information about his personal life that he just bestowed. “That must have been lovely…”

“It was,” he answers, his voice growing small.

You watch him fill the kettle with water, before placing it on the electric stove to warm up. He opens the jar, closing the gap of space between you both and lifts it to your nose.

“Take a deep breath in,”

You oblige, and inhale.

“Oh my,” you sigh out loud, your fingers subconsciously clasping over his own as your eyes flutter from the aroma of citrus, ginger, flora and subtle spice. It calms every firing nerve in your body. “That smells wonderful”

When you open them again, you see that Suguru is looking at you thoughtfully.

“It tastes good too,” he says proudly, and your heart glows at the reaction. “I was a terrible night owl as a kid. Still am, I guess. My mom used to make this to help me go to sleep…”

“That’s really sweet,” you admit, wondering how lovely it must be to be looked after with such care.

He slips away again, taking a spoon and putting a generous amount of the blend into a ceramic tea pot. You hear the tea bubble lightly, but your head spins as Suguru cages you in place while you both wait for it to reach the right temperature. Your back is against the counter, his arms by your side.

“That guy you were talking to. Who was that?” He questions, cutting right to the chase.

“Nobody important,” you confess, “he’s an asshole.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I’m sorry about what he said to you. What he called you…”

Suguru’s fingers dig into the counter, making the muscles in his arms flex with irritation.

“Don’t apologize for him. Don’t apologize for any of them.” He firmly maintains. “Their words are empty to me...”

“You almost bashed his head in,” you point out, a tiny smile easing the tension binding around the man before you.

“I almost bashed his head because of the way he spoke to you-”

Your eyes widen.

Was he being protective? You think, but shake your head when you think of what kind of pitiful state you must have been that would cause Suguru to react in such a way.

Pathetic.

Your shoulders dwindle slightly and you shake it off to gather yourself once more.

“He was a terrible mistake. I was young, and stupid. I thought I knew better when I really had no fucking clue…”

You didn’t realize how bitter you sounded until two fingers press underneath your jaw.

His thumb taps your chin in a featherlight touch. “Is it over? Whatever it was?”

“Of course,” you answer, the truth acrid on your tongue. “I’m to marry Naoya Zen’in, remember?”

Suguru frowns. “He’s no better. I told you that myself.”

You circle your hand around his wrist. “I’ll take anyone over Sukuna. Even if that person is Naoya…”

“Why can’t you just choose?”

You press your lips together and sigh. “Because it’s a transaction. I’m a token in my father’s universe. If he weds me off to the Zen’in’s then it’s profitable. Good for business…”

“I’m sure if you speak with him, he’ll understand-”

“Don’t be so naive,” you answer as you return to meet his gaze. “My father doesn’t love me. He just owns me. I spent most of my adolescence alone while he was busy working or galavanting off with his mistress. I think he assumed that if he kept shoving money my way, I wouldn’t notice his absence…”

The kettle sings, making you both jump in place as the water bubbles aggressively and a small spiral of steam releases from the lip. Suguru returns to making your beverage. Picking up the kettle and pouring the hot water into the pot. He places it on a tray, along with a beautiful cup.

“The tea needs a couple of minutes to steep. In the meanwhile, I’m going to change into something more comfortable.” He announces, “You want some spare clothes?”

You look down at your designer frock, the material snug on your body.

“Yeah, I’d like that”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Suguru’s white shirt falls to your mid thigh, the material a little see through and revealing the bra you had on underneath. You eye the pair of worn boxers he handed to you to wear as shorts, but slyly tuck your bottom lip between your teeth before leaving it behind and walking out with your bare legs on display.

You’re not quite sure what the plan is here, but you don't see yourself leaving anytime soon.

You head back towards the kitchen where you pick up your purse, your dress folded between your hands carefully. Suguru is opening the door to the balcony, having changed into a cut sleeve shirt that exposes his arms and a hint of his ribs, as well as a pair of loose shorts. When he hears you enter, his attention instantly falls to your plush thighs, a hint of crimson blushing his cheek.

“Where can I keep my stuff?” You ask innocently, pretending to ignore his reaction.

“Anywhere is fine,” he answers back, his voice thick.

He tells you that he’ll wait for you outside, and in the meantime you put down your stuff onto the coffee table in front of his sofa.

You unzip your purse, Suguru’s cheque staring you at you with wide, scolding eyes.

Pathetic.

You furrow your brows at the voice inside your head, and swipe the payment before folding it and tucking it securely against your hip underneath the waistband of your underwear.

You head outside, sliding the window close behind you.

Suguru is sitting on a deck chair, the two of you camouflaged by the array of his overgrown plants. He pours your cup of tea, the aroma twirling between the current of the wind as he offers it your way. You pick it up, bringing it to your lips and taking a sip. A heavy sigh escapes you, and you remain standing leaning back against the cool glass surface as you stare out into the distance.

“Like it?” Suguru asks, and you only notice then that he has also brought out a second cup for himself and is pouring his own drink.

“It’s divine,” you respond.

“I’m glad”

The two of you sit in silence once more, mindlessly sipping your tea while contemplating the other person. You’re both at a clear standstill, carefully tiptoeing over the boundary that has so been strictly set in place.

A reminder of that is the folded cheque digging into your skin.

“How did you find out about contacting me?” Suguru randomly wonders.

You look towards him and he shrugs before adding on, “I never asked. I find myself curious.”

You thrum your nails against the glass cup, taking another sip of your tea before replying, “I saw you at a party with Satoru. I was with a group of friends, and one of them noticed me recognizing you. She asked if I was…familiar with your work. And when I told her I was she informed me that you both were…intimate.”

“Was it Mei?”

Your face falls at the blatant disregard of confidentiality.

“How-How did you know?”

Suguru huffs, and sips his tea.

“She’s the only other client I had close to our age. Wasn’t hard to make the connection…”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Go for it,” he replies.

“I’ve always been curious as to how you wound up doing what you do,” you bite your bottom lip nervously, your hands trembling slightly holding your glass and you hope that Suguru wouldn’t notice your sudden unease.

“Ah,” he acknowledges, his free hand moving to rub the back of his neck and you can’t help but sneak a peak at his abdomen from the side. “Well, I told you how I wound up making the videos. For a long time I just did solo work, but I knew I could make more money if I had on-screen partners to film with. I had a few good connections with some actresses and hired a friend to make a video with me…”

You knew exactly which one he was talking about.

The actress in question was well known, and the video was an amateur clip that was filmed on the very same couch that you walked passed earlier.

You clench your thighs together.

You don’t even want to admit how many times you came to that particular video.

“I didn’t know it would blow up in the way that it did. Shoko and I made a killing off it. We both saw the potential and we wound up doing six full episodes - trying out different techniques, roleplaying in a few…”

“But you stopped posting after that…”

Suguru pauses. “How would you know that?”

You swallow a big gulp of tea.

“I might have been a big fan of your work before we met.”

“Really?” He answers with a slight tilt of his head, clearly very amused.

“I wouldn’t have reached out to just anyone, you know. But I was really interested in...your work, and when I learned about your little side gig. I couldn’t resist…”

“Well, color me flattered, sweetheart.”

You swirl the last bits of tea in your cup.

“So, why did you stop posting?”

“I kept the videos up. They’re good and I still make revenue with every ad or view. Satoru’s career was picking up around that time, and he had just gotten clean. He needed somebody to hold him accountable so I started tagging along at his events. I didn’t realize how many people would recognizeme. My first client wasn’t even "a client", he gestures with air quotes, "she was just some woman I met and slept with. I woke up the next morning to an empty hotel room. All that she left behind was an envelope of cash…”

He pauses.

“I didn’t know what to feel. A part of me was insulted but another part had never seen that much money handed over so easily. The videos were great but what I earned in a day, is what I got in just a few hours. I was in my mid-twenties, just left the brink of making ends meet and desperate for security. I deposited the cash and kept going. Somehow it snowballed into…” he gestures his arms out, “this.”

He pours himself another cup of tea. “At first I was a little reckless. Took on too many clients it damn near gave me a health scare. So, I started spacing them out. Keeping to a set number a month and maintaining a high price. I didn’t think that so many people would actually pay for my services, but they do...and I'm comfortable.”

“Does it ever overwhelm you?”

“Not anymore. Keeping my partners to a minimum helps. I’m safe and get tested regularly, as I mentioned when we first met,” He lifts the teapot your direction to offer you a second cup, and you accept it by approaching him and allowing him to fill your glass.

“The thing is I went from never knowing when I was going to eat to having three meals a day. I don’t think I’d change that for the world…”

“What about your family? Your friends?” You find yourself mindlessly asking. "How do they feel about this?"

“Satoru and Shoko are the only ones who know. Everyone else thinks it’s porn that funds my life. As for my family,” Suguru stops, his voice scratchy as he quickly clears his throat. “Well, they don’t have to worry about it. My parents passed away when I was fifteen. It's just been me ever since”

The tea burns your lip and your body trembles at the statement.

“I’m so sorry…”

He shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly.

There’s a heaviness in the air, and despite how hard he’s trying to hide it you can see how the memory tears him apart.

“My mom passed away giving birth to me,” you find yourself disclosing to even the scale, “I think that’s probably why my father resents me so much. He never got a son, and lost his wife in the process”

“I’m sorry to hear that too…”

You mirror his shrug. “It’s weird. I find myself curious about her - but there’s a detachment when I look at her. Sometimes I think about how different my life might be if she was still around. Or, if she was just like my father and everything would still be the same…”

“Well, since we are speaking of hypotheticals,” Suguru moves on, shifting the topic as he angles his body more in your direction. “If you had the freedom to whatever you wanted, what would you do?”

“Me?” You gasp, shocked by his pointed question.

He smiles an easy smile, “I don’t see anybody else around.”

You hum thoughtfully. “This might take a minute…”

He places his cup of tea on the tray by his side and then pats his free hand on his thigh.

“C’mere and think.”

Your heart flies up your throat, pulsing just at the base. “You want me to sit on your lap?”

Suguru nods his head.

You gulp down the vessel, returning it back to its place. You glide your way towards him, placing the tea cup just next to his own, before settling down onto his lap.

Suguru wraps his arm around your waist, securing you close into his frame.

“Do you hold your other clients like this?”

He shakes his head no.

“So, you like holding me…” you bluntly point out, “why’s that?”

Suguru’s face is directly in front of yours, so beautiful you can almost faint right here in his arms. He fingers dig into your waist, his other arm curving over your thigh and gently drawing circles on your hip.

“Because you fit nicely against me”

A swarm of butterflies take flight, making you feel lighter than air. You swear he might kiss you then but instead he returns to his question. “So, tell me what would you do?”

The answer comes to you far easier than you think. From the moment you saw him tonight, you know the truth in the depths of your heart. “I’d like to run away with you,” you confess before stuttering out, “or-or at least somebody like you. Someone who is kind and sweet and thoughtful...”

Suguru leans back against the chair, lifting up one leg and adjusting your positions. He’s careful not to kick the tray with the tea.

“And where would we go?”

You sling your arms around his neck, “anywhere - anywhere but here.”

Suguru slides his palm over the slop of your rear, slipping it underneath the fabric of his shirt and tracing a line over the dimples on your lower back.

“What would we do?”

“We could lay outside just like this and watch the stars.”

He hums, “we don’t get any stars out here in the city...”

“No, we don’t.”

“What else would we do?”

His other hand starts to unbutton the front of your shirt, revealing the details of the lace underneath. He cups your right breast, his lips shifting to find your neck.

“We’d do this too,” you sing merrily.

“Look at stars and fuck our brains out?” He teases, his teeth nipping at your skin. “Sounds like a dream to me…”

He gropes the fat of your breast, unknotting every single secret. “what else?”

“We’ll sleep all day, and kiss until we’re bored of one another…”

The hand on your breast moves to circle your neck, Suguru’s thumb massaging the column.

“I’d never grow bored kissing you-”

Your body renders against his touch. “Suguru,” you moan, your lips seeking his own.

Before you can even meet for the kiss, he mumbles your name and follows up with the claim: “you should run away with me.”

You giggle, still living in the proposed fantasy. “I’m trying to…”

“I’m being serious”

The tone of his voice is the reason why you stop to kiss him, pulling away to face the man before you.

There's no denying the truth on his face - he is actually quite serious about the declaration.

You hear the dreaded word once more: pathetic. Pathetic because this man is an expert at fulfilling fantasies, is a professional when it comes to healing the hearts of the lonely.

Pulling yourself out of this delusional imagination, you push off him before standing up straight.

“That’s not funny, Suguru”

“Who says I’m being funny?” He responds sincerely.

“What is this? What are we doing? What am I doing? You can’t just-” you lament, pressing your forehead to hand in disbelief as you enter the confines of his apartment, taking a second to breathe. “You can’t just say things like that-”

He calls out your name again, but the kraken has already been released.

He follows, tracking into his abode right behind you, all the while watching you stand in the middle of his living room with your quivering hands reaching for the waistband of your underwear.

“This was a terrible idea. I shouldn’t have-I shouldn’t have gone through with all of this,” you yank out the cheque, showing it to him. “You don’t have to take pity on me. I know I’m just another desperate, pathetic client, alright? I promise you don't have to keep putting up with me and my drama after this. And you sure as hell don't have to keep giving me these mixed messages which only confuse me. I can’t have things getting complicated right before this engagement is about to happen. So, here. Take this cheque and let’s just forget everything else about tonight.”

Suguru stands there, pensive. His eyes look to the folded paper in your hand, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. Instead of reaching for the paper, he simply walks past you, making you spin on your heel as you follow his movements with sheer bewilderment.

He heads towards the shelf behind you and pulls out a tiny box. He removes something from it, before walking back and facing you once more.

“Shit got complicated about eight cheques ago, sweetheart,” he negates, holding the thin stack papers between his two fingers as he brings it to your face. His eyes fall to to the crumpled one you are currently holding, “Well, counting the one in your hand, I’d say nine...”

You can’t believe it.

You pick up the wad and sift through each paper; each cheque one of yours, the date issued a reflection of your last nine meetings with Suguru.

None of them cashed in.

“Why do you still have these?”

Two hands find your waist, your forearms fall into Suguru’s chest as you stare mindlessly at the cheques fanned out between your fingers.

“I didn’t have it on my conscious to deposit them once I realized my feelings for you. I'm sorry about what you heard earlier, but what Mahito said doesn't apply to you at all,” he responds. “You stopped being a client to me for quite some time...”

You look up at him.

His touch tightens around your waist. “You can’t marry Naoya. Or, you shouldn’t. But if you do, I don’t want us to stop seeing one another. We can work something out…”

“Suguru,” you pine, dropping the papers in your hand, each one twirling onto the ground, thousands at your feet.

His lips catch yours in a subtle peck, all before circling over your bottom lip and sucking on the plush base. He slides his tongue between your lips, feeling yourcrumple into him as the paper crinkles beneath your feet. You moan feeling the sensation of his tongue slide across yours - he tastes like running across a field of chamomile flowers, like you’re holding a basket of fresh, ripe lemons.

Like you're savoring the most beautiful sunrise.

His hands return to finish unbuttoning your shirt, shrugging the material off your shoulders and exposing your expensive lingerie set. He grips your hips, your ass - his touch hungry before pressing his pelvis closer to your frame so you can feel his aching member beneath his shorts.

You squeak into another kiss when he swiftly picks you up from the back of your thighs and carries you across the living room.

He places you onto his sofa like you’re made of porcelain, keeping you on the edge as he kneels to the ground, his knees sinking into the rug. Two hands find your inner thighs which he pushes apart to reveal the pretty triangle fabric covering your sweet cunt. He kisses your clit over the material. Once, twice, three times…until you’re sighing into the pillow behind you. His tongue drags up, pressing your clothing against your sex, one hand drawing upward to find yours which he holds lovingly. His index and middle finger hook underneath your underwear, and he tugs it aside to reveal your slick coated pussy.

He kisses your clit again, leaving a path down your damp lips which only makes you moan angelically.

“This is why I’d never get bored kissing you,” he coos, “You sound like heaven whenever I do...”

Your only response is a vowel, your hand holding onto Suguru’s for dear life as he returns to eat out with such devotion it almost brings tears to your eyes. You pant softly, his wet tongue making you weep between your legs and he gathers your essence and swallows it to parch his craving. You whine feeling the snap of your underwear pinch into your skin when Suguru lets go of the material to mold his palm over the slope of your pelvis. His thumb strokes the back of your hand, his tongue sinking between your wet folds, lips suckling on the petals of your cunt.

Your hips arch off the sofa, desperate for friction, but Suguru pins you firmly back down.

“Easy, easy…” he appeases, “don’t cum just yet. Hold off f’me, just for a little bit…”

He’s never asked because there was never a reason to. For the most part, he was always there to service you. Allowed you to use his body to get you off as many times as you so desired.

Your voice breaks, “okay,” you answer, drawing out a long exhale when he dives back in.

The hand on your pelvis climbs up the steps of your ribs, reaching for band of your bra right at the middle. He curls his finger over the boning, and tugs the material allowing your breasts to spill free. He finds the bud of your nipple and tweaks it between his finger, pinching and pulling the aching nub until your writhing beneath him.

He slurps and sucks, while you moan and whimper, forcing yourself to hold off for as much as your can but you find that it’s far harder to do when your lower belly quakes as it sits on the brink of release.

“Suguru, Suguru…” you beg, reaching your free hand to your breast and clenching over his fingers. “Suguru, I can’t-m’gonna cum if you don’t stop…”

He groans against your cunt, pulling away from your pulsing core and letting go of your hand to wipe the dampness off his chin.

He licks his lips, drunk off lust and of how you taste.

He keeps his body upright, drags your legs to secure them around his waist as he straightens your back. His hands unhook your bra from behind, the scent of you strong on his lips as he leans up for a kiss. Your hands fall to his shoulders, your belly fluttering as your sex begs for more stimulation.

Suguru loosens the bra, allowing it to fall to your elbows before kneading your breasts - his thumb swipes back and forth over your nipples. He devours your cry, wolfs down every panting breath as he moans into the kiss. Your hands slip underneath his shirt, taking in the lines of strong abdomen.

“Take if off,” you plead between breaths, “Take it off, please…”

Suguru listens, breaking apart from the kiss to toss his shirt to the side while you slip off your bra. Your lover’s hand finds your waist, his fingers pinching into the soft flesh. He leans forward to kiss the side of your neck, making a path down the curve and across the field of your décolletage.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs into your breast, his lips snagging your nipple as his tongue rolls over the bud.

Your fingers curl around the back of his head, loosening his bun as you untie the knot. His hair falls like waterfall, the strands tickling your bare skin. Suguru’s hand slips between your legs, his middle and forefinger meeting your clit. You hiss at the contact, sinking your teeth between your bottom lip when Suguru sucks on your breast while simultaneously drawing circles on the bundle of nerves between your legs.

Your breath grows heavier, your hips bucking into him from the sensation of his touch.

“Feels good,” you mumble, “feels so good with you…”

He shivers, relieving your breast as his lips search for your own.

He adds more pressure between your legs, increasing the speed while your tongues dance. When your thighs noticeably quiver he slows down, pinching your clit between his fingers as he softly pecks your cheek.

“The condoms are in my room…”

Your sharp nails scratch the back of his neck lightly, “I have one in my purse.”

Suguru nods feverishly, reaching back to the coffee table and rummaging through your purse. He picks out the shiny wrapper, and stands up to take off his shorts.

“Wait, can I?” You request, gazing up at him with glittering eyes.

Suguru swallows hard, and nods his head.

Your eyes dilate rolling his shorts down, focusing on the tent in the fabric and watching his cock spring free and lightly smack his lower belly. Suguru brings the condom to his lips and rips it open with his teeth, but his eyes flutter when your perfectly manicured hands glide up the length of his shaft.

You trace the prominent vein, your thumb swiping over the pre-cum beading over the angry tip. You lick your lips, leaning closer to kiss the base and listening to Suguru sigh.

You’ve only given him a blow job once before, and that was because you asked if you could. Suguru sets no expectations for himself when it comes to work, but that doesn’t mean that you haven’t fantasized about giving him head countless times.

You wrap your fingers around his length and stroke mildly, your lips fanning over his cock before reaching the tip.

“Sweetheart, don’t-” Suguru murmurs in an attempt to stop you, but you’re already enclosing your lips around the head and pressing your tongue over the slit.

His head falls back as you suck, a curse leaving him.

You move slowly at first, dragging your tongue back and forth as you stroke the base. Sukuna was far rougher with you when you went down on him, but Suguru is allowing you to take him at your own pace. Inch by inch, until you were bobbing your head back and forth, strings of saliva webbing off his cock and sticking your lips.

He thrusts once, not rough enough to hurt but the jerk catches you by surprise.

You carefully release him, mindlessly wiping your bottom lip and the sight makes his cock twitch.

Suguru pulls the condom out, and rolls it over his shaft.

He settles onto the empty seta by your side, and you crawl over the expanse of his gorgeous, chiseled body to kiss him once again.

His circles his fingers around his cock, his other hand guiding your hip as he aligns the tip to your entrance. Your nail nicks his pec when he pushes against the hole, your mouth circling over his own as you lower down his shaft.

He fills you up so, so good. Makes your body vibrate with unshakeable desire.

He groans until he bottoms out , the hand on your hip dipping down from your pubis to your lower belly like he’s trying to outline how deep he actually is before returning it back in place and securing his other hand on the opposite hip.

Your breasts flatten against his chest, your hands holding on to his strong shoulders for support as you roll our hips.

Suguru works in tandem with your rhythm to fuck you passionately.

His lips find yours once again for a final kiss, before the two of you get caught up in the moment when he swiftly picks up the pace.

His hips arch violently, while yours sink - your bodies moving silk.

“Unghh, oh god, yes-yes-yes~” you moan.

Suguru’s grip almost feels painful, you know for a fact that he’ll be marking your hips with a few bruises. “Gonna cum-” he rasps, “s-shit, I’m fucking close-fucking close-”

Your pussy tightens, practically holds his dick in a death grip that makes release a broken moan. His cock contracts upon his release, the sensation bringing you to the edge of yours as the muscles in your lower belly and inner thighs spasm around him. You leave crescents on his skin, your bodies shaking as you both take a second to breathe coming down from your climax.

You collapse into him, his arms circling behind you, with his racing heart pulsing into your own. He moves so you’re laying side by side, your body sandwiched between him and the couch since he takes up most of the room. You rest your cheek against his shoulder, feeling him grow soft inside you.

Your stuttering breath finally finds a resting poin when he brings your hand and holds it against his heart.

“Where do we go from here?” You whisper with a kiss to his neck.

“Whatever you decide, we’ll figure out.” Suguru answers sincerely.

“I can’t marry Naoya,” you admit out loud, shocked for actually saying it for the very first time. “And I can't share you with anyone else - it already kills me having to do so.”

Suguru looks down at you, a reassuring smile resting on his lips. “There won’t be anyone else.”

“I can't just...leave. I can't just drop everything and walking away. It isn’t going to be easy-” you add on, “It’ll take me some time.”

“I can wait”

“It might get messy…”

“When is it ever not?”

“But we’ve never been in a relationship-” you insist, logic breaking through the barrier of your happiness. “How do we know if this will even work out properly? What if this thing between us fades?”

“I guess we’re both taking a gamble here…”

You both stare into the other’s eyes.

“Do you think it’s worth the risk?” You ask.

Suguru’s face softens but he leans forward to kiss your forehead.

“I think it’s worth a try.”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

TWO YEARS LATER

“You running out on Naoya on your wedding night is still the hot topic.” Kento explains over the phone, “People kept bringing it up, and for whatever reason they just can't seem to get over it.”

The guilt in your stomach twists into a very small knot, over time the size of it has shrunk to a point where you not longer carry any remorse regarding your scheming behavior.

You had a plan, and the plan worked.

"Let's not forget who was there to help..." you contend, disregarding the negativity surrounding your decision.

After you and Suguru spoke, you decided to carry on the facade, agreeing to the engagement and soon after the wedding with Naoya Zen'in. All the while you and Suguru were busy planning your way to cut and run. He cashed in your unsigned checks, and you pilfered a decent amount of the wedding budget which you kept into a seperate savings account.

You played the role as obedient daughter well, and no one was the wiser.

“Besides, I maintain that it's still the best decision I ever made,” you reply, stepping out of your room and into the kitchen where you are greeted by the sound of clinking dishes.

Your eyes shift to Suguru - his hair far longer now, flowing beautifully down his back, the front layers tied into a small bun. You smell dinner in the air, and your stomach grumbles with anticipation.

Nanami doesn't reply, but you can hear that he's distracted from the television in the background.

“What are you watching?” you ask your friend.

The man simply sighs.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing with that reaction. Is it Satoru’s new drama show?”

At the mention of his best friend you notice your lover glance over his shoulder, quietly tilting his head to direct you towards him. You smile his way, your feet pattering against the hardwood floor as you move closer to him. He bundles one arm around your shoulder, keeping you close while continuing to sauté the vegetables in the pan.

He kisses the top of your head.

“It’s all the rage,” you add on to your phone call, “Suguru and I plan on watching the next episode tonight.”

Kento remains quiet.

You release yourself from Suguru’s grasp, and instead hop onto the kitchen counter right next to him.

He reduces the heat and picks up the lid before covering the pan.

“I’m guessing you two haven’t-”

“No,” Kento curtly replies. “Not since that night…”

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be,” he responds with frustration. “I screwed it up”

“You know I could just ask Sugu too reach out-”

“ Don’t,” Kento sighs regrettably. “It doesn’t matter. I heard he’s moved on”

You quirk your brow, your eyes shifting to Suguru who was back to chopping some fresh herbs.

“Oh?”

“It’s for the best I guess,” Kento reassures. “He should be happy with whoever-the-fuck he chooses.”

“You deserve happiness too, Kento.”

“You can be happy for the both of us,” he replies, gulping down a drink. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. I’m meeting my lawyer for dinner.”

“When are you going to visit us next?”

“Probably around November, December. I just need a few things to ease up on my end-”

You bite your bottom lip, “I look forward to it.”

“Take care, love”

“You too, Ken.”

You hang up the phone and lean your head against the cupboard as you watch Suguru rinse his hand, a trail of crimson spiraling down the faucet.

“I cut my finger”

You pick up a clean towel by your side, and gesture him towards you.

Suguru extends his thumb out, and you curl the fabric over to keep pressure on the small cut.

“You ought to be careful”

“Your legs are a distraction,”

You stare up at him playfully, and he leans down to kiss the corner of your lips.

“How’s Nanami?”

Your lover is indebted to your friend. If it wasn’t for Nanami, the two of you wouldn’t have been able to set up this comfortably. He’s the one who found you the humble two-story abode in Hokkaido, and was also the person who set up your personal bank accounts while ensuring that you would both have a safe and quick getaway on the night of your almost-wedding.

“Fine, I think-” you reply, before removing the towel to check the damage. Thankfully, it wasn't anything serious. A little deeper than a paper cut.“Licking his wounds over a broken heart, but fine.”

Suguru reaches for the drawer next to you, and pulls out the emergency band aids. You reach for the box in his hand, taking out one and removing the plaster from the back. You secure it around his cut, and Suguru holds your fingers between his.

He arches down to kiss your brow. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“You’re welcome, handsome”

“Dinner will be ready in a few if you want to set the table”

You nod your head in acknowledgement, and drop down onto the ground before proceeding with your task.

You set the place mats down, a bowl for the soup and another for the rice and cooked vegetables. Your finger traces the rim of the one in front of your seat, a tiny chip from when you accidentally dropped it in the sink while cleaning it a few weeks ago.

Fragments of these blemishes are all around you - making you almost forget that you once lived in a perfect, curated bubble. But you would take these flaws over everything else. These markings may be worn, but they are a reminder of the home you've been building.

A home that is entirely yours.

“Baby, you want a drink?” Suguru calls from the kitchen.

“Melon soda, please” you reply, placing the bowl down.

“We’re out, I’ve got to pick some up tomorrow.”

“What are you having?”

“A beer,” he chuckles, and it sends a tremor of joy between the valves of your heart.

“I’ll share yours”

Suguru pulls out the bottle, cracking the cap off as he pops it using the side of the kitchen counter to do so.

You two meet each other halfway in the space that you've been nesting in. Suguru’s eyes never leave yours when he takes the first sip, and once done he passes the chilled bottle towards you.

“Am I ever going to have you back in the kitchen helping me with dinner?”

You shake your head no, and bite at the lip of the bottle before taking a sip. “I thought we agreed I was a hazard after the raw chicken fiasco and the almost-fire debacle…”

He laughs, “no, you agreed. I said it wasn’t a big deal”

“You just said that because you love me,” you respond, pressing the bottle into his chest as he takes it from your hand.

“That goes without saying…” he answers, slinging his arm around your waist and pulling you into his frame.

You lift yourself up on your toes, and kiss his nose.

“Do you think it’s worth the risk of me attempting to cook for you again?” You whisper against his lips.

Suguru smiles, a hand cupping your cheek as he leans forward to seal his reply with a kiss.

“I think it’s worth the try”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

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