#i have too many thoughts and they don’t fit in tags

[alijuan]

I resent the glorification of BG3 over Veilguard not only because Larian copied BioWare (and not very well imo) but also because that game was a disappointment to me. I expected a sequel to BG2 but got DOS3 at best, if not a copy of DOS2. Although Durge as the culmination of the series hits the spot for me, it’s one of the few things that got me stuck with BG3 for so long.

Not like Veilguard, because DA was special to me, but still disappointing. Especially problems with lore and sometimes its superficial presentation, with a few good exceptions. And Tav as an alternative main character who doesn't fit into the series or even the plot of BG3 (typical Larian). Sorry for all Tavs, mine too, but their plot is boring and sometimes alogical; they’re not much different from Rook to me outside of roleplaying.

Larian tried to copy Bioware but it turned out to be more a parody to me. BG3 is still a typical Larian game. Hollow world that can’t be compared to DAO, the oddities and changes in lore for the sake of narrative, not a very interesting group dynamic (inspiration from BioWare is so obvious here but so superficial; it’s progress for Larian because relationships between companions weren't in their games before but overall it's average).

I think they were trying to evoke a sense of nostalgia. Astarion is a good example of this. They changed tiefling to white-haired elf who reminds Zevran, Fenris and Dorian at the same time. At least they changed that he wanted vampirism and paid for it, otherwise it would not only be weird for a young high elf to be so greedy for vampiric immortality but he'd just be Fenris 2.0.

Even compared to other similar games, BG3 is not brilliant. I usually use Pathfinder WOTR as a modern example because it has similarities with BG3 but better in many aspects, including choices, respect to lore, mc’s connection to the plot (if we speak about Tav) and many more, with much smaller budget. In my opinion, Owlcat is a better successor of classic CRPGs. Not to mention that Owlcat doesn't rewrite character stories or change scenes after release for the sake of fanservice. They stand up for their ideas when it comes to adding or changing something in their game for fans (Larian would never).

I disagree that Larian released a finished game. The third act looks rushed and unfinished, the epilogue came six months later, the evil endings only a year later. It wasn’t a final product on release because they're still changing cutscenes and dialogues like it's early access. But finally someone said that Larian didn't do something revolutionary. This is how RPGs work, and a lot of the standards came from BioWare.

I am just a little bit annoyed how everyone is comparing Bioware to Larian....

Not because I think we should be too lenient towards Bioware. God and everyone who follows me on this site knows how massively disappointed I am with Veilguard and that I am not expecting them to deliver on the next Mass Effect.

And Larian has done an outstanding job with BG3.

However: the praise Larian has gained also served to show how low expectations in the gaming industry were. I read and hear time and time again how Larian supposedly has set a new standard in gaming but they actually didn't?

What have they done? They released a finished well written and well rounded RPG. An RPG with diverging story branches and player choices with consequences.

Do you notice something? THIS IS NOT REVOLUTIONARY, PEOPLE!

A revolution by defintion entails a course of action that is entirely new and a complete break from what was done before. Larian did not do that. They simply fulfilled the PRE-EXISTING criteria for an RPG. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yet, since standards have appearantly fallen so low in the respective genre, everyone acts like adhering to the working definition of an RPG and selling a complete product is somehow revolutionary. Literally nothing about that is new. It should be standard.

And it breaks my heart everytime someone compares Bioware to Larian in this regard.

No, before you come at me, not because I want to defend and protect them. They 10000% deserve all the backlash (minus the death threats) they are recieving. But because Baldur's Gate was originally a Bioware IP to begin with.

Larian did not do anything revolutionary. They built on what Bioware has already established. And you feel the old Bioware DNA even in BG3.

You feel it in the characters, their stories and personalities, the dialogue. They brought back old characters like Minsc and Jaheira. My heart breaks a little more everytime I feel these pieces of OG Bioware. Like echoes of an era long gone, only to realize it is not Bioware.

I feel its spiritual proximity to DAO. Sometimes the combat music even reminds me of DAO combat music. I briefly think I am playing my Warden before I snap out of it and see my sorceress Tav between Astarion and Karlach. And my heart breaks.

Boo, Minsc's hamster, was originally referenced by Shepard having a hamster when the player decided to purchase one. Shepard's hamster made the same noises as Boo in BG2 and Shepard even used Minsc's signature line in regards to him "Go for the eyes." in the Citadel DLC.

Now Minsc says Boo is a miniature giant SPACE hamster and I tear up because I instantly think of Shepard and my heart breaks. Breaks but also warms because Larian thought it was important to still honor the original inventor of Baldur's Gate with a Shepard reference in return.

To sum it up: it is so frustrating to see people comparing Bioware to a developer studio that was conforming to standards implemented by Bioware to begin with.

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (what may come)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: home

- Next part: the honest

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @butterflygxril @lordofthunderthr @mrsnms @itisjustwhatitis @urdxrling

The towering cliffs of Casterly Rock loomed ahead, an imposing mass of stone and gold as the Lannister procession made its final approach. The air carried the scent of salt from the Sunset Sea, and the banners of House Lannister billowed in the wind, their crimson fabric vivid against the gray sky.

Jaime rode at the front, his posture rigid yet composed. He had spent so many years away from his childhood home that its sight stirred something uneasy within him. It was a strange feeling, to return not as the Kingslayer or member of the Kingsguard, but as the heir, as a future husband. The title felt unfamiliar, ill-fitting, but it was one he could not escape.

He stole a glance at you. You rode beside him, Winter padding alongside your horse with effortless grace. Your expression was unreadable, but Jaime could see the way your gaze swept over the towering fortress, assessing, measuring. He wondered what you thought of it—whether you saw it as another cage, another prison of stone.

Bronn, as usual, had little reverence for the occasion. “Well, isn’t this a sight?” he mused, letting out a low whistle. “Big, isn’t it? Almost makes the Red Keep look like a brothel.”

Jaime smirked. “I wouldn’t say that too loudly. The walls have ears.”

Bronn shrugged, adjusting his reins. “What do I care? I’m just here to make sure you don’t fall off your horse.”

Ahead, the great gates of Casterly Rock swung open, and a welcoming party stood at attention. At its head was Ser Kevan Lannister, his expression carefully composed as he surveyed the arriving group. He stepped forward as Jaime and the rest of the party dismounted.

“Welcome home, Jaime,” Kevan said, his tone steady, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “And welcome, Lady Stark.”

You inclined your head slightly, though your expression remained guarded.

Kevan’s gaze flickered to Winter, who had stationed himself protectively by your side, his blue eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings with keen intelligence. The men around Kevan shifted uneasily, their hands lingering near their swords as if the direwolf might decide to attack at any moment.

Jaime noted their nervous glances and smirked. “You’re all acting like you’ve never seen a direwolf before.”

Kevan exhaled through his nose. “Not this close,” he admitted. “And certainly not one this size.” His gaze drifted back to Winter, who huffed in response, his ears flicking forward.

“He won’t bite,” Bronn quipped from behind Jaime. “Not unless you give him a reason to.”

Kevan gave Bronn a withering look before turning back to Jaime. “Your father sent word ahead of your arrival. The Rock is prepared for your stay, and arrangements have been made for the wedding.”

Jaime forced a smile. “Of course they have.”

Kevan’s gaze flickered toward you again, his tone carefully neutral. “Lady Y/N, if you require anything, the servants will see to it. My wife, Dorna, has prepared suitable accommodations for you.”

You inclined your head again but said nothing, your fingers absently brushing against Winter’s fur as he pressed against your leg.

Jaime took the moment to step closer to Kevan, lowering his voice slightly. “How much of this was truly my father’s doing?”

Kevan’s expression didn’t change. “All of it.”

Jaime sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Of course.”

Kevan hesitated before adding, “Tywin expects everything to proceed without incident. You understand that, don’t you?”

Jaime’s smirk was laced with something bitter. “When have I ever caused an incident?”

Kevan gave him a knowing look but said nothing more.

From behind them, Bronn let out a dramatic sigh. “Are we going to stand around all day, or are we going inside? I could use a drink.”

Jaime chuckled despite himself and gestured toward the entrance. “Come, then. Let’s see what my dear father has in store for us.”

With that, the procession moved forward, the weight of Casterly Rock settling over you both like an unshakable shadow.

The great doors of Casterly Rock swung open, revealing the grandeur of the Lannister stronghold. The halls were immense, carved directly from the mountain itself, their golden hues reflecting the torchlight that lined the towering stone walls. The floors were polished marble, rich red-and-gold banners hanging from the arched ceilings. The air carried the faintest scent of the sea, mingling with the ever-present scent of burning wax and the cool dampness of the rock.

You stepped inside, your boots clicking against the smooth floor as your gaze swept over the cavernous hall. The sheer scale of it was overwhelming—the towering pillars, the intricate carvings, the wealth on display in every corner. It was nothing like Winterfell, nothing like home.

Reality settled on you like a crushing weight.

This was it.

This was your future.

No more trying to outrun it, no more hoping that some unforeseen twist of fate would change your course. You were in the heart of Lannister territory now, surrounded by their banners, their men, their legacy.

A gilded cage, no matter how grand.

Jaime walked a few paces ahead before slowing his steps, turning slightly as if sensing the shift in your posture. His green eyes flickered over your face, steady and observant, before he spoke, his voice quieter now.

"Feeling trapped already?"

You inhaled slowly, steadying yourself before lifting your chin. "Should I not?"

Jaime studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with an almost imperceptible sigh, he turned fully to face you. "I won’t lie to you," he said, his voice low, just for you. "This place can feel… heavy. Even for those born to it."

Your fingers curled slightly at your sides. "And yet, you chose to bring me here."

He tilted his head, lips pressing into a faint smirk, though there was no mockery in his tone. "Would you rather be in the Dreadfort?"

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t answer.

Jaime exhaled, glancing around before stepping closer, lowering his voice again. "It’s not Winterfell, I know. And it never will be. But you are not a prisoner here, Y/N. No matter what my father might think."

You met his gaze, searching for any trace of deception. To your surprise, you found none.

Before you could respond, Kevan cleared his throat, reminding you both of the watching eyes. "Come," he said. "Your chambers have been prepared."

Jaime straightened, his composure sliding back into place as he gestured forward. "After you, my lady."

You hesitated for the briefest of moments, then stepped forward, your spine straight, your expression schooled into something unreadable. Winter padded close to your side, his presence a grounding force as you followed the Lannisters deeper into the Rock.

Jaime watched you for a moment longer before falling into step beside you, his smirk fading as something else settled in his chest—something uncomfortably close to guilt.

For a moment, he wondered if he had truly saved you from Roose Bolton, or merely delivered you into another kind of prison.

The halls of Casterly Rock were quieter at night, though they never truly slept. Jaime made his way toward his uncle’s chambers. He had spent the past hours dealing with the formalities of his arrival, speaking to stewards, acknowledging the gathered household, and enduring the weight of his new responsibilities.

And now, as the evening stretched on, his mind returned to the promise he had made.

Kevan Lannister’s study was lit by a handful of candles, the scent of parchment, ink, and aged leather heavy in the air. A map of the Westerlands lay sprawled across the table, flanked by letters, ledgers, and Tywin’s meticulous correspondence.

Kevan sat at the desk, straight-backed as always, his expression calm but unreadable as he set aside a scroll and gestured for Jaime to take a seat across from him. A servant poured them both goblets of wine before silently departing, leaving the two Lannisters alone.

Jaime leaned back in his chair, swirling the deep red liquid in his cup before speaking. “So, Uncle, what grand tasks await me? Running the mines? Overseeing tax disputes? Or does father have something more humiliating planned?”

Kevan exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’ll be overseeing much of the Rock’s administration, but we will start with matters of trade and military reports. Your father has already outlined the key duties expected of you. I trust you received his letters.”

Jaime smirked. “Oh, I received them. Quite a few, in fact. I could barely keep up with the ink.”

Kevan ignored the remark, instead tapping a finger against the map. “We have shipments that need securing along Lannisport. Ironborn raids have grown bolder near Kayce. We need to reinforce our coastal defenses.”

Jaime listened with half an ear, his fingers drumming against the table. He would handle these matters—he wasn’t incompetent, despite what some may think—but this wasn’t what had been pressing on his mind since they arrived.

After a moment, he leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. “And what of the North?”

Kevan raised an eyebrow. “What of it?”

Jaime took a slow sip of his wine before setting the goblet down. “Robb Stark. What does father plan for him now that the wedding at the Twins has been canceled?”

Kevan’s face remained carefully neutral, but the way he set down his quill with measured precision told Jaime that he had struck upon something significant.

“That,” Kevan said, ��is no longer a concern of yours.”

Jaime scoffed, sitting back in his chair. “No longer a concern? I think it is. Considering I stole his sister from Roose Bolton, I imagine that changes quite a few things.”

Kevan studied him for a long moment before sighing. “If you must know, your father and Lord Bolton have made new arrangements.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened slightly. “What kind of arrangements?”

Kevan hesitated. “Robb Stark still refuses to bend the knee. He marches south, despite knowing he has no allies left. The Riverlords are fractured, and the Freys will not support him after he dishonored their house. Your father has no intention of letting this war drag on any further.”

Jaime’s fingers curled around the armrest of his chair. “Meaning what?”

Kevan met his gaze evenly. “Meaning Tywin and Roose are ensuring it ends swiftly. Bolton has positioned himself in such a way that he can bring the boy down without the need for drawn-out battles. And when it’s over, the North will be under Bolton’s control.”

A cold weight settled in Jaime’s stomach. “And Robb?”

Kevan did not answer immediately, and that silence spoke volumes.

Jaime exhaled slowly, rubbing his jaw. “Roose means to kill him.”

Kevan’s voice was flat. “He means to win.”

Jaime let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Of course. And what of the girl? What of Y/N?”

Kevan’s expression remained impassive. “She is to marry you. That was the trade your father made. If you had not taken her from Roose, she would have been his bride, and the Starks would have fallen just the same.”

Jaime’s grip tightened around the goblet, his thoughts racing.

“So, the Young Wolf rides toward his death,” Jaime murmured, staring into his wine. “And there’s nothing he can do to stop it.”

Kevan did not respond, but he didn’t need to. The pieces were already falling into place, and Jaime could see the end of the game clearly now.

His father had already won.

Jaime leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Does she know?”

Kevan sighed. “No. And there is no reason for her to.”

Jaime scoffed, shaking his head. “No reason? You truly think she won’t suspect? She’s not an idiot, Kevan. She knows there’s a plan in motion. She asked me about it on the way here.”

Kevan regarded him carefully. “And what did you tell her?”

Jaime exhaled, running his fingers through his hair. “That I didn’t know. Which, until now, was true.”

Kevan’s gaze was steady. “Then I suggest you keep it that way.”

Jaime stared at his uncle for a long moment before letting out a slow breath. “Right.”

The conversation weighed on him as he finished his wine, his thoughts circling back to you. He had made a promise—to protect your family where he could, to do something to ensure you weren’t completely swallowed by his father’s schemes.

But now, with Robb Stark’s fate all but sealed, Jaime realized he had no idea how to keep that promise.

And that thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

Servants bustled about the grand halls, their footsteps soft against the polished marble floors as they prepared for the day ahead. The fortress was awake, its presence as commanding as the lion that adorned its banners.

You stood near one of those great windows, gazing out at the expanse of the Sunset Sea. The waves crashed against the cliffs below, their endless movement soothing in a way the towering walls of Casterly Rock were not. This place was nothing like Winterfell—the air lacked the crispness of the North, the stone lacked the warmth of home. And yet, this was where you were meant to stay.

A soft clearing of the throat made you turn. Lady Dorna Lannister stood before you, her hands clasped in front of her. She was a striking woman, regal in bearing, with bright, intelligent eyes that reminded you she was no mere noblewoman but the wife of Kevan Lannister—a woman well-versed in the expectations of courtly life.

“Lady Y/N,” she greeted, inclining her head slightly. “I trust you rested well.”

You gave her a measured look, your tone neutral. “Well enough.”

She smiled faintly, as if she had expected that response. “Good. We have much to discuss.”

You followed her as she led you through the halls, her pace unhurried but purposeful. “As the future Lady of Casterly Rock, there are certain expectations placed upon you,” she began. “It is my duty to ensure you understand them.”

You resisted the urge to scoff. “I imagine my duties won’t be too different from what was expected of me at Winterfell.”

Lady Dorna arched an elegant brow. “Perhaps, but the Rock is not Winterfell. Here, you must command not just respect, but loyalty. The Lannisters do not rule through kindness alone.”

You glanced around the grand halls, the wealth of the Lannisters evident in every gilded detail. “No,” you murmured. “I imagine they don’t.”

Lady Dorna studied you for a moment before continuing. “You will be expected to oversee the daily running of the keep. The servants, the household, the management of provisions. The mines may be the source of our wealth, but a poorly run household can make even the richest of lords suffer.”

You nodded, though the thought of taking on such responsibilities in a place that still felt foreign to you was daunting.

“There are also matters of decorum,” Lady Dorna added, her tone taking on a sharper edge. “The Lannisters hold themselves to a standard. You will be watched, judged. You must carry yourself as befits the wife of the Warden of the West.”

You met her gaze evenly. “You mean I must behave as Tywin Lannister sees fit.”

A flicker of amusement crossed her features. “You are not wrong.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, a flare of defiance sparking in your chest. “I am not some docile creature to be tamed.”

Lady Dorna’s lips curved into something resembling approval. “No, you are not. And that may serve you well. But understand this—strength is not always about fighting. Sometimes, survival is the greatest strength of all.”

You stared at her, uncertain whether she was warning you or advising you.

She gestured for you to follow as she continued walking. “There will also be duties outside the household. The Lannisters command many bannermen, and their loyalty must be maintained. You will be expected to attend councils, to play the role of diplomat when necessary.”

“And if I refuse?” you challenged, your voice quiet but firm.

Lady Dorna stopped and turned to face you fully. “Then you will make enemies of powerful men. And that is not a battle you can win, my lady.”

The weight of her words settled heavily on you. It was not a threat, not exactly. But it was a warning. A reminder that this was not the North. You were no longer a Stark in Winterfell. You were surrounded by Lannisters, by those who saw marriage not as a union but as a transaction, a means to consolidate power.

Lady Dorna watched as you absorbed this, then softened slightly. “It is not all politics,” she said. “You will have time to make your place here. To find those who will stand by you. Even among lions, allies can be found.”

You exhaled slowly, nodding. “And what of Jaime?”

Lady Dorna tilted her head, studying you. “What of him?”

You hesitated, then asked, “What role does he expect me to play?”

A knowing smile tugged at her lips. “That, my dear, is something only he can answer.”

The conversation lingered between you as the great halls stretched on ahead. Casterly Rock was vast, imposing, but it was no longer just the seat of House Lannister—it was your future.

And whether you liked it or not, you had no choice but to face it.

The evening air in Casterly Rock was crisp, the distant roar of the Sunset Sea crashing against the cliffs below. A few torches burned along the stone balcony where Jaime sat with Bronn, a jug of wine between them. The fortress was quieter now, its halls less imposing under the cover of night, but the weight of what Jaime had learned still pressed heavily on his mind.

Bronn leaned back against the stone railing, taking a long sip from his goblet before exhaling contentedly. “You know, for all the gold stuffed into this place, it’s got a real gloom about it. Doesn’t feel like a home.”

Jaime smirked, swirling his own wine absently. “That’s because it isn’t. Not really.”

Bronn raised a brow. “Not to you, maybe. But you’ll be Lord of the Rock soon enough. Got yourself a fine Stark bride, a title, and all the gold you could ever piss away. Doesn’t sound too bad.”

Jaime scoffed, setting his goblet down. “You think I want this?”

Bronn smirked. “You think I care?”

Jaime let out a slow breath, running his fingers through his hair. His golden hand rested on his knee, heavier than usual. “Tywin’s making his final moves,” he said after a moment, his tone quieter now.

Bronn lifted a brow, intrigued but cautious. “Go on.”

Jaime hesitated before leaning forward slightly, lowering his voice. “Robb Stark is still marching south. My father and Roose Bolton have no intention of letting him reach his goal.”

Bronn frowned. “I thought that whole bloody wedding business was off after you stole the girl from The Leech Lord.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened. “So did I.”

Bronn took another sip of wine, watching Jaime carefully. “And?”

“And it doesn’t matter,” Jaime said bitterly. “My father doesn’t let loose ends slip through his fingers. The Starks were always meant to fall. Roose is in a position to strike, and my father has already ensured that the right doors are open.”

Bronn let out a low whistle. “So, that’s it then? The Young Wolf gets slaughtered, Bolton takes the North, and your old man gets another war wrapped up neatly with a golden bow?”

Jaime’s grip tightened on his goblet. “Something like that.”

Bronn chuckled, shaking his head. “And here I thought you were actually starting to care about the little Stark girl.”

Jaime’s eyes snapped to him, sharp and defensive. “This isn’t about her.”

Bronn smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “No? Because it sure as shit seems like it is. She’s the one who made you start asking questions, isn’t she?”

Jaime exhaled, rubbing his temple. “She asked me about it before we left King’s Landing. She already knew something was being planned. I told her I didn’t know anything.”

“And now you do.”

Jaime nodded slowly, staring into his wine. “Now I do.”

Bronn studied him for a moment before leaning back again. “Well, that’s a problem, isn’t it?”

Jaime scoffed. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, I do,” Bronn said with a grin. “You’re thinking about what happens when she finds out. And she will find out. If she already suspected, then she’ll be watching, listening. And you—” Bronn pointed at him with his goblet, “—you’re in love with your little Stark bride, whether you’ll admit it or not.”

Jaime shot him a glare. “I am not.”

Bronn laughed. “Right, and I’m a bloody septon. Face it, Jaime, you’re torn between keeping your father happy and keeping that girl from gutting you in your sleep.”

Jaime didn’t respond, his jaw tightening.

Bronn sighed, finishing the rest of his wine. “So what’s the plan, then? You gonna stop it? Save the noble Young Wolf and his army? If so, that’s a real piss-poor way to keep Tywin in your good graces.”

Jaime closed his eyes briefly before opening them again. “I don’t know what the plan is. But I do know that I can’t just sit by and do nothing.”

Bronn tilted his head, considering him. “You know what I think?”

Jaime exhaled. “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

Bronn leaned forward, his grin widening. “I think you’re finally growing a conscience. A bit late, but better than never.”

Jaime scowled but said nothing.

Bronn stretched, yawning as he placed his goblet down. “Well, whatever you decide to do, I expect to be rewarded for all this. Gold is nice, but the stuff I know? The things I hear? That needs to be secured with something bigger.”

Jaime shot him a look. “You want a castle.”

Bronn grinned. “Aye. A nice one. With a good view and a decent bit of land. Maybe even a lady wife, if she’s got the right temperament.”

Jaime chuckled, shaking his head. “You really don’t aim low, do you?”

Bronn smirked, standing and adjusting his belt. “No point in that. You should know—after all, you’re the one aiming for the impossible.”

Jaime sighed, leaning back against his chair as Bronn walked away, his laughter still echoing through the halls.

Jaime sat there long after his companion had gone, the weight of what he had learned settling over him like a cloak. He had always been Tywin Lannister’s son, always followed the course set for him. But now, he wondered if he was capable of choosing a different path.

And if he did—what the cost would be.

The corridors of Casterly Rock were quiet at this hour. Jaime walked with a measured pace, his mind burdened with the weight of unspoken truths. He had thought about it all evening, running over the words in his mind, trying to find a way to tell you what he had learned about your brother. But every time he came close to forming the words, he saw his father’s face in his mind—stern, commanding, absolute.

And so, instead of turning toward his own chambers, Jaime found himself stopping before yours.

The guards stationed outside glanced at him before stepping aside without question. They had been given their orders—he was to have unrestricted access to you. The thought sat uneasily in his stomach. He wasn’t here to exercise power over you, but to offer something he wasn’t sure you would accept.

He knocked lightly, then opened the door without waiting for a reply.

You were seated by the window, your long hair loose over your shoulders, illuminated by the silver glow of the moonlight. Your eyes flickered toward him, wary but unsurprised.

“What do you want, Lannister?” you asked, your voice quiet but firm.

Jaime smirked faintly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “A simple goodnight would suffice.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

He hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding. “And to see if you needed anything.”

Your gaze lingered on him, studying him, weighing the intent behind his words. “That depends,” you said at last, standing from your chair. “Do you actually care? Or is this just another duty expected of you?”

Jaime exhaled slowly, stepping further into the room. “Would you believe me if I said both?”

You turned fully toward him, arms crossing over your chest. “I suppose that’s the best I’ll get from a Lannister.”

Jaime let out a soft chuckle, though there was little humor in it. “I never claimed to be anything else.”

A silence stretched between you, the tension thick, unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. Jaime wanted to tell you, wanted to warn you, but the weight of his family’s legacy pressed against his chest. He couldn’t betray his father—not yet.

So instead, he shifted, grasping for something—anything—to deflect. “Your direwolf,” he said suddenly. “I hear you’ve been complaining about his living arrangements.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “I wouldn’t call it complaining. More like voicing my irritation.”

Jaime smirked. “And what exactly is irritating you?”

You sighed, stepping toward the edge of the bed, your fingers brushing against the silk sheets absentmindedly. “He’s being kept in the courtyard like some common dog. He’s not a pet, Lannister. He’s my family.”

Jaime tilted his head, his smirk fading slightly. “You truly see him that way?”

You shot him a sharp look. “Do you not?”

Jaime exhaled, considering your words. “I suppose I’ve never had anything… anyone that loyal before.”

You studied him for a long moment, something flickering in your expression, but you didn’t press. Instead, you looked toward the window. “I just don’t want him caged. Not like me.”

Jaime’s chest tightened at your words, at the quiet vulnerability beneath them. He stepped closer, his voice softer now. “I’ll see what I can do.”

You turned back toward him, surprised by his words, but Jaime only met your gaze steadily.

For the first time since arriving at the Rock, something between you shifted. The unease remained, but it was different now—less about defiance, more about something unspoken, something neither of you could quite name.

Jaime took another step forward, close enough now that he could see the flicker of candlelight reflected in your eyes. His gaze dropped, just briefly, to your lips. He wasn’t sure which one of you moved first, but the space between you vanished, the air growing warmer, heavier.

Then, just as he leaned in, you turned your head at the last moment, your breath brushing against his cheek instead.

“Goodnight, Jaime,” you whispered.

He froze, his heart hammering in his chest.

Slowly, he stepped back, exhaling through his nose. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

With that, he turned and left, the door clicking softly behind him.

As he walked back to his chambers, his mind was a war of conflicting thoughts. He had wanted to tell you the truth, to warn you of what was coming—but instead, he had let the moment slip away, distracted by something he hadn’t expected to want.

Jaime Lannister wasn’t sure what frightened him more now—his father’s wrath or the way his heart had nearly betrayed him in that room.

[steddieas-shegoes]

if you fall, i will catch you

for @steddielovemonth day 2 using Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper

rated t | 855 words | no cw | tags: high school, prom, slow dance, flirting, open ending but assumed getting together

🪩🕺💃🪩🕺💃🪩🕺💃🪩💃🕺🪩

Prom is stupid.

Steve didn’t even want to come. He didn’t have a date and nothing is more embarrassing than showing up to prom alone. Even the nerds come as a group, dancing and laughing together.

His mom made an appointment for his suit fitting and he couldn’t really explain to her that there was no need. She still thinks he and Nancy are on track to be married when Nancy graduates high school. He doesn’t know how to tell her that he’ll probably die alone.

Okay, that’s a little dramatic. He’s probably not gonna die alone.

But he may die unhappy, and that’s worse.

Most of the music hasn’t been terrible so far, at least. Only one slow song played and no one seemed interested in dancing to it.

Steve’s a fucking wallflower at his own prom. He never saw this coming.

He figures he could probably escape within the next few songs, no one would even notice his absence. He makes a mental plan to wait until one of the parent chaperones walks back to the other side of the room.

Then he’s off.

He manages to escape to the hall behind the gym, the one that leads to the auditorium and drama class, not the main building of the school. No one should be back here. It’s the perfect escape route.

“Never thought I’d see the day when King Steve is trying to escape prom,” a voice says from the end of the hall. The music from the gym is echoing in here, but the voice is much louder. It’s familiar, too. “Miss Wheeler too busy with Byers to dance?”

It’s Munson. Steve sighs.

“Why are you even here?”

“It’s my senior prom, too! Or should those of us not graduating not be allowed?” Eddie walks closer and Steve sees that he’s actually dressed up. It’s not a designer suit like he’s been forced into, but it’s nice. Eddie looks…nice.

“Wait,” Steve registers what he actually said. “Not graduating?”

“Yep. Apparently quadratic formulas are crucial to my development and I cannot enter society until I understand them.” Eddie kicks his foot across the tile, leaving a scuff mark from shoes that have probably been waxed beyond necessity. “And I guess dissecting a frog and turning in homework may have helped.”

“But aren’t you pretty smart?” Steve thought he was one of those dungeon dweebs like Dustin. Dustin’s the smartest person he knows, without a doubt, kid or not. He thought all the nerds who play that game were like that.

“Sure, I’m smart enough,” Eddie scoffs. “But I don’t play by their rules. I forget to do homework. I argue.”

“But if you know the stuff, they can’t fail you.”

“Ah, but they can. I don’t have the Harrington name to convince them to change a D to a C. It’s all good. Everyone expected it.”

Steve’s brows furrow, forehead creasing as he thinks about how many things people expected of him that won’t happen.

“Just because people expect it doesn’t mean you have to give it to them,” he says.

Eddie’s eyes widen and he seems shocked by Steve’s words. But the shock wears off quickly. Steve wonders if he imagined it.

“Right you are! Very wise words from the king,” Eddie bows dramatically.

Steve laughs.

Eddie glances up, tense until he realizes Steve’s not laughing at him, just at the entertainment. He stands straight and holds out his hand.

“I do believe such wise words should be repaid with a dance,” Eddie puts on a fake British accent, nose pointed to the sky, smirk playing on his lips.

Steve thinks this must be what it’s like to be charmed by someone.

“A dance?” Steve asks. “Here? With me?”

“It would be my honor,” Eddie loses the accent and turns his head back down so he’s looking right at Steve’s eyes. “Miss Lauper wrote this song just for us, after all.”

Steve’s confusion grows until he hears the song coming from the gym. He can only imagine how awkward it must be in the gym while some couples slow dance with chaperones watching their every breath. He reaches out and takes Eddie’s hand.

“The honor is mine, sir Munson,” Steve tries for an accent like Eddie had previously, but it falls flat.

Eddie pulls him close, but hesitates before he puts an arm around his waist. Steve feels breathless all of a sudden, like they’ve rocketed into space and he forgot one of those astronaut suits. He nods, giving permission for Eddie to take the lead.

When Eddie pulls him closer, they’re almost flush against each other.

Steve’s heart is racing.

“I didn’t know you were weird,” Eddie admits quietly. It sounds a lot like admiration. He’s swaying them back and forth gently, and Steve finds it’s easy to lose track of everything but the way Eddie’s hands rest on his body. “It’s nice to see you, Steve.”

It’s a lot more than what it sounds like.

As Cyndi Lauper plays, Steve wonders if this is how his prom was always meant to be spent: in Eddie Munson’s arms, falling.

[damn-stark]

Junho and reader break in the squid game island? Both are cops or something plsss😭❤️

Chapter 1 Together, we can take it to the end of the line

Chapter 1 of Sinnerwoman

Hwang Jun-ho x fem!reader

A/N- I hope you all like it :)

Warning- ANGST!! FLUFF!! Weapons, blood, and talks of death! Spoilers for the show!

Pairing- Hwang Jun-ho x fem!reader

Episode- 2x05 - 2x08

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

——

Day 1:

You- Jun-ho, where are you?

No response to the text you sent and two phone calls were declined.

Day 2:

You- Are you okay? Let me know or tell me if you don’t want to talk…

Yet again, no response to the morning text. When you get to work you expect him to be there, but he doesn’t come. Not for lunch and not toward the end of the shift.

“Detective!” Someone tries to catch your attention and you have half the mind to pretend you don’t hear and leave for the day since you assume what’s coming, but it would be disrespectful and would only worsen the matter.

“Chief,” you redirect nonchalantly and turn on your heels to see him walk up to you and search around you before his gaze finds yours.

“Where’s Hwang?” He asks the dreaded question, making you stiffen and internally groan before you respond dryly.

“I don’t know, Sir.”

The man’s eyebrows immediately furrow before he quips. “What do you mean you don’t know? He’s your boyfriend, you’re supposed to know.”

You fist your hands and shrug stiffly before you retort in the same nonchalance. “Well, I don’t know. Sorry.”

The captain looks at you up and down with a hint of judgment and amusement and you can imagine—no you know he must think Jun-ho must be doing something malicious behind your back and you’re oblivious, but he doesn’t know Jun-ho like you do, he wouldn’t cheat on you…right?

He wouldn’t keep secrets, would he?

Then again do you even have the right to be upset even if he does have secrets considering the ones you keep from him?

The answer to that is an immediate no, but finding out he's seeing someone else behind your back is different, and…he…wouldn’t do that, would he?

You return home and text him again.

You- At least let me know if you’re not going to work.

Jun-ho is usually a quick texter, he never leaves you on received for too long when he’s out of work, and if he is busy doing something else he lets you know, but this time he hasn’t. He doesn’t call nor does he pick up when you try to call him once before bed, so rather than falling asleep and hoping to get an answer from him in the morning, you’re left on your bed staring at the ceiling and overthinking.

Every thought is worse than the other and with every bad thought you crack more and more until you can’t take it a moment longer and finally break. You do the one thing you said you wouldn’t do and…check his location. That’s when you find out that he’s not even close to the city or abroad just like you imagined, he’s on an Island…

Shit.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

The Island was much harder to navigate to than you thought, but finally, after sailing for far longer than you’re comfortable with on nothing but the endless sea and its creepy deep, and dark waters, you make it to the Island. However, instead of driving right through the entrance and boldly announcing your presence, you sail to a more obscure part of the Island.

Did you count on having so many rocks surrounding the Island? No, but you do find an opening that seems to fit your boat.

Yet rather than sailing right through, you stop the motor right by the opening and intend to dive in the water to swim through the opening to avoid having someone hear your boat, but when you walk to the edge of the boat and look at the water, you remember how deep and vast it is.

There’s a possibility that you could just sink, and if you sink, you drown and die. The sea is so vast. It’s so terrifying. How are people not scared of it? You were so focused on getting to the Island that you were able to not think about your fear of the sea, but now you’re stopped in place, looking through the surface, seeing the dark depths of the open water, and feel like starting the motor and sailing all the way back to the mainland where you’ll be safe, but…Jun-ho is here and he doesn’t answer your texts or your calls. If he’s not dead yet, he might need your help, so you draw out a few deep breaths and take a moment to convince yourself to push your fear aside before you dive into the water.

When you’re in the water you start to breathe heavily and feel your heart race, but you shove that fear to the depths of your mind for now and start swimming so the worst doesn’t happen. However, the opening leads to a long corridor dimly lit by lamps on the walls, so the shadows turn to menacing threats that threaten to trap you and drag you down the depths of the sea.

That is until you finally find firm ground on a dock occupied by other small boats. “Finally,” you say between pants as you climb on a far corner of the dock, and then sit on your knees to drop your head in your hands and catch your breath so you can calm your racing heart and be wary of what you have to do in this place. You’d be no use to yourself or Jun-ho if you’re still shaken up by the dark waters.

After you manage to collect yourself, you only prioritize one goal. You don’t think about the fact that you’ll have to retrace your steps over the water and sail back to the mainland. You make Jun-ho your priority and become intensely determined.

However, if only finding Jun-ho could be as simple as walking through a door and finding him. You have your phone and you could still track his phone, but when you take your phone out of the plastic bag you kept it safe in, you fail to get service which results in you not being able to track Jun-ho anymore. And it’s not like you have wi-fi either so you’re left with no choice but to be careful and search this vast place as if with your eyes closed.

Thankfully, you don’t run into anyone when you exit the docks, you’re just greeted by yet another long hall lit by more lamps strung up on the stone walls. Spread down the hall there’s different turns that lead elsewhere, potential places that could lead to Jun-ho. Which one do you take?

Shit. Shit. Shit…

You look at all your options and debate for a while. When you make a strategic choice you take a step forward, but, at that moment, the sound of a gunshot echoes, and you know it would be a crazy risk checking if it’s who you’re looking for, but if you don’t risk it and check, then you could possibly lose the chance of finding him and you’d be left searching and searching for someone who might not be on the Island on anymore, besides, you’ll just take a quick peek. That won’t hurt…hopefully…then again even if it did hurt, it would be worth it for him. Thus, you quickly navigate through the labyrinth that is this cave until you reach a door you assume leads to where the gunshot came from.

After you make sure no one else is approaching, you then make sure not to be loud when you open the door, nor do you throw it open. You open the door just wide enough so you can peek out through a gap with one eye.

Alas, you’re met with a grey stone wall, so you push the door open just wide enough so you sneak through. When you make it to the end of the wall, you press yourself against the stone and peek out, that’s when you find him, the man you’re looking for in a pink jumpsuit, standing over a gap of illuminated water. No one else seems to be around him, so you slowly walk out.

Jun-ho doesn’t notice you right away so you call out to him. “Jun-ho.”

Said man spins around swiftly and the first thing he does is point the gun at you.

You don’t move in response or say anything. You stay where you are and let him see you. You let him figure out on his own that yes, it is you. You’re intertwined in the shadows of the cave. You’re not a trick his mind played on him, it’s you in the flesh looking at him like he’s salvation itself.

“Jun-ho,” you muse and he responds by muttering your name before he takes a few steps forward and stops.

You stay under the shadows of the room and study him carefully to make sure he’s unharmed, to reassure yourself that he’s there, before your very eyes, and breathing.

He's alive, and you’re relieved, but how long will he remain yours if you stay here?

Thus you bring an end to the moment and stride over to him to grab his wrist right away. “Come on, we have to go. I saw armed pink people guarding an entrance. We have to leave before we’re caught.”

He remains silent, but he doesn’t budge, he lets his wrist slip from your grasp, making you turn swiftly to look at him with panic. “Jun-ho, we have to leave.”

Said man blinks as he gathers his thoughts before he finally interjects with something other than your name. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

You walk back to him. “My phone,” you breathe out and hold his gaze, noticing how intensely he studies you with concern and confusion—“I tracked your phone here after you disappeared. I thought you were,” you pause and drop your head to let out a deep breath before you share the worries that plagued your mind when he was gone. “…With someone else so I checked your location.”

He scoffs and you look back at him.

“That’s when I saw you were here and—”

“And you came to catch me?” He continues for you with amusement breaking through his conflict and playing on his lips. “That’s…very much like you. I wouldn’t have gotten away with it even if I did try.”

You scoff now and he drops his head to let out a chuckle before he faces you with a serious face. “But I wouldn’t have done it. You know that.”

You avert your gaze out of shame and shrug. “Well I was being ignored so I thought the worst, but now aren’t you glad I’m here? Whatever this place is?” You quip and glance at the body floating in bloody water before meeting his dark eyes and returning to your panicked state.“Now we have to leave. I have a boat just outside. We have to swim to it, but we’ll make it.”

You grab his hand, but once again he refuses to move.

“No. I can’t. I have to find my brother and this place has the answers,” he explains, making you look at him with disbelief.

“Your brother?” You probe, making him nod.

“That’s not all, this place is manipulating people by dangling money in front of their faces only to kill them in different games.”

Your lips part and you gasp in horror at his revelation.

“I have to get evidence to stop it as well as find my brother…or…at least what may have happened to him because…I think he’s here or…he was. I’m not sure but I have to know.”

You shake your head. You know that he loves his brother and misses him dearly. He’s been searching for him and any answers as to what led him to disappear, but you can’t put your lives at risk for an answer. Not when you have a way out without getting killed.

“I’m sorry Jun-ho, but now that you told me what you know, we can’t put our lives at more risk!” You argue with panic. “We have to go.”

“And throw away the chance at finding my brother?” He snaps, making you blink repeatedly in disbelief before you counter with little patience.

“And didn’t you hear me? I saw armed guards. How long until they find us?! We have an opening and we have to take it.”

He steps back and shakes his head. “No, go if you want now that you know I’m okay, or stay and help me now that you’re here, but I’m not leaving. Not without answers.”

You challenge his gaze and nod stiffly in comprehension. “Is that how it’s going to be? After I risked my life coming after you?” You remark and he lifts his chin slightly in defense.

“I already told you what this all means to me. As grateful as I am that you came even if it was for your own jealous reasons, I won’t throw away my chances at finding answers.”

You let out a deep sigh and turn away to compose yourself before you lose all your patience.

“I know how hard this must have been with your fear of the sea,” he adds in a softer tone. “But you know what my brother means to me. And these people…it’s horrible. Everything about this place is horrible. I can’t leave without evidence to use to bring it down.”

You swallow thickly and then clench your jaw as you let out a deep breath through your nose.

“We might not have this chance to leave again,” you point out.

Jun-ho walks around you to face you with concern. “Don't stay if you don’t want to, go while you have the chance.”

You slowly meet his gaze with a look that softens the moment you meet his eyes. “And leave you all alone to get all the credit?” You murmur, making him scoff with a faint grin tugging on the corner of his lips.

“Plus I’m deep in it now. Whose going watch your back if not me?” You tease, making him finally laugh breathlessly before he looks into your eyes and drops his grin to step closer and cup your cheek with a smile filled with admiration.

“Thank you for coming after me even if you didn’t know what you were going to face,” he says softly.

You cup his hand and take your turn to look at him with awe that's also mixed with worry.

“Come, just above those ladders is a room that can give me the answers I’m looking for,” he shares and then steps away to point at the ladders at the far end of the room with his eyes.

Now you do hesitate while he leads the way, but you also can’t leave without him so you follow him to the ladders and climb them all the way to the top until you reach a hatch blocking your path.

“Do you have something to pick the lock?” He asks as he peers back at you.

“No,” you immediately let him down. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he says and then reaches into his pocket to pull out a revolver—“it’s going to be loud. Be ready.”

You hum and watch him shoot the hatch to pop open the lock.

“What is it?” You ask since you can’t see what Jun-ho can as he slowly opens the hatch door.

“The hatch opens to a cabinet. We’re inside the leader's room. I don’t think anyone’s here,” he shares, but even if there was someone the gunshot would have been a dead give away and you would have been caught, so luckily there isn’t anyone nearby.

“Let me check first and then you can climb up,” he lets you know over his shoulder before he climbs up one step to push open the cabinet doors and then climb into the room.

Once he's inside he does as he says and checks the room first, when he knows the ghost is clear, you hear his footsteps return before he pops over, letting you see him again. “Come on.” He waves you over, letting you climb up the rest of the ladder to get into the bland and depressing room yourself.

“Did you bring a gun?” Jun-ho asks and you look at him like he’s told you a joke before you remark.

“What do you think? No. I thought you were here hooking up with someone else, why would I bring a gun?”

He huffs. “I was just asking. Stick behind me then. Don’t wander off.”

You roll your eyes. “Wouldn’t dare to.”

He points his head to a door that looks exactly the same as the other doors in the depressing room, only, this door leads to a small room with a desk and a simple full-size bed. Thankfully, you don’t run into anyone, but the moment that you do walk in the room a siren begins to wail which could mean a variety of things, but you fear it might be about you and Jun-ho.

“We need to hurry,” you warn him, but he doesn’t stop being careless to hurry. He checks every corner with his gun, when he’s assured that the room is clear he opens a different door and immediately points his gun at the hall just like you were trained to. When a threat doesn’t pop out to become an inconvenience, he walks inside and you follow after him into the dark and menacing hall that leads to yet another dark room. Yet this one, unlike the others, isn't dimly lit, it’s covered in darkness and stays that way until Jun-ho’s small flashlight illuminates what he's looking at.

“What exactly are you looking for?” You ask just above a whisper just in case anyone is nearby to hear you.

“Just anything that can lead to my brother, In-ho,” he says over his shoulder and then watches every step you take as you make your way to his side now.

“Did you bring your phone?” He asks as he comes to a stop and turns to point the flashlight on you.

“Yeah,” you grumble and shield your eyes before you look down to pull your phone out and use your flashlight. “That’s the only thing I can use down here though. I have no service,” you complain and lift your eyes, making him lower the flashlight from your eyes.

“Me neither, but we don't have to worry about that until later. For now, let’s hurry and look for an answer.”

You nod in comprehension and intend to walk down the room to begin searching the shelves at the end of the room and let him cover the entrance, but he lingers where he is to look at you with emotions you can’t identify. “What?” You probe with concern.

He blinks out of his stupor and lets out a deep breath before he mutters, “be careful.”

You snicker. “I’ll yell if I need help.”

The corner of his lips twitch up before he holds your gaze for a second longer and then lets you both break away to cover different parts of the room.

“There’s so many records,” you point out as you run your flashlight over multiple different book spines that are mostly all pretty thick.

“Let’s find…this year's first,” he says in response. “And then switch from there.”

You keep running your light over the books as you walk across the shelf until you spot a binder that’s labeled with this year. “Jun-ho,” you call out and pull out the thick binder.

Your boyfriend doesn’t hesitate for a second before he strides to where you are and looks at what you found.

“It’s a binder for this year,” you share before you crouch to put the binder down. Jun-ho mirrors you, letting you open the binder and come across a profile of a player they call 001, but since that’s not his brother he finds no interest in it so you flip from page to page, making sure to look at every name printed by each picture in the corner.

“Who are these people?” You ask and steal a glance at him with a narrowed gaze that holds the hints of a darkness within—“They have the people’s medical records,” you add, noting his impatience and worry and feeling your heart ache at that.

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head.

You let the page go and look back, pointing your flashlight at the shelves behind you containing more stuff that could be useful. “I’ll check over here, you keep flipping through this.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just nods, letting you slip away to rummage through different shelves in hopes of finding something useful, but it’s all pointless. That is until a black box with a pink bow catches your eye.

It could be another pointless search, or it can hold an answer or a hint, so you pull the shelf out to grab the box and open it, finding a list of names next to different years.

Yet for the first few rows, all the names mean nothing until you reach the year 2015 and catch the name of Jun-ho’s brother, Hwang In-ho.

“Jun-ho!” You whisper shout and turn hastily to fall on your knees beside him and quickly hand him the list. When he sees what you point out his eyes widen and he then snaps his head up before he sloppily shoves himself to his feet and runs over to a shelf down the room.

You carefully follow him and catch him holding a binder of the year that his brother's name was listed next to. This time though he’s not so slow when he’s flipping through the pages, he takes a lot of pages to reach the number his brother was and there, as marked, is his brother's profile.

“In-ho,” he whispers and you study the page before you drift your eyes to watch Jun-ho instead.

“At least we know he won this…place,” you try to bring him some comfort. “We can leave now.”

Jun-ho looks through the gaps left between the shelf and the books and deadpans, “no,” before he leaves you there in that aisle and returns to where he left the list of names.

“What do you mean no?” You remark and peek out of the aisle, catching him pull out his phone. “You have your answers and we can probably still leave without getting caught.”

Jun-ho’s phone clicks and as you approach him from behind you see him take a picture of the list of players and then his brother's profile, but he doesn’t stop there, he darts around the room and grabs different folders and a couple of cassettes.

“What are you doing?” You query as you remain towering over him, basking his crouched figure in your shadow as he takes more pictures.

“We need more evidence,” he mutters as if it isn’t obvious. “I don’t have enough. After we get more we can leave.”

You scoff and turn your head away out of frustration, contemplating just forcing him out of here. It’d be a struggle but it would be worth it to get him out of here alive.

You also contemplate other choices, but ultimately you go along with what he wants because leaving him behind is not an option.

“Fine, but—” before you can finish talking suddenly a phone rings, cutting you off and making you freeze in place. Jun-ho on the other hand abandons what he was doing and slowly sneaks out of the room, leaving you no other choice but to follow him back to the main room and toward the land phone.

You know he wouldn’t be stupid enough to answer it, but it seems like he debates whether to do it or not as he just stares at the ringing phone. You almost have to ask if he would dare to do something so reckless, but then a ding breaks through the sound of the ringing phone, causing your heart to jolt before you snap your head from side to side to find a room to sneak into.

As it seems like you found your escape as if connected to your thoughts, Jun-ho rushes to you as quietly as possible to grab your hand and yank you with him to the same room you thought of escaping to. When you’re inside he does the unnecessary after he presses himself on the wall by the door; he proceeds to press you against his chest with his hand over your mouth. Then again, even with his gun in hand, you find comfort in the feeling of his heart racing against your back and his warm body pressed against you the most as the stressful moment unfolds.

“<Front Man speaking,” you hear a deep and obviously disguised voice answer the phone in English rather than Korean. “Yes. A minor disturbance has taken place. But it’s been addressed. No need to worry. We will make sure that no trace of it remains by the time the VIPs arrive>.”

Your heart skips a beat and you grip onto Jun-ho’s arm as you understand what the Front Man is saying.

“<Yes, sir,” the Front Man continues. “The game will begin on time, in line with the schedule>,” he finishes before you hear them hang up the phone and leave right away.

You expect him to come back, so you wait, but once you both know that there’s no one in the room anymore, Jun-ho lets you go and leads the way out, making sure that the ghost is really clear before he lets you follow him to the phone.

“Maybe we can finally reach the police with this phone,” you suggest, and a hopeful glint glimmers in his eyes.

“Yeah, good idea,” he praises you before he reaches over and grabs the phone to dial the number.

Yet…his effort is fruitless because he tries and gets no ring. He tries a different number but also gets nothing, ending with him sighing in defeat and returning the phone to its place.

“Damn,” you hiss and watch him with the same unaffected look that doesn’t carry any hint of true horror or deep concern. You are worried, but more so for his own safety, and the little fear you do hold is for the same reason. Anyone else would be horrified and constantly looking over their shoulder, but you don’t hold the weight of those emotions. You hold almost a knowing look as if this place is not actually strange. A darkness.

“We should, uh, go back to the record room to put the things back and then see where to go from there,” you share your idea as you raise your hand to cup his shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze before you return to the record room.

“You understood what the Front Man said right?” He asks once you're both in the record room since he knows you’re fluent in English too.

“Yeah, did you?”

He hums. “We have to stay until the VIPs arrive,” he shares the inevitable plan you already expected. “We have to know who they are.”

“Or at least try,” you argue to try and remind him to stay grounded and not get carried away with answers he might not get. “If this place is as horrible as you say, I doubt that they would show their faces. And without photos of their faces, we’d risk our lives for nothing.”

“They might not show their faces, that's right, but we have to try something to get answers. Even if it means being bolder in the attempt.”

You put the papers back in their respective folders and then as you get up to put the folders away, he gets up to return the binders to their shelf, leaving no room to add anything on the matter. Thus a silence befalls the dimly lit room that would make it feel alone if it hadn’t been for the soft shuffling noise he’s making.

“Jun-ho,” you call out as you don’t hear anyone coming, leaving you a perfect moment to speak up.

“Hm?”

You push the folders back in place and let your fingers linger on the back before you begin to walk away. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here?”

“Because I didn’t really plan on coming. I was looking into more clues on my brother's disappearance and found a connection with a player here at the same time so I followed him in hopes to find answers,” he explains nonchalantly, but that still doesn’t assure you of anything.

“Okay, so that explains why you were gone for an entire day before you disappeared, but…why not let me know?” You ask as you come to a stop at the end of the aisle. “I could have helped you, or even just kept you company. Or I could have just known where you were.”

Jun-ho’s footsteps start to depart from the aisle he is at and stop in the middle of the room, making you slowly walk away from the aisle but remain in the cover of darkness as you turn your flashlight off.

“I’m capable too, you know?” You remind him.

“I know,” he says back without a moment of hesitation, letting you know that he believes in what he said.

“I graduated in the same class as you at the academy. I have the same training, and I’m even a decorated detective,” you press with a slight quiver.

“I know,” he insists, but even if those words escape his mouth, you remain lost as to why he chose not to tell you a thing.

“Then?” You remark and at last step into his light where he finally sees your vulnerability in your eyes brimming with tears and your face contorted with frustration.

Vulnerability is something you don’t often show. When he met you you were cold; was it because you were in a male-populated career? Or was it the way you were raised? He didn’t know but it took you a while to even be his friend.

“I,” he says and pauses, luring you closer to him to meet eye to eye and not have the darkness be in the way—“I didn’t want to put your life at risk,” he reveals, making you blink in surprise.

“I didn’t know what I was getting into,” he adds, making your face soften and your breath hitch. “And I didn’t want to risk your life for something that could have turned out to be pointless. I don’t like to see you get hurt and if something had happened to you, or if something happens to you because of me, I…don’t think I could ever in my life forgive myself.”

Your face contorts with disbelief while in your stomach you feel a fluttering sensation as all the butterflies dance with utter awe at the sound of his confession.

“I…love you,” he reveals three words that hurt your chest, but also bring a deep bliss that makes it easy to get drunk off of.

“I’m happy you said it,” you redirect as you grab his arm. “Because I love you too, Jun-ho. I have not had many people in my life, but now I have you. And you’re someone I cherish and love beyond measure.”

His lips form into a smile as he proceeds to cup your cheek. Now you don’t have the luxury of time or of being careless, so you lean in for a short but passionate kiss that you linger in to savor the taste of his lips. A little taste of pure bliss and love in a sinister place.

“So,” you interject when you pull away. “What now?”

Jun-ho sighs. “With the Front Man gone, they’ll be busy with a game, so we wait until the VIP’s come. That’s all we can do. We can’t disguise ourselves as the Pink guards, they would have already seen the body in the water, so they’ll be even more suspicious now.”

You sigh deeply and step back. “Well…I can wait. I suppose. What other choice do we have?” You groan before you remember what else you have to put away and walk back to where you had gathered everything to grab the black box and hand it to Jun-ho.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t find more on your brother,” you share your pity. “But is it enough for now?”

Jun-ho looks at the box containing the fact that his brother was one of the previous winners and hesitates before he nods softly.

“Good,” you say for his own benefit and then give him a peck on the cheek while he walks over to put the box away.

“You should get some rest. It’s going to take a while,” he offers, but you turn and quickly protest.

“No. I’m not tired. You should rest. How long has it been since you’ve slept? I can keep watch.”

Jun-ho turns without pushing into the shelf and walks back to you. “I’ve slept enough. You came all this way. You must be tired. It’s okay, I don’t mind keeping watch.”

You put your hands on your hips and shake your head. “No, we take turns then. You sleep the first half and I’ll do the second. This is me putting my foot down.”

Jun-ho scoffs and drops his head as he admits defeat. “Fine, come on then let’s stay in the aisle with the lights off.”

You giggle and make your way to an aisle. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you are trying to seduce me.”

He lets out a chuckle and you can’t help but smile at the small yet heartwarming gesture. “You don’t know better.”

As you take a seat on the floor the last thing he sees is you beaming at him before he turns the light off and takes a seat next to you.

“I can sing you a lullaby,” you tease him as you lean toward him.

“Pft,” he snorts and then he can’t help but laugh. “I’m not your dog.”

You giggle. “Aww, he enjoys them though. He looks forward to it.”

“It’s weird,” he mumbles as he takes something out of his pocket and then presses the cold object on your lap, letting you identify what it is—“for just in case.”

You place your hand on the gun to feel its cold surface before you place it beside you. “Well, hopefully, you won’t sleep through any trouble. I won’t be able to carry you out.”

He huffs. “I’ll be right here if anything does happen.”

You smile softly and then press your lips on the top of his head and let your lips linger there as he lets his body relax and his head fall on your shoulder.

Silence follows to accompany you after that and his snores don’t fill it because you know he’s not in a deep sleep, and how can anyone be comfortable enough to find deep sleep in this place? So you’re sitting in the silence, keeping an ear open for any potential danger while also wondering if you still want to keep this deeply buried secret still buried. Especially after Jun-ho said he loved you.

You trust Jun-ho, and he’s already here, but can you really confess such a deep-kept secret and put his life at even more risk? For so long you have tried to distance yourself from the secret. You turned your back on it and pretended it didn’t exist until you found out that the man you love was here putting his life at risk, so it begs the question, should you tell him and…risk losing him?

If you tell him will he turn his back on you and make your nightmare a reality? He told you he loved you so he deserves to not be lied to about something so significant, but…can you really be so selfless?

You don’t know, and you can’t figure out the answer to the question when he wakes up, so you shelve it and close your eyes.

It is hard to find sleep, but eventually, it comes to you and you drift off. It’s not a long sleep, you’re rudely woken up by the sound of the phone ringing again, but the sleep was enough to recharge some of that energy you had lost, which, that in itself is important.

“Get behind me,” Jun-ho demands as he grabs your arm and helps you up without actually letting you try on your own. He then proceeds to pull you behind him so he can point his gun through the bookshelf's gaps.

The phone rings again and in the short silence the elevator dings before another ring echoes and footsteps click on the ground. The phone rings two more times before there’s finally an answer in English. “<Front Man speaking,” you understand the monotone voice say before he pauses for a brief second and then continues again. “I’m happy to hear you enjoy the game. Yes, the host is currently waiting for the VIP’s to arrive.>”

A silence proceeds to fall and a couple of seconds later the sound of clicking shoes recedes, almost relieving you of the stress tightening your chest. Albeit before either Jun-ho or you can feel relief, the monotone voice booms in Korean.

“Are you in here right now?” He directs in Korean to either you or Jun-ho. You assume it’s Jun-ho, but you aren’t certain. “You’re good, but you made one mistake. I always put the receiver down the other way.”

Jun-ho peers over his shoulder to look at you with a shameful look, causing you to pass him a look of reassurance before you press your hands on his back for comfort.

“The bullet you shot was a Smith and Wesson M60 revolver, standard issue for Korean police. What’s a cop doing here…without a partner?”

You curl your fingers, grabbing the pink material of Jun-ho’s pink suit.

“Or so you want us to believe? We saw a boat arrive with a woman in it…” He pauses

Your breath hitches as your heart skips a beat.

“Your partner? I’ll tell you what?” He adds. “We’ll play a game. I’ll let her wander around to try and find you. If I catch her you can watch her die.”

Jun-ho’s breath shudders and his gloves crinkle as he tightens his grip around his gun.

“If you find her, you can come out and ask me questions. I am sure you have many,” he adds and then pauses as he finally sounds above you, making you hold Jun-ho tighter.

“I don’t know how you got in, but you can't leave this place without my permission,” the Front Man continues and gets closer, opening the door that leads to the record room and marching down. When he opens the final door that welcomes him in the same room, he’s quick to turn on the light, causing you to place your hand over your mouth and clench your jaw as your nerves rise sky high.

You wish for him to leave with every step he takes, but he walks past you. He then turns around and only gets closer to spotting you, and even if Jun-ho raises his gun higher, what would stop the Front Man from finding you?

The Front Man is the overseer for a reason, a defenseless woman and one man with one gun won’t scare him.

Nevertheless, as if by divine intervention the radio beeps, stopping the Front Man in his tracks before he can turn your way.

“We found a body,” a man comes through the radio.

“Where is it?”

“The Northern coast of the Island,” the other man responds, making the Front Man put his radio away and whisk off, leaving you and your boyfriend to remain hidden. Yet it’s only after a few minutes pass that you let go of your boyfriend, letting him move from his spot to face you without turning on his flashlight as if fearing the Front Man would appear if he did.

“We need to find somewhere else to hide. We won’t get lucky here again,” he says between heavy breaths.

You nod stiffly and slowly lower your head, letting him know you’re bothered. “What?” He probes.

“We don’t have much time left,” you point out as if he doesn’t know that fact clearly—“Whatever you have planned you need to do it now,” you press and face him with a pointed gaze.

“I know,” he mutters and puts his gun away before he sighs and averts his gaze, letting you know he’s holding something back.

“What?”

He unclenches his jaw and slowly meets your gaze through the darkness. “I’m going alone, and I’m not listening to any protest. You heard him. If he finds you…” he pauses and lets out a shaky breath, making you grab his hands to try and assure him that there’s nothing to worry about.

“He won’t. Especially not when I’m with you.”

Jun-ho pulls his hands away from your hold and grows firm. “No, I won’t put your life at any more risk because of me.”

“Jun—”

“I said no,” he cuts you off roughly. “You’ll stay in the cabinet until I’m done.”

You raise your chin and challenge him just as fiercely, but he doesn’t budge, ending in his victory.

“Fine,” you grumble and push yourself to your given height to storm off. Before you can reach the door you turn on your heels and bump into his chest. “But if you don’t make it back two hours after you leave I’ll go find you.”

He clenches his jaw and huffs but compromises for your own sake. “Fine.”

You hum with contentment before you turn again and leave the record room to now hide with Jun-ho in the cabinet and wait again, finding yourself lulling to sleep in that wait.

However, this time you just close your eyes because a light burning sensation on part of your face wakes you up, and when you try to follow where the sensation starts from, you catch Jun-ho with his dark eyes set on you.

He sees that you catch him staring, but he doesn’t look away, making you smile giddly.

Before you can comment on the matter though, the elevator dings and a pair of footsteps walks out before the presence lingers until he sets off as another ding rings out and multiple footsteps now echo, making the monotone voice speak.

“<Greetings,” the Front Man speaks in English. “I hope your long trip here has not been too difficult. I am the Front Man, who operates and oversees all matters here. It’s a true honor to welcome you>.”

“<Where is the host?>” A guest speaks and you now imagine that the VIP’s are here.

“<Unfortunately, some urgent business has prevented him from attending.>” The Front Man gives an excuse that triggers more questions.

“<Seriously?>” Someone else asks. “<I find it hard to believe the host would miss a night like tonight.>”

“<He asked me to apologize on his behalf,” The Front Man offers the guests.

“<Did some problem happen here?>” A man with a deep gravelly voice and accent asks.

“<Not at all. It’s just a personal matter of the host.>”

You clench your jaw and your gaze hardens. A detail Jun-ho misses as he’s attentive to the Front Man going on.

“<The remaining games will be held as scheduled.” He breathes out and then goes on. “I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.>”

“<Well, I hope not,” a different man interjects in a different accent you can pinpoint. “Listen, I’m willing to give anybody some slack. That’s not a problem.” He chuckles. “I just have to say that I’m a difficult man to please. I hope you won’t disappoint me.>”

Oh, brother.

“<Shall we?>” The Front Man says, leaving the comment as is and bringing his guests toward the cabinet you’re hiding in, but ultimately passing you to go through a hidden door and leave elsewhere. Thankfully.

After a few minutes Jun-ho shifts to open the cabinet and climb out. You quickly follow after him to grab his hand and turn him around toward you so you can smash your lips on his. And since he didn’t expect the kiss he’s caught off guard, but he doesn’t slack, he grabs your jaw and pulls you closer, tempting to open the gates to your burning desire, but since you’re in such a dangerous environment the desire doesn’t burst open those gates, so even if you’re hesitant you’re able to pull back without trouble.

“Be careful,” you whisper against his lips.

He lifts his head to press a kiss on your forehead and let his lips linger on the sweat-covered surface. “I will. Promise. You be careful too.”

“Three hours.”

Jun-ho chuckles, making you feel chills as his breath washes over your flesh. “You’ve given me more time? I’m surprised.”

You smile softly. “I trust you, but I’m still looking out for you….until the end of the line partner.”

He smiles sweetly against your forehead. “Until then,” he whispers before he cups your jaw and presses another kiss on your forehead, and then leaves you waiting with your heart in your stomach in a place that makes you feel as if you’re stranded in the middle of the ocean with nothing but endless dark waters to taunt you.

——

*LATER*

It’s starting to feel stuffy in the cabinet and you can feel your hunger creeping in as you’re not plagued by a thousand other thoughts. Moreover, the time you gave Jun-ho is starting to come to an end, but you forbid yourself from overthinking. He’s smart. He’ll make it back. He will…

You lean your head back to rest it against the side as you wait and wait until you hear the sound of doors sliding open and footsteps that make a hasty and hard beat.

You don’t shift an inch so as to not alert the wrong person of your presence, even if it means you can’t see who it is.

You have to sit with your breath held until the person reaches the cabinet and crouches down to open the doors, revealing themselves to be your boyfriend Jun-ho.

“Jun-ho,” you breathe out with relief.

“I’m back,” he reassures you quickly before he waves you to him. “Now climb out so I can open the hatch.”

You hum and let him help you out so he can open the hatch, and then urge you to go back to climb down first, which you do without protest.

When your feet hit the concrete ground you turn and take a couple of steps away to give Jun-ho space to land, but right away you’re slammed with fear as you see the dark water and realize what awaits you in order to leave the cave.

“Jun-ho,” you let out a shaky whisper and when you hear his feet hit the ground, but not respond you peer back and notice his eyes fixated above for a lingering moment before he turns away and hastily rushes to you to grab you by the hand and pull you with him.

“He was right above us,” he shares quickly which you barely catch, but manage to anyway. “He knows we’re going to use the scuba gear to make our escape. We need to hurry.”

He then stops you where the benches are and swipes scuba equipment off the bench to start putting it on you without as much as thinking.

“Jun-ho,” you call out, but it goes to deaf ears because he continues to help you, causing you to glance at the water and see a malicious darkness taunt you. “Jun-ho,” you whisper again as you keep your eyes on the water, but again he doesn’t listen.

“Jun-ho!” You exclaim and he snaps out of his stupor to look at you with concern—“let me,” you don’t express your fear to let him focus on his own gear, which he does, but your fear only heightens and it's something Jun-ho doesn’t need to notice. After he snapped out of his stupor he remembered.

“We have flashlights to light our way, and I’ll be right in front of you.”

You swallow back nervously and nod hesitantly before you wrap your phone in a plastic bag and shove it into a secure pocket. The time comes to dive in the water, but all you see is death looming in the deep water.

“You’ll be okay,” Jun-ho assures you one more time before he puts his mouthpiece in and dives into the water. You grab your mouthpiece and stare at the water, watching the malicious water grow darker and deeper than it actually is. Yet you know time is critical and there’s no other choice so you insert your mouthpiece and dive into the cold water. After that, Jun-ho doesn’t hesitate to sink in and you have no other choice but to follow him. And as comforting as his presence is, your fear doesn’t cease to exist.

The malicious darkness slowly closes in on you the more you swim in the never-ending underwater tunnel, while the bottom, even though it is visible, is an abyss that threatens to drag you to a point of no return. There’s so many times when you want to stop and just ball up and close your eyes to not look at what you’re surrounded by, but you know that if you do so you’re doomed so you keep swimming, feeling the fear gripping at your throat until finally you see the break of light and resurface. You're not out of the water, nor are you close to land, but you can take a deep breath of fresh air and grasp the fact that you aren’t going to drown in the eerie depths.

“We need to get in touch with the police and the Coast Guard. Or at least I have to send what I got on my phone,” Jun-ho says with his mouthpiece out of his mouth and his eyes set on the island you just escaped. “I’m sorry we have to dive back in and swim back.”

You shake your head. “It's the only place we can probably get some service so…it’s okay,” you assure him. “Let’s get going before they find us.”

Jun-ho glances over at you and nods before you reinsert your mouthpiece and dive back into the water. The swim to shore is shorter this time and not as dark. You're not surrounded by an underground tunnel, but the fear is still as high, and your anxiety is skyrocketing as you sense that the Front Man and his pink goons are close due to their lack of presence so far and the fact that you’re out in the open heading right back where you left from.

At least when you finally make it to shore you’re able to let go of some of the emotional weight that fear burdens you with while also shedding the physical weight of the scuba gear. If only you were lucky enough to have service in your phones, but alas, neither Jun-ho nor you have any service, pushing you to climb the rocky hill set before you in hopes of getting enough service on high ground.

Once you’re close to reaching the top though, the sound of a gunshot brings you to an immediate halt, and when you look back to follow the noise another gunshot follows and you’re welcomed to the sight of pink guards trying to climb the rocky hill, and the Front Man.

“Shit,” you mumble between pants and then get pulled down by Jun-ho as he hides you in the shrubbery to pull out his phone and call your Chief now that he has a bar of service. And as the line rings you keep your eyes on the bright pink guards coming your way.

When the Chief finally answers the phone you continue to be on the lookout.

“It’s me, Chief,” Jun-ho says between pants.

As expected the Chief descends into madness, but Jun-ho pushes to be heard. “Can you hear me all right, sir? Just hold on, I’ll explain it later.”

The pink guards disappear past your eyesight, meaning that even if they’re not above you, they’re finding their way.

“Look,” Jun-ho keeps ignoring the question. “We’re somewhere southwest of the mainland.”

“What?” You hear the chief's query before he asks if you’re with Jun-ho since you’ve been missing too, but Jun-ho keeps pressing on.

“Can you try to locate my signal? Put a whole team together for this.”

The Chief once again questions Jun-ho while you see the Front Man following the Pink Guards trail.

“You gotta get a whole squad. The police, coast guard, everyone!” Jun-ho insists, giving a second for the Chief to respond before he continues. “Let me send over a couple of things, okay, and take a look.”

The Front Man also proceeds to disappear into the wilderness, making your heart begin to pound.

“I’ll call you again soon,” Jun-ho says and ends the call but proceeds to try and send the Chief evidence he managed to obtain.

“Are you done? I can’t see them, we have to go,” you hurry Jun-ho up and he follows up with a hum so you grab his hand and pull him with you so you can now put space between you and the people after you.

Once you make it to the top of the hill, Jun-ho lets your hand go and brings you to a stop. “Wait, wait, wait!”

You stop against a tree and look back, seeing him checking his phone and pressing on his screen with obvious panic, but you can’t do anything about it so you look out and that’s when you catch the Pink Guards not far from where you are.

“Jun-ho,” you call out and grab his shoulder to gain his attention so he can see what you do, and it’s at that moment that the Pink Guards come to a brief stop and manage to spot you and Jun-ho.

“They’re over there!” A guard points out to you, making Jun-ho and you break into a sprint to leave where you are.

After a while of running and when you’re within a forest, the guards get closer. You can see them and hear their commotion, but Jun-ho and you are fueled with a dire need to escape with your lives so you manage to pick up your speed, but soon thereafter, you’re forced to a stop as you come across a cliff that leads to the water. There’s no more path, just water below the cliff.

“We…we have to,” you stammer. “We have to jump!”

You look over at Jun-ho and just as you meet his dark eyes, he pushes you into some thick shrubbery just beside you that keeps you hidden. He then kicks something in the water that makes a big splash as the Pink Guards catch up and announce their presence with a gunshot to the air before you can jump out and push you and Jun-ho into the water.

“Police,” Jun-ho exclaims his identity. “Put down your weapons, you got that?!”

You move to be able to peek through the branches and leaves as the pink guards shuffle to find their position in front of Jun-ho.

“We already know everything about you all,” Jun-ho shares as you see him show off his phone. “The Coast Guard will be here soon.”

“I don’t know,” a different but familiar voice interjects in the distance. “Have the Korean police ever been quick to act?” He asks and you drift your attention to the voice and see the Front Man approaching Jun-ho menacingly. “And besides, you barely get any signal around here. I don’t know what you tried to send, but I doubt it went through.”

It’s a form of intimidation, but Jun-ho doesn’t falter. “Come and turn yourself in. You’ll get a plea bargain with that.”

“If you drop your gun right now and hand over the phone, I might let you and the woman live,” The Front Man mocks Jun-ho as he keeps moving toward him, making Jun-ho react.

“Stop right there!”

“The gun of yours holds five bullets,” The Front Man reveals that he knows Jun-ho’s predicament. “But for the police regulations, one chamber must remain empty and one must be filled with a blank. That leaves three live rounds. You already used one to kill a man, and another one to break the lock. Which means that there’s only one left in your gun.”

You clench your jaw with fear and use every muscle in your body not to expose yourself and just tackle Jun-ho

in the water because you know that if you do you'd be killed before you hit the water.

“One bullet is more than enough to kill you,” Jun-ho spats and cocks his gun, but the Front Man keeps moving forward.

“Give up,” he urges Jun-ho.

“I warned you,” Jun-ho snaps. “Take another step and—”

Before he can finish his warning he does as he said and shoots the Front Man in the shoulder, making you hold your breath as you expect the worst.

Alas, you catch the Front Man signal his men not to retaliate, so you’re able to breathe while keeping your attention on every single movement made by both men.

“This is over,” the Front Man groans. “Now come with me.”

Jun-ho steps back closer to the ledge, and the Front Man gets closer while he proceeds to urge Jun-ho to give up—“Do as I say. Or you die.”

“Who the hell…” Jun-ho trails off as he lowers his gun. “Are you?” He finishes asking, and miraculously in response the Front Man reaches for his mask to take it off and reveal his face, giving meaning to why he’s been merciful to Jun-ho and not killed him yet. The Front Man is…In-ho, Jun-ho’s older brother…

No…

“In-ho,” Jun-ho whispers in disbelief as he watches with wide-eyed shock.

“Let's go,” the Front Man tells Jun-ho one more time—“make it easy. For you and your partner,” he says with a softness in his voice whilst he extends his hand to offer it to Jun-ho.

Alas, without surprise Jun-ho declines with a shake of his head, making the Front Man lower his hand to instead grab his gun now. You see that without a fault and intend to come out of hiding, but Jun-ho knows you well. He looks your way and as if pretending to speak to his brother he mutters “no,” to you before glancing back at his brother. “Brother…In-ho, why?”

The Front Man hits the trigger and the bullet pierces Jun-ho’s shoulder, making him stumble back, while your eyes go wide and you immediately cover your mouth to not cry out in response. You do want to run out but either way, before you can even attempt to snap out of your shock, Jun-ho loses balance and falls back.

You want to cry out for him, but with your hands over your mouth, all you can do is contort your face with distress as tears crawl down your cheeks.

Meanwhile, the Front Man approaches the ledge and watches his brother hit the water. After a few lingering seconds he puts his mask over his face, masking any and every emotion he could have, and then turns around. Before he can walk back to his goons, his masked face tilts your way, and his masked eyes find you.

He looks right at you, there’s no mistaking it. You meet eye to eye and he then walks away without exposing you. It’s only once they’ve put some distance between you that you come out of hiding and without so much as hesitating, you jump off the cliff, feeling gravity drag you down with all its force before you hit the water.

Now you would give yourself time to collect yourself after making a big jump, but when you resurface you don’t care about anything, but Jun-ho.

“Jun-ho?!” You cry out and look around desperately. When you find his unconscious body resurfacing you swim toward him, feeling a twinge of agony hit your heart as you fear the worst, but you also know you can’t be certain and that you don’t want this living nightmare to become a reality, so when you reach him you quickly wrap your arms around his body and press your ear against his chest.

Now it takes a while to hear a thing, your own heart is thumping in your ears, but you’re insistent and refuse to accept that he may be dead so you hold your breath and search.

After a second of waiting you finally catch the sound of his beating heart and break down into a sob as you hug his body against you with relief, stealing a moment from time to press a kiss on his forehead before you find a sliver of solace in his beating heart as you press your forehead against his, right there, in the eerie sea.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- To be continued in a series??? Would you all like that??

[starryluminary]

FINALLYYYYY GOD. THIS TOOK 2 WEEKS TO BEAT

Reached 30 tags so here’s the rest of my thoughts:

AND I PLAYED FOR ANOTHER TEN HOURS. IT NEVER ENDED

but yes. despite all that whining I did have a blast with brothership

I want to play through it again. I feel like this is the kind of game that needs a second play through to digest it properly

Ok that’s it. Glad I finished l. Goodnight folks

[yourinaudiblename]

ughhhh why is gender so hard to figure out. my body is like boom gender dsyorphia but won’t tell me noone about my identity

(I accidentally made an entire vent in the tags lmao)

[corrodedcoughin]

You!!! Make this community a better place!!! Thank you for grazing in the Steddie nation!!

[unriding]

😧 /pos

ZERO-SUM GAME

It’s different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood. (Or: Aventurine wins you in a game of poker. He decides to cash out his prize right then and there—to enjoy you on the card table, laid out among all the chips and cards.)

8.6k words of psychological issues, explicit smut, and deranged characterization. aventurine tops, reader bottoms. public sex, voyeurism from strangers, piv, oral (reader receiving), fingering with gloves on, creampie. mild dubcon but the reader is ultimately into it. afab gn reader, they are playing a fem-coded role for an espionage assignment (dress, heels, makeup). themes of objectification. discussion of slavery and sa during slavery (not explicit). dead dove do not eat, mdni.

You are in the grandest casino of Kinyoshi Moon Colony, and Aventurine is running your latest husband into life-ruining debt.

You aren’t cut up about it. If your marriage (or concubinage, rather) were genuine, you'd maybe be annoyed about the loss of capital. But as it is, this relationship is an assignment from the IPC—one of the longest and most excruciatingly boring yet. Fortunately for you, Aventurine’s presence tonight means that you've finally gathered enough intel for Diamond’s needs. It is time for the IPC to terminate your latest contract, and Aventurine is here to collect you.

Which is a little funny, given your relationship. It is strange sitting across from your boyfriend, draped over another man and thoroughly ignoring him. You’re entirely focused on fawning over your husband instead—laughing into his ear, lighting his pipe and filling his whiskey glass, and oh, Mister Li, you're so funny, you're so clever, I think you should go all in!—but Aventurine doesn't react. He only smiles at the two of you, like he isn't bothered by the sight.

This is, of course, an act: when you came home from your last marriage (assignment), he'd made sure to pleasure you so thoroughly that you forgot all about your ex-husband (mark). Aventurine did not openly admit to any kind of jealousy at the time, but you could tell he hadn't been keen on letting another man touch you. He usually isn't too keen about anyone touching any of his things, in fact. Despite appearances, he always abhors the thought of losing anything important.

But any fears he might have are concealed right now. They’re always concealed. Hidden by the expensive suit, the countless stacks of chips, the golden walls and high-vaulted ceilings of the Venetian Zhijin, Masked by his generous gifts, his easy laughter, his careless frivolity. You can see right through his gilded smile. The rest of the table cannot.

They are all intrigued when Aventurine asks, a playful lilt in his voice, “How about we make this game a little more interesting, gentleman?”

The other players at the table consider him. The other plus-ones—concubines, courtesans, gigolos, and so on—look at him with calculated expressions of cursory interest. You do so as well, but only for a moment. Your gaze quickly returns to Mister Li’s face—your husband is meant to be your true focus, after all, not the game. You are not a player at this table, but an accessory. Closer to an expensive watch than a human being.

Some business magnate from the Triangulum Galaxy leans back and raises a brow. “I'm listening,” he says. You watch a bead of sweat travel down your husband’s neck.

“How about we up the ante,” Aventurine says, his voice light, “but instead of betting more money this time, we bet our dates?”

You think, in other star systems, other worlds, such a suggestion would invite riot. But Kinyoshi Colony being what it is, and the Venetian being the establishment that it is, the other players at the table only laugh. Nearly half of them deal in the trade of human beings anyway—this is nothing novel for them.

“Well,” one of them says, “it’s not like winning more money’s gonna make a difference to any of us.” A round of chuckling. He turns to his date—some noblewoman from Jarilo-IV who seems greatly out of her depth—and says, “What do you think, love? How do you feel about being part of my wager?”

She doesn't like it. She clearly doesn't like it, and she also clearly doesn't know how to say it. Were you not on the clock, you might intervene. Maybe. As it is, though, all you can do is observe quietly. All the power in this gambit lies with Aventurine. Even when surrounded by men who manipulate the wealth of entire cities, planets, galaxies—he remains in full control.

“There’s never any shame in folding,” he says, magnanimous. Then he looks your husband in the eye, smiling conspiratorially. “But I know there are some of us who aren't afraid to take risks.”

Li laughs. “You’re right about that, Mister Aventurine.” He gives you a fond smile. And of course he does—you’re his last shot at winning back all his losses for the night. “I think you'd make a pretty little chip, don't you?”

Although Mister Li is clearly less distressed at the thought of betting you than he was at the thought of betting his company just last round, you notice, out of the corner of your eye, a muscle in Aventurine’s neck twitching. It’s very, very subtle, and he'd have never let himself do it if the table’s attention were on him, but he did it. Perhaps it was involuntary. Your mouth curls.

“Sure, darling.” You try not to sound too giddy. “I’ll be whatever you like.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn't be so happy about this farce. This is, put plainly, a stupid way to extract you from your mission. Were the cards in anyone else’s hands, your husband could win and you might be stuck with him for another several weeks, at least—assuming that you aren't discovered and killed first. Or you could go home with another man and be subjected to the kind of things that men do when they trade human beings, and you don't think the IPC would care too much if you were. You are an asset before you are a person, after all. At this table, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being—and at the Company, you are an overpriced knife.

But to Aventurine, you're a chip in one of his games, and you don't mind that so much. Men who only know wealth will throw around their riches thoughtlessly, but men who have endured poverty will hold onto them tightly—desperately. Aventurine takes care of his luxury watches, his elegant knives, his liar’s dice. His capital. And he never loses anything. He always comes to collect. You trust him to collect you, even with this stupid plan, so you are calm as you watch the dealer shuffle the cards.

The table makes their bets. Most of the players go all-in. A couple fold, perhaps feeling some degree of concern for their partners, but it's more likely that they just have shit hands. A lot of the ones who continue playing have shit hands anyway. Your husband doesn't do too badly—a straight flush. He seems confident.

Then Aventurine lays out his cards. Ten. Joker. Queen. King. Ace.

All hearts.

You have to take a sip of your whiskey to stop yourself from laughing.

Aventurine, himself, has the grace not to look too smug about the outcome. Or maybe it's very unremarkable for him, all these winnings being pushed over to him—poker chips and human beings. Some of the other dates are clearly anxious as they move toward him (they are expected to be loyal to their husbands), and some are clearly excited (they are expected to be frivolous, hedonistic playthings). He humours them all, for a little while. Puts on the usual show as they crowd around him, charms them because it'll be good for business partnerships in case any of their husbands care even a little bit about them. You'd do the same in his shoes. But in your current ones (six-inch heels, black leather, red bottoms, luxury), all you can do is seat yourself on the card table and light up a cigarette. Waiting.

Aventurine eventually sends them all off. All I wanted was to get to know you, he says cheerfully, which is probably not a lie. After they leave, he asks the dealer to close the table and go on break. Turn a blind eye. You raise a brow when they obey him.

How interesting.

You're still enjoying your cigarette by the time he turns to you. You flash him a smile, one of the ones that you use for work. His expression doesn't change, but his thumb brushes against one of his many rings—switching off your synesthesia beacons for some privacy—and he leans back to study you. You know he's admiring you, but it could be mistaken for a leer.

“Well, well,” he says, “If it isn’t the esteemed concubine of Li Fengzhi.”

“The esteemed fifth concubine,” you correct. He hums, looking surprised.

“I thought you were the fourth. Did I misremember?”

“No, just misinformed. He took another concubine right before I arrived on Kinyoshi. He acquired a sixth just last week. Turns out he picks up paramours like they’re strays.”

“How inconvenient.”

“It made no difference to me,” you dismiss. “I’m his favourite anyway, but I’m sure you knew that already.”

“I’d have had to be blind not to notice it. You have the man wrapped around your finger.” Aventurine leans back, studying you as you smoke on your perch. “But before we continue—why don’t you come a little closer, esteemed Fifth Concubine?”

You make a face. “That title doesn’t sound as nearly as flattering in Avgin dialect as it does in Zhijinese,” you note, though you get off the table anyway. You don’t go very far, electing to seat yourself on his lap, your arms draping around his shoulders. The feathers of his jacket tickle at your bare shoulders; the satin of his gloves glide down the skin of your thighs before settling on your calves. “Since you’ve won my company for the night, though,” you sigh, “I suppose I can humour you, Mister Aventurine.”

“Lucky me.” He leans in, his breath sweeping the shell of your ear. His fragrance surrounds you, your body warming at the familiar scent of ambergris and vanilla. You realize, all of a sudden, how much you missed it. You have to stop yourself from pressing your face into his neck and melting—it would be a dead giveaway for your identity and also too revealing of your feelings. Aventurine might be endeared by it, but he might also find it disconcerting. He often needs to be tricked into intimacy.

He does enjoy being wanted though, and he can obviously tell that you want him. He pulls you closer, one of his hands giving your thigh a generous squeeze. It makes you throw your head back in a laugh, exposing the soft skin of your throat. You aren't surprised when he takes the opportunity to kiss it, his lips gentle against your pulse.

“You’re being very forward,” you tease him. “Did you miss me?”

“I’m just trying to be careful,” he defends himself between kisses, his breath warm on your skin. “We should try to conceal our mouths as much as possible. No one can intercept our synesthesia beacons, but someone could still read our lips.”

You give him a funny look. “We’re the only two speakers of Avgin in the known universe. Who could, other than ourselves, could read our—mmph…”

Aventurine has caught the rest of your sentence with his mouth. He’s hungry and wanting for you, the heat of his lips overwhelming. Your tongue is as practised as his, but you find yourself too distracted by your thrill to focus, your kiss wet and eager. Messy. Unprofessional.

You’ve never kissed any of your husbands like this. You’ve never kissed any of your other owners like this. You feel dazed when he pulls away.

You compose yourself. “So you did miss me.”

He smiles. “Guilty as charged.” A gloved hand rests on your face, satin tracing your lips. “How could I not? You’ve been away from the house for so long.”

Your eyes narrow. There’s no idiom for this in Avgin, so you flip briefly to Interastral Standard: “Pot, kettle, black. You leave home all the time.” You smack away the hand at your waist, petty. He looks amused. “And you almost always die.”

He switches out his smile for a pout. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last time.”

“You nearly got yourself blasted with atomics, so yes, I’m still mad at you.”

Now he’s frowning. “Am I going back to sleeping on the couch when you come back?”

“Yes,” you say. His deepening frown is meant to be read as a joke, but you know better. Deciding to throw him a bone, you lean in, whispering playfully into his ear: “You can still fuck me on it though.”

Aventurine hums, as if considering. His hands traverse your sides as he contemplates your suggestion. You move to straddle him, your thighs squeezed around his hips. When you grind against him, you can feel how much he wants you despite his composure, his control—his length straining in his pants, pressed against the silk covering your core.

“I don’t think I can wait long enough to fuck you on the couch,” he says, voice teasing.

“No?” You hum as his hands travel upward, feeling every inch of you. “The ship on the way home, then?”

“We don’t leave until tomorrow. Do you really think I can wait that long?”

You don't expect to feel the warmth of his hands on your chest. Your breath hitches when he starts palming your tits through your dress, neon eyes admiring the curve of them. One of his thumbs skims over the peak of your breast, and his mouth curls when your nipple hardens. “No bra? That's convenient.”

“I—” You squirm in his grip, whining. It just makes you grind against his lap more, your cunt moving against his slacks. A wave of heat runs through your lower half, and you clench around nothing. You can see people from a nearby table glancing at you, doing double takes. You can feel their lingering gazes on you, and you know Aventurine can too.

“I—are you going to”—your voice shakes as he pinches your nipple, as his other hand moves to squeeze your ass instead. Your dress is short—designed for easy access—and his fingertips easily skim the underside of its skirt. You wonder if he’s going to pull it up. You wonder if he's going to go even further than that.

But that would be an absurd thing to do in the middle of the busiest casino in the colony, which also happens to be the busiest trade hub in its star system. It would be absurd even for the two of you. Nevermind the reactions of the other players in the room—the staff here would immediately blacklist you, and so would every other gambling house in Kinyoshi.

You try to calm yourself. “Are you—ah—going to take me upstairs?”

He's fully kneading your breasts now. You can feel your clit throbbing, your body responding to his rough and unrepentant touch. “Hm… I don't think I want to.” Aventurine’s voice drops. His smile takes on a distinctly wicked quality. “I think I'll take you right here.”

“But we’ll get kicked out,” you whine. Even as you protest though, you're panting and moving your hips now. Grabbing at his arms, rutting against him like you're in heat. His fingers hook around the thin straps of your dress, pull them down your shoulders, already starting to indulge despite your reservations. You bend into his touch.

“Kicked out? By who? The staff?” He smiles, as always. “I own the place now. I don't think they'll be giving me trouble.”

“Y—you what?” For a moment, you're too shocked to keep up the wanton show. “You do? Since when?”

“Since last night.” He thumbs one of the straps that's fallen halfway down your arms. The rest of your dress threatens to come down with it. “Technically it's the IPC who acquired it—or, well, their shell company did—but I'm their designated representative here. I signed the contract.”

“The IPC isn’t going to be upset that you're fucking a concubine, who's not even your concubine, on their new property?”

Aventurine shrugs. “They know the kind of establishment the Venetian is. People gamble with humans here all the time, you know, so this has definitely happened before. The IPC definitely expects it to happen again. And besides”—he returns his attention to your dress, starting to slip the fabric down your shoulders—“I'm just cashing out my winnings. I'm sure they wouldn't deny a gambler his vices. That'd be bad business.”

You want to say more, but then he tugs, suddenly exposing you. You’re bare in front of him—in front of everyone. You can feel eyes on you. Heat curls in your gut as he grabs your tits again, his satin gloves smooth across your skin, and your nipples pebble beneath them. “Hm… much better.”

“But…” You bite your lip, glancing around. There are so many people watching now—so many voyeurs, who've forgotten about their games and their slots. Though there are a greater number of people who are continuing as usual, studying their hands, smoking their cigarettes, unperturbed. All regulars and VIPs, you know from your intelligence.

Aventurine pauses as you catalogue the room, raising a brow. Probably he's surprised at your sudden modesty; you usually have none when his touch is involved.

“Of course,” he adds, “if you'd rather enjoy the suite upstairs…”

“No—I don’t mind staying down here… it's just that I’ve never…”

Your voice trails off. Your eyes traverse the space again. There are people who’ve fully thrown their cards down, greedily drinking in the sight of you instead. Even some of the dealers are watching between hands, glancing at you instead of watching for cheaters. Like this is public entertainment, like you're a show.

Aventurine tilts his head.

“You've never had sex with an audience?” he guesses. He sounds surprised—perplexed. You don't know why. You know he knows it's a stupid question. You know he knows the answer.

You had sex in front of people all the time before you met him. You did it for the exact reasons that he’s almost certainly done the same. To this table of business magnates, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being; to the IPC, you are more like an overpriced knife; to this gambling hall, you're an interesting sideshow.

To your captors who fucked you in public, you guess you were something like a toy.

The thought sitting in your mouth is this: you've never had sex with an audience and enjoyed it. It was painful—not painful for the heart or the mind or anything else sentimental, but painful like it felt you were a fish being gutted open by a knife. And even beyond that physical pain, you simply didn't enjoy being passed around. You didn't like being owned by those people. You didn't like being an object for their entertainment, a spectacle to be consumed.

But it's different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You like being his plaything, spread for his viewing whenever he wants. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this commodity code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood.

You want him to own you too. You want him to show everyone that he won you, that he bought you, that you're his possession now. That he, and he alone, is free to treat you like a toy.

You're getting wetter just thinking about it.

“Nevermind,” you whisper. “Let's do it.”

His smile widens ever so slightly. Slyer than usual.

“Good,” he says. He guides you into standing. “Let’s get you settled then.”

You're seated back on the card table. The cigarette is forgotten in the ashtray next to you. Aventurine takes the time to straighten out your dress, lifting the straps back up and affording you some modesty—before he gently lays you out.

You look up at him as you're spread in front of him, laid out next to his royal flush and winnings. Like you're another chip in his stacks, the most expensive one. He puts a hand beneath your leg, drapes it over his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to kiss your calf, his lips delicate.

You glance at the tables around you. You watch the business owners and politicians as they watch Aventurine. You watch them as they watch your boyfriend pepper kisses up your leg, unless he's settling in between them. Your thighs spread easily for him, and you don't resist as he hikes up your skirt.

Then he frowns.

“I’ve never seen these panties before.”

“They’re new,” you relay.

“From your husband?”

“Yup.”

“I see.”

You can't see his face, but he sounds distinctly displeased. You expect him to complain, to say they're not expensive enough or not designer enough or just plain ugly.

You don't expect him to tear them right off.

“Aventurine?!”

You're so surprised you sit up, just in time to see him throw tatters of silk to the floor.

“What?” He looks up at you, expression unbothered, almost mild. “It wasn't your colour.”

Your mouth opens. “But it was still very nice!”

“I'll buy you nicer ones later. I’ll buy you a whole drawer of nicer ones later, when we’re done here.”

He looks down again, humming. Your cheeks flush as he spreads your legs again, baring your glistening sex to him—this time completely bare. Satin glides along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches when he reaches their apex. You feel the light touch of a finger along your opening, and you feel your body responding, tightening around nothing.

“Tell me,” he says, “What else did your husband do with you?”

His voice is casual, almost disinterested, but you know Aventurine is listening carefully.

“Not much,” you answer truthfully. “I haven't cum in months, you know.”

“Oh?” He sounds surprised. “You don't have sex with him?”

“No. He's fucked me a lot. It”—you whimper, pausing when you feel his fingers spreading you open, fluttering hole and swollen clit exposed to him—“it just wasn't very good.”

“Then”—you feel a thumb press against your clit, and you swallow—“he never touched you here?”

“N-no.”

“Stupid of him.” He’s drawing slow, lazy circles into the bud now, making you squirm on the table. You press yourself eagerly toward his familiar touch, having desperately missed it for months. Aventurine, perhaps sensing your neediness, asks, “And you didn't touch yourself?”

“He didn't let me,” you whine, and now he's frowning at you.

“I knew I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he says, and you have to bite back a laugh. Aventurine’s mouth curls at the sound, and he leans in to place a kiss on your thigh. “But that’s fine. I'll make it up to you now.”

Aventurine kisses are soft and precise. They pepper a path up your thigh while his fingers continue to play lazily with your clit. You want—need—to feel something inside you, but he doesn't oblige. His fingers merely run along your entrance, teasing your dripping pussy with luxury satin, and that's all they do, even as your hips buck needily toward him.

He pauses for just a moment. When you look at him, you see him staring at you—at the brand on your inner thigh, the commodity code that your captors left on you, branding you as a product to be used and sold.

His voice is almost soft when he asks, “And what did your husband say when he saw this?”

“He never did,” you reply. “He always fucked me from behind. And he never went down on me.” You pause, thinking about the way he spoke of his business. Of his trade partners. Of what your captors had done to your home when you told him about it, feigning intimacy only to be matched in cruelty. You think about the way he fucked you, how it felt to be gutted open on his expensive, silk sheets.

None of it matters to you, really. This is behaviour that you’ve long accepted, that your body always anticipates. But you always like to offer Aventurine intimacy, whether real or feigned, whether he returns it equally or responds with undeserved cruelty: “I think it wouldn't have bothered him if he had noticed it.”

You can't see Aventurine’s eyes, but you can feel his reaction when he places a chaste kiss on your product code.

“I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he repeats. Then he pauses. “Maybe I shouldn't have let you go at all.”

“I didn't mind,” you say. You aren't lying. “You gave me up for a reason.”

He stands. Cups your face with a palm, luxuriant fabric and gold rings pressed against your skin. Sometimes he's given up the aventurine stone temporarily for assignments, parting with it in elaborate gambles that he always manages to win. The way he’s touching you now reminds you of the way he holds the gem whenever it returns to his hand.

“Well,” he says, “I’m sorry it took so long to get you back.”

Aventurine tilts your chin up for a kiss. You meet it eagerly, and it's so tender in its familiarity that every memory of your husband fades. There's only Aventurine, and his gentle mouth, and the way his hands slide your dress down again, how he palms your breasts again. How he teases one nipple with his expensive rings until you're moaning into his mouth. How his other hand travels down until his gloved hand is cupping your heat. You drag your hips against his touch, desperately seeking some kind of friction, your wetness drenching the cloth. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your body aching to be filled by him, aching in a way that it does for no one else.

It’s one of the most addictive feelings you've ever known.

Aventurine only stops touching you so he can push away all the chips, clearing space on the table. He ignores the cacophony as countless stacks fall over, not sparing the plastic coins a single glance. Like you're the only prize that matters to him, even though the sum of his winnings come out to more than you ever were worth.

He lays you out on the table again, flat on your back, exposed, before kissing a path down your body—your neck, your breasts, your stomach, between your thighs. He deigns to give your product code one more kiss, his lips so gentle that it makes you tremble—and then he finally puts his mouth on you. He licks a hot stripe from your dripping pussy up to the crest of your sex, and your eyes close in bliss.

If you felt any uncertainty before this, it's completely gone now. Your hands ghost over your tits, playing with them as Aventurine’s tongue plays with you. He sucks on your neglected clit, fingers squeezing your thighs, keeping you spread open and still for him. He presses in, lets you drag your cunt over his greedy mouth and grind your clit against his face. Heat and pressure coil tight in your belly as he pleasures you, your body flushing with the kind of bliss only Aventurine can give you. You’re so lost in it that you almost don’t notice how quiet the rest of the hall has gotten, the cacophony of chatter and slot machines oddly subdued—almost missing. In their absence, the obscene noises that Aventurine is drawing from your mouth and body are louder than they should be.

The pleasure in your belly is just starting to swell when he pulls away. You give him a pleading look as he leans over you, but before you can start begging for more, you feel his fingers press against your heat. He watches you with keen eyes as he starts rubbing your pussy, maybe enjoying the desperate noises you make at his touch. You buck your hips, moaning as your clit and entrance grind against the fabric of his gloves, seeking friction. You’re empty, aching, desperate to be filled, but you think you can finish like this, just by rutting against his satin fingers—

Aventurine withdraws his hand, and you whine.

“No,” you beg, “please, please keep going, I was getting close—”

He raises a brow, feigning surprise. “Keep going?” He brings up his hand, shows you his gloves. The satin is soaked, shiny and stained with your slick. “I don't think I should. Look at what a mess you’ve made of my gloves.” Aventurine hums, frowning. “These are designer, you know. And limited—there are only 95 pairs of these in the whole universe. And you're ruining them.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, mind so fogged with lust that you can't even return his teasing. “I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I'll do anything, just—just let me cum—”

“Anything?” His smile is sly.

“Anything.”

“Well. I suppose if you help me clean this up, I wouldn't mind rewarding you with more.”

You don't need to ask what he means by that. When he holds out his hand to you, runs a finger along your lips, you obediently open your mouth for him. Your tongue slides along the wet satin, only making his glove messier—but he seems not to mind. He merely watches intently as your tongue cleans his fingers, taking in the obscene image of you hungrily lapping your own slick off the expensive fabric.

He lets you ruin his glove thoroughly before finally drawing back, peeling it off.

“I'm not sure that did any good,” he says, frowning. “I’ll probably need to buy a new pair. But”—he pulls away, and you feel him settle between your legs again, his hands spreading them. “I'll still reward you for the effort.”

Aventurine is quick about getting his mouth back on you. His tongue is hot on your skin, expertly teasing your clit. You feel his fingers running along your entrance again, growing sticky with his need. He laughs when you press your hips toward his hand, desperate to be filled.

Then he's pressing his bare fingers into your heat, and your back is arching off the table.

The moan you let out is obscene. It only gets worse when his fingers curl, making the pressure in your belly even heavier. Utterly shameless, you beg for him as he fucks you with his fingers: Aventurine, please, please, I need more, please, I'm so close, I'm so close.

As if taking pity on you, his mouth finds your clit again, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot at the same time. And he doesn't let up, pushing into it even when you think you can't take anymore—tongue swirling against your overstimulated bud, fingers making you gush uncontrollably. You practically sob when you cum, a noise of desperation that echoes in the gambling hall.

His smile looks a little fonder than usual—or maybe just entertained—as he stands again and leans over you. You taste your own release in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, and he strokes your face when he pulls away.

“So good for me,” he praises. “Are you going to let me do more?”

You nod eagerly. “Whatever you like,” you say, all sense of shame gone from your body, “and however you want.”

Aventurine’s mouth curls. “Your husband fucked you from behind, right? Why don't you bend over for me, then? Let's show him how he should have been doing it.”

You see the diamond pupils of Aventurine’s eyes glance off to the side, where, sure enough, your husband is spectating with some of his business partners. You force yourself to turn away before you can smile, hiding your expression from the other men. You’re not meant to derive any real pleasure from any of this, let alone pleasure of the vindictive kind. Your relationship with Aventurine is supposedly nothing but a gambler and his newly won, human plaything. It would be suspicious if you appeared to be anything else.

You slink off the table in a distinctly performative way, and Aventurine plays equally into the show—probably an act as familiar to him as it is to you. He guides you into turning around, your eyes falling on the scattered cards on the tabletop, the casino’s eyes falling on you. His hands waste no time in pulling down your dress and reaching around to knead your breasts, in full view of the rest of the gambling hall. You're only vaguely aware of your audience now, registering the interested, hungry stares, but not really caring. You're too focused on the way that Aventurine is tugging and twisting at your nipples, at how he’s pressed up against your ass, his cock straining through his pants. You grind needily against him, whining.

Aventurine kisses your shoulder. “Poor thing. You've been neglected for so long, haven't you?” His hands retreat, and you hear the sound of a zipper being undone. Then your skirt’s being pushed up and you're being bent over, your dripping pussy fully presented to him. When you feel the press of his cockhead against your entrance, you desperately try to push yourself back onto him. But he doesn't allow you to—only running the tip along your wet folds, still sticky from your release, while he stills you with a gentle touch on your hip.

You make a pathetic, desperate noise. Aventurine chuckles, though there’s now a breathy quality to his voice.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I'll take care of you.”

You know he will. He always takes care of you, in a way that no one else ever has. Even when he gambles your life for some mission, even when he can barely afford you the barest hints of intimacy, even when he displays your body to an audience of slave traders and murderers—he always takes care of you. Even if you are only a knife or a wristwatch or a chip in one of his games, he still treats you like you're worth holding onto.

Aventurine finally moves. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his cock sliding into you. Usually he needs to be careful after your long missions away from him, knowing you'll be tense. He understands that your body always anticipates being in pain after being touched by other people. But he has you so worked up right now—still dripping from your release, still pliant from his fingers, still eager to please him before the crowd—that your cunt easily swallows his length. The stretch is pure bliss, pleasure unfurling in your body as you're filled up properly for the first time in months. He's just as affected as you, breath shaking as he bottoms out.

“Fuck,” he breathes—laughs. “Nearly forgot how good this feels.” He pauses, his breathing slowing—almost stopping each time you squeeze around him. You turn back, throwing him a pleading glance, and he meets it with an endeared smile. “Eager today, aren't you?” He hums, a hand sliding along your waist. “You really do need to be properly fucked.”

He's stalling. Trying to give you a moment to adjust, but you don't need it. “Yes,” you encourage him. Aching for the press of his cock against your walls, you grind against him, and you hear a strangled groan as you force him to move inside you. “Please, Aventurine—please, please fuck me, I need it so badly—”

He hums, both hands grabbing your hips, his fingers sinking into you. “Well. Since you asked so nicely.”

The first thrust has your eyes going wide, your hands reaching for the card table as you’re forced to bend over. You spread our palms next to the mess of heart cards and shiny tokens, bracing yourself for the way your body’s about to be used. He doesn't give you time to breathe after, each stroke filling you deep and fast. The rest of the gambling hall grows very, very quiet as Aventurine fucks you, and suddenly all you can hear is the appreciative murmur of the crowd, clink of ice cubes in aged whiskey, the noisy flick of lighters as more patrons opt to pause their games and enjoy the show. You hear the shattering of all the stacks beside you, hundreds of thousands of dollars in chips fall over beside you, tokens clinking as they roll across the tabletop. But all of that is soon drowned out by the wet noise of your pussy being fucked open, the squelch of your slick around his cock. You moan each time he bottoms out, eager to be filled.

When you feel his cock press into your sweet spot, your moans quickly turn into cries.

You hear something like a breathy laugh from Aventurine. Your body always reveals itself so easily to him, and you know he enjoys it. He hits that spot again and again, builds an agonizing tension in your body with every thrust of his hips. It has your pussy gushing around him, your thighs growing wet and sticky with your need.

Just when it feels like you can't take anymore, he reaches down and presses his fingers against your throbbing clit. Your knees buckle as he toys with you, chest heaving against the table as he sets a brutal pace. You're—overwhelmed, mind going hazy as you're fucked mercilessly. So far gone, you can hardly register the disgruntled expression of your husband, the hungry gazes of his companions, the way that other players are starting to shift in their seats, palming themselves at the sight of your pussy being split open. There's only the tight coil in your gut, the chips between your fingers as you grab uselessly for something to ground you, the cock that's filling you over and over and over—and oh fuck, you’re going to cum, you're really going to cum after being won in a game, from having your pussy used like a sleeve, from being watched by men who will never own you no matter how many times they trade you, no matter how many times they fuck you, no matter how many times they pass you around, because you'll only ever belong to Aventurine—

Your orgasm crashes through your body, and you sob.

It's a broken, blissed out noise. Your pussy is equally shameless, gushing as you pulse around Aventurine’s cock. You go limp as he fucks you through your orgasm, uncaring about the mess you're making. He only groans as you squirt all over him, hips stuttering as he reaches his own peak—spilling himself inside you, pumping you full. Aventurine’s body slumps over yours as rides out his high, his face pressing into your shoulder. You find the wherewithal to shift yourself, just enough to your lips against the tattoo on his neck. He looks at you for a fleeting moment, the blue ring of his eyes electric on you, before capture your mouth in a desperate, messy kiss.

The two of you stay there for a long moment, panting into each other. Then Aventurine collects himself, remembers how to talk: “Fuck.”

You piece yourself together just as easily. Maybe even faster. Smiling into his mouth, you ask, “Enjoy yourself?”

“Clearly.” Aventurine presses his lips into your neck, lingering only briefly. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

Aventurine takes his time with moving, as if basking in the afterglow—or bragging in it. But he does rise, eventually. Pulls out slowly, making you shudder. He helps you to your feet, lets you hold onto him for support. His spend drips down your thighs as you right yourself, messy and hot on your skin. You can feel it sliding down your legs as you walk, braced against Aventurine as he guides you in the long walk toward the elevator. It slips all the way down to your calves, to your expensive heels, even onto the marble floor.

You're fairly certain that it's not an accident when Aventurine flips up your skirt as you pass your ex-husband. At the very least, it isn't a mistake when you stumble in that same moment, bending over and giving him a good look at your well-used pussy, now overfilled with your boyfriend’s cum. You don't stop to look at him, but you know he must be red-faced, displeased—aware that he’s been humiliated. Beaten by a Stoneheart, concubine stolen by Sigonian, one of his favourite possessions claimed by a former slave. You'd laugh if you could.

You can't help but kiss Aventurine while the two of you wait for the elevator, a smile glowing into his lips.

It's absurd, but a staff member approaches the two of you as you indulge in one another. Aventurine pulls away as you’re approached, looking mildly annoyed as he switches on his synesthesia beacon.

“Sir,” the staff says, “you’ve left your other winnings at the table.”

Even in his post-orgasm bliss, Aventurine responds promptly. “I’ll cash it all,” he says. “Send the money to my room. I'm not coming back tomorrow.”

“Very well. And the terms of the… human resource exchange that just happened?”

Aventurine’s jaw clicks. It's quiet, but surprising. You watch him carefully.

“We didn't bet contracts,” he says. “This is a concubine, not a slave. But tell Mister Li I'll buy them anyway. I'll pay whatever price he wants, which I’d wager is the company that he gambled and lost to me. Maybe suggest that to him.”

“Of course,” the staff member replies, bowing. Despite the first-rate service, Aventurine looks like he can't get out of there sooner enough as he guides you into the elevator. You give him a curious look as the door closes.

“You're going to give up a multiplanetary corporation just for this?” you ask.

“Not entirely. The IPC was planning to acquire it anyway. It'll be ours again in a few months.” He stares at your reflections in the mirror, his strange eyes lingering on your dishevelled form. “We’ll put your intel to good use,” he adds, and although Jade or Diamond or any of your real bosses would say this with a smile and reward you with a bonus, Aventurine’s expression is unreadable.

“What's on your mind?” you ask, fingers brushing against his hand. “You’re worried about something.”

Aventurine blinks, and it takes him a moment to recover.

“Nothing. Just hoping we didn't give our relationship away just now.” He cups your face with a hand, guides you into looking at his smile. A deflection. “I might have gotten carried away.”

You lean into his touch, eyes playful: a performance. As if he's some stranger that you're servicing, a captor being entertained; as if you're a plaything about to be used. As if you expect to be treated like the disposable commodity that your husband just gambled away.

“I wouldn't worry,” you reassure him. “I'm sure after the show we put on, it'll be clear to anyone that you're only keeping me around for sex.”

It's very, very subtle, but a muscle in Aventurine's neck twitches. He'd never allow it in a game of cards, never before the IPC, never before the prying eyes of slavers and killers—but he allows it in front of you. He always unwittingly bares himself to you, even as he swallows his discomfort before adopting his usual, vulpine expression. You don't think anyone else would notice what lies beneath the gilded surface of his smile, his liar’s eyes. You don't think anyone else would notice his tells, his vulnerabilities, his quiet fear of loss.

After all, there is no one else in this universe who knows how to trick him into intimacy.

Winning has always come with a certain emptiness for Aventurine. Gambling is, after all, a zero sum game. He plays a royal flush and people lose their homes. Winner takes all. He survives the fighting pits, his blade dripping red with the lives of other slaves. Winner takes all. He runs from the stench of blood and burning flesh, praying for thunder and rain loud enough to drown the screams of his dying kin. Winner takes all.

He alone survives. He alone enjoys his riches. Ever since the Avgin died, he has always been by himself. There is no amount of coin nor credit that will ever change this.

Here is another unyielding fact that hollows any win: that no matter how many credits he collects, he will always be a chip himself. He will always be a plastic token worth sixty coppers. Gambling is a zero-sum game, and ever since the day he was chained, Aventurine has been the pool of riches divided among winners. He has always been the commodity being traded between hands. He has always been the prize to be cashed out and used. Even now, with all this money and power, it will never be him who comes to collect: it will always be the IPC. Winner takes all.

Such is his fate. Luck is always on his side, but he has always had the losing hand against destiny. No matter how many times he wins, there is nothing that will ever truly belong to him.

But then he met you.

Then he met you, and now his luck does not always feel like such a cruel or empty thing. Now the zero-sum game has meaning. He hedges his bets in the market and buys out a planet, and acquires you along with the shares. Winner takes all. He gambles his life against a nuclear power and comes out on top, and the IPC allows him to keep you by his side. Winner takes all. He plays a royal flush and wins at a table of slave traders, and he gets to fuck you until you can't think of any cock but his own. Winner takes all.

Gambling is a zero-sum game, and when you're the reward, Aventurine wouldn't have it any other way. He’ll never share you with anyone. He'll never sell you to anyone.

He’ll never lose you to anyone.

Sometimes it surprises him, this attachment he feels to you. He doesn't quite understand it, but he thinks it mostly just has to do with how good it feels to fuck you. Much like gambling, Aventurine has never enjoyed sex until you came along. Sex for him has always felt like a humiliation, like being gutted open as a captive animal, like being won and passed around in the grand hall of some gaudy casino.

Which is, in fact, another thing he never thought he'd enjoy: having sex in the Venetian Zhijin before an audience of revolting men. He'd resented having to do it as a slave, but he’d enjoyed doing it with you as a Stoneheart. He'd even do it again if he could—take you over and over again on that card table, fill you up with his cum. Spread your cunt in front of everyone, so they could see for themselves that you were now his. Winner takes all.

Winning doesn't feel empty when you're his reward. Sex doesn't either. Because Aventurine isn't a chip or an animal or a commodity when he fucks you—he's a player. Someone with a seat at the table, as just as wealthy and powerful as the slave traders around him. Someone who’s allowed to own something—really own something.

Really allowed to own you.

Aventurine owns you. When he fucks you, he is a player at the table, and you are the prize he gets to keep. And no matter how you feel about him and how you act toward him—this is all the two of you will ever be. He knows this. He knows that you know it too.

So sometimes he can't fathom it, the way he treats you in bed. The way he always kisses your commodity code when he sees it, the way he allows you to kiss his own. The way he always thinks about pleasuring you until you're drunk on his cock, so addicted to him that you’ll never want to be touched by anyone else. The way he always likes how your body feels when it's being shaped by his hands. How different it feels from being forced to touch other people.

How badly you make him want something that he's always hated.

And this is what he understands least of all: how he doesn't like to hear you say aloud the true nature of your relationship. How he doesn't like it when you accept this reality and say, you're only keeping me around for sex.

It hollows him out when he hears it. A bitter feeling swells in his throat, and he forces himself to swallow.

Aventurine keeps his face neutral as he enters the suite with you. As soon as the door is shut, you pull him close—close enough for him to see the blurred lines of your lipstick, smudged from his mouth; close enough to see the white diamond necklace on your neck, a collar for a concubine; close enough to see the finger-shaped discolorations on your throat, poorly hidden by your foundation.

Close enough to see all the things done to your body by others—all the things you didn't choose for yourself.

“How do you want to have me next?” Your fingertip traces his lips. “On the bed? In the shower?” Your eyes are playful. “Maybe against the window?”

Aventurine’s hand cups your cheek, gold rings pressed against your skin. His hold is delicate, more careful than with anything else he's ever handled—any of his watches, his furs, his jewellery. Even more than with the aventurine stone.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You blink.

“Kiss me?” Your brow ticks up, but then your face lights up in supposed understanding. “Okay. You can kiss me. And then?”

“And then I'll keep kissing you.”

You tilt your head, not understanding. “Really?”

“What? Is that off-limits now?” He leans in, expression playful. “Don't tell me I've got to go back downstairs and win back permission to kiss you from your husband.”

Before you can say anything else—ask anything else, perceive anything else—he presses his mouth to yours. Your eyes widen for only a moment before falling shut, your arms wrapping around his neck. Your lips part for him, and he delights in the noise you make as he deepens the kiss.

He did lie, in a way. The two of you do end up fucking again—this time in bed, your mouth gasping into his as you fall apart for him, wet and needy around his cock. You're so warm around him, so pliable beneath him, so desperate when possessed by him. He knows that he could keep going, that he could do anything to you, that you'd be eager to let him use you however he wants.

But all he does afterward is kiss you.

This is yet another act that he never thought he'd enjoy. Kissing has always felt like a chore or a power play or a manipulation. It has always come with a certain emptiness—just like gambling, just like sex. And then he met you, and now it no longer feels so hollow. Because when he wins bets for the IPC, he feels like a poker chip in one of their games, but when he’s fucking you, he feels like a player at the table. And sometimes, when he kisses you—when he holds you close, when you come down from your high and press your face into the crook of his neck and in the vulnerable haze of your bliss, tell him, I missed you—

—he finally feels like a human being.

end notes: christ alive I have never written anything so horny glddjsksjs. I apologize for both my mid smut writing and deranged characterization 💔

initially this was supposed to be brainless pwp about aventurine eating you out on a poker table but I kept asking myself “why the hell did aventurine gamble for human beings and why are these two insane enough to be fucking in a casino tho lol”, and thus a coherent narrative was born from my shameless lust for this guy! but please also don't take the story too seriously because this is a dumb smut piece first and foremost and I mostly wrote it with my clit 😔✌️

that being said, if you are curious about the subject matter that I covered – here's an afterword expanding on my intentions with the themes.

[phantasm-echo]

POV: you wake up in the middle of your own autopsy with force powers then immediately get brainwashed into falling to the dark side

I was reminded of the fact that I haven’t drawn inquisitor!fives’ autopsy scars in way too long so here I am, delivering a few too many Fives 💀

Anyway I know I don’t post much about the AU on here so props to anyone who knows what’s going on here even slightly, I’ve decided to nerf siren!echo (who WAS part of this AU yes I know quite random) but since him being turned into a siren kinda limits what I can do with him story wise he is now an AU of the AU.

That means the name I came up with for the au (dead mean walking/swimming or dmw(s) as I’ve been tagging it) is kinda irrelevant. I’ll just call this the inquisitor fives AU but if you have any AU name suggestions feel free to drop them.

Here are some of the major factors of the AU:

It gets worse before it gets better

(WARNING: there are quite a few heavy topics covered in the AU such as torture, dehumanisation and su*cidal thoughts, so pls read at your own discretion)

- fives wakes up in the middle of his own autopsy with force sensitivity, then gets brainwashed into falling to the Dark Side by Palpatine. As an Inquisitor, he does not remember anything about his life because those memories were blocked by Palpatine.

- Palpatine discovers that Fives is essentially immortal, and any injuries inflicted on him will heal no matter how bad.

- when echo gets rescued from skako minor, he is recalled to Kamino for experimentation, first of all so they can figure out what the Techno Union did to him, second of all to see how he survived his injuries. Nala se, who knows that fives came back to life, theorises that since he and echo were tube twins they share the “immortality”. He is kept on Kamino for VERY extensive experimentation where terrible things happen to him (cough vivisection cough lobotomy) and so never joins Clone Force 99 even if he did work with them on Anaxes.

- Fives in this time is sent out on many missions by Palpatine that involve him unaliving many people, and after the rise of the Empire he hunts a few Jedi.

- Fox, who throughout the war had experienced many blackout missions where he woke up afterwards covered in blood, is the last living Coruscant Guard commander. (Thorn dies, stone vanishes one day, Thire mistakes Vader for a Jedi and pays the price) Despite the best efforts of his son secretary Dogma (no way!?) Fox has very little will to live, is extremely depressed and borderline suicidal, he would like nothing more than to bite the dust, but still feels he has a duty to the very few remaining corries and so tries to keep it together (he is failing)

- one day Palpatine decides he doesn’t need Fox to do his bidding anymore since he has much better assets at his disposal (Fives), and decides it would be ironic to sic his pet clone inquisitor onto Fox. Fives still doesn’t remember anything, and only knows that Fox is responsible for the main scars on his body and believes fox is the reason he doesn’t remember most of his life, and so sets out to kill fox. They battle it out (ref to that one animation wip I posted) and fives is on the verge of killing fox (who didn’t really try to fight that much, like I said he would very much like to die and dying at the hand of the vod he “killed” seems fitting to him) when he gets a sudden vision of echo.

- all fives knows is echo is extremely important to him and must be rescued and that snaps him out of palpatine’s control. He knows he probably can’t rescue echo alone, and since fox has already been betrayed by the empire he decides “fuck it” and basically kidnaps fox and they run. They make a deal, that once echo has been found, Fives will put Fox out of his misery (fox feels that fives should be the only person to kill him, and only goes along with the plan because he refuses to let anyone else kill him)

- fox and fives proceed to go on an intergalactic road trip to “rescue echo” even though neither of them know how to do that. They become closer friends throughout, and fives slowly regains bits and pieces of the Before

- meanwhile during the destruction of Kamino, the bad batch stumble on echo and rescue him and he stays with them for a little bit before leaving with Rex

- meanwhile Dogma helps the rest of the remaining Corries desert, kills too many storm troopers, and tries to go after his buir fox and the bastard inquisitor who kidnapped him

This is the main stuff you need to know for the AU haha so if you’ve got new name suggestions I’m all ears ty!!

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

i am living for some angst 👀

especially some satoru angst

Hold me. Console me.

Tags: Satoru x fem!Reader, angst, hurt/comfort, depictions of poor mental health, depiction of a panic attack, Satoru’s a little bit of an asshole here.

An: Same… same. Before you read this and blame me for how fucked this story is, know that one of my moots (cough. cough. @theuniversesnepobaby cough.) was sending me sad angsty edits last night. this is partially her fault too.

Satoru was normally a very doting and attentive boyfriend. He’s the type to beg to be in your presence. He’d kill to feel your touch against his skin. “Casual” isn’t a word in his dictionary. When he loves, he loves loudly.

So when he got quiet with his love, your body started to fill with a sense of dread. Cold and bitter feelings crawled their way between you two. No longer did you two laugh until you were out of breath and red in the face. No longer did he surprise you with gifts or try to scare you when you’re unaware of his presence.

His strong arms hadn’t wrapped around you in so long. The ruthless chill of being utterly alone plagued you, while Satoru seemed fine. He was even taking on extra hours at his job. So many nights he didn’t come back until nearly midnight.

How could he not see what’s happening? How could he not notice how much you’re drowning?

“I’m going out.” His words are flat with no care put into them. He’s telling you because he feels as if it’s obligatory — not because he doesn’t want you to worry.

“Where are you going?” So many times have you tried to reach out. It was as if you two were passing back and forth a candle of your relationship. You had ignited the flame and passed it to him so many times, but each time, he snuffs it out without a second thought — leaving you in the dark. Maybe one more time, you metaphorically light the candle in hopes to kinder your relationship…

“Out.” Flame snuffed.

“Oh.” He’s done it so many times, but it hurts just as bad each and every time. Being single wouldn’t hurt this bad. At least you wouldn’t be getting rejected by your own boyfriend on a daily basis.

“See ya.” He doesn’t even give you a second glance as he grabs his coat and saunters out the door. Another night spent alone. Another night filled with a barely eaten tv dinner and a shitty reality tv show droning on in the back while you doomscroll on your phone.

You two use to watch these reality tv shows together and laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Satoru would hold you so close to his body, and he’d whine anytime you tried to adjust. When was the last time that happened? You never suspected the end of affectionate gestures would come while you two were still in a relationship.

You check Geto’s story on instagram. Sometimes, you’d catch small glimpses of Satoru in the back. Sometimes they were at a cafe or an arcade together. Tonight, it seemed as though Suguru was at very packed party scene.

You hold your breath in your lungs as you rewatch the story again and again — searching for a white head of hair. Your boyfriend makes it too easy for you to stalk him. Though, it feels like a fitting punishment for the turmoil he’s put you through.

No Satoru in sight. You sigh quietly before you check Shoko’s story. It was less likely that Satoru would be captured there, but he has made his appearances in the past. It seemed like tonight Shoko wasn’t present at whatever rager Suguru was at. She posted a picture of her beautifully written notes. She must be studying.

Nanami never posts on his story, so you don’t even bother going to check his barren profile. Haibara never features Satoru in his stories, so you skip his as well. This leaves you with one last option.

Your hand is a little shaky as you click on Utahime’s story. You don’t know when it started, but your cheeks and ears were wet with tears already. Your body had some sort of sick sixth sense for knowing when something was wrong, and something was terribly wrong.

You had always had your little insecurities about Utahime ever since Satoru indulged that he had a small crush on her back in high school. Of course, these were just fleeting thoughts. Up until recently, you knew with full confidence that you had Satoru’s heart. He wouldn’t stray from you. 

You didn’t have that same confidence anymore. Satoru had withdrawn, and it seemed as if he took his heart with him.

You hate being right. You wish you were wrong sometimes. On Utahime’s story, she’s seemingly at the same party that Suguru’s at. Her story is littered with pictures of her with other girls that you don’t recognize, videos of the loud music and people dancing in a crowd, and there’s just one last video on her story that makes your heart sink to your stomach.

Your boyfriend’s pretty blue eyes illuminated by the flash from her back camera. He smiled and laughed as Utahime filmed him. His face was littered with wine red lipstick kiss marks. Utahime had a grab on your boyfriend’s collar, obviously trying to hold his drunk self still while she filmed his crime.

It felt like a punch straight to your gut. You couldn’t even think straight, but you knew you needed to keep this evidence in case she deletes it. Your fingers shakily screenshot the story, logging the picture of Satoru covered in someone else’s affections.

He was out there feeling an overwhelming sense of happiness, receiving kisses from another, dancing to his heart’s content, and enjoying his life while you were sat at home weeping over the loss of your boyfriend.

The tv dinner, now cold and stale, was thrown into the garbage, and whatever little bit you had eaten came up soon after.

The picture was seared into your memory. You didn’t have to look at it to know every minor detail. The way his white hair was messy. His glasses were pulled down ever so slightly to reveal his devastatingly beautiful eyes. His coat hung on his shoulders while his muscular neck peaked out from his shirt.

Every time you closed your eyes, you thought about how many kiss marks he had on his face. How many times had he allowed himself to cheat on you? Was this the first time? Had it gone farther than this? Was it Utahime or some other girl?

You cried yourself to sleep, knowing that Satoru wouldn’t even come home to try to console you.

The next morning, you were disappointed as soon as you woke up. You wished sleep would’ve taken your body and whisked it away far, far from here. Instead, you’re still in your bed, sleeping on a pillow that was stained from your mascara.

If you could, you’d rot in bed all day and try to forget the godforsaken video you saw last night, but you had to make a trip to the restroom.

Forcing your weak body out of bed, you let out a small pained moan. You haven’t eaten a proper meal in so long, and you threw up whatever you did eat yesterday. Your appetite was completely diminished. Satoru use to say that food tasted better when it was shared. He always shared his meals with you, unbeknownst to him, helping you maintain a good schedule for eating.

Your apartment was too bright when you stepped out of the bathroom, and it smelled too much of food. The sizzling on the stove finally caught your drowsy attention.

The man of the hour, Satoru, was at your stove, shirtless and cooking something. Sleeping pants casually hung around his hips, and the dimples at the bottom of his back were so graciously being shown off. Did someone else know about those two little dimples? Even though back was facing you, you could already picture his face, littered with those stupid kiss marks.

Making a b-line for the bathroom, Satoru doesn’t even get the chance to greet you. Your hands were cold and clammy as your body uncontrollably heaved over the toilet. You had nothing left to give, but Satoru was taking everything from you.

Hot tears burned your cheeks as they slipped down your face. You didn’t want to do this. You wished you would’ve never saw that fucking video last night. You should’ve given yourself plausible deniability, but now, you had to face the music.

You slowly returned back to the kitchen after trying your best to clean yourself up. Your eyes focused on Satoru. He was finishing up cooking bacon when his eyes finally met yours and drove daggers through your heart.

“Good morning, sweetness. Something wrong?” He asks with so much care in his tone. You fantasize about hitting him — just once. How dare he suddenly care when you have to check out?

You don’t even know what to say to him. Like, yes, something is clearly fucking wrong, Satoru. I’m dating an unfaithful jerk.

“What are you doing here?” You ask bluntly, wiping your face of the remnants of tears and makeup that had stained your skin. He shouldn’t be allowed to see how badly he hurt you.

“I… live here?” He responds in a questioning tone, furrowing his white eyebrows as he studies your face. “Are you okay?” If only he had asked that question weeks ago, then maybe you two wouldn’t be in this mess today.

“No, and you don’t live here anymore.” You snap, causing him to slightly flinch back — not out of fear but out of surprise. He’s never seen you like this before.

“What do you mean, sweetness? I-“

“Cut the shit, Gojo. Don’t act stupid with me. It’s unbecoming.” You interrupt him completely, not wanting to hear him try to act innocent when you have all the proof you need on your phone.

“Woah. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I don’t really appreciate the insult and the use of my government name. I genuinely have no idea of what you’re talking about.” His voice is firm, laced with sternness, so you can see that he’s not playing around with you.

You take a deep breath until your lungs burn. You want to scream at him, chase him out of the house, and light his shit on fire. Instead, you silently go to retrieve your phone. Pulling up the picture of him with kiss marks all over his face, you shove the screen in his direction.

Gojo takes a few seconds to take in the photo, and he lets his shoulders drop. “This is what you’re mad over, sweetness?” He asks in a much more calm tone, looking up at you with almost puppy dog eyes.

“Don’t call me that.” You snap while swiping your phone back from his hands. “I didn’t think I’d have to spell it out for you, but we’re fucking done.”

“You seriously believe that I would cheat on you?” He asks in that stupid arrogant tone of his, completely ignoring your blunt rejection.

“Why else would your high school crush post a picture of you with kiss marks all over your face!? You look so fucking dumb and in love. I fucking-“ Your throat chokes up as if your body was trying to stop you from saying something you didn’t mean. The words “I fucking hate you” die right there on your lips. Tears fall down your cheeks, and you place your palms over your eyes to hide yourself from his impregnable gaze.

“This, again?” He asks in a frustrated tone before letting out an exasperated sigh, He turns the stove off - abandoning his food before walking over to you. He bends his knees a bit to get on your level. “Look at me.” He demands before his hands go to pull yours away from your eyes.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You cry out, jerking back away from his presence. Your breath speeds up. The oxygen isn’t having enough time to enter your bloodstream. Your body is vibrating, forcing the air quickly from your lungs. Everything is moving so fast and why the fuck is he so close to you-? He’s suffocating. Fuck, catch your breath. Whyhim?Whyyou?Why?Why?Whatdidyoudotodeservethis???

A gush of air is blown harshly onto your face, and you can feel the bitter cold feeling of something touching your skin. Your eyes see Satoru’s hand holding an ice cube, guiding it along your warm skin on your arm. Your body is so hot that it’s melting faster than he’s moving it.

“Breathe. Match my movements.” Satoru guides in a calm yet steady tone. Your eyes find the way his chest is slowly rising and falling with each breath. You want to tell him to go play in traffic. You don’t need him to ground you. You don’t need him to do anything for you. You don’t need him.

Still, your body matches his slowly. Your breath becomes more stable, and you can feel your heart starting to settle into a more natural rhythm. Your bleary eyes meet his empathetic ones. It’s been so long since your last panic attack, but he remembers just how to calm you down.

It only makes it all hurt so much worse.

“It’s almost over. You’re doing a good job.” He takes his chances at encouraging you. It feels so sickening, more tears flee your eyes. Where had your boyfriend been, and why is he only just now back after he did the unthinkable?

“Sing with me.” It’s an odd request, but it’s something he found that grounds you better than most grounding techniques. Saying repeatable phrases in melodic tone is comforting for your mind.

“No.”

“Come on… Just one time. Your favorite.” He tries again. Metaphorically, lighting the candle and passing it back to you.

You shake your head in response. Flame snuffed. How can you sing with him after what he did to you?

“Come on, don't leave me it can't be that easy, babe” He starts with such a soft angelic voice. You fold in on yourself unable to keep the sob from escaping your throat. What method of torture is this??

“If you believe me I guess I'll get on a plane. Fly to your city excited to see your face.” He continues, lighting that same candle. It’s so small, barely there anymore from how many times you two have tried to relight it.

“Hold me, console me and then I leave without a trace.” The ice cube has completely melted, and his hand is resting on your arm. He slowly guides you to his chest, and you indulge in his warm embrace for just one last time.

“Come on, don't leave me it can't be that easy, babe.” His chin rests on top of your head. You’ve always fit so well in his arms. He’d always tell you that whatever higher power is out there made you specifically with him in mind.

“If you believe me I guess I'll get on a plane. Fly to your city excited to see your face.” His skin is so warm against yours, and your tears are sticking to your chest.

“Hold me, console me and then I leave without a trace.” You finally indulge him, softly joining in on his singing. His body slowly starts to guide you two into a soft subtle sway.

“Come on, don't leave me it can't be that easy, babe.” It’s not that easy. This fucking hurts so bad. Why would your soulmate do this to you?

“If you believe me I guess I'll get on a plane. Fly to your city excited to see your face.” You feel so pathetic — seeking out comfort from the one who hurt you this bad. If your friend could see you right now, she’d slap some sense into you.

“Hold me, console me and then I leave without a trace.”

You’re sniffling softly into his chest, and his hand carefully pets your hair. “Those kiss marks weren’t from Utahime.” He explains in a soft tone. “We were filming a TikTok. The punchline of the joke was that Suguru and Haibara were the ones who kissed all over my face.”

You look up at him with an unsure look on your face, not understanding what he meant. Satoru carefully picks your phone up, and he clicks on Haibara’s Instagram story from last night.

Sure enough, Haibara posted a TikTok of him, Suguru, Satoru, and Utahime. The camera points at Satoru, showing the kiss marks on his face, and the sound plays. “Bro, what happened to your face? Did you do that?” The camera then pans to Utahime to which she mouths the words, “I did not do that.” The camera then pans to Haibara with smeared wine red lipstick on his lips who says, “Then, who did?” The camera is then panned towards Suguru. He also had wine red lipstick smeared on his lips. “Yeah, who?” The two boys start laughing along with Satoru, and the video cuts.

It only comforts your weary heart slightly.

“It was just a stupid TikTok… I should’ve consulted you or warned you… done anything to respect you.”

“This doesn’t take back how awfully cold you’ve been over the last few weeks…” You sniffle out quietly, and Satoru nods his head knowingly.

“I know, sweetness.. I know. I’ve been terrible.” His arms squeeze you a bit tighter — frightened that he was so close to loosing you, still scared of losing you.

“That’s not an apology… or even a reason.” You try to squirm from his grip, but Satoru holds you tighter.

“I’m so fucking sorry, sweetness.” He breathes out a shaky breath, and you realize the shakiness in his voice. Glancing up at him, you feel yourself clam up with the sight of tears in his eyes. Christ, his eyes are somehow even more blue when he cries. “Shit got crazy at work then-“

“You still had time to party it up with your friends. You left me without even telling me you love me.” You finally break away from his grasp. The cheating accusation was only the surface of the main problem.

“You know I love you…” His voice is small, and he wipes his eyes of the tears that are threatening to spill.

“Do I know that?”

“Don’t… don’t say that.. I love you more than life itself.” His shaky hands go to reach for you again, but you move back away from him.

“You’re only doing this because I’m leaving you. If I hadn’t mentioned it, you’d probably still be half assed ignoring me.” You stare at him, and your eyes start to water for the nth time today.

“That’s not…” Satoru bites his tongue, and he runs a hand through his messy white hair. “I came home this morning… saw the uneaten tv dinner in the trash… Your reality tv show was still playing in the background, and I saw how you fell asleep with your makeup messed up… I realized then how much I neglected you… I planned a full day for us to enjoy each other’s presence… Please, don’t leave me for this. I can fix this.”

“How did it feel to look at me everyday when I tried so fucking hard to reach you?”

“It killed me.” He breathes out, and he tries to reach for you again. “Please, I missed you so much. Work was just so fucking much, and I don’t know why I took that out on you.”

You stare at him, and you shake your head silently. “You should go, Gojo..” Your voice cracked as it physically pained you to tell him to leave. Your body craves him more than anything else in the world right now.

“No, please, princess. Don’t do this… I can fix this. I’ll do whatever it takes… just don’t leave me…” Satoru’s on his knees, literally begging you not to leave him. Tears are falling down his cheeks as he bows his head to you.

It’s humiliating, but he’s so humiliatingly in love with you. He’s so dead serious. He’d do anything for you to stay with him.

“Toru..”

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I-I don’t know why I did it. I just pulled away from you, and I don’t know how it happened. You’re the best damn thing that’s ever happened t-to me. Please. I can’t function without you.”

You stare at your boyfriend with concern as his head literally touches the floor beneath him. You don’t even know what to say to him. The thought of leaving him hurts so fucking bad. It steals the breath from your lungs.

“Please don’t leave me… puh…. please stay with me.” He’s groveling at your feet, unable to stop the tears that escape his eyes. The thought of living in a world where you aren’t his girlfriend… he wouldn’t. He’d be a shell of who he once was. He’s nothing without you.

You slowly sit on the floor in front of him, and your hands stroke his soft hair gently. Satoru’s breath slows as he finally gets a grip on his emotions. He realizes just how pathetic he looks. He slowly leans up, and he looks at you. Both of you looked like complete messes, and it was all his fault.

“I don’t deserve you,” He murmurs quietly. “but please, I can make this better… I love you so much, sweetness… I wouldn’t dream of ever cheating on you.”

“I don’t forgive you.” Your voice is barely a whisper. The metaphorical flame is so small and shaky, but if you two both shield it from the wind, it’ll be able to grow once more. “You have a lot to prove me, Toru.”

“I’ll spend every waking minute of my life fixing this. I promise you, sweets.”

and he did. Satoru went back to loving you loudly. He didn’t merely shield the flame from being blown out, he fanned it himself so it grew in intensity. He was back to doting on you constantly, and he did frequent check-ins to make sure you weren’t feeling neglected. He took frequent vacations from work with you. He usually took you two out on holidays to wherever your heart desired, but sometimes you two would use his vacation time to just lounge around the house and enjoy each other’s presence.

Your confidence slowly returned to you over time. It wasn’t easy by any means. It took many nights of Satoru’s consistent reassurance and overwhelming love and support for you to slowly start feeling comfortable in your relationship with him.

He put in the work, nourished your flame, and he never made you feel guilty for having a second thought because when he loves, he loves deeply. Casual is not his strong suit.

[hintsofhoney]

Mine

Paring(s): Alpha!Dean Winchester x F!Omega!Reader

Summary: When Dean is forced to mark Y/N in order to not blow their cover on a case, it leads him to reveal a secret that he's been keeping since they met.

Square(s) Filled: biting for @anyfandomkinkbingo

Tags: 18+, true mates, smut, p in v, marking, a/b/o if that wasn't already obvious lmao, knotting

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Helloooo, it's been a minute. If I'm being honest, I have about 10-15 finished works just sitting in my "ready to post" folder, but posting is always such an ordeal, so they just stay there until I feel like dealing with Tumblr. But, this one I did write over the last two days after I finished reading Bride by Ali Hazelwood, which I loved so much that it made me want to dip my toes into the Omegaverse! That being said, I don't know how much in here is actually in line with A/B/O "rules", but I know I needed to twist some things to fit the story (e.g. in this specific A/B/O fic/universe, claiming marks will fade if they're not true mates). Huge thank you to my A/B/O girlies, @makeadealwithdean and @emoryhemsworth, for reading it over, I love you both to the moon and back! I hope you all enjoy!

You can also read me on Ao3!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST |  SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST |  MAIN MASTERLIST

“We get in, find the knife, get out, got it?” Dean asks, looking between Sam in the front seat and Y/N in the back, making sure everyone is on the same page. They both nod once in understanding, before the three of them make their way out of the car, their doors slamming shut simultaneously. 

Y/N stares up at the mansion before them, the music loud, the party raging. It’s some charity event thrown by the wealthiest Alpha in the state, and he just happens to have the weapon they need to finish out this hunt. Y/N stumbles a bit, tripping over the cobblestone driveway in her heels, and she catches the sleeve of Dean’s suit to steady herself. He shoots her a glare that tells her to pull it together. They need to blend in.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

“Here,” Dean replies, grabbing her wrist and pulling it through the crook formed by his bent elbow, forcing them to walk arm-in-arm.

“I don’t need –”

“You are an Omega, Y/N. And there are upwards of a hundred Alphas here who can all smell it. So what you need to do is start acting like one. Just because I’m not some asshole Alpha who demands your respect doesn’t mean they aren’t, and we can’t risk drawing attention to ourselves.”

Y/N takes a deep breath and plasters on a fake smile as they move slowly up the driveway. “Anyone who demands my respect just because of some bullshit biological hierarchy doesn’t deserve it,” she grits out.

Dean stops, turning to face her, one of his hands on either side of her biceps. “Do you want to be on this case or not?” 

His voice is lower than usual, demanding and gruff. A voice he only uses when he wants to remind her that he is an Alpha, and bullshit biological hierarchy aside, her body is wired to listen to him. 

She gulps, and he tries not to focus on the bob in her throat, the pulse in her neck near her gland, the scent of her. The moment he met her he knew who she was, what they were. Are. He’s been taking scent blockers since before he met her, finding it far easier to interact with other Alphas when investigating cases if they couldn’t scent him out, but the moment he met her, he knew he had to start taking rut blockers too. Though, it feels like the longer he’s around her, the more immune he becomes to the pills. Like she’s going to send him into a rut any fucking second, and she has no idea. He’s thought about telling her so many times, but mates come with strings. Strings that aren’t conducive to the life of a hunter.

“Yes,” she answers his question meekly, almost submissively, and he nods to cover the hormones he forces himself to swallow down. Rejecting your biology is not easy, no matter how many pills you take.

“Then I’m going to need you to take my arm, put on a smile, and act like being an Omega is the greatest joy of your life. That means –”

“I know how to be a good little Omega, Dean,” she interrupts, dragging the words ‘good little Omega’ through a sarcastic tone.

He tenses slightly at her words, sarcastic or not. Good little Omega.

“I’m only bad for you,” she continues with a cheeky wink, and fuck, he might explode. Hell, he might take her into the bushes right now and mark her, claim her, before parading her around in front of this entire fucking party with his teeth marks on her neck. He’s rigid, trying to keep himself under control, and she gives him a playful pat on his shoulder. “Lighten up, Alpha,” she teases. “I’ll be a good girl.”

Jesus fucking Christ. He gives her biceps a squeeze that he hopes comes off as reassuring as he’s trying to make it seem, before linking his arm with hers once more and catching up to Sam at the front of the driveway.

The trio is greeted by the owner of the mansion himself, one Jim Myers, who welcomes them in with a smile on his face and a cigar in his hand. 

“How Gatsby-esque,” Y/N mutters under her breath, watching as Myers shakes Sam’s hand.

Dean nods in agreement. “You definitely wore the right outfit.”

Y/N blushes as she looks down at her dress; a black, semi body-hugging cocktail dress bedazzled with gold sequins in some sort of art deco pattern. All she’s missing is a cigarette holder and a feather in her hair. 

“Only because I read the invitation. Unlike some of us,” she mumbles in reply.

“Watch it, Omega,” Dean grits out, plastering on a smile as soon as Myers comes over to greet him.

“Jim Myers, pleasure,” he says, shaking Dean’s hand.

“Dean. And this is Y/N.”

She keeps the cordial smile on her face as Jim takes her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently before inhaling her scent. 

“Pleasure, Miss Y/N,” he says with a feral grin, his eyes darkening with unmistakable lust as he lets her hand fall back to her side. 

Dean takes a step forward, unable to stop himself. “Mine,” he practically growls, and Jim takes a step back, throwing his hands up in surrender. 

“My apologies. I didn’t see a mark, so I just assumed.”

Dean falters, clearing his throat, suddenly reminded of the reason they’re all here in the first place. “No, that’s alright. It’s my fault for not putting it in a visible place.” His eyes dart over to Y/N’s. “I think I’m gonna fix that.”

She ducks her head but can’t hide the red flush that creeps up into her cheeks, reminding herself that it’s just her biology, and that this is all for show anyway. They’re here to do a job, and sometimes those jobs involve… well, whatever the hell just happened. And clearly, Dean is a better actor than she gives him credit for.

Jim chuckles, clasping his hands together. “Well, you three have fun, the drinks are free, the food is good, and if you,” he points at Sam, “good sir, are in search of an Omega, there are plenty to choose from.”

Sam blushes. “Right.” He nods. “Thanks.”

And with that, Jim disappears into the crowd.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Sam says. “You two go. Upstairs, down the hall, third door on the right. If I got the right blueprints.”

“If you got the right blueprints?” Dean asks.

“Just go.” He taps his ear to indicate that he’ll drop in on Dean’s earpiece if anything goes wrong. 

Dean sighs, taking Y/N by the hand and leading her up the stairs. He weaves in and out of the crowd, the scents of everyone mixing together, making it impossible to decipher who is what. Y/N’s never been more glad to be on heat suppressors; knowing full well the scents of this many Alphas invading her nostrils would send her body into a major one.

Dean quickly finds the door, and they slip into the room unnoticed, closing the barrier and switching on the light. It’s a bedroom — the master, from the looks of it — and the knife is right in front of them in the middle of the room, across from the foot of the bed. It’s in a glass case, on display, and likely armed with a million alarms, but right in front of them nonetheless. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters, running a hand through his hair as he thinks about what the next move should be.

“We could find something that weighs the same? Lift the glass and replace it super fast?” Y/N offers.

“Unfortunately, I think it’s the glass that’s probably set to trip an alarm. But the fact that you’re applying Indiana Jones to real life scenarios is making me want to —” 

He stops himself, realizing what he was about to say. He needs to get himself under control but Y/N in that dress with her smart fucking mouth, with other Alphas eyeing her, he really shouldn’t be here, with her, alone, and —

“Making you want to what?” she asks.

Shit. “Making me want to… make you watch more of them,” he replies, opting to circle the display case, searching it for a way in to distract himself from her. 

“Oh, goody. Can’t wait.” She’s as monotone and sarcastic as ever, and every time something smart comes out of her mouth he has to resist the urge to bend her over and fuck her right then.

“Get out of there now,” Sam’s voice comes in on Dean’s earpiece. “Lost track of him for a few seconds, just found him again. He’s making his way upstairs.”

“Shit,” Dean says. “Shit, shit, shit.” He looks around the room frantically. If they go out the door, Myers will without a doubt see them leaving his room. “Myers is coming,” he explains to a confused-looking Y/N.

“Fucking — God dammit.” She looks around too, for a hiding spot, for a weapon, and then she spots herself in the mirror hanging on the wall and an idea comes to her. “Mark me,” she orders.

“What?” Dean snaps, his attention fully on her.

“Get over here and mark me. You told him you were going to make it visible.” She continues before Dean can protest. “Who knows if it’ll even stay, it’s not like we’re mates, right? And if it does, I don’t mind being bound to you for the rest of ever. It’s not like I’m having much luck in the relationship department anyway. But we need that knife, and we’re not going to get it if we don’t –”

“Fuck,” he says under his breath with a quick shake of his head, before he strides across the room and pushes her up against the wall just in time to hear the door click. He inhales her scent, his mouth trailing from the base of her jaw all the way down to her mating gland where it hovers as the door opens all the way. Then he bites down.

Y/N throws her head back, her fingers digging into Dean’s shoulders as his teeth sink into her, and none of it is for show. The pain is euphoric, and her senses heighten, and she suddenly wishes she hadn’t been so stringent on taking her fucking pills, because whatever this feeling is, coursing through her veins, settling in her core, she needs to feel it more. She can’t stand how dulled it is, how it just stays there, simmering underneath the surface. She wants to erupt. 

“Mm, fuck, Alpha!” she cries out, no trace of sarcasm in her voice, and Dean’s hands grip her hips tight enough to bruise them. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Jim exclaims. “Got an alert that someone was in here, there’s some very valuable things in here, you see, and I just wanted to make sure —”

Dean pulls away from her neck long enough to shoot him a glare that translates to “get out or I’m going to kill you”, and Jim gets the message, backing out the door and shutting it behind him. 

“Fuck,” Dean breathes, letting his forehead fall to Y/N’s shoulder. He shouldn’t be so close to her. He should back away, give himself some space to breathe. But her scent keeps him rooted in place. It’s her usual scent; something like freshly baked sugar cookies and vanilla, sweet and enticing, but there’s something else, something —

“Are you guys okay?” Sam’s voice in his damn ear again.

Dean lifts his head and presses the button on his earpiece to reply. “Fine, Sam. Give us a second.” Then he takes the earpiece out and tosses it over his shoulder, more agitated than he should be at his brother just trying to check in.

“Dean,” she breathes, and she sounds absolutely wrecked. She brings her hands to his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. “Are you okay?” 

He nods. Her touch is like fire on his skin. He needs her. 

Y/N squeezes her thighs together. She’s never been able to scent Dean before, but he’s never been this close for this long. He’s never marked her, either. Right now his scent is breaking through the suppressants, little by little. It’s bits of cedar and leather and whiskey, and she’s never smelt anything like it, yet it is so familiar somehow. It invades her senses, and if this is what he smells like with suppressants, she’s terrified of what would happen without them.

“Dean… your scent.” She closes her eyes and inhales deeply.

“Fuck, my pills must’ve worn off, I —”

She shakes her head. “It’s dulled but… but it’s there.” Her thighs clench together again, and she needs him back on her skin. “It’s there and it’s so fucking good.”

Dean’s eyes fall to the gland on her neck, and the severity of what he’s done comes crashing into him like a wrecking ball. It’s enough to force him to take a step away from her, panic rising in his chest. “I – fuck. I marked you. I fucking marked you.”

Y/N’s fingers come up to graze the indent on her neck, and she shudders at the touch. “I told you to.”

“No, you don’t understand, Y/N –”

“I know what happens when mates get marked, Dean,” she interrupts matter-of-factly. “I’m sure this’ll fade.”

“It won’t. I – I shouldn’t have done that. Fuck. Fuck!” He turns to the wall next to him, hitting it with the side of his closed fist. 

“Dean.” Her touch on his arm is gentle and comforting, but he doesn’t turn to face her. “You need to calm down. It’s really not a big deal, I –”

Dean takes a deep breath, both hands on the wall now as he collects himself. He can’t even bring himself to look at her when he says, “You’re my mate, Y/N.”

She takes a step back, and her fading scent is what makes him finally face her. She’s halfway across the room by the time he does. 

“W-what do you mean?”

“You’re my mate, Y/N,” he repeats.

She shakes her head, her hand coming to her neck again, the teeth marks seared into her skin. “N-no. H-how? When? How – how long have you known?”

Dean takes another long, deep breath. He could lose her tonight. She could run and never come back and he wouldn’t blame her. “Since we met.”

“THREE YEARS!?” she roars. “YOU’VE KNOWN FOR THREE FUCKING YEARS!?”

“Y/N, I –”

She stalks toward him, one finger outstretched, one fist clenched by her side. She points at him as she backs him into a wall, and he’s incredibly turned on and incredibly scared at the same time. 

“You’ve known that we’re fucking mates for three years, and you didn’t feel as though that was pertinent fucking information to tell me!?”

Dean swallows. “I – it’s – there are… strings with mates. You know that. I didn’t want to ball and chain you. I didn’t want to keep you anywhere you didn’t want to be. And if – fuck – we’re hunters, Y/N. If something had happened to me, and you knew… I didn’t want you to have to live with that. With the pain that comes with losing a true mate.”

Y/N stops half a foot away and drops her accusatory finger. “What did you say?” she whispers.

“True… mates,” Dean breathes.

“We’re…? But… We never – I don’t –”

“With me on my pills, and you on your pills, I think it was enough to… so we just never…”

“But you knew,” she says, closing the gap between them, her hand coming up to caress his cheek. “You knew for so long and you watched me go on dates, had to listen about the… things I did with other Alphas… if I had mated with one of them, you –”

“You deserved to have a choice. Regardless of what I wanted, you deserved to have a choice.” 

“My choice could’ve left you depressed and alone and celibate forever, you fucking dumbass.” 

He shrugs, and her hand falls to rest over his heart. She stares at it as she continues.

“When you… marked me… I felt… I don’t know what I felt. Nothing’s ever been so intense.”

She looks up at him through her eyelashes, and he smiles softly.

“That’s the bond,” he explains, his large palm coming to rest over the hand on his chest. 

“And if we weren’t on… our blockers?”

“If we weren’t on our blockers, there’s no fucking telling how many pups we’d have running around by now.”

Y/N shivers as the thought of being bred settles in her core, and for once she’s not cursing her biology. Dean chuckles faintly at her reaction, dropping his forehead to hers. 

“We can practice in the meantime. Until you decide you want off of them.”

She inhales deeply, taking in as much of his scent as she can. “Oh, I –” another deep breath, “I’m getting off of them for sure.”

Dean lets out a borderline animalistic growl, thinking about how many times he’ll get to fuck her through that first heat. “I’m gonna stop taking my pills, too,” he says breathily.

“Yeah?”

“I had to get on rut blockers when you moved into the Bunker because I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself. But now,” he says, spinning them both around and pinning Y/N against the wall, “now I don’t fuckin’ have to.”

“Dean,” she half gasps, half moans. He kisses the mark on her neck before licking all the way up to her jaw line and pulling back. 

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy, Omega.”

She meets his feral gaze with one of her own, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Prove it.” 

And it might be an incredibly stupid thing to say to a horny Alpha, but it’s also Dean. And he’d never hurt her.

“Mm, fuck.” His voice is raspy and wrecked and they haven’t even done anything yet. Before Y/N can process what’s happening, he’s picking her up and throwing her onto the bed. He climbs over her, hovering for a moment, taking in her flushed cheeks, the warmth radiating off of her, her scent. “You’re beautiful,” he states plainly, like it’s the one fact in the world that he knows without a doubt to be true. 

Y/N blushes. “Thank you, Alpha.” She says it because she knows what it does to him. 

“You’re beautiful, and I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you.” 

A gasp leaves her lips as he pushes her dress up her hips and moves down her body to the foot of the mattress, his fingertips dancing along the hem of her panties before his eyes meet with hers. She gives him a nod, and it’s all the confirmation he needs before pulling them down her legs and tossing them aside. 

He watches hungrily as she spreads her thighs, her core damn near dripping with her wetness, and if this is what it’s like when she’s on heat blockers, he can’t even begin to imagine what it’ll look like covered in her slick. His cock grows hard in his slacks at the thought, and he has to step off the bed to take off his pants and boxers before the containment grows painful. He shrugs off his suit jacket and white dress shirt too, and when he’s standing in front of the bed, fully naked, Y/N is propping herself up on her elbows to take him in.

“Holy – fuck,” is all she can get out. 

Dean chuckles deeply, one knee coming up onto the mattress as he fists his cock. “Fuck, sweetheart.” He looks her over again, pussy glistening, nipples peaked through her dress. “Fuck, I want you to – would you present for me?”

A smirk spreads across her lips, but she doesn’t say anything before flipping over and assuming the position. Ass up, legs shoulder width apart, chest resting on the mattress. 

Dean lets out a low and guttural, “Fuuuuck,” and it’s enough to make her pussy clench around nothing. She feels the mattress dip behind her, and when his cock starts to move through her folds, she almost cums right then and there. 

“I know you you wish you weren’t an Omega,” he starts, “but you’re a fuckin’ perfect one, baby.” 

She shakes her head, soft whimpers escaping her as he continues to tease her with his dick. “I’m glad I’m an Omega, because I’m yours.” 

With that, Dean loses what little self control he has left. He lines himself up with her entrance and sinks into her heat, and she feels so fucking perfect, the way she molds around his cock. The noises leaving her throat spur him on as he thrusts into her, setting a bruising pace. He wraps his hand around her shoulder for leverage, his other gripping her ass.

“Oh my fuck!” she practically screams, and he can feel how close she is, can smell it. 

“You’re gonna be a good little Omega and cum for me, aren’t you baby?” he pants, and he couldn’t be thrusting deeper if he tried.

She nods frantically. “Yesyesyes, please, Alpha, I wanna to cum. I wanna — mm, fuck — on your —”

She’s too fucked out to even finish her sentence, and Dean can feel himself about to fall over the edge. “What’s that, sweetheart? Speak up.”

“I wanna cum — oh, God! — on your knot. Fucking fill me up, Dean, please.”

He barely manages another thrust before he buries himself to the hilt, the base of his cock swelling inside her as he pumps her full of his seed.

The feeling of him filling her sends her over the edge, her pussy clenching around his cock, his knot, and she feels so full and fucked and sated.

“Oh my fucking fuuuuck,” he groans, feeling her pulse around him. “Fuck, everyone and this fuckin’ party is gonna be able to smell me inside of you.”

She moans at his words.

“Gonna have me dripping down your thighs ‘til we get back home.” His hand squeezes the globe of her ass before he leans over, getting as close to her ear as he can. “And then I’m gonna fuck you again. And again. And again. Because we got three years to make up for.” He nips at her ear playfully. “And now you’re finally mine.”

[sungiescheotluv]

mirror muscles ⭑.ᐟ na jaemin

pairing: na jaemin x gender neutral reader

word count: 2.7k

tags/warnings: fluff, established relationship, suggestive, gym talk(?)

summary: doing your new resolutions with jaemin has always worked in your favor, most goals ticked off your lists. however, when you mention going to gym, jaemin's enthusiasm reaches new heights.

notes: hiyaaaa! it feels like forever since i last posted (two days omg 🙄) but i do hope you pretty stars enjoy this very indulgent fic! as an aspiring gym girlie, i'd do anything for this kind of princess treatment (particularly from jaemin 😋) also, the title of this is based on the soft play song with the same name (emo jisung, lemme give u some music recs). ok, i think i'm done here. wishing u all the best, much loveeee! <3

Note to self: never, under any circumstances, tell Jaemin your New Year’s resolution. Because one peek at your ambitious list and Jaemin will pry you from your warm bed, at the ass crack of dawn (might you add) to go to the gym because ‘nothing beats a morning pump.’

If you weren’t stupidly in love with him, you would’ve dropped a dumbbell on his toe.

How you get to this point is a lot more wholesome. Since the start of your relationship, once snow trickles down for Christmas, you two sit at your dining table with your laptops opened on Pinterest and pin-point what goals you'd like to achieve the following year. This way, you’re not shouldering your ambitions alone, having each other every step of the year as you tick off box after box. So far, you’ve managed to complete most of your goals. Go traveling, learn a new language, cook more home-cooked meals, limit screen time (still working on that) and many more. Jaemin was also progressing well: dedicating more time in his photography, reducing his coffee intake, going to bed earlier and visiting his mother more. 

For this year’s moodboard, while collecting pictures of your next set of goals, fitness content shows up in your recommendations. People in pilates studios in their pastel pink gym-sets. The aesthetic draws you in, how content people feel moving their body besides getting their 10k steps a day in. More photos start showing up, people sculpting their pride in the gym, sharing personal stories of their fitness journey and how the gym has taught them so much about themselves. What they’re capable of, what they never thought they could do and what opportunities lie await now that they’re happier in themselves. It all seems promising, even more so when you reconsider how bright your best friend’s life’s become since making the choice. She’d rarely accompany you to a game of badminton and now she’s pioneering her own run-club, amassing a social media following the size of an army.

You’d have to ask her how to get started once she’s back from her influencer trip (maybe content creating is something you needed to hop on). Then again, peering over your laptop screen to Jaemin’s glowing face, you could simply ask him. He’s been consistently going to the gym for a while now, to the point where you fake-pleaded for SM to close their gym because your boyfriend's become too buff for you to function. He’s always been gorgeous, with a face that could charm a snake, but now that he’s carved like a Renaissance sculpture, you couldn’t form a coherent sentence around him. Of course, aesthetic reasons are what lured him into the space, but he relays it’s become a lot more than that for him.

“I want to be strong, not only to build my confidence but to also protect my loved ones,” he looks directly at you, a serious hue to his eyes that has you breathless. “It’s another form of self-love, is my thinking. Showing up for myself, proving I can do hard things, even when I don’t want to. That I can step out of my comfort zone, trying new things and ultimately, living a longer life. Because at the end of the day, as much as I do this for me, I also do it so I can help you carry groceries. So that I can move furniture around when we move in together, be the one that my family calls if they need something physically demanding done,”

Fondness curves his lips, a flicker of timidity dart his eyes down to the desk before they flicker back up at you, astoundingly earnest as he says, “I’d also want to keep up with our kids. Carry them when they’re tired or run after them in a park. Those are my reasons.”

Something stutters in your chest. Then, leaps. Over the course of your three year relationship, it’s only natural that topics like this are mentioned, like marriage and children. Heck, you two shared a Pinterest board of decor ideas for the shared apartment you’d been on the lookout for. So, it shouldn't phase you but it does. How far into the future he sees with you. How he shares a bit of himself so effortlessly, in a way that lacks pressure and possesses good faith. Love and promise. All prominent themes throughout your relationship, one you thank your lucky stars for.

As a consequence, you flush. Folding like the early days of your relationships. “You’re getting bold these days. We haven’t even moved in together.”

“All in good time, angel,” he grins, looking a bit lovesick. “In any case, if this is something you wanna do, I’d be more than happy to help. Go to the gym with you so you don’t feel anxious, show you how to use the machines, get you workout clothes - whatever you want.”

You could marry this man.

You extend your arm across the wooden table, hand finding his as your fingers interlace, the same song and dance you’d hope you’d spend your life doing. “Thanks, baby.”

And now? Now, divorce weighs heavily on your mind.

In an effort to avoid the New Year’s crowd, Jaemin wakes you up early in the slum of days after Christmas where time doesn’t exist, cuddling into your half-sleeping figure with a gentle voice. Coaxes you to get up, slip on the new gym clothes you’d spent on his card (his treat, he said) and somehow, here you are, stinging eyes squinting under fluorescent lights with some EDM track playing faintly in the background.

“Oh, baby. Don’t look so down, you’re in good hands,” Jaemin coos, hand squishing your cheeks under your chin before pulling you into his chest, warm and comforting. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Couldn’t this wait until,” you glance at your fitness tracker, your own treat to yourself. “Midday? No one needs to be here at 9 am.”

“Maybe, but it’s a good way to start your day. Or get it out of the way,” he chuckles, spinning you out his arms before he wiggles his eyebrows. “Plus, who doesn’t want to see my muscles first thing in the morning?”

He drives home his point by kissing his bicep, something that should make you cringe out your skin or disappear without a trace, but no. Perhaps you’re still sleepy, shielding a snicker with your hand because of how lame (said adoringly) he is.

“You said you’d usually start off with thirty minutes on the treadmill, right?” You nod your head. “Okay, I’ll go with you. I’ll run for fifteen and row until you're done. So you don’t constantly have me in your ear.”

You laugh, because as grumpy as you’d been on the way here, you could never grow tired of him. All his carefree and mischief nature, his sweet and generous manner - you couldn’t even if you tried. 

Few people populate the modern gym, near to none in the cardio section as Jaemin refreshes your memory on all the buttons before you begin. Beside you, he does sporadic sprints, no heavy breaths clouding his chatter with you. You, on the other hand, keep it relatively reserved for your first time, upping the speed when you want to challenge yourself, surprising yourself with the distance and time that flies by. Soon enough, Jaemin’s squeezing your hand and moving a few rows back where the rowing machines are, leaving you with your walking playlist.

Again, in a flash, time passes by, upbeat songs blaring in your headphones that make you dance through the next fifteen minutes, a simmer of sadness coming when you’ve reached time with a whole host of songs still in the queue.

“You can listen to them next time,” Jaemin winks before leading you into a dark, LED room dotted with mirrors and yoga mats. This is one of the rooms booked for classes, but for now, it’s your stretching area where you cycle through some stretches and Jaemin jokes about folding you like a pretzel. 

The one other person in the room - a woman in her thirties - coughs, before smirking your way, the heat of your embarrassment migrating to your cheeks as you swat at Jaemin. He simply laughs, stretching to reveal his happy trail and suddenly, you forget why you’re even mad. 

When you’re finished, he shows you different sections - an assortment of cable machines, the weights area and then to an area with more machines. There’s a few people occupying the machines, immersed in their own world with flushed cheeks and sweat seeping into their clothes. It fills you with relief, that no one’s focused on you and your sweating figure as if you had ‘gym newbie’ written across your forehead. Jaemin shows you some of the machines he uses, depending on what he wants to work out but for the most part, lets you decide what machines you’d want to use - if any.

“Why do I need to put on muscle? You putting me in a headlock is good enough.” You fake-complain, feeding off the gentle approach Jaemin’s taken in trying to convert you to a gym rat.

“And you say I’m the dirty one,” he tsks with a matching grin. “You don’t need to do anything. All I’m doing is showing you the options you have. The more things you try, the more likely you’ll find something you lik-”

“Is that the slut machine?”

Jaemin’s head jerks back, eyebrows pinching together in confusion. “What are you talking about?’

“This one,” you approach the machine closeby, pointing to the photo attached along with its actual name - hip adduction. “Isn’t this the one where people like, open their legs like crazy?”

Jaemin shakes his head, amusement in the smile he swipes with his hand. “Yes, it is. Wanna give it a go?”

“Hell yeah,” you climb into the machine in a rush, finding the experience more exciting than scary as Jaemin makes sure everything is in order. “This is gonna be hilarious.”

“I’m setting it to a low weight. If it’s too easy, we’ll move it upwards and try and find your range,” he comments, looking at you through his silver hair. “You ready?”

“Ready,” and you go, the weight moving like nothing, so much so that when it sets back to its original position, you’re more caught off guard by how far apart your legs are spread. “This is so raunchy, ohmygod.”

“Good thing it’s facing the wall,” Jaemin laughs at you shielding in between your legs. He ups the weight, the number looking a lot scarier than anticipated. “Let’s try this then. You should be able to rep 10 of these.”

You shuffle, a bit unconvinced. Taking a breath, you engage the machine, exerting more effort than before but managing to do one rep. Then two, then three all the way up to ten. Enough to challenge you, but not strain you.

Jaemin howls, pinching your cheek as he says, “Look at you go! That was great.”

“Thank you,” you huff, the tingle in your thighs somehow the source of the happiness in your chest. “That was really fun, actually.”

“Isn’t it?” Jaemin smiles, using some paper towel to wipe after the machine for you. “Usually people do about three sets of those. Reps depend on what you want to do - build endurance, muscle strength, all that. But that was really great, I’m so proud of you.”

And you feel proud of yourself too. Having tried something new, feeling unsure but leaning into the feeling. Letting yourself see how far you can extend yourself, pleasantly surprised with the distance. 

So, this was what Jaemin was on about.

You continue your morning like this, getting a personalised tutoring session in how certain machines works and what areas they work out. Jaemin runs through his leg day, since you two were on the hip adduction machine, enjoying more exercises like leg press and goblet squats. By the time you get to the hip thrust machine to try, someone’s occupying it. Jaemin suggests using the squat rack, the scary thing with a long barbell and weights attached to it. Sensing your apprehension, Jaemin lets you know he’s got you, coaching you through the exercise and any queries you may have about movement or positioning. Eventually, it’s your turn to lean against the incline bench and despite your fear, you work your way through 8 hip thrusts. You don’t nearly enjoy it as much as people online talk about it, which Jaemin says,

“That’s perfectly fine. There’s so many exercises that work the same areas. You’ll find one you prefer.” 

Finished for your session, Jaemin asks for you to hold tight while he does some deadlifts. It’s maddening watching him pick up such heavy weights, concentration knitting his eyebrows together with his exposed arms flexing under the tension. Wearing a sleeveless top for the gym in theory is great, but for your mental health? Bad, so bad. 

Because even if your body rings with exhaustion, the kind that’s refreshing and ensures a peaceful slumber, you’re about ready to jump his bone. 

Ill with lust, as you’d joke. 

Jaemin snickers, snapping his waist belt off with one hand, which shouldn’t be sexy but is. Your eyes then trail to the barbell, the memory of Jaemin’s set vivid in your mind.

“Did you wanna try it?” Jaemin asks, reading your mind. “We can start off with no weights. Just the barbell. There’s also different variations of a deadlift, let’s see which one you prefer.”

Out of the three, you pick the most conventional one to start with, teeth sinking into your bottom lip at what you’ve gotten yourself into. Particularly after Jaemin loads weights on each end when you've rehearsed with the barbell.

“Think of the barbell cutting your feet in half - not standing too close so that your shins are touching it and not too far away that you have to lean to grab it,” Jaemin coaches, your feet shuffling into the right position. “Nice. Let’s move onto the hinge movement,”

From behind you, his hands settle onto your hips, pulling them back with him. He pats them, a chuckle left in his wake as he steps to your side to demonstrate without overly being horny. 

Bastard.

“Like you just did, you’ve gotta hinge your hips backwards until you can’t hinge anymore. Then, you’ll move a little into your knees, like a squat almost so you can grab the barbell,” you follow along, the barbell cold against your hands as you blow a breath.

“Great. Keep your body tense, engage your core and glutes. No arch,” his hand hovers over the arch of your back, something teasing in his smile. “Show your chest, keep your head up straight and lift the barbell up. Remember to keep it close to your body before you lower it down with the same hinge movement and movement into your knees.”

You puff out another breath, the same fear you’ve conquered throughout the session whirring in your chest.

“Don’t worry, angel,” Jaemin smiles, moving behind you again with hovered hands around your figure. “I’ve got you. You’ve got you.” 

Again, his words dawn on you. All the power in your hands, a feeling your heart wants nothing more than to run towards as you lift up the barbell, strength personified as you wait at the top of your stance, smiling at the “Let’s fucking go, you’re doing it! You’re doing it, angel!” in your ear. You hinge backwards, the weight knocked down to the floor with no tension on your back as expected.

Once you’re upright again, Jaemin engulfs you in a backhug, lifting your figure off the floor and kissing your neck, drawing giggles out of you. Joy moves through your body like warm light at his excitement that exceeds your own, belief not setting in quite yet.

“I can’t believe you,” he coos, the mirror ahead of you capturing the embrace he holds you in, the elation in his eyes as he does nothing but adore you. Like he’s always done. “Actually, I can. You’ve got a laundry list of things you’re good at. Can you believe it?”

“Not originally,” you admit, the confession somewhat bittersweet. “But after this, I think I’d better have more faith in myself.”

Fondness finds itself in his lips again, a kiss against your cheek as he gently guides you out the way, lifting the barbell onto the rack with his gaze in the mirror directed to yours. 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

And you fall into laughter, helping him slid off the weights before flexing in the mirror like you wanted, finding a different strength in yourself with Jaemin by your side.

[angelsleepinggurl]

𝙥𝙪𝙨𝙨𝙮 𝙥𝙪𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥, 𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙚 𝙉𝙮𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙡𝙡

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. cockwarming your husband after work

wc . around 612

tags . nanami kento. nanami x reader. nanamikentoxreader smut. all characters are above 18 years old. alternative au. non curse au. consented. sleepy nanami.18+ mdni!

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Kento Nanami is a man of routine. Every day he gives you a kiss on the cheek and you send him off to work with his lunch. Every day he deals with Gojo showing up at his workplace and bothering him nonstop. Every day he tells Majorie that the printer location has not moved in the last 20 years and it’s the same place it’s always been. And every day he clocks out at 6. Not a minute later. He loves it though. He loves the thoughtfulness of the lunches you prepare him. He loves the sweet messages you leave during the day, asking him how he’s holding up. He loves the drive home from work, excited to see you again. He loves it when you pull him into the house the second his car parks in the driveway and you start telling him all about your day. He loves how the two of you greet each other again, more calmly with kisses. He loves the dinner the two of you have. He loves the way his cock fits snuggly in your slippery pussy as the two of you watch TV. You were being needy. Incessant. Uncompliant. You just had to get stuffed full by him, it’s the feeling you were craving. So now here the two of you are, watching a poorly made sitcom as he nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck. Perched atop his lap and sunken down onto his thick cock, warming it.

“Stop moving s’much. You said we didn’t have to do anything, just sit like this.” He complains, his words smushing together and coming out as a drag.

“We are just sitting like this.” You inform him, wrapping his arms around you as you attempt to focus on the story line of the show. This is something you’d planned out. You knew what you were doing when you started this. You knew he wouldn’t say no to this. And you also knew that one movement too many would get him to want to fuck you. It was all a part of your plan, which he has now caught unto.

“For now, till you start wiggling then that’ll make me wanna come and then I’ll have to move which is what I don’t want to do. I feel sleepy.” He murmurs, taking slow and long blinks, attempting to keep himself awake. He nuzzles his head in the crook of his, closing his eyes.

“Aww my pussy’s putting you to sleep.” You coo, taking a finger and playing flicking his lips. “I don’t know if I should be offended.”

“You should just stay still.” You can feel his voice through your body.

“How about,” you begin, swivelling slightly to get a better look at his face, “you just sit and I’ll do the moving, gets the job done. It’s a win win situation.”

“Not a chance. You’ll quit soon and then you’ll start whining that you’re too tired to carry on and finish the job you started. Then I’ll have to muster up energy to move, which I do not have. So until further notice, we’re staying like this.”

“For a man who’s oh so tied he is talking quite a lot.” You huff, pinching his nose, instead, he attempts to swat your hand away.

He blinks slowly and both of you watch TV. Then his hands start rubbing u everywhere and slowly. Then he starts kissing your jaw and the side of your face. “Good you make me feel good though.” More kissing and stuff then he’s like “Who am I kidding?” And he stands up places your back on the couch and fucks you.

[heechwe]

miss americana | 𝖕𝖘𝖍

➸ second anthology piece in "basketball (inkchwe's version)" and story-inspired playlist also can be found there too! ୨୧ pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 9.8k ୨୧ genre: fluff, angst, smut ୨୧ tags: basketballplayer!heesung, cheerleader!reader, established relationship, exes to lovers au, high school au, heavy petting, marking, oral (f receiving) penetration (all characters are of age!) ୨୧ synopsis: Fed up with Sunghoon's attitude and petty games, you move on, hopefully to something better. Why did he have to realize how important you were to him once you were already gone? ➸ a/n: bless @mini-mews for being there every step of the way with this fic, it was amazing seeing all of the comments and reactions and i could not have asked for a better beta ♡

DECEMBER

Sunghoon could have made the winning shot if it weren’t for the praise that was placed on someone else for so long. Lee Heeseung was the best shooting guard his high school had ever seen; anyone with talent and passion for the sport could see that. At the same time, Sunghoon made a lot of calls as the small forward that were imperative to the success of the team. From scoring to handling the ball, Sunghoon could do it all and then some.

If only the captain, the old fart, saw that. And Heeseung, the sanctimonious prick, appreciated him more.

Sunghoon is so wrapped up in his bitter thoughts he can barely focus on your lips attached to his neck and your legs around his waist. You both were cramped in the driver’s side of his car, but you managed to make yourself fit on Sunghoon’s lap to straddle him. In the dark of night, only the two of you parked on the basketball court by the river, you decided to give him a reminder of what the most important thing in his life was outside of winning the championship. 

Sunghoon usually spent times like these celebrating with his other teammates, but something was sitting in the front of his mind like a fly he couldn’t swat. You can tell in the furrow of his brows and his scrunched-up mouth. He may not be able to focus on going out and drinking, but it was a benefit to you. Maybe he would finally spend some time with you like he used to.

“Heeseung acts like everyone should worship the ground he walks on. Yeah, he won the game tonight, so what? I could score as many baskets as him if I wanted. And I’ve played as many games as his ass and won. Even once when I had chicken pox.” Sunghoon continues on his rant, unbothered by your mouth and hands on him. You run both of your palms inside of his jersey and feel the skin of his abs underneath your fingers, but Sunghoon doesn’t budge.

“I think you did great, who cares?” You mumble into his neck, focused on making him feel pleasure rather than irritation. You move Sunghoon’s hands to cup your backside, the cheer shorts under your skirt riding up to expose your upper thighs.

“Whatever,” Sunghoon grumbles, eyes looking past you and towards the window.

“What do you mean ‘whatever’?” You pull away from him to look in his eyes. He’s a million miles away, not bothering to pay attention to your impending frustration. His only concerns are himself and his feelings. “Seriously, get over this attitude and talk to me if you’re not gonna at least act interested.”

Sunghoon lets out a frustrated groan and pushes you back into the passenger seat. You yelp in the process, barely landing on your ass. “What the fuck, Hoon?”

“Don’t you see I’m upset and maybe I don’t want to spend another night making out?”

“Another—“ You huff out a breath, shocked at his audacity. “When was the last time we actually spent quality time together?” Before Sunghoon can answer with a basic response, you interrupt him. “And by ‘quality time,” I don’t mean with the guys or Jongseong in attendance.”

“That’s not fair.” Sunghoon tries to hit you with his signature pout, but you don’t budge.

“What’s not fair is that I’m supposed to be your girlfriend but all you care about is huffing and puffing about basketball, complaining about not being the captain, or being a huge jackass.”

“If that’s all I do, then why the fuck are you still around?” Sunghoon bites back, venom dripping from every word.

You look at him with wide eyes, seeing him clearly for the first time in months. After the latter half of the year you’ve been together being a disappointment of epic proportions, the veil finally lifted. Sunghoon does have a point. What are you still doing with him?

“You know what? You’re right.” You exit Sunghoon’s Denali with a grunt and fix your makeup, not letting the tears that threaten to escape fall from your cheeks.

“What are you doing now?”

“You’re right. I’m not gonna waste my time anymore. I’m done.” You slam the passenger door closed and begin your walk from the basketball court to your house, determined not to look back. If he wanted to be that way, then you deserved better.

You hear the slow, incoming huff of Sunghoon’s car, and he rolls the window down to continue your conversation. His lips are in a thin line, his annoyance at an all-time high but now directed completely at you. He says, “So I guess I’ll call you when you’re not so hormonal?”

“Don’t bother. Just fuck off, Sunghoon.”

He nods his head with an angry smirk and rolls the window back up. In a sudden screech, his car races down the empty street, leaving you alone in the night to cry. You weep not just for the future you saw with him coming to a sudden end, but for the past Sunghoon who you believed would never treat you this way now.

You shut your locker with an angry hand, a resounding slam filling the hallway. The strangers around you flinch in response and whisper, some unsure why the head cheerleader is in such a mood today.

“Didn’t you hear? Her and Sunghoon are done,” one of them speaks in a hushed tone.

“Damn. And right after his win? Heartless,” another says with the click of their tongue.

“How about you guys mind your fucking business?” You spit the words in their direction with force before walking away towards your calculus class. 

As if anyone knows anything about your relationship or how it came to end. The vipers are always ready to strike when a new hint of gossip comes around, no matter who gets hurt in the process.

To add salt to the wound, Sunghoon saunters up to you and tries to wrap his arm around your shoulder. You shrug him off with a tired grunt.

Many times before you had fought and made up as if the day prior never happened, all smiles and no tears in sight. But you’re tired of the same game you always played with each other. You think to yourself about the way he spoke to you two days ago, and how you would tell any other friend they deserve better.

And you definitely deserve better than that.

“Are you still mad?” Sunghoon asks with a whine. Typically, his childlike voice would make you laugh. Right now, you just feel vomit in the back of your throat.

“I’m not mad. We’re over.” You speak with a defeated but definitive tone, the end of your sentence falling into a whisper.

What’s the point of fighting anymore? With an outside perspective you did not have previously, you realized how exhausting it was going up and down with someone you were supposed to love.

Sunghoon doesn’t keep up with you, somehow understanding from the resignation in your voice and simple response that, as far as you were concerned, you were done with him.

“Goddamnit,” you curse, trying to make the lighter flick to life. For all the times you tried coaxing a flame from the device, it would not budge. First you had to deal with the onslaught of rumors circulating about your sudden breakup, and now you could barely get a lighter to work. Why did Mondays always have to be so awful?

Exhausted, you throw the pack of cigarettes and lighter into the open air. Both objects fall somewhere onto the football field, but you barely notice. You’re too focused on the tears in your eyes and the sobs that leave your mouth to pay attention to anything else.

You know it’s pathetic to sit on the bleachers and cry by yourself about the breakdown of your relationship, but the cyclone of emotions didn’t ask for permission when it hit you. It just did, violently and with little care for your wellbeing. You’re just glad to have the quiet time now to deal with the storm by yourself.

Or so you thought.

Someone walks up to you with both your cigarettes and lighter in his hands. Bang Chan, head quarterback for the football team and senior, smiles at you when you do look up in his direction. He steps back an inch when he notices your puffy eyes and red face. “Sorry,” he says. “Just saw you…lost these…and didn’t know if you wanted them back or not.”

You shake your head. “Throw them out if you want.”

Chan releases a surprised sigh. “Didn’t expect a cheerleader to smoke tobacco.”

His insight makes a smile appear on your lips in spite of the tears. “I never have. I just thought since I kicked one bad habit, why not replace it with another one?”

Chan laughs. He sits down next to you, but stays mindful of your space. “Sunghoon, right?”

You nod, his name a pit in your stomach. “You know him?”

”Just his reputation. Basketball guys can be real assholes.”

”And what about football players?” You counter. “You’re all just perfect angels?”

”Well, we prefer to call ourselves ‘realists’.” You share a laugh with him, relieved to feel something other than apathy or misery. It’s been so long since you’ve been around a guy who didn’t make you doubtful of yourself. Why not enjoy it?

You give Chan your name, but he tells you he was well aware of your presence before. “I mean, you cheer at our games too, y’know, so you’re hard not to notice.”

You blush, your puffy face suddenly red from the comment. “Well, you’re hard not to notice too, Chan.”

Maybe the future for you and Sunghoon had not played out the way you intended, but your future with someone else could potentially be pretty great.

JANUARY

Sunghoon feels pretty out of place every year once the end of the basketball season comes around. Now that he’s single, he wonders what could fill his spare time in a meaningful way. Besides academics, he comes up empty with ideas. 

He wouldn’t have chosen to be broken up with, but what else could he have done? He wasn’t going to grovel, not when you were the one making a big deal out of one fight. Eventually, you would come to your senses and come back. You both loved each other too much not to resolve the situation, even if weeks had rolled by without any communication.

Sunghoon is walking with Jay to second period when he sees you chatting with Chan, all smiles and body too close to the senior’s for Sunghoon’s comfort. Jay notices how tense his friend becomes seeing both you and Chan together, shoulders rigid and jaw tight.

”Would it be so bad if you just apologized? Even if you think you didn’t do anything wrong—“

”I know I didn’t,” Sunghoon cuts in, pissed off at the situation he’s in. How did Chan have any right to try and pull the charm out now that you’re available? It makes the blood inside of Sunghoon’s veins boil to a scorching temperature.

”You love her, man. Stop trying to be nonchalant about your feelings.”

The bell for late students rings, and everyone still in the hallway scatters to make it to their classes. Sunghoon feels the muscles in his body twitch seeing you walk away with Chan, arm in arm like you’re the closest of friends.

Writing notes for your physics class is hard when your best friend Wonyoung talks the entire time, her voice projecting to a high shrill. You manage to write while listening to her impassioned speech, but you stop altogether when the subject comes to you and Chan.

”When is he going to ask you out already? Everyone sees the way he looks at you.” Wonyoung bats her eyelashes with a suggestive smirk, and you thwack her away with your notebook.

”We’re just friends. And I’m not trying to date anyone right now.”

”Come on. It’s been three weeks. Nobody would blame you for putting yourself back out there.”

The intercom blares to life, and you hear your name and the request to be seen in the front office. You take your belongings in case the request involves some sort of emergency, your thoughts racing as you head out the door.

When you make it to the front office, all you see is Sunghoon with his back against the secretary’s counter, grinning ear to ear. You’re both alone for the first time since you broke up, and the awkwardness you feel is suffocating.

”Did you do this?” You ask, eyes rolling at his nonchalant posture.

“Miss Kang owed me a favor.” His eyes are vulnerable suddenly, the cloud of indifference shredding a touch. ”Besides, I wanted to see you.”

 Those words would’ve made you melt a long time ago, the early days of your relationship marked with gestures like this and sweet nothings leaving his lips. Now, you feel so far from the girl you were when you broke up with him.

”Well I want to get my lab done, so if you’ll excuse me—“

”Wait, wait, please.” He rushes to stop you from leaving the tiny office, his arm firm against the glass door in front of you.

”Sunghoon, this is not—“

”Please, just hear me out.”

You cross your arms and straighten your posture into a firm stance, looking directly in his eyes while waiting for the usual speech to leave his mouth.

You know you’re the only one I want.

”You know you’re the only one I want.”

My intention is never to fight with you.

”My intention is never to fight with you.”

All I want is to work this out, please.

”All I want is to work this out, please.”

You can’t help the broken laugh that leaves your lips, or the well of tears that build up behind your lashes. It’s both heartbreaking and comical that he thinks after weeks of nothing to show for his sudden humility, his half-baked, used-up monologue is the best way to mend your problems.

”Is that it?” you ask, deadpan.

Sunghoon stutters, suddenly at a loss for words. “What do you mean?”

”Is that all you want to say? ‘Cause if it is, then—”

”Why are you being like this?” His pleading tone suddenly becomes one of irritation. He’s not used to you putting up a fight, and now that you are, he doesn’t know how to handle it, like a toddler who can’t find their toy.

That’s all you were to him at the end of the day. A shiny doll to play with and discard when the circumstances didn’t suit him.

“I’m being like this because this is nothing new. And in another couple of days, it’ll be the same problems and the same excuses. It’s gotten old.” You walk out of the door, but hold it open just a touch to give him the last piece of your mind.

”You know what the worst part is, Sunghoon?” You clear your throat, failing to conceal the pain in your voice. “You didn’t even say you want me back because you love me.”

”Of course I love you!”

”Why? Why do you love me?” You throw your hands up at him, voice in tatters from how loud you’re screaming.

His response is exactly what you expected: nothing. No words come to mind or are adequate enough to describe the depth of his feelings for you, or lack thereof.

”That’s what I thought,” you say before walking away. If those are the last words you ever say to him, you’re glad you got them off of your chest.

The Spring Formal was all the talk of Sunghoon’s friends and their girlfriends once the date of the dance was announced. It was two months away, yet the hallways and classes were already littered with hearts and pink banners. Dance proposals were rampant, some even going viral on the school’s social media accounts.

It made Sunghoon sick to his stomach.

Four days ago, he thought he could win you back, but it only made you run further away from him. Was he that predictable? And what did that beefhead Chan have now that Sunghoon suddenly didn’t?

Playing video games with the guys and Heeseung’s girlfriend in attendance, he hoped it would take his mind off of things. But seeing his off-and-on adversary and partner loved up in the corner of Jake’s room didn’t help.

Sunghoon looks at the two of them laughing in each other’s arms and remembers the feeling of your body in his, the first weeks of dating being some of the best of his life. The quick texts during class, the impromptu kisses in his car before saying goodnight, and the secret drives to the beach on the weekends. He remembers them all, even if his cold nature made you think he had forgotten them with a cruel ease.

The memories pain his heart, and the image of a happy couple still basking in their newfound love does nothing but twist the knife.

“Can you guys not be all over each other in front of us? It’s disgusting.” Sunghoon remarks with sarcasm as he shoots one of Jake’s CPUs down. His friend grunts and tries to take out a person on Sunghoon’s team to even the playing field. 

Heeseung’s girlfriend quirks an eyebrow, still focused on her boyfriend but ready to throw a comeback Sunghoon’s way. “Aw, someone’s jealous, isn’t he?”

Her saying the words out loud causes the entire room to go quiet. The only sounds come from the TV and automated game dialogue.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Sunghoon responds, his voice at a new low.

“Hey man. Watch how you speak to my girlfriend,” Heeseung interrupts, ready to jump from the beanbag he’s sitting in to put his teammate in his place.

His girlfriend places a tender hand on his forearm. “I got this, Hee.” She turns her attention back to Sunghoon, the ghost of a smirk on her lips. “I meant exactly what I said. Your girlfriend was tired of you being a complete prick to everyone, including her.”

Heeseung says his girlfriend’s name in warning, knowing she’s gone a bit too far, no matter how true her words are.

She doesn’t stop though, and Sunghoon is too shocked to form a sentence. “And seeing anyone else happy makes you realize how bad you fucked up and why she was right to drop you.”

Jake makes a face at her too, silently pleading for an end to the fight before more things are said that can’t be taken back.

Sunghoon throws the controller at the TV stand, the device breaking once it hits the wood. Jake and Heeseung curse at him for his reaction, but Sunghoon storms out of the bedroom before he lets his anger go any further.

He sits on the stairs in front of his friend’s house and feels the prick of tears in his eyes. It’s rare for him to allow himself to be vulnerable. The only person in his life who saw him this way was you, and without you, he doesn’t know how to pull himself back from the precipice. Was what Heeseung’s girlfriend said true? Were you right to leave him? Did he not deserve any more chances to do right by you, given how many times he fucked it up before, no matter how much he loved you?

In spite of everything he’s done wrong, he still does. He loves your fire, the stubbornness that mirrors his own so perfectly. He loves your crude sense of humor, the way you can make a joke out of anything, even in the worst of times to make him laugh. And he loves your sweetness, your capability to think of others before yourself, something he’s never been good at and always admired about you even if he never said it. He never said a lot of things he should’ve.

The questions and regrets flood his brain and make him wish he had a time machine. He would go back to the last hour you were together before everything fell apart. To be happy to have you in his arms and grateful to still hold your respect, your effort, and your love.

He hears someone walk up to him, but he doesn’t bother to look. “I’ll apologize later, okay, Jake? I don’t need a lecture right now.”

The feminine grumble makes Sunghoon turn his head, not expecting to see Heeseung’s girlfriend behind him.

“I came to apologize to you.”

Sunghoon looks back to the street in front of him. He decides to avoid prolonging the argument and nods his head. “It’s fine. You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

“Doesn’t mean it was okay.” She settles down on the stairs next to him. Sunghoon wiggles further towards the railing to make room for her. “Everyone deserves a chance to make things right. Even if they’ve been wrong a lot of the time.”

He discreetly wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. “Even someone like me?”

She chuckles. “Especially someone like you.”

“I’m sorry, too.” Sunghoon doesn’t need to say the multitude of reasons why she deserves an apology. But it makes the aggression between the both of them, as well as a fragment of the guilt in Sunghoon’s heart, dissipate. All that’s left is relief.

She grins, the same feelings evident in her expression. “Apology accepted.”

Sunghoon lets a small smile appear on his lips. He has to practice apologizing more often; the feeling of making amends is pretty satisfying.

FEBRUARY

“Wonyoung, I don’t know where it is!” You say into the receiver of your phone, one hand holding the device to your face as the other rifles through the belongings in your locker. “And I doubt your bracelet is in here.”

“It has to be! I can’t think of any other place it could’ve gone,” she whines, sniffling. It isn’t her fault she’s home sick today, but she would get through her cold just fine without her lucky bracelet. As far as she’s concerned, however, it’s a matter of life and death.

“I’m sure we’ll find it so you can get over this cold,” you coddle her, still searching past the books and bags of snacks.

“I don’t care about that!” Her stuffy, squeaky voice makes you move the phone away from your ear. “I need it for the charity auction. How else are we going to get all of the items sold if I don’t have it?”

You roll your eyes, grateful she can’t see. “Just wow the PTA and student body with your impeccable charm.”

“Yeah yeah, have you found it yet?”

As you continue your search, an array of your belongings tumble out of your locker. You curse and bend down to pick the contents up. Most of them are some old notes for your current classes, but one makes you stop cold. 

Wonyoung’s words fade into the background as you hold up the photo strip of you and Sunghoon. The snapshots captured a perfect moment in time before the last six months of your relationship made everything take a turn for the worst.

“You can’t flip off the camera, Hoon!” You giggle as the timer starts for the next picture.

“It’s our pictures, so I have every right to use my middle finger whenever I want.” He nestles his head further into your neck, kissing the spot below your ear. You may be cramped sitting on Sunghoon’s lap in the photo booth of the arcade, but there’s no other place you’d rather be than with him.

As you laugh at his subsequent joke, the shutter goes off again.

“Your laugh is one of my favorite sounds, you know.” Sunghoon moves a stray hair away from your face, smiling ear to ear.

“That’s funny,” you say with a smirk. “That smile is my favorite thing ever.”

“Fuck off.” Sunghoon suddenly becomes shy, his cheeks turning pink.

“I swear, cross my heart.” You raise your hand in salute, and Sunghoon intertwines your fingers with his own.

As you seal your promise with a tender kiss to his lips, you hear the final click of the camera, content with whatever comes next.

You muffle your mouth with your hands, stifling the sob that started to leave your lips.

“Babe, you alright?” Wonyoung asks, another sniffle ending her question.

“Yeah I-I’m okay.” You shake off your sadness and stuff the photo strip in your locker again, half-determined to throw it in the trash nearby. “I gotta go, lunch is gonna be over in like fifteen minutes.”

“Okay. Next place would probably be your car, so just let me know later if you find it. Love you,” Wonyoung says at the end of the call.

Putting your phone in your back pocket and walking back towards the courtyard, you hear the rustle of hands clapping and feet stomping. Everyone at their picnic tables, like you, look towards the sounds.

The football team, all huddled up, begin chanting once you make it closer to them.

“Hey girl, you need a date. Why not make it #8?” They say the words in a morale-boosting rhythm, repeating them with vigor until other tables around them start chanting too. When the huddle opens at the center, Chan appears with a bouquet of flowers and a huge grin.

The team stops once he’s in front of you, Chan shy but determined. Once he gives you the bouquet, he asks, “Wanna be my date to the formal?”

You hide your face in your hands, a wide grin on your face in spite of your sudden bashfulness. Public proposals were never your thing, but with how much effort the guy put into the surprise, how could you say no?

“I’d love to,” you answer, giving him a hug as the crowd around you hollers in support. You’re grateful to have had Chan these past months while dealing with your heartbreak, it seemed to be a natural progression of your relationship. And while nothing’s set in stone, you’re happy something’s on the horizon for you.

But if you’re so happy, why is Sunghoon the first thing that pops in your head after you agree to Chan’s offer?

Thankfully, Wonyoung’s bracelet was in fact in your car behind the passenger seat. How she managed to get it back there was anyone’s guess, but hopefully that meant she would not be so freaked out about the charity auction next week.

In honor of Valentine’s Day, the high school allowed the cheerleading team to host a charity auction every year for a local nonprofit. This year’s was meant to be for the city’s homeless shelter. You worked there last summer to accumulate volunteer hours, and the people you met there had been on your mind every day since. Your goal was to make at least two thousand, but you wish you could do and earn more on your own accord for them. It was important to give back to others when you had so much and took it for granted. Some knew that better than others.

While printing pamphlets and auction tickets, your doorbell rang. You didn’t expect Wonyoung to be up to seeing anyone given her unwell state earlier on the phone, but it was her lucky bracelet. The faster she had it back in her possession the better.

Pulling the door open, the last person you expect to be waiting at your door is Sunghoon. His expression is an amalgamation of emotions, the biggest ones being disbelief and sorrow.

Any time before, back when he was your entire world, you would have pulled him into your arms and kissed away his pain. Even if you hate to admit it to yourself, a part of you still wishes you could.

But while you can be empathetic, you still have to be tough in his presence. Any sign of fragility, and he’ll see the opportunity to creep back in. “Why are you here, Sunghoon?”

“You’re dating him now?”

You furrow your brows in confusion. “What?”

“Chan. You’re together?” You see the tremble of his bottom lip and the lock of his jaw, his composure clearly hanging by a thread. It’s been a long time since you saw Sunghoon so unguarded, you’re unsure if it’s because he’s truly vulnerable or he’s on his last play to win you back.

No matter the reason, you answer with an exasperated sigh. “He just asked me to the formal, okay? He’s my friend.”

“Friends don’t ask friends to go to the dance with flowers.”

You bite your bottom lip, unsure what to say to that. “It doesn’t concern you anymore.”

Sunghoon releases a bitter chuckle, the sound of the laughter dying on his tongue midway. “It does concern me if you’re with someone else.”

“I just told you–”

“I get that.” He runs a hand through his hair, his voice frail at the edges. “But I know what it's like to want you, and I see it when Chan looks at you. And who can blame him right?”

Taking advantage of your stunned silence, Sunghoon keeps going. “When you asked me before why I love you, I didn’t realize how much I took advantage of you. I didn’t appreciate you the way I should’ve, and now I–I miss so many things. I miss the smell of your perfume in my car and the look you’d give me when you were calling me out on my bullshit, which was eighty-five percent of the time. I miss knowing you had my back even if I was in the wrong because you saw the best parts of me on days I didn’t see them at all.

“I miss you, and I love you, and I don’t know how to stop,” Sunghoon whispers. When he tries to step closer to you, you place a hand on his chest, safeguarding some sort of distance and composure between you. He presses his hand over yours, thumb rubbing across the skin on the back of your hand, making you suck in a breath.

It was every word and more that you yearned to hear from him since you parted ways. While the naysayers continued their dialogue about the demise of your relationship, nobody bothered to think about whether or not you wanted to let go in the first place. You had to, or it would’ve been the same patterns occurring over and over.

Maybe this moment, this speech, and this Sunghoon, can be a break in the chain. Maybe he’s truly adamant on turning over a new leaf for the better, for the chance to try again and do it right this time. Would it be so wrong to take the chance and give him the benefit of the doubt one more time?

But who truly knew he would change his ways except for Sunghoon himself? Could you run the risk of the cycle repeating itself again for the future you wanted? How were you meant to believe him this time with history on your side?

You retract your hand from his chest, your heart cracking in the parts he forced you to mend in the first place. “I can’t do this.”

He swallows forcefully and takes a step back, respecting your wishes. “I understand.” He walks down your driveway and to his car, leaving you with the image of his somber, close-lipped smile.

Sunghoon watches you walk back into your house, his heart in tatters. He looks at the bundle of roses sitting in the passenger seat and promises to himself to fight just a little longer. Giving up means losing you forever, and he’ll die before accepting that loss.

A big banner for the homeless shelter hangs on one of the gymnasium walls. The cheerleaders continue placing decor around the space for tomorrow’s auction, some hand-drawn by the girls and others donated from the PTA in previous years. You look around with your clipboard, items checked off throughout the day to signal your progress. With less than twenty-four hours to go before the auction, it was imperative to create the perfect atmosphere to sell as many items as possible.

Wonyoung skips over to you, her pigtails swinging in the air and a cluster of colorful streamers dangling from her hands. “Where do you want these, babe?”

“Lining the front of the bleachers. That way once the tables are set up we don’t have to work around them.” You check off another bullet, 

“You got it boss!” She winks at you, her expression teasing. Before she can walk away though, Principal Han and Coach Chae walk into the gym. Coach Chae has a bouquet while Principal Han holds a thin piece of paper.

The two gentlemen walk up to you and Wonyoung, beaming. “Great turn of events ladies,” Principal Han says. “The auction has been canceled.”

“What,” Wonyoung yells. The two men flinch at her reaction, but Coach Chae laughs off his reaction.

“No need to worry, Miss Jang,” Coach Chae responds. “There will still be a gala. Just not an auction. Think of it as a celebratory gala, if you will.”

“What do you mean?” You ask. You press your clipboard tighter to your chest, anxiety spiking. You put your heart into this event for the success of the fundraiser. Why was it suddenly crashing down?

“Someone already donated more than enough to reach your goal. Five thousand, to be exact.”

A silent gasp leaves your lips. The clipboard almost slips from your fingers, but Wonyoung manages to catch it before it clatters onto the gym floor.

”Holy sh—sorry. Holy moly!” Wonyoung exclaims, a smile matching the ones on the older gentlemen’s faces.

“Congratulations, girls. Now you can kick your feet up and enjoy the festivities tomorrow all thanks to your mystery donor,” Principal Han says.

”Mystery donor?” The mix of emotions in your stomach morphs to confused curiosity. “They didn’t leave their name on the check?”

”No. Just the card that came with the flowers,” Coach Chae answers. He hands the bouquet of roses and the comment card to you, the floral smell suddenly wafting in your nose.

You could recognize the script anywhere, the slants and slopes of the handwriting belonging to only one person. The contents of the card make your heart swell and sink deeper, causing you to question everything once more.

For reminding me to cherish all the things I took for granted.

MARCH

On the night of the Spring Formal, a week had passed since that day in the gymnasium which upended a majority of your feelings. Your thoughts have run rampant in your mind since, regrets and doubts sitting at the forefront of your brain.

Your mother was fixing the last pieces of your hair into the intricate bun she created. Looking in the mirror, the tendrils of your bangs falling out from the hairstyle frame your face. Grace exudes from your makeup and the dress you’ve chosen, the strapless champagne gown the centerpiece of your entire look.

”You’re a vision, honey,” She says, her eyes bright in the hallway mirror behind you.

You may look beautiful, but your thoughts make you feel small, unsure of everything you thought you knew or wanted before.

You had not seen Sunghoon since that night on your front porch almost two weeks ago, your ex choosing to respect your wishes and stay away just as you requested. Now, in spite of all the ways he vexed you to no end, you missed him just like he said he missed you. Maybe you suppressed yourself from grieving the end of your relationship, jumping headfirst into a new friendship with Chan and the other priorities in your life. Or maybe it was because he still had your entire heart, even if you wished he didn’t.

”Chan should be here any minute,” your mother says, interrupting your thoughts.

You respond with a nod and small smile, fidgeting with the top of your dress to conceal some of your cleavage.

Your mother frowns. ”Honey, what’s wrong?” She puts her hands on your shoulders, her presence the right amount of concerned and warm.

”Do you think people can change?”

She gives you a knowing smile, the topic of conversation not being said out loud but obvious to the both of you. “When someone has the desire to, they can. Especially when they have a good reason to.”

The doorbell rings, and she kisses you on the cheek. “I’ll let you get that. I’m gonna run and grab the camera.”

You answer the door, half-expecting to see Chan with flowers and his signature grin. What you find, however, makes your heart constrict with surprise and longing that you didn’t expect to feel so strongly.

Sunghoon in a three-piece suit, hair slicked back, and a corsage looks like the picture-perfect man. When you envisioned this night before, the image of him in front of you always came to mind. And now, you could not be closer to and further from those expectations.

“I wanted to give you this before…I mean, I already bought it, and you deserve to have it.” He twiddles the corsage between his hands. His eyes ask for explicit permission before he places it on your wrist.

Without a second thought, you nod.

Sunghoon steps closer, relieved to have received the green light. The tension between you is palpable in the air, flickering hot and reflecting the same feelings you harbored weeks ago when you were in the same position then. He carefully puts the strap around your wrist, tightening it until it’s snug. 

The golden-trimmed roses match your dress flawlessly, so much so you wonder how he managed to remember the color of the dress you dreamed of for this night.

Like he can read your mind, he says, “You’ve been talking about this dance since the start of the school year.” He laughs, the sound hollow.

“Thank you,” you say, the two words expanding far beyond the roses on your wrist.

Thank you for the flowers. Thank you for going above and beyond with that check. Thank you for showing you’re trying.

The smile he gives you touches his eyes, the edges of his expression almost golden in the light of the sunset. “It’s the least I could do.”

Without thinking, he’s so close you can feel the rising pace of his and your breath mixing together. It would be so easy to close the distance, touch his lips with yours, and fall back into his embrace with no regard for the next minute.

Before you can contemplate it further, you see Chan out of the corner of your eye walking up your driveway. His mouth is in a firm line and his posture reflects his discomfort.

Sunghoon steps away from you. He acknowledges Chan with a nod, not terse or disrespectful, but clearly disappointed. He kisses the back of your palm quickly and lets it go. “Have fun tonight, okay?”

Before he walks away for good, leaving you and Chan alone, he finishes with, “By the way, you look breathtaking.”

As Chan gets closer and Sunghoon heads down the road to his car, you think maybe your ex is taking all of your breath with him.

Sunghoon downs the drink in the plastic cup. The tinge of alcohol Jay put in his drink can’t seem to take away the burn of watching you and Chan dance together. The DJ for the dance is playing  an uptempo number. Thankfully you’re not holding each other close, but it’s still a punch to the stomach seeing you smiling with a guy that isn’t him. In a gym filled with so many of his peers, he’s never felt so alone.

He drove to the dance by himself, Jake and Jay too entangled in their own love lives to soften the blow of Sunghoon’s continued misery. Heeseung and his girlfriend remain loved up in their own private corner of the dance floor. Sunghoon isn’t jealous or petty, though, although he’s well-accustomed to both emotions at this point. All he feels is some semblance of gratitude for the people enjoying the festivities of the night with a person they care about.

Heeseung’s girlfriend steps away from her partner with a kiss on his lips, somehow sensing Sunghoon’s despair. She walks over to him, a sad smile on her face as she approaches the lone guy at his idle table. “No luck, huh?”

Sunghoon nods and tips his drink at her. “You could say that.”

Heeseung comes up in record time, Sunghoon’s teammate unable to stay away from his lover for too long. He clears his throat and looks toward the younger guy with quiet condolences. “Listen, Hoon. Just talk to her and be honest. Stop dancing around your feelings.”

Sunghoon scoffs into his cup, the sound echoing in the plastic. “As if I could steal her away from beefcake over there. Like your missus said, she’s better off.”

“You know I apologized for that!” Heeseung’s girlfriend mirrors Sunghoon’s reaction, puffing out a breath of air and rolling her eyes. “And if that’s the case, why has she been looking over here at least every five minutes?”

Sunghoon glances past the rim of his cup and catches you staring just as Heeseung’s girlfriend makes her point.

Your eyes are filled with a plethora of unspoken feelings, ones Sunghoon may have the words for but cannot manage to speak. Why did words hold so much more power when it was too late to say them? Did he still have time at all, or was the opportunity to be transparent long gone? It’s too much to process; all he can do is look away from you, the guilt hitting him square in his chest.

Heeseung and his girlfriend share a conspiratory look, plotting something. Sunghoon takes a gulp of air, unsure if he wants to know exactly what they’re planning.

“Be on the rooftop in ten minutes. And make sure you know what you’re gonna say, idiot,” Heeseung’s girlfriend commands, her smirk flashing wickedly under the gymnasium lights.

“Hey!” Heeseung and his girlfriend run up to your spot by the punch bowl. You were absentmindedly staring at the fruit concoction in the tub while Chan had raced off to the bathroom, promising to be back in five.

“What’s up?” You ask, giving his girlfriend a polite and acknowledging smile.

“Something happened on the rooftop with one of the girls on the squad. I think she got food poisoning or something,”

“Yeah,” Heeseung’s girlfriend comments. “Wonyoung told us to get you ‘cause she needs some help bringing the poor girl back downstairs.”

You roll your eyes and set your cup on the plastic table in front of you. If it’s Leeseo again, you may just have to kill her.

The couple follows close behind as you make it to the stairwell door leading up to the rooftop. You wonder why the two didn’t help Wonyoung in the first place, but maybe the girl in question requested you personally and didn’t want to be embarrassed by being assisted by strangers.

Opening the rooftop entrance, you see Sunghoon standing near the edge, kicking gravel off the side of the building. Your heart seizes up, glad but caught off-guard to be seeing him right now.

In an instant, the door closes behind you, locking from the outside. You bang on it, unsure what’s happening. “What the fuck, guys?”

“You’re not coming out until we hear some talking!”

The sudden quiet is deafening, the only reprieve being the breeze passing through the trees surrounding the school. You run your hands across your arms, feeling the chill now that you’re outside but also unsure of what to do in this situation.

Sunghoon immediately sheds his jacket and walks over to you. He waits with the article in his hands before you nod meekly. He wraps it around your shoulders protectively, making sure your arms go through the sleeves. “Better?”

“Much, thank you,” you whisper.

Sunghoon looks deeply into your eyes, knocking any subsequent words from your conscious mind. You bite your lip instinctively, tense from his lack of distance between your bodies. Why did he still have the capability to steal your train of thought without trying?

He blows out a breath, the sound of his voice flimsy in the spring air. “When I first joined the basketball team, I didn’t know if and how I would measure up,” Sunghoon begins. “I was fifteen and terrified of playing next to someone as good as Heeseung and always being compared to him.

“And I took all those worries about being not good enough and took it out on everyone. I let it ruin the most perfect thing in my life because I thought acting like I didn’t care would stop me from feeling insecure. What an idiot, right?”

Sunghoon brushes a free bang from your face. His eyes are glassy, the vulnerability he’s showing you at an all-time high. “I should’ve realized the girl I love didn’t care if I was the best or the worst basketball player ever, as long as I was hers and didn’t forget it. I just didn’t know it then. And now that I’ve realized what a fool I’ve been, all I want now is to spend the rest of my time making it up to her.”

The confession knocks any remaining resolve out of you, unable to bear the pain in his face or the uncertainty that hangs in the air. You slam your lips into his, the kiss both bruising and healing in the same motion. It rejuvenates all the parts of you that had been withered away since the night you broke up and couldn’t be revived without him.

Sunghoon feels the effects of the kiss as well, his gasps and whimpers exemplifying his surprise and relief to have you back in his arms. Holding you, kissing you, being with you, you can tell he’s worried the moment’s a figment of his imagination. If he doesn’t cherish it, you’ll float away. And he can’t survive that for a second time.

You part for air, but your lips still ghost over each other’s, unable to be parted now that he’s within your reach again.

With your voice laced with the unshed tears in your eyes, you ask, “What took you so damn long, you idiot?”

Sunghoon can only respond with a joyful laugh and another kiss to your lips, making up for his unsaid apologies and shit timing with his mouth.

Now that your body is against his, your hearts beating rapidly but once-again in tune with each other, he’s certain now he’ll never be stupid enough to forget your worth and let you go again. Because the pleasure he used to call home is back in his life, and he couldn’t feel more at ease.

Sunghoon’s laughing when he unlocks the front door of his house, his face in a permanent grin since you kissed a few hours prior. You spent the time before ending up here driving around town, too enraptured with each other to focus on your friends or the rest of the dance’s festivities. You didn’t leave without Heeseung giving Sunghoon a slap to the back and Wonyoung crying at your reconciliation.

The house is quiet, a result of Sunghoon’s parents being abroad for the past few days. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look, by the way?” Sunghoon mentions again when he closes the door behind you. He immediately pulls you in by the waist, showering the skin of your neck in kisses.

You giggle and weave your hands into his hair, a gasp leaving you when he takes your earlobe between his teeth. “Probably for the hundredth time by now.”

“Well you do.” He presses another kiss to the spot below your ear, making you shiver. “And I’m not gonna stop saying it.”

You smirk and move your hands to both sides of his face, forcing you to look at him. “I didn’t expect the night to go like this.”

“I hope that’s a good thing.” His voice is teasing, but his eyes are suddenly lined with anxiety. His body tenses in your embrace, the worry that you’re having second thoughts weighing on his happiness.

You ease his doubts with a deep kiss, holding him close and hoping that assures him you’re not going anywhere. “A great thing.”

The smile you love so much appears once he’s at peace, and peppers your entire face with kisses. You laugh out loud, but he can tell you love the adoration he’s providing you.

You could definitely get used to this new Sunghoon, the night already filled with so much magic.

“I’ll be back.” He grins wide, canines on full display. Another kiss punctuates the sentence. “Don’t go anywhere.” Another.

You laugh out loud and nod your head. He dramatically holds onto your hand until he’s forced to let go. He runs down the hallway and into his bedroom, closing the door behind him and leaving you in the sitting room of his house.

Twenty minutes later, you’re sitting on the loveseat in the sitting room when Sunghoon comes back out.

“My lady, follow me.” He bows and holds out his hand for you to take, and you smile ear to ear when you lace your fingers with his. You’re unsure what’s waiting for you on the other side of his bedroom door, but you know it must be another surprise your boyfriend has gone above and beyond to amaze you with.

Surely enough, it makes you gasp out loud and press your free hand to your chest.

Sunghoon’s bedroom is showered in a radiant glow from dozens of candles, all different sizes but the same light creating a sweet, calming ambience. Fairy lights hang on the walls, aiding in the atmosphere he’s created. Music plays at a low sound from the speakers near the television, Sunghoon’s phone hooked up to the system. To top it all off, there’s another bouquet of white roses sitting on his side table, some petals lining the edges of the floor around his bed.

When you thought about this night in your dreams, it always ended here, being so in love. He’s made those dreams come true, right down to the letter, and you could not be more in love with him than in this moment.

Sunghoon comes closer. He presses his chest to your back, encasing your body with his arms and kissing your neck once again. You try to stifle the sob that comes out, but he hears it and retracts. “Shit, do you not like it? I can blow the candles out and–”

You turn in his embrace, shaking your head furiously. “No, I love it.” You wipe your tears, laughing at the reaction he’s pulled out of you. “I’m just–it doesn’t feel like it’s real.”

“It is.” He takes the side of your face in his hand, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. “And I’ll remind you every day if you need me to.”

“I love you so much,” you respond, kissing the inside of his palm. You pull him closer, reconnecting your lips with his. You feel whole in a way you haven’t in weeks, knowing now for certain this happiness coupled with Sunghoon’s love is the perfect combination to sustain you.

“I love you too,” he says in between kisses, his mouth turning sloppy. You feel his growing hardness against you. It had been months since the last time you were intimate. You think as Sunghoon pulls you in closer than before, groaning into your mouth, that tonight’s the perfect time to reconnect in more ways than just emotionally.

“I missed you so much,” you moan, tugging his jacket from his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. You run your arms across his chest, still covered by the cotton button up he’s wearing, but you quickly make do with the buttons on his shirt to feel the skin underneath. 

He shivers under your touch, but he manages to find the zipper of your dress and lower it down until the dress easily slips from your body. You step out of it, careful not to tread over the fabric. Your focus remains on  undressing Sunghoon until he’s as naked as you are, wearing only your underwear and shoes. He’s shirtless thanks to you undoing his buttons, but you want all of him exposed.

You try to pull down the zipper of his pants, but he stops you, his eyes lust-filled but patient. “This night is about you, baby. Not me.”

“Please, let me touch you.” You whine, holding onto the belt-loops on his pants.

“Not yet.” He moves you both back until you’re at the edge of the bed. He motions for you to sit down. Once you do, he gets onto his knees in front of you, the man you love on a mission. “Let me make you feel good first.”

He takes the heels off of your feet and sets them down beside your dress. When he does, he begins his slow torture of kissing up your ankles to the insides of your thighs. You lay your body back on his bed, whimpering and body on the verge of shaking when he finally pulls the underwear from your legs.

“Fuck, Hoon,” you say out loud when he presses a kiss to your clit, taking the nub between his lips and sucking tenderly while rubbing his hands on the curves of your hips. He takes one hand to reach out and grab one of your breasts, expertly taking your nipple between his thumb and index finger as his tongue licks along the insides of your center. “Please don’t stop,” you whisper.

“Wasn’t planning on it, my love.” His tongue moves at a faster pace, matching the writhing of your hips crashing into his face to gain every ounce of pleasure he’s giving you.

Before, you wouldn’t have imagined being back in this bedroom with him, and now there’s no other place you wanted to exist.

“Hoon, please. I want you,” you say, one hand clutching his comforter and the other entangled in his hair.

“You have me, always.” His tongue slips inside of your pussy, the feeling of the muscle against your walls causing you to cry out in pleasure.

“I’m not moving until you come, baby. I know you’re close.” The pleasure has been building since the moment he had his mouth wrapped around your neck when you stepped into his house. And now, with his mouth buried inside of you and sweet words accompanying such dirty actions fuels your body’s speedrun to your release.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you curse, your orgasm hitting you like the crash of a wave before you go underwater. But you don’t care to drown if it feels this satisfying.

You laugh breathlessly when the end of your release comes. Sunghoon wipes your essence off of his lips with the back of his hand, smiling bashfully. Every action of his before is incredibly contrary to his shy expression, but you love it.

Ridding himself of his pants, Sunghoon’s cock springs free from the constricting article of clothing. The tip is leaking with precum, but he isn’t in a rush to jump on top of you like the many times before when you both were too frustrated to worry with foreplay.

He kisses you with all he has when he crawls on top of you. His tongue inside of your mouth fills it with the taste of your slick. In a blip, he has a condom in his hand and puts it on with quick skill. There’s no need to prep you, your previous orgasm leaving you wet and waiting for him to line up with your entrance and slip inside.

He does it expertly. Both of you tremble from the feeling you long forgot felt so otherworldly, his cock making a home within your walls and your body adjusting to the delicious stretch.

The song in the background fills your ears with the sounds of a slow-strumming guitar, reflecting the thrust of Sunghoon’s hips. Your hips meet his when he’s filled you to the hilt, causing you to sigh. “Fuck, just like that.”

“You’re so beautiful,” Sunghoon whispers between thrusts, moaning sweet nothings into your mouth. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” you whisper in kind, gasping. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix with each press of his hips, exiting slowly and pushing back inside until there’s no space left to accommodate him.

How could you be so filled, figuratively and literally, by the love he had to offer you? For anyone else who’s never known the feelings stirring inside of you, a mixture of sinful pleasure and pure happiness, you feel sorry for them. If everyone in the world did, they might have been labeled as two extra wonders of the world.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come again,” you say, clutching onto his hips. You bite down on the skin of his shoulder, releasing your moans into his skin as his pace speeds up.

“Yes, baby, give it to me,” he groans, gulping hard and body frantic to take you both to the your climaxes. You feel the stars behind your eyes when your second orgasm comes, a long cry leaving your lips. Sunghoon matches it with a broken moan, the sound coming out in fragments as he spills inside of the condom.

Sunghoon lathers your face in deep, heartfelt kisses before pulling out. He walks to the bathroom quickly, throwing away the condom in the trash and grabbing a cloth to clean you up. He runs the fabric between your legs, careful not to press down too hard and overstimulate you.

You both crawl under the covers after he throws the rag in his hamper, your body immediately snuggling into his. The crown of your head receives another blitz of kisses, your smile hurting your cheeks from how wide it goes.

“I love you,” Sunghoon says, the words coming without a second thought.

And with no regrets on your mind or in your heart, resolute in your decision to forgive him, you say, “I love you, too, Hoon. Always.”

People could always change if they had the determination and inspiration to do so, and you know that for sure now. In  the arms of the one you love, that fact could not be more true.

@mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @dreamiestay

[captainmalewriter]

Miss Pigwin's Journal

Among the myriad of stereotypes surrounding gay men, Ivan never really fit into any of them. He was never the flamboyant queen nor the circuit party gay. Ivan always considered himself to be more of a lone wolf type. Although many would find the life of a social hermit boring and exhausting, Ivan truly didn’t mind his quiet, solitary lifestyle. Just class, work, gym, rinse and repeat. It was a simple routine, but it was one that Ivan loved. 

One evening, after his engineering classes, Ivan made a quick pit stop at the local store before heading back to his apartment. He needed to buy a new journal after he had filled out the last page the night before. Journaling was a hobby that Ivan took very seriously. For the past five or so years, Ivan would take 10 minutes every night to write his complete, unfiltered thoughts in his journal before bed. It was a therapeutic practice for Ivan, and he did not plan to stop anytime soon. 

Ivan was hoping to find a stylish yet relatively cheap journal but was quickly met with disappointment instead as he made his way down the stationary aisle. The store had completely run out of notebooks! A nearby employee told Ivan that the overnight crew would restock the store and that he should return the next day, but he was too determined to give up after having gone through the trouble of walking to the store. He scoured the store until he finally found one misplaced notebook, although its gaudy design left much to be desired…

It was a bright pink journal with glimmering sequins and came with a large bundle of pink ribbon. The journal had an ugly cartoon drawing of a pig in a princess dress along with her name ‘Miss Pigwin’ written in glitter across the top of the cover page. Ivan pulled out his phone and did a quick internet search to find out more about the Miss Pigwin notebook. Apparently, it was limited edition merchandise for some obscure children’s cartoon that never made it past 5 episodes. The idea behind Miss Pigwin was that kids could better understand their pets by helping them communicate with them. Kids were tie a piece of ribbon around an animal, and with Miss Pigwin's help, they would become their best friends. At least that was what the old advertisements promised anyway.

Obviously, the designers meant it to be used for pets like dogs and cats, so it was no wonder the pink journal was quickly discontinued after kids tried to tie ribbons around dangerous, wild animals instead. All in all, it was just cheap scraps of overly decorated paper for imaginative little girls. 

Ivan didn’t care much for the girly pink notebook. However, it was still a notebook at the end of the day, and the $5 price tag was too enticing to give up. He bought it and promptly returned to his apartment where his roommate Jesse was hosting a few of his frat friends over for beer pong. 

Ivan and Jesse were not friends but they were civil enough as roommates. Jesse wasn’t officially a part of a frat yet, but he already had the wild personality of a frat brother anyway. Jesse’s constant partying and drinking was annoying to Ivan, so he often made himself scarce—  as he did that night. He went about his usual nighttime routine and thankfully, by the time he sat down at his desk to journal, all of Jesse’s guests were gone. But just before he could touch pen to paper, Jesse came stumbling into the room.

“Hey, bro, you got any ribbon or string by any chance?” Jesse asked. Ivan hesitated saying yes right away.

“Maybe, what for?” 

“There’s this stupid Tiktok trend going on right now. Dudes are tying a piece of ribbon around their bicep and flexing until it breaks. The bros are saying I need to do every trend I see if I wanna continue rushing.”

“Cool, makes sense. Here, you can have it all. I don’t need it.”

Ivan took the bundle of ribbon that came with the Miss Pigwin journal and helped Jesse tie a piece around his bicep. Although Ivan did not like Jesse in that way, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit excited as he wrapped the ribbon around his straight roommate’s muscular arm. It was probably the only time he’d be that close to Jesse, so he relished in the moment as much as he could. Once it was tied, Jesse thanked him and left the room to record his Tiktok. Meanwhile, Ivan returned to his journal and began writing. 

March 12th - I am soo fucking h*rny. Sometimes, I wish my roommate would give in to his secret desires and just makeout with me already. 

Just as Ivan finished writing the last letter, a terrifying scream coming from the living room interrupted his journaling session. He quickly ran out with the pink journal in hand and saw Jesse straining himself to break the ribbon. No matter how hard he flexed, the pink ribbon stayed firmly wrapped around his bicep.

Although Ivan was worried about the pink ribbon constricting Jesse's arm, he couldn't help but stare at the massive bulge in his roommate's gray sweatpants. It was huge! Was Jesse hard? Ivan always had a feeling that his straight roommate was packing some serious heat downstairs, but he would've never guessed he'd be that big and thick! Just seeing his bulge was enough to make Ivan's jaw drop!

"Dude is this ribbon made out of fucking titanium or some shit! Where the fuck did you even get this!?" Jesse yelled out in anguish. It was enough to bring Ivan back down to Earth.

"I don't know! It came free with this weird notebook I found."

"Whatever!! Just go get the scissors! This shit's way too tight, my arm's starting to go numb!"

"Right! Hang on, I'll be right back!"

Uh oh!!

Just as Ivan turned around to go get the scissors, a sudden high-pitched voice made him stop dead in his tracks. It was a girl's voice, and it was coming from the notebook in his hands. Ivan looked down and froze from what he saw. The cartoon princess pig had come to life!

Uh oh!! It looks like our new friend isn't being a very good listener! Let's play some music to help clear his mind!

Miss Pigwin began singing a melody while soft piano music played. The music had no effect on Ivan, but it did on Jesse. Jesse suddenly stopped fighting and just laid flat on the floor. Within seconds, he had gone from a pissed off jock trying to rip the ribbon off his arm to eerily calm and relaxed. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled heavily. Jesse had a dazed look in his eyes once he opened them. He had a dull, almost sleepy-like expression plastered on his face too. It was like he was sedated by simply listening to Miss Pigwin's song! Only once Jesse was fully relaxed did Miss Pigwin finally stop the music.

Yayyy!! No more distracting thoughts! Now what did our best friend tell us?

Ivan watched in awe as Jesse got up from the ground while massaging his protruding bulge. His movements were almost mechanical, like a mindless robot following orders. He then began walking towards Ivan while reciting what Ivan had written inside the Miss Pigwin journal.

"I'm soo h*rny... I just wanna make out with my roommate. I'm soo h*rny... I just wanna make out with my roommate. I'm soo h*rny... I just wanna make out with my roommate."

It was incredible. Despite having never read it, Jesse kept repeating what Ivan had written over and over like a personal mantra!

Once Jesse closed the gap between them, Ivan got a good look how dilated his pupils were. It was quite the sight to see, though Jesse didn't give Ivan any time to react. Instead, he quickly joined his lips with Ivan's and kissed him roughly. Ivan was caught off guard by the surprise kiss but quickly matched Jesse's energy as the two kissed like it was their last night being alive. Ivan could hardly believe it. He had gone from merely tolerating his roommate's existence to making out with him in the same night! He felt himself light up with joy and pleasure as Jesse's hairy chest pressed against his with every kiss.

They continued at it for a while, locking lips until they gradually moved towards the couch. From there, they both discarded any remaining clothes they had on. Ivan hopped into Jesse's strong arms and went in for another deep kiss. He was shuddering with anticipation as he felt Jesse's rock hard boner tap against his butt. Luckily for him, it didn't take them much longer until they decided to get into position. Ivan spit onto Jesse's cock to lube it up, then guided it into his hole. A deep, sensual moan escaped his mouth as Jesse slowly thrusted his hips into him. Inch by inch, his dick disappeared into his ass. The room then filled with the sounds of men grunting and heavy, cum-filled balls clapping against Ivan's cheeks. Ivan was in heaven, while Jesse was in a trance with only one thought in his mind. Give into his desires, and makeout with his roommate.

Ivan woke up the next morning feeling like a brand new man after the amazing pounding he had received from Jesse. To say he was in a state of bliss would be a massive understatement! Even just remembering the feeling of Jesse's massive cock inside of him was enough to make Ivan smile with delight. But his grin quickly faded when he reached out for the Miss Pigwin journal and found it wasn't where he had left it before falling asleep. Even worse, he found a piece of pink ribbon had been tied around his wrist while he was sleeping.

"No... Nononono NOO!!"

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty! Looking for something?"

To Ivan's horror, Jesse was holding the Miss Pigwin journal and he looked furious! Although, despite the present danger, Ivan couldn't help but notice that Jesse still had the same ribbon tied around his bicep.

"Hey man... Let's put down the journal, and have a civilized conversation between adults. I promise it's not what it looks like, just let me ex-"

"Nahh FUCK that. I'm glad I woke up just before you did, otherwise I would've never found out what the fuck you did to me with this weird journal. You always gave me weird vibes but this? I... I don't even know where to start I'm so MAD!"

Jesse slammed a fist against the wall, startling Ivan. He then let out a maniacal chuckle as he pulled out a pen and opened the journal.

"Alright, Ivan, you wanna fuck up my mind so badly? Two can play at that game!"

Loud scribbling filled the room. Once he finished, Jesse read out loud what he wrote.

"Ivan's too serious for his own good. He needs to lighten up and join my frat so we can become best bros forever!!"

"...That's stupid. I'm not gonna do that."

"Are you sure?"

Uh oh!!

"I think Miss Pigwin might disagree with-"

Ivan smacked the book out of Jesse's hands, catching him off guard. The journal landed against the wall with a loud thud. Ivan wasted no time making a break for the journal. He bought himself a few seconds by smacking it away from Jesse. Those few seconds were all he needed to open the journal to a new page and write something down. In the heat of the moment, he could only think of one thing to write.

"Jesse's gay 4 me!"

"YOU FUCKER! ERASE THAT SHIT RIGHT NOW!!"

Jesse grabbed the journal but Ivan had a tight grip on it. The two slammed into the nearby walls and furniture as they tried to wrestle it out of the other's hands. The Miss Pigwin journal was getting torn and crumpled up in the crossfire of their fight, but that didn't stop the princess from carrying out her sole purpose.

It looks- New friend- Good listener! Let's- Some music- clear his mind!

Miss Pigwin began singing her soothing song, forcing both men into a hypnotic trance as they listened. They both fell to the ground screaming as the pink ribbons grew tighter around their bodies. They tried plugging their ears with their fingers, but it was already too late. The second they heard the first few notes of her song, Miss Pigwin was already deep within subconscious- ready to broadcast whatever was written in the journal directly into their brains. However, because the journal had gotten destroyed during the fight, Miss Pigwin's subliminal messaging turned out to be incredibly potent than usual.

Ivan fell back against the ground in a daze. He couldn't believe how discombobulated he was. It was like he was trapped underwater as he felt his mind beginning to clear of any and all thoughts. Ivan let out a heavy sigh as a powerful, cool calm filled his body. Soon enough, the only thing he could think about was how badly he wanted to become a frat bro just like Jesse. Ivan repeated his new life mantra to himself as his mind became hyper focused on only one goal.

"I need to lighten up... I need to join a frat... I need to become best bros with Jesse..."

A lot of his engineering knowledge got wiped away from his mind to make room for his new personality. Mathematics and physics were replaced with workout regimes and a strong, itching need to drink and get laid. The partying lifestyle of the frat bro that once repulsed Ivan became as normal as breathing to the former homebody gay man. Ivan tried resisting against Miss Pigwin's conditioning. He tried reminding himself how much he loved a quiet night at home by himself. He tried recalling how much he hated loud, obnoxious men who did nothing but party and drink all night. But everytime he tried fighting against it, the little voice repeating his mantra grew louder and louder until all opposition was completely stamped out. Ivan had been reborn.

As he rose from the ground with an altered conscience and personality, the only thing on Ivan's mind was how to maximize his gains the next time he hit the gym. After all, how could he even dare to show his face around his frat brothers if he couldn't keep up with them in terms of bodybuilding?

Meanwhile, Jesse laid out sprawled on the ground as a calm stupor washed over his aggravated mind. Soon enough, his mind became a quiet place where only one thought remained.

"I'm gay for Ivan... I'm gay for Ivan... I'm gay... For Ivan..."

Jesse repeated the same sentence to himself until the words no longer felt foreign leaving his mouth. Soon enough, saying he was gay for Ivan felt as natural as saying his name. His desires to sleep with women melted away from his subconscious everytime he recited his new mantra.

Like Ivan, Jesse tried fighting against it. He tried remembering the taste and feel of a woman's touch, but it was no use against Miss Pigwin's powerful conditioning. His memories of being with women were quickly fading. In their place, a deep, profound love for his roommate-turned-loved began to take hold. Within minutes, Jesse wanted nothing more in life than to stand by his boyfriend's side and make sure he felt loved.

Once Ivan and Jesse woke up to their new personalities, Miss Pigwin finished her song, never to be heard from again due to the journal being in tatters. Jesse woke up with a headache and with a grinning Ivan by his side.

"Good morning my handsome boyfriend, how'd you sleep?"

"Amazing because I slept with you, my love." Jesse joined his lips against Ivan's. The two shared a deep kiss filled with passion, ending with a loud smack when they finally pulled apart.

"You ready for today? I can't wait to start the rushing process, then we can join together!" Ivan flashed a wide smile. Jesse wrapped his hands around Ivan's neck.

"The frat can wait till later. Right now, I want you all to myself."

He pulled Ivan in for another kiss. The two men then proceeded to fuck all morning, completely unaware of the strange circumstances that led them to that point. All thanks to a little princess pig on the cover of a bright pink notebook.

[chuuyascumsock]

You're All I Want [Week Two] || MINORS DNI

Summary: No one really seems to fit your standards, your roommate, Chuuya, proves otherwise.

Tags: Chuuya Nakahara/Reader, Female reader, 3.5k Words, Jealous Chuuya, Cunnilingus, Pussy Worship, Overstimulation, Spitting, Cum Eating, Chuuya Comes In His Pants, Petnames (Pretty Girl, Dollface, Sweetheart, etc.), He Should Be The Standard Tbh, Wyd If Your Man Isn’t A 5’3” Ginger Mafia Executive, Perhaps I Projected Slightly Since It’s My Birthday In Two Days And This Is My Gift To Me, Mwah.

Sinners: @pe4rl-diver , @sakui1 , @mxya-dreams , @runs-withscissors , @writingandmusing , @mairia-chan , @dearestwitchtrials

Becoming a mafia executive’s roommate was not on your to-do list, yet here you were— from moving what was left of your belongings into a large empty room to finally redecorating the minimalist aesthetic your roommate’s apartment seemed to take on with him barely being there already due to his occupation. You seemed to fill a space in Chuuya’s life that he didn’t know he was missing.

Now there wasn’t a day he didn’t come home late into the night and not expect you to be up and about doing your own activities, acting as if you were some nocturnal deviant that haunts the night with random shenanigans. He can’t count how many times he’s walked in to find you nursing one of his cheaper bottles of wine and cooking or baking something that you just happened to find while scrolling through social media, offering him some in return with an awkward grin to avoid his wrath for finishing nearly half his bottle. Of course, he was always too tired to fight you on the matter from the day and would take the rest of the bottle for himself before sitting at the island counter to wait for you to finish with whatever you were making.

Or the amount of times you bought something new to add on to the decorations in your apartment, showing it off proudly to Chuuya as you placed it next to the tons of other random vintage-looking trinkets and paintings you got in the past. Though he never complained much because how could he argue about how busy the decorating looked when he was barely there to look at it in the first place?

And when he got the day off, you were there with him most often, binging movie series or begging to go shopping with him because you couldn’t help but marvel at the small stationary sections they had in the stores he frequented. He rolls his eyes and scoffs every time with a snarky, yet harmless comment to make about your buying habits— wondering when you’d ever need a dog themed wine opener, only to realize weeks later that he had been using it every time he opened a new bottle and that you payed close attention to his likes and dislikes. It made him feel a little bit better about allowing you to be his roommate at all, not sure how it would go with how you were when you first met.

He never once thought he’d experience having a woman come up to him while was in the middle of fighting at least five opposing gang members to ask him for directions to the nearest convenience shop. Of course, he almost didn’t have that chance to advance any further with you as he had with the onslaught of bullets that came your way, but with his ability and quick reflexes, he pulled you out of the way to take cover behind a car, chastising you on your social awareness— or lack thereof. Your reasoning behind approaching him out of everyone else in the area was beyond him, and you admit that you don’t even know why yourself, seemingly finding that you were just naturally drawn to him. And he did eventually get you to that convenience store that you were asking about.

How you ended up being roommates? Chuuya likes to blame the fact that he was partly raised by Kouyou to be a gentleman for his choice of offering you a place in his apartment after you met him once more weeks later at a bar, whining about the flooding in your apartment complex that had everyone looking for a new place to live, including yourself. He’d never seen you look so flustered and timid, trying to back track and stumble over how it really wasn’t a big deal and how you were just going to couch surf with one of your friends until you found somewhere else to stay.

If there was something that Chuuya was, it was stubborn, but he learned that night that you were too— going back and forth for nearly an hour with each other until you were immediately persuaded with the promise of him taking you out to ice cream after getting you sobered up and back to your place to collect what was left of your items.

You settled in quickly and easily, your presence becoming one that Chuuya couldn’t ignore if missing.

Which is why he was so put off by your absence one night when he came home to find everything in dead silence with all the lights and TV shut off. It almost felt… empty, and it caught Chuuya off-guard. Maybe you went to bed early for once? But usually when that happened, you always— always left the TV on while you slept away on the couch, curled up cutely beneath one of his expensive throw-blankets. There was the chance that you weren’t feeling well and decided to sleep in your room for once, but after quietly shuffling over to your room and peeking in, your bed was empty— sheets strewn about and your multitude of pillows bunched around your sleeping spot.

Then he thought there was always the possibility that you got one of your random cravings for a specific junk food and went down to the small convenience shop down the road to buy it. But he knows that you always drag him along no matter how tired you both are or how long you have to wait for him to get home because you feel safer with him.

Pacing back into his room, he takes off his hat and gloves, hands sweaty as he takes out his phone. On one hand, he doesn’t understand why his nerves are acting up because you were probably fine— you had other friends— maybe you’re with them. But there’s still that small thought in the back of his mind that there may be something wrong and he knows it’s definitely because of everything that he’s dealt with in the mafia, including watching nearly everyone he’s ever cared about die. He clicks on your name and sends you a text asking where you are, and if you didn’t answer in five minutes, he’d try to call, and then possibly even go looking for you— but you answer almost immediately and he lets out a soft, relieved sigh that he didn’t even realize he was holding in.

“Didn’t you see my note on the fridge? Aww. You miss me that much (＾ｖ＾)?” As he read your message, he could hear your voice clear in his mind, a small huff leaving his nose as he does. Finally being able to relax, he makes his way into the kitchen and turns the light on to see a yellow sticky note plastered to the fridge with your writing in pink glittery ink. “Won’t be home till super late, on a date. Made udon earlier, leftovers in the fridge.”

Letting the information settle in, he only focuses on the first sentences of your note, a blank look on his face as he re-reads it at least three more times.

A date? He didn’t realize you were even interested in that stuff, or maybe he just assumed you weren’t because he wasn’t interested in it due to focusing on the mafia. At least until now. He doesn’t understand the irritation that eats at him at the thought of you spending your free time with some guy that doesn’t know you at all, probably more interested in the thought of what’s beneath your clothes than anything else. But that’s not his business, so he shouldn’t have a say in it. He wasn’t a controlling person— outside of the mafia at least— he thinks. So why does he feel like he deserves to put any of his two cents in on you going out and enjoying yourself?

He’s barely able to sleep with these thoughts running through his head, deciding to drink a glass of wine while sitting on the couch to soothe his nerves. But it doesn’t stop until he hears the front door unlock and open, a pair of heels clicking against the wood floor. Which was interesting because you didn’t own heels— not going out enough to really bother with them. His head turns to look behind him over the back of the couch, sucking in a breath when he catches a glimpse of you in a tight dress, bent over to take your heels off. His head whips around to face straight again and tries to rid of the image burned in his retinas, free hand coming up to rub at his eyes.

Your feet slap against the ground quietly as you walk over to the couch, moving to sit on the other end of it and lean against the arm rest. You slouch over and sigh tiredly, ready to doze off. “How was work?” You ask, voice groggy.

Glancing away, Chuuya avoids looking at you, deciding to focus on his wine. “It was fine… jus’a lot of paperwork today,” He stiffly replies before hesitantly asking in return, “How was your date?”

He could not explain the relief he felt for a second time that night when he heard your groan of disdain, clearly having had a failed date. “It was going well and then after dinner he said that he wanted a blowjob because he was entitled to one after paying for my dinner even though I offered to pay for my own half. So really, he was just a douchebag,” You mumble out as you curl up further against the armrest, tugging a folded up throw-blanket off of the back of the couch to cover yourself with.

A loud scoff escapes Chuuya lips before he comments, “Yeah, sounds like a real piece of work.”

“S’not even the first time this stuff has happened,” And this fact has Chuuya eyeing you.

“You went on more dates?” He tries not to sound like he’s about to burst a vein, but knowing that you’ve gone on more dates than just the one guy has him nearly foaming at the mouth.

Shifting to sit up a bit, you wrap the blanket around your body and tuck your hands under your chin, watching him brew in a small bout of anger. “Yeah— went on a few actually, but they sucked too. I just went earlier in the evening while you were at work. Why’re you getting so worked up?” You hold back the amusement in your voice and let your eyes follow his bare hand to come up and run through his hair.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Would’ve kicked their asses,” Chuuya grumbles instead of answering your question directly. It makes you giggle quietly, holding back more laughs when his head whips over to look at you and his face scrunches up. “What? What are you laughin’ about? They’re fuckin’ assholes…” He strains, his cheeks flushing at your small grin.

“Nothing… just think it’s a little funny that you’re getting more upset about it than me,” You point out, moving over to sit closer to him.

“Because— cause…” Chuuya trails off, glancing to the side as his face only grows a darker shade of pink. “Guys can be jerk offs, okay? I would know. And it’s bullshit that they treat you like that.” You can tell that something is making him act unusual from his normal nonchalant demeanor— and it only encourages you to get even closer to him until you’re leaning shoulder to shoulder with him.

You think it’s a little cute that he’s so defensive over you, feeling his body stiffen at how you’re pressed against him before relaxing a bit, but still avoiding eye contact. “It’s fine, I’ll just chill on the dates for a while, no one’s been meeting any of my standards anyway. I’m starting to think I’m a little picky.”

“Yeah? What’s your standards?” He mumbles, staring down at his half full wine class as he waits for your response. But instead, he feels the weight against his body shift, your chest now pressing against his arm and warm breath blowing against the side of his neck. Turning his head to look at you, he sucks in a quiet breath as his heterochromatic eyes meet yours in a stare. You gaze at him with a knowing look, eyelids falling into a lull and pupils flickering down to focus on his lips— and he’s done for.

There is no perception of how much time has passed from Chuuya’s lips meeting yours to him lifting you up by the thighs to carry you off into his room and throw you down onto his bed. Climbing over you to hover above your body, his hands are pushing the hem of your dress up eagerly and fumbling to get his own shirt off, lips moving along yours messily, smacking together loudly as he presses you further into the mattress. Everything about his movements are desperate and impatient, taking you back as you had never seen him like this. You eventually tangle your fingers into his slightly mused hair to pull him off of you, panting loudly as you take in breaths of air.

A low groan rumbles from the back of Chuuya’s throat as he subconsciously moves back down to chase your lips, only to be met with your hand tugging on his hair again and an airy laugh from you. “Chuuya, slow down.”

Chuuya lets out a heavy huff, head falling to rest in the crook of your neck as his hands move up to rub along your sides. “You make it hard, pretty girl– ‘specially with this dress on. God, it drives me crazy knowing you wore this for someone else, s’just not fair,” He groans, fingers dragging down to finally push your dress over your hips to reveal your bare cunt to him. You weren’t wearing a damn thing underneath your dress. Chuuya feels at a loss for words, lips parting and pressing together in attempts to find the words he’s looking for before uttering a soft, “Fuck,” And meeting your gaze. “You’re not wearing anything,” He shakily utters, cock twitching to strain against his pants.

“I kind of forgot to do my laundry last night…” You shrug with a timid grin.

He nearly laughs— it’s just like you to do something like this— but he’s too distracted by the way your hand runs through his hair and legs shamelessly rubbing together to do so, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. He’s quick to decide his next moves at the sight, hands gripping your thighs to spread them open as he shifts himself down the bed to hover between your legs.

There’s a strangled noise that squeaks out from your throat at his impatient movements, cheeks burning when his rough hands press against the insides of your thighs to press your legs against the mattress, leaving yourself on full display for him. “What are you doing?” You slightly squirm beneath him.

“Stop that,” He orders firmly, pressing his hands harder down against your thighs. “I wanna taste you,” He murmurs, lips pressing down just below your belly button before moving down to your drooling cunt, his breath hot on your sensitive skin. If he wasn’t hard before, he certainly was now, grunting at the feeling of his aching length pressed against the mattress.

“You don’t have to do that, Chuuya,” You card a hand through his coppery tresses, tugging them for him to look at you.

Chuuya’s mismatched eyes trail up to meet yours, brows narrowed, face still hovering close to you. “I’m doing this cause I want to, dollface, so quit stalling and let me eat this pretty pussy out,” He huffs, bringing a hand down to spread your slick folds apart with his fingers. “Fuck, Sweetheart, can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this,” He groans, leaning in to place a wet kiss against your core. There’s a deep chuckle that leaves him when your hips jolt faintly under his touch and you bite back a moan. “Filthy girl, you like me kissing on your sloppy cunt like this?” He growls out, lips meet your warm insides again, moving against your labia and dripping entrance lewdly as his tongue slips out to lap up your arousal.

You can’t help but tighten your fingers in his hair, whimpering at the feeling of him making out with your pussy, tongue dragging through your lower lips painfully slow to savor your taste all the while staring up at you intensely through his lashes. “Chuuya…”

Chuuya hums softly against you, parting from your pussy with a soft kiss to your clit. “You taste so fuckin’ good, y’know that, pretty girl? Could’ve been doing this ages ago instead of wasting your time on those other guys,” He sighs, readjusting his arms to wrap around each of your thighs and rest them on his shoulders as he leaned back in to wrap his lips around your throbbing clit. His hips grind subtly into the mattress, desperate to rid of the stiffness in his weeping cock, whining lowly into you.

A gasp slips from your parted lips, hips bucking into him needily. “T-Thought you weren’t interested so I— ah— didn’t say anything. Mm! Shit, that feels really good, Chuuya,” You moan out when he sucks harshly at your sensitive nub, your fingers tangling into his messy hair further as you tug at them.

“Could’ve jus’ asked, doll,” He muffles, detaching his lips briefly to spit a glob of saliva onto your clit, watching it trail down to your entrance before bringing his thumb to swipe it back up to your clit, rubbing it in to mix with your arousal. “Like I’d pass up a gorgeous girl like you,” He trails off, burying himself back into you to plunge his tongue past your tight entrance, smothering your spit slickened nub with his thumb.

Your hips only grind harder against him with each curl of his tongue and rub of his thumb, eyes fluttering shut tightly and lips parting further with each broken moan. It’s difficult to respond or even think much with the stirring pleasure coiled in your lower stomach, the only words falling from your mouth being his name. You can’t even move away from the overwhelming pleasure when your release crashes down on you without warning, his arms locking you against him tightly, lips noisily smacking and slurping up everything you have to offer, his own loud groans reverberating against your pussy as he humps against the mattress with fervor, chasing his own high.

You let out a soft cry when he continues eating you out, rolling your pulsing clit between his teeth and tongue before suckling roughly, attempting to pull another orgasm out of you. “Oh, fuck! Chuuya, please— can’t— fuck, fuck— m’coming again,” You choke between whimpers, pulling roughly at his hair as you mindlessly buck your hips against his face until you’re coming for a second time on his tongue which has his own hips stuttering against the mattress as he comes in his pants.

Chuuya finally pulls himself away, placing a final kiss to your inner thigh before shifting to his knees and climbing back over you to cup the side of your neck and pull you into a needy kiss, the taste of your cum still on his tongue. “Y’pretty when you lose yourself like that, dollface. Had me comin’ in my pants,,” He chuckles breathlessly, trailing kisses down your chin to your neck and then back up to peck your lips. “You okay?” He asks, watching you tremble beneath him.

You give a lazy nod, your eyes meeting him to see his pupils lust-blown, hair wildly messed up, and chin drenched with your slick. One of your hands moves to the side of his face, thumb swiping over his chin to wipe away some of the mess he made with a small smile. “I’m okay,” You whisper, voice a bit raspy. “Are you okay?”

He gives you a lopsided grin, catching his breath, “Yeah, M’fine, sweetheart.” He then moves to lay beside you, tugging your dress all the way off your body to toss aside and pepper kisses along your shoulder, curling up against you. He ignores the dark stain in his slacks, leaving it to be a problem for later as he relaxes.

“Hey… Chuuya,” You call out, head turning to face him, nose bumping against his.

“Yeah, doll?”

“I lied about going on more than the one date tonight, I just wanted to see your reaction,” You admit, watching Chuuya’s face twist into multiple different emotions before settling on a blank look.

“You’re not walking for a week after tonight.”

“Woah! Let’s talk about this, I was just joshin’ you!“

“We’ll see how funny it is when you’re using crutches—“