#in all honesty that was not either of their faults
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newkatzkafe2023 · 2 days ago
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HOW 'BOUT A WUKONG X READER WHO IS BASICALLY HARU FROM BEASTARS, SHE'S A CUTE PRETTY BUNNY WHO STRUGGLES WITH BULLYING/INFERIORITY ISSUES DUE TO THE FACT THAT SHE'S A MISUNDERSTOOD STRONG GIRL( EITHER SHE'S SEEN AS A WHORE BY WOMEN OR AS A TOY TO PROTECT BY MEN WICH IS SOMETHING SHE HATES)
I never watched beastars, but I like her character especially when she stuck to muzuchi 😈
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(Lmk Wukong) You guys have something very special between the two of you. Wukong loves and respects your honesty and truth to yourself more than anyone, especially when he himself has to deal with judgment. You never hesitate to stand up for him as much as you stand up for yourself, and he never says anything about your past sexual nature. All of that is your business, but what he loves the most is your bravery and kindness. Their were times when you protected Mk and stood up to the celestials about the harbinger of chaos bullsh*t, and that was something Wukong could never get over. Overall, Wukong loves you and hopes you never stop being true to yourself.
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(MKR Wukong) Oh my gosh, you guys would be perfect together, Wukong loves how you can clearly defend yourself. Though he would only step in when your in physical danger, which shocked you. Wukong doesn't Patronize you or treat you like a toy, you are his wife and queen and he respects your strength and bravery. You didn't know how to feel for once but you appreciate it especially when your short-tempers tend to go hand in hand.
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(NR Wukong) He loves how true you are to yourself very similar to himself, you both don't care for others opinions. Wukong love how unapologetic you are and kind to everyone, you carefree nature that help Li and Su open up right away to you. You enjoy all your conversations and outings you do together, even getting Wukong to join you. You are honest to a fault and you even stood up for Li whenever Ao Bing would try to bully Him. You wouldn't hesitate to support and help them, and Wukong loved you for it.
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(HIB Wukong) You both have somethings in common, you both don't take sh*t for anyone. Though you also keep each other at w distance when you both started dating but for different reasons. He had absolutely no opinion on your promiscuity because that's both the past and your business, and with that you saw a that Wukong was a good match for you. You love Luier and Silly girl too as your child like traits join together in joy.
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(Netflix Wukong) When you both met Wukong was immediately tookin back by how kind and carefree you were to him. You also don't hesitate to stand up for him and Lin as people would judge or bully them, your kindness never ending. Though you would be tell the truth to Wukong about how you feel about, his recklessness or impulsive Decision making. However not in a tone of judgment but in a way that shows how worried you are about him. Wukong ever since he met Lin, that he would have someone else care about him like that.
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(BMW Wukong) Now this is kinda tricky to explain, Wukong respects your honesty and bravery but he still feels that you need to be protected. Not because of your size or status but because he has alot of enemies that will hurt you physically. Wukong loves your emotional strength and bravery, joining him. He also laughs whenever you talk back to the big bad Celestials, but anyway you both will always have each other's backs.
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(Destined one) You guys are a dream team together, the brain and brawn duo. The Destined one you felt like you can easily open up to as he seems to have a slow reaction time. Though the Destined one does get worried about you, as your bravery against enemies bigger than you two combined as your protection over your husband overrides your fear. I also feel the Destined one shares your bluntness and resilience as you both won't see the point of lying to yourselves, and it can be humorous, by the way. You're still taller than Bajie as though.
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FEEL FREE TO REBLOG🐇
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al-1-na · 1 day ago
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𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 ~ 𝟒
༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺
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༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺
The move to New York happened faster than you expected. Drew wrapped up his commitments on the film and, true to his word, took some time off to figure things out with you. You found a small apartment in Brooklyn—tiny by any standard but perfect for two people who couldn’t bear to be apart anymore.
At first, it felt like a dream. Drew was there when you woke up, his sleepy smile the first thing you saw every morning. He walked you to the subway on your way to work, insisting on carrying your coffee and kissing you goodbye on the platform.
You introduced him to your favorite haunts—the bagel shop on the corner, the used bookstore where you’d spent countless weekends, the rooftop garden where you went to think. And he brought his world into yours, sharing stories about life on set, showing you his favorite films, and even letting you read an early script he was considering.
But as the weeks passed, the cracks began to show.
Drew had always been confident, charming, and self-assured. But in New York, where you had your own life and your own circle of friends, he sometimes seemed… lost. He wasn’t used to slowing down, to having days without a packed schedule or a clear direction.
One night, you found him sitting on the couch, staring at his laptop.
“What’s wrong?” you asked, sitting beside him.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I guess I just feel… useless. You’re out there working, doing what you love, and I’m here trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing.”
You placed a hand on his knee, your heart aching for him. “Drew, you don’t have to figure it all out right now. This time is about us—about being together. You’ve been working nonstop for years. Maybe it’s okay to take a break.”
He looked at you, his expression softening. “Yeah, but what if I’m not good at this? At being still?”
“You’re not ‘being still,’” you said firmly. “You’re building something here, with me. That matters, too.”
He smiled then, pulling you into his lap. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”
“I don’t,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “But I know you. And I know you’ll figure this out.”
❥❥❥❥
The next few months were a mix of highs and lows. Drew started auditioning for theater roles, drawn to the idea of performing live, but the rejections stung more than he let on. Meanwhile, your job became more demanding, with long hours and late nights that left little time for the two of you.
One night, you came home to find Drew in the kitchen, a half-burnt dinner on the stove and a guilty look on his face.
“I was trying to make lasagna,” he admitted, gesturing to the mess.
You laughed, wrapping your arms around his waist. “It’s the thought that counts.”
But as you cleaned up together, the stress of the past few weeks bubbled to the surface.
“I miss you,” Drew said suddenly, setting a plate in the sink.
You turned to him, surprised. “I’m right here.”
“Not really,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “You’re always at work, and when you’re home, you’re exhausted. I get it—it’s not your fault. But I didn’t come here to feel like I’m losing you again.”
His words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Drew, I’m doing this for us. To build a life together.”
“I know,” he said, his hands running through his hair. “But what’s the point if we don’t have time to actually live it?”
Silence hung between you, the weight of his words sinking in.
Finally, you stepped closer, reaching for his hand. “I don’t want to lose us, either. Maybe I need to figure out how to balance this better.”
“And maybe I need to stop putting all this pressure on myself to figure out my next big move,” he admitted. “I think… I just got scared. Scared that if I’m not enough, you’ll realize you don’t need me.”
Your heart broke at his honesty, and you pulled him into a tight embrace. “You are enough, Drew. Always. This isn’t about what you do—it’s about who you are. And I love who you are.”
He held you close, his arms wrapped around you like a lifeline. “I love you, too,” he whispered.
That night, you stayed up talking, making promises to each other to try harder, to communicate better, to always put you two first.
❥❥❥❥
In the months that followed, you found your rhythm. Drew started working on an off-Broadway production, throwing himself into the challenge with his trademark dedication. You scaled back your hours at work, carving out more time for the two of you.
There were still tough days, moments when the city felt too loud or the pressure felt too heavy. But you faced them together, knowing that no matter what, you had each other.
And as you sat in the audience on opening night, watching Drew deliver a performance that left the entire theater breathless, you sat there admiring him, falling in love more than ever before.
༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺
𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @maybanksgirl69 @raeven-marie43 @niktwazny303
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cielachela · 6 months ago
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close enough, welcome back brocedes.
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blue-brain-system · 11 months ago
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Just got fucking emotional thinking about the kids who continued to reach out after I pulled away. Who came and knocked on my door so many times even after all I said was no. I’m so sorry a system you weren’t a part of was teaching me that isolation and escapism was the only safety. Thank you for caring enough to come and call. I’m sorry I didn’t answer.
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imflyinoveryou · 1 year ago
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i wish i could go back in time and be there for myself like jesus christ, i just re-read the letter i sent to someone who literally didn't deserve anything from me and fuuuuck that poor kid needed someone real bad. i love you little me
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corkinavoid · 7 months ago
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DPxDC Constantine Is Having Fae Problems
Not as in 'problems with the fae', but as in 'the Batfam don't understand shit about fae and it is somehow Constantine's problem'
"Thank you."
Whatever thoughts Constantine had before come to a screeching halt. He slowly turns around, praying he's misheard, but, unfortunately, no. He heard that right.
The black-haired kid - he looks like a kid, but, really, he is not, and he is not even human to begin with - is smiling at Nightwing, who just laughs and ruffles the boy's hair.
"Don't worry about it, it's nothing," the moronic eldest batkid says, like it's not a big deal, and Constantine just... can't. He is not dealing with this right now. He needs a drink.
And then it happens again. Not with the Nightwing, though. This time, it's Black Bat. Now, in all honesty, Constantine is not so sure about her being human either, what with her appearing out of goddamn aether and being silent as a ghost, but the point still stands. The new addition to Bat's menagerie of children, the fae boy, the changeling who insists he is Robin's brother, thanks her.
It's quick and easy, just like a human would say it, and Black Bat just nods back at him, but Constantine knows what it means. He knows the weight of fae gratitude.
The big question is, do the Bats know it?
He promises himself to address this issue later with the Big Bat himself. But every time he encounters the man, he just forgets to bring it up. Constantine strongly suspects it's not his bad memory at fault here, but a certain fae. Not that he is going to outright go and blame the damned creature, of course, Constantine values his life, mind, and consciousness. Also, he is very aware of the consequences of talking to the fae, unlike the furry brigade.
Alas, he can't forget something if he witnesses with his own eyes. So the next time he is in the Batcave, he makes it a point to wait until the same thing eventually happens. And, score for Constantine, it does.
"Thank you," the kid - again, not a kid, not a human, but whatever - tells Red Robin, and Constantine immediately snaps his head to him, pointing a finger at the smiling fae.
"I mean no disrespect, but what are you doing?"
The kid - Danny, as he insists to be called, although Constantine knows better than to call a fae by any name - tilts his head to the side. He looks confused, but there's a sly glint to his blue eyes. Oh, the fucker knows exactly what he means. He just doesn't want to admit to it.
"What do you mean?" It's not him, but Red Robin asking, and Constantine turns to look him in the eyes. Mask. Whatever.
"He is thanking-" a terrible thought crosses Constantine's mind, and he stares at Red Robin with horror, "Oh, don't tell me you were all thanking him and apologizing to him like he is a human being."
"I don't see how this is your business," Red Robin scolds, and his eyes narrow. Constantine can't see his actual eyes through the mask, but he knows the Bats well enough to know the kid looks as deadpan as he can.
"You can't do that!" He reaches down to the pocket where he keeps his cigarettes, but stops halfway. Right, no smoking in the Batcave. Wait, he never obeyed that rule! Constantine turns to glare at the fae boy. Danny appears as innocent as a newborn baby. Little bastard.
"Quit making a scene," comes another voice, and this one John recognizes, turning to look at little Robin. Now that he thinks about it, the demonic child claimed the fae as his brother, and he definitely should know how to talk to fae!
"Why didn't you tell them about the rules?!" He asks Robin, and the kid doesn't even bat an eye at him.
"You will not accuse me of incompetence in front of my brother," Robin huffs, not stepping closer and keeping one hand on his hip, "I did."
"You-"
"Okay, how about you calm down?" Danny interjects, and John is positive this is the first time he's heard the boy say anything other than 'thank you'. He turns to the fae, facing him, and, oh, Jesus, those are not human eyes. Or teeth. Or face. Holy fuck how do Bats live with this, it's like uncanny valley but hundreds times worse.
"If I tell you I use it for easier access, will you leave it be?" The fae tilts his head again, and this time it is not in confusion, but in the eerie manner of how all very much not human beings do it. Constantine swallows, but doesn't back down.
"Access to what, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Transportation," Danny provides. This does not explain shit and he knows it. Red Robin groans and rolls his eyes.
"We use it to summon Danny if we need him. It's faster than calling or texting."
Constantine freezes.
These fucking kids. Are using the fae debts. To summon him. Because they don't like texting.
Do they know that they can literally ask a fae to destroy a small country to fulfill a debt like that? It's not just a small favor, it's a gratitude. Fae take their gratitude very seriously. They value it. A lot.
Actually, you know what, no. John is not going to be explaining that part to them because God knows the batkids are all batshit crazy and this is an opportunity he is not willing to give them.
So he just nods stiffly, turns around, and heads to the zeta tube.
"Thank you for caring about my family," he hears a voice behind him, full of mischief and joy. Constantine feels the weight of the newly acquired debt, or better call it a favor, bind itself to his soul, and, great, he now has the power to part the sea like Moses, but only once.
He needs a drink. No, correction, he needs a whole bar to himself.
Wait, that's an idea.
"Get me a bottle of good bourbon, and we're even," he throws around his shoulder, stepping into a zeta tube.
When he steps out of it, there's an unlabeled bottle in his hand. John sighs and opens it, foregoing the glass or cup and drinking straight from the neck.
...It's good bourbon.
Inspired by @blackfoxsposts
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saetoru · 1 year ago
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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ PARTNERS — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)
contents. college! au, rich boy! gojo, established relationship, you and suguru are partnered for a project instead of satoru…and he doesn’t take the news lightly, dramatic toru and INSTIGATOR suguru
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satoru is sulking—you’d find it a little amusing any other day, but he seems a bit more upset than usual. and quite frankly, suguru isn’t really helping things out either, so you feel just a little bad.
“baby,” you poke his cheek, “it’s not our fault! we just got randomly assigned—”
“whatever,” he huffs. you tug at his arm, but he pulls it away.
it just so happens that the three of you seem to share a class this semester—but unfortunately, suguru is assigned as your partner for a project. it’s the same project satoru wanted to be paired with you for. he seems convinced it’ll be you and him that are called—which, in all honesty, the likelihood of being paired with you out of the multiple people in the class is low, but it’s only added insult to injury that suguru had the odds in his favor.
satoru is not handling it well.
“toru,” you insist, pinching his cheek in hopes to cheer him up. he scowls at you—as if this is your fault, “c’mon, cheer up! now that it’s suguru, you can just tag along when we work—”
“tag along?” he cuts you off, tone bordering on hurt, “so now i’m the third wheel?”
oh dear.
“n-no!” you say quickly—suguru has the audacity to snicker, earning a warning glance from you, “you’re never the third wheel, toru. you’re the first wheel! the only wheel. really!”
“y’know,” suguru starts—you already know whatever he’s about to say is going to make things ten times worse. you try (and fail) to glare at him until he’s silent. “if i recall, the two of you got together through a project, didn’t you? who knows, maybe you’ll have the biggest crush on me after this is over.”
suguru drops the bomb and winks. you look at him like you want to kill him. satoru’s face is devastated.
you think this might be the end.
“what?” satoru gasps, turning to you quickly, “tell him that’s impossible, tell him! tell him he’s hideous and that you only have eyes for me—”
“toru, of course i only have eyes for you, don’t listen to him, he’s just pushing your buttons—”
“hey, you never know. i might charm you,” suguru adds fuel to the fire—this time, you throw your water bottle at him. he catches it with ease, throwing you a smug grin that makes you scowl deeper.
“you’re hideous, suguru,” satoru spits, “no way anyone would leave me for you—”
“that already happened. remember your girlfriend in middle school?”
“that doesn’t count! we were too young to know what love was back then!”
satoru is practically inconsolable now—you consider dropping out of this class just for the sake of peace. maybe you can take it over the summer and be paired with a random stranger that won’t bother your dramatic boyfriend. maybe you can evade the project altogether with a different professor. maybe you can kill suguru and the misfortune of a dead partner can grant you an automatic exemption from this assignment.
you weigh your options as satoru slumps with a pout.
“whatever,” he grumbles, “i don’t even care. have fun without me.”
suguru chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. you sigh before cupping satoru’s cheeks and giving him a small kiss to his forehead to cheer him up.
not surprisingly, it doesn’t seem to work.
“cheer up, baby,” you reason, “at least since it’s just suguru, you won’t have to leave us alone to work! it won’t be awkward if you’re there too.”
“but you’ll be too busy working with suguru to talk to me,” he says bitterly.
“at least i’ll have a handsome face to keep me motivated,” you grin, kissing his jaw—now that…that seems to cheer him up considerably. he brightens, plastering that usual smug grin he sports, as if the world around him wasn’t ending just moments ago.
“i am handsome, aren’t i?” he hums, wrapping an arm around you—mission accomplished, you think happily.
“yeah,” you nod quickly, “and suguru is hideous anyway. i’d never leave you for someone with a tacky man bun—”
“hey, leave my hair out of this—”
“it is pretty tacky,” satoru nods and agrees.
suguru crosses his arms, glaring at the both of you before he opens his mouth to retaliate. you cut in before he can say anything else to worsen satoru’s mood any further.
“and maybe you can help me—you’re smarter than suguru too.”
“he is not—”
“you’re right baby,” satoru hums, “maybe this is for the best. i’ll save both of your grades this way.”
suguru’s vein all but pops. “we don’t need your help—”
“don’t worry suguru,” satoru grins confidently, pointing to himself with his thumb, “i’ll save your grade. no need to thank me—ow!”
you watch tiredly as suguru throws your water bottle at satoru’s head—it’s going to be a long project.
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i already know the switch boy! au people are gonna start the “suguru definitely wants reader” comments. i’m waiting for them i can sense them already
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soapcloth · 1 month ago
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Fantasy au -> Warrior!Soap x Healer!Reader
CW: 18+ MDNI, light bloodplay, noncon undertones, dacryphilia if you squint
not edited - 800 words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune
You’ve had just about enough of that axe-swinging asshole, built like an ox and thrice as stubborn.
You’re absolutely beside yourself asking why you’re sticking it out in his half-baked party. John, as he had practically breathed the name down your neck, couldn’t keep a decent healer and now you know all too well why. He was mean, smelly, loud, and worst of all- overly familiar despite your best efforts to stamp out any flame of acquaintanceship. You could write ballads dedicated to reasons you should leave this party, but truth be told? You were down on your luck. You wondered sometimes if you were cursed with misfortune, a hilariously horrid timeline of events leading you to this very position right now. So you’ve made a few mistakes, hasn’t everyone in the pursuit of dungeon crawling?
Even so, was the state of your freelance healing career really so bad that you had to saddle up with someone like John MacTavish? The man had been naught more than a trail thief brute-forcing his way into other parties’ treasure a few years ago, but because of a few lucky encounters in monster slaying, suddenly he was picking up jobs in adventurer hubs like it was something he was born to do. It pissed you off to no end and he knew it. Loved seeing your indignant scowl while you healed him up knowing better work was near impossible for you to come by.
“Och- that’s it, ‘m sore there.” He’d groaned, humid breath fanning your skin, god, why was he always so close? “Gonna show me that pretty glow, lamb?”
“No.” You bit, rubbing the salve a touch deeper than needed. Your lips twitched seeing his eyebrows draw tight. “It’s not so bad that you need healing, stop being a baby.”
The man snorted in response. “That’s why no other parties’ll take ye on, lamb.” His deep blue eyes searched your own, a wild smirk twisting across his mouth. “Terrible bedside manner.” You flushed slightly, shooting him a sharp glare that caused him to lean back on his makeshift fallen and rotted log seat with a pleased grin as he inspected his wound. Like the ever-expressive man he was, his face suddenly took on a shade of concern. “Ach-!”
“Huh?” Was all you could muster, confused as to what he could be so worried about.
“Think I got nicked by something venomous, lamb, need yer healing.” He seethed out. “Oh for- let me see.” You sighed, grabbing his uselessly huge hand. As expected, his palm was fine, albeit still a bit bloody as the salve worked to stop it.
Wrong move.
Upon inspecting his wound, the adventurer managed to shove his palm into your face with a vicious grin, huffing through his nose a bit as he smeared blood across your mouth. Sputtering only invited the acrid taste of bitter salve, sweat, and copper onto your tastebuds as he laughed and continued to wipe his hand across your face. “See?” He chuckled “M’still hurt.” His eyes seemed to glisten like the northern stormy coast seeing his own blood on your skin. “Suits you.”
You pushed his hand away, misinterpreting his words in a way that scratched at a sore spot of your own. “I didn’t kill them, John! Stop holding that over my head!” You snarled, causing his eyes to widen a fraction. You wiped his blood off your face with your arm, only to smear it around more and get it on the limb. Great. It was then you realized you had a runny nose as well, were you starting to cry? “I fucked up- but my god, they lived, okay?” And now you couldn’t get a gig better than this one because of that fact, a voice in the back of your head snarked. It’s true too, they made sure no party worth its salt would ever take you on. You still have no idea why John did either in all honesty, for all his faults and the high turnover rate, he had a seemingly bottomless fount of healers willing to take a shot at being the one to stick.
John cupped your cheeks. “None of tha’.” He spoke lowly. One of his calloused thumbs swiped at an emerging tear before it could fall and you had to watch, mouth slightly agape as he brought the pad of his thumb to his lips without much thought, tongue darting out to taste. You blinked as he clapped that hand down on your shoulder, leaning closer. “None of tha’…” he repeated, quieter this time. He looked so focused. “Dinnae give a shit about those no-names, lamb, neither should you.”
You swallowed audibly when met with his intensity, his voice a rolling growl. “Fuck- seeing ye all covered in my blood’s got me stiffer than a rock. Palm’s busted and you won’t heal me. Cannae do a thing about it, feel like ah’m gonna-“
“I can heal your hand.” You urged, the oppressive haze he left you with suddenly lifting.
He snorted in response. “Though so, lamb.” His palm connected with your hair, ruffling his blood into your locks before moving down to pat your cheek. “What a dutiful healer ye’ are… So good te’ me. Let me see tha’ gorgeous glow.”
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qwibkwib · 5 days ago
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Pojangmacha
(if your unfamiliar with the word, its the red bar tent you often see on streets of South Korea).
Minnie X Male Reader (Yunjae) ft. Park Jiwon (Fromis_9)
Word Count: 18k+
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Notes:
This is my first Fic, any feedback is appreciated :)
If you're expecting Jiwon smut, I'm sorry there's none, I just really need a reason for Minnie's insecurity
just for additional context, the second pojangmacha scene happened around during G-idle's haitus.
I used the name Yunjae because i didn't like the "y/n" format actual name feels more immersive. I picke the name Yunjae randomly though
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You swirled your soju glass in silence, staring at the swirling liquid like it held answers to questions you couldn’t ask.
“Yunjae,” Jiwon’s voice broke through your thoughts, soft but pointed. “You’re killing yourself like this.”
You laqughed bitterly, shaking your head. “Am I? Feels more like I’m just surviving.”
“Same thing,” she shot back, leaning closer. “You’re stuck, Yunjae. You’ve been stuck for years. It’s like you’re waiting for something to change when you’re the one who won’t move.”
Her words cut close to the bone. You wanted to argue, to deflect, but what was the point? She was right, and you both knew it.
“It’s not that simple,” you muttered, your eyes dropping to the faint gleam of your wedding ring.
Jiwon’s gaze followed yours, and her lips tightened into a line. She never said it outright, but the ring was always the elephant in the room.
“Why do you stay?” she asked quietly, her tone softer now. “If it’s really this hard—if she doesn’t even care anymore—then why?”
You looked up sharply. “You don’t know that,” you said, more defensively than you intended.
Her brows arched, her disbelief evident. “Oh, really? When was the last time you two actually talked? And I don’t mean the polite, ‘pass the salt’ kind of talk. I mean really talked.”
You didn’t answer, because you couldn’t.
Jiwon leaned back with a sigh, her frustration bleeding through. “Yunjae, you’re wasting your life waiting for something that’s never going to happen. You’re loyal to a fault, I get that, but maybe it’s time to let go.
"Four years," you muttered, swirling the last remnants of soju in your glass. "Four years since we said, 'I do.' And what do I have to show for it?" Your laugh came bitter, tinged with self-loathing. "We don’t even talk anymore."
Jiwon's expression softened. She reached across the table, her hand resting lightly on yours. "You've said that before, Yunjae. Let's call it a night."
"I just don't get it..." you continued, your voice tinged with confusion, ignoring Jiwon's request for now. "We had our reasons, sure—convenience, mutual benefits. But maybe I expected more. At the very least, I thought we could remain friends, not this distant... this nothingness."
You sighed, frustration building inside you like a tidal wave. You grabbed the Soju bottle and poured its contents into your glass, emptying it in one swift motion. The liquid burned as it slid down your throat, the sensation both comforting and familiar.
Jiwon’s eyes flickered with something unspoken, her silence speaking volumes. She hesitated, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed she might voice the truth lingering between you. But instead, she looked away. "I don’t know either," she said softly. "If it were me…" Her voice trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.
You furrowed your brow and locked your gaze on hers, the unspoken thoughts echoing in the empty space between you. You already knew what she meant—you were childhood friends who had lost contact but reconnected years later. In the time that had passed, her intentions had changed, and you sensed that she was well aware of your realization. The tension grew palpable as the truth hung there, waiting for a moment of honesty to break the silence.
The heavy silence pressed in on you, demanding acknowledgment. You knew you had to confront the elephant in the room, to end it once and for all, lest it lingered in doubt. "Jiwo-"
But Jiwon interjected before you could finish, her voice steady as she changed the subject, "Anyway, it's pretty late. We've been here since 7 PM, and it's almost midnight now."
You nodded, your heart heavy with the unsaid words between you. You straighten your sitting posture, gather yourself. “Right. You can go first, thank you for being here”
She hesitated, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I can’t leave you alone like this."
“I’ll be fine, I'll just stay here for a couple minutes to sober up, then I'll take the cab,” you explained. “Promise”.
A pang of frustration flickered across Jiwon's face, her sympathetic gaze lingering on your burdened spirit. She fidgeted with the strap of her purse, and you caught sight of a fleeting flush on her cheeks. It seemed as though she might have been embarrassed by whatever thoughts she harbored or the words she almost spoke, using your suggestion as an escape.
"Alright. Promise me you’ll go straight home." she sighed, her feigned surrender tinged with uncertainty as to where the two of you would stand in the aftermath of this night.
“I promise” you answered.
With a final glance, she stood and left, her figure disappearing into the night. Alone once more, you reached for the soju bottle, pouring what remained into your glass. The cold burn slid down your throat, offering little comfort.
Park Jiwon, she is an excellent friend, but her role in your life had remained firmly in the platonic realm. You couldn't see her romantically, and not being platonic with a friend is exactly how you found yourself in this situation in the first place. Plus there's another reason why you couldn't be with anybody else right now.
Your fingers toyed with a ring on your ring finger, the silver two strands intertwining like an infinity sign. A row of tiny diamonds adorned it, capturing light in their faceted depths. You lifted your hand, eyeing the ring as though presented with a cruel joke—how something so beautiful could symbolize the absence of light in your life.
The promise to Jiwon lingered, as did the knowledge that you should head home. Yet, you hesitated, aware that returning to your cold home on this day would only accentuate the issues plaguing you. In the back of your mind, a part of you yearned for a shred of hope, an irrational belief that perhaps something miraculous might transpire here. This bar had become a place of hope, however fleeting or destructive, from the reality awaiting you at home.
Your gaze lingered on the ring as memories began to resurface. Drowsiness crept in, pulling you into the haze of a dream. When you opened your eyes again, the scene hadn’t changed. The same table, the same empty glasses. But the person sitting across from you was no longer Jiwon.
 "Ya!! Are you listening? I'm paying for the drinks, and you're ignoring me?" Minnie's voice jolted you. She sat opposite you, her sharp eyes narrowing in frustration. her chopsticks pointed at you like a weapon.
The sight of her stirred something in you—a pang of nostalgia, a mix of joy and regret. "But I’m paying for the meat," you retorted weakly, though she ignored you entirely, continuing her tirade.
She sighed dramatically, slapping the table for emphasis. "Can you believe my parents? My career is on the line, and they want me to just drop everything and go home to Thailand?" She let out an exasperated sigh, her words tumbling over each other.
Deciding to give her your full attention, lest her tirade be endless, you asked, "Can you tell me again why they wanted you back?"
Minnie hesitated, her face contorted with a mixture of confusion and irritation. "They said I've done enough; it's time to think long term, find myself a partner, a husband. That's their reason, at least," she explained.
She then continued murmuring under her breath, "I think they just want me to be married off to a royal bloodline so our family could get even closer to being Thai royalty."
Silence enveloped you both, acknowledging the gravity of her situation and your shared understanding that she desired nothing more than a sympathetic ear.
Minnie's frustration reached a crescendo as she let out a frustrated "Aggghhh!!"
You found yourself staring at her, the sight of her distress oddly endearing. A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. you don't know when it started but at some point during your history of friendship, without realizing it, you were falling for your dear friend, Minnie. Afraid to jeopardize the relationship, you concealed these feelings deep within, unable to pinpoint one singular reason for your infatuation. It could have been her alluring smile, captivating personality, soulful gaze, lithe frame, or an intoxicating blend of all these traits.
Minnie's sharp eyes caught you in the act of smiling, "Ya!!" she teased, "Look at you smiling, it must be fun having a grandfather who's the opposite of my parents.".
"He's giving you all of his as an inheritance," Minnie remarked, her tone laced with indignation as she nibbled on the pork you had purchased. "I don't know why I'm paying for you when you're rich."
You corrected her gently, "Well... not yet."
Minnie started to question whether your grandfather was still alive, but you interrupted her. "I didn't mean it like that!" You realized you had raised your voice, yet Minnie appeared unfazed as she continued drinking from her beer mug.
When she signaled for you to continue, you explained, "I can't have the inheritance right now, and if I don't get married before turning 30, I might lose it." You paraphrased your grandfather's words: "I don't want all this wealth given to a house bum; you need to have at least a family.”
Minnie's arm remained in midair, her mouth hovering over the mug as she paused, processing the gravity of your situation. After what felt like an eternity, she gently set it down and fixed her gaze on you. Silence pervaded the table as she mulled over your words.
Finally breaking the silence, she said, "So you need to be married to get your inheritance?" Her eyes held a mix of concern and curiosity. You found yourself furrowing your brow, unsure where this revelation would lead.
"And my parents don't want me to continue with my career because..." She mimicked air quotes, "Think long term, find a good husband."
It was then that you noticed your fingers were entwined with the silver pair of rings hanging around your neck on a chain, their design intricate and familiar. An heirloom from your grandfather, their intricate design held meaning beyond just the gift itself. In this moment of realization, you knew where this conversation would eventually take you—back to a familiar crossroads, one you'd faced before, yet helplessly watched unfold.
"Why don’t we just get married?" Minnie proposed, the words hanging in the air like a question that demanded an answer. 
You blinked, convinced you’d misheard her.
"What?"
"Let’s get married," Minnie said again, her tone firm. "Why not? We’re already close, we get along, It solves your problem, and mine. You can be my excuse for my parents not to worry, and you secure your inheritance like you said."
The scene felt eerily familiar yet disjointed from your reality, causing you to laugh nervously.
"Are you serious?" you asked, while laughing.
Minnie's tone turned sharp when she yelled, "Of course I’m serious." Her voice softened, the faintest hint of vulnerability slipping through her usual bravado. 
"Unless marrying me is that funny to you?" Her distress at your laughter was apparent. 
"No, it’s not that," you said quickly. It hit you then: she wasn't joking, despite the alcohol. Both of you were clear-headed and sober enough to be making this decision. "I just—"
"You’re insane," you said, trying to mask the way your chest tightened.
"Maybe," she admitted, her tone lighter now. She was already reaching for the grill, flipping pieces of meat with practiced ease. "But you can’t deny it makes sense."
Your heart twisted at the suggestion, an unfamiliar blend of hope and dread coursing through you. For years, you’d hidden your feelings for Minnie—feelings that had grown quietly, relentlessly, despite your best efforts to suppress them.
"Okay, If you're serious. You're suggesting a marriage of convenience, right?" You asked, seeking clarification even though the thought of Minnie proposing to you elicited an immediate, overwhelming 'yes.' However, you had to temper your enthusiasm given the pragmatic nature of her proposal. It wasn't love or a confession; it was an offer mutually beneficial for both of you.
Minnie looked surprised by your question, replying, "Yeah... Yeah, of course, marriage of convenience, what else could it be?"
Perfect. You almost laughed agian at the irony. For her, it was a convenient solution to a problem. For you, it was a chance to stay close to her in a way you’d never dared to hope for.
You reached out for her hand, and Minnie complied, placing her hand on the table. You took off the necklace—the pair of silver rings meant for your grandfather's heir. A hazy sense of déjà vu washed over you as you removed the rings from the chain. The air seemed thick with unspoken words, and you felt your chest constrict as if this scene had played out before. This weight pressed against your consciousness, but you couldn't discern why.
"This is an heirloom," you began. "My grandfather’s. If we’re going to do this… it has to be with these rings. We really have to get married, we can’t trick my grandfather" Your heart pounded as you extended the ring.
Minnie’s eyes widened slightly as you placed one of the rings in her hand. The moment felt surreal, yet inevitable, like you were playing out a scene you’d already lived.
For a moment, something flickered across her face—something soft, almost vulnerable. Then she smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re such a sentimental idiot,” she said, though her tone lacked its usual bite.
"Nicha Yontararak," you whispered, your voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. "Will you marry me?"
Her response came quickly, her lips curving into a small, almost shy smile. "Yes."
The dream fractured then, the edges dissolving as reality crashed back in. You woke up with a start, slumped over the table where the conversation had once unfolded. The bar was empty now, save for one figure standing over you. A cold metal brushed against your cheek—the ring finger of a hand, as if beckoning you.
"Yunjae," the voice said, familiar and unmistakable. You looked up to see Minnie, her face obscured by a cap and mask.
"Why?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question carried the weight of four years of silence. "Why did you say yes?"
Her expression was unreadable as the world around you faded to black.
Your eyes flickered open to reveal the interior of a car, the engine's low hum the only soundtrack to this moment. You turned your head toward the driver, the faint glow of city lights illuminating her form in a fleeting manner. As your vision cleared, you recognized Minnie behind the wheel. She was dressed in a sleek pink suit jacket with matching pants, her attire immaculately tailored to fit her figure. Beneath the jacket, a cropped top peeked through, adding a casual edge to her otherwise professional look.
Questions flooded your mind. How did she find you? Did she remember that place? And most importantly, does she know the significance of today's date?
Your gaze lingered on her outfit, and a thought struck you—she must have come straight from work. The slight crease in her sleeves and the faint traces of fatigue around her eyes hinted at a long day, but she carried herself with an air of determination. Whatever had brought her here, it was enough to pull her directly from her world and into yours.
Before you could fully explore these thoughts, Minnie spoke, "Jiwon called me. She told me you refused to go home." The answer felt like a slap, and you couldn't help but laugh at your own naivety. Of course, Jiwon had informed her.
Your gaze fell upon Minnie's hand resting on the steering wheel, the silver ring glinting. A deep sigh escaped your lips as you pondered the question: "Where did it all go wrong?" Your mind whirled with memories and regret, searching for answers to a past you couldn't change.
In the aftermath of your impromptu proposal in the pojangmacha, you and Minnie knew you had to convince your grandfather of your relationship's authenticity. To achieve this, you devised a plan that entailed showing affection publicly—holding hands, sharing stolen kisses, and spending time together.
You had fallen for Minnie well before this event, but enacting your love intensified these feelings. The line between your performance and genuine emotions blurred, as your heart yearned to reveal your true sentiments. Your unrequited love swelled with each passing moment that deepened your connection. You could only hope that your efforts would ignite the same burning desire in Minnie's heart.
Similarly, you had to convince Minnie's parents that you were indeed the ideal husband for their daughter. You showcased your commitment, respect, and dedication to making her happy. You took an active role in family gatherings, bonding with Minnie's siblings, and proving your worth as a son-in-law.
Once these obstacles were overcome, everything else seemed to happen at breakneck speed. Wedding plans came together swiftly; invitations were sent, venues booked, and the big day loomed closer. In the blur of excitement, you found yourself standing at the altar, about to exchange vows with Minnie. The transition from pojangmacha proposal to nuptials felt almost dreamlike—too quick to fully process.
The ceremony took place in a remote chapel far from unwanted attention. Pews were populated with guests that were thoroughly selected, aside from close family only few were invited.
As you stood before the altar, the chapel filled with the soft hum of anticipation, you could see her—Minnie—beginning her journey down the aisle. Through the delicate veil that framed her face, a smile bloomed, and even from this distance, it was impossible for you not to be entranced. With each measured step, she approached, each stride bringing you closer together.
Your eyes trailed over her dress, so resplendent and elegant, as she moved with the grace of a dancer. The sunlight filtering through the chapel's stained-glass windows bathed everything in an ethereal glow. Each hue, dancing and twirling across the floor, seemed to celebrate our union.
The air in the small, candle-lit altar was heavy with quiet reverence, the murmurs of a few close witnesses fading as the officiant began to speak. It was an intimate affair—just as they had planned. No grand celebrations, no sea of faces, only the people who mattered most.
You stood across from Minnie, your palms slightly damp as you held the delicate silver ring between your fingers. The ring’s intricate design seemed to weigh heavier in your hand than it should, its symbolism pressing on you more than you cared to admit.
Minnie, radiant in her understated elegance, met your gaze with that familiar mix of mischief and something else you couldn’t quite name. She looked calm, collected—but you knew her well enough to catch the flicker of hesitation in her eyes.
“This is it,” the officiant said, his voice steady. “The vows you exchange today will bind your hearts and lives together. Do you wish to proceed?”
You glanced at Minnie, searching her face for any sign of regret. She gave him the faintest of nods, her lips curving into a small, reassuring smile.
You cleared your throat, your voice quiet but firm as you began.
“Minnie, I know we’re standing here today not for the reasons most couples do. We’ve always been practical, and this… this is no different. But I want you to know that I’ll honor this vow, not just as your husband, but as your friend.
I promise to be there when you need someone to lean on, to laugh with, and even to argue with when the mood strikes. I promise to keep our trust unbroken and to stand by you, no matter how complicated life gets.
This isn’t just a promise for today, but for every day after. Not out of duty, but because you’re someone I respect, someone I’ve always believed in. And if that’s the foundation of our marriage, then I think we’ll be alright.”
You made a commitment to yourself although some might consider this marriage as a fraud, to you at least you didn’t want your vow to be a lie.
Your voice softened as you slipped the ring onto her finger, your hand lingering a moment longer than necessary. For a second, you thought you saw her eyes glisten, but she blinked it away before it could fall.
Minnie took a small breath before she began, her tone steady but tinged with something deeper.
“Yunjae, you’ve always been the kind of person who sees things through—whether it’s fixing a broken coffee machine or helping me dodge my family’s relentless matchmaking.
Today, I stand here because I trust you. I trust that no matter what, you’ll keep your word.
I can’t promise that I’ll always be the easiest person to deal with, or that life will suddenly make sense because of this decision. But I can promise that I’ll try. I’ll try to be someone who doesn’t let you down, someone who holds up my end of this partnership.
And who knows?”—she allowed herself a small laugh—“Maybe we’ll surprise each other along the way.”
She slid the matching silver band onto his finger, her touch light but deliberate. For a fleeting moment, her fingers brushed against yours, and it felt like more than just an accident.
The officiant’s voice broke the silence that hung between them. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may seal your vows with a kiss.”
You hesitated, not out of reluctance, but because the moment felt heavier than you had anticipated. You leaned forward slowly, your lips brushing hers in the lightest, briefest of touches—enough to be proper, yet leaving a quiet ache in its wake.
When the two of you pulled apart, Minnie’s eyes met yours again, and for the first time that day, her smile reached all the way to her eyes.
The witnesses applauded politely, and the ceremony moved on, but You couldn’t shake the lingering warmth of her lips or the quiet weight of her words.
For a marriage born out of convenience, the moment felt startlingly real.
The silence of the apartment was heavy, oppressive, and electric all at once. Every tick of the wall clock echoed like a heartbeat, a relentless reminder of the moment you now found yourself in. This wasn’t just any night. It was your wedding night.
Minnie lingered by the doorway, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to break the silence that stretched between you like a live wire, taut and humming with unspoken tension.
You leaned against the counter, your jacket slung over your arm, your tie loosened just enough to breathe. But breathing felt impossible now, every inhale shallow, every exhale trembling.
“It feels strange,” she said suddenly, her voice soft but slicing through the stillness like a blade.
You glanced at her, catching the way her eyes darted nervously around the room, avoiding yours. “What does?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.
“This,” she said, gesturing weakly at the space around you. “Us. Here. Like this.”
You let out a dry laugh, more out of habit than amusement. “Yeah. It does.”
She moved further into the room, her steps slow and deliberate, as if she were testing the ground beneath her. Her hand trailed along the edge of the couch, her touch light but deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine. “I guess I should change,” she murmured, still not meeting your eyes.
You nodded automatically, your throat tight. “Yeah. Me too.”
You retreated to the guest room, the cool air brushing against your skin as you stripped off your wedding attire and slipped into the silky pajamas. The fabric clung to your body, soft and cool, but it did nothing to quell the heat simmering beneath your skin. When you returned to the living room, you collapsed onto the sofa, your mind racing.
A few moments later, you heard the soft click of a door opening. Your head turned instinctively, and there she was. Minnie. She stepped out from the bedroom, her long, black hair cascading over her shoulders like a midnight waterfall. The sight of her stole the breath from your lungs.
She wore a gown of white lace, the fabric sheer enough to hint at the curves beneath, yet modest enough to leave everything to your imagination. The delicate material clung to her body like a second skin, the neckline dipping just enough to reveal the faintest shadow of cleavage. A slit ran up one side, exposing the smooth expanse of her thigh, and your gaze lingered there, tracing the line of her leg with a hunger you couldn’t suppress.
The air between you grew thick, charged with something primal and undeniable. Your pulse quickened, a throbbing ache building low in your abdomen as your eyes roamed over her. The swell of her hips, the curve of her waist, the way the lace hugged her breasts—every detail was a temptation, a provocation.
She hesitated by the doorway, her hands fidgeting slightly, her lips parting as if she were about to speak but couldn’t find the words. Her eyes met yours, and in that instant, it was as though the world had stopped. The tension between you was palpable, a magnetic pull that neither of you could resist.
“Minnie…” you said, your voice rough, strained with desire.
Her gaze flickered to yours, holding it for a heartbeat before dropping to the floor. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You didn’t,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could think. “You’re not.”
She took a tentative step closer, her bare feet silent against the hardwood floor. The scent of her perfume—something floral and intoxicating—wafted toward you, filling your senses. “This is… different, isn’t it?” she said, her voice carrying a vulnerability that made your chest tighten.
You nodded slowly, your throat dry. “Yeah. It is.”
The space between you seemed to shrink with every step she took, the air growing heavier, hotter. Her eyes searched for yours, dark and unreadable, but there was something in them—a flicker of desire, of uncertainty, of need.
“Yunjae,” she began, your name trembling on her lips. “Do you think we should…?”
Your chest tightened, your heart pounding in your ears. You knew exactly what she was asking, even without the words to complete the thought. You leaned back against the counter, running a hand through your hair to buy yourself time.
“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice low and rough. “Do you want to?”
Her breath hitched, and you could see her struggling to find the answer. “I don’t know either,” she confessed, her honesty cutting through you like a knife. “This isn’t how I pictured…”
“Me neither,” you said quickly, desperate to ease her discomfort. “But here we are.”
The air between you crackled with something unspoken, something electric and terrifying all at once. You took a hesitant step closer, your pulse hammering in your ears. The heat of her body radiated toward you, and you could almost feel the warmth of her skin against yours.
“We don’t have to do anything we’re not ready for,” you said, your tone firm, though you weren’t sure if you were reassuring her or yourself.
She dropped her gaze, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her dress. “It’s not about being ready,” she said, her voice so soft you almost missed it. “It’s about what it would mean.”
“What do you think it would mean?” you asked, your throat tightening as you waited for her answer.
She lifted her eyes to meet yours, and the vulnerability there made your breath catch. “That this is real,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “That we’re not just pretending anymore.”
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Of course it was real—how could it not be? But hearing her say it, seeing the fear and hope mingled in her expression, made it feel all the more tangible.
“It is real,” you said, your voice rough. “But that doesn’t mean we have to rush anything.”
She took a step closer then, and you could feel the warmth of her presence, the gravity of her drawing you in. Her hand reached out, her fingers brushing against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.
“Yunjae,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “what do you want?”
The question struck you like lightning, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you reached out, your hand hovering near her face before you finally let it rest against her cheek.
Her skin was soft, warm, and you could feel the faint tremor in her as she leaned into your touch. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you said, your voice raw with emotion.
“You won’t,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving yours.
Her breath was warm against your skin, her closeness intoxicating. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to close the gap, to let go of the restraint that had held you back for so long. Your other hand found her waist, the lace of her gown smooth beneath your fingertips, and you pulled her closer, your bodies almost touching.
Her lips parted, her breath hitching as your foreheads brushed together. The tension between you was unbearable, the air thick with desire and hesitation. You could feel the rapid beat of her heart, the way her body trembled against yours.
But just as you let yourself imagine it—just as you felt the pull to kiss her, to lose yourself in her—the sharp, jarring ring of your phone shattered the moment.
You froze, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. Minnie blinked, her eyes wide with surprise, and you reluctantly pulled away, your hand falling from her waist as you reached for your phone on the counter.
The screen lit up with the name “Grandfather.” You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the answer button, before glancing at Minnie. She took a step back, her arms wrapping around herself as if to shield herself from the sudden intrusion.
“You should get that,” she said softly, her voice tinged with both relief and disappointment.
You nodded, your chest tight as you answered the call. “Grandfather?”
“Yunjae,” his voice boomed through the phone, loud and commanding. “I just wanted to make sure you two made it home safely. How’s married life treating you so far?”
You forced a laugh, your eyes flickering to Minnie, who was now standing by the window, her back to you. “It’s… it’s good, Grandfather. We’re just settling in.”
“Good, good,” he said, his tone softening. “Take care of her, Yunjae. She’s a special one.”
“I will,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. Then, almost as an afterthought, your grandfather added, “Oh, and by the way, Jiwon just returned from overseas. She asked about you.”
The name hit you like a bolt of lightning. “Jiwon?” you repeated, louder than you intended, your voice carrying across the room.
Minnie turned sharply at the sound of the name, her eyes widening slightly. You could see the curiosity flicker across her face, though she quickly masked it, turning back toward the window.
“Yes, Jiwon,” your grandfather continued, oblivious to the tension his words had just created. “She’s back in town. I thought you’d want to know.”
“Right,” you said, your mind racing. “Thanks for letting me know, Grandfather.”
After a few more pleasantries, you ended the call and set the phone down, the silence of the apartment pressing in on you once more. Minnie turned to face you, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp with questions she wasn’t asking.
“Everything okay?” she asked, her voice quiet but laced with something you couldn’t quite place.
“Yeah,” you said, running a hand through your hair. “Just my grandfather checking in. He, uh… mentioned that an old friend of mine is back in town.”
“Jiwon,” she said, her tone neutral but her gaze piercing. “I heard.”
You nodded, unsure of how much to say. “Yeah. We grew up together. She’s been overseas for a while.”
Minnie nodded slowly, her arms still wrapped around herself. “That’s… nice,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching yours, before turning toward the bedroom. “I think… I’m going to head to bed. It’s been a long day.”
You nodded, the ache in your chest intensifying. “Yeah. Of course.”
She hesitated at the doorway, her hand resting on the frame as if she wanted to say something more. But instead, she simply said, “Goodnight, Yunjae,” before disappearing into the bedroom.
The soft click of the door closing behind her felt like a finality, a punctuation mark on the night. You sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. The weight of the day—and the night—pressed down on you, suffocating and inescapable. The memory of her body, her warmth, her scent, lingered in your mind, a tantalizing reminder of what could have been.
The memory lingered like a phantom, the weight of her warmth and scent still wrapped around you. Yunjae closed his eyes, trying to shake it off, but the pull of what could’ve been was stronger than he liked to admit.
The soft hum of the car engine brought him back, the rhythmic vibration beneath him grounding him in the present. His eyes fluttered open, the dim glow of passing street lights illuminating Minnie’s face, her features etched with a quiet tension.
“Why did you drink that much?” Minnie’s voice broke the silence, pulling you out of your thoughts.
You glanced at her from the passenger seat. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles pale, but her focus remained on the empty road ahead. The streetlights cast fleeting shadows across her face, accentuating the tension in her jaw.
“And why go all the way to that pojangmacha?” she continued, her voice steady but probing, cutting through the silence.
You hesitated, unsure how to answer. “I could ask you the same thing,” you finally muttered, leaning your head back against the seat.
She let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s not an answer, Yunjae,” she said, her voice carrying a mix of frustration and concern.
You looked out the window, watching the world blur past in a haze of light and shadow. “I just… needed to clear my head,” you said after a moment, your tone low.
Minnie glanced at you briefly before returning her eyes to the road. “And drinking was the best way to do that?” she asked, her words sharper now.
You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Maybe,” you admitted. “I didn’t plan to drink that much. It just… happened.”
She didn’t respond immediately, but the silence between you was far from comfortable. The only sound was the soft hum of the engine and the occasional noise from the tires against the asphalt.
“Why?” she asked again, quieter this time. Her voice had lost its edge, replaced by something softer, something closer to worry. “What were you trying to forget?”
The question hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. You swallowed hard, your mind flashing back to the memories that had surfaced earlier—the echoes of laughter, the warmth of shared moments, the way everything once felt so easy between you. Your relationship had been so bright back then, a beacon of connection and understanding. But now, the contrast was stark, almost painful, like a photograph faded with time.
“Nothing,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.
Minnie shook her head, her grip on the steering wheel tightening. “You’re terrible at lying,” she said, her tone a mix of exasperation and something else—something closer to sadness.
You didn’t respond, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest. Instead, you turned your gaze back to the window, hoping the passing scenery would offer some kind of distraction.
The silence stretched, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Turning to her, you blurted out, “Why are we like this, Minnie?”
She froze, her fingers flexing against the wheel, her lips parting slightly as if she didn’t expect the question. Slowly, her voice leaves her mouth, as if she was hesitant. “What… do you mean?” she asked, her voice quieter now.
“This,” you gestured between the two of you, the frustration clear in your tone. “The silence, the distance. It wasn’t like this before. What happened to us?”
The silence in the car felt suffocating, your words hanging heavy between you both. Minnie’s hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles turning white. Her lips pressed together into a thin line as her gaze stayed locked on the empty road ahead. For a moment, you thought she wouldn’t respond.
But then her voice cut through the tense air, sharp and brittle. “You think I don’t wonder the same thing?” she shot back, her tone trembling just slightly at the edges.
You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head in frustration. “Then why don’t we talk about it? Why do we keep pretending like this is fine when it’s not?”
She glanced at you briefly, her eyes flashing with something between anger and pain. “What should we talk about, Yunjae? Should we just end this? Is that what you want?” Her words came fast now, a barrage of questions that hit you like punches, each one sharper than the last. “Sure, okay, why not? Let’s get divorced. That’s what you want, don’t you?”
Your chest tightened, the venom in her voice cutting deeper than you thought possible. Your mouth opened, but no words came out. For a moment, you just stared at her, stunned by her sudden outburst. The word “divorce” lingered in the air, harsh and unyielding.
And then it hit you—that question wasn’t entirely meant for you. The way her voice cracked, the way her eyes darted to the side for just a second—it was as though she was asking herself, questioning everything just as much as she was questioning you.
Memories of the past came rushing in, unbidden. Even before your marriage, she would jokingly throw out remarks about divorce whenever you two had playful arguments. Back then, it was just a bad joke, something you brushed off easily. But over time, as the relationship began to sour, the sarcasm faded from her tone, replaced by something heavier. Something real.
Your hands clenched into fists in your lap, your nails digging into your palms as the realization settled in. It felt like a cruel irony, the weight of her words suffocating you. And yet, something in you snapped.
“Sure,” you said, your voice low but laced with anger. “Yes, let’s get divorced. It sounds like that’s what you’ve wanted all along. At this point, why not? I’d wish for it too.” The words left your mouth before you could stop them, each syllable fueled by frustration and hurt.Her foot slammed on the brakes, the car jerking violently to a halt in the middle of the empty road. The force of it threw you forward, the seat belt digging into your chest as you caught yourself against the dashboard. Your head snapped toward her in disbelief, but the fiery glare in her eyes made you freeze.
It was as if your words had ignited something even angrier within her, a flame that she refused to let die down. The weight of the moment pressed down on you, and though the sudden halt had taken your breath away, it wasn’t the car’s jolt that had you reeling—it was her.
You glanced out the window and realized with a start that you were already in front of your apartment building. The neon lights from the convenience store across the street flickered, casting a dull glow on the car's interior. But Minnie didn’t say a word, her expression unreadable now as her hand moved to the gearshift.
The silence returned, thick and oppressive, as she slowly released the brakes and guided the car into the underground garage. Her movements were controlled, deliberate, as though she were holding herself together with the thin thread of composure she had left.
You wanted to say something, anything, to ease the crushing weight of the silence. But the words refused to come. The hum of the engine was all that filled the car, its persistent noise somehow highlighting how alone you felt.
The car jerked to a stop, and without a second thought, Minnie threw the car door open with a slam, the sound sharp and final. The anger in her movements was unmistakable—each action deliberate, each step away from you carrying the weight of something you weren’t ready to face. You could feel the sting of her frustration in the air, and it made your chest tighten.
You sat there in the car for a moment, paralyzed. Everything had happened so quickly, faster than you could process. Her words, the anger, the sudden shift in the air—it felt like the end of something. Your heart beat in your ears as your mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. Was this really the end of everything? Was this what your relationship had come to?
But no. You couldn’t let it end like this, not without confronting the mess you’d both created. You shook yourself out of the daze, forcing your body to move, to take action. This conversation—no, this argument—wasn’t finished. It needed to end here and now.
You opened the car door, your breath shallow, and rushed after her, ignoring the heavy feeling in your chest. You barely made it to the elevator before the doors closed. You caught a glimpse of her, just a fleeting moment, but it was enough. Her eyes met yours, as her face was slowly covered by the closing metal doors.
Your heart raced as you watched the elevator ascend, and you cursed under your breath. You weren’t going to let it go like this. You couldn’t. Not when everything felt so broken, but so fixable at the same time.
You pressed the button for the elevator, your hand gripping the edge of the doorframe, waiting for it to return. The silence in the garage seemed to stretch on endlessly, and with every passing second, the weight of what was happening only seemed to grow heavier.
You stepped in to the elevator, the slow, rhythmic ping of the floor numbers echoing in your mind. The numbers on the screen flickered, counting up, but in that moment, they felt more like a cruel countdown rather than progress. Each number, each floor felt like a heavy weight pressing down on your chest, giving you just enough time to think—too much time to think.
You tried to recall the last moment you saw Minnie, the brief glance exchanged before the elevator doors shut between you. It had been only a second, but in your mind, it felt like a lifetime. Your thoughts were in conflict, each memory fighting for dominance, each one pulling you in a different direction.
The numbers on the elevator’s display shifted slowly, and you watched them one by one.
"One..." You could almost feel the heat from her glare again, that fiery anger that had burned through the car earlier. It was all too real, too raw.
"Two..." But was it really that? You thought back, trying to see beyond the anger. Had her gaze been cold? That piercing coldness that sent a shiver down your spine.
"Three..." It wasn’t that simple, was it? Maybe it wasn’t anger at all. Maybe you saw sadness in her eyes—real, raw sadness that had made your chest tighten, your breath catch in your throat.
"Four..." Or maybe it wasn’t any of those things. Maybe you had been too clouded by your own frustration to truly see her. Maybe, just maybe, there had been a tear glinting in her eye, too fast to catch, but real.
"Five..." The numbers came to an end, and the harsh ding of the elevator doors opening brought you back to the present.
You stepped out of the elevator, your mind still swirling with conflicting thoughts, but you knew you had no more time for hesitation. The door to your apartment was right there in front of you, yet it felt miles away. You approached it slowly, every step feeling heavier than the last. Your hand reached out for the door handle, and as you gripped it, you hesitated for a moment. The door felt impossibly heavy, almost as if it were holding you back, forcing you to confront whatever lay on the other side.
You pushed through the weight, twisting the knob and stepping inside. The apartment was eerily quiet, the dim lighting casting long shadows on the walls. It felt so different now, so foreign. The last few years had drained the warmth, the life, from this place. And now, here you were, standing in the same space with Minnie, but it felt like a universe separated the two of you.
You closed the door quietly behind you, the sound echoing in the empty apartment. You didn’t know what to say or do, but you knew that this couldn’t be ignored any longer. This silence, this tension—it was unbearable.
The tension in the room was suffocating. You stood in the middle of the living room, your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your breath shallow as you tried to keep your emotions in check. Minnie only a few steps away, hunched over the sofa facing the window, deliberately facing away from you. The dim light from the single lamp cast long shadows across the walls, the space between them feeling like an unbridgeable chasm.
“Minnie,” you said, your voice firm but edged with exhaustion. “We can’t leave this conversation here.”
She finally faced you locking her eyes to yours. You noticed her eyes were swell as if she had just recently cried, yet her face was a mask of indifference. It was the look she always wore, the one that had become her shield. But you weren't about to let her hide behind it tonight.
She let out a sharp laugh, bitter and mocking. “You’re so eager to end this, aren’t you?”
Her words stung, and you clenched your fists at your sides. “Don’t kid yourself, Minnie,” you shot back, trying to keep your tone measured. “You know I’m right.”
She raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharpening. “Right about what?”
You took a breath, steadying yourself. “You’re more successful in your career now than ever before. Your parents can’t pressure you like they used to.”
She frowned, clearly unimpressed. “And what does that have to do with anything?”
You stepped closer, your voice dropping as you tried to make her see reason. “This agreement—this marriage of convenience—it’s outlived its purpose. We don’t have to do this anymore. We don’t have to be together anymore.”
For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Her lips parted slightly, as if the words had caught her off guard. But then her expression hardened, and she shot back, “What about your inheritance? You still need to be married to get it. You’ve got over a year left before you even qualify.”
Her tone was biting, but there was something else beneath it—something you couldn’t quite place.
You hesitated, the words catching in your throat.
She seized on your silence, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. “Is that what this is about? Ending this so you can run off to be with the woman you actually love? Jiwon, wasn’t it?”
The accusation slammed into you, the air in the room growing heavier. It wasn’t the first time she’d brought Jiwon into a fight, and it stung just as much as every time before.
You inhaled sharply, trying to keep your temper in check. “Minnie, how many times do I have to say this?” you said, your voice low but trembling with frustration. “Jiwon is just a friend. She has always been just a friend.”
But she didn’t waver. Her gaze stayed locked on yours, sharp and unrelenting. “Am I wrong? You went out drinking at some far-off pojangmacha with her, of all people, in the middle of the night. Then suddenly, you’re bringing this up now, like this is some big revelation. What else am I supposed to think, Yunjae?”
You stared at her, disbelief and anger surging in equal measure. “Do you even hear yourself, Minnie?” you demanded, your voice rising. “This again? Jiwon again? How many times are we going to do this?”
Her silence spoke volumes, but you didn’t let up. “You keep throwing her name in my face like I haven’t explained myself a thousand times already. You think I enjoy repeating myself? Telling you over and over that there’s nothing there, just to have you ignore me every time?”
Her lips pressed into a tight line, but she didn’t respond.
“Do you even know what day it is today?” you asked, your patience cracking under the weight of it all. “Do you know why I was at that far-off pojangmacha?”
Her shoulders stiffened, but she still didn’t answer.
“Do you really have no idea, Minnie?” you pressed, your voice growing louder, harsher. “Today is our anniversary, for fuck’s sake. Instead of celebrating with you, instead of being with my wife, I was sitting there drinking alone, drowning in my own goddamn misery while you were nowhere to be found.”
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came, and the disbelief in her expression pushed you further.
“And Jiwon?” you continued, your voice sharp now, cutting through the tension. “She was there because you weren’t. She sat with me, talked to me, did the one thing you couldn’t—she showed up. She was a companion. A friend. That’s all she’s ever been, no matter how many times your insecurities tell you otherwise.”
Her breath hitched, her shoulders trembling slightly, but you weren’t done.
“It might’ve started as a marriage of convenience,” you said, your voice steady despite the emotions threatening to overwhelm you, “but I’ve never treated it as a joke. Not once. I’ve given it everything—my patience, my effort, my whole goddamn self. I’ve tried to be a good husband, or at the very least, a friend you could count on.”
You took a step closer, forcing her to meet your gaze. “But you, Minnie? You’ve avoided me. Treated me like a stranger. Like I wasn’t even worth the bare minimum effort to make this work. And every time you bring up Jiwon, every time you accuse me of something like this, it’s like you’re trying to justify shutting me out. To make me the villain instead of facing whatever it is that’s really going on.”
Her hands clenched at her sides, her head bowing slightly as if your words had physically struck her.
“The least you could’ve done,” you said, your voice quieter now, but no less firm, “was trust me. Trust what I’ve told you, over and over again. And try to preserve what we had—our friendship, at the very least.”
Her arms dropped to her sides, her fingers twitching as if she wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
You pressed on, your words gaining momentum. “I tried to be understanding. I told myself it was your job, that it was just too taxing. But there’s only so much I can compromise, Minnie. Do you know how much it hurts every time I think about what we used to be? What we’ve thrown away because of this… this stupid marriage?”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. For the first time in the entire argument, she looked vulnerable—small.
“Isn’t that why you’ve grown distant?” you asked, your voice softer now, almost pleading. “You regret this, don’t you? That’s why you’re like this. Isn’t it? Tell me, Minnie. Why did you say yes in the first place?”
She stared at you, her eyes wide, her breathing shallow. For a moment, you thought she wouldn’t answer. But then, her voice broke through the silence.
“Because it made sense,” she said, her tone flat, almost mechanical.
You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Of course. That’s the reason. ‘It made sense.’”
“It’s not just that!” she snapped, her voice breaking, the anger and frustration spilling out all at once. “It’s not only because it made sense.”
“Then tell me!” you shouted, your voice echoing off the walls of the apartment. “Give me another reason why we should continue this, Minnie, because what we have right now—whatever this is—isn’t worth keeping!”
Her hands balled into fists, and for a moment, you thought she’d lash out at you. But instead, she took a shuddering breath, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Because I was scared!” she yelled, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Because I thought I was going to lose you!”
Her confession hung in the air, raw and heavy, piercing through the anger like a blade.
“What?” you whispered, your voice faltering, confusion overtaking your frustration.
“I acted that way because I was afraid,” she repeated, her voice cracking. “Because this marriage meant we can’t go back. Because I realized too late that if I lose you in this marriage, I’d lose you forever.”
Her words lingered, their meaning teetering on the edge of something deeper, unspoken. She looked away, her arms wrapping around herself as if shielding something she couldn’t bring herself to admit.
You stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in, the truth cutting deeper than you anticipated.
Her voice wavered as she continued, a hint of desperation slipping through. “Being with you, acting like a couple—it made me happy. Too happy. But then it all started feeling too real. It felt like I was enjoying it too much.”
Your breath hitched as her meaning sank in.
“Minnie…” you said, your tone softer, a tremor of realization in your voice.
The silence that followed was deafening, filled with everything she couldn’t say and everything you weren’t sure you wanted to hear.
But she didn’t stop. Her voice trembled as her emotions spilled out, years of fear and pain surfacing all at once. “And then it hit me. This wasn’t real. It was never real. I was so scared of losing you, I regret agreeing to something I didn’t even understand. And every day, I kept thinking, ‘What if he wakes up and realizes he doesn’t need me? What if he decides to leave?’ So I distanced myself. I thought it’d hurt less that way. But it didn’t. It just made it worse.”
She drew in a shuddering breath, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It felt like I was taking advantage of you. Like I was holding you hostage in something you never wanted. Every time I looked at you, I felt guilty. It felt like I was coveting something I didn’t deserve. And I… I didn’t know what to do with that. I thought if I kept some distance, it’d hurt less when…” Her voice faltered as she swallowed hard. “…when we finally ended this.”
Her voice broke entirely as the tears finally came, streaming down her face in uncontrollable waves. She brought her hands up to cover her face, but her sobs filled the room, raw and unguarded.
You froze, the sight of her unraveling like this rendering you speechless. All the anger, all the frustration that had built up inside you, dissolved into something else—something achingly tender.
Without thinking, you stepped forward, closing the space between you. Gently, you reached out, your hands trembling as they brushed against her arms, then her shoulders, before finally pulling her into a hesitant embrace.
She stiffened at first, but then, as if the dam inside her finally broke, she leaned into you, clutching at your shirt as though letting go might shatter her entirely. Her sobs wracked her body, her pain and fear pouring out into the silence between you.
And for the first time, you found yourself holding her not out of obligation, but because you didn’t want to let her go. Slowly, carefully, you reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you brushed the tears from her cheeks.
She flinched at first, but when she felt the gentle press of your fingers, she stilled. Her hands fell to her sides, and she stood there, her sobs quieting as you wiped away her tears in silence.
Your thumb lingered on her cheek for a moment, and then another, your touch soft, unhurried, as if you were trying to erase not just her tears but the pain they carried.
“Minnie,” you finally said, your voice a low murmur. “I had no idea…”. You cupped her face wanting to meet her eyes
Her shoulders shook again, but this time she didn’t pull away. She leaned into your hand, her tears still falling but slower now, her breathing uneven.
“All this time…” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “You’ve been scared. And I—”
You stopped, your throat tightening. The realization struck you hard, the truth you had avoided for so long staring back at you. You had been scared too. Scared of the vulnerability, of admitting how much she meant to you, of risking it all and losing her in the end.
For the moment, your eyes finally met with hers, but neither of you spoke. The silence was heavy but not unbearable, filled with something fragile yet unspoken.
The tension in the room didn’t disappear, but something shifted. For the first time in what felt like forever, the truth was out in the open. And even though it hurt, even though it felt like your chest was being torn open, it was a start.
But words weren’t enough. Not tonight. Not when the air between you was still crackling with something raw and unspoken. Not when she stood there, her long black hair falling over her shoulders, her bangs slightly tousled, her slim frame trembling with the weight of her confession, her vulnerability laid bare.
Before your mind could think, your body moved.
In one impulsive motion, you closed the distance between you, your hands cupping her face as your lips crashed into hers. The kiss was sudden, reckless, and charged with all the emotions you’d been holding back. Her lips were soft, warm, and trembling against yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop.
But then your brain caught up, and you jolted away, your breath ragged, your heart pounding in your chest. “Minnie… I—” you stammered, trying to explain yourself, to apologize for the impulsiveness of it all.
But before you could finish, her lips found yours again, cutting off your words. This time, it was her who closed the gap, her kiss just as desperate, just as messy, as if she couldn’t bear to let you pull away. Her hands clutched at the front of your shirt, her fingers twisting into the fabric like she was afraid you’d vanish if she let go.
“Yunjae,” she whispered against your lips, her voice breaking. “Don’t leave me.”
The plea was raw, unfiltered, and it shattered whatever restraint you had left. Her lips were soft but insistent, trembling with a vulnerability that mirrored your own. You could feel the dampness of her tears as they spilled over, mingling with the heat of your kiss. She kissed you back with a hunger that matched your own, her fingers tangling in your hair as if she was trying to anchor herself to you.
In one swift motion, you scooped her up into your arms, her body light and trembling against yours. Her arms instinctively wrapped around your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair as she clung to you, her breath hot against your skin. She felt fragile in your arms, her slim frame fitting perfectly against you, and you could feel the rapid beat of her heart as you carried her toward the bedroom.
Her pink jacket and pants were still partially on, the fabric soft against your skin, but the black sleeveless crop top she wore underneath clung to her body, revealing the delicate curve of her waist and the faint outline of her ribcage. Her long black hair spilled over your arm, her bangs slightly messy from the intensity of the moment, and she looked up at you with wide, uncertain eyes.
You kissed her again as you walked, your lips brushing against hers in a slow, heated kiss that made her gasp. Her hands tightened around your neck, her nails digging into your skin as if she was afraid you’d let her go. But you didn’t. You held her closer, your arms tightening around her as you carried her into the bedroom.
The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows across the walls. You laid her down gently on the bed, her dark hair fanning out around her like a halo. She looked up at you, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her eyes wide and vulnerable as she reached for you, her hands trembling as they traced the lines of your chest, your stomach, your hips.
“Minnie if you want me to stop…” you asked for confirmation.
“Yunjae,” she whispered again, her voice breaking as she pulled you closer. “Please.”
You kissed her again while taking off her jacket, your lips trailing down her neck, her collarbone, her chest. She gasped, her hands clutching at your shoulders as you moved lower, your lips brushing against the edge of her crop top. Her breath hitched as you pulled her crop-top over her head, putting into full view her whole upper body, the well defined lines of her stomach, the delicate curve of her waist. Her ribcage was faintly visible as she arched into your touch.
You kissed her stomach, your lips brushed against her skin as your hands slid down to the waistband of her pants. She let out a soft moan, her hips lifting slightly as you undid the button and zipper, sliding the fabric down her legs. She kicked them off, leaving her in nothing but her black lace underwear, her body trembling under your gaze.
She was beautiful. Her long black hair fanned out around her like a halo, her bangs slightly tousled as she looked up at you with wide, uncertain eyes. Her ribcage was faintly visible as she took a shallow breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly. You could see the faint outline of her collarbone, the delicate curve of her waist, the way her body seemed to tremble with every touch.
Her hands slid down to your chest, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of your shirt as if she couldn’t get close enough to you. You helped her, shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor, your skin prickling under her touch. Her breath hitched as her palms flattened against your chest, her fingertips tracing the lines of your collarbone, your shoulders, your arms. Her touch was hesitant at first, almost shy, but there was a hunger in her eyes that made your breath catch.
But then her hands moved lower, her fingers brushing against the waistband of your pants. She hesitated for a moment, her cheeks flushing as she looked up at you, her dark eyes filled with a mix of nervousness and desire. “Can I…?” she whispered, her voice trembling with need as she looked into your eyes, her dark gaze filled with a mix of vulnerability and desire.
You nodded, your breath catching as you reached for her hands, intertwining your fingers with hers as you guided her to the button of your pants. “Go ahead,” you murmured, your voice low and rough as you pressed a kiss to her forehead.
She nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she undid the button and zipper of your pants, her fingers brushing against your skin as she pushed them down your legs. You kicked them off, leaving you with only your boxer. Her breath hitched as she took in the sight of you, her dark eyes wide with a mix of awe and desire.
Your lips met again, and this time, there was no hesitation. The kiss was deep, desperate, and full of all the things you couldn’t say. Her tongue clashed with yours, the heat between you building as she kissed you with a ferocity that left you breathless. You could feel her trembling against you, her hands clutching at your shoulders as if she was afraid you’d pull away.
But you didn’t. You kissed her back just as fiercely, your hands sliding down to her waist as you pulled her closer. Her body pressed against yours, her slim frame fitting perfectly against you, and you could feel the rapid beat of her heart as she moved against you.
Her aggressive kissing pushed you back, and before you knew it, your back was against the headrest, her body on top of you as she straddled your lap. Her hands roamed over your chest, her touch frantic and desperate as if she was trying to anchor herself to you. Her breath hitched as your lips trailed down her neck, her collarbone, her chest, and she let out a soft moan that sent a shiver down your spine.
Your hands slipped underneath her bra, your fingers brushing against the soft, warm skin of her chest. She gasped, her body arching into your touch as your palms cupped her breasts, your thumbs brushing over her nipples. They were already hard, sensitive to your touch, and she let out a soft whimper as you teased them, your fingers rolling and pinching gently.
But as your hands moved to the clasp of her bra, fumbling clumsily in your haste. Her hands reached behind her back, and with a practiced ease, she unhooked the bra herself, letting it fall away. Her breasts were now bare, her nipples hard and sensitive in the cool air of the room.
“Yunjae,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she clung to you. “Please.”
You didn’t need to be told twice. Your lips trailed down her neck, her collarbone, her chest, and you took one of her nipples into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. She gasped, her hands clutching at your hair as she arched into you, her body trembling with every touch.
Your lips returned to her neck, your hands tracing the curves of her hips, leading to her midriff. Your touch was deliberate, exploring every inch of her as if committing her to memory. Your hand moved downward, sliding over the smooth skin of her stomach until your fingers brushed against the fabric of her panties. She was already drenched, the wetness seeping through the thin material, and her entire body jolted as your finger made contact.
You rubbed her gently, the wet sounds filling the room as her hips instinctively rocked against your hand. Her crotch throbbed with every movement, her breath hitching as your fingers slid against the fabric, teasing her through the damp material.
“You’re so wet…” you murmured, your voice low and rough with desire.
Her eyes trembled, her lips parting as if she wanted to explain, to justify the way her body reacted to you. “Yunjae… I—” she began, her voice shaky and breathless.
But before she could finish, you slipped a finger inside her, and her words dissolved into a sharp, breathy moan. Her body tensed, her back arching as she instinctively pressed herself closer to you, her hands gripping your shoulders for support. She was warm and tight, her walls clenching around your finger as you moved slowly, giving her time to adjust.
“Yunjae…” she gasped again, her voice breaking as her hips rocked against your hand, seeking more of your touch. Her nails dug into your skin, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as you added a second finger, stretching her gently.
Her moans grew louder, more desperate, her body trembling as you curled your fingers inside her, hitting a spot that made her cry out. Her thighs clenched around your hand, her hips moving in rhythm with your fingers as she chased the pleasure building inside her. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, her nails digging into your shoulders as she clung to you, her body taut with tension.
“Yunjae… I’m—” she gasped, her voice breaking as her body began to shake. Her walls clenched around your fingers, her hips stuttering as the pleasure overwhelmed her. Her back arched, her head tilting back as a sharp, breathy cry escaped her lips. Her entire body tensed, then shuddered as she came, her release washing over her in waves.
Her strength gave out almost immediately, her body slumping against yours as she buried her face in the crook of your neck. Her breath was hot and ragged against your skin, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath. Her hands, which had been gripping your shoulders so tightly, now rested limply against your back, her fingers trembling as she clung to you.
“Yunjae…” she whispered, her voice soft and hoarse, her lips brushing against your skin. Her body was still trembling, her legs shaky as she tried to steady herself. She felt small and fragile in your arms, her vulnerability laid bare in the aftermath of her release.
But as she shifted slightly, trying to catch her breath, she became acutely aware of the hardness pressing against her through the thin fabric of your boxers. Her crotch, still clad in her damp panties, was now positioned directly over your cock, the tip of it protruding past the garter of your boxers. The sensation made her gasp softly, her eyes widening as she realized just how much you wanted her.
She looked up at you, her dark eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and nervousness. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out. Instead, she bit her lower lip, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for the waistband of your boxers. Her movements were hesitant, her fingers fumbling as she tried to pull them down, her inexperience evident in the way she hesitated.
“Minnie…” you murmured, your voice gentle as you reached for her hands, stopping her. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” she interrupted, her voice soft but firm. Her eyes met yours, and there was a determination in them that surprised you. “It’s my turn now. Let me… let me make you feel good, Yunjae.”
You nodded, letting go of her hands and giving her the space to continue. She took a deep breath, her fingers trembling as she finally managed to pull your boxers down, freeing your hardened length. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the sight of you, her breath hitching as she reached out, her touch tentative as her fingers brushed against you.
“Is… is this okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she looked up at you, her dark eyes filled with uncertainty.
“More than okay,” you assured her, your voice rough with desire but gentle, encouraging her.
She nodded, her fingers wrapping around you hesitantly, her grip loose at first as she began to stroke you. Her movements were clumsy, her touch unsure, but the sensation of her hand on you was enough to make your breath hitch. She watched your face carefully, her eyes searching for any sign of discomfort or pleasure, her cheeks flushing as she realized just how much her touch was affecting you.
“Like this?” she asked, her voice trembling as she tightened her grip slightly, her hand moving a little faster.
“Yeah,” you groaned, your hips bucking instinctively as her fingers brushed over the sensitive tip. “Just like that, Minnie.”
Encouraged by your response, she continued, her movements growing more confident as she found a rhythm that made you groan. But then she hesitated again, her eyes flickering down to your cock before she looked up at you, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“Can I…?” she began, her voice trailing off as she gestured toward her mouth.
You nodded, your breath catching as she leaned down, her lips brushing against the tip of your cock before she took you into her mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, her warm, wet tongue swirling around you as she began to move her head. Her movements were slow and tentative, her inexperience evident in the way she hesitated, but the sheer fact that she was trying, that she wanted to please you, made it all the more intense.
“Minnie…” you gasped, your hands tangling in her hair as she took you deeper, her tongue pressing against the underside of your cock as she sucked. The wet sounds of her mouth on you filled the room, her moans vibrating against your skin as she worked to bring you pleasure.
But she wasn’t done. She pulled back slightly, her lips still wrapped around you as she looked up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and determination. She took a deep breath, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked you deeper, her tongue swirling around you as she moved her head. The sensation was overwhelming, her warm, wet mouth enveloping you as she worked to bring you pleasure.
“Minnie…” you groaned, your hands tightening in her hair as she took you deeper, her tongue pressing against the underside of your cock as she sucked. The wet sounds of her mouth on you filled the room, her moans vibrating against your skin as she worked to bring you pleasure.
Her free hand reached up, her fingers intertwining with yours as she looked up at you, her eyes dark with desire. She didn’t need to say anything—her actions spoke volumes, her determination to make you feel good evident in every movement. Her lips tightened around you, her tongue flicking against the sensitive spot just below the tip, and you felt yourself nearing the edge.
“Minnie… I’m close,” you warned, your voice strained as your hands tightened in her hair. “You should… stop…”
But she didn’t. Instead, she looked up at you, her dark eyes glinting with determination as she took you deeper, her lips tightening around you as she sucked harder. Her tongue swirled around the sensitive tip, her movements growing more confident as she focused on bringing you over the edge. The sensation was overwhelming, her warm, wet mouth enveloping you as she worked to bring you pleasure.
“Minnie, I—” you tried again, your voice breaking as your hips bucked instinctively, but she didn’t pull away. Her hands gripped your thighs, her nails digging into your skin as she held you in place, her mouth working tirelessly to push you closer to the edge.
And then it happened. With a low groan, you came, your release spilling into her mouth as she continued to suck, her movements slowing but not stopping. Her eyes fluttered shut, her cheeks hollowing as she swallowed, her throat working to take everything you gave her. The sight of her like this—her lips wrapped around you, her face flushed, her mouth full of you—was almost too much to bear.
When she finally pulled away, her lips were glistening, a faint trace of cum lingering at the corner of her mouth. She looked up at you, her dark eyes wide and dazed, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she tried to catch her breath. Her tongue darted out, licking her lips clean before she swallowed again, her cheeks flushing as she realized what she’d just done.
“Minnie…” you murmured, your voice rough with emotion as you reached for her, pulling her into your arms. She came willingly, her body collapsing against yours as you laid back against the pillows, her head resting on your chest. Her long black hair fanned out around her, her bangs slightly tousled as she looked up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and vulnerability.
“Did I… do okay?” she asked, her voice soft and hesitant as she traced circles on your chest with her fingertips.
“More than okay,” you assured her, your voice gentle as you pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You were amazing, Minnie.”
She let out a soft sigh, her body relaxing against yours as she nestled closer, her head resting in the crook of your neck. Her breath was warm against your skin, her body still trembling slightly from the intensity of the moment. You held her close, your hands stroking her back as you tried to steady your own breathing.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The room was quiet, the only sounds the soft rustle of the sheets as you shifted slightly, pulling the blanket over the two of you. Minnie’s body was warm against yours, her slim frame fitting perfectly against you as she lay on top of you, her legs tangled with yours. Her hair, messy and slightly damp, brushed against your neck, and you could feel her steady breath on your skin.
“Minnie…” you whispered, your voice soft, almost hesitant.
She hummed in response, her head resting against your chest, fingers lightly tracing patterns on your arm.
“When did it start?” you asked, your words hanging in the quiet air between you.
She tilted her head, looking up at you with a puzzled expression. “What do you mean?”
“When did it start?” you repeated, your voice a little firmer now. “Was it after the marriage?”
Her brows furrowed briefly before the realization dawned on her. Understanding your question, she shook her head.
“No?” you asked, a hint of surprise in your tone. “Then… was it during our wedding day? During our first night?”
Minnie hesitated, her gaze flickering away for a moment.
“Or when we exchanged vows?” you pressed, your curiosity tinged with something deeper, almost like hope.
Her lips parted as if to respond, but instead, she shook her head again. “Earlier,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Earlier?” you echoed, confusion lacing your tone. “When were we convincing our parents?”
This time, she didn’t answer right away. Instead, a faint smile appeared on her lips, the kind of smile you hadn’t seen from her in a long time—soft, genuine, and tinged with something unspoken.
That smile was enough.
Your heart clenched, a mix of emotions swirling in your chest. “Minnie…” you said, your voice cracking slightly.
She didn’t say anything else, just nestled closer against you, her fingers still idly tracing shapes on your arm. Her smile lingered, and though the silence between you stretched, it was no longer heavy with doubt or regret.
But then, something shifted. The air between you grew warmer, heavier, as if her smile had unlocked something deep inside you. You couldn’t help it—you leaned in, your lips brushing against hers in a soft, tentative kiss. She froze for a moment, her breath hitching, but then she kissed you back, her lips trembling against yours.
The kiss was slow at first, almost hesitant, but it didn’t take long for the tension to build again. Her hands slid up to your chest. Your hands found her waist, your fingers digging into her skin as you deepened the kiss, your tongues clashing in a heated dance.
“Yunjae…” she gasped, her voice breaking as she pulled away slightly, her breath hot against your lips. Her eyes were dark with desire, her cheeks flushed as she looked up at you, her lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss.
You didn’t respond with words. Instead, you kissed her again, your hands sliding down to her hips as you pulled her closer. Her body pressed against yours, her slim frame fitting perfectly against you, and you could feel the rapid beat of her heart as she moved against you.
But then she surprised you. With a sudden shift of her weight, she pushed you back against the pillows, her hands pressing against your chest as she straddled your lap. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, her bangs slightly tousled as she looked down at you, her dark eyes glinting with a mix of determination and desire.
Then she shifted, her hips rolling against yours in a slow, deliberate motion that made your breath catch. The damp fabric of her panties rubbed against your hardened length, the sensation sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. Her movements were slow at first, almost teasing, but it didn’t take long for her to find a rhythm that made your hips buck instinctively.
“Yunjae…” she gasped, her voice breaking as she rocked against you, her body trembling with every movement. Her breath was hot against your skin, her moans soft and desperate as she moved with you, her body trembling with every thrust.
You couldn’t take your eyes off her. The way her body moved, the way her hips rolled against yours, the way her breath hitched with every movement—it was mesmerizing. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, her bangs slightly tousled as she looked down at you, her dark eyes glinting with a mix of determination and desire.
“Minnie…” you groaned, your hands tightening on her hips as you guided her movements, your fingers digging into her skin as she rocked against you. The damp fabric of her panties rubbed against your hardened length, the sensation sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.
Her moans grew louder, more unrestrained, as she moved against you, her body trembling with every thrust. Her hands clutched at your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as she clung to you, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she chased the pleasure building inside her.
“Ah!” Minnie suddenly moaned, her body tensing as her climax neared. With her release just within reach, you pushed her hips down and thrust your hips up, the sudden additional stimulation catching her off guard. Her body, unprepared for the intensity, collapsed, her arms barely catching herself just before her face met yours. Now, you were close enough to exchange breaths, your lips inches apart as you both gasped for air.
“Yunjae…” she whispered, her voice trembling with need as she looked into your eyes, her dark gaze filled with a mix of vulnerability and desire.
“You’re so wet…” you murmured, your voice low and teasing as your fingers toyed with her pussy, the damp fabric of her panties pushed to the side. Her breath hitched as your fingers brushed against her sensitive folds, her body trembling with every touch.
“Do you want it?” you asked, your tone playful but laced with desire as you looked up at her, your fingers still teasing her.
She didn’t respond with words, just nodded, her cheeks flushing as she looked down at you, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
“But if I don’t loosen you up beforehand…” you began, your words trailing off as you shifted your position, with her still kneeling with you underneath, you positioning your face between her open legs. Her breath hitched as you leaned in, your tongue brushing against her sensitive folds, the taste of her overwhelming as you began to lick her.
“Yunjae…” she gasped, her hands tangling in your hair as she arched into your touch, her body trembling with every movement. Her moans grew louder, more unrestrained, as you continued to pleasure her, your tongue swirling around her sensitive bud as you worked to bring her to the edge.
You started slow, your tongue tracing delicate patterns over her folds, savoring the taste of her as she writhed above you. Her thighs clenched around your head, her hips rocking instinctively against your mouth as you teased her, your tongue flicking against her clit in slow, deliberate strokes. Her breath hitched, her moans growing louder as you increased the pressure, your tongue pressing harder against her sensitive bud.
“Ah… Yunjae…” she whimpered, her voice breaking as she clutched at your hair, her nails digging into your scalp as she tried to steady herself. Her body was trembling, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as you continued to pleasure her, your tongue working tirelessly to bring her closer to the edge.
But then you decided to take it further. Your tongue dipped lower, tracing the entrance of her pussy before pressing inside. She gasped, her body jerking slightly as your tongue entered her, the sensation new and overwhelming. Her hands tightened in your hair, her nails digging into your scalp as she tried to steady herself.
“Yunjae…” she moaned, her voice trembling with need as she rocked against your mouth, her hips moving in rhythm with your tongue. Her breath hitched as you continued to explore her, your tongue moving in and out of her in slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation was overwhelming, her body trembling with every movement as you worked to bring her closer to the edge.
You could feel her thighs shaking, her body tensing as she neared her climax. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, as you focused on her clit, your tongue swirling around it in tight, rapid circles while still pressing inside her. Her hands tightened in your hair, her hips bucking against your mouth as she tried to chase the pleasure building inside her.
“Yunjae… I’m… I’m going to…” she gasped, her voice breaking as her body tensed, her thighs clamping around your head as she reached her peak. Her back arched, her head tilting back as a sharp, breathy cry escaped her lips. Her entire body shuddered as she came, her release washing over her in waves.
You didn’t stop, your tongue continuing to lap at her as she trembled above you, her body still twitching with the aftershocks of her climax. Her hands, which had been gripping your hair so tightly, now rested limply against your head, her fingers trembling as she tried to catch her breath.
“Yunjae… I can’t…” she whispered, her voice soft and hoarse as she slumped against you, her body collapsing onto the bed beside you. Her breath was hot and ragged against your skin, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to steady herself. Her long black hair was damp with sweat, her bangs sticking to her forehead as she looked up at you with wide, dazed eyes.
“Okay,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm as you pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I can’t wait anymore either.”
You shifted slightly, your hands moving to her hips as you gently rolled her onto her back. She looked up at you, her dark eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and nervousness, her breath hitching as you leaned down to kiss her again. Her lips were soft and warm against yours, her hands tangling in your hair as she kissed you back with a hunger that matched your own.
But then you pulled away, your hands moving to the waistband of her panties. She froze for a moment, her breath catching as she realized what you were about to do. Her cheeks flushed, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for yours, her fingers intertwining with yours as she looked up at you.
“Yunjae…” she whispered, her voice trembling with need as she looked into your eyes, her dark gaze filled with a mix of vulnerability and desire.
“It’s okay,” you assured her, your voice gentle as you pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ve got you.”
She nodded, her hands falling away as you gently slid her panties down her legs, the damp fabric clinging to her skin as you pulled them off. She was completely bare now, her body trembling with anticipation as you settled between her legs, your hands resting on her hips as you looked down at her.
“Minnie…” you murmured, your voice rough with desire as you leaned down to kiss her again, your lips brushing against hers in a slow, heated kiss that made her gasp. Her hands clutched at your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as she clung to you, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as you positioned yourself at her entrance.
“Are you ready?” you asked, your voice soft but firm as you looked down at her, your eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation.
She nodded, her hands tightening on your shoulders as she looked up at you, her dark eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and desire. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need as she arched into you, her body trembling with every movement.
All you needed was her confirmation. With a slow, deliberate motion, you pushed inside her, her body tensing slightly as she adjusted to the sensation. For you, the feeling was indescribable. The warmth and tightness of her around you was overwhelming, a sensation that sent a shiver down your spine. Her body was soft and yielding, yet so incredibly tight, as if she was made to fit you perfectly. The way her walls clenched around you, hot and wet, made your breath hitch, your hips instinctively rocking against hers.
“Yunjae…” she gasped, her voice breaking as she arched into you, her body trembling with every thrust. Her breath was hot against your skin, her moans soft and desperate as she moved with you, her body trembling with every movement.
“Does it hurt?” you asked, your voice low and concerned as you stilled inside her, giving her a moment to adjust. Your hands moved to her hips, your thumbs brushing against her skin in a soothing motion.
She shook her head, her hands clutching at your shoulders as she looked up at you, her dark eyes filled with a mix of vulnerability and desire. “No… it’s just… a lot,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need as she arched into you, her body trembling with every movement.
You nodded, your hands moving to her hips as you gently guided her movements, your fingers digging into her skin as she rocked against you. “Tell me if it’s too much,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm as you looked down at her, your eyes searching hers for any sign of discomfort.
She nodded, her hands tightening on your shoulders as she looked up at you, her dark eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and desire. “I will,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need as she arched into you, her body trembling with every movement.
As you continued to move, the initial tension in her body began to ease. The pressure gave way to a deeper, more pleasurable sensation, a warmth that spread through your lower abdomen and made your toes curl. Her hands clutched at your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as she clung to you, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she chased the pleasure building inside her.
You couldn’t take your eyes off her. The way her body moved, the way her hips rocked against yours, the way her breath hitched with every movement—it was mesmerizing. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, her bangs slightly tousled as she looked up at you, her dark eyes glinting with a mix of determination and desire.
But then you noticed something—a few strands of her hair had fallen onto her face, sticking to her damp skin. Without thinking, you reached up, your fingers gently brushing the hair away from her face. She looked up at you, her dark eyes wide and vulnerable as you caressed her cheek, your thumb brushing against her lips.
“Yunjae…” she whispered, her voice trembling with need as she looked into your eyes, her dark gaze filled with a mix of vulnerability and desire.
You didn’t respond with words. Instead, you leaned down to kiss her again, your lips brushing against hers in a slow, heated kiss that made her gasp. Her hands clutched at your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as she clung to you, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as you continued to move, your hips rocking against hers in a slow, steady rhythm.
But then you pulled away, your fingers brushing against her lips again. This time, you pressed them gently against her mouth, her breath hitching as she realized what you were about to do. Her lips parted slightly, her tongue darting out to lick your fingers as you pushed them into her mouth, her warm, wet tongue swirling around them as she sucked.
“Yunjae…” she moaned, her voice trembling with need as she looked up at you, her dark eyes filled with a mix of vulnerability and desire. Her hands clutched at your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as she clung to you, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as you continued to move, your hips rocking against hers in a slow, steady rhythm.
As you thrust deeper, the outline of your length became faintly visible against her lower abdomen, the subtle bulge a testament to how deeply you were inside her. Her slim frame made it impossible to ignore—every movement, every push and pull, was mirrored in the way her stomach tensed and relaxed. It was a sight that made your breath catch, a visual reminder of how intimately connected you were.
“Do you feel that?” you murmured, your voice low and rough as you pressed a kiss to her neck, your hands gripping her hips to guide her movements. “How deep I am?”
She nodded, her breath hitching as she arched into you, her body trembling with every thrust. “I… I can feel all of you,” she gasped, her voice breaking as she clung to you, her nails digging into your skin. “It’s… so much…”
“You’re taking me so well,” you whispered, your voice filled with awe as you watched her body respond to yours. Her hips rocked against you, her legs hugging your hips locking you in, her movements growing more desperate as she chased the pleasure building inside her.
“Yunjae… I’m… I’m going to…” she gasped, her voice breaking as her body tensed, her thighs clamping around your hips as she reached her peak. Her back arched, her head tilting back as a sharp, breathy cry escaped her lips. Her entire body shuddered as she came, her release washing over her in waves.
You didn’t stop, your hips continuing to move against hers as she trembled beneath you, her body still twitching with the aftershocks of her climax. Her hands, which had been gripping your shoulders so tightly, now rested limply against your back, her fingers trembling as she tried to catch her breath. Her legs, which had locked around you moments ago, now lay idle on the bed, completely spent and devoid of strength.
Feeling her body go slack beneath you, you slowed your movements, your own breath ragged as you leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. “You did so well, Minnie,” you murmured, your voice rough but tender. As you pulled back, your cock slipped out of her, the sensation making her gasp softly, her body twitching in response.
You took a moment to admire her—Minnie, laid bare and utterly spent on the bed. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her long black hair fanned out around her like a dark halo, damp with sweat and clinging to her skin. Her bangs stuck to her forehead, and her lips were slightly parted as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes were half-lidded, her gaze unfocused as she looked up at you, her expression a mix of exhaustion and contentment.
She was beautiful, completely undone by the intensity of what had just happened. But even as she lay there, utterly spent, the fire inside you still burned. The sight of her like this—her body trembling, her skin glistening with sweat, her lips swollen from your kisses—only stoked the flames further.
“Minnie…” you groaned, your voice rough with need as you looked down at her, your eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation. You knew she was exhausted, but the primal part of you couldn’t let go just yet.
She nodded, her dark eyes glinting with a mix of anticipation and desire, even through her exhaustion. “It’s okay,” she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute. Then, softer, almost shyly, she added, “I want you to… inside me.”
Her words snapped something primal within you, a deep, instinctive need to claim her, to make her yours in every way possible. You gave her only a second to rest before you lifted her legs, draping them over your shoulders. Before she could react, you were already pushing inside her again, your length sliding deep into her warmth.
“Hmmphh…” she gasped, her exhausted body arching slightly as she let out a muffled sound of pleasure. Her eyes fluttered open, wide with surprise at the new depth she hadn’t experienced before.
“Yunjae!!” she cried out, though her voice was weaker now, softened by exhaustion. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her body trembling as she tried to adjust to the overwhelming sensation.
You started slow, each thrust deliberate and deep, the weight of your body pressing her into the mattress. With every movement, you could feel her walls clenching around you, her body responding even as she lay there, spent and overstimulated. Her moans grew louder, more unrestrained, as you gradually increased your pace.
“Yunjae–... you’re… so deep…” she managed to gasp between breaths, her voice breaking as her body writhed beneath you. Her hands moved frantically, unsure of where to grip—one moment clutching your arm, the next clawing at the sheets, then flying up to cover her mouth as her cries grew louder, more desperate.
You caught both her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand, while the other moved to her mouth, your fingers slipping past her lips to muffle her screams. She sucked on them instinctively, her tongue swirling around your digits as her muffled moans vibrated against your skin.
The sight of her like this—completely at your mercy, her body trembling with overstimulation, her eyes glazed with pleasure—was almost too much to bear. You could feel your release building, the pressure in your lower abdomen growing with every thrust.
“Minnie… I’m… I’m close…” you groaned, your voice strained as you fought to hold on just a little longer.
“Yunjae… I’m… also… Inside me… please…” she screamed, her voice unhinged by pleasure, her body arching into yours as she begged for your release.
You couldn’t hold back any longer. With a few more deep, punishing thrusts, you felt yourself reaching the edge. Your body tensed, and with a low, guttural groan, you came, your release spilling inside her in hot, unending waves. The sensation was overwhelming, a warmth that spread through your lower abdomen and made your toes curl. Her body tightened around you, her walls clenching as if trying to draw every last drop from you.
Your release was so intense that it pushed your cock out slightly, the excess spilling out of her and pooling on her stomach. Her pussy dripped with your cum, her body spasming uncontrollably as she rode out the waves of her own climax. Her cries were unrestrained now, her voice breaking as she clung to you, her nails digging into your skin.
When it was finally over, the room fell silent except for the sound of your ragged breaths. Minnie lay beneath you, her body still trembling, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to steady herself. Her eyes were half-lidded, her gaze unfocused as she looked up at you, her lips parted as she gasped for air.
“Yunjae…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, soft and hoarse. “You… came inside…” Her tone was a stark contrast to the unrestrained screams from moments ago, now filled with a quiet awe, as if she was asking for confirmation that it had really happened.
You nodded, your own breath still uneven as you leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I did,” you murmured, your voice gentle but firm. “I couldn’t hold back… not with you.”
She smiled faintly, her fingers brushing against the pool of cum on her stomach, her touch almost reverent. “It’s… warm,” she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her smile widened slightly, a soft, contented expression that made your chest ache with something deeper than desire.
You leaned down to kiss her again, this time on the lips. It was slow and tender, a stark contrast to the raw intensity of what had just happened. Her hands moved to your face, her fingers trembling as they traced the lines of your jaw, your cheeks, as if she was memorizing every detail.
“Yunjae…” she whispered against your lips, her voice trembling with emotion. “I… I love you. I’ve loved you for so long… I just didn’t know how to say it.”
Her confession hit you like a punch to the chest, your breath catching in your throat. You pulled back slightly, your eyes searching hers, looking for any hint of doubt. But all you saw was sincerity, her dark eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Minnie…” you murmured, your voice rough with emotion. “I love you too. I’ve always loved you. Even when I didn’t know how to say it… even when I thought I couldn’t have you. You’ve always been it for me.”
Her lips trembled as she smiled, a single tear slipping down her cheek. You wiped it away with your thumb, your touch gentle as you leaned down to kiss her again. This time, it was slow and sweet, a kiss that spoke of all the things you hadn’t been able to say before.
When you finally pulled away, she nestled into your chest, her body still trembling slightly as she tried to catch her breath. You reached for the tissues on the nightstand, cleaning yourself off before gently wiping her stomach and the mess between her legs. She watched you quietly, her eyes soft and filled with affection as you took care of her.
When you were done, you collapsed beside her, pulling her into your arms. She fit perfectly against you, her head resting on your chest as her fingers traced idle patterns on your skin. Her breathing slowly evened out, her body relaxing as exhaustion finally claimed her.
“Yunjae…” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she drifted off to sleep. “Don’t let go…”
“I won’t,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m here, Minnie. I’m not going anywhere.”
As her breathing steadied and she fell into a deep sleep, you held her close, your own exhaustion finally catching up to you. But before you let yourself drift off, you whispered one last thing, knowing she couldn’t hear it but needing to say it anyway.
“I love you, Minnie. Always.”
The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, its golden rays falling across your face. You stirred, your body slowly waking. As you opened your eyes, the events of the night before rushed back to you in vivid detail. Minnie’s words, her touch, her warmth—it all felt so real, so vivid.
But the bed was cold beside you.
Frowning, you turned to the empty space where she had been. The sheets were smooth, the faintest hint of her scent lingering on the pillow. You sat up, running a hand through your messy hair, your heart sinking slightly.
“Minnie?” you called out, your voice hoarse.
There was no response.
You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood, wincing slightly as you stretched. For a moment, you expected a hangover to hit you, but you felt fine—physically, at least. Emotionally, though, a heaviness settled over you as you searched the room for any sign of her.
She wasn’t in the bathroom.
She wasn’t in the living room, either.
Disappointment crept in as you moved through the apartment, checking every corner, every room. By the time you circled back to the kitchen, your chest felt hollow. After everything that had happened last night—her confession, her vulnerability, her promise—she was gone.
And then you saw it.
On the table was a neatly prepared breakfast. A plate of rice, eggs, and a bowl of soup sat perfectly arranged, steam still rising faintly as if she’d just finished making it. Beside the plate was a small folded note with your name scrawled in her neat handwriting.
Your fingers trembled slightly as you picked it up, unfolding the paper.
Yunjae,
I’m sorry I couldn’t be here when you woke up. I really didn’t want to leave, especially after last night, but I had to. All I could do was make you breakfast before I left. Please eat it while it’s still warm.
And one more thing—don’t eat dinner alone. Promise me, okay? I’ll be back, but it’ll be late. Wait for me.
-Minnie
After reading the letter, you sat back in your chair, the note still clutched in your hand. For a moment, you simply stared at it, rereading her words over and over again. The tone of her writing—it struck you. It wasn’t just thoughtful; it was so unmistakably her.
It reminded you of how she used to be, back when things between the two of you were simpler. Back before the distance, the hesitations, the quiet battles you both fought without words.
You could almost hear her voice, playful and teasing yet tinged with warmth, as she used to remind you to take care of yourself. Back then, her care wasn’t forced or overshadowed by guilt—it was natural, effortless. And this note, with its soft insistence that you not eat dinner alone, was a glimpse of that.
Your chest tightened with a mixture of longing and hope.
Is this what healing feels like? you wondered.
You thought back to the way she’d smiled last night—the first real smile you’d seen from her in what felt like ages. The kind of smile that made your chest ache with memories of days when her laughter filled the air around you, unguarded and free.
Back then, there were no walls between you, no shadows of doubt hanging over every exchange. And now… now, for the first time in years, it felt like you were finding your way back to that place. To her. To what you had been before.
As you set the note down and picked up the chopsticks, a small smile tugged at your lips. She was right here with you, even when she wasn’t physically present. And maybe, just maybe, she was starting to believe in this again—in you, in both of you.
The breakfast she’d made tasted like home, each bite carrying with it a sense of care you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed.
As you finished your meal, you glanced at the note again, her words echoing in your mind.
“Don’t eat dinner alone. Wait for me.”
You leaned back in your chair, exhaling deeply. The apartment felt a little less empty now, the hope lingering in the air making everything seem lighter.
For the first time in a long while, it felt like the cracks in your relationship were starting to mend. Like you were no longer walking on separate paths but finding your way back to one another.
And for the first time, you felt certain that when she came home tonight, you’d be ready to meet her with the same hope and love she was slowly, carefully showing you again.
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timmydraker · 1 month ago
Text
Tim who has never been good at understanding the words of Shakespeare and Dickens.
He can understand metaphors and knows about philosophy, but he’s always struggle to truely grasp the tragedy and helplessness so may of them hold. The idea of someone being doomed from the start, by the author and the narrative or maybe just the world they were set in, just doesn’t really make sense to him.
Part of him knows it’s because he was born with a vintage silver spoon placed delicately in his hands, but there’s more to it than that.
See, most of the bad things that have happened to Tim have either been consequences of his own action or the fact that his friends and colleagues all have the same dangerous job.
To him it just makes sense that bad things will happen and so he can just… prepare for it. He can do what he can to fix it or move onto something else and push away his own feelings because what else is he supposed to do?
So, no, things like Hamlet and Dorian don’t really click for him
At least… until he thinks about Jason.
Born in poverty with a world surrounding him that would not bother to care or offer help to him purely because of how he looks of his parents.
A mother who loves him endlessly, only to fall into the drugs she tried to protect him from.
Finding out that mother didn’t even give birth to him, but the father that never showed anything other than distain and cruelty was still his own.
Being given Robin, hated by the first one for a time, only to die in the suit by the hands of a mad man all because his real mother sold him out.
Waking up in a coffin, digging himself out and roaming around catatonic and the only thoughts he can actually process is that he must be a ghost.
Being taken by a league of killers, lied to and trick and tormented into thing a perfect weapon.
Realise his mentor, who he once thought the father he deserved to have, has failed him and let his killer free because of something as fickle as a moral compass.
Seeing that mentor seemingly replace him with a perfect rich kid who doesn’t swear or complain or sneak off without permission from what he can tell.
Having no real friends in that time.
Having no one to trust because everyone had an ulterior motive. Everyone uses him.
And through out it all, even with all the hate and the bitterness and injustice he had been faced with, his first course of action is to make the home he first had and the only one he will ever have… safer.
To protect the kids like him from becoming statistics and killers, from the pain he felt and the false promises of the Batman.
Jason keeps honesty and integrity, even when no one else offers it to him in return.
Tim can’t understand Macbeth or Antigone or Othello, can’t see why someone would write something so morbid just to try and entertain.
But he can understand, or at least try to understand, Jason Todd.
Because that is someone who had actually been hurt for no reason. Someone who had been tormented by the universe, by fates and coincidence, with no real lesson being taught other than the world hates him.
Sure Jason has Roy and Biz and Artemis and Kori, but what about a brother?
Dick tried, he still does, but he fails Jason over and over by trying to make him ���better’.
Damian doesn’t really care too much, not out of malice but there’s just not much of a connection between them.
Cass tries, but Jason is always awkward around her and that’s not his fault, you can’t hide a thing from her.
Duke liked Jason a lot, but again, the newest Bat is trying hard to find his place in the world of vigilantes and can’t quite find it in himself to be too close to Jason’s violence.
But Tim…
He’s morals have always been held together by the simple fact of ‘it’s not really that approved of’ and not much else. He won’t kill, but unlike the others he is happy to leave a Rouge in a sinking ship and not feel a hint of guilt.
He adores Jason’s Robin, he knows to some extent how much he lost with that, and now he knows that Jason might not need much more than a few good things.
Small things, nothing that will trick him into thinking the world is apologising because it won’t, but enough to show him that Tim thinks he’s still worth something.
Tim won’t try convince him to become a better person or to stop killing, he might ask him to be a bit more rational and probably won’t be able to stop himself from giving tips on how to run his business, but he wouldn’t ask for his violent brother to change.
Because unlike everyone else, Tim knows that violence exist for good reason.
If it keeps his Jason alive, Tim will gladly hold onto his blood soaked hand.
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gachagon · 29 days ago
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Wolfgang's deceit and hypocrisy
A deconstruction and analysis of Wolfgang's behavior based on what he said and did during Chapter 1
I kept thinking about why Damon didn't exactly get along with Wolfgang because it seems obvious that he doesn't like him due to Wolfgang's somewhat pompous attitude towards the idea of Ultimates. Wolfgang contrasts Damon's view of Ultimates in that Wolfgang believes all talents are equally valuable to society, and Damon doesn't.
Wolfgang says he doesn't believe anyone there was capable of murdering their "friends" and that the killing game wouldn't even kick off because he believed in the inherent goodness of Ultimates as a whole.
Damon disagreed with this notion and believed everyone had the capacity for violence regardless of their Ultimate status or not. He also disagreed with the idea that all talents are equally valuable to society and that some are more frivolous in nature than others.
Wolfgang believed in a lot of "hopeful" ideals however, I don't think he was telling the truth when he said these things. His actions spoke louder than all of those inspiring speeches he gave to the rest of the class.
In fact, I think Wolfgang agreed with everything Damon said, but he didn't want to admit it for some reason. Wolfgang said he believed in a fair trial and letting people explain themselves, but when Eva claimed she was the Ultimate Liar he immediately resorted to turning the others against her by casting suspicion on her.
He said he believed that all talents are equal in value, but when Eva was revealed to be the Ultimate Mathlete, he didn't stop any of the others from mocking Eva over it. (I will also point out that while as hilarious as Cassidy's Bargain Bin joke is at Damon's expense, he doesn't tell her off for making said joke at all either.)
And Wolfgang said he didn't believe anyone there would kill anyone, but he was constantly taking "precautions" for the Killing Game. "Just in case" someone decided to do something. He agreed with Desmond's idea of bunking together, he at first doesn't want to investigate the pharmacy but decided it's a good idea to let everyone know what's inside anyways, and when he got the mysterious letter telling him to meet in the boiler room he brought a knife with him from the kitchen "for protection" supposedly.
Wolfgang says a lot of things that he clearly doesn't believe, him and Damon are exactly alike. But the difference is that Damon is honest in how he feels about the Killing Game and Wolfgang is not.
Where his hypocrisy comes in is how he judges Damon for his honesty, and makes it seem like he too isn't distrustful of others during the game. And I think the reason for why Damon specifically doesn't like Wolfgang is not just because he is a hypocrite but because he's purposeful about his hypocrisy. He isn't like the rest of the class in his hypocrisy in that he's not doing it by accident, he's doing it on purpose because it keeps him in control of the group.
And the funny thing about it is that it's kind of Damon's fault that the others adopted Wolfgang as their defacto leader. During the mock class trial, Damon was the one who defended Wolfgang's integrity and instinct as a lawyer to get the others to continue to believe in him so they could solve the murder.
But Damon didn't defend Wolfgang because he had some belief in the inherent goodness of Ultimates. He did it because Damon believed Wolfgang's *talent* as a lawyer is proof enough that he's well versed in situations like this. It wasn't about Wolfgang as a person, but his ability as a lawyer. And I think this is why when Damon just says what he thinks Wolfgang is confused by it because he thought Damon was like the rest of the class, hopeful and naive.
And obviously, later on Wolfgang states that he sees people, Ultimates, as more than just their talent. But I don't believe him. I think from the way he treated both Eva and Damon that he silently agreed on the idea of some talents being lesser than others. And he just puts himself in the position of not believing in what Damon says because it's unpopular with the rest of the class.
Wolfgang can subtly take all of the credit for solving Cara's murder, while Damon gets no recognition and because Damon has an unpopular opinion about Ultimates and Talents and the Killing Game, Wolfgang can become their leader very easily (which is exactly what happened)
But he doesn't truly believe in any of it, he's a biased person through and through who has his own selfish goals, and egotistical opinions just like Damon. I think he just didn't come out and be honest because being honest would've shafted him with the likes of Eva and Damon.
Wolfgang is leading them all with blind optimism, when he himself isn't that optimistic. I think this is why his Blackmail letter mentioned him having a Wolfish mind as well, because he is essentially a wolf in sheep's clothing leading a herd of sheep to their potential doom. Keeping them in the dark on purpose so he can continue to be seen as the leader and beacon of hope.
And if you think "Wolfgang wouldn't be that self centered to do this" I think he is, purely because of how he behaved during his death. Diana mentioned him saying things about being seen as great, trying to prove himself to someone, and not being able to measure up to another person.
I think Wolfgang is the exact type of person who would feed on other people's admiration in a situation like this. "It doesn't matter if they believe in me for a foolish and naive reason, because they believe in *me*. And as long as they have their faith in *me*, nothing else about this situation matters. Anyone who doesn't put their faith behind my ability to lead is irrelevant and isn't a part of the group."
(hence why Eva and Damon were constantly shafted by Wolfgang as outsiders)
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jesswritesthat · 6 months ago
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Atsumu Miya: Second Choice
Fandom: Haikyuu!! — [ Masterlist ]
Summary: ~2.2k, fluff
• You were never first choice, so it comes as a surprise when he notices your presence before anyone else.
Warnings: None
>>>>——————————>
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It was always the same, you'd watched as people flocked to beauty, straight past you every time. In reality when you became friends with Sachiko it was because she had a great personality, you couldn't have possibly predicted she'd become the most beautiful and popular girl in school by the time you'd reached Inarizaki High.
Regardless of her sparkling status, she remained your best friend and you'd usually be found together throughout the school premises along with anyone else who joined you at the start of first year.
When the Volleyball team grew more intoxicating, it was Sachiko who'd excitedly dragged you along to one of their home training matches. It's where you first laid eyes upon the famous Miya twins, a vicious team of spiker and setter with a serve worthy of award among them. Already they had personal fans and the cheer squad screaming their praises, you're surprised they didn't get mauled in the hallways.
Now you'd seen them, you recognised them in school and they apparently had space to breathe aside from the odd confession here and there. You'd regularly seen that with Sachiko though, she'd often be either pulled to the side or you'd bear witness to some lovestruck soul gushing their heart out for her.
It was humbling in a way, you were the one who goes unnoticed but notices everything. Including if feelings were reciprocated, and you're certain you deducted gossip before it even became that, you'd been getting accurate in predicting things lately. However, you never predicted one of them to notice you.
Especially him.
"Hey, ya in one of my classes right?" In honesty you didn't even realise it was you this voice was addressing since Sachiko lingered by your side, not until a careful tap drew your attention to the blonde twin rather than your locker.
"Huh? Oh I think so, it hasn't been long enough to learn everyone's name yet. You're the volleyball player though."
"Ah, have ya seen me play? Like it?" His head tilted in curiosity, proud smirk upon his lips.
"You were really good, you have great form when you serve." With that you nodded to him, slipping on your shoes and walking off with your best friend quickly following in tow.
"Woah— wait up!" You didn't even look back in the swarm of leaving students. "I didn't get yer name..."
———
It wasn't until a week or so later did he 'confidently' interact with you again, this time his call far more effective in hailing your attention.
"(L/n) (Y/n)!"
Immediately you spun to the origin, finding none other than Miya Atsumu dodging a group of fangirls rather effortlessly on his way to you.
"You know my name."
"Yeah 'course. You know who I am so it's only fair." It was surefire charisma, one you'd soon extinguish.
"Miya Osamu isn't it?"
"Ye—Hey?! YA GOTTA BE KIDDIN'!"
"'Tsumu shut ya mouth!" The namesake twin glared harshly at his counterpart, quickly flashing a calmer look when you'd addressed him.
"Ah, hey Miya-san. I apologise, that was my fault for winding your brother up."
"Dumbass has control of his own mouth." Osamu politely assured, meanwhile Atsumu reclaimed your peripheral with a childish pout.
"So ya knew ma name all along and decided to be freakin' mean about it? On our second meetin' too."
"I couldn't resist, you're so cute when you're mad."
"I'm— oh ya think I'm cute?" Atsumu stammered slightly, your smirk only widening upon noting the crimson tips of his ears. Honesty leaving your lips soon after.
"I think you're both handsome, as does a majority of the school body. See you Miya-san and Miy—"
"Call me Atsumu!"
"See you in class, Atsumu." You actually looked back this time, an unfamiliar and unexpected feeling flourishing within you.
———
Part of you wandered if it’d be different this time, maybe you’d found someone who was there for you and not Sachiko. Just this once. You’d spoken more in class, studied together, traded snacks, and genuinely became friends over the course of two months.
Ironically it was the same blonde who tugged you from your reverie at the your locker where you’d first spoken.
"Yer friends with Sachiko aren't ya?"
This was it, the moment you realised he was just like all others and for the first time in a long while, you were truly disappointed.
"Yes I am, and she is amazing."
"I'm aware, could ya introduce me?" He’d spoked so casually, completely unawares of the charade you donned.
"What? Too scared to introduce yourself?" Atsumu was taken aback by your mockery, smirk growing as you persisted. "She doesn't bite y'know, that's my job."
This was the second time you'd left him speechless, slamming your locker door and disappearing into the halls with a wave.
From then on you'd see them happily talking to one another, it was hard seeing them together, amusing considering you'd only known the blonde not even half the year, yet you'd liked him more than you considered possible.
The first time you'd walked into the classroom finding the pair conversing at her desk, it was like Atsumu was desperately trying to convince her of something. It was only for a brief moment but when the setter turned to see you with a suddenly concerned look, you realised you hadn't worn a facade. You were meant to smile, instead you must've looked saddened - briskly you offered a weak smirk, and span to leave the room with additional flare as to minimise suspicion.
You’d only made it three steps down the hallway when a grasp on your wrist limited your escape.
"Hey you okay?"
"Yes? Why wouldn't I be?" Came your upbeat response, even if he portrayed a careful worrisome look on his handsome features.
"Ya... ya looked upset."
"Really? Are you sure?"
"I'm observant y'know, gotta be fer volleyball so yeah, I noticed your little slip." He was more forward this time, gesturing to you with a tilt of his head - even if he was head over heels for Sacchan, at least he still genuinely cared about you.
"It's nothing, just realised I've got a test today and that's depressing enough." You thought it was acceptably convincing, though the calculating gaze he'd locked onto yours made you reconsider.
“(Y/n) I know I can be annoyin’ but I’ll do anything I can to help y—“
“I’m fine.” You instantly corrected, reaffirmation following. “I’m fine, Atsumu.”
A gentle pat on his chest told him not to worry, and the nod you gave said you wanted to be alone. So, he let you walk away, your wrist slipping from his grip.
———
Even weirder than the smitten pair hanging out was that your conversations with Sachiko seemed to revolve around him too. Which by your deductions, meant he’d certainly made more of an impression on her than anyone else recently. Maybe Atsumu really had a shot with her…
"Atsumu is so hot isn't he?"
"I guess he keeps in shape, he has to if he wants to improve his skills."
"Uh yes... his hair suits him though, brings out the colour of his eyes~" She gleamed, searching for your reaction and once more her face dramatically dropped at the deadpan reply.
"Makes him easier to differentiate from Osamu."
"True, but I'm asking if you find him attractive?!" Her impatience had gotten the better of her, voice raised slightly out of desperation.
"Isn't that a question you should ask yourself? I haven't heard you go on about a boy this much since middle school." You quipped, raising a quizzical brow at her.
"It's not like th—"
"Oh hey! Sachiko, (Y/n), you wanna come to practice today?" Atsumus’ hollering tone interrupted the conversation, the blonde strolling into your classroom like he belonged there.
"Yes, we'd love to." Sachiko of course was ecstatic to agree, why would she say no since he’s ’so attractive’. Yourself on the other hand had replicated the Thor meme perfectly…
"Would we though?"
"Yeah ya would! C'mon~" You hadn't the chance to protest further when Atsumus' hands clamped your shoulders steering you in the direction of the gymnasium with a giggling Sachiko skipping behind.
———
When Atsumu had asked you to meet him after school before practice started toward the end of the year, you expected something food related or about homework answers, not whatever this was.
Here he stood, flowers in hand and apparently a homemade bento box offered to you with a growing blush painting his handsome features and an aura of flustering about him which was unusual in itself.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm— isn't it obvious?!"
"I have literally no idea what's going through your thick skull, Sachiko will like the flowers though." You answered honestly, crossing your arms.
"They're not for her!"
"Oh... Suna...?"
Atsumus brows furrowed at your wit, shaking his head with a huff.
"Alright ya got me, they're for Sachiko. Yer gonna deliver them since yer her best friend. Thanks and make sure ya eat some of the bento 'cuz there's stuff yer will like in it. Later!" He basically threw the flowers at you and pushed the bento box into your chest prior to storming toward the exit.
You stood dumbfounded, flicking between the two items when he placed his forehead against the door with a defeated sigh and spun on his heel.
“Go! Go on, the team are here and I don’t want ya getting hit with a face full of leather and petals.” He’d stubbornly commented, ushering you out of the gym.
Still, you shouldered your sadness, wearing false confidence like your favourite outfit as you went to find your friend (completely oblivious to the embarrassed mess whining to his teammates inside).
Sachiko squealed when she saw you, leaving her work unattended and rushing to your side admiring your haul.
"It finally happened! Oh my goodness!"
"Yeah yeah, blondie came through congratulations." You boredly spoke, placing the items down whilst she basically vibrated with pure joy.
"Congratulations indeed! Are you happy?"
"Eh. He did say we should share the lunch."
"That's... weird?" Sachikos’ prior energy disappeared as she looked to you in confusion.
"I know, that's what I thought. Apparently there's things I like in it."
"Well obviously. Atsumu made it for you."
"No, he made it for you."
A moment of silence passed, yourself and Sachiko locked in a puzzled stare off.
"Nah, let's be honest, Osamu probably made it~" You dismissively waved your hand once placing the items on her desk, although it was only you who found humour in the situation.
"No (Y/n) I'm serious! Atsumu has been asking me about you and your preferences for months and I've been super excited about it. He even wanted me to find out if you liked him or not —of course IF I found out, I would've kept it to myself— but he really likes you."
"I thought he was into you, I mean everyone is into you." You adamantly justified, as if it explained everything but Sachiko was just as passionate.
"Not him, why do you think he keeps asking you to practices or bugging you every 5 minutes?"
"To get close to you? I don't know."
"No! To get close to you!"
Widened eyes and a look of pure shock told Sachiko her words had finally resonated with you, the truth burned brightly and she could only smile as you ran.
Abandoned were the flowers as you dashed through the halls and came to a skidding halt before the gymnasium - fingertips hesitantly pausing against the door upon hearing Atsumus' cursing whines.
"I didn't even get to say! They just ran off to Sachiko!"
“Ya literally said ‘Go’.” Osamus voice maybe?
“Yeah well, I don’t ever wanna walk away from (Y/n), but it feels like they’re always walking away from me…” Atsumu trailed off, more emotion than you thought lacing his words.
"Maybe ya shouldn't have lied?" That was definitely Arans’ blunt advisory tone.
"I had no choice! They were lookin' at me with their stupid pretty eyes and askin' if it was for Sacchan and I didn't wanna disappoint 'em."
"Yer an idiot." Osamu gladly highlighted, the perfect moment to walk in and make your presence known you decided.
"I know! But—"
"Atsumu?" At the sound of your call, the entity of the team turned in your direction, the setter being the first to respond.
"Huh?! (Y/n) what are you doing here?"
Osamu and the rest of Inarizaki seemed to understand the underlying tension and were quick to evacuate the area.
"I came to tell you that Sachiko liked the flowers." You awkwardly started, Atsumu running fingers through his hair with a quiet voice.
"Oh, right."
"As did I, and I think I'd like to get you something in return."
"Eh?"
"She told me what was going on." You filled in, hands behind your back fiddling with your fingers.
"She's lying! I do not like you at all, let alone find you attractive or anything!"
Much like you predicted, he'd jumped to conclusions and had inadvertently dropped himself in it and exposed the truth Sachiko had enclosed which earned your witty reply.
"Funny, I never mentioned anything about liking me. That’s good to know~"
"Wait— then what?" Atsumu defused, utterly confused and blushing.
"And it's a shame, I was about to confess my feelings for you but I see there's no need since you 'don't like me at all'." You shrugged haphazardly, a hint of sarcasm lacing your tone but it was your statement that revitalised his spark. Enough to abruptly skid in front of you with a commendable justification when you’d started to turn around.
"You still can, nothin' to lose and all that." A half smile was sent to you, hazel eyes meeting yours. “And please, don’t walk away from me this time.”
"I didn’t want— I mean I—“ A wistful sigh escaped you, confession imminent. “I really like you Atsumu, you're both an incredible player and a cool person so I’m glad I got to tell you that.”
“I like ya too (Y/n)! So much, and I feel more confident playing when ya come and watch. Yer smile really hypes me up y’know. If yer up for it, I’d love to spend more time with ya.”
"Yeah, I’d like that."
That evening, he’d offered to walk you home and there was still one thing you wanted to say after all that.
“Hey Atsumu?” A hum signified his attention. “Thank you for noticing me."
"Noticing ya?"
"Yeah, I just… I appreciate it."
"No I mean, noticing ya? I haven't noticed anyone else since I met ya."
<——————————<<<<
[ Masterlist ]
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hopelesslygaysstuff · 3 months ago
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October 29 - Kidnapping
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pairing: dom!Wanda x sub!Reader
summary: Wanda kidnaps you.
content warnings: kidnapping, possessiveness, stalking
word count: 1.6k+
masterlist
comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡
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Truly, it was your own fault that you were in this situation. You hadn’t been paying attention, oblivious to the eyes watching you as you made your way home from your job. 
In all honesty, you were the perfect target. You were beautiful and shy, not too sociable. You didn’t have many friends, and you spoke to your parents maybe three times a year. The homely routine of yours consisted of going to work, buying groceries, and spending time at home reading. 
It was a quiet life, and you didn’t mind it. 
Unfortunately, you’d caught the eye of a woman passing through town. Her boredom had become overwhelming, her need for a source of entertainment growing with each day. Well, it was more of a need for obsession, to focus on something that would utterly captivate her, and you were doing a fine job of that.
Wanda Maximoff, recently recovering (sort of) from destroying the darkhold and subsequently any hope of finding her children, had been aimlessly driving through town when she saw you. 
God, you were perfect. You had a charming bookbag around your shoulder, with wired earbuds in as you walked. Wanda couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen someone with wired earbuds, or someone who read a book while walking. She was worried that you’d bump into something, but you navigated the main road easily, only glancing up every few seconds. 
Your hair was pulled into a ponytail, the curls a day old as you hurried towards your destination. If Wanda had to guess, you were late to something, most likely a job. Your cheeks were flushed, but your eyes remained on your book, as if unable to tear yourself away from the words. 
Suddenly, Wanda was overcome with the need to read that book. She wanted to know everything about you. What did you eat in the morning, did you thrift your sweater, how many people would look for you if you went missing?
The last question sent a thrill through Wanda, and she could feel a part of her clicking into place. 
It was you. 
You are what she needs. Only you can save her from this dangerous edge she was teetering on. With you in her possession, Wanda would finally find a purpose again. She wanted to make you fully hers, someone who would love her as much as she loved them. 
It wasn’t that hard to book a dingy motel on the edge of town, and Wanda made sure that you never saw her as she followed you. She learned so much about you in two short weeks. You were almost always running late to something, your nose buried in a different book every few days. The only stores you frequented were the grocery store, the used book store, and an antique thrifting shop that had Wanda turning up her nose. 
When you were hers, she would buy you the finest things. You wouldn’t need to shop at secondhand stores anymore. She could tell you weren’t struggling financially, but you weren’t living comfortably either. Your apartment was many blocks from the main road, with broken street lamps around it and an unkempt yard. 
Wanda hated seeing you live in such a decrepit old place. What if something happened to you? Obviously, you didn’t see the lingering looks men and women alike would give you, but Wanda did. It had her fingers itch and her ears burn when she would watch them, your attention elsewhere as you hurried past them. 
On Friday night, after watching you return home to read your book on the couch, surrounded by blankets and a mug of hot chocolate, Wanda decided that you were hers. 
It was laughably easy to follow you in her car, the headlights off as you walked home late the next evening. You had a closing shift on the weekends, but you were blissfully ignorant of the dangers of the world, your earbuds firmly in place as you squinted at the words in your book. 
All Wanda had to do was drive around the block and park her car under one of the many broken street lamps. You didn’t even hear her get out of her car, your attention fully captivated by the book.
She nearly reveals herself too soon, delirious at the thought of being near you. You pass by her, your perfume causing her knees to tremble and weaken slightly before she finds herself overcome with the need to possess you. 
Wanda could have used a spell to capture you, but what's the fun in that? Besides, she really wanted to feel your squirming body against hers. She’s waited long enough. 
“What the fu-” you manage to say, your book dropping from your hands as you feel someone clap a hand over your mouth. You can still hear your music playing through your earbuds, and you resist as one earbud drops out. A woman’s chuckle sounds out right next to your ear, and you feel your blood run cold. 
Who the fuck laughs after grabbing someone? You hope it’s a joke, but the strength in the hands that haul you over to a red car is too much for you to pull away from. The scent of sickly sweet vanilla hits your nose, and you blink in confusion as you’re forced into the passenger seat of the car. 
The woman is too quick for you, shoving you in and slamming the door before you have time to react. You can see her moving around the car, and dive for the driver's seat, your fingers scrabbling on the lock.
You’re too slow, and the woman gives you a withering stare as she sits in the driver’s seat and pulls the door firmly shut behind her. It’s the first time you’ve fully seen her face, and the only thing you can think about is how beautiful the woman is. 
Honestly, she’s god-level ethereal. 
Confusion fills you, your heart beating as you try to undo the lock on your side. Your fingers search the frame, but you find only a hole where the lock is supposed to be. 
“You won’t be able to escape, dear,” the woman says, and you jump at the sound of her low voice. She sounds almost… friendly. What the fuck is going on?
Staring at her silently, you attempt to formulate a plan. It’s almost as if the woman can hear you thinking, because she smirks at you when you consider hitting her over the head with your bag.
“You and I both know that the only things you keep in that bag are a book and a sweater,” she says, her eyes full of mirth. They’re green, you notice, and then admonish yourself. “But go ahead at try, sweetheart.”
God, you wish she’d stop calling you pet names, it was confusing. 
“My name is Wanda,” the woman says, her eyes gazing at you. The expression on her face is unnerving, and you remain silent, watching her as she easily turns onto the highway. 
It’s late, and there are barely any other cars around. Some small part of you knows that you won’t be able to escape. Any attempt you make will be futile, so you just stare at her with wide eyes as your fingers nervously fiddle with your book bag.
What were you supposed to say?
“Typically,” Wanda begins, a soft smile on her face as one hand leaves the wheel. You watch it drift closer, fear and anticipation making their way through you. “When someone offers their name, you should offer yours in return.”
Her hand rests lightly on your thigh, and you feel revulsion fill you. Quickly, you push her hand off, pressing yourself against the door to get as far away from her as possible. Wanda’s green eyes snap to you, anger swirling in the depths as she grabs your thigh again, this time digging her fingers in.
“Do not ever reject me,” she says, her voice tight and low. 
Something sparks in the air between you, and you can practically feel her anger as it fills the car. Nodding quickly, you blink as the suffocating anger disappears in an instant and an easy smile slips back on her face. 
Those fingers start stroking your thigh, gentle and slow. You normally wouldn’t mind it if a pretty woman touched you like this, but you just… you just got fucking kidnapped.
Your breaths come short now, panic making its way through you as you stare out the front window. The woman seems oblivious to the rising emotions within you, her eyes locked on the road as she continues speaking.
“You’re going to love our house, darling.” Wanda smiles brightly at you. “It’s soundproof. And it has a dungeon, can you believe it?”
A choked whimper escapes you, and you remain silent. Wanda sends a sharp look your way, and you realize that she’s waiting for a response. You shake your head slowly. 
“Use your words, sweetheart. I want to hear that pretty voice of yours.”
Pretty? 
“Um,” you say quietly, unnerved by the level of attention you were receiving. “Okay?”
Wanda chuckles at that, and you press yourself as far away from her as possible. The door handle digs into your side, but you don’t care. You want out. You want out of this car with a creepy, gorgeous woman touching you and making you feel conflicted things, and you want to go back and finish your book.
“Don’t you understand, darling?” Wanda asks, looking at you with a dark look behind her eyes. Her voice and smile are soft, a direct contradiction to her next words. 
“You are mine. You can never leave. I won’t let you.”
419 notes · View notes
6gumi · 1 year ago
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can’t afford to fail.
synopsis ﹒your arrogant n self centred professor helps you get your grade up !
pairings ﹒dr. ratio x f!reader
cw ﹒nsfw MDNI. professor x college student 、mild age gap (dr ratio’s abt 28 while reader is 19-20) 、degradation 、desk s3x 、he’s a lil mean here :( 、use of nicknames 、pussy slapping (there ws like . . two!) 、t!tplay 、dirty talk 、reader implied 2 be smaller 、slight spanking 、unprotected s3x
note ﹒been too long since i wrote anything n i thought abt this . . i’ve BEEN thinkin’ abt it for awhile n i jus get so . . i get so giggly thinkin’ abt it LMAO i hope this is fine ! let’s hope i proofread in time ! reblogs r highly appreciated, feel free 2 send me an ask ! — millie ♡
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“utterly ridiculous.” dr ratio replied mockingly, an eyebrow raised as his taller form towered over yours, his gaze on you was firm and serious, like he was trying to scare you away. “do you see what i’m seeing?” he raised up one of your marked worksheets you handed in the other day, in pure honesty . . it wasn’t even your fault! you wanted to curse at him for not even bothering to give you and your fellow students more time to study, it was his fault in the first place for making you all stress! that’s what you wanted to say, but he would’ve had your head for that.
“ . . . yes prof.” you muttered with a small nod.
“tell me what you see then.”
you glanced up at him, your eyes slowly trailing from him to the paper he held . . failed?! again?? gosh . . you knew this would happen either way, you wanted to scream, clench your fists and beg for another retake but knowing the type of professor dr ratio was, you knew you weren’t getting any of that, no . . not anytime soon.
“ . . i didn’t do that good.”
“—didn’t do that good is an understatement, you did terrible. your idiocy is all i see written on this fail-worthy of a sheet, your work habits in class are worse than those other idiots i teach.” the professor sighed and steepled his fingers, leaning forward. “why are you falling off in my classes? are you afraid of asking me for help, is that it?” his eyes narrowed with a condensing glare, the tension in the room grew heavier.
yeah well . . if i ask you for help, you’d insult me and get annoyed anyways, was what you wanted to say. i mean, you weren’t wrong . . you were certain dr ratio had some sort of short temper or something, no matter what he says or what you do, he is the last person you’d ask for help. “someone with major idiocy like you should be grateful i’m taking time out of my day to speak to you about your dismissive performance, you know how much people would kill to have my attention right now?" dr ratio’s voice took on a harsher tone as he watched you react to his words. “even your classmates are so much more adept, why are you even in my class?"
your body jolted at his words, no matter how tough you tried to act you were secretly trying your absolute best to hold back the tears that threatened to leave your eyes, it was hard to take in his words . . it’s hard enough to not be his top student!
dr ratio’s eyes widened slightly seeing how your body jolted at his words, he took a quick breath and thought about how he would address the situation with you with a more gentler approach. "please, humor me." he took a deep breath, trying to be patient and understanding with you. he was already noticing a slight difference in your behaviour. "i’ve spent nearly a decade teaching in this institute," he continued in a slow yet low tone, “i promise you, i know what I'm talking about. how about i help you right here right now and let’s see where to go from there, got it? tell me what you don’t understand and what you do understand.”
“ . . alright.”
— ♡ —
. . it seems you both had a different idea of “helping”. you hated yourself for enjoying it, he was your professor for heaven’s sake! now you were on your knees, your mouth wrapped around his wet cock as soft grunts left his lips. you couldn’t lie . . he looked absolutely stunning from this angle, the way he threw his head back when you swirled your tongue around the slit of his dick. dr ratio groaned, his voice deep and husky as he leaned closer to see how well you were sucking him off. " . . . u-ugh . . fuck, this mouth of yours needs to be punished . . considering how many times you talked back to me in under an hour.”
before you could pull away from his cock on your own, dr ratio’s free hand slipped downwards, grasping firmly at your head, tugging it upwards. you were roughly pulled away with a gasp, you were almost out of breath as your professor pulled you closer against his chest. “a slut like you needs to learn how to be fucked properly. maybe that’s how i can help you, fuck the information in you.”
he leaned down, his lips brushing against your neck before trailing upward, his tongue tracing along your jawline and then claiming your lips forcefully. his hands moved downwards, his cock throbbing even harder in his pants. he stepped closer, reaching out to fondle one of your breasts, squeezing it softly before running his thumb over your hardened nipple . . massaging them firmly as your tongues tangled together, your moans muffled by his mouth. dr ratio’s eyes widened in awe as he pulled away from your lips, a line of saliva connected your lips and his as he admired the sight of your breasts, now fully exposed for him to feast his eyes upon. he bit his bottom lip, unable to tear his gaze away from them as they were truly a sight to behold, heavy and perky, nipples erect and begging for attention. “tell me, [name],” he licked his lips, reaching down to flick his tongue against one of your nipples.
"why can't you be as skillful as the others? do you not have the intellectual capacity?" he smirked against your nipples, watching you intently as he waited for your response. “you’re nothing but an idiot, are you not? can’t even pass any of my damn classes.” he stepped closer to you, placing one hand on your shoulder, gently pushing you towards his desk. "undress yourself slowly," he commanded, his voice husky with desire.
“ . . prof, we can’t do this . . i’m your student, you’re my professor, you’re seriously overdoing this—“
“do you want to fail my class completely or not, princess?” dr ratio muttered, raising a brow. “do you even understand the situation in front of you? you’re a failing student and should be begging me for help.“ he grabbed you by your thighs, roughly slamming you on top of his desk. “you know what you should be doing? you should be on your fucking knees, groveling for me to give you a second of my attention. instead, you're refusing to let me help get your grade up. besides . .” he leaned in closer against your ear, bringing his voice down to a whisper . . “i know that a dirty slut like you is enjoying this as much as i am.” he raised his hand, slapping your cunt that was clothed by your pink panties as hard as he could. “show me this pussy or it’s an automatic zero.”
your eyes flashed with shock and a hint of pleasure, dr ratio’s voice seething with contempt as it sent shivers down your spine . . it was obvious he wasn't going to let this go easily. you gave in . . wrapping your arms around his neck, “ . . prof . .” your face flushed red, nuzzling against his neck. “can’t . . ‘s embarrassing—“
“veritas.”
“ . . pardon?”
“call me veritas, moan it while i fuck you.”
your professor’s heart skipped a beat at his own boldness, his hand slipped down towards your lower region, grasping firmly at the hem of your skirt and tugging it upwards, revealing your lacy pink underwear underneath. with one swift motion, he ripped them apart, exposing your wet glistening pussy to his hungry eyes. "sit on the edge of the desk," he ordered, his voice low and commanding. "spread your legs wide and let me see that pretty cunt.”
you bit your lip, gazing up at him with those sweet eyes of yours as you were hesitant to even do anything under those hungry eyes of his own, “ . . do i have to? that’s . . that’s too embarrassing.”
“do you want to completely fail my class or not?”
wincing at his words, you slowly obeyed his demands . . spreading your legs with a sense of embarrassment and shame as he humiliated you completely, it was like . . he wasn’t even aware he was humiliating you! spreading your legs in front of your own damn professor? you didn’t even know what was going on in your mind at this rate! but yet . . your pussy pulsed around nothing, you craved for this and you hated that the most. the dark haired male reached down, unfastening his own pants and boxers in one swift motion, revealing his massive cock, veined and thick, dripping with precum . . it stood tall and proud, ready to claim whatever it desired, you weren’t even sure if it could fit.
"turn around," he ordered, keeping his tone low and seductive. "show me your ass." you obeyed, slowly hopping off the desk as you bent over . . your ass in his full view. your body flinched, eyes wide as he gave your cheeks one mean yet harsh slap. “try and guess how many times you nearly failed my class.” his hardened member brushed against your entrance teasingly, he couldn't resist anymore. with one swift motion, he positioned himself between your spread legs, aligning his cockhead with your tight hole from behind. “go.”
he pushed slowly, his head sliding past your tight ring of muscles, eliciting a soft moan from you as your eyes rolled back . . your pussy spasming around his thick cock almost instantly . . it was like it belonged there. “p—prof . .”
“ah ah.” he shoved his fingers inside your mouth, pressing the pad of his fingertips against your tongue. “what’s my name, slut? tell me. what did i say.” dr ratio pushed forward, stretching your hole even wider than before . . filling you up inch by agonizing inch. you couldn’t lie, each thrust of his felt like heaven, as if you and him were finally becoming one.
“v—veritas . .”
“good fuckin’ girl.” once fully buried to the hilt, he paused, taking a moment to savour this forbidden moment. his hands gripped your waist tightly, holding you steady as he began to move rhythmically in and out of your wet cunt, hitting your g-spot with a sense of urgency and desperation each powerful thrust. “guess how many times you almost failed my class, come on . . speak up, or are you giving up already?”
“ngh . . three?”
“wrong.” SLAP!
he ran his hand down the fat of your ass, slapping it loudly as you could feel the sound reverberating through the entire room . . your tongue lolling out your lips as another slap came down, even harder than the first. “keep guessing.”
“ah!— u-uhm . . five?” you moaned at the mere feeling of him picking up the pace, his hips rocking in sync with his thrusts. his cock throbbed harder inside your tight channel, stretching and massaging your insides in a way that drove you both wild with pleasure, it’s like . . he was trying to fuck you dumb, fuck you till you couldn’t think. “wrong again.” his voice ran through your ears, moans and gasps filled the room yet muffled by each loud thrust. sweat trickled down your professor’s back as he increased his rhythm, pounding into your hole faster and harder, building towards climax until the tip of his cock slammed against your deepest areas.
his hands roamed freely over your body, cupping your breasts roughly, pinching and tweaking at your nipples until they stood erect and hardened once more. dr ratio bit down on the flesh of your neck, leaving a mark that would serve as a reminder of this moment later on. "see how good i’m fucking this pussy?” he growled, his voice hoarse with desire. “come on, keep going . . stay focused.” he was lost in the feeling of your cunt, pounding into you like it was his last as his thrusts become even stronger as he reached his peak again. dr ratio groaned loudly, his cock throbbing violently inside you as a huge glob of cum shot out, yet his thrusts never yielding.
“mmh . . ah! veritas . . please!” his hands roamed over your body, trailing along your arms and shoulders, stopping at your pretty breasts once more. "fuck, this is the best pussy i’ve ever fucked.” he panted, pulling on one nipple, then the other in turn. "so fucking perfect." your moans and gasps became louder, filling the room with a symphony of pleasure. your bodies moved together in sync, hips rocking in harmony with his thrusts.
SLAP! “come on, baby.”
“s—six . . seven?! fuck . . ah!” piles and piles of paper fell off his desk when you were pushed forward, back arched with your eyes rolled back. “veritas . . i think this is enough . . someone’s gonna hear—“
veritas chuckled mockingly, his eyes glowing with malice as he grabbed hold of your chin firmly, tilting her head back in submission. his lips crashed forcefully against your own, tongue thrusting into your mouth roughly, claiming ownership over your body. "oh, i think you and i both know this is far from enough," he growled between kisses, his hands roaming freely over your lithe figure. "you know damn fucking well . . you don’t want me to fail you, right? so, accept it. your body’s damn made for this, princess . . see how well your body is responding to my cock? c’mon. look at me directly and tell me straight up you don’t enjoy this.”
drawing out soft whimpers from your throat, your professor continued his dirty work on your sensitive spots until you squirmed helplessly beneath him, unable to resist any longer . . your voice stuck between your throat as you couldn’t even find the right words to retort, accepting the way he took you against the desk, his rough thrusts forcing you to push your body against the cold surface as a puddle of cum formed on the floor from your professor’s previous orgasm, so fucking messy . .
“my point taken.” he savoured the feeling of being deep inside your warm, wet hole . . he knew he was gonna have dreams of this pretty cunt of yours, each time he pulled back, a low growl escaped his throat as your bodies slapped together, creating sounds of lustful pleasure. veritas’ hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you steady while his cock continued its relentless exploration of your gummy walls. in sync with each thrust his hips rocked against yours as well, grinding his pelvis and your ass together, the sensation was unlike anything either of them had ever experienced before . . raw, primal, and addictive. you couldn't think but respond to him with your body, your moans becoming more pronounced and needy.
“listen to me,” dr ratio gave your ass another mild smack. “you’re gonna take this dick while you tell me exactly what you’re having trouble with in class, understand? ‘gonna fuck everything through your head just like i said . . afterall . .”
“you can’t afford to fail, can you?”
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honeydazai · 6 months ago
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୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ taking care of you when you're sick
feat.: Dazai, Chūya, Ranpo, Fyodor, Nikolai, Sigma
warnings: none!
join my tag list here! 🪻
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The moment you fall sick, DAZAI gets all the more annoying, obnoxious to the core as he whines about how unfair it is that you're sick and he's not — translating to “that you don't have to go to work and he does”. He might just use your sickness as an excuse to stay at home himself; after all, when you're in this critical of a condition, he has to be by your side at all times, right? Just in case of an emergency. Surely Kunikida and the President agree.
Taking care of others or even of himself isn't what he's particularly good at, though he will pretend to be absolutely certain about cuddling being a certain cure for any illness. If you threaten to give him the cold shoulder otherwise, he'll also go to the pharmacy and buy you medication, though he will either complain about it, or he'll play it up to be his God-given mission to save his stunning girlfriend's life.
“Hm? What do you mean, bella? Of course I've got the President's 'okay' for staying at home. Taking care of you is most important, after all, don't you agree? .. Don't be mean, I am taking care of you. I made you tea just now, didn't I?"
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CHŪYA really doesn't like it whenever you're sick. While he's faced a handful of way more threatening situations before, he can't help but worry when you whine about your head hurting and your throat aching, about your stomach acting up or your vision blurring. It's not his fault that you're on his mind all day — he just wants you to be well. Is that too much to ask for?
Naturally, that translates to him being awfully good when it comes to him nursing you back to health. He wouldn't describe himself as a natural caretaker, but he is, in a way; he's protective and caring by nature, and he makes sure you're relatively well before he leaves for work every day. You don't just get the best medication on the market, but also energising meals made by him with the help of authentic recipes from elderly women he found online. To not fully lose his image, he half-heartedly complains occasionally, though his words are immediately redeemed by his beaming smile when he notices you're faring better.
“Jeez, that's one annoying cold you've got. It's been, what, like two weeks now and it's still not gone. Whatever. I've found this new soup recipe, though. It looks promising enough, doesn't it? I'll try to make it for dinner.”
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RANPO admittedly is rather bad at taking care of you. To be blunt, he much prefers it when you coddle and spoil him, not the other way around, though he tries in his own ways — which mostly include sharing his snacks with you and being near you despite the risk of getting infected himself.
Unfortunately, you're not spared from his usual honesty; when you look downright awful, dark circles underneath your eyes, he will tell you just that. If you flake out on any dates the two of you had planned previously, he will whine, but at least he won't hold a grudge. While he's not particularly committed to being a caretaker, he at least stays by your side and brings you medicine and painkillers.
“You should eat more, y'know. Yes, I know you're nauseous. You've said so about twenty times already. You won't feel any better until you eat and drink enough, though. That's common sense.”
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Naturally, FYODOR is more than simply good at taking care of you whenever you fall ill. With his age, it's no wonder that he has quite some experience and knows of many ways to heal you, though some of them might include disgusting homebrewed potions. You're best of just not asking what they're made of if you want to have any chance in downing them.
Unfortunately, his approach to helping you regain your health is more clinical than loving. He takes wonderful care of you, but he's not the type to cuddle with you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear while you're sneezing and coughing. If you ask sweetly enough, however, he might just read you a bedtime story or two.
“What is it, dear? I was just going to get you a new glass of water. .. Ah, I see. Do you really want me to stay that badly? Alright, then. Though me remaining by your side won't give you an excuse to skip taking your medication.”
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It's no surprise whatsoever that NIKOLAI is not the most caring guy, simply put, and he might just tease you about being sick throughout the whole ordeal. He can't help it; you glaring at him, exhausted and sneezing, makes him giggle. Still, he's not all bad — he revels all the more in your surprised expression when he presents you with homemade soup, a family recipe, or so he tells you, and he smiles, content, when you admit that it tastes rather lovely.
With his ability, it's easy for him to get whatever you might need, whether that's food or a cup of tea or a bucket to throw up in, from the kitchen without moving from your bedside, so be prepared to spend quite a lot of time with him in the next few days — or weeks. Though, luckily, he's there to entertain you, not the other way around; when you say you want to curl up and just sleep the sickness off, he'll just keep watch next to you, silent and calm. After all, he does want you to feel better.
“Hmm, what did you say? You like my cooking? I'm honoured, doll! You're too kind! How about a quiz about what I put in there — poison, carrots, red beet, or all three? Ah, not feeling up for it, are you? What a shame. It's all three, if you're curious. I'm just kidding, of course. Don't you worry your pretty little head.”
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SIGMA is the best choice for who to go to when ill. Not only is he kind and caring, he's also responsible and organised and, if you follow every step he tells you — eat his home-cooked soup, drink this medicine, sleep for as much as possible, take hot or cold compresses, inhale water with herbal essences —, you'll be at full health again in no time.
Even though he unfortunately can't stay at home all day to be by your side — duties at the casino call, even though he'd much rather not go —, he tries to spend as much time as possible with you, telling you about what has happened that day and how much he looked forward to being home with you again while your eyes flutter closed. When you've almost fallen asleep, his lips gently press against your forehead, even if that means he risks getting sick himself.
“Are you feeling better yet? No? Well, that's to be expected. It's only been a day, after all. I've brought you some more medicine, as well as some soup. Here, give it a taste, will you?”
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zara-renata · 3 months ago
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The right hand, the left hand, the heart of Sylus Qin | ao3 | masterlist
Summary: Sylus meets with his legal counsel while the twins give you a tour of the base, you wake up from a dream, Sylus wastes some eggs, you attempt to get to know Sylus better, and you have your first 'date' with Sylus Qin. Part 16 of the Sylus series. Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV, some Sylus POV They/them pronouns used to describe reader, meant as a placeholder for your preferred pronouns. slow-burn friends-to-lovers. This story contains: a lot of fluff and patient, tender Sylus, despite the following: MC questioning their sanity, MC with self-esteem issues, MC in the death-throes of fear-driven denial regarding the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Sylus has been interested in them this entire fucking time, Aidan antics, twin antics, a little self-induced MC angst, mentions of violence, profanity, alcohol use, discussions of gray morality.
Sylus lets his bedroom door shut behind him, leaving you to dress, preparing to leave you in Luke and Kieran’s hands. His heart—so long an empty cavern, echoing the rapid-fire rhythm of its beat—clenches, jams. You’re just on the other side of the door, and you’re already too far.
The twins are leaning against the hallway wall on either side of the door. As he steps out, their heads snap up.
He pauses. “Show kitten around the base, wherever they want to go. Finish the tour with the guest wing.”
Kieran straightens. “Why the guest wing? Is your hunter not staying in your room?” He’s still hoarse from the previous night, and Sylus makes a mental note to get him some throat lozenges. It was your feral kitten who hurt him, after all, although it’s arguably also Kieran and Luke’s own fault for approaching a seasoned warrior in a notoriously dangerous area like a couple of serial killers. Which the twins are, but not in the typical sense of the term.
“Kitten hasn’t decided where to stay yet,” Sylus answers, secure in the knowledge that you will choose him. But he is serious about wanting to at least offer you the choice—of rooms. Because even if you choose another room to stay in, he intends to find his way there at the end of every day. You sleep much better when he’s around, after all. Even then, you’ll still have a choice—you can always try to kick him off the bed again. He’ll just sleep on the floor.
“Do you want us to fix that?” Luke asks hopefully. “We can flood that floor if you want. Whoops, all the rooms are out of order!” he feigns surprise, poorly. 
Sylus snorts. “I have a feeling that if you tried to flood only the one floor, the whole base will end up underwater.”
“Is that a no?” Luke looks disappointed.
“That’s a no,” Kieran answers for Sylus. “Understood. We’ll show them all the entertainment options we have to incentivize a long stay, before we show them the guest rooms.”
Sylus nods. “Call me, if it looks like kitten is getting overwhelmed. Their last stay here… had unintended consequences.” 
“Oh you mean when you starved them and forced them to resonate with you and threatened to leave them to die?” Luke asks, counting on his fingers and tilting his head.
Sylus sighs. “Yes, Luke. That’s what I mean.”
“Okay, then we’ll tell them all about how awesome you are so that they forget that you can also be a massive asshole,” Luke perks up.
Sylus just looks at him for a moment. Even with his aether core, it took him a while to get used to Luke’s particular brand of practical, blunt straightforwardness. So few people speak to Sylus with such raw honesty and fearlessness that spending time with Luke is always a refreshing palate cleanser after enduring meeting after meeting with intimidated, simpering fools who would turn around and slit Sylus’s throat if given half a chance. He tells himself that’s the only reason he tolerates such insubordination from this half of his right-hand man.
“Oh, that’s a sound plan Luke, well thought!” Kieran agrees, pleased with his other half. 
“Just give them the tour and keep them company until I’m done.” Sylus learned long ago that attempting to corral the twins’ machinations is usually fruitless, but clear instructions tend to keep the fallout from being too disastrous.
The young men nod in unison. Sylus considers continuing to take his sweet time to get to his office, just to further infuriate the undoubtedly seething Aidan who is waiting for him. But then he remembers the last time he had to wade through a bunch of barking human beings at one of Aidan’s munches. He sniffs. He’d much rather get business over with and get back to you as quickly as possible. If Sylus wasn’t already keenly aware of how much your presence in his life is already changing him, he’d realize it now as he swallows his pettiness and teleports to his office, instead of making Aidan wait out of principle.
As he re-materializes in his office, Aidan turns from looking at the wall where a majority of Aidan’s fountain pens have ended up embedded, forming the image of a large happy face.
“How surprising that you didn’t throw them in the pattern of a skull emoji—” Aidan begins, until black-red tendrils materialize around his ankles and sweep him off his feet. They hold him dangling, headfirst. He lets out a little delighted squeal that makes Sylus wince.
“If you’re trying to discourage my insubordination in front of your paramour that you’re undoubtedly about to ream me for, I’m afraid it’s having the opposite effect,” his legal counsel grins happily, wriggling against the evol restraints.
Sylus comes to a stop in front of him so that they’re face to upside-down face, his thumbs hooked casually in his sleep pants pockets.
“Oh, I am aware,”  he says in disgust. “But despite your interrupting a very pleasant moment with kitten, I feel that I owe you an apology for making you miss knitting club. So enjoy my mercy before we get down to business.”  
“And people say you’re a monster,” Aidan continues grinning dopily at him. 
“People are fools,” Sylus tsks. “Oh, before I forget. Speaking of interrupting my moment with kitten… they say that if you ever call them kitten again, they’ll tear out your tongue and make you eat it.”
Aidan’s eyebrows shoot up… or down, depending on your perspective. “They said that?”
Sylus considers lying, but he doesn’t want to mischaracterize you or your words to anyone. “Not the part about forcing you to eat it,” he admits. “But if kitten doesn’t, I’ll make you.”
Aidan just laughs. “I don’t believe your empty threats. My tongue’s too expensive for you to waste like that. Still… removing my tongue, huh,” he continues thoughtfully. “No wonder you’re so obsessed.”
Sylus turns, leisurely making his way to his desk as the evol tendrils bind Aidan’s wrists behind his back, jerk him upright, and then toss him onto one of the black leather couches in the office’s sitting area. They dissipate as Aidan snickers a little breathlessly.
“First the happy face. Now giving me a little treat instead of a lecture. I’ve never seen you in such a good mood.” Instead of sitting up like a proper employee showing deference to his employer, Aidan just stretches languidly across the couch and props his head up on a fist. “Although I’m still pissed that this is how you treat my pens,” he frowns, jerking his head back toward the impaled wall.
“I pay you enough to purchase all the pens you could ever want, plus the factory that makes them.” Sylus sits down at his desk, slouching behind the paperwork still strewn haphazardly over it that he abandoned after receiving the call from Luke informing him that you were running from him again.
“But what you do not pay me enough for is missing knitting club. The grandmas are going to give me hell the next time I go,” Aidan grumbles. 
“I’m sure you can handle it,” Sylus drawls. “Now, if you’re done whining, let’s get through this so that I can get back to kitten.”
Aidan lets out a dramatic sigh and sits up, as if the effort is utterly exhausting. “Have you had a chance to look at the latest draft?”
Sylus flicks the messy stack of papers with his fingers and they go sailing with his evol to Aidan’s lap. Aidan lifts one page, a look of disdain on his face as he holds it so that he can look at Sylus through the neat hole punctured in it as a result of Sylus’s boredom with the pen.
“That’s what I think of the latest draft,” Sylus says.
Aidan tsks. “Good, that was my feeling as well. But you didn’t have to mutilate the damn thing.” He gathers the pages, trying to put them in order. “After I’m finished reprinting it,” he sighs dramatically again. “I’ll redline it and get it to them this week.”
Sylus just nods, staring out into the night through his office’s wall of windows. It’s not too foggy, so the N109 Zone’s skyline glitters menacingly, an undersea predator luring prey in the dark.
“Next order of business: FJB group’s CEO is hounding me again to arrange a face-to-face with you. He’s getting… aggressive.”
“Hardly surprising, considering the type of entitled scumbag he is,” Sylus scoffs. “I’m not interested in his offer. Keep ignoring him.”
“Sylus, I don’t think he’s the type of guy who will simply get the hint and slink back to his hole. Doing nothing will only embolden him.”
“Embolden him to do what? If he doesn’t get the message and tries to approach you directly, just eliminate him. I do not have the patience right now to play games with him.” He has much more interesting things to focus on, now that you’re in his bed, in his home, just down the hall. And this time he’s certain you’re right down the hall, and not sprinting through the night like a panicked deer. A deer capable of taking down wolves, but still, a deer all the same.
“That’s a bad call, and you know it,” Aidan argues. “He is strong enough to have an exclusive grip on the flesh trade. If you remove him, ten other would-be heads of the hydra will sprout and it will destabilize the Zone.That means more collateral damage.”
“An exclusive grip that he has only because I allow it,” Sylus snorts. “And what, more collateral damage than the people he traffics?”
Aidan gapes at him. “What has gotten into you? This is the reality of humanity. People are not going to stop exploiting each other, no matter how much of an iron fist you wield. The only thing you can do is ensure that you think strategically enough to minimize the inevitable harm.”
Sylus frowns. That is indeed what he has always thought. The depravity of humanity is such that eradication of human suffering is impossible, and no one person can save the world. People can  hardly save themselves. Sylus himself has learned that lesson the hard way, over and over. It’s not his responsibility to save everyone. That is something that this version of you simply does not understand, and you’re vulnerable because of it. Someday, if Sylus doesn’t stop you, you’re going to get yourself killed because of your misguided sense of duty to strangers whose fate is being born to suffer. But knowing this version of you… thinking about how hard you take every loss, the way your already broken heart is chiseled further with every person you can’t save… his own assault rifle heart jams again. 
The CEO of the FJB Group is just the type of person Sylus thinks you’d like to bathe your feet in the blood of, even if you hate admitting that to yourself. Sylus would happily string him up, field dress him like the pathetic prey he is, and let his corpse drain for your bathing pleasure.
But since you’re still having a hard time admitting that yourself, he’s worried that if he does, you might get mad. And Aidan’s right. If he kills this fuck, ten others will try to claw their way up to take the empty throne.
“Noted. Just keep ignoring him. If he still won’t take no for an answer, let me know.” Aidan looks relieved, until he continues. “But I’m going to rely on you more for the next few weeks. Handle everything you can without bothering me, unless you want to contact me in a personal capacity. Things are settled enough after cleaning house—I want to focus on personal matters for the foreseeable future.”
Aidan jerks to his feet but takes a deep breath. He begins to pace, hands folded behind his back. Sylus appreciates his self control, as he knows that his litigator’s instinct is to immediately counter-argue his disagreement.
He stops, turns to Sylus, huffs.
“Speak,” Sylus orders, lifting an eyebrow. Seeing Aidan flustered is always amusing, but Sylus is impatient to get back to you. Maybe he’ll be done quick enough to take over the tour himself.
“Are you sure this is a good idea? The risks…” Aidan begins, uncharacteristically hesitant. 
“Whether it’s a good idea or not, it’s happening. The whole reason I’m here is finally in my bed. Everything else is secondary.”
Aidan looks pained. “I still don’t understand your single-minded fixation on this one person. This one person who happens to be a Deepspace Hunter, whose job mandate is to hunt you, in particular, and bring you down. There are literally thousands of other people in the world who would probably be thrilled to be in your bed. Why limit yourself to one, and to one who poses such a risk to everything you’ve built? To your very life?”
“Not all of us have such a low threshold for amusement that just anyone in their bed will do, like you,” Sylus clicks his tongue.
“It’s not about a low threshold of amusement. It’s being open to the possibility that each person you meet is a gift, containing an entire world, and the pleasure is opening the box to see what’s inside,” Aidan retorts, “You’re just a snob, and refuse to acknowledge that other people have rich inner lives, just like you do.”
“Save me your idealistic speeches about free love and the beauty of the human spirit. How you can come from where you’re from, handle the shit you handle in your line of work, openly acknowledge that humans are scum, and yet still enjoy them like little snowflake gift boxes, is simply beyond me.”
“I’m full of imagination,” Aidan sniffs.
‘You’re full of bullshit. You’re just easily bored and like to fuck,” Sylus baits him, knowing that Aidan is actually sincere.
“Excuse you!” Aidan does not disappoint. “How dare you—and what an accusation, coming from you, the man who can get bored in the middle of murdering someone. How do you even know that your obsession can retain your interest in the long run?” Aidan lobs back.
Sylus just smiles, with teeth. His fascination with you was already gigantic before he laid eyes on you again. It has only grown, the longer he gets to spend time with you. Your mix of strength and fragility. The unpredictability of your pleasure and your anxiety. Your blood thirst and your compassion. How can he ever get bored, when he has no idea what the next expression on your face will be? When he has no idea how you’ll manage to misinterpret the obviousness of his devotion to you, his endless patience, his worship?
“Oh god, never make that face again. I’m going to be sick. You’re so in love and I hate it,” Aidan gags exaggeratedly, like a cat hacking up a hairball.
“Then don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” Sylus advises.
Aidan hangs his head for a moment, hands on his hips. When he lifts it, he looks more serious than Sylus has seen him in awhile. “Joking aside, Sylus. How do you know that if things go south between you, the hunter won’t turn on you? This is a huge risk not only to you, but everyone you care about in this organization if you’re taken out.”
Sylus sits heavily back in his chair. He spins it a little, from side to side, as he thinks of how best to answer in a way that Aidan can understand. “I won’t let things go south between us. I will do whatever it takes to make my kitten happy, so that they’re never tempted to turn on me.”
“Even you can’t guarantee that. Love is messy, and it’s so close to hate. Especially when you begin that love with torturing them and using your evol on them without their permission,” Aidan says, wincing, as if he’s regretful about being so brutally honest.
“I have plans in place to protect the people who need protecting, in case I fuck up so badly that my beloved is driven to taking me out. And if it comes to that, I’ll deserve it,” Sylus sighs. He appreciates Aidan’s concern, but every minute he spends expressing that care is another minute that Sylus is kept from being near you. “Let me worry about the risks. Your job is to keep the empire running while I fortify the foundation that will prevent your worries from coming to pass.”
Aidan looks like he wants to say something else, but after a moment, his shoulders slump. “We just got you back. Don’t get yourself in trouble again. And of course. You don’t have to worry about the rest.” He straightens. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some puppy tails to pull.” He flicks a little wave in Sylus’s direction. “I’ll see myself out. Toodaloo!”
Just as he’s reaching the door, Sylus remembers the last thing he wanted to ask of his left hand man.
“Aidan.” Aidan jerks to a halt, and turns around, eyes narrowed, as if he can sense that whatever Sylus is about to ask will be a huge headache. “Set up a meeting with my architect, and get me a list of names.”
Aidan just stares at him for a beat. “Do I even want to know what type of names?”
“Experts in wildlife conservation. Particularly of the sealife variety.”
“You want a meeting with your architect and a sealife conservationist.” Aidan says flatly.
Sylus just stares at him.
“May I ask why?”
Sylus shows his teeth again. “I’ve been informed that the base needs an aquarium for orphaned and injured fish.”
Aidan gapes, but then rolls his eyes so hard that Sylus is worried they’ll get stuck. “I’m thrilled that your hunter makes you so happy. Really. Just thrilled. But I’m starting to get the feeling that they’ll also be the death of me, whether they take my tongue or not.” 
“Spare me your editorializing and just get it done,” Sylus forestalls further whining. He’s getting increasingly impatient to get back to you.
Aidan groans, because he views it as a moral imperative to always make sure that everyone within a five kilometer radius understands the terrible sacrifices he must make as Sylus’s lawyer. “Fine . You’ll have your list by the end of the week. But I’m leaving before you can transmit any more demands from your kitten.” He sweeps out of the room in a huff and the door slams behind him.
Sylus sits for a moment as the door swings shut. He takes Aidan’s concern seriously, but even his furiously spinning mind has a hard time planning for a scenario where you turn on him. Not in this life, at least. He doesn’t want to dwell on the past when the current you, so utterly sweet, so pliant in his arms, all of your spikes withdrawn for him and him alone, is walking around in his lair, with no plans to leave for the foreseeable future. He wants to rest too, while you’re here. He doesn’t want to think about the past, or a future he has yet to secure. He simply wants to be with you.
He doesn’t want to waste another minute. He stands and heads to the door.
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You wake up.
All at once, on a gasp. Your heart is pounding. You’re aching, aching, because you just woke up from a dream you can’t remember and the only things that remain are the feeling of pleasure, of security, of desire reciprocated.
You lie there, eyes still closed, hoping that you’ll be able to re-access the dream—maybe if you can fall back asleep quickly enough, you can pick up the severed thread again, return to whatever was giving you that feeling of a feast when you’re famished, a waterfall when you thirst, the weight of another’s body on you, in you, filling you so completely it eclipses that constant emptiness you carry with you through all of your days.
But despite all of your yearning, all of your effort, you can’t return to whatever you were dreaming about. Only that feeling remains—safety. The certainty that you’re utterly cherished. That all of your worries from last night were simply little nightmares, extinguished upon your waking.
You remember where you are. Who you’re staying with. Who you were anguished about as you imagined him taking another to his bed. It all seems so silly now—you talking yourself into being sad, with no reason at all to believe that he would do so, when you’re the one he has invited into his home, you’re the one he wraps himself around at every opportunity, you’re the one who he insists he wants in his bed.
What a strange sense of double vision, or cognitive dissonance. Wishful thinking. Delusional fantasy. You know that there was a reason you were worried that Sylus would be seeing other people while you stay with him. But you’re now utterly convinced that such a worry is completely unfounded, so absurd as to make you laugh out loud. But you have no idea why you have this certainty now. It feels like someone reached inside your brain and flipped a switch, and though there was a logical reason to worry, you can no longer bring yourself to believe that Sylus would ever want another in his bed.
You feel insane.
You open your eyes, expecting to see the white canopy of the swinging garden fuck-bed above you, but you see the black, ornately carved ceiling of Sylus’s bedroom instead. You are certain you fell asleep in the greenhouse. How the hell did you wind up back in Sylus’s bed? The feeling of unreality intensifies.
You turn your head and feel an immediate sense of calm wash over you as you see Sylus sitting next to you, his glorious chest no longer bare, but clothed in a simple black sweater, his gold-rimmed reading glasses perched on his sexy hooked nose. He has his tablet in one hand. He looks down at you, one corner of his mouth lifted, and you have the most intense sensation that you know what his lips feel like. That you could map his tongue, recognize it by the feel of it in your mouth if you were blindfolded, its heft and insistence between your lips.
You feel insane.
“Finally awake, kitten?” he asks, nonchalantly. He reaches down and brushes his fingertips along your cheek.
“How did I get here?” you ask, trying desperately to push the feeling of being pressed beneath his beautiful body into something soft out of your mind. Of soft silver fur under your hands. His voice— Yes, Beloved?
“The better question is why weren’t you here to begin with?” he snorts softly.
“What?”
He continues to look at you with that amused, barely-there smile. “Not fully awake, huh. Why did you go to the greenhouse when you were tired, when you had assured me that you would stay in my bedroom while you're here?”
You look away, back to his ceiling. The elaborate moulding is as extra as the rest of his place, but it’s so beautiful, you can hardly fault him for his preference for lovely things. If you can afford it, why not surround yourself with beauty? You just wish it wasn’t such an oppressive black. But it belongs to Sylus—he chose it, so you think you could tolerate it forever, given the whisper of a chance.
You don’t want to answer his question. But that sense of security, assurance, safety , remains with you, even as you fail to comprehend where the fuck it could have come from. You feel brave enough to ask the question that was torturing you before you fell asleep. “Can you give me plenty of advance warning if you’re going to invite someone over for…” you hesitate, trying to think of a more mature way of saying “sexy fucking fun times.” Nothing comes. “For fucking? I don’t want to get in the way,” you finish, lamely. But the thought of him actually wanting to fuck anyone else strikes you as so absurd that it doesn’t even hurt to say it out loud. You don’t think you even need to ask this question anymore, because you already know the answer.
But that’s insane. And you’re a lot of fucking things, but you think you’re pretty well-grounded in reality. You’re hyper-aware of reality—the reality of being you, with all of your flaws, your broken pieces barely held together, which is part of your whole goddamn problem. If you were oblivious to your own weaknesses, to the reality of living in such a cruel world while being a walking open wound, you could strut around like a mediocre white man and feel entitled to everything, including Sylus’s exclusive affection.
“Is that why you snuck off to the greenhouse, instead of coming to nap in my bed like we agreed?” He sets his tablet aside. 
“I never agreed,” you mumble, thinking about how he had said that if you found a room you liked better, you had a choice of where to stay. That conversation was left open-ended. There was never a deal.
“A technicality,” he dismisses your protest. “Unless you found a room that you like better?” he asks archly, setting his glasses on top of the tablet and leaning down, running his nose along your cheek. 
Nothing has changed. No room, not even the greenhouse with its life and relief from the oppressive marble halls of his base, is more appealing than any room where Sylus is. You shake your head, and his lips brush the edge of your mouth.
“But you were worried about me bringing other people to my bed, even though I have everything I want right here already,” he murmurs.
You close your eyes against the onslaught of sensations—his warmth, his scent, the feel of his skin on yours. You don’t want to admit it, but now that your bizarre certainty has been confirmed, it feels silly to pretend otherwise. “Yeah. I didn’t want to… I didn’t want to get in the way.”
“So that’s the reason you ran, again?” he asks, sinking lower, getting comfortable on his side facing you.
You just nod instead of answering, and it’s not because you want to feel his lips on your skin again.
“Come to me next time, when you’re worried about something like that,” he demands, but it feels like a plea.
That sense of safety is filling you, making you brave. You want to bottle it so that you can drink it every time you feel insecure in the future, despite how nuts it’s making you feel. “Okay,” you agree quietly.
“Thank you, darling,” he smiles fully, and it’s so soft, you could die.
But hearing him say “darling” is like a gunshot next to your ear while you’re sleeping—you’re slammed into another reality, the sensation of Sylus’s hands on you, gripping your waist—his heavy body pressing yours into warm sand, sucking on his tongue, reveling in the feeling of a part of him filling you up—
You can’t. You can’t. You’re delusional, no matter how real the memory feels.
“Darling,” you choke, trying so hard to sound unaffected. “That’s new.”
“Do you dislike it?” he asks, brushing some hair from your cheek, resting his hand on the side of your head, thumb drifting along the line of your jaw.
You love it. You want him to repeat it, over and over, until you forget your own name. “I suppose it’s better than ‘kitten,’” you grumble.
“But I thought that you were okay with being called kitten, as long as it was me doing the calling,” he teases. 
You scowl at him.
“Then, darling,” he pauses dramatically, like the big drama queen he is. “Was the only reason you ran, again, because you were worried I wouldn’t warn you if I had a guest? Nothing else was distressing you?”
No matter how safe you feel, no matter how assured you are now that for as long as you’re in his home, he doesn’t want anyone else around but you—you can’t bring yourself to admit this to him. You can hardly admit it to yourself. Not wanting him to be with others implies a sense of ownership, and you know that he is not yours. In any way, shape, or form. How can you be possessive of something that doesn’t and never will belong to you? It does not matter how much even thinking that he doesn’t belong to you sends a feeling of wrongness through you that is almost physically painful.
You shake your head.
“No, nothing else was bothering you? Or no, I lose this round of the guessing game?” He watches you for a few moments, the movement of his thumb so soft against your skin. 
“I win,” you say, feeling wobbly, feeling safe, feeling unhinged, feeling invincible. He doesn’t belong to you, he wants you and only you, As if I would ever want anyone else in my bed, now that you’ve been in it. You can hear his voice in your head, saying things that you don’t dare dream of him saying. 
“Not ready yet, then,” he says, and it almost sounds sad. But his face doesn’t change. “Well, there will be other rounds of our game,” he says lightly, a clear transition. He’s letting it go, and you are relieved. “In that case, are you hungry?”
Hell, if you’re in the process of losing your mind, you might as well do it on a full stomach.
“I could eat a horse,” you answer, trying to match his light tone. 
“That can be arranged. But I’m rather attached to the ones in my stables, so we’ll have to outsource your request,” he says, one sharp canine peeking from behind his top lip.
“Sylus!” You’re horrified. “It’s just an expression.”
“I told you that you could have anything. You have only to ask,” he shrugs.
Now you’re horrified and curious. “Have you eaten horse before?” 
The canine gleams in the dim light of the lamp on his nightstand. “There are few things that I haven’t eaten, darling.” His hand moves from the side of your head, down, until he slips one long finger between your throat and his tie still secured there. He tugs, gently. You remember that you don’t have any of your own clothes, and you’re still wearing his. “There are places where eating horse is as customary as eating beef. But I never really cared for it.”
“That’s a relief, somehow,” you say, even though it’s ridiculous to mourn the horses that fed him, when you ate the steak he served you earlier with such enjoyment. It’s all cruel, in the end—the necessity of survival which depends on another’s suffering. Your heart hurts, so you reach up and rub it. His blood-bright eyes follow the movement of your hand.
“My tender-hearted kitten,” he whispers, with that same strange sad tone in his voice. “Sometimes we must do things to survive that deprive another of life. Do you also mourn the wanderers you have to kill?”
You look down at his strong throat, the pale, soft skin there. So thin, fragile, with his fast pulse beating beneath. “Sometimes, when they’re particularly beautiful. When it’s so obvious that they’re only following their nature, and that their violence isn’t a result of cruelty, like people. They’re just made that way.”
“So you don’t regret the people you have to kill?” 
You would like to lie, and say that you regret it deeply. That you’re as generous toward your fellow humans as you are toward wild beasts, to the beef on your plate. But you promised Sylus you’d be honest with him, if to no one else. You shake your head.
“Sometimes, the sense of satisfaction I get when I’m forced to put down someone I know who has done horrible things—” you whisper, closing your eyes. “It’s frightening.”
“Kindred spirits,” Sylus’s deep voice, the warmth of his breath, envelop you. 
Are you and he really so alike? You had snarled at him, when you first met him, that you and he were not the same, that you would never be the same. You had snarled it at yourself, as much as at him. You open your eyes, and his eyes are all you can see. He looks so happy, hearing you admit the worst of yourself. You realize that you hardly know anything about this man. His past. His family. What he was like as a child. His hobbies, if he even has any. All you know is that he is a killer, a businessman. And that he touches you with the tenderness of a man handling something priceless. That’s all. Yet here you are, his hands on you, still gently tugging on a tie wrapped around your throat. Here you are, so attached to him already that the thought of him bedding another feels like your aether core mutilated heart is shredding itself. How did this happen?
You want to know everything about him. You tell yourself that it’s not because you’re ravenous to unravel his mystery, to be sated from the knowing, and cherish him the more for it. You tell yourself that maybe, the more you learn, the more your heart will ease, and familiarity will breed contempt. Maybe you’ll be able to let him go when this is over, if you know all the ugly parts of him, all of his annoying traits like everyone has. You decide to ask him about when the fake dating will start, so that you’ll have an excuse to ask him to share as much as he’s willing about himself with you, as he practices sharing himself with his beloved.
As if I would ever want anyone else in my bed, now that you’ve been in it.
You shake your head. You’re not his beloved. Why wouldn’t he just tell you, if you were?
Would you have believed me, if I had told you that I wasn’t behind your family’s murder?
You close your eyes again. You feel insane.
I expect you to remember what you just said, when this is over.
You can’t. You can’t. If you’re wrong—
You open your eyes again. You’re here now. You’re here now, and he has the tail of the tie clasped softly in his palm, and he’s gently pulling it so that it tightens on your throat, a hair’s breadth, and then releases. It feels good. You want him to pull harder. You want to know everything about him, and forget everything else. You’re in a dream, and you don’t have to wake up yet. You’re not insane. It’s just the certainty one sometimes has in a dream—you know something to be true, even though you don’t know how you know. Sylus wants you, and only you with him right now. You’re going to indulge.
“To be clear, I don’t want you to serve me horse,” you tell him, pulling back a little so that the tie tightens against your throat again. He inhales sharply, but the corner of his mouth lifts.
“As you wish. Let’s go to the kitchen. You can choose something that you do want me to serve you.” He pulls a little harder on the tie and you let out a soft gasp.
You want him to curl it around his fist, pull you to him, devour you in a way you feel like you know, with a strange certainty, that he would. But you can’t tell him that. Not yet. If you’re wrong—
You open your eyes. Sylus’s face is flushed, his bright eyes narrowed on the tie, on your throat.
“I want to go to the kitchen, but I don’t have any of my own clothes,” you say softly, needing desperately to break this spell before you do something that you can’t take back. 
Sylus looks confused for a moment. “Do you need your own clothes?”
“Do you want me to walk around in your oversized clothes the whole time I’m here?”
“I wouldn’t mind at all, but I don’t need it. Did you not find anything to your liking from the selection of clothes in your size in the dressing room?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow. “I know you’re spoiled, but I didn’t realize to this extent,” he says, not sounding displeased at all.
“What clothes?”
Something in Sylus’s face changes. “Did you not… explore the dressing room?”
You shake your head. “Mephisto was watching me, and I didn’t want to upset him by touching anything I shouldn’t,” you shrug. “So I just grabbed what I could see.”
Sylus laughs softly. “Why would Mephisto get upset by you touching anything in this house?”
“Because it’s your house, and I’m an interloper, and he squawked at me when he saw me touching your ties.”
“And yet you’re wearing one.” His eyes flick down to your neck again.
“Okay, so I was being petty after he squawked.”
Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose. “So you thought I didn’t arrange for you to have clothes you’d be comfortable in. And you thought that Mephisto was… surveilling you.”
You’re confused. “Um, is that not the case? And then you sent the twins to show me around to make sure I don’t go anywhere I’m not supposed to.” At his pained look, you rush on. “I get it. You probably have a lot of valuable stuff in here, and just the intel about the layout of your base is probably even more valuable.”
Sylus sighs and drops his hand. “Do you trust me?”
You stare at him. Do you trust him? You let your eyes drift from his beautiful eyes, to his regal nose. His soft silver hair sweeping messily over his forehead. Would you be here, lying in his bed in his criminal headquarters at the pinnacle of the N109 Zone, if you didn’t trust him? He apologized for hurting you when you first met, and promised never to do so again. He’s been nothing but kind to you since those first long days with him. He’s promised never to use his evol on you without your permission. He said that once given, he never breaks a promise. And you believe him. Of course you trust him.
“Yeah, Sylus, I trust you,” you say softly.
“Okay,” he says, sitting up, pulling the tie gently with him so that you come too. You sit, legs tucked under yourself, as Sylus sits on his own knees, and very gently begins to untie the tie. The silk whispers along your skin as it falls away from your throat. He then lifts it slowly, watching your reaction. But you just sit still, letting him sweep it across your eyes as he blindfolds you, securing it at the back of your head. It’s comfortable.
You feel him take your wrist and tug softly, and you go with him. Your feet hit the soft rug, and you follow where he leads, enjoying the warmth of his calloused hand on your wrist, enjoying the mystery of where he’s leading you.
After an unexpectedly short amount of time, he stops. You feel cold as the warmth of his body disappears, and you hear what sounds like doors opening, or cabinets. He returns to you, and his delicious scent fills your senses. He undoes the knot, and the tie falls away.
You’re in his dressing room, towards the back where you didn’t venture earlier. Door after closet door is open, and you see rack after rack, shelf after shelf—clothes that look like the ones you have at home. Athletic wear. Hoodies. Comfortable clothes you would wear on your days off. But also clothing that you don’t have in your own closet—formal wear. Club clothes. Expensive fabrics. Pair after pair of a variety of sneakers, boots, dress shoes.
“New rule. The next time you are faced with two possibilities—when you think that what you perceive could be negative, but could also be positive, try to consider that the positive is true,” he says gently, placing his big hands on your shoulders and leaning down a little to meet your gaze. “I had Luke and Kieran fetch some things from your home that I thought would make you feel at ease here. The earring. The plushie you hug the most often. Your phone charger. Your laptop is in my office. But I didn’t want them to go through all of your things, and they have no interest in invading your privacy. I was hoping you can make do with new clothing that I thought you’d like, as well as your own care products while you’re here. If you’re missing anything, just tell me, and I’ll arrange for it to be sent.”
As he speaks, you feel your eyes getting hot—in dawning horror, you realize that you’ve started to cry. Why the fuck are you crying? You don’t want him to see, but you’re helpless under his big hands keeping you grounded. You take a big, shuddering breath. All of this kindness hurts. But Sylus isn’t done hurting you.
“And Mephisto isn’t following you to surveil you. He’s programmed to greet you, and to follow you in case you need backup and company. If you don’t have your phone on you, you can still reach me, wherever you are in the house, through him. There’s also an app on your phone for you to change his settings if you want. If you don’t like his voice module, you can make him meow.” Sylus slowly pulls you to him, looking down into your face. He thumbs the tears from your cheeks, brings them to his mouth, and rubs the moisture across his bottom lip. He then pulls you closer, hugging you tightly to his chest. “And I sent Luke and Kieran with you to see the house because the last time you were here, you were really scared. Since I had to meet with Aidan, I didn't want you to be alone, but also didn’t want to force you to sit caged in my room until I could show you around.”
You press your face into his chest, breathing against his rapid heartbeat, feeling all the anxiety and sadness of the tour and return to the greenhouse draining out of your body.
He leans down and presses a kiss to your bowed head. “If you’re unsure of my intentions, even after all this—if you consider the positive possibility and can’t quite believe it, then just ask me,”  he says softly into your hair. “There’s no need to torture yourself with me.” He lifts your chin, and his barely there smile lifts his mouth. “That’s my job. And there will be no doubt when I actually intend to torment you.”
You smile through your stupid embarrassing tears, laugh a little wetly. “It’s true. Subtlety isn’t your strong suit.”
“You know that much, at least.”
“How could I miss it?” you ask.
“Good fucking question. How could you possibly miss so much?” he nudges your forehead with his forefinger.
You scowl at him. You feel light. And with the relief, comes the hunger. “Didn’t you promise to feed me? I’m starving,” you gripe, refusing to think about what else you’re missing. 
I can promise you that whomever you’re thinking my 'crush' is, it’s not the person you're thinking of.
The only way he could have promised that is if he knew that you’d never consider yourself a possibility.
And Sylus says he always keeps his promises.
“Well, I can’t let my spoiled kitten get any more hungry,” he interrupts your thoughts.
You shake your head. “It would be terrible if I end up having to eat you because I’m so hungry,” you tease, but he just lifts his eyebrows as if intrigued.
“Would it be so terrible though?” he asks. You pull back and gently push him toward the door.
“Go, make me something delicious while I get dressed,” you order him with a laugh.
“I see how it is— just a little reassurance, and suddenly you’re bold enough to give me orders." He tucks his thumbs into the pockets of his black, worn looking jeans. “Finally,” he says, looking incredibly satisfied, before disappearing in a whoosh of air, scarlet-ink mist, and feathers that float gently toward you before falling to the floor.
You turn, sighing happily at the sight of all of these new clothes stretching before you. You don’t deserve this. You’ve never been a big shopper. Budget too tight, too much ammo and manga to buy instead, when you practically live in your hunter uniform. But you spotted some yoga wear from a brand that is wildly expensive but makes the softest, best fitting shit you’ve ever put on your body. You shake yourself. Indulge. Indulge. Indulge. 
After you’ve checked your bandages and cleaned up a bit in the bathroom, you drift through the base and find Sylus in the kitchen, as promised. Soft lighting from floor lamps and recessed fixtures hold back the N109 Zone’s night stretching beyond the kitchen’s large windows. Soft classical music accompanies the sound of Sylus digging around in the huge fridges, the clatter of a pan placed on the gas burning stove.
“So you’ll be cooking personally for me today? Not your chef?”
“Not my chef,” Sylus confirms. “I’m the the chef today,” he smiles slightly. “Sit.” He points to the bar stool on the other side of the massive kitchen island.
“I can cook,” you protest. At Sylus’s doubtful look, you defend yourself. “It’s true. I can cook. Xavier loves it when I have the time and energy to make something and invite him over, because it’s fucking hard to cook for only one person,” you say mournfully, suddenly worried about how Xavier will feed himself while you’re not there to ensure he eats vegetables along with his ramen. But he survived long before he became your partner. He’s a big boy, you tell yourself. 
“Oh, I bet he does,” Sylus says under his breath. “And I am cooking because I thought you would want to give your abused feet a break.”
You squint at him. “They hurt, but they’re still functioning.”
“Again, just because they’re functioning doesn’t mean you have to use them more than necessary. And I believe you when you say you can cook. But do you actually like to cook? Or do you feel like you have to, because it’s cheaper than delivery?” Sylus asks, breaking an egg into a bowl. “While you’re here, I don’t want you to do anything that you don’t actively enjoy doing. You’re not here to survive. You’re here to recover.”
You’re so touched by his words that it takes a moment for you to get your mouth to answer him. Something’s wrong with your eyes again, and your throat is suddenly tight. You clear it. “Definitely the latter,” you admit, thinking of a million other things that you’d rather be doing than cooking yet another meal. You often wish you could just slurp all your nutrition from a pouch and be done with it. “But I do like baking. That doesn’t count as cooking, because the result is fun.” 
Sylus laughs softly. “Then when you feel up to it, you can teach me how to bake your favorite things, because that’s something I never really do. In the meantime, when chef isn’t here and whatever she’s left behind in the fridge for heating up isn’t to your taste, I’ll cook for you. Deal?”
You watch Sylus’s big hands gently crack more eggs, grind some salt and pepper in the mixture, fling a little bit of butter onto the now hot pan. You could get used to this beautiful creature preparing meals for you. And you could get used to baking delicious things, and feeding each bite to him by hand. You’re here now. You’re going to indulge. “Deal,” you smile. “But while you’re doing that, I need coffee. Can you point me in the direction of your coffee shit, coffee maker, and mugs?”
Sylus pauses. “I don’t have a coffee maker.”
You stare at him. “What do you mean you don’t have a coffee maker.”
“I mean, I have a french press. But I don’t have a drip coffee maker.”
You squint at him. “You have a fucking ice rink in your villain HQ, and you don’t have a coffee maker? You make your coffee, by hand, every morning? Do you also insist on hand grinding the beans with a mortar and pestle every time you want a cup? Are you as much of a coffee snob as a wine snob?”
“Aren’t you sharp-tongued for a kitten who is depending on me for its caffeine fix.” Sylus sounds infinitely amused.
“I’m just consistently in awe of all of this means you have at your disposal, and yet you do nothing with it. And I’m assuming that since you don’t have a normal coffee maker, you’re also too much of a snob to have one of those fancy as fuck espresso machines that can make whipped foam, along with an entire fleet of flavor syrups on tap.” As you talk, you become more distressed. “Oh my god, Sylus. You’re a hipster billionaire. You’re like, the worst of everything wrong with our capitalist society,” you say forlornly. Why can’t you be nuts about a normal man? What’s wrong with a guy with a tidy little flat and a drip coffee maker? A nice accountant whose only crime is jaywalking, maybe a little tax evasion, for a treat, every year when filing. But no, you want to have the stuck up edgelord who can explode people with his mind and who thinks even professional espresso machines are too plebeian for his refined taste buds.
Sylus is just staring at you, an eyebrow lifted. “What I hear you saying is that you want a fancy as fuck espresso machine. Is that correct?”
You sigh in resignation. Your heart wants what it wants. “What you hear me saying is, okay, Sylus, where is the french press, the coffee beans, the grinder I’ll no doubt have to grind them with, and your mugs?”
“The espresso machine will be here when you wake up tomorrow. As for the french press, beans, grinder, and mugs…” he smirks at you as he points to one of the cupboards over the long, black marble kitchen counter.
You slip from the stool and go to open the indicated cabinet, finding the promised french press and tasteful glass jar of whole coffee beans. Of course even his storage containers are fancy and pretty. But you stop short, as you notice Caleb’s gift and the CUNT mug sitting on the shelf next to the coffee supplies.
You blink. You blink, and turn to look at Sylus, who is now busy scrambling the eggs. “You brought Caleb’s mug,” you breathe.
“I told you, I wanted you to have the things here that make you comfortable,” Sylus shrugs, not turning away from the eggs.
You could cry again. The thoughtfulness of this asshole takes you by surprise, every single time. But you don’t want to cry. You want to enjoy. You whip around and march over to Sylus, who is still serenely stirring the eggs. You peek around to catch his eye, ensuring that he knows you’re there. His red gaze flicks to you for a moment, returns to the eggs. You then step behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your head against his broad back.
Your warning must have been successful. He doesn’t throw you to the floor, or even stiffen—his shoulders seem to relax, and he leans back a little, as if trying to sink into your hug. He puts the hand not stirring the eggs on your forearm, as if to hold you there.
“Thank you,” you whisper, squeezing tighter. 
“It’s nothing,” he says, as the scent of butter and eggs, the soft sound of cellos, the dark night and warm lamplight surround the two of you.
“It’s everything,” you counter.
“You deserve to be harder to please,” Sylus grumbles, turning off the burner. He turns, and you try to step away, but he keeps his hold on your forearm until he’s fully facing you. He leans down and scoops you into his arms, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. He then just stands there, hugging you tightly to him. You hug him back, resting your chin on his shoulder, eyes closed to better soak in the feeling of just holding him, of being held.
“Your eggs will get cold,” he says after a while, regretfully.
You just squeeze him harder. You’ve eaten worse. 
You feel him laugh softly, your chest vibrating with his amusement. “As you wish."
Suddenly, the moment is shattered with a ruckus like a herd of elephants pounding down the hallway, along with a crash, gleeful laughter and yelps.
“Cheater, tripping is cheating, cheater cheater cheater!” Luke roars.
“The first rule of race club is there are no rules in race club,” Kieran bellows, voice closer to the doorway, until suddenly it’s filled with two grown, grappling men, big biceps straining as they each try to prevent the other from entering the kitchen first.
“No… you… don’t!” Luke pants, wrapping his arm around Kieran’s neck in a chokehold and trying to drag him back into the hallway.
“Oww, my throat, Luke, my throat still hurts,” Kieran whines. Luke looks stricken and immediately lets go, only to find himself shoved back further into the hallway as Kieran cackles and comes careening into the kitchen, socked feet sliding along the smooth, marble floor until he crashes into the kitchen island. He lets out a loud whoop, throwing his arms in the air. “Kitchen-race champion, kitchen-race champion,” he chants as Kieran scowls at him from the doorway.
“That was a dirty trick,” he seethes. “You know I wouldn’t ever want to really hurt you.”
“I keep telling you that you’re too gullible,” Kieran smiles at him fondly. “You know all is fair in love and the kitchen race game.”
“Some love,” Luke snorts, and then his eyes widen as he seems to notice you and Sylus behind the kitchen island for the first time. You turn to look at Sylus, but his eyes are on your face, as if he hasn’t stopped looking at you the entire time you’ve taken in the twins’ skirmish, as if what just occurred is daily life at Onychinus HQ and not even worth looking at. You glance back at the twins.
Kieran turns his head to follow Luke’s gaze and then straightens as if at attention. “Oh, apologies boss! We didn’t know you were…” he takes in how you’re attached to Sylus like a koala. “You were preoccupied in here.”
You look back at Sylus, but he just stares at you. Okay, if he’s not going to say anything, you will. “We’re not preoccupied. Sylus was just making eggs.” You cough a little. “Sylus, you can put me down now.”
He just hugs you tighter.
“Eggs? Oh, can we have some? I’m starving after my big stupid cheater of a brother scared the shit out of me by acting hurt,” Luke grumbles, sending Kieran a dirty look. Kieran holds out his hand, and despite his indignation, Luke slides into the kitchen on his socks like an ice skater and takes Kieran’s hand, who then wraps his brother’s arm around his own shoulders. 
“Let that be a lesson. How to fake out your opponent, and how not to be so gullible, even with me.” Kieran reaches over and rubs his fist into Luke’s bouncing curls. Luke ducks his head and sweeps Kieran into a chokehold again, who just laughs. “That’s it,” he crows, and the two tussle like a couple of puppies.
“I can’t make coffee if you won’t let me go,” you say softly to Sylus amidst the racket the twins are making.
“Do you really want to make coffee now?” he asks, turning, setting you on the counter and simply standing between your legs. You’re getting the feeling that he likes this position, because it puts your face a little closer to his if the surface you’re sitting on is high enough.
“Why wouldn’t I?” you ask curiously.
“It’s getting late again. Between the tour and your nap, it’s closer to the time I go to bed now. You’ll be up all night if you have caffeine now.”
“Then why didn’t you say so when I first asked about the coffee?” You tilt your head.
Sylus just looks bored. You’re learning that he does this when he isn’t interested in answering you, when you’re most interested in the answer. Suddenly it dawns on you. “You wanted me to see the mugs.”
He just lifts his hand and fiddles with the hem of the soft long sleeved shirt you’re wearing. “Now you know where they are, in case I’m not around,” he shrugs.
You lean forward, placing both of your palms on his cheeks. He sucks in a breath, but stays still. “Thank you,” you say.
“You’ve already said that, and I’ve already said it’s nothing,” he answers, his stubble shifting under your hands.
“If we’re not going to have coffee, and it’s almost time to go to bed again, what did you have in mind for after we eat?” you ask, running your thumbs under his lovely eyes, indulging, indulging, not worrying about anyone else, not worrying about tomorrow or the day after. There is only today, every day, until this is over.
“What do you want to do?” he asks, leaning in, letting you pet him.
You think about it. You’re still so tired. You think you’ll probably be tired for weeks, until you’ve slept enough to make up for your enormous sleep deficit of the past year, however long that takes. Your feet hurt. You just want to be near Sylus. He’s asking you what you want to do like he intends to do it with you. So instead of worrying if that’s the case, if you’re misunderstanding something, you say what you want.
“I want to start fake dating you,” you say. His eyes widen a little, and then he frowns.
“Fake dating?” Kieran’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and you realize that the twins had stopped roughhousing enough to overhear your conversation.
“What do you mean, fake dating?” Luke asks, looking between the two of you.
“Oh, your boss just asked me to help him practice dating so that he can successfully woo the person he’s in love with,” you say, the picture of cheerful helpfulness. This is already enough. You’re happy to help. And you’re going to indulge the fuck out of pretending that he’s looking at you, instead of imagining the other person he’d like to have in his bed more than you. Because you can’t imagine it’s you. You can’t. Because if you’re wrong—
Kieran and Luke’s mouths drop open. They look at each other, and then look at Sylus.
“What the fuck, boss—” Luke begins, as Kieran says “For someone so intelligent, you can be so stupid—” before Sylus cuts them both off.
“Take some of the prepped meals that chef left in the fridge and then leave us.”
For a second, they both look like they want to argue, but then they dutifully snap their mouths shut in unison, and you get that strange feeling of uncanniness again, like they’re just one person who happens to have two bodies. They efficiently go to the fridge, grab some containers of what must be the prepped meals, and leave you and Sylus alone in the kitchen, now with only classical violin filling the silence.
“Was that a secret?” you ask, feeling bad if you just made Sylus lose face with his employees.
“I have nothing to hide when it comes to you,” he says. “But they don’t need to know every detail of my personal life, even if they may disagree with that statement.”
“Okay,” you say, still feeling bad for some reason. 
He touches your chin, lifts it. “What did you have in mind when you said you want to start fake dating?”
“When we talked about me helping you, you seemed to be okay with the idea of practicing sharing parts of your life with your crush. I was thinking maybe while I’m staying with you, you can already start.” You smile at him, hoping he can’t tell how much you want him to say yes.
“Am I not already doing that?” he asks.
You tilt your head. Okay, so he has invited you into his home, showed you around. But you still know so little about him. “I guess so,” you say. You feel a bit silly now. Maybe you were hoping for too much. Maybe he’d rather get on with his normal routine, and isn’t interested in any usefulness you have to offer at the moment.
You’re suddenly really tired again. You want him to back up, to stop looking so closely at your face. “The eggs are cold now,” you say, trying to keep your hand still, trying to resist the urge to dig your nails into your thigh. He’s right there. He asked you to hurt him instead. You can’t hurt him, so you can’t hurt yourself.
“Then I’ll make new ones,” he says, still watching you like a hawk eyeing a mouse about to bolt from hiding.
You’re not hungry anymore. You hate the yo-yo of your emotions. You want to be as unruffled as the man in front of you. You’re hoping that the more rest you get, the longer you have to recover, you’ll regain some semblance of equilibrium, some resistance to the rawness of the feelings hemorrhaging from your heart. But you know if you won’t eat, your blood sugar will crash and you’ll be left feeling faint.
“No worries. Do you have string cheese or something? Just something to keep me from feeling lightheaded?”
“I'm not feeding you logs of trash cheese while you're a guest in my home," Sylus tsks, probably affronted at the mere suggestion that he would have string cheese in his house. "What else do you want me to share with you about my life?”
“What?” You were just talking about cheese. Now you're being interrogated.
“You said you wanted to start dating. That you were interested in me sharing parts of my life with you. What else do you want me to share with you about my life?” he says slowly.
“Oh. It’s really nothing. You’re right, you are already sharing a lot by having me here.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Huh?”
“I didn’t say I’m already sharing a lot, as if you were asking for too much. I said, ‘Am I not already doing that?’” because I thought I was sharing my life with you by inviting you here and hoping to spend time with you. So now I want to know what else you want me to share.”
“You want to spend time with me?” you ask.
“Why else would I ask you what you would like to do until it’s time for bed?” he asks, gently flicking your forehead.
“Maybe you wanted to occupy me so that you would be free to do whatever you really want to do,” you say, wincing a little.
Sylus hangs his head. Huffs a little laugh. “Your mind is incredible.”
You scowl at the top of his stupid, pretty head. “Okay, if you’re going to mock me—”
“I mean it. Your imagination is impressive if there is any ambiguity in a statement. We've been over this, and you promised to try to choose the positive interpretation over the negative."
You look away, feeling shitty for already breaking your promise. Sylus lifts his head and guides your gaze back to him with his forefinger on your jaw. "Habits are hard to break, I know. So let me rephrase. I would like to spend time with you until bed. How would you like to spend that time?” He places his palms on your thighs and smooths them soothingly up, and down.
The soothing gesture works. You feel the impending withdrawal into yourself, into your protective, sad little shell, reverse at his words, at his touch. You think about all the things you were shown today, and what the two of you could do for a little while together. You’re too tired to read, so the idea of visiting his library is out. You don’t want to work out, obviously, so the gym, the ice skating rink, even the pool—no good. 
“You have a home theater. Do you like movies?”
He perks up. “Yeah, I do.”
“Wanna show me what movies you like? Maybe we can watch one?” You’re casual. The absolute definition of chill.
He eyes you for a moment. “When you say practicing to ‘share my life,’ is this your way of asking to know more about me?”
You shrug like it’s no big deal. Like you’re not terribly eager to know every single thing about him. “If you want.”
“If you wanted to know more about me, you could have just said so. No need to frame it in fake dating.”
“But we made a deal. You wanted to practice—”
He interrupts you. “All right, we can date. But just ask if you have questions. And just assume that I want to spend time with you.”
“Our deal was fake dating,” you try again, because he keeps dropping the ‘fake’ part and it’s doing things to your heart.
“Whatever you need to tell yourself, darling,” he lifts one corner of his mouth.
“But that’s the deal—”
“Uh huh,” he says absently, lifting you from the counter with one arm, turning to the fridge, and rifling through it with his free hand. He manages to agilely balance a stack of containers. “There’s a bar in the theater room, so we can get something to drink there,” he happily informs you.
“Of course you have a bar in there, you alcoholic.”
“Now, now, no need to call names,” he says serenely, carrying you and the food into the hall and heading towards the theater room.
Once there, he tosses you gently on one of the super soft, overstuffed in contrast to other furniture in the house, and of course ubiquitously black, leather couches that sits in front of a huge screen on the far wall. The couch is so soft you hardly bounce, just sinking into the cushion with a laugh. He sets the food containers on the low table positioned in front of the couch, between its two chaise lounge sections that stretch out on either side.
He sits down next to you, so close that his big thigh is squished against yours. “The dvds are in the cabinet over there,” he says as he opens one of the container lids. “You wanted to know what movies I like? Knock yourself out.”
You don’t have to be told twice. You excitedly make your way to where he pointed and throw open a dark paneled cabinet door. Shelf after shelf, going all the way up to the high ceiling where you’re certain Sylus can’t even reach, full of dvd after dvd. You run your fingers along their edges, reading titles silently as you go. 
It appears that Sylus is a fan of classic films. You see titles that you’ve never watched, but have heard in passing from cultural references or watching annual movie awards when you’re lucky enough to not be working through them during a particular year. Black and white films. Foreign films with directors you’ve never heard of. As your gaze drifts over his collection, sounds of cabinet doors opening on the other side of the room serve as background noise. The clink of plates, of glasses, liquid being poured.
You don’t think you see one film from the last decade in his collection. But maybe they’re higher up.
“How do you get up to the top? I don’t see one of those fancy library ladders on a wheeled track anywhere. Does the great Sylus Qin resort to using a step stool?” You ask absently, still scanning the titles. He appears to be a big fan of horror movies. You’re also a huge fan of horror, but you can recognize that you’re a bit of a barbarian in that you’ve never watched the true classics. Maybe you can expand your cultural horizons while you’re here. Knowing more about classic film could come in handy while working undercover at pretentious wealthy bastard functions.
Your thought is interrupted as you yelp, having been lifted into the air by scarlet-ink tendrils and carried swiftly toward the ceiling, where you’re now hovering, eye level with the upper shelves of Sylus’s dvd collection. You look back down at him, where he isn’t even looking at you as he is artfully arranging your movie snacks in little bowls and plates.
“A little warning would be nice,” you say drily. 
“Where’s the fun in that?” he teases. “Can’t have you getting bored with me.”
You snort. “That’s my line.”
One moment you’re floating leisurely near what looks like his Russian film section of his collection, and the next you’re being deposited onto his lap as he sinks back into the soft couch.
“The presumption of people insinuating that even the possibility exists that I could ever be bored with you is astonishing,” he grumbles, and your heart hurts a little. Even other people can see how ill-suited you are for this mercurial, privileged man—a man who could have anything and anyone he wants, and has the propensity for boredom that goes along with it. “I don’t like it.”
You just smile at him, because what can you do? “People are wise.”
Sylus scowls like he just sucked on a lemon. “One other person, and he is a silly deviant and has been corrected, just as I’m correcting you.” He places his hands on your shoulders, thumbs smoothing over the skin of your throat. “In no universe could I ever be bored with you.”
“You don’t even really know me,” you say gently, letting your head fall forward under his soft touch. He slides one hand around and palms the back of your neck, squeezing gently.
“Don’t I?” he asks.
“You may know the ugliest parts of me because of your aether core. But you don’t know my daily habits. My annoying quirks. How I brush my teeth. My favorite foods. My fondest memories. My pet peeves when it comes to lovers.” You lean your head back now, baring your throat to him, letting his big hand keep you upright. “And I don’t know yours, either.”
“I know the most essential parts of you to be assured that I’ll never tire of learning about the details,” Sylus answers, shaking you gently.
You open your eyes, lift your head. “But I don’t know the essential parts of you, let alone the details.”
His wine dark eyes look so soft as they meet your gaze. “Don’t you?”
You remember the feeling when you first met him. The voice in your head, urging you to devour him. Insisting with a violence that scared you that he was yours, to consume, to swallow, to feast. The recognition in you when you resonated the first and only time, when you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. You might not have an aether core in your eye, but maybe you do know the essentials of him. His cruelty. His violence. His single-minded pursuit of his goals. His steadfastness as he chases you, over and over again, as you run, over and over again.
I expect you to remember what you just said, when this is over.
You do remember what you said at Amnesia. And you remember a kiss that never happened, the taste of his tongue on yours that you can’t possibly know. You feel insane.
“Do I?” you echo him.
“Mmm,” he murmurs his confirmation. “And now we have all the time in the world for you to satisfy your kitten’s curiosity regarding the details.”
Maybe it’s okay to be a little insane in a dream. 
“What movie do you want to watch?” you ask, leaning forward, running your nose along his, inhaling the scent of his skin.
He exhales, his warm breath soft and carrying the scent of some smoky liquor. “Why don’t you choose?”
“What if you’ve seen it before?”
He turns his head a little, so that his lips brush the edges of your mouth. “I’ve seen all of the films I own.”
“Won’t you get bored rewatching?” You resist the urge to turn your own head, to meet his mouth— you can’t, you can’t, not yet. What if you’re wrong—
 “I won’t get bored. I’ll be watching through your eyes this time.”
“You have so many, how can I choose?”
He smiles faintly against your skin. “What kind of movies do you like?”
You think for a moment. “I like all kinds of genres. Horror is probably my favorite, but only when I’m in the mood. I think the movies I like the best tend to be character driven. When I care about what is happening to the people, what choices they’re making—when I want them to prevail over the conflict. Not just gritty and dark for the sake of being edgy. And I like happy endings unless it’s a horror film. Life is hard enough, without spending it watching depressing Russian films,” you smile against his cheek in turn before sinking into him, resting your chest against his, tucking your face into his neck. His hands drift up and slowly caress your back.
“So you like fairy tales,” he says, but not dismissively. An observation.
“No, you’re the one who likes fairy tales—the original versions. Grim, unlikable characters being taught a lesson. Sad stories where no one wins, to confirm your cynical outlook of an unsalvageable world.” You’re teasing him, a little. But you also think it’s true.
He huffs a laugh. “Judging my taste in films, just as you judge my taste in coffee, wine, home decor, occupation—the list goes on. I’m the one who should be worried that my darling will grow bored with me.” He pauses. “You actually know quite a few details about me already, don’t you think?”
Your mind drifts to all the time you’ve shared with him, all the things you already know about him. Maybe he’s right, and you know more than you think. He has been showing you himself, every minute you’re together. Maybe if you manage to stop navel gazing and wallowing in insecurity, you’ll learn even more.
“In no universe could I ever be bored with you,” you echo him again.
“I'll hold you to that promise,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around you, hugging you tightly. You’re getting so sleepy. If you don’t start the movie, you’ll be asleep before the opening credits are over.
“So pick your favorite movie, Sy. I want to watch it through your eyes.”
His arms tighten even further, forcing a puff of breath from your lips. “In a minute, darling. Stay like this, for a little longer.”
You nod, feeling his rapid-fire heartbeat under your own, slower heart. It’s soothing, in a way that firing a real gun no longer is for you. 
“If you don’t start it now, I’m going to fall asleep,” you mumble, sinking further.
“Then sleep,” he says. So you do.
Sylus holds you in his arms, and for once, his mind is quiet—no churning plans, no tweaking the spiderwebs of action and reaction, force and counterforce, push and pull, either for his business or to draw you ever closer to him. He’s just a man, sitting with his heart in his hands—safe and calm. He misses you, as he always does, when you’re so close but asleep. He considers joining you in your dreams again, just to make sure that they’re as peaceful as you deserve, but decides against it. He skirted the edges of his promise to you by doing it once, even though he remains convinced that it was necessary. You were willing to share your fears with him after you woke up—he just mixed up the order a little bit by reassuring you first and then asking questions second. But he’s unwilling to risk it again.
This is enough, for now. He feels the steady beat of your heart against his own submachine gun rhythm, and his pulse slows, slows, until for once, he feels like he can breathe fully without having to check behind himself, check the exits, check contingencies and backups, check the pulse in your throat to make sure you’re still here, you’re still real, you’re still letting him so close he can taste your skin when he inhales the scent of your neck. You’re in his home, and you just had your almost-first, definitely not fake despite what you tell yourself, date. Watching a movie together, the most cliche, boring date of all, and you fell asleep before it even started. You called him something other than his full name for the first time, and not in a teasing way like crow man or good boy—an endearment, something no one else will ever have the privilege of calling him. It takes him a little while to figure out the feeling that has been spreading through him since you hugged him from behind in thanks for the lousy gift of a couple of mugs you already owned—a feeling like how he has always imagined sunshine would feel on a mild summer day for a normal person.
Oh. He laughs a little breathlessly. He’s happy.
If he wasn’t aware of how much you’re already changing him, he’d realize it now, as he hugs you as tightly as he dares without waking you, feeling as foolish as Aidan waxing poetic about every new person being a gift with a surprise inside. Sylus doesn’t need any other people to maintain his attention—you are the gift, a nesting doll puzzle box, a gift within a gift within a gift, and he’s so fucking happy you’re letting him open each of your secrets, one by one, that he’s dizzy with it. The ratatat of his heart fires, and fires, and fires. For the first time that he can remember, he’s looking forward to tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.
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end note: My dear readers, once again I have failed to deliver big toys and action, but the plot has inched along very slightly with Sylus's conversation with Aidan, and hopefully the next part will contain MC having the run of Sylus's place and getting into some trouble with the twins and Noah if I recover from real world events and don't just crawl into a hole and hide for the next four years.
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