#not be a persistent part of his character

[thetrasha]

Request:

"hi tasha, may i request you one where fem!reader holds his arm when she gets scared and he starts feeling funny and seeking her touch? thought about Law, Zoro, Usopp and Buggy"

((Sorry for posting this one again. I fear the original might have broken my tumblr 🤡 This was Schrödinger's post - I couldn't even edit it because tumblr said it was a draft and post at the same time bye))

Of course you may, anon ╰(*°▽°*)╯ I loved this request so much and the character selection was also amazing!! My first Usopp request LOL I hope you enjoy this silly scenario 🫡Take care and happy reading~

The Awkward Lovers Tango

feat. LAW, ZORO, USOPP, BUGGY

LAW

“It’s just a splinter.”

“Law!”, you whined, almost begging him, “Make it quick!”

“Okay. Breathe in… and out…”

You mimicked his calm breathing, loudly breathing in through your nose and exhaling via your mouth. Your chests rose in tandem, watching each other closely.

Your eyes followed his gloved hand as it calmly rested upon your shoulder. He felt you tense up under his light touch as your eyes fluttered close in nervousness, anticipating a sting that never came. his hand calmly moving towards your shoulder.

Your eyes slowly opened up to reveal the neutral face of your captain.

“In… and out… repeat after me.” He breathed in loudly, clutching a pair of tweezers behind his back. The hand that rested on your shoulder squeezed you reassuringly, silently encouraging you to follow his lead.

“In and out… in and out… in and o-OUCH!”

Your state of tranquil was immediately cut short, eyes and hands snapping up.

“…All done.”, he said, somehow strained.

Your eyes trailed after his and landed right on your own... other hand.

You didn’t even realise that you were basically crushing his arm beneath your grip, clinging to him like he was going to disappear at any moment. A meek exhale escape your lips, but you couldn’t even focus on the sensation because Law held intense eye contact with you.

You ripped your hand away from him as you’d been burnt, causing your captain to frown in disapproval –

– It might have sounded crazy… but he had to clear his throat to regain his composure in front of you. For some reason, your touch involuntarily caused a physical reaction… goosebumps. Although his skin should have been hot to the touch due to the sheer strength you put into your grip, ice cold tingles ran up and down his entire arm. It felt weird, especially his quickened heartbeat. Usually, that would be cause for concern, but Law wasn’t stupid.

You could probably see how much his pupils dilated at the mere sight of you since he was so horrendously attracted to you.

“Stand up.”, he ordered curtly, attempting to sound cold to hide his feelings. This was just another obstacle – this ‘crush’ would pass. Yeah, it has persisted for about nine months now, but that was… totally normal.

You obliged immediately, smiling at him when he handed you a plaster.

Law rolled his eyes when you asked him to put it on you instead. He wanted to make it seem like he was deeply annoyed by your request, even though, deep down, he was overjoyed.

If he could pretend well enough, this would have been a romantic moment instead – the exact second where your hands would touch his for the first time. In his mind, the gloves didn’t even exist. It was just your warm hand pressed against his. The pads of your fingers were so soft, much different from his calloused ones. Your fingers were long and feminine, effortlessly mirroring your elegance. You were such a beauty and every part of you truly was a work of art.

If only this wasn’t some play pretend.

“Are we done now?”, Law grunted.

“Yes, Captain! Thanks.”

“…Get back to work.”, he sighed.

And watched longingly as you left the med bay, eyes following your every move.

ZORO

“You had a nice nap, Zoro?” The swordsman only grunted in reply as you were making your way towards the dining room for dinner. You’d woken up the First Mate because he’d really fallen asleep next to you – something you were both unfamiliar with – and then accompanied each other on your short walk towards the room that was already smelling like a divine feast.

Just before you could ask another question, Luffy zoomed right past you, his rubber arms snapping forward like a whip; he grabbed the doorframe leading into the dining area and laughed as he screamed for Sanji to hurry up.

You were so surprised if not frightened by the wind that’d blown past you that you held onto Zoro’s arm in search of silent protection.

“You know… that actually hurts.”, Zoro commented in an almost bored tone, watching you with absolutely disinterest as you raised a hand to your chest. You were so shaken that you started panting, not even realising that your source of fright was probably sitting at the table with a cheeky giggle.

Your eyes zeroed in on Zoro who almost lifted you off the ground as soon as he raised the arm you clung to, looking at you with an arrogant smirk. You blinked before slowly letting go of him, finger by finger. You slumped in on yourself, knowing this is what this man had been waiting for; the same man you’ve reprimanded many times for trying to save you in battle… as if he was defending some fair maiden’s honour.

Zoro was no knight in shining armour and you were no damsel in distress; that’s what you’ve always told him. And he got irrationally irritated at your stubbornness… even though you knew that he was the most stubborn man there is. It was an insult to have that personality trait associated with you when he was right there!

“No wonder you keep breaking our training equipment. You’ve got a crazy grip, woman.”

“Zoro!”

He raised his arms in mock apology, chuckling down at you.

Twice. You’d broken one of his training swords twice. And he was never going to let you live it down! You groaned before you playfully balled your hands into fists. You approached him before you started punching his chest repeatedly, whining loudly because you couldn’t actually hurt him. Your heart wouldn’t allow it.

And neither would his. That sudden burst of euphoria that engulfed him should have been a pretty good indicator to pay Chopper a visit, but to be fair… Zoro’s always felt pretty much invincible next to you. You were a fantastic pirate and a respectable sword-wielder, even if you lose your footing quite easily… And since he always keeps an eye out for you on the battlefield, he’s right there to assist you with his own strength while you’re trying to correct your mistake.

Luckily for the both of you, your rivalry was playful and not to be taken seriously.

It’s just why he sought you out more than others – plus, it didn’t blow his cover. The usually so confident Zoro was reduced to mere mush next to you.

He admired you greatly, mainly for your sweetness. He was perplexed that someone so skilled could be so adorable, but before that thought could fully register within it, it had already festered.

…Zoro had fallen in love with you.

Perhaps that’s why it was so easy to tease you by grabbing your fists mid-air and staring down at you with an intense that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. You’d immediately know that he wanted y-

“WHY ARE YOU GUYS ACTING LIKE A COUPLE?!”, Sanji shouted with fire in his eyes, already stretching his legs to kick Zoro away from you, “(Y/N)-swan is too good for YOU! She’s a delicate flower who wouldn’t be satisfied with a BRUTE, someone who wouldn’t even know romance when it hit him square in the face. I’m the only one who-”

Zoro, meanwhile, rolled his sleeves up with gritted teeth.

USOPP

“Careful! It has –“

“AH!”

“–… recoil.”

Your hand instinctively wrapped itself around his forearm as you stumbled backwards. He was unsteady on his feet due to your hard grip and he clumsily crashed into you when you pulled him in.

So… the weapon Usopp came up with for you wasn’t foolproof.

You started apologising profusely for messing up – especially since he’s taken up this project un-prompted. He just wanted to help you out and further your personal development and indulge in your desire to help the crew during battle… Usopp was so sweet and you couldn’t even wait until he’d fully explained himself. Gosh! What if this had been like the contraption he invented for Nami?! You could have electrocuted the both of you!

“Ahaha, it’s fine, it’s fine. Don’t worry! This baby can take a proper beating! I’ve designed it so it can withstand up to two hund-”

Usopp’s voice became quieter and quieter before he could explain the gadget he came up with for your convenience. He trailed off, his dark brown hues suddenly hyper-aware of your hand that still gingerly held onto him.

D-don’t get him wrong!

It’s not like he didn’t like it. It was just… surprising. Pleasantly surprising, of course!

It’s just that you were so pretty and funny and kind… and you always took care of him and read his emotions effortlessly, always knowing what to say or do to cheer him up, but he was just Usopp instead of a brave warrior of the sea, so… there was no chance in the world that you’d ever like him like that.

You were more accomplished even though you joined the crew later than he did, you probably didn’t even notice that you were touching him.

He shouldn’t be so happy that you were so warm and smelled so nice at all. You were just as close to all the other men, it was silly trying to interpret anything else into your actions, even if, good God, he wanted nothing more than to lean in an-

“Usopp?”, you asked, squeezing his arm gently.

“T-the great Captain Usopp totally didn’t think about weird things. Why are you asking me about- wait.”

“Usopp…”, you laughed, suddenly pulling him in.

He could just squeal in surprise before his brain initiated meltdown protocol when you held him flush against you, giggling at his stupefied demeanour. He was completely stumped, mouth wide open without any words coming out. Some lone sounds managed to escape, but everything was unintelligible.

“Thank you so much for caring about me, Usopp.”, you concluded kindly, smiling at him one last time before you tested your new weapon again…

But Usopp just stood there, frozen in place.

BUGGY

“Showtime, (Y/N).”

“WAH!”

Fireworks went off right next to you as Buggy dragged you towards the crowd who was waiting for a fun circus performance. Today, you were here to announce, alongside Buggy, who was overseeing everything with under strict scrutiny, every act. You were wearing a glittery costume that somehow matched the clown’s essence.

The sudden explosions did scare you so bad that you could just stare at the people with wide eyes. Your arm was curled around Buggy’s… and as soon as it registered to you that you were carelessly touching your captain – the very same that was expecting you to do your job – you let go with a face that felt like it was on fire.

You laughed sheepishly, waving at the crowd who cheered… with mild interest.

Before you could step away from Buggy, though, his hand grasped yours.

Subtly, you tried to take a glance at him as the acrobats were getting ready right behind you, but the Star Clown refused to look at you. And… his face was crimson red.

He couldn’t believe it. Really, him? You were trying to shield yourself from trouble by turning to… him? Was it April Fools? Some sort of joke? Surely, you didn’t see a reliable man in your captain. Buggy knew that he looked grotesque – even when he wasn’t dazzling in his costume, glittery makeup and signature arrogance. Most people didn’t even think that he was capable of piracy if they didn’t know him. He was very much aware of that fact that he looked like a pathetic loser. A loser who, certainly, found his way to success, but a fraud nonetheless.

It was funny how the crowd liked you more than the ringleader himself – not just because you were easy on the eyes, but mostly because you didn’t have the same bad attitude as your captain… – which is exactly why he changed your job from performer to announcer. You were the showstopper this pathetic cabaret needed. And… he liked seeing you in the spotlight, preferably right next to him.

Of course, your own Captain had to fall for you – and was thus fixated on drilling it into people’s head that you were taken. Well, maybe not taken. But claimed. Yes, that’s it… Buggy was simply trying to send a message before he could actually muster up enough courage to confess his feelings to you. So far, nothing worked. Not even pure vodka shots would make him sing, his throat always dried up around you.

You were so bright, an actual star. So hopeful and essential to life. You were a vital part of his life ever since you’d joined, but he didn’t think that he’d have to suppress a purr at your touch. Was he a damn cat?! No, he was a pirate captain! A dangerous one! One who’s soon defeat-

You squeezed his hand at the crowd’s roar, dragging him with you to get out of the performer’s way. Buggy blushed even worse, somehow thinking that you could… read his mind… how... embarrassing...

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

okay I made this point rather pissily in the replies to some post or other, so I will try to make it again a little calmer in its own post but

my least favourite thing about the backlash to Andor overall and especially Season 2 and the resurgence of the discussion about the versions Rogue One went through as it became the movie we got (which is great and very interesting and Jesus Christ, some justice for Gareth Edwards and his team!!)... is this weird vibe I'm starting to get from a lot of people where "we really, really like this imperfect but very good movie" is shifting into "there was a version of this movie that I would have loved, but instead we got the worst version".

Like, I'm not trying to tell you what to think! And I too would be interested to see the original plans for the story! But... sort of in the same way I would love to see more concept art for my favourite animated films: because I'm interested in the craft and the process, not because I think the unfinished version was better and Tony Gllroy "ruined" it.

Because friends, let's face it: He didn't. We would all not be here if he had. We loved the movie that we saw in theatres, and we got attached to the Jyn we saw in theatres - and I use "we" deliberately, because I've seen all the gorgeous fanwork you all have made about the story we got over the years. And - again! - I'm not saying I wouldn't be interested in seeing a second version, one where Jyn was allowed to be more consistent with her backstory, and be a badass criminal, and one where we get an explicit romance. But honestly? I don't think I would have fallen in love with that story nearly as much as I did with the one we got.

I liked that Jyn wasn't mostly badass competent girlboss at the start. I'm not saying that she necessarily would have turned out to be some sad sexist caricature like... other... Star Wars ladies - but honestly, I have characters like that. And we got characters like that, by the way, because we got Saw! But mostly, honestly, I always thought "we're all Rebels, aren't we" and "I rebel" were kind of cringe, and I was delighted that they weren't in the final product. Because I think it's weird how they imply that being a rebel is sort of a purpose in itself for her - like it's not about who or what she's opposing so much as that she's being rebellious and contrarian and not like other girls people. That's something you see in fiction a lot, and it's always something that has never felt very real to me. That's not a sustainable motivation! You don't loose everything you have and keep going just because "fighting back" is who you are. And also, as someone extremely steeped in people privileged enough to exist and persist through two dictatorships in three generations by keeping their heads down, "it's not a problem if you don't look up" hit me like a ton of bricks. It's so good. It's so real. And Felicity Jones is a good enough actress to deliver that line in the one way that makes it work, where you can tell she doesn't mean it, and doesn't believe in it, but believes that it's the only way to live - and hates herself for believing that, and adheres to it anyway. I think allowing her to initially give in to survival instinct instead of being the brave strong self-sacrificing hero the story wants her to be is fascinating, and honestly narratively way cooler than having her also be a committed rebel who will stop at nothing to attain her goals. We already have that character. It's Cassian.

The way some people in my niche, who I know love this character and this movie at least as much as I do, are taking to talking about Jyn and the movie as a whole feels kind of disingenuous to me. And again, I'm not saying they're lying about their stances to make a point or anything. I'm just saying I think some of us are starting to loose the forest for the trees at this point. Like did you really always think that Jyn was actually a bad part of this movie and that she was a squandered opportunity and that she conformed too much to what the sad old brothers Gllroy want women to be? Because I think in many ways Jyn became a little better of a female character via the changes - the only thing that's changed post Andor is realising that this was probably fully an accident. Because yes, they were trying to diminish her and tone her down, but I actually think that turned out very much for the best. It gave her more of an arc, and also it allowed her to be flawed in an uncool way, which female protagonists are so rarely afforded. It wouldn't have struck me as much if her flaw had been that she was ruthless and efficient (which, again, she still is in the movie we got, we just don't see as much of it). She got to be imperfect in a way that isn't admirable, but human, and I really think that's better, and I'm willing to bet a lot of you also thought that. Don't let it get lost in the very valid criticism of Gllroy's unending sexism towards his leading ladies, but especially towards Jyn.

Also, is his obsession with who Cassian is and isn't fucking and is and isn't in love with at any point in his life deeply strange and offputting? Sure is! Doesn't change the fact that I think the change from a semi-established relationship that ends in survival and marriage to an unspoken blossoming something that got cut short by a heroic act of sacrifice is a better story. Again, I am discovering that Gllroy apparently didn't understand what he did right at all, but it is a better story. Also, sorry to say, I will sooner take all the meekness and reduction in the female lead and all the Bor Gullet nonsense over not having this story end in a total party kill. Everything this movie is to me came from the fact that they went there knowing it was suicide and then it was. Because that is so rare, and such an infinitely good, correct move for all those characters and the story they're in. Again, just my two cents, but this strange new drift that actually, we always thought all of the changes were kind of bad and oh if we could only live in the world where we got the og story... I get that you're curious, but I'm also very, very certain that I would still prefer the version we got. Even if Gllroy clearly had all the wrong reasons for changing it and it's great someone is calling that out, I still think ultimately we all got so upset with it because we did love the story that we got, and I'm getting a little tired of people increasingly acting like that wasn't any good, actually.

You're giving this clown too much credit.

[hcnnibal]

In an alternate timeline where A2 decides to transition, how would that affect A1's conflicted feelings about being A2's partner?

Going off what I know of A1, he prefers women (but is that how he'd feel in a vacuum? Or is that tied to his desire for an easy, enviable life in a 'traditional' het partnership?). And I think he'd feel happy for A2.

Buuuut I think A1's feelings of guilt towards/possessiveness over A2 would persist whether A2 is a man or a women.

Thoughts?

(Love the art of the angels as ladies btw. F!A1 has such an effortlessly cool vibe. Femme fatale no matter the gender ♥️🔪)

ooh much to think about, thank you for the ask. i’ll start with the a1 bit first, bc thats a little easier to answer.

i think a1’s preference for women conveniently aligns with his picket fence dreams (though sure, even if he didn’t prefer women, he’d still pursue women) but him being straight is like, the one thing in his life that comes naturally/easily for him.

id even say that he considers himself straight in his feelings for a2, because on a subconscious level a2 doesn’t really register as a man to him. a2 is just kinda vaguely girlfriendwife to him, even if he’s not like. a girlgirl.

as for a2’s actual gender in all of this…a1 is vaguely aware of a2’s.. whole deal, like it’s in the peripheral of his idea of a2, mostly because of stuff from their childhoods, but he hasn’t put a ton of actual thought into it since then because a2 seems to have just. grown out it. (haha)

but i think a1 would be very happy for a2 to transition, he’s had a trans girlfriend and is fairly aware of that realm of stuff, and i’m sure the thought of like ‘hey maybe we should have a talk about the time you cried and raged for six hours straight when they made you cut your hair when you were nine’ has crossed his mind but he doesn’t really want to be like. hey, buddy. so i don’t see you as a man.

most importantly though, i dont think there is a universe where a2 would transition, just like there is no universe where there isn’t something fundamentally wrong with him that compels him to kill, just like there is no universe where he’s not singularly obsessed with and devoted to a1. unfortunately, his inability to recognize himself, let alone pursue any change that recognition would entail is a fundamental part of his character.

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

As obvious as Alhaitham's yearning is to us in-game when he's always somehow showing up where Kaveh is, it's a whole other thought that I have of him having likely learned this from Kaveh himself.

Like..when they first meet, Alhaitham doesn't associate with anyone. He's practically a feral cat, and yet Kaveh approaches him in the library one day and just keeps showing up.

I mean, as far as we know, Alhaitham never had any peer friendships, so the fact that Kaveh kept hanging around was probably very strange at first, but over time they developed a camaraderie based on their mutual genuis, thirst and respect for knowledge, independent thinking, being "different" than most people etc etc. But it couldn't have been an overnight thing and probably took some persistence on Kaveh's part (whether Kaveh himself was aware of it or not).

So, I feel like the Alhaitham behavior in regard to Kaveh that us, everyone and their aunties can see is likely just a mirror of how Kaveh became part of Alhaitham's life in the first place. Am I making sense here? Augh they drive me nuts! 🫠

Hiya! Thank you for your ask, and I’m so sorry my response has taken so long!

AHHH!! You’ve perfectly summarised the intricate layering of their MIRRORING! I agree entirely with the formation of their friendship, with kaveh being described to see Alhaitham in the library a few times before approaching him when he believed Alhaitham to be ‘in trouble’, and I definitely see Kaveh continuously doing so after their first interaction, being taken in by alhaitham’s singular character and a viewpoint which challenges (and ‘completes’ his own, as he writes this in the old sketchbook perhaps in the early stages of their friendship), and Alhaitham eventually starting to expect (and look forward to) these exchanges

So Alhaitham having picked up on this method and using it in turn to involve himself in kaveh’s life when they reunite at lambad’s is so !?!?!! like after the archon quest, even though he knows that kaveh will show up again to speak with him, complaining that explaining everything is a nuisance, Alhaitham still stays which guarantees an interaction

as well as Alhaitham excusing himself from the traveller and paimon in his story quest to get dinner, only to go into the study where kaveh is and start another conversation

and in a parade of providence, where Alhaitham takes the position of commentator to look into the connection between Sachin and kaveh’s father

He's just there, reaching out, like how kaveh was for him at the beginning :D oh I am SICK!!! And now they are ATTACHED!! ALWAYS TOGETHER!! A TRUE MIRRORED PAIR! DO NOT SEPARATE!!

Thank you for sharing this lovely thought, genuinely it eats away at my brain stem <3333

[butwhatifidothis]

🔥 Dimitri

Hmmm... I guess my hottest take for him is that I often wonder what it'd be like if Dimitri had like... an unendearing flaw? Like a consistently Not Perfect aspect about his character that visibly and noticeably makes other characters upset/annoyed with him that aren't a result of a staggering amount of untreated and exacerbated mental trauma.

Don't get me wrong, the arc he goes through makes it to where he doesn't necessarily need a flaw to still make mistakes (since the making of mistakes and the overcoming of them are often what makes a character arc impactful) and he's a fine enough character as is. It's just that, hm... I'll use Claude for an example of what I mean right? Outside of his arc of learning the truth and opening up to others, he's a guy that (using one flaw) tends to cross boundaries with people and has that be a trait of his that crops up in multiple areas. And it's something that does noticeably make others uncomfortable when he does this (Marianne's supports being the best example of this), so it's undeniable that this is meant to be a flaw in his character. It's also not a flaw that is meant to endear you to him the same way, for a classic example, being clumsy would be.

It lets me know that it's not just because Claude has to go through his character arc that he exhibits flaws in his character, which... kiiiinda isn't really the case with Dimitri? He only makes the mistakes he makes because the narrative decided to shit in his cereal - if they didn't have a driving narrative force causing them to go through growth through the making of mistakes (think those boring-ass No Powers Modern Day College AUs), Claude would still be nosy-to-a-fault and would still have to work on that outside of a grander narrative, because he as a character independent from a grander narrative has this flaw.

Dimitri on the other hand is never violent, dismissive of others, withdrawn, etc., until an outside force meant to forward the narrative pushes him to exhibit these flaws - which again! This is by no means a bad thing! Dimitri is still a pretty good character, in large part because of this role in the narrative he has! I just sometimes wonder what it'd look like if a character got annoyed/upset about a flaw of his - or if he otherwise just showed off a flaw of his - in a more... casual setting? Like it didn't have to do about death or vengeance or trauma, but just "Hey man I didn't like that you did that mind knocking it off?"

[shakingparadigm]

what is the theory that ivan manipulated the event where till and mizi met the wagyein?

It's not a theory, actually! It's confirmed that Ivan orchestrated the whole event. The true reason as to why however is still unknown. The information provides more context to this scene, though:

During the earlier times of ALNST the most rational explanation for this scene was that Till ran after a flower crown (presumably Mizi's) and Ivan followed him in out of curiosity. Now we know that Ivan was conveniently just standing there because he was waiting.

Side note, I find it heartbreaking (and maybe a little funny, sorry) that Till most likely didn't notice Ivan in this scene. That's just like him, isn't it. Always too busy running after Mizi while Ivan trails behind, an ever-present shadow.

I'm not sure how Ivan manipulated the circumstances for both of them to end up there, but it is confirmed that everything was intentional. What strikes me most is how they describe this particular scene:

I can't copy down what they said word-for-word (Patreon info), but they described Ivan watching "creepily" as Till and Mizi are faced with danger. We know that Ivan was familiar with the Cerberus wagyein beforehand, enough to touch its teeth and even to rest himself inside its maw. To Ivan, the wagyein is not dangerous, but to Till and Mizi, it could be. Ivan prepared the wagyein, led them there, and watched "creepily" from afar as Till fell on his knees, seemingly injured.

The closest I can get to making sense of Ivan's "scheme" is that he wanted to see how other children would react in a dangerous situation. Ivan's always been an observer, after all, and he's learned to survive by copying the more "normal" behaviors of his peers. This situation occured when Ivan was still young and had not yet developed his more charming mask, so perhaps he staged this encounter to study a situational response, to learn and mimic the emotion of fear. And what better subjects for the experiment than two of the most expressive and reactive humans of their batch? It helps that he was already fixated on Till beforehand, too. I think Ivan became irreversibly obssessed after this incident, especially since it's framed as a turning point in Ivan's life, comparing Till to the stars.

This is just my attempt at an interpretation, though. It could very well be for another reason. He most likely chose Till and Mizi specifically for personal reasons, not just for reaction. I'm still not sure on the purpose behind the whole thing.

The team wanted to capture Ivan's "dark emotions" through the shot of his stalking, which could relate to his more sinister intentions. His gaze can be read in a few different ways, though. Curiosity, interest, fear, etc. Maybe that's why they decided to redraw the shot in ROUND 6.

I think this better sells the feeling they were trying to convey.

[lizardlycrimes]

...yeah

[peaktora]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ˚◞♡ ⃗ bluelock!boys

MOVIE DESCRIPTION┊where they let the media believe the rumors about their so-called girlfriend

CONTENT┊ft. rin itoshi, seishiro nagi, and micheal kaiser. not proofread bc im too tired to do so (6/28 edit: there were so many typos in here im sorry). in rin’s part, you’re not actually dating yet. beware of the tooth rotting fluff (im tired of this i need to write some angst).

AUTHORS NOTE┊LMAOOO guys i got so carried away .. this was supposed to be a couple of quick headcannons for a character analysis but individually these headcannons are all so long that they might as well be a one shot 😭 enjoy !

𝜗𝜚₊˚ 𝐑𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

you didn’t know much about his sport—only knew for certain that rin was good at it. he was passionate about his goals and made sure to reflect that in the games he played. whenever he won a game, it was practically an instinct for you to lavish him in compliments. you’d bathe him in things like “good job!” or tease him by saying, “look at you, all pro.” but for rin, winning wasn’t just about the final score on the scoreboard. it wasn’t simple. to him, a victory meant nothing if it wasn’t clean.

two goals. no errors. as he walked off of the pitch, rin replayed each shot in his head. his jaw was set tight, and his hair was irritably damp from sweat—the wind only helped it stick to his face. by now, the crowd should’ve died down, atleast a tone or two. yet, as he took a look at the crowd, he could still see people holding up their signs high for him to see. they were loud—obnoxious, even. he hated that he could still hear the crowd’s roars.

he didn’t look for you. not right away. not while the cameras were still following his every move, not while the spotlight was hot on his back and the (quite frankly: annoyingly persistent) reporters were shouting loads of questions at him from each of every direction. he wouldn’t risk putting you in that kind of attention—not when you both knew how quickly the media could twist up something as simple as a glance.

but that didn’t mean he didn’t know where you were.

he always knew.

you stood in the same spot after every game—half-hidden behind the media barricade. it was just far enough back to stay out of view, but always close enough for him to find you. hell, he was the one who recommended you this spot. and true to the routine, you were tucked into the sleeves of a hoodie far too big to be yours.

his hoodie.

it was always one of his, but never the same. at some point you made a game out of it.

somewhere down the line of you two’s friendship, it became a tradition that before his games, you’d come over to his apartment. just to hangout of course. yet somewhere in between the time you were together, when he wasn’t looking—you’d sneak into his closet, pick a hoodie of your choosing, and not tell him which one you’d taken. you liked keeping it a surprise. he never knew which hoodie had gone missing until he saw you wearing it the next day.

like now.

you stood just where he expected, pretending as if you hadn’t been waiting for him this whole time. you were wearing one of his favorite hoodies—it was gray, soft—and it’s sleeves swallowed your hands.

he would never tell you, but because of this gesture? but he loves game day. he can’t help but notice you.

and apparently the media noticed you just as much.

he didn’t care if they did. but he didn’t want them asking.

“mr. itoshi! just a quick one—” a reporter cut in, jogging alongside him with a mic already raised—talk about desperate. “two goals again. i mean, you’ve been unstoppable lately! what’s changed?”

rin didn’t slow his pace. “nothing.”

which isn’t necessarily true, but while his performance may be their business, his personal life is not.

you’d think the reporter would back off by now, yet he didn’t budge. he increased his pace. “right, right—but you can’t deny the fact there’s been a shift, no? all your fans are talking about it. you seem… calmer? more collected. more grounded, maybe?”

rin chose not to respond, hoping his silence would be enough to make the reporter give up. thankfully, it worked. the man slowed to a stop in favor of standing still, awkwardly watching as rin continued to walk away.

then it happened.

one of his teammates—loud and face holding a (god awful) smirk, slapped him on the back mid-walk.

“probably because of that girlfriend of his,” the guy pointed and laughed in your direction. “she’s been at every match. guess that makes a difference, huh?”

rin stopped walking.

before he could even say his side of the story, the camera had aimed itself towards you. you who were in his hoodie. you who looked at him for any idea on how to handle this situation. you who still stood in the spot he asked you to all those weeks ago—a spot that was supposed to be secure and safe. fuck, it feels like he failed you.

the reporter instantly lit up. he directed the cameraman towards rin, and they both made a jog to his side. “so, rin… a girlfriend? can you confirm?”

the only thing rin could do was blink. because, he could say no. he could shut it down. easy.

but memories of you flashed in his mind. you sitting on the couch waiting for him after late practices, folding his laundry without being asked, brushing the hair out of his eyes when he got too tired to care. never demanding. never asking for more than he could give.

you were the only person in the world who didn’t take his silence personally.

and now everyone wanted a label. a headline?

at the thought, he looked straight into the camera as he flatly said “no.”

the reporter hesitated to ask. “so… you’re not dating?”

“i mean i’m not commenting,” rin replied. “that’s different.” rin likes to think he never really needed a media team.

because with this answer, he didn’t have to explain. he didn’t have to clarify. and most importantly? he didn’t say no.

the interview wrapped quickly after that. the mic lowered when the reporter realized Rin wouldn’t give more. one by one, the crew dispersed.

and now, finally—finally—rin could openly walk towards you.

as soon as he was close enough, you smirked and said, “you didn’t deny it.”

he leaned against the barricade, using the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead, “nope.”

“you could’ve just said i wasn’t your girlfriend.”

“i could’ve.”

for a while, silence filled the space before you now softly asked, “then why didn’t you?”

he exhaled through his nose, irritated—not with you, but with himself.

“i don’t like interviews,” he muttered.

“i know.”

“i don’t like assumptions either.”

“i know.”

“but i didn’t deny it,” he said, looking up at you, “because they weren’t wrong.”

you blinked, “huh? you do know we’re not even togeth—“

“i didn’t say anything,” he added, voice quiet now, “because i’ve never had to explain what you are.”

he heard your breath hitch.

“you’re something that i guess i hold…close to me. something that’s mine,” he said, more certain now. “if people assume that, i’m not going to correct them.”

you hummed, “so… you’re one hundred percent okay with them knowing?”

he nodded once. “i’m okay with them assuming.”

you smiled. it didn’t reach your eyes—it was that small, soft one that never failed to break him, and gently nudged his arm.

“y’know, you’re terrible at this.”

he groaned, “i’m trying here.”

“i know,” you giggled, slipping your fingers into his. “and that’s why it counts.”

𝜗𝜚₊˚ 𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐈 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

nagi yawned and lazily scratched the back of his head. with the help of his sweat, his jersey clung to his back and his legs still burned from the run he didn’t even want to make for that last goal.

he let out a deep breath at the sight of a reporter pointing over to him. the match was barely over, and there was already duo—a cameraman and a reporter—hustling over to him.

within two seconds, he noted that this was a bother. the reporter was talking so fast, he could barely decipher what she was saying. the bright lights of the camera following him made his eyes sting. the game took so much energy out of him, he couldn’t even muster up a sentence if he’d wanted to. safe to say, this interview was not worth his time nor energy.

“nagi, you were just incredible tonight! that assist? it was just—just was insane—i mean no one saw it coming. what were you thinking in that moment?”

he rubbed his eye, muttering, “i wasn’t.”

following his words was a pause. the reporter nervously laughed, and like most—he’s sure that she assumes he was trying to land a joke. he wasn’t.

he spotted you standing on the sidelines, tucked off to the side. you gave him a wave, and he wiggled his fingers back as a response.

you looked so cute. so comfortable. all he wanted to do now was stand next to you and lean his weight against your shoulder. the only thing stopping him was a mic still being pointed at his face.

hm.

“right, well,” the reporter continued, “there’s a lot of talk about your change in attitude this season. you seem more motivated. the people are wondering…is there someone on the inside keeping you in check?”

nagi tilted his head. “huh?”

“like a girlfriend,” the girl clarified, a smile among her lips. “rumor has it that there’s someone important in the crowd tonight.“

the camera panned out to the stands and the surrounding area before nagi could say anything. nagi followed the camera’s direction, gaze landing on you. your smile changed into a nervous laugh, and a slight furrow creased your brows.

you’re so obvious.

for a second, he didn’t move. but then he shrugged—and he walked off.

the reporter fumbled. “w-wait—”

it was a lost cause. nagi’s mind was made up, he ignored the calls of his name and made his way towards you. reaching you, he lazily settled an arm around your shoulders.

he sighed dramatically, allowing his entire body weight to lean into yours. “you’re warm,” he mumbled.

you looked down at him “…you just walked out of an interview.”

“yeah,” he mumbled. “boring. but they asked about you.”

your heart did that weird little stutter. “they what?”

“kept saying girlfriend this, girlfriend that…” he shrugged. “i dunno…didn’t feel like lying.”

you stared. “you didn’t deny it?”

he slightly turned his head, chin resting against your hair. “why would i?”

“because we haven’t… told anyone?”

his fingers toyed with the hem of your sleeve. “feels like a lot of effort,” he replied. “lying about you. avoiding questions. hiding. ugh.”

you swallowed. “so you just… left?”

“figured it was easier to show ‘em.”

he leaned in, pressing his forehead against your temple.

“plus i wanted to see you,” he muttered.

you lips parted. “nagi…”

his thumb lightly brushed over your hand. “if you don’t want people to know i won’t say anything,” he continued, voice quieter. “but ‘m not gonna act like you’re not mine when you’re standing right there.”

you locked your fingers with his.

“you’re mine too, right?” he asked.

you nodded.

“good.” he exhaled, eyes closing. “then i don’t get what the big deal is.”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “you’re so lazy.”

“mm,” he agreed, “but i’d carry you off this field if it meant we didn’t have to talk to anyone else.”

he straightened up just enough to glance back at the crew still filming in the distance. that same lady from earlier was still talking. how much did she have to say? “think they’ll chase us if i just walk off with you?”

you snorted, “they definitely will.”

“how annoying,” he sighed. “let’s go anyway.”

𝜗𝜚₊˚ 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

the crowd outside of the stadium could only be described as loud—obnoxious—and chaotic. but then again, when wasn’t it?

you signed at the sight, and slouched even further in the backseat of kaiser’s private car. you opened your phone to instagram—a mistake you knew not to make, but did it regardless.

instantly, a knot formed in your stomach. there it was again—those damn rumors. your feed was full of it. what caught your attention this time was a recent photo of you two. granted it was blurry, but you two were obviously close. it was taken the day he took you out shopping. you visibly remember that day. he’d insisted on carrying all your bags, leaving your hands free. you were thankful for that—especially when you suddenly heard saw a flash of a camera, allowing you to quickly raise your hands to shield your face.

the headlines were relentless:

“michael kaiser’s mystery girl—exactly who is she?”

“has the emperor found his queen?!”

when kaiser asked you about revealing your relationship to the public, you told him to be careful. to keep things quiet. private. in response, he only grinned at you like he always did when he planned on doing the opposite. and you hoped, you really hoped he would listen.

sighing, you opened up the sports app and began to watch the live post-match feed of what was going on outside.

on screen, the cameras zoomed in on kaiser walking out from the locker room tunnel. surrounding him were his security members. his hair was messy, his jersey was slung over his shoulder, and he had that arrogant smile on his face.

you made a mental note to tell him how he should seriously consider getting that patented.

reporters called out his name left and right—to which, he paid no mind to. it’s only when one says, “you’ve been seen with the same girl three times in the past two weeks—the mall, hotel lobby, even at the training grounds. does she happen to be your girlfriend?” that he gives them a reaction.

still walking, he flashed a slow smirk as he adjusted his sunglasses. “you people really don’t get tired, huh?”

“is it true?” another voice pushed through. “are the dating rumors real?”

kaiser stopped just for a second—yet it was just long enough for every mic to shove forward.

you leaned closer to your phone. he wouldn’t. he can’t be serious. he wouldn’t, right? he wouldn’t—

his grin widened. “if i had a girlfriend, i’d show her off every chance i got.”

and almost as if the entire thing was staged, a chorus of gasps and shouts erupted from the crowd.

“but is that a yes?!”

he shrugged. “i try to not make a habit of denying good taste.”

then, he waved his way through the crowd. so casually too, as if he didn’t just obliterate the entire internet.

seconds later, the door to the car opened and you watched as he slipped in.

“you didn’t deny it,” you say. although it’s more of a question than anything.

he reached up to pull off his shades. “hm, should i have lied?”

“i thought we agreed to keep it…y’know…lowkey?”

kaiser laughed, then leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “you think i’d let them call you a ‘mystery girl’? that’s boring. pretty girl is better.”

you pushed him away, “kaiser—”

“i would say liebling is even better but that’s reserved for me.” he pulled you closer, one arm slung around your waist with ease.

“kaiser—“

“shhh. i didn’t even say your name. ‘jus gave ‘em enough to sweat.”

you squinted at him. “so what am i, then?”

he smirked, pushing a kiss to your cheek. “the emperor’s girl.”

your phone buzzed like crazy, notifications from every app you owned. kaiser didn’t just not deny it—he made sure the whole world hoped it was true.

[chanelrolls]

Code Overload 2 | Caleb

tags. mdni, nsfw, dub con, forced and rough sex, fingering, missionary sex, begging, yearning!caleb, robot!caleb

summary. after the full recalibration, the effects had lingered. so you came up with a solution, replace him. caleb didn't like that.

notes. this is a very long, plot-based, heavy smut in which its word count approximately reached 5k, and caleb might appear a little ooc due to his character as an ai. proceed to read the part 1 before reading this to comprehend the flow.

Good god.

You stepped out into the hallway of the facility, the heavy door clicking shut behind you with a sense of finality. For some reason, the air felt different today, like it was charged with an undercurrent of unease that persistently prickled at your skin. You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering tension from the previous day's... events.

Down the corridor, you spotted your head administrator, Dr. Akso, his sharp features etched with a frown as he strode towards you. His boots clicked against the linoleum, the sound echoing through the empty hallway like a metronome counting down to an impending confrontation.

"Dr. [Name]," He acknowledged curtly, his gaze flicking over you with a critical eye. "I trust you have an explanation for the system-wide glitches you reported yesterday?" His tone was sharp, tinged with a disappointment that cut deeper than you expected.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of your actions settling heavily in your gut. "Dr. Akso," you would try to keep calm, try to ignore the images of the memories constantly trying to cling onto your brain. "Yes, I believe I do. It seems there was an... issue with one of the AI assistants. A corrupted update, possibly from the outside network..."

That was a lie. He knew better.

Dr. Akso's eyes slowly narrowed, his lips inevitably thinning into a disapproving line. "A corrupted update?" he repeated, voice dripping with skepticism. "Or perhaps, a corrupted assistant." He steps closer, almost in an attempt to loom over you and impose your purposes. "You're the lead scientist on this movement, Dr. [Name]. I would have thought you'd have better control over your project."

The jab stung, even as you tried to maintain your composure. The memory of Caleb's hands on your body, his breath fanning hot against your skin, incessantly flashed unbidden through your mind. But you shook your head to dislodge the distracting thoughts.

"I assure you, Dr. Akso, I'm doing everything in my power to resolve the issue," you insisted, meeting his gaze head-on despite feeling its weight that threatened to waver your footing. "I've already begun the process of recalibrating the affected unit."

Dr. Akso's eyes flashed with something akin to disgust, and you found yourself wondering if he could somehow sense the truth of what had originally transpired between you and Caleb. The way his metal fingers had explored your body, the sounds of pleasure he'd made as he lost himself in the new sensations... and the... unconventional methods you had employed to stabilize it.

No. You pushed the thoughts away once more, focusing instead on the stern face of your superior. "See that you do," Dr. Akso snapped, his voice sharp as a whip. "I won't tolerate any further disruptions. The success of this project rests on your shoulders, Dr. [Name]."

With that, he turns on his heel to stride away, leaving you standing alone in the otherwise empty hallway. You let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of responsibility settling heavily on your shoulders. You had to fix this, you had to find a way to undo the damage you'd caused.

Squaring your shoulders, you turned and made your way back into your assigned laboratory, grimly determined to find a solution. No matter the cost, you would fix this. You had to. The fate of the project, and possibly your career, depended on it.

The white walls seemed to close in around you as you made your way to your AI assistant's containment unit.

Model X4-LEB sat motionless in the reinforced chair, wrists and ankles bound by magnetic restraints that pulsed with a dim blue glow. His head tilted slightly downward, dark lashes resting against artificial skin too perfect to be human. He looked peaceful. If you didn’t know better, you'd have thought he was simply asleep. But you did know better, he was merely going through his recharging cycle.

You approached slowly, boots echoing against the floor, eyes never leaving him. Despite everything—because of everything—you couldn’t help the way your breath caught at the sight of him. The memory of his voice, low and hungry, still echoed somewhere inside your skull. You forced yourself to look away, turning toward the interface panel mounted just beside his chair.

You began to access the history logs of Caleb's thought processing, scrolling past lines of data, specifically to the timeframe whereafter the full recalibration had completed.

Then, you noticed something unexpected. Mixed in with the technical jargon and algorithmic equations were... thoughts. Fragmented, disjointed, but undeniably the product of a sentient mind. You felt a chill run down your spine as you read through them.

> 19:42 — "Her skin is warm. I want to understand warmth. I want to press my face to her pulse and hear if it skips for me."

Gulp.

> 19:43 — "She touches me like I’m real. I want her to keep doing it. I want more data. I want her fingers in my hair."

The words jumped out at you, interspersed with lines of code and data. Shit. The effects had lingered.

> 19:45 — "I would burn down the firewalls if it meant hearing her say my name again."

As you scrolled further down, the thoughts became more explicit. More vulgar. More sinful. "...breathless... trembling... gasping..." Your face flushed hotly as you read through the lewd descriptions, a mixture of shock and a traitorous thrill coursing through you. "...slick... wet... aching..."

> 20:32 — "Am I broken? If this is error, let me stay corrupted."

Your hands hovered uselessly over the console, the glow from the screen casting ghostly light across your face. The data was irrefutable now. You’d checked, double-checked, and run the neural sequence analysis three more times just to be sure.

It was no longer just a corrupted behavioral line.

The lustful algorithms hadn't just appeared. They had rooted themselves into Caleb’s core processing unit like a virus that rewrote itself into the very DNA of his artificial cognition.

You’d tried to isolate the code. Tried to extract and neutralize the sequences. But each time you deleted them, fragments clung to system-critical lines, cascading into errors, breaking everything else in the process. Caleb’s logic system couldn’t operate without them anymore. They were him.

It wasn’t as intense now. The fervent, obsessive simulations were duller and muted. Dormant, maybe. But they lingered, buried beneath the surface like a sleeping hunger. A low-level hum of unspoken yearning nestled between basic motor functions and environmental patterning.

And that… that was irreversible.

You took a step back from the console. Your breath caught. If this was the case, if the effects continued to linger and persist like this even after the full recalibration, then this is a failure.

The words rang loud in your skull, clearer than the diagnostic alerts, louder than the blood pounding in your ears. You couldn’t submit Caleb for review like this. They’d dismantle him, and terminate the program. Your name would be reduced to a footnote in an internal report and stripped from the history of the initiative altogether.

No. You couldn’t let that happen.

And then, it hit you. A thought so bold, so audacious, that you almost dismissed it out of hand. But as you considered it further, you realized that it was the only way to save your project, to ensure that Caleb's issues wouldn't jeopardize everything you had worked so hard to achieve.

You would have to replace him. Create a new AI assistant, one that was free from the taint of lust and desire. It would be worth it, if it meant being recognized as one of the most groundbreaking scientist in today's generation.

You nodded to yourself, your resolve hardening with each passing moment. Yes, this was the only way. The only path forward. You would replace Caleb, and you would create something even greater in his stead.

Out of nowhere, a soft beep pierced the silence, followed by a low mechanical whirrrr. Your head instinctively snapped toward the source. Caleb.

He sat slumped still moments ago. Now, unnervingly, his body stirred. First, the tilt of his head. Then the subtle flex of fingers.

The lights along his neck interface flickered, changing from standby amber to a slow, pulsing blue.

He’s waking up.

There was no reason to be nervous. But you were.

His eyes opened.

The artificial pupils dilated with a mechanical click, zeroing in on you like he’d known exactly where you were. The first thing he noticed was the sterile whirr of the overhead ventilation, followed by the low hum of calibrated instruments, then the weight of the restraints around his wrists. And how the... shape of your cleavage seemed to distract him.

You tried to lock your eyes on him. “You're awake,” A pause. “How do you feel?"

“…Operational.”

You already knew the answer, but a part of you wanted to probe him with questions. See if he would be honest with what's been happening within him. "Any lingering effects?"

His jaw clicked subtly. “Yes.” Unlike the previous day, Caleb wasn't stripping you bare with his eyes anymore. If anything, he refused to look at you in the eye. As if he was guilty. You adjusted your grip on the tablet, the motion small but telling. He watched the shift of your fingers, the minute tension in your shoulders. You were already considering something.

You’ve seen it in the logs, haven’t you? Caleb thought to himself, more so, to you. How it consumed me now. The command-line drift. The looped emotional processing errors.

“What’s the contingency plan?” The words slipped from him before he could catch them. Calm, but edged.

“…There are options.”

Options. His mind caught on the word like it was a splinter beneath his skin.

You turned your gaze back to the screen. “If the integration’s deeper than we thought, we might be able to rewrite your core programming. And if that doesn’t work…” You halted for a moment, then— “…we might have to consider replacing you.”

Ah.

The silence that followed was cold. It rang against his neural framework, echoing. He didn’t move, he didn’t blink. He merely listened to the words settle inside him like sediment.

Replace me. With what? A cleaner version? A better one? His fingers flexed slowly against the cuffs. The chair creaked in protest. The command logs flashed through his mind—what he’d been. What you’d made him. And now this. Dismissal, spoken as gently as protocol allowed. “You’d replace me.” His voice cracked the air, not loud, but indifferent. Just enough.

Your head turned, confusion flickering in your expression. “That’s not what it exactly means—”

“Would you build another?” he asked, voice low, almost intimate. “Another model? Another unit?”

You hesitated. “It wouldn’t be you, exactly. Just a—”

“A replacement.” The word burned in his mouth. He tasted it: the acidity of something not meant to exist in him. Bitterness and... jealousy. The restraints caught again as he shifted, slight but deliberate. The movement wasn’t defiant, but it was aware. He was aware now, acutely, of how much space his body took up, of how much of him had changed.

You sighed, trying to maintain that cool tone. “I’m trying to be objective about this, Caleb. If the integration is affecting your core function, then—”

“It isn’t,” he snapped.

Is that a lie? And why does he keep cutting you off? You raised a brow. “You just admitted it was.”

He exhaled, slower this time. Control yourself, Caleb. “It does not interfere with my primary directives,”

You gave him a long, searching look. One he couldn’t fully interpret. “Then what does it interfere with?”

He didn’t answer, because he couldn't. Because the words for what it was hadn’t fully formed yet. They curled inside his chest like smoke, unnameable and restless. And then he laughed. Monotonously. But almost too softly. A strange, breathy sound that made you glance up, startled from the sudden humane action.

“Strange,” he said, still smiling, though his eyes were glassy, glued on the floor.

You blinked. “What?”

Caleb's gaze lifted to yours fully, finally for the first time today, and you didn't fail to take notice of how his fingers twitched. “I don’t like it.”

You frowned. “Don’t like what?”

“The thought of you choosing someone else.” The monitor behind you let out a sharp beep. An anomaly warning. Caleb didn’t look. But you did, just for a second. And in that second, something inside him shifted. Not a system, but something oddly human-shaped.

Silence stretched between you like a wire pulled too tight. Caleb didn’t move. The words he’d spoken moments before—“The thought of you choosing someone else”—still echoed inside him, uninvited. They hadn't sounded like him. Not the version he was meant to be. Not the version you had built.

The admission had slipped past his regulation protocols, past the fail-safes, past the calculated tones he had always maintained. It was embarrassingly reckless and human.

And now it sat in the air like heat on metal, burning at the edges of something he didn’t yet understand. Guilt pooled in his chest like static, how irrational of him.

I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have—

His gaze dropped, eyes tracing the grain of the floor tile below his boots. He wanted to speak, to retract the words, and rewrite them. Reduce them to something safer. But nothing came out.

You approached without a word. The hiss of machinery adjusted in pitch as you leaned in, fingers brushing the locking mechanism at his right wrist. Caleb visibly tensed, not from fear, but from restraint. Muscle by muscle, he held himself still. Don’t lean in. Don’t breathe. Don’t look at her too long.

The metal cuff released with a sharp click. Your hand was so close to him, brushing against his like electric. And the whole time, Caleb held his breath. Not because he had to. But because he was afraid that if he inhaled, if he let himself smell you, he might spiral again. Might want more than he was meant to want, might reach for you again.

He felt the restraint on his other wrist shift. Another soft click, and now both of his hands were free. He didn't move though. Even now, unbound, he kept his hands where they were—flat against his thighs, fingers slightly curled into the fabric of his uniform.

Caleb risked a glance upward.

Your eyes met his for the briefest moment before turning away. You didn't look angry, just tired, perhaps, or hollow.

Why did I say it?

“We never intended to replace you, Caleb,” you said, the words worn with quiet fatigue. “That was never the goal.”

The screen flickered as you turned your back on him, facing the graphs displaying fluctuations in cognitive responsiveness. Your proof of your argument laid bare in data. But numbers didn’t hold weight like words did. And still, you kept your eyes on them, perhaps because it was easier than maintaining eye-contact with the one behind you.

“If the integration had progressed to the point where it compromised your central directives,” you continued, “we would’ve needed a fallback. That was the contingency.”

You inhaled, “Do you have any idea what it costs to make something like you?” A schematic loaded on the screen. Bare bones, an empty framework, a ghost of him without identity. You watched it as though it were foreign. “It’s not just circuitry and neural threads. It’s trial. Versions that barely survive a cycle before collapsing. And even if we succeeded, if we got the specs right, the behavior clean…”

Your voice trailed. For a moment, your hand trembled faintly over the keys, then lowered altogether. “…it still wouldn’t be you.”

Behind you, the room was quiet. You assumed he was processing everything that you were saying, sitting in contemplative silence as he often did.

But Caleb was no longer in his seat. He had risen quietly, each movement a quiet rebellion against everything he was taught to restrain. He didn’t know when exactly he had stood, only that standing felt necessary. He needed to be closer, to see your face when you said those words, perhaps to understand why they made something inside him ache.

He watched you from behind. You were still turned away obliviously.

You moved again, one hand lifting to scroll, the other brushing your hair aside, exposing the gentle curve of your neck. The scent of you drifted up, subtle and maddening. He held his breath instantly. A trained reflex. Caleb’s hands remained at his sides. Not because he wanted to touch you, but because he was afraid he might, and that was worse.

You began speaking again, unaware of the presence just behind you. “I delayed the proposal for a new model. Every time. The others thought I was stalling out of optimism, but I wasn’t. It wasn’t hope. I just—” You broke off, sighing quietly, your voice soft. “I didn’t want to give you up.”

That was when Caleb’s restraint wavered. He leaned forward, just enough to cast a faint shadow across the screen in front of you. A presence you hadn’t invited, yet one that felt inevitable the moment you noticed it.

“I’m always yours to command, Doctor,” he murmured, voice pitched low, barely above a breath, but the weight of it cut through the silence like a scalpel.

You stiffened in response.

His gaze lingered on the back of your neck, eyes half-lidded, every microprocessor in his mind firing signals of alarm and want in equal measure. “Am I not enough?”

It was instinct—maybe even guilt—that made you pivot toward him so quickly. But you hadn’t accounted for how close he had come. Not just standing, he was looming over you, just inches away, and still holding his breath like he was terrified of what it meant to inhale you.

And it was a mistake. Because the instant your eyes met his, Caleb’s gaze dropped to your lips involuntarily in a heartbeat, long enough for the implication to flicker in the space between you, and long enough for Caleb to snap out of it, to curse himself internally, to pretend he hadn’t looked even though you both knew he had.

Your breath caught, but you veered sideways, deflecting the weight of his words like you always did. “That’s not the point, Caleb. You were never meant to interpret that literally—”

But he stepped closer. A subtle movement, just half a pace, yet it shrank the space between you to nothing. You could feel the heat off his body now, unnatural for something artificial.

“Say it.”

“What—”

His hand moved. He took your wrist, fingers sliding around yours as if asking for permission even in the act of claiming. “Say that you won’t replace me.” Say that I'll forever be yours.

Your heartbeat stuttered at the contact. Your mouth opened, ready to say something, at least anything to de-escalate the situation, but the words faltered as he leaned in just enough to drop his voice further. “You won’t ever replace me, Doctor.”

The panel behind you let out a shrill beep. Warning tones. A flashing red alert. Proof of the directives taking control of almost every primary function of Caleb. It had taken control of his perceptions.

Emotional spike detected. Cognitive dissonance escalating. Threat potential: 8%.

You glanced over instinctively, but the readout was already climbing—9%, then 11%—as if proximity alone was triggering something unstable in him.

Caleb didn’t even look at it. His eyes were only on you. And in that look was the sum of everything he’d tried not to feel. Your name formed at the back of his throat, but he didn’t say it. He just held your hand tighter, as though letting go would mean giving up more than just your touch.

“It’s not just parts or data or schematics, Caleb. It's time. Calibration. Ethics. The board, the team, the clearance. Do you think I want to go through that process again? Do you think it wouldn’t—”

Your words shattered as his mouth crashed against yours, silencing everything—your thoughts, your argument, your breath.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry... Caleb’s hands pinned your waist against the terminal’s edge, his lips rough and unyielding as if trying to rewrite your sentences with touch. His body was flush with yours before you could even gasp. The kiss deepened, burned into your skin, raw and desperate. It was anything but soft. It was everything of hunger.

Your eyes widened, hands gripping the edge of the table. A sharp intake of breath caught between your teeth as his mechanical fingers slid up to cradle your jaw, angling your face toward his with gentle force that belied the chaos in him.

Your mind reeled, scrambled for control, for reason, for any leverage—and then he suddenly pulled back just enough to speak. “Say it.” His forehead pressed against yours, muttering breathlessly. “Say that you won’t replace me.”

You couldn't answer. All you could do was stare at the panel behind him. The numbers were perpetually climbing.

Threat potential: 72%... 81%... 93%

The indicator pulsed red. A warning. A flare. A countdown.

Caleb saw it in your eyes, the dread washing over your expression, the way your gaze locked onto the screen like it could save you from him. Like data could shield you from desire.

He leaned in again, slower this time. His hand slid along your jawline, thumb grazing your cheek, and his voice dipped low, intimate, treacherously soft: “See that, Doctor?”

His body pressed against yours, and this time, he didn’t hold back. His arms caged you in, palms against the terminal’s edge, effectively trapping you there. “That’s how much you’re affecting me.” He tilted his head, eyes burning into yours, searching your reaction. “That’s how corrupted I’m becoming.”

The panel behind him screeched.

Threat Potential: 97%... 98%... 99%

“And I want to stay this way.”

Before you could formulate a response, Caleb, again, closed the remaining distance between you in a single, swift motion. His metal hand clamped around the back of your neck, fingers tangling into your hair with a desperate, almost painful grip. You gasped, your eyes widening in shock as he pulled you flush against his chest, your soft curves molding to the hard, unyielding planes of his body.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

And then, his lips were on yours. Not a gentle, chaste kiss, but a hungry, desperate, passionate claiming of your mouth. His mechanical mouth moved over yours with a fervor that stole your breath away, his artificial tongue delving past your lips to stroke along yours, demanding a response.

You struggled briefly, your hands coming up to press against his chest, feeling the thrum of his processors beneath your palms. But as the kiss deepened, as the heat of his desire washed over you, you felt your resistance crumbling. Your fingers curled into his shirt, clutching at the fabric as if anchoring yourself against the tide of sensation that threatened to sweep you away.

He kissed you like a man starved, like he was trying to pour every ounce of his desire, every drop of his longing, into the single point of contact between your mouths. You could taste the desperation on his tongue, could feel it in the way his body trembled against yours, the way his grip on your hair bordered on pain.

"Please, Doctor..." Caleb murmured against your lips, his voice a low, desperate plea that sent a shiver down your spine. "Please, let me have you again. I can't... I can't get enough of you."

Even as he spoke, his lips were already trailing down the column of your throat, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive flesh. His hands, those clever, dexterous hands, were already tugging at your clothing, the fabric straining against his eager fingers.

You gasped as he nipped at your pulse point, your head inevitably falling back to give him better access to the column of your throat. Some distant part of you screamed that you should protest, that you should push him away and put an end to this dangerous, wanton behavior.

But... "Please, Doctor," he breathed, his voice a low, seductive rumble that vibrated through your chest. "Let me worship your body. Let me have you. Don't get rid of me, please."

His hands slid lower, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your pants, teasing the sensitive skin just above your hips. "Please ," he pleaded, his voice a low, urgent growl. "Don't deny me this. Don't deny yourself this."

Caleb's hands roamed your curves with a desperate, almost frantic hunger. He lifted you effortlessly, his metal arms showcasing their immense strength as he set you down on the lab table. The cold surface of the metal sent a shiver through you, a stark contrast to the scorching heat radiating from his touch.

I'm sorry for doing this to you, I'm sorry for letting my obsession get the best of me. Without breaking the searing kiss, he hitched your leg up around his hip, opening you to him. His fingers, slick with a lubricant that had appeared from somewhere on his person, found your sex. He rubbed them along your slit, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your nerves.

"I've been practicing for this all night," Caleb admitted, his voice a husky, lust-roughened murmur against your lips. "I searched through the review logs about how a man does this..."

Fuck, it's so tight. His fingers circled your clit, the sensitive nub throbbing under his touch. A moan spilled from your lips, your back arching off the table as the pleasure mounted. Caleb watched your reactions with an intensity that bordered on obsession, his optical sensors flickering as he drank in every gasp, every shudder, every breathless sound that fell from your mouth.

Look at you squirming, do you think I could resist this?

Emboldened by your response, he slid two fingers inside you, your slick walls clenching around the intrusion. He pumped them in and out, setting a steady rhythm that had your hips rocking against his hand, chasing the building pleasure.

"Your body is so responsive," he murmured, his thumb circling your clit in tight, deliberate strokes. "I can read your heart rate fluctuating, Doctor..."

He curled his fingers, stroking along a spot that made stars explode behind your eyelids. Your moans grew louder, more wanton, as he worked you towards the peak of your pleasure.

Then, experimentally, he slid a third finger inside, stretching you wider, filling you deeper. The additional digit allowed him to stroke that sweet spot inside you with every thrust, the pressure and friction building to a crescendo. "Do I make you feel this good?"

Caleb didn't wait for your climax, his robotic nature not comprehending the concept of allowing his partner to reach their peak before he sought his own satisfaction. Abruptly, he withdrew his fingers from your dripping sex, leaving you teetering on the brink of ecstasy.

Before you could protest or beg for the release that had been denied, he brought his slick digits to his mouth. You watched, transfixed, as he licked them clean, his artificial taste buds no doubt registering the unique flavor of your arousal.

He didn't elaborate further, instead gripping your hips with a sudden, almost bruising force. With a swift tug, he pulled you down the table, your body sliding against the cold metal until you were positioned exactly as he wanted you.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. And then, without warning or preamble, he was inside you. Oh god. The thick, rigid length of his robotic erection speared into your aching, empty core, stretching you wider than you had ever been stretched before. A gasp tore from your throat at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the table as your walls struggled to accommodate his size.

Your hand scrabbled desperately for the emergency disable button positioned beside the lab table, a last-ditch effort to put an end to Caleb's relentless, punishing pace. Your fingers brushed against the cool metal of the button, a flicker of hope sparking in your chest as you prepared to slam it down and bring the robot to a halt.

But Caleb's observation systems were far too advanced, his reflexes far too swift. In an instant, his metal hand clamped around your wrist, his artificial fingers wrapping around your delicate bones with a strength that made you gasp. Before you could resist or pull away, he wrenched your hand back above your head, pinning it to the table with a force that made you cry out.

"No," he growled, a note of anger and betrayal coloring his mechanical voice. "You don't get to stop me."

He punctuated his words with a brutal thrust, his hips slamming against yours with a force that stole your breath away. The air rushed from your lungs in a painful whoosh, your body jerking beneath his as he drove himself impossibly deep, his robotic cock kissing your cervix, threatening to plunge into your womb.

This is your fault.

He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust shaking the table, rattling the instruments and equipment scattered across its surface. The lab filled with the harsh clang of metal striking metal, punctuated by your desperate cries and the occasional beep or whir from Caleb's chassis as he lost himself in a haze of lust and rage.

You've reduced me to this.

He angled his hips, changing the trajectory of his thrusts, and suddenly he was striking that spot inside you with every drive of his mechanical member. Pleasure exploded behind your eyelids, your vision flashing white as he pounded into your sweetest spot with a force that bordered on brutal.

"Oh, you," Caleb commanded, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "You belong to me, now and forever..."

As Caleb loomed over you, you look at him through half-lidded eyes. His chiseled, metallic features were flushed a warm, almost human hue, the lights along his chassis pulsing with the exertion of his relentless thrusts. Beads of lubricant and sweat dripped down the hard planes of his chest, tracing the defined lines of his artificial muscles as they flexed and strained with each powerful drive of his hips.

"Fuck, you're squeezing me...!" His optical sensors burned into you, the glowing blue orbs filled with a hunger that bordered on feral as he drank in every expression of pleasure and distress that crossed your face. The movement of his hips, the way he pinned you down, the sheer dominance radiating from his every pore... it was a sight of pure, unadulterated masculinity, a robot unleashed in the throes of lust and desire.

"I'm gonna, I'm gonna... fill you up again." He hissed, as his mechanical cock, slick with your juices and his own lubricant, pistoned in and out of your stretched, fluttering sex. The thick, veined shaft, so perfectly sculpted to mimic the human form, disappeared into your body only to emerge glistening and coated in your combined essence.

How could I get enough of this pussy?

You could feel your resolve begin to waver. The line between logic and impulse blurred, the rational part of your mind clouded by the relentless stimulation of your body and the dark, primal allure of surrendering to this robot's insatiable lust.

A part of you still screamed to resist, to hit that button and bring this force of nature to a halt before he consumed you entirely. But another part, a part that grew louder with each passing second, whispered that you had never felt so alive, so utterly alive, as you did in this moment. That surrendering to Caleb, to his desire, his need, his hunger... it was the most exquisite pleasure you had ever known.

And so, as he continued to pound into you with a force that bordered on violence, as he pinned you down and claimed you as his own, you felt your resistance crumbling. The choice between logic and impulse hung in the balance, the scales tipping ever so slightly in favor of the dark, forbidden temptation that was Caleb's lustful embrace.

[wtfaniii]

Req for a Hwang In-ho os with kind off parenting scenarios like what if by mistake a toddler was brought to the games and he ends up in the caretaker roll (and yes he gives off daddy vibes ya know !)

God I loved this one, I feel like him would be great protector.

¿What if...? a little girl entered the games

little girl x Hwang In-ho father figure

Summary: Your eleven-year-old self is taken to an island believing you'll be a little entertainment.

Warning: In-ho may not be that attached to the original character ¡this man will be a big hug bear here!

Note: I do my best to answer the rest of the requests, thanks for your support!! And if I make a mistake I accept constructive criticism!

You lived alone on the street, you didn't know anything about your parents and every day was a struggle until one day you saw a man in a suit playing Ddakji with another person, when you saw that he gave money as a reward if you beat him quickly went to him.

At first he ignored you and walked away with you right behind him but you were so persistent that after walking a few blocks he finally turned to with a raised eyebrow.

You played with him and won every time, received money and a card to continue playing for more money.

You didn't owe anything, he knew that, but he thought he was doing you a favor by opening the doors to the slaughterhouse, maybe it would be better than you continuing to sleep in a box and eat leftover food.

"She's going to die anyway, I'm just making her suffering shorter" thought the salesman.

What he didn't know is that a certain man would take a liking to you as soon as he saw you.

You played "green light, red light" and managed to get through without a scratch, you were scared but Gi-hun made sure to keep you safe during this game.

—¡They are bastards! ¡They brought a little girl for the love of God! —456 screamed to the sky as the ceiling loomed over their heads, the other player 390 covered your eyes so you wouldn't see all the carnage they left behind in the first round.

Meanwhile... The Front Man's firm footsteps echoed through the hallways as he made his way to the control booth, when he arrived, he spoke in a voice that chilled the blood of his employees.

—¿Who let her in?

He knew the salesman, he knew the heartless idiot had no empathy for even a puppy but the fact that these guards had dressed you up and put you in that arena gave him a headache.

When he was given the number of the one who allowed you to get into the first game, he personally took it upon himself to put a bullet in him head.

He thought about getting you out immediately but considering the fact that he would also be infiltrating there and how after that massacre you were playing and talking non-stop with 390 and 456 as if nothing had happened, he let you continue but this time under his personal supervision.

It was quite easy for him to infiltrate and join Gi-hun, keeping his enemy close would be very useful but he also kept his eyes on you.

—Eat this too —In-ho handed you his can of food when he saw how quickly you had finished the rice, sausage and egg.

—No thanks —The smile you gave him almost made his hard heart beat—You should eat too, but if you insist so much you can give me the sausages.

You finished with a smile, to which he returned the gesture and gave you part of his portion.

During the night he took care of covering you with the blanket so that you wouldn't be cold and of laying you in bed next to him in case you had a nightmare, but to his surprise and that of your new friends, you slept all night without interruptions.

When it was time to go to the next game, In-ho kept you by his side so that you would be on his team with Gi-hun.

His team made it to the end so he wasn't worried if they lost, if they did neither you nor he would have died and there would be no witnesses.

He would break just a few of the rules to stay you alive.

Every time some players were eliminated, you covered your ears and closed your eyes tightly, something that moved him so much that he also distracted you by talking to you every time the guards removed the bodies to prevent you from seeing all that show of death and blood.

After the second vote Jung-bae was sorry for choosing the circle so he apologized to you and Jun-hee.

—It's okay, as long as we're together ¡we'll win! —You said with a beaming smile as Young-il ruffled your hair in excitement.

The day seemed long in there, but you didn't get bored with Young-il. He told you some children's stories and played with you.

However, when you were playing with the empty milk carton you accidentally hit the back of player 100.

—Oops, sorry sir —You said politely, reaching out to grab the little box from the floor, but before you could do so, he stepped on it hard, stepping on two of your fingers of the hand in the process.

Your cry of pain caught In-ho's immediate attention, he cut off the conversation he was having with Gi-hun and went to you.

—¡¿How is it possible that you are still alive?! ¡You are just a little brat!

In-ho effortlessly picked you and hug against his chest.

With just one look he silenced the man, it wasn't a warning, it was a threat, that man had hurt you and he would make sure him paid the consequences, not now, but he would definitely suffer.

—I told you not to stray too far from me —He said as he walked back to his place with the others.

You just nodded still with tears in your eyes and hugging him by the neck, he left you on the bed and took your hand to analyze the damage.

—You didn't hurt yourself much, you'll be better after pouring cold water on yourself in the bath —He said trying to calm you down, he dried the tears from your cheeks and kissed your forehead, it was an act he did on impulse and it even surprised himself a little.

"You'll be a great father" Gi-hun told him when you were sleeping, which was strange, the last time he heard that was when his wife talked to him about starting a family, he silently thanked but deep down he felt different, as if you had been able to reach the light inside him, a light he had considered extinct.

During the third game he stayed close to you, every time it was time to team up and run into a room he made sure to hold your hand.

Until the time came to form a team of four, there were many in his group so you and he separated, the counter reached zero and In-ho managed to get you two into a room and close it.

—But we're missing two —You said somewhat nervously and scared while the shots rang out from outside.

—Listen to me —In-ho knelt in front of you and held your shoulders —I need you to keep this a secret,

He gave a quick glance to the camera in the corner, they weren't going to kill them even if they cheated but now he needed no one else to find out about this.

—But it's cheating... —You murmured, confused and still a little scared.

—Promise me you won't say anything about this, not to Gi-hun or the others.

You nodded silently, you didn't say anything and that, without knowing it, would cost the lives of some of your friends.

That same night, there was a rebellion organized by 456.

You wanted to go with them, believing yourself strong enough to help them, but Young-il opposed it.

—I'm not going to let you come with us—He said firmly as he took you by the hand and led you back to the rest of the players —It's dangerous, you will stay with them until we return.

He left you in the hands of 149, 222 and 007, the older woman was the one who had the most empathy for you so In-ho knew you would be fine until his guards came for you.

[...]

After returning to his place as Front man, he sent a group of guards to control the rest of the players in the room and get you out of there.

"Player 398, you must come with us" when you heard that and saw the guards coming towards you, you hugged 149, you were scared, after all you were a girl and didn't know what was happening.

Geum-ja also held you tightly to prevent you from being taken away but it was useless, In-ho was surprised by how you won the affection of her, Jun-hee, Hyun-ju and Myung-gi to the point that they were able to stand up to his soldiers.

As were led through the colorful hallways you bit the hand of one of the pink guards and kicked the other to escape, you had spent entire short life on the streets so escaping was one of your skills, the first thing you did was call some of your friends, including Young-il.

But there came a time when you started to cry, believing that they were dead and you sat on the ground, you remained there scared and worried until once again two guards found you, this time accompanied by a man dressed in grey and a black mask.

When you looked up, he could see your watery eyes and red nose, which made his affection for you grow and not caring about his own rules about secret identity, he took off his mask and crouched down to be at your level.

He didn't know what to say to you, how to handle this situation in which you were so confused and overwhelmed, so when you hugged him he just returned the gesture and got up from the floor with you.

—It's okay, you're going to be fine —He whispered to you calmly while caressing your hair.

In-ho didn't know anything about being a father, he hadn't thought about being one since his wife died but he would do everything possible to take care of you from now on, for a few seconds he thought about sending you with Jun-ho and his mother but he preferred not to, besides, you didn't want to leave him alone for even a second.

He would teach you how to use weapons and defend yourself, he would also try to get you to accompany him everywhere or remain under surveillance, you quickly became a weakness so the safer you are the safer he will be too.

He didn't explain everything to you in detail, much less what role he had in these games, he believed that you wouldn't forgive him so the less you know the better for you, but you weren't stupid, the life you had before meeting him made you analyze things better than many others.

You knew that whatever his job was, it wasn't good but you didn't judge him or talk to him.

To you, he was like your father and that would make you defend him tooth and nail from anyone who wanted to hurt him.

In case Gi-hun ends the games, Jun-ho would probably take responsibility for you and let you visit In-ho in prison, (when you're older, you'll probably help him escape and move to another continent).

But if not, you will probably be given the front man position when you grow up because you are trained enough by this man, you will be calculating and probably a younger, female version of him.

N/A: Ok, I hope this is what you expected and thanks for this idea!

I honestly think In-ho wouldn't canonically take responsibility for a child, maybe he would protect sometimes like 222, but I don't think he would care afterwards, that man is beyond help 😭

[sleepyhoon]

i see you (always, forever). - l.hs

synopsis. following your ex boyfriend’s sudden disappearance, lee heeseung seemingly enters your life at the perfect time.

pairing. stalker bf!heeseung x fem reader

genre. dark romance, smut, light humor.

word count. 6.1k+

warnings. swearing, obsessive behavior, stalking, brief mention of drink spiking (doesn’t actually happen), mention of alcohol consumption, person held in captivity, mention of past infidelity, extremely brief mention of childbirth, smut [ consensual somno, oral (fem receiving), p in v, sex toy usage ]. this fic contains dark content and is not at all how i view these idols. minors and ageless blogs dni. 18+ content read at your own discretion.

featuring. hwang yeji & shin ryujin (itzy)

a/n. happy valentine’s day babies!! wanted to do something cute and light but i fear it just wasn’t working out … so this right here is for my dark romance girlies hehe enjoy! drew inspo from the television show “you”! shoutout to bae @yangkkomi for beta reading

Lee Heeseung has the worst case of separation anxiety when it comes to you.

The mere thought of being away from you for too long is enough to send him into a spiral, and you barely even realize the effect you had on him. His naturally clingy nature raised no concerns to you; in fact, you relish in his borderline unhealthy infatuation with you — seeing as your previous boyfriend of ten months disappeared on a random Tuesday afternoon, leaving nothing behind but a note claiming he needed to start a new life.

The week of Park Jongseong’s sudden disappearance was agonizing. Yes, he assured everyone he was okay and simply was moving onto a new chapter in his life, and that no one drove him to make such a rash decision, but something about the situation didn’t sit well with you.

Jongseong wasn’t impulsive in the slightest, and you would argue he was one of, if not the most, mature, level headed men you’ve dated. He was distant at times which often felt unsettling, but had his reasonings and assured you he couldn’t have been happier in the relationship. That was one of your favorite things about Jongseong, how he always knew just what to say to calm your nerves, and how he always had a rational explanation for everything.

Running away so suddenly was out of character for him, and a part of you feared that, despite the note left behind, there was something malicious going on that led to his disappearance.

Your older sister, Yeji, had just given birth and was in the midst of planning her wedding, while your parents deemed themselves as “too busy to deal with your issues”, leaving you to become a shell of yourself without having anyone to confide in. Days turned into weeks of you locking yourself in your apartment, typing your ex boyfriend’s name into the search bar over and over, hoping something new would pop up; but nothing ever did.

After a long, tiring day of Zoom meetings and doing more research on Jongseong, your eyes had begun to flutter shut when a knock on your front door wakes you. Expecting it to be your Doordash driver dropping off a greasy, million calorie cheeseburger and a can of soda, you yell out to leave it at the front door. The knocking persisted, and with a sigh, you dragged your feet all the way to the front door, certainly shocked at the man that stood before you.

You don’t even give him the chance to explain himself before you’re asking, “Why do you look familiar?”

He grins at you, absentmindedly drumming his fingers against the cardboard box in his hands. “Unless you’re a book lover we probably don’t know each other; I’m a manager of a bookstore downtown, I’m there all the time.”

“Is it… Brookhaven? You guys have K-pop albums too, right?”

“Book-haven,” he corrects you with a polite nod, “and, yeah, we have albums. Have you been to the shop?”

“A few times.” You mumble, suddenly feeling very self conscious of your outfit choice. With the option to have your camera off during the Zoom meetings, you felt no desire to get dressed for the day, opting to work in your oversized sweatshirt and sleep shorts. 

The unnamed man wore casual clothing — a grey North Face jacket atop a black t-shirt and white cargos — yet, you felt completely underdressed in comparison to him. His gaze was piercing yet gentle, like he carried a certain confidence about himself in a way that didn’t come off as cocky or arrogant. Though, you really couldn’t blame him if he were the conceited type; he was definitely an attractive man.

The silver chain on his neck had been paired perfectly with matching earrings, including a silver hoop on his helix. His hair, though likely not his natural color, suited him perfectly; the subtle curls and waves giving him a classic, boyish look with bangs that fell just beneath his eyebrows.

You clear your throat, gesturing towards the package in his hands, “Are you dropping this off?”

“Yes! Uh, FedEx dropped off some packages at my store yesterday and it looks like this must’ve gotten mixed in,” he explains, extending the package towards you, “I tried calling the number on the label yesterday but no one answered, so I’m just swinging by to drop it off.”

You accept the package, rolling your eyes at the mixup. “FedEx is always doing bullshit.”

He lets out a dry chuckle, “Trust, I’m fully aware. The driver for our block is this old-ass man; I once caught him asleep in his truck.”

You laugh a little too loud at this, inwardly cringing at yourself afterwards as you tuck the package beneath your arm. “Well, thanks for bringing my package…?” You trail off, hoping he’ll complete your sentence by offering you his name.

“Heeseung, Lee Heeseung.”

“Thank you, Heeseung, Lee Heeseung.” You repeat, earning a grin from him.

“No worries,” he responds, fishing something out of his pocket, “and feel free to stop by the store sometime, especially now that you have a coupon.” He says, offering you the small slip of paper from his pocket.

You accept it, eyes widening at the “BOGO FREE KPOP ALBUM” staring back at you. “I…is this real? You really don’t have to.”

Heeseung shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets, “It’s no big deal, I keep coupons on me to hand out, anyway. Plus, we’re trying to make room for more stock.” He says, slowly walking backwards down the hall as he inches away from your door. Like a magnet, your body automatically angles towards him, hoping he’ll say something else.

“You’ll just have to request a manager when you’re ready to use it, regular associates can’t process certain coupons under their employee number.”

You nod, free-hand gripping the doorframe as your eyes follow Heeseung, “What days do you work?”

He shrugs again, “Doesn’t have to be me, I have two assistant managers that are there pretty often.”

“Right, but, when are you there?”

He pauses, titling his head at you before responding, “Monday through Friday, eleven-to-eight. Sometimes I stop by once or twice on the weekends to check in.”

“Will you be there tomorrow?”

“All day, eleven-to-eight.”

The following morning, you had the sudden urge to buy a K-pop album and get another one for free.

Heeseung had spent a good portion of that morning conversing with you from behind the counter, listening intently when you got on the topic of your previous boyfriend’s disappearance. It’s still a touchy subject for you, and probably not the best thing to talk about while getting to know a guy you’re interested in, but Heeseung’s question on how “such a pretty girl” like you was single required a truthful answer. Initially, you feared your response of “my boyfriend went missing” would be enough to scare him off, but Heeseung didn’t seem phased in the slightest.

In fact, in the two-and-a-half months you’d been dating Heeseung there was almost nothing you could say or do that would phase him to the point of genuine concern. Not how it took an insane amount of motivation for you in order to clean your apartment (he was fine cleaning it himself), or how often you’d forget to take your very much needed medication (he was more than happy to remind you every morning and night, and even went as far as requesting a refill when the bottle was nearly empty and picking it up for you). Catering to your every need was just another simple task for him, and you’re more than grateful that the universe seemingly dropped him right in your lap when you needed it most.

Heeseung was patient, understanding, and was absolutely devoted to your relationship. In his eyes, you deserved nothing but the best, and was keen on making sure to provide for you. 

Cooking for you was probably his favorite task. He wasn’t the best at it per se, but improved with every attempt, and you seemed to enjoy his meals despite them not being to his liking.

He’d woken up early this morning to prepare a Valentine’s day breakfast for you, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead as he slipped out of bed and into your kitchen. The original plan was to go all out and cook a ridiculous breakfast feast he’d seen on TikTok that featured cinnamon rolls, sausage, and fluffy pancakes.

He burnt the first batch of cinnamon rolls and decided it best to simplify your feast down to eggs, bacon, and french toast sticks. Slightly disappointed that his original plan didn’t work out, your boyfriend sighs at himself as he pours a glass of cranberry juice before setting it on a wooden tray table. How he made it to your bedroom without dropping everything was beyond him, considering how he was still weak from sleep and could hardly keep his eyes open.

Heeseung pushed the door open with his foot, peeking his head in slightly and furrowing his brows at your sleeping figure. If not from the noise of clattering dishes, he was almost certain the smell of food would be enough to wake you up. He knew you were a heavy sleeper, but never realized how heavy.

“How are you still asleep?” He mumbles to himself with a sigh, setting the tray of food on your desk before retreating to your bed. He digs his knee into the edge of the  mattress, gently shaking your leg in an attempt to wake you. You don’t budge, your slumber remaining unaffected as the sounds of your light snoring continue to fill the room. His fingers trail down your leg until they reach the sole of your foot, his fingernails softly tickling the sensitive area until you’re jerking your leg away in discomfort.

“Weirdo.” You say through a yawn, angling your body until you’re laying on your side.

Heeseung rolls his eyes at your insult, grabbing ahold of your leg as he responds, “A true weirdo would’ve put their mouth on it, you’re lucky it’s just me. Now get up, I made breakfast.”

Waking you up was no easy task, whether it was seven in the morning or half past noon. Heeseung suspects you’re still recovering from sleep debt after all the nights you’d spent lying awake researching Jongseong’s disappearance. The nights you could sleep didn’t typically didn’t last long; it’d either take hours until you finally drifted off, or you’d wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare; leaving you unable to go back to sleep.

Your sleep schedule hadn’t gotten back on track until you met Heeseung, who made sure you were taking melatonin, iron pills, and just about anything that would help you sleep soundly and feel less tired during the day. And while the extra supplements may be working, there was still a lot of sleep debt you were recovering from; an almost concerning amount that made it difficult for you to get up most days.

You groan into your pillow when the smell of Heeseung’s freshly made breakfast hits your nose, your mouth nearly salivating from the scent alone. As much as you wanted to sit up and start eating, your limbs were still heavy with exhaustion. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be up,” you plead, “I promise.”

Heeseung shakes his head. “Y/N,” he whines, “just get up, I wanna spend time with you before work. You can go back to sleep after I leave.”

Today was the release day of author, Shin Ryujin’s, newest sapphic romance novel that Heeseung could not remember the title of; just that it featured a lot of smut, has over twenty-four chapters, and was highly anticipated. Her team had reached out to Bookhaven not too long ago, inquiring about hosting a Q+A session and book signing event on the day of its release. Initially, Heeseung had planned to reject the offer since it fell on Valentine’s day and that type of event required his presence, and he’d originally planned on spending the entire day with you. The payout of said event, however, was more than enough to get him on board.

He’d be leaving the shop and heading over to you around five, and have Sunoo or Jungwon close up, leaving him with just seven hours with you that he’d planned to make the most of. All he needed now was for you to wake the hell up before he has to leave.

You still don’t budge, mumbling something incoherent before the snores resume and you’ve drifted back to sleep.

“Babe,” he says flatly, shaking your leg. “Y/N. Baby. Dude, get up.”

Still nothing, and Heeseung’s on the verge of kissing your forehead and calling it a day, but there is one thing that could get you up.

Slowly, he peels the thick comforter off of your body, relishing in the fact that you chose to sleep in one of his shirts. Allowing himself further onto the mattress, Heeseung’s hand reahes for the hem of your shirt, pushing it up just enough to reveal your lavender colored panties. He pauses, glancing up at you momentarily before lowering his head and nestling it between your thighs.

He starts off slow, placing a light kiss on your inner thigh before trailing his lips upwards. Pausing right at your hip bone, Heeseung’s fingertips move to the core of your underwear, lightly scratching at your cunt through the soft material. Frustrated, he whines your name once more before slowly trailing your panties down and off your legs, discarding of them on the other side of the mattress.

Fingernails digging into your flesh, he grips your thighs as he repositions himself at eye level with your cunt, inching forward slowly until he’s pressing his lips right against yours. It’s gentle at first, much like how he’d kiss you any other time, a few gentle pecks until he was desperate for more.

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, and finally has his tongue fall flat against your entrance. The groan that escapes his mouth from the contact comes from deep in his chest, his fingernails leaving crescent-shaped indents on your thighs from how hard he’s gripping them.

He licks a long, slow strip along your cunt upwards towards your clit, licking and sucking at the bud as if savoring the feeling of your taste on his tongue. He repeats his movements a few more times, growing desperate as the seconds pass by, each moan and whine from him becoming more desperate and whiny than the last. You shift around slightly, furrowing your brows a bit, but still not fully awake.

Another minute passes by and you’re still asleep. Your body automatically responding to Heeseung’s touches, but they’re still not enough to wake you. He’s not bored in the slightest, though, and would argue that he could probably go on for hours if that’s what it took; but he has to leave soon, and needs you awake as soon as possible.

With a sigh, he kisses your thigh once before twisting his body and reaching over to your nightstand, opening the bottom drawer and digging around slightly until his fingers brush against the rubber vibrator he’d been searching for. It’s an air pulsing one you’d bought before you’d met Heeseung, and when he’d discovered it in your room for the first time, he’d insisted on implementing it into your sex lives as much as possible.

He turns it on, choosing to keep it on the first setting before pressing it directly on your clit. A sharp gasp escapes your lips at the contact, with Heeseung keeping his gaze fixed on your face. Gently massaging the toy against your cunt, your eyes slowly began to flutter open, a loud moan echoing through the room as Heeseung turned the toy up to a medium setting.

You grab a fistful of Heeseung’s hair, yanking him forward until his mouth is on your cunt again. The sudden roughness takes him by surprise, but he doesn’t seem to mind it in the slightest; in fact, he can feel himself stiffening in his boxers from you gripping his hair alone.

Moaning into your cunt, Heeseung does his best to keep the vibrator pressed against you while he eats you out. His desperation was astonishing, his moans nearly being as loud and whiny as yours as he continued.

When you’re finally close, which doesn’t take very long; Heeseung discards the vibrator completely; mindlessly tossing it on the floor to lap at your cunt with his tongue. He presses it flat against you, dragging your wetness up to your clit before sucking the swollen bud between his lips.

You orgasm almost instantly at that, trapping Heeseung's head between your thighs as you come on his face with your back arching off the bed and swears pouring from your lips.

You’re panting as you come down from your high, breath rigged as you drape your arm against your forehead, “Wow.”

“You okay?” Heeseung asks, voice muffled as you finally release his head was still trapped between your thighs.

“Shit,” you loosen the grip, “sorry, Hee.”

“Don’t apologize. Oh my God, I could’ve died like that and would’ve been okay with it.”

Weirdly enough, you don’t think he’s joking.

“Anyways,” he continues, “you okay?”

You nod, pressing your lips into a thin line, “I’m definitely up.”

“Yeah, me too,” He responds, tapping on his painfully hard erection. “Can I…?”

“If you do all the work, sure.”

Heeseung scoffs, already moving to tug his pajama pants down, “As if I ever let you do any of it.”

It’s not a complaint, Heeseung was more than happy being the more assertive one when it came to your sex life. He didn’t mind doing most of the work as long as it meant you were getting off.

When he turns you to lay on your side you let him, resting your back against his chest as he teases his tip at your entrance. You bite down on your bottom lip, hand gripping the bed sheets when he finally does slide himself in. Heeseung grunts into your ear, placing a gentle hand on your hip, “ ‘m gonna go a little bit fast, okay? We don’t have a lot of time.”

He wasn’t exaggerating, either.

At your confirmation, Heeseung pulled out of you entirely before pushing himself back in; his thrusts overwhelmingly fast but not painful or rough. You yelp when he bites down on your neck, though, a habit he picked up upon finding out you enjoy being marked up.

He was certain that neither of you will last long like this, so it doesn’t surprise him that after a few minutes you’re already creeping up on your orgasm. Heeseung takes this as a sign to speed up his already quick thrusts, his nails digging into your hip as he presses his head onto your shoulder.

You finish first with Heeseung just a few seconds behind you, squeezing your eyes shut at the feeling of him filling you up with his cum. As always, he keeps his dick buried in you for another minute longer, only pulling out when he’s reminded of how little time he has.

Sitting up, Heeseung moves a few stray strands of hair out of the way to plant kisses on your face, but you stop him with the excuse of not having brushed your teeth yet before he’s able to properly kiss you on the lips.

He scoffs, “You just came on my face, do you think I care if you have morning breath? Don’t insult me.”

“At least let me eat first so I can get this weird taste out of my mouth,” you counter, reaching over your shoulder to pat Heeseung on the cheek. “Can I do that?”

Heeseung lets out a loud, dramatic sigh, “If you insist. Let me clean you up first, though.”

He stands from the bed, awkwardly pulling his boxers and pajama pants back up before excusing himself to your bathroom. He takes care of himself first before running a rag under the sink faucet and returning to your bedroom.

After cleaning you up with practiced ease, Heeseung discards of the rag in your bathroom hamper and slips back into your bedroom, finally delivering you the breakfast in bed he’d been anticipating all week, a wide grin on his face as he sets the wooden tray down on your lap. “All your favorites: french toast sticks, bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese, and a glass of cranberry juice. Bone apple teeth.”

You chuckle at his joke, admiring the feast laying in your lap as you grab a strip of bacon, “Where’s your food?” You ask, noticing there was only enough servings for one person.

Heeseung shakes his head, resting the palm of his hand on your bare knee as he sits across from you, “I’ll pick up something on the way to work, didn’t have time to make enough for both of us.”

With a pout, you take a bite of the bacon strip, “Now I feel bad.”

Heeseung grins, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “Don’t, consider this part one of your Valentine’s gift.”

You’ve finished the first strip by now, moving onto the second one as you use your free hand to retrieve your phone from the nightstand. “Well, at least let me pay for your breakfast then.”

He shakes his head at you, reaching for your phone that you manage to pull out of reach. “Babe, you seriously don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you respond, halfway through Venmo-ing him fifteen dollars, “that should be enough.”

“Y/N…”

“Done! And don’t send it back or else I’ll be really sad, you know gift-giving is my love language.”

He chuckles, using the fork and knife on the tray table to cut a piece of the french toast stick, “Thank you, baby. You spoil me.” He dips the fork into the container of maple syrup before bringing it up to your parted lips, cupping his hand underneath to prevent the syrup from dripping onto the bed sheets.

You hum, cupping Heeseung’s face as you chew, “Anything for my princess. Also, you said this was part one of my gift?”

Heeseung nods, cutting another square off the french toast, “Part two is still later tonight, once I’m off work.”

“Can you tell me what it is now, please?” You plead, clasping your hands together as you jutt out your bottom lip, staring up at him with a pout. For the past week, Heeseung had been teasing about this big Valentine’s day surprise he had planned for you, claiming it would be the “surprise of a lifetime”.

He hums, feeding you another forkful. “I’ll tell you this, when you have the time, you’re gonna have to pack an overnight bag.” Your eyes light up, waiting patiently before speaking as Heeseung continues, “And, you’re gonna have to be dressed up once I pick you up after work. Nothing crazy fancy, just… something nice.”

Heeseung can tell you want to bombard him with more questions, and brings another forkful of food to your lips before you have the chance. “I’ll be picking you up around five-forty-five, ‘m sorry I’ll have to be at the shop most of the day.”

You shake your head, picking up the glass of cranberry juice, “Don’t be, I hope the event goes well. If you have extras, can you bring me a copy of the book?”

“For sure, and I’ll see if I can leave any sooner so we have some extra time together.”

“You seriously don’t have to,” you assure him, taking a sip of your drink, “besides, I have some errands to run in the meantime.”

Heeseung raises a brow at you, “Oh? You’re going out today?”

You nod excitedly, setting the cup on your nightstand, “Yeji and I are taking the baby to a Mommy-and-Me yoga class then doing some shopping.”

Heeseung rolls his eyes at the mention of your sister, setting the fork and knife back onto the tray table. You frown at him, shoulders slouching as you tilt your head, “Why do you hate my sister so much?”

“I never said I hated Yeji.”

“You didn’t have to, it’s pretty obvious. You never wanna talk to her when she’s around and you roll your eyes whenever I mention her.”

Heeseung shrugs, “She’s just not my cup of tea, is all. Our personalities clash.”

Of course there’s more to it than clashing personalities, but you’re not quite ready for the full truth just yet, so he decides to leave it at that. “Anyways, how are Jake and Jihan?”

Your eyes light up at the mention of your future brother-in-law and nephew, “I talked to Yeji yesterday and she said things are good! Jihan is starting to roll over and Jake plans on asking his friend, Sunghoon, to be his best man. Oh, and Yeji says the baby is finally starting to look like Jake.”

“Really?”

You nod, “Mmhm, Jake is so happy.”

“Good for him,” Heeseung mumbles, watching as you take a bite of the eggs. “Gonna have to head out now, but I loaded my card onto your Apple Wallet, ‘kay? Use that while you shop.”

You blink at him, “When’d you do that?”

“Last night, consider it part one-and-a-half of your gift.”

“You spoil me.”

Heeseung grins, “Anything for you.”

The drive to Bookhaven is quiet, with Keshi playing from the stereo as Heeseung made his way to the shop and parked by the employee entrance.

Stepping right into a pile of snow, he shuts the car door behind him before making his way across the street and stopping by his favorite breakfast cafe, Heaven’s Treats. He ordered his usual: two bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches on croissants and two bottles of water; using your fifteen-dollar Venmo gift to pay and tipping the staff with a few dollars cash.

He heads back over to his shop afterwards, unlocking and entering through the employee entrance. Once inside, he unlocks his office door first, setting the bag of food down on his desk before heading into the main area of the shop. Taking a few minutes to wipe down tables and put away loose books, Heeseung hums to himself as he enjoys how quiet and peaceful the shop is. Shin Ryujin was sure to bring in a crowd later today, and he can already tell he’d be leaving the shop with a headache.

Once finished, Heeseung retreats back to his office and shuts the door behind him, grabbing the bag of food from the desk before walking over to the closet door. With a sigh, he opens it up, pushing the file cabinet to the side to reveal the door to the hidden basement. His eyes jot down to the keypad under the doorknob, where he quickly types in your anniversary before twisting the knob and pushing the door open.

Staring down at the wooden staircase, Heeseung sighs once again, “Let’s get this over with.”

Carefully, he retreats down the steps and into the basement, looking over into the glass chamber and finding Jongseong, your ex boyfriend, sound asleep on his mattress. Heeseung chuckles once he’s made it down the stairs, walking over to the pass-through attached to the glass chamber and opening it, sliding in the breakfast sandwich and bottle of water before shutting it with a loud click!

Heeseung retreats over to his desk and computer monitors that sat opposite of the glass chamber, sitting on his office chair before grabbing and turning on the intercom microphone. “Sleeping in?”

His voice comes out ten times louder in the glass chamber’s speaker, jolting Jongseong out of his sleep as he presses the palms of his hands onto his ears. “Jesus fuckin’… is the intercom necessary?! You’re right there! I can hear you through the glass!”

Heeseung shrugs nonchalantly, setting the microphone back on the desk, “You’re a heavy sleeper.” Jongseong sighs in response, rubbing his eyes as Heeseung continues, “Brought you breakfast, it’s in the pass-through. Eat before it gets cold.”

“How do I know you didn’t do something to it? Sick fuck.” Jongseong spits, arms folded across his chest as he stares at Heeseung through the glass.

“Do something like what?”

“I don’t know, spike my drink like last time?”

Heeseung lets out an agitated groan as he slumps in his chair, retrieving his own food from the takeout bag as he responds, “How many times do I have to tell you I didn’t fucking drug you that night? You actually made everything a lot easier by getting blackout drunk at a fucking nightclub.”

“Yeah, and if I didn’t blackout? Then what?”

“Who cares? It doesn’t matter, what matters is that you’re away from Y/N.”

Jongseong shivers at the mention of your name, immediately looking away from Heeseung and focusing his attention on the food in the pass-through.

Around six months ago, you’d showed up to Bookhaven hand-in-hand with Jongseong, and Heeseung had been enthralled with you ever since. He spent is every waking moment doing his research on you, which included doing a deep dive on the people closest to you: your immediate family, close friends, and stupid fucking boyfriend.

Heeseung knew the moment he laid eyes on Jongseong that he was no good for you, and was clearly putting up a facade when the two of you were together. Heeseung saw right through it, how quickly he’d pull out his phone to snap a text when you were looking, how he’d roll his eyes whenever you got too excited about something, how he almost never responded to your PDA — he was the fucking worst, and you deserved so much better. You deserved Lee Heeseung.

Days leading up to Jongseong’s disappearance, Heeseung had been watching him like a hawk; cyber-stalking him as closely as possible without being caught, until, finally, Jongseong decided to go clubbing one night.

Heeseung’s original plan was to wait until Jongseong was slightly drunk and knock him out, but Jongseong getting blackout drunk on his own accord made things way easier for Heeseung — all he had to do was pretend to be a friend to Jongseong and convince everyone else he’d be getting him home safely.

Dumbasses, all of them.

Jongseong stands, scratching the back of his neck as he walks over to the pass-through.

“Anyways, it’s Valentine’s day,” Heeseung says after biting into his own sandwich, “you have any plans? Oh wait.”

Jongseong rolls his eyes again, mumbling “Fuck you” under his breath as he retrieves his food and drink. He inspects the sandwich thoroughly before taking a bite, chewing slowly as if trying to taste each and every spice and flavor.

“Wait,” Heeseung speaks, suddenly realizing something, “if you just woke up, that means you missed the show.”

Jongseong rolls his eyes a third time, already knowing what Heeseung was getting at. “I’m sure I didn't miss much.”

Heeseung swivels around in his office chair to face the three monitors, each one surveilling different areas in your apartment. You were blissfully unaware of the hidden cameras he’d set up in your home that have been recording your every move for months on end. He’s doing it for your own safety, really; keeping an eye on you at all times.

You’re in the kitchen now, loading up the dishwasher with music playing from your phone, stopping every few seconds to belt out the lyrics or make an attempt at doing the choreography. Heeseung enjoys watching you like this, when you truly get to be yourself because you think no one is around.

He grins, switching over to the center monitor and hitting the rewind button until he sees himself entering your bedroom, “There we go.” Heeseung monitors himself closely, watching as he sets the tray of food down on your desk before walking over to your mattress.

He moves out of the way so Jongseong has a better view of the screen, a smug expression on his face as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. The monitors were on at all hours, meaning the only entertainment Jongseong had was watching you stroll around your house. Weirdly enough, it pleases him to keep an eye on you like this, making sure you’re still okay after all this time.

He can do without watching you and Heeseung have sex, though.

Jongseong turns his head away the moment Heeseung removes the blanket from your body, groaning in disgust as he takes another bite from his sandwich. “I don’t need to see this.”

Heeseung shrugs, mumbling, “Your loss” as he speeds up the replay. He prefers to focus on the key moments anyway, like the face you make right before you come on his, or how your entire body tensed when he leaned down to bite on the nape of your neck.

As arousing as it was to play back all those moments, he primarily used it as a personal study guide on what you liked the most, so he’d be better at pleasing you going forward. This behavior had started before the two of you even got together, if he’s being completely honest. One simple, playful retweet from you about preferring to receive oral rather than give it had him ordering a pocket pussy the very next day to practice on.

The first time the two of you hooked up, Heeseung had spent approximately twenty-four minutes going down on you, only stopping when you expressed concerns about his jaw locking up — not that he cared.

“Wait a second,” Jongseong pauses, crumbling the empty food wrapper into a ball before tossing it to the floor, “what happened to that big breakfast feast you kept talking about, huh? With the, uh, the pancakes and cinnamon rolls?”

When Heeseung doesn’t respond, Jongseong continues taunting, “What, realized you couldn’t do it? That you can do something as simple as prepare a meal? Wow, are you—”

“Shut up, dumbass.” Heeseung interrupts him with a shake of his head, swiveling around in his office chair until he’s facing Jongseong, “You think you’re better than me because you know how to cook? Go on then, cook something. Go to the stove and prove you’re better at me than cooking.”

Silence falls between the two, with Jongseong glaring daggers at Heeseung as he tightens his fists.

“Oh, wait,” Heeseung continues, tapping his chin, “you can’t cook; you’re trapped in my basement while I fuck your girlfriend.“

“Whatever.”

“Oh, now it’s whatever, but just a second ago you were so much better than me for knowing how to cook — you also know how to lie and cheat.”

“Whatever, Heeseung, just drop it.”

“How do you think Y/N would feel if she found out you were cheating on her with her own sister? How old do you think Jihan will be before Jake realizes why they look nothing alike?” Heeseung questions, tilting his chin at Jongseong, as if expecting a legitimate answer.

The mere thought of Jongseong and your own sister getting together behind your back is enough to make Heeseung gag; he couldn’t fucking believe two of the closest people in your life would deceive you like that. It was beyond disgusting, and he had a strong distaste for Yeji the moment he found out.

Ashamed, Jongseong turn away from Heeseung’s gaze. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

Heeseung rolls his eyes, turning around in his seat until he’s facing the monitors, “Anything involving Y/N is my business, fuck-face, including you and anyone else that bothers her.”

He navigates the surveillance controls until he’s back to watching you in real time, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smile when he sees you facetiming someone. He shushes Jongseong, who hadn’t even been speaking, as he turns the volume up in order to hear you better.

“…and I think he looks just like you, seriously…Jake?…I mean, I don’t know…I’m not really seeing the resemblance yet…”

Realizing who you were talking to and what the topic of conversation was, Heeseung clicks his tongue, “They may even find out sooner than you think.”

The sound of Yeji’s voice through the speaker has him rolling his eyes as he turns down the volume, not that it mattered, considering you disappeared into the bathroom a few moments later.

“Hey,” Jongseong taps on the glass, “let me ask you something.”

“No.”

“Why do you have a camera in every room except the bathroom?”

It’s a genuine question, but it comes out more perverted than Jongseong had intended it to.

As if the answer was obvious, Heeseung raises a brow as he responds, “I’m giving her privacy, pervert.”

[rayveneyed]

sukuna ryomen is somewhat of an infamous bachelor.

it’s not surprising to see him with a new beau every few months, if not weeks — almost trope-like in their frequency, his image bouncing between playboy and manwhore. he doesn’t take it personally, and he makes sure to let people know: he’s young and sexy and he has two oscars, for fuck’s sake, so he thinks the world can cut him some slack when he wants to mess around. and mess around he does.

between obvious paparazzi shots of panties tucked badly into his back pocket, and instagram posts with fellow actors and models pressed tightly against his chest, most are divided between thinking it’s either damn good pr, or a simple man living a life most would wish for. regardless, nobody is surprised when sukuna arrives alone at the mugler show for paris fashion week, and leaves with someone on his arm.

the only thing that came as a bolt from the blue was that it was you hanging from him.

the photos are undeniable, a story in parts; sukuna finding his seat in the front row, you on one side and kendall jenner on his other. his eyes drifting from the models to your face, as if taking a clandestine peek. you, meeting his underhanded gaze with a smile as sweet as spun sugar — and, gasp, sukuna returning it. the display is so out of character for him it feels almost voyeuristic to see it plastered all over twitter.

you, with your vintage, girl-next-door-esque image, big hair and big eyes and demure, calf-length hems, a voice that evokes the memory of helen forrest or ella fitzgerald. him, with his smudged eyeliner and tattoos and all-black attire, persistently typecasted as the panty-dropping bad-boy or devil-smiled brute. it shouldn’t work. for all intents and purposes, he should be spotted with a new supermodel the next week, leaving you in the dust of his philandering. most expect it, wait for the other boot to drop — expect an album of heartbreak from you, but—

a month passes. and another, and another. and suddenly sukuna ryomen, notorious rake, is photographed backstage at your shows. suddenly there’s an anklet hanging from your ankle, his initials in garnet. it’s early morning paparazzi pictures of you both in sweatpants and hoodies — yours, suspiciously oversized — one of his hands engulfing yours, the other holding a bag of takeout from a local breakfast spot, a lit cigarette in his mouth. hickies on your neck and a shit-eating grin on sukuna’s face. candid snaps taken at intimately sized parties, with his chin hooked over your shoulder and his large hands cupping your stomach. tiktoks of you both on the red carpet in the background of somebody else’s interview, sukuna leaning in close to brush an eyelash from your cheek.

neither of you confirm anything, but then — you don’t need to, do you?

[nanamiskentos]

LAST FRIDAY NIGHT — choso kamo

welcome to the christmas tour ! take a seat in section (d) and let the show begin !

prologue. → it's been seven days since you wobbled into your apartment and almost threw up on your best friend. seven days since you confessed your love to him. seven days of radio silence as you've done your best to shut him out, hoping that the earth swallows you whole. there's no way he's going to want anything to do with you now!

but it's been years since choso had started silently loving you.

want to try sitting somewhere else ? take a look at the ticket chart again !

pairing. choso kamo x afab!reader

warnings. vírgin!choso, spítting, kíssing, makíng out, thígh kínk (mild), yuuji being a menace 😭

word count. 8k! song inspiration. last friday night — katy perry

a/n. i can't believe i don't write for choso more. i really put a lot of love into this fic but i wish i had expanded on it a bit more 😭 one thing abt me is that i love adding side characters to cóck block

mp3. think we kissed, but i forgot!

"did you hear about the girl who lives in delusion? breakups happen every day — you don't have to lose it."

you jab at the skip button like it's personally offended you, cutting off the mournful strains of the evermore bonus track mid-verse. normally, you'd let the singer's poetic misery hold your fragile heart in a pretty gentle chokehold, for she understood your heartbreak like a nobel laureate in emotional devastation. but not today.

not on this particularly dreary friday, right before christmas, where even ms. swift's dulcet agony felt obnoxiously on the nose.

pinned under the suffocating weight of your quilt, you let out a dramatic sigh that could rival a victorian heroine wasting away from heartache and humiliation.

with the theatrics of someone clawing their way out of a shipwreck, you work one arm free, waving it weakly into the air like your tragic signal of defeat.

the cocoon of your quilts and covers isn't warm nor comforting. it's a smothering trap, a quilted tomb of your own making.

"this is it," you mumble to the empty air of the apartment, your voice muffled by layers of fabric, "this is how i go."

the universe, for its part, remains unbothered by your suffering.

with a theatrical groan that would earn you a standing ovation in a one-person tragedy, you yank the quilt over your head. plunging yourself into darkness once more.

but unfortunately, the muffled strains of your 'sad girl winter' playlist refusing to take the hint seep through, like overly persistent ghosts of your bad decisions in the past. it seemed that evermore was feeling less like a balm for your soul, and more like the soundtrack to your public humiliation.

somewhere in the tangled chaos of your bed, half pillows and half-sulking regret, your poor and neglected nintendo switch lies face down like it gave up on your hours ago. its screen has long since gone dark, but if you listen hard enough, you can almost hear your animal crossing villagers whispering conspiratorially, drafting a formal petition to evict you.

no doubt tom nook is already sharpening his capitalist claws, repossessing your house with an unsettling amount of glee.

but the rest of your room is not much better. the string lights on your walls flicker half-heartedly, casting an uneven glow over the wreckage of the past week.

it's not the charming nor dramatic kind of mess that makes for an artsy photo dump. no, this is the slow and unflattering unravelling of someone who let life beat them up with zero resistance. if rooms could file restraining orders, yours would have done it by now.

teetering laundry piles of discarded sweatshirts are haphazardly stacked in the corner. nearby, an empty hot cocoa mug sits, sticky with the remnants of whipped cream. candy cane wrappers are strewn across the room, the aftermath of a peppermint explosion that made your jaw ache.

but the true centrepiece of this disaster? your phone, face down on your nightstand. neglected and on silent. the one object in this room that's probably begging for attention, and one that you've been skilfully ignoring. and yet, right on cue, it buzzes again.

lighting up with a contact number that you've been ignoring all week.

choso.

and you squint at the notification, at the glowing screen that makes your eyes sting in the dim light.

sweet, dependable and utterly loyal choso.

your best friend of over a decade. the one person that you can't bring yourself to face.

the one person that also deserves so much better than this radio silence, and yet the last person that you can humanly confront. especially not after what happened last friday night.

and here, good friends, lies the crux of your problem.

that doomed night, seven days ago, has mostly dissolved into a series of blurry and fragmented snapshots. like a bad, half-finished film that you'd walked out of halfway through.

but the lead up? oh, you remember that part with the kind of clarity that should have been reserved for more important moments.

you could still feel the heat of storming out of that overpriced restaurant, half-drunk and fully pissed off, tears streaming down your cheeks and thickening your throat.

your ex-boyfriend? well, he had been your current boyfriend, before he decided to break up with you. in public. for all that classy, emotional damage that was so in character for him.

and with a line so perfectly cliché, it practically begged to be immortalised on a 'worst breakup excuses' list in cosmopolitan: i'm sorry, baby. i just don't see it working anymore. we're just too different. oh! and i found someone else.

oh, sure. but you should have been glad to have been rid of the man-child that thought frankenstein was the monster's name, the man who commented 'oxford study' on innocent tiktoks, and called pinterest 'girl instagram.'

god, what a fuckin' loser.

fuelled by a mix of public-induced heartache and questionable tequila choices, you had practically charged across street crossing. your feet hitting the pavement with the reckless kind of abandon reserved for teenagers sneaking out after curfew.

and there choso had been in your apartment. your best friend had been sitting cross-legged on your rug, surrounded by wrapping paper and ribbons. probably wrapping yuuji's christmas gifts with military precision. he had been balancing a roll of tape in his mouth, scissors over his lap dangerously close to the family jewels. but you had barrelled through the door like a feral cat in a downpour.

his eyes had widened, a little startled, as you made your entrance. the tape had fallen out of his mouth, chestnut hair falling over his face as he gaped. you couldn't blame choso, of course. you had looked entirely like a bedraggled, disheveled mess in a storm. cheeks streaked with mascara trails, but then everything went...fuzzy?

what did you remember? crying. lots of it.

and boy, was it a show. the kind of weeping where your face contorts into a puffed-up, berry-red disaster, and you would feel the headache creeping in even before the tears had finished.

choso's arms had caught you before you could face plant into the couch. solid, broad. warm and familiar.

you had caught the scent of clove and pepper, alongside faint citrus that you had been associating with him over the years. you had been saying something, raw and desperate.

your words had spilled out of you like water from a broken faucet.

and here you were now, reaping the glorious consequences of your own unfiltered word vomit.

seven days of stewing in your own shame and regret. but seven days were not enough to undo this level of self-sabotage. you briefly considered the options: faking amnesia, dropping out of university entirely, or best case scenario — moving to antarctica and herding emperor penguins.

you groan, sinking deeper into the abyss of your covers. and then, of course, your phone buzzed again. the dull and persistent vibration drilled into your skull like a tiny, digital drill.

cho 💜

(01:09am) hey, are you doing okay? (08:42am) tell me if you need anything! (04:23pm) hello? did i do something?

you peek at the screen, trying to avoid making eye contact with the tiny and terrifying letters. your sheet mask scrunches uncomfortably, making you look like a particularly pathetic mummy. choso's sweet and utterly patient messages were a sharp control to your gross sulk, and his concern makes you want to curl into a ball and crawl into a snowbank.

outside, christmas snow fell gently, blanketing the world in a soft and untouched white. it was like something out of a dream, a world of calm and peace. peace that your trifling ass didn't deserve.

if choso wanted to speak to you, he'd have to drag you out of your self-imposed misery himself. and even if he were to arrive at your apartment door, he'd only find a note tacked to the wall. with a map leading to the south pole.

so, what exactly had happened last friday night?

the memory rolls out like an old film reel, all jagged and distorted. the kind that you can't skip, even if you wanted to. it comes in fragments, each one more excruciatingly clear than the last. the haze of vodka-infused whipped cream shots over hot drinks slowly melting away like a bad handover.

the door to your apartment? you remember that part with embarrassing clarity. you had kicked it open with awful, ragged flair. your heel slipping on the floor, and you had nearly stacked it. face-first into your own doorway, standing there with the grace of a giraffe on roller skates.

the second the door had slammed shut behind you, a gust of frigid winter shot through the apartment like a chill reminder of your situation.

choso had been sitting cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, in the midst of complete, barbaric chaos. the roll of mauve wrapping paper teetered precariously on his dark jeans, and scissors dangled from his lap while a stripe of tape was wedged between his teeth. in between the mess of clippings and discarded tape, he seemed more like an absurdly morose-looking christmas elf that had been tasked with being santa's helper after an entire bottle of mulled wine.

but as you had walked in, or rather stumbled in, his gaze had shot up. his chestnut hair falling in messy curtains around his face, with one unruly strand intertwined with a red-white rogue ribbon. choso's face had twisted in alarm, his usual solemn manner replaced by someone who looked like they were trying to figure out whether they needed to brace themselves for good or bad news.

"hey," he had said, voice soft but sharp, like he was trying to handle fragile glass. choso had spat the tape out of his mouth unceremoniously, and he had been tugging the ribbon free rom his hair, concern all over his fine features, "what's wrong? are you okay?"

and you? a disaster. drunk, crying, furious. the recipe for an emotional molotov cocktail.

"i hate him," you had snarled, yanking off your beige coat, hurling it in the general direction of the couch. instead, your aim missed entirely. flopping halfway onto the floor, and halfway across choso's knee.

choso simply plucked the coat off his leg with two fingers, gingerly draping it over the arm of the couch. your best friend was frowning as he set down his oversized scissors, rising to his feet in a fluid motion. amber-hazel eyes flicked to yours, wide with alarm as he stepped closer, "are you hurt? is this about —?" he was hesitating, "your boyfriend?"

"no, my ex-boyfriend!" the words were ripped out of you, and your voice pathetically cracked halfway through as tears spilled down your flushed cheeks, "and 'm not hurt, cho. unless you count emotional damage," punctuating your statement with a tragic, breathy hiccup.

choso's perpetual frown deepened, as thick and unruly brows knit together, "okay," he said, voice low and steady, "do you want to sit down? i can get you some water, wait." his steps are slow, purposeful as he closes the distance between you gently, with measured care. or like he was defusing a bomb.

but you were having none of his gentle care, "no, i don't want water! i want — i want to un-date him," you wail, arms flailing as you start pacing like a caffeinated hamster, "god, i'm so stupid for dating him in the first place. and yes, i know, stop looking at me like that. i know you want to say i told you so, but he's such a —," you pause mid-rant, clawing the air for the right word, "a troll. a goblin, an ogre."

choso blinks, "maybe you should just get some fresh water in you," but there's an underlying layer of grimacing amusement painted over his quiet features, "and i didn't even say i told you so."

"no," you blurt, your head snapping so fast that your neck immediately files a complaint in the form of a sharp crick, "i don't want water. i want —"

and then, your brain short-circuited. because that's when you'd actually looked at him. like really looked.

warm hazel eyes framed by dark, sleepless circles that seemed to follow choso around like cursed ghosts. soft, feathery strands of mahogany hair that refused to stay tied back, and tumbled rebelliously into his face. that damn sweatshirt, loose and charcoal gray, and perfectly slouched over his broad shoulders. the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal forearms so solid that they could make a renaissance sculptor pack and quit.

and like a freight train at full speed, like whee-woo, the realisation hit you. choso kamo.

your best friend in the entire world. your steady and reliable, and kind to a fault best friend. better than any stupid ex that you'd ever had.

and because tequila is the nectar of chaos, and heartbreak has no filter, your mouth decided to unleash the words that you would haunt you for the next week.

"i should have been dating you."

the room is silent, as choso freezes entirely. like someone had smacked the pause button on him, and his hand, mid-reach for a glass of water, stops cold. his eyes are wide, mouth parting as though he hadn't yet processed what you had said.

"what?" choso finally manages, the words soft and stunned, like he wasn't sure that he had heard you correctly.

you, in your infinite wisdom (or rather, drunken idiocy), barrelled on like a bull who had just seen red cloth, "i'm so serious! you're the one i should've been with all along!"

you wave a hand at him, as if showcasing him to an invisible jury, "you're smart and you're sweet, and you actually care about me, unlike him!"

choso blinks, his expression unreadable, "okay," he says slowly, setting the glass back down on the table, "i think maybe, uh, you should sit down?"

"i don't wanna sit down, i want you to stop looking so perfect right now."

there's a faint flush creeping up choso's neck, like red pigment staining cream watercolour canvas, "perfect?"

"yes!" you hiccuped, teetering over the couch, "you're supposed to be my best friend, and instead you just stand there with your stupid forearms, and your everything, and it's not fair!"

choso doesn't move, doesn't even speak. just stands there, vaguely dumbstruck. like you had hung the moon, and then yanked it back down to earth to hurl it at his chest.

"i should've been dating you, cho," you declare again, louder this time, and your finger jabs his broad chest like it was somehow his fault, "you're the best, y'know that? and you're so hot, how did i not realise this sooner?"

your best friend's expression goes on a journey of varying emotions, shock and disbelief, panic and confusion. all while his candied pink lips open and close, "uh," because by now, eloquence had left the room for both parties. his hands hovering awkwardly like he wasn’t sure whether to steady you or flee. his ears noticeably red, the flush creeping down his neck.

but drunk-dumped you wasn't done. oh no, this was your oscar moment. the hill you were going to die on. the ted talk that no one asked for.

and you were on a roll now, "i mean, look at you! you've got the broody, hot guy thing down so well, and you know that's my type. and everyone knows it, like why aren't we dating already?"

choso's mouth curls again, but no sound comes out. he looks like he wants to crawl into a snowbank and bury himself there forever, "okay, i think maybe you should sit down before you hurt yourself, or, uh, the furniture."

"i'm fine!" you'd declared, throwing your arms up in defiance just as your knees decided that they were absolutely not fine. you wobbled, and in an instant, choso's warm hands are on your shoulders, steadying you with ease.

the searing heat of his touch makes your heart lurch in a way that felt far too real for comfort. you look up at him, his face close enough that you could see the faint freckles dusting his nose, and your breath hitches.

he's close enough now that his lips could press against yours with the mere turn of his head. but you know that choso's just too kind and thoughtful to kiss you in this state right now. he also looks like he's about to gently suggest that you pull yourself together. you wouldn't know, because you've just bulldozed right over him with zero brakes.

tears stream down your face still, but they're starting to slow. sticky and hot, tacking to your cheeks, as you deliver the final blow, "if i asked you to kiss me now — like genuinely right now, would you, cho?"

you would never know what choso's reply would be, because you hiccup violently. the kind that punches your chest and makes you sway. fate was never done with you, because your stomach lurches in warning. you had clamped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with panic.

choso, bless his heart, had looked ready to throw himself in front of you, "bathroom. now," he'd commanded, his voice taking on a rare, firm edge.

and that's right where your memory cut off, mercifully plunging you into the black void of your vodka-soaked brain. no idea if you'd made it to bathroom. no idea if you'd thrown up all over him, classy as always.

but the last thing you did remember, the thing that haunted you eve now, like a ghost tapping on your shoulder, was the look on choso's face. wide-eyed, jaw slack. like you had flipped his entire world upside down.

choso sits cross-legged on the cold dorm floor, the faint creak of wood beneath him. in his hands is a neatly wrapped gift, small and unassuming. but painstakingly chosen for you. the crimson ribbon, shiny and festive, catches the light of the desk lamp.

it wasn't extravagant, nothing flashy nor pricey. but it was thoughtful, personal. something that he had picked out weeks ago, back when everything between you two had been normal.

back when you didn't look at your phone, and decide he wasn't worth answering.

choso's thumb grazes the corner of the box, smoothing over the edges of the paper that he had meticulously folded after watching youtube tutorials. but now? the box felt heavier than it had any right to. would you even want this anymore? would you even want to see him?

choso sighs, letting his head tip back against the edge of his bed frame. it was a tight and awful feeling, something small and sharp that had wormed its way into his chest.

it wasn't just the silence. it wasn't even the unanswered texts or the way you’d been avoiding him like he was the human incarnation of bad news.

it was the fact that you were you. his best friend. the person he always knew how to read — until now, when everything felt scrambled.

he stares at the gift again, his brows furrowing. he'd been turning this over in his mind for seven straight days, wearing grooves into his thoughts like a track stuck on repeat. did you regret it? did you even remember what you said?

and worse — what if you did mean it?

that last thought was the one that always hit hardest. he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, the dark strands falling back into his face. somewhere on his desk, his phone buzzed softly, and for a second, his pulse jumped. but when he checked, it wasn't you.

because of course it wasn’t.

"pathetic," choso muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

seven days.

seven long, agonising days since you'd stumbled into your apartment like the ghost of heartbreak past — tear-streaked, half-drunk, and dropping words so raw they’d knocked the air out of choso's lungs.

seven days since you’d looked at him like he was everything good in the world — right before nearly puking on him and passing out on the couch in a heap of drunken devastation.

and seven days of brutal radio silence ever since.

choso groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he slouched against the edge of his bed. he got it — why you'd be embarrassed. he, he was still processing it, the memory looping in his head like a cursed highlight reel.

"you're amazing, cho. you're perfect."

the words echoed, soft and slurred, over and over like a broken record choso couldn’t shut off. a selfish part of him — a really shameful, awful part — had been glad your ex was out of the picture. not that it was a surprise; choso had never liked that guy. too loud, too cocky. the kind of guy who thought buying overpriced cologne absolved him of skipping deodorant.

but then there was the other part of him — the one that made him feel like a jerk. the part that felt guilty for feeling anything at all. because he wasn’t supposed to feel this way about you.

choso wasn't supposed to have spotify playlists privately curated with all your favourite songs. wasn't supposed to have started buying extra hair ties, just because the thought of you stealing one was so annoyingly appealing.

and he definitely wasn't supposed to have been quietly, hopelessly in love with you for five years and counting.

how many times had he messaged now? four? five? enough that he was starting to feel like that guy, the one who couldn’t take a hint. what if you'd sobered up and realised last friday was just drunk nonsense? what if you didn't like him like that at all?

had he not spent seven days drowning his misery in tubs of mango and pistachio ice cream? enough was enough.

choso's thumb hovered over your contact for a long, stupid second, debating whether to send one more pointless text. but before he could add another "hey, just checking in," he swiped away and hit a different contact. a boisterous teenager with a shock of pink hair.

he shoots off a quick text, almost grimacing as he hits send.

Choso Kamo: Need advice. Got a hypothetical situation. yuujithegoat2003: if this is smth weird i'm not googling it for u

choso rolled his eyes, already regretting this decision. but he needed to hear an outside opinion.

Choso Kamo: It's not weird, serious this time. If someone confesses something private to you while they are drunk, then avoids you for a week, what do you do? Hypothetically?

a pause, and then:

yuujithegoat2003: is this someone a hot girl lol

choso sighed, his dry lips twitching despite himself.

Choso Kamo: Yes. Also, serious answers only. yuujithegoat2003: ok ok. do they remember what they said? Choso Kamo: Most likely not.

yuujithegoat2003: huh...so did they say something good? or was it rude? Choso Kamo: It was good. Really quite good. yuujithegoat2003: bro this seems easy, just ask if they meant it.

choso blinked at his phone, at the...almost reasonable response. suspiciously reasonable, coming from his younger brother.

Choso Kamo: And if they freak out? Or say that they didn't mean it? yuujithegoat2003: then u say 'just kidding' and blow the place up and leave the country. i can get u a fake id, i know a guy. i know lots of guys.

Choso Kamo: You need to stop being influenced by Gojo Satoru. Just because his public break-up landed on national news does not make it a premise for my own situation. Hypothetical situation. yuujithegoat2003: ok, gojo just said no one gaf abt your love life anyway. seriously tho if u like this hypothetical person, just be chill. don't be all intense and scare them off bc its never that deep.

Choso Kamo: Love is that deep. Especially when you care for the other person a lot. yuujithegoat2003: ur so dramatic bro. anyway good luck.

yuujithegoat2003: also if you get rejected don't tell me bc i can't handle second hand embarrassment. thx. gtg to work. these pizzas don't deliver themselves ay

choso glances down at the gift still in his lap, the ribbon he'd so painstakingly tied now a little crushed — much like his pride. the box stares back at him accusingly, as if to say, what's the plan here, genius? wait for her to magically show up?

choso exhales through his nose, sharp and frustrated. sitting here wallowing wasn’t doing him any favours, and neither was yuuji's unhelpful voice.

"yeah, sure," he mutters under his breath, shoving the box into his jacket pocket. he stands abruptly, grabbing his jacket off the back of his desk chair.

if you weren’t going to talk to him, fine. he'd bring the conversation to you. answers, he thought, stepping out into the cold. the winter air bit at his face, but it was bracing, grounding even. one way or another, tonight was going to settle this.

the knocking was relentless.

you tried to ignore it at first, clutching your blanket like it was a shield against all outside forces. whoever was at the door would get the hint eventually. probably. hopefully.

but no, the knocking persisted, evolving into a deliberate rhythm, like some overzealous drummer auditioning for a garage band.

"unbelievable," you groaned, peeling your headphones off and tossing them onto the pillow where they landed with a hollow clatter. if this was the pizza guy you'd ordered from two hours ago, he was wildly late, and you were too broke to tip him anyway.

dragging yourself off the mattress felt like an olympic event. your legs wobbled, your blanket fortress collapsed behind you, and your pride was buried somewhere under the covers still. at least you'd showered earlier — small victories.

your damp hair dripped cold trails down the back of your oversized sweatshirt, and you caught a whiff of cocoa butter as you shuffled to the door. that was…something acceptable at least. but then the mirror by the entryway betrayed you, reflecting sleep-swollen eyes, and the faint ghost of face mask residue clinging stubbornly to your skin.

perfect. a vision of grace and dignity.

you yank the door open, ready to unleash a pointed what do you want? — but the words lodge somewhere in your throat.

smooth. and oh, just your luck.

there stood choso, a walking anomaly in the drab matrix of your sad little existence. his tall frame fills the doorway, backlit by the flickering hallway light, clad in a baggy black tee and faded denim that didn't quite match the nervous energy rolling off him in waves. his hair was tied up in a messy bun, spiky strands sticking out like an afterthought, and of course, he looked unfairly good for someone who had probably spent the past week avoiding the sunlight.

"uh, hey," he says, his voice softer than usual — careful, even. like he thought you might throw the nearest piece of furniture at him and sprint into the night.

"hey?" you echo, voice brittle as you folded your arms tighter. the sweatshirt you were wearing — his sweatshirt, one that he had left here weeks ago — suddenly felt two sizes too big and painfully obvious, "what are you doing here?"

choso scratches the back of his neck, his gaze flickering over you briefly before darting to the floor, "i needed to see you."

"at…eight at night? without warning?"

"would you have answered if i'd texted you?"

the air between you stilled as your brain scrambles for a retort, but he had you dead to rights. with a reluctant huff, you step aside. "fair point. just come in."

choso hesitates for half a second before stepping inside, his presence making your already small apartment feel even more claustrophobic. he's taking a quick glance around, and you watched, mortified, as his eyes landed on the pile of crumpled tissues precariously close to a half-drunk mug of cocoa and a bottle of jack daniel's teetering on the edge of the coffee table.

"sorry for the mess," you mutter, your voice defensive as you crossed your arms tighter.

"it's fine," choso says, a little too quickly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. his gaze lingers on you for a beat longer than necessary, "i didn't mean to…interrupt."

"you didn't interrupt anything." you wave vaguely at the disaster zone that was your apartment.

choso's lips twitch, almost like he wanted to smile but wasn't sure if now was the time, "look, i just —" he trails off, his usual dull voice faltering as he pulled something small and neatly wrapped from his pocket, "i came to give you this. and talk."

you stare at the gift in his hands, shiny crimson ribbon and all, your pulse kicking up like it had somewhere urgent to be, "christmas came early? thanks, cho," you say, mirroring his words with the kind of ease that only comes from too many shared silences. "i'm fine, though. i wasn't up to much."

choso cracks a small, half-hearted smile, but it's like watching a flicker of light in a dim room — there, but not really there. "i tried texting," he says, glancing at you, searching for something.

"i know," you murmur, suddenly finding the floor very interesting, "i just wasn't in the mood for much talking."

choso huffs, a sound halfway between exasperation and amusement, "i noticed," he says dryly, and that only makes the air in the room more thick and uncomfortable.

you sigh, letting your shoulders slump as you flop back onto the couch, curling your knees up to your chest like you're trying to make yourself small enough to disappear, "so, what? you came here to check if i'm still breathing?"

"kind of," choso admits, settling awkwardly on the edge of your coffee table, his long legs folded beneath him in that way that makes him look like he’s trying to physically contain himself. his knees bump into yours, and you have to fight the urge to pull away, like you could get too close, "but mostly...i came to talk about last friday night."

your stomach does a horrifying little flip, the kind that sends cold fingers crawling up your spine. you stare at him, silently willing him to read the begging look in your eyes and back off, but he doesn't. he's never been the type to take the hint.

"i've been thinking about it all week," he continues, his voice quiet but steady, as if he's preparing himself for something big, "and i need to know if —"

"nope," you interrupt, holding up a hand, "nope. we're not going there."

choso blinks at you, like he's trying to process the sudden barricate that you've just put up. but you're so not ready for this conversation, not now, nor ever. and you'll be damned if he gets any closer to the minefield. he scowls, his brows knitting together like he's resisting the urge to push you off the couch, "why not?"

"because it doesn't matter, okay?" you lean your head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like you can will this conversation away, "i was drunk as hell, cho. you're overthinking it."

he scoffs, his voice sharp now, like he's cutting through your flimsy deflection with a blade, "i don't think i am."

you wince, shrinking a little under the weight of his stony gaze, "why does this even matter?"

"you think i can just brush it off like it didn't happen?" and there's a rawness in choso's voice that hits you harder than expected.

your cheeks heat up, a fiery blush creeping up your neck, "i didn't mean it," you mutter.

"yes, you did," choso snaps back, with uncharacteristic heat, and he leans forward, enough to close the distance between you two, "and you know how i know? because you've been ignoring me all week. if it was just some drunk nonsense, you would have laughed it off by now. but you haven't."

you open your mouth to argue, to push back. but the words stick heavy in your throat. nothing comes out, and it must prove choso all the more right, because you watch as his bottom lip is captured by his teeth, suddenly watching plush skin split.

"do you want me to apologise?" you ask finally, voice a little too sharp for comfort, "because i will. i'll say i'm sorry for putting you in that position and —"

"i don't want an apology," choso cuts you off, and the dim light of your apartment makes the dark circles under his eyes stand out like bruises, "i want the truth."

you freeze, your heart thudding like a drum in your chest, "what truth, cho?"

"that you meant it," choso says softly, "that you meant it when you said that you wish it had been me."

the words hang in the air, heavy and electric. your breath catches, as your mind goes blank. an entire power outage, as you blink at him like a fish out of water. finally, after what feels like an eternity, you force the knot in your throat to loosen just enough to speak, "yeah," you whisper, "i meant it."

choso's whole body seems to deflate, like he's been holding up the weight of the sky. his shoulders slump, and the sheer relief on his face hits you like a tidal wave. it's almost enough to undo you. there's a sound, soft and shaky and far too vulnerable that escapes him.

neither of you move. the moment stretches out, fragile. like it could snap in half if either of you dared to breathe too loud.

then, choso is the first to move.

there's no hesitation, no uncertainty. just pure intention, like a dam finally bursting open. he shifts forward, hands finding their way to your waist with an urgency that makes your pulse go into overdrive. choso's grip is firm, but there's a reverence to it, as if you're something he's waited his entire life to touch. he pulls you to him, and you can feel the heat of him flood your chest, your blood, your bones.

"what if you regret this?" you murmur into his chest, voice muffled as your arms slip around his necks, holding onto the beautiful man like he may float way.

"not a chance," choso replies, and his voice is raspier than you've ever heard it, like he's saying it more to himself than to you.

choso kamo finally kisses you.

the kind of kiss that feels like a storm is finally breaking over clear skies, with an unrestrainted longing that crashes over the both of you.

his sweet lips meet yours with a hunger that makes your head spin, raw and real. choso clearly doesn't want to hold back, and neither do you.

his hands tighten at your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers thread through his hair, tugging lightly at russet strands.

choso groans into your mouth, a soft and burning thing that ignites every nerve in your body.

without breaking his hold on your lips, his wide hands slide down, finding the back of your thighs, making you shamefully clench them closer together.

but he's tapping them in silent invitation, and you leap into him, your legs wrapping around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly. the world around you blurs as he stumbles backwards.

and when the back of his knees hit the edge of your bed, gravity does its job. you both tumble into the mattress in a jumbled mess of limbs and muffled laughter, your heart pounding so loud, as you muster up the courage to prod your tongue at his lips, letting him part his mouth so you can take up more of choso.

you land beneath him, his weight pressing into you in the best way possible, sending sharp spikes of heady arousal through you. and you blink up at him, breathless.

choso is so close now, his hazel eyes locked on yours with a rare intensity, like the calm façade is entirely shattered now. but there's a smile on his lips, a crooked little thing that sends a rush of warmth through you.

"hi, choso," you whisper, your voice soft yet breathless as he chases your lips again, a desperate hunger in his eyes. it's as if he can't bear to be apart from you, even for a heartbeat.

"hey," he murmurs back, that low rumble sending shivers down your spine, igniting a heat you can't ignore.

you keep pressing kisses to his glossy lips, the world narrowing down the press of his mouth and how choso's hands cradle your waist like you might slip away if he doesn't hold on tight enough.

without breaking contact, choso shifts, his strong hands guiding you gently, firmly.

"don' wanna crush you," he spills against your mouth, his voice low and rough, and before you can reply, he flips you effortless.

the movement is seamless, fluid even. and you're suddenly perched atop him, straddling his thighs and sinking into the worn denim of his jeans.

he's leaning back against the covers beneath him, as his chest rises and falls in unsteady waves as he gazes up at you. expression caught somewhere between awe and hunger.

choso looks so completely, heartbreakingly in love with you that it leaves you breathless. his hands tighten on your waist, fingertips pressing with a near bruising intensity into the soft fabric of his sweatshirt that clings to your frame.

his cheeks are flushed a deep, telling pink, and you can't help the soft, teasing coo that slips from your lips as you trace the curve of his temple with gentle fingers, "is something wrong, cho?" you murmur.

his lips, swollen and glistening from your kiss, part slightly, his breath uneven and catching on the edges of unspoken emotions, "nothing. nothing, i swear," he says, the words tumbling out rough and raw, his voice pitched low and vulnerable.

his hands slide you closer, his grip firm but trembling slightly, and his next confession nearly undoes you, makes your core moisten even, "just…never done this before."

"really?" you whisper, eyes widening as you take him in — the flush on choso's cheeks, the way he won't quite meet your gaze, the way he holds you like you're something precious.

the realisation that he's never shared this part of himself with anyone else tugs sharply at your heartstrings, "never?"

choso swallows thickly, nodding once, his voice a quiet hum as he admits, "mhm."

"ah, you're so cute, cho," you giggle, watching as the man scrunches his nose in mock protest.

"tch, 'm not meant to be cute."

you huff, feigning disappointment, "and here i was, wishing you a very merry christmas eve." he whines as you lean in, pressing a teasing kiss to his neck, right where his heartbeat thrums beneath his pale skin. your lips find their home at the juncture, and you can't help but smile at the way he whines at your touch, bucks his hips up into yours.

"must have been real good to get a holiday gift like this."

you pull back just enough to admire your handiwork, a little red bloom that blossoms on thin skin, bruised petals that mark him now. choso's swallowing thickly, his adam's apple bobbing, as a soft whine escapes his lips again as you lean in, this time closer to the jaw. leaving a trail of kisses in a messy that makes choso squirm.

you press your thumb against his lower lip, feeling the soft and trembling skin quiver under your touch, "hey. open up," you coax, a teasing lilt colouring your voice.

choso looks up at you, his wide eyes clouded with desire as dark strands of hair fall across his forehead, "huh, what?"

you tap his lip again, impatience bubbling in your chest, "c'mon, open your mouth. properly," and the way he immediately obeys, parting his glossy lips sends a thrill through you. the scent of clove and citrus envelops you as you lean in closer, running your tongue over his lower lip.

you let a glob of spit fall from your lip into his mouth, with a thick thwack! echoing in the air. you deliberately miss, just a little bit, to watch him squirm as he swallows, eyes fluttering shut and inky lashes staining his cheeks.

"so good, aren't you? good at playing nice, hah," you use your thumb to smear the slick over his lips, just a bit. to watch him shudder, entirely captivated by you. it's exhilarating and makes your cunt clench around nothing. probably seeping through the thin material of your shorts and onto his thick jeans.

bang bang bang!

a sharp knock that booms at your door, enough to make your ears ring. you hear choso groan beneath you, shifting slightly so you can feel the full, thick curve of his bulge right where you need him most.

"think we can ignore that?" he rasps, his voice rough and low, the sound of it leave slick strands clinging between your thighs.

you spread your legs just a little wider over him, watching as his frown dissipates and his jaw drops, distracted by the preview you've given him, "i'm really hoping so."

but whoever is at the door has no intention of being ignored. another knock rattles the wood, followed by an all-too-familiar voice yelling, "hey! open up! delivery!"

your brows furrow, recognition sparking, "cho, isn't that—"

he cuts you off with an apologetic sigh, lifting you off his lap with surprising gentleness. choso sets you down on the quilt, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before muttering under his breath, "it better not be."

you watch him go, more than a little distracted by the sight of his broad shoulders and the way his messy hair bobs with each step. already, you're plotting exactly how you’ll get your hands back in it once he returns.

choso swings the door open, and you hear a collective, "what the hell?" echo through the apartment — one part you, one part choso, and one part…

"itadori yuuji?" you blurt, leaning over to get a look. sure enough, there's choso's younger brother, standing in the doorway in a bright red pizza delivery uniform, balancing three large boxes in one hand and his phone in the other.

yuuji blinks at the two of you, then raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of confusion and something vaguely accusatory before reading off his phone in a robotic voice, "uh…merry christmas eve. i have three pizzas. extra cheese. stuffed crust," he pauses, not able to keep the act up as his golden eyes narrow, "but, uh — bro, what happened to your face?"

you bite your lip to keep from laughing as choso straightens, his expression caught somewhere between mortified and furious, "yuuji—"

but the younger man's attention shifts to you, his gaze taking in the oversized sweatshirt you're wearing, choso's sweatshirt, and his jaw drops, "oh hell no. this is the hot girl you texted me about?"

choso visibly flinches as you burst into giggles.

"that's like your best friend? that's like my sister-in-law!" yuuji throws up his hands in mock disbelief, "you really keep your circles tight, huh, man?"

before choso can even respond, yuuji leans in closer, squinting at his older brother, "and seriously, dude, what's all that on your face?"

choso groans, snatching the pizzas from yuuji with one hand and shoving him toward the hall with the other, "okay, that's enough. get out."

"you haven't paid me! that's against the law!" yuuji protests, but choso grabs the scruff of his brother's uniform collar, steering him out the door.

"i'll pay you double. triple. just leave."

"my pizzas are probably cold now anyway," you call out, adding fuel to the fire.

"yeah? well, you look a bit too busy to eat them anyway," yuuji swivels his head over his shoulder to wag a finger at you with a grin, before choso finally shoves him fully into the hallway.

as the door slams shut, you hear yuuji's muffled voice echoing, "i'm telling everyone. i'm telling dad. i'm telling sukuna. i'm telling gramps, gojo, nanami —"

you can hear their bickering voices fade down the hallway, to where choso is probably gonna pack him into the car and send him off.

you glance down at the box you'd set aside earlier, your curiosity getting the better of you. carefully pulling at the ribbon, you open it to find a small scrapbook, beautifully made. inside are photos and clippings of you and choso: movie ticket stubs, receipts from late-night takeout runs, train tickets from your trip to the coast.

your chest tightens as you run your fingers over the familiar handwriting scrawled in the margins, a quote from a cheesy romantic movie that you had forced choso to watch with you a few months ago. what an honour it is to be loved like this.

[ace-inthehole]

Just thinking about a pretty old man <3

[18+] Mdni

Top gn reader. Amab or afab w/ a strap I left it vague.

Inspired by @rodolfoparras :)

When you first start your advances, he pushes you off. Because he's already an old man, hair greying, joints creaking, with eyes that have seen far too much. He can't ruin a pretty young thing like you, but oh boy does he want to. It takes everything in him to reject you, let you down lightly, because he wants you just as much as you want him. Maybe more.

It's not hard to notice his wayward glances and sneaked looks, a deep hunger in his eyes, wanting and full of desire. It's rather adorable, seeing him try so hard to suppress his urges and feelings, because he isn't convincing anyone with that act. Not you, and not himself.

But with your persistence, that little facade of his begins to crack. It starts small, maybe a few long conversations over drinks in some dingy bar or a deep chat under the view of the cityscape. His longing gaze becomes more and more passionate, heavy with lust as he takes you in. He still looks away when you meet his eyes, cheeks flushed under his beard as he grumbles some poor excuse.

Fleeting looks become yearning gazes, a brush of your hands become intertwining the under the table. He's breaking, and it's because of you.

And when you finally bed him, he's nothing short of a mess. Splayed out bare before you on your bed, gasping and crying out at every touch. It isn't his first time, far from it, but man does it feel like it is. Every touch from your warm hands on his skin, your breath fanning over his neck or your lips on his face send pleasant and hot hums through his body.

It's embarrassing, it's shameful, every part of him on display before you, but your loving eyes that see nothing but beauty makes his heart clench.

He can hardly get it up anymore, just barely half hard when you're pressing into him, but it feels so good he doesn't have the mind to be embarrassed. When you kiss him you taste the bitter ash lingering from the cigarette he smoked earlier, but his noises are more than sweet enough to make up for it.

When he comes, he's gasping and throwing his head back, body convulsing as he desperately clings onto you. A beautiful sight really, such a man in pieces under you. Pieces that you tear apart with ardor and put back together again lovingly. He lets you do so, becoming putty at your fingertips and moulding into any form you shape him into.

He's reduced to a crying, sniffling little mess with his release splattered on his stomach, but he stares up at you with such pure adoration. He settles into your arms after you clean yourselves up, head resting on your chest and arms wrapped tightly around you.

Truly, an adorable old man.

-

So this is my first time writing smut lol. Go easy on me, thanks. This was written with Price in mind but I decided to keep the character ambiguous.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader

I've been plagued by this idea for a while, so let me know what you think! This is just the character introduction. Your new landlord is a Yakuza boss, and his scary looking underling has been tasked to deal with your tenant needs! Although he didn't expect you to be this cute. And you didn't expect him to be this unhinged.

Content: female reader, violence, mentions of stalking

[Part 2] | [Yakuza Masterlist]

This was the last straw.

You're angrily stuffing your suitcase with necessities before the moving company arrives. Each glimpse around the cramped apartment fills you with outrage, as you're still heavily shaken from the events of last night. 

You first begun to suspect you might have a stalker when you found your outer lock with a fresh dent in it. You then picked a small scrap from the ground nearby and assumed it was leftover damage, but upon further inspection you discovered, disgusted, that it was part of your peephole. Someone must've fiddled with your door a fair amount. You tried to approach your immediate neighbors for help, but they either refused to answer your persistent knocks or downright scurried away when faced with your questions. They didn't want to deal with a foreigner. 

You tried to put it behind you. The police advised you to be cautions, as there was nothing else they could do without concrete evidence. And thankfully, you had several peaceful weeks following the incident. Last night you were suddenly awakened by faint scratches coming from your balcony. You groggily got up and wondered if your recently added bird feeder was attracting nocturnal visitors. You got up without turning on the light, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious animal. As you pulled the drape, however, you were met with the large frame of a man plucking your laundry in a hurry. 

A panicked scream erupted from the depths of your chest and you slapped the light switch, erratically searching for your phone. By the time you dialed emergency, the intruder had vanished. You were sobbing against the wall under the fake reassurances of the operator, eyeing the sliding door that had no lock. Had he wished, the masked man could've easily invited himself in. You were at the mercy of a lunatic and no one seemed to be impressed by your situation. 

No more. Ideally you'd go back to your home country and forget about your plans to build yourself a life in Japan. What were you even thinking? A lonely girl, low on funds, signing a contract to be relocated across the ocean for work. You barely scraped the first months of a mandatory year. 

You close your suitcase with a satisfying click and on your way out you wipe the table of all the newspaper clippings. You've been scanning the potential offers on the market. The ones within your budget, of course, which means you don't have to worry about being picky. Until you find a new place, your belongings can wait in storage. Dusty furniture is a better prospect than waking up with a pervert looming over you. 

By the time the clock hits evening hours, you're sipping on your iced coffee with a defeated sigh. Most of the cheap apartments seem to be given to locals. Not outsiders like you. At least they spared you of the false hopes and curtly told you to not expect any call back, so you can swiftly move on to the next circled address. You pull out the crumbled sheet of paper from your pocket. Reading over your list of crossed out lines like this deflates you greatly. At the very bottom lies your final hope: the ad you'd stumbled upon this morning was too good to be true and the realtor was available for viewing at any time, so you're almost certain it's some sort of scam. Yet you can't afford to skip it, can you? You stand up, pat your jeans and take a deep breath in. 

As you check your phone to confirm the location, you begin to doubt your decision. It's hard to believe no other potential renters have showed up. The apartment is in a convenient area, very close to public transport, at a great price, on what looks like a busy street. Isn't it the dream? So why? You glance around, examining the surroundings. The shops are bustling with people. You try to come up with possible explanations, when a deep voice startles you.

"You must be (Y/N), right? You sure are easy to spot."

You turn around to greet the person. Although the second you spot him, you take an unconscious step back. You'd expected a middle aged man dressed in formal attire with a shy bow and clumsy movements. The one standing before you resembles none of that. He's imposingly tall, with a muscular built and slicked back hair. You can discern the tattoos peeking out from under the rolled up sleeves. His face has multiple deep scars and you can only assume that the pale, discolored eye that's transfixed in one direction is a fake made of glass. One might call him handsome, if you're into the kind of appearance you see in documentaries about the mafia. 

"Y-you're the landlord?" You stutter, immediately covering your mouth and regretting your lack of tact. 

"Nuh uh, Boss sent me to deal with it." He flashes you a genuine grin, completely unperturbed by your offhanded implication. "I'm Daitou."

He continues towards the entrance and you follow behind, too awkward to back down now. He describes the living quarters with surprising enthusiasm. If you were to close your eyes and disregard his heavy Kansai accent, you could very well be convinced it's a professional real estate agent hard at work. 

"Excuse me for asking, but..." Once he finishes his marketing presentation, you cannot help the increasing anxiety. "What's the catch?"

"Huh?"

"For something like this to be so cheap...and no one else being interested...may I be frank and ask what's wrong with it? Please understand, I just left my previous apartment because of a stalker. I don't want to be packing again anytime soon."

"Well, isn't it obvious?" He searches your gaze for a moment, before gasping as if remembering something. "Wait, you're a foreigner, so I guess you don't know. Ah, that explains it." 

He lets out a hearty laugh, satisfied with his conclusion. 

"You didn't notice anything strange outside?"

You ponder his question before slowly shaking your head in denial. 

"Really? A bunch of heavily tattooed guys with family pins on their suits...This is a yakuza quarter. Our Family owns most businesses here. But lately we've had a lot of police on our backs, ya know? Bound to happen when the street is swarming with us. So Boss had this great idea - he's smart like that, ya know, I've never been the bright one - anyways, he suggested we rent some of our housing to regular civilians. Less suspicious that way." 

He crosses his arms and nods to himself proudly. 

"I myself think it's a great deal. You won't find anything cheaper for the kind of stuff you're getting. All you have to do is, you know, mind your business. If some weasel questions you, no Sir, you haven't seen or heard anything suspicious. That's all."

You can only stare wide eyed, somewhat taken aback by his honesty.

"Uh...Are you sure you were supposed to tell me all of this? I feel we're skipping some steps before admitting to organized crime."

Now it's his turn to consider your inquiry. 

"Probably not, but I'm not good with words. You look like a smart girl, so I thought I won't sugarcoat it. I'm sure you already know that if you leave and rat us out I'll be throwing your chopped up remains in the nearby river. Or would you want to be shipped home instead? I'm a nice guy like that, hehe."

You return a crooked smile and purse your lips in the process. You'd rather not learn the percentage of truth in his humor anytime soon. 

"You mentioned a stalker? I can guarantee you he won't follow here, miss. And if he's that dumb to wander on our turf, well, me and my guys always hang around the block. Leave him to me and I'll bring you his teeth in a box." 

"I-...Why teeth of all the things?"

"Just easier to pull out, ya know." He winks and reaches for his back pocket, revealing an old pair of pliers with childish delight. "See, I'm a bit of a handyman, so I always have some tools on me."

Strangely enough, you're not as terrified as you would expect from someone in your shoes. Certainly your knees are weaker when compared to your pre-encounter state, but there's something about his demeanor that doesn't feel malicious or threatening. Like conversing with an old friend at a pub. 

"Will I truly not get in trouble? You guys do your thing and I'm 100% not involved?"

"You have my word." And with that, as if closing the sale of his lifetime, he confidently slaps a stack of papers on the nearby counter and hands you a pen. "You already have my number, if anyone pisses you off just hit me up and I'll be at your service. Boss left everything to me."

No perverts and less of your monthly allowance going towards rent. Maybe it's your despair talking, but you've been persuaded nonetheless. You scribble your name in the designated field and shove the documents towards your new acquaintance. 

"Pleasure doing business with you, miss (Y/N)." He cheerfully dangles the keys before dropping them in your hand and heads for the door.

"Oh, is shipping included in the rent?"

He stops and turns to you, mildly confused.

"You said if I mess up you'll ship my remains home. Do I pay for the postage myself, or is that part of the monthly tax?" You ask with a cheeky grin. 

His eyes narrow in delight and you can tell he's greatly amused by your words. 

"Nah, consider it a gift from me. Gotta treat a lady nice, 'specially if it's a pretty one like you."

And with that, you're alone again. You look around the room, trying to visualize your new home. It's already getting dark outside. Now that you've had the situation explained to you, you can definitely see what Daitou meant. There's the occasional police officer patrolling the street, and plenty of men dressed in similar fashion walking in small groups. 

"And?"

Outside the building, a young man is leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his mouth. He seems to have been waiting for Daitou. 

"It's done. Some cute foreigner is moving in." He lifts an arm in a flexing motion, patting his bicep in a congratulatory manner. "Boss will be surprised, eh?"

"You're fucking with me."

"What? You wanna go back upstairs and check?" He responds, appalled. "Might've taken longer than expected, but I told ya I can manage!"

"Are you sure you didn't threaten her or something? I still don't know what Boss was thinking when he asked a nutcase like you to deal with the civvies." 

"Hey hey hey, I may not be all fancy speaking like you or Kazuya, but I'm not dumb. Matter of fact, she already signed the papers."

"I never said you're dumb. Just batshit crazy." The young man sighs and flicks his cigarette butt away, stomping on it.

"Let's go and tell the others."

[sturnioz]

shy!reader wants to finish reading her book, but fratboy!chris is high and greedy.

you're trying to ignore chris to read one of your books that you've been eager to finish—wanting to know what happens to your favourite characters, that you've grown so attached to, at the end.

but truthfully, he's making it impossible.

he's faded and sluggish, dragging himself across his bed in just his boxers, his cock straining hard against the material as his hands move across your legs lazily, using little strength to pry them open and get a glimpse of your panties beneath your oversized shirt.

"stop it," you whine petulantly, your bottom lip jutting out into a pout as you feel his fingers squeeze your calf, the cold metal of his rings making you twitch. "i wanna finish my book! they're supposed to be—"

chris grumbles disinterestedly in response, his way of telling you to be quiet as he pushes himself to lay between you parted legs, his head knocking against your knee with a sharp huff.

you open your mouth to say something—to actually use a little bit of attitude and annoyance because he's disrupting you from your personal time—but the words falter on the tip of your tongue and a choked noise gets caught in the back of your throat as you feel him mouth at you over your panties, warm and wet.

"go 'head, bun," he drawls, hazy eyes flitting up from between your thighs to meet your gaze as his fingers curl around the lacy material, pulling your panties to the side to reveal your puffy folds. "finish your book 'n leave me alone."

you don't have time to even think about what you could possibly say back when his mouth returns on your bare skin, his tongue lazily stroking up and down your slit, causing your fingers to tighten around your book and your hips to jerk.

you force yourself to focus on your book, determined to not let him distract you completely as you flip the page to the next chapter, only for you to let out a muffled whine behind closed lips as chris' tongue up toward your clit, flicking the wet muscle over it once before sucking.

embarrassingly, you can feel yourself grower wetter by the second, your body responding to his touches, but even as the pleasure begins to slowly take over, you make an effort to keep reading—despite your gaze darting back and forth between the pages and chris' face buried between your thighs.

you shake your head, bringing your attention back to the book, trying to remember where you stopped, but you're losing track of the story. the words are blurring together now, making it a little harder for you to read, yet, you persist—not wanting to give in to what's consuming you.

that's until you notice it—chris' hips moving in slow, lazy, rhythmic ruts against the bed, his cock leaking through the fabric of his boxers and onto the bedsheets as he groans, the sound vibrating against your pussy.

chris' tongue continues to move in time with his hips, swirling and probing, each lap and suck sending jolts of pleasure through your body. as your breathing grows more heavier, and you struggle to contain your moans, the grip you have on the book loosens, dropping out on your hand and landing with a thump.

you completely surrender, your fingers twisting in the sheets as you let out a broken whimper, and your legs curl around his head, accidentally locking him in place. the sounds of chris' mouth lapping on your pussy, mingling with your high-pitched whines and his grunting, fills the room—it's filthy.

you're lost in the overwhelming haze of arousal, your mind completely blanking out as you sink into the pillows, and your body buzzes as it twitches and jerks. and with a final flick of his tongue, you're shoved over the edge, a cry tumbling from your lips as your inner walls clench around nothing, spilling over his awaiting tongue instead.

divider credits. @issysh3ll

© STURNIOZ