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barnacles34 · 1 day ago

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Professional Hazard (And Blue Tongues)

Karina x Male Reader

9k words

18+ smut

'I expected you to have...'

'Grey hair? Glasses thick as tank armor?' You lean back. 'Let me guess—ancient and decrepit?'

'Something like that.' She toys with her iced americano, ice cubes clinking.

'Get that more than you'd think.'

'Can't imagine why.'

'Sure you can't.'

She straightens in her chair. 'Well? Are you going to ask your questions or what?'

'Did you have something specific in mind?'

'I thought you'd at least come prepared.' The sharp edge in her voice softens, adapting. 'After that email you sent.'

'I am prepared.'

'Do you know who I am?'

'I know you're Karina. I know you agreed to fund my little Italian vacation.' You keep your voice flat, unimpressed.

She laughs, short and sharp. 'They really sent someone who knows nothing.'

'Biographers aren't exactly growing on trees these days. Most of them are busy dying off.' [1]

'That's comforting.'

'About as comforting as your enthusiastic response to my email.'

'Ah.' She smirks. 'My monument to hubris?'

'Your words, not mine.'

'Christ, you're not exactly sunshine and roses, are you?'

'If only you knew.'

'Oh, I think I do.' She leans forward. 'People like me—we're your bread and butter. Desperate enough to take the abuse just to get that book written.'

'Quick study.'

'Experience, darling.' She draws out the last word like stretched taffy.

'If immortality's what you're after, we're off to a rocky start.'

'Not even grateful for the Italian holiday?'

You meet her eyes. 'Bribery's nothing new. Don't expect it to polish your image.'

'Tough nut to crack, aren't you?'

'I have what I need.'

'Meaning?'

'Let me put this delicately: my last subject bought me a year at New York's finest.' [2]

'Fantastic.' She rattles her ice cubes harder.

'You know what I think?' She sets down her drink with deliberate care.

'Enlighten me.'

'I think you enjoy this. The whole "unimpressed biographer" act.'

You pull out your notebook, unhurried. 'That'd make a great chapter one. "Local girl psychoanalyzes writer, lives to regret it."'

'There it is again.' Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. 'Tell me, do your subjects usually last long enough for chapter two?'

'The interesting ones do.'

'And the boring ones?'

You flip open to a blank page. 'They get a lovely rejection letter.'

'Which I didn't.'

'Yet.'

She leans back, studying you. The late afternoon sun catches the edge of her glass, throwing prismatic shapes across the table. 'You really don't care that I could walk away right now.'

'The door's right there.' You click your pen. 'But we both know you won't.'

'Because?'

'Because you didn't spend three months negotiating with my publisher just to storm off over hurt feelings.'

'Maybe I just like wasting time.'

'Maybe.' You meet her gaze. 'But people who like wasting time don't usually have a dozen designer brand sponsorships.'

Something shifts in her expression—surprise, maybe, or respect. 'So you did do your homework.'

'I always do.' You position your pen over the blank page. 'Now, shall we begin with the real questions?'

'Shoot.' She shifts in her chair, the late afternoon sun warming the cafe corner we've claimed.

'Tell me about your sister.'

Her eyebrows lift slightly. 'Not starting with the obvious questions?'

'Would you prefer those?'

'No.' She smiles, genuine this time. 'She's a nurse. Like our mom.'

'Close?'

'Very. She's the only person who still calls me Jimin.' She stirs her americano. 'Probably the only person who can get away with it, too.'

'Why's that?'

'Because she knew me when I was just the quiet kid who'd rather read in corners than talk to anyone. Before all of...' She waves her hand vaguely. 'This.'

'Still prefer corners?'

'Sometimes.' She considers the question. 'There's this tiny bookstore in Seongnam. When I go home, I still visit. They have this perfect spot by the window.'

'What do you read?'

'Whatever catches my eye. Last week it was about sharks.'

You raise an eyebrow. 'Sharks?'

'Don't look so surprised.' She laughs. 'They're fascinating. Everyone thinks they know them, but they don't, not really.'

'Speaking from experience?'

She takes a long sip of her drink instead of answering.

'You don't have to do that, you know.' You set your pen down.

'Do what?'

'Deflect. Turn everything into a metaphor.'

She meets your eyes for a long moment. 'Force of habit.'

'Bad one.'

'Says the person who's been matching my deflections word for word.' A half-smile plays at her lips. 'We're quite the pair, aren't we?'

'Difference is, I'm paid to be difficult.'

'And I was raised to be.' The words slip out before she can catch them. Her fingers tighten around her glass.

You wait.

'You're good at this,' she says quietly.

'At what?'

'Making silence comfortable.' She looks out the window. 'Most people try to fill it.'

'Most people aren't trying to understand.'

She turns back to you, something shifting in her expression. 'Is that what you're trying to do? Understand?'

'Would that be so terrible?'

'No,' she says.

'Progress.' You pick up your pen again. 'Though I've just realized something deeply troubling.'

'What's that?'

'Your americano's been empty for ten minutes, and you're still pretending to drink it.'

She glances at her glass, caught. 'Method acting.'

'Ah yes, the classic "I'm too invested in this conversation to pause for a refill" performance.' You wave to catch the barista's eye. 'Oscar-worthy.'

'Says the person who hasn't touched their...' She leans forward to peek at your cup. 'What even is that?'

'Green tea.'

'Pretentious.'

'Says the person who ordered an iced americano in winter.'

'It's barely spring.'

'Case in point.'

The barista arrives with fresh drinks. Karina raises an eyebrow at your cup. 'Still green tea?'

'I'm consistent.'

'Boring.'

'Strategic.' You take a deliberate sip. 'Can't blame caffeine jitters for whatever honesty slips out.'

'Sneaky.'

'Professional.'

'Same thing.' She stirs her new drink, ice cubes clinking. 'So what's next in your strategic interrogation?'

'Thought we agreed to drop the deflection thing.'

'Old habits. Ten seconds at a time.'

'That's oddly specific.'

'It's how I learned to swim.' At your questioning look, she continues, 'Ten seconds of courage. Then you can panic all you want.'

'Does that work?'

'Got me here, didn't it?' She gestures between you two. 'Letting a stranger with a notebook and suspiciously consistent beverage choices pick apart my life.'

'You could always run.'

'To where? Croatia?' She laughs at your surprised expression. 'What? I have dreams.'

'Of Croatia specifically?'

'Of anywhere that doesn't know my name.'

'That's rather poetic for someone who just called me pretentious.'

'I contain multitudes.' She mock-bows in her seat.

'Walt Whitman now?'

'See? You're not the only one who can be insufferably well-read.'

You make a show of writing something down.

You flip to a fresh page. 'Tell me about Croatia.'

'Nothing to tell. Just a place.'

'There are plenty of places that don't know your name. Why that one?'

She traces the rim of her glass again, a habit you've started to recognize as her thinking gesture. 'Have you ever seen those old coastal towns? The ones with narrow streets and buildings that look like they're having conversations with each other?'

'Been to a few.'

'I want to get lost in one.' She looks up. 'Properly lost. No GPS, no itinerary. Just... walking until my feet decide to stop.'

'Most people want to be found.'

'Most people haven't spent years being findable.' The sharpness in her voice surprises both of you. She softens it with a smile. 'Sorry. That sounded more dramatic than intended.'

'Don't apologize. It's the first time you've stopped performing since we sat down.'

'I haven't been—' She stops. Laughs. 'Okay. Point taken.'

'Progress. Again.'

'You're keeping score?'

'Always.' You tap your notebook. 'It's kind of the whole point.'

'And how am I doing?'

'In being honest or deflecting?'

'Both.'

'You're averaging about fifty-fifty.'

'Generous scoring.'

'Strategic encouragement.'

'You're good at that.' She stretches slightly. 'Making people think they're in control of the conversation.'

'Are you not?'

'Please. We both know you've been steering this ship since you sat down.' She pauses. 'Though I will say, you're the first interviewer who hasn't asked about my routine yet.'

'Your routine?'

'You know. "What time do you wake up? What's your skincare regimen? How many hours do you practice?" That whole song and dance.'

'Would you like me to ask?'

'God no.' She grins. 'But I'm curious why you haven't.'

'Because routines are what people do. I'm more interested in who they are.'

'And who am I?'

'Still figuring that out. But I know you crack your knuckles when you're nervous.'

She stops mid-crack, caught. 'Observant.'

'Professional hazard.' You lean forward. 'Tell me something real. Not about routines or schedules or practices.'

'Like what?'

'Like what you think about at three AM when you can't sleep.'

She's quiet for a long moment. 'Sometimes I forget what my natural speaking voice sounds like.'

'What do you mean?'

'You spend so many years modulating everything—your voice, your laugh, your reactions—until one day...' She shrugs. 'One day you catch yourself using your "public" voice to order coffee at 3 AM in an empty convenience store, and you realize you can't remember what you used to sound like.'

'And that bothers you.'

'Wouldn't it bother you? Losing something that fundamental without even noticing it was gone?'

'Is that why we're here? Trying to find it again?'

'Maybe.' She smiles, but it's different now. Unpolished. 'Or maybe I'm just tired of having "public" and "private" versions of everything.'

'Including your voice.'

'Including my entire existence.'

'Right.' You snap your notebook shut. 'We're getting gelato.'

—

[1] The suspicious rate at which biographers are "dying off" has become something of an industry joke. Three prominent biographers mysteriously retired after attempting to write about a certain K-pop company's CEO. Totally not suspicious.

[2] The Plaza Hotel, to be specific. Said subject was a tech billionaire whose autobiography mysteriously never made it to print. The hotel suite, however, maintains legendary status among New York's housekeeping staff for its impressive collection of empty green tea bottles and rejection letters.

—

She blinks. 'What?'

'We're walking.' You stand, gathering your things. 'Unless you have somewhere to be?'

'Are you actually asking, or is this another strategic move?'

'Both. Neither. Whatever. Does it matter if there's gelato involved?'

A genuine laugh escapes her. 'Fair point.'

The early evening air hits your faces as you step outside. She pulls on a cap—more habit than disguise.

'Left or right?' you ask.

'You're the one who lives here.'

'Technically, I've been here three days.'

'And you already know where to get gelato?'

'First thing I do in any city. Professional secret.'

'Ah yes, the biographer's handbook. Chapter One: locate ice cream immediately.'

'Chapter Two: never reveal your sources.' You turn left. 'Unless they're wearing a questionably large cap and hiding from their own voice.'

'Low blow.' But she's grinning. 'Also, my cap is perfectly sized.'

'For what? Smuggling library books?'

'That's... oddly specific.'

'Says the person who just quoted Walt Whitman in a cafe.'

You find the gelato place tucked between a bookstore and a vintage shop. The owner, an elderly Italian woman, lights up at your approach.

'Due?' she asks.

'Sì,' you reply, then turn to Karina. 'What's your poison?'

She studies the flavors intently. 'What's the most unusual one?'

'Professional or personal answer?'

'There's a difference?'

'Professional would be something elegant. Personal...' You point to a vivid blue flavor. 'That one tastes like your childhood imaginary friend made a pact with a Smurf.'

She doesn't hesitate. 'Two scoops of that, please.'

'Really?'

'What?' She raises an eyebrow. 'Scared of a little blue tongue?'

'More scared of what my editor will say when the interview notes are stained cerulean.'

Ten minutes later, you're both leaning against a stone wall, gelato dripping in the warm evening air. Her tongue is, indeed, impressively blue.

'Yah! Why are you taking a picture?”

'Your tongue. I need photographic evidence for my editor.'

She complains, ‘self-respecting people would’ve walked a long time ago.’

‘And let me guess-’

‘Correct. Take a picture if you want.’

'Pulitzer worthy.' You take another bite of your considerably more dignified pistachio. 'So tell me about the sharks.'

'You're still on that?'

'You brought up marine biology in a cafe and then mysteriously changed the subject. I'm invested now.'

'There's nothing mysterious about it.' She licks a drop of blue from her knuckle. 'I just think they're neat.'

'That's the worst deflection yet.'

'Fine.' She pushes off the wall, starting to walk. 'When I was younger, I used to think they were lonely.'

You fall into step beside her. 'Sharks?'

'Mm. Always swimming, never stopping. Everyone afraid of them.' She shrugs. 'Stupid kid logic.'

'And now?'

'Now I think they're just... misunderstood.' She grins. 'That was terrible, wasn't it? Like a bad movie line.'

'Terrible. But honest.'

'You and your honesty fetish.'

'Says the person who just admitted to emotionally relating to sharks.'

She snorts, nearly dropping her cone. 'When you put it that way—'

'Oh, I'm definitely putting it that way. It's going in the book.'

'Absolutely not.'

'Chapter title: "The Shark Whisperer”. I can see it already'

She tries to hip-check you, but you dodge, protecting your gelato. 'I'm revoking your creative license.'

'Too late. The mental image of baby Jimin crying over shark documentaries is seared into my brain.'

'I did not cry over—' She stops. 'Okay, maybe once. But it was a very sad documentary.' [1]

The sun is setting now, painting the cobblestones gold. You pass a street musician playing something soft and acoustic.

'Your sister know about the sharks?'

'Of course. She bought me the books.' Her smile turns fond. 'Still does, actually. Sends them to me randomly.'

'Recent ones?'

'Last week.' She finishes her cone. 'She has... interesting timing.'

'Interesting timing?'

'Mm.' She wipes her hands on a napkin. 'Right after I told her about the interview. She sent me one about great whites. Said something about facing fears.'

'Subtle.'

'About as subtle as your interview techniques.' She eyes your notebook, still tucked away. 'Not writing anymore?'

'Memory's better when I'm walking.' You tap your temple. 'Also, harder to write about blue tongues while walking.'

'Still blue?'

'Devastatingly so.'

She sticks her tongue out at a passing window, checking her reflection. 'Oh god, it's worse than I thought.'

'Crisis?'

'Please. I once had to perform with my hair half-green because of a dye mishap. This?' She gestures to her mouth. 'This is nothing.'

'Half-green?'

'Not going in the book.'

'Already mentally drafting the chapter.'

She groans. 'I'm starting to regret this whole walking thing.'

'Because of the blackmail material or the exercise?'

'Both. Neither.' She pauses by a small fountain. 'It's just... nice.'

'Nice?'

'Yeah.' She sits on the fountain's edge. 'No schedule. No plan. Just... walking and talking and eating questionably colored gelato with a stranger who probably thinks I'm having a quarter-life crisis.'

'Are you?'

'Having a crisis or eating gelato?'

'Now who's deflecting?'

And she pauses again, caught.

She dips her fingers in the fountain water, watching the ripples. 'Maybe I just wanted one normal evening. One conversation that wasn't prepackaged and pre-approved.'

'Mission accomplished, I'd say. Your tongue is literally blue.'

That startles a laugh out of her. 'You're never letting that go, are you?'

'It's going to be a running metaphor throughout the book. Deep, meaningful parallels between blue gelato and the human condition.'

'You're terrible at your job.'

'I'm excellent at my job. I got you to walk around Rome with blue teeth.'

'Is that the measure of success?'

'For this chapter? Absolutely.'

The street lamps are starting to flicker on, and the air has that peculiar Roman evening warmth that begs for a drink.

'Know any good bars?' she asks, as if reading your mind.

'Thought you'd never ask[2]. Fair warning though—my Italian's terrible.'

'Better or worse than your interview skills?'

'Much worse. But I can order Aperol Spritz in seventeen different ways.'

'Useful life skill.'

'More useful than relating to sharks.'

She shoves your shoulder lightly. 'One more shark joke and I'm leaving.'

'No, you're not.'

'No, I'm not.' She grins. 'Lead the way, worst Italian speaker.'

You find a tiny place tucked away from the main streets. The kind tourists don't know about, with mismatched chairs and a bartender who looks old enough to have served Caesar himself.

'Due aperol spritz, per favore.' You ask.

The bartender raises an eyebrow. 'Americano? Il tuo italiano è buono!' (your Italian was… apparently… good.)

'Peggio,' you say. 'Giornalista'

(‘Worse. Journalist.’)

He laughs, already reaching for glasses. Karina slides onto a barstool, looking around with genuine curiosity.

‘He seems pretty impressed by your Italian.’

‘Oh trust me—he wasn’t. He just wanted to be nice. That’s all. The inflections are quite easy to catch.’

‘Alright, whatever you say. Giornalista—.'

You grin at her cute prod.

'How'd you find this place?' She asks; needless to say, she likes it here.

'Got lost my first night here––five years ago. It was either come in or keep pretending I knew where my hotel was.'

'And?'

'Woke up knowing exactly where my hotel was. And how to say "I'm sorry" in Italian.'

She laughs. 'That bad?'

'Let's just say there's a reason I stick to green tea now.'

The drinks arrive, vivid orange against the dark wood of the bar.

'To blue tongues,' you raise your glass.

'And bad Italian,' she clinks hers against it.

—

[1] The documentary in question was "Blue Planet II." Her sister still has the receipt for three boxes of tissues and a plush shark from the aquarium gift shop. The plush shark now sits in her studio, wearing a tiny version of her debut outfit. Her company has tried to mass-produce it twice. She's vetoed it both times.

[2] You were never this humble about your Italian until you talked to an Italian nonna. "Qui giace la dignità di un giornalista" (Here lies a journalist's dignity).

—

'Speaking of bad decisions—'

'We weren't.'

'We are now. Tell me about the green hair incident.'

'Absolutely not.' She takes another sip of her spritz. 'Some secrets I'm taking to my grave.'

'Come on. Half-green hair? There's got to be a story there.'

'There is. A great one. You're still not hearing it.'

'I'll trade you.'

'Oh?' She turns on her stool to face you fully. 'What could you possibly have that's worth my green hair story?'

'Remember when I said I learned to say sorry in Italian?'

'The plot thickens.'

'Let's just say it involved a fountain, three angry nuns, and a very patient carabinieri.'

She nearly chokes on her drink. 'You're making that up.'

'Want to bet your green hair story on it?'

'You know what?' She signals the bartender for another round. 'Fine. But if you're lying, you're buying drinks for the rest of the night.'

'Deal.'

'And no taking notes.'

'Now that's just cruel.'

'Professional hazard,' she mimics your earlier tone, then grins. 'Okay, storyteller. Dazzle me.'

The bartender sets down fresh drinks, and you lean in conspiratorially. 'So picture this: my first night in Rome, about five years ago...'

'Wait.' She holds up a hand. 'We need to establish stakes. If this story doesn't involve all three elements—fountain, nuns, and police—you're not only buying drinks, you're telling me where you actually learned to say sorry in Italian.'

'Counter-offer. If my story checks out, I get the green hair story plus whatever happened at that music show in Busan.'

Her eyes narrow. 'What music show in Busan?'

'The one you just reacted to.'

'That's... that's actually impressive.'

'Five years of professional nosiness at work. Deal?'

She clinks her glass against yours. 'Deal. Now stop stalling.'

'Right. So. Five years ago. I'd just finished an interview with this ancient countess at the bar. I mean, it’s the bar. Who else gets to interview a countess at a bar? That’s like crazy Bourdain-level shit right there.’

She nods along. 'Of course you did.'

'Anyway, she invited me to this wine cellar...'

'Oh no.'

'Oh yes. And mind you, I was already quite drunk. And she was very, very insistent about hospitality...'

Twenty minutes and much laughter later, you finish: '...and that's why you should never trust Google Translate to help you apologize to Italian law enforcement.'

She's wiping tears from her eyes. 'The part with the cat—'

'Hand to god. Still have the scars.'

'Okay.' She catches her breath. 'Okay, you win. That was worth it.'

'Time to pay up. Green hair. Spill.'

'Can I have one more drink first?'

'For courage?'

'So I can blame it on the drink.' She waves at the bartender. 'I still can't believe you showed those nuns your interview notes to prove you weren't a street performer.'

'Desperate times.'

'Speaking of desperate...' She takes a fortifying sip of her fresh spritz. 'Ever tried to fix green hair with grape juice?'

'No.'

'Don't.'

'There has to be more to this story than grape juice.'

'Oh, there's so much more.' She settles into her seat. 'Picture this: it's two hours before a live broadcast. I'm sitting in the makeup chair, feeling pretty good about life. You know, like that particular moment where your face just… shines. Then my stylist walks in, takes one look at my hair, and just... screams.'

'Screams?'

'Full horror movie scream. Turns out the hair dye we used was... let's say "not exactly approved by management."'

'Let me guess. DIY job?'

'Worse. My sister's friend's cousin who "totally went to beauty school."'

'Oh no.' You snort, taking a hefty drink of the remaining spritz.

'Oh yes. So there I am, one side of my head this bizarre shade of swamp-thing green, and everyone's running around like it's the end of the world.'

'Which is when someone suggested grape juice?'

'Actually, that was my idea.' She grimaces. 'I'd read somewhere that grape juice could neutralize green tones. What they failed to mention was that this works for swimming pools, not hair.' [1]

'So what happened?'

'Picture a very expensive wig, three cans of dry shampoo, and me trying to explain to the camera director why I couldn't turn my head to the left.'

'Did it work?'

'Define "work."' She takes another sip. 'If by "work" you mean "did I make it through the broadcast without anyone seeing the grape-juice-tinged disaster," then yes. If by "work" you mean "did I maintain any dignity," then absolutely not.'

'The fans never found out?'

'Oh, they did. Someone leaked a backstage photo three months later.' She grins. 'By then I'd managed to fix it. Mostly.'

'Mostly?'

'My sister still has a strand of green hair she saved. Threatens to post it whenever I don't answer her calls.'

'Effective.'

'Terrifying.' She raises her glass. 'Your turn again. What's the worst interview you've ever done?'

'Besides this one?'

She kicks your chair. 'I'm delightful and you know it.'

'You're something, all right.'

Three drinks in, and the bar's emptied enough that her laugh echoes a little too loudly. She covers her mouth, but it's too late – the old bartender shoots them an amused look.

'Sorry,' she stage-whispers.

'For what? The laugh or the fact that it just shattered three ancient Roman wine glasses?'

'Shut up.' She kicks your chair again. 'I don't always laugh like that.'

'Let me guess – there's a public laugh and a private laugh?'

'There's a whole taxonomy.' She sits up straighter, counting on her fingers. 'Interview laugh, variety show laugh, fan meeting laugh, oh-that's-not-actually-funny-but-you're-my-sunbae laugh—'

'Please tell me you're joking.'

'I wish.' She slumps forward, head on her arms. 'I once had to attend a laughing seminar.'

'A what now?'

'A laughing seminar. Professional instruction on the art of the public giggle.' Her voice is muffled against her sleeve. 'There was a PowerPoint and everything.'

'You're making this up.'

She lifts her head. 'I spent three hours learning about laugh-adjacent breathing techniques while a woman named Mrs. Kim hit a triangle every time someone laughed "inappropriately."'

You stare at her. She stares back.

'That's the most horrifying thing I've ever heard,' you say finally.

'I know.' She dissolves into another too-loud laugh, this one definitely not seminar-approved. 'God, I can still hear that triangle.'

'Is that why you're here?'

'Getting drunk with a biographer in Rome? No, that's just poor life choices.'

'Speaking honest truths to a stranger?'

'Oh.' She straightens up, but there's still something loose in her smile. 'Maybe. Or maybe I just really needed to tell someone about Mrs. Kim and her triangle of terror.'

'Triangle of terror.' You shake your head. 'That's going in the book.'

'Along with the blue tongue and green hair? You're really painting a picture here.'

'It's called character development.'

'It's called character assassination.' She signals for water. 'What else are you putting in there?'

'Wouldn't you like to know.'

'Actually, yes. That's literally why I'm asking.'

'Fine.' You pretend to flip through your mental notes. 'Chapter One: Sharks and Empathy—'

'Oh my god.'

'Chapter Two: The Grape Juice Incident—'

'I'm starting to regret everything.'

'Chapter Three: Laugh Taxonomies by Aespa’s Karina—'

'I hate you.'

'Chapter Four: Why Romans Don't Trust Her With Fountains Anymore—'

'That was you! That was literally your story!'

'Was it? Everything's getting a bit fuzzy.' You tap your temple. 'Must be all that professional memory I was bragging about earlier.'

She throws an olive at you. The bartender clears his throat.

'Sorry,' you both say in unison, then look at each other and start laughing again.

'You know what's really funny?' she says, once you've both contained yourselves.

'Mrs. Kim's triangle?'

'Besides that.' She accepts the water from the bartender. 'This is probably the worst interview you've ever done.'

'Oh, definitely.'

'And yet...'

'And yet?'

'It's the most honest one I've given.' She pauses. 'God, that sounded way less cheesy in my head. Must be the spritz talking.'

'Blame it on the altitude.'

'We're at sea level.'

'Blame it on the sea level.'

'You're ridiculous.' She's grinning though. 'Is this how all your interviews go?'

'Usually there's less gelato. More gravitas.'

'Gravitas is overrated.'

'Says the woman who attended a laughing seminar.'

'Hey, I'll have you know my triangle-approved giggle is very dignified.'

'Prove it.'

She sits up straighter, arranges her features into something serene, and lets out the most artificial laugh you've ever heard. It's so pristine it's almost disturbing.

'That was horrifying.'

'That was three hours of professional training.'

'I'm concerned about your profession.'

'Join the club.' She relaxes back into her natural posture. 'We have meetings every Tuesday. Bring your own triangle.'

The bartender slides over the check with a knowing look. Last call came and went without either of you noticing.

'Well,' you say, reaching for your wallet. 'I suppose this is—'

'Wait.' She puts her hand on your arm. 'I have a confession.'

'Another one? The green hair wasn't enough?'

'I read your book.'

'Which one?'

'The one about the ballet dancer who quit to become a motorcycle mechanic.'

'Ah.' You sit back. 'And?'

'And I maybe, possibly, completely changed my mind about this whole interview when I read it.'

'Because?'

'Because...' She fidgets with her empty glass. 'You made her sound so... human.'

'As opposed to?'

'A story. A headline.' She traces a pattern on the bar top. 'Most people would've written about the scandal, the career she "threw away." But you wrote about how she names each motorcycle she fixes. How she still dances in her garage at midnight.'

'Ah. That.'

'That.' She looks up. 'Is that why you haven't asked me about any of it?'

'Any of what?'

'Don't play dumb. The headlines. The speculation. The—'

'The triangle-approved responses you've probably rehearsed?'

She laughs, caught. 'Something like that.'

'Here's the thing about headlines.' You start gathering your things. 'They're usually more interesting than the truth.'

'And what's the truth?'

'That sometimes people just want to eat blue gelato and tell embarrassing stories in a bar and talk a biographer’s ears off.'

She kicks your chair again, barely noticeable. 'Even if those stories end up in a book?'

'Especially then.' You stand, offering her jacket. 'Though I might need you to sign a waiver about the grape juice incident.'

'I knew it! You are using it!'

'Chapter title: "The Perils of Amateur Chemistry: A Cautionary Tale."'

She shrugs on her jacket, shaking her head. 'You're impossible. That AI flair was so intentional'

'Says the woman who legitimately attended a laughing seminar.'

'I'm never living that down, am I?'

'Not as long as I have a functioning memory and a publishing contract.'

The Roman night is warm as you both step out of the bar. She stumbles slightly on the cobblestones.

You offer a hand which she quickly grabs.

'Don't you dare put that in the book,' she warns.

'Put what? The graceful interpretation of contemporary dance you just performed?'

'These streets are rigged.' She steadies herself. 'Also, your hotel's this way.'

'How do you know where my hotel is?' You’re not exactly one to remember locations, probably the reason you were able to gain such a repository of ridiculous stories.

'Because it's my hotel.' She grins at your expression. 'What? You think you're the only one who does research?'

'I'm concerned about your stalking tendencies.'

'Says the person who somehow knew about the Busan incident.'

'Professional hazard.'

'You really need new catchphrases.'

The walk is quiet, comfortable. Rome at night feels like a different city—all golden lights and shadow play. A cat watches you pass from its perch on a window sill.

'Don't even think about it,' she says.

'About what?'

'Making some poetic comparison between me and that cat.'

'Please. I'm a much better writer than that.'

'Sure you are, shark whisperer.'

You reach the hotel entrance. She pauses.

'Well,' she says. 'This has been...'

'Professionally catastrophic?'

'I was going to say enlightening.'

'That too.'

The hotel lobby is all marble and soft lighting. Your footsteps echo slightly.

'I have a balcony,' she says suddenly. 'And a really pretentious coffee machine I can't figure out.'

'Is this a cry for help with appliances?'

'This is...' She fidgets with her room key. 'This is me not wanting the interview to end yet.'

'The interview ended somewhere between blue gelato and the triangle story.'

'Then what's this?'

‘Believe or not, some people just like having fun on their Italian vacation.’

‘Haha. Very funny.’

'This is...' You pretend to consider. 'Two people who might be friends if one of them wasn't writing a book about the other.'

'Complicated.'

'Professional hazard.'

'There's that phrase again.' She presses the elevator button. 'Come on. I'll teach you how to laugh properly.'

'With or without the triangle?'

She steps into the elevator. 'Depends on how good you are at making coffee.'

'Now who's the impossible one?'

The doors start to close. She holds them.

'Coming?'

You join her in the elevator. 'For the record, I'm excellent at coffee.'

'For the record,' she mimics your tone, 'that's going in the book.'

Her room is on the top floor, with a view that makes you understand why people write poetry about Rome.

'So,' she says, fighting with the coffee machine. 'This button makes it angry, and this one makes it hiss.'

'Move over, amateur.' You reach around her to press a combination of buttons. The machine purrs to life.

'Show off.' But she's smiling as she heads for the balcony. 'Bring your coffee wizardry out here when it's ready.'

The balcony is small, just enough room for two chairs and all of Rome spread out below. She's curled up in one chair, shoes off, looking more real than she has all day.

'Your professional opinion,' she says as you hand her a cup. 'Is this going to be a good book?'

'Depends.'

'On?'

'On whether you let me keep the shark metaphors.'

She laughs into her coffee. 'You're never letting that go.'

'Never.' You take the other chair. 'Though I might be willing to negotiate.'

'Terms?'

'Tell me something nobody knows. Something that won't make the book.'

She's quiet for a moment, looking out at the city lights. 'I sing in the shower.'

'Everybody knows that.'

'No, I mean...' She turns to face you. 'I sing the old songs. The ones I used to practice when I was just some kid in Bundang with a dream too big for my voice.'

'And?'

'And sometimes I still feel like her. That kid. Especially at night, in foreign hotels, when the city feels like it belongs to someone else.'

'Especially at night, in foreign hotels, when the city feels like it belongs to someone else.'

'Wow.' You let out a low whistle. 'That was incredibly profound.'

She groans, covering her face. 'I know. I'm sorry. That was straight out of a drama script.'

'I was thinking more indie movie. You know, the kind where people have deep conversations on balconies in Rome at—' you check your watch, '—one in the morning.'

'Oh god, we're living a cliché.'

'Complete with coffee and two chairs overlooking Rome.'

'Quick,' she straightens up, 'say something unprofound. Save us from ourselves.'

'My tongue is still kind of blue.'

She peeks at you over her coffee cup. 'Mine too.'

'Better?'

'Much better.' She slouches back in her chair. 'Though now I'm thinking about how this would look in your book. "Two idiots with blue tongues have existential crisis on expensive balcony."'

'Don't forget the part where one of them somehow charmed a coffee machine.'

'And the other one used to sing in her shower.'

'Still,' you correct. 'Present tense.'

'Still,' she admits. 'But if you put that in your book, I'll have to tell everyone about your fountain incident.'

'Mutually assured destruction. I like it.'

She yawns, then looks embarrassed. 'Sorry. It's not the company, it's—'

'The five Aperol Spritzes?'

'That. And the emotional toll of remembering Mrs. Kim's triangle.'

'Tragic backstory,' you nod solemnly. 'Very character-building.'

'Speaking of character-building...' She sets down her empty cup, turns to face you fully. 'This is usually the part in your books where something significant happens.'

'Is it?'

'Mm. Chapter twelve. Always a turning point.'

'You really did read my books.'

'I told you that already.' She's closer now, somehow. 'What I didn't mention was that I figured out your pattern.'

'My pattern?'

'The way you write moments like this.' Her voice is soft. 'When everything gets quiet, and the city's just background noise, and someone's about to do something...'

'Inadvisable?'

'I was going to say brave.'

'Brave is just inadvisable with better PR.'

She laughs, barely a whisper. 'You're deflecting again.'

'Professional—'

'If you say "hazard" right now,' she cuts in, 'I'm going to throw you off this balcony.'

'That would be...'

'Inadvisable?'

'I was going to say "terrible for my book sales."'

She's definitely closer now. 'Your book sales are about to be the least of your problems.'

'Because you're going to kiss me or throw me off the balcony?'

'I haven't decided yet.'

'Well,' you murmur, 'for what it's worth, one of those options would make a much better chapter twelve.'

She closes the distance between you, smiling against your lips. 'Professional hazard.'

You and Karina shared an instant spark that neither of you had experienced. Ever. The moment that first tease left your mouth, it was over.

—

[1] The sentiment of grape juice being able to eliminate green tones turned out to be completely unfounded. Despite this, wine sommeliers around the world have complained about Koreans with their distinct accent asking about grape juice’s ability to change colors.

—

The kiss tastes like coffee and Aperol and something sweet—probably the remnants of that ridiculous blue gelato. It's soft and quiet and perfect, the kind of moment that would sound made up in a book.

She pulls back slightly. 'Your editor's going to hate this.'

'Definitely.' You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. 'Completely unprofessional.'

'Thoroughly inadvisable.'

'Absolutely perfect for chapter twelve.'

She kisses you again, and Rome keeps existing below, indifferent to your small moment of magic. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell chimes twice.

'You know,' she whispers, 'this is usually where you'd write something profound about the city of love.'

'That's Paris.'

'Now who's deflecting?'

'Still you. But I'm starting not to mind.'

She laughs, soft and real—definitely not triangle-approved—and rests her forehead against yours, your breaths intermixing, plenty of intimate eye contact. 'Is this going in the book?'

'What do you think?'

'I think...' Her fingers find yours. 'I think some stories we get to keep for ourselves.'

'I think some stories we get to keep for ourselves.'

'Even after I charmed your coffee machine? That's cold.'

She makes a face. 'You're really bringing up coffee machine prowess right after—'

'Right after you thoroughly compromised my journalistic integrity? Yes.'

'Your journalistic integrity was compromised the moment you let me eat blue gelato.'

'My journalistic integrity was compromised the moment I saw you.' You run your thumb across her knuckles.

Her eye contact wavers and her voice falters, ‘Gosh, you’re such a player.’

‘Flirting has never come so easily before.’ You whisper against her mouth.

'Oh really?'

'Obviously.'

'Which was?'

'Stare at that blue tongue some more.’'

She shoves you lightly. 'You're terrible.'

'And yet.'

'And yet.' She settles on your lap, the forehead to forehead more natural now. 'So what happens now?'

'Well, traditionally, this is where I'd write something about dawn breaking over the eternal city—'

'Please don't.'

'—with golden light catching on ancient stones—'

'I'm begging you to stop.'

'—as two souls find each other under the Roman sky—'

She claps a hand over your mouth. 'I will literally pay you to not finish that sentence.'

You kiss her palm before she pulls it away. 'Isn't that technically bribery?'

'Add it to the list. Right after "compromised journalistic integrity" and "suspicious coffee machine expertise."'

'Speaking of compromising situations...' You glance at your watch. 'It's almost three AM.'

'Worried about your reputation?'

'Worried about your triangle-approved schedule.'

'Bold of you to assume I ever sleep.' She stands, stretching. 'Want to order terrible room service and you can tell me about all the other journalists you've scandalized?'

'That's a very short list. Very enticing regardless.’

'Good.' She holds out her hand.

The night air has turned cooler, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from somewhere below. Her fingers trace the collar of your shirt, hesitant but deliberate.

'What happened to room service?' you murmur.

'It can wait.' Her eyes meet yours, playful but wanting. 'I'm conducting my own interview first.'

This kiss is different from the first. Slower, more certain. The city hums below, a distant lullaby of late-night cars and echoing footsteps. When she sighs into the kiss, it's the softest sound you've ever heard. When she falters against your forceful touches, it’s the softest you’ve ever felt a woman.

She pulls back just enough to breathe, her forehead resting against yours. Her heartbeat is quick under your palm.

'Better than chapter twelve?' she whispers.

You catch her lips again in answer, feeling her smile. The wind stirs her hair, sending strands brushing against your cheek. Everything smells like jasmine and coffee and her perfume—something subtle and expensive that you'll probably spend the rest of your life over-romanticizing.

Because that’s what Karina deserves.

Rome stretches out endless and ancient around you, but all you can focus on is how perfectly she fits against you, how real she feels away from cameras and crowds.

Your lips find hers in the dark, soft and certain now. Her fingers trail up your neck, threading through your hair, pulling you closer. There's an art to the way she kisses—deliberate yet desperate, like she's trying to memorize the moment. Your hands settle at her waist, and she makes a small sound that you know you'll remember forever.

Her lips part against yours, deepening the kiss until you're both breathless. The balcony railing presses into your back—when did that happen?—and her body is warm against yours, fitting perfectly in all the spaces between.

Her teeth graze your bottom lip, teasing. You respond by trailing kisses along her jaw, feeling her pulse jump under your lips. When you find that sensitive spot just below her ear, her sharp intake of breath makes you smile against her skin.

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. Her lips are slightly swollen, her careful composure beautifully undone––hair spread everywhere, but just so that she looks ethereal rather than messy. You brush your thumb across her lower lip, and she catches it with her teeth, playful even now.

‘Still planning to put this in chapter twelve?’ she whispers, breathless.

Your answer gets lost somewhere between her lips and… her lips.

Her laugh vibrates against your lips when you finally break apart. ‘We should probably—’

‘Go inside?’ Your lips find the curve of her neck again.

‘I was going to say breathe.’ But her head tilts back, giving you better access. Her pulse flutters under your kiss like a trapped bird. ‘Though inside works too.’

You pull back just enough to look at her. Hair mussed, eyes bright, that perfect composure completely undone. She's never looked more beautiful than she does right now, with the city lights catching in her eyes and her professional smile nowhere to be found.

‘What?’ she asks, suddenly self-conscious.

‘Just thinking.’

‘About?’

‘How this definitely isn't going in the book.’

Her smile turns mischievous. ‘No?’ Her fingers trace patterns on your chest. ‘Not even a little mention of how you completely forgot about journalistic integrity the moment I—’

‘Then chapter 12 would entirely consist of me betraying my profession in order to catch your lips with my teeth.’

‘Wow. You’re bad. Like, real bad.’

‘You have no idea.’

You cut her off with another kiss, swallowing her laugh. Her hands slide up your chest, around your neck, pulling you impossibly closer. The world narrows to just this: her lips on yours, her body pressed against you, the soft sounds she makes when you run your fingers down her spine.

‘Inside,’ she murmurs against your mouth. ‘Before we really give Rome something to talk about.’

You let her lead you through the balcony doors, both of you stumbling slightly, unwilling to break contact. She tastes like promises now, like stories yet to be written. Her hands are everywhere—your hair, your chest, your face – like she's trying to read you by touch alone.

‘Wait,’ you manage, as her lips find that spot below your ear that makes thinking difficult. ‘What about—’

‘If you mention room service right now,’ she warns, ‘I'm going back to my original plan of throwing you off the balcony.’

‘I was going to say 'what about your triangle-approved image?'’

She pulls back, eyes dancing. ‘Oh, that?’ Her lips brush yours, teasing. ‘I think we thoroughly compromised that at the first meeting.’

"Professional hazard?"

"Shut up," she whispers, and kisses you again.

She sighs into your mouth, a soft, vulnerable sound that makes your heart stutter.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp, sending shivers down your spine. You walk her backward until she's pressed against the wall, her body arching into yours.

You trail kisses down her neck, learning her— the spot beneath her jaw that makes her gasp, the curve where neck meets shoulder that makes her fingers tighten in your hair. Her pulse races under your lips, a rapid drumbeat that matches your own. When you find a particularly sensitive spot, her sharp intake of breath is the sweetest sound you've ever heard.

She tugs you back up to her mouth, kissing you like she's trying to tell you something words can't capture. Her lips are soft but insistent, moving against yours with a rhythm that makes you dizzy. One of her legs hooks around yours, pulling you even closer, and you groan into her mouth.

Her hands frame your face now, thumbs stroking your cheeks as she kisses you deeper, slower, like she's trying to memorize every second. You respond in kind, pouring everything you can't say into the kiss—how beautiful she is like this, how real, how perfectly she fits against you.

When you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen. You rest your forehead against hers, sharing the same air, neither of you willing to move away.

"Still thinking about the book?" she murmurs, voice husky.

You answer by catching her lower lip between your teeth, gentle but playful, and feel her smile against your mouth.

Her smile against your mouth turns into a soft laugh. "I'll take that as a no."

‘Take it as whatever you want.’ Your lips find her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. ‘I stopped thinking about the book long ago.’

She hums contentedly, her fingers tracing patterns on the nape of your neck. ‘Good.’ Her other hand is still tangled in your shirt, keeping you close. ‘Because I have a confession.’

‘Another one?’

Instead of answering, she kisses you again, slow and deep. Her tongue traces your lower lip, and you respond by pressing her further into the wall, swallowing the small sound she makes. One of her legs is still hooked around yours, and when she shifts slightly, the new angle makes you both gasp.

‘That wasn't a confession,’ you murmur against her lips.

‘No?’ Her teeth graze your earlobe. ‘I thought I was being pretty clear.’

Your hands slide to her waist, steadying her. She's intoxicating like this, all careful control abandoned, her public persona nowhere to be found.

‘Jimin,’ you breathe, and feel her shiver at the sound of her real name.

Her response is to pull you closer, kissing you like she's trying to say everything without words. Her lips are soft but certain against yours, and you lose yourself in the feeling—the warmth of her body, the subtle scent of her perfume.

The city continues its nighttime symphony outside, but in here, the only sound is your shared breathing and the soft, desperate noises she makes when you find that sensitive spot on her neck again.

She pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. In the dim light, her gaze is soft, unguarded. Her thumb traces your lower lip.

‘What?’ you ask, voice rough.

‘I'm trying to decide something.’

"Whether to throw me off the balcony? Because I thought we moved past—"

She cuts you off with another kiss. Her hands cup your face, holding you there as she explores your mouth with a thoroughness that makes you dizzy. You respond by feeling her firm and perky ass.

‘No—,’ she moans when you break apart for air. ‘I'm trying to decide if this is real.’

Instead of answering, you trail kisses down her neck, feeling her pulse jump under your lips. Her head falls back against the wall, giving you better access. When you reach her collarbone, she makes a sound that's half-sigh, half-moan.

‘Feels real enough,’ you murmur against her skin.

Her laugh is breathy, unsteady. ‘I meant—’ She gasps as you find a particularly sensitive spot. ‘I meant this. Us. This whole night.’

You lift your head to look at her. Her lips are swollen from kissing, her carefully styled hair a mess from your fingers. She's never looked more beautiful.

‘If you think I did all of this for the fun of it, you’re clearly missing something.’

‘A gear in the head?’

‘Definitely—’

‘Gosh, how do I allow this sort of petulance?’

‘Because it’s me.’

‘You’re a player.’

‘Only for you.’ You catch her lips, even more wanting—and she forfeits it all.

You pick her up, mussing up her perfect outfit, mussing up her perfect lips. And you finally throw her against the bed.

‘You’re really roughing up Prada’s global ambassador.’

‘And ambassador to a dozen other brands worth billions—couldn’t care less.’’

She smirks, and her arms open, waiting, pliant, obedient.

You rip off your buttoned shirt, tear off your pants; now, there’s truly no way of going back.

‘Wow. That scar is a lot larger than I imagined.’ She’s referring back to the scar that you received during that drunk haze of a night.

‘It was dark. Might’ve even been a lion.’

‘Mm. Heroic. Come here.’

Now, who could ever resist that?

You rip off her clothes, each layer even more decadent than the other. And then, she was there. bra barely containing her breasts, and a layer of dampness along her sexy panties.

‘That was expensive, by the way.’

‘I’ve got a payment plan on course.’

‘Mm. Enlighten me.’

You pull her panties to the side.

She’s dripping wet, nectar spooling right on her pink core. A glorious sheen that makes you stare far longer than you should’ve. She’s red-faced at this point, and her forearms cover most of her sight, and yet, she doesn’t move, doesn’t retreat.

The first lick you place, just a brush against her engorged clit, crumbles every self-regulated triangle-approved behavior she has. Two pants turn fifty, one lick crumbles everything. Her hips coax you in ways gymnasts can’t even replicate, and of course, you oblige.

Soft licks, teases around her outer lips, swollen from all the anticipation and arousal; tonguing at her inner lips, just at the crux of her clit, gets her screaming in ways her deep voice would never register; and above all, she’s orgasming, squirting, losing every pretense in favor of her built up lust.

‘Oh~fuck—’

Her fingers find purchase in your hair, and she softly pulls you in—rides your face like it was all that she ever desired: her eternal wish.

‘Ohmygod! Imcumming!’ Her voice turns mousy, and her pupils go back in pure pleasure, coupled with hip movements thought impossible: this was the greatest pleasure of her life.

You grab her chin, squeeze softly, her cheeks molding to your grasp, and you press a soft kiss right on her kiss-bruised lips. You let her taste herself on your tongue.

‘Good. Right?’

And she nods. A complete personality switch from the playfulness she displayed earlier. Delicate.

Her hands land on your boxers as she melted into your kiss. Once you felt her palm your cock, you groaned right in her ear. She starts softly, stroking. But her strokes grow more all-encompassing as you press harder into the kiss.

‘Fuck. You’re so good for me.’

She mewls back, on the gradient slide of unadulterated pleasure.

Softly, you release your shaft from the boxer. And you press your cock right on her core. Feeling the wet heat, the sticky nectar that pooled to a mindbreaking degree.

‘It goes without saying.’

‘That I’m head over heels for you?’

You grin, ‘Well, that too, but you’re hopeless.’

‘Maybe if we weren’t so compatible.’

You grab a breast, palming it, ‘Well that, that too, goes without saying.’

She smiles, so warmly, every trace of everything else melted off her face––the sort of smile you’d never forget, and the sort of smile you’d want to wake up to… forever.

Finally, you press into her, and her wet heat envelops you, enough to make you groan, enough to make her moan like there’s no greater pleasure––because really, there’s nothing else.

Her pussy clings onto you, a wet suction that is immeasurably soft and yet, a vacuum-seal-like tightness that gets you groaning after every thrust.

Her arms cling to you, and her eyebrows knit, her small face full of emotion—all of it processing how good you fuck her.

‘Oh god. Would it be bad that I want you to declare to the world that you own me?”

‘Chapter 12—’

She cuts you off, ‘Something along the lines of: “Chapter 12: Karina is my fuckslut”’

‘I don’t tolerate Karina disrespect.’ You say, truthfully.

‘Even if it’s by myself?’

‘Especially for that case, sweetheart.’

‘Oh… you’re too good.’

‘You’re blind.’

Most popular idol in the world, and… she’s hopelessly down bad for you.

‘If I’m blind. Then you don’t have eyes—complete darkness.’

‘We’re two of the same.’

‘I’m your biggest fan.’

‘We’re two of the same.’

‘I love you.’

‘You have a way with words, Karina.’ You reply, pressing soft kisses along her jaw, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, thrusting into her harder, sharing breaths.

‘You’ve inspired me.’

And you lock lips with her, the thrusts were becoming a blur, and her moans music to your ears—it was all just… heaven.

There was no technique. Nothing too purposeful. It was all just pure affection, pure love guiding all your actions. And the fact that she’s cumming again was no coincidence.

‘Oh. My. Fucking. God!’ Her head goes back deep into the pillow and you follow suit. Pressing soft kisses that covered every square centimeter of her beauty, kisses that made her giggle even in her most orgasmic moment of her life.

‘If I knew anything that felt like this… I’d be doing it constantly.’

‘Well—’

‘That’s right,’ Karina gives a soft peck, ‘I have you now.’

You could feel her heartbeat, her skin precipitate, and her cunt pulse—it’s just heaven at this point.

‘Are you trying to convince me to follow you?’

‘2 years, finest in New York.’

‘Deal. Though you overbid a little.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Means anything you want, dear.’

The soft slick of her cunt made it nearly frictionless, just pure pleasure for both parties. Her hips gave way every time, an identity of its own, retreating when you thrust too hard, giving in when softer.’

‘Is this like a sugar mommy situation?’

‘Two words I never expected you to say.’ You both share a laugh.

‘I mean that’s what it is right?’

‘A power imbalance? Please. I can get you to buy a New York penthouse for me at this point.’

‘Well. You’re right. But—’

You bring your cock to the hilt inside of her, whilst stealing her lips for a deep kiss. She moans and mewls and gasps—music to your ears. You change positions. You bring her legs to your shoulders, and you begin kissing along her ankle while thrusting inside of her.

This time, you can see the full view. How her breasts bounce against the thrusts, how her slick has completely covered your entire length at this point, and how beautifully her face is framed between it all.

Her mouth’s agape, moaning, giggling intermittently with the jokes shared through eye contact. You bite softly at her ankle then down her legs, to her calves, then releasing her legs altogether to kiss her again.

She fits perfectly against you, small and delicate but the perfect puzzle piece under you. She’s absorbent, aware of your needs, placing soft kisses along the ridges of your eyebrows, rubbing away the day’s fatigue along your jaw and temple.

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

‘I didn’t hear.’

You press against her, feeling her breasts spool against your chest, bring your thrust to the hilt, the wetness of her loins pressed against yours, all of them vividly apparent. ‘I love your beauty. I love your humor. I love how clever you are. I love how authentic you are. And I could continue on and on but I’m about to cum.’

Karina sniffled, ‘God, I was about to cry and then you say that.’ She softly smacks your shoulder, ‘just cum inside me and let’s cuddle.’

You oblige, the thrusts turn into a haze of pure pleasure, a desperate moment chasing the local maxima, and finally, you burst inside of her. Cum spooled, all inside her, and she moaned so gracefully, staring at you with all the affection in the world.

‘We can worry about this tomorrow.’ She palmed your jaw.

‘Of course.’ You fall onto her, cuddling her.

Both of you are a mess, gross, bodily fluid spread everywhere, and yet, the both of you fell into a deep slumber.

A/N: I'd like to apologize for switching up styles so much (But if you enjoyed this dialogue-heavy work, then lmk!)

#smut #kpop smut #fanfic #male reader #kpop #aespa #aespa smut #karina smut #aespa karina

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satzumosupremacy · 2 days ago

Text

Ignite The Spark II

Male reader x Kazuha

Tags: Smut 4.5k Words

Part 1

What truly matters is that your home carries deeper meaning. You wouldn’t settle for anything less when the empty chair across from the dining table belongs to Kazuha, or when you go to sleep and wake up together every day.

A smile crosses your face as you step into the apartment. Your gaze is drawn to the hoya kerrii plant, with its iconic heart-shaped leaves perfectly placed by the window. It wasn’t something you initially wanted in the home, but you didn’t see the point in having a small, silly argument over a plant. She thinks it’s a romantic addition to the space, and, over time, you’ve somehow grown fond of it.

“Zuha,” you say, walking through the short hallway into the bedroom and smelling her shampoo in the air.

“Hey, you’re home!” she smiles.

“What do you think of the dresser? It was the one you wanted.”

“It’s amazing,” she says and comfortably takes off her towel that’s wrapped around her body to set it on the rack. Kazuha smirks mischievously, and you seem to have an idea about she’s thinking. Super obvious enough.

“I sent my friend home after they helped out with this dresser.”

“You didn’t tell them how we broke the old one right?” she says, her voice carrying a teasing smirk as she brushes her fingertips across the dresser.

“No, Babe, why would I?” you softly say.

What really happened to the old one? Well, you bent her over, got a little bit too rough, and one of the legs unexpectedly snapped at the bolts. The truth is, the dresser was old, and the materials had seen better days—it wasn’t going to last much longer anyway. Consider it the perfect excuse to upgrade to a much sturdier one.

“Maybe the first thing we can do is test the quality of this dresser. How about that?”

“Zuha,” you say, chuckling, because you couldn’t say no, because she’s already naked. What can you really do about it as she leans on the dresser with her hands behind her back, just waiting for you?

“Naughty boy," she says, beckoning you to come closer, and so easily, you do. Kazuha places her hands on your chest while you grab the sides of her hips, gently massaging her as you stare right into her eyes. “Thanks for building it, babe.”

“I swear, if this one somehow breaks, you’re buying the next one and building it yourself,” you chuckle, sarcastically teasing her.

“That’s not fair,” she utters. You love how she looks insanely hot with her hair damped. And just that fresh smell of her out the shower makes you impulsively want to fuck her. You gulp, and she looks directly into your eyes, “what are you waiting for, Babe?”

“You’re making me nervous. Okay?”

“Oh, shut up,” she chuckles, leaning in for a quick kiss on your lips. You lift Kazuha up and set her down on the cold surface of the dresser as she chuckles again. “You know this will be put to good use, right?”

“Mhm, I know. But dressers aren’t made for what we intend to do.”

“So what? Who’s stopping us?” Kazuha mischievously chuckles, and she looks so hot that it’s starting to be a problem. A good one.

“What’s with you today?” You didn’t mean to be rude, but those eyes of hers are so seductive that it’s becoming a problem. Again.

By all means, she’s both a problem and a solution. You're always torn between wanting some fun and taking things seriously, caught in the pull of her charm and the chaos she stirs.

“Were you waiting for this moment too?”

Honestly, and quite literally, you did. You knew Kazuha was on her way home after you dropped off your friend, so instead of admitting it, you decide to tease her for fun. “Maybe. Maybe not.'"

“I hate you,” she murmurs, her lips curling into a mischievous smile.

“I love you,” you say, leaning in to give her a quick peck on the lips.

Kazuha pulls back just as quickly after getting a kiss, “fuck me like you mean it then,” she starts to roll up your shirt.

You chuckle, “oh, is this how it’s going to go?”

“C’mon, fuck me, Babe. What’s stopping you? I need your attention fully on me today.” If she say so, and if she’s pulling onto your shirt to come off, you might as well fuck her right on the dresser. Kazuha throws your shirt across the room as it lands on the lamp near the bed and pulls you in to meet her lips, kissing and breathing heavily. “Baby, do you even realize that you’re hard? I know you never get enough.” Maybe Kazuha got you right there. It’s not your fault when she’s naked in front of you with her legs spread open, skin so pure and soft to the touch.

“Take off my—” you say, and you didn’t have to tell her, she’s already pulling your pants down as it drop to the floor. You had no idea when she unzipped your pants.

“Too slow,” she seductively chuckles. You can feel her hand grabbing your cock. It’s always the best feeling when her soft-small hands are all over your it, like she owns it. Your breath becomes heavy and sees her spitting onto her hand to lubricate your cock.

“Push it in,” she whispers with the tip of your cock inches away from entry.

“We’re moving way too fast,” you utter, which, honestly, you’re just worried for her. Having sex was her was planned, but you didn’t think she would rush it.

“Just put it in, Babe,” she spreads her legs wider, demanding for you to get all up inside her.

“Fine, if you say so,” and you gently drove your cock inside, slow enough to get her to moan, deepest you can go in her slick pussy. And little did you know, the shower head did come in handy as a toy for her while you were gone. You hear her shallow gasps and moans. It’s nothing new, but it’s satisfying to hear her gorgeous voice whenever you’re inside her. It’s brings you joy, especially when her legs tense up as she tries to sit still on the new dresser.

You feel her arms getting tighter on the sides of your stomach, and the way Kazuha’s nails digs into your back as you kept thrusting back and forth into her pussy. There’s no need for words, you know she’s loving it, and you’re loving it, arguably more than her.

“Harder,” Kazuha moans out, trying to catch her breaths. She rests her chin on your left shoulder, and just to seduce you more, she whispers in the most erotic voice ever, “fuck me harder, Babe.”

She’s making you go insane. Your mind isn’t where it was. This woman, actually, your girlfriend knows how to push your buttons after all the naked times together. And you will fuck her as much as you mean to love her.

“Fuck,” you groan, and you’re slowly finding the sweet spot to set the pace. She’ll be taking every inch, and every drop of cum that she didn’t get today.

“Babe,” she grunts, “oh gosh—.”

“Take it,” you growl, so aroused by the way how she’s moaning right in your ear.

The dresser rocks back and forth. There’s nothing in it. It was just built hours ago, and somehow, fucking her is the first thing you do on the dresser. And while she’s moans so beautifully, her arms cling to you desperately, one wrapping around you after the other, as she struggles to get a firm grip. Kazuha can’t even get a word out her mouth. You’re so deep inside, penetrating through her slick walls.

“Zuha,” you groan and gasp, hugging her in your warm embrace, slowing down to catch your breath while hearing hers.

“Keep going, I want it,” Kazuha murmurs softly into your ear, her breath sending a tingling sensation across your skin, like the brush of a gentle breeze. “Love me. Have me. Cum in me, like you always do.”

Her words make you smile, the curve of your lips pressing gently against her neck. She can feel the warmth of your cheekbones against her skin, and though you can’t bring yourself to respond with words, the smile speaks for itself. It’s an answer more honest than anything you could say.

You breathe on her neck, and slowly, again, driving your cock in and out Kazuha for a feeling of ecstasy as she arches back and her head leans against the wall from how deep you’re inside her. She grips right onto your broad shoulders, squeezing them in rhyme with your thrust. Her gaze is filled with love and passion, pulling you deeper into the endless depths of her ocean eyes. It’s as if time has ceased to exist, leaving just the two of you in this perfect moment while the rest of the world fades away. The room feels smaller, and the silence between both of you fill with unspoken emotions. Despite the weight of it all, you feel an irresistible pull, a need to keep going, no matter how difficult it is to not cum.

You’re so into the moment as Kazuha moans her feelings out with no one to judge, and so was the look she gave you—intense, tender, and entirely unforgettable. It was something special, something that's only meant for you, carrying a depth of emotion that words could never capture. Kazuha can feel your cock throbbing, and again, you’re not stopping. It’s not an option.

“Baby,” she whimpers and gripping into your shoulders harder as she lets out a chorus of endless moans. You feel her squirming around, legs tightly wrapped around your back, cumming.

“Kazuha,” you groan, feeling the tightness of her walls not letting you go. And you kiss the underside of her jaws as she catches her breath to offer you some help with her legs on your back. It’s not looking good for you at the very least, you’re bound to cum any second by how deep she’s pulling you in harder with all her might. “Zuha,” you grunted, like it’s a last chance of her top stop and continue for longer.

She’s not stopping as you take a deep breath, knowing that you couldn’t go any further.

And so, you cum as Kazuha leans back up to hug you in her warm-loving embrace. Nothing feels better than being in her arms. That warm, fuzzy feeling of her heartbeat syncing with yours creates a comfort, as if the world melts away while your cock throbs to fill her womb.

“Kazuha,” you say again, softly whispering, yet gasping with a heavy breath. And if only you can see how she’s smiling behind your back. “We could have went longer.”

“I really wanted it,” she chuckles and hugs you in tighter. "I'm sorry."

“By the way,” you say, catching your breath, “the quality of this dresser is amazing. For now.”

“The reviews were right, at least not for what we just did. It did rock back and forth a little bit though.”

“Babe, that’s because there’s nothing inside,” you chuckle, being witty enough that she chuckles from such an obvious reasoning. There’s no response from Kazuha, other than her chuckle as the two of you hold each other while your souls are intertwined. Outside, the birds chirp, and the distant honking of cars drifts up from the street below. It’s in her arms, in the quiet of this embrace, that you begin to notice the little things that had gone unnoticed just minutes ago.

“I have to go blow-dry my hair,” she says softly, releasing you from her embrace. Her arms linger for just a moment before she pulls away.

“Need some assistance?” you say with a playful grin.

“Wait for me, I need to put on my panties,” Kazuha smiles and gently hops off the dresser. You nod and pick up your pants to put it back on. Kazuha opens the closet and grabs the first panties she sees. Neither could you stop yourself from checking her out, even if she catches you and laughs.

“Are you just putting on your panties only?” you question, sitting right front of her as she puts on her panties, one leg at a time, and up to her waist.

“Yeah, figured we can do it on the bed right after? I’m just letting you get a quick rest,” she chuckles and grabs your hand to take you to the bathroom.

“Naughty girl,” you utter, laughing along with her as you flick the bathroom light on. Kazuha grabs her hair dryer, plugs the cord in, and then hands it over to you with a sparkle in her eyes. As you shuffle through her hair with the dryer in your hand, the warmth of the air mixing with the soft rhythm of your movements, you catch her gaze in the mirror. She’s smiling, and something about her eyes lights up makes you ask, “what are you thinking about?”

“Isn’t it funny how we ended up here to dry my hair after our quick little fun?” she shyly chuckles. “Don’t you think we haven’t been doing it much lately too? I mean, we didn’t do it for five days now until today.”

You wave the hairdryer around, carefully distributing the heat, your thoughts momentarily drifting as you search for the right words. “We’ve been very busy, Zuha. Let’s understand that,” you say, the hum of the dryer filling the space between your words.

“I know,” she pouts playfully, her eyes lingering on you as she watches you dry her hair in the mirror, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. In that moment, there was nothing but the quiet intimacy you both share. “I love it when we spend time together. Just like right now,” she adds, her voice softening, the warmth between you both making the moment feel even more special.

“I love you, Kazuha,” you say, softly, yet clear enough for her to hear besides the noise of the hairdryer in the bathroom.

“I love you too,” she says, smiling and chuckling. You continue to dry her hair, your hand gently shuffling through her scalp, the steady hum of the hairdryer filling the quiet space. Despite your focus, Kazuha doesn’t take her eyes off of you, her gaze soft yet intense, as if she's studying every flicker of your expression. There's a playful tension in the air, a shared sense of comfort and curiosity, as she silently watches you, letting the moment linger.

It’s like she owes you the world, though you know she doesn’t. You took her in during her struggling times, offering her a safe place when she needed it most. What started as friendship slowly blossomed into something more, a love that was found in the quiet moments between the chaos. You both navigated the shift and now, it feels like fate—two souls who once spent a night for some comfort, now bound by something deeper, something undeniable. You struck gold in multiple places when it comes to her.

With mischievous intentions, you couldn’t help but smirk as you’re almost done drying her hair. “I dare you to turn around,” you say, turning off the hairdryer, deciding to let the rest of her hair to air dry. She only has panties on, you just have to do something about her.

Kazuha turns around to face you, just staring right into your eyes and you feel her hands sliding down to your crotch as a tease. “Should we?”

Without answering, you gently lift her onto the vanity, your hands steady as you guide her with care. As she settles, you lean in and give her a soft kiss. Kazuha digs into your pants with chuckle, not letting you have any more rest.

“Round two,” she utters with a heavy breath. "How do you want me?"

“Bent over,” and that’s all you say, firmly, a want, and a need.

Kazuha just laughs. She expected this from you. “Okay, Babe.”

“Think we should start here?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she whispers.

“Bend over.”

Quick and easy, it can be the best when it comes to moments like this. A start of a kiss that’s simple, yet full of meaning. Just the feeling of being together, everything else can wait.

You give her space as she hops down from the vanity to quickly bend over. As you get a glimpse of her gorgeous back, you’re already so impatient to be grabbing her by the hips and hearing her moans echo throughout the bathroom. For all the right reasons, you deserve your time with her, however you want her. And so, you drop your pants down and get closer to pull her panties to the side, grabbing your cock, then lightly slapping it on her ass before you put it in.

“Just put it in already, Sweetie,” she lightly chuckles, impatiently. And after listening to her little cute plea, you insert the tip of your cock slowly in, pushing your length in as she grips onto the marble counter.

Her moans echo, just like you wanted to, so crystal clear in the bathroom as she arches back with her eyes closed. You give her a kiss on the neck. Then clearly, another smile that she can’t hide. You love seeing her smile, it’s such a weakness when you would fuck this woman to sleep on some nights she would want it so bad.

And so, you pull her up gently in front of you, hugging her from behind with your cock still inside, not a single thrust. “We should go to the bed after,” you murmur, getting a whiff of her hair.

“I’d love that,” she whispers, heavily breathing as you push your hips against hers. You close your eyes, slowly thrusting into her again. And with your hands, you explore her chest, groping her tits, giving her nipples some flicks as she chuckles and moan at the same time. Kazuha holds onto your hand, wherever you decide to touch her body, she’ll be holding it as your hands go lower down to her clit.

“Oh my gosh, Babe,” she chuckles, swirming around in your embrace. There’s a deep breath she took, and slowly, neither can she hold herself up with the sensation you give her. "It's sensitive."

“Put your leg up,” you say, almost like a demand as she bends over again when you let her off of you and even your cock slips out when she props her left leg up onto the vanity. Your cock is drenched in cum as you insert it back in. Forget about the mess if there was any, Kazuha is fully getting your attention.

You grab onto the side of her hips, continuing to drive your cock in and out as she moans over and over. The bright lights of the bathroom shines over her body that you still can’t get enough of. Your cum leaks out down to her right leg, slowly trickling down her thighs while you shove your cock in and out, in the most passionate ways that she loves.

Moments go by, not knowing how long it really is. You pull out with your cock drenched in the creamy consistency of your own cum that was inside her. You’re so addicted to her in every way, from her body, to her heart. This nerd, sometime a sore loser at times, yet such a naughty girl is everything you want. A beautiful face, stunning body, and to the way she’s so flexible in bed makes you lose your mind.

“Get on the bed, Zuha,” you gasp, pulling out.

She quickly catches her breath, and before you can fully come back to reality, Kazuha gets down on her knees to suck on your cock without even giving you a heads up. This woman is surely yours, and neither is she going to miss out from getting a taste. She’s smiling so happily, yet so exhausted by how much love you show her, and it’s only right that she gives you the same attention.

It’s quite romantic.

“Kazuha,” you gasp again, grabbing her nape and looking down to see both your gazes meet each other.

She pulls off and licks her lips, taking in the delight that's rightfully hers. You brush her hair to see that gorgeous face of hers. Kazuha gets up and holds your hands to drag you to the bedroom. Quickly, she crawls on the bed, stopping right in the middle with her ass out for an invitation.

“Come here, Babe,” she says, laughing and having a good time with you.

You crawl on the bed from behind her as she awaits for you to insert your cock back in, and slowly, she feels your tip brushing on her clit, enough for her to softly whimper with a smile. Kazuha groans once you insert your cock inside, grunting harder the deeper you push against her ass.

“You feel so fucking good,” you groan, letting out a gasp right after, cock throbbing deep inside of her. Slowly after driving your cock in, you catch your breath, not knowing whether one more thrust could be the end. You wouldn’t want that, but to Kazuha, she won’t even complain.

“Can’t go on, Babe?” she softly says, turning back to get a look at you with a chuckle. “Should I do the honors?”

No, she shouldn’t. You know damn well that she’s going to make you cum when you see the smirk from the corner of her mouth.

“No, Zuha. I got it.”

“Should I lay down on my stomach?”

And with a mischievous smirk, you give her a gentle thrust to make her gasp while still on all fours. “I’ll tell you when you can lay down, Babe,” you softly say.

You continue to thrust as Kazuha clenches her teeth and her head hangs down, bobbing. “Yes, Baby, right there.”

You’re admiring her ass bouncing from the way you start holding onto the side of her hips. There’s no better feeling to hear her moaning and seeing her tightly gripping onto the blanket up front from the sides. You give her ass a slap, then another—a harder one, then one where Kazuha would scream out a louder moan while you continue to shove your cock deep in her pussy. And while you’re have the time of your own life, she arches even more, to the point where it’s driving you crazy, giving you the testimony of your own limits for such a view.

Let her moan all she want, and that’s what you also want. This woman is all yours. You’re going to fill her womb for the second time within a period of the day. The slickness of your own cum coating your cock in her is already motivating to keep going. You just want more of a mess to see her panties stained in cum by the next morning. And Kazuha should know who she belongs to.

“You’re such a good fucking girl,” you groan, almost growling by clenching your own teeth and giving her ass some touch of love after a spanking.

Both of you are so distracted that the bed creaks, and it’s actually unsurprising at this point where neither of you couldn’t honestly care less about it. And as she feels you pushing against her ass, you slowly trace your hands onto her back to grab her hair, looping it around your wrist. Kazuha’s facing forward, moaning and panting as you give her the treatment she’s been fiending for. The handful of the hair you grab stiffens the more you pulled her back. She’s almost looking up to the ceiling with her back arched, smiling, loving the kink.

“Babe, Ugh,” she grunts, mouth wide open to get all the air she can to take your cock.

You release her hair and gently push down onto her back, the cue for her to lay on her stomach as she slowly and smoothly props herself down with your cock still in her.

“Oh, Babe,” she softly moans, brushing her hair back and comfortably lean on her arm that’s on the pillow. “Such a romantic.”

And so, to what she doesn’t expect, you lean down, kissing her on the left shoulders, then to the right, equally giving Kazuha’s body some attention. “I know you love this position.”

“I fucking do,” she says with passion, and a smile on her face that you saw a glimpse of as you lean back up to put both your hands on her ass to spread. Kazuha’s breaths get heavy with every inch of your cock. She looks so comfortable with her eyes closed, taking deep breaths, moaning whenever your cock penetrates deeper into the creamy walls of her pussy.

You’re not giving the roughest pounding that will send her to sleep right after. This woman’s loving every second and minute of your cock. And by the amount of time passed by, you’ve lost track all because of her.

“Kazuha,” you groan, deciding to get closer as you lean down to her ears with the intentions of making her heart flutter, “Baby.”

Again, she smiles without hesitation, enjoy the romance, so comfortably lying down and feeling your cock throbbing more and more between her tight walls. You’re reaching your limit at this point, and you’ve done enough that she’s enjoying the moment being shared.

So, without much thought, and because of your desire to fill her womb every chance you get, you cum, pressing your hips against her ass, mashing your cock so deep that she lets out a quick whimper. Kazuha feels your cock throbbing, pulsating, so much of your warm, sticky cum being dumped in her that makes her so happy. You crash down and press against her body while the two of you catch your breaths. And there’s not a single moment that both your smiles fade away.

Slowly, and even gently, you pull out after giving her a kiss on her cheek and lay right beside her. Kazuha gets up on her knees and with a chuckle, she crawls to your cock. She licks the tip, then down the sides to taste the remaining cum that’s left for her. “Should I wake you up like this tomorrow morning?”

With a smile, you’ll never say no this. “Best way to wake me up.”

“That’s for sure,” she smirks, wiping the cum off her lips with her tongue. “By the way, I have to get on a call for a project in an hour.”

“I’ll be out the bedroom for you to focus when the time comes.”

Kazuha gets up and goes to the bathroom to turn on the faucet. “You don’t have to, Babe. But what should we do tomorrow? It’s the weekend.”

“I don’t know? Maybe laundry and shopping? We do need groceries.”

She turns off the faucet and picks up your pants that was left in the bathroom to give it back to you. “It’s my turn to pay, remember?”

“And I can see the unnecessary stuff that you’ll buy, Zuha.” you say, reaching for your pants from her hands.

“I promise that I won’t buy too much,” then she murmurs quickly, “it would be nice if you buy me a promise ring.”

“A what?” you say, which you didn’t catch the part she murmured.

Kazuha laughs, “never mind.”

#le sserafim smut #kazuha nakamura #kazuha smut #kpop smut

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 2 days ago

Text

Mama, I’m in love with a criminal 4

Tags: Sukuna x fem!Reader, prisoner!Sukuna, modern au, no curse au, dead dove, vivid descriptions of violence including murder and sexual assault, dark romance trope, angst, read at your own discretion

Synopsis: Sukuna is in prison because of you. He's ordered to undergo weekly counseling sessions. Talking to his counselor about you, it's apparent that his obsession with you is quite concerning.

An: Reminder, this story is dark. Take care of your mental health first. Sexual assault will be briefly mentioned, but it will not be written about in detail. Sukuna is diagnosed with borderline personality disorder at the end of this session. I want to make it clear that it is not my intention to offend anyone with this diagnosis or demonize this diagnosis. It is used to make him feel more real, and it furthers the plot. Hope you guys enjoy… only one last part after this one <3.

Session one. | Session two. | Session three. | Session four.

The counselor hadn't had time to do any more digging into Sukuna's case files this week. It was the end of the year — holidays were coming up, and that meant that annual paperwork on all of his patients were due.

His caseload was becoming too much to manage all on his own. He was thankful that the jail was finally consulting him about hiring a social worker to help out with the workload.

Checking Sukuna's chart briefly, the counselor inhaled sharply. It was finally time to talk about the crime that landed him in prison. Sure, the counselor could drag this out. He could talk about every petty theft or assault case Sukuna had been charged with, but those were pointless to talk about in the grand scheme of things.

As if on cue, a large buzzer sounded, and Sukuna was shoved into the room with the counselor before promptly being locked inside. He was shackled as always, but his demeanor was different today.

He didn't have that calloused grin or careless attitude. He sat down on the couch with a small grunt before immediately laying his head back against the piece of furniture. His throat bobbed as he swallowed harshly.

It was as if Sukuna knew what the counselor was going to bring up today.

"How are you holding up this week, Sukuna?" The counselor asked. Normally, they'd skip pleasantries, but the counselor sensed that Sukuna needed some priming before he got to talking.

"How am I holding up?" Sukuna echoed with a humorless laugh before shaking his head. "Don't ask stupid fucking questions. This is a prison not a 10 hour shift at a fucking factory."

Well, so much for priming.

"You don't want to talk about her today?" The counselor asked, tapping his pen against his paper. "Or is there something you're not wanting to relive."

"I can talk about her until my lungs give out." Sukuna muttered in a pained tone. He rubbed his face with his hands, cuffs clinking around in the process. He groaned as he put his hands down. "Tell me what you think I don't want to relive." He finally demanded, turning the tables on the counselor.

The counselor widened his eyes as he was put on the spot. He immediately avoided Sukuna's lifeless glare. He was definitely testing him right now — seeing if he kept up on his homework.

"You're not afraid of reliving your own pain. You don't want to relive mouse's pain." The counselor finally muttered out, using his knowledge of Sukuna to help guide him through his analysis.

Sukuna grunted in response, and the counselor took it as approval to keep going. "You weren't there to protect her. You feel like it's a failure on your end that what happened to her happened."

Sukuna's fists clenched, and his jaw tightened, but this didn't feel like his typical anger. It wasn't directed at anyone else besides himself.

"You got there a little too late. You saw what was happening to her, and you went into a blind rage. Your normal brutal, methodical, unique style to killing your victims went out the window. He needed to die right then, didn't he?" The counselor pressed on. He kept his hands on his lap to defend himself in case he said anything that teetered the line. Though, there really was no defending himself against Sukuna's hulking figure.

"He didn't deserve to live." Sukuna's voice was a low growl. His heart was pounding against his ribcage as he was reminded of his last moments with you before he incarceration.

The prisoner suddenly reached out, and the counselor flinched far back into his seat upon reflex, but Sukuna was faster. He grabbed the counselor by his dress shirt, and he patted around on his body. "I know you record these sessions, doc. I want this next part to be off the record." He demanded as he continually searched for a recording device.

The counselor tried fighting him off, but Sukuna was still stronger while he was handcuffed. "Fine-! Here! All you had to do was ask for this part to be off the record." The counselor shouted before he threw his pen over to Sukuna.

His pen had a secret recording device hidden inside, and it was promptly cut off when Sukuna snapped the pen in half without a second thought. He then threw it at the wall, ensuring that nothing would be listening in on what he was about to say.

Sitting back in his seat, he let out another stressed sigh. His twin brother's murder was a well kept secret thanks to his skills of covering up evidence, but this was his best kept secret. It physically pained him to say the words out loud.

"Mouse wanted a normal... domestic life, and I wanted to give her whatever she asked for. I started an apprenticeship at a tattoo shop, and I worked at a bike shop on the side so she could focus on figuring out what she wanted to do with life." He started off slowly. The counselor was still rattled from their physical altercation, but he was already enthralled by Sukuna's story telling abilities.

"I didn't care what I did as long as I got to be in her life. Coming home after sixteen hour shifts felt like paradise when I got to slide into bed next to her. She was the only piece of heaven that I'll ever see." Sukuna went on. His eyes were aimed at the broken pen in the corner, fully reliving what it was like to just be yours.

"Your tattoos... those came from your apprenticeship?" The counselor asked, finally taking the time to ask about the markings that covered Sukuna's body and face.

The prisoner looked at his arms and shook his head. "No, these came from over the years." He said as he slowly rose from the chair. He unbuttoned the jumpsuit and shoved it down around his waist to reveal a white undershirt that covered his broad, muscular torso.

Sukuna clearly had nothing else better to do other than work out while he was incarcerated.

The marking covered his neck, shoulders, arms, back, and chest. The counselor marveled at them for a minute, wondering how long Sukuna had to sit in a chair for all of them to be completed.

"As a gift for finishing my apprenticeship, Mouse and I got tattoos together." Sukuna explained before he raised his undershirt up. Right there on his right ribcage — a detailed portrait style tattoo of just your eyes stared back at the counselor.

Your eyes alone could tell a million words. They were gates directly to your soul. The counselor didn't know what you looked like. Your face had been scrubbed from every news outlet that reported on Sukuna's case, and the counselor couldn't remember if he saw your face in court or not.

"Does she have your eyes tattooed as well?" The counselor asked. It was the safer option because he was sure that Sukuna would probably kill him if he complimented your eyes.

"She had this-" he gestured to the tattoo that was placed on his forehead directly between his eyes, "tattooed on her back, and I tattooed my name across her ribcage in the same place I have her eyes tattooed." Sukuna explained before he redressed himself and sat back down.

"She also has a tiny mouse tattooed behind her ear. All of her work is done by me." He explained.

"Wait- You didn't come up with mouse on the spot?" The counselor asked. "That nickname actually has any meaning?"

Sukuna snickered from the counselor's assumptions. "Nah. When we were little and she wasn't talking to me yet, I use to tease her and say she was as quiet as a church mouse."

The counselor gave a small laugh, and he allowed for the silence to fill the room once more, signaling that Sukuna should get back on topic.

"I was working late most nights, and I told her it'd be worth it once I started making some real money. I just wanted to give her the life she never had. I could've provided her with peace." Sukuna explained, his eyes going back dull as all the fun was sucked right back out of the conversation.

"One night, she wanted to surprise me with my favorite dinner. I always told her not to go out alone at night. She usually waited for me to get off work if she needed to go to the store, but I guess she was worried about burdening me... foolish girl." He muttered as he stared down at his palms.

The counselor swallowed harshly, knowing what was coming next. He normally wasn't so emotionally invested in his client's lives, but Sukuna had a way of drawing him in. He was rooting for you even if he knew the result of what happened that night.

"She wasn't stupid though. Mouse was resourceful. She had a heart of gold, but she wasn't naive. She took one of my blade's with her, and she concealed it in her purse." Sukuna explained as his hands picked at the unhealed scabs on his knuckles once again.

"You don't have to go into detail. I'm honestly not sure if I could stomach that-" The counselor admitted. He knew it was unprofessional. He was supposed to be able to shoulder his clients' trauma, but he just didn't know if he could live with Sukuna's version of what happened to you.

"On her way home, that fucking... coward grabbed her. I don't- I don't know how far he got. She wouldn't tell me. I don't know if it was more for my sake or for hers." A shaky breath left his lips. He was grinding his teeth so hard that the counselor was even cringing.

"She managed to send me her location, and I immediately knew something was wrong. I just left the shop — didn't bother locking up or even telling my client where I was going. By the time I got there, my little mouse's clothes were ripped. She was a mess. He was laid out on the ground. The motherfucker died from a few stab wounds, how fucking pathetic."

"What." The counselor said as his jaw dropped. All this time, he was told that Sukuna was only caught because he killed your assailant in a crime of passion, but that wasn't the truth. He had never been baffled like this for his entire career.

"Mouse isn't some defenseless damsel in distress. You think I'd let her walk around if I hadn't taught her self defense?" Sukuna asked as he looked up at the counselor. His jaw was tight and his gaze was narrow. "I'd be damned if I let her walk around without anyway to defend herself after the shit that went down with her dad and his temper."

The counselor stayed silent. Everything he had thought about Sukuna's final murder had been a lie. He didn't kill the poor bastard out of a crime of passion. You had killed your attacker, and Sukuna took the fall for it.

Everything he had done thus far was to protect you — all of it. It was all for you.

"How did any of this end up pinned on you?" The counselor carefully asked while he was still trying to wrack his brain. A part of him wondered if Sukuna was lying, but there was no way Sukuna would lie and risk you getting into trouble for a crime that he committed.

"I have been involved in the justice system for so long. I know how crooked everything is. The district attorneys and judges aren't trying cases fairly and protecting the balance of the justice system. They're doing whatever they can to appease the politicians who have them in their back pockets. They'll sentence a serial rapist to 25 years in jail, but they'll sentence a woman defending herself from a rapist to life in jail. There's no justice in this system."

"I wasn't going to let that shit happen to mouse. I wasn't going to let her name be ruined because she defended herself and did what she had to do. I wasn't going to let her trauma be drug through court. She has so much ahead of her, and I-" Sukuna paused to take a ragged breath. It had been a long time since he had spewed out words so fast.

This was the first time he had ever been able to talk about this to anyone. Everyone fully believes that Sukuna happened to catch the guy assaulting you, and he killed him right then and there. No one knew that he hadn't been there to protect you. You had to resort to protecting yourself, and he fucking loathed the thought of you having to bear the weight of that sick son of a bitch's death on your shoulders.

For two years, he carried this weight around. It had been two years since he was sentenced. Two years since he last saw you.

He let a tear slip past his cheek. Just one -- he didn't bother to wipe it away. It was gone as soon as it had appeared.

"Take your time." The counselor murmured empathetically. This was a major break through with Sukuna. It was something that proved he wasn't a sociopath.

Sukuna could feel emotions. Perhaps, he felt them more than everyone else did. His anger was immediately rage. He was never just sad. Instead, he'd plummet into an unbeatable depression. His happiness felt like pure euphoria, and when he loved, he loved unconditionally hard.

He used you as an anchor for his tidal waves of emotions, basing them on how you acted — the girl who didn't speak and wore a mask around other people. You two were truly made for each other.

If soulmates existed, you two would be the leading example.

Sukuna took another ragged breath, taking just another second to collect his thoughts. "She has so much ahead of her, and I only had her." He managed to grit out.

"Before she could even think about trying to stop me, I ripped the gloves off that I had been using to tattoo my client. I grabbed the blade from her, and I stabbed him 32 times. I brutalized his body to make sure neither the coroner nor the forensic pathologist would be able to distinguish her stab wounds from my own." He explained solemnly. His eyes were void of any emotion while talking about what he did to your assaulter.

"The police were looking for anything to pin on me anyways. They always had thought I got off easy on my juvenile cases, and they suspected I had something to do with Jin's disappearance. They just couldn't prove anything. So, when this opportunity fell into their lap, they ran with it."

"Why didn't you try to hide the body to get away with it?" The counselor asked. Sukuna's crimes were those of cold calculation, and the fact that he made sure to strip off his gloves to taint the blade with his fingerprints proved that he was still very calculated with this murder as well.

"When he grabbed her-" Sukuna's fists tightened in his lap, "he pulled her into dark alleyway at the end of town. Bastard just thought he was going to assault her and leave her stranded in the alley- There was no way for me to move his body without being seen or caught on camera."

"I didn't try to argue when they came for me the next day. I would've willingly surrendered myself if it kept mouse out of trouble. They booked me into the county jail within hours, and I took a plea deal on my second court appearance." He explained as was back to picking at the scabs on his knuckles. They were likely never going to heal if he kept picking at them, making them bleed.

"Why didn't you go for a trial?" The counselor asked. There were ways for Sukuna to be proven not guilty. He probably would've qualified for at least a lesser charge of second degree murder or even manslaughter.

"I knew they'd try to subpoena mouse to testify. They'd drag up her trauma and make a spectacle of her in court. I wasn't going to let them try to convince her that what happened to her wasn't anything less than assault, and I wasn't going to let them retraumatize her." Sukuna spoke firmly, shaking his head.

The counselor honestly found it admirable of him. Most "Bonnie and Clyde" killers would actually turn on each other to get themselves out of trouble, but Sukuna would bear the weight of your crime on his shoulders, and he'd still find other ways to protect you from any negative consequence that he could.

"So, I took a plea deal. I plead guilty to the murder and was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole with weekly 20-minute counseling sessions. In exchange, the district attorney made sure mouse's name was scrubbed from every court document, social media outlet, and news source. They had to act like she was in the witness protection program." Sukuna explained with a sigh. It was another way to protect you.

The counselor felt strangely empty. Sukuna's and your story was tragic. A boy who fell madly in love with a silent girl and vowed to protect her from anything. Did he belong in prison for this? Does this excuse him killing your dad? Did this excuse him slaughtering his own flesh and blood? How do they move on from here?

"You were a sensation in court... had your own little fanbase and everything." The counselor hollowly mused, remembering the young women that piled into the courtroom to catch a glimpse of Sukuna. They had idolized him for what he had done. Plus... he was handsome in the most sinful way possible.

Sukuna rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue with annoyance. "The same bitches who praised me for what I had done didn't respect what I was trying to protect. They're always trying to find and leak mouse's name to the public. They don't give a fuck about me or her. They just think our story is perfect for some shitty dark romance novel."

The room fell into a tense silence once more. Neither of the two men knew how to move on from this.

The silence was finally broken with a correctional officer's voice booming through the office. "Ryomen! Your time is up!" He shouted as his fist connected against the door multiple times.

The counselor sighed as Sukuna wordlessly rose from his seat. This session had been worse than either of them could've predicted. "Take care, Sukuna. We will not meet again next week due to the holidays, but I'll see you in two weeks."

The prisoner grunted in response while still walking towards the door. The loud buzzer filled the room once more, and he was let out.

It didn't feel right to watch Sukuna walk back to his pod. The justice system had failed you as a woman, but he was willing to shield you from any harm that threatened to come your way.

𝙲𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝'𝚜 𝙸𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚜: 𝚁𝚂

𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎: 𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟿, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟼

𝙿𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚜: 𝟹𝟶𝟷.𝟾𝟹 (𝙵𝟼𝟶.𝟹) 𝙱𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 (𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚂𝙼-𝟻)

𝚂𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚜: 𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 [𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳], 𝚟𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚜𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜, 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏-𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛𝚜, 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕, 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 [𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳]

𝚃𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚁𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜: 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚜𝚢𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙲𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚙𝚜𝚢𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗.

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thecoochiefairy · 2 days ago

Text

bloodhound. toji.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 15.9K word count. blackfem!reader, toji fushiguro, mafiagangmember!toji , violence, dominant!toji, sweet!toji, aggressive!toji, sensual sex, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough sex, lil bit of sweet talkin’, creaming, oral [f], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, condom-less sex, kissing, spanking, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ this idea came at a random, kinda just for fun. loved it at first, started hating it as i wrote it? was committed to finish. idk. ugh. however, it was inspired by ‘the yakuza wife’ anime. anyways, a lot happened in the real world, sorry y’all. i love you. just enjoy. visuals.

EYES. THEY WERE ALWAYS RECEIVED TO HER BY THE STARE OF OTHER PEOPLE. It was common at this point, so much that it didn’t even offend her—But it should’ve.

Instead, she brought her focus upon the dimly lit lanterns that lead to the end of the market, needing to make it back to Tokyo before dark. Chocolate brown panels above to protect the stores from rain, cherry blossoms sprouting along the poles as she passed by, watching as the bars and restaurants began to pack like sardines within a can.

Back to the staring, she counted about three people today. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. It just didn’t make sense to her—she’d been in Japan all her life, and she still felt like an outsider. She didn’t have fair skin, silky hair, or a petite frame. She was different, but he always reminded her there was beauty in being like no other.

She’d make sure to grab a small carton of rouge strawberries, her favorite fruit at any time of day. Number four, the man at the counter gives her a strange look as she walks around the store, before suppressing his peculiar stare, replacing it with a respectful smile as she hands him 10,000 yen.

It was a silent two hour ride back home—she knew she was going to get chastised, especially being without protection. The familiar walkway of succulents swayed with the wind as she followed a pathway, now standing in front of the barrier that separated her from the machiya—or house— as he’d taught her to say. She glances up at the camera that tries to hide at the top of the gate, also looking down through the bars as she can see one of the guards pointing a gun directly at her. The groceries become heavier.

She sighs, “Are you gonna let me in, or shoot me?”

When the guard recognizes the familiar voice, he lowers his gun at the same time he bows, constantly repeating, “Sumimasen,” as the top of the gate unlocks.

She gives a polite wave to the older women dressed in their housekeeping attire, they all greet her back, continuing to clean the front porch. She hears one of them call to help her with the groceries, to which she always waved off. Making her way inside, she quickly dropped the groceries in the kitchen, beginning to pull the items out of the bag as she could instantly feel someone behind her. She doesn’t have to look back, knowing it’s the man that’s assigned to follow her everywhere she goes.

She exhales, “You don’t have to hide in the corner, Kenji. Is my grandfather awake?”

Kenji, a tall and muscular man, emerges from the shadows and makes his way into the kitchen. He stands by the fridge, hands behind his back.

"No ma’am, he is still asleep," Kenji replies, his voice low and authoritative. He watches as she unpacks the groceries, his gaze unwavering.

"You didn’t tell anyone you were leaving.”

“Would you have taken me down to Kyoto if I asked?” She raises an eyebrow, knowing the answer to that, “I needed fresh fruit. You would’ve gone out and got it yourself.”

Kenji was an older, extremely serious man. Barely could get a laugh, smile, even the twitch of his face. He’d been the guardian of their family for years, but even he had his stresses when it came to her.

“That doesn’t mean you should leave the estate without me,” he replies stiffly. "You could’ve woken me up and I would’ve taken you.”

“I made it back safely,” she counters, “No one recognized me, so it’s fine. You want a strawberry?” She takes one from the plastic, reaching it out to him.

Kenji eyes the strawberry for a moment, before reluctantly taking it.

"It’s not about making it back safely," he replies, a hint of irritation in his tone. "It’s about the fact that you left without telling anyone. Anything could’ve happened to you."

“Ahh, you took it from me! You’re not that mad, Mamoru,” she calls him the traditional term, “You can save all that intimidation shit for Jiji, not me.”

"Don’t call me that," he mutters, crossing his arms. "And don’t call your grandfather Jiji. Have some respect."

“What? Is Ojiichan better for you?” She questions as she reaches her hand out, “Here. Have another strawberry. You’re mean today.”

Kenji grumbles, but accepts another strawberry anyway.

"Don’t try and butter me up," he mutters, taking a bite. "I’m not mean. I’m just doing my job."

He leans against the counter, looking at her with a mix of annoyance and concern. He taps the piece within his ear, his eyes coming up as he says, “Your grandfathers awake.”

“I’m going,” she’s already beginning to make her way upstairs, “Don’t touch the groceries! I can put them up myself.”

She comes down the hallway, sliding the wooden frame of the door, pressing her hand against the translucent paper as her eyes follow to the sight of her grandfather. Smile lines creased his olive face, even when he wasn’t happy.

She watched the housekeeper dab a cold towel against his face, walking forward as she tells her, “I’m here, you can go take a break,” she gives a light smile, offering to take the towel from her.

The housekeeper nods appreciatively and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. The only sound left is the soft breathing of her grandfather.

He turns his head towards her, his eyes slowly opening. “You’re back,” he rasps, his voice weak.

She sits along the floor beside his bed as she softly replies, “I’m surprised you’re not raising your blood pressure to yell at me.”

Her grandfather manages a weak smile, wincing slightly as he shifts in the bed.

"I'll save my anger for later," he mutters, his voice gruff. "What were you thinking, leaving without telling anyone?"

“I wasn’t gone that long,” she tells him, to which he says, “Bogo de hanashite kudasai.”

She replies, “You’re getting better at your English—can you not be difficult right now?”

"You still haven't explained why you went to the market by yourself."

“I went to your favorite market in Kyoto to find those dumplings you like, I wanted to make ramen,” she says, reaching out as she lightly dabs the towel against his face, “You’ still wanna yell now?”

Her grandfather's gruff exterior softens, and he looks at her with a hint of surprise. He can never stay mad at her.

"No," he mutters, closing his eyes as he lets out a long sigh. "I suppose you did bring me my favorite dumplings."

“How are you feeling?”

Her grandfather grunts, waving off the question. "I'm fine," he says dismissively, "You don't need to worry about me."

He notices the look on her face, and sighs. "I'm tired," he admits, wincing slightly as he tries to sit up more in the bed.

“You’ll feel better once I cook,” she mentions, “Do you want to try to take an actual shower today?”

“I’m too weak to stand,” he mutters, a hint of stubbornness in his voice, “And I don’t need help showering. I’m still capable of taking care of myself.”

“Yet you can’t stand?” She raises an eyebrow.

She watches him lean back into the pillow, breathing as if he’d just done a marathon. The ball in her throat begins to form, and she hates that. She then says, “The man that would kill to protect his family, is now letting cancer take him in the dead of the night. You say I’m stubborn, and you wonder where that comes from?”

He grunts, turning away from her gaze. “Don’t start,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “I’m an old man. I’ve already lived my life. I don’t need your pity.”

“And I’m not giving it to you,” she swiftly replies, “We could’ve found the best treatment in Japan. And yet here you are, wanting your final days to be in the walls of this home. The leader of the Yakuza—who’s gonna scare the city when you’re gone?”

Her grandfather glares at her, his eyes narrow and sharp. "I've made my decision," he snaps, "This is where I want to be. I'm not some coward who's afraid to face death. And don't talk to me about the Yakuza. I've done everything I needed to do for them."

He lets out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging as he leans back against the pillows. "I don't need you to remind me that I'm dying."

She brings her head down, staring along the towel she holds. She says softly, “Gomen’nasai,” her throat becoming tight again as she continues, “I just wish you weren’t trying to run away from me.”

"I'm not running away from you," he says, his tone gruff but gentle. "I'm just tired. I've spent my whole life fighting and I just want to rest now."

She knows that. It’s just hard to hear. The man that raised her, taught her everything she needed to know, maybe even more. She hesitates, “Nani ka kiite mo īdesu ka?”

He nods, intertwining his fingers back together, laying himself properly back along the pillows beneath his body.

“Do you regret the life you lived?”

The question is general, although she wants to be specific. She slowly continues, “I know you for who you are, but others don’t. They feared you, feared the people you brought in. You—killed people, did illegal things. Would you have changed that?”

Her grandfather lets out a long sigh, thinking about her question. He is silent for a moment, contemplating his life spent.

"Yes," he finally says, his voice rough. "There are many things I regret about the life I lived. Things I did that I wish I could undo. But I did what I thought was necessary for the family."

He looks at her, his eyes meeting hers. "But I never regret meeting your grandmother, and I never regret having your father. And I never regret bringing you into this world."

She suppresses her smile as she says, “You’re getting soft on me, Jiji.”

"I'm not getting soft," he mutters, rolling his eyes. "I'm just being honest. However, I have one dying wish.”

She nods her head, waiting for him to continue. He then says, “You will be twenty-six soon, and all I ask is that you’re married before I die.”

She frowns, “That’s not long, Jiji, what am I supposed to do? Go out and pick a husband off of the street?”

Her grandfather smiles at her reaction, amused by her stubbornness. "No, obviously not," he chuckles, coughing a little at the end. "I don’t expect you to pick the first man you see. But you need to start thinking about it. You need to find a good man, someone who will take care of you after I’m gone."

“I can take care of myself,” she’s always told him, “I’ll be the first in your generation to be lonely with cats.”

Her grandfather grunts, looking at her with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not going to live alone with cats."

“I suspect you have a line up of men to offer to me?” She raises an eyebrow, “I don’t think I’m fond of being with those Yakuza crazies you keep under your wing.”

He studies her again, his eyes narrowed. "They’re respectable men. You're not a little girl anymore. It's time to start thinking about your future."

“I do think about my future. I’m trying to finish school to become a registered nurse, but you seem to tune out as soon as I tell you that,” she reminded him. Her grandfather was unfortunately an extremely traditional man, only seeing women to be taken care of by men.

"You're wasting your time with that," he grumbles, his eyes flickering back to hers. "You don't need to work. You have enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life. And you certainly don't need to be a nurse. You're a woman, not a doctor."

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I’ve found someone for you.”

Her frown deepens. She says, “Ojiichan, I hope you aren’t insinuating an arranged marriage.”

“An arranged marriage is not something you should reject right away," he says gruffly. "I know the perfect man for you. He's respectful, wealthy, and he comes from a good family in the Yakuza.”

“What happened to not wanting me married off to a man like you or my father? The one who robbed, cheated, lied, killed? That’s what you want for me?” She sharply replies.

"Don’t you talk to me like that," he snaps, "I worked hard for this family. So did my son. I made sure we had power and a life most people dreamed of. This is a good man—strong, traditional. You will meet him tomorrow.”

Your eyes widen slightly, “What? ‘The hell do you mean tomorrow?”

Her grandfather looks at her sternly, his eyes piercing into hers. "You will meet him tomorrow. I'm not asking you, I’m telling you. You will get dressed and you will sit with him for tea."

He raises a hand when she starts to speak, silencing her. "This is not a discussion. You will meet him, and you will be polite. Understood?"

When she goes to argue again, his hand raises further, her eyes catching the trail of ink littered along the back of his arm, knowing it followed all the way up his back, down his spine. It was a reminder of who he once was, and the authority in his tone also did that.

He says, “This is my dying wish, Sayuki. You will do this.”

The call of her full name, she knows it’s no room for argument. She wasn’t ready to meet anyone, let alone be married. But this was all he asked of her, and she wanted to respect his wishes in death.

She nods her head, “Okay.”

Her grandfather’s expression softens slightly as he sees her nod. He lowers his hand, gesturing to the door, “Good. Now go make my gyoza, a dying man needs to eat.”

At this moment, she thought about poisoning his food. But she gave him something easier. A fake smile, a bow, and exiting the room.

𝓐ᥫ᭡

CHAMOMILE TEA. That’s what she remembered from this interaction. When the next day came, it flew by just to spite her. It was now closer to the evening, the lanterns of the night beginning to light as she stood within the mirror of her bedroom. She turned her body as she looked at herself, the backless pale yellow dress flowing down to her thin golden heels, straps wrapped around the tattoos along her feet. The top of her dress tied into a bow around her neck, dark hair up within a matching claw clip.

If there was a luxury her grandfather had given her, it was to dress however she chose. He’d shoot on sight for anyone that had an opinion on it. Tendrils flew around the caramel complexion of her face, honey brown freckles showing through her makeup despite her foundation, fox eyes slender beneath her lash extensions, pointing upwards along her face.

She pressed the brown outline of her cupid's bow lips to mix with the mauve closest to her mouth, spraying herself of a sensuous vanilla and jasmine scent before she made her way out of the door, Kenji immediately following behind.

She asked him softly, “Do I look okay?” Knowing the older man didn’t have much opinion, but she needed some type of reaction from someone.

Kenji looked at her, his expression stoic as usual, his eyes roaming over her figure, "You look beautiful," he said, his voice dry as usual.

He paused for a moment, his eyes lingering on her face, "But you’re nervous," he added, “You’re squeezing your hands together."

“I know,” she sighs, “What if this is the husband of my dreams, Kenji? Like those dramatic movies I used to watch as a kid?”

He patted her shoulder reassuringly, "Just...try to act normal. And don’t punch him, at least not right away."

She huffs out a breath, “Thanks.”

She then slides the opening door to her grandfather's room, seeing as a housekeeper sat beside him, pressing a spoon to his mouth as she fed him soup.

Sayuki greeted, “I hear a lot of noise from downstairs, Jiji, are your children already running amuck?”

“Don’t joke like that,” he said, his tone gruff, “But yes, half of the clan’s already gathering. They’ll be at a meeting while you’re on your date.”

“Did you have to do that the same day? I’d rather avoid the embarrassment,” she replies, “…You didn’t tell me my dress was pretty.”

“You look like a delicate flower, my child.”

That makes her feel at ease. She then says, “Don’t let those idiots rummage the fridge, please? Those groceries are for you. I’ll be in the garden if you need me, okay?”

Her grandfather grunts, waving her off with a hand, "Don't show that attitude when you meet him. Don't be sharp-tongued or sarcastic. Act like a proper lady."

She keeps from rolling her eyes. Leaning down closer to the bed, she gives him a kiss on the cheek, before sliding the door closed and making her way downstairs. The men of the Yakuza filled the entire living room and kitchen, rowdy, loud, cigarette smoking, talking shit. Matching black suits, dark hair—an intimidation brought all along Tokyo. It was as if she hadn’t passed by, throaty laughs filling the house as they continued to play cards, arguing with one another.

She was back to following the path of plants, leading up to the gazebo that was surrounded by clear water, koi fish and flowers she’d planted herself, or even helped the housekeeper plant. Her eyes fell over the figure sitting on the inside of it, a table now in the middle of the seating area, small bowls, cups and mugs placed atop. She glanced back at Kenji who now stood by the door that led back into the house, far away enough from the garden, but close enough if anything happened. Her eyes gazed over the smoke that released from the cigarette in between his scarred lip, his frame unfamiliar to her eyes.

Her eyes slowly dragged over the man seated in her gazebo, taking him all in. His broad, muscular shoulders. His sharp jawline. His tall figure even when seated, long legs traveling for miles. Onyx hair and eyebrows furrowed, the dark suit he wore hugged against his large frame that could’ve exploded the seams of material.

She couldn't help but find him attractive already—and maybe a little intimidating. She took a deep breath, gathering the last bit of her courage, and walked through the garden towards him.

She lifted her leg onto the step, taking him in even closer. When his eyes finally met hers, her heart thumped, as his face wasn’t the best at expressing his emotions. Her hands clasped together in front of her, and she gave him a respectful bow—although she didn’t want to—making her way to the opposite side of the table as she sat herself down. His hand was huge, two fingers molding around his cigarette, plump lips taking another inhale as he scanned her. A couple minutes of silence go past, before his deep, attractive voice is the first to speak.

“Nihongo o hanasemasu ka?”

She blinks, trying to hide the scrunch in her nose as she replies, “I prefer to use English. Why wouldn’t I speak Japanese?”

He doesn’t give an answer, only using his eyes to frown at her. She does roll her eyes this time, briefly explaining, “My mother is black. I’m fluent in both English and Japanese, if that’s what you’re trying to confirm.”

He seemed completely uninterested, his expression still blank. He took another drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out, his eyes never leaving her. After a moment, he spoke in English.

“You’re not what I was expecting.”

“Am I supposed to apologize for that?” She raises an eyebrow.

He narrowed his eyes at her, his expression cold, but amused, “Nah. An apology is unnecessary.”

His eyes flicker over her figure again, the corner of his lip twitching slightly, “But an introduction wouldn’t hurt, yeah?”

She crossed her right leg over her left, clearing her throat in a way to retract her question as she replies, “Sayuki. And you?”

“Toji Fushiguro.”

His eyes traveled down to her legs as she shifted them, watching her move.

“It’s a pretty name,” he says suddenly, taking another drag. “Sayuki. ‘Longevity, long-lived’.”

“You knew that off the top of your head?” She questions, “I don’t know what your name means.”

He chuckled slightly, a rare sound, his deep voice making her heart thump again before he responded.

“Lucky,” he says, blowing another stream of smoke out, “My name means ‘lucky’.”

“Are you lucky?” She tilts her head, “I would say the habit of smoking is relatively unlucky.”

“Are you worried about my health after ten minutes of knowing each other?”

The question throws her off a bit. She wasn’t trying to have the upper hand in this conversation, but she surely didn’t want to seem nervous. She felt her face go warm as she counters, “Smoking is a bad habit for anyone. My grandfather did it a lot, one of the reasons he’s on his deathbed sooner than I’d like him to be.”

He looked at her steadily, the light smoke from his cigarette curling into the air as he watched her through the haze.

“I’m not worried shit like life expectancy,” he says simply, “My job comes first. If smoking helps me get through stress, then fuck it.”

“You Yakuza men seem to never care about something as important as your health, or your life,” she points out, “You think if you got married your wife wouldn’t be worried about that?”

Toji chuckled again, a dry sound, but an amused one. “Who says I’m looking to get married?”

“Then why are we talking then?” She questions, “Isn’t that what we’re here for?”

Toji’s expression darkened slightly at her question, his eyes flickering with a flash of annoyance. But then he chuckled again, a mocking, arrogant sound.

“My old man’s making me talk to you,” he says, taking another drag of his cigarette, “He’s your Ojiichan’s right hand. Wants me to start a family, continue the bloodline and all that bullshit. So here I am.”

Yup, there it was. Her patience was thinning.

She then asks, “And you don’t want that?”

“Nah,” he said simply, “Not at all.”

He then smirked again, his dark gaze piercing her’s, “Why, do you want to start a family, Sayuki?”

The way he said her name, emphasizing the pronunciation in their native tongue made her shift a bit. It was annoying. She answers honestly despite his tone, “I’m about to be twenty six, so a family would be nice. But I want my degree first, I’m studying to be a registered nurse. I wanna help people in ways my grandfather wouldn’t allow me to help him.”

"A career nurse," he repeats, “How noble and selfless of you."

She raises her posture up a bit, “What is that supposed to mean?”

His dark eyes dragged over her figure again, “You’re pretty as fuck—enough to marry an old millionaire, who’d pamper you ‘till the day you die.”

She now becomes visibly irritated, “I’m not tryna’ be a housewife and pop out a bunch of kids if that’s what you think by looking at me.”

“And why not? That’s what you were designed to do. A body like that and such a pretty ass face. You’d be worth the fuck.”

Yeah, that was it. She takes the steaming tea in front of her, chucking it directly in his face, letting the actual cup follow after. She stands as she spits, “A disrespectful ass mouth like that, I can see why you’d still be ‘wife searching at your grown age. Go fuck yourself.”

She’s already stomping away, fire in her eyes as she mutters, “Fuckin’ stupid ass nigga—Kenji! Let’s go!”

Toji’s eyes widen for a moment as the steaming tea is splashed into his face, his skin searing against the liquid as it hits him, cup following after. He looked to see the large bodyguard standing by the porch, and even he was shocked. All he could do as he watched her fly past him was give Toji a helpless stare before muttering, “Yes ma’am.”

In the past years of her grandfather being sick, the next five days was the first time she’d heard him curse in the longest. His anger trickled over to guards, staff within the house, even his men who worked for him. He was pissed after hearing what his granddaughter had done. She stayed in the room if she wasn’t checking on him, and the moment she saw him ready to go off, she would grow wings and fly. He’d be fine eventually.

She was now within the living room, palms and feet pressed along a mat as she did her morning stretches, talking on the phone with her mom to tell her of the situation.

“Chile, I don’t know why you’re calling me. Kenji already told me what happened—had your grandfather called, the man would’ve written his own eulogy. Doctor said his pressure is at an all time high,” her mom said, chuckling into the phone.

Sayuki sighs, “I wasn’t trying to give the man a heart attack.“

“I’m sure you didn’t, honey. But you know that first impressions matter.”

She brings herself to her knees, halting her stretching as she deadpans, “Momma. I understand the cultures around here, okay? Respect is big and all that shit. Jiji taught me that. Ole’ boy was the disrespectful one. I just gave him a taste of his own medicine. Or tea, to be specific.”

“I know he was being rude, but you know how important this is for your grandfather.”

There’s a pause between them, before her mother’s voice comes through the line again, a bit softer this time, “It won’t hurt to try and get along with him. At least for your Jiji’s sake, yeah?”

“That’s if I ever see the bastard again. You know Grandpa said? That he made some valid points in our conversation—he thinks all I’m supposed to make of myself is the perfect wife,” she shakes her head, raising her leg out to stretch the muscles behind.

Her mother is silent for a few long moments, before sighing again. “You know your grandfather is stuck in his traditional ways. You can’t expect for him to just change this late in life. Your father was the same way—just wanted me to pop out babies.”

She knew her mom wouldn’t have much commentary on this, considering she’d lived as a housewife for years before her husband's passing. She couldn’t handle the life Sayuki’s father lived, being within the Japanese Mafia—but her father in law refused to be without his granddaughter. So she let her stay in Tokyo, and went to the states to set out her own dreams.

Sayuki sighs, “How’s the army treating you, Sergeant? Where do they have you based right now?”

Her Mom chuckles slightly into the phone, an amused sort of sound, “I swear they have me stationed in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Texas, in the middle of this town called Waco. The people here are good ‘ol bible-thumping country folk. I’m terrified.”

Sayuki laughs, “You’ wanted to be head honcho so bad, now they’ got you in places you’ve never been before.”

Her mother is quiet for a moment, still chuckling, before she speaks again. “The job’s more stressful than I imagined,” she says, “But I’m getting the hang of it. I’m stationed at the base now, working with the new guys and whatnot,” She paused for another moment, before she sighs and continued, “I really need to get stationed back in Tokyo, though. I miss you and your Jiji a lot, you know.”

She hates that feeling of tightness in her throat. She told her mom to live out her dreams with her being an adult, and that she would be fine under the protection of her grandfather. But she also needed the only parent she had left.

“I miss you too, momma.”

She then hears the sliding door open to the hallway, Kenji appearing with a bow as he greets, “Ohayou gozaimasu. Your grandfather would like to speak to you.”

Sayuki sits on the floor fully as she raises an eyebrow, “He’s awake already?”

Her mom’s still on the phone, a soft hum coming from the line before she questions, “He’s not a morning person. You’ really gave him a heart attack, huh?”

Kenji replies, “He seems to be fine. He’s awake and very much alive,” He glances at Sayuki and bows again, before saying, “His orders were to bring you to his room.”

“Alright momma, I’ll try to call you before you turn in your phone again. I love you, always,” she doesn’t want to hang up, but her grandfather could be an impatient man, especially if he was upset.

Her mother’s voice filters through the line again, a familiar, comforting sound. “I love you, too. Stay safe, okay?”

Then, she’s gone, and Kenji turns his attention back to her. The big man just silently starts walking, obviously expecting her to follow.

Sayuki follows him down the hallway, making their way to her grandfather's bedroom. She sends off Kenji as she slowly opens the door, to be greeted by a housekeeper who’s nervously patting his face with a cold sponge. She tells her, “You can go. Thank you.”

The housekeeper immediately scurries off, taking the towel and bucket with her. Sayuki’s left alone with her grandfather now, who’s sitting up in bed, a newspaper on his lap. His eyes flicker up to her for a few moments, still sharp as ever.

“Do you come in peace?” She questions, sitting herself beside the bed, “I see you have the newspaper. You must be in a good mood.”

“The doctor said my pressures have risen,” he starts, his voice still surprisingly even, “But I am still breathing. If you hadn’t annoyed me so greatly, I would probably have another decade in my life.”

“Oh? So it’s my fault now? How about you’ put your lil’ gang members in check?” She crossed her arms.

Her grandfather’s eyes widened slightly at her blunt words, obviously surprised. He looks at her for a few long moments. Then, he shakes his head, “I taught you to respect men. Why can’t you be a little more…well… gentle? Polite?”

“I was soft and feminine like you want me to be. He’s the one that said he didn’t want to be married, and that I wasn’t even his type. He doesn’t even like black women,” she rambles.

As she sees her grandfather’s face, she rolls her eyes as she corrects herself, “Okay—he ain’t say all that. But he did say he was only there for his father’s sake.”

“It doesn’t matter what he said. “I know that boy’s a bit arrogant. A little rude too. But family is important. He’s my right hand’s son.”

His eyes narrow slightly as he looks at her, saying, “And you have no choice in whether you marry him. You’re getting older, Sayuki. Twenty-six is not young anymore. I’m not letting you leave this house unless you’re a wife.”

“Is this my death sentence? What did I do to deserve this treatment?” She flops herself on the end of the bed, “Have you’ no heart?”

Her grandfather simply rolls his eyes, his expression unchanging, “Don’t be so dramatic, Sayuki. You know how marriage works in this family. I had an arranged marriage, and so did your father. The men pick their wives.”

He paused before leaning forward a bit in the bed, asking, “...Why are women so damn stubborn these days?”

“Cause this isn’t the fifties, that’s why!” She exclaims.

He takes a deep breath as he mutters, “Now if I become as dramatic as you and die right here on the spot, you’ll be very upset with me.”

He lets a few minutes of silence pass before he says, “…With your father not here, I won’t have anyone to protect you when I’m gone, Sayuki.”.

She sits up a bit, hearing as he becomes serious. She comes closer to him on the bed as she lays her head on his shoulder, “I can take care of myself, Grandpa.”

Her grandfather takes her small hand into his large, calloused one, his fingers gently intertwining with hers. He sighs, “You may be a strong young woman, but you’re too reckless. It’s not safe in this world. No matter how prepared you are to defend yourself.”

He squeezes her hand slightly, “When you asked me the regrets I have—it made me think, with the kind of family I have, who’s going to protect my Mago when I’m gone? The people that hate me, the people that won’t be able to hurt me because I’m gone, so they hurt you?”

Arranged marriage sounded silly to her, but with the family she had, she understood where her grandfather was coming from. He wasn’t doing this to force anything on her. He just wanted to make sure she was safe—even without him.

She squeezes his hand, giving him a kiss on the cheek as she suggests, “Maybe I can talk to him. But he needs to apologize. If he doesn’t, I’m not agreeing to this, is that fair?”

Her grandfather grunts again, his expression unchanging as a soft sigh escapes him, “He’s not a man to grovel. And you’ve already left a bad first impression. He won’t apologize for anything. That’s how we raised them, “He pauses for a few moments before giving her hand a tight squeeze again.

“....But I will speak to him.” He finalizes, his voice low.

“See! Don’t you feel better when you talk things out instead of being violent? A lot of your issues would’ve been solved better that way,” she gives him a smile.

Her grandfather grunts once more, his gaze fixed on the window away from her, “Violence is good when there’s nothing else to talk about. But I’m glad you feel better—because you’ll be going with him to fetch some groceries to cook dinner tonight.”

She immediately pulls her hand back, stepping off the bed as she says, “Huh? A meal? Who he’ think he is—Buddha?”

“Sayuki,” He warns.

He takes a deep breath, before continuing to speak, “You’re going to go to the store. Then you’ll come back here and cook for him. And maybe by then, you’ll have managed to impress him with your lovely personality.”

“Why can’t Kenji just go with me? You want me and Toji to go, alone, as if I don’t want to put a fork up his ass? You said you don’t want me traveling to Kyoto without him anyways,” she crosses her arms.

“Gengo,” her grandfather snaps, “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I won’t break your ass in two. Toji will go with you. I’m tired of arguing with you. I want to take a nap.”

“Well go take your old man ass nap, then!” She exclaims, “And now you’re not getting any of your favorite fruits!”

She opens the slide door, shrieking as a tall frame stands on the side of the wall, instantly recognizing the cigarette that hangs between the dark pink lips she’d seen days before.

She exasperates, “Great—this was a set up! I don’t like anybody in this house.”

Her grandfather chuckles gruffly, a low, amused sound, just as Toji takes a long drag of his cigarette. He glances her way, still leaning against the wall as he speaks, “Good to see you too. I can feel the love.”

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere recovering from third degree burns?” She continues walking, making her way back towards the living room, purposely walking fast in hopes that she’d lose him.

Toji pushes off the wall, easily catching up behind her as he questions, “Why are you so hellbent on avoiding me?”

“Hm, I don’t know—maybe cause you told me all I would be is a good fuck? You remember that?” She pushes the door open to the living room, stepping back onto her yoga mat.

“Yeah, I remember clearly.”

He glances over her, adding, “Although, you’re a lot more interesting than I thought you’d be when this all started.”

She sighs, “If you’re doing this for some brownie points from my grandfather, we can wrap this up quick as fuck, Fushiguro. I’m not sensitive, okay? But what you said hurt my feelings. I was being nice to you, even if I wasn’t keen on this arranged marriage thing in the first place. I need to finish stretching, so are we done?”

At her words, Toji takes a puff from his cigarette, before taking it out of his mouth and crushing it out.

“I’m here to apologize.”

She crosses her arms over each other, raising an eyebrow at that, “Are you saying that because someone asked you to?”

“Why were you so pissed about some words that came out of my mouth?” He questions, “You could’ve easily ignored them.“

“You don’t even know me. You assumed that I’m some airhead ass girl that’s looking to be sold to the highest bidder. Well I’m not. I have my own dreams and ambitions, none of them involving a man unless I decide that for myself.”

Toji looks at her for a few moments in silence. He runs a hand through his dark hair, before speaking once more.

“So I hurt your feelings.” he mutters. “And you’re not some airhead. Anything else I should know?”

His stare was intense at times, and it made her feel naked under the SKIMS army green romper she wears, headband and glasses pulling her hair out of her face. Facing him, she reaches down to grab for her ankles, stretching her legs out as she huffs, “That’s your form of an apology?”

He does take the time to watch her stretch, but doesn’t comment on it, just saying, “Goddamn, girl. I’m trying. I’ve never apologized to someone without a gun to my head.”

He takes a step forward, his head lowered as he stares down, now practically upside down with her.

“I have a habit of saying shit I don’t mean. So I’m sorry. You can throw some more scorching ass tea on me again if you want.”

She pulls her hair out of her face as she stands up, looking around the expression on his face. It’s the same—eyebrows low, waiting for a response. But it doesn’t lack sincerity.

She sighs, leaning down as she begins rolling up her yoga mat, “I’m not gonna do that. My grandpa will throw me into a pit of fire if he hears I assaulted you again.”

He watches her roll up the yoga mat, “You’ still mad at me?”

She looks up at him, tilting her head as she questions, “Do you want me to be?“

“I don’t know.”

He glances down at her, eyes lingering for a moment on her exposed skin, before he returns his gaze to her face, “If you’re not mad, what are you?”

“Ready to take this long ass train ride to Kyoto,” she finalizes, making her way around him, “I need to go shower.”

“What, no invite?”

“And somehow you’ve managed to lose points again,” she dismisses, slamming the door shut to her bedroom.

When comes out of her bedroom an hour later, she steps into the hallway to glance along the full body mirror—as she usually did. She pulled her dark hair behind her ear as it was in straightened layers, her usual makeup along her face that consisted of cat eyed extensions, her lip combo of brown and mauve, lower eyelid filled with the matching dark brown of her lips. Her leather jacket clung to her frame, showing off a bit of her midriff as her pants mimicked the tops material, hips desperately wanting to bust out the seams.

She notices Toji along the wall, tilting her body to the side as she states to him, “I don’t know what shoes to wear.”

Toji’s eyes flicker her way, a brief, almost unnoticeable glance at her frame, then back to her face, then back to her frame. He’ll shamelessly admit that his jaw tightened, and maybe he felt his dick jump.

“You’ asking for my opinion?”

“Jiji is the worst dressed man on the planet, and Kenji is hiding so—yes.”

She eyes him in the mirror as he walks behind her, turning her head as she notices the look he gives her. She raises an eyebrow, “What?”

“You look good as fuck, you know that?”

“You’re not telling me what shoes I need to wear,” she almost pouts, “I wanna go before it hits noon!”

Toji doesn’t respond right away, just looking her up and down again, his gaze lingering for a few seconds on her hips, before he mutters, “You’re hard headed as hell. I said you looked good. I didn’t say what shoes you should wear. If it’s gonna make you hurry up, you should wear heels.”

“‘Kay’,” she turns around, making her way back into her room with a twist to her hips. She finds a pair of her Dior black pumps, knowing she’d be fine in those for most of the day as they were comfortable. She sprays herself of her vanilla scent, shaking her head from side to side, throwing her head back to fix her hair.

“You don’t have to watch me, you know.”

He pushes off the wall again with his foot, moving toward her now. He’s a very imposing man, his form broad and tall. He’s at least a full foot and a half taller than her.

“My fault. I have a hard time looking away. You’ ready?”

She grabs her purse as she nods, “Mhm,” giving him a quick head to toe. He’s more simple in his clothes, a long black sleeve that hugs his muscular frame, belt, jeans and hefty boots along his feet, hair tossed around the sculpted sharpness of his face. Her eyes flick down to his wrist as she sees the ink hiding beneath the material, coming forward as she pulls it farther up to fully cover it, “The point of your Irezumi is that it’s supposed to be hidden.”

His wrist feels like hot iron under her fingertips. He can’t help but look down at her as she touches his wrist, her head slightly tipped back to look up at him. Fuck, she’s gorgeous from this angle.

He raises an eyebrow as he grunts, “I know that,” allowing her to fix his clothing.

“I can see it on the back of your neck too,” she points out, reaching up, wrapping her fingers lightly in between his neck and back, “You should put a jacket on.”

The tightness on his jaw returns, his gaze fixed on her as his voice drops to a low murmur, “Are you gonna let go any time soon?”

She hesitates, her fingers still sitting on his upper back as she questions, “Am I making you uncomfortable?” She then fully pulls herself back, “I’m sorry.”

“Did I say that?”

“No.”

“Then why are you apologizing?”

Before she can reply, he’s already going around her, heading down the hallway to pull the Harley Davidson leather jacket over his body, her eyes also taking notice of the M9 gun he places in the back of his pants. He nods his head in the direction of the door, and she follows after, not before quickly diving into the room to give her grandfather a kiss goodbye.

The train ride had been…interesting for her to say the least. With it being the weekend, it was one of its busier days, the train compact with people to a point where they had to stand. Sayuki leaned her back against the window of the train as Toji hovered over her, hand gripping the bar up top. When the train came to a stop, everyone began slanting forward, trying to catch their weight on themselves. Toji’s body connected to hers, pressing his chest lightly against her nose to keep her from moving.

She inhaled quietly, the scent of his cologne trapping her nostrils, his jaw touching the top of her head making her heart speed up a bit.

He tried not to be too obvious as he watched her from his view, but damn, she was pretty like this too. Under him like this. It felt like she belonged there.

It didn’t become any better the moment they arrived in the bustling streets of Kyoto. The cherry blossoms hung along the top of the buildings, brightly lit colored signs coaxing in their next customer. There was a feeling coming to him he’d never experienced before, watching as she politely spoke to people who passed her, talked up the people who worked within the stores, complimented each woman's outfit she saw. Hell, she’d even crouched down, sneaking the sample of food offered to her to a homeless cat mewling close by an alleyway.

Toji was starting to realize just how opposite their personalities were, but God, she had a certain…charm to her. He’d been silent, watching her with a blank expression as she interacted with everyone they passed, never breaking that smile. Toji was gruff, blunt, intimidating—didn’t bother to look at anyone twice. Yet she was the opposite in every way. How could they ever be compatible?

She makes her way into a smaller market, empty as she knew it was more expensive than the ones on the outside. But this was usually where she bought all of her fresh produce. She glances at the man at the counter, seeing as he flicks his eyes up to her, sitting himself up more straight—as if he had to keep his attention on her.

She looks around, “Is there anything in particular you like to eat?” She questions, turning herself towards Toji who stays close to the front door, lighting a cigarette between his lips.

Toji takes a long puff from the cigarette resting between his lips, his dark eyes following her through the small shop.

He takes a moment before replying, “I like fish.”

His eyes glance over her form, her ass practically calling to him in those pants. She was sexy without even trying.

“How about Sashimi? Are you okay with yellowtail?”

She’s so concerned with his taste buds, Toji only seems to notice the grimace the man at the counter continues giving her.

He looks back at her, and while his eyes are still focused, his tone is a bit more softened as he replies, “Yeah, that’s fine,” taking another long breath from the cigarette between his lips.

“Okay,” she says softly, talking more to herself as she decides how she wants to cook the fish. When she has all of her ingredients, she comes up to the register as she sees the fruits are behind the counter. She greets, “Ohayo gozaimasu, do you have fresh strawberries by chance?”

“No strawberries today,” he doesn’t return her greeting, cutting straight to her question as it’s nowhere near friendly.

She frowns a bit, “Are you sure? I come here for them often, the lady that works usually gives me a good amount.”

“I said we don’t have any,” he replies again, his eyes lingering over her, “Are you done?”

He’s clearly not looking at her in a very favorable way, a look of irritation and disdain written on his face.

From Toji’s stance, he can see behind the counter, looking directly at a box of what looks to hold strawberries. And as he notices the man now glaring at him, he raises an eyebrow, pulling the cigarette down from his lips, blowing out a puff. When Sayuki notices this as well, she turns back to Toji, putting together that he may have known Toji from being a part of the Yakuza. The owners of this store had to be from a clan that wasn’t too fond of them.

She then says, “We’re not coming here to cause any trouble, I just wanted my strawberries. I can buy a bundle of them?” She offers, beginning to rummage her purse for the money.

“We don’t serve the likes of you people,” the cashier spits.

And from the way he looks at her in disgust, it feels personal. Her eyebrows lower against her face, hating the way that once again—her feelings are hurt.

She sighs, “It’s fine. Let’s just go.”

Toji’s jaw clenches, his entire body stiffening. Something about the way her expression broke had his blood boiling.

“Go? Yeah, nah. I’m good on’ that.”

When he pushes himself off the wall, he’s already standing in front of the counter. In one swift motion, the shriek from this man fills the entire store as Toji has him by his shirt, tugging him halfway over the counter. He fights against the one hand holding him in a effortless yet painful grip, shouting as Toji casually sighs, “Shut up,” raising his cigarette, ashing the man on his forehead. He then takes it back to his lips as he talks, “Now see, we didn’t even have to do all this,” removing the gun from the back of his pants, tapping it against the side of the man’s cheek.

Sayuki steps back, eyes wide as she panics, “Toji! It’s fine!”

It’s like he doesn’t even hear her, his eyes fixated on the trembling man in his hands.

“Strawberries, right?”

When the man replies with a stutter, “Y-Yes, sir,” Toji’s expression doesn’t soften, “You got ‘em in back?”

He nods his head quickly, whimpering again, “Y-yes, sir.”

The sight of that man that just had so much mouth for Sayuki, now stuttering and terrified in Toji’s hold, Sayuki can’t help the slightly scared giggle that stumbles from her lips, shocked at what she’s witnessing.

That single sound of laughter reaches his ears, catching his attention as he slightly turns to glance her way, “Oh you like that shit, huh?”

When he looks back at the cashier, his voice drops even deeper, “Apologize to the pretty lady.”

The man replies instantly, “Yes, yes! I’m so sorry!”

Sayuki is still giggling, watching as Toji shoves the man back so hard that he knocks into the wall of objects behind him, nearly falling onto the floor. He presses his gun back into his pants, adjusting his jacket as he mutters, “‘Made me get all out of character,” before he says, “Go get the strawberries before I actually get mad.”

The man scrambles on shaky legs, pulling out the box of fruit behind him as he says, “T—Take them! Take everything you need!”

Sayuki politely takes two cartons as she gives him a smile, “Thank you,” as Toji tugs the register closer to him, knocking his fist down to it, watching as it opens, pulling cash out of the object.

She shakes her head, “Now you’re doing too much.”

“They don’t call me a criminal for nothin’, baby,” he puffs out some smoke, “You’ hungry?”

She sighs, keeping her complaints to herself as she puts all her groceries within her tote bag as she sighs, “Starving, actually.”

“Good.”

He takes one last drag from the cigarette, before flicking it to the floor, watching as the man flinches, thinking he was gonna toss it towards him.

“C’mon,” he gruffs, “It’s on me. Or him, in this case.”

They make it to a restaurant a couple of blocks down, Sayuki placing the strap of her tote against the chair behind her, giving a polite smile as the waiter places the food down against the table. She glances up at Toji, taking the mini slice of pizza as she questions, “Are you gonna smoke in every building we go to?”

“You gonna bother me every time I do?” he shoots back.

She scrunches her nose, “You’re supposed to be nice to me. Wanna bite of my pizza?” She offers, raising the slice towards him.

He raises a dark eyebrow, a huff of a laugh leaving him as he leans forward, his jaw parting slightly as she brings the pizza to his mouth, biting into it. When she pulls her hand back, he chews silently before replying, “I didn’t shoot that dumbass in the store, and I just took a bite of your food without arguing. I’m Peter Pan at this point.”

The laugh that falls from her mouth is bubbly, wrapping her full lips around her straw. Once again, she’s back to noticing him staring at her, she raises an eyebrow as she says, “Why are you always just looking?”

“Can’t help it. Got some pretty ass lips.”

“Quit flirting,” she moves her hair behind her shoulder, glancing down at her phone to distract herself from the warmth that comes along her face.

She then hears him remind, “You never told me how school was going.”

She peers her head up, “Why do you care now?”

He doesn’t even look phased by the question, “Can’t I ask? You’d rather I don’t show any interest in you?”

She sighs a bit, “I don’t think you’d know anything about it.”

Toji’s eyebrows raise up at her response, “Why you’ said that shit like I’m uneducated?”

He leans in closer, his knee now touching hers beneath the table, the feeling intimate, “Talk to me.”

She tilts her head, trying to adjust her knee away from his, but it’d be too obvious to completely shift the way she sits. So she leaves it there.

“I’m tryna’ get my Bachelors in Science. Meaning I have to take some stupid ass, hard ass class like Pathophysiology. They teach shit like that in the Mafia handbook since you know everything?”

“You don’t need a degree to know how the human body works, baby,” he replies, “Seen a lot of dead bodies in my time.”

“Gross,” she dismisses, “Hearing that makes it all the more worse. This is harder than college advanced math for me. Maybe I’m just stupid or something,” she presses her lips together, leaning her head in the palm of her hand, placing her elbow against the table. He can see the change in her expression, the way her mood visibly drops.

“Baby,” he sighs, her heart fluttering a bit at the pet name, “You can’t really think I was callin’ you stupid.”

“I know you weren’t. It’s just— I’ve taken this class twice, and I’m someone who believes shit happens for a reason—maybe this isn’t my path, cause I’d be able to pass if it was meant for me, right?” She blinks, her lashes fluttering heavily.

“Or,” he interjects, “Maybe you need to learn how to ask for help instead of just assuming you’re incapable of passin’.”

He can see her brain processing, a slow flicker of shock and confusion in her gaze. When she just stares at him, silent, he confirms, “You don’t gotta deal with all your problems alone.”

“This is where you just say I’m pretty and my brain is big,” she rolls her eyes, picking a pepperoni slice off her pizza, chewing against it to distract herself.

“Baby, I’ll call you pretty whenever you want. But I’d like it even more if you’d admit you’re smart without me havin’ to remind you.”

“My dad was really good at math, it must’ve skipped a generation,” she gives a weak smile, a tinge of sadness hidden beneath her expression.

Toji’s jaw clenches at the sight of such a weak smile on her face. Something about how sad she looked bothered him, and maybe he wanted to get back that bubbly expression she’d just had moments ago.

“You’re smart, Sayuki. It never skipped a generation.”

She tilts her head a bit as she replies, “I think you’re just saying that cause you have a lil’ crush on me.”

“Damn, guess I’ve been figured out.”

That actually makes her giggle, and to see that return to her face does make him relax a bit. She then offers, “Want me to feed you again?”

He glances down at the offer, looking back up at her, his head tilting a bit as he grins, “You miss my mouth already? Greedy ass.”

The stark contrast of their first interaction up until now was nothing that Sayuki had ever expected. She wasn’t the one to believe in fairytales, or have these high hopes when it came to the possibility of a relationship. But this was something she hadn’t felt with anyone in a while—romance.

Maybe she was starting to like him— maybe she was love bombing him. She wasn’t entirely sure. She noticed small things, like anytime his stride was longer than hers, he’d slow down to walk more behind her. They were now walking through the quiet night in between two buildings, planning to make their way back to the train.

When she caught onto his purposeful walking tactic, she took hold of his hand, tugging him forward a bit as she became annoyed, “You can walk faster.”

“You keep tuggin’ on my arm like that, I’ll think you’re desperate for me to touch you or somethin’.”

She rolls her eyes, “Don’t be cute. I’m not.”

But as she feels his long strides slow down, she turns behind herself, now feeling as her back is being lightly pressed along the wall. Her head tilted up as his jaw reached her nose, his body having to hover for her comfortability.

He places sturdy hands on either side of the wall, pinning her in place. His eyes hold a dangerous gleam in them, the playful attitude continuing as he looks down to her.

“You’re quiet. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He leans down, his face a lot closer than before, the distance miniscule.

She takes a deep breath, kneeling her face closer to his, scanning the dark grey of his eyes. She then admits, “I um…I had a nice time with you today.”

“You did, huh?” he muses, “Good.”

She smacks her lips at that, turning her face away. One of his hands leaves the wall, moving to grip her chin between his thumb and pointer finger, tilting her face to look back at him. He hums, “What other shit you wanna admit while you’re at it?”

“That I like you,” she blinks up at him, “And…that I hope you saying you liked me too in the restaurant wasn’t just talk.”

His hand moves up further, his fingers moving along the skin of her cheek slowly, “How about you quit doubtin’ me?”

One thing he’s good at doing is making her easily irritated. Her eyebrows furrow as she looks at him, “Well why can’t you just say it again? You always gotta answer my responses with a question. You can just be so—“

Another thing she couldn’t stand about him—he was smooth. There should’ve been no way that he caught the rest of her words within his mouth, gripping her in a kiss to shut her up. His hand grasps the back of her neck, tugging her hair a bit to keep her head tilted up. A baby gasp pulled from her mouth, tugging at the bottom of his shirt to keep herself steady. His mouth was warm, tongue heavy, her eyes slowly fluttering shut at the taste of him.

And god, that gasp of hers was music to his ears, pushing his tongue further into her mouth in response as the hand once on the wall slid down to grip at her hip, using it to pull her against his body. It wasn’t rushed, instead slow, his tongue twisting slowly around hers, his teeth catching gently against her bottom lip in a way that couldn’t be an accident.

She’s so drowned within him, she has to reach up and clasp her fingers around his jaw, pushing his mouth back as she presses her forehead to his, breathlessly giggling, “We’re gonna miss the train…”

He leans forward again, and for a second, she thinks he’s going to push for another kiss, but his nose brushes against hers instead, his tone lower as he questions, “You’ that eager to go home?”

“I’m just—“

“Yo, Yakuza boy!”

They both halt, Sayuki pulling herself away as she looks to the end of the alleyway, seeing two men beginning to walk towards them. They weren’t familiar to her, but she had a feeling this was men from another clan. The way they walk towards them—it’s not inviting in the slightest.

“We heard how you robbed the market a couple blocks down, thought we’d come politely ask for that money back.”

She knew Toji wasn’t afraid. But in the sense of her being with him, she could see the way he lifted his head, glaring at the two. He lightly took her body within his arm and pushed her behind himself.

“We can do this shit later. I got a woman with me,” he warns, “Your cashier boy pissed me off, I was teaching him a lesson.”

The two men glance between each other, before going back to Toji, taking another couple of steps forward. One of them grins, his tone mocking as he responds, "And? We didn't ask for the life story."

Sayuki grips her fingers against the jacket he wears, trying to pull him back as she muffles, “Let’s go, Toji. We aren’t in Tokyo—“

“Leaving so soon?”

She turns, seeing another man coming from the opposite end of the alleyway. They were now surrounded, and this one carried a crowbar within his palm.

Toji tenses visibly, his arm tightening around her as he glares at the three men surrounding them, his eyes flickering from each one.

“You’ got a fuckin’ death wish?”

“I think you do,” one of the guys counters, “You know this is our turf. Now shit has to get a little ugly in return. We’ll just strip you down, call it even, cool?”

Sayuki steps from behind him a bit, coming towards the man with the crowbar as she quickly says, “I don’t mind bringing the stuff I took from the market back. It’s no problem—“

But just in that millisecond, it’s as if someone cut the lights off in her brain. She doesn’t register the knuckles that crush against her face until she slams against the ground, her hair falling over her jaw that throbs the minute she feels pain register. She grunts, her ears ringing, palm dragging against the cement to try to bring herself to reality as she can now hear fighting above her.

Everything seems to go silent for Toji when he watches her fall to the ground, a heavy rush of red flooding his vision that he’s never felt before. When he sees her hands desperately gripping the ground beneath her trying to get up, a voice in his brain snaps, and he’s charging at the guy that hit her before any sort of rationality can make an appearance. All three men are surrounding him as he swings, forcing his weight down into every punch he throws.

Within seconds, one of the men is clutching his abdomen, another bent over on the ground, and the third—crowbar in hand—struggling to stay upright as he raises the bloody metal weapon in the air to swing down against Toji’s head.

Her vision is a bit blurry, hand trembling as she reaches for the wall close to her, eyes opening as she begs, “T—Toji…stop…” so quiet that she knew he couldn’t hear it.

She could see as he picked up the man bent on the ground, beginning to plummet his fist into his face. He won’t stop.

She can hear the blood against his knuckles, the crack of bone shifting beneath his punch, the small grunt each time he swings forward. Her body feels cold, a sense of fear exhilarating her skin like no other. Seeing him mercilessly beat this man was a reminder of who he could be—who he was.

“Toji…” she pushes her voice out more, “…Please stop! You’re going to kill him…”

As she pleads, the punches continue. She watches as the man with the crowbar drops the weapon, pulling a pocket knife from his pants, rushing over as he lunges into Toji’s side. That makes Sayuki almost sober up, watching as he drops the man in his hands, hitting the ground with him.

Toji grunts out in pain, his hand moving to grip his side. He can feel the way more blood pours from the wound, soaking the side of his pant leg and jacket.

An anger she hadn’t expected seeps through her entire body. Even with a throbbing jaw, a weary vision, she scurries forward as she grabs the crowbar the man originally held, raising it as she swung harshly at him, watching as he slammed against the wall from impact. She reaches within the back of her jacket, pulling a bigger pocket knife as she jabs it within his side, using her strength to hold him against the wall, ignoring the curse he lets out.

She grits her teeth, “Now you’ll both have matching scars,” twisting the knife within his body, ignoring his painful shout.

Toji pushes himself up with a low grunt at the sound of her voice, his hand still covering the spot where he was now bleeding, pissed at how own vision was becoming blurry, hearing the shouts of the man, seeing his shadow glide by as he took off from the alleyway, knife still within his side.

Sayuki throws the crowbar within her hand, rushing over to Toji as she drops to her knees in front of him, pressing her hand against his wound as her eyes chaotically scatter over his pained look, “Hey—hey—look at me…” Her own hand becomes painted red, “Shit!”

Toji’s eyes are screwed shut for a couple of seconds as her hand presses against his, body flinching at the pain. But when he registers her voice again, his eyes snap open. The feeling of her hands against his skin is enough to help clear the darkness that was starting to take over his mind. His hand moves from his side to grab hers.

“I’m fine,” he mutters.

“No you’re not,” she croaks, her vision returning to a blur, clearing as warm tears slide down her freckled cheeks, “You’re not. I’m calling for help, okay? P—Please stay awake,” she’s holding his wound, clutching the side of his neck, her heart beating outside of her chest.

Toji’s eyes look at her, seeing the worry across her face. He knew he had to stay awake, not only for her but for his own damn sake if he didn’t want to bleed out in some alleyway— her touch on his neck was making it near impossible for him to keep his head up.

He huffs out a short breath, “Don’t…call anybody.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid right now!” She softly panics, fingers trembling as blood rushes over the screen of her phone, dialing someone, anyone at the moment. The phone slides farther away from them as she tries to pull him up, desperately taking his jacket off to press it against his stab.

She’s rambling in panic, “They hurt you—I’m so sorry…”

Toji feels his balance stagger a bit as she pulls him up, the action forcing a hiss of pain from his mouth. He leans his weight against the wall, his eyes flickering to the phone on the ground. His jaw clenches, the thought of any of this being her fault pissing him off, “S—Stop apologizin’…not now…”

“I can’t,” she cried, terrified at the sight of him, her face entirely red, breathing unleveled as her chest heaved.

Toji’s heart twists at the sound of her crying. He wants to reach up to wipe her tears, but the pain in his side makes it nearly impossible.

“Don’t cry,” he practically pleads with her, the thought of her crying any harder making his head spin.

In Toji fashion, he raises his free hand up to reach for her body, pulling her close to him. He wasn’t dramatic, but seeing his vision blur might’ve had him tense, and if he did pass out, he had to make sure she was still there.

He grits out, “You…had a knife on you this whole time?”

She blinks through her tears, sniffling as she registers the question. She nods her head, trying to keep herself calm. Even stabbed, he was able to form some type of amusement, a tired huff of a chuckle blowing against her face as he said, “You really are my fuckin’ wife.”

She can’t help but laugh in return, the weakness of his voice making her cry harder. Toji couldn’t help it, holding her felt good, especially in his current condition. His hand moves to tangle within the ends of her hair, pulling her closer to his chest as he leans his head back.

He couldn’t tell how much time passed as the lights of Kenji’s Cadillac Escalade illuminated the dark alleyway. But it didn’t matter, he’d passed out—Her touch being the last thing he could feel.

𝓐ᥫ᭡

SAYUKI LOOKED WITHIN THE MIRROR, head in her lap as the housekeeper continued to press ice along her bruised jaw, tuning in and out of her grandfather's chastising. Even in sickness, even on his deathbed, the man had a voice on him.

She sighed, “You’re going to run your blood pressure up if you keep yelling like that, Jiji.”

He makes a clicking noise with his tongue, the action clearly disapproving. His eyes glared at the bruise on his granddaughter’s face.

“Of course I’m going to raise my goddamn blood pressure. You were assaulted. I’m going to have those bastards heads sent back to their families!”

“Me and Toji stole from a market in Kyoto,” she reminds, “We didn’t know the store belonged to a different turf.”

“I don’t care where you were—“

He grits the words out between his teeth, his eyes narrowing. Kenji, standing in the doorway, gives the older man a look telling him to relax. The old man huffs, closing his eyes for a moment.

“How does your face feel?”

“Like I fell off my bike, Ojiichan,” she softly replies, “Is Toji alright?” Her patience is wearing thin, no one telling her any updates of him since they took him down to the basement, calling along their underground doctor.

The older man sighs, “The doctor stitched him up. It appears he didn’t lose that much blood…he was lucky,” he grumbles, his eyes flickering back to her face, “You two should’ve known better. We don’t need another incident like—“

He stops himself, not wanting to bring up the past. He then says, “He’ll be in one of the guest rooms tonight. You should go check on him. I would like to go to sleep.”

She knows he’s upset, but she doesn’t want to make it any worse. She leans down as she gives him a kiss on the cheek, bowing as she allows the housekeeper to get him ready for bed. She gave herself time to relax, showering off the blood on her hands and body, throwing an oversized tee on herself, slipping along her house slippers as she goes in search of the guest bedroom along the opposite side of the house. It’s dim within the hallway, quiet as she pads her feet against the floor. She doesn’t know why she feels nervous. She stands in front of the sliding door, halting herself there as she takes a quiet breath. She knocks along the wooden part, not wanting to intrude.

Toji is sitting at the edge of the bed, shirtless as he looks over his stitched up wound. He had scars all over him, but the newest one was different.

The doctor was right—One wrong move and he could’ve died. That thought makes his jaw clench.

He huffs out a breath, replying, “Come in.”

She slides the door open, closing it behind herself as she looks over him, now seeing his Irezumi face to face. The colors strike upon his skin, body painted in ink from the top of his back to his tailbone, traveling all across his arms. It’s like he wears another shirt. Even through the ink, she can see the stitches along his side. She comes forward as she kneels herself in front of him, placing a gentle hand close to his injury as she asks, “How does it feel?”

Toji’s eyes watch her as she moves before him, taking in all of her features in that oversized shirt and her house slippers. Her face is bare, freckles prominent, dark hair curly and damp, stretching down her back as she’d just gotten out of the shower. He had never seen her look so small —maybe because she rarely looked so vulnerable.

He reaches out to place his hand on top of hers, his eyes flickering to the sight of his wound, his expression showing how bothered he was.

“Hurts like a motherfucker.”

He immediately catches hold of the bruise against her jaw, grunting to her, “Tell me it hurts. Don’t lie to me.”

“It doesn’t,” she promises, “I’m fine.”

Toji makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat. He brings his other hand to her chin, gently turning it to see her from a different angle in the light.

“I know you’re pissed off, but I’d rather you just say that you’re glad I’m okay,” she tries to lightly joke, “My grandpa’s given me enough shit about my injury.”

His head cocks to the side as he gives her a look, “You seem to know me already.”

His grip on her chin is still tight, his thumb softly moving across the skin, “You have no idea how pissed I am that this shit happened….all because of me.”

She exhales, her mind flashing of memories she didn’t want to be reminded of. She rubs her thumb across his arm, flicking her eyes up as she admits, “The moment I saw you on the ground…it just—it made me remember how I felt…seeing my dad like that.”

She hates that she feels her body go cold, finding it so hard to talk about this.

“It happened all the same—walking from the market, being trapped by members from another clan. They stabbed him, killed him—enjoyed how I cried for them to stop.”

She can feel the tears in her eyes. She swipes her fingers under her cheeks, feeling her hands trembling as she shudders, “I just…I was so scared,” she tremors, “You can’t do shit like that, Fushiguro—“ she's hyperventilating at this point, “I can’t lose someone else like that…” she brings her hands to her face, sharply inhaling as she full on cries.

Toji feels his chest shift at the sound of her broken voice. Seeing her cry because of him, seeing her so terrified—it does something to him.

He pulls her from her kneeled position to place her in his lap, his arms wrapping around her body to hold her close. He didn’t say a word for a while, letting her cry into his bare chest as his voice lowered, “I’m sorry.”

She cries into his neck, clutching him tighter, feeling all of her emotions pouring through her body. Her cries are then encapsulated by his mouth as he grunts, “C’mere,” pulling her into a kiss, the mixture of her mouth trembling beneath his making him groan.

It’s messy. Her tears mixed within their kiss. Her body shaking between his, her sobs breaking against his lips as he continues to kiss her. Toji felt a pang in his chest at the action, his arms pulling her body closer to his, fingers tightening around the shirt she wore. His injured body ached, but having her so close to him like this was worth it.

Toji’s hand moves to the side of her face, pulling her in for a deeper kiss, tongue dragging her mouth around with his. She tasted like warmth, a home that he never knew.

His free palm comes under her shirt, gripping the skin of her ass to twist her back onto the bed, body now hovered above hers. She quickly hesitates against his mouth, “Your stitches, Fushiguro…” pressing her hand along his chest, not wanting to hurt him.

“Did I say you hurt me?”

“No—“

“So give me your mouth, I want you bad as fuck right now,” his nose nuzzles against her neck, the ticklish pleasure making her eyes roll back slightly.

She pulls face down to meet him, bringing her lips close to his mouth as she says softly, “Go slow, please…” pressing their noses together, breathing hesitantly against his mouth.

Toji’s face darkens, his eyes looking intensely into her own as his pupils dilate. He wasn’t exactly a gentle man—but he wanted to try for her sake.

He clutches her by her neck as he pulls their lips back together, head knocking back in a motion as he kisses her, the weight of his body overpowering even as he tries to be soft. His hand presses against the bare skin of her hip, dragging his thumb along the goosebumps forming. When Sayuki’s eyes flutter open, she flicks them up to the mirror above, engraving the ink along his back in her brain, locking her fingers into the back of his hair to have his mouth fall more into hers, dropping her lower lip to release a shaky breath.

Toji’s hair was soft between her fingers while his touch was firm along her hip. His tongue flicks out to catch her mouth just before it leaves his.

She reaches below herself as she arches her back off of the bed, face warm as she pulls the end of her shirt upward, peeling the material from her skin. To see his glare at the sight of her, she pulls his shoulder down to press her chest to his, hating how he stared.

“Don’t do that,” he grunts, raising himself back up, pulling one of her hands above her head as he slips his fingers through hers, eyes burning at the sight of her bare skin. Her brown nipples, caramel skin, she’s glowing beneath the dim light of the bedroom.

His mouth travels, sucking her nipples in between his full lips, her body arching towards him the more he lowers himself. His arm holding one of her hands keeps her in place, her body wanting to pull away, all while wanting to pull closer to him.

Toji’s tongue is rough and wet against her, tracing the skin of her neck line and collarbone. He wanted more of her—all of her. Her taste and her body makes his head spin.

His body, firm and muscular keeps her pinned against the bed, her chest rising and falling heavily as he kisses down her stomach. Toji grumbles against her, biting the skin along her hip, “I can’t fuckin’ get enough of you.”

The sound of his voice makes her breathing become heavy, her thighs shuddering as he makes out with the skin of her leg, swirling his tongue up to her ankles, kissing along her feet—he was everywhere. It makes her grip the material of the sheet beneath her, his mouth gliding down to the back of her thigh, making her shakily release, “Toji…”

He loves the sound of his name on her lips, almost as much as he loves the taste of her skin. Her body shivers beneath his touch, her toes curling as he leaves a trail of kisses all the way back up her leg.

He growls against her, “Say my name again,” he pleads, “Say it.”

His large frame is able to keep the intertwine of their palms together as lowers himself down, locking his other palm against the back of her thigh, tugging her lower half even closer. Her heart beating in her ears nearly implodes the moment she feels his mouth drag up the folds of her pussy that keep her clit hidden, and she full on gasps, the sound shuddering as her head knocks back against the pillow, breathlessly whining out, “T—Toji!…”

She’s warm and wet—thighs shaking as he holds her by the ankles, locking her knees against the sheets of the bed, tugging her down to meet the lap of his tongue. It’s flat against the nub of her clit that swells at the connection, her arousal collecting against his jaw, Sayuki’s skin trembling involuntarily as he’s already slurping.

She couldn’t remember the last man in between her legs. But Toji knew exactly what he was doing. She wants to snap her legs together, warmth forming along her cheeks as she desperately reaches for his hair, taking the air out of the room with her pouty gasps. His hands grip her ankles tighter, the spread of her legs making his mouth become deeper, Toji grunting as his nose pressed into her slick folds, tip of his tongue circling the sensitive bud before sucking it gently between his lips, giving opened mouthed kisses.

"’Pussy never tasted like this,” he groans against her heated flesh, his voice low and husky with desire, “I could eat this shit all fuckin night."

He’s back to lapping at her, alternating between long, slow strokes and quick drags, almost lost within her taste.

She shudders, “W—wait— baby—“ the pet name falls from her lips naturally, although she’s shy to release it, another pant coming from her as he raises her legs right in front of her face, closing them in so she isn’t able to see him eating away at her.

She whimpers as her knees press a bit to her chest, dragging her nails against the skin of her thigh, laying her head against the pillow as she forces herself to fully relax. Her eyes flutter shut as she whines again, “Go slow, baby…” she keeps reminding him, “Gonna cum if you keep doing that…”

A deep growl vibrates through his throat, “Sensitive as fuck,” the vibrations sending pleasant tingles through her wet heat as he continues his assault. He’s pushing his mouth deeper, swirling his tongue around languidly, slow in his speed, weight in his efforts. He suckles the sensitive nub greedily, his lips sealing around it as he applies just the right amount of pressure.

The way he listens, his mouth runs off against her as he grunts, grinding her hips to lead back onto his tongue, “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, baby—fuck,” sucking her pussy so sensually into his mouth, the sounds it creates—she does the worry of her pleas as her eyes come down, watching as she gushes unexpectedly into his mouth. Her upper body arches up as she trembles, gasping deeply within her throat as she cums.

A moan flies from her lips when she feels him spank her, leaning up to capture the broken sounds she makes, dragging his palms along the back of her knees, already locking her legs over his wide shoulders. Her mind is within a pleasured frenzy, and she has to tug her fingers back into gripping his hair, giving herself a sense of control as she pants again, “S—Slow, baby…please…”

Toji was anything but slow, his mind hazy and cloudy as he felt his body throb with need. She was soft—like everything he could’ve ever needed.

His lips, wet and lush, move against her, a small grunt leaving his mouth, “I hear you,” he mumbles against her skin like a prayer, his hands gripping her waist to pull her further against him. Her eyes knocked down to him removing his pants, hearing the slap of his tip kiss his abdomen briefly—it’s heavy, smacking politely against her clit, but the size made it impolite.

He pulls his mouth back from hers, pressing their foreheads together to listen to her breathing, pleas within the music of her voice. It’s as if time halts itself, Toji taking her free hand and locking it back above her head with his, his other hand wrapping along her ankle, pressing it farther into the bed. His face frowns atop of hers, keeping a focused attention as his tip nudges in between her sensitive folds—Her lower body aches with a rush of pleasure as he sinks himself in, mixed with an erotic pain she hadn’t felt in so long. Her eyes fall shut as her head falls back into the pillow, her body shuddering as she whimpers, twisting his hair within her fingers as she knocks her forehead back to his.

Their lips brush along each other as he rolls his hips forward, spreading her legs wider, it makes her stutter out a whimper again, “Baby—I can’t—Mmmph,” squeezing his palm as he holds her down, feeling as she tries to escape.

“‘Not even in your shit for ‘real, baby,” he grunts against her lips, “Make this dick yours, you got more to take.”

She moans brokenly at his voice, pulling his mouth down towards her throat, “M—move….”

Toji’s head drops into her neck, his teeth dragging against the spot where a violet bruise laid. Her cries were pretty, but her moans were prettier.

He holds her in place as he pulls his head back to glance at her face, her skin flushed with heat.

“It’s mine now, huh?” he asks, his voice low.

Her face is warm, pulling his mouth back to hide her face within his neck, sucking the skin there as she pitifully gasped in response to him grinding himself forward, feeling an arrogance pooling within his body.

Toji groans against her, his ego growing even more as he feels her mouth against his neck. She’s marking him just as much as he’s marking her, his head feeling fuzzy for more than one reason. He moves a hand to her jaw, his fingers gently holding her chin between his forefinger and thumb to force her face to his, “Let me see that pretty ass face.”

Her teary eyes blink up at him, bringing her tongue forward as she slides it along his mouth, essentially begging for a kiss.

Her tongue against his makes something in his brain short-circuit, his eyes closing as he opens his mouth and gives in to the plea, chuckling in between, “‘Needy as fuck for my mouth, even now.”

It’s hot, wet and messy, both of them pressing their lips together to taste each other in a way that will never be enough.

She whimpers to him, “Don’t laugh at me…” dragging her nails lightly along his back, trying not to form her mouth into a pout.

Toji’s eyes open in time to see the pout against her lips, he can’t help but release a low chuckle again at the sight of it.

“I’d never,” he grunts, leaning in close enough that their noses brush together, a small grin on his face, “I need you too, baby. Talk to me.”

Her voice is small, her panting heavy within her chest as she keeps her nose brushed against his, admitting to him, “It f—feels good…”

Toji’s cheek presses further into hers, his face becoming stoic again, a sense of hunger returning. He’s gentle with his touch, his mind completely focused as he absorbs himself in her pleasured noises.

“Yeah? Not hurtin’ you?” he asks, his voice gruff in her ear, his teeth nipping at the skin of her earlobe.

She shakes her head, pressing a soft kiss along his lips as she whimpers, “Just squeezing too hard on my wrist, baby…”

His grip instantly loosens from her wrists as her admission. He curses to himself, “Sorry,” he apologizes, rubbing his fingers along the skin to ease the pain from his large hands.

Feeling his attempts to be soft—it made her heart swell. A man that wasn’t emotional, wasn’t soft in the slightest, was trying just for her. It’s like crashing waves of pleasure rush her stomach as he rocks himself forward, making her deeply gasp, “R—right—t—there…”

The sound of the gasp mixed with the pleasure in her voice made Toji groan, his hips jerking against hers. He wanted her to be full of pleasure, wanted every inch of her to feel him—but the patience he had, it was leaving.

She blinked before she knew they were switching positions, trembling as she felt him smack her ass again, grunting to her, “On your stomach.”

This was…different. She’s now against her belly, chest to her back as his body hovered above. He clutches her neck from behind—his mouth is now against her ear, still using his free hand to hold her fingers against the sheets. He sinks his dick in, the heaviness of her ass clapping along his skin— her face contorts, her mouth lightly dropping as his hips become connected with the back of her thighs, tightening his palm against her throat.

His hand is firm against her throat, holding it in an intimate way that controls her. It’s possessive.

His mouth is hot against her ear, his voice a growl against her skin, “‘Just gonna have to take it,” he grunts, voice heavy and full of meaning as his hips drop down against hers, hand holding her in place, “‘Need you to feel me, baby. You feel it?”

She knew he wouldn’t be able to be gentle for long. Here it was, that cocky, dominant side he’d been holding back. The sounds she makes—they’re loud, high-pitched. She’s mewling with each stroke as he swirls his hips down, Sayuki’s eyes rolled back, listening to the sounds their skin creates against the room, arching deeper into the bed as she embarrassingly moans, “Oooh, shit. Baby—I feel you…”

He grunts in response, his teeth biting her ear as she moans. She felt so tight around him. He’s not pulling halfway out like before—he’s now pulling back until his tip is halfway inside, sharply driving back in, watching arousal squelch more and more, filling to the brim to drip against his balls. He presses his body against hers, his chest flush against her back, moving his hand to the side of her face to hold her head in place as he growls in her ear, “‘Makin’ a fuckin’ mess, baby. Can’t even think straight anymore, huh?”

Her head is leaning back against his shoulder, tilting her eyes up to look up within the mirror on the ceiling as he clutches her jaw. She watches the muscles of his back flex, the color of his tattoos all along his skin, she shudders, gasping, “Yeahh, c—can’t think…”

He catches her gaze in the mirror, watching his body, the way his muscles were flexing. She’s staring at him, him—and the action makes his brain feel like it’s overheating.

“You lookin’?” he groans, her voice wrecked as his grip on her jaw tightens.

She’s clawing at the sheets beneath her, inhaling deep, gasping dangerously as she whines, “Y—Yeah….don’t stop. Don’t stop…” she feels tears brimming within her eyes, a pleasure erupting within her body she’d never felt before.

She's sniffling, trembling, a small sob pulling from her lips, reaching behind to clutch for his hair again, pulling his mouth down to her throat. He’s cooing in her ear, “I know, baby.”

She drags her fingers into his scalp as she turns her head, “Kiss me,” she begs, rolling her hips back, “Please…”

Her back is arched against him, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat, watching the way her ass recoils against his skin—It drives him wild.

His nose slides against her face to reach for her mouth, his tongue slipping past her lips, the kiss filthy and raw. He grunts to her, “Gonna fuckin’ marry you, gonna’ kiss you like this at our fuckin’ wedding.”

He chuckles against her shuddering body, watching as she holds onto him for dear life. He won’t stop talking, “You never answered my question. This shit mine, huh?”

She’s full on crying, so wrapped up in the pleasure he gives her— her cheek is along the sheet of the bed, his body following down with hers, pressing his cheek against her jaw, dropping his hips down, earning a squeal in response. She groans, letting the sound drag into a loud moan, clutching her hand over her mouth as she softly cries, “I’m yours, fuck…don’t s—stop…”

His. She's his. The thought is almost his undoing, his heart beating heavily against his chest as he feels her crying, her body clinging to him like she’s lost if he leaves her.

Her voice is broken as he speaks, a whine from the back of her throat as she tightens around him, “You hear me? I’m gonna marry your ass. Never gonna’ fuckin’ leave. Always gonna fuck you like this.”

He watches her tears stream down her face from the mirror above him, a dark desire stirring within him. It’s a gorgeous sight—her completely and utterly ruined from his touch.

He grunts into her ear, “You gonna’ say yes?”

His palm locks around her parted mouth, sliding his fingers on her tongue, using the leverage to yank her back, skin applauding like gunshots within the room. The scent of his body is all around her, she’s moaning, turning her head back to look at him, “Yes ...yes…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean it?”

She can feel her hips falling into his, body becoming exhausted as she trembles, the scream that attempts to release from her lips inhales into a gasp, pulling her mouth down to muffle her sounds as she softly cries, “Mean it, Toji…”

Her words leave her in a whimper, the sound mixed into a sobbed moan, Toji can’t think—He feels like he’s on fire. The pleasure, emotions that course within their body come together in another kiss, her entire body spasming beneath him as she orgasms. Her sobs, her trembling, he can feel it, smell it, taste it.

He whispers in her ear as he holds her, groaning as he releases with her, his voice completely wrecked, “Fuck—I got you, baby.”

There’s nothing left but their shaking bodies, their tangled limbs wrapped together, panting breaths, and the sound of the two against each other. He can’t get his arms to leave her.

She grazes her nails along his arm, trying to take control of her breath as she whispers, “Gonna’ put me in a headlock if you told me any tighter…”

He loosens his grip, shifting to turn her body to face him without separating. He’s still inside her, and he won’t budge. He wipes his thumb along the tears on her face, “My bad, pretty.”

She frowns, “When’d you get soft on me? Didn’t know I’d have such a sweet bean of a husband,” she giggles, seeing him raise his eyebrow at that.

He hates that something in his heart melts at her words—but just like a man—he has to circle back to another point of her sentence.

“Just when I was gonna’ be nice and ask what size ring you wear,” he smacks his lips, Sayuki gasping as he wraps his fingers along the back of her neck, pressing her face down into the sheets, “Now’ I gotta remind you who I am. Put that ass up, I’m not done with you yet.”

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #toji fushiguro jujutsu kaisen #toji fushiguro x black reader #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji fushiguro

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jupiterpilgrim · 12 hours ago

Text

Attitude

Kim Chaewon x Male Reader

word count: 13K

It's Friday.

The office is dead quiet, the kind of silence that feels too heavy after hours. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting pale, washed-out light on the few desks still occupied. Yours is one of them.

You’re slouched over your keyboard like roadkill, head resting on your folded arms. Everything feels muted—your energy, your mood, the world in general. You haven’t eaten all day, and the cold leftover coffee in your mug tastes like despair.

But before you can continue to suffocate in your cocoon of sadness and self-pity, her sharp voice cuts in:

“Wow. You look like shit.”

You lift your head just enough to glare at Kim Chaewon. She’s leaning against the side of your desk, arms crossed, her sharp bob framing her face like she stepped off a Pinterest board for "hot office chic." Her tailored pants sit perfectly on her hips, sharp creases cutting down her turned legs, emphasizing every curve. The blouse she’s wearing is neatly tucked in, accentuating that unfairly tiny waist. The coat? New, for sure—some designer nonsense, knowing her. Her expression is as sharp as ever, her dark eyes cutting right into you.

“Thanks,” you mumble, dropping your head back down. “Really needed that.”

She doesn’t move. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

You groan into your arms. “Just tired, okay? Long day.”

Chaewon snorts, a sound that’s half amusement, half derision. “Yeah, because you’re known for working so hard. Sure.”

“I’m serious.” You finally sit up, running a hand through your hair. It doesn’t matter how you try to play this; she can see right through you.

She always does.

“Don’t lie to me.” Her voice softens, just a bit, but there’s still an edge. “I know something’s up. You’ve been moping around all week like someone kicked your dog.”

“It’s nothing.”

She tilts her head, her sharp gaze narrowing. “It’s about her, isn’t it?”

You tense up, your fingers clenching around the edge of your desk. “I, uh… I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I knew it.” She exhales through her nose, shaking her head like she’s disgusted. “God, I told you this was going to happen.”

There it is. The last thing you need: Chaewon’s patented I Told You So energy. “Seriously, I’m fine,” you lie, your voice cracking in a way that betrays you completely.

“Oh, you’re fine?” She raises an eyebrow, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Cool. That’s why you look like someone just ran over your soul.”

You press your palms into your eyes, trying to block her out. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, well, tough.” She uncrosses her arms, resting a hand on her hip. “Let’s go get a drink.”

You blink up at her. “What?”

“A drink,” she repeats, like you’re an idiot. “You know, alcohol? That thing you drown your sorrows in?”

“Why?”

“Because sitting here sulking is pathetic, and I can’t stand looking at it anymore.” Her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smirk. “And let’s be real, you’ll be slightly less annoying when you’re drunk.”

You hesitate. The thought of spending more time with Chaewon—queen of snark, master of unsolicited opinions—isn’t exactly appealing. But then again, neither is going home to your empty apartment.

And besides, she is your friend after all. Even though she seems to care about you in a way that is particularly hers.

“Fine,” you mutter, grabbing your bag and coat. “One drink.”

Her smirk widens. “Make it two. You’re going to need it.”

—

The two of you walk down the hallway toward the elevators, your steps heavy, hers sharp and purposeful. The silence stretches between you, awkward and suffocating, so you try to fill it with literally anything else.

“So… did you see the email about the quarterly report updates?” you ask, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Looks like the finance team is gonna implode again.”

Chaewon glances at you, her expression blank. “Uh-huh.”

Encouraged by the lack of immediate judgment, you keep going. “Yeah, they keep messing up the projections. I mean, how hard is it to use a spreadsheet, right?” You force a chuckle. “Maybe we should give them remedial Excel classes or something. Like, step one: stop sucking.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, noncommittal.

You glance at her out of the corner of your eye. She’s staring straight ahead, her lips twitching like she’s holding back a laugh—or gearing up to kill you. It’s hard to tell with her.

The elevator dings, and you step inside, immediately finding something—anything—to stare at. The buttons, the wall, the floor.

God, the floor is fascinating.

Is that gum?

No, just a weird stain.

“Okay, what the hell are you doing?” Chaewon’s voice slices through the awkward silence, sharp and irritated.

“What?” You glance at her but quickly look away again. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” She crosses her arms, leaning against the side of the elevator, her dark eyes locked on you. “You’re acting like a guilty teenager. What’s your deal?”

“I’m not—” You pause, frowning at the ceiling now like it holds the answers to life’s mysteries. “I’m not doing anything.”

Her gaze feels like a laser, burning into the side of your head. You swallow hard, desperate to shift gears. “Hey, uh, did you cut your hair?” You gesture vaguely at her head, avoiding her eyes. “Looks shorter.”

Chaewon’s brow furrows, then her lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk. “Wow. You’re really gonna do this, huh?”

“Do what?” you ask, feigning confusion.

“Run away from the conversation like a little bitch.”

Fuck.

“I’m not running away,” you mumble, staring at the floor again.

She straightens, taking a small step closer, and you can feel her eyes boring into you. “Oh, you absolutely are. It’s almost impressive, honestly.”

The elevator dings again, signaling you’ve reached the ground floor, and you practically lunge for the door. Anything to escape the suffocating space and her relentless gaze. But as you walk out, her voice follows, resonant and unforgiving:

“You know you can’t avoid this forever, right?”

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. You’re not sure if the drink she promised will make this better—or worse. Probably worse.

Now outside the building, the city feels colder than usual, the January air slicing through your thin coat. You jam your hands deeper into your pockets as Chaewon strides ahead, leading the way to a bar you’ve been to a few times after work. It’s nothing fancy—dim lighting, common wooden tables, decent drinks. The kind of place you don’t have to think too much about, which suits you fine right now.

She’s quiet for once, her steps crisp against the sidewalk. You trail behind, trying to figure out how to fill the silence. Talking feels safer than letting her drag you into emotional territory.

“I, uh, I’ve been listening to Taylor Swift lately,” you blurt out.

That gets her attention.

She slows, glancing back at you with a raised eyebrow. “Taylor Swift?”

“Yeah. You said I should give her a shot, remember? You’re always going on about her lyrics or whatever.”

Chaewon’s mouth quirks, like she’s fighting a smile. “And?”

“And…” You hesitate, feeling oddly self-conscious. “She’s good, okay? I’ve had Blank Space on repeat all week.”

At that, she lets out a short laugh, the sound cutting through the cold. “Oh my god. That’s such a basic choice.”

“Hey, it’s catchy,” you protest, grinning despite yourself. “And relatable. You know, the whole ‘darling, I’m a nightmare’ vibe.”

“Relatable?” She tilts her head, smirking. “You think you’re the nightmare, or…”

“Can we not analyze my music choices right now?” you cut in, shaking your head.

For a moment, the mood feels lighter. She’s distracted, you’re distracted, and the tension hanging between you starts to dissolve. But just as you’re beginning to think you’ve dodged the worst of it, she pulls the rug out from under you.

“So,” Chaewon says casually, “about your relationship…”

You groan, throwing your head back. “Seriously? I thought we were bonding over Taylor Swift!”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” She stops walking, turning to face you with her arms crossed. Her eyes are sharp again, cutting right through your defenses. “When did it end?”

You hesitate, your mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“That’s what I thought,” she says, filling the silence.

Desperate to steer the conversation away, you blurt out, “What about you? Any big plans for 2025?”

She blinks, caught off guard for half a second before narrowing her eyes. “Nice try.”

“No, really. What’s the plan? New job? New hobbies? Finally learning to not be such a pain in the ass?”

Chaewon rolls her eyes but humors you. “I don’t know. Probably more of the same. Working, eating overpriced sushi, babysitting your emotional meltdowns.”

“I don’t have meltdowns,” you mutter.

“Sure you don’t.”

You both start walking again, the bar now just a block away. The cold bites at your face, but her presence feels oddly warm, even when she’s being difficult.

Then, she strikes. “When did it end?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and this time, there’s no escape. You shove your hands deeper into your coat pockets, staring at the ground as you mutter, “Four days ago.”

Chaewon stops again, her boots scuffing against the pavement. “Four days?” she repeats, her voice softer now.

You nod, your throat tight.

She doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at you like she’s trying to figure out what to do next. Her usual sharpness fades, replaced by something you can’t quite name.

“Come on,” she finally says, her voice quieter. “Let’s get that drink.”

You follow her into the bar, bracing yourself for whatever’s coming next.

—

The bar is dimly lit, the kind of place where the furniture doesn’t match and the music is just loud enough to drown out awkward silences. It smells like spilled beer and fried food, comforting in a low-effort kind of way. You follow Chaewon to a corner table, sliding into the seat opposite her. Your back is hunched, arms resting on the table like they might just hold you together.

Chaewon doesn’t even ask what you want. She waves down the bartender and orders your usual—a whiskey soda—and something for herself. The fact that she remembers your drink feels both reassuring and mildly irritating, like she’s been quietly cataloging your life just to one-up you at moments like this.

When she comes back with the drinks, she slides yours across the table, taking her own seat. “Here,” she says, setting her glass down with a little more force than necessary. “Drink. You need it.”

You pick up the glass, taking a slow sip. The burn of the whiskey settles in your chest, warming you in a way the freezing walk over couldn’t.

For a moment, you think she might let you enjoy the drink in peace. But of course not.

“So,” she starts, leaning back in her chair. “What happened?”

You sigh, swirling the ice in your glass. “Do we have to do this now?”

“Yes.” Her tone is firm, unrelenting. She sips her drink, her eyes fixed on you over the rim of the glass. “Spill.”

You set the glass down, running a hand through your hair. “We just… weren’t compatible anymore.”

Chaewon snorts. “Bullshit. What does that even mean?”

“It means we had different tastes,” you say, glaring at her. “She liked going out all the time; I’d rather stay home. She liked clubbing; I liked reading. She thought Netflix was boring—who even thinks that?!” You pause, rubbing your temples. “And then she started getting distant, like she didn’t even enjoy talking to me anymore. Everything I said felt like it annoyed her. Until…”

“Until?” Chaewon prompts, her tone sharper now.

“Until she snapped,” you mutter. “She said I was boring. And too nerdy. For her, apparently.”

Chaewon’s jaw tightens. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Nope.”

“That’s such bullshit.” She slams her drink down on the table, the glass clinking against the wood. “What the hell is wrong with her? I mean, boring? Nerdy? Please. She’s just projecting her own basic-ass insecurities onto you.”

You let out a weak laugh, staring into your drink. “Yeah, well, you warned me, right?”

“You’re damn right I did.” She points a finger at you like she’s scolding a misbehaving child. “From the second you introduced her, I knew she wasn’t worth it. God, the way she talked about astrology like it was a science? Red flag. Huge.”

“Okay, she wasn’t that bad,” you mutter.

Chaewon narrows her eyes. “Don’t defend her. She literally called you boring, and for what? Because you’re not into overpriced cocktails and pretending to enjoy techno music?”

You chuckle despite yourself, shaking your head.

“And another thing,” she continues, clearly warming up now. “Why the hell do you always go for these girls, huh? These… these cookie-cutter influencers or wannabe fashionistas or whatever? It’s like you have a radar for people who are only gonna treat you like crap.”

“Wow, thanks for the support,” you say dryly.

“I’m serious!” She leans forward, her voice dropping slightly. “You could date someone who actually appreciates you. Someone who doesn’t think liking sci-fi is a crime or that staying in is a death sentence. Someone who…” She pauses, looking away briefly before shaking her head. “Anyway, you have terrible taste, is what I’m saying.”

You rest your arms on the table, elbows planted firmly as your hands cradle your head. The whiskey soda sits half-finished in front of you, the ice already starting to melt, but you barely notice it.

“I don’t think I’m compatible with anyone,” you mutter, more to the table than to Chaewon.

She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms as she watches you with that unreadable expression she’s so good at. “Oh, here we go.”

“I’m serious.” You glance up at her, your face twisted in defeat. “I think I’m just… done. With all of it.”

“‘Done’?” she repeats, her tone dripping with skepticism.

“Yeah.” You sit up slightly, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “Love. Dating. Relationships. The whole thing. What’s the point? It’s just rejection after rejection, disappointment after disappointment. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the problem.”

Chaewon snorts, swirling the drink in her hand. “That’s dramatic, even for you.”

“Is it, though?” You lean forward, resting your chin on your hands. “I mean, think about it. Every time I try, it ends the same way. They get bored, or I annoy them, or they find someone else who’s, I don’t know, less me.”

Her brows knit together slightly, the teasing edge in her expression softening just a bit. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m being realistic,” you counter, sitting back in your chair with a defeated sigh. “Maybe I’m just not meant to be with anyone. Maybe I’m one of those people who’s better off alone.”

She groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. “God, you’re exhausting.”

“See? Even you can’t stand me for too long,” you joke bitterly.

Chaewon sets her drink down with a loud clink, leaning forward to glare at you. “Stop it. You’re not the problem. Like I said, the problem is your taste in women.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Don't play dumb.” She waves a hand, dismissing your confusion. “You keep picking people who don’t deserve you. People who don’t get you. That’s on them, not you.”

“Or maybe,” you say, lowering your voice, “I’m just not worth getting.”

Her glare sharpens, and for a second, you think she might actually throw her drink at you. “Don’t. Don’t do that self-pitying bullshit. You’re worth it. You’re just too stupid to see it.”

You let out a humorless laugh, rubbing your hands over your face. “Thanks for the pep talk. Really uplifting.”

Chaewon exhales sharply, sitting back and crossing her arms again. “Look, you’re not perfect. You’re stubborn, and you overthink everything, and sometimes you talk about The Legend of Zelda like it’s a religion.”

“It is a religion,” you mutter.

“But—” she continues, ignoring you, “—you’re also kind, and funny, and smart. And you care, probably too much, which is why these assholes keep hurting you. That’s not a bad thing, okay? It just means you need to stop wasting your time on people who don’t care back.”

Her words hang in the air, heavier than you expected. You stare at your glass, tracing the condensation with your finger. “I’m tired, Chaewon,” you admit quietly. “I’m just… tired of trying.”

Her expression softens, the sharp edges dulling slightly. She reaches across the table, nudging your hand with hers. “Then stop trying so hard. Let the right person find you.”

You glance up at her, and for a moment, you think you see something in her eyes—something that makes your chest tighten. But before you can figure it out, she leans back, grabbing her drink again.

“And in the meantime,” she adds, her smirk returning, “stop being such a drama queen. You’re not giving up on love. Think of it like you're taking a break.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “Fine. A break. But if I die alone, I’m haunting you.”

“Deal.” She clinks her glass against yours, a crooked smile on her lips.

You take another sip of your drink, feeling the warmth seep into your bones. The weight on your chest feels a little lighter now, though not by much. Chaewon watches you over the rim of her glass, there’s something softer lurking in her gaze—a flicker of concern she’d probably deny if you brought it up.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “did you actually cut your hair?”

Chaewon huffs, rolling her eyes. “Yes. Why?”

You shrug, trying to sound casual. “It suits you. I mean, it’s good. Really good, actually.”

She pauses mid-sip, her eyes flicking to yours. “Thanks,” she says, her tone vague, but the way she fidgets with her glass gives her away.

You smirk, leaning back in your chair. “You’re bad at taking compliments, you know that?”

“Shut up,” she mutters, but there’s no real heat behind it. Her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile, and for a second, the tension between you dissolves completely.

The conversation drifts to safer territory after that, and you find yourself updating her on the games you’ve been playing. “I’ve been sinking way too many hours into that new RPG,” you admit, swirling the ice in your glass. “The one with the insane skill trees? It’s stupidly addictive.”

She tilts her head, genuinely interested. “The one with the branching storylines?”

“Yeah! I’ve already screwed up like three questlines because I made the wrong dialogue choices. It’s brutal.”

Chaewon chuckles, resting her chin on her hand as she listens. “Sounds like it’s punishing you for being indecisive.”

“Exactly! It’s like the developers made it specifically to torture me.”

You keep talking, describing the game mechanics, the world-building, the characters. And she listens. Really listens. She’s not scrolling through her phone or zoning out or pretending to care just to be polite. She’s engaged, asking questions, making observations that show she’s actually paying attention.

It hits you then, how different this is. How different she is.

Your ex never really cared about this stuff. She’d roll her eyes the moment you brought up a game, tuning out or flat-out telling you she wasn’t interested. Conversations with her always felt like walking a tightrope, trying to find the one topic that wouldn’t bore her. With Chaewon, it’s… easy.

“Honestly, I think you’d like it,” you say, gesturing with your glass. “The story’s your kind of thing—morally gray characters, lots of political intrigue. You’d probably end up siding with the villain, though.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me? Why would I side with the villain?”

“Because you’re a menace,” you deadpan, grinning when she rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, well, at least I’m not the type to get emotionally attached to fictional characters,” she fires back, smirking.

“First of all, rude,” you say, pointing at her. “Second of all, you cried at the end of Fullmetal Alchemist, so don’t even.”

Her smirk falters, and she narrows her eyes. “That doesn’t count. That was different.”

“Sure it was.”

The banter flows easily, the kind that feels effortless, natural. You realize, not for the first time, how much you enjoy talking to her. How much you look forward to these moments when the world feels less crushing and complicated.

And then there’s the way she’s looking at you now, her dark eyes steady and focused, her chin still resting on her hand. Like she’s actually glad to be here with you.

You don’t say it out loud, but it’s nice.

It’s more than nice.

“Anyway,” she says, breaking the silence, “if you’re going to recommend a game, you better let me borrow it. Why waste money when I've got you, my walking game library?"

You laugh, raising your glass in mock salute. “Consider it done.”

You can’t help but smile as Chaewon takes a sip of her drink, the corners of her lips quirking upward in that way that says she’s amused but refuses to fully admit it. Her eyes glimmer in the low bar lighting, and for a moment, it feels like the two of you are in your own little bubble, separate from the hum of the bar around you.

“You know,” you say, swirling the last of your whiskey, “I wasn’t kidding about you siding with the villain. You’ve got that whole morally ambiguous vibe.”

Chaewon raises an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Excuse me? Morally ambiguous? Care to elaborate?”

“Sure.” You grin, resting your elbows on the table. “You’re always roasting me for no reason. You have a resting bitch face so intense it scares the new hires. And don’t think I didn’t see you steal the last donut at the office meeting last week, even though you knew I hadn’t had breakfast.”

Her jaw drops in mock indignation. “Okay, first of all, the donuts are fair game. It’s survival of the fittest.”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it?” you tease. “Because it looked more like petty theft.”

Chaewon snorts, trying to stifle her laugh, but it escapes anyway—a melodic sound that fills the space between you. It’s unguarded, real, and it makes your chest feel a little lighter.

“Second of all,” she continues, still smiling, “you were too slow. Not my fault you can’t fight for what you want.”

“Wow,” you say, feigning a wounded expression. “Cold. Absolutely ruthless.”

“I’m a realist,” she quips, smirking.

“No, you’re a donut thief.”

That gets her again. She leans back, laughing openly now, her shoulders shaking as she tries to catch her breath. The sound is warm, bright, and for some reason, it feels like a reward—a moment of connection you didn’t realize you needed.

“God, you’re such an idiot,” she says, wiping at the corner of her eye.

“Maybe,” you admit, grinning. “But at least I’m not the office villain.”

“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes but doesn’t stop smiling. “If anyone’s the villain, it’s you. You’re the one who keeps stealing my stapler.”

“Only because you keep hiding my mouse batteries.”

“That was one time.”

“And it was chaos,” you retort. “I couldn’t even Google how to fix it because I didn’t have a mouse!”

She laughs again, her head tilting back slightly, and you realize how rare it is to see her this relaxed. There’s always a sharpness to her—an edge—but right now, she’s softer, her usual armor cracked just enough for you to peek through.

“You know,” you say after a moment, your tone more thoughtful, “you should laugh more. It suits you.”

She blinks, caught off guard, her smile fading just slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that it’s nice,” you say simply, leaning back in your chair. “Seeing you like this. It’s… nice.”

She looks at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she clears her throat, sitting up straighter. “Don’t get sappy on me, okay? I don’t do sappy.”

“Noted,” you say with a mock salute, though you can’t help but notice the faint blush creeping up her neck.

The conversation drifts again, this time to lighter topics—shared office gossip, the weird guy who sits by the printer, and that time Chaewon accidentally sent a snarky email to the entire department.

But through it all, you find yourself stealing glances at her, marveling at how she seems to know exactly how to pull you out of your own head. How she listens, really listens, in a way that makes you feel seen. And how her laughter—bright, unrestrained, and unapologetically her—lingers in the back of your mind, long after the sound fades.

—

The bar has emptied out a bit, the din of voices replaced by the soft hum of the jukebox in the corner playing some indie song you don’t recognize. Three rounds have come and gone—the whiskey soda you started with, smooth and sharp; a pint of amber ale, bitter enough to match your mood; and finally, a vodka tonic that sits untouched, the ice long since melted into a watery mess. You’re slumped over, your head resting on your arms, the fatigue creeping in after a long, emotionally draining day.

Across from you, Chaewon is still sitting upright, her glass half-empty as she watches you with an expression you can’t quite place. The faint buzz of alcohol has softened the sharp edges of her usual demeanor, leaving her looking almost thoughtful.

You lift your head just enough to look at her, squinting through the dim light. “What?”

She blinks, startled, as if she didn’t realize you’d noticed her staring. “What, what?”

“That look,” you say, waving a hand vaguely in her direction. “You’re doing that thing where you’re thinking too hard. What’s on your mind?”

Chaewon huffs, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” you murmur, resting your chin on your arms. “You’ve got that little smile thing going on. Spill.”

Her lips twitch, betraying her, and she glances away like she’s debating whether or not to answer. Finally, she sighs, shaking her head. “It’s just… you’ve got this thing about you.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite your exhaustion. “What thing?”

“This… helpless puppy vibe,” she says, her voice laced with reluctant amusement. “Like you’re just wandering through life, looking all lost and sad, and it makes people want to take care of you.”

You stare at her, caught between offense and confusion. “A puppy? Really?”

“Yeah, a puppy,” she repeats, smirking now. “Big, sad eyes. Kind of scruffy. Probably needs a bath. It's dangerous, you know?”

“Wow,” you say, sitting up slightly. “Thanks for that vivid and insulting description.”

“You asked.” She shrugs, but there’s something softer in her gaze now, a flicker of vulnerability she’s trying to hide.

You rest your head back on your arms, watching her through half-lidded eyes. “So what’s so dangerous about this hypothetical puppy version of me?”

Chaewon hesitates, tapping her fingers against her glass. When she speaks, her voice is quieter, almost hesitant. “Dangerous for… someone who thinks you deserve better. Someone who wants to see you happy.”

The words hang between you, heavy and unexpected. For a moment, you’re not sure if you heard her right.

“Someone like that actually exists?” you ask, your tone a mix of skepticism and self-deprecating humor.

She doesn’t answer immediately, her eyes flicking up to meet yours. There’s something in her expression now—something raw and unguarded that you’ve never seen before.

“You’re looking at this person,” she says simply.

The room feels too quiet all of a sudden, the music in the background fading into nothing. You stare at her, trying to process the weight of her words. There’s no teasing smirk, no sarcastic remark to soften the blow. Just Chaewon, sitting there, her gaze steady and unapologetic.

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Your brain is scrambling for something—anything—to say, but all you can do is stare at her like an idiot.

Finally, she breaks the silence, her lips quirking into a small, self-conscious smile. “Don’t look so shocked. It’s not like I’ve been subtle.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter, your voice cracking slightly.

She laughs softly, the sound both nervous and amused. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you admit, still reeling. “I’m starting to get that.”

Chaewon leans forward, resting her elbows on the table as she studies you. “You don’t have to say anything,” she says quietly. “I just… I thought you should know.”

You nod slowly, your mind still spinning. The warmth in her gaze, the way she’s looking at you now—it feels like a lifeline, pulling you out of the fog you’ve been drowning in.

“Thanks,” you say finally.

“For what?”

“For… being here.”

The bar feels quieter than ever, as if the world has tuned out everything except the two of you. The moment feels too big for words, so you don’t try.

Instead, you ask:

“Can I hug you?”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Right now? In the middle of the bar?”

You glance around, gesturing vaguely at the room. “Why not? Nobody’s paying attention.”

She hesitates, lips pursed as if she’s weighing the pros and cons. Then, with a small huff of resignation, she nods. “Fine. But if this gets weird, I’m blaming you.”

You stand up slowly, your heart beating a little too fast as you make your way around the table. Chaewon stays seated for a moment, like she’s still deciding if she’s really going to go through with it, but then she rises to meet you.

Her arms come up awkwardly at first, like she’s not sure where to put them, but then you pull her in, and everything just clicks.

Her small frame presses against yours, fitting perfectly into the curve of your arms. She’s warm, her body soft but firm where it leans into you. Her hair smells faintly of citrus and something floral—clean, crisp, and distinctly her. And her perfume… it’s subtle but intoxicating, a quiet reminder of how she always seems to take your breath away without trying.

You hold her tighter, your hands resting gently on the small of her back. She doesn’t pull away—in fact, she leans in just a little more, her cheek brushing against your chest.

“This is nice,” you murmur, your voice low and almost sleepy.

She chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against you. “You sound like you’re about to fall asleep.”

“Maybe I am,” you admit, your eyelids drooping. “Could totally sleep here, just like this.”

Chaewon tilts her head back slightly to look up at you, her eyes catching the dim light in a way that makes your heart do something weird and uncoordinated. “You’re such an idiot,” she says, but there’s no bite to her words.

“An idiot who’s comfortable,” you counter, letting your head rest lightly against hers.

She hesitates for a beat, then says, “Come to my place.”

You blink, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. “What?”

“My apartment,” she says, her voice quieter now but steady. “It’s close. You can crash there. No point in going all the way home when you’re about to pass out.”

For a moment, you just look at her, trying to process what exactly she’s offering.

“That’s… a great idea,” you say finally, your lips curving into a small smile. “Let’s do it.”

Chaewon steps back, giving you one last once-over like she’s making sure you won’t collapse on the way there. “Good. But if you snore, I’m kicking you out.”

“Fair,” you reply, grinning.

As the two of you leave the bar together, stepping out into the crisp night air, you can’t help but feel like something has shifted—something subtle but undeniable. The space between you feels smaller now, the connection deeper.

—

Chaewon’s apartment greets you with a kind of stillness, like it’s been waiting quietly for her return. She’s ahead of you, shrugging off her coat and neatly hanging it on the hook by the door before toeing off her boots and lining them up with precision against the wall.

“Make yourself at home,” she says, her voice casual but carrying that hint of expectation, like she’s daring you to do anything but comply. “Want some tea?”

“Tea sounds great,” you say, still standing awkwardly in the entryway, unsure where to step in a place that looks like it belongs in a design catalog. To avoid mistakes, you mimic her movements, hanging your coat next to hers, same thing with your shoes. You place your bag on the floor beside the sofa to keep it from being in the way. "I love tea, it's very, uh, natural."

She nods and disappears into the kitchen, leaving you to take it all in.

The space is pure Chaewon—clean, clinical, with sharp angles and muted tones. The furniture is sleek and minimal, not a throw pillow out of place. Even the books on the shelves are organized by size, their spines forming a perfect gradient from light to dark. There’s no clutter, no mess, not even a stray sock to prove she actually lives here.

You wander further in, the floor under your socked feet smooth and cool. There’s a single potted plant on the windowsill, its leaves glossy and impossibly green, like it’s been getting five-star treatment since birth. You stop to study it, half expecting to see tiny instructions taped to the pot—water twice a day, rotate for even sunlight, apologize if you overwater.

The shelves catch your eye next. Books, a few picture frames, a small collection of vinyl records. You tilt your head, curious, but resist the urge to reach out and touch anything. The last thing you need is to knock over some rare artifact of her highly curated life.

“You’re snooping,” Chaewon’s voice comes from behind you, startling you enough to make you flinch.

“Not snooping,” you protest, spinning around. “Just… looking. Observing. Admiring?”

She raises an eyebrow, one hand holding a mug, the other a small tray with a teapot and another mug. “Uh-huh. You're acting like a nosy puppy.”

“Err, I really don't understand this correlation between puppies and me... Maybe I’m just trying to figure you out,” you quip, though your face feels a little warm at being caught.

Chaewon smirks, setting the tray down on the coffee table and gesturing for you to sit on the couch. You oblige, sinking into the surprisingly firm cushions as she pours the tea with careful precision.

Her movements are methodical, each gesture deliberate, like she’s done this a thousand times before. When she hands you the mug, her fingers brush yours for just a second, and you’re hit again with that faint citrus-and-floral scent that clings to her.

“Thanks,” you say, wrapping your hands around the mug for warmth.

She sits down beside you, her posture as precise as everything else about her. For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence filled with the soft clink of the teapot as she sets it back on the tray.

“So?” she asks, finally breaking the quiet. “What’s your verdict?”

“On what?”

“My place,” she says, gesturing around with one hand. “You’ve been staring at everything like a toddler in a museum.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s… very you.”

Her brow furrows slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Organized. Clean. Intimidatingly perfect,” you say, taking a sip of tea to hide your smirk.

Chaewon narrows her eyes at you, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re lucky you’re tired, or I’d kick you out for that one.”

“You’d miss me,” you shoot back.

“Drink your tea,” she says, turning away, but you don’t miss the faint smile tugging at her lips.

The tea’s warmth seeps into your hands as you cradle the mug, its steam curling lazily into the air. Chaewon sits beside you, legs crossed, her own mug resting on her knee as she watches you with that quiet intensity she’s so good at. The conversation has drifted to safer topics—work drama, the weird quirks of your mutual coworkers—but the energy feels heavier now, like there’s something unspoken hanging between you.

You laugh at something she says about your boss’s obsession with motivational quotes, but it comes out thinner than you intended. Chaewon notices immediately, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly.

“You okay?” she asks, tilting her head.

You hesitate, your fingers tightening around the mug. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “You’ve got that weird energy again.”

You laugh nervously, setting the mug down on the coffee table. “Weird energy?”

“Yeah,” she says, leaning back against the couch. “Like you’re trying to calculate how to escape a room without making a scene.”

You rub the back of your neck, looking away. “It’s nothing. Just… tired, I guess.”

Chaewon isn’t buying it. She sets her mug down beside yours and shifts slightly, turning to face you more directly. “Spill. What’s going on?”

You glance at her, then quickly look away again, focusing on the pattern of the rug instead. “It’s stupid.”

“Good thing I’ve got time for stupid,” she says, her voice tinged with amusement. “Come on. Out with it.”

You sigh, your shoulders sagging. “It’s just… I don’t want to ruin things.”

“Ruin what?” she asks, her brow furrowing.

“This,” you say, gesturing vaguely between you. “Us. I’ve messed up before, you know? With other girls. I always say the wrong thing, or do the wrong thing, or just… end up being too much. And I don’t want to lose you. You’re one of the few people who actually seems to get me.”

The words hang in the air. You immediately regret saying them, your stomach twisting as you brace for whatever sharp, sarcastic response she’s bound to throw your way.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, Chaewon shifts closer, her movements slow and deliberate. She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she looks at you, her face unreadable. “You won’t ruin anything,” she says quietly, her voice steady. “I promise.”

You glance at her, startled by the softness in her tone. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” she counters, her gaze unwavering. “You think I don’t know who you are by now? All the awkwardness, the overthinking, the dumb jokes? That’s you. And I like you just the way you are.”

Her words make you feel something strange in your chest, leaving you momentarily speechless. Chaewon doesn’t look away, her expression open and sincere in a way that feels almost vulnerable.

“I’m serious,” she continues, her voice softer now. “You don’t have to try so hard with me. You’re not gonna scare me off or mess this up. So just… relax, okay?”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “I don’t deserve you saying things like that.”

Her lips curve into a small, wry smile. “Probably not. But lucky for you, I’m generous.”

You laugh, the sound shaky but real, and she smiles wider at that. The tension in your chest eases a little, replaced by something warmer, something that feels suspiciously like hope.

Chaewon leans back against the couch, close enough now that her shoulder brushes yours. “Better?”

“Yeah,” you say, your voice quiet. “Thanks.”

She shrugs, reaching for her tea again. “Don’t mention it. Just don’t make me say all that sappy stuff twice.”

“Deal,” you reply, grinning despite yourself.

You pick up your mug again, staring into it like the tea holds the answers to all of life’s mysteries. Chaewon’s sitting close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off her, which is both comforting and mildly distracting. You decide to lean into it, though—into her, into this whole vibe.

“So,” you start, trying to sound casual, “what kind of guys are you into?”

Chaewon doesn’t even blink. She raises an eyebrow, her lips quirking in a way that tells you she knows exactly what you’re doing. “Seriously? That’s where you’re going with this?”

“What?” You shrug, feigning innocence. “I’m just curious. You never talk about that kind of stuff.”

“Because it’s none of your business,” she says, her voice dry, but she’s smirking now, her amusement clear.

“Come on,” you press, leaning a little closer. “Humor me. What’s your type?”

She tilts her head, pretending to think about it. “Hmm. Let’s see. I guess I like someone who’s kind of a mess, but in a lovable way.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you’re pretty sure your cheeks are starting to heat up. “A mess?”

“Yeah,” she says, nodding seriously. “Like, they’ve probably got zero game, but they’re sweet, and funny, and they care about people even when they shouldn’t.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Are you describing me right now?”

She doesn’t answer directly, just sips her tea with an exaggerated innocence that makes you want to throw a pillow at her.

“Okay, fine,” you say, leaning back against the couch and crossing your arms. “What else?”

“Hmm,” she hums, dragging it out on purpose. “Definitely someone who’s way too into nerdy stuff. Like, they could probably write an entire essay on the politics of some random video game world.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “Oh my god.”

“And they’ve got to be a little awkward,” she continues, her smirk growing. “Like, they think they’re flirting right now, but they’re just embarrassing themselves.”

“Okay, I get it!” you cut her off, your voice muffled by your hands.

Chaewon laughs, the sound bright and unapologetic. She reaches over, nudging your shoulder. “What? You asked.”

“Yeah, and I regret it,” you mutter, peeking at her through your fingers. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” she says, looking far too pleased with herself.

There’s a pause as you both settle back into the couch, the playful tension between you easing into something quieter. Then Chaewon stretches, rolling her neck like she’s trying to work out a kink.

“Ugh,” she groans, rubbing the back of her neck. “I think I’ve been sitting at my desk too long this week.”

You glance at her, raising an eyebrow. “What, you need a massage or something?”

“Actually, yeah,” she says, turning to look at you with an expression that’s far too smug. “Since you’re offering.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Wait, I wasn’t—”

“Too late. Offer accepted,” she interrupts, shifting to sit sideways on the couch and giving you her back.

You hesitate for a second, then sigh, setting your mug aside. “Fine. But if you complain, I’m stopping.”

“Just shut up and get to it,” she says, tossing a glance over her shoulder.

You roll your eyes but move closer, placing your hands lightly on her shoulders. Her body tenses slightly under your touch at first, but as you start to knead gently, her posture softens.

“Not bad,” she murmurs, tilting her head forward to give you better access.

“Not bad?” you echo, your fingers working into the knots in her shoulders. “I’ll have you know, I give amazing massages.”

“Sure you do,” she says, her voice slightly muffled.

You work silently for a bit, your hands moving with more confidence as you get into a rhythm. It’s oddly intimate, this moment between you, and you’re not sure whether to be grateful or terrified by how comfortable it feels.

Your hands move slowly, working into the tension in Chaewon’s shoulders, but the longer you touch her, the harder it is to focus. She feels warm under your hands, soft in all the right places, and the faint scent of her perfume is messing with your head in a way you’re not sure you’re ready to deal with.

Chaewon lets out a quiet sigh, tilting her head to the side to give you better access. Her short hair falls away from her neck, exposing smooth, pale skin that catches the dim light just right. You pause for half a second, your hands hovering, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you are to her.

“You okay back there?” she asks, glancing at you over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you mutter, quickly resuming the massage. “Just… trying to find the knot.”

Her lips twitch like she doesn’t entirely believe you, but she doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, she leans forward a bit, giving you even more space to work. “Well, don’t chicken out. I could really use this.”

Your hands move lower, grazing the tops of her shoulder blades, and you feel her shiver slightly under your touch. It’s subtle, but it’s enough to send your thoughts spiraling. Suddenly, the innocent, friendly massage doesn’t feel so innocent anymore.

Chaewon shifts slightly, her back arching just enough to make you notice, and you swallow hard, your fingers faltering for just a second. She doesn’t say anything, but the air between you feels thicker now, charged with something you’re not sure either of you expected.

You clear your throat, trying to focus. “You’ve got a lot of tension here,” you say, your voice coming out lower than you intended.

“Yeah?” she murmurs, her tone almost teasing. “Guess you’d better keep going.”

You can’t help it; your eyes drift down her back, tracing the curve of her spine under her blouse. Your hands move on their own, pressing into the muscles just below her shoulders, but all you can think about is how much you want to touch more. Explore more.

She tilts her head back slightly, her neck exposed, and you’ve never seen her look more beautiful. It’s not just the way her body reacts under your hands—it’s the way she’s completely at ease, trusting you in a way that feels almost vulnerable.

“You’re good at this,” she says, her voice softer now, almost breathy.

“Yeah?” you say, trying to keep the nervous edge out of your voice. “Maybe I missed my calling.”

She chuckles, the sound low and warm, and something about it makes your pulse pick up. “Don’t get cocky.”

Your hands move lower again, brushing against the edge of her lower back, and she shifts under your touch, her breath hitching just slightly. It’s enough to make your resolve start to crumble.

You want her—have wanted her for longer than you’re willing to admit—but now, with her so close, so warm, so utterly Chaewon, it feels impossible to ignore. Every time your hands move, every time she sighs or shifts, it pulls you deeper into something you don’t think you can back out of.

But you hesitate, your hands lingering on her back, unsure of how to bridge the gap between what’s happening and what you want to happen.

Your hands pause for just a moment when Chaewon shifts again, her body leaning slightly forward. Her shoulders tense briefly before relaxing, and then, in a voice quieter than you’ve ever heard from her, she says, “You can go lower… if you want.”

Time stops.

You’re not even sure you heard her right at first. Your brain scrambles to process the words, but your hands are already moving, sliding lower down her back, fingertips brushing over the curve of her waist. You swallow hard, every nerve in your body buzzing.

Her blouse is soft, thin enough that you can feel the heat of her skin beneath it. Your hands press into her, kneading gently, and she lets out a quiet sigh that shoots straight through you.

“That’s… nice,” she murmurs, her head tilting slightly forward.

You chuckle nervously, trying to play it cool even though your heart feels like it’s about to break through your ribs. “Yeah? I’ve got skills.”

She lets out a soft laugh, the sound breathy, and shifts again as your hands move down to her lower back, squeezing lightly. Her body reacts under your touch—a slight arch of her back, a shiver that you feel more than see—and it’s driving you insane.

“Seriously,” she says, her voice muffled as she rests her arms on her knees. “You’re too good at this.”

“You’re welcome,” you tease, your voice low, though you’re barely holding it together.

Her sighs grow softer, more frequent, and her breathing starts to change, deepening slightly. You’re not sure what’s happening anymore, but you don’t care. You’re touching her, she’s letting you, and it feels like the world has narrowed down to just the two of you.

Then she mumbles something, so quiet you almost miss it.

“What?” you ask, leaning in instinctively, your ear close to her lips. “What did you say?”

She doesn’t look at you, doesn’t move. For a moment, you think she won’t answer, but then, in a voice so small it barely feels like her, she murmurs, “Kiss me.”

Oh.

Your breath catches. You pull back slightly, just enough to look at her, but she’s still staring down at her knees, her face half-hidden by the angle.

“Chaewon,” you say softly, her name catching in your throat.

She doesn’t respond, doesn’t look up, but her body shifts toward you, and that’s all the confirmation you need.

You lean in slowly, your lips brushing against the curve of her neck. Her skin is warm and soft, and she smells so good it makes your head spin. You start with a gentle kiss, hesitant, testing, but when she doesn’t pull away—when she lets out the quietest, softest sigh—you lose what little restraint you had left.

Your lips press more firmly against her neck, trailing downward, tasting her skin. Her body tilts toward you, her breathing uneven now, and one of her hands comes up to rest lightly on your arm, her fingers curling against your sleeve.

“God,” you murmur against her skin, your voice barely audible.

She doesn’t say anything, but the way she shifts closer, the way her fingers tighten on your arm, tells you everything you need to know.

Your lips trail up from her neck, slow and deliberate, savoring the warmth of her skin and the way she tilts her head to give you more access. Each kiss pulls a soft sigh from her, barely audible, but enough to set your blood on fire. You can feel her pulse quicken beneath your lips, her breathing uneven as you move closer to her jawline.

And then, without really thinking, you shift your angle and capture her lips.

She turns slightly, just enough to meet you halfway, and the kiss is soft at first—tentative, testing. The faint taste of tea lingers on her lips, mixing with a trace of whiskey, and it’s so much better than you expected. You kiss her deeper, and she responds, her lips parting slightly as the kiss grows more insistent.

You’re still behind her, one arm slipping around her waist to pull her closer as your other hand trails up her side. Her body melts into yours, her back pressing against your chest, and you can feel the subtle tremor running through her as your lips move together.

Her blouse is in your way. It’s driving you crazy.

Your hands start to move without thinking, sliding down her front and finding the buttons of her blouse. The fabric is soft, just like her, and your fingers fumble slightly, but you manage to undo the first button, then the second, all while keeping your lips locked with hers.

Chaewon lets out a quiet gasp as your hand brushes against her bare skin, and it sends a shiver down your spine. Her hand reaches up, tangling in your hair, pulling you closer as her other hand grips your arm, her nails digging in lightly.

“Are you…” she starts to whisper, but her words are lost in a gasp when you undo another button, your hand slipping inside her blouse to rest against her stomach.

She feels so warm under your touch, her body soft and perfect, and you can’t help but move your hand upward, brushing the edge of her bra. Her head falls back against your shoulder, her breathing heavy, and you take the opportunity to kiss her neck again, trailing upward to her ear.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Chaewon freezes for just a second, like she’s caught off guard, but then she turns her head slightly, meeting your lips again in a kiss that’s more desperate than the first. Her hands pull you closer, her body pressing against yours as her blouse falls open, the fabric slipping from her shoulders.

You barely notice the sound of her breath hitching, too focused on the way her skin feels under your hands, the way her lips taste like tea and warmth and Chaewon.

The blouse clings stubbornly to Chaewon’s waist, but you’ve had enough of it. She seems to share the same feeling, raising her arms without a word, your fingers find the fabric, and with one smooth, determined motion, you slide it up and over her head, tossing it behind you without a glance. Now she’s facing you, her skin flushed, her breathing shallow, and for a moment, all you can do is stare.

Her tiny waist curves perfectly into her hips, her perky breasts framed by a simple black lace bra that somehow makes her even more devastatingly beautiful. Chaewon shifts slightly under your gaze, her cheeks turning pink, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, she smirks faintly, like she knows exactly what’s going through your head.

“You done staring, or should I charge you for the show?” she teases, her voice light but tinged with nervousness.

You grin, your heart pounding. “Sorry, just… wow. You’re gorgeous, Chaewon.”

Her smirk falters, her lips parting slightly, and for a moment, she looks almost shy. But then she steps closer, fingers already moving toward the buttons of your blouse. “Okay, your turn. Fair’s fair.”

She starts unbuttoning slowly, each flick of her fingers deliberate, grazing your skin just enough to send shivers down your spine. Once the last button is undone, she slides the blouse off your shoulders, taking off one sleeve at a time before tossing it somewhere behind her like it doesn’t matter.

Her hand comes up, hesitating for a moment before she places it on your chest, her fingers trailing lightly over your skin. “I’ve imagined this,” she says quietly.

You swallow hard, your breath catching at the honesty in her words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs, her eyes meeting yours. “More than I’d like to admit.”

Her hand continues its slow exploration, her touch sending shivers down your spine. You feel completely exposed, but not in a bad way. There’s something about the way she’s looking at you—like she’s seeing you, all of you, and she likes what she sees.

Unable to resist any longer, you reach for her, pulling her close and guiding her back to the couch. She lets you, her body soft and pliant under your hands as you lower her down onto the cushions.

Her hair fans out against the dark fabric, and her lips curve into a small, teasing smile as you settle on top of her, your weight braced on your elbows. “Comfy?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Very,” you reply, grinning down at her. “How about you?”

“I’ll let you know,” she says, her hands sliding up your back to pull you closer.

You kiss her again, slow and deep, savoring the way her body responds beneath you. Her fingers dig into your shoulders, her legs shifting to tangle with yours, and the soft sounds she makes between kisses are enough to drive you insane.

Chaewon’s lips are addictive. Every time you think you’ve had your fill, she moves just right, sighs into your mouth, or tilts her head to let you deepen the kiss. It’s impossible to stop, and honestly, you don’t want to.

At some point, she breaks the kiss, panting lightly, her eyes half-lidded as she smirks. “Weren’t you exhausted ten minutes ago?”

You grin, brushing your thumb against her cheek. “Not anymore. Maybe it’s the tea.”

She arches an eyebrow. “The tea?”

“Or maybe it’s you,” you admit, leaning down to kiss her again, softer this time but no less intense.

She lets out a quiet laugh against your lips but doesn’t pull away. Her hands trail down your back, her nails grazing your skin lightly enough to make you shiver. You shift slightly, pressing your lips to her jaw, then down to her neck. She tilts her head automatically, giving you more room to work, but when your mouth latches onto the delicate skin below her ear, she gasps.

“Hey,” she murmurs, her voice breathy. “You’re gonna leave marks.”

You pause, your lips hovering over her neck. “Do you want me to stop?”

There’s a beat of silence where she doesn’t answer, just stares at you, her cheeks flushed and her breathing uneven. Then, almost too quietly, she whispers, “No.”

You grin against her skin, nipping lightly at the same spot before sucking gently, drawing a soft moan from her. Your hand moves to her waist, holding her in place as your mouth continues its path along her neck, alternating between kisses and playful bites.

Chaewon’s fingers thread through your hair, tugging slightly as she arches into you. “You’re such a nerd,” she mutters, though her tone lacks any real bite.

“And yet,” you reply, moving back up to kiss her mouth, “you’re here.”

She laughs, muffled by your lips, and then gasps softly as you bite her bottom lip, tugging just enough to make her squirm. Her hands tighten on your shoulders, and her legs shift, tangling further with yours as your kiss deepens.

Your hands slide up her back, finding the strap of her bra. The clasp feels impossibly tiny beneath your fingers, but you work at it, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing as her body presses closer to yours.

“Having trouble?” she teases, her lips brushing against yours.

“Shut up,” you murmur, grinning as you finally manage to unhook it.

Your hands work the clasp on Chaewon’s bra, finally unhooking it with a small triumph you try to play cool. The straps slide off her shoulders, and just as you’re about to toss it aside, she holds it against her chest, her fingers gripping the fabric tightly.

“Wait,” she says, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

You freeze, leaning back slightly to meet her gaze. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips slightly swollen from your kisses, but there’s a different kind of vulnerability in her eyes now.

“You’re not just doing this because you’re… you know, hurting, right?” she asks quietly. “I don’t want to be just some kind of band-aid for you.”

For a moment, all the heat between you cools just enough for you to realize how much weight she’s carrying in this moment, how much she’s letting herself be exposed.

“Chaewon,” you say, trying to lighten the mood a little, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was already planning the wedding.”

Her eyes widen for a split second before she laughs, a short, startled sound that breaks the tension just enough. “You’re such an idiot,” she mutters, shaking her head.

“Yeah,” you admit, smiling softly. “But seriously…” You reach up, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’re not a band-aid. You’re… special. You’ve always been special, and I’m sorry it took me this long to see it.”

Her breath hitches, her eyes searching yours for something you hope she finds. Then, with a faint smirk, she murmurs, “Damn right I’m special.”

You chuckle, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Yeah, you are. And I’m lucky. You’re… kind of the best thing in my life right now, you know that?”

Chaewon doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with an expression that’s so raw and open it makes your chest ache. Then, slowly, she lets the bra slip from her hands, her arms falling to her sides as she finally lets you see her.

Her perky breasts are small but perfect, her pale skin flushed and warm. You take a moment to just look at her, taking her in, and the way she shifts slightly under your gaze, her lips parting, makes your breath catch.

“You’re gorgeous,” you murmur, your voice low and reverent.

She huffs, clearly trying to deflect. “You’ve said that already.”

“Yeah, well, it’s true.”

Her eyes meet yours again, and this time, there’s no hesitation, no barriers.

Your lips find hers, and this time the kiss is slower, deeper, your body pressing down against hers as you settle into the couch. Her arms wrap around your neck, pulling you closer, her fingers tangling in your hair as if she’s trying to anchor herself.

Your hand moves almost instinctively, sliding from her waist up to her chest. When your palm finally covers her breast, you pause for just a moment, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your hand, the softness yielding perfectly to your touch.

Chaewon lets out a quiet, breathy sound against your lips, her back arching slightly into your touch. It’s all the encouragement you need. Your fingers squeeze gently, testing, and her response—a soft moan that she tries to muffle—sends heat rushing through you.

You break the kiss, trailing your lips down her jaw, her neck, leaving small, open-mouthed kisses along the way. She tilts her head back, her breathing uneven, her fingers tightening in your hair as your mouth makes its way lower.

When your lips reach her collarbone, you pause to glance up at her, your eyes meeting hers. Her cheeks are flushed, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, and there’s something so intoxicating about the way she’s looking at you—trusting, wanting.

You kiss the top of her breast first, softly, reverently, before moving lower. Your hand slides away, making room for your mouth as you finally reach her nipple.

It’s small and perfectly pink, the areola slightly darker and tight against the cool air of the room. You pause, your lips hovering just above her skin, and then you take her nipple into your mouth, sucking gently.

Chaewon gasps, her body jolting slightly beneath you, her hands gripping your shoulders now. “God,” she breathes, her voice trembling.

You swirl your tongue around the hardened bud, teasing, tasting, savoring the way she reacts—her quiet whimpers, the way her fingers dig into your skin. You suck a little harder, pulling her nipple further into your mouth, and she arches her back, pressing herself closer to you.

When you move to the other breast, you take your time, kissing your way across her chest, letting your lips linger on her skin. Her other nipple is just as perfect, already taut with anticipation when your tongue flicks over it for the first time.

Her response is immediate—a soft moan that makes your chest tighten, your name falling from her lips like a prayer. You suck gently, then harder, alternating with flicks of your tongue that make her shiver beneath you.

You take a moment to glance up again, her face flushed and her eyes half-closed as she watches you, her lips parted, her breathing uneven. There’s something about the way she looks right now—completely undone, completely yours—that makes you feel like you’re falling and never want to stop.

You return to her breasts, your mouth working over her soft skin as if you’ve got all the time in the world. Each kiss, each lick, each gentle nip earns you another sigh, another soft gasp that makes your pulse race. Her nipples are sensitive under your tongue, tightening further with every flick and suck, and you savor the way her body responds—how she arches toward you, her hands restless against your back, her quiet sounds growing needier.

Eventually, you pull away, leaving her flushed and breathing hard, her chest rising and falling beneath you. You kiss your way back up to her collarbone, her neck, and finally her lips, her taste familiar now but still somehow electrifying.

You pause for a moment, your forehead resting against hers as you catch your breath. “Chaewon,” you murmur, your voice low and a little rough. “Do you… want to move to the bed?”

She looks at you, her dark eyes hazy with want but still sharp enough to catch you off guard. For a second, she just stares, like she’s weighing the moment, before finally whispering, “Yeah.”

Her answer is simple, but it’s all you need. Without hesitating, you slip your arms around her, lifting her from the couch with surprising ease. She gasps softly at the sudden movement, her hands automatically gripping your shoulders for balance, but she’s smiling, her lips curving into a rare, unguarded grin.

“You didn’t have to carry me,” she says, her voice teasing but breathy as you press a kiss to her cheek.

“I wanted to,” you reply, grinning against her skin as you kiss your way down to her neck.

She chuckles, the sound soft and breathless, and hooks an arm around your neck, guiding you toward the hallway. You follow her lead, your lips never leaving her skin as you walk. You kiss her jaw, her ear, her throat, savoring every quiet sigh and shiver as her fingers tangle in your hair.

When you reach her bedroom, you fumble briefly but manage to switch on the light without releasing Chaewon from your grasp. A soft, amber glow floods the room, painting her delicate features in hues of warmth. You lower her onto the bed gently, taking a step back to admire the sight in front of you.

Chaewon lies there, half-naked and impossibly beautiful, her flushed skin glowing in the soft light. Her blouse is gone, her bra discarded, and her chest rises and falls with each shallow breath. Her pants are still on, but the way they cling to her hips and thighs makes your throat tighten.

You swallow hard, stepping closer as she watches you, her lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. Slowly, you reach for the waistband of her pants, your fingers brushing against her skin as you undo the button.

“You okay?” you ask, glancing up at her.

She nods, her gaze steady but warm. “Yeah. Keep going.”

You slide the zipper down, the sound loud in the quiet room, and begin to ease the fabric down her hips. The process is slower than you expect, your hands trembling slightly as you reveal inch after inch of smooth, pale skin.

And then her panties come into view.

They’re simple but beautiful, black lace with intricate floral patterns that contrast perfectly against her soft skin. The delicate fabric sits low on her hips, hugging her in a way that leaves little to the imagination. The edges are trimmed with a subtle scalloped design, the lace slightly sheer, hinting at the curves beneath without fully revealing them.

For a moment, you just stare, your breath catching as your hands linger on her hips. You never imagined you’d find yourself here—literally undressing your coworker, who you’ve argued with over staplers and coffee orders—but here you are, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re staring again,” Chaewon says, her voice tinged with humor but softer than usual.

“I think you better get used to it.” you reply, your voice low as you run your fingers lightly over the waistband of her panties.

She huffs, her cheeks turning pink, but she doesn’t look away. “Just don’t make it weird.”

You chuckle, leaning down to press a kiss to her stomach, just above the lace. “Too late.”

As your fingers trail along the waistband of Chaewon’s panties, her breathing hitches, her body shifting slightly beneath your touch. The delicate lace is impossibly soft under your fingertips, a fragile barrier that feels both tantalizing and maddening. Slowly, you slide your fingers under the fabric, your knuckles brushing against her skin as you begin to ease the panties down.

She lifts her hips just enough to help you, her legs bending and turning slightly as you pull the lace down her thighs, over her knees, and finally off her feet. The room feels impossibly quiet, every rustle of fabric and soft exhale amplified in the charged air between you.

When you glance back up, she’s already spreading her legs, the invitation clear. Your breath catches as you take her in fully for the first time.

Her pussy is beautiful, her lips soft and slightly swollen, glistening faintly in the low light of the room. The pink of her inner folds is just visible, a delicate contrast against the smooth skin of her thighs. She’s bare, her skin perfect and inviting, the sight enough to make your mouth water.

You lean down slowly, your lips trailing kisses along the inside of her thigh. Her skin is warm beneath your mouth, impossibly soft, and she lets out a quiet, shaky sigh as your kisses move higher. Her scent hits you then—subtle, musky, intoxicating. It’s uniquely her, a mix of clean and raw and heady, and it pulls you in like nothing else.

Your hands rest on her thighs, holding them gently as you kiss closer to her center. When your lips finally brush against her, she gasps softly, her body tensing for a moment before relaxing into the touch. You start slow, your tongue flicking lightly over her folds, tasting her for the first time.

She’s warm, slick, and utterly addictive, her taste filling your senses as you suck gently on her clit. Her body jerks slightly beneath you, her thighs trembling against your hands as she moans quietly, her voice soft and breathy.

“God,” she murmurs, her fingers gripping the sheets tightly as her hips shift toward you.

You smile against her, your tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles, savoring every sound she makes, every small shiver of her body. Her scent grows stronger as you continue, her arousal unmistakable, and it’s everything you can do to keep your movements controlled, purposeful, to draw this out as long as you can.

Chaewon’s hands find your hair, her fingers tangling in it as she pulls you closer, her breaths coming quicker now. Her quiet gasps and soft moans are music to your ears, each one driving you further, pushing you to explore every inch of her with your mouth.

Your lips stay locked onto her, tongue flicking and teasing, savoring the way she’s opening up for you, literally and figuratively. Chaewon’s taste is rich and intoxicating, a mix of salt and sweet that you could drown in and never come up for air. As you suck gently on her clit, your tongue presses just enough to send a ripple through her body, and her moan—low, breathy, needy—reverberates straight through you.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible but dripping with desperation. “That feels… so good.”

You hum against her, the vibration making her legs tremble. “You taste so fucking amazing,” you mutter between licks, your lips brushing against her slick folds as you speak. “Could do this all night.”

She gasps, her thighs tightening around your head for a moment before relaxing again. “You’re such a fucking nerd,” she says, trying to sound teasing but failing miserably as her voice cracks into a moan.

“And you’re so fucking wet,” you shoot back, your fingers sliding along her folds to prove your point. The slickness coats your fingertips instantly, and you bring them to your mouth for a quick taste, groaning softly at the sheer decadence of it. “Jesus, Chaewon… you’re delicious.”

Her cheeks flush even darker, her hips jerking slightly as you lean back in, your tongue diving between her folds to lap up every bit of her arousal. She’s wetter now, her juices pooling at her entrance, and you don’t waste a second, licking her clean like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.

“God, yes,” she whimpers, her hands clutching at your hair as her back arches off the bed. “Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” you reply, grinning against her before wrapping your lips around her clit again, sucking it gently but firmly.

Her response is immediate—a sharp intake of breath, her body tightening as if she’s trying to hold herself together but failing miserably. “Fuck… oh, fuck,” she moans, her hips grinding against your mouth, chasing the pressure.

You slide a hand up her thigh, your thumb teasing the edge of her entrance as your tongue works her clit. “You like that?” you ask, your voice muffled by her heat.

“Y-yeah,” she stammers, her head falling back against the pillow. “Don’t stop—don’t fucking stop.”

Her words spur you on, your movements growing bolder, more confident. You suck harder, alternating with quick flicks of your tongue, and she’s practically trembling now, her body taut like a bowstring.

“You’re so fucking hot like this,” you murmur, your fingers dipping just slightly inside her, feeling how wet and warm she is, how her body clenches around the slightest touch. “Can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner.”

“Shut up,” she gasps, her voice ragged as her hips buck against you. “Just—fuck—keep going.”

You oblige, your tongue and fingers working in perfect tandem to drive her higher, her moans spilling out unfiltered now. Chaewon’s normally sharp, snarky voice is reduced to breathless gasps and broken curses, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

Your tongue circles Chaewon’s clit with deliberate slowness, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves with just enough pressure to make her squirm. Your fingers slide deeper inside her, curling slightly to find that sweet spot, the one that makes her hips jerk involuntarily. She’s soaking wet now, her slick heat coating your fingers, making every movement easier, smoother.

“Fuck,” she moans, her voice breaking as her legs spread wider, inviting you to take everything she’s offering. Her hands are still tangled in your hair, tugging, pulling, as if she’s trying to ground herself while her body writhes under your touch.

You lift your head slightly, your lips brushing against her inner thigh as you speak. “Look at you,” you murmur, your voice low and rough. “So fucking wet for me. You’re dripping, Chaewon. You like this, huh?”

Her response is a strangled moan, her back arching off the bed as you press your thumb against her clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. “Y-yeah,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “I fucking love it.”

You smirk, leaning back down to suck her clit into your mouth, your tongue flicking over it in quick, teasing motions. “Good,” you say, your voice muffled by her. “Because I’m not stopping until you’re shaking.”

She whimpers at that, her hands tightening in your hair as her thighs clamp briefly around your head. “God, you’re such a fucking tease,” she mutters, though the breathless laugh that follows makes it clear she doesn’t mean it.

You grin, your fingers thrusting deeper as you suck harder, pulling a broken cry from her lips. “You love it,” you reply, your tongue swirling around her clit before flicking it sharply.

“Fuck—yes,” she moans, her voice growing louder now, more desperate. Her hips grind against your mouth, chasing the friction, and you can feel her getting closer, her body tightening around your fingers with each thrust.

“God, Chaewon,” you murmur between licks, your lips brushing against her slick folds. “You’re so fucking needy. You’re dripping all over me, baby. Can’t get enough, huh?”

“Shut up,” she gasps, though her moans tell you otherwise. Her head falls back against the pillow, her chest heaving as her nails rake lightly against your scalp. “Just… just keep going.”

You oblige, your tongue and fingers working in perfect rhythm now, pushing her higher, closer to the edge. Her clit is swollen and sensitive under your tongue, every flick and suck pulling another moan, another gasp, another curse from her lips.

“Come on, Chaewon,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “Let go for me. I want to feel you come, baby. I want to taste you.”

Her only response is a sharp cry, her body arching off the bed as she clenches around your fingers, her thighs trembling. She’s so close now, her moans turning into desperate whimpers, her hips grinding against your face with reckless abandon.

“Fuck—don’t stop,” she pleads, her voice breaking. “Please, don’t fucking stop.”

You don’t.

Your tongue drags over her clit with precision now, relentless and firm, while your fingers pump into her soaked pussy, curling perfectly against that sensitive spot deep inside her. Chaewon’s breaths are shallow, gasping, her chest heaving with every movement. The taste of her, that musky, sweet cream she’s releasing for you, coats your tongue, addictive and intoxicating.

Her thighs tremble on either side of your head, twitching every time you flick your tongue just right. She’s not quiet anymore—she’s a beautiful, messy symphony of moans and gasps, her voice cracking into broken sentences.

“Fuck—oh god—don’t—don’t stop—” she babbles, her words tumbling out without control. Her hips buck wildly, her hands gripping the sheets so tight her knuckles are white. “It’s—it’s so good—fuck—so fucking—”

You glance up for just a second, your eyes locking onto her flushed face. Her head is thrown back, her lips parted, and her hair sticks to her damp forehead. She’s beautiful, absolutely wrecked, and knowing you’re the reason she’s like this makes your blood pound in your ears.

“You’re so fucking hot like this,” you murmur, your voice low and muffled against her pussy. “Can feel how close you are, baby. You gonna come for me?”

“Y-yeah,” she gasps, her thighs twitching against your head as her body trembles. “Fuck—I’m so—oh god, I can’t—”

“You can,” you insist, sucking her clit hard and thrusting your fingers deeper, curling them perfectly. “Come for me, Chaewon. I want to feel it. Want to taste every fucking drop.”

Her entire body goes taut, her back arching sharply as a scream rips from her throat. “FUCK—I’m—oh, oh, oh—” Her thighs snap shut around your head, trapping you there as her pussy clenches hard around your fingers, waves of wet heat flooding against your hand and tongue.

You don’t stop. You keep sucking her clit, even as her body shakes uncontrollably, even as her legs try to squeeze you out. She’s soaking now, her juices dripping down your fingers, her moans turning into breathless whimpers as she rides out the intensity of her orgasm.

“Too—too much—fuck—” she cries, her voice trembling, her hips jerking away from your mouth even as her legs keep you pinned.

You finally ease up, pressing soft, teasing kisses to her clit as her body twitches beneath you. Her thighs slowly loosen their grip, and you pull back just enough to watch her, your lips and chin wet with her arousal.

Chaewon’s chest heaves, her face flushed and glowing as she tries to catch her breath. Her eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, and when she meets your gaze, her lips curve into a weak, satisfied smile.

You trail kisses up her trembling body, taking your time as you savor every inch of Chaewon’s soft, warm skin. Her chest rises and falls beneath you, still heaving from her orgasm, and you pause to press a kiss to her collarbone, then her neck, before finally reaching her lips.

She meets you halfway, her kiss slow but insistent, her fingers threading into your hair to hold you close. There’s something almost intoxicating about the way her lips taste now, mingled with the faint, musky tang of her own release.

When you finally pull back, her cheeks are flushed, and her lips curl into a teasing smirk. “You’re surprisingly good at that,” she says, her voice still breathless but laced with humor. “For a nerd.”

You laugh, the sound low and warm, leaning down to brush your nose against hers. “Even nerds have their talents.”

She quirks an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “Oh? And what other talents do you have, exactly?”

Before you can answer, her hand slides down between your bodies, pressing against the hard length of your cock through your pants. The pressure makes you inhale sharply, your hips jerking slightly as her fingers curl around you.

“Because I’m curious,” she continues, her tone dripping with mock innocence as her thumb rubs slow circles over the fabric.

You groan softly, dropping your forehead against hers. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Chaewon.”

“Am I?” she asks, her voice light and teasing, though her grip tightens just enough to make your breath hitch.

You lift your head to meet her gaze, your eyes dark with intent. “Guess I’ll have to show you.”

Her eyes widen slightly as you reach down, your hands brushing against hers as you unbutton your pants. The metallic click of the zipper echoes in the quiet room, and you can feel the way her breathing quickens, her body shifting beneath you as her curiosity gives way to anticipation.

You push yourself up slightly, Chaewon’s hands falling away as you shift to sit on your knees. Her gaze follows you, her chest still rising and falling, her lips parted slightly as she watches you reach for your waistband.

Slowly, deliberately, you push your pants down your hips, the fabric sliding down your legs until they’re off completely. Then comes your underwear. Her eyes don’t leave you for a second, dark and intent, and when you finally free yourself, her lips part in a soft gasp.

She’s staring now, her cheeks flushed, her pupils blown wide. “Holy shit,” she murmurs.

You smirk, crawling back over her until you’re close enough to kiss. “Like what you see?”

Chaewon huffs out a breathy laugh, her hand reaching down to wrap around your cock. Her grip is warm, her fingers soft but firm as she strokes you slowly, making your hips jerk slightly. “Didn’t expect you to be… this big,” she says, her tone teasing but tinged with genuine surprise.

“Guess nerds have surprises too,” you manage, though your voice comes out rough as her thumb brushes over your tip.

She laughs again, the sound low and sinful, before pulling you down into another kiss. Her mouth is warm and insistent against yours, her tongue slipping past your lips as her hand keeps working you, slow and deliberate. You groan into her mouth, your hips moving involuntarily into her touch.

When you finally pull away, panting slightly, you rest your forehead against hers. “Chaewon,” you murmur, your voice low. “What about a condom?”

Her eyes flick up to yours, her gaze steady and full of intent. “Don’t need it,” she says softly, her legs shifting to wrap loosely around your hips.

“Are you sure?” you ask, your cock brushing against her thigh as you shift slightly.

“I’m sure,” she says, her voice firmer now. Her hands move to your shoulders, pulling you closer as she tilts her head up to kiss you briefly. “I’ve been waiting for this. For you.”

Her words make something in your chest tighten, and you nod, swallowing hard as you position yourself between her legs.

You reach down, guiding your cock to her wet entrance, teasing her folds with your tip. The heat of her, the way her slickness coats you immediately, sends a shiver down your spine. You rub yourself against her slowly, deliberately, savoring the way her hips jerk and her breath catches.

“Fuck,” she mutters, her hands gripping your shoulders tightly. “You’re such a tease.”

You grin, leaning down to kiss her neck as you keep teasing her, your cock sliding against her clit. “Just want to make sure you’re ready, baby.”

“I’ve been ready,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. Her hands slide down your back, her nails digging in lightly as she arches toward you. “I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this. For you. Totally for you.”

Her words hit you like a spark, and you can’t hold back anymore. You line yourself up with her entrance, pressing forward just enough to feel her warmth envelop you. Her body tenses beneath you, her breath hitching as you begin to push inside, slow and deliberate, savoring every second.

You sink into her inch by inch, her wet pussy pulling you in so perfectly it feels like nothing else has ever mattered. Chaewon gasps beneath you, her hands flying to your back, nails biting into your skin as her legs tighten around your hips.

“Fuck,” she breathes, her voice trembling, almost desperate. “You feel so—God, you’re so fucking—”

“Perfect?” you finish for her, grinning against her neck as you push deeper.

“Shut up—” she gasps, her nails dragging down your back as you bottom out, your hips flush against hers. “You’re so fucking cocky—”

“Yeah, and you’re so fucking tight,” you growl, pulling back just enough before thrusting back in, slow and deep, making her gasp sharply.

Her thighs clamp around you, her heels digging into your lower back as if she’s trying to keep you buried inside her. “Don’t stop—don’t fucking stop,” she babbles, her voice breaking with every word. “I’ve wanted this—so fucking long—”

“Yeah?” you murmur, your lips brushing against her ear as you start moving, setting a steady rhythm that has her clinging to you like a lifeline. “You’ve been thinking about me, baby? Thinking about me fucking you like this?”

“Fuck—yes,” she moans, her back arching as her hips lift to meet your thrusts. “Every time you—stole my stapler—every time you—looked at me like that—”

You laugh breathlessly, your mouth trailing down her neck to her collarbone. “Possessive, huh? Didn’t know you were so obsessed with me, Chaewon.”

“Shut up—” she says again, but the way her nails rake down your back and the way she moans your name tells you exactly how much she loves this.

Her hands find your face, pulling you into a desperate, messy kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, her breath hot against your mouth. “You’re mine,” she murmurs against your lips, her voice trembling but firm. “You hear me? Mine—don’t you fucking forget it—”

“Yours,” you rasp, your thrusts growing harder, deeper, each one pulling a broken cry from her lips. “All fucking yours, Chaewon—fuck—you feel so good, baby—so fucking perfect—”

“Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—” she moans, her voice rising, her body tightening around you like she’s trying to pull you even deeper. “I love this—I love you—God, you’re mine—mine—mine—”

Her words, the way she’s gasping and clinging to you, sends you spiraling. You bury your face in her neck, your thrusts becoming rougher, more erratic as you chase the high building between you. Her moans turn into cries, her voice breaking with every thrust as her body arches against yours.

“Fuck—fuck—oh my God—” she cries, her voice high and trembling as she comes, her pussy clenching hard around you.

You keep moving, pushing her through it, her cries turning into breathless whimpers as her body shakes beneath you. She clings to you like she never wants to let go, her lips brushing against your neck as she murmurs your name over and over again, a mantra that makes your chest ache with something deeper than just lust.

You thrust into her again, deep and deliberate, feeling the way Chaewon’s pussy tightens around you with every movement. She gasps, her head falling back against the pillows.

“Fuck—” she breathes, her voice trembling as you pick up your pace, your hips slamming against hers in a rhythm that has her thighs quivering around you. “You’re so—God, you’re so deep—”

“You love it, don’t you?” you growl, leaning down to nip at her neck, your teeth grazing her skin. “Love how I fill you up. You’re so fucking tight, Chaewon. Feels like you were made for me.”

Her response is a strangled moan, her legs wrapping tighter around your hips as her hands grip your back. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”

“I wasn’t planning to,” you reply, grinning against her collarbone as you thrust harder, your cock sliding in and out of her slick heat. “You’re too fucking good, baby. Can’t get enough of you.”

Chaewon’s nails dig into your back, her voice breaking into a series of gasps and half-formed words. “Fuck—yes—more—just like that—”

You shift slightly, angling your hips to hit that spot deep inside her, and her reaction is immediate. She cries out, her body arching off the bed as her pussy clenches around you.

“Right there?” you murmur, your voice low and teasing as you grind into her, drawing another sharp gasp from her lips.

“God—yes—right there—” she stammers, her hands sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you even closer. “Fuck—you’re so good—so fucking good—”

You speed up, your thrusts growing rougher, more erratic, and her cries grow louder, more desperate. She’s a mess beneath you now, her hair sticking to her damp forehead, her chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” you murmur, your lips brushing against her ear. “All mine. Say it, Chaewon. Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours—” she gasps, her voice trembling as she clings to you. “All yours—fuck—I’ve always been yours—”

Her words spur you on, your hips slamming into hers harder, deeper, your cock throbbing inside her as her pussy grips you tighter with every thrust. “Good girl,” you growl, your hand slipping between her legs to rub her clit, making her moan louder.

“Fuck—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—” she pleads, her voice breaking as her hips buck against yours, chasing the release that’s just out of reach.

You keep pounding into her, your rhythm steady but hard enough to make the bed creak beneath you. Chaewon’s moans spill out unfiltered, her hands clutching at your shoulders, nails dragging across your skin in a way that only fuels your drive.

Then you get an idea.

Your hand slides down her stomach, your palm flat against her soft skin. When your fingers reach just above her pubic bone, you press down lightly, applying pressure right where you know it’ll make a difference.

The reaction is instant.

“Fuck—what—” she gasps, her thighs tightening around your waist as her body jolts beneath you. Her pussy clenches hard around your cock, the extra stimulation driving her wild as her head tilts back, exposing her flushed throat.

“Feel that?” you murmur, leaning down to kiss her neck, your hand staying firm against her lower abdomen as you thrust into her, each movement rubbing her G-spot perfectly. “Right here, baby. I can feel how close you are.”

“Oh my God—fuck—” she moans, her voice rising as her hips buck up to meet yours. “Don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—oh, God, it’s so good—”

“Yeah, you like that?” you growl, your pace quickening as you press down harder, feeling the way her body reacts to every thrust. “You’re so fucking tight, Chaewon—Jesus, you’re squeezing me so good—”

Her response is a broken cry, her thighs trembling around your hips as her hands grip you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. “I can’t—I can’t—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Gonna what?” you tease, your voice low and rough as you lean closer, your mouth brushing against her ear. “Gonna come all over my cock? Do it, baby—I want to feel it. Come for me.”

“Fuck—yes—” she chokes out, her voice trembling as her body tightens beneath you, her pussy clenching harder, wetter.

You push yourself up, your hands gripping Chaewon’s hips for leverage as you lift your body above her. With nothing to hold you back, you start pounding into her, hard and fast, your cock driving deep into her soaked pussy. Each thrust is accompanied by the wet, obscene sound of your bodies meeting, the noise blending with her uncontrolled moans into a symphony of raw lust.

Chaewon’s head tosses back against the pillow, her hair splayed out like a dark halo. Her hands clutch at the sheets now, her knuckles white as she fights to hold on, her voice spilling out in broken cries and gasps.

“Fuck—fuck—you’re so deep,” she stammers, her words slurring slightly as her legs tighten around your waist. “I can’t—GOD, it’s so good—”

Your hand returns to her lower abdomen, pressing down firmly just above her pubic bone. The moment you do, her body jolts, her pussy clenching hard around you like she’s trying to pull you in even deeper.

“Feel that?” you grunt, your voice rough as you look down at her, watching the way her body reacts beneath you. “I’m fucking you so good, baby. You’re so fucking tight—so wet—Jesus—This pussy is perfect.

Her response is a string of broken sounds, her eyes fluttering shut as her hips jerk up to meet yours. “I’m—I’m gonna—fuck—” she gasps, her hands flying up to grab at your arms, nails digging in as her thighs tremble.

You lean down slightly, your cock driving into her harder, deeper, as your thumb rubs circles into her clit while your hand presses her abdomen. “You gonna cum for me, baby?” you murmur, your voice low and commanding. “Do it. Cum for me, Chaewon. Show me how good I make you feel.”

Her eyes snap open, wild and glassy, and she lets out a cry that’s half your name, half a desperate moan. “Fuck—I’m—I’m cumming—”

You don’t let up, your pace relentless, your cock pounding into her slick heat as her entire body tenses beneath you. Her pussy clamps down on you, tight and pulsing, and you can feel the gush of wetness as her orgasm hits her full force.

“Oh my—fuck—oh my God—” she babbles, her voice breaking as her back arches off the bed. Her head thrashes from side to side, her hands gripping your arms like a lifeline as her body trembles violently.

Her eyes roll back, her mouth falling open in a silent scream, and you watch, mesmerized, as she completely falls apart. Her body shakes with the force of her orgasm, her thighs quivering as her pussy spasms around you, milking your cock with every wave of pleasure.

“Look at you,” you murmur, your voice rough but softening as you slow your movements, letting her ride it out. “So fucking beautiful when you cum for me.”

Chaewon’s response is barely coherent, a string of inaudible murmurs and random words that dissolve into breathless gasps. Her body trembles beneath you, her chest heaving as she comes down, her hands loosening their grip on your arms.

You slow to a stop, your cock still buried deep inside her as you lean down to press a soft kiss to her temple. She’s radiant, her skin flushed, her eyes half-closed as she looks up at you with a dazed, blissed-out expression that makes your cock throbs.

Chaewon lies beneath you, her chest still rising and falling as she struggles to catch her breath. Her skin is flushed, her hair a wild mess against the pillow, and she looks utterly wrecked in the most beautiful way. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with wide, slightly dazed eyes.

Then she finally speaks, her voice a little hoarse but still carrying that sharp edge that’s so uniquely hers. “Holy shit. I didn’t know you had that in you.”

You grin, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips. “What, you didn’t think I had any attitude in bed?”

She laughs softly, the sound half incredulous, half amused. “No! You’re like… a puppy most of the time. All lost eyes and awkward energy. And now this?” Her hand gestures vaguely between the two of you, as if she can’t even put it into words.

“Even a puppy’s got teeth,” you tease, nipping lightly at her jaw before trailing kisses down her neck.

“Clearly,” she mutters, her fingers sliding up into your hair as you kiss her. For a few moments, there’s nothing but the soft sound of your mouths meeting, her legs still loosely wrapped around your waist, keeping you close.

You pull back just enough to look at her, your smirk widening. “You okay down there?”

“Oh, I’m better than okay,” she says, narrowing her eyes at you, though there’s no mistaking the warmth in her gaze. “But I’m also pissed.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Pissed? Why?”

“All this time,” she says, her tone half scolding, half playful, “you were this good in bed and you deprived me of it? Do you know how unfair that is?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

“Not funny,” she snaps, though the way her lips curve into a smirk betrays her. “You’re lucky I’m not kicking you out right now.”

“You’re right,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss her again, slow and deliberate. “Maybe I deserve to be punished.”

Her eyes glint with mischief as she kisses you back, her nails dragging lightly down your back. “Oh, you definitely deserve it. Bad puppy.”

“Yeah?” you murmur against her lips, your voice dropping. “How should I make it up to you?”

Chaewon pauses, pretending to think about it as her hand slides up your arm, her fingers brushing your shoulder. “For starters, you’re not leaving this apartment all weekend.”

“All weekend?” you echo, raising an eyebrow.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, her legs tightening around your waist again, keeping you firmly in place. “You’re staying here. With me. Making up for lost time.”

You smirk, your hips shifting slightly to remind her that you’re still buried inside her. “Sounds like the best punishment I’ve ever heard.”

“Good,” she says, her tone playful but firm as she pulls you down for another kiss.

“No complaints,” you whisper against her lips.

“None allowed,” she replies, her voice low and teasing.

You can’t help but laugh softly, the sound blending with hers as you kiss her again.

Between soft pecks, she murmurs, “Now I want to suck your cock.”

Her words send a jolt of heat straight through you, and you groan softly, brushing your thumb against her flushed cheek. “Yeah?”

She nods, her smirk growing, her teeth catching her bottom lip in a way that makes your cock twitch inside her. “You’ve been driving me insane. Let me make it up to you.”

You laugh softly, leaning up to kiss her again before murmuring against her lips, “Turn around, baby. Sit on my face while you do.”

Her eyes darken, and she doesn’t need to be told twice. She pulls herself off your cock slowly, the sensation making both of you gasp, and you watch as she moves with a kind of confident grace that has your heart racing.

You shift onto your back, your head sinking into the pillow as she climbs over you, her knees straddling your shoulders. Her pussy is right there, glistening, flushed, and still slick with her creamy release. The sight alone is enough to make you groan.

But she doesn’t stop there. Chaewon shifts again, leaning forward and gripping your cock in her hand. It’s still wet with her juices, shining in the soft light, and she doesn’t waste any time. Her tongue darts out, licking a long stripe up the length, tasting herself on you.

“Fuck, Chaewon,” you breathe, your hands gripping her thighs as she lowers herself onto your mouth.

The first taste of her is overwhelming—warm, wet, and utterly intoxicating. You dive in, your tongue sliding between her folds to lap up the creamy slickness she left behind. She gasps, her body jerking slightly as you suck on her clit, your hands gripping her hips to hold her in place.

“Shit—” she moans, her voice muffled as she takes your cock deeper into her mouth. Her tongue swirls around the tip, teasing the sensitive head before sliding down the shaft, her lips stretching as she takes more of you.

The room fills with the obscene sounds of wet sucking and muffled moans, the vibrations of her throat around your cock sending shocks of pleasure through your body. But you’re just as relentless, your tongue circling her clit before dipping back into her entrance, tasting the creamy slickness she’s giving you.

Your hands grip her hips tighter, guiding her movements as you suck and lick, driving her higher. Her moans grow louder, vibrating around your cock as she bobs her head, her hand stroking the base in rhythm with her mouth.

“God, you taste so fucking good,” you groan, your voice muffled against her pussy. “So fucking wet, baby. Can’t get enough of you.”

She pulls off your cock with a wet pop, gasping as her hips grind against your face. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she mutters breathlessly before taking you back into her mouth, her tongue working you with an intensity that makes your head spin.

The heat, the wetness, the overwhelming pleasure—it’s too much and not enough all at once. Your world narrows to the feel of her pussy on your tongue, the taste of her, the way her lips glide over your cock.

Chaewon’s hips rock against your face, her movements desperate now as her moans grow louder, more urgent. “Fuck—this is so good—” she gasps, her lips wrap tighter around your cock, her movements slow and deliberate as she takes you deep into her mouth.

Chaewon is dripping saliva now, her mouth working expertly as her tongue flicks along the underside of your shaft with every bob of her head. You glance down and see the way your cock glistens, a mix of her drool and the remnants of her creamy juices pooling at the base and dripping down to your balls. It’s filthy, and it’s driving you insane.

“Fuck, Chaewon,” you groan, your voice muffled as your mouth stays latched to her pussy. You tighten your grip on her ass, spreading her cheeks as you pull her even closer, her wet heat pressing firmly against your lips.

She lets out a muffled moan around your cock, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure through you. Her hand wraps around your base, stroking the length she can’t fit in her mouth, her movements slick and messy.

Your tongue moves with purpose now, circling her clit before dipping down to lap at her entrance, tasting the creamy slickness she’s giving you. She’s so sensitive, her pussy twitching against your mouth every time you press harder.

Your fingers dig into her ass, holding her firmly as you suck her clit into your mouth, swirling your tongue over the swollen bud. Chaewon gasps around your cock, her hips jerking against your face as her thighs tremble.

“Shit—oh fuck—” she gasps, pulling off your cock for just a second to catch her breath. A string of saliva connects her lips to your tip, and she doesn’t even bother wiping it away before diving back down, taking you deep with a lewd, wet sound.

You moan into her pussy, the vibrations making her shudder above you. Her hips grind against your face now, her body moving on instinct as her moans grow louder, more desperate. You focus on her clit, sucking and flicking your tongue relentlessly, feeling the way her body tightens beneath your hands.

“God—fuck—I’m so—” she stammers, her voice trembling as her thighs begin to shake. “I can’t—I’m gonna—oh my god—”

Her words spur you on, your mouth and tongue working overtime as you push her closer and closer to the edge. Her pussy clenches and spasms against your tongue, her juices flowing freely now, soaking your face as she loses control.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m cumming—” she cries out, her voice breaking as her body tenses.

Her orgasm hits her like a wave, her hips jerking wildly as her pussy pulses against your mouth. You don’t stop, your tongue lapping up every drop of her release, the salty-sweet taste of her flooding your senses.

Chaewon’s moans turn into sharp cries, her hands clutching at your thighs for balance as her body trembles violently. Her head tilts back, her hair sticking to her damp forehead as she gasps for air, her thighs trembling on either side of your head.

Her entire body shudders, her hips grinding one last time against your face before collapsing, her chest heaving as she lets out a shaky, satisfied moan. You pull back slightly, your lips and chin glistening with her release, and watch as she tries to catch her breath, her body still twitching from the aftershocks.

Chaewon’s body glistens in the dim light, her flushed skin still recovering from the intense orgasm you just gave her. Her dark eyes lock onto yours, shining with lust and something deeper—something unspoken but undeniably there.

You reach out, your hand sliding down her body slowly, tracing the curve of her spine before settling on her hip. “Turn around,” you murmur, your voice low and thick. “Get on all fours.”

She doesn’t hesitate. With a languid grace, Chaewon shifts onto her hands and knees, her back arching as she adjusts herself. The sight in front of you is fucking breathtaking—her perky ass tilted up, her waist impossibly small, her thighs trembling just slightly as she steadies herself. Her pussy is glistening, swollen and wet, and your cock throbs painfully at the sight.

“Holy fuck,” you mutter under your breath, stepping closer. Your hands move instinctively to her waist, gripping it gently at first, your thumbs brushing the soft skin just above her hips.

Chaewon glances back over her shoulder, her hair falling messily around her flushed face. Her lips curl into a sly smile as she notices the way your hands tighten on her. “Fits perfectly, doesn’t it?” she teases, her voice still breathy but filled with confidence.

“Perfect doesn’t even cover it,” you reply, your fingers digging into her waist slightly as your cock brushes against her wet entrance, teasing her. “You’re fucking incredible, Chaewon.”

She huffs out a soft laugh, then she bites her lip, her gaze steady as she says, “Go hard, okay? Make me scream.”

“You sure about that?” you ask, your voice rough as you press the head of your cock against her slick folds, teasing her clit.

“Don’t make me beg,” she mutters, her voice trembling slightly. “Just fucking do it.”

That’s all the encouragement you need. With one firm thrust, you push into her, burying yourself to the hilt. Her pussy is impossibly tight, wet, and warm, gripping you perfectly as you stretch her.

“Fuck—” Chaewon gasps, her back arching sharply as her hands clutch at the sheets. “Oh my God—”

Your hands tighten on her waist, holding her steady as you pull back slowly before slamming into her again, harder this time. Her cry echoes through the room, raw and unfiltered, and it only spurs you on.

“You feel so fucking good,” you growl, your hips snapping against hers with each thrust. “So fucking tight, Chaewon. Taking me so perfectly.”

“Fuck—yes—” she moans, her voice high and breathy as her body moves with yours. “Harder—please—don’t stop—”

Your grip on her waist tightens, your fingers digging into her soft flesh as you pound into her, each thrust sending shockwaves through both of you. The sound of your bodies meeting—wet and obscene—fills the room, mixing with her breathless moans and your low groans.

“Scream for me, baby,” you growl, thrusting into her harder, deeper, making her cry out. “Come on, let me hear how much you love being my slut!”

“OH GOD—FUCK—You're fucking me so good!” she cries, her voice trembling as her head drops forward, her hair sticking to her damp skin. “You’re—oh fuck—”

You grip Chaewon’s waist tighter, your fingers digging into her soft flesh as your hips snap forward, burying yourself to the hilt inside her.

“Fuck—yes—fuck!” she screams, her head thrown back, hair sticking to her flushed skin. Her hands clutch at the sheets, pulling them tight as her body rocks forward with every thrust.

“Chaewon,” you growl, your voice low and rough, completely lost in the way she feels around you. “You’re so fucking perfect. This pussy—fuck—it’s mine. All fucking mine.”

“Yes—yes—it’s yours!” she gasps, her voice cracking as you drive deeper, harder, her words trembling with each thrust. “God—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

Her legs tremble beneath you, her body arching beautifully, giving you an even better angle as you slam into her. You pull her closer, her ass pressing firmly against your hips with each rough thrust. The way she takes you—so tight, so wet, so eager—fuels something primal inside you, pushing you to fuck her even harder.

“Listen to you,” you murmur, leaning forward slightly, your lips brushing against the damp skin of her shoulder. “Screaming for me like you were made for this. Like you were made for me.”

“Fuck—yes—I was—I fucking was,” she babbles, her voice barely coherent as her nails dig into the sheets.

Your hand slides up her back, pressing her down just enough to make her arch even more. The new angle has you hitting deeper, and her response is immediate—a loud, desperate scream that sends a jolt of heat through your veins.

“That’s it,” you growl, your hand returning to her waist, gripping her like you never want to let go. “Tell me, baby, tell me you're my whore. I wanna hear you scream it.”

“Yours—fuck—oh God—I’m your whore!” she cries, her voice raw and filled with nothing but pleasure. Her body tightens around you, her walls clenching with every thrust as if she’s trying to pull you even deeper.

“That's it, baby, you’re mine,” you growl, your pace relentless as you slam into her over and over. “All fucking mine. Say it!”

“I’m yours—oh fuck—I’m yours!” she screams, her voice trembling as her hands clutch at the bed, her back arching beautifully. “God—you’re so fucking good—I’m so close—”

Her words send a wave of possessive need through you, chasing her pleasure as if it’s your own. The sound of her moans, her cries, her desperate gasps—it’s all too much and not enough, spurring you on like nothing else ever has, every thrust sending shockwaves through Chaewon’s trembling body as the bed creaks beneath you both. Her cries fill the room, loud and desperate, and the way she moans your name like a mantra only makes you go harder, deeper, until the sound of your hips slamming into her drowns out everything else.

Then an idea strikes, and without warning, you grab her arms, pulling them back until you’ve got both of her wrists in your grip. The shift makes her back arch further, her ass pressing harder against your hips, and the change in angle has her screaming almost immediately.

“Fuck—oh my God!” she cries, her voice trembling as her head falls forward.

You lean over her, keeping her wrists pinned as you growl into her ear, “You’re so fucking good like this, Chaewon. Letting me use you. Letting me make you mine.”

“Y-yes,” she gasps, her voice breaking as she shudders beneath you. “I’m yours—God, I’m yours—”

Your grip tightens on her wrists as you fuck her harder, her body jerking forward with each thrust. Her submission is intoxicating, the way she gives herself to you completely, her moans turning into needy, desperate whimpers that make your cock throb inside her.

“Look at you,” you growl, your voice low and filled with possessiveness. “So fucking slutty for me. Taking me so well. You love this, don’t you?”

“Yes—yes—fuck—” she babbles, her words slurring together as her walls tighten around you. “I love it, baby—don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

Her legs tremble beneath her, her body quivering with every rough thrust as you pound into her without mercy.

“You’re perfect,” you mutter, your hand releasing one of her wrists to grab her hair, pulling her head back so you can see her flushed, tear-streaked face. “So fucking perfect, Chaewon. My good girl. My little slut.”

She whimpers at your words, her lips trembling as she looks back at you with lust-glazed eyes. “Yours—I’m yours—I’ll be whatever you want—just don’t stop—please—”

Her submission sends a surge of heat through you, and you tighten your grip on her hair, your other hand still holding her remaining wrist as you thrust into her harder, faster, your cock hitting deeper with each movement.

“Fuck—you’re so good—so fucking good,” you growl, your voice rough as you watch her completely fall apart beneath you. Her body is yours, her moans and cries yours, and the way she clenches around you, wet and tight and perfect, makes it clear she wouldn’t want it any other way.

Your pace doesn’t falter as you release your hand from the grip on Chaewon's hair to move to her ass, her smooth skin practically glowing in the dim light. The sight of her beneath you—arched, trembling, taking every rough thrust—is enough to make your heart race with possessive pride.

Without warning, you bring your hand down hard against her cheek. The slap rings out loud and sharp, the sound almost deafening over the wet, obscene rhythm of your fucking.

“Ah—fuck!” Chaewon screams, her back arching further as her body jolts from the impact.

You grin, your palm tingling as you rub the spot where you struck, feeling the heat blooming under your touch. “You like that?” you growl, your voice low and teasing.

“Yes—fuck—yes!” she cries, her voice trembling. “Do it again—please—”

Her begging ignites something feral inside you, and you don’t make her wait. You bring your hand down again, harder this time, the sound even louder as it echoes through the room. Her ass jiggles from the force, the skin already turning a faint pink.

“Fuck, Chaewon,” you growl, gripping her waist tighter as you keep pounding into her. “You look so fucking good like this. Screaming for me, begging me to spank you. Such a good little slut.”

“Y-yes—God—please—more,” she babbles, her voice breaking into desperate gasps as her hands clutch the sheets beneath her.

You oblige, spanking her again, harder, the sting vibrating up your arm as her moans grow louder. Her ass reddens under your hand, the marks spreading with each slap, and the way she writhes beneath you, pushing her hips back for more, only makes you lose yourself further.

“Look at you,” you murmur, alternating between rough spanks and squeezing her reddened cheeks. “So fucking perfect. You love being punished, don’t you? Love being my little plaything.”

“Fuck—yes—I love it—” she gasps, her voice high and strained. “Please—don’t stop—don’t stop—”

Her pussy clenches tighter around your cock, her slick heat dripping down your length as you keep pounding into her.

“I'm gonna ruin you every fucking day from now on,” you growl, your voice thick with possessiveness. “This is what you’ve been craving, isn’t it, Chaewon? To be my dirty little whore, used and fucked exactly how I want.”

“Y-yes!” she cries, her voice cracking as her body shakes beneath you. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you to own me—since the first moment I saw you!”

Her words send a wave of heat through you, and you spank her again, your handprint glowing red on her perfect skin. She moans louder, her cries turning into broken whimpers as her body quivers with pleasure and pain.

You lean forward, pressing your chest against Chaewon’s back as your weight settles on top of her. The new position forces you even deeper inside her, and the moan that rips from her throat is nothing short of desperate. Her ass is still red and warm under your hips, and you grab her waist tightly, holding her in place as you grind into her, your cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside her.

“Fuck—oh my God—” she cries, her fingers clawing at the sheets as her head tilts back, pressing against your shoulder. “You’re so fucking deep—I can’t—I can’t take it—”

“Yes, you can,” you growl against her neck, your voice rough as your lips trail along her flushed skin. “You’re made for this, Chaewon. Made to take me. You feel that? How perfect you are for me?”

Her response is a strangled moan, her legs trembling beneath you as you thrust into her harder, deeper, the wet sound of her pussy clenching around your cock mixing with her breathless gasps. Your hands slide up her body, gripping her shoulders as your mouth latches onto her neck, sucking and biting just enough to leave marks.

“Mine,” you murmur against her skin, your teeth grazing her ear. “You’re mine, Chaewon. No one else gets to have you like this. No one else gets to see you like this.”

“Yes—yes—I’m yours!” she gasps, her voice trembling with lust and something more. “You’re mine, too—fuck—you’re all mine—don’t forget it—”

Her words spur you on, your hips slamming against hers as you fuck her harder, your cock driving into her soaked pussy with relentless intensity. She’s writhing beneath you now, her hands reaching back to grab at your thighs, trying to pull you even closer.

“You’re so fucking good for me,” you growl, your lips still pressed to her neck. “So perfect, baby. Letting me fuck you like this...”

“Don’t stop—fuck—don’t stop,” she cries, her voice breaking into a series of gasps and moans. “You’re so—so fucking good—I can’t—I’m gonna lose it—”

You pull her closer, your chest flush against her back, your hands sliding up to tangle in her hair as you kiss her neck, her jaw, her shoulder. “You drive me crazy, Chaewon,” you murmur, your voice thick with need. “No one else—fuck—no one else makes me feel like this.”

She whimpers, her body arching against yours, her nails digging into your thighs as her pussy clenches tighter around you. “This fucking cock belongs to me,” she mutters, her voice low and fierce even through the haze of pleasure. “No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to fuck you like this. Just me.”

“Just you,” you agree, your lips brushing against her ear as you thrust into her harder, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the room. “Only you, Chaewon… Only you.”

Her moans grow louder, more desperate, her possessiveness fueling your own as you fuck her with everything you have, your mouth never leaving her skin, marking her as yours.

You feel Chaewon tighten around your cock, her walls clenching rhythmically, as her breath hitches and her body trembles beneath you. Her voice rises into a desperate, shaky moan.

“Oh my God—fuck—you’re—you’re gonna—” she stammers, her words barely coherent as her legs tremble and her hands grip the sheets. “You’re gonna make me cum—oh, fuck—”

Her warning lights a fire in you. You plant your hands on the bed for leverage, lifting your chest off her back as you start pounding into her with renewed intensity. Chaewon’s body is fully pressed into the mattress, her moans loud and uncontrollable with every thrust.

“You’re so fucking close, aren’t you?” you growl, slamming into her harder, faster, your cock driving deep into her soaked pussy with every stroke. “Come on, baby, let go for me. I want to feel you cum.”

Chaewon lets out a strangled cry, her words spilling out in broken fragments. “I’m—I’m gonna—fuck—it’s so—oh my God—it’s too much—”

You grip her hips tightly, your fingers digging into her soft skin as you pull her back onto your cock, treating her like a perfect, desperate fucktoy. The obscene sound of your thrusts fills the room—wet, loud, and relentless—and it’s all too much.

Her voice climbs higher, her moans turning into desperate screams as she writhes beneath you, her body completely at your mercy. “I’m—I’m cumming—I’m cumming—oh, fuck—fuck—fuck—”

Her orgasm crashes over her like a wave, her entire body tensing as she lets out a guttural scream. Her pussy clamps down on you, tight and pulsing, soaking your cock with a flood of wetness. The sheets beneath her are drenched as her release gushes out, her legs trembling uncontrollably.

Chaewon’s cries turn into babbling, her words slurred and disconnected as her head thrashes against the pillow. “Oh—God—I can’t—fuck—it’s too—so good—fuck—you’re—”

You don’t stop, driving her through the peak of her orgasm, your hips slamming against her as she quivers beneath you, her body shaking with aftershocks. Her nails claw at the sheets, her thighs trembling violently as her moans dissolve into breathless whimpers.

Finally, you slow your movements, your hands sliding up to soothe her hips as her body collapses fully onto the bed. Chaewon’s breathing is ragged, her chest rising and falling as she tries to catch her breath, her face flushed and glowing with the aftermath of her release.

You feel the heat building fast, your cock throbbing inside Chaewon’s soaked pussy as her walls pulse around you. The slick, tight heat of her drives you closer to the edge, and you know you’re seconds away. Your thrusts grow erratic, your breath ragged, and you groan deeply.

“Chaewon,” you manage, your voice strained. “I’m gonna cum—where do you want it?”

She’s still panting beneath you, her body trembling from the intensity of her orgasm. Her hair is a messy halo around her flushed face, and her eyes, half-lidded and lust-filled, meet yours. “All over me,” she breathes, her voice husky and demanding. “I want it all over my body.”

Her words send a jolt through you, and you pull out of her slowly, groaning at the wet drag as her pussy reluctantly lets you go. “Lie back,” you tell her, your voice low and rough.

She obeys immediately, shifting onto her back and spreading her legs, her body sprawled out for you. Her skin glows in the soft light, flushed and glistening with sweat, her chest rising and falling as she stares up at you.

You kneel between her legs, your cock slick with her juices, throbbing and aching for release. Wrapping your hand around your length, you start stroking yourself, the wet sound of your movements mixing with the heavy breathing between you.

The head of your cock brushes against her entrance as you jerk off, rubbing against her folds, teasing her clit as you use her heat to drive yourself further. She gasps softly at the contact, her hands gripping the sheets as her hips shift slightly, her body instinctively chasing the friction.

“Fuck,” you mutter, your eyes locked on her. “You’re so fucking perfect, Chaewon. Look at you—messy, panting—so fucking gorgeous.”

She smirks faintly, her voice still breathless as she murmurs, “It’s all for you. I’m all for you.”

Her words fuel your need, and you stroke yourself faster, the tightness in your abdomen coiling as you feel the orgasm building. Chaewon notices, her gaze dropping to your cock, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

“Come on,” she whispers, her voice low and possessive. “Cum for me. Cover me with it. I want all of it—all of you.”

Her dirty encouragement pushes you to the brink, and your strokes grow faster, harder, the head of your cock pressing against her entrance with every movement. “Fuck, Chaewon—” you groan, your voice breaking as the tension snaps.

The first spurt of cum shoots out hot and thick, landing just below her breasts, painting her flushed skin. Another follows, splattering across her abdomen, her pelvis, dripping down toward her pussy. You keep stroking, the pleasure overwhelming as you empty yourself onto her, every spurt marking her as yours.

Chaewon moans softly, her hands sliding up her body, spreading the sticky heat of your cum over her skin. Her eyes gleam as she looks up at you, her voice low and sultry. “That’s it—so good—so fucking good. Your cum is so warm, damn....”

You shudder at her words, your hand slowing as the last few drops spill from your cock, dripping onto her already glistening skin. Panting, you lean back slightly, your cock still throbs, the sensitivity almost unbearable, yet there’s more—your balls feel heavy, not yet spent. Chaewon lies beneath you, her body painted with streaks of your cum, her fingers lazily tracing through the mess on her skin as she gazes up at you with a wicked gleam in her eyes.

"That can’t be all you’ve got," she teases, her voice soft but dripping with hunger. She trails a hand down to her stomach, scooping some of your cum onto her fingers before bringing it to her lips, sucking them clean. "I know there’s more in there. I want every drop, every fucking bit. I’m your cumslut—give it to me."

Groaning, you grip your cock, still hard and slick from your first release. "You greedy fucking slut," you mutter, your voice strained, raw. "You’re not satisfied until I empty myself completely, are you?"

"Never," she breathes, spreading her legs wider, her body arching slightly as if inviting you back inside. "Cum for me again. Paint me. Use me however you want—just don’t stop."

You shift between her thighs, lining up your cock with her swollen, soaked entrance. Even with your sensitivity, the sight of her, her body glistening with sweat and cum, drives you forward. You push into her, groaning as her tight, slick heat engulfs you again, every nerve ending screaming in overstimulation.

"Fuck—this is so good," you growl, gripping her hips hard as you start moving. The wet slap of your thrusts fills the air, mingling with her cries of pleasure as you pump into her with a slow, deliberate rhythm, determined to coax every last drop from yourself.

Chaewon clings to you, her nails dragging down your back, her breathless voice pleading. "Yes—more—fuck me harder. I want it all, every fucking drop!"

Her words fuel you, your pace quickening despite the overwhelming sensitivity. Your cock twitches inside her, the ache in your balls intensifying as you edge closer again. You pull her legs higher, changing the angle to drive deeper, her cries turning into high-pitched whimpers as her pussy clamps down around you, desperate and needy.

"Chaewon," you groan, your voice breaking. "I’m close—fuck—you’re gonna take everything."

"Yes, yes, please!" she begs, her hands roaming her cum-covered body, spreading it across her breasts, her stomach, even up to her neck. "Fill me with cum—own me!"

The sight of her—her fingers rubbing your cum into her skin, her lips parted in pure ecstasy—is too much. You pull out suddenly, climbing up her body until your cock is level with her face. “Open your mouth,” you command, your voice rough and trembling.

She obeys immediately, her lips parting as she looks up at you with dark, lust-filled eyes. Her tongue flicks out slightly, teasing, as if she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

You stroke yourself quickly, your cock slick and throbbing, the tension building impossibly fast. “Fuck—Chaewon—I’m gonna—”

Your words cut off as you cum, the first thick spurt landing directly on her tongue. She moans softly, her eyes fluttering closed as more of your release fills her mouth, hot and heavy.

Each spurt is stronger than the last, your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. Your body trembles, your groans filling the room as you spill everything into her waiting mouth.

When it finally subsides, you watch as Chaewon looks up at you, her tongue still out, showing you the thick pool of cum resting there. Her lips curl into a mischievous, naughty smile before she closes her mouth and swallows it all in one go, the motion deliberate and slow.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your chest heaving as you watch her.

She grins, her tongue darting out to lick her lips before leaning forward. “Missed a spot,” she murmurs, her voice low and teasing.

Her lips wrap around the head of your cock, soft and warm as she sucks lightly, her tongue swirling to clean the remnants of your release. Even with the sensitivity, it feels incredible, and you groan softly, your fingers brushing against her cheek.

When she finally pulls back, she looks up at you with that same naughty smile, her lips glistening. “All clean,” she says, her tone playful.

"Goddamn, you're such a slut," you mutter, your body trembling, utterly spent but unable to tear your eyes away from her.

She grins. “I told you—I’m your cumslut.”

languidly you sit up on the edge of the bed, still catching your breath, your body slick with sweat and the aftermath of everything you’ve just done. Chaewon lies sprawled out on the bed, hair messy and sticking to her face, her chest still rising and falling.

“Fuck,” you say, running a hand through your damp hair. “That was… pretty intense, huh?”

She snorts, throwing an arm over her eyes as she stretches, the movement casual but still impossibly sexy. “You’re calling it intense? My ass is still burning from all those slaps, thanks to you.”

You glance over at her, a flicker of guilt crossing your face. “Shit. Uh, sorry about that…”

She pulls her arm down to glare at you, but her lips twitch with a smirk. “Don’t apologize. I liked it.”

Your mouth opens, then closes. “Oh. Uh. Good?”

“Great, actually,” she says, laughing softly as she shifts onto her side, propping her head up on her hand. “But now I need to ask. Was this all part of some master plan?”

You frown, confused. “Plan? What plan?”

She gestures between you. “This. You acting like a sad, helpless puppy so I’d feel sorry for you and bring you here. Then, bam—you flip the script, fuck me senseless, and prove you’re not as pathetic as you looked at work.”

You stare at her for a beat, then burst out laughing, shaking your head. “Come on, Chaewon. You really think I’m that calculated?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You tell me.”

“Trust me,” you say, still laughing, “if you hadn’t dragged me out of the office, I’d be at home right now. Sad. Lonely. Probably halfway through a tub of ice cream and binge-watching Breaking Bad for the third time.”

Chaewon snickers, clearly enjoying the mental image. “Ice cream and Walter White. God, you are hopeless.”

“Exactly,” you reply, grinning. “So no, this wasn’t planned. But… I’m not complaining about how it turned out.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, me neither.”

A comfortable silence falls between you for a moment before she sits up slightly, glancing at the nightstand. “What time is it?”

You lean over, squinting at the alarm clock. “Almost ten-thirty.”

She groans, falling back onto the pillows. “No wonder I’m starving. We didn’t eat shit at the bar.”

Your stomach growls loudly, and you laugh. “Yeah, same here.”

Chaewon looks over at you, her hair falling into her eyes as she smirks. “Pizza?”

“Pizza,” you agree immediately.

She scoots over to the other side of the bed, grabs the pants off the floor, and pulls her phone out of the pocket, scrolling through her delivery app. “What do you want on it?”

You shrug, lying back down beside her. “I’m not picky. Whatever you want.”

“Dangerous words,” she teases, glancing at you. “I could order anchovies and pineapple, and you’d have to deal with it.”

You mock gasp. “You wouldn’t.”

She grins, nudging your shoulder. “Relax. I’ll pick something safe. Pepperoni and sausage okay?”

“Perfect,” you say, watching her as she places the order.

As the confirmation screen pops up, she sets her phone down and looks at you, her eyes still holding that familiar mischievous glint. “You better have enough energy left to help me eat it, because I’m not carrying your dead weight through another round tonight.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fair enough. Let’s refuel, then we’ll see who’s carrying who.”

Her smirk widens. “You’re on, puppy.”

Without warning, Chaewon approaches and settles onto your lap, her thighs straddling yours, her body warm and soft against you. The heat of her skin pressed to yours grounding you in a way that feels almost surreal. Her arms loop loosely around your neck, and her face is closer than you expected, her dark eyes searching yours with a softness that contrasts her usual sharpness.

“So,” she begins, her voice quiet but laced with a teasing edge. “How are we gonna handle this… thing now?”

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. “This thing?”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s no malice in it. “Don’t play dumb. Us. This.” She gestures vaguely between your naked bodies.

“Right,” you say, your hands sliding up her sides to rest on her waist. “I guess… we should figure that out.”

She smirks, leaning in slightly, her nose brushing against yours. “You’re not going back to pretending this didn’t happen, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you reply quickly, your tone firm. “How could I, after… everything?”

Chaewon’s smirk softens into a small, genuine smile, and she tilts her head, her fingers toying with the hair at the nape of your neck. “Good. Because I don’t think I could handle watching you mope around the office pretending this didn’t mean something.”

“It means something,” you say quietly, your thumbs brushing against her waist. “I just… didn’t know it meant something to you too.”

She looks away for a second, her cheeks turning pink, but then she sighs and meets your gaze again. “It always did,” she admits, her voice softer now. “I’ve liked you for a long time. I just didn’t know if you felt the same way—or if you were too busy chasing every girl who wasn’t me to notice.”

You wince slightly. “Ouch.”

“I’m just saying,” she teases, though there’s a hint of truth in her tone. “You always seemed to go for the ones who didn’t care about you. Meanwhile, I…” She trails off, biting her lip. “I noticed you.”

Your chest tightens at her words, and you reach up to cup her cheek, brushing your thumb against her skin. “When?”

Her lips curve into a faint smile, her eyes flicking to the side as if she’s remembering something. “There were moments,” she says after a pause. “Like the time you stayed late to help me with that awful report, even though you didn’t have to. Or the time you lent me your jacket after I spilled coffee all over myself, even though it was freezing outside and you looked like an idiot walking around in just your shirt.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I remember that. I thought you were going to yell at me for being too nice.”

“I almost did,” she admits with a grin. “But then I realized… I didn’t want you to stop.”

Her words settle between you, heavy and meaningful, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. Then Chaewon leans in, her lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss that feels more like a promise than anything else.

When she pulls back, her eyes are brighter, her expression teasing again. “Anyway, you’re stuck here all weekend, remember? I think we’ve got plenty of time to figure this out.”

You grin, your hands sliding down to rest on her hips. “You’re right. And for the record, I’m not complaining.”

“Good,” she murmurs, leaning in for another kiss. This one is deeper, slower, her fingers tangling in your hair as your hands tighten on her waist, pulling her closer.

The kiss breaks only when she laughs softly, her forehead resting against yours. “This feels… nice,” she says, her voice quiet.

“Yeah,” you agree, your thumb tracing small circles on her hip. “It does.”

The two of you stay like that for a while, exchanging kisses and soft touches, the weight of the moment settling into something warm and intimate.

It’s simple, and yet it feels like everything.

#gg smut #kpop gg smut #chaewon smut #chaewon x reader #kim chaewon smut #kim chaewon x reader #le sserafim smut #kpop m!reader #kpop male reader #kpop male oc #m!reader #le sserafim #kim chaewon le sserafim #kpop smut #kpop #smut #male reader #m! reader

495 notes · View notes

miyakiwiii · 2 days ago

Text

GUESS NO ONE EVER TAUGHT YOU HOW TO BE A REAL MAN...。o○ [1]

-KANG DAE HO X FEM!READER

WOOOO SECOND DAE HO FIC OF MINEEE(ilhsm) HOPE U ENJOY!

TAGS

Reader and dae ho are both in squid game... uh no warnings except swearing and player EUGH 100

NOTE:

This is really long, since i made this while rewatching squid game s2 lmao. Also your kinda like sae-byeok but more chalant also this is really longU^ェ^U (did not expect this to turn into a series)

WORD COUNT:2,15k!

NEXT PART..

MASTERLIST

The debt was passed to you when eventually one of your only remaining family members were missing.

It was always because that family member always had to go to loan sharks, to get money, and to use for what? The common answer: Gambling.

The debt that was passed to you was... 320 million won.

Your dad, when he was alive.. you were inspired by him, after all, he was in the ROK Airforce before.

You wanted to be like him, but he didnt want that for you, you were his precious jewel.

"Pa! I wanna be like you when i grow up! All strong!" Younger you said as you flexed your tiny arms, flashing a big grin. Your father chuckles as he puts a hand in your head and starts patting you, messing up your dolled up hair.

"Now now kiddo, Being one of us is really difficult, i dont want my sweetie to be hurt." He says, kneeling down to face you as you pouted.

"Nuh uh! Im still going to become an air enforcer like you!" You said as you crossed your arms.

"Im warning you kiddo." He stops kneeling down.

Well, that dream never came true.

Sitting in one of the benches, it was dark. Now why would a woman stand in the dark all by herself? Isnt that dangerous?

Not at all for you- okay that was cringe.

You fought for yourself always, learning to survive and such.

"Need to go home now.." you sigh, standing up from the bench and fixing your jacket, putting your hands in the pocket, whew it sure is chilly.

"Now now... whats a pretty girl like you doing all alone in the dark?" A creep asks, you could tell it wants something for you, so you kept walking, fastening your steps even more.

"He-Hey! I was talking to you! Come back here!" The creep yelled out.

"Get the fuck away from me." You said, the man finally quiet down and just stood there, watching you walk, and dissapear in the distance.

Finally, arrived to your home... or small apartment, you searched for the keys in one of the pockets you put your hands on, now holding onto the small key, you took it out of your pockets and opened the door.

DAY 2.

You went into the subway for absoulutely no reason at all, going down the stairs on the subway station's tunnel entrance, now sitting in one of the chairs to relax,you saw a... man in a suit, smiling weirdly with a briefcase approaching you, Guess he was a scammer?

The man smiles at you and sits beside you at the bench.

"Hello maam, may i talk to you?" He says, looking at you strangely.

You ignore him and just look at the ground of the subway station.

"Would you like to play a game with me?" He says, looking at you, eugh that stare kinda creeps you out(ik some of yall be simping)

"Eh... who even are you to begin with? Some kind of buisness man exactly?" You say, looking at the man.

You find him, his suitcase opened, finding a red and blue folded paper, along with... won.

He holds out both of the folded paper, and asks. "So, which color do you want to play as?" He says.

"...Blue." You say.

A FEW ROUNDS LATER.

He had explained the round, basically, the two of his slaps were decreasing of the 100k won, but instead, we pay with our... body? That sounds like prostitution but its done anyways.

He looks at you as you stood silent, looking at the man.

"Here's your won." The man says, the man's slap still aching.

"You can make money after playing game's like this do you know that miss?" He says, as you held the money.

"Would you like to try it out?" He said, the hint of mischieoveness achived in his voice.

You thinked, looked at the man. "Huh? Are you trying to fool me sir?" You say monotonely.

"Miss [Reader]." He said as he stood up. You went quiet as you looked at him, how did he know your name?

After that, he said everything, every information you had, school, work- whatever else, even your fathers name.

"As now, one of your family members passed a debt to you about.. 230 million won due to loan sharks."

"Wha- what are you..?" You said, looking at him terrified.

He pulls out a card from his coat pocket, holding it out to show to you.

"We have many spots left." He says, you took the card fastly from his hand, basically snatching it.

"Give me a call." He says as he walked away, you were left there, standing.

DAY 3.

You wake up, in a strange place. Looking around, you held your head as you sighed. Rubbing your temples.

"Fucking hell... my head hurts. You sat up, and took off the duvet that was covering you. Realizing that you had new clothes, you decided to unzip the zipper of the greenish blue jacket, you saw that something was written on your shirt.

238.

"What the... fuck." You stood up and went to the center, as someone accidentally bumped into you.

"Hey-! Watch where your going!" You say, the music that was coming from the speakers finally stopped as the man spoke to you "You watch ou- oh.. i apologize miss."

"Yeah, you better." You said, looking at the man.

You observed the man as you saw that he had a hair length that was reaching his neck a little bit, he had a strong jawline, and a part of his hair was tied to the back, he kinda looked cute whatsoever, but you didnt pay mind to that.

You looked at his jumper, the jumper has a number.. '388.'

The front door opened as three men with masks, the middle one has a square mask, the other two? Both circle.

"Thats strange, this isnt a costume party at all." You say, hand on your waist.

The man was still beside's you, you didnt notice him looking at you, and then he looked back at the guards.

Murmur's filled the room, as you stayed silent, the man beside you tried talking to you.

"Real- ehem, real strange for sure." Yet you still ignored him.

TIME SKIP OF THE SQUARE TALKING.

"Excuse me." A voice said from afar, you turned around to see, it appears to be a transgender woman, you respected her of course. She stepped down some few steps and said..

"You said i'd be playing games, but you practically kidnapped me." She said, looking at the guard.

"I apologize." The man in the square soldier says. "Please understand it was necessary to maintain the game's security."

"... I agree, we didnt consent to this at all." You spoke out, looking at the guards as people leaned their head torwards you.

"So how can we believe that?" She says.

"Whats with the mask then? Is your face also a secret?" A random female says.

"Yeah! Why are you hiding your face? Is this some kind of illegal gambling house?" A random man says.

"Even the dealers dont cover their faces in those place's!" The random woman says.

Murmur's build up as i listened to some of them.

"To ensure fair gameplay and confilentiality, it is our policy not to reveal the face's and identities of staff please understand." The square says.

"... i dont really give a shit about all this talking.. except taking us to some- some place else." i sigh, crossing my arms.

A diva- i mean a girl holds out the jacket given and holds it up. "Did you take off my clothes and put these on me?" The girl says.

"My shoes are limited fucking edition." A forked up- i mean a purple haired guy says, rotating the shoes. "They're hard to find, you goin' to replace em if they get" RUINED?!"

"These dont fit and the color sucks... can i just have what your wearing instead? I like pink" the girl says.

I sigh, looking at the girl from afar, hands now in my pocket's.

TIME SKIP WHEN THEY ANNOUNCE THE PPL W/ DEBTS CUS IM LAZY..

(sorry chat)

"Hah, a crypto scammer in this game...? Noted." I say as i scoff, after hearing the mans words.

"Player 333, llee myung-gi." As the square presses something, the tv that was placed up the screen showed something, the ddakji game..!

"Age 30, Used to run a Youtube channel called MG coin. After Convincing subscribers to invest in a new crypto coin called dalmatian, causing losses of approximately 15.2 billion won. You shut down and dissapeared. Your wanted for fraud, and for violating telecom,and financial investment laws. Current debt level, 1.8 billion won."

"Player 196, Kang Mi-na, 45 million won in debt."

"Player 120, Cho hyun-ju, 330 million won in debt."

"Player 238, [READER FULL NAME]. 230 million won in debt."

'What a fucker..' i stay silent looking at the side.

"Player 230, Choi Su-bong 1.19 billion won in debt."

"Player 198, Jang do-yeong 1.4 billion won in debt."

"Player 226, Kim Yeong-san 1.9 billion won in debt."

"Player 444, Kim Nam-du, 2.02 billion won in debt"

"Player 343, Sim Jae-Seok 2.89 billion won in debt."

"Player 006, Park Mi-hwa, 3.1 billion won in debt."

"Player 283, Lee Eun-jun, 4.02 billion won in debt."

"Player 100, Im Jeong-dae, ten billion won in debt."

"One more game!" The screen's speakers yell out.

"What a greedy old grandpa, huh?" You tried talking to the taller man beside you.

"Uhuh.. totally.. haha.." he says, scratching his nape.

"Who is that? Who is he?" Some people say.

"WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT!?" it yells out. "DO YOU THINK- BLAH BLAH BLAH blah blah..."

'Yeah we dont really care whatsoever.' You rolled your eyes, murmurs still surrounding him.

"All of you in this room, Have crippling debts, and now on a cliff-edge. When we first came to you, you did not trust us either. But as you know, we played a game, and gave you money as promised, And so you trusted us and volunteered to participate according to your own free will. You have one last chance to decide, Do you want to live in a piece of trash running for creditors? Or will you seize the last opportunity we are offering?" The square finishes.

I listened carefully (finally) to its words, processing all of it inside my head.

The light's suddenly darken- and now there was a golden glow emitting from above.

"Is heaven taking- woaah... never mind i guess." I look up and above, a piggy bank, not just any ordinary piggy bank, a fucking. Huge. One.

The music that appeared fastened up when the piggy bank was going down.

"Whoa, thats huge yanno'..?" The man beside's you says.

"What you see now, is the piggy bank where your valuable prize money will be stored. After each of the six games you will play, the prizs money will be accumalated in this piggy bank." The square says.

A mama's boy- i mean a man speaks up and asks "how much is the prize money?"

The square answers the man's question. "The prize money for the game is 45.6 billion won in total."

Shocked gasps and sounds build up.

"45.6 billion... won..." i say, my eyes blinking "thats insane."

"And one of us will get it?" The man asks.

"We will give you the detail's about the distribution of the price money after the first game. For these games, you will be given a special new advantage." The square says.

"What is it?" The old bit- i mean man says.

"After each game, you will be given a chance to vote on whether to continue the game or not. If the majority votes to stop the games, you can leave with the prize money accumalated up to that point." The square says.

"Are you saying.." a man says from behind,not in the crowd, but in the sides of the bed- whatever its called

"We'll receive the money after we leave the first game?"

423 notes · View notes

melminli · 3 days ago

Text

Ddakji Man

summery - you were always struggling to make ends meet, despite having three separate jobs and you doubted that that would ever change. it felt like you were working out of your own casket and it would probably be more sustainable to invest in one at this point.

pairing: (gong yoo/ji-cheol) the salesman x fem. reader

word count: 1,5k

contains: slight arguing, cursing but nothing too graphic tbh

"Are you sure that you don't want to come?" One of your friends asked you a little sadly since you were about to leave the group. They rarely got to see you anyway, did you have to leave so early? "You never come with us when we go out for a drink, we miss you there, you know?"

You smiled a little tiredly as you strolled casually through the streets. "I'm sorry guys, I just have to work tonight." you tried to explain. Besides, I'm fucking tired and just want to get some sleep before then. I miss my bed.

Your best friend pouted as she hugged you from the side and you welcomed it, even if it made walking a little more difficult. "It's always work this work that. Live a little for once, all this stress is not good for you. You need a break." she spoke up before a thought came into her mind that made her a little furious. "Don't tell me that you're using work as an excuse to cancel on us. We can do something else if you want to. I'll even invite you, come on!"

You took a tired breath. I don't have any energy for this. "Trust me, I'd love nothing more than to get drunk with you and I'm not being sarcastic or anything." you clarified. Besides, I wouldn't work this much if I didn't have to.

"All right." she gave in unhappy. "We'll catch you one of these days, I can feel it..."

You laughed softly. "Please do," you replied and stopped in front of the stairs that led to the subway. This was the place where you had to say goodbye to your friends and you did with a few more hugs. You enjoyed spending time with them and loved your friends with all your heart, but you were still happy to be a bit on your own now.

So you plugged in your cable headphones and played your current favorite song at the loudest volume before checking when the next train was going to arrive. Another twenty minutes? The last one must have just left. You decided to just sit down on a bench and wait while staring blankly around and quietly mumbling the lyrics to yourself.

A few minutes later, a person sat down next to you and you could see out of the corner of your eye that it was probably some kind of businessman or something. You didn't look closely out of politeness and turned your gaze somewhere else after checking the time on your phone.

"Excuse me." the unknown man tried to get your attention, but as expected, you could barely hear him over the booming music. He placed his briefcase in the space between you before leaning closer to your figure and looking towards you with a smile and finally, you seemed to notice his stare and turned in his direction. You took out one of your earbuds as you met his gaze. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

The man leaned back again. "I haven't said anything yet. I wanted to ask if I could talk to you, do you have a moment?"

You looked around a little uncomfortably as he maintained uninterrupted eye contact with you. "Ehm, well..." you stumbled slightly over your words. "I'm not religious or anything, sorry," you replied, having no patience for another discourse about Jesus and the church. This is the fourth time this week, lucky me. You thought to yourself as you were about to put your earplug back in.

The salesman held a hand in the air to stop you from doing that to keep your attention. You just looked at him uninterestedly and waited, it was going to be a while before your train arrived anyway. A smile graced his face after you were willing to listen to him again. "That's not what I wanted to talk about, I just want to offer you a chance."

Your face tightened a little in disgust and you were quite irritated by now. He seemed to be waiting for some kind of answer and didn't say anything else, so you had no choice but to interpret his words. He doesn't look like that kind of guy, but I guess it's always the ones who look the most decent. "Listen to me asshole," you said openly this time, all politeness gone as you pointed at his chest with your index finger. "I don't know you, maybe you're one of those men who try to talk in riddles to seem mysterious or something, but right now it just sounds like you're looking for someone cheap to fuck." you replied as you tapped his tie with each syllable and leaned a little closer to him as you whispered. "And I'm not cheap, so you might want to look elsewhere."

This time it was you who grinned as he looked at you in surprise and he let out a small grunt after you finished your sentence. The salesman straightened his tie while watching your figure before reaching for his briefcase and revealing its contents, "That's too bad, but also not what I was talking about," he replied as you looked at the money and colored paper in confusion. "Have you ever played Ddakji?" He asked you as he took out the red and blue paper. You just shook your head. "That's no problem at all, we can still play it if you're up for it."

Your gaze alternated from his hand to his face. Oh, so he's crazy. You finally concluded. I guess he is too handsome to be just a normal guy, huh. You turned your head away from him, something about the whole thing just seemed perverse to you. "No thanks, I'll pass."

"You sure?" He asked again, knowing he'd convinced you as soon as he brought the money into it. These people are all the same, she'll snatch the paper right out of my hands after I start talking a language she understands. "Every time you win, you get 100,000 won from me." He began, watching the look on your face. "But if I win, you owe me 100,000 won and -"

You sighed and interrupted him. "Yes, I'm sure. I still don't want to play with you, okay?"

This time the man looked at you with a cold, icy stare. A few minutes passed like this and you just tried to ignore his gaze, but then he started talking again. "All right. 200,000 won." he finally said, but couldn't seem to get your attention back. He tried again. "Is it because you've never played the game before? We can have a practice round if that would make you feel more comfortable." he tried again and got irritated when you continued to ignore him. He looked around the area as he considered his next move. Is she waiting for me to increase the prize money further? These people usually jump up happily at the first amount since they're so desperate. He tried to collect himself again. "500,000 won." he finally said. "I've got the money right here, you just have to go for it."

When is this stupid train coming. "Look, I don't want your fucking money, understand? I'm not a gambling addict or -"

"You may not want it, but you need it," he said, annoyed. This has never happened before, is she stupid? He then spoke out your name and described your miserable living situation as if you didn't already know about it yourself. "You also have quite a lot of debt for someone who is still relatively young, are you seriously going to turn down the money I'm offering you? For what, to prove a point or something?"

You didn't know what this man's fucking problem was, he should be glad that you didn't want to take his money, and how did he even know all this? You got up from your seat next to him when the train finally arrived and turned to face him one last time. "Fuck you," you told him and then went to the doors. You even looked out of the window at him as soon as they closed before you, to show him your the middle finger.

The man in the suit watched your figure irritated until it was gone and then, took the little card out of the inside pocket of his suit, that was meant for you. He turned it over a few times in his hand before closing the open briefcase with his other one. He had already played and lost a few Ddakji games in his life, which was the point of the whole thing - to recruit players for the actual game. However, the thought of what awaited them there meant that he was still in control of the situation. He was always in control of the situation. "I didn't loose, we haven't even played." he tried to reassure himself.

And yet the whole conversation with you left him feeling like he was utterly defeated.

781 notes · View notes

ventismacchiato · 21 hours ago

Text

17 stuck with you — jealousy jealousy !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

content warning: oblivious idiots

MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT: YOUR POINT OF VIEW

When you and the others returned from the island, you walked into the dorms to find everyone either drunk or in the process of getting there. When Yae asked what everyone wanted for catering, the unanimous answer was alcohol—until Jean reminded them they’d need food too.

You’d had a drink or two and were playing a halfhearted game of cards on the floor with Venti and Aether. Nobody seemed interested in going to bed. Getting drunk was the perfect way to forget the stress of the show.

Scara sat near the door, absentmindedly pulling out blocks in the game of Jenga Fischl had set up beside him. The atmosphere was surprisingly calm…for now.

Then Mona stood up from where she’d been teaching Yoimiya how to make a drink and plopped down next to Scara. He didn’t look too thrilled by the move.

“So, Kuni?” she slurred.

You froze at the name. Scara had made it clear that nobody but you called him that.

“Don’t call me that,” Scara muttered, his voice flat.

“Aww, why not? I thought I meant more than that,” Mona teased, clearly influenced by the alcohol.

“Can you go bother someone else?” Scara shot back.

“Don’t be like that!” Mona huffed, nudging him with her shoulder. “Want a massage? You used to love my massages.” She said the last part while looking directly at you, her hand casually caressing Scara’s shoulder. You quickly looked away, trying not to make it obvious that you were listening.

Scara removed her hand from his shoulder, pointedly avoiding eye contact. Mona didn’t let it go.

“Why won’t you just pay attention to me?” she whined, leaning closer.

“Can you not?” Scara finally turned to face her, his voice sharp. “What the hell are you even doing here?”

At this point, the whole room was trying to act like they weren’t paying attention, but it was clear they were all watching

“I just wanted to talk—” Mona began, but Scara interrupted her.

“I mean, what are you doing on this island?”

“I came to win you over,” Mona said, as though the answer was obvious.

“You’re the one who broke up with me,” Scara huffed, crossing his arms. “Don’t give me that bullshit.”

Mona took a long swig from her drink, unfazed.

“I didn’t want to,” she sighed, her voice thick with alcohol. “I would’ve stuck it out if your mom hadn’t… well…”

You felt a flush of heat spread across your face at the mention of Scara’s mother. You weren’t the only one who noticed; Childe, Aether, and Kazuha exchanged glances, each looking more uncomfortable by the second.

Scara grabbed Mona’s glass from her hand, his fingers tight around it. “You should shut up.”

Mona, however, was too far gone to be deterred.

“How could I not take the contract? You know how bad my old management was. I had no choice. It was either that or you. You know how it is.”

It was only when she noticed the entire room was staring at her that a little sobriety seemed to return. She clamped her palm over her mouth and stared at Scara, wide-eyed.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to say that,” she mumbled, her voice the most sincere it had been all night.

Scara didn’t answer. He just stared at the ground, his face unreadable, while Mona rambled her apology. The rest of the room shifted awkwardly, unsure if they should intervene or just let it pass. You could feel your heart race, had that been the real reason for their breakup? You had always thought Scara had ended things on his own terms.

Mona reached out for him, but Scara stood up abruptly, stepping over the scattered Jenga blocks on the floor as he moved toward the door. It creaked open, letting in a cold gust of night air before slamming shut behind him.

The room fell silent for a moment. Then, Mona stood, swaying slightly, and started after him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Kazuha murmured, but his words were drowned out by the sound of the door shutting once again.

“Did you guys know about all that?” Venti asked, turning to Aether.

“Since it’s out in the open, yeah,” Aether sighed.

“We need to stop giving her drinks,” Lumine muttered under her breath.

“I’m kind of worried about Mona going after him,” Childe said, rising from his seat to peer out the window. “Knowing Scara, he might drown himself… or her.”

“I’ll go be a witness to the murder then,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. Childe gave you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as you made your way out the door.

You didn’t know why you felt the sudden urge to follow him. It had always been about trying to surpass him before. But tonight…tonight you just wanted to catch up to him. To be equals.

SCARA’S POINT OF VIEW

The bench is cold beneath him and the sea breeze is a sharp slap against his face as he stares out at the crashing waves. It’s quiet but it does little to distract him from the turmoil in his chest. His fingers curl around the cigarette, the thin paper already loose from where he pocketed it earlier. He twirls it between his fingers absently, trying to focus on the motions instead of his thoughts.

The urge to light it is almost unbearable. He can almost feel the familiar ache, the way the smoke would crawl its way down his lungs and quiet everything inside him. It would help him forget. At least for a little while.

But he promised he wouldn’t.

Your words echo in his head like a soft, repeated prayer, something that clings to him even when he’s alone. He knows if he takes that drag, it’s one more step back from everything he's trying to hold onto. One more thing he’ll have to explain to you, and he can’t stomach that right now.

So instead, he flicks the cigarette into the sand, watching it settle there like a tiny, forgotten thing, and then turns his gaze back to the sea. His breath hitches in his chest. If it isn’t the lack of nicotine that’s bothering him, it’s something else. Something sharper, older.

Something that happened more than a year ago.

Mona’s slurred words made the memory hit him with the force of a slap. It wasn’t her betrayal that stung, not really. He knew the two of them were never that serious. But it was the fact that she had chosen his mother over him. The fact that his own mother had paid her off like it was nothing.

Mona had once been sweet back when they first met. Her determination to be an idol had reminded him of you in a way. Maybe he was just searching for a piece of you in anyone he could find.

“Scara?”

He doesn’t have to turn to know it’s her. He can smell the alcohol before he hears the soft, slurred voice, and when he finally looks up, there she is, weaving on unsteady feet, her hair tangled around her shoulders, eyes glazed.

She’s drunk.

God, what a fucking mess.

“I—uh—can I sit?” She hiccups, and despite himself, he shifts slightly to make room on the bench, the muscles in his back tense, coiled, but his body obeys the unspoken politeness he’d long been taught.

Mona doesn’t wait for a response. She just slumps beside him, her hands gripping her knees like she’s trying to hold herself together.

“I didn’t mean it,” she says after a long silence, the words coming out in a rush, broken by more hiccups. “I didn’t mean to say it to everyone. I swear, I didn’t. I was just—I was just trying to make you… jealous, or something.”

Scara doesn’t say anything. He can already feel his patience wearing thin, his hand tightening into a fist. He knows where this is going.

“You know how I get when I drink,” she continues, her voice small, vulnerable in a way that makes his gut twist. She leans into him, her breath warm and sour with alcohol. “I was just trying to get a rise out of you. I thought... maybe it’d make you care more. Maybe it’d make you feel something for once, you know?”

He stares ahead, trying to focus on the horizon, trying to avoid the heat of her body next to his, the smell of liquor clinging to her like a second skin. She’s slurring more now, and with every word, the tension in his chest grows heavier, pressing down until he’s almost suffocating.

He can feel her swaying beside him, her body suddenly lurching forward as she clutches her stomach. He reaches out instinctively, used to her being like this, his hand awkwardly rubbing her back just to keep her from falling over. She feels so fragile in his touch, but that fragility doesn’t excuse the way she’s always tried to pull him back into her drama.

She leans in, too close again, her words spilling out in a rush like she's been holding them back for too long.

“You know...” she starts, her eyes dark and unfocused. “I only started acting out because you wouldn’t pay me any attention anymore. You were always complaining about YN. Always.”

She lets out a short, frustrated laugh, and then hiccups, her face flushing. “I know it wasn’t love, Scara. I’m not stupid. It was just a stupid distraction wasn’t it, from whatever you felt for them.”

He looks over at her, eyebrows furrowed.

“Even if you didn’t realize it back then, I did. Even if all we had was physical you can’t deny it worked. We were good at that. So yeah, I got a little carried away. But if you hadn’t been so busy chasing them around, maybe we wouldn’t be here right now.”

He can’t even find it in himself to deny it. After he had started dating her you’d started avoiding him for one reason or another. Maybe you thought everyone would get the wrong idea.

But it killed him.

“That doesn’t mean you can just run off and take the first offer my mom gives to you,” he snaps, his tone cutting. “If you really didn’t like the way I treated you that badly, you could’ve left. You could’ve walked away. No one was holding you here.”

He shakes his head, frustrated they were having this talk now of all time, “But you didn’t, did you? You stayed. Because you knew being with me—even if it wasn’t love—would give you the eyes on you that you wanted so damn badly.”

“You’re right,” she admits, the words coming out quietly. “ But I didn’t know what else to do. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t care.”

Scara scoffs at that.

“It didn’t look like it. All I saw was someone who was more interested in being the center of attention than me,” He shakes his head, turning his back to her for a moment. Honestly, he could keep going. But they were only having this conversation because she was drunk. There was no point, he was over it.

He exhales sharply, his tone flat when he speaks again, as if he’s just given up.

"Yeah, okay," Scara mutters, voice distant. "It's fine. It’s not like you’ll even remember this tomorrow, anyway.”

It’s the only thing he says, just to make the whole thing stop. He knows she’s looking for something else. An apology, maybe, or some kind of validation. But he’s too fucking tired to give her that now. And it’s not like he’s going to receive one.

"Really?" Her voice rises in a way that makes him want to shove her away. "You're fine with it?"

He doesn’t respond, though now he’s just waiting for her to puke all over him. The sound of the ocean lapping against the shore is the only thing filling the silence, until she’s leaning in closer, her breath hot on his ear, her face too close.

“You know,” she whispers, her words slurred and soft, “I wouldn't mind going back to what we had. Just for a night.”

Before he can stop her, she’s pressing her lips to his, soft and insistent, her body leaning into his as though this is what she’s been waiting for all along. Her mouth is warm, her hands finding their way to his chest, and for a moment, Scara’s heart stops.

Not because he wants it, but because he doesn’t.

He’s frozen, a quiet alarm ringing in his head. This isn’t real. This isn’t what he wants. Not from her.

Even if it was only for a few seconds, the moment stretches too long until he can finally pry her away from him. And when he does finally pull back, his hand is shaking.

“Don’t do that,” he says, voice tight with something: frustration, anger, confusion, maybe a little bit of pain. “Don’t try to fix this with... that.”

She blinks at him, confused, the haze of alcohol still clouding her eyes. "But... but I thought... we could—"

He stands up abruptly, cutting her off before she can make this worse. "Just... don't." The words hang in the air, heavy with finality.

She looks rather pitiful sitting on the bench like that, and he almost feels bad. Almost.

“You should just go,” he says, his voice flat, the exhaustion finally catching up to him.

But then, as he turns to leave, he sees you.

In the distance, walking towards the kitchens, your figure framed by the fading light. Seeing you makes something inside him twist. He starts to wonder why you’d come out soon after he stormed off. The idea of you coming back, walking over to him like you actually care. Just that thought is enough to loosen the tight knot in his chest. He didn’t even realize how much he was holding his breath, waiting for it. For a moment, he lets himself imagine you doing it. He almost expects it, but the longer he stands there, the more he realizes it’s just a fantasy. He watches you for a moment, then his stomach drops when he realizes if you were out there you must’ve walked by him.

You had seen the kiss.

YOUR POINT OF VIEW

Your feet moved before your brain had a chance to tell you no. It was a strange instinct, one you didn’t quite understand. You’d never been one to comfort Scara. You’d been at odds with him for as long as you could remember, enemies in every sense of the word.

But after what you’d learned about his mother just the thought of him being alone, struggling with it, gnawed at you. You wanted to check on him. You needed to check on him.

The island was massive, and Scara wasn’t exactly known for his athleticism, so you figured it wouldn’t be too hard to find him. Still, your mind raced as you walked, trying to come up with something, anything, that would make him feel even a fraction better. What could you say to him that wouldn’t sound patronizing, or worse, awkward? You weren’t even sure you could help him, but you had to try.

And then, there it was.

The beach. The bench. The figure slumped against it. Scara. The cigarette in his hand. You’d found him.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried to steady yourself. This wasn’t a time to lose control. But before you could take another step, your eyes caught the familiar outline of someone else. Mona. She was walking toward him, wobbling a little as she approached, and suddenly the moment felt off.

You stopped in your tracks, half hidden by a few tall bushes nearby, your body suddenly rooted in place. You should’ve turned around and gone back to the party. Scara was clearly occupied. He would be okay, right?

But no. Your eyes stayed locked on the two of them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away.

Mona was standing next to him now, her chest heaving slightly from hiccups, and her words were slurred as she spoke. Scara wasn’t saying much, but his hand moved, almost instinctively, it seemed, to rub her back, slow and careful. As if he was...comforting her. You felt your pulse quicken, a strange sense of something building up in your chest, something like a heavy weight pressing down on your ribs.

A normal person would’ve walked away, turned around and walked back to the party, chalking it up to nothing more than two people talking, nothing more than Scara being himself. But you were never normal when it came to Scara. So instead, you stayed rooted in the shadow, just watching like some creep. The words you had rehearsed in your head seemed meaningless now, overshadowed by the confusion swelling inside you. What was happening?

And then, without warning, you saw it.

Mona leaned in, her lips pressing against Scara’s.

The world tilted on its axis. You didn’t even know how to react at first. A cold knot of jealousy, something sharp and unexpected, wrapped around your chest, and you felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs.

Scara, someone you’d considered your mortal enemy, the person you had spent years fighting against, was kissing Mona. She wasn’t even trying to hide it, her hands clinging to his chest. Just the sight was enough to leave you standing there, paralyzed.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.

It was a mantra you were repeating in your head. But the jealousy gnawed at you in a way you didn’t understand, the sting in your chest a sharp reminder that maybe you cared a lot more than you’d ever let on. You’d always been jealous of Scara throughout the years, that feeling was something familiar. But this was something different. Your stomach is twisting with something you couldn’t name. Something that hurt to acknowledge.

Oh.

Without even thinking, you turned away, stepping back into the shadows, your feet felt heavy beneath you. You had no idea what you were feeling anymore. Or you did, but you couldn’t even voice it.

Scara was kissing Mona. Your Scara. Your Kuni. And you were standing there, like a fool.

If you had run after him a bit faster would you be the one he’d be kissing? That wasn’t the problem, though. No. The thing that bothered you the most was the way it made you feel like an outsider. The way it reminded you, in an almost painful way, that you weren’t the one he turned to for comfort.

That was how it had always been. Always. It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

You didn’t know when it happened. Maybe it was the way he looked at you when he was angry, or the way he tried to hide his vulnerabilities. Maybe it was the constant back-and-forth, the challenge. Maybe it was the fact that he was always there, whether it be to hit you with a snarky remark or laugh at you when you fell second to him again. He’d always been there.

But you cared. And that made you want to punch something, or scream, or both. You’d never imagined a day when you would care about Scara in any way other than annoyance, or the irritation of seeing him always one step ahead.

Suddenly, your feet moved as fast as they could to get you out of there.

The walk from the beach to the kitchens feels like it takes longer than it should. The adrenaline from earlier is wearing off.

You step into the kitchens, the cool air inside a sharp contrast to the warmth of the night outside. The lights are low, casting shadows over the countertops, still littered from the dishes from earlier. A clink of glass catches your attention first, and then a familiar voice.

“You finally made it in here.”

You stop, looking up until your eyes land on Heizou. His casual smile is the same one he always had, though there's something softer in it tonight, like he’s been waiting. He’s got a glass of water in his hand, and you realize he must’ve been looking for you. He’s the last person you want to see right now, but he doesn’t seem surprised by your presence.

“You didn’t go back to the party,” he continues, setting the glass down on the counter. “I figured you might be hiding in here. You don’t look like you’re in the mood for another drink.”

You’re about to reply, but he catches you off guard by speaking up.

“Are you okay?”

You pause. It’s a simple question, but for some reason, it feels heavy. Before you even know what’s happening, the words just spill out.

“No, I’m not okay,” you start, your voice a little more brittle than you intended.

“I just... I just watched him. Scara. I saw him with Mona. It’s like everything I’ve been trying to avoid came crashing down in front of me. I don’t even know what to feel. It’s just... why is everything so complicated? Why does he have to make things so complicated?”

Heizou doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t look at you like you’re insane for spilling everything. He just watches, his calm expression making the chaos in your head even more prominent.

“Is that really what’s bothering you?” he asks softly, the faintest hint of concern in his eyes.

You blink, realizing that you’ve been ranting and completely unaware of how you’ve been projecting everything onto him. Heizou seems to sense it too, because next thing you know, he’s stepping closer, his presence warm and steady as he leans a little into the counter beside you.

“Hey,” he says, his tone gentle. “Come on. You need to relax.”

Before you can protest, Heizou wraps a reassuring arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. He places a hand lightly on your head, urging you to lean into him. You hesitate for a moment before giving in, resting your cheek against his shoulder. His body is a familiar comfort, though you didn’t expect it to be this comforting tonight. In the quiet of the kitchen, you realize how exhausted you are.

“You know,” Heizou says, his voice quiet but teasing, “I have no chance now, do I?”

You blink, not fully processing his words. “Huh?”

Heizou laughs softly, caressing his hand over your cheek, “Still as oblivious as ever, huh?”

You feel your brow furrow. “What are you talking about?”

Heizou’s fingers brush through your hair gently, like he’s trying to sort through his own thoughts. “It’s him, right?”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your heart beating a little faster. “What? No. I—”

But before you can finish, Heizou cuts you off, a playful glint in his eyes. “You know, I saw you two kiss on the show. The hot tub.” He pauses, studying your face for any shift. “It was... something, wasn’t it?”

You feel your stomach tighten, the thought of the kiss now a distant, uncomfortable memory. “You know that was fake, right?” you say quickly, trying to downplay it. “It didn’t mean anything. It was just part of the show.”

Heizou’s eyes stay locked on yours for a long moment, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. He nods slowly, but there’s a slight edge to his tone. “Yeah, I get it. But it was your first kiss, right? It had to have meant something. At least to you.”

You swallow, the words suddenly feeling sharp. Your chest tightens, and you know you have to say something. You didn’t want to hurt Heizou’s feelings after he came all the way out here.

“No. It didn’t,” you say, your voice firm but tinged with something that feels more like a lie than you want to admit. “It was all fake. The kiss...everything. It didn’t mean anything.”

You don’t notice at first, but Heizou’s smile falters just the tiniest bit. “Yeah. Sure,” he says, his voice warmer now, almost wistful.

He doesn’t say anything else, but the silence between you both stretches out, heavy with unspoken understanding. You feel a little stupid for saying so much, for trying to convince him, or even yourself, that it was all nothing. You knew it was far from nothing.

Heizou finally breaks the tension, grabbing the water bottles he came in for. “Yeah, sure. Well, I guess I should get back to the others and sober them up. But... good luck, okay? With everything. With…him.”

You stand there, watching him leave, suddenly realizing you’ve just unloaded more than you intended. But before he walks out the door, Heizou looks back, giving you one last knowing look, then disappears back into the hallway.

You’re still standing there when you hear a soft voice outside the kitchen door.

“Interesting.”

You freeze. Your heart skips a beat.

You turn slowly, your breath catching in your throat when you see Scara standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, like he’s been listening the entire time.

For a second, all you can do is stare at him. And then it hits you, the way Heizou’s words must’ve sounded to him. The way you had tried to downplay the kiss. The way you’d tried to convince Heizou that it meant nothing.

Scara raises an eyebrow, looking almost amused, but his eyes were glazed over with something else. “Didn’t mean anything, huh?”

The words stick in your throat, and before you can even try to explain, the hurt in his eyes is enough to make you realize he’s probably already misunderstood.

SCARA’S POINT OF VIEW

Scara barely registered the words Mona was slurring anymore, his thoughts still tangled in knots from everything that had just happened. The sour taste of her lips still lingered. That wasn’t what bothered him. What bothered him was the thought of you seeing him like that. Seeing him with Mona.

He had to get out of there. Fast.

His mind raced as he stormed off, barely even registering where his feet were taking him. His body moved on autopilot, following after you towards the kitchens.

When he reached the door, he paused for a moment, chest tight with a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. There was a soft clinking sound from inside. The low hum of voices.

And then he heard it.

Heizou. Of course. Scara narrowed his eyes, already annoyed. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with him.

The door was slightly ajar, and without even thinking, Scara found himself inching closer, the need to know what was going on outweighing the nagging voice in his head telling him to turn around. To leave.

What he saw made his stomach churn in a way he hadn’t expected.

You were standing there, your face softer than he’d ever seen it, as Heizou pulled you into his side. The way your body melted into him like it was second nature to be close to him was unsettling, like something sharp had just slid under his skin.

For a second, Scara froze. His thoughts were clouded with the absurdity of it. You with Heizou? Who didn’t know you like he did? Absurd.

It wasn’t like you owed him an explanation. Yet the sight of you resting against him, affectionate, something Scara hadn’t seen you do with him made him... unseen. Like he didn’t belong in your life at all. The knot in his chest pulled tighter.

His breath caught, and before he could do something stupid he stopped himself. What was he even supposed to say? He wasn’t entitled to anything from you. He wasn’t yours.

So he stayed outside, watching. Listening.

He could hear Heizou’s voice, low and teasing, and then yours, soft but firm.

“No. It didn’t,” you said, your voice cutting through the quiet kitchen, and Scara’s chest clenched painfully. “You know that was all fake, right? It didn’t mean anything. It was just part of the show.”

His heart skipped a beat, the words slicing through the silence like a blade. His stomach churned, and the weight of them hit him harder than any punch.

It wasn’t supposed to matter. It shouldn’t matter.

But it did.

Scara’s fingers dug into the frame of the door, his knuckles white. The words rang in his ears, repeating over and over. He tried to steady himself, tried to remind himself that it was all a game. The hot tub wasn’t supposed to mean anything to him, until it did.

But hearing you say it, hearing you so casually dismiss the kiss, made him feel like he was choking on something sharp and heavy. It was all fake. He had no right to feel that way.

The worst part was, he didn’t even know what to do with it. With you.

You’d both made it clear from the start that this wasn’t supposed to be anything. A show, a performance. The kiss was meaningless. Just another part of the script. He didn’t expect anything different. But hearing you say it so coldly and without any hesitation made something in him snap.

Before he could take a step back, Heizou’s voice drifted through the door again, a quiet laugh in his tone. “Yeah, sure.”

Scara could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“Yeah, I get it. But it was your first kiss, right? It had to have meant something. At least to you.” The burgundy haired nuisance continued.

Scara's breath hitched, his chest tightening even further as he leaned in closer to the door, his pulse quickening. He felt an uncontrollable wave of frustration crashing through him. He could feel the words hitting him, one after the other, like Heizou’s voice was a punch to the gut. But worse was the feeling that came with it. The one that told him Heizou was right. That it had meant something. That he had somehow allowed himself to believe that the kiss between you and him had meant something beyond a simple game. He hadn’t realized how stupid you were making him.

But then your voice came through, clear and harsh, “It was all fake. The kiss...everything. It didn’t mean anything.”

Scara’s fingers trembled at the doorframe. The knot in his chest was tightening, twisting around his lungs. You were denying it. Denying him. The kiss, the heat, the rush of it. You were dismissing it like it had been nothing more than a convenient illusion. You weren’t wrong, the rational part of him knew that. That didn’t mean he had hoped you’d thought otherwise.

Everything he had been fighting so hard to bury flared back to life, hotter than before.

Heizou chuckled, a lighthearted sound, but it only made Scara feel more exposed. “Yeah, sure.” Heizou’s voice grew quieter, and Scara heard him getting ready to leave. “Well, I guess I should get back to the others and sober them up. But... good luck, okay? With everything. With…him.”

The kitchen door creaked as it swung open, and Heizou left without a second glance, his footsteps fading down the hall.

He was about to turn and leave, he had too. But just as always with you, he couldn’t help but fight back.

“Interesting.”

You stood there in the doorway, looking caught between embarrassment and something else, your face pale, your eyes flicking nervously between the open door and him.

Scara stared at you for a long moment, his throat tight, before he spoke, his voice low and strained.

“Didn’t mean anything, huh?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

YOUR POINT OF VIEW

Scara lets out a dry chuckle, sharp and almost bitter, before walking off. Your heart is still racing, adrenaline surging through you. The confusion is all still a blur.

And yet you follow him.

Something you’d never do, especially with him. But a part of you still wants to make sure he’s okay. And a bigger part of you doesn’t want him to walk away with the wrong idea.

“Why’d you follow me here?” you ask, your voice louder than you intended, still thick with that adrenaline.

He stops abruptly and turns around, eyes dark, but there’s something else there, too: vulnerability.

“Why did you follow me?” he shoots back, his voice low, taunting almost, but you can hear the frustration beneath it.

You stand there for a moment, trying to find the right words, but your thoughts feel tangled. “I just... wanted to see if you were okay,” you say, quieter now, your shoulders sagging. “I know your mom sucks, but...it seems like you were occupied.” You didn’t mean it to come off as bitter as it did.

Scara freezes for a split second, his gaze narrowing into something hard. “She’s the one who came onto me, okay?” His voice is biting, “I shoved her right off. And you can’t say shit, you were all over him back there.”

For a second, you can’t say anything. You feel a hot flush rise to your face. You take a breath, and then the words spill out, almost before you can stop them. “That didn’t even mean anything,” you mutter. “He was just... comforting me. I said that so he wouldn’t feel bad.” You don’t want to explain why. You’re glad he wasn’t there for the entire conversation.

Scara’s eyes flicker with something sharp. “Fine,” he spits out, hands gesturing in exasperation. “It’s all fake, then. Fine! It doesn’t matter. Whatever, you don’t need to explain yourself.”

You feel the words sting, and before you can even think, you’re snapping back. “Fine! Fine, Scara. If that’s what you want to believe, go ahead.”

You both stand there for a few seconds, glaring at each other, neither of you willing to back down. And then, just like that, you both start walking in the same direction.

You glance at him, a little incredulous. “You go first.”

Scara doesn’t even look at you. “No, you go first.”

“I said it first!” you protest, taking a step forward.

“No, you go.”

A beat of silence. Then, in unison, both of you groan.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath. “This is stupid.”

Neither of you says anything else, but you both start walking again. Side by side, but without speaking. The tension between you hasn’t fully dissipated, but now it’s more muted, like you’re both too tired to keep fighting.

By the time you reach the door to the dorms, the adrenaline has started to drain away, leaving only the residual ache of whatever you two just went through. You both stop at the doorstep, standing for a moment in the cool night air.

Scara's eyes drift lazily over to a bottle resting on the corner of the porch, a forgotten drink from earlier in the evening. Without a word, he picks it up, twists off the cap, and offers it to you, his face impassive.

“Want some?” His voice is quieter now, a little less sharp, though the remnants of the earlier tension still hang in the air.

You take it without thinking, your hand brushing his as you grab the bottle. Your throat feels dry, like you’ve just run a marathon, like everything from tonight has left you parched. He’s always left you out of breath.

You take a long sip, the alcohol burning down your throat, and pass it back. Scara drinks, then hands it back to you with a quiet gesture. You both settle onto the steps, the weight of the night pressing down around you, but the silence feels somehow comfortable now.

You’re not sure why, but with each sip, you feel a little less tense, a little less angry. It’s still there, but it's somehow quieter now. Maybe because it doesn’t feel like you need to have all the answers, not right now. Not with him sitting next to you like this.

For a while, neither of you speaks. The only sound is the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore and the occasional sip from the bottle between you. You pass it back and forth like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The weight of the argument is still there, sure, but somehow it doesn’t matter so much anymore.

SCARA’S POINT OF VIEW

The quiet hum of the night surrounds you both as you sit on the porch, the sounds of crickets and the occasional hum of the waves filling the spaces between breaths. The bottle you’re passing back and forth feels less heavy now, unlike the unspoken things still floating around like ghosts between you and him.

You break the silence first, your voice quieter than you intended. “So, what were you and Mona talking about?”

He doesn’t answer right away, taking a slow swig from the bottle, his eyes fixed somewhere off in the distance. His lips press together in a tight line, but he finally turns to you, his expression unreadable. “Well, she was talking at me, really. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. She was asking if I was ever in love with her…”

You raise an eyebrow, curious, “Well, were you?”

Scara’s gaze shifts. His body is tense. He doesn’t meet your eyes immediately, instead looking off to the side, like he’s searching for something.

He feels the precipice you're both on.

He wants to jump.

“No.”

The word hangs there, and for a moment, everything is still. He can feel the air between you both shift, like the ground beneath your guys’ feet has tilted slightly.

“Really?” you ask, more quietly this time. “How did you know you weren’t in love with her?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He shifts on the step, his foot tapping idly against the wood. He wants to say he just knew, as cliche as that sounds. His eyes are fixed forward now, knowing if he looks at you his words won’t leave his mouth. He takes a swig.

The words come out slowly, like he’s still figuring them out as he speaks.

“I don’t know... I just knew, I guess.” He hesitates, then adds, “What I felt for her is different from what I know love is.”

The silence stretches, and he feels like you’re standing at the edge of something with him.

He’s waiting. He thinks he’s always been waiting for you.

“And you… know what that feels like?” you ask, voice softer now, almost hesitant, like you’re testing the waters.

His eyes finally rake over you.

“I do now.”

You opened your mouth, and he’s hoping something, anything, comes out of it. He felt like he’d just sliced his chest open and was bearing his heart to you with bloodied hands.

His words hang in the air for a long moment, strange and heavy. Your gaze catches his, and for just a second, there’s a flicker in your eyes, something guarded but knowing. Scara holds your gaze, and for a fleeting moment, it’s like everything in him stills. The air is thick, as if the words you’ve both danced around are hanging just out of reach. His fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle, the cool glass a stark contrast to the heat creeping up his neck.

He knows this feeling all too well. The way his chest tightens when he realizes something he’s been waiting for will never come. His mother’s attention. You. It’s a feeling he’s all but accustomed too. But there you were, just out of his reach. He doesn’t expect you to understand. Hell, he doesn’t even understand himself half the time. But in that moment, sitting next to you, he wants you too.

The weight of your unspoken words presses on him. But maybe that’s all this will ever be, a weight. The knowledge that he’ll never feel the same way about anyone else and that you’ll never feel the same about him. That thought stabs at him like a shard of ice in his chest, cold and sharp. He wants to say something, but the words aren’t there. Not yet. Not ever, maybe.

“We should go inside,” he murmurs, breaking the silence, his voice almost a whisper against the night’s stillness.

His voice drops further, and he shifts slightly on the step, his leg brushing against yours. It’s an unconscious motion, but it feels deliberate somehow. Like he wants to be closer but knows better than to ask for it.

“Yeah,” you pipe up from beside him, “We should.”

Yet you both sit there for a few more minutes, passing the bottle until nothing is left in its wake. He doesn’t look over at you again, doesn’t dare too. Instead he gets up and goes inside, leaving you behind.

Something you’ve always said he’s good at.

[00:00:00] POST PARADISE DATE TAKE ONE

YAE: So, do you want to talk about today?

SCARAMOUCHE: Talk about what?

YAE: The kiss, obviously. What else would we talk about?

SCARAMOUCHE: What happened to "Hi, how are you?"

YAE: [LAUGHING] This is a safe space.

SCARAMOUCHE: It absolutely is not, but you want to talk about the kiss? Fine. It wasn't real. I didn't even kiss her back, she was drunk and I don't love her. And I'm not that much of an asshole to take advantage of someone drunk. I'm a terrible person, but not that bad.

YAE: [SPEECHLESS]

SCARAMOUCHE: This is fucking stupid. Why did l even have to explain myself? I have nothing to prove to anybody. [GETS UP]

YAE: Scaramouche, wait—

SCARAMOUCHE: [WALKS OFF SCREEN]

stuck with you!

materlist — prev | next

(typos) *slide 6: feelings wheel / *slide 8: i just had this realization

first update of the year wow!

sorry guys i’m scared to do the keep reading button so…😛

after typing oh. oh. i was like ooh bitch i ate

also ignore how scara lowk littered uhm he picked up his cig after dw! environmentally friendly king!

pls comment or send me an ask if u enjoyed i need motivation 🤗

comment on the MASTERLIST if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!

notes — four updates during break ur welcome! my break ends in two weeksish so idk if ill be able post another one before then so let me rest xx

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

taglist — (closed) @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @flowerypesky @creammpuff @boxdisappeared @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @reivelmin @animeobsessed56 @femaholicc @vi0let-writes @izayumi-chan @aloflapse

#scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader smau #scaramouche x yn #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x male reader #scaramouche smau #genshin smau #scaramouche genshin x reader #genshin x reader #stuck with you smau

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nerdlvr · 2 days ago

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✩ mama

(MDNI)

smut , husband jeno x reader , hey mamas in a sexy way , impreg/breeding kink , just a quick lil thought blurb , big humongous ginormous jeno dick (canon) , smaller reader , no condom ofc thats the point y'all , rough dirty raw sex , doggy style ruff ruff , creampie , degradation kink , overstimulation , dacryphilia , daddy kink yikes! , pet names , requested here !

message to past self : do not ask your feral husband to give you a baby.

now you're 3 hours in, 5 orgasms later , and 8 inches deep, and your husband won't stop until he thinks you've had enough.

you slapped at his thigh, a helpless attempt to release the pressure he was putting on your womb.

"jen- jeno, please, s' full, i can't anymore." your choked sobs were like music to his ears, a low chuckle leaving his throat, "yeah you can mama, look at you-" he reached down to wipe your tears, his smirk growing wider.

his cock pulsed inside of you, releasing another spurt of cum into your leaking hole.

"hurts baby, hurts so good." he laughed at your words, proud of you for lasting this long, "so strong for me baby, love it when you milk my cock-" he pressed deeper into your cunt, your stomach clenching at the feeling of more cum seeping into you.

"take it, gonna look so good when that tummy starts to grow, hm? gonna want me to fuck you when your breasts are all swollen and you can barely walk?"

you nodded into the sheets, his large hand gripping the back of your neck as he pressed you deeper into the bed.

"yes jen- fuck, always want you to fuck me- need you to."

he finally released the pressure he had on you, cock slowly sliding out of your swollen cunt, your breath shaky as your body began to twitch.

"desperate little pussy- look at you, not even a drop going to waste."

you shivered as he ran a finger along your fold, chuckling as his cum remained soaked into your cunt, fingers only wet with your arousal.

he lined his length back up to your core, sinking in slowly, only a couple inches at a time. you sobbed into the sheets, the walls of your cunt burning as he teased you, "jeno please-"

he pressed in deep, hips flush against your ass as he wrapped his arms around your waist, "please what mama? don't tell me to stop- you know i can't."

he drove back into you, hand grabbing onto your hair to pull you up towards him, "say my name baby, who's the only one that can fill you up like this hm?"

you choked on your cries, voice weak as you spoke, "you, daddy only you, please please please."

he dropped you back onto the bed, hands moving to grip your ass, spreading you so he could get a clear view of you sucking in his cock.

"only me- only daddy can feed this hungry pussy, fuck you're perfect baby, made for me."

if you thought this was the end you were very much wrong. jeno only had one thing in mind, and he was going to get it done.

#nerdlvr #request #jeno #lee jeno #nct #nct dream #nct imagines #nct smut #nct dream imagines #nct dream smut #jeno imagines #jeno smut #jeno imagine #lee jeno imagine

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morlock-holmes · 2 days ago

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The Conspiratorial Mindset

So, I've always had a bit of an interest in scams and hokum, and what people call "Cults".

One of the common refrains when you talk about religious Cults is, "If you think about it all religions have beliefs that seem odd to outsiders" and this is true, but as I read more about cults I started to think,

"Wait, a lot of these groups aren't united just by having unusual religious or supernatural views; a lot of them also seem to have matching patterns of behaviors that have nothing to do with belief in psychic space aliens"

I'm talking about things like,

Having a leadership structure which is absolute, where the top leaders cannot be disciplined or even openly criticized by lower members;

Exerting tremendous control over the dress and behavior of adherents;

Telling adherents that outsiders are untrustworthy and that contact with outsiders should be strictly limited and heavily monitored by organizational leadership;

The extensive and common use of shunning and reprogramming in response to violation of any of the above rules.

In some groups, failing to adhere to the dress code and spending a lot of time with outsiders is, at worst, the subject of a few little jabs at family gatherings. In other groups, those same behaviors are treated as Defcon one crises and become the central issue of the adherent's relationship with everybody else in the organization until they can be bullied back into doing the organization's bidding.

It was gratifying to learn that other people have noticed these patterns (Some people prefer the term "High Control Group" to "Cult" because it highlights what the actual problem is)

I am starting to notice similar dynamics in what are commonly called "Conspiracy theories".

The thing about conspiracy theories is... Well, conspiracies exist, and sometimes groups of powerful people get together to do something in secret which would get them in big trouble if they were to do it openly.

But I am starting to notice a particular, I don't know, a particular way of conceptualizing the organization and purpose of conspiracies which is unique to some people and which characterizes the kind of conspiracy theorist who takes Alex Jones seriously.

I kind of think of it as a "Witch-Hunting mentality".

For certain people in more primitive times and places, if they, say, slipped off a ladder and hurt themselves, their first thought would be, "That must have happened because a witch cursed me. We need to find and punish the witch who cursed me."

And this isn't just the attribution of malice that characterizes this idea:

One malicious conspiracy that might make you fall off a ladder is a manufacturer who doesn't care about safety ratings. Imagine that the manufacturer is really deliberately malicious here. A subordinate comes to him and says, "Our ladders can't reliably hold the weight of a person and a lot of them will probably break and cause people to fall and hurt themselves." and he says, "I know that but who cares, by the time people figure it out it'll be too late to get their money back."

That's a malicious conspiracy, but, importantly, if Bob buys a faulty ladder and falls off, the conspiracy wasn't trying to hurt Bob; it merely didn't care whether Bob got hurt.

Now, this distinction doesn't take away the malice and hostility towards Bob, but if you go to the ladder manufacturer and say, "Hey boss, Bob bought one of our faulty ladders, but he's really skinny so the ladder didn't break" the manufacturer will go, "Who the fuck is Bob? And good, that's one less angry person."

Whereas imagine Bob's ladder has been cursed to break by a witch. The witch did it because she hates Bob, and wants him to fall, and if she finds out he didn't fall, she'll go, "Curses, I'll have to find some other way to hurt Bob."

Conspiracy theorists, it seems to me, are far more inclined to conceptualize conspiracies as acts of deliberate malice aimed at them rather than acts of negligent malice.

@loving-n0t-heyting posted this article from the New York Post which contains a good example of what I mean:

“I thought I was on the cutting edge of promoting rights for gay people,” Yang said. “But then I started looking deeper into where this was coming from and who was paying for it, and I started to get very disillusioned...

I assume the people paying for it are LGBT advocacy groups? Did you, uh, not know that the people you were working for were paying you to work for them?

“When you really dig down you can see how much of this comes from documents and plans at the United Nations,” Yang said, referring in part to the UN’s “Gender Equality” initiative. “It’s part of a global agenda to restructure society, re-structure our social norms and the economy,” Yang claimed. “They are undermining the sexually dimorphic nature of reality and breaking down the differences between the sexes to break down our identity. They are constructing identities for us and they want us to adopt them.”

Oh, I see.

This is exactly what I mean. LGBT rights efforts make Yang and others feel disoriented, like society is being restructured and that they are being left behind, like they aren't quite in control of social norms and that stable identity categories can't be relied on anymore.

Now, one kind of conservative might look at that and say, "These are bad second order effects of LGBT people trying to assert their lifestyle in public and that's why we should oppose them."

But another kind says, "These changes make me feel unstable. Therefore, the main purpose of the changes is to make me feel unstable. In order to understand these changes, I need to figure out who wants me to feel unstable and what they would gain from making me feel unstable."

The idea that Yang's feeling of instability is simply a side effect of a series of efforts mainly focused on LGBT rights is incomprehensible. Instead, she believes that there is a series of efforts focused mainly on making her feel unstable, with LGBT rights as a kind of side effect to the main goal of making her feel unstable.

This kind of thing is, to me, a big red flag that indicates that we are starting to float away from reasonable conspiracy thinking into crazy town.

I am particularly curious if folks can recommend any writers or researchers who have noticed this dynamic.

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elizbeth-rose · 17 hours ago

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Oh sweetheart this has been my year! I’m sorry it’s been bad for you. Here’s a little bit of light.

- After living with my parents, who I don’t get along with, for all of 2023 (that was the worse year of my life), I got a job!

- New job 2,000 miles away from my parents. I cried tears of joy.

- I love my job. It’s not my dream job but it makes me so happy. It’s the best job I ever had. The work environment is great and actually I get along with my coworkers and boss, which I never have done before. Plus it pays!

- I made friends! I’ve always wanted a little group of friends to hang out with and play games. Now I can! We have a DND group! I laugh so much now. They enjoy my company!

- I came out as queer and nonbinary in my new home (not to my bio family). Everyone respects me here! They use my pronouns (they/them) and my preferred name. It makes me so happy when I hear my boss talk about me and my work and he keeps using they/them pronouns.

- This year has been the best year of my life. I’m getting in shape. I’m in therapy! I achieving the small goals that I’ve set for myself. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before.

- I’m becoming the person I want to be.

- November was real rough, but I found that it was a little bit easier to get through because of where I am in my journey and the support I now have.

- I’m planning little bits of light for 2025 so I can continue on this path.

- I’m finally getting that tattoo I’ve always wanted. And creating my sense of style with my clothes and my hair.

- I’m going to a concert of my fav band!!! I’m so fuckin excited. I’ve never seen them!

- I’ve written so much more poetry this year and have gotten back into my other hobbies. I’m taking pottery classes. I’m learning a new language.

- I have so many little things planned. I truly feel like I’m growing into the person I want to be.

- I’ve planned on finally finishing my masters degree either in 25 or 26. I was in school during covid and now that I’m in a stable safe environment, I feel like I can finally write my thesis.

- Final point: Today, Jan 3rd, is my birthday! I’m 29. I can confidently say that 2024 was the best and happiest year of my life so far. I don’t do new year resolutions but birthday goals. My birthday goal for this year is to be half as happy as last year and make it to 30! I think I’ll achieve that and more.

Thanks for asking about this. Reflecting on the past year and all the good that happened was a great reminder. Especially after coming back from my bio family’s Christmas. I needed that.

I hope my year of light is helpful for you. I hope it gives you a bit of hope. Even if it’s just a drop. Here’s to the next year and to the next birthday you have. Make it a good one.

hey honest question, did anybody have GOOD stuff happen to them in 2024? cause it was really bad for me and for most people i know, so it would be nice to hear about anything that's been going WELL for any of you. even if it's small stuff. just to know there's light out there.

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ditzydoe444 · 3 days ago

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MDNI 18+

mechanic jason! smut

older mechanic jason who is always covered in grease and oil whilst working on cars, and either wore a flimsy white tank stained with lil and grease or completely shirtless. though, it was usually the latter.

his large hands could easily grip the tools which looked comically small in his grasp, like children’s toy. the muscles in his bicep would flex and become more pronounced as he worked on the car, and the veins on his hands becoming more prominent.

his garage was old, rusty and dark. the lighting was quite dim with only one main source of overhead light, oil and grease stains on the dark concrete floor and the sound of his occasional grunts and curses when working on a stubborn car.

essentially, this place was not meant for a girl that looked soft, prim and proper. he remained focused as he worked on an old convertible, with the hood popped up. the summer heat and the lack of air ventilation resulted in jason ditching his tank and working shirtless, his bare skin glistening with sweat.

when he heard small footsteps coming closer he spoke up gruffly,

“what can i help you with?” he asked without even looking up, still focused on fixing the car.

“i need an engine repair, i think,” a soft voice responded which resulted in him turning his head.

he tried to suppress the shock that entered him when he first saw you, the juxtaposition couldn’t be more obvious. prim and proper against his rugged dirty state.

“an engine repair?” he questioned, as he wiped his grease stained hands on an old rag before walking to where she had parked outside his garage, the pink convertible couldn’t be more telling of her personality. spoiled, princessy, high maintenance.

he watched as you followed him like a lost puppy, as you nodded. clearly, you didn’t know a thing about cars.

“i can take a look at it now, i just finished up with the other one back there,” he motioned to the black convertible he was working on in the garage.

he tried to turn his gaze away from your exposed legs in the small mini skirt you were wearing, but he just couldn’t. when you were talking about the car’s issues all he could focus on was either your plump pink glossy lips, or your legs. when you had went to grab the lip gloss that you left on the passenger seat, your skirt rose up to a shockingly short length, though he quickly averted his gaze before he could see anymore.

it was inappropriate.

though it didn’t stop him from being balls deep in you when the price of the fix was too high, where his mind drifted off into other ways you could repay him. at first, he brushed it off thinking someone as prim and proper as you wouldn’t even think of it and he was just being dirty. however he was wrong, very wrong.

hence why you were sprawled out on the rough work bench on your back, random incoherent mumbles coming out, filling the empty garage with your lewd noises.

the small mini skirt and panties discarded on the dirty concrete floor, it was like a sign of your prim and proper self gone.

his large hands encircled nearly the whole of your waist, gripping the sides tightly as he moved harshly.

“never thought a girl as prim and proper as you would be doin’ somethin’ like this,” he grunted, his large hands roaming, one slid up, going over your breast before sliding higher to grip your throat.

you couldn’t even form proper thoughts, your mind going blank when you saw the small bulge in your stomach as he moved. he was big, too big.

“jay,” you mumbled your hand reaching out but falling back to your side when he continued to hit deeper.

he gave a low tut, almost mean, before a small sly smile formed on his rugged features.

“i know, i know” he cooed, bending to kiss your neck, one of his hand still wrapped around your throat squeezing it slightly.

“you gon’ keep this our lil secret huh?” he whispered as he bit your earlobe softly, “can’t have the word getting out i’m getting dirty with my customers,”

you didn’t even know what he said, but the sensation was too much, his was deep inside, and kissing you senselessly.

you mumbled a response, tears stained your face, mascara running.“glad to know we are on the same page sweet thing,” he whispered before both of his hands went to squeeze your stomach a little, just around where the outline of him was.

“all this for me?” he questioned a little breathless, as he stared at the mess you were making, small damp spots on the rough working bench, and a small white ring around his fat cock.

you nodded, you were too dazed to do anything else as he used you like a rag doll. he slipped two fingers into your mouth, shoving them down, whilst his other hand remained glued to your side, holding you down. you didn’t want his hand there, you wanted it somewhere else and he knew it. he was just being mean.

“jay,” you cried, though it sounded more muffled with his fingers stuffing your mouth as you choked out a response. though he knew exactly what you wanted, his fingers slipping out before going down, to the small sensitive bundle of nerves. he was rough, the sensation was too much, you kicked your legs, attempting to wiggle out but he kept you in your place, bullying your cunt.

he moved more vigorously, his harsh thrusts moving the work bench slightly, the table legs scratching against the concrete floor. “sweet thing, you ok?” he cooed, though you probably looked like anything but ok. your mascara was running down your cheeks, your lipstick and gloss was either smudged or completely gone, and saliva dripping down your chin.

“give me a smile baby, and i’ll give you want you want,” his grip on her was tightening. god you were so desperate for it, you attempted to give him a smile, the immense pleasure making it hard to do anything really. you gave him a soft smile, that lasted quite short when he kept hitting deeper.

“there we go, love that smile,” he grinned before giving you exactly what you wanted.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #red hood smut #jason todd x you #dc smut #red hood x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x fem!reader #ch: jason

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dollishmehrayan · 18 hours ago

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# “HOLD UP, POSE!” ── .✦ ( model!reader x batboys s/o kinda requested ˚⟡˖ )

a/n: so sorry for the break and how i traumatized half of you guys with my rant (if I suffer you gonna do too && let’s move on now ) and it’s lowkeyy funny ngl but omgg, I’m finally back though soo yeah but I’m finally taking requests again for a bit too so about that yeah and also make sure to go vote on the poll, we’re at 600+ votes already for my 1k event!! Tags: (batboys x model!reader)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Your biggest fan, no contest. He has a folder on his phone labeled “My Gorgeous Girl” filled with all your magazine covers, runway shots, and candid photos he’s sneakily taken of you (even the ones where you’re eating pizza in sweats).

Loves to drop the fact that you’re a model into conversations. Someone says something even remotely related, and Dick is like, “Oh, that reminds me of the time yn walked for Valentino. She looked stunning. Anyway, how’s your dog?”

Flirty but lowkey jealous. He’s all smiles at your shoots, but if a photographer or fellow model gets a little too friendly, he’ll sidle up behind you, wrap an arm around your waist, and casually go, “Hey, babe, everything good here?”

Runs your fan page in secret. He denies it every time, but you know it’s him posting like archive photos of you? with captions like, “Truly the most breathtaking woman alive.”

Always hypes you up. You’re stressing before a runway show? He’s holding your hands, looking you dead in the eyes, and saying, “You’re going to kill it, just like always. They’re not ready for you.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Pretends not to care, but he’s secretly obsessed. You’ll catch him flipping through your magazines with a bored expression, but the dog-eared pages of all your spreads say otherwise.

Gets grumpy when he has to share you with the world. “Do you really have to fly to Milan again? Can’t they get someone else to wear the fancy coat?” But he’s the first one to text you after your show with a “You looked amazing. Miss you, though.”

Always lurking at your events. He doesn’t do red carpets, but you’ll spot him in the back of the after-party, leaning against a wall with a drink in hand, watching you like you’re the only person in the room.

Jealous but funny about it. If a male model gets paired with you for a shoot, Jason will grumble, “You know I could wear that suit better, right?”

Says he doesn’t care about fashion but definitely critiques it. “They put you in that? Really? That’s what they think is high fashion?” (Meanwhile, he still owns a leather jacket he’s had since he was 17.)

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

The low-key proud boyfriend. Tim doesn’t brag about you… unless someone else brings it up. Then it’s a full PowerPoint presentation: “Oh, you didn’t know she walked the Paris Fashion Week finale? Let me show you.”, “it’s not that serious Tim.”

Forgets how famous you are sometimes. He’s so focused on his work that when he accompanies you to an event, he’s always surprised when people scream your name. “Wow, they’re… really excited to see you, huh?”

Pretends to be chill but panics at your shoots. If you’re wearing something too revealing, Tim’s sitting in the corner like, “Does she really need to wear that? I mean, it’s fashion, I guess, but still…”

Shows up to all your shows with coffee. He knows your schedule can be brutal, so he always has your favorite drink ready and a warm smile. “Long day, huh? Here, you’ve earned this.”

Accidentally goes viral as your boyfriend. Someone snaps a picture of him holding your bag while you’re doing a fitting, and now he’s trending as “hot model’s mystery man.” Or “Drake Spotted With L/N?”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Thinks modeling is beneath you. Not because he doesn’t support you, but because he genuinely thinks you’re too good for it. “Tt. Why waste your time parading around in someone else’s designs when you could rule the world instead?”

Still shows up to your shows like a proud dad. He won’t admit it, but he’s ridiculously proud of you. He’ll sit front row, arms crossed, looking annoyed until you walk out. Then his face softens, and he claps (but only once).

Hates everyone in the industry. Photographers, stylists, agents—he side-eyes them all. “Do they have to touch you so much?”

Quietly supportive in his own way. You come home exhausted, and he’s already brewed your favorite tea and laid out your comfiest pajamas. “You should rest. You’ve worked hard enough today.”

Keeps all your clippings. You find a scrapbook in his study filled with your covers, tear sheets, and event photos. When you ask him about it, he just mutters, “I didn’t want them getting lost.” And even keeps some fan letters that you keep or lost along the way.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Thinks it’s “adorable.” Bruce can’t help but chuckle whenever you mention your modeling career. “You really enjoy this, don’t you?” But he’s not teasing he genuinely admires how passionate you are.

Surprisingly knowledgeable about fashion. He knows every major designer, can spot couture from a mile away, and will occasionally surprise you by saying things like, “That’s Galliano, isn’t it? From the ‘06 collection?”

Makes every event feel like a power couple moment. When you walk a red carpet together, it’s like the world collectively gasps. He keeps his hand on your back, whispers sweet nothings, and makes sure you’re the center of attention.

Defends your career to anyone who dares question it. Someone makes a snide remark about modeling being “shallow,” and Bruce immediately shuts them down with, “Actually, it’s an incredibly demanding profession that requires both discipline and skill. You should try it sometime.”

Buys your agency. You’re stressed about a bad contract or a difficult agent? Suddenly, Wayne Enterprises owns the company, and Bruce is like, “Problem solved. You can thank me later.”

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madebycloud · 2 days ago

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pt 1 | Not Even at All

jinx/powder x female reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: vi is off limits until her sister gets a date that doesn't end within the first ten minutes. eager to date vi, a certain girl approaches you with a proposal. date jinx. win her over. and for your efforts, she's willing to be generous. (10 Things I Hate About You AU) warnings/themes: fluff, kinda enemies to what, one sided fake dating, highschool, modern au, smoking (reader), kat!jinx, patrick!reader words: 5.8k notes: because of the age difference, caitlyn is in college that's why she's always on calls.. — ✩ part one, part two, part three, part four, part five

You pick up at the third ring, hearing a deep sigh of relief. “Oh, good, you picked up.”

It's Caitlyn.

You put the phone down for a few seconds to eat your sandwich, before picking the phone back up. “What now?” you ask through a mouthful of sandwich. “I just woke up, y'know.”

The line is silent for a minute.

Then, you hear Caitlyn clear her throat. “Are you busy right now?”

It's 9am on Sunday, of course you're not busy. “Kinda busy eating my breakfast,” you reply, taking another bite. “Why?”

You hear some shuffling on the other end, some muttering, and another pause before Caitlyn speaks again. “I have… a proposition.”

A proposition already, and so early in the morning? you put your sandwich down, sitting up and making sure you heard that right. “I'm listening.”

Caitlyn clears her throat again, and there's sounds of footsteps and whispers in the background, as if she's moving somewhere more secluded. “…Do you know Jinx?”

It's a strange question. Pretty much everyone knows Jinx. “Yeah,” you reply. “Why?”

The shuffling resumes, a few footsteps, and the murmur of voices. “I'll cut to the chase. I'm asking for your help. I need you to do me a favor.”

You pause, raising an eyebrow. What does she want? “Depends on what it is.” You shrug. “And what I'd get in return.” You take a sip from your glass.

The murmuring on Caitlyn's end of the line stops, and you hear the sound of a door clicking shut. “I want you to take Jinx on a date.”

You nearly choke on your drink. “You want me to what?” you manage to ask between coughs.

“It'll be a fake date!” she says quickly. “If you can make this date go smoothly and… make her like you, even a little bit, I'll pay you a hundred dollars.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head. “100 dollars?!” You cough again. “You can't just throw me under the bus like that. You've lost your damn mind.”

“Please just hear me out,” Caitlyn pleads. “It's not like you have to ask her to marry you. Just think of it as a challenge. You get 100 dollars if you can get her to enjoy a date with you. Come on, you're good with girls, aren't you?”

What does she think you are, some suave James Bond-esque ladykilling playgirl? while you’ve kissed a couple girls, you can't call yourself super suave.

“Caitlyn, Jinx hates me.” It's common knowledge. Jinx hates nearly everyone, especially people she was in class with. “She's gonna kill me if I ask her out on a date.” You shudder.

“That's why I chose you for this,” she says. “I figured you were the type to face any challenge head-on.”

“This isn't just a 'challenge', it's a mission for the suicidal,” you retort. “You're setting me up to embarrass myself and get ridiculed in the process.”

You hear her scoff. “So you can flirt and tease the whole damn school, but a date with Jinx is the line you draw, is that it?”

You scowl at her comment. You’ve been known to flirt and joke around with a few people at school, but that’s all it is—meaningless flirting with no strings attached. This is completely different—this is Jinx we’re talking about. “You're comparing apples and oranges here,” you protest. “They're not the same, Cait.”

“Maybe,” she replies. “But I've seen how you've charmed your way out of trouble. You're good at talking your way out of things. And that's exactly what I need right now.”

That's true, but that’s with a teacher, or a TA, or a store manager who’s trying to bust you for shoplifting. Not with Jinx, of all people.

“Caitlyn, c'mon. She's either gonna punch me in the face, or call me a dumbass, or both.”

“Just listen,” she cuts in. “All you have to do is go on a fake date with her. You don’t have to actually like her.”

“No, no, no.” You shake your head, gripping the phone in your hand. “No way, no how.”

“150 dollars.”

“You really, really want me to go on a fake date with Jinx?” you murmur. “Are you that desperate?”

“I'm very desperate.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Why are you so fixated on me doing this?”

You hear movement on the other line, like Caitlyn's pacing back and forth. “Okay, look,” she begins. “I… really like her sister. Like really like her. Like…”

This wasn't just a fake date. It was a way to get closer to who she liked. “Oh. Ohh.”

“Yeah...”

Wow. This was a lot more desperate than you initially thought.

“But why don't you just ask her sister out?” you ask.

“I did.” She sighs again. “I asked Vi out last week, and she said she can't go on a date with me until her sister finds someone. Jinx has to be happy before Vi can go on dates, according to her.”

What the hell kind of ridiculous rule is that? “So let me get this straight,” you start. “You want me to go on a fake date with Jinx.”

“Yes.”

“Until she becomes my... girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“And then you can date Vi.”

“Yes.”

It sounds crazy, ridiculous, batshit insane. “Holy shit, Caitlyn.” You run your fingers over your eyes, shaking your head to yourself. “All of this just so you can get laid?”

A huff comes from the other end of the line. “Are we making a deal or not?”

“Hey, wait a minute—I'm gonna need the money first,” you say, drumming your fingers against the table.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” you explain. “You know, the whole dating thing. Dates, food, gas, that kinda stuff. You can't expect me to pay for all of that with my own money.”

Caitlyn doesn't respond immediately. You can hear some shuffling, and you can imagine her biting her lower lip anxiously, maybe staring out the wall.

“There's a high probability I won't even get a Harley after all this,” you add.

Silence.

“So I'm gonna need the money...”

There’s a pause, then an annoyed hiss. “Don't you trust me?”

“Oh hell no. Give me the money first and then I'll consider the deal.”

She sighs. “Fine. Whatever, I'll give you the money.”

“All of it?”

“…Yes. All of it. All 150. For your shitty, awful fake date.” She huffs. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

—

You step into the office, finding Caitlyn’s mother already hunched over her laptop, staring over the rim of her glasses. You hated coming into this office. It always felt like you were in the principal’s office.

“I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual,” Mrs. Kiramman says, staring at you over her laptop.

“Only so we can have these moments together,” you reply, your mouth already curving into a grin. “Should I, uh, get the lights?”

Mrs. Kiramman sighs, her eyes scanning over the paper in front of her. “Exposed yourself... in the cafeteria,” she mutters. “I seriously don't understand why my daughter associates herself with you.”

“It was for a good reason, I swear.”

“Oh, really?” She raises her eyebrow. “And what reason is that?”

“I was joking with the lunch lady,” you explain, spreading your hands out. “She was being snippy with me, so I started unbuttoning my shirt, it's not like I was actually going to flash anyone.”

Mrs. Kiramman takes off her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose, her other hand coming to rest on her forehead.

“But I suppose if we've already looked through all my wrongdoings, you can release me back into the wild, eh?” you continue.

“Just... make it more than a week before coming back here, alright? I don't want to see you in my office every week—you're a walking headache.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. K.”

“And stop calling me Mrs. K.”

—

Jinx kicks the ball here and there, back and forth, side to side. She's taking all of her frustrations out on this ball, dribbling it down the field, passing it to her teammates, dodging opponents.

Her moment of peace is interrupted when a player tries to intercept her pass. She grins, dribbling out of the way and kicking the ball hard into the player's face.

The coach blows the whistle. “Great practice, everybody!”

Practice over. Jinx tosses the ball aside. She rubs her eyes with the heel of her hands, a headache thudding against her skull. She bends forward to grab her water bottle from the edge of the field, taking generous swigs from the bottle.

Jinx is the captain of her high school's soccer team. She's good—really good. She has quick feet and a mean kick, and she's scored a lot of points for the team. In games, however… Jinx is aggressive. She kicks hard. She kicks fast. She kicks a lot. She does not pull her punches when it comes to her opponents.

She's halfway done guzzling water when a voice interrupts her.

“Hey there, girlie.”

Jinx pauses, swallowing the last of the water in her bottle. She glances up at you, watching you approach her as you shove your hands into your pockets.

“How ya doin'?”

“Sweating like a pig actually,” she replies, pulling out a small towel and wiping her face. “And yourself?”

You hum, rocking back and forth on your feet. “I’m good. Just thought I'd come and chat with our wonderful captain.”

Jinx grumbles as she slings the towel over her shoulder.

“That was quite a performance out there,” you continue, raising a hand to give her a slow clap. “You were brutal today. Worse than usual, not-gonna-lie.”

Gathering her stuff, Jinx zips up her bag, slings it across one shoulder, then strides past you.

“Hey,” you say, quickly catching up to her. “Where are you going?”

“Where do you think, genius? I'm leaving.”

You huff, following her as she marches out of the soccer field. “Pick you up on Friday, then.”

Jinx makes a face at that. “Oh, right, Friday,” she mimics. “Uh-huh.”

You cock a smirk. “Well, the night I take you places you've never been before.”

“Like where? The 7-Eleven on Broadway?”

“Ha, very funny.” You shake your head. “And actually, no, smartass.”

“Do you even know me?” she asks, not slowing her pace.

You hurry to keep up and shrug. “Yeah, we have the same class on science.”

She stops in her tracks and turns to look at you, eyes flitting up and down, up and down. Once, twice, three times. “You're the one that never shows up in Mr. Viktor's class?”

“Hey, to be fair,” you say, putting your hands up. “That's an 8 a.m. class. No one shows up for an 8 a.m. class at ass o'clock in the morning.”

Her expression remains unamused as she shifts her bag's backpack strap further off her shoulder. “Except you're the only one who never shows up. You have the same attendance rate as Mr. Blitzcrank,” she tells you, turning back around to start walking. “Which is absolutely none.”

“What can I say?” You chuckle, jogging to catch up to her again. “I'm very talented. Gifted, even.”

She mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like “Talented at being an idiot, more like.”

“Hey, I heard that.”

“Good,” she says over her shoulder. “Maybe don’t try to impress me with your shitty grades and your non-existent attendance record next time, then.” Without a second glance, she continues walking, leaving you behind.

“Ouch!” you exclaim. “Rude, by the way!” you shout at her, and you see a flash of a smile over her features.

—

Jinx stands at her locker, gathering her books—a variety of books with names like Introduction to Rocketry, Engineering and Architecture, Chemistry Vol. 3: Chemical Reactions, Organic and Inorganic Compounds and Mixtures, and a few other engineering books, all with worn spines and yellow pages.

“Hey,” you greet.

She doesn't even glance at you as she continues sorting through her books, shoving what she doesn't need aside with a flick of her wrist.

“You hate me, don't you?” you ask, leaning against the locker beside her.

She gives you a side glance but doesn't fully look away from her locker. “What are you, five?” she asks. “I don't really care enough about you to hate you.”

“Rude.”

“It's the truth. As far as I'm concerned, you're better than a mosquito,” she says, continuing with sorting through her locker. “Annoying, but not something worth paying attention to.”

“Mosquito, really?”

She slams her locker shut and locks it. She turns to look at you, adjusting her backpack straps on her shoulders—a backpack that is covered in various patches and colorful pins. “What exactly do you want?”

“Spend Dollar Night at the track with me.”

She arches one eyebrow. “And why the hell would I do that?”

“Come on, the ponies, the flat beer... you with money in your eyes, me with my hand on your ass…”

“You covered in my vomit,” she cuts you off. “That's what's going to happen. If I go within ten feet of whatever greasy-ass food joint and cheap liquor you're going to take me to.”

“Damn, you're feisty. I kinda like that.”

She scowls at your words. “And you're annoying. I kinda despise that.”

“Ouch,” you mock. “And you're a bit more than feisty. You're like... feisty on steroids. Are you always like this?”

Her scowl deepens, and in one second, she suddenly has one of your arms twisted behind your back and pinned to your torso.

She leans forward, her face so close to yours. “Maybe, if you stopped annoying me,” she whispers. “I'd stop acting like this.”

You flinch, letting out a low hiss. “Ow, ow-” You try to pull away from her grip, but she only tightens it. “Ow, okay, I get it—let go, let go!”

She holds you still for a moment longer before roughly releasing her grip. You stagger forward, rubbing the spot where her hand had been. “What-” you gasp “-the hell was that for?”

“Consider it a learning experience, dipshit,” she snaps, before stalking off, her long blue braid swinging behind her.

“You can't just-” you start to call after her, but she's already halfway down the hall. You huff rubbing your sore arm.

Yep. Jinx is as prickly as a cactus. This is gonna be harder than you thought.

—

“She's a freaking Ronda Rousey,” you mutter into the phone, massaging your throbbing arm. “She damn near twisted my arm off!”

“Jinx? Did she hurt you?”

“Just my dignity.”

You hear Cait chuckle faintly. “I'll take that to mean it didn't go very well?”

“You could say that,” you grumble. “She's difficult.” You watch your clothes spin around in the washing machine. “I think this may take longer than you think, Cait. Waaay longer.”

“I can't just flirt my way through this,” you go on, moving to grab one of the nearby magazines to distract yourself. “She's smart, witty, and sassy—the whole package. Very pretty, too. But she's rude.” You shift your phone to fit between your shoulder and ear.

“Rude,” you stress again, flipping to a magazine page with random trivia questions on it. “Who the hell is rude these days? It's all sugarcoating, bullshit, and fake smiles.” You glance idly at the question titled 'How Compatible Are You with Your Ideal Partner?'. You scoff, turning the page. “She's downright ruthless.”

“Have you even tried asking her out?”

“Hell yes I have. I even tried asking her to go to Dollar Night at the track.”

“You tried asking her to go to the race track?”

“You don't think she's a fan of ponies and alcohol?” you reply, grinning.

“I think she's a fan of punching you in the face.”

“Yeah, she did not like that idea.”

There's a pause on the line.

“Okay, I'll admit that wasn't the smoothest plan.”

“Or smartest,” Cait interjects. “Anyway, are you reading a magazine right now?”

“I'm at the laundromat.”

“And you're reading a magazine.”

“To pass the time,” you justify.

“Mhm.”

“I'm boooored.” You set the magazine down on a nearby chair, turning back to watch your clothes spin around. “And I'm tired of watching my clothes spin around. It's boring. I haven't had a good date in ages.” You move to rest your head against the glass. “I need something interesting. Someone interesting.”

Your eyes move across the storefronts and streets outside of the laundromat.

Wait… It can't be...

But, yes.

Yes it is. It's Jinx's car.

Your gaze focuses on the shiny blue vehicle before shifting to Jinx, who gets out of the car and walks over to a nearby music store just down the road.

You hear Caitlyn's muffled voice. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Yeah, Cait, I heard you,” you lie, taking your eyes off her car to turn your attention back to the washing machine and your phone. “Uh, I'll call you back. I think I just saw Jinx.”

—

Jinx pushes the entrance door open, juggling a small bag of CDs in one hand and rifling through her purse in the other. Her lips form a small 'o' when she finally pulls her keys out...

...and looks up to see you sitting on the hood of her car. She groans to herself.

“Nice ride. Vintage fenders.” You turn around to face her, leaning back against the hood.

Jinx stops a few feet away from you, shifting the bag of CDs to the other hand. “Are you following me?”

“Nah,” you shrug. “I was at the laundromat,” you pause, gesturing to the building in front of the store she just walked out of. “Saw your car. Thought I'd say hi.”

“Hi,” she grumbles.

Jinx walks over to her car, but you quickly stand ahead of her, placing yourself between her and her vehicle. “You're not afraid of me, are you?”

“Why would I be afraid of you?” she retorts, her nose wrinkling.

“Some people are,” you reply.

“I'm not.” “Maybe you're not afraid of me… but I bet you've thought about me naked.” You smirk, taking the time to wink at her.

“Am I that transparent?” she mutters. “I want you... I need you... Oh, baby, oh baby.” Jinx rolls her eyes dramatically as she tries to step around you, but you shift your body to block her path again.

“Now, don't ignore me,” you tease.

“Let me pass, I have places to be,” Jinx says irritably, trying to step around you for the third time, only for you to once again move and block her.

“Come on now,” you urge. “Just a few minutes of your time.”

“You're being a pest,” she complains. “What do you want?”

“Just a little bit of your time, that's all,” you answer, holding your hands up in surrender before resting them back on the car. “C'mon. You don't have anything better to do anyway, right?”

“Piss off,” Jinx snaps, reaching out and grabbing the handle. The door swings open, throwing you off balance and causing you to topple forward.

Jinx throws the bag into the passenger seat, slams the door shut, and starts the car. She doesn't hesitate to throw the car in reverse, and you have to lunge out of the way to avoid being hit.

RUDE! You scowl in Jinx's direction, watching her drive away. With a sigh, you reach into your pocket and grab your phone, heading back into the laundromat. You begin to dial Caitlyn's number.

The phone only rings once before it's picked up immediately. “Well? what happened?” she starts without any sort of introduction.

“I just upped my price,” you declare.

“What?”

“200 dollars a date.” You stand your ground. “In advance.”

“And why are you increasing the price?”

You sigh heavily, rubbing your forehead. “I told you she's difficult,” you remind her. “She's prickly, short-tempered, and violent,” you explain. “I'm increasing my price because I'm taking a hell of a lot more risk dealing with her.”

“Forget it.”

“Forget her sister, then.”

Silence falls for a heartbeat. Then, reluctantly, she grunts. “Fine. 200 dollars a date. But I want results.”

“No promises,” you warn her. “And first things first, we need to find some way to make Jinx actually want to go on a date with me. How well do you know her?”

Caitlyn hums. “She's Vi's sister, so we have some, ah…” She searches for the correct word. “History,” she finishes awkwardly. “But I'm not an expert on Jinx's inner workings, if that's what you're asking.”

“Great.” That really wasn't the answer you were hoping for. How was it that Caitlyn was apparently able to make this plan without knowing anything about Jinx? “Do you think Vi would have anything?”

“...Maybe,” she responds slowly. “I could probably ask Vi.” She pauses. “Actually,” Caitlyn continues. “I might know someone who... might know Jinx pretty well.”

“Who?”

“Ever heard of a kid named Ekko?”

—

He glances over his shoulder at you, a paintbrush in hand. “What do you want?”

After a bit of searching, you're able to find Ekko at his usual spot—painting the empty space on the school wall. Some of your friends mentioned that he usually hung out here during free periods.

“I want to know about your friend... Jinx.”

Ekko rolls his eyes, resuming his painting. “Yeah, sure, stranger I don’t even know.”

You huff in annoyance. “Alright, listen,” you begin. “I'm not here to cause trouble, or gossip, or any of that. I…” you pause, shifting uncomfortably. “I'm trying to ask Jinx out on a date,” you explain. “So I thought you might be able to help me.”

That makes Ekko pause. He blinks slowly, slowly glancing back over his shoulder at you. “…You’re shitting me, right?”

“I'm not,” you insist. “I'm being serious, alright? and I'm not getting into some of the details, but I…” you pause awkwardly. “I kind of need this date to happen.”

“You need this date?” Ekko echoes, staring at you. “The hell does that mean?”

“I mean,” you reply, avoiding direct eye contact. “I just need it to happen, and for reasons I'm not going to disclose,” you add. “I need it to go really well. You get me?”

Ekko scoffs but nods his head. “Sounds like you're desperate or something.” He sets his brush down, turning around to face you. “Why Jinx, anyway?”

“I…” you start, not really sure how to explain this to Ekko without spilling every detail. “Let's just say my reasons are my own.”

“Hm.” He studies you up and down. “First off, who the hell even are you? how do I know you're not some creep trying to take advantage of Jinx?”

You open your mouth to defend yourself, but then close it and sigh. “Okay, you have a point,” you admit. “But listen,” you soothe. “I'm not a creep. I'm a senior student, like you and Jinx. I want to ask Jinx on a date, and no one really knows her all that well, so I thought you could help me because she's your friend-”

Ekko shakes his head, picking up the brush once again. “Nah we're not that close anymore.” He gives you a sidelong glance. “Jinx and I used to be close friends a few years ago,” he explains, returning his attention to the painting. “But things between us… got complicated.”

Juicy. But that’s none of your business, and definitely not Ekko’s place to share. So you move on, clearing your throat. “Right. Um… Okay, so back to Jinx,” you begin. “You still know her better than most, right? you must have some good insight on her.”

“I don't know,” he replies slowly. “Yeah, I know a bunch of things about Jinx. But… honestly, there's just as much that I don’t know.” He starts painting again. “She changes her mind like… every five seconds. She's unpredictable. Reckless. Wild. Dangerous.”

“I'm not here to psychoanalyze Jinx,” you clarify. “I just need to know… how the hell to even talk to her one-on-one, without her throwing a pencil at me or something.”

Ekko snorts. “Oh, that's easy.” He glances at you through his eyelashes. “Good luck.”

—

“Of all the places you want to meet up, you chose here?”

You straighten up and glance over at Caitlyn, who's standing off to the side, looking around the place. She looks rather out of place here, especially compared to the other customers in the pub—greasy-looking old men, rough-looking teenagers dressed in leather and denim, and drunken bums hanging around the slots.

Caitlyn grimaces as another patron spits tobacco juice to the floor. “Gross…” she mutters, wrinkling her nose.

You shrug, taking a puff from your cigarette. “You're never late,” you reply. “And this place is never busy. Figured it would give us privacy.”

“Right.” Caitlyn takes a seat on a nearby stool, folding her legs neatly. “So… how's Ekko?”

You line up the cue ball to the 8, taking one last look down the table before glancing at Caitlyn. “Um… he's good,” you reply. “A bit unhelpful, but that's alright.”

You aim the cue ball at the 8 again and give it a good hard smack, watching it glide across the table. It hits the 8 ball, which rolls a few inches before stopping. Damn. You’re just off.

“What about you, how's Vi?” you ask, taking a drag from your cigarette and exhaling a billowing cloud of smoke. You set the pool stick down.

Caitlyn coughs, fanning her hand in front of her face to try and clear the smoke away from her lungs. It doesn't work very well. “First thing you should know...” She snatches the cigarette from your hand and drops it to the floor. “She hates smokers.” She stomps on the butt to snuff it out.

“So, you’re telling me that I'm a-” You make air quotations with your fingers. “-non-smoker.”

“For now, yes.”

“Alright, alright. No smoking, got it.” You lean your pool cue on the wall. “Happy?”

“Another thing…” She purses her lips, eyes flicking over your features. “Vi mentioned that Jinx… likes pretty girls.”

Silence.

“Are you telling me I'm not pretty?”

Caitlyn jumps as soon as the words leave your mouth. “N-no!” She gestures at you. “You’re pretty. Definitely pretty.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

Caitlyn reaches into her pocket, pulling out a thick sheet of paper with a few bullet points written on it. “Anyways… there’s more.” She glances over the list, then looks back up at you. “Jinx likes: …art, drawing, bombs, explosions, tinkering, sweets, plushies, dogs, punk music...” She continues reading down the list. “Dislikes: teachers, school, rules, authority figures, boredom, being told what to do, being ignored…”

She shoves the list into your hands, and you stare down at the words written in neat, orderly rows. “That's everything that I could get out of Vi.”

A few likes and a bunch of dislikes—what an absolute nutcase.

You look back up at Caitlyn. “So what does that give me? am I supposed to… bribe her with art supplies, draw her a picture, give her some sweets, then blow up a building?”

“Have you ever been to The Last Drop?”

You respond with a nod. You've been there a few times... it's usually filled with shady people, but the alcohol is reasonably priced.

“Letters to Cleo will be playing there tomorrow night.”

“No.”

“Come on, it's just one night-” Caitlyn coaxes.

“No.”

She gives you a nudge. “Just assail your ears for one night. It's her favorite band, after all.”

It's a stupid idea. Spending your free time in a bar, listening to some god-awful music? It's the perfect recipe for a terrible night.

But if it's what Jinx likes... “Fine.”

“Atta girl,” Caitlyn grins, clearly satisfied. She pulls out her phone, glancing down at the time as her fingers dance over the screen. “Oh… and I'm throwing a party on Friday night,” she says, looking back up at you. “It's the perfect opportunity.”

You blink. “Opportunity for what?”

“For you to ask out Jinx, of course.”

“…I'll think about it.”

—

Your car pulls up to a stop out front, the engine making a low noise. You step out of the car and start walking towards the entrance when you notice Sevika standing outside.

Sevika looks up, and her lips stretch into a smirk as she sees you. “Ah, my friend,” she greets. “It’s been a while.”

You shake her hand. “It’s good to see you again, Sev.”

Sevika eyes you up, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Didn't have you pegged for a fan,” she says. “Aren't they a bit too pre-teen belly-button ring for you?”

“Just a fan of a fan,” you reply.

The door is slightly ajar, and you can faintly make out the music coming from inside.

“Did a blue-haired girl come in by chance?”

Sevika nods towards the door. “Just sent her through. She's with some other gal.”

You nod and head towards the entrance when Sevika calls out to you. “What happened to that girl you brought in last time?”

Ah, right. It has been a few months. “I dunno,” you reply with a shrug. “I just never called her again.”

Sevika chuckles and shakes her head. “That figures.”

You squeeze through the crowded floor and eventually find an open spot at the bar. The music from the stage is so loud you can feel the floor vibrating under your feet.

You flag down the bartender and place an order, then start idly scanning the crowd. You can make out a flash of blue hair, and your gaze lands on Jinx singing along to the chorus of the song.

You rest against the counter and watch Jinx dancing along to the music. She’s happy, and surprisingly, no “attitude” is present—not the usual scowls, or frowns, or cold looks.

Seeing her like this… giddy, with a wide smile and flushed face, makes you find yourself… smiling.

Huh. That’s... something.

—

Jinx, who is thisclose to having her eardrums explode, yells at the top of her lungs, “I NEED AGUA!”

“Sorry, what?” Lux yells over the music.

“I need agua!” Jinx yells again.

“Agua?”

Jinx nods and points to the bar.

“Alright!” Lux yells, but Jinx is already pushing past her through the crowd.

Jinx manages to reach the bar and signals for the bartender. She glances around as she waits, her eyes landing on you a few feet away.

Shiiit.

Before she can catch your eyes, you look at a random patron nearby, pretending to be looking at something else.

The bartender walks up to Jinx, shouting over the music. “What can I get for you?”

“Two waters,” she responds, casting a glance back in your direction only to find you completely focused on the stage.

The bartender brings out a pair of water bottles from the cooler and sets them on the counter. Jinx fishes out some change and pays, then grabs the water bottles.

She approaches from behind and raps a knuckle on your shoulder. “If you're planning on asking me out again, you might as well do it already.”

Playing dumb, you gesture back at the stage. “Do you mind? you're kind of ruining it for me.”

Jinx seethes, but stays where she is. “You're not surrounded by your usual cloud of smoke.”

The music dies down for a while to give the band a rest, so you no longer have to yell over the music. You turn to face her. “I know. I quit.”

“You... did?” Jinx gives you a weird look, trying to figure out your angle here. “Are you feeling alright?”

That's a pretty fair question, to be honest, because for once in your life, you're actively not trying to flirt with someone.

What's even more weird is that Jinx is actually engaging with the conversation. Jinx moves closer to the stool, standing beside you. “Since when?”

You clear your throat, avoiding her gaze. “Since… yesterday.”

“Yesterday? you quit smoking just yesterday?”

“Just yesterday.”

Jinx looks you up and down. “Why?”

You look over at the band, who are currently changing out their gear. “Because... apparently they're bad for you,” you mumble. With a shrug, you gesture back towards the stage. “They're no Bikini Kill or the Raincoats,” you reply. “But they're alright.”

You step into the crowd, and Jinx is surprised enough to be momentarily stupefied. “Wait-” she sputters before following you. “You know who the Raincoats are?”

You stop in the middle of the crowd, spinning to face her. “Why? don't you?” you ask. “I saw how you were dancing out there. I’ve never seen you look like that...”

“I.. well, I-” she stutters, before clearing her throat and collecting herself. “Yeah, I do,” she replies. “I’m into grunge and punk and stuff. Ever heard of Nirvana?”

You scoff. “Of course. Who hasn’t?”

Jinx laughs, and you resist the urge to smile when you hear it. “Yeah, fair point. What about... Siouxsie and the Banshees?”

“Love them. But you can't tell me you don't know The Damned?”

Jinx's eyes light up at the mention of The Damned. “Hell yeah, they're awesome,” she exclaims, before frowning. “Wait, how do you know The Damned?”

You give yourself a pat on the back. Nailed it. “Excuse you, I have excellent taste in music,” you reply. “How do you know The Damned?”

“I'll have you know, I'm very into music,” she retorts. “I've got a collection of 1300 CDs. Mostly punk and grunge, but some 70s rock and other stuff.”

Her response is a pleasant surprise to you… and maybe attractive. But you squash that thought down because she's Jinx, and no way are you going to feel your heart flutter at anything this woman does.

You whistle. “Only 1,300? That's cute. I have almost 2,000.”

“No way.” She shakes her head. “No WAY you have 2,000 CDs. You're bluffing.”

“I'm not,” you insist. “I've got 2,000 pieces of music in my home.”

“Damn. You got me beat, then.” She looks around the club, then looks back at you. “Anyway, I gotta-”

“Come to Caitlyn's party with me. Friday night,” you cut her off.

“-Why should I?”

“-Because I guarantee you'll have a fantastic time.”

She laughs at your persistence. “You never give up, do you?” she mutters before walking away through the large crowd.

“Was that a yes?” you yell after her.

Her only response is a middle finger held high in the air.

You cup your hands around your mouth. “I'll see you at 9:30 then!”

This is good. Not great, maybe, but not awful either. You didn't get kicked in the face for asking, so you're taking that as a win.

—

“How did it go?”

You tap your fingers on the steering wheel. “Hey, Cait…” you hesitate, glancing around at the empty street. “How much money does it take to buy 2,000 CDs?”

The line goes dead.

…

After a few minutes of silence, it rings again.

“You've got to be kidding me.”

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