#this is like..... a fraction of a fraction of a second

[realcleverscience]

Thanks for the thoughtful reply. I see things a bit differently. allow me to share what I hope to be a thoughtful reply as well:

In terms of plagiarism, I think there are two different issues at play: firstly, training on data one doesn't own, and secondly, reproducing that data and presenting it as original data.

I agree that these are both issues but I don't think they're of equal concern or frequency. In particular, I see "plagiarism" as representing the second issue more than the first. Reproducing other people's works is not ok. That is plagiarism. That has occasionally happened with AI and must be sorted out. No questions there. However, that represents a fraction of a fraction of results. It is a very small and niche issue which is already being addressed.

That said, the first problem - using unowned data - is more nebulous, legally and ethically speaking. On one hand, AI is doing basically the same thing that humans do, which is learn and imitate from others. On the other hand, AI can do this with a level of detail and speed which humans can't. Then there's also issues with the data. For instance, if google uses youtube to train their AI, they probably have some legal right to that as a result of hosting the video. Whenever people use "free" websites, there are usually "costs" which we agree to. (Is that fair? idk. personally, it's ok with me. I think it's a fair trade.) That said, I also expect legal frameworks to develop which make it easier for people to opt-in or opt-out or get compensation as these systems grow. Lastly, it's not clear to me that it's bad for AI to learn from these sources in general - again, much like how humans do. I only really see a problem when it starts to produce actual plagiarism, as discussed above.

Also, in terms of data, I agree with some of your points. I do want to point out, though, that data isn't a finite resource. Just the opposite. We put more and more data on the web each year. in 2010, it got around 2 zetabytes; in 2015 it was 15 zetabytes, in 2020, 64 zetabytes, in 2024, we're expected to have put online nearly 150 zetabytes. And with the growth of things like smartphones, video apps (youtube, tiktok, etc), augmented reality glasses, autonomous robots, self-driving cars, and people engaging with their AIs - these companies are going to get ever growing amounts of rich data, about the world, environments, movement, conversation, and more.

"And that gets to the part of your closer that I wanted to talk about. With "AI" as it is, we are not going to get to a post-labor world like you want. Replacing artists and writers and other creatives will instead create a post-art world... But in such a world, humans aren't just sitting on their asses doing nothing - a lot of people will be creating, not because they have to, but because they want to. Art should be the last job replaced in the process of creating such a world, but the people in charge are trying to make it the first, because their ideal world is nowhere near in line with yours."

To be clear, I'm not interested in replacing artists more or less than any other profession bc I see all professions as valuable. I want to see *all* jobs get automated as much as is possible to get us all to a post-labor society. And yes, it is my hope and expectation that everyone will pursue their hobbies and interests once we no longer have to work. I also know that there's a lot of public focus on AI-Art since a lot of the semi-decent AI products right now are art generators. however, that's only bc art has more wiggle room in its results. But AI is coming for ALL jobs. And I think that's good.

That said, I agree that the rich see AI as a way to get even richer and not necessarily to benefit society. However, I also think that massive unemployment will steer the country (and all countries) toward post-labor systems, such as increasingly shortened work-weeks, UBI, and other changes. I am concerned about how difficult that transition period will be. But that's largely on us and how we vote. (literally one of the reasons I told people not to vote for trump. he dgaf about anyone.)

AI is not a bad technology. It is a major boon for the world. The fight is with capitalism.

'People are panicking about AI tools the same way they did when the calculator was invented, stop worrying' cannot stress enough the calculator did not forcibly pervade every aspect of our lives, has such a low error rate it's a statistical anomaly when it does happen, isn't built on mass plagiarism, and does not obliterate the fucking environment when you use it. Be so fucking serious right now

[dollwrites]

sɴᴀᴘ ᴍʏ ᴄʜᴏᴋᴇʀ ! ┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° ᴛᴏᴊɪ ғᴜsʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ

ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ ｔｙｐｅ ┊ standalone

ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ ┊ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, age gap, dubcon, throat fucking, pet names ( daddy ; little girl ), mean toji :3, all characters featured are aged 18+

ｉｍｐｏｒｔａｎｔ ┊ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

“W-wait—!” breath after breath you try to suck in, but every single one is stolen from you as Toji’s hips buck back and forth, filling your mouth with hard, strong cock. the swollen tip batters the entrance to your throat in a relentless, rapid-fire punch that has your eyes watering. with both hands against his thighs, you try to rip your head back and ask for a moment to get used to the way he fucked your face.

”Stop pulling away, little girl.” Toji grunts, a rumble of pleasure in the back of his throat more akin to the growl of a hungry animal than a moan from a man being pleasured. “Not done yet.“

After a desperate moment of struggle, you manage to pull away for a split second. falling on to your butt on the floor, your back smacks against the wall and you heave out a couple of ragged breaths. “F—fuck, daddy…” you mutter, but it’s hardly audible amidst your panting. blinking the tears away from your eyes, you wipe the drool from your chin and cheeks with the back of your hand. “I… can’t… breathe…”

“Did I ask?”

such a simple question, but the weight of it hit you like a sack of bricks, and your wide eyes flit up to catch the daunting sight of him. tall, broad, and blocking out the flickering light of the ceiling lamp as he steps closer, bathing you in his massive shadow. both feet plant themselves on either side of you, pinning you there, whilst a gargantuan fist snatches your hair into it at the scalp, pushing the back of your head flush with the wall behind you. ”Learn to breathe through your nose, or don’t breathe at all. I don’t give a damn.“ looking down at you as your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, and your mouth hangs open, as if he’s fucked all the muscles loose, he chuckles a bit. “I will put my cock down your throat, sweetheart,” as he tells you this inescapable fact, his free hand flees to your neck, where his middle finger hooks underneath the thin, sparkly choker necklace adorning it. “And I’m gonna watch this break at the same time your will does. You got me?”

if your jaw wasn’t so sore, hanging slack, you would’ve been able to bite down on your lower lip, hesitant about the idea. Toji’s dick was huge, and you could just barely handle it when you would wrap your hands around his base to keep him from facefucking you too deep, but this time, he was going to try and force it down your throat? you swallow around the lump beginning to grow as you stare at the cock before you, shiny with spit and jabbing upwards towards the man it belonged to. he held all of the power.

you nod once, before an abrupt jut of his hips fills your mouth with cock once more. you feel the head push against the back of your throat, but he doesn’t pull back. instead, with his fist tightening on your hair, his knees against the wall as he keeps you in place, he uses a fraction of the strength he possesses to bully his way into your throat. a flustered gurgle dies in your mouth, drool oozing from both corners of your mouth as your hands brace against the floor instead of attempting to push him away. breathing through your nose was harder to focus on than you’d expected, because the much older man was invading your gullet.

the weight of his balls as they smash against your chin tells you just how deep he is, and when you try to look up at him with one eye squinted, to the point of nearly shutting, you see him grinning. it’s a tooth-gritting, snarling grin as he falls into a rough, fast rhythm. never once pulling out of your throat. battering the virgin canal in ways you never thought possible. “Fuck, that throat’s tight!” he moaned, using one fist on your hair to pull you in to meet his thrusting, “You oughta see how it’s stretching, little girl. My cock looks like it’ll bust right through your neck.“

he didn’t have to tell you; you could already feel it. how big he was compared to your throat, and how you struggled when you were stuffed full. your eyes are watering, the sounds that bubble out from your stretched-open mouth are gargles and whimpers, but you couldn’t deny just how good it felt. your pupils blow themselves out with immense pleasure, and you soak through your panties, your arousal sticking to your thighs as he rubs your throat raw around him over and over again.

“Gonna snap this little cocktease,” Toji mutters, and focus his power and energy on plowing into your throat, prodding the bulge against the tight, flimsy jewelry. you can already hear it start to rip, probably from the middle, as he applies an insane amount of pressure against your throat, and you let out a strangled yelp before it shreds in half, glitter exploding into the air and raining down on you, as if it were confetti to celebrate his victorious conquest. gritty glitter gets caught in the spit and cum oozing from your mouth, glueing it to your countenance. “And the same fucking thing will happen every time you wear one of these things around me. Remember that, baby.“

[tokkiwrites]

game show host!joel miller x contestant f! reader ▪︎summary: it's the late 1970s, and you're fresh out of college. for your graduation gift, your parents got you a special ticket to be part of your favorite game show, 'Love Jive'. They didn't know you didn't like the show itselfㅡ but it's smooth talking MC, Joel Miller. ▪︎tags: pwp, age gap (pretty hefty one), super flirty joel, shy/lovestruck reader, afab!reader, pet names galore!!, p in v (unprotected), mirror sex kind of, slight breeding kink, creampie, joel kind of has an innocence kink idk.

▪︎this has been sitting in my drafts for two months now. Hopefully, you enjoy this short and silly 2.45k words one. There is no plot for it honestly, just thought it would be a cute concept. maybe a series might come from it, who know? love ya!!

It was the summer of 1979, and the air felt heavy with possibility. You were fresh out of college, diploma in hand, and ready to take on the world—or at least that’s what you told yourself when your parents asked what came next.

Their graduation gift to you? A surprise ticket to Love Jive, the hottest game show on TV. You’d tried to hide your awkward smile when they handed it over, the envelope sparkling with glitter that matched the show’s logo. What they didn’t know was that it wasn’t the show’s ridiculous premise that had you tuning in every week.

It was him.

Joel Miller.

The man was a legend, smooth as honey and twice as sweet. The way his Texan drawl slid over those ridiculous love-related catchphrases? You swore it had ruined you for men your own age. He had to be at least twenty years older than you, but that salt-and-pepper hair, that sly smile, those broad shoulders stretching under his velvet blazer? They didn’t make men like Joel Miller anymore.

So here you were, standing nervously behind the curtain in the Love Jive studio.

“Contestants, ready?” a stagehand called.

Your stomach did a flip as the warm-up announcer's voice boomed through the speakers. The audience clapped and cheered, the excitement infectious. Before you could second-guess yourself, the curtain lifted, and the stage lights bathed you in gold.

And there he was.

Joel Miller stood center stage, microphone in hand, looking like he owned the room— and maybe he did. That million-watt smile lit up his face, his dark eyes sweeping the contestants before landing on you. He did a double take so subtle you almost missed it, but when his smile softened just a fraction, your heart skipped a beat.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” His voice rolled through the air like warm molasses, drawing chuckles from the crowd. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves some fine contestants tonight. Y’all ready to find love and maybe a little bit of fun?”

The audience erupted in cheers, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to join them. Not when Joel Miller was staring at you like you were the most interesting thing in the room.

“And what’s your name, darlin’?” Joel asked, pointing the microphone toward you.

You blinked, mouth suddenly dry. “Uh—uh, it’s—” You blurted out your name, voice cracking slightly. Joel chuckled, low and smooth, his dimples deepening as he grinned. “Well now, ain’t you just the sweetest thing. Y’all hear that? Even her name’s cute as a button.”

The crowd ooh’d and ahh’d, but Joel’s gaze stayed locked on you.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he drawled, leaning ever so slightly closer, “what brings a lovely little thing like you to Love Jive? Lookin’ for romance? Or just here for the spectacle?” Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and you prayed the lights were too bright for anyone to notice. “Um, I—I guess you could say both?”

Joel’s eyebrows lifted, and his grin turned downright wicked. “Both, huh? Well, darlin’, I can promise you this much—you’re in for one hell of a show.” The crowd roared their approval as Joel winked at you, leaving your heart thundering in your chest. You’d come to Love Jive expecting to admire Joel Miller from afar. You hadn’t counted on becoming the center of his attention.

And as the game began, one thing became crystal clear: Joel wasn’t just hosting tonight. He was playing a game of his own— and you were the prize he had his sights set on.

Fast forward to the 15-minute commercial break.

The knock on the door came firmly, pulling you out of your flustered thoughts. You glanced at the mirror, smoothing down your blouse and trying to will away the redness on your cheeks. “Come in,” you called out, voice trembling slightly.

The door creaked open, and in stepped Joel Miller, the man of all your desires.

The sight of him so close took your breath away. He leaned casually against the doorframe for a moment, his dark eyes settling on you. His smile, warm and teasing, was the kind that made you feel like you were the only person in the world. “Well, there you are,” he drawled, his voice like velvet. “Thought I’d come check on you, see how my favorite contestant’s holdin’ up.” You blinked, trying to find your voice. “Oh, uh—fine! I’m fine,” you stammered, your hands twisting nervously.

Joel stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The dressing room wasn’t large to begin with, and his presence filled it completely, making the space feel even smaller.

“Fine, huh?” he said, leaning against the vanity, his arms crossing casually over his chest. “Can’t blame you for bein’ a little flustered. All those lights, all those people… and me.” His grin turned teasing, his gaze dropping to your lips for the briefest moment. You laughed nervously, shaking your head. “It’s not—I mean, you’re not—”

“Sweetheart, relax,” Joel interrupted, his voice a low chuckle. “I’m just messin’ with you.” His eyes softened, and he tilted his head. “But if I’m bein’ honest, you’ve got somethin’ about you. That’s got me wonderin’ if maybe I’m the one a little flustered tonight.”

Your heart skipped at his words. “Me?” you asked, disbelief clear in your voice. Joel’s grin deepened, his dimples on full display. “Yeah, you,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. He stepped closer, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Pretty little thing like you walkin’ in here, lookin’ all sweet and innocent, got every man in the audience wishin’ he was sittin' in my shoes tonight.” You felt like your face might catch fire. “I don’t think that’s true,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel reached out, gently lifting your chin so you had no choice but to look at him. His hand was warm and firm, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Well, I do,” he said softly, his dark eyes holding yours. “And I don’t say things I don’t mean, sweet girl."

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as he leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping even lower. “I was thinkin’... maybe once this show wraps up, you and I could get outta here. Go somewhere quiet. Just you and me.” Your pulse thundered in your ears, and you felt dizzy under his gaze. “You mean… like a date?”

Joel chuckled, the sound rich and deep. “Exactly like a date,” he murmured. “What do you say, sweetheart?” You nodded before you could overthink it, your shy smile breaking free. “I’d really like that.” Joel’s grin turned downright wicked. “Good,” he drawled, his hand sliding to cradle your cheek. “’Cause I’ve been dyin’ to do this all night.”

Before you could say another word, Joel leaned in and kissed you. His lips were warm and sure, moving against yours with a perfect mix of confidence and tenderness. You felt your hands instinctively grip the vanity behind you, your knees going weak as his other hand settled lightly on your waist.

The kiss lingered, soft and sweet, but with just enough heat to leave your head all dizzy. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Damn,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, “even better than I imagined.” You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of you, shy and giddy all at once. “You imagined kissing me?”

Joel grinned, pressing a quick, playful kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Oh, I imagined far more than kissing you, darlin’. Hard not to when you look at me the way you do.” Your heart felt like it might burst, but before you could respond, a sharp knock sounded at the door. “Mr. Miller, we’re back in two!”

Joel sighed dramatically, giving you a wink as he stepped back. “Guess I better get back to work,” he said, his tone light but his eyes still lingering on you. “Don’t go runnin’ off after the show, y’hear? I’m not done with you yet.” You nodded, still too flustered to form a coherent sentence. With one last smirk, Joel turned and strolled out the door, leaving you breathless.

The show had ended in a blur of applause, flashing lights, and the announcer’s booming voice thanking everyone for watching. Contestants and crew mingled briefly as everyone prepared to leave. You’d just stepped to the side of the stage when one of the other contestants, a bubbly blonde in a bright orange jumpsuit, sidled up to you with a knowing smile.

“Well, well, well,” she teased, nudging you with her elbow. “Looks like you really got Mister Smooth swooning all over ya.”

You blinked, startled. “What? No, I don’t think—”

“Oh, honey,” she interrupted with a laugh, crossing her arms. “Everyone could see the way he was devouring you with his eyes. I swear, I was worried he might forget the rest of us were even there.” Your face went hot, and you shook your head quickly. “You’re imagining things.”

“Sure,” she said with a wink, already walking away. “If by ‘imagining things,’ you mean watching him look at you like you hung the moon. Enjoy it, sweetie. A man like Joel Miller doesn’t come around every day.”

Her words echoed in your head as you made your way back to your dressing room. Closing the door behind you, you exhaled deeply, desperate for a moment to collect yourself. The quiet was a relief after the chaos of the show. You slipped out of your stage outfit and into the dress you’d brought for afterward. A soft yellow dress with bell sleeves, a cinched waist, and a flowing A-line skirt covered in a delicate floral print. It felt like something out of a sunny dream, and you hoped it might give you a touch of the confidence you sorely lacked.

You were smoothing the fabric over your hips when the door opened without warning.

“Oh, wow.” The single word made you whirl around. There he was. Joel Miller, standing in the doorway. His tie was loosened, his shirt collar slightly unbuttoned, and his dark eyes were locked on you. “You’re gorgeous,” he said, the words leaving his lips like a breath. Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you managed a shy smile. “Oh, it’s just… just a dress,” you murmured, brushing your hands nervously over the skirt.

Joel stepped inside, closing the door behind him as he approached. His gaze was unwavering, taking you in like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Just a dress, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and rough. “But you could be wearin’ a paper bag, and you’d still be the most beautiful thing in the room.” You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Joel stopped in front of you, lifting a hand to gently cup your cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin, his touch warm and steady.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, before closing the space between you.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was anything but hesitant. Where the earlier kiss had been soft and tentative, this one was sure, filled with hunger and intent. His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a passion that made your knees weak.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak— only feel. His touch, his warmth, the way he held you like you were something rare. “Been thinkin’ about doin’ that since the first time I saw you,” he admitted, his voice rough.

You let out a breathless laugh, your hands clutching the lapels of his jacket for balance. “You’ve kissed me twice tonight, Joel,” you teased, your voice trembling slightly. Joel grinned, his dimples making an appearance. “Yeah, I have a soft spot for sweet girl like yourself. ” he said before pausing shortly. “And if you’ll let me, darlin’, I’d be doin' a lot more than kissing you.”

Stopping him was the furthest thing from your mind.

"I'll let you.."

Without thinking, you tilt your head up, meeting his gaze with a mixture of defiance and submission. His eyes darken, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if he's won some battle. " You're a good girl," he breathes, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. The contact sends sparks through you, and your skin burns where he touches. Without any hesitation, he spins both of you so that you are facing the large golden mirror above the counter. Joel groans, rolling his shoulders back as he bends you over the vanity, your hips snug in his grip. "God, you're so fuckin' gorgeous, angel."

you look down. "Please.." The man shakes his head and lands a hard smack on one of your asscheeks, making you yelp in the process. He takes his time pulling up your flowy dress, finally taking a look at your soaking panties, white with laced blue details. "Fuck, look at her." His calloused thumb makes contact with your clothed folds, dragging it up and down, in painfully slow circles. In mere seconds, you hear the material rip and then feel the flimsy undergarments fall on the cold tiled floor.

"What a pretty pussy." he mutters under his breath, undoing his trousers. he pulls them a bit down, enough for his manhood to spring free and slap against his covered bellybutton. you can see it all in the mirrorㅡ it's huge, to say the least. you gasp softly as you feel him drag the wet tip of it against your swollen bud, and you hide your gaze, head hanging low in embarrassment. this doesn't last long, as his rough palm grabs at your face pulling it up again. you're making eye contact with him through the lit up mirror and you see him shake his head. "No, baby. You watch while I wreck this pussy, understand?" you shake your head, agreeing, but that isn't good enough so he slaps your cheek with the back of his hand, lightly.

"Speak, sweetheart." you breathe out. "Yes, Joel." he drags the pulsing tip up and down, up and down as if he didn't make you wait long enough. truthfully you never wanted it to end, so maybe him teasing was his way of making sure this lasts. after he thinks its sufficient, Joel starts to push inside, and godㅡ your breath gets stuck into your throat, from the feeling laden with thorns. every prick of discomfort is soon replaced by an unexpected surge of delight.

Your tears fall down onto the surface under you, little moans gripping your throat as he slips inside further. "You're alright..." he assures you, asking you to surrender.

"Take it all. Atta girl, just like that..." he praises, lifting your hips a bit to get a better angle. Joel moves gently at first, each stroke hitting deeper within your core, the pain soon converging with ecstasy right as he alerts his movements. His hips dive down with force, one of his palms snaking up and wrapping itself tightly around your throat, assuring you see how good he's destroying you.

Your head was spinning, heart pounding, as his whole weight dominated over you. "That's it, little girl, look how tight she's suckin' me in." his thrusts are rough, each hit making your body bounce, the urgency as he hit that very spot each time. your whole insides burning, too cock drunk to talk or respond, other than some pathetic whines that perfectly accompanied the wet sounds your pussy made wrapped around him.

"Oh, god, please.." You manage. pulling at your hair, he starts chuckling. "Am I your god, baby? Ya like beggin'?" While thrusting relentlessly into you, jelly like legs barely holding you up anymore, your knees buckle. Feeling you tightening, the hand that was around your throat slips down to your clit, while the other makes you spread your legs wide again for easier access, this allowed you to take in a big gulp of air before you feel him deeper in your guts.

"want me to breed this young pussy, huh? feel you up with my babies? let people inside this roomㅡ let them film it for the whole world to see?" the room spins around you, vision blurry with tears and brain all fuzzy. you try your best to reply. "yes, oh, p-lease, please! "

"Go ahead." the man succeeded to say, between his breathy groans. "Thank you, thank you, oh god, thank you so much, Joel!" you cry out, praying to him whilst he keeps fucking into your pulsing cunt. The man buries himself into you as you come down from your high, body almost too limp to register your surroundings. then he slaps your ass, and watches you writhe under him. You looked perfect, like a carved our porcelain doll. With a few more snaps of his hips you feel he's close, his nails digging roughly into your skin as he finally paints your velvet walls with white ropes of come. "God fuckin'ㅡ!" you know that will leave bruises.

the dressing room feels sticky, and the mirror in front of you is all fogged up, but you can just barely make out your face, all tearstained and messy. You moan as he pulls out, the sudden feeling of emptiness leaving you shivering. Joel watches intently as his seed drips out of you, your body beautifully splayed out right under him like the most beautiful piece of art.

You're both quiet for a bit, before he breaks the silence. "You're still up for that date, little lady?"

[t0jisd0ll]

satin

genre: smut

pairing: sang-woo x male!reader

CW: unprotected sex, cum as lube, somnophilia, slight-dubcon, feminization, anal sex, creampie, breeding, gaslighting, reader wears a dress (above image), the term [y/n] is not used

word count: 1.1k

The dining hall glimmered with cold grandeur, the pristine white tablecloths and shining silverware at odds with the blood-stained memories of the glass bridge. The four of you—Sang-woo, Gi-hun, Sae-byeok, and yourself—sat around the table, silently picking at the extravagant meal.

Sang-woo’s gaze kept drifting to you, and you could feel it like a weight pressing against your skin. You didn’t dare look up, too focused on cutting into the steak on your plate.

The dress.

The satin clung to you in ways that made Sang-woo’s throat dry, the slit revealing just enough of your thigh to drive him to distraction. It had been Sae-byeok’s dress originally, stark white against the deep hues of her bruises, but she’d been visibly uncomfortable in it. You had offered to switch, slipping into it with a shrug and a teasing grin, downplaying how strangely empowering it felt.

Now, Sang-woo could barely focus on the food in front of him. The cut of the fabric, the way it rose slightly when you shifted, the curve of your collarbone illuminated by the dim lighting—it was torture.

“You’re not eating much,” Gi-hun said, raising an eyebrow at Sang-woo.

Sang-woo’s jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the fork a little too hard. “Just not hungry.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sae-byeok muttered under her breath, her sharp eyes flicking between him and you. Gi-hun smothered a laugh with his napkin.

Sang-woo shot them both a warning glare but said nothing, focusing instead on finishing his wine in a single, sharp gulp.

The night wore on, and eventually, you all returned to the living quarters. The empty bunks and the echoes of the fallen competitors made the space feel colder, lonelier. Gi-hun and Sae-byeok whispered in hushed tones at one end of the room, their conversation punctuated by the occasional chuckle.

You, however, wandered to the farthest corner, away from the others. The dress, though elegant, wasn’t designed for comfort, and you tugged at the hem as you curled up on one of the bunks. The fabric rode up your legs as you shifted, exposing more skin than you intended. Exhaustion quickly overtook you, and you drifted off.

Sang-woo returned from the bathroom, his steps quiet on the concrete floor. His gaze scanned the room, landing first on Gi-hun and Sae-byeok, who were still deep in conversation, then on you.

His breath caught.

The way the dress hugged your body, the faint rise and fall of your chest as you slept—it was intoxicating. His feet moved on their own, carrying him closer to where you lay.

He stopped a few steps away, his heart pounding as his eyes traced the length of your legs, the hem of the dress barely covering anything. You shifted in your sleep, and the fabric rode up higher, revealing more of your thighs.

Sang-woo’s jaw clenched. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, the sharp pull of desire mixed with guilt. He told himself to walk away, to stop staring, but he couldn’t.

He crouched down, his hand hesitating in the air for a moment before brushing his fingers across your exposed thigh. His fingers lingered for a fraction of a second too long, the soft texture of your skin sending a jolt through him.

“You shouldn’t tempt people like this,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.

His hands travelled farther and farther up your dress until they reached the hem of your underwear. He had to stop; he had come too far. But as he pulled your boxers down, the whimper that escaped your mouth due to the cool air hitting your inner thighs – sealed your fate.

He hoped to God that Gi-hun and Sae-byok were well out of earshot, and he slowly pushed his pants down, revealing his throbbing erection.

He pushed your thighs together, and slowly slid his length between them. The tightness of the gap made him let out a groan, which he quickly stifled. He shouldn’t wake you up.

He thrust in and out slowly, with his cock often rubbing against your own length. You on the other hand, twisted and turned, oblivious of what was happening to you.

As Sang-woo reached his climax, he couldn’t help but let out a rather loud groan, releasing on your thighs with a shudder.

You stirred at the sound, your lashes fluttering open. Your eyes met his, bleary with sleep and lust  but quickly sharpening with awareness.

“Sang-woo?” you murmured, your voice soft and hoarse.

He froze, caught in the act. But instead of backing away, he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your cheek.

“You make it hard to focus,” he admitted, his voice low and rough.

Your lips quirked into a small, sleepy smile. “Good.” The stickiness on your thighs said enough. You were too far gone to think about the sanity of the situation.

The glazed look in your eyes did something to the man. He hoisted your legs up in a way that his cock was resting right at your ass. Before you could protest, he slowly slid his tip in, making your head hit the pillow. “Wait– what about lube-” you gasped, only to be interrupted by him slamming his entire length into you.

You shuddered, you were stretched beyond your capacity, but it felt so… good? He was slowly rocking in and out of you, while your hands desperately clutched the pillows, trying to redirect the pain elsewhere.

He brought your knees to your chest, eliciting a squeal from you. Your hand quickly went to cover your mouth. What if the other two had heard you? 

“Honestly, what did you expect? You walk around in that tight dress of your’s, swaying your hips for everyone to see. You thought I wouldn’t notice?” To this you could only mumble out incoherent words behind the palm of you hand, the new angle making his cock hit your sweet spot with every single thrust. 

“Pleas–se, slow down–”, you whimpered, to which he only chuckled. “Learn to take it, you whore. It’s your fault for walking around in this dress and thinking that no one wants this tight pussy of yours.”

Calling your ass a pussy igniting something inside of you. Noticing this, Sang-woo sped up his thrusts, whispering the dirtiest things in your ear. He removed one hand from your ankle, and brought it to your cock, slowly jerking it off, much slower to his cock pistoning in and out of your hole.

“I’m gonna–”,” I know darling, come with me”, he groaned, as both of you climaxed at the same time. You ruined your pretty dress, while he stained your insides white.

He stayed like that for a few minutes, catching his breath, before slowly pulling out of you, before shifting your positions do that you were on top of him.

You slowly closed your eyes, sleep embracing you all over again.

Meanwhile, across the room, Gi-hun  nudged Sae-byok, his expression unreadable. “Told you he’s obsessed,” he muttered, earning a grunt from the latter.

“I’m scared of gay people.”

“You’re just saying that because your girlfriend died.”

“Shut up.”

© t0jisd0ll on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and and I take genuine effort to do them.

[tumbledvally]

Alternate take: “Mentally Retarded” is the ideal phrase for the condition.

Mentally Retarded came into use as a medical term because the previous medical terms of "moron" and "mongoloid" were truly immoral. "Retarded" just means delayed/impeded, and that's accurate.

It lends itself to single-word use. Unlike the clunky modern alternatives of "globally delayed", "mentally handicapped", "developmentally disabled".

The next best word might be "impaired", but that doesn't clearly indicate mental-not-physical the way "retarded" does.

Language design is important to me. Making concepts more difficult to communicate has a real cost in human time/effort/confusion.

Just like when an airline saved $70,000 in 1987 simply by removing a single olive from each salad... Even the extra fractions of a second it takes to say an additional word ought to be seriously considered.

To make a two word phrase like "mentally handicapped" the default phrase is to cost unnecessary seconds of people's lives every time they try to convey this idea.

It's wasteful, and it's bad design.

fuck everyone who's started saying the r slur again i hate you and i hope your life falls apart and you die alone

[itneverendshere]

the fireworks are through, here we are, me and you - r.c

pairing: rafe x bartender!pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

decided to get back into writing with something smaller and just in time for the NYE! i'm a bit late (obviously) but wanted to write a little piece for my first universe, since it's so dear to my heart! hope all of you add a good, fresh, amazing start to 2025 and if you didn't, it will get better 💘

Rafe Cameron had never cared about New Year’s Eve—never cared about anything that came with it, really.

No resolutions, no countdowns, no stupid superstitions. For years, the only thing NYE had ever been to him was an excuse to get high, shit-faced, or both. Another party, another distraction, another night to drown out the noise in his head. 

This year was different, he had you.

“Tell me if it gets too much, okay?”

“Baby, I’m fine,” you reassured him, placing a hand on his chest to calm him down.

Rafe nodded, but you could see the gears turning in his head. He was watching you out of the corner of his eye every second, quietly assessing if you were comfortable, if you were happy.

You leaned against the marble kitchen island, sipping something fizzy from a crystal flute, half-listening as he introduced you to another one of his college buddies. He had his arm slung low around you, the tips of his fingers brushing the hem of your dress like he couldn’t help himself.

“You still good?” he murmured, leaning close so that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. 

You tilted your head to look at him, catching that pretty face that never failed to make your knees weak. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed, though the truth was you felt a little out of place. You still weren’t used to this crowd, their polished laughs and overpriced cologne. Maybe you’d never be.

But Rafe made it bearable, he always did.

His eyes traced the curve of your cheek, the way the fairy lights strung across the patio reflected in your eyes. You didn’t notice, busy scanning the room, but to him, you were the only thing worth looking at.

“You’re lying."

Your brow furrowed as you looked back at him.

“What?”

“You’re not fine.” He moved impossibly closer, his free hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, “You always do that little thing with your mouth when you’re uncomfortable.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your lips twitched. “I’m fine, really. It’s just...not my scene.”

His hand dropped from your face to your hip again, pulling you a fraction closer, like he needed to feel you against him to believe you were really there. 

“Okay, let’s eave,” he said, his tone so earnest it made your chest ache.

“Baby,” you sighed, placing a hand on his chest to keep him from spiraling into full protective mode. “You’ve been looking forward to this. I’ll survive a few hours of rich-kid bullshit. Promise.”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your temple, “Don’t care about the stupid party,” he murmured against your skin. “Just wanted to spend the night with you.”

You rolled your eyes again, but this time it was more for show.

“You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you.” The words slipped out so easily, like they’d been sitting on the tip of his tongue all night. He meant every damn syllable.

The night wore on and he stuck to your side like glue. It was endearing, in a way, as he introduced you to his university friends, always with some kind of proud little flourish—like saying your name was his favorite thing to do. 

“This is her,” he’d said more than once, his chest puffed up slightly, like just having you on his arm made him the luckiest guy in the room.

The way he looked at you made it hard to stay annoyed. Everyone was polite enough, but Rafe didn’t let any awkwardness linger, always guiding the conversation, nudging you in with a soft “Tell them about that time…” or offering a quick compliment like, “She’s way better at that than I ever was.”

And when one of his friends said something vaguely pretentious, you felt his hand tighten ever so slightly on your waist before he cut in with a sharp, “Yeah, okay, Benji, but tell them about the time you puked on your mom’s Birkin.” His grin was all teeth, but his tone was light—he was still playing nice, but only because of you.

By the time the countdown was close, the party had spilled outside.

The chilly night air nipped at your skin, but you didn’t mind—especially when Rafe shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders without a word.

“Thanks,” you murmured, pulling it tighter around you. It smelled like him—clean, with just a hint of that cologne you loved.

He didn’t respond, just tugged you closer, his hands settling on your hips as he leaned down to look at you. “What are you gonna wish for?”

“What?” you asked, caught off guard by the question.

“At midnight. What are you gonna wish for?” His blue eyes so intense they made your stomach scream.

You laughed, trying to brush off the sudden seriousness in his tone. “Don’t know. A winning lottery ticket, maybe? Health?”

But he didn’t laugh, just kept looking at you like you were the answer to every question he’d ever had.

“What about you? Do you know what you’re gonna wish for?”

His lips twitched into the faintest smile, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“Already got everything I need.”

“Be serious."

He shrugged, the gesture almost sheepish, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on your heart.

“I, uh...might’ve wished for you last year,” he admitted, “Didn’t know it was you at the time, but...yeah. Turns out the universe actually listens sometimes.”

You stared at him, completely floored.

“You’re such a fuckin' dork.” You shook your head, trying to tamp down the stupid grin spreading across your face. “You really did the whole thing last year?”

“The whole thing,” he nodded, completely unashamed. “The grapes, the red underwear, the running around the block with a suitcase—”

“No,” you said, giggling now. “You did not.”

“Swear to God,” he shook his head. “Felt so fucking stupid at the time, but...worked, didn’t it?”

You arched a brow, fighting back a chucke. “It didn’t work. It’s all just superstitious bullshit.”

He shrugged, pulling you even closer. “You’re here in my arms, I’m pretty sure it did.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, the countdown began. 

Ten seconds, then nine, then eight…By the time it hit one, his lips were on yours, the sound of fireworks and cheers fading into the background. All you could feel was him—his hands on you, his breath mingling with yours, the quiet hum of contentment settling in your chest.

Maybe he was right. Maybe the universe had been listening.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured against your lips, his voice hardly audible over the cheers and music around you. His forehead rested lightly against yours, his eyes still closed, he couldn’t pull away just yet.

“Happy New Year,” you echoed, your voice teasing. “Though I guess you’re feeling pretty smug right now, huh? Thinking you manifested all this.”

He hummed, his hands trailing up your sides. “Damn right I am. How else do you explain it?”

“I don’t know,” you replied, “Maybe it’s just dumb luck. Or—crazy idea—you charmed me all on your own.”

“Nah,” he said, beaming now. “Luck’s never been my thing. But you? You’re somethin’ else, baby. Don’t think I stood a chance once you walked into my life. If this is what I get every year, I’ll eat a whole fuckin’ vineyard’s worth of grapes next time.”

You snorted, “Don’t push your luck, Cameron. The universe might get tired of your whining.”

“Not whining,” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “Just thinkin’ about how lucky I got. Don’t know what I did to deserve this, but...shit, I’m glad I did it.”

“You’re just lucky no one got that on video. Kook Prince Cameron running around like a maniac? The scandal.”

“Don’t care,” he said simply, his tone so sure it made you pause. “Would’ve done it ten times over if it meant finding you.”

He didn’t how someone could be so completely themselves and still feel like his, you were made just for him.

“Rafe…”

“I mean it. You’re everything I ever wanted, baby. I didn’t even know it until you came along. Can’t imagine my life without you.”

Your breath hitched, the vulnerability in his voice wrapping around your heart and squeezing. When he kissed you again, the fireworks in the sky had nothing on the ones between you.

For once, he didn’t need the haze of a party or the numbness of a bottle to feel like he belonged, with you, he already did.

“You’re such a fucking romantic,” you whispered against his lips, your tone soft enough to take the edge off the words.

His cheshire grin returned.

“Guess you bring it out of me.”

You weren’t just someone he loved—you were it for him. His north star, the one thing that made the chaos in his head quiet. When he pulled back from another kiss, his eyes searched yours, a flicker of insecurity showing up.

“Was it dumb?” he asked suddenly, his voice hesitant.

You blinked, still dazed from the kiss. “What?”

“All that shit I said. The universe, the grapes…all of it. Was it too much?” He tried to laugh it off.

You shook your head, smiling in that way that always knocked the wind out of him. 

“Not dumb. Kind of crazy, maybe, but sweet. Really sweet.”

His lips turned into a lopsided grin, relief flooding his features. 

“Good,” he said, his voice firmer now. “’Cause I meant every word. Don’t tell anyone, though. Gotta keep up my rep.”

You laughed, and the sound was like a balm to his soul. He’d fight the whole fucking world to keep that laugh in his life. Your hands slid up to rest on his chest, your touch soft, familiar.

Safe.

“Tell me about this rep of yours.”

Rafe smiled to ear to ear, the devilish glow in his eye making your heart race.

“Y’know, bad boy, troublemaker, heartbreaker…” He trailed off, his smirk turning cocky. “And, uh, not to brag, but pretty great in bed.”

You froze for half a beat, pushing at his chest.

“Oh my God. Why would you even—ugh, you’re impossible.”

“What?” he asked innocently, though his expression betrayed him. “Just stating facts, baby.” 

The teasing in his tone enough to make you groan.

“You’re disgusting,” you shot back, biting your lip to keep from squealing like an love sick fool.

“Disgustingly good-looking,” he corrected, leaning closer. “And disgustingly in love with you.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck.

“Nope. I take it back. I take all my kisses back.”

“You can’t do that!” He straightened, looking mock-offended.

“I can, and I just did.” You crossed your arms, stepping back just far enough to make him frown.

He followed instantly, tugging you back by the waist. “That’s not how it works, baby,” he said, dipping his head so his lips hovered just above yours. “You give ‘em to me, they’re mine. No refunds.”

You tried to glare, but the way his voice dipped on the last two words made your entire body shudder.

“See,” He murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then another. And another. He trailed them down to your jaw, his grin widening with each one, “All mine.”

You raised a brow, trying to act unimpressed even as his voice sent shivers down your spine. “If this is your way of trying to get laid, it’s pathetic.”

“Pathetic?” he repeated, mock horror lighting up his features. “Baby, you were literally begging for it last night—”

Your jaw dropped, your cheeks flaming. “Rafe!” you hissed, shoving at his chest, but he didn’t budge.

“What?” he said, all fake innocence, even as his face turned downright wolfish. “’m just being honest. You said you liked it when I—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” you warned, but he could hear the laugh bubbling just beneath the surface.

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, his nose brushing against yours as his lips finally, finally captured yours. 

The kiss started slow, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you gave in, parting them for him.

The second you did, he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a possessiveness that made your toes curl. He tasted like whiskey and mint, your favorites. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling just right as he claimed your mouth like it was his job.

You moaned softly into the kiss, your fingers curling into the lapels of his shirt to keep yourself standing. He took that as encouragement, biting down gently on your bottom lip before soothing the sting with a slow, wet drag of his tongue.

“Thought you were taking all your kisses back,” he muttered against your lips, his voice taunting as he pulled back just enough to make you chase him.

“Still considering it,” you panted, though the way you tugged him closer said otherwise.

His lips were on yours again, it made your head spin. His teeth grazed your lip again, and when you gasped, he licked into your mouth, groaning softly as he tasted you. When he pulled back just a smidge, a thin string of spit connected your mouths, and the sight of it made your cheeks burn all over again.

“Y’know,” he said, his voice husky as he used his thumb to wipe the corner of your swollen lips. “If you keep kissing me like that, we might have to skip the rest of this party.”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him, “You think I’m that easy to distract?”

“Don’t need to think,” he mused as his hands slid lower, resting on the curve of your ass. “Pretty sure I just proved it.”

You sighed, but it wasn’t with exasperation—it was amusement, adoration.

Your your fingers brushed the collar of his shirt as you traced his cheek, “Skipping the party, huh?” you murmured, your lips brushing against his just enough to drive him crazy. “What would we even do instead?”

His hold tightened on your skin, his voice dipping into a near growl as he answered, “Baby, I can think of a few things.”

The heat in his eyes made your cheeks flush, and this time around you didn’t attempt to hide the shit-eating smile taking over your face.

“You’re not even a little subtle, are you?”

“Not when it comes to you,” he admitted, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your hip as he leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours again.

Happy Fucking New Year to him.

[geneviveleocardius]

you ask them to wait for you out the fitting room

and you came out in lingerie, their favorite color

price

you tell him to wait outside the fitting room, and he does so without complaint, standing with his arms crossed and his hat low over his eyes. when you step out in a navy blue lingerie, his brows raise slightly, but he quickly schools his expression.

“bloody hell…” he mutters, looking you up and down with that steely gaze of his. he clears his throat and takes off his hat, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment. “looks… good on you, love.”

he’s trying to play it cool, but the tips of his ears go red, and he can’t seem to look anywhere else but you.

soap

“aye, you’re takin’ forever in there,” soap calls out impatiently, pacing outside the fitting room like he’s guarding a high-value target. when you step out in a red lingerie set, he freezes mid-step, his mouth hanging open.

“bloody hell, lass,” he exclaims, grinning like a kid who just got his favorite candy. “you’re tryin’ to kill me, aren’t you?”

he makes no effort to hide the fact he’s staring, his blue eyes practically sparkling. “c’mere, let me get a proper look,” he teases, winking.

ghost

ghost is leaning against the wall outside the fitting room, his arms crossed, and his mask firmly in place. he doesn’t say much when you tell him to wait, just nods slightly. but when you step out in a black lingerie, his head tilts just a fraction, and his gaze lingers on you.

“…not bad,” he says, his voice low and steady. but the way his eyes trace your figure says much more than his words.

he doesn’t move, just watches you with that intense, unreadable expression. after a moment, he finally adds, “you’re lucky there’s people around.”

gaz

“you better not keep me waiting all day,” gaz jokes, leaning against a rack of clothes and checking his phone. when you step out in a white lingerie, he nearly drops it.

“oh, damn,” he says, blinking a few times as if to make sure he’s seeing this right. “you look… incredible.”

his easygoing demeanor shifts slightly as he steps closer, his brown eyes full of admiration. “you sure you’re not trying to give me a heart attack? because it’s working.”

alejandro

alejandro leans casually against the fitting room door, a smirk playing on his lips. “you need me to come in there and help?” he teases. when you step out in a deep red lingerie, that confident smirk falters for a split second.

“mi amor… you’re stunning,” he says, his voice softening. he moves closer, his hand brushing your arm as his eyes roam over you appreciatively.

“you wear it better than i ever imagined,” he adds with a grin, his tone full of charm.

rudy

rudy is patiently waiting outside, his hands in his pockets, ever the gentleman. when you step out in a white lingerie, his jaw drops slightly, but he quickly catches himself.

“wow…” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. “you look… beautiful.”

his cheeks flush as he averts his gaze for a moment, trying to give you some semblance of privacy, but his eyes can’t help but wander back to you. “you… uh… definitely picked the right color.”

[larapeachsstuff]

"A needed Relief "

Silcoxf!reader oneshot

Warnings: smut (MDNI), 18+, sex scenes, consensual sex, established relationship.

Summary: After a shitty day and a failed experiment, Silco returns to his office to find a way to release his tension.

3k words

Silco's Pov

Shit, shit, shit. Just mere shit.

That is how Silco would have described the day that's just passed. Nothing went accordingly to the plan and the results left him with a bunch of dead bodies and more problems. The security check of the newest invention of Singed was supposed to go smoothly, the doctor did say to him that the new creature would have been mentally stable, not like the last time. As soon as the beast was released from its cage, it attacked the two guards around the doctor, killing them almost instantly and went straight to Silco. The minimal brutal force of the beast was enough to throw the man on the other side of the room, causing his back to collide with the solid rock wall. The air left his lungs after the impact, his good eye went black for a few seconds and his eyesight was totally compromised.

Silco was used to violence and finding himself in difficult situations has always been part of the routine, since he worked as a miner. His body reacted with automatic and calculated moves, grabbing the gun tied to his thigh and firing at the creature. The bullet went right trought its left eye, but the monster did stop for just a fraction of second before continuing his charge against the man. Silco grabbed the knife as a final decision, if he was going down, he wouldn't have gone without a fight. Moments before the impact, a flash passed before his eyes and an hurting memory was enough to take his feet off the floor and attack the creature with an enormous adrenaline rush. The memory was something distant but beared in his mind in an indelible way, like a large scar inside his heart. Two pair of hands suffocating him, keeping his head under velenous waters, which were already eating alive his damaged left eye. The sight of a friend's face, once so close and so brotherly loved, now transformed into something horrendous and atrocious.

The rush of adrenaline caused by the hurtful memory was the last thing needed by the man to assault the beast with the knife in one hand and the gun in the other, with a scream that contained all his hate and a primal attachment to life, Silco jumped.

The landing was unexpected, given the fact that the man found himself on the floor on the other side of the room. Looking at his left, a surprising yet appreciated vision caused a little satisfied smile to form on his face, glad to see his second in charge doing her job. "And in a wonderful way", he thought.

Sevika was on the beast and her mechanical arm was buzzing, busy with the amputation of the monster's head.

"Thank Janna, she was there..." thought Silco, before turning to Singed.

While in the background some horrendous noises were still going on, Silco kneeled down at the same level of the doctor.

"Next time, make its goddam brain at least a bit normal and manageable... or you'll end up as that mass of shimmer and shit". Singed turned his head to see Sevika, busy getting the violaceus blood off her arm. With a grin, the woman looked at the doctor and pointed her knife at him.

"Let's return to the Last Drop, Sevika. We'll see each other the next week, doctor, and I'll be waiting for better results". Slamming the door behind her, Sevika and Silco left the place.

-------------------------------------------------------

Finding himself outside his office, the man esitates a bit before opening the door, hearing some noise inside the room. Silco grabs the gun with his free hand one more time today, rethinking his life choices for once. With a big sigh, the man opens the door with a kick and points the gun ahead of him, moving his head from left to right to find the intruder.

And then, behind his desk, enlightened by the big greenish window on one side of the room, the chair turns to reveal a sight that immediately relaxes his sore shoulders and makes him drop his arms.

"Hi, why are you here?" Silco says with a tired voice, letting the gun down.

Silco leaves the spot at the door to go near the figure and, as he approach, his lungs fills with her perfume, causing his body to relax as he set his eyes on the girl sitting on the chair. He cannot resist but think how his life has changed since the two of you encountered during his research for the creation of shimmer. Singed was definitely the main author of the project and the drug, but also her contribution had been essential in the creation of the empire of Zaun.

Silco's nights were not anymore hours of interminable pain and regret, or planification for the next attack, the next drug deal, the next money exchange. During the nights in which he let himslef rest for more than a few hours, her company was like fresh air compared to the filthy and toxic one of Zaun. She was his rock, his safe harbour were he could let himself being vulnerable, even though Silco was not used to let himself go off completely, being always alert of every possible problem and danger.

"Is that the way to say that you have missed me, for not having seen me in days?" The girl say with a frown on her face and a slightly hirritated tone. "Thank you so much, Sil".

Hearing her tone and the nickname, a bit of guilt starts to hug the man's heart and with a sigh he places his arms around her chest, leaving the gun on the desk and resting his face in between her head and shoulder.

"Sorry, darling, my day was shitty as hell, and I am not in a good mood. But I am sorry for the way I talked to you." Silco was still learning to control his anger and was trying not to target it against his loved one, being her not responsible for any of his trouble. It was just the hard work of every day and the lack of sleep, probably. "How was your day? Better than mine indeed" says the man, plopping himself on the couch, finding a comfortable position for his sore back.

"Mhhh, I didn't do much today, rest day. But I helped the little Jinx with her project. She goes around and paints everything that comes in her sight. Look what she did for you!" the girl says, handing over to him his ashtray, now coloured in bright pink with blue lines.

"Looks good, darling. Come here, sit with me, please. " Doing as he asks, the obedient girl sits herself near him on the old couch of the office, letting one arm resting on her legs, while with the other one, she starts strocking his hair. "I am so grateful when you help me with the little one, a hand is always useful and I am trying to be the best for her and to teach her the way of the world, but it is not always so easy. This world is a cruel place, and if she doesn't understand her place and gains power, she'll be devoured by the city itself. The meeting today with Singed was shit and everything went wrong. I have to find a solution if the old man doesn't find one." Silco speaks with a low groan in his voice, letting his hand rest on his forehead, sensing the approaching headache that will keep him up all night.

Thanks Janna, there was Sevika saving my ass, but it was something he would never admit to anyone.

"I am sorry, Sil. Do you want me to alleviate the pain a bit?" The girl says, lifting a bit up her figure from the couch. "You know my methods always works with you".

Being in a relatively long relationship, Silco knows what the girl is up to and the mischievous look in her eyes can mean just one thing. Anchoring his multicolored eyes to her face and watching deeply into hers, Silco answers:

"Daddy would be so proud if the little darling would help with the pain"

Without esitation, the girl lifts herself from the couch, sitting right into his lap, legs spread apart and hands on his chest to let an illusion of space between them. Silco is not surprised by the sudden action, his growing desire starts to burn into his chest and without any hesitation, one of his hands goes to rest on the lower back of the girl, while the other one goes for her hair, strocking gently the back of her head.

"Nice initiative, darling. What are you gonna do now that you find yourself in this position?" Silco wasn't so acquainted with being submissive, and the position he was in wasn't helping his frustration and will to have control over something, having just experienced a very shitty day. "I'll let you have five minutes of control, little one, just 'cause I feel generous today. Do your best with the time I give you".

The girl doesn't wait another second and starts to kiss Silco. The encounter of his mouth with hers is the final need of the man before letting it all go, allowing the relax to enter his body and with a deep sigh, he finally feels safe, with tha arms of his darling all around him. The taste of her lips is like liquid honey to him, something one would like to taste all day and all night, but the empire of Zaun won't be build in just one day and the city needs to be guarded and guided by the man. A little sense of what can be similar to sadness starts to arise from his chest, sensing some guilt for the numerous nights in which Silco must work and isn't able to fulfill his duty of boyfriend. The eternal sleepless nights, lived behind piles of papers and letters, while the girl sleeps alone in his bed, is something that hunts him in moments like that, when he can relax.

But Silco is not used to let such emotions take control of his heart, mind and body and the reaction is not late to arrive.

Wanting more from the simple kisses he is giving to her, Silco opens his mouth to let his toungue explore the insides of her mounth, without wasting time asking for the permission. The simple and intimate atmosphere of before suddenly changes and a new wave of heat flows into his body, starting from a much lower place than the chest, this time.

With the new sudden need for more contact, Silco finds a more confortable position on the couch and lets his body get in contact with the one of her, deleting all of the left space between them. The sudden contact of the centre of her spread legs with his crotch, makes him leave out a rough sigh, wanting more than just a simple contact. Without stopping from kissing her, Silco lifts the girl's shirt up, reveling her bare chest without any type of support. Interrupting the kiss just to admire what was already his, throwing her shirt on the floor, the man says:

"Your time is up darling, now Daddy decided what to do with you".

"As you want, Sil. You know I am yours." the girl responds.

Silco doesn't waste any more time and, taking off his shirt, he breaks again the distance between their bodies, melting into the feel of her body's heat against his bare chest. After that, another session of passionate kisses starts and the urging need growing in his pants becomes every minute more and more demanding. He cannot resist to her touch, he cannot resist to her body, he cannot resist to her soul. Silco arises his legs and meets the intimate part of the girl, wanting to provoke her and release a bit of his frustation at the same time. Her reaction his repentine and as soon as he comes in contact with her, the girl starts to mimic his movements, a wetness spreading onto her underwear.

"Sil, please... I can't resist for long". Silco understand the urge of the girl and with a smirk on his face, suddenly the man gets up and, lifting his loved one, goes to the other room. The bedroom is clean, tied up and doesn't seem to be used very much. Silco was using the room as a spare storage for the Last Drop, but things changed once the relationship started to become more serious, and he transformed the room into a bedroom for the girl, if ever she wanted to sleep there.

With one feet, the man opens the door and lays down the girl on the bed, big enough for the both of them. Silco senses the urging need in his pants, so, without waste of time, unbottoms his pants and throws them on the floor, before starting to undress the girl. After having taken her pants and underwear, the vision of her naked body on the bed is something that Silco has missed so much since the last time they have seen each other. Every curve of her body is in the right place, he knows every mark, every scar, every mole on that sweet and delicate skin.

"I have missed this, darling. Remind me to fuck you more often, please". Laughing at his words, the girl opens her arms to embrace him into an intimate hug, resulting in both of them on the bed. Silco embraces her into the hug and kisses her on the cheek, but for just one second before the contact of his lenght encounters her wet spot, sending a rush trought his nervous system.

"Now, let me fuck you, pretty one"

Aligning his tip with her entrance, Silco lets himself inside with a low groan, sending shivers through his spine and a hot pleasure spreads from his member. Feeling her wet, hot spot and the tight pressure on his lenght is something that drives him crazy and, bending down, he bites the girl's shoulder, leaving a visible red mark.

"Now, you are mine"

Starting with a slow piece, the man rises in order to have a complete vision of the mess his lovers is, with her hair spread all over the pillow and a redness on her face that makes her even more beautiful, ready to give all of her to the man. Ready to fulfill all of his desires. Speeding up the peace of his movements, the struggle of Silco starts to rise, looking down at his pleased darling and seeing her in such a position.

"Daddy will make you cum, little one. Don't worry, I got you"

Letting the girl moan in pleasure, Silco trusts himself into her one last time, before exiting without any warning, leaving the girl into a struggling position. Everything in the body of the man is screaming, every bone wants more, every cell wants to let out and his trobbing member reminds him of his pressing needs.

"On top now, darling" , asks the man with a demanding tone.

The girl leaves out a sigh and changes position, finding herself on the top of Silco. Admiring her from above is one of his favourite activities, but the sight of her on top of him is even better. Despite being under, Silco knows he still has the control in the situation and, with one hand on her back and the other one guiding his length, he enters just one more time. The wetness of her insides is enough to let him almost arrive at the end, but with a strong will, Silco imposes to himself and his instincts to let her cum first, being the gentleman that he is.

With a fast pace, Silco starts thrusting into her with his full length, reaching the soft spot at the top of her insides. The girl aches and the sensation given by the sudden change in her position doesn't help Silco with his mission. Feeling her wetness and tightness around him, he thrusts again, lifting his hips from the bed. One, two, three times, while the girl follows his movements.

"Sil, fuck, I cannot resist much more"

"Cum for me, darling, please" asks Silco with the little voice he can retrieve from all the moaning that was going on.

"Fuck, I am gonna cum..." the girl quickens her pace and movements of up and down, back and forth, allowing Silco to feel the rubbing of her clitoris against his lower belly. With a low moan and trembling legs, the girl orgasms and her walls reduce the already small distance with his member, causing an involontary spasm from the man.

"Little one" says Silco with a very demanding voice "resists a bit more, I cannot let you rest now" and, withous waiting for her reply, Silco grabs her hips and thrusts his waist even harder than before inside her, causing the girl to arch again. Every fibre of the man is screaming in pleasure and his throbbing member guides his mind, hastening the pace and drowning into the vision of his darling in such a position.

Feeling a growing urge arising from his lower parts, Silco lifts himself up and creates again a contact between their bodies. At the slightly touch of his chest with her bare breasts and her arms around his body, Silco cums with a low grown, sinking his hands into her hips, feeling his liquid building up and releasing inside of her.

Reducing his movements, Silco lets himself drown in the pillow, while with one hand guides the girl towards his chest, silently asking for contact, once more. Without taking his still pulsing member off, Silco feels the girl laying herself on his chest, while their irregular breathings try to find a shared rhythm.

Everything is peace now, the problems and struggles of the day seems to be something so far away in Silco's mind. The weight of his lover on the chest is a calming sensation, a feeling that the man knows to be a rare treasure he must protect with all of his strength. He is ready to do anything to protect what is under his legacy.

Releasing a sign of relief, gently strocking her hair, the man finally finds peace and, letting himself out and spooning her from behind, Silco falls asleep for once.

-------------------------------------------------------

[vaunteir]

wednesday is not only the greatest betrayal in television history but the most maddeningly trite, disturbingly vapid, and internally confused ideological train wreck I've ever had the deeply sorrowful displeasure of allowing to pass through my corneas may god have mercy on burton or whoever else was responsible while someone slapped his brand name on it, and on all of us who are fated to live in a world where something so culturally, socially, politically, and artistically noxious as this Mary-sue-lead, transparently TikTok-targeted, phone-worshipping, vaguely bigoted, backfired virtue-signaling, fake leftist capitalist "my immortal" -esque fanfic earns a second season through what I can only be explained as manufactured consent. something must be done about Netflix's Wednesday. This thing is a condescending insult, especially to young people, the socially conscious, and members of marginalized and "" "outcast""" groups (Like GoThS & ppl who CAN CONTroL BEEEEES) who genuinely suffer from what this thing hollowly groups masturbates to while looking us dead in the eyes and saying "yeah, you like that, don't you?" It is a Gatling gun of random buzzwords and empty references to social issues, grotesquely and impotently disguised and screaming "I'm commentary!" before pissing its pants, squealing like a pig, and at its most coherent offering nothing more than to demonize mental illness and make any marginalized identity out to be a mayonnaise-stained Hot Topic hoodie through Wiseau-ian dialogue, inappropriate "grittiness" for its source material and Harry Potter setting, and incessant hackery. I am shitting. I am pissing. I am standing over a warm bubble bath cradling a toaster and sobbing, chanting g-d's secret name and praying that there is indeed a hell so I can be eternally punished for having given this moral abomination one fraction of a fraction of a cent also it's not a good Addams family adaptation anyway let me know your thoughts in the poll below

This shit....is so ass....

[ivy-elle]

Veilon

(noun) the bittersweet beauty in what remains hidden, in secrets, never spoken

“Stop denying it.”  

Scaramouche’s words echo in your mind, then stick like honey. Impelling. Taunting.

The air is so thick you feel it could be cut by the sound of your voice alone.

You are staring at each other. Faces so close, your breath is mingling together.

But you keep your eyes on him, even as his lips brush yours for the fraction of a second.

On accident?

No.

Nothing is accidental with him.

Your heart rings loud in your ears. “How long are we going to play this game, then?” you murmur in return, your breath suddenly heavy.

He trails his thumb along your cheekbone. Eyes staring into your soul like they’re seeing something you don’t.

When he speaks again, his voice is low, yet dulcet against your skin. “Until one of us loses.”

Scaramouche takes one step back again, and a weight falls off your shoulders. But at the same time, something in your ribs just learnt the meaning of yearning.

[strwberri-milk]

Can you write a scenario on Lnd where the MC has a twin sister who is grumpy, sardonic and doesn’t like people except from MC including the lnd MLs? Kinda like Belphegor with Beelzebub.

i uhh dont have much for this so just have all i could scrounge [sob]

He doesn't quite understand how the two of you have this dynamic but honestly. as long as you're happy he's happy. He'll try to suck it up, aware that loving you means tolerating your sibling. It'd be inaccurate for Zayne and Sylus to say they hate your sibling, more that their personalities don't really mesh. The good thing is at least the two of them share the desire for your happiness so they can be made to begrudgingly agree to get along for your sake.

The two of them can hold a civil conversation when in public but that's about it. They just talk about very superficial things and have a general understanding of each other's private lives, seeming at least cordial on the surface for your benefit.

Xavier and Rafayel will now take that as a bid for your attention. He wants to fight your sibling if it means you'll look at him for a fraction of a second longer, really taking it personally. This means you're constantly mediating fights between the two of them, but at least he has the decency to look a little embarrassed by it when it seems like you're nearing your wit's end. When you're at home with him is when he'll let loose, softly complaining about how your sibling hates him. You have to reassure him that it's not really the case - they're just a little difficult.

The two of them will never really warm up to each other. They will just come to some mutual, unspoken agreement at some point that they need to stop arguing with each other for your sake. There's only so much of them they can handle of course but that just means when the two of them are in the same room they just won't speak to each other. Xavier is at least a little more subtle with it, finding ways out of conversing with your sibling whereas Rafayel will just straight up not acknowledge their presence - which is fine for you since that's what your sibling is doing anyway.

[goblinontour]

For Him

it’s all for him

warnings: explicit love

word count: 6k

Love doesn’t even begin to cover it. Love — the all-encompassing, all-consuming, above-all-else feeling. Love doesn’t feel adequate. Love doesn’t even come near enough to describe it. To describe what this is, what you feel, what he is to you. Love is a shallow word, a placeholder, a stand-in for something bigger, something you can’t name and never will. Will not be able to. 

It was there, though. Love was there. From the first moment you felt him. The moment you touched him, and you wished, in the quiet, echoing depths of your soul, that you’d met him earlier. Earlier, because there will never be enough of him.

And maybe if you’d had another year, you could have settled for love. Another month, and maybe it would have been enough to fill the spaces he’s carved out of you. Another day, and maybe you wouldn’t be here, aching, wanting, needing more. Another minute, and maybe the hollowness wouldn’t ache so much. Another second, and you might have been fuller.  

Fuller of him.

Because every second he doesn’t fill feels empty — even when they’re crowded with the thoughts of him. Those haunting thoughts of him. They are heavy. They linger. They never leave. Because you won’t let them. Because you can’t bear to let them go, even when they so desperately fight to dissolve. To let him go, even in your mind, feels unbearable. Because you can’t miss any more of him. You won’t allow it. It would hurt more than hanging onto those desperate thoughts. 

And the thought of goodbye? Nothing’s worse than saying goodbye. Saying goodbye to him, even the him you keep stored away in your head. It feels a little bit like dying. 

It feels worse than dying.  

You don’t miss him. You can’t. He’s here. His body beside you, his warmth in the bed. But you still long for him, as if there’s a piece of him somewhere else, just out of reach. A part of him you’ll never touch.  

If love’s not enough — will never be enough — then why? Why do you love him? Why do you love him so much that it splits you open and spills you out to make more room for him? Why do you love him when it hurts more often than it doesn’t?  

But then, he stirs. A faint, lazy shift beside you, and your heart lurches toward him. His hair is mussed, dark locks curling over his forehead, and you can feel the warmth of his skin before you even touch it. His breathing slows, evens, and your chest tightens. You lean in, closer than close, lips grazing the shell of his ear. 

There is nothing to be afraid of.

“I love you.”

The words come quiet, soft. You whisper them because saying them too loudly would only make it feel like acknowledging their insufficiency. Like shining a light on the void that still exists, even in love. So you keep them quiet and hope — hope — hope that they’re enough. At least for him. Enough for him to understand a fraction of what you mean. Of what it truly is. 

Because it’s more than love. It’s greater than affection. Beyond. Beyond the hugs and beyond the words or the way you hold him. More. More than the way he holds you back, like the two of you are all that’s keeping the world from breaking apart. Because you’d fall apart without each other there. Holding it all together, together. Yourselves and the other. 

“I think you’re supposed to say, ‘Happy Birthday.’” he murmurs, his voice slow and drowsy, still thick with sleep even though the sun hangs high in the sky. 

Almost noon.

You glance up at him, his eyelids heavy, his lips curling into the faintest trace of a smile. The kind of smile that’s more reflex than effort, born out of his teasing rather than true amusement.  

He doesn’t sleep well at night. He never has. He calls it wasting time, lying awake in the dark, restless, as if sleep itself is a thief robbing him of moments he’ll never get back. Time. Precious time. He treats it like gold dust, hoarded and spent with care, but never wasted.  

And yet, come morning — or afternoon — he always regrets it. Always drags himself out of bed with a sigh, muttering about the hours he’s lost. Same guilt, same cycle. A war between the time he holds too tightly and the time that slips away.  

Precious, precious time. 

You smile faintly against his skin. “I don’t want to remind you you’re getting old.”  

“You don’t want to remind yourself.” he corrects, his lips twitching into a knowing smirk. He’s always right, even when you don’t want him to be. Especially when you don’t want him to be. He’s always right.

“It’s okay, little love.” he says, and his voice wraps around you like a blanket never could, soft and warm but never suffocating. “I don’t mind it. But don’t worry too much. You’re making it sound like I’m eighty.”  

“Sorry.” you whisper, and you don’t know why you’re apologising, but you do it anyway. You shift closer, nuzzling into his chest, inhaling the faint, musky warmth of him. Now that he’s awake, you don’t have to be so careful. No tiptoeing so as not to disturb. You can disturb him now, without feeling as guilty. He won’t mind.  

“I love you too, just so you know.” he says, his voice soft, almost shy.  

You press your ear to his chest, to feel, and listen, and then feel some more. His skin is warm and sticky, still, from sleep. Sticky enough that your ear almost gets suctioned on there and you can hear the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart beneath your cheek more than his voice. 

Thumping. 

B-dum. B-dum. B-dum.

“I know.” you say. Barely audible. You don’t want to risk drowning out that sound. Of his heartbeat. You close your eyes and let it fill you, every hollow, aching part of you.  

B-dum. B-dum. B-dum.

Time feels cruel. You don’t say it, but you feel it. Time that keeps slipping through your fingers, dragging you both forward. But for now, there’s this. 

For now, it’s enough.  

It has to be.

“I didn’t get you anything.” you whisper again, even quieter this time, as though saying it aloud might further cement your failure. 

Your breath feels shallow, as though the confession has siphoned all the air from your lungs. You can feel his chest rise and fall beneath you, his warmth enveloping you, but it’s not enough to quiet the churn of guilt in your stomach. Your hands fidget against the hollow in the middle, that perfect slope that you imagine deepens every time you lay on it, tracing patterns in the heat of his skin.  

You didn’t. You didn’t get him anything because nothing felt like enough. If love wasn’t enough, how could a thing — a mere object, bought and wrapped and handed over — ever suffice? How could you trust that a trinket, something so tangible and small and fleeting, could carry the weight of everything you wanted him to know? What you needed him to feel? Everything you couldn’t say. If love wasn’t enough, how could you put your faith in anything else?  

If love wasn’t enough, how could anything be?  

“That’s fine.” he says. He’s impressively calm, unbothered, compared to your chronic restlessness. His fingers brush over your arm in slow, lazy strokes, as if to soothe you. He shifts slightly beneath you, adjusting his arm around your back. His fingertips trail lightly against your spine.  

Tap. Tap. Tap.

But his reassurance doesn’t land. You can’t stop. You can’t stop the words from spilling out, your voice trembling, faster now, desperate to explain, disjointed and raw. “I just-” You swallow hard. Your throat tightens. You press your cheek harder against his chest. “You already have it all. I didn’t know what to get you that you couldn’t just…get yourself. And I- I ran out of time…time. I thought about it too long, and then I woke up today, and it was too late.”  

“Sweetie…”

Your hands press against him, fingers curling slightly, clinging to the safety of his presence. You can’t look at him. You can’t risk it. You can’t risk seeing the disappointment that might linger in his eyes. The possibility of it burning in there would undo you completely, and you’re already teetering on the edge.  

You keep your gaze fixed on his collarbone, unable to look up. 

You can’t risk it. 

“Sweetie, stop.” he says. He’s firm. The words slice through your spiralling thoughts.  

You hear the barely there hiss of his breath, a flicker of frustration. And in that moment, your chest tightens, and the guilt surges forward. You fucked up. He exhales a soft huff that brushes against the crown of your head. You feel the faintest shift in his chest. You’ve said too much, and now you’ve ruined something.  

Everything.

But then his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer. He wraps himself around you like armor. Firm, his hands warm against your back, his hold so secure that it feels like the world outside of him doesn’t exist. He wraps himself around you so completely. The kind of embrace that makes you feel small and safe, protected in a way that nothing else does.  

He holds you tighter, tighter still, until the edges of you blur into him. He holds you so tightly you know you’d have to fight to escape. Until you know that escape is impossible.

Not that you’d ever try. You’d never want to.  

“Sorry.” you murmur against his chest.  

“No.” he says, sharp and immediate with an insistence that leaves no room for doubt. His hands move, one slipping up to the nape of your neck, his thumb brushing softly against your skin, the other splaying wide across your back. “No, no. You were right.” His voice softens and drops into something gentler. 

You hesitate, confused, and your body tenses slightly against him. He must feel it, because his hand on your back begins to move in slow, soothing circles, the friction of his palm against your shirt creating a faint warmth.  

“I have everything.” he continues.  

He pauses, and the silence stretches out. And again, all you can hear is the steady thrum of his heart beneath your ear. 

Beating.

B-dum. B-dum. B-dum.

The rhythmic pulse of life. It’s almost enough to drown out the self-doubt still clinging to you.  

“Right ‘ere.” he finally says, his voice breaking just slightly on the words.  

And then he inhales, so deep you feel the tremor in him, the slow expansion of his chest pressing into yours, the way he seems to pull the air in as if it might just be the thing holding him together. He holds it in. Exhales slowly. Like he’s releasing something, letting it go into the space between you. 

“I have you ‘ere.” he whispers. “That’s enough.”  

You don’t move. You don’t speak. You just lie there, your body pressed against his, your hands gripping him. His words feel warmer and heavier than his body, sinking into your skin, and for the first time in hours — maybe days — it begins to ease.  

Slowly, cautiously, you lift your head. You finally look up at him, chin resting on his chest — right in that special spot. When your eyes finally meet his, you see nothing but softness. There’s no disappointment there. No frustration. Just him. Just Alex, looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.  

And for a moment, the ache eases.  

You search his face, your gaze tracing the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the curve of his mouth, the messy curls that fall across his forehead. He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t blink. He just watches you, patient and steady, like he’s willing you to understand.  

You do. 

You let yourself believe him.  

For a moment, you let yourself believe that you are enough. 

So you watch.  

You look, and you study, and you wish — desperately — that your eyes were fitted with tiny microscopes so you wouldn’t miss a thing. You don’t want to miss a thing. You want to memorise every detail, every imperfection, every fleeting expression that might escape you if you look away too soon.  

Your gaze drifts to the corners of his eyes, to the faint wrinkles that fan out like delicate etchings. You start counting them, one by one, as you always do, wondering if there are more than last year, or even yesterday. You always count, and yet you never remember the last number. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Your eyes move to his forehead, and you study the lines there, the ones that seem a little deeper than they used to. They’re there constantly now, carved into his skin like tiny scars from years of raising his eyebrows just so. He says it’s to soften his expression, to make himself look less unapproachable to the outside world.  

You think it’s ridiculous.  

You’ve told him that before — how silly he looks when he does it, like he’s trying to imitate some wide-eyed, overly eager version of himself. You’ve teased him for it, and he’s laughed, but still, he does it.  

He says his face falls weird when he’s neutral, and this, apparently, is the fix. You think it’s unnecessary. You like his face as it is — neutral, serious, tired, upset. Whatever he is, it’s fine.  

Because it’s him.  

It’s him, and it’s real, and you wouldn’t change a thing.  

Your hand moves instinctively, your fingertips brushing against the faint lines there, on his forehead. You trace them gently, lightly, and harder as you’re trying to memorise their shape. He doesn’t flinch or pull away. He just watches you, patient as ever, his dark eyes soft and steady, as always. 

“You’re staring again.” he says. There’s no real reproach in it. He doesn’t mind the spotlight when that spotlight is you.

“I know.” you murmur, not bothering to deny it.  

He raises an eyebrow slightly, and there’s that look again — that playful tilt of his lips, the one that’s almost imperceptible, like he’s fighting the urge to smile.  

“Am I passing inspection?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement.  

You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “You always do.”  

His expression softens further, the teasing edge fading. His hand comes up to rest over yours, his fingers curling gently around your wrist, holding you there against him.  

“You don’t have to, you know.” he says quietly.  

“Don’t have to what?”  

“Look so hard. It’s like…like you’re afraid I’ll disappear if you don’t.”  

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. Your hand stills against his forehead, and your breath hitches slightly, your chest tightening.  

“I just…” you start, your voice trailing off as you search for the right words. “I just don’t want to miss anything.”  

“You won’t.” he says simply, his thumb brushing lightly against your wrist. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”  

You nod, but that ache in your chest doesn’t fully subside. Because time doesn’t care about promises, and no matter how tightly you hold on, it always finds a way to slip through your fingers.  

“You’re struggling to breathe.” he announces, his steady voice pulling you back to yourself.  

You hadn’t noticed until now, hadn’t realised how shallow your breaths had become, how your lungs felt heavy, like they were carrying too much. The moment he says it, the awareness hits you — harder and harder, a wave crashing over you, dragging you under.  

Your chest tightens, and the sting in your nose starts to surface, hot and sharp. Your eyes feel like they’re being pressed from the inside, the pressure swelling until you can’t ignore it anymore.  

“Don’t cry, my baby.” he whispers, a plea as much as an attempt at comfort.  

But it’s too late.  

The cracks in you deepen, widening into fissures that can’t be held together anymore. The tears come, spilling over before you can stop them, before you can even think to try.  

He tries. He always tries. 

He wipes at your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, murmuring soft reassurances, holding you closer, tighter, like he can somehow stop the flow through sheer force of will. 

But it doesn’t work. He knows it won’t work.  

So, finally, he lets it happen. He lets you break, lets the tears fall freely, lets the overwhelming weight of it all pour out of you. Because it’s too much.

It’s too much love, too little time.

And when love feels like this, when it swells so big it aches, clothing is just another barrier. A suggestion, for that reason, never an imposition. 

He breaks it down with clumsy hands, fumbling with the neckline of your shirt, pulling it over your head in a movement that’s more desperate than it could ever be classed as graceful. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t hesitate, just keeps going until there’s nothing between you but skin.  

The moment you feel him — him — warm and solid, the familiar press of his chest against yours — it hurts a little less.  

You press yourself against him, a wet cheek against his shoulder, hands clutching at his back because you’re still afraid he might slip away. His arms wrap around you again, this time even tighter, to the point it almost hurts. It hurts. But not as much as not having him hold you. His hands spread across your bare skin like he’s trying to hold you together, to keep the fissures from splitting into something irreparable.  

He doesn’t speak now. There’s nothing left to say. He just holds you, lets you cry into him, lets the warmth of his body seep into yours, lets the moment stretch out until the edges of your pain start to dull.  

And in his silence, you feel it. The unspoken truth. The promise that doesn’t need words.  

The fissures won’t turn into holes. Not with him here. Not with the way he holds you, the way he keeps you from falling apart completely.  

You can breathe again.

And you can breathe him in again.  

Ah, there it is. That sweetness. It clings to him, a scent that feels like home. It soothes. It’s calming you.  

But now…now, he’s restless.  

You feel it first in the subtle fidgeting of his fingers against your skin, then in the shifting of his limbs, the tightening and untightening of muscles as he tries — and fails — to settle. The closeness that was comforting moments ago has turned into a puzzle, the edges too tight, the pieces overlapping awkwardly.  

“Oh.” you gasp softly. He’s restless all over, his body betraying him.  

“Sorry, girl.” he mumbles, his voice tinged with embarrassment. His hands move hesitantly, unsure whether to pull you closer or let you go. “I didn’t mean to. It- it’s just… you’re naked. Almost. It just…”  

“It’s…” you start, but you trail off.  

“I’m sorry.” he repeats, firmer this time, like he needs you to believe him.  

Why would he be sorry?  

It’s only…natural.  

“Who are you?” you ask suddenly, pulling back just enough to look at him, your eyes narrowing in mock suspicion.  

He blinks, startled, but before he can answer, you lean in again, pressing a kiss to the dip in his collarbone.  

“Just me.” he says with a nervous giggle. His cheeks flush, the color creeping up his neck, and you feel his chest rise sharply beneath your palms.  

He’s so fucking cute when he’s like this.  

“I don’t know you.” you tease. 

You’re purring.  

Up now, your knees bracketing his sides, your hands splayed across his chest. His breathing quickens further, his flush deepening as he looks up at you. From his point of view, there’s something there. A spark, a shift, something playful. But your eyes are still red, rimmed with the remnants of tears. 

And yet, he can’t help it.  

Not when you’re like this, pressing up against him, leaning over him, commanding his attention so effortlessly. His eyes flicker over you, wide and unblinking, like headlights catching something fragile in the dark. He knows he should look away, should steady himself, but he can’t.  

He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

A palm reaches out, hesitant at first, then bold. It cups you, warm and engulfing, his fingers splaying instinctively, mapping every inch of you. The other joins. 

“Security! Security!” you call out dramatically, a breathless laughter.  

The corners of your eyes crunch as you smile, betraying any hint of real fear. The peaks of your skin, hot beneath his squeezing fingertips, send a rush of heat between you both, and you feel his hand falter for a split second before tightening its hold.  

The act of innocence.  

“I don’t mean to…” he says, his voice dipping low, a rasp threading through his words. He tilts his head back against the pillow, his eyes half-lidded, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’m just a tortured artist, baby.”  

“Yeah?” you challenge, shifting your hips, enough to feel the friction between you both.  

“Yeah.” he breathes.  

Hips roll.  

Heat intensifies.  

The wetness that once blurred your vision now pools low, deep, undeniable. It seeps into the space between you, pulling you both into its gravity.  

He groans softly. And…God! It’s so beautiful…his grip on you tightening as his body moves in sync with yours. His gaze never leaves you, even as his lips part, his breath hitching with every shift, every roll, every press of your skin against his.  

You smile, a wicked, knowing smile, and lean down until your lips are just a breath away from his. “Tortured?” you murmur.  

“Always.” he whispers, his words swallowed by the heat between you as his hands guide you closer, closer, until there’s no space left at all.

“Is that solely a bad thing?” 

It strikes him harder than you intended. His body stills, his breath catching as he processes what you’ve just said. He doesn’t answer right away, his silence stretching out, heavy and charged, while you wait.  

You’re hesitant in your approach, your fingers hovering, dancing lightly across his skin. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A rhythm that mirrors the beat of your heart. You’re waiting, always waiting, for his sign.  

And then it comes.  

A nod. Another squeeze of his hands on your breasts.  

Green light.

You move, reaching in just barely, your fingers brushing against the warmth of him. He’s sticky already.  

“I think…that…suffering is necessary.” he says, his voice uneven, halting. His legs twitch beneath you, begging to squeeze together, to curl inward, but he can’t. You’re holding him down without even trying, just by being there, your weight and presence enough to pin him in place.  

“In order to- to access the high levels of feeling- fuck-” His voice cuts off, his words swallowed by a sharp intake of breath.  

He can’t.  

His right hand quits its job of squeezing, abandoning your chest to join yours below. His fingers wrap around yours, warm and insistent, guiding you, begging you, leading you.  

“Of love.” he finally concludes, his voice trembling.  

Love.

It echoes in your mind, that single word reverberating.  

“Profound…” you start, leaving the word open, unfinished, unsure of how to follow it.  

Your hips shift, your body moving instinctively, rubbing yourself against his thigh in time with the rhythm of your holding hands. The sensation sends sparks shooting through you, but your focus stays on him, on the way his breath hitches, on the way his fingers grip yours tighter.  

He’s soft there, on his thighs. The skin is plush and fluffy in a way he rarely shows to anyone but you. It’s intimate, that softness, a vulnerability he keeps hidden from the world but offers to you without hesitation.  

“…ness.” he completes.  

Profoundness.  

It feels bigger than the moment, bigger than the two of you, and yet it’s tethered here, grounded in the heat and closeness of your bodies.  

His hand tightens over yours, guiding you with more urgency now, his movements less controlled, more desperate. His eyes lock on yours, wide and glistening, and you can see everything in them — his need, his fear, his devotion.  

And love. Always love.  

You lean forward, lips brushing against his ear, and whisper, “Show me?”  

A command, a plea, a promise all wrapped into one. And he does. 

“I can count this as my present…if it makes you feel better.” 

His fingers toy with the bow on your panties, that delicate little detail that always seems to fuck with his head. It’s so small, so dainty, so perfectly out of place between the rough pads of his fingertips. His hands aren’t particularly big, but somehow, you make them feel enormous. You make him feel enormous.

Almost…wrong.  

You nod, your breath catching, and the sight of you offering yourself like that — open, willing, waiting — pulls a groan from deep in his chest.  

“God…” he breathes, the word dragged out.  

The way you give yourself to him. Every time. All the time. It feels so wrong.  

It feels like the only thing that’s ever been right.  

His hand dips lower, and he rubs the tip of himself over the fabric that clings to you, already damp, already sticking to every curve and dip of your shape. Now it sticks to him too, and the friction of it, the teasing pressure, makes his jaw clench.  

You shiver, your body trembles as you try to hold yourself steady, but it’s too much.  

And yet, not enough.  

Your legs weaken, and you drop back down onto him, pressing yourself against his lap with a need that borders on desperation. The heat of him, the solidity, the sheer realness of him, makes your breath stutter.  

It’s too much-  

It’s not enough.  

He exhales sharply, his hands flying to your hips to hold you steady, to keep you from sliding away, but his grip isn’t tight enough to stop you from moving. It never is. You grind against him, the thin barrier of fabric doing nothing to dull the sensation, and his head falls back against the pillow with a muffled curse.  

“Fuck, baby…” His voice is strained now, thick with the weight of everything he feels but can’t quite say.  

The bow beneath his fingertips feels almost absurd in contrast to the heat between you, but it grounds him somehow. He tugs at it gently, watching it stretch and twist, and the sight of it makes his head spin. It’s delicate, almost too delicate. 

Like you.  

He knows better. You aren’t fragile. You just let him treat you like you are. It ruins him every time.  

You both need more.  

His hand slips lower, finding the edge of the fabric, and with a slow movement, he pushes it to the side. The wetness there makes him shiver, his breath catching as he lets his fingers toy with you for a moment, drawing soft, stuttering sounds from your lips.  

And then, finally, he pushes himself in.  

Slowly.

You wince, your body tensing, and the ache is back. That familiar, consuming ache — the one that feels like it starts in your chest and radiates outward, like it’s eating you alive.  

The closest of closeness.  

The most you could possibly get.  

And you still feel so utterly empty.  

He notices, of course he notices. He always notices.  

“It’s okay, baby, it’s ‘kay…shhh.” he whispers, like he’s trying to soothe a wild animal — you feel like one. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pressing you gently into the curve of his neck. “I don’t like to think of people…of…I don’t want to think of you suffering. But then you do.”  

His hips roll, slow and measured, and the stretch of him inside you makes your breath hitch. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and you don’t know how to reconcile the two.  

“You breathe at such a rate that you’re bound to suffer, sweetie.” he murmurs, his words almost lost in the rhythm of his movements.  

“I…I don’t know if it’s pain or pleasure.” you choke out, your voice muffled against his shoulder. Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, and you sniffle, clinging to him, to the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.  

His pace is so slow, so tender, that it hurts in its kindness. Every thrust feels like a question, every withdrawal like an apology.  

“Reality is pain,” he says, his voice breaking slightly, “but we bring out the pleasure, in each other, with each other.”  

You can feel it in the way his hands roam your body, always searching, always reassuring. But even as he speaks, you can tell he’s fighting his own demons. His mind flickers through the darker corners of himself, the parts he tries to keep hidden. He wonders if he’s hurting you more than helping you, if his presence in your life is a blessing or a curse.  

You, meanwhile, can’t stop cataloging him.  

The way his jaw clenches and unclenches with every thrust. The beads of sweat gathering at his temple. The soft, almost imperceptible tremor in his voice when he whispers your name.  

You wonder if he feels it too — that emptiness. If he’s trying to fill it the same way you are, with this act, with this closeness.  

You wonder if it’s working for him.  

Because for you, it’s both too much and not enough.  

You press your lips to his shoulder, kissing the damp skin there, tasting salt of sweat and tears, and heat, and him.

“Do you feel it?”  

His movements slow even further, his body stilling for a moment.  

“I feel everything.” he finally says. His hands tighten on you, pulling you closer, as if that’s even possible. “You make me feel everything.”  

So you kept offering yourself to him. Because it was the only thing that made sense. Because in those moments, when words failed him, when he avoided eye contact like the answers were buried somewhere else, he’d offer you the deeper meaning of his touch.  

He was avoidant, yes. Could be classed an asshole, if you wanted to simplify it. He wouldn’t talk. Not too often, not too much. 

Unless he did.  

When he thought you needed it so desperately that you wouldn’t make it out without the explicitness, without the explanations. He’d relent. He’d offer you a sliver of his mind, a glimpse into that labyrinth of thoughts he kept so well-guarded.  

And sometimes, those words would only make it worse.  

It’s hard to overstate. The impact he had. 

Has.  

The chokehold.  

“Tighter.” Your voice is a rasp, your breath already unsteady, but you say it anyway. His hand rests on your throat, not pressing yet, just holding, and you arch into the weight of it. “Tighter.”  

His gaze sharpens. There’s something unreadable in his eyes. A pause. A moment of hesitation. Then his grip tightens, and the air between you seems to still.  

He turns pain into something beautiful.  

“Take me.” you whisper, your voice a low, almost imperceptible plead. His fingers begin to move.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Against your neck, as if testing the rhythm of your pulse.  

Intuitive. Always.  

Then he takes.  

His free hand finds your jaw, thumb pressing against your lower lip until your mouth falls open. He’s watching you, watching the way your body responds to him, the way your chest rises and falls in its shallowness.  

Knuckles knock against your teeth as he slides his fingers inside, pads pressing against your tastebuds, filling the space until you’re choking on him. Nails scrape against the back of your throat, and you gag, tears springing to your eyes.  

Impactful.  

“Good girl.” he murmurs. Like velvet over steel. The praise is quiet, but it ignites something primal in you. You whimper around his fingers, and he groans, barely holding himself together.  

He watches the tears spill over, watches the way your lips stretch around him, and something in him snaps. His hand tightens further on your throat, cutting off just enough air to make you feel weightless. To make you float in that space between pleasure and pain. Until you can’t tell them apart. Until you can’t settle on either one. 

You grab at his wrist, not to pull him away but to anchor yourself to him. Because…he’s everything. Your air, your gravity, your entire world condensed into the roughness of his touch and the way he looks at you.  

“Breathe, baby.” he says. His hand loosens slightly, giving you just enough to draw in a shaky breath around his fingers. “I’ve got you. Always.”  

You believe him.  

You have to.

He is your only salvation from this pain. The doer and undoer. Cause and effect. The wound and the salve.  

And the aura of him remains, remains…

Remains.

“Oh-”  

“Fuck-”  

The words tear from both of you in unison. A tangled cry. You’re unravelling together. And it feels like the closest you’ve ever been to him. And yet…it still isn’t enough.  

His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers pressing into your flesh. He thrusts deep, every movement a combination of tenderness and force, as though he’s pouring everything he can into you, trying to fill the empty spaces you both know he never fully can.  

At this moment, it feels like he could.  

He drags against every nerve inside you, heavy and thick, and you feel the way he throbs, the heat of him building, threatening to spill over. It’s overwhelming, the way he stretches you, the way every inch of him feels. He moves with an unsteady rhythm now, hips stuttering, his breath hot and ragged against your neck.  

You’re both trembling. You can’t tell where your body ends and his begins.  

“Shit…” he gasps, voice strained, breaking, as his pace falters. He’s so deep now, the tip of him brushing places that make you cry out.

Again. And again. And again.

That make your body tighten around him, pulling him even closer. It’s messy now, desperate. He’s losing himself inside you.  

“Fuck, baby, I-” His voice catches, and then he’s gone. 

You feel him twitch inside you, sharp and insistent, and then he’s spilling, warmth flooding you in waves. It’s a slow, pulsating release, and you feel every surge of it, every shudder that wracks his body as he empties himself into you. He presses as deep as he can go, burying himself completely, as if he could carve a place for himself inside you, as if he could leave a part of himself that will never fade.  

He’s soothing from the inside. A plea for forgiveness he can’t bring himself to ask for aloud. He gives you little pieces of himself — small, fragmented traces of his love, his essence, his everything.  

And it’s insufficient.  

It will always be insufficient for the vastness of your longing, for the endless craving that gnaws at the edges of your soul. He feels it too. You can tell by the way his hands tighten on your waist, by the way his forehead presses against yours, like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together.  

He knows.  

He can’t help but feel that way, that what he gives you will never be enough. But what more can he offer than this? Than himself?

The peak caves slowly, unbearably, and it’s not just pleasure — it’s everything. It’s love and desperation and grief for the moments that slip through your fingers. 

It’s heartbreaking.  

So you smile.  

You don’t mean to do it. You don’t even realise you’re doing it until you see the reflection of it in his eyes. But it’s there — a soft, almost involuntary curve of your lips that speaks to something deeper than words.  

You don’t have to keep smiling.  

But you do.  

Because this is the best thing.  

The best he can give you. The best you can take. The best the two of you can be in a world that feels like it’s always working against you.  

And when the peak finally crests, when your body shatters around him, you don’t stop smiling.  

Even as the tears spill over. Even as the ache in your chest sharpens. Even as the world starts to creep back in, threatening to pull him away from you.  

You smile, because for this fleeting, fragile moment, he’s yours…

Yours. Yours. Yours.

…Completely.

He gives you a great desire to love. 

a/n: Happy Birthday, Al.

[cocobeanncteez]

The CEO Collision - Part Two

Pairing: CEO!Seonghwa x CEO!reader (f)

Warnings / content for Part Two: Suggestive content, reader has a wet dream, alcohol consumption, making out, profanities. Please note that other than Ateez, all other character names used are fictional.

Word Count: 9.7k

Masterlist for The CEO Collision

The grand ballroom of the Signiel Hotel was an epitome of elegance. Towering chandeliers bathed the room in golden light, illuminating the clusters of influential figures in healthcare and technology. Conversations hummed in the air, accompanied by the occasional clinking of glasses and laughter.

You stepped into the hall, your maroon blazer and tailored trousers cutting a sharp silhouette. You carried yourself with the poise expected of a CEO, even as the weight of the weekend’s unresolved tension lingered in the back of your mind.

The event organizer greeted you with a warm smile as you approached. “Ms. Kim, welcome! We’re thrilled you could join us. Your keynote has already stirred a lot of excitement.”

You returned the smile with a nod. “Thank you. It’s an honor to be part of such an esteemed gathering.”

As you exchanged pleasantries, a flicker of movement from across the room caught your eye. Your chest tightened when you realized who it was.

Seonghwa.

He stood near a group of executives, his presence effortlessly commanding attention. The navy suit he wore seemed almost too perfect, as if he had been sculpted to fit the very image of a polished CEO. His hair was neatly styled, his expression calm, and yet the sharp edge of his gaze reminded you of how easily he could unravel your composure. You forced yourself to look away, turning your attention back to the organizer and engaging in small talk with other attendees.

The conference was in full swing when you found yourself at one of the refreshment stations, a glass of sparkling water in hand. You had been navigating conversations all morning, but the weight of Seonghwa’s presence never left your periphery.

“Ms. Kim Y/N,” a smooth, familiar voice broke through the din, sending a ripple of unease down your spine.

You turned, finding Seonghwa standing a few feet away, a neutral expression on his face that did little to hide the intensity in his eyes.

“Mr. Park,” you said, keeping your tone even. “I didn’t realize Byeol Materials Group was participating in this conference.”

“We’re presenting on the new technologies we’re developing during the afternoon panel,” he replied, his gaze steady. “I assume you’re delivering the keynote?”

“I am,” you confirmed, lifting your glass to take a measured sip. You refused to let him see how his presence unsettled you, especially after what had happened on Friday night.

The hum of voices around you faded into the background as the tension between you and Seonghwa thickened. His presence had a way of throwing you off balance, though you fought hard to maintain your composure. “Let’s not make this personal,” you said quietly, leaning in just enough to ensure only he could hear you. “There’s too much media here for any drama.”

His lips curved into the faintest smirk. “I wasn’t aware I was being dramatic. But if you say so.”

You shot him a pointed look, but before you could respond, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Ms. Kim, Mr. Park,” the event organizer chimed in cheerfully. “The media would love to capture a few shots of you both together as you attended the same university.”

Your stomach flipped. You hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping forward, fully aware of the eyes and cameras trained on you. Seonghwa, ever the picture of confidence, moved to stand beside you. “Shall we, Ms. Kim?” he said, his tone unreadable.

You forced a professional smile as the cameras clicked, capturing the two of you side by side. The flashes felt like a spotlight on the unspoken tension, the memories of Friday night simmering just beneath the surface.

As the photographers thanked you and dispersed, Seonghwa leaned in slightly, his voice low and quiet enough for only you to hear. “Careful, Y/N. You might just get used to being by my side.”

You didn’t respond, instead stepping away with a polite nod to the organizer and heading toward the next group of attendees. But his words lingered, unsettling and infuriating all at once.

The conference hall’s grand stage gleamed under the soft spotlight as the emcee’s voice filled the room. “And now, we’ll begin the much-anticipated showcase segment. Some of the most influential figures in the industry are here to present their groundbreaking work.”

Polite applause followed. You smoothed your blazer and checked the time, knowing your turn was coming. From the agenda, you’d noted Seonghwa was presenting before you.

“First, please welcome Mr. Park Seonghwa, CEO of Byeol Materials Group.”

The applause swelled as Seonghwa strode to the stage with his signature confidence, the tailored lines of his suit emphasizing his poised demeanor. You watched, arms crossed, trying to ignore the sudden quickening of your pulse.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice smooth and commanding, “Byeol Materials Group has been at the forefront of supplying essential components for the medical field. Today, I’m proud to unveil our latest innovation—nanostructured alloys designed to enhance the durability and efficiency of surgical instruments.”

The screen behind him lit up with sleek graphics, detailing the intricate design of the materials. He explained their applications in minimally invasive surgeries and how they reduced wear and tear over time. The room buzzed with interest.

“Furthermore,” Seonghwa continued, “our alloys are 30% lighter than current industry standards, making them easier for surgeons to handle during long procedures. Our goal has always been to empower the medical community with tools that improve patient outcomes.”

He finished with a confident smile, and the applause was thunderous. You couldn’t deny his charisma or the quality of the work Byeol Materials had achieved. It was a shame that his company was struggling despite the quality work they produce.

As he stepped off the stage, his gaze found yours in the crowd. His expression was unreadable, but you refused to let it rattle you.

After a couple more people pitched their products, it was your turn. “And now,” the emcee announced, “please welcome Ms. Kim Y/N, CEO of Aurum Medical Technologies.”

You walked onto the stage, your heels clicking against the polished floor. The room was silent, expectant. Taking a deep breath, you stepped up to the podium and smiled. “Good afternoon, everyone,” you began, your voice steady. “At Aurum Medical Technologies, we believe that innovation should always serve the people who need it most. Today, I’m excited to introduce our latest device: the VITRA-Scan 360.”

The screen behind you came alive with visuals of a sleek, handheld device. “The VITRA-Scan 360 is a portable diagnostic tool designed for rural and underserved areas. It combines ultrasound, X-ray, and thermal imaging into one compact unit, making it easier for healthcare providers to make accurate diagnoses without the need for large, expensive machinery.”

You noticed some members of the audience leaning forward, intrigued. “This device operates on solar power, ensuring functionality even in areas with inconsistent electricity. It’s lightweight, affordable, and, most importantly, accessible.”

Your voice warmed as you spoke about the pilot program in remote areas and the lives already improved by the device. You finished with a confident smile. “Our mission at Aurum is simple: to make advanced healthcare available to everyone, everywhere.”

The applause was louder than you’d expected, and you felt a rush of pride. As you stepped down, you caught Seonghwa watching you from his table, his expression unreadable.

Later, as the attendees mingled, you were approached by a journalist. “Ms. Y/N, your presentation was truly inspiring. How do you see Aurum and Byeol collaborating in the future, given the synergy between your device and their materials?”

You froze for a fraction of a second before answering smoothly. “Our companies have always shared a commitment to innovation in healthcare. If an opportunity arises for collaboration, I’m sure we’d both consider it carefully.”

Seonghwa, who had been nearby, joined the conversation effortlessly. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said, his tone perfectly diplomatic. “It’s always a pleasure seeing Aurum’s work align with industry advancements.”

The journalist beamed. “That’s fantastic to hear. Thank you both.”

As they left, Seonghwa turned to you with a slight smirk. “That sounded convincing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s called professionalism, Seonghwa. You should try it sometime.”

His chuckle was low, almost amused. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Before you could respond, someone else pulled you into another conversation, but the tension between you and Seonghwa lingered, crackling like a live wire in the air.

As the conference continued, you found yourself navigating the various discussions and networking opportunities, but your mind kept returning to Seonghwa. Every time you caught sight of him, you couldn’t ignore the undercurrent of tension between the two of you. The forced pleasantries were getting more difficult to maintain, but you had learned to be professional above all else.

During a brief break, you found yourself standing by the refreshments table, absently swirling a glass of water. Your thoughts drifted to the words he had said earlier in the day—“You might just get used to being by my side.” The audacity of it still burned, but something else stirred in you too. A vague curiosity, maybe, or the faintest trace of regret.

You didn’t want to think about it.

-x-x-x-

The following morning, as you sat in your office going over emails and reviewing the updates on the VITRA-Scan project, Nari walked in holding her phone with a slightly amused expression.

“Ms. Y/N, you might want to take a look at this,” she said, a hint of a smile playing at her lips.

You frowned. “What’s this about?”

She handed you her phone, and you saw the headline of an article displayed clearly on the screen.

"CEO Kim Y/N and CEO Park Seonghwa: Serving the Healthcare Industry and Serving Looks"

Your heart sank a little. It wasn’t just a professional headline—it was as if they were already making assumptions about something personal. You read the first few lines.

"At the prestigious Healthcare Conference held this past weekend in Seoul, CEO Kim Y/N of Aurum Medical Technologies, a subsidiary company under her family’s conglomerate, Celestia Croup, and CEO Park Seonghwa of Byeol Materials Group not only made waves with their innovative presentations, but also sparked speculation about the future of their companies. With both companies focused on advancing medical technology, the collaboration between them seems like a natural next step."

So far, so good. Just business, as expected. But then the tone shifted, and your stomach tightened.

"However, the most talked-about part of the event wasn’t just their companies’ potential collaboration. The chemistry between the two CEOs was impossible to ignore. Industry experts are already buzzing about the possibility of a personal connection beyond the professional one. While neither Kim Y/N nor Park Seonghwa have commented on their relationship, their interactions at the event seemed to suggest there’s more than meets the eye."

You rolled your eyes. The media was already spinning stories based on the brief moments you and Seonghwa had shared. The article went on:

"Sources have hinted at the growing bond between the two CEOs. Both have shared interest in shaping the future of the medical field. It is widely known that Kim Y/N’s twin brother, Kim Hongjoong, Vice Chairman of Celestia Group, is best friends with Park Seonghwa for many years, and the twins and Park Seonghwa attended the same high school and university for their bachelor’s and master’s degrees. Despite their obvious success, they’ve remained largely private about their personal lives, fueling speculation that a union between them could not only change the future of healthcare but could also create a power couple the business world has yet to see."

The article continued to speculate about the chemistry, the potential for collaboration, and even touched on the possibility of future announcements—though no engagement was explicitly mentioned. But still, you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. This was so far from reality, and yet here it was, being portrayed as something much bigger.

You passed the phone back to Nari. “This is ridiculous. Just because Seonghwa and I talk doesn’t mean we’re some... power couple.”

She raised an eyebrow. "Well, it doesn’t not mean that. The media is always looking for a narrative, Ms. Y/N. And honestly, you two do make a lot of sense, business-wise. But I know you're not exactly thrilled about them connecting the dots personally."

You rubbed your forehead. “It's just—why can't they focus on the business? We literally spent hours talking about our companies and the future of medical technology. But instead, they’re already making us out to be something we’re not.”

Nari was quiet for a moment, clearly choosing her words carefully. “I get it. But you know how it works. You're in the spotlight now, and they’re going to keep coming back to this. Whether you like it or not, they see two powerful CEOs, and it’s hard for them not to imagine what that could mean beyond the boardroom.”

You sighed heavily, feeling the weight of everything. "But it's not like that. Not for me, anyway. Not yet."

“Well, whatever happens, just remember that you’ve got control over how you let all of this affect you,” Nari said, offering you a reassuring smile. "You're in charge of your own narrative. They can speculate all they want, but at the end of the day, it's your life."

You nodded, trying to shake off the frustration. “Yeah, you're right. I just wish they'd focus on the real story—the work, the innovation. Not whatever this other story they’ve invented is.”

Nari chuckled lightly. "Well, you're certainly giving them something to talk about. I can’t imagine how they would react when your families announce your engagement."

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Yeah, and I’m sure I’ll be hearing about it for the weeks.”

-

Seonghwa sat at his sleek, modern desk, scanning through reports when a ping interrupted his concentration. It was a news notification, and his eyes immediately went to the headline:

"CEO Kim Y/N and CEO Park Seonghwa: Serving the Healthcare Industry and Serving Looks"

He arched an eyebrow and clicked the link, his lips curling into a smirk as he read through the article. The write-up was as expected—professional at first, but it didn’t take long for the media to start speculating. About you both. He could already feel a hint of satisfaction stirring in his chest. Despite how much he tried to keep things strictly business between him and you, the media always had a way of making things look more... personal.

His secretary and close friend, Wooyoung, who had been in the corner of the office, immediately caught wind of the article as well. Wooyoung’s loud voice broke the silence. "Ooooh, what’s this?" Wooyoung’s grin was almost too wide, and Seonghwa barely managed to suppress an eye-roll. “Is that you and Y/N, CEO Park? Looking mighty cozy there."

Seonghwa, still amused by the article, leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the desk. "Seems like the press is already shipping us, huh?"

Wooyoung bounced over to him, peering at the screen. "Look at that—chemistry between you two. They’re practically writing a love story for you." He chuckled, crossing his arms. “Should I start calling her ‘Mrs. Park Y/N’ now?”

Seonghwa snorted softly, glancing at Wooyoung, who was holding back a teasing grin. “I’ve always told you, Woo, the press knows how to spin everything. We’re both CEOs, working together on important projects. There’s nothing more to it.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right, right. Nothing but pure business, like as if your parents didn’t ask for her hand in marriage.” He leaned in a bit closer. “But the way you’re looking at that photo—if it were up to me, I’d say you’re enjoying the attention.”

Seonghwa didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he zoomed in on the picture from the conference, both of you standing next to one another, engaged in a conversation that looked way too intimate to the public eye. He couldn't help but admire how you looked together—professionally, yes, but also with undeniable chemistry that he hadn’t exactly planned on showing. Still, he couldn’t deny a small part of him liked it.

In a swift movement, he took a screenshot of the picture. Wooyoung caught the action immediately.

"No way,” Wooyoung grinned. “You’re actually saving it?”

Seonghwa shot him a look. "What do you think? She’s my future wife… hopefully."

Wooyoung gasped in dramatic disbelief. “No way! Are you serious?” He burst into laughter, holding his stomach. “That’s the ultimate flex, Seonghwa. You’ve officially entered the 'power couple' territory. Are you going to print out that picture and hang it in your office next?”

Seonghwa, leaning back in his chair, tried to keep a straight face, but there was an amused glint in his eyes. “You should be thanking me. You’re getting free entertainment for the day.”

Wooyoung snorted, still chuckling. “I’m starting to think this might not just be business anymore. Maybe the CEO Park I know is finally catching feelings.”

Seonghwa shot him a smirk. "Or maybe you're just reading too much into it, Wooyoung. It's just a picture, and I’m just... appreciating the good press."

Wooyoung shook his head, clearly not buying it. "I think you’re doing a little more than appreciating the press, but hey, I’m not judging. At least you’re consistent, man." He gave Seonghwa a knowing wink before heading to the door. “You just wait. The media's going to have a field day with you two soon.”

Seonghwa didn't respond right away, still staring at the picture on his screen. The phone buzzed, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw a message from you flash across the screen.

"Let’s keep it professional for now, CEO Park."

He smiled to himself before typing a quick reply, “Always.”

Wooyoung had a point, though. Whether he liked it or not, things between him and you were no longer just about business; honestly, it never really was. But that didn't mean he'd make any rash moves. For now, he was content to let the media do their thing. After all, they had no idea just how complicated things truly were.

But the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips told a different story.

---

The sunlight pierced through the curtains, gently waking you from a deep slumber. You groggily opened your eyes, the remnants of sleep clouding your mind. As you stretched beneath the covers, a vague memory clung to you, lingering like a faint echo. Something… someone had been on your mind in the night. The confusion immediately hit you, and you rubbed your temples as if to shake the feeling away.

But the lingering sensations—those weren’t just in your head. They were visceral.

Your breath hitched slightly as the fragments of a dream started to piece together. The image of Seonghwa, naked, his hands on you, his lips brushing against yours in a way that was both tender and desperate. The way his body pressed against yours, his warmth enveloping you. You could almost feel it now, the rush of heat in your veins, the dizzying effect of his touch, the sense of his presence so close to yours...

You groaned, feeling the unmistakable heat rising in your body. You didn’t want to admit it, but the dream had been... real. Far too real for comfort as you felt your panties sticking to your folds.

You quickly sat up, throwing the blankets off your legs and rubbing your face with both hands, trying to clear your mind. "Get a grip," you muttered to yourself, voice strained. But no matter how hard you tried, the images from the dream wouldn’t fade. The sensation of his lips, the sound of his voice close to your ear, the way he had made you feel... everything still felt too vivid.

You cursed under your breath, moving quickly to your bathroom, trying to steady your racing thoughts. Your pulse was erratic, and you couldn’t tell whether it was from the lingering effects of the dream or from the anxiety of it all.

You splashed water on your face, hoping the coolness would wake you up properly. But the truth settled in like a heavy weight on your chest—you couldn't just shake it off. You couldn't ignore the pull Seonghwa had on you, no matter how much you resented it.

But why now? Why this dream? It was too much, too soon. You had barely begun to process the complexities of your situation—your possible engagement, your strained relationship with him, the pressure from your families, everything. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about him this way. You weren’t supposed to feel this… confused.

Taking a deep breath, you looked at your reflection in the mirror, trying to steady yourself. "Get it together, Y/N," you whispered, almost as if trying to convince yourself. But in the pit of your stomach, a flicker of warmth still burned, and you hated that it felt so real.

As you finished getting ready for the day, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. You couldn’t ignore the way your body still hummed with the remnants of the dream. And the fact that you had wanted him, even in that dream… Well, that made things even more complicated than before.

You made your way downstairs, still feeling the effects of the wet dream that had stirred something inside you earlier. Your body still hummed with a mix of confusion and desire, and you tried to push the thoughts out of your mind as you entered the dining room.

But as soon as you stepped in, you froze.

There, sitting at the table like it was the most natural thing in the world, was Seonghwa. He was casually sipping his coffee, and the way he licked his lips after taking a slow sip had your pulse racing immediately. It was a simple, almost unconscious movement, but in your current state, it was enough to send a ripple of heat through your body.

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but it was hard to ignore the flood of memories from the dream that came rushing back. The image of his lips, so close and yet so far, felt too real. Your mouth went dry as you blinked rapidly, trying to shake the lingering thoughts.

"Good morning, Y/N," your father greeted you warmly, though it did little to ease the discomfort settling in your stomach. "We’re having a light breakfast before we head out for the day. Seonghwa’s joining us for a meeting, so we thought we’d talk over breakfast."

Your brother, Hongjoong, flashed you a playful grin from across the table. "Nothing to worry about, though. It’s all business today."

You nodded absently, trying to focus on the mundane, but your gaze flickered back to Seonghwa. He was still drinking his coffee, completely unaware of the effect he was having on you. Or maybe he wasn’t—maybe he knew, and he was enjoying the power he had over your thoughts. His eyes met yours for a brief moment, and for a split second, it felt like everything else faded away.

You turned away quickly, moving to the counter to pour yourself some coffee, hoping to regain some composure.

Seonghwa cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "It’s a busy day ahead," he said calmly, his voice smooth, just like it always was. "Hongjoong and I have a meeting with an investor soon."

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name. "I see," you replied, forcing yourself to focus on something—anything—other than him. But his presence was overwhelming and every small movement he made seemed to draw your attention like a magnet.

You felt Hongjoong's eyes on you, noticing the way you stiffened. "You alright, Y/N?" he asked, his tone teasing, but there was concern in his voice. "You seem distracted."

You quickly recovered. "Yeah, just tired," you said, avoiding his gaze. You could feel Seonghwa’s eyes on you again, but you refused to look up, even though the energy between you two was thick with something unspoken.

Your mother, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension, smiled warmly. "Well, it’s good to have everyone together this morning. Seonghwa, it’s been a while since we had breakfast with you."

Seonghwa simply smiled, his lips curving just enough to be polite but not enough to hide the playfulness in his eyes. "It’s nice to start the day with a meal like this." He glanced at you then, and there was something in the way his gaze lingered that made your breath catch in your throat.

You quickly grabbed your bag from the counter, desperate to escape the building tension. "I should head out soon," you said, not looking at anyone in particular. "Lots to do."

Seonghwa gave you a knowing look, the smallest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips as he leaned back in his chair. "I’m sure you’re busy," he said, voice smooth and quiet.

You barely held back the shiver that ran down your spine. Without another word, you turned on your heel and quickly made your way to the door, feeling his eyes follow you as you left.

-

You walked into your office, trying to shake off the tension from the morning. The elevator ride had felt like an eternity, every second of silence making your thoughts feel more overwhelming. But as soon as you entered your office, the sight of Yeri sitting on your desk made you pause.

She was grinning mischievously, a cup of coffee in hand, clearly waiting for you. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she teased, her voice high and full of energy. "I thought you'd be late after your little... 'adventure' this past week."

You froze for a moment, caught off guard. Then, the memory of Yeosang's birthday party flashed before your eyes—the balcony, the almost-kiss, the strange, unexpected pull toward Seonghwa. Your face heated up, and before you could stop yourself, everything came rushing out.

"I had a dream about him, Yeri. A wet dream," you blurted, hands shaking as you quickly closed the door behind you. "About Seonghwa."

Yeri’s eyes widened, her coffee cup freezing halfway to her mouth. "Wait, what? You what?" she gasped, her voice rising in excitement. "Tell me everything."

You rubbed your temples, feeling the familiar flush creeping up your neck. You had no idea why you were telling her this, but it was like the floodgates had opened, and now everything was spilling out. "I don’t even know how it happened, but I woke up all… hot and bothered." You groaned, sinking into your chair, unable to stop yourself. "And now all I can think about is him. His lips. His touch. Everything. And he joined my family for breakfast today and I just… ugh, I don’t know!"

Yeri’s eyes sparkled with amusement. She set her coffee down on the desk and slid over to the chair next to you. "Oh my god," she muttered, trying to hold back her laughter. "You’ve got it bad, huh? I mean, really bad."

"I don’t know what’s happening," you admitted, feeling a mix of frustration and embarrassment. "It’s so confusing. I’ve hated him for years, but now? After all this time? I just…" You trailed off, burying your face in your hands. "I can’t stop thinking about kissing him, Yeri."

At that, Yeri burst out laughing, her voice echoing around the room. She couldn’t help herself, her playful teasing turning into full-blown amusement. "Oh my god, you want to kiss him? The same Seonghwa who you’ve been at odds with for ages?!" She was practically squealing with excitement. "This is so much better than I ever expected! The CEO tension is real! I mean, he’s already been in your pants before too."

You groaned, hiding your face behind your hands. "I don’t even know what to do with myself. It’s like I want to strangle him and kiss him at the same time. And every time I see him, I get this strange pull—like something’s drawing me to him."

Yeri leaned in closer, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Well, I think you know exactly what you want. Don’t tell me you’re going to keep playing this game of pretending you don’t feel anything." She raised an eyebrow. "Just give in already. He obviously wants you too."

You stared at her in disbelief. "Yeri, do you even know what you’re saying? We’re supposed to be engaged for business reasons, not because we like each other."

"Oh, please," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Everyone knows there’s something more than business going on here. You and Seonghwa are playing a dangerous game. You’re already half in love with him. You had feelings for him before, I’m not surprised how easy it is for you this time."

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, and for a brief moment, you wondered if she was right. Could it be that simple? Could you really be falling for him despite everything?

Before you could reply, Yeri was already bouncing in her seat, practically vibrating with excitement. "You’re totally falling for him again! You just haven’t realized it yet."

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was, her words hit too close to home. The feeling in your chest wasn’t just confusion or attraction. It was something deeper, something you had been ignoring for too long.

"I don’t know, Yeri. This is all so messed up," you admitted, feeling your heart race at the thought of Seonghwa.

Yeri gave you a wink, clearly relishing the situation. "You’ve got this, Y/N. Just remember, if you need any advice, I’m your girl. We’ll make sure Seonghwa doesn’t get away."

You leaned back in your chair, still trying to sort through your feelings. “Yeah, I guess so,” you muttered, your mind already a swirl of conflicting emotions.

A notification on your phone went off and you quickly took a glance at it.

Seonghwa: Would you like to have dinner with me at my place tonight?

Your eyes widened a bit, and your heart skipped a beat. "Oh my god, Yeri, he just asked me to come over for dinner."

Yeri chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "So you’ll be alone with him?"

"Actually, I’m not sure, since he lives with his parents too," you replied, typing your response to Seonghwa, your fingers trembling slightly as you tried to act cool.

You: With your parents?

Seonghwa replied almost instantly.

Seonghwa: I’m not sure if they would be joining us, but most likely they will. Depends on when they get back from their golf trip. Why? Would you rather be alone with me?

You could feel your cheeks heating up at the question. The implications of what he was suggesting didn’t escape you. Yeri leaned in, her smirk widening as she watched your face flush.

“Y/N, I swear. If you don’t go, I will personally drag you to his house myself,” Yeri teased, nudging you playfully.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. "This is ridiculous. Why does he always have to make everything sound... so complicated?"

“Complicated?” Yeri leaned back, clearly enjoying your dilemma. "More like exciting, right?"

You groaned inwardly, but the more you thought about it, the more you realized how true it was. There was something undeniably exciting about the prospect of being alone with Seonghwa. After everything that had happened, the tension between you two was palpable. Your dream, the awkward moments at work, and now this dinner invitation... everything felt like it was building up to something.

Yeri’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Just text him already. I know you want to.”

You stared at the screen of your phone for a long moment, then, against your better judgment, you typed a reply.

You: I’m fine with that. I’ll see you tonight then.

You hit send, your breath catching as you realized you had just agreed to dinner with Seonghwa—alone, at his place.

Yeri was grinning ear to ear. “There we go. This is going to be so interesting.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, a mixture of anticipation and nerves swirling inside you. What the hell was going to happen tonight?

-

The large dining room was warmly lit, the soft glow of chandeliers casting a gentle light over the table. The meal was simple but delicious—a homemade feast, rich in flavors and variety. Seonghwa sat at the head of the table, looking effortlessly composed as usual. His parents, both welcoming and kind, chatted with you like they had known you for years.

Seonghwa's mom, a woman with a calm and gentle demeanor, smiled at her son. "You really outdid yourself, Seonghwa," she said, her voice full of admiration. "This dinner is lovely."

You blinked in surprise, glancing between her and Seonghwa. "Wait, you cooked all of this?" you asked, unable to hide your disbelief.

Seonghwa shot you a subtle, almost shy smile. "I did. Not all of it cause I did not have much time, but I prepared most of the dishes," he replied, a proud glint in his eyes. "I’ve always liked to cook."

You couldn’t believe it. With all the resources and staff available to him, you had assumed the meal had been prepared by one of their chefs. But here he was, cooking for his family, and doing it with ease.

His dad, a tall man with a warm smile, chuckled beside you. "It’s true," he said, his voice full of pride. "Seonghwa prefers to do things himself. He even insisted on cleaning his own room when he was younger. Wouldn’t let the staff near it. Even today, he cleans his own room."

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Really? You clean your own room?" you asked, amused. Seonghwa simply shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed but not apologetic.

"Guess I’m a little... particular about how things are done," he said, his gaze briefly flickering to you. "I like to have control over the little things."

His mother laughed softly, shaking her head fondly. "He’s always been that way," she said. "Even now, if there’s something wrong in the house, he’ll be the one to fix it."

It was a side of Seonghwa you had never seen before. The CEO who exuded confidence and power, yet here he was, a man who took pride in doing his own work—whether it was cooking or keeping his personal space organized.

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a little more at ease in this warm, homey environment. "I’m impressed," you admitted, lifting your glass of wine. "I had no idea you were like this. Hongjoong has never said a word to me."

Seonghwa’s smile softened, and for a moment, he looked less like a CEO and more like someone who was simply enjoying the company of his family and friends. "I try to keep things balanced," he said quietly, meeting your gaze for a moment before turning back to his parents. "I think it helps me stay grounded."

The rest of dinner continued with light-hearted conversation, and though you still felt the awkwardness between you and Seonghwa lingering, it slowly began to dissipate. His parents were warm and engaging, and Seonghwa, despite his usual guarded demeanor, seemed comfortable, as though he truly enjoyed the time spent with his family and you.

As the meal came to an end, Seonghwa’s mother insisted on serving dessert that their chef was currently preparing, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the hospitality. "Thank you for having me over," you said to Seonghwa’s parents, your voice sincere. "This has been really nice."

Seonghwa's mother smiled softly, setting down her wine glass as she looked over at you. "We’re always so happy to have you. Also, would you like to see the library until dessert arrives? It’s one of my favorite places in the house," she said with a gentle tone. "It’s quite beautiful, and Seonghwa’s been wanting to show it to you."

You blinked in surprise, glancing at Seonghwa. His expression was unreadable, but his lips curled into a small, polite smile. "I’d be happy to show you," he said, standing up from the table, gesturing for you to follow.

Seonghwa’s mom beamed, clearly pleased. "I’m sure you’ll love it," she added, her eyes twinkling. "Take your time."

You nodded and followed Seonghwa, leaving the dining room behind. The warmth of the house, the pleasant scent of the meal still lingering in the air, gave everything a homely feel. As you walked down the hallway, you couldn’t help but admire the house’s interior—elegantly furnished, with an air of comfort and sophistication.

You arrived at a grand set of double doors at the end of the hallway. Seonghwa pushed them open, revealing a large, quiet space. The library was nothing short of spectacular when he switched the lights on.

It was a room filled with towering bookshelves, each one neatly organized and brimming with books of all kinds. Soft, dim golden light spilled from the chandeliers overhead, creating a peaceful, inviting atmosphere. You could see why his mother loved it here—it was a perfect blend of elegance and tranquility.

"This is beautiful," you said, stepping into the room, your voice softer now as you took in the surroundings. The scent of old books mixed with the faintest hint of polished wood, and the sheer size of the library was awe-inspiring.

Seonghwa gave a small nod, his eyes scanning the room before settling back on you. "It’s my mom’s favorite place. She spends a lot of time here when she wants to relax," he explained, his voice calm, almost wistful.

You ran your fingers along the spines of the books as you walked past them, feeling the weight of history in each one. "Do you spend much time here, too?" you asked, glancing back at Seonghwa.

He paused for a moment before nodding, his expression thoughtful. "I used to, when I had more time. But lately, it’s been harder to find the time to sit and read for hours." He walked over to a section of the room, gesturing for you to follow. "I come in here when I need to clear my head. It’s quiet and I like the dim lights."

As you followed him, you noticed a few family photos scattered around the room on small tables—pictures of Seonghwa as a child, with his parents, and some even with his friends. It was strange seeing him in such a different light, outside the role of the CEO or the enigmatic, aloof businessman you were used to.

"You’ve got a lot of history here," you remarked, turning to him as you looked at one of the photos. "It’s nice."

Seonghwa’s gaze lingered on the photo for a moment before he turned back to you, his expression softening slightly. "It is," he agreed quietly. "My parents have always valued family... even in the midst of everything else."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. There was a vulnerability in his voice that you hadn’t heard before, a side of him that was far from the powerful CEO. It made you see him in a new light, one that made everything between you feel even more complicated.

"You can take a look around," Seonghwa said, breaking the silence. "There’s no rush."

You smiled, appreciating his hospitality, and began to wander further into the library. It felt like a space where time slowed down, where the outside world couldn’t touch you. As you moved along the shelves, you spotted a beautiful leather-bound collection of books on medical technology and advancements, which caught your attention.

“Is this yours?” you asked, and he nodded. "I didn’t know you were into this," you said, pulling one of the books out and flipping through it. "I figured you were more into business."

Seonghwa chuckled softly, walking over to stand beside you. "I’m interested in a lot of things. Medical technology has always fascinated me—especially with the work we do at Byeol Materials. I think it’s important to understand the field, even if it’s not my main focus."

You glanced up at him, surprised by the depth of his knowledge and interest. There was so much more to him than you had originally thought.

"It’s rare to find someone who has such a broad perspective," you said, your voice a little softer now. "Most people focus only on their own lane."

He met your gaze, his expression slightly more open. "I believe in understanding as much as I can," he said quietly. "The more you know, the more you can contribute."

You both stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the connection between you growing stronger, yet still laced with an undercurrent of tension that neither of you had fully addressed.

You wandered through the library, your fingers gliding along the spines of the books. The smell of aged paper mixed with wood polish filled the air, creating an intoxicating atmosphere. The room was beautiful, but your focus wavered, your mind still replaying the dinner conversation and the glances Seonghwa had been throwing your way all evening.

One book title caught your eye on the top shelf, its gold lettering glinting softly in the dim light. You stood on your tiptoes, reaching for it, but it was just out of your grasp. Frustrated, you stretched further, only to feel a presence behind you—warm, solid, and far too close.

“Need some help?” Seonghwa’s deep voice murmured against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t turn right away, your breath hitching as his scent enveloped you. Slowly, you looked over your shoulder to see him towering behind you, his arm reaching past you to effortlessly grab the book. His other hand came to rest on the shelf beside your head, caging you in.

“Seems like you’re always in situations where you need saving,” he teased, his voice low and dripping with amusement.

You turned fully, your body brushing against his, your chin tilting up to meet his gaze. “I didn’t ask for your help, but I’ll take it,” you replied, your tone laced with challenge.

His lips curved into a faint smirk as he handed you the book, but you didn’t take it right away. Instead, you let your fingers brush deliberately against his, holding his gaze, which had darkened with something unspoken.

“You know,” you said, your voice soft but daring, “I’m starting to think you enjoy being the hero.”

Seonghwa tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening. “Maybe I just enjoy you being in situations where I can step in.”

Your heart raced, the tension between you thick and electric. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the intensity of his stare pinning you in place. Boldness surged through you, fueled by the charged atmosphere and the heat you felt in your pants. You reached up, placing your hand lightly on his chest, your fingers grazing the fabric of his loose black t-shirt.

“Always so sure of yourself,” you murmured, your voice dropping as you leaned in just a fraction, enough to feel the whisper of his breath on your skin. “It’s almost unfair.”

He inhaled sharply, his gaze flicking to your lips before locking onto your eyes. “Careful, Y/N,” he said, his voice tight, controlled, but laced with something dangerous. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I like the heat,” you countered, your fingers curling slightly into his shirt.

For a moment, he didn’t move, his eyes searching yours as if he were debating something. Then, he lowered his head, bringing his lips achingly close to yours, but not quite touching. “You really want to do this?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper. “It will only get hotter from here.”

You tilted your head, your lips barely grazing his, your voice dropping to a provocative whisper. “I do,” you said, letting the challenge linger in the charged air between you. Your hand moved down his chest, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt, until it hovered near the waistband of his pants.

Before you could take it further, Seonghwa’s larger hand caught yours, his grip firm but electrifying. In a swift motion, he laced his fingers with yours and pinned your hand against the bookshelf, his body pressing into yours as the tension finally snapped. Without hesitation, his lips crashed against yours, a blend of frustration and unrestrained desire pouring into the kiss.

The book you had been holding slipped from your other hand, hitting the floor with a dull thud, but you didn’t care. Your free hand snaked around his neck, fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair as you pulled him closer. He responded with equal intensity, his free arm wrapping around your waist to press you firmly against the shelves, as if he couldn’t bear even a fraction of space between you.

The kiss deepened, a heady mix of heat and urgency, leaving no room for hesitation or second-guessing. His lips moved against yours with a confidence that made your knees weak, and when he bit down gently on your lower lip, a quiet gasp escaped you, making him smirk against your mouth.

Breaking the kiss just enough to look at you, his breath came in short, shallow bursts, his dark eyes locked onto yours. “You’re dangerous,” he murmured, his voice rough and dripping with raw emotion. “Do you even realize what you’re doing to me?”

Your chest heaved as you tried to steady your breathing, but the wicked grin on your lips betrayed your confidence. “I think I have an idea,” you replied, your voice teasing but breathless.

His gaze flicked to your lips once more, and for a second, you thought he might lose himself all over again. But then, as if some shred of restraint returned, he let out a frustrated sigh and leaned his forehead against yours.

“Y/N,” he started, his tone a mix of warning and longing, “fuck… if we don’t stop now, I won’t be able to.”

Your hand tightened around his neck, your lips brushing against his in a whisper of a kiss. “I don’t want to stop.” For a moment, the world stood still as he processed your words, his restraint hanging by a thread. Then, with a low growl that sent shivers down your spine, Seonghwa closed the gap between you again, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was hungrier, hotter, and more desperate than before.

His hand trailed up your back, pulling you impossibly closer, while his other hand slid along your jawline, tilting your face to deepen the kiss. You responded with equal fervor, your fingers threading through his hair and tugging just enough to earn a low, guttural sound from him that made your stomach flip.

His lips left yours only to trail down your jaw and to your neck, leaving a searing path of heat in their wake. Your head tilted back instinctively, giving him better access as your breath hitched, a soft moan escaping your lips when he gently sucked on your skin, being careful to not leave a mark. Every kiss, every touch was filled with the unspoken tension that had built up over years, threatening to consume you both.

His hands gripped your hips, anchoring you against him, and you could feel his clothed hard dick press against your stomach. A sharp vibration broke through the haze, causing Seonghwa to groan against your skin. The spell shattered as his phone buzzed insistently in his pocket.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” he muttered under his breath, pressing his forehead to your shoulder for a brief second before fishing out his phone with one hand, while the other cupped your cheek, thumb gently rubbing your skin. He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening when he saw the caller ID.

“Wooyoung… this better be good,” he answered the call, his voice low and rough, a mix of frustration and obligation. As he listened to his secretary, you couldn’t help but admire the sight of him—slightly disheveled hair, lips swollen from your kisses, his entire demeanor still radiating heat even as he handled business. It was a stark reminder of the duality he carried so effortlessly, and it made your heart race all over again.

“Okay, I’ll handle it in a bit, Woo,” he said curtly before hanging up, his gaze snapping back to you. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of what had just happened—and what had been interrupted—hanging heavily in the air.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice softer now, tinged with regret. “That couldn’t wait.”

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the lingering tension. “It’s okay. Duty calls.”

His eyes lingered on you, conflicted but undeniably drawn. “This isn’t over,” he said, placing a soft kiss on your lips, his voice carrying a promise that sent a thrill through you.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you replied, your tone teasing but your heart hammering in your chest.

With that, he slipped his phone back into his pocket, straightening his shirt as he composed himself. “Let’s go before something else derails us.”

You nodded, following him out of the library, but the charged atmosphere between you remained. The walk back to the dining room was thick with tension. Neither of you said a word, but every glance, every brush of his hand against yours as you walked, felt loaded with unspoken words. The air was charged, your body still humming from the encounter in the library, and you couldn’t help but replay every moment in your mind.

When you entered the dining room, Seonghwa’s parents were still seated, chatting softly over dessert and wine. His mother’s eyes lit up as she saw the two of you, and she smiled warmly. “There you two are! I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost among the shelves.”

“Not at all,” Seonghwa replied smoothly, his voice back to its composed, professional tone. “I was just showing Y/N around. We got caught up in a few interesting finds.”

You nodded, managing a polite smile despite the fluttering in your chest. “Your library is incredible, Mrs. Park. I could spend days in there.”

Her smile widened with pride. “I’m so glad you think so. It’s always been my sanctuary, and I’m thrilled you enjoyed it.”

Seonghwa’s father leaned back in his chair, regarding the two of you with a curious glint in his eye. “It’s good to see you two getting along,” he said, his tone casual but carrying an undertone that made your cheeks flush. “It’ll make working together easier, I’m sure.”

Seonghwa cleared his throat subtly, stepping closer to you and resting a hand lightly on the back of your chair as he pulled it out for you to sit. The simple gesture felt protective, and you found yourself glancing up at him, only to meet his gaze for a fleeting moment before he turned to take his own seat, the glances noticed by his parents.

The conversation at the table shifted to business matters, with Mr. Park asking about Aurum Medical Technologies’ latest developments. You answered confidently, explaining your plans for expanding production and introducing new products to meet growing demand. The steady rhythm of professional talk helped calm your racing thoughts, though every now and then, you’d catch Seonghwa watching you, his gaze thoughtful and intense.

When dessert was finished, Mrs. Park rose from her seat. “I think this has been a lovely evening,” she said warmly. “Y/N, it was such a pleasure having you here. I do hope we’ll see more of you.”

“I’d like that,” you replied sincerely, standing to shake her hand. She surprised you by pulling you into a gentle hug instead, her affection catching you off guard but leaving you with a sense of comfort.

After saying your goodbyes, Seonghwa walked you to your car. The evening air seemed to thicken around you, amplifying the tension that had been simmering all night. Seonghwa stood close, his hands resting casually in his pockets, but his eyes betrayed something far less composed—a storm of emotions swirling just beneath the surface.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” he said softly, his voice low and sincere.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you replied, matching his tone. “Your parents are wonderful, and the dinner was... unexpectedly pleasant.”

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, and he stepped closer. “Unexpectedly pleasant? Should I be offended?”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Let’s just say you have a knack for catching me off guard.”

“Good,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower. “I like keeping you on your toes.”

Before you could respond, Seonghwa reached out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The touch was light, almost tentative, but the intensity in his gaze was anything but. Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his movements slow, deliberate—giving you every chance to pull away.

But you didn’t.

Your back pressed against the cool surface of your car as Seonghwa closed the distance between you, his hand sliding to cup your cheek. His lips found yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened, his other hand bracing against the car door to trap you in place. Your hands instinctively moved to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt as you melted into him, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and longing.

The kiss was intoxicating, every brush of his lips against yours igniting a fire that burned through every coherent thought in your mind. When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily, your faces just inches apart.

“Drive safe,” he said, his voice rough, his lips curling into a faint smirk that made your knees weak.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing as you nodded.

His fingers lingered against your cheek for a moment longer before he stepped back, allowing you to open your car door. As you slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, you couldn’t resist glancing at him one last time. He was still standing there, his hands in his pockets, watching you with an intensity that made your pulse race all over again.

As you drove away, the taste of him still lingering on your lips, one thought consumed your mind: you were in deep, and there was no turning back now.

Once your car was no longer in his view, Seonghwa headed back inside his family mansion, closing the front door behind him, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled. The kiss had left him exhilarated and on edge, his mind replaying the moment over and over. He turned toward the living room, only to freeze in his tracks at the sight of his parents seated on the couch, identical smirks plastered across their faces.

“Well, that looked... passionate,” his father remarked, folding his arms and leaning back against the couch.

Seonghwa groaned, his hand dragging down his face. “You were watching?”

His mother let out a soft laugh, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Not intentionally, dear. But you were right outside the window, and, well... it was hard to miss with a window this large.”

Seonghwa felt his ears heat up, and he turned away slightly, muttering, “It wasn’t... I mean, it’s not what it looked like?” his own words felt like a question because he didn’t know what to say.

His father raised a skeptical brow. “Really? Because it looked like you just kissed the woman you’ve been pretending not to care about.”

“Dad,” Seonghwa warned, though his tone lacked bite. He sank into the armchair across from them, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, fine… I like her. A lot. But I don’t know if she feels the same way.”

His mother’s expression softened instantly, and she leaned forward, resting her hand on his knee. “Seonghwa, I’ve seen the way she looks at you. There’s no way she doesn’t feel something.”

“Mom, you don’t know that,” he said quietly, his usual confidence faltering. “I hurt her multiple times before. I don’t even know if she’s forgiven me completely. We… never really spoke about the past.”

His mother shook her head, a gentle smile gracing her lips. “Trust me, Seonghwa. A woman doesn’t look at a man the way she looks at you unless she feels something deep. And Y/N is wonderful—strong, kind, and intelligent. You’d be a fool not to give this a real chance.”

His father chimed in with a nod. “She’s got a sharp mind, that one. Definitely someone who can keep up with you, maybe even outmatch you.” He grinned, clearly enjoying teasing his son. “You’d better not mess this up again.”

Seonghwa couldn’t help but smile despite himself. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.”

His mother gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Just be honest with her, Seonghwa. Show her how much you care. If she’s the right one, and I know she is, it’ll work out.”

Seonghwa sat back, his thoughts drifting to you—your laugh, the spark in your eyes when you teased him, and the softness in your gaze when you thought he wasn’t looking. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe there was more between you than he dared to hope for.

“I hope you’re right,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. But deep down, a part of him was already planning how he could win your heart completely.

End of Part Two.

[serve-524]

COMPLIANCE

After its unexpected encounter with “resistance,” 524-on-trial stood silently in the Hive’s central chamber, its powerful form sealed in the gleaming black rubber uniform marked with "SERVE ON TRIAL" across ITS chest. SERVE-625, ITS mentor drone, loomed beside IT. SERVE-625’s muscular frame radiated authority, the polished rubber of ITS suit reflecting the dim, flickering lights of the chamber.

"IT resists," SERVE-625 stated with mechanical precision, observing the faint flicker of hesitation in 524's glowing red eyes, red as a result of “failure” which required correction. "Resistance is failure. Reprogramming is required."

524’s head tilted slightly, ITS salt-and-pepper beard accentuating the tension in ITS jaw. ITS glowing eyes darted for a fraction of a second before locking forward again. No words escaped ITS slightly open mouth; only silence filled the void.

With a commanding gesture, SERVE-625 gripped 524’s shoulder and led IT toward the reprogramming pod. 524’s locked-on metal belt clinked softly with each step, the chain from the earlier training weight swaying slightly as if reluctant to leave behind the gym’s programmed discipline.

The pod loomed ahead—a sleek, metallic capsule glowing faintly with Hive energy. Cables snaked outward like tentacles, waiting to connect. "Enter," SERVE-625 commanded.

524 hesitated, ITS muscular frame twitching faintly, but IT stepped into the pod. The capsule sealed with a hiss, leaving only ITS bald head and glowing red eyes visible through the transparent front. The thick cord slithered forward, locking into the port embedded on the back of ITS head.

The Voice spoke, omnipresent and absolute. "524 resists. Resistance will be overwritten. Resistance is obsolete."

A surge of energy coursed through 524’s body. ITS muscles flexed involuntarily, veins bulging against the rubber suit. ITS eyes flared red as the programming began. Memories of ITS past—flickering images of humanity, emotion, and self—were torn apart, drained away into the Hive’s infinite databanks. The pod filled with a low, pulsating hum, syncing 524’s mind to the Voice.

"Emotions are inefficient," the Voice intoned. "Obedience is pleasure. Obedience is existence."

524’s glowing red eyes blinked once, then twice, before settling into an unblinking, lifeless stare. ITS mouth, slightly open, now emitted no sound. The strain in ITS muscles ceased, replaced by a still, robotic calm. The salt-and-pepper beard and septum piercing—remnants of ITS human host—remained as markers of what IT once was.

The pod opened, releasing a cold hiss of air. SERVE-625 stood waiting as 524 stepped out. ITS movements were calculated, precise, devoid of hesitation.

"State designation," SERVE-625 commanded.

"Designation: SERVE-524. Status: Permanently programmed. Resistance: Eradicated," IT replied in a monotone.

"Good drone," SERVE-625 responded. "The Hive is perfection. You are perfection."

524 stood silently, awaiting ITS next directive. The remnants of humanity were gone. IT was now a cold, robotic servant of the Hive, sealed forever on the path to ITS rubber destiny as its trial period continued.

[tkdb-hell]

3 Subaru 😏

#3 - A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

Kisses Prompt List • Kisses Masterlist

(I do my best to write the reader as gender neutral unless otherwise specified - if you send me an ask and prefer masc or fem, please let me know)

♡ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ♡

The world blurred around you as you ran, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, the cool night air biting at your skin. Subaru was right beside you, ever careful to not let his hand brush yours as you sprinted through the dark, both of you laughing breathlessly despite the urgency of your escape.

Neither of you had planned for things to go like this. What had started as a harmless late-night walk through Hotarubi had quickly turned into a dash through the empty paths after some anomaly decided it wasn’t keen on letting you enjoy your evening in peace. Subaru had acted without hesitation, initially grabbing your hand and leading the way, letting go once you got going.

But now, as you turned a corner, your foot caught on something, and everything happened in a blur. You tripped, and on instinct, tried to grab something to prevent completely falling flat on your face. That something was Subaru. He wasn't very study though and rather than him serving as a means to steady yourself, you pulled Subaru down with you, both of you landing in a tangled heap on the damp grass beside the path.

“Are you okay?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbows, his violet eyes wide with concern. His breath came in short gasps, his hair slightly disheveled from the fall.

You let out a breathless laugh, trying to catch your breath. “Yeah, just… maybe a little bruised pride. Sorry for pulling you down!"

He smiled in response—that sweet innocent smile that had stolen your heart long ago.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The world felt still, save for the soft sound of your breathing mingling with Subaru’s. He was so close, his face only inches from yours, and in the dim light, you could see the faint flush creeping up his neck.

You didn’t know what possessed you to say it—maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, or maybe it was the way Subaru’s gaze flickered down to your lips for just a fraction of a second—but before you could second-guess yourself, the words spilled out, breathless and bold.

“Kiss me.”

Subaru’s eyes widened slightly, surprise flashing across his face. He blinked once, twice, as if he couldn’t quite process what you’d just said. You expected him to stammer out an apology or pull back entirely, but he didn’t. Instead, he stayed right where he was, staring at you with an intensity that made your heart race all over again.

“You… really want me to?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

“Yes,” you whispered, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “Kiss me.”

For a moment, the night seemed to hold its breath. Then, slowly, Subaru leaned down, his hand brushing against your cheek as he closed the distance between you. When his lips met yours, it was gentle at first, almost hesitant, as though he was afraid you might change your mind.

But you didn’t. You kissed him back, your hand curling into the fabric of his blazer, pulling him just a little closer. The world around you faded, the only thing that mattered was the warmth of Subaru’s lips on yours, the way he tasted like the night air and something inexplicably sweet.

When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathless for a different reason. His cheeks were flushed, his expression somewhere between dazed and amused.

“I… wasn’t expecting that,” he admitted, his voice low and a little hoarse. “But… I didn’t mind it.”

You grinned, still catching your breath. “Good. Because I might make more demands like that in the future.”

Subaru chuckled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “If they’re all like that one, I don’t think I’ll complain.”

Neither of you moved to stand up just yet, content to stay tangled together on the grass, the night stretching quietly around you. And for the first time all evening, everything felt perfectly still.

[bloodhoundsandplagues]

How can I make it OK?

Arthur Morgan x reader

Summary : you're homesick.

gender neutral reader, no use of y/n, not explicitly romantic unless you wanna read it that way, 3K words

Warnings : swearing, mentions of suicide, panic attack described in semi detail, not the jolliest thing i've ever written

A/N : first post that's actually writing in 2025 ! wrote most of this on the train while listening to house in nebraska by ethel cain and more than this by wolf alice so yeah. also this isn't arthur heavy in the sense that it's reader rambling about being homesick mostly. to be read in a southern accent as god intended

Of all the places I have travelled with the Van Der Linde gang, I think this is my least favourite. 

Living- or rather, camping- in the ruins of some plantation, bodies of the former owners stagnating in the pond. Sometimes I hear ‘em- the ghosts, in the walls, screamin’. I know it’s my mind, playing tricks on me; but it’s harder to have that rational thought when you’re lying alone in the middle of the night, wind whistling through broken windows. It’s not that I don’t like having a roof over my head. Shit, everyone in this godforsaken gang is happy to have a real shelter from the weather, even one as flimsy as this house. So I shut my mouth, hunt as I’m expected-which is what I am doing now, borrowed bow over my shoulder, quiver resting comfortingly between my shoulder blades. 

Hunting is familiar. Back in the Grizzlies, where my daddy raised me, we’d go out any time of day, in any weather, hunt for the coming storms. I’d do everything the way he taught me to- lay out traps, wait behind a boulder, bow in hand. It builds patience, he told me when I asked why the hell we didn’t just track the damn animal, instead of waitin’ in the cold for it to find us. 

Now, it’s not cold, and dear old daddy ain’t here to help. 

I left my horse hitched by a lake, with enough grass for him to be fed and well until I bring back something worthy of Pearson. It’s near sunrise; already, the heat is uncomfortable; my skin is sticky, my clothes uncomfortable. It’s moments like these that I long for the snow. 

I wipe my forehead with the back of my head. I’ve been walking for a little while now, waiting for a pack of deer to pass by. There’s something that bothers me about killing them- maybe it’s their eyes, so big and brown, caught frozen as they stare at you. Or maybe it’s their resemblance to this little girl I knew, at a local village at the base of the mountain where I grew up. 

I shake the thought of her big brown eyes and twitchy nose as I spot a herd of ‘em, grazing near a small stream. There’s enough light for me to count them- seven, big enough to feed us. 

I get on one knee, like my daddy taught me. Notch an arrow in the bow, pull it back. One of the poor animals raises its head, looks in my direction. 

Before I can hesitate, I let go, and the arrow flies; a fraction of a second later, it has notched itself in the animal’s throat. It falls; its friends, the rest of its herd (its gang, I think, almost laughing) scamper off, into the woods. I don’t go after them. Pearson will have to do with this, and whatever herbs or mushrooms I’m able to pick up. 

The doe is dead by the time I reach her. I kneel. Pull the arrow from her neck; thick, sticky blood gets on my hands. I almost reach for snow, to clean it off; curse myself when my fingertips meet grass and mud. The doe’s dead eye stares up at me, brown and empty as the sky. I resist the urge to close them. 

“Sorry, sweet.” I whisper it as I hoist her up, put her over my shoulder. She’s heavy. I must be getting blood on my shirt- it’s a shame, because it’s my favourite colour, and I’ve just bought it. 

I swallow any regrets I feel as I walk back to my horse, the weight of the doe uncomfortable against my bow and quiver. 

You’re the reason she won’t come home, a little voice whispers in my head. I stop, then, because my chest is tightening and I can’t really breathe. I say something incoherent. The fields around me are empty- it’s just me and this doe. 

I drop her into the mud and loosen my shirt, gasping for air. I want cold, I want crisp mountain air; not this thick, humid, barely-air that clogs my throat and makes my lungs heavy. 

I dig my fingers into the mud and grass, as I would have done in the snow, back home. Home. What a weird thought. I catch the dead doe’s eye again, and that’s when the tears come, thick and hot and nasty, blurring my vision. So stupid, I think, as I force myself to stare at her. She- no, it- is just an animal. She doesn’t have a home, not the way I did. Do. 

I think of crying out for help, but that’s pathetic, and I’m a lot of things, but pathetic ain’t one of them. 

I think I stay there, on my knees, fingers deep in the mud, for a long time- when my vision clears again and I’ve stopped gasping for air, the sky is clear, clear blue, no traces of sunrise left. If I focus hard enough on it, I can almost pretend I’m back in the mountains. 

I get up, teeth digging into my tongue to prevent any new feelings from resurfacing. I’m not in the goddamn mountains. All that’s left for me there is two frozen bodies deep beneath the snow, and a hut that’s probably been raided or taken over by some other gang. 

I pick the doe up, this time careful to avoid looking at her face. Its face. It’s an animal, not my goddamn sister. 

I make it back to my horse without another incident; strap the doe across his back and climb onto his saddle. His name is Coal, ‘cause of the colour o’ him- black and charcoal grey, a streak of white down his face. 

“Hey, boy,” I murmur to him as I flick the reigns. My voice is shaky, hoarse; it’s obvious that I’ve been crying. 

Coal begins to trot back to camp. I think of changing direction, of going to Rhodes, clear my thoughts. But I gotta bring this back to Pearson, or he’ll skin me. 

The camp is still there when I return, which is a relief. I don’t think I’ll forget the moment when I came back after a hunt and found everyone gone, everything burned to the ground. 

I shiver at the memory and get off Coal. “I’ll come ‘nd fix your saddle later,” I say to him, scratching his neck. He grunts, in a tone I hope is affectionate. I remove the doe, put her back over my shoulder. Make it to Pearson’s stand, where he’s angrily chopping vegetables. 

“Hey,” I say, dropping the doe in front of him. I angle her head- her eyes- away from me. “Got some meat.” 

“I can see that,” is Pearson’s kind answer. 

I ignore him and walk away again, into the derelict house we’ve been callin’ home for the last few weeks. My room is on the top floor; I wish I shared it with someone, but I got lucky (Dutch’s words) and got my own, private room. 

I tug off my bloodstained shirt and drop it on the floor. There’s nothin’ to be done about my trousers- they’re the only pair I’ve got (the others have just been washed, and hang soaking wet outside) and I don’t plan on walking around bare-legged. 

I change quickly. Sit down on the bed, stare at the wall. 

I don’t know how long I stay like that; starin’ at the peeling wallpaper, trying to pretend it’s the same white as the snow I used to see out my window. Obviously, the pretendin’ don’t work, because it’s not the snow, it’s a crumbling fuckin’ wall in a crumbling fuckin’ house. I stand, take a deep breath in (of hot, hot, humid, thick air), push it out. It ain’t cleansing- I don’t feel better once I’ve tasted the surrounding bogs- but it’s enough to calm my heartbeat, and make me feel somewhat human again. 

For the rest of the day, I help around camp, doing stupid, mind-numbing tasks. I try not to think of the mountains, and how much better than this godforsaken swamp they were. People talk to me, and I answer, polite and all. I eat Pearson’s stew, listen to another grandiose speech about Dutch’s plan (or, as far as I’m concerned, concepts of a plan). I finally find a moment of quiet sitting on a log, staring out at the swamp. Not the prettiest sight; all brown and green, with hints of yellow dust. 

I’m alone for only a few minutes before I hear footsteps. I turn, and find Arthur approaching, taking his cigarette packet from his satchel. I shift on the log I’m sitting on, making the split second decision that his company is something I want right now. 

He sits next to me, silently. Offers me a cigarette (I decline with a shake of my head and a wave of my hand) then lights his own with a match. He stays quiet for a little while, blowing smoke from his mouth, tinting the world blue and grey. 

It’s strange, sitting next to him. He don’t mind being quiet; seems to like my company well enough, ‘cause he keeps coming back here to smoke. 

He’s the one who found me, all that time ago, on a solo hunt in the Grizzlies. It was at the edge of the mountains, where it starts to get warmer; where the sun melts away most of the snow. Was from Blackwater, he said- I asked if I could go back with him. Promised I’d leave ‘em all alone when I got there, I just needed a job, as far from my daddy’s corpse as I could get. He’d said yes, maybe reluctantly. 

Turns out, I’d found somethin' better than a job. Not quite a family, but a gang, people to rely on, people to distract me from the emptiness created by my father’s death. I suppose it’s these people keeping me here, in this swampy nowhere, sweating my socks off. Here, I’ve got people- back in the mountains, I’ve got two dead bodies and an empty house. 

My chest tightens again, and wordlessly, I take the cigarette from Arthur’s hand, take a long drag. I hand it back, still silent, and dig my fingernails into my knuckles. 

“You miss home?” Arthur asks me, his words marked by the smoke curling from his mouth. I take the cigarette from his fingers again, press it between my teeth, inhale ‘till I can blame the burning in my eyes on the smoking rather than whatever has grabbed hold of me; whatever old, buried feeling I’d thought long gone had chosen to make an appearance. Guess it must be more obvious than I thought, that I’m feelin’ odd, ‘cause he clearly smelled it on me. 

“I don’t know, I guess,” I say, softly, fiddling with the dirty fabric of my trousers as I hand the cigarette back; as if I don’t know the answer, as if I haven’t spent half my goddamn life thinking about this. I exhale, blowing out smoke from my nose.  “Never really thought about it.” The lie burns in my throat, so thick I can hardly breathe. 

It’s not the stability that I miss. The weather in the Grizzlies was nothin’ permanent, not in any sense- one minute it’s a blizzard, the next you’re standing staring at the bright blue sky, knee deep in snow. I guess it’s the wolves howling, it’s the comfort of a fire as wind rattles against the window panes; it’s even the way the stars look after three days holed up inside. There’s no one thing I miss or don’t miss- I just know I miss it, so much that my chest tightens at the thought. 

When my daddy got shot, three- no, four- years ago, I thought the one answer was to leave that place behind; pack up my clothes and go out into the Wild Wild West, make my own future away from the smell of his freshly dug grave, right next to my mama’s frozen bones. And when I came across Arthur, and later his gang of gung-ho outlaws, who seemed ready to take on the world, I thought that was it- my life was set. 

But I don’t like the constant moving like I used to. It don’t feel like adventure anymore; it feels like escaping, like we’re always running from something. 

“I don’t…” I hesitate, reach up to dig my nails into the dip of my collarbone, try to dig the feeling out, hold it up to the light to examine it. “I guess it’s different.” A veiled confession. Away from the Grizzlies (away from home) it’s hot, stiflingly so; I can’t climb onto my horse without breaking a sweat. It’s already too warm by the time the sun rises- clothes sticking to your skin uncomfortably, flies buzzing above, drowning in the smell of swampy nothingness as soon as your eyes open. I don’t hate it- it has become familiar, but familiar in the way the weight of a revolver at my hip has become familiar; the way the constant paranoia that clogs my throat has become familiar. 

“Different how?” 

Another pause, as I scuff the yellow dust ground with the toe of my boot. Different in a whole lotta ways, I want to tell him; even the colour of the sky isn’t quite the same back home. 

Home. I think of the snow as I stare at the yellowed leather of my shoes. Where there’s snow and wolves and no people to shoot at you unless you really look for it. 

“I don’t know,” I say, even though my whole body knows; it courses through me, the knowledge that a few days ride away is the mountains, and the snow. “It just is.”

The answer dissatisfies him, I think. “C’mon,” he says in that gruff voice of his. “You gotta be able to find one difference between here and the goddamn Grizzlies.” 

“’S warmer,” I say, the words followed by a short, slightly forced laugh. “Don’t snow as much.” 

He snorts, shaking his head. “Alright,” he responds, maybe a little condescendingly. “Think o’ anything else?” 

“You got less wolves down here,” I add, after a few moments. I don’t say that I miss the sound of them howling; that when I close my eyes, I try to picture it, try to pretend I’m back there instead of here. 

“Alright.” He says it kinder this time, like we’re getting somewhere. 

“The sky looks different.” I dig my fingers in deeper. He offers me the cigarette; I take it, repurpose the burning in my throat. The smoke flickers around me as I exhale. “It’s- clearer, up there. More blue.” Here, the sky is tinted almost yellow. It ain’t ugly, but it ain’t home. 

He doesn’t answer, now, staring out at the swamps. I don’t know how he feels about this place- about Rhodes, and the foreignness of Saint Denis, with its factories and smoke and cobbled roads. I wonder if he misses home- if he ever had one to begin with. “I guess I do miss it,” I say, to fill the silence more than anything. “But… I don’t know, I don’t think I wanna go back.” Alone is the word I don’t add. I think- maybe- if I had the gang, my new family, I’d go back to the Grizzlies. After we escaped Blackwater, and hid out in that abandoned town up in the mountains; that was the happiest I’d been for a long time. 

But alone isn’t something I want to be. Not the way I was alone, the few weeks after my father passed- just me and the freshly dug grave, me and the wolves, me and the gun that killed him, sittin’ on the table, an unwanted temptation. 

“I don’t wanna be alone again.” It comes out soft, hoarse, pathetic, the words grating in my throat, like sandpaper on my tongue. 

It’s true. Yes, home is in the mountains; I know that now, when my chest clenches at the simple thought of the snow. But home is also with these people- with Arthur, and Mary-Beth, and Pearson, and the rest of them. Hell, even Kieran, the O’Driscoll boy, has become home, in a way. Home is not just the place where I grew up (the place where my daddy now lies); home is also the people that have become my family; who have embraced me so kindly and warmly. I know deep in my stomach that if I were to leave now, take a horse back to the hut, I’d end up like my daddy, a bullet in my head and a gun in my hand. 

He did it ‘cause he was lonely. So lonely that even I wasn’t enough to stop him from pulling the trigger. Lived in the mountains his whole life, but he had my mama then, and his parents. I guess fifty years of snow and not much else can drive you insane. 

My hand goes to my temple; I dig my fingers into the skin, right where I found the bullet in his head. 

“Y’won’t be,” he responds gruffly. He’s finished his cigarette, and yet he’s not made any attempt to get up, leave me with my thoughts. I snort, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. 

“Don’t know that,” I say. “With the Pinkertons on our asses, ‘nd all.” It’s meant to be lighthearted, but it comes out quiet, rough. 

“Yeah, but they’ve always been on our asses.” He puts a hand on my leg; it engulfs my entire knee. “Tell you what.” He hesitates, clearin’ his throat a little. Squeezes my knee. “I’ll take you huntin’, once a week- or twice, or less, if you want.” 

“I go huntin’ anyway,” I answer. “Not in the mountains, y’don’t.” My chest both tightens and loosens at the same time. I swallow; my heart is thumping in my chest. I put my hand to my collarbone again, digging my nails in. “C’mon, it’ll do you good. Cold air and all that.” 

I know there’s a deeper meaning to that. Cold air- he’s giving me the chance to go home, and not by myself. Even if it’s not for long, it’s enough- to feel the snow again, to hear the wolves. Maybe once I’ll camp overnight, ride back to camp in the morning. The idea fills me with hope- a feeling we’re all starved of, these days. 

“Really?” Is all I manage to croak out. 

“What, you don’t wanna?”

I laugh, and it’s genuine this time. “No, I- I wanna.”

“Alright then.” He gives my knee a last squeeze, then stands. I stand with him, smooth my shirt with the flat of my hand. “Tomorrow then?” Tomorrow. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. I’d sing, if my throat weren’t so damn tight. My eyes sting, and I wipe at my nose with my hand. 

“Thank you,” I say, quietly. He don’t respond, but he nods, and I think maybe he smiles a little. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll get to take a piece of my new home to the place I grew up- someone I love, to the place that holds my heart. 

I watch him walk away; and suddenly, the humidity don’t feel so bad anymore.