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joonsytip · 19 hours ago

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Something About You || Woozi

Pairings: Woozi x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Lawyer!Woozi, Event Coordinator!Reader, Selective Amnesia au, Secret Relationship au

Synopsis: When your boyfriend loses all memories of you after an accident, you go through hell of a time trying to bring back the memories. But in the process of convincing him what you both had was real, it makes you question if what you both had was ever real.

Warnings: jihoon is outright blunt and asshole, mentions accident, jihoon suffers selective amnesia, reader has astraphobia, relationship is hidden and based on rebound, one fighting scene, jihoon gets beaten by umbrella, oral (f. recieving), fingering, dirty talks, rough sex.

Word Count: 11.5k

Thanks to @cherriegyuu for beta reading this ♡

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 🔞

[ SVT Masterlist ] [ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist ]

The look Jihoon gives you is condescending. He believes that whatever you said just now is the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard.

"I know it's hard to believe but it's true that I'm your girlfriend."

You repeat, biting back the tears.

The doctor takes pity on you and attempts to make his patient understand his current medical situation quoting it in most layman terms possible.

"Mr. Lee, you have been in an accident and that has caused internal bleeding in your brain. I'm not going into details but that has caused neural damage.", he continues solemnly, "Since you can't recognize your partner, we have run some tests and it indicates that you're suffering from amnesia."

Suddenly the door barges open and enters Soonyoung, Jihoon's friend and most probably the only one on his side who knows about your relationship.

Jihoon's eyes light up as he recognizes his friend and the realization dreads upon you.

"It's selective amnesia.", the doctor explains, carefully studying your expression, "Mr. Lee has forgotten all the memories you've shared."

Soonyoung stands up, his entire demeanor masked in disbelief, "How is that possible? He recognised everyone when I showed him the pictures! How can he not remember his girlfriend?"

"We can't give you an exact explanation but it's possible that before the accident happened Mr. Lee was thinking about her. "

You fiddle your fingers, tears wetting your cheeks and chin. Taking a deep breath, you ask, "Is there a possibility he can remember me or am I erased from his mind forever?"

You choke a sob.

"There are cases where the patients have recovered their memories. It can take two days, two weeks, two years or even two decades. There's no certainty. In some cases", the doctor relents, "they never got their memories back. I'd suggest you revisit familiar places, re-watch your shared moments captured together. Anything to make him regain his lost memories."

It's been a hell of a ride since then.

Lee Jihoon, an enigmatic independent lawyer, who has zero nonsense tolerance has now a random woman constantly claiming to be his girlfriend of two years.

And somehow his close friend is backing up that claim. Something's absolutely fishy.

Jihoon glares at Soonyoung and completely ignores your presence right next to him.

"You have brought her into my office now?", Jihoon glowers in rage, his voice low, "Soonyoung explain yourself."

As the said man opens his mouth, you gesture him to stop.

You pull out your phone, opening the gallery.

"I have already seen them.", Jihoon says unimpressed, "I get that we have met through Soonyoung but these photos suggest nothing more than us being friends."

You show him a picture where he's hugging you from behind, his chin perched on your shoulder. You're smiling looking at the camera, he's smiling looking at you.

There's another one, set in his apartment, you are drawing something on his hand and he's kissing the top of your head.

Jihoon turns away from you in his revolving chair, "This doesn't prove shit. We could have done this as friends."

You sigh, "Do you think you are that kind of person who'd do this with a mere or even a close friend?"

That shuts him up for a moment.

"Why would I be lying to you, Jihoon?", Soonyoung asks, almost offended.

"You tell me. I'm also not sure why you are doing this.", Jihoon retaliates.

There's a beat of silence before Jihoon continues, rubbing his temples in frustration, "Look, I don't wanna be an ass about it but you don't have enough proof to back up that we were in a relationship."

"But--", you're getting cut off.

"No one knows about us, none of my friends or colleagues. You show me our pictures and I admit they look intimate but it doesn't solidify that we were dating. You showed me our text conversation and never in the span of two years did I write a single 'I love you'.", he shakes his head, "All of it looks circumstantial to me."

It hits you harder than you could imagine.

Another couple of months go by and you're still not giving up.

"He was on a call with me, Soonyoung, when the accident happened he was talking to me.", you admit sobbing. Soonyoung hands you the tissue box and patiently waits for you to continue.

"He had been acting antsy for the past few days and though I wanted to share his burden, I decided not to probe. I knew he'd eventually let me know. Before the accident, the last thing he said was he had something to tell me and he was on his way to my place."

He pats on your shoulder, "Jihoon will get back his memories of you, Y/N. Let's keep trying."

But you've freed Soonyoung from the burden of constantly backing you up, still being a great friend he shows up whenever he can.

You work as an event coordinator. You were acquainted with Soonyoung through a common friend, so when over two years ago you had been contacted by him to be the planner of his brother's wedding, you agreed instantly.

You are professional. In your line of work, you're well known for professionalism.

But it was discarded the moment you saw Jihoon among the crowd on the wedding day.

You had ditched professionalism then and only once, when you asked Soonyoung for his friend's contact details. When enquired, you spilled it all to Soonyoung honestly.

Lee Jihoon is a known name in the city, he's reputed to be the best. It goes back a year when your friend's aunt had gotten scammed by a loan shark losing her property. With no lawyer interested in defending her, it was only Jihoon who had fought for her.

You swore you hadn't seen anyone cooler. The aura he emitted, the impeccable ferociousness and the sincerity he showed when he represented his client had you down bad for him.

Since then you've developed a crush but it would pass by, you thought, as there's no way you'd be crossing paths with him ever unless you have something to deal with legally.

But seeing him again during Soonyoung's brother's wedding was a sucker punch to your gut.

Suddenly, the crush resurfaces, in fact it ten folds when Jihoon looked nothing but absolutely gorgeous throughout.

"Jihoon has a foul mouth, so don't expect anything good coming out of it.", Soonyoung warns as he sends you the contact details, "Don't cry, don't take it to heart, no matter what he says."

And Soonyoung was correct.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. I got your contact from Soonyoung."

When you had called Jihoon asking him if he could free some time for you as you had something to discuss, he agreed, assuming you would be needing some legal advice.

"Go on a date with me.", you say, "Please?"

The incredulous look on his face was remarkable but you had mustered all the courage within the world before sitting in front of him and discarded all the shame along with it.

"I'd be courteous since you're Soonyoung's friend but don't dare to try this act again.", Jihoon gets up, controlling himself from berating you as he walks past.

"3 dates.", you grab his wrist and he looks back at you, "That's all I want. And if you reject me after that, I won't be a bother."

Yanking his hand from your grip, he glares, "And why did you assume that I'd want to invest my time on you? You must be knowing that I'm quite busy."

"That surely makes you bitchless.", you snark back under your breath but Jihoon catches it.

He scoffs in a mix of disbelief and anger, "You--"

Clamping your hand on his mouth, you apologize quickly, "Sorry about that. And to answer your question", you grin, "Why don't you find it out yourself by going on a date with me? Tonight works for you?"

"You, for sure have a few loose screws.", Jihoon finally says, removing your hand, "Look I'm not interested and I'm busy, I work till late every night."

So Jihoon is rendered speechless when he sees you knocking on his office door late at night, to be specific at 2 AM.

"Hey, brought delicious wedding food and beer for us.", you enter and set the bag on the chair as the table was occupied, "That was one extravaganza wedding I had to arrange."

"And who said that you could be here?", Jihoon quips back, initially agitated but as the aroma of food hits his nose, reminding how he had skipped meals again and now his stomach could growl anytime, "This is rude and unethical."

"I know but I've decided to go against all ethics to woo you, Mr. Lee.", you throw him a wink which has Jihoon rolling eyes at you.

The first date was spent by eating food, chugging beer and your one sided talks.

The second one comes some days later as Jihoon agrees upon it just to make it crystal clear that he's really not interested and you should stop pestering him. He goes blunt, his words piercing you, intentionally.

Though you insist, he is adamant. So you promise to not bother him anymore and make up your mind to move on.

Surprise comes to you a month later when Jihoon asks to meet you through a text. Somehow that night ends with you tangled in his sheets and the next morning he finally agrees to date you.

"Let's keep it private for now.", Jihoon tells and before you could ask the reason, he continues, "I wanna be sure, if it works out fine, let's tell everybody."

You find it a bit skeptical but it's not impractical so you agree.

"But Soonyoung gets to know.", you declare, leaving no room for negotiations, "And my family and close friends would be knowing too."

Jihoon is your boyfriend now but something about the way let's himself around you makes you worry.

You don't expect him to act lovesick around you but he's so conserved. He barely texts you, only shows up when insisted and rarely initiates anything. There are no terms of endearment from him, no special acts.

Eight months into the relationship and you decide it's enough. You're done with his half ass slash zero commitments. So you start to act like him, zero calls, no texts and updates. You realise that you had gotten too good at the game when Jihoon knocks at your door one night.

Jihoon notices the lack of communication on your part and he doesn't let it bother him thinking you must have been busy but when it goes on for nearly a month, it strikes him that something's definitely wrong so that's how he finds himself knocking on your door.

And that night changes the dynamics between you two.

Jihoon has been getting frequent dreams nowadays. He sees you in all of them. In one, he's playing chess with you, in another you're perched on his lap humming soothing melodies to get him to nap. In some he sees your bodies tangled in the sheets.

He wakes up, his body hot, mind foggy. It's reoccurring, even pestering. He concludes that the reason behind these dreams is all the nonsense you've been feeding him daily, it's because he sees you everyday. He decides to put a stop to it.

"Something's bothering you?", you ask upon entering his cabin, "need help?"

Jihoon perks up, "And what can you help me with?"

"You might have forgotten, but we used to brainstorm a lot. You'd never go into the exact details of the case to respect privacy and we'd create hypothetical scenarios and try to come up with possible nooks and crannies."

He scoffs, "I would never take opinions from anyone. It's not my way of working, I work solely upon my hunch and instincts."

You've had a long day and aren't in a mood for banter. All you want is a warm bath and tight sleep.

So not pushing it further, you set the bags on the table and say, "I bought you food from your favourite outlet. Eat it up while it's hot and call me if you need me."

"Don't expect me to call you.", Jihoon blurts out, "When are you gonna stop doing this?"

You give him a sharp look, "Stop doing what?"

"Trying to forcefully insert yourself in my life."

You scoff, "Maybe when you stop being an asshole and try to put some effort into gaining back your memories?"

Jihoon glares at you. You glare back at him, no way you're taking shit from him today.

When his jaw ticks and eyes turn darker, you think of backing down and leaving because you know it's the look he gives when he's about to say something absolutely brutal.

"Maybe you should get a hint by now.", he says coldly, "Isn't it obvious, the reason why I remember everyone but you?"

"Jihoon, don't.", you say as soon as he opens his mouth to speak again.

"You weren't someone important in my life, Y/N. You're so insignificant that I don't even remember you."

Your throat closes up. A tear falls down your cheek and before he could continue his verbal assault, you run out of his cabin.

While doing so you bump into someone.

"I'm sorry.", you say, wiping your tears before looking up.

The woman in front of you, echoes your words and leaves. Your gaze follows her and you see her entering Jihoon's office. And rooted to the ground, through the glass window you watch an entirely different Jihoon. The frown on his face is quickly replaced by a shy smile, his body language seemingly changing to gentleness. The way he crosses the chairs to pull one out for the woman to sit, the eye contact that definitely holds a meaning.

For the first time, your head and heart come up with the same conclusion.

Later that night, Jihoon is somewhat shocked to receive a call from you.

"Who's she, Ji?", you ask from the other side, "Why were you looking at her like that?"

He straight up knows whom you are talking about and he right away knows that you're drunk.

"Where are you? Are you alone?", he asks you, already looking for his car keys.

He hears something incoherent and presses the phone tighter against his ear.

"Tell me Ji, why were you looking at her like that?", you ask again.

He halts, "Like what?"

You hum and he hears a loud thud. There's a moment of silence and Jihoon is rooted, holding his breath.

Moments later, you speak again, "Like you used to look at me. Like you like her."

"Where are you, Y/N? Can you send me your location?", he tries to coax you, "I'll come right away, we'll talk. Please tell me where you are."

Another pause and just as he's about to speak again, he hears your sobs. His heart tightens in his chest.

"D-Did I already lose you, Ji?", comes your choked voice, "Did you give up on us? Why can't you like me again?"

There is no answer to your questions.

"I love you.", you say, "I love you so much that it hurts. What do I do now? I-I think I love you way too much, much more than I thought. And I regret not telling you sooner."

Jihoon freezes, he's tongue tied, his knees almost giving up.

"And if this is the end of us, then--", the line disconnects. You've accidentally hung up.

He calls you back immediately but you don't pick up. Repeated calls, when they remain not received, he sends you a string of texts.

Already inside his car, he's about to drive away in search of you, aimlessly, when he receives a text from you.

'I'm at home.'

He let out a breath of relief, his mind pounding, his heart thumping because of your words from before.

It's been over a month since Jihoon has seen or heard from you. For a week or two it was nice, not having you breathing on his neck felt refreshing. By the end of the third week he's worrying about you, his mind is relentlessly fogged with your thoughts. Mid of fourth week and he's contemplating whether to send you a text or ask Soonyoung to do it.

It isn't relaxing anymore, it's stressful. It bothers him to all extent. He feels guilty about going overboard with his choice of words that night, he never meant to make you cry. He can't forget your drunk confessions either.

You are on a call with your mother who's nagging you to consider extending your stay when you go home for Christmas along with the equal urging of your sister and father. A lot of negotiations and you're finally agreeing to them.

"How's Jihoon? Any luck with the memories?", your sister, Eunha asks.

"Let's not talk about him.", you say after a beat, "I think, my relationship with Jihoon--", you halt, not being able to continue further, before the cracking of your voice gives it all away.

Eunha knows you better than anyone and sensing your tone, she's quick to assure you, "I've always admired your straight headedness. Whatever it is, I know you'll overcome it. And all of us are always there for you."

The doorbell rings and you frown, "Thanks Eun. I'll call you later, bye."

Checking the time and opening the door causes your frown to deepen.

Jihoon sits on the couch, an awkward tension lingering in the atmosphere. And somehow it pains you to look at him, you're avoiding eye contact, looking everywhere but him, waiting for him to initiate the conversation.

A photo on the centre table catches Jihoon's attention and he picks it up, his curious eyes scrutinizing the faces. It's the two of you, an amusement park in the backdrop, grinning ear to ear, pressed cheek against cheek, radiating love through the photo itself.

You quickly snatch the frame out of his grip, setting it down on the same centre table.

"I hate amusement parks", Jihoon mutters more to himself but loud enough for your ears to pick up, "Because they're so crowded and everyone's screaming.", he looks up at you, "I went there with you?"

You just give a simple nod, no explanation, no backstory.

I love going to amusement parks. And you don't hate them anymore.

"Why are you here?", you ask him finally.

"I'm sorry.", he blurts out, "I'm really sorry for that night."

Your brows furrow for a moment before the neutral expression returns, "You didn't have to come here to apologise, a call would have sufficed."

For the record, you just know you had called him as an aftermath of that night but you don't remember, not even a bit of things you had said and you don't plan on bringing that up either.

Jihoon notices your defensiveness and to test it he stands up to walk towards you but you're immediately backing up.

"I'm feeling under the weather so if you're done, could you leave?", you speak still avoiding his gaze, "And I know you don't want me anywhere near you, rest assured I won't be a bother."

"What do you mean?", he asks closing in, "Are you still upset at me, even after I apologized?"

You keep stepping back, "I'm not upset. I'm just not feeling well, please leave."

I think you already replaced me, Ji.

Your back hits the wall and reaching you with long strides, Jihoon is caging you between the wall and his arms.

He hovers over you, "For the past months, you've been begging for my attention, trying everything to establish our relationship, so what happened, what's with this change in demeanour?"

He leans in, your faces merely an inch apart.

"Isn't this what you wanted?", your somber gaze meets his fiery ones.

He's not sure what he wants anymore.

"I have been having dreams about you, about us.", he admits, stepping away, "And I don't think they're just infringements of my imagination."

"What did you see?", your voice comes out in a whisper.

He then proceeds to tell you about the dreams and not so surprisingly you have stories and even photos for some cases to collate with his description of dreams.

"So did we record it as well?", Jihoon asks amused as you dab your hot pink cheeks, "I wanna see it though--"

You're slapping a hand on his mouth as he blatantly teases and asks you about the wet dreams he has been seeing which wakes him up with a tent in his pants.

"Let's brainstorm.", Jihoon is setting his briefcase on the table suddenly, taking out some flaps.

You eye him in suspicion, "Did you hit your head again, you're acting strange. You're acting like my Jihoonie."

The corners of his lips twitch, trying to suppress a smile, "Maybe your Jihoonie wants to make a comeback."

"I'll be waiting with my arms wide open, I miss my boyfriend.", you admit, your tone emitting sadness, your gaze meets his and you're smiling, "Thanks Jihoon."

Maybe that night at his workplace, you read it all wrong. Maybe your mind was too tired, your heart was too hurt so they made a fuss over nothing because you know your Jihoon would never do something to hurt you, even when he can't remember you. Even though his head can't recognise you, there's a hope that his heart would still beat for you.

He grins wider, "Don't get me wrong, I just came here to test your problem solving abilities."

"You should be thanking the heavens that I didn't choose law as my career, you'd have been jobless otherwise.", you retort smugly.

Maybe running your mouth isn't the best option, especially when with Jihoon because now he's running his fourth hypothetical case with you, pinching your arm whenever your drowsy eyes are shutting close.

"Another wedding?", you hum in delight, "Ah, god bless you."

Joshua laughs, "Is it such good news to you that another of my friends is getting married?"

"Isn't it obvious? It keeps the business running.", you muse, eating the brownies he has baked for you, "This is the 4th one right? Why are all your friends getting married this year?"

Joshua ponders, "Beats me as well. How are the brownies, sweetheart? I tried a new recipe today."

"And it's my new favourite.", you say, making him grab a bite of his own baking, "Makes me wanna kiss your hands."

He unabashedly holds his hands to your face only to get a swat.

"That's not what you said you'd do, sweetheart.", he feigns offense, "Shouldn't you start commissioning me by now? I think I bring in a fair share of customers."

He's absolutely right. Joshua is people's people. Everyone knows him. You knew Soonyoung through Joshua, in fact most people know others via him.

The common link, the mutual friend that everyone talks about is actually Joshua Hong. He's the gossip monger, nothing gets past him. Not even the fact that you had gotten into a relationship.

You were an expert in keeping personal matters under the sleeves and as asked by Jihoon, only Soonyoung was made known. But two weeks under his observation and he's declaring that there's no point in hiding, that he can tell by your body language that you're dating.

You didn't deny, you knew Joshua is perceptive. Though you felt bad for hiding who you're dating, he waved it off with all smiles stating he'll get to know when the time is right.

"Correct, I should start commissioning you but for baking me the best confectioneries.", you chirp happily, "The lemon drizzle chocolate cake you made at the previous wedding, I can't stress how good it was. Only you could make chocolate and lime flavour work like magic."

"You look happy, sweetheart.", Joshua comments casually, "How's things going with Mr. Boyfriend?"

"It's complicated, Josh.", your mood sets down.

Joshua takes a look at your face and decides to drop the topic.

"What do you think of me, Josh?", you ask with a serious tone, throwing him off bound.

"You want the truth, sweetheart?", he asks softly, his hand already atop yours, rubbing your skin soothingly.

Just one please from you and Joshua is baring his heart out, "I don't know who made you doubt yourself but to me, you're my rock. I have tons of friends but you're among the ones I'd always seek solace. When I had no one, you were there to support me."

He smiles embarrassed as you catch his teary eyes. Joshua is always cheery but there are rare moments like this where you get to see his vulnerable side.

"I was almost out of business when you took me under your wing until I had accumulated enough capital and reputation to establish the standalone business.", he fondly pats your head, "You barely knew me then, just know that you saved my life back then. So I'd never accept anything apart from compliments from anyone about you."

"Joshua Hong, it's too early, don't make me cry.", you say wiping your tears.

His laugh reverberates pleasantly, "You look pretty even when crying, sweetheart."

"You mean ugly."

"I said what I meant, sweetheart."

You could never win against Joshua.

"You're going to Soonyoung's housewarming party right?"

"Only if you're going.", Joshua sighs, leaning back, stretching his arms, "Socializing can be pretty tiring, sweetheart, so I need you as my charge-up."

Soonyoung thinks, no he's sure that Jihoon has been acting differently.

"Weeks ago", Soonyoung pulls up his phone, "I even have proof, you said you weren't coming to my housewarming party. I was hurt, I still am."

Jihoon grimaces.

"You said that you won't go if Y/N's going.", he almost shoves the phone on the lawyer's face, "And now you're here just to ask if she's coming. Why does it matter so much?"

Jihoon gets a little frightened when he sees Soonyoung holding up his hand. He's gonna count points now and after each point, Jihoon knows he's gonna get earfuls.

"First of all, I'm your friend so why does it matter who's coming or not. You should be there ", one finger down.

"Second, unlike you, Y/N is a decent person who doesn't abandon her friends.--"

"When did I abandon you--"

Without batting an eye, Soonyoung continues, "Third, I don't care if you're coming or not."

Jihoon cowers when Soonyoung puts his hand down smiling, almost eerie, "Now, tell me what changed? Are you getting your memories back?"

"Well maybe? First I've been having dreams, now they've turned into flashes. It has been difficult, this whole thing since the accident. But I think I'll get those missing pieces of my memories back soon.", Jihoon smiled wistfully.

"You better be on your knees and apologize to your girlfriend when you do so.", Soonyoung says with an undertone but smiles nonetheless, "I deserve an apology as well."

"Did you just curse?", your brows crease.

When there's nothing but silence that follows, your eyes squint as you speak again, "So you're not gonna answer me?"

Jihoon frowns, "Who's Joshua and why are you taking him with you as your plus one?"

"We both didn't have a plus one so we decided to go together, that's it.", you explain, "And I know you said you wouldn't go to the party if I go so what's the problem here?"

"Can you stop please?", he pouts and you fight back the strong urge to kiss it away, "It was before, now I want to go but with you."

You grin, "Sorry, but I can't ditch Josh. There's time, find someone."

He nods, accepting defeat. He follows you from the kitchen to the dinning as you set the plates on the table.

You both have fallen into a routine, Jihoon has been acting awfully comfortable around you lately. He drops by your place anytime, he knows your passcode. When you call to remind him about having meals he makes excuses to see you.

"The lawsuit against the insurance company that I've been working on", he says sitting across from you, "The one we discussed last month, I am planning to try the method you suggested. You might be right, I think these people are collectively trying to extort money in the name of insurance from the company, all of them have huge debts piled up and they're in a closely knitted group."

"Jihoon, let me warn you, it might be the case that your client is actually the perpetrator. What would you do then? You're supposed to fight for your client, not against them. You'll lose trust, people won't come to you."

"Then let it be. Maybe I'd get less cases, but people who are wrongfully accused would have their trust in me. I won't side with those who are on the wrong side of the law."

You give him a proud smile as you both eat in a soothing silence before he leaves your apartment as it drizzles outside.

By the time Jihoon reaches his apartment, the dizzles have turned into a heavy downpour with lightning jagging across the sky. And by the time he's out of the shower he can hear the thunderstorms soaring.

His head hurts with an intensity causing his knees to buckle up. There's a flash again and despite the ache, he's searching for his car keys.

Yet another one of his numerous calls remains unreceived. With every second that ticks away, Jihoon feels his heart constricting. However, his eyes glints hope when he sees the glimpse of the familiar building, nearing it.

His nervousness causes him to mispunch the code a fair number of times. Entering, he comes across an expected sight. The surroundings are pitch black, just becoming visible when the lightning strikes.

"Y/N?", he shouts. No response. He puts on the flashlight of his cell phone and starts searching for you cautiously. He takes a deep breath, all he has to do is search across a hall, two rooms and a kitchen.

"Y/N?", he shouts again. Still no response. Just as he's about to stride towards the bedroom, from the corner of his eyes he spots a silhouette somewhere in the kitchen. He turns, focusing the flashlight, to see your weak form. You are supporting yourself by the counter with your fingers jabbed into your ears. His gaze softens.

He lunges towards you, engulfing your shaking form into a tight hug, "Shh...I'm here."

"Ji...", you voice out weakly, wrapping your hands around his waist instantly. The call of this nickname stirs something within him. He rubs your back, peppering soft kisses on your forehead. Another lightning strikes and you're shivering in his embrace.

The raindrops hitting the window panes erupts the stillness of the night. Only with the rain stopping, you find yourself calming down. And you find yourself in Jihoon's embrace.

"How did you-- Why did you come back?", you ask, pulling away but Jihoon doesn't let go of you.

He wipes your tears and observes you carefully, "Are you okay now?"

You nod, "Thanks, Jihoon."

"I felt like I needed to be with you. I don't know how but I just knew that you've astraphobia so I drove back as fast as I could."

You feel a sense of relief, "You already knew, you're just starting to get your memories back, Jihoon."

He stares at you, his eyes darting to your lips often.

You stare back at him, his eyes asking for your permission.

There's an unspoken consent and instantly, his lips are on your. Pressed against the counter, he grabs the back of your neck deepening the kiss. His thumb runs against the column of your throat, making your head go dizzy.

You gasp into the kiss when he lifts and sets you up on the counter.

"Ji..", you say breathlessly, "We probably shouldn't--"

His lips work now, trailing hot kisses down your neck and collarbone, "I want to love my girlfriend, is it so wrong?"

"Whom you don't even remember--", another kiss to shut you up. The way you moan is enough for Jihoon to almost make a mess in his pants.

"Which room?", his voice is thick with desire as he carries you now, not breaking the intense eye contact. "Tell me before I fuck you against the wall.”

One hand slides between your legs while the other supports your weight, as he lays you on the bed his fingers exploring through the fabric of your dress. “Tell me to stop.", he whispers against your neck, nipping slightly.

"Don't stop, Ji", you whine and that breaks him completely.

His breath catches in his throat at your intense gaze and he leans down to whisper in your ear his hands trail down your sides, making you shiver. His hands push your panties down, sliding the fingers across your wet slit, “Was it lonely here without me?”

“Please Ji, need you.”

With a gentle yet firm grip, he holds your wrists above your head. “You're so adorable when you're needy like this…”, he presses his lips to your neck, trailing kisses downwards, “Such a perfect, impatient thing.”

He hooks his fingers in your thighs, pulling your legs around his waist as he settles between your thighs. He looks down at you with loving eyes, his voice dropping to a husky whisper "My love, you're killing me with these eyes.”

Your body moves on its own, trying to find friction, soft gasps coming out each time you feel his hard clothed length.

A deep chuckle escapes him, "So responsive. Is this what you wanted? To make me go wild?" He leans down, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss while one hand traces your curves, “Such a good girl.”, he whispers against your lips.

He breaks the kiss to look into your eyes, his own burning with desire, "I'm going to take you hard and fast, tonight.”

A wolfish grin spreads across his face at your eager response. In one swift motion, he tears off your clothes, leaving you bare before him. His eyes darkens with lust as he takes in the sight of you. "Damn, you're gorgeous." he growls, quickly shedding his own clothes.

He settles back between your thighs, his hardness pressing urgently against you. With a sharp inhale, he slides into your welcoming heat, filling you completely. "Fuck, you feel incredible," he groans, setting a relentless pace. His hips snapping against yours with each powerful thrust.

He leans down to roughly claim your lips, swallowing your moans as he continues his frenzied pace. His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he holds you in place. "Take it, baby. Take every inch of my cock.”

“Fuck, missed you so much Ji, missed being ruined by you.”, you say in between of sobs and gasps, clenching around him.

His movements become more urgent, more possessive. He knows you're close, and it only spurs him on, "Squeeze me just like that. Milk my cock with your perfect little pussy.”

With a feral growl, he buries himself deeper inside you, grinding against your g-spot as he unleashes a torrent of thrusts. Your screams of pleasure fill the room as you reach your peak, your inner walls convulsing around his pistoning cock.

As you come down from your high, he continues to pound into you mercilessly, seeking his own release. His face contorts with pleasure as he chases his climax, his body glistening with sweat.

With one final, brutal thrust, he explodes inside you, his hot seed filling your womb as he roars his release. He collapses on top of you, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room as he tries to catch his breath. "Fuck... Are you okay?”

He nuzzles his face against your neck, his body still trembling as he asks softly, "Are you alright? Did I hurt you?"

His large hands gently roam your body, checking for any bruises or marks from his rough handling. "Answer me, please?”

A sigh of relief escapes him as he feels your gentle nod against his cheek. "Good", he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. He gently nips at your lower lip, "Though I do need to lotion those lovely handprints on your hips... they're quite noticeable.”

“If I let you, it'll lead to another round.”, you say, still breathless and smiling.

“I wouldn't mind. Would you?”, he waggles his eyebrows comically, trying to elicit another giggle from you and maybe get inside you again.

Seeing the crowd, you realize that Soonyoung, if not as much as Joshua, is quite popular.

There's a very limited amount of people you can recognise and the majority you don't. You stick close to Joshua and leave his side when the flock of people keep coming and greeting him.

"There you are.", Soonyoung smiles as you hand him a gift, "How's things going?"

You understand the insinuation, giving a genuine wide grin, "A lot better, you must be knowing, he's getting his memories back bit by bit."

He pats on your shoulder, "Soon, he'll be remembering it all."

Though it's crowded but there's a touch of coziness, you like the atmosphere. Taking permission from Soonyoung, you make a quick tour of his new house. It's impressive, it's warm given the purpose, he bought this house to settle in once he gets married. His parents, including him, have been looking for a partner for him.

You conquer a table at the corner, sitting quietly and sipping on the drink that the host himself has given you.

"There you are, sweetheart.", Joshua settles beside you, taking a sip of what you were drinking.

Joshua is extremely fun and must have a person to be around, specially at the parties. He would point at random people and drop the juiciest gossip about them. What makes it more interesting is that Joshua's memory is photographic and storytelling is top notch.

You'd ask him about something that occurred four years ago he'd be spilling it all out unabashedly, doesn't even need a brush up.

'Just got here, Soonyoung told me you're in the lawn, I'll come and find you.'

A smile creeps up on your face as you read the text from Jihoon, keeping your phone aside.

Joshua demands your attention once again as he points at a woman, wearing an unmistakable neon coloured jacket.

"That's Arong", he says, "Runs her own boutique. She's a Richie rich."

You squint your eyes to figure her out and surprisingly she's someone you know. She's the same woman you had seen visiting Jihoon's office.

With your interest picked, you ask, "How do you know her?"

"We're good friends, went to the same university.", Joshua eyes glint as if he remembers something amusing, excitedly turning his head to look at you, "She's quite a character you know, she used to hangout with a guy discreetly. I think they had the same group and wanted to keep it low. She's not the kind to commit to a relationship."

You listen quietly.

His eyes turn big, emitting specks of energy as he continues, "Here's the interesting part. She knew that the guy liked her, even after that, she indulged him, went on dates, hooked up with him, all of this went on casually. But when the guy finally asks her out, she brushes him off."

Joshua laughs, "Can you believe it? She doesn't even reject him, she just brushes him off. Imagine the humiliation the guy faced.", he quotes, "By the way, it's not her first drill. From what I heard, all her words not mine, that the guy was really invested in her and wasn't willing to give up, must be a romantic kind. It's kinda blurred out on what happened but she did kinda bruise his ego."

There's something unsettling about this whole narrative. You don't know why but your chest caves in.

"So some days later, he comes back only to tell her that he's dating. Such a foul move.", he sighs, "Amidst all of this, I feel bad for the girl he is dating. I mean she's basically a rebound and probably doesn't even know. It was so wrong, he shouldn't have played it like that. How can he play with someone's feelings when he has practically gone through that himself?"

"When did this happen, Josh?", you ask in a quiet voice, "Do you know his name?"

Joshua ponders for a moment, of course he remembers, "This happened almost three years ago. If I had to be specific, hmm, I think it's around when you start dating as well.", he misses the way face pales, "I don't know his name but I have seen him once or twice while I was face timing Arong. Not sure if he's invited to this party."

'Found ya.'

Your phone buzzes with Jihoon's text and you look ahead to see him walking towards you.

"That's him!", Joshua points out at Jihoon, "He's the guy we just talked about! Oh my god, why is he coming towards us?", he turns his head again to look at you, "Do you know him?"

It all makes sense now. Jihoon's agreement to date you, to him emphasising on keeping it hidden, to his non commitmental attitude. You've been played. You should have known.

Jihoon is in front of you now and all you tell Joshua before walking out is, "Stop Jihoon from following me."

The party was on Sunday and it's Friday when you decide that you won't be taking any more work, won't work except for the scheduled ones, to give yourself a long break. It feels rewarding after spending effort tirelessly throughout the year.

You're exhausted physically, mentally and unavailable emotionally.

Ending things with Jihoon was easy because there wasn't anything to end in the first place.

You've met Arong, you've met her in the presence of Joshua, Soonyoung and Jihoon himself. This was specially to let Jihoon know what he has done, to hold him accountable for something that doesn't remember.

"I'm breaking up with you."

You aren't crying, not a single choke in your voice, eyes void of any emotion.

"Since you don't remember any of it, not even us being in some sort of relationship", your hands ball into a fist, gaze lowering, "And since none of it was ever real, I'm sure you're relieved."

"Y/N, please--"

"If you ever get your memories back, please don't make it an excuse to come see me. I don't want to see or talk to you ever again."

Jihoon grabs your hand once you turn to walk out, "I don't believe that I could do something like this. I'll get my memories back and when I do, let me--"

"No don't.", Joshua steps up, yanking your arm out of his grip, "Didn't you hear what she said?"

"And who are you to come between us?"

"Someone who's does not play with feelings."

And all of a sudden there's a scuffle. Jihoon is grabbing the collar of the shirt Joshua's wearing and the latter tackles him down on the ground.

You watch in horror, as the two grown men indulge in a fight where the rest had to step in to separate them.

"The audacity, ridiculous!", Joshua huffs as you and Arong hold him.

"Says the one who doesn't know boundaries!", comes Jihoon's retort in Soonyoung's hold.

His eyes dart back at you, holding so much vulnerability that if you hadn't known the truth, he'd be in your arms by now.

"Y/N, I don't believe that it was all an act, that I hadn't fallen in love with you. It can't be, my head might not remember but my heart has definitely not forgotten you."

You chuckle bitterly, "That's delirium, Jihoon. You're busted and now making excuses. You had something important to tell me, you were on the phone with me when the accident happened. The way you had been acting before that, I'm sure you were going to break up with me. So save it. We're done. It's over."

"To the last wedding of the year!"

You raise your glass to the toast absentmindedly, waiting for the head of catering services to finish his speech.

"We're done with the headache.", Wonwoo leans in to speak into your ear.

A slap on his arm but you're laughing nonetheless, "You shouldn't be saying that."

Rolling his eyes, Wonwoo enunciates, "They asked for the change of flower arrangement three times. You know how difficult it is to convince the suppliers at the last moment."

You give him a pat on his shoulder, "You did great as always though. Imagine being in Joshua's shoes, he had to add two tiers to the cake as a last moment request."

"He's a saint for agreeing to it, I'd never--"

"Wonu, that's our job, as long as it's not unrealistic, we'll try to fulfil it.", your tone is reprimanding.

"So we're leaving as planned on the weekend right?", he speaks over your shoulder, as you check off the items from the inventory list.

You both are now behind the barracks, wrapping things up, "Yes.", turning to look at him you thank him, "Also, sorry for crashing in the trip along with Junhee."

"Oh please, my girlfriend absolutely loves you, maybe more than me? And your house is literally on the way, so no sweat at all", Wonwoo laments, shaking his head, "Junhee has been feeling guilty about what happened. She blames herself, you met Jihoon because he was handling her aunt's case back then."

"It's not her fault. I'll talk to her, maybe she needs some lecture on how to not connect dots every time.", you frown, "And thanks. I'm glad that I got some people who are genuine even though my person wasn't."

All Wonwoo does is give you an empathetic smile.

Jihoon leaves no stones unturned.

"Doctor, I'm willing to do anything", his hands are clasped in desperation, "Please, help me get my memories back."

The doctor sighs, he's tired of seeing Jihoon's face every other day. The doctor gets the urgency but his patient is not understanding the implications.

"What do I need to do? Any brain exercising? New medicines? I'm ready to be a guinea pig for scientific research as well. Just name it, I'll do it if it brings my memories back."

His house is a mess. He's searching every corner, every shelf, every drawer but he gets nothing significant, nothing to get back his memories of you.

Soonyoung quietly watches over as Jihoon lays in slumber. He was finally able to get his friend to sleep, an attempt to free him from restlessness even if it's for limited time.

He can't bear to see his dear friend in this condition anymore and almost calls you but he doesn't because it's not his place. He only hopes for you both to be freed of despair.

The hunt goes on, Jihoon looks like a wreck, he is a wreck. Tries to hit his head again, thanks to Soonyoung's presence he's saved, tries unprescribed/unwarranted pills for memory loss and gets admitted to hospital. Vomits tons, loses appetite along with weight.

A hard slap lands across his face and Jihoon winces. Soonyoung had enough. He gives him a diary which Jihoon recognises as his own.

"I found this on top of the almirah, while you were admitted. You can search the obvious places. I haven't gone through it but it's your personal diary. Hopefully this will help."

And it certainly does. Maybe the accident had made him forget about his most important habit. He goes through it, consumes whatever he has written.

Each page hits a nerve, bringing back visions.

He now knows two things, he definitely liked Arong and found you annoying.

When Arong rejected him, he wasn't surprised. He knew Arong, he knew it was something she could pull. His heart wasn't bruised, it was his ego. He couldn't take it.

And you came into the picture, an annoying woman who likes him. Even though he's a rational lawyer, his practicality leaves him when goes by when decides to follow the classic 'to get over someone is to get under someone else'.

It was fine, he found you tolerable. But his initial plan of breaking up after dating a few months started to crumble when he found himself worrying about you, wanting to see you more and yearning for you more. He was rational after all, so he knew it was him changing. His feelings for you ran deeper than what he had for Arong.

He realised that he liked Arong but he loved you, he loves you now.

And as the realisation settles in again, into the present Jihoon, he falls apart.

You don't like the vibe, no you hate it. Your mother doesn't stop making your favourite dishes, your sister doesn't even throw banter, always agreeing with whatever you're suggesting for Christmas tree decoration and your father keeps on buying you presents discreetly which is also not so discreet.

And somehow, Seungkwan, your sister's boyfriend, is walking on eggshells whenever he's around you.

You miss the laughs, you miss the dramatics, you miss the goofiness.

"I'm not dying, y'all. This isn't the end of the world either."

Silence.

"Can we get back to normal? You all are being extraordinarily nice to me and every time you do so I think about the reason and it makes me think about him which is certainly what I don't wanna do."

You lower your gaze again, mind involuntarily going back to Jihoon, the way he fooled you within the entire span of your relationship. Your naive nature acts as a blindfold, causing you to trust people easily and you take pride in it because you are surrounded by good people who never took advantage of it but that's until Jihoon happened.

You gave him your heart, he crumpled upon it and your trust, he stomped on it.

"We're re-doing the deco of the Christmas tree, it's awful.", your sister, Eunha proclaims, "You just sit and watch."

You look at her, a smile gracing your lips and it's contagious, everyone is smiling.

And follows chaos, returns the banter and it's all over the place as the liveliness reappears. You watch it all with your lips curl up.

Christmas comes as fast and you're really excited, first because you know this year you're getting most gifts, second, like every time you won't have to leave the day after, you have a whole month to yourself, to be around your loved ones.

The house lights up in your favourite colours and you chirp around the house happily.

"So when are you going to propose?", you bump his shoulder, whispering into his ear as he prepares the batter for the cake.

Being the dramatic he is, Seungkwan gasps, glares and bumps back at you, "March, on her birthday. She'd like the ring right?"

"She'd love it, it's so beautiful. I can't wait to capture how ugly she'd look while crying.", you laugh at the thought.

"Hey! Watch it, she'll be beautiful even if she snots.", he retorts, "Our babies will be pretty."

"Oh my god, such a simp.", you fake a gag, "I'm gonna puke."

He suddenly pats your back, without looking at you and that somehow conveys that he's there for you.

As the night draws in, you excuse yourself and beeline into your room, locking the door, giving your parents and your sister and her boyfriend some time to themselves. They are bundled on the couch and the carpet in pairs sharing loving gazes and gentle touches.

As you lay on the bed, your favourite pillow starts to get stained with your tears. Your body shakes with sobs as you hide your face behind your palms.

You miss Jihoon.

You miss his voice, his laughs. You miss his silent affection, the way his gaze affirmed many unspoken words.

It's been four months since you called off things. And it hurts how easy it was for him to accept it all, the lack of contact says it all. You haven't blocked him anywhere and he hasn't tried reaching you either.

Why would he? You gifted him the only thing he wanted from you, a break up. Maybe love isn't the same for all, maybe it doesn't come in the same form.

There are repeated knocks on your door and you lay holding your breath, hoping whoever is on the other side thinks that you've fallen asleep and leaves.

The knocks don't stop, they only become frantic and you hear Eunha's distraught voice, "Y/N, you need to be out asap. Only you can stop dad please!"

What could have happened? You rush off to the bathroom to wash your face before opening the door.

You freeze watching the scene unfold.

Jihoon getting on his knees at the doorstep, bowing his head down in front of your seething father who's holding an umbrella, it's end pointed at him.

"Sir.", he calls your father calmly, bringing everyone's attention back to him.

"You must know what I have done to your daughter. I'm ready for whatever punishment you have for me."

He looks at you, as if his words are for you, "Beat me as much as you want, don't look at my face if it disgusts you but when your rage resides please hear me out. I won't leave until you listen to me. So if you want to get rid of me, you'll have to listen to me.", Jihoon gives a sad smile before grabbing the edge of the umbrella and resting it on his shoulder.

"Have you gone mad?", you scold him, "Get up."

He raises his hand to stop you from rushing towards him. He chooses to ignore your words, his gaze trained on your father.

"Are you contemplating, Sir?", he chortles, "Wasn't it bad enough, what I did to your daughter?"

You shake your head, closing your eyes. You know what Jihoon is doing, he's provoking your father and everyone else.

The rage that had subsided a bit, seems to reignite as your father tightens his grip on the object on his hand.

And you could only watch through it.

"She's the youngest of the household, we've raised her with love, pampered her to bits!"

"The last thing we want is to see her in tears that too on a day like this!"

"How dare you show your face here after breaking her heart in the worst way?"

And the words keep pouring in.

Jihoon is squeezing your arm into a tight grip, hissing in pain.

"What's your motive this time?", you ask while dabbing one of the bruises with disinfectant, particularly hard making him wince, "The Lee Jihoon, I know doesn't care about anyone except himself."

Jihoon's unwavering gaze does nothing to answer your queries and you refuse to meet his eyes.

"You can stay in my room for the night, leave by tomorrow morning, as early as possible."

Just as you get up to leave, he stands as well, blocking your path.

"I lost the insurance lawsuit case.", he says, searching for your eyes, "I ratted out my own clients."

"You came all the way here just to tell me this?"

He shakes his head down, with a small stretch of lips. When he looks up again you're shocked to see tears in his eyes.

"I got my memories back, Y/N.", his voice cracks, "All of them."

"Great.", you scoff in distaste, "I had already warned you to not make it an excuse to see me."

He kneels again, on both knees, "Would you please give me a chance to explain?"

You hate it to admit but you've never seen Jihoon this vulnerable. If anything, he's the type to carry pride and arrogance in his aura. He has never (his words) bowed to anyone and here he is doing it for the second time tonight.

"Jihoon, it doesn't matter anymore. You may not have loved me for even a moment, but I did, with all my heart. And I don't want to go through it all over again.", you say, urging him to be on his feet, "It won't change our past, but it has definitely changed the way I am going to perceive people now."

Jihoon lets out a sob and you freeze.

"I love you, Y/N.", he chokes out in words, as his sobs turn into cries, "That was what I was going to tell you on the day of the accident. I had been so ansty because I realised I was in love, I was going to come clean, I was going to confess."

"I just wanted a honesty in our relationship, you built it entirely around the other way. You didn't love me when we got together but I thought you did and this is the pressing wound, I have."

You don't let him speak further, after putting a very restless Jihoon to sleep on your bed, you ponder over a lot of things.

It's been over a month and the dynamics between you two has changed. When Jihoon begged and begged to give him a chance, to prove himself worthy of you, you denied at first. You had forgotten how persistent Jihoon could be, how convincing he can be.

"Our relationship will be on a trial basis. And there are rules.", you declare with a bored expression, "First, you can't tell anyone we're dating. Second, don't expect me to update you about anything, if I feel like you'll get to know, if not then you won't. Third, skinship is allowed only behind closed doors. You have six months and if within that I feel like you're worthy, we make it public or we part ways."

You give it a last try, to push his buttons and make him admit that he can't be bothered to do this. That he isn't the kind to work under conditions. You're sure that this is when he finally stops.

The corners of your lips twitch as you suppress your triumphant smile. By the way Jihoon stays silent, you're sure he's speechless. And it's just a matter of time he walks out, he walks away from your life.

"I agree with all of it." he says with sincerity, "For the following six months, I'll be the boyfriend, you want me to be. Mold me into anything, I'll take the shape of your like."

Your heart constricts, brain shots, stupid senses, you wanna scream. You swear you'll break him under your watch, it won't be a month and he'll be bailing out.

And Jihoon swears, he'll get you back, that this time, that he'll love you right.

It's Eunha's birthday and Seungkwan made you arrange a big event since she's gonna get proposed.

You can't stress how nervous you are even after trying your best to suit the taste of everything to be of Eunha's liking along with calming Seungkwan who's about to puke anytime because of his anxiety hitting the roofs.

And now your sister's crying, her now fiancé is crying but you're bawling. It's so beautiful, the entire scene that it makes you a bit too emotional, so you go out to breathe some fresh air and calm your nerves.

You feel a presence beside you and suddenly your head is being downed on a shoulder.

"I have kept your favourite chocolates in your purse. Have them to calm your nerves, your cycle date is approaching. I have restocked the supplies.", Jihoon says, "And made sure that no one is watching us now."

You tangle your arm with his and watch the stars in awe.

"One of your aunts kept asking me if I am single since you introduced me as your friend.", he says, leaning his head against yours.

"What did you say?"

"That I am taken and so in love."

Your heart flutters.

Jihoon has become calmer than he already was. He does everything you say, no questions asked. He waits for you inside his car every night to escort you when you're done for the day. He texts you frequently, though it's mostly monologue without any expectations of getting a reply.

He sleeps on the same bed if you ask him to, he takes the couch when you don't. There's always an ask of consent if he wants a kiss.

Nothing is out of scope, he'll bring you the moon if you want it.

"You look the prettiest tonight, you always do.", he kisses the top of your head, "Thanks for wearing the brooch, I bought you."

"Jihoon", you look up, your face perched on his shoulder blade and gazes meeting, "Why do you always look at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you love me.", your hand slips into his and he encases it as if his life depends on it.

"I do love you.", comes his immediate assurance, "I may not use nicknames, not big on PDA and not be expressive on texts. But I love you and even though I was late to confess the last time I hope at some point I made you feel loved, made you see that guy who's usually not a fan of skinship initiated hugs and held hands, who hates amusement parks had planned every outing there because you like it, who doesn't like carrots either but picks them out of your plate so you don't have to feel guilty for throwing them."

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes and do his.

It's true. Now as well, Jihoon doesn't text 'I love you's, doesn't use nicknames, nor does he gushes over. He's still silent, acts of service loud enough as his love language.

Jihoon looks away, exhaling sharply, "I'm sorry, I started dating to rebound. I think I'll regret this as long as I'm alive."

"I'm on a mission and you're making it impossible to follow through."

It's snowing. Jihoon, as usual, waits for you to wrap things up. Today, he's standing in a corner, inside the venue as snow pours outside.

You are almost done with stuffs when you spot him. He smiles, eyes forming slits as you walk up to him.

His presence, you think, feels like a fresh breath in the hustle. You're just about to greet him when--

"Y/N!", you turn back to hear the yell of your name only to find one of your colleagues, Ahin, rushing towards you, "You forgot to take the inventory list."

Jihoon takes it as que to leave your side. He's about to turn but freezes when Ahin asks, "Who's he?"

As practiced, as he's been doing it for months, he's about to answer, "I'm her friend--"

"Boyfriend.", you cut him off, taking the papers from her hand, "This is Jihoon, my boyfriend."

Ahin is shocked, Jihoon goes stiff and you bite your lips to suppress your laugh. You know tomorrow's gonna be chaos at work.

As Jihoon crosses the threshold of your apartment, he's pressed against the closed door.

Your lips press on his with intensity while his hands tangle in your hair. It's a full makeout session and you're pulling him into the bedroom.

"Since when am I your boyfriend?", there's a tease in his tone as he looks up from between your legs, his chin glistening from your juices, "I thought we still have a month left?"

"Consider this as an early promotion.", you grab a fistful of his hair and push back his mouth to work on cunt, "Let's love now, Ji. Let's be together and happy."

"Let's love then.", he dives in, his tongue parting your folds and finding your clit. He circles it slowly, then sucks gently, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

He continues lavishing attention on your clit, his tongue alternating between rapid flicks and slow, sensual licks. One hand slides up to caress your breast, teasing your nipple gently. His other hand grips your hip, holding you steady as he pleasures you thoroughly.

"Ji, fuck!", your heads befalls on the pillows, eyes close shut.

His mouth is relentless, your pleasure his sole focus. He eats you out with abandon, his own hunger evident in the way he devours you. Your cries and whimpers only spur him on, his tongue never stopping its assault on your sensitive clit, "Fuck, you taste so good."

"Ji, can't hold back anymore", you're whimpering as the fisting on his hair tightens.

Upon hearing your breathy confession, Jihoon doubles his efforts, his tongue now moving in tight, rapid circles around your clit. He slips two fingers inside you, curling them just right to stimulate that perfect spot, "That's it, come for me. Wanna feel you fall apart on my tongue."

He can feel you tensing, your hips bucking against his face as you get closer to the edge. He growls around your sensitive flesh, the vibrations pushing you closer. He hooks his fingers deeper inside you, rubbing that spot mercilessly, "Now, Love now."

He continues to lick and suck, drawing out your orgasm until you're a quivering mess beneath him. Only then does he pull back, his chin glistening with your arousal. He climbs up your body, capturing your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

He smiles against your lips feeling your fingers working on the button on his trouser.

"You'll have to leave early tomorrow morning," he says, grabbing both of your hands, "This was for you to have a sound sleep."

"But--"

"You can have me all you want tomorrow, after you return.", he is already descending down the bed to bring warm washcloth to clean you up, "Promise."

"Ji, next month, I'll be gone for a week."

Jihoon hums, as he cleans you up gently, "A destination wedding right?"

You hum sleepily, "Do you wanna join? We could extend the stay and use it as a break."

"I'll check my schedule and let you know. It's a good idea actually."

"I love you, Ji.", your drowsiness amuses Jihoon, as he watches you fall into slumber, "Wanna brainstorm cases with you for the rest of my life."

He presses a soft kiss on your forehead, listening to your soft snores, "And all I wanna do is be the best partner to you. I love you too, dearest darl+ing."

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip.

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teeskzagain · 2 days ago

Text

"i'm popular with older sisters."

• synopsis: in which the lines have started to blur between your long-term neighbor, sim jake.

• warnings: heavily suggestive content (as in this is one step away from being just straight smut basically), jake calls reader "noona", dry humping, hickies/neck markings, slight dirty talk, desperate!jake

• wc: 1.1k

• a/n: im thinking of expanding this idea into a one shot, but please let me know if i should.

» imagine younger!neighbor jake, who one day barges into your house, ready to hang out with you and your family- he'd been bored with nothing else to do.

» neighbor!jake, who roams around the living room and kitchen in search of someone, before finally working his way upstairs (there was no one around) and sees that your door is open. immediately, he beelines straight down the hall.

» imagine younger!neighbor jake, who wastes no time storming into your room, excited that you're home, only to get told off harshly by you. you're on the phone with a friend, back resting against the bed frame as you wave at him to go away.

» after scolding him and returning back to your conversation, imagine younger!neighbor jake's reaction. his face would contort unpleasantly, nose turning upright at your dismissive attitude. he'd stand at your door frame, mumbling out, "noona." over and over again as a means of regaining your attention. though, you would just ignore him.

» imagine neighbor!jake, who doesn't appreciate how you're acting towards him, stalking up to the end of the bed. his whines of, "get off the phone." combined with, "just talk to me instead." begin to irritate you, with you purposely keeping your gaze away from him.

» younger!neighbor jake didn't like being ignored. which is why seconds later, he's crawling onto your bed and swiftly engulfing you with his body. after the many years spent together, he already knows what gets you the most distracted.

» imagine neighbor!jake who, as your busy yelling and fighting him off of you, begins to bury his head deep into your neck. he produces little groans into the crevice, saying such verbage as, "noona, i miss you so much. please, just missed you so much."

» imagine neighbor!jake smothering you with his weight when he starts to press his full lips against your skin, trying anything to get your attention. you fumble your phone in an attempt to hang up the call because absolutely no way would you let anyone know about this. no. no one could ever know. “we are not doing this right now.” you hiss softly once you know your friend is unable to hear the scuffle going on.

» "why not?" neighbor!jake rumbles into your skin, "don't you love it when i-" without any hesitation, he starts to nip at your skin and instinctively a sharp inhale has you levitating. his arms wrap tighter around your torso as you now begin to feel trapped underneath him. wrestling you deeper into the mattress, he can't help the light rut his pelvis does into your side. the need to just have you becoming ever so consuming.

» imagine younger!neighbor jake, who in actuality, came over to your house because he's been missing you a little more than a neighbor truly should. while, yes, he was missing the comforting presence you would always bring to him. your caring tendencies in an almost sisterly way.

» imagine neighbor!jake, who's true reason for visiting, was because he began to miss you. he started to miss your thick, velvet walls that always feel so fucking good around his strained cock. the tiny whimpers you would produce when you were overstimulated. how much cum he would squirt out because only you could ever get him so aroused. he's longing for it, and now he needs this asap.

» "jake...." murmuring, you feel your head roll to the side as neighbor!jake uses a hand to push it out the way, needing an even greater space to kiss and mark you up, "we need...to stop. we need to stop this now. my parents are gonna be home-ah...soon."

» younger!neighbor jake is too much in a daze to even register your concern. fuck, how could he pay attention? despite your protests, you're already whining softly into the air, the little huffs of your chest has both you and him heaving up and down. this is how it always starts. it starts with your refusal to engage, your mature attitude that battles his easy going one, before eventually you begin to falter.

» imagine neighbor!jake slowly pulling his head back to gage you from above, and then recieving all the confirmation he needs. his noona. so fucking pretty, the way you're eyes are shut tightly because you always get aroused so fast. you want this, no matter how many times you try to deny. the evidence is all of your face. god, he feels his cock buzzing because of that pretty face. you just make him so damn horny. after admiring you, he lowers himself once more and goes back to producing fat, lazy hickies all over your neck and grinding his tip against you.

» imagine younger!neighbor jake, who's cock is pulsing so hard that he's seconds away from cumming on himself. raking his dick into your body, the sloppy kisses, all of it acts as the perfect foreplay for him. but what really does it for him, is when your legs involuntarily widens and closes to cage him in, solidifying the unspoken agreement between you two.

» a tiny smile starts to spread across neighbor!jake's face as he switches between splotching you red and huskily speaking, "you ready now?" he lands a larger kiss on the middle of your throat, "i'll be quick, noona." his throaty voice vibrates just perfectly into your ears. "just how you like it."

» imagine younger!neighbor jake, who's moments from stuffing you raw, muttering sweet nothings into your skin. he grabs a handful of your pants fabric and quietly pulls it down to reveal your commando state. when he brushes his fingertips against your bare clit, you have to bite your lip to stop a shuddered moan from leaving. his hazy eyes look up to your contorted face, "kinda wish you wouldn't hold back. i wanna hear your pretty moans. i wanna hear your soft pleads. let me hear you-"

» as you go to let out a throaty mewl, imagine younger!neighbor jake's dismay when he suddenly hears the front door opening then closing and indistinct talking emerges from downstairs. with an, ‘oh fuck’, the two of you jump and scramble apart, the sounds of footsteps echoing around. someone starts to make their way upstairs as you both go from a state of startling shock to sheer panic.

"Y/N! We're home!"

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madwomansapologist · 2 days ago

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★彡 synopsis: kento wasn't to blame. it was never his intention to hate you. the blame was completely on you for being the most irritating omega he has ever met. kento's only fault was his inability to ignore your presence. ₊⊹ masterlist

content warnings: no curse au, omegaverse, alpha!kento x omega!reader, co-workers, meet cute, hate at first sight, one sided (delusional) hate, scent blockers.

word count: [1.3K]

First day into elementary school, blonde hair combed to exhaustion and round glasses with thick lenses, Kento wrote down everything that sounded important. Languages are ancient, his meticulous handwriting occupied the very first line of the notebook. Black ink, underlined twice.

Annoyingly meticulous handwriting, since Kento remember being mocked by a taller boy for ripping out one of the pages after a misspell. He also remembers that it was something about words as evidence of how long mankind survived—by the time he didn’t know what mankind meant. His teacher was too old and far too poetic, but learning new words made Kento excited for mondays.

Weeks later, Kento had a secret: he loved studying. He despised school around his friends, but Kento always knew what chapter the teacher finished off last class or what pages to read for the next exam. First week of school meant discovering the semester’s mandatory reading—which Kento would devour in a month.

His family praised him for being smart, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that Kento wouldn’t believe them once they started saying words can lose meaning if not used correctly. That’s the opposite of what his literature teacher spent the entire year explaining. Kento has his notebook to prove it.

“If they did”, Kento reasoned with his dad as if he was the adult. “Not a single language would have survived. You yell my name all the time and I still answer. It has the same meaning it ever did.”

“Some words, if used too often, will lose meaning inside of your heart”, his dad sighed. “Hate is one of those words. One you use way too much, puppy.”

That made Kento snarl. “I’m eight and a half!”

“On that we won’t argue”, his father grinned. Messing up the hair Kento combed for ages, he went back to slicing vegetables. Without washing his hand first, Kento quietly judged him. “You’re just like your mom. I bet you’ll be an alpha.”

Kento pretended to agree since he planned on not eating green bell pepper at dinner. His father should be grateful that he isn’t an adult already, because Adult Kento wouldn’t fear disgusting food as punishment for saying the truth. Adult Kento wouldn’t be ashamed for being right.

As if presenting as an omega or beta would stop him from questioning what doesn’t make sense. And that whole story about losing meaning inside his heart? If I forget the meaning of a word, Kento cursed inside his bedroom, I can just read a dictionary.

His father was being unfair and Kento absolutely hates that.

He thought adults didn’t need to agree with illogical arguments, but years later Adult Kento was made aware of his past self’s mistake. The countless times he heard that hate is such a strong word without uttering a word. One that he shouldn’t be so casual about. Otherwise, they always warn, it’ll turn meaningless.

Needless to say, Kento hates illogical arguments. And he hates his neighbor’s predisposition to loud music. Not charging his phone at night, working overtime, stumbling on a stair at night. Green bell pepper, as one does. And you. Recently, Kento hates you the most.

Better wage, same workhours, different boss: it was a good offer. Good enough for Kento to submit his resignation letter and start as an accountant in this firm. Annoying tasks, tense meetings, coffee machine out of order: with that salary, nothing would be a problem for Kento. But you had to ruin it.

After a quick meeting with the manager and being introduced to the financial team, Kento placed his briefcase on the desk designated for him. That is, on what little space was left for him. Kento sighed for the first time that day.

Frames lacking pictures, empty perfume flask, crumpled post its. There was a cup filled with pens and a hairbrush, but most of them were all over the place. Who even needs that many pens nowadays? Who even uses pens nowadays? The pen-hairbrush cup even had lipstick marks on.

Kento sighed for the second time when he looked at the desk besides his.

It’s clear his colleague doesn’t know the basics of a keyboard, considering the bag pressing P onto an open document. Neither do they understand that one shouldn’t pile used plastic cups and folded science magazines on top of a printer. A vase of magnolias was a surprise amidst that mess, forgotten once his right eyelid twitched at the sight of acetone and nail polish.

“Morning.” Trying his best to contain a snarl, a low voice scared Kento off his thoughts. “You’re the new accountant, right?”

He expected you to be embarrassed but turning around all Kento saw was an omega far more interest on her coffee than his face. As if something with that much whipped cream could be considered coffee. Staring at your eyelids, he didn’t notice the third sigh.

What he noticed was your fully exposed throat. No adhesive patch over your glands or collar around your neck. Golden bracelets covered part of your inner wrists but the pendants tinkling only brough more attention to your bare glands.

Thankfully, there was no nauseating scent—a side effect of his suppressants. Your scent wasn’t absent, only hidden by a faint touch of magnolia and acetone on the air. For that he was grateful. It would feel like a bad omen to throw up on his first day at this job.

Kento could never go out like that. His dark blue collar covered the base of his neck, both glands fully concealed as thick bracelets did the same beneath his sleeves. He had spares on his briefcase and a flask of black pepper perfume―the strongest Kento ever found. He would never go out like that.

That doesn’t mean he judges you for not using anything to cover your scent, specially since it’s delicate enough to go unnoticed. Kento uses them because he wants to cover himself, anyone that doesn’t desire the same shouldn’t do the same. Still, he would bet money that you simply forgot to put them. And for that Kento does judge you.

“Yes, I am”, he bent down, trying to remain polite. “Nanami Kento.”

“No need for formalities”, you yawned, gesturing for him to stood up. Posture fixed, Kento watched you unlock the second drawer of your desk. In quick movements, you put all your mess inside the drawer and locked it once more.

Sitting down, you smiled. It reached your eyes, baring your fangs to him. “Welcome.” After telling him your name, you took a sip from the so-called coffee and grabbed your bag. “I’m here if you need any help.”

Kento made a silent promise to never ever come to you if he needed help.

Erasing everything your bag pressed, you searched for something inside it and quickly forgot about Kento’s existence. He grabbed a few ignored crumbled papers and, after finding a trash can, came back to his desk to find you holding a headphone.

Not only you didn’t care about the organization of your workplace, but you were unable of apologizing or even collecting all your things on your own. And as if it wasn’t enough, you offered help just to immediately make sure Kento wouldn’t be able of talking to you.

Adult Kento realized that, to a certain extent, his father was right. Inside his heart, the word hate lost its meaning. You and loud music can’t be described with the same word. Maybe he really shouldn’t have used it so often…

No. Kento realized that wasn’t the problem. This isn’t about a word losing meaning, but simply about it not being the correct choice to describe what Kento feels about you.

Within knowing you for less than two minutes, he knew. Kento loathed you.

What a nice alpha, you put the noise canceling headset so you could finish the presentation for today’s meeting. Making a mental note to search on your folders for the introductory material to send him, you smiled once more. He didn’t even made me feel bad about all this mess. I’ll get him some coffee later.

TAGLIST: @aviesnapkindoodles @starry-eyed--dreamer

want to be tagged? tell me!

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creatur3featur3 · 1 day ago

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ੈ✩ Street Rat p4✩ੈ

word count: 8.5K (someone please kill me, my fingers are cramping)

A/N: can yall tell I love making SR and Sevika interact like an old married couple that should've gotten divorced years ago? haha, no? just me? okay-

warnings: descriptions of blood, trauma, implied self harm

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

You weren’t sure why you were so desperate to find Sevika, you didn’t like her like that, you didn’t like her period, but something was tugging at you to look for her.

She had fed you, patched you up many more times than you’d like to admit, helped you at your absolute worst, you felt like you at least owed her the decency to look for her, to worry about her.

You wandered the streets of the Undercity, looking down the quieter alleyways, looking into what you thought were abandoned buildings before getting chased out by random punks.

“And stay out you little Rat!” A woman hissed as you sprinted down the street, panting heavily, not daring to look back before you ran into something, or someone.

You fall to the ground with a soft thud, letting out a quiet ‘oof’ before looking up to see Sevika watching you with keen, amused eyes.

“You just don’t know how to stay out of trouble do you?” She hummed thoughtfully, helping you up with her flesh hand.

She looked different, hair cut shorter, a piercing, and-

Tired.

“You look…” you trailed off, Sevika rolling her eyes slightly before crossing her arms, “different?” She questioned.

“…yeah,” you replied, not the words you were planning to say, but pretty much.

Pretty, that’s what you wanted to say, what sat at the tip of your tongue, but you swallowed the word, clearing your throat awkwardly.

Sevika raised an eyebrow at you, the corner of her mouth twitching with mild amusement. “What are you doing out here?” she asked, her voice low and gravelly. “Shouldn’t you be holed up somewhere safe, minding your own business?”

You dusted yourself off, avoiding her piercing gaze. “I could say the same to you,” you muttered, refusing to admit how relieved you were to see her. “You’ve been gone for… what, weeks? No word, no nothing. People started saying you were dead.”

Sevika snorted, the sound rough and dismissive. “Dead? Do I look dead to you?” She gestured to herself with her metal arm, her new piercing catching the dim light of the Undercity streets.

“No,” you said quietly, glancing her over again. Her sharp features looked harder somehow, the dark circles under her eyes a testament to long nights and rough days. “But you do look… different.”

Sevika’s lips quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You already said that,” she pointed out dryly. She stepped back and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her broad chest. “What do you want, kid?”

You faltered, your carefully rehearsed words slipping through your fingers like sand. “I… just wanted to make sure you were okay. You were gone so long, and you’ve… helped me. A lot. I figured I owed you.”

Her expression softened for a brief moment, though she quickly masked it with a grunt. “Didn’t think anyone would notice, let alone care,” she admitted, her tone more subdued.

“Well, I did,” you said firmly, stepping closer. “So? Where the hell have you been?”

“Busy,” she replied vaguely, her gaze flickering away. “Work. Stuff like that.”

“Work?” you pressed, sensing she wasn’t giving you the full truth. “What kind of work?”

Sevika’s jaw clenched, her patience visibly fraying as you kept pushing. “Drop it,” she muttered, her voice sharp enough to cut. But you didn’t—couldn’t.

“You always brush people off like this? Or just me?” you snapped, anger bubbling in your chest. “You disappear for weeks, come back looking like you’ve been through hell, and I’m supposed to just let it go?”

Her glare darkened, the veins in her temple throbbing. “I said drop it!” she barked, the deep growl of her voice reverberating through the alley.

“Why? So you can keep everything bottled up until it kills you?” The words tumbled out before you could stop them, your frustration overriding your common sense. “Maybe I care, Sevika! Ever think of that?”

Her flesh hand clenched into a fist, her whole body coiled like a spring about to snap. “Shut up,” she hissed, stepping closer.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t stop. “You act like you don’t need anyone, like you can just handle everything alone—”

The swing came faster than you could register. Her metal fist didn’t hit you, but her flesh hand did, hard enough to knock you off your feet.

Your back hit the ground with a jarring thud, the metallic taste of blood flooding your mouth as you felt your nose start to bleed. For a moment, the world blurred, the pounding in your head drowning out everything else.

When your vision cleared, you looked up at her, hand pressed against your nose. Her expression wasn’t triumphant, or even angry anymore.

It was horrified.

She froze, her lips slightly parted as her gaze locked on yours. And there it was: fear. In your eyes, wide and scared, as if she’d morphed into a monster right in front of you.

It was like she was seeing it for the first time, and it shattered something deep inside her.

“I didn’t mean to…” she muttered, her voice trembling, barely audible.

You scrambled to your feet, keeping a cautious distance, your heart hammering in your chest. “You… you fucking hit me,” you stammered, wiping at the blood trickling from your nose.

Sevika didn’t say anything. She just stared at her hand, the one that struck you, like it belonged to someone else entirely.

“Is this what you are now?” you asked, your voice wavering. “I come out here, looking your to make sure you're okay and not dead in a ditch- and you�� ”

Her head snapped up, the guilt etched deep into her features. “No,” she said hoarsely, taking a step back. “I… I didn’t mean it. I wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t thinking?” you finished for her, your anger and hurt clashing violently in your chest. “Yeah, no kidding.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words sounding foreign and unnatural coming from her lips.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the tension thick and suffocating. You wanted to scream, to demand answers, but the look on her face silenced you.

“I shouldn’t have come looking for you,” you muttered, stepping back further. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

She didn’t stop you as you turned to leave, but her voice followed you, quiet and broken. “Wait.”

You didn’t.

–

Stupid.

Your balled fist hit against your head again, you knew better, knew better than to trust anyone, to rely on anyone, it was your own damn fault you were in this mess.

stupid.

Sevika had even warned you, told you to leave her alone, that you weren't going to be safe, that you were just going to get yourself hurt again.

stupid.

You staggered down the empty street, your own ragged breaths and muffled sniffles the only sounds echoing in the night. The sting of your bleeding nose was nothing compared to the ache in your chest.

Stupid.

Your balled fist hit the side of your head again, harder this time.

You should’ve listened. You should’ve known better. Sevika wasn’t a safe place—she never was. She was a storm, violent and unpredictable, and you were the fool who thought you could stand in the middle of it without getting torn apart.

Stupid.

Another hit to your head, frustration bubbling over into self-directed rage. This was your fault. All of it. You shouldn’t have gone looking for her. You shouldn’t have cared. You shouldn’t have—

You stopped dead in your tracks, leaning against the brick wall of an abandoned building, sliding down until you were crouched on the ground. The weight of it all crashed over you, a suffocating tidal wave of anger and shame.

Sevika warned you. She told you to stay away, told you what would happen. And you, in your desperate, naive need to feel… what? Important? Connected? You ignored her.

Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms as tears pricked at your eyes. You weren’t going to cry. You didn’t deserve to cry.

You tilted your head back, staring up at the polluted sky of the Undercity, the faint glow of lights barely breaking through the haze.

“Stupid,” you muttered again, voice cracking. You wrapped your arms around yourself, squeezing tight, as if trying to hold all your broken pieces together.

This was your mess. Your pain. And you’d deal with it, like you always did. Alone.

That’s what you always did.

Life slipped back into the routine of survival, the kind of existence that didn’t leave room for anything soft or sentimental. The bruises on your face faded, but the ache beneath them stayed, buried deep where no one could see.

You spent your nights fighting in the back alleys for scraps of money, fists flying as blood and sweat mixed with the grime of the Undercity streets. The thrill of it was a distraction, a way to quiet the noise in your head. And when that wasn’t enough, you stole—food, trinkets, anything you could get your hands on.

The people you stole from didn’t matter. Maybe they deserved it; maybe they didn’t. It didn’t make a difference to you. That’s how it was down here—everyone clawing to take what little they could, stepping on anyone who got in their way.

You were no different.

A street rat. That’s all you were, all you ever would be. Not someone’s child, not someone’s friend, not someone’s anything. Rats didn’t belong to anyone—they scurried, they scavenged, and they survived.

And that was enough, wasn’t it?

The thought lingered as you huddled in the corner of a dimly lit alley, clutching a half-eaten loaf of bread you’d swiped earlier. The warmth of it had long since faded, just like everything else.

It was enough. It had to be. Because hope was a luxury for people who didn’t live with dirt under their nails and blood on their hands.

And you didn’t have the luxury of being anything but a rat.

You watched as a group of younger kids giggled and laughed, their voices echoing faintly down the alley as they ran past you. They clutched makeshift toys in their small hands—scraps of wood tied together, a dented tin can, things they’d probably cobbled together themselves.

You frowned, pulling your knees closer to your chest as you sat against the cold, damp wall. They were so loud, so carefree, their laughter grating against the silence you’d grown used to. You should’ve hated them for it, envied the spark of innocence they still had in this pit of a place. But all you felt was an ache.

This wasn’t the world kids like them should be growing up in. They deserved warm homes, full bellies, and safety—not these streets that swallowed people whole. Not this cold, dangerous place where every smile felt borrowed, fleeting.

But that wasn’t the world they got.

Just like it hadn’t been the world you’d gotten.

You shifted, looking down at your battered boots. They weren’t much better off than those kids, you realized. Maybe younger, but not safer. Not really. They didn’t know yet what these streets could do to them, how they could chew them up and spit them out.

And a bitter part of you thought maybe it was better they didn’t.

You sighed, rubbing at your arms to keep the cold from seeping in too much. Those kids weren’t your problem. You didn’t have the energy to care about anyone else. Not anymore.

But as one of the kids tripped and fell, scraping their knee, you found yourself moving before you could think.

You stood, walking toward them slowly. The little boy sat there sniffling, trying to hold back tears as the others circled him, unsure of what to do.

“You good, kid?” you asked, your voice low and gruff, startling them.

The boy looked up at you, wide-eyed, his lip trembling. “I-I’m fine,” he mumbled, clearly lying.

You crouched down in front of him, your gaze softening despite yourself. “Lemme see.”

He hesitated, then reluctantly showed you his scraped knee, blood trickling down his skinny leg. It wasn’t anything serious, but it was enough to sting.

“Hang tight,” you said, pulling a strip of cloth from your pocket. You wrapped it around his knee with surprising gentleness, tying it off. “There. Good as new.”

The boy blinked up at you, his tears slowing as he gave a small, hesitant smile. “Thanks…”

You stood up, brushing your hands off on your pants. “Don’t mention it.”

As you walked away, you could hear them whispering behind you, their voices filled with wonder.

“Who was that?”

“Dunno, but they’re cool!”

You shook your head, shoving your hands deep into your pockets as you disappeared down another alley.

“Stupid,” you muttered under your breath again, the word sticking to your tongue like tar. You weren’t supposed to care.

But you did.

You found yourself helping out the smaller people, not necessarily kids or older people but people who were like you, desperate, barely scraping by..

It started small—handing off scraps of food you didn’t need, pointing someone toward a safer place to sleep, helping a desperate soul avoid a fight they couldn’t win. You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that you weren’t trying to be anything to anyone. But somewhere along the way, people started noticing.

Not the big players in the Undercity, of course. They didn’t care about people like you, scraping by on crumbs. But the smaller people—the desperate ones, the ones who lived and died in the shadows—they noticed.

And then came the kids.

You didn’t know when it happened, but suddenly, there was always a small cluster of them following you around. Wide-eyed and full of questions, they trailed behind like ducklings, giggling and whispering to each other.

“Is it true you beat up three guys at once last week?” one of them asked, his eyes shining with admiration.

“No, it was five,” another kid chimed in, puffing up his chest like he’d seen you do once. “I heard they were twice as big as you, too!”

You snorted, shaking your head as you walked. “It was one guy, and he was drunk off his ass. Hardly a fair fight.”

But they didn’t care about the truth. To them, you were a legend—someone who fought back against the unfairness of the Undercity and lived to tell the tale.

“What’s it like being the coolest person in the Undercity?” one of the youngest kids asked, skipping alongside you with a toothy grin.

“Dunno,” you replied with a smirk, ruffling his messy hair. “You tell me when you meet them.”

That earned a chorus of laughter, and for a moment, you forgot about the cold and the hunger and the weight that constantly pressed on your shoulders. For a moment, it felt… good.

But then the reality of it all crept back in. You weren’t a hero. You weren’t even a good person. You were just a rat, doing what rats did best: surviving.

Still, when one of the kids tugged on your sleeve and asked if you’d show them how to throw a proper punch, you sighed and crouched down, holding out your hands to demonstrate.

“Alright, listen up,” you said, your tone gruff but not unkind. “If you’re gonna do it, do it right. Thumb outside the fist, or you’ll break it on the first swing.”

The kids watched you with rapt attention, mimicking your movements, their laughter filling the air.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That you were just killing time.

But deep down, you knew better.

“Do you know Sevika?” one little girl asked, her eyes shining bright with curiosity.

The question hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you froze. The little girl stared up at you with wide, curious eyes, her excitement barely contained.

“Sevika?” you repeated, forcing your voice to stay steady as your stomach twisted itself into knots. “What makes you ask that?”

The girl shrugged, clutching a worn doll tightly to her chest. “Some people said you’re like her. Tough and strong. That you help people like she used to.”

Your chest tightened, and you fought to keep your expression neutral. “I don’t know about that,” you muttered, looking away.

You wanted to lie, to say you didn’t know who Sevika was, to brush it off like it meant nothing. But you couldn’t. Her name alone brought everything rushing back—the nights you spent following her, trying to understand why you cared so much, why she mattered to you.

And how it all came crashing down the moment she showed you exactly who she was.

“Did she help you too?” the girl asked innocently, her voice tugging at something raw and vulnerable inside you.

You swallowed hard, your fists clenching at your sides. “Not in the way you think,” you said quietly.

The kids around you fell silent, sensing the shift in your mood. Even the little girl seemed to understand she’d touched on something she shouldn’t have.

“Forget about Sevika,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “She’s not someone you want to be like.”

The girl frowned, her grip on her doll tightening. “But I thought she was a hero.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “She’s no hero. And neither am I.”

The words tasted sour on your tongue, and you hated how much truth they held. You turned away, pretending to adjust the wrappings on your hands, anything to avoid their questioning eyes.

“Let’s get moving,” you said gruffly, motioning for them to follow. “It’s not safe to stand around here.”

As the kids fell into step behind you, their chatter picking up again, you tried to push the thoughts of Sevika out of your head. But her name lingered like a ghost, haunting you with every step you took.

—

You hated it. The way your chest only loosened when you saw those kids step inside their makeshift homes, doors closing behind them, locking out the dangers of the Undercity—for now.

You hated the way your ears strained for any sign of trouble, ready to step in, ready to fight, even when you told yourself you wouldn’t.

You weren’t a hero. You weren’t a savior. Hell, if that little girl had asked about Sevika again, you might’ve snapped at her, might’ve said something cruel enough to shut her up for good.

Not that you actually would’ve hurt her. You weren’t that far gone—yet.

But it made you sick, the thought of anyone seeing you as something good. Someone to look up to. You were no one’s safety, no one’s home, no one’s hero. You were just—you.

A street rat. A survivor.

And survivors didn’t make promises. They didn’t stick around.

Still, as you stood alone in the dim light of the alley, you couldn’t help but glance back one last time. Just to be sure.

“I never thought I’d see you go soft,” a voice piped up, making you turn around, body tensing almost immediately as you looked around, trying to pinpoint the source of the voice.

That’s when you saw her again-

Sevika.

The woman who had taken you in more or less, taken care of you, made sure you knew when and where not to go.

Just for her to rip it all away in one night.

Your breath caught in your throat, muscles coiling tight as your eyes locked onto her.

Sevika.

She leaned casually against the brick wall, her metal arm glinting faintly in the dim light. Her short hair framed her sharp features, and that same unreadable expression lingered on her face—the one that always made it impossible to tell if she was amused or annoyed.

She looked exactly like you remembered. And yet, somehow, worse. Tired. Hardened. But no less dangerous.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady even as your pulse hammered in your ears. “What the hell do you want?”

Her lips twitched, just barely hinting at a smirk. “Relax. I’m not here to pick a fight.”

You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest as if that would somehow shield you from the weight of her presence. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Sevika pushed off the wall, taking a slow step closer. It wasn’t a threat, not exactly—but it didn’t feel safe either. “I was just passing through,” she said, her voice low, gravelly. “Didn’t expect to find you playing babysitter.”

Your jaw tightened. “I’m not playing anything.”

“No?” Her gaze flicked toward the alley where the kids had disappeared, then back to you. “Sure looks like it.”

Your fingers twitched, itching for a weapon—something to hold between you and her. Not because you thought she’d attack. But because you didn’t trust yourself not to let her get under your skin. Not again.

“Why are you here, Sevika?” you asked, cutting through the tension with as much venom as you could muster. “Last I checked, you were done with me.”

Her expression shifted, something almost like regret flashing in her eyes before it was gone, buried under that cold exterior. “You wouldn’t let it go,” she said quietly. “I told you to stay away. Told you it’d get you hurt.”

You took a step forward, the anger that had been simmering for months finally bubbling over. “And you think this is better?” you snapped, gesturing at the empty alley, at the scraps of a life you’d been barely holding together. “You think walking away without a word—without even explaining—was better?”

Sevika didn’t flinch, but her jaw set tightly. “It was the only way to keep you safe.”

“Bullshit.”

Your voice echoed off the walls, and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, staring each other down like opponents waiting for the first punch to land.

But it never did.

Instead, Sevika let out a breath, her shoulders sagging just slightly. “You don’t get it,” she muttered, more to herself than to you. “You never did.”

And maybe you didn’t. Maybe you never would.

But as much as you hated her—hated what she’d done, how she’d left—you hated the way her words still made your heart ache even more.

“No,” you snapped, making Sevika's eyes narrow slightly.

“You don’t get it, do you know how much I’ve been risking nowadays? Giving away my hard earned food, taking care of kids that aren’t mine, teaching them how to protect themselves, using my supplies to cover up scrapes and cuts. I have these horrible fucking dreams Sevika, horrible horrible dreams, every time a lay down my head to rest or even just to let it relax all I can fucking hear is screaming. My sisters crying while they burned alive, my mother calling out to me like she knew what was happening. Do you ever hear that? Do you have to deal with that day in and day out?”

Sevika was tense, not meeting your eyes as you continued on.

“Do you ever hear them?” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. The words poured out, raw and unfiltered, the dam you’d built up for so long finally breaking. “Do you have to deal with that day in and day out, Sevika? Because I do. Every fucking day.”

Sevika stayed silent, her gaze fixed on the ground. Her jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitch, but she didn’t interrupt. She just stood there, her shoulders stiff, her hands twitching at her sides.

“I try to forget,” you continued, your voice rising with every word. “I try to drown it out with fights, with work, with anything. But it never goes away. And then you come along, acting like you’re doing me a favor by walking away? Like leaving me behind was some kind of mercy?”

You laughed bitterly, the sound echoing hollowly in the empty alley. “You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to act like you know what’s best for me.”

Sevika’s head snapped up at that, her eyes sharp and stormy as they locked onto yours. “And you think you’re better off with me?” she growled, the edge in her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “You think sticking around me would’ve made your life easier? Safer?”

“I don’t know, Sevika!” you shot back, your fists clenching. “But you don’t get to rip everything away without even giving me a choice! You don’t get to decide I’m not worth the risk!”

The words hung heavy in the air, both of you breathing hard, the weight of the conversation pressing down like a storm ready to break.

Sevika looked at you, really looked at you, and for a moment, you thought you saw something crack in her cold, impenetrable armor. Something vulnerable, something almost human.

“You don’t understand,” she said finally, her voice quieter, almost hoarse. “It’s not about you not being worth it. It’s about me… not being enough.”

Her words stunned you, the anger in your chest wavering for just a moment.

“You think I don’t care?” she continued, her gaze hard but her voice trembling just slightly. “You think I don’t hear the screams, too? That I don’t see the faces of the people I couldn’t save, the ones I left behind? I walk through hell every day, just like you. The difference is, I made my peace with it a long time ago. I don’t deserve peace. I don’t deserve…”

Her voice trailed off, but the implication hung heavy in the air.

You didn’t know whether to scream at her or cry. Instead, you took a step closer, your voice softer but no less determined.

“And you think I don’t feel the same?” you asked, your tone low and raw. “You think I don’t carry that same weight? That same guilt? You don’t get to decide what I deserve, Sevika. You don’t get to decide for me.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Sevika didn’t have a response. She just stood there, staring at you with something unreadable in her eyes, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, until finally, Sevika let out a long, shaky breath.

“You’re a stubborn little shit,” she muttered, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice steadier now. “And you’re a coward.”

Her smirk faltered, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she took a step back, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before she turned away.

“Get some rest,” she said over her shoulder, her voice gruff but softer than before. “You’re no good to anyone running on empty.”

But the weight of her presence lingered, and for the first time in a long while, it felt like the cracks in your armor weren’t just breaking you apart—they were letting something in.

You hated that you wanted to call out to hear, to tell her to wait, to ask her to stay with you- you shouldn't.

“Sevika?” Your voice was soft, unsure, but Sevika looked back at you, raising an eyebrow in response.

You should've said never mind, or Don't get hurt without me, but against your better judgement–

“Do you–” god this was pathetic, “have anything to do tonight..?”

Sevika stopped mid-step, her broad frame outlined by the dim glow of the streetlamp. She turned her head slightly, her eyebrow still raised, but her expression unreadable.

You wanted to shrink back, to swallow the words, to act like you hadn’t said anything. But it was too late. They hung in the air, vulnerable and raw, impossible to take back.

“Do I have anything to do tonight?” she repeated, her voice low and measured, as if trying to make sense of your question.

You shifted on your feet, suddenly regretting every choice that had led you to this moment. “Forget it,” you muttered, looking down at the cracked pavement. “It’s stupid.”

Sevika didn’t move for a moment, her silence stretching out uncomfortably. Then, with a quiet sigh, she turned fully to face you, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t have time for games, kid,” she said, her tone sharper now. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

You bit your lip, weighing your options. You could shut up, let her walk away, and go back to your miserable little routine. Or you could take the risk—the one that had been gnawing at you since the moment you saw her again.

“Do you… want to get a drink?” you finally blurted out, your voice cracking slightly at the end. “Or—something. I don’t know. Just… talk?”

Her eyebrows shot up, and for a second, you thought she might laugh in your face. But instead, she studied you, her gaze sharp and calculating, as though she were trying to decide if this was some kind of trap.

“You want to talk,” she said slowly, her voice laced with disbelief.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah. I mean… we never did, right? Not really.”

Sevika tilted her head, her metal fingers drumming against her arm as she considered you. Finally, she let out a low chuckle—more of a breath than a laugh—and shook her head.

“You’re full of surprises,” she muttered.

“So… is that a yes?” you pressed, trying not to sound too hopeful.

She hesitated, her expression unreadable. Then, with a small shrug, she nodded toward a dimly lit bar at the end of the street.

“Fine,” she said gruffly. “One drink. Don’t make me regret it.”

You felt your chest loosen, the tension easing just slightly as you nodded and fell into step beside her.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

—

You weren’t sure why you found yourself sitting down at a bar with Sevika, trying to avoid talking to her by slowly drinking your vodka, the liquid burning your throat as you swallowed.

You let out a soft groan, nose scrunching at the burning sensation that you couldn’t get rid of as quickly as you’d hope.

“So,” Sevika hummed, setting down her cup as she cleared her throat, the rough sound catching your attention mid-swallow. “You never really talk about yourself, well you do, a lot actually—“ she corrects herself, making you chuckle softly as you set your own cup down.

“I mean more so where you came from,” Sevika muttered, resting her flesh forearm on the counter, “you don’t scream ‘Hey I was born in the Undercity’ like most of us.”

You paused, staring into the bottom of your glass before swirling what little liquid was left inside. Sevika’s words echoed in your head, her observation cutting deeper than you cared to admit.

“Does it matter?” you finally muttered, your voice quieter than you intended.

Sevika leaned in slightly, resting her elbow on the bar as her eyes stayed locked on you. “If it didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked,” she replied.

You let out a small, bitter laugh. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or suspicious.”

She smirked, but there was something softer behind it. “Maybe both.”

You sighed, knowing you wouldn’t get out of this without saying something real—something you hadn’t shared with anyone in a long time.

“I wasn’t born here,” you admitted, shifting uncomfortably on the barstool. “Not in the Undercity, at least.”

Sevika didn’t say anything, but the flicker of curiosity in her eyes told you she was listening.

“My family… we lived closer to the surface. Not Piltover exactly, but better off than here.” You paused, fingers tightening around the glass. “It didn’t last.”

Sevika raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t interrupt.

“My father—he gambled. Drank. Made enemies.” You swallowed, the memories stirring like dust in your chest. “And when the debts piled too high, when they finally came to collect, we lost everything.”

You shook your head, forcing down the lump rising in your throat.

“Did you hear about the fire around 19 years ago? Whole neighborhood burnt down, barely any survivors,” you hummed gently, not daring to meet her eyes, Sevika humming softly in response.

Sevika’s expression hardened, her eyes narrowing slightly. She knew the story, or at least pieces of it. Everyone in the Undercity had heard rumors about the fire. But hearing you say it—connecting yourself to that tragedy—shifted something in the air between you.

“Yeah,” she said quietly, her voice gruffer than usual. “I heard.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you pushed past the lump in your throat. “That was my neighborhood. My family.”

Sevika’s gaze lingered on you, unblinking and sharp, but she didn’t press. She let the weight of your words settle.

“There was nothing left,” you continued, your voice hollow. “The ones who survived… we scattered. Some made it out of the Undercity entirely. Some didn’t.”

Sevika didn’t move, didn’t speak, but the flicker in her eyes betrayed her thoughts. She understood loss. Maybe too well.

“I came here because it was the only place left,” you said, swirling the last drops of your drink. “I thought maybe I could disappear. Start over. But you don’t really get to do that, do you?”

Sevika finally broke her silence, her voice low and steady. “No. You don’t.”

For a moment, the two of you just sat there, the hum of the bar around you fading into the background.

“So that’s it?” Sevika asked after a beat. “You’ve been running ever since?”

You shrugged, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “What else is there to do?”

Sevika leaned back, her metal arm resting against the counter with a faint clink. “You fight,” she said simply.

You snorted. “Fight for what? This place?”

“For yourself,” Sevika replied, her gaze steady. “For the people who can’t.”

You blinked at her, caught off guard by the conviction in her voice. It was different from the Sevika you thought you knew—the woman who pushed people away, who acted like she didn’t care.

“Don’t act like you’re not already doing it,” she added, nodding toward the alley you’d been watching earlier. “Those kids? They’re looking at you like you’re their savior, whether you like it or not.”

Your chest tightened, and you looked away. “I’m not anyone’s savior,” you grumbled, swirling your glass again.

“That’s what I thought too, for a long time,” Sevika replied, her eyes softening, her words seeming to bring back memories or talks she had. “I was raised to be tough, never be soft, don’t let anyone take advantage of you,” she muttered, “I guess it worked per say, I’m feared, respected, all things you want to be in a place like this.”

You watch as her shoulders sag slightly, exhaling heavily as her eyes closed for a moment, “but I lose people, people who didn’t deserve to be in a place like this, people who made mistakes but I was lucky enough to see what was behind the masks they wore.”

Sevika’s words hung in the air, heavy and raw, like a wound laid bare. You’d never heard her talk like this—never seen her drop the armor she always carried. And yet, here she was, letting you glimpse something deeper. Something real.

You swallowed, the lump in your throat growing harder to ignore. “And did it help?” you asked quietly. “Being tough? Pushing people away?”

Her eyes snapped back to yours, sharp but not unkind. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “But mostly? It just made it easier to pretend I didn’t care when I did.”

The confession struck a nerve, and you felt your walls starting to crack. You’d spent so long convincing yourself that caring was weakness—that survival meant keeping your distance. But was it really any better than being alone?

“So what changed?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sevika let out a dry chuckle, though there was no humor in it. “I lost too much,” she said simply. “Kept telling myself it wasn’t my fault, that this place—this life—wasn’t meant for happy endings.”

She paused, her gaze flickering toward you. “But then you showed up.”

Your breath caught. “Me?”

“You’re stubborn. Reckless. You don’t know when to back down, even when you should,” Sevika said, her lips curving into something that almost resembled a smile. “And you remind me of someone I used to be.”

You blinked, unsure whether to take her words as a compliment or a warning. Maybe both.

“Is that a good thing..?” You ask, your head tilting with the question.

Sevika smiled, not a big one or for long, but it was a genuine smile, with the way that the corners of her eyes crinkled and how her slightly chapped lips seemed to stretch with the act— your heart buzzing slightly at the sight.

“Depends on who you ask I guess, if you ask me, it’s the worst possible thing to happen to me, I’ve got a street Rat stuck on me like it’s caught in a trap, and yet you keep trying to get that cheese that you think is there.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, soft but real, the tension in your chest easing just a little. “Well, maybe the cheese is worth it,” you shot back, your lips curving into a smirk.

Sevika raised an eyebrow, her smile fading but her amusement lingering in her eyes. “You think so? Even knowing the trap could snap any second?”

You shrugged, leaning back on your stool. “Life’s full of traps. If you’re too scared to take a chance, you’ll never get anywhere.”

Her expression shifted, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than felt comfortable. It wasn’t judgmental or cold—it was something closer to respect, though Sevika would probably never admit it outright.

“Brave or stupid,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Probably both,” you admitted with a grin, raising your glass to finish the last drop of vodka.

For a moment, the two of you just sat there, the hum of the bar wrapping around you like a threadbare blanket. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you feel… not alone.

“As much as a pain in the ass you tend to be,” Sevika sighed, “I have to admit you seem to at least have a brain in your skull,” smirking softly as you roll your eyes.

You lift your glass to your lips, swallowing down the rest of the vodka, trying your best not to let it show that you hated the sting of it falling down your throat. As you exhale, setting your empty glass down on the counter you glance at Sevika, taking in how much more relaxed she looks. Her shoulders don’t sit as squared as they used to, her sharp and cold eyes seem to have melted a bit.

You couldn’t help but let your gaze linger, studying the woman beside you. This was Sevika, the same woman who had pushed you away without a second thought, who had built walls so high even you couldn’t see over them. And yet here she was—softened, even if just slightly, by the fragile truce between you.

“You know,” you started, your voice light but tinged with sincerity, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you like this.”

Sevika raised an eyebrow, though there was a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Like what?”

“Relaxed. Human,” you said, leaning your elbow on the bar as you turned to face her more fully.

She let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head. “Don’t get used to it, kid. This place has a way of reminding you why you can’t stay soft for long.”

“Maybe,” you replied, your tone thoughtful. “But isn’t it exhausting? Always keeping people at arm’s length?”

Sevika didn’t answer right away, her gaze shifting to her metal arm as she flexed the fingers absently. “It is,” she admitted quietly. “But it’s safer that way.”

“For who?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Her eyes snapped back to yours, sharp and guarded, but you held her gaze. For a moment, you thought she might shut you down, might throw up the same walls she always did. But instead, she sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly.

“For everyone,” she said.

“That's a load of bull,” you scoff, Sevika sighed begrudgingly as she shook her head. “Look, Sevika, I get it, you're a big and tough woman, you've gotta keep that exterior appearance sharp and clean–” you sigh, “but at least try and relax and be genuine with me? Come on, I was nice to you before you even had a chance. I'm ruining my reputation here,” you whine half heartedly.

Sevika let out a dry laugh, her lips quirking up at the corners. “Ruining your reputation? You think anyone’s impressed by you drinking cheap vodka and pouting at me?”

“Hey, I’m plenty impressive,” you shot back, leaning back on your stool with an exaggerated smirk. “I’ve got street kids worshiping me, remember? They think I’m a legend.”

Sevika arched an eyebrow, her smirk growing. “Yeah, a legend at whining, apparently.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small grin tugging at your lips. “You’re deflecting,” you accused, pointing at her.

“And you’re annoying,” she countered, but there was no real heat in her words.

“Annoying enough to get under your skin, though,” you teased, taking another sip of your drink. “Which means I’m doing something right.”

Sevika groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose, but you caught the way her shoulders relaxed just a little more. “You don’t let up, do you?”

“Not when I think there’s something worth fighting for,” you said, your tone softening just slightly.

Her eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, she looked like she might argue. But instead, she sighed again, shaking her head. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you said with a grin, raising your glass in a mock toast. “But I grow on people.”

Sevika snorted, shaking her head but not denying it. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied, though the playful glint in your eyes said otherwise.

The conversation lulled for a moment, the two of you settling into a companionable silence. The hum of the bar faded into the background, and you found yourself watching Sevika as she absentmindedly traced the edge of her glass with her metal fingers.

“Look,” you said after a beat, your voice quieter now, “I’m not asking for a miracle or anything. I just… I think we’ve both had enough pretending for one night.”

Sevika’s fingers stilled, her gaze lifting to meet yours. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—hesitation, maybe. Or vulnerability.

“Yeah,” she murmured, her voice low but steady. “Sure.”

You smiled, the corners of your mouth twitching upward in a way that felt almost foreign. “See? I knew I’d get you to admit I was right eventually.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Sevika muttered, but there was a softness to her tone that took the edge off her words.

“I would never,” you said again, but this time, your voice was sincere.

As you giggled at Sevika’s hesitance to let up on you, a hand naturally lifting to cover your smile as you tried to stop your little giggle fit.

Sevika’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than she intended. The sound of your laughter—so genuine, so unguarded—echoed in her chest, stirring something she didn’t want to name.

She told herself it was just the vodka, the dim light of the bar, the way you always seemed to pull her into these situations without her realizing. But as her gaze traced the curve of your smile, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners, and the faint flush creeping up your cheeks, Sevika felt her resolve waver.

No.

She wouldn’t.

Couldn’t.

But gods, did she want to.

She wanted to memorize the way your laughter filled the air, to see that smile again and again, to be the reason for it. It was ridiculous—dangerous, even—but for a fleeting moment, she let herself imagine it. Imagine what it would feel like to have you by her side, not as an annoyance or a distraction, but as something more.

The thought alone made her tense, her metal fingers curling into a fist on the counter.

“You’re something else, you know that?” Sevika muttered, her voice gruff as she leaned back in her seat, trying to mask the swirl of emotions tightening in her chest.

You paused mid-giggle, your hand dropping as you glanced at her. “Is that a compliment?” you teased, tilting your head with a playful grin.

“Don’t push it,” she replied, but her tone lacked its usual sharpness.

Still, you couldn’t miss the way her gaze softened, just for a second, before she looked away.

“Sevika…” you started, leaning slightly closer.

“Don’t,” she interrupted, her voice quiet but firm.

You froze, confusion flickering across your face. “Don’t what?”

Sevika sighed, running a hand through her short hair. “Don’t make me care more than I already do.”

The words hit you like a freight train, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at her, your heart pounding in your chest.

“What if I want you to?” you asked softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Sevika’s jaw clenched, her eyes darting to yours, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerability she tried so hard to hide.

“It’s not that simple,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Fine, have it your way.” you hum unapologetically, reaching over and stealing her glass and swallowing down what was left of her own vodka.

—

Sevika had made sure to get you back to your little hideout in one piece, given you weren't the greatest with alcohol given how your pace stuttered or you came to a complete stop to balance yourself.

She helped you climb up the fire escape to your little cave,steading you with a firm hand on your back as you stumbled up the fire escape, her metal arm clinking softly against the rungs. You muttered something incoherent about being "perfectly fine" and "used to this," but she ignored you, her lips quirking in quiet amusement.

When you finally reached the top, you gestured grandly to your “hideout,” as if it was a palace. The reality was far less impressive.

The small space was wedged between two buildings, half-covered by a rusted piece of metal acting as a makeshift roof. A few blankets and pillows were scattered on the floor, a small stash of food tucked into a corner along with a battered lantern. It was functional, but it wasn’t much.

Sevika’s eyes scanned the area, her expression unreadable. “This is where you’ve been living?” she asked, her tone carefully neutral.

You huffed, brushing past her as you tried to reclaim some dignity. “It’s one of my spots,” you said defensively, waving a hand. “You know, in case things go south.”

Her gaze lingered on you for a moment before she crossed her arms, leaning casually against the wall. “Doesn’t look too secure.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, your cheeks flushing. “It’s fine. I’ve been here for years, and I’m still standing, aren’t I?”

Sevika raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

You crossed your arms, mirroring her stance. “What? You gonna start critiquing my home decor now?”

A smirk tugged at her lips, but she held her tongue, sensing that any more teasing would push you into a full-blown tantrum. “No,” she said simply. “It’s… cozy.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the lack of sarcasm. “Cozy?”

“Yeah,” she said, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal. “It works. That’s what matters, right?”

You stared at her for a moment, unsure if she was mocking you or being genuine. But the softness in her eyes—subtle as it was—told you she wasn’t making fun of you.

“Well, uh… thanks, I guess,” you mumbled, rubbing the back of your neck as you avoided her gaze.

Sevika pushed off the wall, her smirk returning. “Don’t mention it. Just don’t expect me to climb that fire escape again anytime soon.”

You snorted, feeling some of your embarrassment ebb away. “Noted.”

She started to turn toward the exit, but then hesitated, glancing back at you. “You good here?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, nodding. “I’m good.”

Sevika nodded, her expression softening for just a moment before she made her way back down the fire escape.

You watched her go, your heart still racing from the night’s events. As you turned back to your little hideout, you let out a breath, trying to shake off the lingering warmth her presence had left behind.

“Cozy,” you muttered to yourself, rolling your eyes. But despite your best efforts, a small smile tugged at your lips.

Okay maybe it was immature for you to have a crush on a woman twice your age, who had no interest in you whatsoever, and who would've probably ripped you limb to limb by now ...if she hadn’t inexplicably decided to tolerate your existence. Maybe even like it, though you weren’t going to push your luck assuming that. Still, it was hard to ignore the way Sevika seemed to linger around you lately, as if she was trying to figure out what made you tick—or why you hadn’t annoyed her enough to leave yet.

It wasn’t like you had any grand delusions about her feelings. Sevika wasn’t exactly the soft, romantic type. She was gruff, distant, and intimidating as hell—everything you definitely shouldn’t be drawn to.

But there was something about the way she looked at you sometimes. Like you were more than just another street rat scraping by. Like maybe, just maybe, you mattered.

Of course, that was probably just your overactive imagination. She was twice your age, far more experienced in life—and in surviving this hellhole. You were nothing more than an amusing distraction at best.

Still, it didn’t stop your heart from doing that stupid fluttery thing whenever she leaned in just a little too close. Or the way your stomach flipped when she smirked at you, that rare and fleeting expression that made you feel like you’d done something right for once.

You groaned, flopping down onto your makeshift bed with a dramatic sigh. “Get a grip,” you muttered to yourself, running a hand through your hair. “She’s way out of your league. Not to mention, probably plotting how to make you useful—or at least tolerable.”

But even as you said it, your thoughts drifted back to the way her voice softened when she talked about losing people. The way her gaze lingered on you a second too long when she thought you weren’t looking.

It was stupid. Childish. Dangerous.

And yet, you couldn’t shake the thought.

Because no matter how many times you told yourself to let it go, there was still a small, stubborn part of you that wondered what it would be like if she did care. Even just a little.

#sevika #queer #sevika x reader #street rat sevika fic #sevika arcane #fanfic #i love them #im pathetic #hooray i'm wasting my life away!#Spotify

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kisakunt · 1 day ago

Text

THE RICH MAN’S GUIDE TO CORRUPTION

GIVE IT UP FOR LOVE

warnings… i mean some absolute swine talk, gojo and geto are evil men, you’re a sweet and pure virgin. swearing, mentions of fucking, really just vile pig shit.

synopsis… suguru and satoru have a lovely chat over a warm summers breeze. oh! and sweet, un-expecting, vulnerable you is the topic of discussion.

a word from the creator… idk if i mentioned this but this fic is based loosely off the movie cruel intentions! banger film, check it out. i wrote a lot of this chapter awhile ago so if the writing style switches up next chapter don’t sue me. i’m excited!!!! here’s to the next eleven chapters of hell

series masterlist

Gojo hates the heat. He thinks he's tolerated it before on his father’s yacht or when he did an unnecessary shirtless carwash for extra money he didn't need; but right now with the breeze through the window— that Suguru demanded be open— overbearing the air conditioner, he's absolutely positive that summer is the worst.

“Start of the year’s comin’, yknow.” He typically broke the silence— as if he could ever shut up to begin with— and he was almost always met with a:

“No shit.” strident response. Those seemed to be Suguru’s speciality, and provoking them seemed to be Satoru’s.

It’s too hot. His white hair presses into the drywall, feeling much cooler than the air outside. “I’m not stupid, Suguru. Neither are you, you know what I mean.” It’s an overdramatic sigh— a call for attention— as he turns his head over to look at him.

“They’re gonna ask us about it soon.” And, in some way Suguru can’t really comprehend, Gojo sounds excited.

His manner isn’t necessarily wrong, not so much as it is unexpected. The ‘new year, new fuck’ competition of Azabu was practically famous among the young men certain to attend— the sons of the sons who started it, and all their nephews or cousins or any synonym for a pig of a relative that they could come up with. And, luckily enough, they had the privilege to be top candidates.

The competition was started by the current dean’s uncle, a horny fuck-all type who would take any and all excuse to boost his ego while tearing down a girls— or maybe he really did just want a good lay. But, it grew and grew and grew, and now it was almost ritualistic, a second identity of worthiness in the form of fucking a virgin before anyone else did.

Sure, they were nothing but thrilled for it as high school reached an end, or even the first or second year of university. But now it just seemed dull.

But, traditions are custom, and customs are a necessity. It’s almost become lore throughout their little clique of affluence; whispered stories from childhood turned into real competition after a long wait, especially from a group of people who so rarely have to wait for anything. It’s inspiring, they think, means to associate themselves with a lower class; normalize themselves just a little more.

Alumni share stories at functions, putting the frat in fraternizing, nonchalance on the tips of their tongues. Sometimes the tone almost feels dark, and Suguru thinks if he were a better person he’d feel some type of sympathy for the girls. Any fragment of empathy he had wiped away when he won for the first time, though, wide smirk as his year mates glared at him; memories of the tight, albeit idiotic, girl engrained behind the lids of his eyes.

Even so, it gets old quick. And it’s not like they don’t fuck dumb, stupid, silly girls with nothing to say for the rest of the year anyway. So, he can’t quite figure out what Gojo is all too excited about.

“Well try to make sure your dick doesn’t get hard from the thought, you fucking freak.” There’s a giggle from the other man, a scoff too, and he pushes his hand out at him.

This is crucial. This is who they are together. A pair— whether it’s a pair of awful men or not.

There’s also a sense of trepidation that comes with it, of course. It’s exclusive, more so than they already are, and if you do one thing wrong- speak a little too loud, come off too brash, give a lackluster lie after actually getting caught— you’re out. And whose pride would want that?

“It’s stupid we always gotta wait for them to sit us down, it’s not like we don’t know what’s coming up.” He scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. “Plus, what a fucking weird thing to say to your kid.”

“I mean the whole thing’s odd if you think about it.” Gojo shrugs, hands stuffed in his pockets, forearms bare against the linen of his trousers.

He’s right, of course. Even if neither of them feel guilt for their actions, they can’t ignore the sinking feeling in their stomach when their own fathers sit them down and incite such a twisted view on them.

Be that as it may, it’s not too bad when that’s all they know, and it’s not like either of them are going to complain at a quick orgasm, a nice pair of tits, and that goddamn feeling of triumph.

“Do you think they’ll cry again?” Satoru mocks, brimming with glee as he leans in the direction of his friend. “It’s always funny, dontcha think?”

“As if you’d know,” There’s a smirk despite the aggression in his tone. “Dunno why it matters so much to you, you already got bitches babbling about you all the time.”

Gojo sighs, expression bored and childish and fucking greedy. “Yeah, I know but…” His voice peters out, lost in the room. Elation bubbles back into his features, warming his cheeks and animating his eyes as he looks at Suguru.

“Yknow, I heard the dean has a daughter starting, actually. Real sweet gal, even wrote a whole fucking magazine article about the importance of ‘saving your innocence’” his voice wobbles, eyes rolling as he sneers. “for someone you really love.”

“Sounds like she’s ugly.”

“Thought so, too, but..” He trails off, hand fishing in his back pocket for his phone, pupils dilating at the light on his screen. It doesn’t take him long to find the photo; clearly he’s been sitting on his discovery for awhile, anticipating when he could tell him. “Look.”

Suguru doesn’t like to be wrong, much less will he ever admit it. “Holy shit.” You aren’t necessarily the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, probably not even the prettiest he’s seen in the last month, but you were definitely something.

Maybe it was the curve of your jaw or the tint in your lips, but the photo set something off in him. On the surface he thinks it’s the just barely explicit face you’re making in your mirror, phone in hand as you look into your lens, but really, honestly, if he’s searching deep down— it’s the fact he knows you’re the one girl who wouldn’t just throw herself on him if he so kindly asked.

“Sugu, are you ever bored of this? It feels too easy, right?” Suddenly Gojo’s previous excitement feels misplaced, voice itching for more. “Hardest part about it is finding out who’s actually a virgin or not, and that’s pretty simple with how awkward they get.”

“What are you saying?” Maybe he already knows, maybe he’s hoping for the obvious, but he asks like he doesn’t care. The former moves fast, hand steady on the desk as he leans far too close for comfort. In any other situation, he’d probably be met with a harsh jab to the face, but this feels different— secret.

“Let’s do something, on our own, just you and me.” He almost seems too impatient, pressure digging into the ground from the toes of his shoes and gaze begging. It was the kind of thing that made you want to agree, if nothing else to just feel a fraction of the way he seemed to be. Before Suguru could even consider the idea, test the waters and make Gojo beg a little bit, said boy opened his mouth again.

“I mean, unless you’re not up for it. You don’t really seem like the type to make a girl give it up for love.” He snickers, raising the back of his hand to his forehead as he feigns swooning.

“Geto, I— I love you.” His voice is high, wheezy in his imitation and a little rude. “I think.. I think I’m ready- I want it to be you.” He cuts himself off with his own laugh, hand circling over his mouth to try to stifle himself. “Could you imagine?”

“The fuck does that mean?!”

“Cmon, Suguru, you’re not really the endearing type.” He’s edging him now, tone manipulative and pressing and snarky and Suguru knows— of course he knows, but it can’t help but irk him.

“What are you thinking?” And now Gojo’s beaming again, feet guiding him back across the room to his bag, books stacked neatly inside, lying even against each other. He pulls out a magazine and tosses it to him haphazardly before he reaches back for a notebook and a pen.

“Page 36, read it.” The article is cheesy. It’s too long and feels like something right off a self care Facebook page. Suguru is sure he physically recoiled a couple times reading it; especially when you wrote ‘Virginity is a miracle— the ability to show someone how much you love them in such an intimate way should be saved for someone special.’.

It’s shocking that you’re the daughter of the man who oversees their little sex game.

Suguru thinks you’re vile— embarrassing and pathetic and a huge fucking waste of what seems like a really good pair of blowjob eyes. It makes his skin crawl and he verbally scoffs when he reads your finishing sentence about cherishing your virtues, so focused on the arrogance in your punctuation that he doesn’t even hear Gojo’s laugh.

“Pretentious as shit, right?” He snorts, eyes flickered as he recites the passage in his head. “It’s gonna feel so good to fuck the words right out of her mouth.” Suguru didn’t know what he expected from his friend, but it wasn’t that. It’s clear through, through and through, that he’s dedicated to the idea.

“I mean sure, I guess you’ll have your turn. Maybe she’ll fuck just about anyone after I win.”

“Wait, so you’re in?”

“Whatever.”

“Fuck yeah!” He’s joyful, fist pumping into his chest in a quick celebration before he’s holding up his notebook, standing directly across the floor from the desk.

The wood is dark, deep and marbled, glazed over the top and lined with little symbols of power in the form of trophies. It’s clearly something too nice to serve as a welcome mat, but nonetheless Suguru rests his heels on the surface, ankles crossed over each other as he leans back in his chair. His eyes point to the ceiling to look at anything other than the annoyance in front of him.

“Well clearly we need to set up some rules.” He sneers in his seat when he remembers not looking at him won’t make him shut up.

“Okay well we have the obvious: whoever fucks first wins. And I mean fucks, none of that sloppy anal shit. Doesn’t count.” It’s almost funny, but neither of them acknowledge it. If they do, that’ll come hand in hand with the fact they’re acting just like their fathers.

“She has to be sober.” He didn’t really expect himself to say that, but he did expect Satoru to whine.

Gojo lets it sit in the air for a second before he nods curtly and jots something done.

“Would it be too cocky to say she has to cum?” The journal’s away from his face now and someone could, and probably would, argue that the walls are lucky to see the boyish grin he’s got. His smirk pulls up at the corners of his lips, but Suguru just finds it vexing. Gojo is far too full of himself, he thinks, and he hates to admit there’s good reason.

Nonetheless, he has to give him a little shit. “Do they normally not with you?”

“Hey! That’s not what I meant, asshole.” There’s something sweet to Satoru, under all the sickening that is his personality. It makes people understand just why girls fall for him, and definitely helps him keep a good image to the public.

And there’s something smart to him that makes you feel like he could really pull whatever he wanted off. It makes the idea of competing with just him much more appealing.

“Are we gonna have like a— fuck I don’t know— like a time limit?”

“Fuck is this? A video game?”

“I mean no, but competition wise if it takes us like half a year isn’t that kind of stupid? Because who’s to say she won’t ‘really love you’ by then, and then you’re not making her go against anything, yknow?” And there's also something meticulous about him that makes him aggravating as all hell.

“Fine. A month.”

“Just a month?”

“Yeah, you’re right. Plus, anything longer than that and we’d just be a couple of fucking losers chasing after a bitch.” Suguru knows Gojo is giving him a look without even seeing it, the slightly judgmental and almost kind one he does. “What? You’re the one who said it to begin with.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever. A month.” It’s silent for a second, comfortable with all their years of each other, before he clears his throat.

“That it then?” Maybe they’re the same kind of evil. Maybe they deserve each other.

“One more, actually.” There’s that feeling from him again, the tone that makes Suguru want to agree aimlessly for no fucking reason other than the possible rush. And before he can fester; before his skin can start to crawl and his hands can get clammy just from that sheer desire in his voice, Gojo grins.

“You need proof. And I don’t mean her saying it, because you can bribe anyone into saying anything. Gotta show it, photo or video or something, balls deep or whatever the fuck.” That almost makes Suguru laugh.

“I don’t think she’s gonna go for that one, no matter how good the dick is.”

“She doesn’t have to know.” Now he’s really thrilled. He doesn’t know what it is, but that lights something in him, stirs in his stomach and causes a little quiver in his brow.

“Fuck yeah, man,” he’s really laughing now, pointing at the journal harshly. “write that shit down.”

There’s something unspoken over them now, a deeper bond than they thought they could have. Neither of them would ever admit it, but it feels like they’re those two high schoolers again, counting down til they can become something fucking great. This is the feeling they’re supposed to get from their fathers’ stupid fucking contest. This is actual competition, a chance to actually win.

A new air falls on them, mixed back in with that warm, rich breeze.

“Okay, that settles that then.” Gojo offers, fingers tapping the binding of his book. “She has to be attending the start of the year banquet so that’ll be an excuse to meet her. Everything from then on is up to us.” Suguru always dreaded that shitty event, but now he finds himself doing mental math to count how far away it is.

Even if the whole thing is trivial, and even if you seem like the most uptight thing ever, Suguru is a man of pride. And prideful he’ll be.

“We still gotta do the ‘new year’ thing, you know. They’ll burst a fucking artery if we say we’re not interested.” His voice is gravelly and calm and so not anything he’s feeling, but he thinks Gojo buys it when he chuckles.

“Can you be excommunicated from being a womanizer? Because I think we would be.” They’re almost joking like everything is normal. It’s different, so much different, but they’re acting the same.

“I’m gonna go grab some water and maybe call one of your maids to make lunch, you want anything?” Suguru shakes his head, shifting in his seat as he tries his hardest not to look at the journal Satoru set on the side table.

“Suit yourself, I’ll be back.”

“Whatever,” He waits after Gojo walks out. Waits a good forty five seconds before he stands up, and he crosses the room in about three.

He glances over at the thrown aside notebook, eyes quick as he scans it. The handwriting is adjacent to messy, scattered and the page is littered with semi vulgar doodles and side bars. It’s coherent, though, and even though they both know Gojo had no intention of giving it to him, it’s got his signature at the bottom.

1. Full fucking!! Penis in vagina

2. No signs of being inebriated. Absolutely stone cold sober

3. If it takes longer than a month after everyone is introduced we’re both “a couple of fucking losers” (< Sugu’s words)

4. Orgasms are important ! Or at least near orgasms (she is a virgin)

5. Photo / video proof. If you can’t get it, you aren’t in it (haha! get it?)

He snickers at four, the uneasy tone in the second sentence almost self deprecating. Despite that, he can’t help but feel a smidge of respect that he ended up adding it to begin with.

He grabs the pen from the table, pressing into the paper too hard as he leaves his chicken scratch of a John Hancock. Okay, maybe this will be fun.

taglist… @moonlight-pearls @sharkerino @echerie

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thewertsearch · 4 hours ago

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@necrowyrm asked: happy new year!!! enjoy the last little bit of homestuck before act 6! Anonymous asked: You have NO IDEA how much I was looking forward to your reaction to this flash :D @teddy-bearer-of-bad-news asked: a very late congratulations from me for making it this far! i gotta say, saving CASCADE for new year's is probably the smartest thing i've heard all week. may your experience be nothing short of righteous, comrade Anonymous asked: Cascade … Even years latter knowing it almost by heart, every once in a while I will take a little quarter of an hour to rewatch it, Say what you want about Hussie but there is a good reason Homestuck became so iconic. @adeptarcanist asked: The leadup to Cascade was honestly my favorite sequence in Homestuck, and maybe one of my favorites in any media ever? The way the narrative splits apart into all of the different scenes swirling in towards the critical moment, both advancing main plots and finding time to spend a moment of melancholy with characters who’d been left behind (The Jaspers and Nepeta scene :( )… it’s such a strong narrative device, and the tone it generates is impeccable. @calamitascalliope asked: I literally watched the flash again, and it still gives me chills every single time. Welcome to your post-Cascade life. You won't be able to think about anything the same ever again @iris-in-the-dark-world asked: "she looks so cool… but she’s so tragic… but she looks so cool…" has become a brainworm for me. i too love the handmaid's design btw, cascade time has been i think the most anticipated non-personal event of the entire year for me. i'm so excited @publicuniversalworstie asked: I want you to know that I also opened Cascade and started watching with you right after I saw your "oh my god it has chapters" ask, and I finished just as you posted "I will never be the same" !! And I bet lots of other people did too <3 so it's like we all watched it together!!!! Happy New Year and thank you for liveblogging!!!! It's been a pleasure！(and will continue to be) @krixwell asked: I would like you to know that your "Right, we're good to go!" and "oh my god it has chapters" posts were posted right as I was outside watching midnight fireworks ring in 2025 for the Central European timezone. Happy new year! @captorations asked:

hey remember when rose just up and fucking said that. anyway congrats on reaching cascade! it absolutely wrecked me back in the day, i think i stared at those flaming curtains for a solid ten minutes as my brain permanently reconfigured. the first few notes of the track alone still give shivers. getting your reaction to cascade was a wonderful birthday present. (speaking of getting older: aradia 🤝 dulcinea also got that "distressingly short lifespan only to die early anyway" story thread going on. the parallels are paralleling.) anyway happy new year and congrats you are… slightly less than halfway done with homestuck. have fun!

Hey, guys. Cascade was so fucking good.

Like, there's really no competition; this is the best Flash page in the comic thus far. Peak music, peak animation, and absolutely a peak narrative. It tied up mountains of plot threads, providing complete answer to questions we're been asking for literally thousands of pages. It completed over a dozen arcs, both big and small. It made me gasp three times in fourteen minutes. It let Jade become a furry.

11/10, and I'm glad people had as much fun here as I did on New Year's Eve. Happy 2025, and happy Act 6!

@morganwick asked: Sally, predicting Cascade: "I have approximate knowledge of many things." @morganwick asked: "You literally have the whole world in the palm of your hands." -Sally to Jadesprite, December 16, 2024 (You might also want to reread post/770701212350857216 in light of recent developments.)

Hah!

I mean, based on her powerset, it made sense that Jadesprite would do something like this eventually, but it's pretty funny that she did it more or less immediately.

And in the end, CD really was a tricky little bastard. We'll definitely need to keep a closer eye on him, next time around.

Anonymous asked: Take a moment to consider that if anyone were to use the Homestuck website as it stands now instead of the Collection program, Cascade would have been presented in the YouTube player in Standard Definition, artifacted to hell, with a clear boundary showing the dimensions of the video from the very start. Preservation is so important.

Jeez, you're not kidding. The 1080p is fine, I guess, but it certainly doesn't hit like the Flash version does, especially with its lack of moving panels.

I know something had to change when Flash kicked the bucket, but surely there was a better way to preserve the video's soul.

Anonymous asked: to give you some of an idea of what homestuck fandom looked like during this time period, im cribbing from a very popular homestuck post: “first, this upd8 was something that we had been waiting for for WEEKS. A literally unprecedented wait period at the time. We were used to suckling at the teat of daily updates, a constant stream of conversation and plot twists and buildup, and as EOA5, we were finally going to figure out what all these countdowns and plot threads and disconnected elements were building up for. And when the progress bar reached 100%, and when the page FINALLY loaded on 10/25/11, it was chaos. This was 2011, a primetime peak point and growth period of Homestuck fan density.” (…) “MSPA crashed, as it had started to during the last few big [S] updates. Hussie had already bought new servers in advance, but even when allegedly thousands of dollars were spent it couldn't handle the accidental DDOS attack of Homestuck fans. People were up all night waiting for this upd8, the curiosity was killing me. I know at some point he was receiving at least 1 million unique visitors per day to his site [correction: according to Hussie’s tumblr, upwards of 2 million during this time], and even though Hussie had foreseen such traffic and thusly hosted [S] Cascade on Newgrounds, a dedicated video streaming site, Newgrounds was similarly unprepared for the sheer amount of people frantically mashing the play and refresh buttons, and also crashed. Immediately. MSPA and Newgrounds crashed definitively for at least two nights in a row” (…) “Andrew Hussie has gone on record to say this was one of the few times he thought Homestuck wasn’t worth it, because the sheer unbelievable cost (was it $10,000?) [correction: according to Hussie’s tumblr, it looked like it was going to cost $100,000 to keep [S] Cascade up for several days] of servers and the chaos of no one able to see the upd8 and crashing nearly every site after. He was tweeting during the whole debacle, stating he was reluctant to put it up on Youtube because of all the moving elements of the flash, and style, and how youtube degraded the quality of the file size, and how he tried to scratch out buffer time and pauses by putting periods of silence between each section of the 14 minute upd8, the longest upd8 yet” “So after Newgrounds patooted, he didn’t put it on youtube and instead put up the entire flash file on Megaupload, where it could be downloaded in it’s entirety to be watched. UNFORTUNATELY, Megaupload also crashed very quickly, which Hussie felt much headache over. But before that happened I managed to get the file, since I happened to be up very early that night! Next it was on dropbox, which didn’t crash but had “link unavailable” on and off. ”Spoilers were flying everywhere, people didn’t understand everything that had happened, and by the time the timeline of events in and out of [S] Cascade was all straightened out, people became even MORE hype. Like this whole thing lasted at least four days, and on top of that, the upd8 was good. Fandom exploded.” it is impossible to quantify the experience. The fact hussie was going to have to fork over A HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS to host it is crazy. I am never going to be over it.

Cascade's complete obliteration of the Flash-hosting internet says a lot about huge Homestuck truly was - but I think an even bigger indicator of the comic's success is the fact that Hussie dropped literally thousands of dollars on server upgrades to host the thing. That's not an investment you make unless you're expecting some serious returns.

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #asks #also happy belated birthday @captorations. what a birthdate to have fr fr

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iamconstantine · 23 hours ago

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arcane characters as college staff

Mel

History professor

Refers to all students by (honorific) (surname)

Nothing but praise on ratemyproffesor

“I didn’t like history until I took Professor Medarda’s class”

Doesn’t write scholarly articles, just giant ass books that she pumps out almost every year somehow

Quickly responds to emails. No response = its in the syllabus

“Is there any make up work I can do to get my grade up—“ Absolutely not

But if you go the writing center you can get extra credit

Every year her students ask for an extension on the final project and every year she gives a long and furious rant about how the project was visible online from Day 1 and they had all semester to work on it

She has a beautiful office that looks like a miniature library and she only sees students by appointment

Jayce

Physics professor

Is a prolific author but somehow can’t figure out how to set up the course online

Prints cheesy physics memes

Every zoom meeting begins with 1000 messages saying “professor Talis we can’t hear you your mic isn’t on” every. time.

you can come see him in his office any time, door’s always open

but his office is so messy you probably won’t be able to sit because he has a stack of papers on every chair

“Everyone got this question on the exam wrong so I’m going to give everyone credit because that means i didn’t teach it properly”

Always throws an end-of-year party at his place

Caitlyn

English Literature professor

would win best dressed of the staff, always shows up in the slacks-and-blazer fit

“To understand why the narrator wears red shoes, we need to take a look at the sociopolitical state of Edinburgh in 1864.”

if you reply to a discussion board post with just “I agree” you’re not getting credit and it isn’t up for discussion

Never reads contemporary fiction. The “newest” book she’s read is The Great Gatsby

“We’re not having a party but if you want to bring snacks and soda to the last day of class that’s fine”

Covers a lot of authors but it somehow always comes back to Emily Dickenson

Is that teacher that assigns 400-page books every week

Constantly publishing in lit journals (rumor has it she writes steamy open-door romance books under a pen-name but no one has confirmed this)

Ekko

Art professor

You have to actively screw up to get a bad grade with him

He wrote thousands of letters to the board until they caved and gave the class a proper kiln

“Write a three-page essay explaining why AI art is not art and insisting otherwise is spitting in the face of humankind. Double spaced. Due Friday 11:59”

Throws back coffee. Has a coffeemaker in the studio. Two of them.

“Hey guys some of you are submitting assignments at 2 in the morning. It can wait until the next day. Please get some sleep.”

He’s created awe-inspiring pieces but if you just wanna paint a frog wearing a hat he’ll say “that’s cool”

Says he knows who banksy is but will never tell

He gets way too deep in the zone. Once reached for his coffee cup while painting, drank paint water instead. Didn’t notice.

Jinx

Chemistry professor

If you email her the response will be “k” or “no” and nothing else

Waits until twenty minutes after the class begins to email everyone that class is canceled

Never wears a coat, goggles, or gloves. But will call out students if they don’t

takes 5 years to post grades

“Look I’m not remembering any names. Too many. If I’m talking to you I’ll just point”

Puts a meme on the projector every day. Mostly incomprehensible. Picture of a horse on an beach and it just says “Zimbabwe”

lowest score on ratemyprofessor

someone creates a website called ratemystudent and administration has no proof that it was her because technically the students with bad scores being the same students that get bad grades in her class can be coincidental

Viktor

Biomedical engineering professor

Only professor who still uses chalkboards

First day of class is first day of class. No reviewing the syllabus, turn to page 34 in your textbook.

Puts things in the syllabus to catch people who use ChatGPT. If you’re caught, you’re removed from his class. Immediately. You will not get to plead your case.

Most of his cited sources are himself

Literally begs students to thrift their textbooks online instead of buying them from the school. Provides free PDFs as often as he can.

He reads journals every day and will write personal letters to authors he disagrees with

If a student asks a particularly dumb question he’ll step out of the room for ten minutes to compose himself and then resume teaching like nothing happened

Not a professor, works at the on-campus gym and leads clubs

Constantly curses without batting an eye. Students will leave class with their very uptight professor then come to the soccer club where vi walks in like “sorry I’m late guys i had a motherfucker of a headache this morning”

Please don’t ask her about anything that isn’t club or sport related. If you ask for directions or how to get in contact with student services she’s got nothing

If she refs for a game and you’re on the opposing team you’d better watch yourself. She will rip you a new one if you break any rules. One time a player grabbed one of her member’s mask during a game and he left crying after Vi was done with him

Students run into her at the local hangouts a lot but it’s never awkward. just reminds you not to party too hard before the game tomorrow

Leads pretty much every club but dance. Wouldn’t admit it but she has no sense of rhythm and refuses to even do it as a student

You can call her coach or captain or just Vi, whatever you want. But if you call her Violet she’ll stare you down until you correct yourself

Heimerdinger

Anthropology professor

Spends the first day of class getting to know everyone. “We’re going to go around and give our names and a fun fact about ourselves!”

Gives the “Nacirema” assignment and can’t wait to tell everyone the catch

His classroom is filled with artifacts. Don’t ask about any of them because it will take up class time

If you can’t make it to class he sends really nice responses saying he understands, then checks in when you come back

The only thing that puts him in a bad mood is the “why do anthropologists study dinosaurs if anthropology is about people” question. He’s old and tired

Keeps thinking about retiring, keeps changing his mind

Silco

Political science professor

His classroom is bare and blank. No life. Just fluorescent lights and chairs.

Brags about how few people pass his class

Very strict on attendance. Too many absences and you’re out.

If the assignment is due at 11:59 and you turn it in at 12:00, it’s late

“I am quite interested to hear why you believe you are deserving of a higher grade when you’ve spent less than thirty minutes attending all of my classes combined. Please, continue.”

Will straight up roast other professors no problem. Encourages students to pass it along

He encourages debate but the only thing students debate about outside of class is whether he’s hot or creepy af

Final project is a choice between A) A ten-page essay on why there is no ethical consumption under capitalism, or B) a presentation on why the country is doomed

Vander

Education professor

Makes his own series of Crash Course-esque videos

Comes to class in jeans at best. Sweats, sometimes.

He has one coffee mug that says #1 Dad and he refuses to use anything else

He puts fun questions on his exams, like riddles. If no one gets it, he actually gets sad

Whenever he erases the whiteboard he always misses a spot. He’s that professor.

If he catches you plagiarizing, you get one pass before he reports it. But you have to come to his office so he can tell you how disappointed he is and how much potential you have

He gives a seminar about how worried he is for the future of education and the wellbeing of the next generation and everyone leaves feeling guilty. Everyone.

Make a pop culture reference in class and everything will grind to a halt so you can explain it to him. Visuals help.

Sevika

Librarian

If you play music in the library she’ll walk up to you and just go “are you joking”

Have a phone call on speaker and she’s hanging it up for you

There’s signs telling you to be quiet every three feet

If you see her outside of school no you didn’t

She’s in charge of leading classes on accessing academic databases and she fucking hates it

Somehow knows where every book is down to the shelf. She’ll tell you what you’re looking for before you can finish your sentence

technically she’s supposed to do a walkthrough before closing for the night but if you can’t read the library hours on the signs it’s your fault if you get locked in

#Arcane #vi arcane #caitlyn kiramman #viktor arcane #jayce talis #jinx arcane #silco #vander #heimerdinger #sevika #ekko #Mel medarda

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vonbabbitt · 4 hours ago

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big long kamimura loredrop that i sent to my tetro staff two years ago. obvious spoilers and trigger warning for a lot of stuff. not for the weak of heart. also forgive the very casual tone this is written in i was sending it to my STAFF!! MY FRIENDS!! it has not been curated for public release lol

KAMIMURA KAZUTOSHI. WOW. LOTS TO UNPACK HERE. so kamimura was born as a very sickly kid. his parents were initially planning to have two kids, but when kamimura was born with very particular needs, they decided it would be better to dedicate their full time and attention to just one kid. so thats what they did! kamimura was born with a few conditions that made his childhood a bit rougher, the main of which being hemophilia, an (at the time) unidentified autoimmune disease and a few lesions on his brain. not ideal! so he was in and out of the hospital a lot as a kid, something that was very scary for him at the time, but his parents were very very supportive and loving during this time. they would be at the hospital with him every single time he had to be there (obvs cuz he was a tiny baby boy) and his mom would not go home until he was discharged. she would always be there telling him stories and playing games with him and doing her best to make the experience as comfortable as possible for him. so that made it less scary!

kamimura had a very good support system and it made him a very happy and social kid! he grew up very outgoing and playful and eager and close with his family. his dad was a busy guy who worked in tech, so while he was usually at work, his mom worked from home as a copy editor, so he spent a lot of time with her. as he started to get a little older (7-8), a few more comorbidities and diagnoses started popping up - chronic fatigue, crohns, some vision problems, muscle issues, things that made his life a lot more difficult and worried his parents because he was getting bad fast. this meant a lot more time in the hospital for baby kamimura which is very unfortunate for him. eventually he gets put on a new balance of medications/treatments and his family keeps doing their best because goddamnit their kid should get to be a happy kid! which he is! hes a very happy kid! hes just also a kid with a LOT of medical issues

SO THEN WE HIT AGE NINE. kamimuras mother is home alone with him when a close family friend drops by. hes someone kamimura knows very well - comes to all their parties, visits often, etc etc. but he was also someone who had very strong feelings towards kamimuras mom. he had confessed to her multiple times and obviously she had said no because she is married with a child and was not interested at all. except this time hes completely fed up with it. she says no, he gets aggressive and violent and tries to overpower her. she fights back, he panics and stabs her. a lot. repeatedly. over and over and over. so the kitchen is an absolute bloodbath. not good! a few minutes into this, kamimuras dad gets home from work and is very quickly added to the body count. family friend runs, and about ten minutes later, kamimura gets home from school.

so now this nine year old boy has walked in on his parents mutilated bodies lying in a sea of blood on the kitchen floor. his mind basically shuts down. he cannot even begin to process the ways in which his entire world has just come crumbling down. he goes upstairs to his room, closes the door, and proceeds to stay there for two days straight. if he can just stay in his room and not go outside, no matter what he saw, no matter what he smells, he can pretend that everything is fine and theres nothing downstairs.

after two days of this, kamimura's dad's work calls for a wellness check. a wellness check is performed! EVERYTHING IS NOT WELL. the police find kamimura, remove him from the house and into the system he goes. pretty soon he ends up living with his moms sister, who isnt a mean person or anything, but she never wanted kids and shes just lost her sister and shes going through a lot so she never really connects with kamimura. she feeds him and houses him and does her best, but hes completely shut off emotionally and very traumatized and wants nothing to do with this new life thats been put on him so he mostly ignores her and just goes through the beats of life.

from this point on, he has no friends. he doesnt get close to anyone. he doesnt try to. he shuts himself off, keeps to himself and gets picked on a bit because of it. hes outcast at school pretty quickly and that does not do much to help his mental health. it doesnt help that his PHYSICAL health is still deteriorating pretty fast and hes now living with somebody that has NO experience in taking care of his medical needs. hes still in the hospital all the time, but now hes alone and its quiet and hes scared. he hates hospitals. he hates going to the hospital so so so so much because hospitals are scary and it only serves to drive home the complete lack of his mom existing that is haunting him every day. it doesnt help that hiding out in a corpse house for two days has given him a deep, DEEP fear of anything dirty or putrid in the way that his parents' crime scene was. this evolves into a pretty bad case of germophobia that makes him hate hospitals even more because theyre disgusting infected places where people go to die and rot. bad.

but life continues! so when he turns 14, kamimura goes to high school for the first time! its also around this time that he finally dyes his hair - his black hair makes him look exactly like his mom and he cant handle seeing that every time he looks in the mirror, so blue it is! because blue does not look like either of his parents and now he doesnt have to fking see their faces every single time he looks at himself. yay! so he enters high school, his mental health is tanking, his physical health is tanking and everything is bad. high school is equally bad because hes still getting bullied and he feels sick all the time and school is stressful and he is completely lacking in socialization. so at age 14, kamimura tries to kill himself for the first time. it does not work. he goes to the hospital and very hastily explains it to his aunt as having simply fucked up his own medication and says it was all an accident because fuuuuck he does NOT want to be institutionalized. that would suck. and luckily this excuse works and he's back out in the world soon after. yay?

anyway life goes on! so kamimura goes back to school. except weirdly enough, he actually starts talking to another person. this person is named isao kamei and he is a boy in kamimuras grade! hes nice and cool and hangs out with kamimura and likes kamimuras dumb blue hair and likes all the things kamimura likes (scary movies. breaking random shit behind the school after class. yknow) so the two hit it off pretty quickly and soon kamimura has a best friend. except, uh oh, maybe hes more than a best friend?? kamimura starts realizing that hes got feelings for isao and panics because he does not need this complication ruining his one and only friendship. kamimura has had severe severe trust issues for years now and has finally let himself get close to another person again and he CANNOT LOSE THAT. but isao is a good guy, and theyre close, and kamimura is starting to think that isao feels the same way about him so maybe hed be cool about it. it goes against every instinct he has spent the past five years cultivating, but he finally works up the nerve and admits to isao how he feels about him.

IT GOES BADLY. SO BADLY. isao is uncomfortable and frankly kind of disgusted and pulls back HARD. he basically distances himself from kamimura forever and word very very quickly spreads (starting from isao) that kamimura is gay and that he asked out isao, something that absolutely quadruples the amount of bullying he is receiving. so a few days later, kamimura tries to kill himself for the second time. once again it does not go well. he gets very very very sick, but still wakes up in the end and is absolutely miserable and furious about it. his awful awful awful life continues to march on as always and hes back at school pretty soon after that! he continues getting relentlessly bullied, his health continues to deteriorate, and finally during one of his numerous numerous hospital visits he gets hit with two fun new terms: multiple sclerosis and myasthenia gravis. these are the two things that produce the vast majority of his symptoms. so at the very least he now has a few words to label himself with, but hes not really that thrilled about it either way. kamimura is someone with a lot of internalized ableism and resentment towards his own body. he sees it as the reason his life sucks and the reason he gets bullied and the reason he cant live like other people can. he hates himself, and that makes him hate himself even more because his parents always made such a big deal about telling him how much they loved him and how much he should love himself, so he feels like hes betraying them by absolutely loathing himself and his body.

so at sixteen, he tells his aunt he wants to move out. they arent close and he just wants to be on his own and honestly shes on board with this because she never wanted kids and shes ready to go back to her life. so out the door he goes! hes got his own apartment now, which means theres nobody to make him get out of bed or shower or eat or go to school. so he stops doing all of those things, which makes his health deteriorate faster and makes him even more miserable. so at age sixteen, kamimura makes a third attempt on his life. he learned his lesson last time and ups the dosage hard. except he cant keep it down because he hasnt been eating anything for like two weeks and his stomach just physically cannot handle the amount of medication hes ingesting. so this one fails too. but life goes on and kamimura needs to pay rent! his landlord thinks he is strange and concerning and wants to help him so he manages to get kamimura an apprenticeship with a man named ryōichi katō, a very experienced crime scene cleaner! kamimura EXCELS in this field. hes able to shut off his emotions around blood and viscera - his brain just completely blocks out the horror of it, which is almost a coping mechanism i suppose - but the point is that hes great at it. he starts working full time and it pays the bills well enough so hes got nothing to complain about quite frankly.

except his life still sucks. hes alone. hes sick. he hates himself. everything is bad bad bad bad bad. so at a particularly bad mental low at age seventeen, kamimura makes a fourth attempt on his life. this one has GOT to work because he has been honing this method for years now and SURELY he has worked out the kinks by this point yes? so he downs a shitton of pills, washes it down with cheap booze and passes out. then he wakes up in the Fujioka Memorial High School Basement Laundry Room and now we are here

#tetro danganronpa pink #tetro pink #tetro danganronpa #von.txt #tetro spoilers

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weepingtalecowboy · 1 day ago

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honestly don’t worry about the rant I quite enjoyed it

yeah you are totally right with the power scaling

I just used satire in my own post to make it obvious

like the weird ways people scale like sky , fierce deity and stuff

Is a bit dumb and more like a headcanon then it is actually supported by the games

like no offense towards the god sky or fierce deity stans at all

but like you said fierce deity is NOT a god

but a deity who canonically in the Zelda series are on a different level then gods

like this alone would make the scaling a bit janky

but also saying that fierce deity (or time ) slayed majora is wrong as well

he defeated the mask

a mask used by just a skull kid to try to annihilate the world (and with a winning hand of over 50 times it managed to do it… if not for the ocarina)

it wasn’t even the actual majora fierce deity defeated just the mask

and even then it still was clowning on both link and the deity

it took nothing seriously (probably because the character wasn’t a threat to it anyway)

honestly a thing I really love about the gods of Zelda games

is how there is a clear distinction between goddess and deities

like hylia for example over thirty games in and we still can’t comprehend what she even IS

we only know she is a goddess who somehow reincarnated as Zelda for free golden Doritos

yet she is still present in the series as a goddess as well

this incomprehensiblity makes her Seem so all powerful

people YEARS after she appeared have no clue what she even is how she actually looks like , what her nature is

What she IS is a mystery that people can’t comprehend

the exact same thing happens with the wind fish and Oshu the ocean king as well

we know vaguely they are whales and appeared as such in their respective games

yet that brings up more questions then answers

what is the god of dream

are they the same

are they different beings

the introduction of Marin in hyrule warriors made the wind fish even more of a mystery because that implies either the world isn’t real or Marin is real

like again we have no idea

they are incomprehensible

majora and it’s mask are very much cryptics and nobody truly knows their origins

if the entity is a mask

if the mask is separate

why it wants to destroy the world of termina

how it was involved with the captain of the skeletons giving lore that it was involved in a war that destroyed them

we know nothing once again

the fates in cadence of Hyrule are like really weird as well

like Greek or Roman history is as close to an understanding as we are gonna get

yet the fates of mythology are just as confusing and even unsettling in this context

because there should be three fates one of future ,one of present ,one of past they tread their treads for a person and if you see the three fates cut a string in your sight you or someone close to you will die

that is still hella scary to consider

because they constantly tread threads when you speak to them in the game and one seems to be missing

like what the hell happened

we will never understand

yet fierce deity is comprehensive we know it’s just the anger of termina for majora's mask clowning on them

I think in unironically that this distinction makes sense and fixes the power scaling

like gods are told to be incomprehensible and vaste to the point where nobody now’s anything but their rough purpose (except we still don’t really understand anything regardless)

like now sky seems to also not really have ANYTHING to really make him a god beyond headcanon

and even then it would be shaky at best still

his journey was served to him on a golden plater

he had gods

a guide in form of his sword

blessings

and the ability to upgrade his sword (which he in fact DIDN’T make by himself but only upgraded)

yet still messed up

and like it is absolutely fine that he was kinda op and well prepared

But demise ain’t that much

yeah he cursed the whole world and then reincarnated as ganondorf

BUT his curse is not a sign that he immediately and utterly is a god

he was a scoliosis bad skin cancer fall guy whose TOES (THE TOES.!! ) you had to cut to force it back in its hole

and even if he was brought back… he obviously wasn’t full power regardless

Zelda NEEDS to be sacrificed (and it’s not just taking a bit of power from her she needs to actually die to be a sacrifice… that is like what a sacrifice is meant to be you don’t kinda attack a goat when you sacrifice it you kill it for sure)

and honestly in minish cap Vaati did the same and Zelda is also still not sacrificed but just drained of light force by the end yet nobody acknowledges that four killed a god (if we count the demise thing) as well

like there are many fundamentally flawed ideas that while no doubt in fiction are interesting

are not canon to the game

demise hasn’t even done stuff it was ganondorf or ganon (as we count them separately so should demise be counted as a separate entity because even with the links we count them separate as they have all different memories and experiences)

Why are we even making fierce deity special when legend exists

Fanfic prompt:

You know what in comparison to like the canon gods we met fierce deity is just a 6,3 dude with a big unpractical sword and that’s it

Like that’s literally it the beams it can shoot legend was capable of shoot as young as link to the past lol

Four can shoot beams in four swords adventures

Sky has his beam fancy and called a skyward strike

And in triforce heroes legend has a legit cosplay that guess what …can shoot beams

We don’t need to make the fierce deity feel special because it really really isn’t lol

The windfish can create a whole island on a whim and we know that marin at the very least exists so that cannot just be a dream

Because she is chilling in hyrule warriors very much real looking in my opinion

Fierce deity can’t do that from what I saw of it

Fierce deity just a rat in comparison

Honestly would be hilarious if time was worried about the deity until he realized that the deity is his least worrying problem next to legend

Legend clowned on the deity,…

Just saying the den of trials is not the hardest dungeon he had to deal with

Honestly now that I think about it

Legend might actually be a deity

Like death is no problem because you die in cadence of Hyrule for upgrades and with barely any consequences… like at all

He can shoot beams (which seems to be all you need to be a deity nowadays)

Eats ganon for lunch every other week (or adventure)

Has the fierce deity outfit from an actual trial in hytopia

Interacted with …the windfish and has the ability to wake a god,… and build dungeons in its dream

Saved din and Nayru in the oracle games (farore was there as an easter egg)

Fought onox a non ganondorf evil demon thingy with god like powers who tried to control the concept of time by possessing Nayru, and tried to light the flame of destruction to annihilate the whole world

He could control time and space

Change the seasons on a whim

See the future and met the fates of past, and future in cadence of Hyrule (past let’s you come back to life , future tells you where you have to go )

He has like the golden three

The Windfish

And the fates as friends (or acquaintances but then again the windfish likes him canonically for waking him… the fates kinds are actually helpful)

Like honestly legend probably is more of a god for having the golden Doritos every new adventure for breakfast (he probably carries them after cadence of Hyrule or maybe the fates go out their way to revive him anytime he dies … but it’s probably the Doritos

He wishes on the triforce enough to have it on straight up speed dial

Like… probably literally having it on his hand because everyone gave up on building temples for it when they can just give it to the guy who holds it as often as one holds their tooth brush

If we include the royal blood thing as in the mortal with the blood of the goddess

And him and fable being siblings

Then he should be named legendary hylia and nothing else will be tolerated

Like dude is already named legend

And names hold power and significance

Fierce deity probably is his guard dog

Not because hylia's true reincarnation needs help but because it is the legendary hylia's purse dog Anna fun accessory

While time is freaking out that legend could be off legendary status,… honestly I think that was obvious

I feel so bad for hyrule because how the hell can you possibly even TRY to live up to the legacy of a god like being beyond death and capable of ending world destructive threats and has more godly friends then he has mortal ones

It's like ridiculously unfair lol

The chain has a few deities on their group yet sky is not the god in this scenario

Warriors was making fun of a literal god like being , time, sky , etc. probably realize that while he doesn’t lol

And legend probably doesn’t even know that he is as close to a god as one can possibly be

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utilitycaster · 14 hours ago

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Idk how to articulate this but in regards to a lot of defense of certain elements of C3 being that they “make sense” in universe, (Ashton becoming indecisive, the party not knowing each other well because of the little passage of time, the party not having stakes in much of things,) it’s always very misguided because something can make sense in universe and still be a really bad writing decision. Especially if you’re trying to respond to an out of universe criticism with in universe logic.

Correct. I think there are two big problems with these arguments. The first, is as you said, the fact that these Doylist critiques (story poorly structure, party lacks investment) are being met with Watsonian defenses (makes sense for the party). We're saying "the party should have been given a reason for investment in the beginning."

The second is, and I've been reluctant to point this out because the bulk of hate I've gotten has been (largely false and frankly idiotic) claims of hypocrisy. But man is a lot of this hypocritical, the defense of Ashton specifically. Like, yes, Ashton is someone who's had a difficult life and frequently had very little power, so the fact that they do have power now isn't something they are used to. However, and this really is the even larger problem, just because a sentient being has a reason for feeling a certain way does not in fact mean that acting on it is excused from criticism. Ashton also learned he contained the shard of a titan only a few weeks ago; why aren't we granting the same "well, it's new, let them process" it to the party's fixation on avenging the titans? Why are we getting this from people who frequently treated Orym as "irrational" and bent on nothing but vengeance for deaths he'd carried for six years and had thought about extensively? Hey, Ludinus is acting from trauma! So is Liliana, according to a lot of these people. If acting from trauma is always valid, then criticism of any of these people is cut off. So clearly, what you do with that trauma matters!

You can feel any way about anything, but how you act matters, and time and time again, a huge number of Bells Hells and Campaign 3 fans have argued that actually it doesn't, and if you've ever had your choices curtailed your lack of agency means you are entitled to do whatever the fuck you want. It extends to themselves as well - doesn't matter if (for example) there's absolutely no indication that Gelvaan's issue with Imogen was homophobia or misogyny and in 118 episodes there hasn't been - if you feel like Imogen's experience is relatable to your real-world one where those were factors then obviously your feelings are right so who cares about like, the facts of the situation! You're new to the campaign! You can't be EXPECTED to LOOK THINGS UP and THINK.

You know what I realized, upon answering this question: I don't know if Ludinus realized that the impact of reaching out to Predathos would be the ruin of Molaesmyr; I don't think he was terribly worried about consequences but I do think it's fair to say "he might have not realized how badly this could go, and was surprised as any by the result". Just someone following a path because they were hurt and traumatized and not thinking things through. We keep talking about how Bells Hells might be remembered as Vespin Chloras, and they might be remembered as such, but Vespin was an arrogant but genuinely competent and even, arguably, well-intentioned person with a clear plan that was ultimately a gross underestimate. I think they're more likely to be just fuck-ups in the dark who could cause mass destruction because they cared far, far more about the hurt they'd received than the world around them.

#veered off topic but. relevant.#cr tag #answered #anonymous

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yesihaveaobsession · 8 hours ago

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His Antlers

Alastor x female!reader

Summary: A question has been brewing in the readers (you) mind, it was a filthy thought, but it's needed to be answered.

A/N- Heyyy, I’m back! I’m planning to write more this year. I didn’t finish many fics last year, mostly because I ran out of ideas, haha. So if you’ve got any Alastor fic ideas, feel free to drop them! I’ll pick a couple that catch my interest.

ALSO this was inspired by the questions and fics for us Alastor simps

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF FINISHING?

It was a quiet afternoon in the hotel lobby—the kind of quiet that felt almost suspicious, given the usual chaos that unfolded within its walls. You were slouched in one of the very worn-out armchairs, nose-deep in a magazine. Well, not really nose-deep. It was more half-heartedly clutched in your hands, and you hadn’t turned a page in what felt like forever.

Across from you sat Alastor, perfectly composed as always, a newspaper spread out in his clawed fingers. His crimson eyes scanned the pages with unnerving focus. But you couldn’t focus on your magazine. No, your thoughts had wandered somewhere... unforgivable.

Your gaze drifted to him again. The sharp angle of his antlers. The slight twitch of his ever-present smile. The occasional glimmer of mischief in his eyes. And then that cursed question popped into your head like a firecracker: Do his antlers… grow when he’s about to… finish?

You desperately tried to shake the thought. Why would you even think that?! It was awful and ridiculous. But now, the question had lodged itself in your brain, and no amount of page-flipping could erase it. Worse still, another thought followed. Has he ever… finished?

Your eyes flicked up from the same page you’d been stuck on to him again. He turned a page in his newspaper, looking perfectly unaware—or so you hoped. When he adjusted the angle of the paper, his antlers shifted slightly. The cursed thought burned brighter in your mind. You stared.

Alastor’s eyes suddenly darted up from his paper. Caught.

You snapped your gaze back to your magazine, heat rushing to your face, pretending the words—now a blur—were the most fascinating in all of Hell. Moments later, curiosity got the better of you, and you glanced up again.

But he was already looking at you, his crimson eyes locked onto yours. A sly, knowing smile tugged at his lips. He said nothing, simply raising a brow before returning to his paper. Was it hot in here?

This silent game of stolen glances and panicked averting went on for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes. Finally, Alastor spoke, breaking the unbearable silence.

“You seem distracted, my dear. Something on your mind?” His voice was lilting, teasing, and far too amused.

You froze. There was no way you could ask him. Absolutely no way. He’d kill you—or worse, laugh at you forever. But the words bubbled up in your throat before you could stop them. Taking a deep breath, you blurted it out.

“Do your antlers grow when you… finish?”

The air in the room grew still. Too still. The hum of Alastor’s static seemed louder now, filling the silence that followed your question. Your eyes drifted to the old-timey radio on the table next to him, its static crackling ominously. He was going to kill you, wasn’t he? Slowly, he lowered his newspaper, folding it neatly and setting it aside. His grin widened, sharp and dangerous, his eyes gleaming with unmistakable delight.

For a moment, he didn’t move, his expression frozen in that wicked grin. Then his shoulders began to shake. A sound bubbled up from his chest—a low chuckle that quickly escalated into full-blown hysterical laughter.

“Oh, my dear!” he howled, clutching his stomach. “That is positively the most delightful question I’ve been asked in decades! HAHA! Oh, you do amuse me so!” He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye as his laughter subsided into soft chuckles.

Your face burned crimson. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “I—just forget I said anything,” you mumbled, burying your face in the magazine.

But Alastor wasn’t done. He leaned forward, his grin sharp and mischievous. “To answer your question… no, my antlers do not grow. Though,” he added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’ll leave the rest to your imagination. After all, it’s far more fun that way, wouldn’t you agree?”

You stared at him, speechless.

He leaned back in his chair, picking up his newspaper as if nothing had happened, leaving you to stew in your embarrassment. You knew you’d just given him endless ammunition to tease you with.

#alastor #hazbin hotel #the radio demon #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor imagine #i have an obsession

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rei-ismyname · 2 days ago

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Teen Jean outs Bobby Drake pt 1

So... Marvel finally decided to confirm that Bobby Drake is gay in All-New X-Men vol 1. I'd forgotten it was a response of sorts to Bobby aggressively performing heterosexuality by objectifying Magik. Not that it makes Jean's behaviour any kind of model for being an ally, but it's easier to see how she arrived at this conversation. It wasn't just out of the blue.

It's clear he absolutely knows he's gay, but he's been closeted for years and I think his persona was built for self protection. A person's openness with their sexuality is entirely up to them (thank fuck telepaths aren't real) and the O5 had grown up in the 60s then suddenly were taken to 2014. Homophobia is still absolutely rampant, but the difference must have been stark. Bobby's parents are also super conservative assholes - given their attitude to him being a mutant he knows they would be awful if he came out to them. Xavier isn't exactly progressive either.

The ice barrier he puts up is him shutting the conversation down while holding back. I'd probably freeze her solid and flee. Interestingly he stops denying it very quickly (not like he had a fucking choice, JEAN) and brings up the headfuck that is his older self who 'isn't [gay.] It really is a unique situation.

I get the impression that Bobby's 'speculation' is spot on, it's obviously the same thought process he had. It's incredibly articulate and thoughtful, which should give an idea of just how much of a performance he has been putting on. Plenty of gay and queer folks date people you wouldn't 'expect' them to. Experimentation is how we figure ourselves out, and heteronormativity is a hell of a drug.

He accepts it pretty quickly, and they briefly discuss the cultural differences compared to their own time.

He accepts it super quickly and allows himself to think out loud about people he finds attractive. Warren, mainly. I don't believe him for a second that Warren is 'too pretty' as I'll discuss in part 2, but I have to say I misremembered the privacy aspect of this. Obviously Jean went to Charles Xavier school of psychic consent (literally) but she at least talks to him privately about this, and assures him 'it's no one's business until you say it is.'

She didn't so much out him as drag him kicking and screaming out of the closet, but she kept it between them and stuck to that. That, at least, is a positive model for supporting queer friends. There's a lot of trust there, and Jean outing Bobby isn't as bad as I remember it. Bobby certainly seems a LOT happier afterwards and while his exploration of his sexuality/dating is awkward as hell, that's true for everyone. I wonder if he's grateful to Jean for this. It feels weird to say it but he probably is. The flipside of telepathy existing is the misery someone who wasn't his friend could have inflicted. There's Xavier, too, who surely must have known, right? He doesn't know the meaning of privacy - what should he have done with this information? We know what he did in canon - nothing. It's such an odd situation that it's hard to judge but if someone in your care is closeted for decades then maybe you didn't provide the best environment.

Thus, the ice twink was born. Next time, Teen Jean and Teen Bobby talk to the Bobby of this time period. That's going to be awkward to write about. Ultimately, it does portray common queer experiences (albeit with telepathy and time travel involved) and emphatically normalises not being straight. It's not perfect, and it wasn't very groundbreaking for 2014, but it's something.

#x comics #all new x men #bobby drake #jean grey #gay #x men #charles xavier #marvel girl #iceman #marvel #comics

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hapan-in-exile · 23 hours ago

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It's so obvious, I'm your Number One

A Mandalorian One Shot

Another Tale from the Dark Garden

Yeah, I know your little secret...

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

Reader: You are a courtesan at the Dark Garden, Coruscant’s most prestigious pleasure house. Owned by the Mandalorian's employer, crimelord Boss Set’ki, and operated by his lieutenant Mistress Anassa. After years of meaningful glances and missed connections, Din Djarin finally claims you as his own. But now…he’d like to switch up the roles.

Word Count: ~9K

Pairing: sub(ish)!Din Djarin x (soft)femdom!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Warnings: Bondage, blindfold, oral sex (everyone receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slapping, hair pulling, choking, biting, unprotected piv, rough sex, orgasm denial, prostate play, explicit consent, aftercare.

No extreme degradation. Lots of checking in! Lots of praise!

A/N: This is Part 2 in the Tales of the Dark Garden anthology. Read Part 1 (softdom!Din Djarin x sub!fem!reader), or just dive in with this entry!

No description of skin, hair, or eye color; no description of age or body shape.

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“Are you sure you’re comfortable with this? I can keep the blindfold on.”

Thankfully, you’d already adjusted the shuttle’s climate controls. You’re wearing your favorite pair of knit stockings, a wrap sweater, the silk sash of your robe tied around your eyes…and absolutely nothing else.

The Mandalorian tore off your underwear a few minutes ago.

You can’t see him—can’t see anything—you simply gravitate toward the heat of his body as he leads you across the cabin.

“If teeth are going to be involved, I think it’s in my best int—” Mando’s words are cut off by a dull thud and the sound of the bed frame scraping across the inlaid tile floors. “Gah–” he snarls. “Fucking farrik, that stings!”

His grip on your wrist tightens as he dips forward to reclaim his balance.

“You okay?” Reaching out blindly, your hand collides with his taut stomach, nails catching on his tender skin. “Shit, sorry.”

But Mando only laughs, gathering you against him.

“Turned the lights off too soon,” he murmurs, resting his chin atop your head. After a swift kiss, you feel him bend over to massage his knee, or shin, or whatever he’d knocked painfully into the bedframe. “I can’t see shit in the dark.”

“We can rethink—

“Hush,” he silences the prevarication with another kiss on your lips. It’s gentle, and so sweet, it feels lonely when he pulls away. “Once we make it to the bed…there’ll be no reason to leave it.”

The promise of that excites you so much, that you almost forget you’re supposed to be stepping into a role. Show some dominance! So you slide both hands up and over the hard bulk of his chest and shove.

“I’m going to make you feel so fucking good.”

You try to push him playfully onto the bed, but the Mandalorian is about as pliable as a statue. He resists and instead uses the momentum to hold you closer, sweeping you into his arms when you lose your center of gravity, so his powerful limbs are the only thing keeping you upright.

It’s a reminder that this is a game. The only dominance you have is what he allows. That’s fine by you. As long as you can make him whimper into your ear and cry out your name. Hearing him beg could be fun.

“Here.” The bounty hunter lifts you by your thighs and wraps your legs around him, one hand splayed across your lower back. You have no choice but to cling to his shoulders. The mattress dips and creaks when he sits down, pivoting his legs onto the bed, before Mando situates himself propped against the headboard, with you straddling his hips.

Burying his face into the crook of your neck, his lips trace over your jaw until he finds your ear. Mando breathes his warm breath into it, then covers your throat with kisses and his questing tongue before returning to your lips. Breath catches in your throat, and you sigh into his mouth as he opens for you, tongues tangling together.

You shift forward onto your knees, wrapping your arms behind his neck.

The soft fabric of his shorts presses into your thighs as his erection builds. He’s wearing a clean pair from the overnight bag he brought with him—which delights you to no end. First, that the mighty Mandalorian has an overnight bag (?!); and second, that it’s thrown onto an armchair in the corner of the cabin he’d claimed as his own.

You sense the movement of his arms when they pull away from you, putting on his own mask, before he reaches behind your head to untie the silk sash from your eyes. It takes a while for your vision to adjust to the utter darkness. All the lights in the shuttle are turned off, but he’d left the skyline window open so that the ambient glow of the megalopolis casts everything into haze and shadow. Coruscant is at its most spectacular at night.

Bathed in soft yellow, violet, pink and blue hues, the Mandalorian remains a dark and indistinct figure to your blinking eyes. Except for the mask.

It’s rare for you to take on more…adventurous clients, but you kept several face coverings amongst your professional accouterment. Some men wanted to be a stranger to themselves—someone who didn’t care about cheating on their spouse, someone who loved to say and do filthy things.

Some clients simply wanted to watch without being perceived.

You’d given the bounty hunter a black hood. Thin enough that he could see and breathe through the mesh weave. Large enough for it to cover him as thoroughly as the Beskar helmet. Mando had taken the hood and torn it—folding the fabric so that it only hid his face from forehead to nose.

It’s too dark for you to see him in any distinct detail, but that decision—that he could have covered his face in complete anonymity and did not—seemed to communicate a desire for intimacy. He wanted the use of his mouth, to feel your fingers threading in his hair and the brush of your lips against his cheeks.

So that’s what you do. Your fingers roam through the soft waves of thick brown hair framing his ears.

It’s still damp from the fresher, encouraging a curl in the tendrils along the back of his neck. Longer than you expected. You always imagined that he kept it short for the sake of simplicity.

You’ll be able to get a good grip.

“Gorgeous,” you murmur without thinking.

“My hair?” Mando asks in disbelief. “You like it?”

“I do.” Massaging his scalp delicately with your fingernails, you lean forward to kiss the corner of his coy smile. “I like everything about you.”

“You braided yours.” He raises both hands to trace the messy coil laced down your back.

“So it won’t get in my way,” you grin.

“You look very sexy in these,” the Mandalorian caresses the fuzzy Endorian goat wool tugged up to your thighs. “And this…” his hands fumble with the neckline of your sweater. It’s loose enough to pull aside, and soon you feel his fingertips, rough against the skin between your breasts. “Whatever this is,” the moisture of his breath stirs the hairs along your neck, “it’s beautiful. Did you dress up for me?”

“Maybe.” You take his face in your palms and trace your thumb over his lower lip, searching for the fullness of his mouth in the darkness. “I wanted something soft.”

“You’re soft everywhere,” he sighs, before sucking on your thumb. A rippling tide of desire surges in your belly.

“Is there anything you want?” you ask, sounding determined to fulfill his every secret yearning.

“I’m sure you know what I like better than I know myself,” Mando replies, his voice a heady rumble vibrating between you.

But that’s not a real answer. You can feel the nervous energy in his body—almost giddy. The slight tremble in his fingers as they settle onto your waist, his muscles tightening with patient expectation. Perhaps he preferred not knowing.

Then he dips his head, his mouth closing over your nipple, already peaked with arousal, as he speaks against your skin. “You can do what you want with me.”

Whoo! It’s going to be a challenge to remain in control. You feel ready to melt into his arms, squirming in orgasmic bliss. You’re realizing domination requires a lot of purpose and attention.

“I should warn you, my training at Dark Garden included more poetry, than bondage.”

His mouth quirks into a smile. “So you’re going to torture me with poetry?”

“I’ll have you know the Tales of Hallëvala are absolutely filthy. Written by total perverts.”

You both burst into laughter. The bounty hunter’s chuckles come from so deep within him that you bounce precariously on his lap until he regains his focus.

“I trust you. Do to me what feels good to you.”

What feels good to you…after your last round of fucking, he knows exactly what you like. And how rough. He’d asked to switch roles this time. Show me why you like it. But, perhaps he didn’t feel comfortable enough to say what he wanted out loud. You’d bet money he doesn’t have a lot of experience with this reversal in dynamic either.

You lace your fingers around his neck, thumbs pressing against his throat. Not too tight, but enough to claim his attention. “It’s good that you trust me, Mando,” you pronounce seductively. “You’ll need to remind yourself of that when you start to feel afraid of me.”

His laughter is dismissive, as though the very idea is ridiculous.

“Submission requires putting all your trust in me…trusting that I know how much you can take. Giving yourself to me. Completely.”

Gathering his wrists in your hands, you haul them over his head and pin them against the headboard. The Mandalorian takes a sharp breath through in surprise, his breath becoming shallow.

Leaning forward, your lips drift to the hollow of his throat, trawling your tongue through the rough stubble of his beard to the tip of his chin. “Your body will resist. You’ll doubt whether or not you can truly surrender, whether or not you really want to.”

When your tongue finds his lips, you kiss him ravenously, stealing whatever breath remains in his lungs. You kiss him like the hunger of starvation, thrusting your tongue into his mouth. It’s unlike any of your other kisses—fearsome—teeth knocking against each other as you shove your tongue down his throat. It’s a violation, made to overwhelm him. He tries to turn his head, but you take him by the chin, fingers tightening around his jaw to hold him firmly in place.

With only one hand to pin his wrists, the Mandalorian could easily overpower you. He doesn’t. Instead, he arches into you so hard, his bare chest crushes your breasts. The sensation of his skin rubbing against you is like a fire coaxing embers to burn.

Never breaking the kiss, he finally begins to breathe through his nostrils, and you pull back. But not before dragging your sharp incisors over his lower lip until you taste blood.

Mando gasps, startled. He tries to hide it with his laughter, but it’s sporadic. Anxious and uncertain.

“You might start to think I’m crazy,” you whisper in his ear. “Or that maybe you are,” you smile lasciviously, unsure whether he can see through the mask. “But doubting me is the worst thing you could do…” drawing the tip of your nose over his earlobe, along the shell of his ear, you close your teeth around the helix.

He tenses, waiting for the bite.

“Don’t think. Don’t question. Just submit to me.”

He’s already rock hard between your thighs. You can feel the whole, hot length of him press insistently against you. Your wetness welcomes him, soaking through the thin fabric of his shorts. Instinctively, his hips roll upward.

“Wait,” his body tenses and stills. “Before…you said it’s exhausting, playing a role. That’s not what I wanted to—”

The tender concern in his voice is enough to break you from the fantasy.

“This is different,” you assure him. “Being with someone you care about always makes it different. And I do care about you, Mando. Very deeply. I’m going to slap you. Bite you. I might even hurt you, but I will always keep you safe.”

With that, you spread his arms wide, pulling his wrist through a loop of rope tied to one corner of the headboard, and then the other.

“You’re going to feel powerless without the use of your hands. That’s why I’m tying you up. Because you’re giving up power. And I’m taking it.”

Suddenly, his muscles tremble in a surge of trepidation. Remember, this will be difficult for him. In his line of work, bondage means capture. Defeat. You need to be careful not to trigger those defensive impulses.

“It’s a gift you’re giving me, Mandalorian, but you can reclaim it anytime. See?” you slip his hand back out through the rope. One quick roll of his wrist, and he can free himself.

“I think we should use colors to check in.” You reach between your legs to stroke his hard cock gently over his shorts. It throbs eagerly against your palm. Warm and thick. “Green is when it feels good. Does this feel good?”

You lower yourself onto him more with each stroke, until you’re so close you can feel the heat of his breath in your mouth.

“Very,” he nods against your temple, breaths coming shallow and quick.

“Yellow is for when things start to get too intense.” This time, you squeeze harder, curling your fingers around him, and he gasps, stomach contracting in alarm. “Then we can pause—talk about it. Reset if necessary.”

“Mmmph,” Mando groans.

“Do you like this?” you ask, knees digging into the mattress with the momentum of every fervent twist of your wrist.

“Senaar’ika, I love this,” he laughs, ducking his chin to lick at your collarbone.

You suck his tongue into your mouth, claiming his lips before tugging hard on his cock.

“Nnngh! Fuck me,” he growls in a surge of arousal and frustration, thrusting roughly into your fist. “Dammit, woman.”

“When you say red, I stop immediately.” You remove your hands from his cock and place them lightly over his chest, the rapid beating of his heart drumming against your palms. “We can talk about it or not. You never have to explain why you want to stop.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, still sounding apprehensive. No wonder! An elite bounty hunter. He’s probably never this vulnerable by choice.

Then he surprises you. “If you’re worried about keeping me safe…Is this something you’ll enjoy?

“Yes!” you insist, laughing. “Giving you pleasure, watching you come so hard and for so long that you black out and forget your name…is something I will enjoy very much.”

“Is that a threat?” he tilts his head, grinning. “Or a warning?”

“I just hope you have it written down somewhere since, as far as I understand, you’re the only one who knows what it is.”

At that, you lean forward to whisper into his ear once more. “I will take your body, and I will use it to satisfy my needs. But I promise to cherish it, even as I force it to conform to my desires.”

Then your mouth closes over his again. This kiss is not as obscene. When your tongue passes his lips, you explore more slowly—the roof of his mouth, the seam of his lips, the tip of his wet tongue. Kissing deeply until he adapts to breathing through his nose. You’re gauging how long he can comfortably hold his breath before drowning in your cunt.

Your lips leave his to trail along the Mandalorian’s chin, his jaw, down his neck, and across his shoulder. As you move, you drag your open mouth over his skin, letting him feel the scrape of your teeth. Testing. Nibbling. Then biting—just hard enough to leave him gasping, but not hard enough to leave a mark. All the while, your hips roll your naked flesh, drenched in heat, to stroke along his cock.

You moan at the feel of him, thick and heavy between your thighs.

“I fucking love it when you make that sound,” he says, breathless, thrusting his hips upward to meet you.

“You better find some discipline, Mando.” You press your forehead against his cheek and whisper into his neck, like you're telling him a secret. “You’re already so hard. I can feel you leaking onto my belly.”

“And you’re so wet I can feel it through my shorts.”

“I’m thinking about what I’ll have to do to you, if you come without my permission.”

“This would be easier if I hadn’t spent every night of the past five years dreaming about you.”

“Sweet,” you tell him, flush with praise. “But that won’t save you from punishment. I will use discipline if you can’t obey.”

“It’s what I deserve,” he says roughly.

Merely hearing those words brings you to the brink. Your cunt flutters. A hot, molten sensation spreading heat to every inch of your skin. Part of you wants nothing more than to simply sink onto him and ride him to release. Another part wanted to take him all night and never let this end.

Fucking hell, you’ve got to get a grip! It’s just…never felt this urgent before. You can’t remember wanting a man’s body so badly.

“Don’t worry,” you drawl. “I plan to take you slowly.”

You drag your tongue along his throat, trailing a wet path down the column of his neck to his shoulder. This time, you lick and suck strong enough to leave bruises—pulling his warm skin between your teeth until you bite down hard around the ball of his shoulder. He surges against you, cock throbbing with need.

“I think…maybe you like the pain.”

The growl that rumbles in his chest is sweet agony.

“Does it excite you?”

“Yes,” he confesses in shallow breaths, panting.

“But tonight…you come for me. When I say so. You understand?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

You grab a fistful of hair in your fingers and yank his head back. “You want to try that again?”

“Yes…mistress,” he says uncertainly.

But in your world, the title of Mistress was reserved for women like Anassa, keeper of the Dark Garden, who was a figure of ruthless authority. That’s not how you see yourself. This business so often divided women into sweetly eager sluts or cold-hearted dominatrix. Those could not still be the only options. Not tonight. Not with him.

“Call me senaar’ika when we’re together.” His little dove. You loved to hear him call you that. It’s not authoritative or intimidating, but it feels right. “What should I call you?”

The Mandalorian chews on his answer for a long while.

“Cyar'ika.”

“Shar-ee-kah,” you roll the syllables over your tongue. “What does it mean?”

“Guess you’ll have to learn more Mando’a.”

“Hmm,” you chuckle. “But the ika is diminutive, right? So…something sweet. Is that how you’d like me to fuck you? Hard and sweet?”

“Little dove, I—”

You pull back your elbow to slap him across the face with an open palm.

“Too bad I don’t give a shit about what you want.”

The Mandalorian huffs. “No, senaar’ika,” he says through gritted teeth, trying to hide his shock. You’d bet the last person who slapped him, probably lost their hand. Suddenly, you begin to see the appeal of domination. It’s arousing, watching him twist himself into knots, resisting his deepest impulse to hit you back. All that power bridled…for you.

His jaw shifts and straightens, “Tonight is about what you want.”

“That’s right,” you cup his face in your hand, soothing the tender skin of his reddening cheek. “Tonight, you exist only to please me.” Something eases in your chest when he nods, nuzzling into your palm.

Holy shit, that was intense! Exhilarating. Your body is flooded with adrenaline. It feels anathema—wrong—to enjoy hitting someone you care about. Even if it’s just pretend, it feels so real. So fucking real! But he seems to be enjoying it as much as you do.

“Good,” you coo. “You’re doing so good. Right now, you don’t mean it. But you will.”

He laughs, incredulous. “I—”

“You’ll say the words, and I know you’ll want to mean them. But you won’t. Not at first.” Wetting your lips, you soothe the marks and bruises you’ve left on his body with gentle kisses. “But you will. You’re going to learn. I’m going to teach you.”

Then you push up from your knees to stand over him.

“Where did you go?” Mando’s voice is longing and a little helpless. For the first time, he struggles against the ropes, testing their hold.

“I’m staring at your beautiful body,” you answer truthfully. Shifting your weight carefully onto one leg, you lift your other knee and begin tracing every corded muscle of his chest and abdominals with your stocking-clad toes. Despite the thick wool, you feel his skin shiver and twitch—breath hitching whenever you sweep your foot lower and lower across his sensitive skin. “You look so good when I touch you.”

When you circle your toes around his navel, his stomach quivers, and his cock pulses.

“I’m fairly obsessed with this curve along your hips, defining your slutty little waist.”

He let’s go of some tension then, laughing deep from his belly. “What is slutty about my waist?”

“How to explain…? Your shoulders are so broad…” you draw a line with your finger between his chest, down to his groin—his body undulating wherever your fingertips touch him. “And then my eyes travel to your slutty waist, and all I can think about you burying it between my thighs.”

“That’s all I ever wanted,” he says, looking up at you. “All these years…to feel you wrapped around my cock.”

“Poor, cyar’ika,” you shake your head. “Still thinking about what you want. But I’m going to teach you better.”

Unlacing the ties of your sweater, you shrug it off and let it fall onto the bed. Somehow, the fact that you’re still wearing the stockings makes your nakedness feel more profane. Your hands thread into his hair and pull, forcing his head back so you can thrust two fingers inside his mouth.

He’s so unprepared it makes him gag.

“Your body is beautiful…so powerful. But soft. Just like your beautiful face. Strong jaw. Sharp nose. Soft lips. I’m going to rub myself all over them when I fuck your face.”

In response, the Mandalorian, something between a moan and a sigh, escapes his lips. Something like a whimper. Your face breaks into a broad grin.

Mindful of your balance atop the mattress, you settle your right knee onto his outstretched bicep.

“Would you like that? If I came in your mouth? Fucked myself on your tongue?”

“Yes.” He says before adding, “Please, little dove.”

“Show me,” you respond coolly. “Stick out your tongue for me. Good. Make it soft, like velvet. ”

Flexing the muscles deep in your belly, you tuck your hips and position yourself over his mouth.

“I’m going to use you, and you’re going to sit there and take it for as long I need you to.”

With that, you rub yourself against the length of his tongue, stroking it across and in between every slick fold. You roll your hips wantonly to feel him from every angle, growing softer and wetter as his saliva becomes indistinguishable from your come, leaving you soaked and sopping. Soon, you lose yourself to the flood of exquisite sensations coursing through your body from the delicious friction of his ridged tongue. Pleasure seizes you, forcing you to steady yourself, gripping the headboard. Your breasts bob with each thrust of your hips as you grind into his mouth.

Gods, you could do this for hours. But you sense him growing impatient with passivity. He’s eager to use his lips and mouth. Eager to taste your climax.

“You like this?

“Mmm,” he moans, pouring his hot breath into your wet center.

“Tell me how much you love it.”

“I love your come in my mouth. I want to drink from you.”

“Then put your tongue inside of me.”

“Annngh!” you cry out at the thick stab of his tongue. You rock yourself over it, hips writhing. A coiling knot of tension is winding tighter and tighter inside you.

You can barely recognize the words streaming out of your mouth, but you cannot miss how much the Mandalorian seems to be enjoying this—the sounds he makes, the consuming way he sucks at your clit, the scrape of his stubble against the soft crease of your thighs.

“Lap up my come,” you command, then nearly collapse when his tongue makes hot trails through your opening, over and over, until he’s gasping for breath. “Don’t you dare fucking stop!”

Mando’s mouth moves even faster now, even harder, and you’re nothing but heat and pulse. Everything else is far away. Pleasure tightens—blazes—inside you.

“Flick my—” he parts your flesh with his nose, burying his face between your drenched folds until his mouth closes over your clit. “Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

The leg bearing your weight begins to tremble. Your fingers tangle into his hair, nails scraping his scalp as your fists clench tighter, not caring whether it might hurt. All you can care about is the need to hold onto something while you ride each cresting wave of pleasure as it surges. Every muscle inside your body coils and tightens as the sweet and heady pleasure builds.

“Yes, fuck me with your tongue. Ha-aah. Circle—fuck—fuck yes!”

And then you come so hard you can’t care about anything. You can’t think, can’t breathe. You desperately try to gather air into your lungs, only to sob from the ecstatic release.

Your head falls back, but before you can come down, before you’re able to breathe and see again, you feel Mando’s grip behind your knee, keeping you pressed against his mouth. You pull back instinctively, away from the painfully sweet stimulation, but his fingers dig into your calf.

With each thrust, each lick of his tongue, you feel yourself breaking apart—until your second orgasm hits you so hard you scream, and a hot spurt of liquid covers his face.

“Fuck, that was so hot! I want this come around my—” he begins, but the words die in his throat when you slap him hard across the face.

Both feet planted on the bed now, you hold yourself over him, knees shaking from the voltage of your orgasm, but your voice is firm. “I told you to sit there and take it. And instead, you disobey me. Do I need to remind you who’s in charge?”

Chastened, he tucks his chin, turning his handsome face away from your harsh words.

Snatching a length of rope from the side table, you walk to the foot of the bed and grab his ankles, using all your strength to yank him down from the headboard so that he’s propped against the pillows. He grunts in shock, and you wonder how much he can see through the mask.

You brush the rough coils of rope against the delicate pads of his feet, and his whole body shudders. “Behave, and I won’t have to use this to tie you down.”

The bounty hunter takes in a deep breath that pours forth from his lips. “I’ll behave,” he mumbles, fighting the submission.

A dizzying wave of lust washes over you, rippling across your skin. You suddenly become aware of how hot it is in this cabin. You’d set the temperature too high. Covered in a thin sheen of sweat, the fine hairs that had escaped your braid stick to your cheeks and neck. Your heartbeat pounds against your eardrums.

Was this the electrifying thrill of domination? To see this powerful, capable man, who clad himself in armor and wielded violence, gathering every ounce of strength he possessed to leash himself under your collar. It was a heady rush—almost frightening—to see how badly he needed this.

It feels like a privilege to see this side of the Mandalorian. It strengthens your resolve. Don’t disappoint his desires.

You crawl back onto the bed and over his supine body, biting harder on his nipples, sucking them fiercely into firm peaks, gnawing at his hip bones. “Fuck!” he gasps, a hint of fear lacing his voice. But his arousal was evident.

“I think you wanted to be punished. I think you wanted to test me. To see if I’m capable of hurting you.”

Mando’s so hard he nearly juts out from his shorts. Tugging them down, his cock bounces, slapping against the bare skin of his thigh. You trail wet, open-mouthed kisses down his groin, teeth grazing the delicate skin there.

“Do you believe that I could hurt you?”

Rubbing your face over the tip, you feel the slickness of his pre-come wet against your cheek.

There is nothing more perfect than Mando’s expression right now—what you can see of it. Lips slightly parted, looking hopeless. His hands clench into fists as you open your mouth to take him in. Delicately, you tense your teeth around the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I’ve never been this hard.”

“Are you afraid?”

He nods.

“But excited too. You’re excited thinking about what I might do to you.” You run your tongue over the seam of his balls before sucking each heavy sack into your mouth. Using your tongue, you press the tender skin behind the backs of your teeth.

The Mandalorian draws in a sharp breath. “Yes!”

Something about your wet, messy face makes you defiant, “You don’t want to see what I can do. I know how to break a man like you.” You pull back, lifting your chin so he slips from your mouth, his cock blood-dark and glistening. Your brow arches, “With archaic poetry.”

“What?” he asks through a lusty daze.

“Something from the Guan-jii period, I think.”

”You are evil.”

“But first…” you spit onto his shaft, coating him in saliva—thick and viscous from having him in your mouth. “You’re so big. I have to get you nice and wet before you’ll fit inside me.”

His hands flex wide and then curl back into fists. “Fuck, I want to grab you by the throat.”

Your chin tilts sympathetically. “You could be rough, cyar’ika—slip your wrists free, hold me down, and fuck me senseless. But you won’t. You know this is going to feel so good.”

Positioning your left leg over his thigh and tucking your right knee under the other, you bite down on your bottom lip and slide onto him—inch by inch, until it burns. He’s so big that it almost hurts as he stretches you out, opens you wide.

“Fuck! That’s it,” he whispers as he thrusts himself the rest of the way inside you, up to the hilt. “Just like that. Yes!”

You pinch his nipple tightly between your thumb and forefinger. “Be still.”

“Nnngh,” he growls in response.

“Remember, your body is mine. To use for my pleasure.”

“Yes, senaar’ika” he replies.

“Then spread your legs.”

At first, he’s unsure how to comply, but he doesn’t resist when you push his thighs further apart.

“This position is called the Blooming Lotus pose. Our legs intertwine like the unfurling petals of a lotus blossom.” This angle gets him even deeper inside you, until he’s buried so deep you’re sitting on his balls.

“Mmmph…Oh fuck, that’s amazing.”

“Ha-aah!” you gasp, losing your concentration as you feel him everywhere. It burns. It aches. It’s so fucking good you could scream. “You’re so thick. Ha-aah, I love stretching myself over your cock.”

Then, you begin rolling your hips, grinding yourself onto him.

“Bet you never get it like this,” you look down at him, sprawled beneath you. “I bet everyone expects you to put this big dick to work. And you never get to lie back and get used like this.”

“Yes,” he moans. “Keep fucking me, little dove.”

“These lines were composed by Mason Hamlin. Dedicated to his lover, a witch of the Night Sisters.”

Incredulous laughter bursts from his mouth, “You are an evil, evil woman.”

“But you love it.”

My lady,

You begin, letting the words spill from your lips like beads of water from a cataract.

Whose brown eyes hide mystery, Beneath her red mask,

You push right his knee up to his chest and sweep your tongue over the tender arch of his foot, drawing his big toe into your mouth to suck. This feels so unhinged, but you love it—watching his powerful body writhe with pleasure.

Dark lips,

“Oh shit!” he gasps as you slip your tongue between his toes. “Oh shit, I didn’t think that would feel as good as it does.”

Her gyrating hips, On her knees, on top, over me,

Returning to suck his toes, all the while, you circle and rock your hips against his length, twisting side to side, clenching around his thick cock until he throws his head back.

“Nnngh,” you groan. “I love the feeling of you deep inside me. Rubbing my clit all over you.”

“You are fucking unreal, little dove.”

Pink hellfire pussy, Wet cunt of midnight,

But you don’t want to come yet. That would be letting him off easy.

You shift weight onto your knees, pulling yourself up the length of his shaft, only to slide back down, sheathing him deep inside you. You keep up the slow rhythm—sliding up then plunging onto him again—over and over.

“Slower,” he begs. “You have to go slower.”

“Can I tell you a secret? No one’s ever been this deep inside me before.”

“Mmmph, you can’t say shit like that, senaar’ika.”

“I’ll do as I please,” you grin, sinking down onto his straining sack.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck! Oh fuck! Nnngh, I wish I could see…unngh, my cock pumping in and out of you.”

I sell my soul willingly. Take it all, And fuck me for eternity.

Your back arches, shoving your breasts against his mouth like an offering. In answer, Mando leans forward, struggling with the bindings on his wrists. His mouth catches your nipple, tugging it. He laps, tongue swirling, and then he opens his mouth wider to suck. It only lasts a moment, but that’s long enough to send a surge of pleasure ricocheting through your core, all the way from your nipple to your clit.

“Gods, I love your cock.” The pressure and pleasure build inside you with every thrust of your hips. “You’re so deep. So deep!”

“Mmm…maybe I like poetry,” he declares, in rapture.

“You like how I fuck you?” you ask between heaving breaths, body slick with sweat.

“Hmm,” moans. “I love it. This is all I want. To spend the rest of my life inside you.”

Your muscles flutter and clench around him.

“Mmmph, your walls are so strong,” he groans. “You’re squeezing my cock like a fist.”

“Tell me what it feels like to be inside me.”

“Inside your pink hellfire pussy?”

“Yes,” you snort through your nostrils.

“W-warm,” he slurred, lost in his own pleasure. “Silken. Impossibly wet.”

“Careful. If you grit your jaw any tighter, you’re going to lose some teeth.”

“Not much of a choice, or I’m going to come too fast.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“You feel so good. You’re so wet I can hear it. Fuck, I can smell it.”

He’s right. The cabin is filled with an obscene squelching sound every time you rock your hips, coating him in your slick heat.

Through the mask, you stare at each other, breaths mingling until he closes the space between you to claim your mouth and kiss you—deep and languid.

When he pulls away, he whispers, “Come for me.”

His tongue reaches out to flick against your nipple, and your head falls back, fingers gripping his shoulders, urging him to take more, take harder.

“You’re a terrible submissive.”

“But you love it.” Again you thrust, so hard that he clutches at the headboard, fingernails digging into the wood. “Fuck, someone should come. Please. Please let me come inside you.”

Yep, you do like hearing him beg.

“I just told you, your cock is mine. Don’t tell me what to do with what’s mine.”

“Aaah—fuck! You have to tell me when you’re close…I’m trying. I’m trying so fucking hard. But if you come, it’s just gonna make me…nnngh!”

“You’re going to be good and wait for what I give you.”

“What the fuck are you doing to me, woman?”

“Whatever I want.”

With that, you lift your leg over his thigh and settle it underneath him so that both your knees press into the mattress with him straddling your waist.

“You’ll do as you’re told.”

You brace the heels of your palms against his hipbones and anchor all your body weight forward into your arms, raising yourself higher until your wet nipples press into his cheeks.

“Wider,” your elbows push into the insides of his knees, spreading him open. “This position is called the Wild Akkadian. Named after the tribe of female warriors on Ryloth who would capture men for breeding and mount them, demanding complete submission.”

Tucking your pelvis, you slide back onto his firm cock. Drenched in your come, the head glides over your clit, between the folds of your cunt, teasing the entrance. The friction is just enough to make you start panting again.

This position doesn’t let you take him as deep–only the tip of his cock and the first few inches can fit inside you with your legs pressed together between his thighs. And it requires a lot of bouncing on your knees, contracting your lower abdominals, to thrust yourself onto him. But it feels so fucking good! The shallow, rapid thrusting that rubs the head of his cock against your entrance, sliding over your clit with each stroke. You’re riding him so fast that your breasts shake, and your entire body starts to sweat. Your thighs ache, and your arms grow sore, but you keep up the pace—faster and faster.

“Mmmph, please,” he begs, reeling on the edge of pleasure. “Please, I’m so close.”

The Mandalorian is completely helpless. Unable to move his hips. You’re truly using him now—using him like a toy to get yourself off. Whatever you give, he has to take it. All of this stimulation concentrated onto the head of his cock.

“Not yet.”

“Farrik, this is torture. Are you ever going to let me come?”

“Why should I?”

“You said if I behaved, you wouldn’t hurt me,” he throws his head back. “This feels pretty fucking hurtful.”

“You’ll come when I say so.”

Warmth ripples through you in waves. Every muscle in your body tightens, on the brink. You cry out—one long cry you can’t control—as blood rushes to your clit. The rapid friction spirals. Soars. You gasp, dizzy as everything else falls away, and then there’s nothing left of but the orgasm that takes over. Your cry turns into a scream as you come, your head swirling in the rush of pure ecstasy. Without anything to clench down on, you continue thrusting onto him throughout your climax.

“It’s too good,” he groans. “It’s too good—I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—unngh!”

You both shudder as your bodies surrender to the intensity of your shared orgasm. With his cock this shallow inside you, you feel each hot spurt of come weeping out of you and dripping down his shaft.

It’s so fucking hot in this cabin! What were you thinking? The wool stockings probably aren’t helping, but he said they look sexy. You’re covered in sweat, but so is Mando—his soft brown curls clinging to his neck. Your bodies had grown slick together in desperation to chase release.

Somehow you find the strength to get up onto your knees, letting his spent cock slip out of you before sitting back on your heels, still nestled between his thighs, their coarse hairs tickling your sensitive skin.

“What do you have to say to yourself?” you gasp, trying to sound furious. Not really selling it.

The Mandalorian doesn’t mind. He smiles, mouth open wide in a sly grin.

“Punish me,” he says.

You slap his cheek. Not as hard this time. Teasing. Playful.

“Look at the mess you made. I think you should have to clean it up.”

“Yes, senaar’ika,” he says eagerly, as if wanting nothing more.

Which is a relief. You’re testing the boundaries of degradation—but you can’t help it. The idea of him swallowing every bit of come he’d pumped inside you is fucking hot! As hot as this fucking shuttle.

“I’m not going to hold back this time,” you promise him.

Guiding one foot, and then the other, over his naked body—you position yourself on your hands and knees so that you’re straddling his chest with your back toward him. Presenting yourself. Despite your warning, you start by keeping most of your weight on your knees, staying still as he begins, his tongue licking and thrusting, his lips sucking and kissing. But soon, you grow volatile and start to rock against his mouth.

“This is how you learn,” you say between thrusts, getting back into the role, ending each word with a slight huff of air. “That you’re mine.”

Your toes slide under the pillows to slip beneath his neck, cradling his head in the arches of your feet. Tilting your hips, you shove yourself onto his face, and the Mandalorian’s mouth comes down over your pussy to suck out his come.

Pure pleasure ripples through you, almost blinding in its intensity. Mando starts to swallow, his jaw tensing with each deep pull. The suction is devastating! He wants to bring you to the brink of ecstasy and hold you there forever. If anyone can do it, he can.

You want him between your legs for hours. But you also want to ease this insistent aching tearing through you.

“Oh shit,” you brace yourself on his muscular thighs, fingernails digging into his skin as you grind down harder. “Gods, that tongue!” Your hips twist and writhe to get him deeper between your folds, using your feet to hold him pressed against your cunt. Right there! Right there!

Mando responds by sucking faster.

You push up onto your hands and open your mouth in search of his cock. Nuzzling it with your cheeks, your lips slide over the tip, still covered in your come, painting your face with it. He moans, and the vibration against your swollen clit, is what sends you into climax, thighs quivering.

You shout, “Aanngh!” and then come, filling his mouth with heat. Quickly, he gulps it down, every drop, the action almost lost to you in the spasms of pleasure echoing through you, as your body trembles.

There is no strength left in your muscles—you just collapse on top of him.

“You did so good,” you tell him breathlessly. “So so good.”

“Did I earn your forgiveness?” he asks, his breathing also ragged as he wipes his face along the pillows. You’ve made such a mess of him! He’s going to need another shower.

“Yes,” you moan, unable to take him back into your mouth until you can catch a full breath. All you can do is stroke his cock. Exhausted, you let your head fall onto his thigh, lapping at his skin and running your tongue under his soft sack.

Mando arches his back and spreads his legs wider. You flick your tongue lower. Then, the bounty hunter draws his knees up, and you take it as an invitation. Do to me what feels good to you.

You circle your tongue, coaxing the tight, puckered skin of his asshole. His cock pulses back to life, growing hard and pressing against your throat. Yet you want to be cautious and give him the opportunity to say no if this makes him uncomfortable. Instead, he moans and digs his heels into the mattress.

“You want me to kiss it?”

“Yes,” he says—his voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes, please.”

“You should say please again, cyar'ika,” you demand gently. “I like hearing you beg.”

His lips brush against the curve of your ass, and then he bites. Not hard enough to bruise, just enough to take a bit of skin between his teeth, before kissing you. He truly is a terrible submissive!

“Please.”

Honestly, it’s perfect! You need a break before your calves cramp up, or you pull a hamstring. Still lying prone over his body, you start licking his asshole in lush strokes with your flat tongue. It tastes a little like soap, and you realize he’d cleaned himself to prepare for this. He’d been secretly hoping you would do this for him.

You are happy to oblige. Fingers spreading his cheeks, you flex your tongue to dip it inside him.

“Fucking farrik!” he shouts, his body jumping underneath you.

His excitement gives you new life. After four orgasms, you can make an attempt to even the score.

It’s a bit awkward climbing off of him, crawling up the bed, and squeezing yourself behind him despite all the pillows. Why do you own so many goddamn pillows?

“What are you doing?” he asks, pleading for your attention as all the blood rushes back into his cock. It bobs hopefully between his thighs, growing harder.

You spread your legs open as wide, so you can situate the Mandalorian more or less into your lap, with your knees placed on either side of him, tucked under his arms.

“Here,” you say, wrapping your arms around his long, lithe torso. “Lean back.”

Mando obeys, letting himself fall against your chest, breasts pressing into the smooth skin and the pattern of scars lining his back.

“How are your arms doing?” You feel the tautness of his muscles and set to work soothing them, massaging your hands in aimless patterns over his shoulders, biceps, and forearms, then around his chest to smooth the flat muscle of his pectorals.

But the bounty hunter remains silent. Unable to voice his desires.

“Relax,” you whisper, feeling his heart pounding like a drum under your wrist. “You’ve made me so happy. I’m so pleased. Allow me to reward you.” You cup the tender skin of his inner thigh in your palm, drawing upward until the tips of your fingers press gently against his wet hole.

When he moans with pleasure, you ask, “Have you done this before?”

“No,” he whispers, shaking his head.

“But this is okay? You like it?”

He nods enthusiastically but says nothing.

“Green?”

“Green.”

You flick his ear lobe with your tongue. “It’s going to feel so fucking good. I’m going to make it sweet and easy for you.”

You start with delicate circles using the pads of your fingers. Your other hand wraps around the base of his cock, tightening and loosening your fist as you move up the length of his shaft. Twist and grip, teasing the ridge around the head of his cock with your thumb.

He breathes out hard and lets his head slump against your shoulder. You ask, “Is this enough?”

The Mandalorian clutches at your legs, thrusting urgently into your hand. “More.”

Oh! Well, in that case…

Reaching an arm out, you slip one of his wrists free from the bindings and guide his hand down between his legs, placing it over his throbbing cock. “I want you to stroke yourself, while I play with you.” Then, your other hand closes over his mouth to pull his head back even further, exposing the long column of his throat.

“Moan for me,” you breathe into his ear. “Let me know how much you want it.”

You place your fingers inside your mouth, sucking on them shamelessly before returning to rub them in tight, ceaseless spirals around his puckered skin.

Then, he does moan—a choked sob against your palm. His muscles relax, and your fingertips dip deeper. His flesh is soft and yielding. You have to resist the urge to make a joke about how you expected his asshole to be tighter. Your knuckles knead and part his flesh, and this time, he whimpers—a definite whimper—that escapes between your fingers.

The Mandalorian had neatly trimmed his nails for you—even his toenails are immaculate. You, on the other hand, have long, polished tips in accordance with the standards of elegant femininity required for your work. He wanted more, but you don’t want to hurt him, so you remove your hands from his body to tear open one of the condoms from the bedside table.

“You like this?”

“Green,” he gasps, continuing to draw his fist over the length of his shaft. “Fucking forests—fields of green.”

You laugh, relieved that he seems to be enjoying himself. If he really wanted more…

Clambering over his outstretched legs, you position yourself once more between his thighs, lying flat on your stomach. It gives you an amazing view of his absolutely gorgeous cock and surprisingly well-groomed ass cheeks. Oh, he’d definitely been hoping for this! Mando, your little butt-slut. You slip one finger—okay, maybe two—inside the condom, using the lubrication to ease him open.

“Haa!” the Mandalorian whimpers again. “Mmmph!”

Gods, that’s hot! The noises he’s making and the way his body writhes in pleasure has your stomach clenching. You press your thighs tightly together against the pulsing throb between your legs.

“Fuck,” he gasps. You feel him squeezing around you. Thankfully, the spot you’re seeking isn’t that far inside him.

“Just breathe. That’s right. Arch your back. I knew you’d love this. You’re doing so good. Push that sweet hole onto my fingers.”

Even through the latex, you can feel that small, firm little pebble of tissue under your fingertips.

“Oh, holy shit!” he shouts again.

“It feels good there, doesn’t it?”

Very slowly, you twist your fingers inside him—gently drawing them out and slipping them back in so he can feel more friction against his nerve endings. He starts to quiver, the muscles in his legs tightening and trembling like a bowstring.

“Doesn’t it feel good when someone else fills you up?” You ask him in a low, sultry voice. “When you can just lie there and take it.”

Tentatively, you start massaging inside him, working your fingers back and forth. The Mandalorian writhes atop the mattress, "Haa!" twisting from side to side, moaning in pleasure. “Haa, hmmm, aah!”

“Don’t worry about how much you can take. Cause it’s not up to you.”

You rise onto your elbows so that you can look upon his face. Because reactions like these really need to be seen to be understood.

“Alright cyar’ika, you’re going to fuck my mouth while I finger you.” It’s not open for debate. “I want to feel your cock throbbing in my mouth. And then, you’re going to swallow every last drop.”

“Annngh!” he cries out as every muscle in his abdomen contracts at once, pushing your fingers out with the force of his surging climax.

“That was almost a word,” you say sarcastically.

“I will,” he groans.

“Do you love eating come, cyar’ika?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

He submits. “I love eating come.”

With a satisfied smile, you take him into your mouth and begin to suck. He’s so huge that you can barely use your tongue, but you bob your head, doing the best you can while pushing your fingers back inside him.

“Fuck, right there. Holy shit, right there.” With each stroke, you alternate softening your touch when sucking harder, pressing harder when you lick slowly. “Oh shit, that feels so fucking good.”

Mando’s free hand cups the back of your head, fingers threading in your hair, and he starts thrusting. His girth forces you to open your jaw all the way, the velvety head of his cock sliding into your throat so that you can hardly draw breath.

“Maker, I love it when you take me deep.”

He fills you all the way to your throat. You gag around him, but he just keeps going. “That’s it…” The Mandalorian thrusts in harder as he tugs on your hair. “Choke on my cock.”

Okay, he’s maybe reclaiming too much dominance, but you’ve no urge to check him. Let him have this! He’s earned it.

You suck harder, massage your fingers faster inside him. Salty come slicks the inside of your mouth, moistening your lips. You brace an elbow against his leg—his thigh muscles rock-hard with tension and use your other hand to start working him, twisting your fist around him with every stroke, pumping his cock.

“Fuck! Yes! Fuck that’s perfect. Don’t change anything. Keep sucking my cock. Don’t stop. Fuck! Please don’t fucking stop. Nnngh!”

You feel every vein, every throb. The combined sensation of your hand, mouth, and fingers is too much for him. He shouts out your name, and then he comes, filling your mouth with each hot, salty spurt. You hold it under your tongue, saving it for him.

“Keeping sucking. Aah, aah, aah. I’m gonna come again. Fuck I’m going to fill your mouth with come. Haa-aah.”

You marvel at the bulge of his calf muscles as he digs his heels into the mattress, vaulting his hips off the bed. He lets out a stream of incomprehensible words. Prayers—profanity—you have no idea. You really should learn more Mando’a.

The bounty hunter collapses back onto the pillows, still shuddering through every wave of incomparable pleasure. Crawling up his body, swaying your hips, you grip his face tightly between your fingers, forcing his jaw open with your thumb. Then, you gather the well of his come onto your tongue and spit it into his open mouth.

“Say thank you,” you lean forward and purr into his ear teasingly. But it’s the wrong thing to say.

“Red.”

The Mandalorian slips his other wrist free from the binding and grabs you by the nape of your neck, pushing you back onto the bed underneath him. Panic floods your body. Is he going to hurt you? Some men become angry after realizing how much they enjoy something others tell them to be ashamed of. Some men make masculinity into a prison.

Tears well behind your eyes. You don’t want to be brutalized by this man you care for so deeply. But he gathers you into his arms and kisses your hair.

“Fuck, woman, you sucked me dry.”

You feel hot teardrops pooling against your neck. Not yours—they’re his. He’d come so hard he was crying. “Hold me,” he pleads, and your arms spring up to wrap around him. Nestling his forehead against your shoulder, you stroke up and down the length of his spine while his body shudders, saying nothing as he chokes back sobs.

“I feel empty,” he says, finally breaking through the silence. “Not hollow…but like…there’s nothing inside me, no tension left in my body. It just…exists.” The Mandalorian’s voice is so profoundly contemplative. “Is this what being relaxed feels like?”

You both stare at each other before bursting into hysterical laughter. You fall onto the pillows, the laughter trailing off, only to rise again out of the silence. Mando laughs until his body seems to ache, until he collapses back, limp and wrung out, glistening with sweat.

You let your head fall onto his chest, listening to the hard rasp of his breathing.

“Can you go again?” he asks, whispering into your ear. And fuck, if that doesn’t nearly set you off again.

“Don’t tempt me,” you laugh. Your voice is hoarse from all the screaming—and taking his cock down your throat.

“I’m not tempting,” he says somberly against your hair. “I’m giving. I want to give it to you sweet.”

You drape an arm over him and prop your chin up against the back of your hand. “Sweet can be a little kinky.”

“Part of me wants you to bite me hard enough to leave a scar…so that every time I look down, I’d remember how wild you got, riding my cock. Your wet cunt of midnight. But…please,” he sighs, brushing the tendrils of sweat-soaked hair from your face. “Please. I need to be sweet.”

“Whatever you need, Mando.”

“I know you know my name,” he whispers against your temple. “I want to hear you say it.”

You turn your head to look at him. “I want to give you everything, Djarin. Everything you need.”

The mask hides his eyes, but you feel them searching your soul for answers.

“I need you,” he says. “You’re what I need. ”

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Until next time...

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