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vyglitchcraft · 1 year

Note

Since requests are open, can you write for havik, shao, Scorpion and sub zero with a size kink SFW and NSFW headcanons? ʕʘ‿ʘʔ

YES BITCH I WILL, you have good taste in men hot DAMN also yes putting their canon heights just so you can imagine it (atleast before MK1 assuming they didn't change the height)

Sizing Up (18+)

MK1 Shao, Havik, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang x gen!reader size kink headcanons

Warning: Havik's section has mentions of gore and more extreme fetishes

General Shao (7'2 ft)

SFW

This hunk of muscles love to show off his build, he is VERY proud of it. Like the type of douchebag in the gym that would flex in front of the mirror type of guy. And you love every second of it

He likes to show off, that's just a thing that Shao likes in every timeline. He likes to pick you up and just point out how small and light you are, how you're lucky to have him because someone can just pick you up and run off with you

He's a bit of a jerk but you should expect that when you dated him. He constantly teases you about your height and he'll make sure you will NOT forget that you're short. Jars on the highest shelf, every lid is screwed on a bit TOO tight, you can't seem to find any stools to stand on so that means only one thing, you're forced to ask him for help and he would HAPPILY do it with a shit eating grin on his face

He LOVES it when you do a size comparison between you and him, especially with your hands, he thinks its so precious that he can just hold both of your hands with only one of his

He went FERAL when he saw you in his clothes

NSFW

When i say this man is huge EVERYWHERE i mean it, you wouldn't be exaggerating when you compare it to your arm.

"Are you sure? I could break you" is something he constantly says. He loves to lay his cock right on top of your stomach, just admiring just how deep he could reach. Heck it scares you sometimes too, i mean who wouldn't?

But all those feelings are gone when you feel that delicious stretch as he slowly pushes his cock into you. He loves to compare you to a sex toy just because he could just hold your torso with one hand and just use you. He is VERY degrading in bed but god does he love you too.

"So pathetic, did it reach your brain too? Look at me while i use you" even when the two of you are doing it sitting down, you only reach his chest.

He loves to see the outline of his cock on your stomach, he's amazed that someone as small as you can take something that big.

You're practically getting tossed around from position to position, you're gonna get manhandled like a sack of potatoes

Havik (6'4 ft)

SFW

Also messes with you but more just because it causes chaos. Although he doesn't care about his height unlike Shao, he is absolutely fixated by the fact that you're so small compared to him. He thinks you're adorable and wants to bite your head off.

Chews on your hair. You're probably the perfect height for him to lay his head on top of yours. Your hair gets into his mouth sometimes and he likes chewing on it.

He likes to hold onto you, he wants you to carry him around because he thinks it's funny that someone THAT small can carry a man his height. So yes you're here giving this man a piggy back ride while he chews on your hair. Look don't expect maturity from HIM of all people.

Also likes to carry you everywhere and put everything (including you) on a really high shelf, why? Because chaos.

"I can throw you" "Havik WHY" "what if i throw you across the arena so you can attack people from behind" "WHY WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT"

He's big but he acts like he's small, he either is NOT aware of his height or just does it to mess with you, could be both.

NSFW

Cute aggression but kinky. That's all i can say about him.

But anyway he likes to point out certain details that just make you want to cover your face. He appreciates that you're so easily pinned down. Your feet aren't touching the ground if you're getting fucked on a table or some other random surface.

Please be warned, the man has no filter. His dirty talk is explicit and isn't for the faint of heart.

Goes fucking FERAL when he sees your stomach bulging from his cock. How you can barely handle anything yet you do, easily too. He loves it. "I wonder if i pull out fast enough, i could pull your intestines inside out"

"I can feel myself hitting your lungs, do you like it?" he's exaggerating but he loves how you're basically choking from the pleasure. Although if you're genuinely uncomfortable or hurt, he will stop. As chaotic as he is, he doesn't want to see you hurt or at worst die.

Loves it when you're the dominant one though. He's a switch. He likes it when someone weak like you can overpower him (if you can't, he likes to pretend) you can do anything to him, he can regenerate any part of his body.

Bi-Han (6'2 ft)

SFW

Overbearing as fuck. He treats you like you're just this small vulnerable rabbit. He feels the need to always protect you, i mean someone your size surely can't protect themselves right? That's why you have him! If you think he's overprotective, he's even more so when you're small

You're a porcelain doll to him, one wrong move and you'll be hurt. Although he's very gentle, he's also like a predator, almost a yandere. You're spoiled, he's the grandmaster, who's gonna stop him from using the Lin Kuei's money for you. But you ain't gonna do shit without him "protecting" you

Since every ninja is around 6'2 (except Tremor and Reptile i think) so you bet your ass you can't reach shit but don't worry, Bi-Han is there to help you. You won't be lifting a finger when he's around.

Oh but don't think he's all soft, his anger is fucked. He uses his size to intimidate people, standing behind you like a shadow. Or having you on his lap like a pet.

Your size means you're also easily movable. He uses this to his advantage to just carry you around or pick you up if he needs you.

NSFW

Again, predator/prey. He absolutely takes advantage of the fact that you're so weak compared to him. The way he can make you whine with one of his fingers, gives him an ego boost. "I can't wait to stretch you to the limits"

Everything about him screams possessive and the fact that you look so small and weak compared to him makes it even worse. The fact that he can just wrap his hand around your whole neck. The fact that you cry every time he fucks you, he lives for it.

He'll pin you down, bite you, everything that you'll love today but regret tomorrow. His grip is bruising but no worries, he'll make sure to take care of you after it. His hands would be cold enough to soothe the pain

Seeing you grip onto him, how he overpowers you and you're hugging him as if he's the only person that could keep you safe. God he could go another round just from seeing it.

Kuai Liang (6'2 ft)

SFW

Not as obsessive as his brother, he's respectful. He loves you and he'll make sure you know it. He wants you to feel protected but not scared. Although he discourages you from fighting because he's scared that you'll get overpowered.

He's pretty self aware about his height but he won't make it your problem.

He LOVES it when you wear his clothes or any oversized shirt. He just wants to choke you with his chain and hug you until you can't breathe.

He likes to hold your face with both of his hands and just squish your cheeks. His hands pretty much cover your face. Oh and he doesn't mind carrying you everywhere he goes, it's embarrassing but if you want him to do it, he'll handle the teasing, as long as you're happy.

Does that thing where he just puts his hands on your face, grabbing your head like a basketball. He isn't really thinking about anything, he just does it sometimes. Also accidentally gained the reflex of having to crouch just to go face to face with you. Yes its a bit degrading but he'll snap out of it and go back to his normal position.

NSFW

The fact that you're so light and small compared to him makes it so easy for him to just pin you against a wall. He loves the sense of power that he has over you. You're so vulnerable and he could just defeat you.

To his dismay, he's pretty similar to his brother but much more merciful and less degrading. "So small, so weak, i could just break you"

He would tie you up with his chains and just let you warm up his cock, his big arms wrapping around your neck while he studies in his room. His hand would wander down, cupping your stomach or thighs. Feeling your head lean back on his chest while you beg for him to move.

In his mind, you're like a pocket pussy, a cute toy but he would never mention it. He has a filter but his mind does not. He would love to see you beg that he's too big, that it hurts, your hole not closing up after he's done with you, he wants to see it but he would never say it to you, its too embarrassing.

Your small frame when you go all limp after a session looks so adorable that he just wants to hold your hips down and use you until you're all loose and open. "I'll mold you into my shape, i need you to be mine" he pants out, biting your shoulder, he really is similar to his brother even if he denies it.

#mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 1 #bi han #shao kahn #general shao #kuai liang x reader #kuai liang #scorpion x reader #scorpion #sub zero x reader #sub zero #mk havik #havik #havik x reader #bi han x reader #shao kahn x reader #general shao x reader

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leighbaylee · 6 months

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🖤 ₊˚⊹ — make up

parring ➵ draco malfoy x m!reader

summary ➵ you like to fuck with him, just to make up with him.

warnings ➵ slight suggestive language/content!

age parring ➵ 17 - 18

extra ➵ slytherin & dominate reader. credits to @cafekitsune for banners!

many peers from any house can presume that your relationship with malfoy was endearing. unexpected definitely, but truely endearing.

dating draco was a bit difficult, he is arrogant, stubborn, has an extremely high ego, one prejudiced son of a bitch, and he constantly refuses to be manhandled in front of his fellow slytherins’.

one particular day, you had just entered the familiar common room after a long day of studying for a upcoming exam coming up later that same week.

you had also made the trip for another reason other than to study, to get your mind of your brat of a boyfriend.

but we aren’t gonna tell him are we?

you entered slumping on a arm chair, pulling our parchment after parchment of notes splattered with jet black ink.

around this time of the year, the common room being not full was expected due to exams.

you sighed and rested your chin on top of your hand. draco locking eyes with you as he came up to you.

❝ hey (l/n) ❞ he whispered as he sat his pretty little self on top of the arm rest.

you only looked up at him and raised your eyebrows as you got back to reviewing your work.

he began blabbing about harry potter, as usual. that would’ve never gotten you bothered but it was almost as if he was more interested and concerned about him more than his own boyfriend.

you groaned, proving that you weren’t listening to him.

❝ hey, what in merlin’s name is wrong with you? ❞

you scoffed as you discarded your parchments and dragged him down onto your lap, wrapping your arm around his waist. he yelped in looked around the room in habit.

❝ you constantly talk about harry, it pisses me off draco. ❞

he gulped, eyebrows furrowed, and looking down at your lips moving as you had more to say.

❝ besides you did the thing, where you check to see if anyone is around when i try to be affectionate with you! ❞

you began scolding him, he tried touching you to see if that were to able to calm you down. to no avail.

you snatched his wrist before he can touch your face.

❝look at you now, all hot and bothered.❞ you smirked as he huffed and tried to get off you.

that resulted in you propping him up, holding him up with you hands on his ass.

❝ h-huh? ❞ he gasped in response, wrapping his legs around your waist. also holding you tightly around your neck not wanting to embarrass himself anymore longer.

❝ stop it, your being annoying right now! ❞ he yelped out in a whine.

❝ draco’s so cute when he’s angry isn’t he? ❞ you teased him as you made it to your dorm dropping him into your bed getting on top of him in the process.

❝ stop it now! ❞ he growls.

you yanked on his blonde locks, forcing him to face you and you began.

❝ stop mentioning potter like he is your boyfriend you bitch boy malfoy. ❞ you scoffed at him, using his surname for extra measure.

his gaze softened as he looked up at you lips trembling, nodding profusely not wanting to anger you anymore.

❝ mhm! ❞ he whimpers, expressing his discomfort with your hair pulling.

you let go and grab his chin, adoring the cute little features draco was blessed with.

❝ you’re gorgeous yknow that? ❞ you smile at his watering eyes.

you turn him over, now him on top of you, your hand roaming under his robes.

you grabbed his chin with your other free hand and kissed him. draco melted.

he leaned forward accepting the kiss, heat rushing down his cheeks. your chests pressed together.

you only escalated by placing your hands on his ass, as you groped them.

let’s just say he never brought up the chosen one again.

୨⎯ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡 ⎯୧

#harry potter #harry potter x male reader #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x male reader #m!reader #male reader #dom male reader #sub male character #sub draco malfoy #leighbaylee #minaleigh

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cinellieroll · 7 months

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☆ random obey me headcanons!

lucifer, mammon and simeon ♡

part two (asmodeus, levi, barbatos)

part three (beelzebub, belphegor, solomon)

part four (satan and diavolo)

cw: a few spoilers ahead from the main story! also one SLIGHT nsfw on simeons part???

small note: i only started writing on tumblr now so idk much on how ppl do those line thingies on the words and then it teleports to a diff post so if anyone knows how to do it please teach me! thank you :3

☆ lucifer:

- generally has a thing for turtlenecks. if you open his closet you'll see a bunch of turtlenecks in there. lucifer is a very conservative man after all.

- speaking of closet, he definetely has a color code for his clothing. blacks, reds, navy blues, anything dark

- you'll never catch him wearing anything revealing. especially his legs. man keeps em hidden.

- has a very sensitive nose. he always scolds mammon and asmo for wearing such strong cologne. he has great sense of smell in general (the bitch can smell anything) and automatically knows when trouble is near.

- EXTREMELY petty when he doesn't get his morning coffee. if he misses a day without it an extra line will appear on his forehead.

- gifts you souvenirs when he enters the human world. claims he's here for business because diavolo told him but we all know that's not the only reason why he came up there.

- he doesn't like writing with modern pens and only settles with quills. he still has his old quill from the celestial realm and keeps it hidden somewhere.

- almost gave head pats to luke once.

- his nose is FUCKING BEAUTIFUL and his side profile too. he has a nose bump for sure and i will die on this hill.

- he's not a big fan of creamy foods like carbonara or anything with cream in general. if he's eating sweets he prefers the icing to be less flavorful. what do you expect? he's a black coffee lover after all.

☆ mammon:

- room is always a fucking mess, but he cleans when he procrastinates so if you ever enter his room and he's all quiet and cleaning just don't disturb him for a while.

- buys bootleg merch for levi for no reason. one time he found this cheap ruri chan stuffy on sale for like 150 grimm and decided to buy it.

- has fucking shit hand writing bro. sometimes it's small, sometimes it's big but most of the time it's ass balls. like why does your k and h look the same?

- he cracks his knuckles and joints often and can't go without a day doing it atleast once. it's kinda hot tbh lol

- when he's in a happy mood he'll sing in like a high pitched way. idk how to explain it but i just see him doing that especially when he's on cooking duty

- sleeps really late he could almost rival levi on it. surprisingly his eyebags aren't that visible though.

- has really pretty features like long eyelashes, plump lips and visible collarbones. eat your heart out asmo xoxo

- convinced himself he'll never ever like or listen to human world songs until he heard you blasting some music in your room. he was singing that song in his head for days on end but refused to ask you what the title was

- he's a very clumsy guy and often drops small things especially during class like his ballpen, eraser or that pack of bubblegum lucifer ended up confiscating

- before you arrived, he liked to vape or juul when he's stressed or felt lonely but now he only spends his time thinking of you when he feels down.

☆ simeon:

- when he turned into a human he had thoughts of becoming a teacher in christian education but realized it's better if he owned a cafe instead.

- he sometimes joins luke during his baking lessons with barbatos even though he already knows all the steps

- occasionally invites you for sleepovers and buys card / board games for you guys to play with solomon and luke! either he or solomon are always end up being the winners everytime though

- always and i mean ALWAYS willing to teach you something when he knows it. baking, writing, recent lessons, etc

- once the exchange program ended he started writing more and more, especially poetry. and mostly wrote about you and how much he misses you <3.

- started making diary entries after the aftermath of the celestial war.

- during quiet nights, simeon often thinks what it'd be like if he was really close with the brothers.

- his eyes are lowkey creepy sometimes when he looks at you for too long. it's like he's trying to detect every sin you've committed.

- idk why i thought of this but his teeth are literally so pearly and perfect but he doesn't really smile with them in view.

- unintentionally moans sometimes. like when he sits down after a long day you just start hearing a soft "ah~" out of nowhere..

#obey me #obey me shall we date #lucifer obey me #obey me lucifer #om! shall we date #om! lucifer #lucifer x reader #mammon obey me #obey me mammon #om! mammon #mammon x reader #simeon obey me #obey me simeon #om! simeon #simeon x reader #obey me x reader #om! x reader #obey me headcanons #om! headcanons

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the-final-sif · 11 months

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I need to hop back into my transformers bullshit for just a moment because I don't think they've had much interaction in canon, but I think it'd be really really funny if Tarn was actually terrified of Starscream.

Like, I dunno if MTMTE/IDW canon has confirmed Starscream's immortal spark for that particular series, but I'm going to assume it carries over. If so, it'd make Tarn's power basically useless against him.

In my ideal headcanon, Tarn got sick of Starscream's shit at some point and went against Megatron to try to murder him. He tried to do this subtly using his voice only for it to 100% not work even a little bit. He would've had this whole build up where he got Starscream alone and was attempting to be a dramatic bitch about the whole thing and build up to the murder and then-

And then it just doesn't work and there's a really awkward pause where Starscream is looking around kind of expecting something to happen when literally nothing does. Tarn is trying to keep a normal conversation going now while also attempting the murder again and again just for it to literally do nothing. Eventually Starscream gets sick of him being weird and walks out judging the guy.

It'd be so fucking funny particularly because Starscream having an immortal spark is generally totally unknown, so Tarn would have to assume that Starscream had found some way to render his ability useless, which is terrifying. Tarn is now extremely worried that Starscream somehow had a spy and found out what he was planning to do ahead of time. He might've even been able to get something into Tarn's head somehow to know his plan this well. Clearly that level of genius must be part of why Megatron keeps him around. Tarn was a fool for having attempted to disobey, and Starscream was clearly not a problem he could solve like this. What if Starscream reports this clear disobedience to Megatron? Tarn just tried and failed to kill the second in command! Starscream would have every right to demand his execution if he so desired, or save this as blackmail!

Tarn is just out of his mind spinning conspiracy theories and getting super high levels of paranoia about Starscream. Just doing whatever he can to not have to be in the same place as the guy. He runs under the assumption he's being blackmailed by Starscream for his attempt and does what he can to not cross the seeker.

Meanwhile from Starscream's perspective, Tarn showed up and had a very weird conversation where he kept raising his voice at random times and then nothing happened. Then the guy freaked out and got even more weird about it. He has no idea why this happened. He has no idea that Tarn is hiding from him. He thought it was weird and stopped thinking about it after a few days. Starscream's minding his own business and mostly forgot about this entire thing after two weeks meanwhile Tarn is having a mental breakdown about it for years.

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year

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IF I FELL THROUGH THE FLOOR I WOULD KEEP FALLING ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; geto knocks at your front door one morning ten years after leaving everything he knew behind, fully expecting to be met with a middle finger or a hand to the throat. when you invite him in, instead, he can’t help but feel somewhat perplexed.

word count; 7.5k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, geto-typical angst with lots of yearning, hopeful ending (but also not really), geto’s pov, reader is a softie, intense mutual pining, tea as a metaphor for love <3, geto is terminally bitter and terminally lonely and also kind of a bitch but we love him

a/n; i’m extremely normal abt suguru geto and the debilitating loneliness he must’ve felt during the ten years after he left <33

”it’s been a while.”

the smile on his face must be sweet, he thinks, illuminated by the blurry light of the morning sun. as charming as it’s always been. coated in a thin layer of lighthearted deceit, a cruelly projected sense of normalcy. with a hand raised up in cheerful greeting, geto gazes down at you.

admittedly, he’s a little underwhelmed by your reaction.

astonishment or bafflement was maybe a little too much to ask for — you don’t look very surprised to see him at all. almost as if you were expecting him to show up in front of your apartment, at the break of dawn. and, really, maybe you were. satoru must have told you already. why wouldn’t he let you in on their touching reunion, the promise of war that spilled so easily from his lips?

of course you would have heard of it by now.

still, geto can’t deny that it’s just a little bit disappointing. he would’ve liked to see your wide eyes, would’ve liked to hear you stammer a bit. the expression you’re currently sporting is something else entirely.

(you look sad.)

there’s a fondness in your eyes, though, unmistakable. a spark of it, entirely impossible to ignore, that catches him off guard. and there’s a softness in the way you raise your head to look up at him, a familiarity that flickers in the depths of your irises. something that welcomes him back.

geto is just a little bit put off by it.

it looks the same as always. you look the same as always. and geto’s heart constricts, where it rests, tucked away deep within the confines of his ribcage.

a moment passes. the sun peeks out from beneath the curtain of the horizon, the violet and indigo of the morning sky melting into that familiar burst of ochre. and geto is content, to silently admire the way that you glow in its light. he waits, patiently, for your expression to shift — to melt into one of anger, or repulsion, or any other kind of bitter hue.

it never does.

a sigh flows from your parted lips, instead. a soft little breath. in the bitter cold of a morning such as this, it turns into vapour as it drifts through the air.

you blink, tiredly, eyelashes fluttering with something akin to exasperation.

”you’re a cruel guy, you know that?”

geto blinks. a fickle moment passes.

then, he smiles.

you’re admonishing him, but you’re doing so almost gently — with an easygoing kind of disapproval. as if you’re still in high school, huffing over the teasing bout of laughter he lets slip when you trip over air.

geto’s lips curl up, smoothly, an action he’s grown awfully used to over the years. smiles are a form of currency, he has come to realize — smiles of deceit, of fondness, of barely contained disgust. all kinds of smiles, whether plastered on or genuine. a means to meet an end. a single tug of his lips, encompassing an immeasurable number of unspoken words.

the smile that geto graces you with is an amused one. it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s friendly enough. ”so i’ve been told.”

for a minute, you do nothing but observe him. there’s a turmoil behind your eyes that seeps out in the way you look at him, the way you shift from foot to foot and gnaw at your bottom lip anxiously. geto doesn’t interrupt, observing you in turn. waiting for one of you to move the first piece of this little morning game of chess.

in the light, he can almost delude himself into thinking that your eyes change colour, different shades and hues dancing around your dilated pupils. as you gaze over the contours of his face, a certain kind of affection blooms within them, one that geto expected to have faded over the years.

but it’s still there. and it’s the same. a little more blurry, maybe, a little faded at the edges — more matured. but still the same, despite that.

(a memory comes to him. one of you, and him; sharing a bag of chips on the school’s rooftop when neither of you could sleep.

bathed in the light of the moon, your eyes glimmered with that very same affection, like a shooting star breaking out across the night sky.)

one long, careful, tender moment passes by.

the intense contemplation on your features is almost enough to coax a chuckle from the depths of his throat. an urge to tease you creeps up on him, slowly, but before he can open his mouth you seem to come to a kind of conclusion.

and so, you step to the side — allowing him to see inside your apartment, catch a brief glimpse of the interior. you look oddly comfortable, at peace, having made your move; the next piece is his to place.

what a surprising move, though. geto can’t help it if his eyes widen just a smidge, if he blinks in a way that could almost be interpreted as briefly confused. out of all the possible scenarios he’s played out in his mind over the years, this wasn’t the one he expected to merge with reality.

”wanna come in?” you ask, tentative. your voice is inviting. a little clumsy, although he supposes that could just be because of fatigue. it is early, after all.

geto takes a moment to think.

as far as he can tell — and he always can, in one way or another — there is no deceit hidden in your expression. no signs of bloodlust, no spark of violence, no quiet resentment bubbling beneath the surface. earnest. that’s all it is. a little awkward, but candid. pure, in a way.

you aren’t trying to trick him. you’re genuinely, seriously, honest-to-god inviting him inside your apartment.

the next move is his to make.

and geto knows exactly what he should do. he should decline, politely, excuse himself with feigned remorse and a jovial invitation to his own personal hell.

(surely, you already know. the others have almost certainly told you by now. geto just wanted to personally invite you, himself. face to face.)

right. that’s what he should do. that’s the winning move.

and yet, he finds himself moving.

lips curling up on their own, without his approval, geto moves forward. one step is all it takes for him to cross the threshold of your home; a boundary he didn’t expect you to offer up so callously, truth be told, but who is he to deny the wishes of a dear old friend?

”why, thank you,” he smiles, voice pleasant, smooth like silk.

(for just a little while, he supposes he can indulge himself in the opportunity you’ve so graciously given him. just for a bit.)

geto doesn’t bother taking off his footwear, and he knows you couldn’t care less either way. allowing him to pass you by as he waltzes into your very own space, you close the door behind him. he half-expects to hear the click of the lock, but it never comes.

a particular scent envelops him, as he stands by the coat rack, unmoving — he has no intention of taking off his robes, heavy with his carefully nurtured devotion. a symbol of his choice.

the scent is familiar, but also unlike anything he can recall within the borders of his memory; a soothing blend between fresh laundry, and sunlight, and cat fur, and something rather sweet.

there’s more to it than that, though. a certain scent geto could only ever describe as you.

(his heart aches with longing.)

as he ponders the intricacies of the fragrance, geto is acutely aware of the stare burning into his back. how careless of him, to leave it facing you, unguarded and vulnerable.

what a perfect opportunity he’s presented you with; the great curse user suguru geto, forever exiled and wanted dead, now merely a fly at the mercy of the web you’ve created. trapped in your apartment with his back turned to you, a mere lamb to the slaughter.

how easy it would be, for you to plunge a knife into his flesh. to curve your way along his spine.

you do nothing of the sort, though. and for some reason, the realization that you aren’t going to irks him, even though deep down he knew that would be the case. still, it crawls its way under his skin, along the arteries of his forearm, an itch he yearns to claw away.

how foolish. how very like you.

(what a cruel thing change can be, when no one else seems to succumb to it.)

unable to do anything but accept it, however, geto turns towards you once more. you stiffen, as if burned by his gaze, and a part of him delights in it.

”how have you been?” he asks, bright and courteous. there’s a genuinity to the question that geto can’t deny. something about this situation sends a spark of fondness running through his veins.

at the sound of his voice, your eyes soften again. it’s a subtle shift, but he doesn’t miss it. doesn’t think he ever really could, because even though the light inside your eyes makes him uncomfortable, down to the very marrow of his bones, he can do nothing but bask in it. in your attention, in that heavy gaze.

a single word could never hope to faithfully describe the emotion smouldering inside it — but if forced to, geto would humbly settle on resignation.

it’s almost as if you still haven’t fully accepted it, ten years down the line, that you’re only just beginning to. like even now, you’re convinced that it’s nothing more than one big joke; that he’s about to reveal a hidden camera, and gleefully tell you that it was all a prank to get back at satoru.

naive, naive, naive. but geto can’t deny that it tastes sweet, on his tongue — to imagine that you might still have some faith in him, after all this time.

a sigh leaves your lips. you sound a little bit exhausted. it sends a pang of ache to the very center of his heart, and a part of him yearns to soothe you. another part relishes in the pain he must have brought you over the years.

the rest of him smoothly tucks those stray thoughts away, as he brushes non-existent dust off from his robes.

then, your eyes take on a more tender hue. you ignore his question entirely, and speak in a low voice. raspy and sincere, and maybe just a tad bitter, given everything.

”those robes don’t suit you, suguru.”

— a shiver travels down his spine.

suguru.

(the way your lips form around the syllables is still so lovely.)

you’re full of surprises, as always. at least to a certain extent, he was expecting you to settle on geto, to draw a firm line in the sand between him and you. the ocean and the land, always meant to be separated by that thin line, kept apart in each other’s best interest.

but geto is beginning to accept that you’re going to do this your way — sincerely.

the statement is a veil, obscuring a million unspoken thoughts, double meanings that aren’t particularly hard to discern. a silent rejection, a quiet disapproval. there’s a grief to it that sits heavy on your tongue.

taking a moment to collect himself, geto meets your gaze, and all its weight. his lips curl up into a sad smile, a little fatigued. he wonders if you can hear it, in his voice.

(maybe it was stupid of him, to think he could keep this meeting professional.)

”… is that so?”

you continue to look at him, as if waiting for something else. but geto doesn’t give you what you want, that touch of tender honesty he’s sure you’re hoping for.

”i think they suit me just fine,” he playfully disagrees, instead, tone bordering on something childishly stubborn.

you wait just a single moment more, still clinging to that hope for something sincere, anything.

then you huff. it sounds vaguely amused.

”you look like a con artist,” you deadpan, eyes flitting down to examine the outfit again. geto would be offended by your rudeness if you didn’t also happen to be right.

”how sweet of you,” he purrs, shooting you a smug smile. the words are lighthearted, mildly teasing. “that’s exactly what i’m going for.”

you give him an unimpressed look, that he mirrors with a perfect smile — and then you give in to another amused exhale, paired with a soft shake of your head.

there it is again, geto thinks. that sense of déjà vu. it’s equal parts eerie as it is comforting.

silence lingers in the air around you, as hazy sunlight flits in through the gap between your curtains and cascades across the floorboards. until you clear your throat endearingly, and walk past him.

”well, make yourself at home,” you murmur in passing.

considering the circumstances, the words are spoken fairly naturally, and geto has to resist the urge to laugh at how ridiculous this is. inviting a wanted criminal into your home, a literal mass murderer, and treating him with the same politeness you’d show to any other guest.

what would the elders think, he wonders, if they knew? would they brand you an accomplice, question your motives? put your head on the chopping block right next to his? he wouldn’t put it past them, the pieces of shit.

but despite his amusement, geto doesn’t laugh. he only watches as you make your way to the kitchen counter, a firefly catching his eye in the summer night.

(except you aren’t a firefly, and it’s not summer. it’s winter, and you’re someone geto wishes he didn’t still care for.)

”i was thinking of making tea,” you hum, voice soft but still easy for him to discern from his spot in the living room. ”do you want some?”

geto’s lips quirk up into a tiny smile. his voice is teasing, as it flows out from his lips.

”how generous,” he chirps, still idly watching the way you move around the open space, your hair changing colour in the flickering light of the sun. ”satoru could learn a thing or two from you.”

he expects you to flinch. a suitable reaction, to how casually he brings up his reunion with his best friend, like it’s nothing. like it means nothing. like nothing’s wrong.

geto knows it’s cruel, which is exactly why he does it.

but you don’t flinch. you don’t even stiffen. and he senses no anger in your body language, in the silence that settles in the space between his words and yours. all you do is exhale sharply, a little exasperated.

”you shouldn’t be so cruel to him.” a beat. your voice sounds just a little smaller when you continue. ”he’s missed you, you know.”

the reply is nearly instantaneous, and it’s bare. honest. you sound like you’re scolding him, but it’s more protective than angry. and it’s gentle, like you’re patching him up after a mission, reprimanding him for not being more careful.

at this point, geto can tell you have no intention of playing along. how annoying. he wishes you would — that earnest sadness and regret of yours is almost unbearable, and the gentle bluntness you present him with cuts much deeper than his casual cruelty ever could.

you aren’t going to play along, aren’t going to pretend you don’t care. geto wonders why you won’t, why you’re the only one who still refuses to.

satoru certainly has no issue with it. playing along, putting up a front. attempting to treat him coldly, as an enemy. but geto knows him, knows his soul like the back of his hand, and he could tell it was trembling when their eyes met. from underneath those bandages of his, the thin layer of cowardice that shields those precious eyes from the rest of the world. from geto.

and shoko is just as unbothered as ever. always playing it cool, never caught off guard or shaken to her core. geto can’t even tell if it’s an act or not, anymore. but he knows that she was angry, when they spoke that day, ten years in the past. knows she wanted to tell him off, but chose not to.

both her and satoru are like that. always have been. closed off, accustomed to bearing an unbearable weight, resigned to the ache that it brings them. acting distant in a desperate attempt to mend it.

you, though?

you were always a little too sincere for your own good, a little too true to yourself. it must hurt you, he thinks. it must hurt you even just to look at him. yet you continue to do so, unflinchingly.

that’s simply how you are.

you’ve always enjoyed dipping your toes into the grief of it all, leaning into the pain. always the first to take that step into the abyss. content to tear yourself open for everyone to see, even if no one follows suit.

never averting your eyes. never taking the easy way out.

(unlike him.)

geto hums, smiling a little at the sickening irony of it all.

the gentle clinking of ceramic resounds throughout the kitchen, and geto’s ears perk up. his gaze follows your hands, as they move to grab two cups from the wall cabinet. floral designs, he dully notes. blue bells on one, red camellias on the other. a porcelain teapot rests on the kitchen table, but no flowers adorn it.

without your expressions to keep him entertained, geto decides to wallow in the fleeting peace and quiet. aside from your soft breathing and the occasional clinking of teacups, there are no sounds to be heard.

a moment that seems to exist outside of time and space, where time passes backwards and your shuffling in the kitchen is his only concern.

eager to satiate the mellow boredom in his chest, geto’s eyes begin to flit across the space of your apartment. greedily drinking in every detail he can see, as if he’s trying to memorize it all. maybe he is.

everything he can see is a piece of your existence, in one way or another. every inch of the apartment is littered with your fingerprints, your choices and fickle tastes.

like the rich yellow of the curtains you’ve picked out to frame the glass of the windows, bright and stark and blending smoothly in with the cream colour of the wallpaper surrounding it. or the forgotten cup on the table in front of the tv, a faded green. he vaguely remembers seeing you drink out of it back when things were still good, when you both thought of the school as your home.

a book rests on the duvet pillows of your couch, but he sees no bookmark peeking out from between the pages. geto wonders if you still dog-ear your books, and thinks to himself that a crime of that calibre would warrant your own exile if the world was only fair. alas, it isn’t. war of the foxes, he reads from the cover. ironic.

along the windowsills are potted plants, stacked up next to each other, green and flourishing despite the snowy wonderland of the outside world. their leaves differ in shape and size, some accompanied by blooming flowers. he imagines you watering them, dutifully, nurturing them with gentle hands and sleepy smiles.

there are many things to look at, more and more little fragments sprouting up the longer geto continues to do so. a knitted sweater thrown over the wooden armrest of a chair. colourful candy wrappers littering the table. an old radio tucked away in a corner of the room.

geto drinks it all in — a home you’ve painstakingly created, that you’ve allowed him into. he examines it thoroughly, the way an art dealer judges a painting on display. turning the image over inside his mind, twisting it, burning it into his retinas. soaking in every little detail he manages to find.

your home.

(it’s so like you that it hurts.)

finally, geto thinks he’s had his fill of the living room. so he ventures into the kitchen, only a couple long strides away.

the scent that greets him this time is comforting, homey. the aroma of coffee grounds, a touch of leftover curry, a strong fragrance of blooming hyacinths and dried lavender sitting contentedly by the windowsill. through the translucent glass, geto sees layers upon layers of snow on the rooftops, and the gradual rise of the glittering sun.

the quiet buzzing of the electric kettle is the only sound he hears, along with the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall, as his eyes wander along the kitchen.

the shelves are stacked with a variety of different spices, and glass jars of honey and jam. along the counters rest a wide array of kitchen appliances, from blenders to rice cookers to french presses. mugs with silly designs are stuffed into an opened wall cabinet, and geto recognizes some of them, to his silent delight.

there are colourful post-it notes stuck to the fridge, messy scribbles of recipes and reminders. meetings, birthdays, grocery lists. even just little doodles, smiley faces and napping cats that make his lips quirk up. and polaroids — he tries not to let his gaze linger on the picture of satoru sleeping in the most uncomfortable, inhumane position he’s ever witnessed, nor the blurry image of shoko smoking by a balcony railing, sleeves cuffed and expression forlorn. he can’t imagine either of them noticed you snapping the photos.

(no polaroids of him. of course not. why would there be?)

geto tries not to look over at the fridge again, examining the floor and furniture instead. over in the corner stands a bowl of cat food, seemingly untouched. the kitchen table is covered with a checkered cloth, kept down by a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

your kitchen is fairly small, but it’s cozy. rays of fresh sunlight envelop it in a giddy, ruminating glow. like something out of a dream.

when geto enters the space, your eyes flit over to him briefly, and he shoots you a friendly smile. your eyes do that thing, again, where they crumble a little at the corners and get a tad softer. like you’re looking at an old friend.

(he supposes you are.)

you clear your throat before speaking, as he takes in all the sights.

”what kind of tea do you want? i’ve got, uh…”

with gentle movements, you open a wall cabinet, eyes swiftly scanning over the different labels of the many boxes, jars and sachets of tea inside. dutifully, you list off the ones you can see.

”earl grey, chamomile… oolong, rooibos…” you continue, seemingly never running out of options, fingers tapping at the handle. ”ah, this one’s kinda weird. it’s supposed to be, like, cherry flavoured? don’t ask, satoru picked it out — but it tastes more like laundry detergent.”

a pause.

”it’s pretty good, though.”

geto can’t help it. the comment coaxes a chuckle from out his chest, and he’s surprised at how genuine it sounds when it spills from his lips.

you seem to notice it, too, seeing as you perk up where you stand by the counter. out of the corner of his eye, geto thinks he almost catches the fleeting glimmer of a tiny smile on your lips.

and for a moment, everything feels familiar. eerie and comforting, in equal measure. a sense of nostalgia drifts throughout the kitchen, mingling with the scent of tea leaves and sunshine and freshly baked cookies.

this is the opportunity you’ve given him — a slice of normalcy. as close to normalcy as one can come to in a situation such as this. a soft bout of laughter, shared between estranged childhood friends, one of which is a mass murderer. it’s really not normal at all.

normalcy is no more than a fever dream. that much has always been the case, but —

there’s a comfort in it, in this. the familiarity of it all. the way you settle into old roles, share knowing looks and cycle through old memories he knows you’re both haunted by.

it’s soothing.

he’s changed, and you’ve changed, but there’s still a sense of belonging between the two of you. in this moment, this sole flicker of nostalgia. in this kitchen.

and for a moment, geto almost forgets why he’s there. almost forgets the unforgettable, the inevitability of a choice he made long ago. it stings, and he wonders how you can bear it; this thin line between longing and awareness.

”so? what’ll it be?”

your voice rings out across the open space, face angled towards the table to meet his stare.

geto hums, absentmindedly, and takes a step closer.

the narrow distance between you two lies heavy, as he shuffles up right next to you, haphazardly sweeping his eyes over the wide assortment in front of him. he can almost, almost hear your breath hitch when the fabric of his clothing grazes your shoulder.

he wonders if the tea is just an excuse, to be able to come so close. to bask in your warmth.

you don’t move away.

”oolong,” he firmly decides. he doesn’t really need to think about it.

then he swiftly turns on his heel, and takes a seat by the kitchen table. confident and graceful — as if this isn’t your kitchen, but his. unconcerned over table manners, his elbows resting on the wooden board, as his jaw meets the heel of his palm. he bites into one of the chocolate chip cookies, the sweetness crumbling on his tongue.

this time, you finally do stiffen — though geto doesn’t see it. he does, however, feel your lingering stare, and when he tilts his head in your direction he catches a glint of sorrow passing through the depths of your irises.

geto blinks. he tilts his head questioningly, a cue for you to follow.

and finally, finally, you stammer. barely, but it’s there. that nervous shiver of your voice.

”ah — sorry,” you mumble, gaze falling down to the floorboards. you seem almost flustered. ”it’s just…”

there’s something raw in your voice, something that wavers.

”back then, you’d always choose earl grey.”

a long moment of silence passes.

there are a million unspoken words in that sentence, geto knows. words you’ll never say, words you’ve always yearned to say. though he has no intention of digging them out.

the sentiment is more than enough.

a bitter taste settles on his tongue, but he smiles, careful to keep his voice light.

”well,” he hums. ”some things change, i suppose.”

to that, you huff out a breath of amusement, turning around to face the counter once more. but not before eyeing his robes again, expression rich with humour.

”yeah,” you hum, lighthearted. something close to a chuckle. ”i suppose they do.”

geto grins softly, in tandem, from his spot by the table. like you’re still teenagers, sharing a look over an inside joke no one else is privy to.

after that, he simply watches you work, chewing at the treat while he waits for the tea to be done. the light of the electric kettle flickers off, and your hands curl around the handle, bringing it to rest next to the teapot on the tablecloth. he watches, expression mildly bored, as you grab the ceramic cups and the silken sachet bag of dried tea leaves.

a strong scent of oolong tea wafts through the air, when you flick your fingers to pour some of the leaves into the teapot. there’s a certain elegance in the way you pour the boiling water, slowly, in a smooth circular pattern. geto follows the movement, the rise and fall of the leaves as water fills the strainer.

you’re unhurried, methodical. there is care in the motion of your hands, the intense gaze you bear as you perform it. every slight twitch of your knuckles, the soft exhale you emit when the teapot has been filled.

geto can do nothing but watch, in silent admiration.

you put the porcelain lid back on, blocking the steam rising up in a flurry of warmth. while the tea simmers, soaking up the flavour of the leaves, you busy yourself with readying two teaspoons.

”how do you take it, these days?” you ask him, as you languidly pour hot tea into the cups. ”any sweetener? milk?”

”one cube of sugar. no milk.”

at that, your eyes flit up, recognition blooming in them as you hear the familiar sentence. but geto keeps his gaze glued to the hyacinths on the windowsill, never meeting yours.

truthfully, he says it mostly to appease you. he figures he can give you this one thing, at least — this one hope that maybe everything hasn’t changed, after all. that he hasn’t changed, in his entirety, that there’s still some remnant left of who he used to be. even if all that’s left of him is just one single cube of sugar.

it’s kind of funny. but geto doesn’t laugh.

you place a cup in front of him. the one adorned by red camellias. geto racks his brain, flitting through past conversations with florists and paragraphs memorized from non-fiction books on botany. what was it, again?

eternal love. long-lasting devotion.

the petals and the calyx of a camellia always fall together.

geto bites back a laugh. some part of him wonders if you’re making fun of him, if this is how you’re planning to release your pent-up anger — in such a petty, roundabout manner. but deep down he knows it was no more than an absentminded choice, on your part.

(you always hurt him most when it’s not your intention to do so.)

as you take a seat on the opposite side of the table, he gingerly touches the rim of the cup. soft steam rises from the liquid, its colour marigold-esque, and geto breathes it in deeply before bringing the ceramic to his lips.

you watch, in anticipation. intensely enough that he can feel it even when his eyes flutter shut, your gaze prickling his skin as he sips from the cup.

the warmth of the tea is comforting, a distinctly floral taste spreading along his tongue. there’s a slight nuttiness to the taste, a rich sweetness. as it runs down his throat, geto hears himself hum softly. a satisfied smile slips into the curve of his lips. inside the depths of his chest, a light nostalgia swirls, pleasant and tingly.

he remembers moonlit nights, whispered secrets you could only ever tell each other, the glimmer of aluminium and rush of caffeine as you gulped down the too-sweet coffee that the vending machines had to offer.

he remembers sunny mornings, muffled laughter shared in the solitude of the kitchen, basking in the floral scent of chamomile and lavender and everything in between as the world woke up around you.

with a clink, geto sets his cup down on the table, pinkie raised lightly. smile a tad bittersweet.

”this is good tea.”

a moment passes. you break out into a genuine smile, nearly beaming, delighted by his approval.

”isn’t it?” you chirp, fingers curling around your own cup, the little painted flowers adorning it. blue bells. geto recalls that old wives’ tale — how wearing a wreath of blue bells compels one to tell the truth. ”nanami got this one for me, actually.”

he smiles, perking up ever so slightly. a little more animated. ”oh?” he takes another sip. ”he always was a snob, wasn’t he.”

that makes your own smile grow, lips twitching upwards, and an amused exhale flows from your lips. a gentle breath. you always were very fond of your grumpy underclassman. ”yeah.”

there’s something familiar about this, geto can’t help but think. eerily so. an acute sense of déjà vu, the same one that’s been plaguing him all morning.

the way you’re treating him isn’t how one would treat an enemy, nor a stranger — it’s how one would treat an old friend. that, and nothing more.

(geto wishes he could say it didn’t soothe his heart so terribly.)

he allows himself to sink deeper into the rotten sweetness of it all. indulges in this one fleeting moment, before everything crashes and burns.

the world outside your kitchen is a cold one, he knows, blanketed by snow and frost that has yet to be stained red. the pure white is a warning, not a consolation — a reminder that there are still things to be lost.

the world of curses is an empty promise, the promise of suffering being rewarded. the idea that the sun will melt the frost around your legs if you wade through enough snow.

(but geto knows better.)

outside your kitchen, only one path exists for him. it isn’t a kind one, nor is it particularly comforting. but, unlike those empty promises, that path has a truth to it. an end point, that isn’t just wait and see what happens, maybe the sun will rise if you’re lucky.

he isn’t a fool. the world is as cruel as it is beautiful, which is a false simile because cruelty is only ever beautiful when you aren’t a part of it. another one of those empty promises. geto has no idea how they kept him going for so long.

but here, in this moment — the world feels rather kind. kind in the sense of being just enough, the kind of brief solace that used to give him enough hope to get through the day.

for now, this aching gap of yet-to-be-ruined is enough. it’s all that he cares about, all that exists.

— but all good things must eventually come to an end.

geto knows it better than anyone, so he isn’t particularly surprised when he looks up to see your face set into hard lines.

you meet his eyes with a certain flickering determination, a conviction — and geto knows you’re about to cross the comfortable line he was hoping you could both maintain for just a little longer.

”suguru.”

he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to. a smile is enough. so his lips curl up, silently.

”can i ask you something?”

every move geto makes is calculated, a performance, as your words sink into his subconscious. dragging the silence out, as if trying to waltz around the inevitable end of this sickeningly sweet game of morning chess.

the slow circling of his spoon, creating a vortex for the oolong tea to follow, as it catches the light falling from the window. the way he leans back, to make himself comfortable, letting his jaw rest on the heel of his palm as he dissects your expression from across the table.

there is something almost taunting in his eyes.

but he smiles. courteous, bright. ”go ahead.”

for just a second, he sees you falter. just a smidge, but the way your nails dig into the skin of your palm is telling, just like the way your eyes choose to linger on the tablecloth a second longer than they need to.

then you meet his eyes once more, and begin to speak. geto hangs on to your words, as if they even matter.

”i’m not expecting you to be honest with me,” you state, bluntly. he’s glad to know you’re on the same page for once. ”but i’d appreciate it if you could. just this one time. i won’t ask for anything else.”

another long and tactful sip of his tea. he wasn’t lying, before — it really is very nice. the flavour is strong and thick on his tongue, sweet and bitter all in one. expensive. the pads of his fingers tap along the ceramic of his cup, right over the red flowers that seem to taunt him so.

here it comes. your lips part, but no sound comes out, and geto knows you’re thinking of how best to phrase your inquiry. it doesn’t take you long to decide, a firmness blossoming in the scope of your iris. a sense of finality.

”are you happy?”

despite everything, his breath hitches in his throat. the movement of his fingers halts.

your question comes out clear, candid, sincere. the look in your eyes makes him feel a little like he’s being devoured. vaguely aware of how his smile wavers, for just a split second, geto can only hope you don’t notice it — but he doubts you do, because you only continue to speak, unperturbed.

”i’m sure you’ve changed a lot, these past ten years. and i’m sure you’ve had more than enough time to convince yourself that you’re happy, even if you aren’t.” you bite your lip. ”i should’ve asked you this a long time ago. but now — i’m asking.”

geto’s eyes never leave your face.

”are you happy? are you genuinely satisfied with your life? are you happy with your choice?”

there’s something desperate in your eyes, now. something geto can’t look away from, despite himself. all he can do is touch the ceramic beneath his fingers, hot enough to burn, and listen to you speak.

”if… if you are, then —”

you take a deep breath, a sharp inhale that geto would mimic if he wasn’t dead set on maintaining his composure.

”— then i won’t get in the way. i’ll let you live your life the way you want to. just as long as that’s true.”

geto looks at you, smile nowhere to be seen. time itself seems to halt, in the space of your kitchen. the current center of the world.

he doesn’t dare to even breathe.

”… but,” your voice trembles. you stare intently at your own cup, surely beginning to grow lukewarm at this point. what a waste of good tea. ”if you aren’t happy, then —”

a pause. no one says a thing.

”then what?” geto spits. his voice comes out sounding just a tad sharp, cold like the frost outside your apartment. more so than he meant it to.

your pupils waver, before you lift your head to look at him. the resolution in your eyes makes his breath hitch. an unflinching kindness, one he can’t remember you ever not having.

”— then i’ll do whatever it takes to change that. no matter what.” a beat. “even if it makes you hate me.”

such immense honesty.

geto wonders why he came here, in the first place.

to declare war. was that his genuine desire, though? or was it just another excuse?

with satoru, he can pretend. with shoko, he can pretend. with himself, he can certainly pretend.

but with you?

his fingers leave the ceramic, eyes burning with a decision mirroring yours.

geto’s burned many bridges, in his life. but this particular bridge is one he’ll miss. the cinders that follow won’t keep him warm, that much he knows.

but in the face of such honesty — such genuine kindness — he couldn’t bear not to give you a serious answer.

(it’s the least he could do for you.)

”i am.”

a moment passes. the center of the world shifts.

”i’m happy with my choice.”

it was the only one worth making.

as they fall from his lips, the words taste heavy, absolute. in the light of a morning still yet to be broken by the passage of time, your eyes shift. for a moment geto wonders if you’ll close them. if you’ll give yourself that one relief.

you don’t.

instead, you bite your lip, eyes stubbornly never leaving his own. now you look a little angry, a little frustrated. he’s glad to see that flicker of fury directed at him, at last.

”but are you happy?” you persist, frustrated in a way that buzzes with kindness and concern. a way that makes him feel rather lost.

geto hears himself speak before he has a chance to think about his answer. the voice that comes out of his throat sounds oddly soft.

”that doesn’t matter.”

”it should.”

your reply is equally instantaneous. and geto feels a tremor run through his heart.

”are you happy, suguru?” you try again, pleading. that hope of yours is back, the hope that he’ll be honest just this once. sincere, even just for a syllable or two.

the clock on the wall ticks, hands moving methodically and cruelly, second by second. another moment of time burned to cinders. geto knows what must be done.

this mindless self-indulgence was nice, for a while. but geto has more bridges to burn. more wars to brew.

one final touch. that’s what he’ll give you, in return for your generosity. one final touch of tender honesty, even if it burns his tongue.

”i will be,” he exhales, breathless. ”once all this is over.”

then he gets up from his chair, the squeaking of wood against the floorboards signaling a parting. your eyes never leave his face, as he dusts off his robes absentmindedly, glancing at the half-finished cup on the table.

then geto smiles at you. there’s a fondness to it, one he’d only ever show you. his eyes crinkle, just barely, and the dark brown of his iris shifts into a mellow amber as sunlight cascades down the contours of his face. a genuine smile.

”thank you for the tea.”

there it is. your eyes soften, again, helplessly.

you aren’t satisfied. geto doubts you ever will be.

but you’ve always been the only one to tear yourself open, the only one to step into the abyss. geto has always admired it, just as much as he’s always found it foolish. not once has he ever followed suit.

things like honesty and tenderness don’t suit him. he doesn’t think they suit any sorcerer, except maybe for you.

at last, that grieving resignation finds its way to your eyes again. it doesn’t hurt him as much this time, perhaps because he was waiting for it.

”… you’re welcome,” you breathe. a sad little breath.

geto allows himself to look at you for just a moment more.

then he turns on his heel.

”well, this was nice,” he hums. ”but i really must be going now.”

pleasant and jovial. a voice unsuited for a situation like this. geto wonders if it hurts you as much as it hurts him.

rubbing salt into wounds is all he seems to do these days, anyhow. so he smiles. ”i’ll see you on the battlefield, i hope —”

”suguru.”

…

deep down, geto knows that there’s no going back from this. that the moment he moves his feet, the moment he leaves your apartment — the moment he steps over the threshold in front of him — he can never return.

your kitchen was never his to walk into, in the first place. he was never meant to set foot into your home. that was your choice. geto can’t help but think that it’s every bit as cruel as the one he made ten years ago.

your voice is the same as always. sad and fond. familiar, in how it twists and tugs at his heart in a way nothing else can anymore.

geto waits. he’ll let you have the final word. the final piece moved into place. checkmate.

he’ll let you be the one to devour that aching gap.

curse me, he whispers to the confines of his mind. resent me. i’ve caused you so much pain.

curse me yourself, so i can hate you properly.

”if you ever want another cup, i’ll be here.”

silence falls upon the kitchen.

geto stands still, feet rooted in the spot by the threshold separating the kitchen from the living room. the ticking of the clock is the only sound he hears.

there isn’t a trace of resentment in your voice.

(he wishes you would play along, even just once.)

a low hum buzzes in his throat. the seconds stretch on; more hands moved, more time burned into nothing. the silence is deafening, thick and heavy. an intense moment of contemplation, as geto tries not to shiver under the warmth of your constant gaze, burning into his back.

the center of the world shifts, once more. the gaze of fate falls upon the two of you, bathed in the rays of the rising sun, in a kitchen where normalcy is a little more than just a fever dream.

it doesn’t mean anything, anything at all.

geto knows it. he knows it better than anyone. but maybe he can allow this mindless self-indulgence to carry on, for just a little longer. if only to give him the excuse he needs to see you again, to stand in your kitchen like this, like the view of the rising sun is something he’s allowed to behold.

how greedy. how callous. hasn’t he always been, though?

just for a little bit longer.

”… you know,”

geto takes a step forward, robes fluttering with the movement, heavy and pious. he crosses the threshold, words just above a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear.

(in the space between the words, laced together with the silence, lies the ghost of a smile.)

”it’s been a while since i had earl grey.”

#something something geto being represented by a setting sun vs reader being represented by a rising sun…. u get the vibes.#this was supposed to be completely angsty but i got attached to the final line LOL. so now its just a tiiiiny bit hopeful #i mean hes still probably dying lets be honest but theres some room for interpretation if ur delulu like me #tbh the idea of geto continuing his genocidal agenda while casually having tea parties w/ reader on sundays is just.. INSANELY funny to me #every girlboss needs her selfcare day <3 #suguru geto #suguru geto x reader #geto angst #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

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wolfish-nightmares · 7 months

Text

Canis Lupus

Parings: will graham x victim!reader

Era: Season 1

Warnings: gore, violence, bad language, cannibalism, 18+

Category: Fluff. Angst.

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: When the FBI discovers an underground fighting ring, it's far beyond anything they ever expected and Will befriends a rather unusual victim.

A Violent Dog Masterlist

The body they found was mangled and shredded. It was obvious a dump too, the body had literally been thrown away in a bag. The most confusing thing about the body was that the wounds looked like they had been caused by an animal.

“So if it was an animal attack why ditch the body? Why not just call 9-1-1?”

“Because it wasn't an animal attack,” Jimmy pointed to bite marks. “We tested the saliva around the bites and the DNA is human.”

Jack frowned as they showed him the paper. It was obviously human DNA but the brutalization and marking on the body looked so animalistic.

“We think they had their teeth filed,” Brian chimed in.

Jack didn't say anything, instead he just left. He was on his way to Will so the others just continued on gathering and processing evidence. When Jack left like that, everyone knew where he was going.

You snarled and barked at the dummy in front of you. The owners said that people were complaining on the last live stream, they wanted you to be more violent. Through the years the views have requested more carnage but these past few months it seemed like their desire for blood was insatiable. Usually you'd only have to fight three or four days out of the week but the owners have been having you fight nearly everyday. Your body ached at the thought.

“Wolf! Come get your bandage changed!”

Quickly you left the training room and went to the medical room. While the viewers wanted violence from you they also wanted to see your own pain. If you leave the fight with no wounds you are punished afterwards. And if the viewers enjoyed the fights, they craved the punishments. Mr. Owner gestured to the table and you laid down as he gathered his supplies.

“Latest stream got nearly 900,000 views. You've gotten popular Wolf,” he peeled off your bandages and checked the stitching. “You popped a few stitches so we'll get that fixed. I'll also need you to help with Lion’s punishment. She did poorly in her fight last night, the viewers were extremely upset.”

You shivered at the thought but simply nodded. Anytime the owners requested your assistance in a punishment that meant one less fighter. You clenched your teeth as he began to fix the stitches and tried your best not to think about it.

“Alright, two days off, we gotta save your energy for your birthday fight,” he grinned and patted your head. “This is the big one, ten years with us already. I knew you'd be our prized fighter.”

He wrapped fresh bandages and continued to check you over to make sure you were healing properly. When he deemed you fit, he sent you off back to the kennels.

“Hi honey,” Mrs. Owner greeted you when you got back to the kennels. “Your blanket was put in the kennel but because your views were so high we decided to give you a pillow too.”

“Bitch.”

You stiffened at the sound of Bear's annoyed grunt. The happy look on Mrs. Owner's face twisted into her usual malicious look. She stood and you flinched as her chair fell back. She pointed to your kennel and you darted to the door. You could feel the anger radiating from her as she unlocked the door and let you in.

Just as she said a dingy yellow pillow and your blanket were laid out on the concrete. She locked you back up and walked off, most likely to punish Bear. He was newer, brought in only a month ago, and he fought back just like all the others. The biggest rule here was the only noise you were ever allowed to make was only that of your animal.

Because do lions, bears or wolves talk? No, so you shouldn't either.

The owners wanted complete silence and if you didn't comply willingly, they'd make you silent. You glanced over at Dog, he was one of the few who were silenced. Everyone in the kennels that night heard the way he gagged on his own blood as they cut out his tongue, his screams turned into gurgling. Silencing wasn't something that happened often but the look in Mrs. Owner's eyes told you that Bear was going to become another on that very short list.

You curled up in the corner and used your pillow to muffle the sounds. Screams and cries were the most normal sound here but sometimes they could get to you. Bear’s pleas and wails broke through the thin cotton barrier and you squeezed your eyes shut.

Eventually you were able to slip away to your safe place in your head and drift of to sleep as you lived in freedom in your dreams. There you lived in warmth and strength. Even in your dreams there was blood but it only felt like power, never pain.

When you opened your eyes again it was already dinner time. Mr. Owner dropped the bowl in front of you and you didn't even sit up. When he had finished putting out all the food you then began to eat. The dinner was warm, warm food was a luxury that had to be won in the ring. You scarfed it down, it was a bit watery than usual but that's usually what happened when they heated it up. Besides that you never really minded the food, you prefer it over nothing.

Since you were cleared for two days nobody disturbed you as they prepared for the night’s fights. Instead you curled up in your blanket and lived in your imagination. The screams of the fights seeped into your dreams but they were never your screams.

The next day you didn't get the same luxury, Mr. Owner wanted you to help him out in the medical room. You give Bear an apologetic look as Mr. Owner checked the stitching on his tongue. Bear returned your look with a glare of hatred.

Mr. Owner seemed to notice because he rubbed your arm in what seemed to be a comforting way. It kind of just made the hair on your neck stand up instead. He sent Bear off and you spent the rest of the evening cleaning and organizing the medical supplies.

It was true that out of all the animals in the kennels you were given the most freedom. Not like going outside or doing what you want freedom but they don't make you sit in the kennel all day. You were the only one that they allowed to help them with anything.

The whispers about your special treatment wasn't something you had no idea about. In fact, your first few years in the kennels, the others were cruel to you. Their anger always showed in the ring, the moment you were paired with another animal it was going to be a bloody fight.

“Come on Wolf, bed time.”

You slid the box of bandages back onto to the shelf and followed Mrs. Owner. This was your last night of peace, tomorrow you will be prepared and you will fight that night. It would be your special birthday fight and also the hardest.

“I think we found what we're looking for,” Beverly pulled up a website as she explained it to Jack and Will. “It's like a fighting ring with animals but they're all humans. Look.”

She played the video, the screen displayed the empty pool, the “ring”, with you and Bobcat standing at opposite ends. You snarled and barked from your end while he screamed and yowled. A loud whistle sounded and you both took off towards each other.

The team was shocked at the ferociousness of the fight. You and Bobcat ripped and tore at each other with your hands and teeth. Beverly paused the frame right as you were aiming for Bobcat's throat. Your face was smeared in blood and when she zoomed in they could see how your teeth were sharpened. Beverly played the video again and they watched as you bit into his throat and ripped your head back, tearing his throat open. You didn't spit out the hunk of flesh you had in your mouth, instead you ate it like a starved animal as he bled out.

“This is Wolf,” she pointed to you. “The ring’s most popular fighter and they've been fighting since they were eight years old.”

She switched the video to another, the quality of this one was a bit more granier but there you were standing in the pool, much smaller than before. You looked much more scared than the first video. Another person was standing in the middle, chained to the drain with a knife in their hand.

“This ring doesn't just make the “animals” fight themselves, they also fight other humans who they seem to just pull off the street,” Jimmy pitched in.

“It's kind of like bait dogs that get used in dog fights except these are people and they have knives,” Beverly added.

The video continued and you were far less confident than before. You bit the girl's arm and she screamed as she wildly waved the knife. It caught you in the face and you let out a bloodcurdling scream as it sliced across your face, leaving a large diagonal gash.

Will’s heart squeezed as they watched you desperately attempt to do something but the amount of blood left you blinded and stumbling around. The woman however saw this as a time to save herself and began to stab at you. She continued to swing that knife at you and cut open even more of your skin. You screamed so loud the sound cut in and out.

“Okay we can stop,” Jack’s voice cut through your howls of pain. “I've seen enough.”

Beverly cut the video, “That continues for about half an hour, with way more blood but eventually Wolf does kill the woman. This started Wolf's fame on the ring. They're the most popular of all the fighters and that's because of how bloody their fights usually get.”

She pulled up screenshots of the comments praising you for the way you fight, even some sickeningly demanding more blood and wounds on you as punishment for not being cruel enough. She then cut to another screenshot of a fight this time it wasn't a random person in the pool but the victim lying in their morgue.

“This fight was streamed three days ago and here is our victim. This whole place is being run by a couple whose screen name is just "Owners," they're never shown on camera."

“So have we figured out how to find this place,” Jack asked. “And how often do they do these fights?”

This time Brian stepped in, “We found trace evidence on the body and we think we have a good idea of where this place is. Fights are streamed nightly.”

He passed Jack aerial pictures of an abandoned indoor pool. Jack just just pulled out his phone and began dialing. He called a S.W.A.T. team and instructed the others to get ready to move. They had to stop the ring tonight.

Your belly was full, so full it hurt, something that hasn't happened since you first got there. The owners had surprised you with a cake. They threw the entire thing onto the floor of your kennel then stood and watched to make sure they ate the entire thing, even making sure you licked up all the icing. You didn't mind at all, the sugary sweetness was by far the best thing you've ever tasted.

Cake was not something the owners ever gave. So of course you didn't miss the pissed looks the others threw your way as you ate the cake. Dog on the other hand give you a look of pity. Out of all the animals, you and Dog had been there the longest. He knew the dark side of your special treatment.

“Alright, let's get you ready for your fight.” Mr. Owner gave you a sick grin as he crouched down to gently stroke your face. Something in his expression twisted and suddenly he gripped your throat. “This time you get to prove just how good of a fighter you truly are.”

He dragged you out, still holding you by your throat. They usually weren't this aggressive before the fights so you were completely shocked. You struggled to keep up with him but he didn't slow down. Instead he harshly slapped you across the face every time you stumbled.

You yelped when he suddenly shoved you into the empty pool, thankfully not in the deep end but the drop still knocked the wind out of you. He jumped down and snapped a collar around your throat as you fought to get air. Eventually once you were able to breathe evenly again you realized they had hooked you chain they used for the prey fights. Mrs. Owner threw a knife at your feet and you gave them a confused look. She said nothing and simply adjusted the camera.

Mr. Owner left for the kennels again and you wondered what they were doing. Your heart dropped as he walked back with Bear, Lion, and Dog following behind him. Bear gave you a sick grin and Lion shot you a sneer. Dog's shoulders racked with quiet sobs as he was led down the steps and you began to fight against the chain, howling for mercy.

“Today you will not only prove your loyalty but you will also be proving your true strength.”

The whistle sounded and Bear and Lion raced towards you. There was time for you to wonder why they had done this, if you didn't move, if you didn't fight, they would surely kill you in seconds. You scrambled to grab the knife as Lion tackled you. She dug her teeth into your shoulder as you stabbed her in the side. She screamed in pain and you swung the knife at her face. The blade sliced through her check, splitting the side of her face open. You pushed her off to stand up but Bear kicked you back down.

He grabbed your arm and twisted it, breaking the bones with a sickening snap. You screamed and bit into his shoulder. Once you had a good enough grip you ripped your head back, tearing the flesh away. He stumbled back with a scream but you didn't waste any time and lunged for his throat. If you didn't end this, he would.

The blood sprayed out and covered your face. For a moment you were blinded and Bear wildly swiped at you before he collapsed. You let out a low growl, wiped the blood out your eyes and turned back towards Lion. She was laying on the ground, still clutching her face. The blood pool around her body told you that she was already dead and Bear was getting there, his blood was beginning to seep towards your feet. All there was left was Dog. You spun to find him, you didn’t want to kill him but every animal in the kennel knew the rules. If you got put in a fight you fought, or you were simply put down. Dog never broke that rule and neither did you.

A sharp pain broke through your back and Dog spun you around to pull you into a hug. The knife that had been once discarded was now buried in your back. You looked up and noticed that he turned so you faced the camera, giving the audience a perfect view of you. He held you close to him, gently humming as he rubbed your back, you screamed when he suddenly turned the knife and forced it in deeper. When he pulled the knife out, you kicked his leg and used the momentum of him falling to knock the knife out his hand and spin him around so the back of his head was against your stomach. He clawed at your arms and kicked as you grabbed his chin and put your broken hand on top of his head. You stared into the camera as you jerked his head back hard, snapping his neck. His body collapsed at your feet but you never took your eyes off the camera.

Just as the owners began to celebrate the sound of breaking glass interrupted them and smoke began to fill the room. You gagged and choked as the smoke reached your nose. Fear replaced the anger and you fought to get out of the collar. The smoke became thick and you couldn't breathe properly. The room began to spin as you clawed at your throat and you collapsed to the ground. You fought to keep your eyes open until you couldn't anymore.

Will sat in the chair across from your bed. You had just gotten out of surgery, the fight had left a lot of deep wounds and a broken arm. The FBI had taken everyone in and was able to reach out to all the families of the victims who had been reported missing. Most of everyone who was in the kennel got to go back to their families.

You on the other hand had no living family that they could track down. Nobody was there to claim you, shout your real name and pull you into a hug. Will was sad for you knowing that with no family and you no longer being a minor, you'd probably end up in a homeless shelter or a halfway house.

Sitting there he could see the full extent of the past fights. The most noticeable scar was the one that cut from the middle of your left eyebrow, down diagonal across your nose and ended at your jaw. The video flashed through his mind and for a moment his ears were ringing with your screams. The nurse came in to check your vitals again, pulling Will away from his thoughts. She was only there for a moment before rushing off.

He noticed the way your eyes began to twitch and scooted his chair closer to your bed. It took awhile but eventually you opened your eyes. You looked around the room in confusion and when you finally noticed him, he smiled.

“Hi, Wolf?”

You nodded and tried to sit up but he stopped you. There was something hard and bulky on your arm. The burning in your eyes was still there but it wasn't as bad. The tube in your other arm was uncomfortable but when you tried to pull it out he stopped you again.

“You're in the hospital,” he placed his hand over yours and you looked back up at him. “The people running the ring confessed to everything. You won't be in any trouble.”

Despite that being good news, it really meant that you lost everything. The only thing you had now was this hospital gown and the streets, if they even let you keep the gown. You sighed and turned your head away from him. He probably didn't even understand.

“I know you don't have any place to go. I'm sorry but I'll see what we can do.”

You didn't say anything and continued to look away from him. After a while he rubbed your shoulder and left the room. No more kennel meant no more anything so you decided your only option now was to sleep.

Apparently his idea of seeing what he can do was letting you stay with him. You gave him a confused face when he came to tell you his idea. For a moment Will was frozen as the image of Winston came to mind as you tilted your head in confusion. He realized he really couldn’t leave you to the state’s hand. With no better options you agreed and he promised helped you get let go from the hospital.

The hospital had some donated clothes that they provided you with and Will left to give you time to change. There were a few clothes you didn't understand and the nurse had to explain to you how underwear and socks worked. In the kennel everyone wore shorts and a shirt, nothing else and you only got new ones when your old ones got too cut up to wear.

"Do you understand?"

You nodded and she left so you could get dressed. Everything felt odd on your body but you finished dressing and sat in the room for Will. There were lots of commotion in the hall at some point but you just stayed put on the bed. It seemed like forever but Will did come back.

"Sorry I took so long, your discharge papers are ready," he held the door open for you and you left the room without a second thought.

You had to sign something and when they sat the paper down you looked over to Will for help. Not only did you not know how to write, you didn't know how to read either. And all this "hospital" stuff was confusing you.

He seemed to understand and asked the nurses for a plain paper, “We did find your real name would you-”

You shook your head before he could finish, you didn't want another name. Wolf was your name. He nodded and wrote something down on the paper.

“You’ll need a last name too. You could use your-”

Again you cut him off with another shake of your head. That wasn't your name. You pointed to him and he gave you a confused look. Again you pointed to him then tapped the paper.

“You want my last name,” you nearly laughed at the shocked look on his face but you just shrugged. You had no better ideas and you didn't understand why this last name thing was so important. He grinned and shook his head before writing something down on the paper. “This is how you spell Wolf and this is my last name Graham.”

He let you practice how to write it and explained that he'd be willing to help you learn how to read. You nodded your head as you concentrated on how to draw the letters the same way. Eventually it looked good enough and you signed the paper. Will smiled and handed the paper over to the nurse.

“There, Wolf Graham.”

#nbc hannibal #will graham x reader #will graham #a violent dog

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cherry-pop-elf · 7 months

Text

George Weasley Sexcanons

Because im extremely sick, so im bored

Warnings? Sex sex sex and more sex. Along with some submissive Georgie baby~

What gets his engine going

He’s more of the submissive type. Your definition of a service top. He loves to make sure his partner is feeling so good. Their comfort comes, heh, first before anything else. Mans has 100% just gotten off from eating out/rimming/sucking off

He’s….Hes got mommy issues. As much as we love Molly, you can not deny she was rather verbally abusive. Not to mention having seven kids means you’ll Never have one on one properly. I won’t rant, but mans got a serious mommy kink. Doesn’t matter if you are a man, he’s calling you mommy!

Is a sucker for risk taking. He’s gonna try and eat you out at a quidditch game, jerk you off at the leaky cauldron, he’s gonna rail you in an alley way. He’s an adrenaline junkie, and probably wouldn’t be to shy at the idea of actually doing it infront of people. He likes the rush of it all

If you get a tattoo with his name, or some kind of indication you are his? Oh that’s going to make him feral. He doesn’t actually believe in owning and such, but there is something so enjoyable about it in fantasy. Kink doesn’t equal reality! ((And obviously I don’t need to clarify what is off the table))

Let me say this once, mans has a MAJOR Breeding Kink. Doesn’t matter if you can get pregnant. He’s going to find a way to fuck a baby into you. He’s a Weasley. They love to prove the impossible

Like I said about mommy kink, he is so gonna be a brat. It’s not a number one go to, that’s Fred, but he loves being a menace to society. If he’s not being a brat, you calling him a bad boy might make him cry. That’s why it’s healthy to communicate in the bed room!

Spank him. Spank him nice and good.

Lingerie lingerie lingerie

He might be a size queen, but you didn’t hear it from me 🤭

Oh he just loves doing it in his office. There is something so hot about it. To have you sit in his office, as he eats you out. How you would pin him on the desk, and pound him so hard it starts to rattle. To have you casually come in, wearing nothing at all, and crawling over all the paper work to get to him. If he’s having a bad day, sneak into his office and remind him he’s the boss

Don’t think you won’t be shared with Fred. They are magical twins. They share everything together.

Don’t be shy of your body hair. He likes his bitches natural. There’s also something so romantic to him about it. That you can just be your truest self around him, and not need to panic about your looks. Just your true self, and such

Speaking of natural self, he likes his bitches a little thicc. Blame his dad for liking em big. Nothing like some love handles to grab onto, or some ear warmers to keep him trapped in place. But most importantly? The cuddles

Expect to be of ‘use’ during busy hours at work. Like sucking him off while he does paper work, or being stress relief after a Karen comes into town

Boobs? Butt? Mans a thigh guy. He loves himself a partner with thick thighs, long legs, and some well pedicured feet. Yes. He’s a feet guy. Thigh highs in orange will make him cream alright

Expect to be his partner in trying new sex shop items

Speaking of that, don’t be scared to try new things with him. You never know. Maybe your weird kink could be the next hottest item the shop!

AFAB Partner Shenanigans

His favorite position with you would be the mating press. He just loves having your legs over his shoulders, and getting a front row seat at your begging face

He is going to be that type to fill you full of cum, and make you walk around with it

Sundresses baby

Peg him silly boo boo. He will ride that strap on until sunrise don’t even question it

Expect lots of cock warming. Especially when busy at work

Your tits are his now. His favorite thing to play with, when it isn’t your pussy. Even not in a sexual sense. You’ll just wake up with a hand on the tibbie

AMAB Partner Shenanigans

His favorite position is cowgirl. To have his hands on your chest, as he pants. Whimpering and moaning, as you move in and out of him. To have you spank him to move faster. Gets him all kinds of work up

He’s gonna be a shit head and sneak under tables a lot and have his fun with you

You will wake up to him dealing with your morning wood

He is going to sit on your cock when he is doing work. He will be a bastard and spin his hips

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15-lizards · 5 months

Note

what looks do you think the westerosi are showing off at the Tourney of Harrenhal?

biggest gathering of the year, first inter-kingdom gathering after winter, first King Aerys public appearance in forever, some peeps expecting a secret meeting with rhaegar about taking over for his father — it was THE party!

oh bitch the girls were turning ouuuuuut!

The Starklings were dressed in very Riverlander-like clothing (early to classic Medieval-ish) for the trip, which were very well made, befitting their status as children of the Warden of The North, but probably way simpler compared to most of the southerners. Probably a muted grey-black-deep blue pallet too, so that Rickard could cement their Serious Stark Vibes at the function. Brandon probably thought it made them look cool. Lyanna had the traditional wide flowing gowns and loose veils that I guess make blonde predators go oh wow I need to kidnap her for a prophecy

Tywin couldn't have his children looking like bums ofc. Cersei was still in the throes of her teenage Higharden fashions era, with a very high waist, pushed up bosom, and puff sleeves. Jamie's doublets all fitted perfectly and was made sure to have his fur-trimmed overgrown fall at just the right angle. And he probably had the best armor at the tourney, gilded with lions and vines. Because even though Tywin would rather kill Jamie than see him in the kingsgaurd, his son couldn't be caught not looking fresh. The tailors at Casterly were worked so hard they probably had the first ever medieval thoughts of unionizing.

Rhaegars bitch ass. Probably tended to wear longer coats/gowns/talbards, except for when he was sparring or jousting of course. They were obviously very well made, but were almost underwhelming for the heir to the kingdom, as he tended towards the simplistic side. Also I think they sometimes bordered on feminine bc he was a fairly androgynous figure To Me.

I think the Daynes were wearing their usual (Turkish) fashions, liking to stand out a bit from the crowd, but didn't stand out so much as the Martells. Ashara was the belle of the ball with her insanely detailed over gowns and fur linings in almost foreign styles. Yes it made Arthur extremely jealous when he saw Brandon and Barrister tripping over themselves around her (yes I'm going with the Dayne incest headcanon sorry). Also, the men in the family wore the traditional tightly wrapped styles as well, except for Arthur who probably slept in his kingsgaurd armor.

#god bless making this post made my computer run so agonizingly slow #so i hope u like it babies #also this is like...two months late im sorry I just couldn't decide on how to best interpret this ask #asoiaf hair and clothing

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juyeonszn · 1 year

Text

POISON IN MY MIND

PAIRING lee hyunjae x f!reader

WORD COUNT 5.54k

GENRES smut ﹒ some angst (but very little)

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, ceo/ceo’s son!hyunjae, assistant!reader, power play tbh, hyunjae is an asshole (for what he thinks is good reason), another jacob bae appearance, juyeon is also mentioned, there’s a rain scene bc i love my rain scenes <3, hyunjae is a stupid idiot, making out (aggressively), nipple play, no foreplay lol, unprotected sex, sex on a desk x2 — but one is missionary & one is doggy? style?, overstimulation, degradation, brat taming?, creampie lol, the aftercare is there i promise

SUMMARY who really cared that you supposedly hated your boss?

MORE HELLAURRRRR FAWNTOBER DAY 4!!! im hoping i have no delays with the rest of the fics but idk bc the burnout is starting to kick in….. someone pls help…. it’s bc my brain is making me write more than i planned 😭 anyways! pls reblog if u enjoyed!

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri

“Look at you, rutting against me like a fucking bitch in heat,” Hyunjae growls, lips beside your ear as he pounds into you from behind, your hair wrapped tightly around his fist. “Thought you hated me, sweetheart.”

“I— fuck— I do,” you whine, back arching off of the desk and into his chest. “I hate you s-so goddamn much.”

Okay, let’s rewind for a bit of context.

Truly, you hated Lee Hyunjae. He was such a pretentious prick, always dead set on being right about everything. He couldn’t stand those who he felt were inferior to him, those who he thought were incompetent. If he felt you couldn’t do your job to his standards, he’d fire you on the spot.

Despite not being the CEO of the company himself, he practically carried all of the perks that came with the position. That was only because he was the actual CEO’s son and the future heir to the conglomerate his father owned.

You had the unfortunate pleasure of being his assistant, tied to doing his bidding until your contract with the company timed out. You originally applied for the job for two reasons. The first was due to the fact that you genuinely loved the initial purpose pushed forward by the CEO. He shared a lot of similar ideals with you and had spectacular visions for bettering the business world. The second was because at the time of your application, you wanted to be the CEO’s assistant. And that was what you’d gotten hired for.

It paid more than well enough and it was your dream job. You loved what you did for at least the first year and a half. Until he announced that he’d be retiring within the next couple years and his son would be taking over as a form of practice for being in charge when he inherited the entire conglomerate.

You’d never met him in person before, only hearing the high praises Mr. Lee had for his precious son. So on his first day, you had extremely raised expectations for the male. You dressed your best (not that you didn’t put effort in before) and put on your sweetest personality, wanting to make a good impression on your new boss.

Imagine the disappointment you felt when you realized he was nothing but an entitled asshole.

He made you feel stupid, as if you didn’t know how to do your own job. What started as sitting in on important meetings and going over different documents with Mr. Lee, turned into running errands for Hyunjae and cleaning up his messes. If you weren’t out buying his coffee or grabbing his dry cleaning, you were sorting his paperwork for him and making sure he was prepared for his upcoming conferences, as if he wasn’t capable of doing so himself. You felt like a fucking babysitter rather than an assistant; like an errand boy rather than an employee.

You were so incredibly tired and it had only been four months. A few, tortuous months of you being treated like you hadn’t already given an arm and a leg for this company. Half of you wanted to just throw in the towel, rip up the damn contract right in front of the fucker and walk out of those gold plated double doors for good.

“Just push through, Y/N,” Jacob sighs over the video call. “Your contract ends at the end of the year, and if you still feel like quitting, then that’s that. You don’t have to worry about renewing or trying to reinstate your job.”

You were on your lunch break, holed away in one of the many unused conference rooms on the top floor. Hyunjae was being extra irritating today and if you didn’t speak with a voice of reason, you thought you’d make a drastic decision that would alter the course of your life forever. Whether that was tossing your employee contract in the shredder, or committing premeditated murder, the world may never know. Shout out to Jacob Bae.

“What if I push him out of the floor-to-ceiling window in his office? I could make it look like an accident. Everyone would probably rejoice instead of mourning him, because we would all be so much happier.” You throw the back of your hand over your forehead. Well, that answers that.

“You’re not killing anyone. If you got caught, you wouldn’t look good in a prison jumpsuit. Orange isn’t your color.” Jacob shakes his head, rolling his eyes playfully.

You gasp scandalously, sitting upright to gape at him. “What the hell? Yes, I so would! I would make that prison jumpsuit my bitch—“

Someone clears their throat behind you, causing you to flinch, whipping around in your swivel chair to find the culprit. When it’s none other than Lee Hyunjae staring back at you, you feel like your life has just flashed before your eyes. You wonder just how much of that conversation he heard before making his presence known.

“Um, Cobie, I’m gonna have to call you back…” You don’t allow your friend time to respond, ending the call before he can incriminate you more than you already have.

Hyunjae leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his absurdly broad chest. Did this guy have to wear the tightest dress shirts possible? Maybe it was time for him to update his wardrobe. You tuck your hair behind your ear, slowly standing up from the chair. His expression is unreadable, not that you ever had it easy when it came to understanding the many faces of Lee Hyunjae.

“Mr. Lee, what— uh— what can I do for you?” You ask with a slight waver in your tone. So much for not incriminating yourself. He purses his lips, taking a step closer to you.

“Juyeon can no longer accompany me on the trip to Tokyo next week. Which means you’re second on the totem pole,” he says simply, loosening his tie. “Better pack your bags, ‘cause I’m not taking no for an answer.”

This was horrible.

You were mentally cursing Lee Juyeon over and over. Why did he have to back out at the last minute? This was the one part of the job that you couldn’t allow yourself to do. You’d much rather drive in circles around Seoul and grab iced Americanos than be in a completely different country, with no other company aside from Lee Hyunjae himself.

When he gave you your demise, you immediately tried to get out of it. Your excuse was valid; you didn’t have a passport and that’s kind of essential when traveling to another country. But even then, it wasn’t enough to get you out of this predicament. Being the rich, influential man he was, Hyunjae had your passport expedited and sent to your mailbox within a couple days. You gave up after that.

There was nothing he couldn’t do.

Except maybe being tolerable. You think that was most likely his only fault. He could’ve been the complete package had he mastered the art of bedside manner. His father was one of the kindest, selfless men you’d ever met. You were often curious why those same traits didn’t translate to his son. Then again, he had probably been raised as a spoiled brat who got everything his heart desired.

To make matters worse, you had one of those suites with a Jack and Jill bathroom, meaning he could enter yours without difficulty if he wanted. You supposed that was because the rooms were reserved with him and Juyeon in mind. Perhaps the case would be different if you were the first pick for this trip.

You let out a deep exhale, waiting outside of the conference room that Hyunjae was currently in. This was meeting number seven, and the last of the day before you could finally go back to the hotel and relax. You’d be flying back to South Korea the following day on the Lees’ private jet. All of your time in Japan had been spent both sitting in and sitting out of board meetings, so much talk about business plans that you felt dizzy.

All you yearned for was a nice warm bath and some room service, wanting to call it an early night because of your flight in the morning. You were exhausted, eyes growing heavier and heavier the longer Hyunjae sat in that room full of old men that came from bloodlines of money. Even though it was your job to be here, you felt so out of place. There were moments you found yourself contemplating your career path. You were surrounded by people who could just sign a check to get rid of their life problems. That wasn’t you.

Before you can fall down a rabbit hole, the door to the conference room is swinging open and Hyunjae is storming out, some of the other board members calling after him. Your eyes widen and your eyebrows furrow, your body springing up to follow after him. Wearing some flats instead of heels was probably the smartest choice you’d made today, making it less of a struggle to chase after your boss.

“Mr. Lee!” You cup a hand around your mouth, trailing him like a lost puppy to the elevator. It closes before you can get on and you groan, running a hand through your hair frustratedly. As you wait for the next one down, you call the driver so the car is waiting out front. According to the recent weather notification on your phone, it was pouring outside.

The elevator dings when it arrives back at the floor you were on and you hurry to get on, pressing the lobby level aggressively in hopes it would move faster. Even the soothing music playing over the speakers isn’t enough to calm your nerves, picking at your nails as the numbers transition to the corresponding floors you pass. This was one of the numerous occasions you wished your boss wasn’t so impulsive. What did they even say to him in that meeting to cause such a reaction?

The doors open and you’re rushing out, frantically searching for Hyunjae in the lobby. You spot the driver parked under the carport, waiting. Your feet carry you to the car, knocking on the window to get his attention. He rolls it down with a confused look.

“Have you seen Mr. Lee?” You ask, a bit winded by all of the running you’d been doing.

“I thought I saw him walk that way,” he points ahead, though it hardly answers your question. “I didn’t realize you weren’t with him.”

Just fucking peachy. He was making you chase him into the rain now? You needed a pay raise.

Thankfully, it’s a breeze to spot him, since he’s the only person in the crowd without an umbrella. You pinch the bridge of your nose, forcing yourself to walk out into the cold rain, weaving through pedestrians to get to him faster. He’s not much further from you, but you’d rather drag his ass back to the car sooner rather than later, the precipitation seeping through your dress shirt and pants, chilling you to the bone.

“Mr. Lee!”

You reach for his wrist and wrap your fingers around it, yanking slightly to yield his focus. He turns around with hardened features, but they soften just enough for you to notice when he realizes that it’s you. Your lips form a flat line, eyelashes coated with a mixture of mascara and rain water, obscuring your vision.

“I don’t know what happened in there, but I don’t have it in me to ask. Please, can we just go back to the hotel?” You ask almost desperately, teeth beginning to chatter. He frowns, but nods nonetheless, letting you pull him to the safety of the carport— where you’re free from the unrelenting pelts against your body— and into the car.

You don’t say anything the whole drive to the hotel you’re staying at, biting your tongue because you were afraid you might blow up on him over his stupidity and get yourself fired. Your bottom lip quivers and you hug yourself for warmth, the car’s heater failing to bring back the color in your cheeks. In spite of hating nearly everything about him, you thought the one good thing Hyunjae had going for him was his wits. He might’ve been stuck up, but he was smart as hell. Except right now. In your books, he was the biggest idiot in the history of idiots.

The silence continues even after you’ve arrived at your hotel, shadowing you into the elevator and to your respective rooms. You don’t acknowledge him, unlocking your suite and entering to avoid any conversation. The remainder of your energy for the day was used when you were attempting to save him from getting fucking hypothermia.

You stand in the shower until your fingers have pruned, resting your forehead against the frosted glass as the scorching water battered your back, easing the tension in your muscles. While changing into your pajamas, your phone buzzes with a text message.

[9:23pm] mr. lee (DNI): i don’t know if u’ve eaten already, but i ordered a lot of food if u’d like to have some of it.

[9:24pm] mr. lee (DNI): left my bathroom door unlocked so u can just let urself in

Your lips purse as you mull over his offer. It wasn’t exactly an olive branch, but even if it was, you wouldn’t take it as such. You had too much pride for that. Instead you viewed this as him just feeling guilty for having you pursue him in the rain. That was definitely not in your job description. Perhaps he wasn’t as heartless as he made himself out to be, and he just didn’t know how to extend an apology without being awkward about it.

Reluctantly, you give in.

[9:27pm] you: sure. be right there

You slide your feet into your slippers and shuffle through the four doors between the two of you that lead to his suite. It takes everything in you to not visibly react to the difference between your rooms. His is so much more spacious, with enough room for a table and couches, aside from the usual desk. Even he looks expensive, a silk pajama set adorning his body— the first few buttons undone to give you a glimpse of his chest, though it hardly leaves room for the imagination.

Hyunjae sits at the table, various sushi roll platters in front of him. He holds up his chopsticks as he scrolls through his phone mindlessly, glancing up when your slippers shuffle against the floor. He takes in your appearance as quickly as he can without making it obvious, the corner of his lips curling up when he sees the teddy bears on your feet.

“You know, I didn’t think you’d come,” he starts after a few minutes of eating in an awkward quietness. “Not just here, to my room, but on the trip in general. I thought you’d put up a bigger fight to get out of it.”

“It’s part of my job, Mr. Lee.” You say flatly, taking away as much emotion from the statement as you could to avoid getting in an unnecessary argument.

“We’re not at work and it’s outside of working hours, Y/N. You can call me Hyunjae.” He tries to meet your eyes but they’re focused on picking at the skin around your nails, legs criss-crossed on your seat.

“Why do you go by Hyunjae?” You decide to ask, glancing up at him finally. “Your dad said your birth name was Jaehyun.”

“I don’t remember when exactly it was, but when I was in grade school, a classmate called me Hyunjae by accident and it just stuck. I’ve never really liked the name Jaehyun, if I’m being honest. It was a common name, and well, you of all people should know that I’m all about my individuality.” He leans back in his chair a bit, folding his arms over his chest. You ignore how it makes his pectorals squish together. God, you were no better than man…

“Is that why you’re nothing like your father?” You don’t mean to say that out loud. The thought popped into your head, as it always does, and for some reason this time it just shimmies its way through your mouth. You press your lips together, shifting uncomfortably at the sudden tension that arises in the room.

“I’m well aware of what you think of me, Y/N,” he chides, tapping his fingers against his biceps. “You may think you’re good at hiding it, but I’m very perceptive. And I also overheard that conversation with your friend— the one where you were plotting my assassination and whatnot.”

“Are you open to rebuttal?” Perhaps you should just stop talking, maybe pause the hole you were digging yourself into. Did you want to keep your job? Sure this was all off the record, but be fucking for real, it was Hyunjae you were speaking with.

He shrugs. “Shoot. Let’s hear it.”

“You’re kind of a narcissist,” you kick off strong, hitting him right where you think it may hurt. “You don’t take in the consideration of others, and you always have to be correct. If someone even slightly disagrees with you, you lose your shit. You’re condescending, you’re a perfectionist, you’re hot headed, and after the stunt you pulled today, you’ve exhibited that you’re also really fucking irrational. I’ve done so much in the time I’ve been with the company prior to you, I’ve given so much of myself for the improvement that your father was aiming for and you took all that hard work and crushed it between your fingers, just to have me running around like I’m your maid.”

Hyunjae wears an amused smirk on his lips, like he couldn’t be bothered with your grievances. Your eye practically twitches, irritation boiling up like water ready for a pasta dinner. You stab your chopsticks into a piece of sushi with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re cute when you get worked up,” he hums, carding a hand through his hair. “I almost want to keep my thoughts to myself.”

You choke on your saliva, smacking yourself on the chest to regain control of your breathing. Whatever you were expecting him to say wasn’t that. Should he even be calling you that? He was your boss. Not just that, but you sort of hated everything there was to hate about him. The tiny compliment shouldn’t make both of your heartbeats quicken.

“W-What are you talking about?”

Hyunjae stands from his chair, walking around the table to sit on the edge of the desk in the room, not much further away but enough distance to keep you calm. He rolls his neck, scratching at the nape to relieve some of the awkwardness seeping into the suite. “My father has done nothing but sing your praises since he hired you. I know how capable you are of this job, Y/N. I know that you’ve accomplished more than individuals who have been with the company even longer than you. Trust me, I know.”

“Then why do you discard me the way you do? Why do you treat me like I don’t know what I’m doing?” This time you don’t stop the emotions from creeping beneath your words, your voice cracking just slightly. If Hyunjae heard, he makes no effort to show it.

“Because, I had to keep myself as far from you as possible,” he admits, finally making eye contact. “From the moment I laid eyes on you, I was fucked. I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself around you and as your boss, I couldn’t do that. As my father’s son, I couldn’t do that. So I resorted to the next best thing, making you hate me and having you do shitty side tasks to separate myself from you. I thought, ‘If she thinks I’m the worst boss ever, she’ll want nothing to do with me’. And that’s exactly what my goal was. But now you’re here in Tokyo, alone with me in my hotel room and I’m starting to rethink that decision.”

You stare at him— mouth agape, heart in your throat. Once upon a time, you believed Lee Hyunjae was one of the brightest, smartest businessmen of your generation. It seemed that he just wanted to go and prove you wrong on that today, in multiple instances. How could someone be so fucking stupid? You were genuinely curious what went through his head.

“You’re unbelievable,” you scoff, a laugh devoid of humor sneaking in along with it as you stand from your own chair. “Actually unbelievable. What made you think that was a good idea? You made me feel like I wasn’t good enough to be in this position because you didn’t think you could keep it in your pants around me?”

And just as you’re about to leave, he wraps his fingers around your wrist to stop you. You were getting a weird sense of déjà vu. He pulls you into his chest, your body sandwiched between his legs as he holds you close to him. Your eyes are wide and your lips are parted. (Though you don’t know if it’s out of shock, sudden arousal, or both.)

In this proximity, you can see every small detail of his face. From the freckle on the bridge of his nose to the thick eyelashes framing dark eyes to the softness of his lips. You’ve never had the opportunity to properly look at Hyunjae, always too pissed off to even be within ten feet of him. But standing here— face-to-face, eye-to-eye— you’re starting to wish the object of your hatred and many complaints wasn't so handsome.

“If you push me away now, I’ll leave you alone forever,” he breathes, hands fisting the material of your pajama top, as if that would ground him. “If you tell me there’s absolutely no possibility of you wanting me back, I’ll let you go back to your room like none of this happened.”

You don’t respond. The words are right there. They’re perched on the tip of your tongue, just anticipating to climb out of your mouth and put him in his place. It’s been months of constantly feeling like you were meaningless to the company you’ve given so many sleepless nights to— months of second guessing just how much you’ve actually contributed. But with one glance down to your lips with eyes resembling the night sky, Hyunjae has managed to wipe all of that from your memory.

So instead of turning around— instead of walking through the four doors that divide your hotel rooms— you stay planted between his thighs, grabbing the sides of his face and pulling his lips onto your own.

He groans into the kiss, tightening his grip on your shirt and bringing you closer to him. You feel him against your stomach, hard and ready for you, ready for any contact you’re willing to give him. It’s so much and too little at the same time, fingers slipping beneath your top and searing your skin.

He nips at your bottom lip, as if asking for permission to permeate your mouth with his tongue. You welcome the wet muscle with gratitude, moaning when it tangles with yours. The blunt edges of his nails dig into your lower back when the sound hits his ears. You tug at the hairs on the base of his neck, one hand sliding down the front of his body to feel him up.

Through the thin silk of his pajamas you can make out the outline of his sculpted torso. If Hyunjae was more coherent and less intoxicated by your lips on his, he’d tease you for your desperation. But because he's neither of those, he, too, finds himself clawing at every bit of fabric of your clothing he can, longing to touch anything he can get his hands on. You feel drunk, and you wonder if he makes you feel like this with his lips alone, what else can he do?

The straps of your top fall off your shoulders the longer you stand there, making out like it was second nature to both of you. When you take a step back to catch your breath, lips swollen and glistening with a mixture of both yours and his saliva. Your chests are heaving up and down, foreheads resting on the other’s.

“Can I take that as a yes?” Hyunjae rasps, pushing your straps further down your arms. You whine, connecting your mouths again. This was embarrassing enough, you didn’t want to have to say the words out loud. Saying it out loud made this real, and you didn’t want to accept the fact that you were about to fuck your boss.

He chuckles against your lips, undoing the buttons of his shirt without parting from your kiss. You help him toss it somewhere in the room, your hands groping his arms and squeezing his biceps. He spins the two of you around so you’re the one with the edge of the desk on your back. His arms hook under your thighs, placing you on the surface so it’s less strain on his neck as he leans down.

You instinctively spread your legs to make room for him, throwing your head back with a drawn out sigh when he presses two fingers to your core. Even with your panties and your flimsy pajama shorts in the way, the pressure relieves some of the ache you feel in your gut. Your top slips off enough that your bare breasts are now on full display for Hyunjae. He keeps circling your clit through your clothes, mouth enveloping one of your peaked nipples and tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

“C-Can’t hold on anymore,” you whimper. “Need to cum on your cock.”

Something shifts in Hyunjae when he hears you beg. You’d always been so set in stone when it came to standing your ground, so for you to surrender yourself to him, in spite of reiterating how much you despise him, it did a number on his sanity. You have no idea what you’ve just done to him.

“No foreplay? Think you can handle it, sweetheart?” He goads, but his fingers dip into the waistband of both your underwear and your shorts to pull them down your legs anyway.

“You’re talking a whole lot for someone who’s still wearing their pants.” You bite back, but almost immediately retract your words when he rids them, revealing that he wasn’t wearing anything underneath them. No fucking wonder you could feel him so much.

He’s huge, like so huge you kind of regret skipping the foreplay. But it was too late to go back now, your pride as big as his dick. One of your hands reaches to wrap around his length, your teeth finding purchase on your lip as you stroke him gently. Every pulse and every vein beneath your touch has you curling your toes in excitement. He hisses when your thumb swipes over his tip, collecting the precum that’s formed there.

Hyunjae drags you closer to the edge, prying your legs wider so he fits perfectly between them. You guide him to your entrance, a moan ripping from your throat when he presses into you. He’s not even fully sheathed inside of you, but the stretch is so fucking delicious, stinging just enough that it provides pleasure rather than pain. He pulls out to drive back in and repeats, a little deeper each time he does.

When he bottoms out, his hips snap into yours, large hands keeping your thighs apart as he begins to thrust into you. His cock is snug within your warm walls, kissing so deep inside that you start to see stars well before the coil in your abdomen has begun to wind up. The noises leaving your mouth are insane, loud and echoing throughout the hotel room. It made shame bubble up in your chest, because why couldn’t your detestation overpower the urge to crumble at his fingertips?

“Fuck you’re so tight,” Hyunjae groans, eyes concentrated on where his cock slips in and out of you. “You needed this, huh? Needed me to fuck you real good? Like a filthy slut?”

You’ve never thought you’d be into degradation. In fact, a man calling you demeaning names actually pissed you off. So you felt like you’d end up picking a fight if ever in the situation where someone tried to degrade you. However, the words falling from Hyunjae’s lips have the opposite effect on you. They have you clenching around him and mewling like a goddamn pornstar.

His pace is relentless, inching you closer and closer to your breaking point. He lays you flat on the desk, one hand gripping your hip and the other sneaking to your clit. His thumb rubs ovular motions into the engorged skin, his body folding over yours to capture your lips with his. He swallows your cries when your climax washes over you suddenly, your walls fluttering around his cock.

Hyunjae pulls out before he can follow suit, flipping you onto your stomach like you were a fucking pancake. He bends you over the edge of the desk as his thumb continues to circle your clit slowly, languidly just to ride out your high. He propels forward, his dick still so hard as it breaches your hole once again. He curses, extra sensitive after depriving himself of his own orgasm.

You push back on him, wanting to feel him even deeper. Your whole body burns beneath him, his chest slick with sweat as it presses you flat to the desk. You need him everywhere, God you want him everywhere. It’s not enough to have him buried inside of you. You need to be one with him; one body, one mind, one soul. You need him filling your senses— blinding your sight, obstructing your scent, stealing your touch, invading your taste, muting your hearing.

Okay, now let’s resume.

“I— fuck— I do,” you whine, back arching off of the desk and into his chest. “I hate you s-so goddamn much.”

“Yeah? I’m sure you do. You hate me so much, yet you want me to fuck you full of my cum, don’t you? Gonna let me finish inside you?” His voice is exerted, and you can tell he’s close. But you are too, so you’re not above pleading for your sweet release. Not when it rewards you so well.

“Mhm,” you whimper, cheek smushed to the surface under you. “Please, Jae… Need it so— oh my god— need it s-o bad.”

Hyunjae hikes one of your knees onto the desk, allowing him to plunge extensively. Your clit bumps the edge, that coil in your stomach fracturing little by little until it’s busted completely and you’re a babbling, incomprehensible mess. The sight of you fucked absolutely stupid tips Hyunjae into his own spiral, painting your velvety walls with thick ropes of his cum. He lets his forehead fall on your shoulder, rocking into you with delayed groans as he spills all he has to offer you. It’s so much that even his cock plugging you up isn’t sufficient to keep it from dribbling along your thighs.

You’re both too winded to move, much less fathom what just happened. You feel him panting on your back, eyes shut as you also attempt to regain your bearings. Where the hell do you go from here?

“H-Hyunjae…” You wince when he stirs inside of you. “Can— uh— can you pull out?”

He grunts as he carefully does what you’ve asked, running a hand down his face when more of his release trickles out of you. He knew you couldn’t afford another round. Just by looking at you he can see how spent you are. What you needed was another bath and some good rest. Without skipping a beat, he reaches out to tuck some strands of your hair that were stuck to your face behind your ear, wiping away the sweat that glued itself there.

“We have a lot to talk about,” he says, grasping your hands and caressing the backs with his thumbs. “But that can wait until tomorrow. For now, just let me take care of you, okay?”

“Okay.” You agree, tone no more voluminous than a whisper.

You did have a lot to discuss pertaining to tonight, but that wasn’t a priority at the moment. Who really cared that you supposedly hated your boss? All you could focus on was how gentle his fingers were as he washed your body for you, massaging your muscles so delicately you might as well have melted in the palms of his hands. And all you could pay attention to was the hushed sound of his voice as he kissed your temple and lulled you to sleep, within the comfort of his arms.

Yeah. You could revisit the whole Lee Hyunjae hatred train another day.

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