Masterpiece - Blog Posts

Do you love the color of the sky, Mr Minecraft?

Hi

I’m back on my shit again

This one took so long to do, probably the longest I’ve spent on an artwork? (The earliest part made was made on August 23rd) (Edit: SHIT FUCK JULY NOT AUGUST FUCK I’m LOSING MY SENSE OF TIME GOD DAMNIT) (edit 2: in other news, my idiocy has already been spread and it is too late)

So that’s fun (I was giggling like a madman when I was close to finishing this)

God I hope the words on top stopped idk how many of you from panicking or feeling blind fury like I saw in the tags of the last one. (Though the fury was so fucking funny)

Before I start rambling, I want to mention the fact that Phil is never looking at the sky around him, but at the faces and expressions of his friends.

There are two more people in addition to the sbi and Kristin from the last one. Tubbo and Ranboo, whom I just consider sbi++ tbh.

First one is none other than Miss Kristin herself. I actually used a picture from their Instagram as reference for their clothes. I actually straight up imagine this was from their wedding day or smt. I hope I drew Ms Kristin okay. I’m still figuring out how to draw her tbh.

Second is Wilbur Soot. So when I was drawing all of them, I was thinking of what expressions they all would be making. Like Kristin and Phil would be all happy and stuff. And the idea of Wilbur just fucking grappling with the idea that if Phil drops him, it’s fucking over. He’d be done for. Dead (maybe). That idea was funny to me for some reason. So I imagine he just has a look of acceptance/fear while Phil is trying to figure out if he’s okay.

Third is Tommy. He probably gets dropped. L. Because you probably don’t carry someone like that while flying. (Probably because how am I supposed to know.) Tommy is just fucking screaming his lungs out btw.

Tubbo! He actually fucking fell. I asked my friend, “Help me make a decision. Tubbo and Phil. Cute. or Chaos.” “chaos” “CHAOS IT IS” So the idea, in my head, is that Tubbo was originally given a piggy back ride. Tubbo, chaotic, just sort of climbs Phil like a jungle gym or smt and sits on his shoulders. It was great for like five seconds and then he fell. You fucking bet he’s grappling with the idea of death.

Ranboo. The one picture I had in my head the whole time I was drawing them was just. “L o n g c a t.” Cause Ranboo was drawn in such a way that I was thinking of cats being picked up.

Techno. Again, that’s not the way you hold someone while flying but yeah. Techno is probably the only other person to not feel fear in this whole thing. The first being Miss Kristin

(It seemed fitting for Ranboo and Techno to have the aurora scene)

And the last one. Idk man I just wanted to draw a god.

This is the Angel of Death, between storm and chatters.

(The feathers mean nothing, they’re just a nice transition)

(If you made it here, please, please, please, consider reblogging. Thoughts in tags or not, I will appreciate you so much)

AHHHH THIS FANART!!!! (≧◡≦) It’s so beautiful I could stare at it forever!! The design is just chef’s kiss—I’m obsessed with all the little details sprinkled in, like tiny love letters to the story (ﾉ´ヮ)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

The Fair Maiden/Reader looks absolutely adorable and stunning—you captured her energy so perfectly, I’m crying real tears over here (╥﹏╥)♡ She’s glowing with that soft strength and charm, I LOVE HER!!!

Honestly, this gave me such a boost of motivation!! It reminded me that… um… my own fanart for this fic is still sitting on my to-do list… (｡•́︿•̀｡) I’m sorry Fair Maiden I haven’t forgotten you!!

Thank you for sharing your amazing work—it brought me so much joy and totally reignited my love for this fic!! Time to get back to drawing soon… hopefully… (๑•́ ₃ •̀๑)

Been reading this x reader fanfic of Epic: the musical and animal crossing called 'Epic: The Fair Maiden' in @kquil's side blog kqutie and I've been loving the premise so much so I've decided to make a new OC based off of the fanfic she has made. And I'm honestly I'm so glad to find another fix it fanfic caus elile as much as I love the musical, it has given me too much angsts like damnit my boy Polites died when he has just finished singing a happy song and my guy Eurylochus wasn't able to get back home to his wife! Like come on! The guy also been loyal for so long like his bro Ody! Get him back to his wifey!

And disclaimer no the what I drew here isn't how reader is said to look like in the fic but it's just my Interpretation since reader is based off of reader themselves.

I named my OC Theo cause the name means miracle and also cause even tho the reader is called fair maiden by everyone in the fic (can I just say that I love how the reader is being referred to by an actual title instead of like y/n or like an "insert name here" cause like I love this part so much cause it makes the story so much more immersive somehow in head, I don't know maybe I just love how the reader is referred to something else after reading so many fanfics that makes you need to insert a name when you read a part of the name) I don't know why but I thought it would be so funny that her real name would rhyme with Calypso since in the story she's basically like the anti-Calypso cause unlike Calypso who wants to keep Odysseus so that he'll be with her forever the second the fair maiden meets the whole crew she does everything she can to get all these grown ass man to finally have some peace while she helps them be tip top shape to get back home and is Odysseus' and by extension Eurylochus' supporter in getting these two loving husbands to get back to their beloved wives (⁠●⁠♡⁠∀⁠♡⁠)

For the look I gave her I don't know why but I thought of strawberries when I made her and I thought it'll be so cute cause like she's so sweet in the fic and also she can't talk which added a unintentionally reference to Ariel and basically because she's a disney princess here, so with that I gave her bright red hair with strawberry flowers covering it and I also made her have these cone swirl hairstyles? (What do you call this hairstyles in anime) As abit of a reference to how Eurylochus says that no outfit (which I'm extending to hair here) will stop her from doing any labor work. And I gave her green eyes as like the green leaf on strawberries. And I sorta wanted her to be short and have a plump body type cause like she's being referred shorter then Eurylochus and also being referred to be like a chipmunk when she ran a grabbed every single gold from the money tree in the fic. And I thought the plump body shape would fit since I think if I remember correctly in ancient Greece a woman being more plump is considered beautiful and with how the story literally gave her the title fair maiden I think it fits well! And then I just gave her the dresses that's being described in the fic and done! Honestly the hardest fore to draw is the whale shark, seriously coloring that thing's spots are hard!

Oh and also Hermes’ design is from Zieru in youtube! Pls check out their stuff, they’re amazing!

That's all I'm gonna say, please if any of you all haven't read this fic and are interested here's a link for the master list of this fic

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EPIC: THE FAIR MAIDEN

sum. : You wake up in the EPIC: The Musical universe on Odysseus’ boat just as they’ve set sail back to Ithaca. And you just so happen to be

This story has two versions, a platonic version and the not platonic version so if any of you all are not interested on reading romance and just wanted to read a story of you being friends with the whole crew there's a choice for you (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧ please give the author some love Kay? She really worked hard to make these story so give her many appreciations she deserves! She even made a poll about whether or not she should make a different ending for the two different versions so please support her in her efforts! Can't wait to so what she'll decide to end this series since the ending is soon! So those who want to join in before it ends, come on quickly and come join reading this cozy fic! ＼⁠(⁠^⁠o⁠^⁠)⁠／

YES YES YES I HAD TO REPOST THIS CHAPTER BECAUSE THE WORLD NEEDS TO SEE THIS MASTERPIECE!!! (｡♥‿♥｡) I may not have a huge following, but if even one more person reads this wholesome, fluffy brilliance, my mission is complete!!

This fic is my comfort place—I reread it on bad days, on good days, or just because I miss the warmth it brings (｡•́︿•̀｡)♡ Every time, it fills my heart with so much joy and softness I can’t even put it into words!!

The father-daughter bond between Ody and the reader?? STUNNING (╥﹏╥) The care, the emotion, the way it wraps around you like a hug—I'm MELTING!! And Polites?! HELLO SIR?! (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄) He’s everything!!! I am so down bad and in love!!!

Please do yourself a favor and read this fic if you haven’t yet!! It’s a shining light of love, warmth, and perfect storytelling (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ

Sending all the love and healing to the author’s mom—take all the time you need!! We’ll be right here, hearts in hand (≧︶≦))(￣▽￣ )ゞ

EPIC : THE FAIR MAIDEN (not so platonic ver.)

CHAPTER FIVE : THE JOURNEY HOME

relations. : various epic characters/reader -- platonic odysseus/reader ; polites/reader ; platonic eurylochus/reader ; platonic elpenor/reader ; platonic perimedes/reader ; platonic odysseus' crew/reader ; hermes/reader

chpt. sum. : You and the crew finally make the final journey back to Ithaca but not without some mishaps along the way.

tags. : reader is still a disney princess (primarily polites' disney princess) ; female, mute reader ; pure comfort ; animal crossing new horizons game mechanics ; hermes tame (sadboy) appearances ; polites being a disney prince ; crew panicking over you ; evil mermaids make an appearance ; slight crack ; tiktok sound reference in the beginning ; odysseus being a distraught, overprotective dad ; eurylochus constantly shaking his head at everyone.

length. : 10.6k

a/n :  for anyone curious about how i imagine Polites to look, I envision him as @elianzis Polities but with glasses hehe~ (i'm too shy to tag them directly ( /)///(\✿) nvm they won't see this anyway, you darlings deserve a direct link to their amazing page and artwork ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧) 

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“We are owed a thorough explanation, fair maiden,” Odysseus’ eyes narrow into a stern look as his strong arms fold over his chest. A few steps behind him, Polites and Eurylochus stand, observing the scene while the rest of the crew form a crowd behind them, also observing the scene. Their captain looks like the perfect image of a father scolding his daughter, which was a feeling most of the men could sympathise with — many left home and their young children behind. In the weeks that have passed since your arrival, many have since grown a filial fondness for you and look to you as their own daughter. So Odysseus wasn’t the only one seething from the display. 

There’s a pressure in the air that makes it hard to find the strength to look anyone in the eyes, but you know you’ll have to give some kind of statement on the events that have just transpired. The only problem is that you can’t speak. 

“Captain,” Polites approaches helpfully, a kind smile on his lips as his eyes filled with concern behind the shine of his glasses, “The fair maiden cannot speak, remember?” 

“She can still attempt to explain herself!” Odysseus stubbornly huffs, arms still crossed as he looks you up and down. “Well? Young lady?” 

Feebly, you raise a hand and pull an embarrassed look — this was going to be difficult, but you’ll try your best. You shake your head and wave your hands about to try and express that your association with Hermes is one that came unexpectedly, even for you. 

‘I never know what he’s going to do next!’ you attempt to communicate with your hands and a shake of your head, ‘He took me by surprise; I didn’t know how to react!’ you think it’s best to avoid the topic of guiltily kissing the god back and, instead, focus on trying to explain that this was all a misunderstanding that went too far. ‘Please believe me…’ you pull a hopeless, pleading expression, pouting pitifully as you hold your hands together in a praying gesture, looking at Odysseus with forlorn eyes. 

Beside him, Polites nods along with a pondering expression; he was always someone who understood you well. “You mean to say that he took you by surprise?” The elucidation Polites was deciphering from your gestures was understandable; the gods always seemed to do whatever they pleased, not really caring about who was affected and how. It made his stomach lurch to think that you were involved with a god, knowing the horrid encounters his captain and close friend had to suffer because of quite a few. At the very least, you seemed unharmed and that it was Hermes, a rather friendly god from what Polites could gather from the musical that warned him and others (mainly Odysseus) of their fates.  

‘Yes yes!’ you nodded your head enthusiastically, feeling lighter at the feeling of being so easily understood — you could always count on Polites.

“UGH!” Odysseus shouts, punching a nearby tree before turning to you with wild eyes, completely ignoring the 100-bell coin that falls on his head before falling to the ground. “What a manipulative, conniving, sorry-excuse-for-a-god! What in the underworld is wrong with him?!” Odysseus stands there for a moment, panting from his heated outburst as everyone else, including you, stares on in shock, frozen up, not knowing what to do or say and unable to look away. “

Why would he manipulate you?” Odysseus approaches you with sympathetic eyes, his hands reaching out to clasp onto your shoulders when he comes within arms reach of you. “Why would he do that?” you feel his large, calloused hands squeeze you ever so slightly and he looks away, thinking to himself. 

Moments tensely pass before he meets your eyes once more, “Did you give in?“ He doesn’t give you the chance to answer before his hands fly to his head, clutching at his hair as he howls into the air, “NOOO!”

Eurylochus finally steps forward to shake some sense into his brother-in-law and captain while Polites moves to stand beside you, placing a comforting hand on your upper back. “He’ll get over it in time,” the glasses-wearing third in command whispers with a small smile. 

“Get a hold of yourself, Captain; you’re losing face.” Eurylochus clearly wasn’t the type to offer the best comfort. 

Odysseus was unable to hear anyone outside of his rapid murmurings, however. “So shameless! So barbaric!” Oddly enough, the captain’s stubbornness on the topic and anger for your sake made you smile. In the time you’ve spent with Odysseus and the crew, you’ve grown quite close; you associate it with the warm comfort that blooms in your chest every time they act adorably like this. Pulling away from Polites, you step up to Odysseus and interrupt his ramblings by hugging him around the torso and laying your cheek on his chest. His rambling immediately stops and he freezes up, not knowing how to respond. You feel him look over his shoulder to where Polites stood before sighing and hugging you close in return. 

“The next time this happens, you come to me and I’ll make sure nothing bad happens, okay?” Odysseus smiles down at you but despite his offer, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. Hermes had given you his blessing and that had led to you travelling between two sheds, which will be very helpful for when you’re on the water again. It also wasn’t the case of you not enjoying the kiss because you kissed him back… In your heart, it only seems right to clear up this misunderstanding. 

When Odysseus finally pulls away after calming down from his strong emotions, you call for Hermes. Hopefully, he’ll come back and help you clear the air with everyone. As the speediest god known to man, it didn’t take long for Hermes to return with his usual charming grin on his face. 

“You called my lady~” He stays suspended in the air and bows at the waist whilst bringing your knuckles to his lips. 

‘Hermes, you need to clear up this misunderstanding! Please!’ you plead with the god telepathically, knowing he can hear your thoughts. Behind you, the crew, Odysseus, Eurylochus and Polites, are alert and drawn taught like a bow, their fingers twitching to grasp their weapons and attack. 

“Did you call him here, fair maiden?” Eurylochus asks and draws his lips into a thin line when you nod your head in confirmation. 

“Hmmm~… your fair maiden says she wants to clear up this misunderstanding,” Hermes comments, rubbing at his chin with smiling eyes. 

Eyes wide, Polites looks between you and Hermes almost frantically, “You can understand her?” 

“Oh yes, I can darling~ She speaks directly to me up here,” Hermes points to his temple and giggles as he watches you stomp your foot and angrily scold him. It was amusing the see the wonder and awe in the men’s expressions, some even held a hint of envy — they also wanted to be able to understand you. 

‘Tell them that our first meeting was a surprise and that it was so you could give me your blessing. And…about the kiss…’ Hermes carefully observes the way your eyes dart to a figure who stands behind you with the rest of the men. He’s a man with kind eyes, a bandana and glasses. With a thoughtful hum, Hermes looks Polites up and down. Perhaps he has another reason for backing away — Athena was right. Despite wanting to act on his desires, Hermes knows that only agony and suffering will await him if he associates himself with yet another mortal. ‘Both times, the kiss was a surprise,’ 

‘Oh, but you enjoyed them both, yes?’ Hermes replies telepathically and laughs aloud when you grab him by the collar, a feeble threat, for what can you do against a god like him? Gasps of amazement echo amongst the crowd from your gesture and Hermes’ easy surrender as he holds his palms up.  

“Alright alright, my little traveller, I concede…” Hermes clears his throat once you finally let go of his collar and smirks when Odysseus takes the opportunity to pull you back and stand in front of you defensively. “The first time, I had given your fair maiden my blessing. Similar to the one my sister has bestowed upon you Odysseus,” Hermes explains, his smirk never faltering under the tense atmosphere. He quite likes it. Actually. He loves knowing the power he holds above mortals as a god. It was only disheartening how, despite his superior standing, when it comes to love, he remains inferior, a loser.  

“I want what’s best for her too. And I haven’t forgotten my promise,” Hermes holds his hands up with his palms facing them once more, “I won’t interfere with your journey further than this.”

With that Hermes zips to the skies with his signature laugh fading along with him. You don’t understand why he left so quickly and your brows furrow at the thought that, perhaps, the subtle hints of sorrow in his eyes weren’t a figment of your imagination.  

⊹࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹࣪ ˖

“Fair maiden,” Polites goes to you, “are you alright?” his expression is consumed by worry. There’s no judgment or disgust, only concern and your heart aches at the sight. Recently, you haven’t been the best at keeping your focus, and it's evident that everyone has noticed. Odysseus is always quick to blame Hermes, but you make sure to put a stop to his ramblings before he has the chance to curse at the god. Despite their friendship in the musical, it seems as though Odysseus now has a grudge against the godly messenger. It was quite amusing in a way, but you did feel a little guilty for being the cause of that small rift. 

The rest of the crew, however, easily step up to help you with your regular island, eager to be of help after all the blessings you’ve given them thus far, helping them survive on the open ocean, evading starvation and keeping up their spirits so that they could get home safely. Eurylochus has been a more silent but proactive supporter; you can feel his concern through the look in his eyes but appreciate his courtesy of keeping quiet, stepping forward to help you when you need it, and pulling away when he can sense that you need the space. The second commander was the one to often redirect Elpenor and Perimedes’ advances, who are unable to hold themselves back from reaching out and doing their best to comfort you by pulling silly faces or distracting you with a bug or a fish they’ve found. The pair were always very endearing, so much so that you felt a little regretful whenever they were dragged off at the collar by Eurylochus. 

“The fair maiden doesn’t need you two bothering her right now!” Eurylochus scolds with obvious irritation, “Go and find something else to do, something useful.”    

“Awww…” Elpenor pouts as Perimedes crosses his arms. 

“We only wanted to cheer her up with the flat fish we found…“ The two looked like an adorable pair of dejected puppies but Eurylochus was right, you needed the space to think about your emotions and the conflict going on between your heart and mind. 

“Fair maiden?” Shaking your head, you snap yourself out of your daze and force a smile at Polites. You give him a reassuring nod and turn away before he can say anything more. You should refocus your efforts on gathering supplies so that you can help Odysseus and the crew return home safely.

⊹࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹࣪ ˖

It’s been two or so weeks, and you were finally in agreement with Odysseus that you could make it home safe and sound, satisfied with the amount of supplies you had gathered on your island. Not to mention you had Hermes’ blessing to replenish your stock when needed. Early the next morning, Eurylochus and Odysseus were surveying the crew’s efforts in hoisting the supplies up to the ships, using a very handy pulley system they had created with their fishing nets and some ropes. The ordeal was rather sufficient and soon enough, everyone was taking the time to say goodbye to your villagers, primarily their favourites and the ones they had spent the most time with on the island. 

“This is goodbye, Boots!” Elpenor wails, cradling the alligator in his arms like a baby, as Boots makes an equal wailing noise, snapping his powerful jaws to express his sorrows. “I’ll never forget you, my friend!”

Perimedes was equally heartbroken, knelt before Fang and quietly hugged him. The blonde presses his face into the wolf’s silver-grey fur, murmuring his farewell as Fang patiently waits to be let go, comfortingly patting his friend on the thigh with a paw as he nuzzles him affectionately with his snout. “Be well, Fang. I will miss you dearly, my friend.” Perimedes sniffles as he pulls away, only to weep when Fang leans forward to lovingly rub his head against him. 

“You take care of yourself, okay, Mitzi?” Polites whispers as his glasses fog up. He lovingly hugs the blue and white cat to his chest, smiling when she purrs and nuzzles the side of his head. “What a good girl you are…thank you for being my friend. I shall never forget you, my dear.”

“I’m going to miss you three…” Eurylochus whispers in a strained voice as he fondly watches his familiar trio of squirrels play about his sitting form for the last time. “Marshal, make sure these two don’t get into too much trouble.” the white squirrel huffs a breath but nods and gives a brief shake of his tail in response, it’s a resounding ‘Of course!’. “Filbert, make sure you don’t eat too quickly, or else you’ll get a stomach ache…again.” the blue squirrel blinks up at the tall, broad second commander and wiggles his tail. There isn’t a single thought behind his eyes, and Eurylochus can only sigh in resignation before smiling fondly at the food-loving squirrel — there was no getting in between Filbert and his love for food. “And Poppy, keep being sweet. That is your most charming trait.” the red squirrel lets out a happy squeak and runs up his form to rest on his shoulder and nuzzle his cheek affectionately. She is soon joined by Marshal and Filbert, who also nuzzle into his cheek from the opposite shoulder — that was the closest you’ve seen Eurylochus to crying openly, he’s truly made a great bond with the three in the short time you've been together. 

“Fauna, Shino,” Odysseus addresses, taking a knee before the two deers. “This is where we must say our goodbyes—” Before he could speak further, Fauna let out a small whine and pressed her snout into the captain’s cheek while Shino playfully nibbled at his hair, conscious of her horns. With a baritone chuckle, Odysseus brings up his arms to hug both of them in return, pressing his forehead against their own as he whispers a soft farewell to each of them separately. “Fauna, you graceful creature, thank you for bringing me peace and stability. Please stay healthy. Shino, I hope you never lose your vivacious nature, thank you for being such a joy. Please stay healthy, also.”

Maybe one day you’ll be able to reunite the crew with your villagers; it broke your heart seeing everyone so anguished over having to say goodbye. But there was still a buzz in the air over making the final leg of the journey home. Despite the goodbyes, everyone was eager to see their families and their beloved island once again. 

Stepping onto the dock, you look up at Odysseus’ main ship and ponder on how you’d be able to climb up. Many of the crew easily climb up to the deck with their bare hands and feet, effortlessly scaling the side of the ship, with several making a final jump for the ship’s raised perimeter before hulling themselves onto the top deck. You bring out your ladder but frown when it barely reaches the top of the ship. Maybe it was worth trying to scale the side of the ship too. Looking down, you grab the long skirt of your dress and hull it up before you make your first attempt at climbing the ship, but stop in your tracks when you’re called to by a pair of familiar voices. 

“Fair maiden!” you smile at Perimedes and Elpenor as they approach. 

“Would you like some help getting to the top deck?” Elpenor looks sheepish despite being the one to offer help — you gather that he remembers the comical antics they engaged in with helping you down from the ship the first time you docked at your island.    

You begin to nod but abruptly stop, surprised when a figure steps in between you. Polites eyes the two sailors with an unreadable look as they avoid his eyes. “If the two of you want to help the fair maiden up to the ship’s top deck, I suggest you climb up there yourself and throw us a rope. Stand by and be prepared to pull,” Polites says in a commanding tone as you stare up at him in wonder. He was able to effortlessly switch between the two sides of him as a kind friend and the authoritative third commander, but it always surprised you to witness the definite shift in his voice and posture. 

“Yes, Commander!” Elpenor and Perimedes simultaneously salute him before helping each other climb the ship the same way everyone else did. After seeing that Perimedes and Elpenor follow through with his orders, Polites looks down, his expression softening as he gazes upon your beautiful features and the wonder in your eyes. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me, my fair lady.” Polites doesn’t elaborate further and suddenly pulls you into his side by the waist, pushing a silent gasp to escape you. He mutters a softly whispered apology and catches the rope thrown over the ship’s perimeter. In silence, you watch him wrap the rope around your combined waists, joining you both with a secure knot. He finally wraps the rope around his spare arm and tugs at it when he asks if you’re comfortable and gets an affirming nod. The two of you immediately start being pulled up together; Polites firmly wraps his other arm around you and settles you on his waist for extra security. “Apologies once again, fair maiden.” Polites avoids your eyes as you wrap your arms around his neck, securely perched against him, tempted to wrap your legs around his hips for even further security. 

It didn’t take long for the two of you to reach the deck, where you find that the majority of the crew had participated in the tugging of the rope, explaining why it had been such a quick trip up. Smiling gratefully at them, they nod in acknowledgement while Polites undoes the knot of the rope tying you together. 

“Lift the anchor!” Odysseus commands a distance away despite his voice ringing so clearly, “We set sail back to Ithaca now! Make haste! Full speed ahead!” 

“Yes sir!” the resounding boom of the crew’s synchronised will send a shiver down your spine. They’re such a powerful fleet when they’re all working together. Despite enjoying your island and the happy memories you’ve been able to create with everyone, you were excited to be on the ocean again. Journeying with Odysseus and the crew gave such an addictive exhilaration that you think your veins would pop at any moment — in the best way possible.  

Peeking shyly up at Polites, you find that he’s already smiling down at you and hurry to move your gaze elsewhere. He simply laughs in merriment before stepping away to bow at the waist towards you, a hand against his chest while his other lays against his back. “Rest, fair maiden, allow us to work the labour.” You share a gentle smile before he joins the crew at the oars. 

⊹࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹࣪ ˖

It’s been difficult for you to meet Polites’ eyes, knowing that he’d been a witness to the display of Hermes’ favouritism for you. It helped that the matter was calmed by Hermes’ confession and promise to keep his hands to himself, however, the guilt wasn’t so easily swept away. Was that guilt? What did you have to feel guilty for in the first place?… Looking towards Polites as he mingled with the rest of the crew, your heart pinches in your chest. It was a stinging pain that slowly numbed out but lingered. Polites was helping to mend the large nets Odysseus had insisted they use to help you gather ingredients for their meals, his smile was the same, his kind eyes were the same, and his soft touch was the same. And yet, it all felt so different to you. Why do you feel as though you’ve betrayed him somehow? Sighing, you turn around only to be faced with Odysseus. 

“Polites?” he asks you, his voice lowered so as not to draw too much attention. You must have pulled a flustered expression if his amused laughter was anything to go by. “He’s a good man, I can attest to that — he is my close friend and brother in all but blood, after all.” Odysseus places a hand on your shoulder, the warmth of his large palms feeling like acceptance and approval against your skin. But you cannot accept and look to the ground with remorse, “Don’t look so upset now. I wouldn’t lie to you about this…“ he observes your mannerisms further and realises he was completely off with his deduction. “Oh, I see… Not to worry, fair maiden. Polites is very understanding, a trait of his I admire greatly. He is not the type to shame you for acting under the will of a god; we are all but the casualties of their volitions.” His words brought you some comfort but you weren’t fully convinced. Seeing this, Odysseus does the only thing he can think of and pulls you into his arms, burying your face into his chest as he leans down to whisper in your ear. His arms feel protective around you, secure and solid, it feels safe there and you can finally breathe in relief. “Trust in me. Trust in him. He does not see you differently nor will act differently towards you.” Odysseus pulls away slightly to be able to look into your eyes. There’s such an abundance of faith and warmth in his stare, it’s almost tangible. “Polites is no ordinary man.”   

It isn’t until sunset, when all of the crew across the twelve ships have been fed, that you finally get to stand beside Polites again. The two of you enjoy the sea breeze together, resting against the ship’s edge, watching as the sun sets on the horizon and the rocking waves that lap against the ship’s body. There’s some chatter around but not at the usual loudness; rather, the crew have quieted with the day, eager to wind down for the evening. 

“I’m sorry that you had to say goodbye to your island,” Polites utters, breaking the silence and observing as you shake your head, insistent that ‘it isn’t a big deal’. However, you are unable to meet his eyes the whole time, and his brows furrow in concern, “Whatever’s the matter, my lady?” you cannot answer and you don’t want to so you turn away, trying to distract yourself by leaning against the railing further and tensely scrutinise the lapping waves below.

“…I assure you that I see you no different to before.” Eyes wide with shock, you snap your neck towards him, silently questioning how he knew. “Odysseus spoke to me.” You huff a sigh but cannot deny anything. “I only want to assure you that, he was right. After seeing our potential future in that musical, I was reminded over and over how we have no say against any god. Therefore, you cannot be blamed.”

But you still liked it in that moment… you want to express to him the guilt evident in your expression. Polites takes another moment to observe your actions and expressions once more. He can pick up on your shame easily, his attentive eyes make it so.

“Are you feeling guilty somehow?” you freeze up and that answers enough, “Then that must mean you weren’t opposed to Hermes’ actions.” The guilt on your face deepens and you hear a sigh that makes your heart stutter and your stomach heavy, “Then you must feel regretful for my sake.” When you look towards Polites again, his lips aren’t curved into a frown but rather a smile, a kind, understanding smile. “Is it because you worry for my feelings? For our relation with each other?” 

With sad eyes, you meet his own and reach up to weakly grip the fabric of his chiton. A fragile apology. Polites, with such softness, takes your hand and brings it to his lips, “Is it because you feel as though you’ve betrayed me somehow? Like you’re using me and taking advantage of my character?” He hit it right on the head. You can’t look at him! He must think you’re a very greedy and shameless person, and you were in that moment, but you’re hardly ever like that…  

“Please do.” his words, which he says so nonchalantly, make you look up with wide, rounded eyes. He chuckles at your adorable look of surprise and brings your hand down to press your palm against his chest, “Feel free to use me however you wish, my fair maiden, as much as you wish.” He moves closer, but you’re frozen in place. Now, he’s so close that you can feel your breath against the back of your hand that he presses against his chest. “That is all I could ever dream of being. As long as I am useful to you, nothing else matters. I am at your mercy.”

⊹࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹࣪ ˖

The sea had been calm for days, plagued by the kind of stillness that made the crew restless because of its familiarity; they can still remember how close to starvation they were after avoiding the Cyclops’ island and yet, not having any winds to aid them — the gods promising not to interfere in their journey home after everyone saw their potentially disastrous future also meant having no winds to push them forward. Their energy to row at the oars wasn’t proportional to their rapidly depleting food stores. They were somewhat confident now that you were there to help them with your god-like powers, but they couldn’t help but feel restless by the grim memories that haunted them. It didn’t help that the supplies you had readily provided each of the twelve black ships were running low despite the efforts Odysseus and the crew have made to preserve them for as long as possible, even using the storage techniques they were familiar with such as salting and sun-drying. The piles of coconuts were long since exhausted, dried fruit reduced to crumbs lay at the bottom of sacks, while rows of sun-dried, salted fish were gone without a trace. Odysseus paced the deck, the concern weighing heavy on his shoulders and brows as he tallied their remaining stores mentally, only to stress himself further. He tried to hide it, knowing it didn’t do well for the crewmen to see their captain so openly anxious. It was no use, however.  

You watched him from where you sat mending a fishing net with a small group of the crew, your fingers working deftly through the frayed fibres, nimble and much softer than their callused, sturdy hands. When the captain sighed and rubbed his temples, you set the net aside and approached with knitted brows, tapping his arm gently.

"Fair maiden?" Odysseus murmurs and turns to you, eyes wide with shock before softening as he observes your gesticulate communication style. First, you pointed to the empty corner of the ship that once held piles of coconuts, then mimed eating—generously and without restraint, your hands shovelling imaginary food into your mouth. Then you gestured to the horizon behind the ship’s stern, where your island had disappeared behind days before and smiled.

Odysseus frowned. "You want us to continue eating freely? But we’re quickly depleting our food stores if we run out—"Pressing a hand to your chest in promise, you stare deeply into his eyes and implore him to have confidence. ‘Trust me’ you voice with your pleading look.

For a long, drawn-out moment, Odysseus observes your countenance and takes in the glow of your certitude before eventually exhaling and nodding. "Alright. But if we starve, you’re to blame." 

There’s a teasing glint in his eye as his words come out softly, the two of you know he doesn’t mean anything threatening by it, especially when he smiles at the sight of you forming your arms into an ‘x’ with a firm shake of your head. ‘It won’t happen, captain,’ you end with a two-finger salute that he chuckles at. 

Over the next few days, you made sure that the crew ate well, as you always did, providing thick and hearty stews, golden-baked bread and fragrant fruit. The men thought themselves stupid and almost threw themselves overboard from the realisation; despite the visibly depleting supplies, you still had your slim wooden storage, where fresh food supplies endlessly flowed from. 

After shaking off their nervousness, the crew finally allowed themselves to laugh. “How could we have forgotten?” Odysseus shook his head fondly at you, and everyone laughed louder thinking back on their brainlessness. With your care and a steady supply of three meals per day, their strength had returned, and they were functioning in optimal conditions once again. But there was also confusion among the relief. When you first arrived, you could only feed them one meal per day, and they were left to snack on coconuts and bread baskets that you had left out for them to ration between themselves. Now, they were able to enjoy three full meals a day without worry, and the idea of allocating equal provisions amongst all 600 men had been long forgotten—they were eating as if they were still on your island. 

"Where is all this coming from?" Elpenor asked one evening, mouth full of stew-soaked bread such that barely anyone could understand him. But you still understood despite his muffled speech and smiled simply at him in response, tapping your lips and winking in a silent secret. Somewhat embarrassed, Elpenor avoids your eyes and tries to ignore the rising heat in his cheeks — he can’t help that you’re such an angel but it wasn’t good for his heart when you winked at him like that. Beside him, Perimedes chuckles at his younger friend’s reaction and nudges him teasingly with his elbow. 

Polites watches you with quiet amusement, adoring the way you interact with the crew and tilting his head fondly as his glasses catch the firelight. His unwavering, warm gaze lingers on you with a deep emotion swimming in his chocolate pools—trust, admiration, and something more that makes your cheeks warm. The third commander is sure that you have your way of getting ample food supplies, that’s just how you are; you’re capable of so much, and you surprise them every time, pleasantly so. He thinks much more of you than that but keeps the thoughts to himself. What matters is that the crew were safe and well and that their spirits were high, and it’s all thanks to you. Glimpsing the relaxed look of his captain and the second commander across the deck, standing side by side as they gaze at you tenderly, Polites can tell that they are just as grateful to you.  

⊹࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹࣪ ˖

You always leave at dawn, travelling back to your island for food and other supplies through your storage shed. The sky is still painted by golden rays, stretching over the softest blues and hints of purple, the crew remain asleep except for the watchmen, who you’d learned to avoid with careful steps; they were already exhausted from the night watch, so you dare not disturb them unnecessarily— they’re likely already dreaming of the peaceful sleep they’ll fall into as soon as the rest of the crew wake up. With the storage shed as your gateway, travelling between your island and the boat was without hassle, the only indication of your leaving being the slow creak of the weathered wood as you slipped inside and shut the door behind you. Your villagers always greeted you on the other side, the early risers at least, helping you with your daily chores and collecting more food for the crew, who they always ask about and you’re always happy to update them on. Hermes’ blessing was truly that, a blessing; thanks to him, you’ve been able to keep feeding the crew well without having to worry about your own food stores. A mere two weeks wasn’t enough to prep for feeding all 600 men for the long journey home, but you didn’t have to worry about such things, thankfully.

This morning was different, however. Filbert had gotten sick, and you had rushed to give him medicine, it was also time for you to harvest your crops and replant new ones, which you had taken extra time in doing as you had added more to your crop field since having to feed a 600-men fleet. You had just finished shaking the apple trees, the fruit crisp and sweet as usual, when you realised how much time had passed and hurried to put the fruits and crops into your storage so that you could return to the ship quickly. 

‘I’m sorry, everyone, I have to run!’ you call back to your villagers in your rush to the storage shed, their replies echoing in your mind as you fling the door open and jump inside. While travelling through, you begin to hear the frantic voices of the crew on the other side and bite your lip with worry. Things don’t sound good…

"Where did she go?!—”

“Fair maiden!“

“Did she fall into the water?!”

“—Hurry! Stop rowing and cast the nets!”

The evident panic and fear in their overlapping shouts made your breath hitch. You hadn’t meant to cause such alarm but steel yourself before pushing the shed door open. The sun blinds you as you step out of the shed, blinking rapidly to allow your vision to return, only to freeze in place when you take in the chaos around you. On both sides of the ship, groups of men had cast nets as others tried to signal to the other ships to stop rowing and drop their anchor, shouting over the waters and urging them to cast their nets as well, just in case you had accidentally been thrown overboard. Men rushed about frantically, not knowing what to do, but were restless and used their energy to look for you wherever you may be, desperately hoping that you were hiding somewhere on the ship. Eurylochus was shouting orders across to the other ships, his features marred with anger that things weren’t being done diligently enough, quickly enough, well enough. Polites ran between the two sides of the ship, helping cast the nets about and hurriedly hulling them back only grow more agitated and desperate with every empty find, his eyes were unusually wild with a trepidation, enough to have sparked urgency even in yourself. 

Odysseus stood there, overlooking the panic with barely contained hysteria, his hands clenched into tight fists at his side to the point where his knuckles were white and shaking, the veins in his arms bulging from the strain. He took deep breaths, trying to calm his mind so that he could think straight and go about methodically finding you, trying to imagine where you could have possibly gone as Athena perched on his shoulder whispering calming assurances into his mind. 

‘Be calm Odysseus.’ The wise goddess says in a gentle but firm tone. ‘She is safe and she will return.’

‘How could you possibly know that?’ Odysseus argues back bitterly, his irritation rising at her composed air. 

‘Trust me…’ Odysseus grits his teeth as he eyes his mentor and friend fly off his shoulder, his eyes glaring at her feathered body and outstretched wings. But then she lands on your storage shed, and when his eyes fall, it lands on your frozen form.  

“Fair maiden!” Flooded with relief, Odysseus sprints forward and pulls you into his arms, his relief doubling, knowing that you are safe and sound and real. Behind him, half the crew go rigid and blink at you in stunned silence, they’ve become a small gallery of statues as they try to comprehend your sudden reappearance. For a heartbeat, no one moved. It was still and quiet except for the confused shouts from the other boats, frantically asking for updates on you, their fair maiden. Smiling into Odysseus’ shoulder, you raise a hand and give an almost shy small wave, causing a crescendo of happy cheers to go through the crew. Some raise their arms to cheer, while others pat their chests in relief. 

“You’re alright…” Polites whispers to himself with sagging shoulders, gone was his taut frame and tense air surrounding him. Thank goodness you were back and well. 

“Where did you go, fair maiden? We couldn’t find you.” Eurylochus asked, approaching and helping pry Odysseus off you once he was close enough. It made you giggle slightly to see Odysseus’ outstretched arms and defeated pout before turning to glare at his second commander for handling him like a sack of potatoes. 

You suppose that now was the perfect time to visually demonstrate the blessing Hermes had given you. With a look that they didn’t know how to comprehend, you turn and step back into the shed before shutting the door. The last thing you saw was Odysseus’ widening eyes, Eurylochus’ furrowed brows and Polites’ figure rushing forward with skewed glasses. Now everyone knew what you were trying to say to them; it was a farewell, a goodbye. NO! The moment you disappeared, the ship erupted with cries of despair and shouts of denial.

"SHE’S GONE!" Elpenor shrieked, thoughtlessly shrugging past his captain and commanders in his attempt to get to the shed. Perimedes was close behind him, breaking out of the crowds with wild eyes and hands frantic with the urgency to do something. 

“Hurry! Open it! Pry it open!" Perimedes joins his friend, his fingers scrabbling at the wooden door but their movements were so clumsy with nerves, they barely managed to grasp the wood properly.

Odysseus stood in place, frozen and with a pale complexion. You had come through the shed and now you had disappeared through it too… How could you just leave like that? No one got to say a proper goodbye. "No—no, she wouldn’t just—“ the captain couldn’t even bring himself to finish his sentence. This was too much at once.

“She just got back…” Polites utters, his mind racing but still too slow at grasping the reality that you were gone once again. He felt like he was collapsing; he couldn’t feel his legs, and his arms were shaky.

Eurylochus moved before anyone else could, shovelling away Perimedes and Elpenor so that he could plant himself in front of the shed with his arms spread. "STOP." His voice boomed and cut through the panic like the mammoth blade he carried on his back: the Strongest of Same. "She’s coming back.”

"How do you know?!" someone shouted, desperation evident in their voice.

Eurylochus didn’t flinch. "Because she always does.”

“Then open the door—”

“No!” Eurylochus had learned his lesson from that musical. Never again will he do such a thing, he has faith in you, more faith than he has for his captain, and he wouldn’t dare doubt that faith. A single drop of poisonous doubt could lead to something disastrous and that wasn’t what he wanted, not for himself, his captain, or the crew. He had doomed them once, not again. 

Odysseus’ hands clenched at his sides. "Eurylochus, if you’re wrong—"

"I’m not.” Odysseus gave a firm nod, the conviction in his second commander’s eyes was contagious, to the point where he felt idiotic for not sharing in his certainty about you, to begin with. He should have better faith in you too, it isn’t like you to just up and leave like that; you will return. 

The crew wavered, torn between fear and trust until Polites stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. He, too, had seen the conviction in Eurylochus’ eyes and came to the same short cycle of revelations as his close friend and captain. ”She’s never let us down before. Let’s wait.”

Moments stretched on like hours as the crew muttered amongst themselves, casting frequent, uneasy glances at the shed. Odysseus didn’t move, his gaze locked on the door with a tight jaw as Polites stepped up beside him to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Everyone anxiously eyed the door behind their second commander’s strong physique, willing it to open somehow soon. 

Then—

Eurylochus hurries to the side, hearing your faint approach before anyone else could, and everyone goes rigged at his sudden movements. The shed door creaks open. And you step out, arms laden with overflowing food—baskets of fresh bread and perfectly ripe fruit and vegetables—you wanted to make it obvious that you had returned from your island, so it was necessary to provide the visual aid. Hopefully, this provides a good enough explanation. 

But then you look up and blink at the scene before you: the entire crew staring, some with tears in their eyes, others with hands still half-raised as if to reach out and break down the shed’s door. Nothing you wanted to convey had been communicated successfully.Before you can even process things, however, Odysseus crosses the gap between you in three strides and pulls you into a crushing hug once more. The baskets of bread dig into your ribs as loose fruit and veg fall to the wooden deck by your feet, but you don’t care—not when his arms tremble slightly around you.

“Don’t. You. Ever.” he growls into your hair, his arms giving you a slight squeeze, ”Do. That. Again.” Pulling back slightly, you give him a questioning look. What had they been so worried about? You didn’t take that long, though… was there a time disparity as you moved through the portal?

Polites answered your silent question for you as Odysseus pulled away, his voice soft with relief. "We thought you left us for good. The shed was the same way you were brought to us and we believed it had taken you away just the same.”

Your chest ached at his words, and you searched the crew to find that everyone shared in the sentiment. With your eyes, you give everyone an apologetic look; you hadn’t meant to scare them, you only intended to finally explain how you were getting so much food. Setting the baskets down, you reached for Odysseus’ hand and squeezed it in silent apology before turning to the rest of the crew and bowing your head to convey your regret— ‘I didn’t mean for this to happen’. Then you tilted your head back as if calling to the sky for—

Hermes appears with a gust of wind, lounging mid-air with a smirk as the airy fabric of his attire flutters around him elegantly. "Oh, relax darlings~ She’s under my blessing, remember? She is free to move between her island and your ship whenever she wishes through her little shed." His eyes flicker to Polites, who stiffened under his scrutiny, and sees how close you and the headband-wearing commander are. The third commander moves you two even closer when he defiantly pulls you to his side by the waist, his eyes filled with emotions no one but Hermes can decipher — Polites had silently announced his interest in you and your close relationship with each other. When you turn to smile at the kind third commander, slightly curious about his sudden touch, Polites simply brushes his lips against your forehead.

“Next time," Polites murmurs against your skin, "warn us before you go.” With heated cheeks, you nod your head, heart fluttering at the warmth of his touch and turn your gaze away when Hermes laughs, clearly seeing the exchange before vanishing with a wink directed at you both. Behind you, Odysseus and Eurylochus exchanged knowing smirks, teasing words eager to fall from their mouths as they eye Polites’ pink-flushed ears and his hand that has yet to leave your waist.

That evening, the chaos had finally calmed down, and you were able to help routinely deliver dinner to the other ships with Polites and Eurylochus at your side. Naturally, the other crewmen were curious to know what all the disorder was for despite it settling surprisingly fast. 

"What was all that shouting earlier?" Lycaon from the second ship asked, accepting his share of bread gratin as his other crew mates leaned forward to listen closely.

Eurylochus sighed, eying you the way a disappointed brother would. "The fair maiden gave us a scare.”

“Did the fair maiden really disappear?” Several crew members’ eyes turn to you as you help distribute coconuts for dessert to another group nearby, oblivious to the conversation going on about you. 

Polites shook his head, his hand finding yours as soon as you returned to them after distributing all the food you had for the ship. You were ready to move on to the next ship. “No, she’s not going anywhere.” The crew relaxed but their worried glances lingered, making you look at them with bewilderment. Squeezing Polites’ fingers, you look at him curiously but that was a mistake; was his smile always so charming?

⊹࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹࣪ ˖

The air hung thick with tension that morning.

You had woken before dawn, slipping quietly through the storage shed to tend to your island once more. This was a solid routine you had built up on the ocean journey, and everyone knew that you would return each time. Today, the crops needed watering, the fruit trees had to be shaken, and you wanted to prepare something special for breakfast, a treat for the crew, perhaps some coconut pancakes. The thought made you smile as you worked, the morning sun warming your back as you converse happily with your villagers, updating Boots and Fang on Elpenor and Perimedes. As soon as the duo knew that you were returning to the island, they eagerly asked you to relay messages to their favourite alligator and wolf villager, both of which greatly appreciated having some contact with their favourite crew members. They truly made a beautiful friendship together despite the little time they had; you only wished to reunite them properly but didn’t want to risk anyone’s wellbeing as Hermes’ blessing was meant for you specifically.   

Now that everyone knew where you were going each morning, they weren’t fussed about how long you took to return, as long as you were safe, they were happy, so you were able to take your time and enjoy doing your chores as you zipped about the island with your villagers close behind. You even settled on cooking breakfast on your island’s outdoor cooking area, where your kitchen station remained steady and on a solid foundation, unlike the rocking of ocean waves. A considerable stretch of time soon passed, and you were finally happy with returning to the ship. However, as you stepped onto the deck, you immediately sensed something wrong with the atmosphere. 

A heavy cloud had settled over the ship, as well as the other ships in Odysseus’ fleet, obscuring your view and filling the air with an aqueous chill. Nestled in the fog, the crew moved with urgent precision, replacing their usual laughter and cheerful greetings, welcoming you back aboard the ship with grim silence. Many, if not all, of the crew were wrapped up with rope, tied to each other with some even tied around the mast while a large group had their hands tied to the oars so that they could keep rowing the ship. In some way, everyone’s hands and feet were tied together to limit their movement. 

What was happening? 

Your frantic eyes search the boat until you find Odysseus, who’s standing at the helm and holding up a flag with a set jaw. The raised flag was red to mean ‘caution’, but it was also shaped to look like a fishtail, you didn’t know what it meant exactly, but the other ships did as they raised the same flag in response: they had seen the warning and were acting accordingly. Eurylochus was beside the captain with an armful of rope, tying his hands and ankles before joining the two of them together, holding the other responsible should anything happen to them. On the deck with the rest of the crew, Polites moved between the men, quick on their feet and pressing small lumps of beeswax in his palms into the ears of the crewmen. No matter how light your footfalls, Polites immediately turns to catch your eye when you step forward cautiously, your inquisitive expression meeting his rigid look of worry as it quickly morphed into one of horror. 

Beeswax in their ears. Dense fog. Restrained with thick ropes. Your stomach dropped in realisation, the pieces finally connected in your mind. Sirens. You knew the stories—how their hypnotising voices could drive men mad, how they lured sailors to their deaths on jagged rocks and feasted on their cold, unmoving bodies. Thankfully, the crew were prepared, sealing their ears with wax, tying themselves up for extra measure and holding up a flag for the rest of the fleet to go with the right protocol. You, however—

You hadn’t been there to prepare with them.

But… there haven’t been any documented occurrences of sirens seducing women. Was it simply because women didn’t often sail the seas? Was that possible? Could sirens seduce women, too? 

Before you could react, the first spellbinding notes drifted across the water and slipped into your ears. It started as a whisper, soft as a lover’s sigh but cold as the chilling touch of ice. Then it coiled around you, sweet and intoxicating, pulling you forward like a tide, beckoning you to the edge where you can gaze out at the waters beyond the ship’s safe perimeter. Everything, the ship, the skies, the crew and their frantic shouts for you—it all melted away.

There was only him.

Polites stood atop a sunlit rock, where the golden rays made his soft curls shine, and the waves crashing around him framed his musculature in a picturesque frame. His draping chiton was gone, showcasing his sun-kissed skin made to shimmer by the droplets of seawater decorating its wide expanse. His broad chest rose and fell in a soporific rhythm, to a tuneful song that made your heart stutter and your blood heat up. His voice—oh, his voice—smooth but rough, kind but deliciously surly, was like nothing you’d ever heard from him before, singing words meant only for you.

"Come closer," Polites beckoned, his hand outstretched with a charming grin on his lips. "Just a little closer, my love. I’m all yours…” Your body moved without thought, pushing you to the ship’s edge. “That’s it! That’s my good girl.” The railing pressed against your lower stomach as you leaned forward, the sea spray kissing your cheeks as you smiled hopelessly at the enchanting man before you. Polites, with his persuasive eyes and thick physique of coiling muscle from the war, smiled widely, his eyes darkening with promise.“Don’t be shy now, my sweet. You know I’ll take good care of you, you know you can use me as you please. Come to me now—”

Strong hands wrenched you back abruptly, just as you were about to leap.

The real Polites—your Polites—spun you around, his face pale with fear and his forehead soaked with sweat. His lips moved, but you couldn’t hear him over the song, over the phantom Polites still calling for you a painful distance away, so close yet so far. You struggled weakly against the real Polites’ hold, attempting to reach the railing multiple times only to be pulled further and further from the edge. Polites’ grip was like iron; he wasn’t going to let you go until they had long passed, and those slimy, revolting, oversized fishes were far enough away that they didn’t endanger you. With one hand, Polites fumbled for the beeswax Odysseus had given him to distribute to the crew. With the other, he held you tight against his chest, your back pressed to his pounding heart.

“Please…” he pleads, his face buried in your hair as he hurries to press the wax into your ears, successfully blocking the siren song. With the world muffled and the song dulled to a distant hum, you finally stop struggling and slump against Polites’ hard frame, weak from a sudden wave of exhaustion. It feels like you’ve fought against 100 men, you were delirious with the fatigue and desperately panting for breath, trying to catch the air that had suddenly left you winded. 

Blinking rapidly, you try your best to gather yourself, but the overtiredness lingered, and so did the vision: Polites on the rocks, half naked with his brawny build on full display, his sultry voice pulling you in, his calculated temptation bewitching you like a heavy sedative. You tremble violently and lose all feeling in your legs as you topple over, with Polites quickly twisting your forms to cushion your fall. He collapses with you, protecting you from the harsh tumble against the wooden deck below as his arms remain locked around your frame. Even when he groans from the ache that begins throbbing from his lower back, his mind doesn’t stray from one singular thought: as long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters. 

When reality finally catches up and you realise the horrific fate you could have endured, tears gloss the surface of your eyes. You bury your face into Polites’ chest for comfort and cling to the fabric of his chiton for assurance. ”I’ve got you.” Polites whispers into the foggy air even though he knows you can’t hear him fully and comfortingly rubs your back as recompense.”I’ve got you…”

Minutes pass by like an eternity, but it isn’t until the ship is a safe distance away that the crew finally releases a breath of relief. Then they see you again and are reminded of what could have happened if it weren’t for Polites rushing to your aid. Thankfully, he had volunteered to untie everyone once they had safely passed Siren territory, leaving him without the additional security of being tied down, and he was free to help pull you back after returning to the ship. With overwhelming concern, the crew look you over with troubled expressions as you remain in Polites’ strong arms, oblivious to his scarlet-red face. It would be very easy for them to tease their third commander to death, but the two of you looked like such a good pair that the majority settled for grinning wickedly in silence instead. 

“It’s alright, my fair maiden,” Polites whispers, gently taking out the beeswax from your ears after getting rid of his own waxy earplugs. They had escaped the fog with the rest of the fleet, and Polites had manoeuvred you into a sitting position, where you’re currently curled up in his lap. “There’s no need to be frightened, we’ve moved passed the sirens now. You’re safe.” He gently strokes your hair until you finally pull away just enough to look up and glimpse his warm smile. 

“There you are.” His grin widens with relief, “Thank the gods you’re alright…” He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. "I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner. Please forgive me…” He keeps his lips pressed against the skin of your knuckles as he looks up your arm to meet your eyes, his gaze apologetic and begging. 

Your heart swelled and fluttered in your chest, a pleasant feeling as you answered his decorous plea. Leaning forward, you press a kiss to his cheek, quick, impulsive and so soft… 

‘I forgive you’.

He froze. Then, slowly, his lips pull up into the softest smile.

“Third commander!” Eurylochus shouts across the ship, drawing all the attention to where he’s tied at the waist with the flag and Odysseus, who snickers mischievously at the picture you and Polites make together, especially after that sweet kiss on the cheek. “I think now would be a good time to untie us, don’t you?” There was a playfulness in their second commander’s voice that didn’t escape anyone and a wave of giggles infected the crew as Polites rolled his eyes and carefully set you aside, politely smoothing out the ruffles of your dress so that your skirt didn’t pull up and show too much unnecessarily — always the gentleman. 

“I’ll be back in a moment, okay? Take deep breaths and try to calm your heart in the meantime.” He practises a few breaths with you before finally leaving your side to untie the crew, smiling at your considerably calmer demeanour, “That’s a good girl.”

With everyone untied and the rest of the fleet also perfectly unscathed by the incident as all were showcasing green flags, another breath of relief was shared. Polites has returned to your side, sitting beside you as you both observe the crew tidy up the ropes so that everyone can quickly get back to working the oars or any other routine task they were responsible for. There was a silent agreement between you and Polites that you wouldn’t bring up what happened in the hopes that you wouldn’t have to confront the situation again. But this also means avoiding Odysseus and Eurylochus’ devious grins, a look that made their thoughts transparent about you and Polites as a pair.  

“So…” Elpenor drawled, stuffed full of dinner and dessert as he looked towards you and Polites, who had hardly left one another’s side since the incident. "What did you see in place of the siren, fair maiden?” It was a useless question because everyone could see. You weren’t embarrassed to see the siren take Polites’ form but your face still burned hot, especially from all the attention. Polites became rigged at your side, not knowing how to answer the question, let alone, banish the visages of his shirtless, shameless image atop a rock, skin and muscles on full show. Merciless, everyone else kept their teasing smirks on display, with some even wiggling their brows at you two.  

“…I didn’t know you were built so…sturdy, third commander,” Perimedes comments, breaking the silence and sending the whole crew into fits of belly-aching laughter. Polites tried to glare at him but couldn’t muster the full bitter expression with the heat plaguing his face. At least, he was able to offer you some escape from the teasing as you buried your burning face into his shoulder and he instinctively rubbed a hand up and down your back for comfort.   

Odysseus coughed into his fist as his shoulders shook from barely suppressed laughter. This wasn’t a good look for him as the captain, but Eurylochus was giggling, too, so it can’t be that bad. "Alright, that’s enough. Back to work, all of you.” 

The crew dispersed at once but not without casting knowing glances your way one last time. To distract yourself, you stand and think about preparing tomorrow’s breakfast ahead of time and take your kitchenette out from storage to begin at once. Savoury bread baskets will be good, and maybe some pull-apart bread to have with a variety of fruit jams might be good, too. As Polites watched you walk away, Eurylochus reached over to clap his friend on the shoulder and murmur something that made his ears turn even redder before walking past to stand at his usual station. Hesitantly, Polites meets his captain’s eyes, not expecting to meet such a warm gaze after how he had reacted to Hermes and you.

“You two make a rather charming pair.”

⊹࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹࣪ ˖

Days rushed past routinely and without any more incidents that could endanger anyone’s life. You’ve kept the crew well fed so the majority were able to man the oars daily, expediting their journey back home. Meanwhile, you and Polites have returned to normal without any of the crew to follow as they seemed stuck on pushing you two together as much as possible, your only reprieve was when you delivered meals to the other ships, whose crewmen weren’t witnesses to the siren Polites you had been enchanted by. Today was progressing to be another regular day until the sun reached its zenith, and a joyous cry rang through the salt-stiffened air —a single, trembling voice putting a stop to all activity and chatter.

“IT’S HOME! ITHACA!”

Odysseus' head snapped up, his calloused hands freezing on the ship's rail as he looked upon his familiar island home sitting on the horizon, its jagged silhouette a canvas of brilliantly familiar colours, golden cliffs were bright and proud under the sun’s rays, white shores lined the perimeter where the waves lapped at the land and bunches of green pigments decorated the land with lush foliage sprouting from his island’s fertile soil. For a deafening heartbeat, Odysseus didn’t dare breathe as his vision blurred with salty, bulbous tears and his throat tightened, rendering him unable to speak.

It’s been a decade. A decade of rigorous fighting, bloodshed and war followed by weeks of ocean waters, the journey was filled with longing and desperate pleas to finally reach home—and now, at long last… they were home, all 600 men. 

The crew erupted into cheers. Soldiers who had faced the ruthlessness of man now wept like children, their loud celebrations raw with disbelief and profound happiness. Elpenor nearly toppled over the railing, pointing with a shaking hand at their beloved island home as Perimedes sank to his knees beside him, pressing his forehead to the deck, overflowing with gratitude to have returned. It felt like a dream, home at last. Even Eurylochus, ever the phlegmatic second commander, gripped the mast as if he might collapse without it, his knuckles white as he closed his eyes and imagined embracing his beloved wife again after 10 years of fighting a war.

Odysseus swallowed hard, then roared, “TO THE OARS!” They mustn’t waste another moment.

There was no hesitation; the crew surged forward to man their stations, everyone was eager to make it home and finally, finally, relax without having to anticipate any more arduous trials ahead. Their energy was contagious, and you scrambled to join them, rushing to the nearest oar and give your additional support. You find yourself gripping the handles right beside Polites’ own, working so close together that his shoulder brushed yours, warm and solid, and when you glanced up, his eyes were bright with unshed tears, his chest swelling with prodigious pride.

“Faster! Faster!” Odysseus bellowed from where he was also rowing, his voice rough and saturated with emotion, you were surprised he wasn’t choking up when shouting orders. The oars dipped as one, and the ship leapt forward, cutting through the waves like a blade. Closer and closer the fleet of 12 ships raced back to their island, wading over ocean waves so that they could finally dock their ships permanently. 

Home, they’ve reached it after holding on for so long, their wives, sons, daughters, family, friends, and loved ones were all past these shores. They were going to make it. Just a little longer. 

navi. | series m.list

next | six. ... →

a/n : i planned to post this yesterday but i got a little carried away and the length hit double digits for the first time in the series -- i guess i wanted too many things to happen all at once. no worries, it'll be back to around 5-6k words for the final chapter. once this version of the series is done, i plan on going through the purely platonic version so those of you who are looking forward to that, it won't be too long now. my mum is going to have a major surgery in a few days though, so i'll be preoccupied again for a while after to take care of her so please just be patient with me on updating the series.

thank you all again, for supporting and loving on the series, it's been such a joy to write the chapters despite my initial plans on only writing half the amount of chapters I've written now haha! i adore you all! thank you so so much ( ˶˘ ³˘(⋆❛ ہ ❛⋆)!♡

taglist : @bluepanda08 @doodle-with-rhy @sunshinedaisy21 @jolixtreesunn @ellaprime7 @marcelemry @nishayuro @hijinkxy @kerosene-demon @windrosesrasta @keikeiluvyou @darling-eos @iamapotatoe @yuzxi18 @woncloudie @permanently-nothere @ash1 @barrythestrawberry041 @trashcannotbealive @yuksssss @reisinnie @evg6287 @athanasia-day @fuji-sen @yourlocaleffy @magdalenacarmila @starmee-lodurrson @mousedit @tomarisela @onlybe-satanonce @atanukileaf @carrotcakeandcoffee @starmee-lodurrson @depressinglyobsessed (if i missed anyone i'm so sorry! (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝) my mind has been so scrambled recently)

Watch "Five Nights At Freddy's 2 – TEASER TRAILER (2024) Universal Pictures" on YouTube

I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS! I'm screaming, crying, and kicking my feet after watching this!!!! THANK YOU BLUMHOUSE FOR THIS MASTERPIECE!

another absolute masterpiece. everyone should read this, it’s painfully beautiful

i take, you give — choi subong (thanos)

notes minors dni contains wealthy fem aged up reader, age gap (reader is 27, subong is 32), takes place before the games, always written with plus size reader in mind as i am myself but anyone can read, made up lore to build dynamic between subong and reader, reader is both inexperienced and not (it'll make sense trust), subong can be very soft and loving in this because yes he is a human!, he also def corrupts her in more ways that one, SMUT (no distinct section, it is imbedded throughout: foreplay, oral f and m receiving, vignettes of sub!subong and sub!reader; roles also switch, subong teaches reader, both reader and subong are possessive, praise, rough, in the car, in the shower, in the pool, over the phone, in front of the mirror, dirty talk, some degradation, in public; people can walk by or overhear), ANGST (miscommunication, toxic dynamic, messy relationship where power dynamics make lines blur, subong talks about his life at home, reader's parents are overbearing, powerful, and strict, arguing, gaslighting, invasion of privacy, theft, dubious practices of the wealthy, insults, unexpected pregnancy; this does not have a happy ending), mentions of drugs and drinking, reader is at times out of touch, a hypocrite, and can have a bit of a savior complex, blatantly problematic subong who can't accept his feelings for the life of him, both him and reader deserve better, my attempt at writing lyrics, and inevitable typos.

requested? the idea of subong x wealthy fem reader was graciously bestowed upon me by @lexalith! i thank you wholeheartedly for not only trusting me with the idea, but allowing me to expand on it. i owe my notes app blowing up with ideas for this fic to her. this is very long. like, detailing the relationship from the very beginning to the very end, long. this is my interpretation of this character in this dynamic. i hope you like it and please be nice! enjoy!

“fuck off, old man. i’m not paying you shit.” subong slammed the taxi door shut. the driver frantically pressed down on the power window switch controlling the passenger seat’s window to retaliate, but subong was one step ahead of him. “you purposefully took the longer route!” he shouted through the window. “you’re not getting my fucking money!” he wagged his pointer finger side to side. “don’t you dare curse at me!” the driver yelled. “don’t you know this neighborhood? it’s not easy to get to! look at the time—look how late it is!” the driver pointed right back at subong, lunging forward, forgetting he still had his seatbelt on. his pushed his wire-framed glasses back up his nose. “hey!” he yelled at subong’s back, not yielding to the wild expression on his face. “i have a family to feed!” “hey! if they’re so important to you, why’d you cruise around for half an hour when i could’ve been here in ten!?” subong’s voice echoed down the sidewalk. he kissed his teeth, waving dismissively. “man, go home to your family instead of cheating me. you’re lucky you have your benefits. its because of leeches like you that i have to work as hard as i do.” with that, subong turned around and walked away. flabbergasted, and downright offended, the driver had no choice but to leave, too, begrudgingly accepting a new ride request downtown. subong took out his phone, reading the texts from his dealer: Got blue and red; followed by a house address; Lmk when ur here ill let u in. subong switched to his maps app—the house was a seven minute walk away. he turned with his phone west, seeing the arrow align with the blue highlighted route. he looked up, seeing an alleyway before him, followed by trees. since when did a pill run become a zelda-style side quest …

the sound of rain-soaked pavement skidding underneath his sneakers soon changed to the rustling of gravel. subong periodically checked the route, seeing he was going the right way. he couldn’t brush off the uneasiness tickling his underarms from walking in the woods at half past ten at night—sucking in a tight breath after stepping on a branch, walking quickly at any noise deemed as natural and unthreatening in the daylight but sinister at this hour. there was music that sounded a whole lot like a party in the near distance, so he took his first chance to send Here to his dealer, looking up and taking in the sight of what looked to be a lodge. when he approached the gate (first of all: a gate?), the realization of just how big this place is hit him … three floors all illuminated with warm toned chandeliers, huge windows, an open space on the ground floor with a fire pit and an abnormally large couch curving with the wall. all of this, in the middle of nowhere? some chaebol shit. subong thought to himself. and he was right, because when he walked into the lodge with his dealer, he marveled at the sea of luxury cars parked outside: a mercedes … cadillacs … the amount of teslas made it seem they were as affordable as used toyotas … two party-goers casually parking their respective lamborghinis … and was that—was that a rolls royce? with a chauffeur sat inside, scrolling on his phone, dressed like he’s a member of the secret service?

“since when were you in the in-group?” subong quipped over the loud music, a smirk on his face as he looked around at all the well-groomed, straight-postured socialites shuffling through the long hallways and spacious living room. some hastily wiped white powder off their nostrils with the back of their hand. others checked the time on their watches with dials as big as their faces; how busy the watches multiple sub-dials were akin to an ancient riddle even indiana jones couldn’t crack. “they want the most, and pay even more.” answered his dealer. “c'mon. your stash is upstairs in the bathroom.”

its always been the sweetest money subong could ever spend. rap gigs never paid much, but they paid enough to open his third eye to mute—or exacerbate the fun parts—his mind for the next few hours. he didn’t take any that night, however, because he wanted to remember every single detail of this ridiculous atmosphere. the music was god awful, and it’s not every day you walk into a party where someone’s wearing your life savings around their neck, but that same necklace is paired with the most atrocious designer outfit he couldn’t dream of if he tried. a few paintings and photos hung along the walls of the hallway he walked down, stopping at the landing, looking over the banister to those mingling below. it held a sense of power, subong fully aware it existed only to himself, but who wouldn’t relish in literally standing above the rich? they could very well just be ignoring him—like a pest or a member of the labor party’s attempt to re-write the tax code—but to subong, this warranted a shit-eating smirk. he turned to his right, walking down a different hallway, mindlessly clutching the cross he wore around his neck housing his stash, his thumb running over the metal imprint adorning the trinket.

tucking the necklace behind his shirt, subong pushed a slightly cracked open door with his fingers, peering inside the one of probably many bedrooms throughout the lodge. the lights were on, but it looked untouched; the bed made, tv off, no sign of movement whatsoever. he still took precaution: “anyone in here?” he asked aloud. no answer. he walked in, hands in his pockets after closing the door behind him, eyes perusing. he opened the closet doors, disappointed by the (yet again) lackluster designer garments hung on velvet coat-hangers. closing it, he turned to the nearest bedside table, seeing a jumble of documents, a passport, pens, and other accessories, including a diamond bracelet that looked to have just been thrown into the corner of the drawer. subong fished it out, bringing it up to his eyes, seeing how it glimmered atop his fingers. he pocketed it without hesitation: it’s pocket change to them. he thought to himself. shoving the drawer closed with his knee, he looked to his left, seeing a balcony overlooking the woods. he walked around the bed, pushed the unexpectedly heavy sliding door open, stepping outside.

his eyebrows furrowed feeling his flat left pocket. shit—that’s right. forgot to pick up a pack before calling the cab. he took his blue puff bar out of his right pocket, inhaling. he took another hit before the translucent cloud fully disappeared into the night, exhaling through his nostrils. fuck, this balcony’s huge. it was wide and long, gaps of light glazing the wooden panelling in designated spaces; it stretched along three rooms, like a hotel. subong smirked. shit at clothes, shit at architecture, too. he brought his puff bar to his mouth for a third hit, attention diverting to his left at the sound of a sliding door opening. you stepped outside, onto the complete opposite end of the balcony, talking into your phone. “for the millionth time, i’m not getting into the car.” you spoke to your mother on the other side of the line. you ignored the rehash of the same argument she’d been recycling for the past ten minutes, switching the hand you’d been holding your phone with to check the time on your watch. “it’s barely past 11:15 on a saturday night. how ludicrous is that, to ask me—someone who’s nearing thirty—to prescribe me a curfew like i’m not a day past sixteen? and for what? last i checked, father’s still at davos. what do you need me for?” perhaps it was your loafers sinking into the back of your ankles that made you so irritable. but why did it take so long to break them in after weeks of wear, and why were you still on the phone? you walked unknowingly towards subong, too busy rubbing your palm against your face whilst he took a hit of his puff bar, trying to mind his business. you stopped at about two thirds of the way down from him, in front the middle one of the rooms lining the balcony, fingers wrapping around the railing before shooting up a gesture as if your mother was standing before you. “if you’re ‘so worried’ about him sitting in the car for hours, maybe you should pay him more. perhaps then he’ll have the audacity to talk back to tell you how he feels. i’ll be home later.” you hung up the call, putting it on silent and sliding it into the pocket of your blazer. a long breath left your diaphragm, both hands grabbing onto the railing, trying to ease your frustration with closed eyes.

subong couldn’t help himself. “rough night?” “what?” you looked to your right. “oh god, you just heard all of that.” you pinched the bridge of your nose. “some parts.” subong said truthfully. “but enough to know someone’s being really fucking annoying.” you exhaled through your nose. “you could say that.” subong brings his gaze back to the trees in front of him, raising his puff bar to his lips. “come here with somebody?” he kept the conversation casual. “a friend.” you answered. “she’s somewhere downstairs, i think.” you shook your head; another goddamn thing to worry about. “she's—she’s much better at these things than i am. we separated almost instantaneously once we arrived.” “'these things,’ as in parties?” subong asked, looking at you to his left. “yeah, that.” you nodded, arms crossing over your chest, looking at the trees. in your movement, subong not only noticed the van cleef bracelet and watch stacked on your wrist, but also your dark grey blazer paired with black slacks and matching loafers. he smirked. “i figured. you look like you don’t belong here.” he said. that’s when you looked at him for the first time, met with his side profile. “excuse me?” you asked, offended. “i mean,” subong exhaled, a cloud of smoke whirring past his ears when a subtle gust of wind flew by. “at a normal party, people don’t dress like they’re at a business conference. they would dress like me.” not seeing his point, you took him in impatiently: a boxy, oversized yellow graphic tee with some indecipherable graphic of the sun, cargo denim shorts, and scuffed sneakers. “but i guess i’m not at a normal party, so i’m the odd one out.” subong chuckled to himself. “my bad, my bad.” he put his hands up in faux-defeat.

you sighed, finally understanding. it wasn’t a normal party whatsoever. “you’re right.” you gave in. “i don’t get out much.” you ran your palm over your face, peering over at him, slightly embarrassed. “do you?” you asked timidly. subong nodded, “i do. for work.” “what do you do?” “i’m an entertainer.” your eyebrows raised. “you are? have i seen you anywhere?” subong shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, putting his puff bar away in his pocket. “maybe. are you on social media?” “sometimes.” you answered, taking your phone out. “i’ll search you up. what’s your name?” “thanos.” he was confused by your laughter. “what’s so funny?” he laughed along, but ready to be on the offensive. “there’s no way that’s your name.” you shook your head, chuckling, clicking your phone off. “oh yeah?” he challenged. he walked up to you, illuminated by the lights on in the room behind you two. subong gestured to his purple hair. “what’s this, then?” he showed you his nails next, equipped with multiple colors. “got all the infinity stones here, too.” his smug grin rivaled yours acknowledging playful defeat. “i stand corrected.” you said, looking up, meeting his eyes. within a matter of seconds, his cockiness dissipated so fast it could’ve induced vertigo. you were fine as fuck. a moderate height difference, sure, but not enough to elicit chronic neck pain in his near future. skin that looked so soft and moisturized even with the limited light of the room behind you, his eyes following your nails manicured black when you reached up to fix your hair; the van cleefs tinkering in the movement of your wrist.

“i take it you’re a musician, then?” your voice took him out of his trance. “rapper.” he cleared his throat, realizing he didn’t say a full sentence. “i’m a—i rap.” he nodded cooly, trying to get himself together with a sharp inhale through his nostrils. “i should’ve known.” you smiled. “i’d ask you to rap something for me, but i don’t want to put you on the spot.” “nah, nah. enough about me.” subong brushed off, shaking his head, face feeling warm because your smile made him feel things he can’t remember feeling before. he needed an excuse to look at you: “tell me about yourself.” “alright, fair enough.” you conceded. “well—” you looked to the trees, trying to figure out where to begin. “i’m currently pursuing my phd in international and global history. i’m on year two of five.” you began, seeing him nod in your periphery. subong caught sight of your two-toned pigmented lips, running his tongue over his own, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth. “i’m one of three. my parents, especially my father, travel often, so i don’t see them much. so i suppose its an excuse to focus on coursework—” “—what do they do?” subong interjected, curiosity poking through despite his brewing infatuation. “well,” you huffed. this is the last thing you wanted to talk about in any situation with anyone. all your life, tied to this question … even with a stranger. but it lingered in the air, and you wanted to get the answer out quickly to move on. “my father manages assets and my mother owns hospitals. i never liked it. nor agreed with it.” your voice dwindled, looking down at your shoes.

the cynicism capitalized on itself: “my older sister works in politics at home in tandem with my parents, but of course not without readying herself to inherit father’s business. my younger brother is currently in new zealand gaining an in with parliament—trying to break us into the english commonwealth. can’t ever stretch ourselves too thin, huh?” you ended on a sarcastic note, looking at subong with a bitter expression mis-directed at him. i don’t understand half of what she just said, but why did no one tell me how fucking hot anger could be? subong thought to himself. “so you’re the socially aware sibling?” he smirked, amused. “what’s the word they use in the states … woke? yeah, woke.” it was strangely disarming; the ability to make fun of yourself. your facial muscles loosened, a smile stretching across your face. “yeah, you could say that.” you laughed. “by process of elimination, i suppose. someone’s got to do it.” you shrugged your shoulders. “but yeah, i’m really nothing but a nepo baby.” subong’s eyebrows furrowed. “a what?” an even bigger smile formed on your face, and subong felt that same tingling feeling from before return to his underarms. “what? i thought you were cognizant of all things internet slang.” you quipped. cogniwhat?—“oh, yeah.” subong nodded, hand scratching the back of his neck, his chuckle and smile working in tandem to thwart his flustered state. “yeah, i think i know that one.”

the conversation dwindled, replaced by intermittent silence. subong, working up the courage, landed imperfectly: “listen, uh—” he cleared his throat, glancing at you before sticking his gaze completely. “you’re really beautiful.” “is this you hoping i have a record producer in the family?” you raise an eyebrow. she’s sharp, too? jesus … subong, though caught off guard yet again, snaps back into himself and returns the energy. well, he tried, because for some fuckass reason he can’t think after looking into your eyes for more than five seconds. “and what if i was?” he said curtly. “then i’d tell you you’re out of luck.” you responded. “i have nothing for you.” subong nodded, kissing his teeth in thought, looking at the trees: a nonverbal its okay. you might have read it as disappointment, but he was scrambling to keep him tethered to you by whatever means. he glanced at you, catching sight of your side profile. “i’m an honest man.” there was something different about his voice; he was sure. he was speaking directly to you, for no one else to hear. “you’re fine as hell.”

he inched closer to you, your eyes momentarily flittering downward upon hearing his ring scrape against the railing. you hadn’t noticed them before, along with the tattoos littering his hand—a thick ring adorning his pointer; a thinner one inked above a real ring on his middle; and a more distinct tattoo on his hand you couldn’t clearly make out in the night. you looked up, seeing he was not only much closer to you, but also realizing this was the first time during your back-and-forth that you were actually seeing the stranger you had been bantering with. he had to be older than you … exemplified by how his crow’s feet are the minute detail necessary to complete that seamless expression universally recognized as the look, but also his bravado of a voice, height and broad-shouldered stature with an air that could only be attributed to more time spent on this earth; no one your age could rival it if they tried. maybe this is why i’ve never liked anyone mother and father have set me up with …

he clearly didn’t belong here. he could have been a friend of a friend of a friend … you heard whispers of a dealer at the party whilst you helped yourself to some olives and cheese; not uncharacteristic whatsoever, considering some of the people you grew up with are admittedly unrecognizable without dilated pupils or fidgeting to cover their arms, but you saw them hover around him, and he looked nothing like the man stood before you now. the mystery perplexed you … but not as much as it exhilarated your senses … maybe, for once, i can have something just to myself … “yeah?” harnessing a flirtatious tone wasn’t exactly your forté, but it was enough to make subong swallow and adjust his posture. “you’re not so bad yourself.” you said. a smug grin captured his face, looking over his shoulder to the empty bedroom to his left, bringing his gaze back to you. “let me take you out to dinner.” “what? no!” you chuckled, a little taken aback, but relishing in it nonetheless. “why not?” subong didn’t act as if he’d been wronged with that lingering grin curving the corners of his mouth, eyes concentrated on you; he’s tethered to you, more than satisfied. “you haven’t even told me your real name.” you said, looking up at him. “subong.” he answered without a moment’s hesitation. “choi subong. i’ll show you my government id if i have to.”

“no, no. it’s fine. i trust you.” you laughed, shaking your hand in affirmation. you introduced yourself; shoving your arms back into crossing over your chest to stifle the inherent muscle memory of putting your hand out for a handshake—a gesture you were conditioned with since sentience, but the last fucking thing to do if you wanted to seem normal. “alright.” he nodded, confidence in full swing. “then at least come see me perform. c'mon, i thought you wanted to hear me rap?” “i do.” you admitted. “i’m performing next saturday with some friends at club pentagon. you heard of it? its in itaewon.” “i can find out.” you nodded. the way your voice sounded just now … he had to divert his eyes to the trees. “we should be on at 10:30. i think that’s when our slot is.” so the next seven days came and went, and subong kicked himself for not getting your number. as saturday came closer, he wondered if you would actually show up … there’s no way, right? from what he searched up about your parents (no matter how many times he looked over your father’s company profile, or read the definition of what a hedge fund manager is, he felt his iq actively deplete; your mother’s photos on google images looked at him like he was the problem, even if her pearly white smile was intended to mean otherwise; he found your older sister’s op-eds and various articles written about her; your younger brother was virtually undetectable, other than photos of him at the olympic trials for horseback riding a couple of years ago and the one family photo the public was deemed worthy to have), you seemed to be the utmost exclusive … your time was indeed money … overthinking himself to the point where his ego deflated. he was a smooth talker, and relatively confident in his ability to win over women. but there was something about you that made him feel like the smallest man in the world. not insecure, per sé, or even insignificant … but if he got close enough, he would be at your complete helm. alluring or sexy were childish descriptors to capture your essence … perhaps intoxicating would suffice better. or maybe he’s just been daydreaming way too fucking much. something about that new batch of blue pills has been hitting different lately …

you walked into the club at 10:36 pm. it was dimly lit with shades of neon pink and purple, washing over the couches and bar top with a surprisingly cinematic glow. people were huddled with their friends around the small tables scattered throughout the club, booming music not being able to mask a contentious conversation an apparent bachelorette was having some feet away with the bartender. you blended into the crowd standing before the stage, looking up when the music abruptly changed to an edm trap beat. subong came onto stage with three men differing in age but similar in aura; domineering with their own verses, riffing off of one another towards the end. it went on like this for twenty minutes, through various instrumentals and at some point one of them started beatboxing. subong built a sweat under his hoodie, letting it trickle down his temple as it was his turn to talk his shit into the microphone. you were floored, peering over people’s shoulders to get a better view. your eyes never wavered from the unmistakable head of purple hair no matter how many times he changed positions on stage; bobbing his head to the beat, holding the microphone akin to personal munition, walking around the stage like he’s got the biggest dick on the block. can’t forget the lip curl he does when the beat drops, or upon hearing someone pull a clever bar out of thin air during their respective freestyles he puts his hands up in surrender; insincerely putting his microphone on the floor before hoisting it back up, laughter ringing out of him. oh. i want him. you thought to yourself.

he came into the crowd after the set wrapped, dapping up familiar faces and not-so-humbly taking compliments from whomever offered. “subong!” he felt a tap on his shoulder, turning around. his eyes widened at the sight of you, his boyish smile making an unabashed appearance. “you came!” he yelled over the music, turning to face you. “of course i did! how could i not!” you said back. your hand rested on his shoulder, standing on your toes to reach his ear, subong leaning in to hear you. “like you said, i wanted to see you perform!” you beamed, making him smile even harder. he leaned into yours: “what’d you think?” “i thought you were great! honestly, i’m a little speechless!” “good, good!” subong laughed. “c'mon, i know somewhere more quiet!” he took your hand without thinking, leading you to the other side of the room; the far-end of the bar. the music was still loud, but not the point where you risked losing your voice to hear each other. the lighting was also brighter, allowing subong to see your much more lax outfit than the one you met in. “you look different.” he said. “hm? oh.” it took a moment to register what he said, glancing down at your jeans and t-shirt after taking a sip of your mojito. “don’t get used to it. i have a change of clothes in the car.” you joked, making subong smirk. “my brother’s home for his birthday.” you explained. “it’s my one chance to not be the designated center of attention just because i’m within arms reach of mother and father.” “you’re not celebrating?” subong asked. “dinner ended just in time for me to come here, funnily enough.” you stirred your drink with your straw, looking up at him to your left. “so i dressed as fast as i could and made my way here. i’ve been waiting all week, if you could believe that.” “i can.” said subong. “i’ve been waiting, too.” your eyes stayed on each other’s until your flustered state gave you away, turning back to your straw. “good to know.” you said.

you chatted each other the fuck up at that bar. nothing but fruitful banter, surprisingly aligned humor for the most part, and no subtle glances at van cleef accessories since your wrists were barren, but instead subong felt his stomach drop to his ballsack at the sight of your wielding an american express black card to pay for your drink like it was a dollar bill. you thought he was a mystery to you? to subong, you were a figment of his imagination. walking into his life like a winning lottery ticket, as divinely beautiful as you are … he was afraid he was going to wake up in a cold sweat at any moment, sharply clutching his phone as it played on repeat whatever amateur porno video he was watching on twitter—the harsh, impending reality that this is all indeed a dream villainously concocted by his subconscious. but with every utterance of a syllable; glimmer of light washing over your supple skin; the tremor of his heart fastening when your arm rested along his bicep after you read a text from your chauffeur saying You are running late. Your mother has called twice., you gave subong a smile, saying “i unfortunately have to go. give me your phone, i’ll put my number in.”

“you better not forget about me.” you teased with a grin, getting up from the stool next to subong, opening your purse and placing your phone inside. “i won’t.” he shook his head, his face aching from how much he smiled tonight. how could he forget you? jesus fucking christ, he’d have to go to a hypnotist or dunk himself in ice cold water just to forget how it felt whenever your knees brushed together underneath the counter, let alone fight the urge to mewl like a fucking bitch when he couldn’t stop glancing at you re-applying your lip balm earlier. “i’ll call you tomorrow.” said subong. “i’ll be waiting. goodnight, subong.” “night.” he watched you leave, head following your movement, leaning a little to his right to peer through his limited angle of the window—just when he thought he’d seen it all, subong saw the car you got into—she’s the one with the fucking rolls royce? his jaw dropped, seeing the headlights turn on and disappear in the opposite direction.

he turned to the counter, flabbergasted. he could do nothing but laugh. at what? he couldn’t pinpoint it exactly. he wasn’t a religious man, but the fact that the universe literally walked into his life a goldmine of a woman armed with a body and face that made his dick twitch; intellect he was nowhere near smart enough to even think to attempt to unpack but it didn’t fucking matter because he was too busy trying to keep up with your wit; eyes he could’ve sworn were putting him under some spell if he looked at them long enough—and not to mention, you’re fucking loaded—certainly felt like divine intervention at its finest. this could be his ticket out of his multigenerational household riddled with bitter silence and explosive rifts that raised him to believe he would be nothing but a failure, or mooching off of friends couches. how about now, dad? look what i’ve got in my back fucking pocket. god really must love me now. he thought to himself. if he played his cards right … who knows where it would take him … a honeymoon in the maldives, maybe. birthdays in mykonos. fucking in her penthouse. shit, does she have one? what does her house look like? ten bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a pool … home theater, maybe? subong’s inner monologue ran wild, fingers toying with his ring as the bass shook the floor below him. all those connections … fuck, i’ll be headlining coa-fucking-chella it two years time, tops. he shook his head, chuckling. nah. can’t get too ahead of myself now …

he took his phone out of his pocket, opening his messages and clicking your contact. your phone vibrated as you pulled into your family’s estate: Hi this is subong. Making sure youre home safe, to which you chuckled pressing send on your response: Hi! I’m home. Wow. I’ve really landed myself a gentleman! subong stared at his screen with an upside down grin, clicking his phone off and stuffing it in his pocket when the warmth of his face didn’t let up. he tugged at the collar of his hoodie, a different question plaguing his mind: she isn’t snobby … she can make fun of herself … she doesn’t second-guess … so what’s her flaw, or vice? there’s got to be something … everyone’s got one. he’s right, because his dangled around his neck and manifests as his dubious moral guidepost. subong looked around in thought, as if some sign would show itself, but then it did: bills lodged underneath the small square napkin soaking in the condensation of your emptied glass, clearly meant as a cash tip for the bartender. subong looked up, seeing the bartender’s back was facing him some feet away, busy mixing a drink. subong slid the bills from the underneath the glass, counting them under the counter.

350,000 won. just there. given away like candy, not even well hidden under the napkin. oh—that’s it. she’s a fucking dumbass. leaving money out in the open like that … in a place like a busy club … you mentioned you hadn’t gone out much when you first met, so maybe this was a true sign of naivete, or perhaps just having too much faith in the world. you are younger than him, so it would make sense … but subong didn’t care all that much to properly make the distinction, pocketing those bills quicker than he stood up from his stool, grabbing the glass and chewing on the halfway melted ice as he walked out of the club richer than when he walked in.

you went to dinner two days later. you met him at a ramen shop close to where he lived, tucked away together in a booth in the corner. this night you did show up accessorized with van cleefs, although different ones than before, and now stacked with a cartier love bracelet on your left wrist. not to mention the matching taupe blazer and trousers paired with a creme white blouse, all the while subong showed up in aged sneakers a year past retirement, jeans, his rings he never takes off, and an oversized graphic tee he last washed maybe six months ago. even so, you were the one clearly overdressed, and he didn’t miss a beat in pointing it out: “did you fix the stock market before coming here?” he asked without looking up from his steaming bowl, slurping the soup off his spoon. you caught his drift, grinning. “i did, yeah.” you played along. “you’ve never heard of a woman with a work-life balance before?” you said back in a mocking tone. “ha ha, very funny. feminism, new world, yeah yeah yeah.” he descended into mutters, making you giggle, his face feeling hotter.

then it was a kimbap café … a tteokbokki stand … and another ramen shop, all within his vicinity, or at most a few blocks over. subong felt himself grow antsy come the end of the fourth date, hiding it behind eating the cheapest ice cream he bought for you two at a nearby convenience store with the last of his money. if only we went to another fucking bar … he thought to himself, throwing your wrappers away before returning to your side, walking the rest of the pathway circulating the park. he continued telling you about his first performance for the rap battleground competition he was admitted to shortly before you met; over 50k viewers on the livestream, and 32 contestants including himself, if you remembered correctly. “i sampled pink floyd’s money as a joke. it turned out to be a big hit, so i might keep that going.” subong chuckled, kicking a pebble away before you turned the corner together, now walking along the river. in your hum of acknowledgement, you wondered if subong would ask you to come and see him perform again … but that might be a step too far … were you even dating? like, official? even so, he did invite you before … and that was the first time you saw each other outside of the party … either way, you didn’t want to overstep, so you played it safe: “i’ll watch it when i get home.” you told him, glancing at him before fluttering your gaze back to the pavement below either of your feet. “you will?” subong raised his eyebrows, upside down grin making his gaze flutter to the empty benches. “shit, now i really have to do good.” he said, making the both of you laugh.

you shared your first kiss at the railing lining the river, his hands coming around your waist whilst yours held his cheeks between your palms. it was soft and purposeful; a natural progression. you can’t remember the last time you had such butterflies in your stomach for something that felt so organic. subong doesn’t know what he was thinking, because when he felt your fingers brush past his cartilage piercing to pull him in for another kiss—an emt wouldn’t be able to revive him, and his heart would be given up to a stranger since he mistakenly checked the donor box after passing his driver’s test. there wasn’t much height difference to compensate for since you showed up tonight in heels (“did you meet with the president before coming here?” “no. i did that after breakfast, obviously.”), so he pulled you in comfortably by your waist into him, his palms ghosting over the tops of either globes of your ass, arms securing you in his grasp. subong kissed you harder, tilting his head a little to the left after feeling the coolness of your cartier bracelet brush against his earlobe. he definitely hit a nerve, because when the smallest of moans vibrated against his lips, you ended the kiss rather abruptly. “i’m sorry. i—i got carried away.” you said. “its fine. it was fucking hot.” he assured. you couldn’t hold in your laugh, nudging your forehead against his, feeling his lips press a kiss onto your soft skin, arms holding you close.

“i want to do something you want to do.” said subong. “hm?” you lifted your head from his bicep, your arm locked with his whilst his hands stuffed his pockets. “i’m tired of you coming to me. i want to come to you.” subong said with unabashed intent. in other words show me how the rich live … “i just—” he kissed his teeth, shaking his head and looking at the river, trying to think of how to word this. “i just feel bad that i can’t pay for nicer things—” “—subong, stop.” your arm left his, crossing yours over your chest. subong’s eyes widened in worry; did i fuck up that badly, on the first fucking try? “i’ve been having a great time with you. you don’t need to worry about those things.” subong’s eyes nearly closed in relief, his hand traveling around your lower back to the other side of your waist. “i know, baby. i know.” his voice was low, smooth. his breath tickled your temple, lips pressing a chaste kiss. “but i just want to … i don’t know—” he shrugged his shoulders. “meet you where you are as best i can, if that makes sense.”

subong meant it, but he would be charged with fraud at the federal level if he denied the gluttonous curiosity playing into this. you didn’t say anything, which led his hand to bring your eyes to his. more importantly, your lips. he kissed you delicately; “hm? what do you think?” he whispered, not paying any mind to the group of high schoolers passing by on their bikes. he kissed you again. “wanna know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.” said subong. the kiss broke slowly, in a way that made you feel you’d been wasting the past twenty seven years of your life. “okay.” you whispered, not realising how breathless you became. you inhaled, turning your head to look at him. “you’ll come for dinner after i come back.” “come back?” subong’s eyebrows furrowed. “you’re leaving me already?” he quipped, chuckling when you nudged his chest with your shoulder. “i should’ve clarified.” you tutted to yourself. “i’ll be in macau for two days. my sister just got engaged to her fiancé who’s from there.” “i see.” said subong, nodding. he moved behind you, arms hugging you into his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder. another place to drool over when i get home. he thought to himself, lips finding your cheek. “all my blessings to her,” he muttered, grinning against your skin at your scoff. “but don’t be gone for too long, hm?” “i won’t.” you told him, turning your head, kissing his lips gently. “i’ll be back before you know it.”

the following afternoon, you held your phone tightly against your ear with your shoulder—but to no avail on putting the seatbelt on right. “subong, i’m putting my phone down for a second. can’t get this on right.” you muttered. “got it.” he licked the rolling paper, lighting the spliff, blowing the smoke out the window as he sat on his windowsill, waving it away as extra precaution. a tiktok notification lit his screen, seeing the time was 12:21 pm. “okay, i’m back.” he heard you say over speakerphone. “isn’t your flight in ten minutes?” he asked. “yes. i’ve boarded.” you looked out the window to the tarmac, eyes temporarily watching the aircraft marshallers’ neon vests rustle in the new spring wind before your attention diverted to members of your family’s staff boarding the plane, clad in suits. subong’s never flown out of the country before, but he knew one thing from the movies: “aren’t you supposed to put your phone away?” he stuck the spliff out the window, flicking the ash before returning it between his lips. “cell service works fine on the jet.” you answered without thinking.

JET!? holy fuck, this should have been a no brainer … subong snatched his phone from his nightside table, putting you off speaker, looking over his shoulder at his closed bedroom door before pressing his phone to his ear; as if he’d been told highly-classified intel. this was the last thing his family needed to find out … “you have a private jet?” he asked lowly into the phone. you took a moment before answering. “i do.” “how many do you have?” “my family has several.” you said hesitantly. the silence that followed made your eyes close, a huff escaping your lips. “subong, i didn’t mean to—” “its fine!” he shook his head despite you not being able to see, forgetting to blow the smoke out the window, but not thwarting the dollar signs he saw in his eyes. “the words just came out of my mouth. you don’t have to be sorry about anything, baby.”“okay.” you said timidly, shame lingering. the jet began to move, slowly approaching the runway for takeoff. “tell me more about your upcoming performance, hm? you were thinking of writing about how you got your start, right?

your phone remained glued to your ear a majority of the flight. you waved off any chance your staff took to show you an important email or take a call to the point where they gave up altogether. you giggled into your phone like a teenager, manicured fingernail caught between your teeth through whatever cheeky remark he had in his arsenal, or trading anecdotes from one another’s life. “there was this one time i was set up with an oil executive’s son. i think it was right after i finished college.” you spoke, watching the clouds float past. “six and a half dates we went on. that half being i couldn’t take it anymore, so i left him to foot the bill he ran up himself. god, he was the most arrogant prick you’ll ever meet.” you shook your head, tsking. “fucked me up so bad i had to start reading kafka to cope.” you joked. subong learned to laugh through the references he didn’t understand. “that does sound bad.” he affirmed, watching his ceiling fan rotate as he laid in bed. “i’ve only had two girlfriends in my life. one in high school who broke up with me because i didn’t get high enough marks, and the second i was with the year before i enlisted. she left me because she was afraid i was going to propose.” “were you?” you heard him scoff on the other side of the line. “fuck no. our first argument was over that stupid perilla leaf debate you see online. i didn’t see a problem in peeling those leaves, but she did. we wouldn’t have lasted.” “to each their own, i suppose.” you chuckled, nodding in thanks to your assistant whom handed you a glass of ice water.

“you know, with you visiting your sister and all,” subong’s transition wasn’t the smoothest, but it was too late to retract. “i can’t help but wonder if you’ve ever been proposed to.” you swallowed your sip of water, “oh, trust me,” you answered without hesitation. “they’ve tried.” “they have?” subong’s eyebrows furrowed. “who?” “that oil exec fuck brought it up on the way to our second date. pardon my language, i’m known to be rather diplomatic.” subong exhaled through his nose, sitting up with his back to the wall, amused. “at my twenty-five birthday dinner—my father, and i’m using his words, 'cordially invited’ his colleague’s nephew. same age as me, but definitely some lights weren’t on in that head of his. i remember so clearly—like it was yesterday, subong—sitting outside on the balcony, drinking mimosas after dinner with my friends.” you took another drink of your water. “and he came up to us—i mean me, got down on one knee and asked the question. with a ring and everything.” “what?” subong was taken aback. “what’d you do?” “we laughed right in his face.” you heard his laughter ring into your ear, making you laugh in return. “because who the fuck are you!” you gestured with your hand out over the small table before you, a smile on your face. “like, what happened to 'hi, hello, how are you’? subong, the shit i’ve witnessed … it’d take an eternity to fold through it.”

“was the ring nice?” he asked. “well …” you tried to dance around it, but did away with that. “it could’ve been better.” you giggled, hearing subong chuckle. “oh my goodness, how could i forget the time the son of the department head i studied under at oxford?” you thought aloud. “he trailed me down at every party i went to, only to tell me 'you need to lose a few pounds if ever want enough room to be loved’ after i rejected him. not a proposal, but a classic nonetheless.” “jesus, baby.” subong was borderline baffled with how casually you spoke about this. “your people sound ruthless.” “it’s alright. my father got him expelled, anyway.” “what!?” “i’m kidding!” you said, smiling. “he was booted for plagiarism. did such shit job at it, too. i mean, who doesn’t check if your name’s on the paper? only a fool, and that’s what he was. an emasculated fool.”

“so no real boyfriend then, hm?” subong wondered aloud. you jutted out your bottom lip, shaking your head. “nope. its kind of hard for it to be real when your parents are behind everything, or go as far as to sit at the same table as you.” “jesus—” “i know, i know.” you nodded. “but it feels like its real with you, though.” you said without thinking. subong ceased toying with his short’s drawstring, a smirk tugging at his mouth. she’s fucking adorable. “i-i mean—it could be, if you wanted it to. i don’t know how you feel but—” “i feel the same.” he nodded. “it feels real with you, too.” the silence made subong’s back straighten, checking his phone to see the call had reached the two hours mark, but worried it was cut off nonetheless. “hello? baby? are you there? fuck.” “good to know.” you spoke sweetly, hiding your face that felt it had been set ablaze behind your palm. you were sat in a seat not facing your staff, or anyone for that matter, or you were hiding from no one; subong was over one thousand miles away, but it was as if you felt his eyes boring into you. thank goodness he can’t see me right now.

subong ran his palm over his face. “you had me worried there for a second.” he chuckled. the moment called for his next question, but no matter how many times he practiced in his head (or in the bathroom mirror, too), he felt his throat dry up. but he pushed through: “listen, you know the uh—rap battleground? yeah, i have an extra ticket for any guests at the filming studio, if you’d want to come and see me? if—” he cleared his throat. “if you’re not busy, is all.” you emerged from hiding, your palm this time irrationally hiding your stupidly big smile. finally! “when is it, subong?” “sundays at eight pm. the day after we have dinner at your place, funnily enough.” he answered quicker than he intended, trying to take a breath to calm himself down. “eliminations happen on monday at the same time. you don’t have to come to that, or either.” he was the king of being nonchalant, but the universe swung him a big fuck you by making his voice crack at the end of his sentence. “holy fuck,” he squeezed the bridge of his nose, mumbling into his phone. “you have me sounding like i don’t have my lights on.” he hid his face underneath his shirt hearing you laugh, groaning into the fabric. thank god she can’t see me right now, holy shit. “i’ll go both days, subong. send me the name of the venue. i’ll make arrangements.”

when you said you'd send a car to pick subong up for dinner, you weren't fucking lying—he set the ramen shop where you had your first date as the pick up site, fucking bewildered to find the black rolls royce waiting for him in the street. subong unceremoniously knocked on the tinted driver's seat window, his other hand holding the last bouquet of daisies the neighborhood florist had; cheaper than usual from how some already wilted, but were well-hidden. the window rolled down, subong seeing a different man than the one he saw sitting there when walking into the lodge. "choi subong?" the man asked. he was older than subong, but subong himself was too busy staring at his earpiece to gather an answer quickly. "y-yeah. that's me." he nodded, inhaling through his nose, trying to keep his cool. "i have a date with—" "yes, with ma'am. please find your way inside. we will arrive in about twenty minutes. there's refreshments, too, for your leisure." refreshments? the fuck? "alright, thank you." subong said curtly, opening the door and sitting inside the car. subong froze when the car moved and the lights turned on, slowly lifting his head, seeing the headliner lit akin to a constellation. he marveled at how wide the seats are, his right palm running over the shiny black leather whilst the fingers of his left traced the dark wood accenting the car door. she rides in this every fucking day? just when he thought he could begin to process, his eyes found it: the champagne. he slid quickly to the other side of the three-seater, grabbing it, nearly knocking down the flute glasses in the cupholders in front of him. he brought the label closer to his eyes, squinting to read the french name. "louis roederer . . . cristal vintage . . ." his voice trailed, pulling his phone out, typing into the google search bar with his thumb. "holy shit!" he whispered to himself—he was holding 20 million won in his hand, just casually in this luxury fucking car, and by the feeling of the golden foil wrapped around the top of the bottle keeping the cork in, its collecting dust. 

subong put the bottle back, posture stiffening in his seat. he’s spent years dreaming of living like this, wanting so badly to mimic the aura of the rappers he’s looked up to … to somehow wake up in one of those lavish music videos stacked with sports cars, beautiful women, and the finest things money can buy. but here he was now, surrounded by those exact things and on his way to see a woman that he couldn’t dream of having in his wildest fantasies; sat on his hands like a coward, petrified that if he touched anything he would automatically be reprimanded by the authorities. did it all start to feel too real? did he finally take a step a little too ahead of himself, throwing him into something he can’t go back on? what was this feeling—nerves? anxiety? fear of not making a good impression? he felt so dumb … he’s been on dates before … and its not like he was meeting your parents or anything … but he was entering your world, even if you two were going to be alone in your house; free from other eyes. as its always been to this point. he looked down at his outfit, rubbing his sweaty palms on cargo denim shorts he’s worn nearly every time he’s seen you, an over-sized black t-shirt, and sneakers he’s worn on every date. for once, get some new clothes, motherfucker …

you greeted him with that beautiful smile of yours at the door. “hi!” you said cheerfully, reaching up for his face, bringing his lips to yours. “missed you.” you murmured, feeling him re-connect the kiss. “missed you too, baby.” the rustling of the bouquet caught your attention. “how thoughtful.” you grinned, taking the bouquet whilst the other hand came up to his cheek, bringing the one closer to your lips. “thank you, subong.” ’s no problem.“ he took your hand, placing kisses on your palm and inner wrist, glancing at your tiffany & co. heart charm bracelet before intertwining his fingers with yours. "come, i’ll take you to the grill outside. i got us some beef to cook together, and the chefs made side dishes earlier this evening.” “oh, okay.” you saw him visibly pause, able to guess what was running through his mind. “or you could tell me when its cooked,” you offered, bringing his attention back to you. “i’ve always been bad at that.” you smiled. subong shook his head. “its okay. we’ll do it together. c'mon, show me.”

you pulled him along. thank the universe he was behind you, because his jaw hung open looking around the house. it was sleek and modern, accented with dark toned wood, warm lighting, and huge windows looking out onto the massive grassy terrain—similar to the lodge in that respect, but even in those first few footsteps past a sitting room and down a long hallway, it felt very personal to you: vintage film posters hung tastefully on the walls; couches and cushioned chairs that actually looked comfortable and weren’t just for show; a painting certainly much older than him hanging above an opulent fireplace; a staircase leading to the second floor and presumably your bedroom; turning a corner and seeing what looked to be your study, equipped with textbooks sprawled out on a large wooden desk and an imac left on—subong felt himself start to huff and puff. holy shit, the fuck is the square footage of this place?

“i thought you lived with your parents?” subong brought up later in the evening, re-filling your respective shots of soju. “i do, technically.” you were cutting the meat; one hand holding the slab of bulgogi with tongs, the other wielding kitchen shears, letting the pieces fall onto the sizzling grill. after downing his shot, he brought your glass to you, carefully tipping it with your head going back. you swallowed with the usual small grimace, hanging onto the fleeting peach flavor. “they’re just up the hill.” “up the hill? what do you mean?” “look around that corner over there,” you gestured with your head. “passed the tree and the carnations. i’ll keep an eye on the meat.” subong followed, walking off the cobblestone pavement onto the grass, looking around the corner and finding a mansion. it was opulent. regal, even. a giant’s ultimate dollhouse. something that was the physical manifestation of generational wealth, looking into the viewer’s eyes and saying i invented the term 'net worth.’ the architecture looked historical, like many lives have been lived within those walls, but it would take an eternity to walk from one end of the home to the other. the lights were on and very loud about it; illuminating staff tending to various areas of the estate even from the sizable distance subong stood at. he could hear dogs barking and see them running around. she’s the princess and i’m the fucking frog, man. he thought to himself.

you weren’t looking forward to what he was going to say; uncomfortable by the circumstance, never wanting to intentionally flaunt your wealth, but he was going to find out soon enough. “was it too big for you?” you could hear his shit-eating grin. you stirred the meat on the grill without looking up at him. “too quiet.” you corrected. “at least here the silence is my own.” subong can tell he hit a nerve, but doesn’t necessarily retract. he stood behind you, leaning over your shoulder, pressing his cheek against yours; either of your eyes watching the grill. “cook it for a little longer.” said subong, voice low by your ear. “i figured.” you cleared your throat. you felt his arms wrap around your waist from behind. “did they build this place for you?” he asked. “well, no.” you started curtly. “my grandmother lived here before she moved back to her estate in italy. but yeah, it was renovated before i moved in when i started my phd.” subong didn’t respond immediately, only holding you closer, his lips finding a spot underneath your ear. “you don’t have to hesitate to show me your life.” he said. you huffed. “i don’t want to show off, subong.” “i didn’t know telling the truth was considered 'showing off.’” he countered. you tsked, “you know what i mean.” his lips lingered by your earlobe. “i’m only here for you.” subong whispered, hearing your small gasp. “do you believe me?” it took a moment, but you nodded: “i do.” you said truthfully.

you and subong ate good food, but it must have been the soju that loosened you up, because his tongue wrestled with yours not even an hour later. it was gentle and smooth, but not without intention. subong’s hand traveled up the side of your thigh, encouraging you to deepen the kiss to which you did; hand holding his cheek as you tilted your head to your left, the vibrations of his satisfied moan against your lips upon hearing the tinker of your charm bracelet by his ear. he broke the kiss momentarily to catch his breath, feeling your lips find his cheek. he looked down at his hand, rubbing slowly but with purpose, biting his bottom lip. he sucked in a breath of surprise when he looked up, seeing three housekeepers gathering the empty dishes and used cutlery. they were at the very most ten feet away from where you two were currently swallowing each other’s faces on the modular outdoor sofa. subong was petrified. “baby?” he said softly, only for you to hear. you emerged from your spot on his cheek. “hm?” “do they—” subong wasn’t sure how to address them, let alone talk about this. “do they usually work late?” “what time is it? nine?” you turned to your side, tapping your phone screen; like it was the most casual fucking thing in the world. “8:41. they’re wrapping up for the night.” “they don't—” he still couldn’t find the words, clearing his throat. “they don't—” “—they won’t do anything, subong. they just mind their own business. now, come here.” you said gently, bringing your lips back to his.

subong tried to zero back in, but the sound of a housekeeper emptying the grease from the grill took him right out. “have you done this before?” he whispered, glancing at them before turning to you. you shook your head. “what? no. they’ve known me all my life is what i meant. they know what to expect.” “doesn’t that make it weirder?” he questioned, looking at you, anxious. you smiled knowingly. “i thought you’d be one for some risk.” you teased. “i am,” he corrected you quickly. “i am. don’t be like that.” he tutted, making you chuckle. “i just want to be alone with you, is all. make up for lost time after you were gone.” said subong. “i need you too.” you told him, fingers re-centering the necklace hanging his cross tucked behind his shirt. “how about we go up to your room then, hm?” he suggested. you smirked. “a bit forward. that’s more like it.” you quipped, getting up from your seat. subong followed you up the floating staircase, one hand in yours as the other grazed the dark wooden railing. he looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the entire wall at the upstairs landing, catching a glimpse of the balcony lining the huge corner; the view being the family house up the hill. “in here.” your voice brought him back to you. “the first door on your left.”

your room was as big as his family’s apartment, if not bigger. the layout was similar, too, with three doors leading to different spaces—only subong’s were for his, his parents, and his grandmother’s rooms respectively whereas yours were for your en suite bathroom and two walk-in closets. a chandelier lit aglow on the high ceiling, illuminating the creme-colored walls and your pristinely-made king-sized bed with a vanity bench in front; a pair of heels he recognized from a date on the carpeted floors next to a half unpacked carry-on. “sorry for the mess.” your voice, once again, brought subong out of his trance. he shook his head, mouth slightly agape in awe. “s'fine, baby.” he muttered. he felt a gust of him, seeing you on the other side of the room, a pair of curved-top doors open leading to a balcony. “its a little stuffy in here. the house is old, and i haven’t been up here a majority of the day. it can get like that.” you explained, growing more timid with every word, the realization that this fine ass man was really just in your room sinking in. “its no problem.” subong assured, hand resting on your waist. he looked out the balcony, seeing it was above most of the trees, the city skyline in the distance. he felt you tug at his shirt. “so …” you said quietly, not having the gall to look him in the eye through your wordless plea. an upside down grin tugged at his mouth. fucking adorable. “right, my bad. come here.”

he had you backed against the wall, his rings scraping along the edge of your desk whenever he adjusted his grip on your hips. your hands were in his hair; the kiss deep and sensual. subong slid his tongue in whenever he could, eyebrows furrowing in concentration hearing your small moans muffled against his lips. “you know how you said you’ve never had a real boyfriend?” “mhm,” you kissed him back with fervor, the loss of his lips for even a second making you putty in his hands. “why?” “with your sexy fucking body, baby,” subong’s hands rounded your wide hips once more, reaching back to either globes of your ass and squeezing firmly. you gasped, breaking the kiss. the back of your head hit the wall, his lips hovering your jaw. you felt them brush against your skin when he spoke, “i can’t help but wonder if you’ve ever had a real fuck. or an orgasm.” he squeezed again, teeth raking over his bottom lip as his eyes watched yours bite your own. “hm? have you?” you shook your head. “no,” you swallowed, throat dry. “only by myself.” you whispered. “i’m gonna change that, okay?” subong said, nodding. “okay.” you said, hands holding his face, horny out of your fucking mind.

“i’m gonna start by taking care of these.” subong began unbuttoning your black blouse. he leaned down, kissing the bare, supple skin of your chest before seeing your matching lace bralette. “jesus fucking christ.” he murmured. he felt you shake. “hey, what’s wrong?” he looked up at you. “its just me.” “that’s the problem, subong.” you said, thumb tracing his smile line. “you make me really fucking nervous.” you chuckled, hearing him playfully scoff. the arrogant smirk that stretched across his face made your mind start drafting the dimensions of turning the storage room down the hall into a nursery. he licked his lips, leaning down and kissing you tenderly, his palms holding either side of your neck. “nothing to be nervous about, baby.” he said, kissing you again. “here. i’ll take my shirt off, too.” “oh, subong, you don’t have to—” but it was too late. he pulled his shirt off from the top, discarding it onto your desk with his cross, too. he was toned and lean, his melanin nurtured gingerly underneath the warm hues of the chandelier. you noticed how his back tattoo peeked over either of his shoulders, but also the lion’s mane on his abdomen; a constellation with a date in roman numerals just a couple of inches below his collarbone. i feel lightheaded already … “what?” subong’s voice brought you back down. he already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from you. “you just made it a whole lot worse.” you said, your palm covering your mouth.

subong snickered. his fingers wrapped around your wrist, bringing your palm down. “i take it you like what you see, hm?” “i do.” you said breathily. subong nodded, eyes fluttering down to your chest, past the stretch marks on your stomach to the hem of your jeans. “yeah. i like what i see, too.” his eyes returned to you. “you can touch me, baby.” he spoke to you like you were the only two people in the world, even if you were completely alone. “you can touch me all you want.” and you do: your fingers trace his shoulders, ghosting past the divot of his collarbone before cascading down his chest, following his toned torso. your eyes traveled with your hands down his body, but his stayed on you. his dick was begging to breath. he leaned into your ear, “this is all yours.” he whispered, breath tickling your neck. your eyes fluttered closed; a small, vulnerable moan leaving your lips. your back arched subconsciously, sending your chest to collide with his. his hand came up, kneading your left breast through the bralette. “and this is all fucking mine.” he said whilst you gasped. he felt your nipple harden in his palm. “do you understand me?” “y-yes subong.” you nodded, looking up at him, eyebrows knit together. the day we get to fuck, i’m going to need a defibrillator. he thought to himself. “good.” he nodded, watching you. “can i suck on these perfect tits, baby? hm? can i make you feel good?” you nodded vigorously, making him smirk. “yes—oh my god, please.”

the exposed part of your left breast felt soft and bouncy against subong’s lips—lush, even. his fingers hooked past the lace, carefully taking your breast out of the confines of the bralette. his tongue nurtured your already peaky areola, hearing and feeling your shudder in his palms on your lower back. your eyebrows furrowed, mouth agape, shallow gasps leaving your lungs. your manicured nails clawed at the back of his bare shoulder, making subong moan against your nipple and run his tongue faster. your back arched unexpectedly, nearly making him lose his spot, but he held your breast in place with his hand, his other arm wrapping around your waist, squeezing your left globe. he popped off of your nipple with precision, humming to himself in satisfaction at the sight. “fucking perfect.” he murmured. subong’s arms switched places, shifting his focus onto your right breast. he followed the same procedure, fishing it out and letting it hang off your bralette and between his lips. he kissed your nipple with his tongue repeatedly, hearing you gasp, but no moan just yet. “does it feel good?” he asked, not stopping his ministrations. “outrageously.” you whispered, feeling him chuckle. “those rich boys never made you feel like this, huh?” “n-no.” you shook your head. you gasped upon watching his tongue run over your nipple, coupled with how mind-numbingly good it fucking felt—holy shit. subong popped off a few times: “i figured.” he muttered. his fingers lightly smacked your breast, seeing it jiggle just the way he liked.

he raised his head, eyes looking into yours. his hand came up, holding either side of your jaw, making your gaze stick to his. “i want you to suck my cock and i wanna eat your pussy.” he was sure he’d hear you moan now. “how’s that sound, hm?” “good.” you answered, nodding in his grasp, cheek bunching up. “i want to.” “good.” subong said. he leaned in, and your lips moved for a kiss, but he didn’t close the gap entirely. “but here’s the thing,” he whispered, breath pushing past your upper lip. “i’m gonna make you fucking work for it.” “s-subongie—” you whimpered desperately, hands finding his belt and trying to undo it. it took everything in him to halt your movements in the midst of hearing that pet name for the first time, hand holding your wrist firmly. and with her fucking tits out, looking up at me like that? jesus … “uh-uh.” he tutted condescendingly. subong leaned in and tilted his head as if to kiss you, but his lips hovered. “fucking work for it.” he breathed your desperation in, hand falling to your side when you brought him into you with your tongue. your hands held his face, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, tongue toying with his. that’s right, he thought to himself, keep going.

you can’t remember the last time your mind felt this fuzzy. when i found my clit for the first time? maybe … when i got my new vibrator? not even close … you felt his palms make residence on your ass once again, squeezing down tenderly. this fine ass older man’s swollen lips against yours, his tongue just as desperate … you were born with a golden spoon in your mouth, but this felt like winning the fucking lottery, bitch. this felt like being god’s fucking favorite. your hand trailed to his jeans, finding his bulge and tracing it with your palm. his shoulders shuddered, but caught himself with your lips; muffling his own moan. “s-shit.” subong tried to hide it, but when you pressed down again, he abruptly ended the kiss. “get the fuck over here.” he muttered, grabbing your hand and pulling you to sit beside him on the edge of your bed. he must have forgotten all about his singular condition, because he undid his own belt, pulling down his jeans and briefs, letting it fall to his ankles. “we’re gonna take it slow.” he half-told you and half-himself. “come here.” subong leaned in, hand traveling over your thick fucking thighs and up your waist, fondling your left breast. he smacked it lightly, kneading it firmly afterward each time. your hand reached for his hardened cock, with the wrist adorned by your tiffany & co. bracelet nonetheless, slowly stroking.

he was long and slender, his tip curving slightly left. your palm felt soft and plush—fucking heavenly in comparison to his somewhat calloused hand, no matter how much lotion he used—making his kisses stutter when you built up a pace. he eventually broke it to catch his breath. “h-have you done this before? s-shit!” subong bit his bottom lip, eyebrows contorted, watching you pump his cock in a daze, the wristlet tinkering with your ministrations. “mhm, i have.” you nodded, watching your hand, feeling his precum increasingly slick his cock. you turned your head to look at him, seeing his eyes closed shut and quietly muttering profanities to himself. you smiled, biting your bottom lip in satisfaction, leaning close to his ear. “but he didn’t last long enough for me to actually work my wrist. so i must be pretty good.” you giggled knowingly, ego boosted by his vulnerable moan. subong nodded, swallowing, mouth dry as shit. “you—you are.” he concurred. “just go a l-little s-slower—f-fuck!” he gasped. one hand held the base of his cock steady, whilst your other focused solely on pumping his tip. “slowly? like that?” your teasing tone made him see the light. his stomach caved inward, fighting the looming orgasm. “you’re f-fucking crazy.” his voice barely rose above a whisper. you couldn’t help but giggle, proud of yourself.

you slowly came to a halt, sparing him, amused by how deeply he was breathing. “on your knees.” he rasped, swallowing. “get on your knees.” you didn’t need to be told twice. you knelt between his knees, fingers holding the base of his cock, his tip brushing against your lips. “go slow.” he instructed. and you did, taking his tip between your lips, slowly sinking down. he felt warm in your mouth and tasted slightly salty, taking him about halfway before your mouth traveled back up his cock. you sunk in a little deeper this time, adding your tongue into the mix, hearing his shudder above you. your head began to bob up and down, hand with the wristlet taking care of whatever you couldn’t fit. subong’s breath was shallow and inconsistent, eyes shut tightly and eyebrows furrowed even more-so. hearing and feeling your mouth wrapped around him, the sounds of your fucking throat opening and closing … he opened his eyes, looking down at the sight, biting his lip at how your tits hanged. “h-hollow your cheeks—hngh!” you sucked harder and faster, both hands pumping the base of his cock as you bobbed up and down. subong’s toes curled into the carpeted floors, hand lifeless on the back of your head. he was completely at your helm; mind fucking mush. “f-fuck—ngh! o-oh my f-fuck—” he cried out, unable to look away. “your mouth feels so good when you suck me like that, baby! fuck!” his voice cracked, vision going blurry. you then dealt the card that made him yelp aloud, expediting that unraveling knot in his abdomen: sucking on that curved tip. he let out a sound you thought only existed in your dreams: “w-wait! n-no, stop! i’m gonna—fuck!” subong planned on cumming in your mouth, but was so caught off guard by how good you were and how quickly he reached that high, that he took his cock out of your mouth, spilling onto the floor.

“h—ha—f-fu—ngh!” he mewled. you sat back on your knees, fingers pressed to your lips, shocked yourself. once his senses cleared, he realised what he’d done. “i didn’t mean to ruin your—” “—its fine,” you cut him off, not even worrying about it. “i’ll have it cleaned in the morning.” subong leaned down, bringing his lips to yours. there was a newfound hunger in the kiss, latching onto your mouth after his newfound discovery that just re-constructed his libido. “on the bed. now.” you did as he said, head on the pillow as he got up, kicking his jeans off and pulling up his briefs. subong unbuttoned your jeans, pulling them off and discarding them on the vanity couch. his knees sunk into the duvet, taking off your panties before traveling down the king-sized mattress, settling comfortably on his stomach. you spread your legs, hand in his hair as his tongue led kisses down your inner thighs, subong humming in content upon feeling the divots of your cellulite against his lips. he couldn’t see your ass, but relished in how thick it looked and felt against his elbows, palms running up and down your sides; past your rolls, fingers fluttering over your stretch marks. “anybody eat this pussy before?” he asked, taking in your scent. he felt his dick start to harden again. you shook your head, lip caught in between your teeth, heartbeat in your throat. “tried to. was never good.” “i’ll be good.” subong nodded to himself. “i’ll be real fucking good.”

if he could bottle up your gasp and get drunk on it forever, he would. your thighs encased his head, muffling his senses, but this would be the best way to go out. oh … she tastes fucking good … he made out with your puffy lips, encouraged by your breathy gasps and wriggling waist. “s-subong.” you said meekly, him glancing up to only see your chin; your head thrown back into your pillow. “tell me, baby.” he murmured against your pussy. “tell me how good it feels.” his warm tongue dove between your folds, lapping and swallowing anything he found. his pointer in tandem with his middle finger separated your puffy lips, tongue toying around. “this sweet pussy,” he popped off the top, feeling he was coming closer from how the muscles in your thighs tightened. “all these years, neglected. not treated right.” his tongue went a little lower, hearing your ragged breath. he popped off the spot again, middle finger sinking between your lips, rubbing side to side to find it. “what a pity.” he tsked. your back arched, hoping it would shift his finger into place, but to no avail. if only if he pressed a little deeper—your loudest gasp yet rattled off the walls: “s-subong!” you yelped, palm covering your mouth. “its fine, though, because im about to eat this pussy every fucking day to make up for it.”

with that, he dived right back in, lapping your clit like it was nobody’s business—because it wasn’t. you’re his and you’ve been his; there’s no going back for either of you. subong knew he found that bundle of nerves from how your legs separated, knees hovering barely over the duvet; your hand sinking his face deeper into your cunt. subong snickered. “feels good, baby, doesn’t it?” “y-yes!” you whimpered. subong reached up, fondling your breasts in his palms as he continued to show little mercy to your sweet clit. even then, there wasn’t a moan from you. nothing outside of a sharp gasp, shallow breaths, and whimpering his name. he wondered if you were the quiet type … he’ll definitely work on that later … “taste so fucking good.” he murmured to himself. “gonna live off this pussy.” your eyes rolled to the back of your head, jaw hung open, hair messy along the pillowcase. it was an unbelievable sensation; one that made you want to hump his face like a pathetic fucking whore, but also frozen in time, succumbed to his divine touch. all you could do was lay there and take it. not that you were fucking complaining, though, because you were wondering when the universe was going to start treating you like the goddess you are. now here he was, drunk on your pussy on the first fucking try. “s-subong, i-i’m gonna—” “—give it the fuck to me. it belongs to me.” you cried out, your orgasm taking over your entire body. subong’s arms held your waist down at best he could, eating you out through the high. you felt born anew catching your breath, looking down at his head between your thighs, brushing his hair back as he kissed your thighs; your essence dripping down his chin.

“stay for breakfast.” you told him softly. the lights were off, balcony door closed; the both of you tucked underneath the duvet. your palm held subong’s cheek, thumb tracing his cheekbone back and forth. “its already late as is.” he quipped. he’s right: it was nearing half two in the morning. “i’d feel bad asking someone to drive me now.” he wouldn’t, but niceties always looked better. you called him out on his bullshit. “no you wouldn’t.” you scoffed. “yes i would!” he retorted. you turned onto your back, looking at your ceiling. “i wouldn’t. i’ll admit that.” you shrugged your shoulders. you looked to subong. “if there’s somewhere i have to go, i’ll need to be driven.” subong smirked, scooting closer to you. his lips kissed your temple before resting his chin atop your head; sharing your pillow. “i always knew you were a spoiled brat.” “i’m not!” “yes, you are.”

subong left the next afternoon, the night previous’s dinner and the morning’s breakfast filling his stomach so much he can’t remember feeling this way last (“why’d you prepare so much?” “i wasn’t sure what you liked, so there’s a little bit of everything from the garden and our farm.” “garden? hold on, you have a fucking farm?”). he gave you sweet kisses before getting in the rolls royce to be driven to rehearsals, hesitant to do anything heavier since your chauffeur was standing there holding the door open. “i had a great time last night.” subong told you, pressing a kiss onto your forehead, his arms wrapped around your waist. your hands tenderly rubbed his back, “me too.” you stepped out of his embrace, looking up at him. “thank you for, uh—” you cleared your throat, sheepish. “making up for lost time.” you nodded, seeing an upside-down grin on his face. “its only right.” he teased, kissing your temple. “i’ll see you tonight at eight, baby.” “see you.” you kissed his lips. “let me know when you get there.” “i will.”

and you show the fuck up you did: a matching black blazer and trouser set, heels, sunglasses, a james allen piece adorning your neck. of course you were going to show up for your man (though the need for confirmation really intensified these last few days …) and in fucking style! you sat in your suite overlooking the television studio; it was moderately busy, cameramen getting into position, judges sat at their table in front of the stage, producers either sat in the crowd or getting last minute things in order. the competition started on time, subong slated to go sixth after the name draw before showtime, so you spectated with ease. your posture strengthened in your seat during the commercial break before subong’s performance, taking your sunglasses off, holding them idly in your lap. he was a natural on stage, and ate up those two and a half minutes allotted to him with his sampling of a fugees song. it was like he made the tv studio into a makeshift kingdom, though his disciples were numbered and scattered—the power was omnipresent. the lyrics weren’t half bad either, rather clever with a humorous touch. and there’s something about the way he holds that fucking microphone so close to his lips … as if to say you will fucking hear me, and you will like it. his outfit could use some fine-tuning though. you thought to yourself. maybe drop the shirt and shorts, throw in some jewelry and a nice tracksuit … sneakers … sunglasses … silk chiffon might look nice, too … i’ll look around next i go shopping—hold on, why am i acting like his wife?

before you could process, as if on cue, you heard your phone ding in your purse. there were two texts from subong: Hi my baby howd you like it?; Where are you sitting. he nearly choked on his water in the green room backstage reading your messages: Hi subongie :) You did so well!!; I think I need my vibrator; I’m sat up top, in one of the suites. a few minutes later, subong responded: Youre so fancy baby; Haha Ill help u in the car after😏😏—you showed up the next day for the eliminations, jumping out of your seat in applause and cheers when subong was the second person voted through to the next round. he could hear you from his spot on stage; viewers clueless as to why he was smiling wider than usual that night.

he celebrated by getting to the bottom of why you were so quiet in bed. call it gluttony; obsession; or whatever the fuck—he needed to know and squash that shit like a bug. so here subong was, underneath your duvet after making love to your areolas with his unforgiving tongue, fingering your tight pussy with his middle and ring fingers. you looked so gorgeously fucked out; trying to kiss him back, holding onto the back of his neck to bringing him into your lips, but succumbing to the unbridled pleasure. instead of his fingers going in and out, they remained inside your lush walls; his palm laid flat against your pussy, inadvertently also taking care of your clit, repeatedly moving up and down in quick ministrations to create a sensation akin to him fucking you. subong, being the motherfucker he is, didn’t lay back on his own pillow when you struggled to kiss him back, but watched your every move closely. “what is it, baby?” his voice, though low, was almost rarely audible with the lewd sound coming from underneath the duvet. “you can tell me.” he said knowingly.

all that came out of you were gasps and shallow breaths. subong had enough: “we’re in your fucking kingdom of a house. why don’t you make some noise?” his hand showed mercy, fingers tracing your puffy lips to hear your response. “i’ve never.” you shook your head, swallowing. you opened your eyes, looking at him. “not even when i touch myself. what if they overhear?” subong tsked. he leaned down, hovering his lips above yours. “but you have no problem shoving your tongue down my throat in front of them, huh? don’t act so fucking innocent.” he purposefully backed away when you tried to kiss him, biting his lip hearing you whimper so needily. “i thought you liked it.” your hand reached up to cup his face, eyes pleading and cloudy. you looked so beautiful and so fucking hot that subong couldn’t help himself, giving you his lips, kissing you harder upon feeling your hand travel up the back of his head into his hair. “i do,” he murmured against your lips. his fingers slipped back into you, continuing his ministrations like no time had passed. you gasped, breaking the kiss, your eyes on one another’s. “but i hate hypocrites even more.”

your eyes became glossy. “oh,” subong voice curiously. “are you crying?” you shook your head in disbelief. you had no idea your body could feel this amazing, let alone from one fucking hand. “it f-feels so good.” you could barely muster a whisper. “yeah? i know, mama, i know.” he jutted out his bottom lip, kissing your lips softly, his tongue teasing yours. his hand quickened its pace, making you inhale sharply. “now fucking act like it.” said subong, turning to look at the rising and lowering peak of his arm working you under the duvet. he heard you whimper and mewl: “s-su-subong!” “thats it, baby. that’s it. c'mon. you can do it, i know you can.” he encouraged, tongue running along his bottom lip, ignoring the mounting ache of his wrist. you whimpered until you couldn’t anymore; a guttural moan rang straight from your diaphragm and into the acoustics of your bedroom, back arching off your mattress through your orgasm, toes curling into the linen. triumphant, subong smiled wider than he did on stage earlier tonight. “yes! that’s it, there you go.” he praised. he slowed his hand down, sucking his fingers clean. he leaned over to your exhausted state, kissing your face tenderly. “that’s my girl. that’s my fucking girl. you did so well. i’m so proud of you.”

you fell for him quickly. perhaps a little … too quickly … but you didn’t have time to rake over the details, you were too busy trying to make his dick fit a week and a half later. you imagined this is what prom night looked like for a lot of young adults: desperate, clingy, and a little bit awkward. your hands held onto subong’s shoulders, the both of you watching the sight below you: his fingers holding the base of his condom-wrapped cock, his tip inside of you. subong didn’t have a good feel of you yet, but from now warm his tip alone felt, he’d have to reinvent his sense of self control. he pushed in slowly, halting when hearing you wince. “it hurts so bad.” you whispered, eyebrows furrowed in pain. “i know, baby.” he said, free hand cupping your cheek, bringing the one closest to his lips. “should’ve gotten the more lubricated ones. fuck.” you muttered, somewhat frustrated. subong could sense it: “we’ll make it work.” he said. he peered downward. “you think i can move?” you nodded. “try.” he was barely a centimeter deeper when the discomfort doubled. you shook your head, “nope.” “should i take it out—” “—no, it’ll be worse if we start all over again.” he ate you out like a man starved before putting the condom on, so why weren’t your muscles relaxed enough to make this at least a little more easier? his hardened cock weighed him down like a fucking boulder, keeping himself afloat with his elbows sinking into the mattress. “you need to relax.” he observed, his arms on either side of your head. “don’t be so nervous.” you huffed, annoyed at yourself. “that’s the problem, subong. you make me nervous—” “i’m tired of hearing that shit.” he cut you off, looking right into your eyes, his palms holding your head in place. “get this through your fucking head: you want me like i want you. probably even more than me from how wet you fucking are. let yourself have it.”

there was something new in his eyes, something you hadn’t seen before. “okay.” you whispered, nodding. “i will.” “fucking finally.” subong looked back down. “i’m going to move again.” he was deeper than before, on the precipice of stretching you out. a strange mix of discomfort and an ache blossoming into looming pleasure stirred throughout your body, jaw falling open. “jesus fucking christ!” you exclaimed in a whisper. “why do you have to be so big!” you glanced at his face, seeing his shit-eating fucking upside down grin; smugger than a motherfucker. “i mean …” subong smirked, tilting his head to the left as if in thought. “i’d say i’m average, but if you say so.” you tsked. “oh god, i shouldn’t have said anything.” “no no,” subong couldn’t hold back his chuckle. “there’s nothing wrong in telling the truth, baby.” he laughed when he felt your palm smack his shoulder, the annoyed look on your face something he’s ready to see into his next life. “make it fucking fit, if you’re so good at this.” “okay,” he gave in. he held your hands over your head, intertwining your fingers together. “breath for me. in,” you inhaled together. “and out. in,” you did it again. before subong could pronounce the last syllable, your bare chest crashed into his, his cock inside you. “and out—” “—fuck!” his thrusts were deep and calculated, grunting as your tight pussy held his cock for ransom with every movement. “you d-don’t know how much i’m holding b-back r-right now.” subong mumured, voice deep and breath hot, his heavy balls plopping against the bottom of your ass. “this tight fucking pussy … all for me … baby, i won the fucking lottery.” he cut himself off with a shaky moan, hips stuttering. “s-subong!” your voice cracked into a mewl, head sinking into the pillow as your back arched, speechless at how divinely he filled you up. subong’s eyes seered into your face, nodding as he fucked you harder and deeper, “that’s right. feel every fucking inch of me—f-fuck! ngh!—t-that’s right. squeeze me with that tight fucking pussy. c'mon. make me yours.”

condom disposed of and carnal aches taken care of, you and subong laid peacefully in bed afterward, the both of you watching your fingers re-intertwine. something lingered in the air after he made you cum so hard that your chest convulsed and he gave himself a charley’s horse from how tightly his toes curled: a new portal of vulnerability, a sense of trust if either of you dared to think. “do you really have to go?” he asked quietly. “i do. its for my phd.” you turned your head on your pillow to look at him, but his eyes remained on his and your hands. “it’ll only be for a week.” you were set to travel briefly to south africa in the coming days to visit libraries and historical archives for your course-assigned research; the appointments booked months before you met subong. he didn’t think it would affect him whatsoever. you were just another girl, someone he’d ring up once a while had passed … but with how he cowardly avoided eye contact, and felt anxious at the thought of you boarding that jet … no—he bought himself some time: “what’s it for, again?” he mumbled. “its for my study of presidents and their influence on democracies.” you watched your fingers cross between the crevices of his. “south africa’s democracy is very new, so its a unique point of reference. plus, i’ve always wanted to visit.” you looked at him again, his focus still elsewhere. you’d be remised to not see the signs: “it’s only for a week, subong.” you repeated, tone gentle. “i know.” his voice lower than usual, almost defeated.

you put your hand down, turning onto your side, closer to him. your lips pressed a kiss to his temple. “i’ll miss you.” you whispered. he shook his head, not liking this complicated feeling stirring in his chest. “don’t do that.” he said sternly. he saw the appalled look you gave him from his periphery. “take your own advice: let yourself fucking have this.” you said sharply, poking his shoulder with your finger for emphasis. subong took a sideways glance at you, kissing his teeth, trying to add his own fuel to the fire—but he just couldn’t. you were right; unequivocally and wholeheartedly. he grew tired of throwing his silent tantrum, turning on his side to face you. you didn’t look at him. it’s not like he deserved it. “don’t be gone for too long.” he said. “i’ll …” he hesitated. “i’ll feel weird.” okay, he wasn’t the best, but it was a start. being vulnerable felt foreign, but a welcome change in his subconscious; goosebumps formed on his arms. “i won’t.” you muttered. “i’ll be back before you know it.” subong scooted closer to you, fixating his gaze downward onto the linen, mirroring you. a moment went by before he had the gall again, albeit subdued. “i didn’t know i was dating a humanitarian.” he said quietly. your eyes shot up. “we’re dating?”

for the first time in a long time, subong fell flustered. “i mean, yeah …” his voice trailed, grinning so hard his eyes kissed at the end, smile lines deepening as the memory etched into his skin. “i just fucked the shit out of you, so i’d hope i would be your boyfriend after that.” without warning, you grabbed his face, pressing kisses all over his cheeks and forehead. his knees felt like jelly, and his face started to hurt from how much he’d been smiling. “okay, that’s enough.” he chuckled. you didn’t relent, only kissing his skin more tenderly. “stop acting so nonchalant, boy.” you murmured against his warm skin, each touch sweeter than the last. “boy?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow, eyeing you. his perpetually amused grin basked you in. “i’m six years your senior.” “what do you prefer, then?” you pressed your last kiss to the corner of his mouth. “ahjussi?” subong scoffed. “fuck no.” “exactly.” you said. you couldn’t resist kissing his cheek, pressing yours against his afterward. “my boy. my man. my baby. my subongie.” you listed aloud. he exhaled through his nose, hands tracing the curve of your hips, arms bringing you into him. “my girl, hm?” he said gently. “i like the sound of that.”

the night before you flew out, you held subong in your arms, his head on your chest. he would never admit in the a million fucking years that he liked to be coddled like this, even if he did out himself earlier in the afternoon, having fallen asleep in the same exact position, just in your backyard hammock to the sound of a nearby fountain. your fingers combed through his purple hair; his roots had grown in, the volume gone, laying charmingly flat on his forehead. he’s in need for a touch-up. i’ll make an appointment when i come back. you thought to yourself, hearing his steady breaths, eyes closed. “you don’t need me to do well on sunday, you know.” you told him gently, lips finding the top of his forehead. “you’ll do just fine, if not better.” subong grumbled something incoherent, moving his head to lay on his other cheek, pressing a kiss into the fabric of your shirt where the valley of your breasts would be before settling with a content huff. “i’ll be okay.” he told a half-truth. “i don’t think my eyes will leave your suite, though.”

it was well past two in the morning; less than five hours before your flight, but sleep wasn’t in sight. you found yourselves talking about anything and everything. it could have been exhaustion-induced, but subong couldn’t stop talking to you. five silent minutes went by, and he thought of something else: “do you think i’d look good with a puffer jacket on stage?” he murmured. “i think you’d look really hot. very british, too.” “thank you, baby. i don’t know if that last part was a compliment, though.” you did, too: “ant-man was always my least favorite avenger. he was pushed too hard. i mean, did anyone even go see that movie?” “why’re you asking me? i can’t look into other people’s minds.” “well, you’re thanos, for one. you should’ve wiped him out sooner.” “i will in another life, baby.”

then three o'clock came, and things took a turn. you brought up your families: “my sister looked out for me the most when i was growing up.” you told him, hearing him hum as he listened, the both of you tucked underneath the fluffy duvet. “there’s eight years between us, but she made it feel like eight days with how close we were.” you grinned, the warmth of the memories heating your cheeks. “she’s the first person i ever saw defy my parents. if she didn’t like their chosen suitor, she’d tell them. loudly, too. all the while i was just to eating my salmon and asparagus without a clue in the world.” you exhaled through your nose, hearing his low chuckle. “things changed when she went to study at harvard. i can’t blame her; she had other things to do. new priorities, a life to live.” you nodded to yourself, your silk pillowcase rubbing against your cheek. “but i still felt the loss as a little girl. when she graduated, it was even more different … she wasn’t unrecognizable, but a lot more … uh … in order, if that makes sense.” “would you say she fell in line?” subong asked. you hesitated, but the truth showed itself. “i would, yeah.” you nodded, looking at him. “what about your brother?” “oh,” you scoffed. “he’s about as open as i am unbothered; not much.” you chuckled, but subong didn’t reciprocate. he watched you intently, feeling a common thread about to be unearthed. “well,” you began. “when he was last home for his birthday, we probably said about ten words to each other. before that, i phoned him a couple weeks after the fall semester started. the call was less than three minutes long.” embarrassment mounted, reluctantly looking at subong. “we don’t talk much.” you said. “i try, but he doesn’t. its hard to explain.”

“you don’t have to.” subong shook his head. “i know how it feels.” “you do?” “i don’t have any siblings, but my dad’s been a drunkard since i can remember. the type where he comes home late at night and says the government’s spying on him or some shit. i’m surprised it hasn’t taken him yet.” he attempted to joke, but your worried expression wiped his grin clean off. “my mother’s always been kind of pathetic, too. i’ve tried to get through to her, and i still do today. so that left my grandmother. she raised me, like how your sister raised you, i would say.” he nodded, hearing you hum. “when things got bad, i didn’t go home. i went to stay at a friend’s house. but she always welcomed me back. with a smile, too, and good kimbap. she didn’t understand why i wanted to rap, but she respected that i wanted to do something with my life, period.” he felt his throat close up, tongue running quickly over his lips, silence taking over. his eyes darted to yours, a little uncomfortable by his sudden emotional state, diverting to the linen. “my family—we’ve never really been close.” he said, inhaling through his nostrils. “mine neither.” you concurred. “they didn't—” he cleared his throat. “they didn’t show up to my enlistment ceremony.” he admitted. “i lost my grandmother two years before i had to go, so she couldn’t come.” he inhaled again, blinking quickly. “i haven’t, uh,” he took a moment, shaking his head. “i haven’t been the same since.”

his words sunk into your consciousness. you moved closer to him, closing the remainder of the already small gap. your hand came up to his face, thumb tracing his cheekbone, bringing the one closer to your lips. subong didn’t flinch or show any sign of retaliation. his face felt heavy, breathing through the small part of his lips, sitting with his feelings. he felt you press your cheek onto his, yours lips by his ear. “she would’ve come.” you whispered. his bottom lip quivered, glossy eyes hurriedly dashing around the ceiling. he blinked his tears away, not enough to deter his shaky voice: “i know.” he nodded. “i know she would have.” he lays there in your understanding touch, eyes squeezed shut to keep himself afloat. he grabbed your wrist, turning his head and planting kisses on your palm. his last kiss had him holding your fingers to his forehead, his eyes closing again, almost in silent prayer; i’ve found her. his inner monologue said freely, him fighting a sob. this is the one.

you lifted your head, seeing his pained expression. your fingers slipped out of his, going back to his cheek, kissing his temple in silent assurance; bringing him back down to earth. he opened his eyes, nodding curtly to himself, clearing his throat. he tried to move up his pillow and out of the way, but you kept him in place, returning your cheek to his, your eyelashes tickling his cheekbone, lips in a similar pout. he fucking loved snuggling like this—not only was it lethally adorable, and so preciously needy, but he felt cared for; enough to have skin-to-skin contact, enough for your body temperatures to become one. he turned his head, pressing a kiss onto your supple skin. “you should call your sister.” he told you sincerely, low voice, breath warm against your ear. “i bet she misses you a lot.” your sinuses started to loosen, lips tightening together. “you don’t get to make me cry.” you said, grinning upon hearing and feeling the vibrations of his chuckle.

something in subong’s psyche indefinitely changed. he checked his phone constantly, having added the timezone to his phone to see when it would be okay to call you. his eyes watched your empty suite like a hawk through soundcheck to the point where one of the producers told him to focus on the camera. he looked fondly at his phone screen scrolling through your photos throughout your trip sent daily. it was his middle of the night and your early evening, but he felt his heart swell at seeing you visit a national park at sunrise, smiling so beautiful in your seat for the safari, another photo of you looking back at the herd of zebras in the near distance; a mirror selfie showing what you wore to one of many libraries you visited, his favorite being the tan matching trouser set paired with an white linen shirt and cartier bracelet, the blazer resting on your shoulders; one of food so delectable it made his stomach grumble, and one of you stood at the beach that woke his dick up. So beautiful baby, he wrote back. Can’t wait to talk to you when you wake up:)

subong pummeled you from below when you came back; your hand on the headboard, both of his separating your cheeks, his feet almost flat against the duvet, giving him the utmost leverage. he was whimpering pathetically, face contorted in pleasure he hadn’t felt in years. he tried to protect his pride, biting his lip and letting that vein pop out of his temple, but the sound of your fucking moans, man … and your breasts dangling in his face like that … you felt so relaxed, so open that he fucked you with ease, his balls plopping against you with every thrust. “you feel how fucking heavy my balls are, baby?” subong said through gritted teeth, stomach caving inward, trying to stop that knot from unraveling. “you feel that, yeah?” “y-yes!” you cried out. “yeah? that’s all because of you—f-fuck! a—agh! ngh!” you clenched around him, making his thrusts momentarily subside, cock pulsating in the condom. subong grunted through his racing heartbeat, his nose smushed against your cheek. he adjusted his grip, continuing his unrelenting pace. his eyes rolled back. “o-oh fuck yeah,” his head rested on his pillow, mouth slack. “that’s fucking right. take that fucking dick.”

you gasped, looking down to see your left nipple in his mouth, his tongue running over the hardened peak. his eyes were closed contently, suckling in peace whilst he fucked you. “that f-feels so good, subong.” you bit your bottom lip, eyebrows turning upward. “k-keep—mmph!—keep sucking.” “yeah? you like that, baby?” he hummed, satisfied. he leaned up to kiss you, fucking you faster. you shot up, both of your hands now on the headboard, moaning helplessly, taking it like the good girl you are. “your s-subongie had s-such a—fuck—hard time without you.” he said from beneath you. “i t-tried to touch myself after one of our calls, looking at you looking so fine on the beach,” he swallowed, mouth dry, thrusts becoming sloppy. “but—but i couldn’t, baby.” he shook his head, eyes glossy. “did you get everything you need on your trip, baby? for your research?” the genuine sincerity in his tone contrasted greatly with his lewd actions, making you moan louder than before. you had this man so down bad he sent you the wikipedia page link for a random political leader from a completely different nation than you traveled to, saying it was interesting just to feel some sort of proximity to you during your time apart. “i did, subongie, i—h-haa! i did.” “good, baby.” he smiled. “i’m glad. your s-subongie is so fucking glad!” he whined, punctuating his sentence when hard thrusts. “i couldn’t get off without you—oh fuck!” you fucked him back, meeting his thrusts, balls slamming into you. “h—haa, f-fuck—ngh—baby! baby, baby, i’m gonna—” “show me how much you m-missed me.” you suffocated his cock through your orgasm, looking down to see subong looking ghostly; sweat shining on his forehead, hot cum dripping out of the condom and down his emptied ballsack.

needless to say, he’s locked the fuck in. you ride in the rolls royce with him to drop him off at rehearsals, giving him a farewell kiss before he leaves the car akin to a wife sending her husband off to his 9-5. you’re locked in, too, sat in your suite watching him on stage like he is your husband, of the last ten years matter of fact, and you have four kids together. his strategy of sampling songs increased in virality every time he stepped on stage, launching not only the competition’s growing viewership (“they just told me over one hundred and eighty thousand people watched me rap to justin timberlake.”), but also his overall popularity, too. his social media began blowing up, along with the work email listed in his instagram bio that’s collected dust. his swagger permeated onto everyone’s feeds, particularly from his most recent performance with a very characteristically raunchy line placed notably cleverly that even the judges couldn’t keep a straight face. he rode the chorus of suit & tie with unbridled ease: “that’s right,” he nodded. “she my girl, my señorita. there ain’t nothing i can’t teach her. when she says 'baby have you ever tried…’ like JT i go—” he raised his hands in false surrender, a fine ass smile on his face when the original song goes ’let me show you a few things,’ before bringing the microphone back to his mouth, finishing his verse.

you fucked in the backseat of the rolls royce after he survived elimination night. you let your chauffeur off early, making sure the partition was up since you felt somewhat shameful for doing this so publicly, but not enough to stop. you bounced on his cock like it was the last thing you’d ever do, whorish moans mixing with his pathetic whimpers. his hands lifeless on your hips; head thrown back on the seat as drool teased the corner of his mouth. your thighs burned, and your knees wanted to do away with continuously rubbing against the leather, but it didn’t fucking matter; you fucked him like you owned it. “f-fuck, baby!” he exclaimed. “just like that, just like that!” you raised your head, pressing your nose against his temple, swiveling your hips. a grunt forced its way out of his diaphragm, fingers sinking into the powdery skin of your ass, his belt and jeans tinkering on the floor as he moved his feet. “am i taking you well, subongie?” he nearly fell apart at that, crying out desperately, arms wrapping around you, holding himself close to you whilst you showed no mercy to his helpless dick. “hm? am i t-taking—f-fuck! ngh!—am i taking your big fucking cock well? is this tight pussy making you feel good? yeah?” throwing his words back at him would have made you a mother if not for the condom, along with the feeling of your bulgari diamond earrings pressing against his cheekbone.

“y-yes! yes, baby!” he pleaded, voice a noticeable octave higher. “you take this dick so well i’m not gonna have any—fuck!—i’m not gonna have any cum left after this!” he cried. a strong wave of pleasure washed over your body, making you slam down onto him and clench around his cock—a moan so guttural rang out of him that it made you jump, quickly covering his mouth with your palm. he opened his half-lidded, glossy eyes, confused. “someone’ll fucking hear you!” you shushed. he flicked your hand away, breathing heavily, words slurring a little. “you’re fucking me in a car that’s worth more than i’ll ever make.” he took a deep breath. “and you want me to keep quiet? shut the fuck up.” you tightened around him, making him bite his bottom lip, sharply slapping your right globe. “who told you to stop, hm?” he asked, kneading your ass before smacking it again. “if you don’t move, i’m going to take over.” he said. you sat up, hands moving to his shoulders, and started moving your hips again. “mhm, that’s right.” he praised, spreading his legs further. “no one knows this dick like you do.” you started bouncing again, biting your lip through your aching thighs, watching his face contort meekly. his breath hitched every time your inner thighs met his lower stomach. “just like that!” he cried out. “f-fuck, baby! just like that! f-fuck, you own this fucking dick—” he gasped when you grabbed his jaw, pushing head back over the seat. “stop talking so much. let me fucking focus.” “p-please! please, baby! i’m so close, i’m so fucking close!” he begged. a housekeeper accidentally overheard the muffled commotion, rushing back into the guesthouse to trade heated gossip.

it was the hottest ticket in town to work in your household. perhaps the most eventful thing in recent years. its true that a majority of your staff had known you your whole life, unequivocally in tune with your habits, food and laundry preferences, how your mood might differ depending on the weather—anything, really. but it was the newer recruits who had just signed the dotted line on their non-disclosure agreements that stood in shock in the hallway outside of your bedroom, vacuum on and in hand, hearing repeated banging of a wall. she turned it off, carefully walking up to the closed door, gasping when she heard something crash followed by a cacophony of grunts and moans. you’d just hoisted yourself up onto your desk, shoving your stationary out of the way onto the floor. subong quickly grabbed your ass, pulling himself into you hard and roughly; grunting with every thrust. “harder, subong! h-harder!” “if i go any h-harder, i’m gonna fucking pass the fuck out! f-fuck, baby!” another recruit emerged from a nearby room after cleaning it, the one by your door hurriedly hushing them over. their upcoming weekend off was about to be one for the ages.

he tried to plan dates without feeling like a coward. key word: tried. “i know a nice restaurant with a karaoke place next to it.” he told you over the phone, entering his neighborhood convenience mart. “that sounds fun, subong.” you spoke from your end of the line. you carefully set down a plate filled with freshly-made food by your chefs for lunch: a loaded smoked salmon sandwich with homemade fries. a majority of your day had been spent in your study working on a report for one of your courses, phoning subong during your lunch break. “where is it?” you asked, sitting down on your desk chair. “in itaewon, actually. not far from club pentagon.” subong looked over his shoulder, seeing the cashier was occupied with a customer, quickly pocketing two pre-packaged rolls of kimbap in his hoodie. “i know someone who works there. i can—i can probably get us in there for free.” why did every word feel more embarrassing than the last? she just dropped everything and went to south fucking africa, and i’m offering free karaoke? he ran his palm over his face, sitting on the curb outside of a laundromat. he kept his phone to his ear with his shoulder, taking a roll out and opening the package. “i can pay, subong.” you said after swallowing a bite of your sandwich. “no, no. its fine. its my—its my treat.” he said, chewing on a slice of kimbap. it was dry as shit, but he made due. he shook his head, grimacing at himself. how much more embarrassing can i be? “i’m your boyfriend.” the sentiment was sweet, but the unavoidable truths of your dynamic made it cringe. at least to him. “i should be doing things for you.” he stuffed another slice in his mouth before he could humiliate himself any further.

you smiled sweetly despite him not being able to see, dipping your fry into a small bowl of homemade honey mustard. you matched his typical energy: “you do more than enough with how i remember the shape of it.” he smiled greatly, growing sheepish. “you got that right, baby.” he chuckled. “does friday work for you? i can come over on saturday, like we usually do.” “that should be fine—hold on. is this friday the ninth?” “i think so.” subong pulled the wrapper down, sliding another slice into his mouth. “why?” you got up, checking the calendar hung next to your framed oxford degree. “shit. i have a gala that day.” “a what?”“a gala.”“the fuck is a gala?”“a fundraising event.” you answered, sitting back down in your desk chair. “have you heard of the met gala? its like that, just with less photographers.”“yeah, i know: the place where people wear clothes that don’t make sense.” he said with a full mouth, swallowing as he heard you laugh. “that’s one way of putting it, yes.” “what do you do there?”“well, i dress up really pretty,” you began, grabbing your glass of water, taking a sip. “and then i go and sit. take photos. mingle. network. i’m standing in for my parents.” “mingle?” subong was taken aback, a grain of rice stuck on the corner of his bottom lip. “network? what are you even talking about? you should be at the club. with me.”“i have to go. for image.” “whatever that means.” said subong, tsking. “i know, i know.” you agreed. an upside-down grin tugged at your lips, going forth with pulling his leg some more: “maybe i should tell you about our stakeholders.”“you know,” he swallowed, this bite not going down as easily as the others. he should’ve knicked a water bottle, too. “you make my dick so hard that it fucking scares me, but that just made it limp so quick that i’m starting to feel lightheaded.”“subong!” “what? i’m being for real!”

subong should have already known he had fallen in love like a fucking fool. he made the photo you sent from the gala his lockscreen a little too quickly … on the deck of a yacht, a saturated golden hue of the sunset behind you turning the crisp blue ocean water into an enriched shade of violet; million dollar smile on your gorgeous fucking face, flute glass of bubbly in hand, long sleeve burgundy gown leaving nothing to his imagination—all tied together with the accompanying Missing you!!🥰. or when he was picked up late that friday night, waking up the late the next morning, aimlessly walking into your sunlit en suite bathroom with a raging case of morning wood after falling asleep with his dick against your plush ass. the discomfort from peeing woke his senses enough to open his eyes somewhat when washing his hands. he lifted his head, looking at himself shirtless in the spacious vanity mirror, momentary caught off hard by the dark red lipstick kiss marks trailing his cheeks, neck, and collarbone—until he remembered the previous night’s events. his fingers touched the blurred marks lightly, a smug grin appearing on his face. he heard his phone ding, seeing he left it charging on your sink, next to your augustinus bader moisturizer. there were a couple of texts that came in overnight, business emails he didn’t know what to do with, two mg coin youtube notifications, and three from his crypto app. he turned it on silent, walking back to bed, hearing you mutter his name.

he found himself thinking about the way your fingers pushed strands of his hair off his sweaty forehead after making love—making love? since when did he stop calling it fucking … hearing your quiet “come here” or “i need you,” and subong would not hesitate to oblige, letting himself fall into your embrace, steadying his heartbeat with yours. how about when he was taking off your jeans to eat you out, and he’d see the fraying inner hems from your thighs rubbing together when walking? or when you haven’t realized the denim’s worn out … and there’s that little peek of skin … jesus … he’s never seen anything sexier in his life. he wanted to be buried there forever. or when you couldn’t keep your hands off one another to last a shower together, the acoustics of the en suite making your moans drill into his ears without mercy in tandem with the overwhelming steam of the running water. your tits pressed up against the glass, his fingers digging into your hips as he fucks you from behind, mouth breathing down your ear. “that’s right. take it like the whore you are—the whore you turn me into— f-fuck!” he pulled out, cumming hard onto the shower floor. his lips found the back of your bare shoulder as you came down from your high—“my girl, you’re my fucking girl.” murmured subong, lips nipping at your ear. “no one knows this pussy like i do. no one.”

however, through it all, his initial question remained valid: what do you get or do for someone who already has it all, and if they don’t, with a swipe of a card, they do? he was dreadfully nervous stepping out of that rolls royce, arriving at the guesthouse for your three month anniversary dinner clutching a gift bag housing a book you mentioned wanting to read recently. he was moderately proud of himself when seeing your smile upon opening your gift; the awkwardness of inferiority looming over him like an oncoming storm cloud nonetheless. his mind went blank, though, when you brought out your gifts, staring at the table with his mouth agape at the sight of a brand new rolex and gucci tennis shoes. “is it too much?” you asked worriedly, taking a sip of your rosé, seeing the look on his face. “no, it’s fine.” he shook his head. “it’s just that … i got you a fucking book.” “and i love it! i’ve been wanting to read it for a long time.” you quickly reassured, nodding. your fingers fixed his hair—freshly dyed a much more suitable shade of darker purple for his skintone; subong had his appointment at your salon two days previous—“just wanted to spoil you, is all.” you said gently, a warm grin on your face. “spoil a broke old man, hm?” he muttered cynically. you tsked, “don’t say that.” you warned. “it’s the truth.” subong retorted. “stop it.” you said with finality. “so what if you’re older? i don’t see how that’s a hinderance.” you shook your head. “i can’t expect everyone around me to have their shit in order when mine was before i was even a thought, or a consideration to my parents.” you said. “subong,” you let out a breath. “when i first met you, one of the first things i noticed was your wrinkles. don’t give me that look just yet, let me say my case.” he deflated his offended expression, sinking back into his cushioned chair, hearing the cicadas chirp in the trees surrounding the backyard. “i see these,” your manicured thumb brushed his smile lines, crow’s feet, and forehead wrinkles, “and i see someone who knows what he wants, because he’s lived long enough to know.” you told him. “in three months, i’ve experienced more with you than i have in years. years, subong, and forgive me if i want my man to look fly on stage in return.” you put your hands up in surrender, hearing him laugh lowly.

“at least let me put the watch on you? to see how it looks?” you implored gently. you smiled seeing him nod, “okay.” you took the golden watch out of its box, opening the clasp and settling the band around his wrist, closing the clasp securely. it looked natural on him. “what do you think, baby?” you asked. subong examined his wrist, feeling the comfortable weight of the 18 karat gold. “i like it.” his grin turned into a full-on smile. “i like it a lot.” “its look so good on you!” you beamed, embracing him. subong tried the shoes, too, feeling confident enough to model them for you around the table you were having dinner at. he temporarily left his steak and beer behind to practice poses he was going to do on stage: “i’ll hit them with this,” he curled his upper lip, crossing his arms over his chest, legs at a wide stance. “and then this.” he turned around, looking over his shoulder, watch on display behind him. “yes!” you cheered, clapping after finishing your glass of rosé, “you look so sick, baby.”

later in the evening, you two were laid up together in the spacious hammock. subong actively fought falling asleep on your chest—lulled by the subdued chittering of cicadas joined by crickets; gucci tennis shoes off and politely put to the side to avoid creasing them. it was barely past nine thirty pm, and subong’s eyelids weighed him down heavier than his rolex laden wrist. it was a lethal combination: the early summer heat that was more nurturing rather than humid, the subtle breeze brushing past his ears as the hammock rocked side to side, your fingers combing through his hair … if he wasn’t careful enough, he was going to leave a trail of drool on your blouse that felt like butter against his skin—holy shit, how many thousands of dollars am i just breathing on right now? he quickly opened his eyes, switching the cheek he was laying on, humming in content when your fingers returned to his hair, hearing your stacked cartier and van cleef bracelets tinker together softly. “baby?” he muttered. “hm?” “i have a question.” you smirked, finding his polite approach amusing. “go ahead, subong.” “throughout all the times i’ve been to your kingdom, i can’t help but wonder why you don’t have a pool. or, like, even a jacuzzi.” he spoke. “when i was a kid, that was all i knew about the rich from movies. or the music videos i would watch.” “i see, i see.” you said, understanding. “well,” you let out a breath. “i don’t have one, but my parents do.” “are they home?” you shook your head. “no. one’s in macau, the other’s in tokyo.” subong raised his head. “see, now this is a moment straight out of a movie.” he said, smiling when you let out a laugh. “do you want to head up there? its only about a five minute walk.” “the fuck? of course.”

it was a bit more casual than subong expected it to look: lights illuminating the water, a few cushioned lounge chairs, a couch, and what looked to be an open bar or makeshift barbecue space on the opposite end. the house behind him—or fucking giant’s dollhouse, more aptly put—was another thing to unpack a different time entirely. he kicked the withered sneakers he came tonight with off, stripping himself of his jeans and t-shirt, discarding the garments on a nearby lounge chair. he looked up, seeing you struggle to undo the button on the back of your neck holding your blouse up. he reached over, humming in acknowledgement after your quiet “thank you.” you turned around, tossing your blouse with his clothes, seeing him take off his watch, rings and chain holding his cross, placing them carefully beside his shirt. “can i try one?” you asked, unbuttoning your trousers, pushing them down to your ankles. subong turned his head, a slightly bewildered expression on his face. “you know what’s in there?” his tone wavered with unease with the slightest hint of shame; like he’d been caught. you assured him with ease: “i do.” you spoke, nodding like nothing was wrong. “you—you always wear it.” it was your turn to feel ashamed, the upcoming confession certainly not the best. “so when you were in the shower one day … i suppose i became curious. so i held it, and i heard something shake around, if that makes sense. then i felt a small hatch.” the rest of the story filled itself in. “i-i'm—i’m not judging you, or anything!” you quickly, but earnestly defended, waving either of your hands for emphasis. “there are more people than i can count that i grew up with that are arguably unrecognizable without dilated pupils. i guess what i’m trying to say is … i’m not entirely unfamiliar.” “have you done anything before?” subong asked. “i mean,” you shrugged your shoulders. “if you count a brownie i ate on a ski trip with friends a couple of years ago, and instead of shutting up i actually spoke more than i usually do, then yes. i’ve done something before.” he snickered, making you grin. “i don’t know. i guess my curiosity can be a bit of a—a bit of a vice, sometimes.”

“listen, i don’t know what the fuck 'a vice’ means, but you being curious isn’t a bad thing.” said subong, walking up to you. he turned his head to his left, eyeing the pool before returning his gaze to yours. “but not tonight, baby.” he said gently, shaking his head. “the shit i have is crazy. don’t want any accidents to happen.” “okay.” you nodded, feeling his lips coming down and kissing your temple, his hands coming up your back, undoing the clasp of your bra. his fingers hooked underneath the hem of your panties, pulling them down to your ankles, pressing a kiss to your right hip and shoulder on his way back up. he quickly shoved his briefs off, taking your hand leading you down the steps into the pool. he swam in the warm water with open joy, dipping around and wetting his hair. he caught your hand, pulling you towards him. his palms lifted your thick thighs submerged in the water, satisfied upon feeling your legs wrap around his waist; the buoyancy of the water letting him hold you with ease. your hands held his face, bringing him in for a sweet kiss. “always wanted to fuck you like this, y'know.” he murmured, kissing you back. “would be so fucking hot.” you scoffed. “i would snap you in half.” “no, no.” he tutted, wanting your lips back. “i can do it. i can handle all that.” you gave him your lips, only to quip back. “that can be debatable, at times.” you teased. “no its not.” whined subong, kissing your jaw, trailing down the side of your neck. “whenever i’m on top, you look ghostly.” “doesn’t mean i can’t handle it.” said subong. “you might throw your back out trying to hold me against the wall.” you joked, not sure how he would react. you failed horrendously at holding your laugh in when he nudged you off. “fuck this.” he muttered. “when i’m trying to be all sensual and shit, set the mood—” “—no, come back! i was only kidding! you can handle all this!”

by the time you and subong wrapped up in the pool, it was late enough where neither of you wanted to walk back to the guesthouse—opting to stay. subong did not have the brainpower whatsoever to process the fucking museum of a family home he walked into, but did garner enough to greet the two dogs that came running across the marble-tiled floors to you two—a portuguese water dog named nana, and a shibu inu called sunny—after entering the home through the poolside entryway. the both of you, barefoot with dampened clothes, walked up the staircase leaving what he thought to be one of many kitchens throughout the manor, zigzagging (to him) through various hallways, climbing up another staircase. you opened the door to what was once your childhood bedroom. you hadn’t actively lived in your family’s home for some time, but remnants of your past self were still present in the alanis morissette poster on the wall by your balcony, or the family photos lining the mantelpiece above the fireplace. no dust had dared accumulate, either; a direct result of your family’s loyal, diligent staff. you and subong washed off in the shower before heading to bed, knocking out damn near immediately after his head hit the plush pillow.

subong woke up at around half four in the morning, shuffling to the en suite, his mouth dry. he tried to relieve it by gurgling some water from the sink, but to no avail. he was thirsty. do i even remember the way to the kitchen? he thought to himself, opening the bedroom door, walking into the hallway. in his sleepy state, he took note of his surroundings: yeah, i remember that photo there … then there was that painting before the second staircase … before making it back to the kitchen. the dogs came over to him when he found a glass in one of the many cabinets, shoving it under the fridge’s water dispenser. after a few pats, he made his way back up. in the midst of his chugging, he took a wrong turn—turning left at the second landing as opposed to the right, where your bedroom was. he entered a random bedroom, reflexively turning on the light, remembering that you were asleep.

“shit. sorry, baby.” he whispered, turning the light off. it was in that sudden flash of visibility that he caught sight of the room he walked into; it didn’t look familiar whatsoever. intrigued, subong turned the light on again. he momentarily squinted whilst his vision adjusted to the bright glow of the humungous chandelier hanging in the middle of the high ceiling. subong had walked into what was undeniably the master suite that could not belong to anyone else but your parents—evident in not only the massive bed frame, but just how spacious the room is, spotting an archway leading to another corridor that subong could only assume led to their bathrooms, closets, and whatever else. there were fancy looking mirrors and thick curtains framing the tall windows, too, and he could see a view of the guesthouse on the far left. he walked in, bare feet touching the velvety carpet that felt like he was walking on clouds.

he walked underneath the regal archway, down the small hallway. its walls were decorated with paintings he could only imagine the price tags of, fingertips tracing the wooden paneling you would only see in palaces. my girl does live in a fucking kingdom. he walked past a dark room, unintentionally triggering its motion-sensor lighting. subong nearly dropped his glass at the walk-in closet before him. its his-and-hers layout was apparent; the garments were similar—blazers, suits, majority businesswear—but what differed were the color palettes. your father’s was on the left, his side featuring no other hues besides dark blue, black, and a rare dark brown. your mother’s side had slightly more variation both in color and fabric but was equally filled to the brim, the sheen of a lolite blue silk blazer contrasting with the enriching shade of the dark crimson wool sports jacket a few hangers down.

but nothing captured subong’s attention that the long, narrow cabinet standing in the middle of the room as a makeshift divider. subong opened the top drawer, eyes feasting on the jewelry before him: necklaces, bracelets, earrings, cufflinks, rings all laid out efficiently in black velvet trays without a speck of dust on them. his fingers traced the gold, silver … diamonds … sapphires … and pearls … swiping a pair of earrings, bracelet, and a ring, enclosed in his palm. “pocket change to them.” he muttered to himself, closing the drawer. he walked down the hallway and out of the suite after turning off the light, closing the door. subong returned to your room, seeing you were sound asleep in bed, having not moved. he set his glass down on the mantelpiece, picking his jeans up from the floor, pocketing the jewelry. he climbed back into bed, pressing a kiss to your forehead before dozing off.

for you, it was hard not to fall in love with subong. like, really hard. in between the night after dinner and karaoke, walking out of the bar into bustling itaewon nightlife at half past two in the morning, he reached behind him for your hand, charging through the congested walkways, guiding you to where the rolls royce was to head home, to when he’d take off your panties to eat you out, his finger outing your slick. “you’re so wet, baby.” he’d watch his middle finger disappear between your puffy lips. “who did that?” a devious, knowing grin stretched his mouth. “it wasn’t me, was it? all i did was kiss you…” to seeing him on that fucking stage, stomping around in those gucci tennis shoes and blinding the camera with the shine of his rolex, spectating in your suite like the motherfucking queen you are. or on those rides home after he survived elimination night yet again and so easily, always one of the first people voted through to the next round if not the first. he stepped into the rolls royce with a sweet grin on his face, giving you an even sweeter kiss, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “another round in the bag, lucky charm.” it was a name he rarely called you, but was very affectionate nonetheless. “did i make you proud? hm?” he asked, kissing your temple. “did your subongie make you proud?” all culminating to the partition going up, your hand making his tip red and angry, him muffling his whimpers and whines with your mouth.

his rising popularity paralleled your belief in subong, leading you to book studios for him to record his mixtape. you asked your staff to contact any notable producers willing to work with subong, sitting behind them, tending to your own business, as they worked and he was behind the mic. you looked up from the business email you were responding to on your ipad, eyebrows furrowing at subong’s attempted adlibs. you leaned over to your right, looking past one of the producers, seeing subong all up in that mic, making gestures and sounds like he was from a different neighborhood. you put your ipad aside, getting up. “which one do i press for me to hear him? thank you.” you were directed to a small red button to your right. the music stopped abruptly in subong’s headphones, catching him off guard. “subong? can you hear me?” “yeah—yeah, baby.” “stop making those noises. you’re from korea.” “but its for the image.” “you’re from korea.” you repeated, letting the button go, catching sight of the producer holding in his laugh in your periphery.

the mixtape did well—over 500,000 streams in total, and mounting jealousy from his fellow contestants. it soon became anything he needed, you got it for him … his manicure chipped? “subongie, does tuesday at two work for you? my nail tech has an opening.”; he’s feeling under the weather? Hi my honey, a reminder that check-up is at 12:30. The car will come at noon; his roots are coming in? you’re sat in a chair reading one of the many lifestyle magazines left out for customers to peruse through, giving your hairdresser a 550,000 won tip on the way out; he shows you pictures of tooth gems, thinking it might be cool to have one for his upcoming performance sampling lady gaga? he’s in that dentist’s chair by friday, smiling cheekily into the camera come sunday, purple butterflies twinkling on his pincers; you’re out shopping, and see a puffer jacket from prada that’d look good on him? you’re walking with it out the door less than five minutes later. not to mention the legal team you had on standby after hearing rumors he was going to be sued for sampling other music.

taking care of your man felt good … like, really fucking good. you’ve always daydreamed about spoiling someone who deserved it, and he fit the bill. you would be remised if you didn’t notice he liked being spoiled, too, with that glint in his eyes or increased bravado in every step he took; the flair of arrogance that fueled his ego both on stage and not, making your thighs rub together subconsciously in your suite or watching him manspread in the rolls royce. it was all so alluring and characteristically him … even if it came at a cost … and to his detriment, too. as the rap battleground competition proceeded, and his popularity increased, so did the amount of people waiting for him after the show. it started off harmless: a group of fanboys here, college girls there, fellow underground rappers who were hoping to qualify for next season … but then, some people got a little too comfortable: holding his hand in their photo with him, hands traveling up his arm when he told a joke, or simply just standing too fucking close—all the while you were sat in your own brewing storm cloud, watching in silence in your rolls royce, waiting for him to come to you.

you never left his line of sight—or line of desire, rather—but one thing you had left to learn about him is that no matter what, no matter how much he is given, some part of him, no matter how small, will always remain insatiable. you would end up learning that the hard way; this was just the beginning. your lingering frustration manifested in a myriad of admittedly petty ways: not giving subong the satisfaction of moaning loudly when he made you cum, shoving his face deeper into your cunt to shut him the fuck up; especially on the nights you’re sat on your family’s poolside, toes in the water, his knees on the steps, palms holding your thighs up, or giving him a curt kiss before he left the car for rehearsals. you felt utmost defeat the weekend after your four month anniversary, watching him from the car behind your sunglasses as he mingled with fans. it was the largest crowd yet following his sampling of bruno mars—and that wasn’t the problem, per sé. it was the group of women very clearly your age, but nothing was more clearer than the fact the one currently clinging to his arm, laying her head on his bicep, and strategically pulling down her tank top, was very desperately trying to communicate that she wants to fuck him.

perhaps the most painful part was the realization that you couldn’t blame her. she was very beautiful and incredibly mystifying; the type of allure that can be felt even from a distance, and certainly the kind men like subong pray for each night before bed. who the fuck am i? your inner monologue voiced bitterly. you turned away when her friend’s camera flash went off, her lips kissing his cheek whilst he wore the prada puffer jacket you got him and the bottega sunglasses you gifted him the previous weekend, his smile showing off the tooth gems you were over the moon to get him. is this another person thats going to slip from my fingers? you thought to yourself. you felt your bottom lip quiver, eyes becoming misty—the door opened, subong climbing in. you straightened your posture, quietly clearing your throat, glancing at him and seeing a lipstick mark on the corner of his jaw. “jesus.” you whispered under your breath, feeling your fucking heart decay.

subong moved as he normally did when the car drove out of the studio lot: wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “another one down, lucky charm. i can feel it.” he grinned proudly. you felt nauseous. “what’d you think? hm?” subong asked. “you like the performance?” “mhm.” you said plainly, moving away from his embrace, back into your own seat. “it was good.” subong’s eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses. “something’s been bothering you these past couple of weeks.” he said. “you’ve had that look on your face.” you turned, looking at him behind your sunglasses, stoic. “what look?” “just like that.” he pointed at you, not even trying to hide his grin. “unreadable. almost rotten.” he leaned in a little. “bitchy.” you looked ahead of you, catching sight of your chauffeur glancing at you and subong through the rearview mirror. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you said blankly, cheeks growing warm from embarrassment. “nah, i think you do.” subong retorted, nodding. “with how much you talk about your phd, i thought you’d be smart enough to tell me what’s wrong. but i was wrong, because you’ve been pushing my face into your pussy instead of telling me what the fuck has been bothering you.” you didn’t say anything, not even daring to look at the rearview mirror. subong shook his head. “i don’t have time for petty shit. i’m too old for this.”

you turned your head sharply at him. “oh really?” you questioned. “then what do you have time for, hm? letting her believe she gets to fuck you whilst you make your girlfriend wait in the car, like i don’t have something better to be doing?” you gestured to his jaw. “and then—and then you come in here acting like everything’s okay when her lipstick is on your face!” you exclaimed, eyebrows raised. “what do you expect me to do? sit idly, clueless?” the end of your sentence came out fragmented, frustration clogging your throat. “you expect me not to show my fans love?” subong’s tone was as defensive as yours. you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. either he doesn’t get it, or has purposefully weaponized his incompetence, or both. “you’re taking it too far, subong.” you said. “no, i’m not taking anything 'too far.’” he mocked those last words, shaking his head, scoffing. “i worked for this shit. i’m not going to say sorry because you feel fucking insecure.”

that was your last straw. “see this?” you pointed at him, then to yourself. “this is what i don’t have time for.” you shook your head. “your blatant disregard for what or why i’m feeling this way; dismissing it like its some joke, or that you’re so high and mighty above it all that you can’t even begin to acknowledge it. like, because it isn’t fodder for your ego, its ludicrous.” subong shook his head, turning away from you, looking out his window. “speak like a fucking human, man.” he kissed his teeth, muttering. “i feel like i’m at my fucking court date or some shit.” “drop him off at the ramen shop.” “yes ma'am.” said your chauffeur. subong looked at you sharply. “the fuck?” “the fuck?” you mocked right back. “i’m too old for disrespect, subong.” “like i’m getting out of this fucking car.” he grumbled to himself. “oh, yes you are.” you said back.

your chauffeur pulled into the front of the ramen shop. silence washed over the car for a couple of minutes. “get out of the car, subong.” “i’m not leaving.” “get out of the car.” he looked at you, annoyed and defiant. “can’t you fucking hear me? i’m not leaving.” you looked at him, leaning closer. “get out of the fucking car.” you repeated without hesitation. you looked out your window, seeing a friend group walk out of the shop that looked similar to the ones from before. “look, subong. there’s your type.” you pointed. “go and see if they know who you are. i’m sure they’ll give you a kiss, too.” “are you fucking crazy?” subong was taken aback. he put his hand on your shoulder, making you look at him. “is something not right up here?” he pressed his fingers to his temple, eyebrows furrowing. “you’re my fucking type.” he pointed to you. “i don’t even know what you’re talking about anymore.” “like you ever did.” you said in a dismissive tone. silence brewed once more. you reminded him again: “get out of the car, subong.” “i’m not going anywhere—” “—get out of my fucking car!” you exclaimed, voice cracking.

this was subong’s last straw: a reminder of his inherent inferiority in your dynamic. fire brewed in his chest, cornering his mind towards his sharpest rebuttal: reminding you of what you hate most—that you’re nobody without your surname. “your car?” subong tilted his head. “you mean the one mommy and daddy bought you?” he voiced condescendingly. he tutted, “you’re just like the rest of them.” that punctured your soul. “you know that’s not true.” you said, defeated. “you’ve never shown me the alternative.” said subong, putting his hands up in surrender, lying through his teeth. he always needed to one-up the other person, its the only air-tight defense mechanism he’s ever had. you raised your head, looking at him, a fallen tear trailing your cheek. his face fell upon realizing he’s made you cry. your voice remained steady: “you know full fucking well that’s not true.”

it was too late to take it back, but he attempted nonetheless, until you cut him off—“get out of the car, subong. i’m not going to ask you again.” “but … but baby,” he said genuinely, ignoring your scoff. “you leave for beijing tomorrow.” you shook your head in disbelief. “that’s what you bring up now?” you were floored. “well, maybe you should have thought of that before you came to me with some other bitch’s lipstick on your fucking face.” you retaliated, looking out your window. “i’ll see you when i get back.” you said curtly. subong, dismissed to the fullest degree with no wiggle room, turned to another crucial tool in his arsenal: reactionary language. “fuck this shit, man.” he muttered, opening the door, stepping out of the car. “spoiled fucking brat.” he slammed the door behind him, spitting on the pavement, walking away without looking back.

you made up when you were abroad. perhaps it was the fact that subong apologized to you over the phone that made it easier for him to do so. its not that he didn’t know that he was in the wrong— because he did—and he accepted full-throttle that he’d rather shit himself and eat it on national television than ever lose you; willing to ensure that by whatever means necessary. but still, it didn’t mean he didn’t have his forehead against his wall when saying his piece, mentally scrutinizing himself over his word choice, or trying to communicate how he felt (“i fucked up. bad.” “you’re telling me, subong.” “i should have … i should have listened to you.” “mhm.” “i shouldn’t have gotten mad quickly.” “mhm.” “i shouldn’t have spat.” “mhm.” “are you only going to give me short answers?” “i’ll make it even shorter and hang up.” “wait—fuck! i’m sorry! don’t do that. hello? baby?” “i’m here.” “okay, good. fuck.”)

the flight home was quiet. it always was. you sat in a quadrant of seats, facing your parents. your mother never liked clutter, so the only things she accepted on the small table between you two were her copy of today’s financial times, a singular bottle of sparkling water, and cups for whomever wishes to drink. you alternated between scrolling through your ipad in your lap or watching the clouds float by, keeping to yourself. you may not be the heir and are merely the middle child, but that did not mean you were permitted to fall out of line, or succumb to expectations from those in your family’s inner and outer circles that you existed only as the spare, even if that was the silent part said out loud. but under your mother’s watchful gaze, that is and will never be the case. she is the physical manifestation of the phrase the woman behind the man—but she is no mere shadow. she is the entire being; the sacrosanct consciousness that kept this show on the road. if anyone dared to forget, or worse—impede or overstep—a quick flash of the sapphire on her ring finger would whip them right back into shape. she wears the one hundred year old family heirloom with a sense of both pride and fuck around and find out. even when she’s not wearing it—every two weeks on the dot for at most two hours when she’s getting it cleaned—the air of her prowess is omnipresent. she took on the duty of being ringleader forty-five years ago, building her legacy as an air-tight leader, rounding her disciples up, weeding out the weak and not leaving power behind. that also included you, resulting in scooping you up randomly to take you alongside her business ventures with no other choice. she would never say this part out loud, but it was present in how your oatmeal was always sweetened to your liking no matter the part of the world you were in, or had the biscuits you’ve liked since you were a little girl on the table every day at family tea: you’re the last of her children that still lived at home under your own volition.

a member of your father’s team came over, summoning him to the other cabin on the jet to take a phone call. your mother didn’t move from her newspaper, but you glanced up at his back when re-adjusting your posture in your seat. you felt your phone vibrate, reaching into your pocket and seeing texts from subong: Been bored as shit without u; I had to no idea 12 days could feel like 12 years. you grinned, typing: You big baby. I miss you too :); Can you still come for dinner? I should be home at 8. Ofc i can baby i wouldnt miss it, he wrote back. Your driver says he will come @ 7:30. your mother glanced up, seeing the grin on your face. I’ll be a little late. Is that okay? your phone vibrated a couple minutes later. More than ok baby; Ill keep myself busy waiting for u ;). you smirked at your screen. Pervert. You make me that way subong typed back. Let me know when u land, ill tell u when I’m in the car. your thumbs twiddled over the keyboard, I will my honey. See you then

you clicked your phone off and set it face down in your lap, leaning into your seat, looking out the window. your mother looked up again as she turned the page, gaze momentarily flittering to the staff member entering the bathroom near your seats. when she saw the door lock, she made her chess move: “i know what you’ve been doing.” she said. you didn’t panic. you’ve been through this many times before as her daughter, both with your personal life and whats been prescribed as professional. you crossed your arms over your chest, keeping your gaze out the window, seeing buildings and bridges pass below you. “its none of your business.” you answered, tone leveled. your mother’s eyes met your side profile. she heard your father’s voice emerge from behind, not wanting to bring an unnecessary person into the conversation. “you’re smarter than this.” was all she said, going to turn the page, but instead being ushered out of her seat, a stakeholder requesting her on the phone, too.

subong waited over an hour for you to come home. he was a good enough conversationalist and knew your staff amiably to pass the time with friendly banter, or kicking pebbles in the backyard. you had texted him earlier in the evening Have to do something with my mom, shouldn’t take too long, but when he checked the time on his watch and saw it was close to 9:30, hearing his stomach grumble, he couldn’t help but grow impatient. he called you twice and was left on voicemail both times. he bit his fingernail as the time surpassed 10:15, head turning sharply right hearing a door slam shut. he walked quickly into the guesthouse, speeding down the hallway and turning the corner, seeing you. the sound of your heel against the wooden flooring was more pronounced than usual, looming yet hidden frustration intensifying the weight of your steps. you took off your coat with a disgruntled huff, throwing it so hastily towards a nearby cushioned chair that it landed mostly on the floor; housekeepers silently rushing over to put it away in your closet after you passed by. subong approached you when you came close enough with a welcoming grin on his face, unaware. “hi, baby.” he spoke. “i missed you—” “let’s eat.” you cut him off, walking by and into the backyard.

from his experiences growing up, and just from general context clues, subong gathered things with your mother did not go over well. what it was about, he didn’t know. however, it was definitely an argument from the way you both ate in silence, or a disagreement with how your utensils scratched against your plate as you cut into your steak—or both, considering you didn’t look him in the eye, but rather the trees around you whilst you shared a slice of homemade tiramisu. subong looked into his wine glass later in the evening, swirling the last few sips around whilst he sat next to you in the modular couch, quiet as ever. he glanced at you from time to time, seeing an expression he would recognize on himself in an instant: stoic, headstrong; but if he looked close enough and didn’t blink, your eyes would give you away. you finished your glass, gripping the long stem in your palm, thumb nail scratching one part repeatedly as you stared at the field before you in thought. subong swallowed, nerves percolating. “listen, i don’t know what happened between you and your mom.” your eyes closed. “but i’m here.” said subong.

he wasn’t sure if he communicated that correctly, but it was the best he could do. with a breath, his gaze followed yours to watch the trees soaked in the darkness of nightfall, only to turn his head sharply upon hearing you cry. “s-she can be so mean.” your voice was barely above a whisper, punctuated by a sniffle. subong felt his heart sink, but didn’t know what to do. he carefully put his glass down, scooting closer to you on the couch, and proceeded to do what you do when he’s feeling down, or at least what he wanted all those nights he ran away as a teenager: “its not your fault.” he said softly, kissing your temple before bringing your head to his chest. you turned to him, hand reaching for the back of his head as you quietly cried into his shoulder. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. “its not your fault.” he repeated, voice shaking. he cleared his throat. “i’m here, baby. i’m here.”

he made love to you sweetly and with purpose, rolling his hips into yours as you moaned so unabashedly and longingly underneath him. it was a newfound sense of intimacy; one that people envy not having no matter how many times they visit a sex therapist, or sculptors immortalize to live on in museums for eternity. “thats right, thats right—s-shit!” subong’s hips stuttered, feeling your gummy walls clench down on him deliciously. he bit his bottom lip, looking down at his condom-wrapped cock. he looked up at you, seeing your eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed in divine pleasure, lips moving against his when he leaned down to kiss you. he stretched you out in the way you needed—to forget, but more importantly, to love. your hands came up to his face, kissing him deeply and with fervor, whimpering feeling his cock move in and out of you again. “a—ah! s-subong!” you moaned gorgeously, breaking the kiss, feeling his lips press into your cheek, your back arching. “feel good with me, baby.” he panted, building a sweat. “feel good with your subongie.” he reached down for your clit, making you gasp, feet rubbing brashly against the linen. “yes! y-yes! s-subong—oh my god!” “my—my b-beautiful fucking woman!” subong mewled, crying out as his thrusts stuttered through your suffocation of his cock. “my beautiful fucking girl. come here, let me look at you. let me see your beautiful face.” he came at the sight of your heavily hooded, glossy eyes peering up at him—“fuck! you’re so fucking sexy, baby!"—choked moans from either of you filled the room as your orgasms hit powerfully in tandem.

subong watched you from his side of the bed, elbow on his pillow, propping his head up with his palm. the day of travel and emotional exhaustion caught up with you, coupled with the soothing relief of your orgasm that lulled you closer to sleep with every small breath. you turned onto your side to face him, eyes closed, comfortably nestled against your pillow. a small grin teased the corners of his mouth at the sound of your content hum when his fingers take your hair out of your face, brisk chill of his rings gliding lightly across your cheekbone. he basked in your effortless fucking beauty, momentarily captivated by your slightly swollen lips from when you kissed each other so hungrily not even an hour ago; your skin’s subtle glow even in the darkness of the bedroom—either a result of your skincare lining your sink, or maybe you really are just an angel. and no, he’s past the point of caring how corny that might have sounded to him four months ago; or how sweet your soft breaths sounded—so serene, so safe. subong didn’t feel as if he was looking at someone who looked at the world with rose-colored lenses, but rather the same ones he did—nuanced, pained, and sometimes even dark.

your similar dynamics with your respective parents made him feel not only validated in his own struggle throughout a life where no one’s given him mercy, but guilty to know someone like you could be so generous. his mouth suddenly twitched into a frown, remembering when he snuck in to both your parents and presumably older sister’s bedrooms, pocketing jewelry and anything else within arm’s reach whilst you were asleep and unaware. it was a few weeks ago, the night he knew something was up from how curt you were during dinner, or more quiet whilst he ate you out by the pool. it was a mix of bitter frustration and resentment towards you on his part. he felt it was more childish that he threw a tantrum so silently and so calculated instead of fucking saying something—ultimately throwing that projection right back at you in the car at some nights later—but not enough to stop himself from walking into the pawn shop, transferring the 75 million won to his bank account, funneling most of it into his cryptocurrency investments and leaving a chunk for anything else: food, pills, etc. he rubbed his eyes when his mind reminded him of when he swiped three of your cartier bracelets in his bitterness, having thought to himself she has thirty of these. she won’t fucking notice shit.

i need to live. even if i am a low-life. he reminded himself. or tried to, because when he couldn’t look away from how innocent you looked tucked under the duvet, cheek pressed against the silk pillowcase, his eyes felt misty. subong inhaled sharply through his nostrils, tightening his lips when they threatened to wobble. he quickly leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, bringing his head to his pillow. he scooted closer to your tired form, not being able to help kissing your soft skin again, heart fluttering hearing your quiet hum. ”i don’t like seeing you like that.“ he said lowly, only for you to hear, despite you two being alone. "hm?” you hummed weakly; registering that he said something, but no recognition of what. subong mistook it as need for clarification. “all sad.” he muttered, doe eyes taking you in, his sentiment sincere. “it doesn't—” here it comes. “it doesn’t suit … you. it doesn’t suit you.” he said, tonally awkward. he shut his eyes, surprised at himself. i’m thirty fucking two years old, man. subong opened his eyes, seeing you fast asleep. he let out a breath, leaning in and tenderly kissing your cheek. in that moment, he figured he at least owed you this: “i love you too much.” he whispered, falling asleep with his fingers holding yours.

the next night, the high from sampling lee hyori wore off fast. subong didn’t even stay to watch his fellow contestants’ performances from the green room, sneaking out of the studio lot after his suggestion to leave early. there was a two week break following elimination night to go to the semi-finals, and with how subong had just reached 120k followers on instagram, his mixtape surpassing 1.7 million streams in total, and him wracking viewership in the hundreds of thousands when performances are uploaded to youtube after the stream—its more than safe to say that he doesn’t have to worry about shit. he said hello to the fans waiting outside and took at most three photos, but that first opening he saw, he took it, scurrying off to the other side of the lot—often times having to evade more hyper fans—slamming the door shut without an ounce of hesitation. it was times like these where he wondered how speculation of your relationship didn’t drift around online. it could’ve been direct handiwork of your staff, or maybe your family was just that exclusive that the press didn’t even know where to start with coverage. after all, when it comes to the uber exclusive rich and socialites alike, does anyone know who’s really in charge?

“how’s my baby, hm?” subong put his bottega sunglasses in his hair, rolex falling further down his wrist. he leaned down, kissing your lips when the rolls royce drove out of the lot. “didn’t make you wait too long, did i?” “no, no. was here for barely five minutes.” you said, reconnecting the kiss. “good.” he muttered against your mouth. subong’s arm came around your shoulders, lips finding your temple before scooting closer to you. “can i ask you something?” you said. your hand reached up, thumb wiping away your lip balm from underneath his bottom lip. “its been pestering my mind all day.” “pestering?” subong smirked, amused. “well, i gotta know now, baby.” “what was it you said to me last night before i fell asleep?” you asked, looking at him. truth is, you knew. you fell for this man so fast and so deeply that your subconscious did the work for you, capturing his words in your memory right before you succumbed to sleep, remembering when you woke up. you just wanted to see if he would say it again.

“uh,” subong was caught off guard. he felt his cheeks tingle, warmth riding up his neck. “it was—it was nothing.” he shook his head, looking at you, downplaying it. “just something about your mom being shitty to you.” he told a half-truth. a knowing smile dared to show on your face. “okay.” you said, nodding. you gestured for him to come closer. you leaned in, mouth right by his ear. “i love you too much, too.” you whispered, kissing his temple. you giggled sweetly at his scoff, shyness radiating off him. “so you did overhear, huh?” he murmured, timid. “of course i did.” you said lovingly, taking your time with your kisses on his skin, each one longer than the last. he felt warm against you, upside down grin bunching his cheeks up just the way you loved it. “how could i not remember my sweet subongie’s words, hm?” you jutted out your bottom lip, knowing how it softened him to mush whenever you did. you grinned, chuckling with success when he rested his forehead against yours. he closed the gap, kissing you with intent. “i’m a man of my word.” he told you. “i meant what i said.” “me too.” you told him sincerely. “of course i love your fine ass.” you smiled, sweet laughter ringing out of you when his lips kissed your neck, the vibrations of his chuckles tickling you.

you and subong spent the next two weeks partying in the amalfi coast. what was the reason? subong didn’t know why; was it a friend’s birthday? bachelorette party, maybe? whatever the fuck it was, he didn’t fucking care—if there’s one thing you’ve inexplicably taught him, its that the rich don’t need a reason to do something; they do it simply because they can. also, he was preoccupied with taking in his first time on a private jet, hands finding your hips like muscle memory when you sat on his thigh after take off, but his eyes kept staring around the luxury interior; the mini plasma screen displaying the weather and plane route; your friends sitting wherever throughout the cabin like it was second nature, because it fucking was. he didn’t even know where his carry-on was, pushing out the fleeting memory of hastily telling his parents he’d be gone for some time before running down the stairs to the car earlier that morning. not like they’d care much. they stopped checking in on him in his twenties, anyway.

he was also temporarily leaving behind ruminating beef with some of his fellow contestants—a mixture of more than apparent jealousy of growing popularity and successful mixtape, the competition’s producers shifting their favorability towards him, and perhaps a fight that broke out in the green room before sound check that was currently making its rounds on various chat forums online. not that subong cared, though. he was busy living the high life: blowing the smoke of his cigar out of the window of your cadillac, drinking alcohol with names he couldn’t pronounce on a yacht larger than he could ever imagine; clapping your cheeks like its his last night alive, and getting his dick sucked on one of the many balconies of your family’s villa (“f-fuck—relax y-your fucking jaw. i’m trying to last more than—shit! a—agh!—i’m trying to last more than five minutes here, baby. s-shit! stop doing that thing with your tongue—f-fuck!”)

this relationship was certainly a first for your friends to see. they had never seen you act this way before—so smitten, or desperate as some would say in hushed tones after you and subong walked out of sight, hand in hand, from where they were sitting in the yacht’s lounge, whispering behind their utensils. their gazes would linger from underneath their sun hats and behind their sunglasses, functionally ignoring the crisp blue water wetting their feet as they sat with them dangling off the private pier, catching glimpses of subong wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you in for a squeeze; your giggle heard at a distance, watching him kiss your temple and lips, waiting for your drinks at the outdoor bar. you sat in his lap more often than your own seat at dinner or any meal, really—except breakfast. that’s when they can expect you two to trudge out of your shared room at half one in the afternoon, sat alone at the table by the poolside eating your respective omelets and whatever was left of the fresh fruit cut earlier in the morning; deep in conversation whilst he wore nothing but briefs and his cross, you in one of his graphic tees that went barely past half of your thigh with two hickeys on your neck.

the night you met, subong told you he was an entertainer, and he kept his word on this trip. his charisma and irreverent humor was a breath of fresh air for many of your friends, finding themselves trying not to choke on a freshly-made cannoli during an afternoon in town, or struggling to keep their humorously appalled expressions at bay whenever he made a flyaway comment about something or someone, eventually succumbing to laughter. he was clever and could read the room in record time, and even on a fucking bike. it was an afternoon where the lot of you cruised around the smooth terrain of admittedly narrow roadways, but far enough away from the nearby town where it was safe to do so. subong stuck out like a sore thumb with his shirt off and securely around his neck, contrasting with everyone else’s sundresses and light sweater vests. he warded off the humidity with the cool breeze generated by his speed, back tattoo spelling thanos in his mother tongue on full display as he swerved around everyone. a car came around the corner and was at a good enough distance to not warrant worry, but subong being the way he is, did not pay attention and got too close for comfort. instead of cowering away at the ear-splitting car honks, subong went right up to the driver’s window and yelled an insult so colorful an artist’s paint palette would never rival such intensity. your friends burst out into laughter as they rode by, and even harder at your attempt to get his attention. “subong! get the fuck back here!” you yelled, ringing your bike bell since you could do nothing else whilst you moved. “hold on!—” “get your ass back here!”

he was good at blending in or at least pretending to know, so he had no problem walking around like he had the biggest dick on the coastline—you two fucked like he did. it was in the creaking of the walls or muffled moans upon staying the night at your villa if they drank one too many, or hearing them in their rawest form at a distance as they walked underneath your open-door balcony you forgot to close; a cacophony of grunts, high-pitched moaning, and clapping of skin making them pick up the speed of their walk to their cars, putting the keys in their ignition to head back to their respective apartments or vacation homes. to some of your more pessimistic friends, it all reeked of a temporary fix. but hypocrite is as hypocrite does. none of them spoke up, because they knew they would be directly contradicting themselves—half were fucking their parents’ assistants whereas others were still in dubious contact with their college professors.

one of them was repeatedly internally taunted by the sounds of your illustrious moans, looking down after pulling into his driveway or rushing into the bathroom, surprised and confused by his growing erection. it was funny how you pestered peoples minds only after they find out you’re taken, and by a man that looks to be satisfying you in more ways than one, after years of either not being taken seriously or flat-out disrespected. subong sensed it those first few days on the coast. the first offense was observed from behind his bottega sunglasses at a brunch everyone was present for, swallowing his mouthful of frittata, washing it down with freshly-squeezed orange juice. you were stood at the opposite end of the table, conversing with who he remembered to be a childhood friend. he was also aboard the jet on the way here, and didn’t seem like a problem then, but with how stupidly fucking wide his smile was now when talking to you, subong thought maybe he just wanted to get her alone bitterly to himself. he turned away from the scene, downing the rest of his juice. i’m too fucking old to be jealous.

but he couldn’t help himself. not after that same friend invited you up to see the view from the helm of his yacht later that very afternoon, or finding flan in the fridge that subong learned he went out of his way to get you because its your utmost favorite. i should be doing this shit for her. he began to feel inadequate, awkwardly toying with his piece as you poured the both of you ice water to cool off from the mounting humidity. where would i go for this? and what would i even ask for—"how’s it taste, subongie?“ your voice cut his inner monologue, tuning back in to his taste buds. "do you like it?” “mhm. yeah.” he nodded. “the rum it has tastes good.” subong pissed himself off when his insecurities percolated persistently at the back of his mind whilst he fucked you from behind later that afternoon. your hands were on the wall, moaning so beautifully, feeling him work all of those places so fucking well—and here subong was, glancing at the balcony doors behind him, wishing they were open for that fucking friend to hear. “s-subongie …” your poetic voice brought him back down to earth, as it always did. “keep going. j-just like that.” your eyes rolled back, biting your bottom lip. he looked down at his palms running over your ass, watching your supple skin recoil with every thrust. “like that? yeah?” he asked lowly. “i’ll keep going. just like this, baby. for you.”

minutes later, he pounded into you, balls heavy and angry. your back arched, mouth hung open as you stuttered through his unrelenting pace; one hand on his that snuck through the neckline of your linen shirtdress, holding your breast, the other holding his head as he grunted in your ear, your cartier bracelets tinkering in his. subong halted when you clenched around him, feeling his stomach cave in behind his shirt, biting his bottom lip. he looked up, seeing your face in the body mirror by the door. he eyed the way your dress ruffled above your ass, and how fucking it looked seeing his shorts around his ankles and your panties on the floor, too. “you see us, baby?” he asked, clearing your lust-clouded senses with a kiss to your temple. “in the mirror? you see the look on your face?” he watched you open your eyes. “who makes you look like that, huh? who makes you look so fucking hot and bothered? hm?” he asked sharply, purposefully ignoring your incoherent whines to keep fucking you, and his own carnal desire. “answer me.” “y-you do, subongie.” you responded meekly, pushing yourself into him. you yelped when he smacked your left globe. “that’s right.” he confirmed, moving his hips again. instead of returning to your neckline, subong’s hand grabbed your face, turning so you looked at the mirror with him, the chill of his rolex against your cheek. “you better fucking look at me when i make love to you—f-fuck! hngh!”

“fuck! a—ah!” he cried, seeing how creamy the condom was. he kept going, pushing his head into the back of shoulder, keeping your gaze to the mirror. “i f-fucking hate these condoms s-sometimes, baby.” his eyes rolled back, squeezing them shut. “would you ever let me fuck you without one? hm?” his mouth came up to your ear. his teeth gritted when you tightened around him, eyebrows furrowing upward from how delicately and helplessly you moaned at the thought. “would you let me fuck this tight pussy all nice and raw? yeah?” the fantasy made his eyes water, abdomen stirring. “y-yes!” you cried out. “o-oh my god, yes!” “thats right. thats fucking right.” he egged on, thrusts becoming sloppy. that motherfucker could never have her like this. all needy, so fucking whiny, all his. he’ll never know her like i do. he’ll never be able to ask her this, no matter how many times he gets her favorite fucking flan—f-fuck! how are her thighs so strong?—or lets her drive his stupid fucking yacht. her’s is better, anyway: “you got so tight when i asked you that, baby.” subong’s arm left your waist, reaching into your neckline, letting your soft stomach hang. “you like that idea? of having subongie's—f-fuck!—of having subongie’s baby? you want an older man to knock up this sweet, tight fucking cunt? y-yeah—fuck!”

subong thought he would be safe from his own jealousy on the day he was set to meet your grandmother. she heard you were in town and extended an invite to all who came with you if they wished to come. he was surprised by how no one else was as game about it as he was. in fact, most of your friends didn’t look like they cared. i guess they’re so high nosed they forgot to have manners. it was the first time he had ever “dressed up,” albeit with the swipe of your card, and a frantic afternoon visit to a tailor in town the day before you were to have lunch and tea together. “they’ve met her a million times before, subong.” you told him as your chauffeur pulled back in to the villa. it was your third time today explaining why none of your friends were preparing like him. “its only a courtesy that she’s inviting everyone.” he stepped out of the cadillac, holding the tom ford bag in his hand, pushing his sunglasses into his hair. “but its your fucking grandmother.” he implored when you came around the car. “do they not have any respect or something?” he asked as you walked up the cobblestone steps, opening the door for you. “they do, albeit selectively.” you said. it didn’t take a genius to figure out why he cared so deeply. his devout love for his grandmother always lingered at the back of your mind; manifesting in the tenderness of his voice when he senses something’s wrong, jokes that easily out his age sometimes, and how he offers his arm wordlessly when you need to fix your shoes. you shrugged your shoulders, looking at his confused expression. “its just the way they are.” “you’re friends with some real fucking assholes.” “i know. but they’re the only people i’ve ever known.”

it was a short boat ride across the river from your family’s villa to your grandmother’s estate. he left his rings by the sink in the bathroom, but for the first time in his life, he questioned why he just had to extend his tattoos to his hands, and have a manicure. his hair was brushed downward onto his forehead—prime product of overthinking. you saw him continuously glance at his hands, taking his left in your lap. its as if you read his mind: “she’s more progressive than you might expect.” you told him. “she enjoys good banter, too. so you’ll be a good fit.” he chuckled at that, pressing a kiss to your forehead, silently grateful for your assurance. you were wholeheartedly, if not overwhelmingly correct, because he can’t remember the last time he felt so at ease in front of an authority figure. his hand shook when he went in to shake hers, but after the first course, his posture relaxed in his cushioned chair. your grandmother looked like the ultimate matriarch: wispy, yet soft looking dark grey hair, a lip color that suited her skin tone so well that it only illustrated her time on earth more vividly; to know herself so well, and the warmth of her aura that felt universal for all grandmothers, no matter societal class. over tea, it was the first time you explicitly told a member of your family that subong is your boyfriend. he laughed out loud when she said “finally, you bring home a fun one” in response, dabbing his lips with a napkin. “that’s what i told her!” he said cheerfully. “or, at least try to, if i don’t annoy her first.” he grinned when you scoffed and nudged his bicep, smiling greatly upon hearing your grandmother chuckle.

later that night, you were laid up in bed together, subong pressing his cheek against yours as he held you close, a movie playing on the television. you traded your dress for a shirt whilst subong lounged in his briefs, comfortable after a hearty dinner of lobster pasta paired with aged whisky. he turned his head to press a kiss onto your temple when you felt your phone vibrate beneath you. he glanced at your screen, seeing it was a group chat with your friends. he almost looked away, only to stare from a sideways glance at the photo that fucking friend sent in, shirtless, holding a fish he had caught on a boat earlier that day, around the time you were having tea with your grandmother. that’s what he did instead? and he has the audacity to send it there, with her? holy fucking shit, this guy is more forward than me. subong returned his cheek to yours when you clicked your phone off. he tried to hold it in, but couldn’t: “does he like you?” “hm? who?” “that guy.” he said quietly. “the one you got you the flan. and let you drive his boat.” you shrugged your shoulders. “who knows? maybe.” subong furrowed his eyebrows. “who knows?” he repeated, confused. “i mean, you should. because from what i’ve seen, he does like you.” you huffed. “he’s just a friend.” you said. “a stupid one, too. we only keep in touch because his parents have a massive share in my father’s company.” you turned your head to look at him. “he’s just a friend, subong.” you repeated, voice soft. “i’m not going anywhere.” you leaned in, kissing his cheek. “like the fuck you are.” he tried to tough it out, only for his face to warm at the sound of your chuckle.

as the movie progressed, subong’s palm found the side of your bare thigh, rubbing up and down tenderly. this touch wasn’t unfamiliar. he often did this to lull himself to sleep, or ensure proximity. he moved into your chest, smelling the last of your dior perfume from your spritz earlier in the afternoon. he closed his eyes, letting the movie become secondary noise to the feeling of your chest rising and falling against his cheek. his palm kept rubbing up and down tenderly, inching higher with no other intention other than to share your presence—until he didn’t feel a hem. he opened his eyes: is she not wearing any—his hand went higher, palm soon holding your left globe—fuck … how did i not notice before? he bit his bottom lip, exhaling through his nostrils, watching his hand disappear underneath your shirt. he peppered kiss along your jaw, humming to himself. “i’m watching a movie.” you muttered. “no one told you to stop watching.” he muttered back, lips moving to your neck. his palm traveled to your lower back before descending back down to the powdery, lush skin of your ass, groping gently. “so fucking sexy.” he whispered, nuzzling more into your neck. you kissed your teeth, eyebrows furrowing in slight annoyance. “subong, i can’t hear the tv.” of course, right when this dumbass movie is getting good, he has to start acting up. he didn’t answer, too lost in his own world of you. “subong, i’m being serious.” you warned. “so am i.” you scoffed, fighting the temptation to roll your eyes back when his tongue ran over your skin. “i think this is the most unserious you’ve ever been.” you said. “i mean, during a buddy comedy?” “i have something real funny to show you.” he muttered into your neck, reaching below him for your hand, bringing it to his bulge. you gasped, not holding back your laugh. “you’re impossible!” you exclaimed, feeling him chuckle against you.

“s-slow down! slow down!” subong panted, unable to look away from your hand pumping his cock. the sound was already so lewd not even five minutes in, his precum coating his stiffened, angry cock with a clear, wet glow. he squirmed when you focused only on his tip, yelping vulnerably feeling your thumb repeatedly trace the slit; back arching as his hips bucked up desperately. you hadn’t broke a sweat, nor were you anywhere near. “hold still.” your tongue ran over your bottom lip in concentration, working your wrist, eyes staying on the television through the prolonged action sequence. “i-i can’t! h—aa—” he whined. subong bucked his hips up again, making your hand lose your grip, slipping off. you tsked, subong seeing you roll your eyes. he was so horny he nearly burst into tears. he couldn’t explain what this feeling was, or why he was so enamored with it when it came about. subong felt like such a pervert for employing the possibility that it was because you were younger, and you having so much control was the hottest fucking thing in the world. he loved being pampered and spoiled since day one—good food, even better pussy, gifts that weighed his wrists down by not as much as his pockets, shown off as your boyfriend whilst surrounded by the most beautiful things money both can and can’t buy. he had his cocky ego flared at the behest of insulting your dumbass friends whilst also dining as finely as they did, but reduced to nothing but a whiny bitch at the sight of your eyes sparkling from below, or the round of your ass curved in your jeans, or watching you pick your jewelry out in the morning. or maybe he just really loved being taken care of, and by a fine ass woman nonetheless.

his breath hitched when you began stroking again. “y-your hand f-feels so g-good, baby—” “—shut up.” subong bit back a moan. “they’re about to solve the case. could’ve watched in peace, and had a quiet night, but no.” you ignored his breathy mewls after your grip became the slightest bit of firmer. “had to go and ruin it by being all needy, hm?” “y-yes!” he gasped, turning his head to look at you with his hooded eyes. you didn’t even give him a glance. “can't—can’t help it, baby. you’re so f-fucking—ngh!—you’re so f-fucking sex—sexy! just like that…” he pleaded. his eyes drifted to your chest, picturing your breasts behind the cloth of your shirt. “can i … can i suck on your tits, baby?” “no.” you said curtly, pressing your thighs together, but masking it as adjusting your posture. “you don’t get to after you’ve been bad.” there it was. “i’ve been … i’ve b-been bad?” he felt his abdomen tighten. “i’m s-sorry, baby. i didn’t mean to.” he shook his head pathetically, watching your side profile. he leaned in, breath hot against you. “i c-can be good.” he nodded, the lewd sound of your stroking his cock doubling in the acoustics of the room. “i can be good for you.” you turned your head, tip of your nose brushing against his. you took your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling heat between your thighs, wrist beginning to ache. “you wanna be good for me? yeah?” your delicate tone made him mewl. how did i last this long having the sexiest fucking woman in the world!? “yes.” he whispered, nodding. “i’ll be good for you.”

you kissed him slowly and with intent, re-connecting your lips after they barely separated. subong took whatever you offered him like the good boy he was; keeping his hands in place at his sides, hips stationary. for the most part, anyway. he cried out when your free hand reached over, kneading his heavy balls in your palm, his eyes rolling back and squeezing shut at the lethal combination. your mouth hovered before his ear, tip of your nose pressing into his cheek. “did you ever think about fucking them, subong?” you asked, voice hushed and lustful. “those groupies that waited for you outside? hm?” you worked his cock with purpose through this subtle interrogation. “you can tell me, subong. you can be honest with me.”“n-no! never!” he panted, shaking his head, saying his truth against an invisible timer. “i never did, baby! i’m b-being for real!” subong leaned in to kiss you, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction. “f-fuck.” he muttered, eyes rolling back. he swallowed, “they’re n-nothing like you, baby. they—they d-don’t e-even come close.” you didn’t say anything. not that you didn’t believe him—you were too busy trying to keep your moan in and not give yourself away. “do you …” subong spoke. “do you ever think about fucking him—” “—the fact that you still employ that thought tells me you shouldn’t fucking cum.”“n-no!” he cried pathetically. “n-no! f-fuck—i take that back, i take that b-back!” his moan was at a noticeably higher pitch. “oh my—fuck!—please, baby. i-i’m sorry! let me cum, let me cum! i’ll be good!”

you turned your head, seeing his head nearly hanging sliding off his pillow from how his back was arching. a devious smile stretched across your face, thighs rubbing together. “if only your friends could see you now, subongie. what would they think, hm?” you laughed with delightful glee when you stroked his tip, hearing his sharp gasp, seeing the muscles in his thighs tighten. “those you’re in the competition with, all upset about you being so successful? what would they think, seeing the man that pisses them off, all bitchy and whiny?” “i d-don’t give a fuck about them.” he shook his head. “they don’t have you. they d-don’t have the best fucking pussy. they don’t get to f-fuck you—fuck!” you sucked on his tip hard. you needed him. “you better cum now before i lose my patience.” subong watched as hot, creamy strings coated his stomach as it caved inward, stuttering through his orgasm. “f-fuck! yeah! y-yeah! oh, fuck yeah, baby! fuck me!” you wiped your hand unceremoniously on his bare thigh, tutting when you glanced at his dick, seeing it still hover about his stomach albeit barely. “you’re still hard? after i just milked you for all you’re worth?” you laid on your back, turning your head towards him when silence filled the room. “well, are you going to fuck me, or not?”

he fucked you missionary, huffing and puffing like he was on his deathbed. you hid your laughter behind your palm, glancing at his cum dripping down his thighs, moving his hips slowly. “i’m really bored, subong.” you said. “i could fall asleep like this.” “just—just give me a minute.” he implored, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. you were so warm and so fucking tight. no wonder he felt lightheaded, after the mind-melting orgasm from earlier. “you really are an old man.” you grinned, teasing him knowingly. “no i’m not.” “you’re not proving otherwise.” you shook your head, yelping when he suddenly thrusted into harshly. “that’s more fucking like it.” you spread your legs further, palms grabbing his ass when his elbows stationed themselves on either side of your head, pushing his hips into yours. he fucked you like it was a workout, skin plomping against yours. “work those hips, come on. make me f-feel something.” his condom-less cock was deep inside and furious, hitting those spots so deliciously your feet rose from the linen an inch or two. subong’s hand reached down to hold the side of your thigh, using it was leverage to fuck you faster. your breath hitched, hands jumping to hold his shoulders, jaw hung open, eyes squeezed shut. “yes! y-yes! that’s it! just like that, subongie!” you whined, moans delicate and whorish. your nails raked down his back tattoo, returning to his ass. you smacked his left cheek, making hips stutter and cry from his diaphragm. “keep f-fucking me, baby! your b-big—mmph!—your cock feels so good f-fucking me raw!” you whimpered. “you’re g-gonna milk me for all i’m worth.” he whispered frantically into your ear as if it was a lifeline. “i'm—i’m gonna b-burst, baby—agh!” you smacked his ass again. “m-more.” he said, moving his hips steadily after feeling the familiar sting on his right cheek. subong hastily pushed your shirt up, capturing your right nipple and sucking diligently, encouraged by how you held his neck. he pulled out after you came, spilling onto your stomach, crossing with your stretch marks.

you found yourself in a similar situation not even sixteen hours later, about to get your back blown out after breakfast. not everyone showed up to eat at the villa, sleeping in to either tend to their hangovers or unwillingly pulled back home by their parents, but if one person did it was the fucking friend. he showed up right on time, barely five minutes past ten thirty, taking you away from subong. you shifted from your seat next to him on the hanging daybed, returning your feet to your sandals. “have to go say hello.” you tell him, seeing the grimace on his face, not even well-hidden behind his sunglasses. he adjusted himself, manspreading more than before; trying to assert dominance, but it amounted to nothing, considering the friend was looking down at his watch. your hand on his thigh brought him back to you. “you know how things are.” “yeah. and i don’t fuckin’ like them.” he murmured back. “let me come with you.” you raised your eyebrows, visible behind your sunglasses. “and what? bash his face in?” “yeah. maybe i fucking will.” subong retorted. “maybe he’ll finally respect the fact that you’re with me.” “he might be stupid enough to act that way, but i’m not stupid enough to let him.” your hand trailed higher up his thigh, rubbing the fabric of his shorts gingerly. “give me a kiss. show him.” you said. subong glanced over, seeing that he was watching. he leaned in, kissing your lips slowly yet deeply, hand reaching over and groping your ass. he held your wrist when you got up, kissing the back of it before fixing your sundress. “all good?” you asked with dual meaning. “mhm.” he nodded. you held his face, giving him one last kiss. “i love you tenderly.” “love you too.”

perhaps you did … play it up … a little to rile him up. you’ve never felt so desired by someone in your life, so pardon yourself if you wanted to see how far it could take you. you didn’t outright betray subong, but you didn’t hold back the very obviously overly-animated laugh when your friend told the worst fucking executed joke you’ve ever heard, or taking off your bracelet to show him the detailing, scooting closer to point them out. subong sat with his arms crossed in his seat, plate emptied and glass still half-full. he got up when you came over: “i’m this fucking close to—” “if you do anything, they’ll sue you until you have nothing left.” he tightened his jaw, looking away, shaking his head. he knew you were right, but the frustration was palpable. “why do you let your parents do this to you?” “its complicated, subong.” you answered. “yeah. everything is.” he said. “man, fuck this shit. i’m going upstairs.” you came up to your shared room sometime later, finding him sat on the edge of the messy, unmade bed, taking a hit of his vape. “i can’t understand you, sometimes.” said subong, feeling you lock your arm with his, laying your head on his bicep. “you’re not the easiest puzzle to solve, either.” you told him. “see, and you speak in these fucking riddles.” he exhaled, translucent cloud disappearing. “i’ve spent this entire trip with you in my arms. fucking you. kissing you. making love, and there’s still not an ounce of respect.” he huffed. “i know i’m a fucking joke to them; i’m not stupid, okay? but this shit … man, it’s like they want to spite me.” you looked up, seeing the balcony doors were wide open. “show them who’s yours.” you spoke, only for him to hear.

his tip traced your puffy lips, pushing his tip in and out agonizingly slow. he watched the scene with the hem of his shirt between his teeth, watching your bare ass. he smacked your right cheek harshly, making you gasp, bottom lip caught between your teeth. “beg thanos for it.” “p-please, thanos—” you gasped, feeling your left globe sting. “f-fuck this tight pussy. n-need you so badly—f-fuck!” he watched your cheek recoil. “again.” “please, thanos. give—give me your fat fucking cock.” you said, pawing at the linen, looking over your shoulder, seeing your sundress pulled up and panties at your knees. “no one gets to fuck this pussy but me.” he muttered to himself. “no one knows this pussy like me.” he pushed his cock in, stretching you out, setting off on an unforgiving rhythm. “yes! yes!” the clapping was loud and lewd, subong grunting every so often watching his pelvis ram into your ass. the thrusts were deep and hard, the curve of his dick making your eyes roll back. “is this what you wanted? a jealous boyfriend? hm?” he stripped himself of his shirt, hands taking hold of your hips. “deeper, subongie. d-deeper.” his palm pushed your back down a little more into the bed, hitting the spot that made a guttural moan travel into the backyard. “yes!” you cried. “just like that!”

your walls swallowed him whole. “let them fucking hear you.” said subong. “they fucking hate me, so its my fucking duty to remind them what they can’t have. that they can’t have this f-fucking pussy.” his breath shook. “i’m so lucky to have someone else’s dream girl in my bed, buried in her pussy. because you’re mine, right? tell me.” “i’m y-yours, subongie!” “that’s right.” he praised, looking down at his cock disappearing inside of you. “i’m yours.” he whimpered, going faster, but just as deep. “i-imagine—hngh!—imagine what they’d do if they saw you like this, moaning and fucking crying over how good my cock feels, while they—they go home to their f-fucking mansions and—shit!—touch themselves to photos of you. f-fuck! oh my god, y-you feel so f-fucking good!” the bed frame creaked against the wall, creating a cacophony with his balls slapping against you. your moans were needy and carnal; the rawest form of pleasure. “you’re my baby. you’re my fucking girl—s-shit!” he pounded into you. “no one k-knows this p-pussy like i do. you taught your good boy so w-well how to make you feel s-so good, fuck! f-fucked the shit out of you last night, and you still want my cock. that’s what i n-need to do, baby. i need to k-keep fucking you good, so y-you don’t even think about other g-guys. n-need to keep you needy, like me. like your subongie.”

“c-can you blame me?” a sweat built up on your forehead, taking him like the good girl you are. “f-felt you raw the first time. c-cant get enough. neither—neither of us went to get condoms t-this morning, so i guess you feel the same.” its true: either the terrain of the amalfi coast was too rocky and narrow, or you both are equally whorish. its a win-win. “need this dick every f-fucking day—oh my god!” you grunted. “keep going, k-keep fucking me.” he leaned down, arm coming around to support your neck, keeping your head in place, his nose sunken into your cheek. you yelped when he started fucking you faster, the sound bouncing off the walls. “i’ll keep you fucking addicted.” he whispered, breath ragged. “my best fucking girl. i love you so—t-too much—fuck!” you clenched around him tighter than before, making his hips stutter. “you’re making your man feel so good right now, you know that? your g-good boy feels so good.” his eyebrows furrowed so deeply they turned upward, feeling the knot tease unraveling. “a-are you close? i’m s-so fucking close, baby.” “y-yes,” your toes curled around nothing. “want you to cum in me. m'on the pill.” “what? f-fuck—” his voice rasped beside your ear. “h-have you been on it—have you been on it this entire time?” “since after y-you first came over. hoped you wanted me. i became a lucky g-girl.” you smiled, moaning. “i was—i was a little scared. b-but not anymore—mmph!—need it. need all of it. cum in this tight pussy you can’t shut the—shut the fuck up about.” subong nearly went cross-eyed. “y-you’re gonna be the death of me, baby.” he whimpered when he heard you laugh. “gonna give you every last drop—fuck!”

your mother watched practically the entire trip go down. her secretaries kept eyes on her children all of their lives, but even more-so when they went abroad for schooling. you and your older sister had the same teams on standby at oxford and harvard, respectively, whilst new recruits tagged along with senior officials for your younger brother in auckland. it was no different if any of you defied your parents in some way—rejecting a suitor; not showing up to meetings; giving the wrong look during dinner—in fact, the ante rose tremendously. take your trip to the amalfi coast, for example. it wasn’t unusual for a member of the family to take a lavish vacation, let alone to one of many residences you have around the globe—but it was the whispers of a new man in your life that perks your mother’s eyes and ears like a hawk. call it intuition, or just straight-up psychic sorcery, but she knows you a lot more than you will admit in your lifetime. she doesn’t attribute it to a certain glow, or whatever those silly romance films and novellas say, but rather an air of naivete. blinded by glee. untempered faith. your mother was not cold-hearted (and no, she did not pay that new york times reporter to alter their word choice), but a realist to her detriment, above all else. its what got her out of her middle-class neighborhood, landed her that ring, and granted her role as almighty powerful shadow to the king. so she did what she usually does when she feels something in the air: pulls her strings, makes people talk, and expect updates every twelve hours.

its what landed her here on her private jet, flying to macau for the third time in two weeks to start planning your older sister’s wedding, ipad in her lap. he reached down to her left leg, pinching the fabric of her black pantsuit, adjusting her compression sock, her other hand scrolling through photos. she had her secretaries round up her personal investigators, lurking around the villa and your travels around the coast at formidable distances; undetected, unbothered. her face remained stoic as she took in the photos of you and subong at the givenchy outlet, you zipping up the tracksuit you got him for the semi-finals, stacked cuban links adorning his neck; subong feeding you cantaloupe whilst the both of you were practically half-naked eating breakfast mid-afternoon by the pool; his arm around your shoulders one evening as you sat together on the hanging outdoor daybed, manspreading beyond belief as he lit a cigar she recognized from your father’s collection held between his teeth; a sequence of photos taken late at night of him on the balcony shirtless smoking a cigarette (i can’t imagine how rancid it must smell there, she thought to herself), you coming out onto the balcony, sharing a kiss, moving to your jaw, past your neck, the last one landing on your chest—only this was blurry, as the private investigator had now realized what was going on and quickly moved away. your mother huffed, pushing the ipad onto the table in front of her, looking out the window. she didn’t need to see her daughter in such a compromised position, let alone so openly. her mind lingered to a previous photo looking into your room, balcony doors shut, him stood on the other side of the room; both of you in the midst of conversation. were they arguing? she wondered. little did she know, you were both high off of your fucking rockers.

on your second to last night on the coast, subong gave you one of his pills (“take the blue one, baby. its not too crazy—should be fine for your first time. here, i’ll take it too.”) the thought had brewed in the back of both your minds for the last near two weeks, finally coming to fruition after subong couldn’t help but make sure you ate and drank enough during dinner (“like i’d let anything bad happen to my baby.”), and went the extra mile to lock the balcony doors just in case. the sensation, at first, brewed in your underarms, slowly traveling down your torso and legs. when it landed in your head, you turned into a giggly mess on the bed. subong was too busy dancing in his place next to you, gesturing to the ceiling to an imaginary beat in his head. he turned his head when yours landed on his shoulder, hearing you burp involuntarily, and then giggling even harder. “feel good?” he asked. “i feel funny.” your face hurt from how hard you were smiling, nuzzling into his shoulder. “everything’s just really funny.” it felt like you were holding in your pee when the beat in his head somehow inspired him to get up and start reminiscing his adolescence—specifically when he used to breakdance. “nah, baby. i used to feel so free!” he exclaimed, putting his hands up. “i used to pop and lock like this,” he puffed out his chest, moving his hips and elbows in a way that had your fingers clutching your lips to hold your laughter in. you blinked tears away when he bumped into the nearby dresser after attempting some footwork that certainly … spotlighted the … rust in his kinks. “shit—move out of the fucking way.” he said to nothing, getting into position again. you burst into loud laughter, falling back onto the bed; vibrations percolate everywhere. “hey! the fuck is so funny?” he saw you clutch your stomach. “i miss this shit so much. i wish i didn’t drop it when i was fifteen—fuck off!”

he owned those motherfucking semi-finals. subong walked out onto stage, melanin aglow by the amalfi coast sun, clad in his forest green givenchy; cuban links; sunglasses; rolex, bobbing his head to the start of the sopranos theme song. the inspiration for his choice of sampling was on the nose, but clever nonetheless. as the beat ruminated, he pulled the corner of his mouth with his pinky, showing off both that fine ass smile of his and tooth gem. “lets get it,” he said into the microphone before the beat took off. you toyed with your necklace as he rode that shit like a wave, observing from your suite like a queen on her throne. if only i was toying with an engagement ring … jesus fucking christ. “i feel like tony soprano, the way i got a blue moon in my eye,” subong licked his lips, bringing the microphone right back. “we both cold like the winter soldier. when she says 'subong, more, more,’ i’m ready to comply.” he winked into the camera, finishing his verse and allotted time with ease. subong was the first one voted through to the finals—his performance racking over 850,000 views in less than a week.

there was another two week break meant for the four finalists to prep material—subong practically moved in with you. he strutted around like he had lived there is whole life: barefoot, in either just in briefs or with a t-shirt at any given moment, snooping in the fridge, and asking your chefs to make a certain stew he used to have as a kid. he was in and out of the house, either to go on a pill run or do some club gigs he booked from his evergreen popularity. you were always there no matter what—that meeting can fucking end early, and that phone call wasn’t important, anyway. it was a routine subong welcomed jubilantly: step out of the rolls royce; coming home generally at 1:30 in the morning as his slots usually ran late, eat whatever leftovers in the fridge, fuck you silly, snore into la la land—repeat. on nights he didn’t have gigs, you took a swim at your family’s estate, lulling you to sleep after pummeling your puffy pussy before nearly breaking his dick in half in your old bedroom, before he snuck off to the other side of the floor; pocketing whatever he could scoop up, coupling the pawn money with his miniscule club earnings. talk about perfect harmony.

you celebrated your five months together the night before the finals, you having to wipe your lipstick off subong’s chin and mouth to prevent staining after he fucked you hard from behind. the day of, subong left earlier than usual for rehearsal as the finals were taking place in a different venue entirely: a sold out indoor amphitheater holding upwards of 1,500, and a projected 675,000 to be watching on the livestream. an unexpected meeting threw your intended routine out of whack, leading you to the car forty-five minutes past the time you wanted to leave. you slammed the car door shut with a huff, subong’s text from forty minutes ago reading I get second in the coin toss on continuous display in your mind. “what’s the eta?” you asked your chauffeur without your usual polite greeting. “an hour fifteen, ma'am. its rush hour, and traffic is heavier than usual.” “hour fifteen?” you raised your eyebrows. it usually took no longer than twenty minutes. you checked the time on your phone—the show was starting in thirty-five minutes. “oh fuck no.” you muttered, getting out of the rolls royce without another word, slamming the door. you ran your hand through your hair after dialing your secretary, cursing aloud when your van cleef caught a strand—“jesus fucking—” “hello? is everything okay?” “i need a chopper.” you said curtly, pacing in the grass. “what do you mean there’s no landing pad? its fucking seoul!” you exclaimed, gesturing to your right towards the direction of the city in frustration. “then make one!” you said irrationally. “it better be here in ten fucking minutes. i’ll be waiting in my parents’ backyard.” you entered and exited the helicopter wordlessly, shoving the protective headset to the concrete before getting in the stationed chevrolet suburban your staff put together on short notice, arriving to your suite two minutes before showtime.

“fucking hell.” you muttered, lifting your sunglasses, wiping the sweat from underneath your eyes. Just got here you texted subong after your flurried back-and-forth of updates. Treat it just like another day; You got this my love; I love you. to your surprise, he responded quickly. Im so glad u made it safe baby; Thank u love you too. Cheer for me. first up was the two and half minute acapella freestyle. the four finalists stood on the stage in line side by side, called in the order decided by the coin toss before the show. subong’s bars flowed smoothly and transitioned seamlessly, but his charismatic aura felt a bit subdued, and to a critic’s eye, watered down. it was his first time seeing the live studio audience, and that shit was filled to the brim. he fought his unexpected nerves by carrying himself through the various woops and hollers of encouragement from fans in the crowd, but lost touch in his closing sentence, stuttering his last two words before time was called. subong’s face didn’t drop, keen on making the haters fucking irate, instead offering a grin of thanks before returning to his spot on stage. live voting was currently underway for the audience in studio and at home to bring four down to two, set to close during the next commercial break—real fucking cut-throat. despite his minor flub, subong was the first one voted through, giving the crowd a thankful nod before heading backstage to prepare for showing what he’s been cooking up to bring it on home.

It’s okay he read your text when he returned to the green room. You did so well. your phone vibrated. Thank u baby; I feel so fly bc of you. he returned to stage ten minutes later with his opponent for the second coin toss, deciding who would go first. subong picked heads, earning him the first spot by chance. he nodded his head, stacked cuban links falling atop one another, diamonds twinkling under the stage lights. he opened his performance with the lyric he started the competition with: “i’m gonna kill half of humanity with my raps—bam. let’s hit it.” before pointing at the dj, grooving cooly to the beat of big poppa. it certainly was a bold choice of sampling, considering not only the utter legendary status of the original artist, but attempt to fine tune his own flow with that of biggie’s or reinvention—of course a motherfucker like subong would go about it. plus, the song was currently trending on tiktok, so he hoped to capitalize on that. he did his first verse with no problems, wiping the sweat off his forehead, walking around the stage to thwart his fastening heartbeat as he always did. the chorus went by with ease, but when subong brought the microphone to usher in the second verse—his mind went blank. before the realization sinked into his conscious, his cues with the beat left him behind. the realization brought you to your feet—“oh god. no. no.” you murmured, shaking your head, unable to look away from stage like it was a car crash.

subong stood there, frozen. it was a visceral kind of shock—he felt wholly aware but equally dumbfounded. the confused murmurs throughout the crowd brought him back to life, but at an deeply embarrassing cost, because all he could muster was an awkward sway of his body and half of a grin on his face to ride the beat until the end. the debacle lasted no longer than thirty seconds, but it felt like thirty fucking years. he doesn’t know how he stood there with the host, watching his opponent perform. he was stoic through the commercial break leading into the announcement of the final result, wishing that he chose to wear those stupid fucking sunglasses to hide behind. it was no surprise that he was the runner-up, leaving the stage before the confetti hit the floor, apathetically snubbing the friendly handshake offered to him by the winner. subong yanked the charging chord off the wall, seeing there was no text from you. what do you even say in a moment like this? It’s okay? because it’s not. You tried your best, subongie? because he fucking didn’t. he embarrassed himself like an inept fucking fool in front of thousands of people, flubbing like a fucking lunatic after shoving his ego down everyone’s throat akin to his third fucking leg of a dick. worst of all—he handed his enemies a win in the easiest, most stupid fucking way possible.

the ride home was silent. subong stared at the window, eyes behind his sunglasses, as you looked ahead of you. you periodically glanced over, seeing he didn’t move a mere centimeter—completely concrete. it was only when you pulled into the driveway of the guesthouse, you dismissing your chauffeur for the night, that the air began to clear. “you did the best you could.” you said quietly. “i did too much.” subong muttered, looking out his window to nothing but grass. you shook your head, turning to look at the back of his head. “no you didn’t. there’s nothing wrong with ambition.” your comforting words severed the heavy tension ruminating in the air of the car; suffocating and berating his psyche, putting his inner self-criticism on blast. he fucking hated feeling stupid, or being made to feel so. to think, it was done on his own volition, and he didn’t even know why? his crypto dependency could be explain with a few scrolls through his phone and how he knows he has an addictive personality, but THIS? something he worked so fucking hard for, knew like the back of his hand, and only with thirty fucking seconds of the song left? this shit was going to weigh him down for life, no matter how big or small, one way or another. the blame game was to begin soon, but not now—he felt his eyes become misty when you reached over for his hand.

“subongie…” you called for him softly. “talk to me. please.” your fingers held his hand, but didn’t intertwine until subong moved, meeting your eyes. “i—i don’t know what happened.” he shook his head, voice low. your heart sunk upon seeing a tear escape. subong shrugged his shoulders, at a loss for words. “i don't—i don’t know what happened up there, baby.” “oh, my love.” you said in a tone that made his sinuses heavier. you took his sunglasses off, wiping his tears with the delicate touch of your thumb. “things happen, and i don’t know why either.” you said. “but you know i’m proud of you, right? i’m so fucking proud of you, subong.” he cried into your palm, fingers longingly clawing at your hips. “come here, my love.” you beckoned, ushering him to your shoulder. he cried and cried, holding onto you for dear life. “i’m a f-fucking failure. my dad was right.” “no he’s not.” you said sharply, hand reaching up, wiping your own fallen tear. “there’s no world where he’s right, subong. not in ours.”

it was a slow descent. subong would stay at the club longer after a gig, stumbling into bed at half four in the morning with his clothes still on. sometimes he wouldn’t even make it to the bedroom, or up the stairs. there were mornings where staff would arrive to the guesthouse to begin their usual routines and errands, only to find subong laying on his side in the lawn, or sprawled out after barely making it through the door—the chill of the marbled floor tiles having lulled him to sleep after one too many. they would try their best to wake him, or carry him to the nearest couch for comfort when he was so far gone that it wasn’t in their pay grade to even attempt bringing him to the bedroom. what brought forth the severity of the circumstance was the evening you returned from a three day trip to bangkok you were roped into by your mother, falling asleep as soon as you arrived home from how demanding it the quick turn-around period was. you awoke at 3:45, mouth dry and thirsty, slightly confused as to why the bed felt emptier than usual—the lingering sleep clouding your logic and not connecting the dots just yet. you walked down the steps, about to turn the corner to the kitchen, until you heard muffled groaning. you walked down the opposite hall, finding subong with his head down on a couch, legs lifeless on the floor with his pants halfway down his thighs from the leak he took in the bushes before walking in, and missing a shoe.

“oh my god,” you bent down, shaking his shoulder. “subong? subong? are you awake?” “mmph?” he was disoriented, raising his head upon feeling your fingers brush his hair back; eyes barely open, drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth. you jumped into action, a scene you were all too familiar with growing up: “can you get up for me?” you asked softly. “your back is going to hurt if you sleep like this.” “mhm. give—give me a sec.” his words slurred, slowly rising to his feet, nearly tripping when taking a step forward, halted by his fallen jeans—sending the corner of the couch back a few inches. “my—” a burp gurgled from his chest. you noticed the wet spot trailing down his boxers. “my pants are off.” “its okay, just leave them there. someone’ll get them in the morning.” you took his arm, slinging it over your shoulders. your arm came around his waist, trying to usher him into the hall, but he was persistent. “i think i’m missing a shoe.” he wiped his face messily. “its okay, i’ll get you new ones. lets just go upstairs.” he slid it off, kicking it to the wall, leaving a skid mark. “great. now come with me, subongie. let’s go.”

he plopped onto bed face down with a groan, you coming up for air, chest heaving. it was no easy feat getting him up those stairs with how out of it he was, leaving your mouth dryer than before. “subong, hey,” you leaned down, pushing his hair out of his face with your fingers; trying to keep his attention before he drifted off. “have you been like this since i was gone?” “m'not really.” he muttered. “couple times … i think.” “okay.” you said softly. there was no way it was only a mere 'couple times,’ and you knew that. subong was a partier, but he could hold his own, even upon going overboard. but this was something else—heavier; a warning sign. “get some rest, okay? i’ll be here for you when you wake up.” subong hummed meekly in response, letting slumber take him. you kissed his temple, pressing your forehead to it afterward. a surplus of questions ran through your mind—what do i need to do for him? how could he have done this to himself? has he been crying for help this entire time? is this because he forgot those lyrics? has anyone else noticed? how do i keep him safe from himself?—slowly getting up and walking to the kitchen, bringing two glasses of water, putting his on the bedside table. you slipped into bed after downing yours, only to woken up four hours later by subong’s retching onto the carpet.

your days ended late, but you slept later waiting for him to come home. on the evenings you were free to go to one of his gigs, or hit a club with him, you witnessed first hand how easy it was to succumb to such a vulnerable state: his stage presence was increasingly reactionary and angry now; not like he had something to prove, but rather negate or dissipate, some songs would just ended with an incoherent slew of curse words often egged by the crowd, disappearing to the bar to grab whatever he could get or going to whomever to buy some temporary relief—he was only somewhat above water when you were there, distracted by your hand on his chest, lips on his, or ass against his hardening cock on the dance floor. but when you weren’t, which was unfortunately more often than not, since a number of your staff were handing in their resignations in an unexpected influx, leaving you with unpredictable days and worrisome nights. you were given less grace every time you returned to an empty home; unanswered texts for hours; no sign of subong since you left that morning to head to brunch with your father and his stakeholders before running miscellaneous errands, subong waking up at half two in the afternoon before leaving to universe only knows where.

your stubborn tendencies kept you up those late, clueless hours, directing your staff on what to do. “check these clubs. i’ve already forwarded the addresses to you.” you pointed to the text thread on your phone, your secretaries nodding. “check pentagon first, then the ramen shop two blocks down. if he’s not there, then check the other two. if you find him, call when he’s in the car. if not, please update me within the hour.” subong stumbled into the guesthouse, held up by two of your stronger secretaries, cold sweat shining on his forehead, eyes barely open. he was brought to your en suite, laying comfortably in the bath you drew for him, arm hooked to an iv at your request from the lifelong family doctor. you sat with subong until the water went cold, coinciding with the sun rising, helping him dress into clean clothes and heading to bed. you got up a couple of hours later with not even a wink of sleep, staring at yourself in the mirror as tears fell down your cheeks—bags deepened, lips dry, eyes perpetually glossy, brain foggy, skin oily and unclean. you were meeting a husk of yourself. it was nowhere near the first time, however—the cards you’ve been dealt with both on your merit and before you were born have landed you in this same situation before. this husk was added to the list, but it felt deeper. more back-handed, more personal. you were fighting for the love of your life—to keep him at bay, preserve him, protect him. like he was an oath. you wiped your tears, double cleansing your face, applying more concealer than usual, heading to your closet to change like it was another day. if you didn’t, you’d shatter.

it went on like this for a few months, until subong got his wake up call on his own volition. he opened his eyes midday after yet another night of mixing his pills with stolen drinks left astray at the bar. his headache pounded between his temples without mercy, throat burning with sickness he doesn’t even remember leaving his body, only to turn his head to see two strangers insert something into his arm. it was two housekeepers he’s known since yours and his first night together—one lightly tapping his arm to encourage a vein to show itself, the other prepping the iv to hydrate him as per your instructions—but subong’s deliriousness corrupted his common sense, unexpectedly jolting out of bed, frightening the two women and knicking himself in the arm as a result. “fuck off!” he yelled, voice cracking after not using it for hours, wincing as his head pounded more viscerally from his sudden movements. “get the fuck away from me!” he bellowed. “what is this you’re putting in me? the fuck is this shit?” he kicked the iv stand down, the bad snagging on the corner of your desk, sending the fluid gushing all over the carpet. “you’re not putting that shit in me!” he pointed at them, ignoring the frightened yelps of the housekeepers, stumbling to out of the bedroom door; unsure of where he was going, but led by confusion, diluted anger, and heightened fear.

chaos ensued for the next ten minutes—your secretaries, housekeepers, and even chefs abandoned making lunch in an attempt to calm subong down. he was unruly and reactionary, cut on his arm burning and inflaming the cloudy look in his eyes as he trudged to wherever his feet led him, pushing defensively against the same secretaries that have been carrying him home these past months. you pulled into the driveway, stepping out of the rolls royce, greeted at the entrance by a disheveled housekeeper, her hand on your wrist. “ma'am, he's—he’s distressed.” she shook her head, unsure of what to do, looking to you for next steps. “its alright.” you mediated without hesitation. “ill speak with him. thank you for your help.” you dropped your purse, turning down the hallway, eyes widening at the sight of him throwing a punch at your secretary—narrowly missing, nearly losing his balance. “subong!” you exclaimed. “subong!” you yelled, voice cracking, grabbing his shirt to turn him towards you. “what—what happened?” “they were trying to inject me with something!” his voice boomed throughout the acoustics of the house, turning around and pointing at the staff surrounding you. “i woke up, and they were sticking a needle into me while i was fucking asleep!”

“subong,” your hands laid on his chest, trying to bring his attention back to you, but also ground yourself from your suffocating nerves from the escalating situation. “subong—listen to me. its an iv. they were just doing what i told them to—” “i don’t need that shit!” he interrupted stubbornly, a nasty snarl on his face. “i’m perfectly fine.” “without it, you wouldn’t even be able to stand right now—” “i’m fucking fine!” he yelled at you, making you gasp. “i don’t need this bullshit! if anythings going to make me not fucking stand, its this.” he showed you the cut on his arm from when he got up hastily. “look at how they cut me.” he looked at you with widened, wild eyes. “look at how they fucking cut me, baby. they’re out to get me, don’t you see?” you were floored. tears threatened to brew. “out to—subong, no. no.” you shook your head. you balled his shirt in your hands, bottom lip quivering. “i—i know you haven’t look in the mirror in a while.” you spoke quietly, just for him to hear, even as staff stood close by. “but … but i have.” you swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “i see that—i see that i’m losing myself because i’m losing you.” you looked up at him, mouth tugged downward in a frown, tears trailing your supple cheeks. you shrugged your shoulders. “its a truth of the matter, subong.” your breath shook upon an inhale. “there’s no refuting it. i can’t deny it any longer.” you shook your head, beginning to plead: “please don’t say we’re trying to hurt you. i’ve done nothing but try to help, subong. i’ve grown so weary, but i’m trying to hard for you.”

you grabbed subong’s face, desperation so personal that some staff turned away from the sight: “you mean so much to me that it fucking scares me.” you whispered, pressing your forehead against his, stifling a sob. “please, i beg of you, don’t start acting like your father. don’t do that, subong.” you shook your head against his—that’s what woke him the fuck up; snapped him back to reality; terrified him the most. his senses began to clear, muscle memory kicking in as his hands found your lower back, pulling you into him as you cried—simultaneously realizing he’s the reason for that, too. oh, he fucking hated himself. “i won’t.” he shook his head, his sinuses feeling heavier, inhaling sharply through his nostrils. “i won’t, baby. you hear me? i won’t turn into him.” his tone returned to normal, tightening his lips when the bottom one quivered. “i’m sorry.” he whispered, bringing you into his tight embrace. “i’m sorry for scaring you, baby, won’t happen again.”

subong scared himself so badly he didn’t go near the clubbing scene for a few months. after the air settled, you both returning to your shared room, putting a bandage on his arm, sitting in silence in your bed together as the same housekeepers from before cleaned up the tainted iv—the embarrassment seeped into subong’s pores, burying his face into your neck underneath the duvet to hide. he didn’t have the gall to look any of your staff in the eyes, sheepishly asking you to bring lunch and dinner up to eat in your own privacy. you obliged merrily, satisfied to not only see him normal again, but warm, and wanting you. it was the side you never got to see when your friends had one too many at school events, galas, or parties—they were either dragged away by their personnel to prevent furthering tarnishing their family’s reputation, or pushed you away after gaining back consciousness after passing out on the bathroom floor; avoiding confrontation. of course, it wasn’t completely black-and-white, but you would be remised to not feel as if holding subong in your arms after months of seeing him dragged by his own was akin to reaping the fruits of your labor; validated for your efforts. “there was—there was a night where, i think you were in bangkok,” subong’s voice was low, cheek pressed to your chest, head practically hidden underneath the fluffy duvet, encouraged and beloved by the touch of your thumb tracing his cheekbone. “i felt so … my mind was so fucking loud. i could hear it over the music, and it made me so mad. i didn’t … i don’t like that feeling.” you listened carefully, subong continuing after feeling the vibration of your acknowledging hum. “at some point, i just realized that … i didn’t know where i was. i didn't—i didn’t know anyone there. i was out of my fucking mind, finally, but i …” his voice trailed. he closed his eyes when your hand stopped moving. “it felt really heavy.” he said. “i don’t want to feel that way anymore. i don’t want to feel numb.” “you don’t have to.” you told him, goosebumps trailing down his spine when your fingers found his hair. “not with me.”

it felt like everything was falling back into place. subong slept at normal times, spending his days lounging in the backyard, or watching whatever series caught his eye on your plasma smart tv, waiting peacefully for you to come home. he mended his relationship with your staff, not necessarily apologizing (the emotions were too layered to him to even begin unpacking), but leaving subtle signs of thanks: attempting to make the bed himself after he woke up, only to give up halfway when the top of the duvet wouldn’t fold in the way he wanted it too, or the way housekeepers always leave it so tidy; not taking that big of a portion when the in-house chefs prepare lunch every day at 1:30 pm on the dot, retreating back to his spot in the sitting room upstairs to watch his show at a lower volume for reasons he can’t pinpoint. he inevitably returned to the kitchen when his stomach grumbled an hour later, shocked to see a fresh batch of fries left for him on the granite counter with the sauce they know he loves; or waving politely after he woke up from his power nap in the hammock, seeing the gardeners tend to the bushes.

it felt good to come home to him, making the sweetest and steamiest of love before bed. on days your schedule was more lax, subong kept you in bed as long as he could, stuck until mid-morning with kisses and wandering hands. “don’t leave. haven’t gotten my fill yet.” his breath was warm against you, lips adorning your face and lips, palm resting comfortably on your ass. “you corny ass motherfucker.” you giggled, laughing when the vibrations of his chuckle tickled your neck. you joined him in watching his series at dinner, humorously baffled by the dramatics of what played out on screen before you, even more so when you looked to your right and saw he was locked the fuck in, eyes glued to the television as he ate his pasta, watching the female lead tell her friend off about dating one of her exes behind her back. it was an endearing scene seeing your man, decadent in various tattoos and known for the gnarliest of bars at times and fucked like he was in heat, humming in affirmation with the character he agreed with. “i didn’t know you liked soap operas.” you said, taking a bite of your pasta. “you’re forgetting i was raised by an eighty-three year old.” he answered with a full mouth, swallowing. “now shhh. i’ve been waiting to her to talk her shit—her friend’s been a bitch from the start.” “okay, okay. sorry.” you said, holding in your laughter.

you celebrated your nine months together just like this: his arm around you on the couch, clinking your glasses of rosé together, making love when the credits of the movie rolled. he fucked into you deep and good, one of your legs hanging off the edge of the couch as your other foot rested on his lower back, lips entangled, subong egged on by your palms kneading his ass the way he can’t fucking get enough of, guiding him into you. it was beautifully intimate, the room filled with nothing but vulnerable pants and needy slapping of skin—seeing white when your orgasms broke in tandem.

you went to japan for subong’s birthday. it was a four day long trip, spent at a small airbnb used only for sleep and rummaging the cupboards for various snacks you bought upon landing before heading out the door for the day. you and subong spent time like tourists: taking dorky photos in front of tokyo tower (“does it look like i’m holding it?” “not even close, subong.”), bringing him to your personal favorite spots from your frequent travels to the country since you were younger (“i didn’t know cat cafés were a thing?” “well, your life’s about to change, then.”), and eating good food; clinking your glasses of sake together at your favorite luxury sushi bar, surrounded by dark wood accents and gold-toned lighting, sharing a special-made platter. he felt like himself on this trip, ushering in with thirty-third year of life with someone who’s completely changed it. he felt cherished, not only with how his life has turned around, but how he was cared for. it radiated off him like a glow when he stepped out of the bathroom after showering, hair wet and flat on his forehead, surprised to see you with the sweetest smile on your face, holding a small cake with a candle lit, singing the song he didn’t hear much growing up. there was a glimmer in his eyes, kissing your lips fondly after blowing the candle out. i have to get my shit together. for her. he thought to himself. need to get my shit right. maybe it was a reach, or your own form of self-validation, but you could’ve sworn the look in his eyes gave way to his soul starting to heal. it was precisely why you planned the trip to be as personal and intimate, to just focus on yourselves for a little while, away from it all. a voice percolating at the back of your head also worried he might relapse if he stayed home for the occasion, quickly making preparations with your staff shortly after your nine month anniversary.

the day you were set to travel home, you woke early. the jet wouldn’t be ready until one, so you spent the morning living slowly, emptying the cupboards or whatever else was laying about the apartment to make for swift check-out, and also make it to your breakfast reservation on time, which wasn’t either of yours or subong’s strong-suits this trip. you walked past his sleeping state to the bathroom, washing your hands after relieving yourself. before brushing your teeth, however, catching an unsuspecting whiff of your minty toothpaste unexpectedly made your stomach churn—within a flash, you set your toothbrush down on the counter, hurriedly grabbing the small bin by the toilet and retched into it. you were momentarily baffled, looking into the mirror after wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, seeing your watering eyes. “christ,” you whispered, wiping away the unintended tears. you set the bin down, hand reaching for the sink, rinsing your mouth. could’ve been the sushi. my stomach’s never really rested well if i have a certain amount. you thought to yourself, brushing your teeth with slight caution in case you felt sick again. you spit and rinsed your mouth of the foamy toothpaste, gurgling away the lingering sting in your throat.

you dabbed your mouth dry with a towel, pressing down on the bottom right corner of the mirror, opening it and fishing out your face wash, moisturizer, and other skincare from the makeshift cabinet. could it have been the sashimi? you wondered, lathering your face wash in your hands. or perhaps the—hold on, when was the last time i had my period? you froze. your eyes darted around the sink, but in your head, you were going through flashes of the last month. i got it when i was in the netherlands with mom and dad, and that was—your eyes widened—that was two months ago. your lips parted, chest feeling heavier, the remnants of panic beginning to ensue—but if you’ve been taught anything, its how to contain crisis, or at least keep it quiet for long enough. you quickly rinsed your hands, hastily drying them on your shirt, opening the bathroom door. you silently grabbed your phone from the bedside table, hearing subong’s snores, quickly yet quietly closing the bedroom door behind you, dialing your secretary and pacing the living room. “hi. yes, everything’s okay,” you spoke quietly, realizing you just lied to yourself, running your hand over your face, gnawing at your bottom lip. “i need you … i need you to book an appointment with my ob. preferably after we land—this evening, actually. its—its urgent. and, uh,” you swallowed. “please keep it between us for now. thank you.”

you were with child. not long enough to know the sex, but long enough to feel doomsday upon you. you stared out the window blankly on the car ride home, not mustering enough strength to utter a hello to your chauffeur. how could i have been so stupid, and just when things we’re starting to get better … you wiped your tear before it could out itself on your cheek, but it wasn’t enough to mask your frown. you were nowhere near emotionally ready to be a mother, nor was that stage of your life in the consideration of entering your periphery. you wanted to be close with your children whenever you chose to have a family, and not only be a known figure in their lives but a consistent one, unlike your parents. your mother is a consistent force, indeed, but that’s the longstanding issue responsible for molding your psyche and divergent moral compass: she’s a force, not a presence. nothing is normal about the life you were born into and live, and bringing a child into it? now? oh my goodness, and subong … your eyes closed, a long huff leaving your nostrils. you’ve never employed the thought of marriage. plus, was he even the type to do that sort of thing? how would he react, let alone be as a parent? you haven’t introduced him to your parents, let alone the remainder of your immediate family—do i initiate it now that i’m carrying his child? is he in it for the long haul? you pestered in your mind. from the moment you found out you were pregnant, you knew you wouldn’t be a mother. not now. but what really solidified it was your next unabashed thought: i can’t imagine him being a father.

you sat on it for a few days, allowing time to get your things in order and garner the courage to tell subong. the clock was ticking, as there were only so many times you could prevent your muscles from tightening when his hand ghosted over your stomach, or silence the irrational fear that he could smell it on you. or maybe it wasn’t that outlandish, because a week later, he caught you off guard: “i’ll be heading out soon—meeting my mother for lunch before we meet my father at his office.” you walked out of the bathroom, straightening the sleeve of your blouse after washing your hands. “i think i told you last night.” “you did,” said subong, putting his shirt over his head, having woken up a half hour ago. he let out a yawn, stretching his arms. “won’t leave me alone for too long, will you?” he asked. “course not.” you smiled. you walked over, hands reaching up, holding his face. “c'mere.” you beckoned sweetly, subong bringing his lips to yours. you giggled when he re-connected the kiss, hands falling to either side of his neck. his hand traveled up your waist, past your stomach and to your chest with the intention of kneading your breast, but the kiss suddenly ended, not giving him enough time to un-pucker his lips fully. his gaze stayed on you, turning around as you entered your closet to pick out a coat. you emerged a few moments later, stepping in front of a nearby body mirror to fix the collar.

“has—uh,” subong, scratched the back of his neck, unsure of how to word this. “has something been bothering you?” you glanced at him through the mirror. “no?” you answered cooly, continuing to fix your collar. “why would i be bothered?” “i don’t know,” subong shrugged his shoulders. “its just—i don’t know … like, did i—did i do something? you just seem, like …” you turned around, looking at him. subong’s eyes scattered around the floor, trying to find the words. “like something’s on your mind.” he said, meeting your gaze. you jutted out your bottom lip slightly, shaking your head, calm since there wasn’t any indication that he knew, or put the pieces together. “no,” you repeated. it would look off if you didn’t reciprocate: “has something been on your mind, baby?” you asked, coming up to him, hands traveling up his biceps before resting on his shoulders—perhaps your subconscious attempting to butter him up, eyes raking his face for any sign. any. “no, no,” subong shook his head, looking down as his hands made their usual residence on your hips—a good sign. “its just that . . .” he thought aloud. “you’ve been getting a little … uncomfortable when—when i touch, or get close to you, lately.” “uncomfortable?” you questioned softly. “but you’re touching me right now.” you teased with a smile, making him chuckle. “yeah,” he nodded, grinning. “but thats not—thats not what i meant. i wouldn’t say you’re … ignoring me, but, its like you’re different. or something.” a hand of yours came up, thumb tracing his cheekbone. “i’m okay, subongie.” “are you, though?” he asked, not leaning in to your touch. you nodded, second hand coming up to hold either side of his face. “i am.” you say, looking into his eyes. “i promise.”

subong takes a beat to respond, watching your face intently. he nodded, albeit with a tinge of reluctance: “okay. c'mere.” he said, leaning down, capturing your lips with his. his palms slid down to your ass, groping like muscle memory, smacking down lightly on your right globe. you let out a small yelp, followed by a sweet-sounding chuckle. he brings your lips back to his without a moment’s hesitation. “love you too much, you know that?” he murmured, hand coming up to hold your cheek. “love you too much, too.” you said. subong’s hand trailed down your chest, knuckles brushing past your stomach to hold your waist—you ended the kiss, your lips finding his cheek. “have to go. will be late.” you muttered, giving his other cheek a kiss for good measure before leaving his embrace. thats exactly what i mean. subong thought to himself, watching you walk to the door. thats what she does when i—wait. he turned his body, raising his finger, vaguely pointing at his temple as the cogs began to turn. “nah, nah.” he muttered, shaking his head, disbelieving—but it was all starting to make sense. you turned around, hand on the doorknob. “hm? did you say something?”

subong walked up to you. “you trust me, right baby?” your hand remained on the doorknob. you nodded, “of course i do.” he blurted it out without thinking: “are you pregnant?” your face went cold; mind blank; paralyzed with surprise and dilapidating fear. you and subong stared at each other. he correctly took it as confirmation. “i’m gonna be a dad?” he questioned; his tone the utmost gentle, the realization hitting him, smile widening with each passing second. “i’m gonna be a dad!” he repeated, only this time as a statement; a true fact. a housekeeper overheard him on the other side of the closed door, stopping dead in her tracks, caddy with cleaning supplies in hand. subong embraced you tightly, his sounds of awe and excitement invading your ears like a war siren. you were immobile in his grasp, utterly terrified: how am i going to tell him i don’t want to be a mother right now? as if on cue, the universe decided to remind you if its cruel sense of humor: “i guess pills don’t fix anything for anyone, huh baby?” subong exhaled, his remark both tragically self-referential and darkly humorous. you closed your eyes in defeat, landing your forehead on his shoulder—all the while, your hand stayed on that doorknob.

“subong…” you said meekly. “yeah, baby?” he lifted his head. his face dropped a little; a tad confused. “hey,” his hand held your cheek, ushering you to look at him. “everything okay—” he cut himself off at the sight of your regretful, teary face. “you’re not…” his voice trailed. “you’re not thinking of—” “—i’m nowhere near ready to be a mother, subong.” you shook your head, looking at him pleadingly. he looked at you with an unreadable expression before sharply turning and walking away wordlessly, beginning to pace in front of the balcony doors. “subong,” you called for him, your hand finally leaving the doorknob. you walked over to him across the room, “subong, just please listen to me—” “how long have you known?” he asked, impatient. “how long have you known?” “since we came back from japan.” he stared at you indignantly: “you’re telling me you’ve known this entire time?” his voice was eerily leveled; calm, but pointed. he pointed to the bed: “you’re telling me you slept next me, knowing you have my fucking kid inside you, and didn’t think to fucking tell me?” “i was going to tell you soon, subong.” you said earnestly. “but i just—i just wasn’t ready yet.” “the fuck were you waiting for, huh?” he retorted sharply, leaning closer to you. “when you have your appointment at the clinic, and i’m in the rolls royce with my head hanging in shame?”

you were appalled at his vulgar, inflammatory rhetoric laced with misunderstanding. “if you’re looking for me to bow my head in shame and apologize for having autonomy, you’re out of luck.” you raised your finger, wagging it with your shaking head, returning his energy. subong scoffed, but you remained defiant: “i’m not ready to be a mother, and i’m not going to have this baby just because you bullied me into it.” “bullied?” he was baffled, repeating your word back to you with a smug, humored expression. “maybe i missed something, but how does me caring about my kid make me a fucking villain?” “because you’re not respecting the wishes of our child’s mother.” “you have everything!” subong exclaimed, he pointed throughout your bedroom—a gesture meant to extend through the entire guesthouse and neighboring estate. “the best schools, the biggest fucking houses,” he listed on his fingers, looking at you with wide, begging eyes. “nannies, chefs, and even dogs! what’s the problem here?” “for starters, you’re not listening to me.” you pointed at his face when he scoffed and rolled his eyes, speaking more firmly to keep his attention: “secondly, just because i can, doesn’t mean i should! i don’t wan’t to be like my mother, subong.” you said, planting your palm against your chest. he looked down at you with a tightened jaw, face stoic. “distant, severed, thinking i know everything when i haven’t the faintest fucking clue.” you shook your head. “that’s not me—i know it isn’t. but … if i have this baby right now, subong … in the middle of my phd, when i don’t even have a place of my own yet—or a sense of it, rather … i’m afraid that’s what i’ll inevitably turn into. i don’t want that. a child doesn’t deserve that.”

“you’ll be a good mother.” he spoke in an absolute, tone subtly argumentative. “don’t hold yourself back.” “i’m not holding myself!—” you exclaimed, cutting yourself off out of frustration. you pinched your nose, “i’m not ‘holding myself back,’ subong. i’m being honest. i’m being for real.” subong stared at you like you were an equation to solve, arms crossed against his chest, looking down at you past his nose. tainted by his re-surfaced insecurities that never really went away, only buried underneath the safety blanket of good times and even better sex, did his inferiority complex start coming back in full swing. he felt his chest inflame with his all-too-familiar clouded sense of logic, coming to a conclusion that made sense to him, but nearly left you speechless: “do you want to break up with me? is that what this is? you don’t want to be with me anymore?” “what!?” you looked around the room like a camera crew was going to come out. “how did you even deduce that from—” “what am i supposed to do, huh?” subong felt the power of the conversation return to his hands—running with it entirely. “see you on social media, or in some magazine at the fucking convenience store with some rich guy, knowing you’re pregnant with my fucking son, like the orange-haired cuck from 'boys over flowers'—” “—we don’t even know if its a boy or a girl yet!—” “—you were always embarrassed of me, anyway. you never told your parents about us, right?” “you know exactly why i haven’t done so.” “oh, really? do your charity of reminding me.” he said condescendingly.

you tut, shaking your head, expression annoyed. “don’t act like you have selective hearing or some shit. don’t go and weaponize your incompetence in front of me.” “speak fucking normally, man.” subong ran his hands over his face. “this is my normal!” you exclaimed, pointing at the carpeted floors. “this is what we bonded over, on my bed, after you basically became the first person i’ve ever had sex with.” your voice descended into a whisper, gesturing to your bed behind you. “our parents don’t see us as people, subong. we only exist for them to project their failures onto.” “we can fix that with our kid.” “are you even ready to be a father!?” you blurted out, riddled with frustration. “do you have an iota of a clue of what that entails, subong?” he leaned down, getting up in your face. “the only thing our parents taught us is how to not be like them.” he said, staring into your eyes. you stood your ground. he shook his head, “so don’t tell me how to be a father to our son.” “you’re so adamant about proving yourself that you don’t have room to employ the thought that she might be a girl, who’s scared shitless like her mother?” “listen, i know things.” he tapped his temple with his finger. “and i know some part of you has always seen me as some fucking joke, or this low-life to play with—”

“where are you getting this?” you were floored, crossing your arms over your chest; horrendously, deeply offended. “where, subong? where!?” you demanded, jaw fallen. “is me—is me going to your performances week after week making you a joke? how about the studio i booked for you, or the five fucking attorneys i had on standby to protect you after someone else in the competition concocted a lie to piss you the fuck off?” you cut him off when he attempted to speak over you. “if you’re the jokester, and i’m the one who played with you or dressed you up like a doll or whatever you’re saying, then give me back the rolex that you hate wearing so much.” you put out your palm. “matter of fact, give me those cuban links you slept in for days, the bottegas that became infused with your head, and i’ll book a dentist’s appointment to get those tooth gems off, too.” “fuck off, man.” subong dismissed. “yeah, fuck you too.” you bit back, scoffing, running your hands through your hair.

silence filled the room. you turned around, pacing back and forth, looking over your shoulder, seeing his face in his hands. “we can’t be reckless, subong.” you said. “oh, but we can be reckless enough for me to fill you with my cum?” he clapped back, looking up at you. “you need to pick one: be the mother of my kid or be a fucking whore.” you had enough: “who are you!?” you yelled suddenly, sound so visceral from your chest that your voice cracked. “what is this?” you questioned, directionless. “this—this hostility, these insults, these—you’re just being mean, at this point. no attempt at productive conversation, or being fucking adults. we’ve never talked about getting married, let alone starting a family! where’s this sudden interest coming from, subong? like—” you held your hands out in front of you, unable to think of the words immediately. “that’s not—that’s not where we are in our relationship right now.”

“what are you doing?” a senior housekeeper climbed the stairs, turning the corner to see the newer recruit outside of your door. “have you finished this floor?” “yes, but i—” she was internally freaking out, pointing to the door, but cut off. “have you let her know she’ll be late meeting her madam chairman? its almost one.” “i was just—”“its alright, let me do it.” there was a knock on the door, both you and subong turned your heads. “ma'am?” you heard her voice. “may i come in?” you walked to the door, opening it about halfway. “is everything alright?” you asked. your eyes were on the senior staffer who you’ve known since your early adolescence, whereas the new recruit looked as if she’d just been handed the nuclear codes. “its almost one. you’ll be late for lunch with madam chairman.” “right, thank you.” you nodded. “i’ll be out in a minute.” “like the fuck you are!” subong yelled as you closed the door. “jesus, subong!” you yelled back, the sudden ordeal making the senior housekeeper’s eyebrows raise, and the newer one wince. “what’s that all about?” the senior wondered aloud, planting her hands on her hips. “she’s pregnant.” the younger one blurted. the color drained from the senior’s face. “god almighty.”

“you have servants telling you your fucking mealtimes.” subong gestured to the door, other hand at his side. “out-of-touch bitch.” “if you insult me one more time, i’ll rut this conversation deeper into the ground more than you already have with no chance of resurfacing.” you walked up to him, pointing to his chest. this isn’t your first time at this rodeo; disrespected by insults used to mask the other’s incompetence. “don’t push it, subong.” you ordered, shaking your head. “not with me.” he swallowed, but didn’t say anything. you let out a breath, feeling punctured now that there was enough room for the weight of the conversation to settle. “i’m not ready to be a mother, subong.” you told him sincerely, voice fragile, only for him to hear. “i—i can’t do it. not right now.” his eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing. “what is wrong with you?” he questioned, genuinely curious. “people would kill to have your life. all this help you have—you live like royalty.” your chest sunk: he still wasn’t fucking getting it. “what good does it do if i still feel like a child myself sometimes, subong?” you took a step closer to him, palms laying on his chest as you looked up at him. “you said it yourself the night we met: i don’t look like i belong here, because i feel like i don’t. what good would it do to bring a child into that?”

“so its my fault, then? everything’s my fault?” he retorted lowly, tilting his head to the side, raising his eyebrows. “its not my fault you were locked away your entire fucking life.” “i’m not saying it is,” you said, losing patience. “but what i am saying is that i’ve told you repeatedly how i feel, yet you’re ignoring that. i don’t know what you want me to say to make it clear to you.” “i’m not ignoring shit,” he shook his head. “because what i’m hearing is that you’re trying to take my son away from me.” “i’m going to go fucking crazy.” you took your hands off his chest in makeshift surrender. “you’re talking in circles. i don’t have time for this.” you turned around, attempting to walk to the door, but subong stopped you, expression soured and defiant: “you’re not taking my son away from me! hey!” he grabbed your wrist, only for you to yank it out of his grasp. “you’re not taking shit—” “what if she’s a girl!” you yelled, turning sharply to subong, eyes glossy. “huh?” your vision blurred, blinking back the tears. “what if she’s a fucking girl, subong!?” “then i’ll be dad of the fucking year to her!” subong yelled back louder, making you wince; the two housekeepers outside unable to move.

silence brewed. it was subong’s turn to feel the weight of current circumstance. he was not only in a rush to win, but helplessly trying to find the fucking words. his breathing intensified with each passing second—he wanted this, he wanted this baby. the nuanced reasons as to why he would unpack later, if at all. could it be the fact that he would be tied to an absurdly wealthy family for the rest of his life, that he never thought about taking that next step but now that its here he’s game, or was this his chance at really renewing his life with you—perhaps all three? whatever it was, he leads with conviction; adamant. “don't—don’t i have a say in any of this?” he questioned, fingers on his chest for emphasis. “i mean,” he looked around the room, clueless, licking his lips in his disbelief. “i feel like i’m being told just to take it. just sit there, and take it.” he pushed at nothing to his left, honing his point. you crossed your arms over your chest, watching him carefully. “you’ve been fucked by and are fucking with someone who doesn’t fucking quit.” he wagged his finger, a dead serious look in his eyes. “you wanna get married? great, we can go to the courthouse and be back in time for dinner with your parents. you want a husband? i will kiss your feet to pay my debt to you, if thats what you fucking want.” “no, subong,” you shook your head. “thats not the—” “listen to me,” subong cut you off, stepping closer, fingers traveling from your elbows up your arms to keep your attention. “this might…” he took a breath, meeting your eyes. “this might be what sets me right, baby.”

your phone rang and rang in the second floor sitting room, where you left it after having breakfast earlier in the morning. “brat.” your mother tsked under her breath, sitting in the dining room nearest to the main entryway of the family house, clicking her phone off and setting it face-down on the table. it was nearly fifteen minutes past the time she told you to arrive for lunch. she tapped her foot, sitting with herself, until inevitably ringing you again. “are we supposed to touch that?” asked the younger housekeeper, shocked at how unapologetically her senior picked up your ringing phone perpetually displaying the contact name Mommy. “its a phone, not an explosive.” said the senior, walking out of the sitting room, her younger counterpart following closely behind. “come, i’ll give it to her.”“you want to take a gamble on something this serious?” you asked subong, staring into his eyes, expression unamused and unreadable. he’s more far out of reach than i thought, you inner monologue voiced. you were appalled at his proposition, to the point where you couldn’t gather enough care to raise your voice to to properly heard. because what was the point? the man before you was long gone from any logical voice of reason. he wasn’t listening to you nor himself—blatantly disregarding the tumultuous last few months that you picked up the pieces from. you were sick of this, unbelievably over it. subong wasn’t getting it, or choosing not to, and at some point it doesn’t become your fault anymore. you could only find so many words—plead so many times. but he continued pushing: “that’s not—” subong tried to combat, shaking his head. “that’s not what i meant.”

“i want you to keep our baby.” “no you don’t, subong.” “yes, i do!” he said back sharply. “relying on some innocent kid to fix you? why don’t you set yourself straight right fucking now!” the senior housekeeper went to knock on your door, stopping abruptly upon hearing your raised voice. “i was the one that saw you at those clubs. i was the one that got those calls saying you were face first in a bush, or laying by a dumpster. i was the one who washed you off after you soiled yourself.” you ended in a whisper, afraid if you spoke any louder, a damn would break loose from your eyes. your manicured nail dug into his chest, breath shaking. “and i never got a thank you. not even once.” his bottom lip quivered, breathing jagged through his nostrils. “my love, you’ve upended my life.” your hands traveled past his shoulders, up his neck, landing on either side of his face. “you have changed me for the better.” you grinned, letting your tears fall. subong didn’t move an inch; his face stoic, eyes glossy. “but this … this i can’t accept. i can’t do it, subong.” you shook your head. “please, try to understand. for me.” a beat went by before subong leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. you let out a small breath of relief at his movement, keeping his touch with your hand on the back of his head. “please.” you sniffled, voice delicate. subong licked his teeth, swallowing, eyes closed to keep his own frustrated tears at bay. “i’m not falling into line.” he told you. you let out a sob of utmost defeat. he opened his eyes, vision blurry. subong’s voice remained leveled: “you hear me?” he blinked hard, watching you cry. it was brutal, but he would rather perish than not protect himself, especially in sensitive situations like this. there was so much at stake. he was going to do everything he could to keep himself on that pedestal, even if it meant chipping away at your sense of worth. he planned on talking you in circles until his tongue ran dry and you went mute, and with how you looked now—posture cowered, shoulders lowered, face hidden—he seemed a good chunk of the way there.

“i’m not—” you cut him off with a brash push against his chest, walking away and behind him, stopping shortly before the balcony doors. “you’re breaking my heart, subong.” you cleared your throat, wiping whatever of your foundation came off after dabbing the remnants of tears away with your fingertips on your coat. “you’re really doing a number here.” your phone hadn’t rang since the housekeepers retrieved it. unbeknownst to anyone in the guesthouse, your mother was currently making her way down the hill, shooing away the family dogs at their attempt to follow her, beckoned away by staff. a guesthouse staffer saw her walk down the pavement and turn the corner to the nearest entrance, alerting everyone accordingly. “madam chairman is outside!” someone called from below. “what!?” the senior housekeeper looked over her shoulder, eyes widening. she made herself dizzy from how quickly she bolted down the stairs. the younger recruit ran to the banister lining the landing, dropping her caddy in panic.

“you know what, subong,” you sniffled, facing him as he turned to face you from across the room. you swallowed, straightening your posture, crossing your arms over your chest. it was time to bare your truth, no matter how ruthless it was: “this is precisely the reason why you’re the last person that should ever be a father.” subong’s anger turned sinister. you’d really done it this time. his eyebrows furrowed, lips slightly parted, eyes narrowing as his head tilted in basking in your, to him, utter audacity to say such a thing. “what did you just say?” he spoke quietly, jaw tightening. “it was one of the first thoughts i had when i found out i was pregnant, actually.” you said cooly, looking around at the walls, purposefully ignoring him. “sitting alone in my car, thinking how i could’ve been stupid enough to get knocked up. i know what your dumbass is going to say: oh, 'you asked for it, you begged me for my cum,’ just because it made me cum, doesn’t mean i’m going to reap what i sow, especially when there’s a fucking alternative i know that i want. if you don’t like it, i don’t have anything left to say to you on the matter. i just don’t.” you shrugged your shoulders. before he could interject, you raised your hand. “and i’m not saying you should leave, or that you should fall in line, or whatever fucking else you’re going to make up, because i don’t know who you think you are thinking you can talk to me like that.” you shook your head disapprovingly, standing your ground when he walked up to you. “that’s not going to fly by me. especially from a grown man like you. after everything i’ve done for you, too.”

“there really is something fucking missing up here.” subong rapidly tapped his temple in reference to yours. “i should have known from the first time i saw you all alone at that party.” “you were alone too!” you shouted back, gesturing at him with your hand. “we are one in the same, subong!” he ignored that, saying whatever statement came to mind; the sharpest weapon in his arsenal, personal attacks: “you were so desperate when we met,” he shook his head, playing up his pity. “asking me if i go out, looking at me with those sad fucking eyes.” he gestured to your face with his fingers, going right back into place after you attempted to shove them away with an air of annoyance. “after i showed up for you, time and time again—at your house, in your car, after a performance, ate your pussy until i nearly got fucking lockjaw, fucked you when i thought my dick was gonna split in two—” he listed off on his fingers. “got on a plane whenever you wanted, listened to you talk about things that don’t make sense for so-fucking-long!” towards the end he became genuinely frustrated, running his hands over his face dramatically. “oh my god—that was one of the worst parts.” his voice was muffled. he lifted his head, not even looking at you. “you need to know no one gives a fuck about your phd, baby, holy shit.”

“oh,” you nodded, tilting your head. “is that why you stuck to me like glue, and fucked me like a rabbit when i got back from south africa?” “i was a different person back then.” he muttered. you scoffed pitifully, “you’re such a bad liar, subong. sometimes you just talk to hear yourself speak.” “and you don’t!?” his eyebrows raised. “with yours galas and trips and study abroads and shit—man, who the fuck cares?” “that was just me telling you about my life!” “crazy fucking life you live,” he paced from the balcony doors to you. “all this money. all these resources, and you still don’t know anything about the real world. i should’ve known messing around with someone younger would fuck me over.” he shook his head to himself. “says the one who tells me he loves me, and calls himself an old man as an insult any chance he gets.” you rolled your eyes. “how convenient it must be for you to switch it up now.”

you hit him where it always hurts for men like subong: his pride. “you were horrendous in italy.” you tutted. “i thought getting with someone older meant you’d’ve been more sure of yourself; more secure. but then you let some twenty-four year old wall street wannabe run you like a circus animal. how ludicrous.” you shook your head. his chest gurgled with shame, heart irate. “you’re not gonna use that against me.” subong wanted to seem unaffected, but his subdued tone gave him away. “because i know damn well you liked that shit.” in the back of his head, he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince you or himself more. before you registered it, you lied: “it was embarrassing.” you said, looking up at him pitifully. you weren’t helping his case against the supposed truth behind your intentions: am i project to her? was i just an accessory, proof that she’s open-minded and fucking charitable? was i just work to her—a hobby? subong’s utmost pet peeve was being made to feel stupid, the ultimate dumbass. to have his feelings or lack thereof used against him by whatever means; made to feel small, inconsequential; a ploy. he wasn’t going to be pulled up by strings like a marionette anymore, no, it was time for him to go in for the kill; tell his own lie to knock you down a peg, or several. he leaned down, face centimeters away from yours. “you should’ve fucked him.” he spoke lowly, nodding. “i should’ve given up our room as soon as i saw him grope you with his eyes.” subong watched you intently, tongue poking his inner cheek. you didn’t know where he was going with this, but you stood and matched his energy nonverbally; shoulders back, posture undeterred.

he leaned in closer, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. “that way i wouldn’t think twice about fucking a groupie once we got back.” you started to crumble, hating how fast your eyes watered. what was once a look of power became one of crippling humiliation—perhaps akin to your earliest memories of being picked on on the playground asphalt, but none more-so than the realization of if push comes to shove, he’s just like the rest of them. maybe you truly hadn’t the faintest clue of what it was like to be human, because at any chance it got, the universe humbled you in the most visceral of ways at any attempts of normalcy. or maybe i am young and naive, you thought to yourself, feeling your waterline give way. because some part of me still wants to fight for him, though he has no qualms with hurting me. “you don’t mean that.” you whispered. you shook your head, “you don’t mean—” “—i do. i fucking do.” subong lied through his teeth, nodding vigorously, keeping his momentum. “they would’ve sucked me dry knowing i have the most insecure bitch at home.” you let out a quiet sob. subong didn’t hold back: “and i would’ve loved every fucking second of it.” “s-stop! stop it!” you cried out, voice cracking. subong stood up straight, watching you with a satisfied expression. it was a necessary evil, he felt, even if he had to fight the tingling of his underarms in thwarting the urge to hold you. thats what you fucking get.

“madam chairwoman!” the senior housekeeper let out a flurry of quick breaths after scurrying down the long hall. “i didn’t expect—” “where is my daughter?” your mother asked bluntly, fixing her watch. “she’s upstairs, madam chairwoman.” said the housekeeper. “she’ll be right down—” “why do you have her cell phone?” your mother asked sharply. the housekeeper’s heart dropped, knowing what this looked like. “it was ringing in the upstairs sitting room as ma'am left it there after having breakfast earlier this—” your mother snatched it from her hand. “do we pay you to invade our privacy?” she scolded. “no, madam chairwoman. my apologies.” she bowed her head, hands in front of her. after a moment, your mother let out an unimpressed breath. “you said she’s in her bedroom. has she been there this entire time?” “yes.” the housekeeper answered without thinking, panic ensuing when your mother walked away without an additional word. you pushed past subong, standing near the bathroom—you needed to be as far from him as possible, completely overwhelmed. “y-you’re being so mean.” you wiped your tears, breath shaky. “i don't—i don’t know where this is coming from. i thought you loved me.” saying that last sentence aloud, though true, made you feel like a silly, impressionable young girl; too hopeful for the world, to keen on fantasies. “this is how i’ve always been!” subong exclaimed. “until you came in and … and—” he curled his fingers above his chest, looking around as if the words would present themselves to him. “fuck!” he shouted, outwardly frustrated at his ineptitude, running his hands messily through his hair before looking at you with widened eyes. “until you came in and changed me!” “i didn’t change you!” you shouted back. “i brought you into my life and had to save you from yourself!” there it was.

your mother noticed how empty the guesthouse was, keeping her thoughts to herself; ignoring all of the senior housekeeper’s attempts to get her attention. it really kicked in when she was walking up the stairs: “madam—madam chairwoman.” the housekeeper scurried, trying to think of anything. her younger counterpart was just as panicky as she was. when they turned the corner at the landing, she became desperate: “don't—don’t go in there!” she blurted, terrified when your mother stopped in her footsteps. “you’re telling me where to go in my own home?” she asked, voice eerily leveled. before she could answer, your mother continued walking, moving past the newer recruit without an iota of acknowledgement. “madam—madam chairwoman! please!” the senior sped up, narrowly beating her to the door. your mother looked thoroughly offended. “there's—she’s having a sensitive conversation!” “out of my way!” your mother scolded, aghast, not yet registering the commotion behind the door. “how dare you! what kind of circus is she running here?”

“i loved—i love you!” you yelled at subong. “forgive me if i don’t want to be bloated with your fucking baby!” you balled your fists by your sides, forcing your voice out of your diaphragm. “like anyone would be able to tell the difference, you fucking bitch!” he yelled right back, dismissing you with a wave before turning his back to you, putting his hands on his hips. you didn’t cry—you wanted to set the entire world on fire with how irate you felt. “stop acting like its my fault you forgot those stupid fucking lyrics, motherfucker!” you screamed with everything left in you. subong looked over his shoulder with a wild expression, turning to you to add fuel to the fire—the door opened; the world coming to a sudden halt.

your mother looked at subong with an air of we meet at last. it wasn't one of excitement or unexpected joy, but radical disdain. she was overtly unimpressed; face so stoic it was unnerving, making him switch his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly. she already knew everything there is to know about subong through the nonchalant and undetectable abrasive wielding of her private investigators—"a thirty-three year old who's from a relatively penurious yet moderately respectable neighborhood in the city. he was honorably discharged after eighteen months of mandatory service shortly before his thirty-first birthday, and continues to pursue a music career in a myriad of ways. he has a distant relationship with his family and embattles addiction and debt; most likely meeting your daughter at a party."—to her own opinions of him, molded through photos on her ipad, keeping tabs on her children their entire lives, and looked at her with nothing but briefs and a shirt on in a house that cost more to remodel than it did to construct: pest. he wasn't even worth a raise of her eyebrow.

no one had to be a genius to know your mother was your mother. she held an aura captivating what hillary clinton couldn't be, but everything margaret thatcher wishes she was. dressed to the nines on a sunday afternoon—old-fashioned yet dripped out in the finest navy blue chiffon pantsuit tucked underneath a matching floor-length coat, adorned with one of her favorite brooches on the left side of the jacket's collar. she let out an uninterested exhale through his nostrils, deliberately fixing her hair with her left hand; subong catching sight of the sapphire. she looked at you, unamused. "you're late." she said, handing you your phone. "s-sorry, mom." you muttered, pocketing your phone. you were to the point of emotional exhaustion where you needed to just get away from subong, not necessarily registering the possibility your mother might have overheard the details of the shouting match. to your luck, she hadn't. "let's—let's go." you attempted to usher her out of the door—the housekeepers stood at a distance at the banister—but she saw the slivers of wetness on your cheeks, even after your brazen wiping; a mother could sense it anywhere. she stopped you: "have you been crying?" she asked. "mom, i'm okay. let's just go—" her hand held your arm. "did he hurt you?" "what?" you knew what she meant and were quick to correct it, taken aback. "no, mom. are you serious? he's done nothing but—" "—you can't be fucking serious, man." subong muttered to himself, running his hands over his face. he took a few steps towards you two. "do i look like i'd do that to a woman?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed, genuinely offended. he kept going despite your mother not looking at him through your continued attempt of assuring her truthfully. "is it because i have tattoos, or my hair? judgmental bitch."

"subong!" you exclaimed, appalled. "you're not exactly making a good first impression here!" your mother was undeterred, keeping her focus on you: let him keep showing her his true colors. maybe then, she'll realize. she thought to herself. "i'm not just going to let people insult me!" he blurted out, gesturing back and forth between himself and your mother. "you write insults for a living, you hypocrite!" you bit back. you mother returned her hand to her side, fixing her coat. "at least mine are tasteful! this shit was unprovoked!" "don't act so puritan!" you said back sharply. he waved you off, walking back to the desk. "here you go with these fucking words again—" "don't act like you're resolved of all . . . or—or all goddamn—all high and mighty!" you worked against an invisible timer, making your mother pinch the bridge of her nose. "you're the one who started fights backstage, and—and had that lyric they couldn't re-upload after the show!" "i told you: they censored me!" subong bickered with you back and forth, effectively forgetting your mother was there in a matter of seconds, rapidly sucked back into your own worlds. you took a step forward, waving your hand dismissively. "jesus christ—don't amuse me with acting like you know what that word means." "i do!" subong raised his voice, parring with yours, "because that's what happened to me!" you scoffed, silence filling the room. "this is who you want to spend your life with?" she asked lowly. "hm? someone who acted a complete dunce on that stage?"

it clicked in your head, but not subong's. "how do you . . . how does she know—" "again?" you asked your mother, unsurprised yet offended nonetheless. "you did it again, mom? after i told you not to last time?" "she did what again?" subong tried to be heard, but just looked between you and her cluelessly. "baby, what did she—" "am i not to know who my daughter surrounds herself with? brings into her home?" "you always frame it this way." you rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "am i not my own person? i'm closer to thirty than i am fifteen." "clearly you haven't done much maturing since then, considering your home is akin to a circus and you surround yourself with such unpredictable, unreliable characters. out of the woodworks, i tell you." your mother quipped back without hesitation. "your father and i worked diligently to have such promising men court you—" "—see, that's the problem! your use of the word 'work,' its not supposed to feel that way! and they were never what i wanted!" "are the tears what you wanted?" she gestured to your face. "for me to come and collect you like an orphaned street dog? is that what i raised you to be? is this what i wanted you to be like when you became older?"

"hey! hey!" subong got your attention back. "what did she do again? hm?" he asked quickly, nervously glancing at your mother, who hadn't spared him another look just yet. "you also said 'like last time.' have you been with someone like me before?" "no, subong," you shook your head, thoughts fragmented from balancing both conversations. "i just meant—just meant in general." you muttered. "in general? what do you—" "my life—my life's kept track of. i don't know how else to say it." "i'm looking out for you. don't speak of it as some sort of hinderance." your mother interjected, staring at you. "it is the utmost definition." you said, seeing her shake her head disapprovingly. "goes to oxford, thinks she knows everything." she tutted under her breath; one of her favorite lines. "your life is tracked?" subong was bewildered, looking at your mother with a tinge of fear. would she know . . . no—don't go there. not yet. "jesus, baby. the fuck kind of family do you have?"

"don't you dare speak ill of this family!" your mother warned, pointing at subong, startling him somewhat. he didn't say anything. neither did you. she closed her eyes, taking a breath, regaining her composure. she turned to you, locating her voice of reason. "he's a grown man." "yes, and i'm a grown woman." you answered, unwavering. your mother let out a small huff. "fine." she said. "but, paying for his healthcare? buying him clothing? bringing him to our family home in italy? introducing him to my mother before me?" you crossed your arms over your chest, avoiding eye contact. "grandmother liked him. a lot." you muttered. your mother didn't cower—pushing the metaphorical knife even deeper. she took a step closer to you, her unrelenting gaze making your face burn. "naked in the same pool you learned how to swim in?" she spoke quietly, making sure you heard her. subong's face dropped. her family's fucked in the head. you sucked in a quick breath, eyes widening. "defiling the car your father and i bought you? for everyone to see?" "mom, stop—" "quiet!" she exclaimed, making you gasp. it was all purposeful: embarrassing you in front of an effective audience comprised of staff and the man you love. subong hadn't seen anything like it before, even in his own tumultuous upbringing—it was always shocking to see someone so sure of themselves cower to those they shouldn't, no matter how contradictory his own behavior may be. all those stories he heard . . . all those frustration rants you went on . . . none could effectively illustrate the dynamic more than seeing it firsthand. it was hard to watch, even for him.

"i didn't raise you to be indecent." your mother said. "to be so foully promiscuous. you should be ashamed." don't apologize. subong thought to himself. don't fucking— "i'm sorry." you said in a whisper. subong's eyes closed in second-hand defeat, running his hands through his hair. your mother studied your face carefully, her next words kicking subong's adrenaline into action: "i'll have the ndas ready within the hour. he can sign, and this'll all be behind us—" "what? no, mom, i don't want to break—" "i'm not signing shit!" subong exclaimed, shaking his head. "i'm afraid you have no choice." your mother said to him without raising her head to meet his eyes. "not when—" he began to say, the desperation in his eyes rivaling the pleading in yours. don't, you thought, shaking your head. "please." you whispered, looking at him. his eyes softened apologetically, but not enough to deter him from putting himself first: "not when she's pregnant with my baby!"

your mother's world collapsed. "you're . . . you're pregnant?" her voice withered like a neglected flower. you have never seen her look so defeated in all of your life—lips parted, thousand yard stare stuck on the carpeted floors, nearly stumbling when taking a step back, losing composure; completely thrown off. it terrified you. as much as her vitriolic rhetoric poisoned your veins, the loss of her familiar stature had you caving like an eight year old lost at the mall: "m-mommy, i'm so scared." you reached for her, teary-eyed. subong couldn't look away from the destruction he had caused, frozen in place. "god almighty—have mercy on me." your mother whispered to herself. she was at a loss for words. she tried to sort through her innate sense of rationale through her now discombobulated head. any parent would tell her to have seen this coming, but you . . . there was always something different about you. her darling second daughter; so beautiful, so kind, incredibly generous. too generous for her standards. not clueless, but a little too trusting. not the smartest person in the room, but with clever tact that could render anyone speechless. her eldest daughter's disciple, but a person in her own right, though your mother had inconsistencies with respecting that fact. graduating with highest distinction at oxford . . . the best at bantering on her entire side of the family . . . her mother's favorite grandchild . . . to amount to this. it was devastating. it was enraging.

"you silly, silly girl!" she swatted at your arms, making you gasp. the housekeepers looked in horror. "h-hey! hey—stop!" subong stepped in, moving on autopilot, pulling you to him. caught off guard by how quickly everything escalated, you didn't immediately recognize his embrace, but he tried to capture your attention. "you—you okay?" "w-what?" you asked, a little disoriented. your mother grabbed your arm, yanking you away from him, making you stumble. "get away from her! you've tainted her enough!" she looked him dead in the eyes for the first time since walking in. she then turned to you; so deeply hurt, feeling so betrayed by your irresponsibility that it was time she showed her true arsenal: "you haven't the faintest clue about him. you don't know what i know." subong started pacing on the other side of the room. you didn't know where to focus—how could things have gone south so fucking quickly? your mother's voice brought you back to her: "this is why you'll never be on your own," she shook her head. "this is will you'll never be ready to be on your own." "i am—i have been!" "and what's come from it!?" she yelled, making you flinch. "look at what you've done! not even a year with a man, and you've gotten yourself an illegitimate child! your sister's marrying in the spring. will you be in your bridesmaid's dress with a bump?" she took a breath. "you're in the middle of your phd. have you forgotten that, or must i remind you how much your father is paying for your seat?" "its impossible for me to forget. the reminders are everywhere. i live in one."

"you've practically sent me into cardiac arrest," your mother laid her palms against her chest. "and you remain blinded by your gall enough to still enact blame on me?" she was fully loaded now: "did he ever tell you about his debt?" subong's head whipped around. he felt his heart drop to his balls. your face went cold. your head shook before you squeaked out a measly answer: "n-no." "baby," subong took a few steps forward, but stopped himself short from going up to you directly. "baby—baby, don't listen to her." your mother let go of your arm, taking a step back, gesturing to subong with her hand. "go on. ask him about his ventures with cryptocurrency. i've had him looked into." she said. "how—shit!" subong cursed aloud, realizing he outed himself like a fucking moron; too much for his mind to keep track of, too much to keep at bay—the dam was going to break eventually. never mind the breach of privacy—he was about to fight for his fucking life. unbeknownst to him, the ship was already sinking.

you went on autopilot. you turned your head to look at him. "is it true?" you asked. you've been hit with so many things this last half-hour, you weren't sure what to feel anymore. you were actively running out of capacity; the small beat of silence allotted an attempt at clarity, but to no avail. subong became stand-offish, posture awkward, suddenly hyperaware of his arms; unsure what to do with his body. "is it true?" you repeated more firmly. his face flinched into one of obscene bitterness—cornered into a moral checkmate with nowhere to go. he could hear the blood trickle into his veins with how quiet it was not only in the bedroom, but the entirety of the guesthouse—perhaps the estate. "f-fuck . . ." he muttered in defeat, head sinking. he hated this feeling with a burning passion, and the sound of your sob, too, pushing him further into exponential ostracism. "subong, please." you begged him for an answer, though his lack of one served more than adequately. you just needed to hear it for yourself. "i—i can't—" "—yes." he said, avoiding your eyes. "its fucking true, okay?"

"how did you—how did you get into it?" "there's this . . . there's this guy on—on youtube." your head sunk. his eyes dodged your disappointed expression. "his name is mg coin—" "what is even happening anymore?" "tell her how much." your mother demanded. "fuck no!" subong retaliated. "you are the father of her child!" she looked nauseous saying that fact, but powered through. "its the least you could do, after all the trouble you've caused!" "listen—" subong walked up to your mother, pointing at her unabashedly. "she wanted to fuck me just as much i wanted to fuck her. don't call me evil because i wanted her. we're not in the wrong for fucking wanting each other!" "my goodness—are you capable of not talking so lewdly?" your mother snapped. "if you won't, then i'll tell her with how much you stole from us." shit. SHIT.

you looked up at him sharply. "you what?" you asked, eyebrows deeply furrowed. his mouth went dry, but he swallowed: "your mom's fucking lying," he only focused on you, taking a step closer, making sure he was your entire line of sight. "that's what you said she does. right, baby? makes you feel bad, even if it isn't true?" he spoke softly, pressing his forehead against yours, hands holding either side of your face. "i'm only here to love you, baby. i'm not perfect, and i know i said some mean shit earlier, but we can work it out. i know we can work it out." he pressed a kiss to your cheek, thumbs tracing your supple skin. focus on me, focus on me. his inner monologue chanted. to your mother, it was a pitiful scene to the point of amusement; metaphorically cracking her knuckles. "you make me feel normal—" "where're your sister's ruby and emerald rings she received from your eldest aunt for her sixteenth birthday?" subong halted his movements. "i haven't been able to find your father's piaget watch since your italian excursion. he wanted to wear it to his yearly stakeholder conference, and asked me to look for his other one, but that was missing, too." your face felt heavy. "some of my earrings have mysteriously vanished as well, including a one-hundred-year-old pearl necklace gifted to me from your father's mother the night before our wedding." "my god!" you felt faint, putting your face in your hands. subong and your mother stared at one another with mutual vitriol; a certain smugness on her face reading akin to game over.

"at first i suspected the maids, or other members of staff, which resulted in many terminations or forced resignations; hence the desertion present here." this was half-true; she ruthlessly suspected newer recruits for all of two days when she first noticed a pair of ruby and pearl earrings, respectively, were missing from her jewelry chest upon returning from her second trip to macau. she fired whomever had been allegedly near the master bedroom suite the previous two days, only to find out that no one from her staff had, but a secretary had found two rings on a poolside lounge chair that your mother did not recognize—until she watched subong's most recent rap battleground performance at the time on her ipad after her private investigator identified him when you returned from beijing, of course. her senior staff were utmost loyalists, not even daring to entertain the prospect of entering the master suite unless she was present, or provided written permission if she was abroad. other than that, the family home was just that—free for your parents, siblings, and visiting members to come and go as they please. until subong came along. your mother put two-and-two together when the aforementioned pearl necklace disappeared into thin air. but that was almost six months ago, and she wanted to pack an increasingly lethal punch of a lesson to bestow upon you. so she kept on firing people: loyal patrons who needed healthcare, newer recruits who needed to pay for school, and unsuspecting middlemen.

you needed an answer: "how much?" "what was that?" said your mother, not hearing you as your voice was muffled. "how much!" you yelled, subong flinching, seeing you at the end of your rope. you looked pathetic; at the end of your line. your mother was satisfied—her plan was working. "i tracked down the pawn shop you went to." she said to the back of his head. "fuck." subong walked away, looking out the closed balcony doors. he closed his eyes, hoping he could sink into a hole right then and there. "it amounts to over 450 million won." "subong, why? just why?" you were at a loss for words, sustaining a perpetual shake of the head. you couldn't even begin to process anything. at this point, the fact that you're pregnant felt like an afterthought on top of everything else. "i could've . . . i could've—i have more than enough to help you. i mean, that's what i did. yet . . . yet you—did i—did i mean nothing to you? what's going on?" it felt like your body couldn't generate more tears; reaching your bandwidth, not sure if what you were saying was making sense. truth be told, you weren't sure how you were even conscious right now. "its because he's a leech, that's why." your mother voiced, watching him carefully, counting down. "just like the rest of them."

"i am no fucking leech!" subong yelled, turned around, vein popping out his temple. he was provoked successfully, evident in how your mother strategically scurried out of the room when he came trudging forward. "who the fuck do you think you are!? i worked hard for what i have—the love i have! i'm not going to apologize for needing to fucking live!" he yelled, part of his face turning red with passion; one hand holding the door frame, the other pointing at your mother. you were subconsciously sick of sticking to the wall helplessly, moving like muscle memory to get subong from the doorframe—you were no stranger to contradiction at this point. its inherent in your blood, and now the way you love. you grabbed at his torso, tugging at his shirt. "subong, please—" "call security or there'll be a bounty on your heads." your mother told the two housekeepers at the banister with venom. they both scurried off down the staircase without hesitation, ignoring the pits of guilt gurgling in their stomachs.

"subong! subong!" you yanked his shirt with all of your weakened might, sending him momentarily stumbling backwards, turning around and temporarily out of his angered-filled haze. "what?" he wasn't aware of what was going on until you tugged aimlessly at the front of his shirt, bringing his forehead to yours, holding onto the back of his head desperately. "why'd you do it?" you asked him, pawing at his shoulder. "hm? why'd you do it, subongie? you can tell me. you can tell me why you couldn't be—why you couldn't be honest with your baby." in the whirlwind of your current mind, this was all you needed to know at this very moment. it was a pitiful scene of desperation, one ignored by your mother as she heard security personnel walk in, turning the corner of the long hallway. "i don't—i don't know." he shook his head, hearing your shaky breaths. he swallowed, tightening his lips when he felt his bottom lip quiver. "i have problems, baby. i need to get myself straight. too prideful. too—too messy for you." your face contorted into a sob, but your body physically couldn't generate anymore, intensifying the pounding between your temples. "we both have problems. that's why we met. that's why i love you." you brought him to your lips messily. subong kissed you harder, hands finding their home on your hips.

you kissed him harshly, anger brewing, hands pulling his head against yours. "people lost their jobs because of you." you cried in frustration, unable to hold yourself back from kissing him again. "i know, i know." he muttered, his sinuses feeling heavy. "you've upended me forever, and i hate that i still love you." you murmured against his lips, reconnecting the kiss. "i hate that i still want to make this work." "m'never leaving you, baby." said subong. "i'm never—" "subong!" he was yanked by either arm by two burly security guards out of the door. he put up a fight, or tried to, ending up being dragged across the floor and down the stairs. the two housekeepers from before watched in horror; surrounding staff either turning away or unable to from the sheer shock of circumstance. your mother watched from where she stood in the sitting room, in front of the same couch you stumbled upon a drunken subong months before. you nearly tripped from how you ran down the stairs, senses alive like you were under attack. "that's—that's the father of my baby!" you shouted helplessly. "stop being so fucking rough! stop!"

subong's legs were riddled with cuts and bruises from fighting the grip of the security guards in the house and being dragged across the gravel walkway outside, nearly pulling a muscle in resisting being thrown into a nondescript suv. "stop! stop! please!" you ran in front of him, grabbing hold of his face. "i'm coming back for you," he cleared his throat. "you hear me? i'm coming the fuck back." "okay—okay." you were panicking, moving so fast but simultaneously in slow motion, gasping when he was shoved into the car after your lips barely brushed together, driving off hte asphault driveway and leaving the gated estate.

ten minutes felt like ten hours as you sat in the heaviness lingering in the air of your bedroom. you existed in the heavy silence—too shocked to process, too exhausted to move. you felt the bed dip next to you, your mother settling in wordlessly. "its okay." she started. "its over now." her hand reached for yours, but you snatched it away. "don't even—don't even fucking try." "you will not curse at me." "i'll do whatever i fucking want! i'm old enough!" you yelled, fingers pounding your chest for desperate emphasis. "i mean—i mean—" you gestured aimlessly around you. "you just—you just took away the best thing thats ever happened to me, mom! where did he—where did he even go!?" "his parents home." she tried to calm you down, attempting to reach for your shoulders. "he was dropped at his family's home." "i don't—" you came to an embarrassing realization. "i don't even know where that is." your mother looked at you knowingly as the carpet caught your gaze again, holding your hands in hers. "i suppose he kept a lot from you, hm?"

you didn't answer—the confusion of your complex feelings blurred your senses. "come here, my love." your mother beckoned tenderly, hands rubbing up and down your back as your forehead laid against her shoulder. "he wasn't a good man." she projected. "he's out of your life, and that's a good thing." it felt of no use to argue, especially when you were so exhausted that you were empty of any strength. but still, an iota remained: "you have nothing in common." she added. "we have everything in common." you countered. "neither of us have places in our families." "shh. . ." your mother tutted before saying the line that defined your adolescence, and now, your foreseeable future: "you don't know what you're talking about." moments of silence went by, punctuated by the delayed growling of your stomach as lunchtime felt like hours ago—until your shoulders began to shake, and your chest convulsed. your mother held onto you tighter. "i see myself the most in you." she said, thwarting her own tears, unable to garner the courage to say what else swirled in her head: you can't leave us. not like that; not with him. but does say what she always does: "everything i do, no matter how it may frustrate you, is for your own good."

it was proof you were stuck in forever loop of fighting for self-preserving power until you inevitably cowered to either of your parents wishes: "you will be finishing your phd in auckland with your brother. you need time away from here. before that, we'll take care of your stomach." she said, holding you tighter when your cries became more visceral. "i've—i've made arrangements with the department head at the country's most prestigious university," she's had this planned for a while now. "you've changed. you need time alone in a different place, and come back when you're ready." translation, your inner monologue voiced as you sobbed egregiously, feeling faint: you're going to be shipped off to an alternate form of family headquarters to be monitored even more closely, and will only return with a parental-approved ring on your finger.

a year later, it was sunday afternoon. you set down a cup of homemade iced coffee on the sitting room table before you—crisp breeze of this early summer morning ushering in another day in auckland. your younger brother lived in the same luxury apartment complex as you, only a few floors down, but rarely came up to visit. you turned on the television, flipping through various channels before settling indifferently onto a local news station, sitting back on the couch and letting it seep into the background. your phone vibrated beside you, unlocking it to see several texts notifications from your friend group's chat—scrolling through messages about miscellaneous things, bickering, photos from trips, and half-hazard attempts at planning to come see you. you sent in whatever reply you could muster—the few memes scattered about the chat making you giggle—until you clicked your phone off. but then, like clockwork, your mind lingered. you picked your phone up again, unlocking it and scrolling down your messages, clicking on subong's. you stared at the last text sent, which was from him: Out in the hammock baby come by when u can. your thumb traced that gray text bubble like it was his cheekbone—back and forth . . . back and forth . . . back and forth . . .it was sent not even a full twenty-four hours until he disappeared from your life. not completely traceless, considering you saw him online on instagram a few times this past year, but not entirely tangible, since he hadn't reached out. there was a part of you that was strangely accepting of this. either because your parents have been responsible for such severed ties before, or that small twist of fate that lead you to the balcony that night was the first time you ever felt a sense of belonging.

honey's taglist! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა: @gongyoosgf, @infinetlyforgotten, @riddlerloveb0t, @mesopotamism

So in addition to Kazama Frylock Kiryu, I've also started this in progress masterpiece. I haven't spent very long on this one yet, but I'm recording my drawing of it and turning it into a time lapse video for funsies

Please I'm crying

Has this been done yet, or

Parrot 🦜

For my final act I give u trucker zuko and rv sokka kissin at the loves truck stop thank u and goodnight

happy one year (and 5 days) to the van scene and jonathan's driving prowess

</3 (original meme under cut)

happy 10 year anniversary to NWHS !!

A nameless czech soldier from World War II

British actor George Andrew J. MacKay

“What did you do in school today?”

Angry cartoons this is beautiful!

new twiyor fic!!! :D

it’s based on an outdated joke but i thought it was funny :> hehe

you can read it here! hope you enjoy :)

ೃ࿔ TABOO CRUSH ☾

SYNOPSIS: you’re megumi’s best friend first, but you can’t help also being his dad’s biggest mma fan

PAIRING — mma!toji fushiguro x uni!reader

CONTENT — MDNI, angst, NSFW, filthy, age gap, nsfw, thigh riding, pet names, MAJOR spit kink, virginity loss, corruption kink, spanking, cheating, daddy kink, pussy slapping, cunninglingus, creampie, unprotected, dacriphilia,

A/N — end of fic for informational + donation links 🍉

you were just a girl. and being a girl you obviously fangirled over silly things.

it varied really. you fangirled over one piece, aot, video game characters, film characters, peaky blinders, game of thrones, k-dramas, and of course sports. you had silly crushes on soccer players, but the one athlete who truly dominated your heart was the best mma fighter of all time and that was none other than, Toji Fushiguro.

“megumiiii!” you run over to the boy, throwing yourself on his back making him stumble, just as yuuji came, also jumping on megumi.

nobara was running as well with her shopping bags and boba before gasping for air by the time she reached the doorstep of the fushiguro household.

“we missed you!” yuuji whines. the three of you decided to pay megumi a visit after his weeklong absence due to his cold.

“get off me.” he grunts.

“it’s okay! we don’t care that you’re sick!” you dramatically cry out, yuuji crying as well as you kiss megumi’s cheek—

“It’s not because I’m sick, but because you idiots are heavy!” megumi shoves you and yuuji as he stumbles back. his vein was throbbing on his forehead, only making the three of you bark with laughter.

“y/n, and I will cook for you!” nobara was already shoving her way inside as you trailed after. taking over the fushiguro kitchen as yuuji dragged megumi back inside, crashing in the living room. everyone making themselves at home, as if they’ve lived here for years. megumi didn’t say anything. only commenting about not burning their hands again, because the truth is megumi missed them too.

snuggling into the blanket, yuuji played the new game megumi had bought. nobara had maki on speaker as she tried to give instructions on the new curry recipe. while you lounged on the counter scrolling through your phone—

“smells good.” the deep voice sent shivers down your spine. you glanced up to see the man you fantasized about, before even meeting megumi. you’d known megumi since your first year at university. but it wasn’t until you made a joke about how him and the mma fighter have the same last name did everything click.

“ya, he’s my dad.” your fate was sealed. you could never ever ever have sex with your idol, because he was your best friends dad.

how the heavens have cursed you.

but that didn’t stop you from always trailing behind the man. smiling brightly, rambling about your classes, telling him about how the professor hates you but loves megumi. you’re happy he never noticed the way your cheeks would sting every time you’d speak to him, or when he’d look at you, or when he’d pat your head, or when he’d-

“nobara is about to burn it though,” you mutter, behind your hand, toji looking over at nobara who’s sweating bullets as she tries to figure out how long she should be cooking this.

“so you’re not doing anything?” he muses, your lips part.

“I was! she just doesn’t need help right now,” you retort, sitting up, but toji’s hand lands on your head, beckoning you to follow him. “I need help moving some things.” a furious heat rushed up your body, the feeling of being needed by him sent you spiraling.

“oh okay!” you immediately perk, bouncing off the seat as you follow toji. his lips turning when he sees you trailing so quickly behind him like a cute puppy.

“why’re you throwing this stuff?” you frown seeing the boxes stacked in the basement.

“not throwing it, I’m moving it to the gym.”

“oh, good,” you smile, bending down to lift the boxes—

“woah, sweetheart.” your skin burns as toji pressed a hand to your waist. “I just need your help holding the door and opening the trunk.”

his chuckle made your cheeks warm. “I’ll still help!” you turn back around, but toji stops you with a sigh.

“fine, grab these,” he hands you a single framed picture, and nudges forward to get the door. you were ready to complain before you noticed the photo in your hands. “door.”

“sir, this is like the best photo ever! this is the original one right!?” you suddenly gush holding the door open. toji hums, carrying three stacked boxes as he walks out of the basement, heading out to the driveway.

“this was when you beat Kenjaku in a knockout and finally won your first title!” your eyes were fixated on the photo as you rambled on and on about how you’ve never seen the real thing, and how you remember your dad flipping a table out of how excited he was.

toji sat the boxes on the ground, turning to look at you.

“how long have you been a fan?” he was curious. i mean he trains yuuji after he opened his gym, ready to retire in a year, but the rest of megumi’s friends were never as interested in him as you were.

“since this fight,” you beam, finally looking up. your heart thumps at the look he’s giving you. “you’re just cool,” you mutter in embarrassment, cheeks flushed beyond measure. you lean into the trunk, sliding the framed photo carefully. your sweater riding up as you stretch your arms…

tojis eyes trail down to the bare skin, his pupils dilating at the sight.

“what’s this?”

his thumb suddenly caresses the skin of your hip making you jump. turning sharply, toji looks at the mark that peaks out of your pants.

“oh, i got a tattoo,” you lean against the trunk, lifting your shirt a bit. the tattoo was an olive branch that started from just outside your hip, and with your finger you motioned over your pants where it ended, the inside of your thigh.

“I didn’t know you liked tattoos,” he mutters, still brushing the top of the tattoo. your ears were burning, his hands were so big, you liked how rough his thumb was against your soft skin.

“don’t tell anyone,” you lower your voice, motioning toji to glance up at you as you talk behind your hand, as if someone were actually here. it was endearing. “but kyo was afraid of getting one himself, so he begged me to get one with him.” he clenched his jaw.

kyo…the low-life scum that megumi always had the pleasure of telling him about, mainly about how he was dirt compared to you. how you deserve better. how nobara hates him to death. and yet you’ve now been dating for almost two full semesters.

toji’s voice dropped. “so he forced you?”

“no!” you shook your head, almost breaking into a laugh. “as if anyone can force me to do anything.” you wave off the older man, still laughing as you head back to the basement.

toji hadn’t noticed how warm his cheeks were until you walked way. swearing under his breath he picked up the boxes shoving them in the truck. what was it about you?!

“yuuji you keep dropping your shoulder after you kick!” you whine, leaning over the ring as you watch yuuji spar toji.

“I’m not!”

“you are!”

“am not!” yuuji receives a blow to his dropped shoulder, toji finally hitting it on the nail that yes, you were right.

“told you,” you mutter, yuuji huffs, glaring over his shoulder at you.

“stop picking on him, y/n.” toji unwraps his gloves, noticing the way your eyes avert.

“how about you spar him, since you’re so good,” yuuji spits, his cheeks flushed and slightly out of breath.

“no, we have to go. we’ve been here long enough,” kyo groans from his position on the bench. he came to pick you up, but you told him to wait, wanting to see how much yuuji has improved. it was also the second time toji has met him. the moment kyo stepped into the gym, he was on his phone, only leaning down for you to peck his cheek before you came rushing back to the ring. arrogant prick, thought toji.

“five more minutes,” you reply, pulling your sweater off as you rush into the ring. you bounce up to toji grabbing yuuji’s gloves who almost laughs at kyo’s irritated expression.

“you ever spar before?” toji helps you put the gloves on. your lips part—

“she has!” yuuji interrupts, before you can lie.

“just a little martial arts,” you frown at yuuji, who grins even wider.

“nah, she’s like a black belt in Jujutsu—“

“taekwondo,” you correct with a spit.

“either way, don’t hold back on her!” yuuji cackles, sticking his tongue out as you move to lunge at him, but toji wraps an arm around your waist pulling you back to him. he notices kyo glance with a raised brow, his hand was splayed on your stomach, gently calming you. your cheeks flush, as you hum. toji pulls away, side-eyeing kyo briefly, turning his attention back to you.

“okay okay, let’s see what you got,” toji fixes the helmet on your head, before stepping back. you pound your fists together eyes glinting as toji immediately sees what you’re trying to do. he does his signature start, pounding his fists twice, creating a booming clap with each one.

“okay,” you smile, getting into your start. your hands are up by your face, blocking off your body as you stand to the side instead of squared off in the middle.

“FIGHT!” yuuji shouts, you immediately shift inside, throwing your leg up to catch the top of his helmet.

“whew!” toji brushes the kick off with a whistle, a grin spreading across his lips. “not bad.” he fixes his hands up. “keep going, sweetheart.”

you’re smiling too bright. cheeks flaming as you rush in for another kick. you completely lost track of time as you sparred the renowned fighter. he easily blocked or dodged your kicks, his fists were light taps as he got you a couple times. nothing compared to the harder blows he gave yuuji. he obviously held back, but he still entertained the living hell out of you. fueling your blood as you went harder, and with a little luck, and toji getting distracted by the sweat trickling down your full bouncing chest, you landed kick to his stomach.

“oh shit.” you mutter.

“oh shit!” yuuji repeats stunned. megumi and nobara sit up noticing the sudden silence.

“ohhhhhhhhhh fuck yeahhh!” you scream, jumping up and down as you toss the helmet off and yuuji joins you as you celebrate the tiny victory that felt like the most incredible win in the world!

toji is cackling, rolling his eyes as he takes his gear off. megumi quirks a curious brow when he notices the way toji’s looking at you.

“settle down,” he pats your head. his expressions shifts once you glance up at him, your pretty lips all wet as you heaved, sweat rolling down the tops of your smooth tits. his green eyes glance away, clearing his throat, a sting spreading across his face. “next time you can spar yuuji.”

your face brightens as you turn to your friend. nobara was already leaning into the ring as she started laughing, recording her entire bit. “y/n will definitely beat your ass!!”

“as if!” the three of you start arguing, until after a moment you look up.

“where’d kyo go?” the bench was empty, your bag laying there by itself.

“left awhile ago,” megumi answers. toji glances over, noticing the way your cute brows pinched together, clearly upset.

“cmere, lemme give you some pointers,” toji calls you over. your feet carrying you easily. the three friends huddle around as they do their work. nobara occasionally glancing up to see you sitting on the mat as toji casually sat in front of you.

“y/n is the only person that can get mr. fushiguro talking.” Yuuji looks up after nobara’s comment. humming in agreement.

“ya he said the funniest joke ever when y/n asked for one yesterday. Damn what was the joke again?” yuuji taps his chin thinking as megumi looks over, his father seemed deep in conversation. it wasn’t like you were rambling, no. you were listening attentively. engaging with small encouraging nods as toji spoke. your lips would part as you gave the most animated reactions, clearly enjoying his company on a different level.

interesting.

toji had weaknesses. the first being money. if his manager and megumi weren’t handling it then his bank accounts would be empty in a flash. his second weakness was definitely a need to eavesdrop, especially when you were over.

“no, i told him no,” your words were quiet. you and nobara sat in the living room while yuuji and megumi went to pick up some snacks from the store.

“thought you said you were ready?” she questioned.

“i am, but like…he’s like…” your voice trails off, burying your face into the cushion.

nobara groans with you, hitting the top of your head with light slaps. “you’re so confusing. if you don’t wanna have sex with him just break it off. he’s a dick anyways.”

“you don’t understand.” you whine. “i wanna do it, im ready, but whenever he starts—“ a glass crashes to the floor. startling the two girls as they glance to see toji picking up the broken cup.

“mr.fushiguro what are your thoughts on kyo?” nobara suddenly belts. your head snaps to her, eyes wide. what kind of question?!

“he’s arrogant,” toji cleans the spilled beer. “a prick, and doesn’t respect anyone other than himself—“

“how would you know?” you cut him off. toji looks up.

“cmon he’s just saying what everyone else has been. you said it yourself,” nobara is desperate. she wants you to finally acknowledge how fucking crappy your boyfriend is, if you can even call him that.

“ive only ever heard shit things about him. and you don’t deserve that. that’s all I’m gonna say,” toji excuses himself. he was pissed. pissed about how upset you got when he made a comment. you never spoke that way to him. nor did you cut him off and vise versa…

however later that night, he hears a small creak on the steps. looking over his shoulder he see you coming up the steps into his second living space on the estate. he was watching his own movie with a beer resting on his side.

“don’t you have a fight?” you mutter, coming over to the man. “you shouldn’t be drinking that.” the light from the screen shines against your exposed skin as you walk in front of the man, taking a sit beside him on the couch. you’ve done this a couple times. usually when everyone has fallen asleep and you’re still wide awake, you’ll lounge with toji watching his shows until you also knocked out. but this time felt different. you sat closer. your head was bowed to your chest as you fiddled with the ends of your boy shorts.

“i treat myself to one every couple weeks,” he answers, taking another sip, his eyes locked on the tv. “they all asleep?” you hum.

toji enjoyed silence. especially at night. but this silence was somehow eating at him. he was aware of your little glances, the way you suddenly shift and move. he needed you to talk—

“next time, don’t say anything about kyo…” you mutter, it was so soft, he could barely hear it. but he did. and it irked him.

“so I shouldn’t say the truth?”

your eyes glare up at him, a scowl forming on your lips. “no you shouldn’t.” you snap. “it’s none of your business.”

“you were in my house. so that makes it my business.” toji meets your glare. his jaw looked sharper against the flickering lights, his collarbones peaked from his white t-shirt, his hair tousled over his eyes accentuating how fucking attractive he is.

“well…that’s not fair,” your legs come up, burying your face in it. your heart was beating so fast, your body heating up. you just wanted to be close to him. you couldn’t cross that line, you couldn’t! but toji’s hand slide up and down your back.

“okay…I’m sorry.”

his words sent a certain warmth spreading deep into your core. you didn’t answer, but toji still pulled you into his side as he stroked your hair, letting you rest your head on his chest. he heard your sniffles, but was silent. but then your small hand started playing with the one on his lap.

his felt his heart jump.

you pressed his hand against your damp cheek, leaning into it.

“what is it?” his voice was so soft, like honey as he gently turned your face up. your lips were open as you stare up at the beautiful man. eyes glossed over. “stop crying.” he sighs, making more tears slip down your adorable cheeks. “awe sweetheart.”

toji leans down, holding your face, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. you should be satisfied with that! but you wanted another one, your eyes were dilated and filled with unshed tears as you hummed so quietly that only toji could hear. he understands you, understands the way your eyes linger.

“don’t cry,” he kisses your temple, then your eyes, feeling the salty tears coat his lips. your chest was filled with water as you let out small quiet sniffs, fists clenching his shirt, still begging for more. “babygirl,” he sighs, his face lowered. brushing his lips so close to yours. you can feel his breath.

then, out of nowhere, he presses a kiss to your lips.

your heart stops. he pulls away your tears still flowing. his heart aches at the expression on your face. it was like he completely shattered your heart. but you still held onto him, burying yourself closer to his side, ultimately falling asleep to his strokes.

the next morning you woke up beside nobara tucked under the blanket. you buried your face even deeper, ignoring nobara’s comments about it being the first time you don’t kick her in your sleep.

if toji was expecting not to see you because of what happened, he was very wrong. you still came to watch yuuji practice in the gym, you still lounged around the fushiguro household, you even joked with toji as if nothing was wrong. toji was happy you were doing okay. but he felt his stomach churn when megumi mentioned.

“ya supposedly they got into it yesterday.” toji closes the fridge, turning to look at his son sitting at the counter eating. by they he means you and your dick faced “boyfriend”.

“what about?” megumi glanced up, toji noting the look. “you’re the one that brought it up.”

megumi swallows his food. “something about never being alone together. so they started arguing at todo’s place and he ditched her. now she’s giving him the silent treatment, but last night they got into another fight in the car. nobara and maki came rushing out to—“

“did he lay his hands on her?” toji suddenly starts up. not realizing his complete attention is on the kid. megumi quirks a brow, shaking his head.

“no, but…” he swallows again. “everyone’s telling her to break up with him. there’s zero redeeming qualities about the guy. he treats her like shit. flirts with every other girl when she’s not around. I don’t know why she’s still with him.”

toji didn’t know why he cared so much. why he’d carefully guide any conversation he had with his son to you. wondering how you’re doing, checking in on something megumi had told him last week. megumi wasn’t an idiot, but toji couldn’t even realize what he was doing to know how to not do it. especially when megumi stated.

“you never ask how nobara is doing.” the weight of the statement sent the room into a momentary silence. the only thing that could be heard was the characters talking on the tv in the distance.

when toji failed to respond it left the two simmering in silence.

but toji couldn’t help the small jitters that filled his stomach when he heard the familiar footsteps late at night. of course he knew you were over, and of course he made a show downstairs grabbing a drink to show that he’s staying up. all he had to do was wait an hour until time the rest fell asleep, to enjoy your company alone.

“did i miss anything?” you slid onto the couch, curling up as you hugged the pillow. toji briefly explained the last episode, before sinking back into silence. toji didn’t mind the silence, but he also knew that usually during these nights you both would talk for hours. but he knew this time was different. his eyes focused on the screen. but he could feel your eyes on him. drinking in his beautiful face, his sharp jawline, his damp hair. everything about him was perfection in your eyes. you knew it was forbidden which made it more exhilarating.

he liked when your eyes were on him. he also hated the small victory that lit his being when he reclined even more, spreading his legs wider and opening his arm up. an invitation.

you gently slid closer, cuddling up to his side. he was always so warm, a personal heater, and you were happy to be wearing shorts and a loose tshirt, smiling to yourself. you couldn’t help but lean closer, blushing at his natural scent mixed with the forest body wash.

“you smell good,” you mutter, making the older man chuckle lightly.

“thanks, sweetheart.” he rests back, settling in again, arm tightening around you.

your heart was pounding, lips parted as you glance up. his neck gave easy access, but you had to bite your lip. your legs closed tight, your thoughts swirling in your head causing your body to react to things he’s never done to you! yet, you also have a mouth that seems to act on its own too…

“do you hate me?”

toji’s brows shot up. “why would I hate you?”

your ears sting, burying your face in his chest. toji sighs, pulling you even closer, his hand gently tracing small strips up and down your arm. an odd occurrence followed, one that surprised him, but nonetheless he did.

“i like your company. spending time with you isn’t so bad.” the truth that slipped his lips was something he hadn’t done in awhile. he spoke to you often, that’s correct, but talking about his feelings, that took something more. however, his stomach churned when he felt your body tense. turning his head, he glances down.

staring right at him are your big doe eyes filled with unshed tears, your soft wet lips trembling gently. his heart skipped a beat. “what’s wrong?!”

“nothing.” your ears sting, immediately covering your face. you sniffle, desperately trying to collect yourself. toji chuckles, landing a hand on your head. the rough treatment immediately softens, coaxing you to slowly pull your hands away.

“are you embarrassed?” his voice was so deep, which didn’t help your flustered state. his hand slides to the back of your head once you look up at him again. his half lidded eyes made your cheeks flush. the shadows that highlighted his features, his own lips parting showing you his tongue as he licked his lips. his body heat making you sweat. he was definitely not from this earth. “you’re so cute.”

your breath hitched. did you say that? no, that was definitely him. your throat is dry as he gently massages the flesh of your thigh. he laughs again. “don’t pretend like you don’t know. is that why you’re always crying in front of me?” he knows that isn’t why, but still. “batting your big eyes at me.”

“i…” your cheeks flush a deeper crimson. he smiles in victory. hes left you speechless.

“that’s my weakness.”

“girls crying?” you mutter, upset.

he massages your thigh, leaning further down, giving you no escape from his eyes. “seeing you cry.” you mouth went dry. “are you embarrassed?”

“no.”

he licks his lips. “good.” he smiles. “you don’t have to be embarrassed around me.”

you can smell his musk more clearly, clouding your senses, but still mutter. “same to you.”

he smiles again, but this time it’s more tender. “whys that?”

“i like it when you’re being yourself.” your words are even sweeter than your voice, causing a light flush to spread across the man’s cheeks. “you’re really funny…and I like when you’re having a good time. it makes me happy.”

his eyes grew bigger. heart beating faster.

“what?” you’re looking at his shocked expression, ready to throw yourself out the window for embarrassing yourself—

“nothing.” he tilts his head, eyes softening. “i missed your voice.”

idiot! who says that. you try to look away, but he’s so close, your eyes can’t help but dart around like a lost puppy. “whatever.”

“you were quiet this whole time, but now you’re saying such adorable things.” he lightens the air when you bite your cheek. “i like hearing you talk too.”

“really?” you mutter.

“it’s nice.” your finger lazily twirls around the hem of his shirt. “you like it when i say you’re nice?” you nod. he clicks his tongue. “i wanna hear you.”

“yes.”

“good girl.” he coos, massaging your thigh with his big hand, crawling it further between your legs, having noticed earlier how much you were keeping them closed. you whimper so softly when he squeezes the inside, your skin so soft in his rough palm. “you like that I’m praising you or touching you right now?”

what’s going on? why is he acting like this? he laughs again! “cmon…you come here at night and pretend to be all quiet.”

your jaw is weak, staring at him.

“is it because i kissed you?”

your breath catches.

he leans closer, hand falling deep between your legs, grabbing your inner thigh, your warmth spreading from his hand all the way to his pants, feeling his bulge start to lift his sweats up. ah how much he liked that feeling. when you’d make him feel his heart beat a little faster.

“do you want another kiss?”

you nod your head immediately, hair falling down in eagerness. he waits, raising a teasing brow.

“i want you to kiss me.”

“good girl,” he leans even closer, the small space between you felt like hours instead of seconds. the tension building as you felt his breath fan across your wet lips.

as if he could feel your staggered breath, he leaned forward. his lips curl up watching your eyes flutter just before he meets your lips.

it felt different then your first kiss. he was much more confident, and so were you. so warm and wet. he kisses your bottom lip, caressing it with his tongue and holding your thigh, his eyes half-lidded as he watches your features contort in pleasure.

his hand travels a little higher, continuing his slow caresses, smiling even more when he pulls away, noticing your leaning further in awaiting some more.

“eager, now.”

you hum, shamelessly. sending a wave of blood rushing into his hard-on. he captures your lips again, biting down on your lip, a silent punishment for getting him so worked up. but the gasp you let out gives him the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, caressing your tongue with his. your hand falls on his wrist, the way he’s squeezing your soft flesh has your panties completely soaked, and the only thing running through your dizzy head is the thought of his long rough fingers playing with your pussy.

toji pulls away again, this time to catch his breath, your tongue hanging out and your hazzy eyes had him smiling. “you like it?” he kisses your tongue. “you taste good.” he licks your tongue. “want more?” he pulls away just a bit once you let out a little moan. he doesn’t know how far he’s pushing it, but when he carefully tilts your chin, thumb stroking your bottom lip before pulling it down, you suddenly felt a rush of hot white heat.

his tongue came out to spit into your mouth.

and his cock almost burst at the moan that escapes the back of your throat.

you lean forward, kissing him again, your hand holding his wrist as you press his hand to your cheek, desperate for more attention.

toji pulls away, your lips part, but a gasp escapes when your back hits the cushion. laying across the couch, he leans down between your legs, resuming the makeout session. it was wet and messy, all thoughts thrown away as you both got lost in the others lips. the longer it went on the more toji started pushing the very big red line that’s he’s been slowly crossing.

with caution, he slowly began to lower his hips, closer to your open legs. his tongue playing with yours had him grabbing the cushion beside you, finally pressing his bulge right against your clothed cunt.

your jaw dropped. pussy tightening as he gives another cautious role of his hips. you can feel him so clearly, the sweatpants and your shorts weren’t doing much as he rolled his hips again and again. blood flooding your cheeks as you felt the outline of his cock. he was big. the stimulation on your clit had you gasping quietly. tongue falling out for more of his wet kisses. he swore very quietly, only enough for you to hear as you bucked your hips up. your legs came up to the back of his thigh, then up his torso as he continued to rub himself between your legs.

a wet patch slowly began to emerge between your grey shorts and his white ones. he was getting himself worked up, and your little gasps and moans were enough for him to start to lose all control.

his fingers slid between your bodies, playing with the waistband of your shorts, creeping a hand into the front, his head spinning as he watched your pretty lashes bat up at him, tongue sticking out awaiting his fingers to touch the place you were so needy for.

“dad?”

time stopped.

toji immediately froze as you tensed up, eyes staring up at toji in horror. the slow steps up the staircase, gave toji enough time to pull away, cursing at the wet patch between your legs, then noting his own. he tosses a blanket over you, as he grabbed another blanket throwing it over his lap.

“pretend to sleep.” he shot at you, even though you were still overwhelmed by the sudden shift, you listened. closing your eyes.

reaching the top of the stairs, Megumi shuffled lazily towards the couch, rubbing his stomach under his shirt.

“dad.” toji looks over his shoulder, grunting a response. “need your phone.”

toji holds his phone up. megumi comes closer, taking it, that’s when he notices the second person in the room. “y/n?” toji shushes him immediately.

“she’s sleeping.”

“why here?” that’s when you and toji both realize that not everyone knew you came up here when everyone fell asleep. it almost felt like some dirty secret getting revealed now.

“she couldn’t sleep, I don’t know,” toji shrugs. “why do you need my phone?” he pretends like megumi can’t read him, even though toji never questions megumi for wanting his phone.

“can’t find my phone.” Megumi gives one last look between you and toji before heading down stairs, his dad’s phone in his hand calling himself. once his feet disappear, you’re sitting up, but toji presses a hand to your thigh.

“he’ll come back up.”

the room falls into silence. your eyes looking over at toji who’s attention is now back on the tv. his cheeks still slightly pink, especially with your attention focused on him.

you can’t help but mutter. “should I go?”

“if you want.”

“do you want me to stay?”

“i don’t care.”

your throat bops. suddenly feeling horribly uncomfortable. was this a mistake. should you ask if it was a mistake? but if he says yes, then you’ll definitely cry.

“is kyo coming tomorrow?” he’s never called your boyfriend by his real name, nor has he ever bring him up in conversation with you.

“why are you talking about him?”

“he’s your boyfriend, am i not allowed?” he’s still not looking at you.

“like you care.”

“you’re right. I don’t.” he tilts his head, so clearly agitated. you don’t know how to respond. you don’t think he’s ever spoken to you with such edge.

you disobey him and sit up, your eyes swirling with confusion, and the second your hand lands on his, everything melts.

your hand was so warm on top of his. his eyes met yours as you peer up at him. not only is he a man, but he’s older too, so why is he acting like a jealous fucking teen?

“I’m sorry.” you words feel like absolute heartbreak. a pit of ugly guilt rages deep inside him, especially when he doesn’t respond, allowing you to stand, wrapping the blanket around you, leaving him.

megumi is startled when you suddenly appear at the bottom of the steps. he screws his eyes in the dark, were you crying? but you mask it with a fake yawn, rubbing your eyes as you fall beside nobara, burying the comforter over your nose.

“your dad is so boring.” you mumble, unconvincingly.

“are you ready?” yuuji nervously leans over megumi as they all huddled around the fighter as he sat on the bench. “are you hydrated? should i get more water? are you angry? the dude was yapping a lot before the match! he’s definitely talking shit about you right now, I can only guess what he’s saying—probably saying how you’re getting old and your punches are slower than snails!—“

“yuuji!” nobara elbows him. maki is coordinating with shiu, as toji continues sitting in silence, wrapping his hands.

“it’ll be great.”

toji feels his heart beat. glancing at you as you kneel in front of him. a soft smile on your lips as if last night had never happened. it was toji’s final match of his career. all of his son’s idiot friends were huddled in the locker room. but you also were here.

you were dressed all pretty, he had to suppress his thoughts when you came running into the locker room, afraid of being late. your hair so fluffy as your skirt danced around your thighs. you rarely wear skirts, he thought. your tight long sleeved shirt had his eyes zeroing in on how well it hugged your pretty tits. his cheeks ran hot as he remembered the way he rolled his hips up between your legs, the hot pulsing of your clothed pussy. fuck he regrets not slipping a hand up your shirt and squeezing your tit—

“how are you feeling?” your eyes fell soft. holding no animosity in them as you gently reached out to help him hold his gloves as he continued wrapping it around.

toji felt a burst inside his stomach, the good kind.

“ya you’ve got it! we’ve trained a lot!” yuuji is ready to interrupt some more before megumi grabs the back of his collar, holding him back. all because he saw the softness in his fathers gaze. his once pinched angry expression, was tender and gentle as you spoke to him. the conversation wasn’t in whispers, but it felt intimate. nobara looks over, also noticing megumi’s lingering eyes.

nobara wasn’t an idiot. at least not in the love department. she always knew, I mean she also found megumi’s dad hot as fuck. but finding someone attractive is different than the look you were giving him. like he held the entire world in his hands. it was definitely a look she’s never seen you give kyo. how didn’t she notice this before?!

“thanks, kid,” toji pats your head, tenderly. the aggressiveness of it, absent. he didn’t ruffle your hair, but the weight atop your head sent a fury of emotions swirling inside you. he ignored the brief moment of hurt that flashed across your face when he called you kid.

you glance up when he takes his hand away. his cheeks flush.

“anytime.” your smile was a puncture to his heart. no words came to his mind, so instead he brushed your hair, his thumb unconsciously caressing your cheek. your eyes swam with need, begging him for anything, but his hand drops. standing up and moving past you, following shiu’s directions.

kyo was already waiting at the vip seats. the rest of you joining once the lights began to dim for the athletes entrances. you were still in an argument with kyo, but he still held your hand when you sat beside him, his lips pressing to your cheek sweetly, smiling when you hum in acknowledgment, but it’s all thrown out the window once toji steps into the cage.

the arena immediately shifts, his energy resonates throughout the entire stadium.

this was your second time seeing toji’s match in person. however, knowing this was his last fight meant something different. yuuji was screaming his lungs out, as was nobara. toji was up against some young prodigy nicknamed ‘the honored one’, also known as gojo satoru.

your cheeks filled with blood as you screamed for toji’s victory. flinching and looking away when gojo sent a violent blow straight to his ribs. kyo glanced at the tremble in your eyes, brows creasing as you clutched your chest, as if grabbing at your heart. his jaw snapped.

“y/n, let’s go,” he suddenly stood, grabbing your arm.

“what?” you stumble, surprised by the aggressive pull. nobara and megumi looking over at the commotion. immediately stepping in to hold you back.

“what’re you doing?!” you struggle, wincing when his grip tightens on your wrist. the fight in the cage was getting more intense, but the grip kyo had on you made your stomach churn. his eyes filled with rage as he glared at you. “get…off—nobara,” you call to her, realizing that his grip really is tight.

“fuck off, kyo! megumi,” she looks over her shoulder but megumi is already gripping kyo’s wrist, making him loosens his grip on you. the scene was insignificant compared to the fight in the stadium, but being close to the cage, it caught toji’s attention.

his expression darkened, blocking gojo kick, as he immediately spun, hitting gojo right in the ribs knocking him back. toji glanced again to see you back in your seat clapping and cheering. what happened? were you okay—

“eyes here old man!” the white haired kid cackles. itching a sore spot in toji.

“what’s happened I can’t look anymore!” Yuuji cries covering his eyes as you clutch his collar, shaking him like crazy as you scream. nobara is biting her nails as megumi winces. gojo landed another violent hit straight to toji’s already bleeding eyebrow.

“stop it, he’s gonna win!” you cry, heart pounding and gaze fixed on toji. your lips trembling as toji stumbles. somehow, you feel butterflies breakout the second toji glanced briefly in your direction. you don’t know if he’s looking at the group or you, but still, you couldn’t help yourself from smiling, putting two thumbs up encouragingly. even though you were scared seeing him bleed so much, you couldn’t describe the amount of confidence you had in his victory.

the stupid smile almost had toji scoffing in amusement. you really are adorable.

so when toji’s name rings out throughout the entire stadium as the victor, your screams were deafening. yuuji crying from happiness as nobara shakes megumi and you’re…you’re completely in tears. choking with joy as you all scramble into the cage to congratulate the victor. however just when you’re about to reach him, a bunch of press speakers and cameras block your path.

nevertheless, the afterparty at the gym was enough time to celebrate the winner. everyone was there. drinks and music blasting as you all congratulate the man.

you were babbling to toji, your lips curling once he pats your head affectionately. answering your unending questions as he continued talking. it came easy to him, having you listen to him.

“I told you this story already?” he realizes midway.

“it’s okay, i like hearing you talk,” you smile tenderly, triggering a deep flush on his cheeks, something that’s become more and more familiar. clearing his throat, he pets your head, so you wouldn’t catch his expression.

“y/n.”

your heart drops, turning to see kyo. “we need to talk.” he glared past you at toji, who raised a brow, testing him back. you set aside your drink, apologizing to toji.

a hand stopped you.

“break up with him.”

his thumb caressed your wrist gently. but his words only did the opposite. your expression reminded him of the day he told you his feelings about kyo. why did you look at him like that?

“he’s a dick…you deserve better.”

your jaw clenched, the ground occupying your pretty eyes, toji waited for you to think. but when glanced back up, he inhaled sharply, your lips wet as a few tears lined your waterline.

“I’ll never have better.”

you rip your arm away, turning on your heel. he watches you exit the gym, meeting kyo outside. he can’t describe the ugly twist that he felt deep in his gut. he drank some more, and some more, until he realized that getting drunk was nothing and that he’d rather head home. he didn’t want to think about it, or about his feelings, none of it. his gaze fixed on the tv as he waited for sleep to take him.

unfortunately the rest of the kids were black out drunk. so toji had to hear the commotion downstairs as they crashed into things and yuuji’s whispering was more like yelling. after a couple of minutes it was finally silence again, except for his show…

“what’d I say about sneaking around?”

toji heard the creaking. recognizing your soft footsteps the moment you stepped up the staircase, clearly trying to conceal your presence.

“thought you were sleeping…” your voice was meek, as you stare at the back of his head. your heart thumping loudly once you saw his arm raise lazily, two fingers motioning you forward.

of course, you obeyed. sucking in some air to calm your nerves as you round the couch, slowly. toji watched your bowed head, that’s when he heard the quiet sniffles. his brow pinched high as he sat straight.

“did something happen?” he was on alert.

you don’t respond. only feeling your cheeks flush and heart clench, why is he so concerned?

“did the prick lay his hands on you,sweetheart?”

sweetheart….he really picks his moments, you scoff. “he didn’t.”

he settles back. but you raise your head, tears sprinkling out like beautiful jewels.

“why did you ask me to break up with him?” you hiccup. toji is left speechless. why was he so mesmerized by your emotions. his pretty girl, crying so vulnerably. “answer me!”

“I don’t know.”

he cringed. it was evident you disliked that answer.

you bit your cheek, grasping at your megumi’s shirt. you felt your cheeks run hot, lips wet as you spoke. toji could read your lips before he heard the words. his stomach churning in disgust.

“he wants to have sex with me.” your face is burning, but you don’t care anymore. “kyo has been begging me. we’ve kissed me, he’s sucked my tits. I’ve given him handjobs. but he wants to have sex with me now.”

his jaw was locked, veins straining his arms and neck. “I don’t like knowing that shit.” his voice was deep sending even more nerves down your throat.

but you don’t care anymore. you swallow thickly. toji didn’t know if he was prepared to hear about your sexual relationship with that shithead. knowing he laid his dirty hands on you, kissed your pretty lips, played with your full beautiful tits that he loved to stare at. his blood was boiling.

“toji,” your lip trembles. cheeks hot knowing this is the first time you’re calling him by his first name. toji also noticed, especially as you inched closer. your tears still full in your eyes, making his chest swell, unable to tear his gaze away from you. “I don’t want him touching me anymore.”

his arms instinctively reach out, and pull you onto his lap. his arm circling your back as he cups your neck with the other. “i only want you.”

“fuck.” his lips crash into yours.

your hands instinctively go to his hair as he licks your bottom lip, forcing your mouth open, pushing his tongue to meet yours. you felt your stomach explode, eyes filing with tears as you kissed him back passionately. cheeks stinging as he caressed his wet tongue against yours, groaning as you arched into him. his rough hands pulling your hips forward, groaning as you slide against his bulge. you gasp, pulling away for a second, but his lips move to your neck, licking a strip up to your ear.

“be a good girl, start rocking on me.” your body shivered, humming as you started rolling your hips down on his hard bulge. “just like that. feel good?” he nips at your skin, helping your pace as you hum softly. the cotten shorts you wore slide with each grind making toji feel more clearly the heat radiating from your pussy.

“you can’t cry like that. it messes with my head.”

you moan gently as you feel his hands slide up under your shirt. eager to listen, you helped him pull it over your head, tossing it to the side. your cheeks aflame the second he saw your bare chest. you liked it so much, his attention all on you. you wanted him to touch you so badly. a deep groan resounded from the back of his throat .

“you know how many times I’ve imagined seeing these,” he grabs a handful of your tit, licking his lips at the weight in his palm. you watch him lean forward, tongue sticking out to run from the underside, licking a long tantalizing strip up, pressing down when he got to your nipple.

“i thought i was seeing things,” you moan gently, hand tugging on his black locks. “i didn’t know if you were staring at them.”

“how could i not? you made it pretty hard,” he drools on your nipple, your eyes dilating at the lewd sight. “dreamed about sucking these pretty tits. you purposely wore flimsy bras in the gym so I can see them bounce?” your cheeks flush as you pout looking away. he groans again, more frustrated. “you let that asshole touch you like this?” you whine when he bites meanly down on your nipple, tongue swirling to ease the pain before he does it again, his other hand helping you rock a little quicker, your shorts sliding to the side, as your pink panties come into view. completely wet as you whine.

“only a few times,” you mutter.

“few times.”

“he’s my boyfriend—ah!” you cry louder, the bite he gave much harsher, tears trickling out. you feel pathetic as you cry just from the stimulation of your tits, toji was growing more annoyed.

“you didn’t break up with him?” your lips part, grasping his hair, whining when he pulls away, looking up at you. you were lost, your lips hanging open as you stare down at the man.

“i—“

something strange surged inside him as he quickly went back to your lips, cutting off any response. his body hugging you closer to his chest as he slid your shorts and panties to the side, a low groan slipping once he felt your arousal coat his fingers. “your pussy’s crying too,” he coos.

“finger me, please, please,” you gasp, whining even more as he circled your cute little clit. his senses running haywire the more you begged.

“you’re so needy.” he groans, pinching your clit making you cry. “has he fingered you? shoved your cute cunt with his disgusting fingers?”

“mmm….he has,” you cry out feeling toji shove two fingers inside you without warning. his teeth biting down on your nipple as you tremble all over. “i like it….like it….” you moan, jaw dropping as he abused your pussy, stretching it out with his fingers, only to curl them right on your squishy part, grinning at the shocked expression that flashed across your face.

“he make you cum?” toji grunts, glancing down at the arousal that slide down his palm, licking his lips.

“he did….made me cum…” your words only fueled a dormant emotion that he thought he’d never feel again. jealousy.

toji curled his fingers, biting your lips as he sent you over the edge. your entire body shook, clinging onto him as you came with a shocked gasp. tears sliding down your hazzy eyes. “toji…mmm…” your soft little voice resounded in his ear as you pressed your cheek to his shoulder still shaking. however, toji only gave you a moments rest, before he was lifting you with him.

“I’m not done.”

your body hit the unfamiliar bed, your eyes briefly glancing around you as your vision cleared. It was a spacious master bedroom, your eyes catching the minimalist dark furniture, and the large balcony windows briefly open. “”ah!”

your hips jumped, legs closing around his hand after feeling the harsh slap to your pussy. you glared up at him.

“ow!” you cry, pouting once toji kneeled on the bed, shoving your legs open.

“i was talking to you and you weren’t listening.” he rubs your pussy again, his expression was sinister, dark…fuck he was so hot. your cheeks went pink when he aggressively pulled your shorts and panties off, spreading your folds apart. “you’re telling me…” his jaw locks. “the prick saw your pussy?”

you bit your cheek, nodding your head. a wave of arousal rushed down to your pussy once toji dropped his head back, groaning in frustration. his hand coming up, laying another harsh slap to your pussy.

“i answered you!” you cry, holding his wrist, not admitting to him how turned on this was making you.

“well I’m pissed,” he huffs, giving another slap, now getting a moan out of you.

“why are you pissed?” you cry, another slap making your hips buck. his eyes no longer shined green, but instead were encompassed by a dark black shadow.

“because he touched you.”

“so?”

“so, it’s annoying. he’s not allowed too.”

“and whys that?”

“because you’re mine.”

toji was heaving. his nails having dug into your knees, only now realizing his words. your reaction absolutely priceless. the stunned expression and wide eyes sent his heart racing.

“fuck, don’t look at me like that.”

his tongue licks your lips, groaning as he felt your tongue meet his, a satisfied whimpering slipping from the back of your throat. your hips bucking as your own nails racked through his hair. his fully clothed body made you even more turned on, bucking your hips up as he began to grind down on your pussy.

“can you eat me out?” you mutter, rocking your hips up. toji chuckles, sliding down your body as he licked and kissed your nipples, licking down your tummy, as he sucked a dark bruise on your pelvis. your cheeks flush, your fantasies slowly unfolding before your eyes. toji brings your hand to his hair, looking directly into your eyes as he licks a bold strip up your pussy.

his own eyes roll back, groaning as your arousal floods his tastebuds. he takes another lick, swirling his tongue deeper between your folds, playing with your pussyhole, purposely avoiding your bud.

“tojiii,” you whine, tugging his hair. he grunts. “you’re being mean.”

“I’m being mean?” he smirks, parting from your wet folds. “because I’m not kissing your little clit.”

you nod, flustered. “but it’s all swollen and pink, I don’t wanna hurt you.” he feigns concern, making you look away, ears hot.

“you won’t hurt me.”

he didn’t know if it was the combination of your voice and that expression that made him nearly cum in his pants, but he broke.

your back arched off the bed as he sucked your clit harshly into his mouth. the sudden stimulation had you crying, your hand coming up to your mouth as the other held his dark locks with a vicious grip. it was a pleasant surprise to toji, though he fantasized about his son’s close friend being shy and somewhat of a prude, he was practically drooling seeing you so aggressive and needy with him.

encouraging you to tug his hair, he lapped your clit, biting down whenever he felt you loosen your grip in his hair. fuck, this was definitely a kink. his arms wrapped around your thighs, lifting your hips up onto his lap as he bent his back eating you out. you’ve never seen anything like it.

the dark bruise on his eye, the cut on his nose, the cracked knuckles gripping your flesh….your eyes rolled back as he pulled out, spitting a big wet glob right on your clit, his jaw aching, but seeing the way you twitched, and tugged his head back, he felt how drenched his boxers were.

“toji…keep…going,” you pant, your grip doesn’t loosen, which was enough for him to continue. the knot inside your core, starting to tighten more and more, edging you closer as he slurped your arousal, the lewd sounds, clouding your senses as he pulled your hips higher to his face, your heels pressing on his shoulder blades as you bite your hand, the broken cries and aggressive tug had toji moaning into you.

“gonna cum… ‘m…hngh close…” your voice cracks, eyes rolling back as toji feels your body tense. his tongue flattening on your clit, sucking your bundle.

your eyes widen, suddenly loosening your grip as you push your palm on his forehead trying to push him away.

“toj-m-move I-i—“ you were gasping, moans choking your words as you shiver. toji aggressively hugs your thighs, keeping your body still against his face.

“if you don’t cum on my face, then don’t ever think about doing this again.”

it was a lie. but you didn’t need to know that. you cried, eyes filling with tears as your legs began to shake uncontrollably.

“b-but tojii…”

you bury your face in your arm, which he notices right away, biting down on your clit. your back lifts as you squeal.

“hands off.”

you shake your head, so toji unwraps an arm to grab both your wrists, holding them down against your tummy as he sucks your clit between his teeth, the sounds of his mouth had you crying immediately punching the coil as your hips stutter up and a drawn squeal comes from the back of your throat as a wave of relief washes over you, releasing a flow of pleasure…. hitting toji.

“shit.” he utters, jerking back when he feels the splash hit his face. your wrist wiggles in his grip as you gasp. “fuck…” his groan is low as he slaps your pussy, making a bigger mess as you continue to release a stuttered flow.

“mess—ahnghh-“ you cry, not even able to finish your sentence.

“ya its fucking messy,” he chuckles, “and hot.” his eyes darken as he latches his lips back on your pussy, drinking your arousal with more pleasure than he can bear, eyes closing briefly as you cry a little louder. “that’s it. ngh all over my face, puppy.” he’s panting, “ya good girl.”

toji doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so attractive. the twist in your face, the drool coming from your lips, the tears filling your eyes, your tits high up in the air, all from his mouth. he’s so sloppy, circling your overstimulated clit as you shake and stutter, quiet sobs slipping out.

finally, he lets go with a wet pop. your pussy clenching in spasms as you gasp. tears blocking your vision until you feel the relief of your hands being free, rubbing your eyes lazily, leaving your hands over your face.

“why did you do that?” you sniffle.

“are you embarrassed?”

you’re quiet.

“have you ever squirted on that shithead?” your legs rest on either side of his torso as he lazily strokes your thighs and hips. large hands soothing you.

your fingers split apart as you look at toji. his eyes immediately finding yours, softening a bit at the dried tears.

“we’ve only ever kissed.”

silence. his face drops.

“what….”

your stomach twists when you see his brows start to come together, looking at you more sternly. his grip tightens around your hips, your body cringing, as he slowly realizes what you’d just done.

“you lied to me?”

“i extended the truth.”

he laughs. “that’s an understatement. so he’s never touched you? your tits—“

“that wasn’t a lie.”

“so you admit you were lying.”

“no!” your hands fall, staring back. that’s when you really clock in on the state he’s in. his face wet with your arousal, shirt also being victim to your pleasure, his hair was a mess, not realizing how much tugging you’d done till now. his arms bulging as he held your hips. and his cheeks were so pink!

is he mad? the longer he stares the more you feel blood rushing up to your face. “the part about kissing, playing with my tits, and um handjobs, was for real….everything after that….no.”

you’re looking away now. biting your cheek nervously, because yes, he’s older and definitely much scarier when he’s all serious.

“are you mad?” you mutter.

his hands travel up your torso, thumb caressing the warm skin, making you more nervous.

“mad…” he repeats, like he’s thinking it over. you glance back at him, lips parting.

he takes the invitation, kissing you deeply. you hum in surprise, tasting yourself immediately which sends your body burning again. he presses himself over you, trapping your arms between your chests, his lips part, your tongue coming out making him grin. “you knew how much I hated that douche and used it against me.”

you flush, licking your lips as he continues to stare down at you, much closer now. “i wasn’t sure if it was gonna work.”

“well it did.”

he kisses your cheek, dipping closer to your ear to whisper a gentle. “at least, now I know I’m the only one that’s seen you like this.” he licks your ear to conclude, sending a shiver up your spine. his arm sliding up your thigh, moving down to grab your ass, kneading the flesh, before laying a slap. a yelp slips in surprise. “you like making me loose my cool?”

he slaps your ass again, your head shaking as you manage to free your arms, trying to hold his shoulders, just for a harsher slap to send your hips bucking up, pressing into his shirt. “getting my dick hard just for your little games.”

you’re not even trying to hide your moans anymore. each slap sending another wave of pleasure down to pool in your pussy.

“my puppy likes being all dirty,” he growls, biting your lips as he holds your body off the bed, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs crossed behind his back as he rocks his cock into you, kissing you so passionately it’s making you dizzy again. this time when he pulls away, the string of spit connecting you guys has you loosing all cool, all to utter the silly command.

“spit in my mouth.”

toji freezes.

you’re staring up at him, with big dumb eyes. lips open softly. now he’s the one that’s blushing. his cheeks bright red as he stares at you.

“fuck me.” he drops you on the bed, unwrapping your arms, as he sits up. your heart is beating rapidly, frozen because now you’re scared you’ve done the wrong thing. was that it? is he gonna leave—no he’ll kick you out—

“since when did you start acting like a little virgin, who wants to get her pussy ruined?” he snaps. his voice deeper than before. your eyes wide when you see him stripping his shirt, your lips closing as you see his muscles flex, then his beautiful abs right in front of you. the bruises from todays match looked painful, especially the one on his ribs, remembering the harsh blow his opponent had given him. but your mind is swept away when his biceps flex, leaning forward, hand holding your face tight, he tilts your face up. “open wide.”

you feel like cumming just from his command. but you submit immediately, opening your mouth, tongue hanging loosely as you blush, waiting for him because he makes you wait, just enough for him to capture this image before him. his son’s pretty little friend, sticking her tongue out for him, her pussy hot and messy, and her tits covered in his spit. and it was all for him.

he leans forward, gathering a nice amount in his mouth, lining himself over you. he stays a distance away.

you’re panting like a cute puppy, desperate for any attention. drool slipped down your chin, as he felt it roll down his wrist.

you’ll be the death of him.

he spits.

the low groan was deep seeing your entire body shake as his heavy spit lands on your tongue. your hips bucking as you roll his spit in your mouth, whining so audibly in pleasure.

“swall—“

you already do. your body suddenly rehydrating like that was the first drink you’ve had in days.

“what a dirty fucking pup,” he grabs your jaw again, crashing his lips on yours. you whine, flushing at how loud he’s kissing you. it was so messy, and sloppy, your hands holding his wrist as he moved your jaw up, deepening the kiss, tongue pushing inside your mouth as more spit collected between your battling tongues.

“can you fuck me now?” you push away, panting in his mouth as you try to slide your heel into his waistband from behind.

a sudden thrill takes over your body at the deadly smirk he gives you. laughing into your lips. “you’re not shy are you?”

“you’ve already made me squirt,” you look away. “that was embarrassing.”

toji doesn’t laugh, his eyes boring into your face, making your skin warm. “I’m jealous.”

“huh?”

“I’m jealous that you can give me something so special.” your cheeks heat up, you can tell by his eyes that he was being serious. “I want you to give me more.” he dips his head, kissing your chin, moving down to your neck. his lips trail down to the tops of your tits, kissing his way down, distracting you as his thumbs hook under his sweats and boxers, pulling it down.

your head is tipped to the side, letting out sighs of pleasure.

“mmm, toji,” you squeak, hips jumping when you feel his two fingers inside your pussy.

“fuck, you’re too tight,” he mutters more to himself. that’s when you realize what he means. he’s sitting between your legs completely naked. you feel your breath catch when you follow the dark hairs of his happy trail all way down to the well-groomed but still hairy base of his thick cock. fuckk. your mind cannot wrap around how big he is. it was shiny which meant he’d already stroked his pre-cum around, now it was hanging between his large thighs, too heavy to stand fully erect. you couldn’t stop the drool from slipping out.

kyo’s didn’t look like that.

“No kidding.” toji meets your puzzled eyes. you’d just said that out loud? and now he has the most shit-eating grin ever.

toji pushes a third finger inside, making your jaw drop, reaching out for him. “it okay princess, I’ll make it fit.” your eyes kept falling down to the monster between his legs, your head going cloudy just thinking about it how that’ll be possible.

“want it now… put it inside me.”

toji clicks his tongue, still fingering you, his brows pinched in concentration. his tip was an angry red, leaking even more.

“you’re too tight. haven’t fucked a virgin in awhile.”

“it’s fine. I just…” you whined bucking your hips to the rhythm of his skilled fingers. “just want your d-dick inside me, please. please.”

toji slaps your pussy. hard. “stop being a fucking brat.”

you bite your lip only to start whining again as you keep eyeing his heavy hanging cock his tip drooling making your pussy tighten around his thirsting fingers. his dark pubes made your pussy cream even more. “toji.” you draw out his name. he meets your gaze, clearly frustrated, but suddenly you give him that annoying look. the one where your eyes get all big, dumb, and wide, and you bat your lashes up at him, your lips all wet and pouty. his jaw clenched. you could even see the vein on his jawline, only making you more needy. it was the same look you would innocently give him when he’d scold you about walking home alone at night.

“can’t even let me open you up,” he slaps your pussy. “crying like a whiny little brat.”

“please.” tears swell up, gently making your eyes sparkle.

he rolls his neck. “you’re killing me, sweetheart.” your hands reach for him, making him click his tongue as he grabs his base, pumping his cock harsher than you’d expect. your lips fall open, salivating at the sight. your mind remembering all his matches, how every hit he threw looked like he was breaking cement in half. you swallow thickly, eyes glancing up to see toji’s flushed cheeks as he jerks himself off. his eyes staring at how close your pussy is to his dick.

your stomach twists, a stupid feeling swelling in your belly as you become jealous of his hand.

“in me. toji toji—“

“I needa teach you a fucking lesson about patience,” he grabs your face, immediately seeing how dilated your pupils are, as you lean up, meeting his lips. you were fucking adorable, the desperation made him twitch even more. he couldn’t remember the last time he’s leaked this much pre-cum where it looked like he basically came already. “gonna take it slow.” he utters, rubbing his tip between your folds, collecting all the messy slick.

you moan into his mouth, soft little sighs as he continues his teasing actions, your fingers brushing his nape as you lick his bottom lip waiting….waiting. when his tip catches onto your clit, you let out a quiet cry. “to…jj…stop playing with me…”

“it’s all swollen though,” he coos, smiling when you flush, humming with him. “was I too mean on your poor clit?” you shake your head quickly. “want me to fuck y’r pussy now?”

“mhm, inside please, want it deep,” you add to his lewd words, making him chuckle. you always were a talker, but he’s still surprised how fucking dirty your mouth is. the same one that was always so polite with him, even if you guys did joke around, you always called him sir.

“eh, is that right?”

you nod, biting your lip, blushing when you hear him groan. he slides his tip down to your hole. your heart pounding a little faster, a small pit of fear dawning on you watching toji’s broad figure hover over you. his entire form covering you as he gently pushes his engorged cock head into your awaiting entrance.

you suck in sharply, gasping at the unknown feeling as he gives you your first real stretch, neck craning as your nails dig into his shoulder and nape.

“relax, sweetheart,” his hand runs up and down your thigh, squeezing your sweaty skin. as he runs a hand up your stomach letting you take some deep breaths. his jaw is clenched, biting down as he feels your vice grip on his cock, absolutely suffocating him. “fuck baby, y’r too tense, deep breaths.” he chokes out.

“o..okay.” you’re trembling. trying to take a deep breath, but it felt so weird, your pussy could feel his fat tip. his eyes fall to your scrunched up face. the only thing on your mind was simply. toji’s inside me. toji’s inside me. megumi’s dad is inside me! the chanting had you going dumb and unintentionally doing the worst thing you could do to a man struggling to hold his patience: you clenched around him.

“fuck baby!”

toji’s growl had your stomach tightening, squeezing him even harder as your back arched. “breathe baby!”

“i am,” your face is warm and sweaty. “help…it hurts.”

toji freezes, staring into your big doe eyes. his heart melts, cupping your cheek as he speaks gently.

“don’t cry,” he coos, “i’ll take care of it,” he strokes your cheek as you sniffle, nodding. “I’ll handle it.” you suddenly gasp feeling a familiar stimulation. his thumb swirling around your swollen clit making you whine in pleasure, he groans feeling your body start to relax a bit more. giving his cock some relief.

“just like that, good girl, shit,” he coos feeling you clench around him from the praise. “we’re not done yet sweetheart.”

“mmm, okay.” you’re so cute, but he sees the mischief in your eyes, that’s when he feels you start to rock your hips up. “want it all.”

“slowly.” he says sternly.

he pushes a little more, leaning back when you begin to act up again, his hand falling down on your pussy making you giggle in pleasure, his tongue peaks out to lick his teeth.

“don’t start acting like a spoiled brat again.”

“I’m not,” you whine, tongue coming out as you continue rocking your hips up. his stomach clenches, eyes falling over your sweaty figure. your tits bouncing with each buck. it would be so easy to slam into you right now. have your pretty lips cry out as he took your virginity so meanly.

“what a pretty girl,” he runs his hand up under your tits. smiling when you arch up for him. he continues to push his cock deeper inside you, your moans shifting into a quiet cry. “never had a pussy this tight. ya ever put anything inside?” you shake your head.

“no,” you blush, biting your lip trying to decide if you should say what you wanted.

“spit it out.”

“i wanted you to be the first person to touch me down there.”

you whine feeling his big cock twitch inside you. he’s pulling out, sliding back in getting your slick to run down his cock.

“ ‘s that right?” he lifts.

“mhm, didn’t wanna finger myself either.”

“so you only played with your little clit?” you nod.

“you’re so cute.”

your cheeks sting, opening your mouth to respond, but the stretch started to sting. he was going too slow.

your hands lift off your chest to reach for his shoulders. “too slow.”

“watch it,” he meets you lower, your hands running around his shoulders as you pant so softly at his agonizing pace. slowly stretching out your little pussy hole. “you’re gonna regret your words in a sec.”

“fuck me,” you command. the snappy voice making his jaw tick. you’re a fucking handful, and now seeing how much of an attitude you catch when you’re horny made him even more turned on.

“baby.” he warns.

“cmon, please please.”

his patience fucking breaks.

your breath catches when his arms are grabbing your thighs, pulling you forward so easily, immediately slamming his entire length inside you.

a strangled cry rips from your throat. gasping as he pulls out again and slams his burning cock deep inside you hitting your cervix and leaving it in there so you can feel just how full he’s making you.

“is that what you wanted? fuck!” his cheeks are red as he groans from the drag of his cock. you were absolutely suffocating him. his eyes glancing down at the blood mixing with the creamy base of his cock. his dark pubes all wet and sticky as the slick covered your thighs as well.

“g-goo…d…” you’re in tears, gasping as he slams his cock slow and hard. letting you feel him, every curve and vein of his cock. your mind going hazzy as you look up at his sweaty face, holding one leg under his arm as the other runs up your pelvis, pressing down on your stomach.

“feel that baby?”

you moan loudly when he presses on the bulge his cock was making. you nod, eyes looking up at him with hearts. his own chest beating rapidly, cock twitching as you clench around him.

“who’s making you feel good?”

“you are.” your hands fall to hold his on your tummy. “toji’s inside me.”

“that’s right, baby.” he groans again, thrusting into you again, and again. your gasps and cries making him start to lose his cool.

he leans back on his knees lifting you up easily, sitting you on his lap, his arm caging both your arms behind your back as his mouth immediately latched on to your tits, suckling on them as they hung right in his face.

“toji!”

he smiles, biting harshly on the buds as he held you close to his chest and started fucking up into you. the squelching of your sexes had you whining and crying. drool falling down your lips as he sucked bruises on your gasping tits.

“tell me how much you like getting fucked dumb.”

“I-i love it!” you cry, arms bound behind you only helping you arch closer to his chest as he held your wrists tight.

“you love?” he laughs loudly. “you came up to me because you knew I’d fuck this virgin cunt raw if I saw you, that right?”

“yes!” you’re definitely gone. “always thinking about you, sir!” his lips suck a harsh tug making your eyes roll back at the stimulation.

“what would that dumb head of yours think about?”

“a-about angh hngh your hands…” you break into moan when he slaps your ass at your hesitation. “and I thought about your dick.”

not surprising, but it still makes him grin widely.

“thought about how y-youd fuck me, and how you’d taste.” you whimper as his finger circles your little rim from behind. teasing you as he slows down each thrust so it was slow and sensual, wanting to catch every word.

“was your head always filled with sex when we talked?” he laughed. “poor virgin.”

“it was filled before we talked too. i love it…” your head forward, tongue sticking out as you press your head to his. “you’re perfect sir.”

he groans loudly. opening his mouth as you spit so generously. his arm caged your body tight as he started fucking you fast and hard, so unbearably rough you we’re seeing stars.

“big…ahh. toji,” your tongue hangs out as he goes harder. his eyes clenching as he feels his own orgasm starting to edge closer.

“tell me what you want baby,” he pants.

“p-put me….in a mating press.”

he snorts, loudly. “and how does my princess know that.”

you whine, feeling his cock nuzzle inside you again. “tw-twitter.”

toji laughs, freeing your arms to lay your back on the mattress. he grabs your legs and throws them over his shoulder as he leans over you. his big toned thighs press under your ass as he spreads his legs apart, sinking his cock deeper into you. “this what you want.” his voice shakes, only feeling your grip tighten around him again. “baby.”

“s-sorry.” you’re panting, his face was so close to you as he calmed his mind, fuck he needed to cum the second his pushed his tip inside you. he hadn’t realized how long it’s been. but he was going to take care of you first. your eyes rolled back as he pulled back, slamming his hips back in, he easily started picking up the pace, this position was all he needed to lose all sense.

“fuck, taking me all like a good fucking girl.” you clench. “like that baby?”

you moan in response, tits bouncing between you as he pushes down you so you can feel more of his weight. your pussy clenching and twitching around him. the lewd sounds of his cock fucking into you were loud. the slick, his thighs clapping into your ass in a relentlessly fast pace.

your tongue hangs out immediately making him lean down to lick your tongue. a moan coming out of him as you responded. you’ve never had an experience to compare this too, but was it supposed to be this messy? you couldn’t care. it was so hot. his big body handling every single part of you, he controlled the pace, the kissing, the touching—you loved it.

his fingers were digging into your thighs and his mouth was letting out so much spit that had you bucking and squirming drinking from his lips until you started crying. the sounds of your pussy producing more arousal had toji going faster.

“you’re gonna squirt all over me.” his command had you panting and moaning, tongue lulling out like a puppy. “got it puppy?” you flush.

“messy….big-“ your words were so scrambled, but he didn’t care. his pace was going faster, his biceps flexing around your thighs. oh how you wished this was being recorded, suddenly desperate to see his back muscles straining and moving as he was fucking you fast and hard. that sudden image in your head was enough to have your head falling back, eyes fluttering with tears as your orgasm crashes.

“fuckk fuck puppy,” his eyes are dilating as he looks down to see you gushing around his fat cock. the sounds of your pussy spraying as he continues to fuck more out of you has his ears ringing and stomach clenching.

you cried his name as he continued to pump his dick in and out, the clear liquid sprayed his thighs and the bed.

“that’s it, ah fuck , ungh fuck, fuck—“ toji was so vocal, grunting and moaning with how much you were squirting it seemed endless.

you were drooling, eyes crossed, vision white as pleasure consumed you. toji knew you lost all brain capacity when you began uttering the repeated sound of his name followed by little babbles of “want your cum.”

“you want my cum?” toji grins, showing his teeth as his thursts turned sloppy, losing his cool at your blessed out face.

“fill me up.”

fuck, toji really hated you. his hand grabbed your jaw, his thumb hooking inside your mouth, your tongue falling out. “telling me to fill this nasty pussy up wit’ my cum?” toji tsked feeling you clench at his words. “you don’t deserve it, being a brat the entire time.”

your drool coated his thumb as it ran down his wrist. along with your tears filling your eyes at his rejection. your hips bucked as you whined. “want it. want your cummy.”

cummy? if it was under any other circumstance the man definitely would have cringed, but you were absolutely fucked dumb, and hearing you slur your words had his whole body running hot.

“you’re not on the pill.” toji bites, jaw clenching as you licked and drooled on his tongue, eyes filled with tears.

“i am!”

his eyes sunk ten times darker. you were making him lose all sanity.

“shit.” his head dropped, hand grabbing the back of your knees, his entire body pressing down as he leans up, fucking his cock deep until you were absolutely knocked. the sight of his cock bullying your virgin pussy was making his head dizzy. your clit all puffy was like a magnet, drawing his thumb to fall on it in harsh circles. your body jerked, crying as you gripped the sheets.

“fhuck my pretty girl, squirting all over daddy’s cock.” your pussy clenched. “ya? like daddy’s cock filling you up?” his jaw clenched as your tongue peaking out shaking with each vicious thrust.

“daddy,” you repeat, head empty. “fill me up.”

you moan together. he was completely under your spell. his eyes focused on your face twisted in pleasure.

“never had this pussy filled, have you?” his thrusts are sloppy, his jaw clenched. “tell me why you deserve it?”

“g-good girl hngh!” your face was so cute, his laugh masking his groans.

“good girl eh?

you cry, nodding your head. “please!”

“who do you belong too?”

“you!”

“who?”

“t-toji…” your eyes are crossing, pretty tits shaking as his entire weight drives each thrust. the thought of his heavy cum filled balls bursting inside you…you tighten around him, his jaw clenching.

“who makes ya feel good?”

“you do, daddy!” his cock is twitching, abs clenched as he forbids himself from giving in just yet. the edging making his mind heated and the pleasure longer.

“no more boyfriend,” he pressed your knees down a little harder, almost suffocating you in this mating press. “you’re mine.”

“yesyes—“ the mindless chanting had his head spinning. the built up adrenaline from the match consuming his veins as he fucked out every last bit of it. your precious little body was the most generous outlet. his cock was so unbelievably painful, his moans were getting a little more vocal until finally he gave one final thrust until the first large burst of his cum painted your gummy walls. your mind went white, forgetting if you were even orgasming or not as you felt his cum gush inside you. his moans were unlike anything you’ve ever heard. so deep and strained. his body covered in sweat, muscles flexing as he shook with each thrust, filling you up until the cum started overflowing and coming out. he was stuttering above you, body shaking as he felt the most pleasure release him.

you were completely spent.

your vision was hazy as you drifted out.

“babygirl.”

you felt the gentle hand stroking your cheek as he leaned over you, his lips softly meeting yours. you sigh, opening your mouth automatically, inviting his tongue so you could suck on it, his thumb brushing your warm cheek as the other stroked your side, your legs lazily around his hips.

“you okay?” he pulled his lips away. “I wasn’t too hard?” he was still out of breath, which made you blush.

you shake your head. “not too hard. felt good. your cum is all warm inside.”

“ya?” he smirks, rubbing your thigh as he leans back. your pussy lips parting, all sticky as he watches his cum still seeping out. “you look so pretty like this.” his hand traces the olive branch tattoo on your thigh. “with my cum inside you.” he slowly bends down pressing a kiss to your sternum, your nails lightly scratch his nape, earning a satisfied hum. “do guys usually cum this much?”

toji blushes, lifting his head to look at you. “no, that’s why mine is more special.” he smiles, making you flush. “i mean it.” your lips part, but he looks back up, eyes meeting. “no shitty ass boyfriend.” you swallow.

“are you gonna be my boyfriend then?”

“yes.”

“you can’t just tell me what to do and—“ your breath catches, heart suddenly beating a lil faster, hyper aware of his long gaze. “what?”

“you said you’re mine. so that’s that.” toji moves up, just inches from your face as he watches every dart of your eyes, every breath that comes out…his lip tugs up. “you were only dating him because you didn’t have me.” your eyes look away.

“that’s that.” you repeat softly. your face is burning, an urge crawling up inside you. he wanted to be with you. he wanted to be with you….toji…wanted to be with you, but, “megumi.”

toji brushes your cheek. “don’t think about that. okay?” he kisses your warm cheek.

“okay.” he sits up fully now, gently dropping your legs. his face shifts slightly, his hand falling on the dark bruise on his ribs.

“does it hurt?”

his lips part to reassure you, but you lean over, laying your small soft hand on his ribs. “I’m sorry i asked you to go harder.” your lips meet his bruised skin, knowing it was a childish thing to kiss a bruise as if it was medicine. but toji’s face went bright red. his stomach fluttering as he stared down at you. your eyelashes so soft…

“don’t apologize, baby.”

your gaze meets, and he watches your eyes squint up as you smile. your thumb softly caressing the skin, sitting up. “but I’m sorry.” you tilt your head, giving a little pout. he raises a brow, his hands falling on your hips as you begin wrapping your arms over his shoulders, kneeling between his legs. “i was being a brat.” he knew exactly what you were doing. the playful glint in your eyes, the little teasing you only do with him.

“taking accountability?” he tilts his chin up, meeting your pout with a tilt of his own.

“mhm, i learn quick.” you smile. “did i work you hard? it’s okay we can go slower next time.” his jaw locks.

“oh ya?”

“mhm, it’s okay t-o-j-i, we’ll go at your pace.”

“you fucking minx.” he grabs a handful of your ass, pinching it. “you could barely take it.”

you squeal. “nuh-uh, you were trying not to bust a nut when you went inside me.” you squeal at the harsh slap.

“you’re a fucking talker ya know that.”

“you like it though.” you cry out a laugh as he grabs your face squeezing your cheeks to prevent you from yapping.

“making fun of an old man for controlling himself around a pretty little virgin. i would’ve hurt you, sweetheart, if i went too hard from the start. would’ve had you crying.” his eyes glanced over your face.

“i was crying already.”

he smiles. “that’s the good crying, baby.” he licks his lips. “would never actually hurt you intentionally.”

your stomach is bursting with butterflies. toji has always been kind to you and the others. he always kept his circle close, which really meant you were his own. but you didn’t expect such raw emotions from him. megumi rarely mentioned his long deceased mother, but when he did, it was always followed by how much toji had loved her.

the words slipped out before you could think. the green eyes suddenly grew lighter as his face went still.

“you’re a good man, toji.”

the warmth from his body spread to your cheeks as his arms loosened just slightly. not that he was pulling away, but that he was taking in your words. both of you so vulnerable at this moment, completely naked for everything to see, it felt more intimate than when he had his dick driving so deep inside you, giving you waves of his cum because this time his eyes grew softer, and his smile was as delicate as a dandelion.

“kiss me.”

you did.

you could feel the smile in his kiss. his lips wet, but soft. he was holding your chin, pulling away, his breath fanning your face.

“you’re an angel.”

your cheeks set on fire. lips breaking into a shy smile making him laugh.

“wanna shower?” you only nod, burying your face in his neck, clearly still embarrassed from his words, he laughs at your reaction, petting your head as he coos. “my little angel is embarrassed now.”

“am i your baby, sweetheart, puppy, or angel?” you mumble into his neck. “it’s too many.”

“is it too many, should i just stick with your name then?” he says your name. your body reacts, burying your face deeper into his neck. he barks out, laughing. “that’s your name, princess.”

princess now?! “shut up! you’re so doing this on purpose.”

“I’m just talking to you, puppy.” this fucking dick! you huff pulling away, you knew you looked flustered so you pushed his face away from you, not caring that he was wincing from touching his bruised eyebrow. “ow pup.”

you stumble off the bed, wobbling just so briefly before standing up straight. “puppy is a degrading one!”

“you came hard when I called you that. opened your mouth so wide—“

“ahhh shut up shut up shut up!” you cover your ears as you speed walk across the large master room to the bathroom. toji immediately jumps off the bed, scaring you. your eyes widen as he chases after you, making you squeal running faster.

“cmon, don’t act shy now. you were a pretty dirty angel when i had you stuffed full.” he grabs your wrists pulling them away from your ears. you shake your head. “stop it no, no—no bedroom talk when it’s not happening. what happens during sex stays in sex.”

“so ‘puppy’ is your sex name then. what if i want a little kiss?” you pause. “my mouth is so wet.” your eyes lock on his lips seeing him purposely collect the spit around. your body reacting immediately, stepping forward, as you lean up to meet his lips. “cmon puppy, open up.” your lips part, his pride swelling seeing you submit so fucking easily. his thumb comes up, pinching your nipple making your eyes flutter and moan drop your jaw. he spits directly into your mouth. “sex name?”

“shut up.” you lick your lips. cheeks hot as you turn your head. “are we gonna shower?”

he smiles.

next thing you know, you’re leaning against his arm, hugging it close as his other arm is slotted between you, fingers thrusting inside with such force, talking so dirty in your ear as you let out broken moans.

“you like getting finger-fucked by your friends dad, huh?”

your chopped moans had you drooling on his arm. eyes fully rolled back. “like daddy stretching this cute pussy?” your only replies were moans.

“come for daddy.”

“cu-cum-anghh.” your legs shake, knees giving out as you cum hard. he easily wraps a strong arm around you, holding you up.

you couldn’t wrap your mind on how you were even able to cum again, but when toji laid you under his bed covers, pulling you to his chest. you could feel the long night weigh your body down. “are you actually okay?”

your hand lays on his chest, fingers brushing his bruises.

“just tired.” he sighs, pulling you closer, an ease consuming his body the closer you pressed yourself to him. the comfort your touch brought was unlike anything. the memories of his past no longer a feeling of constant grief and sorrow.

you leaned closer, burying your face in his neck snuggling close. your lips meeting his warm skin as he sighs, arm wrapped around you.

“I’m scared megumi is gonna hate me,” you softly whisper. no clue why you were ruining this moment, but your anxiety was still creeping back in.

his eyes are closed as he answers. “because we fucked?”

“because i fucked his dad.”

“does he have a crush on you?”

“no!” toji laughs, turning his head to look at you.

“i said it’ll be okay.” his arm pulls you close, leaning his forehead to yours. your body growing warm. “do you trust me?”

“I do.”

“then go to sleep.”

and you do.

little did you know poor megumi was a little more sober than the rest and when he couldn’t find his phone in the middle of the night, he decided to go up and fetch his dad’s phone. was it because he was tired that he wasn’t picking up on the slight gasps and cries until he slid the door just an inch all for him to witness the millisecond of his dad’s bare ass drilling— SLAM

megumi was frozen. the door immediately shut. he didn’t want to decipher what he’d witnessed but why did your voice have to be so recognizable! Sadly the poor boy had to run away with hands covering his ears, only to run into a shocked nobara standing by the stairs.

“Is that y/n!!?” megumi ran covering the the girl’s mouth.

“shhhhh!”

in other words it wasn’t a big shock when you were all having breakfast and yuuji decides to speak.

“so are you like megumi’s mom now or?”

you choke on your cereal as megumi coughs violently. toji was still upstairs. your face was on fire. you couldn’t lift your head.

“look what you did, idiot!” nobara elbows yuuji hard. then your bottom lip shook, and worse a tear slipped. they all froze completely. you don’t cry easily. you don’t!

“please don’t hate me, m-megumi…” your eyes filled with more tears. you really are an idiot, you knew what would happen if you ever crossed that line. but…toji was different. your heart ached without him, and it swelled whenever he looked your way. when you were upset you wanted to see him, when you were anxious you wanted him to rest his hand on your head. when you didn’t want to talk, you wanted to hear him talk….he was different. but he’s also…

“your dad.” you swallow your tears, sucking it up. but when you decided to lift your head, megumi’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, pressing you tight.

“it’s fine.”

your mouth was dry, eyes wide, but you buried your face in his shoulder as he hugged you—which he never does—and calmed you down.

“you’re not mad?” you wipe your face as he pulls away.

megumi lets out a heavy sigh. “i knew this would happen.” everyone raises a brow. “all he does is ask about you, what’s y/n doing? where is she? did she finish her work? is she coming today? on and on and on—“ megumi groans. “at least now I don’t have to be a middle man.”

your cheeks stung. nobara couldn’t help but giggle, she’s never seen you so flustered. kyoi sure as hell never made you feel like that.

“what else has he said?” you bite your cheek.

“he told me he likes sparring you!” yuuji chimes in. your cheeks run red, remembering what he told you last night.

it did take some getting used to. toji randomly coming over and wrapping an arm around your shoulder was fine, but when he’d lean down and kiss you deep, megumi couldn’t help his gagging. do that was a no. but other than the slight pda (on toji’s part) it was all the same. except for something only megumi noticed, which was how much happier his dad looked.

he couldn’t explain how oddly perfect the relationship was. you fit him perfectly and him to you. so megumi bared his teeth at the awkwardness, and went about his weird life.

ALL EYES ON RAFAH!!

ALL EYES ON RAFAH!!!

I’m attaching some informational links and will also add some donation links!!

STAY INFORMED! STAY ACTIVE! This is not a war, this is a GENOCIDE!

info: link // link // link // link // link // link

donate: important // important // important

it doesn’t matter if it’s $5 or $20!!

hi nobody will understand or see this sorry tumblr but @ferrolynx you are amazing. Happy 20th man you deserve so much more.

my buddy drew this @realgreenjupiter and told me to post thhs

edit: this is my 50th post special i guess

🥹 TYSM

Reposting the link, as requested by @rayllumsimp!

Now the world is gonna bow to the best purple t-rex that ever terrorized this earth, yesss.

Transformers Masterpiece MP-43 Megatron (Beast Wars) - official images

I FOUND THIS MASTERPIECE ON INSTA

Credits tooooooo @thecaprica on instagram

harry and louis’ solos in olivia, combined

ye didn’t really ask but ye shall receive

femerson lake and palmer <3

what if greg was a mall santa ...

@naupactus IS THE GREATEST!! Merry Christmas, you are incredible!!

Bildad the Shuhite is workin' 9 to 5!

It's majestic I love it shout out to Abby

Got so inspired by this, this perfect prodigy was so glorious i made this

Not as spectacular but still good

Rat.

This is absolutely phenomenal! 

Look at this cutie tho! They are a Kiricarus named Firestar and I adore them!

This is fanart for a FANFIC by @cheerfulnightmare

Might be more in the future, who knows