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incognitobobcat · 4 months

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Quit Eating My Food!

Description: Fluff, lots of food nicking and cheekiness, Tomas being a boy

Characters: Female Reader x Smoke/Tomas Vrbada

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There is one thing that you’re sure of in your current situation: you love your boyfriend. While you have known him for over a year, you and Tomas had made it official around six or seven months ago.

It wasn’t that hard for Smoke to sweep you off your feet, as he had been the one to pursue you until you finally surrendered to him due to his charming and bold, yet kind and gentle spirit. How it had made him so happy (and relieved) that you finally accepted him as your boyfriend, as you initially were reluctant and had reservations about being in a relationship with him. But in the sweetest ways possible with no malicious intent, “boys will be boys”, especially when smitten.

Because of his duties as the Shirai Ryu’s Second in Command, it was challenging for him to spare a decent amount of time to spend with you. But when he has free time, you sometimes invited him over to your place where you cooked meals for him. The other favourite past time shared by the both of you was to visit the night markets that Osaka has to offer and go on dinner dates.

While you were very fond of Tomas, he, like any human, has his quirks and habits that annoyed you. One of those habits was sneakily eating your food.

The first time was during a visit to your apartment. It was your day off and you had made yourself a smoked salmon sandwich on a milk bun with spring greens and cream cheese, which was one of your favourite comfort foods, since you were starving.

Tomas had arrived way earlier than expected, and before you took your first bite, you heard knocking on the door. Surprised, you opened the door for your lips to immediately be gently caressed by his soft lips. One arm snaked around your waist to pull your body against his in a firm embrace while the other hand cupped your cheek gently. You giggled and reciprocated the affectionate gesture for what seemed like a very long time before he broke off the kiss, both of you sighing.

“Wow…” your murmured, both hands on his cheeks.

“Hello beautiful,” your boyfriend greeted softly with a smile.

“Hello yourself, handsome,” you replied grinning starstruck, “Come on in!”

You led Tomas inside the apartment and he made himself at home. As you headed into the kitchen, he followed you before spotting the sandwich on the counter.

“What’s this?” Tomas asked, eyeing the sandwich curiously.

“Oh, it’s my food,” you replied nonchalantly, “I figured I’d eat first before we headed out to the markets. Would you like me to make you one?”

“Oh. I was planning on spoiling you this evening,” Tomas began, slightly disappointed, “What is that anyway?”

“It’s smoked salmon,” you replied, “Have you had it before?” You picked up the plate took the sandwich in the other hand and took a bite out of it.

After that, Tomas immediately took your wrist, brought the sandwich to his nose and sniffed it, brows furrowing curiously. He then took a bite out of it.

You watched as Tomas chewed the bite he had taken with an expression of processing the flavours of the different ingredients together; he swallowed, and went, “Hmmmh,…”

You laughed lightly as he took another bite of the sandwich, again with the same expression while chewing.

“I take it you’ve never had smoked salmon before?” you inquired.

“It’s…interesting,” Tomas began, “In an interesting way.”

“It’s either good or bad,” you said, smiling at him, “Which one is it?”

Smiling, he took another big bite and then replied, “Good, since you took a bite out of it first.” The way Tomas flirted was cute, and it made you warm and fuzzy every time. He took another bite.

You playfully swatted at his arm, “You cheeky imp! Are you gonna save some for me? I’m starving!”

“Oops, where are my manners? My bad!” He teased, chuckling, “Here!”

Tomas guided you sandwich back towards your mouth, and as you were about to take a bite, he leaned in and helped himself to another bite.

“Hey!” You cried out laughing, “Don’t eat all of it! Leave some for me!”

Tomas’ laughter was muffled as he struggled to chew then swallow. He evaded your attempts to swat at him.

“Ok, ok! I’ll be nice!” He replied through giggles, “Ow! Ow!”

“That’s what you get! There’s, like, three bites left!” You protested jokingly.

“Don’t blame a hungry boy!” Tomas reasoned jokingly, earning him another swat from you, “Ow!”

Since that day, the food stealing has been a regular occurrence. Whether you were enjoying the various small plates in the night markets, or having dinner dates, or home cooked meals that you prepared at your place, Tomas would take “small bites” here and there, and then be cheeky and be teasing about it.

You had a dango on one hand. You’d randomly feel a tap on the opposite shoulder, then you’d turn only to find out that there’s nobody. As you went to take a bite of your dango, you noticed that the first one was missing. You’d look at Tomas, stunned, and he would be laughing at your expression.

“Look at your face!” He’d exclaim victoriously, still laughing. You’d pout, and he’d give your lips a quick kiss.

Tomas took you on a dinner date and you ordered your own plate of gyoza. The two of you would be having a casual conversation; “Hey, do you see that sign up there? I can’t read it,” Tomas would point past your shoulder, eyes squinting.

You’d turn around to see what he was talking about only to see a window revealing a scenic city view. when you’d turn back to your food to find that you have two gyozas less.

Tomas would crack a smile, and say, “Made you look!”

The two of you would buy cones of tall soft served ice cream in different flavours. As you were both strolling past a line of stores that sold different treats and snacks, something would catch your eyes and you would turn your attention towards the item of interest, letting your guard down.

You heard stifled laughter from nearby, which made you look at a young couple. They were giggling at you and Tomas. You’d snapped your head towards your boyfriend to see his lips in a tight smile and bloated cheeks, stifling giggles. You then noticed that his lips were thinly covered in your matcha ice cream, only then you realized that he had left you with around half of your ice cream.

Tomas looked at you and shrugged innocently.

One afternoon, you were baking cookies to give to your colleagues, making sure that you made a few extra. Your boyfriend had arrived at your place unexpectedly as you were taking the cookies out of the oven. Once you finished, you hurriedly let Tomas in.

“Oooh! Something smells good!” he exclaimed, inhaling deeply.

“I’m making cookies for my colleagues,” you replied, “ I wasn’t expecting you!”

He leaned in to kiss you, “ I wanted to surprise you, Y/N.”

Once inside, you went to the kitchen to check on the cookies. As they were still too hot to bag, you went to prepare some food for Tomas.

“Do you want water, tea or juice?” You asked loudly, as he was in the living room.

“Water’s fine,” came the reply.

You poured water in a glass and plated an assortment of cookies before headed to the living room.

“Freshly made,” you beamed, handing him his food and drink.

“And made with love!” Tomas popped a cookie in his mouth happily, “Delicious!” He exclaimed appreciatively, eyes lighting up.

“I’m happy for the verdict,” you said with a smile before heading back to the kitchen.

While your cookies were still cooling down, you did a bit of clean up. After 15 minutes, the cookies have cooled down enough to bag. Tomas entered the kitchen with the empty dishes, which he took to the sink to wash, while eying the trays of cookies.

“Ooh! You really love me!” he exclaimed jokingly.

“These are not for you, mister!” you said, giving him a stern look and pointing a finger at him, “No stealing!”

Tomas sighed, “Alright, I’ll be a good boy.”

You shot him a warning look before you moved the cooled trays to the dining table and set up the gift bags to bag the cookies with. You began to bag one of each cookie, a total of five kinds, before folding the excess plastic in a nice way and fastening a bow around it. You were three bags in before Tomas joined you at the dinner table.

“Can I help?” he asked.

You looked at him silently for a couple of minutes, deciding on whether this was a good idea or not.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” he reassured.

“Ok, you can help me bag,” you slowly replied and nodded, “One of each cookie per bag in this order, please.” You gave him a bag for reference.

The two of you got to work in silence and completed the bags in no time. Looking at the bags with pride, you raised your hand to Tomas for a high five, “Team work!”

He reciprocated. “I think this calls for a celebration! Let’s go out for ramen,” he said, leaning over to kiss you on the lips, “Go get your stuff, Y/N.”

You obliged. You didn’t mention this little detail to Tomas: there should be 50 bags and you were counting them as you tied the bows. You were thankful that all 50 bags were accounted for with the five cookies per bag.

The two of you left for your date and ended the night in high spirits.

Imagine your embarrassment when you were 2 bags short after you handed out the bags of cookies to your colleagues. You had to rush to buy two bags of treats during your break time to make up for the loss, apologizing profusely to the two colleagues. Luckily, you had understanding colleagues.

During a dinner at your place, you decided to be adventurous and make something new. Tomas was hugging you from behind, giving your neck soft pecks.

“Mmm, what are you making tonight?”

“A Portuguese kale soup called Caldo Verde,” you replied, turning to kiss him on the lips, before you threw in the coins of chorizo in a large pot to brown them. The sizzling noise was music to your ears and the aroma of the chorizo filled the apartment.

“You spoil me, my Princess,” Tomas murmured, kissing your neck, “How did this Sexy Slavic Prince get so lucky?”

“Sexy Slavic Prince,” you repeated mockingly, “More like Sneaky Slavic Racoon! Were you a hungry animal in your past life??”

“I might have been a frog living off flies, until a beautiful Princess kissed me, then we both died and were reborn to live out our happily ever after!”

“You sweet talker,” You nudged his side teasingly as you scooped the browned chorizo onto a plate. You noticed a hand that is not yours reach out towards the plate. You immediately swatted his hand, eliciting an, “Ow!!”

“Keep your hands away, mister!” You growled, keeping your eyes on the chorizo, “No stealing bites this time!”

“Would you rather I steal a bite of you?”

You yelped loudly as Tomas bit down on the place where your neck and shoulder met. He lightly pinched your side, causing you to scream and nearly drop the plate in your hand. The smoke ninja seized the opportunity to yank the plate out of your hand, quickly stepping away from you. To your utter annoyance, he popped a couple of slices in his mouth.

“Unhhh, SO good!”

“TOMAS!!” You yelled as he kept laughing, evading your swats and from trying to get your plate back.

Needless to say, your dinner started late and you were some degree of grumpy.

This went on for 8 months. While it started out innocent and fun, it was gradually getting to the point where you were you gradually got annoyed. There were occasions where you found small bowls of miso empty on dinner dates, a skewer of teriyaki chicken half-eaten, an oyster motoyaki missing only for the empty shell to turn up towards the end of dinner, a slice of freshly made pie that you made for dessert eaten before it’s time, a few sandwiches half eaten, many sneak bites on ice cream cones, missing sashimi here and there, and so on. It was starting to annoy you, especially when you had a long day at work and all you wanted to do was eat.

Despite his antics, you always looked forward to seeing Tomas. In order to not have resentment build over time, you decided that you would have a talk with him the next time you see him.

On this particular day, you weren’t in the best mood but you looked forward to another evening with your boyfriend. You also have been running the words to articulate what has been bothering you for three days, worried that you might say something that would offend him.

A few knocks on the door startled you out of your thoughts and you hurriedly put on your coat and grabbed your bag. You opened the door and you were greeted with a soft and lingering kiss.

“Hey, there, you,” Tomas greeted.

“Hey, there, yourself! Let’s go,” you replied softly, locking the door and taking his arm.

As you were both strolling past stalls, you spotted a sashimi stall that you were interested in but never gotten a chance to try from.

“Let’s try their stuff!” You exclaimed excitedly, pulling Tomas along with you to stand in queue. After you both eyes the menu, you both settled on two each of the torched fatty tuna and uni nigiri, and a small platter of salmon and ahi tuna sashimi. You paid for your order and both of you found a secluded place to eat your first of many small platters. Of all the items on your plate, you were looking forward to the fatty tuna.

You set up your food neatly on the table with the soy sauce containers.

“Itadakimasu!” You both expressed gratitude for your food before digging in.

While you took the fatty tuna nigiri, Tomas took a salmon sashimi.

“Wait! Let’s do this,” he said, dipping his piece in the soy sauce before moving it towards your mouth.

“Hang on, I am looking forward to trying this first,” you replied, dipping the nigiri in the soy sauce. As you brought it towards your mouth, he suddenly grabbed your wrist and brought the nigiri towards him. The nigiri disappeared disappeared in his mouth. His lips curled up as he chewed, and he wiggled his eyebrows a couple of times, motioning for you to eat the salmon sashimi between his chopsticks.

You stared at him, annoyed, throwing up a hand. Tomas shrugged, the salmon still held in front of you. Not wanting to make a stink, you reluctantly took the piece in your mouth, chewing and swallowing it in silence.

As if he hasn’t sensed that you were annoyed, Tomas took the second fatty tuna nigiri, dipped it into the soy sauce, and then moved it a mare inch in front of your lips. As you were about to take a bite, he pulled it away at the last minute and popped it in his mouth with a triumphant look.

Something snapped in you as you threw your hands up into the air, stood up and walked away, shaking your head.

You heard Tomas scramble to get up, calling your name.

You kept walking, breathing deeply to calm yourself down, as you felt that you might say something you’ll regret.

“Y/N! Y/N! Wait up!” Tomas called out, eventually catching up to you.

You whipped around to face him, holding up your hand, “Look, Tomas, this whole stealing my food thing has got to stop. It’s not cute any more.”

Tomas looked stunned and confused, “What do you mean? I thought you liked it.”

“I’ve been meaning to say something to you for a while now,” you began, eyes closed as you concentrated in staying composed, “While it was funny to begin with, it got more and more annoying!”

“Annoying?” Tomas repeated, sounding defensive, “What’s the big deal? It’s not like I eat all of your food! You never said anything before. Why now? You seemed to be amused when I do it.”

“I am telling you now,” you said, getting more and more annoyed, “It’s no longer cute. Sure, I should have said something earlier, and thinking back now, I have. A few times!”

“When did you tell me?” he asked, “I don’t remember!”

“When I make food for colleagues, I tell you! After that, I always end up being short cookies or pie or sandwiches! Do you know how embarrassing that was for me?! When I make pies for my boss, I tell you! Why do I always have a slice missing from those?? When I’m making dinner, you keep eating ingredients and it takes me an unnecessarily long time to make dinner, which puts me in a bad mood every time!”

Tomas blinked, staring at you in shock, not saying anything.

“You do this every. single. time. I want to enjoy my food in peace! Look, i’m sorry for being like this. I’m having a bad day, but I want you to quit eating my food!”

Tomas was now eying you all confused, “So this outburst has nothing to with me, then? You are seeing my playing around with you as offensive because you’re in a mood?”

You shut your eyes, as you couldn’t believe what he just said. How dense was this guy?

“Y/N…I’m..I didn’t mean it..”

You started tearing up. Not wanting to make a scene, you decided to call it a day. “Forget it,” you said in a defeated tone, feeling a couple of tears fall, “I’m going home.”

Before he could say anything, you bolted.

A few weeks later, you were finishing your shift at your office. You had had time to process the incident and had somewhat gotten over it. While what Tomas said still left a bad taste in your mouth, you wondered if you had communicated your point clearly or not, or whether your emotions had made you look and sound whiny. It also put a damper on your feelings as it your first argument together, and it did not feel good at all. Maybe you sounded too harsh, as you admit that you can be blunt and straightforward when annoyed.

You sighed as you packed up your things for the next day. You put your coat on, slung your bag over your shoulders, then headed for the elevators. As you exited the elevator, you headed towards the lobby and were surprised to see Tomas waiting for you. He was holding something in a plastic bag with both hands. He saw you and started walking towards you.

“Tomas?” you began, surprised, “What are you doing here?”

Tomas gulped, “Y/N, let’s talk.” He jerked his head slightly towards the entrance. Both of you exited the building and walked towards the benches in front of the building, where you both sat down.

You looked at him expectingly and Tomas looked you in the eyes with an apologetic expression, “Y/N, I’m so sorry for what I said last time. I had time to think, and responding to you the way I did was uncalled for.”

“Tomas,” you began, “Look, you…”

“I, honestly…I was caught off guard when you got upset with me, as it was the first time that happened. I got defensive and didn’t handle it well. I’m also sorry for all the times I inconvenienced and embarrassed you to your colleagues and bosses because of my antics. And, I’ve always appreciated you cooking for me every time you have me over, it pains me to learn that I am taking that happiness away from you bit by bit. While I honestly enjoyed joking around with you because that was my way of letting you know that I enjoyed letting loose and having fun with you, it obviously had the opposite effect. I should have been more attuned to times when you didn’t want me to do that. I won’t do this again, and I will do my best to listen to you more and be present when you’re having a bad day. I need you to call me out for any annoying behaviour that I may not be aware off. I hope you’ll accept my apology. Here!”

Tomas handed you the thing in the plastic bag. You accepted it and were curious to see what was inside. It was a clear plastic container with ten fatty tuna nigiri.

“It’s all yours, Y/N,” he said sheepishly.

You sighed and melted a little, “Aww, Tomas…Thank you…You’re not that bad. I’m sorry for getting emotional at you that night. I wasn’t in the best mood, so I may have come across as whiny.”

“No, you didn’t,” he reassured, “I was in the wrong. Can we start over? Clean slate?”

You smiled and nodded, “Clean slate.” You leaned in to kiss Tomas, which he returned. You felt him sigh in relief and you felt a weight lift off your shoulders.

“Wanna come over?” you murmured.

“I would love to,” he responded.

“Good, because I made some matcha cake, your favourite.”

“Mmm, I look forward to it.”

#mk1 tomas vrbada #tomas vrbada #mk smoke #smoke #mortal kombat #mk1 #mk1 smoke #mk1 2023 #tomas vrbada x reader

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existslikepristin · 1 year

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Been holding on to this one in a finished/unedited state for a few months now because I wasn't too happy with it. @worldsover did some editing for me. It still feels like something's missing (I'm not going to try to make Levi literally rewrite the whole thing), so feel free to give me critiques and suggestions, even if it's "yeah, I see what you mean and it is a little odd". I don't want to avoid posting it for forever, so let's call it a learning experience.

Regardless, I hope you enjoy! This is my first explicitly stated female reader insert, so that's yet another fun step.

(Also, I know I promised that the next story would be "normal" but you know what? Anything is normal compared to my last fic, so the only critique I will not be accepting is "Waaah, this isn't 'normal!'")

Tags: NSFW, TheLounge, Red Velvet, Irene, Female reader insert, anal, rimming, not a single line of dialogue, canonical silence, ass worship, massage oils, hand holding, yeah you’re deeefinitely the dominant one here

Open and Shut Up

~~~~~

No talking.

You can get behind that. That’s totally sexy. What’s less sexy… is a flowchart.

Obviously, you printed it out. Irene is going to be paying you for thi—It’s not payment, you remind yourself. It’s a mutual favor between acquaintances which may or may not involve money or goods/services which require it.

You scowl retroactively at Yeri’s so-called humorous insistence that you are, effectively, a prostitute. Performing sex acts in exchange, one time, for smoked salmon bagels is most definitely not prostitution, as you have reminded her many times.

Trying very hard to put that train of thought behind you, you glance around at the room. Low light, vanilla lavender sandalwood candles, obscenely soft towels, lube options, massage oils, and the stupid fucking laminated flowchart. You sigh—

NO! You don’t sigh, actually! Because the no talking rule was emphasized in great detail during negotiations, and included moans, groans, hums, whispers, grunts, and unnecessarily heavy breathing. And since a sigh is a heavy breath, you fucking hold that shit in tight!

But why do you need to hold in your sighs? Well, because of the final feature of the room that wasn’t mentioned two paragraphs ago: Irene, lying entirely nude on her stomach, on a bed of silk sheets, implying that your job—NOT your job, excuse you—has already begun. You entered the room mere seconds ago, so this should be extremely obvious to you, but you had to take care of a bit of exposition before you could really admire her body or get into the action. Perhaps you should do one of those two things now.

You can hardly believe what you’re seeing. Her slim legs and waist, the expanse of her back easily defeating the silkiness of the sheets she’s on, her elegant neck, her luxurious pitch black hair twirled into a loose bun, and the mild plumpness of her ass, peeking out from above the creases where her thighs meet it. Now, you’ve seen plenty of naked idols, but it’s the prestige that comes with this idol in particular that may have you so excited. Or it’s what she wants you to do to her. It’s hard to say. Point is, you’re wet, and you’re probably going to have to lay down a towel of your own.

On that note, you forgot an important aspect of the exposition: You’re not allowed to touch yourself.

That’s right. You’re in a room with a naked Irene, perhaps the most desired (per capita by fans and/or marketing departments) idol in history, preparing to gape her asshole in exchange for goods and/or services and/or currency totalling in value no less than the approximate equivalent worth of this spa treatment, and you aren’t supposed to get yourself off. But you are supposed to be naked, so you remove your shirt and bra, making just enough noise for her to hear you undressing, since that’s supposed to be how you let her know you’re about to start—

Oh, yes. Did you forget the most, actually, critically important part of your exposition? Oh, you think you caught on to it moments ago? Why, yes. You’re here, specifically, to gape her asshole. No more, except any action that will lead toward said gaping, and definitely no less. You are to take the role of dominant, while she takes the role of submissive. Never mind the fact that, per her instructions, you can’t speak, or make any noise, or touch yourself, or use her body to get yourself off, or choose your own state of undress, or touch any part of her not shown in the diagram on the flowchart, or do anything that isn’t explicitly spelled out on the flowchart… But you are required to spank her if she makes any noises. So yeah, you’re totally the dominant one here. (And, to be more specific, you are to keep track of which buttcheek you last spanked so that you can make sure to spread the ass-slapping evenly between cheeks and preserve symmetry, followed by immediate continuation of whatever action you were in the midst of prior to said spank.)

… Yes, that is the last of the exposition. What? You want to have a flashback to when the verbal negotiations were happening? Absolutely not. That’s dialogue, which is technically against the rules. It’s time to do things to Irene’s butthole. Stop stalling.

Once you remove your skirt, slippers, and underwear, you get onto your knees, noting that the floor seems slightly spongy and wondering what that’s about. Irene’s legs are closed. The crevasse of her ass on its own makes you want to scream, but the centerpoint of the cross formed by that crevasse and her thigh crease . There is the slightest gap at that point which reveals the tiniest sneak peak of what hides between. You bite down on your lips to suppress your instinctual lewd moan. Okay, you’re just getting started. Calm down, or this is going to be impossibly difficult.

You straddle Irene’s calves (without touching them!), take a deep and silent breath, and lean forward, placing your palms first on the flawless globes of her ass, then letting your fingers come to rest as well. They’re such a perfect combination of firm, soft, and smooth that it brings tears to your eyes. The inability to comment on them out loud brings you near-physical pain and certainly-mental anguish. If Irene cares, she’s not making it known. She’s deathly silent, and you only know she’s alive because of the way her back rises and falls with her breath.

Contact achieved. Looking at the flowchart isn’t necessary for now. You had a pretty easy time memorizing steps one through five since they don’t have any branching-off points. Step two is to inspect. You look away and take a couple more deep (and silent!) breaths, then increase the pressure of your hands on Irene’s butt and ever so slowly pull apart.

Within the realm of your imagination, you can see yourself comically hyperventilating. In the real world, you see a hole that you could only ever describe as manicured. Not a hair in sight, and some shade of pink so unrealistically perfect that it probably has a Pantone color named after it (Irene’s Butthole Pink? Pick a hex code). The miniscule folds of flesh are already very slightly gaped, giving you a near-imperceptible view into her interior, as if she’d had someone else very recently do what you’re about to, or as if she’d prepared herself with a butt plug. You wonder if Irene even owns a butt plug though, considering she can probably convince any person on the planet to open up her ass any time she would even want to use one. Or maybe she does have one. The Alexander III Commemorative Fabergé egg is still missing, after all…

You pull a little further, and can’t contain your shudder as not only her asshole opens by another couple millimeters, but her pussy lips spread and eventually split apart when the pressure barely overcomes the moisture holding them together. Your eyes and heart flutter, and you think you might faint. The vagina is one of many areas which is not indicated as touchable on the diagram, which hurts your soul because it’s the perfect number of shades darker than the surrounding skin and—

It’s time to focus! Asshole only! Get your mind out of the gutter!

Keeping one hand in place so she stays half-open, you get a handful of one of the massage oils. It feels room temperature, but you're supposed to hold it until it's warmer, so you stare at Irene's back as you try not to let too much drip away. The movement of her breathing is steady and subtle. In. Out. You try to match her pace. In. Out. In. Out.

When it's ready, you let the oil flow off your hand into the cleft of Irene's ass. She doesn't so much as flinch, which you obviously credit more to your excellent reading of body temperature and less to her ass-trance. But back to the butt in hand.

The oil travels leisurely down her crack, speeding up ever so slightly as the path becomes more vertical, and stopping to pool on top of her hole. You place your oily hand on its designated cheek again and repeat the process on the other side.

It’s time to really get started now… with step three-dash-C.

The tips of your thumbs meet just over her hole and press down flatly so that they do not enter her. You slowly shift them around each other and back, massaging with just the right pressure to stay on the rim. The rest of your hands are for massaging the rest of her derriere. It’s not necessary, but you want to show off your manual dexterity, and you want to make sure she’s as relaxed as can—She’s effectively already achieved Nirvana down there, from the looks of things, actually. The relaxation is for you. You’re the one who’s Nirvous about this anal—Is this a joke to you? It’s time for another spread test. You need to make sure Irene’s ready, because maybe somewhere between steps four-dash-E and four-dash-K you’ll forget to off yourself for that pun… Thank fuck you didn’t say that one out loud.

Step four is the first insertion.

Every ounce of fortitude you have is tested. You hold back your shaking. It’s just a finger. It is just a finger, right? You’ve done this plenty of times, to plenty of idols, no less. Well, not a silent butt-fingering, per se, but you’ve been knuckle deep in other idols before, and often more than one idol and often more than one knuckle! Irene just has a gravitas that makes yo—Don’t you dare say she has a gravitass. Stay. Quiet! And keep her ass spread with your free hand.

You watch the carefully trimmed, polished nail of your forefinger leisurely slip into her asshole. Then you pass your first knuckle. You stop on the second and quietly release your held breath. You don’t recall making an analogy about the feeling of her ass cheeks, but you’ll sure as hell compare the interior of her butt to cashmere. The minor gape you’d noticed previously has no effect on how tightly the hole hugs your digit.

Irene’s back rises a centimeter higher, and falls more slowly. Her pattern is broken. You catch your breath again. Did you do something wrong? Is the massage oil adequate? No, it’s only meant to be the starter. This was the whole intention. Right? You glance at the flowchart. Yes, step three, massage oil only, no additional lubrication. You do your best to relax and drag your finger back.

The way her asshole holds on to your finger is its own story of seduction, affair, and dramatic departure. She (her hole is a she) clearly doesn’t want her (so is your finger) to go, but she has to, lest her family shun her. But she cannot resist returning, leaving again despite all the kissing and languid hugging, and returning once more. One last time, she escapes completely, but after telling the story to a saucy friend, introduces Irene’s butt to them, and suddenly the sordid romance becomes a menage a trois.

Two fingers, two knuckles deep in Irene’s ass, you note your own wetness beginning to trail down your inner thigh. You aren’t sure exactly why the thought crosses your mind that you hope that it will somehow evaporate against your ragingly hot and bothered leg.

Now, out, and back in, out, and back in. With your breath. You match Irene’s. Out, and back in.

You gulp. You’re halfway through step four’s substeps. Next is the addition of another finger and more thrusting at a torturously slow pace for an actually timed five minutes. You find yourself hypnotized by it. The five minutes pass by in something more like twelve seconds, and the clock on the wall gently changes color to let you know it’s time to make the final preparations for step five. It’s not magical. It’s just connected by bluetooth to the phone to your left.

But what is magical? You’ve come this far, so you should know by now. It’s Irene’s asshole. You remove two of three fingers, then reinsert one more from the opposite hand, and as cautiously as you can, pull apart. There’s the magic.

Irene’s butt is open, and not just immediately around your fingers, but in a whole oval shape. It’s not enormously wide, but it’s enough that you could reasonably, without discomfort, insert the tip of your tongue.

… Hey. Wouldn’t you know it? That’s step five.

Rimming is always a questionable thing to do to your nose, ranging from the worst to a merely neutral idea. When you draw in close to Irene’s open ass, however, it’s the massage oil that overpowers your trepidatious olfactory sense. You’d noticed earlier that it was labeled as Fresh Linen, a scent that certainly makes sense given Irene’s reputation for laundry-doing, but it triggers a seemingly unrelated and entirely Loony memory of the smell of coffee. How the smells of linen and coffee are linked in your mind, you may never know. Perhaps you should see a professional about that.

But how’s the taste? Well, bland with the slight bitter spike of chemicals that improve viscosity but shouldn’t be ingested in large quantities. The risk of health complications is extremely low though, and you’d risk significantly more for this specific opportunity.

Irene’s butt cheeks and your face cheeks are still separated by your hands, but as of step five-dash-B that will no longer be the case. For now, your lips and tongue are in full contact, and that would be more than enough. To be licking around and inside the asshole of Irene, the rarely disputed queen of idols, you have to be infinitely lucky. You thank heaven you are.

Your focus is drawn in further and further. No more jokes. No more references to other stories. Even the most obvious pun/reference slips from your mind as you try your best to keep your tongue soft for Irene’s pleasure.

Your complete and total compliance doesn’t go unnoticed by Irene, somehow. The tiniest roll of her hips, that barest indication of her appreciation, kicks your core into overdrive. The trail down your thigh widens and it’s all you can do to beg the universe that you won’t drip on her calves.

It takes more strength than you knew you had not to squeal your desperation into her ass. Your thighs and your lungs and your everything else burn with desire. You know it’s not for want of air since your nose is still free, so it has to be your overwhelming need for Irene’s attention. You’d do anything. You are doing anything. A friendly agreement to gape her hole? No, this is a test, a labor, a trial. You’re proving your devotion.

You’re not licking a queen’s ass.

You’re worshipping a goddess.

It’s not a flowchart.

It’s a divine ritual.

The shifting color on the clock only mostly guides you out of your trance. You pull away with a heavy heart, staring half lidded at the strings of saliva still connecting you with what you now live for. There’s no difference in size, but you much prefer the sheen you left on her rim to that of the oil. Step five isn’t over yet.

Do rituals have steps? You try to think back to any hieroglyphics you’ve seen in old textbooks. There were no numbers… Obviously there were no numbers. They were hieroglyphics. You can’t read that shit—

Stop.

You remove your fingers, allowing Irene’s ass to close once more. It happens slowly. You nearly choke, watching her hole return to its previous shape with your breath held so tightly in your chest that it feels like something is going to burst. Hey, maybe it will, but that can’t happen yet. That would be too loud, and your goddess demands silence, so you open your mouth to simply allow the breath to drift out along with any comments you had on the subject.

You close back in once again, this time letting your face settle against Irene’s cheeks and gently nudge them apart, reattaching your tongue to her rim. You want to dive in, to feel her squeeze you, maybe even cum around you, but that’s not part of the ritual. You need to give her rest. The best is yet to cum—no. Come. You give her the lightest rimming you can, holding your tongue back to merely caress her asshole while you silently revel in the light press of her glutes on your cheeks.

Another slight roll of her hips sends you reeling. Your vision fades and Irene is all that’s left. You can see the movement. It’s not just her breath, but her oh-so-gentle rocking back and forth that makes the light and shadows play across her back like the grains of the Elysian fields waving in the breeze. It doesn’t seem right for you to be allowed to experience this, to taste this, to be treated to a view of paradise, to understand the touch of divinity.

The gently shifting color of the clock, magenta to yellow, broadens your vision again. You back away, taking a deep breath that you only now realize you desperately needed.

Without thinking, finally, you do as Irene has commanded. You place your palms on her ass: your altar. You slide your thumbs into her glorious hole, and you pull apart softly. Her muscles have relaxed so thoroughly that you meet no resistance. She is simply open, as if this is just how she was always meant to be, told in myths that cannot be written. Her soft ass doesn’t try to clench down. It remains a portal that entices you, begs you to enter.

And you could. Certainly, as is the case with other gods, Irene could forgive you for showing her your specialty. You, the heroic champion, could show her an unexpected pleasure. Touch her clit, lap at her juices, grind yourself on the back of her thigh. Her instruction indicated that you’re the dominant one here. Make it so.

You hook the first knuckle of each of your pointer fingers, as directed, inside.

No. You can’t get greedy now. You’re not that kind of hero.

Irene opens further around your digits with no effort. Now you see the depth of her abyss, and it does not try to close. Irene wants you to see into her. Even the beautiful spheres of her ass to either side, her graceful back, her soft legs, her captivating hair… It all fades away. You know what the next step is. You don't need the clock to intuit the moment she's ready. Your higher thoughts and your lust blend together.

Slowly, you pull further apart. Not much. It may not seem like it's so small, but this immortal gateway still needs to be treated with reverence. For every millimeter you actually widen her, though, you see miles more. It makes you feel light-headed, even a little dizzy. And when you slide your fingers out, those feelings become far more distinct. Irene remains open.

Gaping may have been an appropriate word for her to have described what she wanted from you, but it was far too crude to represent what you see now. Then again, you’re not sure what else to call it. It’s been a while since the thesaurus failed you.

Irene's muscles are relaxed. Serene, even. Like this is where they should naturally be. You simply guided them.

You lean back in and gently kiss her rim. It's dangerous, running your tongue around the defined edge of the mortal and everlasting, but exhilarating. The slight rolling of her hips is your indication that Irene is feeling the same passion, for all the hubris it takes to assume such a thing about your goddess. As far as you know, she could just be moving because your tongue and lips aren't in the right places and making up for your inadequacies.

Still, every slight, slow shade of her ass against your cheek is a divine caress, urging you further along the journey. Your kisses are as insistent as you can get them without making the grave error of smacking your lips.

In the foggiest reaches of your vision, a hand reaches out to you along the floor. Irene grasps at the air like she wants something. That’s not part of the ritual. You can only think of one thing in the moment, and you take her hand in yours.

Irene’s fingers close around yours and curl into your palm. They flutter every time you swirl your tongue across her rim, and, after a moment, they squeeze.

It’s terrifying, at first, when Irene trembles underneath you. It evokes thoughts of earthquakes, brought upon by the wrath of the gods. But no, it’s orgasm. Her asshole contracts slightly, but otherwise just quivers against your mouth. It ends almost as soon as it begins.

Irene takes her hand away, and a bit of your soul with it. She lightly presses on the clock, and it shifts to white. You don’t have to be reminded of what that means. Steeling your heart, you back off of Irene’s ass and carefully push yourself up to your feet. Even at your full height, you can see into Irene’s hole. Taking it in with the full picture of the rest of her body is an incredible sight to behold. Knowing that you contributed to it makes it even more beautiful.

As you look over her, your eyes go wide and you have to contain a gasp. Irene’s calves are covered in little wet streaks, right where you had been hovering over her. Embarrassment washes over you. It's hard to imagine being so turned on as to not have felt yourself dripping on her, especially after having worried about that very thing mere minutes ago. You want to reach for a towel to correct your mistake, but you know you're not supposed to touch her. You're supposed to be dressing yourself and leaving, so you step away, and reach down for your clothes.

Your arms feel heavy as you pull your underwear up, only getting more embarrassed about how soaked they immediately become.

As you put on your shirt though, Irene moves again. You can't help but stand perfectly still, mesmerized by the smooth motion of Irene getting up onto her knees and sitting back on her heels. Now upright, she's even more statuesque, back curved inward from her generous bottom up to her gentle shoulders. One hand releases her hair from its bun, and the night sky falls past her neck, simultaneously obscuring and enhancing that gorgeous expanse.

Irene’s torso twists a quarter in your direction. It's hard to think that for however long you've been here, this is the first you've seen her face and it's merely a silhouette, not even far enough around that she could look at you out of the corner of her eye. All you can see is her eyelashes, pointed down, to indicate that her eyes are closed. The movement also coyly presents you with the side of her breast, yet another of the endless curves of her body that you have had no opportunity to worship.

One graceful arm comes back. Her fingers find their way to the cleft of her ass and sensually feel their way down. You don't even think to wipe away your drool as you watch those fingers dip inward. They move in and out, unhurried and exquisite.

Your mind reels. Were you not enough? Is she just basking in the remnants of her pleasure? Is she doing this for you to watch? Should you even still be here?

Irene continues to toy lightly with her asshole while at the same time her other hand shakes out her hair from below.

Your legs twitch. You can't stay here anymore. You practically jump into your skirt, grab your shoes, and you're out the door. You keep the doorknob turned in your hand even as you whip yourself outside so the latch won't click when you close it.

In the hallway, you slump back against the wall. Your body is on fire. You need to be touched. You don’t live very far away. You can get home fast, and if you can’t grab someone on the way, idol or otherwise, you’ll be sitting on a vibrator all night—

The door you just came through opens again. Irene walks out in a shoulderless sweater, just long enough to cover her shorts, and sneakers. How she can look so casual, you’re sure you’ll never comprehend.

She doesn’t turn to leave, though. She steps closer to you, and closer, and closer. The hallway isn’t that wide. Are her steps inches long or is space expanding? Either way, she crosses and stands over you. It doesn’t matter what your height was. Your knees will only hold you against the wall at a height that makes it look like Irene is miles taller.

You open your mouth. You want to ask her to make good on her end of your bargain right now. Or maybe not. It doesn’t really matter. You just want to say something. But before you can, you feel the shock of physical connection. Irene strokes your cheek with the back of her fingers. Her eyes capture yours, holding you steady.

The distance becomes inches, and you’re paralyzed. She doesn’t blink as she gets even closer, but closes her eyes just in time to remove the final gap and touch her lips to yours. She kisses you so softly that you can barely feel it. In fact, the whole of your body seems suddenly light and cloudish, like a breeze could send you away. You even feel a drop of rain leave your eye.

When she retreats, she gives you the coyest smile to ever coy, and as she approaches her full height again, her fingers leave your jawline and the lightness you felt reverses. Gravity crashes your ass into the floor.

Then Irene turns to leave, breaking the line of sight to her eyes, freeing your own to wander. The last thing you see before she turns the corner is that she is not, in fact, wearing shorts under her sweater. You get one last glimpse of your handiwork. Though you can’t see very well and can’t imagine her ass is still gaped now that she’s back on her feet, it is still visibly wet, as are the backs of her thighs and calves.

#irene smut #irene #red velvet #red velvet smut #female reader #kpop smut

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secular-jew · 2 months

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Zabar's is an iconic market on New York City, best known for its selection of appetizers, bagels, and smoked salmon, and not surprisingly, it has a rich Jewish history. Founded by Ukrainian Jewish immigrants Louis and Lillian Zabar, the almost 90-year-old store bears both the family name and remains family-owned to this day.

Louis Zabar was born in Ukraine in 1901. He fled the pogroms, where his father had been murdered, and arrived in the U.S. in the early 1920s. Lillian Teitlebaum escaped Ukraine and moved in with relatives in Philadelphia. She later relocated to New York City and ran into Louis Zabar, whom she had known from their village in Ukraine. The two married in 1927 and had three children: Saul, Stanley, and Eli.

In 1934, Zabar’s opened its first store on 80th and Broadway. By 1950, Louis was the owner of 10 markets when he passed away. From 1960 to 1994, Louis’s sons, Stanley and Saul, partnered and co-owned Zabar's with Murray Klein, who joined the store in 1953.

Today, Saul and Stanley remain involved in the store’s day-to-day business. Many of Louis and Lillian’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren are involved in different capacities. “Zabar’s was the place to come and see your mother and father, your grandparents, your cousins... the Zabar’s store is the center of the Zabar family,” Stanley said.

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bunnyrhe · 2 years

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Demon's Head: Mafia Boss CG Yoongi x Little Space Reader

"Where are you? I'm here in the market where you told me to come find you." You spoke into the static receiver of your cheap disposable phone. When you got no response, you had to hang up, you were already low on credit.

The traditional red and cream coloured paper lanterns strung across rope connecting different stalls, loomed on the moon soaked horizon . The sky was an oily black, few stars pockmarked the endless expanse, the light pollution of the night market drowning their iridescence.

The market was busy with throngs of people weaving in and out of stalls, their chatter competing with the music on the radios that few people had. A cold south westerly wheezed a terrible chilling wind, the lanterns must have been affronted by it and leaned back to get out of the way. The night air brought the smells of saline and a distinct, crisp, fishy smell of salmon and squid. Then the warm hearty aroma of the ramyun stalls and oriental cuisine stalls followed on its heels, they were delicious smells to your rumbling stomach. The steam and sizzling smoke from cooktops billowing into the winds.

You saw him sitting on his car, a sleek and shiny black S-class, brooding against the bonnet. You laid eyes on the King.

He wore his face the way a thousand of his ancestors did since the Joseon dynasty, with a single cut through his right eye. It was symbolic. It made his eyes similar to the cross hair of a gun, it made him look like he was scratched by the wild cat of his family crest. The intensity in his eyes took my breath away. He was tall, handsome and radiating wealth, prestige and honour.

And danger. He was a dangerous man above all else, only 29 but was the head of the Korean crime empire-The Demon’s Head Clan. This was the oldest living clan in Korea, rivalling the age of even the 6Eye clan run by the Jeon Family.

Min Yoongi was the only living successor of his Clan. He was revered in the streets as the King, less commonly known as silverfish. He was a ruthless, sadistic murderer, hidden under his deceptively unbothered, bored even plucky exterior.

It was his reputation that made him a walking contradiction.

His predecessors knew little and cared less about the new breed of technological men who came to dominate the crime syndicates. They grew to be creatures of habit, skin pallid and dusty from their environment, clinging to their glory days limpet-like to whatever toe-hold of wealth they could get. They were used to the comfort of illegal gambling and local arms trades and for that their family name was losing the prestige it once commanded. The Min name was quickly fading from tapestries and great annals of history.

That was before Min Yoongi.

Min Yoongi represented a new blood for Korean crime-expansion into the international arenas of gun and drug cartels, and military level technological warfare, uranium trades to countries of the highest bidders. All with casinos, bars, hotels,restaurants and tech companies to launder all the bills. His plan was laughed out of the Min palatial estate for being to ambitious for his weak stature.Min Yoongi became a fine new school, built and skilled at denigrating the old ways, rejecting the past and arousing in new recruits the lust for golden dreams in the industrial millennium.

For that he became the black sheep.

He ascended to the pinnacle of leadership of the Clan by erasing all dissenters. Within one night he had single handedly slaughtered his relatives, effectively eradicating all competing interests for the throne. Then his enemies’ blood spilled afterwards.

It was an impossible task. A job no one could have pulled off. The bodies he eviscerated that day laid the foundation of what he is now. Min Yoongi was focused, angry beyond measure and he had a burning desire to prove himself. The folklore around the event arose, fanned out like an uncontrollable flame. It's alleged that he compiled the corpses, stacked up to the ceiling. When all the ones he spared found the gorey sight in the familial palace, he was sitting picking his nails. He gave himself the mark of the King-the eye cut- and never looked back.

He was only 19.

From the most lordly government officials to the littlest children in the playgrounds knew him now, knew his strength. The children made a story about him- the whale and the silverfish. The moral of the story was not to be a bully as all children's stories and songs go. The whale, Yoongi’s family ,was the master of the world until it espied a stranger in their domain: a big gleaming silverfish. Yoongi was the silverfish that refused to acknowledge the whale’s mastery. The whale grew angry and slapped the interloper with his tail. That was the whale’s fatal error because the silverfish was actually a torpedo. Yoongi's family made the mistake of not acknowledging or appointing him, now they would suffer from the grave.

You gasped when Yoongi's eyes flicked up, noticing you standing in the middle of the crowd looking terribly out of place.You were playing with the hem of your lavender sweater, keeping your eyes on your grey boots. His face was bright with the light of his cellphone. He released the breath of smoke, letting the grey whisps curl around his nose before stomping out the cig. If he wasn't mafia, his lineage should have been dragon. He held eye contact with you, feline eyes watching how you bristled. Everything he did held this mystique and a level of awe and fear inspiring brilliance.

You almost missed all the cars flanking it in the dark for how clearly they reflected the night sky. Yoongi wore an all black custom tailored suit with a matching trench coat. It seemed very cloak-and-dagger. There were similarly dressed men flanking him, some smoking, the red embers of cigarette lighting up like a half-dozen tiny red rat eyes in the dark, a few reloading handguns, one carving an apple into wedges with an absurdly large hunting knife.

He rapped twice on the hood of the car, and you watched the men assemble with precise, practised efficiency.They walked over keeping instep with Yoongi, shrouding him like a horde. They crossed the lot with graceful, careful steps like it was a scene right out of a movie. Yoongi was so casually sexy. The cronies spread out among the market crowd like black scaly tentacles fanning out around the Demon's Head. But Yoon wasn't a demon, at least not to you. Around you he could finally relax, break the staccato tone and his grim reaper appearance. He could smile and be warm with you.

Yoongi was your boyfriend with you.

"H-Hello," you waved to him, curling into yourself to keep warm and make yourself shrink under his gaze. Yoongi looked over your posture with disdain, thinking about starting posture training with you to make you stand confidently af his side.

"Jagi. You're gorgeous tonight, kitten.”

You felt a wave of colour rise to your cheeks but quickly recovered, giving him a slightly ironic look as though rejecting the sincerity of his words. For all your lauded beauty, you had painfully thin skin. Yoongi however was suave with unmatched confidence and charm, he doled out compliments to you in spades because it didn't diminish him. He called you beautiful like it was your name. Care and confidence sparkled in his eyes and radiated from the chiselled contours of coiling muscles visibly straining the Hérmes silk as he bent his arms behind his back.

"Here, I brought you gifts. You can have the one in my right hand or the one in my left."

"Awww Yoonie, I feel bad now! I don't have anything for you, I can't accept this."

Yoongi nodded. Fuck.

He instantly felt awful and guilty for saying that. It was his job to spoil his kitten, and your reaction made him feel ashamed for even refusing you gifts. Real men spoil their women, he reprimanded himself. "I was joking, they're both yours. Don't worry about Daddy,"

He gave you the Shooky plushy with the sassy mouth and strong eyebrow."I know you love these, I bought the company that manufactures-"

Your eyes widened filling up with stars, jaw dropping. He remembered! You had said off handedly once that you loved these plush toys but the originals were ridiculously expensive. It was so precious to you that he would remember, even going through all this trouble for you. You felt impossibly softer when he cupped your cheek,stroking it softly.

"There's that smile, do you like your gift?"

"SHOOKY!"you grinned, scooping him into your arms to cradle him to your cheek. "Thank you daddy, I love him."

"I got you a necklace too, " he flicked the Tiffany box open, showing off the opulent jewellery- a gold Cuban link chain encrusted with white diamonds." I thought we should start simple for you first time. May I?"

He chuckled watching you talking animatedly to the pillow sized Shooky, throwing him up in the air and catching him, kissing him all over his face. You were so absolutely enamoured with the plushie you were in another world. He smiled at how soft you looked, voice getting higher and more garbled and childish. You were having a conversation with him, wiping any fuzz from his eyes so he could see.

He tucked the necklace away. It wasn't very age friendly right now. It was a pocket full of promise with the jewellery put away for later. It would mean there would be a place you could go that was safer than the night market to put it on you. Yoongi smiled internally, he knew the perfect spot.

"Come hold my hand, little one. Let me protect you, don't wander off." He held your hand to lead you around, to the various stalls. His hands were rife with veins, cold like rivers in the night, calluses on his palm like stones. These hands had spilled blood, but I trusted them completely. You held his hand, wrapping around his arm. He kissed your knuckes softly, watching your blush creep north to your hairline, goosebumps on your flesh. While your Shooky held your attention, he was subtly accepting his monthly installation of protection money or kickbacks from vendors.

You shivered and he gave you his trench coat, retaining his suit jacket. The sleeves cascaded far past your fingertips to make sweater paws. You giggled, paddling them to make them dance and dangle in the wind.

"Kitty, kitty rawr." You pointed. You could see the large tattoo on his hand- a tiger tattoo wrapped around a sword- the insignia of the Demon's Head Clan. His people were revered there, treated royally and loyally. The clan moved en masse, avoiding and spewing out other rival clans like a selective plasma membrane.

It subsumed abandoned orphans and adults alike. The children lived in the dormitories or apartments for free, receiving a high quality of education, eating and being clothed for free, some ran errands to earn pocket money, others ran their own block by the time they were 18. The clan gave you the opportunity to leave or stay without repercussions but many stayed for familial ties and a sense of belonging. Afterall, children who weren't given love on a silver spoon learned to lick it off knives. That's when they took the black and tattooed the tiger and sword onto their hands. They belonged to the Demon's Head forever.

At least that was what your parents told you about Yoongi's world, the dark underbelly of the Korea that Yoongi ran like monopoly. He was the zenith of power. A God walking among mortals.

" I like your necklace, daddy, it's pretty ,"there were a simple blue and purple beads that was a gift from Jung Hoseok,the other was a thick gold chain. Jung Hoseok wasn't so much mafia as an independent contractor, he was more of a human resource manager within Yoongi's world. He was a one man team, supplying people to do anything from waste management to prostitution.

Gold Rings and bracelets jingled on Daddy's wrist,he looked so gorgeous and well adorned. One ring caught my attention,it was gold with a panther's open maw, holding a bright red gem with green veins. Something was so fascinating about it, all the other stones in his jewelry were diamonds or tiny clear crystalline blues.

"It's called bloodstone. It protects from excessive bleeding."

"It's beautiful,"

"Yeah? " Yoongi smiled subtly, covering it up with a lip bite. He'd seen dozens of reactions to his ring: morbid fascination, hatred, his men thought it was logical but never this. Never just pure appreciation, almost an infantile sense of love for it. He felt so proud of you, so accepted by you. "Maybe it's time to get this kitten some more jewellery of her own, maybe a collar…definitely a new wardrobe. "

He noticed the way your dress rode up because you'd outgrown it and the tiny hole in the wrist. It was so thin that he gave her his trench, aside from wanting her to smell like his outer layer of his natural aroma and cologne, keeping his suit jacket imbibed with the everlasting scent of Iron and death. He wanted to wrap her up in his embrace and take you away from this world. Or alternatively, burn the world down just to keep you warm.

"I'd get you draped in silks and the best brands in this world if you wanted me to, I can make the call right now."

"Yoon," you called to him sweetly, blushing furiously, your head laid on his stomach. He chuckled breathily a tiny purr escaping his throat as you two snuggled tightly a the lonely corner of the market.

“When was the last time you went shopping?Just to treat yourself?”He asked, his face leaning into yours, nose nudging the pulse point below your ear.

“I dunno, people don't remember that type of stuff.When was the last time you went shopping, huh?”

“A month ago, I bought an airline.”

You visibly wilted, your sweet cherry smile turning acidic. You were hurt.

"Shhh kitten, let Daddy take care of your expenses yeah?"

"Uh uh I'm a big girl now, I can do it,"

"No you're not, stop pretending to know things. Daddy will take care of expenses, kitten. Welcome to my world, baby." He kissed behind my ear, making me blush and giggle loudly.

He bought you hotteok and banana milk, then split a tuna sushi tray in one of the stalls in the night market that he owned. You watched wordlessly when the two customers that were eating rose from their seats mid-meal when you arrived and left after bowing to him. He kept your face pressed into his suit chest, arm over your shoulders. Yoongi was very secretive about you, going to lengths to secure your personal safety. The owner himself retreating outside once he prepared your food.

"Why are the people being weird, daddy? Are we in danger?"

"No baby, daddy's the danger baby. If you'd have let me, I would have brought you to a nice restaurant, spoiled you rotten." He hummed watching you eat, head resting on his palm.

"I can't afford that right now,"

"I know losing your job can be difficult, but maybe it's just for the best? Some people aren't meant to work. "

You were about to ask him how he knew about that when he plucked you up, letting you sit in his lap at the table, feeding sushi to you. He kept stuffing your face full of foods- peeled shrimp in perilla leaves, rice, sushi pieces. You welcomed it all with an open mouth, hardly being able to chew and swallow your chubby full cheeks worth of food. He enjoyed seeing you eating and maintaining a healthy appetite. He liked to know you were keeping on top of your eating schedule and taking care of your health. You swivelled to feed him, "choo choo daddy ,"

"Min-ssi. Your phone sir, from the Mayor Kim." One of his men interrupted, not making eye contact, holding an old fashioned telephone with a rotation dial. I knew that it was the business line, not a social call on his cell. Not that there were social visits in his world.

"Choo choo!" You insisted. Your daddy had created a spoiled brat that demanded attention.

As private as Yoongi was, a part of him was loving the attention once it was from you. He loved feeling needed. He hadn't known this much of your true nature, that you were this soft and gentle and receptive of his care that you would melt into him. He wouldn't know where he ended and you began without his tattoo. You were a pleasant plot twist.

"Tell Namjoon I will return his call later tonight." He accepted the rice, watching as your mouth opened and closed mimicking him chewing. You always thought he ate very prettily. All he could think about while watching you was how much he had changed since meeting his precious little kitten.

He usually only thought of family, his duty and honour code that were enshrined in his mind's temple. He was the leader of this family business that was the lifeblood of a nation, he upheld any moral that came along to facilitate the family business like a malevolent shrine.

He was a soldier, a warrior but here you were a goddess when you smiled. Emperors would have fallen across the ages for such a smile. A smile that could destroy worlds and rebuild them. A smile Yoongi would lay down his life for. He'd worship at your altar if you let him.

He gave you eat more of the food and stone pot rice. He offered a sip of his plum juice then you fell in love with it, leaving your orange juice untouched. He chuckled, watching you struggle to hold the bottle in your little space. He reached inside his coat for a small black leather bag with a sippy cup for you. "There now my princess can eat and drink in peace without accidents. "

He held you across his lap,your head tucked into the crook of his arm while he fed you juice from your sippy. You stared up into his eyes blinking softly at him, your hand pressed under the top buttons of his shirt to feel close to him. You raised your hand to his head. Yoongi pulled away, giving you his chin the way all big cats do to reject touch.

“Please?”

Never would you have believed that Min Yoongi, the King the silverfish could ever purr. If the world could see him now, enjoying head scratches eyes shut in pleasure, a tiny smile on his face. He shut his eyes tipping his head to you to let you scratch behind his ears, nuzzling the palm of your hand when you pulled away. He was pink in the cheeks when he smiled after his scratching.

"Can we get icey cream?"

"Course we can cub,"

His men brought Ice cream to you, hands trembling and set it down in front of you. Bowed and left the room. He left you eating ice cream happily while he washed out your sippy cup. You cooed at him, trying to get his attention.

"Do you want your paci?''

You thought hard, wiggling your hips,"Uh uh....wait yes yes please."

You were quite content dipping paci in your ice cream then sucking on it, leaving Yoongi to deal with the runny strawberry in the cup. He ate his coffee flavour, accepting your ice cream covered paci when you offered it to him.You dipped it in the ice cream, holding it up to daddy. You pressed it to his lips, letting him enjoy it. He didn't dare eat it, wiping it off when you weren't looking.

"Mm thank you cub, but it's your paci okay? Daddy has his spoon. You're sucna good girl for sharing. " He watched you turn rosey from all the praise, giggling and buzzing with excitement. "Nobody else should get to see you smile like that. Nobody else. Only ever with me."

Yoongi came out of the tent with his coat folded neatly over his arm. And an old pocket knife he found in your shoes, on his person. (It was tiny, almost adorable, were you trying to flirt with him?) And his kitten snuggled deeply into his pectoral, perched on his hip snoring and content and drowsy from what he put in her ice cream.

"Bring the car around, Hyojong I'm bringing my baby home,"

Hyojong reached for his piece on his hip, seeing an unknown woman under his leader, immediately assuming the worst and not recognising you. His teeth bared at the unusual scent. "Go on bare your teeth, I'll pull them out one by one."

He barreled through his men, pulling you closer to him. He meant it when he said nobody else deserved to see you smile.

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milfzatannaz · 6 days

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TINNED FISH RATINGS!!!!!!!

- canned salmon: 8/10. Really cheap and I like the Atlantic salmon from Trader Joe’s. Makes the BEST sandwich with kewpie mayo and mustard added. Fishy taste but mild enough that you can really dress it up if you want. Texturally very moist and soft, I prefer it over tuna

- smoked trout: 7/10. Savory and smoky and well salted. This one is better as a topping over crackers with some good smoked cheese. I imagine it’ll be great on a bagel with cream cheese. These are pretty affordable and easy to find.

- sprats: 6/10. These are a type of sardine, just smaller. Mine are from world market and are imported from Germany I believe. They don’t hold their shape and flake into mush pretty easily, but I like their fishy taste. Another one to eat by themselves over crackers or bread

- mackerel: 5/10. They are pretty stinky. The first bite is pungent and kinda like farts but the aftertaste is meaty and pleasant, which was a strange experience. I’m on the fence with this one and I’ll try other tins before going back to mackerel

- sardines: 9/10. Mine are from Trader Joe’s because they’re cheap and I like TJ. You can’t go wrong with these. I like the bones and the skin. TJ doesn’t have the fanciest oil, but I find that the oil doesn’t matter so much as long as the fish is good.

- octopus: 10/10. If you don’t have a taste for octopus already it might be weird, but I really love octopus. The tins I get are Portuguese and you get nice, fat tentacles in oil. They have a firmness with a slight chew and a mild but tasty seafood flavor. They pair very well with bright, briny flavors so I like to make an avocado salad with lemon and fresh parsley to go on top the octopus with good bread.

#Millie eats #niche? yes. important? also yes

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sightofsea · 7 months

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got brunch went to farmers market (rainy, perfect) ate baklava ate excellent smoked salmon spread took a nap altogether a perfect weekend. like i can't believe it but this is one of the best weekends of my life i didn't think i'd have any more of those at this sort of level but here we are!!!!!

#tomorrows dopamine crash is gonna be ugly i know but!!! COST WAS WORTH IT

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barstoolblues · 6 months

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heres what youre gonna do. youre gonna go to the fish market and buy a good half pound of smoked sockeye salmon. take that home and start breaking it into small pieces by hand. then youre gonna roast some beets. while those are cookin youre gonna dice a yellow onion and sauté it until translucent, next add that onion to the smoked salmon and mix it together. ok now youre gonna want to make a couple trays worth of thin sheets of pasta dough cut into 2-3 in squares. take the salmon and onion filling and fold your uszka. while that’s happening youre gonna make your barszcz. peel and chop your beets add your vegetable broth and allspice and marjoram and caraway and salt. this might sound crazy but add some v8 to that shit. trust me . while thats bubbling away take your uszka and i like to cook em straight in the soup for extra flavor, but when they rise to the top theyre ready.

#my familys special smoked salmon uszka recipe

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bonesandthebees · 3 months

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Fun fact: in Dutch we call styrofoam “piepschuim” aka squeakfoam. I had to look up styrofoam but from your descriptions I was pretty sure it was this and it is. It is the worst, especially when it gets broken down because those little balls/chunks get everywhere and stick to everything. Truly a nightmare to clean up!

Also, smoked salmon is the Best. They have a little like hut/store/stand at the Christmas market of Brussels where they smoke the salmon in real time and sell them in a sandwich and it’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten (that’s hyperbole, but shush it was very good).

And yes Icy I do like sushi, though I think I’m very basic in my choices since we mostly get the basic tray from our local sushi place (it’s a very good tray okay, it has salmon, tuna, avocado, tofu, the usual rolls and then something with crab rolled in / marinated with a crust (no idea what the damn word for that is in English) it’s good and a lot of variation, but very basic compared some of the sushi places I’ve been taken to by friends.

-🌲

squeakfoam is a perfect name for it it squeaks so much and it's terrible. I hate the kind that breaks apart super easily that was the kind I had to deal with yesterday when I was bringing it down to my building's dumpster and it was AWFUL

oh my god that smoked salmon sounds so good wtf. I need that. I need to try that so badly

it's ok to like basic sushi!! if it's good it's good yknow?

#ask #spruce anon

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jade7b · 3 months

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Gojo/Geto x reader

Chapter 2

The first chapter is up here!

As Always, let me know if there are errors!

( Italian gurl pretending to translate her fanfics in english)ಠ⁠_⁠ʖ⁠ಠ

BETWEEN TWO FIRES

Chapter 2

Suguru wasn’t just annoyed, he was immensely pissed.

That night, he found your phone number almost by accident.

He had been looking at your profile picture for a while, enjoying your wonderful features, disfigured by the scar he had inflicted on you.

It had been tremendously sad to leave Jujutsu Tech, but he had done it with the knowledge of how rotten that system was.

Of all his fellow warlocks, you and Satoru were the ones he most regretted.

It was something he would never admit, he had to be strong, and not just for himself, but for you.

On the other hand, he knew it, you were such a beautiful and pretty thing, and in the midst of a world of sorcerers and cursed spirits you were like a flower in the winter snow.

Your sweet face spoke for itself, completely in conflict with the shriveled scar. It still looked like a charm.

Was he obsessed with you? Maybe.

He had a feeling that being by your side could hurt you, impregnated you with his disgusting curses.

If he tried to touch you, he was sure he would get you dirty.

Yet the feeling of power that left him this awareness was not unpleasant.

The idea of making you completely his, of ruining you, was one of his greatest perversions.

So, when he wrote to you, and he didn’t get an immediate response, he started getting agitated.

Who were you with?

What were you doing?

Why didn’t you answer him?

What if you changed your number?

As he realized that reacting in such an exaggerated manner made no sense, he heard his room door open.

« Geto-sama...», Nanako had entered weeping, «I had a bad dream».

The blinking lights of the four arrows of a taxi stunned your eyes.

You hated the city, and all the hustle and bustle that followed. Even though you’ve been living in Tokyo for years, you’d never get used to its routine.

You had always lived in a small village adjacent to the sea.

The coast was your home, as was the foamy sea and the sand you loved to tread on barefoot.

Here instead the only thing you could see were the large skyscrapers that were lost in the sky, the noisy cars and the swarming masses of people.

As if it had been a great anthill, Tokyo used to run you over with its worker ants, who, even though it was late, were still around with the briefcase in hand.

It was barely 22:00, the nightclubs were crowded already from nine, and you were still, glued to the screen of your phone, while you carried a smoking cigarette to your lips.

Golden Gai had been a post-war black market and then a brothel, turned into a pub village. It was a great place for young people and for those looking for adventure and some drinking. This traditional "drinking district", consisting of narrow streets filled with dozens of tiny bars, was a tangle of endless signs and lights.

Your decision to show up for the appointment was made after several mental collapses.

You cried an hour in Gojo’s fancy bathtub, and you didn’t stop.

You continued your nervous outburst on your way home, in the kitchen table while you tried to eat a bite of sautéed salmon rice, and on the way to Suguru’s designated location in the message.

You felt so stupid, so emotionally down and pathetic.

You did what you could while trying to cover your red eyes and red nose.

When you cried, your face turned red, lately it was something you couldn’t stand.

You hated seeing the redness peeping out more and more at every tear, not to mention how the corners around your eyes burned.

Your sensitive skin after several hours, could no longer stand the salty and wet liquid of your tears.

What about that scar? You found it disgusting.

A car horn shook you from your thoughts.

You sucked nicotine into one last, needy shot. As you noticed the combustion getting more insistent, you noticed a hand approaching the cigarette butt.

Long, tapered fingers took the cigarette from your lips, leading your eyes to follow it.

«This is one of Shoko’s bad habits».

Your lips tightened, your blood bubbled as your cheeks turned red.

Two obsidian beads peered down at you, not letting you escape.

If only your legs had allowed you to escape from that situation, you would have done it immediately, but the surprise effect had glued you to the pavement.

«Hello», he said it so casually, that for a moment you wondered if he was actually the exact same guy you’d met in school.

Standing straight, you frowned as you watched your last shot fall, and then vanish, crushed under Suguru’s shoe.

«At the end you came, I’m happy», he continued with a smile, carrying his hands in his pockets.

Your feelings were mixed. If in one hand you wanted to throw your arms around his neck, on the other you still felt the weight of the unpleasant events, those that had affected your face smeared with blood.

You hoped he would look at your scar and feel bad. You hoped he would feel guilty, you prayed he wouldn’t sleep at night.

«I am not, I am not happy», you had hissed imitating him, carrying your hands in the pockets of the jacket.

«Oh», he had looked at you more intensely, «I don’t feel like I forced you».

Suguru was not a simple soul to talk to. He was smart, always ready to trick you, and since you weren’t stupid, you avoided responding to his provocations.

«If you have to speak, do it now», your look was intensified.

You assumed from the texts he sent you, he had some issues to sort out.

«Oh, I meant to do it while we were sitting, maybe while having a drink», he kept that mysterious veil on himself, as he always tried to have a monopoly on you and your decisions.

He was manipulative, what did you expect?

«Your fingertips are frozen and your nose is red. You are trembling like a leaf, let's go inside», he had offered you his hand, but you had hit it with an elbow, walking beyond, refusing his kindness and ignoring his care for you.

You know, it was just a trick.

«Ok...», you said frosty.

The place he chose was one of those pubs where music broke your eardrums.

The eavy metal band that sounded, seemed quite influential, you had noticed it by the number of people under the small stage.

The cramped place, too small to hold all those people, made you slightly agitated.

To make matters worse, it was Suguru’s chest colliding with your back.

«Sorry», he had told you leaning his hands along your arms, «they pushed me».

You sighed as your heart was about to explode.

His perfume had not changed over the years, perhaps in addition you only noticed a slight hint of bergamot, lightened by what could be the scent of his shampoo and body wash.

You had swallowed, fortunately the pounding music had the power to cover the sound of your heart.

«Come, I booked a more secluded table», he had whispered in your ear.

You now understood why he chose Shinjuku as a meeting place.

It was known that the neighborhood was the busiest in Tokyo, but at the same time it was known as a red light district.

If you had to mix easily in the crowd, that’s where you had to take refuge in Shinjuku.

And since Suguru was a wanted criminal, it didn’t seem strange.

The pub was poorly lit, with secluded rooms, and it didn’t take much to understand why.

Not when you saw a rundown woman being dragged into one of the private cabins between disgusting kisses.

You followed Suguru’s broad shoulders through the hallway full of rooms, trying to avoid the thirsty looks of men and women now more than shine.

If there was one thing that you could not stand, it was these uncomfortable situations, in fact, when you had preceded Suguru, entering the room, you had taken a breath of relief.

As the sorcerer closed the door, you began to relax your ears, sitting at the foot of a solid wood kotatsu.

Same thing Suguru did, standing right in front of you.

«Are you ok?» while you were taking off your jacket, you had skipped to answer his question.

«What do you want Suguru? After all this time, not even a stupid message, an insignificant call, and now? What happened?» You didn’t want to go around the obvious.

Suguru looked at you, leaning an elbow in the coffee table, and holding his chin on the palm of his hand, he smiled at you.

«I have already told you, things are not left half-»

«I don’t know what you are talking about, Suguru. The more I look at you, the more I get angry».

Geto's hand had approached yours, he had clutched it, bringing you near him.

«I just wanted to see you, Izumi».

«I don’t believe you», you sayed, escaping from its clutches.

«Do you really believe that, after all that you have done, I will be condescending?».

«No, but you could at least let me speak».

His eyes had become darker, a shadow had crept into his features, and for a moment you had a slight fear.

You knew how much Suguru had above your abilities, not for nothing he was a special level, while you had stopped at the first level.

Feeling his aura change, your shadow began to stretch.

«Hold it at bay, I’m not going to hurt you».

«Then change that fucking attitude!» You said, as you tried to calm your dark shadow that was slowly growing on the wall behind you.

«Are you still struggling to contain emotions? Are you afraid? Is that why that thing is so agitated?».

With a fit of rage, caught in the act, you had a hand to the collar of his sweatshirt.

«You are wrong».

«All right», he said, raising his hands as a sign of surrender, «then let’s talk civilly, will you?».

Geto’s eyes were studying you, he was probably the only person in the world to understand your emotions completely.

So when you denied your fear and he went along with it, you knew he did it just to please your pride.

You were afraid of him, yes.

That was the truth, but could he blame you?

He killed an entire village, his parents, and then he was gone.

He was a mass murderer, he had completely lost his mind, and while you had been wondering for years why such an extreme gesture, you had come to the conclusion that you didn’t want to know.

The only ones who saw him last were Shoko and Satoru, but you stayed at Jujutsu Tech, thinking about your sins alone, without anyone knowing.

On that fateful day in fact, Suguru was not alone.

You had joined his mission, lately you saw him always gloomy and sad: maybe he would have liked a little company.

That day where everything changed, in that small and narrow village you were there too, and what did you do to stop him? The only thing you tried to do was to throw yourself on a child’s body to save him, and now, a terrible scar shriveled in your face.

Your greatest guilt, which you still kept secret, was that you couldn’t stop him.

And while he was killing and dismembering, you stood by, covered in blood and fear.

The child looked at you with desperate eyes before dying in your arms, and it was your fault.

Suguru was only seventeen years old, he was gentle, calm, always protecting the weak and always respectful of others.

You never expected to see his degenerate look as he killed and beheaded in cold blood.

The realisation was like a lightning in the clear sky, and even today, in your nightmares you dreamed of his impervious face full of drops of blood returning to your kneeling figure.

«It doesn't matter if you didn't react, Izumi», those words roused you from your intrusive thoughts, taking you back to the walls of the room.

You looked at him, setting your eyes in his.

«It doesn’t matter», he continued, «you couldn’t have done anything».

Suguru had watched your scar break down as your eyes filled with tears.

Those comforting words, though they came from him, were so surreal to you; you had endured your pain alone for five long years, and now hearing the words you always wanted to hear made you feel less guilty.

«Do they know?» he asked you, tilting his head to the side.

You shook your head, wiping your tears with your sweater sleeve.

If they didn’t know you were with Suguru, they didn’t even know that the ugly scar that disfigured your face was his fault.

The makeup you wore melted, leaving you exposed.

You were wondering if he was able to see your imperfections now, as well as the scar.

The small illuminated room didn’t let Suguru miss any of your expressions.

Tears were still burning in the corner of your eyes, and your nose had definitely turned red. You hated that feeling.

The more you thought about what happened, the tighter your stomach became.

«You could have come with me», the statement had left you stunned.

The violet light of the room now gave way to a bright red light, following the RGB change of the lamp.

«Sure, and be labeled as a murderer? Don’t make me laugh Suguru», your sharp words made the deep sea more and more unlivable.

«Yes, but you wouldn’t have kept living like that, would you?» your eyes lowered.

You looked at your hands while you tortured your cuticles. What you had to endure over the years was something you would not wish for anyone.

Even Satoru didn’t know; you hid your bad mood under your mother’s untimely death. This led him to think that the main problem was the disease that took her away from you as well as an oppressive and patriarchal father.

«The offer is still valid», he said, observing you.

«Don’t say shit», you complained, «I have my life to live».

His eyes chained you, they were different from Satoru’s, they put you in terrible awe.

As usual he was unpredictable and you didn’t know what to expect from him.

«Yes? I thought you had devoted yourself more to surviving», his words were sharp as your pride struck you.

«It is more honorable to live this way, than to do it as you are doing it», you had not managed to contain yourself.

«And Satoru needs me».

Geto bent his lips upwards, his hair falling down his shoulders as he moved, «Remember this, Izumi: Satoru doesn’t need anyone, isn’t he the strongest? Unless you mean otherwise».

You stiffened to the allusion, «this Is not your business».

Suguru wrinkled his lips, «Oh~, you opened your legs to him?».

You got up suddenly, slamming your hands in the coffee table, You know what? If you have nothing better to tell me I think that I will go, I do not want to be jerked off by you!».

You took the vest behind you and started getting dressed.

«Sit down», the tone he used did not allow for discussion.

Out of the corner of your eye, you looked at him.

«Why should I?» you challenged him.

«I said, sit down», he didn’t need to raise his voice, he was already intimidating enough while his face was pounding.

When the maid entered the cabin, she had brought two straps, two glasses and a small transparent ampoule. You thought it would contain Saké.

«Are you guys okay?»

«Yes, thank you», the change in Suguru’s face left you stunned.

His eyes closed gently and his lips bent upwards in a sweet smile that reminded you of who he once were.

«Perfect! Make yourself comfortable while choosing what to order-»

«I’ll take a Craft Gin Smash», you had interrupted her, resembling yourself in the soft pillow.

«The same», Suguru said, relaxing his nerves when he saw you sitting.

«Sure, two Gin Smash then», taking in her hands the price lists, the maid vanished behind the sliding door, while the light, passed again to purple.

The silence was interrupted only by the muffled music of the club, you were not going to say anything... what would you say?

«Satoru has been busy», he had provoked you, pouring the contents of the ampoule on the two shot glasses, «beyond this how is he?».

You would have liked to answer badly for the umpteenth time, but taking in your hands the small glass container you had opted for a more mature approach.

You had therefore avoided the arrow, swallowing the first sip of that transparent drink.

« None of us are okay. Since Riko and Haibara’s death, it’s been like an endless dark tunnel. Not to mention the crap you did», your throat burned while you had sent down the second sip.

«Nanami has retired from Jujutsu, Shoko does not speak to me or to Satoru, and then he...», you had restrained your mouth, thinking about the sessions of brutal sex to which he subjected you.

It was handsome, sure, but it was obvious he was using you to ease his upset.

As you thought about the nights you spent being brutally hammered, you wondered if he really wanted your well-being or maybe he just didn’t want his.

You were best friends, your relationship stopped being that, he didn't love you, you were aware of it, and yet day after day, you thought that this relationship was slowly emptying you out.

His pent-up anger was all over you, and when Suguru noticed the small hematoma peeping out of your high-neck sweater, he brought a hand towards your face, raising it towards his own.

Two fingers were running down your neck, stopping over the bluish skin.

«You can say "no", you know this? Satoru does not know his limits, not even those of others».

His voice, sweet as honey, caressed the strings of the soul in pain that you were.

«Why do you worry?» you asked, moving his hand apart, «I must remind you how I got this scar? What Satoru does to me is nothing in comparison».

The sense of emptiness was becoming more and more overwhelming in your chest.

Suguru remained silent, moving his hand back to your injured cheek.

«It suits you», he said, leaving you speechless.

You didn’t believe your ears when he told you something so vile.

«I am convinced it keeps you tied to me, more than you would like».

Saying "I’m sorry," it didn’t seem like it was the sorcerer’s will.

Red with rage, you had tried to respond without succeeding.

While Suguru was showing discomfort, seeing the hematoma in your tender neck, you were reeling at his provocation.

«I have often thought of you in these years».

«That sucks», you said thinking about what he had just said.

«Disgusting?» he repeated, stroking your cheek, hooking his thumb on your rosy lips.

He stroked them, opening them slightly.

«I have not forgotten, and you?».

Your heart had taken a few extra leaps as his thumb worked its way inside your mouth.

His slightly rough finger had come into contact with your tongue.

Looking for it, he began to caress it, giving you several chills.

«Allow me to be beside you», he said, leaning with his other hand over your shoulder.

«Allow me to protect you».

His thumb had wet your soft lips with your own saliva.

«I heard that your mother passed away. Your father is pressuring you, isn’t it? And your work as a sorcerer? I knew that you were going to die a few months ago. Without me you are nothing, you can’t anything, Izumi».

Waking up from the trance, you shook your head, slapping his hand away.

«I know to look after myself!».

You didn’t even wait for your cocktail to arrive, that you took your jacket in your hands, ready to leave.

«You need me».

His eyes were so sharp, you swore he could get past you.

«I’ll be fine this time too, if I get killed, make sure to bring me at least one stupid flower».

Angry, you just opened your mouth without thinking.

It was too much.

You wanted to disappear, you wanted to stop your intrusive thoughts, you hated the way Suguru’s touch and voice made you feel.

It was like a sweet addiction, and yet you knew that if you gave in it would completely wipe you out.

He made you feel pampered and safe, perhaps because no one else knew the truth that tormented you.

But you knew he was a spider ready to lure you into his web.

«I shouldn’t have come», you said, and then snuck through the door.

You thought it was over while you were retracing the corridor.

The music was deafening, the people so many to make you vulnerable and when a hand clinged to your wrist, you almost didn’t release your shadow to slay the victim.

Without realizing what was going on, you found yourself with your back against the wall and a large body blocking you.

Meanwhile, your shadow danced eerily, manifesting the tension you felt. The situation seemed suspended between the impending chaos and the search for a way out that would not endanger the lives of others.

«Come on Izumi, hurt me if you want it».

Suguru's voice.

His perfume entered your brain, giving you an adrenaline rush.

The blood had gone to your head, and you felt your temples beating frantically to the beat of your heart.

«I tried to go easy on you, but you just don’t want to understand, did you?» his nose approached your neck.

«Now stay still, okay?» your body was motionless, your eyes wide, while his mouth was resting in your jaw.

He gave you a wet kiss before he started talking.

«I’m not going to repeat it twice, so listen carefully», your body was stiff under his touch, so much that he began to hurt your spine.

«What-»

«Shut up», he grabbed your side, making you collided with him.

As much as you wanted to answer, you were silent, too agitated to say a word.

«In these days I will write you, answer, I don’t care what you are doing, you will answer».

The threat made you frown, «I won’t do anything you want-»

«Oh, you will», it vigorously pinched you a side, provoking you a long shake of pain.

«You don’t want certain things to be known, do you?» your eyes widened, not believing in the blackmail he had put you in front of.

Was it really the Suguru you always knew? Something told you no, as you listened to his words.

«You will do what I will ask to you, no matter what, you will do it».

You wanted to be stronger to kick his ass right now, but you knew that wasn’t one of the most reasonable options.

The harshness of his words was like a slap in the face.

He broke away from you, allowing you to breathe, while with an indecipherable look he abandoned you along the pub corridor.

You were in so much trouble.

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