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#dont ask me how any of this au works it just does

mystellenia · 1 day

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ellie with a clumsy gf ୨ৎ

summary: how ellie cares for her clumsy girlfriend

content: nothing thats nsfw!! just ellie being a cutie concerned gf

notes: answer to this req!! SHES SO PUPU BABYGIRL IN THAT PIC I WANNA BITE HER JFWIBFJWKRJR. she's actually so beautiful i can't. entirely unrelated: idk how i feel about this... but i’m trying not to be like EW I HATE THIS FUCK THIS ITS SO BAD. like i dont even feel like that but we already know how i feel about this formatting. its growing on me tho

(wc 0.39k) so short i know guys i gotta dip my feet

constantly laughing but also concerned at how you manage to trip and bump and bruise yourself up on literal air

in apocalypse au, she's always been very aware of her surroundings bc of patrol and combat and stuff so she tries to keep you out of the way of things that she knows you'll bump into

always has an ice pack chilled and ready to go in the freezer in case you bump yourself real hard and it's sore because ice helps bumps not bruise right when you get them (looking at you guys clumsy ladies write that one down)

always warns you about things right as they're happening since you get into things SO FAST

like just as you're bumping into something or dropping an item she's blurting out, "wait! there's- a shirt on the floor"/"remember- that the washing machine door is open"/"baby, you're gonna drop that- just... like you did just now. you okay?"

always asks what you did to get a new bruise. she'll notice a new one and joke, "oh, what did you do this time?" and you'll respond, "i may have walked into the dishwasher while the door was down... but this one doesn't hurt that bad 😁" it's become like a little game

she's become sooo desensitized to any bump or bang sound in the house bc she knows its just you. not to say she doesn't care about you getting hurt--she immediately throws out a "you good?!" or "you need me?"--she just knows you know what to do: ice pack or heat compress. it's routine now.

read that low vitamin c levels make you bruise easily, so always has vitamin c rich snacks stocked up. oranges and strawberries and other fruits, always ready!

she's so stupid in love that she'll cut the fruits up into hearts or try nd make the most simple little animals with them from some mother of 3's tutorial on instagram reels and genuinely gets upset when she can't recreate them.

^ like you notice her absolutely maiming some apples and ask, "ummm why are you slicing and dicing that poor apple?" and she'll mumble, "it's supposed to be a stupid crab."

and for my ladies with darker skin where bruises aren't as visible or even just pale skin that just doesn't bruise easily, she's still just as concerned. and since there is no visible warning of a sore spot, she's hurriedly apologizing after pressing on a sore spot or laying on a tender patch.

@abbysbug @picklesarenice69

hello to my clitter critters. soooooooo erm sorry about going like basically inactive for like 2 weeks i got into the fight of a lifetime with my mother 😊 we still beefing 😊 dw tho when she's old and wrinkly i’ll have power of attorney and trust the cord WILL be plugged.

like i’m joking but as of now that bitch is an opp fr

but anywhoooo i’m back. and my dinosaur of a laptop had a health scare and i thought i was gonna have to plan a funeral for her but she went to the doctor (apple store) and she's all better. idk how it still works so well now bc my mom got this when obama was still president 😆 don't y'all worry tho this motherboard does nothing but purr we chillin (the fan turns on whenever there are too many graphics moving)

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surelysilly · 7 months

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pov: you are not immune to the Ghibli propaganda

09/28: studio ghibli for @phantasycentral !

bonus:

Sam, to Tucker: why is your fire green Tucker, red-green color blind: why is my fire, what Danny: >:)

#batpoopart #phantasy phest 2023 #danny phantom art #danny phantom au #ghibli au #howl's moving castle #dp au #dont ask me how any of this au works it just does #danny is both calcifer and turnip head sam is sofie and tucker is howl! :)#i like to think Dani is markel and Vlad is the witch of the wastes more so after the power of the star instead of tucker's heart lol

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anakinspraisekink · 1 year

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can we hear any of your ageplay headcanons because i’m still salivating over baby time <3

I'm glad you like it!! And sure, I'm still a novice with age play haha, but I have some ideas 🙈 these work for baby bratty padawan anakin au!!

✨ Obi-Wan is admittedly a bit inexperienced with age play, but he puts on a confident front for Anakin's sake so that he can give him what he needs. As soon as he realizes that Anakin gets little sometime, then he immediately goes into action and researches and talks with him and gets all sorts of supplies to be ready for whenever Anakin needs it.

✨ they have a word for when Anakin is starting to feel little or wants to be little, which is especially helpful on missions or to help Anakin articulate how he feels, which is sometimes difficult. I imagine that in the beginning Anakin doesn't want to be annoying and one time puts off being little for far too long because he doesn't want to pull Obi-Wan away from his tasks, but then that ends up in a miserable meltdown and a Talk about how Anakin shouldn't disregard what he needs. Obi-Wan can't always be there physically when Anakin needs him just because of their lives, but Obi-Wan makes sure he will still get the care he needs through the bond.

✨ age play isn't always sexual for them of course! There are plenty of times when Anakin just wants to babied and cuddled and not have to worry about anything, and Obi-Wan loves taking care of him.

✨ the fastest way to get Anakin little (whether he's resisting and Obi-Wan knows he needs this, or just wants to go down quick), is Obi-Wan calling him names reserved just for *baby* baby Anakin and also calling himself Daddy ~ calling him little boy and sweetness and Ani <3

✨ Anakin already cries a lot, but when he's little he's an absolute crybaby, breaking down over the smallest things. That can make Obi-Wan's job a little harder, but he's good at calming his little one down. He doesn't like when Anakin is truly sad, but when he's crying while Daddy is fucking him ~ he can't deny that's hot 😵‍💫

✨ Anakin has plenty of favorite accessories for when he's little now. Of course he has some old sleep clothes of Obi-Wan's that are worn-in and comfy, and also the tooka plush that Obi-Wan got him. Obi-Wan also has to get him some new toys after he finds his baby getting into some mechanical parts that big Anakin had left out, and didn't want him hurting himself. Obi-Wan also has some snacks and basic meals handy, and he also got a pacifier which Anakin greatly resisted at first and now cannot be separated from. Anakin resists diapers the most, but he does have to admit it's a lot easier not having to worry about going potty when he's little, but he still likes to throw a fit about it. Obi-Wan has all of these accessories in a box so that Anakin can get to them if Obi-Wan isn't around, though Anakin has ended up sleeping with his tooka plush all the time now 🥹

#the second one made me think: what if obi wan isnt in the right mindset to be the caregiver that anakin needs?#or does he just have to go with it?#something for me to look at bc i dont know how that part works #if you have any ideas at all for this au I'd love to hear them!!!#squick #age pl4y #baby bratty padawan anakin #asks #claire's stuff

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81folklore · 3 days

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i can do it with a broken heart - f1 grid

parings: gn!driver!reader x platonic!f1!grid x ex!jacob elordi

summary: after yn and their ex break up, they carry on as best they can and no one had any idea how bad they were struggling

type: social media au (smau)

notes: george is in this but he does not drive for mercedes, yn does. i also used a mixture of fem and masc pictures because i couldnt decide and thought you could just imagine whatever you wish!!

notes 2: probably the longest fic ive done so far but im pretty proud of it. the time stamps above each section are semi important so i would keep an eye on them!! also i know ive been gone for so long but i do not promise ill be back. alsoooo i know i only included a bit of the grid but i kept getting distracted and then couldn’t figure out how to include everyone!!

masterlist

march 2024

twitter

charles oh my god i cant believe my cat is finally the pfp

i have been waiting for YEARS

max yes well you better enjoy it because it’ll change soon and you’ll be back to waiting again.

lando jesus max do you have to use punctuation???

alex be glad he doesnt use captials

oscar one thing at a time lando, we dont want to scare him

max ???

lando anyway

yn mate you ok?

yourname im fine? ur scaring me you never ask how i am

lando yeah but usually your not single

lewis oh no! you and jacob split?

yourname yeah, wasnt working anymore

charles ah im sorry, that must suck😣

yourname i mean it does but its been coming for a long time so its not surprising

fernando hello! yn what is wrong? you always use emotes!

yourname theyre emojis nando, and im fine just a bit lost

fernando do not worry, i will come and find you!

yourname no, i dont mean literally just..we were together for so long i dont really know what to do now you know?

lando i get it, you wanna play tarkov with me???

yourname cheers ill get on now

george let us know if you need anything!

may 2024

yourusername

liked by mercedesamgf1, lewishamilton and 814,583 others

p✌️ was just what we needed this weekend!

thank you to everyone who came out and supported myself and the team and huge thank you to the team for working so hard all weekend⭐️

view comments

mercedesamgf1 mega job this weekend yn👊 *liked by author*

landonorris nice to share the podium with you mate

yourusername same time next race?

user33 loved seeing you back on the podium

user2 absolutely smashing it this season

user21 more podiums please🤲 *liked by author*

user3 fourth podium of the year first p✌️*liked by author*

twitter

*pretend it says after march i changed dates around last min*

august 2024

yourusername

liked by lukehemmings, charles_leclerc and 1,124,642 others

did some reading, painting and writing

baked some good food and spent time with some good people, also got a cat…not bad for summer break☀️

view comments

user66 AHHHHHH

yourusername ahhhhhhh

user26 cats name plsplspls

yourusername norman🐱

lukehemmings nice music👍

yourusername woah arent you the guy who wrote mum?!

mercedesamgf1 ready to see you back on the podium

yourusername always!!!!

user74 have you had funnnn??

yourusername yesss!! ive been doing lots of things i enjoy, basically treating every day as my birthday😋

twitter

*was supposed to write them instead of her sorry!! was doing two stories at once and kept getting mixed up😅*

october 2024

yourusername

liked by mercedesamgf1, gracieabrams and 1,291,638 others

p☝️ for the 3rd time this season, very very pleased

huuuuuge thank you to the team, every single one of you who worked tirelessly over the summer break and every moment since then, these have been for you⭐️

view comments

user55 what a good season to be a yn fan *liked by author*

user6 these races have been incredible to watch, so proud

yourusername ⭐️⭐️

gracieabrams woop woop!!!!

yourusername 😝😝

user2 gracie??

user41 why have we not had any personal photo dumps yet😕😕

user88 right we miss seeing you yn!!

yourusername sorry guys😣ive been suuuper busy working on something i just honestly forgot

user41 NEW PROJECT?? WHEN?? (also pls dont feel bad we love u)

yourusername soon!! (and i love u guys too)

twitter

november 2024

yourusername

liked by taylorswift, lewishamilton and 3,689,921 others

tagged: taylorswift

i cannot believe i get to say this, but my new friend taylor just released a new album and i was able to write a song on the album

im honestly not sure how this came about but i had so much fun writing this and expressing all my thoughts and feelings in a way ive never done before

i poured my life and soul into this song and im so glad taylor is the one who is singing it and really bought it to life

send some love to my friend and go and stream THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT (most importantly i can do it with a broken heart😉)

comments have been limited

taylorswift thank you for trusting me with this song, so much love🤍

yourusername NO THANK YOU!!! i will be forever grateful⭐️⭐️

twitter

yourusername added to their story

seen by taylorswift, lewishamilton and 729,282 others

charles i feel completely betrayed yn

fernando oh no😟! what did yn do?

charles THEY DIDNT TELL ME THEY WERE WRITING A SONG??

AND WITH TAYLOR SWIFT HOW COULD YOU☹️☹️

yourname sorry charles, surprise?!

charles ill forgive you because its a good song

yourname thank you my life just got infinitely better!

yuki very good song yn! has been on repeat☺️

yourname thanks yuki, glad you like it!!

lando I LOVE IT TOO

but seriously are you ok?!

yourname yeahhh im better now

was just a lot to navigate

lewis glad you found an outlet! but remember you can always talk to any of us

yourname i know and i appreciate it, i really do

alex yn was that twitter thread right?

yourname mate youre going to have to elaborate

alex user56tweetlink

yourname oh pretty much yeah

some things were changed with taylor but not much

fernando just listened to the song yn! very nice👍well done!

yourname thank uu

max good song yn!

now

lando can you please tell me what you meant on your twitch stream!

oscar max is kind of scary

max dont make me talk about that interview next oscar!

#f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 smau #f1 social media au #social media au #formula 1 insta au #formula 1 social media au #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 drabble #f1 x male reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic

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keen-li · 7 days

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MA'AM

18+

MDNI

Neighbour au. age gap au (reader is older than jk). kissing, touching, oral (female receiving), fingering, jk calls reader ''ma'am''. reader is kinda lonely, bored and untouched. p in v, no protection (be wise and condomize guys).

this is all just fiction, don't take it too seriously.

plus im stil learing to write smut, so go easy on me.

helpful and positve feedback is appreciated.

Sorry for any typos.

‘’oh yn,’’ you hear a familiar boy-ish voice speak.

And when you turn, your eyes are met with jungkook.

You know him cause he’s your neighbour, but you rarely speak seeing that you have nothing in common but he’s always kind and sweet whenever you bump into each other.

Like right now.

‘’jungkook’’ you say surprised to see him. ‘’how are you?’’ you give him back a smile.

You haven’t seen him in a while, he must be busy with college (you assume) or maybe he’s busy with some girlfriend. Guys his age are usually swarmed with girls. Especially seeing how attractive he is. The college girls must be having fun with him.

You admire his hair that seems to have gotten longer. You can’t help but notice how good he looks with it.

‘’i’m good, hope you’re doing well..’’ he pauses in his speech ‘’haven’t heard from you in a while. I almost thought you moved out’’

You chuckle at his assumption.

You shake your head lightly as you chuckle ‘’nope. Just busy with work’’

‘’i dont think i’d ever move out honestly’’ seeing as this apartment has a fair price for rent.

He chuckles.

‘’im glad thought i scared you away’’ he says worriedly.

‘’you’d never scare me away’’ you mumble out suddenly feeling nervous.

‘’with all those noise complaints you handed to me?’’ He says with a warm joking tone.

You can’t deny that a lot of noise comes from jungkook’s apartment, that you had to report him. You kinda feel childish for doing it, he’s a college boy anyways. All they know is noise.

‘’but i do get it. I make a lot of noise’’ he uses his pointer and middle finger to rub his lower lip, you get the chance to admire his tattooed finger and pierced lip.

You feel yourself swallow the lump in your throat and bite your lip. You don’t know why you always feel like this when talking to jungkook, maybe it’s his hovering figure, intimidating voice or piercing brown eyes. Even though his eyes give off a soft innocent look you can’t help but observe the sensuality in them.

‘’um yeah’’ you don’t know what else to say. Your eyes can barely look at jungkook while his eyes can��t stop looking at you. There’s no way a college boy can make you feel this nervous. You thought you had outgrown it.

Or maybe it’s the aloneness since your last boyfriend. It’s been quite depressive but you try and not let it eat you up.

But it’s hard when you and jungkook’s walls are as thin as paper. and can hear everything that goes on. Especially when he has a girl over.

You don’t mean to listen to what happens, but what else can you do when you’re laying in bed, bored and lonely. It seems sad you end up finding your hand in-between your thighs as you hear how jungkook pleasures.

With all the groans and name moaning you have come to the conclusion that jungkook must be a great fuck. But it’s not like you’ll ever know. Do you even want to?

You can never fuck someone younger than you right? You’ve always dated older men or at least someone the same age as you. You’ve never been with a younger guy before.

But jungkook seems like he could definitely go for an older woman.

Wait.

Does jungkook want you. He does seem to give off that vibe but maybe you’re in over your head. Jungkook wouldn’t want you there are so many better options for him. So many better girls for him. Not you.

‘’so do you like those?’’ he askes pointing to the basket you have filled with ramen noodles cups.

You chuckle embarrassed.

‘’ yeah i do but, i mainly buy them cause i don’t have time to cook’’

He nods.

‘’maybe i can come cook for you one day’’ you laugh but he’s actually serious.

‘’oh, i wouldn’t mind but i assume you’re busy with school’’ you swing the basket lightly and unconsciously.

‘’i can find time’’ he says a little rushed out.

‘’then i wouldn’t mind’’ you smile.

‘’you going home?’’ he asks.

You nod.

‘’i guess i can give you a ride home, if that’s alright with you’’

You wouldn’t mind at all.

The ride back home was quiet. It still baffles you to how jungkook has a car.

When you were in college you could barely find money to buy food, let alone a car.

And even with a job you can barely find money to buy or rent a car.

‘’thanks for the ride, it was nice meeting you today jungkook’’

The way you smile and say his name makes a hot flash rush through him.

If only you knew how many times his thought of you calling out his name. Sometimes he wishes it was you in his bed, toes curling and back arching.

If he got the chance, he’d show you how you deserve everything.

You don’t deserve to get yourself off and barely get off.

Did he ever say that the walls are so thin that he can hear you too.

He’s heard your frustrated moans and grunts. And all the times you cursed cause of how hard it was to get your high, sometimes his heard you cry and it breaks his heart.

He wishes he could get a chance to please you. He’s never wanted to please someone so bad.

He’s never been so desperate to get on his knees and run you dry of all your juices. To feel you claw at his back as you take him so well.

But he’s also never thought of being with an older woman.

Jungkook knows you’re older than him and he doesn’t mind. Actually he makes him want you more.

He wants you like air and if he doesn’t get you now he feels like he would stop breathing.

So if he doesn’t take this opportunity now he might never have the chance to.

‘’do you wanna, come eat ramen with me?’’

You don’t know how it happened. But he asked you to come over to his, you didn’t see a problem with it so you said yes.

But you don’t know how you went from laughing over some movie to grinding on his lap as your lips intertwine hungrily.

Fuck. You never thought you’d be doing this with your neighbour and fuck you never thought it would feel this good.

Your hands roam his firm chest, and your thoughts are proved right, he does like the gym. Though you could’ve known that without clawing at his chest.

These younger guys are always in the gym, like their life depends on it.

Your gasps and moans mix. You don’t know how innocent sounds of laughter turned into hot whimpers of need.

Maybe it was the stares that seemed to linger for longer than they should have.

Jungkook takes a moment to take in your face but then his lips are soon on yours again as eager as ever, and you accept them.

He kisses you with eagerness and desperation. Desperation to touch and feel you in every way.

You moan into his mouth as you feel the wetness grow between your legs. You hate how a college student, has you this hot and soaking wet.

You’re busy devouring each other’s lips but you don’t fail to recognize the tent forming and touching your centre.

Jungkook’s hands rummage over your back and over your hips and to your ass, he sqeezes your ass lightly which causes you to jumb lightly.

‘’you okay’’ he asks

‘’yeah just never had anyone squeeze my ass like that’’

That boy-ish smile of his is far gone, now a manly sexy grin paints his face. A grin like a wolf looking at a lamb as it’s next meal.

‘’you’ve never had someone touch you like that’’

You shake your head. You hate how jungkook makes you feel like a highschooler losing their virginity.

‘’who have you been fucking that doesn’t want to touch this ass’’ he squeezes your ass again, and you’re embarrassed when you release a moan at that action.

‘’i don’t know’’ your words come out more whiny than you’d like.

He moves to your neck and you move it to accustom him into the space. He places some wet and gentle kisses.

‘’i’m not like them though. I wanna touch every part of you. Wanna taste every part of you and feel you on me.’’ He kisses your neck again and the smacking sound of his lips meeting your skin causes you clench. ‘’i wanna treat you right, i wanna make you feel good’’

You don’t know how true his words are or if you can even take them seriously. Maybe it’s the lust talking. He’s a young man, he wouldn’t want to waste his days with you.

‘’don’t you have other, younger girls. You wanna make feel good.’’ You just had to ask.

The chuckles he releases causes a rush of blood to your groin.

‘’all i think about when i fuck them is you’’ he kisses you again.

You don’t want to believe him but your heart can’t help but flutter. You don’t want to get hurt again but something tells you jungkook is far from hurting you. But you can’t trust that feeling, what if that feeling is just how good it feels to be on him.

He has a great way with words and it would work on you every time, cause you haven’t grown out the naivety of your youth for some reason.

Jungkook knows when and how to say the right words which makes you scared. Which makes him dangerous. All these young boys are to slick with their words.

‘’yn, don’t think’’ he whispers against your lips. He must have noticed your distance all of a sudden.

‘’don’t think of anything but this’’ he pecks your lips.

‘’i’ll try’’ you coo.

‘’i’ll make you’’

his lips are back on yours desperately. And the sound of your lips smacking and you whimpers fills the room again.

His lips go back to licking and sucking that one spot on your neck. His mouth on your neck and hands on your hips helping you grind against his clothed crotch makes you gasp for air.

You’ve never had anyone take their time with you like this, they’re usually quick to just get it in. But not jungkook, he takes his time enjoying and tasting every part of you. Why wouldn’t he when he’s been thinking about this moment and taking cold showers to stop his natural desire for you.

Being with jungkook tells you how much you’ve been missing and how much you need to learn. It’s like going back to your college days.

‘’fuck jungkook’’ you moan when he nibbles at your neck. Your hands move from his chest to his neck then to his long hair.

You unintentionally pull at his hair and you love how he groans when you do so.

The need and ache between your legs grows strong as you grind harder on his lap. Jungkook watches how you move against him trying to find your high. He promises to give it to you but he needs to feel more of you before he does so.

You gasp when he plops you on your back onto his soft couch.

‘’jungkook...’’ you call out and he stops his action to attend to your need.

‘’yes’’ he sounds so submissive as he says so.

‘’i want you’’ your hips move up to feel some friction. He chuckles at the action.

‘’i want you too’’ he smiles as he pecks you on your forehead.

‘’no. Like i want you. Actually i fucking need you’’ you whine out. You’re probably gonna be so embarrassed later but right now you need him.

Your hand reaches for his belt but his hands stop you. You feel embarrassed and confused, you know he’s hard. You can see his fully grown bulge. But why does he want to take so much time.

‘’i wanna taste you first’’ he whispers by your ear.

Fuck. You’ve never had anyone want to eat you out. It’s been a while since anyone went down on you.

‘’jungkoo-‘’ you want to protest.

‘’please yn’’ he begs. ‘’i need it’’ his lips are against yours as he says in a whisper. His lips are on yours for a second before he leaves you wanting to taste his lips more.

You watch his body move down and you can feel your wetness drip down.

‘’fuck...’’ you hear him groan and grow a little self conscious.

‘’what?’’ you lift yourself up a bit.

‘’it’s just that you’re so fucking gorgeous’’ you can’t help but blush and feel a little weird. You’ve never had anyone ogle at you pussy like that.

‘’jungkook..’’ you call out in a whine. You can feel his breath breeze over you centre and it makes the need grow stronger.

‘’i’m sorry, im staring’’ he says and before you can tell him anything his lips are on you, hungrily.

You release a sharp moan as his lips make out with yours.

He licks a long strip of you pouring juices, your taste sinking into his tastebuds.

‘’so fucking good,’’ he groans. ‘’and so fucking wet’’ you feel his finger run through your folds.

‘’jungkook please. Fuck...’’ you don’t even know what you’re pleading for but you are.

Jungkook adheres to you unspoken cries, as he dives back into kissing you and massaging your clit.

Your hand finds it’s way to his hair and pulls. The groan he releases sends electricity through you.

You’ve never felt like this, nobody has ever put this much effort into touching you.

And jungkook has never put this much effort into eating pussy, but for you he will and he is.

He adds his fingers into you as he pumps into you.

‘’fuck you need to be fucked right’’ he says at your tightness. You can barely hear what he’s saying over at how hard he’s slurping.

With the way his digits work into you and his tongue sucks on your clit, you can feel that feeling you’ve been chasing.

‘’fuck jungkook, im going to-‘’ jungkook smiles at how you can barely finish your sentence but he knows.

The feeling grows closer and your heart races in excitement.

But then all of the sudden the feeling is gone and you’re about to curse out jungkook who’s now moving up.

‘’what the fuck, i was going to-‘’ you whine angrily.

‘’i want you to come over my cock’’

You don’t argue, he’s the one in control after all.

‘’ then please fuck me’’ all you can do is plead. It’s so embarrassing pleading for him to fuck you. You wonder if girls his age are this desperate too.

‘’yes ma’am’’ he says as he takes off his shirt, for some reason him calling you ma’am makes you more aroused.

‘’don’t call me ma’am’’ you say blushing but jungkook knows, you’re bullshitting.

‘’yes ma’am’’ he says with a cheeky grin knowing that it makes you clench around nothing.

You watch him unbuckle his belt and you’ve never seen anything this attractive.

As you watch him you anticipate how his going to feel and how you’ll wrap around him. That’s all jungkook can think about too as he strokes himself slightly, though he’s been hard since he saw you in the grocery store.

You feel his tip slide through your wet folds and you can’t help but suck in a breath. Jungkook can’t help but whimper at how wet and good you feel already.

You clench desperate to feel something inside you. You wonder if it will hurt, it’s been a while for you anyways. And he looks like he could stretch you out good. But you’re too needy to worry about that.

You gasp when you feel him move into you, slow and teasingly. His tip has you wondering if you’ll be able to take all of him.

‘’fuck you’re so good for me’’ he says as he moves in deeper. ‘’i wish i could feel you everyday’’

You can.

You want to say, but don’t wanna make promises. You don’t know if this will ever happen again.

‘’do you wanna be good for me like this everyday, yn’’ he says kissing along your jaw as he settles into you.

He doesn’t move waiting for your answer.

You hum but it’s not enough for him.

‘’yes, i want you everyday’’ you end up speaking more of your mind than you planned to.

Jungkook smiles as he slowly begins to move in and out.

‘’good. You can have me everyday’’

With the ways he rocks into you, slowly increasing speed, you understand the moans of those girls you heard him fucking.

His name falls from your mouth as he continues. Jungkook has never enjoyed being buried in heat like this. And he’s never wanted to stay in forever like he does right now.

‘’jungkook..’’ with the way your nails dig into his arm and you flutter around he knows you’re close.

But so is he. Your high is his target as he continues to stroke.

Jungkook twitches inside of you as you both reach your highs.

He lays on top of you as you breath heavily. He tries to keep his weight from crushing you.

‘’next time i wanna be on top’’ you say with the energy you’ve got left.

‘’deal. Even though i like being on top, i’ll let you ride me’’ you almost feel that feeling comeback.

You stroke his hair as you watch that boy-ish smile return on his face.

It’s like he’s changed and wasn’t the person balls deep into you seconds ago.

‘’i like this’’ you say comfortable.

‘’i like you’’ Jungkook coos into your neck.

407 notes · View notes

snowsinterlude · 3 months

Text

summary: snow was always ready to help you with your 'boy problems'. however, you didn't knew it would be with his fingers inside of you.

c.w: cheating, modern au, cuck!sejanus, fingering, squirting, coriolanus x reader, massage (hips, thighs, ass.), tear licking, forced kissing.

putting your phone to the side, you anxiously started to shake your leg, something you did ever since you were a child.

you were at your mom's best friend house, on the room of your long time best friend, coriolanus.

now, for more context: your boyfriend sejanus plinth was getting on your nerves. it isn't so hard to be a good boyfriend. was he cheating on you? god. that's the only plausible reason for him to be acting like a douchebag.

"cory," you called, and he hummed back in response, having him just left the bath, wearing a pair of grey sweatpants only. as he passed deodorant and you closed your eyes shut as you inhaled on the marvellous smell that you silently wished was of your boyfriend, you spoke again. "my thighs are hurting."

"stop shaking your leg then, maybe it will stop."

"or you can give me a massage? please. please please please, swear i'll do anything you want later." you said.

"okay." he sighed, sitting on the side of his bath as his hands started to work. "where does it hurt?" he asked, already massaging both your thighs.

"the right one, from the hip to the knee."

"you feel more pain than my grandma, god." he hummed, massaging your hips.

"fuck you" you answered, recieving a surprised look and a slap on the ass. "ouch! what the-"

"i'm giving you a massage, you can't 'fuck you' me." he said, massaging the place he slapped.

god, was he really massaging your ass?

he was. ah, he was! and it felt so good, his hands grabbing on your thighs and your ass, on your hips too. how could someone's hand feel so good?

the moment he massaged your inner thighs, you had to bite your lip back from moaning or laughing- you wish your boyfriend did those things like coryo did. you wish.

"sorry." you said, in a beeathy moan.

"ok. how's it going with the plinth boy?" he asked.

"what?"

"for you to be looking like a sad worm, he must've done something."

"he's a douchebag. he can be so dumb sometimes! seriously how can you prefer to play footbal than spend time with your girlfriend?" you said. "but i dont want to talk about it."

"you teased e lucky you know."

coryo let out a shaky breath. his cock felt tight on his pants as he massaged your hips and butt. so soft and — somehow — giggly. how could it be any better?

"wanna talk about how soft your ass is?" he asked, grabbing it into his whole hand.

you laughed, heartbeating fast as you looked at him.

you want to suck him so badly.

"i know my ass is soft." you hummed, as he kissed your shoulder and made you shiver. "don't need you to tell me."

"do i need to tell you your panties are drenched?" he whispered, a grin on his face. you shoved your head on the pillows as you hugged it.

"shut up. just do what you're doing now." you hummed back.

and he did. fingers pressing on your flesh, from the hips to your thighs. and then, his fingers teasing your pussy through your wet panties made you look at him as if begging him to stop- stop before you started acting like a bitch.

you were already acting like one, melting as his digit teased you.

"cory, stop-" you pleaded, tearing up. "sej is your friend. he adores you-"

"not my fault he can't be a good boyfriend for you. i'm just helping you, dear." he said. you sobbed quietly.

"but you're his best friend, i can't do that to him-"

"i'm just the only person he can call a friend. not my fault no one likes him."

"i like him."

"charity doesn't count."

"it isn't charity!"

"yeah, keep telling yourself that. dating the loser boy who doesn't know how to eat a pussy out and never had a girlfriend doesn't give you a good person pass, babe."

you pouted, feeling guilty. you knew he was right. yoy started hanging out with sejanus cause you knew he didn’t had any friends. then, you didn't know how to say "no" when he asked you on a date. nor when he asked you to be his girlfriend.

snow's free hand went to your face, holding it firmly as he licked your tear, kissing your shut closed lips- somehow you thought that kissing someone else just made the cheating worse.

then his finger entered you, and you had to open your mouth to gasp for air, enough for his tongue to enter your lips and for him to kiss you. it was so perverted, you just had to kiss him back.

telling yourself it was not your fault, you couldn't help but clench around his fingers when his thumb rubbed against your clit and his middle finger entered you. with your skirt rolled up for him to massage you, and your panties pulled aside for him to finger you, he was more than happy to say it wasn't your fault even if it was.

"i know it feels good, dear. you don't have to pretend it doesn't." he said, kissing your neck, sucking on your skin.

"s..shut up, snow."

"as you wish." he chuckled, fastening his fingers just enough for you to moan against his mattress.

"cory!" his mom called, it wasn't enough for him to stop fingering you though. "your friend is here!"

"who?" he asked, kissing your ass cheek. it felt tingly.

"the plinth's son!" if you could see the way snow grinned, you wouldn't be scared. god, with the way you were right now you would be on his dick in the bat of an eye.

snow smiled devilishly as he thought of being caught red-handed. with his eyes travelling your whole body, he knew what to do.

"tell him to come here." he yelled back, fastening his fingers and kissing you as he heard the wet sounds of your pussy.

"snow!" you cried out, your pussy clenching tight on his fingers. deep inside you, you were excited from the same thought of being caught.

it didn't took much for you to cum on his hand. unfortunately for you, you weren't as quiet as you should be, moaning against his lips as your cunt clenched tight on his fingers, squirting enough to let a stain in his sheets.

then, you heard the door opening, and the sight of your legs open for snow's hand as he tongue kissed you was enough for your poor, virgin, excuse of an boyfriend to have an erection.

then you looked at him, teary eyes from the orgasm and lips red from the kiss. god, it was the funniest sight for coriolanus.

who would know sejanus plinth would have an erection for being cheated on?

"hello, sejanus." he said. finally, he took his fingers out of you, only to taste them on his mouth. you cried out in humiliation and excitement. finally you had an excuse to break up with sejanus.

"hello."

#young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #young president snow #coriolanus snow fanfiction #tbosas smut #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus x you #x reader

532 notes · View notes

lilasturns · 4 months

Text

GOOD GIRL.

you finally get a taste of what it's like to be a 'bad girl', all thanks to chris sturniolo.

warnings: fingering, stoner!chris, high school au, driving intoxicated (pls dont do this ever?), NOT EDITED.

Nothing was going to stop you from your plans. School, study, work, and home was on repeat, 7 days a week.

Ever since you started High School, you decided it was time to put all the bullshit aside and focus on what really mattered -- college.

That was your end goal. Your 'self-actualization' as you called it. Nothing was going to get in your way from being successful.

Although you were a busy girl every week, it didn't stop you from having a social life. You knew how to balance it. Hanging out with your friends wasn't something you did much, but you still had them, which was most important, right?

Your friends were finally able to convince you to go to at least one party in your high school career.

You were standing alone in Nate Doe's kitchen, drinking a Coke out of a red solo cup.

"What's in that?" You heard a low-pitched voice from behind you ask, feeling a hand on your shoulder. Your body tensed as an unknown individual had placed a hand on your shoulder. You weren't that welcoming, were you?

"It's a coke." You answered non-chalantly, bringing it up to your lips to take another sip.

"I hate coke." The boy responded, taking his hand off your shoulder. He walked around to the opposite side of the kitchen you were in, playing with a lighter in his hand.

The flickering blue and red lights were giving you a massive headache, and the blasting music ramped through your body so rapidly you thought you might have a heart attack at any moment.

You stared at the boy across from you, studying his features. Sure, you knew who the triplets were, but you didn't know much about them. You could only assume this was Chris, from the lighter he held in his hand.

"Never seen you at one of these." He sighed.

"Friends wanted me to come." You explained.

"Want me to give you something better to drink?" He asked and walked closer to you. "Who knows if you'll ever come to one of these parties again, right?"

He stood next to you with his head tilted, his eyes squinting at you. His tongue ran over his teeth, causing his cheekbones to thin out, showing you his chiseled jaw.

"I don't drink." You said, still facing front, away from him.

"You don't have to drink," he chuckled, "I got something else with me."

You placed down your cup, side-eyeing him. He continued to stare at you, and you could see him studying your own features before you spoke up again:

"Why do you want me to do something so bad?" You asked.

"Maybe I'm just trying to help you have fun." He defended, his hand playing with the ends of your hair. "Come on, leave with me, you wanna have some fun?"

You turned to look at him, his hand moving to cup your cheek in response. "What'd ya say, hm?" You nod, feeling drawn in by his charm.

"Good girl."

So you were here, in the passenger seat of Chris Sturniolo's car, him teaching you how to smoke a blunt.

You release the last bit of smoke of your mouth, swallowing deeply, trying not to cough. He chuckles at your queasy looking face, patting you on the shoulder.

"Just cough." He commands, and you let out a loud cough, turning away from him and covering your mouth with your arm.

You could feel his eyes on you once again, causing you to turn and look at him.

"Come here." He said, tilting his head to the side. Your eyebrows furrow and your eyes wander, unsure of what he meant.

"Come sit on my lap." He beckoned and your eyes widen, looking at him up and down as he leaned back in the drivers seat. You lifted your right leg over the console, placing it on the outside of his left, followed by your left leg lifting over the console and placing it on the outside of his right.

He placed a hand on your lower back, right above your ass. You squirmed, not expecting him to touch you.

"You've never been touched before, huh?" He questions, his hand traveling down to your ass, squeezing it. You shake your head, your hands pressed against his thighs.

"You want me to touch you?" He asks. "All you gotta do is just say the word."

You stared into his eyes, pondering. Were you really about to let Chris Sturniolo do this? You wanted this, though. Deep know you knew you did.

"Yes." You agreed, your voice low. You took in a gulp, still making eye contact with Chris.

“Good girl,” he praises, running up to your waist. “Such a good girl.”

His other handle cups your cheek, with his thumb running over your jawline. You bite your lip in anticipation, tilting your head a bit.

He leans his head up to kiss you, his soft, pink lip slowly gliding against yours. He kissed you slowly, his tongue brushing against the front of your lips ever so gently.

You parted your lips, letting his tongue enter your mouth. He pulls you down so that you're basically laying on his chest. His hands move down to your waist, squeezing your hips. You rest your hand on his chest and the other on his face.

He begins to move quicker, his kissing becoming sloppier and messier. His hands travel lower, grasping your ass, causing you to shiver. You move your hips against his, and he lets out a groan in response.

His hand goes right under your skirt, his index finger running right over your clit and down to your folds. You pull away from the kiss, the new feeling making you tense.

"You're dripping, baby, you feel that?" He asks, running a hand up from your clit and down to your folds, then back up again.

You whimper, nodding, as you can feel your arousal collecting in your panties. He smirks, biting his lip.

"It's okay," he reassures, "I'm gonna help you."

You nod as he moves your panties aside with one hand. His fingers find your clit, your mouth dropping at the pleasure you experience from just his simple touch.

"Have you ever touched yourself before, hm?" He asks, rubbing light circles over your clit.

You shake your head. It's not a complete lie. You've tried, but you've just never been in the mood to do it. But right now, you sure are.

The feeling that you have is indescribable. You feel desperate, as if you are yearning to be touched. You can feel yourself practically dripping, your body feeling warmer and warmer by the second.

Chris fingers start to move faster, circling your clit even quicker. You throw your head back, letting out a light moan. His fingers dip down to your folds as he runs his index finger through, teasing your hole.

"Please, Chris." You beg, gripping onto his white plain t-shirt, staring at him with pleading eyes.

"You don't have to beg, okay?" He responds softly, entering his finger inside you, slowly.

Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling, gripping harder on the front of his shirt. He uses his middle finger only, moving in and out easily, before entering in his ring finger.

You grind your hips down on his fingers, basically riding them. The way you're feeling is like none other. Your feel filled just by his veiny fingers, and you can't help but wonder what his dick must feel like.

He moves faster, his fingers pumping in and out of you. Your moans keep dropping, incapable of keeping them in. His thumb reaches to your clit and he rubs small circles on it, and let out a loud whine, as the pleasure becomes more intense than it was a moment before.

You can feel a knot start to form in your stomach and you lay on his chest, moaning, and your eyes closed completely shut.

"You need'a cum, yeah?" He whispers down to you, his other hand petting your hair. "Tell me how you feel."

"I-I..feels like, good." You respond, unable to get words out as he moves his fingers and thumb, trying to make you come.

"I know, baby," he soothes, "just let it go."

As if on command, you can feel yourself 'let go', as if you released the knot if your stomach. The pleasure feels too much, so you hop off his lap, his fingers pulling out of you. You groan from the loss of contact with your legs lightly shaking as you sit back in the passenger seat.

He looks at you with a smirk on his face,

"God, I can't want to ruin you."

853 notes · View notes

lovrsm · 4 months

Text

ɢᴏʀɢᴇᴏᴜꜱ

sum: The story from media pov for the GORGEOUS writingg, I had so much fun making these! let me know if you want part two ad Happy New Years Day!

pairing: charles leclerc x singer!reader

warning: gossip and typos🫨

Media AU

Spotify - Apple Music

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ - ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪ - ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ᴀᴜ

y/n_norris

Liked by landonorris and 729,405 others

y/n_norris Took you long enough, not trying to call you all blind but… I definitely am😛🫨

view all 895 comments

y/n.fan not her laughing at us fools 😭

user92 did she just called us blind?😦

user892 I mean… she’s not wrong 🤷‍♂️

F1 That was quite a surprise 😅

norris.wow YOU DIDNT KNOW EITHER?

F1 Trust us, none of us did.

landonorris 😈

user1943 Lando woke up and chose violence today

user88 He surely did.

October 12 2020

landonorris

Liked by y/n_norris, charles_leclerc and 203,042 others

landonorris Everyone knows the oldest is the hottest. Sorry peanut🤗

View all 4 comments (restriction)

y/n_norris Mum was not happy seeing the caption

landonorris just saying facts

y/n_norris you know lying is wrong, Lando 😞

landonorris 🙄

October 12 2020

y/n_norris

Liked by F1 , landonorris and 579,901 others

y/n_norris 🥳

tagged landonorris & francisca.cgomes

View all 8,902 comments

francisca.cgomes 💃 ❤️

y/n_norris 💗

user829 manifestation came quickly

user103 I DID IT. No need to thank me guys🤭

landonorris don’t steal my friends 😭

pierregasly Dont steal my girlfriend 🥲

francisca.cgomes Late

y/n_norris Late

December 1 2020

y/n_norris

Liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes, landonorris and 689,0821 others

y/n_norris …so it goes like this, you ask I provide, I don’t think any of you are ready, or are you? 🖤

view all 18,028 comments

charles_leclerc can’t wait to know!

liked by the creator

user91 PLEASE LET ME KNOW THAT I’M NOT THE ONLY ONE READING THIS. HUH?!? HUUUH?!!

user819 No one pinch me. Let me live here. 🤫

user10 IS THIS HAPPENING?!?!😧😧😧 AND Y/N LIKED🤯🤯

landonorris NO EXPLANATION…🫨

liked by creator

user301 I love this duo fr😭🫶

user182 Lando tell me whats going on I don’t understand🤥

user76 TF do you mean charles leclerc knows what is happening. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?!

user23 they’re in love (manifesting)

user35 PLEASE. 😩😩

January 19 2021

y/n_norris

Liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, F1, scuderiaferrari, redbullracing and 1,017,921 others

y/n_norris I’ll stop playing with you guys, I love seeing how freaked out you are about my posts. Anyway, Reputation out June 16! With all of our love and dedication…🖤

tagged jackantanoff

view all 2,838 comments

user39 not @charles_leclerc liking the second this comes out😭 please HAHA

jackantanoff it was more than a pleasure working with you two!🔥

liked by creator

y/n_norris hope we see you again😉

charles_leclerc 🔥🔥

user189 THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN JACK?! YOU MEAN Y/N AND CHARLES?!?!! I am screaming right now holy shit.

user810 HUH, HUH?!?! WHAT DID I MISS.

user298 Charles is a master at piano, I just know that´s what this means

liked by creator

user09 y/n just gave you a like, I’m a 100% sure you’re right.

user76 Any of you notices lando gave us spoilers? “no explanation…🫨

user5 HE IS A MASTERMIND (tell me you got it 😔)

charles_leclerc 🖤

liked by creator

scuderiaferrari Can’t wait to hear this!

redbullracing Same here 👈

mclaren she’s with us, remember?

mercedesamgf1 we will need much more speakers, we are listening to this 🔝

scuderiaferradi yk maroon is just another tone of red, right? (y/n please, we loveee you)

F1 Signing y/n to do a show at this point 😇

lewishamilton please do🙏

liked by creator

maxverstappen1 y/n, when are we doing a duet? P would love it.

y/n_norris anything for P!🫶

carlossainz55 I can sing like maria carey, just throwing that out there…

liked by creator

user819 I just love every single F1 interaction here.🥺

April 16 2021

jackantanoff

liked by charles_leclerc, y/n_norris, sabrinacarpenter and 298,920 others

jackantanoff it was a pleasure working (and thirdweeling) with you two, this 4 months have been absolutely crazy, and I hope this isn’t the end of our journey😤🖤🔥

tagged charles_leclerc & y/n_norris

view all 1,182 comments

charles_leclerc amazing work pal, thank you for everything! 🔥

liked by creator

y/n_norris we love you jack, thank you for supporting and having with us this crazy adventure 🫶

jackantanoff you still have to pay my therapy, those lyrics MEAN something and I was mostly there for it. I can’t unsee what I have seen.

user10 NUH UH, JACK HARD LAUNCHING AND HAVING TRAUMA BECAUSE OF THESE TWO?! 💀💀 dying.

user93 Jack knows what to give to the people, we LOVE you Jack, thank you for these pictures 😊

liked by creator

user46 I'm confused, what did Charles do? Play the piano or f- and be the muse of y/n

y/n_norris BOTH. (All the background piano was recorded by Charlie, he did an amazing job!)

user87 This is so cute, UGH

June 20 2022

charles_leclerc

liked by jackantanoff, y/n_norris, vancityreynolds, blakelively, lewishamilton and 982,039 others

charles_leclerc thank you @jackantanoff, the soft launch is now ruined. Anyhow, look at this GORGEOUS woman I get to call mine❤️ Je t'aime, ma princesse, ma seule et unique.

tagged y/n_norris

y/n_norris ❤️❤️❤️

vancityreynolds y/n, he wrote you a whole ass paragraph and you just wrote this? Disappointed 😔

charles_leclerc DID YOU JUST COMMENT ON MY POST?!😨 y/n I’m freaking out.

y/n_norris sorry DAD🙄, just reminding you I wrote a whole album abt him. Charles is kindly asking when are we going out together? (I need to see @blakelivley)

blakelivley see you in a few days you lovebirds 😉

user991 HAHAHA charles freaking out abt Blake and Ryan commenting is so real🤓🤓

landonorris 🎶there is always a duo in a trio🎶 and, y/n EW THE SONGS?!

y/n_norris Grow up lando 😤

landonorris I don’t need to hear how good Charles is in bed, E. W. 🤢🤕

charles_leclerc sorry mate😅😅

user918 💀

PART TWO?!?!

Taglist

@delicatepeanutsublime @leclercera16 @ironspdy @architect-2015 @buendiabebeta @zlut1r

447 notes · View notes

chokchokk · 8 months

Text

𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 | park seonghwa x fem!reader x choi san

part one of gangster!mafia!series "𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞-𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞"

“Brother, can’t you see I’m doing this for you? Enjoy yourself.”

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : Picking your own poison, if poison was given to you in form of bankrolls by venomous men with high demands.

In which Park Seonghwa had a plan and Choi San has ideas.

“Sounds like you’re enjoying her more than anything."

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 : noir, smut, angst | korean mafia/geondal!au | ceo/jaebeol!au

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 18.2k

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 : entitled rich people, workplace harassment, alcoholism, softdom ceo!seonghwa (headman park), half-drunk satoori-using dom mafiaboss!san (mr. choi), both are called by their names at some point, sub-leaning bratty switch servant!femreader, use of (pet-)names (missy, baby, princess), groping, thigh-riding, light choking, light hair-pulling, non-penetrative sex, voyeur!seonghwa, sex in the elevator, counts as mirror sex right, biting kink, manhandling!san, edging, breeding, cum-eating (m), cunnilingus; reader hates the rich except for when they are sexy, implied but not severe age gap, writer does not have daddy kink but mafiaboss!san does, gunshots and death, use of korean proverbs

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 : this with the next part will be the origin story for reader, specifically the series synopsis’ first half :) originally, this has been a request, so please read this, if you desire to have a bit more insight to what the series actually is + translations of certain terms (mostly character dynamics) in this chapter !!

tl;dr: since it's all based around korean mafia/gangster/etc, there will be korean culture scattered between the lines. it is all translated, hopefully in an understandable way!!! (please hmu if there are difficulties) i let out honorifics/romanisation, except for "chaebol" since it's an actual word :) that being said, reader's ethnicity is not specified and won't be relevant to the series in any way !!

smut comes after the second border, and uh,,, i had to shorten that shit (pls dont ask me where) but uh. you’re getting 8k words of smut so buckle up LMAO !!! i hope you enjoy as much as i did writing it !!! thank you for likes, reblogs and feedback xoxo (also this is NOT beta-read so pls dont hesitate to tell me about... like.... errors, tags and shit)

[ now playing : money ▸ pink floyd | listen to the playlist ]

It's getting repetitive. They are drinking their ninth bottle of expensive whiskey, smoking their third or fourth disgustingly pricey cigar— what the fuck, is this seriously what the upper men of your nation are doing at some stupid chairman’s dinner party?

“Missy!”

“Me, sir?”

No wonder the economy's fucking shit.

“Yeah, you, missy, give that gent over there one of our divine Denmarks!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Give him a kiss too, while you’re at it! What do you think? He’s still got it, no?”

Said ‘gent’, some old, scummy clown— winks at you, his gray eyelashes fluttering towards your direction.

“Yes, sir."

God, how bad you wish you had snuck your phone in to take a picture of these red, drunken, senseless faces, but you're a dutiful servant, abiding by the rules at all times, however difficult it may be. You’re holding in your puke professionally, not even doing something as to grit your teeth, just softly letting your jaw play along to your friendly smile.

“Does your willy even still work that way, old friend?", a cranky, yet humorous voice pitches in.

Agreeing to your supervisor’s offer to earn “big money” may have been a bad idea, but a good choice. Jongho said he’d seen you at your work, took special note of you— even though you weren’t sure where exactly he had observed you, since it’s only been a month of actually working as a servant in the lower tiers of the building— and wanted to give you a chance to swim with the big sharks. “I think you’re best suited for the job,” is what he said to make you giggle and think about your initial rejection of his proposition, “you have a talent for serving.”

Something you didn’t know you had, something you didn’t know someone would see in you ever in your life, “talent.” Sure, maybe you let yourself be persuaded a bit too fast, but it felt very touching that somebody saw you and saw potential, for whatever occasion it may be for. You don’t necessarily want to screw the rules of the hierarchical pyramid or what it was that kept you from being in the proximity of the chairman, but you really need the extra cash right now.

"What does a girl from the mountains look for in being a servant in the city?", had been the question you were asked by Lady Kim who gave you the leftovers of her restaurant at the end of the day, when you had just started with the training– poor, barely standing on your own feet.

You remember how you explained to her that the buddhist monks who raised and send you here surrounded themselves with wells to remind everyone that water always returned, and you assumed it would work the same with wealth. You also remember how hard she tried to stay kind to you, showing you her sincerest sympathy by telling you that "the chaebol are no joke!" (at least not a joke, an innocent girl like you could laugh about, she later explained) and giving you an extra portion of her home-made dumplings to suit you up.

Her sharp, yet compassionate voice rings in your ears, as you reapply your red lipstick on the way to your target guest. Oh, Lady Kim, what a graceful woman– she put her all into her work for her restaurant to succeed, but had always made a place to share what she had for those who needed it. Such a lovable woman, she must have been well-liked by all around her.

You get it now, the way you had been so naive back then. Floating on the philosophical happy-go-lucky psyche of the city’s promise of prosperity, trying to live the Korean dream strangely enough as someone who was so sarcastically out of touch with it. If you had been in her position, you wouldn’t have been able to be as nice, no, would have warned yourself with a finger pointed upwards as if you were teaching a little kid about strangers, or how your monks said, ‘tigers in the woods’.

“After that cigar, his dick will turn to dust!”

Maybe things would have looked different, if you hadn’t taken that fund from the school’s superintendent, who slid you that card on your table with a smirk on his face. Oh dear, do you remember how excited you had been? You ran through the streets in your worn-out shoes with that plastic sheet in your hand, on your way to tell that the money on it was such a ridiculously high number that you could split— but Lady Kim had got to know it first, the ridiculousness of the rich, with the demolition of her restaurant-building.

“He’s got no cum in his nutsacks ‘no more anyway!”

No warning, no compensation, just everything crushed to pieces to make place for the big corporations; the fancy neon-signs she'd invested in, the ambition of her enthusiastic dreams, your only source of tender charity, shattered to a wreck. You have never seen her since, and can only laugh about how the fancy food of the chaebol—and you definitely know who they are now, those tasteless men gawking at you in the moment—doesn’t even look half as good as her low-cost black bean noodles you could more than afford now.

The present day-you is less dreamy, but just as lost, forced to work off a debt you hadn’t been informed about when you lived off the favorable “fund”-money. No, Lady Kim, this is all a joke, you would tell her today. A really fucking bad one.

So, making room for another ha-ha in your life, you pulled your eyes up innocently, returning Jongho’s specious smiles. “Is it illegal to collect pocket-money from the rich?” It’s not like you had any doubts at that point, but 'they'll buy you out of prison if you’re good enough' was all you needed anyway to put your uniform on tightly at home.

"Can't even shoot his cum in missy to save his blood!"

Your more experienced co-workers are watching you work with a condescending frown, feeling both jealous you're getting all the men's attention, but also maliciously delighted you're being challenged as the new-coming servant who's obviously of erotic interest to these richlings. They want you to get a "taste of life" for you may be the most goody-goody fawning bitch they have ever seen; just a young birdbrain who has nothing to bring to the table except her body. Young thing won’t hold up, doesn't know who she's working with— though they are quite right about that part, you must admit, you frankly didn’t look up whose money you’re taking right now— she doesn’t know who the fuck she is.

"What? Did his son leave the company, too?"

It’s flattering to know that the other pretty servants look at you and only see some candy-coated muppet, but fairly, your ever-frozen smile on your face doesn’t give them much to work with. You’re simply an annoyance to their routine, and if you could, you would like to comfort them by saying none of the money you’re getting will stay in your hands– they’d be so happy to hear that you’re really worth nothing– but you must stay focused.

“Idiot, he’s only got a daughter!”

So yes, that being said, you’re glad nobody ever asks you about you. Everyone just assumes, judges from what they see, and if what they see is an opportunistic bimbo-girl chasing money, then so be it, right?

"You know, the one he married off to the governor?”

Right. Because you too have not a single second to think nor talk about your past. The present is scarce and the future is fragile, you know it the best. And you owe it to your old men to make the best out of their efforts, don't you? The air in this room may not be the one you inhaled in the mountains, but you still have to use it, breathe, be alive, despite how moldy and spoiled it simmers in your throat.

"Real mad! Anything to avoid that fee, huh, missy? Got no semen and no glory! You really want to give him that cigar?”

So, that taste of life? Fucking bitter, just like how that name 'missy' seeps and sweats on your tongue. You can’t loathe your co-workers for this reason, they're basically in the same wooden, shaky boat as you, but these asswipes here are floating on a fucking yacht. Of course they don't follow some type of code of human decency for you, they don't give two shits about the lowlifes, the poor. They watch them like a spectacle, and because they don't regard you as a human-being but rather a toy, they play with you on strings that are, on the other hand, binding together a big, fat bankroll.

Ka-Ching.

Eyes on the price, Y/N, eyes on the price. You may not own a lot, that's been more than established, but if there is something you have, it's dutifulness, commitment, and proficiency. It will remain difficult to keep inner peace and honor with a job of which "duty" it is to be a deferential, subservient doll, but at least you're alive and well, soon to leave this floor with more money to your name that these fuckers don't know anyway, right? Never let that smile drop, smart girl. You have a talent, just like your supervisor said. Just keep on serving.

“No children-makin' is better for the cheatin'— ha!”, the barren, that fruitless man who’s been made fun of whoops in to stand up for himself, and awaits his tobacco that's being driven to him by your cart.

You open up the wooden chest in which the cheroots, so unnecessarily gold-plated, sit and ridicule you with their rare existence. There are just thousands of dollars sitting in your hand right now, and as you fetch the thick roll with wary fingers, you think, fucking hell, this could feed so many people, and they're just smoking it away like it's nothing, assholes.

The other servants frown at you spitefully during the time you bow down. You're sensually placing the brown cylindrical object into his mouth, a match lighting held to his face to light it up. In addition to the experience, you hold one long stare with his washy eyes, because you assume it will ignite him.

And, oh, how excited he gets.

"Thank you, sir," you chuckle and flutter with your eyelashes, pursing up your lips like you’re an innocent little girl getting a piece of candy behind her parents’ back.

“Just mad! Missy's young enough to be your grandchild, fella!”

You’re aware of exactly what your dear co-workers are thinking, but being ordered to light their cigs and then ogled at is not "baby-treatment” or whatever they’re muttering under their breath, it's your subtle strategy to have that bankroll be slid between your thighs.

"Hey now, I still can get it on! Don't you think so too, missy?"

Dumb Y/N, only has money on her mind. Allows herself to be called "missy", like a dumb fucking slut.

Hm, kind of has a ring to it, don't you think?

"Yes, sir."

Let them all think you're a dummy. Let them believe, believe each other's words in whatever they fucking want. You're almost too certain it's the secret reason Jongho offered you a place here anyway; "suited for the job", because he deems you dense enough to not understand any of the nonsense these twelve men are babbling, "big money", because he knows you will do anything for it.

You’ll still take the talent, but if he really thinks the rest, then oh, sucks to be him.

Yes, you haven’t looked up the names of who the men here are for the same reasons they're not using yours, but the second you’re out of this whiny, weak testosterone-drowned room, you're going to write the most thorough blackmail, because you can not listen to their cheating, money-laundering, corrupted bullshit anymore. Getting involved with the handshakers is the last thing you should do if you want to live a silent, carefree life, and you know this too well, but they're not going to believe it was you anyway. They wouldn’t dream of their missy to do such a competent, smart thing. You even know what you're going to write under the letter so they have something to think about in their cells: 'birds listen to the words of day, mice to the words at night'— walls have ears, too.

Ah, the soft, sometimes very cryptic voice of your favorite old monk. Always there to teach you new things, remind you of how to live your life cheerfully. You still believe he would have rather kept you in the mountains and not drop you on a wild voyage into the unknown urban life, but your old man had his reincarnation coming. You should visit his grave again, it's been a while, hasn't it? Wouldn't he be so proud to see you? To see how much his little Y/N has grown and learnt, using his proverbs to restore justice? Well, for what you still can collect of your late mentor, he would probably make big eyes and use his whole body to keep your monetary gift away from him. "Teacher," you would ask, "don't you at least want to save?", and his answer would remain the same;

"Peace comes free."

You feel warm at the distant memory of the bald-headed man warming himself in his orange gown, teaching you about love, harmony and kindness, but that sweet veil of untainted innocence has long dropped from your eyes.

In front of you, you see tycoons continuing having a blast being their shitty selves, and as golden teeth blend your sight, they are entertaining each other by staring at your legs that are covered by your sheer black stockings, whispering their insight of how you'd look like under it, but the mini-skirt only leaves so much for imagination.

"Sweet missy!"

How could you not want to spit into their face? They have bought the war. They have bought the chaos. And why? Just because they can. It doesn't cost you anything to restore some peace, maybe that’s the thing your old man got right.

"Yes, sir?”

“Do you have any Cubans left, sweet missy?”

“A Cuban, coming right up, sir.”

“Hopefully someone’s gonna come after the party tonight!”

Are you humiliated? As someone who lived among the wisest, clearest heads, and was considered just as smart by them to be wished a ‘more fortunate life’ — No.

You couldn’t care less about their perversions. Especially now, when they seemingly don’t care enough to know your name you've introduced yourself with. You are here for one reason, and it's not to prove your worth to the world, it's to secure your place in it, get that parasitic debt off your shoulders.

And if anything, as long you are staying truthful to yourself, there’s nothing that could take away your spirit. That’s what you want to believe, at least. When you’re out of debt and continue with this job, you could spend every day downtown like the other servants, but for you, it's all going to the savings for the family you're going to feed with not one worry in life on the clear land in the mountains, not under a sky that's polluted by light even when the sun has set.

The clock has announced night long time ago. Outside the windows, there shines and roams a loud, restless city under a starless, foggy black blanket, inhabited by people like you who live day by day to make their living, like small flies forgathered in a hive of exhausting labor, buzzing their life away.

It’s what you think every time you peek down the glass room: Seoul has never looked so small. Across and around the ever-flowing Han-River, the metropole is the home of millions who are looking up with their heads far back their necks to the point right here, where you stand, at the center or peak of all the wealth gathered together, inside the highest building standing tall amidst of the tumult, on the 114th floor, towering over the world in a luxurious dining room decorated by exotic animals, marbled statues and most importantly the filthy glimmer of something they call ‘class’.

“Missy,” the chairman calls out for you, raising his hand, right after he’s made another infidelity joke and showed his luxurious wedding ring to the audience.

“Yes, sir?”, you call out, wearing your pristine servant-smile with your hands folded nicely in front of your stomach, voice not tainted by your disgust as to even one note, despite the other servants looking at you with hateful expressions. They wish you the worst; the worst treatment, the worst performance, anything to get you out of this place.

Maybe they're driven by the same instincts and avarice that makes you hate the rich, with them just thinking you're taking away their money, but it's free territory here with these predators; you just make for great prey.

It’s a challenge to all of the people involved and the contestants can only win. Will it be another pick-up line? You're going to pick on that with ease. Another joke about your age? That one is never going to get old. There, bring it on, you think, and feel proud of your confident spirit, ready to run with whatever they throw and stash it into your wallet.

“You see those youngsters back there? Get 'em some more ice."

“Yes, sir.”

“Chaps don't know how to drink the good stuff yet, what a waste! Next time, buy 'em the cheap soju from the mart! The ones for 5,000 Won, missy, you know those?”

“Yes, sir.” Your whole face flashes a smile, bowing to accept the task of refilling some ice, dragging your cart across the room, as male laughter rings in your ears. It's as if they don't realize they also drink cheap liquor, but you suppose that's forgettable when they are flushing the fanciest of meats down with it.

"Be careful, missy!"

Are you being too mild by saying you want to ram the green glass-bottles into their heads?

"They bite!”

Maybe choke them with their own money bills?

Yes, “Yes, sir.”

It's a fun exercise to fantasize about how to hurt them, so you thought you would be busy enough to ignore the chairman's warning, but as you are on your long way to the end of the even longer glass table to push your cart towards the men he is referring to, there's a growing feeling inside your guts that oh, the chairman may be ...

Huh, right for the first time. The quizzical lump expands warmly as much as it is cold, with goosebumps running down your spine, your hands feeling hotter than ever over the metal cart. Your whole body is trying to signal you that something is off on the other side of the table, but you don’t know whether to ignore it or run.

The annoying, empty-minded, impertinent elders, who have been belly-laughing at the chairman's joke a second ago stop with their chatting and only exhale huffs, and prolong them nervously, that’s off. The servants gulping, loosening their crossed arms– that’s off, too.

“So, uhh… Where was the, uh– food from?”

“Oh, lad, good topic, yes– the delicious food…”

It seems that everyone in the room is trying to fill in the silence with the fakest of laughter, so the chairman can move on from the topic, but you're well over your way there, uninformed to what you're going to be hit with once you halt.

Tycoons like them usually don't need back-checking. You know how to deal with ill-willed imbeciles that only use their estate as a weapon. Their bodies and brains have passed prime an eternity ago. Left behind are only their numbed minds that seek shelter in lust, ecstasy and aphrodisia because nothing else excites them anymore. They’re what you probably would have been if you hadn’t spent your teens brewing tea and listening to the leaves rustle, not experiencing all euphoria and more at a too early age– they’re washed out, just swimming in money they haven't worked a day for, are lazy, weary sloths.

However, opposed to the cloudiness in their class that's only getting more foggier through the many years of monopoly, these two men that are waiting in front of you, and you understand why your lungs are pinging now, they are potent.

Money is power, but twist it around and there is them, with that; a certain force that the rich ooze out by just acting and looking a certain way, and oh, Y/N, how they are, how they are looking at you right now, best believe you have to hold onto your strength like it's a small purse.

'Youngsters', he said— 'they bite', he said.

They have been rarely reacting to the chairman’s words, notwithstanding being the ones to be the most respectful in this meeting for their young age, just looking at each other with unamused eyes. Even the director who is older than the chairman lets out his best holler every time, but these two have not laughed once at his jokes, not the slightest chuckle has left their mouths to flatter or satisfy the chairman.

Interesting.

Both black-haired, the one you get to first has his mane gelled back, a cigarette hanging out his scarred mouth, as you approach his seat with your cart walking carefully practiced steps. His white shirt is opened up to where chains, most importantly a silver cross, hang from his collarbones to his chest that’s covered with scars and scratches you can’t quite identify how they got there. This man looks gigantic, muscular, dangerous. Shoulders terrifyingly broad popping out his black vest, he sits on his seat with widened legs, thighs flattened in his also black pants, fastened by a leather belt, and with his white sleeves pulled back to his elbows, his slightly tanned forearms only appear more huge after the rather average-looking wristwatch catches your eye, just when you stop with your cart in front of him.

“That old geezer just can’t keep his mouth shut, can he?”, he chuckles, the Gyeongsang-provincial dialect rolling so naturally off his tongue. Everyone else in the room has been faking their speech to cosplay a charm they didn’t possess, but even the slight lisp and lull from the drunkenness are not hiding how deeply masculine and sincere this man’s voice sounds. It’s a mixture of the sarcasm you've gotten used to by now, but also a brashness that the older men lack, and you’re a bit embarrassed to say it’s working you up a bit. "Empty carts rattle loudest, I say."

A wintry breeze goes through your breast and you feel your eyebrows flinch. You haven't heard that grandmotherly expression in so long, that it does feel somehow refreshing to reconcile with it, but maybe the whisk you sense shouldn’t feel as comforting given the way the man is looking up to you brazenly with a bit of atrocity in his appearance. He is far away from the serene sketch you drew to save the vision as you left the village, he is what you felt when you took your first train, asphyxiated by the big masses of people who you would never see again— an unhomely, yet intimate feeling of... adventure.

He glances through you smoking his cigarette with no hands attached, and it moves at the corner of his lip as he talks. Wait, cigarette? Missy, did you forget to bring him a cigar?

"Let's see when he runs out of words."

“It’s alright, sir,” you answer, suppressing a slight chuckle because yes, you too have been wishing the chairman would finally shut the fuck up, but haven't expected anyone to say it out loud that boldly. You watch the male in front of you take out the slim roll from his mouth with his thick fingers that are covered with silver rings that all look different and not matching each other, blowing out the smoke whilst maintaining eye contact with you. “If you require, I can bring you a cigar, sir," you say, but he waves his hand to brush off your offer.

“Ah, they give me bad breath.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please," the man progresses instantaneously, scratching over the vertical scar at his lip-corner with his thumb, his ciggy continues to burn, "Do be so kind and give brother his ice," then smiles, "he needs to preserve his cold head.”

“You are one to talk about keeping mouths shut,” the ‘brother’ answers, voice velvety and adequate despite dissing the man that’s sunken unmannerly into his seat, while he, on the other hand, is sitting up straight, his black suit buttoned up, tie set cleanly under his ironed pearl-white collars, elegantly decorated by a golden pin. A Greek "π" is chiseled into it, and you recognize it so well for you’ve seen it written all over the tall buildings you drove by on your way here. His hair is combed evenly to the sides and the more you look at him, he’s just— wow, flawless, prestigious, expensive. Everything about him is crystal clear; his rich voice, his unblemished skin, his eyes, oh god, you just noticed those eyes, how does such a shameful man have such pure eyes?

Orbs— and they're not innocent as much as you can't say they're not guilty— are looking at you with a defiance that is suffocating, as if you ought to do everything perfectly, not miss a single twitch of his eyebrows to understand whether he's enjoying or disapproving of the situation.

Well, is he enjoying you or disapproving of the way you're listening to his partner's order to refill his ice?

Huh. No fucking idea. He probably doesn't, but you must do it still— must still serve.

It feels irrationally sheep-headed, but hey, being a sheep is your job, is it not? Being in this herd is keeping you alive, and even in this situation, where you are following the orders of the blackest of sheep, no, wolves that can't be covered by any fluffy wool— you must mow your best.

"Ohh, brother, it's been a while since I heard you talk! Feels lonely droppin' all the good sayings by myself."

You’re serving Choi San and CEO of PARA-conglomerate, headman Park Seonghwa.

Sat right across the chairman, the percentage this couple holds of his company-share is more than most of the attending seniors combined, which makes them stand at the top of the guest-list. You couldn’t have missed their names, even if you’ve made the attempt to, and the other information you’re getting is just your co-workers whispering hurried words to each other, and it seems to you that you may be more in need of them than ever.

You already eavesdropped on them a little, and to be honest, you didn’t need any real confirmation that everyone in this room was unlawful and corrupt, but it is good to know you really don’t have to feel guilty stashing those bankrolls into your purse.

The man that is licking the tail of his scar at his lip, rolling his neck, clicking with his mouth and tapping his fingers onto the table, he is rumored to be the boss of the Choi-Clan, the infamous ‘Mad Dog of Namhae’, whose face had been unknown. The chairman has made a drunken joke about allegedly trying to sell him off to the government— “everybody act like you don’t know, okay?”— and nobody had taken him seriously, but once the supposed mafiaboss had entered the room, an hour later than everyone else, and sat down comfortably like nothing was strange about his heavy breath and slightly purple knuckles, nobody dared to say something else.

If you’d heard beforehand that you would be meeting a CEO and a mafiaboss today, you don’t know if you would have acted any differently. Thinking, here comes the chairman, his jesters, the mafia-guy, the chaebol; ah, all the motherfuckers aligned, let’s get to work, shall we?

But this does challenge you a bit, indeed. If they just weren’t so young and intimidatingly good-looking, fuck, you could have treated them in the same cookie-cutter way you’d been at perfectly.

Maybe a bit of change-up won’t hurt, you were starting to get a bit too irritated anyway.

"Control yourself."

“You wanna see him dead too, brother,” the smoking male sneers— you’ll call him ‘Mr. Choi’ for now— pointing at his companion to accuse him of being a yawner, his cigarette stuck between his fingers.

Headman Park smirks with a short twitch of his lips that makes you think you just imagined it, but none of his extremities has moved since you came here: Every single action he takes seems so... calculated, thought through, measured, planned out. He is the only one to have brought a briefcase to the dinner, and looks a little bit out of place with his sober expressions which seem to you as if he was observing the whole room in its possible entirety, not leaving out a corner in his sight uncovered.

"Want," he parrots, face dropped to a neutral visage, highlighting the only word that seems to be bothering the CEO regarding his vis-à-vis' statement, eyes darting down to Mr. Choi having his fingertips pointed towards him.

"Don't you become pushy with the words now, brother," the mafiaboss teases him, and tugs his sleeves up to his elbows again, eyeing you up and down while you're passing him with your cart. You discern his interest in the pockets of your skirt, or what is there underneath, instantly, but before you can think that the man may be just the same as the others, he cracks his knuckles. “Old geezer might die on his own at this point, look at how he's smoking his raisin-lungs away."

"Poetic."

So much for hearing government and company secrets, here are these two joking about the chairman’s death. You need the chairman a little bit longer if you want to earn money, but the idea of him dying soon isn’t too bothersome.

"You gotta get used to my Korean way of speaking, brother! Then we can communicate correctly!”

With your ears sharpened, but your face presenting unconcerned, you devote yourself to headman Park to refill his bucket, ice cubes jangling down the iron jar, whilst Mr. Choi stretches his arms behind his head, raising an eyebrow towards his elder who isn't hearing him out.

“Thank you,” headman Park says, very briefly and precisely. The tong you put in the bucket for him to use almost tips, and you don’t know whether he does it on purpose for he’s been frozen still all during the dinner, but with his reflexes, he prevents it from falling before you can, but if that wasn't surprising enough, he grazes your skin while returning.

Soft, uncalloused; not a single ounce of labor roughed up these hands, it seems. They tickled you featherly, and right now, you are looking for some type of confirmation in those black spheres of his to know that you're allowed to exhale and react to his touch, because you gasped slightly and have held your breath ever since.

Nothing. You are the first one to look— no, shy away from his stare, getting your hands in front of your abdomen again, your fingers searching for each other, fiddling around by themselves without your knowledge.

Mr. Choi lets his wrist-watched hand fall between his lap, neck tilted slightly to the back, licking over his canine tooth with a grin, and it appears to you that he's either noticed his associate's small gesture or how headman Park is still staring at you. “You wanna do something, don’t you, brother?”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

Mr. Choi shakes his head to irritate headman Park and make him explain himself.

“This is not business.”

Headman Park glances down his whiskey, droplets of water have formed around the brim of the cold glass. It is untouched.

"I see you aren’t enjoying the whiskey, would you like something else to drink, sir?", you ask, trying to finish your job and get away from here before you get ideas that don’t include money between your thighs.

"The Fillico, please," the male answers, not having glanced away from your eyes once to inspect your cart, where the black, long bottle, donning a crown and wings adorned with Swarovski-crystals, awaits you to be grabbed.

"A glass of cold Fillico Black King!", you exclaim, your surprise of the particularity that anyone would drink water at the chairman's dinner can’t be hidden, and then hum, "Coming right up, sir."

“You’re really something, brother,” Mr. Choi wheezes, taking the last pull of his cigarette, watching you fill up a new glass for his unrelated brother with the finest mineral that can be bought to-date, pricing around 6 Billion Won, or 4500 US Dollars per bottle. “Wouldn’t you say it’s difficult to not be smokin’ or drinkin’ in this business, Y/N?”

Sure, whatever ‘business’ a man like him is talking about. “Yes, sir." Wait, hold on, did Mr. Choi just say your name?

“You don’t look too impressed,” the male grins, seeing how you’ve narrowed your eyes in confusion.

"Pardon me, I was just– how do you know my name, sir?”

Mr. Choi shrugs as if to say ‘I dunno’ and presses his cigarette out on the table. It sizzles out, like your head is also slowly deteriorating. He throws the bud into the CEO's ice-bucket— headman Park is not even minorly irritated by it— and then, with his ringed fingers, goes through his hair, setting it loose behind his head. He’s picking on you, and you surely feel picked out, that's all you can think. It's so unusual to be hearing your name, not because it hasn't been said during the dinner, but because—

"Y/N Y/L/N, a pretty name for a pretty servant like you, huh?"

Your heart somehow flutters. A stalwart man like him taking your name into his mouth is nothing you hear on the daily. Deep, manly. It's not flattering, no, it sounds wrong, feels so dangerous for a guy like him to be taking something so personal and turning it into his possession, like you're slowly going to lose yourself in the words he speaks in a lax manner. Your name is precious to you, and it just drops off his tongue like it's candy. Where on earth does a man like him get your full name from?

"Sir," you insist, dipping your fingertip under your fingernail, fidgeting.

“Oh, don’t tell me ya prefer that stupid name ‘missy’,” Mr. Choi chuckles and fetches headman Park’s full glass of whiskey, his dialect draping out his mouth.

“Or do you secretly enjoy it," he grins, and with his eyebrows raised, Mr. Choi drinks up his acquaintance's booze in one big gulp, letting the glass fall down on the table with a thump, breathing out, "missy?”

People drink whiskey neatly, you know that. The guests have been doing it all evening, but that's for two ounces. Headman Park had a glass full of the oak-colored sherry liquid with an uncommonly high alcohol percentage placed in front of him. A taunt from the chairman maybe, to subtly scorn them about their apparent boyhoodish inexperience, but Mr. Choi makes it look so adept: The strong alcohol flows down his throat smooth and speedy, even though he did misplace the rim by an inch.

There's whiskey dripping down his chin as he glances over to his side, smirking at his neighbor who's blinking frozen, as well as the other guests, who are seemingly just as irritated that the mafiaboss got you as flustered as you look like.

You’re left with your mouth slightly open, shotting down a glass of whiskey shouldn't have looked as barbarous as Mr. Choi made it appear. Like a striking attack, baring his claws, he growls out the herby aftertaste. "'Scuse me, 'got really thirsty there."

The mafiaboss goes over his lips with his tongue, watching your hand play with the seam of your skirt, where he knows a handkerchief is buried in your pocket.

“Aw, shit, I got wet,” he wails over-dramatically, looking down on himself and then again locking his eyes into yours.

“Wanna clean me up, baby?”

“Pardon?”

Much to your continued bafflement, Mr. Choi smiles, and as he sees you taking a second to confirm what he said, he continues talking to you like you’re a hooker.

“Don't like that one, Y/N?” Again, with the name! Where does he get the name?!

“Sir, how—“

“You have introduced yourself to us,” headman Park finally reveals in the high Seoul tongue, perchance by pity, and you inhale, a bit embarrassed that you didn’t come to think of it earlier. What is happening to you? Is it because you’re finally away from those sleazes, that you’re being so light-headed? Lack of training? Sexual attraction? God, that’s a rookie’s mistake, Y/N, think about them as targets, not objectives. The objective is to not end up in a bed with them, remember? That’s like, rule number one. Even though nobody told you about the Mafia while you were at training, that’s a valid argument.

Don't let your guard down, you’re in a room with the men of men, no maybe the men. The most influential men you could be meeting in Seoul right now, aside from how little is known about them.

Whether he's a real chaebol or not, PARA-CEO Park Seonghwa is definitely the nephew of good ol’ chairman over there, just leeching off his money even if today is the first time the man is visiting his distant uncle who is definitely a bit sour about the fact he took so long to connect with him. Money has its sources and sometimes, most of the time, it’s nepotism. There you go, the explanation of his wealth and why the male is so well-mannered sitting on his seat. He’s woven into the conglomerate-family, been made CEO to keep him that way and all in all, you could care less about him, if he just wasn’t the only person that was kind of nice to you. Just thinking about his eyes makes you a bit dizzy, but you can get that fixed by turning your eyes to the mafiaboss.

Mafia and chaebol don't usually associate, for reasons that are rather obvious. Mafia’s rule the underworld with the overworld’s laws, and the chaebol rule over what laws the overworld decides on, digging their hands into the government like it’s soot, planting and pulling crops wherever they can profit from it. Money.

It’s sickening every time you think about it. How many people in this room could pay for your whole life? No, how many can’t pay for your whole life and beyond? You can count them with one hand and they’re all wearing the same clothes as you.

Money knows where it belongs; that’s a phrase you made up the day you were told about the crippling debt by the letter and the bank declining your card. It sounds similar to your monks' sayings of water's ever-flowing life, but if water returns, money drifts. It wanders across the citizens, but follows a direction it's always bound to end up. Just like today, with you getting bankrolls to graze the inner space of your legs, only to know it’s going to end up in the same fingers that gave it to you.

So, where do headman Park and Mr. Choi get a say in this? Do they get a say in this?

“I did introduce myself, how could I forget? I’m sorry, sir,” you admit and let out a laugh that is half intended to sound as nervous as it did, and half regrettably filled with authentic uneasiness.

Old chairman, what does he know? Have those teeth really ever sunk into flesh? You can’t play with your fate here, but by hook or crook they intrigue you so much. You haven’t expected guests that aren't ass-kissers of the chairman, and apparently your talent only goes so far. You have no idea what to do with them to satisfy them except letting out your real thoughts and you can’t do that, definitely not in front of the man.

But you feel so connected to them. The caution everyone has, it confuses you just as much you're amazed by it, and you want that, you want that kind of safety. Every guest here has money, but not every guest has their authority.

“It’s alright, everybody makes mistakes, baby,” Mr. Choi smirks and musters you again, rubbing the liquid away from the corner of his lip with his thumb and kissing the remaining alcohol away, savoring every droplet of whiskey, but also savoring you by keeping his thumb leaned into his opened mouth, eyes looking sultrily at you, you might as well just—

“Mistakes, San. Beware of them,” headman Park falls in and his companion finally sways his eyes away from you, hand backing down. “Talkative drunkard.“

“Brother,” Mr. Choi sighs and grabs the glass from his neighbor that's filled with ice cubes to murmur, “I’m not that drunk," swinging it around with concise flicks of his wrist to enunciate his words.

With the couple bantering, you think you can calm down. Maybe you were overreacting. Bootlicking some birdbrains is a way easier life than to follow these two.

"Hey, baby?”, but there's another call of the bird of prey.

“Yes, sir?”, you answer, fingers letting go of your skirt that has thrashed your skin by how you abused it. You don’t even know when you started to react to the name 'baby', but truth be told it’s better than ‘missy’ by miles. Being over here is better than being over there by miles, that is unchangeable.

“Could you get me clean? This is kinda sticky."

With two fingers, he grabs the collar of his shirt and flails it softly, ice clinking in his glass, as he shows you his indeed quite syrupy breast.

"Yes, sir."

You nod towards the crevice that is the space where his muscles meet, and before your eyes can get lost in the plump thews, you collect yourself so you can do what you were asked for; getting your hands on his body.

“Please.”

“Ahh, I liked you more when you were quiet, brother! I don’t wanna call you a party-pooper, but c'mon! It’s your plan, and I’m just— doin’ my part.”

Mr. Choi twists his upper body a bit so he’s still able to hold the empty glass behind your back, though it feels more caging in than it should, when you lean forwards to softly tap his skin with your handkerchief. His arm hovers next to your hip and his upper body is extended wide around you.

“What do you say, baby?”, the male asks, and you harrumph to take your mind elsewhere from how rock-hard the mafiaboss feels under your hand, how his cologne smells so rich and inviting, and how— “Wanna be bitten?”

“Pardon?”, you ask, not understanding the context of Mr. Choi’s question, but without fail grasping the intentions of it.

The male grins, and you’re unsure as to how he got his hand on the bottle of whiskey from your tray as quickly as he did, but it’s there, in the hand that’s across your hip, and from then on, everything you do seems risky. His bicep is curled around your thigh so he can fill himself another glass, and if you take a step back, your ass will be pushed against his arm, but if you step forward, you’ll land on top of him; a straining dilemma that only inflames your guts the more you think about it.

“San,” headman Park grumbles quietly, seeing you struggle to stand on your feet.

“Agh, come on, brother, 's all going well! Live a little for me, will ya? Watch me and follow,” Mr. Choi nags with a juvenile pout and takes a disgruntled sip from his drink, making your imaginations reality by pushing you with his forearm with no forewarning. You trip closer to him and his arms raise, as you have to find safety on his shoulders to not fall into his crotch.

“Oops, ‘scuse me, baby,” he grins, feline eyes glancing up to you, your bust in his view. The other men are grumbling, fussy, yammering— if they knew, they would have done that with you a long time ago!— and in your head, you don't know whether you should be doing this at the chairman's dinner and not somewhere in a stripclub or just, god, anywhere else.

“It’s okay, sir,” is what you answer, and the short silence would be the perfect opportunity to scuffle back to your original stance, but you saw his ever-growing, throbbing bulge in his black suit-pants and it is staring you down.

Everything about him is so big…

“Really, baby?”, Mr. Choi asks, eyebrows pushed together, lips formed into a pout, feigning an expression of worry.

“Yes, sir,” you say, the big question of 'what is the goal here?' unnerving you, but with the quick, harsh movement of his leg against the back of your knee, you're—

“Sir!”

Sat on his thigh, your butt is bouncing on the hard flesh, fingers dug into his shoulders deeper due to the shock, ribcage moving up and down as you’re breathing fast and anxiously. At this point, you’ve gathered the attention of many who are seemingly more excited about the situation than you are, silencing all around, while the chairman continues to crack drunk jokes on the other side.

Mr. Choi chuckles at your nervousness and puts his glass down. “Aww, look at you, baby,” he coos, his rough, calloused fingers trailing between the inner space of your thighs that’s pushed into his leg. “Need a little break?”

As you sit there— securing yourself on the table, feeling his hand sit between your legs, you become lighter with each passing second, tingles being sent down your abdomen. Could Mr. Choi please stop smirking like that? It’s going to make you lose your mind, lose every thought of what you were trying to achieve at this table tonight.

“The chairman doesn’t allow breaks, sir,” you murmur, trying to cling onto the last sense of service you have, “I have to stay here.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper for the CEO in front of you to become curious, but loud enough for the mafiaboss to scoff and massage his hand deeper into your flesh.

“Sir, I really—“, you try to protest, but Mr. Choi uses his other finger to signal you to come closer to his face. You do as you’re told, his warm breath hitting your ear after you lean backwards.

“Baby,” he cackles, and his lips touch your earlobe, the smell of the smoke fading out his mouth.

“I practically own that wimp,” and Mr. Choi lets out a chuckle before his voice lowers an octave, “Let me own you, too.”

His tongue grazes over your sensitive skin as if he was a snake trying to convince you of eating the strange fruit, and you shudder forwards in surprise, his growl still vibrating in your ears.

You should get yourself together— yeah, that sounds like a good idea, if it just wasn't for the fact that this is exactly how you've been presenting yourself the whole evening. You're cornered, and not only by him, but your actions and it's, oh, old man, it's something. It's something that broadens the playground that was set out in front of you, something that gives you more to play, no, more to be played with.

The other guests are gawking already, forgetting about their prejudices when it comes to the 'youngsters', just happy to be seeing their missy in action.

The mafiaboss sighs, breaking his whispering and speaking louder than before. “But if you cherish so much about that old geezer, he’ll be taken care of, no? Maybe even better than before, or am I wrong here, brother?”

He clicks with his mouth— is it a habit?— and looks at headman Park, who rolls his eyes, as if they’re sharing some secret you’re not a part of. But before you can fall into further confusion, your legs tighten around Mr. Choi’s wristwatch, as his thumb strokes the surface under your skirt one time, right across your cunt which has been heating up since the first time you saw the reflection of yourself in his silver cross. A pant leaves your mouth and you have to grind your ass over so you can somehow clench your legs together.

“You like that?”, Mr. Choi sneers, chuckling into your ear, as he continues to move his thick finger against your clit. "Of course you do. Let me hear more of those cute sounds, baby.”

You grab his bicep, heat crawling up your abdomen against his forearm, your crotch feeling more and more buzzed as the male works his fingertip into you. Nobody says anything, just murmuring insignificant sentences to keep up the chatty mood.

Headman Park in the meanwhile, crosses his arms, catching the attention of the mafiaboss.

“Brother, can’t you see I’m doing this for you? Enjoy yourself.”

Mr. Choi flashes an eye-smile and keeps groping your cunt, you melting more and more into his lap and under the heated gazes of the crowd. Your servant-colleagues don’t know what to do, or no, maybe they knew exactly that this would happen and think you deserve all of this shame, just in general not helping you escape the touch of the mafiaboss.

“Sounds like you’re enjoying her more than anything,” headman Park says, looking indifferent, but his words don’t cross out the possibility that inside his pants, his cock isn’t growing too, how his arms are crossed, clenched around each other.

“Come on, baby,” Mr. Choi growls into your ear, “give that fucking bore a show, won’t you?”

You’re split open. He’s strong, oh gosh, so strong, taking not more than one push to grab you by your thigh and spread your legs, make you slip on his crotch, as he closes his knees together to support you from down under.

“San,” headman Park warns, but his mouth stays slightly open, tongue pressed against the surface of his upper teeth, suppressing a grin.

You flatten your back against Mr. Choi’s torso as an attempt to hide your face behind his neck, and breathe heavily against his freckled skin, the cold exterior of his pearly accessory grazes your chin.

“What?”, the male asks, taking his glass, his arm slithering under your armpit and his chin resting on your shoulder as he sips from it, not to forget the hand that is still pushed into the now moist fabric between your legs, moving in circular motion.

Headman Park doesn’t answer and folds his hands together, placing his elbows on the table, fingers touching his lower lip.

“Geez, brother, you should feel this cunt right now,” the mafiaboss wheezes, almost hiccuping from his excitement, “so fucking hot, you won’t believe.”

“Make her louder.”

Even Mr. Choi was surprised to hear that come out of the reserved CEO's mouth, and as he chuckles and takes the last sip from his whiskey, he puts down his glass once in for all to accept headman Park’s order.

With a slight lean forward, his free hand wraps around your neck and you gasp for air. Mr. Choi’s legs are spread so when you have to tuck in your pelvis, you can feel his bulge under your cunt. At this point, you don’t care for the piercing gazes anymore, and the chairman might as well give you a nice tip for the sight of you grinding your wet pussy into his biggest investor’s clothed cock. You’re such a master profiteer, Y/N, Jongho was right.

“Fuck, missy,” Mr. Choi grunts and he’s so frustrated he can’t take off more of your clothes, but it doesn’t prevent him from following the order when headman Park mutters, “grab her breasts.”

It is one shameless show.

You becoming needy and whiny on Choi San’s lap, the mafiaboss grinning, as CEO Park Seonghwa’s eyes are unmoving from your sullen, aroused expressions— it has persuaded the audience to want their own slice of fun, but even with hands wrapped around their no-use cocks, everybody in the room has their eyes sealed on the young servant whose only job was to refill some ice.

Mr. Choi can feel it; what a slut you are on top of him, how eagerly you’re grinding your cunt over his bulge, and how jealous the others are watching— and this includes all the blokes that are watching with cigars in their mouths, but also the servants that would have gladly taken your seat and not rub their hands over old, moist, wrinkly skin.

“Sir,” you whimper, as Mr. Choi knobs your breasts, his tough hands cupping each tit, just like headman Park commanded him.

Fuck, how he wishes to be able to see your face as well as well as headman Park does, but the sobby whines might as well do.

“So noisy on my cock,” Mr. Choi snarls, “you’re practically begging for attention, missy.”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” you hiss and the mafiaboss inhales sharply, gasping, his cock jumping, very turned on by your sudden spunky tone. Bingo.

“Did you hear that, brother?”, he whales, tempting the headman to interact with him more as the main viewer of his performance, but the man to his friend is only raising an eyebrow. “Baby's got some zest in her. You like that, don’t you?”

Mr. Choi continues to coo headman Park into defeat, “You like ‘em feisty, brother. I know you, chief execution officer, sir. You wanna ram your cock into this little missy's pretty mouth, just admit it.”

Little missy's pretty mouth. "Say that again, shitbag," you hiss, but Mr. Choi grins and pries into your bust, working folds into your freshly-ironed shirt. "Listen, brother," he breathes, "It gets your cock fucking going, doesn't it?"

The mafiaboss chuckles and adds, so only you can hear it, "Definitely gets my cock going, baby."

Headman Park scans the room, and you can see how he shakes his head, and looks at Mr. Choi with a slight distaste. “You may leave soon.”

“Really?”, Mr. Choi grins, beaming, grabbing your hips forcefully in the joy of it, and while the CEO’s words leave you misled, you sigh into the pressure of being pressed down deep into his muscled thigh, your cunt pulsating through his flesh.

“Change of plans.”

“Alright," he murmurs, just as offended as you are by his lack of reactions, but quickly catching up on his lust to hear, see, feel you more. "But not before I make this baby come."

“Punster,” headman Park jeers and it does occur to you that you’re hearing more of his soft voice than before, but when he looks at his wristwatch, you suppose you’re not doing well enough for him. Look at me, you rich-ass prude, you think and whine, being moved across Mr. Choi’s thigh by his own hands. Your clit feels hot, like it is seriously going to burn and fall off, but you, fuck, feel so good; the sounds just keep leaving your mouth, your high approaching very soon.

“How long were you thinking, brother?”, Mr. Choi asks and is nibbling at your neck, as he rams you over his thigh, fighting with the pace you're breathing wispy and digging your nails more and more into the glass-table until your fingertips turn white.

"Five.”

“Five? Make it ten.”

“You only last ten?”

“You can be such a bully, brother,” Mr. Choi fleers, and you have no fucking idea what they’re talking about, since you are feeling your orgasm coming in less than a minute, stars appearing in front of your eyes. “Make it ten.”

The male takes note of how you're bucking in your pelvis and uses his canine teeth to make your neck flame on, his hand placed roughly around your throat, as you become more sensitive to every move. "Sir," you whisper, a knot forming in your stomach.

Your clit is begging you for mercy at this point, demanding you to get the clothes off your legs so your slick has some way to escape, but you're drenching Mr. Choi's suit-pants in your wetness with stuttered heaving, ready to moan loudly in any second now if you could just find that one fucking spot—

"Are you gonna cum, baby? Right in front of everyone?", he murmurs against your neck and you nod repeatedly, raving your clothed clit on his thick, pillowy muscle, desperately chasing your high. "Come on," he snickers, "Show them what kind of slut missy is, huh? Such a good fucking slut for us, aren't you?"

"Yesyesyes," you whine, not caring for anything than your release, and Mr. Choi is being so kind as to continue breathing heavily into your ear to make you melt into bliss, but nothing gets you on more than the gentle smile that headman Park is sending your way, head slightly tilted to the back— is he nodding? Is he finally approving? Oh, fuck, you think, and you're doing the best job darting your hips non-stop to continue feeling your cunt be stroked by Mr. Choi's flesh, pursuing the CEO's praising acknowledgment. "Good fucking slut on my lap," the mafiaboss cackles, "come for daddy."

"You fucking weirdo," you falter, not wanting to call him "I'm never gonna call you—

Mmmuh!" Mr. Choi grabs you by your hair and tugs it harshly, making your back arch and your head rotate to his side. In the open mouth, his tongue plunges into your throat, the taste of woody herbs and bitter alcohol are flooding your tastebuds. Smearing all of your lipstick, his mouth is pressed against yours like he's sealing yours shut. You convulse your lower body in surprise of the sudden act and holy shit, get that one spot over your clit that's also stroking your gaping entrance, your body releasing all of its heat into one blaring, roaring zap, with your eyes rolling back your head, your stirred voice screaming, "FUCK!"

There is a gasp heard through the dining hall and you're not sure whether it was the chairman, a servant, or headman Park in front of you, but as you are spasming on Mr. Choi's thigh and your back arches to his chest, you feel like the world is expanding on you, peeping, intrusive onlookers cramming out their money to thank you for the show they got, white trickling through the linen of their underwear.

Coming down from your high, weakened and all the while more aroused by the mafiaboss whispering the words "good girl" into your ear, you try to open your eyelids to catch headman Park putting on some black leather-gloves he got from his briefcase, muttering something under his breath to the mafiaboss.

“Go."

What the fuck?

Mr. Choi hooks his arm under your legs while he re-applies his lips to yours, and lifts you up like the pretty princess you are to most of the gawkers that don't stop watching, when he stands up.

Everybody has their eyes on the kiss the mafiaboss and servant missy are sharing, but headman Park doesn’t even look at you, when his partner starts carrying you to the elevator that's waiting for you at the wall about in the middle of the dining table, and just retrieves his open briefcase from the floor. Has he had enough of you already?

“Where are we—“, you breathe, but Mr. Choi kisses you silent, tongue forcing its entry, preventing you from figuring out what's happening, after the mafiaboss puts you down in front of the door and pushes you against the frame roughly. Cheering and hooting encourages him to continue rubbing his thumb over your skin as the other ringed fingers are holding your thigh, and you're pressed against his leg, virtually fenced in by Mr. Choi while he pushes the button for the lift to come.

His eyes are squinting to the side while he works his lips against you, in a way confirming that all of the guests (except the CEO) are begrudgingly anticipating the next actions of the mafiaboss, not caring how the headman is slowly pushing his seat away from the table to get more leg-space, which you seem to be the only person noticing it.

The golden door opens with a bell dinging the elevator’s arrival, and Mr. Choi grabs you by your ass, leading the way inside it. You can't see it correctly with your eyes closed, can only feel his big arms push into your frame, but he even makes for a show-like exit, burlesquely saluting the audience with two fingers, clicking with his mouth. It must really be a habit, you think, and giggle into the kiss.

The men attempt to throw bankrolls into your space and some succeed, some don't, but while you're glad your plan worked out, you aren't too sure what you've just done with, or for the mafiaboss.

Your heated kiss continues and because you want to feel him, you unbutton his shirt that doesn’t need that much working, three buttons being pushed open by your jellylike hands. Before you can unclothe him though, Mr. Choi pushes his arm against the mirror next to your head, stopping you to take a look at his wristwatch. He strokes his hair to the back with the other hand, revealing some of his meaty abs, and once he’s reached the backside of his head, he slides his fingers down his neck and around his Adam's apple to scratch it, announcing, “Ten minutes on the clock. Shit, brother's dick must be fucking exploding in his pants right now."

“Sir?”, you ask, overwhelmed by the words that are not making sense in your head, but also distracted by his hand that’s around your tie.

“Given he really could've finished in five but,” he yanks you towards his face. “I wanted to have you a bit more for myself, missy.”

He smiles, very arrogantly like the patronizing fuck he is, like he knows how strong he is, what a dominating aura he possesses, but at this point, in between the mirrors and on this black, marbled floor, you are not at the chairman’s dinner anymore, aren’t a servant anymore– you aren’t bound to any authority, are you?

“If you fucking call me ‘missy’ again, I’ll bite your fucking dick off.”

Except for the moment that you’re talking to him, a mafiaboss, whose breast is marked by— and you can see it very clearly now for it fits perfectly into yours— hands that have shared the same, if not a similar experience with you.

“How’d you know I was into biting, baby?”

And holy fuck, his back looks even crazier.

“God, sir,” you breathe out in awe and a little bit of fear. You can count the lines of red scratches on his back and as you finally let his shirt fall from his shoulders, the reflection of his muscles, how they relax under your touch. You become starstruck. Everything about him is so scarring, but fuck, how it attracts you, the wildness, the savagery— there’s something so free about him.

"What, baby? You like what you're seeing? How naughty..."

Ten minutes aren’t a lot, but Mr. Choi makes his best attempt to hurry over the trivial parts of fucking you. He steps closer, your ass hitting the handrail, legs crossing together, and your buttons pop in one rip, as his two hands rupture your blouse open. He lets his shirt drop to the floor, all the while his lips clash against the nook of your neck, making you sigh under the luminous lights of the elevator and grab his neck. You’re getting hazy, horny; damn, it’s been so long you’ve had a good fuck. Satisfactory sex is another luxury you were postponing for later.

With his lips sewn on your shoulder, kissing and forcing his tongue against a spot he deems especially tasty, the half-naked male unzips your skirt to finally reveal the black pantyhose that looks soaked in your slick. After he chuckles at the sight of it, Mr. Choi licks over his lips and cups your jaw with his hand, drawing a trail of insatiable kisses across your skin.

“Still wanna bite my dick off?”, he asks with a sly smirk, breathy, having caught your aroused look locked on his silver chains, his jacked upper body inviting you to get your mouth in there until it’s molded around your teeth.

“Come on, baby,” the male provokes you, “You think I’m gonna fuck you just like this? Think I’m gonna ram myself inside your cute fucking cunt ‘cause I’m such a big scary fucking man?”

You inhale sharply. “N- no, I…”, you breathe out, letting your tongue run over your teeth.

“Aw, baby, am I making you shy?”, Mr. Choi hoots, “I didn’t think you were a shy one. You were pretty noisy on my thigh for your cunt, weren’t you? Getting all the sounds out for brother to hear them… You really served a show there, baby.”

Your mouth only lets out stammered gibberish– you have never learnt how to talk dirty, but Mr. Choi uses your opened lips to ram his tongue into it again anyway, and you're almost proud to say you've gotten used to it.

He breathes rashly through his nose, and he tastes less of bourbon but more of dulcet desire, mixed in with the red of your lipstick sitting on his lip. Your knee strokes his erection while he gets his hands behind your back to get your bra off, lips clashing and raving against each other. “Letting your body talk for you?”, Mr. Choi husks, panting at having his overstrained cock touched. He relieves you from the pressure around the bust and continues to ramble. "I knew I could have a lot of fun with you the second I laid my eyes on you.” You pant and reunite your lips with his. "Little missy, such a whore for the rich."

He’s overconfident he’s seeing right through you, it infuriates you. Mr. Choi massages his hands into your breasts, the cold rings grazing sharply into your warm flesh, and as your knee is still between his crotch, you huff. You can be a whore for the rich when you’re earning money, but right now, you’re doing things for your own pleasure.

“Are you going to have a lot of fun with me?”, you sing-song in a high-pitched female voice to the mafiaboss that’s immediately taken aback, and you know the word 'missy' is on top of his tongue again, when you interrupt him with a quick jab of your knee into his groin. "Shit-eating fat-cat."

Mr. Choi grunts, head tilting down. His feline eyes meet your foxy ones, and while you weren't preparing for a staredown, the mafiaboss smirks and bites his lip.

He has a lot to say, you can see it. There’s something glimmering under the lust-drunken layer behind his eyes, and it’s deep, goes deeper, but for some reason, the mafiaboss, who just so despicably couldn’t hold his mouth, doesn’t let out the words that’s crossing his mind.

“Sir–”

Wrong deduction.

Mr. Choi scowls in laughter, and you guess he meant to joke with you, but he means to play with you much more, when he, once again, lifts you up, by your waist this time, and balances you on the handrail.

Resting his forearm on your thighs to stabilize you, Mr. Choi digs in his pocket to fetch his cigarette box, looking at himself through the mirror and shaking some strands out of his face. "Shit-eating fat-cat," he repeats with a lisp, pulling out one of the slim rolls with the corner of his mouth, and he continues to chuckle, as he glances at you through his eyelashes, "you should've said that to the old geezer when you had the chance to, baby."

"The chairman?"

No answer. Mr. Choi lights his cigarette with a zippo, and keeps it lit in his mouth, as he, with no forewarning, tears open your pantyhose from your crotch with both of his hands, spreading your legs wide. You have to get your hands around his head to be able to keep yourself on the handrail.

“Why do you look so scared? Think I’m gonna fuck you?”, he lisps. “I’m just taking a good look, baby. What a pretty cunt you got there, baby.”

You gulp. Mr. Choi slides his index finger across your heated folds through the fabric and your cunt clenches together, wanting to be filled up. “Sir,” you sigh, and the mafiaboss pulls in smoke from his cig, raising an eyebrow.

“What, baby? ‘You need something?”, he asks, “You’re not a fucking servant anymore, or do you need to be ordered around, missy?”

You try to look angry, but Mr. Choi only pouts and presses his finger through your panties, soaking them in your slick that’s gathered at your entrance. “Desperate to please the money-man? So wet for him…”

“Fuck you,” you mewl, but Mr. Choi knows what he’s doing when he thumbs your clit and exhales smoke into your face, hiding his face for a short second which gives you confidence. “I need you… to fuck me.”

“What did you say, baby? I couldn’t hear.”

“Please, sir, just… fuck me, please…”

“Louder.”

“God! Just fuck me! Didn’t you say we have ten minutes? Make them fucking count!”

“There we go, baby. My slutty little missy. Oh, baby, you’re growing on me, brother’s gonna hate that.”

You huff and Mr. Choi slides your panties off your legs, taking a short glimpse at his wristwatch. “Damn, ten’s really a short time.”

How many minutes have passed? Ten already? You know you said it, but you mentioned it only because it made sense, if you’re honest, you have no clue what the time is worth for. Aren't these the men who have time for gold?

The biting smell of tobacco enters your nose, making you cough out loud. Is smoking even allowed in the elevator? Wait, wait, wait, no, maybe you should worry about other things, for example what you're going to do when those ten minutes are over, when all of this is over. They clearly have some type of plan and thing they are carrying out right now, but you don’t know how much you’re invited in there.

Mr. Choi finishes his quick break, inhaling one last puff and keeping his cig between his lips again, and his hands unbuckle his belt in silence, while you contemplate.

Clanking, ruttling, and steps begin to thump behind the door— have any of you two even pressed a button? The mafiaboss looks concentrated, fixed on your cunt, taking out his throbbing, panging cock out his underwear, stroking it a few times to god, fuck, finally get to touch it after having been dry-humped hot.

Squelching, huffing, and voices echo through the floor— is that the chairman you hear? You can only yelp, when Mr. Choi drags off your panties and slathering his thick fingers across your folds in one, then penetrating with another forceful movement.

"Fuck!", you hiss out, grabbing the handrail next to your hips, trying to balance yourself on it still. The mafiaboss snickers into your ear, and tours through your cunt, all the while it appears that all hell is breaking loose outside.

BANG!

"Sir, what—!"

"Shhh, baby," Mr. Choi hushes you, and takes out his cig with the fingers that are now glistening with your wetness, placing it on top of his lips vertically to the scar that is accompanying his smug smirk.

BANG!

"You got nothin' to worry 'bout, baby," he lulls, "we're just eatin' the pheasant and the egg here," and exhales smoke into your face out his mouth-hole, which distracts you from the third, fourth—

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Another proverb, pheasant and the egg— 'two birds with one stone'. Mr. Choi unfolds his hand as if he was counting the minutes, or the shots— wait, yes, shots! Fuck, those are gun-shots, right? You've never heard something so loud ever in your life, where does someone get guns from in South Korea? What even would they need guns for? Why would they use them? What the fuck is happening outside?!

"Oh, fuck!", you moan out, before fear and realization can crawl up your scalp and take away your lusting for the male, Mr. Choi has jerked his hip up, his cock gliding into you smoothly as if your cunt was made for him, the length and girth perfectly curling inside. Your back arches, at least as far as you can arch it, and he grins bemusedly at your jolted reaction.

BANG!

With every blast that follows, Mr. Choi is thrusting into you, first slowly, but then adding more speed and vigor as he goes, or as the blasting goes, making you shakily watch yourself be wrecked by the broad man through the reflection on the other side, your legs dangling with his rough movement.

You don't know how he's fucking you through your tightness, because with each ducking of his hips it feels like your inner walls are expanding more and ungodly more, as if he was piercing you in half.

Small puffs of smoke leave Mr. Choi's mouth each time he pants out raspy "oh baby"s and loud claps of him slapping your ass overtone the screaming, scrambling noises outside, as you two work your lower bodies against and into each other, growing more passionate, throbbing feverishly.

"Fuck, baby," Mr. Choi hisses, cigarette tilting in his mouth, as his face frowns together. "So fucking good for daddy, aren't you? So fucking tight and wet, such a good fucking girl—"

The screams outside are dying down, but the mafiaboss and you are getting louder, breathier, lustier; with your head falling backwards, hitting the mirror, the twisting feeling of fear and the ecstasy to be bouncing on Mr. Choi's big cock mix up like one hellish drink, boiling and churning inside of you.

Smashing both his hands on each of you ass-cheeks to dig his fingers into them and get more stability to ram into you so fast, and oh boy, it's so fucking fast, you're going to spiral— Mr. Choi sputters, "Are you gonna come? Are you going to come for daddy, baby? Greedy baby gonna take daddy's huge fucking load?"

The male is unraveling, his once low, stable voice turning into a whiny, hoarse, cracked mess just like you, practically urging, begging you to finally take the name ‘daddy’ into your mouth.

"Come on baby, say it for me, huh? Feels good to be my slut?", he disentangles, "Be a good slut for daddy, baby."

"I'm not gonna call you— that, fuckhead!", you moan, though your insides are curdling together to finally be released, the knot tightening with each drop of sweat that is forming on your boiling face.

"Really? Think you can afford to misbehave, baby?", Mr. Choi snickers and spits his cig on the floor, your ass being handled at an insane speed, his cock slipping in and out of you with rough ease. He takes it upon himself to dig his teeth into the nook of your neck, biting you heftily, your pulse knocking against your throat, as you feel his cock run in and out of your cunt. Your head goes light and dazed, but before you can gasp out your high from being fucked, bitten, sent to bliss, the male sinks you deep into his cock fully, it does not give you the last thrust you would need to—

"Fuckfuckfuck, I'm gonna cum," you whimper, needing to tremble, but unable to move because his hands are restricting you from any movement, and you continue to bring out a string of weak "pleasepleaseplease" that bounces back from the mafiaboss, who is raising an eyebrow, waiting for the magic word to be spoken out of your wet lips. Tears have formed at the corner of your eye and he thumbs it away, grinning coyly.

"Fuck you, I'mnotgonna fucking, ugh—!", you sob, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

"Aww, you wanna hate daddy so bad, don’t you?”

“Fuuuck you!” Whines leave your mouth, wanting to cum, wanting to move, wanting for Mr. Choi to continue fucking into you and not wipe away your tears.

“Just say you love me, baby,” he heaves and returns his hand to your hip.

Thrusting into you once with a clap against your groin, to make your cunt clench around him, and then twice with the last blood-curdling BANG! from outside, his cock is deep inside you. He feels you tighten, pulsate, craving to be released, but Mr. Choi will not move again to your liking until you finally let go of yourself, which riles you up with no hope.

"F— Fuuuck, okay!", you scream out, annoyed, angry, wanting to fucking cum; "Daddy!", you sob and Mr. Choi smirks, instantly getting to work to toast the adieu of your pride. Thumb on your clit, he circles around your sensitive bud to double the tension you feel through all of your body, while you gutter, "fuck me, daddy, please, make me cum, please, daddy, please—"

He laughs, no, howls— elated, animated, drunk, and then, with his strong, buff fucking arms, pounds you into his cock like a punching bag, your ass hitting his pelvis so many times until you have to use his gelled hair as a last resort to hold yourself up and not push yourself from the handrail with your head against the mirror, but he holds you, holds you steadily in his grip.

"Good god, good fucking missy, such a good fucking slut for me, cum all over my cock– all over my fucking cock, baby," Mr. Choi grunts, and the string that was keeping you balanced snaps, your orgasm hitting you like that makes your insides tighten around the mafiaboss and his throbbing girth, your whole body being flushed by an overwhelming wave of pleasure which you drink up whole. His cockhead rubs against your sweetspot, you riding out the high while seeing nothing but bliss.

"Holy fuck," you breathe, and your fingers grip into the thick skin of his back, and with Mr. Choi's hips not stopping to hit your pelvis, there are additional, injuring, deep red marks on there with every thrust. You’re scratching him like a beast wanting to tear up its prey, but the beast is fucking into you like there’s no tomorrow. His cock does not stop grazing against your deepest spot, tears rolling down your heated cheek, and your mouth is unable to get out the words you want it to when you get the feeling that he's going to cum soon.

"O- out," you warn him, but the mafiaboss makes a disappointed face, “I– I really can’t afford a child, p-please pull out–!”

He draws his eyebrows in, scoffs and looks you deep in the eyes, his muscular body tucked in, murmuring, rambling out his whiskey-painted throat, “Is that really your only problem, baby? That you don’t have enough money?” His forehead leans against yours and your eyelids flutter open– you are being a mitt around his dick– and he pouts in pity, his iron cross hanging from his chest, as he talks to you.

Mr. Choi gets his hand flat on your lower belly and presses down on it, feeling himself bulge inside you. He moves his hips slowly, his cockhead dragging across your sweetspot, while he gutters, “you’d look so sexy as a mother, don’t you think, baby? With the tummy and all.”

“S- sir, please I–”

"Come on, do you think I don’t have enough money to pay for a fucking kid? God, how fucking annoying– I’m not that kind of man, baby,” Mr Choi growls, his voice vibrating against your cheek, as he charges his forehead deeper against yours, “I still got some honor.”

You shake your head, unsure whether there are pills for after in the pharmacies, or whether the mafiaboss will really be there to be with you as he promises, but Mr. Choi continues to beg in his low breathy, guttery voice. “Baby,” he rumbles, pressing even harder on your abdomen, your ass being pushed into the handrail that you’re sure it’s going to leave one red straight mark, and his cock is almost exploding from the edge, “Let me, no, let daddy cum into your tight cunt, baby, please.”

God, he wants you. He wants you so bad, doesn’t he?

"Y- you should see yourself," you chuckle, stroking over Mr. Choi's gelled hair, and his head tilts up a little bit as your fingers get tangled in his black locks, the white of his eyes making him look like a wild dog waiting for its treat. "F-fucking do it, you fucking slut."

"Fuck, baby," he laughs, out of breath, "You’re really a price."

Mr. Choi hammers his hips into you, until the stars in front of you all look like wishes falling from the sky. Both of you feel it, how his cock just feels so right, fits in like your cunt is a fucking glove which is full and getting even fuller.

"God, fuck," Mr. Choi grunts from the bottom of his throat, his hot cum lading into you, and it's like your lower body is melting with it, becoming heavier with every drop he's unloading inside.

"Take all of my fucking cum," he husks and your faces clash together for one finishing wild kiss. Mr. Choi sucks on your lower lip, as he fucks his ejaculation deeper and deeper into your hole with slow thrusts, until he bucks up his pelvis the last time and moans out a raspy, “perfect fucking missy with a perfect fucking cunt..."

Ding!

For a man that uses his mouth so sparingly, his tongue surely works wonders.

"Sir, are you—"

Headman Park has entered the elevator without a word, pulling off his leather gloves, and with Mr. Choi stepping away, he has all the place he requires to get on his knees and throw your leg over his shoulder, his wet and warm muscle delving into your throbbing cunt. You've been bereaved of the time to inspect what was behind or around him when the door closed, but maybe that's irrelevant anyways. What is relevant, is how impatient, but also how careful the CEO remains, and how he still tries his best to slowly sift his tongue into your folds, feeling every inch of your wetness. He’s been dying to do this.

"Fuck, sir!"

"Please," the CEO chuckles, hastily pulling the black leathery from his hands to put it back in his briefcase that he's been carrying, but he doesn't miss your cunt once, purling over your clit and glancing at you. "Call me Seonghwa, princess."

You could cum right here and there, just at the sight of this pretty man looking up to you, who has laid out his first name and put it into yours, scream it out loud until everyone hears what a princess you've been made of.

Princess. You knew his eyes were different, but you didn’t know they saw the world differently too. Oh, how you wish you could see more of his world.

"Aww, what? That's why you're still a foreigner in our country, brother! 'Can't be dropping our titles," Mr. Choi huffs and lights himself a second cigarette, filling the elevator with smoke and tobacco. How his breath really doesn't smell is questionable to you.

Just like you, the CEO, or how you're allowed to call him now— Seonghwa, ignores his partner's words, laps over your clit with his tongue, gently easing into your cunt with his clean fingers, and your soft sighs are like a reward for him, for whatever he's done outside.

"Respect, brother, 's all about respect..."

You tighten your thighs around Seonghwa's neck. The charcoal-haired has closed his eyes, sighing into the taste of you, and you are flawlessly overlooking the loud mafiaboss, just completely concentrating on the commitment the CEO is eating you out with. His head fits magically between your legs, he works his fingers so flawlessly into you, this must be fate— and if it's not, you're going to make it your future in any which way possible. You're falling. No, flying; never coming down.

"Seonghwa," you whine, and your hand glides over the hooked male's forehead, his hair feeling smooth under your touch as he presses his tongue slowly— in circular motion— against your clit to keep you on the high, but not in a way that would make you trip over.

"Mmf," the mafiaboss in front of you huffs, clearly attracted, enticed by the way you've exhaled the other male’s first name, scratching his temple with the fingers that are holding his cigarette.

"Whether you wanna call me San or 'daddy', baby," the scarred male, no, San, the fucker grins, "I'm gonna be hearing both either way."

"Fuck—", you moan out, having to take a breath because of how Seonghwa has curled his fingers into you with his tongue ready to shovel anything into his mouth that comes out, "you, fuckhead!"

The CEO is giggling a bit, finding your tone very amusing— and he tries to tell you this by looking up and slanting his eyes a friendly way, no, a way that you've never even conjured up the fantasy to perceive him, the cold-faced Park Seonghwa who hasn't drunk a drop of alcohol tonight. What pureness in a man...

"I liked 'fat-cat' better,” San snickers and goes through his hair that definitely needs combing, turning around and looking at himself through the mirror, though his eyes squint towards Seonghwa's reflection on the other side, now again lost in your cunt, taking off his jacket and folding it in half behind his back.

"Brother, you're eating my cum, by the way," the mafiaboss jabs, puffing out smoke while he's decidedly getting hard again in his trousers. San really can't hide his emotions on his face, can he? His lips are pursed, eyebrows slightly pulled in— how obvious. The man is jealous and doesn't want to admit it, you're sure of it.

"Shut up," you hiss, having become a bit comfortable with teasing the frustrated, outwitted mafiaboss. Ten minutes were definitely too little for him, but you've already rid his thigh, let him cum inside, and Seonghwa is simply too good with his tongue right now.

"Fuuuck," you whisper, and feel every drowsy twirl of his finger inside you, but it's slow, so slow, Seonghwa is swerving around every sponginess inside you, savoring the contraction of your inner space, and how your muscles tighten, when he licks over your clit, he enjoys this; enjoys you.

And so it continues, Park Seonghwa exploring every detail of your cunt as if he's a sommelier tasting the rarest of fluids, appreciating every drop that lands on his tongue, his fingers making sure that they don't go to waste.

"Shit," San comments, "I should've eaten her out, too."

The CEO is not cocky about it, about the way you are grabbing into his hair and squirming, how he has to slightly lift you up so you don't fall from your position. And then, when Seonghwa thinks your taste has perfectly coated his palate, speeds up.

"Fuck, sir," and the title slips out of you, like a habit you can't change for good when you feel so small. The CEO between your legs doesn't mind it though, at least doesn't say anything on it and just lets his fingers hit your sweet spot until there is a distinctive "Seonghwa" leaving sighed out your lips.

"I'm going to—", you announce, but the male has been long aware of it, preparing himself more access by bending his upper body to angle himself across your cunt, giving his partner a better view on how you glisten in arousal.

San in front of you is standing frozen, with his cigarette slowly burning out in his mouth, and you recompense the lack of his cock in your cunt by moaning louder, so your voice can vibrate around his erection. He grins and gets a tongue to his canine tooth, naked upper body still glowing in sweat, muscles shining, cock twitching every time he hears you breathe, and breathe more intensely, "make me cum, Seonghwa, please!"

"I knew you would taste delicious," Seonghwa murmurs, silently, rather for himself, and this must be how he sounds when he's drunk, because he is so high on your taste, "but this is ambrosial, princess."

You curl up your pelvis, and Seonghwa holds you by your hips, as his tongue picks up in speed, drawing out every word he hasn't spoken tonight on your labia, stamping them into your clit, all the while his fingers row in more and every last drop.

"C- coming~", you purr, and your eyes close down, your hands deep in Seonghwa's scalp, exhaling the weight of your worries, that flushes down into the man who seems to have none in his life, and he breathes into your hot cunt through his nose, not letting go of it until he's made sure that your hips tremble around his head. "P- please, f- fuck, fuck, feels so good—"

Pumping the remaining come into you, Seonghwa licks up your cunt and kisses your clit until you go completely flaccid, your arms giving in, but Seonghwa catches you by your hand, kissing your thigh with his swollen pink lips.

With your body relaxed, your ass feels a bite sore, having been prodded into the iron rail for so long. You grab into Seonghwa's hand and try to push yourself up, but ultimately fail at getting yourself into a more comfortable position.

"San, hold her."

"Huh?", he asks, "'Need something more snuggly, baby? Or what did you call her again, brother?"

"Princess," the CEO answers immediately and you have to suppress a girly giggle, as Seonghwa turns his head around, lips still pressed against your thigh. He presumably sends San an admonitory look to hurry up, and gets up from his knees.

The mafiaboss shrugs, not offended by being ordered around. He puts out the cigarette against the mirror and cracks his neck by rolling his head around, his thick neck dousing into your sight as he does so. He's so intimidating, you think, but he's on his way to coast those monster-arms behind your back, hands down to each of your hamstrings to, "up you go," pick you up like real royalty. The giggle escapes your mouth but you don't feel the slightest embarrassed nor do you have a reason to be. You are sunken deep into San’s cushiony arms— his muscles make for a great seat, and hovering, air hitting your hot cunt, as your legs spread for the CEO in front of you when you fall into the elbows. You yelp, but the giggles just keep coming, making San in the mirror in front of you wink at you, cackling, "you like that, princess?"

Seonghwa smiles, satisfied by your enjoyment of this position and approaches you once more. "I have yet to kiss you, Y/N," he says with his sweet voice, and his gentle hands find your chin and waist, your eyes blossoming open for him to stare into.

Even San shuts up now, and you suppose he is too taking part in the beauty that is the embrace of you and Seonghwa; two sets of lips, crazing each other, meeting for one flowery affair, breathing out small vapors of life. You can taste yourself, which means that Seonghwa is fully consumed by your aroma.

God, you think again, your cunt tingling at how Seonghwa tugs at his tie, pulling it side to side as he kisses you— the golden 'π'-pin clanks shrill to the floor— everything about Seonghwa is so...

Clean?

You are inhaling the mellow smell of his satiny skin, and the CEO unbuttons his shirt with proficient, skilfull flicks of his fingers. He is so handsome, handsomely pretty, and even when it’s drenched in your fluids, his skin shines on its own, like Seonghwa has a light shining within. Once you can see his bare chest and get lost on the smooth surface, your eyes dive down, admiring his slim, yet very muscular physique.

Seonghwa gets his tie and drags off his shirt by tugging at one sleeve with his hand, the white fabric revealing the rest of body with one clean pull that matches one of the curtains.

"W-", and you have to jump back with your head to get the full spectacle that's presented in front of you, exhaling in awe— "Wow.."

"Not so blank, our brother, is he?", San chuckles from behind of you and lowers his head to press his chin against your temple, surveying the same sight.

Two colossal, monstrous dragons, red and black, are colliding, looped, entangled all around Seonghwa's right arm, fighting for dominance on his skin. The raven hydra has its jaw wide open where Seonghwa looks to his shoulder with a rather shy smile once he sees your reaction, baring its teeth towards his heart, while the crimson dragon ends at the CEO's wrist, sitting on top of his pulse.

"Would you believe me it was brother's idea, baby?"

"As if," Seonghwa murmurs, folding his shirt into a square.

San chuckles again, re-shuffling himself and pressing your back close to his stomach, granting the back of your head to rest at his collarbone. "I asked her if she would believe, brother."

You watch the delicate lines, the elegant strokes of tint meeting on his skin, but while your first impression made you believe they carried a certain viciousness with their svelte bodies, the second sight presents you a different image of two forces maneuvering into each other as a reminder that they both co-exist as supreme. It's not one another they're reviling against, it's the bearer of the both who is threatened by their fangs. Their existence is a warning reminder, but also a sign of pride.

"I believe it's... beautiful."

“Aw, you’re so sweet, baby.”

You haven't seen many tattoos in your life, none in the mountains, and even in the city the only observable tattoos were those of the sleazy guys in alleys that wait when you're done with your job to gape at your uniform. They got tigers and other animals roaring on their bodies to hide the fact they don't have the fighting skills to keep up, but for Seonghwa, a CEO, to have this amount of ink under his skin is a commitment and to imagine he’s hiding that under his ironed shirt and black jacket, no, that you are seeing it right now, it’s… You’re overwrought, steamed up, aflame.

"Wanna touch it, baby?", San asks, and you nod eagerly. Seonghwa chuckles, “Go for it.”

You let your fingertip ghost over the dragons' scales, tailing their curvature. Goosebumps form on Seonghwa's arm and his hand finds its way to your head, stroking your cheek, as you meet the red beast's eyes.

The mafiaboss whispers, almost sentimentally, "No blood or tears."

Another expression, which proves to you that the tattoo was undoubtedly his idea, but you see it, the romance that is spoken from the male's skin, regardless of the little insight you have on both of them. Loyalty, reverence, creed, a belief and a duty, and before you know it, you want Seonghwa to enwrap you with his arms and never let you go, which he does.

His slender hand cloaks the left side of your head, and he pulls himself into a kiss, while he unbuckles his belt with his other hand.

You don't know how much you understand of this situation, no, you don't know how much you want to understand of this situation.

You've been on your own. That's all you ever had after you left home: Your body and soul, the windstorms of the mountains pushing you from the back to keep going, and you've lived your best life living for yourself that way, in bliss, in ignorance— in peace, but what is peace in a place where you can't move by yourself? In a world that’s maimed by the rich, and sure, it may be that you’ve chosen your path, but you were never walking a road that was yours, always trailing behind something.

Nameless, that’s what you thought you would need to be.

Your monks wanted to be called their title like everyone else, it would have been disrespectful to ask Lady Kim for hers which you now regret, and not even as a secret did your old man tell you his name, but you— you, Y/N, you have a name and you want to scream it, live it as loud as you can, hear it echo back with a volume that feels stronger when it rings back.

You could have settled on being acknowledged by your supervisor to earn some good money, but this is what you’re here for, aren’t you? Why you trusted your gut to stick to the scary men? Why you walked to them with confident steps, even when a nervous knot was forming together inside you? Did you go as what, an act of defiance? One of independence? To prove yourself that you were still standing on your own feet?

"Speaking of, brother..."

Yes, with no shame.

"You really enjoyed yourself back there, didn’t you?”, San asks. “Didn’t expect that from you.”

Seonghwa is kissing you down your breast, observing closely how you breathlessly react to his tongue twirling around your nipple.

"You left me no other chance," the older male hums, coating your circular buds with his saliva, bringing out your heavenly sighs every chance he gets, stroking himself to the sounds of your pleasure.

"Well, I would have made sure you still fucked her, brother."

“Sure,” Seonghwa lisps and positions his cockhead at your entrance.

You try to grab San's shoulder behind you, as the male pushes himself inside, and your torso rotates to the side with your eyebrows pulling together, your cunt being spread apart. “F-fuck,” you exhale, and Seonghwa kisses the corner of your lip to soothe you. Your cunt squelches around his cock and your hips roll by themselves, wanting to take more of his length.

"Shit, look at her go," the mafiaboss woos, "Fuck yourself out, brother."

"Think you’ll miss this?", Seonghwa snickers and it must be the first question he has asked today. “Y- yeah, you will!”, you snap, feeling eager to be acknowledged for how good your cunt wraps around his throbbing heat.

“Oh, princess,” the CEO laughs, and your stomach drops because of how pretty his laughter sounds, and he caresses your cheek, only making your confusion and desire to finally uncover what the two men have obviously been keeping from you grow bigger. You don’t want to say it abruptly, but you three are naked, in a confined space, skins pressed against each other, so you believe you’re worth some type of explanation– or are you not?

“C- can you tell me what’s going to happen?”, you whine, and Seonghwa moves his hips, grabbing you by your waist to get his whole length. “Are you, fuck, going to leave me?”

“I dunno, brother, you call it,” San mutters. “It was your plan.”

“D- don’t!”

“It’s barely my plan anymore,” Seonghwa breathes, bucking his pelvis in, his cockhead being sucked in by your sensitive cunt.

“Don’t leave me!”

“You needed a distraction, brother, I got you one.”

“No,” Seonghwa chuckles, but in his heat, he kisses you and glances up at San while his tongue brushes against your lip. “But I’ll admit she saved us some jail-time, San.”

They continue talking over your pleas, and though you would have loved to ask a second time how the night was going to end, your brain has started to give into the pleasure once San folds your legs together, holding you by your hamstrings, giving Seonghwa an easier angle to fuck you senseless.

“F- fu-huuck,” you breathe out, and your eyes are disappearing behind your molten, droopy eyelids, with Seonghwa cumming for the second time on your abdomen and cleaning it up with his handkerchief, and you don’t even know when it was, that San crammed out his cock again, but you can definitely feel the difference of his girth, when he re-enters your used cunt, your legs shakily landing on the floor. They feel wobbly, your thighs having gone loose, and the mafiaboss has to hold you by your arms behind your back to support you.

“Can’t take it anymore, baby?”, San whispers into your ear, and his voice is low, very low, you don’t know how much time has passed since you could make out any of his words, but it feels like you’re back here, in the elevator, and Seonghwa is putting on his belt again.

“I c- can!”, you manage to whine out, not wanting the night to end, not wanting to return to your small apartment, not wanting these two to be gone from your life. “I can!”, you repeat yourself, when San lets out a mockful cackle. “You’re not going to fucking leave me here, San!”

“Who said anything about leaving you here, baby?”, he asks you, and he does mean his confusion, but the sarcastic undertone makes you desperate grow desperate. San frowns. “What did I tell you, baby?”

“You aren’t telling me shit, San!”, you sob, and his cock running through you prevents you from finding a braver voice, his two hands find your wrists to bind them together in his grip. “Aren’t you such a smartie,” he growls into your ear, hot air hitting your dissolving ear.

“Brother,” San calls out, and the addressed man is busy opening up his briefcase, getting on his knee. “I’m still waiting on you, y’know.”

“If you had stuck to the plan, th–” Seonghwa murmurs, but the mafiaboss falls into his word. “Then we would have fuckin’ send the bitch to prison and someone else would have him killed him, but there! You know I didn’t come with the fucking patience for that, brother! Geezer was getting on my fucking nerves.”

Killed?

“And don’t you talk back now,” San warns, “It was you who killed all of ‘em, so you figure out how you’re going to carry that one out.”

Killed?

“You already know how I’m going to carry this out.” Seonghwa smirks. “But you’re stopping me, San.”

“Augh, brother, you’re too sober for your own sake!” San’s cock is too deep in your cunt and your body is too much in his control for you to stop moaning like a bitch, but in your head, you’re puzzling together tonight’s happenings.

Expensive whiskey. Ice cubes. Ten minutes, gunshots, black leather gloves– “killed.”

Oh, Y/N.

“What did you do with the chairman, Seonghwa?”, you moan out, feeling how the mafiaboss is ramming himself into you at a sloppy, greedy pace, prolonging how much he can be inside you before he comes again, and you don’t know whether his heavy breathing can cover up the silence that it takes for the CEO to react to your question.

Seonghwa is still kneeled on the floor, when he rotates his head, smiling, his eyebrows pushed up. “What do you think I did?” His second question of the day.

“I- I,” you stutter, but San shakes his head, and interrupts you with his voice still loose from the alcohol, “you really don’t know how to keep up a good mood, brother!”, grabbing you by your chin and yanking your head up. “Lemme make my baby cum first!”

You can’t see Seonghwa anymore. You can barely see anything anymore, you’re counting your fifth or sixth orgasm of the night, cunt growing hotter with each time San thrusts into it, and with your breath being cut off, you slowly feel your arms lose their responsibility, tingling up from where your wrists are crossed behind your back. His cockhead is flaying against your g-spot and your thighs tremble at how used you’re being, eyes falling in, throat feeling tied up.

“S- San,” you manage to cough out, back arching for your final cry of pleasure, and San grins, letting go of your wrists, which makes you immediately fall to the front, finding safety against the mirror with both of your hands. He smacks his hands against your ass and lunges into you until your whole breast is pushed against the cold wall.

“Come on, baby, come for me,” San roars, and you wail, tired, exhausted, feeling the orgasm drown you like another wave in the ocean of bliss you’ve been swimming in, whining out, “coming, coming for you, San!”

The mafiaboss presses himself against your back, his silver cross being imprinted into your neck, as he unloads himself, his last drops of hot cum overflowing out of you. “Fucking slut… So fucking good…”

He kisses your jaw repeatedly and looks at how tiredly closed your eyes are in the mirror, cooing “aww, baby.” San strokes away a strand of hair and gets himself off your body, pulling out. “You look like you need some sleep, baby.”

You are trying to catch your breath, grabbing the handrail to hold yourself up, as it sounds like San is putting on his shirt again. They’re gonna fucking leave you here, aren’t they? Leave you here in the elevator with the– with the fucking bankrolls on the floor of the fucking men you fucking– Oh god… Keep breathing, Y/N. Keep on breathing.

“I mean all I’m saying… you know… lobsters and crabs are friends, pal.”

What the fuck is he on again…

“You’re making this hard on yourself.”

“I’m not doing anything, just sayin’ that she just grew on me, that’s all.”

Your legs tremble, as you try straightening them to stand up and see what the two are scheming again, but as you turn your body around, ass against the handrail again, you hear a very unfamiliar clicking in front of your forehead area which is not coming out of San’s mouth.

“You’ve grown soft. That’s what you did.”

“Ahhh, fuck you, brother.”

“Pathetic.”

You see a hole, and it also doesn’t take you long to see Seonghwa ready to pull the trigger, the mafiaboss leaning into the corner of the elevator, arms crossed, looking at you with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, pressing the button that leads to the lobby.

The night is over.

“A- are you going to– oh my g-god, are you going to kill me…?”

“Yes, princess.”

Your heart is going to burst, you could puke out so many words right now, but you don’t know what to do. You don’t want to die, not when you felt so fucking alive– you– fuck, you should feel sorry that your coworkers that they didn’t deserve to go the same way as the asswipes did, because you’ve long realised that the bangs were their skulls being crushed by the bullets, but at the same time you couldn’t care any fucking less about them right now. You just have to survive, that was the only thing that mattered since the very beginning. This is about your life. Your precious fucking life.

“Ah…”

Your body is too weak to hyperventilate, but your brain is working overtime. Do you run? Attack them? No…

Seonghwa hasn’t moved an inch away from your face, and you take it upon yourself to raise your hand and slowly push the cold, black gun to the side, so you can look him in his eyes, but he forces it back there.

“Please don’t kill me… I can do so much for you! I– I,” you stutter, trying to gather all the knowledge your monks have taught you. “I– I’ll do anything! You– you saw me, didn’t you? I have– I’ve been told I have a talent for serving! I– I can do anything, please, I beg you, just…”

You fall to your knees, and they burn on the glassy floor, your hands folded in front of your abdomen.

“Just please, let me live…”

You’re not greedy. You’ve only taken what you were given, and tonight, you’ve been given so much. Too much? No, it couldn’t be…

“Brother.”

There are tears flowing down your eyes, and you feel so sorry for yourself. You miss your old monk, and hope that you may be reincarnated to a butterfly that he can admire, just so that he can look at you with his adoring eyes again. So someone can want the best for you once in your life–

“Brother?”

So anyone can finally love you for once in your life.

next part coming soon... series masterlist | main masterlist

#cromernet #choi san x reader #choi san smut #choi san scenarios #choi san x you #choi san x y/n #park seonghwa x y/n #park seonghwa scenarios #park seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa smut #ateez scenario #ateez smut #ateez x reader #chokkiwa #chokko #drivebyme

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writingstoraes · 1 year

Text

out to the world 🌎

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: instagram imagine/social media au

notes: not proofread and not revised so please expect errors hehehe please lmk what u think by replying or messaging and if u wanna be part of my taglist! <3

about: fans and people in the paddock have been trying to figure out whether charles is in a relationship or not. amongst the rumors, charles has had enough after seeing a series of mean comments about you.

paddocksays

liked by pierregasly, charloslove, leclercs, and 20,078 others

paddocksays F1 Ferrari driver Charles Leclerc spotted with a mystery woman having a splendid time on a yacht in Maranello. The same race weekend, Charles was accompanied by the same woman outside of Ferrari's HQ and he was seemingly very protective of her and apparently came out of the doors holding hands.

Is the Monegasquè finally off the market?

leclercs WHAT THE FUCK PIERRE LIKED?????

dr3stappen when will he make a dummy acc so hes not slipping on stuff like this 💀

ferrarifan Ok but Pierre liking doesn't confirm it,,, man probably thought this was pure bs and had a laugh

leclercs they were holding hands...

ferrarifans Dont you hold hands with your friends? Are you friendless?

charleswdc OMG go king so deserved

ferraritifosi Does it matter? She is probably a gold digger anyways.

ferrari1 Yeahhh lol riding off on that ferrari paycheck Charles has

16lecs55 Lol his ex was prettier

paddocksays

liked by charleswdc, dr3stappen, maxyracey, and 76,095 others

paddocksays Ferrari's very own lover boy? Charles Leclerc spotted out and about today on the streets of Monte Carlo with the same woman he was with in Italy. The "couple" is definitely not trying to be subtle.

Fans suspect that the woman is Y/N Y/L/N, a friend of Alex Albon's girlfriend, Lily.

tifosi1 Not even trying to hide the PDA, she is definitely using him

ferrarilover Clearly she wants some clout and some 💸💸💸

charleswdc they are trying to be subtle yall just dont know how to give them privacy ffs

ferrari1655 Not good enough for him lol he can do a lot better

sainzchamp ohhhh she ugly why is he even w her 💀💀💀

charles_leclerc

liked by carlossainz55, danielricciardo, lilymhe, and 2,450,334 others

charles_leclerc Up until now I never thought I could meet someone so loving, kind, and mesmerizing in all ways possible. To the only person I want to dance all my dances with, tell my ridiculously unfunny jokes to, and parade the streets with at midnight because we were craving pizza, you have my whole heart.

I am in a very loving relationship and I have never been happier. I ask everyone who's been making awful, unwarranted comments about Y/N to stop. All rumours and hearsays about her that paint her i negative light are not true. She does not deserve any of it and is the best person I know.

carlossainz55 I'm not the best person you know???

pierregasly Hurts, right?

charles_leclerc Please get out of my mentions 🙏

yourusername me? after your money? you havent even paid me when i put gas in all of your cars

charleswdc LMAOOOO SHES SO

charles_leclerc Will wire it to you now, chèrie 😘

yourusername no need, just bought u a new car

lilymhe MY LOVESSS ❤️❤️❤️ where are the mean comments im ready to fight

danielricciardo My man finally hard launched 🎉

yukitsunoda0511 MY PARENTS!!!!

yourusername kidding asside, je taime my love 🤍 my always in all ways!

pierregasly I feel like I had something to do with this

landonorris Please make a dump account dude

----------

tagging: @slytherheign <333

notes: this took me almost two hours lmaooo lmk what u think!!! ill be making a directory soon with all of my works i just need to figure out how to do masterlists 🥹 tysm for reading 🤍

#charles leclerc #formula 1 #f1 #charles leclerc insta au #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #f1 imagine #formula 1 insta au #formula 1 social media au #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x oc #f1 x you #charles leclerc fluff #f1 fluff

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sohnric · 7 months

Text

sweet like candy – e. sohn

pairing: eric sohn x fem! reader

genre: summer au, strangers to something more ?? fluff, suggestive. very much stargazing by the neighbourgood and fantasize by the boyz capsuled into a fic. eric is a simp and a hopeless romantic because i said so. a girl romanticizes sharing a lollipop (its me im girl)

warnings: alcohol, maybe some minimal swearing, a heated make out session that hints onto a hookup (no smut mentioned!). the use of a cheesy nickname babydoll (dont @ me or i will deactivate), reader has hair long enough for a claw clip

word count: 6.9k

a/n: almost cried while trying to name this fic somebody send help. Also this doesn't feel like my best work its kinda rushed imo but 🤠 yolo

part of the @deoboyznet summer on you event! cant believe i made it on time

a summer tradition of renting out a cabin every year invented by a couple of friends takes a turn for eric when a new addition to the circle brings him to his knees - in other words, he never knew tequila could taste so sweet.

If anyone ever asked Eric Sohn if he believed in love at first sight, he would, without a doubt, say yes.

What was the proof he had? Well, absolutely nothing. All he ever knew about love at first sight was from romance movies he watched during lonely nights with his roommate Juyeon, never having the experience of the whole world stopping and zooming in on one particular person, taking his breath away– but to put it simply, Eric Sohn is a true romantic. Call him cheesy if you want– he wouldn’t like it, but he also wouldn’t disagree.

On one summer afternoon, though, his world tilts in its axis– the moment comes, and he is finally able to test out his theory.

You walk out of the passenger’s side of a red 2008 Toyota Auris, hair put up into a claw clip, jean shorts showing off your long legs and a pearl white button-up opened and lazily thrown over your outfit, and suddenly, Eric Sohn finds his knees buckling and his palms sweating with affection. He was aware that Juyeon’s girlfriend was bringing her best friend to tag along to their little summer retreat (more like a trip to a cabin in the middle of the woods), but he sure as hell didn’t expect the stranger to make him feel this type of way.

Sure, it might just be him being incredibly attracted to you. But with how fast his heart was beating when you smiled at everyone after introducing yourself to the group, he was sure he was slowly, but surely falling for you. And he was falling hard.

He feels like the world is moving in slow motion as he watches the group go and unload the car– you and your best friend Yeri were the last ones to arrive– and what wakes him up from the haze is when he watches you struggle to carry a cooler out of the trunk into the cabin, his legs dragging him closer to the vehicle and near to your body.

Now is his time to shine. “Let me help!” he hurries out, sneakers crunching on the gravel. His hands firmly grab onto the handle of the blue cooler, muscles flexing under the weight (making him wonder why you would willingly want to carry the thing and not ask him or any of the guys for help in the first place), and when your eyes look up at come in contact with his, he presses a smile to his lips. “I’m Eric, by the way.”

“Ah,” you gasp, a grateful expression breezing over your features, “thanks. I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Eric hums, watching your every move. Your figure walks over to the front of the car, your head popping in close to the window to look inside, and when a satisfied look overtakes your features, Eric finds himself asking. “Is that everything?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “we can head inside, I think.”

The boy tries hard to keep his cool, he really does. But with how he’s trailing behind you like a lost puppy, attempting to find a topic that would engage him in a conversation with you, he feels like a boy that is just experiencing a crush for the first time in his life. Everything about you is enchanting– and sure, you could say he was just painfully attracted to you and this had nothing to do with love– but he was also convinced that if you asked him to jump off the Empire State Building, he would do it without giving it a second thought (which is kind of worrying, but again– it says a lot).

You open the door to the cabin for him, and he finds himself speechless at the action. Once your eyes meet again and you offer him another subtle smile, he finds himself gasping at the sentence that comes out of your mouth.

“Hey! We’re matching, kinda,” you note, pointing towards his outfit.

And you’re right– Eric didn’t even notice at first, too enchanted with your sheer existence– but you two were indeed wearing the same thing. Jean shorts, and a white button-up– in your case, thrown over a white tank top, in Eric’s, closed (although he did leave it a bit open at the top, revealing his tanned skin). Suddenly, the boy is glad he’s wearing a red cap to cover up his hair, since he foolishly thinks the hat provides him enough shade in the face to not reveal his burning cheeks as he utters out a weak response.

“It looks so much better on you, though.”

With that, he walks into the cabin– escaping the situation, not really paying a single thought to chivalry and letting you go through the door first– and as he reaches the crowd of people in the kitchen, he prays for all high sources to find him, get to him and wipe his brain clean of all thoughts, because

even though you are basically matching (and he does think you look so much better in the outfit than he does), all he can think about is just how much more he’d like your outfit if the white button-up enveloping your body was the one he’s wearing right now instead.

The next time Eric finds courage to talk to you is when it seems like you’re not finding it to talk to anyone else yourself– the big group is currently sitting around a fire, marshmallows and sausages slowly burning in the blazing flames– and while everyone around was either talking to each other or singing along to the songs Jacob was playing on the guitar, you were sitting alone in the middle of two commotions: Chanhee and Changmin arguing about something seemingly important, and Yeri and Juyeon making out right in front of everyone’s eyes.

And Eric was supposed to listen to Sunwoo talk about his latest heartbreak– how the man still gets no girls despite having such an objectively handsome face, Eric truly doesn’t know– but the topic of the conversation was too boring for him to engage with it. That, and he was also painfully aware of your every move– you didn’t even move much– and word– you weren’t talking to anybody– and that was slowly driving him insane.

You looked a little out of place. Eric supposes it was because you didn’t really know anyone here– except from your best friend and her awfully sappy boyfriend– but even though it was logical and a little expected for you to be a bit excluded in such a foreign circle, the man took it as his mission to make you feel as welcome and as included as he physically could.

Completely ignoring Sunwoo’s blabbering (like he was doing for the last few minutes anyway), Eric confidently (and a bit shakily– hands sweating and breath hitching in his throat) walks to the other side of the bonfire, from where he’s been watching your stone expression through the flames, and sits down in the small place between you and Changmin. Changmin wasn’t even facing you, too engrossed in the debate he was having with Chanhee, and so it was Eric’s job to wobble his bottom into the place, efficiently making the older boy move away with a light elbow jab sent into his lower back.

“Hi,” he clears his throat, “are you having fun?” he asks, but mentally curses at himself right as the question escapes his mouth– does she look like she's having fun? Of course she doesn't, you stupid idiot.

You smile at the question, though, nodding. “Yeah,” you hum, “having lots of fun listening to your friends argue and my friends making out next to my ear.”

“You seemed like it too, y’know,” Eric laughs, “they’re always like this, by the way. They’ll forget about the fight in the morning.”

“Oh, that could never be me,” you sigh, shaking your head at the sentiment.

“No?”

“No,” you shrug, “I get too petty. If we have a fight, I’m not speaking to you for at least two weeks.”

Eric finds himself laughing at your comment. “I’ll remember that for future reference.”

Straightening your back and looking at your companion– as if you were going to call him out on his subtle hint of there being any future meeting between the two of you– you suddenly gasp and swiftly turn towards the bonfire, an honest mourn escaping your lips.

“Oh fuck!” you curse under your breath as your hand reaches towards a stick that’s had its end in the flame, the device efficiently resting against a rock in a position where you didn’t have to pay any attention to the snack you were cooking– more like burning– for yourself. With a quick move for the stick, you pull the tip of it out of the scorching red of the bonfire and look at it in an examining way, as if the result would be different and the marshmallow would unburn itself if you stared at it long enough. “I completely forgot about this!”

Eric takes a glance at the burnt piece of fluff, letting out a laugh at the black marshmallow in front of your face. “That’s not how you make a good s’more,” he notes, poking fun at your annoyed face.

“Oh, no shit, Sherlock…” you mutter under your breath, but your face looks a bit sad to see the piece go to waste. “I don’t know why I even tried, I’m bad at this stuff.”

There comes his moment, Eric thinks. “Well, you’re lucky, ‘cause you just met an expert at making s’mores.”

“Does a thing like that even exist?” you chuckle, rolling your eyes at the male in disbelief.

“Of course it does! You’re looking at one now,” he grins, leaning over you to take a brand new marshmallow out of the bag to your right– sandwiched between your thigh and the couple in love– before he reaches over to your hand and takes the roasting stick out of your hand, slides the white fluffy cloud through the sharp tip and hovers it above the flame.

“The key is to hold it above the flame, and not in the flame,” Eric chuckles as he looks at you from the corner of his eye, watching your expression change.

“Oh, but I thought the key is to burn the thing,” you ironically gasp, shaking your head at his teasing. “Where did you even learn all of this?”

“I grew up in the States,” Eric hums, “they would deport me if I didn’t know how to make s’mores.”

The comment gets a giggle out of you– a sound Eric almost folds at and falls into the open fire (thankfully, he held his composure– he doesn’t think 3rd degree burns would suit his look) – and it takes everything in him to not scream like a teenage girl at the thought of making you laugh. Yes, that’s how down bad you managed to get the male.

“Do you have a special recipe?”

“Just the basic one,” he shrugs, turning the skewer in his hand to make the marshmallow equally glazed on each side, “I will make it extra good for you, though.”

“I thought a master always does their best?” you tease, watching as the boy crumbles under your gaze.

“Not always. I don’t like to put effort into things that aren’t worth it,” Eric hums as he takes the marshmallow out of the burning fire, examining it, and after deeming it worthy, taking the skewer and holding it up in between his knees. The male takes a graham cracker and tears it in half, before adding chocolate to one of the sides. After he’s done, he carefully places the golden fluff ball onto the cracker and closes it, offering the sweet sandwich to you with a subtle smile.

“For you,” he winks as he turns back towards the fire, putting another marshmallow onto the stick to make himself a s’more as well (and also mentally kicking himself at the sudden burst of courage). He hears you take a bite out of the snack, his knee bouncing up and down nervously as he awaits the verdict.

“Man,” you hum, “this is so good.”

“Told you,” he says, “if there’s something I’m confident in, it’s making s’mores.”

“That’s a very unuseful skill to have,” you note, but continue to eat. The comment has him chuckle and shrug.

“Well, I used it now, so I’d argue it’s actually very useful.”

A hum cuts out of your throat at this, finishing the s’more he made for you with a satisfied sigh. “Is this how you got girls back in the States?” you ask, making the male choke on his spit.

Eric was too young to get girls when he learned how to make the greatest s’mores. He went camping with his dad and his older sister and he burned a couple before he got it right. He was in middle school and before what the kids call a glow-up these days (back in the days, you just called it overcoming puberty), but still– he decides to test the waters with another lazy, half-assed flirty comment. “Only the pretty ones.”

He hears a chuckle out of you– a reaction he decides to not pay much attention to or overthink, for he doesn’t really remember what a good reaction to flirting is anymore– but then, you sigh and nod. “Well, I give your s’more a 5 star review, so I’d find that believable.”

The comment has Eric press his tongue into the inside of his cheek, battling a victorious smile that wants to oh so desperately appear on his lips. Turning his attention fully to you, he looks at you with confidence coating his insides– it only grows when he notices you staring at the side of his face, the flame of the fire twinkling in your eye and making your features sharper and twice as attractive to the poor boy.

His eyes scan you over for a few seconds before he notices a glimmer of something on the side of your lip– a chocolate stain that has him cautiously lean in and swipe a thumb over the sweetness, not even thinking twice before smoothing his finger over your skin.

“You had a little… something there,” he hums as he licks the chocolate off his thumb. Your eyes still trained on him force him to avert his gaze back to the fire– for it was unbearable, as if sparks were flying and burning his skin, everything about the interaction making goosebumps appear over his body; even though he felt hot in his cheeks and not at all cold– when the sight of his marshmallow in flames suddenly comes to him, startling him awake.

Hurriedly dragging out the burnt snack out of the fire, he hears you chuckle at him from the side– so much for not ruining the moment. (It’s okay, though. As long as you’re entertained.)

“I thought you were a master at s’mores,” you poke fun at him, “got distracted?”

Meeting eyes with you, Eric shrugs, a lazy grin settling to his lips. “I guess you could say that.”

The night progresses quickly– with Sunwoo getting so drunk he borrows Jacob’s guitar and clumsily strums the strings, freestyle rapping about the most random topics with flushed cheeks and eyes dramatically glued to the fire; Hyunjae wanting to have a competition of who can jump over the flames and Sangyeon having to stop his drunk friend with the force of his own body– and Eric finds his eyes lacking the candy he’s been occupying himself with the whole evening. You disappeared somewhere into the house a few minutes ago, and although he didn’t want to be clingy, he walked up to the cabin with a nervous pep in his step– that’s it, he just wanted to make sure you were okay.

Eric walks through the doorway, having his body immediately be met with the joined common room slash kitchen area. The cabin is kind of small (too small for the amount of people currently occupying it) and kind of old, but it’s a tradition to rent it every year during the summer, so no one ever questioned the decision or made the move to rent out a bigger one, no matter the growing friend group.

Your figure finally appears in the dimly lit kitchen area, your back turned to the doorway. Standing at the kitchen sink, it seems like you were doing the dishes– tons of plates used to carry grilled meat and sausages dumped carelessly into the sink, forgotten in a minute and leaving the last remains of food dry up on them and get hard to scrape off, a couple of glasses and mugs with their ears broken off from their age waiting with coffee stains at the bottom– and Eric immediately feels his heart fall down to his stomach, because why would one do the dishes in the middle of the night? Those usually get left there until the morning, when the least hungover person will take mercy on the rest and take care of them. Were you feeling excluded from the conversation? Did you feel bored?

“What are you doing here so alone?” he asks, making you turn your head over your shoulder and smile at him– a stone falling off his heart at the action– before you shrug at him.

“Washing the dishes,” you say, as if it wasn’t clear already.

“I see that,” Eric chuckles, “what I meant to say was, why are you washing the dishes in the first place?”

“Well, somebody’s gotta do it.”

Eric huffs– and he doesn’t even know why he’s so defensive about it. “That someone didn’t have to be you, y’know.”

He’s standing next to you now– your eyes meeting as you stare at the boy for a heartbeat– a smile spreading on your face at his furrowed brows. The action has him visibly relax, watching as you shrug and get back to the dish washing. “I just wanted some alone time for a bit,” you muse, “outside was getting too loud for a second, I’m not used to crowds.”

“Ah… once Sunwoo drinks, he can’t shut up, so I kinda get that it was starting to feel insufferable,” Eric notes, nodding at you in acknowledgement before the realization hits him. “Wait– you said you wanted to be alone, so I should probably-”

You halt him with a soft laugh– the one Eric finds his heart liking a little too much, with how it jumps up and down and makes all of him feel warm inside– a soapy hand reaching out in his direction. “It’s okay, you can stay,” you muse, “I enjoy your company.”

“O-okay,” Eric stutters– so much for the smooth lines he had prepared in his head before coming in here, all of them flying out of his head straight out of the window– and to not seem so silly, he gets his hands occupied and reaches for the clean dishes you started stacking on the counter next to the sink, deciding to dry them and put them away. The kitchen falls into a comfortable silence that only gets broken by an occasional scream landing through the walls from outside, and Eric can’t help but indulge himself in the domesticity of the act.

He can almost imagine you two washing the dishes like this in your shared apartment after you two cook dinner together and eat it in your cozy living room. That scenario sounds almost too good for the boy, having warmth slowly ooze into his cheeks, and that, he finds to be the hint that he should probably stop thinking about you in that way now or else he’ll get too distracted and break the glasses he is currently putting away. (God forbid– there were not enough of them for the entire friend group in the first place.)

“Are you having a good time, though?” Eric finds himself asking through his weird delirium.

You smile– oh god you smile, you should stop doing that if you want him to survive the night– and nod at the boy, calmness overtaking your aura and slipping into his cracks as well. “I am. It’s nice meeting new people and everyone’s very nice,” you say.

“That’s good to hear. How long have you and Yeri been friends?”

“A couple of years,” you note, “we met during high school. We always dreamt of moving away to college and living together at dorms or something, so it’s… it’s nice that it worked out for us,” you say, having Eric nod at your words with a sweet smile.

“That’s great to hear,” he muses, “I met Juyeon and Sunwoo in my freshman year of college, and the rest just… came along after a while.”

“Your friend group is pretty big,” you point out, having the boy shrug.

“I guess so,” Eric mumbles, never really thinking of it this way– in his eyes, this was normal. This was how he operated, how he lived. A lot of people around him, always close– one would think such a large friend group wouldn’t be as close with each other, but it’s quite the opposite in his case, he thinks. Maybe he was just blessed.

“How do you do that?” you sigh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I dunno,” he snickers, “guess you could say I’m quite the social butterfly.”

“I can see that,” you laugh. Eric watches you, his hands now empty of any dish– he’s been drying them quicker than you manage to clean (and rightfully so, the food is stuck on there) – he starts noticing the details of your sheer presence. How you have a slight smile playing with your lips even when your eyes are glued to the sink, how your hair slightly slips out of the claw clip and frames your face, how close you’re standing– his eyes slip towards your hands, noticing the water running down your forearms and dangerously close to the sleeves of your shirt.

Acting on reflex, mostly, the boy reaches towards your sleeves and gently tugs them up, the contact of your skin that he initiates and should realistically be prepared for making the tips of his fingers tingle, the action having you stop in your movements and glance up at him through your eyelashes– a sight he wishes he could engrave into the back of his eyelids so he could stare at it forever and always.

“Thank you,” you hum, voice barely louder than a whisper when he retracts away from you, taking his previous stance against the kitchen counter.

Eric hangs his head low for a second, clearing his throat to ease his own tension. Now is your turn to start up the conversation, a casual question falling off your lips as you get back to washing the last remains of dishes. “Yeri said you come here often?”

The boy nods enthusiastically to your sentence. “We do. We started in freshman year, because Juyeon was going to this exchange program to Paris for a couple of months, so we threw him a goodbye party. Then he came back, so we threw a welcome back party here. And then we celebrated Younghoon hyung’s birthday here, and it kind of stuck, I guess? We go here at least once a year during summer.”

“That’s a nice tradition to have,” you sigh, turning the faucet off as you finish rinsing off the last dish– a big bowl that Sangyeon used to marinate the meat a few hours ago.

“It is,” Eric nods, smiling fondly at the sentiment. He reaches for the bowl and dries it with the now damp rag (there were a lot of dishes to dry, after all), and moves to put it back to its place under the sink. With your figure still in its previous spot, the boy puts away the towel onto the kitchen counter and gently grabs your waist with his free hand, moving you away a few inches to the left. He crouches and opens the cabinet under the sink and puts the bowl into the pyramid of other ones, straightening his back when he goes back into a standing position, catching you staring at him from above, watching his every move. Your body is leaning against the counter, having Eric mirror your stance only a few inches away from you before speaking up again.

“You’re welcome to join us when we come back next time.”

The time reads 3AM– or at least that’s what his circadian rhythm tells him, because he doesn't bother to check as he twists and turns in the bed, too hot and too alert to fall asleep– when Eric decides to walk down the steep stairs and try to get some fresh air. The cabin is hot inside, but he still takes his lost button-up that he had thrown over one of the kitchen chairs and puts it on before he makes his way outside, knowing that the forest will make his bones get cold with the crisp breeze.

He opens the door and moves to sit on the little patio– the silence of outside is overwhelming even after the cabin has quieted down and everyone has gone to sleep (each one on a different level of tipsy ranging from completely chill Sangyeon to doesn’t know where he is Sunwoo– with Eric somewhere in the middle of the spectrum). His legs drag a little tiredly as he scans his surroundings– god forbid there’s a bear out waiting for him– when the sight of a figure sitting on the floor takes him by surprise, their head already turned to him after hearing the sound of the door opening.

“What are you doing here?” he asks as he walks over to you, noticing your frame dressed in a tank top and sweatpants, hinting that you at least tried to get some sleep before coming out here, just like he has.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you shrug, confirming his suspicions.

“Same here,” the man sighs, “mind if I sit with you?”

“You’re welcome to join me,” you smile at him, patting the floor next to you and watching as Eric crouches down before taking a seat on the wood, ignoring the sunbeds and old rattan chairs situated all over the patio. (If you’re on the floor, he’s on the floor– it’s as simple as that.)

You’re holding a lollipop in between your fingers, your other hand occupied with a half-empty bottle of tequila that was previously passed around the circle at the bonfire. Eric raises his brows at the sight, having you shamefully avert your gaze from him.

“I thought it would be a waste to not finish this,” you say, snickering, “and I also… kind of hoped that it would put me to sleep…”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures?”

“I guess you could say that,” you laugh. Taking a sip from the bottle, you gulp the alcohol down before putting the lollipop inside of your mouth, sucking on it and licking your lips after. This is not the way you’re supposed to drink tequila, but Eric figures that gathering salt and a lime would be too much work anyways.

“Are you really using that lollipop as a chaser?” he giggles, making you hum.

“Yeah,” you stare at him, a grin overtaking your features, “this girl taught me to do that at a party last year. It’s not as good as literally anything else, but it gets the job done. Wanna try?” you ask, offering him the sweetness on the stick and the bottle.

The truth is, you were only a bit tipsy when the group slowly started to scatter into their beds. Eric didn’t drink as much either– only enough to make him laugh at everything that was said and make his staring at you twice as obvious as it was before– so he thinks he can take some more. As you said, it would be a shame if the bottle went to waste– and also, something about the idea of drinking with you alone on the patio was making his hopeless heart hammer against his chest in dangerous measures.

“Sure,” he agrees, taking the bottle first. The boy takes a sip, feeling the alcohol burn down his throat, and when he moves the dark brown glass away from his lips, he is met with the image of you leaning closer to him, offering him the lollipop. His hand instinctively grabs the plastic stick, thinking you’re letting go of it, when he’s met with the feeling of your flesh under his fingertips. You put the lollipop against his lips, making him open up on instinct and suck on the strawberry flavored candy, a million different sensations (all unrelated to the alcohol) swimming through his brain– you’re so close, you smell so good, he’s holding your hand, he’s sucking on the lollipop you previously had in between your lips and it’s driving him crazy– before you take the candy out from between his lips and put it back into your mouth, tongue swirling around the sweet ball.

The lollipop had an aftertaste of tequila on it, but it was enough to chase down the faint bitterness– Eric finds himself wanting to taste more of the sweet strawberry, but foolishly desiring to get the sensation off your lips instead. His eyes stay locked with yours throughout the whole exchange, sparks flying in between the two of you even though the bonfire has long gone out, his fingers lazily dropping from the candy.

“How was it?” you ask, voice barely louder than a whisper– goosebumps appearing all over Eric’s skin when he swears your eyes flicker to his lips for a split second.

“Good,” he admits. It’s silly how he feels so breathless at the action.

The sound of the wind playing with the leaves of the forest is the only thing accompanying you two. It’s as if you two were thinking of the same thing when you pull out the lollipop out of your mouth and offer it back to Eric, watching with utmost interest as the boy leans closer to capture it in between his lips, never breaking eye contact. The action feels a little too electrifying to him, a little too intimate, but he can't stop– can't even imagine wanting to.

Taking a sip of the tequila, but not chasing it down with the candy, you speak up again, lazy eyes practically glued to him. “This would be a perfect moment for a kiss…” you mumble, licking your bottom lip for a split second before biting down on it.

“Are you flirting with me?” Eric foolishly asks, tone of voice a bit weak, a little unsure, the candy still in his mouth, making his words come out a little jambled.

“Mhm,” you nod, grinning to yourself– Eric wonders how much of your behavior and how much of his raging heartbeat is due to the effect of alcohol in both of your veins.

His fingers pull at yours as he takes the candy out of his mouth, voice dropping as he answers you. “Then we probably shouldn’t waste the moment.”

Even though the intentions are clear, the boy can’t bring himself to make the first move– he’s completely enchanted with your presence, staring at you with tension in his shoulders and eyes trained onto your face, watching and examining it for any shift or change. Focused on the way you move, he thinks you must have realized you were going to have to be the one to take the first step– your lazily smile before you lean closer, impossibly close– making Eric’s eyes flutter shut with anticipation, your breath fanning his face making goosebumps appear all over his body.

When your lips finally touch his, he feels like he’s being kissed for the first time again, with the amount of fuzziness in his stomach and buzzing in his ears. He regains his composure quite quickly, though, as he positions his head in a way that makes you two even closer to each other, lips pressing firmer against yours now. His hand instinctively reaches out to hold your jaw, fingertips glazing the soft skin under them, your lips retracting only to go in for more.

Blindly placing the bottle onto the floor next to your bodies, you peck his lips and sigh into the kiss. “Damn, you’re good at this…”

“We’re only getting started,” he muses, making you chuckle.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” he nods, watching as you once again lean in and suck on his upper lip, making his eyes flutter close again. A weight appears over him as you shift in your place and move to straddle his lap, your hand moving to cup his cheek and tilt him upwards, everything about the kisses getting more hurried– less gentle, less hesitant– when you tug on his bottom lip with your teeth and grant your tongue entry into his mouth.

Sweetness mixes in between you, your hands moving around his neck, heavy breaths shared across the patio. Eric feels like he’s levitating, his body having an out of body experience, yet being awfully present– every little shift pushing him to overdrive, the slightest touch making his skin burn and heart drum against his ribcage.

You shift in his lap, making him huff under the pressure, his lips trailing wet kisses down the side of your neck. Teeth glazing the jointure of your shoulder, kitten licking the place and sucking in a bruise that will eventually be visible to everyone when you two wake up in the morning, Eric feels your hands tugging down the sleeves of his shirt, fingers feeling up his biceps. The action makes him chuckle into your neck, but the smile fades quickly as he feels your nails scratching gently at his flaming skin.

“Take this off,” you mutter, and Eric finds it endearing– helping you take him out of the button-up, sitting under you in just a white tank top and black basketball shorts.

“Why?”

“Your arms looked good in this,” you hiss before you hide your face into his neck, leaning down to give him your fair share of kisses and love bites, having the male teasingly joke as his hands run up under your tank top, painfully aware of the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra anymore.

He moves his head to the side to give you more access before speaking out, tone of voice husky and coated in lust. “What if I get cold now?”

“Then I’m more than happy to move this to your room,” you purr into his ear.

Eric sighs, fingers playing with the hem of your top before he lets his palms drift towards your exposed stomach, roaming across naked skin. Goosebumps appear all over your body at the action, making the boy victoriously grin. “It looks like you’re the one that's cold, though, babydoll.”

Rolling your eyes at the male, you shut him up by latching yourself onto his lips before you speak against his mouth. “I’ll take that as an invitation, then?”

“Wake up Eric! The girls are leaving, you should at least go say goodbye!” Sangyeon roars into the boy's room, making the male turn over in the bed and huff out in frustration. He drags his arm up to shield his eyes from the sunlight hitting his face, the intention of just rolling over and sleeping more written very clearly in his face.

“Come on man, we’re leaving in an hour too, so you should go send them off and then pack your shit so we can load the cars,” Sangyeon says when he gets no reaction from the youngest. It’s to no use, apparently, and so as the oldest and most observant out of the group, Sangyeon decides to use physical force– he knows Eric would hate to have you go without saying goodbye. He’s not stupid. Or blind.

A strong hold on his calves drags Eric out of the bed and makes his half-naked body fall to the floor, a yelp coming out of his throat finally making Eric’s body fully alert and awake.

“Yo! What the fuck–”

“Put a shirt on and go say goodbye to Y/N before she goes, would you, sleeping beauty?” Sangyeon huffs before rolling his eyes at his younger friend, escaping the room and shutting the door close after himself with a loud thud (to add more effect to the scolding, Eric thinks).

The mention of your name has Eric quickly scrambling out of the bed. His heart hammers at the adrenaline rush, pulling a clean shirt out of his bag and dragging it over his head, the basketball shorts from yesterday’s night found on the floor being pulled over his lower frame in approximately 0.5 seconds. Eric takes the stairs 3 at a time– with how steep they are, he questions how exactly does he not trip and break his spine on his way down– and puts on a pair of slippers he finds at the door (that are not his, or his size, for the matter, making his heels comically stick out from the back).

Without checking his appearance in the mirror anywhere, he swings the door open and walks out of the cabin, watching as the group settles in a half-circle around your car, Yeri loading the trunk with her duffle bag before she closes it shut and smiles at her boyfriend Juyeon on the side. Eric joins the crowd, clearing his throat when his eyes fall onto your figure, the sight in front of him freezing him in his spot.

You’re standing there, in your jean shorts from the day before, an oversized white button-up enveloping your frame. A clueless stranger might not tell the difference, but he does– you put the shirt onto your bare skin and buttoned it just enough to reveal a bit of your cleavage– and it’s so similar to the outfit you had on yesterday, just with one difference.

You’re wearing Eric’s shirt. You’re wearing his shirt and your neck is scattered with red and purple-ish bruises, and no, Eric wasn’t that drunk and he remembers everything, but the events of last night suddenly play out right in front of his eyes like a movie, still nailing him to his spot and wiping out all of his vocabulary.

The boy feels hot in his cheeks as he watches you and your best friend pay your goodbyes to the rest of the boys, the men pulling you into side-hugs and fist bumps, shared ‘It was nice meeting you’s and ‘You should come by next time too’s resonating through the place. Soon enough, you reach the end of the make-shift half circle and lock your eyes with Eric, a playful smile softly appearing on your face.

“It was nice meeting you, Eric,” you hum, “I had fun,” you note, shooting him a knowing look.

“Me too,” he nods, nervously chewing on his bottom lip. He doesn’t know where the confidence of last night went, but he suddenly feels unarmed and lost. What does one do now?

The sight of you in his shirt makes him feel like his biggest (wet) dream has come true– call him cheesy, but it also wakes up a sense of déja vu in him from the day before– you with sunlight in your eyes, hair messed up in a claw clip. He feels like he just fell in love at first sight again. Is that even possible?

It’s good you have a sense in you that makes you take the initiative and be in charge when you see him faltering. A giggle cuts out of your throat as you lean in and hug the boy around his neck, your lips dangerously close to his ear as you speak in a hushed whisper, not wanting to be heard by the men around you.

“I stole your shirt from you, by the way. You should text me if you want it back, so we can meet up, or something,” you mouth, lips gently glazing the sensitive skin of Eric’s ear, and god does he feel like he's going to suffocate from the lack of oxygen this causes in his lungs.

“You look amazing in my clothes, so I won’t ask for it back,” Eric hums, “but I’ll text you just in case you ever wanna bless my eyes with the sight again.”

“Deal. I’ll make Juyeon text me your number,” you say before you pull away from him, shooting him a wink that almost has his knees buckling like a school boy in love for the first time.

You walk backwards and wave at the group, sending Eric one last look before you join the passenger’s side and close the car door behind you, the sound of Yeri starting the engine resonating through the quiet forest. The men wave at you until the Toyota disappears out of sight, only scattering inside when it does to gather their things and load up their cars as well.

Eric is woken up from his trance by a teasing whistle coming out of Sunwoo’s mouth and a father-like slap to his back from Sangyeon.

He wonders if he’s truly being so obvious. (He's unaware of the fact that you two had very visible matching love bites on your necks. It doesn’t take much effort to put two and two together– don't tell him that, though.)

Still, Eric shrugs and goes inside with a different kind of pep to his step.

When he licks his lips, he swears he can still taste the strawberries.

#dbn: summer on you #deoboyznet #the boyz #eric sohn #tbz #eric sohn x reader #eric sohn fluff #eric sohn angst #eric sohn scenario #eric fluff #eric angst #sohn youngjae #tbz fic #tbz x reader #tbz fluff #the boyz x reader #the boyz fluff

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agi-ppangx · 11 months

Text

💭let me help you

pairing: bang chan x gn!reader

word count: 806

tags: non!idol au, gn!reader, angst, fluff, pre established relationship

warnings: hospital, broken leg, a bit of crying

author's note: hiii, i hope yall are doing fine!! wrote this pretty quickly and its totally not proofread, so please dont mind any typos and mistakes </3 feedback and reblogs highly appreciated 🫶🏽

you tried calling your boyfriend several times now and finally, after what feels like forever, you heard his voice. "channie! hi, um… look, i'm really sorry, but we have to cancel our date tonight…" you said with a pounding heart. you felt guilty, knowing that today was one of rare times when chan could wrap up his work earlier and spend some time with you. "everything alright? you sound worried" chan asked, concerned about your well-being. you started to panic a bit, not wanting him to worry about your problem. "yeah, it's nothing, i swear it's just-" "y/n, what's going on?" he interrupted you, clearly lost in your rambling. you sighed and mumbled "i'm at the hospital right now. but it's fine! really, i'm fine, just won't be able to go to the movies later". chan didn't respond for a while, but you heard rustling and the door closing. "which hospital?" he then asked, his voice shaking. you knew it was useless to argue with him and you told him the address. "i'll be there in 20, wait for me, okay?" chan stated and you hummed, ending the call.

you and chan have been dating for a little over 2 months and throughout this time you weren't able to go on many dates, since chan's job was quite time consuming and your schedules collided every time you wanted to go out together. and today was one of the rare times when you could meet up. you two planned everything a week in advance, chose a movie you were going to watch and the restaurant you were supposed to eat dinner after it. but you had so much to do today before the date and in a rush your feet slipped on the stairs, causing you to fall down and break a leg. you were in a hospital for a while now, nervously waiting for your doctor to carry out essential tests and put a plaster on your leg. it felt like hours and you didn't know how long it would all take.

chan arrived pretty quickly, bursting into the emergency room and looking nervously around it. when his eyes finally met yours, he sprinted to your side and took a better look. "what happened?" he asked, his voice quiet and unstable. "i… fell down the stairs this morning" you murmured, ashamed that a grown up person could be that clumsy. "i'm really sorry channie, i wanted to run errands before our date and i just…" you sighed, pointing to your leg resignedly. you mumbled a quiet "i'm sorry" once again and looked down to hide the tears that gathered in your eyes. after a while, chan finally spoke. "y/n, you don't have to be sorry, you did nothing wrong. i was just really worried about you and for the whole drive here i was praying for you to be fine" he said, placing his hand on your cheek and wiping the tears from your face. "does it hurt?" he then asked softly, although he knew the answer. "it does, so bad, and i don't know how long i have to wait for the doctor" you whispered, sounding defeated, and more tears ran down your face. he kissed your forehead and then got up. you didn't know where he was going, but soon you saw him talking to the nurses and to your doctor. you didn't hear the conversation, but you saw that chan was impatient, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he was speaking. he returned to you after a while with a smile and a soft "they'll take care of you now". then everything happened really fast, the nurse taking you to examine you and within an hour you were ready to leave with a plaster on your leg.

chan offered to give you a ride, helping you to get to the car. "you'll spend a few days at my place, okay? i'll take care of you" he stated and you looked at him. "chan, you don't have to, i'll be fi-" you started but he interrupted you, "baby, you know your place is too cramped and complicated for you to get around with crutches. please, let me help you". you sat in silence for a while when you suddenly asked "baby?". it took you off guard, being in a fresh relationship you two didn't really use affectionate names yet, but you liked it a lot. you saw chan's face become red like a tomato and you giggled to yourself. "fine, let's go to your place, baby," you grinned. chan smiled to himself and then there was a pleasant silence between you. you wondered how you got so lucky to have chan in your life - someone who treated you with care and love and was there for you for good and for bad.

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tiyoin · 8 days

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Tiyoin the voices got to me again. I was scrolling tho tik tok and came across a video ,and it reminded me that you mentioned reader doing a sport before attending twst in the singing au. Wanna give a guess what sport I saw??

It was ✨figure skating✨. Just imagine it for a sec. Do I know anything about skating?? No. But the idea of anxiety reader being one is beautiful. Especially since skating isnt a confrontation sports like soccer and, reader doesn't have to be in contact with someone while performing their act.

I see reader starting the sport when they were young. They may have seen it as a way to put themselves out there while doing something they enjoy and find relaxing. They didn't compete in big contests with thousands of people watching (girlie would not make it). They would only get to county or district level of the contest B4 the nerves got to them. Most likely self sabotages at the end so they wouldn't have to seen and judged by so many. Reader does has a few gold medals tho. Yuu has been their personal cheerleader for a few years now. Going to as many contests as he can to just support reader and know they're not alone.

✨Now✨

What if there is a different competition (w/o a overblot hopefully) which a sport is picked randomly. Whether you want it to be a school vs school, dorm vs dorm or maybe grade vs grade you can decide. I think it could work with any of them. Like they pick a few people to represent their side and to complete. The ones that physically compete get prizes (💰) and the others get bragging rights and a 🍕 pizza party or smth like that idk.

Anyways, Yuu is like *puppy eyes* pls reader 👉👈we poor. And reader knows Yuu is only asking cuz they they really need the money and he would never make them do smth that would harm them. Yuus real motive is maybe this will help reader make friends or less be less anxious around their classmates. And he knows Reader is gonna win cuz none of the others skate.

The only ones in NRC that I can see being able to skate to a degree is Rook, Jade or Ortho maybe Epel too. He probably hated it till his grandma said only strong people could skate cuz it's hard. I think his home town is gets snow right? Can't recall rn.

Depending on which VS is picked the outfit and preforment is gonna be a easy choice or the hardest thing in the whole contest. Maybe a duet gets thrown in there. ➖👄👁️

Overall reader is ✨stressed✨ rightfully so. The creeps are recording, admirers admirering, rivals showing up left and right. Reader gonna need a nap after everything that's happened.

Another 3-5 am ask woooo. Sorry if there is any spelling errors. Why do the best ideas always come when I'm tired 😩. I can send u a tik tok I saw that inspired me if u want. Also I don't mean to mention Rook in every ask he just shows up w/o asking. Like my fav is Malleus and I haven't send a single idea with him.

Maybe it's cuz Rooks a Sagittarius and I'm a Gemini. They are sister signs. That's probably why he lives in my head rent free. I hope a good night.

MEL- I NEED TO KISS YOU BRAIN RIGHT NOW!!

especially with the death of YOI: adolescence... a sad day for anime lovers' everywhere (im on desktop so i can't do any emojis </3)

I actually had a really big skating phase. still do and would love to have prof. lessons. i wanted to do it so. badly. my parents said 'no' and that it was too late for me, so i mourn that. believe it or not, i was in soccer and almost did it in college.

but the ice feeling so freeing whenever reader steps onto it. they're not worried about sweating because of ice, and they can move how the want when they want.

reader would 100 PERCENT self sabotage themselves. filling their head with nonsense and because of all those thoughts (especially) 'dont miss this spin, dont miss this spin' only to miss it because they were focusing on whether they would 'miss the spin or not')

but in their home world, reader is phenomenal!! they're amazing! they got scouted by amazing coaches who wanted to tap into their raw potential, who were impressed by reader's hard work and drive... but reader always finds a away to miss things up for themselves.

OH MY GOD AHHH SPORTING COMPETETIONS WERE ALWAYS MY FAVORITE ARCS IN SHOWS

ITS LIKE THEIR OWN MINI OLYMPICS HAHAHA (reader: wdym you guys dont have olympics?)

ofc there's a pre sign up and auditions. reader is thinking and mulling it over. because trying out for the boys team is very different than the girl's team, is co-ed even allowed?? this is an all boys school after all!

(yuu brings crowley to their audition to convince him to give them student-ship so they can compete and WRECK those snot-nosed princes.)

maybe there's a partner skate? and you know that the admirers of reader that can skate and sign. the. fuck. up.

I WANT SKATER JADE!! I WANT IT I WANT IT I WANT IT!! but home boy would probably not be able to skate at the level of reader just because he's og a fish and if he started skating when he turned human then he'd only have a year of experience </3

but lets just say there's a sports thing they have... not club but dedicated for this event... then i can see jade being somewhat on reader's level. but there's still a difference unfortunately

ROOK HUNT SKATED OUT OF THE WOMB!! ortho could professionally skate sine... 5 minutes ago? like c'mon guys get on his level.

though i can see rook rather being an observer. he also called it 'ice dancing' because that's what it is to him. but if rook trying out for this instead of his usual sweep of archery, all to stop some... he doesn't have a word for the level of disgust he'd have if he saw you dancing with a slimy no name.

plus he will be able to experience your growth! not just as a skater but as a person! he can also get closer to you!

vil. vil can! ice dance. he needed to learn it for a film and he's always liked the feeling of being on the ice. which makes pomefiore the contenders for being on the team / being reader's partner during partner categories.

epel would want ot learn hockey but was forced into ice skating by his grandma HAHAH she'd say that he can learn to play hockey after he's mastered the ice or something. it's something he's NOT proud of- but (if this is the point where him and reader are on good terms) then he'll happily play up him being a skating pro.

i can also see vil forcing epel into skating for the school. like wdym ice skating is for girls? get your ass on the ice NOW

SILVER AND LILIA WOULD ALSO BE ICE SKATERS AHHH. but it's a bit dangerous for silver to be on the ice but if it means helping support his friend then he's gung ho about it! just... please keep an eye on him in case he starts falling (he's usually good about that. making it to the sides before he was able to face plant on the ice. but lilia is always present in case of such emergencies (and if the designated watchers arent able to get to him in time))

lilia has dabbled in a bit of everything. so if you see him whip out a quad (with only a little bit of stumbling, as he complains about his bones again) he'll act like it's not hard (it's not- for him)

BUT IF MALLEUS WANTS TO GET INTO THAT ICE SKATING ACTION THEN HE'LL SPEND HOURS AT IT. the prince bale to do things a bit differently than everyone since he's.. ya knw, thee malleus draconia.

crowley ; you can barly even skate! why are you at the try outs!

malleus :... give me a week (and the mofo MEANS IT)

and dw i get random spouts of 'rook hunter-itis too. I DONT MIND YOU BRINGING HIM UP CAUSE I LOVE HIM- AND MALLEUS AHHHH)

#tiyoin 🔎#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted anxiety 🌀#mel <3

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euphorajeon · 2 years

Text

yeah i know (you'll always stay) | jjk

— pairing: boxer!jk x f. reader

— genre: fluff, smut | college!au, boxer!jk, childhood friend!jk, friends to lovers

— word count: 4.3k

— warnings: harsh words, tattooed and pierced jk, too much use of the pet name 'baby', kissing, making out, markings (hickeys), fondling, nipple play, heavy petting, dirty talk, mentions of oral sex, implied penetrative sex, gguk gets a bit mean in the middle :c (dw it's only in the heat of the moment), all this happens in a public gym though no one is inside other than jk and oc

— summary: a boxing lesson with your boyfriend takes an unexpected turn when he decides he's had enough of your blabbering mouth.

— author's note: the summary is highkey meh and it's not a social media au pls dont be fooled by the pic.. hehehe. also it's my first time writing explicit smut so pls be gentle with me asdkdjksjd with that said i hope you enjoy! :)

masterlist | boxer!gguk masterlist

Jeon Jeongguk is annoying.

It’s the first time you’re back in the boxing gym he frequents after months vacating it, never setting foot inside the place in the time you were separated with your boyfriend. There have been many occasions where he encouraged you to come on your own and meet with his trainer — who is familiar with you too by now — but you never did. Something about feeling like you don’t belong there plays a big factor on why. The boxing gym is his setting, not yours.

Apparently Jeongguk thought your reasoning does not make any sense at all, taking your words too literally by saying the boxing gym is a public setting and anyone can train there as long as they pay for it. You had spent the whole drive to the gym bickering about this, both you and Jeongguk too stubborn to back down. When you reached the gym, he took the final words by pointing out that there are a few people inside the building, proving that it is a public setting. You had rolled your eyes as you took a seat in your usual corner, still ogling your boyfriend as he works out despite his being annoying earlier.

You think he’s done being annoying, but here he is doing exactly that by asking you to get off your seat and put on a pair of boxing gloves.

“You’re kidding, right?” You give him the stink eye as he gulps down water from his huge water bottle, chest still heaving from the exercise. You’re too busy staring at his post-workout state that you almost miss him shaking his head no at your question.

“But you just finished!” you blurt out.

He lifts an eyebrow (the one which used to be pierced, thank God it’s gone now), confused by the lack of relevance. “So?”

It’s irritating how he doesn’t see the connection and how he looks so unbothered about all of this. Even more so when he continues lifting his water bottle to his lips, now taking slow sips as he gives you a challenging stare, silently asking you to elaborate. You hate that you’re feeling a bit hot just from his stare alone.

Still, you try to maintain your annoyed expression, refusing to give in. “You’re done which means I’m gonna be doing this by myself which means I’m gonna embarrass myself in front of these people and I don’t want to do that,” you say in one breath. “So, no, I’m not going to put on the gloves, Jeongguk.”

“Who said you’re doing it alone?” Jeongguk smirks, reaching inside his duffel bag to pull out a set of clothes which he thrusts into your hands. “I’ll be your training partner. Go get changed.”

You open your mouth to voice out an objection, but he beats you before you can get anything out. “Go or I’ll do it for you right here.” The firm tone he uses means he’s serious, so you make your way towards the changing room with a huff. It’s not fair how easy he makes you do something, even when you try your hardest to refuse.

You come back from the changing room to an almost empty space, your boyfriend being the only other person in the room. He’s gotten rid of his boxing gloves, replacing them with the pads that are usually on his trainer’s hands. He’s also put on the protective head gear which hides most of his face, highlighting his big doe eyes behind it. But that’s not what you are focused on.

“Why the fuck are you sleeveless now?”

Your question gets answered with yet another smirk, this time with a shrug that’s too suspicious to not mean anything. “It’s hot, why else would I be sleeveless?” He then gestures to the boxing gloves, signalling for you to put them on. “Come on, I only booked an hour of private session. Can’t afford to waste any more time.”

You grab the boxing gloves in your hand, but before putting them on, you smack your boyfriend in the chest with it first. “You’re so annoying, you know that?” you hiss as he laughs, both of you knowing exactly why he chose to go sleeveless just now.

“You love it,” he says with a grin.

After that he starts protesting about the time again, urging you to put on the gloves so you can start already. It’s actually endearing how he booked a private session for you two so you don’t have to be self-conscious about your lack of skills in boxing in front of other people, but the way he keeps talking about it sours it a little bit. You know it’s because he doesn’t want to waste the money he has invested for the time, but still.

As it turns out, he was right to hurry you into starting, because you’re not good at any sports and so you learn really slow about it. You’ve lost count of how many times Jeongguk has to correct your posture and the way you punch, as well as taking your ill-powered jabs and missed hits. You’ve apologized probably a hundred times at this point.

“It’s fine,” he exhales, tired from holding his posture more rather than taking your hits, “at least now I can take this thing off, no way you’re gonna bonk my head when you can’t even hit the pads on my hands.” He’s talking about the head gear, which he takes off after he did so of the pads on his hands. “Go take five, babe. You still did great for a first-timer.”

You release a huge breath, not realizing that you’ve been holding it while you were exercising. You didn’t even do much yet you’re already sweating buckets, and it feels like no air is enough as you continue to inhale as much oxygen as you can into your lungs. It’s a wonder how Jeongguk can do this on an almost daily basis, with more power and accuracy than you just did. Your boyfriend might just be superhuman or something.

“How are you not — out of breath — like I am?” you pant, water bottle in hand. You can’t even take a sip because you’re breathing too hard. “Oh, wait. It’s probably — the sports bra you packed. Haven’t worn it since — high school.. yeah.. probably it.”

Jeongguk stares at your heaving chest as you continue struggle breathing, though you eventually manage to take a gulp of your water. His eyes don’t leave your figure even when you’ve stopped panting, making you raise an eyebrow in question. “What?”

He shrugs. “Maybe take it off if it’s making you hard to breathe?”

You scoff. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you.”

“I’ll take off my shirt in return.”

“HA! Nice try, Jeon.” You shake your head at him in disapproval. “Let’s continue so it can be over sooner.” You move to put the gloves back on but Jeongguk stops you, reaching for the gloves himself instead.

“Before we proceed, let me show you the correct technique first,” he says, walking over to the punching bag that you haven’t had the chance to use yet. He gives it a few jabs, jumps in place three times, then punches some more with increased speed. You don’t pay attention to his posture or punching techniques at all, instead choosing to stare at his flexing muscles that he chose to expose up to his shoulders today. You’re kind of grateful that the side that faces you is his tattoo-less arm, because if it had been his tattooed one, you’re not sure you can hold yourself from jumping him right then and there.

“Babe, come here and see how I punch so you can hit the pads correctly later,” he beckons you over, already getting into position to start punching again. You walk closer with your arms crossed in front of your chest, making sure to push it up a bit since Jeongguk made a comment about it earlier. He’s been distracting you with his arms for the past half hour, it’s only fair for you to try to do the same.

“Oh, you’re done showing off, I see,” you say in mock surprise. “We all know you’re just trying to get me to stare at your muscles. Honestly I don’t know why you’re still doing that, it’s obvious that I always stare and it doesn’t really affect me like that anymore.”

Jeongguk breaks his boxing stance, standing to his full height. His eyes glance at your pushed up chest for a second, making him let out a half chuckle half scoff. Then he takes off the boxing gloves while making eye contact with you, which you hold firmly because two can play at this game. He throws the gloves to the ground harshly.

“Let’s see if it really ‘doesn’t affect you like that anymore’.”

His takes the hem of his shirt in his hands, pulling it off his body in one quick move. The piece of garment suffers the same fate as his boxing gloves: thrown carelessly to the ground. You don’t break eye contact with him even as he reaches for the gloves again, refusing to give him the satisfaction. He doesn’t back down either, putting the gloves back on without taking his eyes off yours. You almost lost it because holy shit how can someone put on boxing gloves without even looking at it??

When the gloves are secured properly on his hands, he says: “Now let me show you what showing off is.”

Jeongguk then goes back to the punching bag, taking a stance in front of it once again before he starts punching, hard. Now that his upper body is void of any clothings, your eyes roam freely across his body, from his bulging bicep to the taut muscles of his back. From his shoulderblades, you go down his back until you reach his tiny waist. It’s the one thing that will always fascinate you about Jeongguk, how his wide shoulders come down to a waist that slim it’s almost unreal. Oh, he would look so good in a crop top.

As he continues his rapid fire at the punching bag, you can’t help but wonder about his front side, so you make your way around until you’re on his right side. His tattooed side. His inked arm looks even better when it’s flexing like this, and the newly-added colors seem to be dancing following the rhythm of his punches. Aside from his tattoos, you can also see the front of his torso from this side, his sweaty heaving chest the next destination your eyes land on. Then they come down to his taut abs, the firm lines forming an eight-pack instead of a six-pack like most people have. The way his whole body is taut from the sheer power of his punches makes you feel things that you have to hold yourself from tackling him down to kiss him senseless.

Jeongguk delivers one last punch to the punching bag with a resounding smack, making you break focus from your activities tracing your boyfriend’s muscles with your eyes. Breathing heavily, he catches your eyes and seems to just notice your change in position. His stare is still piercing, and the sound that comes out of his mouth when he says his next words almost sounds like a growl.

“One last thing.”

You thought he’s going to jab the punching bag for one last time, but he lifts a leg instead, giving a very hard kick to the poor thing. The power of his kick sends the bag and the frame shifting, it tears your gaze away from the way his thigh muscles flex. You can feel yourself getting damp down there as he approaches you while taking off the gloves before he chucks them at you almost angrily.

“Your turn,” he spits out harshly, eyes burning into yours. His harsh tone triggers you to feel as angry as he sounds, prompting you to shout your response at him: “Fine!”

Feeling a burst of courage along with your anger, you take the hem of your t-shirt and pull it off your body exactly like your boyfriend did earlier. It leaves you in the sports bra you haven’t worn since high school which has been restricting your breathing a bit, but you must admit it makes your boobs look good. No wonder Jeongguk can’t take his eyes off you now, even more so when you bend down to retrieve the boxing gloves he threw at you.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you say through gritted teeth as you pull on the left glove. “So fucking irritating,” you continue pulling on the right one. “And so fucking infuriating.” You finish putting on the gloves, ready to punch anything now.

Instead of the punching bag, you go for Jeongguk’s chest. He looks a bit shocked at that, but remains composed as you continue hitting his chest while talking. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove here.” Another jab.

“I already said I always stare at you.” Punch.

“I already admitted how much I like your muscles.” A jab at his abs.

“How much I like your tattoos.” A shove at his tattooed shoulder.

“How much I love your body.” Another punch at his abs.

“What else, huh? Do you want me on my knees for you?” A shove at his chest with both of your hands.

“Okay, fuck, you’re hot! Smoking hot! So fucking hot I had to hold myself from kissing the fuck out of — mmph!”

Your sentence is cut off abruptly by Jeongguk’s hands gripping your jaw and him kissing you harshly like he wants to devour you whole. The way he presses his lips against yours is bruising, you’re sure your lips are gonna be swollen after this. You try to return his kisses with the same pace, but it’s proven a difficult task as he’s set an unforgiving pace to begin with.

When he bites into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, you cry out in pain as your hand comes up at his chest to push him away. Only then you both realize you’re still wearing the boxing gloves, making Jeongguk grunt unhappily.

“Fuck, take them off. Now,” he demands, lips going back after yours, not even giving you a chance to properly take the gloves off. You reach blindly for the strap, but are still unsuccessful even after almost a minute of trying. Jeongguk lets out a frustrated groan when he feels you slipping away from the kiss, pulling away from your lips to yank your gloved hands into his so he can take the damn gloves off already.

“Can’t even take them off without me,” he growls, his hands wrenching the gloves off your hands. “Do you need help taking your clothes off too? Huh?” He tugs you forward by the hips, lips connecting back with yours. This time he sucks on your bottom lip, a silent apology for the bite earlier. “You have no idea how hot you look in that bra, baby,” he whispers in between kisses and sucks. “So fucking sexy, I’d have you right here, right now.”

You can’t help but let out a moan at his words, feeling your legs shake. If there was a dampness in your underwear before, there’s definitely a wet patch on it now. It doesn’t help that Jeongguk starts kissing down your jaw to your neck, where his cold lip ring constrasts the warmth of his lips and mouth. He focuses on a spot where your shoulder meets your neck, and settles there with his tongue and teeth abusing your sensitive skin until it turns an angry shade of red.

While his mouth is busy up there, his hands find home on your waist, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts to stroke the skin there. You’re so overwhelmed by all the sensory stimulations that you almost stumble when Jeongguk moves his legs forward. He notices that, so he puts his hands under your thighs to haul your body up before leaning your back against the wall so he can continue his assault on your neck peacefully.

One of his hands that was previously on your thigh moves to your ass, squeezing the round flesh and eliciting yet another moan out of you. You can feel his smirk against the skin of your neck, fully satisfied of your responses to his ministrations. Feeling that your neck is covered enough by various shades of red, he kisses his way to your shoulder as his hand that’s previously on your ass moves back up to slide your bra strap off the shoulder so he has plenty of room to work. You can feel yourself gush out more wetness down there.

“Baby, look at me,” he tells you, separating his lips from your skin for a moment. You try your hardest to open your eyes and look at him through your blurry vision. You could cry from how turned on you are right now. “Can you hold yourself up?” he asks.

You’re not sure, but you nod nonetheless. Holding your arms around his neck and crossing your legs around his waist, you steel yourself as he lets go of your thigh, letting the wall and his body alone supporting your weight. You thought it’s because he wants to hold your face with both hands when he kisses you again, but you thought wrong as you let out a whine of pleasure when his left hand comes in contact with your right breast. He holds it gently instead of squeezing like what he did to your ass, but what prompts the sound is the way his thumb rubs tight circles on your nipple through the fabric of your bra. He’s too attuned with your body that he knows your nipples are very sensitive when you’re turned on like this, even under layers of clothing.

“You like that, baby?” Jeongguk exhales, seemingly not faring any better himself. His thumb continues its movements on your chest while his mouth goes back to sucking bruises onto your shoulder. Too busy feeling both sensations, you fail to notice that his right hand has gone from your shoulder. It’s two seconds later that you almost slip off the wall as you let out a surprised whimper when two fingers of his suddenly press down on your soaked core.

“Fuck, you’re drenched,” Jeongguk says breathlessly, starting to rub slow circles on your clit. You’re sure by now your underwear is far beyond ruined from how much wetness is coming out of you right now. But Jeongguk is not Jeon Jeongguk if not a menace.

“This is gonna make it worse, sorry baby,” he warns seconds before crashing his lips back on yours, the pace weirdly slow and sensual instead of harsh and passionate like earlier. You think nothing of it, accepting his kisses as how he gives them. But then he licks at your bottom lip, and the gasp you let out is used as an opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth. When his tongue meets yours, your suspicion is confirmed.

The fucker has a tongue piercing.

He’s been licking around your skin with that damn piercing on and you are too far gone in pleasure to realize. He continues to lick his way into your mouth, each swipe of the metal against your tongue making more wetness flow out of you. At this point, it’s a waterfall down there and you’re sure he’s aware because his fingers haven’t stopped their movement since starting it, instead going faster with the help of the added lubrication.

“What the fuck, Jeongguk?!” you manage to whisper-shout in between kisses. There are so many things you have to say to him regarding the newest addition on his tongue, but he gives you no chance as he speeds up the movement of his fingers on your clit. He alternates the pressure between hard and light to tease you, all the while swallowing your moans of complaint right into his mouth.

You feel the coil in your belly tighten rapidly with the way Jeongguk’s fingers don’t let up the pace, and you hurriedly grab his wrist to pull his hand away from your center. He’s way stronger than you, though, so the hand stays where it is and his fingers continue their assault on the bundle of nerves.

“Stop — stop — ! I’m gonna — cum — !” Your grip on his wrist tightens. “Jeong — guk! Please, don’t wan’t — to come in my pants — !”

“Oh, what’s that? You want to come on my tongue instead?” Jeongguk breathes out, his finger giving one last flick on your abused clit. You shudder, imagining the ball of metal on his tongue coming in contact with the most sensitive part of your body. “Hmm, you’d like that wouldn’t you, test out my new piercing as you sit on my face like it’s your personal seat?”

You don’t have the energy to respond, too busy getting oxygen into your lungs. Your core is still throbbing painfully after being denied the release it so badly needed (you denied yourself, so you can’t really blame anyone else), and it clenches around nothing when Jeongguk decides his taunting hasn’t concluded yet.

“Or I can continue what I was doing with my fingers, rubbing you as I insert a finger or two, feeling you gush out even more of your juices for me.” He goes back to kissing your neck pink and purple, moving to your other shoulder that’s still clean of colors. This time, though, instead of only letting your bra strap fall from your shoulder, he coaxes your arm out of the loop so he can pull down the cup part and letting your breast fall free. He wastes no time in rolling your nipple between his fingers, occasionally giving it a pinch. You can only whimper as a response.

His mouth moves downward when he deems your shoulder colorful enough, and before you know it, he has your nipple in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue and sucking on it. Even with his mouth full, he’s still determined to keep your core nice and wet for him by spewing more filthy words from between his lips.

“Or would you rather be bent over the bathroom walls as I pound you from behind?” His question sounds like a promise to your ears. “I remember that one time we did it in your shower and you came so much I thought you were going to pass out.” The image conjured up in your brain of the memory is vivid, you can remember the numb feeling in your legs after you both finished. Jeongguk had to carry you out of the bathroom because your entire body had felt like mush.

Apparently, you’re not the only one with vivid memories of that day, because Jeongguk shudders in your arms before he drops his face into the crook of your neck. “Ah, shit, I’m so fucking hard right now.” He pauses for five seconds. Then, “shower with me?”

“Only if you promise to put that fucking tongue piercing to good use,” you snap through your teeth, still reeling because your boyfriend now has a tongue piercing. “And bend me over. Slam me against the walls. I don’t care, just fuck me good.”

“Oh, baby, I’ll give you the best fuck of your life.”

Later, when you’re both done with your gym activities and back in your house, watching TV on your couch, Jeongguk makes a confession.

“It’s fake, you know. My tongue piercing.”

“What??” You stare at him with wide eyes, not believing him even the slightest bit. It felt real when it touched your tongue and your.. another sensitive area.

“No, not ‘fake’ like it doesn’t exist, but it’s not actually pierced to my tongue. It’s a clip-on,” he explains, sticking his tongue out before tugging at the metal, the piece of jewelry coming off his tongue without leaving any marks. You stare in awe at the ball now in Jeongguk’s hand.

“I looked up reviews online about tongue piercings, and actually still feel iffy about getting it pierced for real. Then I found this in one of the comments, and thought, why not try it, right?” He gives you a smile as he puts the clip-on piercing aside. “Besides, I know you’re not fully on board with this idea either, so I don’t want to do anything you don’t want me to do. But I see you liked it, huh? It felt good, right?”

“Well, yeah, I almost died,” you mumble, hiding your face in his shoulder. It’s crazy how different you both are compared to an hour ago when you were busy getting it on in the gym showers. You can feel your face getting hot at the memory of him bending your body over the cold walls as water streamed down from overhead. “Maybe keep it for after hours only?”

He laughs before kissing the top of your head softly. “I mean, it’s a great compromise,” he considers. “Besides, if I do get one, I wouldn’t be able to kiss you for, like, weeks. Who can go around without kissing for that long??”

It’s your turn to laugh as you cup his cheek, angling his head so you can slot your lips against his in a soft kiss. “Certainly not you, big baby.”

Jeongguk turns his body completely to face you, pulling you into his lap so he can continue pressing his lips against yours with soft sighs slipped in between. He sneaks his hands under your t-shirt and rubs circles onto your hipbones, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

“You wanna go again? I think I can go for a round two.”

“Hmm.. no, too tired.”

“I’ll put on the clip-on and let you sit on my face. You won’t even have to lift a finger.”

“Tomorrow, okay? I’m seriously really tired and could use a nap right now.”

“Alright, tomorrow.”

“Don’t pout, you baby, tomorrow I’ll ride your face and anything else you want me to do.”

“Mmh, kay, love you.”

“Love you too, now shush or I’ll throw the clip-on out.”

— a/n: thanks for reading! any feedbacks here would be greatly appreciated :D

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franciswasteland · 1 month

Text

TECH!LEO VALDEZ X THEATER KID!READER

MASTERLIST

Summary: You land the role of Veronica Sawyer in a musical your high school is putting on, and your tech boyfriend tries to be supportive and reassure you when you need it.

Warnings: Highschool!au, Mortal!au,already dating fic, Beware spelling errors, im lowkey dyslexic. I DONT KNOW HOW TO END FICS….

Authors Notes: HIII GUYS IM ACTUALLY REALLY EXCITED TO WRITE THIS I LOVE LEO SO MUCH. ALSO THIS IS PARTLY FOR SOME DISCORD FRIENDS !! Possibly not canon written Leo 😭🙏

You were in the drama/theater club at your high school, often appearing as the leading or supporting roles in musicals your school would put on in the auditorium. It was amazing, both fun and something you were good at! But what made it even better was one of the tech kids, Leo Valdez—Who was your boyfriend!

A few weeks ago, you scored one of the lead roles—Veronica Sawyer—in a musical your school was putting on called ‘Heathers’. But, there was a rather… intimate scene with another character, Veronica’s love interest, in the show during the song ‘Dead Girl Walking’, and Leo tried to tolerate it and support you the best he could, but it was getting a little unbearable for him.

“Baby…” Leo whined as you ranted to him about your role in the musical, even though you should have been practicing your lines. “Shouldn’t you be, uh, practicing or something?” He didn't want to send you away like that, but he could go on hearing you talk about that scene.

“Sorry, sorry, you’re right. I’ll go practice my lines. Thanks for the reminder. Love you, bye!” You say apologetically, kissing his cheek quickly (If any teacher or adult at the school saw you do that you’d probably get detention.) and running out from backstage where you were talking to Leo as he worked on… Whatever he does.

It was a few hours from the first showing of the show as your high school was doing a morning and afternoon show. You were backstage getting ready, changing into costume, and makeup, making sure you had your lines completely memorized and you could hit each note in the songs—Which you could. Expect you couldn’t help but be a bit worried about this. Sure, you had played so many roles before throughout the years you’ve been in high school, but you were worried about little things, a lot of little things which slowly added up to become one big thing for you to worry about—Making sure you’d sing the school appropriate version of the lyrics, making sure you wouldn’t blank on stage (How embarrassing would that be?!), making sure you were perfect.

Then you got an idea.

There was one person that you knew for sure thought you were perfect. Your boyfriend, Leo! Of course, you’d be able to get reassurance from him! So naturally you ran—Not too fast though, you couldn’t ruin your costume—off from where you were sat to find him.

It didn’t take you long to find Leo, he was exactly where you had expected him to be after all. “Leo!” You called out as you walked up to him, placing one of your hands on his arm so he would turn around to face you. And he in fact did turn around and face you like you had suspected he would.

“What is it?” He asked, sounding confused. He thought you would be getting ready for the musical, not running up to him for a chat. “Did ya miss me that bad you had to stop getting ready to come find me?” He added with a short chuckle, gaining a smile.

“Nono,—Well yes, but that’s not why I came to find you.” You replied, worry practically seeping through your words the more you spoke. Leo noticed almost immediately.

Your hand was still on his arm, Leo put his hand on top of yours. “Wow, I’m hurt.” He teased. “Well then, what is it? Whatcha need?” That was one of the things you loved about Leo; he always seemed to know when you were worried or upset about something, even if he didn’t know how to comfort you.

“I dunno, I guess I’m just nervous about this. I’m scared of messing up on stage.” You admit to him, and Leo seems to immediately understand what you mean. “Oh, don’t worry about it. You’ll do great, trust me.”

Then, when you were finally getting that reassurance from your boyfriend, it was about roughly 15-to-20 minutes until curtain—Until you would be on stage. Oh, brother.

You were feeling a little more better as you rushed back to the backstage area of the auditorium, Leo’s words ringing in your ears. The backstage was suddenly not as easy to navigate as it was before you ran off to find your boyfriend. People—Either in the show themselves or apart of tech like Leo—Were running around, trying to make sure the preparations were all set and everything was ready for the first showing of the musical.

Then you got told by one of the tech team members to get in your place on stage.

After about 2 and a half hours, the morning show of your high schools performance of ‘Heathers The Musical’ was over. You bowed before the audience, sweating, your throat sore and hurting from singing for almost 2 hours straight. At this point, all you could think of was the bottle of water that was waiting for you by your bag backstage.

As soon as the curtain closed, you ran off stage to where you had set your bag in desire of the bottle of water you had gotten before hand. And there it was waiting for you, along with Leo, your boyfriend.

“See? What did I tell you? You did amazing, just like I said you would.” Leo said, wrapping one of his arms around you, seemingly not minding the fact that you were practically covered in sweat.

“Yeah yeah, I know,” You groan in reply. “Just lemme grab my water before you start praising me.” You let out a dry laugh, —Dry to the fact that your throat was now killing you. You reached out your hand for your bottle of water, but Leo grabbed it before you could. You thought he would hold on to it tightly and reach his hand up high, making you reach even farther for it, but he didn’t. Instead, he opened it for you and handed it to you, seemingly recognizing how tired you were after performances.

“You look tired,” Leo mused, knowing exactly where this was going to go. After most shows and performances, you would be tired and feel miserable. So miserable and tired that you would just crash in his arms. “Come here..” He said, opening his arms for you to fall into. You quickly leaned your whole body against him, leaning into his arms.

“Thank you,”

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poppy-metal · 5 months

Note

TOXIC BALLET AU JORDAN??? MY GOD!!!! everything i need. their strong hands around your waist for lifts? yup. feel like you’d catch them staring as you’re warming up, or when you’re removing some layers after your warm-up, their eyes lingering a bit too long at your chest. they always scowl at you whenever you make eye contact though.

NO BECAUSE YOU GET IT.

they hate you sooooo bad, mostly because they've worked their ass off to be where they are and you're just some shiny new playtoy the academy wants to show off. the smile you show everyone, you think you're better than everyone, than them, just because you're the lead? when they get the role as your love interest and you look at them with your big hopeful eyes they curl their lip at you, and the chill you get from that look of disgust is enough to make you swallow. you're almost afraid to work with them, certain they'll drop you on purpose, there's no way you'll be okay with the way they always glare at you, make sarcastic digs at you, brush off your attempts at small talk, treat you like a nuisance.

by the time they get behind you, hands hovering above your waist, waiting for the music, you're almost shaking with nerves. "dont drop me," you hiss at them, needing to say it before you go crazy with paranoia.

you feel the cinnamon scent of the gum they always chew hit your nose as they huff behind you, cool air against your neck raising goosebumps. "dont tempt me, freshie." is all they say, and that's- not reassuring at all. and that stupid fucking nickname, always reminding you of your place below them.

before you can call it off, ask for a break maybe, the music starts and your body snaps to attention on auto pilot, at the same time jordans hands fall on your waist - and you nearly gasp - their palms are warm. hot. you thought they'd be cold. you have barely enough time to let that sink in before the moves of the dance take over you both, and you're left breathless by the way jordan handles you with such care and sensuality. the role calls for passion - two lovers wrapped up in eachother. frenzied w their hunger and - you can feel that in jordans grip. in the way they hold and lift you and bring your body flush with theirs. even their eyes are different now. darker, molten pools of brown as they press your lower bodies together. you're utterly captivated and shocked to feel warmth pooling between your thighs. it burns your face up because the spandex of your ballet costume does nothing to conceal the patch of wet jordan can probably feel growing on their thigh, pressed between your legs as they hold the final pose.

when the song ends, jordans eyes meet yours, and their lips curl into that degrading smirk you're so used to seeing - they jostle their knee against your cunt, just once. "take care of that, yeah? i dont need you dripping down my leg like a fucking faucet every day just because you're a cockhungry slut."

they let go of you like you're nothing. already stalking away. you're left feeling flushed and humiliated. still throbbing between your thighs. wondering how jordan can switch passion on and off so easily.

jordan isn't any better though, the second they're in the lockroom showers. sliding a hand down to grip their stiff and aching dick. pumping it hard and angry as they think of you on your knees, your sweet little eyes looking up at them like they're a god - they wonder if you're a virgin and hiss, squeezing their tip as they think about breaking you in and they groan as they paint the shower wall white with cum. panting as they brace themselves and think. fuck.

136 notes · View notes

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