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here2bbtstrash · 1 year

Text

sunday (explicit)

genre: straight-up smut baybey, i did it y'all i wrote a pwp again

pairing: seokjin x reader

summary: you got your boyfriend exactly what he wanted for his birthday.

word count: 5k

contains: explicit sexual content~*~ say it with me: BRAT 👏 TAMER 👏 SEOKJIN 👏 established relationship, reader is uhhh 😬 Extremely bratty lmao, jin takes care of that, BDSM dynamics (mention of safewords and hand signals but neither are used!), reader gets spanked with a belt oop 🤭, fingering/a lil bit of eating it from the back, orgasm denial, big dick jin 😏, praise kink, mouth/throat fucking, a bit of breathplay, begging and apologizing, oh yeah she cries... like.... kind of a lot 🥲 there's a dacryphilia moment in there too (~*~add a little spice~*~), unprotected sex but they're in love it's fine, lots of subspace at the end, use of a vibrator, overstimulation, she comes.... idek how many times, and a smidge of aftercare 🫠 also i promise there's no food play, you'll get why the cake's there at the end ok lmao

A/N: a day late and a dollar short but hey that's my mental health rn 🫡 this was fun!!! always nice to dust off the ol' pwp muscles and frankly i've been itching to write proper BDSM for a bit now. sometimes you just wanna get the shit beat out of you lovingly and that's valid and sexy ya know. anyway feel free to silently skip this one if it's not for you!! and i know i'm gonna get a comment on it so 🙄 i used his korean age on purpose lmao 🙄 yes i can count and yes i know their system is changing~ ANYWAY i sincerely hope you enjoy babes and that you all had a lovely seokjin day 🥺 i loooove y'all !!! 💜

thank you to @haliiimede for beta reading and being my soulmate 🥺

read on AO3!

~*~

The slam of the front door tells you that your plan for today has worked perfectly.

Standing in front of the full length mirror in your bedroom, you adjust a final strap on your bralette, then quickly scramble to pull your clothes back on. You attempt to keep your expression innocent as you slip down the hallway to greet your boyfriend.

Before you can even make it, you hear the unmistakable pop of a wine bottle being uncorked, and you enter the kitchen just in time to see Seokjin leaning up against the counter with a glass of white in hand. He doesn’t look particularly pleased to see you.

“Hi baby,” you say, sweet as can be. “Can I have a glass?”

A muscle works in his jaw as he looks you over, and the expression on his face already has a flame licking in the pit of your stomach.

“That's all you have to say?” he finally answers.

You blink up at him, feigning ignorance. Your heartbeat has started to race behind your ribs, sensing imminent danger— the good kind.

“I haven't heard from you all day today,” he tries again.

You shrug. “I was still sleeping when you left this morning, and then, I don't know. I was doing things. Does it matter?” If Seokjin wasn’t already pissed, you know your last question will get him. You turn away to busy yourself with retrieving a wine glass so he can’t see the smile you’re trying to bite back.

The tone of his voice makes you freeze, glass in hand. “I don't recall saying you could have any.”

Your lower lip juts out automatically, and you do your best to steady your breathing without making it apparent. Even your voice comes out a little shaky. “But we always share.”

The silence in the kitchen feels deafening, punctuated by the soft tap of Seokjin setting his glass on the counter. You mirror him, swallowing hard as he steps in to close the distance between you. It never gets any less exciting to have him tower over you, big and broad-shouldered, tall enough that you have to look up through your lashes to meet his gaze. A dull ache starts to pulse between your legs.

“Do you know what today is?”

You lick your lips and try to speak. “Sunday?”

It’s like you barely get the word out before he’s gripping your jaw with one large hand, and you can feel your heartbeat in your throat. Anticipation buzzes through your body, all the way down to your toes, as he forces your chin up.

“Anything else?” His voice sounds like a warning.

Your mouth pulls into a grin beneath his grasp, one you can’t quite manage to keep innocent. “Oh, Seokjin, is it your birthday? I knew I was forgetting something. Oops.”

“Fucking brat.”

All at once Seokjin locks an arm around your hips, and you let out a shrill squeak as your feet leave the floor entirely when he outright slings you over his shoulder. This is, of course, exactly what you’d hoped for, but you struggle a little in his grip nonetheless. All part of the fun.

You’d left the bedroom door cracked on your way out to greet him, and he takes the opportunity to kick it back open. A shiver runs up your spine at the sight, and then you hit the bed hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs.

You push up onto your hands as you sit up, slightly dizzy.

“That hurt, Seokjin,” you whine, but you both know you don’t mean it. You have agreed-upon methods of telling him when he’s really hurting you in a way that doesn’t feel good: safewords, even hand signals for when you’re rendered non-verbal. Anything said that isn’t one of those is just you running your mouth on purpose, winding him up. Like now. “You’re being so dramatic.”

“And you’ve got a fucking attitude today,” he snaps. “Is this really how you want to do this? On my fucking birthday?”

You blink up at him with the same sweet smile. “What if I told you I got you a present?”

This seems to surprise him a little, and he pauses, like he doesn’t quite buy it. “A present, huh?”

“Mm-hmm.” You nod as you get to your feet. “Let me unwrap it for you.”

Taking your time with it, you peel off your sweatshirt and leggings to reveal the lingerie you pulled on as he was coming home. It’s a soft pink set with a floral design, thin straps, and romantic lace, and you happen to think it does wonders for your curves.

“What do you think?”

You can see the hungry gleam in Seokjin's eyes even as he scoffs, feigning disinterest. “Oh, this is my present? A disrespectful brat that I have to teach a lesson? I should rip this shit off.”

“Hey, this was expensive!” you snap, and he arches an eyebrow as if to give you a final chance to behave. It just makes you want to push him that much further.

You step closer, allowing a perfect line of sight to your tits that threaten to spill out of their confinements, and you soften your voice when you speak again. “What, you don’t forgive me, Seokjin?”

The corner of his mouth just barely ticks up. “You know the rules. Forgiveness is earned.”

He reaches a hand down to undo the buckle of his belt, and your nipples are suddenly painfully hard against the lace fabric. You can’t remember the last time he used his belt. Fuck, he’s really mad.

“Bend over.”

You huff a sigh as you drape yourself over the edge of the bed, and his hands are already on your ass. He makes a low noise of appreciation as his fingertips dig into your supple skin, pressing firm enough to make you wince. He's not being gentle, and you don’t want him to be.

Your eyes flutter closed in enjoyment of being manhandled like this, and you get so lost in it that it takes you a second to realize Seokjin has asked you a question. By then it’s already too late.

He gives a warning slap to your ass as he repeats himself. “I said, how old am I?”

You peek over your shoulder, wiggling your ass against the flat of his palm, only for him to smack you hard over your left cheek. You bite back a whimper, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

“I don't know,” you lie, blinking up at him. “You’re so old now, it’s hard to remember.”

In one swift move, he yanks his belt out from around his waist, and you swallow hard as you watch him fold it over in his hands.

“Then why don’t you fucking count for me.”

The belt cracks down over your ass, and you flinch at the first real rush of pain. It takes you a second to regain focus, your brain still buzzing from the hit, and then his words come back to you.

“One.”

“So you are capable of listening, huh?”

Another hit, equally as hard on the other side, and you grit your teeth.

“Two.”

“Aw, where’d that smart mouth go? Not so chatty now?” Seokjin cracks the belt again, and you can barely get the word three out before four is being delivered just as harshly. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to breathe. He's really hitting hard tonight.

“Four,” you gasp, and you hear Seokjin exhale a dark laugh above you.

“Better toughen up, sweetheart. We’ve got a long way to go.” Another hit in the same spot, this one enough to really sting.

“Five.”

“You know, since I'm so old.”

The next blow he delivers is so hard, the word comes out as a cry of pain. “Six!”

You flatten your pelvis down against the sheets, as if in an attempt to hide from the beating, but there’s nowhere to go. The extra pressure makes you feel how hard your clit has started to throb from your punishment. You bury your face in the crook of your elbow, your hips jerking reflexively as you moan through seven, eight, nine.

Every muscle in your body seizes taut as you prepare for ten, trying to encourage yourself to breathe through it, though all you can get out right now are shallow gasps for air. I can take this, you tell yourself, I can take this.

But it doesn’t come. You’re pulled so tight you think you might snap, and you manage to lift your head up from your arms to look back at Seokjin.

“There she is,” he says, and the soft tone of his voice in no way influences how hard he brings the belt down over your ass.

“Ten!” you groan, and the sharp bite of pain over your already raw skin nearly brings tears to your eyes. And he’s not even halfway done.

It’s all you can do now to remember what number you’re on, especially as Seokjin continues to allow torturously long pauses between his hits. He'll wait just long enough that your heartbeat starts to slow, teasing the thin length of the belt up the backs of your thighs, sometimes even with a laugh.

But it’s not relief: the waiting keeps every inch of you on edge, all wound up with anticipation of the next dose of pain, so tense you’re not sure you’re breathing.

You’ve hardly choked out fourteen when you flinch at a brush of contact, the warm touch of skin where you were expecting the crack of leather. Letting your forehead drop against the bed, you pant like you’ve just run a marathon as Seokjin's hand moves over your abused flesh, groping and massaging as he did before. You can’t tell if it’s been minutes or hours since then, but his touch is grounding, calming, even when his fingers sink into your fresh bruises with enough force to make you whimper.

You can feel the way the seam of your panties sticks to your center now, and you can only imagine that they must be entirely soaked through, your slickness already starting to paint the crux of your thighs. With a soft whine of need, you spread your legs a little wider in search of anything but more pain.

“What do you think?” Seokjin's voice is dark when he speaks, thick with lust. The thought of him straining hard against his pants has you practically drooling on the mattress. You want nothing more than that cock stretching you open right now. “Starting to learn your lesson?”

As much as the rational part of you appreciates the check-in, you can’t ignore the new rush of rebellion that surges up at the question. What, does he think you need him to go easy? Does he think you’re not tough enough, that you can’t take everything he’s willing to give you?

You push up to look over your shoulder at him again, your jaw set firm. “No.”

Anger flashes over his face, but he can’t quite hide his smile. “Then I guess I can stop holding back.”

Shit, he was—? You don’t get the opportunity to finish that thought before the loop of his belt is whizzing through the air, and the impact it makes against your ass hits so hard, you momentarily see stars. “Fuck!”

“That's not a fucking number.”

“Fifteen,” you gasp, dropping limp against the bed like a ragdoll, breathless with relief that you didn’t lose track. “Fifteen.”

“The brat can count,” Seokjin remarks, and then he delivers sixteen just as hard and your whole body spasms from the pain as you choke out the number. “If only you knew how old I was, you might have some idea of how much longer I have to beat your ass.”

Your eyes are really starting to well up now, but you force yourself to keep breathing, to focus on his words. It might be coded to fit the scene, but it’s a clear reminder nonetheless: you’re more than halfway. You can do this.

By twenty, the tears have started to spill down your face, but Seokjin knows you well enough to know the scene doesn’t stop unless you call a safeword. He trusts you to know your own limits, and you do. But fuck, he can really test them sometimes. You’re dying for him to touch you, fuck you, do anything but keep fucking beating you. It’s taking everything in you to keep going, your feet kicking helplessly each time he brings the belt down over your tender backside. He hasn’t lightened the weight of his hits up even in the slightest. If anything, they’re only getting worse.

“Twenty-one,” you breathe. You only have ten hits left, and you’ve already gotten through ten hits twice now. You can do this.

“Twenty-two.” You tell yourself not to fight it.

“Twenty-three.” Just give into the pain.

“Twenty-four.” Submit.

Your shoulders heave with sobs as the twenty-fifth strike finally, finally breaks your last resolve. You press your face into the mattress; you’re crying so hard you can scarcely breathe. Even though your body keeps flinching with the reflexive animal reaction to try and get away from the pain, your mind has fully accepted your punishment, all the fight gone out of you.

It’s like someone else is counting for you now, so much so that you don’t even realize what number Seokjin is on until the words leave your mouth.

“Thirty-one.”

You hear the jingle and thud of the belt hitting the floor, and then his gentle hands are encouraging your legs to spread apart. The brush of his fingers over your aching core is sweet, overwhelming relief from the pain still coursing through your system. You’d think it’d be enough to make you cry, if you weren’t already.

“Good girl,” he says softly, and that small praise alone has you floating straight up to the ceiling.

His hands move quickly to pull your panties down and off, and you work to get your breathing back under control, letting your sobs dissolve into sniffling gulps. You whimper when his palms slip under your hips, encouraging you up onto your knees. Your body shivers all over as you try to hold yourself up, to be good, and then you feel Seokjin slip two fingers into your drenched center.

“Oh my god,” you groan as he starts to rub diligently at the ridges of your front wall, his free hand gripping your ass to spread you open. His touch in both places at once, pressing down on fresh swollen bruises and curling up into the sweetest part of you, it’s so good. It reminds you why you willingly give yourself over to this man, the one you love so much, the only one who can make you feel like this. You’re so turned on from the mix of pleasure and pain, you might be close to blacking out.

The bed creaks as he shifts a little, and then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, and you keen. You bury your sounds in the crook of your elbow as his tongue plunges into you, and he snakes a hand between your legs to rub slow circles over your clit. Your mind is reeling; you can barely manage to speak.

“S-Seokjin,” you gasp. “You’re g-gonna, ngh, gonna make me—”

He pulls off just enough to mutter, “You better fucking ask first.”

You swear he ups the intensity on purpose when his mouth returns to your pussy, as if to drag you that much closer to the edge. His thumb is working so perfectly at your clit, you can feel your thighs starting to shake as you writhe back against him. “Can I— can I please come, Seokjin? Pleaseplease, please?”

“No.”

His voice is firm, unbothered, and paired with the painful loss of his touch all at once. A strangled sob of frustration escapes you as you collapse against the bed, exhausted from holding yourself up and from your denied release.

“Not yet,” Seokjin continues. “Not until you’ve learned to be a little more obedient.”

His strong hand closes over your bicep, and he easily flips you over onto your back, causing you to hiss at the graze of your sore flesh against the sheets. Your lower lip trembles, your eyes threatening tears as you stare up at him, but you stay quiet.

“Be a good girl,” Seokjin says, dragging one finger up the column of your throat. You willingly tip your head back for him as a shiver rolls through you. “Let me fuck this smart mouth, then I’ll make you come as many times as you can handle. Okay?”

When you nod softly, he hauls you up to your feet. “Get on your knees.”

You do as he says, sitting back on your heels and watching as he works his pants and boxers down to free his cock. He’s thick and long, flushed dark and dripping hard. Big enough that you go slightly cross-eyed trying to take him in. Your cunt clenches desperately at his size, at how badly you need all of him inside you, bottoming out into you again and again.

But even moreso, you want to be good.

“Mouth open,” Seokjin instructs, and you comply, letting your tongue loll out for him as he tangles a hand in your hair.

He guides himself between your lips, and your eyes roll back at the weight of him on your tongue, the feeling of your jaw stretching open to fit him. He’s so fucking big, it’s uncomfortable, but you do your best to breathe around him and give into it.

Trying to hold still, hands placed sweetly on your thighs because you know he likes it that way, you blink up at Seokjin as he starts to thrust into your mouth. You can taste the salt of his precum as his length drags along your tongue, and you fight back the urge to gag when the tip of his cock nudges into the back wall of your throat. He groans softly as he rubs himself there, his grip on your hair tightening until the pain stings your scalp. Your eyes start to water as you try to keep yourself from choking.

“Fuck,” he hisses when he pulls out, saliva stringing in thick strands from your mouth to the head of his cock. He squeezes at the base of it, eyes glazed dark with lust, and you take in as much air as you can, the cool rush painful where your throat is sore from the stretch of him.

You sit up taller as if to ask for more.

Seokjin’s gaze meets yours as the hand on his cock guides it back toward you, but he doesn’t slip back into your mouth. His eyes are fixated hungrily on your face as he drags the head of his dick down over your bottom lip, teasing it around your mouth and along your cheeks, clearly enjoying that he can do whatever he wants with you.

Your pulse drums loudly in your ears as you sit there, mouth open, and take it. The whole lower half of your face must be slick with spit and precum now, given how easily he glides across your skin, and then you’re hit with the heavy thud of him smacking his cock once, twice, three times against your flat, willing tongue.

“Are you done being a brat now?” he prompts, and you can feel drool spilling down your chin as you nod, his cock still weighing heavy on your outstretched tongue. He slips it in a little further, just past the ring of your lips.

“Gonna be a good girl for me?”

A soft whine escapes around his girth filling your mouth. You nod again, desperate, and then he hits the back of your throat with enough force to make you gag noisily. Your body shudders beneath him, and you try to keep it together.

“Learned your fucking lesson?”

Tears start to sting at the corners of your eyes as he keeps sliding himself into your mouth, the head of his cock dipping down into the tight clutch of your throat, as far as he can go until your nose is flush with his abdomen. You can’t make another sound, your mouth crammed too full, but you do your best to nod even as you lose the ability to keep breathing.

Seokjin’s thumb brushes over the bulge in your throat, and you know what he wants. Tears slip down your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut and swallow around him, and he rewards you with an unabashed moan that lights up everything inside you.

“That’s it. You look so good when you cry on my cock,” he rasps, his hand closing over your throat as you swallow again.

You can feel yourself starting to get light headed from lack of oxygen as more tears stream down your face, but the praise spurs you on. You want it too much, it makes you eager to please at any cost, despite the dizzying surge of adrenaline, despite the way your throat is spasming painfully now. You’ll pass out with his cock down your throat, if that’s what it takes.

He pulls out all at once, and the rush of air you heave in is like broken glass against your raw throat. You fall forward, your palms just barely catching you from landing directly onto your face, and you can’t do anything for a moment but breathe in ragged, shaky gasps. Tears are still welling up in your eyes, dripping down onto the carpet beneath you.

Your world tilts as Seokjin easily scoops you up in his arms just to drop you onto the bed, flat on your back. There’s still the dull ache of the bruises he beat into your ass, but it’s like someone’s turned the volume down on it. All your physical sensations seem distant, like they’re happening to someone else, even the dull ache thudding between your legs, a desperate desire to come that was only made worse by being used as your boyfriend’s fucktoy.

Your eyes flutter closed as his hands slip up your body to undo your lacy bralette and peel it off of you, and you don’t fight it.

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” Seokjin's voice pulls you back from the edge, and you fight to open your eyes again. He's hovering over you, fully stripped now, his brow creased slightly with concern. “Stay with me a little bit longer, okay?” His tone is still serious, and you sniff softly as you nod.

He slips a palm encouragingly under your thigh and you do the rest, so out of body that it’s like you weigh nothing at all as you pull your knees up to effectively bend yourself in half for him. He practically growls at the sight of you spread for him so willingly, presenting a cunt swollen with need, painted glossy with arousal.

You watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he kneels up on the bed, and then his thick cock is grinding over you, dragged right up your center. The feeling of finally being touched where you need it most has you exhaling a moan of relief.

“Is this what you want?” Seokjin's breath is hot on your neck and chased by the scrape of his teeth, earning another noise of pleasure from you. Your clit throbs as he rolls the head of his dick over it, up and down, slow teasing.

“Yes,” you manage to gasp. Your voice comes out a little broken from your scraped-up throat. “Yes, please. Please fuck me, please, want it so bad.”

“Which do you want more?”

You’re so gone, choking on whimpers and whines, that his hand closes over your throat to make you focus on the rest of his question. The look on his face is so dark, it sends a shiver down your spine.

“My dick, or my forgiveness?”

Tears spring to your eyes immediately as an overwhelming wave of emotions floods through you. There isn’t a doubt in your mind what your answer is, you don’t even have to pause to consider it. As badly as you want, need him to fuck you, the thought of Seokjin discarding you when he’s finished, still upset, not kissing every inch of your skin, not praising you for being so good… you can’t bear it.

“Your forgiveness,” you sob, doing your best to keep breathing despite his hand around your throat. “Please, please, please forgive me. I'm so sorry. I just wanna be good, wanna be good for you, I don't need anything else.”

You can see his face soften even through the tears that blur your vision. “There she is,” he murmurs, and then he tips his head down to brush his lips over yours. The warm touch of his mouth is all the reward you could ever ask for, and he sucks sweetly on your bottom lip before pulling back.

“Good answer, babygirl.”

Before you can even process what’s happening, he’s fucking the whole of his thick cock into you, and you can only keen as he stretches you wide enough to fit all of him. Your walls are immediately trembling tight to him from how edged close you’ve been all night.

“Thank you,” you moan, your head dropping back against the pillow. A gasp rips through you as he bottoms out, your spine arching when the crown of his cock presses firmly on your cervix. “Thank you, oh fuck.”

“Yeah,” Seokjin purrs, his mouth against your collarbone. You think he might be sucking a mark into your skin, but it’s already getting hard to tell what’s happening. “You always take it so well after I beat the brat out of you. Let go now, baby. You’ve earned it.”

You’re grateful for the permission, because you’re not sure you could stay tethered any longer if you tried. Not when he’s splitting you open, thrusting hard and deep because he knows you can take it, with a cock fat enough to light up every sweet spot in you at once. Your eyes roll back as you start to float, so out of it that you barely even notice a faint buzzing sound until you realize Seokjin is pressing your vibrator down against your swollen, aching clit.

Fuck, when did he even grab it off the nightstand?

You’re vaguely aware of someone moaning, but it doesn’t even feel like you. You’ve given up entirely to it now, a sweet surrender to this all-encompassing pleasure. It’s so good, too good, it slips you out of your mind and body alike, like he’s fucking your brain right out of your skull.

“That’s it, come on my cock,” Seokjin groans, and fuck, you are, you’re coming hard enough to drench his cock with every pulse of your needy cunt. “Such a good girl.”

He doesn't even pull the toy off to give you a moment of recovery, just keeps it nestled between your folds as he pounds into you. Your hips shudder violently as you coast out of your first climax and straight into another one.

It all starts to blur together now, wave after wave of orgasm washing over you until you’re drowning in it. You come and come and come until it feels like you’re melting into the bed, pinned through by this massive cock and the endless mind-numbing buzz on your clit. You can distantly tell that you’ve soaked a wet spot into the sheets beneath you, that your thighs and even the muscles of your ass are shaking from overstimulation.

“S-S-Seokjin.” It takes you three tries to get his name out, and you’re still not really sure if you said it until the toy switches off. The humming sensation is still reverberating through your body even in the absence of it, enough to make you tremble all over as he picks up the pace.

“Gonna fucking— fill you up,” Seokjin grunts, voice thick with effort, and then his cock twitches at the very back of you, buried deep as it can go, pulsing heavy as he paints you with rope after rope of his release.

You’re still not here, not really, not when he pulls out with a heavy sigh, when the cum starts to drool down your legs, when he drops onto the mattress beside you and pulls you into him. It comes back to you in pieces: you’re shivering all over, breathing hard, your face is wet— fuck, when were you crying?

It takes you several moments to realize Seokjin is murmuring in your ear, that his fingers are carding through your hair, his breath ghosting over your skin. “Just breathe, baby. Did so well, it’s over now. You’re safe.”

As the post-scene comedown settles into your bones, you bury your face into his shoulder, trying to breathe through the myriad of emotions and chemicals flooding your system. He pulls the blanket up over your chest, and the warmth of it and his body help to gently bring you down from the high.

You don’t know how long you lay like that until you finally manage to squeak out a question. “Y-you’re not really mad, right?”

Seokjin laughs gently as he presses a kiss to your hairline. “No, baby. I know you didn’t really forget. The birthday cake in the fridge kinda gave it away.”

The words take a second to hit you, and then a dazed giggle bubbles up in your chest. It’s like you’re floating as you start to laugh, your face still pressed into Seokjin’s skin, and you can feel the rumble of him laughing too. It didn’t even occur to you that he would’ve seen the fucking cake when he grabbed himself a bottle of wine.

“Oh,” is all you can think to say, and you keep giggling as his lips move over the line of your jaw, trailing kisses.

“You’re cute when you’re trying to get punished,” he says softly. “It's part of why I love you. You’re my perfect little brat. And this was the perfect gift, seriously.”

A warm glow blooms in your chest at the praise, and you sigh happily as you curl up against his side. “Can we eat cake in bed?”

Seokjin leans down to brush his mouth over yours, sweetly adoring. “Anything you want.”

#seokjin smut #seokjin x reader #seokjin x y/n #bts smut #bts x reader #bts fanfic #💜 happy seokjin day 💜

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hopeastrz · 1 year

Text

𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:🦪

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭!, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝟒𝟎𝟎 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬🤍

There are two types of 𝟖𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐬, one’s who might hate their mothers, and others who hate how much they love her, because deep down they know that without her they won’t function properly, these people also might kill for her, even die for her in order to protect her, and because of this much adoration they tend to gravitate away from their mothers instead of sharing a strong bond with her, and you might ask why?, well they do this in order to protect themselves from disappointment and pain, that’s what makes them build this thick wall, that some people might see as resentment, when in truth it’s just a shield.

On the other hand 𝟒𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐬 are attached to their mothers hips, both figuratively and literally, they are always with her, and what’s fascinating here is that If she cries, they cry. If she’s mad, they mad mad too. If she’s hurt, they feel pain more than she does, it’s such an admirable bond tbh.

People say that 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐬 get swayed easily by others opinions but hello!!!!! 𝐆𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢 folks also are next to us in line and i don’t see people roasting them as much as they do with us!.. so unfair smh.

Any 𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐢𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭>>>> 𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐢𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬

𝟗𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐬 might go to a foreign land to start a family, or marry and give birth out of their country + have their children born with another nationality in general.

𝟏𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 might have a late marriage or be known for being single for too long.

𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐬 might struggle with making friendships at a young age, even if they are only 3 years olds they stress on it. Once they grow up they recognize the power they hold and almost instantly charm their way through people hearts <3.

𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐬 folks hate stare makes me literally shake in my boots.. you don’t know if you want to run away from them or towards them because these bitches are lowkey hot!.

𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟒𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 doesn’t only mean having problems with your family, it might indicate you changing your familys life 180°. your their savior. It’s the ‘from rags to riches’ kind of placement.

I noticed that 𝐀𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 are big fame indicator in Korean female idols, all of blackpink members either have Aires rising or other prominent Aries placements. Other than them IU Is Aries venus, kim hyuna is Aries mars, Seo yeji is Aries sun, itzy ryujin Aries sun too, Chaeryeong Aries venus, literally almost everyone.

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 from my opinion are the people who carries their anger silently, but once they lash out it’s over for everyone literally.. they are so fucking scary it’s not even funny.

𝟏𝟐𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬>>> 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩. They love sleeping so much, i wouldn’t be surprised if any of them married their pillows or smtg, yeah it’s that crazy😭

I have 𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 and when i tell you that some people hate me for no reason at all im not lying, they just see me and expect the worst, and what makes this placement more annoying for me is that it sextiles Jupiter.. which sometimes intensifies this hate, and on top of that i have medusa asteroid in the 10th house along with my sun.. im too young to go through this istg💀.

#astrology observations #astrology aspects #astrology planets #astrology notes #astrology degrees #astrology houses #astro placements #astro observations #astro notes #astrology #astro chart #pluto 1st house #8th house moon #4th house moon

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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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pathetichimbos · 6 months

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guys... I gotta talk about this. bear with me, it's gonna be a rollercoaster.

---

Thomas having sex for the first time.

Oh boy. Oh boy. So many thoughts.

I don't care what anyone says. Thomas is a 30+ year old virgin. We stan him. We love him. We're gonna ruin him.

But first, let's talk about all the stuff in his life building up to it.

So, as I've stated many, many times before, Thomas was primarily isolated from kids his age when he was 13-14, so he didn't really have an outlet to explore anything in a safe manner with anyone. (Not that it would have been all that safe in the first place... these kids wildin')

And we also know that he grew up in a pretty conservative household (a.ka. patriotic god fearing americans), so we all know that he was most likely too embarrased and ashamed by his own attraction to explore anything by himself either. (whoo boy been there buddy)

And we know that as an older, proud, southern woman, Luda Mae most likely did not have any sort of sex talk with Thomas other than telling him it was for grown, married folks only.

But, you know what we didn't know?

Charlie wasn't around to have the talk with him either.

I was rewatching The Beginning (oh wow, really? what a surprising turn of events) and something I've heard dozens of times before caught my eye.

1952. Sergeant Major 'Hoyt' was a POW in the Korean war.

August, 1939. Luda Mae finds a discarded newborn in the dumpster outside the slaughterhouse.

1939-1952.

Depending on the month (but we can assume it was many, many months), Thomas was 12 or 13 when Charlie served in the Army.

So, while Thomas is dropping out of school and isolating himself from his family and peers, the only sense of a father figure is serving / being held captive by enemy soldiers.

And personally, I don't believe Thomas and Monty are that close. Monty doesn't seem to take any sort of interest in Thomas, and Thomas was a little too willing to chop his legs off. So I sincerely doubt he was any sort of help.

So, really, I wouldn't be all that surprised if Thomas doesn't really know what sex is. He has a general idea of the meaning and that it's reserved for marriage, but other than crude, most likely misogynistic comments from the older men in his life, he doesn't really know anything about it.

So, when he actually does meet someone (and tie the knot) and all of those feelings come rushing in, he's more than overwhelmed. It takes a long time before he can actually handle going all the way.

For the first part of your intimacy, it's a lot of soft talks and encouragement, and explaining everything to him. He has no idea how to make you feel good, so it's up to you to show him literally everything.

You have to build up to the actual sex, and even after you do it for the first time, he's going to need you to keep hold of the lead until he's familiar and comfortable with it all.

He's a mess when you finally do it. He's clinging to you, trying so hard not to hold you too tightly, a whining mess in your ear, burying his face in your neck and panting wildly. It's awkward, and bumpy, and he finishes way too fast (and you don't even get the chance) but the way he melts into your touch with that blissed out look in his eyes makes it worth it.

And trust me, he gets better. He's a quick learner, and as long as you tell him exactly what to do, he goes from a fumbling mess to making your toes curl in no time.

He spends an ungodly amount of time watching and learning what gets you going. The sounds, the sights, the movements, everything.

He could spend hours on you, but he's still new to this, so he gets distracted really easily.

He lives off praise, the more you give him the more fuzzy his brain gets until he's a whining mess. (He makes a LOT of noises). He loves when you leave scratches. (Nothing too deep or scarring, but the feeling drives him crazy). He likes when you tug his hair to make him look at you. (He's big on eye contact, specifically when you're more 'making love' than 'we've got five minutes before someone walks into the kitchen').

....Now this next thing I'm gonna say is going to upset plenty of people, but hear me out.

Realistically, I don't think Thomas enjoys going down.

I know, I know, it's a SUPER unpopular opinion as pretty much every headcanons him as being super into giving head, BUT, I have my reasonings.

It's not that he dislikes the act itself, and in fact, I'm sure he actually loves it, but we do have to remember that he has a rather severe skin condition mostly centered around his face.

This means his skin is super sensitive to certain things like strong chemicals, intense fragrances, hot water, and anything with a high acidity.

And going down with absolutely cause an irritable flare up that will hurt. A lot.

So, no, realistically, I don't think he'd do it, just for that reason.

Do I think he'd enjoy doing it if he could? Yea, absolutely, I just don't think he can.

Anyways. I don't know what this was. But it would not leave my brain, so. I guess this is my introductory to the smut I want to start writing. Who knows. We'll see.

#thomas hewitt #slasher fandom #slashers #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x s/o #thomas hewitt x y/n #slasher x reader #thomas hewitt x you #slasher x you

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kangaracha · 1 month

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QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 13

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

previous | masterlist | next

---

The way that Chan slumps straight down onto your sofa suggests that it has either been a long day or he is expecting a long night ahead. You're almost too scared to ask which is true; not that there's a way for you to wheedle out of blame for either being difficult. It's all related to you joining the group, and whatever was going on with your schedule.

In the end, Chan doesn't give you a chance to ask, his eyes roving around the apartment. "Your dorm is nice," he comments, in the sort of voice that would insinuate his isn't nice if you hadn't already seen it.

You glance around too, at the white walls and years-old pieces of furniture that clutter the space. They've all seen many singers come and go before you, and then were never built for that kind of handing down - but they're robust, if not entirely pretty. Dependable as a place to keep a home. "It's alright," you say, sinking into the seat beside him. "It's small. There's no way all eight of you would fit."

"It's loud enough in our dorm," Chan agrees, cutting a grin. "You should have seen when there was nine of us living on top of each other in one dorm."

Nine of us. Not you, of course, but the long-gone boy you were supposed to replace. You're not sure how the echo of the words over inside your head makes you feel. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you're distinctly aware that you've never heard him say that before (not even since you joined; always, it was the eight of them and one of you).

"Nightmareish," you say dryly, but the response is lacklustre, the joke weak and watery. Chan's smile fades.

"I guess I should stop stalling," he says, mistaking your tone for a different kind of distraction.

For two weeks, a heavy, curling tension has been holding itself steady in your gut; at the reminder of it now, it clenches its fist tight, your ribcage retracting and your breath shallow. You're going to debut, Minseo had said, and you'd thought it and thought it and thought it; but surely, it was unbelievable-

"I want you to perform at K-Con," Chan says, before the thought can finish flashing through your mind, and you freeze. "Not the whole concert, just God's Menu, or whatever you're confident in. Anything you want."

"Isn't K-Con in three weeks?" you question, and try to ignore the pounding of your heart in your chest. "You want me to debut in three weeks?"

A light dances in his eyes, that funny, coy smile he wears when he wants to mess with someone playing on his lips. "Technically, it doesn't count as a debut until the album comes out."

You’re seized by the sudden urge to push him off the couch - not that your hands move. You're still stuck in place, fingers twisted together in your lap; and even if you weren't, it's one thing to make playful threats in a text under his encouragement. It's another to enact them in real life, when he wants to sit across from you and offer you all of your dreams-

"Why?" you blurt out, and then realise belatedly that that might be just as rude as the actions you were trying to avoid.

Not that he cares, that smile slowly fading into something that isn't anger or humour. Even if you'd asked in Korean, you're pretty sure he wouldn't have minded. He was always telling you there was no hierarchy within this group, no reason to treat him with any respect.

"Because I want to," he insists. "The company agreed that you're ready - and you are ready. You've worked really hard."

You can't stop staring at him; that smile that's plastered across his face, the order of the words that come out of his mouth. You can't put your finger on why it gives you a bad feeling, and yet...something is off. You're sure of it. There's something he's not saying.

But what would he be keeping from you? Your mind wanders back through the things you know about him, the conversation you've had. Is this about the agreement you made, that you would stop working so hard once debut came? But he had just offered you a loophole out of that...and you've never known him to be that kind of sly anyway. Unless you don't know him as well as you think you do - which you suppose would be disappointing but not unexpected-

"What's wrong?" he asks, that pleased smile slipping from his face, and you can see it there under the crack; the secret, and the worry that holds itself stiff in his shoulders as he wonders if you've figured it out.

You have to take a deep breath first, and then another. The air won't quite reach the bottom of your lungs.

"It just doesn't make sense," you say, as kindly as you can. Your fingers twist at each other, tight enough to hurt.

"Doesn't it?" Chan asks. "You're ready for this, I promise."

"No," you say, certainty growing with every moment. "There's something you're not telling me."

Chan looks desperate. "There's nothing else to it."

He's a bad liar. You shake your head. "I'm just going to worry about it if you don't tell me."

"It's not something you should worry about," he insists. "I've got it under control."

"But there is something."

"No."

"You just admitted there's something."

He stops, thinking back through what he's said. Blanches. "Chan," you say, leaning forward, your elbows braced on your knees. You're surprised by the surprise on his face at the way you say his name - strong and unquestioning, free of honourifics and any kind of doubt. "Don't keep secrets from me. Please."

It's the weak little please at the end that makes him waver, the cracks of your resolve on the second syllable as the doubt over how far you can reasonably push him sinks its teeth in. He's still not angry though; if anything, he's scared, apprehension holding his tongue and reeling him, straight-backed, into the couch.

"It's better if you don't know," he says like he's delivering an apology. "I don't keep secrets. I just don't tell you things that are only going to hurt you. It's the same for all the boys - I don't see a reason in upsetting any of you when I've already resolved it."

You digest this slowly, your frustration melting word by word. "You're a really good leader," are the first words that blurt out of your mouth, a compliment that has him shaking his head and avoiding your gaze before the words are even out of your mouth. "And I appreciate it. Really."

There's a pause where you swallow the words that were about to come out of your mouth, too afraid to voice criticism, to risk the tenuous position you've built for yourself here.

"But?" Chan prompts as soon as the silence gets too loud.

Breathe.

"But," you say, intentionally slowing yourself down to one word at a time, "I've been around long enough to know when something's up, and I've looked after myself long enough to be able to handle it. If it's about debut and my career, I want to know what it is. Hurtful or not."

Chan's mouth twists unhappily. "I understand," he answers - and though he looks unhappy, you don't disbelieve him. "But also, you're not alone anymore. You're one of my people now, and it's my job to look after my people."

"I know that." Your hands are trembling, you realise suddenly, your head buzzing from the thrum of your heart beating in your ears. "And I know you like taking care of people and making sure the others never have to worry and all of that, but...that doesn't work for me. If I think something happened and I don't know what it is, I'm only going to sit here and think about it."

Inexplicably, a small smile twists at Chan's mouth, his eyes softening. "That's not going to help any more than me telling you is," he says lightly.

"Yeah," you sigh, leaning back. "I know."

For a moment, silence falls, the tension in the air unwinding itself into something a little more comfortable as you work your way through all the things you think you should say. Chan waits patiently; understanding, maybe, that you need a moment to think, that what you're trying to say might not come out the right way the first time you say it. That would be nice. It already feels like you're risking everything to have this conversation.

"Don't baby me," you say eventually, and then cringe at how blunt the statement sounds coming out of your mouth. "I'm old enough, I can handle whatever it is. I've taken care of myself all this time."

"You're not alone anymore though," Chan repeats, stronger this time.

"I still want to know what's happening though," you insist. "Where I stand with you, or the company, or - whatever it is. Even in a group, it's my career. I deserve to know."

"Okay," Chan says, and then again, "Okay." He stops for a moment, eyeing you appraisingly, and then says, "It's important to me that you listen to what I'm saying though. You're not alone anymore. We're a family, and we work so well because we're all committed to each other. If you want to be a part of this, you have to be as well. Do you understand?"

Your chin dips towards your chest - first in a nod, and then to stare at your hands rather than the unyielding intensity of his gaze, waiting for your answer. Waiting to see if he should be worried about you and whatever commitment he's made to you without you knowing. "I'm trying," you say, and you try your best to colour your voice in that raw honesty that burns at your chest. "I really am - I just don't want to pretend to be one of you if you're not all ready to accept me. I don't want to just come in and say I'm part of Stray Kids, I'm the same as the rest of you who have been here from the start-"

"You are one of us," he says over the top of you, cutting you off short. "We've all accepted you. If you want, in the morning, we can go and ask every single member and they'll tell you the same thing, but I need...I need you to let go of that. Forget Midnight and all the other groups that you nearly joined and being by yourself, and be part of Stray Kids. That's the person I want to show to Stay next month. That's the person I need in this group."

You swallow hard, blinking back tears. It feels big, this moment - bigger than the climax of any reality show, or the flight and fall of your time in Midnight, or the countless monthly evaluations that have passed you by in your time here. Bigger than auditions and leaving your home behind, the hardest moment you'd once thought you'd live through, when you were younger and less wary of the world. And for it to be Chan that sits there and asks this of you, his heart on his sleeve and his nature so honest and well intentioned, so hard to let down-

"I can do that," you say, around a tongue that feels thicker and heavier than it was before, a mouth stuffed full of cotton. You look up, meeting his eyes, and you're surprised to find a smile there, slowly lifting his face and crinkling at the corners of his eyes. Pleased. Relieved.

"Okay," he says, a breath blowing out with the word. "Good. Because I really want to keep you."

"Good," you echo. "Because I really want to stay."

He laughs; a small, soft thing that unwinds the tension in your chest. You pull in another breath, push back the tears again; preparing for what you need to say next.

"I meant what I said earlier though," you add, your shoulders squaring and your jaw clenched tight. "This is important to you, and it's important to me that I know exactly what's going on."

You hate watching that smile struggle and fade again, gone as quickly as you had earned it. "You're not going to like it," he warns, but he doesn't try to fend you off again.

"That's okay," you sigh. "Nothing unusual."

His mouth twists against words that he decides not to say. "The company offered last week to let us continue as eight members," he admits, one of his hands reaching up to pick mindlessly at the pillow of your couch. "They were pretty insistent about it, actually. I told them we wanted to be nine."

Your gaze turns sharp, your head swivelling to stare at him. "Why?" you ask, your voice gasping - because you can't fathom, after the back-and-forth of the last three months and the drama of delaying your debut when they'd been so hell-bent on revealing you in time for the last album, why they would turn around and try to take you out just as quickly.

"Because God's Menu did so well." Chan shrugs. "We weren't doing very well as a group before that; the last two albums were rough, and losing a member...I guess they thought without him we weren't ever going to be able to do as well as we did at debut, and then we went and proved to them that we are profitable as eight members. And they thought they could just use you as a backup plan."

"And you-"

"I told them they already spent the last three months fucking around to make us a nine member group, so we're going ahead as nine." You're surprised at the way his voice turns sharp, the hardening of his eyes and the dig of his fingers into the cushion. "They asked me if you were ready to debut, and I told them you could debut at our next concert if they wanted - which I probably shouldn't have said, because they decided that was a great idea, but-"

It's him that's rambling now, you that cuts across him with a, "Chan." He stops short, looking up at you with eyes that remind you of how you'd felt just moments ago - unsure, wary of how you're going to react. Sure that you're going to be angry for some reason, even though what he's done is...

"Thank you," you say, your voice dropping away to almost nothing - tears well in the corners of your eyes, unbidden, dripping down your cheeks even though your throat aches with the effort of trying to swallow them back down. "No one's ever done anything like that for me before."

"Hey, don't cry," he says, alarmed. His weight shifts across the couch, his arms reaching out - before you can wave him away, they envelop you in a hug, pulling you into his chest. It's been a long time since you hugged anyone; you're surprised at just how much you didn't know that you missed this kind of comfort, the tightening of someone else's arms around you and the warmth of another body close.

"You better get used to it," he says over the tuck of your head into his shoulder, your tears drying on his hoodie. "You're stuck with me now."

"You didn't even ask me first," you say, and listen to the way he laughs. "I'm going to do a good job at K-Con. I promise."

"We'll talk about it tomorrow," he says, before you can continue on. "We're going to have to plan how to show those idiots that they were wrong."

"It's my special talent," you joke weakly. "They haven't got rid of me yet."

You can hear the satisfied smile on his face, the amused huff of breath that ghosts over the top of your head. "And they never will," he says, and it sounds like a promise. A prophecy.

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids @hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts @puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night @d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk @minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification @starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace @amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002 @hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff @splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit @jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @slutfortits @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

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i-want-men-i-cant-have · 11 months

Text

Got impatient waiting for Min Ho fan fiction so i made one in a minute

I hate it. I want it to burn. But here 🥰🫴

No pronouns used

Gif by @showgifs

Imagine trying to find some skin care products your friend recommended so you go to the nearest beauty shop by your dorm.

You walk in and look around for the skin care for a while staring at the link your friend sent you. Your gaze flickers from the photo of the cream back to the shelves wondering if it was even at this store. The workers asked you if you were alright but you nod and give them a smile saying you were fine.

After thirty minutes of loitering you decide to leave thinking you were unlucky in choosing the location. Before you could step out you feel a tight grip on your wrist and you turn back to see a handsome stranger in a white hoodie and some gray jeans. He seemingly glares at you looking you up and down and muttering words in Korean under his breath.

Before you could even understand what was happening he started dragging you throughout the store mumbling things under his breath like, “This can help with acne,” while placing seemingly random products in your basket. “Best treatment for blackheads and pores,” a nose strip gets placed in.

You protest trying to pull your wrist away and try to explain you won't be able to pay for the basket that seems like it could overflow if you keep walking with him. “Stop complaining. You're going to get wrinkles.” He grabbed an anti-aging cream this time and turned around to look you up and down again. You felt self-conscious under his gaze wondering if you should have tried harder with your outfit even if it was the weekend.

“Did you even try waking up in the morning?” He asked you with a tone that sounded like you woke up just to annoy him. You tried to hold back a scoff and discussed face at his words.

You can't even respond before he drags you to the cashier and looks at you with a raised brow.

“I’m sorry, but I can't pay for it.” You apologize for looking at the two zeros after the $34. “It’s too expensive anyways. I’m sorry for wasting your ti-”

“Stop apologizing.” He scoffs, flipping out his card from his wallet. He doesn't bat an eye as he places it in the register.

“No-! You really don't have to do that. Let me repay you somehow.” You tell him but something in your gut told you to let him pay for it and run with all the skincare you had no idea how to use.

“Who said I wasn't going to let you repay me?” He replied with a snarky voice. The cashier placed the jars, tubes, small cardboard boxes, and any other products he bought for you in a bag.

“It could take a while but I can get you the money-”

“7:30 pm tomorrow at the new French restaurant. Don't be late.” He turns around and starts to leave the shop. “I’m Min Ho. You don’t need to be afraid to follow me on insta. I have that effect on people.” You can hear a cocky laugh leave his lips as the automatic glass door closes leaving you staring at his retreating feature.

Maybe you should go shopping for a cute outfit today as well.

#I couldn’t wait #hes an asshole but i love him #hes my wife #min ho x reader #min ho #xo kitty #xo kitty x reader #sang heon lee #sang heon lee x reader #hes my comfort character #netflix #netflix x reader #hes just like me fr #to all the boys trilogy #to all the boys netflix #reader #x reader #y/n #｡˚꩜.no gunsMinHo

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skzhua · 11 months

Text

Episode five.

MASTERLIST

pairing: XO, Kitty's Min Ho x Female Reader

genre: Fluff, angst, enemies-to-lovers, slow burn, coming-of-age.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: Swearing, mentions of divorce, mentions of deceased parents, some cringey asf moments.

summary: Transferring to KISS was the last thing you had asked for and, yet, a certain tall boy made it seem both worse and better than you expected.

note: Bold - Korean, Italic - Over the phone

a/n: I am beyond overwhelmed by the amount of love this series is receiving. It means so much to me, you have no idea. Thank you <3

(let me know by filling the form in my bio if you want to be added to the taglist!)

There were bad days, and then there were bad days. And Min Ho was clearly having the second one. After you slammed the door in his face, he dropped on the couch next to Q. He might have hoped a little that his friend was going to be of any moral support but he couldn't be any far from the truth. Q was still pissed at him. In fact, almost everyone he knew was.

Dae came back to the dorm after Q left to go to bed. Seeing Min Ho alone, he greeted him kindly.

"You're here. How was your day?"

"It sucked." Dae gave him a sad look as Min Ho let out a sigh. "It sucked."

He went to sit across him and gave him a sad smile. "What happened earlier, I'm sorry... Things are crazy these days."

"I know, that's why I'm trying to help you." he said in frustration. "Why are you keeping secrets from me? You didn't even tell me you were dating Yuri all summer... And why did you tell Kitty about Poopy Baby?"

Dae gulped, not saying anything back.

"Are you really my friend?"

He let himself fall back on the seat in defeat. "I'm such garbage."

"Well, at least you know that."

"Hey. You still have feelings for her, right?" he was replied with a hum. "If I can be honest, I saw something today. On the Internet. Randomly! Accidentally!"

There was a pause before Dae hopped on his chair as he suggested they play Overwatch. After agreeing to order hot wings and do face masks, Kitty walked in and rushed to go see Q in his room. Dae's stare lingered to the door and Min Ho snapped him out of it.

Overhearing it all, you heard them call Kitty out of the room to show her something. Curiosity got the best of you, so you joined the others and walked up behind Q to watch what was going on. The sight horrified you. Why would someone stream their roommate in their sleep?

"What? My roommate put me on some weird website as I was sleeping." Kitty scoffed.

"I don't see the appeal." Min Ho sighed.

"And yet you somehow found the site."

He looked at you as you grabbed his attention but only received a death stare from your part. You definitely needed to work on your weird dynamic.

"Kitty, you should move." Dae said, more like an command than a suggestion. "You can't live with this girl anymore."

Q nodded. "Yeah, I agree with Dae. This is kind of sketchy."

She huffed. "I tried but there is no other room."

"Uh, how about a hotel? My driver could take you right now." Min Ho offered although he was well aware this wasn't an option.

"I can't afford that for an entire semester."

"I'm sure Dae can hook you up with a discount at Han Hotels."

"Shut up, Min Ho." you said, growing more annoyed with him by the second.

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Just trying to help."

"You helped enough today."

Before another argument broke, Q's face brightened as an idea popped in his mind. He offered to switch rooms with Dae for Kitty to come live with the rest of you again. In secret. Though unsure, she agreed because of how much she couldn't take her roommate anymore.

Chuseok used to be your favourite day of the year. You would have a delicious meal with your parents at home, free of worries and problems. Your mom's japchae was what truly kept the tradition living. Needless to say, their death definitely left its mark on you but it became easier with time. And tomorrow, you were going to enjoy it to the fullest. At least try to.

Kitty had spontaneously offered to organize a Chuseok for the expats of the school and begged you to help her out. You would have turned it down but her pleas were almost getting on your nerves that you gave in. She asked you about traditional meals you'd cook with your own family and you put together a list of ingredients she would need to buy. As the list only got longer, you opted to go grocery shopping together.

"Can you get soy sauce? I'll get the gochugaru."

You went to the end of the aisle as she called out for you to ask which kind of sauce she needed to get. Being already in front of the gochugaru, you assumed she could wait a second more for you to pick it up. You crouched down to get it off the shelf. Satisfied with the brand you chose, you got up and were greeted by Min Ho standing in front of you, a basket in hands. His shoulders dropped as you stared back at each other, you doing the same.

"You're seriously everywhere." he complained.

"It's not like I intend on seeing you everywhere."

Kitty came next to you with her cart, having picked out herself a random bottle of soy sauce. "Min Ho."

"And Kitty? You two are like my own sasaengs." he scoffed which Kitty seemed to not have understood.

"What's a sasaeng?" she asked, confirming your thoughts.

"Like a very obsessed fan." you explained. "But we're not."

"Yeah, sure." he smirked at you.

"What are you even doing in a grocery store?" Kitty asked.

"Yeah." you added. "Shouldn't you be on a yatch being rich and annoying?"

He faked a smile. "My dad is doing that with wife number three with her new fillers. I have decided to stay here as a favour to all women who want a piece of me this Chuseok."

He sent you a look before pulling a box of chocolates out of his basket. You could do nothing but roll your eyes at how pathetic it looked.

"Strawberries and chocolate? I'm going to be sick." Kitty said in a boring tone.

"I'm sure Lulu would appreciate it."

This caught your attention. "Lulu? The pop star? You got her to be one of your Min Hoes?"

He scoffed as his infamous smug look appeared. "That's cute, puppy. And she's only the fastest rising popstar in the country."

"And?" Kitty said, not sure what point he was trying to make.

He held up his phone to show you a picture of Lulu but you only frowned.

"We've been flirting since her trainee days." he justified.

"What a surprise." you said sarcastically.

Nonetheless, you couldn't ignore the feeling in the pit of your stomach. It felt like it was ripping apart and you only hoped it didn't mean what you thought it meant.

"She's on break from tour for the holiday. Even K-Pop stops for Chuseok." he continued.

"Okay." Kitty said, unimpressed.

Min Ho analyzed the content of your cart and frowned at you. Taking a pack that laid on top of the rest of your items, he showed it to you.

"Do you even know what to do with this?"

You snatched it back from him. "We're fine, thanks."

"I am admittedly entering new territory but with the help of TikTok, Y/N, and a positive attitude, I'll manage just fine." Kitty said and you facepalmed. "If not, I've won awards for my mashed potatoes."

She was about to push her cart forward and walk away but Min Ho stopped her. "No, no, no. As a Korean national, I cannot in good conscience let you desecrate my native cuisine like this."

"You do know I'll be doing most of the cooking, right?" you asked.

He acted as if he hadn't heard you and dropped his basket in your cart before removing Kitty from her spot to push it himself. "Do you want to poison your classmates or do you need my help?"

"Min Ho." you exhaled.

"This is me being kind right now."

Kitty sighed. "Fine. But I'm still making my mashed potatoes."

You and Min Ho groaned at her words and walked towards the next aisle. She followed behind in panic, telling you to not mess her system up.

While she was watching you two add products to the cart, you kept on bickering on anything really. Disagreeing on certains articles, disputing over a certain dish he wanted to cook, complaining about what you wanted to make...

You managed to go up to the cash register and he insisted on paying for it all. Having fought enough with him, you didn't protest and he helped you and Kitty with getting everything back to the dorm.

You got up from bed earlier than usual, wanting to focus on the side dishes you planned on making. It was going to take a while to get everything done so the sooner you started, the better.

What you didn't expect was to see Min Ho already standing in the kitchen as he dressed in a black tank top with a funny-looking apron over it. He didn't see you right away but he was quick to do so when you let a laugh slip out of your mouth.

"Well, well. Who's decided to be an early bird this morning?" he snickered, referring to your usual moody self when you wake up.

"Looks like we've had the same idea. I wanted to start cooking right away." you said as you went to stand next to him. "Need help?"

He shook his head. "I'm good. You can start on the budae jjigae, though."

Doing as told, you took the ingredients out of the refrigerator and Min Ho moved his own material to leave you space to work. It was silent but unlike normally, it felt nice. You almost dared to think that you liked being this comfortable with him.

"What's this?" you asked about the basket on the stool.

"My mom got it for me, my love language is gifts."

"I would have never guessed." you joked.

"She sent it from Los Angeles since she couldn't be here." He looked down. "We usually spend Chuseok together."

You smiled sadly. "It must suck, I get that. My parents and I never missed Chuseok together. Well, until... yeah."

"Right."

He cleared his throat to ease the tension and continued to chop his onions. You watched him go at it and were pleasantly surprised by his skills.

"I would have never guessed you knew how to cook. Nor would I have expected you to help Kitty. I suppose you can be nice."

He gave you a side eye. "I'm famously anti-Kitty, I'm only doing this to honour our traditional food properly."

"Try to convince me. You have a soft spot."

He chuckled while shaking his head. "Well, if you want me to be nice so badly, should I ask if you're okay?"

You cocked your head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"With your parents and all. I bet it's not easy."

You nodded. "Yeah, definitely a difficult holiday." you breathed out.

"I'm sorry but can I ask what happened?"

You looked at him and saw his eyes softened. "It's..." you hesitated. "They had a business trip and never came back." you kept it short

He rubbed your arm and you shivered at the contact. "That's awful. I'm sure they're looking after you. They must be proud."

Your breath hitched as you felt his head hover yours. You didn't dare to look up but you knew he was looking at you.

"Thank you, Min Ho."

You felt him breathe on the top of your head. It was unsteady and hot, you felt like you were about to melt.

"Good morning." Kitty yawned, coming to join the two of you.

You jumped away from each other and focused back on your tasks, attempting to forget what had just happened. "Hey, slept well?"

"I guess." she yawned again. "Oh, Pepero." she said excitedly and reached out to get it from Min Ho's gift from his mother.

He slapped her hand away. "Don't."

Hours of cooking went by and you were happy to have almost forgotten about your moment with Min Ho. Almost. Having finished with your budae jjigae, you sat at the stool and watched Kitty make her mashed potatoes. Growing bored, you connected your phone to the speakers and scrolled through your playlists to find something to add to the ambiance. After selecting one song, you heard a phone buzzing. Min Ho took his device out and smiled as he replied to a text.

"Confirmed Lulu will be at the premises at 8pm." he said with a smirk before putting his phone away.

Your stomach felt weird again.

"I'm sure she'll love the chocolate." Kitty smiled sarcastically.

"The chocolate was actually for," he began to say and moved his gaze to focus on you. "someone else."

Kitty eye-judged him as she kept mixing her potatoes.

"Hey, don't judge." he exclaimed. "Not all people need to be star-crossed lovers to be compatible. Like, hot people, for example." he pointed to himself. "We can, and want to play the field."

You mentally thanked him for saying that as it gave you a reminder that he was nothing but a jackass. That helped the weird tug in your belly go away.

"That's because you haven't found your perfect match." she looked at you for a second and you coughed in disapproval.

Min Ho grunted. "I've found many, many matches."

"I'm just saying, I've seen the magic when people find the one." she smiled to herself.

"That's sweet to think, Kitty." you said in a bored voice, not believing in what she was saying.

"Y/N's right. My parents both thought they found the one." Min Ho continued. "They were the 'it' couple. Beautiful, young starlet. Chaebol heir. The tabloids literally called them the perfect match. Look at them now."

Visibly, the divorce of his parents seemed to have impacted him more than he would admit. You kind of felt bad but, again, this was Min Ho. He didn't deserve your empathy.

"I'm sorry." you let yourself spill out unintentionally.

He shrugged. "Whatever."

Kitty coughed to clear the atmosphere and served him a bowl of her potatoes for him to taste. He took a spoonful of it and hummed as it was better than he thought.

"It must be weird to have people know all about your family." you continued on topic.

You were glad that he didn't mind keeping on telling you about it. "They think they know, they don't really. That's my point."

You nodded in agreement and he continued.

"There's really only one thing that matters at the end of the day."

"Which is what?" Kitty asked curiously.

"The truth." he responded as if it was obvious.

You helped Kitty with organizing the place. As more people came to her gathering, you welcomed everyone nicely by offering them drinks. You saw Q and Florian arrive and joined Kitty's side to say hello.

"Wow." Q breathed out in amazement. "People are calling this Chingu-seok."

"What?" Kitty asked and you were starting to wonder if she really was working on her Korean like she told you she was.

"It's a pun with chinggu, which means 'friends' and Chuseok." Florian explained. "You started a new tradition."

She was in awe but it was ruined when her eyes spotted Professor Lee. "Oh, no. Why is he here?"

"Because he's sad and lonely." Min Ho answered making you almost choke in your orange juice. "Mind helping me, Y/N?"

You followed him to the main table where you had placed the food dishes. He passed you a bowl of cold noodles and asked you to bring them to a table. As he was placing a plate himself, Madison appeared out of nowhere and waved at him.

"Min Ho, hi."

He shut his eyes closed, clearly not wanting to converse with her. "Hello, Madison."

"I wasn't expecting you to be here." she frowned but then noticed the plate he was holding. "Oh my God, you cooked."

"Yes, but I'm not staying long. Got a date tonight."

You had heard enough and moved to the entrance to invite people in. The weird knot in your belly came back and you absolutely hated it. You hated even more that Min Ho was seemingly the cause of it.

"Y/N!" he called out for you again.

With a lack of enthusiasm, you came to him and he asked you to put the plates away with him. Madison had left so you saw no problem in giving him a hand. Happy with the result, you went to Kitty's table together and stopped to look for which seat to take. You sat at the edge of the table, two seats away from your professor. Although awkward, Kitty was going to be in front of you anyway. Plus, you were only there to enjoy the food.

"Hey."

You raised an eyebrow at Min Ho. "You're sitting here? Willingly?"

He repositioned himself on the seat next to you and shook his head. "No. Yes? Just drop it."

"My bad."

Q insisted for Kitty to make a toast and she did a great job as she mentioned sweet thoughts such as gathering together and her mother. She ended her speech with a 'cheers' and you clang your drinks together. With Min Ho's first.

"Happy Chuseok, little pup." he nudged your shoulder. "Thank you for the food."

"Thank you to you too." you smiled.

You started to serve yourself and were, honestly, overwhelmed by how much food there was. You wanted to taste each one of them.

"Can you pass the japchae?" Min Ho asked Q.

Your head rose from the mention of this specific food. "You made japchae?"

He put it down in front of you two. "Yeah, first thing this morning. Didn't you see?"

You shook your head as a no. "I haven't eaten that in years."

Min Ho brought your plate closer and dumped some in it. "Dig in."

The last time you had actual good japchae was at your last Chuseok with your parents. None had own up to it so far and you were curious to see if his cooking skills were as good as he claimed them to be. You took a bite and chewed slowly. Your eyes grew bigger and you shook his shoulder.

"This tastes exactly like my mom's."

He chuckled. "Really? She might have sent you my way so you could taste it."

You rolled your eyes. "Don't ruin the moment."

He shrugged. "I'm just saying." he checked his phone quickly. "I'm off... to fulfill my destiny."

"Ah, Lulu?" you asked and he wiggled his eyebrows at you while getting up.

"Can't wait to read about it tomorrow." Q commented.

"Wait, you're leaving?" Kitty stopped him.

"Hello, hot date with popstar? Later, sasaeng." he tapped her head and walked away.

You felt disappointed he left. Of course, you would never admit it out loud. To suppress the annoying tingle that seemed to never go away from your chest, you focused on the japchae. Taking more and more bites of it, you reminisced your parents. You missed them terribly. But you were convinced they were watching you and you wanted to make them proud. Min Ho said they would be, after all.

And there it was again, Min Ho coming to your mind. You tried to shake it off but he simply wouldn't go away. And now you pictured him being with his date at this exact moment...

Ping.

You took out your phone from your pocket and read the messages you had just gotten.

Min Ho: Y/N!

Min Ho: Y/N, answer!

Min Ho: Help me!

Min Ho: I don't know who else to call, come help me!

He was definitely going to be the death of you. Putting your pride aside, you left the dinner to head to the school's entrance. You looked around but there was no one. You yelled out his name a few times but you were left unanswered. As you were about to give up and go back to the others, Min Ho's head popped out of the bushes.

"What the hell did Kitty put in those potatoes?"

You looked at him curiously. "What the- Weren't you going out just now?"

"Y/N, answer, please."

You shrugged. "Milk, cheese... I heard her mention it."

He squinted his eyes in shame. "Really, that little piece of-"

"Min Ho." you stopped him but he then groaned in pain and you heard his tummy rumble. "Awe, Poopy Baby. Are you okay? Do you need help with the potty?" you teased him.

"Real funny." he said while his face stayed still. "Lulu could come any minute now. You have to get rid of her. She can't see me like this. But keep her hooked on me."

You scoffed. "And why would I do that?"

"If her fans find out, I'm done for."

"Sounds like a you problem." you replied and started to walk away.

The sound of a car brought your attention back to where Min Ho was and you immediately connected that this was Lulu. Cursing at yourself, you turned back on your heels and greeted the idol with a forced smile.

"Hi." you bowed at her as she stepped out of the car. "Min Ho's running late."

"Who are you?" she asked in a bored voice.

"Min Ho's fanclub president, first in line for a date night with him."

You wanted to die just then and there. Fanclub president, what were you thinking?

"Uh?" she said, confused.

"My date with him just ended. I can't believe I even got to see him up close."

And more will to bury yourself ten thousand miles deep.

"That jerk double-booked me?"

You smiled, almost afraid of what you were going to say next. "He is the most handsome guy at school. I'm not going to lie, he ruined me for other guys. He's just so... well, you know."

"Intriguing... But I refuse to come second. You tell him I come back at 6pm tomorrow night. And that he better clear off the rest of his schedule."

"Oh." was all that you could say.

"When he has a night with me, he won't be seeing anyone else after."

She got back into the car, not leaving you time to say something back, and took off. Min Ho scoffed in disbelief.

"How did you do that?"

"Talent?" you answered, although it came out more like a question. "You owe me."

"I know, I know."

You stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do next. "Well, I'll go now."

"Y/N, wait."

Halting on your steps, you looked at him, confused, and waited for him to go on. He cleared his throat and looked anywhere but at you.

"The chocolate. It was for you. You can take them when you get home."

You froze. "For me?"

"Yeah." he affirmed and finally looked at you. "As an apology for the other day when I yelled."

You let out a small laugh. "Love language is gifts, uh?"

He rolled his eyes. "Say thank you and we move on?"

"Thank you, Min Ho." you smiled.

#xo kitty #xo kitty fanfic #xo kitty x reader #xo kitty minho #xo kitty minho x reader #xo kitty min ho #xo kitty min ho x reader #min ho x reader #sang heon lee #sang heon lee x reader

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vixialuvs · 2 months

Text

DONT YOU WORRY ABOUT YOUR CURLY HAIR !

୨୧. pairing - riki nishimura x reader .

୨୧. cw - hurt/comfort, wrote with a curly haired hispanic reader in mind, lwk self indulgent lol :,), friends to lovers

୨୧. summary - you get insecure about your curly hair after you overhear some girls talking about it in the halls, and ni-ki is there to comfort you.

୨୧. NOW PLAYING - “a letter to my thirteen year old self” by LAUFEY .

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

you were a foreign exchange student, who has been living in korea since you were 7. you were never accepted into the standards because of your skin color, your hair, and the food you eat.

yet there was one boy, who you came to know as your best friend, nishimura riki. he came from japan, but still managed to fit in with the others. you sort of resented him, how easy people accepted him but gave you funny looks, always picking you last in games and never sitting with you during lunch.

he didn’t seem to care about any of that. he stuck by your side no matter how hard you tried to push him away, and you eventually gave in. years flew by, and you were still deemed as the odd one out, the only girl in the entire school with beautiful luscious curls, yet you were ashamed of them.

ni-ki, who was given that nickname by his friends in primary school, who was basically glued to your side, however, adored them. he would constantly ask for permission to play with your curls, and you couldn’t help but say yes, even though you knew it would make them somewhat frizzy. deep down in your heart, there was a sudden realization you were in love with the boy.

you pushed your feelings down deep, knowing he should get with one of the perfect korean girls in your school, ones with shiny straight hair and supple, pale skin that glows in the sun. you even decided that one of his fangirls would be a better match for him then you. in a final last ditch attempt to lose your feelings for him, you began to avoid him.

this hurt him so badly, seeing you dodge him in classes and hallways, hiding away during lunch in the library or the courtyard, eating alone. he kept trying to find you, hanging around the spaces you two used to sit together, under cherry blossom trees, on the bleachers, in the library, and finally, underneath the staircase.

he was going on his daily search for you when he heard sniffling come from your designated spot, and knowing your voice, he immediately knew it was you. he rushed down in his dark clothing, complete opposite from what your wearing, decked out in baby pink and white, bow in your hair and everything, seeing you sitting on the steps crying quietly. he sits beside you and cups your cheek, getting you to look at him.

“y/n? what happened?” his voice brings you out of your panic, causing you to look at the tall boy kneeled infront of you. you shake your head and look away from him, but he persists, now holding your face with both of his hands, thumbs caressing your cheeks so lovingly, as if he loves you. “cmon, look at me y/n, please. just tell me.”

he murmurs pleadingly, thumbing away your tears. you cave in, unable to resist his gaze.

“just.. everyone in this school treats me like i’m some specimen.. or like an alien from another planet. just because of my hair and my skin color. i hate it so much ni-ki. and.. um..”

you pause, not sure if what your about to say will go over well. it could seriously jeopardize your entire friendship.

“and what?”

he murmurs, looking at you expectantly, nodding along to what your saying, waiting for you to speak.

“i like you ni-ki. i like you more then a friend and more then a classmate. i like you. i don’t know why i like you. i just do, okay? i’m so sorry. i’m so so sorry—“

your apologies are abruptly cut off with his pouty lips pressed onto yours. he brings you closer by placing a hand on the back of your neck to deepen the sweet, comforting kiss. your hands come up to rest on the sides of his neck and jaw. you pull away with wild eyes, but before you can speak again he cuts you off once more.

“don’t you worry about your curly hair, y/n. it’s so beautiful. people just aren’t used to your beauty, since nobody in korea has your beautiful hair. but you are so unique and ethereal, you stand out from everyone else for a good reason, and that’s why i love you. you aren’t considered normal, and neither am i.”

he rants on about how much he loves you and your hair, until you cut him off.

“you.. love me?”

you sound so awestruck. someone loves you? and it’s the boy you’ve been pining after for years?

“yes, y/n l/n, i love you so much it hurts. please, can i be your boyfriend?”

he pulls you up to your feet, yet hes practically towering over you, standing at 6’1, and interlocks your hands. he cups your cheek with another, bending down to kiss your forehead.

“yes, nishimura riki. you can be my boyfriend.”

you hum before pulling him into another sweet kiss, getting lost in his embrace.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

@vixialuvs . thank you for reading, do not copy, steal or plagiarize my work ! requests are always open !

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bellaaae · 2 months

Text

yeodongsaeng [Requested]

[Fluff]

A knock was heard on the door making all the members attention to drift to the door.

“Ah the new member must be here!” Sakura exclaimed.

Chaewon being the leader was the first to open the door.

At the front of the door stoood their manger with a cat-like girl who looked very shy.

“Chaewon-ah this is your new member,please introduce yourselves to her and make her feel welcomed” the manger said as the girl stepped forward.

“Don’t worry manger-nim,I’ll make her feel as welcomed as possible” chaewon said giving a warm and welcoming smile.

She shut the door behind her and placed her hand on top of the new members shoulder guiding her inside the room.

“Everyone gather up and sit in a circle” chaewon instructed and everyone obeyed.

“As you all know this is our new member,Let’s start the introduction by saying our names and birthdates” chaewon said and looked at everyone.

“I’ll start,Hi! My name is Kim chaewon born on August 1st 2000,You can call me Chae and as you may or may not notice I am the leader” she started looking at the next person.

“Hello! My name is Miyawaki Sakura born on March 19th 1998” she introduced you guessed she was the oldest,and she had a foreign name.

“Hello,my name is Huh Yunjin or you may call me Jennifer,I am Korean-American and I’m please to meet you!” She introduced in English but you were confused.

She didn’t realize and the other members started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” She confused as well.

“Yunjin I don’t think the new member understands English” Chaewon said and Yunjin’s eyes widened as she realized she introduced herself in English.

She quickly apologized and introduced herself in Korean.

“Hi I am Nakamura Kazuha born on August 9th 2003” she said and from what you could tell she was also not Korean.

“Last but not the least My name is Hong Eunchae or you can call me manchae born on November 11th 2006!” Eunchae introduced with a friendly smile.

“Eunchae how are you sure she’s not younger?” Yunjin questioned Eunchae making her have a thinking look.

“Oh I didn’t think about that…So new member what’s your name and age?” She asked very curious.

You took deep breaths.”Hi my name is Shin Yn born on n.a/n.a/2008” you introduced with a sweet smile.

“2008?!” Sakura exclaimed.

“Eh! I’m 10yrs older than you?!” She said as she had her eyes a widened.

They were all surprised you were younger than Eunchae.

“You see Eunchae she’s younger than you with 2yrs” Yunjin told Eunchae who was lost in thought.

“So does that mean Eunchae can’t be bearing manchae anymore?” Kazuha asked directing the question to the old members.

“Well it seems like,I mean she isn’t the maknae anymore” chaewon said thinking.

“Let’s give yn a nickname similar to manchae’s” Charwon suggested and all the members started to think.

“How about Makyn?” Yunjin suggested her own idea.

“Oo I also thought of that…” Kazuha said.

“Well Makyn is nice,Yn what do you think?” Sakura asked yn hoping she’d agree to it.

“I love it,it sounds cute” Yn said smiling widely making her bunny teeths to be obvious.

“Ah she’s so cute!” Chaewon said and everyone agreed calling her cute.

You thanked the members for making you feel so comfortable around them, except for eunchae.She knew that having a younger one she wouldn't have the attention of her unnies and might have to share it or she doesn’t get as much as she used to.

Through out the entire day Eunchae was acting grumpy.

You were scared of interacting with her therefore you kept yourself as distance as possible from her.

After arriving at your dorms,you freshened and arranged your things in your new room.

You went downstairs and saw Sakura and Kazuha making dinner. “Unnies, where's Eunchae unnie? you asked them confused, you tried looking for her room but no luck you didn’t find it.

she just vanished as soon you all arrived at the dorm,she immediately just went inside and no trace of her could be found.

You were a really outgoing person and you really wanted to get along with everyone,especially Eunchae.

“Probably in her room” chaewon responded.

“may I ask where her room is” you asked politely.

“it's the one next to yours,go talk with her.i didn’t see you guys interact today”Yunjin said.

you smiled and turned around walking to eunchae’s room.

With shakey hands you knocked on the door.

“Eunchae unnie,it’s me yn….can I?”you said after knocking, waiting for her response.

After a long silence, you were about to give up and turn to leave when the door opened and Eunchae appeared,giving you a space to come in.

You watched her sit down on her bed,she patted a space for you to sit beside her.

“Eunchae unnie I bought this for you”you spoke handing her the caprisun in your hand. leaving a space for you and patting you to do so.

“I also bought you this pack of lays,I bought so many snacks because I didn’t know which one was your favorite” you said smiling shyly as you took all the snacks out of your bag.

Eunchae started to feel guilt for the way she acted earlier.

you weren’t bad and form what she could tell from the way you’ve acted so far.You’re a really nice person.

you even bought her most of her favorite things.

Eunchae started to get emotional then small tears started to drip out from her eyes.

You looked at her and caught her crying,mumbling a few words.

“Ah what do I do?,Should I get someone older” you whispered to yourself looking panicked not knowing what to do.

“Eunchae unnie please don’t cry” you pleaded grabbing box of tissues wiping her tears away.

To her,you were the cutest person.The way you were panicking and helping her to wipe her tears confronting her.

She sighed through her tears before she spoke.

“it bothered me,having a new member,younger than me and the attention the members gave you,made me feel more jealous”

“I didn't give you a single chance to have a conversation with me and now I feel bad for what I did…..I’m sorry yn” she apologized.

“I completely understand you,Getting a new member isn’t the best idea like four months after your debut..And being younger than you getting the attention of the other members” you spoke softly making Eunchae more guilty.

“Yn I’m so sorry,I should’ve acted like a responsible older sister but instead I just acted like a jerk,yn please forgive me”

“No,Eunchae unnie don’t feel that way,infact I always looked up to you as a role model during my trainee days” you said trying to cheer her up which worked.

Her eyes widened and she said.”You looked up to me as a role model?” She asked shocked.

You nodded shyly.

She pouted “you’re so cute and sweet…Can I call you yeodongsaeng(younger sister)?” She asked and you nodded happily.

She hugged you and said.

“Welcome yeodongsaeng”with her cheeks tinted in a light shade of pink.

“And Thank you,Eunchae unnie” you said between a hug and got up to leave.

but a voice interrupted you. “do you want to watch a movie?,Maybe Barbie?” She said as she watched your eyes light up and you nod happily and rapidly.

“cute” she thought to herself.

✰𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐌

#lesserafim #lesserafim reader #lesserafim x reader #lesserafim yunjin #lesserafim kazuha #lesserafim eunchae #lesserafim chaewon #lesserafim sakura #eunchae x reader #lesserafim fluff #Eunchae fluff

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

Text

TAKE CARE OF YOU

Sugar Daddy!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Overall Warnings: slow burn, angst/comfort, power imbalance, age gap, possessive tendencies, eventual smut, #daddyissues, independent reader learns to let go and relax, emotionally constipated Joel Miller learns to be vulnerable; (more specific warnings to be added to individual chapters if necessary)

Chapter Word Count: 4,312

Summary: You spent your entire adult life supporting yourself and barely getting by. It's why a life of ease offered to you by a mysterious stranger sounded so foreign and unbelievable. Joel Miller, dressed in flannels that had seen better days, didn't look like the kind who could promise you the world on a plate, but he seemed desperate to help out. All he asks is that you let him take care of you. That wouldn't be so hard. Would it?

[a/n: i know what you're thinking. 'JJ, what the hell are you doing?' The answer to that question, always, is 'I have no fucking idea'. But, this idea gripped my soul. Oops.]

01: YOU WORK A BUNCH THEN ONE DAY YOU DIE

"i don't want a sugar daddy but maybe like a sugar buddy. i just hit him up like, 'Hey how are you today?' and he replies, 'Doing great thanks for asking here's $7,000.'" -unknown

The life you lived was simple and boring. You were reminded of this fact as Nima rambled through a story about how her blind date last night had turned into a bar brawl which spiraled into a stint in the emergency room. Meanwhile, you had binged a show you'd already watched a dozen times on Netflix while shoveling popcorn down your throat. This worked perfectly for you though. You got to stay in your comfort zone while living vicariously through your best friend’s disasters.

“Please tell me you won’t be seeing her again.” You chuckled.

Nima scoffed, “Hell no. She could not carry her own in that bar brawl. That’s why we ended up in the ER.” She scrunched her nose then shrugged. “But she’s fine now. The girl only needed like seven stitches.”

You shook your head and breathed out a laugh. For the entire time you had known her, going on a decade now, Nima had never dated a normal woman. It was almost impressive how terrible her record was.

The Korean woman’s hair was dyed a solid bubble gum pink and tied up into two messy buns atop her head. Her clothes were a patchwork of pastel colors that showed off her toned midriff and long legs. The purse wrapped around her chest was shaped like a giant strawberry and the large headphones wrapped around her neck were equally as bright as the rest of her. Everything about Nima was a blur of chaos and energy and people couldn’t help but be drawn to her. Add that to her awful taste in women and it was the perfect recipe for her wild dating history.

“Why did we come here?” You asked as your eyes scanned the menu of the coffee shop. The two of you were in the very long line waiting to reach the register, and you had to lean to the side to see around the broad man standing in front of you both. “It’s so overpriced.”

“I follow this girl on insta and she said they have the best lavender matcha latte.” Nima shimmied her shoulders in excitement. “It looked amazing.” She bumped her hip against yours. “What are you gonna get?”

“Will you yell at me if I say vanilla latte?”

“Yes!” Nima scoffed. “That’s so boring! Get one of their specialty drinks at least!”

“Like?”

Nima scanned the menu then pointed at something. “Get the cotton candy frappe!”

You chuckled and continued to scan the menu. There had to be a middle ground option between those two. The line continued to move and Nima had switched from her dating life to her newest project at work. She was an engineer currently working in construction. You were immensely proud of the success she had found in her passions. Honestly, a bit jealous as well. You were in the northern end of your twenties and you had still yet to find something you loved. It was like the world had hit pause on the momentum of your life post college. Time flew by, years passed, but nothing had changed.

The man in front of you reached the register and you realized you’d have to pick something soon. You heard him order something simple⏤ like you had planned. You didn’t pay him much mind until you noticed him patting his pockets growing more frantic with his motions as he realized he was missing something. Finally, he groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. From the angle you stood at, you could just barely see his profile, but it was enough to see his face was scrunched up in frustration. You glanced over at Nima, who was texting, then back to the man who was obviously having a terrible day.

“Sir?” The boy working the till questioned.

“Just⏤” The man huffed as if he were trying to wrap his mind around something. You assumed there was more going on than just a lack of money to buy some coffee. Not having the means to pay for something was probably just the icing on the cake for him. It wasn’t a situation you were unfamiliar with. 'Been there, done that'.

Quickly, you stepped up to stand beside him and fished out your card. “Add a, uh, cinnamon roll latte to that order please. I’ll pay.”

“Wait.” The man held his hand out to argue, but the guy at the register was already swiping your card. He wrote the orders out and motioned for Nima to step up next. The man stepped away from the register without tearing his eyes away from you. His stare was inquisitive and confused. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He had a southern drawl to his words that you didn’t hear often in this part of Los Angeles. Your eyes scanned his figure which looked even more broad when you stood in front of him. The man wore a worn out red flannel with old blue jeans and work boots. His hair was a bit messy, fluffed and slightly curled at the ends, in mostly shades of brown with a bit of silver peppered in. The silver was more prominent in the scruff along his jawline. He was handsome, there was no denying that. Even with his eyebrows furrowed and his lips drawn out in a frown, you couldn’t help but admire him.

“Don’t worry about it.” You shrugged. “You looked like you were having a rough day. We all need a helping hand now and again.”

When Nima finished ordering you turned your focus on her, but she said she was running to the bathroom and disappeared. It left you standing alone next to the man waiting for the drinks to be made. Which would be fine if you didn't feel his gaze still burning into you. Awkwardly, you crossed your arms. You were overthinking it. Paranoid. He probably wasn’t even paying you any mind anymore. To reassure yourself, you glanced over at him only to realize you had not been paranoid. Your eyes locked with his soulful brown ones. Handsome brown eyed men were a menace to society. Nobody should have that much power with just a gaze. Panicked and embarrassed, you snapped your gaze forward once more.

“Thank you.” He said gruffly.

“Like I said,” You cleared your throat, “It’s no problem.”

“I’d love to pay you back.”

You turned to face him, letting out a small laugh, but he didn’t join in. The man just stared at you patiently. Your laughter died as you blinked at him in surprise. “Wait, really?” He nodded. “That seriously isn’t necessary. It was like five dollars.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s the principle.”

“Listen, you seem stubborn, but I promise you I’m worse.” You joked and the corner of his lip curled up into an amused smile that was gone as quick as it came. You almost wondered if you imagined it. “Just… the next time you’re out and you see someone struggling, pay it forward. Deal?”

He didn’t reply for a moment. Just stared, and it took all your willpower not to glance away again. Finally, he crossed his arms over his chest. You mentally cursed when your dumb eyes traced the lines of his arms. No ogling the stranger. He nodded once. “You drive a hard bargain.” A small smile cracked his otherwise solemn features and this time it lingered long enough for you to actually acknowledge it. “But you got yourself a deal, darlin’.” Your cheeks burned again at the term of endearment. He paused before holding out a hand to you. “I’m Joel.”

You shook his hand, his much larger one enveloping yours entirely, and you offered him your own name. Silence settled between the two of you, but it only lasted a beat before your orders were called out. Joel’s long stride had him at the counter before you got there. He picked up your coffee first and offered it to you before taking his own.

“Thanks.” You chirped.

“I’m thankin’ you, remember?” Joel lifted his simple cup as a reminder. He gave you a slight nod. “It was nice to meet you, darlin’.”

“Uh, you too! Hope your day gets better!” You gave him a small wave.

Joel turned to leave and you couldn’t help but let your eyes trail up and down his entire body. His jeans could not fit him more perfectly. Ogling the stranger was okay, you decided, as long as said stranger wasn’t watching you do it. As you shamelessly checked him out, you didn’t notice your friend drift back to you. “Nice.” You jumped in surprise. Nima was grinning at you in excitement. “Please tell me you got a number.”

“A number?” You scoffed. “Are you crazy??”

“I saw sparks!”

You rolled your eyes, “You literally see sparks everywhere, Nima.”

“Okay, yeah, maybe, but one of these days I’m gonna be right.” She argued. “Statistically, speaking.”

You changed the topic of conversation, which was always easy to do with Nima, and took a sip of your coffee. It was a bit too sweet for your taste, but the trip to this pretentious coffee shop hadn’t been a complete waste. How often did people get a chance to chat with a handsome, older southern gentleman?

The bakery you worked out was a small family owned business. The owner, a cute little old man named Henry Pack, was an old friend of your father’s and when you showed interest in work he hired you without hesitation. That was two years ago. The initial plan was for this to be temporary. A way to earn money so you could pay bills and save up to finish your degree. However, life had dished out hit after hit and suddenly your temporary plan had turned more permanent.

Plus, the shop wasn’t doing well, it wasn’t getting the traffic it used to, and Henry was getting older and older. He needed the help and even if something else came up⏤ whether it be better paying or more enjoyable⏤ you didn’t think you’d be able to leave Henry behind. Not after all he had done for you.

You wiped down the counter once more mostly out of boredom. The last customer had been in and out nearly an hour ago. Henry walked in from the back office and you glanced over at him. He was a short, portly man with ruddy cheeks and a kind smile. It hurt your heart how stressed he had been as of late.

“Have you noticed much foot traffic outside?” He asked, hopeful.

“A bit.” You nodded. “Lunch just ended. I’m sure that’s why we have a lull.”

“Right, right.” Henry replied as if trying to convince himself.

The older man knelt down to root around in the lower cabinets. You offered to find whatever it was he was looking for, knowing he had bad knees, but he brushed your hands away stating he was just fine. With a sigh, you thought now was the best time to bring up the question that had been plaguing you.

“Henry, I need to talk to you about maybe a… a raise?”

He glanced up from where he was knelt with a frown. “I told you, hon. I can’t afford to pay you more. No matter how much I wish I could.” Henry sighed. “Well, maybe if I…”

“Never mind.” You said quickly. It was clear that your question was distressing to Henry. It wasn’t his fault you weren’t making the kind of money you needed. He was barely scraping by as well with the costs of keeping this place open. Henry gave you a sad smile⏤ an apology. He finished what he was doing and wandered back to his office. You blew out a frustrated breath. Maybe you could pick up a new job. The problem was that you were already working a crazy amount of hours here at the bakery. If you were somehow able to become the first human alive who didn't require sleep then that could work.

You covered your face with your hands and leaned back against the counter. For most of your adult life, you only had yourself to rely on financially. It was fine. That was the hand life dealt you. Nima was constantly offering to pay for certain things, or trying to loan you money, but you always refused. Too prideful to take her money with no guarantee that you’d be able to pay her back or offer her anything in return.

The sound of a bell chime startled you and you pushed off the counter quickly to try and regather your bearings. You cleared your throat and turned toward the door to offer the guest a smile. A greeting began to leave your lips, but it was cut short when you realized you recognized the man crossing the space to reach the register. It was the handsome coffee guy from a week ago.

“Well, you’re a familiar face.” You chuckled. “Joel, right?”

“Right.” He looked surprised that you remembered his name. Joel cleared his throat and came to stand in front of the register to face you. He had on a similar outfit to the last time you saw him. Flannel and jeans, but he seemed a bit more put together today. “Are you guys closed?”

“No. It’s just a… slow day.” All the days were slow actually. You straightened your apron, the only uniform item required for you to wear, and offered him a bright grin. “What can I get for you, sir?”

Joel glanced over the menu then the display case before nodding. “Muffins?”

“Okay.” You nodded when he gave you no further information. His eyes just snapped back to you. “What kind? How many?”

His eyes widened and he forced his gaze back to the display. “Just, uh, six of the blueberry?”

You bit back an amused chuckle and moved to start packing a box with his order. It was funny to you that this man had come into a bakery without an order in mind. After closing the box, you set it on the counter in front of him. “So, do you make a habit of popping into bakeries to order random things? Just passing by and thought ‘why not?’.”

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel chuckled. He reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. He gave it a small wave and nodded at you. “I have money with me today.”

“Very nice. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you.” He flipped it open and pulled out a card to hand to you. You hadn’t even told him how much the muffins would be. “I triple checked before leavin’ the house.” You handed him back the receipt with his card, and Joel put them away without making any move to leave. “How long have you worked here?”

You leaned against the counter. “About 2 years now. A family friend owns the shop.”

“Are you the one who,” Joel motioned to the display, “bakes?”

It was odd to you that the man sounded so nervous about having a simple, casual conversation. It was as if he was rusty at the skill and was attempting to stretch out those old muscles. With a small, amused smile, you shrugged. “Some of it. Henry is the main baker, he’s incredible, and I learned from him.”

“Is it somethin’ you enjoy?”

“Meh.” You answered honestly. “I’ve gotten decent at it, but I don’t necessarily love it. Just sort of fell into it.” Joel nodded and his pretty brown eyes darted around like he was looking for a new conversation topic. You threw him a bone. “What about you? What do you do?” You motioned to him and teased. “I’m guessing lumberjack.”

Joel chuckled, “Lumberjack?”

“Yeah.” You pushed off the counter to stand straight. “If I squinted I‘d mix you up with the Brawny guy.” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and you let out a mocking scoff. “You know? The paper towel lumberjack.”

You saw a flash of recognition in his eyes and a breathy laugh left him. Joel shook his head. “Can’t say I’ve gotten that one before, darlin’.”

“Where are you from?” You blurted curiously. “There’s no way you picked up that drawl living in LA.”

“No, I didn’t.” Joel replied. “Texas. I’m from Texas.”

“Ah. That fits. You’re like a cowboy then.”

Joel rested his hands on the counter, “Am I a lumberjack or a cowboy? I’m gonna need you to make up your mind here.”

“Hm, can I get three to five business days to decide?”

“I suppose.” Joel nodded.

The door chime rang out and you glanced over to see another person wander in. For the first time ever, you found yourself disappointed to see a paying customer. Joel cleared his throat, dragging your attention back to him, and you watched as he opened up his wallet again to pull out a crisp five dollar bill. You laughed with a shake of your head as he shoved it into the tip jar.

“It was nice to see you again.” Joel said.

“You too. Have a good day.”

Joel picked up the box of muffins and on his way out he called back, “I’ll be back to find out if I’m a lumberjack or cowboy, darlin’. So get to thinkin'.”

Your cheeks warmed in amusement and you wondered if he was actually serious or if that was just a teasing joke. The other customer reached the register, and you turned to greet them. The stress of thinking about your bills and work life had been briefly soothed by the distraction of talking to Joel. That was nice.

Shockingly, Joel hadn’t been joking. He came back a few days later, ordering something random and on the spot, then demanded to know if he was a cowboy or a lumberjack. You had convinced him to give you more time to think as you joked that you needed further evidence to assess. That had been the start of a habit. Joel would randomly come in just to chat every few days or so and buy a new baked good from you.

A few times, he had walked in while you were helping other customers, but he always waited until they were rung up and on their way out before initiating any conversation with you. It was during the fifth visit that you could tell he was nervous about something. After some time he had gotten more comfortable talking to you, but today it was almost like he had recessed back to that first time.

“Are you workin’ this weekend?” Joel asked after ten minutes of small talk.

“Only on Sunday.” You admitted. “I’m picking up some extra shifts.”

“More shifts? Don’t you already work ‘em all?”

You chuckled. “Not all of them, but definitely most. But, hey, that’s life, right? You work a bunch and then one day you die.” Joel always seemed uncomfortable when you talked about your work schedule in any fashion. “Why do you ask?”

He had furrowed his brow at your working comment, but it quickly smoothed out as he shifted in place. It was cute to see a man as large and intimidating as he could be squirming over whatever topic he was trying to bring up. You stayed silent and let Joel mull it over. While he worked out whatever was on his mind, you could admire how well his plain t-shirt fit him.

“Nothin’. Just curious is all, darlin’.” Joel finally coughed out and you bit back a frown.

“What about you?”

Joel shrugged. “Workin’ some. Stayin’ busy.”

Multiple conversations ago he had revealed that he worked as some kind of contractor. You didn’t know much about that job other than it had something to do with building houses? Maybe? When you asked for more details he had stayed pretty vague.

“I should head out.” Joel cleared his throat holding the box of cookies in his hands.

“Oh. Yeah.” You nodded. “Sure. It was nice to see you as always, Joel.”

Joel gave you a tight lipped smile before turning on his heel and beginning to leave. He was halfway to the door before he spun on his heel and marched back⏤ startling you. Joel set the box down on the counter, hands resting on the edge, and kept his eyes downcast.

“I have a…proposition.” He blurted. Joel’s eyes snapped up to meet yours and the weight in those warm brown eyes nearly knocked you to your knees. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t harboring a small crush on this man. Despite him being nearly two decades older than you, if you garnered a guess, the attraction you felt to him was not affected. In fact, it probably made you a bit more attracted to him. You knew that a therapist would probably cry out ‘daddy issues’, but you also had a hard time believing anyone could not be attracted to this man.

That being said, a part of you⏤ a very small part that you were too scared to encourage⏤ was really hoping he could be asking you out to dinner or drinks. Was that silly and unrealistic? Probably. It didn’t extinguish that little flame of hope though. You shrugged. “Proposition?”

“I wanna take care of you.” Joel spoke firmly. As if by just bringing this topic up, he had shed his nerves and was focused solely on selling you whatever this proposition was. You narrowed your eyes confused at his wording. The man continued. “Help you out, darlin’.”

“With?”

“Anythin’ and everythin’.” Joel sighed. “You name it and it's yours.”

You let out a confused chuckle. It was like the tables had turned and now you were the one who felt nervous. You buried your hands into your apron pockets and tilted your head. “Not to sound dense, but, uh, what?” Joel didn’t immediately reply. He just stared at you and his eyes burned straight to your soul. A warmth churned in your belly. “I just need you to be specific about what you’re offering because it’s going to be really awkward if I’m misunderstanding you.”

“I’m offerin’ you a life of ease. You work too much, doing somethin’ you don’t even love, and even when you’re off I bet all you do is stress about havin’ to work more to afford rent and bills. Am I wrong?” Joel challenged. You twisted your lips not having a solid argument. He wasn’t wrong. “So… let me take care of you, darlin’.” The choice of his words, the sound of his accent, in his gruff voice sent chills down your spine. You swallowed the lump in your throat and squirmed under his heavy gaze. “I’d love nothin’ more.”

“Nothing more? I… I don’t think that’s usually how that works.” You mumbled softly. An almost sickening feeling filled your gut. No amount of attraction to Joel would soften the idea of him paying you for sex. That’s what he was asking right? Joel makes you comfortable, pays all your bills, and in return you fuck him?

Joel must have noticed the shift in your mood because he held out a hand in surrender. “I know what you’re thinkin’. Not like that. I wouldn’t expect…” He winced. A bit of his nerves crept back into his features. “I wanna take care of you, and all I ask in return is that you allow me to do that. Offer some platonic company. Someone to talk to. Plus, occasionally, I’d need…a date. No strings there either. Work drags me to a bunch of real stupid conferences and outings. Having someone to talk to durin’ those things would be…nice.”

“That’s it?” You found it hard to fully trust that. As much as you had enjoyed your conversations with him, you still barely knew him. “You’d offer someone a little cash to chat with them?”

“Not just a little cash.” Joel said firmly. “Everything. Takin’ care of you isn’t somethin’ I’d want to half ass, darlin’.”

“That’s even less believable.” You said skeptically.

Joel nodded. “Fair. How about this,” He cleared his throat, “You said you’re off Saturday?” You nodded. “Let’s meet. Talk about this. No pressure. You can ask any and all questions you have.”

You chewed on your lower lip in thought. Saturday was two days away. “Can I think about that? Before I even agree to meet you.”

“Of course.” Joel nodded. He pulled a business card from his wallet and held it out for you to take. You reached out for it, and the brush of his fingers against your hands gave you goosebumps. “I want you to be comfortable. Call me if you’d like. Or… if you’d rather never see or contact me again I⏤ I get that too, darlin’.”

You stared down at the card, but realized it wasn’t a business card like you thought. It was the same size, but he had scribbled his name and cell phone number on it for you. Joel mumbled a quick good-bye before heading to the door again. You called out to him, looking up from the card, and he paused to glance over his shoulder.

“Why me?” You questioned. It seemed so random. Situations like this didn’t happen to people like you. They happened to people like Nima. People who were willing to step out of their comfort zone and put themselves out there. This couldn’t possibly have stemmed from this man forgetting his wallet one day and you being in the vicinity to fix that problem.

Joel’s lips curled up into a small smile and he shrugged. “I, uh, I like talkin’ to you, is all.”

The chime of the door as he left echoed through the otherwise quiet room. Your eyes glanced back down to the card where ten numbers stared up at you dauntingly. Just above it, written in a messy scrawl, was his first and last name. ‘Joel Miller’. It wasn’t until you read his name for the seventh time that you realized you were actually considering his offer.

[next]

✨J.M. Masterlist✨

#the last of us #joel miller #modern au #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #sugar daddy!joel miller #slow burn #reader insert #female reader #tlou #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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wordstome · 6 months

Text

now that we don't talk

I cannot be your friend, so I pay the price of what I lost And what it cost Now that we don't talk

alpha colonel König x beta ex-lover reader

2nd person, no y/n, she/her pronouns, reader's callsign is Eden, reader speaks French, omegaverse, exes to lovers, fraternization

2.2k words

tw: none

I swear to God one day I'll write something that doesn't involve that big hooded freak. But today is not that day.

Shoutout to loganlermanstanaccount here on Tumblr, who I won't tag. The bullet point headcanons with written parts interspersed format is from their excellent college roommate Miguel O'Hara post, which became their fic Rigor Mortis. I highly recommend both!

Also, excuse the absolutely butchered military content. I'm sure none of this is how it works in real life, but alas, this is fanfiction, not a research paper. Reader serves a Laswell-like role, but I refrained from labeling her as CIA even though I do call her a station chief. For the purposes of this fic, she's the voice in the operatives' ear during ops. We're playing a bit fast and loose with the terminology here.

You’re a highly skilled intelligence agent and operative handler.

You’ve spent most of your life dedicated to your career: moving through the ranks, proving yourself, refusing to let anything stand in the way of your ambitions.

You’ve done some things you aren’t proud of, but always for the right reason. Or the reason that made the most cold, logical sense. Even when your heart tells you otherwise. Nobody in this line of work has clean hands, after all.

You’ve always done what needs to be done. For everyone’s best interest.

Today marks the first day of your collaboration with a PMC called KorTac. You’re hunting down a homegrown cult turned out-of-control terrorist cell.

You haven’t had much experience working with mercenaries, but in terms of hardened war criminals, KorTac’s people are quite well mannered.

Not that you had expected them to be rude and discourteous, but, well. You are an outsider. They haven’t necessarily embraced you, but their reception was nice enough.

You’ve got a meeting with their commander, but you can’t quite find the room you’re supposed to be meeting in. Not a great first impression to make, but luckily, someone takes pity on you.

He introduces himself. Korean. Callsign Horangi.

“You’ll get used to the layout of the base,” he says as you follow him through winding hallways.

“I hope so,” you reply. “I’ll be here for a while." You study the walls, the signs and numbers on the doors, trying your best to memorize everything.

"Do you know your commander well?" you ask. You're not the world's biggest fan of small talk, but you may as well know what you're walking into.

"König? Yeah, we've been close ever since he joined up." Horangi says, leading you into a long hallway. "He's a good guy. A little intense, but don't let that get to you. He's just getting the job done."

"We'll get along if he's competent." You can respect a man who forgoes pleasantries for making sure the shit gets shoveled.

"You don't have to worry about that." Horangi stops and holds the door open for you. "After you."

You study him for just a moment before entering the room. He's curt and to the point. Not bad-looking, either. Hopefully you'll get more chances to—

Your heart nearly stops.

KorTac's commander is facing away from the doorway, shuffling through some papers by the looks of it. But you would know him from any angle. The set of his shoulders, the way his stance is at ease but never truly relaxed, the way his hair curls at the nape of his neck.

You have to force yourself to step into the room. And when you do, he turns around.

You're vaguely aware of Horangi stepping around you to get into the room, but that's happening somewhere far away from the headspace you occupy right now. By the way König's eyes widen as they meet yours, he's in the same place too.

He hasn't aged so much as he's gotten more tired. He never did sleep enough, but now he looks like he hasn't gotten a sound night's rest in a long time. He's put-together, but there's a haggardness to him that probably wouldn't be noticeable to anybody but you. Someone who knew him when he was younger, and in the prime of his life. Someone who used to know every scar on his body, every crease of his brow, and now hasn't seen him in more than a decade.

The man who broke your heart stands on the other end of the room, staring at you as if he's seen a ghost.

The two of you stand there for a while before Horangi's voice shakes you back to reality. "Brought the station chief, sir."

"I...see." König—you suppose that's what he calls himself nowadays, the arrogant prick—clears his throat. "Thank you, Hong-jin."

"No problem." Horangi takes a seat. "The others will be in soon."

Horangi seems like a perceptive enough guy. Can he tell that the room feels several degrees colder? You pull a chair out, the furthest one from König's position possible, and ignore the hurt that briefly flashes across his face as you sit down.

The meeting goes well. It's just an opportunity for you to formally introduce yourself to the KorTac operators you'll primarily be working with for the next few months.

You can tell they're a close knit group by the easy way they interact with each other: they've worked together for a while.

König, too, is part of them, which must be how they pick up on the chilly dynamic between the two of you. Some of them are just puzzled. For most of them, it raises their hackles.

It doesn't matter to you. You can barely focus on getting through the meeting without feeling like you're going to faint.

It's absurd. You're not some delicate Regency-era lady. You're a hardened military officer. But it makes no difference.

It doesn't matter how long it's been, it seems. He's still the only one who can make you feel like this.

You can't get out of there fast enough after the meeting has concluded. Not only are the others shooting you suspicious looks, but you've spent too long in his presence. Any longer, and you don't know how you're going to keep your composure.

But you can't escape him. Of course not. Why did you ever think otherwise? You hear him call for you, and you walk faster. But it's futile.

This hallway is smaller, narrower, less open. Nobody's around to watch when he slams you against the wall to stop your hasty retreat. Nobody's around to see the way you sway in his hold, overwhelmed by the smell of him all around you. You're bathed in it, the overpowering presence of him.

"We need to talk." he demands.

"We just did. Meeting's over," you shoot back, making a paltry attempt to wriggle out of his grasp. He loosens his hold on you, but you're still trapped between him and the wall. No exit.

"I didn't plan this, in case you're wondering."

"That much was obvious." He's let his hair grow out longer, you notice at the most inopportune time possible. It suits him, you think.

He sighs in frustration. "If we're going to work together, we have to be civil."

"Don't worry. I wouldn't expose how much of a scoundrel you are in front of your precious squad," you bite.

You feel a twinge of smug satisfaction as regret settles into his expression. Too little, too late.

"I don't want it to be like this, either," he murmurs. "Ignoring and avoiding each other."

"You don't get to tell me how to act."

"You're right. But it's been a long time. Can't we try to get along? Not for my sake, but...yours."

"Well that's not condescending at all."

"That's not what I meant. I know my team. If you're walking around resenting me openly like that, they won't trust you. And they need to, if you're working with us."

He's right, and you know it. But there's that deep instinct inside you, older than your bloodline, waking up after a long slumber. It wants him, snapping at the bit to give into him and do whatever he asks of you. The urge will consume you if you don't fight it every step of the way.

You glare up at him, hoping you come off as brimming with resentment instead of desire. "As long as you and your team stay professional, I can too."

He's not satisfied with that answer, but it's all you're going to give him.

"Fine." He steps away from you, and you pour all your willpower into commanding your body to stay still. To not chase after his closeness. You sway on the spot, dizzy with his scent after having gone so long without it.

"This hallway is a dead end, by the way."

You try, you really do. But it's hard to be around him without feeling the urge to touch him, to press yourself against him and inhale him like the most destructive drug possible.

Your only recourse is to stay as physically far away from him as possible.

You do your best to ingratiate yourself with the other operators. You and Calisto are fast friends: she's got a breezy confidence to her that's quite refreshing. It also doesn't hurt that you speak French, as well. There's a bit of kinship felt whenever the two of you are holding a conversation none of the others can understand.

Horangi's a different story, though. The initial courtesy he showed you is a bit more clipped, now that it's clear something is up between you and König.

You can't believe you missed it the first time, the way König's smell is all over him. It really has been too long.

The two of them must be pretty close. You give up trying not to fixate on the idea.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop on them, but you were curious. Even more curious when you hear your name mentioned.

"It's pretty clear you and Eden know each other. None of us are stupid."

You freeze in your tracks. The door is closed, but you can hear Horangi's voice, loud and clear in the room behind it.

"It's not relevant. She's just here to do a job."

"I think it's pretty relevant that she gets up and leaves whenever you enter a room, regardless of what she's doing. She can't get away from you fast enough."

You give a surreptitious look at your surroundings, then lean down slightly, pressing your ear to the door.

"You're not going to give this up, are you?"

"Hell fucking no."

You hear König sigh. "Fine. We knew each other before I joined KorTac. Back when I was in the Jagdkommando."

Do you want to hear this? Your painful history, relayed to a near stranger? Horangi's not a stranger to him, that's for sure.

"And?"

"We were...involved."

"You and a beta? Never took you for the type."

"Well, neither did I. But she was...special. Smart, pretty, deadeye with a knife. Wouldn't give me the time of day, of course. I was obsessed with her."

"Naturally."

"Give me a fucking break, okay?"

"Can't wait to hear how this ended."

"Not...great. I was a total dick."

You can say that again, you think.

"I was young. Real dumbass who thought he was hot shit."

"You still aren't."

"Shut the fuck up." Something twinges inside you at the hearty laughter the two of them share. You missed that laugh.

"Despite everything, it was the most stable relationship I've ever been in. We looked out for each other. She knew me better than some of my family does."

"How did you fuck that up, then?"

"I got too comfortable. Started thinking I could do better. God, what a fucking idiot I was. I loved her like crazy, but I didn't realize how good I had it until it was gone."

"She left you?"

"No. I was the one who ended things. In the worst way possible, too. I told her the relationship wasn't going to go anywhere, that we were never going to be a serious thing."

"Ouch. Why not?"

You squeeze your eyes shut. You remember that night, like a shard of glass buried in your chest. As hard as you tried to forget, you'll never forget the way you felt. Like the world was ending.

You'll never forget the decision you had to make.

"I told her I couldn't see myself with a beta long-term."

"...that's fucked up."

"I know. I know. I was too caught up in that shitty macho alpha mindset. I was fucking ravenous back then, and I thought only an omega could give me what I needed."

"I get it now. If I were her, I would have quit on the spot seeing you in that meeting room."

"Yeah. She's a better person than I can ever imagine being."

Well. It's nice to know he regrets it, you think. Not that it does you much good now. Quiet as a mouse, you make a quick exit before you can get caught.

You make it back to the the room you've been assigned to. They were nice enough to give you your own private quarters, something you deeply appreciate when you need to be alone with your own thoughts. Like right now.

It's a strange feeling, to sort of get closure like this. Not at the end, but at the beginning of something new. You still have to see each other. Does it help that you know how he feels? Maybe, but it doesn't ease your own guilt. In fact, it makes it worse.

You're not mad at him for telling Horangi. You're glad he did, actually. There are some secrets that cause more harm to keep than not.

You open a drawer and pull out the pill bottle, hidden underneath your other possessions, and stare at the label.

WARNING - SUPPRESSANTS. NOT TO BE USED BY ALPHAS. ONLY CONSUME UNDER PHYSICIAN SUPERVISION.

You would know.

BOOM! There you have it. (In case it wasn't clear, the suppressants are for omegas.)

@sprout-fics's omegaverse 141 headcanons series inspired me to write something based off the idea of an omega disguising themselves as a beta in the military. Please check out her series, it's great.

I was really into exploring how omegaverse dynamics can make complicated relationships even messier. I did consider writing this story without the omegaverse, but I think now it's kind of an essential element. (I also just. Want them to have crazy nasty omegaverse sex. Sue me) I can't picture König ever breaking up with someone he deeply loved and was obsessed with, unless he had a reason like that. Still not a great reason, but a little bit understandable. Eden being a disguised omega also adds a bit of spice to the exes-to-lovers arc, too: she could have just come out and told him she's not actually a beta, but she chose not to for the sake of her career. Oof. Ruthless judgement calls were made on both sides.

I put this out because this idea had me in a STRANGLEHOLD, and I just had to get it out before I burst. Hopefully my writing's still up to par 😅 As for Kingdom Come, part iii may take a little while longer because a lot is going to happen in it, so I hope this can tide you guys over until then.

As usual, comments and feedback are always appreciated! I would love to talk about this au more. And again, if you'd like to be tagged, drop a reply. And if you're in the taglist and would like to be removed/only tagged for Kingdom Come, please let me know!

@crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @catluvwr @keiva1000 @waves-against-a-cliff @channelsoph @cutiecusp @itsagrimm @dins-riduur-anthe @mantishymns @lexuria

#könig #konig #könig cod #konig cod #konig x reader #konig x you #könig x reader #könig x you #cod #cod mw2 #call of duty #mw2 #konig mw2 #könig mw2 #fic: now that we don't talk

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mr2swap · 10 months

Text

The incident: This man is my son

- Nate What the hell are you doing? -From falling my Briefcase to the ground while The funny creature that was in my new armchair began to bark without moving from its comfortable place in the muscular arms of my little son Nate, the long and smelly feet of my son stank the entire room with the musky odor of the sweat from his feet.

- Isn't it great dad? her name is Zoey, Mom and I rescued her on the way home, and don't worry about taking her for a walk I'm going to start jogging in the mornings before I go to school, and I'll pick up everything I do in the garden and I'm going to…- I made a hand gesture for her to stop and immediately there was silence, with the same hand I rubbed my hundred to try to alleviate the migraine that was beginning to attack me -Just... it's fine just don't put her on the sofa and clean what she does- I continued on my way towards the kitchen while Nate smiled at me with those lips hidden in a beard recently shaved by my wife Naina, in a second Nate wrapped his long arms around the dog and lowered her to the ground.

-And don't put your feet up on the table! - I yelled before entering the kitchen, once again Zoey the new member of the family barked at me and stayed while she and my huge and noisy son stayed in the living room, as soon as I entered the kitchen I almost tripped over one of my son's toys, put away the little red tricycle with a soft kick that my son usually plays with after coming home from the gym, maybe I should buy him a bike before he breaks it with his new weight of 265 pounds and his height of 6.5 feet tall but I should teach him how to drive it first just like I taught him how to shave.

The government psychologist assured me that it was only a matter of time before me to get used to my new son and his new body, but for me, it is still embarrassing to have to explain to the neighbors that the manly, muscular, shirtless white man who is playing basketball in our front yard is actually my little son Nate.

I couldn't do anything but get used to having another "man" at home, the government is trying to reverse the random exchanges but the terrorists altered the gas so that the effects would be indefinite, maybe forever, I went to the stove to prepare a chamomile tea, while I waited for the sound of the kettle to alert me, I tried to remember my life before that stupid accident in the subway.

Before Nate was the huge 6.5 feet tall hairy gorilla sitting in my living room he was an ordinary kid coming home to his grandfather from elementary school, the same way thousands of people inhaled the gas that a group of terrorists had stolen from a Swap Corp truck and when they woke up they found themselves trapped in the body of some stranger next to them!

The incident destroyed many lives and separated many families But Nate doesn't seem upset with his new body I don't think I've ever seen him smile so much now that he's a 33-year-old man, He doesn't have to go to school so while I and his mom are working he spends his mornings at the gym or playing video games but he still visits his old friends from elementary school to beat them at basketball and tell them all about his new life as a white man.

Of course, my father was also affected by the body-swapping gas, and right now he is spending his retirement money on his vacation in South Korea Before he left he said something about connecting with his new culture and his new age.

He was really lucky to end up in the body of “Yoon” a 25-year-old Korean man who was just at the station to take a couple of photos for his Instagram, at first Grandpa was puzzled by his adorable face and body. of a Greek god but now from all the pictures on the beach and in clubs on the other side of the world, it seems that he is having fun with his second chance. I can't say the same for the real Yoon, The term in my father's fat and old African-American body, and is living in a government asylum for people affected by the incident that's another story...

Hey folks! if you like bodyswap stories take a look at my patreon, I have a lot of more stories, and you can help me keep creating more stories!

#body swap #male body swap #bodyswap #body switch #male transformation

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katsukiizmoon · 1 year

Text

Desc: Talkin’ bout Katsuki while you’re pregnant & when you have a daughter

No cause now all I can think about is katsuki with a daughter :( everyone Shutup I’m usually more immune to baby fever but oh god…. >:( katsuki needs to give me a baby girl

I can go into details and I will

Buys a giant wardrobe for her before she’s even born. Has custom made dynamight baby clothes made just for her.

Reads every parenting book known to man and has a binder of development notes!! This man has written down everything from how to cure baby gas to the best learning tools and methods for little ones

Makes freezer prep meals for when you’re post-partum and struggling ! Soup cubes, one pan sheet meals, instant pot dinners, the works. He makes frozen mandu (Korean dumplings) for an easy snack.

SLATHERS you in Shea butter and bio oil throughout your pregnancy, giving you rubs up and down all the time

Begins impulse buying childrens books and toys any time he steps into a store

Your home now has an entire room dedicated to the items he had either BUILT or BOUGHT for your child. Shelves are secured to the wall, filled with every book and pack of flash cards he’s purchased

Lays her down on his chest for quick naps with dragon tales on, humming to soothe her to avoid hics and sniffs from his beloved baby

Calls her “angel” for the longest time but here’s a list of other nicknames he uses: “squirt” , “shithead” , “princess” , “little spark”

Has the baby’s footprints stamped on thick cardstock for every two months she grows, until she hits a year. At a year he begins doing it every 6 months.

Starts teaching her to bake early on, all their favorite treats. They sit afterwards and eat to their hearts content until she inevitably knocks out on his chest watching Disney movies

Let’s her paint his nails as soon as she’s old enough. When she hits an age where it’s appropriate, they begin getting matching pedicures with you every month

Also post partum he spends time fixing you warm baths to soak in and love yourself in, while he holds the little one and makes dinner

Also also when you’re pregnant he literally has a brand new toilet installed to help you so you won’t need a peri bottle as much when you go to the bathroom :(((

Bathroom? Stocked with everything you can imagine. Tiny fridge for your padsicles? Check. Adult diapers? Check. Stool softener? Check. Baby wipes? Check! Anything you need, is stocked to the brim

Makes it mandatory that for the first 7 days of your little one’s life, only you and him will be around the baby. No visitors pressuring you, none of that. He plans the entire week in advance and tries to account for how tired you’ll be. The first thing he tells you to do when you get home is to get some sleep, and you do.

Calls his mom for help when you’re both a little too stressed and has her watch the baby in the play room so the two of you can have an hour nap

Takes you out to different attractions every week and/or has a “mommy day” planned each week to help lessen the chance of post partum depression

I just truly think he’d worship the ground yoj walked on and pave the way for her. He’d tell her how much he loves her every day. I bet he even puts a mild lavender lotion on her before she sleeps to help her rest and relax.

When she’s a newborn and going through the phase of refusing sleep, he gets you in bed and rocks her in the rocking chair until she’s asleep. He also demands the baby SHARE a room with you until she gets to at least 7-8 months. Baby cameras everywhere. Everything is baby proof. If you think it isn’t, it is.

When I die, The first thing I’m doing is having katsuki knock me up so we can live a happy life with a little one.

#bakugou #katsukibakugou #bakugo x reader #bakugo headcanons #bakugo headcanon #mha x reader #bakugo x yn #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou headcanons #katsuki bakugou x reader #star anise #strawberry cake

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sxtvrns · 1 year

Text

purity and its presence in growth

🎶 now playing: my heart it beats for you - grentperez

P: Soul (Haku Shota) x Fem!Reader

S: Moving to Korea in the peak of your adolesence isn't easy. You just happened to be there to help. How can he miss you so much even though you only knew each other for an hour? Maybe exchanging numbers was a better idea than he thought.

C: fluff, cute moments, inaccuracy, brainrot, baby p1ece don't slander me, needed to get this into my drafts immediately, kinda sloppy, drabble, puppy love, longer than it should be

N: Y/N is your first name, L/N is your last name. i saw somewhere online that said soul moved to korea when he was 13 for fnc and somehow this idea began to brew in the deep depths of my strange brain. im a little new to piwon so if i get something wrong im sorry :P any ages mentioned are korean age, not international. his name means like 'child with a pure soul' so thats why the title sounds so poetic but okay enjoy the potato child content

view the rest of the conversations ☆彡

please interact if you enjoy!

After the almost 3 hour flight to Incheon, Shota stands in the airport mindlessly, staring at his phone and trying to resist the urge to call his mom. Though he knew that she'd pick up in a heartbeat if he did, he suddenly had a rush of independence surge through his veins when he stepped off the plane, telling himself every day was gonna be lonesome and that he'd have to learn how to get around. It wasn't until he got near the exit that he realized he had no idea what to do.

He should ask someone. There was a high chance quite a few people on that flight could also speak Japanese, but even so, he couldn't muster up the courage to talk to anybody. So he stood awkwardly, out of the way, watching all the people walk by and glance at him periodically.

He'd been studying Korean during his break time at school while at home in Japan, but he was afraid he'd say something wrong and embarass himself.

His eyes wandered amongst the people, and past the crowd of tall adults, there was you. A girl, who looked around his age, spacing out by some suitcases while some other adults, probably your parents, were talking to the clerks at the service deck. He took a deep breath, dragging his suitcases along with him as he shuffled past the bustling crowd and up to you.

"Excuse me." He mutters, catching your attention. "I need... to go... to this place. I.... don't know how." Your head tilts a little, confused while the cogs begin to turn in your head while he shows you the address. "You need a ride?" He nods. "Well, there's the railroad, but maybe a taxi can get you there faster..."

Now he's the confused one. "Could you... speak... slower?"

"Do you understand Korean?" You ask. He gestures with his fingers almost pinched together, meaning a little. "What other languages do you speak?"

"Japanese."

You smile. "If I'd known that, I would've answered in it then." You say, switching tongues so smoothly Shota's brain nearly fails to comprehend what just happened. "Where are your parents? Mine are taking too long at the desk."

"I came alone. My mom might come in the next few days to help me with moving. And send me off.”

"You and your mom are moving here? What about your dad?"

"No, I'm moving here. Alone. Just me. For work." You eye him and the two suitcases at both of his sides. "You look my age. How do you already have a job?"

"Um... I'm a trainee." Your eyes widen as you begin to nod, shocked. "Really? Already?" He nods as your eyes observe him again. "Cool. That's- wow, okay..." You struggle to finish your sentence, cutting yourself off. "Right, you need to get around- okay. Um, you could follow me. I know how to get the one way passes. Do you have money?" He nods. You begin to walk away as he trails behind you, following you to some sort of kiosk.

Guiding him through purchasing a pass, your parents meet with you by the railway, scolding you for walking off without informing them first before stepping on and finding seats on the train. The boy sits down next to you in the window seat, staring out at the scenery for the first time. "You could have taken a taxi, but I felt like I should've stayed with you. Y'know, so I can tell you more about how to get around and stuff."

"Thank you, by the way. I appreciate this. I think I would've gotten run over without you." He jokes lightheartedly. "No problem. I suddenly felt nice for once, so you're lucky you caught me at a good time." You send him the same energy, both of you laughing as the train begins to move. "When you get off with us, you can ask for a taxi, they'll drive you to the exact address. I’m sure you already know that, though." You add, him nodding before leaning fully back against the chair.

"What's your name?"

The question catches him off guard, staring at your awaiting face, almost forgetting to answer.

"Shota."

The way he introduces himself to you makes you smile. "L/N. Nice to meet you. It's nice having someone to talk to at my age that speaks my mother tongue. Even if all we do is just sit here and pass out while waiting to arrive." Your matching humour is something that sticks out to Shota, one that he likes laughing along to. "It must be scary, flying here alone and having to figure things out on your own. Especially with how young you are. I hope you'll do okay when we part ways."

"I'm still here for now. What are you and your family doing here?" He changes the topic, not wanting to think about you having to leave him so soon. "My dad's side of the family is Korean, so we come here often to visit them. We're considering moving here, since their side is trying to convince me to sign up for a career in modelling. They always say I 'have the visuals', which I don't see, but it wouldn't hurt to try."

"Don't forget me when you're famous." Shota says.

"I could say the same for you, Mr. Trainee. You'll make it far, I bet. I'm looking forward to your debut already."

"And I'm looking forward to seeing you on the billboards." You both smile at each other, a brief moment of silence settling between you two. Shota feels a tap on the side of his arm, head turning to look at you. You hold your phone towards him, the keypad open and empty. "Is it okay if we exchange numbers? This may be the only time we ever see each other, and I like talking to you. And you can text me if you ever need anything. I respond very quickly." Your attempt at convincing him was not needed, as he took your phone out of your hands swiftly and punched his number in. You did the same for his phone when he handed it to you, creating your contact for him.

L/N (ㆁωㆁ)

You write your name in Kanji for him, hearing him huff after you hand back his phone. You couldn't see the soft smile that adorned his face after seeing the contact name you set for yourself, as your eyes were already beginning to shut and send you into a deep sleep. For the rest of the ride, Shota looks out the window and all the buildings they pass by. Feeling a light weight against his arm, his gaze moves to check.

Your head rests against his arm, Shota listening carefully and hearing soft, deep breaths come from you. At first, he nearly freezes, but forgets about it and relaxes, letting you doze against his arm, checking on you periodically until the train reaches your stop.

Your parents are the first to see you two in that position, and while Shota's first instict is to panic and apologize, the idea quickly goes away, a smile on your mom's face as she shakes you gently to wake you up. When you first open your eyes, you see your mom, then turn to see Shota staring at you, nearly leaning against the window. You slowly begin to put the pieces together, embarrassed when coming to the correct conclusion.

When you wave as his taxi departs from the train station, reality dawns upon him. He’s alone, and he’ll have to figure out more than just how to get around since you’re gone now. He didn’t want to have to depend on you and annoy you all the time, so he vowed to himself that he’d learn and teach himself, along with the help of his fellow group members.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

After Shota settled into the dorm and was toured around headquarters, the feeling of lying in bed suddenly felt more desirable than he thought it’d ever be. It’s been a few days since he parted ways with you, and he was hesitant to text you for some unknown reason.

He stared at your open empty message box for a while, spacing out until his phone starts buzzing in his hand. He reads your name on the screen, realizing you were calling him. He sits up, still in shock at the timing that he almost forgets to answer.

“Hello?” He greets, almost unsure. “Shota! How are you? Sorry I haven’t texted or anything, I’ve been having a lot of meetings with my family and stuff.” He’s frozen in place at the sound of your voice, so gleeful than how you first met. “No, it’s okay. I spent the last few days settling in so it’s fine.”

“Are you busy right now? Am I calling at a bad time?”

“No.”

“Are you okay? You sound nervous.”

He sits there for a moment, taking a deep breath before responding.

“I kinda miss you.” It’s embarrassing for him to admit, but he really does. “Oh.” He hears you mutter over the phone, probably unaware that he heard. “I miss you too, Shota. It sounds strange, but I do get worried about you sometimes. But the fact you picked up the phone is assurance that you’re okay, so…”

“It’s a bit hard when you aren’t around, y’know? Like, I don’t know, maybe it’s because you can speak Japanese and I’m not afraid of messing up in front of you because I can speak my home language, but it’s hard to talk to other people. Even my groupmates. I can understand what they’re saying, but I’m too nervous to mess up to even say anything to them.”

“Well, you can’t get better at speaking if you don’t speak at all. It’s okay to make mistakes, Shota. I made a lot when I was learning too. At least you try.”

“Kee– I mean, one of my group members is teaching me. He had to learn it too.”

“So you’re both learning together! That’s good, you both share learning experiences. I’d love to teach you, but it’s kinda hard over call.”

“But it’s possible?”

“Yeah.”

He ponders for a moment before coming up with an idea. “I have a laptop. We can video call when I’m not busy.”

“Really? Are you okay with it?”

“I’m the one that asked.”

“Do you think we can call… for non-lesson purposes? Y’know, just to talk?”

He huffs, and thought you don’t see it, you hear a smile in his tone. “Of course. I’d really like that.”

The door to their room opens, Jongseob entering. “Hi Soul.” Apparently his voice picks up on the microphone, because you ask, “Who’s that?”

“My roommate. One of them.”

“Who are you talking to?” Jongseob asks, looking over at Soul. “My friend.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“We met at the...” Soul knows the word, but is worried he’ll say it wrong.

“Airport.” You find the word for him, saying it into his ear.

“…Airport. She helped me.” He finishes his sentence with your help.

“She? Aren’t we not allowed to talk to girls as trainees?”

“We aren’t?”

“I think so? Maybe I’m thinking of something else; I keep in touch with my friends so I think it’s fine.”

“Are they all boys?”

“Mostly. Some girls.”

“I can’t talk to you anymore?” You ask, Shota almost forgetting he was on call with you. “We can. I think. We’ll do it in secret.” He hears you laugh on the other end. “Soul?” You say, overhearing the name his friend called him.

“My Korean name. I came up with it. With my roommates.”

“It’s cute! It suits you.” For some reason, he feels too flattered at your compliment. He overhears someone yelling in the background. “I need to go and help with dinner. I’ll talk to you soon! Bye!”

“Bye–“ He gets cut off by the sound of the call ending, letting himself fall back onto the bed, arms sprawled out. Jongseob looks over again at his roommate, who’s staring at the ceiling. “Are you okay?” He asks. Soul lazily responds with a thumbs up. “What happened?”

“Cute.” He mutters loud enough for his roommate to hear. “Cute?” Jongseob questions, puzzled. Soul points at himself, the cogs turning in his roommate’s head briefly before his eyes widen in realization. “She called you cute?!”

“My name.”

“Your name? She called your name cute? Soul?” He nods, Jongseob more shocked than he should’ve been. “Don’t fall in love yet, Soul, we haven’t debuted yet.” He jokes lightheartedly before he goes back to scrolling on his phone.

For a while, you’re the one to initiate calls. You always hesitate, knowing how busy he is, but you eventually learn that he’s off on Sundays and is usually off training well past 10 in the evening. If otherwise, he calls you first.

He enjoys talking to you a lot. He’s more comfortable speaking his home language in general, and the fact he has someone to talk to in it makes coming home from practice even more exciting.

His roommates would wonder why he rushes to his room so quickly the minute they step foot back in their dorm, but don’t question it. As long as he was able to talk to you, through call or text, he was able to stay sane.

While on FaceTime with him, the door to his room opens, as it usually does when you two call, this time a different man you haven’t seen before by the door. You eventually met Jongseob, the first guy who walked in on the two of you calling, and saw what he looked like, but this guy was definitely not him. He looked a little intimidating.

“Soul, do you want anything? We’re ordering delivery.” The man asks, Soul looking back at him. “Fries.”

“Just fries? Like usual?”

“I want… the same thing as you. Except large fries.”

“Okay, sure. Who’s that?” He seems to have noticed your face on Soul’s phone screen. “My friend. This is Keeho.” He introduces the man at the door to you, the name familiar. “He’s teaching you Korean?” The man gives a thumbs up, switching to a wave. “Hello, Soul’s friend!” He greets, his smile ridding all your previous opinions of him being intimidating.

“Hello! I’m just talking to Soul for a bit. How are you?” You reply, Keeho equally befuddled as Soul when he first met you, and how you switched tongues so effortlessly. “I’m doing well, thank you. How did you two meet?”

“Airport. I helped him get around for a bit.”

“Oh, really? That’s cool. I’ll be heading out now, sorry to interrupt.” Keeho waves at the camera again before shutting the door. Soul turns back to face you. “He looked scary.” You admit. Soul seems to agree with you, given the expression on his face. “That’s what I thought too! But he’s really nice and funny.”

“How many of your roommates know about me?”

“He’s the second one.”

“And how many roommates do you have?”

“Five. Plus me, so six.”

“Six?! And you share a room with how many people?”

“3 per bedroom. The whole place is actually quite roomy.”

“I don’t think I’d survive…”

“If you’re rooming with just girls, you’ll be fine. Boys, however…”

“Yeah, I get what you mean.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You got a haircut!”

“You noticed.”

“Of course I noticed. It looks really good!”

“I got something else too.”

“What is it?”

Soul grabs something out of frame, eyes focusing on his fingers. “Keeho and I went out today. I found these rings and bought them.” He curls his hand into a fist, showing them off to the camera. It’s a variety of different skull rings, a few on his right hand and a few on his left. “Cool! Where’d you get them? I want some for myself.”

“I can just give you one.”

“Really? But you just bought them.”

“When we meet up sometime, you can pick one.”

“Are you sure?”

“If it helps remind you of me.”

Your face goes warm. “You’re so sweet, Shota.”

“Did you cut your hair?” He asks. You’re surprised he noticed, given how subtle the difference was. “It was just a trim. And they made it flowier or something.” His head moves closer to the camera. “Are you keeping it this short?” You shake your head. “Getting rid of split ends and stuff. It’ll grow back eventually.”

“It’s very pretty. It looks good on you.”

“Thank you…” You mutter, flustered for a reason you can’t make out. How noticeable could a subtle change be that it could evoke such words not meant to be anything more than meaningful?“I really want to see you.”

“You’re seeing me right now.” He jokes. “I know, but… in person. I feel kinda limited only being able to see you on my laptop or phone screen.”

“Me too. I haven’t debuted, so it’s kind of risky for me to be hanging out with a girl. Outside.”

“They don’t know we’ve been calling?”

“They know. But it’s more discreet this way because no one can see us.”

“When are you debuting?”

“I don’t know yet. And if I did, I don’t know if I’d be allowed to tell you.”

“I’m good at keeping secrets! I still remember some from 5th grade.”

“If you say so.”

“Oh, I just remembered I needed to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

A smile slowly grows on your face. “I’m moving here.” Shota’s face is equally as shocked. “Really?”

“I got signed with an agent and got a few bookings! They’re small, but they’re something.”

“L/N, that’s amazing! You’re– you’re gonna be famous! I’m gonna see your face in all the stores!” You laugh at his enthusiasm. “Hey, maybe when we’re both famous, we can hang out in public! Maybe we can collaborate.”

It was always moments like this, purity radiated off your interactions. You’d get excited over the thought of seeing each other in person, what you’d do when you finally meet up, and how long you’d hang out together (you two always insisted on a night at your place). What you’d talk about, the kinds of pictures you’d take, what kind of food you could eat.

After all, you two were still kids.

You celebrated his 16th birthday late into the night, on voice call after his in person celebration with his roommates. He wished you were there as he blew out the candles on his cake.

“Happy birthday, Shota.” You softly greet, knowing he’s on the verge of falling asleep as he laid in bed. “Thank you.” He mutters, voice muffled, his face buried in his blankets. “I wish I could be with you in person. I got you a gift.”

“Really? You didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to. I’ll give it to you when we finally meet up.”

“We always say we’re gonna meet up, but when? I don’t know if I can wait much longer.”

“It’s only a matter of your schedule. I’m free most of the time.”

“Maybe after I finally debut this year…” Shota’s eyes widen, realizing what he just said. “What? You’re debuting?”

“I didn’t mean to say that–“ You squeal softly over the phone in an attempt to not wreck his ears. “When were you going to tell me?!”

“Honestly, I forgot. I forget a lot of things.”

You stifle a laugh. “I’m so proud of you! All your hard work is finally paying off– maybe we really can see each other! When are you debuting?”

“Sometime later this year. It’s why I haven’t been picking up your calls, I’ve been really busy recording and stuff. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You do what you gotta do, okay? Just call me whenever you aren’t busy. Or text. Or whatever, I’m okay with anything.”

Shota softly chuckles. “So what did you get me?”

“It’s a surprise. You’ll find out eventually.”

“I’ll be 17 by the time I get that gift…”

“Keep your head up, Shota, we’ll see each other soon enough. You sound tired. Get some rest. Goodnight.” He breathes slow and deep before replying. “Goodnight, L/N.” He ends the call, taking out his earbuds and putting them and his phone on the small, crowded bedside table.

“Was that L/N?” Jongseob asked groggily. Soul replied with a monotone ‘mmm’, meaning he was right. “Who’s L/N?” Theo asks from the far side of the room. “Soul’s friend. They call all the time.”

“You talk to her like she’s your girlfriend. How you want to see her all the time and stuff. It’s cute.” Theo mutters, Soul barely making out what he said. His face goes warm at the assumption. “We haven’t seen each other… in 2 years. We’ve only met once in person.”

“And training is holding you back from seeing her? That’s why you video call?” Jongseob puts two and two together, receiving the same monotone response from Soul. “We’re off tomorrow. You can see her then.”

“But we haven’t debuted yet.”

“So? Intak meets with his friends all the time.”

“They’re all guys.”

“Soul, you can’t exactly be deprived of meeting up with your friends. And what if she’s a girl? If you want to hang out with her, hang out with her.” Theo speaks up, voice clearer now that his head isn’t buried in his blankets. “This goes for you too, Jongseob. You guys are still kids. If you’re being forced to be an adult in the industry, at least try to have fun while you’re still young outside of work.”

Soul lays there for a moment. “What if she’s sleeping?” He asks aloud. “The fact she called you this late means she’s probably still awake at this time.” Jongseob says, convincing Soul to pick up his phone one last time for the night. He opens your contact in his messages, typing swiftly.

I’m off tomorrow. Can we meet up?

By the time he falls asleep, he receives a message from you.

Yes please (⌒▽⌒)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“L/N? You’re seeing her today?” Keeho asks, making himself a bowl of cereal as Soul eats his own. Soul responds monotone with his mouth full, his leader sitting down with him. “Do you want me to go with you? I won’t stay the whole time, I’ll just drop you off with her then walk around myself, might just get some new clothes.”

‘You bought new clothes a week ago…’ Soul thinks.

“Are you gonna get her something? How long are you gonna be out for?” Soul shrugs his shoulders at Keeho’s question. The other bedroom door opens, Jiung emerging from the dark room with a loud yawn before closing the door. “Morning.” He greets, going for the same breakfast choice as the two boys sitting at the table.

“Does he know?” Keeho points at Jiung with his thumb. “Jiung and Intak don’t know.” The boy at the kitchen counter looks at them weirdly. “Me and Intak don’t know what?” He questions, suspicious of his two group-mates. “L/N.” Keeho answers.

“Who’s L/N?”

“He doesn’t know…!” Keeho whispers.

“Oh…” Jiung says after a brief moment of staring into space. “Isn’t that Soul’s girlfriend?”

Keeho nearly chokes on his cereal. “Girlfriend?!”

“No, she’s my friend!”

“Oh, my bad. You’re always smiling at your phone and you talk so lovey dovey in your room. The walls are quite thin.” Soul couldn’t figure out what was more embarrassing; the fact that the people in the other room could hear him talking to you or the fact two people thought he had a girlfriend. “We’re still trainees, Jiung, we can’t date. Besides, he’s only 16.”

“Just saying. Maybe after we debut, you can date–“

“Jiung, if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to cut your hair off in your sleep.” Keeho threatens. It seems to work, given that Jiung begins to eat his breakfast in silence. “I guess he does know.” Soul mutters, mostly to himself.

“So are you getting her anything?” Keeho asks, going back to his answered question. “Ring.” Soul shows off the accessories that decorated his fingers. “Really? I thought you said you’d never give those away. And that you’d end the world if you ever lost them…”

“I promised. And we can match.”

“Aww.” Jiung coos, the two boys at the table glaring at him. “What?”

Keeho turns back to Soul, taking their empty cereal bowls and stacking them on top of each other. “Go get changed, we’ll leave soon.” He says, going to put the dishes in the sick.

By the time Soul gets back to his room, Jongseob and Theo are awake, their lamps on. “Morning, Soul. How are you up so early?” Theo greets, Soul shrugging in response. They watch as their early bird roommate picks an outfit, throwing his clothes onto the bed. “Are you going somewhere?” Jongseob asks.

“I’m seeing L/N today.”

They both look at him, wide eyed and now fully awake. “Really?!”

“It was your idea.” He says, referring to both of them. “When are you leaving?” Theo asks, eyes still on Soul. “Soon. Keeho is walking with me. Then we’ll be on our own.”

“So it’s like a date?” Jongseob nudges Theo hard in the side. “Does everyone think that?” Soul groans, his roommates heading for the door.“Everyone that knows.” Jongseob smirks before he shuts the door, leaving Soul alone with his thoughts in the bedroom.

On the walk there, Soul plays with his fingers, fiddles with his rings, almost too nervous to even function. Keeho seems to notice, giving him a pat on the back. “There’s nothing to worry about, Soul. You’ve seen each other, you know each other. You’ve been looking forward to this for so long, what’s wrong?”

“It’s… different in person. I’m excited, but I’m scared I’ll…” Soul looks for the word, Keeho noticing him struggling to finish his sentence. “Embarrass yourself?” Soul nods. “You’ve seen all sides of each other, Soul. I hear you laugh at like… 11 in the evening. I think I heard you fall off your bed once.”

“She’s seen that side of you. I’m sure you’ve seen that side of her, too. You’ll be okay.” Keeho’s words make up the rest of the walk, as Soul stops in his path as his eyes land on you, sitting on a park bench perfectly shaded by a tree. He stands there, simply admiring you, and how he’s so happy he’s seeing you not on his phone screen.

He pulls out his phone, opening your contact and sending you a text.

Look to your right 👀

You do exactly that, and though you’re far away, he sees such a bright glow in your eyes as you get up and run over to him, jumping onto him for a hug. Soul is surprised at your sudden gesture, but happily accepts, holding you tight and even spinning you around.

“Shota! I’m so glad you–“ You notice Keeho out of the corner of your eye, simply smiling at the two of you. “Oh, hi Keeho...” You greet awkwardly, embarrassed that he saw the whole thing. “Nice to meet you, L/N. How long are you gonna be out for?”

“Until Soul wants to go home. A few hours, maybe.”

“Make sure you two stick together, okay? Otherwise all of us are gonna get in trouble in one way or another.” Keeho says lightheartedly before walking off. You look back at Soul, who’s staring at you with the brightest sparkle in his eyes. “You look even better in person.” You say, brushing his hair out of the way.

“Are you saying I don’t look good when we call?”

“I’m saying you look good no matter what.”

“Can I say the same for you?” He asks, as if you’re going to say no. “I actually want to show you something. And I have lots to tell you.” You take his hand without a second thought, pulling him with you. He’s caught off guard with your sudden gesture, but doesn’t protest in any way. Really, he enjoys it.

“Is this okay with you? Sorry, I forgot to ask.” Shota nods with a smile, and that’s all the assurance you need to keep your hold on his hand to guide him. “I hope we can meet like this again sometime. All the time.”

“Hey, I’m here now. Worry about that later.”

“You’re right. Come on!” You tug on his hand as you begin to lightly jog across the street, slowing down when you get nearby. “Okay, close your eyes.” He’s confused at first, but obliges. You guide him to an outside display of a clothing store. “You can open them now.”

Shota uncovers his eyes, seeing your face on display as a model for said store. “It’s you!” He exclaims as you nod off to the side. His gaze switches from you to the photo and back, and he finds himself staring at it for almost too long.

“I want a picture with it.” You laugh, taking his phone from him and snapping a few photos, switching to silly faces for the camera. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. You look so pretty. Beautiful.” Your face goes warm as you stare at him, and he stares at the photo. “You look really good.” He smiles, and your heart starts racing like never before. “Shota…” You mutter into his sleeve, holding onto his hand again. “What?”

“Let’s go. You can see my face some place else.”

“Can I get a photo with them too?”

You roll your eyes, unable to hold in your laugh. “Sure. You can take as many photos as you want.”

The day is full of you running around, taking photos, sharing food and drinks. And for almost all of it, Shota’s hand is in yours, and his grip never loosens. He never wants to let go.

Sitting at an outdoor table of a small café, you hand Shota a gift bag. “What’s this?” He asks. “Happy belated birthday, Shota.” At the sound of that, he looks through the bag, taking out a small potato plush. “Cute…!” He mutters, squeezing it in his hands. “I have one of my own. It came in a set, so I gave this one to you.”

“I love it.” He smiles, going through the bag again. There’s something at the bottom, which he grabs and pulls out. It’s a bracelet, similar to the one you were wearing at the moment. “I wanted to give you something that reminded you of me. If you ever get lonely. Sounds cheesy, but–“

“I’m never taking this off.” His dramatic reply cuts off your sentence as you help him tighten it on his wrist. “I want to give you something too.” You tilt your head. “But it was just your birthday. Shouldn’t you be the one receiving gifts right now?”

“Well, as someone once said, I want to give you something that reminds you of me.” Shota holds out his hands, showing off his rings. “Pick one.”

At first, you’re shocked. “Really?” He nods, watching as your eyes scan over his fingers. “This one.” You point. He takes it off and puts it on for you, and it somehow fits just fine. “I feel so cool now! Thank you.”

On the way back to your place, Shota holds onto your hand again, to the point where if he were to let go, you’d feel like you forgot a piece of yourself. “Are you walking back alone?” You ask, looking up at the sky, which painted a pinkish sunset above. “Keeho is gonna meet me here after you go inside.”

“I just don’t want you walking by yourself. It’s a bit scary.”

“I know. But everything is under control, so I’ll be okay.”

When you reach your home, you turn to look at your friend. “Today was fun. I wanna hang out with you like this again.”

“So do I. But I’m… y’know, I’m busy. With a lot.”

“I know you are. I’ll be waiting for you, Shota. I’m always ready.”

“Haku.”

“Huh?”

“My name. My name is Haku.”

“Haku Shota?” You clarify. He nods. “You have such a pretty name.”

“You’re pretty.”

Oops.

He didn’t mean to say that out loud. While he was embarrassed, your heart was racing. Your face was warm, and it matched the sky.

“You’re pretty, Haku. You are… very handsome.”

You understand how he feels now, attempting to return the compliment. “Am I weird for saying that? Because… I really do mean it. I’m just awkward.” You explain. “Not at all. Have I been weird? Calling you pretty…?”

“No! No– you’re, you’re okay. I liked it– I mean, um…” You stutter over your words, cursing at yourself for revealing too much. Haku laughs. “I’ll call you that more if you like it so much.”

“If you want to kill me, go ahead.”

“I thought you said you liked it.”

“I’ll die of a heart attack. I’ll die happy.”

“Soul!” Someone calls. It’s Keeho, waving at him from afar. “Thanks for today. I’m… I really liked spending time with you.” Soul responds with a long, tight hug, the feeling of being in his arms comforting. “I don’t wanna let go.” Soul mutters into your shoulder. “You’re gonna have to at some point.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Shota–“

“I’ll just stay with you so then we can hang out all the time.”

“You know you can’t do that.” You hear him sigh and reluctantly pull away. “Bye, L/N.”

“Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“It’s Y/N.”

He huffs with a smile. “Bye, Y/N.” He waves as you walk off, walking towards and with Keeho once he sees you let inside your house. “How was it?”

“Really fun. I’m already excited for another one.” Keeho looks at Soul’s hands, noticing one of his fingers bare, a bag in his hand, and his wrist adorned with a new bracelet. He really gave you one of his rings. And you gave him something too.

Though this was your first hang out in a few years, Keeho sensed something unbeknownst to Soul that was bound to bloom at some point. He just didn’t know when.

When they got back to the dorm, Soul went straight to his room and changed, lying down on the bed with your contact open. He changed your name.

L/N Y/N (ㆁωㆁ)

And sent you one last text for the night.

You have a very pretty name (*´꒳`*)

Make that two.

Goodnight (_ _).｡o○

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You find it odd that it took you two years to find out each other’s first names, but life goes on the way it always does.

You also found it odd that you enjoyed talking to Shota so much. You’ve always enjoyed talking to him, you just enjoy it a lot more now. Maybe too much.

You were the first person he texted when he debuted. You were also the first person to see any of his performance videos. One thing stayed consistent throughout:

He was wearing your bracelet.

Sometimes it would be hidden under his sleeve, the strings to tighten it peeking out just a little bit. He really meant it when he said he would never take it off, even if that meant getting into trouble with the stylists.

You were peaking in your career as well. You’d gotten a lot more busy with bookings and shows despite being so young. But despite your schedules, you always found time to talk to each other, like always.

And you even found time to hang out in person a lot more than before.

You started wearing masks in public. Sometimes you got recognized, and so did Shota. Nothing too drastic to the point where paparazzi started following you and taking pictures from the bushes. Shota was still careful, though. A scandal too soon into their debut could wreck him and his group’s career.

As careful as he was, Shota still held onto your hand in public. He was much more nervous now that more people knew who he was, and he always found himself latching onto you. The language barrier slowly began to shrink for him, his Korean improving, but he had a hard time talking to strangers. To his group, he was fine.

He couldn’t stop the uneasy feeling in his stomach the closer they got to the counter. Why was he so nervous? He felt like he couldn’t talk to anyone at all. “Could I get a 2 with onion rings?” You ask, the cashier at the till looking at Shota next. He was frozen in place, staring at her, suddenly squeezing your hand with a tight grip. “And a 5. Large fries.” You order for him, paying and taking the receipt and cups.

Shota sits down at a table by the window, ashamed and embarrassed, guilt overwhelming him. It wasn’t such a big deal, yet he felt like a failure for not being able to do something so simple. “Do you want to share?” He doesn’t respond, staring and spacing out at the table mindlessly.

You sit in the chair across from him, looking around to see if anyone is watching. You place your hand on top of his, rings colliding with each other, which brings him back to reality. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You ask with such genuineness that he feels guilty for even worrying over such a trivial thing.

“Nothing, it’s… it’s stupid. So stupid.”

“I can’t know how stupid it is if you don’t tell me what’s bothering you.”

Shota looks up at you with puppy eyes, breaking eye contact once he begins to speak. “I… um, I froze when we were ordering. You do it for me all the time and I wanted to do it for myself this time but I just couldn’t… talk. I couldn’t speak, I’ve been getting better at talking but I’m still scared to even order my own food– this is so dumb.” He rests his head on the table, messy black hair hiding his face.

Your hand moves from his hand to his head, fingers running through his hair as you caress him. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, Shota. I’m glad you’re trying, you’re having confidence in yourself. It’s good to take it slow sometimes. I’m always here for you, Keeho is always there for you, your group is there for you! There’s always next time, okay? It may seem like a small step to others, but all that matters is how much it means to you. We’re always here for you. No matter if it’s me or anyone from your group.”

When he lifts his head up, your hand naturally moves from his hair down to his face, your thumb resting on his cheek. “Thank you.” The sparkle in his eyes comes back, as he stares at you for a long time, yet you don’t seem to mind and reciprocate it. Noticing how you two probably look to bystanders, you pull your hand away, face warmer than it should be.

“Um, do you just wanna share? I forgot to ask for medium instead of large.” You refer to the cups in your hand, and he nods, watching as you stumble while getting up from the chair and over to the drink fountain. The cup presses against the trigger, watching as the soda fills the cup to the brim.

As you walk back and grab your order, you can’t help but overthink. Why did you do that? It looked so intimate, and if people knew who you were, if people knew who he was… you’d both get in trouble. Shota would get in trouble because of you. You knew him too well to know that he’d take the blame and risk getting kicked out not even a year into their debut.

When you bring the tray to the table, you feel his eyes on you, and your heart had no reason to be beating so fast in the moment. “Are you okay? You look worried.” This time, Shota asks you. Your head perks up at his voice, snapping you out of it. “I’m okay. Let’s just eat.”

Everything goes back to normal in your silly, lighthearted fashion. You’d steal fries off his side, he’d drink from your straw, and you two would just mess around as you always would. No one came up to either of you with your masks off, so you two continued to be yourselves in the moment, with no one staring.

You find beauty in his personality. How you get to see him like this since you two are so comfortable with each other. Is he like this at his dorm? Probably. But is he ever this excited? Maybe not. You get to see him at full energy, unhinged and expressive, a side that the public might not see in him. And you felt so incredibly lucky.

Shota liked the way you stared at him, and the way a smile would creep up on your face. The way you’d hit a table over and over again or clap your hands when you found something funny. The way you’d pick up on his subtle hints and gestures and how you’d always found a way to make him feel better, the way you’d instantly recognize what’s wrong. You were patient with him, and that’s all he’s ever wanted.

He saw Keeho like an older brother; he acted the same way you did, but there was something different about the way you approached things. The way you weren’t afraid to be so physical with him, and how he wouldn’t recoil from your touch. He loved your hugs, and the way you’d bury yourself in him whenever you did.

Soul finds himself thinking of you at the dorms. He always thinks of you, but this was thinking of you at an extreme. You were on his mind 24/7. He’d think of how much fun certain practices would be if you were there. How you’d criticize him for putting the seasoning packets after putting the ramen in the bowl. Sometimes he’d imagine getting surprised by you. What would happen if you walked through the door right now?

You two saw each other’s quirks and you loved them. You saw sides of each other that the public couldn’t, and it made you both feel special. When you felt your heart racing when you thought of him, you couldn’t help but feel full of dread.

When he saw your photos or clips of your shows, he hated that his face went warm when you came on screen. That he was so hyper focused on you and nothing else.

You were smart. Emotionally and academically. You knew what was happening, but didn’t want to accept it. Really, it was process of elimination.

You started to have feelings for your best friend.

And you hated it. You hated it because him being in the industry pretty much means that he can’t date at all. You’d have to live with feelings that would never be reciprocated, and sometimes it hurt whenever you saw his face, especially when he was looking so damn good.

So you always stayed in denial of your feelings. You gaslighted, convinced, manipulated yourself to get over it, but nothing worked. You couldn’t help that your best friend was just that talented and attractive that when he texts you, you feel butterflies in your stomach and a smile grows onto your face.

Soul, however, was much more unaware of it. He never liked anyone. He was left alone with his thoughts for majority of his childhood, and had female friends but no romantic attraction to anyone.

When he finds himself pondering at the kitchen table, spacing out as he tries to figure out his feelings, his older brother figure, Keeho, sits down with him, after noticing Soul leaving the last bit of food in his bowl and just staring blankly. “You okay?” His voice snaps Soul out of it as he nods.

Intak sits down in the other seat with his own bowl, unintentionally now being a part of the conversation. “Something’s on your mind. You can tell me, I won’t judge.” Soul knows Keeho won’t judge. Intak, however…

Soul’s gaze moves from Keeho to Intak. “Intak won’t care. What’s bothering you?”

“What are we talking about?” Intak asks, clueless.

“L/N.”

“What’s up with L/N? Didn’t you just see her last weekend?”

“Is L/N that girl Soul’s friends with? I saw her advertising a brand at a department store the other day.” Intak overhears, pitching into the conversation. “Yeah, that’s her.”

“What’s wrong? Did she insult you or something?”

The more Soul tries to think about it with the words in his head, his heart beats faster and faster that he brings his hand to his chest, feeling the rapid, strong pulse against his palm. How did you manage to make him feel like this? Like he was speechless?

Keeho seemed to notice something, because he moved Soul’s hand and put his own on his chest, feeling how fast it was beating and how powerful it was. “Your face is all red. Are you having a fever?” Intak asks, totally opposite to what Keeho is thinking.

“Oh my god.” He starts, acting overdramatic. “You like her.” When Keeho says it, it makes Soul cringe, and he hates that he came to the same conclusion. “Soul likes who?” Intak is still clueless about the whole situation, probably tired out from practice that day.

“L/N, you idiot, get your head out of the clouds.”

“I like her. A lot.”

“You like her as more than a friend?” Keeho clarifies, Soul nodding. He can see the conflict in his leader’s eyes, a sense of understanding yet a tinge of guilt. “I know we can’t… date. I really want to. She’s the first person who’s ever understood me… ever since I got here.”

His leader sighs. “I think you should tell her. But… be careful. You’re putting a lot of things at risk here.”

“I know I am.”

“Soul’s a pretty quiet person. He should be okay. I mean, as long as none of us ramble about it, we should be fine.” Keeho nods along, his face content. On the inside however, he knows damn well all of them ramble way too much.

And they could ramble about you and Soul.

“Should I text her?”

“Tell her in person. If you really like her, and you really do mean it, you need to tell her the next time you two meet up.”

“But what if I can’t say it?” Keeho is well aware of Soul’s problem with freezing up when talking to others, yet this was something bound to happen, even with you. “She’s patient. She’ll wait as long as she needs to for you to say it. You’ll be okay, Soul. I’m pretty sure she likes you back.”

“She does?”

Keeho scoffs. “Have you seen the way she is around you? Sometimes she stutters over her words when you’re around, she’s always waiting for you, she lets you take her food… there’s a whole list that goes on for a while.”

Soul’s gut feeling was right. He did have a crush on you. A really big one that would only grow if he didn’t do something about it quick.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He arranged to hang out with you the following week. His heart would not stop beating as if it was about to soar right out of his chest. He swore that if you put your thumb on the right spot on his wrist, you’d feel how nervous he was getting as time passed, and he did not want that happening soon enough.

You noticed something else. He seemed a lot more tense, spaced out, and hesitant. To be honest, you were almost the same. You hesitated to hold his hand like you usually did when you walked with him, worried someone would recognize either of you and see what was happening.

Anything simple you’d over-romanticize. He’d block you from the wind. He’d freak out and any display of you and take a picture of it, smiling as he checked them one last time for any retakes. How he’d play with your hand when you two sat together. When you’d share your food.

Everything you did normally was now something you saw as something beyond your friendship. You wanted it to be that way, you really did, but knowing Soul, as clueless as he is, he probably didn’t mean anything at all behind his actions. Everything has just been so normalized between the two of you.

Your heart raced as fast as his. One could say that if you compared both of your pulses, they would sync up, or be extremely close in heart rate. His face had the slightest tinge of pink that you noticed under certain lighting— you didn’t get to look at it long since he didn’t want to call you out for staring.

“I really like your hair colors. They’ve all looked really good on you.” You say, Soul surprised at the sudden compliment. “I’ve only dyed it once or twice…”

“And it looks good. Even your hairstyles! The braids are so cute! If it gets long enough, I should give you pigtails.”

“Long enough that hopefully I don’t get scheduled for a haircut.”

“I’d cry, honestly.”

Shota stops in his tracks in front of your place, the sudden tug on your hand holding you back. “I need to tell you something. It’s been… stuck in my head for a while.” He admits, kicking away a stone at his feet. “What is it?” The look you give him almost makes him back out, but he knew keeping it in for longer would only eat at him. And it wouldn’t be a while until he’d see you again.

“Um, I–“

“Soul!”

Shota turns around at the sound of the voice, Keeho standing at a distance and waving at him. He turns back to face you, taking a deep breath.

“L/N…”

“I like you.”

He notices the shock in your expression, your eyes widening slightly and jaw slightly hanging open.

“I like you a lot.” He continues.

Shota doesn’t know what to make of your blank stare at him, since you do so for longer than you should’ve. “I-I know it’s hard for us to do any relationship related stuff because of our careers. Um, I get if you’re worried about all of this and dating in general but…”

“Shota.” You cut him off, his eyes landing on you. You take both of his hands, thumbs brushing over the metal of his rings. “I want to go out with you.” You say so forwardly that he almost becomes the shocked one. “I really like you. I really do. I… I don’t want your career to be ruined because of me. You worked your ass off for this and God knows how much we’ve been separated because of it.”

You squeeze his hands, looking at how they intertwine. Shota speaks up. “Is it crazy that I like you so much?”

“How much?”

“That I feel like you’re the only one who’ll ever understand me? That you’re the only one I’ve ever had actual genuine feelings for? Am I too young to be thinking about these kinds of things?”

“I ask myself the same questions. Every. Single. Day.”

He giggles, feeling your head lean against him. You look up, chin resting against him with a light in your eyes he hadn’t seen before. “I don’t think you’re crazy. I think we’re two teenagers stupidly in love.”

“Soul, hurry up!” Keeho calls.

You can practically hear him roll his eyes the way he scoffs, making you giggle. “Go out with me.” He asks, more of a statement than a request. His chin rested atop your head, his hand rubbing your back with reassurance. “M’kay.” You agree with a smile, voice muffled.

“We’ll keep it a secret.”

“Even from the guys?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Your dad is calling you.” He laughs at your joke, noticing you lost in thought. You pull away a bit, looking at the ground for a moment. In one swift movement, you tiptoe and peck his cheek. “Bye!” You briefly bid, briskly walking away. Shota raises his hand to where you kissed him, almost forgetting in his moment of bliss that Keeho had already called him twice.

The walk back is mostly in silence, Soul doing his best to stop his giddy little smile on his face from growing any more. Keeho didn’t look back at him once.

The sun is fully set by the time they arrive back at the dorms, Keeho entering with an extravagant greeting. “We’re baaack!” He gleefully exclaims. Shuffling can be heard from a distance as the boys begin to take off their shoes. “Soul, how was the–“ Theo starts, being cut off after seeing something on Soul’s face.

When he gets up from kneeling down, Theo notices a light pink mark on Soul’s face, and it for sure was not his blush. “You– She–“

“What’s happening–“ Jiung is equally as shocked as Soul walks into the main space. “Oh my god.” He mutters, hand going to cover his dropped jaw. “She kissed you!” Theo exclaims. Keeho immediately comes running over, grasping Soul’s face and turning it to find the mark. He gasped louder than he should’ve when he found it.

“Just on the cheek.” Soul felt like he had to specify, but the three boys continued to jump around and freak out over the mark. “Cute! Ugh– we need to meet her sometime!” Jiung gushes.

“She just kissed me today and you guys already want to meet her in person?”

They all nod.

“I think you guys would scare her. It’s a bit cramped in here… and we aren’t even allowed to have girls here.”

“Maybe we’ll run into her during a photoshoot! She’s getting pretty famous nowadays.” Jiung adds. “I’ve already met her so many times, just saying. She’s cool.” Keeho bragged before walking into his room.

Intak enters the living space, wondering why Theo and Jiung are crowded around Soul. Keeho goes back out to join them with his empty bottle of water, originally with the task of refilling it. Soul feels a buzz in his pocket, taking it out to see your name on his phone screen.

“She’s calling you!” Jiung gasps, Theo shushing him right after. Soul swipes right to accept the call. “Put her on speaker!” Intak whisper yells, Soul holding out his phone for his group members to huddle around it.

Jongseob comes out of his room, joining the boys even though he had no idea what exactly was going on. “Hello?” Soul greets. “Hi Shota!”

“I thought we just saw each other 20 minutes ago. Do you miss me already?” He jokes, attempting not to stutter over his words. “Oh, we’re speaking in Korean now! I see how it is.” He can hear your sarcasm over the phone, a smile growing on his lips. “What’s up? Did you forget something?”

“My parents kinda caught us outside. When I…”

“Oh. Right.”

“They want you to come over.”

“So soon?” Intak says a little too loud.

“Who was that?”

“No one– just a show in the background.”

“Oh. Well, you’ve met them before. On calls and stuff, they know who you are. You know them, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Because they saw… us… they want to meet you. I told them about how busy you were and your schedule and that it wouldn’t be for a while until you were free again–“

“Y/N.” He cuts you off for a second. “I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

“Really?”

“I want them to know I’m a good person. That I am doing my best for you.” His groupmates gush audibly, and it definitely picks up on the microphone. “You’re going to make me miss you a whole lot more if you keep talking like that.” Soul chuckles. “They’re listening, aren’t they?”

“What?”

“Your group. That did not sound like a TV show in the background.”

They all look at each other, surprised. “Um… maybe?”

“Agh– they heard all of that?! So embarrassing…”

“They wanna meet you too. My group.”

“I thought girls weren’t allowed in your dorms.”

“Outside of the dorms. Possibly in a work environment?”

“That could work! I’m already looking forward to it.”

“They’re all weird.” Soul feels everyone’s eyes on him. “A bit. Just saying.” He hears you giggle on the other end.

“Shota?”

“Mhm?”

“I love you.”

It goes dead silent for a moment, before all the boys erupt into loud cheering and hollering, Soul having to cover his ear to hear you. “Is it too soon for me to say that?” You ask.

“Did you mean it?” He answers with another question, silence on your end for a second.

“I did.”

“Then no. If anything, I think you’re 3 years too late.”

“Have you been waiting that long for me to say it?”

“Mmm, maybe just half a year.”

“Figured.”

“Y/N?” He switches back to Japanese.

“Yes?”

“I love you too.”

Though in another language, the boys can understand the small phrase, their montage of cheers going on for longer than it should have.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

As both of you had begun to become more globally renowned, so did your relationship with each other. At first, it was viewed as the two of you being very close friends. After certain interactions and nitpickings, people began to question the nature and status of your relationship.

People noticed the ring on your finger and how it looked exactly like the ones on Soul’s. When the string to tighten his bracelet was visible from under his sleeves, some made connections to learn that it looked like yours. Neither of you took it off, even during work events.

If it couldn’t be on your wrist, you managed to use your bracelet as an anklet. It was more subtle, but you ended up having to send pictures to Shota to show proof you kept it on.

Strings were pulled. Your company met with his, and despite their strict dating laws and restrictions, they managed to work around them. You just hoped they weren’t bribed in any way.

You did end up visiting their dorm a few times after the workarounds, and Shota was always there at the door to be the first person to greet you. His physical touch became more than just holding your hand. He clung onto you; he loved hugs, he loved hugging you.

You loved his hair, playing with it and tying it up into different hairstyles. Pigtails, braids, the occasional half up ponytail. You were always fascinated at the fact every single colour looked so good on him.

The rest of the boys had to get used to your presence. Given you didn’t visit often since Soul would rather visit you, sometimes the sight of you seated with Soul on their couch was a shocker to them. Keeho got used to it the quickest.

From your perspective, you were overall cautious but at the same time didn’t care if any news of the two of you happened to get out. It would be shocking from one end, but it would follow with claims saying that it was bound to happen sometime. Considering how young you were, sometimes you had your doubts. Most of the time you forgot about those doubts.

As for someone like Shota, with his growing popularity and presence in the K-pop industry, he was worried one little leak would cause him to get kicked out of his company. Until paparazzi footage of the two of you, his hands wrapped around your waist to meet in the front as you waited at a bus stop, was posted on a website.

You both panicked. You apologized, he apologized; it was a lot of back and forth. All that came from netizens was the mutual discussion of the chance that you two might be in a relationship. The girl on billboards across Korea going out with a rising star in K-pop? Both of them soon to be international? It was unexpected.

The public was pleasantly surprised. It was a match they hadn’t expected, so much so they decided to try and guess how you two met and how your relationship started. Though you never went deeper than cute photos and interactions that just had to happen in the public eye.

Soul was asked the question a few times.

“Is Y/N a close friend of yours?”

“What’s your relationship with the model?”

The members would either glare at the interviewer or look at Soul worried. He’d always respond with:

“She’s my girlfriend.”

Which pretty much revealed the terms you two were on to every person on the internet.

The boys always took pictures and videos of the two of you as well, if you were ever to end up working together somehow. If you came to the dorm, or if they ran into you two in public. You’re certain Intak and Theo have way too many photos of him falling asleep on you or vice versa.

Soul scrolls on his phone, noticing a few posts of the two of you as he goes deeper down the rabbit hole. As he goes to rewatch his dance practice of the day, he gets a text from you.

Shota

Haku

Haku Shota

Hi （╹◡╹）

I know this is gonna sound like really stupid and crazy and weird

What is it?

Is it okay if I stay at your dorm tonight

Soul looks up from his phone and the condition his shared room is in. It’s decently clean, at least his area is. Theo and Jongseob’s area is debatable.

It’s okay if not! I was just wondering

You can

Just let me ask the guys first

It’s really messy in here

He puts in his phone in his pocket before he’s able to check your next text, reluctantly getting out of bed to go and ask. He opens the door, at first sticking his head out, but then fully shuffling through the door.

“Hey Soul. I thought you were sleeping?” Keeho says, going to sit on the couch. “I need to ask you guys something.”

“What is it?” Intak adds.

“Y/N wants to come over.”

“This late?” Sometimes it surprises him how dense Intak could be sometimes. “She wants to stay over. Sleep.”

The boys all look up and around at the area, noticing the slight mess. Despite you seeing the area in such conditions most of the time when you came over, they suddenly felt obligated to do something rather than have you sleep in an environment with said mess.

“We’ll clean up. Tell her we said yes. Is everything okay?” Keeho said, getting up from the couch.

“We?”

“Get up, Jiung, and let the girl feel welcome.”

“Should I help?”

“Maybe clean our room.” Theo pats Soul on the shoulder, letting him walk back into said room.

Shota???

Are you there?

Pls respond

Sorry

I asked they said yes

I’m already on my way

We’ll talk more when I get there

I’ll text you

He can hear shuffling and commanding outside his room as he tosses the dirty laundry into their basket in the corner of the room, fixing his nightstand and somewhat making his bed since he was gonna lie down in it immediately afterwards.

By the time he gets a text, the room is mostly clean and tidy, prompting him to go and open the door for you. Your eyes meet with his, though they look dull and tired, more than they would be after a day of shoots.

“Hey.” You hide your gaze with the top of your hood. “Hi. Are you okay?”

“Let’s talk about it in your room. Is this a bad time?”

“Not at all. Come in.”

You nearly stumble over your own feet going to take your shoes off, Soul noticing there’s something more going on and it’s not just that you’re exhausted.

Not wanting to be rude, you briefly greet the rest of the boys before swiftly going into Soul’s shared room, Jongseob lying on his bed on his phone and simply acknowledging you when you enter the room, dropping your bag on the floor and plopping yourself on Soul’s bed. He sits next to you, your face covered by your hood.

He gently takes it off in case you’d stop him at the motion, seeing those dull eyes of yours, a bit pink and swollen. “What’s wrong? Is everything alright?” He softly asks, holding your hands in the same manner as his voice. “I’m having a few problems at home. Nothing with my parents. Extended family.”

“What happened?”

“My parents are having some maintenance and small renovations done on our house, so we’re staying in an extra room at my grandma’s for a little bit. My aunt lives in the other room.”

You inhale, trying to grasp onto your words.

“Um, my aunt is being,” you start, “being a real bitch. I know I can’t say that and it’s rude to even think so but God knows everyone in that room was pissed at her. She insulted my mom and her decision to move here and put me through modelling at such a young age.”

“She called me a wannabe, and that I wasn’t gonna get anywhere in life just posing for the camera. Called me a slut for allowing to be in shoots where I show a lot of skin when really it’s usually just a tank top and a skirt.”

“She said she felt bad for whoever I was dating that they had to be with a girl who loves showing herself off to the general public. Said I was practically naked if I showed too much skin.”

“So I don’t feel safe or comfortable in that house right now, and my parents were nice enough to let me stay someplace else. They agreed when I told them about you.”

Soul sat there, a silent rage burning through his veins. You had a completely valid reason to address her with such vulgarity. He couldn’t offer any advice in the moment, all that he could do was hug you.

“No wonder she still lives with your grandma.” He mutters into your shoulder, your hand hitting his back hard as you chuckle. “You can’t say that, Shota!”

“Who’s stopping me? I know you want to say it too.”

“Shota…”

“Fine. Only because you don’t want me to. Still, I’m sorry you had to go through all that. Stay as long as you need to.” Soul’s eyes meet with Jongseob’s, their stares translating into sentences.

‘As long as she needs to?’

‘Just let her. Please.’

‘Don’t ask me, ask Keeho.’

Shota rolls his eyes at his roommate, attention back on you. “I’m gonna go change now.” You say, pulling away. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

“Um, I was thinking we could share your bed. But I can always take the couch if you don’t want to–“

“Share. Yeah– yeah, we can share.”

You smile, kissing his forehead before you leave the room. Jongseob’s eyes are on Soul the minute the door shuts. “What did she say?” He meant to ask: ‘What did she say to make her kiss you in front of me?’

“She wants to share my bed.”

“You look really nervous.”

“I’m not nervous, just surprised. And I’ve… obviously never shared it before.”

“Just sleep normally, Soul. What’s so hard about that?”

“Do I snore?”

“You don’t. Theo does. Maybe get her some earplugs.”

“I don’t have any.” His roommate shrugs his shoulders.

“Jongseob…”

“Fine.” He tosses Soul a clean, unopened pair of foam earplugs. “Are you actually that nervous?”

Soul’s ashamed to admit it. “We’re close, but we haven’t been this close before. Not at all. I have no idea if I kick in my sleep– what if I kick her?”

“You kick like once or twice but not every other second. Besides, if L/N says she’s in love with you, she’s gotta be in love with everything about you. Including your sleeping habits. She’d love you regardless of what you do in your sleep.”

You come back in sweats and a loose shirt, going to lay on the bed while Shota sat on the edge. You place your hand on top of his, prompting him to turn around and look at you. “Are you that tired?”

“Korean all of a sudden?”

“I’m getting better, aren’t I?”

“By the day, Shota.”

“To answer your question, since I was crying for 10 minutes at home, yes, I’m tired. Are you gonna just gonna sit there or are you gonna get some rest?” Soul simply responds moving you over on the bed so he can sleep on the side closest to the wall. You turn to face him, all flushed and doe eyed. “Am I too close?” Your head rests against his chest and atop his arm, probably the definition of close.

“No.”

“I can always move if–“

“Just stay here. You’ve had a rough day.”

His other arm wraps around you, his hand on your back and pushing you closer to him. “Do you think we’re too young to be this in love?” You feel his head move. “What do you mean?”

“That we aren’t old enough to make bigger decisions for ourselves? This… this is a big thing. People say that we’re really young to already be dating, and I always shrug it off, but it’s bothering me. What if they’re right?”

“Are you doubting us?”

“I’m not, I’m really not! People are just overlooking what’s going on between us and they’re making assumptions and–“

“This relationship is only between us and no one else. We don’t need to worry about what others think. We only need to worry about each other.”

“You’re getting good at switching languages smoothly.” You say, trying to sneak a bit of humor in there. “I learn from the best.” His hand once on your back now moved to your head, stroking it smoothly. “I’m really grateful for you, actually. I hope you know that.” His words melt your heart as they always do, but somehow you find them more meaningful.

“When you first helped me here. When you offered to keep in touch and look where that brought us. When you don’t get bothered every time I ask you how to say something in Korean. And you still like being with me even though sometimes I can be a bit…”

“Bothersome?”

“I was thinking annoying, but what you said sounds nicer.”

“Shota, I never thought of you as annoying. You’re teaching yourself with the help of your group getting around and the culture and its differences.”

“How did you get used to it so quickly?”

“I didn’t. I’ve been here so many times to visit but living here? Oh, it was a culture shock to me.”

“So I’m really not alone in this?”

“You were never alone, Haku.”

You called him by his first name.

Your eyes meet at your mention of it, Shota looking at you with such a pure, joy filled gaze that was silent behind his irises. It was moments like this where you got to admire his beauty, how pretty he was, his features and how they worked so well together.

You’re drawn to him. So much so that you end up giving him a soft, gentle kiss on the lips.

As much as it was a moment of euphoria, the moment you pulled away, you immediately got flustered and embarrassed, turning around since you weren’t able to face him. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have–“ And seeing Jongseob on the other bed? He heard a lot and probably saw a lot which made the whole thing more embarrassing for you.

You kick your feet slightly, hiding your face in your hands and just then feeling how hot your it was in the moment. Suddenly, you feel his arms wrap around your waist like they did in the photos of you two at that bus stop, bringing you closer into him. “I liked it. It was my first.” He mutters, voice slightly muffled.

“It was my first too.” You reply, hands off your face and turning around to bury it in his shoulder, still embarrassed to face him. You wrap an arm around him as to hug him loosely. “I love you, Haku.” You raise your head to bump your nose against his. He giggles, hugging you tighter.

“I love you more, Y/N.”

“Even more than your games?”

“More than my games and my rings. Get some rest now.”

You want to kiss him again in that moment, but he does it for you. Short and chaste, your lips meet long enough to feel each other’s connection, but short enough that it doesn’t escalate.

“At this point, can you two just sleep already? I’d rather you hug and spoon than hear you kiss all evening.” Jongseob sneers, almost forgetting he was even in the room. Soul feels you giggle into his shoulder, having you so close being the least of his worries. In fact, it was something he cherished.

Soul never let you out of his hold, and you never let him out of his.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

☀️: guys look at this

☀️: [Two images attached]

🐿️: OMG

🐿️: THEY’RE SO CUTE

🐿️: THEY’RE LIKE CUDDLING AIDHSIDNW

🐿️: IM SAVING THESE THANK YOU VERY MUCH

🐺: theo why are you taking pictures of them while they’re sleeping 🤨

🐺: that’s a little bit weird

☀️: ok but they’re cute

☀️: you’d do it too

🐺: tbh i would

🐯: they kissed

🐺: HUHH???

🐿️: SJAODJEBDIEBDK

🐶: wait actually

🐿️: where did you come from

🐶: i was disinterested until i saw jongseob’s text

🐺: are we talking like a kiss on the cheek or forehead cuz they do that a lot

🐯: lips

🐿️: OH MY GOD WHAT

🐺: WAIT ACTUALLY

🐺: SOUL GOT HIS FIRST KISS

🐶: keeho u probably havent kissed anyone why r u talking

🐺: shut up

☀️: yeah i walked in on them

🐯: they didnt make out or anything tho i think they’re both disgusted by the idea of it

🐺: thank god

🐶: you actually thought they were gonna make out or something just from the word ‘kiss’??

🐺: hey you can never be too careful

🐿️: i understood half of what they were saying until they switched back to japanese ugh i could hear them through the wall

🐯: are the walls actually that thin

🐿️: i hear you scream at your phone every time u watch something scary

🐯: okay anyways they were probably flirting with each other

🐯: i was literally there the whole time

🍟: (*^◯^*)

🐶: oh shit

🐺: morning soul!!

🐿️: why aren’t you just talking to each other instead of texting in the group chat you literally share a room

🍟: y/n is sleeping (( _ _ ))..zzzZZ

☀️: she actually is do u guys want proof

🐺: stop taking pictures of people in their sleep theo ur weird for that

🍟: [One image attached]

☀️: and when soul does it ur not gonna say anything

🐺: soul dont do that but yall r cute okay

☀️: this is so unfair

🐯: i have a picture of him taking that picture

🐺: what

🐶: this is so confusing

🐯: [One image attached]

🐿️: trippy @—@

🐺: soul how is she not waking up while you’re texting us

🍟: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

🍟: she is so pretty (//∇//)

🐿️: UGH EILFIWRNOAN

🐶: you are so down bad its crazy

🐺: jiung is literally squealing into his pillow rn

🐯: yeah we can hear

☀️: fr tho u guys r cute

🐶: soul pulls

🍟: (・・?)

🐺: it’s okay soul you’ll figure out what that means eventually

☀️: just tell him what’s stopping you

🐺: he spends a lot of time on the internet he’ll see it one way or another

🍟: jongseob i never gave her the earplugs u can have them back

🐶: is it cuz theo snores cuz honestly thats understandable

☀️: i do not snore that loud okay

🐯: my bed is right next to yours so that makes it 10 times louder

🐯: also just leave them on the nightstand soul ill take them back thanks

🐺: is someone gonna get up or are we just gonna keep texting here

☀️: soul would but he’s too busy holding his gf rn

🐯: do u guys want more photos

🐿️: yes

🐺: jongseob and theo you two need to stop taking pictures of y/n while she’s sleeping she’s gonna think you guys are creepy

☀️: you never said no

🐺: and i never said yes

🐯: soul is shielding her face in some of them tho at least its covered

🐿️: just send them

🍟: you can send them jongseob (^^)

🐯: see even soul says we can

🍟: wanna show how pretty y/n is

🐿️: oh my god you guys are so dsibwsidhsi

🐺: jiung is freaking out

🐶: soul i think u killed him

☀️: breaking up at this point would just end the world

☀️: treat her well soul

🐶: yeah you’ve got a good one

🍟: im too in love to let go (*´∀｀*)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

and i am but a man, orbiting ‘round your sun. and it’s you that makes my day, after day. 🎧

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