#not putting this one under keep reading because it’s short
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De Jure
In light of a recent scandal, she finds herself becoming part of Aemond's plan for the future- Part 2 to De Facto.
PM!Aemond x unnamed female character
Main Masterlist // AO3
Warnings: 18+, smut, politics (putting my degree to good use), questionable power dynamics, manipulation, dub con/non con elements, baby trapping
Words: 4121
A/n: He looked too good at the New York premiere and I couldn't help myself :)
A strange feeling seems to follow her around Hightower House, like there are eyes on her, like everyone around her is watching her, like they know something.
It’s plausible enough that Aemond likes to keep her behind late most nights because he trusts her, more so than the other staff. There’s always something they need to talk through, some crisis that needs solving, some issue they can form a preemptive strategy for. Mostly “crisis resolution” comes in the form of him bending her over the desk and tearing through her tights, or having her on her knees with his hands in her hair and his cock slipping between her lips.
Aemond is precise, attentive, relentless. He leaves her stunned and satisfied in a way that the wanting never satiates itself.
Then there are the occasional glances, the sparse touches, his hand on her back when he walks into a room, his hand on her thigh under a desk, in the back of a car.
He’s careful to act inconspicuously around others, but there’s something about the way Maris glares at her, the way Alys watches her with her brows raised.
What if they know? How could they? How could they not?
Then she starts to get noticed by Otto Hightower. He’s a formidable figure in Hightower House, notorious for expecting the best from the staff, for his bluntness, his restrained but short temper, his intolerance for anything less than perfection– this is the man who made Aemond Targaryen the political force that he is after all.
After Aemond’s success in de-escalating the Aegon situation, Otto Hightower had personally pulled her aside and commended her. “Aemond said he wouldn’t have been able to pull it together if it weren’t for you.”
She’d been rather stunned that Aemond would mention her to his grandfather.
“Just doing my bit for the party,” she’d said.
He nodded his head at that, mouth poised in something like a smile.
She never has plans on a Friday night these days. She’s working through some polls, anxiously waiting for Aemond to finish a meeting with the inner circle, Otto, Cole and Alicent.
Alys is watching her between glances at her laptop, the same red lipstick on her lips, an eerie white light illuminating her face from the screen. Her nails tap against the keys and the surface of the desk when she pauses to think, to stare.
“What?” she says sharply, weeks of patience wearing thin.
Alys smirks to herself before slowly closing the lid of her laptop. “It seems as though something’s bothering you.”
A panicked feeling hums in her chest. She was too harsh. Her reaction was too obvious. “No, I’m fine,” she mutters.
“I thought you might be tired, you know, with all the overtime Mr Taragryen has you doing.”
She tries to laugh it off, to smile and shake her head, but her mouth feels stiff.
“Maris thinks he likes you.” Alys leans back in her chair, twirling a pen between her fingers.
“No more than he likes anyone else, I’m sure.”
One of Alys’ eyebrows lifts. With a short humming sound in her throat her lips break into another smile that bares her teeth. “Between us, I think Maris has a crush on him. It was cute at first but now I think she looks a little desperate…”
Desperate. What does that make her?
“... I think he likes you because you’re good at your job, but then sometimes it’s like he goes out of his way to ignore you. I thought he might be doing it to make the rest of us feel better.”
They stare at each other, locked in a silent dare. She feels her chest moving with her breath, her heart drumming under her skin.
“I think you’re reading into things,” she says, wincing at how dry her throat is.
Alys’ smile is gone now. She has this certain look, it can be unassuming and yet unnervingly intense. But they go back to their respective tasks. She looks like she has another thought brewing in her head, but she is interrupted by the ringing on the phone on her desk.
She picks it up instantly. “Hello, sir. Yes, sir. I’ll send her through now.”
The meeting isn’t over yet, the others would have passed the office on their way out. She tries not to stand too eagerly, taking her time as she collects the papers in front of her and picks up her phone– but what if Alys thinks she’s moving too slowly? She resists the urge to tut at herself or fiddle with the fabric of her skirt.
She has to walk by Alys’ desk to get to the door, and the thought fills her with dread, like she’ll be able to see right through her head and read every thought.
“Wait,” Alys calls as she hovers in the open doorway.
She turns to face her.
“He’s sweet,” Alys says, “and too gorgeous for his own good, but the Hightowers are opportunists.”
She knows that. The whole country knows that. For a generation, Westerosi politics has been nothing but a game between the Greens and the Blacks, a rivalry that started when Otto Hightower’s daughter caught the eye of Viserys Targaryen.
“You’re a smart girl,” Alys says. “Be careful.”
The walk to Aemond’s office feels longer than usual. The closed door feels more daunting. She taps her knuckles against it three times and pauses for a moment, until she hears his voice telling her to enter.
The days are growing shorter and the sun is already setting, a warm glow bleeding in through the tall windows. The light makes Aemond’s hair appear more golden than silver. He’s sitting on the sofa, suit jacket open, tie discarded, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, hair dishevelled, like he’s been running his hands through it.
Criston Cole is sat in an armchair and nods to her when she walks in. Otto Hightower sits with his back to the door, Alicent beside him.
They’ve been in here for hours, the table between them is covered in empty coffee cups and newspapers with bold headlines. Some have moved on from the Aegon scandal, others have not.
She looks to Aemond for an instruction.
He beckons her with a single finger, anticipation already pooling in her belly despite their company. She stands beside him, hovering by the arm of the sofa where Aemond leans against his elbow, clutching her papers close to her chest.
Otto greets her by name. She’s rather proud of how far she’s come since her first day, scared to even step foot in his office.
He and Cole continue to discuss the Duskendale by-election which will inevitably take place in light of Aegon’s removal. Otto says this will be an opportunity for the Blacks to capitalise on the scandal, win themselves another seat in Parliament and put pressure on the Greens, on Aemond. Alicent listens all the while, picking at her fingernails.
“Rhaenyra will pick someone close to her, someone charismatic,” Otto says, looking directly at her.
Why would he do that, does he expect a note to be taken on the conversation?
Aemond’s hand appearing on her waist takes her by surprise. She stares down at him wide-eyed at his carelessness. He doesn’t seem worried as he gently pulls her down to sit on the arm of the sofa. His arm stays wrapped around her back, his hand slotting into the curve of her body, his thumb tracing circles against her shirt.
She tries to look at Otto and Cole without drawing too much attention to herself, but they don’t seem surprised at Aemond’s little display of affection. Alicent stares at them passively.
“Who in the Black Party has any charisma?” Cole says dryly. “She’s hardly got any allies left.”
“Jacaerys,” Otto says.
Cole scoffs. “He’s fresh out of uni.”
“He’s young but he has appeal,” Alicent says. “Certainly more than Aegon ever did.” She says it so gently but with no hesitation.
“And a good speaker,” Aemond adds, “people respond to him, he’s likeable.”
One more question remains, a ceaseless itch in her brain, as distracting as Aemond’s hand clinging to her body. She clears her throat softly. “Who’s our candidate going to be?”
Aemond’s grip on her waist tightens and he looks up at her, dying sunlight beaming over his face, catching on the tip of his nose, the curve of his lip, the lines of his jaw. “We’ve been discussing that.”
She hates this, feeling like she’s a step behind everyone else in the room. She looks up at the faces of Otto and Cole. Aemond has a sister, Helaena, but she stays away from public life. His younger brother, Daeron, is still studying. There are also plenty of Hightower cousins, people already in their inner circle.
“If we are all in agreement,” Otto says, fixing his suit jacket as he stands. “Come, Alicent.”
Aemond’s mother has always been a glamorous woman, younger than she appears. It’s not something she’s ever noticed before but she has such a solemn look about her, wide brown eyes and fallen lips.
Aemond stands to kiss her on both cheeks. “Thank you,” he says, softly, still loud enough for her to hear it.
“I trust your judgement,” she says.
With that the three of them leave the room and Aemond closes the door behind her.
She’s still sitting unsurely on the arm of the sofa, resisting the urge to dig her fingernails into the leather.
Aemond turns to face her. He slips off his suit jacket and places it carefully on the coat hanger by the door. He takes measured steps towards the sofa. “I have something to tell you. Sit down.”
Her stomach drops at the sinisterly soft tone of his voice, but she does as he says, slipping from the arm to the sofa itself, only to find she cannot sit comfortably. The back isn’t quite in the right place, the seat is too soft, like she’s melting into it. She tries to sit with her back straight, her legs crossed, her hands in her lap and her head held high as he approaches her.
By now she thinks she has a good read of him, the subtleties in his expressions, the hints into his mind. She can’t read him now. He looks at her with excitement, with something softer, with a look of hunger and lust. But she can tell that he’s far too happy with himself.
“You look nervous. Are you nervous?” he says, undoing the buttons on his cuffs and pulling them up to bare his hands, the muscles and tendons of his forearms.
“Well, I don’t know what’s going on.”
“It’s exciting, I promise.”
Exciting to him, clearly.
“Alright,” she says.
Aemond stands before her and smiles, only for a moment. Usually, in this position, he’d reach out for her cheek, maybe he’d lean down to kiss her.
He just looks at her, with amusement, wonder, curiosity, perhaps even pride. With a small hum to himself, Aemond says, “we need a candidate for Duskendale.”
“So I’ve heard,” she says, quietly but defiantly.
“I want it to be you.”
She feels her eyes go wide. The room feels cold and close. She can hear Aemond breathing through his nose, slow and steady.
After a few moments of silence, Aemond says, “what do you think?”
It takes her too long to find her breath. “You suggested it to Otto?”
“Yes. He and my mother agree, you’ll be perfect.”
Heat flushes in her face. She feels an urge to laugh, or cry, or grab him by the shoulders and ask him why in seven fucking hells he thinks this would be a good idea.
But then this is what she’s always wanted. This is why she studied so relentlessly, spent hours and hours in the library pouring over textbooks, why she gave up sleep to meet her deadlines, missed meals to afford rent in Sunspear, dedicated so much of herself to the extra work, all so she could have the very job Aemond is offering her on a silver platter.
It would be worth it, wouldn’t it? Knowing she could actually make a difference to the world that seemed determined to have her fail.
What if she asks him “why?” What if she gives him a reason to doubt her and he snatches that chance away?
She barely registers Aemond’s hands closing around hers before he pulls her up to stand. His forehead and his nose rest against hers, his breath warm over her skin. His lips are almost upon hers but he doesn’t move to kiss her, he keeps her waiting and restless.
“They’ve all agreed,” he mutters, “we need someone with no history, no scandals, nothing that could be held against us, not after the mess Aegon’s made.”
She pauses, pulling back a little so they can meet eye to eye. “You want me because I won’t embarrass you?”
Aemond tilts his head. “I want you because you’re the best option.” He leans in again, pressing a delicate kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek. “You’d be a perfect fit, you’re intelligent, you’re meticulous, you don’t miss details and you’re unafraid to speak your mind.”
He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth but she turns her head. “I want to feel like I’ve earned it,” she utters.
Aemond’s mouth trails to her neck instead, kissing her firmly. “You have earned it,” he says, his hands moving to her waist, squeezing her, claiming her. His touch roams over the rest of her body while he kisses her neck, her thighs, her rear, anything he can reach.
It’s dangerous how she responds when his hands are in the right place, and he knows it. But she reaches for his wrists to make him stop when he starts to tug on the waist of her skirt with his fingers.
“Is that what you think this is,” she says, “do you think I’m only trying to get a career out of you?”
Aemond frowns.
“Do you think I want to be remembered as some shallow opportunist? Is that all you think I deserve?”
When he hums it catches in the back of his throat. He makes a small pout with his lips, the way he often does when he’s thinking.
“You have an opportunity to do something remarkable here,” he says, his voice low and chilling as he takes her chin in his fingertips. “Look at all the work you’ve done for me already, why deny yourself the chance to do more?”
It doesn’t have to be a denial, does it? Saying no to him would only mean she could take a different path, her own path, on her terms. Unless this is it. Unless she says no and this is the end of everything.
His fingertips press into her jaw, as if his patience is wearing thin with every passing moment.
She looks into his single violet eye and the sapphire prosthetic set in his left socket, determined to stand her ground. “Not like this,” she says.
Aemond tuts. “Are you worried you won’t get in? You’ll get the seat, I’ll make sure you do. You’ll get the career you’ve wanted for so long, you’ll get everything you’ve worked for.” There’s desperation in his voice, something familiar and yet primal. His thumb gently strokes over her cheek to her lower lip. “I’ll keep you with me. Wouldn’t you like that?”
Reason slips from her mind and something dangerous tightens in her gut. “What do you mean–”
Her question ends up muffled against his lips as Aemond kisses her, deeply and desperately, pulling her into him, closer and closer.
She holds her hands up and the only place for her palms to go is against his chest so she can feel his heat and his heartbeat through his shirt. She parts her lips, welcoming his tongue and his teeth, welcoming the way he consumes her.
“Once you’re in Parliament we can make things official,” he mutters between their kisses.
He goes in to kiss her again and she pulls back. “What?”
He huffs impatiently, taking her face in both his hands. “I need someone reliable by my side, someone like you. It’ll be good for my image, and for the party, to appeal to family values.”
She feels herself scowling. “Did your grandfather tell you that?”
“Don’t give me that look,” he says teasingly,
“What about all the work I’ve done already? I can’t give everything up?”
“What would you be giving up?”
Infuriatingly, her mind is suddenly blank.
Through the windows behind them, the sun is setting lower and lower in the sky, the golden rays only shining brighter as night creeps in. The world is as it was when they first met. Aemond’s eye burns in the light, his eye that has bored into hers as he’s pushed her over the threshold of bliss, that finds her across crowded rooms, that must have seen every inch of her skin.
“We’ll announce an engagement before you’re confirmed as our candidate,” he says. He comes to kiss her gently. The moment could almost feel tender, if he were not seeking to uproot her entire life. “You’re perfect,” he whispers against her lips. “Say yes to me, please, I need you to say yes.”
It’s easy to get lost in Aemond Targaryen, in his intensity, in his rare offerings of praise and approval. Her arms find their way around his neck, pulling herself into him, absentmindedly rocking her hips against his. His promises excite her as much as they terrify her.
“Say it,” he purrs, his voice catching in his throat as he walks her back. “I need an answer from you.”
The backs of her knees hit the edge of the sofa. She takes a moment to breathe and find her bearings.
Aemond’s eye is hooded and dark, his lips pressed together. She can feel it all simmering under the surface, his hunger, his desperation.
He needs her. He cannot lose this seat to the Blacks, he can’t give them space to challenge him. He can’t let Aegon’s indiscretions overshadow everything he’s been working towards. The Greens need to purge themselves of this damning image, they need a clean slate, and they’re willing to put her in the centre of government to get it.
“I’ll do it,”
His kiss is harsh when he captures her lips again, needy and commanding as he grabs at her waist.
She lets out a breath of surprise when he positions her to lay back on the sofa without parting from her. He’s over her, pressing her into the plush leather, a firm hold trailing from her neck, her wrists, her sides, her breasts through her blouse.
He undoes the buttons slowly, kissing the exposed parts of her flesh of her chest and stomach. When he has the blouse off completely he makes quick work of undoing her bra, discarding that to move his attention to her breasts. He toys with her nipples with his thumbs, lips and tongue until she’s writhing beneath him. She can already picture the bruises that will bloom in his wake.
He’s slow with her skirt too, she can hardly stand it, feeling the fabric and his fingertips dragging down her legs. With her shoes removed, Aemond sits back on his haunches and wraps his hands around one of her ankles, smirking as he strokes small circles over a sensitive spot of her skin.
“Please,” she utters, reaching her fingers out to graze his stomach, still hidden underneath a perfectly white shirt.
“I know, I know,” he coos, hooking his fingers in her panties to pull them from her legs. “I just like seeing you like this.
He wastes no more time, placing her ankle over his shoulder, spreading her other knee with a wide palm and leaning down until his face is between her legs. He knows to start slowly, to tease her with slow drags through her folds. It’s an infuriating feeling but she savours it. It’s the burn she loves, being dragged towards pleasure like a continual tide lapping at the shore.
She craves these unhurried moments, and she supposes there will only be more once Aemond gets his way.
His motions increase in speed when her breath quickens and she starts to squirm, with whispered mumblings of “please… I’m so close… please.” He borders on frantic, hums of approval vibrating against her centre.
It builds and builds until it releases a bloom of warmth in her belly that soon fades back into need when Aemond untangles himself from her. She watches him undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt, as he unbuckles his belt and yanks it from the loops in his slacks. He bares himself to her. There’s no pride this time, just awe when he looks at her.
He positions himself above her, running the tip of his cock, already hard and leaking, against her, pushing against her clit with every gentle thrust.
She holds onto his arms for leverage, letting herself succumb to the sensation, the smell of his aftershave and his sweat, the heat and the sound of their breaths in unison.
“I mean it,” he says with a sigh, “I think you’re perfect.”
She smiles, planting a peck against his lips, before she slides a hand between their bodies and positions him at her entrance. She’s taken him enough times but the initial stretch has her gritting her teeth.
Aemond stills. “We can–”
“I want to take it,” she utters, “I want to feel you,”
His resolve melts, but he doesn’t push further, waiting for a nod from her before he inches himself deeper inside her.
Their bodies mould against each other, her arms around his shoulders, his head nestled into her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he pants. She watches him thrusting into her, chasing his own pleasure as he nudges against a spot inside her that leaves her feeling weightless.
He tries to increase his pace, but the back of the sofa hinders him somewhat. He grunts in frustration, gathering her in his arms and moving them both to the fur rug on the floor with ease. He brings her legs onto his shoulders and pushes into her once more, to the hilt, eliciting a gasp from her.
He chuckles to himself, showing his teeth and licking his lips. “You like that?”
“Yeah, fuck,” she breathes.
“Know you like it when I’m nice and deep,” he mutters, fucking her with swift snaps of his hips. With one hand on the floor he takes a gentle hold of her neck with the other, leaning in so her thighs are pressed against her chest. “My pretty girl, my perfect girl.”
Her second climax is within reach, she feels the heat rising inside of her, her hips trying to buck but she’s caged by him.
Aemond’s hold on her neck tightens. “You’re close,” he says with a wicked smile on his lips.
Her back arches from the floor, head thrown back in ecstasy. “Don’t stop,” she pleads, “please don’t fucking stop…”
She clings to him, each one of them at the other’s mercy.
“I’ve got you,” Aemond says, continuing to drive his hips against hers. He must be reaching his own end, his pace is starting to falter, his moans unrestrained.
Usually he makes a habit of spilling himself over her body, her stomach or her thighs.
“Aemond?” she breathes.
“You’ll take what I give you, won’t you?” he says, “you’re mine now, we might as well get a head start.”
The realisation makes her stomach drop. “Wait–” she tries to murmur between her whines, “you can’t– not yet–”
He leans in to kiss her, to soothe her, to silence her.
He comes with a guttural groan, his hips stilling against her and a warmth spreading inside of her. Her own pleasure erupts after that, she can feel herself clenching around him, her body greedy for everything he has to offer her.
Aemond stays pressed against her for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest. He withdraws from her slowly, bringing her legs down– she sees the way his eye lingers between her legs, something hot and wet dripping from within her. He gathers it with the tip of his cock, pushing himself into her again with short, shallow thrusts.
He takes her by her neck again, demanding her attention.
She gazes back at him, breathless, wide-eyed.
“There’s my good girl,” he coos. “With any luck we’ll have a due date to announce alongside your victory in Duskendale.”
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we need more moment where shy!reader was studying and practicing new things to show rafe!! ik that girl is so kinky and it’s always the shy girls <33
YESS omg i srsly love that drabble when i reread it im like she was cookin.. i feel like shes the type to try to prep herself with a dildo bc she can never take all of rafe but imagine he found it n was like ?!!?
really—your boyfriend was too big. it was excessive, and though you could never find the words to tell him to stop or slow down—mostly because you didn't want him to—he always did anyways.
no matter how much you insisted that you could take all of him, rafe didn't like to listen. so you were stuck in a conundrum, and your choices were either lying to your boyfriend that it didn't hurt or accepting the fact that he'll never be as rough with you as you want.
you were willing to sit down and accept a lot of things without a fight—but this was not one of them.
one discreetly wrapped delivery later, you had yourself your very own rafe-sized dildo—a pretty pink color and of such a size that it had your insides churning with anticipation. about half an hour later with the use of some lube and lots of work, you were successfully able to fit about three-fourths. it wasn't perfect, yet, but it was a work in progress.
you didn't want to overdo it and end up insanely sore either, and you were beginning to realize even half was enough to have you cumming over and over again. so much so that you almost forgot about the date you had planned with rafe for that night—scrambling to get up and get ready.
that night, after a nice date and way too much ice cream, you realized you were too fucked out from your afternoon activity to go for another round for rafe. it was no big deal—except it happened the next day. then the day after that. and the one after that.
you had mastered the rafe-sized dildo, and you could take the entire thing after week of practice. but it also meant that it had been a full week without your boyfriend fucking you—something that hadn't happened since you had lost your virginity to him.
a little too clueless around rafe like always, you hadn't realized anything was wrong. rafe was on edge—pent up and unable to keep taking out his frustration on the golf course after almost breaking one of his clubs—but you didn't really notice.
you were waiting for tonight, after another date to show him your new-found skills, but of course, he didn't know that.
getting ready in your bathroom, blasting music and doing your makeup, you don't even hear the door open to your bedroom. rafe came to get you early, knowing you would need more time but way too antsy to wait alone in his car.
he sits on your bed, listening to the muffled music from behind the closed door. he's not impatient with you and hardly ever like this, but the current situation had left him more desperate to see you than usual.
leaning against your headboard, he feels something under your pillow. lifting it to move whatever it was—knowing you, the book you had been reading last night—his jaw clenches when he sees it. a dildo. not just any dildo—a huge dildo. under your pillow like you'd just been using it or something.
the pillow stays in his hand but he has an overwhelming urge to chuck it across the room. was this the reason the two of you hadn't had sex in a week? were you finding pleasure from some stupid toy instead of him?
"rafe?" you ask, stepping out of the bathroom and staring at the scene in front of you with big eyes. you're distractingly pretty everyday but even more so today with a short skirt and done-up face for the date he's not sure if he'll be taking you on.
your face burns with humiliation—stupidly realizing you hadn't put the damn thing away after last night. rafe is looking at you and then looking back at your bed, his fist tight around your pillow.
"um, i-"
"do you wanna explain? i'll give you five fuckin' seconds to explain-"
"no, it's not what it looks like-"
"really, kid? what it looks like is you're fuckin' this stupid thing instead of me. y'know, i'll just fuck off and you can have fun-"
rafe stands, not really angry but still sounding like he is. it's more pent-up frustration bubbling up, but you rush over to him anyways, looking so panicked he feels bad the second he said anything. he can't stay mad at you for longer than a minute.
"it's not what it looks like, i swear-"
"what is it then, huh?"
"i was just practicing! i was just trying to get better for you. see, it's yours." you motion to the toy still on the bed.
"huh?" rafe asks, looking between you and the bed.
"it's you. see. it's like... your size. um-" you get flustered again, shutting up in the fear that you've just said something to rafe that you should have kept to yourself. "i'm.. sorry?"
"no you're not."
"no, but i feel bad. are your feelings hurt? i'm sorry."
when rafe glances back at you, tearing his gaze away from the bright pink that's beginning to hurt his eyes, he realizes how sad you look, thinking you've done something to upset him.
"no, m'fine. just.. tell me next time. it was a jump scare."
"okay.." you stay still infront of him, awkwardly playing with your hands waiting for him to say something. you're a little concerned rafe's still upset, but he doesn't seem to look it, rather looking at you expectedly.
"what?" you question immediately, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
"what? get on the bed. you've had enough practice. time for the real thing."
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Letter for a sneak peek of your nsfw alphabet…
H
Please becuase it’s so fucking adorable and you should share that with them all.🤭🤭
Of course you picked hair😂 @low0tter here is a sneak peak since @buckys-wintersoldier went crazy when she read it 😂
Full A-Z here
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
He keeps himself trimmed, usually using a pair of hair scissors to keep his bush tamed. He hates having a full bush, it feels weird when he wears underwear. He uses an electric razor every so often when he feels like going bald, but he doesn’t do that too often. The one time he saw you wince when he was fucking you because his hair poked your clit just wrong, he vowed to shave and keep his hair short. You told him it wasn’t necessary but he did it anyway.
And of course you asked to watch him shave. It wasn’t your fault you’ve never seen how a man shaves his cock and balls.
“So, like how does that work?” Bucky gives you an incredulous look. “Shaving. It seems difficult. How do you not cut yourself?”
Bucky sighs, he should be used to this by now, his girlfriend being obsessed with his cock, and not just because you always want to fuck him, but because you want to know how it works. Can I hold him while you pee? Can you swing him around? Can I hold him when we cuddle? I want to watch him get hard. Can I keep him in my mouth while you work?
Bucky doesn’t mind the last one, he would be insane to say no to having his cock in your mouth. In the end, he lets you come into the bathroom while he shaves. “Sweets, don’t look at me like that, gonna make me hard.”
“I’m not looking any type of way. I’m just interested.” He runs the razor through his hair, delicately grabbing his soft cock, pulling it away from where he shaves next. “Woah, so you just move him around?”
“Well, how else would you shave the hair there, sweets?” He lets out a chuckle before focusing on his task again.
“So you don’t get hard touching your dick so much?” Bucky laughs, almost nicking himself.
“What do you think I do when I take a shower? You get used to it.”
“You always get hard when I hold him.” He has to turn the razor off, doubling over with laughter.
“That’s different, sweets.” He goes back to shaving, now focusing on his balls, pulling the skin tight.
“That’s fucking cool and kind of hot. You know, you playing with your balls.”
Bucky’s cock twitches at your words. “You’re never watching me shave again.”
On you however, he couldn’t give less of a damn what you do with your pubic hair. If you shave, that’s fine, he gets to feel your silky skin under his fingers. Loverboy would gladly put your lotion on you, making sure you don’t get razor burn. Of course, it’s because he has to make sure his pretty girl is taken care of, not because he wants to touch your pussy, no, he would never. He doesn’t mind the prickly hair as it grows back, one time he had the nerve to say that it was exfoliating his face for the day when eating you out. That got him a wake to the head.
If you wax, he’s going to do the same thing, treating your pussy like she was injured, doting on her hand and foot.
“How is my pretty girl? I know, I can’t believe she would do this to you, to us.”
Sometimes he tilts his head so his ear is next to your bare cunt. “What’s that? She hurt you, ripped out all your pretty curls? Don’t worry, I’ll show her what happens when she treats you like this.”
Full bush, oh he couldn’t care less. The coarse curls don’t slow him down at all. He’ll still devour you like his last meal. So what if he may have to spit out a few hairs after, it’s worth it.
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x you#bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#bucky x y/n#bucky x you#bucky barnes smut#bucky imagine#bucky smut#sebastian stan x reader
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I Got Dreams But I Can't Make Myself Believe Them
Word count: 7.5k
Parings: Rooster & Maverick, Rooster & Iceman, Iceman/Maverick
Summery:
'Hey it’s Mav, leave a message. And no Ice whatever they’re accusing me of, I didn’t do-'
He jabbed his finger on the screen again. Tears in his eyes. It couldn’t end like this. It just couldn't...please...
It rang.
Once
Twice-
“Hello?”
His face hurt. Pulsing with a vigour that he knew he should take his pain med and yet…he hadn’t. Because he deserved this pain. He deserved this.
This aching, the dagger-like sensation deep in the muscle when he tried to move. Still, it was not even close to a fraction of what he made them feel. So, he deserved this.
The pain. The punishment. They always did tell him he was a masochist. Fretting over his father being gone, whether Mav missed him, why he didn’t miss him. Worried about his mother's health, if they would lose the house, why wasn’t she smiling anymore. Would Mav stay or would he leave him without his favorite Bradshaw's; after all Mav wasn’t his babysitter. Was he going to be stuck alone in this world struggling to finish high school with the crushing debt of his mother's hospital bills and house lines that he discovered showed under her bed two days after the funeral. Was he going to die hungry or cold? And his newest one, would anyone care if he burnt in?
At least he had an answer to the last one. No. It was so painfully clear now, he had pushed too far and they had given up on him. The phone calls and messages left unanswered, the lettered read tearfully and shoved in a box under his bed that stayed with him religiously through deployments. The Admirals who bumped into him occasionally in deployments which he knew was their way of checking on his health after all files can only offer so much.
Yet…no one had come when he called. When he had laid on that hospital bed terrified out of his mind, cold, bloodied and half the mind that either he was Nick Bradshaw or he was seeing him. And no one, had come.
His NOK. His dad. He called.
No one.
No one cared anymore.
He remembered the nurses holding him down as he screamed out in short panic bursts as what he now knew were cold induced hallucinations raged through him. He remembered managing to grab a nurse's arm and begged them to call his father. Begged. Over and over again, demanding she keep trying until they sedated him somewhere between the forth redial.
No one came.
His dad didn’t care anymore.
He had gone too far and they had given up on him.
He pressed his face into the tattered plushy pushing down the whine of pain as it agitated the stitches on his chin tugging at the cuts. He curled around the soft toy in the limp bunk at his base housing trying to breathe through the pain. Wheezing as the position put a strain on his already sore ribs, bruised but thankfully not broken, but there was only so much they could do about the bruising caused by the harness. They marked up his chest, around his shoulders and down his back, making him look like a mummy who went through a fight and became a kickboxing victim. They weren’t pretty overall. He certainly wasn’t going to be winning any medals any time soon.
It was strange what near death situations did to a person. Twelve hours ago he was filled with such hurt, such hatred towards Maverick's actions, not him as a person but hurt about how he went behind his back and stopped him from succeeding…he just couldn’t see why they couldn’t have talked about it. Now. After spending all those hours alone trapped in a hospital wing, half aware of reality, strapped down to his cot like some dangerous criminal. All he wanted was to hold his father's hand. All he wanted was to go home.
But the question stood, did he even have a home to go back to now?
He remembered the crokard post box from that time Mav had tried to teach him to drive and he accidentally mixed up his accelerator and brake. But despite the years, Ice never fixed it. Maybe he was also a sucker for memories.
He remembered Ice’s fond smile as he helped apply the coloured paint to his hands after he insisted on putting their handprints on the mailbox after watching the new Disney movie UP. Ice had simply shaken his head, dug out some paints from one of Maverick's abandoned side projects and let himself be dragged out to the front lawn laughing all the way.
He remembered the loose and wobbly handrail to the stairs in the hallway that always made Ice sigh and roll his eyes anytime he heard it creak, yet he never got it fixed even when Ron apologized for being too careless while roughhousing with Wolf and offered to fix it himself.
He remembered the way Maverick would be waiting for him in the kitchen every morning before school. Chiding him to get dressed as he snagged a piece of bacon from the pan while Ice wasn’t looking only to complain that it was hot, when he himself was bare chested new and faded marks across his chest with low sweatpants on his hips, bed hair wild around his head.
The way every Thursday without fail their house would be filled with his uncles, spread out around their living room in various stages of a food coma, gorging themselves on the sweets Mav would spend all morning making with a pleased smile. He always had been his happiest providing for other people, seeing they were happy.
He remembered the board game night, the nights they would spend curled up on the couch together with some nonsense show that no one was really watching, and the nights they sometimes spent out watching the stars.
He remembered them cheering at his little league games despite being tired from a long day at work or having just returned from a deployment, which he now knew they would have been dead on their feet just wishing for a bed. He remembered their concern muttering when he was sick and their fingers through his hair. He remembered Ice’s mother's lullaby that the man would hold him through the wee hours of the morning and hum under his breath when they thought he was asleep.
He wanted to go home, he wanted it all. But he had lost it all when he cut off contact. And he was half terrified that they were angry at him, every time he sat there and thought about calling, about turning up on their doorstep to ask for forgiveness he would just stare at the number of missed calls, he would think about the hundreds of voice messages. He’d feel the burning of the box of letters all unanswered under his bed as he laid down and hugged his goose plushier that they had given him all those years ago. No doubt abusing Ice's powers to discover his address when he heard that he was in hospital in his junior year of university. The seams were now ratty from how often he ran his fingers over them, the fur carefully taken care of but despite his efforts the old plushie was dying, and unlike everything else in his life it was leaving him too. He could no longer preserve the memories within it.
He bit his lip only for the sharp pain that shot through his head to remind him why he shouldn’t do that. He winced, not from the way the fur rubbed up against the fresh stitches, although it wasn’t comfortable, but over the fact that Maverick was right. His heart jumped in his throat. He wasn’t ready.
Because Maverick had almost just lost him like he had lost Goose.
He had been reckless, and arrogant; he had been a kid thrown into a jet and told he was good, his ego was inflated and he hadn’t been ready.
And he had fallen out of the sky. He had burned in. And he was damn lucky he didn't take anyone else out in the process.
He had paid his price, and it had almost been his own head.
A few more seconds… the doctor's words ran through his head like a gunshot echo, warning him of the tragedy that could have occurred.
What will you tell their parents when they don’t come back? When they come back in a casket. What excuse will be ready then Lieutenant… His commanding officer lecture piggybacking from his nightmares, what excuse will be acceptable then?
There wasn’t one. This was his fault, his own failure. What would they have told them if he died?
You have my condolences Mr Kazansky, Mr Mitchell. However, your son has died in a training accident - having not even made it out of Top Gun - by his own stupidity!
Yeah, he could see that going over well.
He ran his thumb over the screen of his phone nervously, should he call? He had called- the hospital had called. But maybe they don’t answer unknown numbers, old people were like that… right? His fingers felt clammy as he took a shaky breath, whining quietly as he thumbed through his contacts to find the right number and listened to the phone ring quietly.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each ring felt like a bullet in the chamber, he could hear tone ringing out around him as tears welled in his eyes, a sob building in his chest as the phone clicked, the call unanswered.
Too close, switching to guns.
'Hey it’s Mav, leave a message. And no Ice whatever they’re accusing me of, I didn’t do-'
He jabbed his finger on the screen again. Tears in his eyes. It couldn’t end like this. It just couldn’t…please…
It rang.
Once
Twice-
“Hello?” A croaky voice answered, indubitably not Mav.
"Ice?" His voice shook, "Pops?"
“Shit ” . Something rustled loudly over the phone and he could almost see Ice scrambling to sit up on the bed. A bitten out swear carried lowly over the line and it almost made him smile as he heard something clatter to the ground with a thud, no doubt the older man knocking something off the bedside table in his haste to grab his glasses and slide them on his nose to look at the phone. “Bradley?”
He sounded so hesitant as if he was afraid he was hearing things. It pained him to wonder how often his Pops had woken in the middle of the night hearing his voice and wondering if it was real or a sleep deprived hallucination. How often it left his Pops laying in his bed curled up with his hands over his ears trying to ignore his imaginary self calling for him for help, and not being able to help the man come back to earth. How many times had his Pops suffered silently and alone and he hadn't even known about it.
“Pops” he sobbed, chest aching from the force of his whine and the pang of his heart at the thought of how many times he had been the reason for his parents to cry, the cause of his parent's pain over the years.
“Bradley baby. What's wrong? Come on baby bird, I need you to speak to me”. Ice’s familiar level tone sounded unusually anxious, “Come on daring, you can do it. Take some deep breaths for me”.
He hadn't even realized that his panic induced sobs had pushed him into the dangers of hyperventilation. His gaps of breath between his chest shaking sobs became shorter and more panicked as he acknowledged the lack of oxygen.
“Breath,” Ice pleaded. “Baby please”.
“He didn’t answer” he gasped out, whimpering “He wasn’t there ”
“Bradley, honey what-?”
He could hear Ice’s underlying confusion as he whined in pain hissing behind gritted teeth as he burrowed his face further into the soft teddy irritating his stitched cuts. “Mav” he whined, his voice muffled as he pressed it further into the soft fabric, ashamed of his clingy neediness for his parents despite being 25. The mortification of crying out to them over a little crash. He felt like a kid creeping into his parent's rooms during the night after a nightmare, sweat still clinging to his brow, stomach rebelling as he hovered by their bedside unsure whether to wake them or not. But despite the early hour they had always opened their arms to him, shifted and made room for him between them on the bed. Always. Maybe…after all this time, just maybe Ice could spare a little room to allow him a few moments to recuperate and shuffled away in shame.
Realistically he knew that Ice couldn’t see him. He knew that Ice wouldn't care, that the man would simply look at him with pursed lips, his brows furrowed in concern and coo quietly as he gathered him in his arms, careful to guide his face over his shoulder to prevent him from aggravating his wounds further. Despite what many people thought Ice had been more of the mother hen type than Maverick. Mav had been the cool uncle, then he became the serious dad he needed to be but Ice, Ice had been the cool dad. Ice had been the one to take on his missing mother role, the man had melted into it without blinking. Always making sure that someone was there to kiss his brow and tuck him in at night. Who made him breakfast in the morning and took time out of their day to help him with homework when Mav got sick of trying to help him and stomped off frustrated. He was the person who would stand on the guidelines of his games with a cooler of drinks and bulled him into letting him apply sunscreen while he ate the sandwich he had been prepared for lunch while Mav got into an argument with the couch. Ice was the one who would smile at him empathetically holding him when he cried over a crush. Who gave him his talk and he was always there a hand away to allow him to crawl into his lap no matter how old he got to comfort him.
Mav may have been his dad. But Ice had been his Mum, his Pops. He knew that Mav loved him in his own way, but he also knew that he was partly there for his guilty hand in his father's death. He also knew that Mav had promised Carole he would be there for him (Hospital walls are not as soundproof as you think Mav), that he would take his Godfather duties seriously. Whereas Ice, he never had to stay. He knew they were wingmen and they tackled problems together but Ice never made him feel like a problem. He always made sure he was included, he never pushed him. Ice never has to stay, and while the man harboured his own guilt over Nick, he never pushed it, never brought it up. They spent his memory day sitting on the patio in the backyard and drank Kool-Aid with him silently. Ice didn't have to step in but he did, he didn't have to stay but he chose to.
He didn't think he could have a mum again after Carole but he did. And that was partly the reason he couldn't bring himself to hang up. Because despite his shame, the agony of his embarrassment and fury at Mav. Cutting Ice out had been the hardest decision of his life and now hearing the man's voice he couldn't find the strength to hang up. Not when he was so close, his smooth voice in his ear begging him to stay.
“Baby” Ice cooed in concern, it was soft and familiar. It reminded him of the warm feeling of home, the same tone Ice would use as he sat on the edge of his bed letting him climb onto the man's lap clinging to him when his mother was in hospital, not caring that he was far too old to be doing so. He could almost see the soft frown and those gentle eyes staring down at him, and feel the carding of the man’s fingers through his curls. “Baby, are you looking for Mav? He’s out at the hangar tonight. The idiot forgot his phone. I promise he didn’t ignore it on purpose sweetheart-“
“The hospital called” he choked out “I know. I begged them too”.
“Hospital?” Ice sounded alarmed “Bradley-“
“I asked them to call and he didn’t come ”.
“Bradley Bradshaw”. The soft tone shifted to a firm disciplining one, one he didn't often hear coming from Ice’s lips. It was rare to see him step up into the role of the displeased parent, but that didn't mean it hadn’t happened. Like when the man crossed his arms across his chest with pursed lips and a disapproving look when he caught him sneaking into the house at the early hours of the morning when he had been specifically grounded, or when he went drinking for the first time while underage or when the older man had caught him clumsy stubbing out a weed join on his windowsill eyes wide in alarm. This doesn't sound like Ice was disciplining him, no it sounded panicked as if Ice was trying to hold himself together and keep himself from panicking him further when his breathing had just started to slow to a reasonable speed.
“Bradley baby, why were you in the hospital? Are you ok? God- please be ok” Ice sounded desperate. And for a moment it warmed his chest, the next it made his stomach clench uncomfortably.
He had always taken Ice’s compassion for granted and he had used it against Mav more times than he could count to get what he wanted. He had been a spoiled brat and at the time he hadn't cared about what it would do to the two wingmen. And the worst part about it was that while Ice picked up on it he never made him stop even when it led to the two wingmen arguing or sleeping at different houses. But he always came back. It made him feel sick because fuck Ice really did care about him and he still cared about him. Even after he threw him to the curb, after he chewed him out, cutting away their bond and years of love with a rusty knife in hopes it would rot away and get infected. Even after he ignored every call, deleted every message and refused to read the letters and cards the man sent. Even after that horrid ceremony; after he so blankly disregarded Ice’s rank and achievements in front of everyone . Ice had still stuck by his side. Because despite his 7 year long temper tantrum, Ice had stuck by him faithfully. He had respected his wishes and avoided getting the same posting as him, doing his maternal duty to send him away if he was anywhere close to them even if he couldn't prevent himself from sending someone to check up on him occasionally to settle his worry. Even if he couldn't prevent himself from sending cards, or from sending him letters each deployment knowing he wouldn't read them just to remind him that someone would care if he burnt in.
“Today was hop 31” he whispered out with a croak, the demons that accompanied the words settled on both of them, however, there was an unusual heaviness to his. As if more weight had been added on in an attempt to make his knees buckle and maybe there ha d. Every time he closed his eyes it was no longer the spinning of the Pacific ocean around him as he was strapped into the jet, he no longer heard his dad's voices calling out in a panic, he didn't hear the sound of his father's neck snapping against the canopy or the rough tug of air as it detached. Now he heard the panicked voice of his wingman. He heard Hangman scream out of him “Roosters heading out to sea! I repeat Roosters going out to sea! Permission to follow-” “Denied Lieutenant''. He now saw the stomach clenching sight of mountains dropping around him as his jet dipped dangerously out of the training zone towards the sea where their adjective had been. It had been simple: fly through the terrain, don't get hit, and get back to base. Where had it gone wrong? When had Hangman’s taunts turned into fearful screams, when was the annoyed fighting turned into the sound of his jet screaming at him to pull up?
He let the line fall silent, taking a shaky breath trying to pull away from the shaking of the jet, the sharp tug of the G-force and the claustrophobic feeling of the canopy closing in on him as the piercing scream echoed in his head, his death sentence.
“Low Altitude, pull up. Low Altitude, pull up- ”.
He could hardly hear anything but if that was the gun cocking then it was Hangman's fearful cry that was the bullet, “Rooster-!”
He squeezed his eyes shut and instead let Ice do what he did best and allowed the man to gather his evidence and piece it together himself.
“I’m not Goose” he rasped out, barely, when the response took too long. Reminding the man of his hand in one of the worst mistakes of his life. But it was necessary as much as he hated it because he knew Ice, unlike Mav who blamed himself publicly not afraid to attempt to redeem himself for his hand in it, Ice suffered silently letting his mind run over the scenario looking for a way they could have saved Goose, looking for a scenario that didn't exist. Ice loves to torture himself, and like him, Ice was a masochist. “It was fine. I was on my way in and an engine blew. I couldn’t- I went into a flat spin and collided with the ocean” he continued and let out a humorous snort “I burnt in Pops”.
“Christ kid”, Ice's voice sounded suspiciously wet.
“I’m ok” he mumbled, “I wanted you there.” He tugged the plushy tighter to his chest, closing his eyes as he listened to Ice shift the sheets and audibly stood up from the bed hearing the man mutter to himself quietly as he began to move around the house. There was the recognizable creak of his childhood stairs then a door shut and the phone clicked falling into a vain eerie silence. Had- Had he been wrong? He bit his lip shoving down a sob, his lips wobbled, his eyes squeezing shut.
Had Pops- he hadn’t hung up had he? He wouldn’t leave him, right?
Pops loved him…he wouldn't leave him. He wouldn’t, but he wouldn't blame the man if he had. It’s not like he had done anything to instil confidence into the older gentleman. He had brushed him off, thrown his offers back into his face, disgraced the man's title in front of the brass and thrown more venom at the man in the last 7 years than he had shown love.
He let out a wounded noise sob ripped from his lips, teeth chattering as his chest tightened. Ignoring the taste of blood in his mouth as he curled around the plush, squeezing it so tightly it made his shoulders ache and wrist click in protest. No longer making a conscious effort to keep the blood from smearing on the white fabric.
“Bradley?”
His breath hitched eyes, snapping open, tilting his head back to look at the phone that had fallen from his grip to rest on the mattress to his left as he curled onto his side, the line was still connected.
Ice's worried voice wobbled through the line. “Baby bird can you hear me?”
“Pops! You- you-“
“Deep breaths honey” Ice reminded him gently.
“You didn’t leave ” .
“Never” Pops promised firmly. “I’m sorry darling I should have warned you, I forgot there was a lag when the phone connected to the car”.
He blinked and swallowed thickly, reaching up to rub the thick tears from his face sniffing snotty with a grimace as he used his sleeve to rub the evidence from his skin,. His voice clouded with tears as his still scattered brain tried to process the information “Car?”. His head was still pounding and the impromptu crying was not helping in the slightest but the nurse had told him he would be sluggish for the next few days until he healed, then again she had also told him to avoid phones and screens for the next 72 hours. Of anything it was their own fault for allowing him to talk his way out of having a supervisor to watch his every move. Telling him not to use a screen was like telling a pilot he couldn't fly when the new F-25 was sitting right in front of him.
He was going to do it. He would do anything he had to at this point to hear his Pop’s voice, even if he had to fly to DC and burst into his office himself- that is if they are still posted there. But no, he remembered the creaking of the stairs, the sound was seared into his brain. They had to be down in Miramar, they had to be…right?
That was home. They wouldn’t change that.
“Yes sweetheart, we’re going to go find that idiot of a father of yours” Ice chuckled fondly.
“Why-“ he stuttered hesitating as he worried the words around in his brain for a moment before finally dragging the dreaded question he's been worrying about since he stomped out of their lives 7 years ago from his lips, “Why isn’t he with you? Did I-''. Had they separated because of him? Why weren’t they living in the same house, they had lived together for as long as he could remember, they all had.
“No Bradley. You didn’t do anything. He’s just at the hanger, said he needed to do some work on his baby” Ice soothed apparently knowing him too well, perhaps it was a leftover skill from having to learn how to predict his mood swings as a teenager but Ice had always had the knack of knowing what he needed in the moment. He had been so sure on more than one occasion that the man could secretly read minds, but maybe he just knew his thought patterns too well.
He frowned in confusion, “He has a hanger? Like…his own?”
“I was not impressed” Ice huffed in assurance with a heavy put on sigh “If anything he certainly topped the retriever incident, I think he was trying to win some obscure challenge. Then again I wouldn't mind so much if he was actually home more and cared for it”.
“Retriever?”. His stomach clenched as he blinked away tears as he listened to Ice smile fondly as he recounted his wingman's antics. He bit his lip subconsciously. How much had he thrown away?
Listening to the fact that their lives continued on without him hurt but deep down he knew he hadn't really expected the world to stop spinning. He hadn’t expected for them to stop living their lives just because he had left, but to hear confirmation that they moved on, just as he had…it hurt.
How much had he missed?
“I came home from a meeting a couple of months ago and Slider was supposed to be watching him but apparently he got distracted ”. He let out a wet laugh as Ice drawled in an unimpressed tone. A woman then, they had always been Uncle Si's weakness. One he had seen the others exploit many times to win bets or escape babysitting duties. It was almost a game within the group, or at least it used to be. He could almost hear an Ice smile behind his grouchy tone “Anyway I got back and there’s Mav, dozing away on our couch with a baby golden retriever on his chest. She’s the cutest little thing” Ice cooed only to fall into a brief moment of awkward silence when neither men knew what to say before Ice broke it gently, “We named her Rooster”.
He felt like he was going to be sick. Even after all this time, after all he put them through they still wanted him just as much as he did.
“Pops,” he cried wetly.
“I'm here baby bird” his Pops promised “Now. Tell me about what you’ve been up to in the last few years since we’ve seen you”.
“You're an Admiral, shouldn’t you already know that? I know you help keep Mav updated” The tone wasn’t accusingly just…tired.
“I do,” Ice said quietly, not bothering to do anything to hide his involvement, “But I want to hear it from you”.
So he told him. He started by explaining how he had driven to the edge of town and checked into a motel after he stormed out of the house, how despite having sent Mav away with his tail between his legs he couldn't stand staying in that house anymore knowing Ice would come home and convince him to stay. So he did what he did best, he fled. He told him about how he called up admissions to California University and reversed his refusal; one of the conditions of a bet he lost to Slider a few years ago that he would apply to the same university that his uncle had graduated from, at the time it hadn't meant anything to him a mere joke. He explained that the university had been surprisingly accommodating once he spun a tale about a Navy relocation that was changed last minute allowing him to attend the university, a lie that Ice lowly chastised him for over the line. How he packed up his limited belongings that night with only his broncho, a few hundred dollars in his account and a quickly put together duffle to his name and left that night to drive all the to California. Driving from dawn to dusk trying to sober up from his 7 hour drive huddled up against the window of a coffee at 5am in the morning curled around a cup of coffee trying to stay awake long enough to get his keys from the rental company and crash into the first empty bed he saw.
He laughed about how he met Jackson for the first time. How his roommate had been allegedly studying at his desk reading through the textbook for their economics and aerodynamic classes when the door of their dorm opened, but before he could greet him apparently he had chucked his bag, letting it fall to the ground and stumbled towards the only undressed bed in the room. Jackson had told him he looked like a zombie dragging himself around dead on his feet, bags under his eyes slurring as he muttered to himself, practically throwing himself halfway across the room at the chance of a wink of sleep, only to misjudge the distance and land half on the edge of the bed and roll off with a startled shout. Jackson had told him after laughing so hard he ended up tilting off his chair and joining him on the floor that he had just stared silently at the ceiling blinking slowly with a confused look as he registered falling off the bed.
He confessed how he spent that first night laying awake (of course that was after his frankly illegally long nap, if you could call it that) unable to sleep as he tapped his fingers against his phone that rested on his stomach, fully aware of the missed calls and messages from his uncles, his parents. But the burning need to respond just hadn't been enough to rival the flames of fury curling around his heart like barbed wire. He spent the whole of his first night conflicted, wondering if he should give up and change his mind and go home, that he should beg for Mav to tell him why he did this, why he wasn't good enough. Surely there was a reason, something he would fix to make Mav love him again. The memory of Mav recalling in on himself, jaw flexing as the words left his lips leaving a cold grip around his chest as Mav turned on his heels and walked out of the house.
Go away and never come back old man. I don’t want murderers in this house!
He told Ice about how he powered his phone off and got a burner phone for the first few months, unable to look at it with the burning anger that made him want to throw it at a wall hoping it would break. Knowing he wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to reach out if he saw the calls waiting for him. Knowing that he needed to do this, that he couldn't give in yet, that he needed to fight for this. For him.
He told him about how he got a job waiting tables at a nearby mum-and-pop dinner run by an elderly couple, who reminded him of frighteningly grandpa Viper. About how the older couple had stepped in and who took care of him when he was struggling. How they bullied him into staying after his shifts for dinner or pushed hot chocolate onto him and waved away his money when he tried to pay, and how inventive he had to get to hide his tips around for them to find, knowing they would pull his ear like Uncle Wood used to with an exacerbated fond look.
He relaxed back into the mattress smiling as he recounted his subjects and the people he met. Even going as far as to admit that he found most people his age immature and recounted some of the drama and frat initiation he had witnessed. He had never really gotten along with them, instead he chose to hang out with Jackson most days. Unlike him Jackson wasn't heading for the Navy, the man was instead aiming to work as a consultant for the Pentagon. The man loved aerodynamics but the man had admitted that flying made him queasy, and he very much preferred to keep his feet on the ground.
He whispered out the painful admission of returning home for the break not having the will to go anywhere else for the holidays only to book out a hotel room and hide out there afraid of running into any of them. He recounted the nights he had sent in the cold bundles up in his truck outside their house watching the lights go off, unable to take the step of actually knocking on the door. Trying to ignore Ice’s sharp inhale pained with the knowledge that he had been so close.
He talks about how Jackson and he lost contact after graduation both being busy with their new jobs as the man moved out to Texas and as he himself , moved to Annapolis after finding someone who allowed him to enlist and how he got accepted into the academy. He talked about how he was the oldest kid there and the prejudice he faced from the other recruits due to it. How he was dismissed by the teachers and scrutinized by instructors who urged him to find a new career that suited him better. About how he graduated second in his class only beaten by one person, Jake Seresin.
He discussed his frustration and rivalry that bloomed and continued through their deployments only to pop back up, like the leach he was because Seresin was a damn cockroach, as his competitor when he was accepted into Top Gun. How it was only due to a surprising friend from the academy popping back up, Natasha Trace, who kept him sane (and likely from being discharged from punching the man's perfect teeth in) and later became his best friend (one who was very unhappily to find out that they were being separated after graduation, she was being stationed out at Hawaii, hours away from his station in Japan). He talked about how close the points were, about how their rivalry seemed to fizzle out in the moment his jet tipped to the side unresponsive and the man cried out for him. How in that moment, the trophy didn't feel like it mattered anymore.
“They always did put too much focus on that damn trophy” Ice muttered, “The point of Top Gun used to be about being the best, as a team. Now… we’ve lost too much with the encouraged competitiveness”.
He hummed limply as the conversation fell into a sort of lull as he realized how long he had been talking, it was almost 1:23am, almost 2 hours since the call started. And Pops was still here, listening. Who had recognised his distress, and had woken up at an ungodly hour to go and drive out to wherever Mav had boarded himself up for the night simply because he needed him.
“Hey Pops”
“Yeah, kid?”
“I'm wearing your hoodie”. Part of him knew he should be embarrassed at the admission, he ran the cuff of the old faded grey hoodie between his fingers finding comfort in it even though he could no longer smell Ice’s expensive Italian cologne clinging to it. But he couldn't bring himself to be. Sitting comfortably on the centre of his chest covering his sternum was a dark blue and red image, a familiar image, a dark blue circle surrounding a white F-15, marking his chest with his destiny. The words that had been engraved in his mind long before he had ever set foot on the ground before him; United States Navy: Fighter Weapons School.
“Your Top Gun one”. It had given him a connection to them all, being so far away from them, wearing it was the only time he was able to scratch at the nauseating homesickness that rocked his whole being. It had given him a homestead, the name printed across his shoulder blades connecting him to his lineage and the bond connecting his family together.
Kazansky. Graduate of Class 1986, Top Gun.
“I know,” Ice said quietly, “I noticed it was missing not long after you left. You know…there's a photo of you in it up on Penny's bar, at the Hard Deck” Ice corrected before chuckling lightly, “You've grown into it well, I remember when you were a scrawny kid and it just dwarfed you but you refused to wear anything else”.
“I used to take it when you were deployed,” he swallowed, “It was stupid but it made me think that you would come back for it”.
“Brad's,” Ice sounded wretched, “It was never the hoodie I came back for, it was you”.
“I know. I know that now. But…it reminds me that maybe one day…you'll come home again”.
“Bradley-”
“How is everyone” he interrupted sniffing and swallowed down his regret. There was a pause, clearly Ice contemplating chasing up the chain of thought before the man sighed reluctantly submitting to the change of subject.
“Well, you have two new nieces and nephews. Wolf and Wood adopted a little boy three years ago, and Sunny's wife had a surprise kid a few years ago while he was out on deployment, surprising them both” Ice commented dully.
He frowned in confusion, “But I thought Anna was infertile?”
“So did we” Ice hummed but slowly allowed them to fall into the comfortable lull of the conversation as Ice updated him slowly with everything he missed, careful to add in details he thought were pertinent; like Slider retiring from being an Admiral and becoming a commercial pilot, apparently the man was much happier now. Or Wood and Sunny who had co-opened a bakery and coffee store that they had named ‘the smiley shorts’ which honestly didn't surprise him as much as it should have. Or about how Cougar was working in a hospital under his wife who had been promoted to the chief of surgery. And slowly he started to mend a little more.
“Bradley baby, you still with me?”
He blinked tiredly not realizing that he had closed his eyes at some point, he tried to shake sleep from his limbs as it attempted to claim him. He yawned, jaw cracking in the effort as he rolled onto his back tilting his head back towards the phone where it sat on the mattress next to his head. “Pops, right here” he mutters in confirmation, “On your wing”.
“That's right baby bird” Ice let out a small chuckle “Right on my wing. Talking about wingmen. We’re about to find one”.
“Mav?”
“Yeah, darling”. The engine spluttered in the background, and he heard the keys jingle as Ice muttered lowly ‘It's too damn cold for this’ . He listened trying to picture where Ice was as he heard a door opened then the crunch of dirt under boots. He frowned, brows pulling tensely as he tried to picture a desert, or somewhere with a vast amount of land that would allow Mav his solitude but was dry enough to crunch this time of year. He jolted slightly in confusion at the sound of old metal banging against something with a clatter and the loud noise of something heavy rolling.
He almost wept hearing a tired confused voice, “Ice? Honey what are you doing here? It’s almost 3 am”. Mav sounded the same, that lovering concern that he had been on the receiving end of all those years ago and he could see the way Mavs eyes would be pinched in the corner, lips tilted down as he studied them for any injuries, trying to figure out what had happened before they could form a warped lie.
“I have someone who wants to talk to you”, this time he could see Ice's smile, the one that bloomed behind his closed eyelids, the small jump in his lips that bloomed into a gentle smile as the phone travelled hands.
“Uh-hello?” Mav asked, sleep still evident in his voice and he slivered at the flash of memories of seeing the man stumble into the kitchen wrapping his arms around Ice’s waist as he pressed a sloppy kiss to the man's check knowing he would swat him for it as he did every day with a grumble only to pair a cheeky grin to Ice’s unimpressed loom. How he would stay attached to Ice for the rest of breakfast swaying with him a step behind the blond seamlessly ducking out of the way without needing to be asked, passing along ingredients to distract Ice from the wondering fingers trying to snatch a piece of bacon front he pan before it was plated only to end up with a lecture and a wooden spoon to his hand. He remembered Mav’s pouting only for him to turn with a wink as he used to stick his tongue out to tease them.
“Dad?” His voice trembled faced the fact he was speaking to his father for the first time in just under a decade.
Mav hailed sharply, “Baby?” Mav sounded awake, startled by the concern that dragged into his voice. He sounded happy , shocked but happy.
“Dad” His heart slowed his chest aching but relieved as the sense of home finally settled over him.
Home.
“Bradley honey what’s wrong?” Mav asked worriedly.
“He said the hospital called you but you didn’t turn up” Ice rumbled in the background quietly allowing them to have their own moment, no doubt the man had led Mav to sit down holding him close, tugging him into his side.
He could go home.
“Shit, I didn’t have my phone- I didn’t realize until after I got here-”
“Dad,” he interrupted the man's panicked rambling with tears in his eyes as he looked down at the goose in his arms that had offered him so much comfort in the last few years but dispite the memories it carried, it was nothing to rival Mav’s hugs, or Ice’s kisses. It wasn't like curling up with Mav on the couch or being tucked in by Ice. It wasn't home.
“Yes, baby?”
He took a deep breath trying to push back the emotional overload that once again threatened to overtake him, that clung to him weighing him down in the ocean dragging him further underwater like a parachute filling with water with no tactical knife to free himself with forced to watch the rope tangle around his body trapping him as his body jolted at the lack of air. His voice trembled, breaking as the tears became evident in his voice, “Can I come home?”
“Of course, baby” Mav sounded choked up almost as if he was crying as well “God Bradley, of course, you can come home. You were always welcome home”.
And for the first time in years he took a deep breath and his heart felt weightless and he smiled and thought of home, only this time, it was closer than he thought.
#Title from 'Homesick' by Noah Kahan.#top gun fanfiction#top gun imagine#top gun fandom#top gun maverick#top gun headcanons#pete maverick mitchell#icemav#bradley rooster bradshaw#reunion#Rooster comes home#the mavdad and icepops of it all#mavdad#icepops
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takeout and makeout
Rating: Mature
Warnings: small makeout scene, and implied sexual content
Word Count: 1.5k (short and sweet)
Pairing: BuckTommy/Tevan/Kinley
Summary: Buck panics while making dinner for date night. Tommy is there is calm him down. It leads to a confession and leftovers/takeout.
read on ao3 | heed the tags and warnings | posted for @bucktommyweek
The smell of freshly baked chicken was permeating the house, almost mocking Buck as he fretted around the kitchen. The sound of the water starting to boil was setting him on edge. He felt like he didn’t have enough hands, enough focus. He kept going between chopping vegetables and forgetting to put the pasta in the pot. The occasional peak in the oven was not doing anything to calm his nerves. Realistically, he knew that the chicken was nowhere near done yet but his fried nerves were telling him it was already burned.
He turned back to the counter, finishing chopping up the last carrot. He went to reach for the bag of potatoes and his hand met the cold marble of the countertop.
Oh no.
No, no, no.
He forgot the potatoes.
His mind flashed him back to the store run he did a little over two hours earlier. He went specifically because he knew he forgot something. He chalked it up to butter or chives or toilet paper. But no, it had to be the potatoes.
He sent down the knife he was holding, placing both his hands on the counter. The rolling boil of the water was starting to drive him a little bit more mad and the smell of the chicken was starting to give him a headache. His apron was starting to feel too tight and the wine bottle on the counter was starting to call to him.
To top it all off this wasn’t even his kitchen. The unfamiliarity of the space was making his head spin faster.
“By the sink, baby.” A voice came from the kitchen entrance. The familiarity of it shook Buck out of his panic.
He looked up from the counter, letting the words sink in as he turned around. Tommy’s sink was in the middle of his kitchen island. When he turned to face it, sure enough, he saw a small bag of potatoes resting not too far from the sinking. He moved from his sulking position from the counter and grabbed the bag. He gave himself a minute to calm down from the initial alarm of missing ingredients. He turned back around to his chopped carrots and cutting board.
He gave himself one more moment before going to open the bag of potatoes and pull one out. He rinsed it off, placed it on the board, and went to make the first cut. Something must have happened in the moments between when he placed the potato on the cutting board and pressed the knife into it. The hand that was holding the knife slipped and the next thing he knew he let out a hiss and the knife clattered to the counter.
His hand shot up to assess the damage. It didn’t look deep, he could get by with cleaning it and a band-aid. He went to turn around, to maybe head towards Tommy’s bathroom and search the medicine cabinet, or rummage through a junk drawer in the kitchen in hopes that he would find one. But when he turned around he nearly ran into his boyfriend who looked more than a little concerned.
Before Buck could pull his hand away, say anything remotely close to “where do you keep your first aid kit,” Tommy had grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand towards him. He gave Buck a similar inspection to the one he gave himself before pulling the younger towards the sink. He kept a firm but gentle grip on Buck’s hand while he turned on the water and tested the temperature.
Buck couldn’t help but stare at the older man as he pulled his hand under the water. He winced as the water hit the cut and watched as Tommy’s expression softened. He turned the water off, holding Buck’s hand over the sink while he grabbed him a paper towel and held it against the wound. The soft touch continued even when Tommy turned slightly to reach into a drawer. He pulled out a small first aid kit, opening it with one hand before pulling out a band-aid.
He watched closely as Tommy wrapped the bandage around his injured finger, holding his hand for a second longer before pulling it up to his lips, and placing a soft kiss to the covering.
“There. All better.” Tommy said as he brought his gaze back up to meet Buck’s.
God, he was so in love with this man.
Tommy froze.
Oh.
Oh no.
He said that out loud didn’t he?
“T-Tommy…I-uh…” He didn’t know what exactly he was playing on saying.
What were you supposed to say after accidentally admitting you’re in love with your boyfriend that you’ve only been with for a few months? Was he even supposed to say anything? Or was he just supposed to stand here opening and closing his mouth and blubbering like a damn fish?
Tommy still had Buck’s hand in his, a gentle touch and an unreadable expression on his face. Buck was starting to feel that panic set in again, the one he started to feel when he first thought he forgot about the potatoes. His senses were starting to pick up on the littlest things, like the water bubbling and boiling over the pot and splashing onto the stove top with a hiss. The smell of the chicken was starting to become sickening. The feeling of Tommy’s hand holding his, how his hands were starting to feel clammy, was starting to make him itch. His eyes were darting around Tommy’s face, trying to catch any change in his expression, anything to give him peace of mind.
He was so focused on every other little thing around him that he didn’t even realize that Tommy was starting to move. He didn’t even realize it until he was leaning into soft and familiar lips that were pressing against his.
His body moved on its own. His lips pressing back into his boyfriend’s. Tommy used the hold he had on Buck’s hand to pull him into his body. Buck went willing, moving his hands to his boyfriend’s hips. Tommy placed his own hands on Buck’s waist, pulling him in closer and closer until they were tripping over each other and moving to stabilize themselves up against the counter.
Buck let out a surprised gasp and Tommy swallowed it down. The older man let out his own little “hmph,” as he did. They pushed into each other, using their tongues to explore each other’s mouths like they had done a thousand times before. Buck ran his hands up to Tommy’s sides and back down to his hips, pulling at his shirt to try to pull him in closer. He wanted to be one with the older, wanted to melt into him and stay there forever.
Tommy pulled back to catch his breath, resting his forehead against Buck’s. Both their eyes were closed, just living in the moment. Buck could feel himself smiling.
“I love you too, Evan.”
Buck somehow smiled even wider. He opened his eyes, pulling back to search Tommy’s face for something. Sincerity? Doubt? He wasn’t sure. He just needed to know that this wasn't a dream and Tommy meant it. He was more than relieved when he found nothing but love in Tommy’s eyes. So full of it they were sparkling. He went to lean again, ready to get lost in his boyfriend for the hundredth time.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
He was stopped by the oven timer going off.
He looked to Tommy and found the older man smiling almost as wide as he was. They both broke out into laughter. Leaning into each other as they calmed down.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“I should–uh–probably get that.” Buck said, making no move to actually break away from his boyfriend and pull their dinner from the oven.
“Yeah. You probably should.” Tommy replied, also making no effort to move away.
The oven went off again and Buck had decided that he wasn’t going to be the reason that a fire started in Tommy’s kitchen. He moved back slowly, Tommy sticking close by with a hand on his hip.
Buck pulled the kitchen from the oven, it was only a little bit charred. He set the dish down on a hot pad. He looked towards the forgotten carrots and potatoes, and the boiling pot on the stove and sighed. Tommy turned off the stove before he could even say anything. He came up behind Buck, wrapping his arms around the younger man’s middle and resting his chin on Buck’s shoulder.
“You know, we could just order takeout?”
Buck smiled before looking at the mess in the kitchen.
“What about the chicken?”
“Food’s always better the second day.” Tommy angled his head to start pressing kisses to Buck’s neck.
“What about the mess?” Buck whispered, tilting his head to give Tommy move access.
“Clean up the important stuff now, leave the rest for tomorrow.”
He turned in Tommy’s hold to face him. Tommy changed his position, putting his hands on the countertop next to his lover, caging him in. Buck smirked, his gaze flicking between his boyfriend’s lips and eyes.
“The food is going to take awhile to get here.”
Tommy returned the look that Buck was giving him. They stood there drinking in each other’s expressions.
“I can think of a few ways to kill time.” Tommy said before leaning in again and catching Buck’s lips in a kiss again.
They never did get around to placing a take out order.
#bucktommyweek#bucktommy#tevan#kinley#bucktommy fic#bucktommy fanfic#tevan fic#tevan fanfiction#evan buckley#tommy kinard#911 abc#911 fanfic#short and sweet and to the point
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Band Incorrect Quotes -The Who (This can be a standalone, or part of my multi-band dynamic incorrect quote universe)
John Entwistle: *Mopping the kitchen floor, looking slightly exasperated and tired, but fairly calm*
Roger Daltrey: *Walks in and sees John with the mop, all the kitchen chairs placed up on the side table out of the way, and a spray bottle of cleaner and used rags beside it all* *Does a double-take* “What happened?”
John Entwistle: “Keith happened.”
#incorrect band scenarios#pardon my insanity#Situational meme#incorrect quotes#insanity post#The Who#it’s anyone’s guess as to what Keith did#no elaboration needed beyond his name#John is 500% done with everyone#it’s up to any followers reading if this is standalone or in the multi-band AU with Supertramp and Pink Floyd#not putting this one under keep reading because it’s short
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for the record, with the last update, when i say i’m okay, i do mean it for the most part. the most scary part of this was with my dad. the specific type of cardiac emergency he went through impacts like 2 out of every ten thousand people, and the vast majority of people don’t even survive to get to the hospital. people who get there and get surgically treated also only have a 70% survival rate— treated heart attacks, on the other hand, have a 97-98% rate of survival, and half of all people who have it suddenly still make it to the hospital. despite my own cardiac history, my dad has never had any cardiac issues, and while he’s not a healthy guy, this was never on the table. we got lucky and he’s doing well, but it’s been terrifying. it was also just upsetting and bizarre to be on the opposite end of “my family dealing with someone having open heart”
that’s not to say that i’m not irritable and upset after now 15 days in the hospital without being able to comfortably eat or even reliably comfortably drink, but like, minus physical pain and discomfort and general frustrations about being multiply disabled in a way medical staff has admitted has them baffled about what to do with me, and all the miscommunication about all my birth defects and past surgeries and health issues, i’m actually way less stressed than i was a few weeks ago
although i will say! i had my first ever low twilight anesthesia for my feeding tube insertion today and dear lord if you can go completely under for it, do it. in a classic move of hospital miscommunication (and my mom, who i love a ton and knows about a lot of medical stuff but is also stubborn, insisting that of course i wouldn’t be conscious for deep incisions!) i didn’t know that i was getting topical anesthesia and really low twilight and calming drugs instead of actually being put under until a few minutes before i was handed a consent form, and by that time i had been waiting days for the operation, not being allowed to attempt eating or drinking or being fed through the nasal tube for like 16 hours on those days until the OR called up to say it was cancelled, i just signed
they had to pull my nasal tube a little and do some really painful injections for the topical anesthesia before i had any pain relief or much calming drugs, which sucked, but for the most part i only felt mild soreness, weird pressure, and discomfort during the actual procedure— i even got enough calming drugs that i dozed off every now and then, and i tried to keep my eyes closed, but dear god it was terrifying being awake. i didn’t see the surgery itself, the covered it up, but hearing notes and feeling that pressure and seeing them hover when my eyes were open was kind of awful. if you ever have to get a surgical tube and are not at high risk for anesthesia, and you have the option, do it through gastroenterology, not interventional radiology, because i’m pretty sure they actually put you under. the team itself was great for the most part but god. do not recommend. also be aware that you’re still NPO for 24 hours after the tube placement, because j did not know that until the surgery was done :/
#I had two endoscopies before this plus a mild esophageal dilation during one and an endo-flip during the other#i was completely under for those— technically on the high end of twilight but functionally the same from a patient perspective#and the second was also when I got the NJ (nasal) tube inserted#they just technically avoid some of the higher risk drugs so they can’t officially call it ‘putting you under’#i had some breathing problems first endoscopy so they cut the dilation short (and also because i already had surgical procedures there)#(and the scar tissue there made it a risk for perforation that this particular team wasn’t equipped to deal with)#(because i am a medical fucking cryptid and nobody knows how to approach me)#so i woke up from that in a coughing fit and a lot of pain#but the second one with the endo-flip and NJ tube went off fine from that perspective#i mean the surgeons accidentally added way too much tubing and it cooled in my stomach and we had to pull a bunch without anesthesia#and had to do it twice because people weren’t doing their due diligence and the tube wasn’t fuckibg working#and then we were told we couldn’t go home with this tube despite being promised by the surgeon we could (and he went on vacation after)#(and couldn’t be reached!)#but from an anaesthesia perspective at least went off without a hitch#if you can’t tell my main negative emotion is just like. upset#coiled#also they found a roach in my room a few days ago and i had to move rooms for the second time :)#also I think someone on staff lost my earpods. or stole them bu i really don’t want to accuse anyone of that because individually#almost every staff member has been so nice#well a lot of the doctors don’t read my chart and then don’t know about half my health problems#but the staff who actually spends significant time in my room have all been remarkably nice#most have advocated for me really really well and one has even come i several times to like braid my hair#people on the whole have been sweet#but everyone is overworked and that makes it really hard when you have several birth defects that count as really rare diseases#like one of my doctors asked permission to speak about my case at a conference. my combo of defects plus the amount of surgeries I’ve had#is just like… considered really unique ;/#okay well didn’t mean to essentially do a winky frown there but i am angsting like robbie so… fair i’ll keep it
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Pornstar!Dabi (Touya Todoroki) x female reader
⇢ word count: roughly 7K
⇢ plot: as a broke student, you sign up for an assistant job at a movie set. It turns out the job is more than you bargained for.
⇢ warnings: 18+, minors DNI, swearing, size kink, pierced big-cock Touya, fingering, cunnilingus (f receiving), multiple orgasms, loss of virginity, overstimulation, exhibitionism (sex in front of other people (movie set)), creampie, sweet aftercare
⇢ personal note: thank you @/blankexpressions-and-falsefires for bring my beta again! As for what you're all about to read – I have no regrets. Virgin kink goes brrr
"College has always been so crucial, such an essential part of what measures a person’s worth and determines their future."
They say college life is quite challenging. That it can help you come to realize your potential, that you learn more about yourself while in it. That the challenges you experience in university help you grow into a mature person in society.
You have several challenges to face. There's the problem that you focus entirely too much on your studies. In some ways, it’s to secure your future and to compensate for your lack of private life. In other ways, it makes you, because of inexperience, too naive for your own good. Or, as your friends have called it: too innocent. You've never had anyone touch you, never been with anyone in that way. Thus, you never get the hint when someone hits on you or finds you attractive. You have excellent grades – but unlike many of your peers, you’re still a virgin.
Another challenge you are facing is that you aren't wealthy. One semester into your studies, you are closer to the end than you expected. Leaving your landlord's buro, you take a few steps before coming to a halt and close your eyes as if to gain some semblance of composure. You're broke and desperately need money to cover your rent and living expenses. The bank isn't going to give you another loan, and you find yourself on the verge of having to leave college without a family to support your education.
They say you have to fail first to be successful in the future. But you are beyond failing – you are simply screwed.
You are very aware of your financial predicament. And you loathe having to live day to day on just pennies. To put it short—you are sick of being a broke-ass, loser virgin.
You sigh.
Giving up is not a choice. So you do the next best thing: grab life by the horns and start looking for a job. Searching under your bed, clothing pockets, and between couch cushions, you scrounge up enough money to get a local newspaper. In its classified ads, only a few offers deem themselves feasible with your busy school schedule: a late-night shift at a local diner, pizza delivery, or a job doing telemarketing. None of those sound too appealing, but there might not be a choice. Then, your gaze stops at an offer that sounds too good. A movie company is looking for a production assistant on a film set; you don't need prior experience, work hours are during the weekends, and pay is double what the other jobs offer.
You don’t think before hastily grabbing your phone, punching in the number, and waiting while the dial tone rings.
After a distinct click over the other line, a man hisses, "Shimura?"
"Uhm, hi. I- I am calling about the assistant job offer. I was wondering—"
"You're hired. Tomorrow at 5 pm," the man at the other end interrupts in an annoyed tone.
He rattles off the address as you fumble around for a pen, hastily writing it down when you find it.
Before you can reply, he finishes with Don't be late and hangs up unceremoniously.
You exhale, realizing you’ve been holding your breath since he started speaking.
What the hell just happened?
***
The path to the location is littered with brown leaves, and you struggle to keep from slipping as you walk toward the building. The address given to you is an old warehouse on the edge of town. Its monotonous, featureless walls covered in graffiti make it feel abandoned. There are no visible signs that anything is happening inside at all.
As you walk across the parking lot, you start to see small indications of life: fancy cars—far too fancy for this area- and sensual music permeating through the corrugated steel walls.
You weren’t sure how to dress for a job you knew nothing about, so you opted for blue jeans, a white blouse, and pointy shoes with heels. Your hair is tied into a neat ponytail, and simple smokey eyes complete the look.
You aim for a large steel door that the cars are all parked close to. As you lift your head, you take in the old brick building you are standing in front of, lined with large casement metal windows.
There is a single doorbell, no name on it, and you hesitate before inhaling and pressing it with the tip of your finger.
You hear a clicking sound, and then the heavy door swings inwards.
Alright, here goes nothing.
***
The set is surprisingly professional—like a luxurious bedroom sliced in half. A row of chairs faces the set on a concrete floor behind multiple cameras and some sound equipment, with the crew standing around talking.
The producer, Tenko, as he introduces himself to you–with tufts of pale hair and seemingly chronic dry lips in dire need of some chapstick – explains that your job will consist of helping around the set, distributing beverages, and handing out the script. Simple work you could do. After introducing you to the crew, he hands you a stack of papers, instructing you to pass them out.
Then you see her—the actress. She is gorgeous, dressed in an ivory-colored silk robe. Her hair is the color of the sun. Her skin is flawless and tanned, and her body is perfect- although almost definitely sculpted by a professional surgeon.
"Where the fuck is he?" You hear Tenko grumble, pulling a phone from his pocket, thumb tapping against the screen.
A flurry of activity breaks your concentration. A door flies open, and a man strides through—the leading actor, you gather, from how everyone else suddenly perks up.
"Fucking finally," the pale-haired director groans, tucking his cell back into the pocket of his jacket.
The man's hair is coal-colored, falling in messy strands into his face. His eyes remind you of the bright ocean, almost glowing in the dim light of the set. His sharp lips pull into a wide grin, his canines peeking out. He is casually dressed, wearing a pair of dark, ripped jeans and a white t-shirt, allowing you to notice just how well-toned his arms are. He is handsome, with delicate yet masculine features and sharp angles set in his face. His eyes are heavy-lidded, and his thin lips form a troublesome grin when his eyes meet yours.
Shit.
He holds your gaze before dragging his sinfully blue eyes over your figure and looking away again. Your heart skips a beat because even in the low light, you can see that the actor is incredibly hot. Totally your type. You can't help but stare at him, watching how he moves, the way his muscles ripple under the thin fabric of his shirt, the way his thighs bulge in his tight pants.
Speaking of bulge.
It's the biggest one you've ever seen, and the sight of it sends a pang straight to your core. Your cheeks heat up automatically.
Stop it!
You curse inwardly a few times for thinking lewd thoughts on a professional movie set.
But—you can't help it. He just looks too handsome. It stirs something inside of you you've never felt before. You sigh, knowing that this man has already made his way into your dreams, but in the end, they’ll stay just that— dreams.
Someone like him would never want to lay a hand on you.
As he approaches the stage, the man stops dead in his tracks, staring at the actress with a bored expression.
“Not her again.” You hear him groan.
The actress snaps her head around, a stunned expression on her face. “Pardon me?”
"The script calls for an innocent girl." The actor deadpans. "No one's gonna believe that with you in the female role."
The actress jumps to her feet. “How dare you talk about me like that!”
Tenko hisses, “Didn't you read the script? You would have known you film with her today, Touya—"
“I told you not to use my real name on set,” he says with a blase, somewhat impatient gaze.
“And I told you not to let out your frustration on the set, Dabi.” The director retorts.
“Frustration caused by your actions.” Dabi deadpans.
You hold your breath as your eyes dart from the director to Dabi and back to the actress. The rest of the crew acts like this is an everyday commotion on the set.
“This is not a request— I'm not doing the scene with her, " Dabi says, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
The actress jumps from her chair, visibly outraged, as her cheeks flare red with anger. “You're such a dick!”
“Yeah, you're right. But I’m the best dick in the industry.” He turns around, a sardonic finality in his tone.
You stare at the scene before you, the forgotten papers clutched tightly to your chest. The blonde woman stares at the dark-haired man, infuriated.
“So, it's either me—or her.” Dabi addresses Tenko, who isn't even trying to de-escalate the situation. “That's my final say.”
“I can't believe you're doing this to me!" The woman wails exaggeratedly.
"Sweetheart, we need someone who conveys innocence. Not some chick as fake-looking as you," Dabi purrs with false care. “Go carry your plastic off the stage already.”
Tenko scratches his neck in annoyance. He watches as the actress slings an array of profanities at Dabi before storming off with quick strides toward the door, slamming it shut behind her.
The dark-haired man stands at ease, reaching into his pants pocket to retrieve a cigarette, lighting it, and taking a deep drag. “Thank god she's gone. What were you thinking, Tenko?”
“Dabi, she's the most requested—”
“I don't give a fuck.” he runs a free hand through his dark bangs. “She sucks.”
You listen to them bicker, getting more confused by the second.
“So—what do you expect me to do now?” Tenko's scratching increases as he starts pacing up and down the set. “Production costs will double if we cut and pick things up on a different day. Not to mention the cost of finding a new replacement.”
He jumps off his chair, pacing around the set. Then he grumbles, “We’ll take a ten-minute break. I need to come up with a solution or else—”
“We need someone Pretty, no makeup, normal clothes.” Dabi suggests, "That won't be too expensive. Someone who looks undefiled, innocent.” Dabi's gaze wanders across the room. “Like a student or something.”
Then he sees you, and a smirk tugs at his lips. His stunning sapphire eyes look you up and down. You swallow hard, your shaking hands almost crumpling the papers in their tight grip.
"Like her." Teal eyes narrow as they focus on you.
You blink back at him dumbly, the room around you completely silent.
"Me?" You answer, his words catching you off guard.
"Yep. You." Dabi's smirk returns, a playfulness in his eyes.
The director stares at you with the same baffled expression written on your face. "Her?"
"Yep. Her." His grin widens.
"B-But, I can't!" You counter. " I'm a simple student, not an actress—"
"That's exactly what we need." The twinkle in his eyes is still there, "And you have a pussy, don't you?"
"Yes, I—” You catch yourself, your cheeks flaring hot. “W- What does that even have to do with this movie?"
Suddenly, the room goes alive with murmurs and whispers.
Dabi quirks a brow. "You're telling me you don't know?"
"Don't know what?" You helplessly look around.
The dark-haired man turns to his director, "You didn't tell her?!"
Tenko mumbles something about how you would have found out eventually.
Dabi steps toward you and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Doll, this is an adult film set."
"A what?" You dumbly blink at him.
"An adult film set. You know, where people fuck." He leans forward, deep azures sparkling salaciously. "You know how fucking works, don't you?"
"Yes, I mean—in theory?" A heat washes over your face and flushes down your entire body.
"Yes or no. What is it?" Dabi asks teasingly, raising an eyebrow.
The heat in your face has reached the tip of your ears as you stammer. "It's none of your business."
He steps even closer. "C’mon, sweetheart, tell us."
He smirks, eyes narrowing as he leans closer. He looks at your lips, then back at your eyes. You can smell him with how close he is leaning in. His deep, masculine scent surrounds you, sending a jolt of heat straight through your core. Even though your mind wants to scream at him, to tell him off, you hear a timid voice whisper, "I’ve used my fingers? Maybe some toys?"
It is your voice.
"You're telling me you've never done it with another person?" This time, it is Dabi’s turn to sound baffled as he leans back, taking you in. "That you're a virgin."
"I-I…" You stammer, swallowing dryly.
Looking over his shoulders, he calls over to his director, "It'll break records if we film this. You're aware of that, right?"
"I am." Tenko snaps, scratching at his neck irritably, "You don't need to tell me."
"Ok, then it's a deal.” He nods towards you. “I want her—or I'm leaving."
"You little piece of—" Tenko growls. "That's extortion."
"You won't regret it," Dabi says, shrugging nonchalantly.
"Shouldn’t I have a say on this too?" You ask, but both men ignore your words.
"Ok, it's a deal," Tenko murmurs. "How much do we pay her?"
Dabi turns his gaze back to you. "You need money, right? Or else you wouldn't be here.”
"That’s none of your business."
"C'mon, sweetheart, This is your chance."
“Yes, I mean… " a sound of annoyance bubbles up your throat. "I can't afford my rent anymore, and my landlord will kick me out if I don't pay up soon."
“I sense an opportunity here," Dabi smirks. "Tenko, how much will you pay her if she agrees to do this with me?"
"How much do you want?" Tenko asks you.
“I-I don't know. I've never thought about it." You shyly add.
"Pay her rent plus an allowance," Dabi suggests. "Tenko, you know she's worth it."
"That’s too m—" You swallow hard.
Tenko mumbles disgruntledly: "OK, I'll do it.”
“You what?" His words leave you stunned.
Dabi interrupts quickly. "What he's saying, sweetheart, is that he'll pay for your rent - if you let me fuck you.”
His lewd words and the deep blue pools of his stunning eyes send a flutter through your stomach.
“In front of all these people?!"
“That's what porn is all about, doll.” Dabi chuckles, studying your reaction.
You swallow hard.
"So? What's it gonna be?" He cocks his head, waiting.
You have always prioritized safety, so common sense tells you to stick to your usual way of life. However, look where common sense has led you: You're almost broke and may need to drop out of college.
This could be a bad decision. But, it's time to throw safety to the sea.
"OK, I'll do it," you proclaim, and a round of applause and cheers erupt on the set while Dabi nods appreciatively.
“Congratulations, you're hired. Now, get ready before I change my mind.” Tenko waves a hand. “We still have a movie to film here.”
Your heart starts to race, a crushing weight bearing down on your chest. But you know that you have no choice. It's either a free porn loan—or being a forced college dropout. Taking a deep breath, you ball your hands into fists, trying to ignore the signs of panic your body is giving you.
"Okay, everyone, resume positions. And hand her the script.” Tenko moves to his chair, sitting down in it. “Let's do the first take."
"Hold on," Dabi says. "Why not do it a bit differently this time? No script, no acting— just raw footage. The whole thing.”
“You mean a one-shot film?” Tenko looks surprised. “I suppose that would work. Especially with a new actress.”
“Are you okay with that, doll?” Dabi smiles at you, and there's a warmth in his voice that wasn't there before.
“Do I have a choice?” you sigh.
“Not really.” He winks.
"Are you two lovebirds done flirting over there? " Tenko asks, " Because we're ready to film.”
“We weren't flir—” you protest, but Dabi bridges the distance between you.
"So, sweetheart?" He leans in, his face hovering close, sharing a breath with you. "How are you feeling about being fucked on camera?"
“Nervous.” you bite your lips, your face starting to burn.
"Doll, don't be; just focus on me," he soothes, stroking your cheek. “Forget about everyone else; I'll take care of you.”
He takes your hand and pulls you towards the bedroom set.
“Quiet!” Tenko raises a hand, and complete silence falls over the set as the crew prepares to film you both.
Tenko calls out a set of commands, which different crew members around the room answer.
“Sound?”
“Set.”
“Camera?”
“Set.”
“Roll sound.”
“Sound rolling.”
“Roll camera.”
“Camera Speed.”
“Marker.”
A man with a clapper board enters the scene and calls, "Scene one. Take—uhm— whatever."
Dabi nods, and that is the cue. The lights dim, and the cameras vanish into the darkness; only the red lights betray their existence.
You glance around, your stomach in knots, as you realize that this is no game, that this is it. The only thing visibly lit was the bed standing a few feet away. The crew's faces are barely visible as everyone watches you, the man behind the camera tilting it, filming you from bottom to top.
“Hey baby, you alright?” You hear Dabi's voice.
“N-No, not really.” You stammer, your hands trembling, your breathing picking up, as your eyes frantically dart around the dark set. “I don't know if I can do this.”
“Sweetheart, look at me.” You feel a finger hook under your chin when Dabi tilts your head to meet his gaze. It's intense, the turquoise of his irises gleaming almost unnaturally.
You feel your heart sink into your stomach as his thumb caresses your skin. When he closes the already minimal distance between you, your eyes flutter close in reflex. His lips are sensually warm and addicting against your cheek, and your heart starts thrashing wildly inside your chest in response. Something changes between you, an intimacy blooming as the voices of the people mute.
It's all you need to distract your mind, to make your body heat up. Not with anxiety—
—but in anticipation.
“Are you ready to give me your virginity?” His low voice rumbles close to your ear.
You nod, like in a haze, every caress of his lips causes your skin to tingle, to burn with passion. He shifts, and you feel him faintly brush your lips, and a zap of electricity courses through your veins. Then, your lips are united in his first tentative kiss. They are so soft, and the way he kisses you is so delicate, almost tender— deliberately slow.
You relax, giving in to how wonderful this feels. His tongue slowly traces the shape of your lips, and you feel your brain short-circuiting. Angling your head to the side, you part your lips, begging him to enter. Dabi reacts instantly, his tongue slipping your mouth, delving deeper, tasting you, consuming you.
You groan—how could a man taste so good?
It makes your knees buckle, and you start panting into his mouth, your instincts taking over, your body reacting to his touch. A desire, a passion, awakens like a wild animal roaring, and you feel a wave of arousal pool in your panties. You can't help it, and you slide your hand underneath his shirt, your other hand circling his neck. You can feel him smirking into the kiss, but the sound carries off into a groan when you rake your nails down the small of his back.
As he breaks away, a warmth lingers between you and him while he admires your wet, pink, swollen lips, "A little eager for your first time, huh?"
The kiss leaves you dizzy, and you can't seem to form an answer, too stricken by his closeness and intoxicating scent.
The moment passes, and then his lips smash against yours so fast you don't even have time to react. He presses his hips against yours, his clothed hardness grazing against your heat, letting you feel just how hard you’ve made him.
Holy shit.
He's not gentle anymore; he's rough and demanding now. He is taking you, enjoying the shaky gasps that leave your lips. Dabi’s hands trail down your side to find your ass cheeks. He lifts you by the thighs onto his waist skillfully, never breaking the kiss. Carrying you easily toward the bed he releases his hold and you topple onto it, panting heavily.
The lights around you heat the air, and you notice one camera panning across the set while the other tracks toward you on a dolly. Just as your heart starts picking up an anxious speed again, you see a movement to the side. Dabi yanks his shirt above his head, the muscles in his stomach flexing with every movement.
The second the fabric touches the floor, he's on you with his lips pressed to yours and his tongue in your mouth. You feel yourself getting lost in the moment of passion and all you can see is him. Your stomach somersaults and the world around you ceases to exist; it is just you and him— the people around you and the cameras wholly forgotten. The world, right now, only revolves around the two of you.
“You taste so fucking good,” he breathes into your mouth, hazy eyes glowing with arousal. "How do you taste so fucking good?”
You feel his hand sneak underneath your shirt to slowly pull it off over your head. Next, he skillfully removes the rest of your clothes off until you are lying below him, sex and breasts cupped by delicate cotton underwear.
“Look at that,” he muses. “So innocent.”
Sliding his hand behind your back, he unhooks the bra with an expert pinch of his fingers. Your breasts spill out as he slides the straps off your shoulders, tossing it aside. Then his gaze lingers on your soft, round tits.
“Damn,” he cups them and squeezes them gently, “Where have you been hiding, girl? You're perfect.”
He slides his fingers over your nipples and a low moan tears from your throat. Dabi lets out a low rumble as his hands continue to work your breasts, rubbing and plucking at your stiffening nipples. There’s a deep throb low in your body, pulsing between your thighs, and you're startled at the way you’re reacting. You are so turned on—his touch only adds to your body’s cravings, and as his large palms glide over your breasts; it pulls the breath from your lungs as it simultaneously fuels your desire. His thumbs drag over your nipples again, rolling it between his fingers before leaning down to lick at your pebbled nub. He makes you feel breathless with excitement the more he focuses on toying with your breasts, rolling the tips back and forth between his thumb and forefinger.
It makes you crazy with need until you're aching, shivering throughout your entire body. You're gasping for breath the entire time Dabi has his lips wrapped around your erect nub, sucking it to send a tingling sensation straight through to your core. Then he's biting just hard enough to make you squeal before soothing the puckered nub with a flick of his tongue.
“You’ve got the most amazing tits,’ Dabi murmurs against your skin. “So soft and full. So natural.”
While he switches from pliant nipple to pliant nipple, you feel a stray hand hook its fingers under the seams of your panties. He releases your nipple with a pop and peppers kisses down to your tummy while he adeptly pulls the little piece of fabric down and off your legs. You're now utterly naked below him while Dabi continues revering your body with wet kisses and nibbles, moving downward until you feel his warm breath on your pubic mound. He spreads your trembling legs, his eyes glazing over your pussy, pupils expanding and then retracting into pin slits.
"Look at that pretty pussy." His breath is hot against your soaked folds. "And so fucking wet—you're dripping."
A shameful sound spills from your lips at his words, and you writhe in his hold. But his hands keep you in place.
"You're seriously telling me,” he slides his fingers up and down your glistening folds, “No one's been here before?"
You squirm below him as a camera zooms in on where Dabi’s eyes are affixed– between your thighs.
“Cause you have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen.” He snickers. “And I've seen a lot.”
His warm, calloused fingers slide up and down your slippery folds, his hot breath fanning over your sex. Then he spreads apart your sweet lips; it makes you shudder in anticipation, and Dabi chuckles.
“I can see you twitching for me.” A finger sinks in, making you arch your back the deeper it goes.
The camera behind him zooms in on your blushing face, and you cover it with trembling hands.
"Nu-uh, no hiding. Look at me." He slaps your clit lightly—making you jolt. "Let us see your pretty face."
You whimper softly, because you've touched yourself before—
—but this just feels so much more intense.
“Dabi—” you choke out, flinching in pleasure when he slides a hand underneath your ass,
raising your hips to have more access to you.
“Relax, baby, I'll take care of you.” A growl tears from his throat, and then he drags his tongue over your gleaming folds, tasting you.
You cry out, your body shuddering. Over and over, Dabi licks you with deep, claiming strokes, using his tongue to explore every bit of you.
“Damn, you taste better than anything I've ever tasted.” He pushes his wet muscle into your core, frantic to have more of you.
“Oh my God. Dabi!” Your toes curl, and your thighs tighten around him. You're both – startled and aroused at his eagerness. Any worries you have are melting away as he drags his tongue over you again and again, making you squirm with need.
A moan escapes your lips– loud, uncontrolled– when his tongue flicks over your folds. When he grazes your little button, you jolt as if you've been stung.
He hums appreciatively and buries his face into your warmth, seeking out that sweet nub. Your body jerks as he moves his tongue over it, repeating the action when he does it again. You give a little wail, and your hands curl into the fabric the longer he teases. He eagerly works that spot, and you cry out with little choked gasps.
As his tongue circles your clitoris, your sensations spiral out of control. You can feel the tension increasing in your body with a growing urgency to be released.
“Dabi,” you pant with every flick of his tongue. But he doesn't respond, does not hear– or pretends not to. He buries his face in your folds, hands holding you down by your hips.
With every quiver that moves through your body, with every shiver of response, every tensing of your muscles, you draw closer to the edge.
You writhe against Dabi, with his face between your thighs, lapping at your juices. All the while, he continues to work your little clit with his tongue in slow, steady strokes.
Suddenly, the feeling that you’re about to cum overwhelms you. Your pussy clenches, dripping with your juices, and your clit is ready to burst.
Your hips jerk against him, and then a release explodes in your mind, your thoughts crashing all around you. You come with a slight scream that morphs into a moan, but Dabi does not stop his ministrations—
—no.
He continues to lick and suck as you come and come and come.
It's too much; you feel like exploding. You’re a moaning mess, fingers slipping between Dabi’s strands, pushing and pulling at his roots unsure if you can take it if he keeps going like that.
Your entire body is on fire. The orgasm continues to surge through you– more intense than anything you’ve experienced by yourself– with Dabi gently sucking and licking at your clit. You are delirious, feel like you are floating with no way to find your path back to earth.
“Dabi, please—” you choke out.
Dabi’s mouth detaches from your overstimulated nub and straightens up, licking your cum’s sweetness off his lips. Crawling on top of you, he gazes into your eyes. “Doll, tell me—what do you want me to do?”
You see his jeans straining from the bulk of his erection and swallow, your body responding with a flood of hormones.
“Please fuck me,” you whisper, thinking in ways you never have before.
You want to beg him to be gentle, but you can’t seem to form the words when you see him unbuckle his belt before unzipping his jeans, his eyes carefully watching your expression as he does. His cock springs to life, and you swallow thickly. It's enormous—and pierced.
You feel a momentary pang of doubt, questioning if that monster will even fit inside you. The previous excitement and adrenaline pumping through your veins gradually turn to panic. Your breathing picks up as you stare at his cock, wide-eyed.
“You look worried,” Dabi says, stroking it with one hand. His raised eyebrows and amused grin tell you he's used to this type of reaction.
“Are you sure…” you nod towards his cock.
“Trust me,” he says. “I’ll make sure you feel good. It’ll be the greatest thing you'll ever experience.”
Your entire body yearns for his touch, and there’s no way you're saying no now. He’s spreading you wide open, hands on your knees, before he moves to hold himself in hand to align his cock with your entrance.
"Do you want me to fuck you?’ Dabi asks as he drags the head of the tip up and down your slit.
“‘S not gonna fit,” you whine with a worried expression.
“Don't be scared,” Dabi says, "I know what I'm doing. So, you'll be a good girl and take it all, right?”
“I'm not sure,” you whisper.
“I know you can...” His eyes stare at you with a desire so intense that you almost feel intimidated.
He’s spreading you wide open, hands on your knees, before he moves one to hold himself and align his cock to your entrance. The pressure between your legs increases as Dabi nudges the pierced tip of his cock against you.
“Get ready,” he whispers.
A mix of a gasp and a cry leaves your lips as Dabi strains against you, feeling like he’s trying to shove a massive pole inside of you. You squeeze your eyes shut as tears gather in your lashes, and Dabi holds back, kissing you, waiting for you to relax.
“Easy,” he says softly, “I’ve got you.”
The softness of his tone relaxes you and the tension in your shoulders lessens. Then, somehow, something gives way, and he enters you. You gasp, your body opening up to accommodate the massive dick that is now sliding inside of you.
"Oh my god—” You throw your head back, hands clawing at his shoulders in a weak attempt to push him away.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” he hisses, eyebrows furrowing before he hits resistance and then pushes forward.
There’s a sharp pain slicing through your core, and you don't know if it's from the stretch or a tear. Probably both. It hurts, and you squeeze your eyes shut, forcing tears down your cheek. Dabi continues to push his hips forward, only stopping once he’s entirely inside, heavy balls pressed against the crease of your ass. The cameras zoom in on the bulge in your womb, where his dick sits buried deep inside of you. But you don't notice them, your brain too consumed by him filling you up, his whole weight resting against you.
“You ok?” Breathing heavily, he drags his eyes back and forth over your face.
“Gimme a sec.” Your lips press into a thin line as the pain from the stretch slowly turns into a dull throb. After a moment, you nod...
"I'm gonna start moving now," Dabi says— and then does precisely that.
Just as you start to feel your body relaxing, he withdraws, only to plunge himself in again. The sudden shock of the movement is incredible. You feel every ridge, every single thick vein. It feels fantastic, and as he slowly slides back in, you can appreciate every inch of his cock. He starts an even rhythm, rocking inside you gently.
“Shit, just squeezed me so fucking tight,” he moans in response. "I’m warning you, don't make me lose my composure. You don’t want to see me act up.”
Your mind feels detached from your body; you don't hear him, don't even notice the camera zooming in, focusing on how your face scrunches and your lips quiver because of how good he makes you feel.
He grabs you by the waist and brings you closer to him. Raising both legs in the air, he pushes them forward until your body is folded in half.
“Oh—shit—” You choke out, the walls of your sex stretching to accommodate him.
“I’m gonna make you cum,” Dabi is panting hard as he starts driving his cock rapidly in and out of you. “You won't be able to walk for days.”
“I-I can’t—” your jaw slackens as you tighten around his dick again, the ability to form comprehensive answers having left you the moment he breached your walls.
He rams himself deeper while his fingers slip between your strands, guiding your face upward, your mouths colliding in a frantic kiss.
It starts as a slow burn that gradually builds into a white, blistering heat. A feeling begins coursing through you, making you lose control of your body. You tense and arch your back, your head digging back into the pillow, voice caught in your throat. And just when you think you can't take it anymore, all that tension releases, and you cry out loud, a turbulent wave of pleasure hitting you like a storm. All your nerve endings are seemingly set ablaze while Dabi fucks you through your orgasm.
His eyes are wide with wonder, hearing and feeling you come undone around him. The way your eyes are shut tightly in pleasure, your entire body trembling and shaking in ecstasy, is the best thing he's ever seen. It makes his chest swell with pride. Still, it feels like it's not enough, though, and he needs more. He wants to own you, possess you, make you his.
Dabi snaps.
With a suppressed growl, Dabi grabs you by your hips and flips you over onto your stomach. He's not letting you catch your breath before he propels his cock back inside you again. His hand slides from the dip in your spine to the spot between your shoulder blades, pressing down until your face is buried in the sheets. At this angle, he reaches even deeper than before, his piercings rubbing your G-spot just right. Your hands tightly fist the soft duvet with every drive of his hips, knocking the air from your lungs.
Dabi seems delirious, pistoning in and out of you now. Reaching forward, he gathers your hair around his fist, tugging it to keep you in place, forcing your head up from the sheets. You sob out his name, your chin and cheeks covered with your drool and tears.
But Dabi is drowning too deep in pleasure to notice.
"I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll never think of anyone but me in your fantasies," Dabi growls while your elbows shake under the pressure of his forceful thrusts.
Slowly, your mind is falling apart with the pleasure pulsing through your body. Dabi starts drilling his big cock into your even faster now. You tremble below him, thighs quivering when you feel another orgasm building up.
“You gonna cum for me again, princess?” Dabi groans, “I can feel your pussy clenching around me.”
You nod, too exhausted to form any words. Dabi tightens his hold on your hip, fingers digging into your plush skin, holding you still.
“I’m gonna cum with you,” he tells you. “I’m gonna fill up your tight hole, gonna breed you so good—fuck!”
"Please—" you whimper pathetically, finding yourself trapped in his lewd promises.
And then you lose it, feeling like the world is disappearing underneath your feet. Pleasure rips through you, leaving you with no strength. It’s an intense tingling pleasure that starts in your core and spreads through your whole body, from your fingertips down to your toes. It's all-consuming and euphoric, your body not knowing what to do with that much sensation at once.
You feel your body falling off a cliff into a pile of tingling ecstasy as you cum again with a broken whimper escaping your lips. The orgasm is even more potent than the last ones, like a massive burst of pleasure; all that tension explodes and shoots up the back of your legs and everywhere else. You moan and shudder, your pussy clamping around his cock.
“That’s it,” Dabi lets out a long, shuddering groan. “Just like that.”
You forget to breathe while Dabi keeps fucking your harder and harder, feral with desire, shoving his cock as deep inside you as he can.
“Oh fuck—” You gasp out, arching your back, fingers twisting against the sheets.
No sooner have the words slipped from your lips that you feel your whole body lock tight again—and then unravel. You forget to breathe as an unending cascade of euphoria detonates deep inside of you. You come undone, shaking uncontrollably as juices gush from your pussy, dripping down Dabis balls, drenching the sheets below.
Dabi groans, his eyes screwing shut, head dropping back. With one final possessive thrust of his hips, he cums, shooting his seed deep inside you. You feel his cock twitch as he moans heavily, eyebrows sewn together. His body is shuddering, his hips hitching while he rides out his orgasm.
You’re faintly aware of your surroundings, buried too deeply in your bliss. Unable to take any more pleasure, you slump backward. Dabi slides his softening cock from you with an obscene wet sound before dropping down onto the bed beside you, taking you with him.
“Fuck…” he breathed out, caressing your skin. “That felt so—”
‘And—cut!’ You hear a voice call, speaking its way into the mush that is your brain, slapping you back to reality.
You open your eyes and look around in shock, having completely forgotten where you are. The lights switch on, almost blindingly bright. People start hustling about the set, and cameras mere inches away from you now pull back into their waiting positions.
“That was perfect,” you hear Tenko say through the noise filling the set now.
Your breath catches in your throat, an unsettling feeling beginning to well inside you. Your heart starts pounding at an increasingly rapid pace while you feel panic stretch its icy fingers up your spine.
You feel a warm hand cradling your face, angling it to the side. It’s Dabi. He places his mouth over yours without further ado.
“You are perfect.” Dabi coos into the kiss, and it happens again— butterflies erupt in your gut, the world around you fading until there's only you and him.
Instinctively, you let go, feeling the tension slowly dissipate and your heart calming down. Dabi smiles as he breaks away from you, and you feel it— a lingering warmth, an unseen connection that spins fragile threads between you both.
A man approaches to help you get out of bed, but Dabi, whose face is still dewy with sweat, moves between you both. He takes the bathrobe from the guy and wraps it around your shivering body before getting dressed himself.
Helping you off the bed, he drapes an arm around your shoulder and leads you past the celebrating crew members from the set until you’re backstage.
Once in the changing room, he closes the door behind him and leans against it.
“That was something…” he muses. “You’re a natural. Would you ever consider doing this again with me?’
You're caught off-guard, his face radiating a tenderness that fills your heart with something joyful. A warmth spreads across your face, your hands gripping the soft belt of your robe as you nip at your lower lip. “I-I don't know.”
“You should,” Dabi kicks off the door frame and saunters over you with a sinful, obscene sway of his hips. His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing in a silent agreement, pulling you into a tight embrace. “Think about it…”
He lets the words hang in the air for a second. When he pulls away, his arms wrap around your neck, lower half still pressed against you as if you’re not a stranger. He looks down at you like the two of you have been dating for years.
“So, I was wondering… what are you doing later on?” Dabi kisses the tip of your nose. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat and get some drinks?”
“Are you asking me out on a date?” A new desire for him grows inside of you. You smile back at him, reaching up to gently play with his dark hair.
“Maybe?” His lips curl into a devious smirk.
“Is this even allowed?” Chest to chest, your heartbeat slowly catches up to his, as if your bodies react simultaneously to each other's warm touch.
“Maybe?” Dabi repeats, his thumb gently brushing along your lips.
When you look into his eyes, a tenderness softens the rough edges of his sharp features. It makes you wonder, he’s been so sweet and caring after everything that happened today– you actually believe he’s a genuinely sincere and nice guy. You feel your heart quiet when you’re with him, as if you have found peace.
“Well…” you consider, “I've just thrown all my morals into the wind. So, might as well go on a date with a pornstar, right?”
“You won't regret it.” Dabis laughs softly. “Even though you might not be able to move after I'm done with you—”
“Is that so…” You are torn between scolding him or laughing because he's so cute. “Ok, big boy, whatever you say.”
#dabi smut#dabi x you#dabi x reader#dabi#dabi todoroki#bnha dabi#mha dabi#dabi my hero academia#touya todoroki#todoroki touya#dabi fanfic#dabi x y/n#mha au#mha smut#bnha smut#dabi x reader smut#dabi x you smut
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𝑷𝑶𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑶𝑰𝑫 ┆彡
Pairing: boyfriend/dom!chris • poc/sub!reader
Summary: you and your boyfriend are messing around with a polaroid camera, which suddenly takes a quick turn . . .
Warnings: smuttyy, p in v, overstimulation, pet names (baby), fingering, degradation if you squint, faux sympathy, getting caught?, oral (fem receiving), choking.
Authors note: SORRY THIS IS REALLY SHORT IM WORKING ON A LONGER FIC RN AND THIS IS JS A LITTLE FILLER (also i didnt add a taglist because its not letting me tag people)
NOT PROOF READ !!
comment here to be added to the taglist
𓂃⊹ ִֶָ
You were currently in the triplets house, specifically your boyfriend, chris sturniolos room. You were taking polaroids of him in his clothing brand, fresh love to post on insta and include in orders.
"Okay, now just sit still on the bed with your arms crossed . . . no wait run your fingers through your hair theres a peice sticking out" You try to explain to chris who was lost in his own world.
"Like this?" He questions, running his hands through his locks, the triggering strand of hair still out of place.
You groan, growing annoyed,
"No, just like this," you huff, straddling him to fix it and any other imperfections. Your tits slightly bounce infront of his face, you feel him smirk under you and the tent in his grey fresh love sweats slowly rising.
The boy puts his hands on your hips initiating you to rock on his lap,
"Chris we need to finish these pictures," You breathe out, trying to hide how turned on and wet your becoming. His grip on you is so strong that your struggling to get out of it.
"I was thinking we could take some photos of you?" Your boyfriend suggests, still keeping his firm grip, tracing random lines with his finger on your thighs.
"I dont know chris.." You bury your head in his neck, you have always been camera shy.
"It'll be fun baby, i promise" He whispers the last part in your ear before gently nibbling on it, making you practically drenched through your clothed pussy.
You nod and pull him in for a kiss which was soft and sensual, which turned into a sloppy and heated one. He bites your bottom lip, swapping spit with you. You start to grind on him, making him groan into the kiss which gave you a chance for your toungue to take dominance. He quickly grabs the camera, snapping a polaroid of the two of you making out and letting the photo drop on the bed.
You both pull away, his lips swollen, puffy and tinted purple. Chris removes your oversized fresh love shirt which left you in only your thong, no bra. He picks you up and places you on the edge of his bed. Chris forces your legs open, smiling at the thong that your wearing. it's his favourite.
He yanks it off, stuffing it into his pocket. The confused expression on your face is interrupted by chris' toungue plunging into your hole. His toungue explored your walls, it didnt seem like he was going to stop anytime soon. He was drunk on your pussy. His toungue pulled out and flicked your clit. As you reached your high, you let a loud moan slip out which causes him to stop.
"We have to be quiet baby, you dont want my brothers to hear your pretty noises do you?" You mutter a soft okay before chris runs a finger through your folds collecting your juices and bringing it to his mouth, pulling them out, making a pop sound while keeping intense eye contact before switching his focus back to your pussy.
"So fucking wet for me" He groans with his mouth near your entrance which sent vibrations through your body making you cover your mouth with your hand, hiding your moans. He takes the polaroid camera and takes a shot of your drenched pussy.
Without warning, your boyfriend pushes a finger into you, you whimper quietly feeling empty.
"Chris..." you whine,
The brunette chuckles at the sight of you,
"Awh, does the slut want more of my fingers?" He puts in another finger, thrusting it in and out at a high speed, curling it into your g-spot.
"Fuck this," He says in a low tone, slapping your hand away from your mouth,
"Wanna hear those pretty sounds," He adds a third finger into you. You move your hands to his brown curls, tugging at them while pornographic moans leave your mouth. Nick and Matt can definitely hear you.
"Oh, s-shit" you barely get the words out.
"Tell me what you want baby," His thumb finds your clit and starts to circle it.
"f-fuck i need you in m-me" you stutter as your legs start to shake, chris pulls you into another messy kiss, his fingers still moving at rapid speed.
"Let go for me ma" You instantly cream, your cum dripping out of you, of course ; chris takes another photo of this. He moves you further into the bed and flips you over so your head is facing the bed.
Chris takes his sweatpants and boxers off, throwing them somewhere in the room. He slaps your ass, kneading it shortly after.
"Ass up,"
you comply with his orders, raising your ass so it's on display below him. He hums and gives you another smack to your ass, leaving a stinging sensation.
He teases you, running his length across your entrance a few times before ramming into you, making you scream and see stars. He brings his mouth down to your back and peppers wet kisses in a trail, sucking on certain places being sure to leave a mark. He quietly whimpers, enjoying the feeling of being in you while trying to keep his dominant act.
"You close?" Chris pants, keeping his fast pace intact. You attempt to respond, but it comes out as estranged moans,
"Im fucking you dumb hm? you can't even get a word out. it's pathetic. " He scoffes and wraps his hand around your neck, slightly squeezing it. You squirm under him, trying to be free of his grasp, your sensitive bud pulsating at every thrust.
"Take it," He says through his teeth, throwing his head back at how tight you are. His thrusts start to get sloppier and slow down,
"Cum with me ma" You both release at the same time, his seed and your juices spill out together, Chris takes a polaroid of your mess before taking you to the shower to get cleaned up.
𓂃⊹ ִֶָ
You and chris come home from a date the next day, his arm around your shoulder as you enter his room to see matt holding one of the polaroids you guys took the other night. Your eyes instantly widen at the boy in chris' room, his face scrunched up with disgust. He turns to chris, not even looking at you.
"Next time, keep your door locked if you have weird shit like this in here"
He walks out, throwing the polaroid in his brothers face, who laughs at this. Your face burns with embarrassment, turning your dark skin to the slightest colour of pink.
𓂃⊹ ִֶָ
#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo smut#sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#chris smut
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Tunutu (Crush) - Neteyam x Omatikaya!reader
summary: although neteyam had never reciprocated her feelings, choosing him was always an easy decision for y/n, one of those she could make in a heartbeat. so when another man tries to win her affections, neteyam suddenly becomes aware of what he has been missing out on
wc: 7,7k
contains: childhood friends to lovers, first love/puppy love, jealousy, long-time crush
a/n: the way i completely made up everything about the vayätu-creature. sometimes i just write without a plot and although i was very excited for this idea, it was so difficult to finish it. i hope you enjoy reading it, please let me know if you do
masterlist
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
“Come on, Lo’ak, don’t take it to heart,” Kiri nudged her brother, “You know that Neteyam has been having a hard time lately, it’s not that he pushes you around on purpose.”
You emerged from behind the thick bushes, finally finding Lo’ak and Kiri sitting on a log, engrossed in a conversation. Your curiosity piqued at the mention of Neteyam.
“Why is Neteyam having a hard time?”
Kiri stiffened under your expectant gaze, but before she could even signal to Lo’ak to hold his tongue, he was already spilling out the truth. She groaned in frustration at how senseless her brother could be at times.
“Because our parents have been nagging at him to choose a mate lately.”
Neteyam must choose a mate. Your heart dropped at the statement you had been dreading to hear for years now, ever since he had first passed his Iknimaya. It was never going to be you, you were used to the thought, but nothing could have prepared for the weight of bearing it now.
“You are such a skxawng,” Kiri hissed at Lo’ak, swatting his arm. She shot you an almost apologetic glance.
“Why? It’s not like it is a secret,” Lo’ak rolled his eyes, finally drawing a connection between your sour expression and Kiri’s sudden irritation, "Neteyam has to choose a mate soon, so that the grandmother has enough time to prepare the new tsakarem. He's been putting it off for far too long."
“It is not easy to choose someone to love for a lifetime,” Kiri added with a sigh.
But it was. Choosing Neteyam was always an easy decision for you, one of those that you could make in a heartbeat. He had been your tunutu since childhood, a curious fascination with the older brother of your friends that eventually grew into a frustratingly intense crush, haunting you at every stage of your life. It was by Eywa's grace that your paths crossed with the Olo'eyktan's children when you were about six years old, learning to hunt and running through the forest together until the eclipse. On the second day of playing with Kiri and her brothers, you had boldly declared your love for Neteyam to everyone in the village, turning it into a big inside joke among the clan. If you had known that it would follow you far into your teenage years, when kids your age were relentless and cruel, you would have been more guarded about it. The guys teased Neteyam for having an admirer so clingy, it seemed as if he had grown a second tail. But no matter how much they tried to get to you with their taunts, it never seemed to bother him.
Even as a child, Neteyam had a maturity that went beyond his years. He seeked no entertainment in punishing someone for their feelings, something they cannot control. On the contrary, he admired your loyalty and dedication to him, the way you had remained his close friend, despite his gentle refusal of your romantic overtures. And so, that’s how it went. Your relationship grew stronger over the years, you learned and failed together but were always there for each other to offer a supporting shoulder. It hit a rough patch for a short period, right after both of you had completed your Iknimayas, when you tried to distance yourself from him to avoid any rumors. But Neteyam was persistent to keep your friendship, and so he did. Eventually, your feelings for him were pushed to an afterthought, as you had come to terms that Neteyam was never going to choose you. You had made peace with being just his friend, but your heart still sank at the thought that soon enough you will be replaced.
“Y/N, are you okay?” Kiri’s concerned voice caught your attention.
“Sure,” you gulped, forcing a small smile, “Lo’ak is right, it’s not like I didn’t know.”
“Right,” Lo’ak nodded hesitantly.
The siblings exchanged a knowing look. At times, your crush on Neteyam was sweet, entertaining even. But the two of them also got to live the nasty side of an unrequited love through you. Especially Kiri, who had shared the pain of knowing she couldn’t be with someone she loved, often commiserated with you in it.
“Maybe this is a sign for me to start looking too, you know? Find a mate,” your blabbered without a thought, trying to cover any traces of the stinging pain.
“Huh?” Kiri's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she glanced at Lo'ak to see if he was as taken aback as she was. This was new.
You had never expressed the desire to find a mate before. Knowing well that Neteyam did not reciprocate your feelings and there was no point in getting your hopes up, the idea of being with somebody else appeared in your mind quite frequently, you just never voiced it. It was scary, the prospect of settling for someone you loved less, simply because there was no other choice.
Your parents had often spoken of their own bond, a relationship that began as platonic and it was only natural when they decided to choose each other for their companions. Companions, not lovers. Though your mother had assured you that once they had completed a Tsaheylu, everything changed. That the blessed bond is a connection deeper than love, one that is impossible to ignore after experiencing everything your mate had gone through. So with a heavy heart, you had to accept that one day you might have to face the same fate.
“Y/N, are you sure you’re okay?” Lo’ak stood up from his seat and walked over to you. He placed the back of his palm against your forehead, as if checking for a fever.
“I am not ill,” you chuckled, shoving him away, “I mean, I’ve known for a long time now that I’ll have to accept the advances of another man at some point. Why dwell on something I can’t have?”
It burned your throat to say the words but it was only the truth, and truth hurt. Kiri and Lo'ak agreed hesitantly with you but were still unsure if you meant it. It was as though you were convincing yourself more than them.
“Oh, Y/N…” Kiri began but Lo’ak was quick to interrupt her.
“No, don’t do that, Kiri,” he shushed his sister before she could even express how sorry she felt for you, “You’re right, Y/N. Do you have any idea how many of my friends keep asking about you? You should get out there and have some fun, I mean, Txi’pu’s practically turning purple when he sees you.”
“Txi’pu?” you questioned, “Didn’t he tame his ikran at like… twelve?”
“Yes, yet the man is flustered by your mere presence,” Lo’ak chuckled, “But he seems like a cool guy, maybe you should give him a chance.”
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
“Hey, what’s that about?” Neteyam nudged his brother, staring in the direction where you sat.
The communal dinner was in full swing, right after Lo’ak had given Txi’pu the green light to approach you. You were engrossed in conversation with Kiri, as she nibbled on her food, when Txi’pu gathered up the courage to come up to you and offer you a plate of cut-up fruit.
Lo’ak followed his brother's line of sight and straightened immediately, intrigued by the interaction. He grinned in satisfaction, as he watched you shyly accept the gift.
“Txi’pu is going to ask Y/N out,” Lo’ak explained.
“Poor man,” Neteyam snorted, watching you intently, “She’s clearly not interested.”
Neteyam braced himself, eager to enjoy how you would decline Txi'pu's offer. He had seen you reject advances before with such poise and kindness that the men didn't even realize they were supposed to be offended. It was always amusing to watch. But as he saw you take Txi'pu's hand and stand up, a low growl rumbled in his throat.
“What’s happening?” he questioned with a strained voice.
“Looks like she said yes,” Lo’ak shrugged.
Neteyam shot his brother an angry glare, as if it was entirely his fault, before turning his attention back to you. He watched Txi'pu led you away from the clan, his eyes following the sway of your hips. Eventually, as the two of you disappeared from his line of sight, Neteyam clenched his fists so tightly that the pain from his nails digging into his palms went unnoticed.
He stood up abruptly, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the noise surrounding him. The fiery glow of the flames painted him in a crimson hue, adding to his already intimidating demeanor. Lo’ak frowned as he watched his brother walk away.
“Hey, where are you going?” he called out after him, but Neteyam was already gone.
That night, Neteyam laid in his hammock, unable to fall into his usual deep sleep as he gazed up at the starry sky. The distant sound of your laughter reached his ears, and he couldn't tell if it was real or just a figment of his own imagination. He had never felt this way before when you got attention from other men because you never reciprocated it. He wondered what you saw in Txi'pu. Would you be happy with a man like him?
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
The next morning, Neteyam returned later than usual from his hunt, his body tired and mind restless from the lack of sleep. As he made his way towards the communal area, his attention was immediately drawn to you, seated with his siblings, engrossed in a conversation that seemed to captivate them. Neteyam felt a surge of energy within him at the mere sight of you talking so animatedly, he couldn’t wait to join and hear what you were saying. Quietly, he slipped in between Lo’ak and Kiri, so as to not disturb you, and his heart dropped upon the realization that the topic of the gathering was your walk with Txi’pu.
“Did he take you somewhere nice afterward?” Kiri asked, grinning.
Neteyam kept his gaze trained on the ground, not wanting to appear to be invested in your babbling about the last night, yet he hung onto every word you spoke. His patience was running thin, Kiri’s tail whacking him on the back with increasing excitement as you shared more details. He clenched his jaw in annoyance.
“We went to the waterfall, the one by the cliffs,” you smiled, “It was very beautiful.”
“Oh, that’s a good spot,” Lo’ak chimed in with a mischievous grin, “Girls are always impressed when I take them there.”
“Yeah, sure, Romeo,” Kiri rolled her eyes at him.
Neteyam cleared his throat loud enough to catch your attention.
“I think it’s too cliche. The waterfall,” his voice possessed a hint of annoyance, “He clearly hadn’t put much thought into impressing you.”
“No, it totally depends on who’s taking you there,” Kiri argued.
Lo’ak intervened too, and as the two of them went back and forth about it, Neteyam’s eyes locked on yours. He studied you intensely, trying to read whatever was going on in your mind. You seemed pleased with the outcome of the last night, of the time you spent with another man. He wondered if you had truly moved on from him, and he felt a pang of guilt for secretly wishing that you hadn't. You stiffened under his penetrating gaze, sinking deeper into your seat.
"How was your hunt?" you hoped to shift the conversation away from the uncomfortable tension that had suddenly taken hold.
“Nothing special,” he shrugged, then reached for the pouch on his loincloth, taking something out of it, “Here, I brought this for you.”
Neteyam had made a sweet habit out of bringing you small treasures from his hunts. From simplest rocks to wildflowers, he always admired how you managed to turn them into something beautiful. He thought that the vibrant blue feather he found this morning would look nice braided into your hair.
You accepted it with a smile, admiring the unique pattern. And as he watched you observe it, Neteyam just couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the moment. His usually cheerful expression was clouded with gloominess. He had hoped that you would confide in him about Txi'pu's unwanted advances and ask for his help, but instead, you seemed content with the outcome of the previous night.
“Thank you, Neteyam,” you beamed at him, but he could only manage to give you a faint smile.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
Neteyam tousled the edges of his loincloth, irritation babbling in his chest, tightening so hard from within, he felt like he could snap any second now. His mother’s words, usually held dear to his heart, sounded like an annoying screech, as she went over the same topic: finding a perfect mate. Somebody on whom he could rely on when he becomes the Olo’eyktan, when the responsibilities are too much to handle. That the poor girl, whoever she is, must be prepared for her role in the upcoming few years, and that unlike Neteyam, she didn’t have her whole life to train. So he was being unfair to her by postponing the decision, leaving her no time to adjust.
His grandmother sat silently not too far, hands occupied with work, as she occasionally nodded to agree with Neytiri’s words. There was nothing new about them, it was the same lecture that has been passed down in generations through Mo’at’s lineage. She was sure that one day Neteyam would pass it down to his own children.
“Are you paying attention?” Neytiri asked again, and Neteyam had to nod to convince her that he did, though he stopped listening a long time ago, “She must be strong, resilient. It is important that you choose wisely. I believe you are mature enough not to be fooled by beauty only -”
Y/N was undeniably beautiful. Was he fooled by her appearance? By the way her hair cascaded down her shoulders, those two beaded braids, adorned with some that he had gifted her, framing her face and complementing the yellow of her eyes. By the way her body moved, like the flow of water, gentle and natural, as if every movement was planned out by Eywa herself. He couldn’t deny that sometimes his eyes lingered on her longer than a friend's should. Sometimes, even the way she sat close to him, their thighs pressed against each other and her small delicate shoulder nudging his, could make him too flustered.
“Led not only by her heart but also by her mind,” Neytiri continued.
Surely, you were smart, capable for your age. Neteyam would even dare to say that you were smarter than most of the adults he had known, probably smarter than him too. And you were kind too, with a heart so big that you willingly offered support and loyalty to him, though he had done nothing in return. If it were any other girl, she would have likely cursed him out and refused to acknowledge him for the rest of her life.
“Prepared to protect her clan and her family.”
Would Y/N be a good mate, ready to take on the responsibility of tsakarem? The thought was fleeting but heavy enough to ooze his head with delight. Neteyam took a deep breath to calm himself, feeling overwhelmed by how much the descriptions expanded to you. Neytiri paused, observing him for a moment.
“There is someone already, yes?” she asked, failing to conceal her hopeful tone.
Neteyam’s eyes snapped back to his mother, as she waited for him to answer. He could only shake his head and mutter an apology before scurrying away.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
No, it was wrong. Not after all those years of rejecting your affections, of not noticing when he crossed the lines and you didn't mind, he couldn't just swoop in now. Neteyam had struggled with this thought for many nights since the rumors of you letting Txi'pu court you began to circulate. You would tell him, right? He was your best friend, he had to be the first to know. But then again, it was probably foolish to believe what others had assumed. He had heard you say it to Lo'ak.
"I'm just taking things as they come," you shrugged, seemingly unbothered. Neteyam wished you would give him more of a reaction, so he could make some observations, "I don't think he and I are there yet."
But how could he believe it when he had seen you with Txi'pu repeatedly - the other day, the day after, and yesterday. He had noticed how you accepted the cut-up fruits from the warrior during communal dinners, held his hand, laughed with him - how it all had become somewhat of a habit. Neteyam struggled to maintain his appearances - he’d rather stay hungry than see you leave early with Txi’pu. Why him? The question knitted his eyebrows together in a deep-wrinkled frown, and he turned in his hammock once more, coaxing another annoyed whine from Lo'ak.
"Could you please stop?" his younger brother whispered, trying not to stir the rest of the family.
With sunrise approaching, it seemed unlikely to get any sleep anyway. Neteyam huffed and rose from his hammock, determined that a walk would clear his head. Maybe he was being selfish, greedy to keep you all to himself. But the idea of you being courted by someone else didn’t seem fair, especially when he had rejected everyone, every potential suitor suggested by his mother. Secretly, Neteyam wished that she would say your name, and then he would give her a sign that he wasn’t opposed to mating with you. But was it really unfair? After all, he never really gave you a chance.
His feet carried him away, making a few laps around the village. People were beginning to stir, emerging from their homes to begin their daily chores. Neteyam headed to the camp, intending to start his training early. But he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard your name.
Txi’pu and his friend were standing in front of the training hut, grinning widely and snickering about something. About someone. Neteyam hesitated to reveal himself, but his curiosity got the best of him, and he moved closer, trying to eavesdrop. The camp was beginning to get busy with the morning session, and just when Neteyam heard Txi'pu's malicious words about you, rage surged through him. In a split second, he made a decision. The rest was just as rushed, a heated fight took place between the two men.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
“You, go to Tsahik, now,” Jake ordered to Txi’pu with a scowl, then turned to you with a softened expression, “Y/N, please take care of this knucklehead,” he gestured to his son.
You nodded, hunching slightly, disappointment evident in your demeanor. You weren't sure how you felt when you first saw Neteyam on top of Txi’pu, punching him too hard for it to be considered a part of the training. Luckily, Jake was there, pulling his oldest son away from the other warrior before bigger damage was done.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Neteyam sighed.
“You do not look sorry,” Jake scoffed, “So stop with the lying, and go get cleaned up. We will talk about this later.”
Similar to Neteyam, Txi’pu refused to meet your eyes. He looked guilty, even more so than Neteyam. You wondered what had caused their fight, the thought consuming you so much that you almost missed Neteyam walking away from you. Anger began to bubble up inside you at the lack of information. It wouldn't have surprised you if it were Lo’ak, but Neteyam rarely resorted to using his fists.
“What happened?” you asked again, catching up to Neteyam.
But he only shook his head, refusing to reveal the reason. As the two of you headed into his family hut, you gently shoved him to sit down and began shuffling through his mother's baskets. You quickly settled on picking out one of the healing balms, the one that usually stung the most. You were furious. For not telling you what had happened, for getting hurt, for attacking Txi'pu; that’s not who he was. Careless, reactive.
“Just say it,” he gritted through his teeth, feeling the cut above his brow throb under your fingers, “I can feel that you’re mad at me.”
"You shouldn't have attacked him like that," you replied, your voice laced with irritation. More than anything, you hated when Neteyam got hurt.
“He deserved it.”
"That's not the point," you replied sternly. "This isn't like you. You don't go around punching people."
“Why him?” his voice cut harshly through the air, his amber eyes searching yours desperately, “Out of all people, why would you give yourself to him?”
“What?” you frowned, “I didn’t.”
“Well, that’s what he’s telling everyone,” Neteyam rolled his eyes, as if he didn’t believe you. You shook your head, partly to convince him you were telling the truth, partly denying the fact that he believed somebody else over you.
How could he truly think you would do that? Knowing how much you valued the sacred bond, how could you, a woman he had grown up with and seemed to know through and through, give herself to a man with whom she had spent only a mere of two weeks. Without feelings, or even proper courting? And even if it was true, wasn’t he supposed to support you regardless of what you did? The thought stung, bringing anger into your voice.
“And what if I had given myself to him? It is none of your concern,” you snapped, pulling away from him with a sharpness that left him reeling. Your words were meant to wound, to protect Txi’pu and to strike back at Neteyam, “You had no right to attack him like that.”
“But I had,” he hissed, frustrated with how oblivious you were at reading his actions, “I have every right to make a call, when you can’t.”
“That’s not fair,” you shook your head firmly, as if denying his words, “You don’t get to act possessive over me.”
Neteyam retreated slightly. Did he reveal too much? He had always been aware of the deep-seated feeling in his chest that riled up every time he saw you but had never dared to give it a name. He couldn’t let you recognize it before he’d bring himself to confront it first.
“Do you think I did this for you? I am the future Olo’eyktan, and it is my duty as a leader and a warrior to keep skxawngs like him in tact,” he retorted, his voice dripping with venom, “I am not some lovesick puppy.”
You stared at him in bewilderment, struggling to reconcile this angry, unfamiliar version of Neteyam with the man you thought you knew like the back of your hand. His face was masked with rage, as he took it out on you for a reason that had still remained unclear. ‘Lovesick puppy,’ did he mean you?
"Got it," you spat out.You knew better than this - to trust that he wouldn’t hold your feelings for him against you one day.
“I didn’t mean to -” he regretted immediately, grasping at your hand but you yanked it away from his grip and stormed off.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
“Bro, what’s wrong with you? Dad looked like he was going to skin you,” Lo’ak plopped down next to Neteyam.
The older brother sat defeated on the cliff, feet dangling from the abrupt edge mindlessly. He stared out into the distance, the sun setting over the rainforest.
“I don’t regret it, Txi’pu is disgusting,” Neteyam spat out, anger still lingering in his voice.
“What did he do?”
Lo’ak pushed for answers, since the reason for the fight was still unknown. When the fight was broken off in front of the other warriors, Neteyam refused to voice it. He didn’t want to repeat the nasty words spoken by Txi’pu when you were there and embarrass you in front of the others, even worse, he didn’t want to hurt you. Neteyam didn’t care enough to defend himself, didn’t care for the scolding he got from his father after that. Frankly, he didn’t regret attacking Txi’pu at all, drawing blood felt good. But his father pressed, knowing exactly how to prod the words out of his oldest son. Jake decided not to intervene in the matters of your friendship then, he only advised his son to be mature and clean up his own mess.
“He was saying these things about Y/N, and I couldn’t just let it go,” Neteyam gulped, his fists clenching in anger, “He told his friends that she gave herself to him without a Tsaheylu. That after years of pining for me, he had finally ‘cured’ her... some shit like that.”
“What an asshole,” Lo’ak sighed, shaking his head.
“Yeah…”
Both brothers sat there for a moment, giving each other the space to process their conversation. The only sounds were the soft rustling of the wind through the vines and the distant calls of the banshees. Eventually, Lo’ak decided to break the silence once more.
“I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it, but you shouldn’t have caused a scene like that. You got yourself into so much trouble.”
“Lo’ak,” Neteyam turned to look at him, a little frustrated, “It was about Y/N. How could I let it slide?”
“No, I know, I agree,” his little brother was quick to raise his palms in the air to show he was still on his side, “I’m just saying, you never act like that. Maybe the jealousy got the better of you.”
“I am not jealous,” Neteyam protested, “I just can’t stand it that she chose to spend time with some asshole and then got herself hurt.”
“It’s her life, she can make her own choices,” Lo'ak placed a comforting hand on Neteyam's shoulder. He could sense that his brother was battling with something deep within himself, that the boundaries were blurring.
“But he doesn’t deserve her.”
“And you do?” Lo’ak asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.
“W-what?” Neteyam scoffed, standing up to show he was done with the conversation, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s okay if it took you so long to realize. Just don’t make her wait any longer,” Lo’ak shouted after Neteyam, who was already walking away.
Neteyam's eyes widened with a sudden realization. It was as if Lo'ak's advice had struck the exact spot in his mind that had been bothering him for days, offering a simple solution to his inner turmoil. It was like medicine to his aching soul, and all he had to do was reach out and take it.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
Txi’pu's apology came quickly but lacked any genuine remorse. It was as if he had been forced into it, and by the look on his face, you suspected that he had been, most likely by Jake. The thought of the Olo’eyktan having to waste his time like that and hear about the stupid rumors was humiliating. Neteyam, on the other hand, took his time, letting you cool off, while he would figure out his feelings. Though he hadn’t suspected that the lack of his apology drew a distance between you that you were previously unfamiliar with. He’d steal glances at you during the dinners but that was it. Your best friend, the man you have been in love with, didn’t feel like a safe person anymore.
He was confused about it too. Couldn't tell if it was just his mind playing tricks on him, or if he was genuinely blind to how much he used to relish in your presence. He gazed from afar with a longing look as you sat, looking pretty as ever. Your eyebrows were knitted in a gentle frown, eyelids halfway closed, as you huffed air out of your plump lips. He couldn't help but steal another glance in your direction, as he watched your head pull back with a loud whimper, your mother's hands quickly braiding another section of your hair, gripping tightly as you struggled to keep your neck straight. It would almost make him laugh at the way you reacted to pain, if he hadn't been so distracted by how pretty you looked.
“Stop gawking,” Lo’ak nudged him with an eye roll, “Just apologize already. It’s been days.”
Neteyam shook off his distracting thoughts, but the knife he was supposed to be sharpening remained as blunt as his mind, struggling to keep up with whatever Lo'ak was saying to him.
He wished he could just go back in time and stop himself from lashing out at you, from taking his frustrations out on the one person he cared about the most. He regretted pressing on the wound in your heart that had been bleeding for him for years, hurting you in the place where it hurt the most. The distance between you two had become unbearable, but he couldn't bring himself to close it. It felt different this time. Throughout all the years of your friendship, you had never fought like this. You had always been there for each other, through thick and thin. Misunderstandings were usually quickly resolved with sincere apologies. But the venomous words that had spilled out of him due to jealousy had stung like no other, ‘I am not some lovesick puppy.’
“Lo’ak,” Neteyam’s voice quievered, “Can you talk to her for me? She might listen to you.”
“Really, dude?” Lo’ak raised an eyebrow at him, “You want me to apologize for you?”
“No, I don't want you to apologize for me,” Neteyam frowned, already getting irritated, “Just make her talk to me, please.”
“Fine, but you owe me,” Lo’ak stood up abruptly, with a huff. Neteyam’s eyes widened at his sudden movement.
“Wait, are you going right now?”
Lo'ak gave a nonchalant shrug as he glanced in your direction, still seated in front of your mother. Neteyam thought it would be too humiliating to watch his brother beg for your attention while he was right there. You would think him as pathetic, a mighty warrior afraid to approach his friend of fifteen years.
“But she’s busy,” Neteyam's voice trailed off, eyes following as Lo’ak jogged over to you.
He watched the way Lo’ak greeted your mother with respect and earned a kind smile from her. You took your time to grant him your attention, tail swishing lazily from side to side, while Lo’ak made small talk. Neteyam stiffened once your eyes landed on him with a newfound harshness. He had never seen it from you before, and he could feel his heart sink in his chest.
What was Lo’ak telling you? Neteyam strained his ears to try to catch some of the conversation, but the soft murmur of your voices made it impossible. All he could do was pray that the little shrug you gave was meant to be for him, a chance to let him explain himself.
“I will be tracking a Vayätu after the eclipse. If he wants to apologize, he can help me first,” Lo’ak relayed your message to Neteyam.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
Your ears perked up at the faint rustling sound, eyes already scanning the area, hunched over from behind the thick bushes. The mysterious spell was casted over the forest with the presence of Vayätu, a creature just as ethereal as it appeared. You felt it was near, just like Eywa, lingering somewhere in the dark. The bioluminescent shimmered over its sleek iridescent fur, concealing the creature, but the two sets of prominent yellow eyes stood out in the densest part of the forest.
Among your clan, Vayätu was one of the most valuable creations of Eywa. An animal rarely shown in the forests of Pandora, that despite its incredible speed and agility, was delicate, easy to scare away. Its only defense was disappearing into the foliage, blending with the surroundings. If a Vayätu got hurt once, it would never return to the same area.
Then there was the medicine that came with it. Deep within its long neck, the creature had a gland producing thick, viscous substance highly prized for its medicinal property, used to ease the pain for treating big wounds, or fed to women before giving birth. Retracting the liquid wasn’t harmful to the animal, similar to the way your eyes would produce tears when crying, but there was a certain routine to it. Requiring at least two hunters, one of which would hold the animal down, while the other one would gather the substance.
You stiffened immediately, hand reaching for your leather rope - a signal for Neteyam to prepare for the attack. Simple. You had done this before once, worked perfectly together, and then couldn’t stop laughing as the adrenaline rushed through your blood, jumping through the trees to hurry back home and announce your victory. But it seemed like at that moment, as he was kneeling beside you staring up at your profile, Neteyam had forgotten everything he knew. The apology, along with the confession he had been crafting carefully for days now, were ready on the tip of his tongue. He had to wait for the right moment.
Your skin was adorned with bioluminescent freckles that resembled a star constellation, just like the ones he used to stare at with his father on clear nights. Your eyes glowed softly, narrowed as if concentrating on something in the distance, and Neteyam was too distracted to pick up on it. He had seen you many times from many angles before, yet he couldn't help but be captivated by the way you tensed up, the definition of your lean, delicate arms, and the subtle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed quietly and steadily.
Neteyam was so entranced by the way your body moved that he didn't notice when you jumped forward, your form confident as you chased a shadow. His attention was quickly drawn to the two sets of yellow eyes piercing through the darkness, before disappearing in an instant. He realized that he had missed the signal to attack first.
The forest came alive with the sounds of rustling leaves and cracking branches, as you ran after the Vayätu, hot on its tail. But the extra set of legs gave the creature an advantage, it was faster, putting a prominent distance between you. Frustration bubbled within you at the realization that you were alone in the chase. Where the hell was Neteyam? You were not set for this; speed wasn’t your strength. That was Neteyam’s part, you were better at sneaking.
“Neteyam!” you called out loudly, snapping him out of his thoughts.
You pushed harder, heart racing, as you refused to let the creature out of your sight, because once you did, you would never see it again. Neteyam caught up then, quick on his feet, as he articulated through the trees. He felt guilty for getting distracted, he had to prove himself to be helpful for you.
You, you, you. You were all that filled his mind. With determination, Neteyam lunged forward, his lean muscular body fluidly navigating through the dense undergrowth of the forest. His eyes remained fixated on the Vayätu up head, never losing sight of his target as he closed in on the ethereal creature. With a sudden burst of speed, he leaped towards it, his arms outstretched as he managed to tackle it to the ground.
You were still a few paces behind, your blood pumped with adrenaline, as you watched the scene unfold. Quickly, while Neteyam was still holding the animal down, you dropped to your knees right next to them.
“Where the hell have you been?” you hissed angrily, your eyes already darting all over the trembling creature.
“I’m sorry, I got distracted,” he mumbled. You only shook your head, dismissing his apology.
Elderly often instructed young hunters to calm their prey, make them feel safe and connected to Eywa. Following their advice, you reached to gently stroke the creature’s neck, whispering soft prayers to soothe its fear. Neteyam’s gaze was glued to you, as if something intimate and intricate was happening, something that only the two of you could comprehend.
“Okay, get ready to apply more pressure,” you warned, before taking out your wooden flask, crafted out of the root of the Home Tree.
Neteyam only nodded, watching the way you worked. The creature trembled under your touch, but his grip was unyielding, letting you collect the precious liquid and gently store it away. With a pat on his arm, you signaled for him to release the animal. Neteyam leaned back, panting heavily as the Vayätu sprang to its feet, shaking its head and snorting in frustration before darting away into the darkness.
Both of you stood up and remained quiet for a moment, as he wiped away the sweat and grime clinging to his skin. You were too covered in dirt, body exhausted from the chase. Yet, the triumph took over you once the realization that you had been successful settled in. A small smile crept onto your face.
"Nice work," you spoke quietly, “Even though you almost snoozed.”
He chuckled weakly, a little embarrassed. Amber eyes scanned your face, tracing the now smudged patterns of yellow paint.
“Let’s wash off,” he offered.
The tension slipped right back in and hung heavily between the two of you, as you walked ahead, letting Neteyam trail after you. Navigating through the dark forest was easy, you had taken this way to the pond many times before. There was no need to check if Neteyam was still following, you knew he was. He wouldn’t let this opportunity slide, not after sending Lo’ak to talk to you. You weren’t going to deny it - you missed Neteyam terribly, and a part of you had hoped that the apology would be sincere enough to soothe the pain left by his words.
The water was still under the shimmering moonlight, creating a perfect mirror of its surroundings. You carefully removed your belt, ensuring that the items in the pouch didn't spill, and placed it on the ground. Neteyam followed your lead and quietly put down his weapons.
“You wanted to talk,” you began first, the harshness returning to your voice.
Sure, it was disappointing, the way things turned out with Txi’pu. You couldn’t help but pity yourself for being played by the first guy you decided to give a chance to. The thought of him holding your hand now seemed disgusting, sent shivers down your spine. But it was easy to dismiss it because for the past week, the sting left from Neteyam’s words was much worse. You wanted it to go away, desperately.
“Y/N… I am so sorry, I truly am,” Neteyam took a long breath, forcing you to look at him, “I wish I could take back everything I said.”
"Don't apologize if it's how you really feel, Neteyam," you replied, your voice catching in your throat. "I just wish I had known sooner, so I would stop acting like a ‘lovesick puppy’ around you."
“No, no, I didn’t mean it,” he raised his palms in the air, as if to stop you, “I didn’t even think. I only spoke out of jealousy.”
“Jealousy?” you scoffed in disbelief. Did he really try to lie his way into forgiveness? “Why would you ever be jealous?”
Neteyam sighed and took a few steps closer to you. Almost too close. Of course, as friends, you had been even at a closer approximation before, but there was something different about it now. Too intimate, like no one else was supposed to see it. Your eyes flickered up to his face.
"Because you gave a chance to somebody else, and... I hated it," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Seeing you hold his hand instead of mine, laugh at his jokes, accept his gifts...it hurt me, more than I care to admit. Do you understand?"
You blinked in confusion, though your heart raced at the mere possibility that he was hinting at what you had hoped for a long time. Neteyam waited for you to answer his question, but when you opened your mouth to speak, no words came out. Then you felt him reach for your hand, long fingers intertwining delicately with yours. Goosebumps covered your skin in an instant.
“Every time my parents talked about choosing a mate, I got frustrated because all I could see was your face… you by my side. And I was so confused, I didn’t know what it meant back then, but now I do,” words spilled out of him with sincerity, “I like you more than a friend, Y/N. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that.”
“’s better late than never, right?” you attempted a faint smile with a croaky voice, though your heart was racing like crazy.
Then, as he leaned in, every thought seemed to wash away, and all you could focus on was him.
“Can I just..?” he trailed off, his arms open for you.
You nodded, stepping into his embrace. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply, savoring your scent. He had missed you so much and had been dreaming of holding you in his arms ever since the fight. All he wanted was to keep his arms around you, both gentle and strong at the same time. And sweet like honey, his voice dripped.
“I see you, Y/N.”
You pulled away, searching for his face.
“Can I kiss you?” his voice trembled like a leaf on a windy day, and your own heart skipped a beat at the question.
You could only stare back, frozen, as Neteyam’s fingers brushed hesitantly against your face. He leaned in and waited for you to push him away, but once he was sure you wouldn’t, his lips ghosted over yours. A beat, and with a shaky breath, he pulled you closer. You surrendered to the feeling immediately, hands finding their way to his chest, trying to touch, feel every part of him, just to convince yourself this was real. With a soft gasp, your tongues intertwined, his taste like honey, sweet and intoxicating, marked you as his own.
The kiss broke, foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "I should have waited for your permission."
You shook your head weakly, unable to form any coherent thoughts. All you knew was that you wanted more.
"Don't be sorry," you nuzzled his face with your own, "I...I wanted this for a long time."
Neteyam felt like his heart couldn’t take it anymore. He was lightheaded, intoxicated by you. By the way your lips tasted, by your scent, by the feeling of your hands on him. He kissed you again, more desperately this time, pushing you back slightly, stepping into the the pond. You followed him without a word, the water lapping at your ankles.
The water was cool around you, causing a shiver down your spine, though you weren’t sure, maybe it was just Neteyam. He pulled you closer, dipping the two of you into the water half to your waist. There was only one thing on his mind - he needed to take care of you, wash away the stress and the tiredness he had caused, and make up for it with his love.
You closed your eyes, surrendering yourself to his embrace, as he began to run his hands over your back, gently massaging your shoulders and arms. Some of the water he cupped had dripped over your back, relaxing away all of the tension in your body. You could feel yourself leaning onto him more, as if your knees were ready to give out any second now.
Neteyam’s hands continued to roam all over your body, exploring every curve he never had the chance to touch before. Everything that he had dreamed about was right there, under the pads of his fingers. He scooped another handful of water, bringing it to your face this time, washing away the dirt and the traces of paint off your face. You let out a sigh of pleasure, when his thumb grazed the blue stripe over your cheekbone.
His hands then strayed lower and lower, found their way to your hips and lingered there. He couldn’t move, thumbs pressed into your skin, leaving hot traces. You could feel the heat building in your chore, the desire in his eyes was undeniable. Without a word, he leaned in and kissed you again, his tongue probing gently at your lips. You opened your mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss, and you felt a rush of heat flow through your body.
“Neteyam…” you sighed softly, your hands reaching for his loincloth, tugging at it weakly.
“Yes?” he asked, as he dipped his head to kiss your neck.
“I want you,” you managed to let out, hand reaching lower to stroke over his length. He pressed into your palm with a groan.
“I want you too,” he planted another kiss to your neck, “But we have to wait…”
“What? No,” you shook your head weakly.
“Mhm, yes… I have to court you first,” he spoke in between short breaths he took, mouth never leaving that sensitive spot on your neck, “Do it properly. Earn your affections.”
“Neteyam, you know you had me all this time,” you chuckled weakly.
His chest heaved as he pulled away slightly, his hands still cradling your cheeks. He looked deeply into your eyes, a small smile curling his lips as he studied your flushed face for a moment.
“I want to do this right, Y/N, will you let me?” he asked softly, like he had already planned out the whole thing in his head.
Butterflies churned in your stomach, and you nodded, your own lips stretching into a lovesick grin. He planted another gentle kiss on your forehead.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
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The Significance of Lover’s Lake and Byler (Theory)
'Cause we're lovers, and that is a fact
Yes we're lovers, and that is that (Heroes by David Bowie)
Part 2 here
(Warning: This post has mentions of sex (nothing graphic)… if you’re uncomfortable with that please do not proceed.)
So, Lover’s Lake has existed within the show ever since season 2, when Will mapped out the entirety of Hawkins. The lake is shaped like a heart (keep this in mind for later) thus the name “Lover’s Lake”. Makes sense within the town of Hawkins, but does not provide an explanation on a subtextual level. None of the “lovers” existing within the show has been associated with the lake (you could say Steve/Nancy but honestly it’s a stretch since they never actually rekindled their romance.)
This leads me to the question… why call the lake “Lover’s Lake” without associating any lovers to it?
Because maybe, there will be lovers connected to it… but they aren’t lovers… yet.
Okay, let’s get back to the shape. A heart. ❤️ Hm. Now which character within the show is most associated with hearts? Which character is even referred to as the heart by their love interest?
Mike.
I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that he’s one part of the “lovers” here. Thus ruling out many other romantic pairings within the show. Leaving only two pairings: Mike/El and Mike/Will. I won’t go into detail on why I believe Mike and El will inevitably break up, you can read a lot of different analyses for that. So that leaves… Mike/Will. Not lovers yet.
Okay, here’s the part where I may get crucified. The definition of lovers.
Please put your pitch forks down for this.
Lovers usually refers to two people in a sexual relationship outside of marriage.
With all the subtext (and actual text) around sex and sexuality, and how we see Will struggle with his own sexuality, there is a likely conclusion here. He’s going to confront his sexuality. To do so, he will have sex. With whom? Well, with the one person he loves the most, the one he affectionately refers to as the heart… his best friend… Mike.
Now, where’s this going to happen? What better location than somewhere empty and secluded.
Reefer Rick’s lakeside house.
Now, who is “Reefer Rick”?
Also known as, Rick Lipton, Reefer Rick is a drug dealer who’s closely acquainted with Eddie.
He’s an enigma. We never see him. All that is known about him are the things mentioned by other characters.
He’s currently in jail apparently for dealing drugs. Also, he seems like a town pariah.
Also, he isn’t too keen on Fast Times (returned on time), at least not as much as “Cheech and Chong” (returned late each time.) That shot at 53 minutes and 5 seconds in Fast Times doesn’t do it for him, I guess. Unlike watching two guys get high.
His name choice is an interesting one.
“Reefer” Rick Lipton.
“Reefer” is a synonym for “marijuana cigarette”. Okay, makes sense, he is a drug dealer after all. But why the term “cigarette”? Well… there’s this other word that also happens to be a synonym for “cigarette”…
Then Rick… short for “Richard”. Richard is one of the few names out there with a nickname that is also slang for male genitalia… “Dick”.
Then finally… Lipton.
As Robin says, spelled like Lipton tea. Now, why would the writers use the name “Lipton” and even reference the tea company if there were no significance to it? They wouldn’t. We know this about them.
So why “Lipton”?
Let’s do a bit of research here, shall we?
The founder of Lipton tea was a man named Thomas Lipton.
Thomas Lipton just so happens to have been a closeted homosexual man who had a long term relationship with another man whose name is… *drumroll please*
William Love.
Okay, that can’t be just a coincidence right?
So moving on to Reefer Rick’s house.
We see glimpses of his living room, kitchen, and briefly his bedroom.
Jason and his buds are searching for Eddie and this involves looking under the mattress? As if, Eddie could successfully hide under there? Haha okay sure.
The angle of this shot is interesting too, because the bed is essentially being shown off to us.
This bed with a blue blanket and yellow sheets. Hm. Interesting.
Keep in mind this scene is essentially unnecessary. They could have easily shown Jason et al searching for Eddie without creating an entire new set for a room that’s only used in one single insignificant shot. Therefore, I do not think it’s unreasonable to believe this is used for foreshadowing.
Then we also get this shot from outside the window into the bedroom.
Look familiar? I thought so too.
Okay. Now for my theory/prediction.
As I mentioned earlier, Will is currently struggling with his own sexuality and feels a lot of shame and internalized homophobia. There’s also a lot of evidence that Mike is experiencing the same thing. Unlike Will, Mike conforms to the society’s expectations. He dates El, performing as her boyfriend. This is comparable to Nancy’s arc in season 1. She also conforms, and like Mike, leaves her best friend behind. We all know how that ended.
Now, what better way to wrap up the show than to have Mike correct his sister’s mistake? To have Mike reject societal expectations in favour of his best friend?
Okay so this is my theory.
Mike and Will have their first kiss an episode or two prior to 5x07. Tensions are high, but they’re busy fighting interdimentional monsters along side their friends.
Then comes 5x07 which somehow leaves Mike and Will alone by Lover’s Lake. The tension between them reaches an all time high, leading to a passionate kiss and then… more. Let’s just say it involves that blue and yellow bed.
At the same time as these two become the lovers they were meant to be, another character is being saved, or perhaps being brought back to life. Perhaps another red head, one we all know and love. Yes, a major parallel and contrast to Steve/Nancy’s sex scene in season 1, which featured Barb dying. But because Mike is rejecting conformity and being authentic, another character lives instead.
I mean, what better way to represent the beauty of the love and intimacy between these two boys? Their love is literally bringing back life to the world.
So yeah, basically I’m saying that Mike and Will expressing their love for each other will save Max.
This also wouldn’t be the first time that Max’s survival is correlated with their relationship. As I doubt that it was merely a coincidence that in episode 4x04 we have Mike’s genuine monologue to Will, then we have Max surviving Vecna. In contrast to 4x09, which features a forced monologue from Mike to El, followed by Max losing to Vecna and barely surviving.
So, as their bond strengthens, Max’s life bar goes up (so to speak). If something interferes with their bond, Max’s outcome is more dire.
The writers have also been associating Mike/El with death…
[Tumblr only allows a limited number of images so pretend we have one of El holding dead flowers and another image of the cut scene from 3x05 with Mike/El having a moment cutting to a dead body on the hospital floor]
Mike/Will on the other hand have been associated with life. The birds chirping in the background of their final scene together, the flowers blooming between them as they stand together. Plus, blue plus yellow does equal green after all. Which is the most commonly associated colour with life.
🌿🌱🌳
To conclude, I just want to say that I personally think this would be a nice way to end their arc. I know a lot of people are uncomfortable with associating Mike/Will with anything sexual… but the show has been doing this already. Whether you like it or not, Mike and Will have been shown implicitly and explicitly that they desire each other both romantically and sexually. The fact that they have sexual desire for each other does not minimize or trivialize their friendship and love, it’s an aspect of it… adding another dimension to their relationship.
Do I think or hope they would show anything pornographic? Absolutely not (do I even have to say this?) But explicit like Steve/Nancy? Yes. Do I think they’ll be only 14/15 years old when this occurs? No. This will likely happen after a time jump.
Being authentically yourself and not conforming is overall a major theme of the show. I mean it’s called Stranger Things after all. Will people be upset by the ending of this arc? Bylers included? Absolutely. Many people within the town of Hawkins and people watching the show will both show disgust for it. But that’s the point. It’s not “normal” and that’s okay. Different is good, and can be a beautiful and wonderful thing. We all just need to open our minds and hearts a bit. I’m not just talking about the GA; many Bylers are also closed minded and stuck in their ways too. Let’s all try to work on that, shall we?
Despite the opinions of others, Will and Mike will choose to love each other which will inevitably lead to their defeat of Vecna. Love concurs all. It may be cheesy and cliche but personally? I think that’s a beautiful thing. We all can learn to love more.
Anyway, would love to know your thoughts on this.
Then we could be Heroes, just for one day
Part 2 here
#loverslakegate#byler#stranger things#stranger things 5#byler theory#stranger things theory#lovers lake
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—⟡ covert desires | kim mingyu
summary: the mission is simple - infiltrate a high-stakes auction that the top leaders, businessmen, women, and politicians of the world attend every year and steal one of the most highly guarded and hidden-away paintings from the target’s collection. the only downside, you had to work with kim mingyu, whom you absolutely hated. and to make it even worse, you had to pretend to be his wife for this mission to work.
pairing: spy!mingyu x assasin!reader (fem!reader)
themes: spy au, mafia, enemies to lovers, fake marriage, mutual pining, spies, angst, fluff, killing
warnings: suggestive, kissing, use of curse words, weapons, guns, knives, violence, use of drugs/painkillers, blood, gore, killing, death
wordcount: 19.5k
a/n: i had so much fun writing this! thank you so much to @fairyhaos to listening to my random ideas and helping me with the title and just being really helpful, ily. and tysm to @gyuswhore for beta-reading this and giving me valuable feedback, lifesaver honestly. tysm! i'd love to know your thoughts on this ^^
full fic under the cut!
— character guide
seungcheol - underground mafia leader
jeonghan - manipulator, gets things fabricated like documents, ids etc.
joshua - keeps a log on the accounts/transactions and assets
jun - spy
hoshi - spy
wonwoo - in house doctor
woozi - in charge of gadgets and other necessary equipment
the8 - in charge of weapons
mingyu - spy and your partner for the mission
seokmin - gathers informations and intel
seungkwan - negotiator and works behind the scenes
vernon - hacker
dino - spy
you wipe the last of the blood off your hands and carefully move the body, manipulating the crime scene to make it look like it was a suicide. with a carefully crafted suicide scene, the police wouldn’t even blink an eye and just close the case as a suicide, not wanting to bother investigating further. you just had to leave around the right clues and bait them. once they’d find it, they’d conclude the case without thinking any further and your job was done. you were sure no one would even miss the bastard that you had just sent to hell anyways. after scanning the room, you make sure everything is in place before exiting quietly and disappearing into the shadows.
when you reach home to your apartment, you swiftly change out of you soiled and bloody clothes. that idiot decided to put up a fight, making things harder for himself really. you planned on killing him quietly, but the fight he put up was unnecessary and he wasn’t going to stand a chance against you regardless. you would have finished earlier and your clothes would have been significantly less bloody. sighing, you peel off your clothes and they fall to the floor in a heap as you step into the shower. the hot water offers some sort of relief and relaxation, your muscles relaxing under the hot water. wrapping a towel around yourself, you step out and hear the faint ring of your burner phone fill the room.
“hello?”, you say as you put the phone to your ear.
“did you get the job done?”, the voice on the other side asks.
“yes, you didn’t hire the best for no reason, did you?”, you scoff back, offended he’d even have a sliver of doubt in your skills.
“good. we have another urgent matter on hand and it has to be discussed in person. you know where to meet me”, the voice adds.
“i swear if it’s another-“
“you’ll love this one, trust me”, the voice says, cutting you short and hanging up as you begin to say something. you curse under your breath; that idiot never had manners. you huff, throwing the phone on the bed and changing into something comfortable before you crash into bed, too tired to complain or think about anything else.
you were an assassin or a hired killer you could say. but you liked to call yourself an assassin - because let’s be real, it sounds cooler. you were trained, skilled, and good at what you did – which was killing people, bad people specifically. when you weren'’t out hunting people down, you were working as a barista at a local cafe. it was somewhat therapeutic compared to your other occupation. but you had to if you wanted to survive in this world. if you wanted your life to have some semblance of normalcy. the world was a cruel place and somehow you ended up doing this for a living but hey, at least it paid well.
the next morning you’re sitting in the hall of seungcheol’s fancy office, or what you liked to call the safehouse.
“you’re here! let me tell seungcheol”, dino says upon seeing you, flashing you a friendly smile. you give him a small smile as he retreats, making his way to look for seungcheol.
seungcheol walks in a few moments later, and his presence can be felt in the room immediately. no one messes with him – everyone knew that. he was the most feared man in the underground mafia and a threat to the government as well. his connections and dirt on powerful people ran too deep with secrets only he knew and used as leverage. hell, even the government would hire him to do their dirty work so he was practically untouchable.
“what’s this urgent matter that needs to be discussed in person?”, you ask, once he sits down opposite you.
“no hi?”, he prompts, raising his a brow as he looks at you.
“no thank you for yesterday?”, you prod back, challenging him. you were really the only person seungcheol let speak to him like that. he’d pretty much raised you and he didn’t seem to mind, especially since you did most of his dirty work.
“we seem to have gotten ourselves another lucrative mission”, he starts off, treading carefuly with his words. “it’s something worth millions if not billions, so this is a really high-stakes operation”, he tells, observing you. “and we’re getting paid handsomely for it and so will you if it goes well”, he completes.
“alright, that seems like a piece of cake. what are we stealing?”, you ask.
“a painting”, he tells, as he takes a sip of his bitter black coffee in front of him.
“it’s going to be displayed in the national museum of culture and arts”, he says as he continues briefing you. “but that’s not all. the annual auction takes place in three weeks. many if not all the influential, powerful people, businessmen and politicians are going to be at this event, so it’s expected that the security is going to be very tight and advanced. they’ll be bidding for art and plenty of other stuff there but not this painting. this painting is special because it’s not for sale, it’s only on display and it’s the first time it’s being shown to the public in twenty years. the mission is to steal this painting, while also making sure no one finds out – so we place a knock-off”. he explains.
“all right, that doesn’t sound too hard”, you say, calculating everything in your mind.
“oh, don’t underestimate this. this painting is going to be highly guarded and anyone can’t just enter the auction either. you need to be specially invited to the auction otherwise you cannot enter, and you can’t go alone, it’ll be suspicious”, he adds.
“what do you mean i can’t go alone? how else am i going to do this?”, you ask, confused.
“mingyu’s going to be your partner for this mission and the only way it’s going to work is that you pretend that you both are a married couple”, seungcheol completes, making you whip your head up. your jaw drops to the floor upon hearing the words that came from seungcheol’s mouth, absolutely appalled.
“did i hear that right? i need to be mingyu’s wife?”, you repeat, leaning forward and seungcheol doesn’t say anything, only looks at you with a knowing smile.
mingyu and you don’t exactly get along together. he was always somehow getting on your nerves and you hated him.
“seungcheol, you know i don’t like him”, you say, annoyed already. “and i work alone”, you add, glaring at him.
“it’s for the mission and we don’t have any other option. everyone else is busy with other missions and mingyu was the only one who’s free at the moment, and i trust him on this one”, seungcheol explains. you can’t really argue with seungcheol because, at the end of the day he was your still your boss and he called the shots.
“i suggest you get friendly with mingyu because we don’t have a lot of time on hand. the auction is in three weeks and you and mingyu need to play a convincing husband and wife role starting today”
“today?”, i repeat. that was really short notice.
“mingyu has it sorted out”, he says, and your burner phone pings. “that must be him”, seungcheols says.
“please try to get along with him”, is the last thing seungcheol tells you before he stands up to leave. he emphasizes his words with the look he gives. it was a ‘don’t mess this up’ look and you sighed. he gives you a small ‘good luck’ before turning around and walking out, getting busy with something else.
you stand up to leave, opening your phone and reading mingyu’s text.
“meet me at the fountain park at 11am”.
you grumble as you make your way to the park and see mingyu sitting on one of the benches. there aren’t many people, but the sun shines warm and the sky is blue - a complete contrast to your mood right now. you’d very much like to walk away but you can’t. you drag you feet and will yourself to walk towards mingyu, who smiles when he spots you. you don’t reciprocate the smile, giving him a stern looking, already annoyed at the sight of him.
"you know, most people don’t scowl when they see a handsome face”, he says when you’re close enough. you roll your eyes and mentally flip him off, crossing your arms across your chest as you glare at him. “handsome my ass”, you mumble under your breath.
“long time no see”, he greets. you don’t sit. “i’ve been busy”, you tell him.
“you look good”, he adds, gesturing for you to sit.
“seungcheol briefed me on the mission, so what’s next”, you ask, getting back on the topic, not wanting to indulge in small talk with mingyu.
“i found us a house to move into until the mission is over and-“,
“wait, why do we have to move in together?”, you ask in horror and he just looks at you like the answer is obvious.
“because we’re husband and wife? and i don’t think i can come by your apartment and suddenly tell all the neighbours that the poor girl they thought was lonely and single is actually married, now can i”, he says.
you scowl again. “they won’t even care!”
“it’ll be a problem if they become suspicious. it’s better to move in elsewhere and you can move back to your apartment when it’s all done and they won’t even blink an eye about what happened. you can also avoid questions about your husband who mysteriously appeared and disappeared”, he explains. “unless you want to explain why you kept such a handsome man a secret and-“
“shut up”, you cut him off and he chuckles.
you weigh out all the options in your head and mingyu’s idea was the best and most promising, even though you didn’t like it very much. you hated the idea in fact. but sometimes desperate times called for desperate measures.
“fine”, you huff, gritting your teeth. “what else?”, you ask.
“jeonghan’s working on getting us the invitation to the auction. we can start by moving in. pack only your essentials. i’ll pick you up by 2 pm tomorrow so you can move your stuff into the new place”, mingyu tells.
you stack the last box with all you stuff and things that you’d need in the new place, dusting your hands on your shorts. if your neighbors asked, you were away, traveling back to meet family who lived in another state. you’d be back soon so you were sure you could get away with that excuse.
mingyu arrives at 2pm on the dot as promised. you start to carry the boxes out. he carries the other two effortlessly and follows behind you. the elevator ride is quiet, with neither of you saying anything. you’re sitting in his car as he drives you to the new house. you look around, all the houses looking more fancy, manicured and elite. that’s when you realize you’re entering the richer part of the neighborhood.
“how’d you manage to get a house here?”, you ask mingyu, knowing the rent or prices would not have been cheap.
“i invested in some land here and once they announced that they’re going to develop this area, the prices skyrocketed and i got rich. i own the house now and i thought it would be nice to finally use it.”, he explains.
“cool”, is all you can say as you look around at all the villas and large houses occupying this space. if anybody lived here, they definitely came from the wealthy and posh side. in hindsight, it was a good cover for you and it would make it easier for you to blend in if you had to pretend to be from a wealthy background.
you finish unloading and unpacking your stuff in the room when mingyu knocks on the door. you both thankfully had separate rooms because there was no way in hell that you were going to share a bed with him. you’d rather sleep on hot coal than do that.
“jeonghan’s finished gathering some documents so i’ll just go over and pick them up. do you wanna come along?”, he asks.
“sure”, you say, because you really didn’t know what you’d do here alone, plus it had been a while since you last saw jeonghan and oh he was a real menace.
“jeonghan!!”, you say upon seeing him, going up to give him a hug. “y/n! it’s been a while huh, you look great”, he says, a small smile on his face.
“that’s not fair, you didn’t give me a hug when you saw me now did you, baby”, mingyu complains.
“what did you just call me?”, you ask, not sure if you’d heard that right.
“baby”, he repeats casually.
“don’t call me that”,
“i have to if we’re going to play a lovely doting husband and wife couple”, he says and you give him a glare, lasers practically shooting out from your eyes.
“we’re not playing husband and wife right now so watch your mouth, mingyu”, you warn and he just shrugs as you fix your attention back on jeonghan.
“it hasn’t even been 24 hours and you guys are already arguing? i just hope you survive the mission and don’t rip each other’s throats by the end of this”, jeonghan says, amused.
“speaking about that, here’s your marriage certificate. i made it so you’ve both been married for a year and a half, less suspicious that way”, jeonghan explains. “oh, and i also sneaked you both an invite to a party hosted by yeonjun. it’ll be a good opportunity to gather connections and intel. it’s tomorrow night”, jeonghan adds as he hands you the invitations.
“damn how’d you manage that?”, you ask. “i have my ways, you should know that by now y/n. i'm the man who can get away with anything”, he replies giving you a wink. you chuckle at his words. “how could i forget, you’re called a menace for a reason”, you tease, laughing along with him.
“and i’m still working on getting the invite for the auction, it should be done in a few days”. jeonghan later says and you both leave after chatting a bit more.
that night you lay in bed, barely managing to fall sleep. the hours fly by and you check your appearance in the mirror one last time before stepping out of the room. you’d worn a simple black dress and just lightly styled your hair. you didn’t want to go overboard since this wasn’t the actual mission, so you kept it pretty but to a minimum, but still enough to make it look like you were wealthy and could blend into the crowd at tonight’s party.
“are you ready? we’ll be late”, you say, calling out to mingyu who was in his room.
you hear the shuffle of his shoes as you do a quick check of your small handbag – tissues, lip gloss, phone and most importantly, a pocket knife. when you look back up, mingyu is staring at you.
“what? hurry up, we haven’t got all day”, you add, walking to the front as you slip into a pair of matching black heels. you know our cover when we’re out yeah?”, mingyu asks as he comes up to you.
“yup, we just moved in the neighborhood, you’re an ER doctor, and i’m a lovely housewife who spends her time shopping, relaxing and spending your money”, you say with a fake smile.
“but do you even know anything about being a doctor, you better not mess up if someone asks you medical terms and shit”, you say, pointing a finger at him.
“don’t go underestimating my skills y/n, i’ve got it covered”
“you better”, you snap back, walking ahead of him towards the door.
the party is high in security but you make it through without a hassle. you had gone through the files seokmin had sent on the people attending and memorized everyone’s name, face, job, and even what they eat for dinner. you had to know everything in order to blend in. you step out of the car and mingyu offers you his hand to hold onto. you smile and take it because you do have to act. you put on your friendly face and enter the party, your eyes scanning the crowd. you spot a few people you recognise from the files you’d read last night, the connections forming in your head. just then mingyu sees someone and whispers that’ll he’ll be back, parting ways with you and you’re left alone.
you take this chance to mingle with the other women that you spot in a corner – who were all your new neighbors. this was a good time to introduce yourself, so you walk towards them and smile.
“hello!”, you say brightly and they turn around to look at you. one of them seems to recognize you and smiles.
“hi! you’re new to the area, right? i saw you moving in the other say”, she says.
“yes, i just moved here with my husband”, you explain as a waiter comes by, offering you drinks on a shiny tray. you take one and so do they.
“where’s your husband?”, one of them asks.
“oh, he’s just talking so an acquaintance over there”, you say, looking back as you nudge your head in mingyu's direction.
“what does he do?”, another one asks excitedly upon spotting mingyu in the crowd. you already knew what they were thinking at the way they were looking at him.
“he’s a doctor, he works in the ER”, you tell.
“oh you poor thing. he must be working late often”, she adds and just then you feel a hand wrap around your waist and the whiff of cologne in the air.
“hello ladies, i don’t think i’ve introduced myself. i’m mingyu, nice to meet you”, he says and all the ladies smiles, shamelessly checking him out. but like you cared.
“your wife was just telling us that you work at the ER, it must be tiring, coming home late every day. i’d hate if my husband came late every day”, one of the women says in mock pity.
but mingyu only smirks. “i may come home late, but i always make it up to you in bed, don’t i baby”, he says, looking at you and you almost choke on your drink.
you clear your throat, changing the topic, and all the ladies giggle. after you finally manage to separate from them, you walk around, assessing the situation.
“i can see a lot of people from soyeon’s side”, you say and mingyu agrees. ”jihyo’s here too”, he adds. she was the it woman in business right now and she was rising up the ranks quickly. “jihyo is definitely going to be at the auction”, you add. “should i get friendly with her?”, you ask and mingyu thinks for a few seconds before answering.
“be careful, if you approach her suddenly she might be wary”, he says softly. “you’re not drinking?” you ask, noticing how his glass has gone untouched. “gotta drive us back, so no, i won’t be drinking tonight”. of course, you had forgotten about that. at least he had some manners, unlike seungcheol.
after managing to gather enough intel and make some connections, you and mingyu decide to retire for the night. you both walk out hand in hand and just then your stomach growls. you were hungry, you hadn’t eaten anything there, not wanting to get distracted and also maybe drinking that glass of champagne on an empty stomach wasn’t such a good idea.
“hungry? we can grab something on the way”, mingyu prompts.
you see a mcdonalds’ drive-thru on the way back and tell mingyu to stop by there. “you don’t want real food?”, mingyu asks. “what do you mean, this is real food”, you declare.
“do you eat this often?”, he asks.
“that is none of your business, just get me some nuggets, fries, and a mcflurry”, you say.
he doesn’t get anything, saying he’ll make himself something at home and you don’t complain. you offer him a nugget and some fries but he declines, just driving as he tells you to not spill anything as you munch on the nuggets.
“i’m sure i can make better nuggets than that”, mingyu finally speaks.
“good for you mingyu, i don’t care”, you say, plopping the last bite of nugget into your mouth.
“yeah i’m sure you’ll start caring when i make you breakfast tomorrow and then you’ll never want to eat anything else, only something i’ve cooked”, he boasts.
“is that so? you’re going to spoil me, looking forward to it”,you add, going back to your mcflurry.
the next morning, mingyu does in fact get up early and makes breakfast for the both of you. it would be a lie to say that it wasn’t good, it was actually the best thing you had eaten in a while. over the course of the next week and the days building up to the auction, you attend a few more events together, getting to know more people and making connections. you make yourself friendly with the neighboring women and go shopping together. with all the new intel gathered each time, you pass it over to seokmin.
mingyu and you stop by the safehouse again to collect the invitation to the auction that jeonghan finally got and to update seungcheol on the mission’s progress. you both had somewhat managed to get along…well, almost. if mingyu didn’t make some snarky comment or say something to get on your nerves once in a while it would be better, but he should just be grateful he was alive right now. the urge to strangle mingyu was immense.
“what’s the progress?”, seungcheol asks.
“it’s good. we know for a fact that jihyo is attending the auction and maybe some people from soyeon’s team might attend on her behalf”, mingyu tells.
“im glad you guys seem to be getting along”, seungcheol tells, surprised.
“barely, i need to tell him to shut up and not spew stupid stuff, it really gets on my nerves. and please tell him to stop walking around the house shirtless. it’s damaging to my eyes ”, you complain.
“i didn’t even do anything, i’m just looking out for her well-being, she has some really peculiar habits and also it’s hot? and it’s literally my house? i can do whatever i want”, mingyu defends.
“excuse me?”, you cut him
“you heard her mingyu”, seungcheol directs your words to him. and just then seokmin and jeonghan enter.
“here’s the auction invitation, keep it safe”, he says, handing it to mingyu.
“here’s how the painting looks. it’s called the great fields done by the 18th-century artist lily lee. it’s been hidden away from the public eye for twenty eyes and it’s supposed to be one of her best paintings. it’s worth billions from what i know”, seokmin explains as he shows us a picture of the painting. it was pretty indeed but it was weird why it had been hidden away for so long.
“i already have someone working on the knock-off for the painting”, he adds.
“it better be a damn good knock-off”, seungcheol warns, raising his eyebrows.
“it will be. the guy i asked will get it down to every detail and even mimic each brushstroke. the historians wouldn’t even be able to tell a difference”, seokmin assures.
“good. now y/n, i have a small task for you, it would be great if you can complete it by tonight. it’s for a high-priority client and i’ll pay you extra”, seungcheol says.
“sure, what do i need to do?”
and that’s how you were now on the balcony of a 7th-floor apartment, trying to break in by unlocking the window. the guy you had to kill was a traitor. he took money from innocent people and then threatened them. he was getting in the way of business for the client so he had to go…forever. you opened the window and jumped in, landing soundlessly on your feet as you crouched down, scanning the room. you didn’t like to drag things out so you were going to make this quick.
you hear the hiss of a shallow breath and you quickly realize you’re not alone. someone else is here. you turn around and hide in the corner, peeking out and that’s when a man comes lunging at you with a knife. you dodge and grab his arm, twisting it as you push him against the wall, the knife falling from his hands as you bang his head against the wall. he grunts in pain and falls to the floor and you quickly move to locate the target, who’s heard all the commotion and is coming downstairs. he sees you and his eyes widen as he turns around and starts to run back upstairs. you run after him, placing your foot in the door before he can close and lock it. you push the door with all your strength, willing it to open and he stumbles backward. you waste no time in getting out your gun and shooting him in the chest. the silencer on your gun made sure no sound was heard as he fell to the ground with a thud, clutching his chest and gasping for air as blood oozed out of the wound, staining the wooden floor crimson red.
but just then, something hits you on the back of your head with a sudden force and you clutch your head in pain, falling to your knees as you try to look up. you grit your teeth and get up, dodging the other attack but your head is still ringing from the hit. you see how the man grabs the near-empty wine bottle and smashes it against the wall, creating a sharp glass shard, almost like a dagger. you get up as he attacks, swiftly trying to move out of the way. unfortunately, you end up tripping on the carpet that folded over and you miss the way his other hand lunges out, and the sharp glass shard pierces into your skin, just over your waist as it drags along your lower abdomen, digging into your flesh. you hiss in pain and raise your gun, aiming at his leg as you shoot him and he yells out in pain and falls down. after you torture him a little and find intel on him and who sent him before putting a bullet straight through his head.
fifteen minutes later, you kick his body, adjusting the position and plant information in the room and his phone to look like this was done by his employees who were tired of his threats and doing all the dirty work for him. you climb out the window and use the window ledges to climb down. you discard your coat in your bag and cover yourself with another coat, adjusting your outfit before walking out of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk. you walk straight ahead, not looking back. the dull pain of the stab starting to sting as you walk as you clutch your coat tightly around you.
you reach back home, ignoring mingyu in the kitchen as you go straight to your room, the door slamming unintentionally behind you.
“y/n?”, mingyu calls out. you ignore him and go to the bathroom and locking the door, sitting down against the bathtub as you lift your shirt up to access the wound. it was a deep cut no doubt, thankfully no vital organs had been hit. you don’t know if you should say that you were lucky or if the bastard just had terrible aim. but the cut was messy and well bloody.
“are you ignoring me now?”, you hear mingyu shout out. he knocks on the bathroom door.
“y/n what happened?”, he asks, a sudden shift in his tone.
“nothing i’m fine mingyu, i can’t use the bathroom in peace?”, you counter.
“stop lying, i saw the drops of blood trailing to your room. open the door now”, he demands.
you sigh. why did he have to be so aware of his surroundings. talk about occupational hazards.
“i’m fine mingyu, stop overreacting”, you say, not hearing a reply, thinking he must’ve left.
after a minute, you hear the door lock rattle and unlock, mingyu pushing the door open and once his eyes land on you they darken.
“what the fuck, mingyu? i could have been naked, you can’t just barge in like that”, you say, annoyed and shocked.
“i can if it’s an emergency and did you forget i have the keys baby, this is my house so my rules”, he counters as he walks over to you and sees you cover the wound with your hand. not that it helps because your hand is all bloody too.
“shit baby, you’re bleeding bad”, he tells, kneeling down so he could match your height so he can acess the wound, seeing the blood ooze out from the side of your palm as you pressed against the cut, trying to put some pressure on it.
you glare at him at the mention of that stupid nickname. “i told you not to call me that and i don’t need your help”, you grit out, pushing his hand away when he moves to help you.
“you either take my help like a good girl or you can shut up, your choice sweetheart”, he says, staring you down.
and before you can even protest or say anything, he’s lifting you off the edge of the bathtub and sitting you down on the countertop beside the sink.
“are you deaf? i said i can manage on my own, i don’t need your help mingyu”, you say, trying to move but the movement causes pain to shoot up through your left side, making you let out a soft whimper of pain.
mingyu wastes no time in fetching the medical kit and his hand is already moving to lift you shirt so he can see the wound. you side-eye him as you lift the shirt, bunching it at your ribs.
“you’re so annoying”, you mumble as he assesses the wound.
“you should look at yourself in the mirror”, he says, making you lean back a bit so he could see the cut fully. you hiss in pain when the disinfectant comes in contact with your skin, biting your lip as it burns. this was the one thing you could never get used to.
“ow, just make sure there are no tiny glass pieces”, you mumble and he snaps his head up. “glass?”, he asks and your nod confirms his suspicions. he takes his time, making sure no tiny shards of glass are left as he cleans your wound. you close your eyes as he cleans the cut and wipes away all the blood, but your heavy breathing wasn’t helping, making a little blood seep out every time you took a breath in and out.
“relax baby”, he coos, his hands resting on your thighs as he looks at you, standing between your legs as he discards another piece of bloody cotton to the side.
“i would if you just left me alone”, you snap out.
he rolls his eyes. “you’re so stubborn, it’s infuriating”, he says, leaning closer
“i could say the same thing about you, you’re so fucking irritating”, you answer back.
“i really don’t know why you’re acting like an idiot when i’m trying to help you”
“i never asked for your help did i, mingyu?”
“so what? i’m doing a favor and being nice”
“by helping me when i said i didn’t want your help”, you emphasise, as you move up to sit up straighter, not realizing how close you had ended up getting to him.
“just stay still”, he demands and you don’t bother talking back this time as he cleans up the cut.
“whoever did this, i’ll kill him”, he mutters as he wraps a gauze around your waist to cover the cut.
“already did”, you confirm and wince a little as he tightens the gauze.
“there, you’re all set”, he says once he’s done, looking at you, and he’s still so close. your gaze flickers down to his lips before flickering to the side. maybe a part of you hated him because of how attractive you found him…god. you didn’t want to make things unnecessarily complicated. it was easier to hate him than admit he had an effect on you.
you’re walking back home after just killing someone (yet another side assingment seungcheol put you on) when you notice a car following you from behind. shit. did they place someone to guard the house? you had to think quickly and shake off the tail otherwise things would get complicated. but then the car speeds up and honks, the window opening, and to your horror, it’s mingyu. what the hell was he doing here?
“what are you doing here?”, you nearly shout. “were you stalking me?”
“i’ll explain later, but get in”, mingyu says.
“i can get home myself thank you. i need to stop by somewhere too”, you say, which was a lie. you just didn’t want to listen to him given you weren’t playing house right now.
“it’s going to rain”, he adds, as you start walking and he follows you with the car.
“it’s not going to rain mingyu”, you say, walking ahead, ignoring him.
and not even a minute later, you feel the first few drops of rain fall on you. dammit.
“see, i told you it was going to rain”, he says.
“i have an umbrella, i’ll manage, just go”, you tell, annoyed that he was right.
you pretend to look in your bag because, of course, you don’t have a fucking umbrella. the rain starts to pour down heavier and if you don’t make a choice now, you were going to get drenched.
“i know you don’t have an umbrella, y/n, so stop being stubborn and get in the fucking car”, he yells louder, getting impatient.
you stop and look at him. “did you just yell at me?”, you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.
he rolls his eyes and sighs. “you’re so stubborn god, what are you going to lose by getting in the damn car. you’re already getting soaked,” he adds.
“ask me nicely”, is all you say as you stare back at him, challenging him.
“y/n get in the car because it’s raining”, he says giving you a fake smile too.
“you didn’t say please”, you add and he sighs, gripping the steering wheel harder.
“y/n please get in the car”, he repeats and you shoot him a small satisfied smile as you open the door and get in the car.
“okay now care to explain why you were following me?”, you tell.
“care to explain why you’re so damn stubborn?”, he counters.
“i am not stubborn, stop being an ass and just tell me why you were following me”, you say.
“i’m the ass? like you weren’t acting like one by not getting in the car”, he says making you scoff.
“fuck you, mingyu”, you sneer, looking out the window as the rain poured harder. the rest of the car ride is silent but you’re glad. if you had to talk to him for another minute right now you’d end up strangling him on the spot.
the rest of the few weeks goes by with you going to a few more events to socialize and familiarize yourselves with the environment, the people and also gather valuable information and intel. mingyu and you seem to play the husband-wife role pretty convincingly. you both come back home late that night but you barely manage to sleep. since you were up early, you decide to hit the gym. one of the perks of this house was that it had a fully equipped gym room, courtesy of mingyu of course.
when you enter the room, you quickly realise you’re not alone and mingyu was there too. great. you were almost going to exit but you catch yourself. you didn’t do anything wrong, so why run? you walk in to see mingyu doing some pull-ups. his back was to you but you’re sure he noticed your presence - of course he did. you watch as he does a few more pull-ups, the muscles on his back and arms flexing with each move.
“stop ogling me”, mingyu’s voice floats in the room, breaking the silence.
“im not ogling you, gross”, you scoff, disgusted. “i thought seungcheol told you to stop walking around shirtless”, you add, giving him a look.
“relax, baby, i’ll put on a shirt later, i know you’re enjoying the view”, he smiles back as he jumps down and turns to face you. asshole.
“yeah, right”
“you were literally ogling me right now”, he deadpans.
“I WAS NOT! stop calling it that. i was just assessing where i need to strike first in order to kill you, you know, for research purposes”, you snap back, only for him to smirk back at you.
“yeah? i’ll choose to believe that little lie for now but i’d like to see you try”, he provokes, walking closer to you.
“oh yeah? i’d love to. the moment this operation is done, i’ll be coming for you, so you better watch your back”, you tell, playing along as you cross your arms across your chest.
“hm, whatever you say, baby”, he says, stepping closer until he’s towering over you. you look up at him and stare back. not that pet name again. you told him countless times not to call you that, it was infuriating, but he just didn’t get it, did he? he needed to be taught a lesson. in a blink of an eye, you grab your knife which you kept concealed and grab mingyu’s arm, swinging him so his back hits the wall with a thud, the cold metal of the knife to his neck.
“if you call me baby one more time, i swear i will actually strangle and kill you”, you threaten, staring right up at mingyu. mingyu’s surprised and amused. it would be a lie to say he didn’t find you hot right now.
“always carry a knife around with you?”, he prompts, raising his eyebrow.
you smile, leaning closer to him as you whisper in his ear. “it’s my favorite one, it’ll slice your neck and you wouldn’t even know it until you’re choking and gasping on the floor”, you tell.
“yeah, baby? i can’t wait to see you try”, he whispers back, his hands grabbing your waist, spinning you, his other hand reaching up to hold both your hands up by the wrist, pinning you to the wall. you try to move but his grip was solid.
“so, how are you going to kill me now?”, he mocks, pushing you against the wall, his body pressing against yours. he looks at you, his nose almost brushing against yours.
“i could maybe snap your neck right now or still slice your neck, your choice”, you say, blinking up at him innocently.
“yeah? care to show me how?”, and so you do, bringing your leg up to knee him in the shin, swiftly wrapping your arm around his shoulder as you kick his feet, making him lose his balance. you push him down and knock him to the ground and he falls on his back. he’s lucky he lands on the foam mattress that was on the side and you waste no time in bending down and straddling him, holding your knife to his neck, and adding a little pressure this time for fun.
“any last words?”, you ask and he just smiles up at you.
“i’ll spare you for now because we have a mission to complete”, you add, getting up as you push off him but he grabs you, flipping you over in the blink of an eye so that he’s hovering over you now.
“i take it you want me to stab you anyway?”, you ask, the knife still strong in your grip.
“why do you hate me so much?”, he asks, looking down at you, his body caging yours.
“you really want to know?”,
“im so curious”, he tells lowly.
“because you’re so fucking cocky about everything and too full of yourself”, you tell, looking up at him. “and you’re an idiot who only thinks he’s handsome and just everything about you is infuriating”, you spit.
“really? i think you forgot to add the part where you have a small crush on me?”, he adds with a smirk and you’ve had enough. you place your hands on his chest and push him off you, sitting up.
“that’s the biggest lie i’ve ever heard”, you say.
“i just know it baby…oops i mean, y/n”, he says, getting up to fetch his bottle of water as he walks to the side.
“but you did just call me handsome”, he points out as he takes a sip of water.
“i did not”, you grit out. “and i do not have a crush on you. if you were the last man on earth i would gladly die single”, you grit out.
“lies, you spew such lies, y/n”, he says, laughing.
the next morning you see mingyu in the kitchen and he smiles, fucking smiles at you.
“i was expecting you to sneak into my room last night and-“ “slit your throat? oh yeah i was so tempted but i thought that would be too painful”, you tell innocently.
“or you’re just scared to do it”, he says.
“i think you forget i’m a trained assassin. i know more than 20 ways to kill a man so you should be careful. you should start by hoping i didn’t poison the coffee you’re drinking right now”, you say before turning and walking away.
you hear him chuckle but it fades away after a few seconds. “wait…you didn’t really spike my coffee right…y/n…”, mingyu asks and you smirk to yourself, not giving him an answer as you make your way back to your room. 1 for y/n, 0 for mingyu.
things are starting to get serious now. it’s two days before the big event and you have a meeting at the safehouse with seungcheol, dokyeom, dino and vernon, who are all going to help you in pulling this off by working behind the scenes. seokmin told you that he’ll get you the knock-off painting in a van that evening and dino would help assist you while vernon be there to hack the security systems and cameras when needed.
the plan was that you’d leave to the auction and watch around. you’d have to make a few bids too, so you’d blend in and seungcheol had given you the money so you were free to bid on anything you liked. then there was a 45-minute break between and it was in that break that you had to steal the painting without getting caught. dino would be waiting down in a van, pretending he was a driver and he’d take off with the painting. the only thing left was pulling this off. with the level of security that this event was going to have, you needed to do everything right to pull this off. you were excited.
it's finally d-day. you’re getting ready in your room, due to leave in 15 minutes. you spent the entire day figuring out what to wear. it was a posh event, so you had to wear something pretty, something that would make heads turn, something that would make me look like you fit in there - something exquisite. you decided to go buy a dress earlier because you didn’t have anything fancy to wear with you, since you’d left most of those types of dresses back home, only bringing essentials along when you moved in with mingyu for the time being. you ended up buying a pretty sweet and head turning dress, something fancy in your favourite color too. it was a maroon, satin dress, which went all the way down to the floor. there was a slit for the leg that stopped just short of your thigh. the highlight of the dress was the back – it was backless, with a criss-cross strap that had to be tied. the only problem, you couldn’t seem to reach back to tie it tight enough that it wouldn't unravel during the night.
you wore your heels - white glitter ones to contrast the red dress. you checked your makeup in the mirror one last time and tried to tie the strings on your back again but you couldn’t seem to get the crisscross pattern right and you were struggling to tie it up. just then you hear a knock on your door.
“y/n are you ready? we have to leave in five minutes”, mingyu says from outside.
“okay!”
and five minutes later, you’ve given up, groaning as you bring your arms down, knocking your arm on the table in the process. “ouch”, you say in frustration and mingyu knocks on your door again.
“y/n? are you okay?”, he asks again, opening the door slightly. you get up to open the door and mingyu looks at you. you watch as his eyes rake all over your body as checks you out. you stare back at his face and he’s still staring at you, his eyes moving over every part of your body. you ask him something but he doesn’t reply, still staring, devouring you with his eyes as he takes you in.
“finished eye fucking me?”, you ask, annoyed, bringing his attention back to you. he looks at you and smirks. “i wasn’t done but i can continue later”, he teases.
“whatever, can you help me tie my dress in the back? i just can’t seem to reach it”, you ask him and he stands up straighter and you realize this wasn’t the sort of question or help he was expecting you to ask.
“sure”, is all he says and you turn around, holding your hair up so mingyu could tie your dress.
“you have to crisscross it and then tie it”, you explain, looking at his reflection in the mirror in front of you.
as he ties your dress, his fingers rub your bare back occasionally, sending sparks all over you body. he pulls back the threads to make them tight. you watch from the mirror as he tries his best to carefully tie it. he looked…so fucking good tonight. the suit was tailor made for him, making him look crisp and sharp. you’d have to painfully admit that he did indeed look hot tonight but you catch yourself and swat those thoughts and any other intruding thoughts away immediately. you’re about to move a bit forward when he pulls back again, securing the knot, and then his eyes find yours in the mirror reflection.
“you look gorgeous”, he whispers against your ear, making a shiver run down your spine.
“i know, thanks for the confirmation though”, you say, not willing to be swayed by his comment and how much he seemed to be affecting you right now.
“let’s go steal a painting”, you say with a smirk.
you drive to the event, and somehow mingyu managed to snag a limo to the event. don’t ask how, it was probably seungcheol’s doing but now you’re driving there. you put your in-ears on for further communication with mingyu and the others on the mission. woozi had designed it so it look like an ear cuff, making it look less suspicious on you. mingyu’s was transparent in the front, so it blended in.
“relax”, mingyu says after a few minutes of silence in the car as he sits opposite you.
“i am relaxed”
“you look tense”
“i’ve stolen plenty of stuff before so this is a piece of cake”, you tell.
“we got this”, he assures.
you reach the venue and get down, mingyu offering you his hand as you step out of the car. you take it and you automatically wrap your arm around his as you both walk in together. you stand behind a few people, all waiting to move inside and everyone is holding the same invitation you are holding. when it’s finally your turn, mingyu shows the person your invites and after scanning it for a few seconds he hands it back to us, telling us to enjoy our time here. you’re handed a number picket from the counter the moment you enter, for you to make bids.
the auction starts in an hour since people are still coming. most of the vvip and vip guests coming later for security reasons. you walk to the hall and scan the crowd for anyone you know or can recognize. mingyu does too. you agree to split up and scan the hall so it would be faster, mingyu going left while you go right. after you’ve confirmed who’s coming and who’s yet to come, cross checking with the guest list that you’ve memorized that jeonghan managed to get his hands on. there were still a few guests and vips left to arrive. all the vvips or vips who did arrive were on the other side of the hall, with higher security. jihyo hadn’t arrived yet and you couldn't see anyone from soyeon’s team either. but you did spot hwasa; she had multiple businesses and was a trendsetter. anything she touched, ate or wore was sold out, she was that good, and everyone loved her. it was going to be interesting to see what she bids for here.
after gathering all the information you needed, you’re turning around when a man bumps into you.
“oh, im so sorry”, he says, turning around.
“it’s no problem”, you say, putting your hand up. he looks at you again, shamelessly checking you out and you roll your eyes as you turn to walk away again, but he grabs your hand.
“wait, i don’t think i’ve seen you around, are you new here?”, he asks, hopeful, but you had no interest in entertaining him.
“yeah, i just moved here”, you say, quickly, pulling you hand out of his grip. “i have to go”, you add.
“see you at the auction? which number are you, i’ll try to sit at your table”, he asks, getting desperate.
“that’s all right, im fine”, you say again, trying your best to be nice.
“come on, don’t be shy”, he adds with a chuckle. “girls are usually falling all over me”, he adds, maybe not liking how you were not falling for his tricks.
“can’t let beautiful women like yourself be alone at an event like this, can i? which table will you be seated at? i can show you around if you like”, he asks again and now you’re really starting to get irritated. you would have knocked him out by now if this was any other circumstance but you hold back, not wanting to cause a scene or mess anything up.
you’re about to say something when you feel a warm hand encircle your waist and from the smell of the cologne, you already know who it is – mingyu.
“there you are baby, i was looking for you”, he says sweetly, kissing your cheek as he pulls you closer to him. there’s a hint of possessiveness in his voice as he looks at the man who was talking to you.
“who’s this?”, mingyu asks, looking at you, his grip getting tighter around your waist.
“oh i’m sorry i just bumped into her and was apologizing”, the man fills in.
“i see. next time i suggest you watch where you’re going”, mingyu tells, glaring at the guy as he pulls you away, telling you that he wanted you to meet someone.
as you walk, you notice a few heads turn and people look at you but you just ignore it and walk like you belong there. you hear mingyu faintly curse under his breath.
“what?”, you ask
“you shouldn’t have worn that baby, everyone is staring at you”, he grits out lowly, jealousy evident in his voice.
“excuse me? are you sure you’re not the one staring? it doesn’t matter to me, as long as we steal the painting and get the job done”, you say, lifting your dress up slightly as you walk up the stairs to the auction hall.
“that idiot is following us”, he adds, spotting him from his peripheral vision.
“well, that’s annoying, we don’t need him tailing us. should i knock him out and throw him somewhere?”, you ask as you walk, smiling at a few people who welcome us at the top of the stairs.
“i’d have knocked him out myself if i had to but that’s a risky move for now”, he says. we reach the upper floor and mingyu holds your hand as he leads me to the left side of the hall, where there are fewer people. mingyu’s back faces the people as you look ahead.
“is he still looking at us?”, mingyu asks, his back facing the man who was still following you.
“yeah but what do we-“, you’re cut off by mingyu’s hand tilting your chin as he leans in to kiss you, his lips pressed against yours. he pulls away ever so slightly as he looks at you.
“mingyu-", he kisses you again, this time moving his lips against yours and your move my lips too, kissing him back. he pulls away a few seconds later.
“what are you doing?��, you finish your sentence, shocked.
“now look, he’ll be trying to find a new target to woo”, he tells and you look, seeing the man already talking to another group of women, hoping to find a different date.
“worked like a charm”, he says, with a satisfied smirk. and that’s when the action of what mingyu just did hits you, but you decide not to say anything, not wanting to yell at him or draw any more attention to yourself. you’d give him hell about this later.
the auction is about to begin and you find a table to the front, and sit down. you mentally make a note of where a few other vips are sitting and scan the crowd. you spot jihyo in the front, surrounded by a few bodyguards who are off to the side.
“good evening ladies and gentlemen! welcome to the annual auction hosted by the national museum of culture and arts. we are pleased to have you all here. we will be starting the auction and the rules are simple – the highest bidder wins, so have fun. we would also like to mention that part of the funds collected from the auction will be put aside to aid in cultural growth and in preserving national treasures and artifacts. we will also be partnering with Vision to offer scholarships to five students. your contributions will be deeply appreciated.", the host welcomes and explains.
"and the most anticipated part of the night, the beautiful painting ‘the great fields of sorrow’ by lily lee will be unveiled to the public after 20 years. you do not want to miss this, it is truly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and we are so glad you are all here to witness history in the making. now, let us begin”, the host announces, gleefully.
the auction begins and the first few bids go by fast, people bidding left, right, and center. but it’s towards the end that the most valuable artifacts and paintings start coming out. you have your eye on this one painting, you’d seen it in the auction catalog earlier and you were determined to get it. the moment the painting comes up to be bid, you grab the picket from mingyu and raise you hand, making a bid.
“what are you doing?”, mingyu asks.
“bidding?”, you tell like it wasn’t obvious to mingyu right now.
a few more people bid on the painting but you bid again, raising the bid higher and higher each time. but some women keeps bidding along as well and you weren’t going to lose this. you raise you hand, making the bid higher and now it’s just you and the other woman raising hands as you both try to outbid each other.
“what are you doing? drop it”, mingyu says next to you.
“no, that painting’s mine”, you grit out, raising your hand again to raise the bid. anyone could be able to feel the tension in the room right now.
“y/n, we don’t have that much money to spend, are you crazy?”, he asks, turning towards me.
"i don’t care, i want that”, you tell, raising your hand to make another bid, raising the price impossibly high. people who were bored and had no interest in the auction were suddenly watching us carefully, eager to see who would finally win the bid.
the lady falters, wondering if she should raise the bid and no one else raises their hand to make another bid. you smile to yourself.
“going once”, the man says, hoping the lady would change her mind and raise the bid.
“going twice….and sold”, he declares, the wooden hammer hitting the wooden plate and you’re smiling in victory.
“i won”, you tell mingyu.
“yeah and you better be explaining to seungcheol why his assets suddenly depleted” mingyu tells.
“at least seungcheol would let me have it, unlike you, sitting here and complaining, it’s so annoying”, you add, clicking your tongue.
“you’re the annoying one”, he says without missing a beat and you kick his leg from under the table, giving him a fake smile. “shut up and don’t get on my nerves”, you tell through gritted teeth, making a few heads turn. you clear your throat and sip on your champagne, smiling at the few people who turn to look at you.
that was the last bid and the auction had now ended. people start getting up to either grab a drink and talk or to go make arrangements to collect their paintings or artifacts that they just bought. this was indeed a good way you could sneak the real painting out. you quickly intercom with dino and you coordinate with him, vernon listening in too so he’d know which cameras to hack and take down.
“we should go, we have only 45 minutes before the painting is revealed”, you tell, getting up and walking out to the outer hall. there is music playing and someone is singing. the host announces that people can dance if they like and a few people do, couples peppered across the floor as they dance and sway together. you steer right away from the crowd and start moving downstairs when mingyu grabs your hand, blocking your path.
“care to dance?”, he asks.
“no i don’t dance”, you tell but mingyu ignores you and holds your hand as he guides you to the hall where the crowd was, choosing a quiet corner and pulling you closer to him, his hand resting on your waist as his other hand is intertwined in yours.
“mingyu i said i don’t want to dance”, you tell, slightly annoyed.
“i know, but i do”, he says and you find yourself moving closer to him as your rest your other hand on his shoulder, trying not to bump into the person behind you. you both sway to the soft music that plays and mingyu locks eyes with you, a small smile playing on his face and you don't realise how close you've gravitated towards him.
“we’re wasting time, let’s go”, you tell after two minutes.
“a little fun never hurt, you need to learn to let loose a little, sweetheart”, he tells, looking at you and you don’t miss the way his gaze flickers down to your lips.
“but you really should have worn something else”, he whispers near your ear. “i’m starting to get jealous at the way all the other guys are starting at you."
"it's a pretty sweet outfit isn't it”, you say softly and the the corner of his mouth lifts into a faint smile.
“hm let’s go”, he says, pecking your cheek as he intertwines his hand in yours. you walk down together and walk towards the restrooms. when the path looks clear, you take a detour to the staff room, which would give you access to the basement and other private areas of the building. jeonghan had given you copies of the access key too, so you could now slip into any room you liked without having to break any alarms.
you’d already memorized the layout of the room and knew exactly where the safe room would be located.
“you brought a gun right?”, you ask.
“what do you think baby, of course, i did”, he answers raising his brow. it was hidden using a chip that emitted waves and would not be picked up by any electronic scanner, which is how it got sneaked in successfully. another one of woozi’s genius creations. you reach the safe room but there were two guards up ahead.
“vernon, can you hack the walkie-talkies? tell the guards to move to the upper level”, you ask.
“on it”, vernon responds immediately and in two minutes the guards start walking away and turning around the corner.
you run up and unlock the door using the key card, opening the door and quickly shutting it behind you. you unlock another door and finally head inside the safe room, where the painting and other treasures were stored.
the painting is easy to find, it’s kept in a bulletproof glass box but that’s when you realise something is wrong.
the painting is bigger. it’s not the same size seokmin had told you. you panic because this would now hold you back and you had to think on your feet to figure something out quickly.
“what the fuck?”, you tell. “how are we supposed to discreetly steal this huge painting?”, you almost yell at mingyu who’s looking at you, confused as well.
“i don’t know, we just take it and walk out”,
“and let everyone know we stole it, mingyu? that’s just genius. why don’t we just announce it to the whole world then”, you yell back, annoyed.
“i thought seokmin told us it was going to be smaller? this isn’t the same size he mentioned”, you tell, running a hand through your hair.
“i think he forgot to add one digit in the dimensions”, mingyu tells and you mentally face-palm yourself.
“so now what do you want me to do?”
“i don’t know just take it and we place the decoy and leave”
“the decoy isn’t even the same fucking size mingyu”, you yell, getting impatient.
“fuck”, he curses under his breath. “let’s just take the painting and go”,
“how do i just take it, mingyu? do you want me to shove this painting up my ass and leave? how the hell are we going to walk out with it? didn’t you tell dino was waiting down in the van? how can we possibly walk with this huge painting all the way to the basement and give it to dino without anyone seeing us and not put the knock-off.”, you tell, getting more and more impatient with each passing second.
“jesus, y/n im trying to figure it out so please calm down”, mingyu snaps back.
“is everything okay?”, vernon’s voice fills your ear.
“wait guys, seokmin just told me that he has the proper decoy size in the van downstairs”, vernon tells after a few minutes of silence.
“wait what do you mean?”, you ask.
“he just told me saying he put the correct decoy painting size in the van, and that he realized he’d messed up the dimensions and got it remade. he said his printer had ran out of ink and missed printing one digit”, vernon explains calmly.
“then send it in, we have like 20 minutes before the painting gets showcased!”, you yell at vernon.
“dino’s on his way with it, just hold on”, vernon assures, going back to intercom with dino.
meanwhile, you and mingyu try to figure out how to unlock the box. the box had a passcode and three wrong tries and it would alarm the security, so you had to be careful. woozi had given you a decoder which mingyu had hidden outside and you grabbed on the way to the safe room. mingyu attaches the decoder and you watch as the numbers scramble, trying to decode the pin and unlock the box.
“what’s taking so long”, you groan, clicking your tongue.
“y/n calm down. we’re fine”, mingyu says as he locks eyes with you.
“if seokmin hadn’t realized we’d have been fucked over big time mingyu, do you understand? we could have gotten caught. do you understand how big of a fucking problem that could have been? and you’re acting all high and mighty asking me to just take this painting and go like it won’t be so fucking obvious that it’s not the same painting. and dino needs to hurry up because there are only ten minutes left, and we need to take this and transport it all before they come in to take the painting out to display, so we’re short on-", you’re cut off by mingyu’s hands cupping your cheek as you feel his soft lips on yours, again.
“you really need to shut up sometimes”, he mumbles against your lips. maybe it was because you were in the heat of the moment, but you kiss mingyu back, grabbing him by his tie to pull him closer, closing the gap between you both.
“guys?”, vernon’s voice fills my ear through the in the ear but you both ignore him. “dino’s almost there”, he adds but none of you bother to reply, too busy kissing each other.
the safe door opens and closes in silence and dino steps into the room. (it had a anti slam and quiet door so it would be discreet and safe)
“i hope i’m not interrupting something?”, dino asks, making you break away from the kiss and the look on dino’s face is mischievous.
“n-no"." shit.
"did you get the proper knock off? hurry up we have to be out of here in ten minutes”, you tell, pushing mingyu off you and walking up to the box, which had successfully unlocked.
dino handles the real painting carefully, wearing a pair of cloth gloves before taking out the painting from the box with care and placing it on the wearable rack, and replacing it with the knockoff that he streathly managed to bring here; courtesy to vernon for hacking the camera footage and security walkie talkies. if you were asked to play spot the difference between the real painting and the fake one, you wouldn’t have been able to guess shit, the fake one was just that good. dino quickly covers the real painting in a satin white cloth and you quickly walk out. dino disguised as one of the staff and security members, so it would look like he was just taking the painting you had just bought to your car so you could take it home. thankfully the painting you bid on and bought was around the same size too and you bring it along as you leave. no one gives you any suspicious looks as you leave and you walk out with confidence, your arms locked in mingyu's as you both walk together.
you make it back up to the upper level and back to the hall before you take the elevator to the basement. dino loads the painting into the van and he and vernon take off. mingyu and you bounce as well, getting in the limo and telling your driver to take you back home, making the excuse that you weren't feeling to well when someone approached you, asking why you weren’t staying back to see the painting that was going to be revealed shortly.
as soon as you get in the car, you kick off your heels, relief flooding through your feet as you sit. you let out a big sigh and take the chance to open the bottle of champagne that’s in the car, pouring yourself a glass and mingyu one too, offering him the glass.
“to successfully stealing a painting”, you say, raising the glass to make a toast and he smiles. you down the glass in one shot, the adrenaline still pumping in your veins. placing the glass down, you look at mingyu, who’s still watching you.
“what?”, you ask mingyu, who looking at you like he wants something.
“nothing, you’re just…gorgeous”, he says.
“you flatter me too much, mingyu”, you say, getting up to move, picking up your dress slightly as you move to sit on his lap, straddling him. his hands find your waist immediately, pulling you closer against him as your hands rest on his shoulders. his hand cups your cheek as he leans forward to kiss you, moving his lips against yours, slow and long, kissing you like he’s been craving this all along. he deepens the kiss, biting your lower lip teasingly, making you let out a soft moan, your mind too fuzzy to care about what you were doing right now.
“fuck, you’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?”, he groans, kissing your jawline.
“i know you wore this dress on purpose baby, to rile me up”, he says and you kiss him in response and he kisses you back, this time with more vigor and passion.
“maybe”, is all you can say as mingyu’s lips are on yours again.
“i’ve been dreaming about this for so long, to kiss you, to have you”, he groans as he kisses your neck, your eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. your hands busy themselves with loosening his tie and undoing the first few buttons of his shirt.
“look at you, i thought you hated me baby”, he mumbles against your neck.
“i still do”, you tell, your voice coming out breathy and soft as he leaves a trail of kisses along your collarbone, his hands roaming your body, his touch sending shivers and sparks throughout your body.
“what if dino tells on us”, you realise, whispering softly as he continues to leave soft kisses on your neck.
“you’re worried about that baby? worried he’ll run his mouth and tell everyone you were kissing me? the person you claimed you hated?”, he teases, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth.
he kisses you again, trailing more kisses to your jawline before his hand reaches over to cup your cheek as he pulls you in, capturing your lips with his again, making butterflies erupt in your stomach. you kiss him back, and somehow you couldn’t seem to get enough, getting dizzy on how he feels and tastes. he was driving you crazy. he pulls you closer against him, his grip on your waist tightening with each kiss and you start to lose track of how long you’ve been at it, making out. thank god for the partition between the driver and you was tinted. the car finally comes to a halt in and mingyu breaks away. “we’re home”.
and just like that, mingyu guides you home and wastes no time in kissing you again once you’re behind closed doors, guiding you to his room while he never breaks away, kissing you breathlessly.
the next morning, you wake up tangled in mingyu’s arms and the events of last night come crashing onto you. you turn around to face mingyu and he lazily pulls you closer to him, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.
“go back to sleep”, he mumbles and you push away a few stray hairs from his face.
“you’re so lazy”, you say, as you move to get out of his arms, but he tightens his grip, not letting you leave.
“don’t make me slit your throat mingyu, let me go”. you say teasingly, poking his arm and he finally loosens up. just then the doorbell rings. you get up and take a peek, seeing seungkwan standing outside. you open the door but the expression on his face tells you that something is wrong.
“what’s wrong?”, you ask, as he steps in.
“dino- he- the painting…dino is…”, seungkwans stutters out, making no sense.
“what happened?” you ask again, putting your hands on seungkwan’s shoulders to try and calm him down.
“dino, he got intercepted by another gang and they’re holding the painting and dino hostage”, seungkwan spills out.
fuck.
after hearing that you waste no time in going back to the safe house with mingyu.
“how’d they contact you? how did they know we were going to be there”, you ask seungcheol. with him are joshua, vernon, seokmin, and hoshi.
“we’re not sure”, seokmin says.
“but what i’m sure of is either they had a tail on you or you told them our location”, seungcheol says, looking at you straight in the eye.
“what the fuck are you implying?”, mingyu defends immediately.
“no i would never do that seungcheol and you know that”, you tell, staring him down.
“how can you even say that”, mingyu adds.
“because they want you in exchange for returning the painting and dino back safely y/n”, seungcheol tells and you pause, trying to process what he just said.
“what?”, is all you can say after a few seconds of silence.
“that’s what they negotiated with seungkwan”, seungcheol tells. “and if you two had responded to vernon then we could have maybe sorted this out earlier. there was no response from the both of you after last night”, seungcheol adds, looking between you and mingyu. you gulp, hoping he can’t possibly guess what you and mingyu were up to last night.
“here are the terms of negotiation”, seungkwan adds, sliding over a piece of paper to you.
if you want to get back your precious painting and friend, do the following. tell anyone or try to pull anything funny, otherwise the only thing you’ll be getting in return is your friend’s dead limp body and a police raid. so, follow the instructions carefully
1) we want the girl in exchange for the painting and your friend
2) come to the abandoned warehouse by the paddy fields tonight at 8:00pm
3) the girl comes alone and that’s it. once she comes, we’ll have the painting and your friend released.
4) no guns, or weapons, and don’t try or even think to act smart in any way unless you want to be responsible for your friend’s death.
the letter was signed off with a stamp of the gang seal, which you faintly recognized for some reason.
“i’ll go”, is all you say because it doesn’t look like you have any other option right now. you didn’t care about the painting but you did care about dino and you had to make sure he’d come back safe.
“there’s no way in hell she’s going alone”, mingyu interjects, cleary upset.
“mingyu, stop it”, you yell at him. who was he to tell you what to do?
“mingyu stop putting your emotions into the mission, we have a problem, and i’m going to deal with it accordingly, or else im putting you out”, seungcheol says.
“what is wrong with you? you’re just going to let them have y/n?”, mingyu asks, getting up, frustrated, running a hard through his already messy hair.
after a few more arguments, things start getting heated between seungcheol and mingyu, seokmin pulls him away from the room and you manage to finish the rest of the conversation with seungcheol. back home, mingyu’s still tense and he hits the gym to try and take off some of his anger and frustration.
you don’t know why he was acting like this to be honest. you could manage perfectly well on your own, it wasn’t like you were going to die or anything. he seemed to be making a big deal about this and it was getting on your nerves. you’re in your room and you can hear the sound and impact of mingyu’s punches on the boxing bag through the walls. what the fuck was he so worked up for? you try ignore the sound and get back to getting ready for tonight.
you know they said no weapons but you weren’t going to go in blind. your pants had a secret pocket where you could hide my small knife easily and it was undetectable. you decide to carry a few more, concealing them in secret pockets so no one would even know. you had everything planned and you weren't going to let the person who took dino off so easily. just then you hear mingyu’s footsteps as he leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. you ignore him, getting up and checking the time. you had to leave in five minutes if you were going to make it there in time. you look at mingyu’s who’s studying you closely.
“what mingyu? stop staring it’s annoying”, you tell, breaking the silence, walking towards the door so you can leave, but he blocks your path.
“you’re not fucking going anywhere y/n”, he grits out.
“what the fuck? who are you to tell me what to do? i know what i’m doing okay and you need to chill out”, you say, trying to push past him but he doesn’t let you.
“mingyu move, im getting late”, you say in a stern voice.
“i’m coming with you then”, he hisses, grabbing you as he pushes you against the wall.
“no you’re fucking not, stay out of this mingyu, it’s none of your business”
“it is because it involves you”, he says, without missing a beat, leaning closer.
“mingyu, don’t let what happened last night make you all soft for me okay, whatever happened just happened. don’t try to use that to determine what our relationship is now”, you say, trying to sound stern but your voice falters a bit when his hands dig into your waist tighter. he crashes his lips into yours, and the kiss is hot and heavy and angry. your lips move on their own, kissing him back, grabbing his arms for support.
“just promise me you’ll come back to me…alive”, mingyu mumbles against your lips.
“are you doubting me?", you scoff but he ignores the threat.
“and the first thing you’re going to do when you come back and see me is that you’re going to kiss me”, he demands.
“that’s so cheesy and cliché”, you tell, rolling your eyes.
“i’m not taking no for an answer”
“fine oh my god, you’re so stupid”, you mumble, kissing him one last time as he lets you go.
you reach the abandoned warehouse on time, with two minutes to spare. you look around but see no one around, the place dark and deserted. you decide to wait and stand outside to see if anyone shows up. after two minutes of waiting, you hear a rustle in the grass, standing alert, only to see a stray dog appear, but it had something in its mouth. the dog drops the things it was holding in front of your and runs off without warning. you carefully bend down to pick up the things, seeing a piece of paper and a black face cover that was meant to cover you entire face.
put on the mask on and be a good girl and wait
you crush the paper and scan your surroundings one more time before putting the mask on. after a few seconds, you realize the mask is laced with something, something strong and it’s too late because you’re already getting dizzy. your hand slips down as you fail to remove the mask and your knees give in as you fall to the ground, unconscious.
you wake up with the mask still over your head and groan, shaking your head, trying to get rid of the dizziness that’s was still lingering.
“she’s awake”, you hear someone say, immediately getting alert.
“call boss”, another voice adds.
you try to move but your hands are bound together tightly with a rope that’s painfully cutting into your wrists. you can faintly make out the light in the room, it must have been dimly lit. you hear a door open and footsteps, as they come closer to you and suddenly, the mask over your face is harshly yanked out. you close your eyes shut at the sudden intrusion of light and look around, trying to gather your surroundings as your eyes adjust to the light. you manage to look up, seeing a figure looming over you.
“hi there pretty girl, remember me?”, he asks menacingly. you blink your eyes as you scan his face, trying to remember who but you don’t.
“who the fuck are you?”, you lash out.
he clicks his tongue in response. “i’m disappointed, i thought you’d remember me after what you did, that’s a shame. but no worries, we still have time”, he says, one of his men dragging a chair and he takes a seat in front of you, leaning forward to get a better look at you, at your state.
“look at you. you’re supposed to be highly skilled right? but here you are, tied up for me to play with. i’m excited”, he tells laughing, a grin forming on his face.
“fuck off, where’s dino”, you spit out and you see the flash of anger that courses through him.
he grabs your face harshly, making you look at him, his hand gripping your jaw.
“behave or else i’ll get angry and slice up your friend. you don’t want that do you?”, he warns, putting pressure on your jaw as he squeezes your cheeks tighter. you squirm in his grip and he finally lets you go, your head hitting the wall in the process.
“where is he?”, you ask again, breathing hard. “i kept up my end of the deal”, you grit out.
“oh i will tell you where he is, but i just want to have a little fun with you before that happens”, he says, a glint in his eyes. he gets up and walks away, saying something to the other men in the room which you don’t quite catch.
that night, you’re alone, only with one guy, whom you assume was supposed to keep an eye on you. you try wriggle out of the rope, and even though it burns, you brush the pain away as the rope digs into your wrist. you smile to yourself once your wrists are free. people really had to learn how to tie secure knots really. you stealthily get up while the guard is pathetically snoring. you roll your eyes and get up, stretching and grabbing a stone from the floor as you walk towards him. he opens his eyes just as you stand in front of him and he doesn’t get the chance to speak as you crash the stone into his skull and he falls to the ground, unconscious. you knocked him hard enough to knock him out but not kill him. you’re eyes have been trained to see in the dark and you make your way across the room, putting your ear to the door to hear for any voices or signs of life. your hands encloses on the doorknob and you slowly turn it, opening it and peeking out. the coast is clear and you step out and, your footsteps silent as you make your way to the end of the hall. the place abandoned so debris and dust was everywhere. after a few steps you faint voices coming towards you and you still against the wall, peeking your ear out to pick up on the conversation.
“how much do you think seungcheol would pay to have her back? i think he’s her most valuable asset”, the voice says, which you recognise as the boss’s voice. “hm let’s see if he wants the painting or her”, another voice chimes in and you furrow your brows. first of all you didn’t need seungcheol protecting you and secondly you were getting pissed at these thugs. you move your foot and knock into something on the floor.
“what was that?”, you hear the voice ask. you mentally curse and get ready to strike, coming out of the shadows and landing a kick right in the chest of one of the thugs. he falls to the ground with a grunt and loud thud.
“oh my, i see you seem to have escaped”, the boss man tells, looking at you, chuckling.
“where’s dino”, you ask, gripping the broken pipe you picked up on your way.
“I think it would be wise to drop that and not do anything stupid, unless you want your friend chopped up in pieces, i’ll glady do it and you know it”, he says, raisng a brow at you.
you study his face and you can tell he would. you’d dealt with enough people in the years you’d taken up this job to be able to read people like a book and this guy was not fooling around when he said he would indeed chop up dino. you grit your teeth as you drop the pipe and it rattles as it hits the ground, echoing in the empty hallway.
“good girl”, he tells condescendingly, smirking, satisfied. “now let’s get you back”, he adds, and this time you’re cuffed in chains, but you’d figure a way to get out.
two days go by and this boss guy is nowhere to be seen. you can tell he’s trying to weaken you by starving you but you could handle this. you’ve been through worse honestly. it’s the third night now and you’re getting impatient and a little tired of this waiting game.
“where the hell is your boss? did i scare him off? ask him to come here right now”, you demand
“he’s busy”, the guard tells, not even bothering to look at you, dismissing you completely.
“busy doing what? chickening out? tell him to come here right now”, you yell and probably because you kept belittling his ‘boss’, you hear him send another man to give the message. and sure enough, a few hours later the boss man comes walking in.
“i hear you were causing a ruckus”, he tells.
“where’s dino”, you demand.
“don’t worry about him. i’d worry about you because”, he says, getting down on one knee to come at eye level with me. “i’m going to take my time killing you slowly”, he says.
“yeah i’d rather enjoy killing you first”, you say.
“you really don’t recognize me, do you? stupid girl”, he spits out.
“uncuff her”, he says, getting up.
“boss but-“
“DO IT”, he shouts, the men cowering and one of them immediately scrambles down to undo the chain on you. as soon as you get free, you leap up, swaying your foot as you kick him down.
“why the fuck should i know who you are”, you say, reaching in your concealed pocket for a knife, but only feeling an empty space instead. there was no knife.
the boss chuckles and looks at you, laughing as he gets up, dusting himself off.
“looking for your precious knives? i thought i said not to bring anything. you thought you could fool me? i think not” he tells, smirking.
“how”, you whisper.
“you’re not the only one who has tricks up their sleeve”, he says in sing song voice, making you narrow your eyes at him.
“i’ve dedicated my whole life to this moment, to seeing you and killing you and you have the audacity to not even remember me”, he sneers, coming closer.
“cloud 9 enterprises, does that name ring a bell?”, he asks, stalking closer to you.
you wrack your brain. cloud 9 enterprises. that name was familiar and that case was famous too. the owner was supposedly making drugs, and disguising them as medication to sell, making people addicted and in plenty of bad ways too. lots of people died, innocent children and adults died because of those drugs he had disguised as a harmless medication. and you remember because you were the one sent to kill him. you look at the man’s face, looking at his features that somehow resemble the man you killed and it hits you.
“you’re his son”, you say.
“bingo”, he says smiling before landing a punch to your gut, making you fall down. “did you know i watched you kill him. i was hiding under his desk as i saw you slit his throat. can you imagine what that does to a child?”, he spits out. “after that day i’ve sworn i would get my revenge and now that i have you, it feels good”, he explains. he kicks you again but you dodge, swinging your leg and tripping him. you kick him again but his men come forward, grabbing you by the arms, holding you back. you thrash in their hold as he gets up. you knee one of the men and get loose but a few more men come forward and hold you down as, pushing you to your knees. he holds his hand out and someone gives him something – a syringe.
“this is a special concoction i made, just for you. i can’t wait to see how long you can last”, he chuckles coming forward and stabbing the syringe in your arm. the stab of the needle is sharp as he pushes the contents of the syringe inside your arm. you thrash even more, angry and they finally let you go. you yell out in frustration and try to land a punch but you miss.
“fuck you, i’ll kill you with my own hands”, you snap out, getting up and looking at him but your vision was playing tricks on you. you shake your head in an attempt to regain yourself and grab a metal stick that was thrown off to the side and jump to hit him, but you miss again. you groan in frustration.
“what did you do”, you shout as you get up, regaining you balance.
“you’ll die a slow painful death, as your organs and body start shutting down. you’ll probably last 36 hours or 48 hours if you manage to pull through”, he tells with a smile, stepping forward and you move to grab his arm, but before you can do anything you feel a sharp piecring pain in your abdomen and he looks at you and smiles as he pushes the knife furthur into you, stabbing you. you whine and yelp as he roughly pulls the knife out.
“how does it feel?”, he asks as you headbut him, not giving up yet. he groans as he pushes you off him, your back hitting the wall as you slump against it. he looks at you angry but chuckles as he looks at your state as he wipes his bloody nose with a cloth. you vaguely hear him say something like “dispose of the body where nobody can find it” and you hear dino’s name too but he’s already out the door.
you try to sit up and stop the bleeding, covering the torn flesh with your palms, and applying pressure to stop the bleeding. you’d managed to tear a part of your long sleeve shirt and use that to tie up the wound, putting the knot tight to somehow slow down the bleeding. you try to move and locate an escape route. there is a window but it’s too high up with no way for you to get to it unless you managed to move the stack of old wooden boxes. but in your state, you don’t think you could.
you don’t know when you fell asleep, it was probably the effect of whatever the drug he had injected you with. you sit awake, pain shooting through your abdomen in the process. the cloth you tied around is now soaked in blood and it’s starting to pool next to you. your hand is heavy as your try to lift it up and tear off your other sleeve to wrap it around the area.
in the far distance, gunshots can be heard and an angry and determined man is making his way into the hideout. “where the hell is she?”, mingyu shouts, the gun digging into the skull of a man who’s on his knees, his hands cuffed behind his back. his henchmen are all knocked out and scattered on the floor.
“she’s probably half dead by now”, he says, smiling, showing no remorse. this riles up mingyu even more and he pulls the man up and smashes him against the wall, his hand closing around his neck.
“what did you do?”, he asks, putting pressure on the man’s neck as dino stands behind him with jun.
he only half laughs as he starts to choke. “go find out yourself”, he mumbles and mingyu throws him to the ground and points his gun at him, shooting him point blank in the head, twice.
“mingyu! seungcheol wanted him alive”, jun rasps out, seeing his limp body.
“he was going to kill him any way i just did him a favor”, mingyu tells, only earning a look of disapproval from jun. “i’ll explain it to him”, mingyu adds.
mingyu searches the entire building, looking for you, until he stumbles across a room that’s been locked from the outside, and something familiar glints in the corner – knives, your knives. mingyu grabs a broken-off stone from the side and uses it to break open the lock, hammering down on it till it breaks. the door swings open and he spots you slumped on the floor in the far corner of the room.
“y/n”, he shouts as he rushes towards you and kneels down in front of you. “fuck fuck fuck”, he mumbles as he sees the blood pooling on the side.
your body stirs awake again at the familiar scent of cologne and you open your eyes. mingyu? were you hallucinating? was this a side effect of the drug?
“mingyu?”, you ask, not sure if this was real.
“y/n, hey, it’s okay, im here now”, he says hurridely, pulling you onto his lap and you yelp in pain.
“shit sorry, but we need to get you out of here”, he explains.
“what are you doing here?”, you ask stupidly.
“i’m here for you, y/n. you didn’t come back and we got another threat and i knew something was wrong. fuck, i should have come earlier”, he explains.
“w-what about dino?”, you muster out with whatever strength you had.
“he’s here and he’s okay. we have the painting too. the van is down, i just need to get you out”, he says.
he tries to carefully scoop you in his arms but you whimper in pain again.
“i’m sorry but we’re almost there okay”, he assures, carrying you out. the jerks from the way he was running caused pain and you whined as he kept saying we were almost there. you hear dino’s faint voice as he opens the back of the van and mingyu rushes inside, gently laying you down on his lap.
“drive drive go!”, mingyu shouts, getting anxious.
“she’s hurt. badly”, dino adds.
“we should’ve brought wonwoo along, dammit. call him and ask him what to do to stop the bleeding”, mingyu commands.
“he-he injected something in me, some drug. said it would stop my organs and body functions within 36 hours”, you mumble out and mingyu’s face pales.
“how long as it been?”
“i don’t-maybe 24 hours”, you mumblr out, your memory hazy.
“here, wonwoo’s on the line”, dino says, holding out the phone so mingyu can speak on speakerphone.
“wonwoo, she’s bleeding out, she’s already lost a lot of blood, what do i do”, mingyu asks helplessly.
“just apply pressure to the wound and get her here”, he says, stern.
“fuck and he injected something in her, supposed to stop a person’s organs and body functions within 36 hours”, mingyu adds. “you can stop that right”, mingyu asks desperately and the line is silent for a few seconds.
“i don’t know it depends on how long it’s been-“
“24 hours”
“get her here, i’ll see what i can do”, wonwoo says, and the line drops.
he keeps talking to you so you can be conscious but after a ten minutes, you eyes start to close, and your body falters. your head starts to spiral and you get dizzy, seeing two mingyu’s above you.
“why are there two of you”, you ask no one in particular, starting to get delirious.
migyu’s pressure on your wound falters and you shrivel up in pain, the burning pain getting too much.
“it hurts, everything h-hurts”, you cry out softly and mingyu wishes he could do something to help ease the pain.
“i know baby you’re going to be okay, it’s going to be okay”, he says, panic evident in his eyes.
“hey hey y/n, don’t-“ mingyu pleads looking at you.
“mingyu”, dino says but he ignores him.
“y/n look at me”, he pleads, pulling you into him. your grip on his shirt loosens slowly and mingyu notices the way your hand falls down.
“fuck no no no, stay with me baby, i’m right here”, he pleads, almost crying but all you see is black as you lose consciousness.
(you were recovering in mingyu’s house since you couldn’t risk going to the hospital with an unknown drug in your system, it would cause a red siren everywhere and bring unwanted attention)
wonwoo tried his best to help save you but you were still lying unconscious after ten days. most of the drug had been flushed out of your system but it was taking some time for your body to recover from its effects.
“go get some rest mingyu”, wonwoo says as he walks in, seeing mingyu beside your bed.
“i need to be here when she wakes up”, mingyu says, his eyes red and his face tired from the lack of sleep.
“she’ll wake up, right?”, he asks for the tenth time today, hope reflecting in his tired eyes.
“i can’t make promises like that mingyu, it depends on the way her body is recovering”, wonwoo tells.
“this is all seungcheol’s fault”, mingyu declares, suddenly seeing red.
“where the fuck is he, he didn’t even come to see her once.”, mingyu adds, getting up.
“mingyu, you need to calm down.”
mingyu ignores wonwoo and shoves him to the side as he leaves for the safehouse in search of seungcheol.
“WHERE’S SEUNGCHEOL”, mingyu yells as he enters, causing seungkwan and vernon to jump and turn around.
“mingyu-"
“where the fuck is seungcheol?”, mingyu asks again, angry.
mingyu stalks ahead and bursts open the door to seungcheol’s office.
“this is all your fault”, mingyu says as seungcheol stands up from his desk and walks out a few steps before mingyu grabs seungcheol by the collar of his shirt.
“if you hadn’t sent y/n alone like i said, she’d be okay, she’d be okay”, mingyu spits out, seething in anger. “did you even go see her, do you know what he did?”, he adds.
“i know what happened and it’s unfortunate”, is all seungcheol says, making mingyu even more upset. in blinding anger, mingyu brings his hand up and lands a punch to seungcheol.
jeonghan runs in. “what-“, he asks but stops upon seeing the scene in front of him.
“im only letting this off because we got the painting”, seungcheol says, wiping his busted lip.
“fuck you, i bet you don’t even care if she dies”, mingyu spits stepping front again but jeonghan blocks him.
“she’ll live, she’s a fighter”, seungcheol tells before seungkwan comes along and he and jeonghan guide mingyu out.
that night mingyu is back home, laying next to your bed as wonwoo administers another round of IV.
“her wound is healing but slowly. it’s still a good sign that her body is functioning and working. otherwise, she would have gotten another infection if the drug had really affected her”, wonwoo says, hoping to bring some sort of relief to mingyu.
“you really love her don’t you”, wonwoo adds as he observes the way mingyu holds your hand.
“i should’ve insisted she doesn’t go alone, but she said she’d come back”, mingyu says defeated.
“if she doesn’t respond in another week, we’ll have to really do something then”, wonwoo tells, and by the way mingyu’s jaw clenches, he doesn’t like the sound of that.
mingyu stays by your bed that night, falling asleep and holding your hand.
you’re dreaming, someone is chasing you. you’ve been running for so long and you’re getting tired. you don’t even know where you’re running, you’re just running and running, hoping to find something.
mingyu stirs awake when he senses your grip on his hand tightening and he’s super alert.
“y/n?”, he asks softly.
someone is calling out to you. you can’t figure out where it’s coming from but you hear the sweet voice calling out my name again. you run towards the voice.
“y/n”, mingyu calls out again as he looks at you, trying to see if you can hear or understand him.
you’re running and running, trying to follow the voice and you vaguely make out a figure standing in front of you. the man stands out with his arms open as he calls out your name one last time and your eyes flutter open.
mingyu lets out a small gasp.
“mingyu”, you try to say, but no voice follows and you close your eyes again.
mingyu wastes no time in calling wonwoo, telling him the news and soon wonwoo is at the house.
“just keep an eye on her”, wonwoo explains saying he'll be back in the morning for a checkup.
in the morning, you wake up, a bit hazy but conscious. what woke you up was the pain and something cold and when you look down you realize your bandage had bled out, probably from sleeping on your side. you try to sit up but your arms give out, and your eyes close. you hear the faint steps of mingyu walking in and he says your name, rushing up to you. he gently sits down next to you, the bed dipping.
“you’re awake, you’re awake”, he says, his hands fumlbing for his phone as he dials wonwoo. you slowly manage to turn and face him, blinking up at him in a daze. he looks down and see’s your bandage that’s bled out.
“im just going to change your bandage okay y/n”, he says to you and you weakly nod. he helps you sit up, lifting your shirt up ever so slightly so he can take off the soiled bandage and replace it. he gently cleans the wound with a wet cloth and you slightly hiss at the pain, your hands clawing at the bedsheet. you take a moment to look at mingyu as he carefully tends to my wound. the way his hair falls over his face, the way the light bounces off him, the way his brows are furrowed in concentration, the way his hands are gentle so that he doesn’t hurt you.
“mingyu”, you say softly and he looks up worried and surprised. this is the first time you talked.
“do you want something? water? or are you hungry? i made some rice porridge earlier i can just-“
“thank you”, you weakly say and try to smile at him, and at this, he crumbles. he gently moves his hands to envelope you as he slowly pulls you into him for a hug.
“i thought i’d lost you there”, mingyu admits softly and you can hear the fear in his voice.
“i’m a fighter”, you mumble out and he laughs.
“‘im just glad you’re awake now. i thought- i was really preparing myself for the worst”, he says, pulling away to look at you. his hand cups you cheek, his thumb gently caressing my cheek. you lean into his touch and rest your head on his chest.
over the next few days, mingyu makes sure you’re comfortable and okay. he’s always checking up on you and you start to feel better. you’re able to get up and walk a little and your wound is healing too. you’re in less pain and wonwoo is impressed and satisfied with the way you’ve been healing.
“where’s dino? i hope he’s okay, i never got to see him afterward”, you say later one night. “do you want me to call them over?”, mingyu asks and you nod eagerly.
you walk over to mingyu and sit down next to him on the couch, looking up at him as you lean against his arm and suddenly you remember - you owed him a kiss when you came back. you sit up a bit and mingyu seems to have caught you staring.
“what?”, he asks, looking at you lovingly. “did you want something?”, he adds.
you simply move so that you’re straddling his lap and before mingyu can say anything, you’re kissing him. he kisses you back a few seconds later and his hands rest on your waist. he moves his lips against yours and his hand tilts your jaw closer to him. your hands wrap around his neck as you tangle your fingers in his hair and mingyu lets out a soft groan as he pulls away.
“fuck. i missed that. i missed you”, he mumbles against your lips.
“i promised you a kiss when i came back right”. you say and he smiles.
“you remembered”
“a little too late if i have to say”
“i’m glad you’re back baby, i missed you so much”, he says again, leaning forward to kiss you again, chasing after your lips. his lips are soft against yours, but the way he’s kissing you is like he hasn’t seen you in years. he kisses you with yearning and emotion, with a sort of urgency. his hand grips your waist tighter but you let out a small yelp since the pain is still there as the wound was still healing and his grip softens.
“shit sorry”, he says, looking to make sure you was okay, only to kiss him back, wanting to get lost in the feeling of his lips on yours. you’re too busy to notice that wonwoo opened the door and the rest of the boys walked in on you both kissing.
“y/n i got your favorite-“ seungkwan starts but stops dead in his tracks upon catching you both.
you pull away and turn your head around to see seungkwan’s mouth hanging open before he smacks a hand over his mouth in shock. dino just gives you a small shy smile and smiles when you smile back at him. you’re about to move off when mingyu pulls you in for one last kiss, just to tease you as you whack his arm and he pulls away chuckling.
wonwoo looks at us as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “i thought i said no strenuous activities for y/n”, he says, looking straight at mingyu.
“she started it”, mingyu says, throwing you in the fire as he gently slides you off him.
“what no! i–“, you start but falter, the words crumbling.
hoshi is immediately by your side, asking you if you’re okay and what happened before he starts pestering you for more details about how mingyu and you started liking each other because in his knowlege you hated him so now he need to know all the gossip and details.
after a few more months, you’re all healed but wonwoo still makes you do a checkup once every month, to make sure you were healing okay and that there were no leftover effects of the drug in your body.
2 years later
“baby i told you not to wear that fuck”, mingyu groans in your ear as he pulls you into a tiny room to hide from the security guards looking for you both.
“concentrate, we still need to get the gold bars”, you say, adjusting his tie as he pushes you into the wall.
“you look so fucking hot i told you that you’d get in trouble if you wore that”, he says, whispering against your ear.
after you healed and got back in the field, you and mingyu had been on countless missions together. this time you had to steal some gold bars from a corrupt politician, and once again to build connections and friends, you had to pose as a married couple. so here you were.
“my wife likes to be a brat sometimes”, he mumbles before pecking your lips.
“watch it, im not your wife”, you say, poking his arm.
“not yet, but i can change that”, he says, giving you a wink.
you stare up at him tilting your head to the side. “are you proposing to me, mingyu?”, you ask.
“maybe”, he says with a goofy smile as he leans in to close the gap between you with a kiss.
and yes, you did successfully steal the gold bars and you maybe tortured the corrupt politician a little, but everyone needs to have a little fun right?
— taglist
@daisycheols @naaaaafla @slytherinshua @weird-bookworm @idubiluv @qaramu @n4mj00nvq @itsveronicaxxx @joshuaahong @fallingforshua29 @frankenstein852 @lvlystars @fairyhaos @rubywonu @aaniag @junniesoleilkth @m1ngyuc0re @wheeboo @hyunyin @minhui896 @fancypoisonapple @raggedypansexual @k-ajla12 @asyre @ilovesungjun @jyiiscool @tis-niki @foxinnie8 @nobraincellmode @ne0c0r3 @nishloves
#covert desires by skye!#skye's writing!#k-labels#caratlibrary#seventeen imagines#seventeen fluff#seventeen scenarios#seventeen drabbles#seventeen au#seventeen x reader#svt fluff#svt imagines#svt x reader#mingyu fluff#mingyu oneshot#mingyu imagines#mingyu scenarios#mingyu x reader#mingyu series#kim mingyu fluff#kim mingyu scenarios#kim mingyu x reader
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Our Precious Assistant (Cross Guild x Reader)
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 4.5
Warnings: 18+ NO MINORS. gn afab reader, exhibitionism, slight voyeurism, dom/ sub dynamics, dom! Mihawk, dom! Crocodile, sub! Buggy, sub! Reader, oral sex, facefucking, PiV sex, spit roasting, creampie, aftercare is important guys, Mihawk and Crocodile are mean to Buggy but in a consensual way, not beta read
Word count: 5.7k
Summary: You’re the assistant to the leaders of The Cross Guild, and after one night of overhearing them having sexual relations, you can’t help but notice their affections towards each other, and eventually… you?
Note: the cross guild can use me any day
Being the executive assistant to three of the most dangerous men in the world was terrifying.
At first.
But after one year of working with them, you’ve grown desensitized to their presence. You see them at their best and their worst. And working for them you see a lot of worsts.
Sir Crocodile is the one you interact the most with since he deals with most of the money and bounties. He works hard and barely rests, which leads him to a short temper. At first every time he glared at you you were sure his hook was about to take you out but now you know when that happens he just needs a nap. You’ve managed to mitigate a lot of employee deaths by planning his appointments around when you know his mood will be bad. And even over time you’ve learned that if you stand firm with him, he respects you more. Never in a million years did you expect that a former warlord of the sea would appreciate you draping a blanket over him when he falls asleep at his desk. You often have to stop yourself from thinking about how peaceful he looks when he actually manages to sleep.
Dracule Mihawk was easier to work with than Sir Crocodile, demanding less of you on a daily basis, but that’s not to say it’s been easy. Being a solitary man he doesn’t interact well with anyone under him (or over him for that matter) so you’re often left to smooth over meetings and negotiations. You don’t talk with him often but when you do he is always polite, if a bit short. Nothing gets past him and it’s worked out in your favor more times than not. He recognizes your work and once when he caught you sneaking a peak at his library he let you borrow the book you were after. When you tried to return it once you were done he told you to keep it. The book sits on your nightstand and helps you remember on the hard days why you stick with the job.
And Buggy?
Well. He’s Buggy. You’ve had the best and the worst times with him. It became clear after only a few months of working with The Cross Guild that Buggy wasn’t actually the one in charge. Between the way Mihawk and Crocodile treated him and how incredibly incompetent he could be led you to put the pieces together on the real power structure. Now that isn’t to say Buggy was a failure all time, quite the opposite actually. Despite how under qualified he was he pulled off the showmanship of the roll quite well and out of all of the leaders he was far and away the best with people. While you didn’t interact with him as much as you did Sir Crocodile he often went out of his way to be around you. He gets bored easily and it often falls on you when there aren’t any of his crew members in the immediate vicinity. As much as it derails your work you find yourself glad for the company. You think it’s because you do actually respect him and sometimes in The Cross Guild that’s hard to come by.
It wasn’t until recently a few things about the relationship between the leaders of the guild clicked for you. You knew the had extended meetings behind doors and on more than a few occasions you’d seen Mihawk or Crocodile laying into Buggy but it wasn’t until you had to come back to the office late one night when it all became crystal clear how their dynamic worked.
You had forgotten some paperwork that you needed to work on so you slipped back into the office after dark when you thought everyone else had gone home. When you got to your desk however, the door to Sir Crocodile’s office was cracked and light spilled out. It wasn’t strange, you knew he pushed himself to work late hours. Normally you encourage him to cut it short so you made your way over to the door and where about to knock when-
“Croc- Please-“ Buggy’s voice was pained and you almost rush in to defend him but a loud moan stops you dead in your tracks.
“I don’t think you’re sorry enough clown.” Crocodile’s voice is sharp and clearly pissed, but there’s an edge to it that you’ve never heard. You almost manage to back away from the door when a third voice speaks up.
“You’re right Crocodile, he really should be apologizing better. He certainly could be putting his mouth to better use.” Mihawk sounds almost bored, but the filth that left his mouth made your blood run hot.
“I’ll do anything- you know I will!” Buggy pleads.
Crocodile chuckles. “Oh, we know you will. You’re always so eager to get on your knees for us, aren’t you.”
The sounds of a zipper being pulled jolt through you and that’s enough to get you to run out of the office as quietly as you can. You pray to whatever gods are above that they didn’t hear you because no matter how fond of you they were- this was too much for anyone to know.
Ever since then you’ve noticed things. Face paint on Crocodile’s collar, stolen glances between Mihawk and Crocodile, or Buggy actually blushing when Crocodile threatened to knock his head off. It felt crazy to know that your bosses were in some kind of polyamorous relationship but no matter how much you want to tell anyone you didn’t. Not even for fear of your job- it was just what you felt was right. But you had to admit thoughts about what the three of them do together creeped into your mind often. It was embarrassing but some nights you got off to imagining what it would be like to be a part of something like that.
Well not something like that. Exactly that. Those three powerful men that you’ve grown fond of. But it was a pipe dream. You kept those thoughts in the darkest recesses of your mind where not even Mihawk’s observation haki could detect them.
But then things kept happening.
It started off easy to ignore. You would see Buggy blushing as you walked into Crocodile or Mihawk’s office, or Mihawk pulling away from Crocodile’s desk quickly as you passed by the door. But when you walked into Mihawk’s office and saw Buggy on his lap there wasn’t much you could do but quickly throw his requested papers on his desk and hurry away, face flushed.
After that it was noticing Buggy’s shoes under Crocodile’s desk when he called you in for a report. Then being asked to stay late and catching Crocodile and Mihawk share a kiss through a wide open door.
You wouldn’t acknowledge the incidents, and they didn’t either, so you were left flustered and confused almost every day. As if seeing them together wasn’t bad enough- it got worse.
Attention started to be directed towards you. You didn’t notice at first, Buggy’s clinging attitude was nothing new and you almost thought nothing of it when he was more touchy than normal. Then Mihawk invited you to stay after work to have a drink with him. You refused- but almost immediately were faced with Crocodile asking you to help him in his office with some more paperwork. Working close at his desk together shouldn’t have been as intimate as it was but you could see him stealing glances at you throughout the night.
Then came the pet names.
Buggy waltzing around your desk calling you star, dear, angel, and any other cheesy ones he could pull out. You hate how much you reacted to them, doing your best to act annoying and praying that he never saw the blush creeping up your neck. Mihawk and Crocodile were more subtle though. Mihawk tagging on darlings at the ends of his requests, Crocodile calling you sweetheart after you deliver paperwork to him. It was almost too much to take on a daily basis, sending you home flustered and now occasionally sexually frustrated.
But you never allowed yourself to think that any of them, let alone all three of them, would want something with you. You knew for a fact they were all in a relationship of some sorts and maybe this was their fun- being cruel to the person they all had easy access to. But you couldn’t stop your heart from soaring at every pet name and every touch or glance they would throw your way. You’d think about quitting- but you couldn’t leave them. As much as you hate it you care about the three of them too much.
But that might all stop today. Earlier in the day Crocodile approached you and said he needed you to stay after for a meeting and your blood ran cold. This was it. You’re getting fired.
You spent all day anxious, subtly packing up your belongings in preparation for the worst. When the time rolled around you knocked on the large door to Sir Crocodile’s office.
“Come in.” His gruff voice answered, and you slowly opened the door to reveal all three leaders of The Cross Guild. Crocodile behind his desk, Mihawk at one of the chairs across from him, and Buggy stationed on a couch along one of the far walls.
You weren’t being fired. You were being killed.
Your fear was clear to all three of them and Mihawk cast an annoyed glance at Crocodile. “I told you this was not a good idea.”
Crocodile rolled his eyes. “And what did you propose? Keep doing Buggy’s plan?”
“Hey!” Buggy sat up on the couch, offended. “I thought we could be a lot more flashy!”
Glares from both Mihawk and Crocodile made him sink back into the couch without another word. Mihawk looks back to you and gestures for you to sit down in the other chair at Crocodile’s desk. Scared and a bit confused you quickly sit.
“I’m sorry.” You speak up, trying to be ahead of this whole thing. “I should have been more careful with your privacy and it’s my fault and I understand why you want to let me go.”
Crocodile, Mihawk, and Buggy all share confused looks before Buggy breaks out in a laugh.
“You’re not being fired.” Crocodile speaks up, leaning over his desk. “And you haven’t been mishandling our privacy.”
“Except on that first night.” Buggy chimes in from the couch. “Not that that was a bad thing!”
Your eyes dart between all three of them, now properly confused. “I don’t understand…”
Mihawk sighs. “We noticed when you accidentally overheard us in this office.”
Of course. You were stupid to think they didn’t.
“But after that and some discussion we thought you might be interested.” Mihawk says it so casually you almost don’t register the words. They thought what?
“It was Buggy’s idea to get bold with our affections to see if you were interested as well but like most of the clown’s plans it was clearly poorly thought out.” Crocodile speaks from behind the desk, filing in the gaps.
“Honestly I think it was just an excuse to be the little exhibitionist he is.” Mihawk comments with glance towards Buggy.
“Hey, hey, maybe there was some self fulfillment there but! You all liked it and we clearly saw they liked us too. Didn’t ya dear?” Buggy leans on the couch to smile and wave at you and it’s only about now where everything is finally sinking in.
“Oh.” You’re sure your entire body is blushing, all the anxious energy now turning into something different.
“So we are sorry if this has all been too convoluted for you. I thought we should make a formal request.” Crocodile gets up from his desk and walks around it, towering over your seat. “Would you think about being a part of our relationship?”
“If you don’t we will forget this ever happened and there will be no more sexual run ins with any of us.” Mihawk adds as he too gets closer, his hand on the arm of your chair.
“And of course, take your time.” Crocodile mentions from above, taking a long drag of his cigar.
“But also could you not because I’m really excited to-“ Buggy is once again cut off by the looks of the two former warlords. But now understanding their dynamic you guess he probably riles them up like this on purpose. The line between fear and arousal is pretty thin, as you are learning right now.
“I can’t say I’m not interested.” You speak up and see Buggy beaming from across the room. “But I just- I’ve never been in a relationship like this.”
Mihawk’s hand glides from the arm of the chair to the outside of your thigh. “Neither had we before this. It’s not easy all the time but we make it work.”
It’s hard to ignore how much of an effect the small touch has on your body and you shift in your chair. “And you all really like me?”
“Yes.” All three of them answer at once, bringing a huge smile to your face. They rarely agree on anything but seeing them so automatically in sync for the answer- it douses a lot of your worries.
“So how would this work exactly?” You ball your hands in your lap, unable to look any of them in the eye directly.
“You would be ours.” Crocodile leans back on his desk to get more in your line of sight. “We go on dates occasionally. We share a bed when we are all in one place.”
“Due to our positions we can’t be as public as we would want to be. But that would be for your safety.” Mihawk’s thumb is drawing small circles on your thigh.
“But that doesn’t mean we won’t occasionally smother you at work.” Buggy bounces off the couch and moves over behind your chair. “Or at least I will.”
“You mean you don’t already?” You turn slightly to smile up at him and he returns your grin tenfold.
“And of course we would love to have you join us in our sexual endeavors.” Crocodile’s large hand creeps under your chin and pulls it over so you’re looking him in the eyes. “If you’ll have us.”
You melt under his touch and a small moan leaves you when Mihawk’s hand slides ever so closer inwards. Buggy’s hands land on your shoulder a gently rub and you are overwhelmed in the best way.
“I’ll have you. All of you.” At your words Buggy’s arms come around and hug you from behind and you can’t help but laugh a bit at his enthusiasm. “So what’s next?”
“If it’s not too fast you’ll come back to our room. Now.” The authority Crocodile exudes makes you nod your head quickly. You don’t know if you would be able to function properly if at least one of them didn’t take you to bed tonight.
Buggy tightens his hug before releasing you and bouncing to the door. Mihawk retracts his hand from your thigh but holds it out for you to help you stand. You take his hand and lace your fingers through it as you turn to the door, Crocodile bringing up the rear.
It’s a whirlwind getting back to their place- which you learn is Crocodile’s originally. None of them kiss you yet but their hands wander. Mihawk never lets go of your hand and squeezes it as Crocodile keeps a guiding hand on your lower back. Buggy’s detached hands are a bit braver, sneaking around your waist and hips and thighs. He gives your ass a light slap as you walk into the bedroom and it’s your turn to whip around and glare at him. There’s no malice behind it though and he waves at you as the offending hand snaps back onto his arm.
Turning back and looking around the room it is more distinctly Crocodile’s than anything from the simple and modern decor with his signature emerald green as accents. The other two have snuck their way in here though. You notice a large vanity mirror with makeup strewn around it and the bed is covered in dark plush fabrics. Despite being mismatched with the rest of the room it makes it more human, and you appreciate that as you slowly make your way over to the almost comically oversized bed.
Turning, you sit yourself on the edge of the bed and look up at the three men. “So, how do we start this?”
Buggy goes to walk towards you but is stopped by Crocodile’s arm. Mihawk and Crocodile share a glance and communicate something without words. Crocodile drags Buggy off to a large loveseat not too far from the bed as Mihawk approaches you.
“We’ll start off gentle, how about that?” Mihawk says as he crowds your space, looking down at you with those striking eyes.
“Hey- you never started gentle with me-“ Buggy’s voice is cut off and when you look over Crocodile has a fist full of blue hair and is harshly pulling his head up. He’s violently pulled into a kiss with Crocodile that you see the clown melt into, the gloved hands going to Crocodile’s knees to stabilize himself. You could watch them make out for hours but your gaze is gently pulled back to Mihawk with his hand on your chin.
“There will be plenty of time to watch. But I have to get you relaxed.” Mihawk grabs your waist and easily hoists you further into the bed, laying you down. He crawls over you, one hand stabilizing himself as another wanders up over your hips, waist, bust, and the finally resting gently around the side of your neck. Using his grip he brings you up and pulls you into a kiss.
Just as promised he starts off gentle, letting you set the pace. His lips are soft and you can taste his favorite wine. Breaking away to catch your breath you loop one arm around his shoulders and slide your mouth next to his ear.
“I appreciate this but-“ You lightly bite at his earlobe. “I don’t want you to be too gentle with me.”
When you retreat back to look at the swordsman’s face you see his eyes blown out, only a slim amber ring left. “I’d knew you’d be wonderful for us.”
He dives into another kiss, this time fully dominating it. His tongue presses against your lips and you let him in easily, letting him take over completely. Mihawk’s calloused hand comes around the front of your neck and he doesn’t squeeze but the thrill of it being there sends chills down your spine.
Eventually that hand sneaks down to your shirt, lightly squeezing one of your breasts before it moves down to the hem of your shirt. Fingers play with the edge before they slip under and push your shirt up as he travels back to your chest. You lean up and he allows you to break away from the kiss as you finish pulling your shirt up and over your head, throwing it somewhere on the floor. Mihawk wastes no time and unclasps your bra as you are doing so, and he pitches the garment far away as well.
Sitting up slightly the former warlord allows both his hands to wander your chest, earning small gasps from you as he squeezes and cups your breasts. He leans back down and kisses down your neck before replacing one of his hands with his mouth, kissing under your breast first before placing an open mouth kiss to your nipple. You bring your hand up to stifle a moan but from across the room a voice chastises you.
“Be loud love, we want to hear you over here.” Crocodile’s voice reminds you of his presence and you look back over his direction and are rewarded with a lewd image.
Crocodile sits wide in the seat, a cigar lit as he watches you and Mihawk. His pants are opened just enough for Buggy to work his cock, one hand on the base and his mouth covering the rest. Crocodile’s grip is strong on the clown’s hair as he forces Buggy’s head down. Seeing Crocodile so composed as he uses Buggy turns you on much more than you ever thought it would and you can feel how wet all of this is making of you.
You’re snapped back to Mihawk as he lightly bites at your nipple and this time you don’t muffle your moan. A hand wanders down your stomach and to your pants where deft fingers unbutton and unzip them quickly. After a harsh bite to the plush of your breast, definitely leaving a bruise, he leans back and brings both hands to the waistband of your pants.
“Lift your hips for me.” You obey his words and he takes off your pants and underwear in one go, and you shudder at the sudden coolness. One hand lays on your hip and another goes to your thigh. Gently he pushes your thighs open and he groans at what he sees.
“All this already?” His fingers skate down to your entrance and he pulls his fingers over it, collecting your slick. Bringing his fingers up to his mouth you watch slack jawed as he licks them clean. “I think I’ll have to taste more.”
Pushing himself back he kisses the insides of your thighs and you moan as he gets closer and closer to where you want him to be. One of your hands fists into the sheets and you bring the other gently to Mihawk’s head, tangling your fingers in his hair.
Finally his mouth reaches your folds and you buck up against him but he quickly brings a hand up to hold you down. With just one hand he’s able to pin your body and that sends another flood of warmth to your core. After another second, making sure you’ll stay still, he finally dives in fully.
His tongue flattens and draws up across your opening and up to your clit where it stops. He presses a kiss to it that makes you gasp before his tongue travels back down and dips inside of you. The hand in his hair grip hard and you’re afraid for a second he’ll stop again but he just moans in appreciation. His nose rubs against your clit and you throw your head back, again getting a glance of Buggy and Crocodile.
Buggy was still kneeling at Crocodile’s feet but he wasn’t blowing him anymore. Instead Crocodile’s own hand was on his dick, gripping the base and slowly tugging as he locked eyes with you. You were finally able to see just how big he was and for a second you got concerned with how that would ever possibly fit inside you. Your eyes went down to Buggy and you could barely make out him softly whining and it took a second before you looked even lower and realized his pants were off. One of his detached hands was steadily pumping a finger into himself and his face was nestled on Crocodile’s thigh. The sight cause you to try and buck into Mihawk’s mouth against but you were powerless and all you could do was writhe and whine against his mouth.
Mihawk’s excellent skills were quickly bringing you to the edge and he could sense it. Pulling away for only a second he called out to Buggy. “Clown, come put your hands to good use.”
You saw the unoccupied glove hand fly over and hover by Mihawk and when he dove in to give attention to your clit the gloved hand when close by, easily slipping two fingers into you. Almost immediately you’re thrown over the edge and scream in pleasure.
The world is fuzzy for a few seconds and when you come back to your body you realize neither of them have stopped their movements. So sensitive from your orgasm you loudly moaned and gripped Mihawk even harder.
Peering up at you he breaks away for a second. “You can give us one more, can’t you darling?”
Buggy’s fingers curl inside you and Mihawk lightly nips at your sensitive clit and you’re cumming again, a deep groan leaving your body as pleasure washes over you again.
Finally the mouth and hand retreat and it takes you a bit before you focus back on the world around you. When you do you see Crocodile, naked and stroking his cock right above you. You sit up and look to him for direction, earning you a sly smile.
“You’re already so obedient aren’t you.” His hand comes up and fingers gently thread in your hair as he pulls you closer to his dick. “Want to show me how good you can be?”
“Yes sir.” You say, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
That earns you a moan from him and he drags you closer, the tip of his cock pressing against your lips. Obediently you open your mouth and let him press himself further in as he guides your head. You take a deep breath through your nose as you push yourself further feeling his dick fill up your mouth and into your throat. When your nose is finally up against his pelvis he moans deep in his chest and lets himself sit there for a moment. Tears prick at the edges of your eyes but it’s worth it for this feeling.
You can only hold like this for so long, and you have to let him slide out of your mouth. You hold your mouth open for him though, thick strings of your saliva connecting him to you.
“Fuck, you’re good.” He praises, the hand in your hair gently petting you for a second before gripping again. “Gonna let me use your mouth more?”
Knowing he loved it the first time you respond with the simple, “yes sir.”
He plunges immediately back into your mouth and all you can do is focus on your breathing as he fucks your face relentlessly. You know you’re dripping onto the bed as you rub against the sheets for any sort of friction. It isn’t long before you feel Crocodile’s cock twitch in your mouth and you assume he is going to cum down your throat but to your surprise he pulls away.
You look up at him, slightly disappointed, tears and spit covering your face. His hand reaches down and wipes away some of the spit.
“I’m not going to waste my load in your mouth tonight sweetheart, there will be plenty of time for that later.” His promise sends a thrill through you and suddenly you are joined in the bed by Buggy.
When you turn to him he looks just as fucked out as you are, his face paint smeared and bruises along his neck. Buggy’s eyes dart up to Crocodiles and you can’t see what’s exchanged but in a flash Buggy is on you, kissing you.
He’s eager and it fills you with new energy as you ramp up to match him. Hands wander every inch of your body, never stopping for too long.
“Been wanting to touch you for so long.” He whispers in between feverish kisses. “So soft…”
He gropes your boobs and ass with detached hands and you gasp into his mouth, giving him the opportunity to snake his tongue in. You give into him but it’s short lived as soon Mihawk is dragging him off of you.
“Hey!” He protests, his hands still full of your body.
“You’ll have your fun.” Mihawk chides. Buggy sulks a bit but brightens up when you cover the hand on your tit with your own and squeeze.
Crocodile’s hands join Buggy’s on your body and you feel him maneuvering you so you’re laying on your stomach, ass to him. Buggy is on your side and Mihawk is in front of you, now naked like everyone else. Now it’s his cock at your mouth. Not as big as Crocodile’s but slender and curved.
“Think you can take two of us at once?” Mihawk asks, hand gently petting you.
“Yes, please.” You moan, embarrassment having left you long ago.
“You’re so perfect darling. Now open up.” You immediately obey the swordsman and he lets his tip sit on your tongue, lightly dragging it barely into your mouth and out.
You’re about to lean forward to take more of him but something presses against your entrance and your head snaps around to see Crocodile lining himself up with you. Mihawk’s hand is in your hair again as he brings your mouth back to his dick.
You feel Crocodile’s cock push into your cunt and you moan at the intrusion. Taking advantage of that Mihawk slips himself down into your mouth further, causing you to almost choke. He seems to enjoy that, lightly thrusting in at the noise.
Crocodile moves slow and you’re thankful for the time to adjust to his size. As you get into rhythm with Mihawk you realize Buggy is stroking your back, gently soothing you. Needing him to be included you reach your hand out and find his thigh, slowly reaching up until you find the base of his dick. You can’t see it but it’s heavy in your hand as you slowly begin to pump him in time with Mihawk’s thrusts into your mouth.
With one final push Crocodile has bottomed out and you feel his hips against your ass. He pauses for a second and leans down, pressing hot kisses to your back while you finally adjust to his full size. It’s not too long however before he’s upright again, and his hand goes to the base of your back as he starts slowly thrusting in and out of you.
Your senses are overwhelmed by pleasure and every moan you release is muffled by Mihawk’s dick and he picks up the pace, loving the way you feel around him. You focus on keeping a steady pace with Buggy and let the rest of your body be used by the two other powerful men.
It’s Crocodile who falters first, his thrusts becoming faster and irregular as he grips your hips firmly and pushes you down with every thrust. You feel him shudder and he reaches over and replaces Mihawk’s hand in your hair with his own, pulling you up off of him.
“Where do you want me to cum, tell me.” He demands, not slowing down at all.
“Inside.” You manage, voice wrecked.
He pulls you into a heated kiss before pushing you back down and doubling his efforts. His hand flies down to your clit as he helps you to reach your peak with him. You cum quickly from his touch and that send him over the edge too, burying himself deep and unloading into you.
Crocodile slowly pulls out of you and you can feel his cum seeping out. You feel his large fingers at your entrance and he pushes some of his seed back into you.
“Take a look Hawkeyes.” Crocodile voice was gruff.
You didn’t even register that Mihawk had walked around behind you until you heard his voice. “Fuck that’s a picture. Buggy, flip them around.”
Suddenly Buggy’s hands were on your waist, flipping you over as directed. You finally get a good look at him and he’s kneeling next to you, dick bright red and leaking. Reaching over you go to continue your earlier work with him but your hand it caught by Mihawk’s.
“He doesn’t cum until the end.” He informs you. “Don’t worry, he likes it that way.”
A bright red creeps up Buggy’s neck that confirms that fact. And you can’t help but flash him a smile.
“Think you can still take me?” Your attention is brought back to Mihawk as he drags his length over your entrance, coating it in yours and Crocodile’s cum.
You nod eagerly, desperate to please and be filled up again.
The swordsman easily slips into you and he wastes no time, roughly thrusting into you. You cry out from the feeling, overwhelmed and fucked out from your previous three orgasms. Buggy is right there besides you, gently running his fingers through your hair and whispering praise about how good you looked and how well you’ve been taking them. It’s all enough to send you quickly to the edge and it’s clear Mihawk is right there with you.
“Can I-“ His voice is cut off when you clench around him.
“Yes, inside, please Mihawk.” Your pleading sends him over and his fingers dig into your thighs as he cums inside you. You’re not far after him, Buggy’s helpful hand going between your legs to give you the final push.
Mihawk pulls out and you are full, cum gushing out of you. The swordsman stops and stares at your fucked out cunt in appreciation before Buggy stands next to him to look as well. Mihawk pulls Buggy into a kiss and when he breaks away he gives Buggy a small nod before walking away.
“Hey I’m not gonna push you love.” His hand is pumping up and down on his length fast. “Just wanna cum on you, can I do that, please babe?”
The desperation in his voice is clear and you nod, no longer having a voice to use.
“Fuck, thank you, you’re perfect, just like that-“ His words are quick and dissolve into unintelligible as he works himself faster before spilling himself onto your folds with a loud moan.
You finally allowed your body to relax, sinking into the bed, exhaustion overtaking your body. Crocodile comes back into view and he gently cleans you up with a wash cloth, pressing a kiss to your knee when he’s done. Mihawk comes to your side and helps you properly into bed, under the covers. Buggy is at your side almost immediately, arms wrapping around you as his face settles into the crook of your neck. It’s not long until Crocodile joins you on your other side and you allow yourself to snuggle up into his chest. You vaguely notice Mihawk climb into bed on the other side of Crocodile as sleep starts to take you.
Crocodile presses a kiss to your forehead right before you fall asleep.
“We love you.”
#one piece x reader#one piece x you#crocodile x reader#dracule mihawk x reader#mihawk x reader#sir crocodile x reader#x reader#buggy x reader#buggy the clown x reader#cross guild x reader#the cross guild x reader#discordantwritings
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At the Movies
Male Alpha Yandere x Transfem Omega Reader
CW: Noncon, extortion, coercion, cum licking, panty sniffing, a/b/o dynamics, stalking, general yandere behavior, musk, pheromones, knotting
Word Count: 866
(I had a dream that this happened to me last night and decided to write it as a story. Not beta read. Sorry for errors. I don't think transfem readers are really catered to that often, so hopefully some people feel represented without feeling fetishized in this. <3)
You were an omega. You had decided to go see a movie by yourself because the theater was playing old classic horror films every night this week. This was the first time since coming out as a trans woman that you had been out in public and you were extremely nervous. You had worked very hard on your makeup and had put on a cute skirt. Though you had a lot of anxiety, you also felt more yourself than you ever had before.
It was a Monday night and still a bit early, so there was no one else viewing the same movie that you were. You picked a good spot to watch from and settled in with your popcorn and drink. After a few good minutes, you felt more and more comfortable, until halfway through the film, you heard someone come in.
You didn't pay the person any attention until they were close enough for you to catch their scent. You recognised who it belonged to immediately. Your stalker, Shaun. He was a persistent alpha who had been after you for months. A total creep who thought you were meant to belong to him.
By the time you could smell him, he was already too close for you to escape. He sat down beside you and grabbed your wrist so you couldn't get away. With his other hand, he muffled your mouth so you couldn't scream. He leaned close, and his scent made you dizzy.
"Sorry I'm late for our date. I had to pick up Mr. Sir Squiggles."
Your blood ran cold. Mr. Sir Squiggles was your beloved hamster. The implication was clear. Stop struggling, or else he'd do something to your pet.
"Don't look so horrified, baby. I'd never hurt our pet. But I have custody, so if you want to see him, you'll have to do what I want with you and move in with me."
Shaun sounded so smug. He knew he had finally won. His romantic advances had failed, so why not keep your pet hostage? You cried silently and nodded so he knew you understood what you had to do. He released you from his grip and pulled you close with his arm around you. His pheromones were suffocating, and you could smell how aroused he was.
After a while, he noticed you shaking with nervousness but misinterpreted it as you being cold.
"You look cold, here~"
"N-no I'm fine." You sputtered.
He ignored you and draped you in his sweaty jacket. It did nothing to soothe your anxiety though his musl did make your body betray you in a humiliating fashion. Your cock was hard and slick was starting to leak from your ass. He could smell it as soon as it happened.
"Well I was going to wait until we got home, but if my girl needs it now, I'd be neglectful if I said no."
The tip of his cock was already visible poking out the leg of his shorts as he reached under your skirt and rubbed your soft thighs before ripping off your panties. He brought the tattered underwear to his nose and inhaled deeply before stuffing it into his pocket for later. You had to suppress the urge to run away and just let it happen.
Shaun pulled his shorts down enough for his eager prick to bounce free. Then he hitched up your skirt and pulled you on his lap, lowering you on his length in one smooth motion.
"I fit so well~ you were made for my cock."
You whimpered but he shushed you and kissed up your neck.
"Shhh, relax. Just watch your movie and enjoy my cock."
You tried to focus on the movie, to focus on anything but this gross violation. But it was impossible with him sliding so deeply into you while claiming, biting, and kissing your sensitive neck over and over. Je began to gently stroke your weeping cock. You couldn't help but moan softly as his knot swelled and brought you to orgasm. Your insides clenched and throbbed around his dick and finally made him drain his balls into you. He took the cum you spilled into his hand and smeared it on your lips before licking it off.
Shaun held you tight in his lap while waiting for his knot to stop swelling so that the two of you could uncouple. You panted and blankly watched the film while not really watching it as your head was overloaded with all that had just transpired. Occasionally, Shaun would kiss your neck gently or rub your legs in what he thought was a soothing manner.
Every once in a while, he'd whisper praise softly into your ear.
"You're so good at taking me."
"You look so pretty in a skirt."
"You're such a good girl."
When the movie ended, and when his knot decided to dislodge itself from your rear, Shaun led you out of the theater and into his car, cum slowly dripping down your legs the entire time. You were a mess, but too numb to really pay attention or care, but that was okay. Your new alpha boyfriend would take care of you.
#yandere x reader#alpha yandere#alpha x omega reader#Transfem reader#Transgirl reader#Male yandere x transfem reader#My OCs#My OC Shaun#Yandere a/b/o#yandere omegaverse#yandere
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hello there! I just read a headcanons about the slashers s/o breastfeeding their baby and i need some smutty thing about breast milk😫
Could you do the Sinclair brothers, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer and Brahms Heelshire drinking their s/o breasy milk? Please i'm begging😭🙏
Anyways, thanks if you do and feel free to ignore that request if you don't feel comfortable with it, bye💋
Your slasher finds out about the infinite food glitch
NSFW MDNI, 18+ Brahms Heelshire, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Vincent Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair x reader (separate), mommy kink mentioned, breeding kink, lactating without pregnancy, lactation kink, titty sucking, breast worship, racially ambiguous, AFAB reader, relatively gender neutral (if you don't mind being called mommy), pretty short
Brahms
Absolutely found out you could lactate the first time you two had sex
He was on your tiddies the second your shirt came off
The way your breasts leaked sweet nectar into his mouth almost made him cum
Brahms becomes obsessed with your breasts more than he usually would
The mommy kink on this man-
Has 100% begged for your milk before
On more than one occasion you've rewarded him for being good by jacking him off while he sucks on your breasts
Call him a good boy while he does so
You'll have to pull him off because he does not care if you get overstimulated or your nipples get sore
You've got milk and Brahms is going to take as much as he can
Thomas Hewitt
This man already has a breeding kink but feeling your milk in his mouth really woke something up within him
He found you with your shirt wet from your tits leaking through the thin material
Thomas was mostly enamored with the sight of your breasts through a wet shirt but when you explained that the material became damp not through water but from your own milk-
⚠ Hucow kink discovered
His big hands are all over your breasts more than ever
Thomas loves the idea of taking you into the barn and making you bend over on your hands and knees so he can milk you like a cow
Vincent Sinclair
He found out about your lactating when you joked about making a mold out of your breasts
Vincent honestly loved the idea of having a wax mold of your boobies in his studio
During the process of putting your breasts in the silicone mold, you started leaking
The sight stopped Vincent in his tracks
He really had a moment of self discovery seeing your milk filled tits leaking right in front of him
Vincent went ahead and look handfuls of your breasts, rolling the flesh under his palm and pinching at your nipples to make you spray more milk
The silicone mold ended up abandoned with Vincent more focused on milking you dry while you squeezed around his cock
Bo Sinclair
Bo loves seeing your pretty tits all sore from him biting and loving on them
Bo has nipple clamps for you that he likes to tug on to see you squirm and leak for him
If your breasts are big enough, this man will 100% make you drink your own milk
He loves to pull on your nipples and watch them leak as he abuses your breasts
Bo will come up behind you to cop a feel whenever you're doing something
He'll sometimes give you a purple nurple just to see you squirt milk then get all embarrassed/angry at him
Bonus points if he makes you squirt through your shirt
What's better than seeing your tits through your wet shirt? Knowing it's from you leaking your own milk because Bo can't keep his hands to himself
Fingers you while he sucks on your breasts
Just having you lay back while he hold you and makes you leak from not only pussy but from your breasts as well sends this man to heaven
Lester Sinclair
How far can you squirt?
Lester was mostly interested with how far you can launch your milk at first
However seeing your tits all heavy and sore and needing to be milked makes his dick throb
Absolutely loves to suck on your titties
Lester can control himself and is fairly gentlemanly but seeing your milk leak through your shirt does something to him
All he wants to do is have you ride him until his dick is sore while he sucks on your tits
During sex, he likes to tug and pull on your nipples to see your milk squirt all over you then lick it up
He has definitely thought about putting a baby in you to get you to make some more of that delicious milk for him
Bubba Sawyer
Bubba's favorite position is to have you sit on his lap and ride him while he sucks on your titties
Absolutely quells his oral fixation
There is also a sort of nurturing aspect to it that Bubba loves
You're taking care of him in more ways than one
Bubba also goes to you for comfort as well
He just loves the sight of your breasts and the taste of them and everything about them
Just having your nipple in his mouth is so soothing
Tell him how loved he is and how much he does for the family while he sucks the milk from your titties
Bonus points if you warm his cock while he does so
Bubba also loves to massage your breasts for you whenever they get sore
Just lay down and let him rub and milk you
He can't just let you take care of him all the time!
#bubba sawyer#brahms heelshire#thomas hewitt#lester sinclair#vincent sinclair#bo sinclair#slasher smut#slasher x reader smut#slasher x reader#slasher fandom#slasher fucker
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title: eat. play. love.
pairing: seungcheol x f!reader
wc: 19.4k
summary: being one of new york's top food critics comes with a lot of perks: free dinners, nice awards, and a linkedin profile your parents could be proud of. that doesn't stop you from wanting a lofty promotion to editor, and the only person standing in your way is choi seungcheol. just one problem: his romance column has half of new york under his grimy little thumb. that, and you hate him.
in which your love language is food. seungcheol doesn't have one.
notes: romcom with mild angst, coworkers!au, slow burn enemies to lovers, playboy!cheol, suggestive (one moment in particular) + mentions of sex (otherwise sfw), swearing, lots of alcohol, also you will probably get hungry reading this. extra special thanks a million times over to my fav person @wuahae for bearing with me through literally all 20k words of this. i love you:')
It's underneath a layer of paper-thin egg yolk pasta where you think you see god.
Spoon meets whipped ricotta, white truffle, sage oil. A sip of 1979 cabernet, punishing and oaky. Rinse and repeat.
None of these words are in the Bible, yet you are having nothing short of a religious experience.
"Well, this seems like good news for the place," Jeonghan says. "Wine's tasty. Three stars?"
At this point, you're fairly sure Jeonghan has tuned the explanation of your elaborate rating process out (he's there for the wine, anyway), so instead you top him up and help yourself to a generous portion of his pappardelle.
"Four, then?" He leans forward on his elbows. "Or critic's choice?"
Candied lemon, pecorino, garlic. Derivative, but it's a good bite.
"You're distracting me." You point your fork at him. "You're like 80% alcohol, anyway. Bad opinions."
"Sue me," he laughs. "I would take a client here, is all I'm saying."
You pass on the opportunity to bring up that Jeonghan once brought a client to a Bubba Gump because he was craving coconut shrimp. But Jeonghan isn't a food critic—he's a business analyst and your best friend from college, back when all you cared about was Friday's house party and writing pizza joint reviews for the university paper.
It's a good arrangement. You appreciate his company, and he's never one to turn down a free meal. The both of you keep a small circle—such is the price of discernment.
There aren't many things that can come between you and a delicious meal. But, you have notifications turned on for just three things (all work-related) and you both watch the linen tablecloth light up under your face-down phone in true horror-movie fashion.
Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. "Popular on a Saturday night," he jokes. "Copy on your ass again?"
"Nothing's in production," you reply, letting the evil claws of your terrible work-life balance encircle you once again as you open your email.
URGENT: LIFESTYLE EDITOR TRANSITIONAL PLANS, it reads. It's from Wonwoo, your editor in chief, who has sent it with priority, as if the caps lock wasn't scary enough.
"So Joshua decided to quit. Just like you said," Jeonghan says, but it's like he's speaking to you through a wet paper bag because it takes every working brain cell of yours to read the email.
As you may know, Joshua has decided to step down from his position as our current Lifestyle editor.
Not a surprise, given his wife is having a kid. You had called it six months ago over the paper's Christmas dinner at Eleven Madison Park, when Joshua spent half of it outside on a phone call and the other half browsing the Baby Gap website.
I have decided to hire internally to fill his position. I and upper management believe you would be a good fit for the position. Please plan for a meeting 9 AM Monday to discuss transitional plans.
It's that part that you have to read over three times. And then you read it over a fourth, just for good measure.
"You're starting to scare me." Jeonghan puts down his glass, which is something akin to a baby separating from their bottle.
Sometimes you need a dictionary to understand Wonwoo, but the email seems clear as day to you. Good fit. Transitional plans. Suddenly you wish Jeonghan hadn't had so much of the wine because you're in desperate need of a drink.
"I-I think…I think I'm getting promoted."
How funny to think your lifelong dream would be realized over a 40 dollar plate of pasta. You want to cry and hug the maître d' and eat the entire complimentary bread basket.
"It's about time." The glass finds his relieved hand again. "You breathe journalism. I'm afraid one day you'll text me in AP style."
You read over all of it again, trying to memorialize the words that undoubtedly will launch your wonderful and long career in the upper echelons of media.
Looking forward to talking with the two of you.
Wait—two?
Then the proverbial cherry on top, the laughably convenient other thing your eyes had glazed over before.
CC: Choi Seungcheol.
"Choi Seungcheol?!"
Nothing is ever that easy and it then dawns on you that this is a competition type thing because never in the history of the printing press has there been two editors for a section.
Jeonghan stares at you blankly. It would be funny if you didn't feel like you were being double deep-fried like terrible fair food, all the thrill and elation of the moment boiled down to lead in your chest.
"I—he," you stammer.
Jeonghan mouths check to the poor waiter assigned to watch your table. God bless him.
"Words," he tells you. "You went to journalism school."
You take a syrupy breath that sits in your lungs unhappily. Your food is cold. This is a disaster.
"Well, actually, I'm not getting promoted."
Jeonghan's eyes soften, just enough without making you pity yourself more.
"There's this guy," you start. "He's the love and relationships columnist, the one I complain about all the time." Jeonghan makes a small ahh sound, your predicament finally dawning on him. "I guess we're both under consideration for the position. I didn't-I didn't even think of him. I—"
You slump into your seat, the arancini your only solace despite your complaint that the breading was too salty earlier.
"So? I bet you're a way better fit than him. It'll be a shoe-in. Easy decision."
Jeonghan's confidence in you makes you want to cry.
The problem is that Seungcheol is the human equivalent of Cosmopolitan Magazine. You can't recall the last time he walked into the office with a fully buttoned up shirt. You also can't recall the last time one of his advice columns wasn't in the end of quarter recap for popularity.
It's not in you to explain this debacle to Jeonghan. This whole situation is so cosmically awful that all you can do is ask for dessert in a takeout box and watch Jeonghan calculate tip without a calculator because that's all you learn in business school.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Jeonghan asks when you're both in the Uber.
"Yeah." You have a headache. You also can't decide whether or not to give the restaurant three or four stars, and you always know by the time you're out the door. "It's fine."
The tiramisu is cold in your lap. Jeonghan squeezes your shoulder. You refresh your email.
Choi Seungcheol's name stares back at you.
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The meeting goes exactly how you would expect.
Wonwoo, in his lanky taupe sweater vest, says that Joshua is leaving and you and Seungcheol are standing toe-to-toe in the space left behind.
"I'm sure you two are well-acquainted," he begins.
You stifle a laugh, but Seungcheol's cat-like grimace says more than enough. Neither of you have the heart to tell Wonwoo that your very first impression of Seungcheol was that he tried to hit on you at the new recruit party, or that Joshua probably deserves reparations for how often he mediated fights between the two of you during weekly meetings. (Maybe not reparations, but at least an Edible Arrangements.)
For better or for worse, Wonwoo's genius does not extend to social cues, and he follows with a blithe, "Therefore, I hope you two will treat this as a friendly competition between equals."
You almost laugh again, but this time it's because you need the promotion more than you need air, and you cannot allow some Buzzfeed reject with the face of a model take that from you. And you don't doubt Seungcheol wants it as bad as you do, considering how often you've seen him try to schmooze his way up the ranks.
He may have become a columnist by rubbing elbows with the right people, but you'll never forget the late nights you spent sifting through hours of interview transcripts, on the grueling climb up the totem pole to earn your position.
"We'll evaluate an article of your own submission at the end of the month before we decide. Best of luck."
At least Wonwoo knows to quit while he's ahead—he closes the meeting with a succinct nod before returning to his seemingly infinite unread emails.
"Exciting," Seungcheol says. He claps his hands together, Rolex gaudy under the office lights, and sends a nauseating smile your way. "May the best writer win."
He offers you a handshake. You think he has real life cooties, so instead you close your planner and shoot him a very pointed look.
"There's only one writer here. Thrilled to read your next thinkpiece on how men should spend more time on Tinder and not therapy."
That earns you a chuckle from Wonwoo, but Seungcheol is not easily fazed.
Instead he rushes to hold the door open for you on your way out, likely his favorite piece of advice to give his poor, indolent readers.
"I'll book a table for us at Avra next month," Seungcheol gloats. "Consider it a gift from your future boss."
"They don't have a kids menu, you know."
"No problem. I'll have my darling food critic order for me." He places a wicked hand over his polyester covered heart. "Ending misogyny in one fell swoop, huh?"
You wait for the door to Wonwoo's office to close before looking at him right in his wet, cow eyes with the most malice you can possibly muster. You feel it collect in your bones, enough to feel like you can physically hack it up and hurl it at him.
"You have no clue what you're talking about, huh? Do you actually attract women with that attitude? Or are you just a really good liar?"
You are so close to him, you could kiss him if you wanted—luckily for the both of you, you would rather die a thousand fiery, terrible deaths, and then die all over again. Instead, you watch his pout unravel into a grin from hell, and he leans in closer, the scent of Old Spice and break room coffee heavy on him. This morning's matcha latte churns in your stomach, and you wonder if you should have gotten oatmilk instead of dairy.
Up close, he's worse. His hair reminds you of the sad, tired swoop of the washed-up lead of a daytime soap opera. And he has no pores, which is deeply upsetting because he looks like the type to wash his face with Palmolive and a prayer.
"You know what?"
His breath hits your lips and your skin prickles like you have an allergy.
"What?"
"You just gave me the winning idea for my next column." No way, you think. Mind games. Classy. "See you at dinner, sweetheart. Looking forward to it."
The pet name makes you seethe. There are a million things you want to say, all colorful and none workplace appropriate.
"I'd rather starve."
"Better not let Wonwoo hear you with that bad attitude. I'm sure management loves a team player." His cheshire grin somehow gets bigger, all white teeth and pink lip. "Try to smile a little, huh? Have fun writing about snails and black garlic and cwa-ssants, or whatever it is that you do."
you watch all the laminated syllables of croissant go through his paper shredder smile and you think you black out.
He spins on his heel triumphantly, almost bowling over Minghao from Arts & Entertainment, who is undoubtedly wondering if you did, in fact, kiss.
Seungcheol laughs as he walks away, linebacker shoulders rippling under his one size too small shirt.
The metal-red knot of anger swells in your gut as you watch his perfect silhouette and his tiny little waist disappear into the staff room. Then you realize what you've been looking at and let yourself get mad all over again.
He does have a nice ass, though. You'll give him that.
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"You'll never guess what I have."
"Is it better than this lox bagel?" You answer, mouth unattractively full.
Seungkwan's answer is the sound of a straw hitting the bottom of an empty cup and the grating jostle of ice. Phone calls with him are like ASMR because he's always doing a million things at once, but you wouldn't have it any other way.
"Infinitely," he finally says, after procuring the last milliliter of what's likely his second coffee of the day. "Besides, we all know pesto is way better."
"Wrong, but okay," you reply. "What is it?"
"You're not gonna thank me for being the best friend in the world? Me, an editor, keeping nepotism alive for you? A mere columnist?"
"Senior columnist," you laugh between bites. "You need me. Who else would you text during content meetings?"
"Whatever." His eye roll is audible. "I guess I won't tell you."
He shakes his cup again, all ice and no patience.
"Fine! I owe you. My career and my life."
"And a seat at Momofuku."
"And that."
You take another greedy bite, letting the everything on an everything bagel get all over your chin. You love dressing up and going to restaurants that cost more than both of your kidneys, but there's something sacred about eating a $10 bagel behind the shield of your computer screen at a cafe where no one knows you.
There's someone laughing really loudly somewhere, and if you weren't otherwise preoccupied, you would look for the offender and give them a hard glare. You don't know what could possibly be that funny at 9 AM, but, then again, you never were a morning person.
"So, I have intel. About Seungcheol." You can picture the glint in Seungkwan's eyes, glittery and caramel. Unfortunately, the news that it's related to your worst enemy makes you sit up a little straighter. "At today's content meeting, Joshua said that he's working on some kind of challenge to go on as many dates as possible. He might make it a series."
"How tacky," you say, but the information clanks around in your brain like shoes in a washing machine. The indulgent, clickbaity headline just falls together perfectly—I Went On 50 First Dates So You Don't Have To. Exactly the kind of article your mom sees on Facebook and sends to you.
"You have to admit it's a decent idea. Not as good as yours, but it'll get engagement," is Seungkwan's reply, but you can barely hear it over the swell of another sitcom-esque laugh, this time, from a woman. "The other editors are very invested in this whole thing, by the way. Of course, I'm betting on you."
You're about to very openly stress about people gambling on your success when your eyes wander to the backside of the Sports Illustrated model getting napkins at the counter. Not bad at all, you think. It may be too early for the comedy club, but appreciating the male figure has no schedule.
And then he turns around, and you're able to see past the curly hair, muscle tee, beauty pageant smile—it's none other than Choi Seungcheol, fully outfitted with the audacity to trespass on your bagel place. You have never been more disgusted by your heterosexuality.
You hide behind your computer screen.
"Helloooo?" comes Seungkwan on the line. "Are you making out with your breakfast or something?"
"Seungkwan, I gotta go," you hiss. Your eyes follow Seungcheol as he makes his way back to his table. "There's a…situation."
You watch him sit across from a beautiful girl in a sundress and Prada sunglasses, and her lips tumble into a brilliant red smile.
It would be really fucking funny if he was on a date, you think, but then you see him make the kind of eyes you last saw in the deepest, stickiest recesses of a frat house on thirsty Thursday. Then you realize he is on a date, that he's been on a date, and it's his laugh that is equally annoying as it is loud.
Seungkwan works hard, but the devil always works harder.
"Ok, talk to you later. Bye!" You can hear the beginning of one of Seungkwan's protests, but you hang up before he's able to properly complain. Maybe you'll have to do a little better than Momofuku—that's a problem for later.
Over the rim of your laptop, you catch glimpses of their conversation. You notice Seungcheol talks a lot with his hands, and you wonder if that's another one of his tips or if that's just him. Him and those big clown hands, illustrating a story that you're unfortunately too far away to hear.
But you can hear her laugh again, and you try to guess what he's talking about. His childhood dog. The insurmountable burden of being prom king and captain of the football team. This little not-competition and this little not-rivalry between the two of you. How the PB&J bagel is the best thing on the menu (it's not, but you see the berry compote all over his fingers and you know that's the hill he's dying on).
No matter how you spin it, it's a hard pill to swallow. Choi Seungcheol is good at what he does, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.
You hear the careening lilt of what seems to be Seungcheol whining, and there's a brief flash of something like endearment in your stomach before the repulsion sets in.
Nothing you can do to stop him, huh?
The question, sinister and burning, writhes in your brain as you chew on the ice from your coffee and stare at a blank Word document, the cursor blinking like a heartbeat.
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Beware the wrath of a woman scorned.
It's number 3 on Seungcheol's article titled Revenge and Other Stories. Unsurprisingly, he must not practice what he preaches, because you currently have all nine circles of Dante's Inferno inside you right now.
Play nice, Jeonghan had told you. Looks better to upper management.
And you did, until one of your photo requests mysteriously got deleted. Then Joshua told you to cut 500 words from this week's column because Seungcheol's just "happened" to be a little longer this time.
The knockout punch was yesterday when Seungcheol told you he was using your January critic's choice pick to take Wonwoo out for a friendly dinner, his treat. If you had known, you would've called ahead and told them to poison the hamachi. (No matter. Any foodie worth their salt knows Thursday is the worst day for sushi).
Now you sit on the C train, dressed to the nines, because you have a date with destiny at Nai. Sometimes destiny is a big pan of paella for one, but this time, it's Seungcheol and his next victim on date night.
Getting him there was so easy, it was almost criminal. An obnoxiously loud elevator phone call in which you name dropped the executive chef, a friend of yours, at least four times. Seungkwan very strategically asking you if a press pass can bypass reservations for a booked-out restaurant. Gossip in the break room with the intentional use of "intimate," "sangria drunk," and "affordable."
Affordable was a lie, but you're learning quickly that a hungry fish will take any bait. And seeing Seungcheol's face is never a joy, but you're not opposed to watching him open the menu for the first time.
"I have a killer Spanish accent," Seungcheol told you on the way out today.
Hook, line, and sinker.
The subway car rumbles under you. You're almost in East Village. You don't normally spend your Friday nights crashing dates—you actually don't really spend them outside your apartment at all, but Seungcheol is the exception to the rule and you're making a lot of them for him. A small price to pay for the glory of dethroning Casanova.
The plan is to "accidentally" run into Seungcheol and his Friday night exploit, and then to casually, non-bitterly mention a, that she is about to become a statistic, b, that his idea of chivalry was birthed in the basement of the Alpha Omega house, and c, that you're surprised he's still single because you always happen to catch him on dates. Something like that.
This is admittedly the best you could come up with. Like you said, you don't really crash dates. You don't really sabotage people either, but Seungcheol declared war the minute his Folgers breath hit your face outside Wonwoo's office.
Then you think of all the ways things can absolutely backfire. Seungcheol's warm, carefree whirl of laughter when he explains you're office rivals, or worse, lies and says you're nothing but a jilted, jealous ex. Or this whole thing could simply be immortalized in his winning article as a jaunty sentence about making the most out of a bad situation, yada yada yada.
You picture watching another girl, spellbound, as you dig into your table-for-one paella.
In your mind's eye, she laughs, floaty like his date at the bagel place, and for a moment you understand what it might feel like to want Choi Seungcheol.
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Friday night at Nai is red and glittering and heady with saffron.
You remember when you first ate here, two weekends after the soft open, early in your career at the paper. After a three hour conversation over wine and octopus with the owner, you wrote the restaurant a glowing review that, to your surprise, helped land it several ritzy awards. Now the dining room is never empty, but they always find space for you.
That was the first time you learned that all of this work meant something. Yeah, you loved an excuse to stuff your face and get paid for it, but what was even better was the chance to tell the stories of a working father's hand-pulled noodles, the drunk, midnight origins of a tasting menu, the caramel-greedy fingers of a well-loved childhood.
This is the long way of explaining how you bypass the two hour standby wait time, and how you walk in on a first name basis with the manager.
You're fully prepared to see Seungcheol mid-churro, perhaps four pick-up lines deep and wondering if he still has a condom in his wallet.
That's why you almost miss him on your way to your table. His is empty, other than a lonely, watered down martini on the rocks and two menus.
"Seungcheol?"
He looks up at you, and something like genuine surprise melts into relief, then intrigue.
"Look at who crawled out of her dungeon," he chuckles. "You clean up good."
Whatever pity you may have felt for him vaporizes instantly. Although, when he beckons for you to sit in the empty seat across from him, you do take the bait—you're not about to pass up a good opportunity to humble your least formidable foe.
"Refreshing to see that our love guru isn't above dining solo," you reply. "I have to admit, your acting is impressive. What an elaborate ruse to get another poor, single diner to pity you enough to sit with you."
"It worked, didn't it?" He takes a sip of his cocktail, which is almost a brand new drink because it's 90% water, 10% martini by now.
"I'm no expert, but pretending to get stood up is not a tip I would give the general public."
"Who said I was pretending?"
No fucking way. Your jaw drops. It's too unreal to believe. Even if the slutty cut of Seungcheol's shirt wasn't persuasive enough, surely the prospect of enjoying a free Michelin star dinner would warrant an appearance, even for you. Breaking News: New York's Hottest Bachelor Ghosted at Top Restaurant. If only that were as wonderful to the average reader as it is to you.
Because waiters are trained to enter conversations at the best possible time, you're forced to pause and order a wine for the table and some tapas. (No paella for one? Seungcheol asks, and you try to reconcile your annoyance with the fact that one, he's read your review of this place, and two, that he looks mildly turned on that you can pronounce all the menu items. You tell the waiter to add a paella.)
"You got stood up?" You cross your arms over your chest. "You may think I'm dumb, but I'm not that dumb."
"You have no idea how flattering your reaction is." He laughs, and the air shifts around him, drawing you further into his eyes, inky under the lowlight. "I understand you think I'm irresistible, but, alas, not everyone shares your opinion."
"I never said that."
You hate how easy it is for him to push your buttons. You hate how in control he is, and you hate how he's looking at you like you're on the menu.
The waiter returns with the wine, and you decide you're feeling equally as terrible.
"Truly, you can't be that irresistible. After all this time writing about relationships, you would think you'd actually be in one."
Touché, you think. Normally, it would be too low a blow, even for you, except that his column-related debauchery is one of the four thrilling conversation topics he subjects you to at the office. And who are you to bury the lede?
"Coaches don't play," Seungcheol says, leaning back and popping the martini olive in his mouth offensively, as if he's not at a restaurant that takes months to get a good table at.
"Bullshit." You lean forward and chase his gaze. He doesn't shy away; rather, he meets you with an appraising raise of an eyebrow. "Coaches should at least know how to throw the ball."
"What do you think we're doing right now?"
"Oh, please." Your wrist twitches as you fight the urge to down your entire glass of merlot in a single gulp. You picture the title of his next article: Top 10 Ways To Get A Woman Drunk. And then the oh so charming punchline: 1. Be so insufferable she cannot last a conversation without her real life partner, wine.
"See? I've already got you laughing." He notices the generous sip missing from your glass and tops you up.
"No, you do not get to make this about me."
Somehow, you are laughing, but you chalk it up to the spiteful little man in your brain writing headlines for Seungcheol's column.
How To Antagonize Your Date In 5 Easy Steps.
"Need I remind you I'm only here because your actual date stood you up? Too soon?"
"I prefer you anyway," he answers, his expression half-challenge, half-something else that you don't really want to think about.
"Crazy, because I'd rather be literally anywhere else."
Signs You Are In A Hostage Situation, Not A Date.
"You should stick to food. You're a bad liar." He cocks his head to the empty table next to him. "It's still open if you want it."
"I'm no quitter."
Maybe The Male Gaze Isn't So Bad: A Thinkpiece.
Definitely not that one.
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"So, before I try anything," Seungcheol says, leaning across the table. "Teach me how to be a food critic."
"Why, so you can steal my job?"
"You can keep it," he laughs. "I'm gonna be your boss, not your replacement."
You notice he'll linger on the tail end of his sentences, betting on the response you haven't even come up with yet. He's picking apart the furrow of your brow, the marrow of your brain. It's like one drawn out interview, but you suppose that's all dating really is. Maybe your journalism degree wasn't a waste of money after all.
You won't give him the satisfaction of a fight (plus, you don't want the food to get cold), so you change the subject.
"Well, I take pictures first," you say, waving away his overeager fork.
"Genius. They really scammed you out of your Pulitzer, huh?"
You ignore him in lieu of repositioning the chorizo. Unfortunately, Seungcheol is unrelenting. You hear the snap of his phone camera, clearly taking a photo of you and not the meal—clever, but you won't bite.
"Wanna be in my story? I can tag you."
In your periphery hovers his wry, wanting smile.
"Sure. So the world can know I'm a charity worker too."
He whistles, clutching his heart. If he weren't so annoying, you would find him a little cute. Just a little. You blame the kitchen for whatever aphrodisiac is in the food today.
"Live update: date with food critic going about as well as an episode of Hell's Kitchen."
He says this leaning forward, elbows on the table, so close to you that your knees might touch. You tense at the thought.
"Any date of mine would be on better behavior."
"So you're admitting this is a date?"
"This," you wave your hand over the table. "This is not a date. This is me regretting ever pitying you."
"Well, pity looks good on you."
And there it is again, that accursed, perfect smile. This time, it works, and you fight the losing battle of the wine flush undoubtedly all over your face. It bothers you that there's a little part of you that enjoys this, but that's a confession you plan on taking to the grave.
"Enjoy it while it lasts, because you're not getting any again."
"Fine. I'm still waiting for your grand secret," he says, now biting the tines of his fork like an untrained dog. No rest for the weary, you suppose. "Food is food. Prove me wrong."
Despite the betrayal of your basal human instincts, you're determined to make this a bad encounter. Maybe you hadn't anticipated the full force of Seungcheol's overgrown fratboy persona, but you came here for a reason and you do plan to see it through.
"There is no secret." You split apart an empanada, the guts steaming and fragrant. "You eat."
"Like this?" He crams an entire piece in his mouth, and you watch him recoil and huff the heat out. "Mmm, 's pretty good, though."
Your eyes almost roll back far enough to see the wrinkles of your brain. Of course he wouldn't get it, but you don't know what you were expecting from a guy who thinks Hot Pockets are fine dining.
You put on your most pretentious food critic face. "Eating is about respect. Storytelling. He's retelling the first time someone made him this dish. The ingredients—they're words on a page. An autobiography." Your hand finds your chest and you sigh, a final touch to your Oscar winning melodrama that would certainly annoy anyone with even half a brain.
"Huh. Poetic," he says. He's still fanning his (very full) mouth, but he chews a little more slowly. "I'm respecting. I'm taking it in."
You don't know if he's actually doing any of that, but, when he takes his next bite he asks about what's in it (tomato, raisin, egg) and if someone really made the chef an empanada when he was younger (yes, on the flour-printed counter, every Sunday morning).
You press on. It shouldn't take much to bore him, but with every question, food-related factoid, and snide comment you have, he matches you with genuine curiosity. Either he's an excellent actor or he's secretly culinary school-bound, because you can't actually imagine anyone putting up with any of that, nonetheless I like dick jokes and football Choi Seungcheol.
You spend the rest of the evening like this, spoon to heart to cherry mouth. The wine is abundant, and Seungcheol spends more time listening than talking, which he admits is a first for him.
"You really know a lot about food," he says, likely fighting the urge to use his finger to get the last of the chocolate sauce off the churro plate. "I like that."
It's a cheap compliment in a game of low blows, but it sits warm and content in your chest. You have to force yourself back to the night you met him, when he was all cognac and one-liners and he gave you his spare hotel room key. A good reminder of his true nature, you think, despite the fact that he just listened to you talk about all the different grains of rice, ad nauseum.
"It's my job," is your reply, adequately distant for your liking.
"Fair. You gonna ask me about mine?"
"What more is there to know?" You hold up the check. "You're paying, right? Chivalry and all that?"
You're waiting for him to mention the company card, the only one allocated to your section that Seungcheol couldn't possibly have because it's sitting snug in your purse. The one you'll say you conveniently forgot so you get to see a grown man squirm at paying the bill.
"Already did. Gave the host my card when I got here. You're holding the customer copy." His chuckle disappears under the lip of his wine glass. "Bet you were excited to use the company card, huh?"
If shame were a physical object, you feel like your own personal Atlas. Your only option is to stare at the wasteland of empty plates before you and wonder how deep Seungcheol's pockets really are.
"Hardly. More excited that I burned a hole in your wallet." You click your tongue, out of options on how to ruin Seungcheol's night. You would spill wine on him but there's none left. "Anyway, I'm heading out."
"Running away?"
"Bored," you lie.
He calls you a taxi, and you walk out together, night heavy with the rhinestone glare of Friday night traffic.
"I actually had a nice time tonight," Seungcheol says, emphasis on the actually.
"Unfortunate."
"How do you think I feel?"
The taxi pulls to the curb, and he sighs, weighty with exaggerated relief. You can't even take it seriously because he's looking right at you and badly failing to push down the smile at the corners of his mouth.
It's only now that you notice his eyes are really brown, like he's from a cartoon or something. Worse, you'd daresay they're nice, less menacing, when they're tempered by a good meal and semi-public humiliation.
"Text me when you get back to your villain lair."
"If I were a real villain, you would have a lot more to worry about."
Seungcheol opens the cab door for you, and you catch a whiff of the cologne he undoubtedly smeared on in the toothpaste-streaked mirror of his five by five studio bathroom. Pine, leather, and citrus, which is the most pedestrian combination of smells to exist and yet you doubt it hasn't done him any favors.
"I'm terrified. Shaking." You clamber into the backseat, and he smiles at you again, as if you've forgotten what all his other ones looked like. "By the way—"
You have half a mind to shut the door in his face, but you can't find it within you—maybe it's the wine, or perhaps pure defeat. Probably the former.
"This job. It's—" He clicks his tongue and looks at the tops of his leather shoes. He's actually thinking, and you don't like it. "Never mind. See you Monday."
And then the words are gone. He shuts the cab door, and they're left in a plume of exhaust and Seungcheol's tiny waving figure in the rearview mirror.
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"So you're telling me you went on a date with your worst enemy."
It's 8 AM, and Jeonghan isn't pulling punches. Even through the phone, you can see his lazy grin, the pen he's flipping in his hand, the green ribbon of the Dow Jones on his desktop.
The newsroom is refreshingly near empty, except for Joshua, who hovers around the water cooler like a fly on the wall, if flies wore Armani ties and cigarette jeans.
"It wasn't a date, and I wanted to ruin it so he would have nothing to write about."
"No one goes on a date to ruin it. You could have just left."
"Clearly you haven't seen How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days."
"Are you serious." Jeonghan laughs, crackly and bright. "Care to tell me how that movie ends?"
"Except he isn't Matthew Mcconaughey. He says spaghetti like pah-scetti and doesn't use Oxford commas."
Mid-laugh, you endure another beat of extended eye contact with your editor until he beckons you over. He'd likely been waiting for the perfect time to interrupt the conversation he was so subtly eavesdropping on—oh, how you love a newsroom with an "open floor plan" to "facilitate communication." Sometimes you think the reason Joshua's stuck around this long is because reporters can't stay away from drama, especially if they're not the ones reporting it.
"I gotta go," you tell Jeonghan, whose version of a goodbye is a triumphant cackle.
You find Joshua putzing around, plastic water cup incriminatingly full.
"I take it you had an enjoyable weekend?" he asks, eyes sequined with all the secrets they hold.
"Yup. Just working on that Dining Through The Years article." Not entirely a lie—you are hedging your bets on this story, one where you revisit the restaurants you wrote about when you first got your start at the paper (Nai included, although admittedly yesterday's food was the least of your concerns). "You needed me?"
"Glad to see New York's finest chefs are well-versed in Kate Hudson's filmography," he says, grinning something beastly. If he weren't your boss, you'd knock that little water cup clean out of his hand. "Anyway, if your interview is over, I need you to go on a field trip."
"Field trip?"
Surely you're better than a task for the interns. You wonder if they're off fighting their own demons, seeing as you missed the circus in the elevator this morning, the usual juggle of hazelnut lattes and lemon poppyseed muffins for the higher-ups.
"Wonwoo needs you to help pick out catering for the corporate event later next week." Joshua tips his head back at Wonwoo's glass-plated office, where you see him redoing his tie in the reflection of his computer monitor. "My guess is that Yerim is going to be there, and he wants to make a good impression. Like an 'I consulted a food expert' impression."
Classic gossip queen Hong Joshua, always with the unnecessary but incredibly cogent commentary on office politics. You think you're actually going to miss the bastard.
"Flattered," you remark dryly. "Catering from where?"
"That's the thing. It's from this Thai place like two hours out from the city."
Two hours: code for an all day endeavor. He wasn't kidding when he said field trip.
You graciously resist the urge to groan out loud. No one told you taking the high road is one big slog through the mud, but here you are. You tell yourself this will help your campaign to be editor—the stinky, dirt-smeared silver lining.
"Before you ask—yes, I know you cannot take the subway there." You blink at him, wondering why this all feels like the set-up to a terrible joke. "Luckily, as you probably know, Seungcheol drives here every day and has offered to help."
Ah. There it is. You look for the blinking applause sign hanging above your head and the chorus of riotous Seungcheols making up your own personal laugh track.
"Only back to the office, though—" Joshua adds, as if that provides you any solace. "There's a one-way bus going up there at noon."
"N-not both ways?" you croak.
"Something about funds," he replies, shrugging. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger."
"You're not the one I'm thinking of shooting."
"Who knows? Maybe he is Matthew McConaughey." And when your glare turns sharp as the edge of a santoku knife, he holds his hands up like he's getting arrested. "I'm just saying. As your friend, not your editor."
Whatever.
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You have to admit, Wonwoo does have impeccable taste in Thai food.
Three noodle dishes, two curries, and the best mango sticky rice you've ever had: that's what it took for you to finally say "not all men." Certainly not Wonwoo, who's in deep enough to send his goons cross-state for a girl he's tried to woo for almost a whole year now.
A tamarind sunset blankets the countryside in milk and honey. You're sitting on a bench, ridiculously full with leftovers to spare, waiting for your chauffeur from hell.
Two years and you still don't know what car Seungcheol drives. Your last memory of it is it being flashy, impractical, and loud, much like him.
You know this, and yet you are still surprised when a gnat of a BMW rips into the curb in front of you. The passenger window crawls down, and Seungcheol has the gall to whistle at you.
For someone so predictable, he sure does manage to find new ways to piss you off. Unfortunately, on brand— according to him, Consistency Is Key (number 2 on Keeping the Spark Alive, August 2022 issue). You've done your reading.
"You're welcome," is the first thing Seungcheol says to you after cranking down the volume of the radio and watching you fumble with the seatbelt.
"You really didn't have to." You look at the array of gas station snacks bubbling out of the cupholders—Sour Patch Kids, a Big Gulp, and Flamin’ Hot Fritos. You didn't even know they sold Sour Patch Kids to full grown adults.
Still, you do feel a little bad. You can count on one hand the amount of people you would do this for and still have one or two cheese-dusted fingers left.
"But, thank you."
"Joshua made me," he says, and what happened this morning starts to make a lot more sense. "Plus, I was a little jealous. I would kill for a day frolicking in the sun, eating delicious food, far, far away from the big city. Not trapped like me in the newsroom, exhausted, toiling away on my magnum opus."
The sigh that crawls from his chapped lips practically shakes the car.
"I'm retracting my thank you."
"I'm devastated. Really."
You choose to watch the strip of shitty New York highway unravel through the greasy passenger window. No point in picking a fight when you're in a leather quilted jail cell for the foreseeable future.
It's at the thirty minute mark where Seungcheol casts the first stone of terrible, stilted small talk.
"Why'd you get sent all the way out here anyway?"
The red taillight flush of rush hour floods the car, an unpleasant reminder of the real sunset left far behind you.
"Thought you knew it was Wonwoo."
"Yeah, but why?"
Why does it matter? Is your first thought, but you realize he's attempting to actually have a genuine conversation with you, which you suppose is better than him flinging around another rude remark. Either that, or he's falling asleep, and you'd rather not have the last moments of your life be in Seungcheol's chick magnet car.
"Joshua thinks it's because he wants to impress Yerim at the corporate meeting this week. I guess she likes Thai."
Traffic is slow enough for him to turn to look at you, really look at you.
"Come on, he can't like her that much."
"Yes, he can." you try to read his expression, neon-glossy. "This isn't even that much effort."
"Nah," he shrugs. "There's gotta be some kind of ulterior motive. Maybe he wants to move into corporate."
"Hot take for a romantic." You frown. "Not everything people do is a career move, you know."
You omit the unlike you that sits heavy in the back of your throat, although, his cavalier approach to relationships is starting to make a little more sense. You wonder if this whole thing—the dates, the watch, the Invisalign smiles—is just a long, drawn-out joke to him.
"Seems like a lot of effort to go through for an office crush." His gaze drifts back to the road. "The extravagant birthday present. Always having her favorite flowers in the office. That one cringe voicemail we all heard him re-record ten times. No one likes anyone that much. Come on. Her dad is the CEO of the company."
Suddenly his winning smile doesn't seem so triumphant. It almost feels like a betrayal, but you don't know why.
"Maybe he just likes her," you reply. "I dunno. I choose to believe that. I think it's sweet."
"Maybe you're the romantic." The words come out like an accusation; Seungcheol laughs, but all the joy's been sucked out of it.
"Who hurt you?"
"No one did. I'm just being honest."
You would laugh at the irony if it didn't feel like there was a vine wrapped round your throat. Life is funny, but never so funny as to curse New York's favorite romance writer with cynicism and a lying streak.
"Controversial, but I actually want to do nice things for the person I like."
"And when was the last time that happened?" He's deflecting, which is predictably on brand for him. His grin, now playful, is propped up by a pair of frustratingly well-formed dimples.
You can't even find it within you to protest because he's right—you haven't dated in a long time. Joshua stopped asking if you were bringing a plus one to office parties ages ago.
But it's not that you can't—in fact, the last time you did, you think it broke you a little inside. It's certainly not a story Seungcheol's privy to, though. You already feel strange, cut-open, trying to convince him that people are capable of meaningful relationships.
Childishly, there's also a part of you chasing the truth about him because it takes him further and further away from you. So you do what you do best and deflect again. Two can play at that game.
"Not taking criticism from a guy who's dated half of the city and has nothing to show for it."
"I wouldn't say nothing."
He opens his mouth then closes it again, as if he's revising the words on his tongue. Journalist behavior, which you didn't even know he could still exhibit.
Now you're really thinking. Who hurt him, and how? The development that Seungcheol is more than the playboy slime haunting page 3 intrigues you more than you'd care to admit.
Before you can pry, Seungcheol's stomach growls, almost offensively loud.
"Sorry," he says. "Who would've thunk that corn chips aren't a balanced meal?"
You stare at the takeout boxes snug in your lap. There is a cosmic message being sent right now.
Seungcheol's sad, Frito-filled belly. Fresh noodle that won't keep well in the fridge. Tax and tip for a four hour car ride back to the city. Expanding your repertoire of blackmail so that you can claim your rightful helm at the paper.
These are all the reasons you give yourself for what you ask next.
"You in a rush?"
"How could I be—do you see the blinding speed we're driving at?" He laughs at his own incredibly unfunny attempt at a joke. "No, I'm not."
"I may or may not have an actual balanced meal for you."
That’s how you end up in the parking lot of a random 7/11 off the freeway. In any other circumstances, it would be a cruel and unusual punishment, but you've already been whittled down enough to actually care about Seungcheol, even if just a little.
That's what you tell yourself, anyway, as you watch him finish the last of the takeout.
"So I'm bad at food, and you're bad at love. Why the fuck did Wonwoo even think of promoting either of us?" Seungcheol kicks his shoes off and props his feet up on the dashboard. You notice his socks have dogs on them, little linty brown ones, and you feel a little worse about openly bullying him about his fashion taste in front of the entirety of copy staff.
"I may be bad at love, but you're worse. Especially for someone who does it for a living," you retort. "Don't think I forgot our earlier conversation."
You try to read the tiny text on a receipt he's got stashed in the center console, among his graveyard of snack wrappers. (2) CHEESY GORDITA CRUNCH…8.78. (1) M MT DEW BAJA BLAST…1.00.
Definitely bad at food, you muse to yourself.
"You think I'm not kicking myself right now? That I have a beautiful girl in my car right now, and all we do is argue?"
Now that—nothing could have prepared you for that.
It gets awfully quiet. The noise of the freeway seems to screech to a fever pitch, all horns and the thrum of the asphalt. You wish anything but John Mayer was playing on the radio.
You will the headlines man in your head to make you laugh. Instead, your brain presses the word beautiful into your neurons and you feel all the heat in your body float to your face, traitorously, dizzyingly. John Mayer croons, your body is a wonderland and your stomach knots into itself over and over again.
"Stop that."
"What?" Seungcheol's head lolls to his shoulder so he can look at you from the corner of his eye. " 's not a big deal. Never been called beautiful?"
A grin plays on his lips, expression dancing on something grim, like he's spoken his final words.
"I'm serious! Stop trying to get me to like you." You huff and cross your arms over your chest, like it'll somehow make you feel more normal. "I'm not some experiment for your column."
"Is it working?"
You don't answer. How can you? There's a yes resting on the roof of your mouth, surely the product of the handful of real, actual moments you've now had with him—far too many for your liking. This whole charade has been a balancing act on the razor edge between rivals and something else, and now you're feeling the sting.
"For the record, I have been called beautiful before."
"And for the record, you're not an experiment for my column. You never were."
There's a relief that pulses through your chest, a breathless, wonderful kind of dizziness. You grab hold of it as soon as it's reared its ugly head. You're flying way too close to the sun, chasing cheap validation from the same guy who ate your lunch out of the fridge last week.
He's no better—he looks like the vulnerability cracked him open a little, and you're the one holding the hammer. It makes for a grubby, unflattering portrait of two emotionally inept people trying to play feelings.
However, much like all other things Seungcheol, any glimpse of something real is gone before you know it. He takes a loud, noisy pull of Diet Coke, and the spell is broken.
"Want any?" And when you shake your head, grateful to swallow the words pressed to your tongue, he says, "Should we wait out traffic here?"
This is an easier yes. You tell yourself you're getting sick of brake lights and reading the license plates on the back of other people's cars. Certainly that makes Seungcheol's gaze, lingering and moonlight-warmed, a little more tolerable.
For once, you don't talk about Wonwoo or your job. You don't talk about love, either.
Maybe this is the reason the next few hours slip through your fingers. Three folded takeout pagodas and a secret—somehow this is all it takes for you to hate Seungcheol just a little less.
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Usually, a good eggs benedict can solve the majority of your problems. Today seems to be the exception. The hollandaise is broken, Jeonghan is already laughing at you, and nothing will ever erase the fact that Seungcheol drove you home last night and now he knows where you live. If you wake up one morning and see a sniper laser pointed at your forehead, you have no one to blame but yourself.
"You look exhausted." An eighth of a buckwheat pancake disappears into Jeonghan's mouth. "You literally eat for a living. There is no reason for them to keep you late."
Jeonghan has a funny way of caring about you, but he's right. You did get home at 2 AM yesterday, but that was on you, not Wonwoo.
"I'm not going to let a corporate slug tell me what is and isn't a real job," you sigh, taking a swig of your half-flat mimosa and reminding yourself to figure out which staff writer gave this place 4 stars in last week's paper.
"Says the girl who needs the company card to afford bottomless brunch," Jeonghan replies.
"At least I'm not a slave to my career."
"What do you call this whole thing with your coworker then, huh? It's all you text me about." The smirk on Jeonghan's face is miserably, tragically righteous, and you can't even be mad about it.
"Seungcheol is my enemy, remember?"
"You sent me a five minute voice memo the other day ranting about how he went on a date with another girl." And just like the little shit he is, he even pulls up your mile-long text history, just to rub it in your face a little harder.
"Am I not allowed to wish for his demise? Since when were you the mature one?"
"I wouldn't call keeping track of his whereabouts wishing for his demise." Jeonghan takes a well-timed bite of your hashbrowns. "Something tells me you're wishing for something a little different."
You almost choke on a blueberry.
"Absolutely not."
You watch Jeonghan power down another mimosa, half-fascinated, half-appalled he would even dream of suggesting something so vile.
The memory of Seungcheol, leant back in the driver’s seat, lowering greasy spools of rice noodles into his mouth, crosses your mind. He had laughed until he cried when he asked you if a pineapple had really fried this rice. That was the kind of man you were dealing with. You can't believe you laughed with him.
"I think it'll be good for you to get back into dating again. Mingyu was, what, three years ago?"
And that's the chocolate chip studded, syrup-covered nail in your coffin. Of course all roads had to lead back to you and your relationship trauma Jeonghan considered unresolved.
You had dated Mingyu when you were younger, softer. It was a love of firsts, of sun-washed mornings and farmer's market Sundays, of raw, black currant midnights and whatever long-winded conversation you had spent all day on.
Mingyu was a chef. His hands, his lips, his eyes—that's how you fell in love with food. Strawberry kisses into fresh pasta into the first time someone had ever cooked for you. What a wonderful, terrible thing to see all your history on a plate, the I could never eat peas, the once I ate mangos till I was sick, the guilty spoon in the vanilla ice cream after a bad day and the dark chocolate you keep in your purse. He remembered that you like your noodles just a little bit overcooked, and you don't even think you told him that.
Food, like some shitty piece of home decor would say in that swirling, curly font, really is some window to the soul. It didn't fully hit you until, one day, you were at the grocery store alone, and somehow you knew exactly what brand of everything Mingyu liked.
You opened a restaurant together after you graduated from college. Then it closed, and you lost Mingyu to Naples or New Orleans or Seoul—somewhere, anywhere to escape the corner of 5th and 40th, the December-pleated memory of his hands in yours and a promise you could never keep.
You're sure you're over it by now, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't look for him in a bowl of his favorite ramyun, the one you could never replicate even though he insisted he just added hot water (Food tastes best when it's a gift, he'd say. You never understood until now.).
Jeonghan doesn't believe you because every time you try explaining this to him, you end up sounding like the most chronically lonely person on planet Earth.
"That is the wrong guy to suggest then," you instead reply, feeling all the food dry up in your mouth.
"I'm running out of options."
"Don't you have a hot coworker or something?"
You shut your eyes, pushing Mingyu back to recall literally any face from one of the many swanky corporate parties Jeonghan bullied you into attending. The only person coming to mind is Lee Chan, and even more than his face, you remember the fat platinum band around his ring finger (Better luck next time, Jeonghan had said, mid-cheese cube).
Worse, amidst all the fuzz, a grainy recollection of Seungcheol's wet cow eyes washes up against your eyelids, and it's not going away this time.
"I thought we were all corporate slugs," Jeonghan replies, enjoying the way you glower at him over your fork. "I was kidding, anyway. Relax."
Your entire body heaves with the sigh that escapes you.
You thank god that Jeonghan is never serious, because otherwise you'd have to consider the fact that he really thought you should date Seungcheol. Jeonghan, who knows the pizza column you, the Mingyu you, and now the you that works late because there's nothing else left to do, really might have thought you should date grifter by day, con artist by night Seungcheol.
The fluorescent glaze of the gas station lights. Seungcheol's hand on the gear stick. His voice, warm and gauzy. It's like there's a flash drive of last night plugged into your head, and you can't take it out.
The stem of the champagne glass finds your hand, and you down the whole thing.
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Monday is uneventful. So is Tuesday, and you wonder what good deed you'd done to deserve such a blessing.
Wednesday, you realize you're just three interviews away from what could possibly be the best article of your life. Unfortunately, two of those won't pick up the phone and the third keeps rescheduling on you.
That's fine—Rome wasn't built in a day, and the same hopefully applies to your future noodle empire.
You're using your lunch break to write an email to number two when you notice Seungcheol hovering around your desk, a plastic straw in his mouth and evil in his eyes.
He's taken to publicly annoying you at work more than usual—Progress, Joshua had told you in the elevator this morning. Towards what? you had asked. He shrugged, letting his crafty, knowing look do all the talking.
"Me, you, and date number two?" is today's opening line. Before you can peel yourself away from your computer and give him a good lashing for whatever the fuck he just said to you, he continues with, "How's that for a follow-up text to my speakeasy date?"
"Lame," you reply, hackles still raised but now re-reading your email for typos.
"Wrong. You were supposed to say incredibly romantic, extremely witty, and unfairly charming." He perches his baseball player ass on the corner of your desk, waiting to be humbled. This is the usual order of things, which has shockingly become more of a familiarity than anything else.
"Do you even have a romantic bone in your body?"
Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. "Just one, but it's the only one that matters."
"Ew. Gross." You wrinkle your nose and attempt to soothe your temper with a sip of the terrible protein shake you got for lunch. "No wonder your column sucks."
"If mine sucks, I'd hate to see what people are saying about yours." And when your reply is a tired, hungry swig of your sad drink, he says, "No lunch today? Even I had something better."
"Lucky you."
The bigger truth is that that the deadline for your article, looming before you, is getting to you more than you'd care to admit. Seungcheol isn't helping, not with his bottomless magic hat of date stories that seems to only grow deeper by the day. Now you're forgetting to pack a lunch, and the highlight of your day has been reduced to punching numbers into a vending machine.
Things are bad, but you'll never say that aloud, especially not to the guy who'll spend the next five years dunking on you if you keep this up.
You stare down the lip of your bottle at the faux-chocolate dregs streaking the bottom.
The month before Mingyu opened his restaurant, you were so preoccupied with making sure everything was just right that you also forgot to eat. One day, leftovers from his work started magically appearing in your fridge. Chow fun (miss you!), salt and pepper shrimp (don't forget to drink water!), a gargantuan vat of hot and sour soup (love you most!).
It was a perfect coincidence until you realized there was no way Chinese takeout was coming out of a very French restaurant, and it was then you learned that love is never really a coincidence.
Now you have no coincidences, mapo tofu, or romance. Just muscle milk and a front row view of the struggling inseam of a man who must shrink his pants in the dryer.
He's peeling a tangerine. Your worst confession to date is that it's easy on the eyes. For once, his hands, always made busy with some scheme, now still over the rind, steady, practiced. Plus, it looks like a marble in his huge hands, which is unfortunately both funny and a little hot.
"Stare any longer, and I'm gonna forget how to peel this."
"Don’t flatter yourself. Just hungry," you half-lie.
Hungry, Stressed, And Delusional—The New Holy Trinity.
It's a catchy headline, but not a great look for you. Never in your life did you think you'd be ogling a man peeling an orange. He even takes all the pith off, and you don't have the heart to tell him that's where all the nutrients are.
"Exactly," he replies. Then he plops the naked, shiny fruit right on your bare desk. "Here. Eat."
You’re so taken aback, all you can do is stare. First at the orange, then at Seungcheol, who suddenly cannot make eye contact with you. Instead, he stacks the peel in his hands, dimpled piece over piece.
"Payback for the, uh, Thai," he says, and although you wouldn't equate a tangerine to James Beard awarded pad kee mao, all you can think of is an lime green sticky note in your fridge and a smile.
A gift. A pithless, wrinkly one.
The idea that Seungcheol was capable of being genuinely nice to anyone, nonetheless, you—probably the most undeserving person of it in the world—makes you feel something close to guilt.
You push through the feeling, instead taking the fruit in your hand and splitting it between your thumbs. The flesh caves so easily, and it's then you remember that food, unlike people, doesn't have to be complicated.
You can feel a better person somewhere inside you, someone easier to care for and with less of a bad attitude. You're not there yet, but there's a dark, satisfying comfort in not being good enough for the indulgence of that kind of intimacy. An arm's length was never too far away for you, except now there's someone sitting on your desk and they gave you lunch. Worst of all, you don't think you mind.
You hold out the half—sticky, guilty fingers and all.
Seungcheol wordlessly accepts it. There's no surprise or confusion—he smiles, you say cheers, and you both take a bite.
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On weekends, the Korean place down the street from your college apartment sold corn dogs until 3 AM. That was when words came easy and love came easier.
It was with sugar all over your nose, eyes pressed to the once forgiving half-moon, where you told Mingyu you would become a writer.
The thing about youth is that it can float anything, no matter how holey, desperate it was. So you sailed through college, that gasping hope wound tight in your fist. Then you started freelancing, just in time for Mingyu’s soft open. You wanted to write, but more importantly, you wanted some way, any way to be useful to the person who had given you so much.
In retrospect, there was no way your crude attempts at actual journalism could ever generate real publicity for him. Not in the heart of New York, where a new restaurant opened every two days and someone wanted to get published every three.
So you eventually sank, and so did Mingyu, leaving you with all this creased, no good love in your chest to shrivel up with nowhere to go.
All of that landed you here. A degree, a dream job, and a laundry list of accolades, but the fruit of that love still hangs heavy and joy-rot on the vine, as you wait for it to be good enough for the taking.
Ironically, it reminded you of cooking. No one ever teaches you when to stop, and now every other joint has dry-aged steak and some version of a three-day demi glacé. But at least demi glacé tastes good—you don't even know what the fuck you're doing some days, and the feeling's never been worse than now, waiting on a call you were supposed to get two days ago.
The phone rings, just in time to distract you from the top button of Seungcheol's fitted shirt, which looks like it's holding on for dear life. He's currently deep in conversation with Mina from design, but every so often, he'll glance your way to see if you're just free enough to be bothered.
The unspoken perils of working late—less people around to pester on Wonwoo's dime.
Mina stuffs her laptop in her bag and checks her watch. Strike three for Seungcheol.
Working Hard Or Hardly Working: A Guide To Office Romances. You're surprised he hasn't written that one yet. Maybe Joshua shot it down.
"Hello?" The dial tone breaks into the warm, risen-bread voice of the woman you know to be the owner of one of your favorite hole-in-the-wall noodle spots. The Friday night after your review was published, there was a line out the door. It honestly felt like a no-brainer to you, and you had no hesitation telling the owner that you were sure her place would become a local mainstay. You watched her crow-footed eyes go moony and you couldn't help but picture the day your yellowed newspaper would be posted up on the wall, framed and prophetic.
You're ready to profusely apologize for not stopping by—truthfully, no bone broth has come close to hers. Instead, she apologizes to you, which you aren't sure is flattering or a sign something terrible has happened.
You hope it's the former, but you should have known that hoping has never been enough.
She tells you that she closed the doors to her restaurant yesterday. It all comes spilling out, one gut punch after the other, the bills and the empty tables and how things just weren't the same the year after your review was published. She thanks you for your time, your writing, and your belief, and then she hangs up.
Not a thing in your body feels capable of moving. All the phone static passes right through you until the week's canned up dread balls up in your throat and some darker-than-black feeling swallows you whole.
The fluorescent ceiling lights sear into you. You think you're going to cry, and that's the last thing you want.
To anyone else, it wouldn't be that serious. Restaurants close all the time, and you know an entry in your silly little column is a far cry from a Hail Mary. But all you can think of is Mingyu’s neon sign on 5th and 40th and the two pairs of hands that had to take it down. You think your fingerprints are still on it, right over the blue shock of the I and the N.
One more dream taking on water, and once again, you're at the sad, cruel center of it.
You try to imagine the gumpaste walls, bumpy and water-stained. Maybe a pale square where your review used to hang.
No, you're definitely going to cry.
Fuck this, fuck work, fuck the article. And fuck Seungcheol, who's packing up his annoying, jingly messenger bag and is the only thing standing between you and an empty office to lose your shit in.
You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remember if you're wearing waterproof mascara today. Unfortunately, the cowbell of Seungcheol's bag sounds like it's catching up to you, and, like it or not, you are two shaky breaths away from breaking down in front of the last person in the world you want to see.
"Final touches on another titillating piece about pineapple on pizza?"
You have no stomach for yelling at him. You can't even look at him. Instead, you bury your head in your hands and tell him to never use the word titillating again.
"A little too soon to play editor, in my humble opinion."
You don't reply. You're trying to scare him off without really scaring him off because god knows you've done that with enough people. Either way, he's calling you a crazy bitch at the next holiday party. You can just hear it.
But you should've known Seungcheol, of all people, doesn't flinch at a little silence. You still feel him hovering behind you, probably wondering if it's the half-full vanilla protein shake on your desk that's turned you sour. Or if you'll really make good on your threat to shank him with the plastic knife you keep in your top drawer.
Just walk away, you think. Go the fuck home.
Seungcheol, who gets paid to play cupid like it's fantasy football, would never understand that bite of the dial tone. Not like that. Half an orange is a hell of a toll to pay for your unfortunate work-related trauma.
You count the seconds till he walks away.
One. Two. Three.
Four is cut short because instead of doing what he should have done and left, he places a hesitant hand at the base of your neck, between your shoulder blades.
"Hey, you ok?"
Easy, noncommittal words, but something in you cracks. You don't know what it is—maybe it's because it's late and you're running on nothing, maybe it's because you can't remember the last time a hand was so warm.
And so, against your better judgment, you lift your streaky, raccoon-eyed face (definitely didn't use waterproof today) from your hands to look at the same eyes you looked at not more than a month ago and swore at.
You're glad you have no idea what you look like, because it's bad enough that all the corners of Seungcheol's face fall.
"Whoa," he breathes.
Now he'll know when to leave me alone, you think, but then that hand slides to your shoulder and his expression becomes impossibly soft and what you thought was confusion, pity even, dips into affection, stinging and raw.
"Listen, I—," he clears his throat nervously. Perhaps he's running through his repertoire of Wikihow phrases to say to a sad person, but you, inexplicably, don't believe that. "I don't know what's going on, but if you, you know, ever needed to talk…" Then he points to himself because that's probably the longest he's gone without attempting to tell a joke.
You're two and a half shaky breaths into this conversation, and the likelihood you will start crying has not changed. If anything, the odds have gotten much worse because the stubbornness of Seungcheol's expression is fooling you into thinking he actually cares. The illusion is comforting—after all the fighting and sabotage and inconveniences, he's still made space for you. That, or he's keeping his enemies close.
Then his thumb rubs over the plane of your collarbone, and all the little walls and hurdles and dams and shields in you drop.
Close friends, closer enemies, and the infinitesimal space between you and Seungcheol.
You'll blame your sorry state of mind for what you're about to do because you can't really cope with any other explanation. That's a tomorrow problem.
Today, you trust Seungcheol. Today, you tell him not everything, but enough.
"Forgive yourself," he says. And before you protest and tell him, through the waves of tears and snot and lightheadedness, that your heart has yet to catch up to the rest of you, he interrupts you before you even start. "I get it. Just try."
You’re all too familiar with his sugar-floss, candy-coated platitudes that make everything seem so simple, but he looks you in the eye, or somewhere even deeper than that, with so much belief, it's contagious.
The words are ripped out from under you. All you can do is what you wanted to do in the first place. So you cry, and when Seungcheol takes you into his arms, at first tentatively and then all at once, you cry even harder.
"Is this ok?" he asks, so quietly, you almost don't hear him.
"Yeah, I-I think so."
You let him hold you, and all the noise and the heat and the static fades into a hum. His chin finds the top of your head and you let him do that too.
Neither of you say anything more. You don't need to.
All that matters is the welcome sound of someone else's heartbeat, a kind hand in your hair, and Seungcheol, with none of the charms and boasts and failed, half-baked insults he hides behind.
Just him, and you decide you like this version best.
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The emotional hangover you wake up with rivals that of every vodka-flavored morning you had when you were in college, plus another two shots.
There is nothing worse than the aftermath of a particularly bad episode of oversharing. There's a reason you don't talk about your personal life at all, but something about Seungcheol makes every single thing claw its way back up your throat.
A need to prove yourself. A tiny, whispering hope that if you give a little, you'll get a little in return. Or your pride, the familiar knife you keep wedged into your side. A million excuses rattle around in your head, but nothing will ever take away the fact that it felt good.
Shields down, heart bleeding—never did you think that's how you would find yourself in a state where you actually liked Seungcheol. It felt good to be taken seriously, to say that all the talk about foie gras and peppercorns and microgreens was just tableside service for a great love and an even greater apology. And you'd like to think somewhere between the tears and the linen of his shirt, you were finally understood.
Just try. The words, sun-warmed stones, float in the hollow of your chest. It felt a little more possible, coming out of Seungcheol's mouth, with that dumb, resolute expression of his.
You don't even know if you would do the same for him. If he came to you, rosy-eyed and breakdown-adjacent, would you drop everything and listen to him? Clearly his problems ran deeper than a pretty girl not calling him back, but you had never really cared to listen.
And that's something you'll give Seungcheol credit for—he puts up with you, with everything, really, albeit with clumsy hands and the mask of reluctance.
You roll onto your side to reach for your phone. There's a text from Jeonghan asking if you're still up for grabbing drinks this evening. (Always). You have your final interview at 2. (Thank god).
And no text from Seungcheol. (Damn.)
Somehow this is disappointing, which makes your day that much worse. Maybe the runny mascara wasn't as flattering as you thought.
8 Totally Normal Texts To Send When You're Overthinking.
Not a good headline for a worse situation. Honestly, you shouldn't care, but now you're here, staring at your phone and undecided on if you even want Monday to come or not.
You'll order one (or three) margaritas tonight. You'll ask Jeonghan about his upcoming trip to Seoul. You'll make your favorite overnight oats and you'll go to sleep and Sunday will pass just the same.
You won't think about Seungcheol's arms around you or his head on top of yours or the way he insisted he would drive you to the subway so you didn't have to walk. You almost brushed against his hand on the gear stick and the nearness made you want to throw up.
But you're not thinking about it. You can't. Not without falling in love just a little.
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"Here. Drink."
You set two cups on the table before sitting face-to-face with Seungcheol, who decided to roll up to a coffee date in a somehow flattering polo and slacks.
But it's not a date—you're just talking. It's a meet-up. Not a hangout, which sounds too familiar, and definitely not a date.
Yesterday did not go as planned. Margarita-buzzed and under Jeonghan's terrible influence, you texted Seungcheol. Just to clear up some stuff, you told yourself. Friday night's like a scab, and you just can't help coming back to it.
"So, you're a coffee connoisseur too, huh?" Seungcheol says, tipping his head to the side.
"Not nearly," you reply. "Just wanted to pay for something for once. I'm pretty sure I owe you at least fifty of these."
"I'll hold you to it." He's doing that thing where it's like he stares past you. It's the most impressive eye contact on the planet, and it's making you nervous.
Then the silence, once welcome, becomes awkward—the air turns stiff, clinging to all the things you haven't said yet.
You play chicken with the idea of being an emotionally intelligent person and just talking about what most certainly is on everyone's mind right now. The cup between your hands is burning your palms. Seungcheol smiles.
"I'm—" The exact moment you start, the words crinkle up on your tongue and all the walls come back up again. It's a terrible, inevitable instinct. "I'm sorry. For Friday."
"For…what?" Seungcheol pauses mid-sip to say this. "Also, this coffee is really good."
Arabica, orange, and honey, you want to say. But you can't deflect this time. Somehow Seungcheol has cornered you into this tiny cafe chair with that disarming grin and an overabundance of patience.
"Everything, I guess. You were just trying to leave."
"No, I wasn't." And he laughs, which makes your stomach fold over trying to figure out what there possibly is to laugh at. "I actually liked getting to know you. You…care a lot. And I didn't expect that."
Seungcheol's sincerity staggers you. You could ask what the hell he just meant by all of that, but you decide to take him for his word. You think you've experienced the most honesty from him in the past three days than you have in the entire span of time you've known him, and it almost feels like a privilege.
"Thanks…?"
"Don’t let it go to your head, though," he adds, as if to erase what he just said. "Can't have you walking around the office with a bigger stick in your ass."
"Poetic." You sigh. Once again, the illusion is shattered. You wonder if his kindness has a time limit. "How's your article coming along?"
"Nice try," he replies. "I'm not that easy."
"You're literally the definition of easy."
"Is that a compliment?" There's that challenge in his eyes again, that same look that he gave you outside Wonwoo's office. "You did ask me out on a date, despite saying that you'd rather eat glass. So I guess either there's a half-eaten plate in your trash or you've finally come to your senses."
"This is not a date. Dream on."
"You're right. This isn't a date." He leans forward on his elbows. "Just like our dinner date wasn't a date."
"It wasn't."
"Of course. If it was, I'd be asking stuff like…Where you're from. But I already know—h, e, double hockey—"
"Chicago."
"Same difference."
Your conversation continues as such.
Not a date, but where'd you go to college? Not a date, but do you have a pet? Not a date, but can I walk you home?
You realize your talk in his car two weeks ago involved everything but your pasts, but you suppose neither of you are the type to unwrap old wounds. Sometimes the bandaid is better on, but, in your case, there's really nothing left to tell.
You divulge that you went to Northwestern for journalism. You have a family tabby, and no, you wouldn't mind being walked home.
You also realize before today, you knew less about Seungcheol than you thought, but there's some give to his secrecy. He went to USC because his parents wanted him to. Played football for half of it until he tore his ACL and got adopted by the sports section of the school paper. He even captained the advice column for three semesters—something he wants to return to, but you're happy to tell him you wouldn't trust his advice as far as you could throw him. (What was your alias? Samuel. Sounds kinda like Seungcheol, huh? You say no. He laughs.)
After circling the same park three times, you reach the doorstep of your apartment building. You cycle through some one-liners to end on a high note, but none of them seem quite right.
It's not a date, but you've noticed Seungcheol keeps glancing at your lips, and it almost seems like one.
It's not a date, but Seungcheol asks some stupid question about if coffee could be considered tea, which you start to answer before you are rudely interrupted.
First, the bump of his nose against yours, then his lips, slow, insistent, dizzying. Your heart jumps all the way to your throat and you think there's so much heat in your cheeks that he can feel it.
It's not a date, but Seungcheol just kissed you and you liked it.
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The next time you see Seungcheol is in the elevator to the newsroom on Monday.
He sticks his dumb, big arm out of the cabin to hold the door open for you, and his smile bruises your overripe heart.
"Hi," he says, sneaking a glance like a guilty child.
"Hi."
The floor indicators flicker like fireflies, one by one. He sidesteps toward you so that your shoulders touch. You watch the 4 crawl to 5. The air in the cabin is sticky, electric.
And as if taking a great big dive, you kiss him, a fleeting, tender thing that you rolled around in your head for a good thirty minutes earlier this morning—and you never thought the fruit of overthinking could be so sweet.
The elevator dings.
Before the doors open to your floor, Seungcheol slams the close button, takes your face in his hands, and kisses you again.
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You have three reasons to get drunk.
1. It's Friday.
2. You finished your article.
3. You and Seungcheol are no longer mortal enemies, but now you don't know what you are.
(The other day, you both worked late, and he ordered takeout to the office. You sat crosslegged on his desk as he tried to explain what a touchdown was and why he was obsessed with the Steelers. Normally a two hour long conversation about football would be a punishable offense, but that night he made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt the next day.)
After Wonwoo's dinner with corporate, he went to the market across the street and picked up a few handles of soju and the fattest bottle of cheap vodka you've ever seen.
You're all getting a raise—you guess the Thai must have worked out well, although Wonwoo must have struck out with Yerim since he's spending his Friday night drinking with you guys instead.
So you get drunk.
Drunk enough to tune out of Jihyo from Sports giving Wonwoo dating advice—riveting, if not for your near double vision—and follow Seungcheol to the staff bathroom.
"Anyone—," you manage. His lips are hot on your neck, and every dizzy neuron in your body seems to be reaching, grasping for him. "Anyone ever tell you that your forearms look really good when you roll up your sleeves?"
"All the time," he replies, and he swallows the laugh right off of your tongue.
"You are so annoying." Your palm finds his heartbeat, and you revel in how it leaps towards your skin every hurried beat. You don't want to think about how many girls came before you, leant back against the bathroom counter just like this, but having a body against yours never felt so good. You guess that's what a three year hiatus will do to you. "Bet you hear that one a lot too, huh?"
"You got that right."
Another kiss, just a nudge of his nose and you're leaning up to him; your lips feel swollen and warm and somehow they still crave the feeling.
"How is it that we still bump noses," you ask, half words, half air. Seungcheol's hands, skin-greedy, skim over the back of your thighs like they're water and find the swell of your ass.
"You make me impatient." Cheshire grin across heart lips and you're toast. "Anyone tell you that you have a great ass?"
"All the time," you squeak out. It's a lie and a half but who cares. His fingers drag under the seam of your underwear and you've never been so thankful you forgot to wear shorts under your dress.
"Need you," he says, lips flush to the skin behind your ear, and your lower half would give out if you weren't propped against the sink.
The idea of Seungcheol on his knees, your thigh hiked over his shoulder, crosses your mind. He'd probably be really good at head, and that makes you dizzier than any ungodly combination of alcohol would. Or would he press you against the mirror, want your skirt pushed to your waist so he could fuck you from behind?
Anticipation tumbles into anxiety into some primordial, horrible shyness because you haven't had sex in years. You feel hot and damp and sweaty and you can't remember if you shaved or not. Plus, you're already seizing in his arms and he hasn't even touched you for real yet.
"H-home," you breathe. "Let's go home."
"Hm?" His hand slows in the dip between your thighs. "You wanna stop? We can stop."
"No, I just…I just thought it would be better if we went home. To…you know."
"Yours or mine?"
"Mine’s closer," you answer after a considerable amount of mental gymnastics trying to figure out if you're both drunk enough to not mind the mess.
You know your apartment and you know your bed and you know where the bathroom is in case you have to pee. There's a box of condoms under the sink. You have an extra toothbrush for him. Less variables to worry about because nothing else has really gone to plan. You watch Seungcheol misbutton the top two buttons on his shirt and all the fondness in your heart feels like a welcome stranger in your body.
How To Ruin The Moment In One Easy Step!
You feel incredibly horny and guilty all at once, but Seungcheol kisses your cheek on the way out and it's like you're able to breathe again.
━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━
It seems that the car ride to your place sucks all the sobriety back into the both of you.
You're lying stomach-down on your bed, Seungcheol against the headboard with his shirt undone. You're in your bra and your still sticky underwear, and somehow, despite being ready to break your three-year spell, you like this much better.
"Imagine if someone needed to piss," Seungcheol groans. "I think we would have gotten fired. Lifestyle would have no editor."
"I honestly think that's why Seungkwan was standing outside for so long."
Upon hearing this, Seungcheol's eyes shoot open. If your phone wasn't charging, you would take a picture. He fell asleep on your shoulder in the car, and now, even with all the affection you can muster, you can only describe his hair as broom-adjacent. Einstein-core. How far you've fallen from grace.
"Don't worry, he won't say anything." And as you watch the color return to his face, you add, "Also, it's not that I didn't want to have sex, I just…" you trail off, hoping he'll get it even though you're making no sense.
"No, it was the right call. I wanna do it when we're both sober."
It smooths your frayed-out nerves knowing that none of this was a performance or a test, just two shy, touch-starved people stumbling in the dark.
"Lemme guess—this is just a typical Friday night for you."
"Flattering but no," Seungcheol replies, grinning something stupid. "Do you always spend this much time wondering what I'm doing?"
"No!" His hands, once busy with scrunching up the fabric of your bedsheets, now find yours, and he runs a careful thumb over your knuckles. You notice he has the care-worn hands of a line chef, or maybe even a baker, which is funny because you don't even think the man knows how to turn on an oven. "I dunno. You just seem so experienced. What about all of those other girls?"
He flips your hand over, tracing the creases of your palm.
"Just dates. Nothing serious."
You want to ask—What about us? Are we serious? But you swallow it all down. You watch Seungcheol's eyes, midnight-weary, fall back upon you, and it feels like he's trusted you with something important.
"Don’t get it twisted, though," he adds, before yawning big and wide without covering his mouth. "I'm a loser, not a virgin. Definitely not."
You bite back a laugh. Killer journalist bio, but that's something to pitch next content meeting.
"Definitely a loser. I think you make me a loser by association."
"Good. So we're both losers. I like that." He smiles at you with so much warmth, it makes your heart physically hurt. Then he clamps down another yawn. "God, I'm exhausted. I think if we fucked in the bathroom, I'd have passed out. Or pulled my back."
"Then sleep," you chide, shucking a pillow at him. "Also take your shirt off. I don't like outside clothes on the bed."
"Say less," Seungcheol says. "I’ll blow your back out another day. Save the date." Between your almost audible gulp and his unfortunately attractive physique, you almost forget the place you're in-between.
Did everyone fit into his arms? Did he lift a hand for just anyone? Two silhouettes in the lamplight—was that how every day with him ended? Or just you, the only other person competing with him for his dream job? The convenient reality scares you.
The thought never seems to cross Seungcheol's mind. His head hits the pillow, and he's out like a light. But not without a not-so-subtle scoot to your side of the bed, near enough that the heat of his skin plays off yours.
You lean into it, liking how your skin buzzes with the closeness.
You're lulled by the sway of Seungcheol's breathing behind you—probably the most quiet he'll ever be. The moonlight oozes into the room; sleep comes over you like water, a slow, gentle wash.
━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━
You can't remember the last time you cooked for two.
You open your fridge, and the hollow insides stare back at you. Rows of condiments and two water bottles. You have finally reached K-drama CEO status.
"Is this the part where I get kicked out?" Seungcheol says, shrugging his shirt back on as he walks out of the bedroom.
"This is the part where I cook breakfast for you."
"Really? You don't have to." He sounds genuinely surprised, which tips your heart a little off-axis.
"I want to," you reply, double checking the fridge as if opening it a second time would repopulate it. "That's what people do when they care about each other."
"Or if they're trying to poison you."
"Will you just let me do something nice for you?" You yank your head out to glare at him, and he looks stung.
"Thanks." He says it after so much pause that you wonder if this is the first time someone has done this for him. You wish you had a better offering, but surely the man with the worst palate in the world could spare his judgment for one meal. "No really, 'cause I am starving."
You let him bask in the rare glory of the unobstructed refrigerator light while you rummage through the pantry for a plan B.
"Holy shit. You live like this?"
"Not always. It's been…a week." All you have is the ramyun Mingyu likes, which feels like a weird, culinary betrayal. But you're hungry, and Seungcheol is eyeing a strange bag in the freezer that you don't even remember putting there. "You good with ramyun?"
"Honestly, I'll eat anything," he whines, gnawing on the ice straight from the freezer drawer.
At least he's self-aware. But he makes all the spaces Mingyu left behind seem a little less empty, and you can't find it in you to be mad at that.
You wait for the water to boil and Seungcheol finds a seat at your tiny dinner table, a misaligned, wobbly product of Mingyu’s inability to read an Ikea manual.
"I'm hoping your week got better?" Seungcheol asks, referring to your capital W week.
You tentatively nod before dropping the noodles in.
"Of course it did—you woke up to me in your bed. Can't get better than that."
"Actually, it's because I finished my article yesterday."
Seungcheol pauses before laughing to himself. "Congrats," he replies, now wiggling the table on its bad leg. "Can't say the same for myself."
you watch the starch-foam wash over the mouth of the pot, precariously close to the edge. You overfilled it, which mildly surprises you until you consider that you're cooking double the food.
There's a stretchy, anxious tumble in your stomach. It's not like you were expecting him to cheer or anything, but it just reminds you that you are, still in fact, competitors. When all of this is said and done, one of you is losing, and from every angle, it seems like quite the death knell for whatever you've got going on now.
It's a pity because you actually kind of like this arrangement. If Seungcheol was in your banged-up flea market chair next Saturday morning, you wouldn't be mad. Maybe you would even make him waffles. From scratch, even.
"What, too many dates to cover?"
He laughs again, somehow to no one in particular. "Something like that."
Past the bruising swell of his smile is the much sharper, more unforgiving edge of an unspoken hurt that you're neither trusted with nor owed, and yet you refuse to drop it. What about me? It feels like you're almost there, wrapped around something bigger, a scoop you can't pull your stubborn teeth out of.
"Is there a reason none of those were serious? Come on."
"What's so wrong with that?" And when you don't say anything, he says, "Trust me, it is never that serious."
His voice ticks up at the end like a teenager trying to play cool and the noodle water boils up around your chopsticks as you try to get your portion cooked through.
You won't—can't—turn to face him. You committed to the line, and now you must see it through, no matter how bad an idea it may be.
"That's not true," you finally squeeze out, finding the right footing for your voice. "It was serious for me. I'm sorry it wasn’t for you."
The table stops rocking.
"I'm glad. Really." He claps his hands together like a cruel punctuation mark, and it's then you remember that the only person as ill-tempered as you happens to be sitting two feet away.
Like an injured animal, your heart wants to cower back into your chest. You knew this was a mistake—this being everything—but an open wound can't help but bleed and your pride can't do without seeing the knife.
"Look, I don't know what your problem is." The pot hisses, astringent and pleading, beneath your fist. "I don't know what happened with your love life, but don't take it out on me."
"You asked."
"Yeah? Well, what is this?" You turn to face him, feeling the air between you tense, pulled like a rubber band. "You can't sit in my kitchen and tell me you don't care about whatever this is."
After all of the terse meetings, elevator spats, and foul-mouthed encounters in the parking lot, you can now recognize the fresh twist of Seungcheol's mouth and the livewire of a temper you've become so familiar with.
"Who said I didn't care? I'm just tired of you trying to lecture me about my life. I—"
"I'm not lecturing you, I just know you can't really believe what you're saying." Every word stumbles out, trembling and doe-legged, barely audible over his attempts to interrupt you. "There's nothing wrong with admitting you were in love with someone. And if you can't, I just feel really fucking sorry for you."
There’s an incredulous look in Seungcheol's eyes. But it's the worse part of you, ruthless and hungry for acceptance, that makes you say, "Maybe the fact that nothing lasts is your fault."
"Oh, really?" Seungcheol's voice, half-laugh with none of the warmth, rips through you. "You're really gonna act like you're better than me? As if you don't write in your pretentious little column every week, just waiting for your ex to read it and decide he wants you back again?"
There’s a red hot flash behind your eyes and everything inside you feels like it breaks at once.
"You know, at least I had someone who cared about me. Can't say the same about your miserable, sorry ass. Now get the fuck out of my apartment."
"Wh—"
he stands up, table croaking underneath his fists, and you realize you've crossed a bridge that can never be uncrossed.
"Get. Out."
It feels like a stitch in you has come undone. The water has long boiled over the pot and there's no joy to be found in watching Seungcheol stumble over his pant legs on the way to the door.
"I didn't want Mingyu. I wanted you."
it's not an apology, nor is it an indictment. You don't know why you say it, and you guess Seungcheol doesn't either. The door slams behind him, and all you're left with is a bloated pot of ramyun you never really wanted anyway.
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Celery. Red wine. Short rib.
If you had one day left on earth, you think you would go grocery shopping. It was like a prayer to you—you could close your eyes and know exactly what aisle had the beef broth, or feel the stone weight of a can of San Marzano tomato paste.
That's one thing you can thank Mingyu for—it's true that you don't love him like you used to, but you refuse to believe that any love worth having is also worth leaving behind.
Fingerling potatoes, the red ones. A Vidalia onion.
You recite your shopping list, slowly, quietly, a rosary.
Baguette is the next item, with a question mark next to it because sometimes your local bakery sells out after 3.
You pass by, expecting to see the shop window cleared out. Instead you see a familiar crown of cowlicked black hair and a horribly well-worn grin that only looks good because it's on Choi Seungcheol's face.
He's paying for a pretty girl's sourdough, and thyme, rosemary gets washed out by a dizzying riptide of heartache.
It was never personal, you tell yourself. Just another date. That's the angle.
You think it hurts a little less, knowing that it all was a business transaction. A long interview.
The thyme is next to the dill. The rosemary is next to the chives, at the end of the shelf.
You watch Seungcheol lean over the tiny cafe table to take a sip of his date's Americano. Did he always laugh like that? Were you really any different?
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Monday feels tilted.
There's the usual gust of cinnamon sugar and cold brew—today's offering from the interns, who have begun to master the art of pressing the elevator buttons with full hands. Wonwoo is wearing his Monday outfit, a wrinkled cream button up under a navy blue sweater vest. Your cubicle is empty, just the way you like it, save for the ass-shaped spot cleared off on the desk edge.
You like days like this, except today you don't and you know exactly why.
"Today's the day," Joshua says, nose buried in a bakery-style muffin, the top pillowing out of the wrapper.
He stares over your shoulder at your article, locked and loaded for submission to copy.
You are not exaggerating when you say you would die for these four thousand words. You ate and cried and argued for them in what you can only describe as the worst literary coliseum of your life, and now their (and your) fate rests in Joshua’s massive Mickey Mouse hands and Wonwoo's bespectacled whimsy.
"Well, don't let me stop you." He laughs and then totters away, sucking a crumb off a finger. Just another Monday.
Your cursor hovers over the SUBMIT button. You've always been a little scared of it—unsurprising, since you're also the type to triple read an email before sending it—but there's a new kind of fear boxed in those little pixels.
Last night, you emptied out your freezer. Stuck on the back wall was a neon green sticky note, behind all the bags. See you when you get home, it said. You laughed and then you cried and then you ripped it up because that's probably what Seungcheol was looking at the morning you chewed him out.
All of that heartache must have been good for something. To say you wasted it on a no-love situationship wouldn't do any of it justice, not when all that's left is most definitely a crude shoutout on Seungcheol's next listicle. If you weren't already getting one earlier, you sure are now.
You wonder what you'll be:
10 Signs She Is Clinically Insane.
It's Not You, It's Them!
Help! My Friend With Benefits Isn't A Friend Or A Benefit!
At least that one is funny, although if it's the winning line, you don't think you can ever show your face in the office again.
The beginning and the end and the muddy in-between. Entrenched in all of it was this article and this job, and you'll be damned if you let your misplaced faith get co-opted by a sweaty-palmed Casanova.
(8:19 AM; the smell of summer and dried-down cologne. A hand on your ribcage, just beneath your heart. Good morning, Seungcheol says, as if emerging from a long, wonderful dream.)
You picture the byline with editor tacked next to your name. To run your finger over the ink spackled serif of a paper hot off the press, as if somehow it would radiate the misery you had to endure.
(11:41 PM; jajangmyeon and a pack of rice crackers. Seungcheol had given you his chopsticks because you dropped yours. The hum of the broken light outside Wonwoo's office sings in the silence of an empty newsroom. Your eyes meet, and you don't look away.)
There's a sinking feeling in your chest. You close your eyes and hit submit.
━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━
Ask Samuel!
It's 6 PM on a Thursday and if you weren't already on your last thread, you are now. The angry red of the Daily Trojan website glares back at you from your phone as you step into the elevator with none other than your editor-in-chief.
You've resorted to reading Seungcheol's old advice columns. Not because you miss him, but because you want to know if he was ever a competent writer capable of talking about something other than how to score on a second date.
That's the only way he's beating you.
(There's also no way you miss him. The thought would make you laugh out loud if you weren't standing next to your boss).
One column became four became ten. After thirteen you concluded Seungcheol must have sustained a head injury some time before starting his job here—you can find no other explanation for how someone so generous and intuitive could've gotten lost in the chaff of articles with more pictures than words.
"Congrats," Wonwoo says, seemingly speaking into the void.
"Pardon?" You close out a particularly riveting query about estranged childhood friends to look up at him.
"Congrats."
"F-for what?" You get that head rush again, the same one you got a month ago at the Italian restaurant with Jeonghan.
"The job. You got the position." Wonwoo clears his throat calmly, as if he's not delivering the most important news of your life. "I wanted to let you know in person before we sent out Monday’s email."
For once, you have no words. In a wonderful instant, they are all zapped out of your brain. You feel hot and clammy and anxious all at once and you half expect to close your eyes and see either god or the flare of a hospital light, waking you up from an impossible coma.
"Holy shit," the primordial ooze inside you says instead. "T-thank you."
"No need."
"What about Seungcheol? Does he know?"
"I haven't told him yet, but he should be aware." Wonwoo pauses. "He didn't submit anything."
"What?!"
There are only so many surprises your body can handle. You feel like you are being held together by a fast-unraveling string on a poorly made sweater. Your stomach is somewhere in your feet and you don't even know where your heart is. Part of you is waiting for the elevator to stop so the entire office can jump out of the walls and laugh at you.
"I too was surprised," Wonwoo says, now checking his smartwatch for messages. "He must have changed his mind. No matter—I'm confident you will be an excellent fit."
The elevator jerks to a stop at the first floor. You feel boneless, like a can of cranberry sauce.
"Forgive me, I have a dinner appointment." Wonwoo ends the conversation the best way he can—with his trademark parentheses smile and a nod of the head—and leaves you in the elevator cabin alone.
All the times you've dreamed of this moment, you're tear-dizzy, joyous, fumbling with your phone to call your parents.
Instead you stand motionless, waiting, emptied.
━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━
To make croissants, you fold a slab of butter into a square of yeasted dough. You roll it out thin and then fold it into itself before leaving it to rest in the fridge. Then you take it out again, roll it, and fold it. You do this until you've forgotten how many times you folded it and you no longer crave croissants.
When you were five, you pressed your nose to the window of your favorite patisserie and decided this is how your mind works.
You've had ample time now to flatten out Saturday morning, to watch all the little layers of doubt and loathing form, and now you're sick of it. It's not often you're star witness to your own unhappiness, but, as if you were called to the stand, you can easily play back the moment you lit the match and then watched everything explode.
You're not sure what either of you were expecting. A playboy and you, who loves so insistently, almost as if out of spite—there is truly no reality in which it makes sense. The fact that you fought over a literal pot of ramyun only proves this.
And now he's saddled you with the final blow. The position of your dreams with none of the glory because he gave up.
He gave up.
None of this should matter to you.
You're standing outside the office, waiting for your ride to your celebratory dinner (this time, on Jeonghan). The little headline man in your brain is silent for once. Instead, you try to enjoy the breeze, honeyed with late June, and not dwell on the horrible twist in your stomach every time you think about your new position. It's been 24 hours since you found out but it is no less raw.
It's then that you catch Seungcheol, creeping out the double doors of the office like some sort of criminal. You're not sure if it's the plod of his Sasquatch feet or that bag you hate so dearly, but you could recognize that walk from anywhere.
His pace quickens when you turn to face him—he's running away. You won't grant him the satisfaction. Not when he's fucked up what little you had left, and then some.
"You're an idiot, Seungcheol."
That does the trick.
"Funny way of saying hi," he responds, bracing himself on the sidewalk as if you're about to hit him.
"Why didn't you submit anything? What the fuck were you thinking?"
"What does it matter to you? You got the position."
"Look, I—" You shut your eyes, feeling the frenetic ice-cream churn of your brain try to put together a million broken up words. "I'm sorry for Saturday. But I never wanted to scare you off from the job. You deserve it as much as I do, and, as much as I hate to say it, I care about you too fucking much to watch you throw away your shot."
Saying the words is like cutting something loose from your chest, a million strings coming undone.
Seungcheol takes a deep, unsteady breath. You watch the crest and fall of his shoulders and the inescapable tar pits he calls eyes get big and shiny.
"No, I—" He pulls himself from your gaze. "I'm sorry. I should have never said that to you. And I should have never treated you like that."
The silence between you ripples, as if after a long rain.
"I was scared. A long time ago, I threw myself into a relationship. I thought we had something really, really good, and then I found out she was also seeing someone else."
Being right never felt so bad. It's even worse that something you would look forward to—the I told you so, the jokes really write themselves—no longer holds any satisfaction, only a sense of loss and a terrible urge to make it right again.
"And it's not right, but I decided that it was a mistake to take chances like that again. And it was fine, fun even, going on all of these casual dates and getting paid for it. Then you just had to mess it up."
"H-how?"
"You were so dead-set on convincing me otherwise. You wouldn't let it go, not with your weird sayings and the way you talked about your ex and when you told me you were making me breakfast. I started believing you, and it really fucking scared me."
There's a sharp pain in your head. It feels like, at once, you were skinned like a fruit. Like the interlude between dream and waking, all the sheets of sleep yanked from your person.
"What…what about the article?" you ask, scrambling. You don't really want to contend with what he just told you. You don't think you can.
"You deserved it more. And you really love what you do. I used to think it was all bullshit, but I was wrong."
You take a hard swallow. The image of Seungcheol, head bowed, a nervous hand on the back of his neck, swims in front of your eyes.
"Whatever. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore," he laughs, mirthless.
"No, wait," you say. "I-I also…never took you seriously, not even when I should've. You know, I read your advice columns. Crazy, I know."
"I do have to say that is one of your more insane claims."
"No, I thought, they were actually, you know…really good." You watch him blink, mouth already twisting up as he fights a smile. "What I'm trying to say is that I think we messed up. In a lot of ways. But I want to be friends again. Or at least not enemies."
Seungcheol takes a long pause before he sticks his hand out.
"Choi Seungcheol. Writer. It's nice to meet you."
Some force, as if you had always been connected, pulls your skin to his. You shake his hand for the very first time, and starting over never felt so good.
━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━
"You're booking Eleven Madison for the office dinner again, right?"
Wonwoo pops his head into your office, his Monday uniform now festive with a holiday tie. Today, it's snowmen with glasses.
"Naturally," you reply. "Unless you have plans on that Friday."
You're referring to last week, when Wonwoo took a call in the middle of a staff meeting and revealed that yes, he would most definitely be available for drinks with Yerim that evening. He ended the meeting thirty short seconds later, and you think you saw him skip to the elevator.
He laughs, deep and caramel. "Not this time. Also—don't forget to review those job applications. Sent them to your email."
Before you can tease him again, he leaves, and you are forced to look at your teeming inbox, the only unfortunate side effect of your new position. But you've never been happier, and a hundred new unread emails never seemed so wonderful. The first time Jeonghan saw you in your new office, you were so giddy he thought you were coming down with something.
You take a hefty sip of today's coffee (ginger, molasses, cinnamon). On the side of the cup, the one you keep facing away from the door, reads SEUNGCHEOL and OAT, in loopy marker letters.
After you shook hands in the parking lot, you agreed to take it slow. You thought bringing everything to a simmer would cure you of your affection, but it wasn't even a month before Seungcheol was back in that same seat in your kitchen, eating the blueberry waffles you promised him.
But if slow meant long phone calls and the nervous twine of your hands after an ice cream date, then you think you like slow. You could do slow for a while.
He's taken to bringing you coffee in the morning. He claims it's your editorial right, but you think he just likes having an excuse to barge into your office. (And close the door behind him. And kiss you. But that's aside the point.)
Plus, Seungcheol's had plenty of legitimate reasons to be in your office. The newest one is the launch of Ask Sunny! , which you think is the best idea he's had since deciding to get you coffee every day. He spent the last few days campaigning to reuse his old alias, but you're pretty sure he was just looking for reasons to argue with you.
"Afternoon, boss."
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. You always seem to learn the hard way with Seungcheol.
He swaggers in, ear-to-ear smile on his face, before taking a seat at the designated corner of your table.
"I think I like this desk better," he says, folding at the waist so he can lean close to you. Instead of reminding him it's the same desk, you just choose to make space for him, you let him press his nose to yours.
"Friendly reminder we're at work."
"Everyone's at lunch, genius."
He interrupts you with just a touch of his lips, which should be considered no less than a war crime by now.
"You are the worst."
"Not what you said last night. Not even close." He places another wet kiss on your nose before sliding off the table edge to his feet. There's a horrible warmth in his eyes as he watches you very clearly remember what exactly he's referring to. (A wandering hand. A cherry. Dark hair, wound through your fingers). "Anyway, I've got serious problems to solve. Or should I say Sunny? I still think we should have gone with Samuel."
"Executive decision," you tease. "Now if you don't need anything, scram. Out of my office."
"Just wanted to remind you I made reservations for us at Avra today," Seungcheol says, lingering in the doorframe with the shit-eating grin he tends to sport nowadays. "I'll even let you order."
There's no fighting the familiar bloom of laughter in your chest. It boils up, sparkling and citrusy, as you roll your eyes and watch Seungcheol return to his desk no less starry-eyed than how he walked in.
If cooking is a language, then love is the words, and you finally think you're learning to speak them.
You open the email at the top of your inbox: Seungcheol's last draft of the article he never published. You urged him to let you consider it for the next issue, and he finally caved (although you're learning that he really doesn't take much convincing when it comes to you).
Eat, Play, Love: A Guide.
Maybe you'd put it through. Maybe.
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#mine#seungcheol#seungcheol x reader#seungcheol fluff#seungcheol x you#seventeen fluff#seventeen imagines#seventeen scenarios#scoups x reader#scoups fluff#scoups x you#seungcheol imagines#seungcheol scenarios#scoups imagines
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